This post only has 6...

For those of you who will miss me while I'm lying on the beach, drinking up rum and sun next week, I thought I'd give you a bit of food for thought. As a once-upon-a-time movieaholic, I was reading some reviews today, as well as the eulogy tribute Christopher Nolan wrote for Heath Ledger as I await the release of The Dark Knight, and stumbled upon this: The record number of times the F-Bomb has been dropped in a film.

That record belongs to a documentary film entitled “Fuck” about the origin and use of the word. Surprisingly enough the film has a “fuck count” of 8.86 “fucks” per minute of the 93 minute film. The honor of second place is currently held by the British comedy “Nil by Mouth” from 1997. In third is the Robert DeNiro starrer from director Martin Scorsese “Casino” which has a “fuck count” of 398.Here’s the list of films with the amount of times “Fuck” can be counted in each:

Fuck (2005) - 824
Nil by Mouth (1997) - 428
Casino (1995) - 398
Alpha Dog (2007) - 367
Twin Town (1997) - 318
Summer of Sam (1999) - 315
Running Scared (2006) - 315
Martin Lawrence Live: Runteldat (2002) - 311
Menace II Society (1993) - 300
Goodfellas (1990) - 300
Narc (2002) - 297
Harsh Times (2006) 296
Another Day in Paradise (1998) - 291
Made (2001) - 291
Dirty (2005) - 280
Jarhead (2005) - 278
Bully (2001) - 274
State Property 2 (2005) - 271
Reservoir Dogs (1992) - 269
Pulp Fiction (1994) - 265
The Big Lebowski (1998) - 260
Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001) - 248
Dead Presidents (1995) - 247
The Boondock Saints (1999) - 239
The Departed (2006) - 237
Empire (2002) - 236
True Romance (1993) - 234
State of Grace (1990) - 230
My Name Is Joe (1998) 230
Gridlock’d (1997) 227
The Devil’s Rejects (2005) - 224
Eddie Murphy Raw (1987) - 223
Suicide Kings (1997) - 222
Black and White (1999) - 215
American History X (1998) - 214
The Original Kings of Comedy (2000) 213
Layer Cake (2005) 210
Scarface (1983) 207
Spun (2002) 203
A Bronx Tale (1993) 200
Foolish (1999) 200
8 Mile (2002) 200
DysFunktional Family (2003) 200
I Got the Hook Up (1998) 197
Born on the Fourth of July (1989) - 196
Overnight (2003) - 191
Magnolia (1999) - 190
Monster (2003) - 187
Hustle and Flow (2005) - 186
Get Rich or Die Tryin’ (2005) 185
Formula 51 (2001) - 180
Flawless (1999) - 178
Superbad (2007) - 176
Poetic Justice (1993) - 175
Tigerland (2000) - 173
Bad Santa (2003) - 173
Donnie Brasco (1997) - 172
The Commitments (1991) - 169
Grindhouse (2007) - 169

[link to original web content here]

Teenage Wasteland

On my new route to work these days, I pass this little girl waiting for the bus. Some days, there's a large orange and white cat sunning itself next to her, or purring while she pets it. Judging by the time I drive by (approximately 8am), my guess is that she's in middle school... maybe 14 years old. She's a little bit of a bigger girl - certainly not "fat", but not rail-thin either - with thick, dark hair and glasses. Today when I drove by, she seemed sad. I'm not sure what gave me that impression... maybe it was the way she was carrying herself, or looking down at the ground. She reminded me of how excruciatingly painful that stage of life can be. I looked at her and thought of myself at that age, and I wondered if we ever know how we'll end up as adults. I was a painfully nerdy, awkward kid. Braces, glasses, I loved to read and play with animals... I don't know that I ever really thought I'd grow up to be the person I am today. I wonder if our parents see it in us - if we will one day see it in our own children... the glimmer of the potential human at the end of the long, awkward road.

I thought about the girl the whole way to work this morning. She seems tall for her age. My guess is that as she grows up, she'll lose her teenage awkwardness and become a pretty stunning young woman. If she survives middle school, that is. I wonder if these are the kinds of things our parents saw in us as we battled through our painful teenage years? More importantly, when she finally does become that person, what will she see when she looks in the mirror at 27, at 30? Will she see the woman she has become, or will she see herself at 14? I know there are many days when I still see the teenager, and often wonder how other people can possibly see anything else. Does that ever truly fade, I wonder?

Top 10 ...

Things That Piss Me Off In The Gym:

10) The old guy who talks incessantly at me from the other side of the room and insists on having the same conversation about how the world is going to hell every week.

9) Anyone who insists on watching Fox News.

8) Charlie, who sticks his head in the door to tell me I'm "wasting away to nothing" every single day.

7) The 'emergency stop' cord on the treadmill.

5) The super-skinny, gorgeous, friendly, 22 year old who runs 10 miles and doesn't break a sweat.

5) The 59 year old guy wearing jewelry who thinks he's a qualified personal trainer and tries to give me unsolicited advice.

4) Crappy satellite TV instead of normal cable.

3) The 59-year old guy's chain-smoking, whiny, fat, loud girlfriend/wife/sister who bitches (loudly) after every rep.

2) Your crappy music that I can hear from your headphones over all the machines AND CNN.

1) People staring at my chest and pretending like they're not - there are MIRRORS EVERWHERE, GUYS!

Ode to Buffy

more graph humor and song chart memes

Newsworthy

Check out this article from Salon.com.

That is all.

My goodness, my Guiness...

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and... everyone else... I present you with an ode to the summer before us and, by extension, our favorite pass time:

• 32 Things You Can Do With Beer

• Beer With Benefits

• 6 Tips for Cooking With Beer

Of course, after all of this fun, you might need to check out the following:

• Hangover Helpers

Now, if only they could do "32 Things to Do With Captain Morgan", I'd be in heaven. Bottoms up, everyone!

Jerks of the Internet

An article I stumbled upon on MSN today - I found it particularly relevant of late. This is the first paragraph of the article:

We've all run into obnoxious people on the Internet. But these are the kinds of idiots who make you feel like logging off permanently.

Scammers, stalkers, online antagonists ready to pick a fight, folks who are just plain mean -- what is it about the Web that turns people into jerks?

One expert says the anonymity of the Web makes everyone behave as if they were in Palm Beach in April. "Think about spring break, when people are feeling anonymous and acting in ways they wouldn't in their hometown, where they run into their neighbor," says Nicole Ellison, assistant professor of telecommunications, information studies and media at Michigan University. "People are less inhibited, and they then will engage in things they would want to do all the time but wouldn't normally because it would be frowned upon in their social circles."

A New York University study found that subjects were more likely to express their true selves on the Net rather than in face-to-face interaction. If that's the case, the stories we've collected here may make you despair for the state of humanity. Meet just a few of the Web's aggravating trolls and irritating idiots.

Glass houses are rarely bulletproof

Could someone please explain to me how an elected official who has founded his public persona on fighting corruption (and, ironically, busting prostitution rings in NYC) gets caught hiring a prostitute while in office and ALREADY under scrutiny?! [Never mind it was the day before Valentine's Day - try keeping it in your pants and renting some porn, buddy. Maybe send your gorgeous wife some flowers.] Seriously? Seriously. The guy's got a beautiful wife and three daughters, and he goes and does this? He's not some George W. Bush dipshit halfwit in need of a personal assistant to remind him to zip his fly - Spitzer has been gunning for the White House for quite some time, he's smart, and he's ruthless. This isn't something that was hiding in his closet either - something that happened 20 years ago that could be brushed off. It happened a month ago! Yeah, he's had a rough year, but for a guy who knows the processes, know what a federal investigation looks like, and knows what goes on in politics, wouldn't you think this could be the absolute dumbest thing he could do? As far as I'm concerned, there's only one possible explanation: extreme mental illness. Wait, there's one more: he actually was tired of being governor, and decided he'd rather resign in disgrace to become a full time stay-at-home dad.

Life's little ironies...

I came to a very important realization today:

Iced coffee is the most colossal rip-off on the planet. Think about it - they charge you almost a dollar more for HALF as much coffee. Basically, they're charging you more for... ICE. That, my friends, is bullshit.

Maybe they're better with lightbulbs...

Question: How many dumb, little blond 22-year olds does it take to give you a box with your name clearly marked on the front in black permanent marker and not the one marked "Board of Associates Supplies"?

Answer: Apparently more than 5.

This is a long one, folks...

