Unique New York

Details of My Awesomeness, in list form

2009-07-30T14:17:00.000-07:00

1. This week, I mailed out several boxes to my mom. They were souvenirs she picked up in New York. This morning, the postman rang our bell, and Russ climbed out of bed and let me know that a package arrived. I addressed one of the boxes to myself. The return address? Myself.

2. Yesterday, on the way home from Target, I heard the death knell of a tire. I had that fleeting moment where I hoped that the obnoxious sound was emanating from a car behind me. So, I pulled over to investigate. In going home traffic. As the sky threatened to rain. In Bed-Stuy. I pulled over onto a side street, and began the process of removing the flattened tire. I lost weight yall, and now my body weight doesn't have enough torque when I tried to bounce on my tire iron to force off the lugs. Thankfully, a young man helped me out with this (although if he weighed much more than me it was because of his shoes). Anyway, I had a lovely Nancy Botwin moment when I decided whether or not it was patronizing to pay the guy for helping me out. I paid him anyway. White guilt. I was easily the whitest thing for twenty blocks. For chrissakes, I was wearing a red plaid cotton top. I could have doubled for Marianne. While I was bending down spinning handle on the jack, my hair got wet. Rain? No. Dog urine and motor oil, thankyouverymuch.

3. Do you know what epoxy smells like when it is heated at a temperature past its labeled recommendations? I do. It's like a tire fire, only the tires are made of hair and shame. I was trying to be helpful and I epoxied the spinning arm in our dishwasher (it keeps leaning left and coming apart during the wash cycle. Something smelled amiss when I ran the dishes 24 hours later. I now associate this smell with my pride dying. We opened up the washer, and the epoxy had coagulated and slunk off the area where it was applied into little gelatinous piles.

Epoxy still smells, even after the pots and pans cycle.

I will now avoid operating heavy machinery for the duration. And no, I have not been drinking.

Conversion

2009-07-27T07:05:00.000-07:00

When I decided to become a Jew, my hair got the memo. See children, when I was growing up, my hair was thick, heavy, and pretty much pin straight. I had what many call "Really frickin good hair". My mom was obsessed with my hair. I wasn't allowed to cut it until I went to college. Good hair. Grown out many times, cut many times, good, reliable, takes a curl, gets many compliments, hair.

So, imagine my surprise when a few months ago, I noticed that my bangs were sort of curly. As a younger person, I used to curl my bangs with the tiniest curling iron so that they wouldn't just hang in front of my face. Now they are doing it all by themselves, and I have no idea why.

But is the curl even and throughout my whole head? Not really. It's concentrated in the front of my face, and circles around my head. It's like a curly diadem. Perhaps on August 7th, when I pledge my oath to Judaism, I shall develop a head full of curls. Right now, my look is somewhere between Aileen Wuornos and a late 80's geometry teacher
.

**Update**

My husband says that I am mistaking the sharp curls on the side of my head for something else. He says my horns will arrive in earnest on the day when I officially become a Jew.

Build a Fence around the Self-Checkout Lane

2009-06-23T16:45:00.000-07:00

I recently heard that New Yorkers are the most angry drivers. I shall let the world know: Our anger does not stop from the safety of the dashboard of our beat up Honda Accords.

At Waldbaums today, I stood in the rush hour line for the self checkout. As a girl who has been inside many, many Super Wal-Marts, I loooove the self-checkout line. It is the perfect blend of neurotic control and avoidance of eye contact that I crave in a shopping experience. The line was about ten people deep and growing, and I watched bemusedly as I saw a woman scan a container of romano cheese over and over, until she tried to flag the kiosk monitor lady to let her know that she was unable to complete her transaction. I saw a woman who had a total of three things take about five minutes to get through the prompts, and then flip through a barrage of credit cards that were in that death grip plastic before she selected the correct one. And I saw a guy with a full cart of produce slowly scan a 5 pound bag of oranges, a five pound bag of apples, and a variety of other loose produce. He was five people ahead of me and I was finished paying and out the door while he was still figuring how to scan and not have to place the item in the bag.

I realize that a post about the grocery store is a little redunculous. Okay. But here's the thing...when you don't do these things, my eyeballs bleed, and the saints cry. Plus, when you have four people at four kiosks doing the same sad, ineffective motions, we look like a pile of apes trying to figure out fax machines. Blinking lights? Grunt, scratch, huh?

This leads me to the following: Criteria for the self-checkout lane. This means that if you endorse any of the following items, you must endure the snarling grimaces of the post-pubescent bundles of cheer located in aisles 13, 14, and so on. Here is the list of exclusionary criteria:

1. You have cataracts with the relative opacity of a cremini mushroom.
2. You are the age when you need reading glasses but refuse to wear them, and then cannot see the codes for produce without a guided audio tour.
3. You are unable to program your outgoing voicemail message because you frustrate too easily.
4. You have a syndrome in which you are unable to look behind you and see a growing queue of angry faces.
5. You are an obsessive coupon clipper.
6. You have no idea what a touch screen is, are unfamiliar with a bagging and scanning area that is also a scale...incidentally, if this applies to you, you probably cannot figure out why you cannot hear your child talking to you on speaker phone while you run water and continue to shout in frustration, "I can't hear anything you're saying!"

Okay, now that we have that out of the way, if you have avoided the above criteria (many of which can be avoided with modest interventions and/or surgery), here are some tips for successfully getting through the self-checkout lane, and successfully NOT pissing me off.

1. Treat each time you go to the checkout lane as a timed-lap trial where you are constantly beating your last time. People like this option because it appears fast. Those of us who like this lane secretly think that the checkout people employed at various stores are S-L-O-W. We want to beat them. We want to show them up at their own game. In addition, we want to make it easier for the aforementioned angry faces. Think about your last time at a bar when there was one bathroom and a really long line to pee. How happy were you when the person in front of you got in, tinkled, washed hands, and moved on? I love those people. They are aware of their surroundings and are trying to be considerate of a crowded situation. This is the same thing. Do something for your fellow man, and on your mark, get set, go!

2. Along with the fast theme, when you are in line, pay attention to the prompts, so you can speed through those. They take up too much time. You likely a) don't have a club card, b) don't want money back, c) don't have coupons, d) don't want cash back. Skip, skip, skip, skip. Beep, beep, boop, MOVE ON.

3. While waiting, pull out your card/cash (please let it be a card. Cash takes WAAAY to damn long).

4. Before you start scanning, get your plastic bags or sacks ready. Make a plan.

5. Get out with an awesome speed, and then smile and wave at the people whose lives you have just made a little better. Well done.

How to be married and other practical matters:

2009-05-19T18:47:00.000-07:00

The following post is a combination of several things I have learned from being married my own self and to some degree a general response to some issues frequently brought to my attention from others. I apologize in advance if the language is a little blue; my thoughts are sometimes a little blue. Also, I should say that the bulk of this knowledge was told to me long before I experienced it my ownself by my momma, but being how those things are, I didn’t quite believe her until I had the head trauma (figuratively) to prove that the things she was saying were true. Some nuggets are from my mom, some are from Jill Connor Browne, and some are from women whose names I cannot remember at all. Just take my word for it that these ladies are a hell of a lot smarter than me. That should lend to my credibility.

Tip No. 1: Inspect the genital area of your beloved, and note it well.

This aspect of your significant other is unlikely to change. If unsure about the inspection results, simply ask your partner with which gender he or she identifies. If your partner says both, just know that all rules of gender will apply to your loved one. Buyer beware.
To the womenfolk: If you are ninety percent of the population, you have likely found yourself in possession of a male. Hopefully, you are satisfied with your product. If not, well what you see is what you get.
To the menfolk: If you are ninety percent of the population, you are likely tickled pink that you are looking at the opposite sexed genitals of your beloved right now. A celebratory “Whoop” is perfectly acceptable. If you are reading this online, you are likely examining your own genitals right now, and you may also let out a celebratory “Whoop”.

Tip No. 2: Your partner will likely be exactly like the gender he or she claims to be.

A dear friend of mine recently told me that his erstwhile significant other complained to him that his loving gestures were just a “means to an end”. I have heard this complaint from women before and this is the response that I have carefully formulated:

NO. DUH.

Women, be reminded that the “means to an end” was the reason that we have continued to propagate the species. So to men I say, “Thank you”. Yeah, it’s not rocket science that when men are tender and loving they also want sex. Most women like this in the beginning of a relationship, and then shift to being annoyed with it as the relationship progresses. Be reminded that the person you brought home the night before is still the same person the very next day, and the next, and so on. If you don’t like that when men are affectionate they typically want sex then I highly suggest you start dating a different gender. If you are not inclined to do so, I say don’t get a man, get a DOG. In fact, get several dogs. Small ones preferably. Become the Sharon Osbourne of your town. Head to your job hovering on a sea of Pomeranians. I digress.
From men, the common complaint is that the woman you dated/married/etc. is too obsessed with her looks. She spends too much time/money on hair/clothes/makeup. To that I respond with a resounding chorus of:

NO. DUH.

In my observations, I have determined that women are typically always interested in fashion and appearances. (And they say men are visual creatures.) This interest waxes and wanes and appears to go through the following three phases:

1. Highly fashionable, well dressed, while actively seeking relationship
2. Not giving a half a damn
3. Realizing that the not giving half a damn was related to the fact that for 18 years she was avoiding having her nice clothes covered in breastmilk/vomit/tempera paint/mud. That’s right, now it’s time for revenge of the fashionista, to make up for lost time!

So, dear male-types, even though you may have met your lovely opposite
gendered lady friend while she was wearing overalls, don’t think that those Osh-Kosh-Bgoshes weren’t carefully selected to attract you. They were. And also, even though a woman’s fashion interests may go through a latent phase while she is breast feeding, do not be surprised if her interests are sublimated by dressing up the tiny person you two created, her small Pomeranian, or God forbid, YOU. Maybe your hillbilly girl doesn’t start really liking shoes until she is fifty. She is what we call a late bloomer. Don’t get all freaked out, and if you don’t like it, date men.
If you need another reason to appreciate the effort women go through to look nice for men, remember that women evolved into having breasts just to attract men. You’re welcome.

Sidenote: Lady-types, if you don’t like the way your male dresses, dress him your ownself. If you are so critical that you couldn’t even think to go out with a man who doesn’t know how to properly attire himself, it is time for some serious reflection on the fact that you may be a gay man.

Tip No. 3: Sleep naked.

Why this rule? Men need to be touched. They need to feel the skin of their beloved, and they need it every night. If you don’t like this arrangement, refer to the portion listed above regarding Pomeranians.
So many things threaten to separate our relationships: Work, television and other electrical appliances, so the onus is on US to make sure that we stay together. Touching each other for comfort before we fall asleep is one way to keep the bond. Alter your environment as needed to make this comfortable.
There are times when you will need a hiatus from the nudity for practical purposes: Night sweats, various illnesses, and the monthly visitor. Once these issues have resolved, get naked again.
I also don’t care for the excuse that sleeping naked while one has little children in the house is a good enough reason to wear pajamas to bed. This is why Gandhi invented the bathrobe.
Be forewarned: If you don’t do the touching of your male oriented partner, someone else will.

Tip No.4: Accept this person as he or she is RIGHT NOW.
For women: Take a deep breath of acceptance. Let the acceptance flood you. Even all of the things that you don’t care for. All of it. Absolutely every last particle of your partner. Eat it, breathe it, drink it. This person will always be the variety of person you got. You didn’t get the Pierce Brosnan/Will Smith/Michael Moore variety, you got all of the man in front of you. He may get fatter, balder, or crankier, but the seeds of everything he will ever be are in him right now. Do not fall in love with a man’s potential. Assume that things will never get better, and if you can live with that, you are ready to be married. For me, I got the nerdy Jew type man, and it works just fine for me. If you prefer the macho type, don’t be surprised when he is an unstoppable jackass when he is 60. You thought it was cute when you were in your twenties. Choose wisely.
For men: Take a look at the lady in front of you. She will always be as crazy as she was when you brought her home, and her hormones aren’t helping any. If you don’t like it, get a hobby.

Tip No. 5: Sex is not love and vice versa.

When a man sleeps with a woman, he does not necessarily love her. He may love that she slept with him, but that is probably all. When a woman sleeps with a man, she would do well to remember that, and probably enjoy the sex a whole lot more. What I am saying is, give yourself permission to enjoy sex for what it is and love for what it is. When they mix it’s great, but recognize that it is really rare.

In conclusion, I am not an expert. I am happily married, but I recognize that the ink is hardly dry on my ketubah. When I learn more, I will let you know. Also, as I said, this information was gleaned from women smarter than me, so if it doesn’t work, blame them, not me.

Repent!!

2009-05-09T17:39:00.000-07:00

NYC is trying to convert me. Husband and I went to National Museum of the American Indian today. Russ is working on an assignment for school to see how to plan a class trip.

If you haven't been before, it's kinda cool....unless you're from Oklahoma in which case you've likely seen it all. However, let me just tell you: This museum is free.

That's right, something in Manhattan is FREE.

Really free.

You just walk in.

(And spend $100 at the bookstore.)

But it's free, people!

Anyway, as we were heading into the rotunda, there were some fliers that Russ was picking up for his assignment, and I noticed a publication that was out of place. Instead of well staged photographs of artifacts, there was a lone booklet on regular paper...and it said something about Jesus.

I debated before picking it up, having recognized publications of this kind.

So, for semantics sake, can we just call these things "Jesus 'Zines"? Or maybe Je-zines"? (Jeezy zeensy?)

So, I pick up the Je-zine, and start flipping through. It has those wonderful, colorful characters that always look slightly exhausted. It is as though these Christian artists want us to understand that when you are unsaved, you show it by resembling an insomniac zombie. Even the infants in the pictures look tired!

One of the panels looks like Colonel Sanders is tempting our damned hero. And for Some reason, Dennis Rodman is in the background. (Couldn't figure out how to get my webcam to not reverse the photo.)

See? The unsaved guy looks tired.

Of course, Colonel Sanders turns out to be the Devil...

So, I promptly removed this garbage from the otherwise pristine site of Native peoples, and placed it in my purse for later mockery.

And then, we got on the subway to go home, when we saw this across from us:

That's right, a Je-zine en espanol. So the city is trying to convert me, and it is covering its bases with appropriate language supports. This Jezine was just as awful, although I have to give it credit for illustrating what I think may be the best image of a pope I have ever seen:

Don't hurt us, Spanish Zombie Pope!

And of course, this Jeezinus reinforces the stereotype that Catholics engage in animal cruelty, baseball brutality, and infant waterboarding:

Look, if that baby would just TELL the nice priest where the sleeper cell of terrorists was located...

Also, apparently Spanish heathens are also underslept.

As a nearly Jew, I can say that I know it's just a couple of weirdos putting crap like this around in the hopes that they can save people. I mean, there's a quiz on the back with a little d-i-y let Jesus into your heart prayer just to make sure that they get credit for your soul (Crazies also work on commission). My only beef is, why you gotta make shit up about Catholics in order to sell people on this brand of religion? As a matter of fact, you don't need to fabricate a damn thing about humanity to show that we are nearly always one Starbucks closing away from total chaos. No need to extra scare people...there's always reality.

So, after a good laugh and some strong attempts to translate "Papi", I took these booklets out of the public domain and placed them in the recycling bin. Because if there's one thing that I think will toast your Crazed-Christian ass past redemption, it is littering in public places.

Oy.

(No offense to my evangelical homies. I recognize that most Christians are not into this particular brand of soul-sucking art. Shalom.)

The bitch is baaaaaaaack

2009-05-05T17:47:00.000-07:00

Like I could keep my trap shut forever. Puh-lease.

So I went stealth for a while, worrying my blog would be found by prying eyes. But now I have gone rogue. In terms of fun, rogue is way better.

So something must have propelled me to want to go public with some thoughts and feelings. New Pres? Nope. Environment? Nope. The fact that we're leaving New York? Pah. That's yesterday's news. Why are my panties in such a twist then? I will tell you why.

CRAIGSLIST!

This morning while I was slacking off, I heard the news that the Connecticut Attourney General wants to ban erotic services from Craigslist. Ach!

I love craigslist. I have begun to assume that craigslist has magical powers. I input my desires, and it does it turns its magical wheels to deliver me with the following: Full size dishwasher, Air Conditioner, not one but two apartments, a supremely satisfying best friend, and oh yeah, let's not forget MY HUSBAND.

Okay, so Craigslist has been the reason behind many a timesuck, way more than facebook or myspace ever could for me. It's simply because if I have to choose between talking to people and shopping...well...

So, the Attorney General wants to ban erotic services on Craigslist, and I say to him, LEAVE MY CL ALONE! Why?

Well, to begin, the use of a recent crime as a rationale is totally bogus. One guy shits in the casserole and now the dinner party is over (Although I suppose if that really happened, I would probably stop the dinner party too, but I'm just speaking metaphorically). In any case, one serial killer uses an opportunistic site for his victims. So, one out of a kazillion transactions ends in death. Odds are, this site is still pretty safe.

Also, a serial killer kills a masseuse and now we go after masseuses? Huh? Maybe we should alert the Attorney General that people with nice things get robbed. That's right, I am insisting on a ban on nice things.

Going after erotic services takes the blame off of the killer in the first place. Let's put the blame where it is due. That's right, A-hole, you can't use the most wonderful internet site in the world for evil. People don't like it. So I am now instating a ban on serial killers using CL for victims. It is forbidden! I have spoken.

So since the logic is so screwy, it just makes me think these people are using this instance to go after one of the pure things remaining on the internet.

Remember the nineties when the internet was first hitting its stride? I do. I remember how exciting it was. There was this new innovation, and suddenly people my age could make a living doing creative things for creative people. People were connecting, both with services and with each other. Also, people were finding great deals on stuff. I remember getting free voicemail, free videos, etc. I know that's because a lot of these folks had bad business plans and basically gave shit away without a thought as to how to pay for it, but still...I like the spirit of just putting it out there and figuring out the rest later. It was innocent and exciting.

And then advertisers and whatever else started slowly siphoning out the fun of all things internet related. Pop up ads. And then really wicked pop up ads that would slow down your internet connection. Blogs happened, but then you would get a blog and someone from your job would find it, and then you would get fired for having a blog. Myspace...and then employers start looking at your myspace page to later judge you.

But Craigslist remained. I guess nobody really gave a shit about adults doing f-ed up things to each other, and it wasn't really being patrolled. You can post a rant or a rave? For free? I can sell something without some weird agreement and my privacy is protected? I think I owe a thanks to the culture of San Francisco for treating me like an adult as well as providing me with an awesome service.

So, to me, Craigslist is like the last cool thing on the internet. It is totally low-tech, but I have had so many great experiences. I guess I just want one way of connecting without worrying about interference, and I like the idea that anyone could post anything, from a date to a half-eaten box of cereal.

I reject not being able to connect. I reject the unnecessary supervision. I reject being afraid of nothing. In that spirit, I have removed the password protection from my blog. Let's have some fun again.

What do you say?

2007-10-23T12:59:00.001-07:00

In more recent incarnations of my dissertation proposal, I was recently given feedback by one of my committee members that I need to use person-first language. This committee member vehemently said, "If you got nothing else from my class, I hope you learned person-first language".

Having utterly no idea what she was talking about, I went to the internet for a little education. Aha, says I, as multiple sites popped up, telling me about person first language. In essence, person-first language asks the speaker (or in my case, writer) to refer to a person with a particular diagnosis to reference the person first, then the diagnosis. For example, "The autistic kid" versus "The child with an autism diagnosis".

Let me say first that I agree with the majority of this endeavor to describe people's assets before we start a laundry list of things they can't do. Language is a very powerful tool, and it definitely shapes the way we think about things. Certain labels for various diagnoses connote inability, sub-humanness, or refer to an appliance over the person who uses it. These things are of course, not good. Moreover, they are not things that the general public think about when they are talking about their neighbors. They should. We all should.

And yet...

I am in the priviledged position of having been raised with seven brothers. One of my brothers was born with multiple disabilities. One of my other brothers, we later discovered, has language disabilities. As a sister of two young kids who were the focus of "special" and many times unwanted attention and scrutiny, I am very sensitive to labels. As an adolescent, I really knew how to put the brakes on a lunch room conversation by screaming at my friends, "Your pencil is NOT retarded!! Was it diagnosed with a syndrome? Has it seen a psychiatrist???" and then storming off in some inflated rage at the use of pejorative labels.

To be clear, I was shocked that I had used anything BUT person first language in my proposal about children with autism spectrum disorders.

Imagine my surprise when upon entering my externship this year when I found that the term "client" had been changed (I do not recall a vote) to "consumer". Okay. I like the word client because it denotes someone who receives clinical services...like from me. So consumer? I guess it's better than calling someone "The quad" or something like that. But is "client" pejorative?

Continuing on in my internet search, I found a website by a person who objects to being called "A person with autism" and prefers "autistic person" because the former implies that the condition can be separated from the person, when in fact, it cannot. (E.g., "The person with the blue shirt". Fair point.

Then, the author said that person first language feels like an attempt to cover up something that need not be covered. 30-Love.

This reminded me of when the population decided it was not okay to say American Indians anymore. Instead, we say Native Americans, which implies a certain amount of ownership to indigenous people. However, I object to the term, because anyone born here is a Native American, and it is therefore an inaccurate descriptive term. Also, we Indians don't call ourselves Native Americans. No one asked us. It's like we got a nice term instead of getting our land back. Or, I was gonna hate you white people and take back Manhattan, but you said "Native American" and then that some of your best friends were "African-American" so I called off the war cry. But, seriously, I don't begrudge anyone who uses it. I don't immediately think they are my friend either. Whatever.

I think the impetus for the person first language movement is simple. We object to being unnecessarily hated and feared. For whatever reason, it seems that the person who is so uncomfortable that they say, "The person who happens to be African American" causes the listener to think "Man, that dude is really fucking anxious" or worse, "Man, that dude must be really fucking racist". We object to the ire. What the general public wants to hear from any minority group is one person to be the representative and declare the linguistic rules. Then we as a people can use that language and never think about those icky people again. So maybe it is up to those groups to be constantly changing the language of the secret handshake that lets society know you're not a bastard. But I recognize the frustration of the general public. The bottom line is this: If you say "Person with autism" versus "Autistic person" but you really MEAN to say "The crippled motherfucker", everyone will know that you don't really like whomever you are talking about. People are great detectives when it comes to stuff like this. Thus far, minority groups have not been able to tell you what opinion to have of them (which would seriously cut down on the constant renaming). However, even among those groups there is dissent about how to proceed.

