Trick or Treat

Costume: circles/bags under eyes, no makeup, loose clothing, plastic bag containing tampons, tears for no apparent reason, yelling for no apparent reason.

Yup, you guessed it. I'm PMS Girl!



Stay of Execution

For those of you playing along at home, work's been a little, um, challenging lately. In short: we're still working out of a building that has been sold - without heat, cleaning services, garbage collection, or security. We've been told for months that we're moving to a new location, so all of our stuff has been packed away for, well, months. With each passing day, queries about our workspace (and, by extension, the future of our program) have been met with vague answers (or no answers at all).

Last week, one of the hospital engineers stopped by the building with the news that he was told to have all of his tools (heh heh, I said 'tools') out of the building by October 31st for closing. Questions about this deadline were met with (you guessed it) silence.

This was it, we thought. We're done. We're gonna get laid off. I wallowed for a bit and then started planning alternate ridiculous careers (dog walking, perhaps?), panicking about money, and feeling like the world's biggest loser. And along the way, came into a little bit of acceptance about leaving (well, being forced to leave, really) and my time there and what I had accomplished despite the obstacles, and blah, blah, blah social workiness. (For the record, even though it is vastly illogical, I still feel like a huge loser.)

Today, a short email from our new supervisor, stating that the closing date has been delayed. No further information.

And thus I climb back on the rollercoaster.


Ruh Roh

Last night, I had an intake with a new client.

So I met her in the waiting room and we walked back to the office (no cockroaches - bonus!). We made ourselves comfortable. I introduced myself. I managed not to stutter, or make too many hand gestures, or any of the other things that I had been worried about.

We started talking. It seemed to be going well. Ok, I thought. I'm like a real therapist here.

And then, when I asked her if she had any questions, she told me that she had googled my name.

Well, I thought, this is interesting. Like most neurotic people, I do google myself...frequently. However, I was suddenly unable to recall exactly what she would have found. Certainly nothing very 'therapisty'. Does google have links to my myspace page? I know the NY times bedbug stuff is on there...what else could she have seen?

Unable to immediately answer any of these questions, I took a deep breath, reset my mind, and continued the session.

And ran right home and googled myself.


The Man

Last night, when I got home, B had a present waiting for me. Probably because he was sick of me explaining about how I have the salt scrub, but I only use it sparingly because it's a little expensive but it's my favorite thing EVER.

So now I have two whole new tubs of it, waiting in the medicine cabinet for whenever I'm ready to exfoliate.

In return, I bring home the vicarious traumas of my job.

So, we're even.



The cockroach is partially alive.

As I went to move him/her - his/her legs started moving.

I need to go freak out a little now.


I'm not saying things are bad at work, but I just found a giant dead cockroach in my office and my first thought wasn't how to get rid of it but about the best way to properly document this as proof for my union about the working conditions here.


Nose Ring

I've recently begun thinking about taking out my nose piercing, at least during the work week, since things are getting kinda formal here at my job and I don't wanna give anyone an excuse to reprimand me or write a note in my file (and believe me, these things are happening already for lesser reasons, so - for once - my paranoia has some basis in actual events).

The flip side is that I've never really been able to remove it before (again, paranoia, this time around thoughts that I am going to rip my nose open while trying to get the damn thing out) *and* the "dress code" prohibits "nose rings" and I have a "nose stud".

So it's been for a couple of weeks - I should take it out - FLIP - Fuck that, I'm leaving it in.

This morning: problem solved when the piercing got caught on my towel and came out (painlessly) on its own. Putting it back in wasn't working (see nose ripping, paranoia) so here I am, with unadorned nose.

It feels really strange. I'm gonna have to get this fixed immediately.

Yes, I Had A Weekend

Friday: The Librarian and I know we're not unintelligent women yet we both had trouble following Tom Stoppard's Rock N' Roll. The Librarian even provided some research results the next day, but I'm still not getting it. Oooo, but the guy from two of the Bourne movies was in it, so that's cool...

Saturday: B hosts the gig of a lifetime: his dog run's annual Halloween costume contest. I amuse myself by eating cookies. Stewie amuses himself by refusing to wear his costume (it was "Superdog" which narrowly won over "Dogula" at the costume store) and by chasing/humping the other dogs who *were* wearing costumes, as if to mock their acquiescence to the display. Bonus: B gets to wear a ridiculous hat, and I brought my camera.

Sunday: I decide that we need to clean/organize B's apartment. Good idea, right? Well, it was until I got all scary and hyper about it, insisting on creating a system for things that don't need a system and harassing B into helping me when all he really wants to do is watch football. And finally ending up in a huff around 10:34 pm because the humidifier that we never use wasn't put away where I wanted it. And then I realize, in the midst of speaking with B about the humidifier that we never use that I sound exactly like my mother. Good times.



