Food detective

*serves up lentil stew over rice*
*eating commences*
*only BBFK is actually eating the full meal*

BBFK: "Comeon then! Eat up, please."
Noel: "I don't want poison."
BBFK: "It's not poison!"
Noel: "They're not carrots."

Apparently *cooking* carrots converts them to *not-carrot* form. A form similar to an evil superhero, able to kill, like poison.

[Mom note: I have surreptitiously induced Noel's admission that she *knows* there are carrots on her plate but that she just doesn't want them. Sweet.]

A solid reason to be sweet

A solid reason to be sweet,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

I think I may be swayed back from the dark side....

Salty me

Let's start nice.

There's this adorable little store down the street from where I work. It sells cool, off-the-wall foods at amazingly good prices. They have friendly people that work for them and reliably offer samples of their foods while you're browsing their store. The store is set up in a grid pattern so it's easy to negotiate and you're greeted with an abundance of flowers at the door. SO just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Noel and I got ourselves arranged in a carriage and got to it: starting with bananas. Which is when it happened. This granola-looking boy pulled out a bag of long balloons and asked us what we desired. Noel quickly replied "A dog!" and the reply was "oh, that's easy." And then, he quickly fashioned a pink dog for Noel (and meanwhile I did some balloon research: apparently the *pig* is the hard one to make, BTW.) We went about our business then, with our newly acquired pink balloon-dog. Of course, the 3-yr-old HAD to mess with it. Ya know: hug it, squeeze it, make it jump...all the things a balloon is not meant for. Before long the dog had unfolded and lost his rear and tail. Luckily all-purpose-Mom-skill-2,014 happens to be "Repair unfolded balloon-dogs" and I fixed it. Although we had since moved to the frozen-foods section, granola-boy appeared again to complement me on my skillz. By the time we were to the pizza sauce section, the dog had again come undone *sigh to 3-yr-old* and granola-boy once again was there to the rescue, asking if he could refold that for us...

And there ya have it. Props to the local food mart for finding new ways to please...

SO how *could* I be salty after that, aye?

Here's why.
1.) >90 degree weather, no air conditioner, and no screens in the windows. We live in a sweatbox.
2.) Broken glass outside my house due to severe delinquency of the owner of the house. Painting in the fall caused the storm glass to be removed...it was never replaced despite notes and many, many calls (and bad winter heating bills for me).
3.) Ants.
4.) A broken washer.
5.) The house owner that does not answer her phone or have an answering machine so that I can leave a message.
6.) Crap email from judgemental people.

Maybe I need to shop.....

Roundabout

Roundabout,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

Thank god I was *walking* when I saw this.
;)
I think this photo is the perfect visual for how I feel about driving in the UK.

P.S. Click on it for a larger view, if ya can't see what I mean...

Top 10 reasons why living in the UK seems like a good idea

1.) Ladies wear sensible shoes in the UK. Visit NYC and you'll witness girls draggin' their asses around in the most stylish, ridiculous, black (because that's really the only color you wear in the city, come ON-you MUST know that *wink*) pumps.

2.) Ladies don't wear bras (well many don't, at least). I can really appreciate this. I've been through several phases where I'd forsake 'em (and even when I do wear them, I want it to feel like I'm not. The person who invented underwire can kiss my ass.) Confusingly, some American boys *want* you to wear a bra, but are psyched as hell just to hear the word "commando." Whatever. I don't pretend to understand.

3.) People don't get expensive, silly cosmetic procedures (from what I've observed) and thusly, don't look plastic (like Americans can.) K. I think this all amounts to the British are more practical and relish *comfort* over *preening and strutting.* Cheers to that.

4.) The British appreciate the use of "understatement" as a form of humor.

5.) People are considerate and extraordinarily polite in the UK.

6.) The accent makes me drool.

7.) Fish and chips.

8.) A beautiful view while highway driving...lots of green, little litter.

9.) The British *know* how to make chocolate. Now that I've had British chocolate, I just can't go back. I've started pondering tracking down an internet ordering site for when my quickly dwindling chocolate stockpile that I imported is gone (Oh, and sorry to all those friends that I meant to give chocolate gifts to..I had the best of intentions... *wink*)

10.) Access to the boy who rocks my world.

And just to verify this, I retook this test that I took back in March, and STILL got the same outcome....

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?

