Things not to tell your boyfriend without a preface

Apparently, telling your boyfriend that other people wanted you to tell him that he's not a good finisher may be somewhat insulting. Especially as the conversation immediately preceeding this comment was about the racy things bloggers were talking about. Spyboy was not pleased and remained a bit peeved even after I told him that I was talking about his double, Frank Lampard, in regards to his performance in the soccer match against Trinidad yesterday. See, several people I know are soccer fans and several of them think Spyboy resembles Frank. So yesterday, when Susan and I were watching the match, whenever Frank was shown, she'd say, "hey, it's your boyfriend." When he continually missed possible shots, she started yelling, "Him! It's your boyfriend AGAIN!" Eventually, it got to the point where she'd just yell "You!" And once the announcers declared that Lampard was getting in there and getting position for shots, but having a hard time finishing... Well, it was declared that I had to tell him. I probably should have told him when I was talking about the match, though, not when I was talking about funny lines other people had heard in bed. Oh well. Live and learn...

Also, I should just stop reading anything this Administration says. Because every time I read another one of their ridiculous statements and, worse, see the average population buying it, I get angry. Like today. The Post had an article on the debates in the House and Senate on the war in Iraq and the various political games people are playing. It's interesting, and mildly frustrating, because the Dems are not playing their best game. But the thing that annoyed me most was a quote from Dear Old Cheney basically again calling Kerry a flip-flopper. I mean, come on. You are beating a dead horse here. THat was an argument that shouldn't have worked NEARLY as well as it did in the last elections and it definitely shouldn't still be around. So Kerry changed his mind. Once. Based on new facts. Which, I think, is a good thing. Much better than the current Administration's policy of never admitting you are, were, or ever could be wrong. Then Cheney twists the facts, saying that Kerry, as well as the rest of Congress, knew about the atrocities that Hussein was committing. Probably true. BUT THAT'S NOT WHY WE WENT TO WAR. If the Admin had gone to Congress and said, "Hey, this guy is nuts, we should get rid of him," Cheney might have a point. As it is, they wanted to go to war because Iraq had "weapons of mass destruction." Do they really think everyone is just going to forget that if they never mention it? Sadly, most people probably will. But not me. Hmph. Makes me want to toss a glass of wine in his face. Okay, so I jsut want to do that to someone anyways. But, hey. I could check something off my list AND get my point across...

Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

So, I've started reading DC blogs. There is a really active blogging scene in DC and many of the bloggers are now real-life friends. My original goal was to become one of them. But the problem is... I don't think I'm quite hardcore enough for them. I mean, these people, according to their blogs, are a little crazy. Not all of them. But enough. I'm not judging them and their blogs are definitely interesting reads. I just feel like people clicking from their blogs to mine are going to be sorely disappointed. The past few days, I've read a blog about the worst lines said in bed (My favorite was "I can't get it up because I've already f***ed someone else today.), a trip to a swingers' party where the blogger met a poor girl who was dragged there by her fiance, one on whether or not it is possible to train a girl to be kinky... I mean, my friends talk about a wide variety of subjects, but usually not that specific. I was entertained a few weeks ago by a comment from one of the guys in the 20's and 30's group AFTER CHURCH which basically involved him pointing out the possible dirty connotations of "stretch hummer." This week's after-church discussion mainly revolved around training cats to ride on ponies, or possibly training minature ponies to ride on BIG (like tigers) cats. Of course, the big cats would need muzzles. Obviously we don't want to hurt any ponies here. But wouldn't that be great?! I'd totally pay to see a pony ride a cat. And if the cat were a liger? You'd totally make a killing with that.

In other mildly entertaining news, my mom has declared that she wants a blog. Why does she want a blog? Because she wants to post pictures and comments about her current projects. She wants something that she can lock so that no one else can see it. Both my brother and I questioned why she wants to have an online journal that no one can see, but she apparently thinks it'll be more fun like that. She also told me that I am not allowed to google and try and find her blog. Same to you, Mom! I did refrain from mentioning to her in my discussion of possible blogs that I myself have 3 1/2. Three real ones and another one that I can't remember the address of. The one I can't remember has the first few chapters of my much-acclaimed and never read novel from NaNoWriMo. I did have a moment of fear when I was glancing at where my MANY MANY (and by many, I mean few) readers are and I saw someone from the Boston area. Which is where my brother is. Interesting to think that we could, if my blog took off in some unforeseen way, wind up as dueling journalists. Anyways, I am no Daily Dump in that I am completely and totally weirded out by the thought of my close family reading this. And he talks about things like how his bed creaked during sex or what several sex terms (which I did NOT need to know) were. In fact, even recollecting those terms makes me shudder and reaffirms that people. are. weird.

