One of my choice annoying habbits is taking one of Stephen's favorite songs and slaughtering it into my own version. So, when he hears the song, my obnoxious version comes to mind. Totally in the running for girlfriend of the year.

Obviously, our conversations primarily revolve around quoting Kanye and Jay-Z, however, whereas after rap I like country, he likes classic rock. The Stones, Queen, etc. It goes without saying that we both love The Beatles. It's impossible not to love The Beatles. Oh, you don't?

Let me guess, you don't like Harry Potter either. Do you also hate chocolate? And newborn babies? And pay raises? And 2 hour delays in school? Stop being such a hater - EVERYONE LIKES TWO HOUR DELAYS.

If you grew up in a land without enough snow to justify a freckling of 2-hour delays throughout your winter school days, you're missing out on the one thing that all of mankind likes in unison.

Anyway, behold - my version of Satisfaction: "I. can't. get. no. Camp-us Can-dy." I know, Mick Jagger wishes he thought of that.

It happened when he was visiting - we walked to Campus Candy; it was closed. My choice was then to either drop dead of utter sorrow or sing the most annoying line 738 times on our walk to the cupcake shop and home and for all eternity. I know, I should have chosen the former. Mankind agrees.

don't worry, it was only closed because they were adding FRO YO

top reason to get married

No joke: my favorite place in Madison.

The post title actually came to be, though, because, in a desperate attempt to be motivated, I sat down to write a blog, called it "Motivation" and then immediately changed it to "I Can't Get No.." because I thought it was more catchy. And less stupid. Kind of. This week I've been getting home from work and doing the following things:

1. Sitting on the couch.
2. End of list.

To prevent myself from morphing into a sloth, I made a list of simple tasks to motivate myself:

in the back is a note from my roomie :)

After looking at the tasks I deemed WORTHY OF WRITING DOWN I became more embarrassed about my unproductivity, so I decided to post it on my blog because I'm all for self-loathing. That way, if anyone still wanted to be my friend after learning of my exceedingly annoying tendencies they would reconsider.

I'm also hoping no one notices that "brush hair" deserved is it's own line item. That's normal, right? Surely womankind can back me up here.

Monday Funday

There's no way the Monday after Thanksgiving is fun. Still, I'm getting tired of facebook and twitter transforming into venues where people constantly complain about everything, particularly Mondays.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for complaining. (as per this post where I set the high goal to complain openly about as many topics as possible.) I actually have trouble getting along with people who don't complain enough.

Example: when you're delayed for 3 hours in the airport so have to drive from Chicago to Madison at 1:00am, but the rental car place is as packed as Ellis island during the potato famine, the best thing to do is look at your co-workers and all say in unison: "This sucks."

If, in that situation, which unfortunately is not hypothetical, a co-worker had tried to offer any semblance of a "bright side" I likely would have laid them out and left them to be trampled by the carless masses. Fortunately, all 3 of my co-workers agreed with the overall suckiness of that situation.

Moral of the story: sometimes complaining prevents you from being stampeded by weary travelers.

That being said, I am also absolutely against complaining via social media in a boring way. All I'm asking for is a little creativity.

Example: if your status is "Mondays are the worst." or "I hate Mondays." I'm going to have to substitute the word "Mondays" with the phrase "boring people including myself" in my mind just so I can be agreeable.
Mondays are an exhausted weekly topic of complaint, anyway. Expand your complaining horizons!

Example: If I were my boyfriend's cat, Joshie, I would complain about only having three legs:


even though you can't tell in this picture!

And if I were his cat Cleo I would complain that this weird tall girl has just taken 3000 pictures of me and all I'm trying to do is sit on a chair in peace:

And, if I were my old college cat, Minerva Winifred Grendel (aka Minnie). I would be complaining right now about how I just mentioned two foreign cats yet haven't blogged about her in ages. However, in true devil cat spirt, I would likely complain in the form of projectile vomitting all over the walls, taking a dump in the shower, and getting fleas, AGAIN.

updated picture of Minnie that my former roomie Christa sent us over Thanksgiving :)

As you can see - Minnie has changed a lot since her cute kitten days! :)

However, I am not a feline, so I'm just going to complain that no one has bought me this kate spade purse yet:

Enough said.

Though, admittedly, I'd rather have $119 worth of cake.

Thx, Thx, Thx

In honor of everyone's favorite holiday that centers around copious amonts of food gratefulness, I decided to write some thank you notes in the past month and share them with you now (YOU'RE WELCOME.)

p.s. this post was inspired by this blog! I totally encourage you to check out all blogs I link to. They all make my blog look like it's written by a schizophrenic kindergartener. Only reading my blog, of all the blogs in the entire blogosphere, is like only watching The Rescuers of all the Disney movies. Oh, really, The Rescuers is your favorite? So, tell me, what are the little mice's names? That's what I thought. No one messes with Belle's or Aladdin's names. (Or Chip's or Abu's for that matter.)

Before I embarass myself with my vast Disney knowledge and things get out of hand, without further ado, proof of me being thankful in the last month:

Dear Hotel Room,

Thank you for having the courtesy of knowing that I often get lonely on the road, and providing me with a friendly companion in the form of a huge elusive cricket on my ceiling above my bed. I've been meaning to wake my boyfriend up by crying irrationally on the phone for a while now, and you finally presented me with the prime opportunity.

See ya next trip,
Joyce



Dear Long Distance Relationship,

Thank you for still being intact even after the above mentioned episode. I owe you one. But, you owe me $7000 in plane tickets, so let's call it even.