Blowing steam

Admittedly, I'm a bit hyper today. I've got this song on permanent rotation in my head (Here's a sample: "What is this madness....That makes my motor run...And my legs too weak to stand....I go from sadness...To exhilaration..Like a robot at your command)
SO, I decided to go and try to work off the pent-up energy by a little stroll and banana snack. My skin's a little pinker now and there's a slight sheen of sweat on my skin. That would be because the sun is on FULL blast and it's hot as a mofo out there (and that's officially what the weatherman SAID, thank you.) So WHY did I run into a woman with a fur slung over her shoulder? WTF is she trying to prove? Dead animal is cool anytime? Goddamn this area. *blows air over skin to encourage cool down*

Follies revealed

Follies revealed,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

AH, the classic photo of me. No wonder I was blind in London-I forgot

to open my eyes!



And more follies revealed, as per request.

There were a couple things that I could *possibly* be blamed for on

the whirlwind UK tour (if I could call 3 cities in 5 days, that...)

1.) The car was towed.

OK, outwardly, I had nothing to do with it. I didn't park it, suggest

where to park it, moon any tow-dudes, or leave any "please tow me"

notes on the windshield. But then again my tow history totals one in

Champaign, one in NYC, and one in Boston (2 of which happened in the

last 9 months). Lever's had none, until, now. Someone has "please

tow me" listed in their karmic profile and I *may* have to point a

finger at me for this one. It was a hard situation, because the

doe-eyed reception desk workers almost made me go American-style,

self-important, crass, "fix-this-now"! on them. I was mostly

restrained. In the end I decided it was more fruitful to just make

out with Lever until he'd almost forgotten his woes.



2.) I flooded the bathroom.

The water was scalding and the controls were refusing to bend to my

will. Um, for a solid 10 minutes (god, I sound incompetant.

Hmmmm...) So, there was a bit of water that dripped out of the tub.

Well, OK, maybe enough to fill up the floor and be considered

hazardous...maybe enough to drip to the room below us. Maybe. That's

not verified, but there was speculation towards that conclusion. But

I think the fact that we weren't kicked out of the hotel, is evidence in my favor, aye?

*convincing eye flutter*



3.) I got my head wet.

But it's my head, dammit, I can do what I want. Solid defense, aye?

Except that I didn't actually *want* it to get wet. I just intended

to turn on the water in the tub, ever-so-briefly, and then walk away.

Oh, well. Wet clothes, gotta remove 'em.

Damn, it's fun making people nervous...

Apparently I do that naturally. I really made no conscious effort towards that end today, but just my tottering down the sidewalk on short heels while performing a piggyback ride for Noel was enough to induce an SUV-driving man to sweat. It bothered him enough to fill up his lungs and to shout from the other side of the street that I needed to buy sneakers. He must have thought that I was a bit slow (I mean I was wobbling down the sidewalk in heels for god's sake) that it caused him to shout it 2 more times, enunciating his words more and more with each attempt. He must have thought I was a disaster in the making or something. *wink* And *why* would anyone *ever* think that about BBFK? On that note, I've gotta give the lowdown on more London adventures, as per request.

I left my contact and my heart in England

I left my contact and my heart in England,
originally uploaded by beckybumblefuck.

Yes, can you believe it? In the UK a mere 24 hours and I flushed it,

leaving me half-blind. I had them long enough to clearly view the

well-dressed black woman squatting at the rear bumper of his car (30

minutes in the country) and the hail that came down another 5 hours

later, but from there it was a blur. It caused some funny situations.

On day 2 I was hit on in a pub, by being asked "Are you OK?" by a

little cluster of British boys. After taking a second to assure them

that I was, I immediately walked myself into a mirror. From there I

was left to grope the wall in search of a way to open the girl's room

door that had been engineered to be inconspicuous, and lay flush with

the wall. I heard a ripple of laughter behind me as I fumbled around.

This was not the only instance of toilet mishap. I walked up close to

many bathrooms, squinting, trying to discern the writing, throughout

the entire journey through London, Oxford and Bath. Following a lunch

of fish and chips at Oxford's self-proclaimed best-pub, I headed off

in the direction of the bathroom, to find that it was the boy's room.

Furthermore, the girl's had been located directly across from my

seat, less than 10 feet away. The older gentleman watching the

situation, remarked that I may not want to go into the gent's although

it may pleasantly surprise someone�.



He was a complete sweetheart about the situation. He drove on the

wrong side of the road (in my estimation *wink*), navigating to new

places by himself, all the while saying, "look how quickly we found

our [insert destination here]!" He'd always explain our routes and

finish off with a "Does that sound good?" , to which I'd nod my blind

head and play along with the game; the game being that I was

contributing anything at all to the travel process, to deserve any bit

of consideration while decrypting our routes or any fraction of the

praise for successful arrival. What I *did* deserve was blame for the

bathroom that I so clumsily flooded and for forgetting my raincoat,

leading my sweet to become drenched on several occasions while I wore

his parka (What a git aye? Neglecting to pack the raincoat on her

trip to *England*, for god's sake.). He would gently tease me about it

all, ask me if I was doing OK, and then lead me to the next

destination that my heart desired. We traveled that way through

England for 5 days, hand-in-hand and oblivious to the world.



