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

51. My little bro calls me Beck-A-Buck.
52. I used to do research with some cool, microscopic worms (called C. elegans). They can be frozen at -80 degrees Celcius, thawed, and they'll still squirm. They survived the space shuttle crash and the scientists that pioneered C. elegans' usage as a model system, got the Nobel prize. I like those worms.
53. Fall is my favorite season. The Autumn trees in New England...(sigh). Lovely...
54. I adore the thought of getting married in the Chicago Aquarium. 'Course I'm likely not going to do it myself, so I need to convince someone to invite me to their wedding there. Oh, and I'd prefer that it's a Jewish wedding, BTW. (-because the 1/4 Jewish wedding that I attended recently, has me wanting more...it was also a bit Catholic, but mostly agnostic and slightly Irish.) I'll let you know if I think up any more demands for this event, like when I'm free for you to hold it.
55. I like liverwurst. (German, a little?)
56. I can't ice skate or whistle.
57. In 7th grade, I had "Like a Virgin" dedicated to me at a roller-rink party.
58. All through grade school, I was painfully shy. As in, if a boy looked in my direction, my face surpassed red and went straight to a purple color. I can still occasionally break out in hives under a particularly stressful social situation. (It's always fun having some itchy rash that looks contagious, come out 'specially for public appearances.)
59. I camped just about *every* season of every year for the first 13 years of my life. Tents, cabins, open-air, you name it.
60. Quality time with certain lovely friends-of-mine, combined with a little hootch, will induce me to dance on bar stools.

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

61. My parents used to call me Picklelady, because of my affinity for olives (just seeing if you were paying attention, really: pickles.)
62. I used to play a mean clarinet. (Is that an oxymoron?)
63. I sometimes cry reading the news.
64. I adore bubbletea. (But apparently live in a very uncultured area, because, goddammit, there's none to slurp (and chew) around here. BTW, how could you *not* adore a drink that has you sucking and chewing simultaneously, and requires a specialized straw for consumption?)
65. As a child, I was a *complete* bookworm. My 2 favorite topics to devour were WWII history books/biographies and vampire novels. Really, they're kind of related topics... ;)
66. The only thing I've ever shown an allergy to, was a concoction that I formulated myself. I was one of those tomboys who played in the dirt regularly and waded around in streams catching frogs, tadpoles, and any other slimy, moving creature that caught my fancy. Anyways, a mixture of pine needles, sand, water, and weeds/flowers (it's an eye-of-the-beholder-thing) induced a nice, itchy, rash one day, when I was quite young. (Although part of that was a lie-I think there was a man or two in my past that caused me to break out in hives, without ever touching me.)
67. Joss Whedon rocks.
68. As a Disney princess, I'd be Belle.
69. I'm a plant-girl (and for more than peeing on them (see #98).
70. I had a paper route for 4 years as a child, and saved up enough money to go to Paris and Madrid.

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

71. I become shy in crowds.
72. The words marriage/engagement/Las Vegas have left the lips of 5 guys, in reference to me.
73. I play a mean game of Battleship. No, really, bring it on, 'cause you're goin' DOWN (with your battleship and cruiser and...)!
74. My best friend and I have taken off our shirts in the late night hours and hung out of a car on a busy, drunken street, in the name of public radio. (No *really* there is a connection there...)
75. I DJ'd a radio show on a community radio station for 6 years. It was called chicknrock and it was all about *girl* artists.
76. I have had my portrait done in chalk, on Montmartre, in Paris.
77. My fav. visual artists are Henri de Toulouse Lautrec and Escher.
78. Catch-22 is my all-time fav. book. It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry. Who needs homonal fluctuations to be manic?
79. Baking is in my genes (Although, they haven't precisely identified the chromosomal location of that trait, yet-I can tell you I have a kick-ass copy.)
80. When I visit my brother, he always welcomes me with: "Here's some blankets, here's a couple towels, oh, and here's the chocolate..."

Amusement's just around the corner...

Have you ever been waiting on the corner for the light to turn green when a boy in his souped up car sidles up and gives you a glance? And then follows that up by promptly cranking his R-and-B-style base so that your jaw is vibrating? And when it's his turn to go, he revs his engine and zooms around the corner?
Fucking amusing, I'd say.

I have one word for you: spring.

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

81. You could eat off my floors (but don't...I'd have to scrub alot afterwards.)
82. I've done a naked run.
83. I interviewed (and hugged) Liz Phair.
84. I've had a band crash at my place (and appreciate not having to wash at the local Kinko's)
85. Mia Hamm is my hero.
86. I've fallen in love in Kyoto.
87. I have had a band dedicate a song to me before performing it.
88. It would be hard for me to choose between being Trinity (The Matrix) or Celine (Underworld) if I could be a movie character.
89. I would pick invisibility as my superpower. Or maybe time warping...
90. I've lectured 300-level biochemistry to a class of 90 students for an entire semester. (They called me "Prof"). I also kicked a guy out of an exam in that class for cheating. He failed the course.

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

91. My best friend and I dated the same man.
92. My 3-year-old likes to tell me that we're married (and I almost agree with her.)
93. I love double entendres and prodigious words. :)
94. I've eaten a live, fresh-from-the-stream-minnow, on a dare.
95. I eat red twinkies when I'm *really* depressed. (It's like a death wish.)
96. All the stitches I've ever gotten, have been for wounds inflicted by a softball, and have been on my face.
97. I got trophies for being the best at different subjects, throughout highschool.
98. In second grade I peed near a plant because I couldn't hold it any longer, and then blamed the puddle on a leaking plant. (which other people cleaned up)
99. I was a band geek.
100. I have been mooned 3 times in my life that I can recall: twice during gradeschool gymclass, and once while *trying* to eat custard at the fav., local, hotspot in Champaign-Urbana.

Saturday night action

The choices were laid out before me: "regular action" or "gentle action." Neither descriptor was provocative; neither were what I really wanted. But, with the meager selection at hand, "regular" was deemed better than none at all. Regular would do the deed; it would certainly get the job done, while none would be wasteful and feckless. So, I made my choice.

In reality, these were telling of the big picture: either no action or self action. Because really, studying the labels on the buttons of a washing machine on a Saturday night suggests that one's likely bored and lonely.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The upsurge of sex posts has not escaped my notice. I think it's the break in the cold weather, the upsurge of sunshine. Spring is coming soon, and with it the instinctual curious interests and stolen glances that happen between boys and girls of all species. Hello spring (fling).

The underbelly that makes me sick

----------------------------------Thursday-----------------------------------------
The seedy, pasty underbelly of the pharmaceutical industry was hanging out today, in fact it was right in my face. This is what happened.
So, I write educational pieces for doctors. These publications end up in medical journals and are supposed to educate doctors on the current information available for a disease, as well as the treatments.
Bad sign #1: Pharmaceutical companies sponsor the publication of these pieces.
So, there's all kinds of regulations and rules about who has input into the writing and how the papers are put together, in an effort to truly make the writing fair, balanced, and educational. Otherwise, they become a sleazy form of advertising, the faux educational publication.
That's the background, the setup for the ugly scene that I dealt with today.
Somehow I managed to find myself on a conference call with the CEO of the company that was sponsoring my current manuscript. Yow, the whole conversation was all kinds of *inappropriate*! The CEO tried to tell me how to word the description of the competitor's product (I shiver at the sleaze, just thinking about it.) And then to compound the terrible conversation, he concluded our little talk by a little super-sleaze banter. He lamented the cold weather and and exclaimed his love for sweat-inducing temperatures, as that would drive a need for his product. The bastard was basically wishing rashes on people. I don't even wish rashes on ex-boyfriends, so to me, this is terrible.

-----------------------------------Friday--------------------------------------------
Today the CEO called back to apologize for his ignorance in a technical matter that we had debated about. It was completely an "I was wrong, you were right" voice mail. Ha.
And just to reaasure you, I didn't stand down on the manuscript matter. My sentences will stay as written.
Signing off,
becky, righteous guard of medical knowledge

The half wink-grimace

So, this the expression that I get when I tell my girl to smile.

Girl Escapades and Freaky Work

Oooo, my it's been too long. That's of course because of a solid, concerted attempt not to let work seep into my blog, and since work has been all-consuming of my time, thoughts, and energy, it means no BBFK posts. Bugger work. I mean really. I've been assigned a project with a woman who’s 2 steps away from the funny farm. She likes to vacillate between telling me that I’m doing an excellent job and cursing me for the shite I’ve written. It can wear on me. We had a yelling match yesterday. I think that I won (if you can call it that.)

