Wednesday's Song of the Week

I love Peter Bjorn and John. I enjoy them so much that if I had triplets right now I'd seriously consider naming them Peter, Bjorn, and John because I like the ring of it that much. It's sort of like Peter Paul and Mary minus the whole Puff the Magic Dragon thing, which is kind of creepy, frankly, I don't care how much you loved that imaginary dragon when you were five. I'm also not sure why the idea of triplets popped into my head right now. It's probably because I had another dream that I was pregnant last night, which seems to be happening in alarming frequency now that the wedding is coming up. The worst part is in my dreams, I never realize I'm pregnant until I'm walking down the aisle or getting ready to put on my wedding dress and all of a sudden I look down and I've got this huge basketball-sized stomach and I'm all, "holy shit I'm pregnant." And everyone else is like "how the hell did THAT happen?" as if they don't know about the whole P in V thing, and I kind of just shrug because now is not the time for biology class. And then I panic because first of all, my dress does NOT work with pregnant belly, and two, I have been drinking a lot over the past nine months and now this baby is definitely going to have some problems and it's all my fault.

ANYWAY. A lot of people nodded their heads in approval when "Young Folks" hit the popular music scene a couple of years ago, but Peter Bjorn and John have been releasing a relatively steady stream of albums that proves that they are, in fact, fecking awesome. And perhaps best of all? They seem like damn funny guys.



HOLY SHIT, YA'LL IT'S A TWO-FER. LET'S GO CRAZY, SHALL WE?

Winning on Yellaphant is kind of like winning the lottery

Picking contest winners gets me all giddy. Every time a number gets pulled from the hat, otherwise known as random.org, my stomach does a little flip and I usually start clapping and B's all what are you clapping at are you okay do you need some water? And I'm all IT'S PRESENNTSSSS kind of like that dog that runs around yelling for bacon in that commercial, because giving presents is SO FUN.

If I ever got to be one of those people that pulls up the winning lottery balls, I'd jump up and down and squeel every time a number came up because SEVEENN ooohh someone out there's got a seven TWO oh my god who's got seven, two, NINE holy gah someone's gonna win lots of MONIESSS, which is probably illegal because why else would those people be so emotionless when they're potentially giving out MILLIONS of dollars every night? The suspense would just kill me. And then I'd probably do my model walk and give a little wink just in case someone important was watching, like a movie director. Or your dad.

Anyway, today I'm going to announce the winner of the $20 gift certificate to Sheila's Inspired Designs. Choosing today's winner was easy because it was NUMBER ONE. That's you, Hillary! Hooray, Hillary! I didn't even have to COUNT, which is awesome.

If you didn't win, stop crying, pick yourself up off the floor, and don't let today be your last trip to Sheila's shop. Have a friend's birthday coming up?


BOOM you're done. Your sister is graduating?

Let me make it easy for you. You just want to treat yourself because treating yourself is awesome? Here you go.

You're welcome.

And of course, a huge thank you to Sheila for flaunting her stuff. I'm sorry about that time I set my brother's room on fire while you were babysitting us.

As always, if you do stuff with things and whatever and you want to be a Yellaphant Featured Artist, send me an e-mail. I swear it's not contagious.

On totally NOT dying at the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon

FIRST PLACE FIRST PLACE FIRST PLACE WOOT WOOT WOOT. I'm sorry, I've gotten ahead of myself. On Sunday, my mom and I competed in our first triathlon ever. And remember back in January when I was all I have an announcement, I'm going to drown myself in July? Only I didn't really FEEL like dying, which is why I started swimming once a week so I COULD do a triathlon without drowning?

Well anyway, we've been training for a while now for the Philadelphia Women's Triathlon. The running and biking? Pff. No problem. But the swim? In the Schuylkill River? We were going to need a lot of practice. Which is why we started in January. Since JANUARY we have been swimming every week in the town's public high school's pool and you don't even wanna know about the hairballs I saw on the bottom of THAT pool for this triathlon.

So by Sunday, we were about as ready as we were going to be. And by that I mean we were fairly confident we wouldn't die on the course, but that's about it. Only when we got to the starting point the morning of the race, they had decided to CANCEL the swimming portion because a bad storm in Philadelphia on Saturday night had filled with river with all sorts of debris like tree limbs and garbage and old tires and I think there was a dead cat. Disappointing, to say the least.

Instead, we would be running 1.9 miles, biking 17 miles, and then running another 3.1 miles. But don't worry, they assured us, this course would be even HARDER than it would have been with the swimming. But you know what? We totally didn't die. We tore it up. TORE. IT. UP.

My mom and I came in first place in the mother-daughter category, and my mom placed third overall in her age group. I won't tell you how old she is but it rhymes with shmifty shmour she's 30 years older than me she looks 35. But I am SO proud of her.


