Wednesday's Child

A Child of Dog

2006-07-27T11:12:00.000-04:00

7 months.

There are times when I wish I'd been more determined during college. When I wish I had at least tried a Chemistry or Biology class. I know I still would have failed. But to have at least tried. It's strange. I think sometimes about being a vet. The problem, of course, is that as well as the $60,000 needed to go through 4 years of vet school, I also would essentially need to complete an entire Bachelors degree worth of science and math credits before I could even think about applying. Which puts me at about 40 before becoming an actual vet and being allowed to cut out eyeballs.

Which is totally cool by the way.

I didn't have the maturity or trust in myself needed to make this decision the first time around. Hell, I'm still working on that trust thing. I wouldn't have been committed enough to my goal to pass the courses I needed to pass. I know all of this, but I still wish. And feel guilty. Because the fact is, I'm not willing to wait 10 years to be a vet. To be poor and tired and busy and miserable because I'm failing Organic Chemistry while 18 year olds are passing with flying colors. I know some people are stronger than me. That this wouldn't stop them. But it does stop me. So the guilt sets in.

It's a cycle. Never ending, at times. Most of the time, really. Guilt-anger-doubt. I don't leave it behind much.

I was talking with Aliya last night about this job that I love. Every day I make decisions that literally affect lives. And I'm pretty ok with this for the most part. I even find a morbid sense of power or importance in it all. I don't enjoy it, don't get me wrong, i hate the bad decisions that need to be made, and I never make them by myself. But there is something...strong...about it all. This is the first job I've ever had where I feel like I'm making a difference. The thing is, I'm not really ok with it. I just pretend I'm ok with it, and then bring it home all wrapped up nicely and then freak out.

Things you don't learn in college

2006-05-17T21:10:00.000-04:00

So apparently, not only can't you blog about sleeping with politicians, but you also can't blog about working with hippos.

Take a little lookypoo to the right, and you will see a link to one of my secret blog reads. I suppose it isn't so secret since I post to it, but it is one of the blogs I check more regularly. Jessa is vulgar and funny and works with animals. I think I randomly came across her blog waaayyyy back in the day (last summer). WhyIHateDC was still good. He'd posted about 'bad DC Summer Intern Blogs' and linked to one in particular. These interns lived with Jessa.

>>>I'm interjecting on myself here. I know I sound like a stalker. The world of blogs is AAALLL about stalking, though. Let's be honest. How many of us truly admit to reading as much as we do. ok. Interjection done<<<

So apparently Jessaisms got fired today. For blogging. About work. Which is really, really hard not to do. Especially when you are surrounded by either: A)College students with too much of Daddy's money and too much free time on their hands with which to spend it. or B)animals in all shapes and sizes that do all kinds of funny/weird/gross stuff. I digress.

I haven't posted in almost a month. I realize this. I will be honest and tell you that it is mostly due to laziness. Feeling unfunny, uninteresting, and tired. This recent development in the DC blog world, though, sort of got me interested in writing again. I mean, if she can get fired for doing it, why can't I?

Totally kidding, mom.

It seems pretty rediculous, really. Back in the day (really back in the day this time) my mom used to tell me that if I got a tattoo I'd one day get fired for it. Things change, noone cares, and I have two of them now. Tattoos. And I'm not fired.

Oops, yeah, uh, I got another tattoo. Hi family!

I wonder if the same thing will happen with blogging. Will there one day be a time when noone cares. We all bitch and complain about our jobs. I don't really think it's fair that some of us get fired for it. Especially Jessa. Hell, she was writing about how much she loved her job. Granted, she was also writing about how she almost chopped a multi-ton Hippo in half accidentally, but she still enjoyed doing it. You know what I mean.

I shall end with some work photos, in honor of she-who-was-most-recently-Dooced. It's good to be back.

Things we shouldn't be doing

2006-04-17T21:25:00.000-04:00

Have you ever googled all your friends? I do it all the time. There's no shame. Hell, my Ex Best Friend from high school found me after years of not speaking by googling me. It turns out she adopted a terrier/chihuahua mix as well. strange.

So tonight I google all my college roommates. The ones from the NotSororityHouse. Anch, there are lots of you out there. You're a Doctor, too. Sommer, well, your sister is all over the internet. Me (I count as my own roommate, right?)-well, I work for the Humane Society.

Carly.
This is what I found for Carly. http://www.magneticormosaic.com/2005_top10.htm

I killed 30 minutes and have even more music from my music guru to listen to. There's no real reason to post about this. I just found it interesting. This internet thing can be unexpected at times. Anway.

Justified

2006-04-17T17:05:00.000-04:00

"But, in purely nostalgic terms, Rent does the trick, successfully recalling the revolutionary fervor of a time in which AIDS was a death sentence instead of a punch line and when life affirmation wasn’t just the drivel of self-help gurus. And, besides, if you don’t completely lose your shit when Tom Collins eulogizes Angel, then you’re probably the kind of bigoted person who believes that New Yorkers in the 1980s went out and got themselves some of the AIDS because “they had nothing better to do,” in which case you can jump up my ass."
www.pajiba.com

There is something wrong with me.

2006-04-16T18:48:00.000-04:00

So, think back. A couple of posts. You know the one. Broke back. Not so much doing it for me, are the gay cowboys. Granted, Heath was fantastic, so was Michelle. They all were, really. But it just didn't work for me.

And now this.

Rent. the movie. that no-one saw. that got horrible reviews. I might have liked it. In fact, I might have really, really loved it. Which I'm not supposed to, because, well, I was a Renthead once.

Yeah, yeah. Shut up.

I waited in line for hours for those front row cheap seats. I went to book signings. I have the soundtrack. I am aware of how many of the original cast members I have seen perform in each one of the four performances I've been to (3 if you must know). Meaghan and I may have sung 'Will you light my candle' in our dorm room, one of us playing MiMi, the other Mark (I'm not telling which).

God, I'm such a nerd.

But I really didn't think I would like the movie. I didn't see it in the theaters because the reviews were so bad. No one liked it. It was on DVD too quick to be good. Right?

Oh my, though. It was so good. I loved how they chose to write it for film. I loved how true they were to the play in it's original form. I loved La Vie Boheme. I loved (and always have) Anthony Rapp's geeky little dance. The special features, the behind the scenes, the interviews. All of it. So. Good.

I have loved live theater for as long as I can remember. My father and I had season tickets to the St. Paul Children's Theater performances long past when it was normal to stop going. I begged my parents to send me to acting lessons (they didn't. it was a good thing). In high school, I was always working on the plays behind the scenes. And there was nothing, NOTHING like sitting in that front row watching the sweat fly off the actors' faces the first time I saw RENT.

This movie had a lot to stand up to. In my book, it won. But apparently there is only one other person reading my book, because the rest of the world hated it.

Excuse me. I'm going to shut myself in the bathroom and dance around like I'm a drag queen dressed like Santa playing a pickle bucket as a drum.

Kate is my personal Jesus

2006-04-13T08:07:00.000-04:00

but only because she charmically knew somehow that I was having a rough day yesterday and sent me a $20 gift certificate to Jimmy Beans Yarns. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Everyone knows that they cure for a bad day is to just buy more yarn. duh.

Past my bedtime

2006-04-12T22:12:00.000-04:00

www.ikissyou.org
(link very un-creatively stolen from the Dooce.com comments section, which, by the way, I have now stayed up waayyy past my bedtime to read as they were just. that. entertaining.)

Oh, Lord.

Not So Broke Back

2006-04-10T22:18:00.000-04:00

Well, I think I might be one of two people on the entire planet who did not so much like the Brokeback Mountain gay cowboy extravaganza. I thought I would, really I did. I tried real hard, like. I don't know what it was - perhaps I'm just heartless. Or over-medicated. But jesus christ could it have been any more depressing.

Kind of like bringing a crack baby/cat into your home and having it revert to withdrawal-induced fits of madness that can only be explained by 'oh lordy...the cat is having a flashback again...'.

Umm, I haven't told ya'll this story yet, have I? And because I can't figure out how to change my links right now (I tried, but they keep showing up all fucked up) I'm just going to have to write the link to the story in the post instead of just pointing you to the side bar and thus ending the longest run-on sentence ever seen on this here blog. kbzapf.blogspot.com

Kate is a new foster home for the Humane Society. And I might have accidentally given her a cat that is addicted to crack, and not one who just hung out with people who were addicted to crack. Because he's turned kind of crazy. And I feel real bad about this. but not as bad as if I'd refused to acknowledge the greatest love of my life on top of a mountain and instead he'd been beaten to death by a bunch of Mexicans and, to boot, my wife had one of the worst die jobs this side of Dolly Parton's left breast has ever seen. Ever.

Does anyone remember the Princess Diaries? What the hell happened to little Anne Hathaway. All of a sudden she's playing a 40 year old?

Right, so, the point. Well the point is that today something good happened to me. I'm almost afraid to say it, even. It has been 2 years, 10 months, and 28 days coming. Not that I'm counting.

Today my case settled. That whole window falling thing -- it is now, officially, history. I can pay off some debt, maybe even splurge and buy us that two-ply toilet paper we've been eyeing at the top of the 'home goods' aisle down there at the local Pick 'N' Save. (ok, so the best part about Brokeback was the accents...I'll be damned if I haven't been saying 'guddyup girl' to Sophia for the last hour. Apparently, I have a secret fantasy to be from the south. or canada, where they really filmed the damn movie. but anyway, when I was in mississippi it took all of 30 seconds for me to let a 'ya'll' rip so twangy that my roommate asked me if I was drunk. and I mean my roommate, not my 'gay cowboy lover'. not that there's anything wrong with that)

Oh lord, I just need to stop writing this now.

Because I'm just that woeful...

2006-04-06T22:11:00.000-04:00

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?

You will be sucked dry by a leech. I'd stay away from swimming holes, and stick to good old cement. Even if it does hurt like hell when your toe scrapes the bottom.
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Reason #294 for liking my job

2006-04-06T16:45:00.000-04:00

I was supposed to have my 90 day review today. We ran out of time for it because my supervisor and I and two other women were discussing one another's Hoo-Ha piercings for an hour instead.

(no, mom-not my own vagina -- good lord, you should know me better than that! The eyebrow was enough!)

Aaannnnddd...Cute!

2006-04-05T21:12:00.000-04:00

Ok, ok, so that last post was a bit weird.

Momma, it turns out, already had the kittens somewhere else we think. Hopefully they were taken in by someone. Tonight we had a litter of four momma-less little ones come in. It was like fate, I tell ya. We had a momma all set and ready to go. We just shoved those little ones right in there, and it was like they'd known each other their whole lives. Too cute, really.

And no, it wasn't her kittens, I checked where they came from. Unless they up and walked a few miles away before getting picked up by us, they didn't really belong with her. You wouldn't know it now, though. Wonderfulness.

And speaking of getting squirted in the face with the milk of a lactating tabby...

Erin over at "Knitters Not Quitters" is preggers! Seems like she was real serious about that whole 'not quitting' thing. We've never met, but that will not stop my from knitting some little orange booties for her. Vegan, of course. (yes...I still knit. I'm still knitting that damn sweater, actually. Which is why I don't write about it. All three of you would stop reading this blog, its so boring. It's now officially a sweater for next year, because, well, lets be honest-it won't be done until then. But at least we haven't broken up yet, as the infamous knitters curse dictates. Though there is still a sleeve and a half left...)

And now for the funny

2006-04-04T21:10:00.000-04:00

I can't decide if this is just weird, or if it is actually funny.

Today I was squirted in the face by a coworker. What, might you ask, was I squirted with? We were examining a cat about to give birth. She squirted me with her milk. It's pretty gross, I know. But it's also kind of funny.

Right?

For CeCe

2006-03-30T22:23:00.000-05:00

There just isn't any funny.

I'm sorry to be a downer, but it simply must be done.

CeCe was sweet. She was beautiful. A nice, mid-sized sedan of a dog. Wonderful markings only a true Mutt could have. She looked like she had eye-liner on. I called her my little Egyptian Princess.

She came to us scared, not quite certain what to think of all the nice people. It took her a bit to warm up to anyone. But when she did, phew. She loooved to be outside. She bounded. It was as if she were a whole new dog. People met her and loved her, but she didn't have the best of behavior evaluations, so she kept getting passed up.

This post is about a lot of things I am choosing not to get into. I love my job and the people I work with. I have the utmost respect for all that they do. Occasionally, we don't agree with the decisions one another make. This was one of those situations.

I had this vision of CeCe in her new home. She was one of those dogs that got overlooked a lot, but when they went home, they're always the best. A diamond in the rough. She was the kind of dog whose new owners would keep in contact with us about for years to come.

She didn't get a chance. She was put to sleep yesterday afternoon. This is a decision that I must respect, because it is incredibly difficult to make. I chose to work for an open access shelter because it meant that there was no exclusion of any animal, that there was a respite for all living creatures. I knew that things like this would happen. The nature of an open access shelter is that sometimes difficult decisions must be made. I am glad that I do not make those choices.

