text:
The first year without her
Posted on October 9, 2014 4 Comments
The first month feels like a year, and then a week, and then a year again. A cold, long, drawn out year with no seasons, and no clocks.The first few days are as cold as ice; way too chilly for Columbus Day Weekend. You stop crying, and you start cracking smiles at small talk but there's still a pound of salt in your wounds and your friends see right through your grin, no matter how many teeth you're making it a point to show. Old neighbors, classmates and even complete strangers rise from the rubble to ask how you're holding up, including but not limited to that friend-of-a-friend you follow on Instagram but have never met in real life and that middle-aged man who does PR for your high school. Each "fuck off" you feel rolling off your tongue turns into something civil once it hits the air.
You wake up. You get dressed. You go back to work. You get on.
Everything reminds you of her.
Two months in, you start to feel feelings again (for-real feelings, not just that one you you get when you miss your train by half a flight of stairs). You muster up the courage to watch her favorite movies, listen to her favorite songs, but nine times out of ten you stop halfway through (if that far at all). The tenth time, you make it 'till the end, only to realize that the last 30 seconds of Dirty Dancing has never left you feeling more confused; that Patrick Swayze telling Jerry Orbach not to put Baby in the corner has just left you equal parts inspired, weepy, starving (?) and (#1) wondering why the fuck you just did that to yourself.
Your friends and family show their true colors. Some of their shades surprise you.Three months in, normal is the handsome stranger sitting at the end of the bar and you've finally locked eyes. Sure, you immediately break eye contact and you're moonwalking away to go finish your pint glass of Pinot in the bathroom Cady Herron-style, but (moral of the story) normal is in arm's reach. Even if it looks like Patrick Dempsey and you, like Amanda Bynes post-Is It A Bong Or A Vase?
The "I'm sorry for your loss" eyes become less frequent and the harder holidays come and go as an empty chair — her chair — is filled by someone new (best case scenario: a three year old whose favorite song is Blurred Lines). Some days, that chair is all you can think about. Others, its the last thing on your mind. That, and the laundry list of things you still need to do (see: pay for her headstone, settle her bank accounts, tell that debt collector in Virginia that you're not going to pay for that fucking X-ray she got in 2002 and that they can go shave their back now).
Something still feels like its missing.Four months in, the smell of hand sanitizer on the counter of a smoothie shop brings you back to the foot of her hospital bed. You forget how to breathe as you envision the nights she (more than likely) spent sleeplessly crying because you left her alone with a six inch television she could barely see and a 12 inch Subway sandwich, half of which she could never even stomach. You wonder how that PA — Johnny, Jason, James, she could never remember his name — is doing. You want to thank him for being there when you weren't, but you never call.
Everything still reminds you of her.
The smell of cigarettes. Bay Ridge Pizza. The sound of Tom Bergeron's voice.Five months in, you attend the local Saint Patrick's Day Parade with a friend you haven't seen in a while, and her one month old baby boy. You wish, more than anything, that she could have met him — loved him — but you find solace in the fact that you got to tell her he was coming. The pregnancy of a childhood friend — unexpected, but welcomed — was one of the last big things you were able to tell her about as her blood pressure plummeted in New York Presbyterian's immaculate emergency room.
You feel her presence every once in a while, some times more powerful than others.
Six months in, the floodgates open and that corner of your heart you'd saved for all the shit you need to tell her finally overflows. One day, you swallow your pride, hold your cracked iPhone to your ear, and fake a call on your way home from work. You talk to her (while trying desperately to ignore the fact that you're really just talking to yourself) for 13 minutes, just hoping she can hear you, and that no one can see you ugly crying from their cars.
You tell her all about being published by The Huffington Post, this season of the Voice (#TeamShakira) and that time you got shot in the nipple while paint-balling. You wish her a happy belated birthday, and pretend to hang up.
She would've been 60 this year.
Seven months in, there are finally more good days than bad. The afternoons get easier, but after midnight still stings worse than any sunburn she ever tried to prevent when you were feeling young, wild and free (see also: rebellious and completely against anything over 15 SPF).
You gather the strength to go through the Aldo shoe-box full of old photos you salvaged from the two-story house you used to shared together. You have so many questions (Is this my grandpa? Who is this blonde woman you're jumping off of cliffs with? Are those bell-bottoms real and where can I find them?) but they're all left unanswered. Maybe for now. Maybe forever.
The very same goes for how she feels about your outfit, or your highlights. A second opinion that was once second nature is no more, and it doesn't help that you live with two boys.
Eight months in, you celebrate your first birthday without her. Your first birthday without her using the wrong form of "your" in a pop-up Hallmark card. Your first birthday waking up alone, and not to a voicemail of her singing, even though she's only downstairs on the couch.Nine months in, you find a travel bag you never unpacked from her stay at Presbyterian. Inside are two unopened Burt's Bees chapsticks, an orange prescription bottle, Dove deodorant and an eye-mask (when the fuck did she start sleeping with an eye-mask?) You can't bring yourself to get rid of it, mostly because you have a feeling it's illegal to toss 15 milliliters of Caphosol to the curb all willy nilly.
A small part of you keeps it just to keep it.
You tuck it away in the bottom drawer of your Ikea nightstand that won't. fucking. stay. together. (#NoDisrespectToIkea but, in times of grief, the smallest inconveniences have a habit of feeling like the end of the world. Most days, though, you're just thankful to have furniture at all.)
Ten months in, time starts to blur. You start to forget what it was like when she was around, if only for a second. The next thing you know you're eleven and a half months in and seeing her favorite singer perform live from the Great Lawn at Central Park. You sob gracefully (you've mastered this) as girls around you in cut-offs and maxi skirts frolicking in circles to Carrie Underwood's 40-minute, very pregnant set at Global Citizen Festival. You pray for the love of God she doesn't sing Jesus Take The Wheel even though you know damn well she's going to.
She damn well does and you damn well lose your shit.
You go home and watch Dancing With the Stars over a Marie Callender's chicken pot pie because, even at 23, you can feel yourself turning into her.Twelve months in and you accept that the month she died will always be the hardest. It's been 364 days since you held her hand and pulled the plug, but you still can't bear to listen to old voicemails, afraid of what her voice on tape might do to you (even though you've heard her laugh every day since she died). Sometimes you can hear her say funny things like "fuck you," and "jackass" (emphasis on the "JACK").
Most of all, you hear "Got me." Her response whenever you would say you loved her more.
One year in, everything still reminds you of her, and that's okay with you.
Life happens when you're busy blogging
Posted on September 3, 2014 3 Comments
John Lennon (and one in five white girls' high school yearbook) once said, "Life happens when you're busy making other plans." #TBH, life's been really needy lately (like, ex girlfriend at the end of The Fault in Our Stars needy) but, before Kanye drops in to tell me Beyoncé had the best blog of all time, let me finish.
Between the delivery of a brand new bed that I can, now, never get out of and breaking news at my day-job — special shout out to those cops that saved that woman from choking on a meat kabob at the feast, and a not-so-special shout out to that rapist on the loose two towns over — I haven't had time to do my laundry, nevermind write much for myself. Seriously. I've been hand-washing my underwear and buying new shit (#LABORDAYSALE).
This is getting out of hand.
But I'm still breathing, overspending on Starbucks and doing shit worth writing about. See:
- Riding Nitro and crying hysterically.
- Drooling as Katy Perry rides around the Barclays Center on a high-wire and lap-dances a lucky audience member.
- Watching my roommate eat a six inch Subway sandwich at the bar.
- Being asked my age at an 18+ event, only to answer "23 and too old for this."
- Taking mass transit to the Hamptons at 7 a.m. for an afternoon of two-dollar beers and poor decisions.
- Losing a bet over mini-golf and getting a Henna tattoo tramp stamp of an acquaintance's name in script.
- Waiting 45 minutes for said Henna tattoo tramp stamp to dry.
- Sleeping a lot more than I should.
- Dancing on what used to be a stripper runway with the lead singer of Hellogoodbye because, I'm still sixteen at heart and still pay actual money to see Hellogoodbye in concert (on background: he also took a selfie of mostly just his mustache on my friend's phone and then asked all the men in the audience to take off their shirts).
- Making this still of Leslie Knope my cover photo on Facebook:
- Planning a benefit concert (and designing lots of buttons online).
- Diagnosing myself with a thyroid condition via WebMD because I'm too stubborn to admit that it's my fault (and that of the Starbucks lemon loaf cake I eat each morning) that I'm getting a little pudgy (#MYANACONDADONT).
- Losing six pairs of sunglasses.
- Sitting shotgun all the way to Scranton to see Fall Out Boy butcher "Dance, Dance" live (but hey, $15 lawn seats).
- Dropping my venti iced chai tea latte from Starbucks in the middle of the street only to be looked up at with pity by a woman with a walker, to whom I responded, "At least it's not a Monday."
Here's to hoping I will one day find the time to write something other than a listicle. Until then, THANKS INTERNET for sticking around (and somehow still following this occasionally dormant blog).
Nobody likes you when you're 23, they think you're the tits
Posted on August 13, 2014 4 Comments
Blink 182 was wrong.
Okay, okay. Blink 182 was right about a lot (see: the entire two minutes and 45 seconds of "Dammit" and that line in "The Party Song" about girls trying too hard), but not about birthdays.
If nobody is supposed to like you when you're 23, our generation is doing something wrong.
By 23, you've weeded out the fair-weather friends. The ones just there for a good time and a few beers on your tab; the ones you genuinely liked but just didn't stand the test of time; the ones that sucked; and the ones that fucked your best friend's boyfriend.
You've shared the last five, ten, maybe fifteen birthdays with the majority of the RSVPs at your three-hour open bar on the Upper East Side, and those friends who may be new to your overly boozy (and overly 90's) shindig are there for an important reason: because we're 23 and ain't nobody got time for that (that being fake friends).
The friends we keep at 23 are the friends we keep for life, no matter how little or long we've known them.
These are the friends that, at 18, risked their asses to throw you the biggest birthday party you'd ever had up to that point in their parents' basement. They bought gold wristbands and made guest lists and had your best friend fly back from Ireland to surprise you. They're the friends that turned a sweat-soaked kegger/makeshift wet t-shirt contest into a night to remember, complete with a personal concert a'la your friends' first band (another surprise), a bucket full of gin, and little regard for noise complaints.These are the friends that, at 19, did the same damn thing; this time around with more gin, some glitter, and far fewer clothes. They still loved you even though your college roommates were passed out on the concrete out front ("Get Iona in the house") and another friend jumped in the neighbor's pool. They poured full beers on your head, but didn't blame you for the phantom vomit by the sink.
These are the friends that, at 20, loved you at your worst (your worst being the bad end of your hormonal bender at the Knights of Columbus, just two drinks deep). The ones that apologized to strangers on your behalf after you told them to fuck off for not knowing your name. The ones that baked you a birthday cake, lit the candles on top of it and had a bar full of people (half of whom you'd already verbally assaulted) to sing "Happy Birthday," while you cried in the corner and your best friend smoked a cigarette indoors.
The ones that took you home at 10 p.m. to your sobbing mother and nodded as you swore you were roofied when really, you just didn't eat dinner. The party only started at 7.
These are the friends that, at 21, trekked to the upper most end of the Upper East Side to celebrate, even if some weren't as legal as you yet, with a few dozen vodka-clubs. The ones that took the risk and schmoozed the bouncer and pretended to be your 29-year-old cousin your mom convinced the owner "just looked young."These are the friends that, at 22, convinced the owner to let them into that bar on West Fourth with their birth certificate because your birthday wasn't one to be missed, and fuck the DMV. The friends that ordered Fireball on the rocks and took a tumble down the stairs to mark the one-year-anniversary of you turning 21 (sorry, Marina). The ones that put two credits in the jukebox and spent them both on "Picture" by Kid Rock and the one in particular that fell out of the roof of a moving car, because your birthday, as usual, got him that drunk.
Don't forget the one who got lost in Queens and asked the cops to take him home.
These are the friends that, at 23, packed out the basement of an Amsterdam Avenue bar, even though they've been at this for years. The ones from all walks of life and all parts of town — Bay Ridge, New Rochelle, Middle Village, Hollis Hills, Far Rockaway — bonding over shots, selfies and another year of you. The ones that cut the music at midnight to sing Celine Dion, and "Happy Birthday," but mostly Celine Dion.
The ones that rallied so hard that they woke up from a vodka-coma in your friend's back seat only to puke on the Brooklyn bar that wouldn't let your friends in and break a bad fall with their face (I love you, Erin). The ones that carried said friend up three flights of stairs, doused her face in Neosporin and put her to bed. The ones that stayed a little late just to watch the sunrise, and eat Halal on your roof.
Oh, and the one who got arrested. That one, too.
"Next year, we're going to the movies."
One month into 23 and I haven't pranked called anybody's mother from a pay-phone, but I've felt pretty fucking loved. If you're a friend and you're reading this (which is likely, as my readership is 60 percent Facebook friends and 40 percent foreign countries), I raise my hypothetical glass to you, for standing the test of time and still being there, even when I'm crying in the back of the bar.
To my fellow twenty-somethings: Hold tight, kids. These are the ones.
My mother hated tattoos, so naturally I got one for her
Posted on July 2, 2014 11 Comments
"Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months—they're like dog months."
- Rainbow Rowell