A bad night for Wmata

Wmata, for those of you non-Washingtonians, is the office that runs Metro. And, let me tell you, they had a CRAPPY night last night. Which is okay with me because, thanks to the brush-off they gave me/the other people in my car and thanks to the shoddiness of the doors and the inefficiencies of having the emergency button only on the ends of the cars, it took me an hour and a half to get from Foggy Bottom to Ballston. Which is like five metro stops and usually takes under 20 minutes. See, what happened was that a train broke down on the blue line at in the middle of rush hour. Whenever that happens, all the other lines immediatly slow down and all the trains become very crowded. So, I push my way onto an Orange train, basically happy to have found room for myself and figured it would be the usual commute. Only slower. It wasn't. At Clarendon, a man on my train started yelling for someone to push the emergency button, that a woman was sick. Well, as I mentioned before, the emergency buttons are only on hte ends of the train. We were in the middle. So we start yelling at the people at the ends to press the button, but they can't really hear, so we pull the little door lever to get the door to stay open. Which it doesn't, so we repeatedly hear the woman's voice, "please stand clear, the doors are now closing." I was a bit freaked out since I didn't know what was wrogn with the woman. Turns out, it was an older woman who passed out from the heat, lack of moving air, and dehydration. She woke up and sat down and someone gave her some water. The woman said that she was okay, she was only going to Ballston and her daughter was picking her up there. We established that there were enough people getting off at Ballston to help her out of the metro and to make sure she got to her daugher safely. Two metro people meander through eventually. We tell them everythign is fine, but we can't get the door lever to go back down. They ignore us and wander off to tell the driver to drive on. Well, she tries to shut the doors; half our door won't shut because the lever is pulled. Some guy eventually figures out that there is a latch on the door pull, he gets it pushed it, we all cheer. Ah, too soon, though, for a few minutes later (the door still half open), we hear the announcement that, due to a broken door, the train is out of service and everyone has to get off. Now one train being emptied can cause back-ups forever, because there is no room on the next trains for a whole train of people to get on. So I figure, Spyboy is supposed to pick me up at Ballston, I'll just call and have him come pick me up. Forgetting that he had told me he forgot his phone. So I had to jump on a bus, bus up to Ballston, getting there an hour after I should have, and completely missing our dinner with other people.

I checked on the metro page today. THey had somewhere around six trains go out of service because of doors breaking. I was not pleased.

Spies and whatnot

My coworker Susan and I are now within feet of each other. And, more importantly, talking distance. I don't think we are going to get much work done.

In other news, I am sadly SO excited about going home this weekend. Plus my mom will all want to pamper me (due to the health problems) and maybe they'll buy me stuff. And it's so peaceful there, and quiet. Plus I get to play with my kitties. I miss having a kitty. I've decided that someone should give me one. And by someone, I mean Spyboy. Who apparently doesn't like being called Spyboy. But EVERYONE uses the bf or my so or tg (as the Daily Dump refers to his girlfriend). It's so... boring. And he spied on me when we first started dating. Well, not exactly spied. He spied online and stalked a bit online and then talked me into letting him come over. Plus DC is so full of intrigue and politics, it just makes things more fun. Our trolley tourguide (who wound up singing to us, strangely enough) informed us that there are thousands of spies in the area around the White House. And the CIA did tell me that I should join their office of Clandestine Affairs. Hehe. I'd be like the coolest spy EVER. Especially since I currently tell everyone almost everything. It makes things fun for me. I tell Spyboy what my friends say about him, I tell them what he says... It levels the playing field.

On a new topic, Susan has declared that I should post childhood pictures of me on here. Mainly because I forced her to look at them when I brought my laptop into work. And because the Liberal Banana did a hair style montage. But seriously. I was like the CUTEST baby EVER. So adorable. I looked like a doll. So I might eventually post some. When I have the time. And when I figure out how to.

My hands are frozen

I did discover that there is a Dunkin Donuts not too far from here. I harbor the belief that it is ensconced with the Baskin Robbins. Since my office is literally under 70 degrees, I may run out and get a coffee. If the rain stops. And if I don't cave and get a cappucino blast instead.

So, I have now declared that I am not a big fan of the medical community. Those of you who realize my dad is, in fact, a part of that community may be surprised. But here's the thing. Since my dad was a doctor and we lived in a small town, when I did need medical stuff, it was my dad's friends who were doing it. This could have made things awkward once I got into college and whatnot, but luckily, we don't believe in doctors, so I had no embarrassing yearly check-ups. Now all the priveledged treatment has gone out the window. And I now feel the need to write a letter to all doctors in general about their treatment. Because I know that you are busy and I know that you have patients lined up after me, but I also know that I got up at 7 on my day off to rush into the city because my health problems are making my life miserable. I also know that while you may have gone to medical school and can look at an abdominal ultrasound and tell which blurry thing is a liver or a kidney, I am the one who puts up with my symptoms and my body everyday and you should pull your head out of your ass and listen to what my intuition is telling me. Then, if you still agree with your original diagnosis, which is entirely a possibility, you should talk to me about what it means and what it doesn't, rather than pushing me out of your examining room like you don't have time for me. Again, I know that you are busy. But I am a person and I am unhappy and I am paying for the insurance that is paying your bills. So suck it up and develop some customer service. And now, the more research I do, the more questions I have. Is it possible that every single thing wrong with me currently has to do with chronic stress and my body's inability to deal with it? If my doctor is correct in his diagnosis, then I have three seperate, virtually untreatable diseases. You can treat the symptoms, but not the diseases themselves. Why would these all start about the same time, if not for the fact that they are caused by stress? Sigh. I'll just go home and ask my dad who'll ask his friend. I would just call my doctor, but they charge for phone questions and money is one source of stress in my life.

