Aspirations, goals, and...cups

As I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed this morning, I noticed that someone had posted a link to a video. Generally I don't click on links, mostly because I'm too lazy to commit to watching or reading anything beyond the standard drivel that makes Facebook what it is. Nevertheless, this one caught my eye. 

                                      

It's 600 or so students and educators from the Coláiste Lurgan, an Irish Language immersion school in Connemara, singing the Anna Kendrick hit, 'Cups,' from the movie Pitch Perfect. Spoiler, this one is in Gaelic - and it's amazing. 

I think the reason it resonated so much with me is because I take my heritage pretty seriously and I embrace where my family came from. Yea, I'm an American (cue Lee Greenwood), and while I'm equally proud of that, I sometimes feel like the legacy of the Irish is acutely underrepresented or, at the very least, a little misunderstood.Regardless, I probably shouldn't read too much into the fact that most Americans don't know about the terrible things that happened in Ireland; basically because, beyond what I was taught in school, I am not up to par with what went anywhere else in the world.

To my point, which has obviously taken me a while to make - seeing these kids sing in Gaelic meant a lot to me. It's a sign that Ireland is taking the steps to regain the identity that was ripped away from them 500 years ago. I remember when I was last there, it was nice to hear the announcements on the Iarnród Éireann (Irish Rail) in both English and Irish, but seeing it become more of a 'thing' is rather uplifting. Okay, I say nice, but let's be honest, Gaelic is not always the prettiest sounding language, but it's their language.

After watching the video, I decided I needed to learn a language. Five years of spanish and two years of Italian and I can remember about three sentences (useful ones of course, such as, 'why do we swim in the beans,' and, 'did you know spiderman is my boyfriend?') So after taking a hard look at my heritage, it should come as no surprise that I chose to learn...spanish. 

While I initially thought learning Gaelic would be awesome, it would serve me little purpose in my everyday life (less a few witty phrases and the funny looks from passersby). Mandarin

seemed like a terrific option, until I remembered that I work in the hollows of state government and not at an international conglomerate. After Googling the most spoken languages within Massachusetts, my options dwindled to Spanish or Portuguese, both stellar choices. I opted for Spanish because, from what I recall, it's a great foundation language. When I did transition from Spanish to Italian, I remember it going rather smoothly. So, after some scouring, I found a great deal on the Rosetta Stone Spanish package, and so began the creation of a New Year's goal (I loathe the word resolution, I resolve to never use the word in relation to myself and my intentions. Never using it means I can never fall short after January 1st!) 

The package should be here tomorrow or Friday. What that basically means it, I'll be fluent in time for the weekend.

Adios! 

Monday Schmunday

Around 7:15 this morning, as I'm mindlessly slapping peanut butter on to a slice of bread and wondering where the hell the jelly is, Matt Lauer's gaggle of know-it-alls start talking about Blue Monday and how it's the most depressing day of the year - replete with divorce filings, shitty weather, and bad attitudes. To say I was shocked would probably classify as the understatement of the year (fortunately, the year just started, leaving plenty of time for much more galling understatements).

A whole day of shittiness??

As the gaggle droned on, I labored over every word. Okay, not really, I pretty much just listened as best I could over the wails of my sons mercilessly beating each other over which Lego guy was cooler. (For the record, the Ninjago guy with the gold sword came out on top.) Nevertheless, the takeaways from the Today Show bit was that 'Blue Monday' is the spawn of a compilation of dreadful things, such as the inherent hatred of Mondays, combined with debt (most likely stemming from the holidays or the complete failure of the American economic system, but whatever, we're not keeping score), poor weather, acceptance that your New Year's resolutions are inevitably going to fail, and a bunch of other crap that is equally depressing. 

This description of Blue Monday begs the question..."How the fuck is this any different from yesterday?"