A lot happens your freshman year of college. It's one of those years you learn who you are, what you're made of and, in most cases, the art of laundry. For me, freshman year meant Four Loko out of Dr. Pepper bottles on the Metro North, falling for a stranger I met on a scavenger hunt, and holding hands with a once-friend for my first tattoo (spoiler: she went bat-shit and called my roommate a cake-faced, boge-smoking bitch).
A real milestone year.
It was Columbus Day weekend, 2009. I walked through the doors of my family's two-story home in South Brooklyn for the first time since going away to college and living three people to a dorm room. Mom had the house to herself. I had meticulously positioned one of those middle school slap bracelets around my left wrist, barely masking a two-week old tattoo I'd gotten for my father (without my mother's permission) on Saint Mark's Place in the city.
Looking back, settling on a shop called Whatever Tattoo was wrong.
She wasn't suspicious in the slightest. To her, the vintage bracelet was just another five-second trend I was trying on, paired perfectly with an XL Led Zeppelin tee shirt and the blonde streaks I was still growing out from the summer before. I was going through something, that's for sure (Cue: I'm Not Okay by MCR and Torn by Natalie Imbruglia).
It took all of twenty minutes for me to break.
"I have to tell you something," I said, asking her to sit down.
In hindsight, this was cruel. Her mind went straight to teen pregnancy, leaving anything I said after that that wasn't "I'm carrying some senior on the rugby team's child" to be tolerated, hell, maybe even thrown a ticker-tape parade.
I peeled back the quarter-machine cover-up to reveal the teeny tiny, permanent text:"This is sufficient for me," ripped right from the last line of the prayer found on the back of dad's necklace. The one he was given while working down at Ground Zero. The one he gave me right before he died. The full line read, "Give me your love and your grace, for this is sufficient for me."
Mom was hysterical. Equal parts angry, touched and relieved I wasn't with child.
"How can I be mad," she asked, I had hoped hypothetically. She loved it. But she was definitely kind of mad.
Second came an anchor on my upper back for my best friend since six.
We met in kindergarten and, at 18, she said she hated me at first. Thankfully, she traded in her grudge for rainy weekends spent hiding handwritten wishes under the floorboards in my room. Sometimes they were for full seasons of Degrassi on DVD, or to marry the Madden brothers. Most of the time they were for a sleepover and, most of the time, they came true.
I sat mom down beforehand.
"Eileen and I are getting matching tattoos," I said with a sort of confidence that surprised us both. I think she thought I was kidding, but I was serious. Rick Shoots Up Degrassi serious (okay, maybe Manny Wants To Be Hot serious). Either way, we weren't kidding.
The definition we tossed around was, "well-grounded hope."
"Since an anchor is what puts down roots deep into the sea to hold a ship in place, it has been associated with strength and stability. The anchor can be seen symbolically as something that holds you in place and provides you the strength to hold on no matter how rough things get."
- Tumblr, 2011
Boy, were things rough at 20 (this is only partly sarcasm; Steve Jobs died that year and Pitbull released an album called Planet Pit, life totally sucked).
Either mom didn't hate it, or she was really good at lying.
Four years, one shot-in-the-dark addition ("Is that a rope or a dollar sign?") and one not-so-terrible touch-up (never trust a guy who says, "I got it" because A. He definitely does not have it and B. It will look nothing like what you saw on Tumblr) later and my best friend is still the one who keeps me grounded/reminds me to eat healthy every once in a while.
Third was an ampersand on my inner right ankle. Mom had no more say. She knew I was going to do it anyway and "at least it wasn't a tramp stamp or Justin Bieber's face." Direct quote.
"To always remember what I want to do," I told her, as if I was going to get into some terrible accident down the road and wake up thinking I wanted to be a doctor. "I want to be a writer."
Truthfully, it came on the heels of one passionate journalism course and its brutally honest professor who, Day One, told us, "be prepared to waitress after college. Journalism is a bitch."
(He was my favorite.)
Fourth was a tribute to a summer abroad in France, and mom, or so I said at the time (her true tribute would come later and hurt far less). The foot's a fucking nightmare (and impossible to flatter in a photo so here it is with hanging dragonfly lights).
It was summer, 2013 and mom was halfway through her third round of leukemia treatments at New York Presbyterian. We sat and talked for hours from her bed by the window, overlooking the East River. About the Home Reporter, living alone and all the drugs I didn't do at Lollapalooza. About her roommate with the cunty attitude, her constant cottonmouth and her favorite PA John, or Joe (she could never quite remember), before I told her to look at my foot.
I can still see her face.
"Toujours se souvenir; To Always Remember in French," I said. "It's for you."
She started to laugh from her gut.
She called in the passing resident on her rounds. "This is my daughter, Meaghan," she said, tears of laughter streaming down her face, "and this is her new tattoo. Apparently it's for me."
It really was, I assured her. To always remember the four weeks I spent galavanting through Europe at her expense. To always remember everything she's ever afforded me, like that drunken bike ride along the Siene and that order of Escargot I never ate. And, you know, life.
To always remember where I've been (Brooklyn, Bermuda, Paris, Rome, Rocking Horse Dude Ranch, etc.), where I came from (our stoop on 73rd Street, the county of Cork, my mother's womb), and who I am (a McGoldrick, and, more importantly, my mother's daughter).
She loved it, I think, but all she could do was laugh.
Five treatments in, I called her to tell her I'd fucked up the anchor and that the rope made its silhouette look like a dollar sign.
"It was missing something, I don't know," I said over the phone, smearing tear-soaked mascara from my eyelids to my chin. "It looks awful."
She returned home for five days before she died. We ordered in from Tasty Chicken, watched The Voice and said "Goodnight" in person. We fought hard the Saturday before her heart gave out, but, not about the touch-up.
"It doesn't look bad at all," she said, when she easily could have said "I told you so."
One month after I buried mom next to dad in a shared plot in Staten Island, I buckled up and got the anchor fixed. A few more flowers, some asymmetrical lines and a lot of "Fuck it"s later, the same guy who did my ampersand gave new life to the anchor that once was.
Nearly a year later and I'm still learning to love it, because mom said it wasn't so bad.
Fifth and finally came something special. "Love you more," in her handwriting on my right wrist — pulled directly from a Hallmark Card she bought me the day I e-mailed my current job to ask if they had any internships. Not the day they took me on as an intern. Not the day they hired me full time. The day I asked if they had anyone to do their coffee runs.
"I bought this card the day you e-mailed the Home Reporter. I knew you would get it. Your MEAGHAN. Love you more then you know."
Wrong form of "you're" aside, I framed the card and, eight months later, am finally able to accept that she's no longer here. Never gone, though, as her words lay opposite those inspired by my father; the two of them still holding my hand and guiding me through this fucked up life (and helping me home on the weekends).
(As a journalist, I couldn't bring myself to tattoo the wrong form of "than" to the arm that I write with. Grammar was never her strong suit, and "Love you more" was always our thing.)
I think she'd dig it. I certainly do.
Also featured on Huffington Post College.
10 things people have Googled to get to this blog
Posted on June 30, 2014 1 Comment
The internet is a scary thing. Not only is every Instagram selfie I've ever shamelessly posted plastered on the Google Image search attached to my name but, thanks to WordPress, I have access to an archive of search terms that — at one time or another — have led Internet users to my site.
Here are ten of the best, worst and kind of weird."why is it important for destiny's child to keep up their friendly façade"
I've been asking this since Independent Women Part I."new year, new tits"
This has been searched twice."photos of mold starting on frozen pizza"
I can't say they found what they were looking for, but they were likely led to the story of My First Apartment which, hopefully, made them feel a bit better about their iffy pizza."fireball whiskey gives me hives"
I'm so sorry."your father has presented you a dual-sim card mobile phone on your birthday.write diary entry about your feeling."
This person is clearly skirting around some sort of weirdly specific writing assignment."who is the blonde on the digiorno"
Nope."am a virgin, if i drink a bottle of smirnoff, will it make sex painless?"
It's worth a shot (no pun intended)."i won't touch my friends tits meaghan mcgoldrick"
This person obviously knew what story they were looking for ("I will not touch my friends' tits" and other New Year vows), but this search made me LOL."how to spell brianna in emojis"
????"meaghan mcgoldrick cynical"
Welcome home, kid.
There are more important things in life than what your ex is doing on Facebook
Posted on June 11, 2014 5 Comments
There are more important things in life than what your ex is doing on Facebook.
There are more important things in life than what that girl wore to EDC, or that she went at all.
There are more important things in life than a brand new Michael Kors watch.
There are more important things in life than keeping up appearances.
There are more important things in life than fitting into that dress or old band tee.
There are more important things in life then those little flabs of fat under your arm.
There are more important things in life than becoming somebody's Him/Her.
There are more important things in life than gripping tight to a grudge.
There are more important things in life than nine to five.
There are more important things in life than choosing a filter.
There are more important things in life than getting it on film.
There are more important things in life than faking it.
There are more important things in life than just missing the train.
There are more important things in life than striking out.
There are more important things in life than what they think.
There are more important things in life.
There are family and friends and car rides and gut-laughs. Pitcher deals and dollar stores and Sundays spent sprawled out on the roof. Sunrises. Sunsets. Five liter boxes of wine and shoeboxes full of old concert tickets — Good Charlotte, Bamboozle '07 and the Arctic Monkeys show you were kicked out of at 18. There are weeknights spent feeding the jukebox — My Chemical Romance, Brand New, Kid Rock, repeat. There are all-you-can-eat buffets and brunch specials and stolen kisses after-hours. There are sing-alongs and scream-alongs and bathroom stall cry-alongs. There are Happy Hours and heartfelt toasts.
To Andrew Garfield's ass in spandex, and Iggy Azalea's ass in anything.
To the New York Rangers.
To mom on what would've been her 60th birthday.
To your best friend behind the bar.
To another year closer to 30.
To the same company you've kept for years.
To the newer company you've kept for months.
To the ride.
To life, to love, and to us.
TBT: Spring Break Fight Club
Posted on May 22, 2014 1 Comment
March 11, 2013
It's three days into our Spring Break in San Juan and all seventeen-or-so of us had seen the view from the Plaza de Armas, strolled through Old San Juan and befriended an overweight and over-pouring bartender behind the counter of a bar I'll never remember the name of.
For the sake of the story, let's just call it Fight Club.
Everyone gets too drunk off a liquored-up drink that's mostly coconut milk and cinnamon (turns out, this bartender was actually the devil). We pretend to play pool, make friends with locals and take pictures on a (dangerous looking) balcony — or so the Facebook albums say.
We cheer on our college basketball team from the bar via ESPN En Español.
Twenty-something drinks too deep, we split into groups — each of them fighting because Katie is missing, we're not quite sure why we're leaving (spoiler: we'd all run out of money) and "Shut up, you fucking bitch." I'm berated by my best friend, Ashton, on the side-streets of San Juan for letting the liquor in my liver take the reigns. I push his buttons and ugly-cry because we're fighting, which only puts this whole thing on Repeat. Meanwhile, my roommate is lifting her maxi skirt and squatting on the cobblestone streets between a car and a Vespa.
"That is the meanest thing I've ever heard," she says to Ashton, shocked, appalled and quite possibly still peeing. Hours later, he would look at me, hold my hands in his and say, "You know that song by Jack's Mannequin, 'Kill the Messenger?'"
"That's what I did. I killed the messenger. I killed you."
We regroup and head home, only to learn that — the entire time — Katie has been safe and sound in the company of Denis, Ryan and Gio. They left to buy a personal bottle of Bicardi from a grocery store because, When In Rome.
The following is Ryan's personal account:
"Then I blacked out so I don't remember what happened but we started looking for cabs in Old San Juan and apparently I told our friends to go get a cab but, in my blackedoutness, I thought they disappeared and dramatically caused a panic while everyone was fighting. Then I blacked out, went in SJ's mom's car* and told her how much I loved her son and was invited to their home in San Juan whenever I wanted (which I don't remember at all). While in this car, I saw Rae fucking hanging out of this cab's shotgun window and waving frantically for all of us to get in the cab. Like, just picture that girl halfway out of the window waving as this giant white taxi van comes barreling down the cobblestone narrow ass streets of San Juan. And then I fell out of the car (because I was so drunk, shocker) and stormed into the middle of the street in front of the taxi (which had to stop short because I stood directly in front of it so thank god I didnt die? Thanks, cabbie) and screamed at Rae, 'RAE ANN SCALISI, DON'T YOU EVER LEAVE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!' to which she started crying. Then I re-blacked out."
* SJ is a friend of ours who also happens to live in San Juan. Six days into Spring Break, he informed us that there were, in fact, open container laws and we should probably keep that bottle down.
The story ends with Denis and Ryan fighting in the courtyard of the Puerto Rican Marriott over who knows more about San Juan. Denis "kicks Ryan's knees out," calls him a pussy and Ryan almost get mulled over by a rape van. All this time, he is sporting a Panama hat he purchased at a gift shop.
My first year out of college
Posted on May 21, 2014 Leave a Comment
Originally published by Writtalin.
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I walked across the stage at Radio City, diploma in hand, gauze on my post-Senior Formal feet and mom in the audience. I said goodbye to sharing secrets, stories, and clothes with my closest girlfriends, Tuesday night drink specials, and the corner-deli guy. I said goodbye to all-nighters, gin buckets, and afternoon ragers. I said goodbye to friends, to family, to professors-turned mentors. I said goodbye to one home, and hello again to another.
I said goodbye to college and hello to home.
I said hello to adulthood, or something like it. To bills, old baggage, and boys I'd long forgotten about. To my house in Southern Brooklyn and to my mother – 59 and sassy – ready for her best friend back.