I did have a lovely conversation with my friend Amy this weekend that reminded me how lucky I am. As much as I might occasionally fade into the background and as often as some of my "friends" have forgotten about me, I know that there will always be a few people who are more devoted and kinder and think more of me than I can ever deserve. The fact is I have three people who would do almost anything for me and who would drop everything to be with me if I needed them. And the females so nicely balance each other out. One is fairly religious and so I can talk about faith-issues with her. The other is bawdy and experienced and always ready to give advice on physical matters. Sigh. Now if only I didn't live miles and miles away from both of them...

Also, I've decided that my office only THOUGHT we escaped 6/6/06. But I got cut right before teh end of the day (and getting sliced by glass that is falling from the smallest height is just bizarre)AND my coworker had that very morning dropped a big metal rod onto her toe, nearly breaking it. I blame it ALL on the day...

Drinking on Company Time...

So. Our annual event just ended. Thus the complete lack of updating or reading or sleeping, really, for that matter. Leaving me now so exhausted I am barely coherent. That's okay. Who needs to be coherent anyways? My first annual event was... actually pretty fun. We had way too much packed into Tuesday, so much so that when one of the panel members made us stand up because "it was 1:30," I almost cried. Mainly because I was convinced that it was secretly like 3:30 and I was looking forward to the dinner. Also, I was in charge of taking notes and my mind was tired of thinking. But the panels and speakers were prett interesting. And the hotel was AMAZING. I got to stay there because a few people cancelled last minute and we were going to have to pay for their rooms anyways. The showers? SO nice. The staff? Ridiculously friendly. The food? Delicious. The drinks? Free, or at least free to me. There were a few snafus, but hey. What conference is ever going to go exactly as planned. The fun part, though, was the conference attendees. They were so nice and so friendly and so supportive, it was insane. I can see why my boss is friends with many of them. I mean, they went over the top to try and make sure we knew they appreciated the work we were doing. They were friendly and welcoming and encouraging and funny. I know corporate people are not necessarily cold or conniving or evil, but when the main ones you see in the media are the c-suite level execs who are on trial, you tend to get a bad idea of them. But the people I met the past few days were great. The only truly down spot of the whole thing for me was when I knocked over my martini drink (due I am sure to an inherent clumsiness and sheer exhaustion). The glass then broke, the pieces of glass somehow hitting me in such a way that I now have a fairly large gash on my calf. LUCKILY almost everyone had left, mitigating the embarrassment factor, really the worst part in my eyes, and one woman sat with me and chatted while I tried to stop bleeding. Oh well. C'est la vie. Luckily I had sung earlier in the evening (after MUCH coaxing), and so people the next morning were talking more about that than my leg.

On another, blog-related note. The Liberal Banana is complaining because her reader count has gone down by 20 due to her lack of updating. I say HA! to that. I don't even have 20 readers to lose... I barely hit 20 last week total. Plus she is trying to do a drive to get internet at home. Now that I can stand behind. If only because I think my limited readers should support my internet need as well. I expect the checks to come pouring in. :-)

The Heat Is On

It is ridiculously hot out. I mean, absurd. I walk to work and am drenched when I get there. Susan and I got lost on the way from our office to the metro (yeah, it was a little sad. I make no excuses.) and I thought I was going to pass out from dehydration. Walking outside requires a "oh shit." It's not just the temperature, which, let's face it, is only in the 80's. Dear God. We have 100 degree temps still waiting for us. But we also have 94 percent humidity. This sucks. Hopefully, it storms tonight and things cool down, as the meterologists have been saying EVERY FREAKING DAY THIS WEEK. I hate them. I hate everyone. I almost shoved poor little tourists today. But hey. They were in my way and I'm not on vacation and I am shoving them out of my way so I can walk the horrible walk to my new office.

Plus we are now near the beginning of our annual event. My first. Where I get to a. pay attention to speakers, b.mingle, c.take good pictures, and d.not fall asleep despite getting very little sleep. Oh, and I get to wear suits for three days even though I do not have three suits or the parts to pretend that I do. Oh well. There are open bars. :-)

The death of clutter

Well the big move is over. My office now resides in another building, one with very few lunch options and a further walk to and from the metro. However, it will be close to a Baskin Robbins, so I can become more and more of an addict and the longer walk will be necessary just to keep me from developing cankles and a waddle. We currently have no internet, so I had to bring in my laptop and sign-up for a free month of NetZero just to check my email. We are all going through withdrawal, I think. I also can no longer just pop into my bank on my way to work and I THINK we might even be several blocks from a Starbucks. Sigh. And now we have to unpack everything we just packed last night. I did wind up getting wet on my way out of the building, because one of the guys we used to share offices with decided to bring a super-soaker to work. It was kind of fun. :-)

Now I am completely exhausted, plus I think I'm fighting off some kind of bug. A few people in my office don't feel so hot, plus SB's coworkers are all sick too. Which makes me sad, because I really want him to tell one of his coworkers about the light-up shoes and she's been out because of illness. I REALLY want to know what her reaction is. I imagine it as very funny.

