a bit of a katie girl.

i have written in the past on the difficulties of “living green”. as part of the volunteer program i am currently participating in, we are required to make a good faith effort at reducing our consumption, eating vegetarian, recycling, etc.

while living simply certainly has had its positives (i can now cook more things with lentils than you may have never known existed), from time to time our efforts toward sustainability take on a decidedly hilarious bent. case in point: the brick in the toilet.

our house has three toilets. in an effort to reduce water consumption we “let it mellow” in all three. we also use a graywater system (read: bucket in the sink) to manually flush one of them. last weekend when my little brother was visiting, the toilet on the second floor broke….something that was remarkably inconvenient for those of us who live on that particular floor. we called our landlord, who paid us a visit last night and then sent us the following e-mail this morning:

A brick was leaning against the fill valve in the tank which prevented the float from moving up and down. The handle is also broken. It looked as thought the handle was broken when the brick was installed, but I can’t be sure. I recommend not putting objects in the tank in order to save water. I can adjust the fill valve to allow varying amounts of water into the tank. Reducing the amount of water below what the manufacturer suggests can affect the ability to flush properly, however.

now, this may seem a bit ridiculous to you. who puts a brick in a toilet? but as it turns out, this is a time honored, water saving trick. which i learned from a quick google search of “brick in toilet”. take for example www.toiletology.com. in addition to providing helpful advice on the topic of “lazy flushing” (which apparently means that you need to flush the toilet twice to get, ahem, all the “stuff” down)…it says the following about bricks in the toilet:

Unfortunately, there is a water saving idea that has circulated for years, that says if you put a brick in the toilet tank you use less water per flush. It’s a bad idea and shouldn’t be used, because the bricks can disintegrate and crumbs will wash into the bowl channel and clog the holes. If the channel becomes clogged with brick crumbs, you are probably going to have to replace the toilet bowl. You can achieve better results using a plastic milk jug filled with enough marbles or gravel to keep it from floating.

In addition, a brick will not displace enough water to matter. There is always an inch or so of water left in the tank when the flapper closes and the tank begins to refill. Bricks are heavy; you could crack a tank if you accidentally drop the brick inside the tank.

well then. it appears that (in the never ending effort toward green living), one of the women who lived in the house before us plopped a brick in the toilet thinking that it would save water. no dice. instead we ended up with a big ‘ol mess on our hands and two toilets for nine people over the weekend (gross). so as i’ve said before, it isn’t easy being green.

this weekend we learned that some efforts toward sustainability can be hazardous…but (as ever) that doesn’t mean we’re get to stop trying. being a good steward of the earth’s resources might not mean putting a brick in the toilet…but there are a host of every day ways to save the planet. you can check out some of my favorites on treehugger.com which has a host of helpful articles including “how to green your sex life” and “how to green your funeral”. hmm.

happy wednesday, everyone! stay tuned for a new katie girl story later this week.

xoxo.
ellie

ain’t vindication grand? thanks to a recent new york times article, i have discovered that i am not alone in my stringent literary requirements for potential beaus. i have spent years being criticized by family and heckled by friends because i adhere to one basic moral code. you are what you read. tell me the last book you’ve read and i’ll tell you who you are. let me talk to you about books and i’ll love you for life. my requirements for a relationship are simple but exacting. leave me alone when i am reading and we will have a foundation for success. because as thomas jefferson famously said, “i cannot live without books”.

this is how i see the world. i am a bibliophile. so it is only natural that when potential suitors come along “what is the last thing you have read” is one of the first five questions i ask. (the other four, in no particular order, are: do you like dogs? do you like red wine? how do you feel about the state of minnesota? and can you name three classical composers?) but the books. the books are a deal breaker.

honestly, the reason why i love facebook so much is that i can heckle people’s literary choices. if judging is a sport then facebook is bat, glove and ball. if you have listed under your “favorite” books anything by dan brown or v.c. andrews, you will be judged. you will also be judged if you have something listed i know you have never read. proust, for example. or whitman. or adrienne rich. there are girls i went to high school with who i know for a fact have never picked up dream of a common language or leaves of grass…but there they are on their facebook profile. a testament to falsified intelligence and literary posturing. perhaps you read a quote you liked once…something about your whole body being a poem? while isn’t that nice. you haven’t read the whole poem. don’t put it down. quotes from robert frost on a facebook profile are also a key indicator of a feeble mind. you took the road last traveled. whoop dee doo. isn’t that original? (also an incorrect interpretation of the poem, i might add). i also hate girls who say that romeo and juliet is their favorite book. first of all, it is a play not a book. second of all, you don’t like the book. you like the story. you like it because you cast yourself as juliet and whatever moronic excuse for a pre-pubescent you are currently dating as romeo. get over it.