Three hundred and fifty days ago, my mother told me she had cancer. Acute myeloid leukemia. "But they caught it early," she said to soften the blow, to ease the pain, to ice the sting. We had a lot of hope and a lot of ice cream.
Three hundred and fifteen days ago, I accepted my first job offer. Part-time-turned-full-time at a former internship I fell in love with. The pieces moved closer together as I said yes to a career as a journalist over frozen yogurt on a city bench with my best friend – a borough over in an upscale New York City hospital – on speed-dial.
Two hundred and ninety-four days ago, I sat back-seat of a Jeep for fourteen hours cross-country to Chicago. I blacked out at Wrigley Field (may or may not have made out with a townie), slept on the floor of a high-rise apartment with a view of the city and braved Lollapalooza with ten of my closest guy friends.
Two hundred and twenty-one days ago, I said goodbye to my best friend. She kicked her cancer late September but, home for good for just five days, pneumonia knocked her out. Two hundred and twenty days ago, I packed a bag and began calling a best friend's basement home.
One hundred and sixty-seven days ago, I moved out of a two-story, two-bedroom home with the help of ten friends, four cars and two personal sanitation trucks. We tossed a professionally sketched portrait of Hilary Duff and decade-old middle school transcripts mom saved to be safe. We treasured old journals and scrapbooks and salvaged a Scooby Doo alarm clock.
One hundred and thirty-seven days ago I signed a lease with two male friends in a 70's-style realtor's office complete with mustard-colored carpeting and a birdcage cloaked in a 101 Dalmatians comforter. We moved in mom's old living room set and bonded over one hellish trip to Ikea and an unexplained painting of George Washington.
Forty-three days ago, I marked five years out of high school with bottomless white zinfandel and a ride in the disabilities-only elevator for old time's sake at our first reunion (shout-out to senior year, September 2008, and the bottle of Baccardi that landed me in a full leg cast). "You look great!"s came and went, and I only cried a little in the all-girls bathroom.
Just a few days ago, I took the subway to the city to see one of my closest girlfriends walk for her Master's Degree at Madison Square Garden, the very same venue and very same stage that – just hours earlier – our alma matter's Class of 2014 braved with a smile (some genuine, some forced, many laced with fear).
It's been 365 days since I was that senior scared for my life post-graduation. Post-Best Years of Your Life. Post-"Hey, Look I'm on my own and don't have to worry about student loans yet."
Here's what I've learned:
- Don't take anything for granted. Time. Money. People's presence. Avoid cancelling plans at all costs – unless it's raining and there's a Grey's Anatomy marathon on TV. But only use that one once.
- Say "I love you" more and mean it. Just don't do it via-text after 3 a.m. Say it to your pizza instead.
- Avoid songs like "23" by Jimmy Eat World unless you're looking for an extra side of Feels to go with that Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia.
- Go ahead, take a picture in the bear suit. You'll regret it if you don't.
- The very first Homecoming/Fall-fest/Spring Fling at your school will hurt a little. Maybe even a lot. It's all fun and games when you're day-drinking under the alumni tent but later, when the bars are closed and a senior friend's couch is the closest thing you have to a bed, expect some serious sappiness.
- Screenshot most Snapchats.
- Buy a good pair of running shoes and, if you opt for a gym membership, actually use it. It's no longer paid for by your school. If you don't, consider putting that money towards rent, or those ice-cube trays that also make popsicles.
- Always look into the "family" option when ordering in with your roommates. Even from that bougie Chinese food restaurant across the street.
- Thou shalt bottomless brunch whenever possible.
- Don't be afraid to go through old photos, shoeboxes, journals, etc. You never know what kind of stick-figure drawings of a female basketball player or well-thought-out Reasons to Hate Your First Ex-Boyfriend pre-listicle diary entries you'll find.
- Put your tongue away for the camera. You'll thank me later.
- Open bars that don't include shots almost always include Insert Liquor Here on the rocks.
- The ride home is always longer when you're driving cross-country in a Fiat.
- Revisit old stomping grounds every once in a while. Freshman year dive bars. High school hot spots. But pregame first, it's likely full of freshmen and high schoolers.
- Sure, you can attend that senior event/party/formal as an alumni but, odds are, you won't be able to hang. Unless you're superhuman (or employed as a professional drinker), the stress of the 9-5 daily-grind is bound to set you back in tolerance and send you home at least an hour or two earlier than usual. (If not, I commend you.)
- You are only as strong as your support system. Have faith in your friends and they'll have faith in you (see also: stand guard while you pop a squat, recommend you for that open job/single friend of theirs, and throw a fundraiser in your parents' honor while serving up dollar Jell-O shots for cancer research).
- Save every voicemail. A familiar voice may, one day, be hard to come by.
- Try something new. Spend a dollar at the pool table instead of the jukebox and challenge a stranger. Take a cooking class. Dabble in Do-It-Yourself Pinterest projects. See a city you've never seen before. This is life off-campus (and off the island of involvement fairs). Explore it, and make a name for yourself.
- The friends that are meant to stay are in it for the long haul.
- Graduation is not the end. It is not the end of your friendships. It is not the end of your academic career. It is not the end of the world. College may have been a beauty but life is a looker, too. Let it surprise you, one day at a time.
The first Mother's Day without you
Posted on May 7, 2014 14 Comments
This morning, I heard your laugh.
Six and a half months later and the Alex and Ani website still has the matching Leukemia bracelets I was going to buy us in my shopping cart. I can't bring myself to take them out.
I won't get to see you Sunday, not even your gravesite. Staten Island is a ways away and your name isn't even on dad's stone yet. The flowers I brought you for your birthday are probably dead by now and, odds are, you're still wondering why I didn't just opt for fake ones.
"Duh," you'd say if you were here. But you're not.
This is the first Mother's Day without you, and it'll likely be the hardest, though, your first birthday was a surprising breeze. That's just because you made sure all of your biggest fans packed out a pub in your honor — toasting to life, love and what it feels like to find peace.
This week is much harder, though. This week is tough.
It's almost a year since you stood outside of Radio City, cane, cancer and all, to mark my entrance into the real world. Losing you felt like a terrible hangover, the kind that leaves you numb and hazy. Kind of like a car crash. At almost 23, I'm finally getting my footing, but I have questions — like — how did you deal with losing dad so gracefully? Will the world ever stop and wait for me to catch up? What's a 401k? Can I survive on 25k a year? Are those Chinese Food containers microwaveable? What do I do about mold? Hypothetically, of course.
Are you happy with how I've handled myself? The apartment? My writing? Would you be happy with the "woman" I've become (even though you can finally see all of my credit card statements)? Sorry I spend so much on Starbucks. I promise I'll learn to balance my check-book.
Where did you and dad meet? How is he? Have you guys met Frankie Valli yet?
I wasn't ready for you to go, but you had to. You would've been 60 last month and all of senior year, I had hoped to throw you a party. I wanted to buy you that bracelet. I wanted to visit you more. I wanted to fly you to San Juan for the weekend so you could cross it off your bucket list.
I wanted to do a lot of things, and I wanted to do them with you. I thought we'd have more time, but that's just how the story goes. Your story. Your incredible story of growing up in the 70's, picking up and moving to Bermuda for months at a time, dating that guy in that rock band and dancing on stage with that singer whose name I wish more than anything I could remember.
I still have your claddagh earrings, and I hope to one day wear them. I can't say that I've carried on your taste for Coors or kept up with Ellen for you (I do know 25k doesn't buy me cable), but, six months into being a 23-year-old orphan, I still jump at the chance to bring you up.
"Mom would've cried if we got a
Panera Bread around here."
- In reference to a coming Chipotle.
"Mom would've voted for the sassy,
middle-aged black woman."
- In reference to our show, the Voice.
"Oh, that makes me think of my mom."
- In reference to just about any person, place or thing.
Forget Mother's Day. Forget the Hallmark Card I would've gotten you and the episode of NCIS we would've watched together. Forget the dinner I know damn well we would've ordered from Tasty Chicken on 17th Avenue and the pillow-talk we would've had before your meds kicked in. Forget the argument we would've gotten into over my selfish attitude and forget the tears we would've shed as we apologized — half out of regret for taking it that far, half out of love.
I love you every day and I'll keep loving you until the sun stops setting. I can only hope to keep you alive somehow, in a toast to Patrick Swayzee or in a song like I've Got a Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas because, unfortunately, it was your favorite (and your ringtone until 2012). I'm still sorry for that time I called you a prick (and that time I killed your poinsettia, and that time I forced you to try Fireball), and I'm sorry for telling the third grade drug counselor you smoked marijuana when you really smoked Marlboros. I'm still glad you didn't get arrested.
Happy Mother's Day, mom. This morning, this Sunday, and every day until the next one.
I'll always love you more.
(Got ya.)
Also featured on Thought Catalog.
Update: Turns out, Frankie Valli is not dead yet. Oops.
Life begins at the end of your comfort zone, and mine ends somewhere around paint-ball
Posted on April 30, 2014 Leave a Comment
Last weekend I made the (totally conscious and sober) decision to go paint-balling with 20 friends, a couple of ex-boyfriends, one ex-boyfriend's younger brother and some strangers. Anyone who knows me well knows that, while I have negative athletic net-worth, I am (kind of) rich in inner rage (and only kind-of kidding). Hiking aside (not my strong suit), I fucking loved it.
When I wasn't getting shot in the tit (thanks, August) or gut-laughing in the backseat of a three-hour car-ride as all six of the mix CDs I made for the trip violently skipped ("Call me a safe bet, I'm betting I'm nah-ah-ah"), I was letting my guard down — lightyears away from my comfort zone.
In between spouts of briskly walking for my life, I took to Twitter (because my memory is shot and I have a memoir to write one day) and the results are as priceless as what it must've felt like to get me to agree to go paint-balling. The welts and sores may have faded, but the story no one really believed ("Meg Goes Paint-balling") is forever.
"Suck a fucking dick Jason":
life living above lonestar
– 4:56 a.m.
My morning is meant to begin at 5 a.m., but thanks to signing a lease three doors down from a bar, I'm awoken by one drunk bitch's crusade to find her car (which I hope she never found, for everyone's sake). I drag my ass into the bathroom to find the shower-head mangled on the bathtub floor. I vaguely remember a text my roommate sent the night before.
"Totally broke the shower-head. I'll have to show you using charades."
I take a two-minute shower (mind you, the water is running viciously, and straight out of the pipe), pack up, get dressed and head to Jimmy's at 5:30 to make our friends' incredibly optimistic 6:30 meet-up and 7 a.m. departure (I have little legs and smaller strides).
"Did you sleep last night?
5:45 is a brave time to be awake"
– 6:16 a.m.
Jimmy is concerned by my 5:30 a.m. "need anything?" text. I get there on time. Everybody else gets there around 7. We talk about the weather and how everyone is excited to shoot me.
We all look homeless
– 6:54 a.m.
Also ready for war.
"Yo my heart might explode"
– 7:29 a.m.
Five minutes into our road-trip and Roberto is on his third Red Bull. We only get lost once on the way to Pennsylvania, and use a porta-potty somewhere in Jersey. Mazel Tav.
"I can't talk right now, this is the best part of the song" @Rmminondo during Circle of Life
– 8:17 a.m.
In the days leading up to what felt like my own death, my car-mates had asked if I would make some mix CDs — with their suggestions, of course. I made six and, while four of them skipped the whole way home (spoiler: don't go running through the woods with anything breakable in your backpack), the best ones made the cut. See: the first track list:
- Shots – Lil Jon and LMFAO
- Ignition – R. Kelly
- Whenever, Wherever – Shakira
- Underneath Your Clothes – Shakira
- Groove is in the Heart – Deee-lite
- Lose Yourself to Dance – Daft Punk feat. Pharrell
- Burnin' For You – Blue Oyster Cult
- Slow Ride – Foghat
- So Fresh, So Clean – Outkast
- Right Back Where We Started From – Maxine Nightingale
- Stockholm Syndrome – Blink 182
- You Get What You Give – New Radicals
- 212 – Azealia Banks
- Circle of Life – The Lion King
- In the Summertime – Mungo Jerry
- Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough – Michael Jackson
- Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum
- Sugar We're Goin' Down – Fall Out Boy
- White Houses – Vanessa Carlton
"Getting on the road by 7:30 a.m. is like putting a man on the moon for our friends"
– 8:19 a.m.
We left late, but we're still really proud.
Jimmy named his gun Gordon Ramsey because it's very loud and mean
– 9:31 a.m.
We get there a minute past opening and it feels like fucking Christmas. Roberto tapes together his ripped pants as Robert gears up, Jimmy loads Gordon Ramsey and I sit around on my phone waiting to be told what to do. Captains pick teams. I get picked second-to-last, likely out of pity and for the sake of keeping me on the same team as the girl — my best friend/sista from another mista — who begged me to give paintball a fighting chance.
We run to each other like this is a real draft.
"Did you see Black Hawk Down?"
– 9:51 a.m.
I am scared. I tuck my phone into my bra — immediately rethink that decision — and leave it in the floral backpack I'm so gracefully carrying over my full-camo jumpsuit. The whistle blows, I take a deep breath and spend the majority of my morning hiding behind barrels and crates and cardboard cutouts. I get shot in the side by my first ex-boyfriend's younger brother.
He's on my team. At least I shot David in the dick (also sorry).
Update: paintball is hard
– 12:22 a.m.
I put my phone away again until…
Update: August shot me in the tit
– 6:37 p.m.
I get shot in the hands, thighs and back a few more times until we call it a day around hour nine. We hike back to the car, strip ourselves of our five-pound jumpers (hallelujah) and split up. We reconvine at Wendy's over frostees and air conditioning. I laugh harder than I have in years over a three-hour a car-ride through three states with four of my oldest friends — then sleep.
The morning after paintball feels like
laying down in front of a truck that's
pouring pounds of thumbtacks
on you then running you over
– 10:35 a.m. the next morning: Easter Sunday
The moral: venture outside of your comfort zone, even if that means getting shot in the tit.
Also always pack a pair of sweatpants.


