The bigger the tank, the bigger the goldfish, right?  Same goes with a woman’s bag.  The bigger the bag, the more shit you decide to put in it.  For me, at least.

I used to always carry around an incredibly small purse.  I never needed much- just my phone, some cash, and my license.  Unfortunately, after 4 + years of a small faux-leather Target purse-thingy, I decided to “upgrade” to a larger, also faux-leather, also target..BAG.  However, with my new bag, I’ve found that I tend to carry around a lot more stuff, just cause I can.

So tonight I emptied my bag.

 I took a picture of its contents.

And  now I am going to write about them. Isn’t this interesting?  

First up are my headphones. They are shitty SONY “noise-cancelling” ones.  Don’t buy them.  (I’m glad that I don’t even have my ipod in there.  This is not logical).

Bandaids.  One day, I wanted to look extra nice for work, so I wore heals.  Worst idea ever.  Three blocks south and my heels were already on their way to forming gangrene. 

Henry David Thoreau’s Walden.  I’m learning from my H-boy how to live by myself in the woods for two years.  I wish this was foreshadowing my real life!

On top of Walden? Yeah, tampons. Sorry guys… I’m a woman…and I get my period.  Pretty crazy, right?  At least now they come in cool colors! What for though? To disguise?  Lessen embarrassment? Not quite sure.  But boy do I love lime green! 

My corkscrew.  You never know when you’re going to have to stab someone open up a bottle of wine!

Then there is..a rock. Someone gave me a rock from a beach.  And I carry it in my bag.

Lip gloss.  Pretty standard explanation: stocking stuffer, smells great, makes my lips all sparkly.

Then there’s my extra special cellphone.  This thing is genius–it can make calls and text without the internet!

A receipt from Westside Market.  I bought three avocados for $7.50.  Ripoff.

12 cents. I’m rich.

A deck of cards. I’m weird.

Earrings. Should take those out.

Gum. Spearmint > Peppermint. Fact.

Oof.  Confession time…I don’t own a wallet.  I put all my “wallet stuff” in a little sachet zippy thingy from Ghana.  In it is my license, debit card, health insurance card, metro card, train ticket, student ID, and library card. Cool, right?

Pens and pencils.  One of which is a golf pencil.  I have no idea where that came from.  Another is a pen that fell apart.  Or, in fancy words, a deconstructed pen.  I write down many things and need many utensils.

And I write them all down in my little moleskin.  Like a good little hipster!

Deodorant.  I have a sweating problem.  Moving on.

Ew.  That yellow piece of paper?  A receipt to my LIRR ticket refund.  You used to be able to purchase a train ticket and use it within 6 months.  Apparently 6 months changed to…14 days …and TWO of my round trip tickets expired by one day!  So on top of losing over $50, I had to purchase a one-way on the train, which cost me $20.  I was very, very angry.  But alas! You can refund them, with a $10 refund fee. And then you have to wait for four weeks. I am still very angry.

Speaking of money and receipts, I also have a tag to a dress I purchased on my lunch break one day.  I found out I was going to a jazz club that evening, so figured I should pick up a nice lil dress.  I kept the tag incase I wanted to return it after I wore it, but ended up liking it enough for keeps!

Sunglasses, Car Keys, mundane duh duh whatever etc etc.

Lastly, my newspaper horoscope.  It reads: Act on your creative inspirations. Where there is a will there’s a way.

I hope you’re right, Newsday.  

A few weeks ago I was graced with the opportunity to be on a jury.  When I went to the courts for my summons, it seemed like there were thousands of people there, all crossing their fingers that they would be dismissed.  Yet somehow, at the end of the day, I was one of six that was put on a case.  

You should have heard the stories people were making up for the attorneys!  Car accident case? My four brothers all died in separate car accidents. (Separate. Really?)  I hate to make decisions. I am really bad at making decisions.  I can barely dress myself. I flunked out of college. Help. I might have to take time off work?  I started a job three years ago and am still afraid they wont like me not coming in. I might get fired. This makes me nervous.  

