Better Annie than Oliver Twist

Perhaps my greatest fear is that of being an orphan. Not that you would really refer to a 22 year old as an orphan, but I digress. One day last semester, I got a call on my cell phone from an emotional woman telling me my father had been in a car wreck and I should head down to the hospital as soon as possible.  I clearly panicked. Then after another couple minutes on the phone with my messenger, I discovered she had dialed the wrong number. Thank the Good Lord. It was about nine months after my mom had passed away and I was not ready to say Peace Out to the reigning Gordon.

Being an orphan can’t be fun.

But you know what can be fun? New jobs (sigh, I mean internships). Especially when the first day of your new job includes overhearing a rousing game of football in the middle of the office, and watching your editor roll by on a scooter. AND as if that’s not good enough, did I mention the PIZZA in the dining hall?? Mmmmm. Add those on to the seemingly abundant pile of work I’ll have over the next six months, and this little girl is in Type-A, Blue-Collar Heaven. (Minus the Tom Petty soundtrack, though I’ll check on their iPod policy later this week . . . )

So when I texted Boyf to let him know about the delightful day I was having, he replied:

“(Little Orphan Annie Voice) I think I’m gonna like it here!” – Boyf

I giggled a bit. Partially because he usually has the voice of a church organ, three octaves below middle C, partially because I can see him squirming in horror as his mom and lil sis force him to watch that fabulous musical, and partially because . . . Well, I think I’m gonna like it here!

And throwing on a lil red dress and ankle socks sure beats having to walk up to an assigning editor with my desktop empty and palms out, saying “Please Sir, I’d like some more work.” Poor Oliver 😦


Don’t Call It A RunningBack

Jay Peak, VermontI think we were about 5 minutes into the first run of the day when I took the big slide. I had reached the crest of a hill, at which point I caught a death cookie and crashed face-first into the snow. If only I had been able to stop at that – but gravity being what it is, I continued to travel down the mountain, face-first on my tummy (like a home-made Maggie Sled) for about 60 yards.

Sixty yards on the first play of the game? If I was a running back, I could have single handedly saved Greg Robinson’s career. Alas, I’m just a washed-up former skier who can’t quite find her footing. At least I can say I stayed on my feet for the rest of the day (save one or two quick indiscretions). It’s a good thing too. I’ve got a bruise the size of a small piñata on my right hip and the last thing I need is to match it on the other side, or add an addition.

Dad Chomps Cookies in a GladeLucky for me, my father was able to take over my spot as Spill-Master Extraordinaire. Looks to me like he has a hankering for those cookies. He took a helluva fall earlier this morning in a glade before taking the Dive To End All Dives on our last run this afternoon. Picture this: Giant farmer comes over the crest of a hill in a large banana suit, chews cookie, splats on face, and continues down the hill on his back for about 70 yards (breaking my own record – the Orange haven’t seen a play like that since Floyd Little), skidding so fast and forcefully that both his skis sailed off along the way.


And so the Running Back of the Year Award goes to my Dad, Sandy Gordon, for successfully rushing 70 yards for a totally gnarly TD between two trees.

Give that man a cookie.

White Christmas Indeed!

My Dad, sister and I decided to spend Christmas skiing in Vermont this year. So here we are at Jay Peak, in the northern-most tip of the state. It was about a 5 hour drive here (the day after arriving home from the three-day trek back from Bama), and we were on skis within about an hour of our arrival.

I used to be a pretty good skier back in the day. Mom, Dad, Sarah and I would head out about 20 times a year, and we would spend a week here at Jay every February. But it’s been about seven years since I’ve touched skis. The results are halfway between pathetic and hilarious, especially as I try keeping up with my sister Sarah (who was the captain of her ski team at college and had a season pass to this very mountain for the last two winters), and my father (who at the age of . . . well, old . . . can still boogie down the hills with the best of them).

Day one saw me on SnowBlades after convincing myself they would be a smoother adjustment. Shorter means less chance of tip-crossing, right? I managed to make it through the day without falling.

Day two on the other hand . . . well, see for yourself. On the plus side, I didn’t hurt myself on the slopes. I did however suffer a minor shoulder injury in the lodge. More on that to come I’m sure.

Merry Christmas to all who are celebrating today, and I hope to have more pathetic/hilarious pictures for you to check out through the rest of the week!


pictures provided by Sarah Gordon

Long, Strange Trip

I have to admit I was sad to see Alabama go as Boyf and I blew out of town the other day. Three days and 1,200 miles later, I’m back in the northeast.


Kennedy kicked him out of the car

Kennedy kicked him out of the car

It’s hard to believe it was Boyf’s first real road trip. I mean, he’s 23 years old. But I have to say he did a good job hanging in there, and we managed to make it back home without any major problems. (Unless you count the emergency Boyf-pick-up in Atlanta due to weather-related flight delays and cancellations) No tow-truck experiences at the Philadelphia city line, no running through police barriers in downtown Philly, no multiple car stalls in a Virginia rest area, and no smoking engine on the highway to the Gulf Coast – not that I’ve had any (cough, all) of those experiences at one point or another . . .