text:
Thundercat - 'Apocalypse' Out Now Worldwide
Apocalypse, the sophomore album from Brainfeeder bass virtuoso Thundercat, is out now digitally worldwide.Read More
Apocalypse, the sophomore album from Brainfeeder bass virtuoso Thundercat, is out now digitally worldwide.Read More
The Cinematic Orchestra presents In Motion #1 is out now on 2LP, CD and download.Read More
Brainfeeder were named 'Label of the Year' at the Gilles Peterson Worldwide Awards on 21 January, and to say thanks to everyone that voted, they're giving away a free 12-track sampler of tracks.Read More
A lot has happened this year, so much so it's hard to do it all justice in one news piece, but here's to trying. Listen to the sound of Ninja Tune (and the extended label family) in 2014 via our Spotify, YouTube and SoundCloud playlists; check out our visual wrap-up here.Read More
You may or may not have known that we like to impart the office stereo selections to you via our Spotify Staff Picks playlist. In any case, here's our run-down of 2014's Top 20 Albums and Top 20 Singles, in no particular order, below the drop.Read More
The Ninjashop will be closed from 12pm GMT on Friday 19th Dec, reopening 10am GMT on Monday 5th Jan - any physical orders placed after closing time will be shipped in the new year.
UK orders placed before 19th Dec should arrive before Christmas - EU & ROW orders will now arrive after the Christmas period.
Digital orders will be available immediately throughout the holiday period.Read More
Fortunately Wiley has rescheduled his Snakes & Ladders tour for early next year with a newly upgraded London venue, Scala, making way for some extra tickets if you missed out the first time round - more info here.Read More
© 2014 Ninja Tune
Your playlist is empty
New Tracks:

subset: commoncrawl


text:
19 January, 2006@12:00 am
0 comments
When Biggie passed away almost a decade ago, the hip hop world lost a truly captivating lyricist. What was unfortunate was that Biggie didn't leave a ton of material behind for us to gush over like his counterpart, Tupac, who has so much material some think he still roams the earth. Enter B.I.G.'s good buddy, Sean Combs, who hasn't had as much success in the music game since the death of the Notorious one, but has remained a face in the hip hop game through various other outlets. So what can Diddy do to bring some momentum back to his music career (and make a little cheese off of his man's legacy)? Make an album of some rare (or not so rare) Christopher Wallace rhymes alongside some of today's hip hop mainstays. While this is the second time that we have seen this done (Biggie's Born Again album) Diddy has titled this installment Duets: The Final Chapter. Many of us hope that this is indeed the final chapter, due to a highly questionable guest list and some rehashed B.I.G. lyrics.
While it is refreshing to hear Biggie's voice again, Duets is full of hit and miss moments. The questionable guests throughout the album, as well as the fact that many of these B.I.G. verses have been heard before, hold back any momentum that could have been gained. Then there are some outright awkward moments such as the Diddy, Eminem and Obie Trice outing "It Has Been Said" where after the three minutes are up, you have to run the track back because you just know they forgot something – Biggie. How in the hell can you make a Biggie album and forget the guy who the album is all about? Not only that, notice who Diddy sounds like on the track (remember he doesn't write rhymes, he writes checks!). The same blasphemous moment happens on "I'm With Whateva" where Lil Wayne, Juelz Santana and Jim Jones somehow manage to slip through the cracks with another compilation like track.
Outside of those two moments, the album stays pretty much on track as Duets is littered with some unworthy guests spots and proves just how far ahead of the game Biggie was as he outshines most of his guests. "Breaking Old Habits" feat Slim Thug and T.I. and "Hustler's Story" feat Scarface, Akon and Big Gee of Boyz N Da Hood are probably the most blatant sonnings by a dead man on record ever (except for Scarface, of course). Slim Thug and T.I. are made out to be amateurs by B.I.G.'s relentless delivery on the former while we wonder why in the hell newcomer Big Gee is even on the album. "Ultimate Rush" is ultimately bullshit as a snooze worthy beat and an uninspired Missy appearance banishes this track to hip hop hell.
There are still some noteworthy moments like the reunion of Jay-Z and B.I.G. on "Whatchu Want" as well as the Just Blaze laced "Living In Pain" with Tupac, Mary J Blige and Nas, holding it down. But at the end of the day, you begin to wonder what the real motive of Diddy putting out this record was (dolla dolla bill y'all) and why it feels so thrown together and made around the guests instead of being built around the legacy of the Notorious B.I.G.? At least we know that B.I.G was excessively ahead of his time, but with Duets we also learn that some legacies are best left alone.
Leave a Reply
- Fabolous – "The Young OG Project (Cover Artwork + Tracklist)" + Breakfast Club Interview
- Cam'Ron Announces Final Album, "Purple Haze 2″
- Mike WiLL Made-It – "Ransom" (Album Cover + Tracklist)
- French Montana + Harry Fraud – "Mac & Cheese: The Appetizer" (Cover Artwork)
- Beanie Sigel In Intensive Care After Being Shot In New Jersey
- Joey Bada$$ – "No. 99″ + "B4Da$$" Cover Artwork + Tracklist
- Wale – "Miracle on U Street" + "Festivus" Trailer
- Eminem, Slaughterhouse, Yelawolf – CXVPHER (Behind The Scenes)
- Chris Brown & Tyga – "Ayo"
- Warren G & Nate Dogg – "Regulate (Destructo & Wax Motif Remix)"
- N.O.R.E. – "King Pins" (feat. Sanogram)
- Gunplay – "Scuffed Timbs" (feat. Rick Ross; prod. Timbaland)
- Short Dawg – "Addiction" (feat. Ab-Soul)
Commented on by yungplex
- Ghostface Killah – "Love Don't Live Here No More" (feat. Kandace Springs) (Video)
Commented on by yungplex
- Cuepoint: Don't Blame Disposable Hip-Hop On White Artists
Commented on by yungplex
- Cuepoint: Don't Blame Disposable Hip-Hop On White Artists
Commented on by Ozi battle
- Cuepoint: Don't Blame Disposable Hip-Hop On White Artists
Commented on by Mitch 3K
- Cuepoint: Don't Blame Disposable Hip-Hop On White Artists
Commented on by the man the myth


text:
- News
- Local
- Sports
- Business
- Politics
- Opinion
- Lifestyle
- Entertainment
- Obituaries
- Classifieds
- Autos
- Housing
- Jobs
Page 2 of 2 Previous
Council Member Don Samuels, a mayoral candidate, and head of the City Council's public safety committee said "When you go out and face things publicly, and in a case like this, disapproved publicly, people feel comforted, and that reassurance actually eclipses the shock they felt when the incident happened."
A black woman in her 50s who spoke with Samuels echoed the sentiments of others, he said, when she told him that "if the police show up and treat them well, then people will trust them and give them information and so on."
On Monday, Harteau said she plans to examine the department's training and hiring practices but said that most Minneapolis police officers conduct themselves appropriately when dealing with the public and are distressed that the off-duty officers' confrontations have generated negative impressions of all city officers among some citizens.
In both cases, the officers were out late at bars when the fights happened, and in both cases the officers behaved disrespectfully toward local police officers who showed up to investigate, according to police reports and video.
One of the incidents occurred June 29 in Green Bay; the other was late last year in Apple Valley. Five officers from the two incidents are under internal affairs review. Two SWAT team members were suspended with pay in one case, and two officers pleaded guilty to disorderly conduct in the other.
The two cases have led to an uptick in criticism of expectations and accountability in the department and demands for change.
In a brief interview on Monday, Harteau said she plans to convene her Chief's Citizens Advisory Council on Wednesday, with invitations to city faith and cultural leaders, as well as the police union, to talk about the issue. Many of the department's rank and file have been upset by the allegations, she said.
"They are tired of the negative actions of a few that overshadow the great work they do every day," said Harteau. "Enough is enough."
Staff writers Randy Furst and Pamela Miller contributed to this report.
Joy Powell • 612-673-7750


text:
RSS 1049 deals tagged "earbuds"
Altec Lansing BackBeat Plus Noise Cancelling Headphones with 6 Piece Custom Fit Kit for $7.99 + free shipping
@ bensoutlet.com | 36 comments | sponsored, electronics, headphones, earphones, earbuds
Five Dollar Earphone Event for $4.99 + free shipping
@ bensoutlet.com | 24 comments | sponsored, earphones, headphones, earbuds
Altec Lansing MuzxDNA Noise Isolation Mesh Headphones with SnugFit Design for $7.99 + free shipping
@ bensoutlet.com | 6 comments | sponsored, headphones, earphones, earbuds
2 Pack Stereo Earbuds / In-Ear Headphones for Apple iPod, iPhone, iPad, & MP3 Players (White) for $0.99 + $2.00 shipping
@ all4cellular.com | 20 comments | sponsored, earbuds, earphones, headphones, electronics
Altec Lansing MZX206 Musx Core Headphones/Headset with Mic & Call Function for $12.95 + shipping
@ jr.com | 14 comments | sponsored, earbuds, headphones, earphones, headset
Maximo iP-HS3 iMetal Headset for $34.99 + shipping
@ maxwho.com | 14 comments | headphones, earphones, earbuds, sponsored
Altec Lansing BackBeat Pro In Ear Noise-Isolating Earphones for $24.99 + shipping
@ adorama.com | 16 comments | earphone, earbud, headphone, sponsored
20% Off Selected Klipsch Reference Series Headphones Plus Free Shipping
@ wwstereo.com | 19 comments | sponsored, headphones, earphones, earbuds
iFrogz Evolution Earbuds for $14.95 + free shipping
@ neebo.com | 6 comments | sponsored, earbuds, earphones, headphones
3 years ago
3-Pack Sakar Noise Isolating Comfort Wear Earbud Headphones for $0 + shipping
@ wireless.1saleaday.com | 27 comments | earbuds, earphones, headphones, sponsored
Sennheiser - Earbud Stereo Headphones (CX 200) for $16.99 + free shipping
@ newegg.com | 5 comments | electronics, headphones, earbuds
3 years ago
Sennheiser CX 281Comfort-Fit Stereo Earbuds with Volume Control (free shipping) for $19.99
@ wwstereo.com | 14 comments | earbuds, sennheiser, stereo, home
3 years ago
Set of Five 3.5mm White Stereo Earbuds for iPod, iPad, Cell Phones, MP3 Players, & More for $5 + shipping
@ thedollargiveaway.com | 67 comments | earbuds, headphones, earphones
Wii Console Bundle w/ Wii Sports Resort/Wii MotionPlus for $149.99 + free shipping
@ meijer.com | 9 comments | electronics, wii, console, giftcard, earbuds
3 years ago
3-Pack Ace Noise Reducing Comfort Wear Earbud Headphones for $0.99 + shipping
@ bensoutlet.com | 16 comments | headphones, earphones, earbuds, sponsored
Vizio Sound Isolating Earbuds with Built-in Microphone After $10MIR for $0.99 + free shipping
@ tigerdirect.com | 4 comments | music, earbuds
2 years ago
Skullcandy Tim Ink'd Earbuds for $9.29 + shipping
@ datavis.com | 23 comments | earphones, headphones, earbuds, sponsored
Sennheiser CX200 Street II In-Ear Stereo Headphones (Black) for $9.97 + shipping
@ buy.com | 15 comments | headphones, earbuds, earphones, sponsored
SUBJEKT Ruffian Skull Earphones in Black Nickel for $14.99 + shipping
@ tanga.com | 17 comments | earphones, earbuds, headphones, sponsored
Skullcandy - 40% OFF + Free Shipping Site-wide w/Code
@ skullcandy.com | 19 comments | electronics, headphones, earbuds
3 years ago
Vibe Noise-Isolating Deep Base Comfort Wear Earbuds With Case & 4 Extra Ear Gels for $1 + free shipping
4 years ago
2pk - Memorex EB50 Metallic 3.5mm MP3 Stereo In Ear Earbuds for $5.99
@ pennywise.biz | 0 comments | electronics, earbuds, mp3
3 years ago
Vibe Noise Isolation Metal Earbuds for $2.99
2 years ago
Talk & Listen Metal Talk Buds for $7.99 + free shipping
@ meatball.thatdailydeal.com | 5 comments | electronics, earbuds
2 years ago
JBuds J2 Hi-FI Noise Isolating Earbuds Headphones for $6.95
@ amazon.com | 15 comments | electronics, headphones, earbuds, jlab, jbuds
2 years ago
Sound Logic Flat Wire Earbuds w/Mic and Volume Control for $9.99
@ www2.pulsetv.com | 0 comments | electronics, headphones, earbuds, flat, wire
2 years ago
Logitech 985-000227 Ultimate Ears 200 Earphones for $9.99 + free shipping
@ newegg.com | 4 comments | electronics, headphones, ear-buds
2 years ago
Vibe Juicys Comfort Earbud Stereo Headphones for $2.49 + free shipping
@ gearxs.com | 5 comments | electronics, earbuds
3 years ago
Sponsored Deals
They're like ads, but good.
OK, yes, companies pay a little something to be Sponsored Deals. But we don't allow just any old crap in this section. Sponsored Deals are proposed to us by other retailers, manufacturers, and even other daily deal sites. If we find the deal compelling enough that our members will appreciate us bringing it to their attention, we'll feature it here. Believe it or not, we have a reputation to uphold. If your store would like to be considered for this space, please contact us for details. But if your deal is lame, or sketchy, no amount of money will let you buy your way in.
Community Deals
It's whatever you want it to be.
Pretty much, anyway. This is where you find the deals that wooters like you have ferreted out and brought to light. We're thinking it'll turn into a massive database of discounted products from around the Web, constantly expanding to absorb the newest deals from the very moment their prices are slashed, with each deal immediately rated by hordes of savvy voters to spotlight the very greatest deals in the world today. Hey, we can dream, right?
We use a fancy algorithm to determine which deals are catching the most buzz – they're under the Popular tab, which is the default view of this section. You can look for the most popular deals today, this week, or this month. The Fresh tab features the most recently submitted deals, so that's where to look for deals that everybody else doesn't know about yet. And the Search bar does what a Search bar does, only, uh, much wootier! Yeah! Right on!
Ask The Community
They probably won't bite.
Organic bullets? Vegetarian haggis? Cheap tickets to Antarctica? The best high-performance sweatsocks for under $100? If you're looking for a deal that doesn't appear to show up in our Community Deals section, throw the question to your fellow cheapskates. Or answer a question for one of your fellow cheapskates. Or vote for your favorite questions, or your favorite answers, or… maybe we should call this section "Ask, Answer, Comment On, And Vote In The Community", but that won't fit on the page.


