GeansShow

In Which I Get All Pervy About Art

2010-05-17T11:55:00.012-04:00

I love Asian art.

I'm usually turned off by anything associated with Tibetan Buddhism because I associate it with well-meaning but obnoxiously militant hippies (some who I love dearly) and fake celebrity concerns. Also, because Buddhism is really, really difficult to understand. So much so that although I wandered into "Lama, Patron, Artist: The Great Situ Panchen" exhibit at the Sackler Gallery yesterday, I wasn't expecting much.

What I came away from the exhibit was this: in old-timey Buddhsim, hats were pretty important and if you had a black hat, you were all set. Also, their gods were capable of some sexual feats that not even the Internet can trump.

So fantastical were these portrayals of what you could accomplish if you were a god, and able to kill your enemies, ride on a flying tiger, and remain in "union with your consort" all at the same time that I was a little embarrassed to be in a room with this stuff on the walls with other people (kids!). Really, the women were wrapped around the gods in such a way that you almost didn't notice them at first. It was absolutely dirty. And pretty hot, not just in an art kind of way. I couldn't find any examples from the exhibit (and was too shy to take pictures), so here's a tamer example:

Good on you, Situ Pachen.

I truly understand that a porn-attack was not the aim of either the gallery or the Buddhist masters. But I couldn't help but contrast it to what I know of religion. Because sexual gymnastics aside, these were religious paintings and sculptures. I wondered what it might be like to have been raised in a world where my gods were depicted crushing enemies with one hand, creating the oceans with another hand, and simultaneously f*cking a buxom red goddess (no hands).

I'm a little jealous. In a way, I think that "this, if taken seriously, is a path to enlightenment" is a healthier approach than "everything is a sin."

Texts from Rock Bottom

2010-04-29T10:46:00.008-04:00

I recieved some pretty amusing texts during last night's abysmal Game 7 for the Capitals.

They started at the end of the first period. My dad has a habit of changing his hockey jersey in an attempt to sway the results.

Dad: Jersey and scotch brand change.

Gina: Meredith and I applaud this.

---Second Period---

Dad: Chantilly sweatshirt?

Gina: Nationals jacket?

Dad: I thought about it.

Dad: I am now nude.

---Third Period---

Gina: At the Glory Days, we have literally all switched to cheering for the kids playing with the stuffed animal claw game.

Stephanie: Blood pressure through the roof right now. I worry about dad's health.

Stephanie: (sends a picture text) Our father:

(wearing an Ovechkin jersey, an Ovechkin and Backstrom jersey on his head, and--why not?--a Nationals coat for good luck)

Gina (to Sidney): Your goalie has sold his soul to the devil.

Sidney: He went down to the crossroads, fell down on his knees; asked the lord for mercy, "save the puck if you please."

Stephanie: NOOOO!

---Drive Home---

Stephanie: First ever instance of a dad f-word.

Dad: Go Mystics.

Gina: Viva la D.C. United.

Chris: I am sorry sweetie. Can you root for the Pens with me now? :)

She Feels Strongly

2010-04-19T11:49:00.003-04:00

I was at Target with my mom yesterday, when she pointed out to me that she'd placed a pair of infant girls' rainbow shorts in the cart.

...I did something.
Mom, get those out of the cart.
I want to get them. Do we know anyone who needs them?
No. Unless Alyssa wants to pair them with a really manly top. (For her impending kid.)
I can make something out of them. I celebrate this fabric!
Mom, no.
Gina, you know how I feel about textiles!

Granted, I do know how she feels about textiles, and they would have made a great pants-shaped pillow which matches nothing. Stuff like this makes me kind of look forward to having kids--because I have a feeling they will be as crazy well-dressed as I always was.

failure to maintain control: well played, universe

2010-03-30T11:34:00.003-04:00

So, yesterday was pretty fucked up. People have fender-benders all the time, only my car is very small so any damage to it looks catastrophic. (It my well be.) Same size-to-damage ratio goes for my bank account. Oh well. We'll see...I can be non-emotional about this. I know it.

There were a few bright spots to yesterday. The police officer who gave me my ticket for "failure to maintain control" (I think this is an appropriate judgment on me. Not in a vehicular sense, but, just life in general) was extremely kind in guesstimating my weight. Although, I work way too hard to have this color classified as "brown." Come to think of it, they probably pull that info off of some database updated in 1996. That would make more sense. OK, so there was just one bright spot:

Last night, I was assisting Stephanie in filling out the registration for Radford's freshman orientation. And by assisting, I mean I was trying to keep my mom from driving her up a wall. So, with me acting as a moderator, mom "mothering it up," Stephanie attempting to navigate the website with the help of RU tech support ("His supervisor is having a nom and will reset my account when he returns") there was a lot of talking.

And sometimes, with all that talking, you type things that you don't mean to. That's when the word "dining" can become "dinosaur."

As in, when asked: "Do you have any other concerns or needs that we can assist you with?"

You reply with: "I have food allergies and will need some information on dinosaurs."

We collapsed into the kind of laughing that eventually hurts. I'm of sorry we caught the typo-saurus before it was submitted, because I like to think of the bafflement that would ensue in Radford's Admissions department.

Gina's Awkward Adventure Park

2010-03-16T19:15:00.002-04:00

I was watching one of those commercials for the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and couldn't help but thinking, "God bless J.K." Because children's fiction is where it's at. I wish I had the patience to try and write it, but I can't even really read it.

Then I got to thinking about my unfortunately unprofitible talent, the humorous/embarassing first person essay...and what kind of amusement park that would make. It would have a scotch slide, that much I know. And there'd be a ride, like Haunted Mansion, where your exes would pop out of nowhere and scare the bejeezus out of you. OH! And a theme restaurant where everything is burnt.

Actually, YES.

Skip 81

2010-03-05T10:54:00.007-05:00

Last night I wanted nothing more than to speed home after work, de-pantyhose, and crawl under the electric blanket. My mom called around 2 and asked, if I wasn't doing "young people things," I'd come over to help create a family-type atmosphere since they were having Papa (crazy g-pa) over for dinner. I said, "not really," which I think took my mom aback a little bit. "I appreciate your honesty..."

Cut to: me driving to the Sunrise after work to pick him up. When I got to his room, the first thing he showed me was the recent Washington Post cover story with a photo of two dudes kissing. I said something about "love being a nice thing," and then was like "where's your coat?" (With the same tone, I'm afraid, that I use when I want the dog to please stop whatever he's doing in the yard and for the love of Jesus get in the house. Wanna TREAT?) Rather than get his coat, he retrieved and reviewed with me a copy of the bill for his assisted living place, which he's highlighted and scribbled on up to high heaven. He demanded it off of a staff member who didn't know that Papa doesn't get bills, or any paperwork of any kind, for exactly this reason.

In his previous life, my grandpa was a shrewd and successful financial mind. Now, he's not. His paranoia and memory loss have created an actual monster. There are hundreds of pieces of paper around his apartment, all with lists of things to do, thoughts, people to call. Most of the notes I saw had something to do with steps he needed to take to deal with what he believes is my freaking saint of a mother embezzling from him. It was disturbing.

We got down to the lobby when he realized that he forgot the grocery list he was supposed to give my mom. So, we went back upstairs, and spent about 15 minutes rifling through more paper to find the list. I found what I thought was it, and he looked at it and tried to read it, and we agreed that it was probably the right thing. Along the way, I shoved any "notes to self" that I thought it were best he not find again ("Revise copy of my will--call a lawyer, etc.") into my pockets. I'd find out later that he'd given my mom the shopping list over the phone earlier that afternoon and the groceries were already bought at this point.

Before we could leave the building (it had been about an hour, now) he demanded that I allow him to turn off all the lights in the common area--the living room/pool room/reception area. I told him that those lights were for everyone. He then got kind of stern, "I'm NOT going to leave all these lights on!" At this point, I'd lost some of my patience, (remember, my electric blanket fantasies?) grabbed his arm, pulled him away, and said "Those aren't your lights!" He then laughed and said he forgot, and I immediately felt like shit.

As we walked out to my car, he said "Where are we?" And I said, "Outside." "I know that!"

There was quiet for a minute and then he told me I should skip being 81, if I could.

It took a lot not to cry all the way home.

Merry Duff-mas

2010-02-28T20:59:00.006-05:00

This weekend, I took my sister to Radford to a science department open house/sales pitch (as if she'd not already decided)/Reed and Curie tour. Normally my parents would have gone, but my mom was working and my dad had...skating lessons. I'm unaware of any complaints my sister had about this game time substitution.

We had a nice drive down, aided by the Sirius radio in mom's car (which we borrowed) with the occasional cursing of the Broadway channel for not playing enough Disney/Les Mis. We screeched into the library parking lot at 1:05, just barely making the 1:00 presentation by distinguished alumni so-and-so.

At 1:30, we broke off into groups to tour the new Museum of Earth Sciences on campus and the planetarium. There was a moment, while in the museum, when Stephanie was explaining to me how hematite (or something) was formed, and the curator jumped in to tell us that he "was surprised you ladies weren't looking at the jewelery (that was on display) because that's where "the girls usually are." I bit my inner Peter Venkman/feminist tongue which wanted to reply with "Back off man: I'm a scientist." What an odd thing for the curator of the science museum to say to women there for a science weekend. But, overall: not important.

What was important was the two things I got from the weekend. First of all, I've never been a sciences person. I just--my brain doesn't go that way. But my sister's totally does. I had a panic moment in the planetarium when the professor was throwing out "hey who knows what THIS is?" questions. But she was on it. And that was pretty cool.

Second: while I don't want to go back to school, ever, ever, ever again...it was neat to go to a college freshman-type event. I didn't have that, and wish I did. I might have been less lame while I was there. As a transfer student you kind of don't know what's going on. I did tell her that I wished I'd joined one of the two hundred clubs and activities they present to you, rather than devote 100% of my time to my social life/having panic attacks.

After the event, we had dinner, watched CNN to make sure Hawaii made it thought the night, and relished an awesome Hallmark made-for-TV movie marathon of some of the worst movies ever made.

