Have a Lazy Saturday: OR the most epic day of awesomeness ever.

Yesterday! Yesterday was quite the day. After a week of marathon homework sprees, brief encounters with friends, and days of being held hostage either at work or in my room for hours on end, I finally got a little snippet of time off just in time for Maggie to be here.

And what does one do when Maggie is here? You plan the most epic day you could ever possibly imagine and you have an absolute blast doing every little thing you planned. So, that is what we did. And it was awesome.

This lazy day we indulged in yesterday actually accomplished 3 of my Before You're 12's; Have a Lazy Saturday, Fly a Kite, and Go Geocaching. We did all three and SOOO much more. I shall now describe for you, in detail (and with pictures!) the lovely day that was my yesterday.
After one magnificent round of mimosas and homemade breakfast burritos, Mag and I ran a perfectly timed list of errands and met Jessie and Justin at Loose Park at 11:30am. We settled into a lovely nook of trees and had one very scrumptious (and aesthetically pleasing) picnic with smuggled sangria, fancy eats, and a lot of giggles.

After an hour of enjoying the coolness of the shade and about as much picnic snacks and sangria as the three of us could stand, we started our Geocaching adventures! For those of you who don't know what geocaching is, I am about to absolutely rock your world. Remember those awesome scavenger hunts you'd be sent on at birthday parties (or whenever your parents wanted you "out of [their] way for just 10 minutes, please!!") to find a random assortment of knick-knacks for no real purpose other than to find them??? Throw in a GPS, map coordinates, and a little mystery and voila! You have Geocaching. To participate, you sign up on the website, search for these hidden caches on a map, load the coordinates on to your phone (or GPS), and search for the hidden treasures others have left for you to find. Sometimes the cache you discover has little trinkets you can take with you (so long as you leave one behind!) and sometimes it is just a log you sign after finding it. I had done this once before with April in St. Louis, and had an absolute blast. So! I was very excited to share my love of the activity with Maggie, Jessie and Justin. Sadly, our first attempt was an utter failure. We searched and searched and searched and there was no cache in sight. No clue, picture, or hint provided by the creator helped us to locate it. I was, to be completely honest, a bit disheartened. Not willing to give up, however, we began a search for a second cache in the park. After a few navigational tricks, a stop at a shady bench, and a bathroom break, it wasn't long before...














...we found a lovely little bucket-of-fun hidden inside the trunk of an old tree in the park! There were some fun little diddy's in that bucket, but we decided to only share the wealth, not take any; I left an over-sized paperclip with a fortune cookie woven in, Maggie left a plastic cocktail garnish sword, Jessie left a little Homie, and Justin left a baby dinosaur. It was so much fun discovering the cache. You kind of feel like a pirate after buried treasure! Geocachers are quite the clever bunch. I look forward to finding other caches and possibly even making some of my own someday!

After we logged our find on the official geocache log and website, we moved on to Kite Flying!














Don't let Jessie's expression of joy fool you, the kites were kind of a disaster. If I had listened to the little girl in the park bathroom, I would have known that anyone over the age of 12 is probably ill-equipped to fly a kite anyway, but alas, we moved forward with the plans. About 15 minutes passed between the time we put our little $0.50 kites together and the time three of the four kites were lying in wake in the bushes, broken and bruised, no longer able to take flight.













BUT! For those glorious 15 minutes, the three of us ran around screaming, jumping, and giggling our way around the park, making fools of ourselves and having a damn good time doing it. Note to anyone planning on a kite-flying attempt? I highly suggest investing in a kite a bit more substantial than what you find next to the quarter machines at the dollar store. Either that, or bring lots of super glue to resurrect the kite carcasses when they snap.

After burring the our fallen flying friends, we concluded our day at Loose Park. Maggie and I parted ways from Justin and Jessie to go admire the wonder that is the World War I Museum.It was about this time that we discovered we were 1) badly sunburned and 2) suffering from heat exhaustion, but we powered on and saw the museum anyway. I got to take a lot of sweet pictures in the hour we spent there. I wish we had had more time to see all the awesome things displayed in the museum, but alas, we had to meet a group of friends at Thai Place for some killer Phad Thai; a wonderful evening of vegging on our living room floor, watching Big Bang Theory; and hours of sipping sangria and enjoying the rest of our lazy Saturday in our PJ's. It was glorious.

