Beauty, part deux

The Today show mentioned a new Dove video which shows how advertising companies modify the model's normal appearance so she looks like what we see in ads. It was a little crazy. Not only did they put a ton of make-up on her and make her hair big, they also electronically modified her appearance, making her hair even bigger and her neck longer. I have thus decided that Today show editors obviously read my entry on beauty earlier this week. Though when you throw the whole using computers to modify picture thing into the mix, it makes our concept of beauty all the more complicated, since now we are striving to look like people who don't exist in real life. No wonder people are so screwed up.

There is this online "What famous person do you look like" thing, where you input your picture and they scan it and compare your features to those of celebrities. I put in two different pictures and got Deborah Messing and Drew Barrymore. And it's funny. When you put my picture next to theirs, I can see some resemblance. Only in the face in Deborah Messing's case. I mean, she's so skinny, her clavical could be a weapon. It reminds me of that woman on "Last Comic Standing" who claimed having sex with her was like doing a hanger. She was funny. I was sad to see her get kicked off.

Speaking of tv and sex, Paula Deen on her new show, "Paula's Party," is a dirty little flirt. I mean, I thought the whole conversation with the French guy about her breasts on the show on her European vacation was bad. But the one episode of "Paula's Party" I've seen, she sat on a guy's lap, fed him brownie off of a wooden spoon, and licked the spoon while he was eating off it. It was highly suggestive. And a bit disturbing.

Testing, One, Two, Three

I got my official gre scores yesterday. It's one of those things that even though the score pops up on the screen before you leave, I somehow start to doubt if I saw things correctly. So I was glad to see that I did indeed remember my scores correctly, and did as well on the writing as I thought I would. My mom was very excited. Though she went to see David Sedaris yesterday, so she was just in an excited mood yesterday anyways. And my gre literature books should get in today, so that test won't entirely kick my ass. Just partly. I mean, really. I looked at some of the suggested vocab lists. Words I had never even heard of. Terms that describe word play that I'm familiar with in practice, but didn't know there was a term for. Things I cannot even pronounce. Besides the fact that Paradise Lost is the most sited work on the whole test and I haven't read any of that since high school. What makes me mad about this whole thing is that the academy is in the midst of an argument about whether or not the Canon as we know it even really exists. No one reads the same books any ,ore. I'm sure Jessica Hagedorn's Dogeaters won't be on there, though I read that for a class.

So here is my question. What is the point of this test? I'm sending these people a writing sample, recommendations from professors, my transcript from 4 years of study. How is knowing whether I can identify a passage from The Faerie Queene really going to show admissions how I'll deal with studying modern lit in grad school? Should I not get funding because I thought a passage by Shakespeare was from A Midsummer Night's Dream rather than Twelfth Night? It all seems a little ridiculous.

I did get into a fight today on DC Bachelor. Surprisingly enough not with DCB, but with some other guys who decided that all women secretly want to be dominated, and that no relationship in which the woman earns more than the man will succeed. I'm annoyed, though, because the stupid site is not letting me post my next comment (the guy claims that career women make bad moms, and that I would never marry a poor, short dude) and I really want to comment. Grr...

Only Skin Deep

"Beauty is only skin deep," will forever remind me of my friend Emily from high school. My french teacher quoted it to us. Emily paused for a minute, looked up, and asked, in all seriousness, "How deep is skin?" It made us all laugh, and my teacher looked at her askance.

So I was looking through old pictures today, and I noticed how my face has changed. I'm not entirely sure why. Change of weight, getting older, whatever. But I looked and I thought, "Wow, my skin looked great, and look at that," blah, blah, blah. And I know at the time I wasn't any more comfortable with my appearance than I am now, which is a frequent discussion with SB. I have wished before that I could somehow see myself through his eyes. Or anyone's eyes, for that matter. Just to see what I look like to everyone else.

Now this is not to say that I am all that obsessed with my appearance or that I really think it matters all that much. I know, I know, studies show that more attractive people do better in life, but I think there is really a limit to that. Because think about it. If someone is super-attractive, are people going to want to be around them? Are less attractive people going to feel anything but jealousy for the more attractive?

All of this made me think, though, not about my own insecurities. Because let's face it. Been there, done that. It bores me now. Instead I started to think about the role and history of beauty in our society. The concept of beauty has changed so much over the past centuries. Beauty once was more a symbol of wealth. Bigger was better because it meant you could afford not to work. Now beauty has been tied into cultural hegemony. As women have gained power, the concept of beauty has gotten smaller for them. As if society is telling women that they must pay for their increased power by taking up less space. The opposite is true for men.

So how much of beauty is anything beyond societal concepts? How much do we read into beauty signs of other things? That man can't be evil; he's too pretty. That woman must be dumb because of how she looks. Is beauty anything beyond a way to sort the world? To pretend like we know something about people we have no contact with?

An unraveling rug

There was a really interesting article in Slate today, called "Welcome to the Age of the MySpace Novel." The article was about the future of literature, and whether or not authors can survive in a culture as inundated with new media as we are. The authors posited that we are now living almost settingless lives. How can writing encompass the new reality that we live in?

A subtext of the article was the question of identity, a topic that very much interests me and one that I believe I will base my graduate study around. Identity formation has become a very chic topic in the past few decades, mainly because it seems to have become more complex as the world goes stronger. Whom do we identify with, and why? Am I a woman first, an American, a resident of DC, a Southerner? If I am asked to indentify with a woman from India or a man from Georgia, who will I pick? What makes that portion of my identity stronger than the other? And now we are forming new, even more nefarious identities. How many people go online and create a different persona? We have now added another dimension to our social interaction. And social interaction is crucial to identity. A person frequently doesn't associate herself wiht one group until another group is opposed to it. (Those of you familiar with Said's Orientalism will recognize this argument.) This flows into Butler's argument that by setting yourself against something, you are in fact helping to perpetuate it by helping to define it. But how does this all play out online? The rules are still there, but slightly different. It's like in space. Gravity exists, the rules still work up there, but nothing acts quite as you're used to. People have genuine relationships, real friendships online. People do have real interactions. I know that I feel it can be easier to open up in an electronic medium, because you don't have to see facial expressions. You are more seperated from the reactions. But you are also more vulnerable. Once you have typed something to someone, it's documented. Look at Foley. If he had only called pages? His case would be much different. Not only that, when you communicate electronically, you are limiting your ability to influence reactions to your words. How many bloggers have been incredibly frustrated by commenters who just don't get it? If you type something that was meant to be a joke, but the other person thinks is mean, you can't see their reaction and try and fix it. And they're more likely to misinterpret what you are saying as well. How is all this electronic communication going to effect the next generations?

Cranky? Never...

So I've realized that my main problem with my job just might be the work. Well, not the main, but at least half of it. I HATE being an assistant. It grates at my soul. Everytime I even think it, a part of me goes, "Really? YOU? Are you serious?" But beyond the pride part, it's just boring. Make files, make trip arrangements, input data. This is all stuff I could have done right out of high school.

Between the job-hatred, the boyfriend gone, and the supreme heat of my apartment (Seriously. Yesterday it was 82 when I got home. They turned off the air and THEN it gets back up to 80.), I've developed a bit of crankiness. And it's so hot that I can't sleep, which only makes things worse, or cook anything. Which reminds me that I don't know what to eat for dinner. The only good thing about the heat is that it calms down Cassie, so she sleeps a lot more. SB does get home tomorrow, so at least two problems will be gone. (since he feeds me, too.)

With that said, I'm taking my crankiness and going home.

A Bit of Yarn

Sigh. No more holiday weekends until Thanksgiving. (How weird is that?! I can't believe it's almost Thanksgiving again.) I did totally go outside my budget this past week. And by outside, I mean I spent any money at all beyond the like $10 per day for food I'm allowed. See, here's my problem with severe budgeting. I do really well, until I explode and then I spend a ton of money. I'm currently logging into my credit card bill... Be afraid, be very afraid. Though I did support small artists at the Arts on the Avenue fair in Del Ray. And I got ideas for possible Christmas presents. Maybe. We'll see. And I do really like the pictures I got, even thoguh I was thinking of giving one to my brother and sister-in-law. Yeah, I changed my mind on that. And then I had to go to AC Moore because they were having a sale on knitting needles. I'm really surprised by the popularity of knitting these days. And then there was homespun yarn on sale, too, and while it's a bitch to knit, it looks so pretty. So I've started SB another scarf. When I told him about it (He's still out of pocket), he was kind of sulky, though. Actually, he was just sulky in general. He's sick and he got tired of the food and his room is crap, even though he is totally milking the per diem thing. CW is convinced that it's just because he misses me. Now, I'm not saying that he doesn't miss me. I'm just staying that he gets whiny even when he's with me if he doesn't feel well and is tired. Like on the ski trip, where he got mad the last day and blamed the snow for not being good to ski on. But yes. He wants me to finish his OTHER scarf (aka the scarf that will not die) first. Yeah right. I knit that thing on size 6 needles with WAY too many stitches. It takes forever just to do a row. I've been working on that since we started dating. (Ie nearly 4 years now.) Who knows if I'll ever finish it? And this one will be more versatile since it has flecks of gray and cream and brown. He can wear it with anything! And I got me some yarn in brown. Now I just need to chug a bottle of Chianti, and I can be like Jordan Baker . It'll be great...