So here’s the special medical research nugget I fished out today. If I understand right, this little gem is pretty much every man’s dream therapy. Here goes. People who have injuries to their spinal cords often have associated problems, like leg spasms, for example. Well. some clever (male) scientist out there dreamed up a therapy (had a masturbation epiphany) to reduce leg spasms (i.e. take a boys mind off of his troubles.) An entire clinical trial was set up to investigate PVS or penile vibratory stimulation as a means to stop leg spasms. I don’t have the full download on how they perform this: if there’s a clinician there to vibrate you while another person monitors your leg, or if they fit you with a PPV: portable penis vibrator: because really, you don’t want to spasm while you’re out on the town (OK, I made that part up-there’s no PPV-but the rest is all true, I swear!)

Tonight is the 1st night in weeks that work didn’t wriggle its way into my bookbag. (sigh of relief) And, I know that I must be getting back into form because I managed to laugh off a little freak-out, mid-road crossing this evening. Noel and I had been playing eye-spy during a piggy-back walk between the babyschool and my workplace. While crossing a busy, dangerous Westport intersection, my adorable 32-pound baby decided to throw a small tantrum over chocolate donuts. She *needed* one immediately and handling the current lack of donut situation was enough to cause a girl to throw a fit. So she did. She flailed around on my back and yelled "CHOCOLATE DONUTS!" (Apparently, just a little more volume and body contortion would make donuts appear. And really, I was quite a terrible Mom for not producing them immediately; I shouldn't be such a tease.) To be young and demanding, again…god that made me sound 50.

The upswing continued as the evening progressed. I had one of those silly, giggly girl moments in the tutoring office, tonight. A very cute, smart boy with sideburns touched me *twice*. And by "touched' I mean one of those specific, very intentional touches combined with a meaningful glance and words (which were completely lost on me...) We passed each other two times in about a minute and a half and *both* times his hand was on my shoulder....mmmmm....

Dun, dunt. Dun, dunt. Dun, dunt, dunt....

Dun, dunt. Dun, dunt. Dun, dunt, dunt....

Other people's sex

My upstairs neighbor took her sex elsewhere this weekend. I saw her run out the door with a
suitcase yesterday morning. But now my mind's been revolving around my experiences with other people's sex....

Several years back, I had a roommate that was very, very dirty. And he would take things and put
them in odd places. He was gone that year over Thanksgiving break, while I decided to host a
feast for my friends. Well, in the middle of foodprep, I realized that I needed my can opener, but was
completely unable to locate it in all the usual places (i.e. the kitchen.) I had to resort to searching the
dirty-man's room, and man, was I sorry. The highlight of that little foray was taking a gander under his bed
and finding a pile of used condoms that would have kept all of South Africa safe for a month. (Small
props to him for not procreating some dirty little children....) At that point I concluded that even if I *had*
been able to locate the can opener, the required sterilization process would have been too involved(besides I couldn't hold my breath in that *stank* room any longer). It was never found.
Instead, the thing that was blatantly *in my face* was a horrendous monstrosity that the dirty roommate told
himself was a fountain. Yeah, well, anyone in their right mind would instead have identified it as a jumble of rocks inappropriately located in a living room and and primed to either a.) stub your toe, b.) wreak major water damage
havok on the poor, unsuspecting housemates below, c.) induce regular trips to the bathroom by the power of suggestion
of the trickle of water, or d.) kill someone when it fell through the 2 floors below. Had I *mentioned* that this "art"
was made of several concrete cinder blocks and a collection of other obtuse rocks? (I know* you're thinking,
"Well, with components like that, how could it NOT be art?" Uh,...Right.) Yes, not only was it UGLY, but it was also
extremely unwieldy and impossible to make disappear. Just thinking about it makes me miss the dirty man, um,
I mean miss the $150 bucks that the dirty man, to this day, still owes me. (He was a roommate low.)

Passin' you a note

Oh man how dare blogger ruin my social li....oops...I mean ruin the comment section *just* before the weekend. ;)
I'm destined to be home-bound EVEN more than usual, 'cause my girl's got an ear infection. And then there's the insidious job situation. I'm still in a manuscript HELL and medical writing has seemingly usurped my life. I haven't watched a non-cartoon DVD in a week and a half. Bugger all that.
So this is my sad little group-email way of sending a shout out to all the lovelies that I've tried to comment on their sites (you *know* who you are) and have been thwarted. You're all adorable and clever.
BBFK

Focus girl...what's really important is....

Have you ever tried to have a serious argument with your boy(girl)friend, while the upstairs neighbors were having wild, raucous sex? It really ruins the moment. Here you are trying to have it out, while all you can hear is Ooooo, mmmm, yessss....
More significantly it makes you highly confused. The logical part of your brain try’s desperately to compose an argument, while the rest of you starts to miss the point. Because, what the fuck? Will this *talk* get you any nearer to where you want to be (in bed, making it)? (And will they ever come, damn it?) I mean will your boyfriend ever *understand* the stress that you’re dealing with daily (when, oh! oh!) and the constant (huh, huh, huhhhh…) worries that you have about money? And the (eeee! eee! Eeee!) times that you came off as mean were just (OOO, OOO, Ooooooo) your self defenses acting up because you (his turn: mmmm, huh.) were worried that you subconsciously (yesssss….) liked him too much? (Didn’t she already *have* her turn?) Uunh, mmph, yesss…(tap, tap, tap, pound….) What was I saying? (Did they just break something?) Oh, yeah I was mad….do you remember about what?

Unfairly, it’s happening again. Although, substitute a fight with a manuscript on spinal cord injuries, in for the boyfriend.

Me, boiled down

This seems about right. And it is nicely expressed from a positive perspective, so "yay, me" according to this little survey.

cellpadding=2>

style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'> Your Love Number is

1   You tend to be a stubborn lover, holding your ground in every argument You take your time falling in love. You aren't the type to lose perspective. You are loyal (to a fault), and you require the same loyalty in your sweetheart. At your best, you are a wise and inspiring partner - who sticks around.

What Is Your Love
Number?

Furthermore, what this *really* means:

You can be a bitch and always like to win an argument
You tend to be defensive and self-protective. It is hard for you to fall for someone, because you don't like to let people in.
It is hard for you to get over anyone whom you've invested time in. You have high expectations for the people that you date.
At your worst, you are critical and can drive people away with your silly requirements of life, including a need for balance and equality.

Bam! How'd ya like to date me now? ;)

BBFK

A little OCD, Switzerland?

OK, and not that I'm one to laugh and point fingers at people that
clean a little too much (and yes it is *definitely* possible to do,
because who's ever said, "Man I had the most *rockin* weekend
polishing the fixtures in the bathroom" or "She was really a great
woman: we ate dinner off her floors sometimes, simply because we
*could.*" The stuff you really look back and appreciate in your
memories generally has to do with great relationships, delicious
foods, unique adventures, profound books, and amazing music. It looks
like Switzerland- yup, the *entire* country- needs a bit of a reality
check. Just look here.

(And it is worth reading to the end, as our lovely correspondent Imogen, has a finely tuned sense of humor.)
My response: Try and Rock out a little, Switzerland. It may do ya some good. (I
mean if the Brits imply that you're stuffy....) ;)

Weekend doldrums

Evidence that I clean myself.
Or at least that I get half naked and the mirror foggy.

P.S. The camera-on-the-head-trick really can give you a nice shot. ;)

It's decided

You Belong in the UK

Blimey! A little proper, a little saucy. You're so witty and charming... No one notices your curry breath

What English Speaking Country Do You Belong In?

Noel set me up

"inconspicuous" was precisely *not* what last night's shopping experience was. The buggy (or cart to those not in the know) that Noel set her heart on had the endearing shape of a car, but the sound of a full-sized dumpster being rolled through a reverberating hall. God damn that thing could make a racket while taking out tall, precarious piles of nonperishable foodstuffs with the inconspicuous, very-pokey wire jutting from its side. I tried to counter my embarrassment at attracting so much attention with an extra-large grin. And anyone that knows me can attest that this is NOT my style. I'm the kind of girl who trys to avoid buying clacky shoes (hense my very sensible sneaker purchase earlier today.) In my reincarnation, I am becky bumblefuck , lovely, *secret* detective. Ah, to go unnoticed whilst soaking in my surroundings...sounds perfect.

Match rant (again)

So I had mentioned that I had been on match as a novel approach (for
me) for meeting boys. Then I tried it for a bit (OK, about 2-3
weeks), and decided that it wasn't my style, and tried to cancel my
membership. Well. My attempt to cancel the membership was thwarted
by a very nice, verbose, well-intentioned black lady and here I am
today still getting emails and winks and such. I just feel less
guilty about not replying at this point- I mean I made an honest
attempt at bailing from their site. But on the plus side:
Sometimes getting on match is good for some great laughs. Today it
was inspired by a guy whom I had some email communications with in the
past, who got kinda strange and then I just stopped responding to him.
He winked at me again today. How fucking random. Maybe he had
forgotten that we'd communicated in the past, or maybe he hope'd that
I'd forgotten we had communicated before? Um, whatever.