text:
Commonwealth of Massachusetts
A Proclamation
His Excellency Governor Deval L. Patrick
Whereas The theme of Consumer Protection Week is "Information Destination," highlighting consumer education in areas such as identity protection, money management, credit, debt as well as fraud and scams; and
Whereas The Office of Consumer Affairs and Business Regulation's mission includes creating "smarter consumers" who are knowledgeable about consumer issues; and
Whereas There is a continued need to extend financial learning and consumer education across all generations – particularly children and young adults; and
Whereas The Office of Consumer Affairs and Business Regulation has created Project Credit Smarts, a college-focused credit and debit education program with participation from a number of partners, including the Massachusetts Bankers Association; and
Whereas The Office of Consumer Affairs and Business Regulation has also created "Save Money! Bank on it", a program which was designed to increase awareness of available financial services for young adults and families all across the Commonwealth; and
Whereas On this day, the Office of Consumer Affairs and Business Regulation celebrates Consumer Protection Week with a state-wide Conference ,
Now, Therefore, I, Deval L. Patrick, Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, do hereby proclaim April 9, 2013, to be
And urge all the citizens of the Commonwealth to take cognizance of this event and participate fittingly in its observance.
Given at the Executive Chamber in Boston, this twenty-ninth day of March, in the year two thousand and thirteen, and of the Independence of the United States of America, the two hundred and thirty-sixth.
By His Excellency
Deval L. Patrick
Governor of the Commonwealth
William Francis Galvin
Secretary of the Commonwealth
God Save the Commonwealth of Massachusetts


text:
Thanks for visiting my blog.
I'm Kim.
This is my husband Brian.
In May 2012 we left our jobs, sold all of our stuff, and set out to travel the world. You can learn all about it here.
Posts to get you started:
If you're new to the blog here are some recommended stories to get you started.
Pre-trip stories:
The story of how this journey started: The evolution of a dream
The title says it all: Why I'm quitting my job to travel
The tough choice to sell our house: Sacrifices? There are plenty
The pain of leaving our pets: The hardest part: leaving pets to travel
My last day at work: The end of days: my last week in a cubicle
The day before leaving home: One day until departure, lots of tears
Travel and adventure:
Visiting the Galapagos Islands: Galapagos is paradise
Hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu: Footsteps and thoughts from the inca trail
Volunteering in Ecuador: Sometimes you receive more than you give
Driving a rickshaw 3,000 kilometers through India: Beauty in the breakdowns
Putting trust in the unknown: Counting on strangers
Trekking the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal: About the light
Stories from my life:
If we knew then what we know now: Advice to my 21-year-old self
A reflection on traveling: On getting started
The joy of being outdoors: To be outdoors
The best gift I've ever been given: The yellow envelope
What this blog means to me: To scream from the rooftops: thank you
Why I do what I love: It is important to do what you love
I wrote a book!
In September 2013 I wrote a book called Life On Fire: A Step-By-Step Guide To Living Your Dreams. I wrote the book in order to inspire and encourage others to live the biggest versions of their own lives and to teach them what to expect as they walk the path to their dreams. You can learn all about the book here.
From the archives
There are over 400 posts hidden within the pages of this blog. Feel free to peruse the archives which are organized by month and category.
Get in touch
I love hearing from readers so contact me at email@example.com if you have any questions or if you just want to say hi.
Follow along
Join the journey!
Receive new posts via email or sign up for my monthly newsletter.
You can also connect with me on Facebook, instagram and twitter.
Thank you for stopping by. I hope you'll stick around.