And now I've returned to America, to my girl, to my medical writing,

left to ache and pine and lust for more wanderings through a place

3000 miles away with the boy who's claimed my heart.

I loves me some travel

I'm flying off into the sunset, in search of blue skies...

I will see your sweet words upon my return, blogland boys and girls.
Don't wait up for me. ;)

Random Bits

By far, the most prevalent proclamation around these here parts is: "MOMMMY!!! There's an ant crawling on [insert object here]!!!!!! And yes, when I say "these here parts" I MEAN the place were I sleep and eat and live. We've been throwing an ant rave for the last 2 weeks (although I guess it's not exactly a rave because every ant and their grandmother seems to be aware of the location of the Parrrrr-ty!) You ask, but BBFK, wasn't this a problem that started happening weeks ago? Shouldn't it have been resolved by now? Oh, well, thank you very much for asking. :) But, no, actually-the *throat clear* LADY that owns the place is a bit of a wanker and extremely negligent. Apparently, the neighborhood kids were calling the lawn "the jungle" last year because it was THAT bad. Oh, and her excuse: I have kids. WTF? Um, no star for that woman-almost anyone can shit one out and still manage to live and take care of ant infestations. The kicker is that she tries to use the excuse with me. Um, ME! Single Mom, no relatives for hundreds of miles, works a full time job, plus another, handles all finances and doctor's visits, cooks daily....you get the picture...you're telling me that you have *kids*? Dumb bitch.

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And HOW uncool is it to hand over your leatherman keychain to the security guards at the local government agency metal detector and sharp objects checkpoint, and come back to find the man PLAYING with it? Can ya keep your hands off it man? That's MY toy.

The Challenges of Being a Mom to my 3-year-old

1.) (Heartfelt moment)
Noel: I love you, mommy.
BBFK: I love you too, babes.
Noel: I love you eyebrow. *pointing above my eye*
[Challenge: Hold it in, hold it in! Don't snicker BBFK!
She was being sentimental and sincere...!]

2.) (end of the day trip to the babyschool)
Noel's Teacher: Are you OK [BBFK]?
BBFK: What? Oh, me? Yeah just a bit exhausted from lack of sleep.
I went to sleep at 5am this morning. It was stupid.
Noel's Teacher: *covers ears* Ooops! Bad word! We didn't hear that kids!
[Challenge: determining whether I had said "stupid" like I thought or
"really fucking retarded" like I meant. Did I just get into trouble
for saying "stupid"?!]

I've not been at my "mom-iest"

Somehow, I managed to not pay attention to Noel long enough this weekend for her to:
a.) Color two cushions of the couch green.
b.) Color the floor with a green crayon, as well.
c.) Entangle a handful of silly putty in her hair.

Furthermore, I partied like a college-girl Saturday night...well sort of. I drank 3 rum and cokes, one Thai mixed drink that I can't recall the name of, a microbrew, and several shots. I went to a bar with 6 guys, and got my groove on. I ate a steak and cheese sub with barb-que chips after getting completely loaded, while a guy was retching in the background (actually, that kinda put a damper on how much I ate, although it didn't seem to affect the other guys.) And then the night was capped off by jumping in a hot tub that overlooked the beach until almost 4am (when I had gotten sober-enough to drive.)

However, the entire time my mind was on this boy; this boy who I have maintained this crush on, who claims that he likes me, but still had other plans on his Saturday night... (see how he teases me?). Have you ever been so enamored, that the advances of the opposite sex barely even register? That you get in a hot tub-drunk-but clothed and still conscious of maximizing the space between you and the boys who are not-the-one-you-want? (where boys = one of your closest friends from the last decade and his friend who danced all night long with Ula-hot, blonde Polish woman...all the rest of the boys had their face in a bowl or had passed out.) Have you ever gone out and partied, but still found yourself in the corner at various points during the night fulfilling the urge to get just *a little bit*, just a little fix of the boy who's not there...(i.e. texting, calling, the like...) Have you responded to a random-bar-boy hitting on you by going on about the Impressionist artist who originally painted the art located behind the bar? So anyways, no hooks ups: nothing vaguely even close to report. Just pining. So maybe I only get a C+ on the college-girl Saturday night rating scale. Agreed?