But CeCe. It's all so unfair, and today it got to me. This little dog that noone got a chance to meet. We are all so overwhelmed in our jobs that sometimes we don't meet all of these creatures whose lives we have been asked to protect. CeCe was one of them. I regret not spending more time with her. I regret not focusing on finding her a foster home. I regret not making a nice note in our database.

For CeCe, I promise to dedicate my career. This job has changed my life. I promise to work every day to do more. We all do. Every single day these difficult decisions are made, every single day we cope with the horrific choices other people made, every single day we deal with the consequences. Nothing, though, deals with it more than you did. You dealt with it with your life, and I am so, so sorry for that.

I promise you that I will never forget you, your shyness, your bounding across the field, your eyes. I will never, ever forget your eyes.

Thank you

I'm moved

2006-03-20T10:04:00.000-05:00

That moving thing. It had a big impact on me. We went back over to the old hood last night to watch the Sopranos in the bar that used to be in my basement. They weren't playing it. The bartender was rude. The traffic was bad. I was glad to be gone.

We also locked ourselves out last night. There is no better way to meet new neighbors than asking them for a chair, a knife, and a cell phone, and while your ass hangs out of a window about a floor and a half up, you discuss the finer points of midwestern college reciprocity. At least we met new people, right?

I guess the biggest thing, though, would be that we made it through the whole process. One might say we're better off for it. We only almost broke up once during the entire 27 hours. Crazy Carl the maintenance man may have come upon us during that one iffy point-he was met at the front door of the building by two verrry crabby granola types who may or may not have been using obscenities towards each other after every other word.

But we did it. If there's one tried and true test of a relationship, its not the actual living together part, its the moving in part. This was the first time we'd moved all our stuff at once together. There were parts during the day that I literally wanted to cry like a two year old and just say 'fuck it'. But there was that cranky vegan asshole sitting next to me in the car and he would undoubtedly make me laugh, or just put his hand on my shoulder-he kept me going. He does that a lot. In fact, I'm not quite sure what I'd do without him. The last few days have been great. I've slept better than I have in the last 2 years, the dogs are being amazing, and my partner in crime is right there beside me as I start to paint the kitchen and decide I don't, afterall, think yellow is the best idea.

So the next time you see Aliya, thank him. For challenging me, for making me happy, for keeping me sane. But most of all, for knowing all the words to Sweet Child Of Mine, including catching the screaming lilt in Axel's voice just perfectly, an in so doing, causing me to almost pee my pants laughing. It will be played at our wedding, and Aliya will sing it to me.

I love you baby.

Never. Moving. Again. (but at least i have a solid internet connection)

2006-03-18T20:05:00.000-05:00

Wow. It has taken me this long to just recover from the complete and utter nightmare that was us moving out on Wednesday. It took us over 24 hours to do it all. We were stupid as fuck about it, too. Let me list for you the ways in which we completely fucked up this whole moving thing:
1. We moved on a Wednesday. Look, it seemed like a good idea. At the time. But no, it was not a good idea. It was, in fact, a very, very bad one.
2. We (and by 'we' I mean Aliya) didn't pack.
(can you see where this is going?)
3. We didn't rent a UHaul. In fact, we only rented a pick up truck for three hours to move the big stuff. We used the Subaru for the rest of it. Now, the Subaru is a pretty decent sized little car/SUV. I love her. But she's REALLY not good for using to move. Especially when your boyfriend has over 700 books.
4. We stopped in the middle of the day to go to Ikea. Yep. We stopped. For Ikea.
5. We actually dared to believe we could, in fact, do it all in one day-including the cleaning part.
6. We didn't pay someone else to do it for us.
7. WE MOVED ON A WEDNESDAY!!! No time to relax afterwards...because WE HAD TO WORK. AND MOVE SOME MORE. BECAUSE WE DIDN'T FINISH IN ONE DAY!!!

So, yeah. Moving. And the worst part about it all. The biggest 'slap in your face'. You know how, when you move, you have to clean the old place? And the new place looks like a pit? And you make that final walk through, before you hand over the keys, and you think to yourself "hmmm...wow...this place looks pretty good when it's clean". yeah. I hate that part.

Gigantic Suppositories

2006-03-14T14:47:00.000-05:00

So we're moving. Tomorrow. No time to post, we're too busy packing (ok, I'm too busy packing, Aliya is busy wrapping his three valuables in bubble wrap, including a crystal vase which he wrapped so much and then wrapped some more with plastic wrap to the point that it looks like a very nasty person's idea of a good night...)

But we're painting this place. So that we'll invite people over. Cause that's rational, right?

So come on over to spend some time in our yellow kitchen. Or our green living room. Or our poop colored bedroom.

I'm sorry, did I say poop colored? I meant chocolate brown.

Sleeping with David Lynch

2006-03-09T11:11:00.000-05:00

It was 12:30pm. I'd been asleep for almost two hours, so I was right in the middle of that first good, deep sleep of the night.

Something wasn't right. I started dreaming of an ex-boyfriend, of a framed photo of Johnny Cash giving me the finger, of a burning ring of fire...

I raised my head from the pillow. Confused, I wondered for a minute if I was back in Travis' bed, surrounded by pallid walls, under a pallid comforter. No. This isn't right.

Where am I. Why can I hear the Man in Black like he's seranding me at the end of my bed. Did I set an alarm. But no, I don't have a radio alarm clock. Did Aliya turn the stereo on. But no, Aliya hates Johhny Cash.

What is it.

I get up, wondering if it's 7am already. Check the clock. No, it's 12:30. Where is it coming from. I can hear every word, every fucking strum of that God Damn guitar. Aliya looks like he's still sleeping. Am I going crazy?

Crazy?

Then. The window. The lights. The bar. Someone played the juke box. Another Cash song--he's singing about trying-just try, try, try.

Believe me, I'm trying. I'm trying lots of things. I'm trying to sleep. I'm trying to be happy. I'm trying, every day, to make a difference.

And I'm trying to figure out why I'm listening to Johnny Cash in the middle of the night.

The bar.

I'll be glad to move.

I love the High Life

2006-03-06T12:49:00.000-05:00

Oscars. Oh, dear, sweet Oscars. For a girl like me, who tried many times to be famous and pretty much failed miserably each and every time, the Oscars are to me what algae is to one of those bottom feeder fish things with the suckers for mouths. I love the Oscars.

I was with Carly this weekend as she tried on wedding dresses (yeah, weird...definitely one of those 'whoa-i sort of feel like I'm watching my best friend play dress up' moments) and without fail the dresses I liked the most were all reminiscent of the '30s-lot of old school hollywood-ness about them.

And so you can see why I love me some Oscars. Except for the last few years. See, as of late, they've sort of sucked Ruckus' infected anal gland asshole. To put it bluntly, they've been boring. I've always gunned for the underdog, and in Oscar world, that means the low-budget, indie flicks. It really kills me that there's no intrigue, there's no real excitement about watching the Oscars any more. So I pretty much stopped. Except that I've still always checked out the dresses the next day-you always have to check out the dresses.

But last night. Sweet lord, I can see the light. It was wonderful. And you can hold your comments back disagreeing with me-I've already read the bad reviews. I don't care. I laughed, I sat on the edge of my seat in suspense, and all the dresses were stunning. Except for Charlize-dear god what was she thinking. But Uma-oh holy jesus-she looked completely and utterly stunning. And Ziyi. And Michelle (who knew that the cast of Dawson's Creek would do so well...just look at Katie). Wow. Breathtaking.

I will also not fail to forget the complete hearth-throb factor that overtook me upon seeing George walk down the red carpet. Again, in the words of a one Jack Nicholson, 'Wow'.

Which brings me to my favorite thing about the Oscars last night. John Stewart was so good he will never be asked back to do it again. Ever. He was funny as shit. The whole event was funny as shit. Jennifer Garner almost fell on her ass. The 36 Mafia won an Oscar. Jack Nicholson presented the Best Picture award completely blitzed off his rocker. And John Stewart made fun of it all. Including Democrats-which doesn't always go over well with me.

So, Oscar, you've got me for another year.

This feels eerily familiar...

2006-02-24T17:21:00.000-05:00

We ordered these sheets from Amazon. They were super cheap and a nice thread count-and God knows we need new sheets as the old ones are dying their last death thanks to the dogs ( I know, I know...but Ruckus gets so lonely at night if he can't curl up in your neck like a cat).

One of the colors we ordered was 'brick'. We thought: Hey, a nice rusty color would look cool-it's not too girly, not too manish-you know, a good couple's color.

Except...turns out its not really brick. It's more of a dusty rose. Or...well...our bed sort of looks like a womb now. And so I've now decided to refer to our sleeping process as 'reverse birthing'. Every morning I can literally wake up a new person. Aliya likes to call it the Vagina Bed.

The good times are endless at our house.

Star-no-bucks (Thinking)

2006-02-23T15:35:00.000-05:00

Just spilled Starbucks all over my car. But, as I wrote in an email to Aliya, it will actually probably help the smell rather than hurt it.

Anyway, I was just contemplating the fact that volunteers are usually women. I've volunteered at a great number of different kinds of places, from a Science Museum, to a Group home for boys, to an afterschool program, and now I work at a Humane Society. And the volunteers are always predominately female.

Why?

Nothing like an early morning scream

2006-02-23T10:03:00.000-05:00

I hate DC drivers. I've never really been one to notice how drivers in certain cities behave-until now. DC drivers are the worst drivers I have ever seen. And I've lived in Italy.

When Aliya still had the Vespa, we were on our way to work one morning, and a cab driver drove into the back of us while we were stopped in traffic. He drove into the back of us. He then proceeded to get out of his car and repeatedly tell both of us that we were ok. Aliya was yelling at him, and the guy just kept saying 'you're ok. you're ok'. Aliya said he wanted to call the cops in case there was any damage to the Vespa and insurance needed to get involved, and the guy actually had the balls to say 'what are you talking about. I didn't even hit you.'

He drove into the back of us, and then said he didn't do it.

So this morning, when I had crazy driver number a zillion behind me on the way back from chuck it, and he kept honking whenever I did something he didn't like, like drive legally, I sort of maybe lost it. And when we came to a stop sign, and I was waiting for a break in traffic to make a left turn, I was watching him gesticulate wildly at me and he started to pull out into the oncoming traffic lane to cut in front of me.

I might have actually gotten out of my car and stood in front of him, screaming. He might have pretended to GUN HIS ENGINE LIKE HE WAS GOING TO RUN ME OVER (seriously, people, DC is the worst) and I might have walked to his window and yelled at him some more.

And then, when he drove off anyway, I might have screamed at the cop that was just sitting at the corner, right there, doing nothing.

Yeah, I maybe might have yelled at a police officer this morning.

But I didn't get a ticket for it (Dad, stop cringing).

When it rains, it pours

2006-02-21T13:22:00.000-05:00

So if anyone else is engaged, please tell me now. I don't think my heart can take the sheer shock of it all.

Congratulations to roommate number 4-Anch got engaged this weekend at the Grand Canyon!! I'm blogging from work and don't have any pictures to post-but once we move in to the new place and actually have internet access I will post them. One day. I promise.

So anyway. You may be wondering what a hermit like myself is doing with so many girlfriends getting engaged. Well let me tell you a story. In college, my sophomore year, I moved into a dorm room with Meaghan (engaged person number 1 who is now married)on campus at Madison. As a freshman, I'd lived in a huge dorm with only one floor of boys and three of girls. I made it my goal to switch the odds around a bit, and moved into a dorm with only one floor of girls for Sophomore year. This was one of the best years I had in college. The women on my floor, for the most part, were amazing. Hysterical. Great. And so after I spent some time abroad, I came back Senior year and we all moved in together.

Ok, not all of us. But it sure as hell seemed like it at times. There were 8 of us in that house on Orchard Street. Now add in some boyfriends, visitors, and some random bats, and we were a full house. I loved every minute of it. Even if we didn't have a dishwasher.

I don't make friends with girls too easily. In fact, not really at all. Something about the viscousness I endured throughout the 13 years I went to school from my species sort of put me off. Plus I was obsessed with boys. But these 7 girls, these were my sisters. I still don't have any female friends like these ladies. They are my heart and soul. They know me in and out. Last year they pitched in and flew me out to Peoria to see them all at Carly's house (engaged person number 3) and only looked at me like I was slightly crazy after I burst out crying for no reason (this was the dark period-if I had painted then, everything would have been blue).

And now we enter this new stage. We don't have conversations anymore about hooking up with random friends of the bartenders and leaving our cameras under their beds so we had to go to the business school where they work to ask for it back even though we couldn't remember their name. Now we have conversations about buying houses. It seems the inevitable has happened. We've grown up. We're not in lust anymore, searching for our soul mates or waiting in line for burritos at 2 am. Now, we love. We have partners. We think about retirement.

I wasn't expecting this. I've never been able to imagine myself as an adult. I've never envisioned growing old with someone, because I can't even picture myself above the age of 40. I still can't. But I get a glimpse of these women's lives, and I love them and I'm glad they've chosen me to be a part of it all. And it helps me to imagine something lasting awhile.

Let the weddings begin.

401k on my 27th

2006-02-17T11:33:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like celebrating your birthday with a 2 hour long 401k meeting at work. I'm still just getting over the beer fund phase, let alone ready to think about 'saving for retirement'. Whatever that is.

