Blog By Jobin

Second Chances

I’ve started the practice of writing in a diary, ahem excuse me, a journal, a few times in my life. Well, more than a few. I rifled through some boxes of old stuff from my room recently and this was wholeheartedly confirmed by the stack of nearly empty journals I uncovered. It appears that historically I’m not too good about giving my journals the attention they deserve. It also seems that with each return to a journal, or at the beginning of a new one, I felt the need to explain why I’d been gone for so long, or what my intentions for this particular journal were going to be.

When beginning this blog adventure with Postmaster Pete, I probably should have realized that my journaling track record might prove threatening to my blogging success. However, like most of my starry-eyed journal dreams of yore, I thought this time it would be different.

I was wrong. Grad school started, I got overwhelmed, and I found myself reading Pete’s posts as if they were part of a blog I followed as an outsider, not one I was supposed to be co-authoring. And for that I am sorry, ’cause it’s a bummer. Now, I’m not trying to be a downer, we all know that’s not what P&J is about.  But I did want to address the elephant in the…er…on the blog before proceeding. Seems my habit of setting the record straight has stuck too.

With all that being said, I’m back baby. And better than ever. You know why? Because just like the Biggest Loser, I believe in SECOND CHANCES. And I think you guys do too.

second chances

Just in case you need a little convincing, might I remind you of our great nation’s 22nd and 24th president? No, that was not a plural slip-up sir, for they are the same man. President Grover Cleveland, the only president to be elected on two non-consecutive occasions. Please sir, can I have some more? You betchya, Grov, you politicking sonofabitch.


Or how about Betty White? Girlfriend got a Guinness World Record for being the female television actress with the longest running career. Sure, there was a decent gap after Golden Girls, but this lady made a comeback that would have even left Sophia speechless. You know why? Second chances.

young bettygolden girlsbetty white SNL

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Ah, no one can argue with this one. Overalls. Need I say more? Yea, we all complained when our mom got us four new pairs of overalls at the beginning of the school year. “The straps fall in the toilet when I go to the bathroom!”, we’d say, but no. They were one whole outfit conveniently created by a single large piece of denim, and your pants always stayed on. Child nightmare, parent miracle. But wait! They’re cool again! Look at this sassy high fashion chick wearing Forever 21 overalls! Girlfriend looks fierce. Overalls, the great return. Second chances man, they’re game changers.

So here’s to cracking that journal back open, putting pen to paper, and hoping years down the road, someone reads what you wrote and totally gets what you were going through. Cause come on, you know that’s totally what you were hoping for.

If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone. Gregory Alan Isakov

Thanks for keeping me company kids.

xoxo Jobin


Son can you play me a memory?

driving music

You know that feeling when you’re just going along with your day, walking down the street, sending an email, completely spacing out on your commute, and a memory hits you out of nowhere? You have no idea how it got here, but suddenly, it very much is. Of course this rarely happens with good memories that turn you into one of those people who laughs to herself on the train or smiles from ear to ear down the sidewalk. No, this memory phenomenon only happens with the most embarrassing, awful, “I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again” memories. The ones where you’re now the girl covering her eyes for no apparent reason because maybe that will make it go away. Yes, these little gems in time are reserved for those cringeworthy memories when you’re throwing up in the bathroom on a train from Rome to Florence (what? who’s done that? definitely not me…) or running into that person and making the world’s most uncomfortable small talk in the sobering light of day. Yes, these face-slapping memory ambushes are truly a scientific phenomenon and should be studied for the horrible moments of truth that they are.

I have good news though. These obnoxious memory punks have a much chiller, down-to-earth, make-you-pancakes-in-the-morning cousin, and her name is Music.

I love music. I mean who doesn’t, right? I firmly believe you’ve got to be some soulless devil worshipper if you don’t like music. Or at the very least you must be 100% devoid of a personality. Don’t tell me you’re “just not that into music” or you “just like what’s popular.” No. Wrong. Move along. If you’ve got one setting on your car radio and it’s Z-100 and you have no problem listening to whatever 6 songs they’ve got on a loop for days on days, then you are one of these people and we cannot be friends. Ever.

Anyway, I’ve found that right along with that stud muffin, Smell, Music has some serious memory super powers (here’s lookin’ at you, temporal lobe #psychnerd). You know what I’m talking about. You’re in your car, or kicking it shuffle-style on your i-Phone and a song comes on that transports you right back to that summer, that car ride, that person, that moment. It’s trippy, man. But oh so awesome. Because unlike the nightmare of a situation I described above, I’ve found music to be pretty damn positive about the whole remembering game.

