Turkey DTs.

Here we are, the first Monday after Thanksgiving. Ugh, I feel sluggish from too much food. Thanksgiving was OK. We were here. I invited over one of my grad students who wasn't going to be able to go home, so it was a pretty low-key day. I did the typical turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, stuffing, cranberry sauce, gruyere brussel sprouts, pumpkin and peach pies. Everything turned out OK. The only glich was that it took forever for the turkey to cook for some unknown reason. It was only 15 lbs, but it took like eight hours to cook. I put it in the oven at 10:00 am and it wasn't ready until about 6:00pm. It was thawed, so I can't figure it out. But it tasted good so it was alright, I suppose. Although, we were measuring doneness by temperature, so the updates were something like, "Only seven more degrees to go." It was a Jennie O turkey. We didn't wait for the pop-up thing, I just started measuring temperature because I started thinking the pop-up thing was broken. As it turns out, it probably wasn't because it took eight hours to reach 180.

Indiana is an interesting state when it comes to holidays that are usually accompanied by outdoor decorations. I have never lived anywhere where the people seem so keen on putting plastic figures and lights all over their yards and houses. Any holiday where they can get away with it, they do it. I mean people have been putting up Christmas decorations around here since Halloween. When I was growing up, we didn't put the tree up until a couple of weeks before Christmas. We probably won't get our tree up until this weekend, which makes us pretty late in these parts. We only started putting up our tree so early because our daughter sees everyone else with their Christmas trees, so she wants ours up. If it weren't for her, we'd probably just wait until a couple of weeks ahead of time. Although, my husband is really into Christmas decorations too. I suppose they're nice, but it takes so much time to put everything up.

Yesterday was the last offical day to sell Girl Scout cookies. We sold a total of 152 boxes. We made one last go at the neighborhood yesterday, but a lot of people were gone. So we chucked it in after a couple of blocks. We only sold nine boxes yesterday. My favorite rejection was from this guy who answers the door in his slippers and a dirty Notre Dame sweatshirt and says, while patting his stomach, he's on a diet and better not buy any. Yeah, he really looked like someone who gave two shits about his appearance. As we walked away from his door my daughter said, "Mom, I should have told him about the reduced fat cookies." Yeah, that would have done it.

My Uncle PG's funeral was Saturday. I haven't had a chance to talk to my father yet and ask how it went, but it makes me sad to think about it. When someone is around for such a long time, it's hard to realize that they're just not there.

Gobble, gobble.

Well, it's the day before Thanksgiving and I've got the kid in the office with me today. Her school is closed, so she had to come in with me. She thinks it's fun, but it's kind of a drag for me only because she wants to be entertained and work isn't very entertaining. She's over at the typewriter writing a story right now. It's about cats and dogs and mice. It's a thrilling epic of love, hate and revenge. She's got something about an airplane in there too. Don't know how that one fits in. I'm going to interview her now.

KC: So, Sweetie, what's the meaning of life?

Little KC: I don't know.

KC: Why not?

Little KC: Yes, I do.

KC: What is it, then?

Little KC: I don't know what the answer for that is.

KC: What are you going to eat tomorrow?

Little KC: Oh, turkey. Hey, I wasn't realizing that tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

KC: Why is it soooooo hard getting you to eat?

Little KC: Stop bugging me.

KC: Why? Don't you think this is fun?

Little KC: It would be fun if you stopped annoying me.

KC: How am I annoying you?

Little KC: Because you just are!

KC: So, what would make this fun?

Little KC: If you left me alone.

KC: You already said that.

Little KC: I know, I'm saying it again. Really, stop copying what I'm saying, RRRRRR. Now you've done it. Really, it's a pain in the neck. (Squeezes my arm and growls.) Stop it, would you?

KC: So, what's going on in your life lately?

Little KC: Will you please stop annoying me?

KC: Uh, no, I don't believe I will.

Little KC: I'm trying to do something here.

KC: What?

Little KC: I'm trying to write the story, I'm asking the questions what to do and then you call me over here to do this silly piece of paper.

KC: This is a story too.

Little KC: No it isn't. It's a silly little piece of paper.

KC: It's the story of our day here.

Little KC: No it isn't.

KC: Stop screaming, we're at work.

Little KC: I'm not screaming.

KC: Stop speaking loudly, then.

Little KC: I'm speaking loudly because you're giving me a pain in the tooshy.

KC: Is that the proper way to speak to your mother?

Little KC: Yes, when she's annoying me.

KC: Time out.

Little KC: Do I really get a time out?

KC: No, I'm just playing with you.

Little KC: (Bangs head on chair.) I'm standing here because you are giving me a headache.

KC: Well, let's talk about something that interests you.

Little KC: The only thing that interests me is that you help me make my story.

KC: I was telling our audience a little about your story earlier. Do you want to share anything more about it?

Little KC: That's supposed to be private and we don't have any audience.

KC: Sure we do. The one other person who reads this blog.

Little KC: That's it, I'm going to erase this thing.

Sweet dreams, Uncle PG.

I found out yesterday that my Uncle PG died over the weekend. He's actually my great-Uncle PG, but Uncle PG is the only way I've known him my entire life. He was 84, I think, and basically his body just didn't have anymore energy left. I really love my Uncle PG because he's the closest thing to a grandparent I've ever known. He's my dad's uncle on his mother's side. Both my dad's parents died before I was born, so I never knew them. My mom's mother died when I was six and before I'd ever met her. As I've mentioned before, my mom is Korean and her mother lived in Korea, so I never got the chance to meet her. Although, I'm sure she knew me in utero because I was conceived in Korea, but my parents left for the states a couple of months before I born. The only grandparent I've ever met was my grandfather on my mother's side. He came to live with us for a little while when I was little. My mother was sponsoring most of her Korean relatives during my primary years so they could get American citizenship. Anyway, my grandfather came to live with us for awhile. But despite having lived with him, it wasn't a typical grandparent/grandchild relationship because he didn't speak English, so communication was a little difficult, and he was in poor health, so he really couldn't do much. We used to play a Korean card game all the time, though. And I remember that being a lot of fun. Anyway, so my Uncle PG is the closest thing I've ever had to a real grandparent. And he was great. He had so much energy and love for life and you couldn't help but smile and feel good when you were around him. He loved polka music and we'd sing songs like the Pennsylvania Polka together on the few times we got to see him. I'm glad to know he's up there looking out for us and I'm glad to know that he's not suffering any longer, but this life is losing something really special in him because he's the kind of spirit that reminds us life is supposed to be enjoyed and not endured. Even though I didn't get to see him nearly as often as I would've liked to, I am really going to miss him and his joie de vivre and his child-like wonderment at everything he saw. He was the kind of man about whom people would say, "They broke the mold after they made him." And that's the God's-honest truth. He was one of a kind. So, I love you, Uncle PG. Take care up there.

Hello, old friend.

Here's something interesting--I'm experiencing something I haven't felt in an awfully long time. I am currently experiencing work-related nervousness. I used to feel this all the time when I was still working as a journalist. The nervousness of knowing my deadline was approaching and I didn't have the story written. I always had the story in time for the deadline, but that doesn't stop the nervousness. So here I am feeling it again. The magazine, in my mind, is supposed to go out at a certain time and due to the straggling of other people involved in the process of getting the magazine out, I'm not feeling confident about the magazine making the deadline. It's one thing when it's my own laziness that makes me nervous. It's something altogether different when people not being on the ball cause the nerves to jangle. In a lot of ways, I don't consider what I do right now real work because it's not the most important thing in my life. I don't think "work" should ever be the most important thing in a person's life, but I know it is for some people. At any rate, it's not work that satisfies me in any personal, meaningful way. Which makes it particularly vexing for me that I should feel any agitation because of stuff happening here.

On a lighter note, the weather's been kinda crappy the last couple of days so we haven't been able to get out to sell cookies. I swear I'm more into this entire thing than my daughter. I think she was done after the first couple of times out. But I REALLY want to sell at least 200 boxes.

You can kiss my cherry ass.

A friend sent me this picture. I think it's pretty funny. I wonder why they don't sell it at Successories.


Anywho, it's been kinda busy at work, hence the lack of posts over the last few days. Well, I never post over the weekend, so that's the reason why there was no post on Friday. I still have a lot of work to do, but I do have an adoring public I must satisfy. Sent the husband out with the daughter on Saturday to sell cookies and they only sold three boxes. Our total is up to 128 now, I think. I told my daughter we'll hit it again today after school. I actually had one acquaintance refuse to buy cookies. I couldn't believe it. She broke the golden rule of buying crap from other people's children: Buy something because, eventually, your kid is gonna have sell some stupid shit for school that nobody wants. Tit for tat. That's the way it works. When I told my husband, he said, "Well, they better not come asking us to buy anything." See? It's a major rule. It's not good to go upsetting the natural order of things by not forking over a few bucks. And, besides, they're girl scout cookies. Who doesn't like girl scout cookies? That's akin to not liking apple pie or cheeseburgers. It's un-American, I tell ya.

Read 'em and weep.

So how many boxes of girl scout cookies have we sold after our first official day? 104 boxes, baby. Now how's that? We are the cookie-selling queens of the world. We've still got 2 1/2 weeks and an entire neighborhood to go. We RULE, that's all I can say about that. My husband's off work today because of Veterans Day. Lucky bastard. I remember getting all those holidays off when I worked for the government, but those days are long gone now. Ho hum. My daughter has diarrhea. I know that's probably not the sort of thing you all want to know about, but what can I say? Shit happens. Bwa, ha, ha. Get it? Shit happens? But, seriously, she does have diarrhea. Last night she was on the toilet, bent over, going, "Mom, you do not know how bad I feel."