Yesterday was faculty-advisor meeting day. I'll be finishing my Master's degree in May (thank GOD!), assuming I survive my internship and comprehensive exam, which means it's time to start thinking about The Next Step. Those are always the discussions that are pretty much guaranteed to give me anxiety. It means it's time to start thinking about where and what the next job will be, and most importantly, The Doctorate Decision (or TDD, as I've decided to nickname it). My advisor and I talked for a solid hour about whether or not the PhD would be the way to go. Of course, she thinks so. Any academic will tell you to go for it - after all, it's the one thing they've devoted their lives to. Not to encourage another 4 years of indentured servitude to academia would be a crime for those already a part of the clandestine few. Plus, if I want to move up in Higher Ed, it's gotta happen.

I know I'm good for it. It's not the work that intimidates me - academics have always come pretty easily to me. It's just the combination of the other issues that concern me. First off, it's a major commitment to several more years as a student, which I find a bit wearing. Second, finding a topic I care enough about to write an entire thesis on would be a challenge. Number three, however, is the big one. Often times, lately, I wonder if there's any point to the field of Higher Education and all of the work that we do as administrators. I've spent hours upon hours of the last 2 years of my life learning to be culturally competent, how to counsel and communicate effectively with students to teach them to, in turn, become culturally sensitive and competent people. But the more I interact with the average college student of 2008, the less I think we have an impact.

Today's college students are different than those I graduated with 5 years ago. The Millenial generation has given way to another breed of student that I'm not sure I can even comprehend, let alone foster growth in. The children of the late-cycle Baby Boomers are self-involved, self-important, and have zero social skills. Many of them don't understand the concepts of work ethic or compassion, respect or value. One might argue that, because everything they could possibly need is in their dorm rooms (fridge, plasma tv, high speed computer, cell phone, instant messenger, library interface) or can be delivered (pizza, laundry, and even online classes) they don't ever have to interact with another human being live-action. They view everything as negotiable. Americans like to pretend that college is about "getting a good education", but really, it's about "getting a good socialization". Teens might pick a school based on academics, but what they actually learn is how to be a productive person that lives in the world. When I pull up a mental image of today's college sophomore, sometimes I actually picture those little monsters from the Lamisil commercial, running around screaming


How am I supposed to be prepared to devote another 4 years of my life studying how to improve the educational and social environment for a bunch of 20 year old terrorists who care about nothing? I don't see college students protesting or advocating for change. I don't see them having debates about politics. I don't see them really engaging in anything more significant than Britney Spears'** latest antics or who was on American Idol last night. They live in a world of fast-cutting, transitory elements, and I feel like they have very, very, very little in touch with reality. I see almost nothing of my college self in them anymore. Maybe after (barely) surviving 8 years of George W. Bush's America - an America he stole - I've become incurably cynical. I'm not sure if this is the case, but at any rate, I have serious doubts as to whether or not this population is worth investing anther 4 years of my life into. I don't know who to blame for them - parents? George Bush? Bill Clinton? The pop-music phenomena? TMZ? - but I do know that I have very serious reservations about what happens when they grow up to be in charge of the development of others.

Is this a person who really should be going for a Doctorate in educational administration and psychology - someone whose faith in the process is quickly waning? Maybe I should switch it up and go to Vet Tech school instead. Dogs and cats still have some humanity left in them. Now isn't that ironic?

** This front-page article in the latest issue of Rolling Stone titled "The Tragedy of Britney Spears" was something I found really interesting in relation to the phenomenon of today's societal values.

Should I Call it the "WC" Instead?

I just realized that the email address of a coworker who I absolutely can not stand rhymes with the word "toilet". This discovery made my day marginally more amusing, especially since there's not much of a difference between sending an email to her and sending one right down the crapper.

If He Can Do It, Anyone Can!

While I'm at work, determining the fate of various transfer students, I often listen to online radio through my computer. I find it keeps me motivated and in a better mood, which is a good thing for the aforementioned potential future students. I have general guidelines for my preferred selection: it has to be background music, something rock-y but mellow, unoffensive volume-wise, and generally enjoyable. I tend to gravitate towards the Coffeehouse station on Yahoo Launch, which tends to play the Jack Johnson, Norah Jones, singer-songwriter types.

Yet there are certain artists, despite my attempt to tell Yahoo to never play again by clicking the "never play this again" box (and this is a major pet peeve of mine) that continue to resurface, despite my best intentions. Brett Dennen is one of those artists. This might sound harsh, but I really fucking hate Brett Dennen. Why do I hate him so much, you ask? Well, it all started with the fact that his voice sucks, and culminates with the fact that he pronounces the word "free" "fweee". 3-year olds speak that way. It's an "r" buddy - learn the damn alphabet! And I hate his hats. Plus, his lyrics are petulant, insipid and infuriating. Dear Yahoo Launch: please stop playing Brett Dennen. And Beth Orton. And Sarah McLaughlin. And Mo-Zella, whatever or whoever that might be. Oh and especially James Blunt. Jazon Mraz is fine. Thank You.

Parting Words to Mr. Anonymous

Duke, huh? Let me guess... with that kind of vocabulary... you're there on a lacrosse scholarship. Am I right? And for the record, you called me a "dyke" the first time you visited my blog, uninvited and unsolicited. I'd say you threw the first punch.

I won't be responding to you again.

Survey Says...

Christina Aguilera's boobs - real or fake? Discuss.

February Blues

I am ready for winter to be over.

I'm sick of slush. I'm sick of snow. I'm sick of feeling like my skin is so dry and tight it's going to peel right off. I'm sick of this hacking cough I've had for 3 weeks. I want to run outside again, finishing up as the sun sets, watching the world turn red and gold. I want to wake up in daylight, sit on my balcony drinking my first cup of coffee, watching the neighbors stroll by with their dogs. I want to leave the house with less than 3 layers of clothes on. I want to see leaves on the trees, vibrantly-colored flowers, music in the air and the smell of charcoal on the breeze. I want to wear skirts and flip-flops.

The one comforting thing about living in the Northeast is that, despite the desolate brown of winter... you know there's an end in sight. One day, probably in late March, I'll roll out of bed, and it will all be here. The birds, the leaves, the sunlight, the warmth. Life will return to my little corner of the world, and happiness will be restored. At the end of February, however, that moment often seems all too far away.

That being said... I don't think I could live in a place without seasons. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I'm fairly certain I wouldn't love summer half as much if I didn't have winter's misery to compare it to.

Life Lessons

This is why NCLB is a terrible thing:

"i was bored and i like reading. u should try it 2 better ur writing. u deleted my comments? y? thaz sad. u must really B a fat dyke if it bothered u that much."

How many problems can you find with this comment from someone who can't be bothered to spell out entire words? Shockingly, this gem of a human being (I use the term loosely) doesn't actually have his own blog. And at what point in our education system have we allowed text message and instant messenger shorthand to become an acceptable mode of formal communication? Good luck in junior college, kiddo - try not to fail English comp more than twice.

A few other things, douchebag (I was trying really hard to refrain from name calling, but a girl can only handle so many uses of the word "dyke" - at least switch it up and me a lesbian or queer or something): My picture is on the right of your screen, and my NAME is next to it. Maybe you should use your brain before you start spewing filth. At least "crayon dicked lard-ass" shows some creativity. But don't worry too much, honey - keep working hard at being a disgusting human being, and someday you'll be the manager of your very own Taco Bell!!

She Really Is Evil!

Since my re-entrance to the blogsphere, I've had some catching up to do. I noticed this morning that Segue posted an entry on The Dayton Underground at the end of December and I swear, he must have been talking about my cat...

I've Been Called Worse

To the 'anonymous' moron who found it entertaining to make nasty comments on my blog yesterday because he clearly has nothing better to do (and good grief, how bored were you that you went that far back?):

Either go away, or try upping the level of discourse a bit. Considering the fact that intelligence seems to be of premium concern to you, calling people "fat dykes" (of which I am neither, but thanks for the effort) is a pretty neanderthal response, wouldn't you think? Go find someone else's blog to anoint with your pearls of infinite wisdom. Here, they will be deleted. Better yet, why don't you let me read your blog for a while?

An Open Letter

Dear Student,

If you can't say your name intelligibly on my voice mail - and I've listened to it 4 times in an effort to comprehend your message - I'm not calling you back. Realistically, what do you expect me to do? "Hi, this is Becky calling from the College. Someone with an inscrutable name from this number - I think it was this number, but I'm not sure, because that was kind of jumbled too - left me a voice mail, so I'm just going to talk to you, whoever you are that picks up the phone." No, I don't think so. With any luck, I'll get your 12 year old little sister who wants to tell me about her Barbie Playtime Palace. You have now wasted 3 minutes of my day that could have been productive. In fact, you wasted 10, because you aggravated me so much that I had to take approximately 7 minutes to blog about it. That is all.

