do you know the muffin man?

So in keeping with my red light day / green light day theory, please contemplate the following scenario.

I was having about 50-50 luck with stop lights on my morning stroll to work. I pass a young-ish man with a bag of little muffins, or magdalenas, who had dropped a couple on the sidewalk. He picks them back up and, just when I think he was going to throw them out, he unwraps one to eat it anyway. I do a mental shrug, because hey- who am I to criticize adherence to the five-second rule? I continue on my merry way.

The muffin man and I meet once again at a red light (bad sign!), where he proceeds to unwrap another muffin. He pops it in his mouth and, instead of utilizing the garbage can perched a mere 3 inches to his left, he FLINGS the paper muffin wrapper at my face - yes, at my face - and walks off in an angry huff.

I was speechless.

traffic signals

Everybody gets their share of good and bad days thrown at them; but you've got to just grab your bat, stroll up to home plate and prepare to receive your destined hodgepodge of tricky curveballs and easy lobs. By 9:30 am, I already know exactly what kind of pitch is going to be thrown my way. I simply accept and proceed because, as we all know, some days you're the windshield and some days you're unfortunately the flittering bug who doesn't see the 18-wheeler cruising down the highway.

Granted, while a lifetime without bad days certainly doesn't sound all that unattractive, without those "shove you down the stairs then kick you in the gut" days, the good days wouldn't stand out... or even exist, for that matter. Just as there are no heroes without villains and no big without small, there are no good days without their tempermental counterparts. You would be doomed to a life in which your mood never shifts out of "indifference" gear and, while you'd sure as hell cry less, you'd inevitably smile less to. The only smiles would end up being the polite ones you use with the supermarket cashier or when you and the person walking in the opposite direction try to side step each other but you both go left. Genuine smiles would be shoved into the bottom drawer and doomed to a life of fraternizing with useless small-talk, old varsity letters and clothes that don't fit. Life would cruise on autopilot and the world would be pretty damn boring.

So just how is it that, within an hour of being awake, I already know whether it's going to be a good day or a bad one? The answer is: traffic lights.

Each morning, I set out for the uneventful 10-minute trek to work. I take the exact same route, I pass the exact same buildings and even see the exact same people heading to their daily AM destinations. The only thing that varies from morning to morning is my luck with traffic lights. By the time I get to work, there are two possible outcomes, one of which consequently determines the day's tone. I either 1) cruise through all the green lights, or 2) hit every. single. red. light.

A sample green light day
The walk takes 10 minutes- all green lights. The fruit guy tosses you a smile and a free apple. The five hours until lunch fly by, propelled by superhuman productivity. Nobody hassles you. Somebody brings in cookies for their birthday. Your favorite songs pop up on your Ipod. You joke around with coworkers. You find a Reeses Peanut Butter cup that you thought you had already eaten. You go to the gym; all the machines work and the gym is practically empty. If you take the metro, it glides to a stop just as you reach the platform. You get home- someone sent you a letter! A good movie comes on tv. Perez Hilton has written a slew of exciting gossip updates. The sun shines, birds sing, elderly couples hold hands, babies giggle.

A sample red light day
Having been stopped at every red light, the walk takes 15+ minutes. You trip on a cobblestone. You arrive late to work. Your pen runs out of ink. The morning drags its feet like a turtle on downers. Lunch comes around; you realize you left your lunch on the counter at home. Along with your wallet. You scrounge up enough change at the bottom of your bag to purchase a diet coke; it explodes. Your Ipod runs out of juice and you're forced to listen to the radio station replay the same 5 songs. You make it through the day. You go to the gym; your preferred machines are broken and the resulting lines delay workout by 1/2 hour. You lose gym locker key. You spend 10 minutes walking around the gym scouring the floor for a silver glint. You find it, grab your belongings and walk out door. Surprise- unexpected rain storm! You decide to take the metro; you hear it leaving as you pass through the turnstile. The apartment building door won't open. There's no interesting gossip in the celebrity world. Children cry, dogs howl, car alarms go off, Satan chuckles.

lunchtime boredom

1. Where were you an hour ago?
exactly where i am now. the work day doesn't tend to be very mobile, though i do have wheels on my chair

2. Who will be your next kiss?
my reflection in the mirror... then again, if i'm feeling generous i may share the wealth. i love feigning narcissism

[wheres #3?]