And the final happy endings to the weekend:

1.) I was a successful "dating advocate" (Have ya heard of this: it's when a girl is part of a group of guys, facilitating their hook up with other chicks, just because of the trust factor); Newt hooked up with Ula (pronounced Ooooo-la, while drunk) the next day.

2.) Noel was fed, the plants were watered, the floors were cleaned, and banana bread was baked. We even played some Candyland...

3.) A glimmer of a chance developed that the boy-I-have-a-thing-for may give-me-the-time-of-day soon, as they say. Ya know, tentative plans and all in a week's time...

100 things about me-(only 10, because this is finally the end)

1. I have the most rockin' 3 year old on the planet (my pardon to any parents of 3 year-olds reading this), but I don't consider myself a grown-up. A conflict here, maybe?
2. It's been pointed out that I'm a clutz. (And just to put the nail in the coffin on that idea,) the only time I've ever broken anything was 2 years ago. I fell over my *couch*, while trying to make sure Noel didn't take a tumble, while holding a (non-alcoholic) drink. I broke 2 ribs, then went and played soccer an hour later. (Yes, you can correctly conclude that I have a very high tolerance to pain.) Um, yeah, I didn't *know* they were broken until a week-ish later (it started becoming hard to run.)
3. I am a "group-sports, leg girl." I developed this theory early on that most people tend to be arm people or leg people when it comes to sports. The arm people play basketball, volleyball, baseball, etc., while the leg people have an affinity for soccer and track. I sort of straddled this; evidence that obviously not everyone complies with this rule of thumb. (And yes, it's poor form to immediately give an example that contradicts a theory that you've just proposed.) ;) I did basketball (poorly), softball (well, when the ball wasn't hitting my face), and soccer (which I adored and did well at without too much injury.) Unfortunately, I've had to resort to non-group sports as I've gotten older, e.g. running.
4. My concert resume: Bush, Moby, Fear Factory, Barenaked Ladies (3X), Indigo Girls (2X), Sarah MacLachlan, Counting Crows, Eminiem, Limp Bizkit, Coal Chamber, New Kids on the Block, REO Speedwagon, Sting, Cibo Matto, Liz Phair (2X), Ani Difranco (2X), Slipknot, Billy Joel, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Natalie Merchant, The Mystechs, The Bomboras, Bonnie Raitt, Foo Fighters, John Mayer, Lanterna, Libby Kirkpatrick, Goldfinger, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Peter Gabriel, Prince, Sarge, The Reputation, The Merekats, Sheryl Crow, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, They Might Be Giants, Ministry. I can guarantee this isn't all of em', but all that come to mind. And no, I didn't filter any bands out consciously (obviously!! I just tried to intersperse the embarrassing ones, so that maybe you'd just skim over 'em.); it's all hanging out for your pleasure. And yes, feel free to both snicker and admire.
5. Artists I'd *heart* to see NOW: Semisonic, The Shins, Jem, New Order, Some Girls (Did I mention that I adore music?)
6. I watched my best friend's apartment building burn down about eight years back. We stood and watched and smoked cigarettes. (Stess release for her, irony for me.)
7. I have never had a one-night stand.
8. I have been cheated on.
9. I have been in love before.
10. I'm a blog addict. Any recommendations on online support groups? *laughing...* ;)

The hard truths of balloon-launching

Just when you were about to go *on* about my parenting skills, all warm and fuzzy-like, I thought I'd throw you this curve ball...

My girl and I had just completed our ritualistic trip to the grocery store, finishing as always with her sweetly asking the service desk help for a balloon (My child logs all the "good stuff" and never missses a beat. If the opportunity arises, she asks for more good stuff again...) So we left the store, grocery bags and balloon in hand, as usual.

The little lady is 3.5 and has reached the stage where she can be reasoned with *BIG sigh of relief*, so when she suggested that she wanted to "let the balloon go" I decided to go with it. So after just a single warning that Mom couldn't retrieve the balloon once it left her little fingers and started floating away, we got out of the car and launched the balloon. She watched, intrigued, for a nice bit. But then it all fell apart, as you can visualize yourself.

So, yeah, we learned that day that some things that you let go, cannot be retrieved, no matter how hard ya cry about it. And likely, your Mom will try and impart this wisdom and many other truths on you many, many times before it sticks.
[I need a drink. ;)]

Blog Fodder

My ears are *still* ringing and I just recently stopped vibrating.