So today I'm 27 years old. The more birthdays I celebrate, the less excited I get about them. I used to love birthdays. The excitement of having one whole day that's just yours. Well, in my case, mine and Paris Hiltons'. This year and last have been somewhat rough in terms of birthdays. The actual years have been great, some of the best yet, but the day-the 'big event'-hasn't been too smooth. This depression thing-it hits its' high point in the winter months. And even though this year has been tropical in comparison to last, I'm still feeling blue. Just down. No real reason, no real way to describe it. Just sad. This morning I was listening to NPR and one of their story telling segments came on. It's where people can go to this booth and record their story, and this morning it was a couple talking about their battle with the wife's cancer. And wouldn't you know it, I burst into tears. I never cry like that any more. I was in the car, for god sakes. Just blubbering away. Sophia looked at me as if to say " woman, you're embarrasing me. open the damn door and let me out so that you can feed me sooner. God.". Ruckus just licked the tears off my hands (and no, it wasn't actually one of those times where your dog just knows what you need. he likes the salty taste. he was oblivious to the fact that I was crying. he just thought it was a treat).

so. I'm attempting to bring myself out of it. I might have forgotten to take my crazy meds yesterday, which doesn't help. And in two weeks I have an appointment to see the head doctor to see what he has to say about this. I'm much more proactive about it all than I was last year, so I know its not as bad.

I guess the trick is to keep going. find things to enjoy. smile. hug a dog. laugh. whatever it takes to just keep going.

The Valentines Day Post

2006-02-14T11:04:00.000-05:00

Hi! Happy Valentines Day!

Ya'll, I just want you to read the stories in the news about Joey Cheek donating his Olympic Gold winnings to orphans in Darfur. He's amazing. What atheletes should be. And on this Hallmark Holiday when we get caught up in all things red and such, he's a pretty good example of what it means to completely open your heart.

And, on an entirely different note, I got a new cell phone. This means that I also got a new cell phone number. And my wonderful boyfriend, who thought that Valentine's Day was on the 12th instead of the 14th, completely redeemed himself by discovering the WORLDS DIRTIEST CELL NUMBER ACRONYM EVER. IN THE UNIVERSE.

But of course since I'm not ready to broadcast my new cell number to the internet and field calls from people I don't know and even possibly my boyfriend's ex-wife who is crazy, I can't actually tell you what the acronym is. But I can say this: it involves the 'C' word. You know, that word used to describe lady bits that is so dirty that most people don't even think it, but is actually one of my favorite words ever. God, I'm so happy right now.

Love to you all.

It snowed and Dick Cheney shot someone

2006-02-13T15:06:00.000-05:00

Quite an eventful weekend.

The dogs LOVE the snow. They eat it, dig in it, pee in it, roll in it, chase it, and eat it some more. I'm pretty sure I could leave Ruckus alone outside in a field for a few hours, and that I'd come back and find him in the exact same place burrying and digging up a tennis ball over and over again.

Not much else to report. My Dad implies that I don't post enough, so this is officially my guilty response to his implication. Sorry. I'll be funny later.

The Happy Couple

2006-02-06T17:53:00.000-05:00

Because I'm not completely narccisistic I have decided to also post a photo of Carly and Mike, instead of Carly and me, since it is, in fact, Mike that Carly is engaged to. And not me.

The other side

2006-02-06T12:24:00.000-05:00

So I finally updated the Link to Aliya's new blog. See, he deleted the old one, by mistake, but I'm a slacker and never re-linked to the new one.

But I love him, really I do. So here you go. Happy reading. He talks about poop a lot less than I do.

Love is all around us

2006-02-06T09:17:00.000-05:00

Well hot damn. It's about freaking time. Carly, my partner in crime many times during the latter half of my college years, is officially engaged. To be married. I think that 5 year period where all my friends get married is officially upon me.

Anyway, I'm writing my toast already. I'm finding it difficult, as nothing I have to say about her is at all appropriate for a large group of people, many of whom are over the age of 40. That's why I'm starting now, though.

And so I will leave you with this, a direct quote from the Pickle herself, in regards to wether or not it is appropriate to ask her twin brother to stand up on her side with her. "I mean, I shared a womb with the guy, for god's sake-he should at least be able to stand next to me when I get married".

Love you. Can't wait to see what colors you pick. Though knowing you, I'm sure you already know.

Reason number 17 why I like my job

2006-02-01T09:11:00.000-05:00

Because hearing the sentence "Her vulva wasn't very large for one her age" is not only completely normal, but also totally legal.

Dear Uterus,

2006-01-31T07:18:00.000-05:00

It was nice having you with me these past few years. You've served me well, even if I did throw a few tantrums along the way (sometimes, as in many relationships, you hurt me...ok?).

I have the sinking suspision, however, that soon you will not belong to me anymore. I wanted you to know that I value you. I appreciate all that you've done for me. I have not known a time without you. I have always had my say over what you do. Not so much any more, though.

When that mean nasty white man in that oddly small white house finally gets his hands on you, do me a favor, ok? Find his slutty daughter (look, we all know she's a slut. Come on now. Her last name is Bush for gods sake. She still sticks her tongue out. She's totally dirty.), talk to her uterus, and get her pregnant. We'll see how he likes that.

Stupid president.

Love,
Wednesday's Child (and she's SO CHOCK FULL of woe today)

What did you do at work today?

2006-01-27T15:42:00.000-05:00

Today at work I spent 15 minutes cutting mats out of a long-haired german shepherd's neck hair that were the size of my fist, completely solid with dirt and hair, and smelled like nasty asshole.

Then, we formed one of the mats into the shape of a mouse and left it in someone's desk drawer.

It may or may not have been my idea. It also may or may not have been my boss' desk.

I'd like to thank all the little people

2006-01-26T23:47:00.000-05:00

I'm flattered, really.

I mean, I never thought this little blog would go so far. It started out as just a little way to pass some time at The Office, and now...this. Why, it's almost too much.

Ok, so in the world of pretend, this is what I would write had I actually been nominated for a Bloggie, like so many other people who write to the internet were recently (including my favorite blogs ever: Dooce, Go Fug Yourself, and Finslippy).

Instead, I'm just thankful that three people still read. And I've stayed up almost three hours past my bedtime studiously studying almost every nominee on the list. I'm almost to the Asian Blogs. Not sure I want to go there, though.

Check it out, yo: www.2006.bloggies.com

Vote. Just not for me. Because you can't.
(there was a moment there when I was overwhelmed with a feeling of coolness when I looked over the list and found that I recognized many of the blogs on the list...and then I just felt slightly embarrased at the amount of work i did not do at my last job)
Look, me with cute short hair. See, these days I wear the same thing everyday, and usually it has poop on it, and I haven't had enough money for a hair cut, so my hair is just kind of frizzy. And I wasn't nominated.

I shall kiss you and hug you and call you Parvo

2006-01-25T22:06:00.000-05:00

Now that I have told the 2 readers I had left that I'm not going to write any more, I feel like writing. Of course. Because this is irrational, and if there is any sort of behaviour I display on a regular basis, it is irrationality. Silly.

So. Parvo outbreak at the shelter. Scary shit, man, scary shit. Just imagine exploding nastiness from all orifices and then death, now add it to cute cuddly puppies, and you've got Parvo. We shall capitalize it, its so scary.

Google it. If you ever think about getting a puppy, you should know about Parvo. And of course we (unknowingly for all you lawyer-types out there who shall now sue us) sent a puppy home with it on Sunday night to her brand new home. She was a collie shepherd mix named Darcy and had one ear up and one ear down, and was just adorable. Now she is dead.

People, can you even imagine?!?! Going through the harrowing process of adopting a dog and wondering if it will like you and if the shelter will pick you and if you'll be a good mom and what do you do if it cuts its foot on a broken beer bottle in the park near your house because it obsessively has to chase a ball for exactly 27 minutes each day is hard enough. But to bring the new thing home and have it keel over in a pool of its own vomit and poop less than 24 hours later can only be a worst nightmare.

See how I'm trying to bring humor to the situation? Because this job that I love and is perfect and wonderful and all those good things...well this might be that thing that kind of makes it suck sometimes.

Once you have an outbreak of Parvo in a shelter, you're pretty much fucked. It will be a miracle if we loose fewer than 8 dogs in the next three days. We've lost 3 already, and sent a fourth to the vet where he is happily racking up a 4 digit bill.

But at least I am comfortable enough with the rest of the crazy staff at the shelter where I fit in wonderfully to ask the director if we could name the first new dog that comes in after the outbreak 'Parvo'.

I just couldn't help it...

2006-01-19T11:54:00.000-05:00

>>>There's no way he can be as cute as me though. I mean, who else can fart in supta kurmnasana while pondering the Waste Land? Only I, only I.<<<<

from an e-mail Aliya sent me when I told him that our new Vet looks like him.

And, a photo of the worlds luckiets dog ever:

She was run-over by a truck--as in the truck literally ran over her--and came out alive and with relatively little damage. Her name is Bree and Aliya's parents rescued her. She's got 7 lives left now. We're counting

236

2006-01-13T10:02:00.000-05:00

Hi. It's me. Remember me? Slightly obsessed with my dogs. Get really annoyed by most everyone. Bleeding heart liberal. Remember now?

So there's this little dog at work. The kind of thing that's so ugly its cute. We named her Taz, because she is also slightly crazy in the head. Anyway, Taz was found in the parking lot of an animal hospital in SouthEast DC. She was in a wire crate with her own feces and urine crusted all over the cage and herself. She was a little bitch when the animal control officers brought her into the shelter. So much so that they had to use one of those restraining poles for her. She weighs maybe 4 pounds-is a chihuahua/terrier mix. But she had everyone at the shelter completely terrified of her.

So of course she is my favorite.

She spent her first three days at the shelter in the back corner of her little kennel, biting anyone who tried to touch her and growling at you if you even looked at her. She didn't eat, sleep, or do much of anything.

There was something about her, though. A little gleam of hope. Maybe we weren't so bad. But Taz doesn't really know how to trust. She's had to learn it all over again, and its been rough for her.

We moved her to a larger kennel in the main dog-run area, and things started to change. I'd been visiting her a few times a day, and finally decided to risk my ankles and see if she'd let me into her space. She did, though a bit warily. That day, I sat with her for an hour, just talking to her and letting her get to know me on her terms. She came up to me and sniffed my feet, but still wouldn't even let me come withint inches of touching her without giving me a little warning nip. But we were on the way to recovery, I could just tell.

Two days ago, she finally let me touch her. I brought her into my office, sat down on the floor with her, and pet her tiny little bug-eyed alien like head. She was still wearing the nasty collar she was brought in with, still had poo crusted so badly on her little butt that she couldn't really go to the bathroom, and we still didn't actually know that she was really a she. It took a couple hours, but the collar came off, she gave me a kiss, and let me feel for balls (have I mentioned that I love my job?).

Every dog that comes into the shelter has to have a series of shots before they are even able to go to their kennel. Yesterday, 7 days after Taz arrived at our shelter, we were finally able to giver her hers. It took three people, a muzzle, a towel, and us wedging her against the side of a desk to do it, but she lived, and she didn't hate us afterwards. She also had her first bath in god knows how long. I'm still the only person that can pick her up, so I was unanimously elected to give her the bath. I had to use a flea come to scrape the shit off her skin and out of her hair. She was a complete champ about it. I think she was just happy to be clean.

Taz will be adopted. It will be on her terms, of course, and she'll need a lot of work. But she'll go home one day. Of course, she isn't really used to being clean, and totally isn't housebroken, so she has this habit of running around in her own poop and sleeping in the same spot she pees, but that's just one of those things that, to the right person, will make her perfect.

I started blogging because I was bored out of my mind. Unfulfilled. Angry at people. Anxious and depressed. I can feel it changing now, and the entries don't come so freely. Wednesday's Child is full of woe, but not so much anymore. I love my job. I can't wait to get to work. I think about it at night. It makes me happy in a way that I have literally not experienced before. Happy about work. It's an amazing thing. So with the lack of internet at my home, the fact that I'm still knitting and now sewing, and I'm barelyl able to check my email when I'm at work...well...I'm taking a break.

I'll check in every once in awhile. To the one reader I still have left, feel free to drop by if you want. I'll be reading up on ya'll, of course...I have to have my blog fix, even if I'm not writing my own.

236 posts, and I've got a nice little history of the last year. Don't worry, I'll be back. I'm saving up all the poop stories I have just for you.

Thank you.

Out with a Bang. And a whimper.

2006-01-03T08:35:00.000-05:00

New Year's Eve is one of my least favorite holidays. It's up there with Valentines Day and Halloween. Mostly for the amount of over-hype and planning that goes into it and the inevitable disappointment as one of many things happen: your best friend tells you she's pregnant, you see your ex-boyfriend, you wake up on the bathroom floor, you realize that other girls are wearing the same shirt as you, you spend the countdown in a cab trying to get to the next bar...you get the picture.

But not this year, no, this year was a...blast (in a sense at least). No planning whatsoever. Took me totally by surprise.