Sunny Days

All of the schools today in Culpepper County were closed because of a vague bomb threat. I'm not going to make a judgement on that call. I mean, if something did happen and school officials had known of a potential threat, everyone involved would be fired. Not to mention the tragedy of kids dying. And, with all the recent occurences, everyone is a bit on edge.

It does, however, remind me of my high school days. Sophomore year, someone at school began calling in bomb threats. One of my teachers thought she knew who it was, but refused to turn him in. I don't know if she thought it was funny or she was trying to be cool or whatever. I think he just wanted to get out of school because of a test or something. Because the thing with our bomb threats is that the school officials wouldn't let us leave. See, the parking lot was right next to the school and if the school blew up, the lot would go as well. So we were all shepherded out into the football stadium where we would seek out our friends and chat for the next few hours. Or be chased by bees, as frequently happened, causing many of my friends to scream and me to roll my eyes. (I am conviently not afraid of bees. Now if there had been a tornado... hmm. I wonder what they would have done if there had been a tornado watch AND a bomb threat.) Another fun fact about the whole bomb scare thing is that my town had no bomb squad and we had to call in one from another town. This all took a fair amount of time. The bomb squad had to drive up (45 minutes) and then scan the entire school and then they could let us in. I never was really scared. It was all a novelty. I did think, though, that if there really were a bomb, we'd probably all get hurt. I mean, we really weren't THAT far from the building. We all did kind of enjoy it, though. It was a chance to get outside, the days it happened were pretty, we all liked to chat. I wonder what would happen now, though, if something like that happened at my school. I mean, at the time they tried to find the person, but never had any luck. Maybe they have video and thus could prove who was using the phone when the threat was made.

This little storytime is in no way, shape, or form meant to trivialize the horrible shootings that have occurred recently. Violence at school is no joke.

Also, welcome Wonkettereaders! Now the pressure is on...

Issues of Invasion

So my coworkers and I were having a discussion about rape today. It all started with a discussion of former Rep. Foley and went from there. It was kind of interesting. I posited my theory that rapists, paticularly repeat offenders, should be castrated so they can't commit that crime again. My supervisor (a male) thought that violent rape and rape that occurs while the woman is alseep or drugged or otherwise mentally impared should have different punishments, with the punishment for violent rape being more severe. I thought otherwise. He said that with violent rape, the victim is more likely to be physically injured. Now this part I agreed with. I, however, think that I would almost rather be violently raped than date raped. At least with the violent rape, you have a chance to fight, to do something. It's probably a stranger. I mean, think of all the mental issues involved with date rape. Someone you at least quasi-trust has not only invaded your body, but also your mind. You wouldn't have the horrible fight memories or (possibly) the physical scars. I think, though, that the emotional scars from date rape might balance the scales. CW (also a female) somewhat agreed. Is this a girl versus guy thing? Is it that my supervisor will never be put in either situation, but might be attacked and so understands that side better?

But Mommy... I wanna be a hobo...

I would like you to note the ugly yellow tile in this shot. I really, REALLY hate my bathroom...

So I know I've been pretty whiny about work. Well, too bad. It's my party and I'll whine if I want to. Plus there is very little else going on with me. Work and grad school apps. Those are my two concentrations. Especially with SB on his trip. And nothing hugely funny has happened, so... It was funny yesterday because I was spreading the whining to include my friends at church. It's mroe that this other girl and I both hate the atmosphere of our jobs and would like to quit, so we complain loudly to each other in front of other people. So we were talking about how miserable things have gotten and I mentioned something to her. I said that when I walk by this homeless guy on the way into work, I look at him and think, "that doesn't look like such a bad lifestyle." And then they all yelled at me and told me I am not allowed to be homeless or earn my money by being a prostitute. It made me giggle a little.

And I did talk to my parents this weekend about stuff. Well, I had promised my mom that I would call and let her know how I did on the GRE's. (Which was pretty well, btw. Now we just have to see if someone will fund me. And I told my mom about all the work drama and now she's mad at my boss. She also said that she and my dad would help support me if I wanted to go back to retail or something, just to make ends meet until grad school. She kind of hesitated, though, before she said it, which makes me think that the offer is not whole-hearted. Not that they wouldn't do it, but they've got fiscal responsibilities of their own and I know they want to get the house paid off before my dad retires, and they're building this expansion... I just don't want to burden them with it.

I'm also greatly entertained by teh fact that someone got to my blog by asking if sex kills brain cells. While it might explain some things about some people, I do highly doubt it. So, Michigan, sleep well tonight. You are not going to kill cells through sex. You might get a disease. But the cell-killing will remain up to the drugs and alcohol.

Mood Swingy

So I stayed home from work yesterday, primarily because I didn't feel well, haven't felt well for quite some time, and yesterday was the first day I could freely miss without messing something up. As angry as I am today about work, it's a good thing I missed yesterday when all the shit hit the fan and my boss showed her crazy colors. I'm not going to go into details, but I will say this. It has been a long time since I have been this angry. Angry enough that talking about how angry I am makes me want to scream or cry or both. Let's just say that this has cemented my need to get the hell out of here. I don't need to put up with this shit. I just have to decide how to finance all of this.

Sadly, I didn't get to see Haley last night. Seriously, go buy her music. It's great. And I know her, which makes her even cooler. But yes. Her dad was playing down in Fredricksburg and I tried, I really did. But she would pick the one night we have a storm. I mean, it took me an hour to get from Del Ray to Old Town. There was no way I could have gotten to Fredricksburg before the concert was nearly over and then I'd just have to turn around and come back. I did get to chat with her on Wednesday, though, and that was nice. It's funny how different we are and that we're still friends. And we are very different. She did say that she wasn't surprised I was getting ready to go back to school, that she'd been thinking recently that it was time to go back for me. It was good to hear. And she and all her family are doing well, and that makes me happy.

Haley and I go back to 7th grade. We were always strange together. I mean, really strange. She and Julie and I were good friends in 7th grade; for my birthday that year, we had a sleep-over and did makeup which devolved down to smearing it all over and seeing who would look the funniest. We were in the talent show together. It was so unfair, though. She had her professional guitar-playing father accompany her; I had a tape. I still can't hear "When You Say Nothing at All" without thinking of her. In high school, we went to Disney World with the choir and made up our own dance. We then performed that for a group of our friends. They were not impressed. (It was very strange. We thought it was funny.) I would post a picture, but I only have one and it's not online. Haley is one of those rare people who accepts everyone as they are, and who is freely who she is without reservation. She looked like a hobo last time I saw her (her mom's words, not mine) and a random woman gave her money. And she talked about that as a sign of God on her website. I might be a little embarrassed about that. Not her. She thought it was funny/a miracle.

She's great and you should all go buy her cd. Seriously. Do it now... or else...

Tried and True

So for my job, I was forced to go onto the Republican National Committee's website. (And still couldn't find what I was looking for. What, are the Republicans anti-find buttons?) It was frightening, in the "Dear God, are people really that crazy about their party affiliation?" "Democrats will run us into the ground. Democrats hate babies. Democrats love terrorists."* On and on and on. Which reminded me of a quote in the Post today. Basically, the article was discussing the chances of Democrats winning a Republican seat in this one district in Ohio. People in Ohio are kind of mad right now at the ruling party. There have been several cases of corruption in office, mainly by Republicans. (I'm not saying Republicans in general are more corrupt. But they are the party currently in power in Ohio and they've been caught doing some nasty stuff.) So anyways, the Post went and interviewed the common folk to see what they thought of the upcoming midterms. Some people said they were still thinking about it, some people said that they were angry enough to vote Democrat, some people were just mad in general at politicians. All understandable. The quote that really struck me was from a couple (I feel like they are old, married, and white. I have no proof of that, though.) Their quote was basically "We will vote Republican no matter what happens." Now, that just strikes me as dumb. I hate this whole concept of "party loyalty." I vote for the person I agree with most, be they Republican or Democrat or Independent or whatever. If there is a Democrat up for election who disagrees with everything I believe the most strongly in? I'm not voting for him. I'll write myself in if I have to, sent a protest vote. And if a Republican I agree with runs, I may very well vote for him. Like I would consider voting for McCain, whose main obstacle to getting my vote is his base. Why would I blindly go along with a party, just because they're "my" party? Screw that. I swear, some of the people would vote Republican even if Jesus himself came down and told them that voting Republican led straight to hell. **

*Okay, those of you in the area may have seen these. But the political campaigns using puppies? Crack me up. The first is the guy himself saying, "they may make crazy claims, like I hate puppies. Well I love puppies." The new one from his opponent is now "He may love puppies, but what do puppies have to do with government?" It's just all so random.
**Apparently Orbitz has a disclaimer on their ad with Snoop saying that chewing Orbitz does not get you into heaven.