Every major media outlet in the nation is reminding you of your neverending debt, the ceaseless barrage of winter weather, and how you seamlessly fucked up every New Year's Resolution you've ever had, all first thing on Monday morning - Blue friggin' Monday indeed. Thanks for the reminder! I pretty much had forward knowledge of what sucks in life without Matt Lauer and his team of whiz kids over at NBC rubbing it in my face. If I heard this news story yesterday, it would've been Blue Sunday. So what's with the headline?

Looks like it's about to get deep in here

According to our neuroscientist friend, Dean Burnett, over at The Guardian, "The "Blue Monday" phenomenon is based on the claim that there is an equation that takes into account numerous variables that negatively influence people's mood and calculates that the most depressing day of the year is the third Monday in January." Well, fuck, it's the first Monday - I'm calling bullshit! 

Not to be outdone by mathematical whatevers, the geniuses behind an energy drink company have trolled millions of tweets which, after serious analysis, shows today as the day full of the most depressing tweets. (No clue on what 'serious analysis' actually is). Furthermore, a web divorce service says its busiest day of the year for divorce filing is today. To be honest, I find this statistic the least bit surprising - you're lucky if you make it through the holidays in one piece, you should be proud of yourself if, after it all, your marriage is still in tact. Not only that, isn't everyone trying to shed some weight in the new year? No one ever asks what weight it is that they're trying to lose, a useless and ever-so-stinky husband perhaps, maybe your slutbag whore of a wife?

                                                                                    In the end - who cares?

Zero amounts of science have ever backed up this shitty claim. My debt will be the same tomorrow, if not more (thanks a lot interest rates). The weather is probably going to suck for a while (yay winter, hooray climate change). And I made it through most of the day without filing for divorce; that may change once I get home or maybe my husband already has, but I'm pretty sure we'll be fine. Ultimately - what the fuck ever Blue Monday. I'm more worried about Terrible Tuesday, when the Mouth returns to the office. I'm genuinely looking forward to hearing all her opinions about everything and everyone. Can't wait til Shut the Fuck up Friday!

Holy crap! She's gone vegan...

Yes, yes...it's true. I've gone vee to the gan.

This mystical transformation took place last weekend. When I ventured off to slumber on Saturday night I was wearing fuzzy pink pajama pants and a t-shirt; however, I awoke dreadlocked and covered in granola.

--I was confused--

Perhaps I was still dreaming - I must be lost in Wanderlust. I immediately began looking for a shirtless Justin Theroux to help me relax. But, as I started looking around, I wasn't in Wanderlust...I was in my house. I'm sure you can imagine my Theroux-less disappointment.

I managed to dust the granola off my shoulders and head downstairs. I plucked leaves of kale and spinach from a window garden (that, strangely, wasn't there yesterday, and somehow seemed to miraculously be flourishing even though it was 32 degrees outside). I stuffed the kale and spinach leaves with vegan holiness and devoured them there on the spot. Soon my belly was full of social elitism, decadently covered in hatred of the popular world around me. 

I was now ready to start my day. I slapped on my sandals, tossed a burlap sack over my shoulder, and headed to the farmer's market.

Okay, so maybe it didn't really happen like that. 

For realsies, I had not eaten meat for a while and thought I was good with where I was at. Eggs, dairy, grains, and veggies - while not for everyone, was more than adequate for me.The vegan thing was something I had kicked around in my head from time to time, but other than that, it was really just an afterthought.

If you've read my previous post, you would know that I'm an information whore. Through the grand will of my Amazon Prime membership, I can access countless documentaries that allow me to fill my head with facts that will subsequently grant me the ability to spout useless knowledge at random passersby, making me feel superior, while everyone in a 3 mile radius is destined to loathe my existence. Anyway, one of those documentaries was Vegucated, a sociological experiment that takes three meat loving New Yorkers on a 6-week quest to adopt a vegan lifestyle. 

The premise alone was enough to suck me in (there were words and thoughts, that's pretty much all it takes); however, in addition to 3 people changing their diets, the narrator, Marissa Miller Wolfson, also gave them a guided tour through the principles of veganosity (real word? maybe.)...the most paramount component being animal processing facility footage....bum BUM BAAAAH! 

