Heisenberg

I was out for Halloween and I saw a man dressed as high school chemistry teacher turned high-end meth producer Walter White from AMC's Breaking Bad. I love Breaking Bad! It's as addictive as I imagine meth would be. (If you haven't seen it, well... You really have no excuse. It's on Netflix.)

So of course, I did a hop-jump and gushed, "Walter White!"

He looked at me. "What's my name?"

"Walter White!" I squealed.

He didn't think this was the right answer. "What's my name?" he repeated.

I nodded and smiled as realization set in. "Heisenberg."

With that, he gave me my very own little baggie of blue meth rock candy.

Best costume ever. (Although I personally would rather not look busted up.)


P.S. On a semi-related note, I highly recommend costume malfunctions because it means you get to wear not one, but two costumes for Halloween! This wasn't a wardrobe malfunction a la Janet Jackson. It was an "I thought I had my costume from last year but I don't because I have the opposite problem of hoarding" malfunction. So the first night I borrowed my roommate's costume and the second night I got my own. Two costumes! Awesome. I'm doing this again next year.

What part of "closed" don't you get?

With the expected arrival of Hurricane Sandy tomorrow, New York City is preemptively shutting down all subways and buses tonight at 7 PM. Check out this post on NYU's Facebook page.

And you thought they were supposed to be smart here.

Conundrum

I'm having trouble falling asleep because I'm hungry but I don't want to get up to prepare food because I'm tired. This sad circular problem reminds me of the free Procrastination and Time Management seminar at school next week that I can't go to because I don't have time.

I am amazing at self-care.

The nice man at the chocolate shop asked me how my day was going. "My day is why I need this," I replied, pointing at the truffles.

I selected four exquisite morsels of dark chocolate and watched as he gingerly packed them into the cutest, tiniest little box.

He pointed to a rainbow of silky ribbons behind the counter. "Would you like a bow?"

This isn't a gift, I thought to myself. They're just for me.

A smile spread over my face. "Yes. A pink ribbon, please."

  Lest you think that's all I ate tonight, let me correct you. I made sliced steak, mashed cauliflower, and mushroom gravy from scratch with the juices left over from a chicken I roasted last weekend.

Of course, dessert was the best part.

Every social work program will tell you that self-care is vitally important. Yeah... I take that advice very seriously.

Time capsule

Do you remember that story about my mom's friend? You know, the one I wrote about in March of 2011? No? Oh, that's okay. I'll give you a few minutes to go read it! Don't worry, I'll wait.

Finished reading it? Good. (I know you didn't read it.)

What I'm about to tell you has nothing to do with that story. It has to do with the disclaimer that I wrote at the beginning of that post. Go read it.

A year and a half ago, when I wrote that entry, I was in the second semester of a bachelor's program at Stony Brook University. I knew that I wanted to get my master's degree from New York University, but that was still far away.

Today I'm starting grad school at NYU.

Sometimes I can't contain my laughter.

Today was a tough day at work for a few reasons, but here are two funny highlights.

1. This morning I tried to unlock my office door with my car remote.

2. Someone who comes to the mental health program where I work greeted me this morning. "Panthea! Good to see you!" I love it when I can understand what he's saying because most of the time it comes out as mumbles and word salad. Pleasantly surprised, I smiled and greeted him, putting a hand out for a fist bump. He looked at my fist with disdain and quipped, "I don't punch women, dumb ass!"

Here's another reason why I think this person is awesome. A few months ago, I overheard him calling another person at program an idiot.

"John*, who are you calling an idiot?" I asked him.
"Him!" He pointed out a man who didn't seem to notice.
"He's not an idiot," I sternly told him, putting my hands on my hips.
"He's an idiot," he quickly replied, nodding his head.
"That's not nice. Why are you calling him an idiot?"
He pointed at the man again. "He started it!"
My tactic clearly wasn't working. "John, I think you owe him an apology."
John turned directly to the man, looked him squarely in the eyes, and said evenly, "I'm sorry you're an idiot."

I stared at John for a beat, blinking my eyes, at a loss for words. If I opened my mouth to say anything I just knew I would burst out laughing. After a couple seconds, I just shook my head and walked away with a goofy smile on my face.

Awesome.