Am I Funny to You? Am I a Clown, Here for Your Amusement?

I put this picture up in honor of Cassie having it taken away. That's right, I took away her bed. Why did I do this? Because she apparently decided that it was more fun to poop in her bed than in the litter box. And I am not letting that get to be a habit. So I put her bed in the closet she's not allowed in, and this morning she used the litter box. I was much relieved. It was kind of funny yesterday, because I put my foot in my shoe and thought, "Oh, no" when I felt something, but it was just her little play mouse. Which she oh so sweetly brought me last night and put on my back. (I was lying on my stomach.)

So SB leaves for far-off lands tonight. I know I said he was leaving last week, but part of his trip was cancelled. Now he's gone for two weeks and I am sad. And more broke, as he pays for a good portion of my food. I know he'll have fun, though.

I was reading an article in Slate today about why we need to be funny. Apparently, even IBM staff is trying to make humorous clips about need-to-know issues. It made me think. Because it seems like everyone wants to date someone "who can make them laugh," everyone wants to be friends with the funny guy or girl. I've even seen job postings that require a sense of humor. When did being funny get so important? Not that I don't like to laugh. Because who doesn't? But I also like to think and have intelligent discussions. I don't want to be around someone who tries to make everything funny. Let's face it. Some things aren't funny. And people trying to be funny when they aren't is also not funny. But since our culture seems to have made humor the crucial part to having friends, more people seem to feel the need to be funny. Just look at the blogging world. Or at least the comments. The favorite blogs are the ones that are funny, and the comments are always, "OMG, that was so funny! I just died. You are teh funniest EVAH." Not to denegrate these blogs or those commenters. (Though I feel those comments don't always add to the conversation. Except for the one I read this morning about someone snorting out coffee at a staff meeting while reading a blog. That one gave me an amusing mental picture.) Is it that we, as a culture, as a generation, whatever, are so inundated with depressing things, we don't want to think? We need to laugh to keep from crying? Or are we trying to escape from reality? I'm all for using humor as a coping mechanism. I loved White Noise, which is a book all about the humor in horrible situations. But I feel that all this emphasis on humor and being funny and able to laugh at everything might be blinding us as a society to other qualities that are important, as well as creating pressure on those who aren't funny to be something they are not. So relax, non-funny people. Feel no obligation to make me laugh, or entertain me! Instead, why don't we have a deep discussion? Or we can just sit in silence doing Sudoku and crossword puzzles. Whatever you would like.

Murkiness

I miss my bloggers. So many quit (okay, like two and I swear I'll change the sidebar sometime to reflect those and the ones I've added. Then again, my new big project is to practice HTML by reworking the whole layout... It'd be great! But we'll see) and now, every morning, I have so few I want to read. I know I've found more that I liked, but then I forget which ones and they vanish into the murky recesses of my mind.

Speaking of murky recesses, I have been having the most BIZARRE dreams lately. And, now that I think about it, snakes have featured fairly prominently in at least two. And in both, the snakes were trying to bite me (one dream, they were venomous, the other they weren't). The venomous snakes were in a strange dream about a video game/amusement park/pirate skelatons. The good guy was a pirate and had a certain number of lives, but we weren't sure how many and so the snakes were very perilous. I should go see an analyst who can interpret how everything in the dream represents an aspect of myself or sex (a la Freud). I also had one last night that featured the K family, best friends of my family while we were in the military and for a good few years after both families got out. Actually, my dad still sees Dr. K every once in a while and Dr and Mrs. K came to my brother's wedding. Anyways, they apparently (inside my mind) live in a giant house propped up on two sets of two slabs, one of which is angled on top of the other. Kind of like a bug, actually, with long legs. There was also something about Christmas and me being excited... And maybe some Halloween in there, too. It's all a bit fuzzy. At least, I didn't dream about weddings or my teeth. Those were both topics for a while.

Also, as MSN informs me, necrophilia is currently not a crime in Wisconsin. They found this out when tryign to charge 3 men with digging up a five-day-old corpse and trying to have sex with it. Which brings one word to mind... EWWWW... That and that boys are strange. As CW and I discussed, if one were that desperate for sex, why wouldn't you get a prostitute? Or a blow-up doll? CW thought the blow-up doll would be the most appropriate, since it would even seem lifeless. No matter what, though, it's gross. I mean, I was into Spike on Buffy, mainly because he was British, brooding, and HOT, but he at least was of the undead. The actually dead? [shudders] What can be the appeal? Honestly. The whole thing is beyond my comprehension. How many of these people are out there? Doesn't it all smell? I thought about googling it to see if I could find some numbers and if they wear jewelry like pedophils do, but I don't want that in my google search record.

My head hurts. I'm going home. And by going home, I mean run home to eat quickly before going to choir.

Not as bad as expected

So the dreaded day was not nearly so dreaded as imagined. Why was today dreaded? WEll, mainly because the boss came back today from vacation. Now you might say, "Oh, she's just come back from vacation, she'll be all nice and relaxed." Which might have been true if she had gone on vacation during a normal time. But she decided to go on vacation when we have massive goings on, when 18 things are being completed and sent out, and when we're in the middle of hiring. So she comes back to 37 things that should have been done yesterday, but couldn't because she wasn't here and she must approve everything. Luckily, she's been pretty busy on calls and such and therefore has not been such a terror. And I think she's a little afraid of hurting my feelings (I think she thinks I'm young and fragile... HA!) so she's relatively nice to me even when she's upset. I thank the blushing. Because everytime she's tried to be mean or upset with me, I started blushing and we all know that the blushing is adorable. It may become my secret weapon. "I screwed up? I'll take full blame. [blushing begins] Ha! Now you can't be really mad at me!!!" Plus if she went crazy on me today, I may have snapped. I'm tired and cranky and beware. Because, again, if it's my fault, I'll take the blame. It's being blamed for things that I have no control over that drives me mad.

I also figured today wouldn't be great because of all the mishaps. Yesterday, for example, my doorknob broke. Meaning I got home from work and couldn't get in. Poor Cassie heard my keys and started crying. It was heart-wrenching. The building maintenance guy had to cut off my doorknob. This is the second time. I was not amused. So Cassie had to be locked in my closet/bathroom/changing area today so she wouldn't escape out the door while they put in a new doorknob. So I leave work this morning, feeling all guilty for locking her in a small room, and catch the bus and get to the metro. Where the metro card I had stolen from SB (he had left over cards from when his family was here) chose not to work. To get it replaced, I have to go somewhere "to the right and upstairs" at the Pentagon. I don't really know where the guy was talking about. Oh well. So I missed my train because I had to go and ask the manager and then walk back to the machines and put money on my smartrip. Then my muffin did not have the sugar on top that I enjoy so much. It was still a good muffin, and reduced fat, but I really like the sugar. It makes it so nice and crispy... But the day is almost over and then I can go home and let my poor kitten out. And I finally dealt with some insurance thing that I've been meaning to deal with forever. Mmm... and I have cold watermelon at home. I might have to go home and ball me some melon... :-D

Like Disneyland, only weirder

So this weekend. This weekend was SB family time. And I like his family. I do. They're a bit rural, but nice enough. I actually really like bits and pieces. Like his dad's sister. Really like her. And one of his cousins. And his grandparents on one side. But yes. But the family visiting consisted of: SB mom, SB dad, SB grandparents on his dad's side, and SB aunt on dad's side. Now his grandparents decided that everyone should drive out there. So rather than a quick 2-hour flight, they had a 12-hour drive. This created some under the hidden resentment on the part of aunt and mom, as they then lost several hours of tourist/shopping time. Plus the grandparents weren't planning on going in the first place and aren't incredibly mobile, so what they can do is somewhat limited. Then the grandparents decided they wanted to see their friends up in Baltimore. SB suggested that we meet them in Annapolis, because Annapolis is cute and that way, people not caring so much about the friends could still enjoy the day. This was overriden by the grandfather. Not that he really cared THAT much, as long as he got to see his friends. But I don't think he likes planning and he can't hear very well, so I think the cell phone is hard on him. And since no one complained, we all went up to Baltimore. Lovely, lovely Baltimore which is not lovely. Not lovely at all.

But before the joyous Baltimore trip was the trip to the Masonic temple in Alexandria. Now those of you in the area will recognize it. For those of you not in the area, the beginning of Old Town is this ginormous building that is a combination of a lighthouse (in size and shape) and a cathedral. It's all imposing and remeniscent of the Washington Monument (I say that because my brother once thought it was...). I am not a Mason. I am not particularly fond of the Masons. I think it is a strange, strange group and I'm not a big fan of a group that claims to be powerful, is full of "alternate" history theories, and does not allow women. So I wasn't in a respectful mood anyways. SB's family, however, does have Masons, including SB, SB's dad, and SB's grandfather. So snarkiness had to be ruled in. The first thing that struck me was the strangeness of having stained glass of the Founders. They even had little small stained glass around the edges that showed specific events. My favorite was the small one showing John Adams being inoculated. Because when I think stained glass, I think protection from disease. Also, there is a giant, frightening statue of Washington wearing Masonic garb.