And another guy who winked at me, described himself as "STD-free" in
the first line of his personal description and then reiterated it a couple of times in the following sentences.
My reaction:(whispery voice) "Oh, what a *dream*boat..."(trailing off)
(What kind of low fucking standards do you think girls have these
days? Um, yes, we may not be looking for a guy that will dance with
us and go to sappy chick-flicks, any more, but "lack of crusty sores
on penis" is still not in the top 5 wish list for a date. That sort
of thing is just ASSUMED. Any diseased men, NEED NOT APPLY, thank
you.)

Romance *is* dead in some places

And this would be my nightmare man...

Yow, what a terrible revelation:
"being smelly was not a valid reason for divorce in Iran".
Maybe not, but I'm sure it is reason to (oops) poison the man, so that his rank body could be permanently removed.

My view, this weekend.

My view, this weekend.

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home….

It dribbled snow the entire time I was in Rochester, but the streets were clear and the driving just fine. But if you had asked any of the residents about the weather, they wouldn’t have even realized that there had been a bit of snow falling from the sky, a water-laden cloud must be parked over their head dumping its contents for a Rochestarian to be struck by the weather. Seriously though, when asked, residents said that they’re expecting snow on Tuesday (The cute flakes drizzling out of the sky, and icing the ground every couple of hours, didn’t count.)
The weather-necessitated, salt-laden roads, combined with the excessive canyons in every street and highway, make Rochester the perfect place to be a car dealer/mechanic. You’ll be guaranteed loads of return business. Luckily as your wheels are dipping into another portion of the earth’s crust while you’re simply trying to meet up with your friend at a local pub, you can totally rock out to an amazing radio station. 90.5, WBER, “the only station that matters”. And really they’re not just arrogant pricks, they’re damn right. (And this is coming from a former DJ.)

My family, my fam. First of all my Mom is so NOT helping with my dating prospects. She went to the bank and happened upon a grammar school classmate of mine, that was one of the rare few that actually pursued a higher education. He started quizzing her about me and then finally came out with, “So is she married?” And my lovely, darling Mom responded, “Well, she’s separated.” Um, huh? The one person that you would expect to disseminate true information, just implied that not only had I been married, but in fact, am still married and likely embroiled in some sticky, suboptimal situation. Bugger that!! I’ve never agreed to walk down the isle with ANY man. (Although my 3-yr-old keeps telling me that we’re married, and the speech bubble above my head sarcastically agrees with the truth in that statement.) But anyways, if you can’t expect that your Mom is going to exaggerate a little to make you seem like the most loveable, adorable creature floating across this earth, then who can you expect that from? At this point, I’ll just settle for the raw truth, because that would sound better than what slips out of her mouth, it seems….grumble, grumble… Maybe she was just pondering as I did, that the school mate in question had cruised though grammar school, with his forefinger deeply buried in his nose (except for when it came out to deposit his brownish-green find in his mouth.) Yow, I’m grossed out just pondering it…I must have seen that boy pick his nose hundreds of times a year, for 7 years straight.
Secondly, my family has horrible taste in restaurants. In their perfect world, they would be buffet-eatin’ daily. Having spent 2 full days in my home town, I’ve consumed food at one Chinese buffet and one buffet breakfast place. Oh, god, the grease-sins that I have committed against my insides. I’m surprised a revolt hasn’t been staged by my tummy.
And just to give you another little taste of home, the Christmas tree is still being displayed in the front enclosed porch. (Although, my Mom cutely explained that they had turned on the Christmas lights *just for me.* Whew, that had been my *major* concern; the fact that it was almost March and a Christmas tree present *at all* in the house might have escaped my notice.) Oh, and there’s only one wrecked car in the driveway, however, and to be fair, the accident that totaled it was a mere 2 weeks back.
And that there is a little sampling of my trip home. It had been avoided for the previous 4 years completely. My memory was jogged as to why, but still, quality time with my fam was worth it; I miss them already.

I don't know *when* I'm going to die, but I do know *where*

Arrrgh! [growl of frustration]
I just returned from my walk down the block to purchase a *longer* shirt (see midriff post, yesterday). During that walk I was finally able to experimentally confirm that the most expensive county to live in, in the United States is also (drum roll, please...there's about to be some very shocking news revealed here) full of the most fucking self absorbed twits. Ok, so that's not too surprising. I would still like to present my new evidence. About a month ago, a man in an SUV making a right on red hit me and my daughter. *Lightly* hit, but I was still pretty shaken up. *Today*, a woman in an SUV came a couple of dangerous inches away from hitting me as I walked *in the pedestrian crosswalk* across the street. She started her parked vehicle and decided to pull out without, hmmm, without, I don't know, OPENING HER FUCKING EYES?! There's really no excuse! What? She needs a better view or something? She had the biggest SUV available, already! She gave me one of those pouty, "But what did I DO?" looks (which never works on other women) and when I ignored her and stomped across the street, she rolled down her window and yelled "sorry." I didn't even give her a glance. Self-involved bitch. I guess it's a good sign that I'm getting really pissed off these days at the thought of death by stupidity. And not my own stupidity, mind you.

Gates, Schmates

I made the trek into the city this weekend to view The Gates. Simply
put, my reaction to The Gates was "I wouldn't pay $ to see it."
Luckily, *I* didn't have to.
Seriously, I think that, in order to really appreciate The Gates, they
should have built a tower to view them from above. Certainly, as you
walked beneath each one individually, it was NOT impressive; an arial
view might have made it a little bit more worthwhile.  (Although,
likely not $19 million dollars-worthwhile.)

Admittedly, the pictures aren't amazing, but then look what I had to work with.

Gates, Schmates

Becky "Law-Breaker" Bumblefuck

Work was more amusing today than usual, and not just because I was extraordinarily sleep-deprived. The BAD-ASS that I am, got in trouble for an exposed midriff. Although, today was not *actually* when the infraction occurred. (I think that they've been saving up this one for a little while, like a skunked beer in the back of the fridge.) Of course, maybe I shouldn't claim that, as I am generally pretty oblivious to the state of my shirt. I can tell you that it hadn't slunk up over my eyes for example, but otherwise, it's not something I generally monitor. The funny thing is that I'm not exactly strutting my shit all over the halls, picking up the non-existent male co-workers. Rather, I sit holed up in the last office at the end of the farthest hall, plunking away at my keyboard, rarely emerging for a water break or trip to the generally nasty toilet. Maybe I entered a schizophrenic state last week and turned myself in for "yet another day of unneccessarily pale tummy in full view"; otherwise I'm kinda confused about how it was bothering anyone. I promised to "be more diligent about monitoring my shirts in the future..."

On an unrelated note, despite a covered midriff, I *must* have looked like a hobo today. Following workday close, I hoisted Noel onto my back and did the treacherous block walk. A woman expressly pulled her car over to ask if we needed a ride. I refused. I actually *like* to *walk* regularly, although I guess other people only do it in cases of hardship.

The offending midriff

Moi,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

Now this is *real* science...

I am 11% White Trash.

I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

I know I'll be itching before the end...

My blog has suffered from poison ivy dermatitis (well, at least my writing frequency has), and no *I'm sure* it's not contagious. Really you wouldn't want to read what I've been reading. The last sentence, that is still ringing in my ears, as well, read: "crusting plaque noted on the right breast." Come now, major eeeeehyew [Valley girl intonation]!

But I have gotten to delve into the wacky world of kook-medicine.
Check this out:
In Korea, in order to cure gastrointestinal upset or even just give an overall boost to your health, traditional folk medicine recommends ingesting lacquer. OK, so if that didn't just hit you over the head with YUCK!, let me spell it out for you. "Lacquer" is a substance used to coat wooden bowls (and other such objects) to give a shiny finish. If that didn't start your mouth buds watering, then let me just add that this tantalizing treat also contains the same substance that induces poison ivy rashes. Hmm, so you're thinking now *that's* an Excellant Idea. Why not just *eat* some plant juice that on average induces some nasty-itchy, flaming-red skin, complete with blisters when just a bit of it comes in contact with your skin. And if you were curious as to how this all goes down, it's with the aid of your favorite boiled animal: generally chicken, rabbit, or dog. For the strong of palate, the sap can also be mixed with raw egg white for consumption. If you're watching your weight, you can get your lacquer in other ways as well. Some also *inhale* the substance (which really just creates a new world of possibilities of pain and misery.) Props, for creativity guys...you're certainly thinking "outside the box." ("The box" being sanity, that is.)
And that's my report on bad medicine.
(And yes, these are published facts.)