some of you may be offended by this point in the entry. i could apologize, but i won’t. its my blog. and when it comes to intelligence, books are nonnegotiable. i don’t care how smart or special your parents told you you were. if you’re not reading quality literature, you are not fully comprehending the world.

yes, i have opinions. as i told one of my favorite college professors, i have opinions on opinions. but i do listen. for the most part. the people i am most impressed by are the ones who argue for a beloved author intelligently. who are able to say what makes a book great. who can convince me to take another look. it happened with hemingway. it happened with steinbeck. it happened with emily dickinson. and i’m eternally grateful. it will not, however, ever happen with the davinci code.

i have gotten in major trouble for these opinions before. on one memorable occasion i was talking to my best friend’s new girlfriend and i asked her what her favorite book was. because i assumed my friend would date someone intelligent, thoughtful and well-read…i chuckled as i asked, “and don’t tell me its the davinci code!” it was. whoops. i would like to point out, however, that the relationship didn’t last. coincidence? i think not.

as someone once said and my mom is famous for quoting “we read so we know we are not alone“. thank-you, new york times, for assuring me that at least some of my neuroses are not unique.

xoxo.
ellie

addendum (slash shout out to my mother): when i sent my mom this article via e-mail (subject line: I TOLD YOU SO), she responded:

A few thoughts:

You should not be snooping at what people are reading, you should ask.

I have not heard of Pushkin (but now I have to look it up)!

For most of us, relationships are about helping each other grow, which leaves open the idea that someone can open up a whole new world of literature for someone they care about.

The fact that you found this article, Ellen, speaks to your need to get out more and read less!

Given how we love dogs, our opinion would rise if we found a friend with a book that implied that you can learn life lessons from dogs on their end table.

Stop with The Da Vinci Code!

Love,
Mom

yup, she’s a katie girl too. so in case you think i haven’t been toppled off my literary high horse a time or two, be assured that my sense of duty and filial obligation keep me perpetually grounded.

i am going to tell you a story, but in order to understand the context, i need to first share with you a few key pieces of information:

(1) i am an expatriate minnesotan currently residing in the district of columbia as part of a volunteer corps program
(2) i like to make lists. i have many of them. my lists include “goals for this week” “goals for the next six months” “goals for this year” and a “bucket list” of things i want to do before i die.
(3) on my “bucket list” (besides going to africa and taking at least one clandestine lover) is to ride the tram that goes from underneath the house and senate office buildings to the u.s. capitol.
(4) i am a katie girl.

my story begins sometime last month when a certain d.c. roommate who shall remain nameless signed us up to attend a weekly constituent breakfast with a certain minnesota senator who shall also remain nameless (hint: rhymes with robochar). the breakfast basically consists of doughnuts and coffee in the senator’s office…followed by a few pictures. we were scheduled to go today, so said roommate and i woke up at the crack of dawn to be down to the hart senate office building by 8:30 a.m. for our breakfast with other minnesota constituents. we arrived right on time at the senator’s office, only to see that it was being gutted completely. there were a dozen men (and a few women) in suits waiting to meet the senator outside the office, where a perky intern immediately informed us we would be going over to the capitol building to meet the senator there. with all the men in suits.

now i am never under dressed. i pride myself on never being under dressed. and even though my gut feeling had told me to dress up a bit more…i had opted to wear a khaki skirt and my chaco sandals. i also went by what j. (nameless roommate) was wearing…jeans and a t-shirt. although j. isn’t exactly a style maven, she had gone on the website and seen pictures of the (very casually dressed) constituents who normally participate in this event. we had even giggled as we imagined our white-legged brethren wearing shorts because they were so thrilled about the warm d.c. weather. and maybe even one of those fbi t-shirts. well, let me tell you that there was nary an fbi t-shirt nor a white leg in sight. except for mine.

so the senator’s chief of staff (!) comes to escort us via tram to the u.s. capitol building. insert squeal here. i was actually achieving one of my life goals. something that was on my bucket list. and do you know what i was thinking about? my freaking outfit. and the truth is, i didn’t stop thinking about it for the next hour and a half. and i’m still thinking about it. i’m also thinking about whether a guy would have felt the same way if he had showed up under dressed. would it have mattered nearly as much?