Then we moved on to the tour. The tour covers the tower portion of the temple. And the tower tries to steal several different histories, most notably those of hte Jews, the Egyptians, and all Christians. The tour itself consists of the guide pressing the button, the lights going down with spotlights on the area currently being discussed, and the booming voice telling us that the menorah is an important symbol to the Masons. They even have a replica of the Ark of the Covenant, but you are only allowed to see it for the 15 seconds that the curtains open. They also have icons showing the Masons putting Masonic symbols into the Ark of the Covenant. Impressive, since no one really knows where it is and no one could touch it without dying. They have a temple for the Knights Templar (not the real ones, whihc the Masons probably have no real connection to), a replica of King Solomon's throne room, and many pictures in the Egyptian style showing Jewish stories. Our guide claimed you only had to believe in a higher deity to be a Mason, but I have a REALLY hard time imagining anyone of any religion besides Christianity being comfortable there. I don't know. I walked out of there feeling annoyed with the whole group. I know that now it is mainly an organization where older men get together and hang out. But they were trying to claim parts of history that they have no right to. I was expecting them to start claiming that the builders of every wonder of the world were big M Masons. (Obviously they were actually little m masons, as they were stoneworkers.) But I wasn't allowed to complain or make comments because SB's grandfather is very proud that he has been a Mason for 62 years. I think I deserve a lollipop. Or something.

I don't have time for a real entry, but stay tuned for tomorrow's. There shall be much snarkiness about many topics, including the Masons. (Apologies to any Masons out there.)

More than Missionary

Why has Cassie shoved her head inside a box? I don't know. There was a plastic bag in there and she does love her some plastic bags. Plastic bags and paper are like the two things that make her happiest. Though her new happy thing is to jump on things that make loud noises. Like a box or a paper bag. Which she decided to do at 6:00 this morning, making me not very happy. It didn't help that SB decided he wanted to chat last night after he left his family and thus kept me up until entirely too late. Which I later spazzed out on him for, since I wasn't feeling great and CW is horribly ill and I don't want to get whatever she has and thus I wanted to sleep a lot. And while it's very sweet that he wants to cuddle/be with me and talk, I'd rather he paid attention to the time and the fact that, while he is off today, I am not and need to get stuff done. Between the two of them, I think I got maybe 6 hours of sleep last night which is totally not enough for me.

It looks like I have to say farewell to another blog I read. Liberal Banana apparently is jumping ship, too. I would start to think it had something to do with me ("Man, I love blogging, but Rebecca's comments... They just drive me nuts!"), but I think it's blogosphere-wide and several people I don't read have quit as well. Even bloggers who haven't quit have cut back and seem to be suffering writer's block. I know that I am... Even coming up with comments on posts that I like has been difficult. I go, I pull up the screen, I start to write something. And then I close out the page.

Though MSN tends to save me, having funny articles that make me want to post. Like...this. This article is about a preacher who is trying to encourage Christians to be more experimental with their sex lives. And I mean, he is REALLY detailed in some of it. For example. He gives tips to guys on how to make their cum taste better. He thinks anal is fine, as long as there is no physical damage. A position in the Kama Sutra intrigue you? Go for it. Now, all these things are supposed to take in a married relationship, you aren't supposed to lust after others besides your spouse (thus, no porn), and no outsiders should be involved (no threesomes). So there are limits. But the limits kind of make sense. Loving, committed relationships are crucial to opening up to someone else, and I've heard that threesomes rarely work out well for the couple, even if both partners were all about it. The fact that he is encouraging the Christian community to talk about sexuality is great. Christians can be so repressed and are taught so frequently to think that sex is evil and a sin. Hello? God wouldn't have made it feel so good if He/She didn't want us to do it. I mean, procreation is important and all, but only like three species have sex for fun (us, dolphins, and I believe monkeys). Why shouldn't we revel in that? Enjoy sex for its creation of closeness? Be comfortable in our own skins? Have fun getting to know ourselves and someone we love?

I also enjoyed that article because it reminds me of my small group in college. Emily's parents had sent her a taped sermon on the same topic, focusing on "Song of Solomon." In the Song of Solomon, the male compares his love's breasts to fawns. Which led to "fawns are fun. They're bouncy." Seriously, there are some strange similes in that book. Sigh. The number of sex-related conversations I remember with that group is a bit ridiculous. It was a fun group, though...

Rainy Day Blues

I'm feeling a bit melancholy today. I blame the weather. And something in the air. And the fact that SB is going away for 3 weeks next week and I'm trying not to be horribly jealous of him (I love traveling... especially abroad. It's not fair.) or mean to him because he's leaving me. I know he's not really leaving me and it's his work and he has to go. But he's excited about it and I want him to be excited about it. But it's going to be sad not having him here.

And then KassyK wrote an entry about people dying young. Which made me think of Bethany. Those of you who don't know, Bethany was the little sister of Emily, one of my high school friends. I remember watching Bethany grow up a bit. Not that I knew her that well, but she went on a couple of trips with the French classes and choir. She was just a funny kid, quirky and individualistic and not caring what anybody thought of her. I hadn't seen either Emily or Bethany in a few years (basically since I graduated high school) when Bethany died. She went for a hike with her friends at a camp she was working at. It was a few days before the camp ended. And she tripped and fell over a cliff. My friends and I went to the viewing to support Emily. It was sad that that was what finally brought us all together again.

Then I read that Ann Richards died. Now, Ann Richards has not had much of an impact on my life. Except for her famous quote, "Ginger Rogers did everything that Fred Astaire did. She just did it backwards and in high heels," which makes me think of the Rent song, "The Tango Maureen." But I was reading the article and it mentioned that she had a drinking problem, caused mainly because she had such high expectations of herself, that she could never live up to them. SB has always said that I am too hard on myself and expect too much. I've always replied that that is because I know what I am capable of, I know what I should be able to do. Maybe I'm falling into the same trap she did. But then it raises the question of whether or not that's a bad thing. Because I feel like I do know what I am capable of and it's not that I expect myself to be perfect. It's that I know that I need to be pushed and I know that very few things have ever REALLY challenged me. That's not to say that things haven't been hard or I've done well on everything I've tried. But I know when things are my fault and I know when they aren't. I can accept that there are some things I'm just not good at (ultimate comes to mind, although I probably could be decent at that if I tried and were willing to look stupid in front of many people). And I'm learning that the more I'm challenged, the better work I do. Which is something I feel I've known inherently for a while. (Hence the need to do a semester abroad or go to college where I don't know anyone, even though I desperately hate change.) So where is the line? When does it go from challenging myself to punishing myself? Do I cross that line more than I think I do? And should I even be constantly pushing myself to do better, be better?

I have to say, though, if it is unhealthy to push myself so much, these past two jobs have really sucked that will out of me. To a point, anyways. But not being able to challenge myself bothers me as well. I don't know. It's all a big mush.

Not quite a parfait, but not bad

Oi. I am SO tired. Cassie has recently decided that RUNNING AS FAST AS YOU CAN is very entertaining. Last night she decided to do this back and forth across my bed, pausing only to attack my feet, my legs, my hip, trying to attack my back, but sliding off, and then dashing off. Cute? Maybe. Less so at 3 in the morning...

So this weekend SB's parents come to visit. Actually, it's his parents and aunt and grandparents. I'm not so much looking forward to this visit. It's not that I don't like them. I do. Though his grandparents are a bit intimidating. It's just that I'm tired and getting over something and my stomach hurts and SB goes out of town for like 3 weeks next week and I really just wish it was another weekend. And Cassie will be alone a lot this weekend and she doesn't like that. Oh well. At least it's getting to be fall. Even if I can't open my windows because the screens are full of holes. Yes, I'm getting new ones in that they are replacing all the screens and windows in the building. I do, however, have to wait until they get to me. And it's taking forever.

My building amuses me. Not my apartment building (they annoy me because they take so much of my salary in rent every month), but my office building. There are so many great people-watching moments here. Like today, for instance. Today, the building had free ice cream, coffee, and pastries as a kind of "get to know the new manager" type thing. Of course CW and I partook. I mean, it's free, it's sweets... what more could you want? Well, yes, they could have been served on silver platters by hot young men who also handed you flowers and nice wine, but let's be realistic. We go downstairs and there are several people waiting in line for the ice cream. We stand in line and this old woman, she must have been seventy, eighty at least, tries to cut. She "didn't have to wait in any line for her ice cream." This other older woman (probably in her 70's) actually confronts her and won't let her cut. They get into a bit of a spat with the cutter trying to cut, wandering away, then wandering back and cutting some other people. The confronter told her that she was no more important than anyone else waiting in line and she should have to wait. The cutter cut anyways, and the confronter walked off muttering, "just who does she think she is." You might be wondering why we have such elderly people in our building. Our building is connected to some rather expensive apartments. So many of the people who live there feel rather entitled. It was nice to see one of htem standing up for us.