The Beauty of the Rain

I looked at where all my many readers are coming from and saw one from England. which means Sarah might be reading this. If so, hi Sarah! Ah, good old England. I still occasionally miss England. And wonder what happened with all the drama that was going on before I left. I tried to get in touch with one of my housemates, but alas. He ignored me... (Literally. I emailed him twice, imed him twice, then gave up.)

I have declared this week to be the week of crap. First, one of my best friends breaks up with her boyfriend. For perfectly good reasons and she knows I completely support her, but it's hard to see her go through this again. At least this time, though, her ex is not some complete jerk who tempts me to fly back to Indiana for the sole purpose of ensuring that he can't have kids. Then Spyboy gets quasi-sick, which of course gets me sick. I screw up a bit at work and one guy gets snarky on me. When I'm sick, I'm emotional, so Spyboy and I had low-level fighting. Then I find out that my rent is going up. Not by the $15-$20 that I had been preparing myself for. No. By $50 freaking dollars. I have no money. I already can't pay for a good portion of my food, or my cell phone, or my car insurance. But I can't really find any place cheaper unless I move in with someone. Moving in with someone I don't know (because there aren't really any options among people I know) would make me stressed. Stress makes all of my physical problems act up worse. Which means more trips to the doctor, which means more money spent on healthcare, negating the savings of moving in with someone. Plus I'd want to find a place where I could have a cat. I've decided that once I have enough money, I will get a cat. It'd be good for my mental health.

And now, it's off home for a long weekend. I was thinking about coming in Monday, but, pleasantly enough, I don't think that I need to. Whee!! Of course, it'd be more pleasant if the rain right now would stop so I can get to the metro...

So much work

Somehow it seems that whenever I have tons and tons to write about, I just don't have the time to write it. Work right now is crazily busy. We're moving offices and planning our big event, so things are a bit crazy. BUT my coworker has been annoying me about writing about the wedding, so here we go.

First of all, I've already gotten in trouble with Spyboy for being snarky. And it was Indiana and Indiana can be tacky. And she is a nice girl; not exactly who I hoped the groom would have married, but I hope they are very happy for them. So, rather than making judgement calls or being snotty (I'm desperately worried that someday, somehow she might see this page), I will just point out the things about the wedding that made me go, "hmm... not exactly what I would have done." First thing: I would not have a Catholic wedding. Not being Catholic, this one is easy to understand. Plus, while I'm perfectly okay with Catholics, Catholic doctrine, particularly the "no one else can take Communion and since you aren't taking communion, we are better and holier than you are" attitude. Second thing: I would not have basic barbeque sandwiches or a beer truck at my reception. Again, though, this was Indiana, and they were trying to be cheap. Luckily, they provided champagne for the wedding party tables, where, thanks to Spyboy, I was seated.

Now, the aforementioned things did not make me want to laugh at all. I noted them, but did not not them so I could tell people about them later. The following I did.


First of all, these are close to the shoes that the bridesmaids wore. With the lights and everything. It took me a while to notice because the dresses were floor-length, but when I did, I was taken aback. Well, that's not true. The first girl I noticed with them was the junior bridesmaid, who was in her young teens, so I thought it might be fun for her. THen I noticed that they ALL had them.

Second thing, but first thing I noticed. She was wearing a plastic crown. Now, I'm all for a tiara. I think. I haven't quite decided. But if you can't wear a tiara on your wedding day then when can you? But a crown? Then I thought, maybe it's a Catholic thing. I don't know. But plastic? I mean, I know you are trying to save money, but...

Third thing, not as obvious, but made me giggle. She beadazzled her own dress. That is right, she bought a wedding dress with a toule skirt and beadazzled it. She did the veil, too. Scariest thing: Spyboy and Spyboy's mother may have liked it...

Now, I have no intention of getting married for quite some time. But I have ideas. Most of my ideas might be a bit formal and uppity for her. But if she's at my wedding, and if I marry Spyboy she probably will be, she is perfectly allowed to make snarky comments to whomever she wants but me. I was thrilled, though, when I found someone to be snarky with at the reception. It was much fun and kept me from exploding. Plus Spyboy doesn't approve, but I have to talk about these things with someone...