Sincerely,
Your Devoted Registrar

They Have Pink Martinis On Them!

Full Disclosure: Sometimes in the winter, I like to sit in my office in my bare socks for as long as I can get away with it in the morning instead of putting on my big girl shoes. It's not like anyone sees me in my little hole. Or cares.

It's A Jungle Out There...

A cautionary tale of the pitfalls of online dating below...

Don't believe your mother - even Jewish guys can be creepy!

Warning: Don't Try This At Home!

Do you suppose it says something about the society we live in when, a commercial showing a woman steam rolling over her old washing machine so she can buy a shiny new one, has to include a disclaimer at the bottom of the screen that states, "do not attempt"? Seriously - what? I guess it speaks to the same litigious obsession of Americans that forced McDonald's to put a disclaimer on their coffee that says, "caution: this beverage is extremely hot"... but still. This, to me, seems even MORE ridiculous. I mean... where am I even going to GET a giant slingshot machine or bulldozer to destroy my old washer, and even if I could... that girl in the commercial looks way hotter than I would doing it, anyway. I'd be grunting and sweating, and she's standing around filing her nails in a designer red dress. Plus, I don't even have enough quarters (at a buck 25 a load!) to do coin-operated laundry this weekend - I can't afford your fucking washing machine anyway. Don't you know we're heading into a recession, LG? How dare you! I'm gonna go back to selling my kidney on Ebay to afford my rent next month...

You Mean Vegetables Don't Always Come Out of a Can?

I'm on a new health and fitness kick. I'm bound and determined to get myself back in shape, feeling good and looking at least ALMOST as non-repulsive as I'd like to in a bikini by the time the weather warms up. In the past 6 months, I've been eating more organic foods, paying more attention to things like vitamins, whole grains, fiber and all that stuff... and I've managed to stumble on a few resources to help me out. While I can't credit all of this motivation purely to my own higher level of consciousness, I've found that knowing and sharing is half the battle. If you have even a passing interest in any of this information, here are a few links that I've found particularly helpful in my new resolve:

The Daily Plate - Here you can basically keep your own food and exercise journal online, see where you're going and where you've been.

Eat Better America - Lots of recipes, fitness, health and diet information.

Grist - Environmental news, humor, resources and information. You can discover how to live, eat and even vote more Green.

Cranky Fitness - A Blogger with a refreshingly sarcastic approach.

Whether you look at this an laugh or take a peek... at least I'm doing my part to pass on the good mojo. May it inspire you as well if you happen to be looking for inspiration.

Have Your Cake... And Sweat It Out Too!

Birthday Observation: It takes a lot longer to burn off cake and ice cream than it does to eat it.

Dear John

Dear Grossly Under-Qualified Transfer Student,

I understand that you're confused - transferring to the particular institution that I work for is a complicated process. Transferring to any institution is usually a bit of a process. I'm doing my best to change that, and one day when I rule the world, it will be easy as pie. Today, however, is not that day. I also understand that your confusion isn't entirely my fault. According to the essays, transcripts, grade reports, and letters that make up your application packet, you're a bit of a moron. If I were in charge, you most likely wouldn't have been accepted to the rigorous program you've chosen, let alone a 4-year college of any kind... but the institution I work for is tuition-driven, and sometimes that's reflected in the caliber of student we continue to bring in the week before classes start. It's also reflected in the quality of student that decides to apply the week before classes start. In my experience, the future neurosurgeons aren't the ones applying on January 8th when classes start the 12th. Because of all of these things, I'm begging you to stop asking me the same questions over and over again. I can explain procedures, policies and requirements until I'm blue in the face... you simply lack the brain capacity to comprehend the content of the response. It would really save both of us quite a bit of time and frustration if you just... stopped talking.

Thank You,
The Blogger

Black Hole Sun

In my city, there's a bar. It's a bar that any and all of the local regulars know well - so well, in fact, that it has at least half a dozen nicknames, so recognizable that a passing stranger on the sidewalk would know where you were headed if you happened to mention any of them. Everyone you meet, either native or transplanted to this city, knows this particular watering hole, and everyone has a story to go along with it. These stories usually involve some degree of nudity, projectile vomit, sexual indiscretion, extreme overindulgence, minor or major physical damage, complete blackout, or a volatile combination of the above. A local musician actually made headlines not long ago after being hit by a car crossing the street in front of this magical mystery land, thankfully "only" breaking a leg (you'd think at this point, motorists would avoid driving anywhere nearby Thursday through Sunday). Because of this startling similarity among patrons, I've come to think of it not as a bar, but as The Black Hole of afterhour activities. I now almost exclusively refer to it as The Black Hole.

I'm guessing every city, town, and oasis has just such a place. What makes this particular bar, unlike dozens and dozens of others, the one with the reputation? What is it about this place that makes it such a powder keg of sin? Is it the location? The lighting? The pool table and dartboard? The back alley, perfect for sneaking a drag on a cigarette, hidden from the eyes of a disapproving lover, brother, or friend? Do the surly bartenders, crappy jukebox, or never ending supply of popcorn make a difference? Is it just dark enough, just loud enough, just warm enough that the urge to misbehave or cross the line flows without hesitance? Or is it just that it's a tantalizing short cab ride and no-cover charge away from oblivion?

Summer Would Be Boring If It Were All Year Round...

My last blog was about 7 months ago. There's really no excuse for this. I guess it's a normal part of the human process... different periods of our lives require different means of analysis. I've always used the written word as a way of disseminating and dissecting the pieces of my life, in an effort to understand and reassemble them in a manner that makes more sense. But I think, maybe, every once in a while... it's okay to take some time off from self-examination. Sometimes you need to stop thinking about living your life and just live it. I've made mistakes and changes. I've made new friends, lost touch with old ones, taught myself how to cook (a little bit) and tried new things. Not all of this has been successful, not all of my choices were the right ones... but they were mine.

Life is a journey, and there's a long path to be hiked. We can't realistically expect ourselves to never change, never grow, never evolve. As people, we tend to view change as a negative thing - change is bad. But the truth is, change is... change. And change is scary, because it involves the unknown. But without change, there would be no growth, no evolution, no Darwinism. Often, change enriches our lives instead of detracting from them. The trick is taking the time to let the cards fall and figure out which direction it's got us heading towards.

Arbor Day Is Safe

Dear Friends,

It has become increasingly clear to me lately that we need to have a little discussion about religious holidays and proper celebratory etiquette. The majority of you are aware by now that I like to classify myself as a "non-practicing Jew". This means that I was raised in a Jewish household, have a Jewish heritage, have been forced to participate in Sunday School and Hebrew School, and have even been Bat-Mitzvah-ed. In terms of my personal religious beliefs, however, I'm more of a "practicing Agnostic" (if one could say that Agnostics actually "practice" anything other than the act of ambivalence).

I don't necessarily buy the whole concept of religion as a whole in ANY form. This, however, does NOT mean I am Christian. Non-practicing Jew does NOT equal "Christian by default". Just because I don't buy into my own religion doesn't mean I want your New Testament. If I did, you'd know it. Christmas for me is like celebrating John Lennon's birthday - a kind of famous guy was born, cool... but it has no application or personal significance to me. Wishing me a Happy Easter is the equivalent of extending your best wishes on the day Kurt Cobain died. A kind-of tortured pop culture icon died, but I was never that into Nirvana anyway so I don't really care. Such is my personal interpretation of Jesus.

Do you know what I do on these holidays? I rent movies and hang out with my cat, or maybe call Mom and joke about how we get the day off to do nothing, but at least we don't have to get stuck in traffic. I find it really, really ignorant when my Christian friends wish me a Merry Christmas or Happy Easter. I don't go around screaming "Mozel Tov!" at you guys on Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashonnah - do you even know what Purim IS? I keep it to myself, aware that you may not be actively observing MY holidays (or non-holidays, since I don't really observe them either). So I'd appreciate it if you keep your religious holidays to yourselves. I don't begrudge you your celebrations, nor do I run commentary on what I think of them... but I find it extremely small minded for those of you who know me well to assume that I spend your holidays reflecting on a religious custom I don't believe in. Just because I joke that I'm a "Bad Jew" doesn't mean I'm automatically Catholic or Protestant, Baptist or Methodist, defaulting to a religion I find even harder to swallow than the one I was environmentally conditioned to believe in.

I get that strangers automatically assume that everyone around them engages in similar holiday reflection, so most of the time I disregard the "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Easter!" from a grocery store cashier, pharmacist, or toll collector as an endearment of the season. But if you're someone who knows me well, or even ATTENDED my Bat Mitzvah... please spare me. Show just a little bit of sensitivity? How about you consider that my Easter present?