The moment I walked into the venue, I knew this was going to be good. We'd had a bit of a problem getting in: our free admission tickets, were apparently only free until 10 pm, and it was well past. After the owner had a little talking to, we persuaded our way through without additional funds. But the moment we were in, I realized the full irony of the situation. I turned to S and declared, "Oh, paaaalease! We're *girls* they should have PAID us to be here." And as S stated, it was indeed a sausage-fest. Not that this was unexpected: we were going to watch a collection of the best metal bands this lo-cal had to offer. (Yes, a questionable proposition, really.)
Immediately the sights had us amused. There was the large woman signing her own plentiful bosom at the bar and the wheelchair bound man with the blue underlighting, as if his mobile device was a bass-thumping, hip-hop blasting Monte Carlo. The music that we walked into was (another round of laugher is incited with the memory...) just *pleasurable.* Imagine this (in the best heavy, growly voice you can conjure:) SQUATTERS!! gggggggrrrrrAAHHHH!! Drip. Dry. DRIP DRY!!! Definitely a very philosophical band. All of their themes were deep. Well, actually it only boiled down to 2: the previously mentioned girl-peeing theme + the prevalent bong-smoking theme (sheepish admission of a fancy for the growling, however.) ;)
The concert-goer's were *almost* as amusing as the first band's lyrics. There were a certain amount of very well made-up, spiky-heeled girls attempting to attract boy-attention. Some clumps of girls even bothered to coordinate outfits with each other. Many were misshapen, a couple were not. One, in an attempt to endear herself to the band, moved her tight bod to the stage and did a hair-flip-a-minute move that she *wishes* she had patented. (But really, most girls are aware of the hair flip and put it in their boy-attracting repertoire occasionally. This girl was a bit overdone, though, with it.) And the boys, well, were as you'd expect. Tattooed, muscle-y, Metallica-shirted things, with long, scraggly hair. Some of the boys and girls would couple up, and you could watch the ass-slaps and attempts at sly-copping-a-feels by the boys as the girls wriggled and perched their asses.
And me? Well, I just tried to lay low and capture it all. My friends sang all the words to the hair-band music that played between the live music, and lamented not being able to attend the upcoming Cinderella concert, in sarcastic voices. I developed a desire to record it all and inquired about a pen with the bartender. With a smile he gave me a condom, a pen, and a piece of paper that he scrawled "Call me..." SLICK boy.

Coping Mechanism:Dance Break

I woke this morning to an ant infestation. At first, in my blind-state it went under the radar. I *did* think it was strange to find a little ant on my computer (Yes, I can surf, while half-blind), and although I was sorta mad about that (MY *lovely*, sleek computer is SO off-limits to all insects, BTW) I just threw him off. Unfortunately, he decided to then climb on Noel's dress, to her chagrin, so the ant was then rendered dead (Normally, I give insects an escort outside, but he had stepped out-of-bounds twice, and I was not in the mood.) I thought that was the end of the story, until I finally could see, and realized that a couple hundred new roommates had moved in overnight. B*stards! Now if I had a *reasonable* landlady, then this wouldn't be too much of a big deal. However, this is far from my reality (For evidence, check out: A New World of Renting Blues in the archives.) And just as an added little cherry on that shit-sundae, Noel has a fear of ants, in particular. During a trip to Palm Desert, California when she was 2 years old, she was terrorized by a mini biting ant that crawled up her little leg. She cried about it for a minute or two before we could locate the problem. "The problem" had been biting it's way around her ankle. Ohh, my poor little girl...*concerned, sweet eyes* So now we'll be bunking with hundreds of his relatives until I get this sorted...huh. *sigh*

However, my mood was greatly tamed by the raining flower petals, as I strolled about doing the morning routine. It was lovely: the world had gone pink and fluttery.
And then to finish off getting me back into line, I decided that it was going to be an ipod-laden, dance-music kinda day. There have *already* been several dance breaks and I plan to use that as my crutch ALL DAY. *shakes her ass* ;)

ROAD TRIP!!

There were no fun-intentions for the journey yesterday, however it was
inevitably going to be a blast compared to another day in the office.
And the trip went off quite smoothly-save for the brief moment of
poll-position style manuevering to avoid the large, flying tire bits.
But take a looksee here at the pictures, taken mid-drive (Yes, yes-
Bad BBFK for driving and shooting pics, I know!)

BTW, this is Pennsylvania, RT-80. Quite a scenic drive, actually...

