100 things about me-(in batches of 10, because I've got no blog endurance)

11. My fav. toy of all times was this little knitted, finger-puppet "pickle" that came out of a pinata back when I was in first grade or so. I made that thing clothes, a bed, and a home-all on this knitting machine. My pickle wonderland came to a quick halt when pickle lost one of his google eyes. He was shuttled off to the mystery world where Mom puts things that need mending, and was promptly lost. I pined for that damn thing for a decade and then I took an important call from my parents one day (ya know the kind where they get on speaker phone all at once). They called to tell me that they had located pickle...there was happiness-crying and celebrations into the next month. Well, OK, maybe not (my family has never been the sort to be dramatic), but ever since then pickle's stayed with me, in my pocketbook.
12. I abhorr the smell of crusted, last-night's spaghetti sauce on pans. (Still, doesn't mean that situation doesn't happen....)
13. Scones are my #1 fav. breakfast food. Yummy, bready, sweetness....I will make you any morning and consume you quickly, mmmm...
14. I was in several plays throughout grammar school and highschool and was cast twice as the Little Red-Headed Girl in a dramatization of Charlie Brown. And I *don't* have red hair, to clear up your obvious conclusion.
15. I love my toaster oven. It was one of the few things that I inherited from my Grandmother (whom I didn't actually like because she would give me second-hand presents every year and cook us macaroni and hot dogs on our rare yearly visits with her-even back then I had an idea of what constituted *good* food. One time she gave me toilet seat covers for Christmas.) But, back to the topic at hand: the toaster oven. It is the most flaky appliance that I've run across and has managed to put a roommate or 2 in his place that had previously considered himself a Master Chef. That toaster oven foiled many an attempt at carbon-free toast to the user's great frustration...(Yes, it is not nice of me to laugh at poor frustrated boys needing toast, but I do.)
16. I adore soccer. And soccer boys make me drool and stop communicating in proper English.
17. Mmmm, I also fall for boys who are crafty with words.
18. .....oh, and boys who are in bands. [Note to self: May regret giving away all secrets to quick bedding...but, yum, boys...]
19. Noel and I have precisely the same birthmark in precisely the same location. Weird.
20. I'm an Apple girl. Years of wresting with crabby, bitch-ass PCs has finally converted me to the other side. And damn, I'm much happier there.

The Seemingly Innocuous-Looking Toaster That Can Take Out 6'2 Roommates in One Fell Swoop, Pickle, and My Sleek Machine

The Seemingly Innocuous-Looking Toaster That Can Take Out 6'2 Roommates in One Fell Swoop, Pickle, and My Sleek Machine

Breakthrough Research in Illinois?

It seems that scientists still question the validity of some research that had been produced in Illinois, despite the fact that I (questionable research-generator extraordinaire) have moved on and have stopped adding to that data. Check this out.

.....I especially like the critism: "Hey Mike," LaMott added. "What do sea otters eat? 'Dur, I'm Mike. Sea otters have whiskers that are three inches long. Also, I don't bathe and my jacket is acid-washed.'" Acid-washed. Huh. :) Makes me almost miss the days of being mooned by the hairy-butt Italian kid, having rocks thrown at me by the boy that thought I was cute, and having the girl that sat behind me in math class pinch the top of my hand until it bled. Yeah, *almost*. I mean, there were *some* good things-such as being read Charlotte's web while having fellow schoolgirls brush my hair (man, I'd kill for that now), and our outfits. Of course, I didn't appreciate the power of the plaid school-girl's outfit back then. [wavering sincerity]:Thanks for that, Britney.

Not working again...

My more-clutzy-than-usual inclinations today have resulted in me: a.) hitting my head with the phone while attempting to answer a call and b.) jamming my hip into the metal pokey-piece in the girl's room bathroom stall. Seemingly innocuous activities are having me foiled...How silly.
In other news, props to internet radio for playing Prince's Erotic City (a common instigator of mid-afternoon, office dance breaks.)