That, and Napoleon Dynamite, which, along with Love Takes Wing, and The Perfect Man, was a Hillary/Haleigh Duff triple feature. Score!

It was a wonderful time. And a bit of a game-changer. I'm forever sentimental about the things that take us from childhood to whatever happens next.

Where I Get it From

2010-01-15T13:24:00.005-05:00

You know that website myparentswereawesome.com? I submitted my grandma. How could I not?

The hard part was choosing which picture.

One of my goals for the immediate future is to organize my apartment, as I know some pretty valueable space is being taken up by things that I decided to "just stick there" when I moved in. I don't have a lot of things, really, (clothing aside) but I do have boxes and boxes of material (letters, notebooks, dried alligator heads, printed-out IMs with dastardly gents) that I think have some worth in that when I go to write all this stuff down for good, it will be nice to have source material.

Which is why having these three boxes of photos, now, is both awesome and a setback.

Resolutions: This Actress is Practiced in Shunning Such Theatrics

2010-01-13T15:30:00.005-05:00

So, keeping it real, these are my goals for 2010:

1. Stop freaking out so much.

Even though I hear it cracks some people up, I do it too much and nothing (so far) really bad's ever happened. I need to work on being secure in my own beeswax.

2. Learn to laugh at bad jokes. Or, banal bullsit in general.

Sounds dumb, but I think this is the reason I have been effectively shunned in a few situations (work). I just don't have the social-coping ability to fake interest in (fill in the blank), and it's made me a pariah.

3. Eliminate all that I do not wear from my wardrobe, and replace these things with awesomer clothes.

My closet is packed with things that I have never, and will never wear. I have so many clothes that I can't move in my room, thanks to my trigger finger while online shopping (where you can't eyeball that that thing'll fit you!)...yet I wear one pair of jeans and two shirts all the live-long day.

4. Do something different with my hair.

My hair is awesome, though. Maybe a new hairband.

5. Agressive-fy my 401(k)

I already did this, so it's cheating. And it's a lame thing to talk about doing...but fuck it I am IN MY THIRTIES.

6. Become a better housekeeper.

I have nothing but time and 600 sq. feet. There's no reason for me to have things growing in my sink.

7. Renew my passport.

Just in case. The paperwork sits half-filled-out in my inbox. (poke poke)

8. Be less annoyed with other people, taming the rage.

And I mean, without the cunning use of booze. I need to loosen up.

9. Read considerably more.

The Frisky's sex articles and Twitter don't count.

10. Make more money.

Somehow. I miss jet-setting.

Also: the song of the year for me for 2009 was a slam-dunk.

Google is Free

2010-01-12T18:50:00.003-05:00

My poor mom's been on the phone with Comcast forever trying to get a simple yes/no question answered re: Crazy Grandpa's service.

At about minute 15 (shades of my Cingular nightmare, here...) she goes: "20151. Virgina. Chantilly. Sterling. What are we near? Um, Washington D.C.?"

Total insanity. It appears that the fish is burnt and the walls are taking a pounding. I suggested she blog about it...that sometimes gets results.

Virginia. It's near, you know, Florida.

2009 Resolution Round-Up

2009-12-28T10:26:00.006-05:00

The following is my list of goals for this past year, and my results. Not bad, really, although they were all fairly obtainable and mostly about my attitude.

1. Obviously, will get a nice apartment in a sexier part of town.

Few will call Manassas sexy, but I have been making it work.

2. Will stop throwing the veto card so fast.

This year I listened to my inner Reagan and "tore down that wall." It resulted in nose-bleed highs, neck-breaking plummets, and nice middle grounds. It woke me up.

3. Become less "plugged in."

So, I have a Twitter and a Facebook and a blog, but all three are no longer considered urgent.

4. Be more aggressive.

Gina Marie is a doormat no longer. And you know, so far nobody has dropped me/run screaming. I've even been rewarded for it a few times.

5. ...and more honest.

Yep. This one was hard and involved some self-forcing. But again, paid off.

6. Save money. I have far too many expensive habits.

I don't know about saving, but my spending is down like 90%. Sephora sells illusions: my skin is the same if I "Some Kinda Gorgeous" it or not. Mind you, I'm still poorish.

7. Complete one, just one, of my 2,000 writing projects.

Hey, I think I finished the Africa poem. There's still a last stanza problem, but who cares. The problem with him was in our last stanza, anyway. So: fitting.

8. Get out of the country. Or, at the very least, somewhere new.

My "somewhere new" this year was an emotional place. But that's OK. Maybe this year, I'll resume jet-setting. Stephanie reminds me that I promised her Ireland when she turned 18.

9. Disney World. Why not?

Yes! I went in March. Hell, I hope I go again this year.

2009 was pretty great. Sure, I spent a lot of it broke, crying (at work!),
hermit-y, and generally unstable, but there were also parts which made it better than 2008's "year-long vacation." Heck yes it's because of a boy.

The (other) Me Decade

2009-12-16T10:57:00.003-05:00

I've been reading a few articles about the closing of the decade. It hadn't occurred to me until the Washington Post and Brian Williams alerted me to it. From what I'm gathering, the consensus is that the '00s sucked. Maybe that's true: what with wars and recessions, social networking sites, and the fact that I know who Jon and Kate are.

For me personally, though, they have been ok. A time of radical change, but then again, it also spanned pretty much the entirety of my 20s, so that's not unusual. I remember New Years Eve 1999: I went to two parties. One at my friend Andy's, and then I left that one to go to my best friend's house. Her parents had discouraged her from going out for what we were adamant at the time were unjust political reasons. Everything was unjust back then. Now, she's married and starting a family, and I...well the idea of two parties in one night gives me a slight twinge of dread.

At the start of the '00s, I wasn't sure I'd go to college, or if I even wanted to. The decision to go to Radford in 2001 was by far the best decision I made of the decade, as I owe 98% of my friends to it---followed closely by choosing to apply for the job at ALPA. The experiences I've had here in the last five years sometimes still blow my mind.

I've had a handful of meaningful relationships with great guys, and a couple meaningless ones with bastards-in-retrospect. Both kinds invaluable, and I'm still so glad I didn't quit completely every time I said I was going to.

Anyway, that's it. End my nostalgic music-twinged rambling. Things seem to be getting better. And for real, not just when held in comparison to times that were not-so-great.

Word Association

2009-12-09T10:39:00.006-05:00

The conversation turned to the subject of the universe, like it sometimes does, as my mom and sister and I were having lunch the other day at Red Lobster. Not the universe in the way that I like to use it: "The universe hates me," but in the way that my sister the scientist uses it: "The universe contains 50 thousand million galaxies."

She was explaining some of the finer points of the Big Bang Theory, which were honestly news to me, since for all of my smarts I spent a lot of time embellishing Green Day lyrics in my notebook during science classes in my formative years.

It must have been her repeating the word "expanding" over and over again that caused my mom to jump in with: "You know how they have grow-your-own washcloths? Now, I saw, they have grow-your-own boxers and socks, too!"

I wrote it down in crayon on a torn-off bit of the kids' menu that I stole on my way in. Free crayons!

My New Hobby

2009-12-04T21:33:00.007-05:00

A couple of months ago, I inherited a huge box of photos from my grandpa's house. I took some of the more awesome ones and scanned them into a movie-maker program and made a little DVD with the sole intention of making my mom cry. (Score!)

I found a lot of stuff that I intend to do something else with. But...first: look how great this is: (best if you click to embiggen)

Not so much because I'm managing to rock boots and my St. Tim's uniform jacket with such tween sass...but because of my early-morning, camera-weary, pre-coffee grandmother in the background. I can so relate to that face. Moreso than I can the tween sass monster.

The Universe Channel

2009-12-03T22:41:00.005-05:00

I put off calling the cable company about my shoddy tiling/freezing/blackout/no hockey cable for nigh on a month because I thought that it would be difficult trying to get free time during business hours, and because I knew that once someone came out to fix it, it would of course magically work.

But, after three straight days of getting no channels at all but BBC America (admittedly, could have been worse), I called them and I--(no I didn't. I "chatted" with their live chat help. I hate calling people)--and they walked me through re-setting my beeswax and sending digital test signals, all to no avail. So, we scheduled an appointment for this afternoon.

Before I left for work, I tried, and still nothing, so seeing as it was firmly Day 4 of no Today Show, I was confident the repair guy'd have something to do.

I get home from work at 2 for my window of service help time...and turn on the T.V., and there's Ellen...dancing in all her nonblacked-out/nontiled/nonfrozen glory.

Two minutes later the cable guy showed up. And I felt like Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters...looking into my fridge with Venkman right there going: "I saw it, it was here...there was a creature and it said Zuul...and the eggs were cooking..."

He was cool and went through the motions of checking the connections and stuff even though Ellen was still dancing like a fool on screen.

Then I went about my night, had dinner, came home...turned on the Caps postgame show which was completely unwatchable thanks to the cable gnomes who came in while I was gone and returned everything back to its fucked-up status.

The natural order.

A Semi-Bullshit Forecast

2009-11-27T23:50:00.002-05:00

When the weather guy said that today would be "windy," I was kinda like: well, windy's a semi-bullshit forecast. Wind's not actual weather.

Then I went outside and was punched in the face/partially-disrobed by air. It's fucking windy.

Anyway. I've been far more social in the last few days than I am used to being, and it's a little weird. Good on the one hand, because it keeps me from sitting at home and obsessing over the endless communication equations running in my head--but bad because I feel like I'm no longer good at it, and am just a drag.

Last night, I went to the annual Thanksgiving Thing, where several of my high school friends meet at a bar and play pool and drink and say hello. It's always interesting because the players are generally the same, but the dynamics change. People have kids, people get married/unmarried, jobs/unjobs, people show up with new people, um, Alyssa dumps a drink on Alex. Really all that's constant is that it's Thanksgiving, there's beer in mason jars, and rude things are texted to Mark about his mom.

Well, I dunno, I'm the same. My hair's usually different, but...maybe next year.

Boys Becoming Men, Men Becoming...

2009-11-13T12:50:00.003-05:00

I am my father's daughter.