Glory Is...

"A lot of people run a race to see who's fastest. I run to see who has the most guts." --Steve Prefontaine

Days 'til the Delmar Dash: 6
Day's 'til the Mule Haul : 83
Days 'til the Boilermaker: 104

So You Want To Go To College?

It's 6:30, and I'm still at the College, where I'll be at least until 10 tonight. Sometimes, I feel like I really do live here... and it's more or less the truth. I come in early, I leave late, I'm in class 2 nights a week doing more of the same, and on Thursdays I stay for the extra hour between the end of work and beginning of class just because it's easier than going home. When I DO go home, I always have reading or homework to do. I swear, sometimes I feel like Higher Ed is my entire existence, from start to finish. I don't hate my job, or my career path, or being a part of this unique experience, but on occasion I just get so worn out and tired. I wish I could just take off for a while... drive across the country, move to Hawaii, become a writer... shake it up and do something different. But... I guess that's not what we do these days, right? Maybe some day.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The ...

This past Thursday, I took my dad to have a procedure that should fix his hearing in one ear. It was an outpatient thing at a private clinic, not a hospital, in Latham. Since he was going to be put under general anesthesia, someone needed to drive him and be there to pick him up. We pulled into the clinic, parked the car, and walked in the front door (or what appeared to be the front door). There was a group of women in the waiting room having some kind of meeting, the carpets were red and the walls were pink - it seemed kind of surprisingly warm and friendly to me. As we walked up to the front desk, one woman left the group and came to help us, mentioning that they were just finishing their morning staff meeting. She looked directly at me, and asked what she could do for us. I smiled, and pointed at my dad saying, "Oh, we're here for him," and Dad proceeded to tell her he was there for his 9am appointment. She looked at us kind of funny and went to find his file. As she walked away, I noticed a booklet on the counter discussing the pros and cons of breast reduction surgery, which I loudly pointed out to my father saying, "Look, I could really use THIS!" and we chuckled. After a moment or two, the receptionist asked Dad the name of his surgeon. When he answered, she smiled and told us we were in the wrong part of the building. It appeared we had accidentally wandered into the breast reduction and Botox clinic... the audiology center was around back. We smiled, thanked her, and got out of there as fast as humanly possible. Once we got back in the car, we both dissolved into absolute hysterics... and then my dad asked me if I had managed to grab a brochure.

Only *I* would bring my father to a breast reduction clinic... and only *my* father would ask me if I'd remembered to get a flyer.

Old Man Winter Is On My List

I hate the winter. This year, it's been unseasonably mild here in the Northeast right up until... about a week ago. Last Saturday, I even ran my first 4.4 mile race in 40 degree weather. Alas, the winds of change have swept through - literally; it's so windy outside today that someone's car alarm went off. I've been able to ignore how much I really loathe being cold and shivery, wondering why the hell I still live in a place where half the year makes me want to kill myself, until this week. I forgot how hard it is to get out of bed in mid-January... I probably wouldn't even be up now, if my cat hadn't started doing suicide dive-bombs off my bureau onto my head at 7 this morning. Winter just sucks. I will never understand people who would rather be cold than hot... I'm such a summer person. Long days, green grass, leisurely strolls, drinks with umbrellas in them... THAT'S the life, right there. New York anywhere from January through March is absolute hell. But New York, anywhere from June through October, is one gorgeous place. North of Manhattan, that is. Manhattan in the summer is a fucking sewage pit.

Heads Up, Guys

Gentlemen, take note. If you need a few pointers to improve your relations with the ladies, this MSN article is there to help. I'm not quite sure that I've ever actually seen two guys perform a chest-bump in front of me, but I'd imagine that once would be plenty...

C is for Cookie...

A student left me a message today, (on my birthday, after the most painful transfer advisement I've ever encountered) wanting to negotiate her math credits transferring in for NEXT fall from a community college. They're not coming in. She doesn't understand why. Would it be wrong if I called her and said, "Because MAT 004 and MAT 005 - 'Cookie Monster Teaches The Numberline' is not college-fucking level algebra!!!"? That would be wrong. Right?

Does Anyone Have a Garbage Can?

On occasion, people make me want to vomit.

102 and Rising

I do apologize, everyone. I really have been bloggeruseless of late. Not that it's an excuse, but I seem to have hit a period of transition in life that has kept me rather busy. I love every moment of my new status as an apartment-dweller, but seeing as how I'm too poor to afford the Internet, it cuts down on my ability to blog at will. Also in recent months, I have somehow stumbled into a new position at work (I say "somehow" like I didn't get on the floor and beg for it) that involves an almost-liveable wage and actual, grown-up responsibilities that don't involve being verbally abused on the phone for hours on end. Because I have actual work to do, I am now forced to do things like homework for class outside of my normal 8-5 day, decreasing the amount of free time I have available for witty reparte.

Having said this, I miss you all. In brief review... I was thrilled about the November elections, and can't say the tiny optimist left in me didn't hope it was coming (if you call screaming, "fuck the Republicans!" in your head "optimistic"). The Baker Hamilton Commission is right, but I could have made those recommendations 2 years ago. I still hate Britney Spears, and I found her departure and quick return to skankdom less than surprising. Barak Obama is fabulous. I hope they make a poignant, touching movie about James Kim, who walked 16 miles in the snow to save his family. I've developed a weird fascination with the WE channel, and I'm pretty sure a pod person has taken over my body - I asked for a mixer (like, for baking) for Channukah.

By the way, I'm on the way to the doctor's office so that I can get medication for this very bad head cold I've developed. Anything I've said here today is inadmissible in court as the rantings of a feverish lunatic.

Decision 2006

I miss Tom Brokaw. And Peter Jennings.

Rot in Hell, Bill O'Reilly

Did anyone see Letterman on Friday? If not, here's a quick synopsis. This is why David Letterman is awesome and Bill O'Reilly should drop off the planet. He was on Oprah on Friday as well, which I listened to while cleaning my apartment and doing laundry. I'm pretty sure I yelled, "rot in hell and die!" at the tv at least 6 or 7 times, like a kid with tourette's. The fact that Oprah would even bring a conservative, misogynist asshole like him on her show disappoints me. I've decided he's up in my Top 10 Republicans Who Should Vanish list.

Explosive Combination

I'm looking up punch recipes. WHY do people think it's okay to mix vodka and beer? In the same bowl? This is NOT ACCEPTABLE, people!

QAD 10/11/06

What can you ever really know of other people's souls - of
their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles?
One soul in the whole creation you do know: and it is the
only one whose fate is placed in your hands.
--C.S. Lewis

Wag The... What?

I saw a terrible movie (for free) the other night. Employee of the Month. Now, I'm a Dane Cook fan most of the time. I enjoy his comedy, he makes me laugh, and it's fun in general to watch people get hurt. The prominent players in this particular piece of film making are Dane, Andy Dick, Jessica Simpson, Dax Shepard and the guy who played Pedro in Napoleon Dynamite. Clearly a cast with a range. The jokes and sight gags were funny, though the script was awful (and I'm not being a movie snob... remember, I loved Dude Where's My Car).

My beef here is that the writers put a Glengarry Glen Ross reference, pretty blatantly, in the movie. Talk about a waste of an excellent reference to both a great play (yes people, it was a play first) and a great movie with an awesome cast. How can you actually put that in the movie and expect the viewers (the 2 in the audience who actually GET it, that is) not to compare Dax, Dane and Andy to Al Pacino, Kevin Spacey, and Jack Lemmon? Let us take a moment and picture the way the conversation between the head writer and... say... Jessica Simpson went. "Yeah, I'm going to reference David Mamet... you know, the guy who wrote Wag the Dog? No? the Untouchables? No? State and Main? No? Joan of Bark:The Dog Who Saved France? YES! YES! THAT'S the guy!"

Comeback Bill

If only Bill Clinton would return to us as President, how happy I would be...

QAD 9/22/06

The deepest craving of human nature is the need to
be appreciated.
--William James

QAD 9/13/06

Whatever we expect with confidence becomes our own
self-fulfilling prophecy.
--Brian Tracy

We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not
by mechanical aid, but by an infinite expectation of
the dawn.
--Henry David Thoreau


I'm sad today.

Give Me a Break

The world we live in really concerns me when one of the top stories on the news this morning was, "Lindsay Lohan loses her purse at Heathrow Airport!" Maybe if she could bother to carry her own shit, this wouldn't be a late-breaking 'news' story. Oh, to be back in college discussing the state of the media today...