Instead I got to see some quality Boyf-Kennedy bonding. Although she did try to kick him out of the car and score an extra seat for herself as we entered Virginia on night one. And they clearly still have their differences.


Blue Plate Diner, Chattanooga Tennessee

We found a great place to eat in Chattanooga, Tennessee (by “we found” I mean “my boss recommended”). If you’re ever in Chattanooga you should definitely stop by the Blue Plate Diner – it’s right next to the aquarium downtown, and they have great food. Be warned though, it’s not typical diner food, but my shrimp taco was amazing, and I don’t remember seeing any scraps of fried chicken left on Boyf’s plate.



The rain really started barreling down after we left the diner and continued through the rest of Tennessee and into Virginia. Needless to say we got slowed down a bit from the weather and ended up staying in Blacksburg instead of Fort Royal, setting us a bit behind. (I blame this completely on Boyf, who always drives the speed limit . . . SLOW)


So the next day we woke up and checked out of our five-star accommodations (Super-Eight anyone?) to hit the road again. We had to fly drive through Philadelphia quick to grab his suitcase, which he tied to the roof of my already-overloaded station wagon – Kennedy and I thoroughly enjoyed watching him circle the car with rope in hand as he was fastening the bag to the top. It was like watching a medieval kid play with a May Pole – which set us back another couple hours. So I ended up crashing with his family in Scranton.


The next morning I was off and home, just me and the cat. I’m not quite sure if she missed him.


Kennedy debates whose company she prefers. Maggie wins.

Kennedy debates whose company she prefers. Maggie wins.










Happy Birthday Milk and Cheerios!!

Happy Birthday Milk and Cheerios!

Happy Birthday Milk and Cheerios!

Just wanted to give a shout out to all my readers! Milk and Cheerios had it’s 50,000th hit today!!! Congratulations baby blog . . . you self-important waste of space.

Woman’s Best Friend

Kennedy is just about all grown up now.

Kennedy is just about all grown up now.

Remember about a year ago when I posted, half-joking, that my future belonged to a Siamese cat? Well, for those of you who don’t personally know me, I feel as though I should update you.

Kennedy is now 9 months old. And yea, she basically owns my life. Ever watch Gilmore Girls? Well she’s sort of the Paul Anka of my life. The other night I discovered she’s actually afraid of sprinkles. You know, like those colorful candies you cover cookies with? Yea those. She can’t figure out what to do with them, and sort of paws at them for a minute, then shrinks in horror when they roll around. Entertaining, yes – but pathetic nonetheless.

Needless to say, I love having a cat. Even though I have to lint-roll the ironing board before use (she thinks it’s a delightfully padded bunk bed), torture myself finding housing that will accept a cat (harder than you think), throw out another pair of stockings every week, hold my plate at my eye-level while eating, padlock the garbage (and my roommate’s bedroom door), and replace five keys on my computer keyboard. But when it comes down to it, it’s nice to know I have a built-in friend when I saddle up and move 1,000 miles away.

And we’ve had some adventures together. Like the time I gave her a bath and she bit me so hard my whole arm swelled up. I mean, who doesn’t love getting shots and going on antibiotics? Or what about the time she went number-two on a pile of tissue paper I was preparing to stuff in a gift bag? Or the second time she bit me mid-bath? The first time she peed on me after a bath? (Maybe I should stop giving her baths).

In all honesty, I’m a total cat lady, and I love her to pieces. Life with a cat is pretty unique, which is why I almost laughed my face off (Seriously. It almost got away from me) when I saw these videos earlier today. If you like cats, or even hate cats, but know what it’s like to live with them, check these out. But hold your face on tight . . . you never know.

Today’s links provided by YouTube . . . and myself (narcisisst)

You Can Run, But You Cant Hide

Maggie and Kayleigh

Maggie and Kayleigh

I met my best friend about three years ago, when we were Resident Advisors in the same building back in college. We had too much in common not be friends, and before long we were a bit on the inseparable side. I even flew to England when she spent a semester studying abroad in London.


Before I flew up to see her this past weekend, we had gone almost three months without a visit – that’s a record for us. What I’ve found after a reunion weekend is that we’ve both changed, like I knew we would, but we both still get each other.


Apparently I have a bit of a twang now, after five months in Alabama. I don’t believe her. Not that it matters, because she has a bit of an attitude after moving to Manhattan.


She says I cook too often, and it scares her that I own an apron. You wanna know what scares me? Her food bill is astronomical! She goes out to eat for every meal, and has yet to really go grocery shopping. (Of course, we already knew this about her).


Kayleigh says I’ve gone soft – fixing up care packages for Boyf. I say she could use some of my design tips to spruce up her bland cubicle.


It’s nice to know that with 1,000 miles between us, we’re so similar we can still drive each other up a wall with nit-picking. I hope we continue annoying and harassing each other for decades to come.