Late to the party

2007-08-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

I know that everyone has probably already become familiar with the bounty of this store, but I was just introduced today.

I am moving in to Trader Joe's.

As my husband and I have decided to host a couple of small get togethers, I needed to run to the store to pick up a few odds and ends to feed our guests. On a friend's recommendation, I trekked over to Trader Joe's to pick up snackables.

It was organic food at Wal-Mart prices. I was overjoyed. I picked up mini pizzas, cream cheese, chocolate, chips, and conditioner (the conditioner is just as much for my guests as it is for me). All in all, I paid about 1/3 less than I would have at our local bodega for the same or similar products. It was so cool.

I motored over to the wine store to pick up a few bottles. I got four bottles of wine for under 15 bucks.

I can't tell you how much I love feeling the savings.

I think I may put the wine bottles and the receipts on the bed and roll around in them. So if you'll excuse me, my purchases and I need some time alone.

Celebretarded

2007-08-09T16:54:00.000-07:00

I am in full sloth mode. While my chores have been getting done (thank you motivatedmoms.com), I have logged some SERIOUS gaming hours on Oblivion. That's a Xbox 360 game for those of you who need a geek translator.

Anyway, while doing chores and crossing them off of my guilt list (Clean out car, Check, clean bedspread, check check, clean couch cover, thank god check), I had on the Celebrity Jeopardy. Most days I feel as though I am chiseling the sides of the bin to scrape together enough brain power to remember how to tie my shoes, but celebrity Jeopardy has a way of making me feel like a fucking genius. I was clearing every category (Take THAT Susan Lucci), and with my new found self-esteem, I got a little snotty about when the other celebs missed the answers. Enter Paul Shaffer. He must have a load of assistants who tell him when to exhale and blink, plus another one that reminds him to open his eyes again after. Holy shit-pie on dumb-stilts, Batman.

I literally snorted water when he responded to the answer "It is easier for a 'blank' to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven."

Paul?

"What is an elephant?"

I don't care how secular you are, surely you have seen a TV once. Or read a...never mind.

I was imagining elephants in Judea for that little live TV gaff.

I don't remember who won the most for their charity, but I am sure whichever sad children are waiting for donations from the Paul Shaffer fund were yelling at their TV screens simultaneously screaming "Camels! It's Camels and you just lost double Jeopardy! Sorry, Lucy, no crutches for you this year."

Go back to Letterman, and hang your head, Paul. I'm pretty sure that David unplugged Paul's keyboard ten years ago but doesn't have the heart to tell him.

Awesome!

2007-07-02T14:39:00.000-07:00

This is a photo collage we have displayed in our home. Ain't we crafty an' shit?

Ten things:

2007-06-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

1. I love the smell of lemon Endust.
2. If you are waiting for the other shoe to drop, the universe will drop it for you.
3. The last week of anything is always the most hectic.
4. Dogs must be grossed out by our "wet human" smell.
5. Unplanned meal = Take out
6. Most of my parent's rules were about protection, not discipline.
7. I have a personal and loving relationship with a robot...named "Roomba".
8. My husband is sexy and he has no idea...which is even sexier.
9. I cannot help myself;I must pet and talk loving nonsense to a stranger's dog.
10. My engagement ring is still the prettiest I have ever seen.

Blogging Begets Blogging

2007-06-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

An open letter to Pennsylvania:

Dear Pennsylvania,

You're a big, fat liar. While most people think of you as nestled betwixt New York and Ohio, I am not fooled by devious mapmakers. If their original measurements were correct, then Pennsylvania, I need to be honest with you. You have gained some weight. My guess is that you are actually eight times the size of Texas, and just as long as California. I don't think I'm shocking anyone here when I report that Pennsylvania has subsumed most of the United States.

Don't get me wrong, the other states still exist, but Pennsylvania's ever-expanding ass has covertly swallowing up real estate while the rest of us feel the walls closing in on our apartments and zip codes.

How do I know this to be true?

Fact: Despite New York City being a major U.S. city, it is impossible to see the rest of the United States without traipsing through; you guessed it, Pennsylvania.

Fact: To get to upstate New York from Brooklyn, you have to go through Pennsylvania.

Fact: To get to Pennsylvania from our house, you have to go through Penn Station. Coincidence? I think not.

It is getting to the point that even if you live in rural Arizona, make a wrong turn, and you could end up in Pennsylvania. Sure, the first 200 miles seem nice and quaint, what with the rolling hills and plains, and Philadelphia appears to loom in the distance (optical illusions paid for by the Pennsylvania governor). However, I think that Pennsylvania's habit of eating states must be stopped.

I think I speak for everyone when I say, Pennsylvania, we are tired of driving through your seemingly endless highways. Can't you be more like your brother, Delaware? And give us back Virginia. We know you're hiding it 'neath your underpasses.

2007-06-07T21:09:00.000-07:00

At a restaurant, if a dish is bad, you send it back to the kitchen to have it redone. At work, if you have a problem with a coworker or a boss, you see the person who outranks that person. To whom do you speak if you have a serious problem with the president? I mean, he is WAY undercooked and I am pretty sure someone spit on him.

Every time I hear about how he denies the existence of global warming, I have a mild stroke. I simply can't wrap my brain around someone that single minded that they deny the existence of something with scientific evidence, but go off chasing ephemeral zebras in Iraq. Really. That's like a whole new category of personality disorder.

This is especially crappy when we really could use a hero. A real leader. Sadly, this is just the man that ol' Dub wants to be. Laura, I am pleading with you. Let your man know that if he wants to fight a war on terror, can he widen the scope a little bit to include the abject terror I live in over what the hell we are doing with our environment? So he likes big business. Fine. Put more money into the business of regulating vehicles so that they emit low CO2. Oil, Schmoil. We have plenty in OK and Texas, just cut down on the demand by regulating cars, and we won't need to supply as much. Make your big businessy friends answer to the emissions they currently put out, require that they comply with eco-friendly standards. Hell, you can even put in a no-bid contract to Halliburton to help businesses comply with the new standards for all I care. At this point, I am willing to put aside the fact that this guy is a stunted fucktard if he will just give up in his belief of the Iraqi Easter Bunny and put one goddamned iota of belief and effort into the cause to clean up the place we live.

Ithacating

2007-06-03T18:11:00.000-07:00

This weekend was truly fabulous. My darling dear received an award from his alma mater, Ithaca College (Outstanding Young Alumni Award). Friday afternoon, we gassed up the car and headed northwest for the weekend. Two and a half hours later, we finally made it out of New York City, and began the bulk of the long trip up to Ithaca. We really got going in the dark, so I didn't see much of the scenery, but we happily arrived in Ithaca at our hotel that they put us up in around midnight.

This. Hotel. Was. Gorgeous.

We stayed at the luxurious La Tourelle Inn and August Moon Spa. They do treatments there I have never even heard of. We arrived late, and the innkeeper had already gone to bed, so there were just keys on the table. We got to our room (The Montpelier), and were surprised to open the doors to hardwood floors, a working gas fireplace, a king size bed with a feather pillow-top mattress, and a jacuzzi in the bathroom.

I thought, colleges being what they are, that they would have us stay in a Holiday Inn Express or some such thing. Dear God this room was beautiful.

And, in the closet, they had bathrobes. I have only stayed at a handful of hotels that have those, but nothing makes me feel more pampered than kicking it robe style.

Anyway, we slept like rocks on the gorgeous bed, and woke up refreshed and ready for the day's events. We had the option of a bunch of free stuff to do on campus, but Russ had signed us up for an alumni wine tour.

We arrived after having breakfast at a nearby cafe that served all-organic items, and boarded the bus for the countryside. All of the alums on board were super nice, and many of them recognized my husband, which was cool.

All three vineyards were awesome, and the taster-folk were very accomodating. I had never done wine tasting before, but it was really fun. It was the perfect activity for someone like me, who is highly indecisive when it comes to wines and flavors. This way, I could decide what I liked before I shelled out the cash. Many of the wines we tasted at the various locations were on the sweet side, which was interesting. I am pretty sure I have been buying vinegar this whole time.

We got back to the campus late, which gave us only a few minutes to get back to the hotel and get dolled up for the dinner and awards ceremony. One minute into the drive back to campus, Russ realized he left his wedding band in the bathroom when he took it off to shave. Both of us being a little superstitious, we of course whipped the car around to head back and grab the thing. This was fortuitous, because Russ realized he had left his fly down on the way into the room.

We only missed cocktail hour, which was no big deal since it was a cash bar anyway. Russ was the first award recipient, but the evening's focus was on the up and coming projects for the campus. They are building several new facilities that take into account greenhouse gases and the environment. The business school that they are building will likely receive a platinum environmental rating, making it one of only 17 buildings like it.

Russ graciously received his award, and looked fantastic. He really wears a suit well. His speech was charming, effusive, and appropriately grateful. I was so proud of him.

We headed back to the hotel almost immediately after, but not before stopping at Wegman's for crackers and cheese to pair with our wine. We got back to the hotel and borrowed "Happy Feet" from the front desk for the evening's entertainment. A bit into the movie, I got a call from my mom who is currently transporting my youngest brother to Marshall for his freshman year. She brought Russ a Wii. That's right. The holy grail of video game systems.

Could this weekend be awesomer????

Bitch!

2007-05-11T10:34:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, I organized a Women’s Issues Forum. The idea behind it was to explore topics in feminism and relating them to current events. Overall, it was designed to offer a round table discussion group for both young men and women. Being ever-entrepreneurial, I brought pizza to lure my peers.
In compiling ideas for discussion groups, I spoke with a friend of mine regarding the acceptance of violence against women. We spoke about the subject historically, in that violence against women was rationalized because men feared the libidinal desires and impulses of women; violence was used as a way to control them because they were seen as less able to control themselves. We also spoke about the fetishism of violence against women, vis-à-vis scary movies that have women screaming and terrorized at every turn. This violence carries an erotic quality to it, which draws a male audience to see the fright reaction of the helpless women as she is carried up a building by a lumbering beast, haunted by an obscene ghost, terrorized by a mass murderer, or drowned by a radioactive sea-creature. As my friend and I were having this heated conversation at a restaurant (Mind you, this is 10 years ago), a young man walked past our table wearing a shirt that hand the symbols for male and female commonly used in restrooms, except the male had a gun to the female’s head, and the only word on the shirt was “Bitch”.
Being socially awkward and embarrassing feminists, we approached the table and asked him about the shirt. He was red-faced and apologetic, and had clearly put no thought into his attire (few teenage men do). We were not aggressive, but we were not passive either. We sweetly asked where one could purchase such fine, offensive clothing, and went on our way to initiate a letter-writing campaign to the assholes who designed the shirt. Needless to say, the two of us had little impact. But that situation clearly illustrated a social ill of which I had heretofore been unaware.
Fast forward to now. I am still a feminist, although I try to be aware of my personal politics and how they might encroach on the personal space of others. Then there are times when I don’t give a bald rat’s ass what my politics do to other people. This is usually when I am plenty pissed. That would be today.
I realize that Opie and Anthony are radio staples. I am aware of their status as deity. Frankly, I have heard them a couple of times, and I don’t think they’re that funny. (I know, what does a feminist know about humor). However, this latest nonsense about raping Condoleeza Rice and Laura Bush has me freakin’ pissed. Whether you like this current administration or not, this incident highlighted the ill of violence against women. It was not just that some idiot thought it might be funny, it was that no one thought how offensive it might be. This kind of passive acceptance of violence against women makes me want to be violent in general.
The catch for the modern day feminist is to politely state through gritted teeth your position on why you might not want a radio DJ to rape you while not losing any ground politically or threatening to set off the castration anxiety from woefully ill-equipped comedians. (I am talking about their intellectual skills in this instance. Get your minds out of the gutter.)
I am not saying that women do not aggress. We do. We giggle in our morning meetings over cappuccinos about our idiot male counterparts. I urge all women, if you want to be taken seriously, stop aggressing in these ways. These arguments have been used against us in recent years, and only serve to fuel the violent males who rationalize beating us verbally or physically. Don’t join or beat them. Simply state that if your peers can’t grow up and stop bad-mouthing men, that you will take your toys and go home.
Lastly, I just want to point out that verbal violence is deplorable, and physical violence is still a real threat to women. If you are a woman living in the U.S. and you are murdered, it is likely that the perpetrator was your husband or boyfriend. Not a stranger, not a mugger, a LOVED ONE. This morning on the news, I heard about a woman who was trying to break up with her boyfriend at dinner in a restaurant. He didn’t want to hear that she was leaving him, so he shot her. He was a police officer.
That seems to make insidious verbal comments a hell of a lot less funny.

It has to be said

2007-03-25T20:24:00.000-07:00

The other day, I was commuting to Queens (glorious!) and have noted yet another tragedy to befall the world of Brooklyn personal style.

As a preface, I should say that I really love hair. I love my own, I love other people's. I can appreciate a good haircut and style, and I am usually the first person to notice a hair change in either cut or color.

So, with that in mind, what the hell is up with the mullet? Why are chicks bringing it back? I saw two girls on the subway on Friday who were almost indiscriminable from each other. They both had the female mullet. That look didn't work for my mom in 1985...or when her stylist tragically brought it back in 1993. Hell, it didn't really work for Joan Jett, and she had the good sense to cut that shit. But I have to hand it to the girls who sported the 'do. They really committed to the Polish refugee immigrants circa 1983. Imagine: black skinny jeans, brown slouchy boots, (black jeans tucked in the boots...ala Footloose) tight silk screened t-shirts, and black leather jacket, and dark kohl-lined eyes. These girls had on the SAME outfit, I shit you not. I noticed this because I was mentally remaking-over the one girl, when her equally poorly dressed doppelganger passed by. Yikes!

To stylists of Brooklyn, stop bringing this turd of a haircut back! If a girl asks for it, tell her no, and charge her 125 dollars for asking. Then give her some other goofy ass haircut that I will have to criticize at a later date. It's the spring, everyone is thawing out; now is not the time to be bringing out your greatest hits.

wonderland

2007-03-05T19:02:00.000-08:00

I love winter. 12 more weeks of winter? No problem. Snow? Ice? Bring it on. Blizzard? Just call me "Wooly Mammoth". There is nothing I don't love about winter. I love the clothes, the food, the look of the buildings covered in snow.

Take that back.

I hate one thing about winter.

Puffy jackets. Can't be bothered. It's like the most inconsiderate attire anyone cared to don. And in New York, where urban stylez prevail, hiphop kids are particularly fond of their jackets in giant sizes. What's worse than a puffy coat? A GIANT puffy coat.

I know the mofos are warm and all, but during the subway commute, when we're all crammed in trying to get from A to B, there is nothing more annoying than two guys on a three person seat taking up the whole bench because their jackets occupy one and a half persons. I, in my svelt coat, feel rude pushing past the down, the foam core, and god knows what else to sit down next to the giant ones.

Also, those big-ass jackets block out all of those dude's peripheral vision. And it's not as though rude people have the best peripheral vision in the first place.

So, you're crammed on the train, eyeing four potential seats except for the fact that they are being claimed by North Face and its subsidiaries, and the summed weight of all the people in the aforementioned jackets barely surpasses that of a heft middle earthling. Irate, you reach your transfer, and try to expediently make your next train, but alas! You are thwarted by the poofy hobbits because they walk s-l-o-w-l-y ahead of you. They might know that you need to pass if they weren't wearing their Ghengis Kahn hoods. You know the ones I mean. The down hoods with the muppet-y fur rims. Any chance they might see your urgent looks as you deftly try to predict whether they will veer right or left are blotted out by these mighty furry blinders.

And thus ends my diatribe about the large-coated urbanite. Buy something wooly, and A-lined, people! And for God's sakes, buying a large jacket just makes you look like your wearing your daddy's clothes, it does not create the enlargening effect you think it might. Think my two sizes two big theory is crap? Okay, dudes, personal challenge. When fully erect, try on a condom that is two sizes two large. I guarantee, it will have the overall effect of making your meat and two veg look like a golf pencil inside a ziplock bag. I'll bet you'll think twice about that XXL, now, short stack.

Chinese New Year

2007-03-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

In honor of Chinese New Year, Russ and I went to have Vegetarian Dim Sum in Chinatown and made little piggies of ourselves. For those of you unfortunate ones who have not had the pleasure of experiencing the parade for Chinese New Year, OMFG! It was so colorful, and full of streamers and firecrackers and dragons dancing around and blessing everything. It was awesome. To top it off, my darling husband indulged me in a knock-off Coach bag. I do love Chinatown.

Afterward, we went to Crate and Barrel and got a nice decoration for our bedroom (a little candleholder thingy), and had coffee at this place called Houseworks. It's a non-profit donation bookstore, and all the proceeds go to helping folks living with AIDS. It's completely volunteer staffed. How cool is that? Anyways, it was great, we could sit and read and enjoy a good cup of coffee and were not pressured to buy the books we were reading.

After that, we stopped at this store called Happy Paws, and it is a pet store/ doggie daycare. Watching little dogs run around is like doggy TV for me. So entertaining. It was a fabulous Sunday, and I spent it with the man I love.

Tonight I have a friend coming over and we are going to dinner and then to see Uncle Jimmy's Dirty Basement. Tomorrow we have game night. Spring has sprung, and it is full of social activities for the Tucker butterflies!

Total non-sequitur, but I come home early on Fridays, early enough to catch Oprah. What the hell? Oprah, stop hawking crappy movies. What is the sign of a crappy movie? Anything Martin Lawrence agrees to. And shame on you, William Macy for agreeing to such tripe. In my fantasy, it's because you have bills to pay (kids in college, something like that) and not just that you think a nerd character in a biker movie might expand your repertoire. I see a movie like this Hogs thing coming at me, and I think "straight to TBS, where it will run in edited form every weekend until my college loan is paid off. That's gotta be at least 20 years."

Animal Jam

2007-02-11T20:54:00.000-08:00

A week ago, my cousin Emily, who is a second grader in Oswego, Illinois, sent me a letter. Inside was a cutout drawing of a little boy, and an accompanying letter. Their second grade class is doing a creative writing project about a story they read in class about Flat Stanley Lambchop, who was flattened by a bulletin board. Since he was flat, his folks mailed him to California to see a friend. As such, the second graders have mailed their versions of Flat Stanley to various people they know, and our job is to write a letter back and talk about what Flat Stanley did on his vacation to our hometown. No surprise, they chose New York City. Smart, Emily.

Well, Russ and I take these kind of projects seriously, so we decided to give Flat Stanley a one day journey into Manhattan. There are so many things to choose from, but we opted for the Central Park Zoo. Why? Because it's a zoo in the middle of a ginormous park.

We arrived right in time for the Sea Lion feeding. If you have not been to a sea lion feeding, I suggest you hightail it to the nearest Sea World, or hop over to the Central Park Zoo, because I am telling you this shit was awesome. The habitat is really nearby, so you are feet away from the very social creatures. The zoo itself is not huge, but it has a lot of showmanship. We watched the seals eating for a while, and then went inside and watched the penguins being fed. I don't know about you, but I could watch mammals all day long.

Next, we walked over to the Polar bears. There are two, and it happens to be Polar bear mating season. The male was sort of following the female around, snuggling her from time to time. Then, it happened. A full-frontal view of polar bear sex. You could hear all of the nearby parents' brains screeching to a halt as they try to explain what is going on and hope their children don't ask why the big bear is on top of the little bear. Funnily enough, after the deed was over, the male bear got sleepy and tried to fall asleep on the little bear's ass. When she got up to go stalk around, he dutifully followed her all around the habitat, like, where'd my snuggle pillow go?

The zoo really was fantastic. We left around 4, right before they close, and then caught the subway back to Union Square to get a bite to eat, making sure we took pictures of Flat Stanley in the subway. Adults everywhere were wondering about our sanity.

After looking at a zoo full of animals, it made me miss my own. I decided as I was snuggling my dog, Toby, on the couch that his face needed trimming (all of him needs trimming, this is just all I can do on the couch). After the umpteenth time that he breathed his death-breath in my face, I asked Russ to get some toothpaste so I could dab a little on his nose. (They lick it off, and their breath gets better). After Russ sees me do this with Toby, which was pretty entertaining, he dabs a little on Leo's considerably smaller nose. OMG. Leo starts chewing and the paste starts foaming in his mouth. I couldn't figure out what was going on, and probably wouldn't have, except my husband alerted me to the hilarity that was happening between laughs/wheezes. I turn around to see the foam dripping from Leo's teeth, and a perfectly formed bubble come out of his mouth. It was all I could do to not pee.

Anyway, the dogs are clean, and their breath is Colgate fresh. And Flat Stanley got to go to the zoo. Really, it's all about Flat Stanley.

Lazarus

2007-02-06T15:58:00.000-08:00

While we are not out of the woods yet, I have very good news. Joshua is doing very well and possibly being extubated tomorrow. Russ and I spent the whole week in Oklahoma staying at the PICU overnight. He has never been on a ventilator before, and naturally, was pretty distressed. The chest x-rays kept coming back worse and worse. It was a nightmare.

I kid you not, the very same day that we were talking about turning off the ventilator and planning his funeral, he started to turn around. I believe that critically ill people make the choice whether to fight an illness or let go, and I think Josh had just finally decided to get better. (Also, finding the appropriate antibiotic helps). Anyway, what seemed like a pretty dismal outlook turned around quite quickly. I am very thankful that my family was careful in considering what was best for Josh and considered his total prognosis before making any quick decisions. All in all, everyone, including the doctors and nurses, are utterly amazed that he is still alive. Count our whole family in that mix.

Thanks to my two loyal readeres for your kind thoughts. I know that positive energy helps to heal, so I consider that part of what is making Josh better. If nothing else, it was nice to hear your support. My family is doing okay, and has (at this point) covered their bases in terms of making sure that the house is still functioning, but I truly appreciate the sentiment. I know that when tragedy strikes, it can be immobilizing, and I am always impressed with those who offer prayer and a willingness to help. I am touched, and thank you again.