See, I got a little case of the DEVILS FLU on Friday night/Saturday morning. A flu so bad that I was vomiting out my nose. Nary an orifice was saved, if you get my drift. And so my countdown to the 06 was spent in a state near death, floating in and out of consciousness as my boyfriend watched episodes of Battle Star Galactica that he bought off iTunes. I was asleep, a few times, before midnight.

Now, internet, here's another funny thing about me. I am a hypocondriac. Have been for years. It's not so bad these days, but man, the puberty years, they were bad. And the thing that would get me the worst was the barfing. Hated it. Was terrified of it. Never, ever wanted to do it. Always thought I was going to. Missed out on a lot because I was worrying too much about it. Fast forward to college, and the old habits die hard. I would do anything possible to not vomit--I never got the flu, but I sure did get drunk. I have spent countless nights wandering around my house/neighborhood/basement/wherever convincing myself that I was not to throw up, that I just needed to keep walking and everything would be fine.

And this, dear internet, is how I came to be almost 27 years old and not have barfed since 8th grade. For any reason. The whole event was horrible, took my totally by surprise, and because of the fact that it's been so long I am told, on good authority by a man who has almost died of alcohol poisoning, that 'I am a really bad barfer'. Well, no shit.

Aren't you glad I didn't take pictures for this post. It did cross my mind. But then I had to throw up again.

So happy new year. May it bring about a lot of firsts. It has for me already. Love ya.

holding on and letting go

2005-12-29T09:11:00.000-05:00

ahhh, the christmas. tis over for one more season. it was a good one, this christmas. not too many gifts, lots of food, lots of sleep, lots of hot tub. the dogs had a blast and sophia's butt is still recovering from all the turkey (she's got a sensitive stomach, does that one).

and now we head into the new year, where i am inspired to write a post about that dreaded event in everyone's life as an adult. the house buying.

or, in our case, the house not buying.

at least, not for over $300,000 for our one bedroom apartment with drafty windows, a huge hole in the shower ceiling, floors that slope over 10% from one side of the hall to the other, and a bar in the basement from which i can routinely recount the playlist from the night before to the bartender the next day because the music is so loud.

people, $300,000. ok, actually, $309,000. and we're told that's a deal. though, oddly enough, i don't really see that part of it. nor do the rest of the people in the building.

house buying is supposed to be exciting. fun. stressful in a good way. not totally infuriating and forced. i like this little apartment we RENT. but rent is the key word here. i would never, not even if aliya's left nut were in danger of being cut off, never buy this place. nor would i encourage anyone else to buy it in it's current state. it's a historical building, for god's sake, and you know what that means.

so, for kate (see links...can't actually link from the mac) the whole prospect of buying her currently rented beauty is exciting. for us, it makes me want to throw up. we've got to move again, and this time we have two dogs, one of which is a large german shephard. I can list on one hand the number of apartment buildings in the city that allow two dogs, one a large breed. so we have to find a private home willing to rent to us.

i'm so mad at our landlords for doing this. for approaching the whole thing like its in our best interest. for telling us that they think its the smart thing for everyone involved to do, and that's why they are doing it, and not because they just want money.

BULL SHIT. need i say it again. don't tell me that two people who barely make $70,000 annually in the city are making a sound investment by purchasing a 'condo' that will put their monthly mortgage payment at over $2,000.

WE KNOW WHAT YOUR GAME IS. AND WE DON 'T LIKE IT.

happy new year.
let me know if you want a cat. I've got lots to give away.

Big and Little

2005-12-22T16:48:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, I never write anymore. I'm sorry. I've had big changes. Like really big. Like today I watched my first euthanasia. But it's ok. I mean, it's not ok, but it's ok that I'm there. Because it means I have a job, and not just any job, but one that I think I'm really really going to like. Because today I also got to escort my first dog to his new owner. Which is why I'm there.

And also, this tiny little miniature pincher sneezed and snot blew out of his nose, all the way around his snout, and landed in this big goober on the other side of his face, which he then proceeded to lick off. So now I've got millions of mildly retarded animals to make fun of.

Ruckus

2005-12-16T17:31:00.000-05:00

Isn't he just so cute you could barf? With his lazy eye and everything?

Carly, This one's for you

2005-12-16T10:27:00.000-05:00

When I was younger I used to dream that one day I would live in a mansion with my best friend. Our husbands would live on one floor, the kids on another, and we'd have the top floor to play barbies in all day long.

Of course, I grew up, and went to college, where my best friend Carly and I decided instead that we'd live in houses next to each other on Willy Street in Madison and there would be a tunnel connecting our houses underground.

Which is why the Tunnel song from the Arcade Fire is so fantastically wonderful in more ways than it just being a beautiful song.

All of this leading up to, of course, a link I snagged from Jessa (see links...for some reason Blogger doesn't let me do the insta-link thing on a mac...fuckers). It is, to say the least, slightly eerie and little bit amusing. Enjoy it.

http://www.stereogum.com/TheSilenceXperiment%20-%20Hump%20My%20Tunnel.mp3

This is the post where...

2005-12-14T14:45:00.000-05:00

I tell you my secret.

I JUST GOT A JOB WORKING AS A VOLUNTEER COORDINATOR WITH THE DC HUMANE SOCIETY.

wwwhhheeeeeeeee!!!!

People, I will be running their volunteer program and I'll get to play with all the doggles and the cats, too and I won't have to wear business casual because they all wear the same thing, the same thing I tell you, which is those sort of butch-ish blue cop pants with all the pockets and a gray polo shirt, but it doesn't matter because everyone else will be wearing the same thing and I'm so excited I think I just peed a little bit.

phew. ok. thanks for crossing your fingers for me, internet. I'll return the favor one day, I promise.

A Photo Essay

2005-12-12T11:10:00.000-05:00

No title, just random images.

Aliya is writing a paper on the way 'the animal' is treated in the writing of Hemingway. I thought this photo rather fitting in a very Hemingway-esque way. You know, man and his dog, out in the woods...that kind of thing.

And then there's Ruckus, the gayest little dog this side of the Mason Dixon line. He's contemplating licking the leaf burried in the snow here. I'm not kidding.

A photo of the ice on a tree--I just liked it. I used to take a lot of photos, studied it in college even. It's too expensive now to do my own darkroom developing, and lord knows I can't afford a nice digital SLR plus photo-editing software. So for now, I just use the fun little tools Mac gives me and make do.

Finally, the chaos that is my couch. There's the weird fingerless glove I finished this weekend which turned out waaay too small. The extra yarn I ordered to finish the boyfriend sweater. Plus some other bits and pieces that on any given afternoon you might find me entangled with.

Off to meet with the landlords to find out if they are going to rennovate the building into condos and kick us all out. Fun times.

Shout Out, Real Ghetto Like

2005-12-08T17:44:00.000-05:00

Hey ya'll. First off, I'd like to shout out to Lolly and Kristen who just commented on my last post and I don't even know them but they live near me and I thought that if I mentioned them here then they would still keep reading and maybe more people would read and then comment because IT WILL OBVIOUSLY MAKE YOU FAMOUS.

Not that I'm slightly strange or anything.

Internets, I've been keeping something from you. And I'm going to continue to do so until I know for sure the outcome of what I'm working on. But I want you all to do a little dance and cross your fingers for me this weekend. And kiss your dogs. Because you should always kiss your dogs. I'll tell you next week if it worked or not.

And, in the knitting realm...I'm giving myself little chaffed spots on my fingers I'm knitting so much. A sweater for boyfriend (we haven't broken up yet) and some mittens for me. AND I'm teaching my first ever knitting group. To a bunch of men. Who all have mental illnesses. And I love it. I'm a busy little bee, what with yoga and dog-walking and knitting and taking that darn nap every day.

Oooh, so I've been going to yoga twice a week and I love it--I can feel the ways my body is responding and it's the first exercise I've ever done that I really enjoy and work to get better at. The thing is, the classes I go to are during the day and what I like to call "Desperate Housewife Yoga" and I have to sit through conversations about buying a bigger and better house, and building a cottage on the ocean, and sitting in their hot-tubs after class to wind down, and blah blah blah. I paid for my class today partly in quarters, one of which I picked up off the floor of my car.

Ok, enough random-ness.

It's not THAT cold

2005-12-07T09:59:00.000-05:00

Really, when you grow up in a place where your eyeballs freeze over each time you step outside during the entire months of January and February, where the only snow days you got where actually days when it was too dangerously cold to go outside and wait for the bus, where a foot of snow doesn't throw anyone for a loop and the grocery store shelves are always stocked with milk that noone buys in a panic...this ain't nothin.

It never ceases to amaze me, each year, when it starts to snow in DC, how people just flat out panic. That they cancel school at the THOUGHT of snow (and I'm not exaggerating here, I had a boyfriend who was a teacher and they would literally cancel school when the forecast was for an inch the next afternoon). That people stop obeying traffic laws and drive straight through stop lights. That for some reason everyone buys milk when it snows here...like that's the thing you're going to crave during that raging blizzard dumping an entire three inches outside.

Jesus, people, grow some balls.

Honestly, this kind of weirds me out

2005-12-06T13:15:00.000-05:00

In a Past Life...

You Were: An Albino Priest.

Where You Lived: Turkey.

How You Died: Suicide.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

A Photo Essay

2005-11-30T10:49:00.000-05:00

First of all, I just finished one of the best books I've read in a while: "The Time Travelers Wife". I highly recommend it.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with a little photo essay I like to call: Oh My God, The Big Dog is Out of the Room and has Left Her Red Ball Totally Unprotected and Now i Shall Lick It

"Oohhh, a ball. I'm not usually allowed to play with these"
"I wonder if The Big Dog is around. Maybe if i'm really quiet...she'll never know"
"oh, it tastes sooo good"
"ok, she's totally going to kick my ass any second so god damned am I going to enjoy this ball for as long as possible until she does"

Thinking

2005-11-29T10:45:00.000-05:00

If I ever have a child, and this child happens to have some mental or physical disability, I will be prepared. Because of Ruckus.

Sometimes he howls. Usually only when Aliya and I are howling, trying to get Sophia to talk. Then all of a sudden, from the sofa, Ruckus will sort of get this wild eyed look, and throw his head back and let out the tiniest, pussiest little squek of a howl you've ever heard. Then he sort of shakes his head and looks at us like 'what. what are you looking at. what just happened'. He did it this weekend and the howl was so pathetic it was actually silent for the first 3 second of it. Then this gutteral sort of high pitched death rattle emmitted from his little face and it was so funny that both Aliya and I cried. Hard. And peed ourselves a little bit. Sophia just sort of looked at him like "Oh, jesus christ can't you do anything like a real fucking dog" and walked away to lick her butt hole.

Over Hard, Please

2005-11-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

This photo was taken the night I told Aliya I loved him--just about a year ago. Not sure why I'm posting it. This is our second Thanksgiving together (well, I guess not technically together...you know what I mean)--I've never had two of the same holiday with someone before. We've had our rough patches, its not always easy, but I think the biggest thing I've learned is that we make a choice as to who we are with. And I've chosen him, good times and bad, richer or poorer...blah blah blah. I'm pretty thankful for the realization that he's in my life because we choose it to be that way--there is no divine intervention, no great enlightened path...its just us, being together, best friends, because that's all we can be. I love him, very simply.

I found this quote in a copy of Hemingway's 'Nick Adams Stories' that I, apparently, was going to give to one of the many 'love-from-affar' boys from way back in the day. I'd written an Emliy Dickinson quote in the front cover, which is strange to me, because I don't ever remember reading any Emily Dickinson. But it's odd how relevant it is to me now, how much I can relate.

"The sunrise kissed my chrysalis--
And I stood up--
and lived."

Fake Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T13:05:00.000-05:00

Hi Ya'll! Happy Thanksgiving! Peace and stuff!

Did you know that the Tofurkey people also make a fake wishbone? And giblets? And gravy? None of which I will be having this thanksgiving, but I just thought I'd educate a bit. I'll be feasting on queche. Quiche? Qeeeche? Whatever. It's got some eggs, mushrooms, and onions, and my mum made it for me so that I won't starve at our 'god-family's' house.

So this post is not to discuss the fact that when Aliya decided to do the dishes for the first time this week this morning (he lives like a bachelor while I'm away, he's informed me) he discovered we were out of dishwashing liquid. And decided to use regular dish soap. And came back from yoga to a kitchen full of bubbles, which he couldn't clean up.

Nope, it was instead to tell you about how I introduced the women of Three Kittens Yarn Shoppe to the concept of vegan knitting yesterday. I knew it was coming. I had to find a replacement yarn for the Clapotis shawl I've decided to make. And they kept offering up Wool/Silk blends. So when I asked for a cotton substitution the woman sort of looked at me strangely and said "Why". This exchange followed:
Me: 'Well, I don't want to use Wool or Silk'
Lady: 'Why?'
Me: 'Well, I prefer to use cotton or acrylic' (see how I'm totally trying to avoid actually telling them?)
Lady: 'Why?' (by this time she's looking at me like I have a third nipple growing out of my forhead. Which I sort of do as my zit is still the size of montana and I look like I've been beaten.)
Me: (going for it) 'well...I'm a vegetarian...and I don't like to use animal products when I knit...but it can be hard to find replacements sometimes...and...yeah...so...'
Lady: Blank stare of death
Me: Smiling at her in the hopes she will accept what I've just told her
Lady: Still blank stare of death
Lady: 'Well, I wouldn't use cotton because...' And she proceeded to run down a list of why cotton was bad and would suck and made me feel like shit and like an alien
Me: 'Right, well, thanks for letting me use the computer...have a nice day...don't shoot me'

As you may know, I have bad luck in yarn stores. I find that the proprietors tend to be snooty. They are 'long-term knitters' that know way more about knitting than I could ever dream and they always know whats best. So instead of getting into it with this rather large woman, I decided to walk away. Mostly because I wanted to laugh. But I did find a great yarn. In fact, I found many great yarns, all of which we bought...I might have to bring an extra bag home with me, I bought so much.

