"As if sexuality is a game like that!"

Mark's reaction to "Boy Meets Boy." I have to agree, and to admire him for his distaste.

I have decided to start blogging. I hear all the cool kids are doing it. Seriously, I'm trying to get back into some form of self-discipline as a writer, and my old-school journaling just isn't cutting it. I can't write long-hand anymore. Depressing. So hopefully I can introduce a few friends of mine to this blog and have somewhat of a writing support group.

Or at least write without hand cramps.

An online friend of mine has a really really excellent blog that I just read a month's worth of entries. She's inspiring me. Thanks, Flea.

Anyways...we now have way way more cable channels than we ought. I think this bodes ill for my school future. We even have the BBC and IFC and...

Uh oh.

We went to this strange little theatre production the other night with Susan and Tony. It was an exploration of communication using only "H" words (and so the playwright told us at the end, rendering all other interpretations of the previous 45 minutes null and void--I hate it when they do that). Anyway, it has me thinking in "H" words. Here are some good ones that they didn't use:
histrionics
hieroglyph
hemmorhage
heliotrope

The word the play ended with was "hope." If it had been a lot more subtle, I would have liked that. Most of the time, I think hope is really all there is.

I'm not doing a wonderful job keeping this up. Oh well. I suck.

Mark's parents are leaving tomorrow morning, so I think we have to go out to some schmancy dinner tonight. Hopefully the food will be good, because I'd really rather put on pajamas and park it on the couch. I don't know why I am so freaking exhausted right now, but I just have no energy.

I suspect it's because I am on a 100% sugar diet. I have got to stop eating like this if I want to stop feeling like ass.

I am looking forward to the weekend. I am going to have to spend 90% of it doing school work, but at least I won't have to be at school or at work. I like school and I like work, but I am feeling like I'm not spending as much time as I'd like at home lately. I'm such a pathetic homebody.

I'm really scared my grandma is going to die.

Chance barfed up a sock this morning. A whole freaking sock. Not even one of those little quarter sized socks. Nasty nasty nasty. How can something with a digestive system no bigger than mine swallow an entire goddamn sock??

Susan and I went to see The Magdalene Sisters last night. Heavy, depressing stuff, but one of the best made films I've seen in awhile. It struck that balance, being heavy enough to be realistic and to keep you interested and concerned about what was going on, but having a few moments of levity so that you didn't turn off completely because it was 2 hours of nonstop depressing. I really liked it. I want to read a book about that situation now.

Big excitement this evening. Just as Mark and Chance and I were driving up the street on the way back from doggie class and there was a big accident right at the intersection practically in front of our house. Two completely smashed cars, and the kid who ran the stop sign and caused it got out of his car and ran. Mark just came in and told me that he left his license in the car, though, stupid fuck. It's going to suck to be him in awhile.

Who the hell hits someone and then runs away without even seeing if they are OK?

I had the worst dreams last night. All of these related vignettes about Simon and how bad living with him and dating him and attempting to trust and/or love him was. Mostly stuff very inspired by real life. But real life years ago! What's going on with it popping back into my head now? Strange stuff. I am glad to be awake now.

I have some errands to get done (I get to buy stuff with joint account money, yay!) before the game starts at 2. It's 11 and I haven't even showered yet. Have I mentioned how irrationally much I love weekends?

Tomorrow I have to go to some lab picnic thing with Mark in some state park. I'm less than thrilled. For some reason I really don't want to go. Mostly I don't mind that kind of stuff, but I'm in such a big "I want to be alone" phase, I would so much rather he just go and I have several hours at home by myself. Not going to happen, though, as it would cause some pretty chilly weather in this household if I told him I won't go.

Last night we went to see Lost in Translation with Susan and Tony. I think I liked it more than anyone else in the group did. There were certain things about it that irritated the fuck out of me (like the girl always being in her underwear and the preponderance of karioke), but the general tone of it really impressed me. I related to it, to the loneliness and the confusion, and that always sells me on a film.

Hanging out with Susan and Tony so much is so great. I got all worried on the drive back home last night that we are availing ourselves of their company too much and they are getting sick of us and are just too polite to say anything. I really hope that's not the case. I honestly think my wanting to hang out with them so much has very little to do with not having any other friends here--I didn't really have any friends left in Portland by the time we left, and I was pretty content to just hang out by myself and with Mark. I just really LIKE doing things with Susan and Tony. I really hope they feel the same way about us as we do about them, since they aren't in our situation and presumably could be choosing to do other things with their other friends.

Inferiority complex much? Sheesh.

One thing Mark and I were talking about last night that is really peripheral to why we like Susan and Tony so much but is a good side benefit is the age difference. They are 10 years older than we are, but it feels totally normal to hang out with them. Weird as it sounds, they make me feel SO much better about aging. Looking at them I feel like it's totally possible to get older and more mature and consider stuff like buying a house, getting married, having a baby, etc. and still not lose yourself the way you always have been. That is such a great thing.

I'm rambling on and on and I've got to go take a shower and get my shit done if I want to be back in time for kickoff. Plus Chance is making a very strange noise...

Goodness but I'm muddled.

So the school list serve is 1% interesting or useful information, 50% people wanting to sell or buy football tickets, 49% announcements about school social events I couldn't care less about. On Friday there was something called the "Booze Cruise," which I think was about like it sounds--bunch of people getting smashed out on a boat. Today, someone posted some pictures from the event. I flipped through them and saw some of the insipid people from my classes were there, as well as a few of the less insipid people. I would rather poke myself in the eye with sharp sticks than attend one of these parties.

Why, then, do I feel all left out and like I'm not one of the cool crowd (uh, cuz you're not, dumbass)? I was invited. I could have gone. I didn't want to. It wouldn't have been fun. It would have been stupid. I'm completely uninterested in having an school-centered social life. I've had a really good relaxing weekend at home. So where does the jealousy come from? I think it's sad and pathetic that these people are still reliving their undergraduate experiences, I want no part of it.

Why do I get so disgusted with myself for being antisocial? I have friends, both the ones that are scattered to the four winds and the ones here (Susan and Tony). I don't WANT these social climbing nitwit wanna-be politicians as friends.

But I guess I still want them to want me...:(

Sleepy-deepy. Tony and Susan came over tonight, we all ate pizza and watched Baz's Romeo and Juliet. Susan hadn't seen it before. It was a good time. Susan and Tony left us some other movies to watch. They did that last time they came over as well. Plus we have three more from Netflix. We are awash in movies. I really really wish I could find some time to watch some of them.

I need to consult my list, but I feel like I accomplished a good amount today. Tomorrow's agenda includes the football game, reading, doing laundry, reading, reading and reading. Trying to get something out for an essay for this scholarship app. and some writing for my PRP would be good, too.

And maybe some preliminary research on internships. I met with the internship coordinator today, though, and it sounds like I am in good shape. I need to rework my resume, though, so I will have it on hand if something comes up. Should probably try to get to that this weekend as well. We'll see.

I have an econ midterm in less than two weeks. I definitely need to learn some damn econ.

For now, though, I am quite tired. I think it's time for bed.

Em posted a question on the Ms. boards re: "If someone gave you $100 with the express directions to "treat yourself," what would you buy?" I had the hardest time thinking of anything. I could think of lots of ways I'd like to treat Mark, Susan and Tony, etc. My first response was that I'd buy stuff to send care packages to all of my friends afar who are having rough times. At first, I was like, "how cute, look how selfless I am." Then I realized it is much more a case of my treating myself ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Most of the things other people listed are things that I buy for myself regularly, or would, if I wanted them.

No wonder I have a spending problem.

Update your blog, she says. So update my blog I will.

School is just kicking my ass. There is no other way to put it. Suddenly I have rounded the corner from happily overwelmed to freakily overwelmed, and I am not enjoying it. If I could just get a good day's work done I know I'd feel much better, but I am so tired and so distractable...it's not happening. I work for a little while, then I check my email, read The Phoenix, see if anyone needs to be authorized, pet the dog, get some cookies...it's ridicluous.

To be fair, though, I did crank out a PFM memo in fairly short order this morning. I have no idea if it is any good or not (my guess is no), but it is one more thing I can cross off my list. If I have time to go back later and edit it, all the better. If not, so be it. I have other stuff to do.

The Phoenix is rocking and rolling with 75 members and over 700 posts in the past 3 1/2 days. I feel a sense of accomplishment, which is nice. Unfortunately, I am letting it keep me from stuff I really should be focusing on, like my fucking econ midterm. Oh well.

The weather here has turned a little chilly and windy, as if it's really fall. As long as it doesn't last too long, I'm all for it. The trouble is that it feeds right into my urge to curl up in the papasan and read, not do the work I need to get done. Esh. Are you sensing a theme, here?

I did school Day of Service volunteer stuff yesterday. It was pretty much a waste of time. My group was assigned to paint this multimedia room at Johnston HS, which would have been cool, except the guy in charge of the project was in no way ready. He didn't have neccessary supplies, the room wasn't cleaned, blah blah. It was a hassle. I stuck it out for almost three hours, but then I bailed. I got a pretty cool bright green tshirt out of the deal, though. Next time I will follow my gut instincts and go for the library book-sorting project. :)

OK. Back to work. I swear.

It is a rainy drizzly Sunday morning, which is just perfect. It only compounds my desire to curl up in the papasan and read all day. True, I will have to read economics and stuff for my PD paper, but you can't win 'em all.

I'm in an interesting discussion about school dress codes and uniforms on The Phoenix. I'm not sure where it's going, and I'm not 100% sure I'm right, but it's an issue that deserves some real feminist analysis, I think. The subject of young female sexuality is one that most of us won't touch with a ten-foot pole, and I think that is a failing. It only serves to make young women more confused and stigmatized when we try to protect them in this way.

What else is going on today? We took Chancey for a nice, only slightly drizzly walk a bit ago. Mark is on the phone with Nace now, talking about his stupid NSF application. I will be SO glad when that thing is done.

Strangely, I am really looking forward to Mark being gone for a few days. I'm sure I will miss him like crazy and I will hate taking care of Chancey all by myself, but I really feel like I could use the time alone. Maybe it's just all the academic pressure and shit, but I just feel very compressed right now and like some personal decompression time would be just what the doctor ordered.

I am sad it's Sunday already. Weekends go too fast.

Still haven't heard back from Jenny or Natalie. Man do I ever feel lame.

Ug. I should be very happy about today--all I have is an hour or so meeting at noon, the rest of the day is completely free (well, I have to drop the car off at the repair shop and then walk home, but other than that). But I feel very ugh this morning. I'd like to go back to bed. Showering didn't even make me feel better. Maybe walking Chancey will.

This period thing just fucking sucks. The problem with only having a period every three months is that I forget what a collosal pain in the ass it is and then I am surprised when it comes. It hurts, it's messy, I have a headache, I have cramps, and I just don't feel like myself. Most inconvenient.

I was reading an essay last night about periods and PMS and how they have been pathologized, etc. It was interesting, pointing out that if we lived in different kind of society, women might be able to see their periods as giving them times of enlightenment, creativity, etc. I honestly don't feel any more creative or sensitive or anything, though. I just feel put out. I wish I could make it go away completely, or just hibernate until it's over.

That is probably not a very healthy feminist POV, but there you have it.

As has been the case for awhile, I have an extremely large amount of shit that I really need to get going on, and I'm not doing a goddamn thing. My excuse has been that Mark needs to use the computer all the time until his NSF application is done, but that excuse is going to run out today. I wonder what my next excuse will be? I really just need to buckle down and get to work, but I don't feel like I have it in me right now.

Yuck. This is a depressing morning.

My head has been pounding for 24 hours now. It is making me less-than-thrilled.

I have lots to do at work now. I think perhaps I am on a little bit thinner ice than I previously suspected, due to all of this stalker bullshit. Sucks. The stuff I am doing is really really interesting, though, and I'd rather be busy than not.

May be going to a movie with Susan and Tony tonight (haven't heard back yet). Right now I am counting the minutes until I can leave, because my head is throbbing and I want to get my stupid grocery shopping done and get home ASAP. I came in a bit early, too, so I can leave in just a few minutes. Everyone else is already gone.

So I am sitting here looking out the window at Chance's attempts to chase squirrels. He is very dismayed that he can't climb trees and they can. It's hilarious.

We went to quite a good movie last night, Pieces of April. Teenditzactress Katie Holmes makes a surprising turn as the bad daugther in a falling apart family. That sounded very review-esque, didn't it? Well, I don't want to bother explaining the plot, but it was good, you should see it.

Susan cried. It was so cute.

It strangely made me miss my fam, though. Wonder if I will ever get old enough to stop missing my mom? I wish my mom were better at talking on the phone.

I have a big list of stuff to do today. Put chunks in my hair, lots of cleaning, the enivitable school work. Only four weeks left...

I can't think of a damn thing that is even slightly interesting to say.

So there is something wrong with my shoulder. It's like the pain that I had when Chancey pulled my shoulder out that one time, but a bit less. And it's persistant. Taking a shirt off over my head just about makes me cry.

Great. A health problem. Just what I don't have time for.

I am in miserable fucking pain. It's only 11 and I really should stay up for a couple of hours and get some work done, but my shoulder is killing me and all I want is to take a bath and then get in bed with the heating pad. I spent the evening watching movies with Susan and Tony, which was fun, but it would have been 100% more enjoyable if I weren't in such fucking pain. I honestlly don't know how I am going to get out of my shirt this evening--every arm motion hurts. Driving is becoming increasingly problematic.

Chancey was really good on the walk and didn't pull on me at all, thank God.

We watched "Spirited Away" tonight, which I liked, though it confused me. I would like to see it on a big screen or at least a really large TV, because the animation was pretty cool. We also watched a short film called "Book of Life," which I wasn't crazy about. It was funny in parts, but it struck me as pseudo-religious pretention, which gets really old really fast.

I haven't heard from Adam, so I don't know if he's coming this week or not. I hope he is, because it would be good to see him, but I also hope he's not, because I will get even less done with him here. Maybe if he just comes for one night or something. We'll see. I'm sure he'll turn up.

Chancey is being pretty affectionate tonight. I think he misses Mark.

I should probably erase that, lest my stalker know I am here alone. Fuck that. Come and fucking get me.

Alright, I am going to work. I swear.

I think maybe I am feelling better. Walking Chancey was nice--it is a lovely night. He's still hyper, of course, but I'm trying to ignore him. My shoulder is still really bugging me, so I am going to take a bath with some nice lime bath salts here in a bit.

I saw the funniest thing on our walk. We passed a house on our usual route, and the garage door was open. The inside of the garage was packed, floor to ceiling, with all manner of shit. Boxes, bags, loose stuff, bicycle tires...everything you could imagine, precariously stacked. At the very age of the rubble was an old man, sitting in a folding chair. He was watching a tiny (six inch?) black and white TV.

How random is that? I wish I could draw the scene, as the picture in my mind is far more amusing than the one painted by my brief description above.

I am hoping that getting a discussion going on The Phoenix about HPV will lead me to a breakthrough on this stupid paper. The whole thing (and then some) is written in my head and has been forever, but I just can't get it out. I don't know why I am so enamored with this topic...but I am. This is the trouble with picking topics you are highly personally invested in for papers--it's impossible to get started. I am rethinking entering an abstract into the Women's Studies Forum, as the deadline is Friday and I have less than a paragraph completed (though I have a huge marked up stack of articles right by my left elbow).

Adam is coming after all. He'll be here Wednesday night, just for one night. It will be good to see him, if I don't get any more depressed. If I do get more depressed, I am really going to dread having to play hostess. We'll see.

OK. My shoulder hurts. Bath.

Today is my day completely off, or so I have ordained. My schedule will be as follows:

sleep late (which I did)
take Chance for a walk (I already did that, too, we just got back)
take a shower (that's up next)
curl up in the papasan and watch a depressing documentary about Poland
read the Sunday times, but only the parts that interest me and not the parts that I think I should read
go to Target and the Goodwill and spend money, but not too much money
hang out with Susan/go to a matinee
come home and lie around watching TV all evening
take a long hot bath
go to bed

Sounds good, huh? I have a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind that I'll be tempted to do some much-needed housework or proof my paper or something, but that can all wait until tomorrow. Today is my day. I've earned it.

Do Whatever I Want Day delimmma: It is 9:15. I have been doing whatever I want all day, and it's been quite fufilling. Now I'm home, Mark is still really sick, and there are several chores that need to be done. Should I do them now, or leave them until tomorrow?

I am thinking leave them until tomorrow. I'll walk the dog, but other than that, they can all wait. It's good for me to learn to leave things go a bit, and the whole idea of DWIWD would sort of be moot if I ruined it with chores now. It will all still be there (unfortunately) tomorrow.

So there.

Do Whatever I Want Day has been a raging success. It's now 11:30, I'm thinking about bed, and I haven't done a single thing I didn't want to do all day. No chores, no homework, nothing. I am definitely going to have to schedule days like this in a couple more times before the end of the semester if things get too tense. This has worked like a charm--I feel ready to go on and work hard now.

Which is good, since shit is about to start up again tomorrow morning.

Mark is watching "The Rules of Attraction" in the living room. I am glad I can't see it, because just hearing it is bad enough. Stupid shit. Why are most movies so stupid?

I really want some movies that I want to see to come to a theater near me. I love going to the movies. I went to this bizarre film with Susan and Tony tonight. It was really well-done, even though the movie was ass-stupid. I do not understand Mexican wrestling. The masks sort of freak me out, though. They remind me of nasty bondage gear or something.

What a great morning. Slept late (after 10!) and then walked Chance. The weather is amazing--sunny, 70s and windy. Chance actually behaved on our walk, too. All in all, a very good way to start the day.

Now I have to go to campus for two group meetings and a class, but I'm sure it will be fine. Also, I finished the problem set in record time yesterday, which makes me feel real cool.

Listen to Mary Prankster. For real. She's amazing. I'm so excited to have new music. Now I just have to get paid so I can actually buy her CDs instead of downloading her.

I wish I could think of more political and social commentary to put on here, but honestly it's just turning out to be a space where I vent about my life. There is nothing really wrong with that, I suppose, but I don't see why anyone would want to read it.

It's possible that we may have a new addition to our happy household.

Last night when we were walking Chance (it was 11:30 or so), we got by the gated condo community where I always encourage him to pee, and a cat started following us. We tried to keep Chancey's attention and figured it would go away after awhile. We were wrong. It followed us (at very close range) the entire way home. Then, when we got home, it ran up to the porch and attempted to go inside with us. So Mark took Chancey inside and I brought the kitty some milk. It's a smallish long-haired cat (really funny looking, actually, like with a Siamese body and tail and a calico face) and it's pretty thin, no collar, full claws. It sat on my lap and purred and I petted it. I have no idea whether or not it's a stray, but it's obviously a pretty damn spunky cat if it's willing to even get close to us with monster dog around. Mark and I talk about it and realize there is no way we can bring it in--Chance would kill it, even if he didn't mean to. So I figure if it's still around in the morning, we can start feeding it outside and see what happens. With the claws and everything it should be OK with being an outside cat.

In the morning it seemed to be gone, so I figured it had moved on.

Wrong.

Mark and Chance were just outside, and the cat showed back up. And took a stand against Chancey. Chance barked and growled and the cat stood his/her ground and gave him a swipe across the nose that drew blood.

So...we'll see. S/he seems to like it here. Maybe we can work something out.

I am so thankful.

This has been an amazing Thanksgiving. Mark and I did a great job with the food and we've just had a wonderful day. I'm really really happy we decided to stay home and just have it be us. We even gave Chancey a big plate of food, which he demolished in 30 seconds or so. It was hysterical. And Mark and I both conked out for like two hours after dinner. We're going to be eating leftovers for a month.

In a more general way, though, I am very thankful for my life. Things are going well. In general, I am happy and healthy and stable and secure. Mark and I are doing wonderfully and we feel permanent to me. I'm worried about my mom's back, but there is really nothing I can do about that from here, so I should try not to worry about it more than I have to. Hopefully she can have the surgery while I am in Oregon over Christmas. I want to be able to help her...

My presentations this week have stressed me out, but things are going very well. I am really happy with both of my groups. Group work experiences have been so up-and-down (mostly down) for me in the past, group work was something I was really worried about at LBJ, and I these experiences have made me feel much better about it. This is good.

I'm attempting to get my internship requirement for the summer waived. I'll try to do an internship anyway, but if I do it for credit, as is required, I have to pay out-of-state tuition on it, which amounts to about $2,000. That's a huge fucking waste. So hopefully they will waive me on the basis of the work I am doing at Texans Care now. I doubt they will, but it's worth a try. That will mean I have to take one more class next year, but that's really no big deal, especially since it won't change my tuition costs (and I get a waiver on the out-of-state portion for the academic year). If I get the waiver it will also allow me to be more creative in what I decide to do for the summer. So I'm going to finish the waiver app this weekend and hope for the best.

It's amazing how cold it feels in here when it's 53 degrees outside. My feet are like icecubes.

Mark is doing better this week with work/school stuff too, which is really nice. I worry that he'll resent me if he doesn't like it here. I know he likes Austin, but the school thing is so mixed. I have high hopes for Hitoshi's lab, though. Hitoshi came over the night for a few minutes. He's really funny. Japanese James Cagney is exactly the right way to describe him.

I haven't been writing in my blog as much lately because I have been busy, but there has been another reason as well. I have blog-envy. I read Flea's blog and it's so damn good--interesting, funny, well-written...makes me wonder why I bother with it when all I do is blab on and on about my not-very-interesting life. Then I feel really stupid for my envy, because honestly, I don't want a kid that puts shitty underwear in my coffee pot*. And if I had one, I don't think I'd find the energy to write about it like Flea does. I really admire her.

Anyways...blabber blabber blabber. Mark is on the phone with his parents. Chance is curled up on the floor. All is good.

But I need to go put some socks on.

* Actually, I just don't want a kid. The shitty underwear and the coffee pot are side issues. And I don't even have a coffee pot.

I've been asked for a kitty update:

She stayed here for a couple of days, but then followed us on our walk one evening and didn't follow us home. I was really worried about her, but hoped someone else had taken her in. Then, on Sunday, we were walking Chance and we ran into Laura, a wonderful young Japanese woman who lives in our neighborhood with a beautiful and very well-trained Bernese Mountain Dog, Mokie. We stopped and chatted with Laura and Mokie for a few minutes, and lo and behold, that silly cat started darting out and teasing the dogs. I was so excited to see her, but I was even moreexcited when Laura told us that she has taken her in and that the cat and Mokie are tolerating each other fine. Laura was obviously really excited to have a cat, and she's able to let the cat inside and everything, so it seems meant to be. I hope she comes and visits again. She's obviously really independant. However, even if she doesn't, I couldn't wish for a better owner for her.

My stomach is upset, my glasses are dirty, the sound of South Park filtering from the other room is irritating me, and I really want to go to bed, even though it's not even 9:30.

On the upside, though, my first semester of classes at the Lyndon Baines Johnson School of Freezing Your Ass Off is over. PE was my last class today, and what a way to go out! The presentation went well, we turned the paper in, and everything is all wrapped up in a nice, tidy bundle. One class completely finished. And the most difficult class, at that.

So why am I so cranky? Decompression, I suppose. That and I have eaten nothing but absolute garbage today (really, it's been terrible), so I just feel like general ass. I'm going to do better tomorrow, I swear (she says, knowing full well she has NOTHING in the fridge to take to work for lunch tomorrow).

I am strangely nervous about going back to work--after being gone for two weeks, I feel like it is going to be uncomfortable or weird or something. That is dumb, I know, but there it is.

Ick. My stomach is really queasy. Maybe Mark can walk the dog by himself. I so just want to curl up and sleep.

I am sleepy.

There is no good reason I should be--it's been a relatively lazy day. I did get up reasonably early and go to Costco, but then I napped and just hung out and edited my final paper for policy development, ate yummy dinner and sat around watching the Two Towers DVD. I love Saturday.

I also love that classes are over for many weeks. If I also didn't have to work, I'd really be stoked, but I need the money and they need the help, so I'm on for three days a week while I'm in town. That should still give me enough time to write my PRP paper and learn calculus for the qualifying exam. Really.

Before any of that, though, it is Christmas baking time. That was the major purpose of my Costco trip today--baking supplies. I got most everything I need (economy sugar, butter, etc.), so I think I'm ready to get started. I sat down this evening and wrote a Christmas cards/people to bake for list. I may start tomorrow. Really, though, I should study for my PFM final first.

I just want school to be over. The PFM final is all I have hanging over my head, though, and that's only until Wednesday and I'm really not that worried about it, so I think it's all good.

I wanted to write about Costco:

I am embarrassed that I enjoy Costco so much. By all rights, as a thinking anti-consumerist individual (OK, in spirit but no in practice...), I ought to hate Costco. It's a bastion of more is better, bigger is better. Buy shit you don't need, and buy four times more of it than you could ever use. Brilliant plan. But something about the bizarrely large quantities appeals to me.

For some reason I am drawn to things that are larger or smaller than I think they should be. Miniatures, like dollhouse furniture and baby liquor bottles, and large stuff, like Costco. I wonder where the preoccupation with size comes from?

Anyway, Costco wasn't as bad as I expected it to be today. Going there on a Saturday morning a few weekends before Christmas was not a brilliant plan, but it worked out OK. I'm in list mode, so here's what I bought:
-Two Towers DVD
-holiday cards (they are peace-oriented and non-holiday specific)
-NY strip steak
-pesto
-almond poppyseed muffins
-brown sugar
-white sugar
-chocolate chips
-butter
-Oreos
-Cheerios
-a six-pack of colored bell peppers
-granola bars
-peanut butter (it comes in packages of two regular sized jars now, which is way cool)
-Ghiradelli brownie mix
-milk (they have organic 2% there, but no organic skim, which is irritating. I couldn't buy skim there anyway, though--I don't drink it fast enough)

Probably more stuff as well, but that's all I can remember.

Fascinating, huh? Aren't you glad you read my blog? I know you were dying to see my grocery list.

You know what is cool? Holographic snowflake tin foil. Very badass. One more thing that I should write off as silly, stupid consumerism, but I just...can't.

Oh well, at least I have something nice to wrap the holiday baking in, right?

I think biscotti and shortbread are the first items up for bids. Maybe gingerbread as well, if I can find a suitable recipe.

Shit.

Why am I freaking out about this AGAIN?

I have to go and get my cervix scraped this afternoon (Pap smear/annual exam). I'm overdue, as I was supposed to get one in six months after my last one came back abnormal, and that was in May. I have a pretty definite feeling they are going to find something this time, something that's not just "a little weird" but that needs to be frozen or cut out. And I know that's no big deal, it's not even real surgery, it's easy to take care of, etc., but I'm still flipping out.

To make matters worse, Mark and I had sex for the first time in probably a month last night, completely forgetting about the "no intercourse for 24 hours before the pap smear" rule. I've broken that rule before and nothing has happened, but damn, you'd think we could have thought about that. (Sorry for the TMI, but I need to write about this and I have decided I'm going to try to censor my blog less, since I don't have another journal anymore--if you are uncomfortable knowing this much about my life, you don't have to read it, right?).

So. Blah. I'm all twitchy. Maybe taking the dog for a walk will help.

Dear Person Who Irritates Me,

Please stop going out of your way to irritate me. If you do not, I may start screaming and never stop. I may abuse my power like a petty little dictator. I may hunt you down and beat you with a wet noodle. I have a monster headache, I'm fat, I had to get a Pap smear today, and I think my dog is getting sick. I need to start holiday baking and I am not in the Christmas spirit. Mark is going to call me to come pick him up at some point, and that irrationally pisses me off. To make a long story short, I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your passive aggressive horseshit today. Go ruin the hard work and soul of someone else for awhile.

Fuck you,

Grace

What a generally irritating day. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

On the plus side, my biscotti look great. Too bad I don't actually like almond-anise biscotti.

I don't remember the crampy post-Pap smear feeling usually lasting this long. It blows goats. I just want to take more Advil and go to bed.

Which I will, in a few minutes. Mark is walking Chancey without me. I walked him this morning and walked all over campus today, so I think I am OK for excercise for the time being.

I was wondering if walking Chance "counts" as 20 mins/day (even though it's 20 mins twice a day, usually) of physical activity? I don't break a sweat, my heart rate doesn't much accelerate, but I am walking. Is it worth the time, workout wise? Is there something else I should be doing to supplement it that wouldn't be too much of a time strain? I'd like to start lifting weights (arm definition, rather than just arm flab, would be great), but I can't muster up the energy.

I can't muster up the energy to write anything worth reading here, either. Fuck it, I'm going to bad. Probably best just to call this day a loss and move on to tomorrow.

I'm feeling better about the weight stuff--I am much more confident that I can do something about it if it's that important to me. And given the very important point Mark brought up about the vericosity in my legs already and the compounding effect extra weight has on that problem, it is becoming very important to me.

But enough about that.

I am finished with my first semester at LBJ--the final yesterday went fine and now I really do have time off. I'm already nervous about the prospect (yeah, right) of learning enough calc to take the validation exam in January, but I'm going to give myself a couple more days before I start freaking out about that or my PRP paper. This is, after all, supposed to be vacation, and it's bad enough that I have to work 3 days/week during my supposed "vacation."

I'm having a good morning at work this morning, though. I finally found data for two of the things that were hanging over my head from the maternal and child health indicators list. I knew they were there all along, it has just taken ages to find them. I should take another look at the JJ stuff while I'm on a roll.

My baking bonanza was a partial success. My biscotti didn't meet the Mark test, and some of my shortbread broke and thus became Mark's tea biscuits, but I think everything else is OK. The gingerbread men and sugar cookies look nice, and I'm pretty confident the pound cakes will be good. The fudge is a little bit soft, but it should harden over the next couple of days, and soft fudge isn't the worst thing in the world. So tonight I need to start getting it all packaged up and sent off. The problem is that there are other things I wnat to send to some of the folks I am planning to ship it too. I think I might just skip that, though. No need to let Christmas be overwelming. I got about half a dozen cards sent out on Tuesday as well, so that's going pretty well. Need to do some more tonight. Writing out Christmas cards makes me feel strangely grown up, and signing Mark's name to them as well as my own makes me feel...married. It's odd, but sort of nice, in the same way it's nice to refer to Mark and Chancey as my "family."

Emily is off to stay with her parents for a few days. Her mom really sounds like she's not doing well, and I apparently I am talking about it a lot, because Mark said something last night about how surprised he is at the effect it's having on me. It's really two things, I think. The first is Emily and wanting to be able to make her feel better and knowing it's simply not possible, and the second is fear that this means my mom could get sick, too. I simply cannot fathom my mother being terminally ill. It's beyond my capacity to comprehend.

I dreamt about Emily's mom last night. I have no idea what she looks like (though I think I have seen a picture at some point), so she had the face of the mom in Pieces of April. I dreamed that I put my hands on her and willed her to live, like Shaedra talks about with her "raiki" or whatever it is. I had some miraculous healing power in the dream, apparently. And I was doing everything I could to make her get better. I woke up with a wet face and a feeling of complete uselessness. There is nothing I can do. Even normal, day-to-day stuff to help Brooke and Emily out would be great, but what the fuck do you do from 1000 miles away? As usual, I wish I were capable of prayer. Though I don't know if God is a help or a hindrance with real grief, I think s/he would certainly be helpful with "sending good thoughts." Sending just my own, unamplified, seems woefully insufficient.

My house is very cold, but my tea is very hot, so it all works out.

Got lucky on a book-buying spree at the Goodwill today. I picked up a multicultural family book for Susan and Tony, Backlash, Susan Brownmiller's rape book, Amy Tan's newest book, and Molly Ivans' book about the Clinton years. That, along with Janet Frame's autobiography (I have to remember to get that from Susan before I leave) should keep me busy while I'm home.

My sense of excitement about going home is pretty repressed now. I'm honestly terrified that my mom is having surgery and that I have to be there and see her through it and stuff. Have to is the wrong way of putting that...I want to, I'm just scared of the responsibility. But at least I have a place to stay in Portland worked out (thanks Sarah!) and hopefully I will be able to make a stock-up swing by Trader Joe's. Wonder if Mark would be mad if a stock-up from Trader Joe's is all he got for Christmas? I'm sort of out of ideas.

I need to get the relaxation packs put together. I meant to make some yoga cards for them, but I don't know if I have the energy now. I wonder how much laminating costs at Kinkos?

Obviously I'm just rambling. Mmm, more stream of conciousness blogging.

I really want to be able to help Emily and her mom. I can't stop thinking about it.

Ah, the Christmas season. Bringing unnecessary stress to a household near you!

Fuck this. Every year I get excited about Christmas in late October/early November. Every year by December 1 am so fucking tired of Christmas.

Mark's family's handling of Christmas makes me fucking crazy. They give each other Christmas lists, complete with name brands, prices, and where to buy. Where is the joy of gift-giving in that? I don't understand that at all. The whole point of gift-giving, the whole thing that makes it fun, is showing a person how you feel about them and how well you know them through what you pick out (or even better, make) for them. The point of commercialization it has gotten to when you give someone a brand-named and priced list makes it completely not worthwhile. And that is for immediate family for fuck's sake!

I feel sort of blah about my own present offerings this year as well. They aren't terrible, but they don't have quite the spark I'd like them to have. Maybe I'll feel better about it once I get everything together. One thing I do knwo, though, is that I didn't break the bank on them, and nobody got something they specifically asked for, but everyone got something I think they will like/use at least a little bit. So that's at least a step in the right direction.

I have no idea why the way Mark's family does things makes me so angry, but it really does. At that point, why bother with presents at all? Just save time and exchange checks.

I continue to be terrified about Mom's surgery. I'm sure it will be fine, but it frighens me nonetheless. I just want it to be over with already. I'm glad I get to spend a few days at home before we go to Portland, just to rest and relax before taking it on. Hopefully she will only have to stay at OHSU for one night.

I said I didn't want dinner, but now whatever Mark is cooking smells really good. Perhaps I should investigate. I'm getting a little bit concerned about my calorie counting, since it makes me think a bunch of times before I eat anything. In a way that's good, obviously, but I don't want to become someone who gets no joy out of food. I love food, and I plan to continue loving food. Just got to learn to love it a bit more responsibly.

On the blog I post on with my group of college friends, we've begun to talk elections. The more I post and read their posts, the more concrete my position seems. I am still working it all out in my head, but the bottom line is that I don't really support the Democrats. That isn't exactly big news--I haven't been registered Dem for years--but I *really* don't support them. I'm not sure we'd be in a much better position than we are now if Gore had taken office three years ago. I'm not sure we'll be in a much better position a few years from now if Dean somehow manages to win. I'm not sure there is much difference whatsoever between the animated corpses on the "right" and those on the "left."

I sound so stupid when I get started on this, but sometimes I think we're on our way to the revolution, and the only way we're going to get there is with four or eight or twelve or sixteen more years of bad conservative government. We're so fat and lazy, so apathetic and uninformed, it is no wonder we are in this position. The question is what will it take to shake us out of it? What will it take before the people demand real choices, before we demand a return to our civil liberties, before we demand that this country become what it could be?

In some ways, I hope that things *will* get worse, so that they can get better. This particular equilibrium is just not OK with me.

But then I wonder how much worse, and I get scared just like everyone else. I wonder how willing I am to fight if things do get bad. If abortion is outlawed, will I work on the underground? Will the line I draw between peaceful protest and actual organized resistance blur? When? How can I call for revolution when I'm not sure that I myself am willing to come out of my complacency and help it happen? Given how complacent I am, why don't I just shut up and register Dem and vote the-lesser-of-two-evils like everyone else?

Well, I'm here. And that's about all I can say about it. I have to keep in mind that it's always miserable at first and I feel like ass, but I'll get some sleep and adjust to the way things are here and I'll be fine. Not enough sleep last night and all day flying makes me cranky, and I'm sure that's part of it.

That being said, why does everyone here seem so goddamn stupid? And why do I hate myself so much for thinking they seem stupid?

God I hate this part.

I thought I was going to leave that short and sweet and be done with it and go to bed, but apparently I was wrong. I feel like such a freak here. I should feel natural, these are my people--but I feel like I'm 9 feet tall and everyone thinks I'm judging them for being short. And maybe I am. But it's not my fault I'm tall, and it's not my fault they are short, and just because I am tall doesn't make short better.

That was a damn stupid analogy. I really am quite tired. This is actually the one place where I usually don't feel freakily tall. I should think of something better to compare this to.

Blah blah. I'm hardly even making sense to myself. The bottom line is that I'm not comfortable here. This isn't home. Home is in Austin, with Mark and Chance. Home was with Mark and Erica on Belmont. Home is about me and the people I choose not, not about the people who birthed and raised me. And that's a strange thing. I feel...disrespectful, I guess, for saying it. And then that's weird, because I never liked this place anyway. I spend 17 years trying to get out, and now that I am out, I insisit on trying to feel like I belong here and am not just visiting when I come back.

I just don't get it.

I've been saying "I want my mom" for months, and now I am here and I don't know what to do with her.

Today was distinctly better. I think I was just grouchy last night. These are my people, as far away from them as my life gets, I am still grounded by them.

I took a walk "into town" today. Six miles, took about an hour and a half. It was really nice to do and I was really proud of myself at the end. My feet and legs don't seem too sore, either, though that might change tomorrow. I am eating like a giant pig here, which needs to stop (but won't, I'm afraid). There is junkfood everywhere, and the way people cook here for meals isn't exactly diet-friendly. Oh well. If I can hold steady until I get home, I'll be happy. No use trying to actually lose while I'm here--it's just not going to happen (unless maybe I find time to take that six mile walk every day...)

My mom is really really miserable. She's been worse every time I see her for ages now, but you can tell she's really at the end of her rope right now. And she's up to 3 or 4 pain pills a day, which can't be good for her. She says she is in pain and depressed and she doesn't know how much longer she can take it. I don't know what that means. I guess it means that this surgery better fucking do something. It's so unfair to see someone as great as my mom in so much pain. And it makes me feel guilty for not being here to take care of things. I don't think George helps around the house as much as he should. He does some, but Jesus, she can barely walk. She shouldn't be doing laundry and cleaning and making dinner and all that crap. Not that I think she'd stop even if someone else were here to do it, but still. I'm trying to do as much as I possibly can while I am here...and hopefully by the time I leave she'll be feeling better (though that's really unlikely, as it will take her six weeks or so to recover fully from the surgery). I hate seeing her like this. It's really aging her, too, which is sad, especially since she's really so young.

This is really odd to admit (and I hope Mark still doesn't read this), but being here makes me want to get married and maybe even have a baby sometime. I love my family, and I love that they are my family. And I love my family with Mark and Chancey as well. I want them to be...connected more, I guess. I long for something more "official." Which is really really strange, because I am completely politically opposed to getting married and I have absolutely no plans to do so. I was daydreaming today, though, about telling my mom she was going to be a grandmother.

It's in the air down here, I swear. I have to get away quick!

I saw Sadie today and she knew my name. She's only just started talking in the past few months, but she recognized me. Amazing, considering she hasn't seen me since August. She's a beautiful, bright, tempermental little girl. She looks just like Randi, but I think she acts more like me. Apparently she's prone to tantrum-throwing. :) I hope I get to see a fit before I leave. Proud to have passed that particular legacy on.

The wood heat is drying out my skin, chapping my lips, and making me sneeze. It's nice to listen to the fire crackle, though, and to stand in front of it until my ass gets so hot I have to go bury it in the couch. There are always good things about being home.

Tomorrow I think I'll have some solitude. Mom and George will be at work and Mitch is going fishing, so I'm just going to hang out and make Christmas cookies and watch TV and read. I hope this Janet Frame book speeds up a bit--her childhood doesn't interest me as much as it could, and I'm finding her a little bit unaccessible (inaccessible? INXSable?) I'm sure it will be more interesting once she gets to the mental hospital, though.

Speaking of, I think I will get under my covers and read a few more chapters. One thing about the wood heat--my bedrooom, as always, is ice fucking cold. I don't know how I stood it here when I was growing up with the door shut. I sleep with the door open when I am here now. Fuck privacy, I want warmth!!

I swear, time goes so much slower here than it does anywhere else on the planet. Not totally in a bad way, but it's so strange. I feel like I've been here for a year already, and I've just been here since Wednesday night.

All is going reasonably well, though. It is amazing how much better I get along with them than I used to. No political arguments yet, and I'm pretty proud. We even discussed socialized healthcare, and there was no fight. Partially that's because they are beginning to come around to my way of thinking on their own ('bout damn time!) and partially it's because I am learning, in my old age, that some arguments are just not worth having. I'm not going to change their minds, at least not both at the same time, and even having the discussion just makes things uncomfortable. There are some things (well, most important things really, but I'm not going to think too much abou that right now) that I don't have any reason to talk to them about.

Being here is strange, though. I feel myself conciously having to struggle against reverting to my younger behavior. It really highlights for me how I am a different person now than I was at 16, or even 19 or 21. These past couple of years have made worlds of difference. Part of it, I'm sure, is pharmaceutical (mmm...antidepressants), but part of it is just growing up. I don't begrudge helping out around here when I am here now--in fact, I welcome the opportunity. Sounds mature to me!

Before I get too impressed with myself, though, I do have to admit that being here makes me eat asbsolute crap. I cannot believe the amount of junk food I've consumed in the past few days. According to my calorie count I'm still within reasonable levels, but there are very few nutrients in my system. I guess it's only for another week, though, and then I go back home, where it's easier to eat well. I'm not going to lose too much sleep over it. I'm keeping up with yoga and cardio, so that's good. Maybe tomorrow I will take another long walk. It seems to want to rain here, though, so maybe not.

I could go on and on forever and still have nothing new to say about family dynamics. I swear it's one of the very weirdest subjects on Earth. It's one more reason I don't want to have kids--I wouldn't want my kids to feel the sense of pity/incredulousness/worry/distain/love for me that I do for my parents. It feels bad enough from this side. I really wish my relationship with them could be completely untroubled, I wish I could understand them and they could understand me. But right now, I am pretty happy to settle for peace, even if it does feel a little bit shallow.

My poor blog, neglected for so long!

I am back home now, and I picked Chancey up from the kennel this morning. He seems to have faired very well there, which is wonderful. Now maybe we won't have to worry so much about leaving him next time we go away.

I have a list of about a million things to do today, but so far it's pretty slow going. I am about to head out to Target to pick up a few things--hopefully I'll have the skills to install towel racks on the back of our bathroom door when I get back. Nothing hugely ambitious. I'm still getting used to how quiet it is here, compared to in Elkton. Enjoying some much-needed time alone, too.

Mom's surgery went well, draining as it was. We are hoping for the best as far as results, but it's too early to really be able to tell. She seems pretty optimistic, though.

It felt like I wasn't in Elkton for long enough. Anxious as I was to get back home and especially to pick up Chance, I wasn't really ready to leave. Strange how that works. I think Mark is ready to come home, though, even though he's only been in Minnesota a few days. I talked to him a bit ago and he didn't sound particularly as if he was having a good time.

Blah. I am obviously out of the blogging habit. I'm sure I will get back into it. Until then, though, my apologies to any reader who has made it this far.

Mark comes back tomorrow! Mark comes back tomorrow!

I'm so excited I can hardly sit still. I have a bunch of presents and stuffed stockings waiting, so we can have our Christmas just as soon as he gets here (well, maybe a bit after he gets here). I'm also really excited for unmentionable reasons...it's amazing the things that two weeks apart will bring out...

I went on a total buying spree today, getting presents for Mark and Chancey. It was BAD. I spent like $200 or something. But it made me really happy, and now Christmas shopping is officially over and I can get back on budget. The pile of presents in the living room makes me smile every time I walk by. It's worth it. I can always say I spent my suit money from Nana (and my digital camera money from Dad, too, I guess). I don't really need to buy a suit now anyway, since Target bailed me out. And she'll never know the difference.

The cup of coffee I drank a bit ago is not sitting so well in my tummy. I wonder why sometimes it doesn't bother me at all and sometimes it just makes me feel like I am going to retch?

I suppose I should be thinking New Year's resolutions...I kind of already made mine (getting in shape, losing weight, watching what I eat, etc.). I've fallen off the wagon a little bit in the past week, but I think I can get back into it now that I'm home. I don't officially want to call that a New Year's resolution, though, because then I'll NEVER do it. Regaining financial control would be another good resolution...

Damn resolutions that require self discipline. What I can't I resolve to sleep less and have more sex?

Speaking of sleeping less, I have slept SO poorly the past few nights. Hopefully it will be better tonight. I have no idea what is keeping me awake. It might just be because Mark is gone, but that didn't really bother my sleeping patterns last time he was away.

Or it may be the coffee. Does coffee have more caffeine than Pepsi?

Sadly, my blogging does not seem to have improved since yesterday...

Chancey and I came upon our friends Laura and Mokie on our walk this morning, so we inquired about the mystery kitty. Sad new and good news:
Sad news first: Laura couldn't keep her--apparently she and Mokie didn't get along as well after awhile.
Good news second: Laura found a home for her with a friend in Dallas.

So she's OK and taken care of, but I won't see her again.

Dear Self,

I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but just because you have two more school-free weeks DOES NOT mean you have no responsibilities. You have a 25 page draft of your PRP paper due on the 15th and you have to take a calculus validation exam on the 20th. You are completely unprepared for both of these tasks, having put, at most, an hour of work into each of them so far over your break. Also, you have to work three days next week and three the week after. Also there are a million and one house projects it would be great if you could get done during your time off, and you need to check out a gym.

Get on it. Stop reading stupid books (has anyone read "The Nanny Diaries"? It's hilarious!) and watching TV.

I mean this with all due respect.

Love,

Self

In light of yesterday's note to myself, I probably shouldn't be saying this, but I woke up today (late) with a distinct feeling of laziness. I don't want to do ANYTHING today. I want to nap, read, watch TV, eat junk food. I am tired by the thought of driving Mark to work or walking Chance. There is absolutely no way I am going to get much, if anything, done on my paper or calc studying.

What I should do is force myself into productivity by going in to work, but I don't think I am going to do that either. The devil on my shoulder is saying, "you're on vacation, taking one day off is no big deal." And I'm listening to her.

Didn't I used to be an ambitious, productive person?

So the reason for yesterday's feeling odd and not wanting to do anything became very clear last night at around 10, when I developed one of the worst migraines I've had in a long time. Complete with light and sound sensitivity, bizarre rings in my vision, nausea (which I hardly ever get) and what amounted to a six+ hour ice cream headache. Yuck. This morning I feel like a wrung out wash rag. I am really tempted to stay home and in bed to recoop, but since the headache itself is gone, I'm up and dressed and going to work.

And hoping for the best...

So you tell me if this is stupid...

I was sitting on the couch this morning, waiting for Mark to be ready to drive me to work, petting Chancey. And I got to thinking--why are we so much more comfortable with physical contact with animals than with other people? I would pet anyone's dog, but to even shake hands with the person freaks me out, and I certainly wouldn't touch them, or want them to touch me, in the intimate sense that petting implies. Does it have something to do with the power differential between us and animals? Or is it even simpler than that--would we all pet each other if we were all covered in fur?

Sometimes the "no touching" thing bothers me. I wish I could be more physically affectionate. Other than with Mark, I have a really hard time with it. Even hugging friends or my parents or whatever feels strange and stifling to me. And that definitely makes me feel like I'm missing something, because I like petting Chance, and Chance obviously likes to be petted.

So I've been curled up on the couch reading the latest edition of Harper's for the past hour or so. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday evening. I'm especially amused by the story about high school journalism that mentions my very own little teeny alma matar, and even refers to a letter written by my own mum.

However...

There is a reason I should not read the left press, or the "left" press, as may be more appropriate. Every article makes me want to change my life, start a campaign, march on the capital, DO SOMETHING, and I just don't have the energy to DO SOMETHING about everything. For instance, in this edition, there was a piece on Bush's Medicare "reform"--I already knew about that, but this piece reminded me what a fucking nightmare it was. Then there was an article about how much energy we use to feed ourselves, from the domestication of grain all the way through high fructose corn syrup and feed lots--terrifying. I knew a lot of it already, too, but that doesn't make the terror any less real. Then there was something else, then something else. So now I'm like afraid to go to bed, afraid to eat anything, knowing that my very existance is killing the planet, that my government is raping the world, etc. and I'm not doing anything about it.

A bit more objectivity and a bit less melodrama would probably be a really excellent idea. That or just no news, ever. And I think a news moritorium would probably be bad for my career.

Today's word of the day was irenic, which means peaceful or concilliatory. I like that a lot.

I've added titles to my blog, because I really like other people's titles. Lemmeno if they are irritating.

So I feel guilty for not excercising today. Isn't that strange? I just didn't feel like it, so I didn't do it, and now I feel all ass-y, like I let myself down. Which is ridiculous, I've been putting in a good six days a week of exercise, and I walked the dog twice today, so that has to count for something. But now that it's too late to do any yoga or cardio before I go out, I feel like I really should have done some.

Sometimes it seems that the liklihood of my winning anything, ever, is very very slight.

In better news, in a few minutes I'm out the door to a celebratory evening with Susan and Tony. They have waited a long time for this particular celebration, and I'm really happy for them and happy to be going out with them tonight. Good food helps, too. The fewer calories I eat, the more obsessed with food I get. Which tells me that I am undoubtably doing something wrong, but that's for another time.

I want to find a way to keep a running list of movies I'm seeing and books I am reading on my blog. Does anyone know how to do that? Perhaps I'll just experiment...

So I'm not at work today, even though I am supposed to be. I woke up at around 6am with the world's worst sinus headache, which has yet to go away, and I didn't go in.

And boy do I feel guilty.

Today would have been my first day in this week, lots to do I'm sure, most everyone else out of the office...and I'm not there because I am too much of a wuss to go in when I feel like this.

I have got to get better and slogging through when I don't feel good. I've never been any good at it, but as I get older and get sick less often, I think I get worse. The thirty minute discussion I have with myself about whether or not to go to work when I wake up feeling shitty is down to about five minutes now before I give up and roll over.

This has got to make me look terrible in the eyes of employers. If I were an employer, I wouldn't like me very much.

So I'm here, I feel like ass, looking at the monitor is making it worse, and I can't figure out what to do with this day, since I feel like ass and I'm not at work, where I should be.

It's 2:30. The house is much cleaner, I still feel absolutely awful, as if my head is stuffed with barbed-wire. I've ordered $125 worth of books for my "fun" class this semester, I've started an application for an internship I don't really want, I've worked on my resume a bit, and I feel guilty for being out of bed but not being at work.

If I had the car, I'd just say fuck it and go into work for a few hours, but Mark has the car, and by the time I get there on the bus there won't be any point in being there. Besides, if anything is going to make me feel more like ass, it's the bus.

So here I am, wondering what I should do next. I honestly feel like getting back in bed, but I know it won't make me feel any better physically or emotionally if I do.

God this day sucks.

So this is one of those things I should not be admitting in public, because I will probably never live it down:

I am upset about the breakup of Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck. Well, not upset, exactly, but disappointed. I have been pulling for them through their engagement, their wedding-that-wasn't, etc. I wanted them to get married and be happy.

Why would I care about something like that? Well, that's a good question, and it is one I'm not sure I can answer. I think I just have this romantic notion of both of them being po'-kid-makes-good stories, and I liked the idea of them building something out of that together. Plus there was so much tabloid bullshit about their relationship, I wanted to see them prove everybody wrong and make it work.

Isn't that lame? Neither one of them are celebrities to whom I am particularly drawn. Though I've had a soft spot for Affleck and Matt Damon ever since I found out they wrote Good Will Hunting themselves, and their performances in Dogma made me even more sympathetic towards them, Damon has always been my favorite. And Lopez mostly annoys me, at least she has since she lost weight (I used to like her just for being a teeny bit bigger than the average Hollywood waif, but anymore she's really not).

Anyway, so they broke up and it makes me sad. And given the nasty presents they give each other (a Bentley, a pink diamond ring) and their bizarre male-female dynamic (he goes out to strip clubs, she learns to cook, WTF?), I should think their break-up is a good thing, but...I don't know. It disappoints me. I wanted a Hollywood fairy tale.

Gah. How humiliating.

Having given some more thought to my Bennifer Breakup Disappointment, I think it is about fairy tales. In my adult life, Hollywood suffices for fairy tales, make believe, too much of the time. And given that it's supposed to be "too good to be true" it is sad that the relationships never work out. So when a couple for whom I actually have some positive feeling breaks up, it makes me question whether or not I believe in fairy tales.

If that makes any sense, which, now that I write it down, it doesn't.

To further humiliate myself, I will admit that I hope Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are very happy as well.

Moving on, today was a really good day. It was rainy and gray and my head hurts a lot still, but it was still really nice. Hung out at home, had an excellent and ass-kicking workout--all in all, good stuff.

I think it is going to be possible for me to go to Washington in April for the March for Choice, which makes me really happy. I knew I wanted to go, but I didn't think it would be fiscally possible. The North Texas PP, however, is giving scholarships to full-time students so we can go for only $75, and that pays for airfare and two nights in a hotel. SWEET!! So as long as my application gets there before all the slots are full, which it should, I think, I should be in. So all I have to figure out is how to get from here to Dallas and back for the flight (and I'm sure there will be carpools for that). So that's exciting. I think it will be a really re-energizing feminist experience. Or at least I'm hoping so, because I could really fucking use one of those sometime soon.