The other night, I was over at my parents' house for dinner. They've got a new big giant flat screen TV on one of the walls in the family room now, and, as our dining room table is in the family room (we're flexible about room purposes), we had the Science Channel on as we ate. Terrible thing to do, blah blah, but it's really a godsend as sometimes, with your family, you want to halt conversation.

Anyway. We were watching a show about how life would be on Earth if there was no moon. Things like how fucked up our days would be, how we'd all be short and scaly, etc. And we get through the whole thing, with all the scientists weighing in on the issue and footage of tsunamis, and stuff...and my dad, at the end of it, goes to me:

"You know what they forgot to mention, what the biggest impact would be?"

And I go, without skipping a beat, "Werewolves."

"Yes."

Also, Scabies.

2009-11-12T12:47:00.000-05:00

This was brought to my attention by my sister and mother, both of whom were tripping over themselves to show it to me. Apparently, this is me:

OK, although none of those things are really as funny as the actual things I've come up with being my self-diagnosis in the last few weeks. (Well, maybe Kung Flu is funnier than eczema.) I'm sure it's all just stress. I've worked myself into a stressful little knot--and none of my usual detanglers seem to be working.

This is True

2009-10-16T09:57:00.005-04:00

We have a new department website. On it, my boss sometimes puts messages to the staff along the lines of "TGIF" and "So-and-so will be out today."

The issue was raised, in a serious manner, by a colleague, that those messages should be posted so they will auto-delete at a set expiration date.

"Otherwise, if we come in on a Monday, and see "Yippee, it's Friday!", there could be some confusion."

Facepalm!

Re-Uniting Crisis Team 1991

2009-09-30T09:32:00.001-04:00

I was mostly asleep Monday night when my phone rang. Not unheard of, since Chris stays up later than I do, but it was the "this is your parents calling" ringtone, which put me in crisis mode immediately. I didn't know what time it was, being pretty out of it, which made it worse.

My dad said something about my grandpa being found in a CVS by a social worker, unable to get back home. Something about the police being there, too. Something about him being out at night because he was trying to get to a dentist appointment which he thought was at 10 p.m. instead of 10 a.m. I was fully awake by the time he handed the phone to my mom, who I asked to talk to in case she was a wreck. She's really not been a wreck about this yet, but I feel like it's coming.

Once I got off the phone with them, I stayed up for a really long time, not moving. Thinking about my grandmother and how I don't think he'd be in this state if she were still alive. I know, Alzheimer's happens no matter what, but...I don't know. I go between sad and mad on that.

Anyway, I'm spending this upcoming weekend helping to move him into his new pad at the Sunrise in Sterling. It's nice there. Not in that way that we say things like that to make ourselves feel better about putting our elders into "places," but I mean it's really nice. I'm a little bit jealous.

I just hope they have a really understanding staff and...sturdy doors.

More with Less

2009-09-17T16:20:00.001-04:00

Not to sound like a curmudgeon, but my school didn't have a playground, Mr. and Mrs. Fundraising-Parents-around-the-Office.

We had a field. A field surrounded on three sides by a forest, which may have roughly also doubled as a baseball field. One Halloween, when I was probably in the 5th grade, our gym teacher dressed like a masked murderous psychopath and planted himself deep within the woods--popping out mid-recess, and running through the trees towards us, screaming and waving knives, which, for the sake of I-can't-remember, we'll say were real. I was one of the first to see him coming from several yards away. I'm pretty sure that shit wouldn't fly today. Pretty sure.

Milling about on a grassy field was what we got on a good day. If it had rained anytime in the last few days, we spent recess in the parking lot. This evolved to being in the bus parking lot, which was at least semi-enclosed by a high wooden fence and had a few basketball hoops...but before that it was literally the school's parking lot. It's a miracle none of us were run over or wandered into traffic.

So, even if I had any disposable income, I really wouldn't consider your playground a worthwhile cause. Because I literally played a game at recess where we all took turns jumping on bits of trash we found on the ground. We pretended we were in Mary Poppins' world, where you jumped on sidewalk drawings and were transported to a fantasy world.

But, being weird kids, we took it a step further and pretended that, using the Poppins logic, by jumping on this plastic sandwich bag, we immediately (and dramatically) suffocated.

Audio Clamare

2009-09-16T11:58:00.002-04:00

My mother has satellite radio in her car, and she wins an award for this story.

She told me that a young man pulled up next to her in traffic and was blaring "loud, loud Mexican music." So, she said, "I turned up the Latin Mass on the Catholic channel, which I was listening to, up all the way. Hm! So...there you have it."

I am thankful that Chantilly is a relatively tame place.

Not Funny and Really Just Adding to the Detritus

2009-09-15T12:58:00.006-04:00

I have an annoyance with modern life that I'm not fully able to articulate.

I think a lot of it has to do with the Internet. It's ruining how I read. Too much! Too fast! For example: the last couple of news stories I have found interesting have both turned out to have been retracted for being wrong due to some jumping-the-gunnedness.

And Time Magazine Online ran this story yesterday about how dogs think, which I clicked on, and between every paragraph, there was a bright bold red link pointing me elsewhere on the web to see pictures of dogs, videos of dogs, or another news story. It's making me crazy, because I find that inability to maintain continuity between thought to thought in things I read is transferring to other areas of my life.

And they thought Sesame Street was going to give us all short attention spans.

I understand that this wouldn't happen if I was reading in print, but, I'm not. I'd also understand if those links were advertisements, to pay for the fact that I won't be able to afford a magazine for another three years, but, they aren't, blatantly,--despite the fact that I suppose there's new ads for me on the "Paint Your Dog" article as I click my way through the Internet mirror floor-ceiling infinity.

It's not just me. There have been several instances lately at work of "e-mail blindness," which I don't think is yet a recognized thing. For example: e-mail sent. Received. Read? Immediately forgotten. Then the simple question, answered in the e-mail, is repeatedly asked up and down all day long.

That's not really the crux of my grievance. It's this:

Everything is 24/7, everything is "televised," everything is accessible, everyone is important...and so when, invariably someone slips, or whatever, it's like we spend the rest of our week dealing with fallout. Debate, apology, debate re: apology, reactions to..."is this racist?"..."was this sincere?"...no more apologies...reaction to statement re: --

Either everyone has to make nice, blow frosting kisses, and tow whatever published party line we all agree on, or people say what they mean and move on and we stop making everything a big deal.

I said I was unable to articulate this. Partly because my communication skills have atrophied thanks to the need to fill the quiet times in my day with CNN.com.

Also, Internet: if you're listening--no more Regina Spektor on my Pandora. I don't have the heart to thumbs-down her (what with the big puppy eyes and the stripy leggings) but...I'm stylistically done with "precious."

Except for this nomming bunny:

One Bang Short of Broken Glass

2009-08-25T16:02:00.004-04:00

I promise to get off this rantwagon soon. So, as mentioned, I made it known to a few people exactly how I felt about the problem of folks banging on my desk as they walk by.

The good news is that the main offender has, upon being called out, totally stopped. Done. Remorse and everything.

The bad news, and unintended side problem, is that now everyone knows that I put my foot down (I don't often do this in a professional sense), and has begun either talking to me endlessly about the ex-problem, or horror of horrors, started ironically banging on my desk.

The bane of my freaking existence

I think the main problem here is that I am a mildly anti-social person to begin with (you know, in a forced-social kind of way) and recoil in disgust at the idea that I've done something to illicit more inane conversation--and more inconsiderate actions.

Other than that, life is pretty good. Although, I've come down with something, depending on what I Google at the moment, is either glaucoma, a sinus infection, a brain stem infection, or menopause.

Free-form, no association...stream of business

2009-08-17T20:04:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, it turns out was the somethingth anniversary of Elvis' death. My dad told me this in the midst of some rather loud eatingsounds while I sit here on the couch and my mom reminded my grandpa for the 500th time, over the phone, that today was actually Monday.

I'm here at my folks' as my brother's tv show premiere was postponed for technical reasons...I'm really bummed for him, and only very marginally bummed for myself because there's nothing that gets on my nerves faster than eatingsounds.

This place is a million times louder than my apartment, which is a block from a train station.

Anyway. I didn't get much sleep last night. I knew my car really needed gas, and so all night long I dreamed that I was on my way to work and run out of gas. I don't sleep well, anyway, but if I know I need to do something, or have to do something in the morning, it just plays over and over all night.

In other other news...I mentioned to my boss today that the reason I had all that paperwork on my desk was to stop office dude from banging on it as he walked by all the time.

And she called him out on it. It was GLORIOUS. Downside, is that now he's making a big point of "I'm not hitting your desk!" But, babysteps.

Also, I'd really like some new clothes

2009-08-14T14:23:00.006-04:00

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces." -Bridget Jones

So, I'm stressing the fuck out.

I knew that repairs to my car would be somewhere in the range of $7.50 for a new air filter, and $1,750 for whatever engine unicorn problem horror story scenario my co-workers have been hitting me with. Turns out it's right there in the middle. My relatively newish car has a faulty whoozit that will only continue to make my car uncomfortable in the summer and unusable in the winter.

My dad told me this over the phone this morning, and of course, my first reaction was to burst into tears. "Gina! Stop crying." "I'm not crying! I just got some...sad...in my face."

Normally, news like this is unpleasant, but the way things are lately it's crippling. I hate to admit that my great moving-and-independence experiment might have been...ill-advised.

Maybe it's all just part of a life's compromise. Last year, when I was blowing hundreds of dollars every two weeks on trips all over the place--I wasn't terribly happy either. At least now, 100% of my hummus investment comes back to me. And all the time can be underwear time. And I am still in love with my apartment--trains and everything.

I'll figure something out.

(Also: my list progress is as follows-- added Ewan MacGregor and David Duchovny.)

Five Guys

2009-08-12T09:19:00.004-04:00

I went to dinner with my brother and Chris last night. Jesse kicked off the conversation with pulling an imaginary checklist out of his pocket and started in with the questioning--"So, why are you a Steelers fan?"

That's been cracking me up all morning. I don't generally hang out with my brother--funny guy. I suspect his interest in my life lately has more to do with networking than some sense of protective sibling, but that's ok, too.