So, Happy Thanksgiving from mine to yours.

Dear Britney

2005-11-22T18:52:00.000-05:00

So, umm, there's something I've been meaning to say for a while now. I know you just had a baby and you look relatively good and all (and I do mean relatively), but I've noticed something that I think you need to put a stop to. Right now. This whole maternity bra thing. It's got to go. Just because you're famous, and your downward spiral has been documented in its full glory, and now you're sort of working yourself out of it with your newly-given-birth-glow the rest of us still don't want to know that you're lactating. Please, hide the target nursing bras. They are not attractive.

And, while we're on the subject of babies here, I have a few theories as to why we haven't seen little Sean yet. Either you've managed to have a butt-ugly baby and you are trying to keep this child from the media as long as possible (something not so inconceivable seeing as who the other half of this childs genes come from...was he born with cornrows or not?) or you've accidentally had a Scientology baby instead of a Kabbala baby and the aliens came and took him away and gave him to Katie Holmes. You tell me. Which is it?

The pimple that took over the world

2005-11-22T18:30:00.000-05:00

I am a walking public service announcement.

I distinctly remember the moment I learned about something that would become one of the most satisfying activities in my adolescent life (and, i'll admit, my adult life). What I'm about to tell you is something ya'll take a lot of pleasure in, but rarely talk about. But I'm airing my dirty laundry.

It was Mr. Briggs science class, I think in 6th grade. I had the biggest zit in the world in the crease of my right nostril (I even remember the nostril). It was huge. All green and totally ready to blow. But until that point the thought of popping it had never occured to me. When someone in my class pointed it out and told me they were afraid it would burst and hit them, that I should go to the bathroom RIGHT NOW--it was like jesus himself appeared in my 6th grade classroom with a holy light and pointed towards the door. I jumped up, feigned cramps, and headed straight for the nearest mirror.

You know how drug addicts are always chasing their first, and greatest, high? That's what popping this zit was like--to this day I've never had another one like it, but I'm always hoping, searching.

Which brings me to the present day, and how I managed to wind up in the doctors office during my Thanksgiving holiday because my entire left eye was swollen to the point that I couldn't see my own feet. I popped a zit. And apparently, it got infected. You know how they always tell you not to do it, but you're like 'no way, I can't leave this thing alone. And I know it'll feel soooo good when I do it, just like that time in 7th grade...'. Yeah, well, you should listen to 'them', whoever they are. Because they're right. It can get infected. And you could die.

You think I jest, but I don't. I could have gone blind! Blind, I tell you, BLIND!!! It's still hit or miss--but I think I'm on the mend. A heavy dose of antibiotics and some warm compresses are keeping me from heading over the brink and walking towards the light. Damn it was close. And to think that my boyfriend, the love of my life, the man I will one day marry, laughed at me this morning when I told him how close to death I had come.

So here I sit. Very shamefully. A gigantic red nasty infection spreading across my face screaming out to any adolescent who may cross my path "Don't do it. Whatever you think might happen, THIS COULD BE YOU!!!"

These Strange Times

2005-11-19T21:56:00.000-05:00

Yep, I did it. Went to see Harry Potter with my Harry Potter freak boyfriend. Who would like me to knit him a Harry Potter scarf. And whose two favorite new words are 'Git' and 'Pratt', both of which were used with much abundance in my house while I was growing up.

But that's beside the point.

I can't remember the last time I've seen a movie where the majority of the people in the theater were half my age. I'm pretty sure it was when the Orpheum Theater in Madison, Wisconsin donated a mid-afternoon viewing of the movie Shrek to the homeless kids in the afterschool program I was running at the time and we had the whole theater to ourselves, and during which time we proceeded to totally trash the theater and dance on the seats when that final song came on, sung by that band who used to be famous--oh yeah, Counting Crows.

Shrek, however, does not have quite the following that Harry does.

When the hell did I miss all this? I have apparently been living under a rock because when the lights finally went out after the 20 minutes of commercials before the previews, then the 30 minutes of previews, people started clapping. Loudly. And screaming. Screaming!

And that scene where Harry takes his shirt off? I'm pretty sure I heard some 12 year old girl in the audience experience her first orgasm. I felt SO OLD. I don't find Harry Potter attractive AT ALL. I wouldn't even put his picture on my wall and practice kissing it. Not that I ever did that with my Teen Beat Edward Furlong poster. Nope, never did it. And, In fact, when I was thinking about wether or not I found Daniel Radcliffe attractive or not, I mostly just felt a bit like a child molester for even pondering it in the first place.

So. It was pretty cute. And as Aliya pointed out (he likes to point things out a lot) it's all because of books that this has happened. I would pretty much guarantee that about 90% of the kids in that theater tonight have all read all the books, which is a good thing. Yea, books.

I see how this all works

2005-11-17T17:34:00.000-05:00

In our house, Sophia is the mob boss.

Today, for instance, after she had finished drinking from her water bowl, she walked over to Ruckus, sat down in front of him, and then waited patiently while Ruckus licked the mixture of drool and water from around her mouth. I'm not kidding. My dog is so her bitch.

In other news, next week is flashback week. I'm unexpectedly going home for the week, and will have access to all the photos on my parents computer that I want, so look for many many pictures of me pre-blogging days.

Oh, and Aliya and I have to break up. See, I'm about to start knitting my first sweater ever, and it's for him. And everyone who is anyone knows that when you knit your boyfriend a sweater, it's the kiss of death.

because i can

2005-11-14T15:54:00.000-05:00

I just thought I would totally blast any sense of romanticism any of you may have left.

I finished a book this weekend, it was a romance/travel/american-gone-to-live-in-Venice sort of thing and was very good. Except for something that made me clench my teeth and scream 'no, that's not right!'.

She references, on more than one occasion, evenings spent in tiny trattoria with her love where they stayed so late the 'sleepy eyed waiters were closing the restaurant around them'.

People, I don't give a shit who you are or how much money you have, you should never, and I repeat NEVER insist on staying in a restaurant beyond the time the close. Yes, the establishment is technically open until they say they are, but any server who has ever waited tables knows that it is an unwritten law that you shouldn't do this, punishable by dirty looks and perhaps even some nasty thing in your food.

So, no, there is nothing romantic about sitting in a restaurant long past closing time. BECAUSE THOSE SLEEPY EYED SERVERS ACTUALLY ARE SLEEPY, AND YOU ARE KEEPING THEM FROM THEIR OWN LIVES. SO STOP IT.

Ok, I'm done now.

Doggle Commandments

2005-11-10T16:36:00.000-05:00

And I realize this is the third dog post in a row--I promise I will write about something else next.

Ok, here's the deal folks. Do Not Get A Dog Unless You Are Willing to Assume Full Responsibility For Anything That Dog Might Do. This includes the following:
Licking walls
Eating garbage
Swallowing enough green dry cleaning tickets to cause projectile green foamy vomit to come flying out of mouth
Pooping inside the house
And, most of all, and quite seriously, biting another dog.

If one of our dogs, god forbid, ever bit another we would assume full responsibility for the injuries that other dog might incur. Why might I be writing about this, you ask?

Becuase the bitch ass owner of Petey the Pitbull is refusing to pay Sophia's medical bills. The lawyer friend they hired to handle the situation, who smartly advised them to pay us, has now refused to work with them--presumably because they are insane and they suck. So now we are left with two choices: take them to court, or suck it up and pay ourselves.

I'll say this loud and clear: I WILL BE DAMNED IF I AM GOING TO LET THIS WOMAN GET AWAY WITH NOT PAYING US THE MONEY SHE OWES US.

Ok. Just some friendly advice to ya'll out there. Good night.

All is well

2005-11-10T15:31:00.000-05:00

This week has been one big worry for me. That's why I haven't posted much--too anxious for it, really. Not working at GW has been relaxing, but it also threw me for a loop in that I now have to find a job. The last job search I took on didn't turn out too well. Then, add to that a strangely gimpy dog and, well, the results are not pretty. But he's walking again now, and staring off into space, which is totally normal for him, so I'm happy. Today, when I got back from work, he even ran down the hallway in that oddly crooked way he has to greet me. Of course, when he tried to jump up, he did sort of fall over, but because I know he's not dying I can laugh at him now.

AND!! I have another interview at the Humane Society. They liked me a lot, and requested I apply for this other position--so I did and they called. I would be coordinating their low-cost spay or neuter program--essentially I'd be responsible for signing up all the other Ruckus' out there to have their balls ripped out. Pretty neat. I'm not sure why they think I'm qualified for the position as the online description requires a degree in animal husbandry (do people still really get degrees in animal husbandry? And what exactly is that? I'm picturing some weird sort of pee-wee herman episode). It may come as a surprise, but I do not, in fact, have a degree in animal husbandry, nor do I really understand why they would need me to have one. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

Keep your fingers crossed, bloggers of the world. This girl-wonder needs herself a job.

Sadness in the land of the Gimpy Footballs

2005-11-08T00:06:00.000-05:00

When you are a dog like Ruckus, you tend to...well...get the short end of the stick. You look like a football with legs to begin with, you're low to the ground, you have been mistaken for a cat...and you lick walls. But all of this makes you cute, mind you. So you can imagine the cuteness/sadness factor introduced this week with the sudden onset of Lyme's Disease previously but briefly mentioned.

And I'm talking sudden. Like, Friday morning everything is fine...Friday afternoon all of a sudden a Ruckus isn't using one of his legs...Saturday morning a Ruckus starts shaking...Sunday evening a Ruckus stops eating...Monday morning a Ruckus stops drinking and starts panting...well you can imagine, is all I'm saying.

So beyond my completely neurotic tendency towards obsessing about things, the prognosis is actually good. It's scary as hell to see something so helpless, so reliant on others for its life, to be so sick. There was no way for him to tell me he felt poorly. He put on his best face and even chewed some garbage on Saturday. Now he just sort of...sleeps. But he's on the meds, and they say he'll 'respond well' to them. I can't imagine life without a Ruckus in it. I know the inevitable will happen one day, and I will never be ready, but not yet. Please not yet. I've already promised him that I'd fix it, make the ouchies go away. And he looks at me with that slightly lazy eye...well you just can't let him down.

Nope, I won't give up. Not without a Ruckus, anyway.

Maybe she's born with it, Maybe she's not

2005-11-03T09:54:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, Madison. One of my favoritest places in the world. Forget the fact that it's so cold there in winter that your eyeballs freeze. It is just gorgeous. My best friend Carly said it all last nigh when I was telling her about it: "It doesn't matter how shitty the weather is, or what I do when I go, every time I visit Madison is perfect". People, if for some odd reason, you find yourself on a cross-country journey that takes you any where near Wisconsin, stop by. You'll be pleasantly surprised.

Anyway, Halloween in Madison is...to put it bluntly...crazy. The city doubles in size for one night, and for the last few years there have been 'riots'. Now, of course, not real riots, like where people are actually protesting something. No, these are 'I'm a drunken underager here for the night from Stevens Point and I have nothing better to do before my ride leaves in the morning, so I think I shall take my shirt off, scream real loud, and burn some stuff on the street. Awesome".

So when Meaghan ever so graciously decided to get hitched, in Wisco, on halloween weekend, of course Kenny and I HAD to go.

We stayed with Mindy and Darrin, two of my favorite people in the world. In keeping with the 'every two hour there must be a feeding' we headed straight to the Terrace to play some Euchre, where we also drank beer and ate popcorn. Our student union, the Terrace, is right on the water and gorgeous. It is also the largest outdoor bar in the country in the summer months. Says a lot. Euchre is a game I spent the better part of my undergraduate career playing. It was not uncommon during certain semesters (namely those immediately following my trip to Italy, when I drank a lot) to find me on any night of the week sitting in a back room of some dive bar somewhere with Mindy, Kenny, and Kim playing Euchre. My life was actually threatened once during a Euchre tournament. I decided to play at the last minute so some random guy could be in it, and it turned out he was freshly out of prison, and told me that he'd kill me if I lost the games for him. Needless to say, I lost quickly and hid in the back room.

We then headed to my favorite burrito joint in the world (I told ya'll I ate a lot on this trip) for dinner #1/lunch #2. I actually met a previous boyfriend in line at this place at 2 am once. You could say I spent a lot of time there.

The night was perfect. My favorite dive bar, my favorite dive people, my favorite place to be...it was great.