Things we do

My girl, waiting for the daily, Noel-trade mark brand "ride on the broomstick."

Oh, Canada

Poor you! I heard about your recent breakup. I know it's hard not to be with your favorite love, but don't mope, they'll be others. And hopefully by next year your love will come around. In the meantime, why not have some little flings? Hookups help to bide your time...

"The NHL season has finally been cancelled after players and owners failed to reach a last-ditch agreement."
"And the Stanley Cup - the top prize in NHL - will not be awarded for the first time since 1919, when a flu epidemic forced the finals to be called off."

Rough, definitely rough.

Hearts and flowers on a flat-screen

So, in the wake of the week of internet dating disasters, I've been trying to get rid of my connections to match.com. For example, I started replying to emails with: "Sorry, but I've decided that the internet is not my scene for meeting boys. I'm the kind of girl that likes to hang with someone and discover why I adore them and then date. In the internet dating world, it seems like you date first, and then find reasons to adore the person later(if you are lucky to find someone great.)" Of course, the typical human response to this is, "Wait, come back!", as documented by this email response: "Awww, I kinda like you more after hearing all that..."
I even tried to cancel my membership and was thwarted by a long conversation with a woman who purportedly found her husband on match. She set up my account with another 14 days, free, saying, "I want to be your matchmaker!", and then proceeded to fudge my responses to questions. "You excercise alot, right?" Apparently my failure was all in the presentation. And for all those people that lie in their profiles, don't you feel like a bastard when the truth is quickly revealed by a rendezvous with the potential love-of-your-life? "Sorry, hun, I didn't know that they meant *recently* when they asked that excercise question."
A friend hearing the story was convinced that it was fate that my account was extended, while I support the idea that it was business. See how un-romantic I am?
I'd rather take up residence in the local library for the next decade, waiting for the man of my dreams to appear in the classic fiction section, or maybe in gardening or travel...

Political dogs

For my confused friends and family that like the current political environment, don't click here. (That will never get old, for me.)

Happy VD: Spend quality time with the one you adore...

Nothing like a nice view of Boston while cozied up to your favorite
plastic turkey. Even better, when you're reading together....
Happy Valentine's Day!

Warning

The bastards that set the temperature on hands-free faucets to the setting: "icicle" are on my shit-list.

A pidley 2% down

And the following is a pictoral of "where I been."


create your own visited country map

I have alot more to do, before I can be called, "worldly."
(This post is my official kick-in-the-butt to apply for that cool job in the Netherlands that I spied yesterday.)

"Beeeeckyyyy....."

This morning I woke up to the sound of my name being whispered.
Only, when I was conscious, there was no one there.

Hate to break the *shocking* news but....

Yes, I am somewhat of a nerd.
whatever.

The plan

Noel peeled back my covers at 7:41am.
She started packing, got her Pink* on, and re-iterated (as she is prone to do):

"I'm going to Chicago.
You want to come *with* me?
Bring lots of money."

I'm worried that there's about to be something illegal going down.

(*Despite most of her animals and dolls remaining nameless, her favorite dress however, has been dubbed The Pink.)

A*solid* reason to avoid boys completely

Bad news really can break hearts
(and you're welcome for getting this news *before* you agree to any VD foolishness)

Too much information

I realized when I got home tonight that I had been insane this morning. For some reason it took 4! knives to make a peanut butter and fluff sandwich and a peanut butter and nutella sandwich.

I did manage to develop a positive attitude when discovering that the earrings that I had purchased last night never made it home. I told myself that they might have looked terrible anyways and had been on good sale, so no big loss.

However I do *not* have a good attitude about another situation. I wish that my left nostril would STOP spewing mucus! I've been patient, but now I'm done! It's been weeks!

cream puff on a salad

Connecticut Cool

A List of Celebrities that have Lived or Died in Connecticut:

Arthur Miller - Roxbury, Connecticut (He had been *married* to Marilyn Monroe?!) Until today, he lived ~48 minutes from my house.

Paul Newman - Westport, Connecticut (No discounts on his sauces around here, though.)
If he rung, I could jet over to his place in under 10. (minutes)

Joann Woodward - (duh, see above)

Meryl Streep - Connecticut (but, can't be more specific, sorry)

David Letterman - New Canaan, Connecticut
Hmmm, David and I could hang after about a 20 minute drive.

Katherine Hepburn - Hartford, Connecticut
She used to live about 40 minutes away.

Woody Allen - (Although, he may have moved to NYC. It's hard to track. He's a slippery man.)
Why would I visit, anyways?

Mia Farrow - (duh, see above.)

Meg Ryan - born in Fairfield, Connecticut (I live near the epicenter of cute.)

Martha Stewart - Westport, Connnecticut (Why haven't I been housesitting?)
Her pad has *got* to be within ten minutes of my job, how perfect would that be? I'm a clean girl... ;)

The day starts with...

A sea-gull almost touched down on my head today.
It happened on the block that smelled like marshmallow fluff last week.
The same block that I was almost ticketed at.
It's a strange area.

VD preparations (no, this is not an ointment)

You know I just went to dip my hand into a jar of conversational candy hearts and came out *two* times in a row with unreadable ones. The theory was that the first one said "rear". The second one had only a syllable written on it so there was not even enough letters in a configuration to make a word, and therefore no theory as to what *that* was trying to tell me. After a little grumbling, I realized that I *had* picked the right hearts though. They didn't communicate anything to me.
Non-communication is my world. I'm guilty of that daily.

But, while we're on VD, as many affectionately call Valentine's Day, Noel and I will be ramping up to create a whirlwind of lovely, sparkly cards tonight. Or, Noel will be glued to the TV for a showing of Finding Nemo (the movie currently in favor), while I sourly sit by myself pasting glitter on cards, trying to convince Noel that she's missing a good time and should in fact be helping her Mom.

A way with words

The quote of this week goes to M who sagely notes:
"You think that you're over someone, that you've moved on, and then one morning you wake up and you're on the floor, in a ball, crying."

Oh and as an addendum to my picture of Chicago although the title amused myself, it may have invoked some confusion that I'd like to clear up. I am in fact NOT over any of the *residents* of Chicago, just in case anyone chose to interpret my title that way....

Oh, and officially: I'm giving up Lent for Lent this year.

New Slang

It's been raining since yesterday evening. This morning it looks like the onset of dusk.
I feel sad.

(gold teeth and the curse for this town were all in my mouth)

Yes, in fact I've done *everything * that you're not supposed to do for Chinese New Year's...I've washed my hair, I've cleaned the floor, I've cried. Apparently this indicates that the year of the rooster will have no good luck, as I've washed it all away. It will be filled with tears, as that is how it began. But once again, as is always true for Becky Bumblefuck, I've had a part in making it this way.

(and if you'd a took to me like the gull takes to the wind)

I think I'm finally making a full circle back to my childhood self. Back then I'd only be either happy or sad. Then pretty much all of my 20's, I was a fiesty girl, mad at the world for the unfairness of life, always looking for balance, for equality. I think that I'm just tired of that. I can't expend all this energy being frustrated with things that don't work in my favor, when seemingly the rest of the world has it better: more love, more sex, more money, more.

(well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree and i'd a danced like the queen of the eyesores)

And thanks to the Shins for the lovely lyrics and for creating a song that has had 24/7 airplay in my head for the last week.

The Allure of Blogging

I have an excellent incentive to do more work, less blogging *right* in plain view to ameliorate the reading and writing of poison ivy. It's this glistening, edemic penis, and really it's not swollen in the *right* way and it's far from a turn-on. The picture's pretty yucky, in fact, but I refuse to cover it until I finish slogging through the very lengthy and informative article that's also in front of me.
Obviously, it's not completely working, or this post would never exist....

Cheeky girl

Noel says to me, "I have a mustache."
Um, yeah if mustache=a drippy chocolate beard, then yes, you DO have a mustache.

This morning the *first* words to leave her mouth were, "I want to
touch the spinning wheel."
Well, there's 2 things that you can derive from that statement.
a.) She has been watching too much Sleeping Beauty (Time for an
emergency trip to Toys R Us...I need to stock up on more matchbox cars
and dump trucks, to overthrow the princess movement...)
b.) She's a cheeky babe. Because there are really only 2 lessons that
you can derive from Sleeping Beauty: First of all, *Don't* touch the
spinning wheel! and secondly, Just be beautiful and your prince will
come. I'm really hoping that only the first lesson will stick, as the
second lesson is well, fucking worthless.