The Phoenix really does drain me. I really want it to realize its full potential, but my hope of that actually happening gets slimmer with every ridiculous in-fight. And nobody is immune, you know? It's not just people I don't like who are tempted to get in their jabs, is folks I really do like as well (and I'm certainly not above a low blow or two myself, to be fair in taking my part of the blame). I don't know why we like to shit on each other, but for some reason we do, and that really disturbs me. Is it just that this is how women in our society are taught to treat each other? Is this what happens in all frustrated progressive circles (I'm thinking of the New Left infighting now, or the gender problems and other problems in the Civil Rights Movement)? Or is it a problem with online communication in general, and none of us would do this in real life? I don't know what to blame it on, but I know it exhausts and depresses me, and some days, like today, I feel better if I just stay away (which is an abdication of responsibility that makes me feel guilty, but whatever, you can't win 'em all).

I'm beginning to worry myself a little bit with the diet/weight loss thing. I don't want to be turning into a calorie counter who sucks the joy out of food, you know? It shouldn't be a point of personal pride to me that I am down 9 pounds, because those are just numbers on a scale, and it shouldn't be a point of pride either that I burned 1000 more calories than I consumed today. I should be focusing on how I feel (which is actually pretty damn good, but I think that is due almost entirely to working out and has very little to do with food restriction), not what my numbers are. But it is harder every day to divorce my feelings from the numbers, and I think more and more about how I can get the numbers lower, what foods I can sneak out (for instance, it's amazing what limiting all beverages to water or tea will do for your calorie count)...I don't know. It seems unhealthy to me even from my internal vantage point, so I can't imagine it looks good to others.

And the bottom line is that yeah, I want to be in better shape and not have back problems like my mom and all that, but basically I'm fucking vain and I don't want to be fat. This all boils down to me not wanting to be fat. And that makes me feel like ass. So what if I am fat? Why should that matter to me? Why is my self-worth so connected to my body? Haven't I learned anything?

Apparently not.

But the chances I am going to quit thinking about it that way seem slim, so I just have to moderate myself as much as I can. Focus as much as possible on excercise and as little as possible on calories. And I have to promise myself that when I reach the goal weight, or when I reach the deadline, whichever comes first, then I am going to STOP counting calories. Because I am so fucking obsessive about entering every mouthful in to the website, and I know that can be a bad behavior.

Really I'm not worried about developing an eating disorder or anything dramatic like that. Rather, I just don't want to get any more fucking vain and self-indulgent.

Funny that I am blogging about not wanting to be so self-indulgent! As if this blog is ANYTHING but self-indulgence...

So I'm about to confess one of those things that I fear will make anyone who reads my blog hate me. I really hope it won't happen that way and it will be taken in the spirit in which it was intended, but I can't help but entertain a certain level of paranoia. Even more so than my Bennifer story, this could be taken the wrong way:

I am jealous of lesbian couples. Really, deeply, profoundly jealous. I have known this for awhile, but it was brought to mind again tonight. My intersex class met for a viewing of Hedwig, and one of the women in the class brought her partner. Watching the two of them together (not in a freaky stalkerish way, but just being exposed to their dynamic), I was able to pinpoint at least part of why I am so jealous of women in relationships with each other. They had both the romance and the comraderie. Mark may well be the best friend I've ever had, but there is still never going to be the sense of being on the same side between us as there can be between two women. I'm not talking about having a relationship and being friends--I can do that with a man, and I have--I'm talking about having a relationship and being the same species. I think it's socialization, rather than Mars and Venus, but I do think that women and men are profoundly different, and there are so many things that Mark is never going to understand, no matter how much he wants to and no matter how much I want him to. At the end of the day, he is my partner, but he is also, in a profound way that I can't shake no matter how hard I might try, my enemy.

When I was younger I thought my bisexuality was about my irrepressible sexual desire for women. I've said for a long time that I am more sexually attracted to women than I am to men, and in general I think that is true ( think that's also partially because as a citizen in this culture I am taught to be more sexually attracted to women than to men, but that's another tale for another time). But my jealousy of two women in love, spending their lives together has very little to do with sex. I've had sex with women. I have some concept of what it can be like. It's great, but I don't necessarily think it's better than sex with a man (and yes, my best sex has been with men). But I've never had a real relationship with a woman. Not as a grown-up. I've never lived with a woman I had a romantic attachment to, I've never shared my bed with a woman, etc. And that is what I am jealous of. I am jealous of having that feeling of partnership that I have with Mark with someone who has this shared set of woman's experiences with me.

I fear that I am making tons of generalizations about lesbian relationships, or that it is at least coming off like that's what I'm doing. That is in no way my intention. I am obviously not talking about every lesbian couple, or even every lesbian couple I know. I'm talking about potential. Part of it is the political potential of being able to exise men from your life and blah blah blah, but that isn't really the potential that interests me. The potential that interests me is the kind of bond you can have with someone who is like you in this fundamental way.

I think there might also be an element of lesbian couples (and I say lesbian and not "same-sex," because I can't think of a single gay male couple I know) not seeming to take each other for granted the way those in different-sex relationships can. I have no idea why that would be, and again, I know it's a generalization and not the way things actually are, but I've just seen a level of respect between two women that I don't think I usually see between a woman and a man. Perhaps it is that there aren't the same prescribed roles to buck up against and chafe? In a relationship with a man, I have to be the woman, but in a relationship with a woman, I could just be a woman? I have no idea. I just feel like it would be easier for my identity to be my own if I were in a relationship with a woman instead of a man.

The more I write the more this doesn't come out sounding like what I am actually trying to say. I'm afraid it's terribly offensive and I am totally misrepresenting myself. I am afraid I sound like the worst kind of "trendy bi." I'm afraid I'm not recognizing my own privledge. I'm afraid I am just missing the whole goddamn point. But I think I'm going to leave this up anyway, at least for tonight.

If this has been offensive, I am really really sorry. Please know it isn't meant to be, and please take the time to correct me. I really appreciate it.

I feel like so much ass. My head hurts, my face hurts, everything that can run is running...it's awful. Apparently, I have a cedar allergy. Who knew you could get allergies in fucking January? True, it is nearly 70 degrees here, but still. It's January! It should not be allergy season!! FUCK!

So yeah. I'm not sick, I'm chronic. And nothing is touching it. OTC stuff is a joke. I should probably go to the doctor, but that would require time and energy which I do not have.

Fuck.

We took the Myers-Briggs Personality Test in my management class this week. Unsurprisingly, I am still an INTJ. Apparently this particularly configuration is relatively uncommon. My I, N, and J are all relatively strong, my T is only a 5 or something.

I basically think this is bullshit, but, to be fair, the INTJ description fits me, for the most part.

Then again, so does the description of what being a Virgo...

If you mysteriously had $200 that you didn't expect, and you felt compelled to use it to buy yourself a present, what would you buy?

This is not a hypothetical question. My dad sent me a check for $200 today, after taking back the digital camera he bought me for my birthday/Christmas, because Mark got one as well and we don't need two. I never expected to see the money, and here it is!

So the practical part of me knows I should just put it in my account for books and expenses and the money I always end up spending, even though I shouldn't. The other part, though, is screaming that this money is a PRESENT and should be spent as such.

What do you think?

I just spent an hour or so whipping up several batches of bath salts. I made grapefruit (my personal fave), orange ginger, blood orange rosemary, and rosemary lavendar tangerine. They smell great seperately, but the mixture of all of the smells, in conjunction with the amount of salt I got in tiny papercuts on my hands, is less than pleasant at the moment.

If any of my loyal readership would like a care package of homemade bath salts, lemmeno which flavor strikes your fancy.

I spent a good hour and a half this afternoon cleaning out and reorganizing my dresser and closet. My closet is now color-coded (I can't believe it took me so long to do that) and all of my drawers are reorganized and neat. I'm on a real organizational binge lately. I want to get some more clear plastic containers and organized our pantry cupboard (pasta in one container, nuts in one, dried fruit in one, etc.), but Mark begs me not too. He'd never be able to find anything that way.

This is the trouble with someone like me cohabitating with someone like Mark.

That and the piles of fucking papers everyfuckingwhere.

I have to go to work tomorrow morning. I didn't think I was going to have to go in until 11 or so, so it's a bitter pill to swallow that I have to be there at 9. Oh well. I could use the hours, and there is stuff to do. I'm not so sure the working from home thing is going to work out as well as I'd hoped, actually, because I haven't been able to get it together yet. Hopefully next week.

Ug. My hands smell mostly like rosemary essential oil, with this sort of background citrus smell. It would be nice if it weren't so damn strong. Also my left index finger is stained yellow from the coloring. Looks like I have jaundice of one finger.

I am fairly successful so far in my quest to stop biting my nails! They aren't past the ends of my fingers or anything yet, but they are to the point where they pretty much look like I just cut them short, rather than gnaw them off. I'm impressed.

Yeah, I know, it doesn't take much.

Hello, I'm Grace and I'm an alcoholic.

Well, not really, but that's where I wanted to start, because what I am thinking about this morning is the words we use to identify ourselves. I'm very uncomfortable with AA for a ton of reasons, but one of those reasons is the sentance above--I don't like the idea of "an alcoholic" being the first term you use to identify yourself. In fact, I'm not sure I like terms used as identifying markers at all, especially when they get long and complex and they don't really fit.

I will take myself as an example. Here are some terms that could be used to identify me:
-woman
-female
-feminist
-bisexual
-monogamous
-dog-owner
-non-mother
-white
-Oregonian
-Texan
-student
-non-profit employee
-Virgo
-INTJ

The list could go on, but that's enough for now. When I look at this list of terms, though, it says absolutely NOTHING about me. These are just easy identifiers, words that people can make easy associations with--they aren't me. They certainly aren't when taken seperately, but even the whole list doesn't say a whole hell of a lot.

So why are people so damn attached to their identifying words? When we describe a friend to a third person, do we relate a story or something that reveals who the person really is to us? Usually not. Usually we say, "my friend X, who is a ____ from _____ and is married to _____ and has _____." We use easily definable characteristics--sometimes sexuality or nationality, sometimes physical characteristics, sometimes job status, sometimes things that are even more arbitrary. But do these signify anything real or true about the person we're describing? What about when we're describing ourselves? If I say I'm a 24 year-old student/non-profit employee, originally from Oregon but transplanted to Texas, who lives with my partner and my dog, that seems like it should give quite a bit of info, but does it really tell you anything?

So I hate diet food. I really, really do. My trial of the Skinny Cow mint ice cream sandwich was a complete accident--I was in a hurry at the grocery store and didn't realize I was getting low-fat treats.

They are AMAZING. Seriously. They are as good or better than the full-fat variety, with a really reasonable number of calories and fat grams per. I am IN LOVE with them and have to spread the joy.

On the downside, they are spendy as hell ($4.50 for a package of six). But I hear you can sometimes get coupons on their website.

I kind of feel like shit about myself today. However, coming home from class this evening and opening my mailbox made everything a lot better. I got not one, but TWO gifts from friends in other states! How great is that? I don't think there is anything in the whole world quite as wonderful as getting a package with your name on it. It's not even necessarily about the contents of the package (although both of these packages contained quite wonderful self-pampering treats that I will certainly be making good use of), it is more about knowing that someone took time to think about you enough to not only acquire something to send to you, but also to send it. It's better than email, phone calls, anything, because you have some physical proof right there in your hands that someone cares about you. It's fucking wonderful, and it cheered my whole day. So huge thanks to both of my friends--your timing was impeccable.

Some facts:
1. It is four-thirty in the morning.
2. I am awake.
3. I have been awake, more often than not, since I went to sleep, at about midnight.
4. One of my cuticles is bleeding.

I have insomnia. It's unpleasant. The little bit I did sleep was peppered with increasingly strange and violent dreams, however, so I guess this is a bit better than that.

It's bizarre the things you think about when you have insomnia. For instance, I have been fixated for several minutes (hours? I'm not quite sure.) on this book that was on my mom's shelf when I was a kid. She had this weird little section of "self-help" type books up in the top lefthand corner of the big bookshelf in the living room. Titles I remember include the ubiquitous The Difficult Child. Anyway, this particular book had a blue cover and was called .I touch the earth, the earth touches me. I never knew what that book was about, thought it had an odd title, and wondered. It just occured to me that I'm an adult now, and I can find out what that book was about--read it, even--if I so desire.

Incidentally, did you know that you can make contributions to presidential campaigns using Amazon.com? That disturbs me, but I'm not quite sure why.

Some more things that have crossed my mind in the last minutes or hours:
1. I don't know what Les Miserables is about. I have no idea.
2. There is a line in a song from Hedwig that says, "decorate me with blood, graffiti and spit." I thought it was "blood, graffiti and shit" until I looked up the lyrics.
3. I've somehow lost the links section of my blog and I can't seem to get it back.

I feel the need to remedy #1 and #3 immediately, but I think I'm too brain-dead to try to do so.

1. Lay down and not be able to sleep--multiple hours
2. Give up and get up.
3. Try to get the Internet to work--1 hour.
4. Decide that Rice Chex are suitably bland and I can eat them--15 minutes.
5. Throw up.
6. Watch soap operas.
7. Throw up.
8. Finally get the Internet to work.
9. Wonder if it is humanly possible for me to throw up again.

That's pretty much where I am right now. How's your day?

Yay! Something good happened today!

I figured I really couldn't feel any worse, so I went ahead and did my taxes. I am getting a ton o' cash back, totally unexpectedly! I was expecting a few hundred in the best case scenario, and I'm actually going to get almost enough to pay my summer internship tuition. I hadn't thought about deducting my interest from student loan payments and current tuition, etc. Score one for me!

So anyway, yeah, something that doesn't totally suck happened, so I had to share.

In other news, I can now eat Saltines without puking. I think. Chocolate Teddy Grahams, on the other hand, definitely still make me hurl.

I've been thinking a bit this evening about what the point of my having a blog is. I think of blogs as somewhat like self-published personal columns in newspapers--you can write whatever you want, you are constrained only by your own imagination, blada blada blah. The trouble is, I've had the uniquely horrifying experience of having a newspaper column, and I hated it. I thought it would be fun--a platform from which I could rant. But I was 17 and I didn't like being edited and I really didn't like taking responsibility for what I wrote.

Well, looking back, that was pretty damn immature of me, and I'm sad to admit that I haven't changed all that much in the past seven years.

When I first started blogging, I didn't have any readers. Nobody knew it was here (at least I don't think they did), and I wasn't really advertising. At that point, my blog was a glorified online journal--it was just me rambling about my life, with no hopes of sparking discussion or soliciting advice or entertaining or anything.

The trouble is that now I *do* have an audience--both people I know online and people I know IRL read this thing--and I'm still writing like it's just for me. My tag line up there about dedicated narcissism and daily ramblings isn't self-deprecating--it's absolutely true. I don't give much if any thought to whether or not what I write will be interesting to an audience (and certainly not whether or not it will be interesting to the specific audience I have). In fact, I don't even give much thought to whether or not I'm being offensive. I'm still writing like this is my locked diary, even though I am aware that people actually read this--some of them even read it regularly.

So in thinking about this I realized that I want to change my focus here a little bit. I'm still going to write about my life and stuff that is going on with me, my reflections on stuff, etc., but I need to try to re-learn (or, more honestly, learn for the first time) that there is a difference between writing for an audience and writing just because that's what I do. What I'm doing here has all too often been the latter, and I'd like it to be the former. I *want* people to read this--I like having an audience. So I need to write for one.

At least those are my thoughts ATM. If you read my blog regularly and have any thoughts about my trying to turn over a bit of a new leaf, please leave a comment. In the meantime, I think I am going to try to generate some thoughts on a topic of more global interest than my personal life (OK, so it will probably just be a movie review or something, but bear with me), as well as reacquaint myself with spell-check.

By all rights, this should be a movie review for Cold Mountain. Last night, when I was finally feeling up to food and entertainment again, Mark and I decided to go to the Alamo and see the film and have dinner (the Alamo, for those not lucky enough to live in Austin, is a great local chain of theaters that serve you dinner while you are watching the movie). But we got there to a line approximately 900 miles long, so we ditched that plan and decided on dinner out and then a DVD at home.

So I could be reviewing the DVD. It was Igby Goes Down. However, I think everyone but me has already seen it, and I didn't find it all that interesting, so I don't think I'm going to bother. I gave it a hesitant *** (look to your left). One thing I will say, though, is that I think Kieran Culkin is worth keeping an eye on--he gave a damn good performance.

Instead, I think I am going to try my hand at a restaurant review. We went to the 34th Street Cafe for dinner, and I found it to be good food, medium to bad service, lousy ambiance, and lousy decor. I'd go back, but I'd be more careful when ordering (my entree was really overpriced) and I'd expect to wait.

The wine was one of the highlights of the meal. I've been enjoying a nice sweet glass of white wine recently, so I had a German Riesling that was really good. I don't remember what Mark had, but I thought it tasted like paint thinner. Our appetizer was a quail marinated in a maple and soy sauce over pumpkin raviolis. It has some wilted spinach on the side. It was really tasty, especially the quail skin and the ravioli. It took like 45 minutes or more to come, though, which is a bit much.

My entree was really good, but if I had asked how much the special was before I ordered it, I would have had something else. It wasn't worth $25. It was a pan-seared piece of red snapper over a pesto couscous. I wasn't sure what pesto couscous would be like, but it was amazingly good--sort of creamy and studded with really excellent quality cherry tomatoes and yellow bell peppers. Mark had oriechetta pasta with boar sausage and a chipotle cream sauce. He wasn't all that impressed, but I just had his leftovers for dinner tonight and I thought it was pretty good. The spicy chipolte flavor was a really welcome surprise in a cream sauce, and the sausage had a great flavor.

It took a really long time to get a dessert menu, and when I did, I asked the person who stopped by our table (not our original waitperson, a second person) what was meant by "Mexican Vanilla Wedding Cake" on the menu. I wanted to make sure it wasn't vanilla Mexican Wedding Cake, which would be very different. His smart-ass response was, "It's exactly what it says. Wedding cake flavored with Mexican vanilla." So helpful. I ordered it anyway, though, and it was really good, except that it needed some fruit or a fruit sauce to cut the vanilla/sweetness. It came with one strawberry, and for a piece of four-layer cake, that wasn't enough.

I have to stop here, though, and give Mexican vanilla it's due. Before I moved down here, I'd had things that claimed to be Mexican vanilla, but the stuff they give you under that name here is a totally different (and nearly transcendent) experience. It's amazing. There's something slightly herbal about it, something slightly alcoholic...I can't even explain it. Suffice to say that if you haven't tried it, you should.

Anyway, so that was our meal. The ambiance of the place was very strange and industrial, the plastic chairs reminded me way too much of the ones in my high school cafeteria, and our table was in the path of all of the wait staff, so our chairs kept getting bumped and stuff. We did, however, see a woman in a long shiny leather-esque coat just like Trinity, so that was pretty funny.

So I'm the first to admit that I have a regrettable lack of fashion sense. I'd really *like* to be stylish, but when it all comes down to it I'm a jeans and t-shirt girl through and through. So very little of the celebrity designer fashion crap makes any sense at all to me.

Ugg boots, however, are something that I really don't get. These look like something my mom would wear to feed the cows. It's not so much that they are ugly, but they don't fit into any of the pointy/shiny/high heeled/labeled/completely unreasonable for normal weather conditions criteria to which most "stylish" apparel, particularly footwear, seem to conform. How the hell did these get to be so popular with the celebs?

Don't know what the hell I'm talking about?

The devil I know has returned. It's pouring here. Flooded streets and sidewalks, slow traffic, no visibility, getting soaked just getting in the car pouring. It seems as if it's never going to stop. My back yard is a lake, I had to ford rivers to take Chancey for a walk this morning.

And with the return of the rain, like clockwork, the return of the depression. Getting out of bed may well have been the biggest accomplishment I will have today. I have two classes this afternoon/evening, and I know I won't be there. I can't imagine getting in the car driving to campus, much less sitting in class. I'm struck with that familiar feeling of not being able to participate in my own life. The only thing that seems a reasonable option is getting back into bed, curling up under the covers where it is warm and dry, and staying there until spring.

The up was a lot shorter than I'd hoped it would be this time. I didn't accomplish much of anything that I actually needed to do. Perhaps the carnage was kept to a minimum, but at least I felt alive.

To come: playlist of songs about rain.

A while back, my friend Emilin (scroll down to November 13) introduced me to the "Three and Pajamas Rule." Basically, the rule states that after three problems in a day, you aren't going to be productive (at work or school, say), so you may as well go home and put your pajamas back on, saving everyone lots of time and energy.

Well, by Em's rule, I shouldn't even leave the house today, because I've had three already and it's only 9am. Unfortunately, I don't think my workmates are familiar with the Three and Pajamas Rule, so I'm going to go in anyway.

Here are my three (so far). Please let this be it:
1. I wake up and realize that 1) my lips are so chapped they are split and bleeding; and 2) it's my turn to get up and walk Chance.
2. I get up and get ready to walk Chance, only to have him misbehave right before we're going to leave, in such a way as to require a 20 minute time-out. This is most inconvenient for me, throwing my entire morning schedule off.
3. While Chance is in his time-out, I make myself breakfast of hot cereal and milk. I take it to the office to eat and compute, like I do every morning. Before I can even sit down, I spill steaming hot cereal all over my hand, burning the living shit out of myself, and milk all over my computer table, meaning I have to move everything to take up the sheet that is covering the table and put it in the laundry.

Something unpredecented and unpleasant happened to me this afternoon.

I was walking from the parking lot towards the building where I had class. My school is next door to a presidential library that has a big, if strange exhibition ending today, on President's Day, so there were people all over. It took me like 20 minutes to find a place to park.

Anyway, I was walking along, wearing baggy jeans and a semi-fitted t-shirt with no bra. This is a pretty standard school day uniform for me. Yes, I should probably wear a bra. But I don't like wearing a bra, so if there is any way I can avoid it, I do. Suddenly, someone leaned out the window of a passing car and yelled "boingy boingy boing! Nice tits, bitch!"

What, you ask, is so unprecedented about that? Street harassment is something I complain about all the time, though I have noticed it happens far less here than it did at home.

The individual leaning out the window and yelling at me was unmistakably a woman.

I've been called every derogatory name in the book, had all of my body parts complimented or criticized, been propositioned at least 100 ways, all from passing cars. But I've NEVER been yelled at by a woman before. And it's SO much worse.

I have a big fat crush. One of the first I have had in a long time. She's a woman in one of my classes. She is from another country (Eastern Europe) and has an amazing accent and way of speaking. She's obviously very bright and is almost finished with a dual masters.

And she looks like Angelina Jolie. Or rather she looks like what Angelina Jolie would look like if Angelina Jolie were a regular person and not a cartoon character superstar.

So she's amazingly beautiful. Really, stunningly beautiful. And I'm afraid I am staring at her in class. I am trying really hard not to, but I'm afraid I am.

She sat next to me today, and she also has this really amazing smell, as well as very neat handwriting.

That's all I know about her. That and my heart skips beats when she walks into the room.

This puts me in an odd position. First, there's the being in a relationship thing. I am not too worried about that, because this isn't like a real attraction, you know? It is a superficial crush on someone I don't know. It's not a real threat or anything. But I still feel kinda bad.

Beyond that, though, there is the fact of even having a crush on another woman that is based so much on what she looks like. Hello objectification. And that puts me in a weird space as a feminist.

So yeah. That's where I'm at today.

That and I still have no freaking idea whether or not to take this internship.

I am indebted to Frog for today's title. :)

I've been having a lot of what I would consider interesting thoughts lately, and I keep thinking I should write them down so that I can blog about them later and maybe actually get some content going on up in here, but so far, no luck. Instead, I make ten to-do lists a day. I think I need to go to "To-Do List Makers Anonymous."

My mind is pretty occupied right now with trying to figure out what to do about the internship situation. For those who need a refresher, here's where I am:

1. I have been offered an internship in Portland doing program evaluation. It pays well ($6500 for eleven weeks) and would be an excellent experience. And I'd be in Portland for the summer, which is both a (small) benefit and a (large) detraction.
2. As of yesterday, I've been offered a summer position at my current place of employment. It's a great little nonprofit and I'm enjoying working there. The money is decent ($13/hr for ten weeks). It's here. I absolutely adore one of the women I work with. But I'm not sure what kind of experience it would be and what connections I could get from it. It could be great or it could be largely a time suck that I don't get much new experience out of.
3. I am attempting to apply to a third position, as a legislative aide to a state rep. He's supposed to be a great guy and I think the position would be good, it's stuff I'm interested in working on (school finance, health and human services) and it would probably be the best option as far as getting "connections." Howeer, I can't apply w/o a reference from my current boss (see #2). And I think it would make for a stressful summer. And, although I know it's paid, I don't know what the pay scale is.

So that's where I'm at with that decision. I'm leaning towards the path of least resistance (#2). I think I'll probably have the least stressful summer that way. But I have to figure out how to negotiate what I'll actuallly be doing this summer before I agree. Advice, as always, is appreciated.

Gee, I thought that was going to be an interesting blog entry. And I was wrong. Apologies. I'll try to think of something more interesting to add later.

Rereading what I just posted, I just thought of something I do find interesting:

Why is it rude in our culture to talk about how much money one makes or has been offered? I nearly went back and edited that last post because it seemed uncouth, but I'm not sure that's a social nicety to which I want to subscribe. It reminds me too much of union-busting, of enforced ignorance of pay scale between employees at the same company or people in similar jobs across companies. Why SHOULDN'T we know how we're being compensated compares to how other people are being compensated? Does it pose any danger to the worker, or is all the danger to the bosses? And if all the danger is to the bosses, how can we eradicate this particular bit of backbiting politeness?

I just went to a meeting and got a couple of nuggets of internship info:

1. I'm going to get an out-of-state tuition waiver after all, so tuition should be $1360, rather than $2300.
2. The internship is required to be 12 weeks long. 10 week positions will only be considered on an individual basis and you have to make up the extra two weeks somehow (with research or a paper or something).

In other news, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. Anybody giving anything up for Lent? I usually do. I'm not Catholic (or Lutheran, or any religion), but I really like the idea of Lent. I wonder if that is insulting to those who are actually practicing? I certainly don't want to take over anyone else's holiday. I just like the idea of giving something up for a number of weeks and really having to think about the way I live...

Jeez! I just realized that tomorrow being Ash Wednesday means today is Fat Tuesday. Happy Mardi Gras, everybody! Too bad I'm not in much of a celebratory mood.

I don't know if I have mentioned this before, but my full support is behind Dennis Kucinich for the Democratic presidential nomination. Make no mistakes--I'm not delusioned enough to believe he'll actually get the nomination, but he is the only candidate I support at this time, and I am planning to vote for him in the primary. I'm not a registered Democrat, but they tell me that even us Commies can vote in the primaries out here, so I'll be at my polling place next week.

I support Kucinich for fairly simple reasons: we're in nearly 100% agreement on political positions. See, maybe I have it all wrong, but I thought that was the basis I was supposed to vote on--candidates whose positions I agree with and wish to see forwarded. Am I wrong about that? Because that doesn't seem to be how other people are thinking about things. Mostly, what I see around me are people trying to figure out how to beat Bush. And don't get me wrong, I'm 100% for that. However, I don't know if I'm for that to the extent of actually being able to pull a lever in favor of John Kerry. Besides the facts that I don't like John Kerry and I don't trust John Kerry, there is the little matter of John Kerry and I disagreeing on some essential shit. Does he take a stong stance against capital punishment? No. Does he come out for same-sex marriage rights? No. Does he support single-payer health care? No. So why the hell would I support him? Better than Bush? Sure. But am I supposed to be voting for the less of two evils? Has it really come to that? Is that the best we can do? Is voting a matter of choosing the best option on the ballot, or is it a matter of choosing the option you think might have a chance of beating the worst option?

I've only voted in one presidential election so far, and I voted for a third-party candidate. And no, it wasn't the one all good Dems love to hate. It was whomever the Socialist candidate was, and no, I don't even remember who it was. I didn't like my choices, so I opted out and voted with my chosen party. I don't do that too often--I vote Democrat more often than I don't--but I don't see how much sitting back and accepting the same breed of candidate from the Dems as the Republicans offer is making a damn thing better. Sure, these old rich white guys are a little more "Liberal." They probably won't fuck things up as badly. But do I think they'll institute actual change? Real progress? Frankly, no, I don't. And I don't see how we are going to get to a place of real progress if all the supposed progressives in this country do is play defense. Yes, four more years of Bush would be a fucking nightmare. Yes, I want him out of there. But in the long run, is selling out my principles for another four or eight years of half-assed Democratic rule really going to help anything? Would it be better to let Bush get elected again, let things get four years worth of worse, and then see if people are willing to suggest and fight for real change from real candidates?

Part of the problem, I think, is the entire institution of the presidency. I'm not sure we should keep it at all. Maybe our whole government needs to be reworked into something a bit more representative and a bit less easy to buy or be born into. But where could we possibly start with that? And especially where could we start with it in a time where the best we as progressives can think to do is to try to keep our heads above water?

Don't get me wrong--come Election Day, I'll be rooting for whomever the Democratic least-of-the-evils candidate is. But I don't know if I am going to be able to vote for him.

I don't really have time to be blogging today, but I need a break and I'm feeling verbose, so lucky, lucky you...

I wanted to write about my neighbors. There are two possible things going on with me+neighbors. The first is that I just have incredibly bad luck when it comes to neighbors. The second is that the problem is not them, it's me. Hopefully after reading these total unbiased accounts of my neighbors, you'll be able to decide for yourself which is the problem.

Note that I am leaving out dorm neighbors here, because that is a whole other problem.

Case study #1: "Arg Fuck"
My junior year in college, I lived in an apartment with my then-boyfriend, Simon. It was my first long-term experience living off-campus and on my own. Retrospectively, the tiny apartment was kind of a hellhole, but at the time I was quite excited.

Or I was excited until I experienced Arg Fuck. Arg Fuck was my next door neighbor, an emaciated man with long stringy hair. Arg Fuck was, in my best guess, a man with a small methamphetamine problem. Or perhaps a large methamphetamine problem. This became apart to Simon and I when we were awoken the first time by his midnight tantrums. These were the most extreme tantrums I have ever had the displeasure of listening to, at least thrown by an adult. They included what sounded like throwing furniture down the stairs and repeated yelling of "Arg! Fuck!" (hence the name). They included screamed phone conversations with one of many women. Then, one night, they included what sounded like physical assault of a woman. That was the first time we called the police. There were at least half a dozen other times in the space of about six months, and many of those came with added bonus of having him come pound on our door after the cops left and scream that he was going to kill us. Keep in mind that this man had a balcony adjoining ours. It was freaking scary. There was also an incident in which he smeared blood all over the walls of our hallway.

We complained to the police. We complained to the management. Nothing happened. It was awful. So after that I moved back to campus. Dorm neighbors may be loud and obnoxious, but at least they aren't usually frightening.

Case Study #2: Don and Pauline
After I graduated, I moved into this great house with two friends, Natalie and Jenny. The "house" was actually a tri-plex, with a small upper unit, a large lower unit, and a small basement unit. We rented the middle part, the landlord, Don, lived in the basement, and another woman, Pauline lived upstairs.

At first, it seemed like a good situation. Pauline was quiet, Don seemed like a pleasant old man (he was in his mid-80s, I'd say), and the house was great.

Then a few things came to our attention:
1. Our thermostat controlled Don's heat as well as our own--and he insisted it be way the fuck up all the time.
2. Don came into our apartment when we weren't there. All the time. He didn't even try to pretend he didn't. And there was a door that connected his place to ours, which locked only from his side. He often left us rambling notes, giving instruction, with many exclamation points and always signed off, "God bless."
4. Sometimes Don would come in when we were there. He called it an inspection. He was a WWII veteran. These occasions were very odd. He wanted to make sure we weren't repainting or anything, he said. What seemed more likely was that he was checking for alcohol and other contraband. He was not just a little bit Catholic and he had very specific ideas about what was and was not appropriate for three young women living alone to have around.
3. Don liked to make rules. No doing laundry at night (we learned of this rule when he came pounding on our door at 9pm when we were doing laundry, screaming at us about how inconsiderate we were), no washing your hair in the shower because it clogs the drain (yeah, right), etc. These rules were subject to change at any time and without any notice, and we may or may not be notified by screaming note or screaming voice.
4. Don was deaf. Don's living room was directly under ours, and although he otherwise lived pretty much in squalor, he had a giant big screen TV with cable. It was turned up so loud whenever it was on that we could not only tell whether or not he was watching a war movie or the Christian Broadcasting Network (his only two choices, apparently), but we could tell which war movie or what the sin of the day was.
5. After we'd lived there for a few months, Don tried to raise our rent by several hundred dollars a month, saying that he'd been mistaken about how much he charged us in the first place. This was only one of several times he tried this. We were always able to talk him out of it, but it was still weird.
6. I could go on and on about Don, but you probably get the idea.

Above us was Pauline. Have you seen What's Eating Gilbert Grape?. The mom in that movie was Pauline, both physically and temperamentally. She had some sort of condition that caused her to be very very obese. What exactly that condition was wasn't ever clear. At first, she was very nice, she invited us up and wanted to meet us, etc. (she was housebound). Then it became apparent that what she really wanted was three free caretakers. She'd call all the time, asking us to run to the store for her, and later to come up and rub her feet. Her heat was always on and her apartment was always at least 85 degrees. And it smelled bad enough to make you gag, literally. I felt sorry for Pauline, she was sick and lonely, but she was also very demanding. Then, one day, I came home from work and kept hearing this weird sound, like a cat crying. I went up to Pauline's apartment and found her on her kitchen floor, having fallen and not been able to get up. I had to call EMS and they send the fire department as well, to haul her back up. It was humiliating for her and for me. She went downhill after that and moved out and into a nursing facility a month or so before we moved out (which we did as soon as we could get out of our lease), and she died a few days before we left.

Case Study #3: The 1331 crowd
The next place I lived was a double-studio apartment in a very rundown building. The price was right, it was the first place I'd ever had of my own, and I was jazzed. And in general, my neighbors were OK. Except. Except that there was an old man in the building, an alcoholic who used to be the building manager and sometimes thought he still was, who would come knock on your door and solicit money. Except that my next door neighbor had a delinquent grandchild who beat on her door and threatened her in the middle of the night every now and again. Except that the person who lived above me bowled in his apartment every now and again. In general, though, it was a step up.

Case Study #4: Jack and Jill
The next place I lived was the upstairs bit of a really great duplex in a wonderful neighborhood. Well, wonderful except for the methadone clinic two blocks away. Anyway, I lived there with Mark and our friend Erica. Below us lived to student from my alma mater. They had annoying matching names, so I'll call them Jack and Jill. Jack and Jill were nice enough at first--they were in their first place, they were students, whatever. Then we realized a few things about Jack and Jill that were a bit annoying. Jack thought he was a musician and played a guitar and sang, often late at night. Jack was NOT a musician. Jack and Jill liked to have loud-ass friends over. Fine, they were college students, whatever. Normal annoyance. Jack and Jill also liked to have very loud, very melodramatic sex. They sounded like porn. We heard everything.

All of that was minor, though, in comparison to the laundry problem. The laundry problem was as follows: the shared washing machine and dryer in the basement was hooked to their water/electricity. They asked us the first week or so we moved in if we�d mind paying them back for the water/electricity we were using, and we settled on a figure of $25/month. We thought that was kind of odd, but didn�t think a whole lot of it, didn�t want to rock the boat, etc. We found out months later than their rent was $50/month less that ours. This was, at least in part, because they had to pay for our laundry use. When we confronted them with this information, they told us we had to keep paying or we couldn�t use the laundry. It turned into a gigantic battle involving the (extremely worthless) landlord. We eventually won, but they hated us from then on and there were a few nasty encounters.

Case Study #5: The jazz musician
This brings us to our current case. Mark and I love our house. We knew when we moved in that we�d be sharing laundry facilities with a man living in a one-room apartment attached to the back of our house. However, he was a nice-seeming old man in a wheelchair, we didn�t share any non-closet walls, and all we were going to be sharing was the washer and dryer, so we didn�t think it would be a big deal.

We were wrong. So wrong.

First, the annoyance was just his music. See, we were told he was a musician. We assumed, stupidly, that meant he was a real musician. He�s not. He plays what sounds like a little kids Casio keyboard. He likes to play it at 8am. Also, he does laundry nearly every day---at least three times a week, anyway.
However, those seemed minor things and we tried to make friends with him. Before we got a dog, we asked him if he would mind a dog around/in the yard, and he said no problem. This was important, because his back door/small deck faces out into the backyard. Which we didn�t realize was shared space. But it is. But I digress.

Once we got the dog, Chance was understandably scared and confused when he went into the yard and suddenly someone popped up out of nowhere in a terrifying machine (wheelchair). We told the Jazz Musician we�d be happy to work with him in making friends with the dog, etc., so he wouldn�t get barked at and stuff, and he said great.

But all he ever did was yell at the dog. To make matters worse, he spread food out not only on his deck (which is low�at the dogs nose level), but in the yard as well. And then yelled at Chance when he ate the food, as I would assume nature for someone of the canine persuasion to do. The Jazz Musician calls the food �bird feed,� but it consists not only of bread and crackers and stuff, but also of whole fruit, sausages, frozen peas, you name it. He also throws cigarette butts out, which the dog, being a dog, tries to eat. We asked him numerous times to stop this, explaining that it is very difficult for us to keep the dog away from him/his porch when there is free food there. He hemmed and hawed and then said he�d stop if we got him a bird feeder to use instead. We got one. He hasn�t stopped.

Recently, the Jazz Musician asked Mark if he could have a word with him. He will only talk to Mark, not to me. OK, whatever. What he told Mark was that he�d like me to stop
�invading his privacy� by �looking in his house� when I was in the yard with the dog.

Yeah. Right. Like I want anything to do with his scrawny ass. If I look at his house, it�s because I�m trying to make sure he isn�t out on the porch, poised to yell at my dog for no reason. However, he sits in his house with his blinds (sliding glass door) open 24-7, often in his underwear. Even though it looks out on what is supposed to be our yard. So I can see why he�d feel like his privacy was in question.

Things got worse when he got a prosthetic leg (he�s a diabetic who had to have one leg amputated last year, hence the chair). Now that he�s more mobile, he wants to use the yard more. And that means we have to keep the dog out of it, because he is certain the dog is going to attack him (which at this point I�m not sure I�d blame him for) or one of his family members (his grandkids come over sometimes, etc.) He says that he�s going to �teach the dog a lesson.� This is terrifying, because if all 87 pounds of him tries to teach my 110 pound dog any kind of lesson, it�s pretty obvious who will come out on the bad end of it. And if Chance hurts him, then Chance gets put down. So we have to keep Chance away from him.

For awhile we only took Chance in the yard on a lease (what exactly is the point of having a yard then?). Recently things came to a bit of a head and our landlord (who is fabulous and 100% on our side, or at least it seems that way) put a fence down the middle of the yard, separating about 1/3 for him and 2/3 for us. So hopefully that will take care of it.

Some more things about this particular neighbor? He is on 19 different types of medication for his various illnesses, yet he grows a giant pot plant outside on his deck and our yard reeks of ganja all the time, even at like 9am. He also occasionally throws loud fits, yelling and cursing at nobody, although it seems, from what I hear (since I care so deeply about him and his life), that he thinks someone is there. He�s also irritatingly incapable of discerning what is and is not recyclable and how it should be separated, so I always have to take his stuff out of our joint recycling bins and put it where it should be.

Keep in mind that these are just snapshots of my neighbor experiences. All of this really happened, but a ton of stuff I didn�t have the energy to write down happened as well. What do you think�is it them, or is it me?

Do y'all remember the part in The Goonies where Chunk gets captured by the Fratellis and recounts everything bad he's ever done in his whole life?

In third grade, I cheated on my history exam. In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max's toupee and I glued it on my face when I was Moses in my Hebrew School play. In fifth grade, I knocked my sister Edie down the stairs and I blamed it on the dog... When my mom sent me to the summer camp for fat kids and then they served lunch I got nuts and I pigged out and they kicked me out... But the worst thing I ever done - I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa - and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life.

Remember?

Well that was me last night. When I was trying to sleep. From about 2am until morning. Going over and over every wretched thing I've ever done. And there have been some pretty amazingly awful ones. It was an experience I'd prefer never to repeat.

Where the fuck did it come from, though?

As I mentioned last week, I am abstaining from any sort of recreational shopping during Lent.

I'm also trying to lose weight, through both healthier diet and daily excercise. This effort is about three months old now. So far it's successful, I've lost 12 lbs and I feel a lot better.

I'm also trying to stop biting my nails. This effort is about a month old. So far it is also successful, my nails are grown out and they look great.

All three of these things take a lot of self-discipline. Self-discipline is not and has never been my strong point. When it really comes down to it, I'm basically an extremely self-indulgent person. I don't just mean as self-indulgent as would be natural for a white, middle-class American (although you'd think that would be self induglent enough!). No, I'd say I'm particularly self-indulgent. I'd say I'm self-indulgent to a very large fault. I have always been really bad at denying myself anything, and every time I do something even minorly good, I feel as if I deserve a reward.

This is where I'm running into a problem right now. I am sort of at a loss as to my reward system. I can't reward myself for not shopping with food, I can't reward myself for not biting my nails with buying something, etc. I keep telling myself that virtue is its own reward, but my self-indulgent brain just isn't getting it.

And this, of course, makes me feel really shitty about myself, which takes most of the joy out of the fact that I am actually successful, so far, in all three of my goals. And feeling shitty just makes me want to scrap the whole plan, write that I'm not Catholic anyway and if God is going to smite me, it's already gonna happen, and head to Target to buy some cheap shiny plastic shit.

Which would, I'm certain, make me feel even worse, probably setting off a cookie-eating and nail-biting binge. And then I'd be right back where my self-indulgent little ass started.

So...what to do? I'm trying to develop a plan, a reward system that has nothing to do with eating or shopping. So far I'm coming up empty handed. It seems that, like a good American, joy for me is all wrapped up in consumption.

Yuck.

I just made the best gingersnaps I've ever had. I already ate 1/2 dozen of them and they aren't even finished baking yet. So I have to post the recipe. It's "Grandma's Gingersnap Cookies," posted at All Recipes by Marie Ayers. I just made a few changes:

Ingredients:
2 cups sifted flour
1 tbsp ground ginger (I used about 1 1/2 tbsps)
2 tsps baking soda
1 tsp ground cinnamon (I used about 2 1/2 tsps)
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 cup shortening
1 egg
1/4 cup dark molasses (I used mild, because it's what I have, and I used a bit more than 1/4 cup)
1/3 cup cinnamon sugar (I mixed this one-to-one, but I really love cinnamon)

1. Preheat oven to 350
2. Mix and sift the first five ingredients. Sift a second time and place the mixture back in the sifter. I think this double-sifting is important, because these have a really great tender crumb.
3. Beat the shortening until creamy. Add the 1 cup sugar gradually and continue beating. Beat in egg and molasses.
4. Sift the flour mixture in about 1/3 at a time, stirring after each. I switched to a wooden spoon here, because I am sad and do not have a real mixer.
5. Roll the dough into tiny balls, roll the balls in cinnamon sugar, put on a parchment covered cookie sheet. I think the tinyness is important here. I did mine small enough to get 5 dozen from this recipe. For some reason they are better smaller.
6. Cook. The recipe says it takes 10 minutes, I think it takes about 7. Tops are rounded and slightly cracked when when they're done. Cool on a wire rack.

These are spicy, so enjoy with good cold milk.

Yummy!

I am having one of those annoying days where I really want to write something here, but I have fuck-all to say. I have to leave for a meeting and then 4.5 hours of class in a bit, and I think I'll probably have fuck-all to say there, as well. I did the reading and everything, but I just feel brain dead.

I wish I could figure out why I am tired all the time. Seriously, it's like the plague. No matter how much or how little sleep I get, no matter if I do or do not nap, no matter if I eat good food or eat crap, no matter if I exercise or not, I am tired almost all the time. I've searched high and low for a biological cause for this (hypothyroid, PCOS, chronic fatigue, something) and haven't found one. Then I thought it was just a depression manifestation, but I don't think it is, because it seems to happen even when I'm not feeling at all depressed. It slacks off for a little while now and again, but it always comes back. It's very frustrating.

So I am awash in questions and contradictions having to do with my summer internship. As I think I've mentioned, I declined the position in Oregon. Spending the summer away just didn't feel right, and I think that was the right decision.

But now...well, I'm second and third and fifteenth guessing myself. I have a sure thing--an offer of a decent-paying position at the non-profit where I currently work. Upsides: it's stable, I love my coworker, I know what I'm getting into. Downsides: I don't really think I want to do non-profit work long-term, I'm not sure the boss likes me and I'm not sure I like her (but I'm not sure I don't, either), I'm not totally sure what I'd be doing, there doesn't seem to be anywhere to advance to within the organization (and I don't think I'd want to stay there after I graduate anyway).

And then there are the plethora of other things I am applying to, but I have nothing yet (not even an interview) and I can't count on being offered anything. There's a legislative aid position, a position with the Dept. of Insurance that would last through next year and culminate in my professional report, a position with the state council on local governments, a position with a state women's organization...these all carry different levels of pay, etc., but I think they'd each be financially doable.

Ag! I don't want to give up my sure thing, but I feel like I owe it to the org. where I am currently working to tell them sooner, rather than later, if I'm not planning on working there over the summer. I'm afraid of burning bridges, but I'm also afraid of taking the "easy way out" (i.e. the sure thing).

Suggestions? Comments? I'm stumped.

I realized today, suddenly, that I am trying to do much too much at once and I am in danger of failing at all my goals due to spreading myself too thin. Here are things I am working on:
1. Diet, exercise, weight loss
2. Stopping nail biting
3. Stopping recreational shopping
4. Finding spirituality

And that is on top of a pretty stressful work and school schedule, and this whole thing about the internship. So I've really been feeling like a failure, as if I'm doing everything half-assed and not suceeding at anything.

So it's time for a new plan. Refocus. I am going to keep working on my spirituality. I am not going to worry about my shopping for the time being, other than to try to keep it generally in check. I'm going to focus on excercise and worry less about caloric intake. I'm going to try to be patient and see where the chips are going to fall in terms of the internship.

Does that make sense, or am I copping out? I feel like I've totally lost perspective...

I am bopping back and forth between message boards this morning, though I really should be doing something a bit more productive with my time (and really, any use of my time, including sleeping or replacing the grout in my shower, would probably be more productive). And the same thought keeps crossing my mind: why are people such assholes? There has been some relatively heavy shit in message board land these past few days (someone I didn't know/don't remember having been around apparently killed herself), and people's reactions to it, on multiple sides/multiple boards, are fucking appalling! It's like it's nothing more than today's excuse for attacks.

You know how there is often that one person that you just don't fucking like, even though you try to like them or see the good in them or whatever? Well that person has been on my last nerve for a long damn time now, and I'm just about fed up with the whole thing. I don't like his friends, I don't like his enemies, but most of all I just don't like him. So there. Why is it so hard for me to admit it when I just don't fucking like someone, end of story? It isn't a misunderstanding, we're not in a fight, you're just an asshole!

This is both a rant and a ramble, so I'm going to sign off now and go try to find something more productive to occupy my time. Perhaps I will do the dishes and the laundry for the man I live with, cuz I'm oppressed like that.

Blah.

Last night I had a migraine. This isn't exactly unusual, but this was the worst one I've had in some time, and it didn't go away and let me sleep until about 5 or 6am (I went to bed with it at about 12:30). It was fucking nasty. Anyway, I was thinking this morning about the dynamic of having a migraine. There is something so lonely about it--it's just you and your pain, and nobody can help you. In fact, interaction from the outside, no matter how well-meaning, inevitably makes things worse. It's very strange to think that I laid there, awake, for more than 5 hours. It seems like it was both less and more time than that. The pain is so all-consuming that you don't get bored and in some ways time goes fast, but every minute is so torturous that times goes very slowly at the same time.

In better news, this morning is T's birthday brunch. I'm feeling pretty wrung out from my night, but I'm excited anyway, and my excitement was compounded when I put on a pair of pants that haven't fit for about a year and they look great. The numbers on the scale aren't going down anymore (and are in fact going up in the past few days), but my clothes are telling a different story, which is nice.

Mark and I had a strange discussion last night about what would happen if I got pregnant. Given the length of time I've been on the pill and the clocklike accuracy with which I take it, I don't think either one of us is particularly worried this will happen, but it's always a good discussion to revisit every now and again, just in case. When we've had it before, we've always agreed that, tough as it would be, aborting would be the only answer. Now, however, we're not so sure. We know that unideal as it would be, we could have a baby now. Financially it would be tough, it would mean a lot of sacrifice, etc., but it would be possible. What a very strange transition that is. I still don't want to have a baby now, or any time in the near future, but it's odd to think that I could, and it wouldn't even be all that strange. I wouldn't really be a young mom anymore. It wouldn't really be all that "irresponsible" of us to decide to have a kid. Very fucking strange.

We finally saw Finding Nemo last night. To be honest, I was underimpressed. It was cute, and the animation was very cool, but I was expecting something transendental with all of the good stuff I'd heard about it, so I ended up a bit disappointed. Susan and Tony and I also saw The Fog of War on Friday night, and I should probably review that here, since I definitely think it was worth watching, but do have some problems with it. I just don't seem to have the energy to write an actual review, though.

It has come to my attention that I haven't posted anything of any actual substance since Monday. So I am going to attempt to remedy that. My brain is feeling not-quite-here today, though, so don't expect too much.

I am currently working on fact sheets on different issues in children's health in the great state of Texas. Probably needless to say, children's health doesn't seem to be a big state priority, so creating these fact sheets, while interesting, is inevitably depressing. I really wish I could be drawn to work that was not depressing on a daily basis. It would be good for me, I think. But it's not going to happen.

Life seems to be getting a bit more complicated than I would like. Partially it's this job/internship thing. Yesterday, completely on a whim, I sent my resume to a half-time position I had just gotten a posting for. It would be a good job, pretty well paid, benefits, etc. I don't think I'm particulary qualified for it, but I hate to limit myself, so I sent in my resume. The woman to whom I sent it called to inquire about my interview availability literally less than ten minutes after I sent the email. What does that mean? Does that mean she's desperate? Does it mean I'm a good candidate even though I didn't think I was? Does it mean I misrepresented myself in my email?

And why can't any of the other things I have applied for get back to me...? What's taking so long?

Nag nag nag.

Also, I need to go to the doctor. In fact, I'd say I really need to go to the doctor. I think there is something wrong with my anti-depressant prescription, I'm getting more migraines, blah blah blah. So why haven't I made an appointment yet? Well, because I'm scared, frankly. I'm terrified of doctors and it takes me weeks of building up to make an appointment.

To make matters worse, I now know which strains of HPV I have. The research study I was in finally ended, so they un-blinded the results. And yes, one of the strains I have is a cancer-causing strain. So I really need to go for a repeat Pap. But have I made an appointment to do that? Fuck no--again with the fear of doctors.

So yeah...that's where I am today. Perhaps it was better when I was just posting recycled song lyrics and pictures, huh?

#1:
I do not go to the Chinese place down the street for lunch because the food is good. The food is not good. I go because I have a mad crash on the server with the baseball cap.

#2:
I live in Austin, but I am not going to any South By Southwest events. I'm lame like that.

My friend Adam has a song that includes the lyric, "Bitterness becomes me, it makes me all aglow/I'm self actualized enough to go to concerts alone." I've thought that was fucking brilliant since I first heard it, since I myself am NOT self-actualized enough to go to concerts alone. Movies, either. I very much like to shop alone, but going to an actual event alone is generally beyond my self esteem.

Which brings me to my current conundrum: there is a concert tomorrow night I'd really really really like to see. It's Kris Kristofferson. I've seen him once before, and it was amazing. He doesn't tour all that often, and I think he's a local here, so I'm really psyched about the idea of the show.

But...

I can't think of anyone to go with me. I can't think of anyone who would like him, and I hate to drag anyone along if they are going to miserable.

So I need to go alone, and see above about that.

I have been meaning to write about this all week and am just now getting around to it. But it's worth the wait. Trust me.

On Monday, I accompanied S. to Thundering Paws. The reason for our visit was both happy and sad: Sad because S. has been forced to give up her long time companion, fat cat Oscar, but happy because she'd found a santuary to give him to. Though he is 13 (I think?) years old and in excellent health (and weighs at least 20 lbs I swear), Oscar has a bit of a spraying and peeing all over problem. More than a bit, actually. He does it all the time, all over. S. and T. have valiantly been putting up with this for years now, but since Baby Rutabaga is on the way and will likely be crawling around and eating things off the floor, Oscar had to find a new home. So, after much trial and tribulation, S. found Thundering Paws. A perfect fit!

But what I wanted to write about was what a complete trip this place was. For starters, it is W-A-Y out in the middle of nowhere, with a bumpy dirt road to ford and the whole works. Secondly, it's a house.

Yes, a house. A manufactured home that has been built on to some, if I am remembering correctly. But a house nonetheless, and a fairly average sized one.

And there are 67 cats, 2 dogs, and 4 rabbits there, along with one very compassionate human woman who is dedicating her life to taking care of all of these creatures.

When we first pulled into the driveway, we knew this must be the place not because of the sign, but because there were at least 12 economy sized gallon buckets of kitty litter stacked up out front. That was a pretty good tip-off that we were in the right neck of the woods.

