flat tires and fake eyelashes.

im not very lucky when it comes to cars. i don't think that i'm a bad driver (i mean, who really does though?) but have been told that i am. actually, in my very unscientific study (aka asking mom and dad) of who is the worst driver out of me, tracey, and michael, both said me, which says a lot considering that mike didn't quite pass driver's ed the first time and didn't get his license until his 18th bday, and tracey drives like she's practicing for the indy 500 obstacle course edition.

there was this one time i drove an ATV off a cliff in mexico,

and i did back into and severely dent lauren's dad's truck my first time solo behind the wheel,

and then a repeat performance with a lovely lady named althea in the walmart parking lot last year ($506.24 i'll never see again),

there was also my serious t-boning last february that basically totaled the poor liberty---but that was NOT my fault,

and then a few months ago when i ran out of gas in carmel,

and when the car practically broke down on 294 over christmas break.

see what i mean?

taking all that into account, yesterday's events were altogether unsurprising but nonetheless more than slightly irritating. i got a flat tire. this is not a big deal for someone that knows how to change a tire, however i am not not one of those people (which i learned is apparently very evident when the guy at the discount tire said "i'm thinking you didn't crawl on the pavement and change that, did you?" granted i was wearing fake eyelashes---more on that later---but he didn't need to be a bully about it). so i realized that the tire was dunzo when i parked at the gym, but was too annoyed to deal with it immediately so i just decided to work out first. lucky for me, none other than my knight in shining armor (aka zac) happened to be on the treadmill (which made me extra grateful for the little workout kick he's been on lately) and he graciously offered to change the tire for me and then proceeded to actually steal my keys from my jacket while i was on the elliptical and head out to the parking lot. i did feel a little guilty about working out while zac did my dirty work (not to mention that the memory of the two of us funneling gas into my empty tank with a starbucks cup was still pretty fresh), so i finally went out there to see how the project was progressing.

this is when i learned that zac had changed my flat tire to another flat tire. don't ask me why the spare was flat, but in a very anticlimactic finale to zac's effort i was actually still stuck in the same position i was in before. awesome.

i said something about just driving to a shop and paying to get it fixed before i was promptly admonished for my idiocy. apparently driving on flat tire is a big automotive faux pas. learn something new every day.

since zac's fraternity formal was just a few hours away and i needed to make myself look like a human, i decided just to let the jeep have a little sleepover in the gym parking lot and proceeded to commence getting ready while simultaneously drinking.

this morning when i woke up, not only did i kind of feel like i got hit in the head with a vodka hammer, but i was still wearing the fake eyelashes i had so carefully applied the night before. not really caring, and just deciding that today could be a "fancy day," i arranged for a tow truck to pick both me and my car up at the gym. as i made the hike to the car on foot, in my sweats, eating oatmeal with a plastic knife out of a hotbox pizza cup, i started to wonder how someone like me is going to function sans awkwardness in a grown-up world. i thought the same thing as i rode passenger through the butler campus next to jermaine, the giant driver of a giant yellow tow truck making small talk about potholes. it took all of my willpower not to lean out the window and shout "look at me! i'm riding a tow truck!" i refrained.

i had lots of time to think about how my quality of life would be it bettered should i learn how to change my own tire as i waited for the guys at dicount tire to do it for me. it was about right then that i became painfully aware of the fact that my fake eyelashes and my "kegsgiving 2009" t-shirt were a severe conflict of interest--- then again, not really, especially considering that i was sweating vodka. the guy at discount tire, as nice as he was, surely thought that i was hot mess barbie, and i was more than happy to take my keys and bolt the moment my name was called. on my way out i was given a little keepsake: a little silver thing that i initially thought was a pen, but now believe is some kind of tool that is used on a tire. i will do some research and report back on said mystery tool.

this, my friends, is an example of how to get your flat tire fixed in the most cub style* way possible.

*cub style: a phrase coined by tracey that has come to signify an adjective used to describe a situation or thing that is embarrassing midwestern, jank, and all-around scrappy.

home sweet home.

with graduation quickly approaching, it has just begun to sink in that i am finally done living my life in semesters, travelling from living situation to living situation based on the time of year. as i started to think about where the hell im going to be living come june (most likely in a box under lower wacker), i also began thinking about the end of my nomadic adventure these past few years, and of what really makes a place a home. for me that definition tends to change with the seasons. sometimes it is where my family is, sometimes it is where my school is, sometimes its just for a few days or even hours.

there is, of course, my homebase: the kitchen in lagrange, sitting on the counters eating popcorn with the girls:

 then there's my 2nd home with the beach family in miller:

there was a yearlong stint in the luxurious ross hall freshman year:

then a year at alpha chi that i'll never get back:

then there's always my home-away-from-home at suzy's:

fall of junior year it was at pili's piso in spain:

plus a few days at tom and judy's in switzerland (hi carly!):

as well as an afternoon at a traditional berber house in morroco:

then approximately 15 min at obama's house this summer:

a few drunken nights at krissy's IU pad over the past few semesters:

10 days this summer on "the island" also known as terra's key (dad=living his very own margaritaville dream):

then of course there is my current residence in naptown with my lovely roomies:

 

where to next, you ask?

i'll be crashing tracey's paris digs (aka "the puppy pen") in may 2010 before retreating to the basement my mom's house until i can find myself a nice little sketchy studio apartment in chicity. here goes nothing.

lindy comes to indy.

mom dropped in for the weekend to fulfill a rite of passage as the parent of a butler student---to attend a basketball game in the old-as-dirt but nontheless historic hinkle field house. since the game was saturday morning mom came in on friday afternoon. after a very unsatisfying skype date with trac we did a late lunch then shopped around broad ripple and spent moms hard earned money (thanks for the new shoes!!!) we lounged at suzys, and by lounged i mean experienced how it must feel to live in a humane society thanks to the group of dogs she is currently sitting, before heading over to brugge where we ate our body weight in mussels and pomme frites.

the next day was the game, which was quite the experience. mom and i sat with zac (looking very dapper in his snowcoming prince sash) then the three of us went to lunch afterwards. i have to say that overall the day was highly educational as the three of us seem to be quite the experts on knowing a lot about nothing important, and nothing about anything important. heres the wisdom we acquired in just a few short hours:

-basketball games have two halves, not four quarters. i figured this one out.

-apparently we were supposed to wear white to the game. oops, missed that memo. very few others did. awkward.

-cheerleading is like dancing. thanks mom.

-lebanon is in the middle east. thanks zac.

-golden raisins look like boogers. and vice versa.

-what sebum is. and what the tech term for earwax is. except i dont remember. if you really want to know, you can ask chacha cause thats what we did. during lunch. sick.

-apparently i am anemic. thank you tag team mom and zac for diagnosing this in the car outside of starbucks by telling me that my lips are purple then asking me to pull my eyelid down so you can see how pale it is. very scientific and official. forgive me if i want a second opinion.

-there is no need to get married, or even date, as long as you can find a sponsor, you know, like someone to buy you shit. this was a group concensus.

here's to parents who impart the real necessary life skills. love you mom.

cheetah woods.

as i type this, i am watching tiger woods' very overly rehearsed press conference apology, and i cant decided if i want to cringe or laugh or feel sympathetic or disgusted. needless to say, im uncomfortable.

heres the thing: both figuratively and statistically, tiger woods is golf. after this little speech he will inevitably return to sport success, and eventually this incident will be brushed under the rug. americans love a comeback. something tells me that once the news of his douchebagness gets stale that tiger is going to be looked at as even more of a hero for being able to overcome this "trauma" and rise back to the top. im sure he'll have his endorsements reinstated, and he'll go back to his golden boy status.

why is this ok? is cheating so commonplace now that its just a part of life that we experience and move on from? color me cynical, but im beginning to think so.

despite being painfully scripted, i felt like his apology was genuine, and im glad that he acknowledged the fact that he is a selfish and spoiled little superstar (and apparently a mama's boy---did you see that 80987987 minute long mother-son hug after the speech?) who felt entitled to reward his successes with self indulgent sexcapades with mediocre looking golddiggers who probably own both a bump-it and a booty pop.

when it comes down to it, cheetah's personal life has nothing to do with the game of golf as long as he still shows up to play. is it the fault of the american public for being so obsessed with celebrity that we make their personal lives such an intertwined part of their work? maybe, but its the nature of the beast. in his defense, most cheating losers dont get punished in the form of national tabloid slander for their infidelity. so do we let him slide?

as much as i want to say no, something tells me that the public will share a different sentiment. americans have a very short attention span, and the next inevitable celebrity hot mess will provide an adequate distraction from this soon to be insignificant scandal. ive got my bet on a brangenlina breakup. i guess tiger should keep his fingers crossed.

questions im pondering.

• why does liking cats come with such a stigma? this woman is completely normal:
  
  why is tracey gma's favorite?

who thought of the etrade commercials with the babies talking like adults, and can we be friends?

• is falling for guys with girlfriends a medical disorder, and if so, where can i be diagnosed?
  
  
• technically speaking, isnt starbucks charging me extra for soy milk discrimination against lactose intolerance?
  
  
• does one twin resent their fellow twin on their birthday for stealing their thunder? (thinking about this because it whyt and chlo's bday, or chlo and whyt's bday--gotta be fair)
  
  
• why do people think i wont notice if they use my toothpaste when they dont squeeze it from the bottom?
  
  
• will anyone come visit me when i am living in a box on lower wacker?
  
  
• how come america has not created wine juice boxes? jump on the euro bandwagon loser country.
  
  
• what the hell is up with the taco bell diet? when i first saw that commercial i thought it was a play off of the scene from mean girls=clever. the fact that it was in fact legit=not clever.
  