Back home again in Indiana

Going back to Indiana, which was not my real home, but my school home, was strange. VERY strange. Nothing has changed in Bloomington. Well, a few construction projects that were in the works were finished, and the White Castle is now a strip mall with a Moe's, but other than that. When we drove through town, I kept feeling like I should be going to my apartment or dorm. It made me sad and gave me closure all at the same time. I mean, it's not my home, not anymore. Though God knows DC isn't either yet. But it's nice to know that things are basically what I remembered. And seeing one of my best friends was, of course, loads of fun. I love that we can act really silly (turning on her boyfriend, apparently) and then later have great discussions.

And more on the wedding later.

I wanna be a dragon...

Today my hair reminds me of Edward Monkton, a completely fabulous British artist. He does these really basic sketches with funny sayings. He's only slightly broken into the American market, but I fell madly in love with his stuff while I was in England. Anyways. My hair reminds me of one of his keychains (that I didn't buy, one of my great regrets). The keychain has a picture of a girl. All of her hair is normal, except for this one strand. This one strand is sticking straight out to the side. The text for the picture is as follows:

Hair: I don't wanna be a hair!! I wanna be a DRAGON!!!

Hair:... fine... I'll be a hair...

Well, I have ONE strand that is just refusing to do what I want it to do. Not that uncommon, really. But still annoying. Stupid curly hair...

Also, found out yesterday that there indeed is something wrong with my liver. I won't find out what exactly it all means until I see my doctor in a couple of weeks. I think there is more wrong, though, than the radiologist said after her cursory inspection. Because what she said is that my liver is starting to change textures. The symptoms for that, though, are vague fatigue and soreness. Which, you know. Who doesn't have that occasionally? So I'm not saying that is wrong. But there is more. there has to be more. Because I have so many other symptoms. And they said that the whole ultrasound doesn't hurt. LIARS. First of all, I have a freaking bruise on the top of my stomach from them pushign down. Second of all (and further reasoning for more being wrong), there was sharp stabbing pain when they pressed into my right side. So yes. Much discussion will be had when I see my doctor. Anyways, so until he tells me I have to give something up entirely, I'm not going to. I'll be smart. I'll have like a glass of wine. Not get drunk or anything. But I'm going to a wedding tomorrow where I'll be spending considerable hours with Spyboy's parents. Without him. I need a glass of wine for that. So I say something about that to Spyboy and get a whole little quasi-parental lecture. All "We can both give up alcohol. It'll be like Turk and Carla on Scrubs." Sweet, but I did NOT want to be lectured. So whatever.

This weekend should be full of mayhem, madness, and memories... I'm a bit afraid of the memory part. It's been two years since I graduated and left Bloomington and now? I mean, I've missed it. Really missed it. I know I'm not missing the town itself, but instead the whole college experience. But it's all tied up together anyways. Will going just emphasize how much I have changed? Will it make me want to go back all the more? Who knows. Maybe it'll just be a fun weekend with a good friend, a weddign thrown in the mix, and a chance to revisit my old stomping ground.

Die Another Day

I like going to the Subway near work. Not so much for their food, although it is quite tasty and cheap and I can pretend like I'm actually getting veggies. Mainly, though, I like going there because the workers there are so nice to me. They are primarily hispanic men, a group who seems predisposed to like me, and they seem like just genuinely nice guys. It's amazing how little things like guys looking at you like you're attractive can make a day better.

I also found out, thanks to an article on cell phone radiation, that I probably don't have to worry about developing cancer from my cell phone. Mine happens to be low. Which is good because it means I won't have to stay up tonight worrying about it. Instead, I'll concentrate on dying from gall stones or a bum liver or whatever is wrong with my stomach. If it's my liver, I'm going to be mad. Because I've hardly gotten in a full three years of drinking and I don't want to quit now.

Anyways, we were talking at work today about some of the many differences between the sexes. Like women, while desperately not liking pain, really have a higher pain tolerance. Which just makes sense. When men can squeeze something that weighs 8 pounds and squirms out of them, they can talk about pain. Though, personally, I'm planning on being completely drugged during childbirth. I mean, I CAN do it, but why waste the effort. The other topic was the topic of irrationally getting angry. I will fully admit that many women have that perfected to an art. Such as, when banging a toe or elbow, yelling irrationally at the object that caused the pain. I don't care if I ran into the corner. It is still the corner's fault. How dare that corner be there! If I can blame someone else for putting the corner there, I will. Obviously, the designer of whatever structure I'm in was stupid. Otherwise, I would not have run into anything. In fact, I not only hate the corner and the designer, but I also hate the entire building if not every building ever. I think this makes perfect sense. According to my token-male coworker, guys don't do this. Instead, they accept that it is their own fault and move on. I think this is one of the fundamental problems in many relationships. If a guy I'm dating is going to take every emotional outburst as fact, or if he thinks that I seriously hate all buildings ever, we're going to have a problem. Guys just need to lighten up and realize taht there are times when it is necessary to blame everyone else.

