What's A Six-Letter Word for the Most Delicious, Sensuous, Awe-Inspiring Beverage To Ever Hit My T-Buds?

Do you believe that everyone needs to have a vice? I think I do. My vice lately has been drinking way too much coffee. I'm actually averaging about 4 EcoMugs full of coffee a day, which Agent Yellow tells me is the equivalent of 2 full pots daily. Gross. So, I have a new project: cutting back on my coffee consumption. It'll start this weekend. I can't promise I won't be a terrific Grinch this Holiday Season, but I usually am anyway, and this way I can blame it on my recovery.

Mom: "EFC, can you put up the Christmas decorations in the kitchen for your father and me? It would be such a help."
Me: "Sure, Mom... Wait, wait... What's that? Oh no! Oh, Gosh. Is that?... Am I...?...I think I'm about to relapse, Mom! I need to get away from the percolator immediately! I'm sure you understand! I'm going to go sleep this episode off."

I anticipate it getting me out of many Yuletide obligations, such as family dinners and buying presents for people who are not me. However, if you're following my logic, you'll note that I have a missing piece in my life now. I need a new vice. I'll figure out what it's going to be and report back.

By the way, Wordplay was adorable.

Blog Readers, I Miss You.

Soon I will have the Internet and I will be able to update like a normal blogger.

You should know that Agent Yellow and I have booked tickets for our Roommate Honeymoon. We are going to Houston in late February to see Felicia in action, to hear Yellow's sister sing some opera, and to try to convince 1.9 million people to vote Democrat. We have requested seats next to each other on the airplane, which means it's time for me to brush off the ole fake-vom.

Tonight we watch WordPlay. I'm breathless with excitement.

Agent Yellow's Mom, are you reading this? If so, we miss you! Visit again soon. Until then I'll think of you every time I eat Cheerios, which means every morning and every evening, and every time I water my desk plant, which means once or twice a year!

EFC's First And Probably Final Pedicure

A pedicure may be a fun treat for someone who is not painfully ticklish.

What Is Wrong With Me?

This morning I tried to help out Agent Yellow by brewing a pot of coffee. (She's always stuck with the job, every morning.) So I put the filter and coffee in the basket, poured the water into the back of the maker, and promply placed the coffee pot on the counter. Then I left the kitchen for fifteen minutes to go pack for my trip at the last minute. Needless to say, when I returned the kitchen was a horrific brown mess.

What was my immediate reaction? To turn the maker off? To start cleaning up the mess? No, of course not. My reaction was to wail, "Agent Yellow! Agent Yellow!" in my most pitiful, whiny voice and wait for her to swoop in and save the day.

I thought I would eventually find this funny, but it's really not funny to me. Am I going to be able to do this life thing? I think there's something seriously wrong with me.

A New Culinary Experiment

Cheerios in Non-Alcoholic Beer. Beerios.

I'll let you know how it goes.

So, I Survived.

My urine was not discolored, but it was certainly darker. Stay tuned for the next gastrointestinal experiment: I will attempt to eat an entire pinecone. Without seasoning.

Agent Yellow and I don't have the Internet in our apartment. (ComCast is Satan in corporate form. Love ya foreva, Adelphia!) She seems to be dealing fine with the lack thereof, entertaining herself with things like listening to music, reading, and fending off a hangover. I, on the other hand, am forced to don camo and sneak into my neighbor's backyard with my laptop a few times every hour. I hope you appreciate this post because at every moment I'm risking getting shot. Or, worse, ticks.

HELP!

Tonight I ate an entire beet!!! Whole, in one sitting!!! And it wasn't some puny beet either!!!

I am actually afraid for my life right now. What was I thinking? Will my teeth ever be white again? One bite led to another led to another and then I looked up and it was gone. Oh, beloved blog readers, I think I really may have done it this time. If I don't post for 24 hours, please call Poison Control. (Self Control wasn't picking up last time I tried.)

Of course, if I do post, you'd better believe you'll be getting full details about the state of my intestines and the color of my urine. Which is the better option?

In other news, guess who just sent her only credit card through the spin cycle. Yes! You got it!

The Ultimate Love/Skate Relationship

If you don't --in some small way-- think that The Cutting Edge is one of the best movies ever made, you need to get your head checked. How can one movie have so many ingenius one-liners?