I said, "Yes, honey, I do know how bad you feel."

"No, Mom. You don't. I think I'm going to throw up."

She didn't throw up and she started feeling better once she got everything out, so to speak. But she had another couple of episodes this morning while getting ready for school. I've already gotten a call from the school nurse telling me she's complaining of stomach pain, so I told her to send her to the bathroom. We'll see how it goes. At any rate, she'll have a couple of days to recover before we hit the pavement to sell cookies. I'm going to wait until the weekend before we do our serious selling. More daylight and people are home.

I'm all used up.

I just finished writing the yearly Christmas letter, and doing it used up all my creativity for the day. I only have a limited amount, you know. I've got to go to the gym and run now. Perhaps that will put some creativity back into me and then I'll have something interesting to say tomorrow.

Cookies? Did someone say cookies?

Well, tomorrow is the offical beginning of girl scout cookie selling season. My daughter, having bridged over to Brownies this year, gets to sell those little nuggets of heaven for the first time. She's pretty excited. She's been practicing her sales pitch: "Excuse me, would like to buy some delicious girl scout cookies from me so my troop can do fun things?"

Then I say, "Uh, what kind of cookies do you have?"

Holding up her chart, "We have all these delicious cookies. We have chocolate and fat free cookies."

"Oh, fat free cookies?"

"Yeah." (Actually, they're reduced fat lemon coolers, but she's hyping the fatlessness to get some solid sales in.)

"Well, those sound delicious. I'll by seven boxes."

"Just sign your name here and thanks."

Anyway, she's pretty excited about the whole thing. She woke up this morning and said, "Mom, we are gonna stick this neighborhood!"

Since we've lived here, I've never had a girl scout come knocking on my door to sell cookies, so I told my daughter we're going to make out like bandits in this virgin territory. I hear about how the girls who live in the suburbs actually claim blocks of their neighborhoods, and any punk girl scout who crosses the line better watch her back. So I've told my daughter to keep the information about our apparently girl scoutless neighborhood on the down low. We don't want any outsiders infiltrating our hood.

On a much heavier note, I have my yearly "woman's" exam this afternoon. Yippee!! Ugh. I don't know if there's anything women dread more than the yearly pelvic exam. My doctor at least tries to make it a bearable experience by posting pictures of tropical destinations on the ceiling of the examination room. Yeah, it doesn't really help, but it's nice she thinks about it. People complain about dentists talking to you while you've got all that crap in your mouth. It's no more comfortable trying to have a conversation with someone shoving a great metal torture device up your twat, either. Sigh.

Supersize Me

I don't know if you've seen Supersize Me, the documentary by Morgan Spurlock, but if you haven't, go rent it now. Now, I say. How anyone could continue eating at fast food restaurants after seeing this film is beyond me. We all know it's bad for us, but we don't really know how bad it is. And it's really, really bad. After watching the film, I felt like I wanted to go run for two hours. If you are unfamiliar with the film, Mr. Spurlock documents his month of life eating nothing but food from McDonald's. There's other stuff thrown in there, but primarily, it's about how disgusting fast food is. I found this film particularly effective because I don't feel like Spurlock is proselytizing, trying to convince us to accept some other radical "superhealthy" diet. He asks a question and sets about trying to get the answer for it. In fact, he good-humoredly argues with his vegan chef girlfriend on why he is NOT going vegan. It's simple enough: He LOVES meat. But watching that movie really made me realize there is no reason to ever eat fast food again. After watching it, I had a talk with my daughter and explained to her why we are never eating at McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's or any other fast food joint for the rest of our lives. She wasn't too convinvced, but, hey, I've got the cash so there's not much she can do about it. Seriously, go rent the DVD and watch. If it doesn't completely alter your perceptions on the evils of fast food, then you've probably fallen asleep.

What the hell happened to us?

I've been having an interesting conversation with my friend Amanda through e-mail the last couple of days. What's interesting about it is it's a conversation I've also been having with other friends of mine who are roughly the same age as I. Apparently, modern 30-something wives and mothers are plagued by dissatisfaction. We feel like we're not realizing our full potential and feel like there's so much more still left out there for us and it's just out of our reach. I've concluded this funk is created by the fact that we're at an age where we assumed, when we were younger and idealistic, that we would have been a whole lot more than we think we actually are and we're frustrated by that. Add to that, the fact that we understand we're still young enough to pursue something that's got to be caught. We've been able to quiet that voice in the back of our heads while we've been raising our children, but they're in school now and we have some freedom of time not devoted to another person and it allows that voice to come back screaming like a banshee. The voice that yells, "You are more than this!"

I don't say any of this to discount the importance or meanigfulness of being mothers and wives. I'd have to think long and hard to come up with a job a woman could perform that is more important than being a mother. I'm not talking about having children, either. I'm talking about being a mother. But let's face it, mothering is an outwardly directed activity. It's about helping another person realize their full potential and find their place in the world. And we all feel like we still haven't figured out our own place to our complete satisfaction, so we sit here with a sense of emptiness and wanderlust. But it's not all doom and gloom, my friends. I've started writing again and I've started sending stories out again and I've been thinking about that book inside of me that's still got to come out. So for all my sister mothers and wives out there, as corny as it sounds, tomorrow is another day and we've still got plenty of time to be the next big thing we're supposed to be. Only the decision to do something stands between us and the future we want.

Stop your crying, will you?

I don't understand the shock Kerry supporters seem to be experiencing right now. There was a 50-50 chance your candidate would win and he didn't. That's the end of it. It doesn't mean you live in an America where everyone but you is blind to the state of the nation. It means you live in a country where more people disagree than agree with your notion of the state of the nation. That's it. So stop your whining and figure out a way to live with the hand you've been dealt. However, I do empathize with your feelings. I wore black to work the day after Clinton won his first term in office, and I believe I may have done the same after he won his second term. But I didn't go around stealing Clinton signs out of people's yards and act like some melodramatic fool screaming about how we're all going to be thrust into a raging pitfire of damnation. I mean, seriously folks, you'll get another chance in four years. Just chill.

Now with that out of the way, I think we should all give ourselves a big pat on the back for going out to vote. For the first time that I can remember in my life, people took their duty to vote seriously, and if nothing else, that counts for something. I can only hope people continue to speak their voice and cast their ballots accordingly. Good show, everyone. America rocks!!!

I want my Bush/Cheney sign.

Vote! It's the American way.

Well, I just cast my vote for the next president of the United States, so now all we have to do is see what happens. My husband, the geek, has taken the day off and tells me he is going to buy a map of the country so that he can color out the states as Bush wins them. I'm sure when I get home today my living room will be adorned with various bar graphs and pie charts detailing the voting results of Star Trek-loving, D&D-playing, Tolkien-reading misfits everywhere. The district I live in is a heavily Democratic one, so I absolutely must step up for us disenfranchised Republicans. The fact that I work at a University also puts me somewhat in the minority. Faculty here would probably react more kindly to me if I admitted to being the anti-Christ than a Republican. I'm not shy to tell people my views if they ask, but I don't like political discussions because, really, there is no such thing as a political "discussion." The only reason people talk politics is because they want to scream at you and tell you why you're an idiot for not agreeing with them. This is also the reason why I don't watch shows like People's Court. I'm really not interested in watching people make fools of themselves by screaming at each other. It's also the reason why I don't really enjoy watching political talk shows. It's the same thing, people yelling at each other and abondoning any sense of civilized behaviour. This is odd because I am quite willing, myself, to yell at people who don't let me finish what I'm trying to say, but I don't like watching other people do it. The other reason I don't like political talk shows is because they showcase extremists, people who cannot and will not try to see both sides of an issue.

Smell my feet.

Happy November. Good Lord, I can't beleive it's already November and the official start of the time-to-think-about-Christmas-gifts marathon. But before we start with Christmas, let's finish up Halloween. I took off work Friday so I could decorate the church basement for the Pumpkin Ball we held. It was OK and I think everyone had a good time. Then Saturday we had to go to a birthday party for a friend of mine who turned 50. Sunday, of course, was Halloween and we went to our friends' house for a pre-trick-or-treat birthday party their youngest child. Then we traveled en masse so our kids could bum candy off the neighbors. Now that we live in the age of bad guys and villians, our kids have to go trick-or-treating during daylight hours. It's alright, I suppose, but I remember it was so much fun to go at night when I was kid. It was much scarier and people took full advantage of it. I remember one year a family in our neighborhood had set up a large cardboard box in the yard with a little panel cut out and a curtain hanging in front of it. You had to put your hand in the box to get your candy. Of course, someone was sitting inside, but they'd grab your hand first and pull on it before giving you candy. It's scared the living crap out of me, but it was GREAT. I don't think it would have been quite as effective if they had been forced to do it while it was still light out. Plus people are so sensitive about Halloween anymore. I think the "freer" our society becomes, the more close-minded people become. I don't see the problem with Halloween. I don't think most people view it as anything more than an opportunity for kids to have some fun and get some free candy. But now you see these towns around the country wanting to ban Halloween because it means everyone is worshipping the Devil. I think this sort of thing is in direct correlation to the fact that no one knows their neighbors anymore. People are so isolated and afraid that they have to convince themselves everyone is a Satanist trying to poison their kids with tainted tootsie rolls. Actually, I think it's sad. I think it's sad that people really believe making a better community is beyond their control. People are lazy, they sit back thinking it's someone else's responsibility to take care of the world and that it requires no effort from them. Speaking of Democrats, one interesting thing about trick-or-treating last night--one of the couples was British and everytime we came to a house with Bush/Cheney signs, they'd say something to the effect of, "Oooh, look at this evil house. No wonder they give out crap candy, they're Repubicans, after all." I've made no secret of the fact that I am a Republican, but these people didn't know my political affiliation. But I must say it surprised me they had no qualms to speak so harshly about a group of people they could very well be in the midst of, as they were. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get into some kind of name-calling match while taking the kids around, but how could they think this was appropriate behaviour? What was worse in my mind was that they also made of point of mentioning to their children everytime they hit a "Kerry" house that they must be wonderful people inside, while of course all the "Bush" houses were full of heathens. Now there's a quality lesson in teaching how you love your fellow man. Those kids won't end up bigoted. Although, it might have been interesting to mention that I am a Republican just to watch them burst into flames, you know, the way vampires do when they're hit by sunlight.