Hurts So Good

There comes a point in any job with a not-so-great boss where things go from being frustrating and stressful to being funny. I just reached that point. I had really started to let her get to me, wear me down, and make me feel bad about myself. And then she goes and does something that reminds me of who I am dealing with. And it just helps to remind me that it's really not me. It makes me excited for my "let's bitch about everything" lunch that should be happening next week with my friend from church.

So this season on Ellen the main focus is going to be life lists. She totally stole this from me. Who has had a life list for YEARS? Oh, that would be me. I think she should make it up to me by helping me cross a few small things off that list. I've done a few by now (kissed a boy, moved to a big city), but there are things left to be crossed off. And she could facilitate. Like the whole riding in a one-horse open sleigh thing. Who doesn't want to do that?! And I just googled a bunch and found some. SB, GET PLANNING!!!

Perspective

Well, I know it has been a sad, lonely time without my daily posts. Okay, so I only skipped two. And work was busy/hellish and I may begin pulling out my hair in frustration, but that is okay.

I did kind of go off on a girl yesterday after lunch about liking your job. She is dating a guy who only works because he likes it. His family is independently wealthy. I declared that I needed to talk to my parents about that. (Not that I would really let them support me entirely. I'd feel to guilty. But I could guiltlessly live off of a trust-fund...) This girl thought that having to work for money helped people find what they were good at and thus their passion. I don't really agree. I mean, I don't think sitting around doing nothing because you have all the money you need is healthy. But if I didn't HAVE to work, I would spend my time trying to find the things that I really loved doing. Things that excited me. I'm not saying there wouldn't be some lazy lying around for a few weeks or months. And I'd totally travel for a while. But right now, I can't just hop from job to job. I can't afford it. I have to make strategic moves to better employment. But I don't really know what would be better employment, so where am I supposed to go? Thus hatched the grad school plan. Another girl yesterday (after my tirade) asked what I wanted to do after that. I said that was what the two years were for. :-)

As other bloggers today have said, I could do a perspective on the past five years or what September 11 means to me. But what is there left to say? It was tragic, life-changing even, changed the course of this country and thus the world. But saying it was tragic isn't going to help those who have lost someone. It doesn't change anything.

Warm-up Pants!!!!

Note the crazy eyes in this picture. This is what I wake up to every morning.

Today has been a day of ups and downs. First of all, we must say farewell to Belligerent Intellectual of the Daily Dump who left us so abruptly and with only juicy tidbits of an explanation. He is the only blog I've ever read that has groupies. I mean, seriously. Women offering themselves up to him. Of course, it's all online so one can be racier than usual. But still. I won't say that I'll work more with him gone (because, really. Let's face it. I'll do as much work as I want to do or have to do, but no more, and I can really find other distractions if I need to). But it does make me sad. So Dan, if I weren't lazy, I would offer up a montage of your funnier stories. Too bad that I am and therefore will not. Instead, I will pass out in a drunken stupor tonight in honor of you. (Not really. I do have work tomorrow and have never passed out and really, I'm not sure a blog passing is a good reason to start. Or deal with a hangover.)

In good news, I heard back from a professor of whom I asked grad school advice and a recommendation. After the whole Oxford tutor thing, I was feeling a bit panicked. Because if my tutor in Oxford tried to claim that he didn't know my work well enough, anyone could. But this professor remembered me (another worry), a presentation I did for his class, gave me advice, AND said he'd write me a recommendation. So I can breathe a sigh of relief. There was a reason he was my favorite prof. (That and he was totally cute in a nerdy way and I had a crush on him and was kind of tempted to stalk him by taking like 4 classes with him...)

Speaking of college crushes, someone got here by googling Tom Coverdale. Which got them into my archives, because Tom was FOREVER ago, but it made me laugh. And wonder how many pages they had to go through. Sigh. That was such a golden spring for me. Crushes galore, a flirtation, a championship run and rioting... And the wonderful WARM-UP PANTS (I totally yelled that randomly in college). I would totally get SB a pair of those if they weren't like $125. Because something about them is hot. Those of you who don't agree? Well, I just don't care.

Meanderings

My friend just sent out pictures of her and her husband and their new house. I may hate her. Or be horribly jealous. Probably more of the second. Although her husband is going to be gone 6 months of the year (he's in the military), so maybe it's okay that they can buy a house in Washington...

Spyboy and I came so close to making this a holiday weekend without a fight. We've had a bad track record over the past six months. So basically on Memorial Day and on the Fourth. Last night was minor compared to those, but still. Not fun. It's all hashing out communication issues. Mainly he does not communicate well. Or at all sometimes. Why do guys always claim the excuse, "I didn't know what to say?" Because, really. That can only work so many times before the girl gets fed up with it. Not knowing what to say is no excuse for not saying anything. Poor Cassie. She shouldn't have to see such fights.

I have to say, Steve Irwin's death bothers me much more than I would have thought. I mean, I never really cared much about the guy. I kind of respected him for defying death so often. I thought he was entertaining in a "why the hell would you do that" type way. I watched his show a grand total of once. But I think the thing that really bothers me is that he died not stung by a poisonous snake or because his head got bitten off by a crocodile (though he actually was pretty careful with those). No. He died doing something tourists do. His cameraman claims Steve never saw the stingray before it stung him. And even then, stingrays are rarely fatal. But it hit him right in the heart. It's just bizarre. And now there is no crazy Australian animal lover who jumps on crocodiles on tv for our entertainment and to encourage us to love wildlife. It makes me sad.

On a completely different topic... what does dreaming about weddings mean? Because I keep dreaming about them and teeth and it's starting to bother me. Last night also included a fabulous dream about french and not being that good at it. Oh well. At least my dreams are true to life... Wait. Then what does that mean about the weddings? Because that's not happening. Nope. Not for a while, anyways. Crap...

What's in a blog?

You know what I would like? I would like for once at work to be able to ask someone exactly what they wanted, in what format they wanted it, what the purpose of it was, and when they wanted it by and to have all of those questions answered. Instead, we have our current haphazardness, where the procedure seems to be giving vague directions (from multiple people, of course), no real timelines (they are currently either "we needed it yesterday" or "whenever you get around to it"), and then expecting exactly what the boss was thinking of but never told you that that was what they wanted. Frustrating, huh?

Anyways, to ignore that frustration and move onto something else that has been bothering me. Recently several bloggers have been talking about the role of blogs. Which is an interesting topic. Blogging can and will change the world and the way we communicate. Look at the role of blogging and online communities in politics and in business. If a politician or business gets on the bad side of the wrong blogger, they can damage their career or business. On the other side, Howard Dean rose to prominence primarily because of his success in raising awareness through the internet.

I think all of that is fascinating. Honestly. I'd totally take a class or do a study on it. More bloggers, however, seem mostly interested in why people blog. Which you might think a blogger would know; afterall, who can understand a blogger better than a fellow blogger? Why do we write these things? Is it because we want an audience? I think that has to be true for most bloggers. Why else write something to put online? People say it's a good way to stay up with friends, and that's certainly true, but if that's your sole mission, then why not just send group update emails? I remember reading once that most people who write in diaries have an imagined audience. That is something I completely understand. When I write in my diary, I picture someone, somewhere, at some time finding it and reading it. In a blog, the audience becomes immediate. For some bloggers, it seems to be a popularity contest. How many readers and hits can you get? How many people will write in comments telling you how great and funny or entertaining or intelligent you are? For some, it's perhaps cathartic. It's a way to get something outside of your head, to express your feelings and think that perhaps someone is reading and understanding what you are saying. I know I've been comforted by things I've read in other people's blogs. They feel things that I've felt, say things that I've been too afraid to say, experienced things that are similar to what I've gone through. Some people maybe want a connection. So many bloggers are in big cities, where you pass by hundreds of people everyday, but can count how many really know you on one hand, two or three if you are lucky.

There are many more reasons people blog and they're all legitimate. And here is what bothers me. It seems like so many bloggers trying to figure out why people blog tend to judge or pidgeonhole people. The reasons I blog are probably more complex than I realize. But I do it because I want to. I can see myself in many of the blogs I read. I see real people behind them. I don't care why they blog. I don't care how many people read their blog. If I don't like the blog, I don't go back. It doesn't mean that my blog or a more popular blog (not that that's hard at this point) is any better or any worse than that blog. It just means the topic might not interest me. Because, let's face it. No matter what topic you write about, you're only writing about yourself. There are some blogs out there with a specific topic area and specific readership. But for the most part, it's just people talking about whatever they want to. With as much information is out there, the only novel thing a blogger can bring to teh internet is their own perspective, their own experiences, and their own voice. And no one should judge that.

Lonely little shoe

Today I saw a shoe. This might not seem strange in and off itself. But this shoe was missing a foot, an owner, a mate. It was sitting all by itself on the curb. This made me wonder. How do you lose a shoe like that? If it were right outside a hotel or apartment building or dorm, I might be able to understand that. After all, someone might be moving stuff in or out of a room and just have had a shoe fall out. But this one wasn't. It was all alone, lost. And I couldn't help but want to know its story.