I'm totally *over* Chicago...now, I've moved on.

Self-induced head pain

So last night my head hurt. I consider it my own fault, although I was not able to isolate the source of the problem. The main factors being considered are the long, very depressing documentary: Stevie (complete with an un-happy ending and whipped cream, to top off the over 2 hours of viewing) or the pig-tails. Those rubber bands in your hair can just yank somethin' terrible...

Today's Nuggets

Apparently CA (gotta-love those West-Coasters) proposed the eradication of poison oak by goat. They wanted to sick a flock of poison-oak-lovin' goats on the state to *eat* all of the rash-inducing weeds. This was in 1994; some higher-up must have vetoed it.
In other trivia, honey produced from poison ivy flowers is tastier. And no, it doesn't make you itchy, either (I *knew* you were going to ask that.)

Internet boys

Internet dating, boy it blows. You just can't get to know someone by
the web. And trying to meet up with them after some lame, futile tries
at establishing familiarity between emails and a phone conversation or
2, makes me uncomfortable. No, downright squeemish, in fact. And
along with that theme, the first boy I met with must have found me to
be completely neurotic. I arrived to drink at a bar on a Sunday
afternoon, covered with red splotches on my chest. In part my skin
breakout was induced by the past hour that I'd spent faking
precalculus ability for a poor highschool girl; in part it was induced
by the situation at hand. I found the "meet the random guy at a bar
scenario" to be quite unnerving.

I had actually put some effort into *that* attempt at meeting a boy,
from there it's been steadily downhill. The next guy that I met with
had been pestering me to meet, but I had a bad feeling about it.
Nothing terrible, like he was going to beat me, but just the ole'
usual bored-out-of-my-mind scenario. Well, it happened as I predicted
and what's more: I was attracted to that guy as much as I am a wet
booger. So, guy number #3. At this point I was putting next to no
effort into the rendezvous. I mean, I showered (but then again, I do
do that regularly), but I brought my girl with me. It made it less
date-like, which I was happy with. And overall I had a good time. We
ate Thai food and browsed the excellent Yale Natural history museum.
But then upon arriving back at my house, Noel began running around in
a manner that required attention, and then my mailbox fell off the
house. It certainly ruined the moment, if there was going to be one.
And that was the end of that.
But maybe today's my lucky day...I was just "winked" at by a southern
boy who lists some of his favorite activities, including mudding.
Maybe he's the one... ;)

The Neighborhood Jesus

I'm a fortunate girl. Jesus has made ready access to his place for
me, by locating it right down the street. I'm generally reminded of
his presence by a couple neon signs, although he does have limited
hours, and I cannot get access to his place at times that would be
more useful for me. Like say, 7pm on a Sunday night: no dice. But
then again Jesus only stocks some mediocre potato-chip brands, a
limited selection of chocolate, and a couple of soft drinks, so he
doesn't necessarily carry anything that I wanted anyway. I guess it's
nice of him to be so close by, but sometimes the constant presence
might be termed overbearing.

Blog request: This one goes out to Sarah...

Apparently our urges to stalk powerful and sexy people are not unique. Macaque monkeys do the same, in an experiment where they were able to trade juice to view a lady monkey's hindquarters or a superior guy's image. Maybe they're trying to stay hip to the fashion trends or discover which girls may be up for some play? Anyways, doesn't this somehow justify purchasing the latest copy of the Enquirer or the Daily Mirror on our way through the check-out line? Anyways, I love proof that humans' have inflated egos, when we stake claims that our rationality puts us so far above all animals. Really, what we call "reason" is just "good spin" for why we do the things we *want* to do: the things that many other animals want to do, as well.

Lovers in Kyoto, at crossroads

Lovers in Kyoto, at crossroads,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

Getting worse

I'm getting worse.
I feel better by telling myself lies.

I've been listening to the Shins. I'm seeing meaning in places where I
shouldn't be...
Somehow just discovering that I adore the Shins, then finding them on my
computer in M's folder means that I had so much, but didn't realize
all that I had...  Maybe it's true.  But it does not matter now.

I started feeling worse than awful by pondering M in his new apartment
with furniture belonging to his cute internet friend...reading my
messages and thinking that I had gone insane...or maybe not even
getting the messages because he had been partying with friends, with
girls.. So I lied to myself.  I told myself that he
hadn't responded because he had gotten my message and got into his car
to immediately drive to me...

Last night I was dying thinking about walking on streets with him in
Kyoto.  He told me on the dark street next to the river that
his experience in Japan was made complete
by falling in love with me there....I was thinking about crying on the train as it
left the station to take me away; looking back as M put
on his ipod and looked away.  He told me later that he was not sad because he
was so sure of us....But, he took so long to get to me.  He was gone in
Japan, in Russia for *so* long.  And I was sad and struggling in the
meantime...missing him, trying to get settled in a new place with
Noel.  I would look up at the sky and miss him and think of him on the
other side of the world and feel hopeful.  But I hardened myself to survive.  I told
myself that I could handle it all, but then when he came, I couldn't
integrate him.  I was so used to pushing myself, to dealing with
everything with a set jaw, to making it on my own.  But independant
girl *really* wanted to be taken care of.  In Japan, he took care of
me, and that's what I wanted (want).

Why did he write so many things about how even my faults were perfect, about how I
was the center of his universe, about how he loved me?  He would
always sign "Love M", even when we were mad at each other.  Why did he
tell me things would be OK, that it would work out, that I would be beautiful when I was old and grey?  
Why did he dance with me the day he left me?

How will I ever believe any of these beautiful words from any other
lips?  How will I ever trust?  I don't think that I can ever trust
again.  And trust had been given so meagerly before, as it was...

A run-in with nature

Did I *ever* mention that I am a card-carrying, gold member of the Kodak Seat Belt Society? And I have had this membership since, mmmm, 'bout 1987, I'd say. A solid *18* years of membership in this society. In fact, I'm inclined to say that I was one of the first members to be inducted, even. (And my parents have a plaque with the *entire* family's picture on there to prove it...well, except for the youngest sister who wasn't even born until the 90's.) Anyways, focus...
So how did we deserve such an honorable designation? Well, straight up, we hit a bear. Actually 3 bears to be precise: a Mom and her 2 cubs. It was a dark night and we were on a very curvy highway taking us through Allegany county of PA, and my dad just couldn't see that the dark shapes in the night were bears...
Anyways, everyone was OK, bears and all. There was a dent left in the fender as a memento, but the bears just ambled off and as previously suggested, our seat belts kept us from
being catapaulted. The park rangers said that they would keep an eye out for them, but surmised that the bears were fine. And that was my early lesson on wearing seat belts. Most normal people do that sorta thing with deer; we were too good for that.

Bubbletea bound

Chinese New Year's is more imminent that I had imagined; so I decided that my lust for bubbletea must be satisfied in celebration of the holiday and I found a nice website that promised to deliver some to my home. Oooo, the thought of those yummy, sedimented "bubbles" at the bottom of a fruity little drink had me all excited as I pushed the "calculate my order" button. Well, shockingly, my order price suddenly took on an extra Alexander Hamilton and I was all in a huff. How dare they make money off of shipping fees? And for straws and powder, no less...how much can that weigh? A solid half pound, altogether? I've noticed the annoying trend where companies seemingly offer a good deal and then just as you're about to close the transaction, you find an extra hefty-fee has magically been tacked on. Bugger-it-all, I say. I'll be obviously making a trip to NYC this weekend, to satisfy my craving for bubbletea, it seems-uh, no *I'm* not stubborn, at all. (And HOW can little Champaign, IL outclass CT by actually having 3 (THREE, mind you!) bubbletea houses, while there is not a single one to be found in my new place of residence? Bugger-that, as well!)

pictoral evidence of exploits in Boston

The first picture was taken before the snow, but after consuming the
yummiest of desserts.
The second picture was taken during the snow. Which was lovely.
The third was the aftermath.

pictoral evidence of exploits in Boston

The first picture was taken before the snow, but after consuming the
yummiest of desserts.
The second picture was taken during the snow. Which was lovely.
The third was the aftermath.

pictoral evidence of exploits in Boston

The first picture was taken before the snow, but after consuming the
yummiest of desserts.
The second picture was taken during the snow. Which was lovely.
The third was the aftermath.

ominous signs

I fell in love with a book recently. It was the kind of read that I
felt sad half way through, knowing that my relationship with this book
would soon be over. It was the kind of book where you mourned reading
its last word, as if a close friend had just moved and there won't be
any more quality time spent in their presence.
Having said that, I highly recommend "Devil in the White City." It's
the true story of the 1893 Chicago World's Fair juxtaposed with the
story of the serial killer who murdered upwards of 200 people, many of
them female fairgoers. The serial killer part, of course creeped me
out. It started musings of things that could have happened in my
dark, ominous, stale basement; hence the photograph of one corner of
my basement taken at 5:45am this morning. (I couldn't sleep and got
tired of eyeballing the ceiling.)
(Note: NONE of the sharp objects, *including the shovel* were
planted...this is exactly how I found my basement when I moved in.)