I have learned a little in my 31 years, most recently that the mass production of food is reprehensible and once animals become involved it is absolutely deplorable - including my 'go-to' eggs and dairy. I always understood this, which is why I have made it a practice to purchase pastured beef, chicken, pork, eggs, and dairy - locally, when available. 

Suffice it to say, the few clips of footage shown was tough. Tough like sobbing as hardcore as the day Dave Kelly broke up with me in the seventh grade. (We were serious. I had doodled Courtney Kelly on at least four of my notebooks and named our imaginary kids. Those were the best 6 days of middle school.) That explanation should be enough to highlight the gravity of how this footage moved me. 

I came to the realization that, when it came to food, I wanted no part of the animal game. I mentally could not make exceptions for these practices through rationalizing how I procured my family's food. 

And that was it. Sunday came and I was vegan.

The point to this whole diatribe is this: vegan is not what you think it is. It isn't living in Wanderlust , rolling in granola with Justin Theroux. (Trust me, if it was, I would've made this move long ago.) I'll still make my family the things they want to eat (meat, eggs, and cheese included) to a healthful extent, of course.

And me? Well, I'm still the same loser I was before, but with spirulina and flax. I'm still gonna dump a bag of tortilla chips directly onto my belly and snack away while watching the premiere of the Real Housewives of New Jersey in June and not feel guilty at all. 

When it's all said and done...If Bill Clinton is going to herald the vegantry, I'll sign up for that monarchy. 

Who the hell am I fooling?

For, what is likely the hundredth time, I've set off on my venture to write this damn blog. Seriously, how many times have you perused through someone else's blahblitty blah blah and said to yourself, "Well I can fuckin' do that!" ? Yea, me too...incessantly.

I'm fairly certain that, everyday that I have sat down at this computer, I've thought, "Wow, maybe I should take some time to blog," then, without reservation, I shake my head and start googling who Kim Kardashian divorced this week. 

What the is the fucking deal with motivation?

Really...what is it? Everyone (myself included here) can ramble on endlessly about how hard they're gonna rock their next workout or follow along with some wack-a-doo diet plan that prevents cancer, obesity, and bad decisions. Oh, and my favorite, how they are totally gonna start devoting more time to charity and spend less time yelling at their children and secretly hating their families. Inevitably, countless hours are spent behind a screen, updating Facebook statuses and 'liking' motivational pictures that reassert one's new found fanaticism of greatness, re-tweeting Dalai Lama quotes, and 'pinning' a metaphorical to-do list that outlines the next 50 years.

By the time you're done, you're fucking beat. Good night! Only to wake up the next morning, clouded by your socially progressive hangover, scratching your head, and wondering what the hell happened. So you start scrolling through your status updates and realize that you just have to perpetuate your no good, lying existence through the use of more convoluted lies and bullshit.

The cycle never ends...
(it kinda reminds me of this Jenna Marbles take on dieting ) 

For some reason, we validate ourselves by others perceiving that we actually give a shit. 

Wouldn't it be nice, just for once, to not care what other people thought? Kinda like, "Excuse me, but I'm pretty sure buffet etiquette also includes taste-testing directly off the serving spoons," or "Yes, I do think that a lime green velour track suit is perfectly acceptable attire for the board meeting." 

We all eat food that falls on the floor and stick our fingers up our noses. Behind closed doors, we're pretty damn close to being the same person...give or take a few levels of crazy. Keeping up some ruse that we're motivated to do all these wonderful things after working all day, cleaning the house, helping with homework, driving to soccer, grocery shopping, making lunches, doing laundry, doing yard work, cooking meals, and not losing your mind whilst doing do, is fucking ridiculous.

Unfortunately, we'll all continue on our track to appear to be the best human being possible, all while trying not to look awkward while holding in a fart.