QAD 9/6/06

If I were asked ... to what the singular prosperity and
growing strength of Americans ought mainly to be
attributed, I should reply: To the superiority of
their women.
--Alexis de Tocqueville

An army of principles can penetrate where an army of
soldiers cannot.
--Thomas Paine

War is not the continuation of politics with different
means, it is the greatest mass-crime perpetrated on the
community of man.
--Alfred Adler

Education is not the filling of a pail,
but the lighting of a fire.
--Wiliam Butler Yeats

Peace is constructed, not fought for.
--Brent Davis

Hiding from Evil

Casey: i saw him at the mall sun.
Casey: didnt say hi
Casey: on purpose
Me: ooooh
Me: you're a badass
Casey: i dodged
Me: did you hide?
Me: like duck behind a garbage can?
Casey: ducked behind a rack at forever 21
Me: that's awesome

Grave Digger

I've been hearing quite a bit about Forbes article that some pigheaded moron (Michael Noer) wrote recently about the evils of marrying career women, so I finally decided today [while cementing my position in the land of indentured servitude by being forced to work 6 hours on a Saturday] to take a look at it. First of all, I think the definition Mr. Noer has placed on the term "career girl (not woman)" is offensive. Never mind the "girl" clause, but his definition is, "A career girl has a university-level (or higher) education, works more than 35 hours a week outside the home and makes more than $30,000 a year." I'm sorry, but in her mid-20s or higher, it's appalling that a man thinks that 30k and 35 hours a week is anywhere NEAR slaving away at a high-powered position. In today's global economy, 30k for a woman with a 4-year college education is barely enough to pay the rent and put food on the table for herself, never mind a family. It's practically an un-liveable salary in our nation's largest cities. We're also lucky if any job finds a 35 hour work week acceptable... this coming from a woman who has worked a total of just about 50 hours this week alone.

In the broader sense, I think this article brings to light some serious problems with regards to the way our patriarchial society pigeonholes women into 'acceptable' and 'unacceptable' modes of behavior. The "career girls" that Michael Noer is criticizing are doing nothing more than what society has pressured them to do for decades - be JUST LIKE MEN. "You throw like a girl," and "why are girls so sensitive? Why can't you be more like us?" are phrases we hear every day of our lives. So what have we done? In our effort to "please our men", we've gone ahead and done exactly that. They say immitation is the highest form of flattery. If so, why are men suddenly so vocal about their complaints? It's ok for men to be disgusting pigs around the house, it's socially acceptable (or at least understood) that busy "career men" have affairs at the office, it's alright if they don't want children, and they get a carte-blanche for behaviors that basically amount to inexcuseable in women. Is it really the women and their behaviors that Noer has a problem with here? I tend to wonder if it's not the fact that, when a mirror image of 'acceptable' male behavior is held up, they find that they don't much like what they see. If your expectations for women are held to such a high standard of excellence, maybe the critical lens needs to be turned inward. After all, Mr. Noer, you should be flattered - we're simply following in your footsteps. We want to be just like you. What part of that do you have such a problem with?

QAD 8/18/06

To love. To be loved. To never forget your own
insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable
violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you.

To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty
to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or
complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never
power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand.
To never look away. And never, never, to forget.
--Arundhati Roy

In this war – as in others – I am less interested in
honoring the dead than in preventing the dead.
--Butler Shaffer

FYI

Just for the record...

Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, ever call me and ask for your student ID and PIN number... and then tell me you don't have a pen. This is unacceptable. I am fully aware that I am experiencing hormone-induced rage blackouts, but that is just ridiculous, infantile bullshit. If you are calling an institution with the specific purpose of obtaining a series of 15 non-sequential numbers that serve the purpose of identification, unless you have some kind of verbal photographic memory, PICK UP A FUCKING PEN!

Take Note

I saw this on MSN and thought it was amusing.

1. Remember in old movies when women used to swoon and "take to the bed" for days at a time? That never happens. We're stronger than that. That being said, if we ever decide to "take to the bed" for days at a time, there's not a thing you can do about it.

2. Sometimes we think we really understand men. Then we regain consciousness.

3. Superskinny women really irritate us. We hate when they say, "Sometimes I just forget to eat." Now, I've forgotten my anniversary and where I parked my car. But I've never forgotten to eat.

4. We do like to have sex, just not at midnight when we have to get up at the crack of dawn to feed two kids, three dogs, and a pair of fat goldfish.

5. We'll gladly agree to stop complaining about our "time of the month" if men will kindly take over the little chores of childbearing, morning sickness, and postpartum emotional swings. Deal?

6. Women really do want to be on time. It's just that everything starts so darned early.

7. We know high heels are sexy, but we'll take our comfy black Uggs any day of the week.

8. Homespun wisdom from someone who knows: Just because we're southern belles doesn't mean we have bats in our belfries.

9. We really do like to cook. It's just that we cooked so much for our boyfriends before we got married that we're sick of being in the kitchen. Sorry you missed it.

10. Men are free to think they're the boss, as long as they know we're the chairman of the board.

You know you're an addict when...

On Sunday, I had my first shopping experience at my new local grocery store. I made the grave mistake of doing this ON a Sunday, as everyone knows this is optimal Kamikaze-Soccer-Mom shopping time. Needless to say, I was rather overwhelmed and under-caffeinated, so I did a less than stellar job. I've been back to the grocery store every single day since, picking up things I'd forgotten or given up on. I've also been feeling a bit off this week, and until last night unable to figure out why. I've had horrendous headaches and been feeling exhausted, as well as near tears. I've downed nearly a whole bottle of Advil, and even a few Excedrin to dull the pain. Last night, I was getting ready to set up my coffee maker for the morning. I pulled my new bag of Green Mountain French Vanilla out of the fridge... and that's when I saw it. The answer to all of my problems for the last 4 days. It was a sticker. A simple, small, burnt-orange sticker... with one very important word on it. That word, my friends, was... (brace yourself...) "DECAFFEINATED".

I'VE BEEN DRINKING DECAF FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK! No wonder my life has been so fucking miserable! I quickly rectified the situation this morning, stopping at good ol' Dunkin Donuts for a big, hot, delicious, CAFFEINATED beverage... and grabbed a bag of grounds while I was at it. Which I inspected for the evil sticker. Twice.

Mommy, wow!

After carrying about 30 boxes, sweating off 4lbs, bruising every inch of my body, pulling all of the muscles in my back and arms and stubbing all of my toes, I can finally say that I am almost completely moved into my new apartment. Today I fell asleep on my new couch while waiting for the cable guy. I take this to be a good sign. The best part? I did it all on my own. Who needs a man when you've got... biceps?

Should it be of any concern that I had martini glasses moved in almost a week before the furniture?

Palm Beach PD Saves the Planet!

This is JUST what the world needs: Limbaugh Loose With Viagra

Honestly, I'm not sure this is anyone I can think of that would be more appalling to be running around Florida with a permanent stiffy. Except for maybe Pat Robertson.

This Is Why I Love the Dixie Chicks

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s to late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

~Not Ready to Make Nice

Cheery Friday

I am in a certifiably foul mood today about life, the world, politics, the lack of universal health care, the environment, flag burning amendments, the weather, the fit of my pants, my shitty plans for the weekend, my new cheap sunglesses, and the bruise I have on my left thigh. Just to bring everyone around me down to my level, check out this fabulous blog a friend sent me the other day.

QAD 6/23/06

Life may have no meaning. Or even worse, it may have a
meaning of which I disapprove.
-- Ashleigh Brilliant

Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make
violent revolution inevitable.
--John F. Kennedy

In joining battle, seek the quick victory. If battle is
protracted, your weapons will be blunted and your troops
demoralized. If you lay siege to a walled city, you
exhaust your strength. If your armies are kept in the
field for a long time, your national reserves will not
suffice. Where you have blunted your weapons, demoral-
ized your troops, exhausted your strength and depleted
all available resources, the neighboring rulers will
take advantage of your adversity to strike. And even
with the wisest of counsel, you will not be able to turn
the ensuing consequences to the good. There never has
been a state that has benefited from an extended war.
--Sun Tzu

Sympathy

Casey's text message from the other day:

"Maybe they should change your job title to 'Everyone's Bitch'."

B-A-N-A-N-A-S

Casey: there was this group last night that came in to the Muddy Cup and rapped
it was 5 young white guys - they called themselves "the crunk masters of the universe"
they all thought they were Eminem - but their lyrics were basically spelling out "crunk masters of the universe"- over and over again
Casey: in the style of "go bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s
Casey: the crunk masters of the universe!
Casey: c-r-u-n-k-m-a-s-t-e-r-s-o-f-t-h-e-u-n-i-v-e-r-s-e
Casey: over and over again - five of them in unison
Me: well, y'know
Me: that takes talent!
Casey: my friend goes, you know, i bet they started as a rap group with three guys, and then one day they're all sitting around and they say "you know what we need? two more rappers!"