Why Stupid People Shouldn't Breed

I worry about this country's future. No, not even the country, the whole freaking world. One reason: because we are obviously all going to die because of our complete reaming of the natural world. I mean, look. Earth is only going to take so much crap. It's like when you are really tired or relaxed and a bug crawls on you. Eventually, though, the tickeling is going to annoy you enough that you are going to move and smoosh the bug. We are the bug.

Another reason I worry. Teens today are not intelligent. I'm not saying that my generation was better or the generation before that. Maybe, in fact, the problem is not intelligence. Maybe the problem is that they are too creative for their own intelligence levels. This is a group of people who think that it is safer to abuse prescription drugs than illegal drugs. 31% think that there is nothing wrong with using prescription drugs recreationally once in a while and 29% think they aren't addictive. Now, come on, teens. I know you can read. READ THE LABELS!! Why do you think there are so many warnings? And why do all these parents have presciption painkillers lying around? I mean, the only time I got them was when I had surgery and those I promptly lost. (I now know where they are, but only because I had a mad search for batteries teh other day which involved going through every random crap place in my apartment and I got excited because I thought maybe I had more allergy medicine than I thought.) Then, the teens that know that drugs are bad? They are suffocating themselves in the "choking game." Because depriving your brain of oxygen is somehow not bad? Personally, I can't remember a time when I thought choking myself or my friends (maybe my brother, though, but that was just to shut him up) was a good idea.

Luckily, movies like Akeelah and the Bee restore my faith in and hope for humanity. It was just so cute! Like Spellbound only without the boring parts. And it has Crabman in it. How can you not love Crabman?!

Also, in joyous humanitiness, my sister-in-law's brother, who is like the greatest guy ever, got engaged this weekend. I once bet him a dollar that he couldn't jump over a seven-foot long mud puddle and not only did he do it, he didn't make me pay him the dollar. I'm so happy for him that it's sad.

Peace, man

I just had a cab driver flash me the peace sign. I'm not sure exactly what this means, but I'm assuming it's good. It could be because of either my cute new haircut, or my obnoxious tacky shoes. But they make my pronating feet feel good! I also now have "The Babysitter's Here" by Dar Williams in my head.

Anyways, the New York Times magazine this week had an article about contraception. Apparently some among the religious right have decided to sign on with the Catholic Church in claiming that contraception is amoral. They would like to ban it. The main federal issue where this has come up is in the FDA's approval, or lack there of, of Plan B. Now I know that some people argue that Plan B is an abortive drug, because in some small unknown percentage of cases, usually when taken after the 72 hour recommended mark, it can prevent a fertilized embryo from attaching. As a sidenote, apparently breast feeding can also have this effect. The fact that this argument exists shows that the lines between abortion and contraception are blurring. The use of contraception has supposedly increased promiscuity by promoting a false sense of security, while allowing married couples to focus on sex too much. I would say an underlying, non-admitted theme is that not having babies all the time has allowed women to enter the workforce, obviously an evil side-effect...

Now this makes me frustrated and mad and is yet another reason why I hestitate sometimes to mention that I am a Christian. These people are giving the rest of us a bad name. And what the hell are they smoking? Do they really think that banning contraception is going to prevent ANYTHING? Teenagers are still going to go out and have sex, STD rates will rise, abortion rates will probably rise. The anti-contraception argument is that if there is not the possibility of a child, then sex is somehow trivialized or taking over the relationship. No matter what, the people quoted sound like morons, and their publications blantantly lie or stretch the truth. I only hope that they try to take this bigger, so that maybe the rest of America will actually get up and do something, rather than let a portion of the country dictate laws based upon religious beliefs for everyone else.

Like Applesauce through a fork...

Eating applesauce (and pudding) with a fork can be very difficult. It is a feat only to be attempted while at the peak of one's prime, while completely sober and paying complete attention to the applesauce. Otherwise, the applesauce might escape its culinary fate and be resigned to mold away in a pile of garbage somewhere. And you know what that means? The terrorists have won.

Anyways, if I suddenly disappear someday and no one knows where I've gone, the police totally should check out him, because he has already threatened to kill me. And no, it doesn't matter who started what, because I'm still missing, people. Show a little concern here.

Sigh. Me vanishing reminds me of the first time I met my boyfriend (who shall hereafter be called Spyboy)'s friends. I called it friend bootcamp. Anyways, we drove up to podunk Indiana for a concert, then went and visited his friends at Purdue. We were supposed to come back Saturday night, but he really wanted to stay, so we slept on the floor while another couple slept on a couch. It was a little strange. Anyways, my phone had died and when I got back, I had like 6 voice mails, 15 im's, and 8 messages on the board outside my door. It was cute. My friends were all worried about me... AWWWwww... Not as much of an aww as when they threatened to kill any guy who hurt me (or rip off his balls. I can't quite remember, but it was something suitably violent).

And who knew Flattop Grill was in Fort Wayne? Seems random... We have restaurants in Chicago, DC, and Fort Wayne... Chicago people? Have you been? If you haven't, you apparently should go. People RAVE about it here and they are all around the Chicago area. I'm going to drag Spyboy there tomorrow night. It is convienently located near my gym. Where I again saw someone naked last night. Is it to much to ask to put a bra on BEFORE you stand around blowdrying your hair?