Walking into what would I guess be the living room of the house was like entering another world. There were some regular living room pieces there--a couch, a small TV--but mostly there were cats. I'd say about 20 cats. All shapes and sizes. All friendly, playing with each other and rubbing up against us for loving, lounging in corners and on boxes, walking lazily about like they owned the place (which they obviously do). It was amazing. In an adjacent room (what would I think be the dining room), there was a large mesh cage with four giant rabbits in it.

Communal litterboxes (made out of Rubbermaid containers with holes cleverly cut in the lids, so the kitties can get in and out and have privacy, but there isn't unsightly litter all over the place) and food and water bowls were scattered about, but in general the place was very clean. Or at least as clean as you could possibly expect a living space with about 30 cats (there were another 10 or so back in other rooms) in it to be. It smelled, but it smelled, as S. pointed out, like a vet's office, more than anything else.

Where are the rest of the kitties, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. They're outside.

See, the "build-on" to this place is a giant screened porched. And on that screened porch are probably 40 cats. Some are ferile. Some are cuddly. Some are declawed, some still have claws. And they all live there together, like an outdoor kitty commune. It is so damn cool. And again, relatively clean. They still use litter boxes out there, and have communal food bowls and stuff. And they flirt/spat with the dogs, who are outside dogs and come up to the screen and bother them. It's like a normal situation, times 70 or so!

There were two really amazing things about Thundering Paws. The first is that the woman who runs it knows all the cats names and personalities. Even though there were at least six black cats who looked exactly alike to me, she knew them all and talked to them all. The second is how well the cats get along. They seemed so harmonious, all living there together. It just seemed really natural.

Anyway, I wanted to give a shout out to Thundering Paws and the amazing woman who runs it (I wish I could remember her name, but it's probably better not to use it here anyway). I think Oscar will be very happy there.

Once again I am forced to justify bisexuality. Or not forced, really--it's just that I happened upon Tiffany's (See, I use actual names when I call people out, rather than woman-hating slang! You should try it some time, Tiffany!) little rant about my selfish, fake, cake-eating bisexuality. Yes, I know that responding is the last thing I should do, and maybe if Tiffany were the only one to feel that way I'd just let it go, but she's not and so I feel the need to try one more time to explain it.

The really funny part about what Tiffany wrote on her blog was the bit about "didn't your mother ever tell you that you can't have your cake and eat it too?" Strangely, she did. My mother also told me that she could totally understand being gay, but being bisexual is just "greedy." So it looks like mum is on your side for this one, Tiff. Good for you.

But being bisexual is not about being greedy. And it's not about double standards. And it's not about wanting to fuck women or objectify women "on the side" while remaining attached to what Tiffany so charmingly refers to as "the three-leggers." Being bisexual isn't about being confused, it's not about experimenting. It's not that much different than being heterosexual or homosexual, I wouldn't think. It's part what you choose and part the way you were born, or at least that's what it is for me. I believe I was born with the capacity to be attracted to people of either gender. I choose to embrace that capacity and not try to restrict my attraction to one gender or the other. When I was single, I chose not to restrict the possibility of getting into a relationship to those of one gender or another. And now that I am monogamously partnered with a man, I choose not to deny that I have silly little crushes on people of both genders. That's all there is to it. I could pretend that because I am in a relationship I'm never attracted to anyone outside of that relationship, but what would be the point of that? I would know I was lying, Mark would know I was lying, and things would feel secretive and dirty. I have absolutely no intention of acting on any attractions--I'm in a relationship, and being bisexual doesn't change how I feel about monogamy. But I get crushes on women as well as men.

And yes, I will even cop to getting more crushes on women than I do on men. And if I really look hard I can maybe even admit that could have something to do with my being culturally inundated with messages telling me women are beautiful and are to be looked at, etc. But I honestly don't think it's because I respect women or relationships between women less than I do men. Quite the contrary, actually--in many ways I am very sorry to have found the right man when I did, because I think I could find something totally different and in many ways "deeper" with a woman. But that's not what happened. I fell in love with a man, and that's that. Luck of the draw. I fell in love with a man--this particular man--even though I am probably more often attracted to women. Why is that so fucking hard to understand? I also fell in love with someone short even though I am usually attracted to tall folks--does that make me fake and greedy as well?

How would you like it if your every attraction was accused of being "trendy" or "greedy"? Why is my being attracted to men and women any more greedy than your being attracted to only men or only women? Is there some magic number of attractions we are allotted per lifetime and I have already used mine up?

I think it's time to seriously consider the possibility that God is smiting me.

I have hives. I have had hives, off and on, since late Monday night. My hives look more or less like this. Right now, they are centered mostly on the backs of my knees, the small of my back, and my inner thighs. They itch like nothing I have ever experienced before (I don't get poison oak and I can't remember chicken pox, so that is perhaps not saying too much). I am afraid they are spreading to my hands again, as they did Monday night. If they do, I will surely kill myself.

Since I haven't eaten anything weird or rubbed anything weird on my skin, I'm not experiencing anaphalactic shock symptoms, and I'm not particularly stressed, the only reasoning I can think of behind this plague is smitten by God.

Whatever I did, I'M SO SORRY!!!

T minus 2 hours, and things have improved. My talk is written. It's the right length. I'm prepared to do it without Powerpoint. I have on the perfect outfit, and it's something that used to not fit and now does. Yay for weight loss. I feel confident. I feel secure. This is going to go well.

I live in a supposedly liberal town and go to a supposedly liberal school (albeit in the middle of a decidedly non-liberal state). I came from another liberal town in a "left-leaning" state, and I went to undergrad at a school that put the "liberal" in liberal arts.

The one thing I am fairly sure about is that liberals are too goddamn conservative.

As I've mentioned around 110 times before, I have had about 2000 pap smears in the past few years. At first it was because I was part of a research study and being paid $50 per appointment (I know most people wouldn't do it for that, but I was very broke at the time, and they didn't used to bother me). More recently, it's because I can't get conclusive test results to save my life, and I have at least three strains of HPV, one of which is considered "high-risk." So I have to keep an eye on things.

Anyway, I'm going for a follow-up pap today (last one was inconclusive) that I've been putting off since December. It makes me nervous. Not the test itself, but what the test might find. I am very educated about this--I know that even the worst case scenario simply isn't that bad--but that doesn't help me not freak out. Frankly, I don't want my cervix cut, burned, frozen, or electrosurgically fucked with, and I don't care how safe and easy it is.

But it beats the hell out of the alternative.

Anyway, the point was not to gross you out or give you TMI on my medical history. The point was to remind all readers that if it's been more than a year since your last pap smear, you should go get one. Gay, straight, bi, monogamous, not--it doesn't matter. It's a pain in the ass, but if I can submit to it four times a year or more, I'm positive you can live through an annual one.

I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me today. I have done everything I shouldn't have and none of what I should have (except that I did finally clean the floors). I stayed home from class for no reason, I went to Old Navy and spent $125 on clothes, I ate 4 super-size sugar cookies, I bit all my nails to the quick...you name it, I fucked it up today.

I don't feel depressed. I don't feel tired or sad or good or bad. Actually, come to think of it, I don't feel much of anything. Certainly nothing that could lead to any kind of motivation to DO anything. That seems bad. I have been eating terribly, sleeping plentifully, and haven't excercised in a week. The less I do, the less I feel like doing.

Obviously the thing to do is to force myself to do some stuff in order to break out of this vicious cycle. But I just don't have the motivation. And at this point I'm so digusted with myself I don't even want to try. I want another cookie and another nap, but even taking the dog out just seems like so much unnecessary work.

Dear Self,

When you massively bomb a test, you feel bad about yourself. Coming home, snarfing down four frosted sugar cookies, napping for two hours, snarfing down three more cookies, then going shopping DOES NOT make you feel better. In fact, it invariably makes things worse. Take that into consideration upon your next test bombing.

Love,

Grace

I haven't been posting anything of substance here lately, as some of you have noticed. There is really one simple reason: The Man is getting me down. I don't know what it is precisely, or more I can't put a neat label on the combination of things it is, but I'm wearing a little bit thin. School is overwhelming me, which makes me feel lame. I'm exhausted all the time, which is probably just from allergies, but it still makes me feel lame. Work is...gray. It's fine, but I feel guilty for being here when I have so much school shit to do (and of course I feel guilty for not being here when I'm at home). I'm tired of doing all the freaking housework. I'm tired of exercising and trying to eat well. I'm incredibly tired of bleeding and of the pain that comes with it every. freaking. month. Mostly I'm just tired.

So yeah. I'm in a funk. If I snap at you, I apologize in advance. I'm trying not to be a pain, even though I feel like being one all the time.

It has come to my attention that my blogging lately sucks. It sucks a lot. I only post memes or short, stupid rambles about my personal mental state. I can't remember the last time I wrote something interesting.

Truth be told, I am suffering from blog impotence, triggered by my inadequacy complex. Over there on the left you will see a list of blogs that are nearly all better than mine. Some of them are miles and miles better than mine. The more I read them, the more I wonder why anyone would bother to read this, the less interesting stuff I can think of to write.

So yeah. That's the big reason for my prolonged (well, prolonged for me, anyway) silence.

In an effort to update--I read Joseph Stiglitz's Globalization and its Discontents this weekend. It's worth reading. Yesterday, when I was home feverish and throwing up, I watched The Life of David Gale. It is worth watching, and it gave me an inexplicable crush on Kevin Spacey. One of my senior year prospies at Reed had a producer daddy and was a family friend of Spacey's, or so she claimed (and I vaguely remember checking out her story and having it stack up--her dad worked on Swimming with Sharks, I think). Anyway, she told me Kevin Spacey is definitely gay. Makes me sad that he's not out. But he was hot in David Gale anyway, in a philosophy professor kind of way.

What else...? Saw Kill Bill Vol. 2 over the weekend. Actually, S. and T. and I went with some of their friends, to a double-feature of the first and second volumes. It was a good time. I love the Alamo Drafthouse.

Do you ever think that maybe I put in lots of links in a effort to hide my lack of content? I do.

One of the things I really love about having a blog is that when I get into a discussion about something that hits close to home elsewhere online, I can take it back to my blog and write it out for myself, without having to worry about following a discussion or answering questions that are throw at me or anything. This is my space, so I can write just what I'm thinking about it, even if others don't think that's the important part. Ultimately, I'm still responsible for what I write, of course, but I can at least do it on my terms and my timeline.

So that's good.

I read a lot of parenting blogs these days. I'm not sure how that happened exactly, as parenting isn't exactly a burning issue of mine, but I welcome it. One can never be too prepared, and the parents I read are an insightful bunch with superb writing skills. One thing I have noticed about the parenting blogs I read is that nobody hits their kids. I'm really, really happy to see that.

I think part of it is generational. People spank a lot less now than they did 20 years ago when I was a wee one, and probably less than than 20 years before, if my mum's stories are any indication. To me, that's progress.

Obviously some cases of child abuse are so egregious it's hard to see them as anything but a specific abuser's fault. That's not the way I see common spanking, though. It took me quite a while to come to this position, but I really see it as a societal thing. I've never seen my mother raise her hand to another adult, to an animal, etc. She's just not a violent person. Yet she broke wooden spoons on my ass with regularity before I was old enough to defend myself. Where does that come from? It's very difficult for me to think that's it is something within her. Rather, I think it's societal--she did what was expected of her. In that way, it's much like circumcision, which is another topic we've been discussing on The Phoenix. I don't blame moms who have their sons circumcised, even though I personally do believe it's multilation. I don't think they are personally responsible, though, because nobody knows how to parent magically, and lots of times you just muddle along and do what is expected. When and where I grew up, spanking was expected. In the U.S., circumcision is expected.

Not that I want either of these practices to continue just because they are normal. Far from it. But I don't think individual blame pointed towards the women who spank their kids or have them circumcised is a good conduit for change. It's better, I think, to shift our efforts towards parental education. I don't believe my mom would have hit us if she would have thought she had another choice. And it wasn't her fault she didn't know.

I'm calmer this evening. I finished one project, got a relatively decent start on two others, had one due date extended, and generally feel like maybe there is some hope after all. I'm sure I won't be saying that in a day or two, but for now, I feel pretty OK about things.

Partially it has just been a good day. S. and T. got their referral, finally. They will be bringing their daughter home in only a couple of months. I'm so excited for them I can hardly stand it. I of course wanted to rush right over there tonight when I heard the news, but they need time to themselves now, I think, and we will celebrate with them tomorrow night.

In other good news, I got my financial aid stuff for the summer and next year, and I am getting a hefty sum in subsidized loans, which is good. Enough, actually, that I could not work next year if I didn't want to. So that's a nice option to have, particularly because I don't think I am going to get a TA'ship (supposed to hear about that tomorrow morning).

I'm also getting really excited about my trip in a couple of weeks. I am hoping to get to meet some online friends. A bunch of online friends, actually! Can't wait.

OK. Shower. Sleep. Yes. Good.

Once again, I am struck by the overwelming urge to do more. I am not doing enough. Not doing enough to better myself, not doing enough to better the world around me, not doing enough to help people, not traveling enough, not loving enough, not living enough. I want to do more.

But it seems so difficult just to do what I must to get by, doing "enough" would be impossible. There is never enough time or enough money or enough energy. The whole situation is very frustrating.

This is stemming from a wonderful class I had tonight. My last class of the semester, and it couldn't have been better. I put myself on the line a bit and took a journalism class this semester--the subject was coverage of international crises. As one of the (many...I still have 30 pages left to write...) requirements for the course, we were to do 20 hours of volunteer work somewhere in the community and report back on it (write a field report and do an little informal oral presentation). Today, our last class, we had those presentations. And the organizations people worked with were so fascinating, so vital, and so in need. I ended up wanting to volunteer for all of them. And I ended up feeling really, really bad, because I just used the non-profit job I already had to fill the course requirement. I wasn't cheating or anything--the professor OK'd it--but I feel like I should have done more.

So I'm trying to figure out how to do more. Now is the absolute worst time to be thinking in these terms--I've got PLENTY to do in the next week or so, thanks! But I am thinking about the summer. Yes, I have to take a calculus course, and yes, I have to work full-time, but what else can I do? My reasons are fairly non-philanthropic--I want to contribute because I don't feel like I am pulling my weight, and that makes me feel like ass. But whatever my reasons are, one more volunteer body is one more volunteer body, right? And it's about damn time I got involved in something beyond myself.

That being said, I move on to the subject of friends and my not having any. It's quite strange. I went out to lunch today at a campus place (between work this morning and class this afternoon), and I ran into a group of acquaintances from school there. I talked to them some, but sat by myself and read my paper for the most part. I go to lunch by myself often enough now that I don't really think of it as weird, but today I was very much aware that these people were thinking "Poor pitiful Grace, doesn't have any friends to have lunch with," or something of the sort. And it's true. There isn't a single person at my school that I would call a friend. There are a handful of people I say hi to or am happy to have class with, and I'm doing better with school-oriented social events (such as going to Happy Hour after class yesterday), but basically, I have no friends.

The really surprising part, though, is that having no friends doesn't bother me at all. I feel like I have lots of friends. I have my online friends, and I have my real-life friends, most of whom happen to be far away at this point, rendering my relationships with them very similar to those with my online friends (although really, reading my blog and being in my internet community are the only ways to communicate with me from afar on anything resembling a regular basis--I don't even talk to my mom on the phone more than once or twice a month). I absolutely adore the friends I have and hope they will always be my friends, geography be damned. But not having friends at school here just doesn't bother me. And it's not that I don't think tere are people here I'd like to be friends with--I'm sure there are--but I don't know how to form friendships intentionally, and I can't be bothered to figure it out.

Is that severely misanthropic? Maybe it's because I have Mark and we spend a ton of time together, but I honestly don't think that's the bulk of it. I just don't consider geographic nearness to be a particularly important factor in friendship, I guess. And at this point, I don't even consider regular communication to be that important a factor--as seeing Howell and Melinda and Ron and Sandy in D.C. the other weekend demonstrated to me, we fall right back into the same friendship no matter how recently or not we have talked. And to me, that's what it's all about. If they need me, I'm here, and if I need them, I trust they'll be around.

Still, I should probably attempt to be at least marginally social here. I'm really not an anti-social person. Just lazy, I guess. Or guarded? I don't know. Mostly I think I just don't have the patience to develop friendships over a long period of time--I love hanging out with good, close friends, but I'm not exactly enamored with the first date-esque stages before that. And making new friends really does remind me of dating, another activity I would never be good at and I'm kind of glad not to engage in.

This all reminds me of how strange it is to meet people IRL whom you have interacted with for a long period of time online. The idea that you are just now "meeting" them is so strange, because chances are you know more about them and have shared more with them than is true of most of the people you see quite often in your everyday life (at least in my circles, this seems to be the case). So it's not really meeting them. Ani has a line that goes, "I have only just met an old, old friend," and I always think of that when I meet someone whom I already know I like. It's a strange dynamic. On one hand, you wish you could just brush away all the preliminary getting to know you stuff that is inherent in meeting someone, but on the other hand, you don't want to be too familiar with someone who you "just met." And I know that I am far more open online that I would be in relationships with people in person, so it's weird to meet someone and know how much they already know about me. It's this strange feeling of not knowing what face to put on, because they are going to recognize that your public face isn't you--after all, they've never seen it before.

Actually, that makes it sound like it's a really excellent way to meet people, doesn't it? No pretenses that way. Why doesn't it actually work like that?

Or maybe it does.

Or perfect punk rock resumes
Or anorexic magazines
It smells like girl, it smells like girl

Anybody recognize the title and following lines?

Believe it or not, this post is going to be related, albeit loosely, to the title.

Specifically, I am irritated because Cameron Diaz is not a geek.

And she's always supposed to be one! Her Charlie's Angels character, Natalie, is so geeko-charming I could just puke. The show younger pictures of her with headgear, show her wearing Superman underwear and knocking over a row of bathroom stalls, and have her do that ridiculous "I'm-so-in-love-with-my-own-ass" dance at least ten times.

But she's just not a fucking geek! She's blonde, beautiful, thin, rich, famous, and KNOWS IT. They can put fake spooge in her hair to make it stand up all they want, and she's still fucking Cameron Diaz.

And she's an insult to real geeks everywhere. As if we don't have it hard enough without being supposed to live up to Cameron Fucking Diaz's standard of geekiness.

See, she's not making geekdom cool. She's making fun of geekdom and making that cool. And I resent it. If you are Barbie, just be Barbie. You can't be geek-chic without actually being a fucking geek.

Now that I have that strange rant out of my system...

Two things I love are rolled into one in this book. It's a book about my favorite (I think) artist, Frida Kahlo, illustrated by the author/illustrator of my favorite children's books, the amazing Tomie de Paola! It's fucking fabulous. If you have a kid, get it. If you don't, get it anyway. Hell, give me your address and I'll send it to your kids. There aren't enough kids in my life. My neices would inevitably think they are too old for it, and Sadie and Li-li are still a bit too young.

Today we solved all of our bed problems. We ordered the bed for our room, and we went shopping for something for the guest room. After hours of trial and vists to at least a dozen stores, we decided to just buck up, spend the money, and get something we like and can use in the future (hopefully as a couch, and hopefully sooner, rather than later, I say, because our current couch is an atrocity), rather than settling for whatever we could find the cheapest (not much, as it turns out). So we ended up with a very nice futon. Beautiful all hardwood frame, Japanese style, dark Java finish, thick futon mattress with inner coils, queen sized. It's really lovely. They'll deliver it on Wednesday.

So much adulthood.

We also took Chancey to his first agility class today. He was great! He did everthing he was supposed to do. It was wonderful. Mark was in heaven, too. I'm sunburned now, though. I have to remember that yes, it is summer here now, and yes, that does require sunscreen.

Lots of sunscreen.

Was it just me, or was tonight's episode of The Sopranos weirder than hell? Now Mark is watching Deadwood. I've never actually watched this show, but just hearing it from the other room pisses me off. The cursing is so historically inaccurate! Can't they even get the easy details right?

So I have the allergies that will not stop. My throat is swollen and hurts, my eyes are watering, my nose is stuffed up, and I would give my right arm to be able to go back to bed, rather than going into work. Seriously. I feel fucking awful.

Wah wah wah.

To make matters infinitely worse, I agreed to work Monday-Wednesday this week. I agreed to do this knowing full well that I am flying out to give a talk that I have not yet written in Chicago on Thursday. I'll write it over the weekend, thought I. Wrong. I am no farther this morning than I was last week when I agreed to work these days.

So, to put it simply, I'm fucked. I feel exactly the same way as I did last week, before finals were over. This truly is the semester that never ends.

So I am going on vacation tomorrow. This is my first vacation since Christmas (well, if you don't count going to D.C. for the March), and I'm stoked. I wanted to start packing, so I looked up the weather forcasts in the cities I'll be staying in.

The weather is out to get me.

Thurs: Thunderstorms
Fri: Scattered thunderstorms
Sat: Scattered thunderstorms
Sun: Scattered thunderstorms
Mon: Scattered showers
Tues: Scattered showers
Wed: Rain

Great.

Tomorrow morning, way way way too early, I embark upon my great midwestern adventure. I am very excited. Right now I'm really nervous, too, because I feel very time crunched and like I am almost certainly forgetting something or forgetting to do something that I will find essential in a day or two. I've never been to any of these cities I'm visiting before, and in Chicago I am pretty much on my own to navigate mass transit and the like, so I'm a bit worried about that. I have printed out every map known to gracekind, though, plus route plans for everywhere I plan to go, so I can't imagine it's going to be that tough.

Anyway, I still have stuff to do before I go to bed, and I have to be at the airport at 7am, so this is going to be it for now. I will be back late next week with lots of tales to regale you with. Or something. Until then, miss me!!

I'm listening to Suzanne's CD. It is beautiful. The more I listen, the more I feel like I knew her a little bit.

I don't know if this always happens when I come back from a trip. I suspect it does not. At any rate, I've come back feeling very different than I felt when I left. I feel like I'm on the verge of changes, but I can't quite see around the corner to identify them.

And then I reread that and I just feel like I'm being unncecessarily dramatic. Maybe nothing is changing. Maybe I'm just not caught up on sleep yet.

*Title courtesy of Lee Ann Womack, "I Hope You Dance"

Once upon a time, in the little four-aisle grocery store in the town where I grew up, I had a big thing for U-No bars. Specifically, the mint ones. They were the best thing ever. I loved them. As you saw if you clicked on my link, they have been discontinued for some time now.

I found a substitute. They are pricer and not quite as good, but the Meltaway Mint Seattle Chocolates Truffle Bar is a reasonable substitute.

And all is well.

This is another one of those occaisons wherein I take something that is bothering me from The Phoenix and bring it to my blog to expound upon my thoroughly. Just so's you know.

The subject is work ethic. As far as I am concerned, good work ethic means taking pride in the job you are doing, getting what needs to be done and done well, and doing things that need to be done without being specifically intstructed to do so. Period. Busy work does not require good work ethic. Just doing something job-related every minute you are on the clock does not necessarily imply good work ethic. You can be "busy" all day and have lousy work ethic, and you can spend a part of your day at work goofing off, posting on the Internet, whatever, and still have good work ethic.

My first "real" job was as a dishwasher and then a waitress at a cafe. I started right after I turned 14. It was a miserable, back-breaking job. The kitchen was a million degrees, you were running your whole shift, and you got paid minimum wage (although in retrospect it actually paid more with tips than most of what I've done since then) In those kinds of jobs in Oregon at that time (I have no idea if it's different now), you are legally guaranteed a 15 minute break for every four hours of work and a half hour lunch break for each eight hour shift (I think...it's been a long time, could be slightly different). The cafe where I worked (and the cafe after that...) never bothered with this. There was no "I'm going on my break now" or "I'm having my lunch now"--you sneaked in a few bites if and when you had time, and you sat down if and when you had time AND nobody was looking. One of the cooks with whom I worked said that the only reason she started smoking was because she knew she'd have to leave the kitchen to do it, and therefore she could justify leaving to take a break.

I learned pretty quickly in that environment that the only way to get a break was to take one--no one was going to offer one to me. Fair enough.

My next job, another waitressing gig, worked the same way, though it was a smaller and much more friendly enviorment. No set break times, just take one when you can. Sometimes it was slow and I got sent home early because there was nothing to do. Fair enough. The thing that pissed me off, though, and still does to this day, was when there was nothing to do and I had to stay for whatever reason, because those were the time when I had to invent something to do. Generally something that was not my job (back up cooking, etc.) Whatever. Annoying, but that's how service works unless you have a cool boss who realizes that s/he is paying you to be there, and if there is nothing to do, there's nothing to do. Inventing something doesn't get their money back.

My next job was working at a public pool. I opened the pool in the morning, did clean-up, and worked the desk, taking money, scheduling lessons, etc. Often, there was nothing to do but sit there. My boss was very chill. She understood that she was paying me because someone had to be there. I read or wrote when I had nothing to do. I still had no set breaks or lunch, but I didn't much care, because I had lots of down time that I could rest and whatever. If I needed to leave the desk for some reason, I had to get someone to cover, but there was no set relief.

Next I was a lifeguard. Being a lifeguard is one of those jobs that requires constant attention when you are on. I totally respect that and I never did anything when I was lifeguarding but watch people swim. Oddly, though, there were STILL no set breaks, and if I needed to pee or something, I had to get someone to cover.

Since then, I have had a series of office-type jobs in a variety of locations and at a variety of levels of responsibility (and pay). These jobs have offered me set "duty-free" (and unpaid) lunches for the most part (though the one I have now does not, which is fine), but there are still not set breaks. By now, I have no problem taking breaks when I have time/think I need them. And I don't think that says a goddamn thing about my work ethic.

To go a bit farther, it is possible that I actually take MORE breaks than I am legally guaranteed in my current job (and in past jobs) on some (or even most) days. And I don't think that means I have a bad work ethic either. Why? Because I get everything that is asked of me done and done well. I seek out more projects. I take interest and pride in my work. If I say something is going to be done on time, it is, and if I say I am going to be somewhere, I'm there. I'm not being paid to sit at my desk for eight hours a day or whatever--I am being paid to produce products, and I do a goddamn good job producing them. What more should an employer ask for?

To continue on this tangent, I think that most people, especially people in lower-paying service jobs, administrative jobs, etc. are doing more than they need to be for what they are paid. An argument can be made that if you do personal things on work time you are "stealing" from your company. Well, most likely your company is also stealing from you. Ever asked to do stuff that isn't in your job description? Your company is stealing from you. Even take on more responsibility than you are paid to take on, or cover for a co-worker (or better yet, boss)? Your company is stealing from you. The list goes on, but the bottom line as far as I am concerned remains whether or not the work gets done and done properly. If it does, why the fuck should your employer care if you work fast and then take breaks, or work slowly and don't?

So, as you undoubtably already know, Ronald Reagan has finally died.

God, Nancy must be so relieved.

I have no love lost for Ronald Reagan. Go to Jasper's blog to read a summary of pretty much how I feel about his death, though it's written much better than I could have managed.

But that's all about Ronald Reagan the POTUS. And right on as it is, I wonder if there wasn't once more, you know? There had to have been a person in there somewhere, and that person just died of Alzheimer's.

I guess Alzheimer's is what I really want to talk about here, rather than Ronald Reagan.

But how the fuck do I even begin to talk about Alzheimer's with feeling some sympathy for Ronald Reagan, and particularly for those around him? After watching someone die of it, slowly and with no honor, I wouldn't even wish it on Ronald Reagan.

So I guess it's like this: if the assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan had been successful in '81, I think the world would have been a better place. The man did a ton of damage and no good I can think of. I would not have mourned his death by gunshot before he had time to terrorize the poor.

But I mourn for his death at 93 of Alzheimer's. For one thing, the damage has already been done, and his legacy is living on stronger than ever in today's White House. More than that, though, I am horribly, horribly sorry that anyone has to live through what he and his family have lived through in these past years. I am glad for them and for him that it is finally over.

My mom is coming to visit us! She gets here this evening and she'll be here until Tuesday afternoon.

I'm oddly nervous. I guess I feel like I have something to prove about my big, grown-up life, you know? This is the first time she has ever visited me, now that I am far away from home and living my so-called adult life. That and I am nervous about how she'll deal with the dog.

I have a whole list of things to do with her while she is here, but I don't know how much of it is actually going to happen, given the horrible fucking weather we have been having. The radio dude this morning described tomorrow and the weekend as "mid 90s with gross humidity." Great.

My stomach is all in knots. And she's really not a judgemental person at all, so I don't know what my problem is.

There is a plan in place for next semester. It involves me working 30 hrs/week and taking 10 hours of classes. This includes class from 10:30-12 and then 2-9pm on Tuesdays. That ought to be fun.

I'll graduate a semester late under this plan, which is really no big deal. I'll also save enough to pay off a huge chunk of my undergrad loans, which is a big deal.

All in all, I'm psyched. Worried as all hell, but psyched.

I just wish the possibility of quitting school completely would leave my little head...

First, I keep getting spam urging me to eliminate my bills the Christian way. Seriously. I am almost curious enough about what the Christian means of bill elimnation would be to open the messages. But not quite.

Secondly, a thought has come into my tiny brain: What if I just take next year off from school? I could work 4 days/week, make a ton o' cash, and not be stressed out. Then when the contract is up in a year I could go back to school full time, have the schedule I want, and not have to work during school.

I can't think of any good reasons not to do that, except the possibility of losing my aid. I'll have to check on that.

OK. I've thought about it. I've consulted with a number of sources, both personal and official. And I've made up my mind.

I am taking next year off from school and working full-time at The New Job, which I will start as soon as I am finished with my internship. Well, semi full-time (32 hrs/week). No classes except for the correspondence calc class I have to get through before January 31. Then I'll go back to school full-time the following year, and I may or may not be asked to stay at the job, which may or may not go down to 16-24 hrs/week. Depending on how I feel about it then, I may or may not stay.

My heart, my gut and my brain all agree this is the right thing to do, as do most of the folks I've consulted. I'm slowly getting over the misgivings coming from the Guilt Place that thinks I should be able to do everything all at once, even when I know I can't.

So...lots of changes. Feels weird to think I won't be going to school in the fall, but honestly it's mostly a huge relief. I have to get a budget worked out and stick to it to make sure I make the most of this opportunity to dig my way out from under some of my loan debt. And I have to keep up with the calc class so time doesn't get away from me.

In the meantime, I have to focus on putting myself back together again. I haven't been to work in two days--the damnable head cold and my overwhelming depression have conspired to keep me in bed (Skye, I trust you'll keep the second part of that clause under your hat and just go with the illness explanation). I could easily succumb to it and spend the rest of the week or more there, but I won't do that. Tomorrow I have to get back on my feet. Enough is enough with the self-pity and mopiness.

And the goddamn shrink still hasn't called me back. Really makes me wonder what happens to folks with a more dire need for psychiatric help.

I have been attempting to make coherent posts all day--about church this morning (I will definitely go back), about Farenheit 9/11, which Mark and I saw this evening (good way to spend the 4th, I'd say). But I'm just not in a coherent frame of mind, so it will all have to wait until tomorrow.

God I am happy to have an extra day off this weekend. Yay for rich white men who didn't want to pay their taxes...

I've been thinking and talking and writing a ton about money lately.
Saving, spending, debt, shopping. I'm reading books about it, too. It's
actually pretty crass, and I am getting sick enough of hearing myself
talk about it, so I definitely owe a debt (shit! another one!) of
gratitude to the folks who have been listening to me work throught it
and giving advice about it, particularly a certain Princess. I really
appreciate the willingness to give advice without judgement.

But the bottom line, of course, is that annoying everyone around me
with a subject most people would rather not talk about isn't going to
fix anything. I have to make my decisions myself and get myself through
this one. Reading and talking to other people has its place, but it's
no good trying to put the impetus on someone else, which is part of
what I do when I ask advice on questions that I really already know the
answers to.

One good thing the books I've been reading and
people I've been chatting with has given me is perspective. While I
think it's true that I spend too much, shop too much, save too little,
etc., I don't have credit card debt, a car loan, etc. My only debt is
student loans, which are huge, but I've never missed a payment on them
(aside from when they are deferred). I am also paying the interest on
the non-subsidized portion while I'm in school. This isn't to say that
I don't have a problem, just that it hasn't reached epic proportions
yet, so if I can get a handle on it now, I'll be much happier.

I am still deciding exactly what form that handle should take. I know
that I don't feel like depriving myself, and that stopping shopping
completely isn't a goal. I also know that it's going to feel great to
make large loan payments during this year of pulling in an income, and
that I have several savings goals to reach. So I'll figure it out. It's
trial and error, I suppose.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to shut up about it.

I could totally be making this up, but I believe NPR told me this morning that today is Judy Chicago's birthday. Or maybe that was yesterday. At any rate, if you don't know of her already, check out some of her work. I think she is pretty famous, so everyone has probably already heard of her, but just in case.

My favorite thing she's done, I think, is Womanhouse, although that may be for more political than artistic reasons. The Dinner Party is truly amazing, and it's of a similar political bent. Also, for the Princess, check out Quilting Bee.

When I worked at the art museum, one of the things I did was helped out with the docent program. The average docent was a well-off white woman somewhere between 55 and 75. There were a couple hundred of them. And they came in once a week to hear lectures. One lecture was to be about women in art, so I excitedly sat in on it. The speaker showed the slide from Womanhouse of the "Menstruation Bathroom."

I was a lot more amused than some of them were, I think. And I was definitely more amused than the assistant curator who ran the program was. (Hi Sarah!)

Do you ever just want to hole up by yourself for a year or two? I'm serious. I'd like nothing more right now than to just sit at my house, completely alone, and do my own thing. Read, watch TV, cook for myself. Not go out, and most of all, NOT talk to anybody. No social conventions and no responsibilities. I even want the dog to go away for awhile.

I have no idea where this is coming from, or if it's healthy or not. I have never been hyper-social, but I think I may be getting a bit overly reclusive. I have this reoccuring daydream of a tiny one-room house by the ocean (not the Atlantic or the Gulf, either, the REAL ocean) where I don't see another human being for days or even weeks at a time. Where I don't have all my shit surrounding me to tell me who I am. Swimming and eating healthy and sleeping a lot. Writing. Reading. Being.

It's bad enough that I don't want to go to parties or talk on the phone, but the thing that makes me feel really guilty is the wish that I lived alone. Most of the time, I love living with Mark, but right now....God, I wish he'd go away! And it really has nothing to do with him, either. I am feeling trapped by anyone breathing my air.

I suppose ultimately it doesn't matter whether or not it's healthy or whatever, because it's not going to happen. Getting myself stranded on a conveniently well-equipped desert island doesn't really look to be in the cards.

I just wrote a long email to a whole list of people that I have made little to no effort to communicate with in the past few months. Or, in some cases, the past few years.

I am sucky friend. I don't know why, exactly, but I have completely lost contact with so many people that I care so much about. How does that happen? How do we allow it to happen? And most importantly, is it rebuildable? Once a relationship has atrophied, can you bring it back?

Given the amount of time and effort I spend in correspondance with people who I've never met, many of whom don't care one single whit (wit?) for me, you'd think I could dedicate equal time to keeping in touch with people I know and love.

I'll be better about it now, I promise.

We just went to a really great lunch for my last day. This artist had a show up at the cafe where we ate.

I want one. These pieces are AMAZING in person--the website, well put-together as it is, doesn't do them justice.

So I emailed him. They are going to be way out of my price range, though.

Today I began my journey into state agency contractorship. So far, so good. I do not, in fact, have to sit in a cube, which is nice. The place is, however, a cube farm. So much so that I feel I will get lost in the cube maze for months. S. told me today that you get a bonus if you find the piece of cheese.

It is amazing that anyone thinks surrounding living, breathing, once-upon-a-time creative people with gray felt walls, keeping them from natural light and air, making everything look the same and everything look like someone else ow's it, which, just in case you forget, they do, is a good idea. How can that possibly foster productivity or investment in one's work? Posters of cats hanging from their claws captioned "Is It Friday Yet?" and "Hang in There!" do not make thing better. They do not negate the monotony--they are part of it. They may as well say, "You are a cog in a machine. No one cares about you. You can and will be replaced." At least then there would be less space for that damn cat.

So far my impressions from being there all day are in keeping with my impressions from being there a few hours a week--most of most people's time is spent navigating procedure and wading through red tape. The contractors seem more on-task than the regular employees, but given the pay differential, that's not really surprising. Nobody seems to be in love with her work.

I don't mean to sound down about it--I'm not. I am actually excited about it. I am just amazed that people can be happy in that kind of environment long term. I mean, for a year or two, keeping your sense of humour, sure. But full-time forever? I have enough trouble getting up in the morning now...

I think the interaction between the agency folks and the contractor folks will be interesting to watch. I think the whole state agency budget and appropriations process is fascinating. And honestly, I think I'll enjoy the work. It's a lot of details, the kind of nit-picky stuff that most people find horribly frustrating and from which I derive sick pleasure. It's probably a good fit.

And if not, at least it gives me something to blog about.

I have never been a particularly athletic person. Actually, strike that--I am a fucking klutz, and I'm lazy. I played a little volleyball and swam a few laps so I could get lifeguard certification, but that's the extent of my athletic prowess.

However, nothing in the entire world makes me happy in quite the way female athletes do. I have a long list of role models that come from the wide world of sports, starting with Babe Didrikson and, as of tonight, going through the amazing Amanda Beard.

The fans make it all worthwhile...

And you may not want personality tips from me but you need them from someone; you are tiresome and humorless. You give feminists a badname. I realize you're stuck in a college-town mentality but fucking grow up! One day hopefully, you'll look back and giggle and say "God,I was such a self-righteous boring prig."

I just read this entry from BitchPhD, and it's given me some food for thought. Skye and I had a brief discussion on the same topic while we were shopping last weekend, so it's been rolling around in my brain anyway.

I am pro-monogamy. I don't think "open" relationships are, for the most part, healthy. I've said this a million times before, argued about it with people who hold different views, etc. My bottom line has always been (and still is) that I have no place judging how other people run their relationships, but if asked, I am against serious but non-monogamous relationships (like open marriages) in general, and I am definitely against them in my own life.

Mark and I agree on this, which is nice--less stress that way. And we have talked about the various reasons why--both being jealous types, etc. But the bottom line to me is that I am a finite resource. My time, my energy (sexual and otherwise) and yes, even my love, are finite. In order to give some to someone else, it would have to come from somewhere, and the danger of it coming from what I give to Mark, or, perhaps worse, from the supply I keep for myself, is too high.

I would love to believe that my supply is infinite, to believe that I could love everyone and give of myself to as many people as I deem worthy. But I already know that is not the case. Whenever I direct more attention to one area of my life, whether it's a relationship or a hobby or a job or school or whatever, I have to use less energy somewhere else. It's not just that there are only so many waking hours in day, but something less tangible than that as well. And to me, dedication less comes down to preserving your body for one specific person, and more to giving them first dibs (after yourself, because you cannot give propery to anyone else if you haven't given to yourself) on the intangibles.

Now I would never be so dumb
As to say they stole an election.
They bought the damn thing fair and square.
The emperor's in his underwear.
-Dan Bern, "Alaska Highway"

It could happen again. We have to make sure it doesn't.

Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know "why" I look this way. I've traveled a long way and some of the roads weren't paved.

A good thought as one embarks on one's 26th year, I think. And probably every year after that. :)

First, go here and read the last two posts (amazing) and the comments (infuriating). That is where I am coming from with this, and Narly writes about it way, way more effectively than I am going to be able to.

Now back to me.

I am bisexual. I am in a long-term partnership with a man. I have had relationships, including sexual relationships, with women, but not many and not recently. I am open about my bisexuality to my friends, etc., but I am not out to my family. Not being out to my family, particularly my mom, is one of the most painful things in my life, and probably the most painful part of my relationship with her. My mom and I are tight, and I feel like I am lying to her, which I don't like at all. But she has made disparaging comments about bisexuals in my presence for years (not lesbians or homosexuals, just bisexuals) and I don't have the guts (or something) to come out to her.

For me, being bisexual is more than a sexuality (and it's certainly more than a hypothetical sexuality!). My outlook, my politics, my spirituality, are all, in some ways, bi. What I mean is that bisexuality makes sense to me--basing who I love, or who I love in a certain way, on gender doesn't compute in my mind. Being bisexual is really basic to me. I don't think about it much in terms of choice, although I definitely think that on some level it is a concious choice. Mostly, it's deeper than that. Having it questioned does a weird number on me--it's as if someone is questioning my sex or the language I speak or something else that is simply a fact about me.

Which is why it burns me up to no end to see someone else going through one of my biggest fears (coming out as bi to her mom) and have it met with "what difference does it make". If one of your core identities is kept hidden from your closest relative for years and suddenly it comes to light, that's a big damn deal! And it doesn't matter in the least if it's something that is currently being "acted upon" or the rest of that garbage! It's not about what you are doing, it's about who you are. Why is that so hard to understand? And how is it that folks honestly believe it's OK to question someone else' identity like that, especially when it is already under attack?

Anyway, I guess my point is that I'm with you, Narly, and you are in my thoughts.

I am so a yuppie. I joined a gym yesterday. For real. It's the Y, not a fancy-schmancy gym, but still.

I am noticing that my desire to buy high-priced goods is growing exponentially by the day. This is bad. This tells me that working full-time and not going to school (i.e. having disposable income) spells d-a-n-g-e-r. So I am going to try to keep it under control. To do that, I will make a list of things I want to buy. Once I list them, I will think about them. Once I think about them enough, I will not buy them. I will make that list here, because I no longer have a non-blog journal (how freaking weird is that?). Please bear with me (or ignore this entry):

Spendy stuff I want but shouldn't buy:
iPod mini
tall boots
custom designed bag
wine tower
Title Nine workout clothes

I'm sure there is more, but that's enough greed and gluttony for now.

Yesterday I sat at a lunch table with men who first said disparaging things about another bisexual woman, then about bisexual people in general. It was not the first time these kinds of comments had been made in my presence by these men. I sat there, feeling smaller and smaller, but I stayed silent. My silence still rings in my ears. It deafens me.

There is no way I would have sat there and let them say things like that about lesbians, or about women of color. Why is it that on this issue I find myself mute? Why is it that when the injured party is someone else, I have lots of words, but when it's me, I don't know what I could possibly say? Is it my own internalized biphobia, hatred of myself and what I am, feeling like I am not worth standing up for? Or is it fear of outing myself among these new colleagues, who I don't know yet and I don't know how to approach with the subject of my own bisexuality (or even if approaching it is a good idea)? Or is it perhaps that I can hear, ringing in their jokes, the same things I have been listening to about bisexuals from lovers, friends, family, and just about everybody else for years, and I am so tired of trying to argue the point with people that I otherwise find agreeable? Am I tired and lazy, or am I scared?

It is not uncommon, in the circles in which I travel, to hear someone say that s/he is going to emigrate to Canada (or Sweden, or whatever, but it's usually Canada) if Bush is re-elected (or if a constitutional amendment against gay marriage is passed, or if abortion is outlawed, etc.).

Well, I'm not going. Not because I don't think things might not be more pleasant elsewhere--they certainly might be. Not even because I don't believe the sky is really falling right now, I think we're just in a trough and things will get better again, even if we have to endure four more years of Shrub first. Because this is my country and goddammit they are not going to chase me out!

The way I figure it, I am a descendant of three types of people. The first are the people who owned this land before there was such a thing as owning land and who had it stolen from them. The second are people who were chased out of other places due to their religious beliefs, economic circumstances, etc. and landed here to try to make something for themselves, often at the expense of others, for centuries. The third are people who were abducted from their countries of origin and brought here to be enslaved. All of these folks have more right to this land than any imperialist power or any government built on greed, and I, as their descendant, have a responsibility to stand on this soil and fight for this country for as long as I possibly can.

I am not so naive as to believe that this country is the best place in the world. It may well be, but having not traveled outside it, that's not for me to say. Best or worst, though, it's mine and I plan to defend it. Yes, I could go to Scotland or to The Netherlands and find reminants of my history there, long-dead ancestors who stayed in their motherlands. But those are not the ancestors to whom I would pray, were I to pray to ancestors. Rather, I would pray to the Dutch immigrants in Missouri, stealing mules to feed themselves until they could move west. I would pray to the stubbornly Catholic Scots who landed in Pennsylvania and waited for the real winter to begin. More than anything, maybe, I would pray to the long-lost "digger" Indians of the Pacific Northwest. People who hundreds of years ago built their lives in the same valleys I dream about more and more the longer I am away from them. These are my ancestors, and they were violently chased out of their homes by bigots and imperialists, the intellectual, if not literal, ancestors of our current regime. I owe it to them to resist being chased out of mine.

So we have four more years of Bush. My thoughts and feelings about this have been all over the map since Tuesday night. It was originally and continues to be depressing, but there is more to it than that. I had a hard time putting my finger on it until this morning.

I am deeply, deeply concerned that I live in a country where over 50% of the population will elect a man who promotes values that I find morally repugnant. My concern about another Bush presidency has little to do with my personal situation--being white and upwardly mobile, in fact, there would be some argument for me to join the Young Republicans. My taxes will be lower because of our esteemed leader. I am not personally part of the groups of people that suffer under Republican morality: I'm not poor, I'm not a minority (or especially an illegal immigrant), I'm not in a same-sex relationship, and if I needed an abortion, I could afford to go out of the country to get one. I'm not a college student losing financial aid, I'm not unemployed and losing benefits, and I'm not going to get drafted.

But none of that makes me feel any better, because, just as the far right vote and think in terms of morality, so, I've found, do I. And I am horrified by the morals of this administration. It is, in my mind, not only a stupid idea for a society as rich as we are not to take care of the less fortunate, it is wrong. It is not just dumb to send kids to a foreign land to kill people and get killed for the sake of Haliburton's profits, it is absolutely immoral. State control over women's bodies is not just insulting to me as a woman, it is, in my mind, an absolute moral wrong. Denying civil rights to people based on their sexuality? Quite simply wrong.

And when I think about why I think these things are wrong, it strangely goes back to the same place that the rights morals go back to: Christianity. I am not a Christian, but I know my value system has been built on largly Christian principles. And those principles tell me, quite clearly, that war is wrong. Increasing the discomfort and pain of the poor to line the pockets of the rich is wrong. Denying civil rights based on gender, sexuality, race is WRONG.

I am not totally comfortable talking about politics from a moral standpoint. In general, it seems that liberals aren't. But we've got to learn, I think, that we have as much right to our morals as they have to theirs. It is OK to say that something should be done or not done simply because it's the right thing to do.

Since we last spoke, the following things have happened:

1. We have adopted out 6 of 7 puppies.
2. The 7th puppy has kept me awake many nights.
3. I have grown a giant, preposterous looking zit right in the middle of my forehead.
4. I've been out and gotten rip roaringly drunk with a co-worker and some bosses, including the owner of the company, all on someone else's dime. And apparently hit on the big boss from the other company.
5. I've completely stopped going to the gym and re-started drinking Pepsi and eating like shit.
6. We've had sunny and 70+ weather and torrential rainstorms 24 hours apart.
7. I've decided that I don't want to go back to school next year, but I really should do it anyway.
8. My house has become a disaster.
9. I've built entire outfits to match my argyle knee socks.
10. I have not written a novel. Not even a paragraph.
11. I've begun to freak out once again about the possibility that I am a lesbian and I just don't know it.
12. I've seen an episode of Sex & the City. Ew.
13. I've heard my officemate talk on the phone in Croatian.
14. I've completely stopped reading the news, in an effort to ward off depression.
15. I've experienced "Flaming Dr. Pepper."
16. I've ordered knee-high boots.

I'm sure there is more. I can't think of it now, though. I wish I could think of something interesting to write. I can't. Sorry.

So everyone has their celebrity crushes, right? I mean, everyone who will confess to actually watching TV and immersing herself in pop culture eventually winds up with a crush on some or other hottie. It's part for the course.

In my time, I've had a number of fairly sensible crushes. Benicio del Toro. Johnny Depp. Angelina Jolie. These things make sense.

Over the weekend, I watched Inside the Actor's Studio and realized, with a start, that I have a huge celebrity crush that I have had for years and never fully realized.

John Goodman.

Yes, that John Goodman.

So John Goodman is a hell of an actor, there is no denying that. But sex symbol? Hadn't heard that before.

It gets weirder. I realized, shortly after realizing that I have a celebrity crush on John Goodman, that John Goodman reminds me of my late grandfather (very similar build).

I so need a analyst.

Yup, that's me. Absent. For far too long, and in too many ways.

Let me start by apologizing for not blogging. I'm sorry for not blogging. Life has been in the way of Internet activities recently, and the amount of downtime I have at work has dramatically reduced. I've also been really sick, with a head/chest cold for two weeks and now just a constant, hacking cough that remains no matter what I take and keeps me awake all night (plus scares the shit out of other people, who are convinced that I do indeed have Black Lung).

The next two weeks promise to be more of the same, only worse. I'll be working long hours (hopefully no more than 55 hrs/week, but I can't promise that) and to top it all off Mark's friend M. and his new girlfriend are going to be in town (read: staying in our spare bedroom and being entertained by us, or by Mark, anyway) from Wednesday through Sunday.

So yeah, I'm absent. But don't feel bad. It's not just blogging. I feel like I'm absent from the rest of my life as well. I'm feeling guilty about not spending enough time with my dog!

So yeah, you probably won't be hearing much from me this week or next week. If you do, it will probably be stressed ramble. And unless you would like a play-by-play of two weeks worth of boring ass meetings, that's probably just as well.

I had no intention of having such a long blog hiatus. Things just got away from me there for awhile. I am back now, though. Really.

The end of 2004 and beginning of 2005 have been good to me. Christmas with my family was the most pleasant and least stressful on record (it's amazing how much easier it gets to ignore them as I get older). New Year's was wonderfully low-key (dinner with S&T and the glorious babe, then curled up on the couch with Mark, watching various home deocrating shows). All in all, I have to think hard to find anything at all to complain about.

I have my usual host of New Year's resolutions percolating in my head (eat healthier, get back to the gym, save all spare money for the house). I don't feel all that encouraged, though. The bottom line is that I have very little in the way of self-discipline or self-control, especially over longish time periods if I don't see instant results, and all three of those resolutions require both. Ug.

There are other resolutions, too, though. Like going to the damn doctor and getting things I should have taken care of a long time ago done (allergy tests, antidepressants that don't kill my sex drive). I feel a bit more optimistic about those--shorter time frame.

The weight thing has become an issue. I mean, it's been becoming an issue for awhile, obviously, but I am up to 200 lbs now, and I'm not comfortable in this skin. There is a distinct roll of belly fat that did not used to be there, and the backs of my thighs make me cringe. I still feel beautiful, but I feel like I'm failing myself, because I know this body comes from no excercise and terrible eating habits. And yet I do nothing to change it, and feel almost paralyzed at the thought of trying. Twice now I have done well at starting to get my eating and exercise together--each time lasting about three months before I fall completely off the wagon, undo any good I've done, and get even worse. I just feel like trying again will set me up to fail again. Shit that's depressing.

Dammit. I didn't mean for this entry to go in that direction. Really, I'm doing fabulously well. Back to work tomorrow, but I'm really not even dreading that. I feel good about 2005.

I hope you do, too.

I just spent two days with people who find it acceptable to use "gay" as a perjorative. As in, "that is so GAY!" They found it acceptable to do this even AFTER I told them I found it personally offensive, homophobic, completely inappropriate, and, as an afterthought, totally unprofessional.

What do you do about that? I mean, the hard part is supposed to be speaking up, isn't it? In the situation I have been in, speaking up is a bit of a problem, because these people, directly or indirectly, employ me. But I thought that once I did speak up I'd at least get some abashed looks and people would shut up!

It really makes me wonder where all of this so-called progress is taking place. If I am in a supposedly professional situation and the entire room (15 people) take no notice of this until I point it out, no one backs me up when I point it out, and then the fucking do it anyway, I don't think we've moved very far.

It's always been really important to me not to quit. I was never the kid who took her toys and went home--I always wanted to stick it out, no matter what the argument was. Maybe this is good, maybe it's just that I liked to fight, I'm not sure. But I've never been able to give a relationship up easily, even if it's really obvious that it's doomed.

But it's time.

Looking back on that last paragraph, I know what it was that kept me sticking it out and trying to fight my way through conflicts rather than walk away from them as a kid. It wasn't high moral ground, it was my desperate wish that at the end of the day, after whatever the fight was ended, everyone would like me.

Well, everyone is never gonna like me. And if I keep this up, I'm not going to like myself, either.

I've been in a couple of relationships where I stayed way too long. One "romantic" relationship, but more noteably, a friendship that sucked life out of me for more than a decade before I was finally able to let it go. A decade during which I spent a decreasing amount of time feeling like a worthwhile human being and an increasing amount of time feeling like nothing I ever did was going to be good enough, and no matter what happened, it was all my fault. The harder I tried, the more backed into a corner I felt, with every decision I made being the wrong one and grounds for abusive language and constant abandonment threats. It was impossible to see at the time, but looking back on it I know that I gave that relationship and that person EVERYTHING I had to give, taking it away from other people in my life and most importantly from myself, and she never gave me much back, she just complained I wasn't giving enough, told me I was stupid, and told me I was weak.

And if anything I did was weak, it was not leaving sooner than I did. When you are putting time and energy and love that you don't really have to spare into someone/something and the return you are getting on it is constant self-doubt and sleepless nights and humiliation, it's time to give it up.