Will I ever be normal again?

Something was up with Blogger yesterday, so I couldn't post. Did you miss me? Of course you did. Anyway, slowly but surely, this stuff on my face is clearing up. I went to the doctor again yesterday because I wanted her to give me a prescription for some kick ass antifungal medication, which she did. So now my face only looks this bad:


At least you can tell I'm human. That's always good. On the way to the doctor's office yesterday I was sitting at a stoplight and just started wondering about all the cars and the people inside of them. Looking at the line of cars reminded me of looking at ants marching along in line. I think that's what we are, a line of ants. I just looked at the people in the cars that were turning in front of me and I wondered what was going on in their heads. I think of what's possible with human potential and I just think we let ourselves be satisfied with very superficial concerns. Raising my daughter is something real, but I really wonder about the rest of it. We're so lucky to live in America where we can be anything we want and we end up as drones who live life on auto-pilot. If there are people out there who are truly happy, and I mean truly happy, with their lot in life, leave a comment and tell me why. I'm interested in knowing how we rate our lives and the standards we compare them against.

The thing that ate my face!!!

Remember how I thought the thing that caused my fever last week was an oncoming cold sore? Well, it wasn't that. It was something far worse. How could it be worse than a cold sore, you ask? Well, it seems to me I've got a fungal infection covering about half my face. I went to the doctor yesterday and she gave me a steroid cream, but this morning the patch under my chin had a decidedly ringwormish look to it. So, I've concluded it must be some sort of fungal infection. It's really disgusting and I am looking something like an extra from the set of The Hot Zone. Want a big, fat, juicy kiss, baby? I'll make sure to really rub the side of my face along side yours. If I had a digital camera, I'd take a picture so you could all share in my disfigurement, but I don't, so I can't. Too bad. The other thing that's making me think it's some kind of fungus is that it itches like hell. Actually, this has happened once before, just not this bad. I think I pick something up from the gym. I'm not using their towels anymore. I'm going to start bringing in my own. Please, Lord, let this thing go away. I don't want to look like a mutant.



Here's my face. I told you it was gross.

Whew.

This is what I discovered over the weekend: 18 children in one house is way too many. Yesterday was my daughter's birthday party and that's how many kids we had over. It was good weather, though, so we were able to keep them outside most of the time. However, eating and cake time was pretty hectic. All in all, it went over well and my daughter had a good time. Next year, though, I think we're going to have to do the party at a remote location. My husband dropped my parents off this morning so they could head back to DC. They gave my daughter an electric guitar for her present. My father plays the guitar, so hopefully the child will have inherited some guitar-playing genes from him. Now that that's all over, I have to concentrate on finishing my daughter's Halloween costume and doing what needs to be done for the Pumpkin Ball we're throwing at my church on Friday.

And they're off.

OK, just dropped off the Krispy Kreme to my daughter's class. I'm at work right now (and obviously working hard). As soon as I pick up my daughter from school this afternoon, we're on the road to Chi-town to pick up the rents from O'Hare. But first I have to vacuum out the car so my mother doesn't comment on how messy it is when she gets in. And after I pick up some food for the child so she doesn't keep complaining about how hungry she is as we drive up. Is that everything? I think so. Did the brownie troop hayride last night. It was fun, but hard to do during the middle of the week when it's a school night and I still have a lingering fever. I did a Google search on fevers not accompanied by other symptoms and apparently I have cancer. I know that's not something I should joke about, but what else am I going to do? Actually, I think I've discovered the culprit. This morning in the shower I felt a familiar tingling on my upper lip, so as soon as I got out I wolfed some acyclovir. Hopefully, I've caught the little bastard. I really don't want to go through the weekend with a big ole honking cold sore on my face. That wouldn't be cool.

Now that the presidential campaign is hitting the home stretch, I really have to wonder about the stupidity of the American public. I think if there was any coverage on an actual political concern, everyone's head would probably explode, like in Scanners, which must be the reason why all the news organizations choose to focus on how Kerry's wife holds considerable disdain for average American mothers and why Ohioans are miffed that Bush hasn't visited them for three weeks. I'll come right out and say I'm voting for Bush and I'm not ashamed. I've been a Republican for as long as I can remember. I think Kerry is a joke. Actually, I think most polititcians are a joke and my primary reasons for being a Republican are that I think it's the party that more closely demonstrates a philosophy of personal responsibility and because I don't believe government needs to get into every nook and cranny of citizens' lives. That plus the fact I once heard a joke that goes something like this: How can you tell a Republican from a Democrat? The Republican reads the newspaper and the Democrat lines the birdcage with it. I didn't want to be the person who lined the birdcage.

However, all you poor, misguided Kerry supporters should know that, historically speaking, Americans don't change presidents during times of war. It makes sense, really. How are you going to bring in an outsider during such a precarious time? They've not been involved in what's happened and don't have a good sense of where things lie. It's just not good thinking. Anyway, Kerry is just monstrous looking with that big old chin and forehead and face and everything. He's almost mutant-like, I'd say. Anyway, all joking aside. I'm Catholic, and you'd think that would be reason enough to favor Kerry, right? Wrong. He's what we like to call a C & E catholic. He's catholic when it's convenient for him and not when it isn't. I'm not going to preach overly much about what makes a good catholic because I know I'm going to be spending a good number of years in purgatory, but he certainly doesn't seem to internalize the teachings of the catholic church in any real way. And, seriously, what is up with his wife? I was going to college in Pennsylvania when John Heinz was killed in a plane crash and I can remember people's sadness and shock. He was apparently a very popular senator for Pennsylvanians. At any rate, Teresa Heinz Kerry strikes me a person a little out of touch with what the average American wife and mother deals with from day-to-day. And I'm not saying this just because she's brusque. That's not a crime, although, people like to think it is because women are supposed to be all warm and fuzzy. She seems to lack the ability to connect with people on a simple human level. Some people work tirelessly because they have a true compassion for their fellow man and their work is motivated by a complete lack of concern for their own personal wellbeing. Other people work tireslessly because they have a personal, rigid, opinion of how things should be and fight more to satisfy their own sense of order than being inspired to better the human condition. Teresa Heinz Kerry strikes me as being the latter. Sure, in the end, people probably benefit from either approach, but I'd rather be helped by a kind person. That's because people who help from kindness aren't doing it because they expect something back in return.

At any rate, no matter who you choose to vote for, go vote. It's important and, quite frankly, you don't have any right to bitch about the state of things if you haven't taken the effort to help decide the state of things.

Don't drink the water.

Here's a picture of my brother and his girlfriend during their trip to Costa Rica.



Aren't they cute? Yes, yes they are.

I was home sick yesterday. I woke up Tuesday night with the chills and then with a massive headache Wednesday morning. Took my temp and, yes, I have a fever. I stayed home to give myself one day of rest because the next fews days are pretty busy. Tonight I have to take my daughter on a hayride with her brownie troop and pick up Krispy Kreme for her party at school tomorrow, Friday I have to drive to Chicago to pick up my parents at the airport, Saturday have to run around getting stuff for my daughter's party and then go to a friend's party for her daughter, and Sunday is my daughter's party. So, as you can see, I couldn't afford to weaken my immune system any further by forcing myself to go to work, as I would have normally done. Anyway, I feel a little bit better; although, I'm still running a fever. I don't know why, though. I'm not displaying any other symptoms like sneezing, puking, stuffy nose or anything else. I just have a fever for some reason. Weird.

Ooop, just found out I don't have to do the friend's daughter's birthday party on Saturday, so that slows things down a bit. That's good. I'm cold right now and have to put on my jacket.

Let's play master and servant.

Obviously, I have a lot of time on my hands today...


You're just looking for love. You're very
emotional, and a lot of sad teenagers are going
to turn to you when they feel like shit.
You're also into BDSM, you devil, you.


What band from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yes, yet another stupid test.

I'm a O65-C92-E95-A14-N49 Big Five!!

Order Now!

I woke up at 4:00 this morning and couldn't go back to sleep, so I went downstairs to watch TV until 5:30, which is when I normally get up. I'm flipping through the channels and notice that there are an obscene number of sports channels and home shopping channels. What does this say about our culture? Why do we need five bajillion sport and shopping channels? I guess I'm more amazed by the fact that there's actually a demand for this much stuff. Have you ever watched a home shopping channel? How long do you have to sit there before something pops up on the screen that you actually want? My mother ordered a camera once off QVC or whatever and I couldn't believe she had actually ordered something off television. The camera was fine and all, I just couldn't believe she actually picked up the phone to make an order after watching something on television--that she was actually moved to the point of spending money because of a commercial. I have a strict rule about ordering off television: Don't do it. My daughter often gets caught up in the glitz and glamour of commercials selling various devices she thinks will be useful to me like vacuum cleaners or tools of one kind or another. She'll often run to the phone and bring it back to me yelling, "Order it, Mom. Order it, now. That could come in handy." Then I have to remind her I never buy anything off television and she always says, "Oh, that's right." She always seems a little disappointed that I don't make the order. I don't know why. Kids are weird.