What did I pitch? That I may or may not be in Africa in a few weeks.  Guess that didn’t matter.

The first day of the trial was yesterday, and while I’m not allowed to speak about it AT ALL (or else my lips will be sewn together, or my tongue cut off, something of the like), I’m going to just point out the fun stuff.

When you walk into a court room, everyone in the “audience”? stares at you.  You’re the six they depend on; no matter what goes down, the six of us can avenge anyone we want, be as evil or as civil as our personal will allows! So powerful!  We happen to be a young jury–most of us are in our mid-twenties.  I’m sure they don’t like that. Us children.

After you sit down in your super-important order (I don’t really get the point), the judge talks to you like…you’re five..explaining the difference between the prosecutor and the defendant, what the lawyers can and can’t say, and my favorite: if anything unlawful is said during this case, I ask you to dismiss this from your minds.   Sounds like something straight out of Harry Potter, no?

As the trial went on (and on, and on) I tried my best to not let my ADD take the best of me.  I did listen, yes, but I also observed other ..important things that were going on in the court room.  Firstly, some dude man on the stand that is about 100 years old had a snake tattoo on his arm. How cool!  And the guys sitting in the back with the suits on, who are they?  There were no witnesses, so are they just well-dressed friends?  And the sign above the judge, could you try to fix that?  It currently says In God We rust.  

I think the judge saw all of us jurors start to slowly lose our minds, so he called a ten minute “recess.”  We went into our little room and checked all of the empty munchkin boxes, talked about how we should bring a deck of cards tomorrow, and asked if anyone else saw that awesome tattoo.

Clearly, justice will be served.  

Off to round two !

My dear friends, 

Today is a VERY special occasion.  Exactly one year ago today, I wrote my first blog post!  I vividly remember sitting in the library applying to jobs, and on a whim, decided to relive me and Nicole’s trip around the country.  I was extremely timid at first, unsure if anything I wrote about would be remotely interesting. But the comments, support, and enthusiasm from all of you has made me realize that my writing is actually enjoyable, and is not purely an act of self-indulgence and pride! 

With life being in complete disarray, it’s wonderful to have something that I’ve committed to for a year’s time.  This blog has been my rock, and in a way, I treat it as my own child.  It’s the only thing I’ve really produced that has continually grown; it’s made me a better writer, a better thinker, and has honestly made me more laid back and accepting.  While what I write is true-life, most non-fiction comes from some sort of falseness–be it the absence of truth, or a tone of writing that makes it seem that one feels concretely about a certain idea or event.  My blog is a personal space that has never become private, but it has allowed me to write in a way that actually lets me become the way I write. The way I have decided to reproduce my life in this blog has made me realize that when it comes down to it…..life is funny.

There’s a lot in this blog. From crashing a wedding in Albuquerque, to living in half a basement in Maryland, to discussing how I don’t own proper rain gear, to Sufjan concerts, top ten moments, joining a band, cooking oatmeal, and discussing politics, this blog has been places. I’m excited to see where it goes in a year from now. Could be anywhere.

Really–anywhere.  

And Nicole!  She has been my partner-in-crime, and I still feel like this blog is as much her’s as it is mine. In this past year we’ve moved away and done our own things, and yet here we are again back together, eating pasta out of pots, digging out nickels and dimes to buy coffee, pitching our tent out on a deck in Fire Island, and reminiscing about our dream house in the woods. 

No matter where we go, some things will never change.

SO!! Since it’s my child’s first birthday, Ima ask fo presents! I can see how many hits I get a day on this thing, and while I’m not in the thousands, I do get a lot of daily reads! So, I simply ask–who are you!?! Tell me.  If you read this blog, gimme a comment. If you don’t want to reveal yourself to the ten’s of other people who might comment (maybe, please?), email me! lschwecherl@gmail.com.

OR, if you don’t want to do that, send me money. I love money.

And I love you! 

 I never really knew much about Fire Island until last summer.  My brother’s girlfriend and her family have been going every summer for a while now, and last July I decided to take the ferry over “for a night” to go to the beach and hang out.