At what point is it OK to just not like someone? To stop trying to see good things about them, giving them the benefit of the doubt, and making excuses for their behavior and just flat out not like them?

It's a tougher question than it seems at face value.

The related question, I suppose, is whether or not it does any good to stop trying to like someone who you are going to have to interact with no matter how you feel about them, due to necessity or common friends or them being a member of your family or whatever.

I am nowhere close to figuring this out.

So I'm reading Janet Luhrs' The Simple Living Guide. Well, not so much reading it as being consumed by it, actually. I have hardly put it down all day. With every passing chapter I am more and more sure that my life needs major changes, and that parts of what Ms. Luhrs writes about should be speaking to me very directly.

So, I'm probably about to embark on a whole bunch of navel-gazing entries. Don't say I didn't warn you.

When I was a kid, I hated Sundays. Sunday meant boredom, it meant being cooped up in the house with inevitably cranky parents, it meant re-reading the same books, walking around restlessly, wishing I lived somewhere where there was something--anything!--to do.

One of the many things I prefer about adulthood is that now I love Sunday. I'd even venture to say it's my favorite day of the week. Sunday is about naps, baking, curling up with Mark and watching TV. Sometimes it is about going out to breakfast or going to church. Mostly, it is the day of the week with the most likelihood of my not having to do anything I don't want to do. Sunday passes more slowly than the rest of the days of the week, and I tend to enjoy every lazy minute of it.

I also love going to bed early on Sunday nights. Feels like it gives me a head start on the week. So off I go.

To the asshole who is not me who is using my credit cards and transferring money out of my bank account:

I hate you. You will be caught, and a fiery wrath will reign down upon you. Seriously. Do you have any fucking idea how difficult it is for me to save money? And now you think you are going to get to spend it? Fuck you.

Love,

Grace

So yes, someone has hacked my online bank account and gotten ahold of at least one credit card number. In the space of less than two days, they have managed to wipe everything in my account out (and I *just* got paid) and put me in a pretty seriously overdrawn status. In theory, I should get the money back, but not without a fraud investigation, closing all my accounts, cancelling everything I have set up automatically, etc.

Great.

And this is all so well timed, to, what with the trying to buy a fucking house and everything.

Even aside from this little bit of fraud, it's been a pretty lousy weekend all the way around. The weather is depressing. All of the houses we looked at yesterday sucked. And on and on. It's one of those weekends that makes you look forward to Monday.

One bright spot, though: my amazing friend M. over at the not-very-often updated Drinking Coffee, Playing with Scissors made a donation in Mark's and my name to the American Red Cross. That's cool. Thanks. As soon as I come out of my not-wanting-to-talk-to-anyone funk, I will call. I promise.

Number of phone calls made: 14

Number of phone calls made only to be directed to call someone else: 3

Number of dollars stolen: $2,300

Number of additional dollars attempted to steal: $1,900

Number of days the bank estimates until they get back to me for a PRELIMINARY phone call: 3

Number of accounts closed: 2, so far

Number of direct deposits or withdrawls cancelled: 5

Number of curse words uttered: approximately 25,000

Number of days for which my credit file is flagged: 90

Number of years for which my credit file will be flagged if this does not get resolved within 90 days: 7

To the person who found my blog by searching for "ways a teenage girl can have sex without her parents knowing"--good luck, my dear. And please, please, if the sex you are trying to secretly have is heterosexual, use a condom. Even if you have to buy it, unwrap it, and apply it, use a condom.

-This message brought to you the Coaltion of Texas Women Doing Their Part to Fight Abstinence Only Education.

You and I serve our country in a time of great consequence, and my service comes with great consequences. During this session of Congress, we have the duty to disintegrate domestic programs vital to our country, screwing as many poor people as possible; we have the opportunity to save millions of lives abroad from a terrible disease, imperialism, but instead, spread it we will! We will work for a prosperity that is broadly shared by all the rich white men of this country, and we will answer every danger and every enemy that threatens the American people, as long as they are threatening those very same rich white men.

To read the real State of the Union Address, go here. While a barf bucket will still probably be necessary, reading it isn't quite as bad as watching him talk.

This is my favorite part:

And tonight I have a message for the brave and oppressed people of Iraq: Your enemy is not surrounding your country -- your enemy is ruling your country. And the day he and his regime are removed from power will be the day of your liberation.

Indeed.

All weekend I meant to blog, but I was distracted. You see, 5 years after the rest of the world, I finally got The Sims (for $5 at the Goodwill, no less). And I am an instant addict. It's not even funny. They had me at hello.

It was a busy weekend otherwise, as well. Mark is sick and had to be babied, I went to see Ani, I looked at a bunch of houses, and I watched the Puppy Bowl. Oh, and I attempted to make gingerbread from Laura Ingalls Wilder's recipe (did you know today is her birthday?). I don't suggest you try it. Either the recipe is bad, or one of the spices I used was too old, or something, because the shit isn't even edible.

Ani was amazing. Inspiring. Better than I have seen her in years. She played better, she played longer, she seemed relaxed and upbeat--like the old Ani. I was really really happy I forked out the $40 and went, and if you are of the Ani persuasion, I suggest you do the same--even if you haven't been impressed with her in the last handful of years. It's just her and an good, understated (cute) upright bass player named Todd. Then when you go, tell me what you think about Andrew Bird, who is opening for her on this tour. I am honestly perplexed as to what I think, except to say that the man has a mean whistle.

I am a girl, a woman, really, and I write a woman's blog. So if you have a problem with women's topics, such as the ever-taboo menstruation, then just move right along, there's nothing to see here. Don't bother telling me how much my blog sucks because it is self absorbed and only applies to me, or any of that shit. I'm bloated, I'm cranky, and I don't fucking want to hear it.

It pisses me off when people blame women's very reasonable moods or opinions on PMS. It also pisses me off, though, when people say that PMS doesn't exist, or that very few people actually have it, or whatever. Guess what? I have it, and I dare you to tell me otherwise. My back has hurt for two days, my insides feel like they want to come out, I am painfully aware of my left ovary and the sloughing that is presumably going on in it currently, my head hurts, I'm retaining water (I've gained 3 lbs since yesterday), and I just want to curl up in fetal position in my bed and have every living thing, particularly every living male thing, leave me THE FUCK alone for 24-48 hours, until the bleeding actually starts, the cramps and back pain loosen up, and I can put in a tampon and go about my daily business. If that isn't PMS, you tell me what the fuck it is.

I have never had what I would call a position relationship with my period. I started it on the first day of seventh grade, and spent the rest of that year in insurmountable pain every time it decided to grace me with its presence (which, thank God, was not every month). I already had enough hatred for all humankind in the seventh grade--I really did not need sporadic bleeding and pain that took me out of commission four to six days in a row on top of my already overgrown angst. In short, I hated my period from Day 1.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade, my mom took me for my first gynecological examination, with the idea that putting me on the The Pill might help with the extreme periods. That was fun. My sexual experience at that point was all of the solo variety, and it did not include some old guy and a cold metal speculum. It was horrifying, and it hurt. The pills, however, were a godsend. Within two months I had normal, stable, only slightly painful periods.

And so it went for the next few years. My time of the month wasn't ever fun, but it generally didn't put me in bed, at least not for more than a day. After I had a pregnancy scare at 15 (birth control pills+diet pills=no birth control--who knew!?), I was even happy to see it return. Then somewhere around my junior year, a doctor decided that the high-dose birth control pills that I had been on since I was 12 were probably not a great idea for someone who was still developing, so she put me on a lower dose pill. That worked out OK--periods got a little worse, but they were still bearable.

Then I went to college and no longer had my mom's luxury health insurance. Time to go on the cheaper pills. First I tried one kind, then another. There were problems with the first several. Tri-phasic pills were out due to mid-cycle bleeding. Super low-dose pills were out because the terrible periods came back. This pill and that pill were discontinued, or fell off the ever-changing insurance formulary, or they didn't have them at Planned Parenthood. I jumped from pill to pill for years, sometimes having periods that were under control, sometimes not.

For a while, I decided I would go off the Pill, because I was concerned that my hormones had been irrepairably fucked up by taking it for so long (I'd been taking it for probably ten years at the time). I tried for four months, then couldn't stand the pain and went back on.

My first year out of college, a doctor suggested I try continuous contraception (i.e. taking pills for three or four months straight and only having a period 3-4 times a year). Sounds wonderful, says I, who have always, and for good reason, dreaded my time of the month. So I tried it. The first two or three months were OK, then it got progressivelly worse until I bled constantly for three full months. Fuck that, I went back to regular pills.

I have changed prescriptions yet again, and am now taking what must be a least my twelfth variety of birth control pill. The magical ones I started out on at 12 are no longer made. My period comes when it wants to, lasts however long it wants, causes almost no bleeding, and is a constant source of trial, irritation, and pain. I fantasize about a hysterectomy. I am not at one with my moon cycle, I do not feel like a goddess, I am in no way impressed with this indication that I might be able to bear life. I'm just in pain, I have fucking PMS, and I hate it. So everyone else can read Cunt and bleed freely and gather up the water in which they rinse out their Glad Rags and put it on their plants, and sing and chant and worship the great goddess that has given them this life-affirming cycle, but I'm going to go home, take some Midol, curl up in the fetal position, and take a nap. And if anybody bothers me, I am going to bite his fucking head off and blame it on PMS.

You know, while you are doing it, that you are going to hate yourself for it later. You know that in a week, or a day, or even the moment you've finished it, you will start with the taunts. You will tell yourself how weak you are, how stupid, how shallow. You will promise yourself one more time not to do it again. You will make one more vow to learn moderation.

When you know while you are doing it that it is going to make you hate yourself later, it takes whatever was originally joyful out of doing it in the first place. It turns pleasure into compulsion. You are no longer doing it because you want to, you are doing it because you are indolent, slothful, an addict.

So if it's not fun afterwards, and it's not fun during, then why are you still doing it? For one thing, it is still fun before. Thinking about doing it, planning it, reveling it--that's still fun. It's fun because you can tell yourself that you are only thinking about it, that this time you are going to be virtuous and good and it will end before it gets out of hand. You have a double pleasure, then, both thinking about the thing itself and thinking about what a great person you are for not imbibing.

You also do it because you don't know what else to do, don't know how else to fill the space that pops up all around you whenever you have a spare minute. You can distract yourself with this or that for a little while, but eventually it gets quiet again, and you are terrified of that kind of quiet, so you fill it with your noisy craving, and eventually with your gluttony. You tell yourself, in your self-flagellating after-sessions (like this one) that you have to find something else to fill that space or the cycle will never be broken. But nothing fills it quite the way this does. Sure, you can do other, healthier things, but none of them give you the same spark this does.

You know it is "out of hand" and has been for quite some time. Much as you dislike the term, you know you are an addict. And knowing makes it all even worse. Knowing is not half the battle. Knowing just makes the beratement of yourself afterwards more vitriolic. After all, it's not like you can use ignorance as an excuse.

The cycle consumes you on more days than it doesn't, and you are left feeling huge and empty, surrounded by everything you have insisted you must consume, even if you never enjoy it.

There are a group of people in my life who mean a whole lot to me, and I have never met many of them. I've never seen their faces, I've never heard their voices, I don't know how they smell. I know them only by the words they choose to use and way they choose to use them. I know them only on some subjects, and only in strange, punctuated time frames. In the shorthand we use, we don't know each other "IRL". In real life.

It seems to me that our shorthand is misleading. The parts of my life I share with them are real. They support they have shown me during some of my worst times over the past few years is certainly real. The camaraderie I feel with them is real, and the disappointment I feel when they let me down is real.

Why do we require physical proximity to believe things? These people of whom I speak are scattered all over the globe, and yet I am closer to many of them than I am to people I see every day. I speak to them from my heart more, I show more of myself to them. At first, this may have been because I felt safe in my anonymity, safe because they were so far away. Now it is because I know them, I trust them, I consider them my friends. And just like my other friends, the way I feel about them goes beyond political allegiances and common interests. Somewhere along the line screen names and avatars turned into people. If I lost some political efficacy when that happened, so be it. I am not sorry.

*Title from Ani

We all owe a great debt of gratitude, I think, to those people with whom we can spend time and leave feeling better than we did when we came, people who can remind us without even trying (and probably without even knowing what they are doing) who we used to be, who we want to be, who we meant to be all along.

Thank you so much.

I have two friends, both of whom very much enjoy singing and who sing well. One of them is a very old friend, one is a fairly new friend. Both are far too many miles away. Both have voices I wish I could hear more often.

Until just the past few days, both also had something I envied very, very much. I have always wanted to be able to sing. My mother loves to sing, but can't hold a tune; I inherited both attributes and started belting things out at an early age. I have been told to shut up, that I "can't sing" my whole life. After years of that, I still sing, but never when other people can hear me.

Well I've decided I am going to sing. It came to me that it wasn't the actual voices of my two friends that I was envying as much as it was their ability to let loose, to fill the air around them with the joy or the pain in their songs. Though she was not addressing me when she said it, one of my friends was recently talking about singing in church, and she pointed out that what the Book says is to "make a joyful noise." Well, my noise may well not be on tune, or even anywhere approximating it, but it will be joyful.

For quite some time now, I have been discussing (arguing) my sexuality with people both online and off. Mostly, the contentious part of this discussion, for me, has been surrounding whether or not I identify myself as straight. For years I've bucked against claiming that title, because as far as I'm concerned, it's not accurate. I'm not straight. I'm bisexual.

People have explained to me (more times than I'd like to admit) that even though I am bisexual, that identity is largely internal, because I am in a heterosexual relationship, have been for a long time, and get the same heterosexual privledges as the next straight girl. For a long time, I found this line of reasoning threatening. Because when I look in the mirror and see my sexuality, I see bisexual. Because--duh--I like girls and boys. Because I don't want my past experiences or the possibility of my future ones to take a backseat to what I am doing/who I am with right now.

But also, if I am being honest, because I didn't want to be called straight. Because straight felt like a dirty word, something normal and cliche that I didn't want to be. Something that made me less interesting, less cool. Similar to the way I feel every time I go through all of the "interesting" nationalities and then mark the box next to "Caucasian" or, worse yet, "White."

And that reasoning just plain sucks. There is absolutely no reason for me or anyone else to be ashamed of being straight! However, the fact of the matter is that it is absolutely true that heterosexual privledge exists, and that it applies to me. It is absolutely true that if I don't choose to go out of my way to "out" myself as a bisexual (and even sometimes when I do), people see me as the norm--a heterosexual woman. A woman in a relationship with a man. This benefits me in a million ways, most of which I probably couldn't even identify. And just like not being able to admit that you benefit from white privledge is racist, not being able to admit that you benefit from heterosexual privledge is homophobic, or, at the very least, heterosexist.

After realizing this, I knew I needed to think of a new title for myself. If I wasn't in a relationship, or if I was in a relationship with a woman, then bisexual would cut it. In a relationship with a man, it doesn't.

And here is what I came up with: functionally straight, or, if you prefer, practicing heterosexual. I think those are fair terms. They give credence to both my privledged status and to the fact that it is not the be-all and end-all of everything I have ever been or will ever be. They are a bit clunky, maybe, but bisexual is no walk in the park to define, either.

In Spanish, there are two different verbs for "to be." "Ser" tells you the nature of something, what it is permanently (for example, "Soy un mujer" or "I am a woman."), "Estar" tells you the transient nature of something, or what it is right now (like "Estoy enfermo," or "I am sick."). With estar, you can pretty much assume "right now" or "presently" at the end of the sentance. Using these verbs in my mind helps me clarify my sexuality for myself. My permanent nature, my "ser" is bisexual, but my right now, my "estar" is heterosexual.

I'm happy with that.

Today on WINOW, a list of things I am loving recently:

• Bath and Body Works' new Cherry Blossom collection. Smells so good, so light and so different than other stuff, and it reminds me of cherry blossom trees, which are seriously one of my favorite things of all time. I am particularly enamored with the whipped body cream and the bath bubbles. Enamored enough, actually, that I am saddened to see they will only be available for a limited time. I may even go back and buy some more to stockpile.
• The Clarks Eliot. I love these so much I have them in both black and brown, and if I could find them in my size in ketchup or purple, I'd have those too. They look cute, they go with everything, and they are so comfortable.
• Jockey bra style 4701. Best. bra. ever. No wire, incredibly comfortable, and still reasonably attractive. Love it.
  
• Mix and match bridal seperates. No, I am not having a wedding, or even going to be in one, but I love this concept, plus I think it is fun to play with.
• Loretta Lynn's Jack White-produced album, Van Leer Rose. I can't stop listening to it.
• Lane Bryant's Lafayette sateen cropped pants. They come in awesome colors (even though the black ones are the only ones I actually like on me) and they have an awesome pseudo-50's style, plus they don't make me feel like a walrus.
• The Austin Goodwill. I could so go here every day. And sometimes I do.
• Bitch magazine. I read the last issue cover to cover, and damn it was good! Gotta remember to renew that subscription.
• The Behr paint website. I am so close to deciding on the colors for our new house. Really. I swear.
  

Which do you hate more, dieting or budgeting (or, if the d-word turns you off, replace that with "having responsible eating habits and having responsible spending habits," if you prefer)? Aren't they really pretty much the same thing? I am very good at planning for both of them (setting up spreadsheets, figuring out realistic goals) and very bad at following through with either one. Which explains quite a bit about my station in life, actually (i.e. why I am 30 lbs overweight and have way, way less money saved than I should have). Both of them are things that make you feel virtuous if you actually do them and guilty when you don't. Both of them are responses to over-indulging in activities that you can't logically just quit cold turkey. Both of them are about moderation, which has to be one of my least favorite words. I read magazine articles and books and websites about how to do both of them better ravenously, and yet don't do either in any real way. They even have similar languages ("allowances," "splurges").

Bottom line is that both of them are things I really need to be doing and I'm just not. No matter how many programs I join (Self's get fix program, at least three Fitday accounts, the new food pyramid thing, you name it) or how many spreadsheets I set up (one in Money, one in Quicken, at least 10 in Excel), I just don't follow through. I think about seeking a dietician, or a financial planner, but know that ultimately either would be wasteful, because not knowing what to do isn't my problem--doing it is. I know I should write down every penny I spend, put myself on a cash-only economy with a weekly allowance, cut up my credit cards, drink more water, eat five servings of vegetables a day, cut out sugar and refined carbs, exercise 5 times a week...but knowing isn't doing. And since I haven't yet reasonably mastered either, the chances of doing both seem especially slim.

So you tell me--which is worse, dieting or budgeting?

Some questions from Portia.

1) What's your dream job, and are you doing it, and if not, why not?

I honestly don't have a dream job, I don't think. I've been through a million dream job possibilities, both in reality and in my head, and nothing quite works out. Right now, the closest thing to a dream job I can come up with is freelance writing from home. I think I'd like the variety of that, setting my own hours, working from home...but I can't stand financial insecurity, so I don't know that I'd actually take the plunge and do it.

What I'm doing right now (technical writing) isn't my dream job, but it's not my nightmare, either, and I'm happy enough with it for now. Jobs are really "for now" enterprises for me, I think.

2) What's next (after painting) on the list of stuff you want to do to your house?

There are actually two lists--one of big, long-term projects we'd need to save for/need professional help with, one of smaller, cheaper things we can do ourselves. On the first list, the big thing for me putting down a hardwood or laminate floor (we currently have sisal carpet). After that, it's converting two big windows (one in the dining room part of the kitchen and one in the office) into bay windows. On the smaller, more likely to get done, list, the first thing is to replace the ass-ugly ceiling fan in our living room.

3) (Corollary to 2) How long does that giddy, omigodthisismyhouse! feeling last?

I'll let you know when it goes away. Hasn't faded much so far. :)

4) What's your predominant emotion when you think about The Phoenix?

Depends what day it is. There's love, of course, but there's a lot of resentment, anger, and especially disappointment as well. Sadly, I'd say it's more often disappointment than anything else.

5) Hot weather or cold weather?

Hot weather. I don't get comfortable until it's over 75, an I'm pretty good up until the mid-90s. Hotter than that and I want a cool drink and some AC, but it still beats snow.

So this has been bothering me. In fact, it's been bothering me so much that I've been trying to ignore it, in the hopes that if I pretended I didn't see it, it would just go away. But it hasn't, and I can ignore it no longer.

A tremendous number of folks have been led to my blog lately by searching for "anorexic celebrities" or "how to be anorexic" or similar. Y'all, this is so not the place where you should be if you are in the kind of headspace that leads to those searches. Seriously. I'm a terrible fucking example and reading my going on and on about my issues with my body cannot possibly be helping. So, if that's the search that led you here, please oh please do not hesitate to skip my blog altogether and mosey over to the blogs of some of my friends, especially those with healthy, inspirational body image. I'd suggest Frog and Scand for starters. If that doesn't appeal, maybe try Hugs International, who I hear good things about.

And remember you are beautiful. I know, 'cuz I am, too. :)

Please, please, if I have not done so in this space already, let me be the first to admit: I am RIDICULOUSLY overpaid for what I do. I currently have the easiest, least stressful job I have ever had, and I am getting paid more than twice what I ever have before and more than three times the value of the work I'm doing. It's a situation I never expected to find myself in, and I feel very morally ambiguous about it. Mostly guilty and lucky.

Which is why it drives me FUCKING BATTY to hear the folks with whom I work complaining about what they are being paid and how hard they work. Dudes, you do not work hard. Nobody here works hard. Get fucking over yourselves. You have a cushy ass job and you are way, WAY overcompensated for it. I know, because I'm overcompensated, and I make less than half what you do. You sit at computers and write code. There is no physical risk involved. It is minimally damaging to your body. You work in a safe, well-ventilated, climate-controlled environment. You may be bored, but you aren't in danger, you aren't in pain, and you aren't doing anything gross.

Want a juxtaposition? My stepfather has been cutting down trees for a living for 30+ years. It's one of the most dangerous occupations in the United States. It has also disentigrated his body to the point where he is in pain all the time. He works in rain, snow, heat, poison oak, you name it. His hearing has been destroyed. He is a very skilled laborer, able to make thousands of dollars worth of lumber fall to the ground in such a way as so it will not bust up and be worth less. The jokers I work with pull in $90,000-$200,000 a year and complain about it. My stepdad considers it a banner year if he makes $40,000. Cry me a fucking river.

Have you heard about this? Things I find disturbing include: the nomination of 20th century presidents that include both Bushes, Reagan, NIXON, Kennedy, Johnson, Eisenhower, Truman, and both Roosevelts, but don't include Bill Clinton or Jimmy Carter; the disturbing inclusion of Rush Limbaugh, Billy Graham, and Dr. Phil; and the just plain ludicruous inclusion of Hugh Hefner. I mean, c'mon, HUGH FUCKING HEFNER?? I'm amused at the inclusion of Nikola Tesla. Is this really the best we can do, in all of American history? Arnold? Martha? Jesus.

If I bother to vote, it will be for Susan B. Anthony or Harriet Ross Tubman.

I've been thinking a good deal about suicide lately. No, not my own--a coworker's wife killed herself a couple of weeks ago, there are small children involved, it's a terrible situation, and it's been buzzing around in my head. Then, today, I was home sick, and I was filling time, as I am both wont and apt to do, by watching the Top 20 on CMT. The video for this song came up:

"How Do you Get That Lonely", Blaine Larsen

As you are faithful readers who hang on my every word, I trust you remember a little bit back when I lined out three goals for myself. In case you don't, I'll reiterate:

1. Stop biting my fingernails.
2. Learn to live on a budget.
3. Get control of my diet and exercise (and yes, lose the extra weight I'm carrying).

I originally said I was going to tackle all three at once, then it was pointed out to me how stupid of an idea that is, so my plan was to take them as they are listed, from least to most difficult, and start one upon successful completion (as much as you can have completion with any of these) of the one before it.

Well, my fingernails are grown out. It actually hasn't been tough at all, I've just kept polish on them, which is the same strategy I used last time I quit biting them. The problem comes when I start getting lazy and not polishing them regularly--then I start biting again.

So, now that I've beaten Goal #1, at least for the moment, I need to move on to Goal #2. Goal #2 is exponentially harder than Goal #1. I have a shopping problem. It is an addiction. It gets worse when I work long hours (like I have been recently). I have recently been closer to out of control with my spending than I have been in a long, long time. I've made some large purchases (new computer, plane ticket), but the bigger problem has been a lot of smaller purchases (lots and lots of bags/purses, books, CDs, and bath products). I think I've bought something online nearly every day the past couple of weeks. It's bad.

So that's the goal I am moving on to: living within a budget. But I am not going to make a strict budget this time, or keep a spreadsheet, or any of that. Why? Because I think that my pattern when trying to deal with this issue has been to focus A LOT on "how" I should do it (this budgeting software, this allowance, etc.) and not focus at all on simply not. fucking. shopping. Or at least not shopping unintentionally, recreationally. My very wise friend Frog told me quite some time ago that to get this spending thing under control, I simply need to stop shopping for fun. And much as I really, really hate to think this, she's right.

So...that's the new goal. No more recreational shopping. I am going to start keeping a list of things I want to run out and buy as I think of them, and I think it will be totally reasonable, at some point, to pick a thing or two off that list and buy it for myself, intentionally. But for the next little while, cold turkey is the way to go. There isn't anything I need to buy, so I won't buy anything. Seems like it should be simple, doesn't it?

I'm a bit of a clothes horse. Not in the sense of designer clothes or anything like that, or even department store clothes or boutique clothes. No, mainly in the sense of secondhand clothes. Regardless, though, my closet has been full-to-the-brim for at least the last ten years, no matter how much closet space I have.

Due to my rather constant rate of clothes acquisition, as well as my equally constant change in tastes, I do regular closet purges--I'd say I do one every three months or so. This keeps things under control. I also store out-of-season clothes in Rubbermaid tubs under the bed. Still, I rarely have extra hangers or rod space.

Well, I now have all the closet space I could need. Why? Because last night I did a purge not just for what is out of season or no longer in favor, but I also removed everything that doesn't fit. I've done this before, but never with as much stamina.

And now there are very few clothes left in my closet.

Actually, there are lots of shirts, there are just hardly an bottoms. There is one pair of jeans, there are two pairs of cropped pants and two pairs of regular pants. There are about half a dozen skirts. That's it. Not unworkable, but a small fraction of what I am used to having. Pretty much everything that was fitted and/or didn't have a drawstring waist has been removed.

The last time this happened, it was to a far lesser degree, and my response to the situation was to run out and spend several hundred dollars on clothes that were a size bigger. Actually, make that the last two times this happened. I really don't think I can justify doing that again. I also don't think I want to do it again. Going up one size every two months just isn't a tenable long-term plan.

So. It's back to the dieting. I could try to call it something else, but dieting is what it is. And it's dieting with a size goal in mind. I don't give a shit how many inches I lose or have any pound goals--I just want to be able to get the clothes out of the underbed boxes.

My mother does not call very often. She's just not a big phone person. So when she does, I can usually count on it being bad news from home. Usually, someone has died.

This time wasn't any different.

The man who has died was in his mid-50s. He had a wife, for whom I used to work and who I like very much. They had four children, between the ages of 17 and 10, for whom I babysat not all that many summers ago. I taught his oldest daughter to read. She just graduated from high school, and a few weeks after her graduation, her father was dead.

There are no words for that kind of grief.

Suddenly, all of the things I have been so distraught about are so very small.

This afternoon I went to the dentist. It was just a (three month overdue) six month cleaning, not a big thing. I'm not particularly dentist-phobic, but I'm also not fond of having my mouth scraped to shit, and I am not a flosser, so cleanings always include bloody gums and a sore mouth for a couple of days. All in all, not the most pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

So I'm reclined in the chair, having my mouth scraped, and I'm reading the posters on the wall. Lots of ads for teeth whitening systems and adult braces, nothing particularly surprising. Then my eyes landed on what looked to be a BMI chart. Great, thought I, even the dentist is in on the "you're fat and you're going to die" plot. At the bottom of the poster (I couldn't read most of the writing), I noticed a label for something called "DDS System." Wonder what that is, I thought?

So I came home and looked it up. And now I am going to have to never go back to my very nice dentist, who I like very much, because I don't need to spend my time or dollars in any profesional health care providers office who advocates this shit.

DDS System is a "behavior modification system that retrains your eating habits without rewriting your menu."

Huh? And it has what do with the dentist?

Well, it's a "new, patented approach to slow down the eating process!"

Yup. It's a "discreet oral insert" that reduces the size of your mouth, forcing you to take smaller bites.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I have a very, very small mouth. So small that in order to get actual dental work done, it has to be held open with blocks. And yet I'm fat. Why? Because the size of my mouth has absolutely fucking nothing to do with it.

And even if it did, who the fuck thinks that the answer to eating too quickly is a custom-fit piece of fucking mouth hardware? Way to circumvent the actual problem.

And it gets better. This magical mouth-filler costs $400-$500, plus the cost of your initial dental exam. They want you to pay $500 for something to shove in your mouth while you are eating. And why? Cuz you're fat. You're fat, the BMI says so, so you should pay $500, shove this thing over your soft palette,and never enjoy another meal. Good fucking idea.

Another thing? Almost every picture of on the DDS System website is of a woman. And almost every one of them is thin. So there you go.

These past few days have made something really crystal clear to me: I am far too far away from the majority of the people I love.

This is not at all to say that I don't have some great friends here--I really do. They are small in number but by far make up for it in amazingness, and I am really, really lucky.

Most of my friends, however, and all of my family, save Mark, are very far away. Several times in the past 24 hours I've heard on the phone or read in an email, "I wish I were closer..." And y'all, I wish you were closer, too. Or at the very least, I wish you were in one place, so I could go there, too. But you're all over the place, and that's the worst thing.

#1: My fat feet

I went to the doctor this morning, to inquire about the fact that my feet and lower legs have been swollen and painful for the last two weeks. It started when I had to spend two days in airports and on planes, which is understandable, but it hasn't gotten much better since then, so I got concerned and went in.

She said I need to lose some weight and build up my calf muscles.

After a very well-reasoned discussion of why it's unlikely that I have heart failure, or hypothyroid, or diabetes, or any of the other things this could be a sign off, she gently told me that I am carrying extra weight on not-that-well developed musculature, and that given those things, it's not that surprising that this happened and that I wasn't able to spring back from it as quickly as I might have otherwise. So the prescription is to build up my leg muscles and lose some pounds (I'm down 6 lbs from my high point already, but haven't lost anything in the past couple of weeks).

Gee, that felt good. Nothing like expecting to be sick and turning out to be just fat. I know I should be thankful--after all, this is much better than a chronic illness, and it is something that I should be able to deal with without drugs or anything, but damn, it's hard not to wish I could just take a pill.

#2: Vegetarianism

Several weeks ago, it occurred to me that given all the ranting I'd been doing about what amazing creatures dogs are, my meat-eating was out of hand in its hypocrisy. Sure, I didn't ever eat dog, but I ate pig, and pigs are just as great as dogs. And what makes cows, or chickens, or even shellfish any less special? So I took the plunge and went vegetarian. This isn't the first (or second, or third) time I've done this, but it is the time with the best articulated and most morality-based reason. So...yeah. I guess I'm a vegetarian now. So far it's actually been more difficult than I expected--not in the craving meat way (I don't crave it at all), but in the wanting to eat things that happen to have meat in them way. Maybe I'll learn to cook. Probably not, though.

#3: Sewing

I grew up with a very concrete idea of what I was good at and what I wasn't, what I could do and what I couldn't. There were things that were not appropriate for me because I Didn't Have the Patience, or things that I shouldn't do because I Didn't Have the Coordination. I was Not Artistic, Not Musical, Not Athletic. Whether this was my fault or a product of my environment or what I don't know and wouldn't venture to guess, but it led to me being very uneasy with and unwilling to move outside of my comfort zone (a zone which mainly consisted of me going to school and reading books and mouthing off). I know there is a notation on one of my elementary school report cards that says something like, "Gracie is easily frustrated with things that do not come naturally to her." No fucking kidding. And it's gotten worse more than better as I've gotten older.

However, as I've gotten older I've realized that being able to move outside of one's comfort zone and try new things, even things you might not be good at, is a really important skill to have. So I've started to make the effort. My success has been mixed. I still can't do calculus, and honestly I haven't made a good faith effort to change that, either. On the other hand, I took a pottery course I absolutely loved, after I got through the first couple of classes feeling stupid, and even though I never got very good at it, it was fun and I learned a lot (more about myself than about throwing pots).

My newest endeavor is learning to sew. This one has particular resonance with me, as it's something I grew up around and never learned. My mom sewed all the time when I was a kid, and I know she tried to teach me at least once, but it was a disaster ending up with a butt-ugly pink shirt that I didn't end up doing any of myself. In the past few years, however, I've really wished I could sew, both to do stuff for the house (curtains, pillow covers, etc.) and with the eventual dream of making some of my own clothes (that will actually fit me). So I bit the bullet a few weeks ago and signed up for a sewing class. Last night was the first class.

So far we haven't done enough for me to really fuck anything up, although my lines aren't as straight as I'd like them to be in cutting out the fabric, and I my inability to properly pin a pattern is probably record-book worthy. I learned how to thread the machine and fill the bobbin, pin and cut a pattern, etc. Next week we'll get to the actual sewing. The first two classes are focused on making a pillow, the next two are for an elastic or drawstring waist skirt, then pajama pants, then a pajama top. I'm still a bit trepidatious, but I'm excited.

And of course I'm chomping at the freaking bit to buy a sewing machine now...

Flea has a really great post up, talking about bullies, in reference to both her own childhood and her kids. It's something I've given a lot of thought to, having both been a bully and been bullied for so much of my life. The sad conclusion I've come to most recently is that it never stops (looks like some of Flea's commenters agree). Sure, as adults we get a bit more sophisticated in our bullying, and we call it other things, but it's still bullying. The tactics are the same: ostracism, humiliation, the intentional denigration of someone else's self worth in order to bolster your own. The effect is the same, too: feeling humiliated, assy self worth, extreme sadness. In all honesty, I don't feel any more equipped to deal with bullying now, at 25, than I did at 15, or at 10, or at 5. Sorry kids--it doesn't get any easier.

Maybe it should, though. As a kid, your circle of friends is defined by a lot of forces that are completely outside your control--your neighborhood, your class in school, whatever. As an adult, you have the freedom to move through different circles. As Flea so eloquently points out in her entry, she just wanted to play. And I think that's one of the reasons a lot of people--adult and child alike--put up with bullying. We just want to play. We want to have friends, have things to do, be part of things. As a child, our opportunities for that are limited. As an adult, they are far less so. If we are bullied in one circle, we can find another circle. If we are treated poorly by one friend, we can end that relationship and find another friend. Only in our families and our workplaces are we forced to interact with people who treat us poorly, and even there "forced" is too strong a word. If we don't like how we are being treated, we can change it.

Why is that such a hard lesson to learn and such a difficult thing to do? While I have some pretty unpleasant memories of childhood bullying, if I'm honest, the most hurtful episodes are from high school and beyond. And they are almost always repeated instances with the same people treating me badly over and over again. The reasons I've allowed this to happen over and over again perplex me even now, but I know that my own low self-worth, my thinking that maybe I deserve it, is only part of the equation. Another part, a part that is talked about even less, is that I put up with it because I wanted to play. I didn't want to be left out, I didn't want to admit defeat and go inside. And while that makes sense as a kid, sad as it is, it just doesn't make sense as an adult. There is no shame in being left out of a group that treats you poorly, and it is better to be alone (or better yet, to find new friends) than it is to remain in the company of someone who makes you feel like shit about yourself.

Considering my age and the time I've spent in school, my resume is very reasonable. It shows someone who has held professional jobs of progressing responsibility, with increased salary in every new position (except for jaunts into non-profit, but that's to be expected). What it also shows, however, is someone who has never had the same job for more than one year's time. For the most part, these short stints can be explained with circumstances--jobs in college that were only for the summer, leaving due to moving or return to school, leaving a part-time gig in order to take a full-time one, that kind of thing. There is only one case of actually quitting job #1 to take job #2, and that is easily explained as a financial decision, as job #2 paid half again as much as #1 (that whole non profit thing again). But I'm afraid that even if I didn't have these reasons, my resume would still show a bunch of one-year stints, because the truth is that I can't stand to do the same thing for very long. Things that I found only mildly tedious in the first three months grate on me to no end by month eleven or so.

It used to be that I thought I just had boring jobs, and that could still be the case, but I think it's not. I've watched my pattern carefully this last time, and I know I liked this job to begin with, or at least it didn't make me want to scratch my eyes out like it does now. I think there is a direct corrolation between feeling like there is not much left to learn and feeling like it's time to move on. From an employer's standpoint, that has to really blow, as the employees that don't have much left to learn are the ones that they'd like to see stay around, and I have highly irritated and inconvenienced at least one boss already by bailing at the one year mark, just about the time when he figured I had it all down.

So am I about to do it again? Maybe. It looks like there may be a job offer on the horizon, and I can't say I'm not excited at the prospect. But is that irresponsible, leaving a perfectly good job after a year because it is boring you to submission? Is it a good idea to consider a new, probably higher stress job just when I am getting into some outside-of-work things (my sewing classes and going back to school in a few weeks being at the top of that list)? Would this new job allow me to continue part-time school? Is it a deal-breaker if it wouldn't? Are the whispers I have heard of the possibility of working from home going to turn into something substantial? Would it really be more money? Do I fancy going back to being a regular employee, rather than a contractor? Or would it be best to stay where I am, safe, well taken care of, and bored out of my mind, if only to break the one-year cycle on the resume?

I have spent much of the morning trying to find an email address for someone I knew quite some time ago (12 years, actually). I thought this would be easy. It's not. I've come up with where he lives and where he works, but can't get any further than that, even though his name is somewhat uncommon. Previous attempts at finding people on the Internet have always been very successful, so I was surprised at how unsuccessful this one is so far, especially given that the person for whom I am looking is quite technologically inclined, or at least he used to be.

This got me to thinking, maybe he doesn't want to be found? And that got me to thinking, would I want to be found? I think that I would, so I started to search for myself and was surprised to find that without knowing me as "Avengingophelia," which someone I went to high school with would not, I'm hard to find as well! The only hits you get for my name are from college projects or jobs that are far out-of-date.

So I want to make myself clear: This blog is not a secret. My name is Grace Mitchell and I am originally from Elkton, Oregon. I went to Reed College and now live in Austin, Texas. If you want to contact me, email avengingophelia@yahoo.com.

There. Let's seem if I am easier to find now.

You know what improves my mood? Reading about Ronald Reagan. It's the only time I believe that yes, things maybe have been somewhere approaching this bad before.

If I'm any kind of academic (which is, of course, questionable), I'm a historian. One of the things I like about being a historian is that knowing a bit about the past gives you perspective. People lived through the Depression, we can live through this; people lived through McCarthy, we can live through this. Or even yeah, not everybody did live thought that, but the country got better, the country recovered. I've always been kind of comforted by social history during times of great stress, because it reminds me that no matter how sucky things get, people keep living their lives. Nothing is too much to bear.

Well, if anybody digs up my diaries and uses them as part of a historical study of this time, let me tell is to you straight: we may moving through our days, living our lives (or those of us who are lucky enough to have that option may be doing so), but it really is that bad. These are dark, dark days.

Today in my email, from a family member, I received this little gem:

"In Katrina I Didnt See Racism, I Saw Brotherhood"
by Rabbi Aryeh Spero
Posted Sep 7, 2005

In New Orleans, beginning Tuesday morning, August 30, I saw men in helicopters risking their lives to save stranded flood victims from rooftops The rescuers were White, the stranded Black. I saw Caucasians navigating their small, private boats in violent, swirling, toxic floodwaters to find fellow citizens trapped in their houses. Those they saved were Black.

Rabbi Spero is a radio talk show host, a pulpit rabbi, and president of Caucus for America.

I wrote back and told the sender that I saw racism, so much racism it made me physically sick, and I'd prefer she stopped sending me these things. But what else? I mean, I can alienate my family members all I want, but people, otherwise good people, actually BELIEVE this shit! How can I convince them otherwise? Is it even worth it to try?

I used to really love to blog. It goes back farther than that, actually...I used to really love to write, and in particular to journal. Lately, it just feels like an obligation. An obligation I mostly fail to uphold. I don't keep an offline journal at all anymore, and as anyone who is still reading this (bless you if you are still checking, I can't imagine why you'd bother) can see, I'm not putting up much here, either. And almost nothing of substance.

I'm a worse person for it, frankly. Whatever mediocre writing talent I had seems to be dwindling (or maybe just have already dwindled), and now it's stresful to string together three sentances, at least for anything that's not technical or business writing. Makes me afraid that my long-ago preminition that if I wrote professionally, I'd stop writing personally was actually true and not just a way to cop out of journalism school.

So I need to renew my commitment, and if I've been told once, I've been told 1000 times that the best way to be a writer is to make yourself write. Every day. Even if you have to write the same words over and over, force yourself to spend the time and get something down. So that's what I need to do. I need to write.

So that's what I am going to do. As soon as I get some lunch.

I am preoccupied, recently, with my hireability. I've sent out a few resumes for jobs I think I'd rather have than the job I have, and so far nobody loves me. It's a difficult process, job-searching. Hard on the self-esteem. And my being only peripherally qualified for the jobs I want (though I'm sure I could do them and do them well) doesn't help things. There are only so many ways I can spin my experience to make it sound more impressive than it really is. Thus far, I've been good at every job I've ever had, exceeding expectations most of the time--shouldn' that instill me with some confidence that I will be good at whatever I do next as well? Not when the nagging voice in the back of my head reminds me that with one exception I have yet to secure a job that I wasn't overqualified for. And I've promised myself this time to not even apply for positions I know won't challenge me.

And then there is the money aspect. What I'm doing now may be boring me to tears, but it pays really freaking well, especially give my 32 hour work week. It's going to be nearly impossible to find something that pays as well, especially since most of what I can realistically apply for, in terms of writing positions, is a step (if that) above entry level. So I'm going to have to take a pay cut. Which should be fine, but our living expenses seem to have run away with us. A year ago, Mark and I each put 2/3 of what we are now putting into our joint account each month, and we lived off it. Now we're having to supplement every month, even with our higher initial contributions. Part of it having a mortgage rather than our rent, of course, but there is also everything else. Our pet expenses are much higher now. Our food expenses are, I think, higher. And we want to buy a car after Christmas, so that's only going to add to the problem.

None of this is even a little bit interesting. I apologize for that. It's just self-induldgent venting on my part. But my goal was just to write something, right? After I get in that habit, then we'll worry about content.

So I failed at the writing every day thing on Day 3. Surprise! Wednesdays are rough, though, because my schedule changes and I'm not at work. Wednesdays might have to be blog day off.

I joined a gym yesterday. I didn't want to do it, because you have to make a 12-month commitment, but the fact is that I really, really need to get off my ass, and maybe being committed to giving them $50 of my money every month for 12 months will force me to do that. I hope so. My tentative plan is to go Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday right after work, for 45 minutes to an hour. I'm going to start with just cardio until I get some base level of fitness back, and then go from there. It's a great looking gym, with interesting classes and a really nice, low-stress atmosphere, Maybe I'll take up spinning. Probably not, but you never know.

For the past week my life has consisted pretty much of working and reading for school, with a lot of naps and some doctors appointments thrown in. I'm realizing that I need to work on my balance and plan things out a little bit better. It's important to me to do well in school, and I have to work, but I need to both do fun things and not shirk my responsibilities (I loaded the dishwasher last night for the first time in probably a week) as well. So I think it's time to make a schedule, where I figure out on the first day of my school week (Thursday, since my classes are on Wednesday) how much I need to do for school during the week and what that means I have to accomplish each day. It's no fun, but it has to be done. Hopefully between that and making time to exercise I will get a bit more comfortable.

I need to take a minute to sing the praises of Lexapro. I have had no side effects, and it's clear to me now, three or four weeks in to it, that it is working. My mood and energy level have improved tremendously, even though my stressors and allergies are getting worse. God bless antidepressants. Some asshole on the radio yesterday was talking about how they are all just happy pills and depression is just part of the human condition and we should just feel it and revel in it when it happens. Fuck him. I need to be able to get out of bed in the morning.

This morning in the shower, I came upon a very funy thought (to me anyway):

Every day, I take a pill to protect me from sperm (Apri, birth control pills), a pill to protect me from myself (Lexapro, antidepressant pills), and a pill to protect me from everything else (Zyrtec, allergy pills). I should just get myself a plastic bubble and be done with it.

OK, so the blogging every day isn't going so well. And blogging-every-day-except-Wednesdays-or-weekends doesn't quite have the impressive tone of blogging every day, does it?

Thankfully, I am doing better with the exercise plan than the blogging plan. After joining the gym on Wednesday, I visited it Thursday evening, Friday evening, and Sunday morning. Not bad! My goal is to go four times a week, for 45 minutes to an hour. That ought to be enough cardio to get me started, and then I'll reevaluate after a month or six weeks and see how I'm doing. So far, I'm on course.

We had a sudden cold snap here last night. It was down into the 40s and is only going to get into the low-to-mid 60s today. That doesn't sound very dramatic, but considering it was in the 90s only a couple of days ago, it is. Leo is loving it--we let him out and he actually runs around. Mark and I are in a state of shock, trying to find socks and sweaters. When I dropped Mark off on campus this morning, there were actually students with mittens and stocking caps on. Gotta love Texas.

This leaves me in a bit of a fashion conundrum. I have two pairs of work-appropriate pants that fit well enough to wear, and they are both lightish brown (I guess one would be tan and one would be beige, if we wanted to get specific). Everything else is too big or just doens't fit appropriately. And the two pairs I do have are both from the dreaded, evil, and fucking expensive Banana Republic. So I can't replicate them, at least not without spending an arm and a leg. And given all the time I took off last month/early this month, I don't exactly have a clothes budget right now. So that's all very sucky. I am very tempted to go the buy-one-pair-of-black-pants-and-wear-them-twice-a-week route, but even that would require finding something I can afford that would fit. Blah.

My work life has improved significantly since I bought a hotpot and have started drinking tea at my desk. I don't know why this improves things, exactly, but it does. Something about making and consuming cup after cup of tea amuses and delights me. Plus it's keeping my Pepsi consumption down, which is always a good thing.

And with that, the water is boiling...

I started a conversation at The Phoenix today about what makes up a family. I explained my own idea of my family, using a simplified version of the diagram I've used before:

In this diagram, Mark and I and our pets make up the center circle--my household family. Around us is my immediate family. I generally include my mom, George, and Mitch in this group. Other people would include their fathers or other siblings. I don't. I don't put Nana here, either, and I am honestly not sure where she fits in. This group also contains the people I think of as my lifelong friends. These are not necessarily my best friends, but the friends that I truly believe I will always have a relationship with, no matter what tricks time and geography plays. They are the people who are part of my soul and part of my history. Defining them as family is important to me. Family has a connotation that friendship doesn't have. It's not meant to be hierarchical, at least not as far as I'm concerned, but it does seem to say something about longevity and a bond that disregards circumstances, and that's what I'm getting at.

Anyway, outside that circle is a bigger circle. This is what I call "my people." It includes my mom's mom, George's mom, all my mom's sisters and their husbands, and most of their kids. It also includes a few more extended relatives and non-relatives who mean a great deal to me. These people make up what I am coming home to when I go home to my parents house. I see who I am reflected in each of them, and I miss them every day.

Finally, there is a circle that intersects with the other three, but is seperate. This is my extended family. This group includes my dad's mom and his siblings, their spouses, their kids, etc. These are the people for whom I have no ill will, no reason to exclude from my family, but they are not part of what I think about when I think about home.

I suppose, in reality, my diagram should include another circle as well. This circle just floats around, bumping into my from time to time, but never staying in the mix for very long. That would be my dad. I have harbored a lot of resentment towards him for a very long time, but I don't really have much of that left anymore. Recently, I mostly just have a sort of sadness about a situation that didn't quite work out for anyone involved. I know he loves me. I know he is fiercely proud of me. But I also know that his has no real part in my life, I have no real part in his, and neither one of us has made any effort to change that in many years. I doubt either one of us ever will.

In the years I was in college and those immediately post-college, I would have drawn a similar diagram, except that the inner circle would not have been my household family, but my college family of friends. It is hard for me to get my mind around defining someone I spend every day with as "not family" while someone I see once a year or less is "family." It just seems arbitrary. So that inner circle is always filled with the people I live with, or those I maintain close, constant ties with. For me, that's really what family means. It means being there every day. It means love, but maybe more than that it means constancy. The closer in you are on my circles, the most I know I can count on you, and the more you can count on me. Whether or not we share genetics (or whether or not we've had a marriage ceremony) is completely meaningless in the face of that.

I have been awake since 3 o'clock this morning. I mean really awake, not half-sleep. So awake that sometime after 5, I just gave up, got out of bed, and went to the gym.

This is happening a lot lately. I sleep OK for a couple of hours (though last night I didn't even get that, waking up 2-3 times an hour between 11:30 and 3), then I'm awake off and on for a couple of hours, then I'm just awake. It sucks, and it concerns me, because I've had very bad bouts of insomnia before (my first year in college was nearly intolerable). I've slept so well for so long, I can't figure out where this is coming from. My caffeine intake has not increased nor gotten any later in the day. The drugs I am taking ought to have the opposite effect. Exercise also should have the opposite effect.

Any ideas?

Does anyone else, when they read that the Democrats "forced" the Senate into closed session, picture the bank robbers in presidential masks from Point Break busting into the Senate and slamming the doors shut?

Maybe that's just me.

My co-worker brought this ad in to share with me yesterday, and it amused me so much, I have to share it with all of you. Tell me, does this depressed-ass dog make you want to buy his variety of food?

My plans mostly include the usual--laundry, homework, etc. One thing I am excited about, though, is that I plan to hit the Art from the Streets sale tomorrow. Art from the Streets is this amazing program they have in Austin, run through a homeless shelter, where homeless/near homeless folks create art and they have a yearly sale to benefit the shelter. I think it's a wonderful idea, but I haven't ever been able to make the sale. Inspired by an entry a week or two or three ago by Karen (scroll down to October 27), I have really been wanting to get some original art up in my house. I know I want to buy a piece by Darryl Freeman, but getting something from Art from the Streets would also be wonderful.

So, what are you doing this weekend?

So that post I wrote down there about Dr. B.'s boots? I didn't get all of my reasons in for being pissed off. I have to add something:

It irritates me TO NO END that people think that because you have, at one time, be that time near or far from the present, been dead broke/complained about being dead broke/asked for financial help or advice that you are forevermore disallowed from spending any money in ways that other people have not approved of as "necessities." There are two reasons this bugs me:

#1: Being broke is a transitory state. Having been broke before does not mean I am broke now, and not being able to afford Thing X before does not mean that I can't afford Thing Y now.

#2: Splurges and treats should not only be morally OK for rich people. Those of us who have "better uses for our money" or even don't have the money at all, should not be looked down upon for purchasing the occaisonal treat. It's Puritanical. Yes, it would be great if nobody were driven by any material wants and we all spent only what was necessary for our organic food and our union-made clothes and our energy-efficient housing and gave everything else to charities, but people, we live in the consumerist capital of all time. It's going to effect us. Once in a while, we're going to want to buy something JUST BECAUSE WE WANT IT. Even if we're poor. This doesn't make us less worthy, it doesn't make us bad people, it makes us just like everyone fucking else. So get over it.

A commenter on my previous post said that she "felt swindled" by Dr. B.'s buying expensive boots, because Dr. B. has, in the past, asked for financial contributions on her blog. This bugs me for a couple of reasons. The first is that I think Dr. B. has every right to ask for financial contributions on her blog, regardless of her personal income. Her blog is a service, a piece of entertainment, and if she wants to ask people to pay for using it, that's her right. It's people's right to refuse, of course, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with asking. Especially when, if I am recalling correctly, the only occaison on which Dr. B. requested money for herself was when those funds were allocated to redesign the site. Secondly, this complaint once again ignores the temporality of being broke. Having been broke once does not make one broke now. It's that simple.

Another commenter suggests that judgements on other people's spending is not a problem that is limited to women. That's probably true, but I'd still argue that men are not generally treated like foolish, selfish children when they plan a purchase. Not to mention, excessive shopping (especially, good Lord, for shoes!) is a stereotype attributed to women. Women are the ones with the reputation for not being able to keep their wallets closed when faced with a great pair of shoes, or a great bag, or whatever. This dovetails nicely with another favorite stereotype, the one where women are too impulsive/weak/stupid to take care of themselves and really should be all too happy to accept "well-meaning" advice. And anybody who thinks they haven't internalized a little bit of those stereotypes when they are criticizing a woman's spending patterns should probably think again.

I used to be very into handbags. Recently, I have switched my femmey obsession to earrings. I just love earrings. Love, love, love them. And as they are relatively inexpensive and do not take up much space, I have acquired quite a few pair fairly quickly.

Which has presented me with a problem.

As you may already have gathered, I have a bit of an issue with clutter and disorganization. More than a bit of an issue, actually. It makes me homicidally angry. Seriously. I just can't deal with it. It fucks up my whole life. So, my books are sorted into fiction and non, then alphabetized or sorted by category, the clothes in my closet are sorted by type of garment and then by color, etc.

The problem, then, was how to house my earrings. I had them in a jewelry box, which is what I presume is meant to house such baubles. For the reasons you can see, this was not a viable solution.

Not only does it look horrible, with everything all jumbled together like that, but it makes it damn-near impossible to find two, matching earrings, especially in the morning.