Ripping My Pants Off and The Continuing Boy-Saga

I sweat my way through the entirety of work today. It's just THAT bad. But, the most perspiration-inducing event occurred in the bathroom. NO, yuck-it wasn't that (girls are made of sugar and spice). *wink* It was simply that I'd been so frenzied all day that there was no potty break time and when "taking a pee" managed to make it to the top of the cue, my pants became quite disagreeable. You see I'm lazy and cheap, so although I'd broken the zipper pull weeks ago and then had the clasp on the pants go faulty as well, I *still* wore the damn pants to work. (I mean they look good and there was nothing hanging out, so why the hell not?) It wasn't the first time that I wore them in a questionable state, however, it *was* the first time that the zipper absolutely REFUSED to budge and was completely stuck in the "up" position. After pondering the possible solutions, I decided to bring my problem to the receptionist (who, fortunately, is used to just laughing at me and my quandaries.) We managed to find a very effective tool to remedy the situation [Take note!]- staple-removers do a solid job as a stubborn-zipper-fixer. It was damn good that that solution came up quickly, because I was about to yank the damn thing open, hang out the rest of the day, and go down in a blaze of glory (because it's already been well-established that even a bit of skin is a no-no (check out the midriff post)...but see if I give a fuck, at this point if I get canned. (Did I mention that work was THAT bad?)

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Just a little ways down the road, Noel was involved in a bit of a Cinderella story. Hearsay has it that while on the jaunt between the playground and the school, Noel managed to lose her slipper. Luckily, her Prince (a.k.a Big Boy Bryant...oh, but don't ALL the boys wish to be so named. but I digress...) came to my little maiden's rescue. He ran out of line and declared while on his search, "I need to find Noel's shoe!" Chivalry *isn't* dead. ;)

Addendum

As the weekend has not finished off yet, it's only fair to bulk up the list from the week. Fortunately, I'd only like to add to the
Cool Things 'Bout This Week portion:

7.) Three random people told me Happy Mother's Day today, as well as my out-of-town best guy friend, who called specifically for that purpose.

8.) A random cute guy bothered to "rescue" the toy that was left behind in the restaurant that we ate in this evening. He came out to the parking lot running with the toy held above his head...very sweet.

9.) The boy that was mentioned in #5 may have figured out that I have a thing for him, and is seemingly OK with this news. That's aways good, aye?

Boiled to a list

Cool Things 'Bout This Week:
1.) The woman that expressly stopped me to tell me that my bumper stick was excellent.
(Picture 1)
2.) Flowers. ;) (Picture 2)
3.) The student that described my tutoring sessions with her as a "chem parrrrrty!"
4.) The same student informing me that belly-rings are still the rage.
*BBFK strikes the attitude-filled, I-still-rock pose*
5.) The development of a *raging* crush on a boy I've never met. (OK, and it's not Corey Haim, if you're guessing. I got over
him a loooong time ago. OK, well at *least* by this time last year. ;) j/k )
6.) Watching Hitchhiker's Guide To the Galaxy. How can you NOT adore a film who's opening song is "So long, Thanks for the
Fish" with the visual of dolphins flipping and then beaming up to outerspace? And the British boy-American girl pairing-
mmm, yum.
Honorable Mention:
1.) Noel telling a teacher, "I need my Big Boy Byrant!" My girl, the flirt! Funny as hell, mind you, but the implications for the
future scare the shit out of me...

Not So Cool Things:
1.) Being ridden like a dog at work, despite working my ass off. [Note to self: start my own business. Like really, and NOW.]

Picture 1

Picture 2

The Shina-esque Post

Flowering trees? Check.

Tulips? Check.

Aesthetically beautiful food? What can I say? I can't get it all
right. The woman can be emulated, never duplicated. Check her out.
;)

All these trees and flowers are actually the regular fare. The
flowers are juxtaposed to this stop light that I get caught at
everyday...but nice view, aye? And the trees are on the corner of the
treacherous street. It all *looks* so harmless. In fact, the beauty
of the trees makes it *more* dangerous: you certainly could be caught
unawares, while admiring the view, to suddenly find yourself made air
born by the most recent trophy wife, shopping fiend, SUV-driving,
self-serving bitch that turns the corner. Did that last bit put you
on track about thinking it's a good idea to live here?

In case You'd Like to Skip the Reading, Here's the Visual Sum-up of the NYC Report

The NYC wrap-up (before it's completely old news)

Things I had to Troubleshoot:
1.) The noncompliant shirt (No, showing bra is NOT the new hipster-thang): I had to get all girl-scouty on my tank top, as I managed to break the strap and my bracelet [insert swear here] in a matter of a minute. It was sort of a disconcerting way to start the day, but I was determined to wear what I wanted (minus the bracelet.)
2.) The lack of car. Sunday's adventures included parking in a admittedly weird spot (but hey! 4 other people did it...yeah, that excuse didn't work with my parents either, back in the day) and then coming back 3.5 hours later to no vehicle. My friends escorted me to the public safety office, while reporting that neighbors had complained that there wasn't ENOUGH towing recently. Well, I'm damn glad they turned a new leaf for little ole' me...