Whatever, Wilson

This woke me up last night. Not that I wasn't prepared for it, thanks to article. Well, that one and the 180000000 others written about that stupid bridge. Really. They blow up one bridge and it becomes this huge mass production. Yes, I know that they have been working on it forever. I know like a zillion people cross it every day in their commute from hell. The reason it matters to me though? A. it woke me up. I don't like that. Even if I'm prepared. And there is no way that that was "as loud as a thunderclap." I slept through an earthquake once but this woke me up. (True story, too. My friend woke up, saw everything shaking, saw me sleeping and thought it was a dream. The next morning, everyone was talking about it. I didn't even roll over. No recollection of the shaking at all.) And B. I didn't get a free carwash. I realize most of you aren't going to read those articles (really, they aren't that interesting), so let me explain. The Wilson Bridge is a pain in the neck for all involved. The commuters hate it. The neighborhood around it hates it. The construction project, only half-way done btw, has been going on for years. And the construction teams have constantly put the convienence of the drivers above that of the local people. Not without reason. After all, if they blew something up or shut anything down vaguely close to rush-hour, the entire city would implode. Or at least a lot of people would be very late and very pissed. So the loud construction has been done at night. Such as loud explosions that really aren't that exciting. ANYWAYS. All this construction has also made a lot of dust, dust which gets on everyone's car. (It also has rattled a lot of snakes. Can you imagine waking up with a snake around your arm? Oh, it happened. Not to me. But it happened.) In order to make up at least for the dust, since they can't do anything about the lost sleep, they handed out free carwash coupons. I live relatively close to this area. My car indubitably has become more dusty thanks to the construction. But did I get a coupon? No! I had to pay for my carwash, which wasn't all that thorough, thank you very much. I feel they owe me.

Foodgasms

Sorry no post or picture on Friday. Blogger was being a pain and I had work to do, so... Also, I promise that I'll get more recent pictures of Cassie to put up soon. These are all from two batches, both of which were taken at least two weeks ago. And two weeks is a big deal in the life of a kitten. For example, since the last one of these pictures was taken, Cassie discovered tv. She also has developed that awkward legginess of a teen, has taken to attacking my legs while I'm walking, and now has a tiny little belly. Since I just know all my readers want to be a part of that... Though, if you really cared, you'd either send me money to pay for an internet connection at home or start campaigning my boss to give me a raise.

So, date weekend was fun. The Carlyle was amazing. I had the best steak (probably not as good as Little Zagrebs, but up there, and definitely better atmosphere). They even butterflied it so it would be cooked the way I liked it. And I didn't even ask. And the bread pudding? OMG, SO GOOD. It was a complete food-gasm. White chocolate, with melted caramel in the middle and topped with ice cream. I thought my stomach was goign to explode, but it was worth it. The atmosphere, though, was a little strange. I don't know why the Carlyle has trance music in the downstairs area, but they really need to quit it. It's just annoying. Luckily they turned it down before too long into dinner, but still.

Apparently everything we decided to do on Saturday was somethign the retirement community wanted to do. We got to Shirlington and the line at the movie theater was almost to the parking lot. Most of the older people in line with us wound up at another movie (something about a beach?), but once our theater filled in, it was primarily full of older people as well. And they all clustered around us. Spyboy said he was getting a little claustrophobic. There were very few buffer seats. It was strange. Then at the restaurant, it was all older people or families. I mean, I know we aren't hip, but are we really on the same level as retired people and families? It was like 7:30, totally a decent eating time. Though I was glad we were there, because we wound up chating with this woman who had been abandoned by her family. Seriously, they came and sat and then all four of them (son, daughter-in-law, two grandkids) left for 20 minutes at least. It was the daughter-in-law's birthday and the woman was from near Annapolis and REALLY didn't want to drive all the way to Arlington, but did anyways. And then they just leave her? What could have needed to be done in Shirlington at 7:30 when you're waiting for a table that took all 4 of them? And then, when they were there, they just ignored her. Their baby though? So freaking cute.

Also, I've started getting google hits. Whee!! They're a little strange, but highly entertaining...

Cyberstalking

So the tail sticking out of the bag is Cassie, the bag itself is my gym bag (ie full of slightly smelly clothes), and no, I did not put her in there. She dove in all on her own. Though I am growing more tempted to throw her in there. She really has got to stop this getting up at 6:30 and running on me thing. This morning? She was purring while attacking me. It was a little disturbing.

CW is starting a cyber-stalking plan. Completely legit, I promise. Her boyfriend gets a call from a girl and hurries to get it and then reminds CW that she has in fact heard of said girl, because he has listed her on this stupid crush thing. Which really. I mean, this boy has got to be smart, but are you kidding me? He really should know better. So CW is hunting her down just to see what she's like. Which all reminds me of The Little Black Book, a movie I never saw mainly because I thought it'd give me ideas. As some of you might know, I wanted to stalk SB's exes, but restrained myself. Mainly because I don't know any of their last names and can hardly remember their first. Though one of them apparently has gotten married and had a child. I remembered her last name because it was the same as SB's. I made fun of him a lot for that. The sad thing is that I still would cyberstalk these girls if I could. And I'd update him and make him feel guilty and role his eyes at me. It'd be great. I also cyberstalk former friends. Like my former best friend's older brother? Did some of the graphic work on the second Zorro movie. It was cool.

And yet another reason to be proud of SB. He planned a date for this weekend. I'm so excited. We're going out to eat at a very good restaurant, courtesy of his place of employment, and then we're going to see Little Miss Sunshine. Which is sweet because I know he really wants to see Talladega Nights. My last getting upset may actually have made a difference for once. It only took four years...

Nudity and Death Don't Mix

I'd always had the plan of getting Cassie on Cute Overload. I sent in a picture, but she never posted it. I may have to boycott. Or probably not. Because, let's face it, it's still a cute website, even if she doesn't always have the best taste. I am going to have to make another coffee shop run, though, so I can upload more pictures of Cassie for you people. I'm running precariously low.

So there was no surprise last night from SB. Not even a good meal (we had frozen stirfry). He did, however, clean my kitchen like it hasn't been cleaned in a while and did the dishes that I didn't want to do. So I guess we'll let it slide. I mean, it's not like the time he told me (after I had taken a day off work to spend it with his family at his graduation) that it would have been so much easier for him if I hadn't gone to dinner with them. He of course told me this on the way to dinner with his family, making dinner so. much. fun. Yeah, that was just great... Plus he means well and while I didn't get a surprise, I now have a clean kitchen.

This story entertains me highly. For those of you too lazy to click there, apparently in some parts of China, it was common practice to have a strip tease at funerals. Why? No, not because sex is a reaffirmation of life or because of some strange religious ritual. Because the more people who came to a funeral, the more it honors the deceased. Are you kidding me? Doesn't bribing people to come to a funeral kind of defeat the honor aspect? "So many people cared deeply for your uncle. Look, 250 showed up!" [pan out to show scene consisting of a few people mourning, the rest (all men) clustered around a corner while a girl eases her shirt off her shoulders) I mean, I want my funeral to be a party (an Irish-style wake), but that's a bit extreme.

Baby Steps

OMG. My brother has a myspace!!! That makes me laugh. Maybe I'll try and get him to friend me. Since I only have 7 friends myself on Myspace. The funny thing is how we wound up there. (CW and me). We actually were there for work. Kind of. We were looking to see if anyone we knew would have connections with someone we want to have a work connection with. And then I found my brother's friend and then I thought, "hmm... I wonder if HE has a myspace page." And he does. Of course, it still claims he's single and he doesn't want kids and he hasn't even logged in for over a year. But still. It entertains me.

I do have to give a shout out to Spyboy. Even though we had a tiff last night. Except that it wasn't so much a tiff as him accidentally being mean to me and then feeling absolutely horrible for it. I expect something special tonight. At least a good meal. Maybe Guapos... I love Guapos. Mainly their butter sauce. But yes. See, he is not good at follow-through. But he actually went and got tickets for the Dar Williams' concert ALL BY HIMSELF. YEs, I told him that she was coming and sent him the page. But he went online without me and bought them without me nagging or anything. I'm very proud of him. Baby steps and all.

Family tidings

I think I may get more hits when I post pictures of Cassie. Who I swear has gained like a pound in the past week or so and who is scarfing down food like none other. And who only seems to want to sleep on the bed when both Spyboy and I are up there. Otherwise, she just likes to jump up there, check on me, and attack me before running off. If we're both up there, though, she'll crawl on one of us or nestle in the crook of an arm or the curve of a back adn fall asleep. I think it might be because Spyboy radiates heat like a freaking sauna.