And now, still a little sunburned and surrounded by the resulting household mess of yesterday's activities, I can't help but think that yesterday may have been the best, most perfect day ever. I got to see most of my favorite people, partake in some fracking awesome festivities, see some amazing things, and escape from the stress of my hectic life for one day. I officially feel recharged, ready to meet the new week (and the rest of my finals!) with enthusiasm and gusto. I highly recommend everyone (not just the 12-year-olds) take the time to relax and have themselves a lazy Saturday every once in a while. Whether you fly kites or just sit around watching movies for a day, the resulting feeling of relief is well worth the momentary procrastination and delayed action on your life projects. Trust me, they can all can go on the back burner for just one day. The world will keep on a-spinnin' without them.

-Atticus

PS- I started a Shutterfly account where I will pictorially catalog the rest of my Before You're 12's (and other life photography projects) for you to see! Check it out sometime!

APRIL FOOLS!

Oh, man. I crack myself up!

For those of you who read the last entry and actually bought what I was telling you: you have officially fallen victim to my most successful April Fools joke. Ever. I only know of 3 people who ACTUALLY fell for it, but that's successful in my book. I've never been a very convincing liar, but it seems through writing, I can do ANYTHING *trumpets sound*!!!!!

Why did I do this? #80, Celebrate April Fools Day. Check!

Ok. That is how I participated this go round. We can take Conquer a Fear back off the list. Who knows, someday I may actually give that one a whirl. But for now, I still avoid the demon mascots and continue on my path to being that awesome 12-year-old. Thanks for playing along!

Much love,
Atticus

Conquer a Fear

*deep breath*

Ok, you guys. It's a big day in the life of Ms. Lindsey. Today I officially sealed the deal to conquer one of my biggest fears.

For those of you who have known me for a long time (or if you happened to read the last installment of this silly little blog), you may know of the long and ridiculous saga that is my fear of mascots. It's not so much a fear as it is a phobia, actually. Intensely illogical with no basis or reasoning, I will run away crying if one waddles anywhere within a 20 ft radius of me. And if I am not crying I am plotting to have it destroyed, usually by fire, so I can enjoy myself at the game or parade or amusement park. You should see me at Crown Center around Christmas or Easter; I am a complete mess.

I have tried to riddle it out in my mind, to pinpoint the exact moment the fear kicked in and I became doomed to a life of perpetually avoiding sporting events and where Disney Land will forever represent the innermost circle of hell and damnation. To this day, I haven't been able to really figure it out.

Well, no. Maybe I have. My high school mascot? A freaking 6ft naked baby. I shit you not, we were the Hickman Kewpies. Yes, that is right, the Kewpies. You know, the cute and seemingly bashful figurines of nude children taking a moment to pose and cover their probably non-existent privates? Yeah, our football team had a bit of a challenge coming off anywhere near intimidating, as you may have already guessed. Perhaps I encountered the demon baby giant mascot way before I was developmentally ready to process it, and now anything resembling him/her/it sends me into a tizzy of sexually ambiguous flashbacks and terror-filled confusion. *shrug* Who knows. The point is that they terrify me, and I have arranged to conquer them once and for all.

How exactly am I going to do this, you may ask? Well, through some pretty awesome familial connections, I have arranged to participate in next Saturday's Royals game as none other than Slugger, the mutated lion mascot who faithfully cheers on my city's baseball team year after year (despite a seemingly terminal tumor growing on his forehead that happens to resemble a fuzz-covered crown. I mean, really, what the hell is that?). Just got off the phone with the powers that be, and they're going to actually let me go through with my ridiculous request to bumble around idiotically in Slugger's costume at the game! That's right, people, this girl is gonna be INSIDE the beast responsible for all of her childhood (and adult) nightmares, waddling around The K, pretending to care about baseball and building my character one inning at a time. On Saturday, April 9th at 4:00pm, I'll be walking around, kissing babies, creating a whole new generation of mascot-fearing children.

Am I excited? Kind of, actually. I'm more nervous about the possibility of tumbling down the bleachers and breaking a bone than I am about being in costume. I figure since I don't have to look at myself, perhaps the fear won't kick in? God, I hope so. If not, you may see clips on ESPN of the psychotic mascot, rocking itself into comfort in the corner of the outfield, mumbling manically about naked babies and satanic Mickey Mice. Good lord, that would be embarrassing, no?

Anyhoo, that is how I am accomplishing this particular Before-I'm-12. Please take out your calendars and mark this as the day Lindsey grew some balls and decided to get over her fears. If you're at the game on Saturday, be sure to come by and whisper words of encouragement softly in my giant felt ears. Or just bring me a beer; that may actually be more useful. If you're not at the game, please be thinking happy thoughts! I can use all of the encouragement you can possibly muster.