Family Emergency

2007-01-31T16:28:00.000-08:00

I have some family news. Here is the e-mail my mom sent out:

Without going into any great detail at this time, Josh had gotten a couple of significant viral upper respiratory infections since Christmas. I sure I've talked with some of you since this happened. I haven't had a chance to call everyone due to hospital restrictions and no e-mail access.
Josh progressed within a few days from needing a little oxygen and a few breathing treatment to being moved to the PICU, and now is on a ventilator. His deterioration has been a steady downward spiral. His chances of survival are very slim. I would appreciate any prayers for him and our family. As I'm sure you all know I place a HIGH VALUE on QUALITY of life. Therefore, I will not allow him to be on life support indefinitely if he doesn't start to get better. Jessica and Russ are home and doing the night shifts at the bedside in the ICU with Josh. I cannot adequately express my gratitude to those of you who already know this situation and have responded with such wonderful signs of support. I know I probabaly sound splintered in my thoughts, but I haven't had a lot of sleep in the last 10 days.
I will try to keep everyone posted no matter what the outcome if this is.
I care deeply for all of you. Please forgive me if I don't return every phone call, it is simply because I'm so exhausted and when I'm not at his bedside I'm asleep either at the hospital or occasionally at home. I've cried until I feel like I have no more tears, but more always come when I begin to think about the probable outcome.
Laurie Stanford

A general update

2007-01-27T19:59:00.000-08:00

So, my kittycats, I have begun a new school year. And how are my ulcers doing, you ask? Just fine, thanks.

I am rotating in this new wing of the hospital, and without disclosing too much, it's not my favorite. The trouble with this wing is that it is everyone else's favorite, so I often find myself with nothing to do....it's very staffed. I twiddle, and invent things to do, but I miss feeling useful. It is only a mere three months long of a rotation, but as such, I am not my happiest.

School is much lighter this semester. Only three classes. The big focus this semester is a thing called the CCE, which is a formal case presentation. It's a writeup and a presentation, and fairly intensive. Also this year is the proposal of my dissertation. The fun never really ends, people.

If you pray, pray for my little brother, Josh. He is in the hospital again with pneumonia. He is a trooper, but I really believe in the power of prayer. Josh has lived through cardiac arrest, multiple infectious diseases, comas, and failing kidneys. He apparently isn't through here yet.

Adding to my general sense of sadness this week is a bit of news I heard yesterday. If you were fine with my post up until now and in a reasonably good mood, don't read further. My bro, Josh, who as most of you know is multiply handicapped, lives in a residential facility. He has been there for about 9 months. It's a great place out in Del City, where the staff treats him like a real human being. The setup is like a college dormitory, and the residents have varying levels of functioning, from those who are just physically handicapped but have intact intellects, to those who are severely impaired in multiple domains. In many senses, the vibe of the place is live and let live. It could use more staff and more training, but its heart is in the right place.

Anyways, my brother has this roommate named Eugene. He is this elderly fellow, small in stature, with white hair. There are four boys to a room, and Eugene has his twin bed next to Josh's. Eugene's only disability is that he is completely deaf. Born in Oklahoma, his parents didn't know what to do with him or how to raise him, and so he was dropped off at a very young age and raised in an institution all of his life. Since his intelligence and physical abilities are really on par with everyone else's, he lived his entire life having the full awareness that he was only deaf, and knowing that he didn't really belong. Even in this residence, few of the staff even knew sign language enough to communicate with Eugene on a rudimentary level. I can only imagine how isolated he felt.

Eugene proved to be an asset for Joshua. Whenever Josh would get sick in the middle of the night, Eugene would go and find a staff member to make sure he was okay. Over the summer, Josh had a birthday party, and Eugene danced the two step with me. He was always very sweet, and would try to help my mom to the car with Josh's wheelchair or anything she needed help carrying.

Over Christmas, my mom bought gifts for all of the residents at the home. ALL of them. Seventy-five individual gifts. For most of them, she bought stocking stuffer-type gifts. For Eugene, she didn't buy anything...my dad did. That's right, my dad bought the present for Eugene. He went out and bought Eugene a costly OU necktie. My mom was flabberghasted that my dad had spent so much money, but it was his idea, and she didn't stop him. When Eugene got the gift, he cried, and hugged my mom and dad. The staff was in tears too.

Eugene died last week of heart failure. Russ put it best when he said, "It just seems unneccessary." His death seems unecessary and seems mean. It makes me sad that such a sweet man is gone. Logically, I know that his life was limited for so many reasons in too many ways, but it makes me sad that more couldn't have been done to make the end of his life more pleasurable and at the very least, more independent. I know he's probably better off now, and more at peace, but the whole thing just seems mean.

Cut, copy, paste, forward

2007-01-24T16:09:00.000-08:00

Recently, I received an e-mail from a friend of my mother's. I have known this woman since birth, and love her dearly. I was upset to read this particular e-mail because of the woefully inadequate analogies, but more for the sense of taxpayer entitlement it fosters. In this version of thee-mail, the Denver Post allegedly compares the Denver blizzard of 2006 which shut down airports throughout the holidays to Hurricane Katrina. As mentioned in the snopes link, this is a version of another e-mail originally regarding North Dakotans and a like snowstorm.

I am not from Denver or Louisiana, but I did live in Colorado for 2 1/2 years, and also lived through a blizzard, as well as a plane crashing over my house, and the Hayman fires. Why am I so offended by this forward? Well, for one, the most obvious, the death toll. The death toll in Denver? 6, and lots and lots of livestock. Katrina? Nearly 1,500. Okay...so maybe that should give us an idea about severity.

The big tragedy of Denver? Ski resorts got lots of snow, and people got stuck in cars. Oh yeah, and folks had to stay at the airport over the holidays. (Not to minimize what ranchers had to endure, but I am talking the more common effects). That seems like a menial inconvenience when you compare being bussed to the Astrodome to live in your own filth indefinitely, oh yeah, and you are now magically homeless...

Incidentally, ranchers had to ask for federal help regarding livestock. That's right, in a disaster, people need help. Big Fucking Surprise! What is this overobsessive fascination with pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps? And what is the giant deal with harassing people after they have endured life altering trauma and god forbid, taken a handout? I suppose it is awfully sissy-like to live in a tent someone gave you after you lost your house and have no job because it is underwater.

Also, having resided in Denver, I will say, there are poor people, but nothing like the ghettos of New Orleans. Most of those people were one check away from abject poverty, and that disaster was the last nail in the coffin. Denver was under no such economic pressure.

I won't even go into the comparison of who is mayor over which city, but Nagin is Skeletor compared to Denver's compassionate Hickenlooper. FYI, to get FEMA involved in the first place, the mayor has to ask for help. And not when people are drowning. This is one of several tragedies that befell New Orleans.

When we stop paying taxes and giving handouts, we become like Haiti. In politics, government, and society, you get what you pay for.

So, in short, comparing Katrina to the snowstorm is like comparing your hangnail to a malignant tumor. Shut up and go get a manicure. Oh, and stop sending me hateful e-mails.

I may be a bleeding heart liberal, but at least I have one.

Russ and Jess's Dirty Apartment

2007-01-18T17:59:00.001-08:00

So, we have a new arrival. No, I am not with child. And we still only have two dogs. I am speaking of an appliance. An appliance so awesome, that it impresses me more than our Playstation2. We have acquired a Roomba.

Oh my god, you guys, I love this thing. Point, click, clean floors, awesome. In fact, it is doing its job right now. If you have hardwood floors, get one now. Buy fewer diapers and cut back on your food if you must, it is worth the expenditure. And the dogs are really funny around it. Bonus!

I should also mention that my dear laptop is in the shop getting some braces, so I am on my husband's computer, hence, the lack of blogging.

Russ and I have been hibernating and nesting. We have cleaned and added bookcases to our place, so now we actually have shelves for our comic books. And Russ also has a new pet...called Xbox 360. We are such proud parents.

More to come soon about the trip to Nashville and thensome. Suffice it to say, all is well in the land of Brooklyn. It is cold cuddle weather. Smooches yall.

The Horror!

2007-01-04T16:11:00.000-08:00

I was at the hospital today when one of the aides who knows me lovingly patted my tummy and said, "You pregnant?"

This is a situation in which neither party gets away unscathed. We both just slink back and pretend like it didn't happen. Bleurgh.

Cinderella

2007-01-02T15:11:00.000-08:00

I am about the least knowledgeable person to consult in matters of sport. When asked the difference between a touchback and a touchdown, I really struggle for answers. However, there are some things that I know just by being of the world, and things I was inspired to write after watching the Fiesta Bowl last night.

I grew up in Oklahoma, one of the few places left that does not have a pro football team. However, we do have college ball. I love college football. There are, of course, bazillions of college sports, but football is particularly near and dear to my heart. I love the excitement of the game, the closeness of calls, the brutality, the elegance, the skill, and the spirit.

Here is why college football is better than pro. Having lived in states with pro ball and without, there is something pure about an entire state that rallies behind a group of amateur athletes. These guys may get free rides and perks, but they are doing it all for the chance to play at career ball. Watching them in college is watching them before they lose their innocence; before the thing they do for love and pride becomes the thing they do for money. I have no problem with doing what you love to do as a career, but there is something precious about your passion always being able to be your passion and not your bread and butter.

In a state that is always three steps behind Dallas, Oklahoma is always competing to be developed, city-like, and exciting enough to attract tourists. Let it get all the Macaroni Grills, the SuperWalmarts, and the PF Changs that it wants, but please, keep it simple, and keep it just college football. For Oklahomans, wearing crimson and cream is just as much about supporting a team as it is state pride.

This year, as OU went up to battle Boise State in the Fiesta Bowl, I couldn't help but think back to the Orange Bowl back in 2001. In that single year, Oklahoma was transformed from the state that McVeigh bombed to the state that kicked everyone's ass in football. Suddenly, it was like Oklahoma was allowed to hold its head high again. Once sparse stadiums were packed to the brim with Oklahomans, just waiting to see our team defeat all the major players like UT, ATM, and Texas Tech.

I was reminded of OU's past victories when BSU won the bowl game last night. I watched each play, and watched how tense the fans were, and how they wanted so much to be taken seriously. Even when it seemed that OU had the victory locked in, BSU would come back with brilliantly executed plays. As a spectator, it was great to watch two teams that have both been underdogs, and both who come from states that most people can't imagine why anyone would want to live there. This makes the victory this much sweeter and the story of the team that much more compelling.

Hats off to you Boise State. OU played a great game last night, and Boise beat them in overtime. Here's the Miss America crown; it's Boise's turn to take a trip around the stage.

Slack Ass

2006-12-14T13:54:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am a horrible slack-ass. This month that I used to refer to as December, or the holiday season, I now refer to as, "Is it f---ing over yet????" Of course, I refer to the toe-nail removing season that is Final Exams. I have finished all of my exams save one take home final, and I am relieved. So relieved, that when I had the day off today, I slept until 4:30. p.m. 15 hours.

So let me tell you about my yesterday. It was my final day of classes, and also my last day of that group class. To celebrate the end of gnawing on each other emotionally, my class and I went out for a late lunch and drinks before our final class at 5:30. I wasn't drinking because I volunteered to be the designated driver. What amused me most was watching 8 drunk psychologists try to figure out the check. Yeah. We entered into this field because we passed calculus.

Anyway, 4 drunk girls and I piled into my Volvo for the trek back to campus. I wasn't five minutes on the road before the conversation turned to anal sex. One girl called it "delicious". Another talked about her "accidental" foray into the back-door deed. After unwillingly picturing anuses for five minutes, I was happy to have those girls no longer be in my car.

At class, my friends really tried to do their best impression of sober. This included frequent interruptions of presentations to go pee, talk among themselves, and make jokes about Jack Daniels. Smooth. I bet the irritated professor didn't notice at all.

Anyway, so I came home, and had every intention of getting a lot done today. Unfortunately, I ended up sleeping until the next evening. Well, I musta been tired.

Thanksgiving

2006-11-30T21:21:00.000-08:00

For Thanksgiving, that magical time of year that commemorates the screwing over of native peoples, before the Dutch bought Manhattan for some beads, and before the Europeans gave the Choctaw blankets embedded with the promise that there was absolutely no cholera on them, my youngest brother came to visit us for the holiday. I know he had grand visions of going to see the Macy's day parade, but we just couldn't go because the weather was so bad and I was fighting a sinus infection.
Instead, we went early to the in-laws so I could get a head start on the stuffing. I had been to the Korean market the day before in search of giblets so I could just bring the prepared stuffing to my MIL's, but no luck. I found various parts of a pig in the market, but no assorted turkey innards.
Anyway, it was a really lovely holiday, despite the fact that my brother ended up getting a stomach bug. It was spent with family, and we are all very thankful to have each other and a subsequent weight problem as a result of the meal. We are blessed.

Catching the Cab that the Cat Humped

2006-11-18T10:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a bad day. I am supposed to leave my job at 3 on Fridays, but stayed till five because my supervisor is a tad disorganized and can never remember when I am supposed to go. I was trying my best not to feel put-upon, but that was tough given my hormonal situation, if you catch my drift.

I head home, having skipped lunch and knowing I am going to meet my husband for dinner in the city. I was pretty hungry. And grumpy. We were meeting because a friend of ours was in a Shakespeare play called "A Winter's Tale." We were a little reticent about going because this company routinely chooses Shakespeare's "problem plays." However, the carrot at the end of the stick for me was that there is this band/puppet show/performance art thing happening after that I really wanted to see. It is called Uncle Jimmy's Dirty Basement. Russ used to puppeteer for them, the music is great, and they are really funny. Anyway, so I really wanted to see these guys.

The play we went to was actually really well done. The plot was a little bizarre, but the actors really carried the show and kept us engaged the whole time. And by the whole time, I mean 3 hours. Dirty Basement started at 10, and we didn't finish the show until 11. Hoping that we could catch a set, we darted out of the theater trying like hell to catch a cab to take us from someplace downtown to another place downtown.

There. Were. No. Cabs.

Let me clarify. There were tons of cabs driving around, but there were none interested in picking us up. We walked seven blocks uptown trying to catch a cab. It was like hunting. I am not kidding you when I say that we passed somewhere between 100 and 200 cabs without their lights on (They were off duty or had a fair already in the car). Unable to comfortably get to the other club via the subway, and denied a cab, we trudged home. We even tried catching a cab that would take us a little closer to a subway line home. The night was capped off when some bitch got in the cab we were aiming for (read: running across the street flailing our arms) and she said, "Awwww, too bad!"

Did I mention I was wearing uncomfortable shoes this whole night? I realize that is self-inflicted pain, but to my credit, I hadn't planned on marching through the concrete amazon in search of the elusive cab.

All was not lost. We kibbitzed on the subway on the way home about the play, and made the best of an evening cut a little shorter than we had planned. The best part was that I got to spend it with my best friend, who I happen to be married to.

So tonight, we head out to PA to go to a housewarming party of our friends. I am bringing the obligatory plant. A good time will be had by all. I will post again soon, as it appears that my husband and I are becoming quite the social butterflies.

The Great Gay-ification of Soda

2006-11-08T18:06:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, our school is having an ethnic potluck for our minority doctoral student association. Last year, I made Choctaw Casserole. This year, I am topping myself by making Choctaw Casserole AND soda pop cake. For those of you sad enough to not know what soda pop cake is, my benevolent self will share it with you now. You bake a white cake, and let it cool (Any white cake will do). Then you poke a lot of holes in it with a fork. Next, you take a can of strawberry soda, stir the bubbles out of it, and pour it over the top. Chill it, and ice it with Cool Whip. It is so easy and trashy. I am sure I have posted about this before. It makes a very yummy cake. The recipe is a souvenir from an ex-boyfriends mom who made the trailer-iest food I have ever had in my life. This one was a keeper.

Anyway, so I go shopping for the three ingredients: Cake, Soda, Cool Whip. I locate ingredients one and three...but where is strawberry soda? I wandered all around Target, and found a bunch of weird-o flavored energy drinks...but no crappy Nehi strawberry soda.

Defeated, I went to Waldbaums (That's New Yorkese for Homeland), in search of the elusive strawberry soda. Any variety. Don't care.

I saw: Tab, Black Cherry Cola, Cranberry Soda, Grape Welch's, and a bunch of other weird Jones Colas. WTF? Where is my trashy soda? There was a fancy bottle that said something like "Diet Pink Lemonade", and "Blue raspberry something or other". Is it so strange to want strawberry soda?

So, I settled on Fanta Pineapple. I have no idea if this is going to suck or not. Frankly, I bought Fanta because it looked like the trashy sodas of my youth. Even the store brand (You know, "Dr. Thunder", "Mountain Lightning", "Red Fear") didn't have any of the crap soda.

Anyway, I blame the gentrification of soda for this unacceptable lack of crappy soda. They probably secretly ban Fresca at their dinner parties, and poo-poo Cheese balls. Does that really sound like any party you want to be at?

See, the thing is, because of my sugar restrictions, I can bake the cake, but I can't eat it. So if the cake sucks, I won't know. But, I won't have to eat it, either. So, everybody wins!

If I had a million dollars

2006-11-06T21:14:00.000-08:00

Russ and I went to a concert tonight. The Barenaked Ladies. Yes. I had never seen them before. I remember them getting popular right around my last year of highschool or maybe it was my first year of college. In either case, I was too cool for them then. I was busy plotting ways to pierce things and dye my hair colors not occuring in nature.

However, I have gotten older...but I am still a music snob. This is good news for the 'Ladies, cause I think they're great. They're funny, they put on a good show, their songs are very musical, and the lyrics have lots of little funny things in them like bizarre metaphors and puns. I like that.

So the tickets came to Russ and I compliments of a friend of his. It was at Radio City Music Hall, which is a great venue, because I really like sitting, and they have lots of chairs. Here are some things I noticed about the show:

1) It is really white.
2) People singing along to lyrics look really funny
3) Seriously, I have never seen that many white people all in one room in New York before. They all looked so pleased that they had found the beat.
4) The mix was awesome. No one was too loud or too soft, or too tinny.
5) The opening band sucked my dogs balls. And he's neutered.
6) Smoke free concerts are great. I love coming home smelling like my stanky self, and not everyone else's stanky self.
7) Earplugs, while dampening the overall effect of a noisy show, help filter out unnecessary sound. Like the guy in the front of you who is trying to sing along to all the words of the songs he doesn't know. Earplugs render his mutterings annoyance-free!
8) I love going to a show where I don't have to sell the merchandise. That's right, I ain't nobody's merch bitch no mo. Now I just hawk action figures, and that's much cooler.

I am going to bed now. Bonus! I am off tomorrow because of election day. This week is looking better and better.

Oh! And, we saw Conan O'Brian on the streets of Manhattan. I uttered a reverent "Holy Shit!" and tried not to stare.

The stars are all against you, girl, just get back into bed

2006-11-03T22:40:00.000-08:00

I had quite the week.

In a fit of brilliance, I managed to purloin my supervisor's keys to the testing office unknowingly. That is, until he called me on Wednesday asking where the keys were. Hmm. On my other key ring. In Brooklyn. I am in Long Island. You are in Queens. Ech.

I offered to drive back and drop them off that night, but he said just to bring them in on Friday. Cool. Still, I felt like a bonehead.

Thursday is the day I have a experiential group with my classmates. What is this you say? Well, it's not like we sit around in drum circle making macrame key fobs, but it's close. Basically, it is supposed to be a safe place for your classmates to reflect your behavior back to you with the idea that we will all be better therapists, if not better friends for it.

OMG, this is what Sartre called hell, right?

Well, I have been okay with the group but reticent that what comes out will cause irrevocable damage to the members and our collegial relationships. Oy Gevalt.

So I was in the hot seat this week. I heard that I am arrogant, too intelligent, maternal, miss perfect, in tune, empathic, and disconnected. It was a round robin of feedback. All the while, I was crying that horrible cry that children make when the sadness overcomes them and they can't catch their breath. My dialogue went something like this, "Wha-wha-what I d-d-d-d-o-o-o-o-n't understa-a-a-a-and is why y-y-y-y-ou couldn't talk to me ea-ea-earlier". Graceful. The whole experience, that I was really trying to be open to, left me feeling like a carcass that had just been picked over. Waddaya mean, that the tigers weren't my friends, said I, the unknowing gazelle.

Then, for poetic justice, I return to work, on the prison unit, far away from my classmates, where I realize that not only did I just get in to work late, but I left my supervisor's keys on a different key ring. Yeah. I had to take the subway all the way back home, then drive back into Queens, head held down, waiting for my lumps.

The afternoon at work was not as crappy as I thought it was going to be, but I stayed at work late to make up for the fact that I had been out most of the morning trying to retrieve those cursed keys.

My husband and I went out for a movie tonight...which was much needed. I will get back on the horse next week, but this week was a bust.

Arrival

2006-10-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

Did you feel a cataclysmic happening on Monday? Well, that was because my second cousin, Keith, was born on Monday. He is my grandma Jane's first great-grandbaby. And, he is of course, adorable. However, my family relatives should know that according to grandma, she has no other children or grandchildren besides Keith. That's right. The Ligons are witnessing a total eclipse of the baby. I would post a picture, but I am having the damndest time uploading photos. You will just have to take my word for it.

Tyra and her sycophants

2006-10-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

Who told Tyra Banks that she could be something besides pretty? I'm betting it was her mama. And maybe Oprah.

I am so sick to death of seeing this girl's face everywhere. Not having cable, this means that CW11 bears her image for 90% of the time that I am home to watch TV. And not in hot Victoria's Secret ads anymore, no. No she gave that up for her sparkling personality. Yes, it was her sparkling personality and brilliant insight that made her fall in love with us in the first place, no?

So, America's Next Top Model. WTF? First off, the "Top Models" are more like America's Next Top Interns. What exactly do these girls get? Do we ever see them outside of the context of ads during America's Next Top Model? I admit to watching the show. It's like a pageant show all slowed-down, but with just as much hairsprayed ass-cheeks and eating disorders. Oh, and Tyra talks through the whole thing. She swoops in, from time to time, to pretend to be the girls' therapist. She gets them on a couch and they all cry because she asks them about their insecurity. Well, what the hell else are they going to do? First off, they're starving. Second, they're exhausted. Third, their "therapist" is Tyra Banks, who also happens to be their boss. Who wouldn't cry?

Lest any of the girls walk around with confidence, Tyra launches an arsenal of people to thwart their development at every curve. These people are important in the sense that they have become famous since Top Model. However, it is rare that Tyra bring on anyone else with any shred of credibility. Guess the other Supermodels don't really want work on CW11. Shocker. So, Tyra has these same tired folks come in and harass the skinny herds for an episode. And then they say their opinion about the girls at the end. Who cares. Who are these people? At least with Donald Trump, you're like, okay, it's Donald Trump. I know who Twiggy is, but seriously, who is the Janice lady? Besides drunk all the time?

And, when the girls mouth off, Tyra says something illuminating like, "I know everything there is to know about the modeling business." Wow. So, the message the participants should take home is as long as we keep kissing Tyra's ever-loving ass, the show will still go on.