[If you find this hard to believe, they have a website - check out Crunk Masters of the Univerise, and their exciting feature song, "Where the Titties At" - sure to be a big hit. Feel free to leave them a comment and let them know how offensive they are.]

Becky's Batty

There is a very good chance that I'll be bringing a baseball bat to work tomorrow. Maybe the visual image and physical reminder of impending violence will make my bat-brained students pay attention to the very explicit, detailed, and uncompromising instructions I give them on a regular basis. For example, if I say, "Return this form with the signatures on it no later than 6pm today. If you do not return this form by that time, it will not be accepted," do not leave it here without your name on it, after 7pm, missing your advisor's signature and expect that form to be processed.. What part of my VERY SIMPLE instructions did you not understand?

I'm telling you, tomorrow I'm bringing a weapon.

The Old Maid

Getting old(er) sucks. I was reminded of this at the gym today. I haven't been to the gym in a while (I've been running outside), so maybe that was part of my jarring return to reality.

While I was working out, there was this teenage girl, maybe about 14 years old, on the treadmill. She was a smaller girl, running along for about 20 minutes. She had skinny little arms and legs, and was wearing cheap sneakers that looked like Keds you'd buy at WalMart. No water bottle, no towel, nothing fancy. All I could think was, "how can she run in shoes like that?" and, "God, I can't even remember when my arms were that skinny." She got off the treadmill and walked away, not sweating too hard, not breathing particularly rough. When I run these days, I sweat like a pig, I breathe hard, my face turns purple, and my ass jiggles. I can feel it jiggle, and I don't even have a big ass! I have NO ass, yet it jiggles with every step! I can't run in fucking Keds - my ankles and knees can't handle it. I have to buy fancy-ass expensive Adidas so I don't strain something. I have to make sure I stretch and drink water, otherwise I can't walk for three days, and I have to ice my knee every time I run. I was elated today when I was able to go down the stairs after my 2 miles without any pain in my knee. I'm only 10 years older than that teenager, but I'm OLD. And that sucks. At the rate I'm going, I'll need a walker by age 30.

Maybe one of the toughest things to accept as we age is the fact that our bodies just aren't as reliable as they once were. We grow up thinking we're invicible... that we can get thrown from a horse and bounce off the ground, or play three games of tackle football without the slightest repercussions. Our bodies are rocks or Hondas - they never break down or change much. But as we get older, they become more like driftwood or Fords - at a certain point they get sanded down to a new shape and start to break down repeatedly with bizarrely expensive necessary repairs. I used to get dragged by frisky yearlings and thrown against fences. With rope burns on my hands and hoofprints on my helmet, I'd get back up and right back on, without a second thought. One day, however, we wake up frighteningly aware of our own mortality and fragility. It's sad and it's sobering to be reminded that it's all downhill from here, so we might as well enjoy it, right? For my part, I have decided to try to run outside where there are fewer teenagers and attempt to avoid their blase youth and vigor for as long as possible...

New Rules

It has come to my attention that some people on the infamous MySpace community may misunderstand the purpose and/or intent behind the "bulletin post". I feel that it is time to clear this confusion up for good. Here are my personal guidelines:

1. No one is getting good fortune, free money, fabulous sex, free blowjobs, or 6 wishes from reposting anything I post, and I don't give a shit if you DO repost, so don't tell me about it.

2. Everything I post is purely for my own amusement's sake, and don't you forget it - I'm a bitch that way.

3. I'll probably offend you. I don't care, so deal with it.

4. News Flash: That's not my real birthday or hair color.

5. No, commenting on my rapier wit and superior intelligence is NOT going to get you a date, and my ego has become so over-inflated that I don't even want you to try.

6. When you use the wrong versions of words such as; too/two, your/you're, their/there/they're, its/it's and any other made up phrases such as 'u r hot', 'wat up wit dat', ect., expect to be ridiculed mercilessly. Just because it's [notice the proper usage] the Internet is NOT an excuse to be an illiterate imbecile.

7. Those inside jokes are not directed towards you if you're not laughing, so no witty attempt at a reply is necessary.

8. Do not believe for one moment that I am divulging any deep, dark, meaningful secrets in my little survey bulletins. I, unlike hapless 13 year olds, know the difference between an online community full of perverts and my shrink's office.

9. I have 117 "friends". Please do not assume my bulletin is intended only for you and reply thusly. If it were, I would have sent it in a private message with your name in big, bold letters at the top.

10. Friend trackers don't exist, and if they did... do you REALLY want to know what every single creepy toothless unibomber who checks your profile looks like and where he lives in relation to you (which he knows, because you've broadcasted it to the world)?


These are my rules. I hope they help.

He Didn't Say "Simon Says"...

I'm SO glad he's doing weather reports these days....


I Hate Pat Robertson

QAD 5/18/06

If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to
do is keep on walking.
--Buddhist Saying

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you
just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will
come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.
--Anne Lamott, Author

It is difficult to say what is impossible, for the dream
of yesterday is the hope of today and the reality of
tomorrow.
--Robert H. Goddard

For Richer or Poorer

Relationships with other people are complicated... and sometimes I think friendships become the stickiest of all of our connections. As we get older and those friendships deepen, as we grow and change, the lines blur and shift, become messy and interconnected. They stop being neat little entities that can be put into a box and left on a shelf, only to take out for convenience's sake. Family is almost easier in the straightforward blood connection. You can hate them or love them, it doesn't matter - you're stuck, so you might as well fight it out or not. There's a complete lack of autonomy in that relationship, for better or worse.

But friendships are different. People that we've known for 2 or 3 or 5 years are easy (relatively speaking) - we've changed, but not that much. You take each other at face value for the present, because that's all you know. The friends I've made in college or at work didn't know me at a skinny 5th grader with braces and glasses, her nose stuffed in a book with zero self-esteem. They may know of that middle schooler, but they never met her. They know the loud, jovial, wise-cracking curly-haired girl with the big boobs who stands straight and always has a witty comment at the ready. Hopefully, someday they will become deep, complicated friendships as well. But the ones that are the messiest are those that we've had for 10, 15, 20 years. You get into a fight, or get angry, and you realize that you're fighting about things that you've been fighting about for a decade... and you'll still be fighting about in the next decade. You can't hide what you were, your old insecurities or demons in the closet - they've got your number down. They've seen it all, they've heard it all, they lived it with you. Those are the friendships that, sometimes, we take for granted. Sometimes you forget that, while theroetically, you could end the friendship and walk away, in reality, it's not that simple. Thhose moments of rage are just that. By virture of the tentacles that we've twined into each other's lives and hearts, they have become your sisters and brothers. They are the ones who will be there when your life falls apart and your heart lies in broken pieces like shattered glass on the floor. They're the ones that will unfailingly show up anytime, anywhere, for anything. They're the ones you would do the same for without a moment's hesitation or thought to the contrary. And when we're reminded of how incredibly valuable those lifeline relationships are, we need to remember to value them more than anything else in the entire world.

"In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends."

Like Steve McQueen...

We got rockstars in the Whitehouse
All our popstars look like porn
All my heroes hit the highway
They don't hang out here no more
You can call me anytime
You can page me all night long
But you won't catch this freebird
I'll already be long gone
Like Steve McQueen
All we need's a fast machine
And we're gonna make it all right...

~Sheryl Crow

Manolo What?

I've recently come to the realization that I need to just give up on eternal love and happiness... what I really need to do is marry some rich desperate guy and change the damn locks! Seriously. Then I can be left alone with my cat and spend as much money as I see fit. When I'm bored at work (which is often this time of year), I shop online. I go home at night, look at the distaster area that is my bedroom and think, "No human on earth needs this much clothing." Then, the next morning, I stand in front of my closet and think, "Oh my God, I have NOTHING TO WEAR!!". In the last 24 hours, I have purchased 3 pairs of shoes. Online. And by shoes I mean sandals. None of them were vital or necessary... but very cute. And on SALE!

See? I need help. Thank goodness for the fact that I have to go to class in about 10 minutes... who knows how much money I could theoretically spend in the 6 hours I'll be trapped in a stuffy classroom instead...

Words to Live By

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

~Maya Angelou

QAD 4/13/06

I'm tired.


Most Americans do not yet realize that a war is being waged
- not against Iraq but against each of us. It is not the
Republican Party that is charge in this administration but
a small cadre who seized executive branch power and
converted it to their own uses. Most Republicans are
experiencing a deer-in-the-headlights moment right now.
Their Party has been hijacked, their president has been
hijacked, and they do not know what to do. I remain a
registered Republican working for an effective coalition.
--Melinda Pillsbury-Foster

Appropriate

Appropriately enough...