Mid-day snack

The fire alarm just stopped blaring. That was a good little time. Instead of scoping out all the boys, as my friend suggested (while the girls around us lamented that had they *known* about the fire drill, they would have dressed-up and fixed their hair), I entered a reverie about my grade-school days. I began pondering how easily I was manipulated as a little girl. I remembered getting into trouble for lifting up my skirt to prove that I had my gym shorts on...of course incited by a boy. I'm sure that's *exactly* what he'd been hoping for...

It's good to see that things haven't changed, though. Just like in college, us 30-year-olds stood outside the building today and stared wide-eyed at everyone else thinking, "My he's cute....I didn't know that SHE worked here...Oh, god, that's a terrible outfit...Isn't so-in-so still in the building? How come we have to freeze our asses while they're still all toasty?....and lastly, How can I possibly manipulate this so that I don't have to hand in my assignment/do any work today?"
But it was fleeting. Less than 10 minutes later they let us back into the building that now smelled of unidentified-burning-object. Given the rumors of the elevator going afoul, I think I'll take the stairs.

I may not be a good "rule-follower"

I had an epiphany during work last Friday. I realized that while other people have "their special song", I have "my special block." (Yes, OK, what the hell does that mean?) Well, you see, I took stock of the recent events of this about-to-be past January and realized that I have had more than my share of accidents and police run-ins in the mere block distance between my daughter's babyschool and my work. Not to re-hash too much, but there was that SUV that hit Noel and I (back in the beginning of the month when black, crusty snow didn't hamper our walk/piggy-back ride down the sidewalk.) Then there was the policeman that was oh-so-close to ticketing me for parking outside of the babyschool in a zone that was off limits from 8am-noon. (oops.) And then finally, Friday morning I was pulled over for running a pink-ish light (I had already committed to making the light, but the guy in front of me was picking daisies as he drove through the intersection.) The lady cop also was a hair away from dishing out a $114-ran-the-red-light ticket to me, but didn't. She had theorized that I was trying to escape her by turning into the parking garage, but apparently believed me when I insisted that I worked in the building, and actually hadn't even noticed her until I got out of my car. That diffused her enough to have pity on me. Thank god...after the $100 tow incident that was just 4 days previous, I would have problems feeding my baby if I got stuck with another expensive money drain.
So, I don't know whether I'm lucky not to have been hurt and ticketed or whether I should just be pissed that all of this happened at all? If ya didn't know me, you might think that I was a reckless girl....

A five-star birthday

Wednesday Noel turned the big *3*. I am taking the liberty to rate her birthday for her, and I believe it was a 5/5 star time. Here's the proof....

As with any wonderful experience, it should last a long time and there should be chocolate involved. In keeping with that, her birthday has been an ongoing event, beginning with the $12 dessert that she consumed in Boston on Saturday. (Which had the 1st set of birthday candles that she extinguished...there were 3 more sets on more cakes and ice cream in the days following, and likely, there will be one last round still to come...) In fact, the birthday week will continue at least into the beginning of next week (Yay, for those late people who get behind in their mailings and cause holidays to be extended!) As it was, Noel started opening presents Wednesday morning and didn't finish until today, thanks to the excessively generous next door neighbors in particular. She has a very calculated, lovely way of opening presents. The first present that she chose was NOT the one at or near the top, and actually it wasn't the biggest either. But she specifically chose it, not knowing what was inside. (oooh, if I only could know the criteria that a 3 yr-old uses to determine "the best present"...) And when she opens a present, she carefully unwraps the gift, often preserving the bow and wrap. Once it's open she refuses to move on to the next one until she has played with it, if it's a toy, or read it, in the case of a book, or held it up in front of her little body, for clothes. She says "oooooo" as she opens each one, and has never thrown a present aside upon opening it. She has very good manners...

To be certain there needs to be some photography included here, but due to limitations on my flickr account...you must wait a couple days. But 'til then...

New England dressed in white

CT is closed due to inclement weather today. Really I think that "the man" (or whomever it is that makes these decisions about closings) wanted to build a snowman. The snow is beautiful and fluffy today-not the dangerous, vindicative kind that makes you fear driving and stimulates your back to ache before you consciously ponder finding the snow shovel. I really think that someone with power just wanted to play in the winter wonderland that has appeared outside my window. For me it just means that I have to shush my newly 3-yr-old girl every 2 minutes, as I futilely try to read about poison ivy dermatitis. The lovely lady that works in the office next to me has already called my phone and hung up, and then knocked on my window and mouthed, "Keep it down!" I can't wait to move my office...

The extended weekend

My trip to Boston was lovely and decadent, even in the blizzard.

But then, my very conscientious friend decided to move my car from its
perfect space in front of their apartment to a far off place. There
were signs not to park on their street during "snow emergency", but
no signs at the far-off location. Apparently, though, the main "arteries"
(code word for big streets) are off limits during major snow
accumulation (as any CT resident should know, EVEN without signs. I read signs, not minds, ya Boston piss-ants.)

So, my car was towed. Fuckers.

Sunday night we began calling tow companies and Boston city transportation to find my car, but were thwarted from finding out
anything useful. So at 6:59am Monday morning, I started again. Calls
and more calls to people who kept saying, "no, we don't have it." It was very disheartening and I was beginning to think that my car had been stolen.

Let me just record now for prosperity, my license plate is 509 TOL.
And the torture endured for not knowing that when it was lost....! (Yes,
I *did* just get a new license plate 2 weeks before, so my insurance
co. did not have it yet, but come on: I'm in MA and the plate's from
CT and I know every other spec on the car possible, including vin #.)
After 45 minutes of phone calls, it was finally determined that Phil's
towing had my car (even after specifically being told once that they
did not.) God, they were a collection of terrible, unwashed, unhappy
people. The obese secretary harassed me about my signiture (I was
forced to sign three times) and my friend was yelled at for 5 minutes
to move his car. Despite paying $85 for a tow and 2 days of storage
that I did not want, they argued with me for 5 minutes about not
helping me locate my car in their lot. The owner finally said: "Let's
get these people OUT of this office" and proceeded to help us locate
the car. A 2 inch square bit of blue (literally!) was visible, as it was
under a 7 foot snow drift. They said: "I hope you brought your
shovel." Yeah, bastards: I'm a fucking girlscout. The shovel's in
the trunk (i.e. completely inaccessible, but there.) I was crying at
this point, as I hawled my 4 travel bags and my 2-yr-old through the
2-ft deep snow (where I was lucky... it was deeper in many other
places.)

We got home. I shoveled out my driveway until my shovel broke.
I'm mostly recovered, but not heading North anytime soon.

Snow world

Happiness is coming down from the sky and swirling around and accumulating on the ground. Ooooo, it's beautiful.
But this weather, what it inspires most is cuddling with your favorite cutie and lots of food consumption. In accordance with the prescibed course of action, there has been much, much eating and drinking. There's been bubble tea :) :) (did I mention that I was happy about that?), cheeses and breads and fruit, the most decadent chocolate molten cake that you could imagine (with a side of vanilla gelato), an omelett, some more bread and cheese, some Turkish-style meatbals, rice with turkey and vegetables...I haven't had dinner, yet. ;) Oh and I'd forgotten about the Turkish coffea and tea, and the Mountain Dew. Probably I've had enough calories in drinks alone to fufill my intake for the day. I keep expecting to look down and see a bulging tummy (but really it's my ass that I should be monitoring.)

Ahh, Boston. The food, the shopping, the *cold*. This morning, none of that was on my mind, as I had a nice, slow beginning, celebrated with an aesthetically pleasing, extremely tasty spread of food. But the thing that was really of note was my bath. My friends have one of those beautiful tubs with iron-claw feet and a hand-held shower spray. It's an experience-trying to get yourself clean. The last visit I managed to spray every inch of the bathroom, including my set of clean clothes that I'd laid out for after the bath. I've improved significantly since then: my clothes, still laid out as before, were not a bit soggy. There's definitely technique involved in this style of bathing.
It really reminded my of my visits to the Gion community baths of Kyoto, Japan. Being naked in front of scores of other women (and a couple of kids) was a difficult thing to swallow. And being the only white girl for miles certainly helped to feed my self-consciousness. But the thing about those baths, and even more so this morning in a room by myself, the experience is really quite intimate. In both cases you sit down and scrub and spray and examine and clean and really *see* every nook and cranny of yourself (for better or worse.) The stand-up method really allows you to be distant from your body, as you often soap places without looking at certain parts of your body for weeks at a time. The Japanese style bath makes you really look at yourself and notice the areas that need cleaning or shaving or just *attention.*
I'm thinking that I need to open a spa steeped in this intimate bathing method. Would you go?