After dinner, we went back to my place and had "the talk." And by "the talk" I mean we decided it was time to take it to the next level--stating our five celebrity fantasy "get out of jail free" hook-up list. He went first. Heavy on the 90s tv starlets. OK.

Then it was my turn, and I admitted that I'd need to really think about it and put it on paper, move some things around, see how I felt that day, etc. Because, don't you know that it's different for girls. (All I could come up with for sure off the top of my head was Damon Albarn, and I thought that just throwing one name out there wasn't fair.)

Sweet Holy Moses

So, that's what I'm working on.

Go Pretty Faa-aar

2009-07-27T08:57:00.010-04:00

I have been quiet and laying low lately because, trust me, everything out of my mouth lately, I suspect, sounds exactly like this:

I'm sparing you this. Even my mom has mentioned that she doesn't know what to do with my new outlook. And don't nobody like "that girl." But, it is nice when things work out like they are supposed to. Because it usually doesn't.

In other news, my mom decided to go get herself a statue of Mary (popular with Mexican old ladies the world over) for the garden.

She tried to scope things out on the Internet Friday night before hitting the shops, to see what her options were. I got her started on Google, and it went something like this:

(click to embiggen)

I got some good pictures from the next day when we took to the stone yards in search of said statue. Gnomes, geishas, Jesus, deer, Confederate soldiers...they don't care how they have them arranged for sale...often to hilarious result.

Ponce!

2009-07-21T11:16:00.001-04:00

Once again, my sister takes an idea I had and runs with it:

I wasn't sure if it was hyphenated

2009-07-10T15:18:00.002-04:00

I'm a dork, but this picture in the online thesaurus illustrating "unheard-of" cracked me up. Reminds me of Zoe for some reason.

Flush It!

2009-07-09T09:27:00.002-04:00

It's my dad's birthday, and thus time for the annual retelling of my favorite story...

7/9/2007
"Saturday evening, and half way down the parkway, I called my mom on my way home from a big day out in the city with Zoe...to check in, see what was up with us painting my mom's office room (she bought "Post-it-Note yellow" paint) and to tell her about the fun we had.

And, while I'm telling her about the Folklife Festival, she interrupts me by frantically shouting: "FLUSH IT OUT! DAN!--I'm sorry, Gean, but your dad's got scotch in his eyes. Oh! It's all over Steph, too! I'VE GOTTA GO--BYE! FLUSH IT!"

I drove the rest of the way back home sort of stunned into silence by the comedy all around me.

So, happy birthday, Dad.

Here's scotch in yer eye."

Dick on Take Action

2009-07-02T22:30:00.003-04:00

I'm not a very good copy editor. I really have no eye for detail and a horrible memory, and I really don't believe in rewriting. I can, however, make things look nice. Even if it's not perfect or terribly correct. That's a poetry-writing skill which is serving me well and helping me float under the radar.

Anyway. Even if I'm floating, it still gets in your head and is impossible to shake. By the end of the day I'll see words and not comprehend meaning any more, just scan them for error. Like, Tuesday, I was washing my hands in a restaurant and over the sink there was a sign advertising upcoming events. . .and I read it like this: "Underline=bold, italic. Underline=bold, italic. Period. Karaoke, day comma month date comma delete "th". . ."

That kind of thing.

I had a fun hair-pulling moment the other morning when working with a paragraph which detailed the process for maneuvering through a certain website. This paragraph involved the word "click" a lot. And being a series of directions, there was need for me to insert a comma or two. Well, with this particular font (Garamond?) every time I put a comma in front of "click," the word became "dick." No kidding. I even called some coworkers over to see the phenomenon. Something must have been going on with the spacing. No matter what, the c and the l became a d.

To complicate things, this was a piece written by someone who I want to think I am awesome (and cute), and not someone who, you know, puts dicks all over their ideas.

I tried just pretending that the commas weren't necessary. But, they were. So I opted for putting the commas, and therefore, the dicks, in. . .with a mental note to remind the publisher to make sure it looked ok to them before sending.

But, I'm bad with details. So, I forgot.

In the end, it turned out ok. But the margin for error there, on both a personal and professional level, is how I keep things interesting.

The Hate: Retail Edition

2009-06-29T12:36:00.004-04:00

I had a run-in while in the Marshalls dressing room yesterday. I wasn't so much in the dressing room, as I was on the periphery, with the intent of assisting Stephanie in choosing the best of her armful of dresses.

There were two women working the dressing room, an old Bride of Genghis (B.O.G.), and a teenage B.O.G., neither of who spoke English. Now, normally I'm very relaxed and groovy about that sort of thing, but you see, there was this purse.

Moments earlier I was walking through the purses, complaining to myself about how I needed, but could not commit to, a new purse. And then I found this gloriously "me" hobo bag, complete with a 3-D glitter pinwheel.

Mine.

I had the death-grip on the thing as I went back into the dressing room area with Steff. She told the teen B.O.G. that she had four items and took the plastic "4" tag. Old B.O.G. intercepted her and counted her garments, two or three times to verify that she wasn't being sneaky. Then she turned to me. "I don't—I just—I'm with—" She pointed at my new purse. "No." She motioned for me to give it to her, and looked inside it, and gave me back--not the bag, but a big red tag that said "0". She hung my purse on the dressing room return rack which was basically out in the middle of the shoe department.

"Um, ok. Don't let anyone take it." I said, in my fakest good-natured voice ever.

Not two seconds later, this girl walks by and goes for it. Takes it off the hanger. Holds it up. Tries. it. on. I don't blame her, (glitter!) but I bit my lip very hard and stared a hole into her. She ultimately put it back on the thing (perhaps too glittery) and I marched over and angrily handed my big red zero back to the old B.O.G., grabbed my purse, and ran smack into my mom, who was coming around to also check on Steff—who, honestly, doesn't really require a team to pick out her fashions in the first place.

Unfortunately for mom, she was also holding a bunch of athletic socks.

I heard her protest, as I walked away—"You mean the socks? But, I'm not actually going in there, I'm just checking on my—ok,—fine,"

Those bitches don't screw around. But then again, we clearly look like criminals.

Let's Put on a Show!

2009-06-25T21:08:00.003-04:00

As the younger, more energetic generation often does, my sister has taken a concept that I played with for a few minutes the other day, and taken it to a level I never could have.

This leaves me speechless. Speechless because I have laughter-induced asthma, and so as a result cannot breathe.

She's animated two of my blogs, and, well, I'm...outdone.

The mom voicemail:

And my Pam-desk rant:

Stephanie Anne Leahy, there's a pitcher of hard cider with your name on it.

In the air...in the air...

2009-06-23T04:41:00.000-04:00

The window repair guy came by last night at about 7:30, which is good in that I needed that window replaced, but bad in that he showed up unannounced at my kitchen window, which is a good three stories up.

"Oh--hello!"

I wasn't expecting him. On most weeknights, the odds of me being in some state of undress go up significantly every half-hour past 5:30, so it's lucky for everyone and a rare thing that I wasn't in there fixing some kind of can-based meal in something unpresentable or indecent.

All in all, not a big deal, other than it thwarted my plans for going to bed early. And it will make for a story sure to give my mother a heart attack.

This weekend was pretty epic. Meredith and I got our warpaint on at the Sephora, Jenny/Sparky/Zoe and Kristen had parties, and Dave and I went to see Aerosmith which made the 13-year-old-girl side of me happy (and got out of the Nissan parking lot in 7 minutes, which pleased the 50-year-old-dad side of me). They played everything on my "live wishlist" along with some I dared not hope for. (Livin' on the Edge!!) There was this one group of young high school boys behind us who thoroughly lost their shit during "Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" which was hilarious and gives one some hope as to the future of the nation.

Also, ZZ Top is cooler than you think.

In closing: I got the world's worst Cracker Jack prize the other day. After not having any since 1989...letdown city! I was going to write about that, but this guy did, too. Seems there is a lot of web outrage over this one.

Dude, Torvald

2009-06-18T14:39:00.005-04:00

I'm relatively creative but have no real artistic skill or technical prowess.

However: I found this website that allows you to do some basic animation based on whatever you type in the speech boxes. The possibilities here excite me.

So, I pulled up an old file I had handy on this computer, less a script than a transcription of a conversation I had with a roommate, and plugged it in.

The result, I think, is deliciously "Stoned Ibsen Robots, Overacting."

Ironic Adventures in Online Dating

2009-06-12T10:26:00.003-04:00

Every so often I get bored and ironically explore the world of online dating. Not so much so that money ever changes hands, or such that I ever speak to strangers, but--just far enough. Just enough to get one or two annoyed "why aren't you responding?" e-mails.

So, I went to Match.com, as E-Harmony's process is way too time-consuming. And I put my e-mail in to register, and it came up with the message that there already was an inactive account associated with my address. Weird. I had them send me the password, and logged in.

No identity theft here--this was me talking here in the mostly-filled out personal profile. All the things I used to think were fun and I described the person I used to be..."For fun I like to write scholarly essays..." It was a totally cringe-worthy personal time capsule. And from the looks of the information, I did this just prior to graduation back in May '04.

Fun Facts:
1. I have no recollection of doing this. At all.
2. May 2004? I was a smug perfect-relationship person.

I'm at a loss here. I really don't remember writing all that stuff or what my motivation could have been. I might well have been drunk or in a bad mood. But--I couldn't erase it fast enough.

And, of course, replace it with current things certain to embarrass in five years.

Based on the number of "matches" since last night, I'm apparently more compatible with people in online than in real life. Of course, in real life, I don't consider "also born in January" to be a quality of note.

Again, this is all for fun. Although I know I also have said that I would never own a cell phone or an iPod.

We'll see.

The Other Da Vinci Code

2009-06-10T18:19:00.006-04:00

"Look at Leonardo Da Vinci. In his paintings, you never see any body hair. This is because Da Vinci had a vision--that one day we would industrialize, build factories, and basically have a society which manufactured such products that, one day, his descendant wouldn't have to sleep with a hairy woman like he did."