Happiness cannot come from without. It must come from
within. It is not what we see and touch or that which
others do for us which makes us happy; it is that which
we think and feel and do, first for the other fellow and
then for ourselves.
--Helen Keller

It's Like Fishing

This is how Dictionary.com defines the terms 'happy' and 'happiness':

hap·py
adj. hap·pi·er, hap·pi·est

1. Characterized by good luck; fortunate.
2. Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy.
3. Being especially well-adapted; felicitous: a happy turn of phrase.
4. Cheerful; willing: happy to help.
5. 1. Characterized by a spontaneous or obsessive inclination to use something. Often used in combination: trigger-happy.
   2. Enthusiastic about or involved with to a disproportionate degree. Often used in combination: money-happy; clothes-happy.

It's been the topic of some discussion in my life this weekend. I find this definition to be rather... vague and uninspiring. Ultimately, happiness is something that every human is striving for. We're all constantly looking for that one thing or person or place that will make us 'happy'. Quite frequently, once we find it, we quickly start looking for something else that will make us 'happier'.

My question is what is it exactly, and when you pin the concept down, does 'happiness' really even exist as a tangible something to be obtained? I am more of the mind that happiness is a process, a journey, and an exploration. Would it exist without the search? I tend to feel that it's more of a concept that we as humans have created to help get us through the interminable days and weeks and years of our rather monotonous existence. It's an idea, like God, religion, and the meaning of life. Created by us at the beginning of time to give us a reason to get up in the morning and continue putting one foot in front of the other. When people ask me if I'm 'happy', I say yes. My life is full of wonderful people and things and places that offer me beauty and support every minute of every day. Yet there are those who would argue that I'm not happy - that I'm missing something that would make me 'truly happy'.

My argument is... is anyone ever truly happy? Aren't we all always waiting on the next best thing? In the words of Matchbox 20 - is happiness a mat that sits on our doorway? Or is it more like Our Lady Peace - happiness is not a fish you can catch...?

Have You Seen My Stapler?

Today is inspired by a text-conversation I've been having with an equally bored, mind-numbed friend. Today is officially "Office Space Quote Day"!

Bob Porter: We'll be getting rid of these people here... First, Mr. Samir Naga... Naga... Naga... Not gonna work here anymore, anyway.

Peter Gibbons: Doesn't it bother you that you have to get up in the morning and you have to put on a bunch of pieces of flair?
Joanna: Yeah, but I'm not about to go in and start taking money from the register.
Peter Gibbons: Well, maybe you should. You know, the Nazis had pieces of flair that they made the Jews wear.

Milton Waddams: I was told that I could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume from nine to eleven, I told bill that if Sandra is going to listen to her headphones while she's filing then I should be able to listen to the radio while I'm collating so I don't see why I should have to turn down the radio because I enjoy listening at a reasonable volume from nine to eleven.

Milton Waddams: Mr. Lumbergh told me to talk to payroll and payroll told me to talk to Mr. Lumbergh and I still have not received my paycheck and they moved my desk to storage room B and there was garbage on it.

Bob Porter: Looks like you've been missing a lot of work lately.
Peter Gibbons: Well, I wouldn't exactly say I've been *missing* it, Bob.

Please add your favorites at your leisure...

Top Ten at 2:10

I've decided that I am a big fan of top ten lists. Today, I will be doing this Letterman-Style, counting down to the big #1. Our topic will be "You Have No Chance in Hell of Dating Me Because..."

10. You spend hours waxing and detailing your Ford truck

9. You use the phrase "I seen" in regular conversation and/or have a nickname similar to "Frank The Tank"

8. You are the guy handing me coffee at Dunkin Donuts

7. You are not old enough to buy me a drink

6. You are old enough to own a AARP card

5. You are missing teeth and/or have gold replacements

4. You own a Hummer or Hummer-sized vehicle

3. You previously have dated one of my good friends

2. You previous have dated ME

1. You are a Republican and/or voted for George Bush... EVER

Sounds Like A Bad Joke...

Q: How many grown men does it take to plug in a printer?

A: In my office, apparently 3. 1 to plug and 2 to scratch their balls and grunt.

People Shouldn't Breed Because...

If my kid (or your kid) ever pulls this shit on my watch, I'm totally leaving his ass in there....

Stupid Kid Gets Stuck In Toy Machine

Over My Head (Cable Car)

I'm really feeling this song this week. Not even sure I know where they're going, but I like it....

I never knew
I never knew that everything was falling through
That everyone I knew was waiting on a queue
To turn and run when all I needed was the truth
But that's how it's got to be
It's coming down to nothing more than apathy
I'd rather run the other way than stay and see
The smoke and who's still standing when it clears

Everyone knows I'm in
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She's on your mind

Let's rearrange
I wish you were a stranger I could disengage
Say that we agree and then never change
Soften a bit until we all just get along
But that's disregard
Find another friend and you discard
As you lose the argument in a cable car
Hanging above as the canyon comes between

Everyone knows I'm in
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She's on your mind

And suddenly I become a part of your past
I'm becoming the part that don't last
I'm losing you and its effortless
Without a sound we lose sight of the ground
In the throw around
Never thought that you wanted to bring it down
I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves

Everyone knows I'm in
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She's on your mind

~The Frey

Bleed... Whatever Color GMU Is...

I am officially rooting for the underdog (what else is new??) in the Final Four tournament. Go George Mason University!!!

[Yota, this is mostly because of you. Mostly.]

And One More Thing...

Comment: Creepy Dunkin' Donuts man hit on me again today. Apparently he thinks a cute nickname for me is "Smiley". I don't think it's cute. Hopefully my response of, "I will be, once I have my fucking coffee," was appropriately off-putting (but I doubt it). And yes, I know I should not have gone to that particular DD's, but I really needed some damn caffeine, and the next one was way too far away. Casey is now writing a song about me entitled "Queen of the Totally Inappropriate Suitors". FABULOUS. That is all.

Deep Thoughts

Question: Why does my cat like to chew on cacti? (Not just the cute fuzzy ones, but the scary, mean, pointy ones.)

Look Into My Crystal Ball

Prediction: Tomorrow there's a chance I may do something slightly stupid.

Good Night and Good Luck

Americans are too broadly under-informed to digest nuggets
of information that seem to contradict what they know of
the world... Instead, news channels prefer to feed
Americans a constant stream of simplified information,
all of which fits what they already know. That way they
don't have to devote more air time or newsprint space
to explanations or further investigations.
-- Tom Fenton, former CBS News Foreign Correspondent

QAD 3/16/06

You can always hear the people who are willing to sacrifice
somebody else's life. They're plenty loud and they talk all
the time. You can find them in churches and schools and
newspapers and legislatures and congress. That's their
business. They sound wonderful. Death before dishonor.
This ground sanctified by blood. These men who died so
gloriously. They shall not have died in vain. Our noble
dead.
-- Dalton Trumbo, Johnny Got His Gun

A patriot must always be ready to defend his country
against his government.
--Edward Abbey, author

Fascism - A system of government that exercises a
dictatorship of the extreme right, typically through the
merging of state and business leadership, together with
belligerent nationalism.
--The American Heritage Dictionary, 1983

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Sight Hound

I'm about to go for a run before getting back to my horrible, soul-sucking midterm paper, but I wanted to rave about how wonderful the book I started reading yesterday is. (One might wonder where I found the time to read a book for pure enjoyment's sake, but if you're ever stuck in the car for 6 hours with my family, you'll understand.) I'm totally in love with all things by Pam Houston right now, and her latest novel Sight Hound is fabulous. If you're a person who has every had a pet, lost a pet, been in love, had your heart broken, struggled to find your way...walks on 2 legs or breathes oxygen regularly, you'll be touched by it too.

Sunshine!

Some of my coworkers have really funny walks. Kind of like this.

Image code by MyNiceSpace.com

Cute, huh? I need a life. Has my blog become stupid? You'd tell me, right?

Notes From All Parts of Becky's Brain

I just need to say that, as a woman, seeing men get hit/punched/kicked in the balls is and will always be funny to me. It's mean, it sucks, and I will laugh every time I see it happen on tv or live-action until the day I die.

[Speaking of men who deserve to get cracked in the nuts, it's my ex's birthday today. Who wants to go throw eggs at his car with me as a "Happy 27th!" gift?]