We didn't get to swim, but we still had an awesome time and helloooo, everything's awesome when you win. Now we just have to do another first triathlon so we can take care of that swimming thing. But already my super competitive streak has taken over and I am out for blood. When we got home, I spent some time Googling upcoming triathlons. And after years of being all oh we aren't competing, we just want to finish. Oh no, we just race to have fun. Blah blah blah. Now I'm all bring it ON because I will run you into the GROUND.

B's mom had always told me about a triathlon that takes place near their town in Massachusetts in June and how all the ladies of the town get uber competitive with each other and talk some major smack while they snap on their bike helmets and I was always, oh no no I will not be participating in any of that nonsense. But then after yesterday, I spent last night drawing EAT MY DIRT, BITCHES in big block letters on the back of a t-shirt that I plan on wearing to that triathlon next summer. It's gonna be awesome.

True lurve on campus (part 3): The birthday special

With the wedding coming up quickly -- 11 weeks to go -- I've been doing some thinking about everything that has happened in between the night B and I had our first date almost four years ago and today. All the things that have changed, and more importantly, the one thing that has stayed the same. You can catch up here.

It was now mid October and B and I were great friends. But that was it. And it was driving me insane. The air was growing cooler, but the electricity between us so hot it was shocking. We talked every day. Grabbed lunch after class. And went record shopping, digging through stacks of dusty music together.

I spent a few evenings a week working in the school's darkroom, where I would monitor the chemicals and get some of my own photography work done at the same time. I loved those quiet nights, the smell of developing chemicals seeped deep into my skin. In most cases, it was just me in there, alone with the soft buzz of the dim orange lights. But recently B had started visiting me.

When he walked into the darkroom office for the first time, emerging from the unlit hallway, my heart skipped a beat. Holy shit, every darkroom fantasy I'd ever had was about to come true. Hands grasping for hands in the darkness, backs pressed against walls, lips searching for lips. I gave him a tour of where I spent so many hours of my week, and saved the best part for last.

The room where we take the film from out of their rolls and wind them into the canisters for development was so dark you couldn't see the hand in front of your face. To carefully break open rolls of film and correctly wind them around the developing reel without the use of your eyes heightened all of your other senses, especially your sense of touch. Every time I stepped into that room, I was keenly aware of everything that passed under my fingers, the sharp blades of the scissors, the smooth counter top, the rough surface of the walls.

We walked in and I shut the door behind us so B could get the full effect of total and impenetrable darkness. A matter of seconds passed before we were back in the dim hallway again. The moment had passed before I even knew what happened. WHAT LE FECK?

After about an hour of sitting in the all too well lit photography office, talking and laughing (and completely aware of all the touching we weren't doing), my shift was over and we both headed home in opposite directions. He disappeared into the darkness of the east side, and I walked over the bridge to the west.

"So let me get this straight," my friend Emily started as soon as I walked in the door. "He walked all the way to the darkroom and you guys didn't even KISS? SERIOUSLY?"

In the mean time, my 21st birthday was quickly coming up. And in college, 21st birthdays are like national holidays. Only bigger. And drunker. This had to be it. This had to be what he was waiting for.

The morning of my birthday I woke up as usual. Took a quick shower, ate a bowl of cereal, and headed to class. My mom called to wish me a happy birthday, and reminded me not to be too hung over for the next day. She, my two aunts, and my cousin were all coming down to Baltimore for a 21st birthday celebration that had become our family's tradition, embarrassing hats and obligatory birthday scavenger hunt included. I invited B to the big event, and he had eagerly agreed to come along.

I slipped my cell phone into my bag and opened the stairwell doors on the ground floor of my building, where I was greeted, face to face, with one of the most absurd pictures of me that I had ever seen. It had been taken at Bonnaroo the summer before. It was late, I was dirty, and we were all slightly out of our minds. Typical Bonnaroo.

This poster was a close up of my face, with BRIDIE'S 21! written in huge block lettering across the top. My roommates had printed out close to 100 of these pages, and taped them to lampposts, trashcans, billboards, doors, and even the bricks under people's feet on the bridge. It was amazing.

I spent the entire day giggling with my girlfriends, and deciding which bars we wanted to hit that night. When I got home from my last class later that afternoon, I got a call from one of my best friends from high school who wanted to wish me a happy birthday.

"So what are you doing right now?" she asked.

"Nothing, we're about to have some dinner and then later we'll head out."

"Awesome. So ... could you come downstairs and let us in?"

I ran down the steps and found Lauren and our friend Bill -- both students at St. Joe's University in Philadelphia -- standing on the steps. Lauren, with a bag of ringpops in her hand, and Bill with a large pumpkin. They'd driven down from Philadelphia to Baltimore in the middle of the Thursday afternoon to go out for my birthday, and they were planning on making it back to Philly in time for their 6 a.m. crew practice the next morning. This was going to be huge. Now there was no choice.