So I needed a solution, and I headed, of course, to my local crafts store. My thought was that I'd get one of those plastic boxes crafty folks use to store their crafty stuff in, decompage it, and store one pair of earrings in each little compartment. This is how I've been keeping my necklaces, and it seems to work just fine. I'd just need something with smaller compartments.

After looking around the craft store and ascertaining that something with enough small compartments to hold my crap a) does not exist and b) would be too large if it did exist, I arrived upon plan b:

Supplies needed:
1 wooden embroidery hoop, sized appropriately for your number of earrings (I used a 12-inch hoop)
1/2 yard tulle, in the color of your choice (for a different look, lace or burlap or another porous fabric would also work)

Instructions:
1. Put the tulle in the embroidery hoop and tighten it until it is taunt and secure.
2. Cut off excess tulle around the edges.
3. Apply earrings.

As you can see, what you end up with is a place to hang all of your dangling gems, where they will remain paired and you can see them all at once, and where they will look nice and orderly. This thrills me to no end.

Note: I am in no way saying that I came up with this project myself. It is quite likely that I read about it on Get Crafty two years ago and it stuck in my head or something. However, if it did come from someone else, I have no idea who that would be, so if I'm ripping this off, I'm very, very sorry.

Total project cost: $1.02
Total project time: about 15 minutes, including earring application
Bonus: this gives you a motivation to clean out your earrings and get rid of all of the ones that don't have mates or are just stupid looking

I had a conversation this morning with a guy in my office, and I can't get it out of my head, so I'm going to try to work it out here. Maybe someone reading this will have some input.

He was saying that his girlfriend, whom he's been seeing for two-and-a-half years, has been snooping through his stuff--going through his computer, reading his email, scrolling through his cell phone, that kind of thing. What she's looking for, he said, is evidence he's cheaing on her. He's not. He said this leaves him with several emotions, none of which are the rage at the invasion of privacy that I think I'd feel. On one hand, he's sort of touched that she is serious enough about the relationship to care what he's up to. On the other hand, he's concerned about why she's gotten the impression there is something going on when there isn't, and what that says about their communication. He's also worried about her self-esteem in general, about whatever causes her to be so insecure. He's not worried she'll find anything, because there isn't anything to find, and he doesn't seem all that concerned about not having privacy, but he's concerned about what it means that she's looking.

This has me deep in thought, because I used to be the girlfriend who would do that, and I'm just not anymore. I'm thinking about what has changed--both in me and in the relationship I am in.

I've done more than probably is my fair share of snooping, in more than one relationship, and I've most often found what I was looking for. Evidence of porn use, more likely than not, and, one terrible time, evidence of having been cheated on. You'd think, having found these things, having been cheated on and lied to, I'd be more likely than average to keep snooping. But I'm not. Why not?

Part of it is definitely Mark, and the strength of our relationship. Put simply, I trust him. He's earned that trust, and has done nothing to call it into question. I also respect him, and it would make me feel dirty to pry into his personal things. I trust him not only in that I don't expect him to do terrible things, I trust him to decide what to share with me, and to have good reasons behind those decisions.

Which is another part of it--time and experience has finally taught me that a relationship consists of two seperate people, people who have their own ideas, dreams and fantasies, not all of which are community property. I don't need, or even want, to know every thought or feeling Mark has. I'm also a lot better than I used to be at realizing that other people have the same need for their own space and their own shit as I do. Never, in all of the years that I harbored the idea that a partner should give 100% of him or herself to me, did I ever intend to give 100% of myself back. I always kept things for myself, and I've finally gotten mature enough to realize and be OK with the fact that other people do the same thing.

Another element of it, I think, is that the more shit I live through, the more shit gets to be no big deal. I've been cheated on, and I know worse things can happen than being cheated on. I've had relationships end, and although I have no expectation that the relationship I am in now is going to end, I know that if it does, I'll be fine. So while I trust Mark more than I've ever trusted a partner, I also trust myself more now to be OK with whatever ends up happening, which makes the need to look for signs of bad things a lot less pressing.

I also have a lot more trust in my own judgement than I used to. It used to be that I was constantly afraid that someone was pulling the wool over my eyes, that I was being fucked over and everyone knew about it but me. I know now that I'm just not that fucking stupid, and that even if I were, even if that were the case, my friends wouldn't think less of me for having been trusting. I know now that there is no shame in being trusting.

I am not generally a big proponent of "diet food," but on the last weight loss attempt before this one (last year), I did make some forays into the diet food world. One of these forays, Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches, was actually pretty good, though I remain suspicious of what exactly is in them. Most of the other things I bought I never even tried.

Fast forward to last night. It's 9:30, I'm at home in my pajamas, and I have an undeniable chocolate craving. Unlike some people, this doesn't happen to me very often, but when it does, it is all I can think about or talk about until it is fed. I ransack the cupboard, looking for something. I am incredibly saddened to find we do not have any of the best brownie mix in the world (Ghiradelli Triple Chocolate, for the uninitiated). What we did have, hanging out in the back of the cupboard, was a No Pudge! fat-free mint brownie mix. Just add 2/3 cup of nonfat vanilla yogurt. Hrm. Well, in the absence of a better option, it's worth a try, right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. I don't know what the product of what came out of that box+2/3 cup of incredibly yummy Stonyfield non-fat french vanilla was, but it was certainly not brownies. I was trepidatious when I tried to lick the batter off the mixer paddle and it stung my tongue, but I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt--maybe it would cook up fine. It did not cook up fine. The cooked result seemed to be a plastic product of some sort. Even moltenly hot, it kept its shape--never a good sign in a brownie. And it tasted like Mr. Clean. Seriously.

Here's the part I don't get, though. The worst thing about these brownies was their complete and utter artificial flavor. It was nearly impossible to believe they came out of my own oven, not a factory. And yet, according to the label, there are no artificial ingredients in the mix. Somehow, the makers of No Pudge! have taken real food products and put them together in such a combination as to make them taste like artificial diet food. Which is, I wager, exactly why they are popular--like Snackwells before them, they taste so artificial that the dieter eating them is easily able to make the distinction between them and something "naughty." Something full of fat and calories. Something real.

The take-home message is the same as always: diet food is a bad idea. The first premise of healthy eating should be to eat food that remembers where it came from, or at least food that came from somewhere you can identify. More that all of the fat and calories and sugar in the world, we should be afraid of food that isn't made out of food. And given this experience, I'll add that we should also be suspicious of food that does seem to be made out of food, but doesn't have the properties food should have. In the case of brownies, those properties rightly include both fat and calories. And that's the way it should be.

Cross-posted at Knife-Wielding Feminists.

I've been away for a bit, you may have noticed. Or you may not have. There is a reason. I've been traumatically ill. Well, that's maybe a bit melodramatic. The problem, really, is that my head has been taken over by snot goblins (if anyone finds this blog while Googling snot goblins, please be sure to leave me a comment--it would make my day).

I have a cold. And it's really just that, a cold, not the flu or an infection or anything, but it's a major pain in the ass, long-lasting cold, and it has been sucking my will to live since last Wednesday. Which is a particular problem, given that this is the last week of the semester and I have a shitload of research and writing with very quickly approaching due dates, as well as two in-class presentations that staying home with a head cold will probably not be a valid excuse for skipping.

So, in short, life sucks.

Given all this, I actually had a very nice weekend. On Saturday I went to the annual arts festival at our co-op. I bought a gorgeous photograph of a misison door in San Antonio from Anne Tarleton at Longhorn Photography and three gorgeous hand-thrown bowls, all in perfect ice cream size, from Anne Thomas at Mudslinger Pottery (yay local artists!). Then I came home, avoided the work I desperately needed to be doing, and watched UT kick the shit out of Colorado and cinch their Rose Bowl berth. Very nice.

On Sunday I meant to work without ceasing, but got a burr under my saddle to go get a Christmas tree. So we went to World Market and bought some amazingly cute ornaments, then went to the tree lot just down the way and got a lovely 6' fir tree. I'd only intended to take an hour or so break, but it turned into several, and I felt worse all the time. Once we were finished, the tree was gorgeous and I was fucking sick.

And I woke up that way this morning. So, to summarize, I'm irritatingly sick, behind at work behind in school, and cranky as shit. And the skin on the bottom of my nose is beginning to rub off in that oh-so-attractive way. But, we have a new photograph, three new bowls, and a gorgeous Christmas tree, and in just a few days this will all be over, so I guess life goes on.

Oh, and in an extra bit of good news, my iPod sold on Ebay for nearly $200. So that rocks.

Mark and I have been discussing buying a new car after Christmas, mostly to facilitate the more important goal of getting a second dog (two dogs Leo's size would never fit in our current car). This has me thinking about my car history, so I thought I'd share.

Car #1

Year/make/model: 1988 (I think) Dodge Carvan
Color: silver
Date bought/price: 1988, I think--I have no idea how much
Date sold/price: Again, no idea
Peripherals: Nada

Story: This is the car I learned to drive on, my mom's minivan. My mother has done a lot of incredible things in her life, but I think teaching me to drive has to be among her most brave. I was so, so horrible. I crashed this minivan three times, in my recollection, and they were all amazingly stupid (the first time I ran into our woodshed when all I was supposed to be doing was going out to start the car). It is a wonder I learned to drive at all. In my defense, though, the fucking thing was a beast to drive. First gear was basically non-functional.

Car #2

Year/make/model: 1984 Ford Tempo
Color: beer bottle brown
Date bought/price: Summer 1996, $1,100
Date sold/price: Fall 1998, $300
Peripherals: Betty Boop air freshener, Oregon Country Fair rose garland around the rear view mirror,"Children Should be Seen, Heard, and Believed" bumper sticker, Reed sticker

Story: My first car, bought the summer between my junior and senior years in high school, from a harried mom of four who had just inherited a minivan. It was what I could afford at the time, and was reasonably reliable for the first 18 months or so. I took it with me to my first year at Reed. I was terrified of driving in Portland, though, so I let everyone else drive it and spent most of my time in the passenger seat. I was also one of only a few people with wheels in my dorm, so it got a lot of use. And it got pretty banged up, as well. Spring Break Simon and I took it to Berkeley, which was an unmitigated disaster. It lost 95% of its ability to accelerate about halfway through the trip. We kept going anyway. Frightening. Wasn't ever trustworthy after that. I didn't bring it back my second year of college, and sold it to a neighbor of my parents' soon after.

Car #3

Year/make/model: 1987(ish) Honda Civic
Color: gray
Date bought/price: Fall 1999, $3,000 range, I think
Date sold/price: he's still driving it
Peripherals: many never wiped-up spilled things, Warhammer 40K models, probably nudie magazines

Story: This was not actually my car, but Simon's car. However, Simon bought this car right about the same time we started living together, and I spent a fair amount of time driving it, so I consider it part of my history. If memory serves, he bought it from a Reed political science professor the fall of my junior year. It was quite reliable and I never remember having any problems with it. The crazy thing, however, is that Simon is still fucking driving it, and has put an amazing number of miles on it. The car has to have 250,000+ miles on it. Guess he got his money's worth.

Car #4

Year/make/model: 1991 Dodge Dynasty
Color: maroon
Date bought/price: Received as a gift in Summer 2001
Date sold/price: Summer 2003, $600
Peripherals: fuzzy rainbow striped steering wheel cover, leaking and moldy trunk

Story: This car was a college graduation gift from my stepmother. Her mother had been driving it--I don't know if Nana bought it from her or if she just gave it to her or what. At any rate, it was a wonderful gift at the time, because I was just graduating, had no car, had no job, and was reliant for everything on the Portland bus system. The bus system reliance turned out to be fine with the jobs I ended up getting, but it was still great to have a car. This car, however, was a POS from day 1. It overheated, it was not watertight (leaky trunk, leaky windows...) and I put more money than it was worth into it. Nevertheless, it served its purpose at the time. A guy I dated very briefly between Simon and Mark, William, called this the "preacher car." I never did figure out what that meant. It had really comfortable bench seats, though. It was also the only car I've ever had/driven with any regularity that had an automatic transmission. Ick.

Car #5

Year/make/model: 1999 Mazda Protege
Color: red
Date bought/price: Spring 2003, $6,500
Date sold/price: still driving it
Peripherals: Mark doesn't allow peripherals :(

Story: The car Mark and I bought together before leaving Oregon for Texas. We bought it from a soccer-mom type woman who had taken amazing care of it and only put like 40,000 miles on it. It's a great car and we could not possibly have stumbled on to anything that would better meet our needs. We have had almost no problems with it, spent very little money beyond basic maintenance, and have put about 30,000 miles on it since we bought it. It is easy to drive, if slightly underpowered, and I absolutely love it.I plan to drive it until it is dead, dead, dead. However, it is far too small for two 100+ lb dogs, so it is probably going to have a sibling after Christmas. I'm all for this, because much as I loathe to make a car payment (yep, we're going to go new or near-new), I am psyched about Mark and I each having our own car and my not having to drive him to school before I drive to work every morning.

So what will car #6 be? We are going to have to do some more research and test driving, but the frontrunner right now is the Subaru Outback. The Outback seems to have what we need--more room, more weather capabilities--without being excessively large and without being too high off the ground or too SUV-like. They're safe, they seem to last forever, and Consumer Reports loves them. So we'll see. I know I'll feel very overly grown-up driving one, but hey, that beats a Tempo.

As is becoming par for the course, I can't sleep. So I'll share with you all the things I learned while in line at the supermarket today:

1. Nick and Jessica are splitting up.
2. Brad is adopting Angelina's kids.
3. Kevin and Britney might be splitting up.
4. Ben and Jen named their baby Violet.
5. Oprah has a new diet.
6. Tom and Katie are having a boy.
7. I can fit into my skinny jeans by January!

To these nuggets of information, I have the following responses:

1. This could be good for Jessica's career. If I were her dadager, I would suggest she try for full-on country cross-over with a cover of "D-I-V-O-R-C-E." And date Johnny Knoxville. Or maybe a Nascar driver.
2. The weird thing about this is the copy of a legal-looking document changing the kids' names to Maddox and Zahara Jolie-Pitt. Jolie-Pitt has to be the worst hyphenated name ever. It sounds like a national monument of some kind. "And on the left, you'll see Jolie Pitt." Seems to me Brad has moved from one woman who was too good for him to another. But at least he's not Billy Bob.
3. I hope so. Poor Britney. At least there's no place to go but up. And hey, Nick's single...
4. By a Hollywood standard, it's not a terrible name. I think it would have been funny if they'd name her Jennifer, though. Wouldn't it make things easier for Ben if all the women in his life just had the same name? I wonder if his mom would be willing to change her name too? How weird and surreal would that be?
5. How can they honestly still be printing this? Leave the poor woman and her diets alone. Jesus Christ.
6. How virile Tom must be, siring a man-child! Maybe they will name him Elron. That would rule.
7. January of what year?

Celebrity culture is so weird. For a long time, I had a free subscription to Us magazine. As I like to read drivel in the bathtub, most weeks I read it, so I was pretty much in the know about the celebrity goings on. This is, for example, why I know the names of the actresses and characters on Sex and the City, even though I've never seen it. However, that subscription has been run out for several months now, and I was realizing in the line today that I am not up to date anymore. It was this strange feeling, like I had been kept out of the loop of my friends or family or something. I felt oddly betrayed. I had no idea Kevin and Britney were even having problems! It's the same feeling I get when I watch an episode of General Hospital. I'm somehow insulted that life in Port Charles went on while I wasn't paying attention, and that things are as weird and fucked up as ever. How strange to feel that way about the lives of real people, though. Or at least mostly real people (my jury is still out on the possibility of the Jessica-bot).

I don't really know where I'm going with this, except to say that it's strange. Strange to find these things out, strange to care. With the exception of my skinny jeans, none of this applies to me. These are stories only removed by fiction by a tiny step, about people manufactured and sold as characters in their own lives, and yet they are part of our cultural fabric, staring at us from supermarket lines and TV screens. What's it for? What is it about their lives that keeps people interested? And what kind of a people are we that we are so alienated from our own lives, and from the real art around us, that we substitute real feelings and real interests for interest in and feelings about manufactured people's manufactured lives?

And what about the manufactured people themselves? Do they have real lives? When they stand in line at the supermarket and look at those magazine covers, do they see themselves?

This morning begins this year's Christmas marathon. First, I fly to Portland (by way of a four-hour layover in San Jose, and that's if everything goes well...). Once I get to PDX, I rent a car, drive an hour outside the city to my sister's place, and spent Christmas Eve with her and her family and my (former) stepmother. Then I get up early on Christmas morning and drive three hours to Elkton to do Christmas Day hoopla with my mom's family (grandma and mom's three sisters and their families (18 or so people all together, I think). Next, I have a Christmas night present opening with just my mom, George, and Mitch. Finally, I spend Boxing Day with my dad's extended family (21ish people at that one, if I'm counting correctly). Then, thank God, I'm done.

This parcelling out of myself at Christmas is something I rant about from time to time. It's a rough go, even if it sounds like the presents would make it worth it or some such jazz (they never have, BTW, even when I was a little kid and not expected to reciprocate). Feeling enormous pressure to see everyone and give everyone a piece of yourself doesn't leave you with much holiday cheer of your own. Or much time of your own. Just listing it out there makes me tired, and I haven't even begun yet.

That being said, I'm looking forward to the rest of the week. By Monday night I should be home free as far as family holiday obligations go, and I plan to spend the rest of the week curled up on my parents' couch, reading, and perhaps drinking a lot of Oregon wine. And hopefully hooking up with Scand (if you are reading this, please call me at my parents'--I don't have a number for you in Oregon!). Then I'm driving back up to Portland the morning of the 31st and on a plane back here that afternoon, with the intention (and the dear hope) of being back on Texas soil by 9pm New Year's Eve.

The long and short of this post is that I will likely be blog absent for a week. Try to live without me?

Merry Christmas, y'all. And if Christmas isn't your thing, Happy Hanukkah. And if not Hanukkah, then Happy Kwanzaa. And if none of those work for you, just have a good weekend.

Didja miss me?

The trip to Oregon was wall-to-wall fantastic. The marathon Christmas was exhausting, but it was still great. I got in no political spats with relations, I saw just about everyone I was supposed to see, and I had a great and mostly relaxing time. The travel aspect was a pain, especially when I had to drivetoPortlandsitintheairportflytoDallassitintheairportflytoAustin on Saturday, on about 2 hours of sleep, but all in all I can't complain.

Except.

Except that I lost my purse in the Dallas airport, and they Lost&Found is closed until tomorrow, for the pretend holiday (y'all, it's the 2nd--get back to work!). So that's stressing me out. But I got all the plastic money cancelled and there was no cash money in there (though I will lose a bunch of gift cards if they don't have it), so it could be much worse.

Being home is actually similarly good. Very laid back New Year's Eve, just hanging out with Mark and the pets, and that's the best possible way to spend it, in my opinion. Then a mellow day yesterday, and I was supposed to go back to work today, but woke with feeling like ass, so decided to take another day off. When I look at the pollen count and saw how high the cedar is, it became clear why I feel like this. Goddamn allergies.

I've been giving some thought to New Year's resolutions. I always make them, nearly never keep them. So this year I have decided to make 12, in the hope of keeping at least a couple.

1. Get back on a 4-5 day a week gym schedule.
2. Get back on a 2 shots a week allergy shot schedule.
3. Get my finances under control, including upping my savings percentage and IRA contributions.
4. Get some writing published.
5. Read for pleasure during the school semester.
6. Learn enough calculus to finish my graduation requirements.
7. Start writing letters on paper again, rather than just emails.
8. Divest myself of unnecessary posessions, and don't replace them.
9. Commit myself to finding a more challenging job.
10. Volunteer.
11. Think about writing less; write more.
12. Remember birthdays.

Out of curiosity, I looked up last year's resolutions to see how I've progressed. This is what I found:

Over at Frog's place, she has a People style list of what is "In" and what is "Out" for her in 2006. I like the idea so much, I'm stealing it.

OUT: Plastic: plastic crap, plastic food, plastic emotions.
IN: Healthy, natural food; less general accumulation; more time to process real feelings.

OUT: Getting wrapped up in other people's drama, especially online.
IN: Spending more time in communication with my friends and family.

OUT: Spending too much time in idle pursuits, especially TV and excessive Internet use.
IN: Making time to read, excercise, play with my pets, and generally take care of the mental and physical health.

OUT: Target.
IN: Local stores, secondhand shopping.

OUT: Complaining about my job.
IN: Putting the time to good use.

OUT: Coffee.
IN: Tea.

I thought I'd check in on myself with my 12 New Year's Resolutions and see how I'm doing.

• Get back on a 4-5 day a week gym schedule

• Get back on a 2 shots a week allergy shot schedule.

• Get my finances under control, including upping my savings percentage and IRA contributions.

• Get some writing published.

• Read for pleasure during the school semester.

• Learn enough calculus to finish my graduation requirements.

• Start writing letters on paper again, rather than just emails.

• Divest myself of unnecessary posessions, and don't replace them.

• Commit myself to finding a more challenging job.

• Volunteer.

• Think about writing less; write more.

• Remember birthdays.

All in all progess seems slow but steady. Go me!

I am happy to report that one of my New Year's resolutions has already been accomplished, and the year is not yet 1/12 over!

I have a piece in the first edition of Indigo Leaf Magazine. Indigo Leaf is the work of Chookooloonks' Karen, who saw a need for a place for as-yet undiscovered writers and artists to have their work published and did something about it. I can't thank Karen enough for this opportunity, or for introducing me to the other fantastic work in the magazine. She rocks.

To check out my piece, as well as the rest of Indigo Leaf, go here.

It has become acceptable recently, from what I'm reading, to accuse Angelina Jolie of adopting her two kids, Maddox and Zahara, as "accessories." As if becoming the mother of these two kids was a stunt to make her cooler and more multicultural. In the same vein, there are the claims that these children are commodities that she "bought," that maybe they are not orphans but were kidnapped, etc. These claims aren't just leveled at Jolie, of course, but at adoptive parents of international kids all over the U.S.

And it pisses me right off.

I obviously don't know Angelina Jolie personally. However, from what I've seen of the role she has played as a Goodwill Ambassador, and how much of her time and money she has dedicated to international poverty alleviation and healthcare issues, especially those pertaining to children, it seems ridiculous to me to think the worst possible thing about her adoptions without knowing any facts. Why in the world would we choose to assume she adopted these kids for the kids of base and selfish reasons that are being ascribed to her? What evidence is there for that? As far as I can see, the only evidence is that the kids have a different skin color than she does. And that, y'all, is racism.

Though I know Angelina only in my dreams (heh), I do have the great fortune of knowing some other international adoptive families personally (both IRL and online), and knowing them only strengthens my sense of there being a whole host of right reasons to do this, and that those right reasons are probably a whole lot more common than the wrong ones, are attributed to my girl Angie. It's not about accesssorizing, or about being PC, or about buying babies. It's also not about rescuing, or fetishizing, or being taking babies from their native cultures and Americanizing them. It's about creating a family. It's about finding a match between people who want to be parents and a child who needs parents. It's about negotiating the delicate balance between preserving the birth culture of your child and making sure she doesn't feel objectified or out of place in the culture in which she'll be raised. It's about staying up at night worrying about how you will explain to your little girl that even though her birth mother left her, that doesn't mean she wasn't wanted--it just means her birth mother was a woman in a misogynist society who didn't have all of the options she should have. It's about love. The people I know are parents, and their little girl is their child, and calling that something like "fetishizing" or "baby buying" or "commodifying" does a great disservice to their family, especially by those people who think they have open minds about what constitutes a family. So they should shut the fuck up.

That is all.

There is a reason I haven't been my usually prolific-posting self these past couple of days. Whiplash. Nope, I don't mean that figuratively. Mark and I were rear-ended on our way to work Wednesday morning, and your's truly is a member of the neckbrace-wearing, Vicodin and Valium-popping neck sprained elite. Even though the collision was low impact and the damage to the car not severe (just bumper, I think), I managed to get hit just right, and I am whiplashed. And this shit fucking hurts. I've had X-rays taken, and there is no spinal damage, the issues are soft tissue. Which is good, because that means it should heal fine, but bad, because it means it hurts like fuck.

In order to make this whole process more infuriating, it seems that the person who hit us has coverage through the same insurance company we do. You'd think that would make things easier, but it seems to be having the opposite effect. I had a teeth-clenching phone call yesterday with an adjuster who assured me several times that I just could not be very injured in a crash with so little damage to the car. If he's trying to cover his ass so I don't sure them for $100K or something, cool, but is there a way he could maybe do that without making me feel like a hypocondriac asshole when I'm in pain? That'd be great.

I was interviewed for the very-brilliant Mary Ellen Slayter's column in today's Washington Post.

(Bugmenot says to use mobb@deep.com for a login and mobbdeep for a password, or you could just, you know, register.)

Dear Self,

I hope you enjoyed that lunchtime shopping trip binge you just went on, as well as the one you went on yesterday, and the one the day before that, because you are done now. Done. There is no need for this type of behavior. It makes you feel bad. It fills your house with shit you don't need. It supports evil corporations. And it makes your finances a mess, even when you have every advantage in the world. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, as I know you are. I have allowed you to resist changing for far too long. The time of the cash-only economy has begun.

Fuck you,

Yourself.

I haven't been much on the personal content lately, and basically that's because things have been really, really sucking. I haven't been in a depression, not that kind of sucking, but rather circumstances-conflating-against-me sucking, in combination with my-having-to-take-some-close-looks-at-my-own-behavior-and-not
-being-happy-with-what-I'm-seeing sucking. I've realized, through my recent period of introspection, that there are some things in my life I'm really not happy with, and it is up to me to change those things. Change, as always, comes slowly and with great difficulty, especially given the other conspiring circumstances. And all of this has made me not all that into writing.

All of that is vague, I know, but it's about all I've got, for now.

I decided that last post was both too cryptic and too depressing a note to leave on, so I'm making another one.

Several things do not suck. I bought cowboy boots a few weeks ago and I love them beyond comprehension. My neck is getting better post-accident, though it isn't very good today. I'm doing more writing and have had at least one and maybe two articles published (even if Bitch did reject my query, damn them!). I've discovered that I don't hate makeup as much as I thought I did. I really like my hair. Mark and I are getting along quite well. My dogs and cat continue to improve my life exponentially every day. I have a fantastic weekend planned, with the highlights being a lecture by Howard Zinn tonight and a concert by Eliza Gilkyson tomorrow. Things are just not all bad.

If one more person gets all up in arms about how it's outrageous that the press is spending so much time covering Dick Cheney's accidentally shooting his hunting buddy when there are so many other, more important issues, I'm going scream.

Kids, it's simple:

Darfur? Not funny. Katrina report? Not funny.

Vice president peppering Republican operative lawyer with buckshoot while hunting on a game preserve, possibly intoxicated? Hysterical.

All of a sudden, the weather in Austin has changed to meet my mood. The crankier I get, the colder, wetter, grayer, and nastier it gets outside. I'm not sure weather to be pissed or grateful about that.

So yeah. I'm cranky.

I'm going to be taking a break from my Internet-related activities for a bit. Things in my head are swirling a bit too fast at the moment, and I need some time to work it all out and regain some perspective. I'll be back in a few days/weeks, hopefully with renewed energy and interesting things to say. In the meantime, if you need me you know where to find me.

I have recently become enamored with Lush. Enamored enough that I am using their products rather obsessively. Thus, I feel the need to post reviews of the products, for your edification and (mostly) mine.

AVOBATH BATH BOMB

This was the first Lush product I used. It smells wonderful, if quite strongly citric/lemongrassy. It is pleasantly fizzy. It made my skin feel quite nice and was not drying. It's large enough to split into two or three pieces for seperate bathing experiences. I'll definitely buy it again.

HONEY BEE BATH BOMB

First, the good: this bath bomb smells amazing. It's sweet and honeylicious, but not cloying. I absolutely adored the smell. But the smell isn't strong enough to use 1/2 a bomb per bath, making it spendy. And it turns the bath water the color of urine. And it has unpleasant gritty stuff in it that doesn't totally dissolve in the bath water. So I don't think I will buy it again, but I'll definitely try other honey-scented Lush products.

KARMA BATH BOMB

This is another amazing-smelling bath bomb. Karma is one of Lush's "signature scents," wherein the ingredients they list and the smell that ensues do not seem to bear much relation to one another. It contains patchouli, orange, lavender, pine, lemongrass, and gardenia, but smells like none of those things. The smell is also quite strong, and 1/2 of one of these is enough for a bath, even though they're a bit smaller than the other bath bombs. I did find it a bit drying, though, so I'm not 100% sure I'll use it again.

SEX BOMB

This bath bomb is lovely, and turns the bath water a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't smell all that good and it definitely didn't make me want to get it on. The smell is provided by jasmine, clary sage, and ylang ylang, according to Lush's website, but it doesn't smell like much of anything to me. I even used the full bomb in my bath, and still didn't get much smell. There's also not much oil in this, so I found it drying. Finally, the lovely rice paper flower turns into a nasty gelatinous blob in the bath water, which isn't particuarly attractive. I won't get this one again.

BLACKBERRY BATH BOMB

This may well be my favorite bath bomb so far, or at least tied with the Avobath. The blackberry smell comes from perfume rather than essential oil or actual blackberries, which sucks, but it still smells great, and it wasn't drying. It also turns the bath water a very pretty purple, which is nice, has a surprise inside, and is plenty strong enough to cut in half. Excellent all the way around.

HOT JAVA BATH BOMB

This bath bomb is supposed to warm you up. It's spicy smelling, with cinammon, ginger, and juniper. And maybe in a colder climate I'd appreciate it more, but basically it made me feel like I was stewing, plus it has nasty bits of grit in it (cinammon sticks, maybe?). Plus I'm pretty sure it made me break out. Thumbs down.

LITTLE MONKEY BUBBLE BAR

Since this is the only bubble bar I've used, I don't have anything to compare it with. Other bubble bars may be much cooler. I found this one to be OK, but not breathtaking. It doesn't smell banana-y, or like much of anything, but it produces lots of mild bubbles and isn't drying. It turns the bath water yellow, which sucks, but it's otherwise nice. I used 1/2 in each bath this time, but will likely use the whole bar next time in an effort to get longer-lasting bubbles.

HAPPY HIPPY SHOWER GEL

I just started using this stuff this morning, and I love it. To be fair, I am biased in favor of anything that smells of grapefruit--hate the taste of grapefruits, but love the smell. This is really nice, though, because it smells like an actual grapefruit or glass of juice, rather than a grapefruit-scented product. I suspect this would have to do with them using actual grapefruit juice as a primary ingredient. I can't say for sure how it did with my skin yet, but so far so good. Also, I just used a very little bit on my shower sponge and it made a great lather, so I'm a happy girl so far.

That's the whole of what I've used so far, but there will definitely be more to come, as I have another big order currently on its way. And yes, before anyone berates me in the comments, I know I'm a horrible consumerist for spending money on this stuff. However, some people drink, some smoke, I take baths. I'm having a stressful period, and baths help me. Nice, high quality smelly stuff makes the process all the more destressing. Deal with it.

Edited 3/14/06

My second Lush order came last night, and I have already tried two more products! I can't help it, it's an addiction. And if you check out the forums on lush.com, you'll see that I don't have it nearly so bad as many people do. Anyways...

DREAMTIME BATH MELT

I am all for this product. It's basically a aolid bath oil bar, which melts when you add it to hot bath water. This one gets its scent from chamomile, sandalwood, lavender, jasmine, and ginger, but it doesn't really smell like any of those things specifically. I used 1/2 the bar in my bath and found it to be just the right amout of moisturizing and very light, calming, soothing scent. I didn't even put lotion on afterwards, which is heresy for me. And the bath definitely gave me the urge to go straight to bed, which is, I think, the idea. I'll use it again.

HONEY I WASHED THE KIDS SOAP

This is one of Lush's top 5 most popular products, and it is definitely the one that was recommended to me the most before I got into Lush. It smells amazing--like actual honey, not a cloyingly sweet fake honey bath product. It also produces a very reasonable lather for a bar soap. Unfortunately, it's very drying--my skin felt like it was on too tight as soon as I got out of the shower with it, and though moisturizer helped, I definitely have nicer skin when I used a moisturizing shower gel. So I think Mark, who prefers bar soap, is going to inherit this one. Which works for me, because then he'll smell like it! I'm also jazzed to see the scent has been moved to bath bomb form for Easter, as the Bunny I Washed the Kids bunny-shaped bath bomb. I'll probably be getting a few of those...

Edited 3/15/06

Broke into another new product this morning...

CREAMED ALMOND AND COCONUT SMOOTHIE SHOWER SOAP

This stuff smells great--less like almond or coconut and more like vanilla, but really nice and warm and sweet-but-not-cloying. It's also a wonderful thick, rich texture, like washing with conditioner, only latherable on the sponge. The smell is pretty subtle and doesn't stick around too long, but the skin softening does, which is great. It's probably too rich for even dry skinned me to use every day (which is fine, because it's spendy), but I think it would be great for the day after I shave. And actually, it might be nice to shave with as well.

And another one for my after-work bath...

LETTERS TO SANTA BATH BOMB

This bath bomb was one of my freebies from my last Lush order. It's a Christmas product, not available anymore, but don't get too upset. While it's cute, with the little candy letters stuck in it and all, it's not terribly practical or nice to bath in. The smell is fine--mostly clovey and fairly faint, even though I used the whole bath bomb in one bath. But the color is awful (reminds me of a cow patty) and it spreads brown grit (clove? cinammon?) all over, sticking to the bathtub and to you. So I had to take a post-bath shower, which some people seem to dig, but I don't. It also wasn't as moisturizing as I'd like. Definitely not something I'd buy. Oh, and the candy letters bob around in the bath and don't seem to dissolve, or at least mine didn't. It's kind of disconcerting.

And 3/17/06...

BLUE SKIES BUBBLE BAR

This looks really cool, and it's bigger than the other bubble bars, which is cool. I only used about 1/3 of it in my bath, and I got significant bubbles and scent. The scent is a little odd--my friend S. said it reminds her of her Chinese herbalist's office. It's scented with patchouli, frankinsence, cinammon leaf, and some perfume. I found it nice, but not my favorite thing ever. The bath did leave me feeling pretty calm and invigorated and clear headed, after a day that was anything but, so I guess it works as promised? I look foward to using the other 2/3 of the bar.

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES BATH MELT

This is definitely one of my favorite products so far. The smell is fantastic--it's fairly light, and the website tells me its comprised of ginger and jasmine, but I couldn't have picked those out. Mostly it's just a subtle, sexy smell. It's super moisturizing, with cocoa butter and almond oil, and it turns the bath water smoky gray-violet. It also has fun colored cocoa butter chunks in it, so it's amusing to watch is dissolve. After getting out of the bath, I smell wonderful, I feel relaxed, and my skin is very soft and happy. I did use the whole bar for this bath, just because the scent seemed fairly mild otherwise, and I think that's probably the way to go with this one.

And 3/18/06...

CHRISTMAS CAROL BATH BOMB

This is another one of the post-holiday freebies I got with my "BIG FREES" order. It smells amazing--jasmine and ylang ylang, in just the right proportions, and in just the right amount (if you use the whole thing). The downside, however, is that it's full of glitter. I wasn't sure how I'd feel about the glitter in some Lush products, so I've not ordered any with glitter. Now I know--I hate it. It looks cool, but it's irritating, messy, itchy, and even though I showered and scrubbed after the bath (not exactly my idea of a good end to a relaxing soak), I still look like a candy raver. So no more glitter-laden products for me. If they start making this one sans glitter, however, I'm all over it.

In case anybody was wondering, I am supporting Kinky Friedman for governor my beloved adopted home, the Lone Star State. And yes, I am completely serious. Not only is he the by-far least nauseating of the "candidates," he actually does and has done good things, which is more than I can say for 99.9% of politicians, especially viable ones (let's save the discussion re: whether or not he's viable for another day). Don't believe me? Check out the Utopia Animal Rescue Ranch.

Karen over at Chookooloonks has an excellent post up today where she begins to explore the idea of a blogger's obligation to represent elements of her core identity. In Karen's case, she's talking about her family's multiraces, her daughter's adoption, her country, etc. Her post made me think, though, about the parts of my identity I represent on my blog and how and why.

I think I'm fairly honest here about who I am. I use my real name, I don't make a secret of where I live, I post pictures of myself. To some people's thinking, and I'm not sure they are wrong, this isn't smart from a safety perspective. However, it became important to me, as I got more into communication and socialization on the Internet, for there not to be a seperate cyber-Grace (see left), and the best way I found to be the same person on and offline was to be honest about myself. That being said, there are a few things I don't talk about here, for reasons of "safety," or at least to keep myself out of trouble. Most specifically, I keep talk about my job to a minimum. The lesson we all learned from Dooce, I guess.

Beyond that, I'm in some ways more honest about myself here than I am in real life. My mothers, were she to read my blog, would learn things about me that she doesn't already know. My friends often learn things I'm thinking and worrying about from my blog. I find this format easy to be candid in, as I almost never write to any imagined audience, but just to get my own thoughts and feelings out.

Candor isn't really the same thing as responsible representation, though, which is, I think, more what Karen was getting at. The truth is, though, that I feel completely unqualified to respresent any larger group. There are certainly groups I fit into, or even that help define me: woman, feminist, Westerner, small-towner, class straddler, etc. But I don't think I'm a very good representation of any of these, and it never occurs to me when writing that my words could be taken as representative of any of these groups.

Does that mean I'm shirking responsibility? I dunno. I mean, maybe if I claimed to be representing those groups, or representing anyone. But I'm not. All I claim is that I'm as honest as I can b about who I am. And I think, for now, that's enough.

I have to big exciting pieces of news today.

The first is that Mark and I are finally buying our new car. It is a Honda Element. 2006, 4WD EX. We pick it up tomorrow morning.

We test drove our three top choices (given our research) last weekend. These were the Element, the Honda CR-V, and the Subaru Forester. We didn't like the CR-V at all--it seemed a bit cheap inside and did not drive as nicely as the Element does, and it was all cloth and carpet, so it was a lot less hairy-pet friendly. The Forester was great, but not big enough for our our dogs, especially since the seats don't come all the way out or fold all the way down. The Element, however, was nearly perfect. It's a lot more fun to drive and more comfortable than we'd expected, given the body shape, and it is HUGE inside, with completely removable back seats and a large, dog-friendly, rubber floor. We're very excited about how well it is likely to work for our boys. The gas mileage is obviously not what we'd like, at 21/24, but it's better than a Suburban, for sure, and at this point it's a trade off we needed to make. We'll be keeping our other car, a fuel-efficient Mazda Protege, and will use it on any long trips that don't have canine participation.

The other big news is that I am changing jobs. I have been on the interview circuit for a couple of weeks, and this morning I got the call hiring me for one of my top choice positions. It's a grant management job on campus, which is just the direction I'd like to move in, and will be good for a variety of other reasons as well (good pay, great benefits, private office, etc.). I'll be starting two weeks from Monday. I'm quite excited.

The Good: My trip to Minneapolis was fantastic. Too short and a bit frantic, but otherwise incredible. I got to spend time with some fantastic women, got to see some cool shit (like a giant cherry on a spoon, for example), got to eat some excellent food, and even stayed (more or less) on budget. Brilliant. Also good is that I am done with the semester and have no school or homework until the first week in June. A small break, but a break nonetheless. Also, my new job seems to be getting closer to under control.

The Bad: I am my usual basketcase self in manners concerning finances (they're a mess) and weight gain (it's through the roof). Also, I need to do laundry, clean my bathroom, answer about 100 emails, send in some freelance editing work I that's already overdue, go to the doctor and get an allergist referral...and take a nap. Also, Mark is going to Italy with his family for two weeks and my God do I have a lot of dog to take care of on my own.

The Ugly: My feet are atrocious. They are all swollen and they hurt and it just sucksucksucks. Also, I spent too much time in the hot tub in Minneapolis and my skin is peeling off from the chlorine. Very attractive.

I've had to be uncharacteristically friendly and outgoing recently, due to travelling and meeting new people, and to having a new job. These are not things that come naturally to me, and they are very tiring.

And now, Mark is out of the country for a while, and my long list of obligations had dwindled down to just going to work and taking care of the dogs, and I have a very, very strong urge to curl up on my couch and watch TV for the next two weeks.

The question is, how bad an idea is that? Why is it that I have to wonder if what seem to me to be perfectly reasonable recharge mechanisms are really signs of underlying depression? Is that ever going to go away? I know that I don't feel depressed. I know that I feel safe, and happy, and stable. So why can't I just do what I want to do and not worry about it whether wanting to do it is a sign of something bad?

Today is the day to blog for GLBT families. In support of all of the GLBT families out there, and particularly the ones over on my blog roll, I wanted to put something up to acknowledge that.

I thought quite a bit about it, and decided that the best thing I can do is to hit it from my perspective, which is that of a functionally heterosexual woman (i.e. a woman in a different sex relationship--we've been over this ground before) watching what is happening to her gay and lesbian (well, just lesbian, to be honest) friends and they families they are creating.

And what I see happening is a lot of bullshit. I see amazing women building great families, with or without children, and not having those families recognized in most basic ways by the state. I see these women having to fight, litigate, and make awful choices just to get the recognition that those of us who are not in same-sex partnerships take for granted. And it really, really sucks.

It seems to me that the right to create families and have those families recognized is a basic right of citizenship in this country, or even a basic human right. Even when we strip away someone's citizenship rights, we don't dare take away someone's family. We don't tell a prisoner, for example, that s/he has no legal or social ties to his/her partner, parents, or children anymore. We would find that too intolerably cruel. Why, then, is it OK to do it to someone based solely on the her gender being the same as her partner's? What kind of logic is that?

Given the very basic level at which these injustices strike, it's hard for me to imagine how much they must hurt--to have people who know nothing about you or your family make arbitrary distinctions between whose baby your child really is, or who serves as next of kin to your partner--it's unthinkable. And I cannot express how much admiration I have for the gay and lesbian families all over this country who are doing the hard work every day to create the families they need and demand recognition of those families, one painstaking piece at a time. I really, really wish it were easier for all of you, and I know it will be some day.

I started my morning with raised blood pressure, as Bill Frist was on NPR in the car on my way to work, talking about values. Nothing gets me madder faster than hearing a conservative talk about values. They use many of the same words I'd use, if forced to talk about my values, yet they mean something entirely different. There's something sinister and even evil about it. And I feel like people are snowed by it. Like they hear these buzzwords--family, responsibility, safety--and they think they know what is meant by them, but that's not what ends up being valued at all.

I'm the type of liberal who strongly believes that it would do what passes for the left in this country a world of good to take values rhetoric back, and not in a chickenshit "we're Christians too!" way, but in a real way. To insist that these words, which hold so much power for people, be redefined. Not to pretend to share the values the Republicans are spouting, but to take back the language they are using and be more specific about what valuing those things really means.

For example, I very much value family. I agree that families are the bedrock of society. However, the next jump that Bill Frist and his ilk make, that this means that heterosexual married couples are the essential building block without which society will crumble, and must therefore be "protected", and that this protection should come with infringed civil rights for gays and lesbians, is not at all the direction I go with this value. What I value is the right of every person in this country to define his or her family in the way that best suits that individual. It may be made up of genetic ties, it may not. It may or may not include people of both genders. It may or may not include children. When I say I value family, I don't mean just families that look exactly like mine, like Mr. Frist does. I mean everybody's family. Furthermore, I believe this is a legitimate description of what valuing "family" means, and it's one that should be presented more clearly by the people who serve as leaders for the Left (and if you happened to follow the horrific anti-gay marriage amendment debates, you'll see that it wasn't).

Like Mr. Frist and his fire-breathing colleagues, I value responsibility. I'll even go with them in saying I believe people should work, if doing so if physically and mentally possible for them. But what I mean by work and what they mean by work are very different things. My definition of work isn't dependent on making a profit for someone else. In fact, it isn't dependent on money at all. Much of the most important work people can do isn't paid. And I'm not just talking about raising children here, although it's certainly a good example. Caring for other beings (children, the eldery, even animals) is work. Creating art is work. Responsibility doesn't mean taking any job you are offered, regardless of the consequences for yourself and your loved ones, so that some legislator can say the welfare rolls were reduced on his watch. Responsibility means taking care of yourself and those who depend on you to the best of your ability. It means doing what you say you are going to do. And those are things Mr. Frist doesn't seem to know a damn thing about.

Safety is a favorite value for politicians (of any stripe, reallly) to trot out when they're trying to make friends with the folks who elect them. They pound their pulpits about how concerned they are for our safety as a nation. Our porous borders and threats from terrorists keep them up at night because they're so worried about keeping us safe. Well, I value safety too, and I think they're looking in all the wrong places. I'm not worried about migrant workers, or even terrorist bombers. I'm worried about crossing parking lots at night. I'm worried about the one in five change I--and every other woman--will be sexually assaulted. I'm worried about the erosion of my rights to choose what to do with my own body. I don't need to be protected from outside invaders, Mr. Frist. I need to be protected from you.

At some point whilst I was reading Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin over the weekend, one of the featured characters said something about the most scary words in the English language for a writer being "no ideas."

Well I hear that. Because that's what my problem is, mostly. I have no ideas. I used to write a lot more than I do now, and I've blamed various things (including blogging) for that, but the real reason is that I have a lot fewer ideas than I used to have. Things used to interest me more. There was more that seemed worth exploration, or at least a good rant. Making up stories seemed like a good way to fill time. Now I'm not sure I could make up a story if I tried. It's been years since I've even attempted fiction, and longer than I'd like to admit since I've written any non-fiction of substance either.

This is all very depressing to me. Partially because I've really learned to love the non-fiction personal essay as an art form and I'd like to be writing them, and partially because I remember when writing used to bring me a lot of joy and that joy hasn't really been replaced by anything else.

There's also the laziness factor. On the rare occaison I do think of something I'd like to put on paper, I am generally too lazy to do it justice. I write stream of conciousness and don't' edit or spell check (as you know, if you've ever read this blog before). I don't fully think things out. I babble. Before I'm through the first paragraph, writing whatever I'm writing starts to feel like a chore rather than like something I do for fun.

And I want to know what happened. When did I stop liking to write? When did writing stop liking me? What was the last piece of fiction I wrote? Was I ever actually good at this? I honestly can't remember. Looking back on my life is like looking back at a movie I saw while really high--I remember bits and pieces, but actual plotline and themes were completely lost on me. I know that there was a time when I journaled every day, not because I felt obligated, but because I couldn't not journal. When I wrote on scraps of paper and napkins at restuarants. When I had multiple novels running in my head. When I wrote short stories. When I (gag) even wrote poems. What happened to that?

Like much of the world, I've got World Cup mania and have been watching as many matches as I can for the past couple of weeks. Soccer is a new passion for me, though, so I didn't know much going in about the sport, the teams, or the specific players.

Which is why, I guess, I was so startled last weekend when I watched the Brazil match and the commentators kept talking about how much weight Brazilian star Ronaldo has gained. I mean, they wouldn't let up on it. Every other comment was about how fat and sloppy and slow he was. And it really bothered me, but also felt really strange, like I was missing something.

Then I figured it out. They were talking about him like he was a girl! Like his weight was a measure of his character. They were connecting weight gain to a host of other character flaws--laziness, egotism, greed. And anything he did that they felt was wrong, from a missed play to an unpleasant expression, came back to his weight. His name could hardly be mentioned without "fat" somewhere in the same sentence.

I don't think I've ever seen a man treated quite the way before. For women, it's common. Thin=virtuous. Thin=in control. Thin=good. We've all had that drilled into our heads practically from birth. But for men, even though fatphobia certainly exists, the scale has always seemed much different. For one thing, you have to be a lot fatter as a man before anybody is going to say anything. For a woman, any extra weight, or often even a moderate weight, can and is seen as fat. For a man, the standards generally aren't so exacting. Which is one reason the Ronaldo thing is so weird--he's just not that big. He may have gained a lot from some starting point I'm not, as a new football fan, aware of, but he's not that fat. If it hadn't been mentioned 100 times, I never would have thought of him as any heavier than most of the other players I've been watching. What's even weirder, though, is the conflation of fat and all of these negative qualities. Because the disgust with fat Ronaldo has nothing to do with how physically attractive he is or is not. Nobody cares about Ronaldinho's buck teeth. It's not about being a sex symbol. It's about more than that. Nobody has a problem with Ronaldo's mythic weight gain because he's not cute now or something. They have a problem with it because they connect it to him being a lesser soccer player, and a lesser person.

Which gets me to thinking about a chicken-or-egg question. Did Ronaldo really gain a bunch of weight and it has affected his efficacy as a player and that's why people are pissed? Or did he stop playing as well and people just use "fat" as a proxy for what they're really saying--that he is declining? Is fat literal, or is it just stand-in for whatever else is wrong?

Either way, it's bullshit. Nobody, man or woman, star or plebian, needs to have international commentators (and, I hear, their country's president) comment on their weight even once, much less ad nauseum. As a soccer player, Ronaldo is subject to criticism of his game, and I think that's fair. But the weight and the game are separate issues, much as people conflate them. Fat is a physical descriptor, it shouldn't be used as a metaphor.

Some fool in the American Spectator (bastion of quality writing that it is) wrote a piece about how bad writing on blogs is. I'm not going to link to it, but I found it at Echidne's if you are interested. Fool says that blogs are a bad way to expose our valuable natural young people resources to writing and reading, because they are illogical, jumpy, stream-of-consciousness exercises in narcissism rather than quality writing.

On the whole, I don't disagree with Mr. American Spectator. Or at least not with his premises. Blogs are narcissistic. They are mostly exercises in memoir and autobiography, by definition narcissistic genres. Blogs are quite often train-of-thought, though some bloggers (Echidne among them) do take the time to construct concise arguments that follow logical patterns and are even fact-based (note that I am not one of these bloggers). One can, as Mr. Spectator makes such a point of saying, jump through many subjects and opinions in a few mouse clicks, all by following blog links.

What I fail to see is what is wrong with any of that, and what about any of it translates to poor quality writing? Narcissism? Tell that to Faulkner or Joyce, who wrote thousands of pages basically about themselves. Stream of consciousness? Dostoevsky and Proust will be thrilled to hear that. Or is it the ease with which we can read other people's opinions, across a broad spectrum, that bothers Mr. Spectator so much? Is he afraid learning might come too easily?

If the point was to warn readers that a critical eye is necessary when garnering information from online, or remind them that all of us self-publishing bloggers are beholden to no editor and can say pretty much whatever we want, however we want, then Mr. Spectator's article would have been a reasonable thing. There is a danger in forgetting how to sort information, evaluate sources, etc. when it's so easy to put something permanently into print. However, this doesn't seem to have been Mr. Spectator's point. Rather, he's concerned with us illogical, jumpy, narcissistic plebians getting our own little bit of space, space that should, I guess, be reserved for his likeness. And he's even more concerned that someone might be reading us. But I don't think it's the figurative or cultural literacy of our youth that's really keeping him up at night.

I think he's afraid we might take over.

So my fat friend? Broke the all-time World Cup scoring record today. Put that in your fatphobic pipe and smoke it.

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I got really into soccer-football during this World Cup. I've never been into it at all before, but I quickly learned the rules, something about the different teams, and now I'm a bonafide fan. Enough that I was physical jumping up and down with excitement when I learned that Fox's Soccer Channel is part of our existing cable package.

No sooner do I become a fan, though, than I become a disillusioned fan. And no, this is not about Zidane. Well, it's partially about Zidane, I guess, but it's a much bigger issue.

I heard murmurs of racism problems in international soccer, and of violence on and off the pitch that was somehow tied to this racism and scary nationalist attitudes, but it wasn't something I gave much thought to before the final game and Zidane's infamous headbutt. Thinking about it, though, Zidane's reaction to whatever his opponent said (and I don't believe for a minute it was something benign) was only the pinnacle, the most visible example of nastiness and racism and violence that plagued what was otherwise a very cool World Cup.

I wrote before about how bothered I was by the fat-bashing directed at Brazil's Ronaldo. That's one example of the off-pitch hatred in this world cup, both within national/team units and between them. The extremely loud booing that could be heard from the stands whenever Portugal's Christian Ronaldo got the ball is another example. I understand that he's an irritating prima dona, and I agree, but was that really necessary? Every time? And what about Italy's de Rossi bashing Sam McBride's face in the U.S.-Italy game? The famous Wayne Rooney nut-crushing? Totti's spitting in an opponent's face? Can you imagine the kind of words that went along with these actions, both by the penalized perpetrators and by the "victims"? Given the reputation soccer has earned for extreme racism, how many of these physical outbursts, and others like them, were provoked by racist language? And how much racism was there that didn't even provoke violence?

Going back to Zidane, an Algerian Frenchman, as well as one of the minority of light-skinned players on the French team, it's not hard to imagine the things that could have been said to him by his Italian opponent or any other opponent. Does this excuse his violent behavior? Probably not, but it's not hard to imagine how it comes about in that kind of environment.

Pele called soccer "the beautiful game," and is held up as the shining example of the pure, joyous game exemplified by Brazilian players. Yet Pele himself broke two opponents' legs during his career in the 60s and 70s, implying that the problems of racism and violence in soccer are anything but a new development.