Another random note:
I had a dream last night that involved all of the following characters/places/things:
- Creepy ex-coworker
- Non-creepy ex-coworker
- Cool current coworker
- A herd of pregnant miniature horses
- Monkeys flinging poo (and various other things)
- A townhouse development (where I was frantically searching for #138)
- Dane Cook
- An SUV
- My cowboy boots
- Sno Caps (yes, the things you eat at the movies)

Anyone care to analyze? Yes, they were all in one singular dream, and yes there was a context, believe it or not. Am I crazy?

To Clarify...

For the sake of clarification about yesterday's post... I wasn't being sad or depressed or anything of that sort. It was just one of those AHA! moments, when you zip outside of your head and see yourself clearly from the ouside looking in. Like one of those neat camera effects in The Matrix when the scene pauses mid-martial arts move and the camera pans out and around to show Neo from the bad guy's point of view.

Cliche!

Today after work I went to the supermarket in my work clothes, black peacoat, trendy scarf and leather gloves. I bought 7 SmartOnes frozen dinners, 2 yogurts, and a bag of oranges. As I was rifling through my tasteful purse (that was super-cheap) to pay for my wares, I came to the realization that I have become a walking, breathing stereotype of the quintessential single, slightly pathetic, 20-something female. I could have walked straight off some tired scriptwriter's set directly into my own little masquerade of a life.

Interesting, huh?

9 to 5... or rather, 10:30 to 7ish..

I have discovered bliss. If I could work from home in my pjs and glasses, my cat asleep next to me on the computer in my sunroom every day, I would be the happiest little employee on the planet.

Of course, to do this today I had to call in sick.

Cut me some slack - it's the first day of spring break, there are no students desperately clamoring for my assistance, the office closes early, and no one really cares except me. I have a 15 page midterm paper due next week and absolutely no time to sit down and do some serious research, so I elected to take today and make some progress. The fun thing is, with everything in the world networked and password-ed, I can basically do everything else I'd be doing at work from home as well. I can check the email and the fax machine, my calendar, and even commuicated with my fellow coworkers via Instant Message (except, of course, my boss - the person who tells me what to do. Oh, and the people at work I can't stand, who don't have my Instant Messanger ID). The only thing I'm leaving out here is answering the phones - the one part of my job I loathe with a passion. So really, it's 80% of the work and 0% of the aggrevation.

Maybe Carrie Bradshaw was onto something, tapping away at her keyboard in her trendy little uptown apartment all on her own. I always thought working at home would be lonely and isolated... but I think I may have been mistaken...

Go Ahead and Kick That Puppy!

Quick addendum to my post the other day about Dunkin Donuts guy -

Why does Barry the Bartender* feel inclined to continue calling me? I gave him my number over a year ago in a fit of lonlines and moment of pure weakness. I have only returned one of his calls since December of '04 (because, appropriately enough, he happens to attend my institution a few nights a week and was confused about his bill) and have only picked up when he called once - because I was driving and didn't see the number on the screen. You would think good ol' Barry would have gotten the message by now. The message being, "LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE". I feel bad because he's a nice enough guy, but part of what turns me off so badly is his sheer patheticness. It just goes to show that men really, really want and love to be treated like crap. The meaner you are, the more they adore you.

*his name isn't really Barry, but I feel bad disclosing the poor guy's identity. Wouldn't want you guys to point and laugh the next time you see him or anything.

Peevy!

Pet Peeve: Incorrect (or inappropriate) use of the "reply to all" button.

Land of Losers

Yesterday morning the Dunking Donuts drive-thru guy hit on me. Fabulous. Time to switch my special-morning-treat routine... the coffee at Muddy Cup is better anyway.

I now get to add to my trophy case the title of Queen of the Totally Inappropriate Suitors in addition to my reigning title, Queen of the Nerds (ask my high school friends about that one).

QOTD 2/27/06

Power always thinks it has a great soul and vast views
beyond the comprehension of the weak; and that it is
doing God's service when it is violating all his laws.
--John Adams, 2nd US president


A woman is handicapped by her sex, and handicaps society,
either by slavishly copying the pattern of man's advance
in the professions, or by refusing to compete with man at
all.
--Betty Friedan, Feminist, author

Violent Thoughts

Today I would like to smash my coworkers in the head with a hammer.

Better Than Chocolate

Quite often I believe that the perfect cup of French Vanilla coffee is better than sex (from what I remember). And chocolate. No contest.

Bubble Girl

Here's my little tidbit for the day -

It's been mentioned recently that I have personal space issues. I guess I never realized that I may have a little bit more of an issue with others invading my "bubble" than most of my fellow Americans, but it's been made clear that I do. Let me make my personal space issues clear and irrefutable right here, right now:

[I am pointedly referencing this to the creepy grad students at work who lean over my desk, one or two specific coworkers from the past and present, disgusting drunk men at bars, the creepy ice patrol guy who totally ended my wonderful re-enactment of my childhood ice skating adventures yesterday, and every shmuck who's ever tried to grab my ass/boob/arm/leg while waitressing... to name a few.]

You are not allowed in my bubble without an explicit invitation. That's it. That's the rule, period. There are no exceptions to this rule. You've either been invited in or you haven't. It's like a vampire entering a mortal's house. If it is unclear as to whether or not you've been invited - maybe it's murky, maybe you're reading signals that you don't recognize, whatever - then you have not been invited in. End of story.

I also have the right to rescind said invitation whenever and however I feel like it. I'm sorry if this seems cruel and unusual to you, but it's just the way it is. You'll have to find someone else to grope if you find my rule so grievously offensive.

So there it is. I hope this helps all of you navigate the waters of your relationship with me (whether real or imaginary) with safety and enjoyment.

Top 10 List of Things That Make Me Want To Quit My Job

In no particular order:

1. Don't ask me if I'm the bursar's office. If I were, in my greeting I would say, "this is the bursar's office" not "this is the student solution center".

2. Don't call to argue with me about your late fee and how you 'plan' to pay your bill. Your bill was due 2 months ago - you DESERVE a late fee.

3. Loud coworkers who say stupid, ignorant things on a regular basis.

4. Snotty, bratty 20 year old undergraduates

5. Snotty, bratty 45 year old graduate students

6. Parents who intterupt and ask me if I'm a work-study student while I am patiently explaining to them how federal student aid regulations work.

7. People who ask "how are you" on the phone. They don't REALLY care, and never wait for a response. Don't bother, just ask your damn question so we can end this conversation.

8. Parents/students who calll and give me a first and last name, expecting me to instantaneously remember her/him out of the 3,500 people who attend the college.

9. Anyone who calls and says, "hi, who is this?" That REALLY pisses me off. Who the fuck are YOU, and what do you want? You're calling me, buddy.

10. Self-involved, bloated college professors who expect me to fill out ALL of their paperwork for them because they're too busy to do 'menial' tasks like inputting the correct grades for their students.

Taking Over One Plush Toy At A Time

To steal a phrase from this guy (whom I found hysterical in college, but now that he's sold out totally sucks ass, so don't ask why I just linked him), here's something I was "ruminating" on today...

I get emails from Victoria's Secret on a relatively regular basis. This is because I frequently purchase underwear from them online. If there's one thing that's easy to shop for via the internet, it's panties. Let's face it - the more you have, the less frequent your trips to the washing machine become. They're a pretty universal garment... I mean, a large is a large is a large. And you always need more. I'm not really worried about how they're going to look ON - if the rhinestone phrase "Rockstar" looks cute in the picture, it'll probably look about the same plastered across my ass. And (usually) I'm wearing pants anyway.

[Full disclosure: I do not own ANY garment with the word "Rockstar" emblazoned across it - rhinestone or otherwise].

Anyway, Victoria's Secret likes to send me email fliers about their latest promotions. This week's promotion states, "Free PINK mini dog with any PINK purchase." And it shows a picture of the 'mini dog'. The 'mini dog' is a pink and white polka-dot stuffed dog... wearing a t-shirt. It's not even soft and fuzzy - it's made out of some burlap-like material. So, basically, what they're telling me is that if I buy a $35 bra, I get a stuffed dog that's about the size of a nerf football, for free. That's great. It's fan-fucking-tastic. What the fuck am I going to do with a stuffed dog? For real. What part of my life is this useless piece of crap going to enhance, and how does this particular promotion inspire me to part with my hard-earned money? I'm buying your stupid underwear anyway. You know what would be a better promotion? I buy the bra, you DON'T send me the dog, and instead donate the $1 it cost to produce the damn thing to a battered women's shelter. I know this is America - land of the free, home of the telemarketer (wait, I'm sorry - we outsourced them all and fired the Americans) - but don't we have ENOUGH USELESS CRAP? Does the marketing company for Victoria's Secret really think that this is the way to increase sales?

[Full disclosure #2: I actually was given a stuffed dog with purchase once before. I gave it to my cat as a chew toy.]