Brace yourselves

Wow, I just read that this coming Monday, January 24th is predicted to the worst day of the year. It's very scientific in fact. It was based on this calculation:

day of misery = 1/8W+(D-d) 3/8xTQ MxNA

(Where W is weather, D is debt - minus the money (d) due on January's pay day - and T is the time since Christmas. Q is the period since the failure to quit a bad habit, M stands for general motivational levels and NA is the need to take action and do something about it.)

I think a national holiday should be declared.

Calling names

OK, a blog that I just visited was devoted to a collection of weird names.
So here's my 2-cents on that.
To begin with, there's me. I had been destined to be Gaylord Farquar, had I been a boy. (Well, at least that's what my Dad told my aunt. But, he could be a teaser.)

Then, before I was fully able to appreciate the torment that this young boy was doomed to endure: I met (and kissed) Mike Hunt in first grade. (NO, that is *not* a masturbation reference, thank you.)

Then I met Penny. Oh, with a middle name of Candy. Penny Candy. Can you be taken seriously as a woman with that name in front of your title?

(Parents, please be gentler in the moments of the birth certificate name decision.)

Not a pretty picture, folks

So tonight I gave myself a facial. It was nice and tingly and
relaxing and all, with the extra bonus of scaring the crap out of my
2-year-old. She just would give me a wary look like,"Mom, what the
hell are you up to, now?" She theorized, "You the blueman.."
Anyways, I figured that I should capitalize on the situation to make
sure that any potential suitors *ever* would be permanently scared
off...I'm sick of the heartache. On that note, here's me with a mud
mask. :)

Oh, I decided on the title of my one-hit wonder song. It'll be "hit me with a kiss."
I'll get back to you with the lyrics.

Yucked-out

There's something about thick, black, crinkly hairs that yucks me out more than anything else. I think that subconsciously I'm just being reminded of the grossest thing that ever happened over the course of working at a library.

I'm a bookworm and enjoy the pursuit of knowledge, so working at the library was really my kind of gig. It wasn't highpaying or anything...I was just a page at the time (and *no* that wasn't just a bad joke, that really was our official job title). It could get dull- we were occasionally made to do ultra-ennui-invoking tasks such as shelf reading: the code words for opening every book on a shelf and making sure that it was labeled correctly, had been checked in, and was filed properly. Major yawn, OK? But anyways, overall I was in love with the opportunity to be exposed to new reading material juxaposed with the chance to help people answer their innermost burning questions (OK, that's a little over the top, considering that it was a quaint, local branch with a limited collection that I was employed at, but....) To get to the point, one unfortunate day found me checking in books left in the bookdrop from the previous night. One book in particular had a "present" of sorts. It contained a sizable clump of large, black, most likely pubic hairs with lots of dried white stuff flaking off all over the place. Now a good reporter would be able to tell you the subject matter, title, or hopefully the most recent borrower of that book, but that book hit the trash can so fast that it made Nolan Ryan's pitches look slow.
Anyways, that's why I have a hyper-aversion to "pubes" as I fondly like to call them (I say "hyper" because don't we all have some aversion to the the disembodied pubic hair? I mean really...)

And there was one on the toilet this past trip. Thank you.

But on the plus side (in an effort to be optimistic) I have successfully optimized the configuration that the rugs have to be in, when being cleaned in the washer to avoid loud thumping, crashing, and ultimately many trips to the basement to re-adjust the washer so that it will function. I always end up sitting on top of it at the end of the cycle so that it will *just* finish. Oh, and I haven't been hit by an SUV this week ('course it's only Monday.)

My stock value

My creative energies got spent today on writings that cannot be posted.
Then, the rest of my energy got blown trying to wrangle my 2-yr-old. When I said that we were going to the "store", she thought I meant to my "place of work." (Oh, the good-times that *could* have been had, had I not been the mean Mom that didn't take my dear child to the office.) And screamed about it for 10 minutes. When we went to the store to get the milk, she refused to get out of the car. Then when I surrendered and got back in the car and drove away, she contorted herself and screamed so much that I had to pull over to adjust the seatbelt. She wanted to go back to the store.

For dinner there was no milk. I made a peanut-butter-and jelly sandwich, after removing the mold from the best piece of bread that I could find. We also ate cheese, once I trimmed the mold from that, as well.

I think that Noel is mad at me for provoking the failure of another relationship. She keeps saying "I need Joe daddy" and "I need Joe daddy to come home." I think that I've reached a new low and I've brought my 2-yr-old with me.
(Note: I have never dated a Joe-daddy or even a regular, plain Joe, for that matter. I think that she's referring to a video that she likes about Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat. Which makes the story even sadder, in my estimation.)

Hmmm, so I'm pretty sure the sentence, "I'm going to drip on you" has never left my mouth before this evening.

NY Times editorial: science

from 14-Jan-2005
"One mammal was the size of a 30-pound dog. The other was smaller, the size of an opossum, but - here's the delicious part - its last meal had been a juvenile dinosaur, as evidenced by tiny dinosaur limbs, fingers and teeth still lodged in the mammal's rib cage eons later. What a turnabout. The supposedly meek mammals of that era actually dined out on the flesh of the reptilian lords of the land.

But before we hoist ourselves up the ancient food chain, it is worth noting that the victim was a teeny tiny baby, only five inches long, and a plant eater at that."

Yeah, and I *was* just about to get all snobby about my place in the food chain, duh.

If you thought the 2003 Halloween was cute incarnate; take a looky here:

We went on a witch kick this past fall. We read several witch books
from our little library, daily. (Do you think it's weird for a 2-year-old
to have more than a dozen books about witches? They're not how-to's
at least!) Anyways, we got over it and the current 2-year-old idea
for next year's Halloween is to "be the bad guy." I can't wait to see
what exactly the soon-to-be-3-year-old mind will concoct for that....

and since I'm in the photo-posting mood...

Golden Pavilion, Kyoto, Japan-
This looks impressive and serene.
It's because you can't see the screaming school girls.

I'm off my pattern: mmmust write....

Today's trajectory indicates that things will be rough around the edges. Of course this is coming off of the unpredictable past 2 days, where I went from feeling like I was doing a bad job with my little part time, pasttime of tutoring, to being offered a full time position as science director. Who could tell?

New spin please

Today my eyes wore the filter of a bleak future. Maybe it was the 47 year old man that hit on me, or the fact that despite my meticulously balanced checking account which has a balance that agrees with online information, I still keep getting denied every time I try to use my debit card. It just gets embarrassing after awhile, although I'm sure the same situation has happened to just about everyone at some point (unjustified denial of funds!!! bastards.) Or, the reason is probably more straightforward: the fact that I'm hating my job right now because I feel like I'm being monitored constantly, while under pressure to finish a project that is being rushed without real cause (other than the reason that everything should be rushed...because it's better done sooner than later.) Oh, and the double standard that happens at work as well; some people roll in in taking their own damn time, while others are chastised for tardiness. Hmmm, and is that it? Well, not really. There's the significant loss of my closest friend in CT; he's moving tommorrow or the next day. 2005, you owe me.

bring on the radiation, I want superpowers

Is it backward to think that I'd be happier if I just cried more? I think that's going to be my new tactic. So far, in my crying zone, I've felt less frustrated, but I have a much redder, puffier face. Although, I'm sure that I notice that more than anyone else...a theory supported by the fact that after being hit by the car and walking into Noel's daycare with tears streaming down my face, her teacher was completely unawares. She thought that I was compaining about being splashed by a passing vehicle when I opened my mouth to explain myself. The next day, when it was clarified that we had been physically hit by an SUV, she began apologizing profusely and said, "Oh, I didn't notice that you'd been crying." Um, OK. I do wish sometimes that I could go completely unnoticed. I used to like wearing glasses back in the day because I felt like I could hide behind them (and to a certain extent, I'm sure people looked at me a little less.) Definitely, the superpowers that I would pick would be invisibility at will.