Who knows, if all goes well, maybe one day I can walk through the gates of Disney Land without a whimper.

Hey, a girl can dream, right?

-Atticus

Create a Signature Dish

I would like to take a second before I begin to apologize for the long absence. I signed up for that pesky thing called Grad School, and life has been a bit crazy. Still, no excuse. I hope you can forgive.

This one is for Jessie and Jinni.

I was kind of a weird kid. I am sure that doesn't shock most of you considering, if you haven't already noticed, I'm kind of a weird adult. My tastes, habits, actions, and goals in life have been, and probably always will be, a bit off-kilter. Listen to me ramble about my fear of mascots for a few seconds and you'll get a good idea of what I mean.

One of the best ways I can illustrate this for you, however, is through this week's thing-to-do-before-I'm-12. Create a signature dish? This one I actually had taken care of when the book assumed I would. My brother and I were quite the creative duo when it came to inventing new snacks. We'd take anything that looked, sounded, or smelled even the slightest bit delicious out of the pantry and combine it with any other good looking, sounding, or smelling dish that struck our fancy. The outcome was usually a dietary disaster that even the dog wouldn't touch. Mom, as expected, usually turned her nose up to our masterpieces, but David and I created, gobbled, and regobbled our culinary creations with a fiery and dedicated passion. My brother's favorite (which he still eats to this day) was a delicate combination of uncooked Ramen Noodles with seasoning and copious amounts of hot sauce. That's right, folks, Ramen Noodles and hot sauce. I never tried it, but he still insists that it is nothing less than euphoric.

My favorite, much to Mom's horror, was a little creation I called "Boogers on the Beach."

A little background: I was in 3rd grade and a new student to New Haven Elementary (Go Stars!). Each morning, we were all corralled into the large gymnasium for the morning assembly. We'd start out by singing happy, up-beat songs that encouraged sharing, positive attitudes, friendship, and all the other things you'd want a large group of annoyingly hyper kids to embody in their daily activities. This fateful morning, however, we skipped the song singing, and the teachers had a little "get to know you" segment where they shared something weird or funny about themselves. True to my ADD fashion, I didn't pay much attention (I wanted to sing, damn it!). One teacher's confessional, however, managed to get my attention. I was in the middle of humming my favorite part of "The Friendship Song," doodling on my shoes, when I registered that the words "pickles" and "peanut butter" had been spoken in sequence. Pickles and peanut butter? Um, gross. I started to listen a little more carefully:

"Now, I know what you're thinking," the teacher, who's name I have now forgotten, said brightly, "'pickles and peanut butter? On a sandwich? Gross,' right?" There was a ripple of faux barfing and gagging sounds throughout the audience. She had read my, and apparently everyone else's, mind perfectly. And yet, I was still intrigued. Boggled by the concept, I listened as she went on to explain her journey with and subsequent love for this seemingly horrible idea for a snack. Thoroughly disgusted, I couldn't get the combination out of my mind all day. Pickles and peanut butter? Pickles and peanut butter. Pickles and freaking peanut butter?!? Refusing to go the rest of my life without experiencing this concoction, I bee-lined it for the pantry the second I hopped off the bus that afternoon and recreated the pickle-and-peanut-butter sandwich.

I tentatively took my first bite, having no clue what I was in for. It took a few chews before the taste caught up with me. And you know what? I'll be damned if I didn't love the thing. It was the perfect combination of sweet and savory, crunchy and smooth, weird and awesome. I was hooked. Not only did it taste amazing, we had a connection, that sandwich and I. It was weird, I was weird, I loved it, it loved me, and we were going to be best friends. Forever.

After I attempted, and failed, to get my entire household to try it, I gobbled up the rest of the sandwich and began to preach the word of pickles-and-peanut-butter to any and every person who would listen. It was a hard sell, and to make the already hopeless situation worse, I named the sandwich "Boogers on the Beach," after my astute observations on the color of my powerful ingredients. I'm pretty sure I couldn't even get my noodles-and-hot-sauce-loving brother to try it. "Oh well," I thought, "more for me."