Lastly on an unrelated note: Have you ever noticed that "seedless" watermelons are in fact *loaded* with seeds? In fact, they have millions of white, flimsy seeds that are generally harder to pick out than the black kind (and certainly less fun to spit, when having watermelon-seed-spit-wars with your brother. You know the kind-they always start out harmlessly, where it's all about distance, but then suddenly a stray, poorly aimed seed lands on your leg and the war escalates to new levels...) How come white seeds don't count? Huh?

Step into this intimate moment

I think we're making the same face.
Oh, god, she's going to grow up to be a dork.

Last night's fling

Last night was adventure-filled, in the classic BeckyBumblefuck way. One of my favorite Chicago bands was in town (well, sort of, I’m generously including New Haven as “my town”) and I decided that I was going for a listen, with or without accompaniment. So I showed up to Bar a bit after 8 (the posted time the bands were starting) to find that The Reputation would not actually play for at least another 3 hours. I was forced to do the sure-fire thing for unwanted boy attention: sit alone at a bar and drink. The bartender kicked it off by responding to my query about any specials with, “I’m the only very special thing behind this bar [wink].” I was able to dodge any meaningful glances for awhile after that, mostly by intently reading beer descriptions, peeling labels off of bottles, and studying the Toulouse-Lautrec painting that was the art centerpiece, until I was invited to sit with Elizabeth (the band’s frontwoman) and her girlfriends. They were ultracool, and shit-can they order a pizza! Without being hungry, I was soon consuming a clam/bacon/hot pepper pizza, with fresh lime juice squeezed over it. After a bit, they needed a smoke and I soon found myself designated the beer/purse guardian for the table, which simultaneously was a perfect opportunity for the smelliest man in the bar to approach me. Before I knew it, this man’s hand was around my waist and I was being asked over for Turkish coffee, out for Mexican food, and told that I needed to visit his large, seaside Turkish home. Yeah, well. Let me think about it, sir. OK, done. No. Amusingly and randomly, he asked if I was British (not a very good judge of accents, obviously.) Finally, my newly acquired girlfriends returned, (before I had agreed to anything that I would seriously regret in my half-drunker state) and caught the gist of my “save me!” eyes. Unfortunately, this did not completely put off Turkish man, but enough that I felt comfortable. In an effort to avoid unwanted quality time, I rode around in a foreign car delivering one of the girls back home, and then I found myself in the other girl’s architecture office, pondering why I hadn’t chosen that field... AH well. We did finally hear our band and get a nice goodbye hug from the frontwoman. Then I said goodbye to the random girl, Nicholetta, whom I will likely never see again, but whom I will be forever grateful for rescuing me that night. Even she classified the night as, “one to go into the book...” (or blog, as I would have it... ;) ) Oh, and an anti-shoutout to the tall, blonde man-on-the-street who followed up a comment with how beautiful I was with a “Fuck-you” as I continued to walk down the street. Sorry, I wasn’t about to bed you, sir.

Saturday's report

Noel stated early on today that “It not Christmas today. It not Halloween day, either.”

It became quickly obvious that once I was able to get past moving from the bed to relieve my painfully full bladder (about an hour), that I required my favorite morning comfort food. So, I turned on the recently downloaded and especially poignant-to-my-current-feelings songs from itunes, and ramped up to bake scones. Scones are the perfect balance of bread-y texture combined with just enough sweetness, and in this case (of course) chocolate. Comfort was obtained in short measure. I had done well: the three-year-old crammed the entire pastry in her little mouth in record time. It was helpful, as I was facing a solidly grey, rainy day. The weather was terrible, and although I’d conscientiously left work in a good state of affairs, free to adventure without the burden clouds of impending medical papers on disfiguring diseases, my plans had prematurely evaporated-before the weekend even kicked into high gear-meaning that I was free and clear to enjoy milling about. Which I did, I might add. I drifted around the internet, did the slackest workout tape that I had available, and didn’t manage to make it out of the PJs until about 4 in the afternoon. Noel and I then went *out*. Hit the aquarium, a burrito place, a book store, and a grocery shop. Whew. Of note: was the graceless exit from the bookstore with the classic fall, flat-on-your-face, by Noel. Her complaint” “My eyebrows are hurt! I need a doctor!” A distraction of some lemonade, worked just as well. The night was a hit all around, made by a single brilliant suggestion at the end of the shopping. I grabbed some chocolate donuts, to which my child starting cheering, “woo-hoo!”, loudly and then gave me a high five. Good on Mom for that one.