This morning Agent Yellow and I arose to two dead mice in our traps. While I hid under a blanket and hummed, the Agent took care of business. We're going through traps like eucalyptus at a koala party: looks like we'll have to pay a visit to The Home Depot tonight. Yay! Time to break out the measuring tape suspenders.

In other news, I got a new cell phone, so I have a fresh start with which to improve my phanners. Don't suffer shock if I actually pick up the phone next time you call.

Pictures Of My Life, Part II

I've received some inquiries about what Agent Yellow looks like. For obvious reasons, I can't post a real picture of her (She's so tough, her picture would crack your monitor), but I thought I'd show you how she looks to me:

And just in case there were any doubt that she is the best Agent in existence, let me relay that she surprised me yesterday with Mariah Carey's Greatest Hits, an apartment full of balloons, and a drive-by banana bread:

And, finally, a picture of the infamous best friend. She may appear sweet and friendly in this shot, but as those who know her know and know she knows they know: She's dangerous.

Are There Some Extra Underpants in my Cubby? I Got Kind of Nervous...

On Monday I visited one of my mom's old classrooms with her. I guess the students were about five or six years old. The cruel woman wound up abandoning me for fifteen minutes, and during that time I was invited (dare I say, required?) to join the music circle. I looked around for an escape route, but there were adults blocking both sets of doors. So I got down into criss-cross apple sauce (the PC Indian-style), a position my body has not assumed in at least half a decade, and I reluctantly joined the activity.

The music teacher asked us to listen to a wordless piece of music and draw a picture about it. What did it make us think of? "Okay," I thought, "I can do this." And I did. Here's mine:

Needless to say, I was quite pleased with my picture. (It came out well, don't you think?) I was just starting to feel better about the situation when the music teacher broke some news that was far from music to my ears: each student would have to stand up and describe his or her picture to the class.

I went last, after all the other students had presented their stories and pictures which were, in my opinion, infantile. Sweaty-palmed and red-faced, I began. "So, there's this fish... and, uh, it's happy... because it found this treasure chest..." I could tell that the other students found my story boring, like politics, or church, or Fantasia. Who are they to judge me? It's been a long time since I was put on the spot in front of a lot of people like that.

Anyway, I managed to keep to myself the fact that the treasure chest was full of Square Panted Sponge Bob's used syringes.

p.s. Thank you for the birthday wishes!

It's A Big Day.

Happy Birthday, Agent Yellow! I wish I could be with you to give you a long, lingering hug that makes you feel very uncomfortable for reasons which you can't name but which are undeniable.

This Post Should Be Read With A Southern Drawl

Agent Yellow, my mom and I Google Earthed you to see if you were having a party in my absence. Unfortunately the page hasn't been updated lately, but we gave you the benefit of the doubt. (Let's just say that if my bed and carpet don't smell of beer and effeminate men when I get back Tuesday, I'm going to be disappointed.)

Felicia really went to town on my crown: I think I lost two pounds in hair. Which is probably good because after I shop at my own personal mom and pop shop tomorrow night, my carry-on is going to be a bit heavier.

(Felicia, please insert something mushy here about how I already miss you, share all my secrets, best friends forever, hold my hand, etc etc etc, footprints in the sand, wait is that a God thing?, call in the middle of the night, blah blah blah.)

Tomorrow I go to work with my mom and then grin my way through dinner with the grandparents. You know what I'm talking about: the kind of grinning that makes the back of your head sore for days afterward.

Smells Like Home To Me

The first thing I did when I got home was shoot some baskets with my dad on the driveway. All the Nerf practice I've gotten really showed, in my opinion. Felicia is due to arrive in one hour and sixteen minutes. I'm so excited that I keep accidentally shooting frozen coffee out my nose. (It hurts a little.)

I know Felicia loves me because she is coming to see me despite:
1) Being hungover
2) Not having a radio or CD player in her car
3) Getting a flat tire on the way
4) Having to drive all the way back to Houston tomorrow morning.

Her parents are out of town tonight and she's got the house key, so you know what that means. Par-tay!!! Of two. Just like in high school. Because we still don't have any other friends.

Dad, I know I Haven't Called You Lately.