-Phil

I'm using quotes, but this is a paraphrase. I strongly hope that Zoe goes through with her quote-based coffee table photo book

Fun With Transcription and Line Breaks

2009-06-05T14:12:00.005-04:00

Voicemail from Mom: 6/05/09

Hey Gean,
It's me.
It's 12:50--lunch time.
Good day to be hanging out with your mom.
And I just heard "He's a Magic Man, Momma."
(You remember what that reminds me of.)
Um, I hope you come over soon
because Steff misses you
and I miss you
and you could make us dinner?
Eeeeh?
I'm thinking about dinner.

There Ain't No Winning With Doctors

2009-06-04T10:26:00.001-04:00

I went to the allergist on Tuesday. I have no real allergies to speak of. I won't rub my face in your pets (I will wave at them) and if I go to Dave's or something for the weekend, I have some backup meds. I go to the allergist for the sole reason of getting a refill of my inhaler, which I do use--because I have a type of asthma which, cruelly, causes me not to be able to breathe if I laugh too much. (Seriously)

A couple of years ago, I went and they did a skin test and it came up that I was "allergic" to peanuts. Now, I know how serious that diagnosis is, as my sister is allergic for reals, and has had terrifying (albeit not recent) brushes with scarytimes as a result. I, however, am not allergic. I have a lifetime of research with Mr. Goodbars and pb&j and pad thai to prove it.

My doctor flipped out when I told her, after asking me how recently I had eaten nuts, I said "Um...breakfast?"

Anyways. She went on this tirade about how, because I was insisting on continuing in this manner, she 'wasn't going to take me off nuts' but that I had to make a lifetime commitment to continue eating nuts so I don't "go off them" and have a reaction.

She got really annoyed with me when I asked her if I could just go on not thinking about it like I had been doing for 30 years.

Then--she called me Stephanie. Aaah.

Now, my sister also had her appointment that day, so, ok. But, I think in the future I'll not schedule us on the same day. Too much room for confusion.

American Apparel Takes Me to a Dark Place

2009-05-26T18:25:00.002-04:00

New from AA. I don't know if this is awesome, or terrifying. My gut reaction is "Oh God! Sixth grade! Run!"

But then, I also have long hair now and a sense of irony.

I'll Say it was a Dog Attack

2009-05-21T10:13:00.005-04:00

I'm probably going to have a scar on my right elbow from an injury I sustained last night. How it got there, and the implement with which I so cut myself, is "Gina" at best.

I was up pretty late, scrubbing my bath tub, cleaning the floors, washing the "good towels"...and otherwise over-cleaning due to the fact that I couldn't vacuum because the key to the communal vacuum closet was not where it was supposed to be. I was going to tackle the kitchen windows, which were hit in recent days by bird poo, but thought that while getting to the outside of them was do-able, it would be too dangerous as there's still a shards-of-glass guillotine factor with them.

And when fully exhausted, I flopped on my couch and caught my elbow on the edge of the plastic red heart on the butt of the "Wish Bear" Care Bear that I have been using until I get proper decorative cushions. I have a ton of these things in a closet from when I used to go to Dave and Buster's all the time and thought that the Care Bears were a good use of my fun points. This left a long, deep, and angry gash that kept me awake well into the night.

So, to recap: I hurt myself on a Care Bear while relaxing.

Cranky, Passive Agressive Rant From the Middle of the Hallway

2009-05-19T13:00:00.006-04:00

1. My little cubelet is in a nook in the wall in the middle of a hallway. You don't have to look at me every time you go by. This might sound weird, but, there are some people who do a very visible full head turn both coming and going. It makes me feel like a zoo exhibit.

2. And for God's sweet sake, do not comment on whatever I'm doing on my computer. Here, nobody cares if you're on Facebook or buying shoes so long as shit gets done. So, walking by and going "OOOOOO---Faaaceboook!" just makes you sound retarded.

3. The little two-foot "Pam" ledge over my inbox is still very much part of my workspace. Don't slap it as you walk by, or drag your hands on it. The slap, especially. It's "aquarium rules" here, people. Don't tap on the glass. It only pisses me off. The soft "thump" you hear immediately after is me throwing my pen into the wall in anger.

4. Also regarding the "Pam" ledge, if you leave something on it and walk away, I'm keeping it. If you stop and lean on it and have a long, involved conversation with someone, it had better pertain to me and the work I am doing two inches away from you. If you both actually have offices where you could be talking, there is no excuse to not be there doing so.

5. Do not, under any circumstances, say "So-and-so is busy so I am going to stand here and talk to you until they are free." This happens all the time and it not only interrupts what I am doing, but, the declaration is unnecessary. Couldn't you pretend to fake it like you were talking to me because I'm vivacious and interesting?

6. Don't wait until you are past the wall of my cube to say hello to me. I didn't see you walk by and don't know who you are.

7. And, don't sigh loudly on purpose when you walk by, either. I'm...well, it's not going to work to lure me into a bullshit discussion about how it's Monday, or this place is crazy, or how you need a nap...whatevs. It won't work and by the time I have the fifth loud-sigh of the morning, it effects my morale.

8. I don't even know the lady in the next office. Please don't ask me if she's left for the day/on vacation/at lunch/what her kids are up to. I can't see through walls and she's not even in my department.

A lot of this stems from my extremely anti-social perspective. I'm just having one of those days. Wish I could post this on the wall, but...not yet. I feel better having written it down, although I know I will think of more once I post.

Art Therapy: Because "Real" Therapy is Probably No Longer Covered

2009-05-15T09:44:00.006-04:00

I dislike going in the art room for artist-related reasons, but when I have to, I sometimes flip through whatever crap's lying around in one of my many carefully-planned daily social avoidance rituals.

While waiting for the printer to warm up, I picked up the Make-a-Wish calendar that had been lying there for months. Calendars are funny--there's really such a small window of time during which they can hope to be useful. If it's May, and you're still sitting around on the counter, it's over.

Anyway. This calendar has a kid and their wish featured every month. March wanted to meet Shania Twain. May wanted to look at rain forest bugs in the rain forest. December. . . wanted to be the CEO of General Motors. No kidding. You know, General Motors from all the breaking news alerts lately. Of course, his wish was granted back in 2003, but that stuck me as funny. I'll bet that the actual CEO wishes that he could pawn his job off on some kid.

I can relate. I'm in a bit of a spiral lately, myself. (Nothing new, there.) But I am trying to spin it into something creative. I've got this intense desire to glue something or paint something, hell, even a coloring book--so much so that I walked around a Michael's the other day looking for inspiration. I came up with nothing, but . . . of course, leave it to my mother, who, on Mother's Day, while sitting around the porch, decided that what was clearly missing from our lives was more novelty coconut heads.

"We could make our own ooga-booga heads! Gina! Can you Google and see if you can find the stuff to make our own?"

I should hang out with my family more. I hardly ever see them, and doing so helps me remind myself that my little "I'm the only person I know who is working without a net" tragic opera is complete bullshit.

An Expensive Habit

2009-05-06T11:28:00.003-04:00

My place is in desperate need of decorating. I mean, I have all that I need to get by--a couch, bed, a sweet T.V., and a place to keep my night cheese.

But, it looks stark, even after I installed my fish tube and Salvadorian happy Jesus art. So, I did break down and finally get this print I have been wanting, although, not at allposters.com, but at cafepress.com for $30 less. (There, I'm guessing, the onus of copyright infringement is on the seller and not me.) When you're decorating with absolutely no money, you have to get creative.

I love the tilt of the plane and the guy's face. I know that moment. It's that rush, albeit a calm one, right there that has me addicted to takeoff and landing.

Two Glasses of Wine Thus Far

2009-05-05T20:39:00.005-04:00

So I have been twittering (I'll not say tweeting, thank you) lately which is fine, but is distracting from me from my great love, the long-form personal comedy blog.

Maybe it's a good time for it, since my personal comedies lately are either a) not that funny or b) not for public consumption.

I'm going absolutely batshit crazy about my job. And I never know the rules about going public about professional woes, but it's no secret that something's broken, and having to call the strike hot line every day...sometimes many times a day, is taking a Chipotle-sized chunk out of my nerves. It's frustrating, because nobody understands. Why should they? Everyone else has normal jobs. And while that benefits me most days out of the year, the days it doesn't, it really doesn't. I don't know how this is going to end.

Ok, so there's been a little bit of comedy. I called my mom last night to tell her about an upcoming date I knew she would be happy about.

"I'm going to put down the phone so I can clap."

And she did. Not just standard clapping--it started out like that, and then I heard it turn into some Stomp the Yard routine.

"Ok. Very good. Now I have to go, I clapped too long and the ham is burning."

Corporate Carmen Miranda: Self Sabotage

2009-04-28T15:19:00.005-04:00

I knew, I mean, I totally knew that this meeting today was going to be 300 people wearing black suits.

I'm not sure what the impulse is that makes me look at this situation, one I've been in a bunch of times, and go: "Clearly, this calls for paisley/flower dress and purple shoes. I'm going to be up on the podium? Under stage lights? On video? Well, let's throw a bright cropped cardigan on the thing, too, and call it a fashion day."

Tomorrow, I will wear a black suit. Maybe pearls. But, on day one of the thing, I just like to remind everyone what's what.

Today's been pretty good...I got to order room service and while up on the aforementioned podium, was caused to giggle most unprofessionally by a representative. Oh, and the room where I am stationed has an endless supply of Starbucks and is decorated entirely in paintings of turtles.

I'll go back to being professionally cranky next week.

Who Knows?

2009-04-25T13:40:00.003-04:00

Don't fuck with me, Craigslist...

Missed Connections

It does sound like something I'd get. I'm marking it an 8.

Also, I Drew Several Eyeballs

2009-04-24T15:21:00.001-04:00

I was so bored this morning in a meeting that I found myself writing down the lyrics of the song that was stuck in my head.

That song was the Batman theme song.

And those lyrics are "Batman, Batman, Batman, Batman, Batman." (Give or take a Batman.)

I've also not had nearly enough sleep this week and far too much alcohol. So, yes, things are getting right back into the groove.

Realize...

2009-04-21T18:55:00.005-04:00

Oh, if you (whoever you are) get the chance to see The Flaming Lips, DO IT. Kristen and I saw them for free on Sunday, and both agree that we would have paid for it had they asked us.