4. Are you wearing socks right now?
yes. white ankle socks with my checkered vans slip-on shoes. i am the epitome of european chic

5. When was the last time you went out of the state?
i think the more appropriate question is actually when was the last time i was IN the state

6. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days?
yes... german movie with spanish subtitles = fun with languages!

7. What was the last thing you had to drink?
coffeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

8. What are you wearing right now?
a very exciting jeans & brown shirt combo. the day that i get a job that requires me to actually wear grown-up clothes, i'm going to be screwed

9. What was your last purchase?
cookies... breakfast of champions

10. Last food you ate?
see #9

11. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?
miss sarah b

12. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
nope... waiting until elaine "shoe fiend" mattern gets here

13. Do you have a pet?
doggies beaux-jangles, lucky & sadie, cat k.c...... & the spirits of dog winston, hamster peanut, fish bob (his name foretold his fate), kitty pumpkin, dog maggie & fish jesus. pets are rad.

14. What's the last sporting event you watched?
alfonso & salva being super-manly and wrestling

15. How much sex have you had in the past week?
gasp! well that's awfully forward of you

16. If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?
i'd take either a) upon the sandy shores of a caribbean island or b) back in bed. or maybe testing my luck and retail knowledge on The Price is Right. you choose

17. What is the last thing you purchased online?
a "cats that look like hitler" mug for allison. totally worth it.

18. One thing you hate about yourself?
my inability to do the clamshell thing with my tongue. that and maybe excessive laziness and lack of professional ambition... although the latter two don't bother me nearly as much as they should

19. What's your favorite soup?:
progresso chicken noodle all the way. or tomato basil. or cream of broccoli. i want soup.

20. Do you miss anyone?
yes, especially the fam (sniff, sniff)

21. Last play you saw?
well i saw ALL the plays of the first quarter of the superbowl.. do those count?

22. What are your plans for the day?
to change the world... one webpage at a time

23. Ever go to camp?
girl scout camp. but i was an 8 year old insomniac and my best friend started snoring next to me. i couldn't fall asleep, started crying and made my mom come pick me up. laaaaame

25. Were you an honor roll student in school?
of COURSE... those donut breakfasts they gave us after the honor roll "ceremonies(?)" were totally worth not going to physics

26. What do you want to know about the future?
when full meals start coming in pill form, will full exercise regiments come in pill form too?

27. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne?
negative

28. Where are your best friends located?
an ocean away... but mark comes in 3 weeks!!! :o)

29. Do you have a tan?
i think i've had a tan exactly once in my life. i generally glow under a black light

30. How old do you want to be when you have kids?
shudder... gag... shudder... i'm currently gearing up to care for my first Chia Pet-like plant thingee (it's a piggy from Angel's trip to Singapore), so let's just leave it at that

31. Last person who made you cry?
i cried from laughing too hard the other day... at myself for saying some smug smart-ass comment and then turning around and walking directly into a pole.

32. Do you have any tattoos or piercings?
4 piercings and 1 scar

32. Have you ever drank your soda pop from a straw?
i love straws.

33. How do you like your soda pop?
are we really calling it soda pop? am i wearing a poodle skirt?

34. Do you like hot sauce?
"it tastes like burning" -ralph wiggum

35. Next time you'll take a shower?
tonight, after my hypothetical gym sweat fest

37. What is your mood?
meh (indifferent)

38. Are you someone’s best friend?
i like to think so

39.What do you want for valentine's day?
pshhh...the easter bunny is way cooler than cupid

40. What are you doing right now?
eating a salad and wanting more cookies

this just in...

***Update***

So we're getting a second webmaster tomorrow, which is good. But, because it's a girl, my crazy boss - and head webmaster - is referring to her in all seriousness as the "webmastress." The term cracks me up but also makes me feel once again like I'm associating with technologically advanced medieval characters.

my guilty pleasures

-Little Mermaid. Whenever I had a bad day in college, my go-to remedy was to just pop my old school Little Mermaid tape into my old school VCR, nestle into my top bunk and prepare to recite the lines, belt out the songs (off-key, of course) and swoon over that dreamy Prince Eric. Hubba hubba.

-Caffeine. I love it, I need it, I crave it. End of story.

-Chips and fries. Whether crunchy and rippled or golden, crispy and soft, if it's a potato product (deep-fried in a vat of grease, naturally) that I can eat by the handful, then it figures into this list. Actually, if they're mashed I can make a potato volcano and hell- who doesn't like to reenact the destruction of Pompeii with butter lava and a doomed and unsuspecting pile of peas. Mwa ha ha.