Things I Enjoyed Immensely:
1.) Trip to the Natural History Museum/Planatarium. OK, ok, I *may* have fallen asleep during part of the Star Show, but both the snooze and the non-snooze parts were good. And a better-than-honorable mention goes to the "scales" exhibit, where they attempt to convey how large the universe is and how small an electron is. Oh, and the exhibit on biodiversity and dinosaur fossils rocked as well. Liked i, liked it, liked it!
2.) Eating a Russian/English Easter Brunch. (Russian orthodox uses a Julian calendar for holidays, so they're behind Catholic-Easter sometimes, BTW. ) I had a sweet bread called kulich and an accompanying sweet cheese spread called paskha (Russsian) and English Trifle, as well. Oh, and some borsht that was to die for. ALL from scratch. My friend is basically Laura Ingalls Wilder in the City. Case in point: She makes her own goat cheese.

Things That Almost Got me Killed:
1.) Texting while driving. Well, not really, there were no "close-calls" to speak of, however, thinking back on it, it just doesn't seem like a bright idea. (Although, at the time I thought it was absolutely brilliant.) My British girlfriend tells me she can text with her eyes closed. I, on the other hand, am such a novice that it takes me a solid 2 minutes to spell out H-E-L-L-O. ;)

And that's the recap, boys and girls.

Baby, you don't know where it's been.

Stepping onto the street of NYC, the first words escaping my lips were: "Don't trip on the trash, Noel" causing a ripple of laughter through my little posse. Don't get me wrong, NYC is lovely, but not in a let-me-put-my-arms-around-it and rub-my-body- all-over-it kind of way. (Not that I really do that to anything, mind you. That was just an EXAMPLE.)
So we hit the town. Although, that's mostly a lie. I think it was less town and more *subway* system that we *hit*, really. We spent upwards of 3 hours just getting our bodies to our destination. Just one way. NYC foiled us subway novices by hosting a walk/run/save-your-favorite-organ charity event between 59th and 125th, shutting down all local subway uptown travel. That meant we had to bypass where we *really* wanted to get off by many stops and then come back around. I think we transferred cars at least 4 times, with the longest ride being in the overpowering pee-perfumed car with the suspicious wet-drippy seat. It was pretty amusing watching new arrivals get their first whiff of the stench, because by then I had mostly acclimated. In fact, by the end, I could hardly tell that the car was a stench-fest. It did, however, remind me of my last NYC trip. We were on the train when I had to break out the good ole' parental, "Noel, don't touch the condom-balloon."
:)

It's like being a Catholic School Girl again.

This weekend has been a spiral back in time. My brother's in town and
it's been a bit of an adventure. Now, when the toilet is flushed, the
water rises *up*. ;) (He's accompanied by 2 other guy friends, and
they're all bunking at my place.) But coming from a large catholic
family, it feels kind of normal (not that the toilet was always
clogged back in the day, but I do have 2 brothers....). I'm back in a
zone where I get teased when I get a call from a boy. Of course,
there has been lots of help with any kind of lifting that has been
required and a fruit basket and fudge, as well. But having said that,
the adventure continues...I need to book outta here to grab the next
train to NYC (again). Today's the big bike tour (42 miles) and I've
promised to be cheering at the finish line...

Oh, and for your enjoyment and education: here is a picture of my
brother sipping some bubble tea. He had an unconvinced look on his
face the entire time, which is not a good sign, considering this
particular bubble tea ranked within my top 5 of all times. It was
supposedly a papaya flavored tea, however, I am convinced that it was
really essence-of-fruit-loops with tapioca balls (those black bits on
the bottom). Mmmm, good...

My blankie, my penis

OK, well it's obviously not *mine*-it was sorta borrowed, which begs the question: "Should you really be "borrowing* that sort of thing?" I mean isn't it gross to give it back half-used? As a matter of principle, don't you think you should prevent it's future acquisition in a second-hand store? And CAN you clean it *enough*, really? (Most of Jay's readers think not.) Anyways, here's a perspective on it....

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

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

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

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

Breakthrough Research in Illinois?

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

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

Not working again...

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

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

Step into this intimate moment

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

Last night's fling

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

Saturday's report

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

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

Internet bliss

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

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

Being Poped

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Pre-wedding sampler

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

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

Upstate NY

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

Sometimes it's hard to decide what to wear.