Sexy.

Dr. Sketch

2009-04-21T11:39:00.004-04:00

I left work early last Thursday to seek emergency medical attention. I realized that if I put off seeing a doctor any longer, I was in jeopardy of being in a strike-induced non-insured state. Also, my co-workers forced me to.

Since my normal doctor couldn't fit me in, even though I used all the medical buzz words my mom gave me to really stress the urgency of my situation, I set off to find a clinic or something...and drove around for two hours to find a place that was a) not solely an ER, and 2) not sketchy. I rejected a number of places because I didn't like their choice of neon sign. Being sick is no excuse for lowering your standards.

At first.

So, two hours, fifteen calls to my mom, one frustrated, hysterical crying fit, and several 411 calls later, I found an urgent care place nearish my office in a questionable strip mall. I went in and told the receptionist in the empty office that "Hi, ...I'm here to see a doctor?" She told me that he was at lunch, but should be back in 20 minutes or so. I waited, and fiddled with my phone while on the office TV, the defendants on "Christina's Court" yelled at each other about either iPods or paternity, or both.

After Judge Christina saw a few more cases, the receptionist called the doctor to see where he was. "Oh. Oh. I see. Well, there's a patient here." At this point I'm thinking "Where the hell am I?" It was prime doctoring hours.

"He's going to be out a bit longer, do you want to go back to work or get lunch or something and I'll call you when the doctor is in?"

So, I went back to work, feeling really defeated. The girl called me back about two hours later.

Cut to the Dr's office. He was a little Indian man with a really big gap in his front teeth. This is not so important until picturing this...later when, after evaluating me for three minutes, goes to write me a prescription for an antibiotic, turns his head, smiles, and says...

"You want narcotic?"

I said yes, given the day that I had.

*In telling this story, I was assured that it was the proper medication for me, but, I think there's still something to be said for his delivery. I still don't really feel that great, reckon it's time to hit up the pharmacy.

Also, lol is not punctuation.

2009-04-14T15:59:00.010-04:00

I'm facing a dilemma...do I correct the numerous errors contained in the (air quotes) English freak's correction or is that too petty and bitchy even for me?

And also, replying to that comment does leave a YouTube footprint and would be proof that I was watching...well, we're all friends here...

Stories from the Road: Capt. Jim and the Vacation from Religion

2009-04-13T12:43:00.006-04:00

4/3/09

7:15 a.m.

I am sitting at the Potbelly's near my gate at Dulles, waiting to catch my flight. I'm having a turkey sandwich and coffee and am perched at the little bar that faces out so you can people-watch while eating. I'm too tired and sick to pretend to be doing anything else at the same time, like I normally would do while obviously by myself eating in public.

Anyways. I'm mid-bite when I had one of those Gina-moments.

A Southwest flight crew rolls up and they all go into the Potbelly except for one, a pilot who looks too much like John Krasinski for me not to become immediately uncoordinated. Capt. Jim Halpert parks himself right in front of me on the other side of the bar. I mean, inches away, in this virtually empty airport, where all kinds of waiting space abound. I wonder for a second if I know him or something, but, I don't and so it's just weird, although, for obvious reasons not bad-weird.

He turned and said hello and smiled at me and then busied himself with his iPhone while I tried to act normal and tried to will my nose to stop running.

After a minute: "Ah--I'm sorry. I just realized I must be blocking your view" (gesturing to gray, deserted Concourse C, and the window out to the butt-ends of the shuttles) I'm sure he wasn't flirting because of a million good reasons, but nevertheless the Mae West in my head said something right back about the view being just fine as it was (wink), or I don't know...anything other than what I actually did which was freeze and then giggle and probably make a face. I know for a fact I didn't form words--despite all my professional experience with just this scenario.

3:30 p.m.

I'd been in this grocery store in Davenport, FL with my family so long at this point that I have called up my cell phone company to update my billing info, purchased and taken medicine to make my flight-induced deafness go away, and have started to take pictures of the bottles of detergent called "WIN!". It's the beginning of a week-long stay at our rental house, and my parents have planned out all the meals and are just about to head to the cashier when my dad points out that it's Friday. In Lent. Our lunch plan for turkey sandwiches (which, I awkwardly had for breakfast but who cares at this point) is a no-go.

My mom whips the cart around and starts back down the aisle towards the cheese pizzas and probably another half-hour of shopping time.

"DAD!" we cry. He's laughing. "I shouldn't have said anything...I mean...it's is vacation." "Yes!" Steph says..."a vacation from religion." AAAAH! We all brace for the wrath of my mom, who we are sure heard her say that. That's the kind of comment that isn't going to fly with her--least of all from my sister who I believe is currently leaning agnostic, and whose soul my mom is hell-bent on saving.

We're frozen, waiting for the yelling to start, my sister is biting her fist...and mom keeps walking, oblivious to the rest of us (even Dad) who are now high-fiving ourselves on getting away with it.

We're so pleased with ourselves that, of course, we tell her about it in an few hours, when she asks what we keep giggling about. She took it well.

Say No

2009-04-12T21:41:00.002-04:00

So I'm watching "Say Yes to the Dress" which I understand is a problem, and I plan on addressing it. Later.

Anyways...this one bride, who had no idea how to apply blush, but that's beside the point, was fretting that there was too much beading on her bodice to meet the approval of her fiancee. She said something along the lines of: "He said 'I don't want to see a silver ball coming down the aisle at me. Make sure it's white and pretty.' I don't want him to turn and go out the back door of the chapel if he doesn't like the dress." All with a completely straight face. I wanted to jump through the TV and smack that coral mess right off her cheeks. I'm starting a tough love campaign.

So this brings me to my point: Stay away from these men. You know. The crazies. The immatures. The controllers. The ones with all the asterisks. I see it all the time...and not just in New Radford, but with my sister's and even mom's friends, too. I heard recently "I just can't live this cheaply on my own." I'm not really sure when it became OK to accept the unacceptable. I have faith that as a group, we can do better.

Sorry. I just...there's been a lot of this lately, and I'm weary of it. I'm about to start nailing pamphlets to doors. Or to foreheads.

Er, in other news, I went to Florida for a week and some of this crankiness comes from being "that girl" on the plane that everyone hated for coughing all the time...and from the sea of humanity that is Disney during spring break. There are some things that are worth waiting 2.5 hours for...and hang-gliding virtual reality ride is not one of them.

It's Hereditary

2009-03-28T17:23:00.002-04:00

My old room, the new gym, is getting this put up in it:

When I laughed at it, my mom snapped at me to stop crapping on my dad's dreams. So, sorry.

(giggle)

Once I've Slept, I Won't Remember Writing This

2009-03-23T13:54:00.004-04:00

The good news is that the Decemberists' new album, The Hazards of Love, is so good it makes my arms hurt. (Frank: "That's called a heart attack.") The bad news is that these days, I'm resorting to asking the Universe for a big favor.

It's an unenviable position, and it's not even a specific request that I'm making...I just feel like beseeching lately. Anything to get me out of this mood.

Not all is bad, though. Last night I got a surprise call from Ringo and ended up out "playing" pool at Fast Eddie's in Fairfax. I wasn't so much playing as I was being schooled, but I knew that going into it. Not that it matters, unexpected Ringotime is the best. Our table was possessed, though. Twice, he went to rack the balls and noticed one missing. Crawling under the table, and poking about in the pockets didn't do anything...they just vanished. Turns out they were getting stuck along the way, and while we eventually found them, it was pretty perplexing for a second there. We spoke of adventures past and present, and I bounced some ideas off him re: the need for "Swingers 2." (We need more rules of communication now that it's not just phones and answering machines.)

I stayed out with Ringo well past my bedtime, and got home just in time for the city of Manassas to begin it's springtime late-night pavilion clean-up, which consisted of a man in a jumpsuit leaf-blowing his way around the block a few times. This began at 4 a.m. and ended at 5:30. It was loud. Loud. Really loud. More on my feelings about leaf blowers when I am a little bit sharper.

So, today...I'm hallucinating a little from the no-sleep.

Just a Little is Enough

2009-03-21T21:27:00.002-04:00

I have a lot of big, high, bare walls. And I am looking around for decorating options.

I found this:

Too much? I mean, is it crazy? Because I kind of want it and I do have a Townshend collection.

The more I look, allposters.com has a ton of Who wall murals. Good thing they are all so damn costly.

Jeanie Never Wears No

2009-03-17T10:35:00.005-04:00

Inspired by my friend, (and current hero) Meredith, I made a wordle. I used one of my favorite Pete Townshend songs, Slit Skirts. I mean, it's about recrimination, aging, sex, and what the hell, fashion.

It's cooler when it's big (that's what she said)...click it.

c: http://www.wordle.net/

A Careful Screw in the Kitchen

2009-03-16T13:08:00.004-04:00

I'm pleased to say that last night I found a better way to save a bottle of wine from the fate of a broken cork lodged in the bottle neck. I immediately Googled solutions, and they all said to push it into the bottle, and strain the contents through a cheesecloth into a decanter. In my kitchen right now I have two novelty Bundt pans but no decanter and no cheesecloth (three kinds of cheese, though).

I was royally pissed because this was a "nice" bottle and my corkscrew didn't go down far enough into the bottle to unscrew the last 1/3 of broken cork. I thought about sucking it out, but the inevitable cartoon-like choking and embarrassing death report that would surely ensue put me off trying too hard with that one. (Also, it didn't budge) My knives were all too thick to wedge in there and even pushed it down a little closer to floating in the bottle.

After a second, I went for the long shot and took a left-over screw from the coffee table from hell and my new uber screwdriver and very carefully screwed it into the cork. Then I reached in with my long nose pliers (so that's what they are for!) and pulled the screw and cork clear out.

I was so proud of myself. I burst into a spontaneous chorus of "I am the Champion, My Friends!," because when you live by yourself you get to do as you please.

Speaking of, I went back to my parents' house earlier that afternoon, to get some miscellany and was immediately like "I gotta get out of here." I love them but when I think about how I went a year and a half there...(shudder) Although, I stuck around long enough to collect about 15 DVDs my brother had absorbed throughout the years, and to witness the gym my parents are building in my old room. The walls are painted red, white, and blue. I felt pretty bad for laughing because Dad seemed to be working really hard on it, but some things can't be helped.