To illustrate my point, let’s take a little trip down Jobin’s musical memory lane. It’s gonna be magical:

Like A Prayer | Madonna   Summer ‘06. Rachel and I cruising around in Spike, her white Chrysler lebaron convertible. Blasting this and singing it badly. Perfection.

Kiss Me | Sixpence None The Richer   High School. Singing this at the top of my lungs stuffed in the back of someone’s car. ‘Cause driving around was better than sitting at home. Jes told me I had a nice singing voice. Nbd.

Ain’t No Reason | Brett Dennen   Summer ’07. This was on repeat as I soaked in that last summer at home. Bring it on college, I can be thoughtful and deep.

Maggie’s Farm | Bob Dylan   Fall ’07. Riding the shuttle to my morning classes freshman year. It was early, I was doing my makeup on the bus, but it was freshman year and college was awesome.

Warwick Avenue | Duffy   College. This was my ringtone for a seriously long time. Amazing lady power soundtrack for walking to class. Love it.

Sex on Fire | Kings of Leon   Dublin ’09. Every pub we went into. Gold

I Gotta Feeling | Black Eyed Peas   Dublin ’09. Every night before we went out, and usually the pub too. Double gold. 

Stutter | Maroon 5   ’11? ’12? Walking out of the metro exit on my way to work in the morning, so professional. Sometimes these things don’t make sense…just gotta embrace the randomness. 

Silver Lining | Rilo Kiley   ’13. Driving through DC on a random Tuesday night to an open mic night with Grace. Girl power, gettin’ cultured. Bring it. 

One Headlight | The Wallflowers   Every summer in my memory. Driving down Crossbay Blvd.  for another glorious Rockaway beach day. Nothing beats it.

And you know I hooked you up with a playlist. Listen here and it’ll be like you’re living my life. Like I said, trippy.

Here’s to the memories, Music.

Cheers, Jobin

Saturday Smoothie: Hydration Station

Played a little too much Cup Buckets last night? Planning to imbibe a bit this evening?

Going on a long jog (soft j)? Got some serious dancing in your future?

You need to hydrate (or re-hydrate). And stay that way.

Enter today’s smoothie, a real minx of a hydrator.

Here’s what you’ll need:

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1 c coconut water

1 tbs chia seeds

1 tbs coconut oil (room temp)

2 c fresh baby spinach

1/4 c frozen pineapple

1/2 c frozen mango

1/2 frozen banana

Note: These measurements are flexible, but a good reference for the proportions you want to aim for.

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First, add the coconut water. Feel free to add less than the full cup at first. You can always add more later. Next, add the chia seeds and coconut oil, using the coconut water to help that pesky coconut oil slide off the spoon. Then, wait a minute or two for the chia seeds to soak in the coconut water. This helps with hydration maximization.

Note: Having an imaginary watch helps with accurate timing of chia soaking.

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Next, you’ll add the spinach, then the frozen banana, pineapple, and mango.

Note: The smoothie will be ruined if you don’t add the fruit in this order.

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Next, pop the top on and get it blending. I like to start with the “ice crush” setting first and then switch to “puree” to get everything nice and smoothie-fied. Next, pour your smoothie out of the blender and get it rinsed asap. It is SO much easier to clean the blender when everything is still liquid.

Note: Your imaginary watch will come in handy again during blending.

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Finally, go enjoy that green beauty. She will keep you hydrated for days. Camel status.

xo Jobin

PSA: Move it.


Let me set the stage here for a minute. You’re waiting, like many of us spend a surprising percentage of our life doing. Waiting for the bus, the water to boil, the text message reply. Even in this age of instant gratification, everyone understands that a certain amount of waiting is just part of life. It isn’t a coincidence that sayings like “It was worth the wait” have held up for so long. Waiting. It happens.

But I’m here to talk about the other, darker, side of the waiting story. The kind of waiting that happens when common sense becomes a foreign concept and people forget how to MOVE.

This is a feeling I’ve been sitting on for a while (pun totally intended) and its time to take to the airwaves, or, ya know.

I am the first to admit that I walk faster than most. So, it is certainly unfair of me to expect everyone to move at the pace I’ve grown accustomed to. That being said, I don’t think I’m wrong when I assume that everyone has a personal line. The one that indicates when you’re maybe walking a little slower than I’d like and when you’ve entered into DO YOU NOT HAVE ANYWHERE TO GO?? territory.