Internet bliss

See how 2 people *perfect* for each other (and likely unwanted by anyone else in the world) can find each other because of the wonders of the internet?
I found happiness through the internet, he says...
(God, this is disturbing!!)

P.S. Is this in poor taste to post this where my *internet* buddies will view it? Suddenly a wave of distrust ripples through the readers...
(Luckily, I *look* innocuous.)
:)

Being Poped

Yesterday, I cavalierly said:
"Well, it was hard to let everybody down, but I had to bow out of the running (which caused major confusion: hence the initial black smoke). Instead, they had to go with the second choice: the German Doberman (or was it some other mean breed that the British press compared Ratzinger to?)
:)
It would have cramped my style, anyways."
Well, my British expert, Lever, helped me out (although, I'm *sure* he doesn't read the tabloids... ;) ) It was actually a Rotweiler that Ratzinger was compared to. (Aside: I adore British tabloids: they're so fuckin funny and generally spot-on!)
Then:
Keeefer said...
"Tough Luck BBFK,
Ya know girls aren’t allowed to play. These dresses are strictly men only.....do you think his bum looks big in that?....he really should get it taken in at the sides the whole billowy things so last century. On the plus side if you took the incense out of the burner it would make a good handbag."

Unfortunately, I haven't seen any good ass shots of Ratzinger, so I can't gauge. Maybe he's trying to hide something...

But after all this commentary I feel compelled to open up to you, my internet buds.
That's right. I haven't been completely honest with you. There's another reason why I was put out of the running for being Poped, and it wasn't just because I turned 'em down.

There have been 2 incidences of note that I am going to reveal to you here in confidence, that one may label as "detrimental" to my being poped.

1.) I had a car accident in a church parking lot. OK, and this is something that I have a hard time admitting to, pretty much because I like to promote the idea that I'm a good driver, and in part because I hit a non-moving vehicle. OK, yeah, that's right-yuck it up. I hit a fucking parked car. Even better, no one was around at the time (well, at least visible) and after inspection of the car in question (which seemingly had nothing wrong with it), I decided to be done with the situation and leave. Now, in my defense, I was driving the family vehicle: a giant van, and I rarely drove anything at that young, time in my life-so I was very inexperienced.
Well, as it happens, a woman had been spying from the window of the rectory, and didn't bother coming out to aid, as I looked quizzically around for help with the situation. Also, I was a good little girl, and was spending the weekend volunteering for the church's fund raising fair (as I did every summer), so of course I returned later for the rest of the evening. You could imagine my surprise when I was accosted by a police officer who needed to talk to me, as I was trying to run the bean-bag throw game of the kiddie booth. I was taken aside and told that I was being charged with a hit-and-run violation and at the ripe age of 18, would likely never drive again. Fortunately, the *good* police officer saw the ridiculousness of the situation (blazingly, fucking obvious when you consider the lack of ANY damage to either vehicle-I had been parked and was going 2-5 miles per hour at collision-and the fact that I was young, naive, and confused about how to deal.) He spoke with this old bitchy, religious snob who kept telling me that "She would pray for me and my errant ways" as I sobbed out "I'm sorry" over and over. He got the woman to not press charges.
And yes, that really did happen, as did this next story:

2.) My brother was a good little Catholic boy and spent time in servitude every Sunday, as an altarboy. One especially late mass: I believe it was a midnight Christmas mass, he was left in charge of cleaning up. Any good Catholic knows that the steps involved includes extinguishing all the candles, dumping the incense, returning the props (crosses, etc.) to their storage spaces. Well, he did it all, he just didn't actually make sure that the incense was completely extinguished before throwing it in the wastebasket.
We got a call at 4am in the morning that the church was burning. Yes. That. Is. Right. *MY* adorable brother (who hasn't been excommunicated yet, surprisingly) burnt down the church. I remember a year-long period or more where we were forced to celebrate mass in the gym, while the church was being reconstructed. Oh, and there's a little fond memory in there of becoming nauseous during some particularly long sermon and puking in the toilet down the hall from the gym. (The church made me sick quite regularly-generally it just involved fainting spells, but occasionally, there was puking as well.)