It's been a hot minute since I've tried to recreate this fondly remembered dish. I'm pretty sure I gave it up around the 4th grade when granola bars and Surge were the hip snacks of the day. And, I am happy to report, the preferences of my pallet have improved significantly since then. As a mostly independent adult, I have learned the beauty of cooking my own food. And not in the "throw random shit together and try it" kind of way. I am actually starting to take the time to assess my nutritional needs, seek out a yummy sounding recipe, and make myself a good meal. Sure, I still love a good trip to Subway or Chipotle like any self-respecting 24-year-old, but I get a deep-seeded sense of satisfaction anytime I throw together a batch of ingredients in an attempt to make myself dinner. It's like potions class at Hogwarts, except much more practical and a smidgen more real. And when I fail, I won't explode (except for that time with the chicken and the cooking oil. I almost died. Not eeeeven joking).

Last Christmas, my mother wrote out by hand all of my grandma's recipes and I have been trying to recreate them in the time since. Along with that, my friend Jessie and my roommate Jinni have joined me on the cooking bandwagon, and we frequently bring recipes to each other to share. Minus the resulting mound of dishes, cooking has become one of my favorite activities. It is something I wish I had done more of with my Grandmother when I had the chance (her food was fracking ah-mazing) and that I hope to do often with my future children someday. Until then, however, I share my new favorite recipe with you all (got this one from Jessie):

Cream Cheese Stuffed Chicken

-1/2 small onion

-A strip of bacon

-1 Chicken Breast

-1 oz of Cream Cheese
-A chuck of pastry dough that will cover the chicken

-1 Egg

-Salt and pepper

*Pre-heat your oven to 375 degrees

*Cook one strip of bacon to your liking (I like it crispy)

*Chop up the onion into tiny pieces

*Mix chunks of bacon, the onion pieces, the cream cheese, and salt in pepper in a small bowl.

*Cut down the length of the breast, creating a place to stuff the cream cheese (imagine the chicken breast is your hands in prayer, cutting along between the pinkies). Do NOT cut all the way to the bottom, separating the breast in half. This will be disastrous.

*Stuff the cream cheese into the chicken.

*Wrap the chicken in the pastry dough, pinching the edges together to create a seal.

*Whisk the egg around in a bowl until it is liquefied. Coat the pastry dough lightly with the egg, re-pinching the edges to ensure the chicken is sealed.

*Place the chicken on a baking sheet and place in the oven.

*Cook for 30min or until the pastry dough is a golden brown.

*Serve with your favorite vegetable (I prefer lemon pepper green beans).

Hope you all enjoy! If you have a signature dish you'd like to share, leave it in comments!

-Atticus

#16- Read a Classic

NEWS FLASH: I love Oscar Wilde. This, surprisingly, is a relatively new development in my life. To be clear, I never hated the guy. I enjoyed his plays when I read them in school, took to heart the quotes I knew he’d scribbled into existence (so much so that I’m getting a tattoo of one), and recognized the name and most of it’s accomplishments when mentioned in conversation. But I’d never really investigated him or his writings before now. For some reason the impulse had always escaped me. I always The of Dorian Gray down as a book I needed to read, but alas, Harry Potter, those silly vampire books, and other instant pleasure reads always seemed to win the race to my literary trophy shelf.

So I was pretty proud of myself for finally picking up what has become one of my favorite books off of the shelf at B&N last month. I think I always new I was going to enjoy it, but I also knew it was going to be a bit of a challenge for my mildly ADD self to push through what could potentially be a lame plot masked by beautiful language and clever thinking. How very wrong I was. On so many levels: I loved it, the plot was brilliant, he was far far more than clever, and I could hardly put it down. I was and am obsessed.

Now, my original intention for this post was to go through and analyze Wilde’s commentary and the structure and all that boring shit we covered in my advanced placement English classes in high school. It didn’t take me long to realize that a) I was never a fan of that crap and 2) that it would bore you (and more importantly, me) to no end. Yes, I very much enjoyed his commentary on vanity and the twisted way in which he realized it’s negative effect through the painting analogy, but still: anyone who’s read it would have already known what was saying and if they haven’t read it they would have had NO idea what I was talking about. Plus, as cool as the plot was, it was only a minor part of why I loved the book. It was his words that I fell in love with.

So! Instead I chose something that still may bore you but I find very interesting: a few of my favorite quotes from the book. ☺

Now, I am one of those people who at some point in their lives had it ingrained in them that writing in a book was in some way blasphemous. I once saw my friend Emily scribbling in her Complete Works of William Shakespeare with an orange Sharpie and I had to resist the urge to bitch slap the thing out of her hand. I have, luckily for Emily and all page-scribblers everywhere, come to terms with this reflex of mine and actually developed a habit of marking a page or two myself. With Dorian Gray, I kind of went buck-wild. I don’t think I went more than a page or two without underlining three or four of Wilde’s witticisms, well wishes, or words of wisdom. I’m pretty sure I found at least a hundred little gems to remember for future reference.