If it’s 8:15 am on a Tuesday and I am in a crowd of people leaving a train station, I’m betting most everyone around me has somewhere to be–work, class, the gym, the doctor’s office, hell, even if you’re just looking for the nearest bathroom, you’re on your way somewhere.  Don’t tell me that you’re just out for your morning train station stroll, I ain’t buying it.

And while I could go on endlessly about people walking too slow (don’t even get me started on groups of four that apparently need to walk side-by-side) I recognize that this is a tale as old as time, and only part of the bone I’ve got to pick.

I actually want to discuss leaving.  A metro/subway/T/tube/L/whatever train, specifically. I understand that many people are tourists or just going somewhere new when they venture onto a city’s metro system. Maybe they glanced at a map, or looked up directions on their phone, but they’re still in an unfamiliar place. I’ve been a tourist before and I understand that all the planning in the world cannot prepare you for being in a city’s transportation system for the first time. It’s a science. The kind of thing that gets mastered over time by people that use it every day, getting to know the ins and outs, the quirks, the frustrations, and how to deal with unexpected and completely inconvenient track work obstacles.

All this aside, leaving a train does not require the type of honed knowledge I just described. It requires 2, maybe 4, steps and a heaping side of common sense. This is the moment where I become baffled, flummoxed, and inevitably annoyed.

Time and again I’ve noticed that how to approach leaving a train seems to utterly stump a surprising majority of people.  I’ve discovered that in these situations, suddenly, not knowing exactly where you are going basically elicits a form of perplexed paralysis.  Although in most (I’d dare to guess almost all) modern public transportation systems, you will be met with large, clearly placed signage indicating where you should go if you want to exit here or there, transfer to this line or that. I understand that signs take time to read and you need to get your bearings, but I can tell you this much: none of the signs say “Don’t worry, just stand right in the doorway of the train until you figure it all out, no rush.”

My thoughts on this are simple:

  1. The signs aren’t going anywhere, so if you take five steps out of the train before you start reading them, you’ll probably be fine. Also, there probably aren’t that many different directions you can go in (hint: usually it’s left or right) so maybe just pick one so you can get out of the way, and then figure out if you need to turn around. It will take very little time and you won’t get lost, I promise.
  2. There are likely other people behind you who also need to get off the train. Many of them probably know exactly where they are going and may even be in a bit of a hurry. Others who might not would also like an opportunity to read all the signs and figure out what they’re doing. This will not be possible if they cannot leave the train.
  3. There are also likely people waiting to get on the train. They are patiently standing on the platform waiting for everyone to get off the train before they try to get on, but there is a small window of time before the doors are going to close. This is not a situation conducive to figuring out your next move while standing in the doorway like an earthquake is about to hit.
  4. MOVE.

xo Jobin

Nice to meet ya.

Let’s break this thing down, shall we?  We’re Pete and Jobin and it’s nice to meet ya.



I have never been told I have street smarts.

Actually, I’ve never been told I have book smarts either.

I do have an extensive knowledge of clouds, a knack for all things sarcasm, and an innate desire to eat bacon with every meal.

I drink vodka, wine, and complain about beer.  I hate my iPhone but refuse to switch to an android. I pretend to exercise because it’s cool. I’m addicted to HGTV, but I can’t do anything myself. I live in Boston and one time I ate ice cream within a five foot radius of Dustin Pedroia; he pretty much adopted me on the spot.

I’m twenty-four and eat chicken and rice five times a week.  My bedroom is a converted closet in a basement apartment with a gorgeous view of a Boston alley.  I look out my window and I see a dumpster and eight rats. It’s breathtaking.

With all that said, I’m just doing what every other twenty-something is doing: trying to find myself. So if you find me first, let me know.



That tall girl with short hair.

By far the most common way people describe me.

I’m a have-it-both-ways kind of girl.  I love a good pale ale and am obsessed with how to sneak chia seeds into more recipes (chia beer anyone?).  I legitimately enjoy eating kale and it would break my NY heart to ever consider giving up bagels.

And apparently pretty much everything worth knowing about me has to do with food.  Probably true.

I’m a public health nutrition nut and casual yogi.  I could spend an entire summer watching Rear Window and The Sound of Music (I have).  I am a certified pun master and have an odd affection for the Gin Blossoms.  I kill it at Scrabble, but am the worst Words With Friends procrastinator.  Seriously.  It’s always my move.

Not too long ago I ended a sixish year stint in DC and moved up to NY to go to grad school and come back home.  Literally.  I’m living with my parents.

So it’s back to school, and back to my high school bedroom, all in the name of reaching legitimate adulthood.  Growing up never looked so bizarre.  Join me, won’t you?