But anyways, that there’s the truth. Oh, and why I wasn’t picked to be Pope, although I had Ratzinger beat on cuteness by a mile.

Fuckin' lists, aye? (Sorry, couldn't help m'self.)

5 Reasons why I would NOT want to be Pope:
1.) Um, duh. No sex.
2.) Riding in the Pope-mobile would completely blow. I *adore* long walks. I’d certainly get fat with that kind of treatment. ;)
3.) Shapeless outfits. Why bother having a curvy figure?
4.) People laying prostrate at your feet. I mean, it would get old and dysfunctional quickly. Take this example. The hair has been lacking its usual luster and shine from product buildup. I think, “Time to grab me some new shampoo.” I run around the corner to the Rome Quick-Mart for a little purchase. Suddenly, I’m tripping over my papal robes due to some block in the aisle. And there, ya go, the mart worker went all prostrate, again. Didn’t we go over this the last time I stopped by for a quick smoke and lifesavers? I’m thinking “I was only trying to buy some shampoo for god’s sake- get off the freakin’ corner store floor, buddy.”, but end up having to bless the dude and touch some nasty-ass sores that he thinks my touch will cure AND be sincere while doing it. Bugger that shit.
5.) Early morning mass with multitudes of old women-that-have-withered-into-grapes, as my way to start the day. I’d rather sleep in, thank you.


5 Reasons why I would definitely want to be Pope:
1.) Freaky, clandestine sex.
2.) Hanging with the Dali Lama.
3.) Job security.
4.) Having people take you seriously when making statements that would have the lay person committed. “I spoke with god last night and...”
5.) It’d be much easier to get my own radio show.

100 things about me-(in batches of 10, because I've got no blog endurance)

21. I adore the word "ameliorate". I've unsuccessfully tried to slip it's usage into every one of my medical manuscripts, thus far, but have been thwarted *every* damn time! Someone in editing has it in for that word....
22. The worst car I've ever owned was a "gift" from my cousin. It reeked of pot and was plastered with Dead stickers and quickly came to its demise within a year of my ownership. It was yellow and was called a "citation." WTF?! You know that nothing good is going to come of a car named after a violation.
23. I wore a floor length white dress and carried a dozen red roses at my high school graduation, celebrated at the luxurious Eastman theater (along with my ~90 classmates). I got the French award (but see if I can speak it now....?!) at the ceremony and some others that were apparently insignificant, as I don't recall them now.
24. The first CD that I ever owned was Jane Wiedlin, solo. Not a good start, but I've rebounded well...
25. I wanted to be a nun, when I grew up. (Man I was brainwashed.) Then I wanted to be a librarian. If you want to consider me "grown up" now- I ended up being maybe a mixture of both: a scientist. :)
26. My fav Dr. Seuss is Green Eggs and Ham.
27. I've kissed a girl or 2.
28. The first guy I kissed was named Mike Hunt (and if you read into that, then you're getting too much meaning out of it.)
29. I had a distant, young relative that was decapitated when her mother drove under a tractor trailor truck.
30. I had a French man try to put his hand up my thigh in Paris. While on an escalator. He was promptly slapped.

Pre-wedding sampler

Here we are, all gussied-up and ready to go "dance with the Princess"
(Princess = code word for bride.) There was much debate over the
dress that I was wearing...did it require a slip, or was it not *that*
see-through? My Dad voted 100% "Yes, a slip is required" and my Mom
took me on the classic mother-daughter department-store outing to
procure the required garment.
I figured that was a good enough present to the bride: not having to
view my underwear on her wedding day (I mean really: I didn't get her
nuthin' : she married some rich exec and became religious- she can
pray for a new sauce-pan if the hubby gets stingy with the cash.)