Cultural differences?

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

The Bronz Zoo, NYC

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

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

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

Excuses, excuses.

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

Art noveau? Blogger spasm!

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

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

41. One of my best buds calls me Becks.
42. I broke my little sister's finger when she was very young. (Ready to squirm?) I was put in charge of taking her to the bathroom while we were on a visit to the dentist. She decided to put her little hand in the crack as I closed the door. Her poor fingernail is still mangled to this day.
43. On a girlscout outting, I had a bathroom accident that resulted in half of my front tooth being broken off. The door to a stall got stuck and then gave way quickly and slammed into my face...
44. Sometime before the age of ten, I jumped into a pool backwards (damn, I was cool) and split open my chin. I was *so* close to stitches for that little incident...
45. I freaked out out my summer-rec soccer team by poking my eye with a finger nail as I saved a goal (I was the goalee, at the time.) They called an ambulance. I was highly embarrassed and refused to ride. Oh, and I wanted to play some more, goddammit!
46. While pregnant, I was playing first base during a night softball game. The shortstop rifled one at me that was unfortunately right in line with the very bright field lights. That resulted in an ambulance call as well, and some stitches. I was mad that I couldn't do my radio show that night....
(I think these last couple are just solid evidence that I'm a terrible clutz and prone to mangling my face.)
47. I coached soccer for several years to a group of 10-12 year old girls. I found out that I'm a yeller (as opposed to the silent, brooding-style coach) and that the hardest part about coaching a sport with that age group of girls is dealing with their extra problems. Like the girl that liked to carve her boyfriend's name in her arm at the ripe age of 11.
48. I had a particularly shitty boyfriend that killed my rabbit while we were dating.
49. I've dated 2 vegetarians (who did not *kill* or obviously, eat rabbits).
50. I think girl scouts is a lame excuse for a useful organization. How come the boyscouts have the "Eagle Scout" level that is respected enough to be on resumes, while the girl scouts are just known for their fuckin' (but, delicious) cookies?!

A Spicey Easter

The forecast was predicting a 94% chance of a sweat pant-wearing,
no-showering-style Easter, likely lacking the usual Easter-style
fixin's (as that would have required a trip in the car to the grocery
store). In fact, the Easter bunny didn't even get her shit together
until just before noon, for the poor 3-year-old in the house ("Oh,
look, he must have come while you were intent on that Sponge-Bob
episode, Noel"....Well, actually she never really asked *why* the
basket of overflowing chocolate appeared...she's not one to look a
chocolate gift-horse in the mouth.)
But despite the best statistical method prediction analysis you could
buy, the odds were proved wrong. The neighbor called in the
mid-morning (OK, way before any adult without a 3-year-old would ever
conceive of waking up on a Sunday, but, mid-morning for me) and kindly
asked us over for Easter dinner at 1 pm.
So we did it. We went over for dinner with the neighbors that reside
on either side of our house (the food was a collaborative effort,
well, except for my help). There were kids jumping/playing video
games, men planted on couches, women in the kitchen, and dogs roaming
for scraps and licking the unsuspecting child: it was the usual
holiday setup. We watched movies, ate food, had conversation, ate more
food, bundled up leftovers to eat later, and zoned out. We had the
Easter favs: a ham, some smelly lamb, and potatoes, followed up with
pie and ice cream and sprinkled all over with chocolate Easter eggs and peeps.
The thing that I really hadn't planned on however, was the dinner
conversation. It started our harmless enough, with the discussion of
an upcoming holiday to FL and the newest renovations on the respective
houses. But suddenly it veered and before I knew what had happened,
the conversation had drifted into an area that had never graced my
ears at a dinner table, much less for a religious holiday. Yay,
Jesus...wanna bang? Swinging became the hot topic, and I don't mean
at a playground. Everything from the other neighbors on the street
that were already engaged, to the future possibilities-involving said
dinner mates. I could tell from some reactions that I was glad *not*
to have a visual in my mind of the other neighbors who were already at
it. And for those too young to fully comprehend the discussion at
hand, an unabridged dictionary was procured to clearly define
"swinging." Yow, it was gross. I'm not sure how my stomach didn't
just immediately reject it's contents, in hindsight. But, in some ways
it was a very educational experience. Curtains for my windows stepped
up in priority from "cute decoration accessory" to "goddamn
imperative." Bye now....gotta hit the closest Bed, Bath, and
Beyond.....

Holiday TIME. (wait, why am I at work?)

As Easter is quickly approaching, here are the scientific findings that suggest an excellent way to celebrate the holiday.
Enjoy.

BBFK

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.