I used to like shopping, in real life, I mean. I used to enjoy going to the mall and wasting an afternoon there. Not anymore. I pretty much hate the mall now. I only go if I can't get what I need somewhere else. Basically, the mall takes too much time, and if you've got a kid with you, you get dragged into the Disney store and the pet store and Nature Company and all the other stores that have nothing you need. My main shopping outlets now are Target, Wal-Mart and Meijer's (a local Wal-Mart type store). If I can't get it from one of those three places, I probably don't really need it. Of course, there might be a direct correlation to the fact that I don't much enjoy shopping anymore and there being no good shopping here in this god-forsaken place I unfortunately call home. When I go home to DC, I always make a stop at Tysons Corner or Fair Oaks to get what I can't get here, like MAC products. But, of course, that doesn't end up being much fun because it's usually Christmas-time and shopping is never fun at Christmas, especially in DC when everyone in the metropolitan area is crammed into a giant concrete box trying to beat out everyone else on the two-for-one sale of George Foreman grills at Sears. It sucks.

Pass the kimchi, please.

Last night I had Angela, her mother (who is visiting over fall break), and Lisa (Angela's roommate) over for a home-cooked Korean meal. This is the first time I've made a full Korean meal for another Korean who is not in my family, so I was a little nervous about it. But, in the end, I think it all went over well. I don't tend to make Korean food often because I'm the only one in my house who really likes it. My daughter likes the food that is most acceptable to an American palate, and my husband is pretty much the same. That means if I'm making Korean food, I'm making the same thing over and over again. So it was a nice change to whip up some dishes I wouldn't normally fix for my family.

It's starting to get cold here. It stayed warm for a good long while, but in the last couple of weeks, Autumn has hit hard. Autumn is my favorite season, so I'm glad to finally feel the chill in the air and pull out my jackets. However, today is not the sort of fall day I like. It's cloudy and cold and wet. I like the clear, crisp days when the color of trees is exploding all around you and you breath deep to fill your lungs with that wonderful earthy air.

Over the weekend, I took my daughter for her yearly birthday photo shoot. It works out well because right around the time I get her pictures back, it's time to start addressing Christmas cards, so I have a brand, spanking new picture to put in the cards. In one of the proofs, my husband says she looks just like me. "She has that same smug, you're-such-an-idiot smile that you always have," he said. I laughed.

It's the bling.

I thought since I mentioned it the other day, I'd let you all see my new ring.

You ain't all that.

I feel like complaining about academia and the people who make it their life and they way they confuse that life for something that really means two shits to anyone in the real world. However, before I do that, let me offer up the disclaimer that what I am about to say is not based upon actual events or people in my life and any similarities to actual events or people in my life is purely coincidental.

I have found that for some reason certain types in the university setting (primarily really old, sickly, white men who are on the verge of retirement after they've plagued others with their overbearing sense of inflated self-worth--created by having published a few books--for far too long) are allowed to get away with just about anything. Somehow, managing to have lived long enough equates deserving respect. Now, I should tell you, Homey don't play that. Character apparently means nothing. Demonstrating a respect for others apparently means nothing. Understanding that no single one of us is more important than any other one of us despite "station" in life apparently means nothing. What does seem to mean something is acting like a petulant child when not getting one's way. What does seem to mean something is behaving in such an annoying manner that people give you what you want to just get you off their back despite the fact that it's completely inconvenienced them and thrown their own schedule in the grinder. That's apparently the stuff that counts. And it quite literally makes me want to vomit watching people humor this sort of behavior because it's wrong and it's unacceptable and no one should have to put up with it. I just want to know when do people lose their fire? When do they stop thinking it's worth resisting oppressive treatment from others? I say, "Vive la revolution, you bastards!"

Peace!

Let me just say that Maxine Hong Kingston ROCKS!!! Her reading was awesome, she was awesome, the evening was awesome. She is such a gracious speaker and person. If anyone ever gets the opportunity to see her, go do it. She's a tiny woman with an incredibly large presence. All I know is that when I'm in my 50s and 60s, I want to be cool the way she is. She wore a long gray, jersey dress that came close to her ankles and a long, brightly-colored scarf she wore draped across her neck so that it hung down her back. The coolest part, though, is that she wore turquoise flats that were impossible to miss when she stepped up to the stage. Actually, I take that back. The coolest part was that she wore her hair in pigtails. If you've never seen a picture of Maxine Hong Kingston, you should know that her hair is long and thick and brilliantly white. The most incredible thing about her, which is most meanigful to me, is that you can almost see the glow of serenity that surrounds her. Maybe that sounds mushy, but she exudes this incredible calm and gentleness. But despite that exterior placidity, you can definitely sense the fierce heart beating within. Anyway, here's what she wrote in my book.

Warrior Woman

Maxine Hong Kingston is tonight and I'm very excited to listen to her speak. I read a little of The Fifth Book of Peace on Amazon.com because I can't get a copy of one in town. Hopefully, they'll be on sale at the reading tonight. But getting back to what I read--she starts the book out explaining how she lost her original manuscript in 1991 to forest fires. She tried to get to her house to save it when she heard news reports on how close the fires were to her neighborhood, but she wasn't able to. I have to think losing something like that is akin to losing a child in some ways. You've poured all this love and effort into it to create something beautiful and strong and then lose it forever and the only thing that makes it real is what lives in your memory. And sometimes what's left in the memory just doesn't seem real enough so you're broken because, then, it's just gone like mist.

Anyway, she was obviously able to bounce back and build something new that is hopefully more beautiful than the original would have been because it's informed by a reinforced love and determination to finish what was started.

I don't know if I've already mentioned this, but my husband and I celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary this month. He gave me my 10-year anniversary ring over the weekend and it's very pretty. I have to fess up to the fact that I actually picked it out and there was no surprise involved in me getting the ring because I basically told him he had to buy it. But it's still nice to have regardless. I'm looking at it right now and I can't believe I've been married for ten years. I know it's not that long in terms of a lifetime, but, damn, it is still a long time. The only piece of jewelry left for my husband to buy for me before we die is a diamond tennis bracelet, and I told him not to worry about getting that until I'm, like, fifty. I think only mature women can get away with wearing something like a tennis bracelet without looking stupid.

Nothing Much.

Just got back from a meeting that was really productive and an excellent use of my time. (Of course the absurdity of this statement should be plainly obvious to anyone with a brain. Any sentence containing the words "meeting," "productive," or "excellent" is automatically invalid based on standard rules of symbolic logic.) Anyway, I don't really have time to write because I've got work to take care of, but let me just say that someone at work is very high on my shit list. In fact, he's at the top of it. In fact, I've just made the executive decision to write him in on the top spot with permanent ink.

Waste of Time.

Well, I just wasted a bunch of time looking for Harry Potter candy. I thought I'd order some for my daughter's birthday party. I nearly bought some Every Flavor Beans from Amazon.com, but at the last minute decided not to because I wasn't going to get free shipping, Guess I'll just have to buy regular candy for the goody bags. Aren't you glad you stopped by today to read about my exciting afternoon? I got an email from my friend Amanda today and she told me feels invisible and that she doesn't have her own identity. She's either her kids' mom or her husband's wife. She says she doesn't do anything for herself anymore and I told her I know exactly what she's talking about. What's it about? Do men feel this way? That they're only identified by the circumstances and people connected to them rather than existing in their own right? When I was growing up, I never heard any of my mother's friends call her by her name. It's a Korean thing. They always called her Kathy Oma, which means Kathy's mom. And she would call her friends the same thing, just replacing the blank before Oma with the name of their oldest child. I mean, that's just part of the formal nature of addressing others in Korean culture. But even in America, it seems women of a certain age are only acknowledgeable by the function they serve to other people. Basically, what my friend is complaining about is that she feels no one cares about her own desires and thoughts. That's the part I understand. Maybe this is all just a bunch of whining. Well, tough boobies, baby. I don't care if it comes off as whining. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!!!

On schedule for today...

I've got to drive my daughter to a birthday party today after school. It's going to be at a roller rink, which should provide a few laughs. Looking at my calendar, I am realizing that there's a reading tomorrow night I want to go to. It's Susan Choi. She wrote The Foreign Student, and has now written a second book. I don't know what it's about, but I've seen her before and I'd like to again. For any of you keeping track, Desperate Dad and his girlfriend had their baby a couple of weeks ago--a beautiful little girl. He's got a picture up at his blog, so go take a look. She's freakishly unalienlike in appearance. As anyone out there who's had a baby knows, they tend to look something like Gollum from Lord of the Rings for a few months before hitting the cute baby stage.

Anyway, speaking of birthday parties, my daughter has decided to go the Harry Potter route again for her party this year. So I ordered the Harry Potter pack from Birthday Express and am now surfing the internet trying to get ideas for wizardly party activities. Although Birthday Express is a little pricey, it's worth the time it saves me in having to go from store to store looking for all the necessary party accoutrements. She had a Harry Potter party last year and she'll be inviting many of the same kids as last year, so I've got to try and figure a way to make it a little different this year. You know, how does all this stuff start to overcome your life? It's all normal, I suppose, but why don't we really figure out by watching what our parents had to do for us, that that's what we'll be doing for our own kids. I never imagined there would come the day where I had to feign interest in scrapbooking because every freaking thiry-something mother seems to think it's neat. I don't get it. But this is my life. But seriously, what is it with the scrapbooking? I look at my pictures because I like to reminisce about things that have happened in my life. I don't think having the pictures arranged in a flower pattern enhances that experience in any way. Sometimes I feel really stuck.

color quiz

This was interesting.