Wanna see pictures?:
This is Crafty Mindy and her Darrin. When I first met Mindy, you could barely open the door to her studio because it was so messy. And now? She is one crafty bastard, that mindy. She sews, knits (a girl after my heart), paints, wood-works...and makes crutches. Why, you ask, is she making crutches? I'll show you:In a pure stroke of genius, Darrin went as Scooter Libby. It was awesome. Dumb co-eds were looking at him all night with blank stares saying 'Scooter. That's such a cute name. I don't get it'.
I was a boyscout, Mindy was a girlscout. I definitely got hit on in the women's bathroom. Nuff said.
Kenny as the karate kid. He's reading a jesus pamphlet. It's inviting us to the biggest party on the planet, God's Party. Woohooo. Get me on the list for that one. At each end of state street, the god people were stationed with gigantic crosses. I don't know that they converted too many people. But they definitely featured prominently in most people's photos from the evening: 'dude, lets get our picture taken with the cross! Man, that's awesom. But do you think I should take my horns off?'
You know that game in the Metro section that everyone is doing now? Sudogu? The 'new' crossword? Well, someone dressed up as it. And you could do it! We did, don't worry. Because we are dorks and used to play board games in bars. Of course we did it.
There were lots of really drunken bumble bees around. This one war particularly fond of AC/DC. My friend Jess was a bee the year she randomly smacked a guy passed out in a doorway in Madison. It must be the stinger.
Team Zisou
The Greatest Costume Of All Time. He had a cardboard fetus on a coathanger, and a white lab coat. I don't think I have to elaborate. This fetus provided endless amounts of fun. I borrowed it for a bit, posed with it, nibbled on it, licked it--it was a great little fetus. The guy was very proud of it. He'd made it himself. It was colored with women's foundation, Maybelene, to be specific. You know the Maybelene motto: Maybe she's born with it, Maybe she's not? Gives it a whole new meaning, doesn't it. The couple we were sharing our table with had lots of funny to say about this fetus. After we took all the photos, we realized that in all of them, one of us was sticking out our tongue. Erin, the female half, commented "well, abortion just makes us stick our tongue's out, ya know?" and then "ya know, maybe its wrong, maybe its right, but abortion sure is damn funny". Seriously. Big props to this guy--he was gutsy, crafty, and damn funny all at once. I love him.

And this, my friends, is what happens to me after a weekend of binge-drinking and eating every two hours.

Hiding in the Bushes

2005-11-03T09:44:00.000-05:00

Heard on NPR this morning: a reporter reffered to the President as 'Washington's Bush'. Tee hee. I'd pretty much say that about sums it up for me. He is, basically, like pubic hair on a dead man.

Also, remember those crazy La Rouche people? The ones that believe Washington's Bush is merely a pawn in the big ol' game of life, and that Cheney is the anti-christ, the devil re-incarnate, and the true leader of our country? And how everyone else thinks they're really crazy. Except, is it just me, or are they starting to seem not so crazy right now?

I promise, the fetus licking photos will be up later on. First I must go and have my massage. Yes, it is tough to be me.

Scooter

2005-11-01T10:42:00.000-05:00

In response to Kate's question:

No, I did not get arrested in Madison, like everyone else. I don't think, at least. I did, however, lick a cardboard fetus.

Pictures to follow.

Sexy Girl Falling

2005-11-01T10:02:00.000-05:00

Well. It has taken me a day to recover from this weekend, which I think took about 10 years off my life. I'm back, though. I made it. Barely.

I'm posting about Friday night first--combining both nights from this weekend would make for a post rivaling Moby Dick in length, and frankly, I'm not sure that anyone is really that interested in my drunken escapades.

The wedding was beautiful. Gorgeous. Fantastic. Lots and lots of fun. First off, Meaghs must be on Gods good side, cause god damn was it a nice day. It almost made me want to live in Milwaukee (this means it was out of control beautiful outside because for me to actually admit to thinking about moving to Milwaukee, pigs must be flying).

Now, I'll let you know now that for the entirety of this weekend I ate every 2 hours or so. It started at about 6am on Friday morning and continued until I touched down in DC on Sunday. Friday was literally spent in bars. The whole day. Even when I wasn't drinking we were eating or getting coffee. I don't recommend it. In between the ceremony (which was gloriously short and perfect and is now going to make every other wedding I go to seem waayyyy toooo loooonnnggg) and the reception we went to 2 bars. 2. And then we headed to the cocktail hour. Which was 2 hours long. And then the FIVE COURSE DINNER. People, I couldn't have left early if I'd wanted to because I would have had to be rolled upstairs to the hotel room.

Don't worry, though. I didn't leave early. Noooo...not early at all. I believe things started to go downhill when Meaghan asked Matt and Kenny to be her goons and guard the gift table so people didn't swipe the cash during the cocktail reception. The gift table, conveniently, was located right next to the bar. The open bar. Where drinks were free.

Yeah.

Highlights: Meaghan's younger sister, Katie, gave the most hilarious speech ever. She started by saying 'I'm kind of drunk and really nervous, so I'm sorry already', mentioned how excited she was when Meags asked her to be here 'sister in law', commented on Tim being brave because 'her family was a tough bunch to get involved with' and finished the whole thing up by sitting down at the table with the microphone still on and saying to Meaghan 'what just happened, I blacked out'. Seriously, we were pissing ourselves laughing.

Beth and I polka-ing to an 18 piece band. Just the two of us. No-one else on the dance floor. Somehow this seemed like a good idea.

Matt making fun of my gimpy arm ALL NIGHT LONG. He's lucky i'm used to people making fun of me or my feelings might have been hurt when he mimmicked me waving.

Deciding it would be a really good idea to go to the dive bar we went to earlier in the day after the reception. This place was called, fittingly, 'my office'. We spent a lot of time at the office on friday night. On the way there for the second time, I fell in the gutter. Me, lying on the ground, in the middle of Milwaukee, laughing because I'd fallen, with three men trying to help me up--two of whom I didn't know.

This doesn't even come close to rivaling, however, Beth's spill later on in the evening. She fell out of the office. Literally. Fell out of the bar. Noone was with her, because she was leaving by herself, and she couldn't get up because she was so...umm...well...drunk. She wasn't too drunk, however, to call us back in the bar to tell us she'd fallen. People were actually stepping over her to get into the bar, and one man apparantly yelled 'ooooh, look, sexy girl falling!'

Priceless.

Getting up for the 9am formal tea breakfast the next morning was tough. I made it, with the help of a mimosa (yes, I started drinking again at 9 am the next day. And eating, as I've already mentioned. This was the first of two breakfasts for me on Saturday, the second of which consisted of McDonalds french fries and a sprite. Classy, I know).

Which brings me to Saturday, which is a whole other story. But first, pictures:
The happy and wonderfully cute couple. They looked fantastic in their get-ups. Tim in his top-hat, Meags in her big fat diamond ring that is the size of my head and sooo sparkly.
I told you it was a nice day!
Me, Kenny, Matt, Beth, and Meaghan. Meags is the one in the middle. With the white dress. I have apparantly moved back into my college days, because I look totally sober and put together here, but I am, in fact, totally shit faced wasted. It's good to know I've still got it. And those pants? The white silk ones? Even though I rolled around a bit in a gutter, they are still wearable. That's two times worn, with no major damage, people.
Stuff certain people don't remember. Some day I'll post the videos I took, but this will have to do for now. Beth is with Meags brother, Ryan. And that's Meaghan's dad and Rob--who doesn't remember being here.

All Things Big

2005-10-27T19:13:00.000-04:00

I'm listening to the Bright Eyes song 'Arc of Time'.

Meaghan is getting married tomorrow.

It's strange to think that one of my oldest friends will be standing at the altar in less than 24 hours. It doesn't seem like its time for this kind of thing yet. It feels like I'm still growing up. So, is this what everyone feels like. All those people I used to envy so much when I was younger, who just seemed to have it so together, were they just like me?

This illusion we have, that at some point we just grow up, if you ask me its all a sham. We never grow up. We're never done with it.

Bad Internet, Bad Bad Internet

2005-10-27T10:00:00.000-04:00

Hi!

For the last few days I have been at war. With my wonderful iMac G5. Well, actually, with its internet connection. We dumped Verizon (because otherwise I would have had to fly to India and shoot some people, which wouldn't have gone down too well seeing as how they are suffereing and all) which has left us with this 100 year old buildings faulty wireless connection. This means that maybe once a day, if I'm lucky and happen to be in front of the computer when it happens, I can get online for a total of 3 minutes.

So what do I choose to do with this precious internet time?

Catch up on Dooce, of course. Nope, not fill in the 3 people that read this, not read up on world news, not email my family who is wondering if I'm alive. No, I read about a former Mormon/Person Fired for Blogging/new and hysterical mother instead.

I have priorities, ya'll.

So, today I decided to write. There is a lot I can write about, too. Why, just two days ago I moved some pictures around on the wall. Yesterday I fell asleep on the rug in the living room while I was staring at my dog sleeping in a sunspot. This morning I drove Aliya to work and stopped off at the vegan bakery on the way home. It's all very exciting.

No, really. Its FUCKING FANTASTIC!!!

On a sadder note, I did not get the job at the Humane Society. Yes, tears were shed, but I emailed the guy I met with to find out what I can do to strengthen my application for that kind of thing and he wrote back that I was actually a very strong candidate for the position, that they gave it to someone who had worked there before, and that they wanted me to apply to another position within the organization. So not too bad, I guess. They liked me, at least.

Perhaps it is a sign. I need to take some time and kick back. Enjoy myself. Take more naps on the floor, or wherever else I may fall asleep. Drink beer in the afternoon. Have fun.

I've actually been sort of busy. Today is my first full day in over a week. Its just strange to have days free, and to work at night. Even though I'm working over 40 hours a week right now, I at least have the illusion of free time. Of course, I don't really remember what my boyfriend looks like, but the dogs are happy.

And, finally, this whole Harriet Miers thing. Not quite sure what to think of it all. There's a raging bitch part of me that feels ecstatic that things continue to fall apart for this white house. That this is one more thing they can't do right. But then, I wonder. What next? We're certain to get a new nominee that the Dems hate. And, you know, I sort of feel like there's noone steering this big ship. Like we're just sailing off into space, no guidance. Just a bunch of lemmings freaking out and heading for the cliff's edge.

Plus, and this is definitely not characteristic of my raging bitch-ness, I feel sort of bad for Harriet. She just seemed like a deer caught in headlights, thrown into all this chaos.

Ok. God only knows when I'll be able to post again.

Love you, internet.

I'm busy transforming myself

2005-10-21T14:38:00.000-04:00

Lunch on the Dean's bill:
Slightly expensive

Drinking at lunch:
Slightly more expensive

Listening to really bad 80's music while fantastically buzzed and saying goodbye to the actual nice people I've been able to work with over the last year who are stopping over to say good-bye:
Priceless.

My needs are obviously not being met

2005-10-21T11:05:00.000-04:00

So I typed 'Eleanor needs' into google just to see what would happen.

And...well...here are the results:

This was the first link that popped up. I'm not kidding you.
>>Eleanor needs to contact her therapist not us for advise and support<<

Yeah, I told you.

Number two?
>>Eleanor needs to calm the hell down<<
Again, I'm totally not kidding.

Other gems:
>>Eleanor needs Elspeth to find a rock that could kill the king if
he steps on it<<
I'll leave that one alone.

>>Eleanor needs a serious transformative approach<<
Obviously.

>>Eleanor needs a weapon capable of defeating the demon<<
Ok, I'm not going to argue with this one.

>>Eleanor needs to stay in her usual place - back in her closet with a deadbolt<<
That's a little harsh, don't you think?

>>Eleanor needs a S-SWS DNA shot every 24-hours
or she'll shrivel up like a prune<<
Well, damn, I wish someone would have told me.

Just for kicks, I did Aliya's next. Here are just two of my favorites:
>>aliya needs to be reconceptualized
>>Aliya needs a radical change of focus

So my question: When did Google become God?

End of days

2005-10-21T09:14:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day at work.

Per usual, I have nothing to do.

Rant

2005-10-20T10:17:00.000-04:00

So this morning CNN reported that Tom De Lay received an arrest warrant this morning.

Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself here, but I sort of feel like my dreams may be coming true, that this administration may actually be crumbling a bit.

Of course, now, there's no mention of the warrant on CNN at all. Journalism is so sketchy these days--you have a conservative owned news outlet like CNN, who god forbid they report anything bad about republicans, to the point that stories that are potentially really really important to, you know, everyone, are pulled.

Announcement

2005-10-20T09:09:00.000-04:00

To the people who invented the 'what flavor are you' quiz:

You are wrong.

Aliya is not beef. In fact, Aliya is so far from beef, its not funny.

And me? Vanilla? I mean, I like the stuff, but come on now--I blend in? I'm subtle? Not likely to cause a scene? You people have obviously never seen me dressed up in my crack-ho halloween costume dancing on bars and screaming at random people walking by to 'hook me up, bitch'.

So you should work on your quiz a bit. I'm just sayin' is all.

Feminine Hygiene meets the Karate Kid

2005-10-19T14:41:00.000-04:00

Remember how hot Ralph Macchio was? Man, I had such a crush on him. I definitely kissed the poster of him I had on my wall. This was pre-dedicating my life to Joey McIntyre from NKOTB, of course.