*not his real name

Thanks for telling me, Twitter.

A little background: I was born in D.C. and raised in northern Virginia, where my parents still live.

Wow. It took Twitter to inform me of the terrible storm in northern Virginia. Virginia is trending worldwide because the storm has caused major power and phone outages, taking Instagram offline and causing problems for other internet companies with servers in the area. People have died from fallen trees and 911 call centers are down. Two and a half million people are without power and temperatures are supposed to reach 99 degrees.

I had no idea, so once I saw this I called my dad's cell and house phone. Both gave me that fast version of the busy signal. They're down. I called my mom's cell phone and she told me she was getting ready for a party. Um... What?

Me: "You're going out? Just because the storm is over doesn't mean trees can't still fall. When the ground is wet and the trees are damaged by the wind..."
Mom: "Ohhh okay. So I von't take any small roads, just beeg roads."
Me: "Don't you think you should call them and see if the party's still on?"
Mom: "No. Don't you tink dey'd call if eet vuz canceled?"
Me: "Um... Not if their phones are out." (Or if their house has been crushed by a tree, for that matter.)
Mom: "Ohhh. Okay. I call."

She is determined to party.

In other related news, I read the following in an article regarding the outage of 911 call centers: "In Fairfax County, people with emergencies are being told to report them in person at fire and police stations."

I'm imagining a man running to his local fire station. As he gets to the door he leans forward to catch his breath and puts his hands on his knees, heaving and panting. "Th-Th-There...There's a fire! Started...th-th-thirty minutes ago, th-th-three m-miles back!"

Finally, please allow me to sound like an old fogey for a moment even though I'm 23. The way we receive information has shifted so drastically! It boggles my mind that I found out about this storm on Twitter because Virginia was trending in the world! Bizarre.

Nothing on Facebook is truly private.

This gem popped up on my news feed. This is why I stay friends with people from middle school on Facebook. The best part is, she'll probably never see this blog!

Let's chalk this one up to culture because I have no other explanation.

My mom called a short while ago. Here's how the conversation went down--or should I say downhill?

Mom: "You're home on a Friday night?"
Me: "Yes."

Mom: "Hehehe!"

Thanks, Ma. I'm adding that to the list of Shit My Mom Says.

Come to think of it, this list really should be expanded to include the following gem, posted on my mom's Facebook page by one of her relatives.

At least she said please and thank you.

Oh! Let's not forget the time another one of my mom's relatives told her that she saw a picture of me on Facebook wearing "see-through night clothes." 1. I'm an adult. 2. It was a bikini. 3. I was at the beach.

That is one reason why I reject about half of my relatives' friend requests on Facebook. The other reason is that despite your familiar last name, I've never heard your first name before in my life. In other words: who are you, how are we related, why haven't I heard of you before, and why have you heard of me?

Must pet Shelties.

This is Irby and clearly not the dog in Brooklyn.

A friend and I were in Park Slope, a nice neighborhood in Brooklyn, for a mutual friend's graduation party. Walking down the street, I saw a cute Shetland sheepdog (the same breed as Irby). So naturally, of course, I squealed and announced to no one in particular, "Sheltie!" I greeted the owner and asked if I could pet the dog. We made small talk and the owner asked to see a picture of Irby, which I showed her on my phone.

My friend Tatiana, meanwhile, had abandoned me and was several paces ahead.

When I caught up to her, she looked at me and shook her head. "You're not from here. This is Brooklyn! You could've gotten cut!" I snorted in response. Park Slope, broad daylight, cute Sheltie, young woman who seems friendly. I'll take my chances.

Later, I wanted to get a second opinion. I asked Chloe, Park Slope native and the friend who Tatiana and I were there to see. Here's how the conversation went on Facebook.

Me: "Random question. If you see a cute dog in your neighborhood do you say hi to the owner and ask to pet the dog?"

Chloe: "Not usually. If I went down the street and said hi to every cute dog I would never get where I was going." Clearly, she has exceedingly low standards for dogs but let's not judge her.

I explained to her why I asked and told her Tatiana's response. As a great aspiring social worker, Chloe attempted to normalize what I did.

Chloe: "If you didn't go up to the dog some 5-year-old would have later."

Thanks.