The wedding itself went fine enough, except for the fact that the
groom blubbered the whole damn time. It was sorta cute, but quickly
turned to embarrassing after the first 10 minutes. I felt like I was
witnessing some intimate bedroom moment or something-I guess I
wouldn't make a good voyeur.
The reception did not differentiate itself from any other reception
that I've attended, except for when Noel locked herself in the
bathroom stall. Luckily, the open-bar encouraged me to take
everything in stride that night.

Upstate NY

This is where I came from. (OK, I didn't actually just form from the
land and water, I'm sure I was made in the classic way-but you get the
picture.)

Sometimes it's hard to decide what to wear.

Cultural differences?

Huh. Does this seem out of the boundaries of what is OK, or is it *just* me?

The Bronz Zoo, NYC

The Three-Year-Old's Exclamation at the time: "I'm hatching!"

100 things about me-(in batches of 10, because I've got no blog endurance)

31. I can tie a knot with a cherry stem, hands-free, tongue-only.
32. My thumbs are double-jointed and I have slippery knuckles.
33. I have the tongue curler gene.
34. I sing loudly in the car to the radio. (Embarrassing admission: Especially to the Backstreet Boys-(defensive, sheepish, whiny voice)-their songs are perfect for my voice range!) This has caused occasions where high school girls have made fun of me out of the back windows of their minivans. You *know* that's a serious low.
35. I can get turned on watching a boy assemble/fix a computer. Especially if he has good hands.
36. I am agnostic. But Catholicism is so deeply ingrained in me, that I am easily guilted and I constantly find myself thinking things like, "Dear god, please let _______ happen...." (fill in the blank with wish of the day)
37. I have only lived in states that vote Democratic.
38. My favorite song as a kid: "You are my sunshine", my favorite movie: "Tron." (I can't watch it now however, because now it seems cheesy as fuckin' hell.)
39. I don't know how to use makeup. (And therefore don't bother.)
40. I've dated 2 boys that tried to kill or injure themselves (poorly) while dating me. (Should I read into this?)

Excuses, excuses.

Between blogger continuing to be a bitch, my brother in town, and all the hot action that I've been getting (I had to include that last one because whether it's true on not, it's offcially the ONLY excuse that my friends will accept for poor communication.) "You better have been getting laid, since you didn't pick up the phone..."
In the meantime, I had the first *real* highschool ATTITUDE-laden girl in for tutoring (and yes, I appreciate that it took this long for it to happen!) She was the classic, snotty, eye-rolling type, full of contempt for the chemistry that we were studying and possibly me, for being part of the process. An attempt at small talk: (cue:her baby-doll concert t-shirt) Me: "So, you like the Strokes?" Her: "They're all right. I saw them in Central Park and it was cool." Me: "Some of them are pretty cute!" Her:" Not to me." It was a long hour. Looking forward to next week's contempt-fest.
Anyways, I can't stand being SO out of the blog-loop. Sorry, you lovelies...

Art noveau? Blogger spasm!

So the "white phase" was not an intentional artistic statement. It you had tried to click onto the eat thesse crumbs blogland in the last 2 days, you'll know what I mean: you were presented with a fully blank page. Now, maybe I should claim it to be my April Fool's contribution to 2005, but to be honest-it wasn't. (Although I *had* pondered the standard, "oh, my god, I'm pregnant!" April Fool. Even though the circumstances of having my darling girl were not the classic highschool dropout pregnancy, she was certainly not planned either. I had been dating her father for a solid 3 months when it happened, and although I was 29 and an inch away from a PhD, it was a certain shock to the people around me. So, April Fooling people with the surprise pregnancy scenario would *completely* work with the Noel precedent. The kicker would be that I'm not even *dating* someone currently... I decided it would have been too mean, though.) Anyways, the white page thang was a blogger snapfu. It was not even user-induced...I had NOT been fiddling with the ugly-template situation. It was just a spontaneous freak, blogger being a piss-ant. And although I liked my new blog-stylings (even though I still needed to wrangle my sidebar) it was not worth waiting around for the blogger helpdesk to respond to my sad pleas for help (little timid, squeak: help! help!)
Anyways, so that brings us to now, and my usual background. Maybe work will stop actually requiring me to *work" for a bit, and I'll be able to commit some serious brain-time to troubleshooting the blog. 'Til that dream happens....