Tyra, we get it. You made it as a model. You're Dr. Phil. Now, you're even Oprah. Brilliant. Can you go back to not talking while the photos are being taken? Please? Maybe free up the CW for reruns of Judge Judy or something?

My own, private, fresh hell

2006-10-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

In an attempt to complicate my life, I decided to vomit all night long the night before a mid-term. So, because I was held up by abdominal pain, I could not attend class. I e-mailed the professor that night at 4am when I realized I could not heave myself up out of the toilet for long to let her know that I would be absent. I plopped myself back into bed (I repeated this action several times) and then finally fell asleep around 8am. I slept until 5ish, and then got up to walk the dogs, check e-mail and the like. I rechecked the syllabus that had my prof's e-mail address on it, and it says, on page three (a page I didn't read) that "Make-up tests will only be issued if the student present's a doctor's note explaining his or her absence."

Shit.

Lemme 'splain something. When your gut contracts every five minutes, it's kind of difficult to sit for too long. Also, what would a doctor tell me? "Yeah, it appears that you are in fact evacuating your bowels. That should clear up soon-ish."

So, I did what any good girl does. I tried to call a doctor to make an appointment to get a note, and when that didn't work, I called my mommy. My mommy called my daddy who left a message with my professor verifying that I had in fact been sick all night, couldn't get a doctor's appointment, and to call him at his office if she needs anything else. My very understanding professor made an exception for me since she was out of town, and is allowing me to take a make-up. Oy.

I wasn't 100% today, but I still went to school because I didn't want to miss any more classes. During my break, I went to go apply for a new social security card because my name has changed again since the wedding.

Okay, so I have eaten toast and apple juice in the last 24 hours, I am dizzy and still a little woozy, oh, AND I am PMS-ing. I wait for an hour while two people behind me talk loudly about Cable Modem versus DSL. Then, their conversation shifts to which ringtones this guy should have. Seriously. So, he goes through all the ringtones to ask his neighbor which she likes best. These were two people in their late thirties. Awesome. Then, a pre-teen girl gets on the annoying phone bandwagon and starts playing an MP3 file on speakerphone.

I was almost ready to leave when they call my number. The woman at the front takes one look at my application and says, well, normally you can go to any office, but since you live in Brooklyn, you HAVE to go to this office on Fulton.

On the days I am in Brooklyn, I work 9-5. The only times I have available to run errands during the day are Wednesday and Thursday when I am in Long Island. What does this mean? Well, in order to get my application processed, I have to go to the SSA office at 7:30 in the morning and hope that they get to my number before 8:30 so I have enough time to get back to work. I love the government so much.

I only hope this next office allows boomboxes.

Two Weddings and a Funeral

2006-10-10T20:37:00.002-07:00

This weekend, we had to choose between two weddings. Both were friends of my husband, and both were involved in our wedding. After much deliberation, we opted for the wedding of the friend that guilted us the most.

We are probably wedding snobs now, but we really loved our wedding. That said, it was hard not to reference our own during their nuptials. Long story short, we were really thankful that our photographer was discete and pleasant, and using the more updated photography techniques, unlike their guy who was one step away from using a pinhole camera. Hey, even a crank camera can be charming, but the photographer decidedly was not. I hope for the couple's sake the photos will turn out well.

Funny bit about the hotel:

I made reservations for us at the Extended Stay in Horsham, PA, where the couple had blocks of rooms. The guest services guy who took my reservation information inspired such confidence in me, that I left wondering if I would lose my identity due to credit card theft. As if that weren't enough, I found out hours before we left on Friday that our reservation had been inadvertently cancelled. No big deal, right? Who else could be staying in Horsham? I mean, where the hell is Horsham anyway?

Turns out the US Navy knows where Horsham is, and had managed to schedule their Navy weekend the same weekend as the wedding. So, hotels were not exactly flowing like water.

We drive to Pennsylvania without much incident, but then once we get there, we were tracking our mileage in an effort to find the damn hotel. I nearly turned onto a road blockade as a result. I called the hotel, and realized that the hotel was located about 500 yards away from the depicted address. Awesome. And the sign on the major road? No light. Why? Because the Extended Stay shared a sign with a nursery that had gone out of business, hence the blockade.

Oh, and our reservation that had supposedly been reinstated? Haha. Nope. We got a random room. And. It. Smelled. Like. Dried. Ass. It stank so bad that I bought Febreze the next day. Oy.

Later that night, as I was bathing, Russ comes in from downstairs and said that there was a guy passed out in the hallway. I was worried that the guy would die or something. I called downstairs and told the front desk that the guy wasn't being a problem or anything, he was just passed out, and we were worried for him and thought they should know. The lady responded, "I ain't security or nothin. I'll call the police if he gets violent, but I ain't doin' nothin."

Classy.

So, we survived the rank hotel, complete with ghetto bunnies arguing and threatening to "go off" in the parking lot. I could have cared if they shot each other as long as they were quiet about it. The walls were so thin that I was worried we would hear their annoying banter all night. Also, we had to have the window open to air out the rotting corpse who smoked habitually smell.

As a capper, the chair in our room had a large urine stain in the seat.

But enough of that.

Anyway, the couple looked astounding. They are both gorgeous and have beautiful skin. They have the kind of classy movie-star faces and figures that looked like they have been chiseled out of soap. The important part is, they really love each other.

Also, I met many people in the puppet community, including my husband's boss. It was good to put names to faces. Also, I got to see my Russell in a nice suit. He cleans up real good.

So now for the bad news. Russ's grandfather died last week. He had cancer. I hate cancer. It has taken many good people away. Ech. Anyway, the family flew out today for the service. I am waiting for Russ to come home. I am sure he will be drained.

In the meantime, I am taking quizzes in preparation for my neuropsy mid-term next week. Can you locate the central sulcus and define the difference between the EPSP and the IPSP? Neither can I, so that's it for me tonight.

Um, 1-800-JENNY-20?...

2006-09-25T15:00:00.000-07:00

So, this morning, I go in, and one of the patients says to me, "Are those your real hips?" Naturally, I say, "huh?" And she says, "Are those your real hips, or do you have another woman down there?"

So, I think I'll forego lunch. Forever.

Because dude, when even mental patients think you're fat...

In Grossness and in Health

2006-09-23T14:54:00.000-07:00

Score point number 4,768 for the Russell. He has been dutifully caring for me this whole week since I have become ill. I have some sort of "cold". I haven't had a cold in over a year, and it's a little strange. I love to sleep, but even I am annoyed that I can't do much right now. To add insult to injury, my husband is going away to Connecticut for the week on business, and I am spending our weekend before he leaves on the couch stacking crumpled tissues together. Romantic, eh?

But let me just tell you the list of things my husband has done in the past couple of days. He has walked the dogs, done the laundry, kept the kitchen and the house clean, bought me juice, made me breakfast, gotten me medicine, and brought me matzoh ball soup. Don't you love him? Well, I married him first, so find your own nice Jewish boy.

Anyway, I think I am going to read something for school before I get all comatose again.

No Murder

2006-09-17T17:34:00.000-07:00

Although Russ and I have only been married for three weeks, I have a few milestones to report. We have accomplished three things without committing homicide (either killing each other or innocent bystanders).

1). We completed a home decorating project that required hardware we didn't have
2). We vacationed together
3). We navigated our way around Queens

Out of all of the harrowing events, driving through Queens was the worst. Our favorite Blockbuster just closed, and we have an online membership which entitles us to two free rentals a month. Being broke, we are all about the coupons. Following the instructions of the previous Blockbuster employee, we schlepped out to Long Island City. I just want to point this out very clearly and succinctly:

I hate Queens.

The roads make no sense, I have no sense of where I am, and the drivers suck. I have no business being there. I barely make it to work, and I take the subway.

Anyway, we finally found the damn store after we stopped the car and hopped in a subway station to see if they had a city street map. I quickly hightailed it back to the car after an unidentified object hopped in my hair, and two rats scampered across my toes. Okay, they were a few feet in front of me, but they were the only things running the station. This station was the worst station ever. It's like the stereotype of a subway station. Grafitti everywhere, no station manager, poorly lit, and the like.

Anyway, we finally got to the new Blockbuster, but I don't think it will stick. It's far away and there is a closer one in Brooklyn.

Anyway, we accomplished that goal, and on top of it, made it back home and completed our decorating project. And we didn't fight once!

Also, if you want to do something fun in New York, walk into any bodega and ask the clerk what a stud finder is. Even Radio Shacks. Then just watch as the confusion sets in.

I'm not cooking lasagna

2006-09-12T19:32:00.000-07:00

2 Odd Questions-------
[1] What is your middle name? Jane
[2] What color is your mailbox: Black
[3] Last time you kissed someone: About 2 minutes ago
[4] Have you ever hit a deer? A dead one, and I had to clean its entrails out from my undercarriage. Gross.
[5] Do you have to drive over a bridge to get home? Yep. Good ol' Koscuisko(sp?)
[6] Who checks the mail in your house? Either one of us
[7] How many TVs are in your house? 1
[8] Do you know anyone with the same ring tone as you? I don't have that kind of mental energy to catalogue ring tones
[9] What do you do first in the morning? Walk dogs. Then open my eyes.
[10] What brand is your printer? Russell's
[11] Do you enjoy fighting with people? It's a NY sport I haven't taken on yet.
[12] Is your hair naturally straight or curly? Wavy, bitches.
[13] Who was your kindergarten teacher? Deithra Funk. She had a homemade perm.
[14] Are you taller than your mother? 2 inches. We are wee bog people.
[15] Do you have a favorite word? I like Fresca as a word.
[16] Are you good? Oh sure.
[17] What do you do to get over a broken heart? Call me a romantic, but printing up his death notice and sex with a stranger is I think a surefire way to heal.
[18] Do you have a deep dark secret? Nope.
[19] Drink of choice: Diet Coke
[20] Do you enjoy writing in colored pens? Hahaha. no.
[21] Does anything on your body hurt? My soul. And my toe that I crunched in my high heel shoe today.
[22] Do you often cry during movies? No.
[23] Do you hate your life? Dude, I just got a gaming chair, and my husband and I play Playstation 2. Our life is pretty fucking good.
[24] Number of pets: 2 dogs
[25] Are there any animals that scare you? Fish.
[26] Do you get mad easily? Hmm.. only in the car.
[27] Can't wait for? I can wait out anything.
[28] What is your biggest pet peeve? Undue senses of entitlement
[29] Favorite song: Slow Song, by Joe Jackson.
[31] Weather outside: Crisp and lovely.
[32] Most attractive quality about you: I am a good sport.
[33] You're in the mood for? Another vacation.
[34] Do any of your friends have kids? Some, but not many,
[35] If you could have a threesome with any 2 celebrities, who? I like Lyndsay's Jenna Jameson and anyone response, but I think I would say Eddie Izzard and Sarah Silverman. That would be a funny threesome.
[36] Do you have any friends? I have more family than friends, but yes, I have friends.
[37] Do you have any mean friends? Haha. They are the fun friends. Yes.
[38] What is the ugliest color in your opinion? Orange. Whose idea was that?
[39] Have you ever liked someone who all your friends couldn't stand? My god, just about anyone except my husband.
[40] Have you ever felt like driving off a cliff? Gah! No!
[41] Have you ever been fired from a job? Nope.
[42] What year was your house built? The year Italians started hiding in it? I have no idea.
[43] When was the last time you slept in someone else’s bed? Ech. No.
[44] What brand are the pant/jeans you're wearing? Anne Taylor Loft.
[45] How tall are you? 5’4”
[46] What is the closest green object? My duvet
[47] What is on your feet? Memory foam slippers
[48] Do you always wear underwear? Not during my extracurricular activities.
[49] Do you want to have kids? Of course
[50] Who is the last person who you would expect to be gay? My dad.
[51] Do you know how to draw? Nope.
[52] What’s your mother's middle name? Lauren
[53] Stupidest movie you ever saw: Bruce Almighty
[54] Do you collect comic books? I have a very close friend who does
[55] Do you look like your dad? Yes. Both of them.
[56] Do you have any TV shows on DVD? The West Wing, Lost, The Shield, Kids in the Hall, The Decalogue, King of the Hill, Arrested Development,...we like our commercial-free TV
[57] Are you wearing make up? Yes.
[58] Do you have a tattoo? Yes
[59] You win the lottery and you: Pay off my student loan, pay off our combined debt, buy a house...many sensible things.
[60] How many pairs of underwear do you have? Huh?
[61] Are you hungry at the moment? No
[62] Favorite movie of all time: Frida

Wedding Postgame

2006-09-07T20:11:00.000-07:00

Out of all of the weddings I have ever been to, mine was definitely the most fun. I will probably forget a lot of it, but I will try to highlight some key points of the wedding and honeymoon for those of you starved for my acerbic wit.

Okay, so the ceremony was awesome. The rabbi, who we met the night before, carried it off with a lovely melange of humor and tradition. My priest, Father Stieferman, was a gem. Even the deacon was great. There was a moment when Russ thought that they would forget the "you may kiss the bride" part, and he commenced to making smoochy noises. Then the moment arrived, and it was lovely.

Also, for those of you who attended the wedding and were unsure of the events as they were happening, we apologize. We forgot the programs at home. Awesome, eh?

Okay, so cut to after the ketubah signing and marriage license signing. After photos, we climbed into the limo. That bugger of a dress was hot! I had to resign myself to the fact that sweat would be dripping down the back of my legs the entire evening. However, since the limo windows are tinted, I propped my tulle covered legs up on the cup holders, and aimed the air at my underside.

I had myself in the birthing/ cooling off most ladylike position, and Russ cuddles himself on my abdomen. After closing my eyes a moment, I realized that Keith, our driver, had rolled down the privacy window to ask us for directions. Well, he found out the hard way what my "something blue" was. I quickly recovered from my embarrassment by chugging a couple glasses of champagne.

Off to the reception! The whole wedding party was introduced down the staircase at the Petroleum Club. I managed to eat a bit, and trailed after Russ to make sure he was eating to. Our first dances were very sweet, and our dj did a lovely job of not being an embarassment.

I should tell you if you have not done it or been a part of it, participate in the hora. Definitely the highlight of my evening. It was awesome! You are up on the chairs, and a sea of smiling faces are below you. It is exhilerating, surreal, and terrifying. It encapsulates all that is joyous about a wedding celebration.

We were toasted by our clever friends and family. My dad's speech was awesome. It involved props.

Lastly, my husband did an amazing job of dancing around to a song called "Space Game". You had to be there for that one. I married an uber nerd. As Russell and one of his best friends, Andy were dancing around and break dancing, Andy's wife, Marlie, giggled and said, "We are such lucky girls."

Anyway, if you are lucky enough to be dating someone from the AV club who corrects you when you say that Chewbacca was from Endor, marry that geek. They make great partners.

Anyways, we are back in New York. As soon as I have them, I will post photos. My next posts will include a honeymoon recap. If I left anything out, let me know and I will elaborate. There was just so much content.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, a wife-y, tomorrow

2006-08-25T21:33:00.000-07:00

It's only a day away!

Very soon, I will regale you with stories of rehearsing and practicing the wedding. Suffice it to say, you should grow an extra set of ears and eyes and maybe two sets of hands if you plan to be married. Anyway, besides that I am going to stay awake for my last day of singlehood. Whoopee!

I should also say, my darling husband to be has recently bound all of my posts in a book called "Unique New York" available for purchase via blogbinders. It was my wedding gift. Thank you to all my readers.

Tourist attraction

2006-08-17T18:45:00.000-07:00

If you ever find yourself on the Northwest side of Oklahoma City, please do yourself a favor and stop in the Sally's Beauty Supply. I don't give a good goddamn if you haven't but three hairs upon your haid, you surely need a nail file or something. I have never been so entertained.

My mom and I were in there searching for costume jewelry and reddening shampoo. As we walked in, an older woman (in her early sixties) with platinum blonde hair and an array of jigsaw teeth greeted us with, "Hello! How are you?" in an incredibly thick southern accent. We said fine, and how are you, and she replied, "Well shit, I don't know, and that's the truth."

Mom and I, giggling, started scouring the aisles. She was having some kind of verbal interaction with someone else. We were poking around when we started to check out, and she was trying to sell us some discounted moisturizing shampoo. She said, "I ain't tryin' to be a butthole or nothing, but this here's some good shit."

Then, as she verified my mom's ID, she said "We don't need none of that there identity theft. That's some bad medicine. We had enough problems with rapists and child mo-lesters without that shit. I tell you what we need to do, we need to cut off them's whacker's, and hang em up by the telephone poles, and douse em in alcohol, like they did in the old day. People'd see em up there, in all their dry rot, and look up at em and be like, 'well, duh!'"

Mom and I started giggling so much we could barely be hauled out of there. Then she said, "Where's that young girl. She's giving me a hemmorhoid, I tell you what."

We backed out because she would not stop talking. She was probably on meth. She was hilarious. I highly recommend Larry the Cable Girl as afternoon entertainment.

Mysteries of the Unexplained

2006-08-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

Your parents truly are your models for marriage. My parents have what is a mostly open and very communicative relationship. Many of their interactions are public material. I have always admired this style, as I feel it creates less stress in a union.

Occasionally, things are withheld from the opposite partner. Not big things, like pregnancy, or suspicious moles, but little things, like the real price of a dress, or your real opinion on his new cologne.

When I came home, I realized that I had forgotten my toothbrush. As I was racing out the door, I realized that my breath smelled like whodunit and ran. I asked my mom if we had another one, and she produced one from her bathroom. I asked no questions, and continued with my frenzied grooming.

The next day, when mom and I were out preparing loot bags for the party, dad called and asked where we were. When mom said "Dollar General," daddy asked for a toothbrush. Mom suppressed a grin, and got the requested toothbrush.

We got in, and dad rooted through all of the Dollar General bags and became more and more frustrated as he couldn't find the new toothbrush. I found it in one of the bags. Dad then went in to look for the old toothbrush (which had been in its package before my mom purloined it for my personal use.)

Dad came out, looking absolutely frazzled, and said, "There is a Bermuda Triangle in the bathroom. I can't even find the wrapper! I mean it's just GONE!"

See, my dad is German. Toothbrushes do not simply disappear. This must be a case of sabotage.

Thing is, he wasn't completely wrong.

As he ranted about where in the hell it could have possibly gone, I offered, "Maybe you should put other things in there that you want to lose," to which dad replied, "Grandma can't fit in the sink."

He was redfaced as he continued on his missing toothbrush diatribe, and mom and I were suppressing laughter.

You see, the real pleasure in life and marriage are the little things. It's not every day that you can enhance the effects of aging by making a person paranoid about their own infirmity. I believe we call that "Schadenfreude."

The prodigal daughter returns

2006-08-11T21:14:00.000-07:00

I am now officially back in OKC to fully immerse myself in wedding planning. The last few days has seen the attending to several easily forgettable details, as well as one meltdown. All in all, it is great to be back in my homestate.

My brother, Joshua, has recently moved to his new facility, and he is loving his new home. It is a lot like a college dorm for handicapped folks. Everyone looked happy and healthy, and were eager to introduce themselves to me. Josh even has a girlfriend! Her name is Angie, and she is a puckish redhead. She takes care of Josh like her baby. She hugs him and pats his head, and wipes his mouth in the dining hall. They are a match made in heaven.

Anyway, tonight, we had a giant birthday party for Josh, complete with party favors for 72 adults. They included fans, matchbox cars, and brushes and things for the girls. It was lovely.

I was helping Josh's girlfriend out with her hairbrush, when an older man came older to meet me. He had me guess where he was from, and it turns out he is from Queens. After sharing with him that I live in Brooklyn, he whispered in my ear, "I have a foot fetish." An unwanted advance from any man, handicapped or otherwise, is an unwanted advance. I said, "It's time for you to go make some other friends!"

Anyway, if this whole marriage thing doesn't work out, there's this guy at Josh's home that will settle for me wearing flip-flops all day long.

Chillin out Maxin and Relaxin

2006-07-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

So, my darling dear and I took it nice and easy this weekend. No wedding planning, no stressing, just nice get-togethers with friends. Saturday night, we met with our friends who live near Prospect Park. The boys played video games while Julie and I solved the major problems of the world. After stuffing ourselves on take-out, we chatted about movies, and then one of our guests left. Then we played a couple vs. couple game of Cranium. It was Crani-awesome. Russ and I plotted along, working well as a team (Team Tucker!), and our friends amused us with their arguments and teasing. They have been married for a year, but together for 8. Everytime Julie moved or said anything, Dave made fun of her, to which Julie responded with enthusiastic criticism. No lie, it was hilarious. I was laughing so hard at their rapport that I was crying.

Today, we went to a baby's 1st birthday party of a friend of ours. It was her actual birthday today, and though it was out in New Jersey, it was well worth the trek. There was much socializing and food. After the party, we drove out to Staten Island to pick up a video game at Toys R Us, or as I secretly call it "Toys Are Russ". We then hit my favorite locale for food, which is, of course, Chili's. They are rare on this side of town, so I was happy to stop. I am now home and waiting for Russ to plug in our new game, which comes with a guitar apparatus. I, of course, have no clue how to work it my ownself. It is up to the technology czar to work his magic so that I can have a new addiction...one besides Presidente Margaritas.

As an addendum, looking at all the babies made me really wish we had one. One day....

Tagged!

2006-07-28T14:59:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 28, 2006
Is it 5 Yet?

Five items in my freezer:

1. Fluke, freshly caught this week
2. Several things of ice cream. Russ is a hoarder.
3. Totino's Pizza Rolls
4. A bazillion boxes of omelets
5. One sad burrito

Five items in the closet:

1. Vacuum
2. Wee wee pads
3. Game boy
4. Gift wrap
5. Sherpa pet carrying bags

Five items in the car:

1. iPod...whoops! Better bring that back in.
2. A kagillion empty water bottles
3. Quizno's bag
4. My elaborate filing system...I fling old papers to the backseat
5. Unnamed trash. My car is always filthy.

Five items in my backpack: DonÂt really carry a backpack, so weÂll go with purse.

1. Orange superball. Don't ask me why.
2. Pretty Isaac Mizrahi wallet
3. Palm pilot
4. Cell phone
5. Not For Tourists Guide to New York.