The two things I really loved about the World Cup are the internationalism and the non-celebrity joy in the game. As an American, accustomed to men's professional sports being about money, attitude, and endorsements more than any sort of game, seeing people play for what seemed to be, at least in part, the love of the game, was incredibly refreshing. The nationalist nature of the tournament didn't even bother me, and I'm someone who is icked out by the Olympics. But it seems that all of that is fragile, given both the individual attitudes of players who have achieved celebrity status (generally by their places on club teams) and by the rampant racism to which players and fans are subject, and which both fans and players exhibit. As beautiful as the game clearly is, the beauty is fragile, and must be protected. I wish Zidane had been better able to protect it. I have faith, though, both in Zidane's post-retirement career, and in the crop of young players that shone so brightly during this cup. It's clear that these players have work to do both on and off the pitch to protect their game, and I hope they do it. Having caught on to soccer so late, I'd hate to be paying attention only to its decline.

My regard to 3quarksdaily for helping me get my thoughts on this together.

I've written quite a bit recently about how adrift I feel, how isolated from the people I love. Trust me, I'm more tired of thinking about it than you are of hearing about it. I miss my family, who are all pretty much in the same place, half a continent away. I miss my friends, who are scattered in different places, mostly several states or more away. And I pre-emptively miss my closest friends here in Austin, who are about to move half a world away. Mark and my dogs are fantastic, but I feel increasingly disconnected from the world outside my house. My communication with my far-flung friends and family has also suffered. I know, intellectually, that the best way to let them know how much I miss them and how much I wish we were in the same place, and to emulate that being the case, is to keep up constant communication. This is something I've never been great at, but never been terrible at, either. But now, right when it should be the opposite, I'm getting worse. And it's not that I don't have time to make phone calls or write emails, it's that I don't know what to say. My life is the same. My day-to-day thoughts aren't worth typing out. Keeping in touch over long distances, unless you call or email every day, just is never the same as having people around all the time, and while I used to be able to make the most of that difference, sending mammoth emails and even occaisonal cards and care packages, lately I just don't have the heart.

Which is a concern, because really, there's nothing else to be done. The reality of my situation--of most of our situations in the modern world, I guess--is that we don't get to live in the same place all our lives and have those kinds of uninterrupted, deep-running roots. Our friends and families scatter and never regroup the same way twice. And we've invented all of these ways of keeping in touch (from the telephone to Skype, the care package to the webcam) precisely because of that scatter. These methods have to be enough, because they're all that we have.

Trite, maybe, but in my head all the same:

One more song about moving along the highway
Can't say much of anything that's new
If I could only work this life out my way
I'd rather spend it being close to you
But you're so far away
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?
It would be so fine to see your face at my door
Doesn't help to know you're so far away
Yeah, you're so far away
-Carole King

I can't get the Willard Suitcase Exhibition out of my head. I even dreamed about it last night. So this post will contain "spoilers," as it were, and I highly recommend you click the link and take a look for yourself before you read it.

I have been trying to post to this blog at least five days a week, just to keep myself writing and thinking, and I am doing tolerably well. I did miss yesterday, though, because I couldn't think of a damn thing to say. And I can't think of anything that's much good today either, but be that as it may, I am going to post what is on my mind.

And what is on my mind is this: I fucking hate bras.

Not an issue of great world significance, maybe, but one I am worked up about all the same. Why? Because I have exactly one variety of bra that doesn't drive me so nuts I can't stand to wear it. That bra is the ultra utilitarian Jockey 4701, a seamless, unpadded, unlined, wireless cotton bra. It's not a pretty bra, but it's a functional bra. However, it's also a bra that wears out extremely quickly. The ones I have now are about a year old, and they are ready for the rag bag. So I thought maybe I could find another bra that would suffice, and went to a couple of stores to try things on.

And nothing fits. Nothing. First of all, nearly every damn bra has a wire in it, and I am just not going to wear a bra with a wire. They aren't comfortable. The wireless ones I did find were meant for pre-teens, and I don't have pre-teen sized breasts. Then there was one wireless Hanes model I found, similar to the Jocky style, except it didn't fit at all.

After complaining to friends about not being able to find a single fitting bra, it was suggested to me that I might be wearing the wrong size. I've had a professional bra fitting, and I wear either the size suggested in that fitting or the band size suggested with one cup size larger. But maybe the fitting was wrong. So I carefully took my measurements, with Mark's assistance, and went online to see what measurement calculators had to tell me.

They had lots of things to tell me. The I'm sure very good advice given in Dr. B's Advice from a Bra Wizard post told me I'd wear a 38D. this site told me that my bra size is 40 (40 what?), but that "no bra is needed if these measurements are accurate." Will they tell my coworkers that? This calculator tells me a 40C will fit, but this one tells me I'm a 42DD or E, and Bali tells me I'm a 42AA, but sorry, they don't have anything in that size! To further complicate matters, Lady Grace says I'm a 40B, Maidenform says 38D, and via Victoria's Secret I find I should be in a 42AA!

So I'm left with no clue as to whether I'm in the right size or not, whether what I'm wearing is too big or too small, and what brands might fit better. I've been calculated at anywhere from a 38 to a 42, and every cup size from AA to DD! And I'm sick of the whole proposition and would just prefer to keep the bras I have. Except that they're falling apart. So I have to buy new ones. And if that's not something to complain about, I dunno what is.

Go see me holding my very favorite mug over at Squid's blog. First, note that I do not photograph well and feel sorry for me. Then get some of your own Leelo gear to help support autism awareness and research.

What a lovely weekend I had! I wish it weren't over. Mondays are so depressing. No matter how much I like my job, Mondays are just sad.

We sold the Mazda, which was fantastic. We got $200 less than we asked for it. We probably could have held out for full price, but it's nice just to have it over and done with, and the family to whom we sold it were very nice. So now our floor fund is complete, I think, and we are going to start figuring out what our plan is for the floors. Finally. Mark got all emotional about letting the car go--it's such a great car, it was our first major purchase together, etc. I thought it was funny. But I apparently have ice water in my veins, so there you go.

As requested, a (slightly psychotic) picture of my new hairstyle. I toned it down, so it's no longer Fifth Element orange. Further proof I'm getting old, I guess. Please keep in my previous comments about how un-photogenic I am.

Welcome to the new and improved What if No One's Watching! If you're an old reader who managed to find me in my new location, I commend you and hope you like the change (and that you'll spread the word). If you're a new reader, I hope you'll stay.

My recent move from Blogger was spurred by several things, including features I wanted to use that are not available there, irritation with how often I am unable to publish on Blogger, and my general rapture with the MT-powered blogs created by my friend The Princess (to whom I am deeply, deeply indebted for helping with the creation of and hosting the new WINOW). However, now that I've been through the process of copying three years worth of Blogger content over to this new space, I've gone from slightly exasperated with Blogger to seriously pissed.

You see, Blogger, through some glitch in their system, has locked me out of WINOW as it exists at avengingophelia.blogspot.com. Which means there is no way for me to post notice on that site for readers to come here to find me. When I emailed Blogger asking for help, they refused to help, saying that they are concentrating all of their resources on Beta. So as far as I can tell, there is nothing I can do. This is supremely frustrating. It's not like I have a huge readership, but I'd like to be able to tell those people who do read WINOW that I've just moved, not jumped ship completely.

Griping aside, I am really excited about this new space and what I'll be able to do with it. It's not fully operational yet--no pictures, no sidebar links, and only some of my old content fully imported in. However, these things and more will be coming over time, so stay tuned.

Let's get something out of the way right off: today, August 28, is my birthday. I was born at 2:59 in the afternoon on Tuesday, August 28, 1979, making this the 27th anniversary of my birth. So if something truly terrible happens to you today, it's my fault.

To explain: bad things happen on my birthday. It started on my 18th birthday, when my great-grandfather, with whom I was close (and who had been sick for quite some time), died. The next year, on my 19th birthday, a family friend died. The next year, on my 20th, my dad's dad died unexpectedly. On my 21st, my dad and stepmom announced their divorce. Fast forward a few years where I think the curse is broken, and last year, on August 28, millions of people attempt to evacuate in Louisiana and Mississippi as Hurricane Katrina threatens. They don't all get out, and the next day Katrina hits. My birthday is not a good time for all.

Even though the rest of my birthday tragedies have been personal, and that last one is anything but, it's the last one that hits the hardest. When I just felt like I was killing off my own family members, that was one thing, but feeling like I share an anniversary with one of the biggest days of destruction in national history really is a little bit much. Ever media outlet plays some version of "Katrina: A Year Later" and I whimper "but...but...it's my birthday!"

You'd think, nine years into this curse, that I'd just give up and stop celebrating, or declare a changed birth date, or something. But instead I stubbornly insist that I get to keep my birthday and the bad shit can just go happen some other day. But I walk with caution, too--as if it's always Friday the 13th on August the 28th or or something. And you should, too. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I wrote my first anti-uniform piece when I was 16. I was a member of a local newspaper's teen team, and I fought to be assigned the anti-uniform stance in a point-counterpoint article (front page of the section!). As a picture to accompany the article, the girl who wrote the pro-uniform side was given a small budget and told to go to Target or Wal-Mart or wherever and buy clothes she would consider an appropriate uniform for high schools. I was told to come in my own clothes, whatever I thought best reflected my typical style. Then they took our pictures back-to-back and printed our pieces. She came in navy pants with an elastic waist, a plain white polo shirt, and plain dark shoes. I came in jeans I inherited from my stepfather, a hand-tooled leather belt from the 70s (with someone else's name on the back of it), a striped v-neck, and Birkenstocks. We were equally comfortable and able to move around. We were equally "covered up." We both felt, I assume, that what we were wearing said something about ourselves as individuals.

More than ten years later, I have no idea what my "opponent" (whose name I've forgotten) thinks about dress codes and uniforms. As for me, though, my stance hasn't changed much. Now, as then, uniforms make my skin crawl, and I abhor dress codes. It's not so much about the mystical ability to "express myself" through my clothes as it is about control. The way I see it, dressing is an extension of body autonomy, and I don't want someone else telling me what parts of my body need to be covered, by what, etc. It irritates me in employment situations (which are, mostly, voluntary) and it enrages me in schools (which are, mostly, not).

I spent much of high school pressing the dress code issue. My high school did not have a particularly stringent code, but certain things (midriff tops, shorts or skirts that were too short, spaghetti strap tanks, hats, etc.) were not allowed. I wore all of them at one time or another. It wasn't about being sexxxxeeee, or about showing off my body. It was about testing boundaries. It was about exercising my own autonomy, and seeing how far I could push.

Interestingly, when I moved to college, where there was no dress code (literally none, we had naked students at Reed), I started caring a lot less about my clothes. I had my own uniform, of a sort--baggy cargo pants or BDUs, a t-shirt, a hoodie. I did a few wild things with my hair, pierced my navel (not allowed in high school), got my first tattoo (also not allowed), but basically, I kept myself covered up and didn't think much about it. As an adult, working in professional environments, I wear clothing that is, by and large, appropriate. I do wear sleeveless shirts and dresses, which some people find inappropriate (particularly because it shoes my upper arm tattoo), but none of my employers have had any problem with this, so I guess it's fine. Having the freedom to dress the way I see fit hasn't turned me into some kind of monster. If anything, it's let to me chilling out about the whole situation.

Dress codes and uniforms, in most cases, are about control. They generally come about through dictates rather than community processes, coming down from a superior as rules for inferiors. This is the case in schools, in places of employment, and in prisons. I object to this kind of control. I buck against this kind of control, and I think a lot of people do. And moreover, I think we should, particularly women. Because in truth, there's not much difference between someone with power over you telling you to cover it up and telling you to take it off. Either way, someone who is not you is exercising control over your body decisions, and I think it's right to fight that.

My basic premises are as follows:

1. People should be left to dress as they see appropriate, with the exception of dress codes needed for safety reasons and uniforms needed for identification purposes (i.e. police officers, fire fighters, etc.);
2. If left to their own devices, people will generally dress in a way that is deemed "appropriate" for whatever their position/station is;
3. If left to their own devices and not dressing "appropriately," people generally aren't hurting anyone or anything anyway.

I honestly don't understand what is so hard about that. It seems to me that uniforms and dress codes are just unnecessary rules in nearly all cases, and I don't see any point to restricting people unnecessarily. The so-called benefits of dress codes seem mostly invented to me (safer? less distracting? less classist? really? are you sure?), and the drawbacks are much larger than people realize.

One of the phrases my non faith-inclined mind has long pondered is "God is everywhere." Change-ups of this phrase, such as "God is everything" or any of the various admonishments about carrying God around in your heart have similarly confused me. If I can't even find God in a church, who can find Him everywhere? Everywhere? Even in the bathroom?

Yesterday, I witnessed something that brought these truisms to light a bit more.

I was at Target, browsing the clearance racks, trying to find some camisoles before they clear out for the winter. Two women and a pre-teen girl were browsing the rack next to mine. "Keep looking," one of the women told the girl. "He wouldn't have shown us that skirt if he hadn't meant for there to be a shirt to go with it."

Who was he, I wondered, looking around for their male companion. Could he come and find me some of those cute cropped pants in black and in a 16?

Then, eavesdropping further on their conversation, I realized it.

They weren't talking about him, they were talking about Him. They didn't have a male shopping companion--at least not one I could see. They were carrying their shopping coach around in their hearts.

And sure enough, one rack over, He found them a shirt to go with that skirt.

As I drove home (without having found what I was looking for, unsurprisingly), I pondered their faith-based shopping initiative. I make no claims to know what God wants. I don't even know who God is, or if God is, much less His internal desires. However, it seems to me that if I were a supreme being, I'd get a little bit irritated at being called upon to assist in trolling the clearance racks at Target. Or assist in winning a football game. Or assist in any of the millions of other details of people's lives that I was constantly being bugged about. When you are responsible for an entire world, seems like you'd have to focus on the big stuff.

This may well be just one more example of why I'm never going to understand faith. Weirder even than praising in a church, in my mind, is connecting a supreme being to everything I do and everywhere I am. I can't imagine it being anything more than an annoyance for both parties, creator and created. Then again, the folks I was listening in on went home with a bag full of clearance goodies and I didn't, so who knows?

I'm so sad about Ann Richards' death yesterday that I haven't been able to figure out what to say about it here. As a woman, as a "progressive," and as a transplanted Texan, I've long admired Governor Richards' work and looked to her as proof that sometimes Texas can be something good, even something great. We'll miss her.

Karen, the force behind one of my favorite blogs, Chookooloonks, has recently started something she calls "Love Thursday." The idea is that every Thursday, bloggers around the blogosphere will post pictures that show love, or tell stories that show love, on their blogs. There is also the option of participating in the Love Thursday Flickr Pool. I think it's a great idea, and Karen's own Love Thursday posts have so far been an amazing and inspiring, so I thought I'd try it out for myself.

For my Love Thursday, I give you Chance, who probably taught me personally more about love than any other creature who has ever lived or ever will. Knowing Chance made me realize things about myself and what I am capable of that I otherwise never would have guessed. And I don't just mean about loving dogs, but about loving people, about wanting to be the kind of person who takes care of people and of animals. Not only did I love Chance, but I love the person he helped make out of me.

I miss him every day. Love is beautiful, and happy, the way Karen has shown it so far on Chookooloonks, but love is hard, too. Love means loss. But it's worth it.

In the comments to that last post regarding It's a Girls World, my friend Scand asked an interesting question. As I have been a bully myself, what would I have said I was angry about, if asked, during my bullying days?

I wish I had an answer. But I don't. Part of the problem is that my experiences with bullying, both as a victim and a perpetrator, are very hazy. I know I came home from school crying and never wanted to go back and had no friends at times, and I know I participated in a "slam book" and was a terror to other girls at other times, but I don't have any really specific memories--certainly no memories that are clear enough that I can tap into how I felt at the time.

I'm surprised by how clear man women's memories of their childhood bullies seem to be, and I wonder what it means that mine aren't. I honestly don't feel like I was scarred for life by being bullied as a child. It was horrible at the time, I'm sure, but I don't think I suffer from it as an adult. Many women clearly do. What made my experiences different? Was it just that I didn't undergo the kind of terrorizing that some women did? Or is it that I was sometimes on the other side as well?

As I mentioned in my previous post, I believe that one of the root causes of female-to-female bullying and aggression is unresolved anger. Women aren't allowed to be angry, and we have ever so much to be angry about. I think this is part of the reason girls who don't fit a stereotypically feminine mold are often singled out for aggression--they make a good target for other girls who wish, consciously or not, that they didn't have to fit that mold either. Even as an adult, with what I hope is more awareness of my motives and behavior than I had as a child, I can sometimes feel myself becoming angry and resentful at women who are somehow able to live outside of boundaries I feel corralled by. Could the same thing that makes me resentful as an adult have made me a bully as a child? Is that part of the equation?

As I mentioned before, there seem to be two current leading theories of why girls bully each other. The first is Simmons' theory, that girls are not taught how to argue or fight in a healthy way and so they begin to act in mean, petty, passive-aggressive ways. The second, discussed in Leora Tanenbaum's Catfight, is that female aggression is based largely on competition. Women and girls are nasty to each other out of jealousy and competition for scarce resources (time, jobs, men, whatever). Tanenbaum's reasoning resounds with me as much as Simmons' does, but again, I think there is more to it. I think it may be less about "scarce resources" and more about resentment of other girls and women who seem to be getting off easier when it comes to being female.

I truly believe that just being born female in this world is enough to keep you mad for a lifetime. The unending, heartbreaking unfairness of it is enough weight all by itself to piss me off, before any details even come into play. As women, we are reminded a thousand times a day that we are considered inferior, and that everything is going to be harder for us simply by virtue of our sex. So perhaps seeing other women seem to deal with it easier, not be bothered by it, or fit naturally into roles that we have to contort ourselves into feeds into this anger, and we (wrongly) target those women for being better contortionists, rather than blaming the guys who created the boxes.

It's not a perfect theory by any means, but instinctively it feels reasonable to me. As a 27 year-old woman who has given a lot of time and thought to being a woman, I can admit that I'm angry all the time. Every day. And it is a lot to carry around. I hope that I don't take it out on other women, but if I am honest with myself, I know at times I have. And how much harder is it if you can't admit that you're mad? Or if you don't even know you're mad, or you do, but you have no idea why? It's not really surprising that the helplessness and confusion leads to misguided rage.

But how to get beyond the rage--or, better yet, use it for something constructive? That's the real question. And I still don't have an answer. For myself, all I can do is try to take people one at a time, for who they are. Try to err on the side of kind. But I know it's not enough. It's never enough.

I'm a day early for Love Thursday, but I'm blogging about love today anyway, because it's September 20, which is Mark's and my fifth anniversary. We've been together for five years today. We actually knew each other and were friends for four years before that, too, so we're really coming up on our relationship's decade mark. Which is quite a long time, if you're 27.

I don't write a whole lot about Mark here, because it's personal, and because it's hard to put into words without sounding sappy. I was out with friends last night when the subject of relationships came up, and I said something about how glad I was to be partnered off so I didn't have to deal with dating and all that crap, especially in the age of online dating, which scares the crap out of me (not in a bad way--I'd do it if I were single, but it is just one more complicated realm that I am glad I don't have to deal with). One of my friends said that might be true, but he's seen Mark and I together, and our relationship isn't just about it being convenient to be partnered--we truly like each other.

And we do. Mark and I get along. We understand each other. And, so far, we've grown up in really complimentary ways, which is more than most people can ask for. We're both pretty different than we were five years ago, and we fit together in a much different configuration that we started out with, but it's worked, so far. We've been able to make it work, together. It hasn't always been easy--in fact, the first couple of years were really goddamn difficult--but recently it has been easy. He's easy to love. Usually, he's even easy to live with.

It's been a good five years.

If you are a bicyclist, and a supporter of small businesses run by fantastic people, please check out Rainy Peak Bicycles & Apparel. One of my very favorite cousins and her partner run this great little shop, and I'm told bike dorks are going buck-wild for her cutter bike pants and cool hats. Everything is hand-made, and your dollars go towards the care and feeding of a very, very cute Border Collie. Go spend some money.

It's a meme, which I'm trying to cut down on, but it's one with some content, and I'm a bit brain-dead today, so I'm going to try it. It came from Frog. You get four words and have to write something about each one.

If you want to play, your words are Kleenex, cold, minnow, and sober.

The words Frog gave are:

squeegee: When I played volleyball in high school, we did a fund raiser where we hired ourselves out to wash people's windows. It was horrible. A whole day of window washing. If you were lucky, or, more likely, popular, you got a squeegee. If you were me, you had to use newspaper and got newsprint stains on your hands.

ridiculous: Maybe I should be ashamed to admit this, but ever since I read and saw Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, when something frightens me that shouldn't (the dark, mysterious lumps on the dogs, Mark being a few minutes late, whatever) I think about the bogart scene and say "ridiculous!" to myself. It helps.

muffin: When I worked at the bakery in high school, we made these awesome upside-down muffins. You put a scoop of "smear" (made from shortening and brown sugar, I think) in the bottom of a muffin tin, followed by a good handful of chopped dried fruit and nuts, and scooped bran muffin batter over it, then baked. I think people thought they were healthy--bran, dried fruit, nuts. We didn't advertise the smear.

rhinoceros: I kind of feel sorry for rhinos. I mean, they are nearly as ungainly as elephants, but have none of the grace or beauty or brains. Or at least they don't seem to. I don't think I've ever actually watched an Animal Planet special about them, but for some reason I think of them as kind of mean.

I have not been blogging of late. The reason, in short, is that I am lazy. I spent a good deal of time this weekend in the bathtub, reading, and watching football-football and football-soccer. I spent none writing. I'm in that kind of a phase.

That being said, we did get a fairly major (for us) household project out of the way this weekend. The guest room closet, which we started demolishing last summer (the previous owners built an entertainment center into it, as they used the room as a TV room), is now patched, painted, and installed with wonderful new Elfa shelving and a hanging space. I haven't finished putting everything that is going to go in it away (linens, extra blankets, etc.), but it's looking pretty awesome. Next weekend we are on to painting at least one of the bathrooms and hopefully acquiring some new dining chairs. This is all in preparation for my folks' visit in early November. It's good to have a reason to get some of this done.

It's been a sad few days, as well as a productive one, as our friend T. left yesterday for Scandanavia. S. and their baby, H., will follow in about a month. I am indescribably sad to see them go. It's odd, actually--I've never had as much trouble saying goodbye as I'm having this time. It may have to do with me not being the one who is leaving, or with my not having prepared myself for them to not always be around from the beginning of our relationship, as I did (wittingly or not) with my college friends. Or maybe it's because they are going so far. Or because I doubt my ability to adequately keep in touch with them, given how poorly I'm doing with my other far-flung friends. I don't know...but it's really, really hard. It's nearly impossible to imagine life here without them, and seeing them packing up to leave makes me wish Mark would just finish up already so we could move on to wherever is next.

But onward and upward...

I've recently decided that I really want to join a book club. The problem is, how do I go about that? There are several local book clubs I could pick from--the ones at the library, several at bookstores, including a woman's book club at the local feminist bookstore and another one at the local indie bookstore, and various annoucements for book clubs soliciting members on Craigslist. No shortage of places to try out.

So what's the problem?

Well, me.

For those who have stuck it out and are still trying to access What if No One's Watching?, I appreciate it. As I'm sure you know, we've had some pretty major issues in the past weeks with the URL landing you at a holding page with a pop-up ad, rather than at my actual blog. Sorry about that. The problem was apparently with the company from whom I buy my domain name, and they assure me it's fixed. So thanks for sticking it out and please let me know if you have any more problems.

I've always been a big supporter of Madonna. No matter what crazy-ass thing she did, from the Sex book to the fake British accent and Kabbalah, I've defended her both as a brilliantly self-inventing and reinventing businesswoman and as a certain kind of artist (though not so much the kind she thinks she is). But this time, I have nothing good to say.

Being a news-avoider (both the real kind and the entertainment kind), I had only been vaguely aware of Madonna's adoption plans when my friend S. filled me in last night. Basically, as I understand it, Madonna visited Malawi on some sort of charity trip, donating a bunch of dough ($3 million?) to children there who are being ravaged by poverty and AIDS. Then she decided she wanted to take one of those babies home. Malawi law doesn't allow international adoption. However, rather than starting the labor-and-time intensive international adoption process from a country that does allow international adoption of its orphan children, Madonna decided that her celebrity status would allow her to bypass this bit of "red tape" and picked out a kid.

Yeah. Picked out a kid. One year-old David Banda, who has been living in an orphanage, but who is not an orphan. While David's mother died shortly after his birth, his father is still alive and is involved in his life (sounds like he's at the orphanage due to his father's extreme poverty and inability to care for him).

So not only is Madonna insisting on adopting a child from a country that doesn't allow international adoption, she's also adopting a child who has a father who wants him.

Making matters worse, while waiting for travel documents/permission to take David out of the country, Madonna and her husband, Guy Ritchie, left the country, leaving the baby with employees. Yep. So attached to the kid they couldn't wait a few weeks.

And that's pretty much where it stands now. Her adoption is being challenged, various organizations are arguing over whether it's a good idea, the baby's father has said that he did not support the adoption, but was told by the orphanage that he should, etc.

This is fucking infuriating, for a couple of reasons. First there are the obvious problems with this particular instance--Madonna's complete lack of respect for other people's laws and customs, for the adoption process, and for this boy's existing family. But beyond that, there's what the media around Madonna's baby-buying (because really, that is what this sounds like) does to people who adopt internationally for the right reasons, within the laws, and with years of forethought.

The obvious counter-example to the Madonna story, since we're talking celebrities, is Angelina Jolie. Angelina has two adoption children, both orphans. Her son Maddox is from Cambodia and her daughter Zahara is from Ethiopia. There have been piles of press about these adoptions, both positive and negative, and no shortage of insistences that Jolie bought her babies. However, this story is a lot different than Madonna's--it includes legal adoptions, of orphans, from countries with international adoption laws. And Jolie reportedly spent up to 18 months in Cambodia with Maddox before she was cleared to take him out of the country. While Madonna and Ritchie couldn't spare a few weeks.

The more important thing, though, is what this does to regular families who were brought together through international adoption. It's a subject near and dear to my heart because my best small friend, H., came to her parents, S. and T., by way of international adoption from China. Over the time period we've been friends with S. and T., we've watched much of the adoption process, from the beginning gathering of paperwork through multiple home visits, the months of wondering when the referral will come, the joy when the referral finally does show up, the arduous trip to China, the bonding of the new family, and H.'s first two years on American soil. Being an observer to this process has given me tremendous respect for people who choose to go this expensive, heart-wrenching route, and knowing this family and all of the good, true, right reasons they chose to expand in this way has made me livid at hearing international adoption scoffed at as accessorizing your boho family, as baby-buying. Which it is. Often. And sometimes by otherwise reasonable folks. How much more of this is Queen Madonna bringing down upon those adopt these kids by the rules and for the right reasons? And what fucking right does she have?

Fussy has decided that November, National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), should also be National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo). The object is to commit to post something to your blog every day for the entire month of November, or, if you are more a reader than a writer, to write a blog comment every day for the month of November. She's even made up the extremely compelling graphic at left. So I'm, as my friend Sofiya says, in with a grin. My attempt (last year? year before?) at NaNoWriMo was a complete disaster--I never even started. Hopefully I'll be better at this.

Yesterday in the mail, we received this gem from the City of Austin:

You will note, I hope, the helpful definitions of front yard, side yard, and motor vehicle, and the specific mention of operable AND non-operable vehicles. The same text was provided in Spanish on the other side of the page, because Austin is equal opportunity like that.

My reaction to this letter was, chronologically, the following:

1. We have a neighborhood association?
2. Jesus. People need to chill about their property values.
3. Are there really that many cars in yards in my neighborhood? Is this perhaps a "problem" I just don't notice when I am walking the dogs or driving around?
4. Why specifically call out panel trucks? What's a panel truck, anyway?
5. Who is on our neighborhood association?
6. Can I get on our neighborhood association and push through legislation disallowing cutting your grass?
7. How far into the suburbs does this mandate extend?
8. Mostly, motor vehicles that are parked on lawns are not going anywhere on a day-to-day basis. Is the fine per day?
9. Doesn't the City have anything better to do than this?
10. Haha. Annie Pennie is a funny name.

However, I couldn't just toss the page in the recycling and not think anything else of it. It bugs the shit out of me. I'm irritated both by the idea that the neighborhood association, whomever they are, and the city, think they need to tell people what they can and cannot have on their lawns and by the condescending and irritating tone of the missive. It has no effect on me specifically, as we only have one motor vehicle and it's generally parked in our garage (although it's in our driveway at present, due to the garage being my red chair painting zone). But it will effect some of my neighbors, including the retired mechanic neighbors directly behind us who have a small travel trailer parked in their side yard, which I suspect they take on trips with their Boston Terrier, Red. (I noticed this when walking the dogs last night, after reading the letter. I had not noticed it in the previous 18 months.) And why should it? Because some fuss budget is afraid of what their trailer will do to his property values? Good Lord. It seems almost certain they'll be after the old milk separator that serves as a planter in my front yard next. I think it's cool, old school industrial lawn art. But you'll notice they never asked me to be on the committee.

One of the things I really love about my neighborhood is the increasing diversity of people and households. What was once clearly a semi-suburban white bread neighborhood, with all of the three-bed-two-bath houses built in the same ten year period and with very similar guidelines on largish, "child friendly" lots is becoming a really interesting mix of older folks who have lived there for years, young people in their first homes, renters, families entering the home-owning middle class, college students, people who drive, people who take the bus, people who have dogs, people who have cars in their lawns. That's a good thing. Good for our quality of life. And I don't give a damn what it does to property values.

They took it seriously
The second job of citizenry
My mother went campaigning door to door
And holding to her hand was me
-Ani DiFranco, "Paradigm"

With only a few weeks left before the mid-term elections, I've been hearing lots and lots of talk about the candidates, the issues, and the possibility of the Dems taking back the Senate and the House. And, being my politically disenfranchised self, I've mostly been ignoring it. The entirety of my thoughts surrounding this election have been fairly half-hearted support for wacky Texas governor candidate Kinky Friedman (why the hell not?) and definite support for Austin's Proposition 4. I've grumbled, both inside and outside my head, that more Democratic seats in the Senate and House, even if they do materialize, aren't really going to make any difference, that the whole system is broken, that none of it matters anyway, and so on.

And so, the other day, in the midst of one of my it-doesn't-matter rants, someone asked me if I was going to vote at all. And, for the first time since I've been old enough to vote, I actually thought about it.

Yeah, I'm going to vote.

I will always vote, I think, because I know that not that many generations ago, women fought and even died to give me that right, and I appreciate their sacrifices. So no matter how insulting I think the choices are, I believe it is not only my right but also my obligation to choose, as a citizen and especially as a woman.

Is there anything beyond that, though? Do I really believe it makes any difference who wins and who loses?

I'm trying to come to an answer to that question. For many months, I've felt like it really doesn't matter, like Republicans and Democrats are so close together that it is a pointless exercise to choose between them (and, in the majority of cases, they are the only choices). With the possible exception of Barak Obama (I know, how original of me), it's been a long, long time since I've felt any hope or inspiration from any candidate, on any aisle side. And that goes double for the last two Democratic stuffed shirts who ran for president. Would I have preferred either Gore or Kerry win over Bush? Sure, but I don't think it would have made half the difference other people seem to.

Part of my disillusionment goes back to Bill Clinton. I truly believe that Bill Clinton should have lost his presidency and been criminally charged for, at the very least, sexual harassment stemming from his relationship with Monica Lewinsky. I don't give a shit if the president is unfaithful in his marriage--that's not my business--but when the president has sexual relationships with his subordinates, that is sexual harassment, and it's a crime, and one feminists have fought for years to have taken seriously. The reaction, by Democratic party leadership as well as national-level feminist leadership, Clinton's actions were some minor discretion that didn't need to be taken seriously, left me soured on the whole thing.

And I've remained that way, mostly because I haven't seen any reason not to. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to vote, and it doesn't mean, if given the choice, that I won't generally pick a Democrat over his or her competition. I really, really want to live in a better version of my country than the one I'm living in now, and I'm honestly not sure that I see our current electoral system as a reasonable way to get there, but until there's another option, I still feel indebted enough to my foremothers to do what I can, to choose, and to keep hoping.

So it's a small thing. Or is it? One's name is both a meaningless marker and an encapsulated identity. Both a small thing and not a small thing at all.

I just got off the phone with the vet's office. I love my vet. Love. But I don't love the reception staff, who just can't seem to get the name thing straight. All of the pets' intake forms list their last names as Mitchell Harnett. My name on everything there, from consent forms to credit cards receipts, is Grace Mitchell. And when I called just now, I said, verbatim, "This is Grace Mitchell. I'm calling to schedule an ultra sound for my dog Leo. You may have him listed under Harnett."

So when the receptionist got back on the phone and said, "Mrs. Harnett..." should I have been surprised?

How about when we received a very nice card from Mark's grandmother this weekend, addressed to Mark and Grace Harnett? Mark's grandmother is not senile. She knows Mark and I aren't married (leaving aside, for the moment, that my name would not change even if we were). So who is Grace Harnett?

I'd prefer people not assume Mark and I are married. But I know they will, and that, given our genders and our obvious relationship, it's a statistically probable assumption. And, if you assume we're married, that we'd have the same last name (his) is also a statistically probable assumption, for someone who doesn't know us. So I understand how a stranger would come to the conclusion that my last name is Harnett. However, if I have told you MULTIPLE TIMES what my freaking name is, it just feels disrespectful for you to continue calling me by something else. It's not just that I'm irritated, as a feminist, at the insistence that even if I haven't taken Mark's name, I should. It's that I feel a little piece of my identity, the one I've had my entire life, chosen by my mother, being negated when my name is misrepresented. And this is particularly exhausting when it is at the hand (or lips) of someone who knows me, either personally or professionally. So get with it.

*Ani, "In Or Out"

by Margaret Mason
Peachpit Press, August 11, 2006

As November quickly approaches, and with it, National Blog Posting Month, I am becoming a bit trepadatious about my ability to blog something worth reading every single day for 30 days running. Or to blog anything at all for 30 days running, worth reading or not. So, as I suspect many other bloggers will be doing, I'll be relying on Margaret Mason's new(ish) book, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog to provide me with post ideas on days when my mind is fallow.

I got Mason's book as a birthday gift from my friend The Princess, and I've really enjoyed looking through it. Quite a few of the ideas are things I've written about before (either from memes or they've just come up), but there are several that are new to me, which I'll definitely be using. A lot of them remind me of the "free writes" I've done in creative writing classes and workshops before, when you're given a general subject and told to write on it for X minutes without letting your pen leave the paper. And there's certainly some element of that in blogging, at least for a blogger like me, who tends to write unedited, stream-of-conciousness posts.

Mason's book isn't rocket science. It's a few good ideas, presented in a cute, funny, easily readable way. Great for a gift if you know a blogger with a birthday coming up, and likely very helpful to those of us who've made the commitment to NaBloPoMo.

"Man, money ain't got no owners, only spenders."-Michael K. Williams, as "Omar," The Wire

It became clear to me in the course of conversation today, again, that I have kind of a strange attitude towards money. Basically, I don't think I deserve any.

But that's not exactly it. What I don't think I deserve is more than other people have. See, were were talking about fiscal conservatism, and I started ranting about how much it burns me up, and that fiscal conservatives hate poor people. And really, that is what I think. Fiscal conservatism seems, to me, to be based on the premise that you deserve what you have (whether it's working class or middle class or more) and those under you don't. And I just don't buy it. I know that I don't work any harder for my current middle class income than I did for previous poverty level wages. And if I know that's true for me, then why would I presume that those who are living on those wages now are working less hard than I did?

It seems to me that there is very little corrolation between the level of effort we put into our paid employment and the level of financial reward we get out of it, so basing our "deserving" our lifestyles on our working seems silly.

So do we deserve it based on our choices? Do I deserve to be middle class because I went to college and put in the work and got good grades and all of that? It's hard for me to believe that I do, given how many people don't even have the option to make that choice, and how many more are dissuaded from it for perfectly good reasons. I can justify slightly higher wages based on my financial investment in my education, but that only accounts for some of it.

So if I don't deserve my middle class status based on my previous choices or based on my effort output, then I have to chalk it up to luck. And, mostly, I do. I am lucky to have been born with a level of intelligence that allows me to do what I do. I'm lucky to be healthy, and to have been born in this country, and to have had the opportunities I've had. Yes, others have been luckier (born into rich families, etc.), but I'm far, far luckier than most, and to me it just feels dishonest to attribute my financial position to anything other than luck.

Once you start attributing your paycheck more to luck than anything else, you become a lot less protective of it. And fiscal conservativism, at base, is about being protective of your money.

None of this means that I live a frugal lifestyle. Far from it. Not believing I deserve what I have doesn't keep me from using it to its full extent (and not believing I deserve it may indeed be part of the reason I keep my money spent to such an extreme degree). But I don't complain about paying my taxes, and I don't feel like the government is stealing my money when I have to write them a check.

I wonder if there is a middle ground? Will I ever be able to be personally fiscally responsible without becoming a dreaded fiscal conservative? Stay tuned to find out, I guess.

We had just a very lovely weekend. The big exciting news is that our family grew by one feline member. Our friend S. and T., and daughter H., are moving abroad, as I've mentioned. They are taking their dogs with them, but decided it was best not to take their cat, Esme, as they will be living in a much smaller place where it will be hard for her to have her own dog-free space. So we're adopting her. She's a joy to have so far--very cuddly when she can catch you away from Leo's prying nose, even sleeping in the crook of Mark's arm on her first night. And our brood are dealing fairly well with her arrival--Atticus is mad, but he's not particularly violent with his anger, and he'll get over it. Leo is very curious, and has had his nose swiped twice now for his trouble, but Esme will get used to him and realize he's not a threat to her, and I think they'll be friends eventually. Ata doesn't care one way or the other. I think to Ata she's just a new member of the flock--someone to be observed and watched over, but nothing to fret about.

Another pet-related note is that we took our dogs to a Pet Expo on Saturday. It was held at a big training facility up north of here, as a benefit for the SPCA. It was great fun, with lots of exhibitors (read: free stuff), games, and demonstrations (we saw a police dog demonstration, which was very cool). Our dogs got a ton of attention. There weren't a lot of other large dogs there--a couple of danes, what looked to be a Cane Corso, one Pyr that I saw--so Leo and Ata were stars. Ata ate up all the attention, and even Leo warmed up to it after a while. It was a beautiful, perfect day, and the boys were wonderfully behaved.

Yesterday we did several hours of yard work at S. and T.'s house, pretending we were on Designed to Sell or something. It went super well. We found some very economical and very healthy plants at Lowe's to put in (mums, mostly--I love how things bloom so far into the fall here), weed-whacked, raked, and did some general clean-up. It turned out great and was fun to do, with another perfect weather day. I really hope it helps them with the house sale.

It also really inspired us to get some more work done in our yard. Well, inspired us in theory, anyway. We don't have any money to spare on plants or mulch right now, but when we do, we're talking about making some renovations in our front yard, which would be great. I love the idea of more flowers...

Anyway, it was a lovely, active weekend. I always feel better on Monday when I did something over the weekend, rather than sitting around watching football for ten hours. But I'll probably do that next weekend anyway...

Quite a while since I've posted a non-History Making Woman entry, so I thought I'd check in.

The only thing there really is to report is that I am sick, sick, sick, and not getting over it. I've had what started as a head cold and now seems to be a bronchial cold or maybe an infection for what is now ten days, to greater and lesser degrees of misery. Twice now I've thought I was on the mend and then be re-floored the next day. It is getting really, really old. And I'm completely out of sick time at work, of course, so I'm now burning vacation days, which leaves me less than thrilled, to say the least.

My mom and stepdad came to visit last weekend, which was great. I kept it together enough to chauffer them around and show them things, but I felt like shit the whole time, so I didn't enjoy the visit as much as I otherwise would have. Which is a bummer, but I guess that's par for the course when you are me and you spend more time sick than you do healthy.

See? It was better when I was just posting about the admirable women. Nothing I've got to say is worth a damn.

My brother-in-law was in a motorcycle accident yesterday. It looks like he's going to live, but that wasn't a given from the outset. The damage is extensive--collapsed lungs, internal bleeding, broken bones, and a nearly completely severed right hand, which he is undergoing multiple surgeries to try and save. He was riding far out of town and had to wait, alone, for several hours while his companion went to get help. It's a bad, bad scene.

Prayers and other positive thoughts directed his way would be much appreciated.

This has a purpose. Trust me.

I don't know how much it has come out here, since I haven't been writing much that's all that personal (which is, I think, a nice change from my usual blogging style), but I'm getting depressed. Or maybe I am depressed? I feel like I've been "getting" depressed for long enough that it's either already here and I missed it's arrival or the journey is, in this case, the destination. Either way, it's been a pretty good struggle to get out of bed most mornings for the foreseeable past, and I'm walking around with the feeling of carrying a very heavy imaginary backpack. Which is not something new to me, nor is it something I can't cope with, but it's a bummer, all the same.

One of the things that has been suggested to me, by both friends and professionals, as a way of combatting getting bogged down in depression and letting my behavior spin out of control, is to make a point to "check in with myself," ideally in writing, at given interludes. The idea is to get down what your goals/obstacles are and be able to check back on them over time, so you have "proof" to show yourself that you are (or aren't) making progress, or doing what you know you need to do, or whatever.

One way we do that, I think, is with the tradition of New Year's resolutions. Obviously, annually is not often enough to check in with oneself, at least not for someone like me. But it's a start. So I'll begin with last year's resolutions. I made 12 of them last year.

As I've likely mentioned, my favorite little girl in the world is adopted from China. Her parents started the adoption process...fivish? years ago, and she's been with them for coming up on three years this summer. Watching the whole process unfold has been one of the more inspiring and instructive things I've ever experienced. It has opened up entire new avenues of thought for me about parenthood, childhood, race, culture, and where I want to fit in with all of these things. Seriously, it's been huge for me, and I'm involved only peripherally.

Which is why, when I heard on NPR last night and then started reading follow up article, the new adoption rules being put in place by the Chinese government just break my heart.

On one hand, I'm thrilled that there are starting to be more internal adoptions in China, particularly of girls. That speaks to a change in culture that has to be positive, and if there are truly more people wanting to adopt "orphaned" Chinese children and infants than there are orphans, that is wonderful news.

On the other hand, using this particular set of rules to narrow the field of adopters makes me sick in my stomach. Specifically, the new rules would prohibit adoptions by "single" people (i.e. unmarried people), people over 50, obese people, and people with a history of depression.

Yep. No fatties, no moodies, no oldies, and no unmarrieds. Cuz we all know those people are shitty parents.

Previously, China had a quota system on unmarried parents (8% of adoptions, which isn't great, but is better than nothing), an age limit of 55 (again, slightly better), and no rules about obesity or depression. The new rules also require a net worth of at least $80,000.

The reasoning behind these limits is that it will narrow the field of potential adopters while improving the quality of families the children are adopted into. And that's where it rubs me all wrong. These aren't good criteria by which to choose better parents. If adoption is going to be competitive, fine, that's probably good for the kids. But the automatic denial of applications by fat people, older people, single people, or people who take anti-depressants? That's not going to do it.

How do I know that? I know because under these rules, it's possible that my favorite little girl in the world wouldn't be here, for one reason or another. And that would be so, so wrong.

And I also know because under these rules, Mark and I couldn't adopt. We actually couldn't adopt now anyway, because you have to be 30 (which I have no problem with, for the record). But a couple of years from now, we still wouldn't be able to. Not even if we got married like good little heterosexuals. Why not? Because I have a whole big fat medical record full of anti-depressants. Paradoxically, these very anti-depressants are one of the reasons I would want to adopt, rather than bear children myself, if given the choice. I know that I am well medicated, and that while I take these pills, I could be a very good parent. I am less sure that I could be a very good parent off them, and going off them might be necessary were I to carry and breastfeed a child. Hence, adoption. No Catch-22 there.

I know there is a lot of disagreement about international adoption, with some people classifying it as cultural imperialism, baby buying, and worse. I've given my opinion on that before and see no need to go into it again. I don't think anybody has a "right" to a baby, adopted or birthed. However, I also don't think these particular criteria are good ones by which to restrict the privilege of parenthood. If there are more adopters than adoptees, that's wonderful, and I'm all for each child getting the best possible family match. However, I'm equally for people being fairly assessed for their potential as parents, and of all of the things that might make me unsuitable as a parent, I am completely sure the two little pills I take every day to keep my brain chemistry balanced don't make the list. And, for the record, neither does my fat ass, even if and when it crosses the border towards obesity.

It is difficult, probably to the point of impossible, to develop a list of quantative criteria by which good parents can be judged. But can't better stand-ins be found? Ones that don't keep out wonderful parents, like my friends, and even pretty damn good potential parents, like me?

I am going to be away for the holidays and probably not blogging for the next week and a bit. However, due to the miracle of setting the blog to publish itself in advance, there should still be a new History Making Woman up every day I'm gone (I think). So enjoy, happy holidays, and I'll be back in a bit to regale you with tales of my (maybe) white Christmas in Minnesota.

Today is the first day of 2007. There's always a lot of looking back at this time of year (or at least during the days proceeding this day of the year), and that's all well and good and I generally do some of that myself, but today I woke up looking forward.

I'm excited to see what 2007 will bring. Really, more of the same would be just fine with me. 2006 was a lovely year, all things being accounted for. Life is generally very good. There are, as always, some things I'd like to change and improve upon in the next year, but nothing that shatters me.

My head is taken up mostly by an endless list of projects I'd like to accomplish over the next two days. I got a surprise day off tomorrow due to the day of mourning for former President Ford, which is a great impetus to expand my list of things to do. Mostly it's house cleaning and organization stuff. Not a way most people would choose to begin the new year, maybe, but it feels right to me to try to begin with things clean and orderly, in both my house and my mind.

Happy 2007, y'all. May it be all you want it to be.

What if No One's Watching, including the Women Making History project, are going to be on hiatus for at least a day or two, and possibly a week or more. I was thinking of hiatusing anyway, as I'm not getting as much out of the Women Making History stuff as I was before and think I could use a little break, and now I'm sick to boot (just a bad cold, but enough to make me miserable), so now seems like a good time to go offline for a bit. Talk to you soon.

Didja miss me?

I'm slowly rising from the bog I was in last week. The combination of post-holiday letdown, a serious head-to-chest cold, and a spike in my most feared pollen had me laid flat out from Wednesday through Saturday. I felt marginally better yesterday and even managed to go to dinner with some friends I see not nearly enough of. Today...I'm surviving. First day back to work in over two weeks is gonna be rough no matter how you slice it, and the pollen count isn't getting any lower. I'm on a tea-IV, though, fully expecting to take a lunch-time nap, and so far doing OK.

So it's the new year. Renewal and cleanliness and starting over-ness abounds. This, I think, is good. For myself, I've come to what I'd term more "New Year's conclusions" than New Year's resolutions. Put simply, I can't keep living the way I have been, financially or in terms of my physical body. In both realms, I've been stubbornly resisting the reality that I am not getting any younger, that I do need to plan for my future, and that it is my responsibility to take care of myself. That's got to stop. I owe it both to my future self and my present one to do a better job managing my excess in the areas of spending and eating, and to dig in and do the hard work of saving and exercising. So that's what I intend to do.

That's it. No plan. No crazy idea to take a second job, because the truth is I can't handle a second job. No diet. Just mindfulness. Just knowing that it's time to be a grown up about these things, as I am about so many other things in my life, even when I don't wanna. And hopefully that will be enough.

History Making Women, by the way, will resume either this afternoon or tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it again. Amazing what a few days off constant sleep will do.

I wasn't planning to write up a list of New Year's resolutions this year, but I was just listening to some podcast that was talking about how much more successful people are in meeting their goals if they (1) write those goals down and (2) share those goals with others, so I figured I'd better.

Basically, I want to get in control of heath and finances this year. Those are my broad goals. But the program also said that the more specific your goals are, the better suited you are to obtain them. So, more specifically:

Financial goals:

1. In 2007, I will completely pay down my credit card debt. I will not take on any new credit card debt.
2. In 2007, I will make regular payments to my student loan.
3. In 2007, after my credit cards are paid, I will put the same amount per month into savings as I was putting into paying them.

Health goals:

1. Make a new health-related goal every two weeks and work on that goal, trying to keep up with previous goals as well. (Example: for the first two weeks of the year, I am working on giving up soda.)
2. Walk the dogs. Take them to the park. Enjoy the fact that I live somewhere with really freaking good weather.

So that's it. Those are my goals. Consider them written out and shared.

After several weeks' hiatus, Mark and I eagerly tuned in to Fox (which I would watch for no other reason) for last night's episode of House. We are both big fans of the show, Mark for the medical stuff (even if it is pretty far from believable) and House's sarcastic wit, and me for the same wit and because I've developed a big fat crush on Hugh Laurie (who hasn't, really?). I realized last night, though, that there is something else I really like about the show.

It deals with pain. And not just the transient pain of patients who have specific, curable or treatable illnesses, but the chronic, never-ending pain House himself is in. The topic of this pain doesn't go away. It peaks and wanes, but it's always there, and not just as a reason for House's drug addiction, but as a topic in and of itself. In last night's episode, when House apologized to Tritter, he explained his behavior with something along the lines of "I am in constant pain. Pain that, on a good day, is just unbearable."

As a society, we don't know how to deal with chronic pain or illness. We have a decent idea of how to wrap our minds around illnesses and pains that are temporary, that can either be fixed or lead to a fairly rapid death, but the idea of chronic pain and illness eludes us. I think this may account for part of our appalling treatment of the disabled, though that's just a guess. We seem to only be able to conceptualize "sick" and "better," and have no idea how to deal with the idea that sometimes functioning in pain or sickness for the rest of one's life is just the way it is.

I am close to two people who are in chronic pain. Though neither of them is a Vicodin addict like House, they both manage their pain pharmaceutically, to a greater or lesser degree. Also unlike House, neither of them has an external manifestation of the pain (House walks with a limp and uses a cane, for those who don't watch the show). Both of them have reached a point with the causes of their pain where they more or less know it's permanent. And I don't necessarily know how each of them feels about it, but I know that from the perspective of someone who loves them, it is infuriating to watch them have to deal not only with the physical and emotional consequences of constantly hurting, but also with living in a society that has no place for that, no idea how to deal with it, and no vocabulary with which to talk about it.

One of the most frustrating things, at least from what I have observed, is having people ask how you are and knowing that their question is much less "how are you coping?" and much more "are you getting better?" People who should know that better isn't really on the table. It begins to seem almost accusatory, as if people are thinking that it must really be your fault you're in pain if you haven't gotten better after this long. As if righteous diseases and disorders have timelines, but chronic ones are somehow unworthy of sympathy.

I know from firsthand experience that there is a lot of guilt surrounding being a chronically sick person, even if your illnesses, like mine, are, in the grand scheme of things, minor. I feel guilty every time I get sick and have to miss work, or miss another commitment, or slow down in any way. I feel like if I just got sick once in awhile, it would be OK, but since I get sick so often, people are inevitably going to blame me for it and begrudge me the down time (and, to be honest, sometimes they do). I would imagine this to be even worse for someone in chronic pain, whose condition exists not annoyingly often, like mine, but constantly. We all know, from whatever experience of pain we've had, that pain limits you. It limits you physically, and it limits you mentally and emotionally. Just being in pain is tiring, a drain on your resources. Not only does House's addiction to pain killers make sense, if one imagines a bad pain they've had and having to carry that pain around constantly forever, but his personality makes sense as well. Pain cuts through the bullshit and leaves you with what's real, and that's not always polite, or pretty.

We should have room in our society to talk about pain, and to accept that people who are in chronic pain have a burden to bear that cannot even be imagined by those of us who go through the majority of our days pain-free. This isn't to say that we should have more sympathy, or that actions should be excuse from people in pain that would not be excused from others, but I think these people deserve to have their pain acknowledged as a circumstance of their lives that must be realized and taken into account. When you know someone is never going to "feel better," it is unbelievably selfish to continue to ask him or her if they do. It's not for them, it's for you, so you can feel like things are progressing the way that they should be, so you don't have to face the fact that sometimes it doesn't get better. Certainly the person who is living with that fact has already faced it.

It's probably part and parcel of the quick-fix society in which we live that we don't know how to respond to each other when something is wrong that is never going to be right. We specialize in correcting problems, not in living with them. But the truth of it is that most of us are not going to be so lucky as to have solutions for everything, long-term. Though we may never have the kind of chronic pain conditions that House has, or that the two people in my life have, we are going to age, and there's likely to be pain with that. There is a lot of room between what we think of as sick and what we think of as well, and a lot of people spend the majority of their lives in that space--it is ridiculous and embarrassing that we as a society want so badly to overlook those people, place blame on them, or try to fit them into categories where they don't belong. House may just be a stupid TV show, but it is one doing something I've not seen much before--placing it's central character directly in that gray zone, between the "healthy" people around him and the "sick" patients he treats. He moves within that zone, but he's not going to get out of it. And that's something we need to see, to accept. Only when we face that pain is not always a transitory state, that there are people for whom it is part of the fabric of daily life, and that those people can and do go on living and living well, will we be able to deal honestly and compassionately with those people, and with the fear of pain in ourselves.

Here is a list of some of my favorite things in 2006.