Speaking of hair, I'm getting my hair cut today!! Whee!!! I love haircuts...

Further proof that I am a nerd

Okay, so Lauren Graham (of Gilmore Girls fame) and I totally need to be friends. First of all, she's so cool. Second of all, we have SO much in common! She was an English major, I was an English major. She rides horses, I ride horses. We both wanted to be jockeys but were too tall. She grew up around here, I now live around here. She apparently writes a lot; I in my day have been known to write a lot. Including the infamous 50000 word novel in a month which has a chapter posted somewhere online. Where? I have absolutely no idea. Anyways. All these things add up to being best friends. I can see it now: The trips out to LA to visit her, the phone conversations, the visits here where we'd curl up and eat cookie dough and talk. And of course, given the age difference, she wouldn't just be a best friend, she'd be a mentor, too. It'd be great.

And I just discovered that Slate has a section all on words. All on words! I am joyful. It brings me happiness. Does this make me a nerd? Well, yes. But I figured that out long ago. Anyone who loved taking Latin qualifies as a nerd. Eats, Shoots and Leaves? Preaching to the choir. The current article is on the origin of the term 'baby-daddy,' apparently Jamaica. I'm torn, though, on how I feel about such terms being in the OED. On one hand, the OED is merely a collection of terms and how they have been used over the course of decades or centuries, depending on the age of the term. On the other, it's the freaking OED. It brings up pictures of scholars and grammar nerds and the best of the English language. Which baby-daddy and bling-bling do not, in my humble opinion, count as. Maybe I should just move to France. They have grammar police over there...

Disturbing bodies

Ew... I just linked from someone else's blog to an article on using hookworm to cure allergies/asthma/digestive problems. This guy claimed it worked, but he has to reinfect himself with worms every three months or so. Hookworm is found in feces, people. FECES. [shudders]

To continue in the theme of bodies. I went to the gym yesterday. Now, I like my gym. It's a nice gym. Lots of equipment and wood paneling and carpet in the locker room. But. Some people apparently interpret the casual "we're all here trying to stay healthy and attractive" feeling of the gym as an excuse to wander around naked. I understand that everyone must change. I'm not saying people should be ashamed of their bodies. What I am saying is that I don't want to see naked women! I don't care how great of shape you are in for your age, wrap a towel around yourself before walking the twenty feet to the showers. And if you are going to put lotion on, at least put your underwear on first! I go to the gym for a workout, not a peep show.

Also, as some of you know, I will be going to a wedding in a couple of weeks. This wedding is worrysome for a few reasons, including the fact that none of my bf's friends that I know are going to be available to sit with me (one's the groom, another couple is having a baby and so can't be there, etc). And he himself is in the wedding. Which means I get to either sit with complete strangers or his parents. So this is one problem. The other is that the groom's family freaked me out when I met them. See, here is the scenario. Groom graduates from vet school; bf and I go to his graduation party on his family's farm. (It's Indiana. Of course it was on a farm.) We do random things like look at tractors and his family's big saw. Why they have a big saw? I don't know. Apparently they need to chop up trees occasionally. Anyways, groom proposes (hehe) that we all play a game of softball. Now it's freaking cold. It's not supposed to be freaking cold, being June, but it is. (Not immediately important, but could play in.) So I agree, and am wearing a borrowed coat and boots that have chunky heels which make it difficult to run. We play, etc., etc., then go inside and eat where groom's brother is strangely intense and made me want to back away slowly. I lose an earring (definitely made me sad), we say goodbye and leave. Come to find out that later groom, groom's father, and groom's brother were all discussing people. Or at least me. Now, I don't really mind being discussed because it makes me feel important. But. THe problem is the topic. The topic was, "Was she wearing a bra?" I believe the word "busty" was used. OF COURSE I WAS WEARING A BRA AND KEEP YOUR SKEEVY THOUGHTS OFF OF MY CHEST! Who has a nice family discussion around the kitchen table about this? Now I was cold, which would create certain issues, and I was running in heels, which would cause some bouncage. But still. Groom can think about my chest. Brother and Father of groom, not so much. And they should not be all talking about it.

Crap. Now I've weirded myself out throughly again. Ew.

Titles!!!

Ha! I figured out how to add titles on my own... which basically consisted of finding the right setting page to click on and then clicking that I did indeed want titles on my page. I am a genius.

So, I'm sitting here, looking online and at my prescription (I get to have an abdominal ultrasound, tres excitant.) and two things frighten me muchly. One is the
picture of Star Jones on MSN. I know she wanted to lose weight, but she is freaking scary looking. I feel like she is going to jump on top of me and start gnawing on my arm or something. She has a crazy look in her eyes. Not crazy like Cruise crazy, but still. The part of my prescription that scares me is the category called nuclear medicine. Not only does the word nuclear cause W's voice to ring in my head, a terrifying experience in and of itself, but the concept is alarming. What exactly is nuclear medicine? Is it the "option of last resort?" Are they sending little nuclear bombs inside of people in order to destroy malignant cells? I know Bush wants to have underground nuclear weapon capability; maybe this is the first step...