Well, I ended up staying..the whole week.  Renting a house out on Fire Island is really the true definition of a vacation. Once you get off the ferry, you enter a small little world of restaurants and bars, shops, narrow streets lined with beach houses, and miles and miles of sand and ocean. No cars are allowed on the island, so people walk around by foot or bike, passing by the occasional deer, church, and baseball field.  

Welp, Fire Island happened again this summer. I arrived with my brother Thursday night, where we spent three nights of pure summer-bliss.  With a grand total of 18 of us, things happened. We played competitive games of Spoons mixed with homemade thyme-infused  vodka lemonade, which clearly kept things interesting. There were hours of r&r at the beach, and pages and pages of book-reading.  We happily ate ourselves into oblivion with eggs and bacon, cheeseburgers, grilled brie and goat cheese, chips and salsa, pancakes, and blueberry pie. We also might have come home late Friday night from town and devoured a whole package of cookies. Maybe.  We danced in bars to shitty summer songs.  We discussed english grammar over a bag of Tostitos. We took beer showers. We got burned. 

Jane was awarded MVP for her individually wrapped brownies, Sean sat in a chair that just magically broke into seven pieces, and I was stung by my first bee/wasp/hornet (unknown) while Flo simultaneously dove in the ocean and stabbed her nose with her piercing, which resulted in a bloody face.  Nicole and I slept in a tent on the deck.  Zak and Jane made bloody mary’s, chile-vodka, and blackberry gin. There were couples everywhere.  I talked to only one guy when we went out, and he said I had an “honest face.” Is that the new pickup line of 2011?

 It is really awesome to experience another family’s summer tradition.  I can’t feel what the Nichols’s must feel going over the Fire Island; that’s an experience unique to themselves.  But, it is wonderful to get a taste of something special, and to create your own feeling of a place.  

And perhaps, a new tradition will evolve. 

Boy, I really like the rain.  When I left the office yesterday, leaped down three flights of stairs, and said goodbye to my elevator-man-best-friend, I walked out onto the street and was greeted by a thick, cool rain.  I instantly started smiling.

 Most people hate walking in the rain-especially in the city.  I get it: your clothes are probably super nice and are dry-clean only, your hair will get all frizzy and you’re gonnnnna look WEIRD, and those shoes were 350 dollars and rain water probably isn’t the best thing for them. (Also, how come everyone in NYC has really nice shoes?)

 But for me, I wear the same flip flops I’ve had since High School, I don’t own anything dry-cleaned worthy, and I’d much rather walk in a cooler, albeit wet environment than feel like a hair-dryer is blowing hot heat directly in my face.  The rain also takes away some of the city-smells. When it’s hot and balmy, I smell a mix of dirty heat and rubber tires and sidewalk trash and halal food (although that smells good) and subway smog and dog urine and whatever else that makes up that unique scent I like to call…“New York City.”

 So here I am walking down the street, and it’s raining pretty hard. And I’m smiling and smiling and getting wetter and wetter and goose bumps are forming on my arms and my tattoo looks all weird and neat and I’m happy and there’s mud on my heels and I’m smiling.  I constantly say “no thank you” to the umbrella-sellers, wishing I had time to explain to them that I’m already soaked and a crappy $5 umbrella will not make me dry again, while simultaneously believing that they must be smarter than any weather man since within 12 seconds of the first drop of rain they appear out of thin air selling their crappy umbrellas to sorry tourists and people with really nice shoes.

 Then I realize how much I’m smiling in the rain and that when I’m at the office all day I probably rarely smile.  And it’s not that I’m not happy—it’s just that when you’re sitting in front of a screen all day and you’re sucked into your own little world and you’re typing and researching and thinking and concentrating that it would look weird if someone was spying on you and you were doing all of that stuff while smiling.  Right?  I do smile when I talk to people; I strike up conversations with the girl next to me who is from Burlington and Serbia, so I grill her about life and why the hell she’s in NYC and does she really like coconut water and how can you afford to live in the West Village?  I am also forced to talk to this guy in the office that is either extremely hipster or a little bit gay, but is definitely ADD and travels around to different computers to do work and tap his hands on the keyboard.  He asks me about every 45 minutes what I’m listening to on my headphones and this usually bugs me because they’re noise-canceling for a reason, and I have to take them off just to hear him repeat that same question, where I always lie and say I’m listening to something weird so he thinks I’m weirder than him which is an absolute fabrication. 