Color Quiz

These were my results:
Your Existing Situation
Readily participates in things that provide excitement or stimulation. Wants to feel exhilarated.

Your Stress Sources
Wants to overcome a feeling of emptiness and to bridge the gap which she feels separates herself from others. Anxious to experience life in all its aspects, to explore all its possibilities, and to live it to the fullest. She therefore resents any restriction or limitation being imposed on her and insists on being free and unhampered.

Your Restrained Characteristics
Believes that she is not receiving her share--that she is neither properly understood nor adequately appreciated. Feels that she is being compelled to conform, and close relationships leave her without any sense of emotional involvement. Feels that she cannot do much about her existing problems and difficulties and that she must make the best of things as they are. Able to achieve satisfaction through sexual activity.

Your Desired Objective
Needs a change in her circumstances or in her relationships which will permit relief from stress. Seeking a solution which will open up new and better possibilities and allow hopes to be fulfilled.

Your Actual Problem
Feels restricted and prevented from progressing; seeking a solution which will remove these limitations.

Your Actual Problem #2
The fear that she may be prevented from achieving the things she wants leads her into a relentless search for satisfaction in the pursuit of illusory or meaningless activities.

Chello.

Just got back from running to the drugstore to pick up some ibuprofen for the child at school. She often complains of small maladies like headaches or stomach aches to go down to the nurse's office. They take her temperature, tell her she's OK and then send her back to class. However, I've been meaning to drop off some medication to the school, just so they can have it on hand in the event she actually does have a headache, so I just ran over to take care of it. Of course, by the time I got there, she didn't have a headache anymore. She does something similar in church, she'll inexplicably have to go to the bathroom five times during mass. I think she does this just for a change of scenery. I think she's doing the same thing at school--she decides she's been sitting in the same chair for long enough and wants to take a little walk. Hand goes up,"Mrs, M. I have a headache."

Sometimes I think it would be nice if I could do that at work, raise my hand and be excused for a little while. I often think of the Farside cartoon where the microcephalic kid raises his hand in class and asks to be excused because his brain is full. That would be cool if we could get away with it in real life, heh, heh, heh. Maxine Hong Kingston will be reading in town next week and I'm am tres excited. We don't often get really, really well-known writers in these parts, especially ones I'm interested in listening to, so it should be very enlightening. I'm particularly found of Maxine Hong Kingston because she was one of the first writers I read when I consciously decided to start reading works by asian-american writiers. I read Woman Warrior and discovered myself in the pages of a book for the first time. Although her ethnic background is Chinese rather than Korean, there are similarities in the cultural experiences of all asian people in America. Also, there's not a huge amount of writing by Korean-Americans yet. We haven't been here long enough and our voice is only just emerging. Whereas Chinese- and Japanese-Americans have been here for several generations already and have had the time to voice their stories.

That was my ear, thanks.

I don't know what the heck is going on, but there is some very loud, painful screeching going on outside my door. I think they're testing the fire alarm or something. I've been thinking a lot lately on the fleeting nature of time. I really don't have enough hours in a day to do the things I need to do. And I ask where is the justice in having to watch time race by during the prime years of life? When you're a kid and can't do anything, time is really, really slow. Then it starts to speed up when you start having some fun, namely college. Next thing you know you're married with kids and high school was only yesterday. Now it seems what happens in a day between the time I open my eyes in the morning and close them again at night takes about two seconds. Two seconds isn't enough time to do the stuff that needs to be done in a day. But then we get old and we can't work anymore and our kids don't want to visit us and we're sitting in a chair watching Jerry Springer. I bet time goes really, really slowly then.

OK, damn fire alarm going off again. Really annoying. Before I had my daughter, I used to be a really deep sleeper. Nothing could wake me up. Once when I was in college the fire alarm went off in the dorm at 1 am and I didn't hear it. The alarm was right outside our door, but I didn't wake up. The RA and some other person had to unlock my door, come in and wake me up to tell me to get out of the building. A sidenote to this story is that they then wrote me up for not leaving the building during a fire alarm and I had to go to the dorm coordinator's office and I sure gave him a piece of my mind over the fact that they obviously knew I was not trying to stay in the building. Anyway, that was then...now I don't sleep so deeply. Having kids messes up your sleep in a big way. I don't know if it's because you're afraid something might happen when you're asleep so you're brain doesn't let you go really deep into slumberland or what. But the ironic thing about it is it makes you tired during your waking hours and less able to deal with your kids. So we deprive ourselves of sleep at night because we want to be sure our children are sleep and then end up beating the crap out of them after their spill their bowl of cereal because we have no patience due to lack of sleep.

Come back to the five-and-dime, Billy Idol.

I was just sitting here listening to my Rebel Yell CD, which I got sometime back. One of the things I've been doing since getting a CD player a decade or so ago is buying my favorite tapes on CD. I still have a lot of my tapes from high school and college, but let's face it, they don't sound as good as the CD. Anyway, I'm sitting here listening to Rebel Yell and one of the remakes towards the end of the album comes on and I notice that they've got the vocal track playing so low, you can barely hear it. Anyway, curious about this, I make various adjustments to my iTunes equalizer until I can hear the vocal better, and I immediately understand why it was so low to begin with: The singing sucks major donkey dicks. I don't know when they did these remakes, and they probably did it to add to the album when it was released on CD, but it stinks. Now maybe Billy Idol never could sing. I really don't know, but even if he was this bad in the '80's, why weren't they using the sound engineers from those old albums for these new songs? You couldn't tell on the old albums that Billy's vocal talents might be lacking. You sure can on those extra songs, though. He can't hit the high notes. He's not singing the right words. He sounds like he's either drunk or on major psychotropic medication. So the question that comes to mind is why even bother? Why not just chalk up the cost of studio time to lessons learned and forget the experiment entirely? Why did they still think it was worth putting the remakes on the album? I mean, really, it's embarrassing for Billy. Why not let the world fantasize about what you used to be rather than beating them over the head with the sorry stick that is your reality? It made me sad to listen to them because I used to do a lot of fantasizing about Billy Idol when I was a teenager. In fact, one of my goals in life was to have sex with him. Obviously, that never happened. But, damn, listening to his tired, worn-out voice and imagining the skinny 50-year-old body behind it makes me glad it never happened. Actually, Billy's not looking that bad considering his somewhat advanced age, hard-living rock and roll life, motorcyle crashes and slavish dedication to one hairstyle. I'd probably still do him...if I was drunk...and the lights in the club were really dark so he still looked good, from a distance...and I was fantasizing about Sting.

Bad Hair Day.

I'm frustrated because my hair has really been looking like shit lately and I don't know what to do about it. I'm trying to keep it long because you have to go in for a cut too often when you have a short style. I'm also trying to find something that I can literally dry and be done with it. I don't have a lot of time in the morning with trying to get myself and my daughter out the door. Long hair is good for that because no matter what, you can always just pull it back into a ponytail. But, obviously, that gets old after awhile and even though I am a thirty-something wife and mother, I don't want to look like a thirty-something wife and mother. You know who I'm talking about, that tired woman you see at the supermarket, pushing the cart with children trailing behind her while she pushes on down the aisles with a lost look in her face because she hasn't been in a hair salon in two years (and knows she looks like it) because she doesn't have the time to squeeze it in between driving her kids all over God's green earth, cleaning the house, doing the shopping, going to work and reading the mail. I don't want to be that woman. The problem is it's really hard to find a hairstyle that meets all these criteria. Trying to find something on the internet is a massive waste of time because no site has a really large collection of photos and most of them are the types that come out of hair magazines, which are really more experimental a lot of times. They're not the sort of hairstyle any normal person would have. I'm also plagued somewhat by the fact that my hair is course, so it tends to look frizzy at the end, which means I have to spend time with products to make it look smooth, time I don't have most days. Somebody please, please help me. (pathetic whining sounds here) Please, please. I hate may hair and I want to have something decent.

My fingertips feel really warm all of a sudden. Does that mean something? But, anyway, I need some serious help here with the hair. I thinking about making an appointment at Vidal Sasson when I go home for Christmas because they're supposed to give you the right hairstyle for your face shape. I'm amazed that your average run of the mill hairstylist doesn't seem able to just look at your face and hair type and give you something that looks good. I think they're too paranoid the client will flip out or something. They shouldn't be afraid, though. What does the client know about hair.? Of course, there are the hairstylists who are just dying to try a certain new style on someone and the person they manage to convince to get it is the last person it looks good on. That's why people go home crying. It's really all just a big breakdown of communication. But, seriously, I need major hair help. Someone help me. That's what this post is about. Find me a freaking haircut for the love of God.

C is for cookie.

I'm eating cookies right now if you weren't able to guess from today's title. Key lime white chocolate. They're gooooooooood. We have two guinea pigs and they're crazy. Whenever they hear the crinkle of plastic, they go nuts because they think they're going to get some timorthy hay. I don't know if you know what a happy guinea pig looks like, but they jump around and squeal a lot. Sometimes I'll crunch up a plastic bag after I put away groceries just to watch them go ballistic. It's funny, really, it's funny. It's a prime example of classic pavlovian conditioning. My daughter is turning out to be a bit of a scientist herself, but more along the lines of Frankenstein than Pavlov. She likes to do things that essentially torture the animals to see what their responses will be. For example, she'll shine a bright light directly in the eyes of her gerbil just to see what happens. Before any of you whacked out animal rights people get your panties in a bunch, we do stop her when we see what she's up to. She'll also brush the guinea pigs against the grain of their fur because it makes them squeal like Ned Beatty. They don't like it, but she thinks they're shouting their joy. Yeah, I still haven't seen anything that convinces me children and animals are a good mix.