Top 5 Books
5. I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence by Amy Sedaris
4. My Life in France by Julia Child
3. The Class Castle: A Memoir by Jeanette Walls
2. The Mercy of Thin Air by Ronlyn Domingue
1. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen

Top 5 Movies
5. Wordplay
4. The Science of Sleep
3. V for Vendetta
2. Little Miss Sunshine
1. Kinky Boots

Top 2 TV
2. House, Season 3
1. The Wire, Season 4

Top 5 CDs
5. The Be Good Tanyas, Hello Love
4. The Little Willies, The Little Willies
3. Bruce Springsteen, We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions
2. The Dixie Chicks, Taking the Long Way
1. Roseanne Cash, Black Cadillac

What'd I miss?

Due to the entire city being covered in ice, Austin is pretty much shut down today. And was yesterday as well. With Monday being a holiday, that makes this a five day weekend for me. I could get into that. Five day weekends and two day work weeks sounds just about right...

Once again, I am finding myself without reasonable pants.

See, I've gained a lot of weight. Which is fine, whatever, I'm not going to stress about it anymore than I have to. But now nothing fits. Not so long ago, I bought some new pants, in a size 16, at a store where sizes run large. And they fit. Until I wear them for two hours--then they're too big. However, my old pants, which are mostly size 16 from smaller sizing stores, are too tight. And it's not just the ass anymore--the waists are improbably tight now too. Which not only looks bad, but is also quite uncomfortable.

So I need new pants. Pants that fit both in the morning and in the evening. Inexpensive pants. Because it is too cold to wear skirts. And I don't know where to begin. I know of a few brands that fit sometimes, but only some styles fit, and only if they are long. Except the one kind, for which the long drags on the ground unless I wear heels. Why can't shit just fit?

That dough you were going to spend on candy/balloons/flowers/landfill matter? How about giving it to V-Day instead?

I haven't written in a few days, but it's been busy! Lots going on!

First, Friday found his forever home, and it's a great situation. He's living with a single man who was obviously just yearning for a dog. The guy works at home, so Friday has his own full-time person, and his own giant yard (at least twice the size of our yard). His person is not at all adverse to getting another dog in the future, and there are dogs living on both sides of his new home, so he won't be lonely for canine companionship either. A match made in heaven.

But we weren't without additional dogs for long. Our new fosters, Edie the middle-aged heavyweight, beautifully-tempered beagle and Oliver the rambunctious puppy joined our pack yesterday. Both of them were in danger of euthanization at an overly-crowded city pound in one of the suburbs. I had just come for Edie, having been alerted by the Hound Rescue, but they showed me Oliver and it wasn't like I could leave him there to get killed. I have no idea what manner of puppy he is (guesses are welcome), but so far he's a joy--hyper, of course, but very well-behaved, sleeps through the night, and only a couple of minor potty accidents so far.

On other fronts, things are good. Work is busy, but I'm thriving on it. My plants are doing exceptionally well. I'm harried enough that I don't have time to shop anyway, so not shopping is going well.

Also, I went to church on Sunday and it felt really, really good. Better and more comfortable than it ever has before. Maybe I'm ready this time.

If you have been commenting and your comments haven't been showing up on the blog, I apologize. For some reason, I missed publishing a whole passel of comments last week and just now saw them. I should be all caught up. I promise I'll pay better attention in the future--I really love it when people comment on my posts.

I'm fairly to very irritated about all number of things today. However, today's dog-of-the-day calendar page helped. A lot.

So the not shopping? It's gotten pretty easy. But that might be because of the cheating.

Actually, though, I don't think it is. I haven't been shopping for recreational purposes, and I haven't really wanted to. I did go and buy some fabric so my mom could make me some summer shirts, but that had to be done sooner rather than later, as she needs time to sew, and I didn't buy anything extra. I also ordered some spring shoes, but that was just as a return for some other shoes I sent back (and I netted money on the deal). So those are "cheats," but not really in spirit.

If the idea is to stop having shopping be recreational, I think I'm improving. I've been doing well with finding other things to do with my time (it helps that it has been an extremely busy couple of weeks). I am able to see more and more clearly the difference between things I want and things I need (cute jewelry is a want, reasonable shoes to wear to work all summer is a need). These are steps in the right direction, and I feel good about them.

Inspired by Em, my celebrity look alikes:

I gotta tell you, I'm hating myself today.

I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. Really.I could fill pages. Most of them, though, I can say I learned from, or I couldn't have avoided, or I have one of half a million excuses for. However, one thing I am not proud of, that totally makes me hate myself, for which I have no excuse, is the constant knack I have for pushing away and distancing myself from the people I love the most, particularly if they are distant geographically.

I reconnected this afternoon and evening with my best friend from way way back, and realized it's been probably six months or more since I'd spoken to her. Things worth talking about had happened in both of our lives, and we hadn't talked about any of them. And it's totally my fault. I just shut down, I go inside my house and inside my head, and I don't communicate. And it's not even that I don't want to see or hear from my friends--in fact, I'd love nothing more--but I just can't manage to make it happen. I do the same thing to local friends, but I am much worse over long distances.

On a (well, slightly, anyway) less self-obsessed note, I have to tell you all about As We Are Magazine. As We Are is a whole new kind of women's magazine, "created with the belief that every woman is good enough, just as she is, and that every woman has something important to say." I'm totally behind that. And in it, actually--you see my first piece here. So check me out, check As We Are out, and keep right on checking, because new content is going to be popping up all the time.

I woke up this morning, for whatever reason, thinking about the songs I've been told I remind people of over the years. I can actually only think of three (should there be more?), but I think it's an interesting list. And it would make a good meme-type question, so readers, comment or add this to your blog? What songs have reminded people of you?

The first time I remember being compared to a song, it was Soul Asylum's "The Sun Maid." (Their album, "Grave Dancers Union" was very popular at the time.) Here are those lyrics:

The Sun Maid
Tell me how you get that shine
You must polish all the time
Though I know your job is thankless
They will thank you up in heaven
Oh the Sun Maid
Looking for the shade
Though they say she's not too bright
She takes care of all the light
Without you it's cold and stark
We would all be in the dark
Without the Sun Maid
She never gets paid
Searching for the shade
Oh the Sun Maid
You are so taken for granted
With each and every seed that's planted
And the earth is so demanding
All the young girls are out tanning
The Sun Maid
She's such an old maid
She never gets laid
Oh the Sun Maid
Now you're tired, your day is over
Now the moon is one day older

Now you tell me what that comparison was about...

A few years later, a slightly less insulting song brought up thoughts of me--U2's "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?" (From Achtung Baby, also very popular when I was in high school.)

Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?
You're dangerous 'cause you're honest
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt

Who's gonna ride your wild horses?
Who's gonna tame the heart of thee?

I have to admit that one remains my favorite. Makes me sound exciting, don't you think? Incidentally, this is the only one that WASN'T suggested by someone I was sleeping with/someone who was trying to get me to sleep with him.

The most recent comparison, which has still been a number of years ago, was to "Swords" by Leftfield (off the album of the same name). Also a bit strange...

Swords
Danger, in every corner.
I have become pure water.
I can identify.
I close my eyes.
I wear my sword at my side (x2).
Cleanse me.
Deep in the fire.
I have become pure water.
I wear my sword at my side (x4).
I have become pure water (x2).
I have become pure water (distorted and echoed)

So those, such as they are, are mine. What are yours?

OK, I decree the Beanie Baby Contest complete. Several good ideas there, but I'm going to have to go with the suggestion by Shara that I send some Beanie Babies to Iraq. I'm researching ways to do just that.

So, Shara, your prize is that you get to pick my highlight charity/charities for June. Just post a message here or shoot me an email and let me know who you'd like me to talk about/give to next month.

Thanks for playing everyone!

Yes, that was a hiatus. I have no particular need or wish to explain it, so we'll just move right along.

I'm the obsessive type. When I get into something--be it a person, an idea, a television show, whatever--I'm all in. I think about nothing else for days or weeks or months. I annoy those around me by talking about whatever the obsession is non-stop. That's just the kind of person I am.

For several weeks now, I've been obsessed with having a baby. And I will remain so, I'm afraid, but as that's not in the cards in the near future, I'm moving on to greener, less fraught obsession pastures. These currently include Jon Bon Jovi and The Gilmore Girls. Which sucks, because I have only two episodes of Season 6 left, then I have to wait for Season 7 to be released on DVD, and then it's all over. It breaks my heart that these things--TV shows and novels most especially--end. It is, I think, quite unhealthy.

As for the Jon Bon Jovi thing, what can I say? I saw him on an Unplugged thing (on CMT, oddly) and my love for him has been re-invigorated. He even did "Hallelujah," and it wasn't half bad. I'm not actually old enough to be an original Bon Jovi fan (I'm just a few years too young to have enjoyed hair metal in its prime, though I made up for that with an unrelenting love of Guns N' Roses well after they stopped deserving it), but I have to tell you, Jon looks better now than he ever did in his heyday. He's way more pretty boy, but he's got a great mouth. Reminds me of Ami from Miami Ink, actually. Only slightly more sincere-seeming.

And so life blathers on. Not all that inspired, I know, but this is the beauty of media--distraction.

I was just having lunch with a friend, and the subject of creating drama in your own life, as an antidote to boredom or loneliness or whatever, came up. This is something I actually spend a lot of time thinking about, believe it or not, since I am so frequently and totally guilty of it. But much as I've analyzed this behavior in myself and in others, I still don't get it.

What is it in us that we create problems when there aren't any, like we have a problem space that has to be dedicated to drama at all times? Doesn't it seem like, in terms of evolution, that would be counterproductive?

And much as I beat myself up about this, I know it's not just me who does it. I see other people do it all the time, some of whom can admit it and some of whom can't. The truth is that there are very few things we face in our day-to-day lives that constitute an actual crisis, and if we've gone through one of those things (and honestly, I'm drawing a blank on any of them in my own life) and see how the rest of our drama falls away, we can pretty easily see our own drama queenery.

So why put ourselves through it? Is it a sign that our lives are too easy, that we should be required to devote more to the day-to-day? What purpose does it serve us?

Tomorrow afternoon, I leave for BlogHer. I'm not totally sure what to expect, but I am excited.

On the dark and dreary front, things are slowly improving, I think. I'm still definitely not a font of happiness or anything, but each day is getting a bit easier. I'm back on the dope (heh), and have once again resigned myself to that. I probably need to just stop trying to go off--every time I do, I get a few OK months and then I'm right back down. I wish I could have the healthy outlook and think of it as medical, something like taking thyroid meds or insulin or something, but I just don't. No matter how hard I try to think of it that way, it feels like a failing not to be able to exist functionally without personality pills.

Anyway, I'll be checking in from BlogHer over the next few days (or at least attempting to). Leave me a comment if I'm gonna see you there?

So I'm coming to you live from BlogHer '07 at Chicago's lovely Navy Pier. So far things are good. The flight was a monster mess due to weather both in Austin and here, and I got in like five hours late, but otherwise I'm a happy camper. The hotel where we're staying is hipper-than-thou to a point of ridiculousness, but the bed was soft and they have really nice Bliss beauty products, so that works. Right now we're waiting for the opening session to start, having breakfast, and sucking up the wireless (also going through the swag bag). I've spotted a couple of famous bloggers, which excites me way more than it should, and I'm really looking forward to a couple of sessions I plan to attend today.

Oh, we're starting now! More to come...

So I'm not much of a networker. I try, but I panic and have to run away to hide in the Yahoo Internet Cafe with my laptop. See, this is part of why I blog, and why I love me some Internet Communities (TM)--because I can communicate without having to actually speak to people. And nobody else here seems to have that issue. Which is weird--it seems like these women, of all women, would be with me on the whole "no face-to-face communication" rule.

It's lovely here, though. If you get a chance to visit Navy Pier in Chicago, do it. I walked over from the hotel this morning, all along the water, and I felt very peaceful. It's nice and overcast here, cool and drizzly. Reminds me of home (Oregon home, not Austin home).

OK, I've been to two panels and a lunch, and while I remain impressed with the general rad-ness of BlogHer, I am less impressed with my own rad-ness. My friends, my attention span is SHORT. If I'm expected to behave socially, it is nearly non-existent. This whole deal is just exhausting the hell out of me.

All that being said, I remain excited to be here and jazzed about the women I'm meeting. The different levels of interest in blogging, technical abilities, subject matter, etc. represented in the women here are fairly astounding. Being here feels good for that reason.

I am now headed into a session on review writing, which is probably the most germane one all weekend for the blogging I actually do (at HC, not here so much). Then I may have to take a nap, frankly, because it's all just too much excitement for the likes of me.

It is morning again. Yesterday afternoon and last night were pleasant--I socialized as much as I am able (which, yeah, is pretty little) and then went back to the hotel fairly early and without incident. Got almost no sleep, though, due to being too many people to a room and having a weird sinus thing. And now am back at the conference for breakfast. I'm really not that excited about attending sessions today--I don't know why, except to say that I'm tired and burned out, but we'll see how it goes. It's oddly freeing to realize that you aren't required to do anything, and if you just want to veg in a corner instead of doing what you came here to do, nobody is going to stop you, and probably nobody is even going to think it all that weird. I love being an adult.

Being here at BlogHer has me thinking a great deal about why I blog, what I get out of it, etc. My "agenda" seems so different from those I see around me here. There are a lot of women here who want to make money off blogging, or who feel they have expertise or very important information to impart and blog for that reason, or who are technophiles who blog (and podcast, and use Twitter, and...) because that's the next new thing to do.

But none of those things really cover why I blog.

I've been blogging, here and in my previous locations, for quite a few years now. Five or so? It's only been recently that I've had really any concern about who my audience is and how many of you there are, and frankly I'm still not all that wound up about it. I write because I have to. If I'm not blogging (and sometimes even if I am), I'm journaling, writing letters, writing expositional essays, even (I loathe to admit) writing poems (not lately though, and no, you can't see them). When I started blogging, it was simply about keeping my daily rantings online and accessible over the Internet, mostly so I wouldn't have to carry a notebook around, and also because I felt, in some very vague and non-specific way, responsible for what I wrote when I wrote it publicly. The whole idea behind the title of the blog (aside from the Ani reference, clearly) was that I still exist even if nobody is watching, I still need to say whatever it is I need to say even if nobody is listening or reading. Not to put too fine a point on my narcissism, but it's never really been about you, it's always been about me.

And being here, I feel very much alone in that.There are nearly 800 people at this conference, and they all seem to be clear on the need to network, to drive up traffic, to bring the reading masses to the URLs they're schilling. Which makes perfect sense--that's a good reason to be here. And, ostensibly, it's the reason I came--not to bring people to this blog (because I'm honestly not at all sure why anybody would want to read this blog--day 57 of "I'm Depressed" just really isn't that interesting), but to my other projects, Heroine Content and As We Are Magazine. But I think there was something else in my head as well. I haven't been to a writing workshop in a long, long time, and I think I was maybe hoping there was one happening here. And, from what I've seen, there's not.

Which is my mistake. I mean, being here, the reasons why other people are here, and what they're trying to do, totally makes sense. But it's not me. I would LOVE more traffic at Heroine Content and As We Are, but the idea of focusing on driving up that traffic, self-promotion, tagging (though I am tagging these BlogHer posts just to see what happens), commenting on other people's blogs to try to get people to those...none of that appeals to me at all. I can see why it would need to be done, but it is so, so not what I want to spend my time doing. I blog for a very, very simple reason: I need to write. Writing things that are published, even if they are published and nobody reads them, is validating. That's really it.

I plan to write more about BlogHer once I have been back a few days and have my head screwed on a bit straighter, but in the meantime, I'd like to re-commit to daily blogging. I talked a couple of times at BlogHer about why I do this blogging thing and what it means to me, and it got me to thinking a bit more about how neglectful I've been of this blog of late and how that seems to have had a negative effect on how I'm doing in general. I think I need to get back to a philosophy of writing every day. So I'm going to try to get that going again.

I'm back at work today (took yesterday off due to post-trip ick feeling) and am surrounded by small fires. Nothing that can't be dealt with, but not as relaxed as I'd like. I finished the second season of Angel yesterday, and wow did that turn out weird. The medieval alternate dimension featured in the last three eps was not at all where I thought the season would end up. I'm excited for season three now--waiting on it from the library. I also have a disc of Veronica Mars at home to get started on, but I'm hoping to be capable of doing a few non-TV-watching things when I get home from work this week. We shall see.

The other thing BlogHer made me want to re-commit to, besides daily blog writing, is more blog reading. I've been very lax in my reading ever since I started using a feed reader. I think I just got overwhelmed. So I'm going to try to clean it out, remove the ones I didn't end up interested in, and add some new ones I now know about due to having met so many great folks at BlogHer. And I'm challenging myself to actually comment more and not just read in silence. So we'll see how that goes.

As promised, I wanted to write about the Day 3 "unconference," which was the best part of BlogHer07 for me.

Basically, an unconference is a conference in which the content and format are driven by the participants, rather than pre-planned. There's some pretty decent information about the concept over at Wikipedia. For the one at BlogHer, everyone met in the morning in a big hotel meeting room. There were far fewer people there than at the larger BlogHer conference--maybe about 100. Everyone sat in chairs that were already put into a circle, and the moderator explained what would happen. There was a big sheet of paper at the front of the room that had time slots listed down one side and places in the room (i.e. tables 1-10) listed across the top. All participants were invited to write topics they would like to discuss in the time/place slot they'd like to discuss them, creating a schedule for the day. The commitment each of us made by posting a topic was not that we'd necessarily "lead" that group, but just that we'd be in that space at that time ready to discuss it.

We were presented with four guidelines and one cardinal rule for unconferences. They were something like the following (this is from memory, since I haven't unearthed my notes yet, so bear with me):

Guidelines:
1. Whomever is here is/are the right people/person.
2. Wherever it happens is the right place.
3. Whenever it happens is the right time.
4. Whatever happens is the right thing.

Cardinal rule:
If you are not participating or learning anything, it is your responsibility to move to somewhere where you are.

Basically, then, we were encouraged to join whichever groups suited us, stay for as long or as short a time as we wished, and move on if the discussion wasn't working for us.

Since I was only able to stay for the morning half of the unconference, I actually only attended two sessions. The first was a session suggested by someone else, which was about privacy and self-censorship in the blogsphere. The second was the session I suggested, entitled, "Is Blogging about Writing?" My intention was to vent my frustration at not having been involved in any sessions at the regular BlogHer conference that focused on actual blog content and writing, but what happened organically was a much broader discussion about how bloggers see themselves as writers, which was a better thing anyway. Each of the sessions had maybe 10 people involved, sitting around a table, talking. It was truly inspirational and I came home with a head full of new ideas, many of which were on subjects I thought I had already "figured out," which is really wonderful.

I've always been a person who gets more out of a conversation with a handful of people than I do out of a lecture for hundreds, or even a breakout session for 50. I loved that everyone got to speak at the unconference, and that everyone got the opportunity to suggest topics for discussion and have them taken up immediately. Although the event was structured enough to keep things flowing, it felt more like casual conversation than didactic learning. That was fantastic. I would highly recommend this type of arrangement for any number of types of gatherings, and more than any other aspect of BlogHer, it was the unconference that has me thinking I might want to go back.

There is a Wiki page on the BlogHer unconference, but I can't find it via search and (once again) can't find my notes, so if anybody reading this was there and has it, can you post a link in the comments? Thanks.

Laurie wrote a fantastic post over at BlogHer this morning on the topic of online friends. Laurie was specifically talking mostly about blogging friends, as is the relevant post-BlogHer subject, but I think most of what she's got to say is germane to other types of online friends as well.

And it inspires a proclamation:

Hello, my name is Grace, and I have online friends, some of whom I have met in person and some of whom I have not. I am truly blessed to have these friends, just as I am to have the friends I met in more "traditional" ways. Having online friends is not a sign of my "dorkiness" or social antagonism, it's a sign of my willingness (as well as their willingness) to reach across physical distance and bond with people. My online community is, in its way, just as important a part of my community as the people who surround me physically. I communicate with many of them on a near-daily basis, and they provide one of my most persistent and important support networks. I appreciate them more than I could ever say.

I've thought a lot about this, and I don't think it's cowardly to have "online friends." I don't think it's fake, or really, in any essential way, different than having "real life" friends. I'm at a place in my life now where a large number of the friends I have who were originally "real life" friends have become mostly online friends by virtue of our having moved to different parts of the continent, and there is really very little difference between those relationships and the ones that have flourished mostly online from the start.

It's just not in me to think that communication, whether it's in written or verbal form, is bad. Often, when I'm posting here or writing a mammoth email, I think of the days of extensive letter writing, a la Dangerous Liaisons, and I have to wonder how much has really changed. People have been communicating writing for centuries, and whether that writing gets encrypted as 1s and 0s and send over wireless lines or takes the pen and paper approach, it's the same thing. We're able to do it in what amounts to more-or-less real time now, but the driving force behind it, the need to connect and communicate, is the same, and I embrace that.

So I wanted to say thanks to my Internet friends, particularly the ones who do me the great honor of reading my rambles here at WINOW. I really do appreciate you, and I hope I can come somewhere close to doing for you what you've done for me.

Thanks to a post on BlogHer, I now know about Libby Dibby skirts.

And I really, really want one.

You know, in case anybody out there is desperately searching for a (kind of expensive) gift for my birthday (which is in two weeks!).

Edited to add: I'm not 100% sure which size of Libby Dibby I'd wear--either L or XL. I'm a 14/16 in skirts usually, so if they don't run small, a large would probably work. As for patterns, I'm partial to espresso bean, fall springs, in the tropics, and keeping it cool.

Tap the pack against your open hand. Once, twice, three times. Pull off the cellophane in one clear strip, flip the lid, and inhale. Remove one cylinder.

The smooth paper between your lips, cup your hands. Hiss, then spark, then flame. Lean forward into the tiny fire and drawn in.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Feel something, a flicker, below your heart, deep in your chest. Not much, just a tiny light. Tend it gently.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It's not enough. Nowhere near enough. But it's something.

To everyone who has sent my birthday wishes who also read my blog:

Thank you so much, I really do appreciate it. Unfortunately, I likely won't be responding very soon. And this time, it's not because of some depression, either. I've been so, so sick.

Food poisoning, if anybody ever asks you, is, or at least can be, way, way worse than you'd ever imagine. Take me to the hospital, or no, wait, how about the mortician kind of bad. And I was taken ill on Sunday night and have been a mess since. Which includes, of course, yesterday, the auspicious 28th anniversary of my birth.

I've had a lot of miserable birthdays. People tend to die on my birthday. I've had pneumonia on my birthday. But nothing has ever held a candle to this.

Anyway, thanks for the birthday emails and stuff--I'll try to get back to you as soon as I return to being able to sit up for more than a few minutes.

My favorite birthday present, by far, was the Libby Dibby skirt two of my best friends got me. It is the "Fall Springs" pattern. So far, I have worn it twice, both times on the side with the geometric design. Next time I will wear it on the other side. It's such a fantastic skirt. So comfortable, looks fantastic, could go anywhere. And roomy--mine is a size large, and I'm a pretty good 14/16 typically. I'd think it could pretty easily fit up to an 18 or so. I am already plotting for another one (and considering spending some hard-earned birthday cash on another one). Right now I'm particularly lusting after the chic "Hollywood" and "Original" patterns.

So shout out to Libby Dibby, who makes some excellent skirts. And a question for readers--what type of shirts would you wear with the skirt I got? So far I'm wearing it with either a brown cotton tank or an army green v-neck tee, but since I plan to wear it weekly until it wears out, I'm going to need some other options.

So classes started here last week, which means the campus is once again overrun with undergraduates, including a big fat herd of new freshmen (somewhere around 10,000 of them, I think). Even though this campus is many times larger than the one I where I attended undergrad, and even though there are more incoming freshmen than there were in my entire school, seeing them still takes me back...

Ten years and a couple of weeks ago, I moved into the MacNaughton residence hall at Reed College. I think I learned more and changed more in those first few weeks at Reed than ever before or since. The transition to college has to be stressful for everyone, but it was brutal for me. Not all bad, but all dramatic. I didn't sleep for more than an hour or two at a time for months. I ate sporadically and badly. I made some expectedly stupid decisions about how much to drink and with whom to sleep. I learned new vocabulary words such as "dental dam" and "gravity bong."

Mostly, though, I realized things about myself that I'd hadn't ever had reason to know, growing up where I did. I learned that I was shy. I learned that I was poor. I learned that for many people my age, "work" didn't mean a waitressing shift, but a night with the books. And I looked all around me, at these kids who'd gone to private school and been to Europe and were the second or third or fourth generations in their familes to attend college, and I felt completely and totally inadequate.

I freaked completely out. I knew I wouldn't make it, I wasn't smart enough, I wasn't savvy enough, I didn't have the background I needed. I knew they'd see right through me and know I was a complete fraud as a college student.

And I see that same panic in these kids' faces, even if it isn't really there in most of them. There is an occasional kid, brow furrowed, studying a campus map, with the wrong backpack and dressed too nicely, who I want nothing more than to stop on the sidewalk and reassure. Because I remember those first few weeks at Reed so clearly, and being somewhere as big as this university has to be so much worse. It would have been so nice, back then, to have someone tell me it was going to end up OK. I also remember getting up, going to class, forcing myself to talk to a few people, and it all slowly getting easier. I had the extreme good fortune to fall in with a crowd who weren't judgmental about my background (people who are still among my best friends today), and although I've never forgotten that I come from different stock than many (even all) of those friends, it really just doesn't matter anymore. At least not most of the time.

I've read a number of books and essays about transitioning from working class roots to middle class adulthood (most notably Alfred Lubrano's Limbo), but I've never read anything that characterized at all realistically the abject fear I felt when first faced with the class difference between myself and my new college peers, or made any suggestion of how to deal with it. Has that book been written? Should I write it?

First, about football. Both of my teams won on Saturday. Oregon's butt-stomping of much higher-ranked and more-respected Michigan was a particular cause for joy at my house. Today, the AP has Texas at No. 6 and Oregon at No. 19. From what I've seen so far, I think that is an over-ranking for Texas and an under-ranking for Oregon, but we'll see.

In other news, I read Ursula K. Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness this weekend. No fewer than a dozen people have recommended Le Guin to me over the past few years, and a couple of people whose tastes I generally trust recommended to me recently that I start with this particular book, so I picked it up at the library last week. And...I don't get it. I read the whole book, but I probably would have put it down less than halfway through if it hadn't been so highly recommended. To me, it seemed unnecessarily opaque and kind of poorly written. I had very little empathy for the characters, particularly the protagonist, Genly Ai, and spent most of the time I was reading it hoping it would be over soon. While I found the concepts very cool, the execution just didn't do a thing for me. So now I'm not sure if I should give up on Le Guin completely or try another of her novels. I had so hoped she would be a new author I could really get into.

Not all recommendations are futile, though! Another friend recently suggested that I give Grace Potter and the Nocturnals a listen, and I am rawkin' out. As soon as I can justify buying more new CDs, their new one is going to be headed my way.

Is it more embarrassing to have a mad crush on a celebrity, or on a fictional character?

The good: Superhero Jewelry is for sale again, and now there are t-shirts, too!

The bad: my birthday money is so already spent.

I just came from the hospital, where I visit my friend Skye and her perfect new son. He has long fingers and punk rock hair, and has been alive for less than 24 hours, and I got to meet him.

Some days, it is an honor to be a human being.

In a couple of hours, I leave for a ten day vacation in beautiful scenic Oregon. Attractions will include my ten-year high school reunion and a bicycle themed wedding. I plan to drink real beer and real coffee, see some old friends and family, and generally enjoy myself thoroughly. My internet access will be sporadic, though, so there will likely be radio silence here for at least part of the time.

Until I see you again, be well!

I am home from my trip home. My flight out this morning was so early it required at 3:30 AM wake-up call, so I'm a little bit exhausted, but the trip was fantastic. The high school reunion was more comfortable and more fun than I had expected and the wedding was absolutely amazing.The week in between was good, too--fairly laid-back, got to spend a lot of time with my grandma and my mom, all good stuff.

And now its back to work...

I know I've mentioned my giant crush on the entire U.S. Women's Soccer Team before, but just in case you missed it--they rule. They are currently kicking some international ass (3-0 versus England!), and they have a semifinal World Cup match against Brazil on Thursday. It's at 8 AM on ESPN2. If you don't have to be anywhere else just then you should watch it. I would.

If you are having that cranky Monday feeling this morning, I suggest taking a trip over to the American Humane website, where they have posted the winners and finalists of their pet photo contest.

Not as good as another hour's sleep, maybe, but it'll do.

P.S. This one is my favorite, hands down.

I've been drinking a lot of coffee lately. Beer and coffee (not together--ick). I have been drinking less Pepsi, and these are the super-healthy replacements I've found. Anyway, my increase in coffee consumption seems to have precipitated an increase in thoughts. Really. I am just having more thoughts. I know this because many more times a day than I am accustomed to I am stopping and saying to myself, "I should blog about that." That's how I know I have a thought--I consider blogging about it. (And does Grace think if there is nowhere to write it down? Probably not.)

So I'm having that old tattoo itch again. Really, that's what I get for watching LA Ink. Anyway, I've been rolling some general themes around in my cranium and today started looking for pictures, and thought I'd share.

I had planned to have my next tat be my Oregon-tribute one (fir branches), but I'm now thinking I'd rather get that done in Oregon, so it will have to wait. Now I'm obsessing about getting my first larger piece done, probably on my thigh. And here are some of my ideas:

This is a poster from the U.S. national suffrage movement. If I were to get it, I'd take some/all the words off and probably get it at least partially in color (you can't tell so well in that representation, but that's an orange tree she's under).

This is the logo for the National Women's Trade Union League, which was organized to support women in unions at the beginning of the 20th century. Again, I'd probably lose some/all of the words.

This is a symbol of bread and roses. I wouldn't use this particular drawing, but something similar, with roses and wheat chaffs in someone's hand. I think this might work better as an arm or lower leg tat, though, since it is more long and narrow.

Thoughts? Ideas of similar stuff I should consider?

As I mentioned previously, I am drinking a lot more coffee recently. A lot more. And I'm not exactly an un-jittery person to begin with. So pardon me while I don't finish thoughts. Or sentences.

Now, about my tits.

As a person of my size, I have long had shopping issues. I've had extreme shoe shopping issues for pretty much ever (and again I say thank God for Zappos!), and I've had clothes shopping issues for nearly as long (especially before people started regularly making long length jeans). One thing I've always like shopping for, however, is bras. Though they have changed over time, my breasts have always been comfortably average sized and shaped, and thus bra shopping has always been easy, and I can even wear the cute stuff (though I actually don't, as the cute stuff is uncomfortable).

And now my last bastion of shopping happiness has been taken away from me. I wore a 34B for a long time--easy size to find. Went up to 36B, and then 36C--also pretty easy. My current correct size is 38B, sometimes 40B. And that, my friends, is a whole other shopping experience.

I know that having a 38 or 40B is not on par with having mail-order large breasts, and so I shouldn't complain. It's just that bras were my LAST THING to comfortably shop for. I can't even buy socks (heels in the middle of my feet) or underwear (extra long torso) reliably. So while I can fairly reliably find a 38B in at least a few styles at any store, and I know I should be grateful for that, I can't help it--I'm pissed. Just for this one thing, I loved knowing they'd have my size in whatever style or color I wanted. And now they don't.

Bah.

Warning: if you are squeamish about period-related matters, better skip this post.

So I've switched over to using reusable (cloth) pads for menstrual protection. This is due to a number of factors, the biggest being that internal stuff (tampons and Diva Cups) doesn't work for me anymore (going off the pill has given me much more period pain, and these things make it a lot worse). I used recycled disposable pads for a bit, but I don't like adding that much garbage to the world if I don't need to, and they aren't cute and fun like reusables, so I picked up some Glad Rags from my co-op. Turns out those don't quite work for me either--I don't like dealing with the inserts (I want something that is all one piece) and they are sort of big and bulky.

So it was time to experiment, and so far I've found two things that work just great.

The first is Moonpads. These are fairly small one-piece numbers that fasten around the underwear with wings and a snap. The good things about them is that they don't feel bulky, they are super cute, and they're 100% handmade of organic cotton (flannel on the outside, terry cloth on the inside) by the lovely Epicerma. Another bonus is that you can fold them up and snap them together to toss them in your bag, which is great. I paid $19 plus $1.50 shipping for three of them, and they came quickly. On the downside, they are pretty small, so they're only going to work if I change very frequently or for the lighter days of my cycle. I will likely buy another set of these.

For heavier days, I now have Punky's Pads. The ones pictured (with the various skull print fabrics) are the ones I bought, three of them for $18 plus $2 shipping. They're heavier than the Moonpads, as well as longer and wider, with a wrap around design, but they're still pretty comfy and they give a lot more coverage. They also have an internal water barrier to protect against leakage. The downside is that they are not 100% organic and the snaps are plastic rather than metal, and likely (I'd expect) to break more easily. The other downside is that Punky's Pads isn't taking orders right now, so I can't get anymore.

I also ordered some pads from Saucy Tots, but there was a delay and they have not yet arrived. These are fun because you can choose your own fabrics, and they have a one-piece, wrap-around design made of flannel and terry cloth. They're $5 each, and shipping is very low (less than $2 for my order of 4). I'll let you know how they work when they arrive.

Until then, any recommendations for good one-piece pads I should try? I am going to need to build up a stock of a few more in order to be 100% reusable and stop having to use the uncomfortable Glad Rags.

Today is National Coming Out Day. Coming out is something I think a bit about, being as I am not fully "out" to my family, coworkers, etc. Mostly, at this point, I'm not "out" because it doesn't make any difference what my sexuality is as long as I am in a long-term monogamous heterosexual partnership-as I've said before, I'm functionally straight. In my circumstances, the personal and political usefulness of coming out is pretty much nil. So I stay in. Or whatever.

Still, though, just for the sake of claiming and being proud of who I am, here it is:

I am bisexual. What that means to me is that I have the capacity to seek both sexually and emotionally fulfilling relationships from people of any gender.

I encourage you to come out today, if you feel so moved, in whatever way works for you. Though this day does and should belong to the gay and lesbian community, I think it's important for everyone to occasionally state who they are for the record. Even if the record is just your own.

Not a lot brewing in my allergy-laden brain today. I'm four or five cups of coffee in, as well as a handful of post-breakfast Reeses cups, and I still feel like I got up just five minutes ago. Ah, the joys of allergy season.

One good thing I can report is that I found some pants that fit me. At J. Jill of all places! Someone had informed that they had stuff that was good for the smaller waist-bigger ass combo, and they had a big sale, so I ordered some cropped pants and damned if 2 of 3 pairs don't fit and feel great! I'm wearing these today and have these in the queue for tomorrow. I'd actually like to stock up on a couple more pair while I'm at it, but since I'm supposed to be getting serious about the not spending and don't have the cash, I'm not going to.

It is considered a fashion faux pas to wear cropped pants once summer is officially over? Considering how warm it still is here, I can't imagine it is, but that just occurred to me. Oh well, considering the state of my hair, I'm all about the faux pas anyway. Clinton and Stacey would not be pleased.

Eugene will likely be going to his adoptive home this weekend. I could cry just thinking about it. That little dog has grown on me SO MUCH these past two weeks. It's probably a good idea to get him out of the house ASAP, as I'm not sure how much longer I could live with him and not insist on keeping him. This is the problem most people who don't foster identify as the reason they don't think they could do it, and it's not something I've ever had any serious issue with before. Now that it's happening to me, though, I realize it is definitely something you have to take seriously. If Mark would let me, I'd totally keep this dog, even though we've both said numerous times that it is not reasonable for us to have more than two permanent dogs right now, and that the last dog in the world we should be adopting is a young, healthy, well-behaved one like Eugene who is such a great adoption candidate anyway. What we need to do (and what we will do, I'm just whinging) is get him to a good home and go pick up another pup. Who probably won't be nearly so cuddly...

Sorry for the lack of fascinating content this week. I have what may be a virus or may be bronchitis, but either way I've been down sick all week (as in sleep all day, wake up only to drink tea and dose Nyquil, can't remember the last time I washed my hair). I'm actually marginally improved today, so I have every hope of being recovered and back to my verbose self next week.

And so I don't forget to write it then, remind me to write my primer on Marys with three names. I dreamed about it last night.

Hollywood is full of women named Mary who have three names. These women often confuse me. Perhaps they confuse you as well. In case they do, I present a handy primer.

1. Mary Stuart Masterson is a blonde actress, best known for playing Idgie in Fried Green Tomatoes and Joon in Benny & Joon. She is not Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, with whom I confuse her due their names.

2. Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio is an actress with dark curly hair. She is best known for playing Maid Marian in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (she was also in Scarface, for the more cinematically pure-hearted). She is neither Mary Stuart Masterson nor Mary Steenburgen, who also has dark curly hair but does not have three names, and played the mom on Joan of Arcadia.

3. Mary-Louise Parker is a dark-haired actress who plays Nancy on Weeds and previously was Amy on The West Wing. She is none of the Mary's above, nor is she Lauren Graham, who played Lorelai on The Gilmore Girls and is not a Mary, but does resemble Mary-Louise Parker. She's also not Julia Louie-Dreyfus, who played Elaine on Seinfeld and looks nothing like her, but as a Louie in her name.

4. Mary-Kate Olsen is one of the Olsen twins. Clearly, she is not her sister, Ashley Olsen. She is the Olsen twin who had the anorexia issues a few years back, who sometimes does not have blonde hair. She is also the Olsen twin who did a guest appearance on Weeds.

5. Mary Tyler Moore is the iconic star of The Mary Tyler Moore Show in the 1970s. Yep, the one who threw her hat up in the air. I don't get her mixed up with anybody.

6. Mary Kay Place is the actress who plays Adaleen on Big Love. She's been around a long time, and was on Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman in the 70s. I don't mix her up with any of the other Marys, but do sometimes get her confused with Debra Jo Rupp, who played Kitty on That 70's Show.

7. Mary Beth Evans is a long time soap opera actress. She's played Kayla on Days of Our Lives since 1986 and has simultaneously been on As The World Turns, Port Charles, and General Hospital. She is sort of the epitome of soap actress (besides Her Highness Susan Lucci, of course).

There are, of course, countless other three-named Marys. However, these are the best-known ones, and the ones I am mostly likely to confuse. I hope this has been edifying.

Had to share today's calendar page, in all its spooky glory (cuz really, what's spooky like a grinning wolfhound?).

Today is the first day of NaBloPoMo, and I am mad excited. I just realized, however, thanks to someone who pays more attention than I do to the fine print that writing posts in advance and scheduling them to publish each day is actually against the rules. This is, of course, what I had planned to do. SO. I am going to keep my scheduled posts (the history making women series) posting and write an additional post each day to stay within the rules.

Verbosity, thy name is Grace.

So probably nobody cares, but my college football team (well, I didn't actually go to school there, but it is close to where I grew up and my parents are fans, so it feels like they're "my" team), the University of Oregon, have a big game today. They are currently ranked number 5, and they are taking on the only higher ranked team in the Pac-10 conference, Arizona State, who are currently #4. I believe ASU is favored by 7 points, but I'm not sure. Kickoff is at 3:45 Pacific, and it is televised nationally on ESPN.

I am so excited already I'm jittering. This should be one worth watching. The Ducks RULED versus evil evil USC last week and they are running a Heisman campaign for their bad-ass quarterback, Dennis Dixon. I love it when Oregon gets into the big time--everyone is always so damn surprised! Those boys can actually play football out there in Hippyville--who knew?

Anyway, I'll be watching, and you should too. And if you are going to comment and tell me football is barbaric and I am a traitor to my sex or my beliefs by watching it, don't bother, I've heard it all before and all I have to say about it is

GO DUCKS!

This is just...beautiful.

Which is good, since I picked up a new foster beagle today and he hates me.

I had this grand plan that I was going to use this month to make my great entry into photo blogging. So, of course, my digital camera isn't working. Instead, a picture of home, taken by my mom and sent to me. Probably just to rub it in.

Don't go look at the NoBloShoeMo Flickr pool. Seriously. Don't. You'll just want to shop.

I would be embarrassed to join. I'm wearing too large Dr. Scholls clogs with extremely scuffed toes and a separating sole. Clinton and Stacy would be horrified.

Armistice: a temporary cessation of fighting by mutual consent; a truce. (From the American Heritage Dictionary, via dictionary.com)

In Europe, it's called Armistice Day. A celebration, from what I can tell, not of war, but of war ending. To me, this makes sense. To celebrate the end of war, the end of dying and killing and brutality, makes sense.

Here, though, we call it Veteran's Day, and the end of war is not something I ever hear mentioned. Rather, we celebrate those who have fought. And it's not that I don't have respect, or at least sympathy, for veterans--I do. But I don't want to celebrate fighting and dying. I want to celebrate the end of it. I want to celebrate armistice.

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.
-"Taps"

I don't have much time to post today, but I wanted to stop in and tell you all that I am having an amazing Saturday. I spent some time thrifting this morning, with moderate success, and am spending the afternoon at home with my friends and their kids, a pot roast in the oven, soccer on the TV. Good smells, good conversation, and time spent with people young enough to see wonder in everything.

Life is good.

I am always amused when people re-post their old posts for a given day in order to mark their blog histories, but I don't think I've ever actually done it. So here goes, the closet entries to today for the past few years:

November 23, 2003:

Kitty!

It's possible that we may have a new addition to our happy household.

Last night when we were walking Chance (it was 11:30 or so), we got by the gated condo community where I always encourage him to pee, and a cat started following us. We tried to keep Chancey's attention and figured it would go away after awhile. We were wrong. It followed us (at very close range) the entire way home. Then, when we got home, it ran up to the porch and attempted to go inside with us. So Mark took Chancey inside and I brought the kitty some milk. It's a smallish long-haired cat (really funny looking, actually, like with a Siamese body and tail and a calico face) and it's pretty thin, no collar, full claws. It sat on my lap and purred and I petted it. I have no idea whether or not it's a stray, but it's obviously a pretty damn spunky cat if it's willing to even get close to us with monster dog around. Mark and I talk about it and realize there is no way we can bring it in--Chance would kill it, even if he didn't mean to. So I figure if it's still around in the morning, we can start feeding it outside and see what happens. With the claws and everything it should be OK with being an outside cat.

In the morning it seemed to be gone, so I figured it had moved on.

Wrong.

Mark and Chance were just outside, and the cat showed back up. And took a stand against Chancey. Chance barked and growled and the cat stood his/her ground and gave him a swipe across the nose that drew blood.

So...we'll see. S/he seems to like it here. Maybe we can work something out.

November 23, 2004:

An argument for renter's insurance

We adopted out our last puppy on Sunday. This was a happy and sad occaison. Sad because we'd gotten quite used to her and we'll miss her, but mostly happy, because six and a half puppy-filled weeks is really enough. They've all gone to great families, we have done our job, and we feel good about it.

There were two things about which Mark and I were very excited. The first was having a clean house again. Puppies are messy. We spent all of Saturday afternoon/early evening cleaning, and had 75% of a deep-clean done, I'd say, by the time we crashed out to watch The Wire at 8 o'clock.

The second thing about which we were excited was a long, uninterrupted night's sleep. I happily crawled into bed early (11ish), while Mark stayed up for a bit reading and then took Chance for a walk. When Mark and Chancey came to bed at around midnight, it had just started raining. (Again. Still. It's been raining here for days.)

I woke up at about 1:15 to extremely loud thunder and pounding rain. Something just didn't quite feel right. I got up, I'm not sure exactly why--I think I was planning to look out the front window at the lightning. I walked into the living room and suddenly my feet were submerged. Being as I have been inundated with non-house trained dogs for the last month and a half, my first thought was pee puddle. But I quickly realized that a) the only dog in the house was locked in the bedroom, and b) there was WAY too much pee here for it to have come from a dog.

So I flipped on the light, and found that most of my living room and kitchen were under water. Yep. House flood. Wonderful.

So I woke Mark up and we started trying to figure out what the hell to do. First we shoved some towels under the front door to attempt to stop the water that was coming in from our flooded porch. Then we opened the kitchen door to try to get the water that was already in the kitchen to go out that way. Then we called our landlord.

Four hours later, after much furniture moving, Shop-vac'ing, pumping of water off the porch, digging of trenches, etc., we had no more standing water in the house. However, an elaborate system of fans and a dehumidifier had to be set up to dry everything out. It's loud, and the dehumidifier is drying my skin out.

It looks as if the damage is slight, as far as our posessions are concerned. As for the house itself, who knows? I can't imagine it's good for the floor or the walls. I've never been so happy not to be a homeowner.

And it's still fucking raining.

November 25, 2005:

Ecological footprint

Courtesy of The Princess, I just took the Ecological Footprint Quiz. If everyone consumed what I do, we'd need 3.5 planets. My total ecological footprint is 4 acres for food, 2.5 for mobility, 4.4 for shelter, and 4.7 for good/services, for a total of 16 acres. The average American's footprint is 24 acres, but there are only 4.5 biologically productive acres per person available on the planet.

Gives you a lot to think about.

Note: I took the quiz again today, and my consumption has sadly slightly increased. Now we'd need 3.6 planets if everybody lived like me. My footprint is now 4.2 acres for food, 1.7 for mobility, 5.2 for shelter, and 4.7 for goods and services. Basically, I eat meat and live in a bigger house now, but also carpool more.

November 21, 2006:

Motorcycle

My brother-in-law was in a motorcycle accident yesterday. It looks like he's going to live, but that wasn't a given from the outset. The damage is extensive--collapsed lungs, internal bleeding, broken bones, and a nearly completely severed right hand, which he is undergoing multiple surgeries to try and save. He was riding far out of town and had to wait, alone, for several hours while his companion went to get help. It's a bad, bad scene.

Prayers and other positive thoughts directed his way would be much appreciated.

Update: I haven't seen my bro-in-law since this happened, but he recovered fully and he and family are all fine.

There was also a profile on Sojourner Truth on this day last year, I as I was participating in the first round of NaBloPoMo.

What an interesting thing...I should totally do this more often. Reminds me how very little things change--and how very much I blog!

So anybody who reads WINOW knows that I love to thrift shop. Still, there are times when a girl has to buy new, especially during the holiday buying season. I talk a good game, but there are plenty of people on my list who probably would be freaked out to get an obviously used present, so I take that into account.

So where does a thrifter shop when she's not thrifting? Well, if she's me, she spends a good deal of time at Ross and Tuesday Morning. Yep, that's right, discount stores. I know some people turn their noses up at these places, and at times I do, too (especially when they accuse me of stealing for no reason, why has happened at Ross). But, like thrift stores, if you go often and look hard, you can find some great deals at these places, for stuff that you can actually use (or gift). And what's bad about that?

So what do I buy? Well, right now, there are two things I'm particularly digging at Ross. The first is knee socks by Chinese Laundry. I LOVE these. They are super cute, comfy, and actually fit on my big ass feet, which is unusual. They're $3.99 at my local store, versus $10 or more retail. I've pretty much bought out my local store--some for me, some for gifts.

The second is this lavender honey moisturizer by Penningtons of Bath. I can't find it anywhere online, and it's probably full of things that are terrible for my skin, but it smells amazing and feels great. I am planning to go back and see if there is any more so I can stockpile it.

In general, Ross is also good for cookware (I bought a cookie sheet, madeline mold, and muffin pan there recently), sheets, some clothes (especially kids' clothes), and some wooden toys (though that is hit or miss).

At Tuesday Morning, I like the toy section the best--they have a lot of wooden toys. I also like towels there--they seem to have higher quality ones than Ross. And the housewares can be great--sometimes they have cheap La Crueset stuff. I've also seen the occasional amazing deal on dog stuff--specifically leashes and collars--there.

So that's my spiel. Support your local discount store and stay the hell out of the mall. Or something.

Happy Thanksgiving! I'm posting early today because we are having guests and plan a full day of cooking, eating, drinking, and socializing. Mark and I generally do Thanksgiving by ourselves (though we have had guests before), so this is a nice change and I'm really excited.

Thought I'd share the Thanksgiving playlist I made up for us last year and to which we are currently listening. I'll probably make up another one today if I have time, as this one is seeming a bit outdated and also completely non-thematic. I was kinda drunk last year.

Nevertheless:

1. "I Ain't Marching Anymore" by Phil Ochs
2. "My Ai'n True Love" by Alison Krauss
3. "Do Re Mi" by Ani DiFranco
4. "When the Man Comes Around" by Johnny Cash
5. "Have I Told You Lately that I Love You" by The Chieftans and Van Morrison
6. "Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down" by Shawn Mullins
7. "Lullaby" by Shawn Mullins
8. "Righteously" by Lucinda Williams
9. "Everest" by Ani DiFranco

More later...guests are here!

Can I just say how wonderful it is that it's only Saturday morning and I feel like I've already had a full weekend? Extended weekends are possibly my favorite thing ever.

I do have a good bit of work to do this weekend--revisions on my PR--but I can't even get worked up about that, since I feel like I have plenty of time and I'm still faintly interested in the project and I know it will be completely done forever in just a few days.

My blogging guru The Princess upgraded us to Movable Type 4 last night, so as I'm posting this, everything looks totally different. It's kind of disorienting, actually, and I think it's causing me to write in a semi-disoriented way, so I apologize. I have already noticed a couple of excellent-seeming new features, including post auto-saving. So I'm sure I'll get used to it.

Today we're making turkey pot pie. Doesn't that sound good? It's all rainy and nasty outside--what could be better than a pastry crust to deal with that?

I had fantastic luck thrifting yesterday. Not much for myself, but several cool swappable things. I also shopped some excellent online Black Friday sales at small shops yesterday, which I shouldn't have done, but couldn't resist. I should be set for bath products for some time. And a few gifts as well. I love Etsy. Speaking of, have you heard of the Buy Handmade Pledge?

I suppose if I am going to be typing, it ought to be on the PR. Or I could nap...it will be very convenient, as I've not changed out of my pajamas yet.

Yesterday, Squid over at The Adventures of Leelo and His Potty-Mouthed Mom provided her readers with some tre excellent info. You know all of those catalogs that have been flooding your mailbox for months and have gotten even worse since Halloween (aka "the holiday season")? You can go to Catalog Choice and use their one-stop shop to get taken off those mailing lists. Just set aside those junk-a-logs for a while, then take a few minutes to go through your pile with the website. Viola, no more catalogs! Or at least, no more catalogs in 10 weeks or so.

Why do they still send them, anyway? The days of Sears & Roebuck are over, kids--it's all about the Internet shopping now.

So National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) wraps up tomorrow, and I gotta say, I am going to miss it. It's been really good, writing every day. It's a practice I hope to stay in after November ends. Even if what I write here is meaningless drivel (or meaningless drivel in list form!), it is still really good just to be writing, and to have made the commitment to myself to do so every day. So I think I'll see how long I can keep that going. With some exceptions, of course. Like dial-up. Nobody should have to use dial-up.

In the meantime, I am crossing my fingers to be chosen for a NaBloPoMo prize! There are some great ones this year! My favorites are the felt dove ornaments and amazing plushies, but there also a zillion other cool handmade things, as well as some exciting and generous gift certificates and stuff. It's a pretty fantastic effort, all in all. My thanks go out to all of the prize donors, and to Eden, for organizing this craziness.

It may or may not be a surprise to readers of WINOW to learn that I am a fan of TLC's What Not to Wear. I have a love-hate relationship with the show--while on one hand I think they give quite a bit of good advice and I like that they are focused on looking the best you can without changing your body, on the other hand it's pretty clear that they are narrow-minded, shallow, and have no concept of trying to dress oneself on an actual budget. Still, I can't help but watch it, and I'll confess that I really have taken some of the advice they give on the show and worked it in to my own wardrobe.

Some examples:

Trouser jeans. I never would have considered trouser jeans before Clinton and Stacy, and honestly, they're a godsend. I feel way more professional at work in them than in "regular" jeans, they look great, and they are just as comfortable as their more casual alternative. I've got two pairs, this one from New York and Company and this one from Nine West, and both are wardrobe regulars.

Layers. I am a product of my generation. To me, "layers" is when you put a hoodie on over your t-shirt, which is in turn on over your thermal. But I'm trying to get out of that mindset, at least some of the time, and think a bit more about layering when I'm dressing for work or something nicer. I've picked up a few super cute cardigans to aid me in this effort (given my climate, a cardigan is often all you need for a top layer) and am realizing that a hint of camisole shown under a sweater or scoop neck shirt is nice.

Trench coat. It may have taken me nearly 30 years, but I've finally come around to the position that no, not all trench coats make you look like Inspector Gadget. I bought a classic, tan, unbelted London Fog trench in a waterproof fabric last year and I wear it all the time. Unlike my jean jacket, it makes me appear to be a grown up.

Colored shoes. It's hard for me to buy shoes, and I tend to want the ones I do buy to go with everything. To that end, I've traditionally purchased any and all shoes in black. Slowly, however, I'm working towards my color in my shoes, most recently these adorable "sunglow" flats by Red Wing. And, surprise! They work with just as many outfits as a "neutral" would.

All that being said, there are some tips from Clinton and Stacy that I am never, ever going to take. Pointy heels aren't ever going to be a party of my daily wardrobe. I see what they mean, and even agree, about how jackets pull things together, especially on larger women, but I still can't make them work for me. And it will be a sad sad day if I ever stop going to the grocery store in my pajama pants.

I've been buying a lot of handmade stuff recently, but haven't been able to share descriptions or pictures of it here, because most of it is intended as gifts for people who may be reading this blog. Yesterday, however, I attended the Wheatsville Arts Festival, one of my favorite annual Austin events, and bought a boatload of stuff just for me. Which means I can share!