-Jeans. Now, this in no way means that I own half a million pairs of jeans. In fact, I own two. However, since I rotate between the same two trusty pairs, I've come to the conclusion over the past year or two that spending a li'l extra for a good brand and a pair that you really like is worth not eating for a week.

-Porn. I don't know how I'd ever get through a whole day without some hard-core, whip-wielding... jusssssst kidding Dad.

-Facebook and MySpace. I like to stalk, and I'm not embarrassed about it. By the way, if you have your MySpace set to private, you're on my shit list. (Insert angry growl)

-Celebrity gossip blogs. Good god, I'm hooked. During college, I scoffed and rolled my eyes at Deana's subscription to Us Weekly and her non-stop chatter about the lives of LA's finest. Today, I could easily get you all up to date on who's dating (Whitney Houston and Brandy's little brother!), who's pregnant (Bridget Moynihan, ex-girlfriend of Patriots hottie Tom Brady, is 3 months preggers with an itty-bitty-Brady... I guess from one last pre-breakup romp in the hay) and who is in rehab (well, the now bald trainwreck otherwise known as Britney Spears was in rehab for less than a day). Don't even get me started with the Anna Nicole debacle.

***update: Brit-Brit is BACK in rehab
***update #2: Brit-Brit checked OUT of rehab again

-Bookstores. Ok, so reading is good for you so I guess there's technically no reason to classify visiting bookstores as a guilty pleasure. Even so, get me into a Barnes & Noble or a Borders and I can easily occupy myself for hours reading book covers... and subsequently doing some pretty serious damage to my bank account. Over Christmas break, I spent well over $100 in books and earned some major points on my Borders rewards card.

-Tom Jones. Cheesy, yes. In love with his own chest hair, definitely. However, nothing puts a smile on my face quite like a little "What's New Pussycat (whoa whoa whoaaaa)" or "Sex Bomb." Plus, without Tom Jones there would be no Carlton dance, and that would be a true television tragedy.

-Chocolate. I'm a girl... it's an inherent part of having two X chromosomes.

-Days of Our Lives. I hate the concept of a soap opera and I hate the idea of obese middle-aged women sitting home in their floral-printed muumuus and completely losing touch with reality by getting way too involved in the lives of fictional characters. Yet whenever I'm home I inevitably gravitate to the tv at that 1:00 mark to find out who on Days of Our Lives has been killed / been kidnapped / had a baby / come back to life / had a scandalous affair / lost their memory / found out that their lover is actually their sister and therefore that their son is actually their own half brother... and so forth and so on.

-Breakfast Club, Dirty Dancing, & Co. The kick-ass music brings you back to your childhood; the characters and storylines make you feel warm and happy inside; and the hair and clothing trends of the 80's make you feel stylish.

The Greatest Show on Earth!

Us Americans know that the beloved comic strip "Family Circus" - about a family with a gaggle of mischievous young'uns - is a permanent fixture in daily newspapers across the United States... and has been for 40 or 50 years.

Well, if they ever want to give the comic strip a modern update, I think my work environment is a virtual jackpot of material. It would be like Family Circus meets The Office. In fact, Rachel, my fellow American text writer, and I have decided that we should set up a slew of cameras throughout the office to capture the daily shenanigans for the enjoyment of the general public.

Now, while the whole "keep it in the family" approach to a business has gone back centuries and while I'm sure there are few things that please a parent more than for his offspring to proudly take the reins and carry the family mattress business into the future, a family-run business can easily take a turn and morph into a full-fledged circus. A full-fledged family circus, that is.

In the case of the company I work for, we are without a doubt referring to the latter category.

First we've got the founder/owner/head honcho (Antonio) who randomly appears in the office - between trips to Ibiza, that is - who goes from department to department exclaiming various matters to be "urgente! urgente!" when it turns out that nothing actually is. Two days ago, for example, he did his "urgente" spiel for a minor adjustment to a newsletter or something. Everyone dropped whatever they were doing, seeing as how it was something of "urgente!" nature. Needless to say, he then didn't send the newsletter out for another two days. Urgente my ass, I say.

Then there's his brother / internet guy / personal bitch (Alejandro) who has crazy techno blasting at full volume whenever his phone rings 8 rooms away. He randomly launches into full sprints, his head tucked down and his arms pumping back and forth like a steam engine, throughout the office while yelling into his phone... often to his parents, who call incessantly for no particular reason, especially considering the fact that he is in his upper 30's and still lives with them. One of my favorite workplace memories thus far is the day his mom called 6 times within one hour and Alejandro refused to pick up. Finally, he picks up the phone for approximately 3.2 seconds and, just before hanging up with a resounding slam, he belted out "I can't talk Mom!"