 The other time I smiled in the city was when I was on the subway and I saw this couple fighting and the girl was crying and the guy was touching her butt and I wanted to be like dude, she doesn’t want you touching her butt right now you suck but I kept that to myself and that made me smile. And then these two guys from Jersey were asking their third friend how much they’d have to pay him to move back to New Jersey and he said $50,000 a year and I thought that was AWESOME and then I found a gift that my boyfriend Azin left for me but unfortunately someone stole the gift and I was left with only the tag.

And I also smiled when I woke up from a dream the other night.  I dreamt I was walking out onto my friend’s roof down by South Street Seaport and I discovered a whole secret world lying on top of Manhattan and there were trees and driveways and small, simple houses and the ocean was feet away and you could see the tops of skyscrapers poking out from underneath the secret world’s ground. It was beautiful and peaceful and perhaps symbolic. And I smiled and smiled and smiled.

Songs. I like songs. You like songs.  On my walk today while I was listening to songs, I started thinking about different songs, and how they make me feel different things. And that I listen to them for different reasons. Diversity. Songs. Then I thought I’d make a list. Here ya go.

(!!! ! !!!!! ! !!   ! ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !!! !)

The most beautiful few seconds in the most beautiful song: 4:00–>4:30 (roughly) in Radiohead’s “Let Down.” Incredible climax. I go crazy.

Best guilty-pleasure (although I don’t feel guilty at all) song: “Halo”-Beyonce. So good. Too good. I even managed to fit it into my thesis presentation. I compared it to a Ghanaian funeral drum sequence. Yes.

A funny song: “Cheeseburger in Paradise” by Jimmy Buffet. I LOVED this song when I was little; I would try to finish a Muppet Babies puzzle before the song was over while singing about Heinz 57 and french fried potatoes.

Most poignant lyrics in a song: Neutral Milk Hotel’s “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.” This whole album is haunting; inspired by Jeff Mangum’s experience reading the diary of Anne Frank, he pulls from her life story. Some of the lines?  “And one day we will die/and our ashes will fly….But for now we are young/Let us lay in the sun/And count every beautiful thing we can see.” My favorite line? The last one in the song: “How strange it is to be anything at all.”

Most nostalgic song: “You’re the finest” by P-Square. P-Square are a Nigerian R&B duo from Nigeria, and they are crazy popular in Ghana. I listened to this song over..and over, and over..and over while I was there.  It was ALWAYS playing. Everywhere! And it always brings me back to that..happy place.

Just one of my fav songs: “Come on! Feel the Illinois!” by Sufjan Stevens. Layers and layers of musical geniusness (I created this word). Too good. I’ll never get sick of it.

A new enjoyable song: “Autumn Tree” by Milo Greene. Check out their bandcamp. This song does something for me.

My go-to album: Neil Young’s “After the Goldrush.” (I know this isn’t a song…but they’re my rules and I can break them).

Writing on this blog is fun.  I write how I want, when I want, and about what I want! Talk about  the first amendment.

BUT. I also get to blog/edit for joonbug.com, a popular nightlife guide to clubs, bars and lounges in major US cities-but mainly the big ol’ Apple.  The job is great! I get paid free dollars an hour, I have total health coverage until I’m 18, and I even get off on the weekends.

I’ll be honest-  I’m lucky in that I am the editor and writer for their charity blog, so I’m writing about things close to my heart: philanthropy and charity events, fund-raisers, volunteer opportunities, etc.  And the fun, yet challenging part is creating serious content that still appeals to a certain audience.