Aftermath

So, in the aftermath of nearly being run over by an SUV, my heroic daughter now vigilantly reminds me every time we near a cross-street, that we should "not get hit by a car." Maybe all parents should *stage* being hit by a car, to burn the importance of looking both ways into their dear child's memory. For me, I'd rather avoid the whole scene, although I must say that now I'm all cocky like,"Yeah I made it to work today without getting hit. Take that!" In other words, appreciating some things that I had not before. I still would rather not have to take a walk down treacherous road every day, though. I am very suspicious of every car that I meet on the way....

me and my baby

me and my baby

a classically bad day, and there's alot left to go

Part I of the story deleted, as I am a nice girl.
Suffice it to say that the day started out very crappy; use your imagination.
(I did however get myself together and was walking my daughter to babyschool at approximately 9:10am, when....)

Then I got hit by a car. Luckily I was giving my daughter a piggy back ride and was able to hold onto her while I pounded on the SUV that was making a right on red without looking at what was in front of him. So my daughter is fine. I was left crying and shaking on the corner though, packed with adrenaline at just being hit and then carried on the hood of a car for several feet, while I lost my shoe and had my feet dragged. I recovered the muddy lunch box that was flung in the street during the debacle and then carried my daughter to babyschool.

Adrenaline ebbing away; I feel slightly sore, but I think that I'll be fine.

The 2-year-old word of the day is: sweaty. Everyone and everything is being told, "You look so sweaty", including boyfriends and Incredible figurines. It may just be an adjective day, though, because other statements leaving the 2-yr-old mouth include "It's too smelly outside." and "Oh, no, it's very stinky down the road." I'm guessing that it was a malodorous day at the babyschool, likely initiated by someone's lack of hygiene spurring this little language rant. Just a guess.

The other side of the world

So, what do ya think? Was it my call to the presidente that sparked him to finally get off his ass and donate a reasonable and useful sum of $$ to the tsunami relief fund? OK, not likely, as I called Washington and our lovely leader was at his ranch in Texas for a full week post Asian earthquake/tsunami disaster. So he probably didn't get my message. In the end, props to him for coming through, despite making the US look like stingy, rich, dicks in the meantime. I guess we have a bad rep anyways, why fix it now?

I really wish that I could earn a living AND be helpful to the tsunami relief effort. I would be there in a second if that could work out. Anyone involved in the relief effort need a biochemist/medical writer/ex-EMT? I'm there if ya do...

The American Contribution

Apparently, the US was called "stingy" (rightly so) and now the Bush administration has pledged a total of $35 million towards the earthquake/tsunami relief effort. (In other news, Washington is offering $25 million for information leading to the death or capture of Jordanian militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, who has been hailed as the head of Al Qaeda in Iraq.) $25 million, easy come, easy go- for certain causes that is.

Relief Efforts

OK, so here's some organizations that are mounting relief efforts to help with the crisis in Asia. I just tried calling a few to get more information (Like, if I donate to you, what percentage of the actual $$ will be sent for aid?), but there were long wait times to speak with representatives from the organizations that I called. I haven't chosen the one that I will donate to, but when I figure that I out, I'll post it (assuming that one is better than the others.) And if anyone reading this has any inside knowledge, please pass it on!

— American Jewish World Service: 800-889-7146, http://www.ajws.org

— American Red Cross International Response Fund: 800-HELP NOW, http://www.redcross.org

— Catholic Relief Services: 800-736-3467, http://www.catholicrelief.org

— Direct Relief International: 805-964-4767, http://www.directrelief.org

— Doctors Without Borders/Medecins Sans Frontieres: 888-392-0392, http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org
— International Medical Corps: 800-481-4462, http://www.imcworldwide.org

— International Orthodox Christian Charities Middle East Crisis Response: 877-803-4622, http://www.iocc.org

— Mercy Corps: 800-852-2100, http://www.mercycorps.org

— Operation USA: 800-678-7255, http://www.opusa.org

Heartache

The devastation occurring on the other side of the world right now breaks my heart. Yesterday I was able to hold back tears as I was reading news updates, today I could not.
I feel quite useless at my sedentary desk job....I have no even distant family member or friend affected by the earthquake and tsunami, but I still have this need to do something. The best I could work up at the moment, was a call to the President to request that he scale back the $40 million dollar inauguration bash and donate more than the $20 million in aid that will be sent to Asia. Maybe you could call, too?
Here's the number:
202-456-1111
Thanks.

A new world of renting blues

So, I don't like my landlady.
She is one of those types that takes on projects, like owning a house and having tenants, as if it were a pet. And she is a terrible pet owner: not one of those loving, dog-owner types, but rather a goldfish-killer, forget-to-water-the-cactus-to-death, types. Let's call her Homeowner extraordinaire or HE for short.
I have many quibbles about her negligence, but really not quite enough patience to document it all here. So I'll just give the highlights of the "good times".
1.) The Mold.
So, the back corner of the house looked like godzilla had been snacking on it. I mean there was a chunk of house, just gone. You know, I mentioned it at the lease signing and was told that it was, "Not my problem". Well, post-remnants of hurricane, um, which one was it?, Bob or Waldo or something, mold began growing in the corner of my daughter's room, about 3 feet from where her head rests to sleep. This was the beginning of the saga that involved many phone calls and a very convoluted path to resolution. (yes, this ends well.)
2.) The Glass
Somehow HE got it in her head that the house needed to be painted (Although how painting could resolve the godzilla snack problem was and is still a mystery to me. I don't think logic is one of HE's better traits.) So during the painting process the newest immigrant, $2-an-hour workers that HE'd hired removed all of the storm glass and put them *inside* my house in front of every window. For 2 months.
And it was *only* two months because I removed them from inside my house myself, following several futile phone calls and broken promises (She's not a call-returning-type of girl) which incited me to take matters into my own hands. I decided that I didn't feel like sueing her after my 2-yr-old fell into a pane of glass (oh, wait, 2-yrs-olds NEVER trip or jump...I'm just overprotective. ?)
3.) The Call
Dec. 1, 8:51am
HE leaves a message on my work voicemail complaining that I was 2 months late on my rent, due on the 1st of the month. Following my blood pressure spike, I confirmed via on-line banking that not only had I mailed my November's rent, but it had been cashed and cleared by Nov. 8th. So I was late on December's rent as of Dec. 1, 8:51 am?!? Um, hmmmm.
4.) The Current State
Well, I returned her call and finally laid into her, in contrast to all the nice, positive-reinforcement type calls that I'd made in the past. It felt good and apparently is the right way to handle this woman: She said "thank you!" right before I slammed the phone down. So, I'm prepared to be neglected for awhile, again. The storm windows are still not in (yay, expensive heating bills!!), but at least they are not sitting ducks for a 2-yr-old crash. I'm just hoping that my bathroom ceiling leak doesn't start up again...HE will decide to have Spanish only-speaking cheap labor plant new bushes instead of sending in construction workers, while my ceiling caves in (but, goddamn-it the neighbors will think the house looks great!)


(And I'm only 3.5 months into my lease.) :)

What I learned today in the world of medical writing

Doesn't purpura sound like it'd be something nice to have?

Well, in fact it is purplish spots due to skin hemorrhaging. I guess I don't want it anymore.

To be fair

OK. So here's Delta's response. I thought that they were nice, but not abundantly overflowing as they should be, with their compensation. You can decide for your self, though....

Dear Dr. B,
Thank you for your comments regarding your recent flights. I am disappointed to read of the service you were offered as you describe, and appreciate your taking time to let us know your concerns.

We are striving to become the world's greatest airline, that starts with becoming number one in the eye of our customers. More importantly, our team is well-trained to be sensitive and caring in assisting you with any needs you may have, especially under such circumstances. While there are many different things that can interfere with our operation, we realize that the way our people respond is what will ultimately determine how our customers will feel about us. Knowing this, it was very disturbing to have your report about how poorly we handled the circumstances you described. Please accept my sincerest apology and rest assured that we will make every effort to ensure that things are handled differently in the future.

While I cannot recreate this specific flight, I have authorized a transportation voucher for $75.00 to be sent to you, which you can use toward the purchase of a future Delta flight. You should receive this voucher within the next 2-3 weeks.

Again, I am very sorry for any hardships we may have caused. I realize you have a choice when making travel plans, and hope you will give Delta another opportunity to be of service.

Thank you again for your feedback.

Sincerely,
Russ Harrell
Manager
Customer Care

Woooowho! Sweet! I'm going to the bank with my $75 bucks! Oh, wait, I can only use it for 'future Delta travel'. Bugger that. I get 1/4th of a ticket paid for and they get more business? How about a refund on the money I already dropped for a lousy, puke-seat. And re-reading that last bit made me think of two words: COOKIE CUTTER. Um, yeah, have they had to use this form letter much?