If you're looking for something good to read tonight, allow me to direct you to OneTrickPony's blog entry about her father. It reminds me that there's something that for some time I've been needing to tell my father, something I've been putting off, something that can't wait another day:

Dad, I'm not listening to Bruce Springsteen on the way home from the airport tomorrow night.

Phew, I'm glad I got that off my proverbial chest. And now a word about my phone manners. Yes, I realize that they are completely and totally and inexcusably wretched. (I'm trying to make up for it by holding the door open for every single person I can wedge myself in front of in doorways.) In case you haven't tried calling me lately and you think I'm being unfair to myself, let me share with you that I actually have sixteen new voice mails.

After a(n obviously) long break from phoning, I finally opened my phone today and found that its screen says OFF NETWORK in very large, intimidating letters. Actually, to be perfectly honest, it says OFF NETWORK, RUDE JERK. Needless to say, my phone anxiety has increased like the proverbial loaves and proverbial fishes.

Please forgive me, but if you're expecting a returned call from me, don't proverbially hold your proverbial breath. Believe me, I've added my phone manners to my long list of things to be embarrassed about:

Good Night?

Wow. Now I finally know what it means to be too sleepy to sleep, too tired to retire, too wiped to... okay, wait. Or maybe I'm just excited about the optimistic election results we received today. Not to mention Rumsfeld's retirement. Not to mention Doogie Howser's revelation.

Where Have You Bean All My Life?

Last night Agent Yellow and I hopped in the car, voted, and headed to Freeport, Maine. Why?

Because we're young, free, stupid, and because the original L.L. Bean is there, open 24 hours a day. (We asked: there aren't any locks on the doors.) All I can say about being at L.L. Bean at midnight on a Tuesday with Agent Yellow was that I actually felt my life peaking. That was it. It's all downhill from there.

Agent Yellow, who apparently has been keeping up with this blog, chose not to allow me to drive. Therefore, she singlehandedly drove roughly 9 hours last night. And at one point she steered us to the ocean where we got in a few minutes of beach dancing. What a trip!

I'm not sure I've ever stayed up all night before. I may not be my typical sharp, cosmopolitan, computer-savvy, personable, know-it-all self at work today. But at least I'll have on a new polo shirt.

Quote of the (Interview) Day

"Before I tell you what other schools I've gotten interviews at, I have to ask: do you have a taperecorder with you?" -one applicant to another, said in complete seriousness

Okay, Three Times.

Well, I guess I was driving a touch too slow in the left lane on my way down to New Haven because a young man in a white pick-up truck flashed me a most inappropriate sign out of his window! I got so immersed in my thoughts about what kind of life-pain would make someone flick off an innocent, red mini-van that I accidentally ran over a small rodent crossing the interstate. It was my first murder. And proof that we are all connected in the traffic circle of life.

Angry young man, I have forgiven you. But I bet that mouse never will.

New Haven is terrifyingly large, so I am hiding in my hotel room. And, oh, what a hotel room! Let's hear it for the applicant discount. The room has a bed and a couch! (I think I'll sleep half the night in the bed and half the night on the couch just so I'm getting my money's worth.) The water pressure in the shower is so strong that I had to hold onto the handicapped bar with one hand while I washed my hair! There's no Crabtree & Evelyn this time, but I didn't notice the Hanover Inn offering me any butterscotch cookies when I checked in.

(I accepted. Twice.)

There Ain't Nothin' Mini About This Ride

Last night I got a half a year's worth of wallflowerhood out of my system all at once. Let's just say that Agent Yellow and I didn't just cut a rug: we shredded it into tiny pieces, wove it back together, and then ripped it apart again. My legs are so sore that I had trouble getting up the stairs this morning.

One of the highlights of the evening was Agent Yellow's innocent and shocked exclamation of "Look at all the Subarus!" upon arriving at the Womyn's Night venue's parking lot.

The mechanic forgot about my car (yes, those words were actually used) so I was provided with a rental car-- my first rental car ever. It's the sweetest, coolest car I've ever driven. It may be hard to return to T-Babe after driving down to Connecticut in such style.

It's funny how ever since I learned that I'm a horrible driver, I keep being allowed to borrow other people's cars. I think there's a lesson in there somewhere. (If you figure it out, or if you'd like to lend me your car, please e-mail me at enoughfigcookies@gmail.com).