Part of my job is writing daily “green” tips, so I wrote an article about washing your clothes the eco-friendly way.  The tag line? Dressing “green” doesn’t mean having to a wear a burlap sack while going shoeless. Just wash your clothes the eco-friendly way!  I’m even allowed to “curse,” so I  included: Modern washing machines are the $hit—you don’t need hot water anymore for a thorough clean! 

Oh man.

Trying to stay geared towards 20-30 something female readers, I also wrote about eco-friendly beauty projects, with the subtitle don’t leave a carbon footprint on your face. I liked that one. Another favorite? Have you ever wanted to support a fundraiser where people paddle kayaks to raise money and awareness?….Of course you have!…..(right?)

Another reason I like the job is that I get to use a lot of ! ! ! in my articles.  Exclamation points are frowned upon in most genres of writing, but I can totally get away with it. Cancer sucks! Run for a cure! Come out to an eco-friendly nightclub! Organic cocktails rock! I am so excited about everything! !   !     ! ! !    !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         And then there are the charities. Oh the charities!  (!!! !! ! !!!! ! ) It’s amazing what people can come up with to raise money; I’ve been researching hundreds of organzations that all fundraise for important and unique causes.  There are, of course, hundreds that raise money for cancer and other diseases (including funding for prevention, cure, research, awareness,  and treatment). There’s human trafficking, food and hunger, health, education opportunities, rainforest saving, homelessness, etc as well.  But did you know there’s even a 5k coming up in Phili to raise money for a farm that uses equine-therapy for people with physical and mental disorders? And that you can go to a Yankees game for free if you go hang out with blind people and provide them with the play-by-play (are they in it just for the hot dogs?). And you can even get a tour of the playboy mansion to help raise money for children in the DRC! Go Hugh!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 It’s amazing what is out there for you to get involved with–so if you find yourself feelin’ philanthropic, know that there is probably some way you can volunteer your time. So, like I said in a joonbug article, aaand I paraphrase: How many hours do you spend on your iphone, trying to figure out how to tweet in less than 140 characters the mishaps of your previous night’s bar hopping on the Lower East Side? The answer? Probably many, many hours. So instead: go out and lend a hand. I think the Yankee game thing sounds the coolest. 

I thought about this on Wednesday, but I like alliterations.  And maybe this can be a theme on the blog…! Thoughts for Thursdays, Facts for Fridays…Mundane Mondays? Tips on Tuesdays? Ehh.

Anyways, lets talk vision. Familiarity. Physical perspective. What do I mean exactly?

Yesterday at work, I tried sitting in all the different areas of our three-floor, chaotically designed building; it was slow, so I passed the time staring at the architecture from different standpoints while waiting for customers. Then I remembered how I first pictured the building when I walked in to inquire about a job: the kitchen was secretly tucked in the back to the left, the 2nd floor bar all the way on the right seemed way too exclusive for my liking, and the third floor-forget it.  That seemed miles away, and waaay too VIP for me.

It’s funny how my perspective of the restaurant has changed.  I’m usually standing in the back by the kitchen, so my vision of the floor plan is reversed, as I look out into the dining room, towards the entrance.  The whole place looks completely different now that I’m familiar with it.  It’s like a brand new space.

When the unknown becomes common-place, your vision of that space dramatically changes. It’s like putting on a funky pair of glasses. I remember the first time I sat in Big Trees grease-van, the first time I walked into my dormitory in Ghana, the way I looked at Skidmore on my first tour.  These spaces–both small and large–changed. Not physically, but..optically.

Cool, right?

Am I going crazy while I sit and listen to our kitchen get torn apart, which is only adding to my already-seven-day-and-going-strong- headache? Yeah.

Am I antsy as I try to lie to myself that I don’t have an ear infection so I can drive to Barnes and Nobles and plant myself in front of their travel section and find myself a new home? Yeeeas.

Am I avoiding googling how to use excel formulas before my “scope assessment” as part of my b-i-g- interview tomorrow in NYC because I really just don’t want to go? Yup. (Also, what is a scope assessment?)