So I've decided my family is just depressingly successful. Or at least my brother and his wife. My brother? Graduated when the economy was at its worst in a field that is shrinking and yet manages to get a job a week before he moved up to Boston at a great organization where they love him and give him great career advice. Now another organization is offering him a decent job in a place where his wife would love to live (she wants to be closer to her family). My sister-in-law gets her PhD, gets a job at another great organization again where they love her and give her promotions and whatnot and bend over backwards to get her to stay there. And I'm not saying these two don't deserve their good breaks. Especially my sister-in-law because most of hers have come through hard work. It's just depressing to hear about all of this from MY end of things. IE stuck in a not-great job, doing stuff that requires very little brainpower, and having no idea of what I'd rather be doing except that this is NOT it. Sigh. Oh well. I'll just have to go to grad school, get a kickass job, and then move somewhere exotic while making tons of money. (No, I'm not competitive with my brother... why do you ask?)

Though at least I didn't have to juggle two cats, a dog, three thirteen year olds, and my aunt, as my parents did a few weekends ago. Not that my cousin and her friends aren't adorable. Well, I haven't met the friends, but my cousin is pretty damn cool, so I'd trust her to have some decent friends. But my aunt, being not entirely sane, thought that bringing their dog on a road trip which involved staying with my parents for a weekend would be a good idea. Now my parents' house has no place for a dog. None of it is fenced in. AND we have two cats, one who is old and cranky, and the other who is huge and playful. Felix (huge and playful) might have gotten along okay with a dog. Oreo (old and cranky) definitely would not. She barely puts up with Felix. But my aunt somehow thought that all would get along. So my poor mother spent the weekend shifting cats from upstairs to the basement, trying to avoid the dog all the while. And then? When the dog (and my relatives) had left? The dog had chewed through the cord of my mom's sewing machine. Of ALL the things to chew through, that would probably be the worst.

Food Network

CW (coworker) yelled at me for not putting up a picture of Cassie yesterday. So today, I shall not be remiss. And SB made fun of me for taking so many pictures of her (and more importantly, none of him). But, as I told him, he's not as cute and he's not going to change that much that quickly. Where as she gets a little bigger (mainly rounder) every day. Now she can even get onto the bathtub, if she runs and hits it at just teh right angle. Of course, she does tend to slide off... And he should take more pictures of her. Like last night. She totally passed out on my legs, all floppy and dead-asleep. Not only did he NOT take a picture (I couldn't; she was on my legs), he also kept fidgeting and waking her up.

While he was fidgeting, we were watching Throwdown, the new Bobby Flay show on the Food Network. This is a show where he surprises people at an event where they are cooking the thing that they are really good at cooking and challenges them. Last night, it was a barbeque. The sad thing, though, was that he shows up at the guy's daughter's birthday party. So basically, the party thrown so everyone could focus on this one girl was interrupted by Bobby and everyone then only paid attention to the throwdown. As a formerly 13-year-old girl, I have to say that this sucks. AND he didn't bring a present. Ina would have totally brought a present. At least Bobby won. But he should remember... It's not ALL about him, no matter how many food network shows he's on.

We also watched the new cake show with the guy in Baltimore who likes to blow stuff up. Like when he made a cake and shot firecrackers out of it and then everyone ate it. I was really looking forward to this show, but honestly? A bit disappointing. I mean, the people who work for him are funny, though his receptionist/manager? Dear God. I'd be afraid to order a cake from them just because she is THAT frightening. Very strict. His anal-retentive head sous-chef was pretty funny, though. I think I'd like to work all day on something like decorating a cake. Though the sous-chef was a little discombobulated to watch the people tear apart the cake he's spent HOURS on.

Mmmm... Leather pants...

So all this work has made my head tired. And I haven't finished two of the things I have to get done this week... OH well...

SB and I were talking last night when I came up with the perfect solution. I will get my parents to support me and then I'll spend a year "trying to find myself." Either that or I could win a grant that will pay me to do that. Either way. I think it's a good solution. Now I must iron out the pesky details, such as the fact that, as far as I know, there are no grants out there to "find yourself" and I don't know that my parents can really afford to support me up here. What with their new house and the addition and all. And I couldn't move home because my dad has sworn that I may never bring Cassie to that house. (He pretends to hate cats, when really he loves them and Cassie would so have him wrapped around her little paw in like five minutes.)

The whole "finding myself" thing reminds me of a past college plan. Jessie and I were going to go travel the world, looking for our motivation. Because we clearly hadnone. This trip was going to involve exotic locals, long leather jackets for us (because long leather jackets are totally badass), and an entourage of hot men wearing tight leather pants. I believe we may have even specified that the tight leather pants for the men needed to be red. Either way, it was going to be great. Hey, maybe there's a grant for that...

In slightly more serious news, I have decided that as an eventual escape plan, I'm going to go to grad school with the goal of starting next fall. I've even already registered for the GRE. In slightly more annoying news, my tutor from Oxford said he wouldn't write me a recommendation because my application would be stronger with a recommendation from someone who "was more familiar with [my] work." Liar. He just didn't want to do it. I met with him for over an hour every week for nearly three months, wrote him 7 papers, and he's not familiar with my work. Hmph. Damn Canadians... (Not really, I have nothing against the Canadians. They seem very nice.)

Where's Paula Deen when you need her?

This picture makes me smile every time I look at it. I love my kitty, who is the sweetest, cutest kitty in the world. If only she would cuddle more... I shall just have to teach her.

So, SB (Spyboy) and I went to a new restaurant last night for Restaurant Week. We were both... rather disappointed, although the sweet tea was splendid. We went to Indigo Landing, a Southern restaurant right on the Potomac near National Airport. The view was great, though the restaurant itself didn't foster the peaceful feeling the view produced. Inside, it was loud and echoed like mad. The staff was very friendly, although SB's drink frequently went unfilled. That's not THAT uncommon, since he drinks like a camel. The food was just okay. I mean, for $60 I expect pretty good. It was plentiful and I definitely left full, but... I had the chicken. It was supposed to be stuffed with a cheese fondue. It wasn't. It was barbequed, on the bone, and sitting on a mixture of overly small pieces of dark meat, vegetables, and frankly what tasted like Velveeta. SB got roast pork which he said was too dry, though the cornbread mixture that came with it was really good. Then I got pecan pie (or tart, rather) for dessert. It came with mint julep ice cream which was amazingly good. If you could freeze the essence of biting into a mint leave, that would pretty much be this ice cream. The pecan tart, though, was crap. The crust was dry and crumbly, and the filling was basically pecans with caramel so stiff, it made my jaw and teeth hurt. It just was not that good. So we've decided that next time we want to splurge on a meal, we'll just go all the way and go to 2941. Which honestly was one of the best meals I've had. EVER. With great atmosphere. So much more worth the money.

It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need to leave. Not the city, just the organization. And it's not even that I hate this organization. It's more that I don't feel as though it is advancing me at all toward something that will make me happy. I think about getting a raise or more responsibility and both would alleviate the situation, but it wouldn't be fixed. The fact is I'm ready to move on. The only real question now is how and to where.

Oh, the joys of the gym

Yesterday I returned to my gym after a three-week hiatus. It was a legitimate absence; I had to bond with Cassie her first week in my apartment, I then was in Boston or with my mom, and then Spyboy was out of town and I had no way to get from the gym to my apartment. Yes, I could go to my apartment and get my car, then head to the gym, but I won't leave my apartment after I get there and I know that. But yes. I returned, while still fighting illness and with a hurt back. I feel that deserves commendation. Anyways, after a short while of being there working out, I remembered why I hate people. And the gym. And people at the gym. First of all, I was annoyed to begin with. This jerk on the metro refused to move half an inch so that I could be more comfortable, THEN he quickly stole the only seat that opened up. Not that I needed to sit, but there were other people who were around who could have used that seat. It just wasn't gentlemanly. Then I get to the gym, quickly change, and get on my ellipse machine. Only to find out my battery has died in my gym mp3 player. (I use my pre-ipod player at the gym so I don't get my ipod all nasty.) Then this rather large man gets on the machine next to me. I don't mind because the gym is crowded and there are few open machines. What I do mind is him sticking his elbow out far enough that his sweaty elbow rubs mine. I don't know whether to be annoyed with him for taking up more than his allotted space (my elbow was carefully kept inside my space) or annoyed with the gym for only having like 6 inches between ellipse machines. It really is a bit precarious. I get a little worried everytime I get off that I'm going to be hit by a part of someone else's machine. I quickly shake this off, go stretch because my back hurts more, and then go to do weight machines. Now I only do three or four machines for my arms. There are two in particular that I like best. Both were taken so I wandered around, then hurried back when one opened up. While I was on that one, the other opened up and then was taken by this woman who did the slowest reps ever. So I wander around, do another machine, wander back to see a guy take over that machine. At this point, I'm a little weary of the wandering, so I plant myself firmly in front of the machine and stretch until he finishes his reps. As he starts to get up, this other large man starts hovering, clearly watching me out of the corner of his eye. I start to walk over to the machine, crossing the three feet between me and it and this sweaty, hovering, clearly has not been waiting because I just saw him get off the treadmill MAN slides in and takes the machines. At this point, I got pissed off and just left, calling him all sorts of rude names in my head (focusing on "asshat" for some reason), and declaring to myself that chivalry and courtesy is dead.*

THEN I get into the locker room. And there is annoying cell phone woman sitting across from my locker. Why is annoying cell phone woman annoying? Primarily because I don't like someone getting to the gym, immediately planting themself in front of a locker, and then conducting a really long, ridiculously personal conversation as if there is no better place to do such a thing. Meanwhile, I put away my stuff, go take a shower, and come back. She's still talking on the cell phone. So I get to be regaled by a description of her cell phone experiences (apparently she doesn't use enough minutes to justify her plan, but her cell phone carrier doesn't allow you to downgrade your plan without sending something in in writing) while dressing. It's not that big a deal... it's just irksome. Then Spyboy, who runs on SCT (Spyboy Central Time), was 20 minutes late. It did make me feel slightly better to hear that other people had declared that he had his own time zone (10-15 mins behind normal people). Which means, when he lived at home in Indiana, Indiana had 4 time zones. Which is just ridiculous.