It was BRILLIANT! (Guinness voice)

Their 400 year old father, who I secretly call Mr Turtle (shh don't tell), wanders through the building looking like a lost kid. He just shuffles around with a random folder or clipboard in his hands, poking his head into rooms and looking around without actually saying hi to any of the people stops to stare at. Meanwhile, their crazy red-caped mother busts into the office out of breath to, for example, spatter the contents of her brand new vial of holy water ("oooh it's from Fátima!!") throughout the office and on to its unsuspecting employees. Throw in a good 8 or 9 thousand squabbling in-laws occupying various executive positions, and voila! Family Circus par excellence.

Whenever Antonio wants us (the lamely-named "E-Team" or just the two of us text writers) to get something "urgente, urgente" done or change something on one of the various websites, he insists on relaying the word through Sandy- my eccentric, scatterbrained French boss and company "Webmasterrrr" who, by the way, speaks neither Spanish nor English to any distinguishable degree. Our weekly meetings are often QUITE interesting. The emails go through Sandy even when Sandy is, for example, in Philadelphia and Antonio is two rooms away from us. Sandy, in turn, then sends us a handful of completely unintelligible emails, which a) confuse everyone and b) force us to ask Antonio what it is he actually wants, thus making the whole cross-Atlantic correspondance between Sandy and Antonio completely pointless.

Yet, the cycle repeats itself again and again. And again. Annnnnd again.

east lyme's main attractions

Aside from my family, friends and menagerie of loveable pets, my absolute favorite thing in East Lyme is essentially little more than an old tree branch.

Clearly I'm not too hard to please. (Let's keep that comment G-rated, mmmkay?)

Sure, I look forward to stopping in for a nibble at my favorite breakfast and lunch niches when I'm in town, but nothing pleases me more than to go out for a drive past... the turtle log. Well, that and maybe a double scoop of Michael's Dairy ice cream with my fellow ice cream-loving Matterns (cough, cough.. you know who you are). It's in the genes.

On the drive from my part of town towards the bustling action of our so-called "down town," you inevitably pass a big ole pond with an old, fallen tree branch that sticks up out of the water. Now this isn't any old hunk of wood. I'm surprised we don't have postcards of it. Then again, maybe we do. It has become an East Lyme landmark, which I'm sure would just thrill Mr Thomas Lee (the Thomas Lee House was built in 1660 and, by East Lyme standards, is a pretty big deal).

On sunny days, this seemingly simple log becomes the hip hang out for a hoard of tiny turtles just lookin for a little low-key fun in the sun. I don't know how many times I've almost driven right into the pond as I "awwww, lookie!" at the little guys with their wee heads poking out of their wee shells.

If East Lyme ever gets rid of the turtle log like they are doing with the Shack (insert solemn moment of silence for my favorite breakfast place), y'all are going to have to deal with one bitter, bitter Betsey.

versión original

When it comes to the cinematic arts, I am a self-proclaimed snob. And I don't mean in the "oh look at me. I wear all black and have funky eyeglasses and speak in monotone and only shop in organic grocery stores and only watch artsy films in independent film theaters " way. No, no, no. I'm way too much of a goof to get myself involved in that world. Plus, I thrive on celebrity gossip and I think that'd be way too mainstream for them.

The jist of it is just that I can't stand dubbed movies. With the exception of cartoons, watching an American movie dubbed into Spanish (or vice versa) is like putting yourself through a multilingual ventriloquism act in which the ventriloquist and his puppet friend never quite seem to be surfing on the same wave. A voiceless mouth moves and then a mouthless voice speaks, but they just can't ever seem to coincide. Everything is a half-beat off, the pubescent voice just doesn't match the beefy actor and, like fat kids at military boot camp, the jokes just don't quite make it over that tricky language barrier.

Needless to say, I insist on going to the theaters that show movies in "versión original," ie in their original language.

However, shouldn't I be more sympathetic to them? Is it hypocritical of me to reject dubbed movies so much if technically I am the personification of one? To the best of my mediocre abilities (I love self deprecation), I dub my words, my jokes and my mannerisms into Spanish, but in the end does my personality really make it across or do I just subconsciously create a new, slightly modified version of me?

Ohhh Elaine...