So Halloween. I'm going to Madison, WI, otherwise known as the Best Place To Spend Halloween on the Planet. It's great, greased lighposts and bus stops, riots, drinking. The town doubles in size for one night of total hell-raising.

Of course going back as one of those 'older people' we used to make fun of back when I was in college might be slightly depressing.

This is not, however, going to stop me from dressing up as a tampon. And my date? Kenny-otherwise-known-as-The Karate Kid. Sweet. He suggested I boil an egg and stick it to my costume. How repulsive is that? I'm totally doing it, of course.

Unless I decide to go as a shower--like Ralph did. What a great movie.

I'm so vanilla

2005-10-19T13:50:00.000-04:00

I am Vanilla Flavoured.

I am one of the most popular flavours in the world. Subtle and smooth, I go reasonably with anyone, and rarely do anything to offend. I can be expected to be blending in in society. What Flavour Are You?

So I did this because I came across someone else who was the flavour of death. Thought it might be interesting. And then I find out I'm vanilla. VANILLA!! It's so true, though. My favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla, scent is vanilla, I love the color associated with vanilla.

Dear god, excuse me while I go take my pants off in public or something else equally non-vanilla.

Thinking

2005-10-19T11:47:00.000-04:00

In an attempt to come up with the photo of Ruckus wearing the baby hat I knitted for my former head-doctor that someone else found through a google search, I managed to discover that there was once a jug band called Ruckus Juice and Chitlins. Isn't that just fantstic?

Weird fetus dog named Ruckus didn't turn up any search results, though.

Trying to let go

2005-10-18T19:42:00.000-04:00

I wrote a long post last night. It was about moving on, letting go. I re-read it and realized that by writing it, I wasn't moving on at all. For reasons I am not yet ready to accept, I am still angry, and for some reason I still feel the need to justify this anger through acceptance of others, through telling a story MY way. But this doesn't change the fact that the one person whose mind I wish to change will still believe I am the antichrist, will still hate me. Mostly because this person needs to hate me, for reasons of their own, so she can continue to avoid the truth. We are oddly similar, her and I.

So what I will write about, instead, is that almost exactly one year ago today, Aliya got his dog back. For reasons too long to recount, he let his ex-wife have his dog for about three months last year. These were the longest three months of his life.

Sophia was given to Aliya as a graduation present, from his parents. I gave up the idea of sould mates long ago, but Sophia and Aliya, these two were meant for each other, made for each other even. If you could see the look of joy on both of their faces when they see each other at the end of the day, you'd understand. To this day, I can't imagine how he did it. For three months he lived without her. Ex would call him to tell him about all the fun they were having together, and it killed him. She knew what She was doing. With every phone call She made, it was one more way to keep him under her control, which was all it was ever really about.

We picked her up on a Saturday. The second Sophia saw him, she ran. With all that she was, all the force in her legs, she barrelled towards him. The two of them rolled over and over on the side walk trying to get as close to each other as they possibly could. I watched this, and thanked god that for once, She made the right choice. She knew it, too, I think. For that I am grateful. It was one of the happiest things I have ever seen, this man and his dog, saying hello again after being away from each other for too long.

And so we took her camping. There was lots of stick-chewing, rolling around, and Aliya was so scared that something would happen to her that she stayed in the tent with us that night.

This man and his dog, they are made for each other. Like two peas in a pod, I can't tell which one of them came first. She is quirky in all the ways that he is. She is solitary, defensive, protective of her loved ones, just like him. You can't have one without the other. For those three months, something was missing. I didn't know what then, but now I understand. I can't help but wonder if She knew, too. The Ex, that is.

So a year has gone by, and I am still trying to move on. Still working to let go. Still. I can't say why it is so hard for me. Perhaps the similarities draw me in, scare me. I can't be the same as her. Things must go differently. There will be a day when I don't need to tell anyone that I've done it, that I've let go. I will just do it. Until then, I will dream of this man and his dog, and that pure moment I was a part of one year ago. Until then, I will try not to think about everything else that happened. Just the sticks, the tent, the smell of wet dog, the smiles, the fears--just that one night. Thank you, for that.

The Sweetness

2005-10-18T13:37:00.000-04:00

Technicalities

2005-10-18T11:25:00.000-04:00

For those of you who wondered (ok, so Erin is the only one who asked, but I know the rest of you are just dying to know) here is the breakdown of the yarn I used on my two recently completed objects:

OSW--A Katia ribbon yarn. It's a cotton blend, so still slightly blockable, though lord knows I don't have the patience to block anything that doesn't totally need it. But very pretty-I'm using a pink and gold toned one now to make the Blue Sky Alpacas Opera Scarf. And, because I refuse to use any recommended yarn for anything I make, my gauge is slightly off and I used 1.5 skeins.

Sage--The Greatest Yarn Ever Invented: Blue Sky Alpacas Cotton. Oh my god this stuff is fantastic. So soft and pretty colors. MMmmmmm. I used just about 2 and 1/3 skeins of yarn.

Ok, so non-knitting readers, don't stop reading. I promise I'll write about something lewd and repulsive again soon.

I've got ho's in different area codes

2005-10-17T13:22:00.000-04:00

One of the strangest parts about being step-mom to this particular German Shephard is that when other Shephard owners see her, they proposition us for sex. It's very odd to be standing outside Tryst on a Sunday evening and have a large black man approach you and ask you if your dog would like to let his dog fuck her. I don't really know when I became a pimp, but I apparently am one. Of course, Sophia shall remain ever the precious and wholesome virgin as she had her tubes tied long ago. Many an owner turns away shaking their head in dismay at yet another opportunity for breeding lost.

My response, in my head at least, is that Of Course my dog is spayed. Why isn't yours?!

Because you didn't ask

2005-10-16T21:23:00.000-04:00

Warning: Image heavy knitting content to follow. If you're not into looking at my total self-indulgence, then just skip this post.

Look What I've been Up To:
Did you people even know I knit?

So. Things have been busy here around MTP street. I haven't had a day off in over 4 weeks, I've decided to start running again (ok, so this started with the run I took Sophia for yesterday, but I swear, I'm training for a 5K. I promise), and, well, I haven't had a day off in 4 weeks. So really, that's been it.

By the way, if you are one of those people who, when asked by your server in a restaurant "what can I get for ya'll this evening/morning?" replies by saying "food" then you should stop that. Right now. It's not funny and you're not original.

Ok, right, so I've finished things. Two things, actually. The One Skein Wonder was actually finished 2 months ago and I couldn't be bothered to take a photo of it, and Sage from my Rowan book came to fruition just this weekend. Blocked and everything. I would like to point out that I wore Sage out (and by 'out' I mean to the bar in my basement, so technically, it wasn't out because we didn't step a foot in the actual 'outside') on Friday and someone told me I looked 'really nice and dressed up'.

Sage: I love her. She turned out very pretty. The join on the shoulders came out a bit pointy, but that was mostly my shoddy job of joining--I'm not very good at it.

One Skein Wonder: This thing is so cute. You need one. Get one. Now.
I realize this is a weird self-portrait. I was sort of drunk when I took it and I wanted to show you the shoulders. Sorry.

And, now, because so many of you email me on a daily basis asking 'when, oh when, eleanor, will we get to see a spectacular shot of your ass?", well, here ya' go: A back view of Sage.

You are welcome.

Have I told you lately...

2005-10-14T10:31:00.000-04:00

That I despise lawyers?

Because I do.

So Sophia got attacked by the Pitbull, and at first the owners seemed like they were going to be cooperative. And then, not so much. They got sketchy. Said that there was no proof that our dog didn't instigate the situation. Then they stopped returning phone calls. Then they got a lawyer. Then the lawyer asked us to stop contacting her clients because they felt as if we were harrasing them.

Yep. Not kidding. WE were HARRASING THEM. We didn't have a chance to harrass them because they wouldn't answer our phone calls. We were merely trying to figure out what in the hell was happening to this crazy vet bill for our dog who was so out of the blue attacked that she didn't even have time to defend herself.

So, we talked to the lawyer, who seemed smart enough to realize that they should just pay up, and we agreed to sign something saying we wouldn't sue them or ask for further funds outside of any medical bills incurred as a direct result of the attack.

Totally fine--that's all we wanted in the first place. Just the bills paid, nothing more.

And now...the lawyer isn't calling us back.

So I'm going Judge Judy on their asses--look out small claims court, here I come. Unless, of course, the threatening phone calls we keep making finally work.

Why are people so sucky?

Loads of Funny

2005-10-14T10:12:00.000-04:00

My parents went to China last year and brought back a beautiful caligraphy painting of the character for Aliya's last name, which essentially means 'Sage' in German.

We got it framed and it has been hanging on Aliya's wall, until today. I walked into his office this morning and it was propped up against the wall because he'd taken it down.

Me: why did you take your name off the wall?

Aliya: heh. well, that's a funny story, actually. I had a Chinese student in here yesterday. She looked at it and said 'Did you know that character means Smart Person?' and I told her that I did-that it was sort of my last name. She said 'huh. Well, did you know it's upside-down?'

Me: wait. you had a character that means 'smart person' hanging on your wall upside-down. That's fucking awesome.

Be warned, A rant is ahead

2005-10-13T11:53:00.000-04:00

Dear Mr. Biker Man--

You suck. Here is why. I shall point them out in no particular order.

1. I come from a family of bikers. I grew up with bikers. I did mini-triatholons as a kid and in college rode my bike everywhere, usually drunk. I was partially raised by a group of adults who all biked together on a weekly basis. And so I am defensive of your rights, but also, I am aware of your responsibilities. Usually, the bikers I know at least, follow the rules. Because that's the safe way to ride. But not you, Mr. Biker man. Nope. You suck

2. Just because you are wearing the bright orange and yellow safety vest does NOT mean that you now have the freedom to ride like a complete imbecile wherever you feel like it.

3. Riding your bike between lanes during rush hour is stupid. You should not do it. By law, you are required to follow regular rules of traffic. I can't drive the 'bu in between lanes, and so neither should you.

4. When a crazy lady driver who wan't looking almost killed you, and us in our 'bu slowed down in our lane but still didn't let you pass in front of us because it was after you'd almost been killed and you DIDN'T SIGNAL a lane change, you should choose to frantically scream and yell at said almost-homicidal woman driver, not friendly liberal bikers driving a Subaru.

5. I just wish that, for once, when people commit an act of wrong-ness, they would admit it. Seriously. Mr. Biker man, you know you were breaking the law. If you are any sort of seasoned biker, as you appeared to be in your bright safety vest, then you know how you're supposed to ride. So when YOU fuck up and almost get yourself killed in rush hour, don't blame it on the people who were driving along, under the speed limit, totally following all traffic rules and regulations. And don't diss my car. Seriously. That almost made me get out in traffic and push you over.

6. Your bike shorts were really ugly. Plus, you had snot on your face.

Do Not Enter

2005-10-12T16:49:00.000-04:00

Me + on the rag + Kids Night at the restaurant + me working = Somebody please staple my vagina shut now.

Ruckus shall be my only bastard for a long, long while.

Sweet love of everything that is holy

2005-10-12T14:17:00.000-04:00

Apple, I love you. Really, I do. I love you so much I would marry you.

Why, you ask?

Check out www.apple.com

Just look.

Do you see?

YOU CAN BUY THE NEW SEASON OF LOST, EPISODE BY EPISODE, ON ITUNES NOW!!!!!!!!!

I officially have no use whatsoever for television again. Ever.

Bridezilla To Be

2005-10-12T09:25:00.000-04:00

Ladies, make sure you don't put yourself in a position that prompts your fiance to write something like this to Craigslist.

Some things are just better left up to other people to make for you.

Calling it like it is...

2005-10-11T09:42:00.000-04:00

Someone in Alexandria who uses a Mac and gets to this blog through Aliya's checks my site quite a bit.

Hmmm.

I wonder who that could be.

Bessie, how I miss you

2005-10-11T08:01:00.000-04:00

My two favorite photos ever were just sent to me by my Red Cross trainer Brian, who told me not to bring a camera when he trained me and then showed up with his own so now I have to bug him for the photos he took because I only brought my crappy disposable and I already showed ya'll how that turned out, now, didn't I.

I would just like to say that I don't normally wear shorts. In fact, I had to pull this pair out of the bag of stuff I was planning to donate. Just so you know.

My ode to The Biggest Asshole of All Time, Ever

2005-10-10T16:38:00.000-04:00

Otherwise known as Christopher Columbus. Ok, so he wasn't THE biggest asshole, but he's up there on my top 10. One of the most influential books I've ever read was Howard Zinn's 'A People's History of the United States'. The book basically destroys the textbook image of American History we've been taught to believe, and tells us what truly happened, from the people's perspective, not the dead white guys.

So Columbus? Yeah, totally instigated one of the biggest genocides of a group of people ever. The guy wasn't even the first person to spot land (one of his slaves did) and it wasn't even the US. Wanna know what he wrote in his diary after they met the people who really and truly deserve to call America home? (I shall have to paraphrase here because I don't totally remember) "Nice people, very friendly and smart. They shall make great slaves once we overcome them all".