I won’t write all of them down here. That would probably make you want to murder me in my sleep. That, and I am too lazy to write them all out. Instead, I picked several of my favorites to share with you. I won’t take time explain why I like them so much. A lot of them are obvious. And those that aren’t? Well, my attraction to them is probably a secret I’d like to keep for myself for now. Instead, perhaps you can tell me what you like about some of them? Maybe we can cultivate a good discussion out of them. I’d enjoy that a lot, actually. Maybe I’ll share my affinity for them to you someday. For now, however, I shall keep them, like Dorian his picture, tucked away behind a purple curtain.

Until next time,
Atticus

My quotes:
“All art is quite useless.”

“…to influence a person is to give him one’s soul. He does not think his natural thoughts or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly – that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to ones self. Of course they are charitable They feed the hungry and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it”

“It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place.”

“…the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic.”

“…men represent the triumph of mind over morals.”

“Experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name men gave to their mistakes.”

“To be in love is to surpass one’s self.”

“I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take toward life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. “

“It was only in the theatre that I lived.”

“Without your art you are nothing.”

“One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing.”

“Life has always poppies in her hands…”

“To become the spectator of one’s life is to escape the suffering of life.”

“Perhaps one should never put one’s worship into words.”

“There seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship so colored by romance.”

“Life its self was the first, the greatest, of the arts, and for it all the other arts seemed to be but a preparation.”

“Is insincerity such a terrible thing? I think not. It is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities.”

“Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colors and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of joy having it's bitterness, and the memories of pleasure their pain.”

“My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.”

“Ah, what a nuisance people’s people are!”

“…passion makes one think in a circle.”

“Every effect that one produces gives one an enemy. To be popular one must be a mediocrity.”

“Actual life was chaos, but there was something terribly logical in the imagination.”

“The things one feels absolutely certain about are never true.”

#10 Take Care of a Pet

My family has always been prone to pet ownership. For as long as I can remember, there has always been at least one dog and one cat running around chasing each other and causing a ruckus. Not to mention all of the adopted lizards, frogs, turtles, fish, and rodents my brother and I begged or hunted for as children. We were never quite to Doolittle status, but we pushed the envelope a bit.

So, when I flipped to this challenge, I first contemplated just reliving the best of my many pet stories: my brother and I throwing Jack (one of our many psychotic cats) back and forth across the lawn cause we didn’t like him, Ginger (my grandmas pudgy tabby cat) dragging a full turkey behind Grandma's bed on Thanksgiving because she was (per usual) hungry, Doby (our psychologically unsound dachshund) attacking and then riding on the garage door as it opened, or Eugene (my badass piranha) hunting goldfish for an audience of my friends. But I figured I’d bore everyone except my brother and mom with my random reminiscences. The plan then was to ramble on to you about my roommate’s cat, Guess, and what it’s like to care for her. I was going to describe in detail the protruding tummy, poorly executed litter box habits and dietary schedule of our shy and massive kitty. That was the plan until last Monday.

On Monday I got Lucy.

I know, I know. Most of you are probably bug-eying me and silently (or not silently) shouting to the proverbial heavens “A RAT?!? (unless, of course, your first reaction was “is that a mouse?” In which case I am here to tell you she’s, in fact, a rat. Now you can do the whole “shout to the heavens” thing…). Why on earth would you get A RAT?!?!” The answer is simple: I have no fucking clue. Well, I know I decided within a 10-second window of time that our seemingly innocent trip to PetSmart! was not going to just be for cat food. And I know that everything involved in getting her was an impulse buy birthed from an off-handed mention of Ratatouille. And I know that I love her. So you must love her too.

There is actually quite a bit of planning and buying to do in order to keep a healthy happy rat. I dropped about $75 bucks at the store (sponsored almost in full by my loving bro David), and that was only buying the bare minimum. According to the handy dandy pamphlet I picked up near the rodent section, they need huge cages with exercise wheels, things to chew on, special food, water bottles, a specific kind of bedding, things to climb on blah blah blah blah blah. Case in point: lots and lots of stuff. Jinni and I spent over an hour in that place picking out all the essentials before we lugged it all (and Lucy!) home with us.

Now, I’ve only had Luce for a week from today and I’ve already learned quite a bit. Rats are, contrary to popular belief, kind of kick ass animals to have. They’re cleaner than you might think, they’re smart and very sweet, and you can train them like dogs! I found out how to have her do tricks, how to dance, and even how to be potty trained. That’s right folks, my rat can learn to pee and poop in a specific spot. A little un-real, right?.