She wants a cat now. I've told her she can't have a cat until the gerbil and hamster die. If you're keeping track, you'll have figured out we have two guinea pigs, a gerbil and a hamster as pets. When I told her the smaller rodents had to die before I'd even consider getting another animal, she suggested we set Bertha (the gerbil) "free" in the back yard. We told her that wouldn't work. Her real dream is to get onto Pet Stars, which is an animal talent show on Animal Planet. At first she tried to teach her hamster Snoozer to do somersaults. Training sessions consisted of her yelling jump and then tossing Snoozer from hand to hand. We had to let her know hamsters don't catch on that easily, so she decided she'd turn to the guinea pigs. She thinks their happy dance is enough to win her a prize. But now she dreams of the day when she'll get a cat and can torture, er, train it. Going to a pet store with her is interesting because she spends all her time trying to figure out which cat condo she wants to buy when we finally get around to getting a cat. I think I know what she really wants and I'm buying her the deluxe kitty highrise for Christmas.

I see you.

Looks like God got this one right.


Brown Eyes


What Color Eyes Should You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla

I don't know why I like taking these little quizzes. Probably because I'm hoping to find out I'm not really as twisted as I think I am. Yeah, that's it.

You dropped the bomb on me, baby.

I've been noticing lately that when I go to the gym, people have not been flushing the toilet after they use it. I'm not understanding why because flushing the toilet is one of the things that's really emphasized during potty training. Most often, it's urine and decomposing toilet paper I encounter. Occasionally, it's a turd. However, yesterday, it was a bloody tampon floating so nonchalantly in the bowl when I opened the stall door that you'd think it's a pretty typical occurance. What the hell? What is so freaking difficult about flushing the toilet? I mean, come on. No one wants to see that. Not even other women. It's bad enough we have to deal with the gross realities of our own periods. I don't want the evidence of someone else's monthly terrorizing me from the creeping depths of the gym toilets. FLUSH THE DAMN TOILET, YOU LOSERS!!! OK, now that I've got that off my back...

Since I'm talking about the gym, I saw this girl running on the track, and she had a huge bruise on the back of her thigh. I found myself staring at it while I jogged because you don't often see bruises that large and I wondered what had caused it. I tried to make out if it was shaped like anything, like a hand or a shoe or something that would indicate someone had hit or kicked her. It did look something like a sneaker, but I can't be sure. Anyway, you would think if she got the bruise as a result of someone beating her, she would have hidden it, right? Because victims of abuse often try to hide the evidence of their torment. In general, I like watching other people jog because it's interesting to see the way their bodies move. I've got to tell you, some people look really goofy when they run. I'm sure I'm one of those people, but since I can't see myself, I like to think I look really cool and sleek when I jog. I also get to see a lot because most of the people running on the track are young undergrads, so they all pass me and I spend a lot of time behind other people. I recently discovered the importance of having good running shoes. I've always bought my running shoes at places like Shoe Carnival or Shoe Warehouse or whatever so that I don't have to pay an arm and a leg. However, I would notice on the the days that I ran, I'd have really deep muscle pain in my legs for the rest of the day. So, on the advice of a coworker, I went to a running shop and had them set me up with a proper pair of shoes and I couldn't believe the difference it made to have shoes that correctly support your foot. The first time I ran with the new shoes, there was no muscle pain and my feet didn't hurt the way they normally do. So my advice for all you would-be runners out there, drop some cash and get a good pair of shoes. It makes all the difference in the world.

Same old, same old.

Nothing new or exciting happening today, unless you want to count that I had to drive my husband to the car dealership to pick up his car this morning. I think Life in Debt is a goner. He hasn't posted in over a month and I think all his philandering ways have finally caught up with him. So let his propensity for making really bad choices serve as a cautionary tale to those of you who might follow in his sorry footsteps, which wouldn't be difficult given modern pressures to have more than you can afford and to look for immediate gratification.

Hold on, I've got to go check on my mac & cheese. BRB.

K, I'm back. Now what was I talking about? Oh right, bad choices. This is actually something I wonder about a lot , and I'm fascinated by people who never seem able to do the right thing, Of course, "the right thing" is a subjective concept, but I think most of us know it when we see it. Just like pornography. What compels people to go against the most logical course of action and pick the path that only fulfills the most superficial need? Admittedly, I tend to be a little too practical in my decision making. Sometimes to the point that I wonder if I know how to have fun. I enjoy fun and nice things, but if I can make due with what I have, it never seems wise to blow a load on something that just satisfies an aesthetic desire. I'm talking specifically about cars. I drive a Honda station wagon. It's not fancy, but it gets me where I need to get. In general, I don't think a lot about cars, but there are cars out there now loaded out the ying-yang with stuff to fool you into thinking you're driving around town in your living room. It would be nice to have a car like that, but paying $700 a month to have a car like that isn't nice. But sometimes I do get sick of making the decisions I'm supposed to make--the right decisions. I wish I could be bad sometimes. I wish I could not care about the consequences and only think about the moment. It's not often I think like that, but sometimes I do.

It's Sew Easy.

My daughter says she wants a sewing machine for her birthday, so I just ordered one from Amazon.com. I hope I don't live to regret this purchase. I hope I'm not making an emergency room visit in the future so they can separate the fingers she's sewed together. I am surprised, however, that there seems to be an incredible dearth of sewing machines for children out there. I'm not talking about toy sewing machines, I'm talking about real sewing machines designed for children. I bought something that seems OK, I hope it won't turn out to be a piece of junk and a waste of $40. You'd think there'd be a market for it. You make a real sewing machine, just size it a little smaller for kid-sized hands. That doesn't seem too difficult to me, but apparently it is. Anyway, speaking of sewing, my daughter finally decided what she wants to be for Halloween. We went to Jo-Ann's and she picked out the pattern for a dragon. It's this bodysuit thing that's got wings on the shoulders, spines down the back and a tail. It shouldn't be too difficult. I accidently threw out one of the pattern pieces, though, when I was cutting the thing out. It's part of the glove, but I'm going to wing it with the part of the glove pattern I did manage to keep. It should be OK, otherwise she'll be the dragon with jacked-up hands. That would make a good title for a short story. I'm drinking hot chocolate right now. Thought I'd throw that out to give you a more complete picture of me at the moment. I've got envelopes to open, too.

I'm adding a new link to the side. It's a project in cyber-writing. It's going to be an ongoing short story written by a group of writers here on campus. So far, there's only one entry, the one I posted to get things started, but hopefully some of the other participants will be adding on to it pretty soon. This is a typical sort of writing exercise, when one person writes something and another person adds onto the story. But I thought it might be interesting to try it in the blog format. The only real problem I've noticed is that I can't see a way to have the posts appear in reverse chronology, so people are going to have to start from the end and work their way up as we add to the story. Of course, that would only be for people who don't read from the very beginning, so go, quick, go read so you don't have to keep scrolling down to get to the beginning. GO NOW!!!

P.S. Desperate Dad, if you're reading this, I assume you have a new bundle of baby in your arms. Congratulations and good luck.

Turn your head and cough.

OK, go check this out. Doctor sexually assaults patient Now, when I first started reading it, I assumed the patient was a woman. Apparently, I was wrong. What I want to know is if the patient is upset enough to file charges, (as he should) why didn't he stop the doctor once he started "massaging" his genitals? I'm not attempting to blame the victim in this case, but I'm always curious in these type of cases that a prolonged assault takes place. If I were seeing a doctor and realized they were doing something inappropriate, I can guarantee you I'd be kicking them in the teeth before they had a chance to take it any further. Then I'd go screaming out of the examining room to tell everyone what had just happened. But first, I'd mess up my hair and smear my lipstick all over my face so it would look REALLY bad. But really, it's disgusting that any medical professional would violate the trust of a patient in such an appalling manner, but there does come the point when the victim has to immediately respond to the situation, preferably with a punch in the face.

Renovate me!

Last week I was watching this program on TV called Renovate My Family, or something like that. It's the first time I'd ever seen it, but I know my purpose in life now is to get on this show. It's a reality show where they come in and, as the name suggests, renovate a family. The episode I happened to watch was about a family of five outside Chicago. Apparently the son suffered paralysis due to a snowboarding accident or a water skiing accident or something along those lines. Anyway, the associated trauma of the event was basically tearing the family apart. In addition, their house was poorly designed or equipped to accomodate someone in a wheelchair. So the Renovate My Family folks come in and completely redo the house and solve all the family problems and give them all makeovers. So, I want these people to come to my house and give me a new house and a makeover. I told my husband we had to come up with some sort of serious dysfunction we could fabricate so they'd come put us on the show. He flatly refused. I don't why whenever it comes to trying to get onto television, my husband gets all ethical on me. This is the man who wants to open a super welfare complex where he'll have a check cashing store, liquor store, discount cigarette store, casino and hourly daycare under one roof. So, I'll probably never get onto the show and have my house redone. That's really what I want--a complet house makeover.