Five people I tag:

1. Mom
2. Russ
3. Who else reads this?
4. Moses
5. The Apostles. They could be addendums to the gospels.

Mitzvah

2006-07-22T14:47:00.000-07:00

Today was Sandy's Memorial Service (see post below). She was cremated and interred with several of her other pets' ashes at a pet cemetary in Hartsdale, New York. My youngest brother is here in New York for an outstanding students' leadership conference, and so we collected him from Fordham in the Bronx and continued on upstate for the service. All of the adopted dogs and their siblings were invited. It was quite a turnout, and really lovely to boot. There was many a sopping wet woman clutching a handbag complete with a tiny dog.

As we gathered, an older woman sat next to me, and asked where I drove in from. When I told her, she put out a feeler to see if I might be going to Manhattan, since she had taken the train to come in. It turns out that she was Sandy's neighbor. We'll call her Cranky McBitchy.

So, after everyone read things for the eulogy, I stepped out because I have never liked the tradition of tossing dirt on a casket. Besides, it was raining quite heavily at times, and I wanted to get in the car so I could put the dogs down (we were holding them to keep their paws unmuddied.)

So, Ms. McBitchy trailed us to the Volvo. My normally delightfully locquacious fiance clammed up. McBitchy had settled in, and began to say cranky and rude comments as we trailed along. Furthermore, she engaged in Russ's least favorite behavior, which is not asking other people questions. People who are so self-subsumed, or "Me Monsters" annoy Russ more than, say, Republicans. Actually, maybe they bother me more than Republicans. They bother Russ more than my ex-boyfriends.

So, Cranky continued on diatribes about ancillary classes she takes at Julliard, and smugly told us about...something. Frankly, she was so cold and cantankerous that I tuned out when she started talking about time signatures and Charlemagne.

Look, I'm no dummy. I attend graduate school, and I like to think I know a lot of things. But I could tell, that even with my upper level education, I still came off to her as a ninny, a yokel, and a young-person "why are your pants hanging off of your ass" no good hoodlum. I later learned that beyond alienating all of us with her list of talents, she also corrected my younger brother's grammar.

My fantasy is to have overheard the remark, stopped the car, and told her to put her spinning classes to good use and walk the rest of the way to Manhattan.

I was going to drive her to her house, but she kept insisting that she could take the bus. After hearing her complain about why I had taken the particular road I had chosen, I stopped right after the Williamsburg bridge, and let her out. Russell was seething, and Luke was annoyed.

However, I stand by my choice to drive her home. Even though she was an utter pill, I did it for Sandy. See, Sandy handled all kinds of dogs. Especially Lhasas and known-biters that would normally get put down. She would find tolerant owners for the most unloveable of unloveables, and they would live happily ever after. So, McBitchy got a quick ride from me, but I am not adopting. However, if anyone asks me, she should have been put down long ago.

A little sadness

2006-07-18T11:34:00.000-07:00

So, we have a bit of bad news. The woman from whom I adopted my little Leo, Sandy Ridner, of Miss Rumples Orphanage, has passed away from cancer. She was awesome. She found me a little Shih-Tzu who was facing the death penalty, and got him to New York from Atlanta. The only thing she asked for was a donation, not an adoption fee. Needless to say, Leo is a happy addition to our family (without him, Russ would have no one to sing shrill songs too, since our other dog, Toby, is deaf). Anyway, Russ and I left our pups with her in her lower east side apartment, which was filled with adoptees and her own dogs, when he went to go meet my parents. When we sat down for a bit, she introduced us to Fuego, her little pomeranian, who lived on top of the armoire in the living room. He could not tolerate the other dogs as well, and so she put water and food up there, and he lived among the plants. Occasionally, he would poke his little white face from the foliage, bark at the other dogs, and then retreat back into the rainforest.

We were lucky to have known such a kind woman.

Anger Management

2006-07-11T19:06:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you're angry? Do you scream? Take it out on the kids? Take it out on the person you are angry at? Flaming bag of poo?

My mom has taken sublimation to a whole new level. I was introduced to this coping mechanism at an early age, when she would make gift baskets for us kids to give to our teachers. But all was not in the spirit of the holidays. While most of the teachers got lovely things, there were a few she didn't like. Enter in: The Vindictive Gift Giver. This stems from my mother's keen ability to spot a deal. She buys tchotchkeys all year round, preparing these baskets. For the teachers she didn't like, they would receive a crappy Waterford ornament. Mixed signal, no? I mean, it IS Waterford...but ugly Waterford. The recipient was in no position to rebuff the gift. Or, she vindictively re-gifts. Oy.

The other day, she took it to a whole new level. See, I have this uncle, with whom I have no contact. My mom's brother. He constantly floods her with obsessive narcissistic rants, and the latest era of notes contains multiple invocations of our Lord, Jesus Christ. If you were thinking he might be crazy, well, you'd be right. Anyway, so after a long history of our family getting burned by this guy, contact has been ceased. It is not for grudge purposes, so much as safety purposes. Anyway, my mom had it with the condescending "I'll pray for you" notes from this guy, so she sent him a novena card, signed by someone else, saying that WE were praying for HIM. Well, this was the narcissistic injury to beat all injuries, so a few days later, my ailing 91 year old grandmother, who lives with my mom, recieved a letter from him. It asks HER to pray for my mom.

Have you ever heard of such ridiculousness? "No, YOU need God's love!"-"No, YOU need healing!"-"I'll pray for YOU!"-"NO, I'll pray for YOU!"

If he gets an ugly Faberge egg in the mail, you will know he is in deep shit.

How to tell you are marrying a man

2006-06-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

My honey, the love of my life, the reason I rush home, did the very thing that confirmed his manhood.

Before your mind goes to something dirty, let me elaborate.

We were folding clothes in the bedroom, since that is the surest way they will end up in the closet. As Laundry Czar, it is my job to do all things clothing related, but Russ usually helps me out, which is very nice of him, since I hate the shlepping of clothes very much. Anyway, we are chatting, when he says, "honey, can I make a request?" (read: He has something he is afraid to ask of me, yet whatever it is that I have been doing has been bothering him so much that he can no longer go on being unheard.) He says, in a voice genteel, "Can you put all of my shirts in one place and not put my white t-shirts with my underwear drawer?"

I, naturally, acquiesce, as it makes no nevermind to me whether they end up on one of Jupiter's moons so long as he is happy. Yet, curiosity piqued, I ask, "Why?"

He says, "I can't find my socks with the shirts in that drawer."

I swallow for a moment, and then burst out laughing, literally rolling on the folded clothes.

Now I have HIM puzzled. Why is this so damn funny?

I say, "You really are, really and truly, a man. Only a man would be puzzled by something as complex as things being behind or under things. Tell me this, if you can't see the mustard in the refrigerator, do you assume it has gone missing? Will the chest of drawers win the staring contest if you have to be the person to move your shirts to find your socks?"

He grimaces, since I am cackling at his expense, but he loves to hear me laugh...rock and a hard place.

And I say to you, if you have a being at your house who will not be outdone by containers using concepts like object permanence, you my pet, are living with a man. Rejoice! I know of no thing better.

Double the pleasure, double the fun

2006-06-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

There are some things that I really enjoy having two of. Double cheeseburgers, Two-for-one sales, shoes, and breasts. Sometimes, you get two of something, and it is a welcome suprise, like two dollars in your wallet, twins, and two hashbrowns in your breakfast meal. Other things in duplicate are not so fun. I shall illustrate.

To ease our anxiety about the nine million things to do for our nuptuals, Russ and I have been steadily working on our invitations. All this week, time has been devoted to carefully selecting wording, budgeting, and formatting this project so that it will be an elegant, useful, and simple way of compacting all of the information you might need to know to come attend our wedding. The price of these things astound me, but after I got over the initial sticker shock, I was able to press on in the interest of time.

So, about five minutes ago, we looked over the wording and so forth, and went ahead to order the things. I looked at the subtotal after entering in my credit card number, and clicked the "checkout" button.

A few seconds later, I was taken to my confirmation page with my order number, and lo and behold, a new and different subtotal appeared at the bottom. Like twice the amount. Wha? On the page before it said half that! I don't even have that much in my checking account! Surely this isn't tax? What? So I scurried over to my e-mail to wait for a message from the card people saying what the order was.

I look over it, and it has doubled the entire order. RSVP's, Invitation layers, folio jackets, accomodation cards, envelopes, reception cards, the whole shabang. I couldn't figure out why in the world it would have done that.

So, I click back the order button to see the complete summary online. The bottom of the receipt page was what we had ordered. The top, however, contained previous incarnations of the project. This was when Russ and I were typing all of the content in all-caps. After realizing that neither of us is Owen Meany, we thought better of it and capitalized appropriately.

Well, the voice of all-caps would not be quashed, as it has insidiously bonded with our order and refuses to join its brethren in the eternal realm of first drafts. Yes, our invitations have developed tumors.

And, like the task-master that I am, I just HAD (all caps) to order the damn things at 11 in the evening, long after the customer service people have gone home for the weekend. I must live with the anxiety that our invitations are not perfect as I had hoped. Russ is taking this a little better than me, as he is asleep next to me right now, and I am on my third glass of wine.

This is just the beginning. I haven't even sent the buggery things out yet.

The final installment

2006-06-10T15:23:00.000-07:00

Part Three: A River Runs Through It

In what should be the cutest installment of the series, I will now describe what my youngest dog, Leo, would probably call “canine torture”.

On day three of the respite from the city, Russ and I had acclimated to our environment. We had gotten used to the bugs, and even used to the noise of the “yeehooos” and the complete catalogue of AC/DC. We also coped with my accident prone nature…or the accidents I am prone to making in nature. On the first day, while sitting by the fire, I dropped a prong I was holding to cook hot dogs, and seared the meat of my hand in between my thumb and pointer finger. Russ hauled up to the store for first aid supplies. When the woman asked what had happened, he told her I had burned myself, to which she replied, “Well that was stupid.” Welcome to New York.

I digress. We had chosen a campsite close to the water in hopes that we could hear the water running or something like that. Not so much, but we were close to the mouth of a shallow brook where we could go wade. The third morning, we hiked down with the dogs and their stakes to dangle our feet in the river.

For those of you who don’t know, my dog Toby is my oldest dog. I have had him since my junior year of college. He is now blind and deaf. He is also fearless. Last year, he earned the nickname “Rocky” after he took on a pit bull down the street in order to defend my honor. Toby is a 15 pound Lhasa Shih Tzu, who has the personality of an elephant.

Leo, on the other hand, is more like Lambert the sheepish lion. When introduced to new stimuli, he responds by vibrating in fear. New stimuli include people walking down the street, harsh gusts of wind, car rides, and particularly unsettling grocery bags.

However, during this trip, Leo had been especially pleased that he was outdoors. He was free to follow Russ and I everywhere.

So, we grabbed the pups and walked down to the basin. Toby, of course, plodded along, though blind and deaf, as if he had been there a million times before. Leo, however, began his usual vibration, signaling to me his distress. Russ, being the good dad that he is, gently took Leo and dabbed his paw in the river. At the sight of the water, Leo immediately began a disjointed paddling. Toby began looking for a good spot to take a drink. Here is a photo of Leo on his way to looking like a drowned rat.

Here is a photo of Toby stalking around.

Leo was so terrified that I had to hold him by his harness while I placed him in water about 1 inch deep. When I let go, he bounded into my arms, and scrambled to get out. Russ and I kept close eyes on them so that they wouldn’t slip and catch their paws in the cracks of the rocks, since they are so tiny.

Also, I should tell you that I received a new name on the trip. Russ has taken to calling me “The Fire Maven”. From start to finish, I tended the hearth. I am a good hearth-tender. However, on the last evening, we finally called it quits when a spark singed my belly, causing me to jump up and wake up a sleeping Leo. The fire essentially told us to go home. It was time.

And so ends my three part installment of “Do New Yorkers S*** in the Woods? Yes”. I hope we have all learned some lessons:

1) Do not f-ck with fog.
2) Small towns are quaint and full of nice people no matter where you are.
3) Rednecks are everywhere.
4) Respect fire.
5) Dogs love the outdoors, except when they don’t.
6) Camping is always expensive.
7) Remember to camp every year, even when it is a pain in the ass. It is one of those things that builds character, but I have no idea why.

I leave you with a picture of the fire that singed my belly.

Red light, yellow light, green light, go

2006-05-31T20:54:00.000-07:00

You guys, my okies. I miss you so much! I probably would have missed you a lot less if I had known you had actually been living in upstate New York this whole time!

What? You didn’t know? Well, neither did I, but I wasn’t the one who moved the south toward Canada.

Imagine Russ’s and my surprise, when on the very first day of our camping trek, we parked ourselves next to folks who were blaring AC/DC and shouting “Git ‘er done!”

OMFG.

Upstate New York closely resembled the State Fair at Oklahoma. Boys are wearing cutoff shirts, 12 year old girls are smoking cigarettes and searching for their seventeen year old boyfriends, and every silent-ish woods moment was periodically punctuated with a hearty “yeehaa!” It could have been my imagination, but I think all the campers smelled faintly of corndogs.

So at first, the soundtrack to my trashy childhood was kind of comforting, if not entertaining. Hearing a woman in a thick Buffalo accent shout to her family, “I can’t squat in the woods, I have a girdle on!” was nothing short of funny. The accents were so thick, you half waited for the others in their tribe to say, “Da Bears.”

At first, I thought the trashiness was solely at the campsite directly to our left. Then, the rowdy kids (maybe waiting to go to Dumas Walker’s) showed up. They kept the camp fires burning with a vast array of pyrotechnics. I swear to god, they could be heard uttering, “Watch this,” or for those of us from the south, a PWT’s last words.

But I really wouldn’t be adequately describing camping unless I talked about the neighborly sharing. The other campers who were roughing it kept their cars on with their stereos playing so that the rest of camp could hear it. Bless their hearts. If you weren’t sure, “Pour some sugar on me” is just as awesome at 10 am as it is at 1 am. I didn’t know. Thank god for these folks.

We listened to music almost exclusively from 1988 for about three days. Remember those days? I’ll bet my neighbors were still wearing Dep with Rave in their hair. If only they’d stood closer to the campfire they built with combustibles on it. So close.

After the first day of Bon Jovi and Def Leppard, I went to sleep bitching about the fact that people can’t be someplace without noise for five g-d minutes. To add insult to injury, I have to put up with the noise being either cursing from the children from the camp next door, or the noise of crappy hair bands. I decided to hatch a plan.

I hadn’t planned to use them, but I did bring my portable iPod speakers. Those things have a sound that carries. I played every esoteric and non-radio friendly track I could find. My neighbors were regaled with the Icelandic utterings of early Bjork in the Sugarcubes, Mariza (Portuguese blues), They Might Be Giants, Sifl and Olly, and others. As a side effect, I couldn’t hear their music anymore, and was happier to hear my own. If I had NPR’s Fresh Air or All Things Considered on Podcast, I would have blasted that shit at 9 am. That would have ruled.

This just furthers my suspicion that rednecks are everywhere. You may end up seeing my old camp neighbors drunk at the top of Niagara falls in a barrel with suspenders while shouting “Watch this!” That’s if their campers don’t get blown to smithereens in a freak tornado accident.

Anyway, when in Rome…so I donned a tube top and surrendered to the flow. I can get trashy like the rest of them. Here is a pic of me looking like hammered hell. I am nothing if not honest.

Stay tuned for a new post about day 3 of the adventure…

Memorial Day Weekend: A photo (esque) essay

2006-05-30T18:20:00.000-07:00

Normally, I would just write one post summarizing the vacation, but I feel that this last weekend's experience neccesitates a more in-depth examination. You see, my baby and I took our very first vacation together. I had not had two days off in a row since shortly after Christmas, and my fiance does not count vacating among his strengths. So, we decided that we would go camping together over Memorial Day weekend! I have been salivating over this idea for over three weeks. I love camping. It is, for me, the one vacation you take where you do not need a vacation after it to relax. So, Friday morning of the four day weekend I had meticulously planned out, I was ready to chill my brain and drink beer for as long as I could stand.

Well, by Friday morning I mean Friday afternoon. And by chill out, I mean shop for crap for the trip. Long story short, we did not make it out of New York until the afternoon. We hit traffic going upstate, and so we didn't arrive even in the county until well after dark.

We had printed Mapquest directions, in hopes of actually arriving at the site. Not so fast, Team Tucker. In the middle of the night, we drove to the top of a hill that was so poorly marked, we passed it twice. We finally got there, and when we made the turn, we got stuck on this hill in...wait for it...fog. Fog like...um...fog. It was so thick, we couldn't see the road. My darling beloved was playing it cool, all the while gripping the door handle for dear life lest his fiance decide to make a sharp turn right or left at a breakneck speed of five miles per hour and riding the brake. The signs on this country road were equally disturbing, when there were any. One sign, swear to God, said "Lost Road". If we hadn't been so lost and scared to get down the hill, Russ would have taken many photos of it.

So anyway, we get over the hill, to the other side, and the road we're on forks. However, the good people of Durham did not see fit to mark this fork, nor did the people of mapquest think it necessary to point it out either. So, we get to the fork that says "nothing" and we have to turn around. To go through the scary ass fog. Again.

So, we make it through the other side. Russ says, wisely, "Fuck it. We're getting a hotel."

We blindly scout the area for some resort that will let us stay the night. Since we have two dogs, and this is memorial day weekend, we weren't exactly holding our breath. After getting some directions from the guy who ran the Mobil station, we stopped at the second inn we saw that had no visible vacancy sign. On the front door it said "No Pets." Russ went in, worked his magical charms, and the guy said that it was fine for us to stay.

For those of you ever visiting the Catskill region, be sure to stay at Cedar Terrace Resort in Cairo. You will meet my son there. I am giving him to the hotel manager. I think he will turn out well.

This guy was so nice. He gave us the keys to the room and told us to check it out first. It was stuffy, and smelled like old people and mothballs. It was awesome. Russ and I high-fived. As we started to unload the gear we needed for the night, it began to rain. I could not have been happier that we were indoors instead of out.

The next morning was delightful and sunny. We drove through the town to catch the major expressway we needed to get to Gilboa. We got some breakfast at this darling little place in Cairo. This town was so cute, and everyone was incredibly nice and polite.

After a couple of wrong turns, we finally arrived at Nickerson Family Campground. You have never seen two people so fucking happy to pitch a tent. Here is that tent.

After packing a few things away, we decided to hike up to the store for reasons I cannot remember. We brought both our little camper dogs, Toby and Leo, and so we brought packs to carry them in, since I'm not really sure how they would hold up over long distances.

Here is Russ with a smooshed Leo in his too-small bag.

Each driver who passed us waved and made a comment about the cuteness of the dogs.

That is all for now. I will tell you about the raging rapids and the metal wars in an upcoming post.

Unique New York

2006-05-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

I am looking for solid, surefire ways of avoiding work. As usual, I stole from someone's blog.

Accent: American Fusion. Sometimes I lapse into y'alls, and other times I can be overheard saying "cawl" in perfect Long Islandese.

Booze: Mmm...Tequila.

Chore I hate: Laundry, although I appointed myself the czar of laundry in the household.

Dogs/cats: Two small dogs that dominate the bed and who are named after West Wing characters. Both adoptees and both awesome decisions.

Essential electronics: Coffeemaker.

Favorite perfume/cologne: Obsession for Men. I wear it my ownself, and turn myself on all day.

Gold/silver: Gold...white gold. I can't decide.

Hometown: Oklahoma City

Insomnia: Off and on

Job title: Graduate student therapist...or unemployed. Whichever you prefer.

Kids: We want some soon. Until then, I will continue to harass my siblings into mating.

Living arrangement: I live in sin with the love of my life and future husband.

Most admired trait: My lovely lady lumps.

Number of sexual partners: Hahahahaha. Well, it's a number plus one.

Overnight hospital stays: I have stayed for multiple family members, but never for myself.

Phobias: Fish. Blarg.

Quote: "Life is a series of surrenders." My aunt Patty.

Religion: Catholic.

Siblings: Seven younger brothers and three sisters in law.

Time I usually wake up: Being a champion sleeper, I can wake up around 1, or whenever the dogs start vibrating the bed because they need to pee.

Unusual talent: I dabble in ventriloquism.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: I know it's cliche, but brussels sprouts.

Worst habit: Procrastinating or acting like a know-it-all: it's really a toss up.

X-rays: Once, I broke my arm when I ran down the drainage ditch next to my house. I was in a relay race...since my next-door neighbor told me to be. I ran in my Cabbage Patch loafers. My mom had told me not to, saying that I might hurt myself. And I did. That was the first x-ray. I have had a few since then.

Yummy foods I make: Barbecue. I kick ass at barbecue.

Zodiac sign: Libra.

O Canada...

2006-05-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

I just read Schaubee's blog about throwing up in her mouth, and it reminded me of what got me so steamed in the car yesterday.

As previously noted, I am a bleeding heart liberal. I was listening to NPR, the thinly vieled liberal news, and was listening to an author, Michelle Goldberg, talk about her new book on Fresh Air, Kingdom Coming: The Rise of Christian Nationalism.

Now, I am a confirmed and practicing Catholic. I took that vow when I was seventeen, first communion when I was sixteen. I am a religious person, and I dig what my faith does for me. However, it makes me ill to think about the utter perversion of right wing Americans adulterating not only the bible, but also the constitution. Um, gross.

The basic argument is that Christians came here, intended to always have a Christian country to live in, and never intended other religions to be given the same deference as Christianity. This author is talking about Christians revising scholarly information to have a decidedly Christian slant. Vlarg. (that's the vomit sound). I am not sure if Euro christians had the intention of murdering off indigenous people, but I guarantee you that that little piece of history is left out of creationist textbooks.

Yes, let's admire our history, and revere the founding fathers. Christopher Columbus, for example. He only enslaved Indians and encourage their brutalization and murder. Is it in the books that the guy who discovered America fed Indian babies to dogs? Yeah, I bet that gets left out of the history too.

Or moving on to the founders of the constitution, who could never decide if they considered black people were human beings or property? Yes, let's look up to those role models. I'll bet Jesus would have alienated minorities.

These people want to revert back to Leviticus for inspiration. An episode of the West Wing has Martin Sheen as President Bartlett use Leviticus quotes to a Dr. Laura type to make her look like an ass. The whole point of Jesus was to give the message that the spirit of religious laws were more important than the letter.

As a future wife of a Jewish man, and the future mother of Jewish children, I look forward to being able to build a home that fosters tolerance on multiple levels. I hope that we as a family are able to understand that our way of life is not being persecuted, nor do we have any right to be in this country. We are simply lucky as people to be anywhere.

But truly, all this talk of reverting to religious literalism and intolerance makes it seem to me as though Christianity is being used as a weapon of hatred, which is not what it was intended for. It makes me want to move out of the country that this variety of Christians seems to think they own.