Disclaimer: My sister is one of my best friends and we get along wonderfully. I lurve her to death and can't wait until she comes to Spain to play. That said, read on.

Growing up, my brother, my sister and I all had what could be defined as "roles" or "personality types." I have always been the mellow sarcastic one, my brother was traditionally the moody-broody one, and my sister has been and always will be the dramatic one.

In the photo is my 20 (or, according to the identification she is carrying at a given time, sometimes 24) year old sister. She looks like an all-American girl straight out of a wholesome small town lifestyle. If you were to create a little profile about her based solely upon first appearances, you'd probably go for the "attractive, intelligent, fun person, nice personality, good sense of humor, all around great person" route. Oh how naive and mistaken you would be...

I find that Elaine's existence can be more or less summed up by a scene from the cinematic gem "Mean Girls," starring Hollywood mess Lindsay Lohan. The referenced scene to which I refer is towards the end when Regina (aka Rachel McAdams) finds out that Lindsay Lohan's "Cady with a C" character had been giving her fattening energy bars instead of diet bars, thus causing her to gain 15 pounds right before the school's annual and highly anticipated Spring Fling dance. Stomping around and wielding a pair of scissors, Regina proceeds to shriek violently for the next five minutes of the film.

For much of my life, I was fully convinced that my sister suffered from a psychological disorder that required heavy medication... possibly to the point of sedation and brain-shock therapy. There was no middle ground with her. Elaine had exactly two modes: she was either asleep (mildly content) or awake (angrily psychotic). She fit the description of bipolarism to a tee, and I remember actually insisting to at least one of my parents that we needed to stage an intervention and get her into some psychological clinic for testing and observation, albeit against her will and despite the inevitable fact that she would try to fight back with her fangs and talons.

Trying to engage in any sort of conversation was like awakening an evil god from a 1,000-year slumber deep in the dark abysses of the underworld. The following are true life examples. If you were both sitting on the couch, and your pinky toe happened to be touching "her side," she'd scream at you. If you told her - after a volleyball game in which her team had won - that she/the team played well, she'd scream at you. If you asked her to grab a napkin from the counter right behind her chair at dinner, she'd scream at you. I once told her she had too much eyeliner on, and she screamed at me. If my mother even made a move that suggested she was going to speak, she'd scream at her. If you asked her if she wanted some of your ice cream sundae, she'd scream at you.

Following such an outburst, most typically while the rest of us attempted to enjoy a nice meal, she'd get angrier with each passing moment until the following sequence of events occurred:

• The following sound, first a deep rumbling in her throat before emerging as a full-blown shriek out of her mouth: "Ahhhghhghghhhrgggiiiiiiahhhhh!!!!"
• She would stomp up to her room, screaming as she went
• She'd slam her door
• She'd open her door again to scream out one more "I HATE YOU! Ahhhghghhhgriiiahhhhh!!!"
• She'd stomp around her room and throw objects against the door.
• She'd blast her "I'm angry" music at top volume.
• She'd plan her next angry letter to us all about how abused and tortured she was.
• She'd emit an assortment of shrieks, growls and other sounds that I assumed to be vocal yet sounded as though a scene straight from the Exorcist was transpiring within the confines of her room.
  

One of the worst possible things you could to yourself do was to end up in a situation that involved you and Elaine in a confined space with no bars, electric wire or other protective precautions separating you from "the beast"... in a car, for example. Once, Elaine's bitch button was switched on (ie she was awake) and started going off on anyone who was fortunate enough to be partaking in that same car ride. Under his breath, my brother muttered "psycho," clearly not a wise decision on his part. Seething with rage and with the vein in her forehead visibly pounding, she replied, in escalating decibal levels, "I.. am not... A...PSYCHO!!!"to which my exasperated brother could only respond "Look at her!" The high-pitched screaming that ensued cracked the windows and there has been an incessant ringing in our ears ever since that specialists have been unable to cure. For obvious reasons, this is one of our most referenced family stories.

For some reason, my mom voluntarily endured the psychological abuse thrown at her by my sister by continuing to go to Elaine's volleyball and lacrosse games. At said athletic events, cheery parents would come up to us - namely up to my mom - just to tell us how much their daughter just loved Elaine. How Elaine was just so gosh-darn nice-helpful-funny-interesting-thoughtful-caring. We'd naturally look behind us to see to whom this smiling parent was actually speaking. Seeing that we were alone and that this parent was indeed talking about Elaine, we'd think dumbfoundedly to ourselves, "her?"