Thx,

Joyce


Dear Old Oatmeal,

Thank you for being there for me when I needed to make no-bake cookies for my co-workers. A special shout out for having your old canister infested with little bugs that I didn't notice until after making the cookies, resulting in me having to throw them, and any culinary confidence, straight into the garbage.

My confidence in the kitchen has been hovering dangerously close to "0" lately; it's good to drop it back down to negative 1000 where it belongs.

My checked domestic ego is in debted to you,
Joyce


Dear insects,

Thanks for being so present in my month of November in general. It helps me to be appreciative of the fact I have no impending camping trips.

Have fun dying in the winter,
Joyce

On a more serious note: wishing you all a fabulous thanksgiving! I hope you can be surrounded by friends, family, food, fun, and have some time to relax and rejoyce :) I'm sincerely thankful for every person who takes the time to read my blog and support me!

xoxo,
Joyce

Baked Potato Social

These days, most of my life is spent in a rental car on the Illinois tollway. I would say it's karma, but I can't figure out what felony I committed. I did steal Skittles once in the third grade. I'll never forget the sleepless nights and crying when I gave my teacher a bag of fun-size Skittles and repented for the ones I had stolen from the jar.

I've had a serious conscience for as long as I can remember. It's a blessing and a curse. Also, the dangerous candy obsession manifested at a young age. Don't worry, I didn't start robbing gas stations of Reeses until I was 14. Kidding, mom.



I know at this point you guys are super jealous of my Illinois road trips, along with how many friends I didn't have in third grade, so here's a picture of what you're missing out on.

Usually, the discussion in the car with my co-workers spices up the otherwise dismal and terrifying landscape. That's right, I find windmills frightening. Don Quixote wasn't the only one. They're HUGE.

Anyway, last trip, a friend was talking about how her dad incorporates "under-utilized" words into his vocabulary by forcing them into otherwise mundane conversations. My life is to the point where the prospect of a vocabulary game with myself sounds exciting, so I'm totally determined to try it this week. The under-utilized word determined in the car was "Hark!" And congrats on your creativity: you just pictured angels, and, likely, Peanuts characters singing around a decorated tree.

Other than mention a carol two weeks too early, I have yet to work it into conversation.

Though, it might be too soon to say this, but I'm really looking forward to Christmas. Also, retirement. It's always good to have short and long term goals, especially when they both consist of varying lengths of existing, and Christmas is soon and retirement is a dim light at the end of a 60-year long tunnel. That's a long time to hold your breath.

What's that? What does this post have to do with a baked potato social? Turns out I'm just using the title to enlighten you of their existence. A baked potato social is a thing, that happens. Sometimes spontaneously on work trips.

And, if it ever happens to you (as I don't wager one would inflict a baked potato social upon one's self), I'd recommend bringing chocolate covered pretzels. Sticking to my self-proclaimed life motto "When in doubt: chocolate" that I've never actually explicitly stated before but I obviously live by. Hark! I think I could make a whole blog post listing my life mottos. Stay tuned.

November

First off, a very happy birthday to my mom, whose birthday was yesterday. I know a lot of people think they have the best mom in the world, but a lot of people are wrong. I am certain that I do. I love you, mom!

these are pretty flowers Becky got me for my birthday which I'm now virtually giving to my mom :)

***

It turns out that the more I travel, the worse I get at preparing for trips. I'm sure if I was any good at economics, I could draw a graph to illustrate this conundrum. Fortunately, microeconomics was my lowest grade in college so you can rest assured I'm not going to mention diminishing returns in this post, or ever.

As a fun aside, before my boyfriend was my boyfriend, I asked him to help me with econ. Didn't really help my grade, because I suck at econ, and I spent most of that semester trying to pronounce "Economist" correctly. (Shouldn't the emphasis be on the third syllable? Just as it is in economics?) Regardless of my grade, asking him for help was a very good overall life choice :)

So, Mr. eCONomist, my business trip ability seems to be inversely related to my apathy level. Graph that one out.

Concrete examples proving this theory arose this week. First off, my attire selection drastically limited our meal choices. Conversation last night:

Co-worker A: Let's eat at that nice seafood place!
Co-worker B: Welll....we can't really go there the way Joyce is dressed.

This was, of course, one hundred percent true. I was wearing yoga pants, Nikes, a hoodie and a ratty t-shirt. I had purposefully dressed that way to force myself to work out once I got to the hotel. Did I work out at the hotel? No. Did I prevent people from enjoying a nice meal? Most definitely.

Rather than work out, I had 12 wings, a mojito, and fell asleep with the lights on at 10 without setting any alarm or, I don't know, showering or brushing my teeth. This whole pass-out-from exhaustion unexpectedly thing is kind of becoming a concerning life pattern at hotels, but I did get up on time to realize that, for the whole week, I only packed sports bras. This would be totally appropriate if I were still a collegiate athlete. But since I work out about as often as I vote for President now a days, kind of more of a problem.

I actually thought to myself  "At least I remembered my dress shoes" which is clearly a slippery slope towards pathetic justification of all irresponsible actions. I was even proud of myself for blowing dry my hair like it was a special occassion, but I know I did it mostly because it was really cold outside. Regardless, my outfit was borderline presentable today (as usual, broadening the definition of "business casual.")

Then at work a male co-worker said he was considering doing No-Shave November, to which I responded, "Me too, I think. With my legs." I was told that was gross. Well, you know what I think is gross? Facial hair. And you can't cover that shit up with dress pants.

Also, No-Shave November for girls is also known as "being in a long distance relationship" which I have celebrated for the past 20 months, thank you very much. Also, as I mentioned, it was freezing outside. And, as I didn't mention, but you should have assumed, I obviously forgot any form of a coat on this trip as well.