I've noticed "Life in Debt" hasn't posted for quite some time and I wonder what happened to him. You'll remember he's the bloke whose managed to completely screw up his life with compulsive shopping and extra-marital affairs. I wonder if he got fired. There's something I don't understand when I read blogs written by British folk. It doesn't seem they have to actually be at work very much. It seems like there are a lot of ways for them to get off work and not have to worry about losing their jobs. It sounds like they have leave coming out the ying-yang. Can anyone explain this to me? I don't know much about standard leave practices in Europe, so I'd appreciate anyone who'd be able to fill me in on the specifics. I know, in general, there tends to be more leave available to Europeans for things like maternity and paternity leave, but what else do they get?

By the way, I'm still soliciting for interviewees. If anyone out there thinks they're interesting enough to be interviewed and wants to launch their sparkling personality into the blogosphere, let me know and we'll set something up. Let me also note that the only rule is that you have to be willing to answer any question I ask. If you're interested in just being foul for foulness sake, don't bother. I'm not interested in talking to you because that's just boring.

I concede.

OK, I find I must bow to the master of grossiosity, my brother. Dirty Sanchez apparently ain't the half of it. His list manages to blow my one puny entry (which wasn't even my own entry, if you recall) out of the water. So, all hail the male ability to make one want to vomit.

Went to a reading last night at a local coffee shop. I should probably say the local coffee shop. We're not overflowing with coffee shops here. We don't even have a freestanding Starbucks here. All the Starbucks in town are little cafes in other stores, like Barnes & Noble or Target. This particular reading was for the grad students in the MFA program. It was good. I can remember before I had ever gone to a reading, I imagined they were really cool and hip. They're not. It's a lot like going to a lecture. But that's OK.

My daughter has changed her mind once again over what she wants to be for Halloween. She's going to have to commit to something pretty soon because it's a done deal once I buy the fabric for it. She was Hermione from Harry Potter last year and she's now saying she wants to do the Harry Potter thing again. That, of course, makes things really easy for me because I won't have to make a new costume this year. Although, I suspect she'll change her mind once we go shopping. I tried to get her to be Alice in Wonderland because I made that costume for her school play last spring. I suggested that my husband and I could dress up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, but she didn't go for that one.

I don't know how many of you out there sew, but I can't believe how expensive it is to sew. One of the reasons I learned was I thought I could spend less money on dressing my daughter, but fabric's not cheap. A lot of times you can buy something cheaper off the rack. And of course, the nicer the fabric, the more money it costs. I'm going to make her first communion dress when it's time for that and I plan on using the types of fabrics available for wedding gowns and some of that stuff costs as much as $45.00 a yard. But I like the idea that she's wearing something one of a kind for an occassion like that. I don't have to worry about the veil, though. I still have my communion veil, so I'll have her wear that one.

I'm Monica.

I'm Monica Gellar-Bing from Friends!



Who are you?

Random thoughts.

What am I thinking about today? This moring while I was eating my yogurt and granola, I was skimming through a recent Scientific American that highlights Einstein. One article was comparing and contrasting Einstein to Newton, saying they were basically the two most important scientific minds...ever. Anyway, the article said Newton's universe is one of absolutes and Einstein's is one of relatives. Various other articles went on to explain how many scientists today devote their careers to disproving Einstein's theories and whatnot. It made me think that very few people in academia think for themselves anymore, if they ever really did. Scientists have to tear apart someone else's work to validate their own careers. Newton's work became the basis of modern scientific thought and Einstein envisioned the other side of Newton's coin. And everyone else has been following in their footsteps. Is it laziness? Anyway, I see the same thing here. The graduate students learn to regurgitate what their professors tell them is the truth. So another generation of "scholars" continues this legacy of the status quo. The professors are not interested in listening to something different that might challenge them to readjust their thinking. It's pathetic, all of it. People who think universities are supposed to represent the open markeplace of ideas are sorely mistaken. The thinking here is just as closed as any other sector of society. They pretend they're open, but dare to disagree on a term paper and you're looking at a big old F. It's just another level of conformity.

Dine and Dash.

Sorry, this has to be a quick and relatively empty post. I actually had work to do today, so no time for nonsense. I was trying to think of something raunchy to report but, nothing really good is coming. So I'll give you one of Angela's raunchiest: Dirty Sanchez she calls it. Apparently, after anal sex, the man wipes his shit-coated penis across his partner's upper lip, drawing one smelly mustache. That is kind of disgusting. In general, I don't get people that want to have anything to do with bodily waste and sex. Like those guys who want to piss on women. What the fuck is that about? That's just messed up.

Free lunch.

In about 45 minutes, I'm out of here to enjoy a free lunch. Woo hoo. Went to a reading last night for Sean Keith Henry who just published his first novel, Limbo. He is a graduate of the MFA program and he seems like a really nice guy. Not only did I buy a copy of his book, I bought a copy for my friend Jenanie because I think she'll really enjoy it. At any rate, he was much more generous a speaker and presenter than Michael Collins. I have to chair a session for a conference going on here. It's starts at 9:00, which means I won't be able to sleep in tomorrow morning. That's so harsh. Saturdays are really the only day I have to sleep in because we have to get up Sunday for church. I hope they have a good menu at the Morris today so I can PIG OUT. Naw, I'm just joking. I don't really like to pig out because I feel sick the whole rest of the day. That's all I have for today. I don't feel much like talking.

Can someone tell me what it's all about?

My husband and I were lying in bed last night talking and discovered neither one of us knows what we're supposed to be doing. I'm 35, he's 41, and we still haven't figured out what we want to be when we grow up. That's jacked up. It makes me wonder does anyone ever hit that point where they think they're right where they're supposed to be in life? I am so restless lately. I feel something churning inside of me that wants to get out and I don't know what to do about it. I hate that feeling. I'd chalk it up to middle-age malaise, but I think I'm still too young for that. I'm still waiting for that big thing that's supposed to happen to me. I know I'm supposed to be famous, for sure. :-) But seriously, I am supposed to be famous. I think a lot about what life will be like for my daughter when she grows up and I'm concerned. I'm concerned about where this country is heading and whether or not people still know what's supposed to be important in life. People concentrate too much on material gains and don't pay enough attention to what's going on under their own roof. I'm afraid she'll be an adult in a world like Blade Runner or something, where everything is dark and desolate and overcrowded and dirty. Then I think about her children. I can't imagine what life will be like for her, so it's almost surreal to try and imagine my grandchildren's lives will be, and what kind of world they'll be forced to navigate.

I also find myself wondering about this human fiber. We have all this potential and don't seem to be able to figure out the best way to apply it. Following Marx's theories, we're headed toward socialism because we're right on track for reaching a state of ripe capitalism. It's at that stage, of course, when man is so isolated from himself and absorbed completely in the material world that the revolution will occur. I'm not much for Marx and I think any of those type of world-order theories tends to forget the essential human element. We're animals. We're driven to survive just like any other animal. People will never be content to sublimate individual gratification for the greater good, and that's our primary flaw. You look at all the socialist and communist societies. None of them operates under a communal willingness to share the wealth. The masses are forced to live that way by a select few. I don't know how I ended up on this line of thought from trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Anyway, I think someone should give me a talk show. I'd be good on a talk show. But I'd ask real questions. I wouldn't care if I insulted the guest or not. I'd get the real truth out of them, squeeze it out like the pulp from a lemon. That's what I want to be when I grow. A talk show host, no, really an interviewer. I'd be happy just sitting there interviewing people and making them reveal all their secrets.

You're it on a stick.

I'm sitting here working on layout and it is what it is. My friend Lynn and I were IM'ing each other this morning. (That sounds dirty, doesn't it?) We were talking about things on a stick and how everything is made better by being put on a stick. So I decided there should be dick on a stick. But then I realized they already exist, they're called dildos. And I was so close to making millions with that particular brainstorm. Damn. Although, really, dildos are sticks as dicks, but not really dick on a stick. So maybe there's really something there after all. I'll have to mull that one over a little more. I saw once on some travel show that they sell fried macaroni and cheese on a stick at the Minnesota State Fair. Why not just call that heart attack on a stick? I mean, good lord, what will people come up with next?

Anywho, I'm putting together a website for my brother right now, which is a little bit of a secret, but not really. Once it's ready, I'll probably link to it from here so you can all feel the love. I'm listening to Hall and Oates right now, off the streaming radio station I listen to. What ever happened to them? They were pretty big in their day, and now they're just gone. I've got to chair a session at a conference on campus this weekend. I'll have to dig through my closet and see if I have anything that can pass as professional. I finally broke down and gave away all my "work clothes" from DC because they were out of style, for one, but also because I realized I would never wear any of it again because no one sees me at work so I don't have to dress up. Which I love, by the way. I hate stockings. They make my thighs sweat.

I'm too sexy for my shirt.

Apparently, I am sexy today. That's what my daughter told me as we were walking out the door this morning. I'm wearing jeans with chuncky boots and this is my "sexy" outfit. At least, that's what she says. "You look sexy, Mom, with those jeans and boots." But she pronounces it in a way where it sounds more like she's saying saxy. Sassy and saxy, that's me.

BTW, here's raunchy story number two. It's not really a story as much as it's an anecdote. Anyway, when I was a teenager and lived in Utah, a friend of mine who lived on base told me she knew this guy--who was gay--who had anal sex soooooo much that he had to wear tampons up his ass because of the bleeding. I was fifteen when I heard this and it seemed to have a pretty high eeew-factor at the time. Now, it seems to make sense in that if you're bleeding from the ass, how else would you stop it? Of course, he shouldn't be having sex so much that he bleeds. How could you even have sex if you've got that level of damage in the rectum? I can't imagine it would be very pleasureable, but maybe he was one of those guys who likes to ride the fine line between pleasure and pain.

The road less travelled.