So to the right wing crazies, I say to you, Baruch Atah Adonai...Shel Canada. Who's with me?

Three Schilling Opera

2006-05-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

Russ and I went on a group date with our friends last night. We went to the city to see Three Penny Opera, starring Cindi Lauper, Ana Gasteyer, Alan Cumming, and Jim Dale. It was....strange. The look of the show was fantastic, but it left me wanting more. I enjoyed seeing famous and talented people.

Most of all, I enjoyed the debriefing at Maison, a great French restaurant near the theatre. I got to know Russ's friend's wife.

Nothing shocking or groundbreaking to report. I am taking a couple of days respite before summer classes start and wedding planning spins out of control.

Oklahomies

2006-05-03T14:25:00.000-07:00

So, as stated previously, the in-laws came down to see the great state of Oklahoma. It was quite the whirlwind meeting. I showed up earlier in the afternoon, after driving down to Virginia to drop off my dogs. Later that day, I drove up with my little brother to collect them from the airport. They had met my dad the night before, and all had gone well (if you exclude the fact that my future brother in law got food poisoning almost didn't make it to the plane). The trip was full of food.
We started off with dinner that evening at Charleston's. The next morning, I picked them up and took them to Jimmy's Egg for breakfast (I love grits, and they are hard to come by up here). Then, the boys and girls split up, with me taking my future mother in law and my mom to a bridal gown fitting, and my brother driving my fiance, his dad, and brother to Bass Pro Shops downtown. Apparently, they handled guns and played around for the two hours. After the bridal fitting (which was awesome-I lost weight and I can actually breathe in my gown), I drove mom and mom2 to Pearl's Lakeside to talk to the manager regarding reserving the place for rehearsal dinner. That all went well.

Then, I drove the Tuckers down to meet my biological father, stepmom and my paternal grandmother (the indians) at Earl's. Besides my father invoking Jesus Christ to my Jewish in-laws, it went just fine. Then we went to the the Murrah building memorial site. I had been there multiple times, but I had never been inside the museum. Russ's dad sprang for the entrance fees, and we spent two hours walking along the bombing timeline. It was wild. I had forgotten so much, and the museum was so well laid out. If my in-laws and I had nothing else in common, it was the fact that we had both experienced terrorism. The exhibit was moving, and reminded me about the fact that I had lost my neighbor in that almost 11 years ago. I know it's trite, but time does fly.

Next, I drove downtown to the Petroleum club, where the reception will be, to show them the grounds. It happened to be Deer Creek's prom night, (where my youngest brother goes to school), which he did not attend. However, the Tuckers seemed to be very impressed, as was my fiance. He was awestruck at the view. It was neat to get a sneak peek at the facility, and envision what it wil be like to dance my first dance with my future husband.

Anyway, we capped off the weekend with a dinner at Yamamoto's. Besides the noxious gas that we got from the meal, the dinner was great. Everyone was getting along swimmingly, and I couldn't have been more relieved. It was strange to realize that I had absolutely nothing to worry about. It was strange too because it's one thing to spend a dinner meeting each other, but a whole weekend is quite another thing. In any case, the news on the homefront is that Love-Fest 2006 continues, and will reach a fever pitch August 26, 2006.

Butterflies

2006-04-27T08:32:00.000-07:00

Do you feel a tremble in the earth? Is your heart racing a little? That's because a paradigm is about to shift. That's right, my future in-laws are coming to Oklahoma this weekend to meet my parents.

This whole week, I have been sans fiance while he is in Vegas with his family. I am meeting them at the Will Rogers Airport tomorrow ( I drive to DC tonight to drop off the dogs and fly out in the morning). I have had no Russ time to decompress. I am a little nervous, to say the least.

Deep breaths...in, out.

Lessons from the Gay Cowboys, and musings on a good burger

2006-04-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

Friday night, my fiancé and I stayed home and watched “Brokeback Mountain”. I was pleased with the movie, not because it made ardent strides for gay rights, but because it was an aesthetically pleasing movie about two men who loved each other as human beings, not as flagrant stereotypes of homosexual men. Like it’s such a surprise that gay men can be cowboys…but anyway.

The next night, Russ was preparing for a departure to Las Vegas. It is his family’s first vacation together, so all involved are excited. He was planning on taking the train out to Long Island, but to my delight, decided to stay in and hang out with me and meet them at the airport this morning. We decided to grab dinner elsewhere, since neither of us were much interested in cooking.

We walked around, and found this place called Dumont Burger. For those people who are in Williamsburg, it will come as no surprise to them what I am about to write. Holy hell, was that a good burger.

As a kid, I had an underdeveloped jaw (I have since compensated ☺), and ground beef was like Chinese water torture. I would be hungry, but after the umpteenth time I tried to chew, my jaw would be sore, the beef would no longer taste like anything composed of food particles, and I would spit the food out in search of something more edible.

To say I am not really a burger person is really an understatement. To me, it is the worst kind of food torture. As you prepare it, it looks as though it will be tasty. You go through all the motions to toss it on the grill, and as you're cooking it, it still smells good. Then, you actually eat it, and it has taken on th flavor of charcoal briquettes. Gross.

Anyway, we eat burgers at Dumont burger, and they are decidedly un-disgusting. To boot, it was stuffed to the rafters with hipsters. Most were drinking wine and consuming the aforementioned awesome burger. Anyway, Russ and I eat at the bar (we aren't patient enough to wait for a table), and we start people watching.

I usually watch women, and judge them (it's a hobby). But tonight, my focus was on the men, and how they interacted with the women who accompanied them.

I know that the stereotype of men in Williamsburg (and men in New York) is that they are all hipster, with penchants for expensive facial tonics and orgasmic over sheets with a high thread count.

It is all true.

Watching the men on dates with various women, I couldn't figure out why they seemed to be getting nowhere. The men seemed to be trying to get the women's attention and doing their best job of being verbally engaging...

And then it hit me...

These men didn't share a penis among them.

Now, know that I am slamming my 'hood out of love. I would not choose to live elsewhere, but...

For fuck's sake, it is a burger joint. Stop over enunciating. Eat. Not a salad, a burger. Shut the fuck up. Chicks dig that.

It is one thing when a guy is so hopeless in the dressing and hygiene area and is amenable to a little grooming from a partner. It is quite another when the man comes so groomed that he puts his partner's femininity to shame. He is frightening. He spends too much time on his hair. His jeans are so tight you can locate major arteries along his thighs. This is all NOT ATTRACTIVE.

Maybe I am just Southern, or maybe archaically enmeshed in gender roles, but holy shit. Grow a pair, and then see how women respond.

When Russ and I started watching "Brokeback Mountain", we started laughing fit to kill over Heath Ledger's accent. Russ said, "Great. Two hours of Heath Ledger mumbling."

But then I realized, that's hot. Guys, take a page from the gay cowboy book. Wear the tight jeans, but only while herding cattle. If you have product in your hair, it must best be categorized as a by-product from an engine, or some type of synthetic lubricant you come into contact with at a job where you work with your hands. And no talking about your band. No one knows who they are, and we all hate your superior attitude about them.

And I am spent.

I'm not interested

2006-04-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

Once, when I was younger, malls were filled with mostly apparel stores, and apart from those, there was the occasional calendar kiosk, or the Orange Julius. To take a break from the stores, you could meander around the center of the mall, people watch, and generally be left to mind your own business. Admittedly, I do not spend a whole lot of time at malls, because I have become a predictable old fart, and they mostly annoy me.

In any case, after my most recent episode of losing the seam in my pants, I trudged over to the Source shops in Long Island, knowing Ann Taylor Loft was having a sale. (I never in a million years thought I would shop at Ann Taylor Loft, but there you go). Anyway, I noticed the abundance of kiosks everywhere. It was like an obstacle course dodging all of the crappy body jewelry, belt buckles, and flimsy toys they were all selling. But here is one other difference that I have noticed: Instead of just hawking the usual dry goods that are normally available in boutiques, mall kiosks are more commonly carrying the infomercial-type products. I saw one woman lovingly stroking a clump of fake hair as she attached it to a trellis full of other multicolored falls and ponytail holders. I saw another patting the ionizing flat irons that come in pink and blue. I saw the Proactive booths (hard for me to criticize, since I am a customer, but there you go).

I saw these same salespeople not waiting for customers to line up, but rather shouting at passerbys about their phone plans and did they want to check out painted hermit crabs? I headed out of Ann Taylor Loft, and I saw a woman who had successfully snagged some family with a young hispanic girl. The product appeared to be some kind of hand lotion or something. I saw that the other saleslady did not have a customer, and she was trawling. So, I did my best job of being invisible, and looked down at my feet to avoid eye contact, much how I deal with the homeless. I am five feet or so in the other direction when she says, "Miss", and I think, "Oh Damn. Almost." I turn around, and she asks in a thick Russian accent, "May I ask you a question?" and then abruptly takes my hands. I stood there, contemplating what to say, and she says, "Are your nails natural?" After deciding that she meant was whether or not my nails were acrylic, but still annoyed that she was touching me, I said, "Yes, but you shouldn't touch my hands. I have Herpetic Whitlow. It's like Herpes, but you get it on your hands. It's transmitted via hand contact." She dropped my hands like the plebian who can't afford her lotion that I am.

I was so thankful that I remembered what hand herpes is called. My dad told me about it once. In the future, I think I may tell the guy selling purses that look like Yorkshire Terriers that I am homeless. I will tell the painted crab man that I wouldn't want my pubic crabs to get jealous. I will tell the lady selling partial wigs that I have an abundance of back hair, and so I won't be needing any falls. The game of "I'm just looking" just got so much better.

Discoveries of the Human Body

2006-04-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

Mom called me on Sunday, and said I needed to come home. I knew she wasn't messing around. She told me she thought Josh was going to die. He had candida (yeast infection) all through his peritoneum, and had pulmonary edema. They couldn't get him to eat or his bowels to move, and they were worried about an infection in his central line. So, my dad called a friend to get me on a plane headed home on Tuesday. Thank God it is Spring Break for me. Anyway, so I grieve all day Sunday. Just feeling overall shitty. Monday rolls around, and my mom calls me to say that Josh is doing much better, and that she has been able to feed him with a feeding tube. So, I head out to Oklahoma on Tuesday to offer mom some relief pitching, since she and my mom's friend Charolet had been watching Josh in 12 hour shifts, and they were exhausted.

So, I get home really early on Tuesday to help mom. Josh is kind of gorked out in the hospital, and has restraints on his arms to keep him from tugging on the feeding tube and the central line. Anyway, I mom shows me how to feed him through the tube, and he has to be fed every six hours. At about 5 in the morning, I turned on the lights to feed him through the tube. I had to restrain him, which he was pretty pissed about. Anyway, I started the feeding, and at the end was ready to flush the line. To feed him, I hook up this big syringe that is the size of a turkey baster. Anyway, I'm flushing the line, so I have water in the turkey baster thing with the top off. Josh starts bearing down because he was gassy, and when he did, he pushed gas through the line, and essentially blew bubbles through the top of the syringe. He was so out of it, but still managed to laugh, because he found a new hole to fart through. He may be retarded, but he is still a boy.

So, he got discharged from the hospital the next day, and has been at home recovering. He is doing so much better. To all, thanks for all of your continued prayers. We very nearly lost him, but now the girls at the hospital have started to call him Lazarus.

Blessing

2006-04-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

I hadn't written about it, but in the past couple of days, my brother Josh has been in what they call in medical terms, "deep shit". A few posts back, I wrote about how the group home he was headed to wouldn't accept him without a feeding tube. Well, mom caved and brought him in for surgery last Tuesday.

The surgery was okay up until they were ready to install the feeding apparatus. It perforated his stomach and went into his peritoneal cavity, which immediately began inflating. The surgeons, concerned about peritonitis (which could easily kill someone in fragile health like my brother), immediately stopped the surgery, and decided they would redo it the following week. Mom was impressed that they had the stones to come out and say that they had screwed up rather than continue and risk really harming him.

So they sent him home, and he deteriorated overnight. His O2 sats were really low, and so they brought him in the hospital. They had him on 10 liters of oxygen (my grandmother was on 4, and she has emphysema), when they decided they had to do a procedure to draw out the oxygen out of his gut with a needle. In the CT scan, they saw that the air in his peritoneum was crushing the left lobe of his lung. He immediately began feeling better once the air escaped.

However, then he developed an ilias (sp), or a blockage in his gut from being unable to eat and as a result of the surgery. Because he absolutely HAS to eat his formula regularly, or he dies, they had to do an emergency feeding tube installation.

They brought him in last night, and the surgery was a complete success. He was extubated and breathing on his own in no time.

As for the aid who was unwilling to work with Josh, there is a tiny part of me, the eye for an eye part of me, that wants her to get poked in the gut twice, develop pneumonia, struggle for air, develop subsequent peritonitis, and an intestinal blockage before she is ever allowed to touch handicapped ever again. But I'm not bitter.

The main point is, by the grace of God, Josh is with us still. He continues to surpass and amaze. If only everyone had a sibling as awesome as mine.

STD's

2006-03-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

This morning, I woke up with a rip-roaring case of otitis externa. The pain was so bad it was literally distracting me. So I did what any normal, 26 year-old would do. I called my mommy to fix it. she talked to dad, and they called in some meds for me. However, because I stayed home today, the closest CVS is in Manhattan. I am going to have to face the fact pretty soon that I will need to leave the house today.

In any case, because today was a sick day, I am compiling lists and addresses for our Save the Date cards. If there are any readers whose addresses I do not know (this means you, Natalie and Schaubee), and would like an invite or STD, please e-mailme with your mailing address. And that is all.

Sad News

2006-03-27T16:32:00.000-08:00

Several months ago, the very same day that my ex broke up with me, I rescued a little Maltese-Pom mix from the Brooklyn CACC. She was sentenced to death, and the rescue org I got my Leo from asked me to help since I lived in South Brooklyn. I picked her up, and the little fluff ball immediately hopped up on my lap. I kept her overnight, groomed her and then proceeded to clean my house of ex-boyfriend remnants. The next morning, mom came in to help me grieve my previous relationship and help me find a new apartment. The white fluff and I met my mom at the airport, and then we took the dog to the orphanage to get vetted.

I picked her up again to help out the rescue because the woman who runs the org had gotten ill from chemo side effects. I took her to the vet. If I had the space and time, I would have adopted her. She was so sweet, and snuggly. All she wanted was a safe, quiet place to lay.

She got adopted out to a nice woman in Florida. The org arranged for the free transport, just like they did with Leo. Each person who has come into contact with this dog has fallen in love with her, including her new mom.

I just got the news that she just died. Apparently, she had some autoimmune thing where she stopped producing red blood cells. Totally sucks. She was a great dog. She was a far cry from the poodle-strosity that Russ and I watched together. I am sure that thing will live through several World Wars.

2006-03-27T14:52:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay in an update. I have been busy with both work and play. Russ has been crazy busy with work. The week before last, my youngest brother, Luke, came to New York for the first time. He was adorable. We did the tourist-y thing all week, even though both Russ and I were a little unsure of exactly what to do. Props to my honey, because he really did a lot while Luke was here. Took him to Rockefeller Center, across the Brooklyn Bridge, took him to Times Square, among other things. Also, we both took Luke to the Empire State building, which was a first for me as well. In addition to all that, we also took him to see Avenue Q, and Russ arranged for a backstage tour for us. It was really awesome.

This last week, I drove to VA to celebrate my friend Nycole's birthday. It was a weekend filled with bargain shopping and good food. The only thing that sucked was that Russ had to stay home to get extra work done. Nonetheless, I am happy to have recently had a break in the action. AND, only two more weeks till spring break!

2006-03-14T21:07:00.000-08:00

How old were you?: 16
What Grade were you in?: Junior
Where did you go to school: Heritage Hall
Where did you work?: No wheres
Where did you hang out?: Medina's
What was your hair style?: Hair down to my butt
Did you wear braces?: No
Did you wear glasses?: At night
Who was your best friend?: Niyato
Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?: Nick Morrelli
Who was your celebrity crush?: Ethan Hawke...I think
Who was your regular-person crush?: Um...what?
How many piercings did you have? 4, two in each ear
How many tattoos did you have? None
What was your favorite band?: Probably Korn back then, or Helmet
What was your biggest fear? Dying a virgin
Had you smoked a cigarette yet?: Yes-multiple
Had you gotten drunk or high yet?: Nope
Had you driven yet? Later in the year
Had you had sex yet? Also later in the year

5 YEARS AGO -->

How old were you?: 21
What Grade were you in?: Senior in college
Where did you go to school: Baylor University
Where did you work?: West Telemarketing
Where did you live?: Ghetto apartments
Where did you hang out?: Scruffy Murphys, Crickets
What was your hair style?: No hair, practically
Did you wear braces?: No
Did you wear glasses?: At night, with the lights off
Who was your best friend?: Josh and Adrian
Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?: Jon (shudder)
Who was your celebrity crush?: Bjork.. I suppose
Who was your regular-person crush?: I don't remember
How many piercings did you have? 6 ear, 1 tongue, 1 belly
How many tattoos did you have? One
What was your favorite band?: Operation Ivy, Rancid
What was your biggest fear? Dying in Texas
Had you smoked a cigarette yet?: Yes
Had you gotten drunk or high yet?: Just drunk
Had you driven yet? Yes
Had you had sex yet? Yes

LAST YEAR -->

How old were you?: 25
What Grade were you in?: 1st year grad school
Where did you go to school: Long Island University
Where did you work?: Washington Irving Highschool (volunteer)
Where did you live? BROOKLYN!
Where did you hang out?: In bed...asleep
What was your hair style?: Growing it out.
Did you wear braces?: No
Did you wear glasses?:More comfortable with wearing them out
Who was your best friend?: Nycole, Adrian, Joni
Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend?: Was busy waiting for my ship to come in...he just turned out to be someone else...and better.
Who was your celebrity crush?: Richard Schiff
Who was your regular-person crush?: Za?
How many piercings did you have? 6 ears, 1 belly, 1 tongue (that I don't wear anymore), 1 nose...9 altogether?
How many tattoos did you have? One
What was your favorite band?: The Specials, The Skatalites, Joe Jackson
What was your biggest fear? Fish...being tired forever
Had you smoked a cigarette yet?: Done quit by then
Had you gotten drunk or high yet?: Plenty
Had you driven yet? Fearfully.. It is Brooklyn
Had you had sex yet? Not much at that time

THIS YEAR -->

How old are you?: 26
Where do you go to school: LIU
Where do you work?: At the clinic
Where do you live? Hipsterburg, Brooklyn
Where do you hang out?: Home with my honey
Do you wear braces?: No
Do you wear glasses?: More confidently now
Who is your best friend?: Same as last year
Who is your boyfriend/girlfriend?: FIANCE. RUSSELL. ROCKIN!
Who is your celebrity crush?: Richard schiff
Who is your regular-person crush?: I don't really get those
How many piercings do you have? Same as before
How many tattoos do you have? One that I never see
What is your favorite band?: Joe Jackson, Stevie Wonder
What is your biggest fear? Fish...bleh...gills....bleh

Can you Pre-Can-Can?

2006-03-11T17:43:00.000-08:00

Russ and I hauled our sorry selves out of bed this morning to attend Pre-Cana. We have been working on our schtick for Pre-Cana. I say this because since Russ and I are an interfaith couple, we thought we would really need to make sure we had over-prepared, in a way, especially if there was any priest interview or something like that.

It was, however, like most people say, a gym in a church filled to the brim with couples, and was led by an older Catholic couple. They were actually pretty great; they were attractive, in their sixties, down to earth, engaging, and not dogmatic. The priest who spoke with us briefly was pretty cool too.

So we get to the little workbook section on sexuality. It was really funny. The female of the couple, Marydale, was shy and said that she got married when she was nineteen, and was a nice Irish-Catholic girl and not really interested in talking about sex to strangers. However, her husband, Jay, said, "Well, since the priest isn't around, I should tell you, the Church doesn't have any position on positions." I about peed myself.

I know this doesn't compare to Lyndsay's story of Pre-Cana flatulence, but it's my contribution.

Woops

2006-03-08T11:48:00.000-08:00

Here's what's funny about the last post.

I published it, and then realized that it was on my wedding web page. Guess the guests don't really need to know how much I hate the current administration.

WARNING! POLITICAL DIATRIBE! BAD EUPHEMISMS! AND I WROTE THEM!

2006-03-08T11:46:00.000-08:00

Pop Quiz!

Who is the person who:

Doesn't care about your civil liberties?
Has an economic policy that creates wider economic gaps?
Is socially regressive?
Allows his personal beliefs to bias how he runs the country?
Starts wars for xenophobic reasons?
Could give a good god-damn if other countries make nuclear weapons?
Distracts Americans with a bait-and-switch news cycle?
Is grossly unqualified for the job?

A) Ronald Reagan
B) George W. Bush
C) A complete and total fucktard

In this last week, G.W. in all of his wisdom, said regarding India's possession of nuclear weapons,

“I'm trying to think differently, not to stay stuck in the past, and recognize that by thinking differently, particularly on nuclear power, we can achieve some important objectives, one of which is less reliance on fossil fuels; second is to work with our partners to help both our economies grow; and thirdly is to be strong on dealing with the proliferation issues,” Bush told reporters in New Delhi March 2.News Link

I had a lot of political reasons for being disgusted with him before this little quip. For starters, I think faith based initiatives is a way for the government to opt out of social services for people who generally do not have access to them. It's alienating and irresponsible.

Second, Iraq is a total boondoggle. Whenever things go poorly there, GW brings the focus to some ridiculous domestic issue, like gay marriage. That THAT issue won an election for so many people including GW is enough to make me want to move to Canada.

Third, his policies do not provide for the future. He doesn't care. He doesn't care about minorities, the disabled, the disenfranchised, police officers, no one. The only way he ( or his support staff of satanic fucks ) give a flying fuck about you is if you have money...and not a little...the top tier money.

I hear news about this asshole everyday, and with the exception of his tolerant behavior towards Mexicans obtaining work permits, I want to puke every time I hear that he has done something else.

And now, he doesn't care if the wole fucking planet explodes. I can only hope he is removed from power before he does anything else. I would say give him social services to deal with his crippling lack of perspective, but he has cut the funding for all of that.

I realize that my viewpoints are so caustic at this point that I probably sound like a pompass asshole. I know I won't win anyone's viewpoint by being a raving bitch. However, I will say this...