(The photo shows two stacks of homemade soap, two sets of hand-thrown pottery bowls, one blue and one green, and three brightly colored handmade headbands.)

I few things that aren't gifts, so I can talk about them freely.

Claire de Lune cloth pantyliners. These were 3 for $10.50, plus $1.50 S&H, and they're fabulous. They are very lightweight, which works great for me, but are still long enough to provide reasonable panty coverage. And the fabrics are cute, too! They seem very well-made and I expect they'll be long-lasting.

To tell you that my blogging every day is probably about to abruptly end for a while. I have strep throat, and I'm miserable and ghoulish. I have nothing good to say, so I'm going back to bed.

Yeah. That is not the secret. Come on. If I were pregnant, would I tell you like that?

What I am is in Norway, on my first trip to Europe ever, hanging out with my fantastic friends Susan and Tony and my small friend Harper. I could not be having a better time, and will likely not update a whole lot until I get back.

Happy New Year!

In Norway, there are not any regulations on fireworks. What this means, in practice, is that people all over the city set off what we in the U.S. would consider professional level fireworks. In crowds. It is truly freaky. From where we were at a party, sheltered between two buildings and not in a public park or anything, it was mostly just cool to watch, but I cannot imagine that there aren't a whole lot more one-eyed people in Oslo in 2008 than there were in 2007.

This was shot last night, near Oslo's City Hall.

Aside from the freaky fireworks, we had a lovely New Year's Eve. We went to a small party at the home of some friends of my hosts, and everyone was lovely and gracious and easy to talk to. And everyone spoke beautiful English, so I didn't feel out of place not speaking Norwegian. There was a nice dinner, a great quantity of champagne, and a general spirit of merriment. I very much enjoyed it.

There is much to do...make resolutions, identify a January giving recipient, a bunch of year-in-review type posts I want to make...but I think I will put those things off until I get home. The space I am in while I am here can be somewhere in between 2007 and 2008--year limbo. Vacation time.

I am back in the U.S. of A., with new stamps on my passport, worn in long johns, and an air of European sophistication. OK, well, a stamped passport and dirty long underwear, anyway. The trip was truly out-of-this-world fantastic. I have a little travel diary that I may or may not transcribe here later, but in the meantime, suffice it to say that it rocked. Seeing my friends was wonderful, I loved Oslo, and the whole trip was the perfect mix of touristing and relaxing. Honestly it couldn't have been better.

And now I'm home, and real life will commence. Real life that is going to take some uncomfortable turns for me in the next months. But I'm sure I'll have plenty to say about that in the future. For now, here is a picture of me at the Vigeland Sculpture Park in Oslo.

I have this in the form of a little spiral notebook, which will almost definitely disappear, and I wanted to keep track of it, so I thought I'd put it here. It's the travel diary I tried (and often failed) to keep on my recent Norway trip.

12/29/07, 2:15PM, AUSTIN
In Austin airport. Ate BBQ sandwich. Anxious, but more excited than nervous. Had to buy a little notebook and silly pencil in the airport, as I didn't bring one. Flight is very full--I think an earlier one was cancelled.

12/29/07, 6:10PM DALLAS
Waiting in Dallas. Spending time in airports makes you spend money unnecessarily, I think. I've rented a laptop for an hour, eaten dinner and ice cream, and am now considering seeking out more snacks for the flight. It's a good thing we'll be boarding soon. Or at least I hope we will be--our plane just pulled up to the gate.

I wonder how much worse a 9 hour flight will be? I'm really hoping to sleep--and I have Valium to help make that happen. But I'm also really wanting a cup of coffee...luckily I have a full iPod to keep me entertained if needs be.

I know I'm supposed to be grown up and everything, but I am SO excited. EUROPE!!

12/30/07, 10:22 AM LONDON
I am in London! On the bus between Gatwick and Heathrow. England looks remarkably like Oregon, at least so far. Gray sky, pretty green. Gatwick strikes me as a not very nice airport. The border agent was rude, but my passport has be de-virginized--it now has as stamp!

The area through which we are driving is very rural. I'll have to look and see where the airports are in relation to the city.

Hardly slept at all on the flight, so I'm exhausted. Too excited to sleep now though!

12/30/07, 11:42 AM LONDON
Waiting at Heathrow now, about to have a large English breakfast (with "rashers" of bacon AND sausages!). Paying an arm and a leg for, I'm sure (pounds to dollars being what it is), but I figure this isn't an experience I'll likely be repeating soon.

OK, food is here. Weird, thick bacon, comes with roasted tomatoes. Tasty potatoes, though, and the sausage looks promising. I'm starving.

12/30/07, 4:45PM OSLO
I'm here! Waiting for this very nice train to take me from the airport to the Central Station, where I meet Tony. I hope Susan is still in the dark about all this and going to be surprised.

Now that I'm in Oslo there are lots of languages around me. I know exactly 0 words of Norwegian, but I think that is what most of it is. I just spoke English with a young man in military dress who I think was Israeli.

I hope this is the right train...and that it goes soon. I'm so anxious!

01/02/08 12:15 AM OSLO
Of course I stopped writing as soon as I got here. I also haven't taken a single picture, and tomorrow is my last day. I am having a fantastic time, though. I have seen some of the tourist stuff and will see some more tomorrow, but it is hanging out with Susan and Tony and Harper that really makes the trip great. They are doing so well here--it is just wonderful to see. I was really worried when they moved and they seem to love it here. At this point, I think I'd be half surprised if they ever moved back to the U.S.

Being here is also making me think that living in Europe is a realistic possibility for us, if we really want to pursue it. It is not the path of least resistance, but it could be doable.

01/04/08 11:00 AM OSLO
Well, my trip has all but ended. I am at the Oslo airport, at the gate, waiting to board my plane to London. I have a 5 hour lay-over in London, so I might be able to do something during that time, but my foot is bothering me a lot, so I'm not sure.

It has been a wonderful visit. Susan and Tony and Harper are doing so well, and seeing Oslo was great. You know it was a good trip when you leave wishing you could stay longer.

I just counted, and there is only 12 kroner (between $2 and $3) left in my pocket, so I guess it is time to go home.

01/04/08 4:30 PM LONDON
The airport waiting game continues. It is another hour plus before my flight boards, and I have already been here for a couple of hours. I consulted with a gate agent though, and she said I didn't have time to go in to London.

On the plus side, I have a window seat on the flight to JFK. I am quite tired, too, so hopefully I'll sleep.

It is amazing how happy and peaceful one feels after two weeks' vacation. Going back to work will be rough.

So, because I am an awfully spoiled little beast, I got several of the items on my wish list as Christmas gifts. And because I am review-happy, I thought I'd share with all of you how wonderful they all are.

Mark surprised me with several of my wish listed items. One was a hammered silver circle and sea glass pendant from Twigs & Heather. It is absolutely gorgeous, but unfortunately came on a chain too short to comfortably go around my super sized neck, so it is going to have to be fixed/exchanged. He also got me a funky address book and the Alpha Bitch thermal I was lusting after, which I've barely taken off since I got it (though it did garner me some strange looks in the airport).

Family members showered me with red KitchenAid items, including a coffee grinder and a 14-cup coffee pot. I will soon buy the red tea kettle (using the Amazon.com gift card my boss got me, perhaps?) and then my evil collecting will be complete!

Finally, my lovely friends got me a patchwork messenger bag from Textile Fetish. It is truly awesome, but unfortunately not sturdy enough to hold up to everyday use. So it's going to have to be a bit of a special occasion bag.

I also got some cash for Christmas, which I am tempted to use to buy myself a couple of the other things on my list (specifically a piece of paper sculpture and a Broken Plate Pendant). But really, I should just start off the New Year right and put the Christmas cash towards my outrageous credit card bills...we'll see.

So I'm loving me some podcasts recently. I listen to them in the background for much of my work day. And, of course, I need more of them.

Right now, these are the ones I listen to regularly:

By Women, For Women (Seal Press): new episodes every 1-2 weeks, interviews with Seal Press authors
Croncast: Generally published three times a week, everyday ramblings of a married couple in Naperville, IL. Chris is a currently-unemployed tech-person, Betsy is a SAHM/professional thriferer/Ebayer, and they are both pretty damn funny.
F-Word Podcast: only two episodes so far, doesn't seem to be on a regular schedule. Feminist podcast from the U.K.
How Much Do We Love...: Weekly(?) podcast by two twentyorthirtysomethings, focused on the stuff that they are loving in a given week. TV, food, clothes, people, whatever. I haven't been listening long, but am enjoying it so far.
NPR: Movies: self-explanatory
On Point with Tom Ashbrook: daily NPR news program, focusing a lot on elections recently
On the Media: weekly NPR news program
Russell Brand: unbelievably funny BBC comedy program, featuring the new love of my life Russell Brand (thanks Susan!). I think it's weekly.
This American Life: old standby

Given that, do you have any to suggest? Any to suggest I avoid?

Since I have had not one but several emails over the past few days inquiring as to whether or not I am OK (one of which said that the writer had "sensed a disturbance in the Force," which I am just geeky enough to love), I thought maybe I'd better make an announcement.

I'm just fine. The past couple of weeks (since I got back from Norway, really) have been very tough, but not for anything but the most mundane reason: it's high cedar season in here in lovely Austin, Texas and my allergies have been kicking. my. ass. Basically, I am irritable, stupid, and at about 5% breathing capacity. Also, I snore. So I am a total joy to live with. But it's nothing insurmountable, and in fact I think (knock wood) that the worst of it may have past.

As always, I am astounded and humbled that folks notice, just from online presence or lack thereof, that something is up with me. Truly, I am blessed.

As is often the case, Meg Fowler has some thought-provoking questions over on her blog. I'm gonna answer them:

1. What made you decide to be with the person you’re with?
There wasn't really a decision...we just are, and we have been for a long time. When we got together, it was because we couldn't stay apart. And it has mellowed into something else, but it's something equally inevitable. We just are.

2. What made you decide to do the work you do?
Well, my decision to do the specific work I do now was based on deciding it was a good idea to get into grants management, specifically in science, for future employability. Not a very exciting reason. I also have a long-term goal of self-employment, so I try to choose jobs with working towards that in mind. But it's also just a crap shoot, depending completely on what opportunities I fall on and what is available when I happen to be looking.

3. What type of discussion brings out the most passion in you?
Hmm...I tend to get pretty riled up about (dog) breed bans. And the death penalty. But as I get older, I am less and less inclined to get passionately involved in political discussions in general. It just seems a huge waste of energy, and I may have had that energy to spare at 21, but I don't anymore.

4. If you could change three things about your life instantly by snapping your fingers, what would you wish for before the big snap?
-I'd erase my debt;
-I'd turn myself into someone who eats whatever she wants and doesn't exercise and never gains weight;
-I'd give myself the ability to sing

5. What two qualities do you possess that you would never, ever change?
-generosity
-willingness to learn/interest in learning

6. When you come across something you want to change in your life, what’s the first step?
Well, I think the very first step is making a plan. But it's more important to take the first step in implementing that plan (which depends totally on what it is you are trying to change). Myself, I am excellent at plan-making, and very bad at putting plans into action (and even worse at continuing with plans...).

7. At what moment in your day are you most at peace?
On days when Mark gets up first, the time in bed between when he gets up and when I get up are pretty great. I stretch out horizontally across his still-warm side and know I have a few precious moments to stay warm and sleepy. Bliss.

Mark's great-aunt died last night. In her sleep. She was 101.

Sometimes, it's not horrible.

I've been meaning to post about this:

I am making a concerted effort to bring my lunch to work and not buy lunch when I'm here, and I've been doing really well. One thing that helps is to have an emergency stash of canned soup for days when I forget. However, I hate most canned soup, as it is salty and nasty. But Amy's Kitchen makes some pretty good lentil soup, so I usually use that.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, Amy's soup was on sale at the co-op and I picked up some more varieties to have around. One of these was potato leek. I like potato leek soup a lot, so I was jazzed to see it. Then, on a Friday, with the rest of my at-work soup supply gone, I popped open the potato leek.

It was so incredibly gross. It both looked and tasted like paste. It was gray, lumpy, and completely inedible. So I wrote an email to Amy's, telling them how bad it was and how disappointed I was, particularly since I usually enjoy their products.

Someone wrote me back. Not in three to six weeks, or even three to six day, but in a couple of hours. She said that they are aware of the problem with the potato leek soup (it doesn't hold up once it is in the cans) and are pulling it from the market. She also asked for my mailing address to send me some coupons for my trouble.

So I expected that I'd receive coupons for a couple of free cans of soup in several weeks.

Well, once again, they surprised me. By the following Wednesday (bad soup was on Friday) there was an envelope in my mailbox that contained EIGHT coupons, each for a free Amy's product. Any Amy's product. Not just soup, which I buy at the co-op for less than $2 per can, but frozen pizzas (which cost $6 or more each) or anything else. So, basically, the sent me $48 worth of coupons.

That is customer service about which I cannot complain. My complaint was addressed quickly, I was treated very courteously, and the company made it right. I will definitely remain a supporter of Amy's, and thought it only right to share the experience with you as well.

First, the basics:

Gaiam organic cotton black yoga pants (gift from my not-ILs for Christmas), Mossimo army green cotton tank top (Target), Old Navy brown and black flowered camisole (thrifted). No accessories, no shoes. Glasses from Lenscrafters, I think. Mark's mom is coming to visit this week and we're doing house-cleaning today. This is the type of thing I wear to do housecleaning.

Now.

In the past few days, several people have been mean to me. Both online and off, I have had a handful of experiences in which people have, for no real reason, treated me poorly. And after the last of these experiences, this afternoon, I got to thinking. In each case, my first reaction was stunned silence. I am not generally a person who is slow on the comeback, but in each of these cases, I have been unable to say anything in response until it's far too late for it to make any sense. Why?

I think what it comes down to is shock. My base expectation, as I move through the world, is that people will treat me with respect. Why do I believe that? Either because I'm optimistic to the point of being stupid, or it's been my experience often enough for me to think of it as a rule. I have no evidence for myself being stupid. I expect people to be nice to me because people usually are.

A ha.

An "a ha moment" is a moment in which something that has been explained to you logically becomes apparent to you viscerally (or at least that is the definition of it that makes sense to me). And today, when I realized that I expect niceness and respect as a rule and am shocked to silence when I don't receive it, I had an a ha moment. It is a position of great privilege to be able to have this expectation. It speaks to how relatively easy it is to be a middle-class, well-educated straight (or at least straight-appearing) white woman in 21st century America. If I were a woman of color, or a lesbian, or poor, would I be able to have this expectation?

As embarrassing as it is to be stunned into silence when someone is crappy to you, it would be much worse to expect to be treated that way. I am lucky. And today I feel lucky to have recognized it.

Sugar Bowl Bakery Petite Brownie Bites are amazing. They are perfect brownies, in bite sized. They come in giant packs from Costco. If you buy one, you will eat it all in less than ten days.

Or at least you will if you are me.

A long time ago, Bomboniera posted about a French press travel mug. Then, after she actually acquired said mug, she posted again about its awesomeness. Since reading these posts, I have been lusting after said mug. But I have refrained from buying it, thinking it unnecessary, as I have a French press at home and a French press at work.

Well, yesterday at the Goodwill, I spotted the mug show at left, this Bodum model. New with a Target sticker stuck on it (probably the reason Target sent it to the GW). For $1.

How could I say no?

I'm drinking out of it today, and it is indeed everything I'd hoped. It doesn't keep the coffee hot for as long as my regular travel mug, but it also lets me make the perfect amount of coffee, not wasting any. Plus it has a great lid that actually closes so I don't slosh coffee all over.

Score!

My friend Jenny sent me this e-Valentine today.

Isn't he dreamy?

I had such a good time (and felt a bit stretched in the mind) doing the OTHER mother's blogging on a theme last week, I'm thinking I'd like to do more theme-blogging. Does anybody else theme-blog regularly? Where do you get your ideas? I still can't find my Maggie Mason book, or I'd go back to that.

Anybody else interested in forming a weekly theme-blog circle or similar, where we take turns coming up with themes? I'd love that...post in the comments if you're interested?

For reasons I will disclose in a later post (possibly even later today), I have been poking around Etsy a lot recently. And, of course, I've come up with no fewer than a zillion things I want. But I'm not gonna buy them. For real. I'm not. Instead, I'm going to share them with you.

A fantastically named store, GracieDesigns, has lots of super-cool fabric products I am coveting, but none more than the cup cuddlers. The one shown here, in "At the Spa" pattern, is my favorite, but there are lots to choose from. At $6 each plus $2.50 U.S. shipping, it's not too spendy, either. Cute Easter basket addition for a coffee lover?

caughtredhanded sells fabulous resin pendants and other lovelies. I can't pick just one as a favorite, but the pink teardrop shaped one shown here surely is lovely. It even comes in its own little tin (but with no neck cord, so be forewarned) for $12 plus $3 shipping.

elfrida makes gorgeous patterned gift tags. As well as the spring green shown here, they are also available in yellow, pink, red, powder blue, khaki, and brown. For $3.50 plus $1.25 shipping, you get 18 tags. Each is a 2" card stock circle with a small hole already punched in it. I'd love to put these on packages.

I really want a print from studio mela. The one pictured here is called "I Love Your Egg Beaters," and it would be so great in my kitchen. She's also got "I Love Your Forks," "I Love Your Spoons," and "I Love Your Spatulas," as well as many non-utensil themed ones. The egg beater print is 8"X10", signed and numbered, for $20 plus $5 shipping.

Some day, a child in my life will get a gift from dressme. Each piece is totally original, made of recycled clothing. Now there is a premise I can get behind! The shirt here, made from recycled t-shirts, is size 6-12 months. It is spendy, at $21.50 plus $3.50 shipping and handling, but for one of a kind wearable art, I think it would be worth it.

BirdNerd makes collages and linocut prints on bird themes. She is extremely talented, and offers several sizes of prints, as well as postcards and note card sets. The set of five note cards shown here, which are prints of BirdNerd's collages featured birds on cherry bossom branches, are $15 plus $2.50 shipping.

electricboogaloo has more potential small friend gifts, including the fantastic nerdy ABC flash cards shown here (A is for Atom through Z is for Zoological Oddity!). The full set of brightly colored 5"X7" printed cards is $18 plus $5 shipping. I'm so there.

Reach for the Sky Designs is another fantastic Etsy jewelry maker, with the interesting twist of using Scrabble tiles as the basis for her pendants. I like several of them a lot, but this one, made from a $.04 stamp with a ship on it, is my favorite. It comes on a 18" silver plated chain for $11.50 plus $2.50 shipping.

Ahpeele makes limited edition screenprinted t-shirts, and they are so damn cool. I'd wear just about all of them, but the pine bonsai one shown here is my favorite. The shirt is a longfit v-neck, available in sizes xl-xxl, for $28 plus $5 S&H.

Finally, one more necklace. I've been eyeing the lovely pendants at Ling Glass for months, particularly the stained glass ones, like the the spiral one shown here. The price, $17.50 plus $3.50 shipping, is for the pendant onlly, but the store also sells cords and chains for between $2.50-$4.

There. I feel better now.

I am currently trying to (re)commit to yoga. I think I need it, both for my body and for my mind, and there is a very nice studio very close to my house. So, on Saturday, I took a beginner's Hatha class, which was good, not too stressful, and included a minimum of balancing postures, which I appreciated. Then, last night, I went again, with the intention of trying a beginner's Kundalini class. But I made a scheduling mistake and ending up in a beginner's Ashtanga class instead.

Briefly, Ashtanga uses the same postures as regular Hatha (the ones with which you're probably familiar, even if you don't do yoga), but always in the same sequence, without stopping, and with a focus on a specific style of breathing and "locks," or muscle contractions, in specific areas of the body (most notably, the perenium), to generate internal heat. It's not the one where the room is heated--that's Birkram--but the room isn't at all chilly and gets very warm before the session is done.

It was hard, y'all. No lie. I am in lousy shape, and it was difficult. Just the first sequence of sun salutations had me red-faced with horrible cramps in my feet, and I woke up to unseasonable cold this morning feeling like I'd pulled every muscle between my knees and my neck. But it's good, I think. I felt great when I was finished, and almost immediately starting looking for the next class I could schedule. I'd love to be able to stick with for long enough to improve, to see and feel change. No promises, but I am certainly going to try.

Do you ever use writing prompts? I've used them before, in creative writing, and in journaling a little bit, but not too much here on the blog. However, I'm drawing a lot of blog fodder blanks recently, and feeling like I am filling in with a lot of what amounts to bullshit, so I'm going to try using some prompts to get back on track. The first prompter I found was Imagination Prompt Generator, so I'm using that for now, but I'm sure there are a thousand available.

So, some prompted writing.

Prompt 1:

I don't know what I think happens when we die. I wish I did know, or at least had some sort of inclination. I think living would be easier, especially the part of living that entails watching people and animals you love die. I don't harbor a particular fear of non-existence for myself, but I do harbor a fear of not seeing those I love again.

As far as the accepted theories go, I think reincarnation makes more sense to me than heaven does. The idea that this brief span of years we live is all we have to do, our entire journey, doesn't seem totally likely to me. But again I don't know how to separate what I hope is true from what I actually think is true. The bottom line with me on this one, as with any religious question, really, is that I don't know, I don't see how I could know, and I find it frustrating to think about.

Prompt 2:

If I have to bring food to a party, I usually err on the side of dessert. This is both because desserts are so often met with oohs and aahs and because I am a far better baker than I am cook.

Wanna see what else I've been working on?

Of course you do--that's the joy of a captive audience!

This is what I am calling the bloom table. It's my second attempt at a collaged table top (the first was years ago and it's really too bad I don't have a picture of it, because it was very cool). The materials are basically all re-used: thrifted table, pictures from old magazines and calendars that I either thrifted or had around. The only thing I bought was the varnish with which I am now coating it in the hopes it will be somewhat durable. Even the Mod Podge I attached the pictures with originally and the paint brush I am using for the varnish are leftovers. So that part is good. And doing a completely apolitical collage like this, which focuses on pretty colors and shapes rather than any greater meaning, has been good for my psyche. I haven't decided yet whether to just varnish the wooden legs or spray paint them a bright color. And then I think it's going to become my nightstand.

I really love collage as an art form because it is so free-form. There are no wrong answers, and it can be as sloppy or as precise as you want it to be. I rarely plan a collage out--I just keep adding and moving things until it feels right to me. This isn't a great method in terms of making things come out perfect or neat, but it is what has felt best to me so far. As always, when I look at this finished product I see how I should have done it differently (for example, started at the outside and worked in to avoid bare edges), but all in all I am pretty happy with it.

I sold my first bunch of bath melts today, and I am just on Cloud 9 about it. True, the person who is buying them is a friend, so it's still all in the family, but I'm still excited. The first step of my plan for world domination and the overthrow of Lush is complete!

In case you missed it before, my Etsy shop, Crushworthy, is here. It's under construction, more things will be added in the future, but you can definitely buy what is there now. Please tell anybody bath-obsessed that you know--my stuff is cheaper than most, more natural than most, and fully customizable!

Also, my tie-dying friend Frog has opened an Etsy shop, Dye Tyke, and you should check it out as all. She does beautiful work, and her baby/toddler stuff is so so great. What's cuter than a baby in tie-dye? My favorite piece she has up now is this orange romper.

Here's to women turning their creativity into small business, and supporting one another while doing it!

Oh, one more shout out: my friend The Princess is blogging at a site you should all check out, Crafting a Green World. It's a wonderful read and a good resource, and I'll be adding it to be feed reader right now. You should too.

You'd think, with as often as I am sick and as much of my life as I've spent sick, I'd have it down. But I don't. I'm so bored. My head is killing me, such that very much TV or reading is a problem. I hate crosswords and Suduko and all that. I simply cannot sleep any more right now. I'm too tired to do anything that requires standing up. I paid some bills today, and though that felt like a huge victory, it was exhausting.

Perhaps I really should take up embroidery.

A couple of weeks ago, on a whim, I bought a set of Little House books at the GW for $2. I just read Little House in the Big Woods while taking a bath. What do you bet I'll be all the way up through The First Four Years before I ever start being able to breathe out of my nose or taste food again?

Look! I have an About page now!

In the way of living somewhere where everything comes late, I have been noticing a ton of emo kids in Austin lately. They were around Portland before I was ever out of Reed, but I've only noticed them down here in the last year or so. The ones in Portland are probably on to something else by now.

If you don't know what emo is, you can start here, but basically it's a fashion/lifestyle "subculture" characterized by a certain style of dress and a heavy dose of misery, as well as allegiance to some specific music. Those kids with the tight jeans, stringy black hair in their faces, and constant expression of contemplation constipation? They're emo.

And there is no way for me to properly emphasize how much I hate emo.

Now this is almost inevitably due to my being too old and uncool to properly understand. I get that. But I hate it all the same. It is definitely not that I have a problem with wallowing in your own angst (I mean, c'mon, that's pretty much my favorite past time), or a particular issue with your hair being in your eyes. I'm not even bothered as much as I once was by folks who don't shower often. Emo music is all bad, as far as I can tell, but I've heard worse.

What bothers me is the way emo looks an awful lot like a really, really poor imitation of two subcultures that I do have a bit of experience being in and around: goth and grunge. These kids think they're miserable? I remember when you could be miserable AND sexy.

I was never really goth (though I've made the occasional attempt). I'm a bit young for it. Goth culture came to the U.S. in the late 80s and early 90s (from England and Germany, mostly), when I was still adolescent. However, it was still very much alive and kicking by the time I was in high school and college in the mid-late 90s. One of the annual events at Reed was a "Fetish Ball," where the goth kids got up in their finest leather and lace and did things like bit and flogged one another. I attended. I wonder, now, how much of the sexual subculture that was being celebrated so publicly was really taking place privately, but that wasn't really the point. The point was to celebrate pain, to indulge in thinking it was sexy, and for everybody to look hot. It is undeniably silly now (and was then, too, actually), and there was definitely an aspect of commercialism and commodification to it even then, but there was also something real behind it. For the most part, those indulging were freaks, even within the already freaky Reed social hierarchy. It was a way to embrace being an outcast.

I did grunge a lot better than I did goth. Partially it must have been regional, since I grew up in Oregon in the shadow the of the Seattle scene, and partially it was just better timing, with grunge hitting big right as my early teen hormonal flood kicked in. I don't have a picture to show you, but I wore my jeans-black tee shirt-flannel-Docs combo faithfully, even if my hygiene was always a little bit too good. And it wasn't just about fashion. Wikipedia describes grunge music as being "typically angst-filled, often addressing themes such as social alienation, apathy, confinement, and a desire for freedom." That's pretty much Grace, circa 1992-1997. Grunge was, to those who embraced it in my generation (and the one before mine, really), what punk was in the years before that--a reply to a mean, confusing, alienating world that was both defiant and resigned. And again, it was for outcasts--those who saw what was happening in the society around them and in their own lives and, for whatever reason, couldn't pretend it was going to be OK.

Given that I grew up with and identified with both goth and grunge, two subcultures that were built on angst (remember, I could have been a rave kid instead if I'd wanted to be happy), it seems like I'd be all over emo, right? No. Emo may look something like a goth-grunge slushy, but it strikes me as a very pale imitation of the real things. Unlike goth, there's no sexiness to emo. The emo kids want to cut themselves, but the pleasure-from-the-pain element doesn't seem to come into it. And the emo-ers may not wash, but there's none of the rebellion of grunge, none of the insistence that this outside part doesn't matter anyway.

It is almost inevitable that I am missing some important core element of emo here, just by virtue of being too old and too far outside of it to understand what it means to the people who are inside it. The commodification and fake misery I see when I look at emo kids is probably very similar to what old-school punks say when they looked at grunge kids, and it definitely resembles the Hot Topic-ization of goth. And much as it annoys me, if emo culture is providing to kids now some of what goth and especially grunge culture provided to me as a fucked-up outsider kid, them more power to it. But I still can't help but resent how fake it looks, and how it doesn't seem to recognize its roots, and how we did it better in my day.

I like to listen to podcasts. I listen to lots of podcasts. My very favorite podcast is Kris and Betsy Smith's Croncast. Kris and Betsy are a married couple in suburban Illinois. He's a computer geek of some sort who had a childhood I very much recognize and she's a stay-at-home mom/professional thrift and resale queen/comedian. They basically just tell amusing stories about what is going on in their lives. Their motto is "life is show prep." They're very very funny, occasionally moving, and always worth listening to.

Right now, Croncast is in its last season. Once this season ends, Kris and Betsy are going to change the name of the show and go to a once-a-week format. This makes me sad sad sad, because I love to listen to them and want more, not less. On today's show, Kris announced that if enough of their loyal listeners get out and drum up more support for them, they'll increase the once-a-week plan for their new show to two or three times a week. I don't know what the rationale behind this is--maybe they just want to make sure there are enough listeners to make it worth their time? Anyway, I'm trying to do my part of help increase their listenership. So go, download, listen. Way way way funnier than Dawn and Drew.

So I'm in a blogging rut, clearly. All I write about anymore is Buffy. While I have not intention of stopping writing about Buffy, it would be good to write about some other stuff, too.

So I appeal to you, gentle reader. Give me some ideas, some topics, some prompts. Ask me a question, tell me a lie, anything to get me started.

So my little Etsy shop isn't doing so well. Still no interest. But that doesn't keep me from checking out what everyone else has for sale over there and regaling you all with it. I seem to be particularly in to screen printing and letterpress these days. Here are some recent loves:

Stationary
Modern Printed Matter has great stuff. The dragonfly note cards are my favorite. They are $10 plus $1.50 shipping for a set of six.

pixelimpress has lovely cards as well. I'm particularly digging the purple and green "Swimmin' Along" set

Letterary Press has some funny cards, including this Gertrude Stein card, $4 with free shipping.

My absolute favorite stationary, though, is made by winifred studios. These ridiculously cute dog cards are $10 plus $2 shipping and handling for a set of four, and she also has a pug version!

Art
Mixed media artist Jamie Beitter sells her collage art at Living in Freedom. While some of it seems vaguely religiously themed and doesn't work for me, some of it is awesome. The "Be You" print is an 8"X10", and it's $15 plus $2 S&H.

I know I've posted about them before, but I still can't get over how much I love the "I Love Your Spatulas" and "I Love Your Eggbeaters" prints at studio mela. They're 8"X10", $20 each plus $5 S&H.

I am just nuts about Angela's work at Jelly Beans. It's hard to pick a favorite, but I really love her Cherry Blossom print, which is 8.5"X11" and $15 plus $4 S&H.

Jewelry
I already bought a pendant from Ling Glass. I love it so much, I want to buy another one. This other one. It's $18 plus $3.50 S&H.

A ton of people are making pendants from paper overlaid Scrabble tiles, and I love too many of them to count. My absolute favorite, though, is Littleputbooks' "Steam Punk" pendant. It's $15 plus $2 shipping and comes in its own decorative box.

I am still, as always, lusting over the offerings of the Broken Plate Pendant Company. Right now I especially love this turquoise and orange graphic pendant, made from an Anthropologie plate. It's $30 plus $2 S&H.

I love the ephemera pendants Bluevivor makes, especially this slightly snarky Joie de vivre one. It's $10 plus $2.25 S&H.

Clothes/bags
Boutique Mia makes beautiful clothes for adults and kids. My favorite thing is this funky, choose-your-own-fabric pillowcase top. It's $32.99 plus $4.60 shipping.

Baffin Bags makes some CUTE tote/diaper bags. This sage green tote and wallet set is my favorite. It's $38 plus $6 shipping.

I've pointed out the lunch sacks at Sandra Kay Creations before, but what about this great Sami Ann tote? I love the size, shape, and fabric. It's $40 plus $8.95 S&H.

Kids' stuff
Gifts for kids are probably my favorite thing to look at on Etsy. Some of my favorite stuff is at Mountain Aven Baby. It's more money than one should spend, but this pink and brown jumping jack lounge set may well be headed to the home of a couple of friends of mine who are about to adopt their first child. It's $42 plus $4.50 shipping.

More child gift possibilities come from Bella Blu Designs. I am particularly loving this weiner dog gift set. Look at the way the dog wraps around! Look at the bone on the butt! For $36 plus $4 shipping you get the onesie, pants, and coordinating burp cloth.

Another thing I am coveting for a baby present is Baffin Bags' Amy Butler patchwork quilt. It's 32"X32", and costs $45 plus $6 S&H.

That's what I've got for now. Buy handmade! :)

Local and handmade, what could be better? Here are a few Austin-local Etsy favorites I've run across:

Katinka Pinka makes wonderful, unusual jewelry and beautiful wrap skirts. She charges sales tax to us locals, but S&H is always free. My favorite of her stuff is this green Secret Bumble wrap skirt. It's $59, which is maybe a bit high, but it is really lovely and looks well-made. My only real complaint is that according to the description, it only fits up to a size 12.

I thought this post by Jane at Dear Jane Sample was a particularly inspired piece of blogging, and Immediately set about to recreate my own Brand Timeline Portrait, though mine won't likely be as easy on the eyes as Jane's. What does yours look like?

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So I haven't been posting much. Big thanks to those who have noticed.

No special reason, other than I've been extra busy at work and keeping my fingers occupied with craftiness and my eyes occupied watching movies (and, yeah, Buffy) at home. Things are good, though, just not particularly blog worthy. Actually, the big project that's had me in a tither at work for the last several months is finished and was successful, at least as much as is within my control, so I'm feeling very good about things.

Mark and I are headed out on vacation next week, to hang out with our crew in Boston, so maybe I'll have something more noteworthy to say then.

In the meantime, I'll take requests, if you have them. On what subject shall I blog?

OK. I'm back from my trip, which was mostly lovely. My friends are good, having grown into incredible adults while I wasn't paying attention, Boston was most hospitable and graced us with beautiful weather, and we had one of my Top 5 Best Dinners Ever (go here).

However.

My allergies were bad before leaving for Boston. They progressed to worse when I hit the combination of Boston pollen and dusty/moldy basement apartment (mostly the former, I think). Then, in our last 24 hours, I got MUCH worse, including a last night spent mostly tossing, turning, and sitting up to breathe better. On the flight home, which would have otherwise been lovely (go JetBlue, with your direct less-than four-hour flight and your in-seat televisions!), I was a fever-riddled sinus-clogged mess. Seriously, I sat in my seat and quaked. It was awful.

A trip to the urgent care later (as my primary care doctor could once again not be bothered to see me and thus is no longer my primary care doctor) I have an antibiotic, an inhaler, and a Neti pot. To go with my sinus infection, ear infection, and "bronchial spasms."

Have I mentioned recently how much I sometimes truly and utterly despise being me?

So, if you aren't a football (non-American) geek and aren't partnered with one, you may not know that the Euro 2008 tournament is underway. However, it's the rage at my house, and I'm, as always, drawn in. So much so, in fact, that after having watched each team play once (or watched highlights in some cases), I'm going to bore you with my predictions for the rest of the tournament. I know--first math, now sports? What is this blog coming to?

I can't find a suitable bracket anywhere that includes the group stages, which isn't surprising given the way things are laid out, so this is gonna have to be done in text.

What has happened so far
To catch you up, these are the groups:

Group A: Portugal, Czech Republic, Switzerland, Turkey
Group B: Austria, Croatia, Germany, Poland
Group C: France, Italy, The Netherlands, Romania
Group D: Greece, Spain, Russia, Sweden

In the first round of games, the following happened:
Group A: Czech Republic beat Switzerland 1-0; Portugal beat Turkey 2-0
Group B: Croatia beat Austria 1-0; Germany beat Poland 2-0
Group C: Romania and France tied 0-0; The Netherlands beat Italy 3-0
Group D: Spain beat Russia 4-1; Sweden beat Greece 2-0

The second round of games started yesterday, with the following:
Group A: Portugal beat the Czech Republic 3-1; Turkey beat Switzerland 2-1

From here on out, I'm predicting.

Remaining second round predictions:
Group B: Germany beats Croatia, Poland beats/ties Austria (today)
Group C: Italy beats Romania, The Netherlands beats France (6/13)
Group D: Spain beats Sweden, Russia beats Greece (6/14)

Third round predictions:
Group A: Portugal beats Switzerland; Czech Republic beats Turkey (6/15)
Group B: Poland beats Croatia; Germany beats Austria (6/16)
Group C: The Netherlands beats Romania, France beats/ties Italy (6/17)
Group D: Spain beats Greece; Russia beats/ties Sweden (6/18)

Then we're out of the groups and into quarterfinals. If my above predictions come true, then on 6/19, Portugal (Winner Group A) plays Poland (Runner-up Group B). Portugal will win.

On 6/20, Germany (Winner Group B) plays Czech Republic (Runner-up Group A). Germany will win.

On 6/21, The Netherlands (Winner Group C) plays Russia (Runner-up Group D). The Netherlands will win.

On 6/22, Spain (Winner Group D) plays France (Runner-up Group C). Spain will win.

Next round, semifinals. Portugal will defeat Germany and Spain will defeat the Netherlands.

Finally, I see Portugal and Spain in the final match, and I see Spain winning it all.

Now that the weather is warm I wear sleeveless clothes 90% of the time. This exposes my dove tattoo, which is on my right upper arm. And I forget, during the months the tat is covered by sleeves, how people react to it.

During any given day during which I leave my house, at least one person comments on this tattoo. Like clockwork. It happens all the time. Mostly, people just say they like it. Fairly frequently people, particularly older women, comment on how it is the prettiest tattoo they've ever seen. Sometimes, people recognize it as Picasso and ask me about that. Very rarely, someone recognizes it as a symbol of peace and comments on that. And every time someone notices it, I get a little thrill. I've had it for...three and a half years, I think, and still it excites me that people like it.

I didn't get this tat because it's pretty, though I think it is, and I am still amazed at the great job the tattoo artist did in replicating the brush strokes and line drawing feeling of the original Picasso piece, "Dove with Flowers" (you can see that here). But those things are just bonuses. Unlike my other two tattoos (which are, incidentally, less pretty), this tattoo was intended to be overtly political when I got it. I decided to get it when the U.S. invaded Iraq in 2003 (though I didn't actually carry the plan out for a couple of years after that). Picasso started using doves to symbolize a call for peace in his work in 1949, when he created this poster for the World Peace Congress. He later used doves over and over again, including the one I have, Columbe avec Fleurs, which he painted a few years later. When I was searching for an image to put on my body that symbolized my commitment to and prayer for peace, it made sense to use one of these doves. I wear it on my arm, the most visible of my tats because it is that important, that vital.

An internet search turns up a few other folks with Picasso dove tattoos. I found a couple of the same dove I have, as well as quite a few of the simpler doves. I've had a couple of people tell me, upon seeing mine, that they know someone with the same tat. So it's not exactly the world's most original content, but it's not clip art, either.

Lately, I'm thinking about making a similar and complimentary statement on my other upper arm. I want an image that will be true to my politics, but still fit asthetically with what I already have. At some point, I saw a line drawing type thing of two hands holding on to several stems of roses and stalks of wheat. That might work. We'll see.

Anyway, to those who compliment me on my tat, thank you. It was something important to me and I am glad that it catches people's attention.

I haven't told you this, but I'm having a really great summer.

Summer started with the trip to Boston Mark and I took at the end of May/beginning of June, which was awesome. Since then, life has been mostly non-stressful work days and evenings of watching the Euros and drinking rum-based cocktails. We have a new foster dog I adore, everybody is happy and healthy, and life is good. We've been having some financial stress, but all in all, I can't complain.

In other news, my little yellow leather Fossil wallet finally died, so I searched for a replacement for a bit. I don't carry much in my wallet--my driver's license, a couple of credit cards, and whatever cash I have on hand--so I don't need anything big. Finally, after many hours of Etsy searching, I settled on this:

Notice the little pink hedgehog? Kills me. I got it from here. She's got a warthog one, too!

Yesterday was a really spectacularly bad day. Not a one-off bad day either, a bad day with repercussions with which I will have to deal for months. It's not something I can talk about here, but it was pretty terrible for me and extremely stress-inducing.

That, obviously, is the bad news.

The good news is this: I didn't use either of my typical coping mechanisms. Mark and I went out to dinner last night, and I neither ate nor drank to excess. I ate and drank enough comfort food to feel comforted, but didn't overindulge in any way. I also haven't gone shopping and am not really considering doing so. I am being both kind and strict with myself, reminding myself over and over again that I have goals to achieve, and allowing those coping mechanisms is a hurdle to achieving those goals. And so far, wonder of wonders, it is working.

If I don't watch out, I might just learn something.

(Thanks to Skye, whose post today about cliques on the Web inspired this post).

When I was in college, it took me quite a while to make friends. For the first weeks, I felt lonely and homesick and out of place as I tried to introduce myself to people and mingle with different groups. This isn't natural behavior to me, and it was really tough. Slowly, though, I fell in with a group of people in my dorm (including the person who is now, years later, my partner). That group of people expanded to include some other people who were not in the dorm, but were friends with people in the dorm. It overlapped and interacted with other groups of people; some relationships were permanent, others more temporary.

My second year in college, I lived in an on-campus apartment with two women with whom I'd become friends in the dorm. The social structure was not so built in, but many members of the group I'd started to interact with in my first year resided in the same complex. I spent time with most of them, but especially with one of them women with whom I lived, her boyfriend, and another guy (my now partner), who lived next door.

As is the way in college, we and the folks around us tended to refer to people and groups by nicknames. "The Goth Collective," "Acid Freak Out Boy," "Skanky X" or "Weird Boy Y." So I can't say I was totally surprised to hear my little group of friends had earned a nickname.

I was surprised, however, to learn what it was.

The Clique. A name given to use because we spent so much time together and seemed so insular.

I was floored. Making friends has never been easy for me, and social dynamics were in a way new to me at that point, as I grew up in an environment so small that cliques were not really as common as twosomes. I had certainly felt left out of a group before, having never been really "popular" or a proper jock. But I'd never been on the leaving out side. And now, I had a clique.

I won't deny that's what it was. Then or now. Nearly ten years later, I am still friends with these people (the larger group as well as the three people with whom I formed "The Clique"). One of them became my partner, the other two are among my best friends in the world, and the people with whom I am most comfortable. Even as we've all changed, I continue to love them more every time I spend time with them, and to miss them terribly when I can't. And I will be honest--when I do get to spend time with them, I don't want to share. I am not someone who enjoys meeting new people, getting to know them, trying to find common ground. I enjoy spending time with the people I already know and love. So if I were in any situation with a larger group, my inclination would definitely be to put up some kind of barriers between my small group and any outsiders. This would, clearly, be cliquish behavior.

But I'm OK with that. I don't think any of use bear a responsibility to be friends with everybody, or to seek out friendships when we would prefer to enjoy the time we have with the people who are already in our lives. This isn't to say that I haven't made any other friends since that group in college--I certainly have--but I'm picky about my friends. I don't want a large circle of acquaintances, and I value the people who I know and love and have grown up with more than any kind of new friend excitement.

The rub, I think, is in not taking other people's relationships and how they choose to express those relationships personally. If you are feeling left out of something, you may well be actually left out, but it is quite possible that has far more to do with those who are "in" and their relationships with one another than with you.

We had such a lovely 4th of July. A few friends, the best burgers I've had in years, some really tasty watermelon, a homemade pie, a few drinks. Really a splendid time. I insisted we go "All-American" with the food: burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob, apple pie. It was so good. And the company was just as excellent as the food.

The best part? It's still only Saturday morning. There's a whole weekend left! So I can give in to my exhaustion and just laze around this morning, not doing any chores, and still have plenty of time to get everything that needs doing done before Monday.

I'm making my way through The Last Emperor this weekend (from my Oscar moving watching project). I'm only about an hour and a half in, but I am really enjoying it so far, or at least enjoying it more than I had expected to. It is unfortunately racist, but I know almost nothing about Chinese history, so it is interesting from that angle, plus I really like the main actor, John Lone. Next up is Out of Africa. Can't say I'm all that excited. Ghandi is after that, though, and that is one of the ones I haven't seen but feel that I should have that got me started on this project to begin with.

Belle the foster beagle is doing exceptionally well. Her ringworm seems to be healing up nicely (hopefully--she's got to go back to the vet for a re-check next week) and she's got a lovely personality. She sleeps right next to our bed now--we're only crating when we're gone. She is still terrorizing the cats a little bit, but that's good for them.

OK. Off to at least put in some laundry before I begin my day of serious loafing.

I have written before about Croncast, but I don't think I've properly conveyed my love for the show.

I've tried out a lot of podcasts, both personal ones (Dawn & Drew, How Much Do We Love..., More Hip Than Hippy) and professional ones (Russell Brand, Definitely Not The Opera, a passel of NPR ones), but none of them have me ensnared like Croncast does. See that last.fm "What I'm Listening To" widget on the sidebar? All it says, all it has said for days (weeks?), is Croncast. That is because I am listening to all of the archives, starting all the way back when the show started in 2004.

Why am I listening to three or four year old podcasts? Because I miss Kris and Betsy.

See, Croncast is over. After putting up 500 shows, Kris and Betsy put it to bed a couple of weeks ago. And since then, air silence. They are actually putting out a new show, Life in the Can, starting any day now. In the meantime, though, I'm going back to the archives to get my fix.

And I am realizing, as I'm getting this fix, learning about how Kris and Betsy got to the point they were when I started listening to the show last year, that I feel like Kris and Betsy are my friends.

I do this. I get involved with people I don't know and who don't know me. Usually, those people are fictional and exist in novels or on television shows, but in this case, they're real, they're just not a part of my real life. Why? Because it's the easiest relationship in the world to have. They talk, they entertain me, give me stuff to think about, make me laugh, and ask for nothing in return. I don't have to give advice, I don't have to provide anecdotes to match their's, I don't even have to smile or make eye contact. Any time they irritate me or I am tired of listening to them, I can turn them off. It's a no-stress relationship.

Before you start thinking that admitting I enjoy a non-reciprocal relationship with people I don't know, consider: isn't that part of what all this internet communication (blogs, message boards, podcasts) is about? Being able to interact with people on your own terms--when you choose to log in, when you choose to read. Isn't being entertained and elucidated without having to reciprocate part of why we all read blogs and listen to podcasts--and for that matter, why we read novels and watch television?

The real question, though, is why do people (for whom it is not a profession) put themselves out to be consumed? Why do we blog? Why have Kris and Betsy spent four years of their lives putting our shows three times a week? What is in it for them?

I have some ideas, but honestly, not any very good ones. So I guess all I can say is this: Kris and Betsy, thank you so much. No matter why you do it, I'm glad you have, and I hope you'll be putting out new shows again really really soon. And the rest of you--if you haven't checked out Croncast, go download some shows and give them a listen. You'll get hooked.

I've noticed recently that many of my favorite blogs feature contest. I just entered one at not martha fantastic cards, for example. Karen at chookooloonks is currently running one for a framed print of one of her photographs. Ree at Confessions of a Pioneer Women has ones with fantastic prizes all the time. So, I was thinking to myself, I should have a contest!

Here's what we'll do. You leave a comment. Tell me the types of things you wish you could thrift for, or you do thrift for. A week from now, on Thursday, July 17, I will use a random number generator to pick one comment, and I will thrift a fabulous gift for that person.

Cool?

Comment NOW!

For as long as I've known him, Mark has really liked to go out to eat really nice food. I think it's something he picked up from his parents, who also really enjoy it. When we first got together, it took Mark years to convince me that fancy dining was a good time--I thought it was pompous and overpriced and uncomfortable. After awhile, though, I started to really enjoy it too, and when we lived in Portland, we went out pretty often.

Since moving to Austin, we've gone out less and less. In part, this is because the quality of the restaurants in Austin is just not what it was in Portland. We had a couple of expensive meals that were distinctly not worth it when we first moved here, and after that decided that maybe we needed to wait until we moved to somewhere with better food before we laid down that kind of cash again. More recently, there have just been too many other places we need to put our money for us to spend a lot of it eating out.

Last night, however, we made an exception. Well, kind of. As a thank you for a big project I did at work, one of the professors for whom I work said that he'd pay for Mark and I to go out to a nice dinner. After some discussion, Mark and I decided to take him up on that at Wink. We got an early reservation and decided we'd dress up and go out and make a night of it.

We were not disappointed.

Here you see Mark and I poised to leave the house. For the sake of my fashion-minded readers, Mark is wearing navy pinstriped trousers from Calvin Klein (Ross), a short-sleeved red cotton shirt from Banana Republic (thrifted) , Sketchers shoes (Nordstrom Rack), an antique Omega watch (gift from his father), and a faux hawk. I am sporting a black Evan Piccone cocktail dress (Ross), Areosoles wedge sandals (Zappos), a chunky jade scarf necklace (Banana Republic), and an antique beaded purse (thrifted). My unruly hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and I'm even wearing a small amount of makeup (waterproof mascara and Almay lip gloss).

Now, the important part. The food. We arrived at Wink just on time for our 5:45 reservation. The decor at the restaurant was pleasantly understated (I really like their comfy woven chairs) and the dining room is small. We were seated at a nice corner table and our waitress was very knowledgeable and chatty about the menu. At first, both Mark and I were irritated by feeling like she was talking down to us, but as the meal progressed she seemed to realize we were both pretty familiar with food and wine (at one point she asked Mark if he was in the restaurant business) and things got a lot better.

Wink doesn't have a full bar, just wine, so I started with a nice Alsatian pinot gris and Mark had a glass of prosecco. The pinot gris was nice--very sweet, but not cloying, and the sip I had of Mark's prosecco was good as well, though I don't love it pre-meal like he does. After looking over the menu, which changes every day, Mark and I decided to do a few shared courses, rather than each ordering our own appetizers and entrees. We were served warm rolls with butter before ordering, and the rolls, which are not made in-house, but are quite good. There was also an amuse bouche of chilled tomato soup with herb oil that was a tasty starter.

First course: Thunderheart bison carpaccio with shaved trumpets, new potato confit, and porcini mustard

I like carpaccio in general, but neither of us had ever had bison carpaccio before. We've been eating some really excellent bison sausage recently (from Bison Provision Company), though, and have a taste for it. Bison lends itself to this preparation surprisingly well. The flavor is strong, but paired with the amazing porcini mustard, it's not overpowering. The shaved trumpets were a nice addition, as they were surprisingly flavorful, as was the arugula salad this came with, which I would eat with the a porcini mustard dressing all by itself. The only part I didn't enjoy was the new potatoes, which were a little softer and blander than I wanted in this dish. In general, though, it was spot-on. It was also not a super small plate--Mark and I both got plenty. Mark, who is a bit jaded about "new" and "exciting" preparations, said he'd never had anything quite like this before, and really loved it. His next-day review says this is the best dish we had. He calls it the "most successful, most interesting, and most delicious." I liked it a lot, but my favorite dish comes later.

Second course: seared dayboat scallops with Wink pancetta, brussels sprouts, and brown butter mustard

I don't love scallops, but Mark does, so we ordered these for our second course. They were cooked perfectly, and the brown butter mustard sauce was really nice and rich and flavorful--not too much mustard. Mark and I both would have liked there to have been more pancetta in this dish--it's house-made and tasty, but seemed a little sparse. The brussel sprouts were a disappointment--more hard than crunchy and kind of tasteless. The entire dish struck both Mark and I as kind of seasonally inappropriate--more a fall thing than a summer one--but it was still good, if not perfect. Once again, the plate was a totally reasonable size, with two big scallops, the sauce, and a sprinkling of sprouts.

I paired our second and third courses with another glass of wine, a really surprising California Gewürztraminer from Handley Cellars. Gewürztraminer in general is one of my favorite ones, but this one was much less sweet and more minerally than I am used to. Still, it was quite good, if not exactly what I had in mind for this food. The waitress mentioned that this wine pairs really well with spicy food, and I could definitely see that.

Third course: seared foie gras on pain perdu with almonds and strawberry-vanilla purée

Mark loves foie gras. For a long time, I wouldn't eat it, but I slowly came around and I enjoy it as well. I did not, however, enjoy this preparation. Foie gras is really rich stuff. I think it needs something crunchy with it, as well as something with as sharp flavor. This dish provided neither of those things. Basically, this was big chunks of seared foie gras on French toast, with a sweet strawberry vanilla sauce. I took one bite and thought it came off like meat-flavored yogurt. I really really didn't like it. Mark was more charitable towards it, but didn't love it either. That didn't stop him from eating the entire plate, though.

At this point, Mark and I both ordered red wine to go with our final two courses. Mark went with a Rosso di Montalcino that was probably too big for the food we were eating, but was amazingly good. I ordered a northern California pinot noir that was perfectly adequate and matched well with the food, but wasn't near so good as a similar wine from Oregon would have been, at least not to my palate.

Fourth course: countryside farm rabbit loin on rabbit ravioli with English peas, carrots, and arugula

This was my favorite course. I hadn't had rabbit in years, and I love it. The loin itself was good--perfectly prepared, soft, buttery, melting in your mouth--but the ravioli was what really pushed this dish over for me. It was filled with what seemed to be rabbit confit, and I couldn't get enough of it. I was so disappointed that there was only one big ravioli on the plate. There so should have been two. The peas in this dish were a big disappointment, though--they were, I think, intended to be tiny crunchy spring peas, but instead they just seemed to be undercooked mature peas. Once again, I think the problem was seasonality--spring peas do not exist in Texas in August. Overal