By the way, this guy figured prominently in Jesus Camp.

In the South, We Say It "Hunderd"

Tonight Agent Yellow and I are scraping ourselves off the sofa, turning off The Family Guy, putting on real clothes and going out. (Very funny. No, I'm not joking.) And I'm the designated driver!

"Why is that interesting?" you might be asking yourself. "Does Figgie have to provide us with every single boring detail of her colorless life? Does her egotism know no bounds?"

It's interesting because today at work I took a 20-question driver's test online and got a 55%. 55%! (75% was passing.) It's also interesting because my car is in the shop, so guess what I'll be driving? You guessed it. The Yellowmobile. The Agent, needless to say, is less than pleased with this scenario.

However, if she has just a couple more Jack and Coke's, I'll soon be strapping her in, putting the pedal to the metal, replacing her alternative mix CD with Mariah Carey's remix to "We Belong Together" and driving off into the crisp Vermont night, casually saying, "That can't be a real stop sign. A stop sign only has six sides."

Anyway, it's haiku time!

Guess what, blog readers:
This is my one hundredth post.
Just pointing that out.

Now, Can You Tell Me Exactly What You Mean By The Term "Monitor"?

Agent Yellow and I sure do know how to take care of ourselves. Tonight, for example, we increased our cardiovascular health by taking a brisk night jog, wearing dark clothing with no reflective gear and paying no heed to traffic lights or passing cars. Then we came home and cooked a nutritious dinner of Cheerios followed by a bowl of ice cream. Now, after washing down a Tylenol PM with some soymilk, I'm in bed for the night. Sweet life. Sweet, sweet life.

Sunday I head to Connecticut for another interview. Ahh, Connecticut. Sometimes I forget you're still a state.

And then Friday it's down to Louisiana to see the 'rents and Felicia, who will doubtlessly refuse to hug me, much less look at me, until she's cut my hair. I intend to return to Vermont with some Southern souvenirs: double A batteries, postage stamps, laundry detergent, a tub of peanut butter, printer paper, a spare toothbrush or two, light bulbs, dryer sheets, as many boxes of saltines as I can carry, and a few gallons of gasoline.

My poor parents. It's like they are The Giving Tree and I'm the little boy. Holding a chainsaw. Which I also stole from them.

In other news, I think my co-workers are slowly but surely figuring out that I know about as much about information technology as I do about toilets. I even wrote a haiku about it, dedicated to the co-worker whose computer I laid waste to this afternoon.

My nod-and-smile fails.
I don't get this network stuff.
You are on to me.

If I Buy You a Whistle, Will You Talk Less?

You know how certain social situations are so strange and awkward that you're pretty sure you're being set up?

Agent Yellow and I and another friend had a night like that tonight at the first meeting of the Burlington Adult Women's Basketball League. I mean, these women seemed to feel physical discomfort at the idea of reaching any sort of consensus about anything. They actually weighed the pros and cons of a thirty-second timeout versus a forty-five second timeout for fourteen minutes! I can only imagine what the pre-game coin toss is going to look like.

Captain 1: "Heads or Tails?"
Captain 2: "H---no---Ta---Oh, gosh. Do I have to make this decision right now?"
1: "Take your time, honey. What is your gut telling you to do?"
2: "Um.... Honestly, I'm just feeling a lot of pressure right now. I think my bioenergy is all messed up."
1: "Well, that won't do, will it? You sit right down here and I'll rub your neck. There, does that feel better?"
2 : "Yes. It's just... I'm under a lot of pressure at work right now, and my parents are in town, and I'm having to make so many decisions... I just don't know if I can handle another one right now."
1: "I understand, sister-friend. These black and white options are never easy. Hey, I have an idea! Let's make some room for the grey on this court, what do you say?"
2 : "Okay! You're the best, Captain Crunchy!"
1: "No, you are."
2: "No, you are."
1: "No, you are. So what's it going to be? Heads, tails, other, either, all of the above, none of the above...
And so on, and so forth.

When the captains started discussing T-shirt colors, I started hunting for the hidden camera. We eventually fled to safety, although, as Agent Yellow so aptly put it, "Well, we'll never get that hour back."

In other news, putting one's underwear on her space heater for a few minutes before getting dressed makes life so much more than just worth living.