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.