Tag Archives: smartfood

peace is not a side dish.

Here’s the thing. I feel like I am drunk, but really, I have just been writing papers for too many hours and days and days and hours. I got so wacky that I almost wrote “peace is not a side dish” in my paper before realizing that it was not even a remotely academic thing to say. Now I’m done writing for tonight, but I have to wait for my friend Jill because I don’t want to walk home alone in the cold. 

So how about I tell you some random shit?

First, this is a weird video that Kathleen nerded over from South America:

I find it both cute and really, really sad. I hate when the hamster is left on his back like that! 

Junior year of college, my friends Katie and Annie got two gerbils, and named them Stella and Jager. We played fun games like Blackout Gerbil Out and Gerbilvision, but that got old after like two weeks. Now Katie’s little sister takes care of the herby gerbs.

Speaking of animals, did you hear about the woman who “hid a sedated monkey under her blouse on a flight from Thailand“? This crazy lady, whose name is obviously Gypsy, tried to hide the monkey under a loose-fitting blouse, and now she’s in big trouble for smuggling. Apparently it just looked like she was pregnant. I mean, I wear a lot of loose-fitting blouses, but usually it’s to hide a belly full of Smartfood and breakfast sandwiches, not a monkey.

Speaking of monkeys, I LOVE Pandora. Like a lot. It is so great. Another thing that I love is video chat. I love that video chat turns quasi-adults into four-year-olds making funny faces in the mirror. It’s hysterical. My friend Jill and I video-chatted our friend Tamar today, and we essentially spent the whole time seeing who could make the ugliest face. Mature? No. Entertaining? YES. 

Aaand continuing with the stream-of-consciousness, have you guys tried the fancy new things on Gmail? There are SO many cool new things, which I obviously spent way too long playing with today. You can make task lists on your Gmail (hellooo, Type A); take “breaks” where your Gmail basically forces you to not be glued to your computer for 15 minutes (hellooo, lack of self control); and you can customize your label colors (hellooo, NERD). The best one, though, is the attachment reminder. If you write in your email that you are attaching something and then you forget to attach it, Gmail will REMIND YOU TO ATTACH IT. 

This is all awesome, but it also freaks me out a little. I mean, Gmail has been around for a few years and it is already basically thinking for us. I can’t even fathom what they’ll come up with next. If it’s a feature that blow dries my hair and makes me breakfast while I check my morning email, though, I’ll be okay with it.

Final Bonus Confession: I get both Economist updates and Self Fit Move of the Week updates emailed to me, and I always delete them before I even open them. But I won’t unsubscribe, because that would prove that I’m un-intellectual and lazy. Logical, right?

[Posted by Mallory]


Filed under adventures, animals, babies, food, humor, music, news, post-college depression, thoughts, YouTube

just six words and a picture.

The Katie Jane Tracy 22nd birthday edition!

You’re worth more than 1,000 words.

Happy birthday, KTray. One more thing:

[Posted with love from Kathleen and Mallory]

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Filed under crushes, random, six word memoirs

boulder is a trippy place, man.


My apologies for my lack of postings this weekend. I’d like to say that I was just pretending this was a real job and taking the weekend off, but really, for the entirety of this weekend I was too drunk or too hungover or too asleep or my fingers were too covered in Smartfood to write anything. And this morning, I went through my usual routine of setting my alarm for a reasonable time, like 8:00, picking up my phone and bringing it into bed with me when the alarm went off, reading my emails in bed (because I’m so important that I have a Blackberry solely for the purpose of reading my emails in bed), tucking my phone under me, and falling back asleep for three more hours. Looks like all that rest left me with the energy to write run-on sentences that would make my AP English teacher weep.
Anyway. On Friday Kelsey and I took our out-of-town visitor, Sarah, to Boulder and met up with my friend Anne. We had dinner at this great little tavern which served my new reason to believe in God, goat cheese macaroni. I’d like to shake the hand of the person who invented that. I could bathe in the stuff. Once we were energized by the goat cheese, we ventured out onto Pearl Street Mall. Pearl Street is one of my favorite areas in Boulder. It’s a pedestrian mall that stretches for four blocks and is lined with trees, used bookstores, stores like Banana Republic and Volcom, bars, and street performers. The street performers are the best part. While we were at dinner, Anne (a CU grad) was telling us about this “Zip Code Guy” who performs on Pearl Street every so often. Apparently, she has always wanted to see him and never got the chance.
As it turned out, God smiled down on us on this particular evening, and we ran into Zip Code Guy, who was just beginning his performance. A crowd had formed around him, and he was asking for people from out of town to tell him their zip codes. Once he knew the zip code, he told the crowd exactly where that person was from. It was absolutely amazing. He could even get zip codes from random countries like Moldova. As he spoke, he was making a map of the US on the ground with a yellow chain.
After this warmup, he began to place people on the map according to their zip codes. I was placed on in 23173 (Richmond, Virginia, where I went to school), Kelsey was placed nearby in Williamsburg, and Sarah was placed up in Basking Ridge, New Jersey. (Anne made the mistake of staying in Colorado her whole life, so she didn’t have any obscure zip codes to throw out.) Zip Code Guy placed about 30 people on this map, from Maine to Wayne, Indiana, to Arizona. Once everyone was placed in their respective towns, he went through and recited every single person’s zip code, pausing to juggle five balls at once when he needed a little extra time to think. It was honestly one of the most impressive random talents I have ever seen. When we ran into Zip Code Guy after the show, he told us that it took him a few years and some driving around the country to finally memorize everything. Nutso.
It seemed that Zip Code Guy would have talked to us forever had we not ended the conversation, which made us feel bad for him (as in, he probably has nowhere else to go), and we were depressed until we stumbled upon some drummers. The drummers were a group of five or six guys just jamming out on a variety of bongos and other drums whose names I obviously don’t know. They also had these random girls who would come into the center of the circle and dance like maniacs every so often. These dancers were eventually joined by some brave crowd members: children; some drunk 30-something couples; a girl wearing a hat, a scarf, and mittens even though it was 70 degrees; and a man who could be your father (or maybe your weird single uncle), dancing to the beat even though he had his own Walkman on. Here, take a look:

This all was great fun. We spent an hour or two just wandering around and watching people before realizing that it was almost midnight and maybe we should go, you know, drink. (We also got a bit disillusioned by the whole street performer thing when we found a five-year-old girl whose parents had very obviously trained her to sing and play the guitar for money. We agreed with some random boy who muttered “That’s great parenting,” and then Anne told us that that very boy had gotten arrested his freshman year for beating his girlfriend. Sweet.) We met up with some friends at a bar a little farther down Pearl, and when we stepped in, it actually felt like a different world. “Sexy Can I” and “Please Don’t Stop the Music” were playing in the background, girls were wearing “labia skimmers,” or dresses that should have been shirts (a crime which I was accidentally guilty of on Saturday), and everything was all dark and trendy. The contrast between these people and the strung-out hippies selling lanyards that appeared to be made of their own dreadlocks was striking.
Like I said, Boulder’s a weird place. If you’ve never been, go. Tell Zip Code Guy I said hello.


[Posted by Mallory]

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Filed under adventures, blogging, dance, music