USA!

Tastes Like WTF

2009-03-13T22:31:00.009-04:00

I can entertain myself. So, tonight, when I had to kill about a half hour, I went over to the Burlington Coat Factory because I like to keep abreast of what's what in fancy Sunday church-goin' hats.

What I found when I got to "home decor" was...well...I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

I found a painting of a young child sitting on a pile of fruit eating pages out of the Bible, with the message "you are what you eat." Yeah, that whole sentence is not a typo.

WTF.

This was something that was for sale. It was $12.99. I'm probably going to go back and get it once I get over the fear of having this in my house. It's a child eating the Bible to become the Bible, for fear he have some of the fruit and become an apple.

I'm really left speechless with this one.

I Think We Broke Up

2009-03-13T09:38:00.006-04:00

I'm in the middle of a bit of a Cold War with my mom. More than a week ago, we had an explosive fight about something truly retarded and inconsequential and really not worth the ensuing fallout one bit.

The morning after the incident, she sent me a text message which was scathing at best, and made me cry at work. (Horrors!) On a side note, to accuse someone of being passive aggressive via text will be ironically funny to me as soon as I am able to think it's funny.

Anyway. I knew that things were serious here when, despite the apology that my dad convinced me to very begrudgingly send, (also via text, because I guess that's how we roll) she did not come to meet me that Saturday morning so I would not be alone with the cable guy. This was huge, as I had been hearing for a month about how being home alone with the cable guy was tantamount to guaranteed rape/murder.

The days passed, having survived the cable thing with little more drama than tripping on the cords, and started to just genuinely forget about the whole thing and go on my merry way, not communicating.

Until I got a text yesterday morning:

Mom: R U alive? Just checking.

Gina: kind of--been in back of Comcast van for three days.

Immature? Comedy gold? Time will tell.

Indignant at the Target

2009-03-09T21:10:00.003-04:00

This is not going to be another rant where I go on about how superior I am because I am an island. I promise. I just have to say that I got into a a tugging match with the guy at Target who helps little old ladies to their cars.

I was walking away from the register with my cart in tow, and inside my cart was an awkward, but not impossible, tv stand in a box. This little motherless urchin darted in front of my cart and I would have hit him were it not for my years of experience handling shopping carts (especially the Target kind).

My cart was then taken away from me by a little man in gloves and a red t-shirt.

TAKEN AWAY.

He came out of nowhere and took it from me and steered it while I walked uncomfortably next to him. I said, "Oh, thank you..." because I don't do well with the correct phrase when I am indignant.

When we got outside, it became apparent that he wanted to help me put the box in my car. I didn't have time to tell him that I just moved everything I own into an apartment that's at the top of a pretty impressive staircase, with heavy, quick-locking 100-year-old doors on either end. Most importantly, I didn't want to admit to the Corporate Partiarchy that I didn't know where my car was.

"Thank you, I've got it from here."

He shook his head. I am sure it was less of a judgement than it was a language thing, but nonetheless.

I took the cart while he still had both hands planted on it.

"You sure?"

YES. Yes, I was sure. Seriously, it was just a flat box with some plywood and poles in it.

I thanked him again, ignored his dubios looks, and made my way to where I thought my car was. He stood there, arm-crossed, and watched me the whole time, thinking, I guess, that I would fail.

It's such a little thing but it made me so annoyed. And yet, I get all old-timey rules offended if a stranger cusses in front of me, a lady. I have problems.

Morphthing: Happy Early St. Pat's

2009-03-04T15:53:00.006-05:00

I have been having way too much fun at morphthing.com.

To illustrate--my lovechild with Conan O'Brien would go a little something like this:

I think it's clear that we'd make a leprechaun. I guess there is some truth to the wisdom that it's good to stir up the ethnic pot every so often. Ok. When you are done laughing (I only now just stopped...) give it a whirl. And be happy I spared you the Gina/David Duchovny combination. One word: teeth.

Rant: Stifling a Snort

2009-03-02T12:29:00.011-05:00

In the last five minutes, two co-workers came to tell me how their commute wasn't as bad as mine because their husbands drove them here. Both of them used the exact phrase "he doesn't like me to drive when it's like this outside."

Horrifying. I think I am supposed to think that is sweet. They certainly said it with eyelid-fluttering pride. Both instances made me stifle a snort and work very hard to keep my eyebrows from doing the international expression for "dubious."

My commute was hell. It took me forever to even get to my car, thanks to the combination of train tracks, snow drifts, the fact I use a "Rock Cats" ruler as an ice scraper, and that none of the roads I take appeared to have been plowed. I'm really not complaining at all...in my own way, I'm bragging, just like those ladies were.

Recently, a friend told me how they admired the fact that for years I have made my own happiness and don't tie my emotions to whatever some dude decides to throw at me on any given day. Honestly, that's part right, part--"it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder...," and part me just being secretive. I've also gotten a bit of this lately--a statement which I can't help but feel is a backhanded one--the statement about bemoaning the fate of forever being in back-to-back relationships. I know I veto a lot...but, look, I don't think that's a bad thing.

Maybe I'm the queen of the cynics. (And thank Jesus I am allergic to cats.) Either way, the next person who boasts to me about how fantastic and worthwhile their emotional, financial, or transportational dependence is will get an earful. If in the course of my life I have somehow have become the advocate, the singles guru, well, I'm the best girl for the job.

I should also mention that, from up here on my soapbox, I have such a huge crush on this one guy.

"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)"
-Walt Whitman

Ashes, Ashes...

2009-02-23T11:49:00.004-05:00

You know how there is a right way and a wrong way to lift things, popular with stick-figure warning labels and back-injury alarmists the world over?

I wrong'd it up yesterday, lugging all my stuff up a nice flight of steep stairs. I had tons of offers of help from all over...I'm just that bad at organizing people and my own time that I thought I'd just be a hero and make it work with just me, my beleaguered dad, and Frank'nSteff. (The kids showed up after all the lugging, although I made them put my bed together and Frank kindly swept all the broken glass up off the floor.)

The broken glass was a result of my opening a window on Saturday morning which didn't stay open for very long, slamming down on its own while I positioned my polka dot knickknacks in the bathroom. My first thought was "Oh, Lord, not my novelty blue bird lights!" Relief about that lasted zero seconds when I saw glass everywhere. Luckily it was just one pane which exploded, but the windows are huge and weigh thousands of pounds (roughly). It would have been pretty ugly had anyone been in the kitchen--or had their head out the window, marvelling at my proximity to a tasty, tasty Subway.

Despite it all, things are coming together nicely. My friend Sidney pointed out that I will have to have tame gatherings, as there are a lot of "woah, hey there's a step right there" spots, and anything too rowdy will result in much fallings-down.

Dirty Mind, Clean Deli

2009-02-18T09:03:00.011-05:00

This story is Stephanie's. So, if it comes off as culturally insensitive...it's her fault. I still think it's funny.

My sister, who is a junior in high school, had to interview a local business owner for a class project. She chose to talk to the old Korean guy who owns the Lafayette Deli, a place that she frequents with her friends because it's the only place with fries within walking distance to my parents' house.

She was nervous about it because she wasn't so sure how good his English was. Their previous conversations had her concerned that there would be some issues with this. I advised her to just "make it up" like I did with 100% of my interview-someone-for-class projects, but she declined, apparently not suffering from my brand of social anxiety.

Anyway, she went into the deli and after greeting her in his usual broken English, she told him why she was there and he sat down with her and said: "So, what would you like to know?" like he was David freakin' Attenborough.

Relieved, she went on asking questions and taking notes ("What do you like about your job?" "Nothing.") until she came to the question: "Do you have any hobbies?" And he replied: "Pranking off."

(beat)

She wrote it down and then looked at what she wrote and bravely decided to...carefully revisit that one. This was either something he did with Ashton Kutcher on MTV or something...well, that she hoped he didn't do near the fries.

"I'm very good at it. Every Saturday and Sunday."

"And where do you...um..."

He points behind his head--"At the Pleasant Valley course."

(beat)
(lightbulb goes off, eraser starts flying)

"Oh, playing golf."

She thanked him and told me later that she sat in the car with the radio on loud for quite some time. Apparently, what she learned from it was "don't own a small business."

Lying is easier, but, I guess never as good as the real thing.

Haha, no, really.

2009-02-17T16:26:00.004-05:00

All these jokes I have been making about having meningitis are going to be reallly un-funny if it turns out I have meningitis. That's all I'm saying. Either un-funny or prophetic, we'll see how the editor of my complete published bloggings (most likely Zoe) chooses to spin it.

Not being able to walk or move my head has really been a setback to my apartment move-in plans. I have had the place for a week now...it's frustrating. On Saturday, I moved in a few boxes and the few furniture items that Steff and I could handle by ourselves. This amounts to pretty much my night stand, which was great timing because as I have since been bedridden, I've been balancing all the various tea cups and tiny bottles on a table I made out of a stack of old puzzle boxes that my aunt in Cleveland sent over the summer which I knew would come in handy some day.

So, that's what I have been up to. I'm not dead, just feelin' it.

Dear DC Area Wickhams:

2009-02-11T22:14:00.009-05:00

I totally Facebook stalked somebody (just a little) out of terrible curiosity. And, it felt weird. But also awesome.

It inspired me to set a few things straight on paper, So, consider this an open letter to not only the mousey d-bag in question, but all the hipster d-bags out there who think they float about on tiny clouds just because they have those glasses and are unashamed to dance on more than one occasion.

Hello,

I don't even like Indian food. And you're really less Rivers Cuomo than you are Thom Yorke. Which, unless you're actually the genius behind Radiohead, isn't really the best look for a guy. And, really, don't tell me I'm gorgeous like you are dropping a bombshell. That's old news. Look, you're cute and all and I appreciate you putting your drink down and moving my purse to a safe location while dancing, but...didn't you watch Swingers? There are rules about calling...and these rules are firm. Swingers came out before texting, but, believe you me, Trent wouldn't approve of the text abuse, either. Just count yourself very lucky that you made it past the Great Wall of Gina, that was a momentary security failure and should there be a next time you'll run smack into the bricks like everyone else.

