wunderbar!

Work has been pretty hectic this past week. Everything at OPP is winding down for the holidays, so it’s crunch time. OPP recently received a grant from Youth Service America to serve as a lead coordinator for Martin Luther King Day service events. The Public Ally at our site (Phil, who wrote the grant), and the VISTAs (Jacqui, JoJo, and I) are in charge of coordinating OPP’s service project and reporting on volunteer projects throughout the state. I’m super happy to be involved with MLK Day–as you may know, my favorite class at Holy Cross was 20th Century Social Movements with the fabulous Stephanie Yuhl–but we only found out that we won the grant about a week ago. MLK day is in a month. Do the math. Chaos ensues!

So let me just say I was pumped when I came home to find the following three things: a basket full of cookies that my mom got from work, my Nook2Android card to hack my NookColor into a tablet, andddd…..MY HOLY CROSS YEARBOOK!

YEARBOOK!

Got my yearbook! Please excuse the towel turban~

My friend Tina was the editor of the yearbook, so naturally there are a million pictures of me and my friends within the Purple Patcher. The cover is gorgeous, the pictures are great (except for one extremely unflattering picture of me in a marching band uniform…but it’s super small so I won’t complain that much.)…Tina nailed it! I technically was on yearbook staff but I didn’t do nearly as much hard work as Tina did, so I have to give her mad props.

This yearbook makes my high school yearbook look like an issue of the National Enquirer. I graduated high school in 2007 so the yearbook staff attempted to pull off a spy theme. I say attempted because the handprint on the cover makes my yearbook perpetually look like someone had dipped their hands into a bag of Lays before touching the yearbook. Plus, my friend’s name was spelled differently (none correctly) every time it appeared in the yearbook.

Yes, the Holy Cross Purple Patcher puts the Sheehan High yearbook to shame.

Seriously. This was the perfect treat to come home to (well, besides the cookies).

Alright ya’ll, I gotta go creep through the yearbook like I’ve been dying to do since we started to put it together.

Jose, I’ll Be Missing You

In case you couldn’t tell, I am a huge Mets fan. I bleed orange and blue and obsessively keep track of Mets games (watching via the Gameday animations even when I was living in Massachusetts).

I know I’m late getting in on the Jose Reyes to Miami deal. I wanted to wait a little bit because I was a little upset when the deal was announced (just check out my Twitter responses from that day). The other day, the song above popped up on my Facebook news feed (not revealing who I creeped on to find it), and totally nailed my feelings for the whole matter. Spoiler alert: It’s a parody of P. Diddy’s Missing You, which he released after Biggie got shot. Just listen to it. You will laugh your ass off.

I didn’t really get into the Mets until I was in high school (partially because I was entranced by the aw-shucks good looks of David Wright). As I was watching more and more baseball, Jose Reyes emerged as one of the premiere shortstops in the game. Jose captured our hearts with his propensity for stealing bases, talent at hitting triples, and penchant for developing hilarious handshakes with his team mates. He and David Wright were our guys, home grown players that could finally bring a ‘ship back to Flushing.

I’m really glad that I got the chance to see Jose play in person (he legged out a triple in one game and stole two bases in the other). Jose was the sparkplug for the Mets, and he was truly an exciting player to watch. It’s clear that Jose loves the game, and that’s great. I just wanted him to love the Mets more than he loves money.

The move to Miami felt like a punch to the face to me. Honestly, most Mets fans knew at the end of the season that Jose was long gone. Still, I know I had some hope that Sandy could pull the money together, or that Jose would take a hometown discount. Sadly, neither happened (Damn you Bernie Madoff!!).

I’m happy he won the batting title this year (it’s funny to me that after all the controversy over Jose taking himself out of the game, Ryan Braun got nailed for performance-enhancing drug use). And I’m happy for the good times Jose had with the Mets. I just can’t be happy for him now. Jose was never my number one favorite Met (sorry bro, that honor belongs to D-Wright), but he rang in at a close second. Jose helped get my sister interested in baseball with his Profesor Reyes skit between innings at Shea. I also just really loved his enthusiasm for the game…not to mention The Claw.

I just can’t be happy for him now, especially now that he’ll be wearing those tacky new Marlin uniforms instead of the orange and blue.

Jose, I wish you a great end to your career. Just no wins against the Mets, and no rings without playing for them.

I will miss you next season like Diddy misses Biggie. Well, unless Ike Davis starts hitting triples left and right—doubtful.

a christmas fail

After a series of rather unfortunate events (including but not limited to my laptop’s death, a minor fender bender, and a week-long cold that made going to work miserable), things have finally be turning around for me (winning a $50 gift card at a conference, finding a favorite pair of shoes, and realizing that I don’t always have to wear pants at work).

Work has been going pretty well. Well, other than the Secret Santa Catastrophe of two weeks ago. Basically, I helped my fellow VISTA JoJo write out the names of all of OPP’s employees for the office Secret Santa.

I thought I was doing a nice thing by helping a coworker. But in true Alyssa fashion, it all went wrong.

After about three quarters of the office had drawn names, JoJo realized that there were 10 people who had yet to pick….but only 9 slips left in our envelope. The verdict: we had accidently forgotten someone’s name.

So we had to go to everyone who had already picked, tell them that we might have forgotten someone, and ask them who they had picked. In total we had to admit this to approximately 35 of our coworkers. Oh, quick sidebar: I was the one who forgot to put that person’s name in. EPIC. FAIL.

Eventually we figured out who we forgot, placed the person’s name in the envelope, and all was well (I was not branded as the VISTA Who Stole Christmas–major relief there. People in my area of the office still haven’t forgiven me for that time I accidently burned a bag of popcorn. My reputation couldn’t bear the burden of ruining Secret Santa).