My mom voted Democrat in the last election. Now she listens to NPR. I don't care what your political affiliation is, so long as your policies are socially responsible. The president's policies are so unethical that I can't even think of a proper punishment for his transgressions. Worst of all, I fear he lacks the perspective to truly understand the ramifications of his actions. In a mind that comprehends no consequences, we are living in a current society that is furiously backpeddling toward politically safer ground...as if that was SO important. That politics, marketing, power, and money are more important than human lives...well that's about enough to make anyone want to find another planet.

My mom

2006-02-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

Those who know me, meaning that they might have seen me once in a Target, know that I have a handicapped brother. Those who know me so intimately, as to have, say, done my hair, know that he is the reason behind my career choice. Actually, he and my mother. The challenge of raising a child in a resource deprived, backward-thinking southern suburb in Oklahoma as a single mom was a lot for our family to bear. However, rather than be beat down in the ground by it, we used the challenge to strengthen the bonds of love that we have for each other, and compassion that we have for the underserved. As an adult, it has made me really appreciate those bitchy women whose lives consist of battling burned out educators in countless IEP meetings, to bitchy women who know more about their son than Carter has little liver pills. Those women are warriors for their children, the real life mother bears. It is because of them that their children enjoy decent quality of life.

One thing I know for sure, is that mothers are the experts. This is not to say that I do not have a special place in my heart for daddies too, but I am talking about my mom and the moms I know right now. My mother is the bona fide expert on all things Josh related. She has read about, seen it, or tried it. She will do anything to make sure her baby has a good quality of life.

Josh is a medical miracle because my mom fought so hard for him. We’re talking risking reputation, being blacklisted by dumbass Oklahoma neurologists, losing friends, etc. Josh is 21 years old, and still the oldest living child with his disability because mom refused to accept anything but the best standard of care for her child.

As an adult, Josh has become increasingly social. He’s not going to pontificate about the Bush administration with his coffee clatch, but he is at his best when he is around a group of his peers. He likes other kids, he likes going out, being played with, and being affectionate. He is emotionally communicative. He is empathetic beyond his developmental range.

One of the reasons he is still alive is because my mother has had to force feed him due to the nature of his disability. Because he has become so social, and he is aging out of the school system, my mom and dad have been frantically searching for a placement for him. They would keep him at home forever, to the detriment of their own health, except that Josh doesn’t really want to be there anymore. He wants to be with other kids.

They interviewed at this place that Josh really loved. Out of sheer fate or luck, Josh was accepted. My family began transitioning him over to the new facility. Last weekend, my mom showed up to demonstrate how to feed him. It probably looked like force-feeding, and it is. It keeps him alive. He has never choked, although he has been a pain in the ass about it more than once, to be sure.

One of the aids saw my mom feeding him, like she had been for the past 21 years, and reported the case to the Oklahoma Health Department. They passed down a ruling saying that Josh must have a feeding tube inserted in his abdomen, otherwise, he would be denied admission to not just this facility, but ANY facility in the state. I am Josh’s third guardian, and Russ and I talked about what our options were. Basically, if we take him to New York, the problem of force-feeding liability will come up here too. So, my mom is in a bind. Either she sacrifices her own health, family, and marriage for Josh’s physical health, and Josh suffers socio/emotionally, or she puts him at risk for complications as a result of this procedure. Here is what my mom wrote to me in an e-mail.

“Jessica,
Thanks for the support. I'm praying too. For the first time in a long time, I really DON'T KNOW what to do. Your Dad is checking to see if there are any less invasive procedures that would accomplish the same ends. One of the GI Docs told him about one way valve, flush with the skin, that can be inserted by an interventional radiologist under local and a little IV sedation. My biggest concern is whether or not Josh will leave it alone after the fact. He potentially could do more harm to himself than the surgery by simply screwing with the site non-stop.
Bottom line this one is going to have to have Divine Intervention-I am flat out -out of ideas. Please just pray. I really love you and your brothers, and I've made many mistakes in parenting just like most parents. However, I hope that at least most decisions I've made I really did try to weigh all the factors and consequences for all of us involved. I will take at least that much deliberating over any decision that involves Josh's future. The primary problems are that 1) Josh's needs have changed in the last ten years from health priorities to social/emotional priorities. 2) Ther is no template for Josh, and right now I feel like we are all being punished for both his survival and his progressive development. The latter issues, although I feel extremely passionately about, the rest of the world has no understanding. They feel really evolved because not only are they not openly repulsed by the handicapped, they have actually agreed to care for them. Hence, most tend to feel very self righteous in setting THEIR ideas of what is acceptable for this underserved population. For those of us parents that can cause incredibly conflictng feelings. First they are throwing you and your child a lifeline,however, you can only grab it under their conditions and decisions of what is BEST and SAFEST for YOUR child. THe fact that you successfully reared this sick child is given no credence. Thier liability issues are paramount.
Thanks again for the support and thanks for letting me ventilate my unrelenting frustration .
Love, Mom”

If only every mom could express herself so eloquently, we would all be in better shape.

Unique New York

2006-02-23T10:07:00.000-08:00

I got nothin better to do than eat my enchilada bowl and respond to Schaubee's tag. So, here you go.

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:
1. Go to Vietnam
2. Make babies
3. Marry the man of my dreams...I'm gonna have to find a new thing this August after that happens.
4. Start a band
5. Write a book
6. Become a Psy.D.
7. Have a long and happy marriage.

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Properly respond to a morning alarm
2. Listen to voicemails in a timely fashion
3. Stop obsessively surfing the knot, my friends' blogs, and homestarrunner.com
4. Pee standing up
5. Live in Texas
6. Eat sugar
7. Not obsessively stare at my ring

Seven Things That Attract Me to Blogging:
1. My chance to be funny after shit happens
2. Work off creative energy
3. Write instead of yell at the radio
4. That it's public but somehow, due to the large volume of blogs, somewhat anonymous
5. That my fiance reads it regularly
6. Like a diary
7. Makes me feel technologically superior to my friends.

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. Goodness sakes
2. I love you
3. Gross toasties
4. Good boy
5. I want a pony
6. I have no idea.
7. What it sounds like you're saying is....

Seven Authors I Love:
1. Jill Connor Browne
2. David Sedaris
3. Maya Angelou
4. Toni Morrison
4. John Irving
5. Sigmund Freud
6. Nancy McWilliams
7. J.K. Rowling

Seven Movies/DVDs That I Watch Over and Over Again:
1. Supertroopers
2. Frida
3. Lost
4. The Fifth Element
5. Steel Magnolias
6. Hope Floats
7. The West Wing

Seven People I Want To Join In:
1. Russell
2. Luke
3. Nycole
4. Adrian
5. My mom
6. The Pope
7. Richard Schiff

Grateful

2006-02-21T14:40:00.000-08:00

The week has flown by with unbridled bridey-ness. I did what I had been waiting to do on Tuesday, which was to walk into school, not say a thing, and have my gigundo bling speak for itself. The roar of the bling was low and mighty. It was awesome.

This weekend, we had a friend stay over, and we attended a reception for my FIANCE'S cousin. (I just like the word, so it gets capitalized). In any case, we didn't know what to do on Sunday, so we decided to go register for gifts. We have no money, so it's a free activity.

We headed down to Bed, Bath, and Beyond in Manhattan. It was President's Day, so everyone else was there too. Russ and I took great delight in the fact that our Bridal consultant loved us and thought we were awesome. We are awesome. We are the happy, funny couple everyone wants to be around. I love that about us.

So anyway, I give Russell the clicky device, and I commence to browsin. I was in the china department when I saw another couple browsin' as well. The male of the dyad was in his mid-twenties, and clearly a Zeta-Phi-O'-Something. He had his blue baseball cap on cleverly askew, and his shirt matched. His girl, a blonde something or other, will henceforth be called miss forgettable. She was probably nice enough, but you couldn't really tell much about her over his loud pontifications.

First off, this is a man over-invested in the angle of his ball-cap. Second, he had a damn opinion about everything. Not that in and of itself having an opinion is a bad thing, but the way he told his darlin' lady about his opinion was to subtly criticize hers, and subtract any self-esteem or independence she may have been exhibiting. While Russ was off in the men's room, I witnessed the man saying, "Ugh, Michelle, it just looks cheap. When I think crystal, I think of something heavy. Don't register for a bunch of crystal shit that looks breakable and takes up too much space."

Anytime this man had a thought, it was begun with a distinct "MICHELLE" and ended with something mildly disparaging. Was askew cap-man the spawn of Satin his-ownself? No sir. He was one of those insidious fellows you hate but cannot for the life of you figure out why. It seemed that wherever we were, so were they. While we were making jokes about salad spinners and tablecloths, Askew was right there with his distinct "MICHELLE". We went to the cafe there, where Askew told Michelle what she was going to have for lunch.

All of this is here to say that thank God my honey has opinions, but does not make me feel stupid for having my own. And thank God I am with someone who can make jokes while we pass the time at what is usually something only the woman cares about. He is a blessing. Now let's all bow our heads and pray for Michelle.

Photos of engagement

2006-02-12T19:06:00.000-08:00

You asked for it, you got it...En-gage-ment

2006-02-12T18:56:00.000-08:00

So, last night, I went out to a bar for karaoke. Russ told me we were going to meet a bunch of friends to celebrate Valentine's Day at Duet Karaoke. Plus, Russ had been working on our "Save the Date" card all week, and that night would be the big reveal. I was psyched.

So we arrive, and after a few beers and some Bon Jovi, Russ asks me to stand up at the front of the room with him to present the poster to everyone. (Russ makes personalized movie posters as a sidebar to his job of making action figures.) Anyway, so he hands me the poster to open, and instead of it being a Save-the-Date, it is a movie poster of Russell holding the engagement ring, asking me to marry him. It was awesome. I started to get all emotional, and he got on one knee, and he snapped his fingers, and his brother handed him the ring. It was gorgeous. I said yes, and the whole room threw rose petals at us. It was awesome.

Anyway, I have the most beautiful ring, and the most wonderful man comes with it. I am fantastically blessed beyond anything I ever projected for myself.

Schleppin' for Schiff

2006-01-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

This week, my honey has been telling me that we had a surprise event on Thursday evening. It would take place in New Brunswick, New Jersey. I have little grasp on what is in New Jersey, and really had no idea what he was taking me to.

Thursday evening, we took the NJ Transit out to New Brunswick, and hurriedly rushed over to a theater. And guess what we saw??!?? Richard Schiff starring in "Under the Lintel".

For those of you who don't know me, I positively salivate over Richard Schiff. Taking me to the one-man production of this show is the rough equivalent of taking a 16 year old girl to meet Justin Timberlake face-to-face. I was amped.

The show was enthralling. For those of you without quick access to New Jersey, I am truly sorry. It speaks volumes to Schiff's acting ability that I quickly forgot he was my crush and began to see the inner workings of a lonely, Dutch librarian. Schiff is nothing short of brilliant.

Also, Russell is nothing short of fantastic. I have never had anyone do something quite like this for me. He bought tickets and hauled us out to New Jersey just so I could ogle my West Wing crush. He really loves me.

Psychology...that's p-s-y-c-h-o-l-o-g-y...

2006-01-23T17:34:00.000-08:00

I would think that the two requisites for working at the Barnes and Noble information desk would be customer service skills and a rudimentary knowledge of spelling. I discovered today that the job requires neither, as was illustrated to me via the following:
I popped in to the B and N, seeking a few books for classes. They weren’t textbooks, per se, so the bookstore should have had them. I stopped at the info desk to see if that was the case. The woman there, who was middle aged and dressed in pink from head to toe, asked for the title. I said, “Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy.” She said, “Whoa whoa, wait a minute. What?” I repeated myself and said that it was a book by Nancy McWilliams. As far as I know, Ms. McWilliams has only written 2 other books, so I was pretty sure that there shouldn’t be much title confusion. I spelled the name of the author for the middle-aged whatsit, whereby she proceeded to tell me the names of the two other book titles written by Nancy. Well, she tried, anyway. Apparently, “Formulation” was a word beyond the scope of her experience.
I don’t expect everyone who crosses my path to know phonics, even if they do work at Barnes and Noble. That’s like asking that everyone you see to have a certain number of arms and legs, or a particular haircolor. It’s unrealistic. HOWEVER, if it turns out that you don’t understand a word I just said, there is a way to clarify. ASK ME. I’ll even write it down or spell it for you, and give a definition. Hell, I’ll use it in a sentence. Do not, by contrast, make me feel stupid for asking if you even have such a book. That is what this woman did. She told me that they don’t normally carry books like that (no books at a bookstore? Nay, the biggest bookstore chain in the country?), and that she couldn’t even pronounce the word. Great. Antagonize me because you can’t spell. Yeah. That’s clearly my problem. Then she made me feel bad for even having her look it up. She looked at me in the way that said, “You’re wasting my time.”
So for those of you who are crass, lacking in refinement and an interest in grammar or spelling, the job as a cabbie may not be your only career path of choice. I sleep better at night knowing that when I go in the bookstore the next day, the books I seek will be filed in no particular order.
Of course, I’m really not sure who is lamer. Middle aged pink lady and her brusque attitude, or me, the uber-nerd. She probably had no idea that hours later her transgression would be scathingly remembered in cyber-eternity. Better for both of us that she probably can’t spell “unique.”

Unique New York

2006-01-04T10:27:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged....

Four jobs you've had in your life:

Child care worker/infant teacher
Clinical Research Coordinator
Server
Group Facilitator

Four movies you would watch over and over:

Frida
Steel Magnolias
Mystery Science Theater 3000, The Movie
Philadelphia Story

Four places you have lived:

Oklahoma
Waco, Texas
Denver, Colorado
Brooklyn, NY

Four TV shows you love to watch:

Simpsons
Sex and the City
The West Wing
Lost

Four places you have been on vacation:

Maui
Rome
Paris
Brussels

Four websites you visit daily:

overheard in New York
Homestar Runner
The Knot
Yahoo

Four of your favorite foods:

Chicken Satay
Everything Bagel toasted with Cream Cheese
Cheese Omelet
Mashed Potatoes

Four places you would rather be right now:

Oklahoma
Home
A spa
In good academic standing

Four bloggers you are tagging:

I have no bloggy friends....:(

Everything's Bigger in Texas, and Slightly Bigger in Its Suburb, Oklahoma

2005-12-29T19:26:00.000-08:00

I went dress shopping for the bazillionth and final time today. And what did I buy, you may ask? Well, I purchased a lovely custom-made Jasmine gown. It features my lovely ladies, sparkly things, and of course, a giant-ass skirt. I find that a giant-ass skirt covers my giant ass.

So, I head back home to 'ol NY tomorrow. I have been lonesome for my honey. I am utterly exhausted from all the wedding stuff, although I am happy that many of the landmark decisions have been made. So all is well in that department.

This post can't be quite as long as I would like, because the Sooners are in a bowl game, and there are people yelling that normally don't.

Go Sooners! Touchdown!

Takebacks

2005-12-28T22:54:00.000-08:00

As my honey pointed out to me, there are multiple times in my life in which I have stated a particular opinion or worldview about something and then had to eat my words. A short list:

Capri pants. Hated em. Thought everyone who donned them looked like Rizzo. Then I tried on a pair at the Gap one year and realized how adorable I looked in them. So there you go. Hated them, then loved them. What is my summer attire made of? Skirts and capris.

E-mail. Thought it was dumb, especially when I had this thing called a telephone or a 'phone. Made no sense. Avidly rebelled against the e-mail. Now what is my other spouse? The internet. We have lived in a comonlaw relationship since college.

Soulmates. Thought that was utter bullshit that idiots spoonfeed themselves when they are high on endorphines that subsequently raise expectations of what another human being is actually capable of. Soulmates was an excuse to look ardently for love, but then not work for the love that you have. Hated the idea of only 1 person that is just right. Now what did I do? Met my soulmate. That's right, and within days we had decided we were getting married. Plus, there were just a bizarre amount of coincidences that took place in order for me to meet my soulmate.
As a disclaimer, I do not believe that this means I no longer have to work at my relationship. The difference is that unlike my other relationships, he is just as motivated at working as I am. That makes him my soulmate.

And, dear friends, the newest addition to my entrees of eaten words: Strapless wedding gowns.

I know...Shocker.

I found the most gorgeous gown and it was strapless. And also, I think that the strapless gowns just look better than the other gowns because it makes my neck look longer. And I look thinner. Dammit.

So, if you check in on me in ten years, don't be surprised if I am a racist xenophobe who has seen the light, voted Republican and converted to the Church of Jesus Christ's Latter Day Saints.

Timing

2005-12-18T09:58:00.000-08:00

I went to my first Av's game last night. Incidentally, it was also my first Islanders game, but that's sort of beside point. It was the Av's! And we lost. But it was the Av's! That was awesome. I love hockey.

So I was with my honey and his two roommates. During the game, I asked the other two folks if they were willing to go out to Bay Ridge with me to look at Christmas lights. For those of you who don't know, Christmas lights in Bay Ridge is a little out of control. It's like cutting edge lawn art and animatronics. It's gorgeous and totally unnecessary. I love it.

So who do I ask to come with me? Three Jews. Awesome.

I know at least two out of the three Jews really enjoyed themselves. That would be my man and his female roommate. His other male roommate looked at me like I (and my fellow Christians) were abusing some sort of substance. However, Russ and Kim were fascinated.

I knew I had made the right choice when Kim said at the end of our journey, "If you ever want to go look at Christian craziness again, I'm in." She was pretty funny. I could barely pull her away from all the shiny things.

What a great day! Christmas lights, christmas shopping, hockey, and sleeping with my honey. Ahh....

Yuppies in Cashmere and poodles in sportswear...these are a few of my favorite things

2005-12-17T12:28:00.000-08:00

It might be the premenstrual syndrome. It might be the Trimspa, the mood elevators, or the antioxidants. It might be the love of a good man. It might be sheer exhaustion. Whatever the reason, I am in the Christmas mood.

I took the day off from working today (I haven't left the house except to go to school and to the grocery store in a couple of weeks). I happily left the house today to go Christmas shopping in Union Square.

Union Square has a bunch of little boutiques this time of year all for holiday shopping. It's like a micro-outdoor version of Affair of the Heart. I was all about it. I got a few things there for the "hard to shop for" people.

Surprisingly, the crowd was in a pretty good mood too. I could tell the holiday season was upon us. The women had traded in their summer, tiered flowing skirt uniform for fuzzy boots and himalayan hats with flaps. For those of you looking to make fashion waves in your hometown this year, think "Strange Brew" and you'll be set. See, skinny bitches have a harder time keeping warm in the colder months. But I digress.

I went into Sephora to go shopping for the mom and mom-in-law-to-be. What fun that place is. Holy crap. It's got the look of a duty free shop, except that it's all stuff that I want. I don't know why. I don't NEED any of it. But I was filled with holiday greed the second I walked in.

In order to combat the desire to buy a bunch of crap for myself, I pampered the women in my life. They will be smelling of eggnogg, apple cider, gingerbread man, cocoa, and candy canes for the next thouand years. Buy for others. Less guilt involved.

In any case, I thorouhly enjoyed myself. I pet several itty bitty dogs, and made small talk with vendors. Tonight I am going to a hockey game. Can today rock harder?

The only sadness I have to report is that I have barely seen my honey since we have both been body slammed with work. I think I may have to call in one day for reasons of mistletoe.

Oh, and John Spencer died. He is Russ's favorite character on the West Wing, and my dog is named after that character. West Wing will never be the same without Leo. At least he'll live on in DVD's.

I stole from Schaubee

2005-11-30T05:46:00.000-08:00

*TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey*
Name:	Jessica
Birthday:	September 28, 1979
Birthplace:	In a manger. There was no room at the inn.
Current Location:	Brooklyn, NY.
Eye Color:	Hazel
Hair Color:	Whatever's on sale.
Height:	5'4"
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Right handed
Your Heritage:	Irish and Choctaw
The Shoes You Wore Today:	Impo faux suede boots
Your Weakness:	Bridal mags
Your Fears:	Fish, heights
Your Perfect Pizza:	Pepperoni and mushroom from Enzo's in Denver
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	This year? Finishing school in good academic standing
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:	"This f'n thing disconnected me again"
Thoughts First Waking Up:	Can I go back to sleep?
Your Best Physical Feature:	Boobs
Your Bedtime:	10-12, whenever work is done.
Your Most Missed Memory:	Bad time to ask. I like my life right now.
Pepsi or Coke:	Coke.
MacDonalds or Burger King:	McDo's
Single or Group Dates:	Single
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Lipton
Chocolate or Vanilla:	No idea
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Coffee
Do you Smoke:	No
Do you Swear:	Yes
Do you Sing:	Yes
Do you Shower Daily:	Yes
Have you Been in Love:	Yes
Do you want to go to College:	Finished
Do you want to get Married:	Next August, baby!
Do you belive in yourself:	I always belive in myself. It's unavoidable.
Do you get Motion Sickness:	Yes
Do you think you are Attractive:	Depends on the day
Are you a Health Freak:	Absolutely not. I am southern.
Do you get along with your Parents:	Yes
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Yes
Do you play an Instrument:	Yes
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Yes
In the past month have you Smoked:	No
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	No
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Yes
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:	Yes
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:	Can't eat sugar
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	No
In the past month have you been on Stage:	No
In the past month have you been Dumped:	No
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	No
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	No
Ever been Drunk:	Yes
Ever been called a Tease:	No
Ever been Beaten up:	Yes
Ever Shoplifted:	No
How do you want to Die:	Via cancer that I know about so I can say goodbye to my family
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Psychologist
What country would you most like to Visit:	Vietnam
*In a Boy/Girl..*
Favourite Eye Color:	Don't care
Favourite Hair Color:	Dark...sometimes...
Short or Long Hair:	Short
Height:	Don't care
Weight:	Don't care
Best Clothing Style:	Naked. We are talking about guys, right?
Number of Drugs I have taken:	1?
Number of CDs I own:	Kazillion
Number of Piercings:	9
Number of Tattoos:	1
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	1
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Brutal Bride

2005-11-29T20:00:00.000-08:00

This weekend, I ventured to bridal fairy land. It's called Kleinfelds. When you walk in the door, a bunch of other brides are there waiting in an ornate lobby. They have mannequins everywhere in gorgeous gowns and formal wear. It's like waiting in line for Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland: You're sure most of the people there (the moving ones) are animatronics but you can't help but ogle them for their realism.

Women are there with their mothers, their friends, and whoever else is there promoting the starvation that occurs before the gown trying-on. I went with my mother in-law-to-be. For everyone else who has horror stories about their in-laws, I couldn't be happier with mine. She's awesome and I was happy to have her there with me, especially since my own mom is in Oklahoma.