Also this entertains me. Maybe I should get my mom to vote for him instead...

Lynn Truss would totally support me.

Here begins the series of Cassie pictures, in order to honor my coworker's request.

This weekend... well, this weekend kind of sucked, though my dinner on Friday was amazing. Sauteed asparagus with lemon and goat cheese has to be the best combination EVER. So easy and so delightful. Sigh. I wish I had some now... The rest of the weekend was spent, for the most part, sleeping. I had a relapse (or maybe a delayed reaction) to whatever I had earlier last week. It sucked. I got up both days, felt not great, but not horrible, and then after a few hours, I was about to die. Cassie was tolerant of it. She didn't like me sleeping in (she tends to meow to try and wake me up in the morning), but she napped when I napped and it all worked out. Saturday I did check out the neighborhood coffee shop, with their complementary wireless. Which is why you get updated pictures of Cassie. And soon of me as a child. I had forgotten how much being in a coffee shop relaxes me. Strange how that works. It was like as soon as I got there, I could just let go of some of the tension I was holding. There was a musician. He was... interesting. Not bad, but he talked a lot and that bothered me in the beginning.

Spyboy and I got into a spat (meaning I got annoyed and he pretended to be sorry while really feeling that I was annoyed over nothing but too afraid to actually tell me that) on Saturday. I still feel completely justified. He was just discourteous. See, I had called him on Friday night; he was out with his friends. So I told him to call me back whenever they got done and to have fun and we could chat later. He never calls that night. I sigh, but realize that communication is not his strong point and he probably got in late and figured I was already in bed. I also figured that he would at least call at some point in the day on Saturday. I'm not talking about a big phone call. I'm talking a three-minute, "I was thinking of you and wanted you to know I was okay, and I'll chat with you tonight" phone call. Nope. Nothing. I was starting to get worried. He called almost 24 hours to the minute after I had called him. I was a little annoyed. I also felt like crap. I was more annoyed when I realized that part of his day consisted of a 20-minute cell phone shenanegan to track down a friend he'd seen a few days earlier. He also had to drive all the way home from where he was visiting friends. I'm just saying these things to point out that he obviously could have spared me 3 minutes. So I told him I was flirting with the barista at the coffee shop. I know I'm mean, but I was cranky and sick and a bit hurt and recovering from slight worry and annoyance tied in with the worry, because nothing is more annoying than not knowing whether or not you have any reason to worry because your boyfriend could just not have called you back ever or he could be lying in a ditch or hospital somewhere and how would I know? Sigh. I would get annoyed again but I still don't feel well, he's been punished enough, and I have a Potbelly cookie to keep me happy. Seriously, their chocolate chip cookies are like the best.

ps. I'm not really insane, I just act like it occasionally.
pps. I'm lying, I am insane. Spyboy should know that by now, though, and compensate accordingly.

TMI, or why I don't want to know anything about "man juice"

So remember the wedding which I refused to call tacky, but plainly was? Apparently things have not stopped there. Now this is a couple who want to have kids like yesterday. And the groom at least was a virgin. I knew way too much about his sex life before he got married (non-existent for all real purposes) and about how he managed this (he didn't do ANYTHING). I could handle this knowledge. Really, I could. However. Spyboy saw them last weekend. Apparently a discussion was held on how the groom is not producing much during sex. Yes, that's right. They had a discussion on the volume of "man juice," as Spyboy and possible the lovely couple called it, the groom produces. It is a source of worry with them, what with the whole wanting to get knocked up asap. When Spyboy told me this? First word (and several words after) was Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww... Not something that really should be shared. Which, of course, is why I'm posting about it in a public forum. Then I came up with funny things to do about it. Like next time I see the groom, give him some apple juice, with the comment "I heard you were having a hard time creating your own juice, so here's some manufactored." It entertained me.

I also was reminded last night of how sweet Spyboy really can be (MUCH later, after the "man juice" comments). I was talking about Oxford and my doubts about being a Rhodes Scholar and whatnot and what kind of effect it would have on our relationship. He was quiet for a minute and then said, "hey, I'll just go over there and work in a pub." Actually, he pronounced it "poooob," thinking he was funny, but we'll overlook that. And later told me to go ahead and apply for it and we'll worry about all that stuff when I get it. It was just really sweet and reassuring. Sigh. Now if only I could get him to buy me flowers, I'd be set.

Oh, and my coworker has been nagging me to post more pictures of Cassie. So be prepared and don't blame me...

Working hard or hardly working

I feel like crap. I know, that's what my last post was on. But I feel even more like crap than before. And apparently my boss either doesn't believe that I or my coworker is actually sick or she doesn't care and wants us both here no matter what. If we are sick, it inconvienences her and that's all that really matters. Luckily, I look like crap, so I think it convinced her that the illness is real. Not that it matters. Yes, my coworker was out Monday and I was out yesterday. We probably got each other sick since our symptoms are the same. It's not like we were out partying or recovering from a hangover or anything. I, personally, spent most of the day yesterday either sleeping or sitting on the couch watching tv. I came into work today because I had stuff to do and I was sick of my apartment. Sigh.

Cassie has officially gone crazy. Either that, or she's a kitten. But man, she's nuts. I can't open the fridge now without her running inside. And it's not that she's interested. It's that she is bound and determined to get in there. She's started jumping in garbage cans. If I go in the kitchen, she's going to follow me and try and jump in the trash in there. She also tried to climb inside the dishwasher, an impressive feat since it was barely open and she had to hook her claws onto the wire rack and pull. This morning, she fell into the trash can beside my bed. She was playing on my night stand and I heard a thump, and there she was. Sitting inside the trash. I did get a box for her. She really likes the box. She carries around some of those little fake mice and throws them inside the box... it's a good time. I wish I were so easily amused... :-)

I wish I'd hurry up and get well. I have stuff to think about, decisions to make. And it's hard to do that when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep forever. For instance, do I really want to apply to be a Rhodes Scholar? I mean, I loved Oxford, but it'd probably mean leaving Spyboy for two years. And we've done teh long-distance thing to death. Would we even last if I went over there? And should I stay in the States for health reasons? Because I obviously don't deal well with stress and, while my term there was lovely, stress-free it was not. In fact, that was when the stabbing pain got to be the worst. If I don't go, where should I go to grad school? Do I want to go to grad school? What should I do for a career when I get out? I had the thought the other day that the last time I was happy, I mean for a while and consistently, was in college. Which was a couple of years ago. That's not to say that I'm unhappy now. I'm just... getting by, I guess. And that's not the way I want to live. What do I need to do to make myself happy?

family of family of family

My coworker is supposedly under the weather today as she is staying home. I would think she was making it up (she just got back from Italy, her boyfriend just moved in with her, she's not thrilled with her job, I can see a few good reasons to stay home), but I don't feel so hot either, so there very well could be something going around the office. What this means for me, though, is a very quiet day. It's just me and my supervisor in the office, plus Spyboy is at home in Indiana, so not much conversation will occur. Oh well.

This weekend was a good time, minus the not feeling great. My sister-in-law's brother lives in the area and he had an engagement party. So his family, whom I LOVE, and my brother and sister-in-law came into town for the party. I hadn't met his fiancee, so that was fun, too. I approve, not that my approval matters much. And my mom was here for other reasons (she was here taking craft classes), so she got to go, too. Which was nice for her since she might not get to go to the wedding. It's in December, she's a church organist, it can be hard to leave town then. But yes. The party was fun, although it ended with about an hour and a half of singing. Cheesy, I know, but it fits both families pretty well. And then they made me sing a solo. It was a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't refuse my brother's grandmother-in-law (she's like 80-something, going blind, and a really sweet woman) and the aunt of the bride. Who is Lebanese. This aunt is going to teach me how to Arabic dance at the wedding. I am SO excited. And she cracks me up. Like a combination of a character from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Paula Deen. She is one reason I always wanted to marry someone ethnic. I know that sounds strange, but my family is pretty traditional American. I would love to be a part of a family with a different culture.

In other news, I'm trying to decide what I want to do with my life. It's not going well...