Phew.

That feels much better. I'm not crazy.

I will say no more on this subject, unless I am holding a martini and someone brings it up.

The Further Bastardization of Books

2009-02-09T13:54:00.005-05:00

I still don't want a Kindle, Amazon. Not the new Kindle 2, not Kindle Klassic. I decline.

And it's not just because I have replaced reading books with product reviews of liquid eyeliner. That's just not the whole story...I also stand against everything you stand for. Oh, and Oprah loves hers and I'm just not that into her.

In other "No, no I say unto you" news, I'm big into (meaning I have not yet unsubscribed from their e-newsletters) the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood. And their latest press release was pretty eye-opening. It dealt with Scholastic's book club, which apparently now not only sells books which are heavily product-placement (Sponge Bob and the like) but a good 33% of it is either straight-up not a book (M&M's Wii game offends on two levels here) or book-with-toy.

I even have issue with this.

Hopefully this doesn't mean that I'm turning into the biggest wet blanket ever. I just think that can't be right. Nothing was more exciting, I mean, nothing when I was in elementary school than book club day. And while I know I did get some of those American Girl books from them, and that's technically marketing, those books ruled and were pretty educational. I'd hate to see that screwed with by the few bad capitalist apples who spoil things for the rest of us.

I'm not suggesting that kids today bring in their checks for Johnny Tremain like I did, but coming back from recess to find a wireless PS2 controller on their desk...just isn't right. This is school, you know?

Conflicted

2009-02-06T13:01:00.002-05:00

I was talking to my mom last night about going to IKEA this weekend to look at furni for my new place. She liked that plan because it means we can swing by Bethesda to see Crazy Grandpa. She said:

"Oh! I called him today, actually. You should call him, too...your grandpa has just discovered Hannah Montana."

I don't know what that means, I don't know the context...I don't know that I want to.

I am so happy not to have to check Craigslist for apartments any more. That was getting incredibly depressing. I hated it. I had been doing it for 6 months straight. Now, if I can just get myself in a position not to have to check "missed connections" any more, I'll be all set.

I'm a little bit nervous about living by myself. Mostly excited, but there is a little bit of anxiety there. I'm excited about the thought of my own fridge. As it is now, my brother eats most of my food before I get to it. I'm excited about the reality of quiet--it seems like no one in my house ever goes to bed, except me. And I love my sister more than anything, but, I'm excited about always knowing where my headphones are. I am overjoyed at the idea of not having to contend with a roommate and not feeling judged by people who don't understand what I am doing still in Chantilly. (Although, I'm bracing myself for the next wave of judgement for living in Manassas...)

I'm nervous about things which are less tangible.

How To Get Annoying

2009-02-05T13:15:00.010-05:00

This happened a while ago, and I wanted to brag about it, but procrastinated until I had a more user-friendly blog:

Being all up on some fashion, (and Mizrahi) I googled the book but couldn't find it. Then I realized where the problem was, and emailed CNN...

"The title of the book is "How to Have Style"

It seems like a little thing, and while I would never contact them (or blog) about a typo--they had the name of the book wrong. And not just in the title, all through the whole article.

Anyway, I got this back from them:

Thank you from CNN!

As you know, CNN.com provides our readers with the resources to bring to our attention possible errors on our site. (Even the very talented CNN.com writers are only human, and yes they do occasionally make mistakes!) You recently took advantage of these resources and brought to our attention an error in one of our stories. Thanks to your eagle eye and your willingness to take the time to report it to us, it's been corrected. This email is to acknowledge your contribution to CNN.com....From all of us at CNN.com, THANK YOU! We look forward to hearing from you again soon.

Well, that was nice. And, I know how hard it is to edit things properly. (Although fact-checking must be less intense.) I doubt, though, that they are excited to hear more from anal-retentive picky readers like me.

Full Disclosure:
My real intent here is to illustrate to Isaac how I might have helped him sell a few more books. Don't you think that warrants being rewarded with...oh, I don't know. I like something in a brown silk.

Stimulus Package Denied

2009-02-03T13:39:00.008-05:00

The economy showed up yesterday and took the department coffee away.

Admittedly, I would rather have things stay afloat than have the coffee close by, but that, coupled with the earlier loss of corporate green tea...well there goes one more bright spot. I'm kept optimistic by the fact that nobody else drinks the no-sugar hot chocolate. (Sigh.) I'll have to make it last.

Song of the Year

2009-02-01T13:31:00.008-05:00

Working on the belief that when we die, we'll be judged not so much by our actions but rather by how we have selected the music that makes up our life soundtrack, I do this little game where every year I pick a song.

The rules are pretty simple...it has to be a song that I hear for the first time in that year, and basically sum things up. The last few years, since I started doing this, it's been pretty easy. There's one that stands out.

2008 was tricky because it was, by far, the most eventful year of my life. I was busy. I mean, among all the other things, I went to Boston, New York, and Las Vegas each twice (to say nothing of Dollywood...)

But there is one that clicked and always makes me smile, no matter what, and kind of sums up the vibe and the high (and scattered low) points:

So, that's done. It's funny, but not out of character, that I should agonize so much about something that only I care about.

The Onus is on the Scissors

2009-01-29T10:00:00.010-05:00

There I was, sitting in the stylist's chair at the Bubbles, exchanging what I thought were honest-to-gosh lingering glances with the guy in the opposite mirror, the likes of which you only ever read about on Craigslist's Missed Connections.

As the haircut went on, two things became apparent:

He was sitting next to his American stick-insect wife.

He was furtively trying to warn me with his eyes that the new girl I had trusted was doing unspeakable things to my bangs and well on the way to giving me "The Rachel."

When all was done, and I was spun around to behold, I couldn't even fake a smile. And that's saying a lot.

So, I paid them their blood money, ran out to my car and shed exactly one tear and bobby-pinned my snagglebangs out of my face. (I had to go back to work, after all...)

Was I being too dramatic? You betcha I was. But I thought I could give myself five minutes of self-pity and commiserated with a friend who let me go on for far too long before saying: "If it makes you feel any better, I'm losing my hair soon due to the chemo I started yesterday."

Well, that snapped me right out of it.

Even though I no longer saw it as a tragedy, I did go home and re-color (I so want to be Joan from Mad Men) and de-snaggle, and now kind of claim a success. While there's no need for excessive vanity and self-pity, honestly, ladies of a certain status need to put that best foot forward.

Edit:

Ok, so, one day in it's not so bad. I've had the opportunity to dye and curl the bejeezis out of it. I'm actually pretty happy and probably look the same as always.

Ringo, here ya go:

Biography Lends to Death a New Terror

2009-01-27T09:59:00.006-05:00

My mother is the reason I will never stop writing about my life.

I moved back home a year and a half ago out of necessity. I stayed out of indecisiveness, and now I'm just hanging another month or so out of pure entertainment.

Last night I was at home, cleaning out my room and doing laundry when my mom, making dinner, asked me to clear off and set the kitchen table.

I looked over at the table and it was mostly my mom's home office stuff...nursing papers and binders and equipment and the phone and other things that nobody is allowed to touch (as she has a "system"), along with the newspaper and the mail and assorted snack foods.

"What do you want me to do with all the--all this?"

My mom puts down the spatula and leans over the bar that separates the kitchen and the dining room. She looks at the table for a minute.

"OK. Take my glasses off the table. Make sure the bag of prune bites is closed. Then--take the table cloth and wrap the whole thing up like a hobo bag."

"What?"

"Do it before I change my mind."

By "hobo bag," I knew she meant those bags on sticks that hobos carry, not the large, crescent-shaped purse. I took the corners of the red table cloth and wrapped the whole heavy mess--books, food, keys, papers, electronics, dishes--up like a hobo bag. Then I ran upstairs with it to show my sister, who declared through gasping laughter that we'd hit a new low.

Then mom said I had to find a place to hide it so my dad wouldn't see. I twisted it shut and wedged it between the wall and a bar stool. She turned to look back at the table.

"That's great! I would have taken me forever to sort all that stuff out. Now, where are the place mats?"

All Bad Poetry Springs From Genuine Feeling

2009-01-26T10:07:00.010-05:00

I've been looking at this blank space for a week now.
A fancy new blog and nothing to say.
Delightful.

Well, it's not entirely true. I have quite a bit to write about the tragedy of me not having anything to write.

This weekend I attended a poetry reading and at about three seconds into the first poem, I felt a stabbing pain in my creative center, wishing that I had brought something to read. Wishing that I had written something in the last year other than blogs about vacations.

I took poetry writing in college originally because I hated poetry, (of course I did--high school students are only really exposed to Emily Dickinson-esque pretension) but I thought that to get as well-rounded English education as possible, I'd have to tackle both poetry and fiction writing. I never got around to fiction--that's how addicted to the look of my own stanzas on the page I was after day one. I was incredibly poor in college, but while there was usually no money for laundry or canned soups, I did what I had to do to make sure I had enough dimes to make copies of my poems for class.

And of course it became therapeutic, too.

So, there I was on Saturday, sitting in a semi-circle listening to poetry by people I sort of immediately resented because they were still able to do what I couldn't.

I've been trying. I have been working on something I have been calling Africa because I'm not too creative for maybe a year now. Which I know is way too long, but the ending bothers me. So much so that I'm thinking the last stanza might just be replaced by a sketch or a watercolor or a YouTube clip or interpretive dance.

Maybe I will try and have at it again, now that I'm no longer in a place where I romanticize that subject matter. Although I wish I had kept all the increasingly-realistic versions of it that there have been, that would be interesting to compare.

Or horrifying.

Either way, new year, new blog, new beeswax, new first attempts. This is one of my favorite poems. For a long time it was taped in various forms to my monitor. Is it weird if I have it cross-stitched on a throw pillow?

Telephone Booth #898½
Pedro Pietri

if you are
unable to erase it
it means that you
have not written down
anything to erase
& don't have to fear
being quoted just
when you are about
to contradict what
you didn't write down