My husband has begun saying we will be moving to Montana in four years. He's restless, as am I. I'm an Army brat, so I get edgy after being in one place a few years. We've been here for seven years now, which is the longest I've lived in any one place my entire life. The wanderlust has been loudly ringing in my ears for the last few years. When we were driving to church yesterday, he asked our daughter, "Wouldn't you like to move to Montana?"

She said, "But I've lived here my entire life."

"You could play with your cousins anytime you want if we lived in Montana."

"Dad, don't you know that when kids live in one place, they want to stay there?"

"But you should go someplace different. You want to see something different."

"Dad, I will when I go to college because I'm going to go someplace else for college."

So that was the end of that conversation. We were in Montana visiting my sister for a couple of days when we went on our road trip in August. There is something about the West that breathes life into you. I love the mountains. That was the one thing I really loved about living in Utah. I loved hiking the mountains. There are no mountains in Indiana. In general, there's nothing to climb on here. That's the kind of hiking I like, climbing something. Getting to the top of something so you can look down and remember how small we really are in the whole scheme of things.

Because I lived a life on the move as a child, it's hard for me to comprehend the life my daughter has had so far. She knows this one place as home. She can claim a place as home in her mind. I can't do that. When people ask where I'm from I say, "I'm an Army brat. I'm not from anywhere." So it's hard for me to understand how she loves this place as home because it's just another pit stop in my mind.

I am, like, soooooo cultured.

Went to a reading and book signing last night. Michael Collins was the author. I can't really say it was a reading, because he didn't really read. It was very last minute, so there weren't many people there. Anyway, I don't know Michael Collins from Adam, but they talk about him a lot here because he's an alum and fairly well known. It was probably the most unusual reading I've ever been to because of, as I mentioned, the lack of reading. It was basically an hour and a half of listening to him rant on a variety of topics that I'm sure are all interconnected in his head, but just came out as spew. Got his book, had him sign it. Maybe I'll read it.

Can I get that with a side of raunch?

K, I am so not into work today. Just found out that my brother has been suffering partial renal failure due to some medication he was taking for back problems. That's scary. Anyway, he was only taking it for about a week before he started feeling like crap and he's off them and already starting to feel better. It's just another reminder of how fleeting good health can be. One day you're fine and the next you're sicker than sin. I'm not be being nonchalant about this--it's really scary that something like that can happen. The thing about medicine, and that's medicine with a capital M, is that it's really just a big game of trial-and-error. People expect absolutes and they just don't exist. This is how medicine works: Oh, so you've got a problem with whats-in-whats. Well, it sounds like a case of whose-in-whats. Let's give this a try. Next week: Oh, that treatment didn't work? Well, then instead of whose-in-whats, you must be suffering from this-and-this. Let's give this a try. This goes on until you're symptoms are gone and then the doctor says, "Oh, well, I thought it might be that after all." Medicine is a crap shoot. Science is only as true as it is until they discover something else that's more true. And that's the way it is. Don't take this as a condemnation of the medical profession, because it's not. I think doctors would be the first to tell you the culprit is not always obvious and it takes time to figure it out. However, the layman thinks it's quick and simple and is disappointed when it's not. Of course, there are also a lot of doctors out there who really don't give a shit and are just looking for the path of least resistance rather than taking to time to really figure out the problem. They're not doctors in my mind, just hacks with a medical degree. Sad to say there are no requirements that you be moral or compassionate before becoming a doctor.

But I promised something dirty for you in my last post. I've got several stories that are pretty raunchy. I have a real appreciation for the lurid. Now, most of the stories I have are word-of-mouth kinds of things, but I like retelling them because they're either A.) Gross, B.) Hilarious, or C.) Will make the listener really, really uncomfortable. So with that...when I was in college, I was a little sister in a fraternity. When it was time for our initiation, my pledge class was told to supply a certain list of items. One of those items was a porn mag or our choosing. My roommate was already a little sister and told me they'd be asking for the magazine, so I immediately volunteered to get it. I figured the brothers asked for a porn mag because they figured it was an easy way to get an issue of Playboy or something. But that's not what I had in mind. I went to a newsstand that sold a solid collection of blue magazines. I chose one called Uncut, which is for gay, uncircumcised men. It was a very interesting magazine. What was most interesting was the readers' forum section where people could write in about their favorite sexual/erotic experiences. The one I llked best was written by a man explaining how he and his boyfriend had a completely new way to enjoy their foreskins. What they would do is stuff the foreskin with foodstuffs such as peanut butter or cream cheese or something of similar consistency and then eat it out from each other's dicks. Now, I thought this was totally hilarious. I laughed really hard and long on that one. But what makes this story particularly funny to me is that I then told my big brother (from the fraternity) about the letter one night at a party at the house and he very calmly looked at me and told me that I was never, NEVER, to ever tell him anything that gross again. Then he walked away. So that's raunchy story number one.

I'm on the night train, ready to crash and burn.

No, not really. I'm a all better now. Mask is firmly back in place. I am the ice queen once again.However, I am still somewhat bothered, but nothing compared to my emotional breakdown of the other day. Anyway, emotional breakdowns are like crying, you need to let it out every now and again. And what have I been thinking about over the weekend? Despite all our best intentions, sex sells. People really aren't interested in much more than that, are they? It's a little disappointing to realize that we're all as base as bunnies. Anyway, I've got a couple of raunchy things tucked away in the back of my brain, so maybe I'll tell you some of the best things I've come across. But not right now. I'll do it a little bit later in my other office.

Breathe deep.

What is it about a shock to the system? Jesus, I can barely think straight, here. I am going to speak in code now because this post is more about my emotions than the specifics of what I'm talking about. Sometimes you find out something you never really thought you'd know. And it's shocking. I'm saying that because I think I am now freaking out. My heart is beating FAST, and I feel short of breath. I consider myself a pretty together kind of person. I don't freak out, not in the real sense. I've got a pretty tight rein on my emotions. Some people would go so far as to call me hard. But, every once in a blue moon, something happens that I don't expect (which is life after all) and my hold slips a little. The problem with these reality checks is that they force me to realize I am a fraud and that everything I put out there to the rest of the world is a farce and I'm not nearly in control of myself as I'd like to think I am. How do we ever really let go of the things that have hurt us? How do we ever really turn away from the disappointments in our lives and let them live in the past where they deserve to be? Somebody give me the answer to that one, will you?

Where's the tailgate?

It seems the first game of the season is this weekend. Just goes to show you how little attention I pay to football. I don't even know who we're playing. Don't care, either. Of course, it's not my team. I just work here, and although I'm also an alum, I just don't think of it as my team. The great Nittany Lions will always be my team. Now, next year or the year after, I'll be excited because it will be a return to the great showdowns between PSU and ND. That's when I'll start getting the season tickets. I used to love the start of football season when I was an undergrad, though. Of course, it involved a lot of drinking, so I don't know which I was really looking forward to. But, there's just something about walking to the stadium for that first game of the season. We'd all usually end up with sunburns after the first game because it's still pretty hot at the beginning of the semester and then we'd all drag our drunk asses back to the dorms to nap until it was time to get up and drink some more. Those were some great times, man. Sniff, sniff. Brings a tear just thinking about it.

For as passionately as I talk about drinking, I don't do it much anymore. Not since I discovered how much it SUCKS to be hungover when you have a baby/small child/kid. They don't care that you feel like shit and that the room won't stop spinning. They just climb all over you anyway. And ask you to make them their breakfast and turn on the t.v. and play games with them. You get the picture. The other reason why I don't drink much anymore is that I am strongly affected by alcohol. I can only ever be tired or drunk. If I don't drink enough to be drunk, then I'm really, really sleepy. So what's the point? SInce I can't be drunk anymore without it costing me way more than I get out of it and drinking only one or two knocks me out, why do it? I'm fine with the water. Also, I've only ever been a social drinker. I don't ever drink at home. It never even occurs to me to have a beer or a wine cooler at the end of the day. It just seems weird to drink unless you're planning on hanging out and having a good time with friends.

Mmmm. Mmmm. Good.

I just had soup for lunch. I know, the excitement just never ends around here. There was news report on the radio this morning about two teenage girls who killed themselves. Apparently, they were practicing witchcraft; although, they weren't Wiccans. They threw themselves in front of train. Wiccans, as you might or might not know, practice Wicca. Wicca is basically a pagan religion that worships the natural world, the earth. Their ideas fall more in line with the druids than with satanic devil worshipers. When I was in college, I interviewed a coven of witches for a newswriting class. They explained to me that Wiccans don't even acknowledge the existence of the devil because it's basically a Christian creation. It's not possible for them to worship something they don't believe exists.

Anyway, getting back to the two girls who killed themselves... The authorities believe their involvement with witchcraft had something to do with their suicides. I found the way they killed themselves interesting only for the fact that girls don't usually opt for the violent death. Which is why they don't succeed with suicide attempts as often as boys do. Boys do things like drive their car over a cliff or shoot themselves. Girls do things like slit their wrists or take sleeping pills. So, I find myself wondering how they decided on the train route. If I sound somewhat cavalier about the whole thing, it's because I consider suicide one of the dumbest things a person could carry out. A lot of times it's a result of serious mental illness, which is terrible, of course. But with teenagers, it probably has more to do with normal teenage angst that just gets really out of hand. I remember suicide entering my mind once or twice when I was a teen, but it had more to do with being angry with my parents than being miserable with life. The thought usually left my head as quickly as it entered. And in my life I've experienced mental distress of a nature strong enough to make me feel like I was losing myself to something I couldn't understand, but I never considered killing myself as a way to fix things. So I do wonder what makes a person go through with it.