the fact of the matter is, j. and i had an incredible experience this morning. we met a senator. we stood inside the u.s. capitol building. we rode the tram. and i’m still focused on what i was wearing. and how i felt in it. i know they say that clothes make the (wo)man, but what i’m really tired of is how they always seem to unmake me. i am so focused on pants sizes and making sure i carry my kate spade purse label side out that i miss what is really happening around me. a once in a lifetime experience. i am so obsessed with reading about everyone else’s sense of style in fashion magazines, what they weigh, what they eat…that i miss the goodness in my own life. my own style.

the fashion industry makes billions each year exploiting women (and men) by telling them that they have to dress a certain way to be a certain way. that some clothes don’t look good on you unless you weigh 115 pounds. i open up glamour every month and each page becomes a new wish. to be thinner, better dressed, more chic…and while i do believe in the power of a little black dress and kitten heels…what i don’t want, what i’ve never wanted, is for what i wear and how i look to define who i am.

so what i’ve decided is i’m going to have to figure out a way to get back onto that tram. and this time i’m not going to think about what i’m wearing. i’ll be thinking about the sheer awesomeness of democracy (insert audience groan here). or maybe about how surprisingly quickly those bad boys move (and they really do)…or maybe just about the beauty of having an experience you’ve always wanted to have. chacos and all.

xoxo.
ellie

In first grade I shoved a rock up my nose. It got stuck. In fourth grade every girl in Grandview, Missouri, got the bright idea to shave only the back of their heads. It was some kind of rebellious fashion statement, and one I rarely admit to doing. In sixth grade I started my period and insisted that it wasn’t normal. I was so persistent that my mother had to take me to the doctor. I refused to believe that my mother, a nurse, knew what she was talking about. In seventh grade I received my first kiss. Ken Willert was the one to give it to me. My friends and I were at Mitch Karsten’s birthday party, girls on one side of the room and boys on the other. The kiss was strategically planned, not romantic or spontaneous in any way, and I refused to kiss him until I found my Dr. Pepper Chap Stick. I had to make sure my lips were soft after all. Two years ago I dated a guy named Ben. I was bored, and he was cute, until he turned in to a stalker. I had mentioned that I liked Batman, and one day I came home to find him in my apartment in nothing but a child sized Batman cape. I sent him home. Three weeks ago,I accidentally found out that the father of my son is having a baby. This was quite a shock to me because he had been trying to get back together with me for months. He would tell me how sorry he was for things that happened in the past, tell me he loves me, and wants nothing more than to have his family back. I knew that even though there were still feelings on both people’s parts, I couldn’t ever go back to that relationship. I didn’t want to be with the father of my child, but he should damn well be miserable and pine over me. I figured that he deserved it after everything that he had done. I spent the rest of the night throwing myself a pity party and avoiding his text messages and calls. Unfortunately when I was ready to talk the only thing that could come out of my mouth, after some alcoholic beverages, was, “I hope your baby has five legs.”

I thought about how immature that phrase was for about a week, and then I realized something. It is ok to do things I regret. I’m not saying I should go out and purposely do things that are stupid, but all of my experiences have taught me something. For example, I now know that rocks do not belong in body cavities, that being a woman is a normal biological thing, and I have learned that clippers should only be used on members of the male species. Spontaneous kisses that hold feeling and meaning are the best, and I no longer worry about having Chap Stick. I figure I am a little old for Dr. Pepper flavor and so have now matured to Tropical Punch Kool-Aid. Dating someone because I am bored never goes anywhere and is a waste of time. Maturing enough to consider someone else’s feelings is something that I am glad to have learned. I can now just tell someone that it isn’t working out rather than hoping that he gets my subtle cues and disappears. Even though I still do not like the idea of my son’s father having another child, a baby with five legs just wouldn’t be a good thing.

Learning to let things go is not an easy task, and I have not mastered it by any means. I am positive that I will have more moments that I am not proud of, and I welcome them. I figure it is how I handle myself during and after them that shapes who I am. I can only hope that as I age and mature that I live a life without regret and have many stories to tell.

i’d like to thank this week’s contributer for such an incredible essay! for more information on the katie girl project or how to submit a piece, click here.