All of our closest guy friends -- who also happened to live directly across the hall from us -- came over and the celebrations began in earnest. Obligatory birthday jell-o shots were passed around, and we all took turns wearing the leopard cat ears that Falko had given me as a birthday present. Falko really knows how to please the ladies.

Bill played designated taxi driver in Lauren's purple family mini-van, the Hubble, which had been our trusted mode of transportation everywhere since we were 16. We headed down to Federal Hill and spent a few hours at The Thirsty Dog, where round after round of flavored beers were passed around. And, of course, a few too many shots of whiskey with the bartender.

B had called earlier that night to wish me a happy birthday. I told him I was going out with my friends, but I was sure I'd see him when we went to York Road after Fed Hill. After the Thirsty Dog, we all piled back into the Hubble and headed for York. Bill pulled to a stop in front of Craig's Tavern and we tumbled out. By this time it was close to 1 a.m. and Lauren and Bill decided it was time to turn the car around and drive back the two hours to Philadelphia in time for their early morning practice which, by the way, they attended.

And then it all gets a little fuzzy. But when I did find B, pushing one of his roommates into a cab outside Swallow's, WHILE WEARING A SKIRT, I was speechless.

"I gotta get this kid home, he's not doing too well."

"Um, skirt. Err?"

B was really working to get all of his roommate's limbs inside the cab. "Yeah," he grunted. "Magic eight ball night." B and his friends had determined his entire night by asking questions to a magic eight ball. Does B want to take this shot of tequila? Probably. Should B buy us a round of drinks? Yes. Will B wear a skirt to the bar? Most definitely. "Happy birthday again and I'll see you tomorrow!"

Tomorrow. My family. Oh my gah.

I went home slightly disappointed, again, but still generally on cloud nine from an amazing night with my best friends. "THAT IS IT," I declared to Mojo as I slumped to the floor, my back against the front door of our apartment. "I'm telling that big, fat MORON that I like him."

"Do it," Mojo encouraged.

"Are you sure you should be telling her to do anything besides go to bed?" her boyfriend asked from the kitchen. "Oops boobie, let's put that back where it goes, not looking, not looking, good job."

"No, I'm telling him that I LIKE him like him. Just watch me make my moves."

B answered his phone quickly. "Hey!"

"YOU just SHUT UP with your HEYS"

"Okay."

"Listen to me now. I am tired of wondering if you're wondering if maybe I like you because THAT is so sixth grade."

"Okay."

"Well, I do. Not that YOU'D ever DO anything about it. But I do."

"Bridget, I like you too."

"Oh, well I think I knew that. You do? Okay, well I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"Yeah ..."

"K'bye."

******************************

I woke up the next morning to my cell phone ringing under my pillow. It was my mom. "Are you awake? Get up! We're right down the street." Oh gaaaaah. I lifted my head. Oooohhhh gaaaaaaahh. I pulled a blue ring pop out of my hair and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Ooooooohhhhh gaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.

The entire left side of my face and a large patch of my blonde hair was stained blue. I was in the same clothes from the night before. And my family was down the street. I jumped in the shower while my roommates entertained my family as they walked in the door. My aunt however dropped some bags off in my bedroom and opened up my laptop screen to dozens of windows of instant messaged happy birthdays. She pulled up the most recent one, an IM from one of our friends and an ex-boyfriend of one of my roommates, Buddy.

Then she started typing. Thanks for the birthday wishes, I'm so nervous though.

Why are you nervous?

Well, my mom and my aunts are coming and I'm going to tell them.

Tell them what?

You know, TELL THEM. I'm coming out today. OF THE CLOSET.

LOL, this isn't Bridget is it?

As I was getting dressed I got a call from Buddy. "Hey, kid. Are your aunts there already?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Juuust making sure."

******************************

We did the birthday presents thing, then headed out to the campus book store so my mom and aunts could replenish their Loyola College gear.

"Oh no." It was coming.

"Are you okay? You don't look so good." My cousin turned around.

I made it to the student lounge and stumbled to the trashcan, where it all came up. "Are you SERIOUS?" my mom asked while my aunt took pictures.

"That's my girl! And it's the aunts!" It was Buddy. He patted my back as I leaned over the trashcan while greeting my family face to face. This was just wonderful.

******************************

After a dinner in Little Italy, we re-joined my roommates and B at our apartment, and split into cabs to go down to Fell's Point, another popular Loyola neighborhood. It's safe to say that B had no idea what he was in for.