They initially seated us in a fitting room that I'm pretty sure was above the boiler room. It was hot as hell. It had multiple mirrors, and a little platform so I could admire myself from up on high.

My consultant asked me my tastes, and I told her: Deep V, spaghetti straps or tank, A-line,but not ball gown, and sheath is okay as well.

She proceeds to bring in Strapless mermaid, strapless bubble and all in the sample size 10. For those of you without lady parts, bridal gowns run small. So just when you need to wear white, the most revealing color on the spectrum, on the day when you will be photographed more than Brittany's newborn baby, they make you feel fat. Some say it's sadism, I say designers are in it with the TrimSpa people. I know everytime I take one of those pills I pretend I'm in Valley of the Dolls.

Anyway, so she keeps bringing me these things that I have said I do not want, and then is surprised when I tell her that it's not really my style. So then here's what she does...
She goes out, grabs a 6,000 gown, in my size, not sample size 10, and acts all astonished when the f*cker looks good on me.

I'll tell you why it looked good on me.

6,000 of anything will look good on me. I should know. Money is very flattering.

Then, the evil bitch says, "The gowns you wanted are nice, but well, they're not very forgiving."

You know what's not forgiving? My satin gloved hands around your neck.

If you want to say, "Honey, charmeuse makes my chihuahua's ass look big. What in the name of god do you think it's going to do to you? You're going to look like you've collided with an iceberg."

That would be fine. But bullshitting me because you think I'm too big for your Amy Michelson and your Vera Wang, then just f*cking well say so.

Tell me the truth when I actually look good in a gown because you gave my ideas a chance, and I will be eternally grateful, and my mother's ever-powerful Mastercard will be commission in your hands.

If you touch them, you catch Jewish

2005-11-11T11:28:00.000-08:00

I am in the habit of looking at people too long. Too long would be defined as “At all” by New York standards. In Texas, I loved to stare at people, because sooner or later, they would feel so uncomfortable that they would forcibly say “Hi,” and “How are you?” In New York, people think you are a certified nut-job if you look too long. My favorite is when New Yorkers passing by look back and catch me looking, and then immediately shift their eyes downward. I feel as though I have made contact with Moonpeople. It’s mildly misanthropic and against social mores, like turning around to face everyone in an elevator.

Today, on my way to the Laundromat (wrinklin’ and stinklin’ cause it’s laundry day), I stared down an Orthodox Jew. This is a bit lofty for me, since they are a fairly exclusionary bunch. Anyway, I guess I stared a little too long for this guy’s tastes, because he stopped me, smiled and asked, “Are you Jewish?” I said, “No,” and he sort of ambled away mumbling something about having a good day.

Here is why this monumental: Apart from an occasionally crazy subway Orthodox Jew, I have never been approached by one. Ever.

I think it is because my boyfriend is from The Tribe. Since we are getting married, I think some of his Judaism has rubbed off onto me. That is why the Orthodox dude thought I was a She-brew.

I can already hear the distant growl of my Russell upon hearing that a man approached me. It’s okay honey, I sent him packin’.

Diiner and a Show

2005-10-26T19:25:00.000-07:00

This year, I am leading a social skills group for autistic children as I did the year prior. Basically, my job is to break down the components of social skills, teach them to children, and let them try the social skills out on each other. This is a great opportunity for them, because since the other children are also autistic, the likelihood that they will be teased is far lower than if they were in a regular classroom. We really reinforce positive behaviors, and try to minimize the negative ones.
Last year, I had a group with three very high functioning children, with one who had some problem behaviors, like farting in my face. However, the other two children sort of balanced this kid out. It was kind of nice to feel like I was having a real effect on children. And then I realized today that it has absolutely nothing to do with me.
I had this kid today who got the concept of time out explained to him....clearly. In our groups, we don't have regular time out, because for autistic kids, that means that they're home free. Not interacting with other children is what they want to do. However, in our classes, the children are given prizes at really high rates if they comply with simple tasks such as hand raising, good listening, and good sitting. So, time out in our class is two minutes of time when the children don't receive prizes, but still have to participate. It's a tough lesson.
Today was session number two, and Cara, my co-leader, and I chose to place a particularly difficult child in between the two of us. After about 15 minutes of reasonable behavior, he began to lose it. He started throwing his chair, hitting my co-leader and myself, throwing his shoes, and then threw a play telephone at the both of us. He was given time out, to which his response went something like this:

Me: That's enough. No hitting, you know the rules.
Child (in toneless voice and without eye contact: What the fuck? What the fuck? What the FUCK?!!?!?!?!
Me: Get control. You are in time out, and you are not getting out by yelling.
Child (still in toneless voice and at the top of his lungs): FUCK!!!!!!!!!

After being spit on, a nose blown in my direction, and my breast grabbed, I was pretty worn out. My job was to then take the parents of said children into another room to discuss the social skills we were learning in that class. Here my fantasy conversation:

Me: Well, the class was interesting. One of your children, I won't say who, was a complete royal asshole today. It makes me wonder if he ever has consequences at home. As for you other two, your kids are great. I wonder if they will survive the other child's wrath, but other than that, they did just fine. Oh, and your kid, yeah yours, showed us all his penis. Brilliant.

Bridezilla

2005-10-14T17:55:00.000-07:00

There are certain times in a women's life when she butts heads with her mother. I have been fortunate to have a very strong relationship with my mom. I hope that during my teens I wasn't too bratty, or too obnoxious with an attitude of entitlement. I think that most women clash with their moms three times in their lives. One time is the teenage years. Another is after the first baby is born, and you get a lot of unsolicited advice on child rearing. The third is during a wedding. And you guessed it folks, that's what this entry is about.
The reason my mom and I have had few struggles is that we are so alike. We are to the point, smart, compassionate people. If it's not life or death, we aren't that interested. So it surprised me when my un-fussy, uncomplicated, laid-back mom picked out these dresses when we went bridal gown shopping.
Who am I, Lady Di???
I went into David's Bridal over the weekend to look for a gown. I already had one in mind. It was this gorgeous beaded number by Oleg Cassini. They had one for me to try on two sizes too large for me. I was so psyched. So my mom goes poking around, and she keeps coming back to me with these gowns that look like scalloped icing on cakes. I laughed the first time she showed it to me. Then I realized that she was serious. Good lord!
I think part of it was that she was dressing herself up in gowns she would have liked to wear for her wedding. My own attitude toward wedding gowns is that you have to be able to forget you are wearing them but still look awesome. My mother’s attitude, apparently, was that if it’s not smothering you in the dressing room, then it’s not a real bridal gown.
My mom’s friend Kylie was there to help us. She’s closer to my age, and she has been married for about 8 years. She has been to David’s Bridal many, many times. She is also about 6 feet tall. The gowns my mother was choosing were so gigantastic, that Kylie had to assist my mother in carrying them back to the dressing room. As Kylie paraded gown after gown back there, I looked at her and said, “Kai, what am I gonna do? Mom wants me to wear these giant things?” I was starting to get a little bit emotional, because I felt like my mom was just blatantly ignoring my requests. She said, “Let her dress you up. I’ll take pictures. She can always have the pictures of you in the giant gowns, and then you can choose whatever other gown you want.”
To that end, after I had chosen two gowns that are in the running for the big day, I let my mom go back and choose two gowns that had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with her. She came back with these dresses that were roughly 20-30 pounds of tulle. It was hilarious. They have these little platforms you stand on to try the gowns on, and I waddled my way out there and tried in vain to climb up to the box. My mom came behind me to fluff out the train in back of the dress, and when she did, pulled me off of the platform. After three times of that same behavior with me breathlessly cracking up, I said, “Mom, every time you do that, you are yanking the bulk of the dress behind me and that’s why I am falling off. You see, I am in fact, attached to the gown. I’m not sure if you could see my head behind all the tulle, but there I am.” Kylie snapped one photo of me where my arms are extended out, and my mom is smiling holding onto my train. I look like I’m doing some kind of ballet move. What is actually happening, however, is that I am gripping the sides of the mirrors to keep myself steady while my mom yanks the train with all of her might. She’s laughing because she is enjoying this, not smiling angelically. In any case, it was educational. I can’t wait to go shopping with my mom again, but you can be damn sure that the consultants will be getting calls from me before hand. I am going to tell them that my mom will choose giant ball gowns for me to wear, but to tell them that unfortunately, they don’t carry them in my size.

Sip Bacardi Like it's my Birfday

2005-09-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

So, Wednesday I turned 26. I spent most of the day at school, in classes and doing intake interviews with moms for a social skills group. I came home at around 8:30, which was pretty late to be celebrating any kind of birthday.

I walked in, and Russ was there. He had cleaned up the house, walked the dogs, and had a candlelit dinner on the table. And he looked fantastic.

We sat down to eat, and then he gave me my presents. He gave me a pair of earrings that he had seen me eyeing at the airport in Oklahoma. He had been holding onto those puppies for over a month. Then he gave me this book called the "Not For Tourists" Guide to New York. I had wanted one for a long time, and had nearly bought one for myself several times. Then, he gave me the icing on the cake:
He's taking me to Avenue Q this Saturday!

I haven't seen a show except for Linda Edder since I have lived here. I am so excited! Russ really went out of his way to make me feel special. It was awesome.

So there you go. Happy Birthday to Me!

Sweet, Salty, Fried, Chocolate, and Au Gratin

2005-09-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

I love food. It shows. I don't judge food by its regional location, save for the mild ribbing towards New Yorkers and their spice-wussy food preferences. I will eat almost anywhere, except maybe a restroom or a graveyard, and even then...well, there are always exceptions to rules, as they say.

Now I know this is petty....

but why does the deli insist that I have an 18 inch tall mouth?

I order sandwiches from any deli, and they send me an entire turkey (sliced thin, which is nice, no complaints) placed between two wafer thin pieces of white bread. A third layer of the sandwich contained a produce section worth of iceberg lettuce, a dab of mayonnaise, and what I can only assume was a genetically enhanced tomato.

And here is my point:

Sandwiches should not need bowls.

If at some point, deli-workers of america, you realize that you are defying laws of physics by rearranging atomic particles of chicken breast to fit a pound of the slices between two saltine crackers, I implore, remember, this is not a sandwich freak show. A real live human will have to eat this. No forcing meat to go into crevices where it simply will not go. If it is falling out of the paper, I will probably find it overwhelming. I want to hold it in my hands, and fit it in my mouth without calling a personal trainer and a contortionist.

The sandwich I had today qualified more as meat performance art than it did dinner. I am referring as much to the art of meat cramming into bread as I am meat cramming into mouth. It was a sight to see.

Now, I am going to go home and wait for the bounty to be taken out on my head for teasing the delis of New York. But it's okay. I have barricaded my door with the leftover turkey and lettuce. They'll have to eat their way through just to get in.

Saturday in the Park and I think it was Labor Day Weekend

2005-09-04T10:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went to K-Mart in search of sewing notions (yeah, that's right, I said sewing notions, bitches). I couldn't find what I was looking for...although I did find 4 rows of merchandise dedicated to camping. Because everyone knows that Manhattanites are such AVID campers. Anyway.

I left the 'Mart with the intention of heading back into the subway and going back home...but I wasn't quite ready yet. Instead, I popped out of the subway to walk to Union Square.

As I turned left, I ran into a 3 block long street fair. All kinds of stuff, from creepy people trying to give you free massages, to Indian (Mexicans) selling their wares. It was awesome. I poked around, bought a crepe, and continued moving.

I made it to Union Square, and I heard what sounded like marching band music. I followed the sound, and found a group of who I presume are highschool kids playing in a makeshift band. They had a Tuba, a drumset, two trumpets, and three trombones. The homeless and white kids who dress as though they are homeless were gathered round to hear them jam. They were pretty good, and I liked what they were adding to the Square, but they were broken up by a cop shortly thereafter. Bummed that my entertainment had ended, I moved around to see what I could see.

I saw a woman hula-hooping while playing the saxophone. I assume it was for money, but it might have been for fun. I really can't say. Near her there were a large group of people doing a traditional Brasilian dance.

If I hadn't made it clear before, I fucking love this place.

It's almost over!

2005-09-03T12:59:00.000-07:00

What I did for Summer Vacation
by Jessica Stanford

Well, first and foremost, my long term relationship ended. It's okay though. The relationship was gangrenous and needed to be amputated. I have some phantom pains from time to time, but I drown them with whiskey and New Boyfriend.

On that note, I also spent my most memorable fourth of July at the Brooklyn promenade falling in love with and making out with my future husband. Can't top that.

Third, I moved out of my urine-riddled apartment in Bensonhurst (that's right, I said urine-riddled) to a much better abode in Williamsburg. It might have been a safe house for organized crime, but would you look at the hardwood floors!

This past week, I have been having steady panic attacks as I prepare (mentally and physically) for the onslaught of the next year. This year has been described by other students as the most taxing as compared to the other three. I am in the process of removing my anxieties regarding my competency with clients as well as with classes.

Regardless of my trying scholastic situation, the bottom line is, I am in love and I have a kickass apartment. The rest are just details.

At least that's what I'll tell myself....and my therapist.

The Grandmother

2005-08-24T10:47:00.000-07:00

He passed the test. I took my honey to Oklahoma this weekend to meet the entire family. He met my mom and dad, 4 of my brothers, a smattering of cousins, my aunts and uncles, family friends, and my two grandmothers. He did all of this with grace and humor. The whole family loved him.

Now, I knew my mom was going to like him. I even knew that my dad would warm up to him. But let me tell you my three "Whoa" stories.

1: My dad, who has never liked any of my boyfriends, said to me (by quoting a movie), that I had chosen wisely, and to Russ (also by quoting a movie), "Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated." Whoa!

2: My brother Josh, who is multihandicapped, has responded to past boyfriends by pulling their hair and ceremoniously puking on them. Josh saw Russ and wanted to be in his lap, having Russ hug him or pet him, and I thought Josh was going to have a massive coronary when Russ did a puppet show for Josh's birthday. Awesome!

3: I took Russ over to my father's side of the family for a get-together on Sunday. I was concerned, because culturally, they are a great deal different than my family of origin. In any case, Russ was a gracious guest, and near the end of our visit, my grandmother, the big cheese, the lady who sets the tone for the rest of the Indian side of my family said, "We like you, Russ." Holy Crap!

To say it went well would be an understatement. They welcomed my baby with open arms. He was totally himself, and they liked that. It was very relaxed, and we had a great time. No major dramas, or anything of the sort.

Oh, and the thing that really sold Russ on Oklahoma: Sonic. It's a beautiful thing.

Meet the Farkels

2005-08-15T10:41:00.000-07:00

I did it. I met them. I still have all of my extremities...and my dignity is still happily tucked away in my Tic-Tac container, where it belongs.

We drove out to Long Island yesterday to meet the parents. It's exciting because parents set the tone for how quickly you can plan a wedding and whatnot. In any case, Russell is wonderful, so I had no doubt that his folks would be equally wonderful.

We arrived in the early evening, and I got the grand tour of the home. After which, Russ's mom asked us to go pick vegetables in the backyard garden. (How cute is that?) While we were there, his dad showed us his pet turtle. Russ's pop is a bit of an animal lover. Anything with legs (actually, they owned slugs and snails as pets, so strike that),--um, anything without a home and with functioning mitochondria has been absorbed into the household, as was the case with his snapping turtle. The turtle is kept in a lovely turtle sanctuary in the backyard, where he regularly dines on goldfish, steak, and meaty chunks of dog food. Tough life.

So we go to dinner at a local Italian place. Everyone is settling in, and Russ's pop is starting to tell us stories of his hijinks as a kid. After a few tales of public disturbance, the conversation turns to what Russ was like, and was he a devilish child. Then we posited that perhaps the troublemaking skips a generation....at which point, I said...

Wait for it....

"It's okay. I can start taking Adderall so that the kids get it right through the breastmilk."

And, SCENE!

Total silence. Mental "Our-Fathers" could be heard throughout Long Island. Russ started guffawing into his napkin. Thank God. Once he started laughing, his folks laughed a little too. Thank God.

All in all, I think they liked me...but more importantly, Russ likes me. And he still likes me after I suggested to their parents that not only do we have sex, we are going to have children, forced them to think about my breasts, and that I was going to drug our hypothetical children by proxy. How do you do.

Dy-No-Mite!

2005-08-12T10:41:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those people that volunteers for things before I actually think them through. I got my new dog through an adoption group here in the city. This group gets animals about to be put down or otherwise incarcerated, and fosters them before they are adopted. I have helped once before as a temporary foster, and this weekend I raised my hand again to help out a foster dog on his way to his permanent home in Vermont.

I drove to Manhattan yesterday to pick up my task for this weekend. Dog's name is Desi, and he is a miniature poodle. He is about 25 pounds, and has about a foot on my other two dogs. He is actually a really pretty dog, with a very laid back personality.

Desi has a heart murmur, which causes him to sporadically hack in the middle of the night. He is pee-pad trained, sorta. All last night while New Boyfriend and I were in bed, Desi could be heard leaping in and out of bed, and then hacking right as we would fall asleep. Also, there were three dogs in bed with us. It was like magic finding a place to put your legs where a dog was not.

This morning, my lovely man gently nudges me and says, "Don't roll over, there's shit on the bed." Desi had gotten spooked by coming to our house, and had diarrhea all over the place. After having successfully shitted up the house, he climbed into bed where his butt marked all over the sheets. New Boyfriend and I spent an hour and a half cleaning the floors, swiffering, and deoderizing. Plus, Desi had to be tossed into the tub to keep him from further terrorizing the house.

As I am cleaning, New Boyfriend looks at me and says, "I can't wait to be domesticated with you." Don't you just love him? I mean, I am ankle deep in dog shit--not even my own dog's shit, and he is scrubbing Desi's ass, all the while dreaming about our life together.

Anyway, this dog is taking off today or tomorrow--hopefully before Sunday. He is sort of the Napoleon Dynamite of dogs. Goofy, curly haircut, unusually tall and lanky, kind of quiet, and inadvertently gross. He is going to go to a dog's dream for his permanent home: A place in Vermont with a 65 year old woman who wants nothing more than to spoil a dog. I will pack Kaopectate for his journey.

What's Not Allowed

2005-08-07T17:13:00.000-07:00

New Boyfriend and I spent most of today shirking our responsibilities. The sound of the shirking could be heard 'round the tri state area. It was great.

Anyway, today our shirking lead us to Union Square, where we spent too much money on CDs. He had to go back to Brooklyn to do some work, so I spent the rest of the afternoon lolling around the square, shopping and whatnot. I got on the subway to head home in the early evening.

I was sitting on the L, minding my business (which is tough to do, sans iPod), and a homeless guy walked around our car in between stops to tell the captive riders his soliloquy about how we should give him some money. I was sitting by this girl who looked like k.d. lang's stylist from the 80's. She had one of those trendy girl mullets, an A-line cotton knee length skirt with a crinoline petticoat (completely wrinkled), and a crappy t-shirt, complete with green Goodyear wrestling shoes. It was the kind of hipster outfit that Williamsburgians choose to look bizarre and random, but in reality, she probably crinkled her skirt the night before by crunching it in between her Smiths albums and "The Bell Jar". I admire that kind of organized messiness, which is completely distinct from actual messiness (read: Guy in sweaty shirt with silk screened tiger on it, jeans with elastic waist, and white Avias...and like a visor or something).

Anyway, trendy goofy girl also had a crowning mark on her arm, which was an eggplant tattoo with a fireburst behind it. Seriously. An eggplant tattoo. It's not enough that she is weird based on your trendy girl mullet, or wrinkled crinoline, but now we know that she is absolutely bizarre with her eggplant tattoo.

So, homeless guy accidentally bumps eggplant girl while the car is shifting, and she mouths the words "fuck off". The eggplant girl whose deliberate look was "homeless chic" told an ACTUAL homeless guy to fuck off. Maybe it's because he wore what she wanted to wear that day. So, I declare that homeless chic folks are not allowed to disparage the actual homeless. Just because the fashion sense of the homeless is eons beyond the planned disheveled look of the Williamsburg hipster is no reason to make the homeless feel like lesser beings. It's just plain hypocritical.

But, I do admire the girl for making a vegetable part of her body art. I would love to see more rhubarb and less tribal tatts.

BINGO!

2005-08-02T12:06:00.000-07:00

Attribute it to being a responsible, albeit naive adult, but I had no idea that STD testing involved a full pelvic exam of my lady place.

I went to the STD clinic in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. I had my HIV testing last week (all good), but I got there too late in the day to get my full grossness test. So, New Boyfriend and I went today. It was a complete shock to me that the gonorrhea and chlamydia test would involve semi-nudity. My doctor was a small Hispanic man who wore a black driving cap. He had one of those mustaches that has no hair in the middle of the upper lip. It was so distracting that I kept giving him the wrong answers regarding my sex history. I was like, "Um...April...wait, last year....wait....anal? Umm....What? "

Then he was like, " get undressed from the waist down." Mi scuzza?

Having a pelvic is like having your car jacked up....you're not used to seeing it in such proportions or heights. It's mind boggling.

Because I didn't understand that the pelvic was coming, it was like a drive-by pelvic. I couldn't stop laughing when I was coming out of the room. Get control Jessica. Just because you just showed your BINGO card to a Dominican...well, there you go.

Anyway, if you find PAP smears funny, this stuff was comedic gold!

4 pounds in 4 days

2005-08-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome!

I'd like to welcome you to the New Boyfriend Weight Loss Plan!

First, precede New Boyfriend with reasonably poor nutrition.
Next, fall in love.
Third, and this is the vital part, lay around gazing at New Boyfriend. The weight will simply FALL OFF OF YOU!

Now, look at yourself. You look fabulous! Celebrate with a pizza and a Heineken! You're skinny, you have a man, and now you have a pizza and a beer. Life is good!

Our first photo

2005-07-24T14:03:00.000-07:00

Isn't he darling? I just love him.

Look at the Silly Monkey

2005-07-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

I saw my first puppet show last night! My boyfriend played Thomas in a production of "Nosferatu". It was awesome. I never realized all the potential of this art form. Unbelievable. It was a silent show, and it was amazing how the personalities of the puppeteers came out when all we could see was one hand. Totally cool.

Worlds collided as I met many of his work friends, his roommates, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend. I have never see him so nervous! Everyone seemed really lovely and I had a good time with all the intros. Mainly I was impressed that puppeteering could be so awesome. Truly, truly, truly outrageous.