text:
Recently in Expressive Writing Category
There once was a family who bought two dozen eggs to decorate for Easter. The Mom had gone to the local supermarket, but they were all sold out. She went to four other markets and they, too, were sold out. The Mom drove home dejected because her kids wanted so desperately to color eggs.
But as she was driving home, she saw a small old wooden sign at the end of a driveway. It said: "Special Easter Eggs For Sale."
The Mom breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that they still had some left.
She stopped in and went up to the barn. An older heavy-set woman was there. She had white hair, dirty glasses, and was wearing a tattered dress that had definitely seen better days. She looked a bit scary. But when the Mom went up to the woman to inquire about the eggs, she perked right up and had a huge smile across her face.
The old woman said "Yes, I still have Easter eggs." The Mom said "That's wonderful.! The sign in front says 'special' Easter eggs. What does that mean?"
The woman took a big sigh and said: "Oh. Well, all my eggs are special because they come from hens that grew up near the real Easter Bunny. I do have one 'special' egg left, but I can't tell you why it's special."
This intrigued the Mom. "What do you mean you can't tell me?"
"You would have to find out for yourself," replied the old woman carefully.
The Mom was curious. "Can I have one?"
The old lady said "The only way you can have the 'special' egg is if you make a promise."
"What's the promise?"
"You have to promise to take care of the egg for the rest of your life and it must pass from generation to generation."
"What?" exclaimed the Mom quizzically.
"You will see..." said the old woman as she got up from her chair.
The Mom agreed to the terms. The old woman wrapped up 23 eggs in cartons, and put the 'special' one in a big carton with all kinds of padding to keep it safe.
As the Mom left, the old woman said "Remember your promise..."
So the Mom took the eggs home to her kids and she told them about the 'special' egg, which by the way the Mom had not actually seen.
They colored all the regular eggs and then turned to the huge box with the 'special' one.
They were all excited to find out what it was like. They all said things like: "It is probably made of gold", "Maybe it's the largest egg in the world", "Maybe it's naturally rainbow colored."
But when they took it out of the box with all the padding, they all looked at each other in disbelief.
It didn't look very special.
In fact, it had thirteen cracks in it. There was egg yolk seeping from the inside that had gelled up and got hard. It was kind of disgusting looking. And it smelled too.
The Mom and older daughter thought they were duped by the old lady and assumed she just used the word 'special' on her sign to get people to buy her eggs. They were about to throw the 'special' egg away, when Dolly, the youngest girl, said: "I'm not so sure. I think we should keep the promise." Dolly set the egg aside carefully.
When the Dad came home from being away for a few days, Dolly and her Dad fixed all the cracks very carefully. They used a glue that was very rare and specially made for fixing delicate objects. They worked for hours and hours until the egg was stronger than any other egg in the world.
When they were done, Dolly placed it on a small red velvet pillow on her Dad's dresser where he keeps all the objects his kids have made for him.
The egg stayed there for years. Every week or so, Dolly and her Dad would clean it and make sure the cracks were still fixed. Once in a while they had to put on a little more glue. Because they did that, the egg stayed strong.
When Dolly got married, her Mom and Dad gave her the egg."Remember what the old woman made us promise? We are supposed to pass the egg down from generation to generation."
So, Dolly took the egg to her new house. She put it on her dresser on the same red velvet pillow.
Her new husband took one look at the egg, raised his eyebrows and said "Really? Why do you want to keep that?"
Dolly took a breath and simply stated "It's a special egg."
Her husband laughed at her. "Special? It's all glued up and doesn't look very pretty."
Dolly tried to explain. "It's special because a long time ago it was was broken and we fixed it and took care of it."
Similar to this story from last time I was in the hospital, my youngest daughter again asked me to tell her a story over the phone when she went to bed this evening. When I finished she said she liked the story, but immediately said "I don't get it." We talked a little bit and eventually she saw it in terms of objects that have sentimental value. That's the perfect take home for a 10 year old. For me, it means a bit more.
On another note, the Expressive Arts Carnival No. 16 will be posted within a few days. So there is still time to send in your entry.
Once upon a time, on an island far far away, a little girl named Dolly lived with her Dad. Dolly so loved the ocean because the other little girls on her island were mean and she wanted to sail across the ocean to get to a new land.
One day when she was old enough, her Dad taught her how to make a sailboat and said "If you want to sail across the ocean and get away, then you have to build your own boat."
Dolly said: "Okay, I can do that."
Her Dad didn't like the ocean and never ever made a sailboat before for himself or his daughter. So he did not actually make a boat for her. Rather, he showed her how to do it herself. He taught her about what materials one can use to make a boat, how sails work, about the wind, about how to navigate with a compass and all of that. Dolly paid close attention and to everything her Dad taught her. Then she started making her boat. After one week, she had her boat made. She was so happy. She told her Dad she was done. He said "So are you off to the new land now?" Dolly said: "Yup, Mmmm hmmm."
They went down to the ocean, she got in the boat, and her Dad pushed her out into the ocean. And off she went. She went about 50 feet when the boat started sinking. Dolly had to climb out of the boat and quickly swim back to shore.
Dolly was sad. She said "I spent a whole week making that boat and it didn't work! A whole week!"
Her Dad said "Well, you will learn what you did wrong and next time you will build a better boat."
So, Dolly went to work on the next boat. She realized that since her first boat sank that there must have been holes in it. She made the first boat out of bamboo. She was very clever and decided she was going to fill the gaps in the bamboo with something to keep the water out. She looked around to see what she had available, and decided she was going to lather on lotion in between all the seams.
Dolly was all proud of herself. She was smart because she even used lotion that was made with lots of oils and would not wash away with the water.
With her boat all made, Dolly and her Dad again went down to the ocean. She got in her boat, and her Dad pushed her out. And off she went. This time, the boat went out 500 feet before it again started sinking.
Dolly couldn't believe it. She had to again get out, and again swim back.
Dolly was a really good swimmer, so it was really not that big a deal.
She came back to the shore and she said to her Dad: "I spent a whole month making that boat and it didn't work! A whole month!"
Her Dad said "Well, you will learn what you did wrong and next time you will build a better boat."
So, Dolly went to work on the next boat. She figured out that the lotion wasn't enough to keep the water out. So, she looked around to see what could fix it. They didn't have much, but she found some beef jerky. She thought that if she filled the bamboo gaps with beef jerky and then the lotion that it would make a really good seal and that would work.
With her third boat all made, Dolly and her Dad again went down to the ocean. Again her Dad pushed her out. And off she went. This time, the boat went out 2 miles before it again started sinking.
Dolly swam all the way back in just a few minutes and said to her Dad: "I spent a whole year making that boat and it didn't work! A whole year!"
Her Dad said "Well, maybe you need to do something really different."
Dolly said: "Like what? If I keep trying to make new boats and failing it will take my whole life and I'll never get off this island."
Her Dad said: "You are your own boat. Did you ever wonder why you can swim so fast and so far?"
Dolly said: "No."
Her Dad said: "Because you are a mermaid. You can swim to any land you want, and come back again and visit me."
And this is what Dolly did. She lathered herself with lotion, ate some beef jerky and then swam away.
This story was written "free form" (not edited and just written as if it were being spoken). It was done on the same day as the art piece I wrote about in Unity. It was for my daughter who loves me to tell her creative stories. Recently, I have been asking her to come up with three items she wants in the story, which makes it a bit easier for me to write them. Maybe in a follow-up post I will provide some context. But, for now, I will let the story stand for itself.
In the hospital the other day, I had an experience in a group that was quite special. Actually, during this hospitalization, I have had several good group experiences. This one stood out, however.
There were five of us patients who showed up for the weekly "Expressive Writing" group, plus two group leaders. The directive was:
"Think of someone you look up to, real or imaginary, who has taught you something you can use (or do use) in your healing. Describe either the characteristics of the person, what they told you, or how you have been helped. Use expressive writing by telling a story, writing a poem, or anything that makes sense to you."
I wanted to focus this on a motivating statement which has helped me heal. At first, I wanted to write about what Karl Paulnack said about music and heart healing. Then I thought about some quotes by famous people.
But I settled on something that is intensely personal. I think the most helpful, validating, and motivating statement anyone has said to me, has come from my therapist, who from here on in I will call "My Healing Guide." Over a year ago, she said to me in an e-mail:
Having a sense of your kindness and compassion is one of the reasons I enjoy working with you, and it is that compassion that helps you heal. I appreciate that... And I appreciate your honesty. It's our work.
I never really reflected on these words at the time, but I saved them. About a month ago, I revisited the e-mails we shared. These words, in particular, have helped me enormously. They have given me strength to continue on this journey; one that often feels too long and too hard.
I have heard similar words from others involved in my healing, most of them verbal (which get a bit lost). All have been helpful and motivating, though none have ever been said so perfectly. There are also many statements from my family and friends that have helped me too. But, a therapy relationship is unique in that it is focused specifically on healing. And, as such, these words have special meaning to me.
I was prepared to read my statement out loud, but there was a second part to the group exercise. That consisted of each of us picking out one or two words or phrases from our writings and putting them on different colored heavyweight paper using magic markers.
We then placed them on the floor and we read our own. We then were asked, as a group, to arrange them in a line in any way that made sense. The group debated some of the ordering and we went back and forth a few times. We then taped them up on a board, in the order agreed upon, and read them out loud together as a group.
The list was:
Falls aren't important, getting up is
You'll do a better job next time
Try and try again
The only word that appeared twice—came from two different people in our group—was strength. We felt it was important to use that word to bookend the list; strength was felt to be necessary for all of the in between words and phrases to exist.
I first learned about Wordle from a post last month by fragmentz. The other day Castorgirl made the post "Lost for Words". They both got me motivated!
I am a firm believer that diversified means of expression are necessary for healing, especially for those of us who struggle with dissociative problems. But, one could easily argue that this is important for any person to live a healthy life! Being able to express ourselves in different ways helps us be more flexible, encourages creativity, and just plain makes us more interesting people.
The connection to dissociative problems is particularly important. Through dissociation, we become accustomed to having walled off aspects of ourselves handle very specific areas of life in mostly extremely rigid ways. If you look at such a person as a whole, one would most likely see all the variety that person possesses, and rigidity would probably not be the word that would come to mind to describe the whole person. Instead, the most common phrase I hear is "remarkably adaptive". That's little comfort most times to the person who routinely dissociates. The experience for someone who routinely dissociates in more extreme ways is usually one of fragmentation, lost time, and discontinuity.
The prognosis for dissociative disorders is good, I think, because we already have within us the necessary components to live interesting and creative lives most everyone strives for. I am not meaning to trivialize the process of healing or the struggles we face, but healing really is within our grasp and the destination is, I think, a wonderful place to end up and the journey itself isn't that bad either.
Art therapy, some aspects of my photography, piano, writing, and poetry have been very helpful in my healing. They have all provided ways to bridge what I know intellectually in my brain with what I feel in my heart. In many ways, through these means, I've been able to create a sort of glue that holds all the pieces of me together.
Wordle is very easy to use. In the simplest way, you can just enter a list of words in a form, and it will create a visual representation for you. More advanced uses allow the ability to weight the sizes of particular words and assign colors. From there, you can use the menus to decide how you want the software to lay out the words. You don't have strict control over word placement. But you can fiddle with the settings and create as many variations as you want.
I suggest to make screen captures as you go along because the software doesn't have a history function. Further I suggest you keep your list of words (and size and color tags if you use them) in a text editor. Then if you want to change anything, just change it in the text editor and paste that into the form.
What does what I created mean? The short answer is that these are the words taken from my "Contract" that have particular meaning to me. I weighted "Balance" the most, and that and "truth" are the only words in white. The pink words are kind of in the same class as balance. Grounding words are green. Nouns are in blue. Action oriented things I have to do to heal are in red. "God" is in purple.
To create your own, head on over to: Wordle.
For something similar, yet different, check out Tagul. It gives more control than Wordle, but many of the things it does you can do in a text editor with a little script control. But it's worth checking out.
Finally, if you are interested in words, see Visuwords, an online graphical dictionary and thesaurus.
If you click on the image above, you will see a higher resolution image.
Perhaps the most famous puzzle in probability
is the Monty Hall problem.
It's based on the old game show called
"Let's Make a Deal".
You are given the choice of three doors.
Behind one door is a big prize.
Behind the other doors are goats.
You choose a door.
The door stays closed.
Monty Hall, the game show host,
knows what's behind all of the doors.
He opens one of the two remaining doors,
always showing you a goat.
Then he asks:
Do you want to stick with your first choice
or switch to the last remaining door?
What do you do?
Most people think that your odds of winning are
always one-third no matter what you do.
But this is not true.
Probability theory shows that if you switch,
your odds of winning actually double.
Instead of your odds being one-third if you stay,
they are two-thirds if you switch.
Dissociation is a lot like this problem,
except the rules of probability don't apply.
I go to therapy a couple times a week. There are a lot of objects and tools I can touch and use to make me feel safe. But the one that I treasure most is the red drumstick sitting on the table in the corner. I almost always grab it whenever I feel uncomfortable or unsafe or just need some extra support.
It may seem unimportant to an outside observer, but the drumstick has strength and direction and helps me find my voice.
And it's red. The red in the stick contains my anger. It makes everything safe.
Today I found out that when brought together with its twin brother, they can create some peaceful rhythms.
I could have said my piano, my brain, my computers, my house, or my money were the things I treasure. But the red drumstick allows all those other things to exist.
If you've read any of the posts here, you know that I advocate multiple approaches to healing from trauma. Expressive writing is one such approach. This was written at an inpatient group in about 10 minutes. The directive was to "write about an object you treasure." Earlier that morning, my therapist brought the sticks, along with other rhythm instruments, to a group where we explored rhythm and sound. I found that group to be healing and I was thankful she brought the sticks.
Such writing does not need to occur in a hospital. You can do these directives and explore multiple approaches in therapy or on your own. The goal is to find what works for you.


text:
Bush Return Bridge - Office Furniture
The Bush Return Bridge - Office Furniture are most fashionable items which are perfect element both for your home and office. Sturdy PVC edge banding defends desk from bumps and collisions. Sturdy melamine surface resists scratches and stains and modesty panel grommet allows wire access and concealment.
Bush Northfield Collection Return EX17710Sale Price: $125.95
Bush Northfield Collection Return - EX17510Sale Price: $143.99
Bush - Envoy - L/R ReturnSale Price: $101.91
Bush - Envoy - L/R ReturnSale Price: $144.95


text:
January 23 2006, 9:08 PM
State Sen. Dan Grossman announced today he won't be running for re-election.
Grossman, who was first elected to the state House of Representatives in 1996 when he was 27 and single, now has a wife, a 15-month-old daughter and another child due in June. Grossman became the youngest person to serve as House minority leader in 2000. He is a lawyer and had previously considered running for attorney general. "I can't see how I could do all three -- be in the Legislature, be a lawyer and be a dad," he said Monday.Grossman reports there already is a lot of competition for his seat which is in the predominately Democratic district that includes Capitol Hill, Washington Park and Cherry Creek. Among those expressing interest: State Rep. Fran Coleman; Jennifer Mello, former policy director for the House Democrats; Chris Romer, son of former Gov. Roy Romer, and banker Jim Polsfut. Republican Josh Hanfling has also expressed interest, Grossman said.