The only unfortunate thing up until this point is that they get sick very easily. Tumors, respiratory infections, and foot diseases run at the top of the bill. I experienced the respiratory issue first hand. When we first got Luce we realized that she sneezed a lot, but didn’t think anything of it other than it made her that much more adorable. It wasn’t until Saturday that we noticed a little blood coming out of her nose that we got scared. That’s not normal, right? So I called up PetSmart! and told them what was up. “She probably has a respiratory infection,” they told me. “You need to bring her in to the store vet.”

Luckily, we caught it early and they took care of the expenses (14 day guarantee! Score.) and a week later the little lady is fine. Cleaning her ears inside of my shirt sleeve at the moment, as a matter of fact, and having a grand ole time. And soon I will make things even better for her by getting her a sister! Rats are social creatures and they stay healthier if you give them companions. PetSmart! was out when I went yesterday, but I can get some next week.

Since I’ve just gotten the little lady, there isn’t much else to report. But! I will keep you abreast of the ongoing care tactics and training progress. I’m hoping I can have some cool stuff to show you before too long. And for all of those of you who are hatin’ on me right now cause I have a rodent, you just wait. Unless you are Beth Spencer (I accept that Beth will always hate her),you’ll meet her and fall in love like I did.

Until Next Time,

Atticus

#65-Make up a Pen Name or Spy Name

Secret: My roommate and I want to be spies.

OK, so it's not really a secret. We kinda tell everyone. And honestly, anyone who says they don't or never have wanted to be a spy is a dirty, dirty liar. Who doesn't want to travel the world kickin' ass and knowing EVERYONE'S business??? I'm not going to lie: it would be kind of awesome.

This is a childhood fantasy I am just beginning to relive (you try watching 4 seasons of Alias in a month and a half and not want to be a spy. I mean, really...), but one that I held very close to my heart as a 12-year-old. My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Halverson, started the obsession when she read us Harriet the Spy during class. You know, the girl in the raincoat following her neighbors around causing chaos? I loved it. I'm pretty sure I went home immediately, begged my mom to buy me the movie and enough notebooks to make my Five Star Trapper Keeper puke. It wasn't long before I knew the movie by heart and was teaching myself Pig Latin as not to get caught like my ill fated hero (yeah, I was clever). My first target? The easiest: my family. I began following them around "spying" on their daily activity. No channel change, smoke break, or shopping spree went undocumented. I was a damn good spy.

But, like most of my childhood endeavors I soon lost interest, the notebooks disappeared to the ether of numerous forced spring cleanings and I moved on to my next creative escapade.

So here I am again, however many years later, being asked to come up with my own spy name?!?! The one base I didn't cover as a kid and now I get the chance. Unfortunately, when I first read the assignment for this week, I was at a loss. Where to begin? There are so many names and combinations of names that I had no idea where to begin.

Thank god for the internet, yeah? Type 'spy name generator' into Google.com and you get 1,400, 000 results. ONE MILLION, FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND results. Overwhelming much? Luckily, I quickly discovered that most of them take you the same two sites, so I played around with both of them for a while.

The first one you just click a button and a new name comes up every time. Here are some of my favorite: Ivana Tomato, Princess McPerky, Slammer Hardcastle, Stone Handsomeman, and Anastasia Pants. Much like my dream to write the blurbs on the taco bell sauce packages, I now want to be a spy name generator writer. I may not be able to come up with a creative name for myself, but I could come up with some random-ass words to type into a name bank. Ivana Tomato? Really? Awesome.

After the hilarity with the first generator, I moved on to one that generates one based on your real name. Although I highly doubt there was much calculation on the perfect spy name for me, it makes me feel special all the same. I typed in my name, and just to spice things up I opted for a male spy name. They get the better ones anyway (Slammer Hardcaslte? My point exactly).

*click* Drumroll please....

Hell yeah! My new spy name? Atticus Flanagan. Crotchity old Irish guy? Done and done. You shall hence forth refer to me as such. Bad ass.

Well, that was easy. Maybe not the most creative way to accomplish my assignment, but I had fun all the same.

And as for my spying activity from here on out? I may not be able to kick ass like Sydney Bristow and save the world from all the Arvin Sloanes and Sarks out there, but I can do some serious Facebook stalking? I think that counts as spying...yeah? Well, it'll have to do for now. I'll let you know if the CIA ever comes a-knockin'.

-A. Flanagan