  
• where do i sign up to become part of the cast of the real housewives of orange county?
  
  
• if i see the same people at the gym all the time and think "why are they always here" shouldnt i be asking myself that same question?
  
  
• what exactly is a marshmallow?
  
  
• whatever happened to james van der beek?
  
  
• is anyone reading this?

correspondence.

This post was inspired by the above facebook status from last week. there are issues that need to be addressed in writing.

dear tara,

im sorry i made the house smell like an indian restaurant on valentines day even though i knew you were having a romantic dinner with your boyfriend later in the evening. well, actually i kind of did it on purpose, but im sorry now.

love, shelley

dear sports marketing group,

i want you to know that i think you are all extremely incompetent, and i am looking forward to doing the majority of this project and then sharing my A with you.

love, shelley

dear electric blanket,

i love you. you are the greatest purchase i have ever made, even if sometimes i do think you are going to spontaneously combust.

love shelley

dear shelley,

i owe you an apology for being such a gleeky hypocrite. i am sorry that i got on my high horse about how much i hate glee and dont ever want anything to do with it, but then i asked you to watch a marathon of the first season with me and shushed you whenever you talked. glee rocks. you were right, i was wrong.

love, zac

dear jake from the bachelor,

you are a douchebag, and vienna is a vapid whore. good luck trying to make that hot mess of a "relationship" work for longer than 20 minutes, meanwhile, ill will be rolling in the dough i am making from picking facebook over you and planning my comeback as the next bachelorette. sucks to suck.

love, ali

dear dad,

im sorry that every other time i call you its because im having a mental breakdown. mom's just not very understanding.

love, shelley

dear FDA,

you are a dirty pirate hooker. you are skewing nutrition science and regulations so that while we are getting more health knowledge we are getting less access to actual healthy food and are therefore turning into future contestants for the biggest loser. stop the cornography, you little greedy bastard.

love, the american public

dear family,

just so that were clear, im gonna go ahead and keep doing whatever the hell i want. that will mostly include sleeping and eating, but i might occassionally kill a small animal and leave it for you to find in the lawn. just wanted to be sure were on the same page.

love, tiger

ps: please stop calling me fatty and joking about my bulemia because it makes me really insecure. thanks.

dear washington dc,

were sorry we were so cub style when we visited this summer. not really though. you liked it.

love, shelley and tracey

dear trader joes,

i am obsessed with you. if there is a human trader joe, i want to date him. please tell him to facebook me.

love, shelley

dear LOST writers,

are you on crack? were confused.

love, every single LOST fan, except, apparently, michael johnsen

ahhh, i feel much better now, dont you?

swabbing the decks.

i consider myself a fairly tidy person, but i really dislike cleaning. dont get me wrong, i dont mind "straightening up," but im not a huge fan of putting elbow grease behind the effort, probably because i like the instant gratification of an organized stack of papers much more than a desk top that looks the same both before and after I wiped it off with an orphan sock. needless to say that while my living spaces may appear "tidy," in reality they are pretty dirty. filthy actually. case in point, this morning became "dead of winter cleaning day." i began this endeavor really gung-ho about the whole thing, but as i found myself crouching in bathtub getting high on the bleachy fumes, the enthusiasm started to fade. there is something about scrubbing, sweeping, and vacuuming that make me feel like a martyr. i equate this sentiment to what i have named "cinderella syndrome"---that cleaning is something you do because an evil stepmother demands it of you and you cannot escape the task until you finally become a princess and never have to do it again. think about it: in many a disney fairytale there is some tragic maid that is forced to spend her days scrubbing or fetching well water until she is swept off her feet to her better, choreless life. at least these chicks have the luxury of singing while they toil away (and of course the help of their trusty animal friends), whereas i couldnt even do that since my roommates were still sleeping (not to mention there is a shortage of sheet-folding canaries here in indy---although i am fairly certain that there is a mouse somewhere under the kitchen sink...)

today i fixed the doorknob.

sooooooooooo..........

today i ate an entire bag of dove chocolates in lieu of meals as some sort of pre-valentines day food therapy session. if that werent tragic enough, i read every single one of those stupid "promises" on the wrappers, and really they just started to make me feel bad about myself. there was one i liked: "success is a culmination of small achievements."

so my doorknob to my room has been wobbly for a good couple months now. this morning i found a screwdriver in my desk drawer, and i fixed it. small achievement.

after i put the screwdriver back in my desk i saw this pile of books that has been sitting there collecting dust, so i took them to the half priced bookstore and sold them for $9.50. small achievement.

i was feeling pretty bad thinking about being single, but i made a really beautiful valentine for the most important guy in my life right now---zac---the best part being that he actually appreciates a solid effort in craftiness. i also managed to make contact with every single member of immediate fam and lauren (who is family lets be honest). small achievement.

i used part of my book earnings to buy a bottle of organic wine that i plan on killing tomorrow. small (but important) achievement.

culmination of small achievements=success.

happy valentines day everybody.