Have I subtly tried to tell you that I’ve been sick and thus feel the need to complain about it via the interwebs since I’m obviously cranky? No. Definitely not.

Is it time to indulge and provide some random facts?

Oh yes.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

–My feet are different sizes. SEEEEE? The right guy is a 1/2 size larger, although I always just purchase the same size shoe. An 8. But when I’m in Europe they grow to size 34!

–I hate even numbers.  Don’t ask me why…I just do.  Six out of my seven cell phone digits are even numbers. It sucks : (

–I don’t really love the beach. It’s OK, but it doesn’t do much for me. Neither does summer. Autumn is the best.

–Speaking of kitchens, we’re getting a new one. Ours was about twenty-seven thousand years old.  So that’s cool.

–I was convinced in the 7th grade that I was going to be a math teacher. I rocked middle school algebra like it was no one’s business. Obviously, dreams can fade fast; once numbers started becoming cubed, square rooted, and imaginary, I lost all hope.

–I used to have a dog. His name was Bo.  He was an ex-show dog and died when I was two-ish. R.I.P. BO YOU WERE THE BEST DOG IN THE ENTIRE WORLD

–When and if I get married, I’m not changing my name. I’ll hyphen it. (I hope I marry someone with an equally crazy name. That’ll be lol). 

–I used to play a lot of sports. Including hockey. Don’t tell the hipsters.

–I look at this everyday.  I read this. If I could, I’d drink this…all the time.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

That’s all. Thanks for stickin around.

Shall we call it The Scallion?

Dollar-Store in Suffolk County Forced Closure Due To False-Advertisement 

Steve’s Dollar Store on Rt. 101 was forced to shut down by the Town of Huntington early Tuesday morning.  The owner is said to have been charging an upwards of $1.70 on items, even though the store’s name exclusively says “Dollar.”

“It’s the dollar-store, not the dollar-fifty store,” scoffs Suffolk County Police Officer Ted Bowdin. “The owner is a liar, and lying is a crime. The store had to go.” Bowdin was buying a Miller-light before his night shift out on the Northern State, when Goodwin rang him up for $1.69.

“I arrested him on the spot,” smirked Bowdin.

Steve Goodwin, 49, who was the store’s owner, is recently divorced and also a father of three.  His wife left him because he allegedly told her how much condoms suck when having sex. Now, currently unemployed, he has to continue to put his kids through school.

“They call themselves ‘hipsters,’ and all want to move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn when they graduate. So I told them I’d pay for their liberal-arts educations so they could major in graphic design, anarchy, and interpretive dance. ” His children were enrolled in top private colleges: Sarah Lawrence, Bard, and Vassar College.  Since he lost the store, they’re all transferring to Binghamton in the fall, to most likely major in Business.

“It’s devastating,” says Goodwin.

The closure of the dollar-store has also affected many residents in Suffolk County, who relied on Goodwin’s products in their day-to-day lives.

“I used to haphazardly use bobby pins, never keeping track of where I left them,” says Nancy Boodshine of Centerport.  “Now, I actually have to try not to lose them, or else I’ll have to go to CVS and buy their 100-bobby pin set for $2.99.  In today’s economy, I can’t afford that.”  Tween Susie Edwards is already panicking about her Halloween costume now that the dollar-store has shut down.  She claims to have “no inspiration,” now that she can’t walk down the aisles of Goodwin’s shop to look at the different wigs, masks, and hair dye.  And Tyler Katz of Northport reports that he’s “at a loss” without having Mylar Ballons, 7-Up, glue sticks, soap, cheetos, and table-cloths right down the street from him.  “I’ll have to go to Walmart,” says Katz. “Atleast, unlike Steve’s, they’re not corrupt.” 

“I admit my faults,” grumbled Goodwin, who is now more anxious about his financial situation than he was before his store closed.  “Money was tight, so I raised some of the prices in my store.  I should have just murdered one of my kids and not told anyone for 31 days to cut back on the cost of living.  I probably could have gotten away with that.”