Someone at work referred me to the quiz in this article when I said that I have a hard time with decisions. When I took the quiz, I learned that I am an “extreme maximizer.” Hmmm. That sounds better than “indecisive.”

The writer of the article says: With all the choices available, we may believe we should never have to settle for things that are just “good enough.” Those who accept only the best, I call maximizers. In my research, I’ve found that maximizers are less happy, less optimistic and more depressed. At the very least, maximizing behavior can lead to dissatisfaction—and, sometimes, paralysis.

My grandfather says he wants to put a big sign in his yard that supports Kerry. He’s very fired up about this. My grandmother won’t let him. She doesn’t want the neighbors to see. “But that’s the point!” my grandfather says.

I love knowing where my activist-y streak comes from: Good ole Papa, former union organizer and town council candidate who registered as a Republican just so he wouldn’t get run out of town.

He usually refers to Bush as “this guy here…” as in “this guy here, he’s working for the oil companies, he doesn’t care about Joe down the street with the four kids…”

Sarah and I went to a minor league baseball game tonight: the Bowie Baysox vs. Altoona Curves, baby. Sarah got tickets through work. We were obviously not avid Baysox-ers, which anyone seated around us could tell pretty quickly. Much of our conversation went like this:

Sarah: Where’s Altoona?
Me: Which color uniform are the Baysox?
Sarah: I think it should be the Altoona Tunas, not the Altoona Curves.
Me: Why is it pronounced Boo-ee and not Bow-ee?
Sarah: I can picture a red sock and a white sock, but what’s a bay sock?

Sarah wanted to have our picture taken with the mascot, Louie, but I refused.

Last night I went to my first-ever improv comedy class at D.C. WIT. I was not sure what to expect before I arrived: loser-ish middle-aged men who want to be Drew Carey? Theater prodigies destined to be the next Chad Michael Murray? (Chad went to my high school, by the way. It’s true.) Luckily, it turned out to be a diverse bunch of normal twenty and thirty-something people who were not naturally drop-dead hilarious but who wanted something fun to do on a Monday night. Whew.

on break-ups:

Me: I think I’m going through withdrawal. I think I’m going to become a smoker.

My roommate Sarah: Why?

Me: Because that would give me something new to be addicted to.

Sarah: Why don’t you just take up smoking crack? That’s like starting a whole obsession… where you’re going to get it… how you’re going to pay for it… before you know it, you’ll forget all about everything else.