text:
You are using an outdated browser. Please
upgrade your browser to improve your ReverbNation experience.
Not listening to anything?
Try one of the ReverbNation Channels
Christopher aka Chris D.
Tulsa, OK
Saturday, December 3rd, 2011 at 7:00pm
All Ages
Come Out, have a good time, and show us your moves! This concert features 3 up and coming artist from the St. Louis and Chicago areas. St. Louis own Chris D. & #TeamFocused, Rio, aka Kuntry Boyy (National Recording Artist), Jentile ( CEO of Christlike Records), and Life 27. All donations will help Christlike in it's effort to not only drop the beat with entertaining, lyrical music, but to also spread the Good News through all facets of media.
© 2014 eMinor Incorporated


text:
Night Stand:
- Max weight capacity for top of Night Stand: 50 lbs.
- Max weight capacity for Drawer: 15 lbs.
- Max weight capacity for open space: 40 lbs.
- Can be combined with 5447015Y, 5449015Y, 5455015Y, 5453015Y
- Finished in White Stipple
- its spacious drawer for clothes an accessories provide concealed storage for your bedroom
- It has attractive profiled edges and drawer front, fluted moldings, contoured side moldings, and curved bottom apron
- It features interior finished drawers, metal drawer slides, decorative solid wood feet, and stylish antique bronze handles
- Material: PB,MDF,HDF
Finish: White Stipple
Overall: 19.625"W x 17"D x 24.312"H
Drawer: 3.937" H x 13.125" W x 12.937" D
Open Space: 13.25" H x 15" W x 14.5" D
1 Year
Furnished Over 1 Million Homes Since 1997...
I was very satisfied with One Way Furniture Service. I have referred them to many friends, family, and customers. Thank you. Kathy A. Eisele, Boston, MA
Product Review - Ameriwood White Stipple 1 Drawer Night Stand
Furniture Brand
Ameriwood manufactures ready-to-assemble futons, kitchen storage, office, and bedroom furniture. You'll find a wide selection storage furniture at budget prices. Shop from our complete selection of Ameriwood Industries Furniture Ameriwood
Weight & Size
Reference - Sku: 5451015Y - Ameriwood White Stipple 1 Drawer Night Stand by Ameriwood


text:
Rutland late-payers owe city $2 millionBy Gordon Dritschilo
Staff Writer | June 16,2013Rutland City Treasurer Wendy Wilton says delinquencies are the highest she has ever seen.
As of June 6, the total for taxes, water, sewer and general bills related to parcels totaled roughly $2 million. Wilton said she intended to cut that by about two-thirds by December, and will send out notices of intent to tax sale next week.
Water and sewer delinquencies have been creeping up, she says. Part of that is because water and sewer cost more. I think there are greater numbers of people delinquent and the delinquent bills are bigger.
Wilton has noted an upward trend in delinquencies for some time.
A lot of these delinquencies are really recent and people who havent been late in the past suddenly were, she says. People are struggling. The landlords theyve had a tough go of it. Its been a tough economic environment, but given these numbers, we have to move forward with this. ... Im putting it out there to make sure people understand the process.
Parcels more than two years or $2,000 delinquent in taxes and/or water and sewer and those more than $1,000 delinquent on water and sewer alone will be subject to tax sale, which will likely take place in mid-July.
Owners still have one year from the date of tax sale to redeem the properties.
Wilton says she has a list of 270 properties, though she said she wont disclose the list until letters to the property owners have gone out.
Some of those are going to come off, she says. A lot of them are going to come off. The owner is going to step up and pay or the bank is going to step up and pay.
Wilton also says the citys anti-blight efforts will figure into the process.
There are a couple properties on this list that are vacant, that are abandoned, she says. Those are going to be my top priorities.
Meanwhile, Wilton says she and Public Works Commissioner Jeffrey Wennberg are planning a round of shut-offs of delinquent water and sewer accounts in August. That effort will target parcels delinquent by $1,000 or less.
firstname.lastname@example.com IN This Just InThe Rutland High School varsity cheerleading team is taking their high energy, attention-grabbing... Full StoryPigs nearly managed to fly in Connecticut, terrorized hikers in Maine and drew a police response... Full StoryThe political ascendance of Peter Shumlin came thanks in part to support from the Progressive Party. Full Story
- Most Popular
- Most Emailed
- RICHARD'S POOR ALMANACK: In 1900, a crew arrives at a Scottish isle lighthouse to find the previous crew has vanished; in 1944, George S. Patton relieves Bastogne; in 1890, 'Uncle Charlie' Osborne born; in 1891, Henry Miller born in New York.
- RICHARD'S POOR ALMANACK: Capt. James Cook discovers and names Christmas Island, Brits develop and test H-bombs there in 1957-58; 100 years ago today, Christmas truce takes hold on Western Front in France, combatants observe the holiday.
- RICHARD'S POOR ALMANACK: Gen. Wm. T. Sherman concludes March to the Sea, secures Savannah, Ga., offers the city as Christmas gift to Pres. Lincoln; N.Y.'s Lincoln Tunnel opens in 1937; first gorilla born in captivity, Colo, celebrates 58th birthday today.
- TOMORROW'S HEADLINES TODAY: Brent Curtis reports on the probe into a city bar fight involving police officers; Vt. Yankee has its last media day event before final shutdown next week; Depot Park hosts annual vigil to raise awareness of plight of homeless.
- TOMORROW'S HEADLINES TODAY: Vermont Gas Systems puts Phase 2 on hold as the latest estimate for Phase 1 takes a 27 percent leap upward, to a total of $157 million; U.S. Attorney Tristram Coffin quits for job with private firm; police cite man in pot bust.
- RICHARD'S POOR ALMANACK: In 1972, Christmas bombing of North Vietnam ordered by President Richard Nixon, most lethal strikes of the war; in 1989, U.S. invades Panama to depose, arrest and charge Gen. Manuel Noriega with drug trafficking, racketeering.


text:
Harry Cute Harry Styles Wallpaper
Download Harry Cute Harry Styles Wallpaper from the original size above. We try to provide best wallpapers and images that suit to your desktop, laptop, table even gadget. All wallpapers and images uploaded with different resolution and size. Images may be subject to copyright. If have problems please Report us


text:
I am from Michigan and I've decided my Michigan riding certainly does not require I purchase a FS bike. Some people may like them and prefer them here, but I'm not looking to drop about $2,000 on something I don't need here. However, I would like to start making annual or bi-annual trips to Asheville, NC and maybe once every 7-10 year trips (or whatever) out to CO and Utah. So is it possible to do these trails with a hardtail?
I'm not an amazing rider, but I'm not bad either. I just don't want to buy something suitable to trails I will rarely ride and then have "too much" bike on my daily trails here in Michigan.
I basically have two options in front of me:
1. Buy a full suspension for around $2,000 and pretty nice components but my daily riding does not call for a FS.
2. Buy a HT for around $1,500 and get equal to better components and have $500 more in my pocket and this will fit my daily riding needs much better.
Thanks for your opinions.
Results 1 to 13 of 13
Hot Deals See All Hot Deals >>
Interbike Featured Booths
Check out the hottest mountain bike products from these brands!
See All Interbike Coverage - Click Here »
Latest Mountain Bike Articles
MTBR on Facebook


text:
In a few weeks time Microsoft are hosting the SharePoint Conference 2009 in Las Vegas.
At the conference Microsoft will be showing a lot of content from SharePoint 2010.
I have built what I think could be a demo school. After the conference would anyone be interest in seeing a demo of SharePoint 2010?
If so people either reply with a post of give a quick thanks to the post. If we get good enough numbers I will arrange a webcast for late October or early November.


text:
Maiden Police Department launched their R U OK program this year as a way to better serve the elderly population of the community.
Lt. Donna Hartman is heading up the program and worked to expand it for the holiday season, delivering meals to the 22 clients the program serves.
At approximately 4:30 p.m. on Thursday afternoon, a manhunt broke out in the Maiden area.
The hunt began with a car chase that lasted about 10 minutes that started when Catawba County authorities spotted Jeffery Tucker driving through Maiden.
'Tis the season for best-in-show desserts, and a batch of homemade cookies is the perfect holiday gift for the friends, neighbors, and schoolteachers in our lives. Sandwich walnut cookies, allergy-friendly molasses cookies, and sparkling vanilla sandwich cookies will do the trick for all your cookie-giving needs.
If you've ever gotten a call from the IRS demanding money, you're not the only one.
Recently, local citizens who wished to remain anonymous told the O-N-E that they had seen the calls flooding in as well.
There's no need to be alarmed though.
Soon after taking office, North Carolina Gov. Pat McCrory and U.S. Rep. Mark Sanford of South Carolina accepted six-figure stock payouts from an online mortgage broker accused by regulators of deceiving its customers.
To read more of this story, pick up the Thursday edition of Catawba County's community newspaper, The Observer News Enterprise, at newsstands throughout the county.
At approximately 8:15 a.m. on Wednesday, an SUV travelling on Hwy. 10 near the Startown community ran off the road, striking a power pole. The pole landed on top of the vehicle. As a result of the accident, Startown Elementary School and surrounding area was without power for several hours. Power was restored around noon, according to several residents in the area.
According to Google, which released a report Tuesday on the top trending terms of the year, the top term overall was "Robin Williams," after the well-known and popular comedian died in August. No. 2 was "World Cup," the global soccer tournament held in Brazil in June. Third on the list was "Ebola," the highly contagious virus.
For the last 29 years, Susan Brymer has spearheaded Lincolnton's Christian Ministry, helping feed, clothe and provide financial assistance for hundreds of hurting and impoverished families throughout Lincoln County.
For nearly two decades, the historical stories, people, artifacts, folklore and traditions of Lincoln County have been the prime passion of one man—a local leader who has made it his mission to preserve and protect the past of one tiny Southern community.
Both residents at Abernethy Laurels, Lois Mundy and Marie Robinson (sisters) recently celebrated their 106 and 104 birthdays.
The former Cheerwine facility in Conover has been transformed into a haven for soccer fans of all ages — Shea Stadium Sports, an indoor soccer complex.
The project is a collaboration between Kevin Shea, Brian Vierling, Toby Tate, Chete Soto, Dan Loyer and Dave Walker, who have enjoyed coaching and playing soccer locally for years.
On the night of Oct. 16, shortly after movie-goers had their tickets torn and purchased their popcorn, the State Cinema shut its doors – seemingly for good.
The closing came suddenly with just a single Facebook post a few hours before the final show saying "State Cinema will be CLOSED after tonight's show. Thank you all for those of you that supported us."
Arizona (11-3) 12 @
St. Louis (6-8) 6
Last week, St. Stephens High School continued a nearly two-decade tradition of creating awareness and raising funds for those afflicted by cancer.
The Indians hosted Bunker Hill on the basketball court for the 12th year in a row on Friday — the second and final meeting between the schools who were battling each other for not only a hoops win, but a victory for cancer.
"We're had this partnership for eleven years and it's amazing what we're been able to do together," said spanish interpreter Mimi Michael.
First Presbyterian Church in Newton has a sister church nestled along the Pacific Ocean in Guatemala – El Redentor.