On to this weekend. We tried to crash the DC bloggers happy hour. It didn't work out so well. I mean, we did officially "crash" it, I guess, but we mainly just stood in the corner trying to figure out who was who. I was all for mingling, but Susan wasn't so much and she's the one who has actually been reading the blogs for more than three days. The much-hoped for fight did not happen, though, at least not while we were there. It was very sad. I mean, come on, people. If you are going to invite me into the massive drama that is your online fight, I expect some in-person drama as well.

After that, I met the infamous SO of Susan, who was very nice and proceeded to pay for our drinks the rest of the night. Not that one of my friends needed it. I've never seen anything like it. Guys just kept randomly handing her beers. Not even guys she was talking to/flirting with! Just people she was walking by or who accidentally stepped on her foot. It was a little ridiculous, and by ridiculous, I mean horribly jealousy-enducing. We then began crazy dancing, to the point that every muscle in my body was sore the next day and free-beer girl began saying things like, "Wow. You can dance. I mean, you can really dance... You'd never expect it." She also declared that Susan was recognizable from her head bob and I was recognizable by my smile. Which reminded me of Doug from Teddy Hall, who made me feel good about myself and who kept making statements like, "I'm saying that you're hot, but I'm not hitting on you. You know I'm not hitting on you." And yes, he did know about my boyfriend, unlike scary French stalker boy who chased me out of the one decent Starbucks in Oxford. I mean, the other one only had four kinds of flavor shots. FOUR! It was ridiculous.

Other than that, my weekend was pretty calm. Apparently every one in the 20's and 30's group at church is moving, which makes me sad. Though Amy and I are going to go get mint juleps at the Wilson before she does and that makes me happy because I like mint juleps. AND she told me that Guapos, my one true love embodied in a Mexican restaurant, has killer mojitos. I love their margueritas, but mojitos are pretty up there too. My bf and I got in a spat on Saturday because Friday night he "had a headache..." Hmph. Sometimes that boy does not appreciate how lucky he really is. And while I'm all for fighting gender roles, I'm not really for it in my own relationship and therefore the reversal sucks and I hate it. I also got a chance to talk to Emily, whom I had not talked to in over a year. Though I did email her six months ago and got no answer back... But yes. It is frightening how old and mature we are getting, all talking about work and whatnot. And religion, but we always talked religion and stuff. Particularly while "working" the corner in college. :-) Sigh. Good times.

And I do have to give a shout out to Roberto Donna. He beat Iron Chef Morimoto last night in their rematch. I love Chef Donna... He makes me laugh. Plus, what other renowned chef serves you personally in his grill where you can get pizza for $3.50 and sandwiches for $5.50?

Snakes, lizards, and kittens, oh my!

I could think of some dirty ways to combine that. Not helped, of course, by the fact that my office has had discussions covering how long anacondas get, how much food they can eat, and who does the licking in the office. Add to that the fact that my boyfriend, when I told him about our anaconda conversation, began singing "Baby Got Back" and it all heads down hill.

Sidenote: Once upon a time, I never blushed. Today I had to tell a doctor, a medical professional that does not know me, that I am on birth control. And I freaking blushed. I talk about licking (stamps, people, stamps) at work and I blush. I blame my college best friend who first trained me not to blush and then proceeded to spend a good portion of her time trying to embarrass the crap out of me so I would. Ah, the good old days. Her teasing me about my crush in front of people who didn't know I had a crush, bringing up awkward topics in front of the guy I had just started dating... How I miss her. The worst, though, was when I made myself blush. Such as the time my friend interrupted me with the question, "Are you a restaurant?" I was a little annoyed at the question, so I decided to be sarcastic. "Yes," I said. "I am a restaurant. People come and eat inside of me." It was cause for much mocking on the part of my friends.

Anyways, apparently my parents have found not only lizards inside of their new house, but also a snake. A snake, people. I am supposed to go visit them soon. My visit is supposed to be my rest. My relaxation. My sitting back and letting other people do things like clean and cook and pick up the dishes. My chance to sleep without the sound of people running up and down the hall, without the crazy Post delivery guy who for some reason hates my door and therefore must throw my paper against it every morning, scaring the crap out of me. Not my chance for me to poke carefully around to ensure that I am not about to be attacked by some animal who consists only of a stomach and one long muscle. (Yes, go ahead. Think your dirty thoughts. Pervert.) I would force my kitten, or rather former kitten, now full-grown cat to sleep with me as he is the only one who seemed to be aware of the snake. But he's annoying at night and tends to not only attack snakes, but also to attack anything under the covers that moves. So now it has become my mission for my parents to not only buy me a tennis bracelet, but to also de-snake their house.

Also... I can't figure out how to put titles on my entries... [blushes in shame] Help?