Nice, sweet, here ya go, America--have a day off in honor of this guy!! I mean, shit, next thing you know we'll be applauding Bush for the great job he did in cleaning up the South! He's been there 8 whole times now, ya'll. 8 times! He must really care!!

So, don't thank Columbus for the fact that you were able to get drunk last night. Thank people like my friend Kenny, for being nice and smart, you know, trusting of other human beings.

Well, wrap me up and call it good

2005-10-10T10:08:00.000-04:00

God damn, I didn't think Mel would be the first to go.

Nope, not when you were throwing my veggie burgers on the living room floor to make me mad, or leaving oddly shaped potatos in my bed for me to find late at night. Not even when you gave yourself a black eye with a full nalgene bottle that fell off your nightstand while you were...lying on the floor.

But congratulations Mel. And Nick. You guys are two of my favorite roommates and I can't wait to go to your wedding. But Mel, I'm only coming if you promise me that you'll get totally wasted and throw something innappropriate at someone old. Because only then will it truly be a party.

My advice to you: get married at the cabin, keep it small, and make sure you provide lots and lots of Boone's farm for us all.

Thinking

2005-10-10T09:22:00.000-04:00

I had a dream last night that my boss got shot in the head by a student, and I was at my desk sobbing--partly because there was going to be so much more work to do now.

And then the alarm went off and Aliya loudly asked me "Is that the toothpick alarm?!. It's not the toothpick yet!". Of course, myself being only newly woken up, responded "what the fuck do you mean, the toothpick alarm? Are you sleeping still?". He answered "You don't know what the toothpick alarm is? It's when...it's like...it's too confusing to even explain if you don't know what it is. I can't believe you've never heard of the toothpick alarm. It's such a common phrase.". Me: "fine then, I'm going to reset the alarm for 6:45. Don't yell at me any more".

Yes, he was sleeping. But it confused me so much that I couldn't go back to sleep for a glorious 15 minutes more. This is the third time it's happened. If anyone else out there has spent the night with my boyfriend and has had a similar experience, I'd love to hear about it.

I Heart the Internet

2005-10-10T09:13:00.000-04:00

Folks, this is the whole reason I put a Site Meter up on my blog:

It enabled me to see that someone out there did a Yahoo search for 'Dogs with explosive diarrhea' and found my blog.

Sweet, sweet fate, how I love thee.

On another note, Brian, email me! I don't think I have your right email address.

Ok. That's done now.

Happy Birthday, little brother

2005-10-08T12:10:00.000-04:00

Hi Shitbag!! Happy birthday!! You're that much closer to 30 now. Ha Ha. In honor of your birthday Ruckus tested positive for Lime's disease and Sophia had her anal glands squeezed. Yea for you. Love ya!

The little engine that might be able to do it...

2005-10-07T18:31:00.000-04:00

Today was rainy. Sort of all around crappy, really. And my boss was sick, so I had to do the thing I had to do on Monday which caused her to yell at me on Tuesday, which caused me to post that I would have quit had I not already done so. Phew. And I have to work tonight and its still raining and noone will come in. blah.

BUT!!!! There is good news.

I applied to a job at the Washington, DC Human Society yesterday and they called me for an interview!!! Today!!! Only 24 hours after I applied (I am ignoring the warning bell going off in my head here). If you are at all interested you can read the description here: http://www.washhumane.org/jobs.html.

It looks pretty interesting. Its what I quit my current job to do. Volunteer organization, plus animal welfare promotion all in one. Just think of all the little Ruckuses I could help out there. And believe me, if they are anything like my Ruckus, they need the help.

Good start to the weekend. Makes me happy. Nice.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday!

2005-10-06T16:54:00.000-04:00

This pic is in honor of my mum, who hates tattoos.

Thinking

2005-10-06T15:11:00.000-04:00

I was just looking at a picture of my dog. I think he has a lazy eye. My weird, wall-licking, gay dog also has a lazy eye. Of course I get the strange one.

Blubbering, Snotty mess

2005-10-06T14:44:00.000-04:00

I am feeling quite prolific today. Perhaps it is due to the fact that I am the only one here on the graduate side of things. Aliya and Kelly are sick, and Abby is getting married (silly little wedding plans...I guess we know where her priorities are).

Anyway. I want to tell you about a girlie movie that I recently fell in love with. I dont normally watch movies more than once, I get bored too easily. But there are a select few I can see over and over again. Dirty Dancing, Grease, Royal Tennenbaums--that's about it, really. But I saw this cheesy girl movie last winter, and it stuck. So much to that I watched it again this week. Shall We Dance, with Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez.

Ok, ok--it actually has some pretty crap parts. J-Lo stinks up a storm, as usual. But I just love the relationship between Susan Sarandon and Richard. I think its extremely sweet.

However, the part that absolutely brings me to a weeping, blubbering fool of a mess every time I see it is the ending. There's this song, see. 'The Book of Love' by Peter Gabriel. The first time I saw it, I was in Peoria, IL with 6 of my best girl-friends, I was newly medicated, and hadn't seen much daylight due to the fact that it was dark ALL THE TIME! So I hear the first line of the song, and totally without control absolutely lost it. Just cried and cried. Couldn't stop. My friends, who were themselves tearing up, asked me what was wrong. I chalked it up to hormones at the time, thinking it was a one time thing. But the song stuck with me, and I'd play the snatch of it that iTunes lets you hear for free, and it would give me chills.

So I was curious to see what would happen this week. Sure enough, Aliya turned around in shock as I let out a loud dinosaur-sounding-high-pitched-sob noise because I JUST COULDN'T HOLD IT IN!

I have never had a reaction like this to a song in my life. It's a pretty simple song, but I love what it says. I stopped planning my imaginary wedding a while ago, but I think that, if I ever do get married, this song has to be played somewhere. I thought of Aliya the whole time it played, and hearing it a second time brought even more meaning to it for me. I know, I know--this is so gag-me-with-a-spoon sappy, I can hardly stand it myself. I bought the album on iTunes and have been playing it over and over again, much to Aliya's...ahem...amusement.

Anyway, love has changed for me since I met Aliya. I understand now what it means to want to spend your life with someone, and to know that you will have a partner to see you through it. It's boring really, mundane every-day living--but I think that's what makes it so amazing. There's a line in this song, "the book of love is long and boring". It's funny how true that is. It's my favorite line, Aliya's too.

So watch it. And grab the kleenex before you do.

Thinking

2005-10-06T13:56:00.000-04:00

The correct way to take a lunch hour: Take a lunch at 1pm. Then, when your boss closes her door to take her own lunch, take another one.

Snippet

2005-10-06T13:53:00.000-04:00

I just found this via a link on Erin's blog and boy, did it make me giggle.

PS

2005-10-06T13:18:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned that I love my mum and don't want her to be mad for blogging about her. I mean it in the best way possible, I swear.

Also, hello to the person in Helsinki that just read my blog. Site Meter is fun.

A Narrative. By: Me

2005-10-06T12:23:00.000-04:00

Tattoos.

I happen to think they are fantastic. Sure, there are some really stupid people out there with some really stupid tattoos they don't remember getting, but so what. They read as a visual and personal history and create a sense of individuality for people swamped in this business-casual society.

My mum, however, thinks they are silly. We spoke this morning about it when I told her I was thinking of getting a new one. Before I explain further, however, I need to give you a little background information.

So I bring you: the History of Eleanor's bodily modification and how she ruined Christmas.

I, like most other suburbanite little girls, begged my parents to let me get my ears pierced in 3rd grade. This began a long history of holes being punched in my ears while my brother hid behind the jewelry racks in Claire's Boutique because he was afraid of the blood. Ok, so he only did this once.

Which brings me to:Freshman year of college. I have no fewer than 9 holes in my ears and decide that it is time to take it to the next step.

When my mother sent me to the UW Madison, she made me promise two things: Don't get anything else pierced, and don't get a tattoo.

So, when Christmas break rolled around and my parents showed up at my dorm room only to have me answer the door with a brand new hole...in my eyebrow...they were less than pleased. My mum burst into tears and my Dad walked away. In an attempt to give them some time to get used to it, I offered the suggestion that maybe they should go eat dinner somewhere without me. My mum's verbatim response: "Why bother. You've already ruined Christmas, you might as well come along and ruin dinner now, too".

After much dramatic flare, as is to be expected with any of the female side of my family, including my grandmother calling me on Christmas Day to ask why I would want to ruin my potential career, I took the damn thing out of my own accord after only 6 months. Well, actually, it was sort of falling out and infected, so it had to be done. The point being, no-one was worse off for the whole thing, and the rest of my life wasn't ruined. My mum will now say that she may have over-reacted to the whole affair.

My point, you might ask? For some reason, my mum thinks tattoos are different. She thinks they are a fad, and in 20 years people will regret getting them.

I completely disagree. I think that the permanent nature of tattoos is exactly what will KEEP them from becoming a fad. Piercings can be taken out, and it is true that I see far fewer body piercings than I did when I was in highschool. A tattoo is forever--it is a permanent history. Something in your life caused you to get this image written or drawn on your body. I have never met anyone with a tattoo that wishes they had not gotten one. Sure, I've met people who will fully admit that they were silly to have gotten that pink teddy bear holding a peace sign on their calf (Bernie) but will never get it removed because it is attached to a part of their lives they never want to forget (being a sniper in the marines).

To me, it is decoration, self-expression. Human's have been decorating themselves for as long as we've been walking, and in many cases, used tattoos to do it. It is slightly ironic to me that certain forms of bodily modification are acceptable, but others aren't--and in a seemingly random decision. It's like how we convince ourselves that, while we will eat chicken and beef on a daily basis, we could never conceive of eating a cat or a dog. Where has this decision come from? Why is it socially unacceptable to some people for others to choose to express themselves with tattoos? I know with the utmost certainty that I will never regret getting my first tattoo. I spent hours thinking about getting it, and drawing up different designs. It means something so important to the way I want to live my life, and now I have a visual reminder for when the going gets tough. I think they are beautiful.

So. That is my thought on the whole thing. What do you think of this (with a few modifications) for my next one. It'll be on my left shoulder blade, about 6 inches from top to bottom. It's the dove of peace, in case that wasn't clear to anyone:

I have no words

2005-10-05T16:31:00.000-04:00

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

RUN NOW. SERIOUSLY. GET UP AND JUST RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.

What is the world coming to. First Britney, then Michele Branch, and now...Katie.

Oh. my. god.

But, on the plus side, this provides me with a perfect segue to a story that Kelly knidly reminded me I have not told yet.

At the Naval base shelter I stayed at, where there were over 1,200 other volunteers, the scientologists every so discretely put a sign up on the Red Cross bulletin board offering 'Free Stress Relief at the Massage Tables in our section'. Ok. Now, when someone offers free stress relief and it involves a massage table, one would most rationally deduce that some sort of, well, massage was part of the offer.

Unless, of course, you are a scientologist.

In which case, you offer a 'nerve assist'. Which consists of a really tall, plastic faced man named Dan who looks like a 1950's TV news anchor frozen in time running his hands up and down your spine three times, then turning you over and doing the same thing to your shoulders.

When he started doing this to me, he said "now, I'm going to keep doing this until you feel better, so make sure you tell me if you do". I resisted the immediate urge to just get up right then. I thought, maybe it'll get better. Maybe it will turn into a free massage.

The worst part about all of this was that the shelter was, at its best, about 99 degrees inside. And there was no sheet or anything on the massage table, so I was literally drenched with sweat. I thought I was going to die. Thoughts of weird alien abductions started to run through my head.

Finally, after the third 'round' of the nerve assist, I told him I felt better. And, of course, he wanted to know WHY!! So this is how I found myself lying through my teeth to a sweaty scientologist on a Naval base in Mississippi and saying things like: "well, we've been under a lot of stress here, and I've been feeling really tense. But all of a sudden I just felt it sort of float away..." "It was as if there was an energy inside my body carrying all the negativity out". Yeah. I'm not kidding. I said that. I know.

I ran. As fast as I could. For the rest of my trip, random scientologists would just sort of appear out of the blue and ask me how I was feeling. One guy stood behind me for almost 5 minutes while I was talking to a Red Crosser, just staring at me, until I finally asked him what he wanted.

Strange.

So I don't like Tom Cruise, and I'm not going to like his alien baby, and I really wonder what sort of drugs they've got Katie on that she's agreeing to all of this.

Am I the only one that remembers that it was rumored to be Tom that couldn't conceive children in the first place? It's an alien, I tell you. AN ALIEN!!!

A little strange

2005-10-05T14:06:00.000-04:00

So I switched my site monitor to Site Meter and now I can see where people are reading this from. And now I know everything about you, bwah hah hah hah...

Ok, not really.

But someone in Madison, Alabama reads my blog. Hi Alabama. What's up?

Of course, now I am obsessed with who these people are.

Tell me, damn it...WHO ARE YOU!!!!

Shhhhhhh

2005-10-05T13:59:00.000-04:00

The Post has run an article today about a 'scantilly clad display manequin' at Tyson's Corner shopping center.

Look, all I'm sayin' is that we should be happy that these little treats aren't on display.

Ick. Ew. No No No.