We bar hopped through the neighborhood, took over rooms, started conga lines, and danced forever, and B was along for the entire ride. Inside Slainte, I sat down for a rest next to a group of new friends my family and girlfriends had picked up in the bar. B was surrounded by three middle aged gay men, and the woman they were with turned to me.

"Is that your boyfriend?" She nodded towards B.

"Oh. No, just a friend."

"Girlfriend, please. Not for long. He hasn't taken his eyes off of you all night. It's obvious he adores you."

I was floored. "He's been looking at me? Really?"

"Mmhmm. Totally obvious."

My face flushed. "Wow."

******************************

The night wore down and we ended the evening inside a small pub singing along to The Sound of Music's "So Long Farewell." We all split a pizza from the small shop down the street, the best pizza in Baltimore, I'll add, and reviewed the complete scavenger hunt. Picture with police officer. Check. Pinch 21 random guys' butts. Check. Get five random people to buy you a drink. Check. Get the entire bar to sing you Happy Birthday. Check. Check. Check. Check.

We made it back to my apartment, and my family eventually headed back to their hotel. My roommates scattered to their bedrooms. Finally B and I were alone in the hallway, the same spot where I had slurred my confession the night before, those words from still ringing in my ears. This was finally, FINALLY it.

"I had an awesome time tonight. Your family is so much fun."

"I know they're amazing. I had a great time too. I'm so glad you came out with us."

We inched closer.

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed your birthday."

Closer.

"Well, you know, after last night's little skirt debacle ..."

Closer.

"Magic eight ball night ... never again."

Closer.

"Well ... thanks again for coming."

Closer.

"YEPGOODNIGHTSEEYASOON."

And he was out the door and down the steps before I could even take a breath ...

... To be continued.

You never say, "I'm gonna fight you, Steve." You just smile and act natural, and then you sucker-punch him.

I'm getting restless. You know that feeling right before the car crash? When you can see the back of the car in front of you getting closer and everything moves in slow motion but you know there's no way you can stop from ramming into it and so you just sit there, waiting for the point of impact and wishing it would just hurry up and happen already and wondering what it'll be like when it's over? Will every bone in your body be crushed, or will you walk away stronger and better than ever like the time that kid broke his arm and then was the best pitcher in major league baseball? You know, like in "Rookie of the Year." It could totally happen.

I'm NOT saying that the wedding and everything that follows will be a car crash. No, NO, NO. Well, the wedding itself might be a train wreck because open bar, beetchesssss, but I'm talking about change. We've reached the point of the final countdown. I've never been happier or more excited in my entire life. But following the wedding comes the move from Philadelphia to Boston, the change of jobs, the leaving of my family, the task of making new friends, and the all around starting from scratch that has me a bit antsy.

It's not that I'm dreading it. In fact, I'm pretty excited about it. And equally terrified. But I just wish it would happen already so I can stop worrying about it and just do it. Long planning periods get me all uppity. It's kind of like getting directions. If the actual giving of directions turns out to take more than 36 seconds of my time, my mind shuts off, I stop paying attention, and I start wondering how many eggrolls I could fit into my mouth at once.

Telling me a big change is about to happen -- a change that will literally rearrange every aspect of my life as I know it -- is kind of like locking a six year old in a room with nothing except a chair, a crate of fireworks, and a blow torch and telling him to be good, you'll be back in six weeks. Someone's either gonna go crazy or blow their arm off.

Or like when you're jumping out of planes. You don't make up your mind to jump out of that plane and then sit in the cockpit reading about the most embarrassing places to get caught having sex in this month's Cosmo and giggling over the word cockpit. You say you're gonna jump and you fucking jump. Like, right now.

B's gotten pretty good at reading my moods recently. He can usually tell in a look or two where my head is. This is probably because when he gets home from work I'm either bopping around, singing to myself, making dinner, and playing with the dog, or I'm lying on my back on the floor with no pants and an empty bottle of wine at my side. And I'm usually all, "don't speak, my head hurts from thinking." And B's always all, "oh, well does your face hurt?" And that's when I punch him in the mouth because we all know where that one is going.

So what I propose right now is that my job just let me go on a highly-paid vacation until September so I can mentally prepare myself and then everyone wins because I stop losing my mind and the people in my office stop worrying about the day that I actually do set my desk on fire.

Holla atcha, sportsfans

A big welcome to all you Deadspin, The Fightins, and Philebrity readers and any other sportfans who showed up today. I assume you're here for the free beer and peanuts. Possibly even some boobies. You'll find a six pack in your fridge when you get home, and I'll be leaving work early to take pictures of myself jumping on a trampoline in a white t-shirt while someone sprays water all over me. Then we'll make cupcakes. Typical Wednesday.

And an equally big thank you to Deadspin for throwing up yesterday's Cole Hamels photo. Heidi is totes gonna smack me in the mouth.