Last night, B produced/hosted/performed in a comedy show to raise funds for his dog run. He put together an amazing line-up (Joe DeVito, Mick Diflo, Jill Twiss, Robin Fox, Doug Adler, Bernadette Pauley, Josh Homer, and Jim Mendrinos) and the turnout was excellent. (Thanks, AGAIN, to my friends who came out last night!)

The night afforded an additional opportunity to interact with B's mom, whom I've met a couple of times before. She attends most of B's shows...anyway...read below and please note my awesome communication style.

Failed Conversation #1:
mom: are you going to the dog park show?
ridiculous: um, no i don't think so...
mom: why not? what kind of supporter are you?
ridiculous: something partially inaudible but i think along the lines of "a half-ass one" (delivered of course in deadpan fashion then followed by a smirk)
mom [blank stare]
ridiculous: just kidding...

Failed Conversation #2:
she was talking about her friend's cat who wouldn't leave her alone, i made the point that cats have a weird way of sensing cat-dislikers and following them around...
mom: so, do you think the cat was trying to get me to like him?
ridiculous: [shrug]
mom: well, what was i gonna do, have sex with him? do you think he wanted me to have sex with him?
ridiculous: well, if that's what it takes...
mom: [blank stare]

Despite all of this, I just got the report from B that she thinks I am a 'sweet little girl'.

Oh Good Lord is she in for a surprise...


Eating, Drinking, General Merriment

Yesterday morning, I dragged my ass to the gym before work.
(That is not nearly as impressive as it sounds because I didn't have to be at work until 11:00.)

My new, super elaborate, super ambitious plan is to go to the gym 5 days per week. Which is necessary when you consider last week/weekend:

1. I got home Tuesday from an entire week of an all-carb diet in Ireland.
2. To discover that B had ordered pizza with my favorite toppings (pepperoni and black olives) and who was I to resist?
3. Followed by, seriously, one of the best meals of my life at Gramercy Tavern the next day in celebration of our 3 month anniversary.
4. And then some bad news at work on Thursday, which resulted in serious bingeing that night. Why *do* we have all that cheese in the house?
5. Then it was Friday, so to celebrate the end of the work week, LDK and I meet at Moustache (which, as B pointed out, might be the worst name for a restaurant, ever - especially one where the food is just.so.good.) and falafel and pita are devoured, along with the better part of a bottle of wine.
6. Leading into Saturday, when The Librarian comes over to ogle the new 40" flat screen HDTV, uh, tv that B bought while I was away, and we order Chinese food.
7. Finished by Sunday with the fam at Cara Mia - various appetizers, gnocci and chocolate mousse cake.


A Ridiculous Charade

Yesterday evening, my family came into town to celebrate my brother and SIL's birthdays, which had happened while I was drinking my way through the Emerald Isle.

Because we were going out to dinner in my neighborhood (um, I guess I mean my former neighborhood, at least for the month of October, and possibly beyond) we decided to meet at my apartment (um, I guess I mean my former apartment, at least for the month of October, and possibly beyond). So this involved making sure The Librarian was home so we could get in to my former/current apartment, then explaining to my family that she is staying there for the month.

"Oh", my mom said, "it must be crowded."

This was obviously the perfect time to explain to Mom that I have, in fact, been staying at B's (instead of living in my tiny apartment with two people and one queen-sized bed). But I kept my mouth shut, and nodded, because, you know, I am instantly 12 years old and seeking approval when dealing with my family.

And then, of course, woke up thinking about the whole mess today and felt even more childish and foolish for playing along with a game I didn't set up in the first place.



I went to Ireland hoping thatr I could duplicate the idyllic picture on the front of this travel book. But none of the sheep seemed to want to cuddle with me. Strange.

Don't go to Ireland if you want to eat healthily. Or if you're opposed to drinking every day as soon as it hits 12 o'clock.

Also, it's probably a bad idea to see a short-ish Irish guy and tackle him, claiming that he is a leprechan and refusing to let go until he leads you to his "pot o' gold".

Not engaging with the crazy-eyed drunk man is also a good suggestion, especially when he starts muttering about his impending trip to NYC in November and some "unfinished business" that he needs to attend to.

The Librarian and I spent a fair amount of time on InishMore
drinking beer (Guinness for me, Harp for her) and then building "CanHenge". I think she has video of this. *Please note* we both have advanced degrees. And yes, we know that Stonehenge is not in Ireland.

Temple Bar is the "Meatpacking District" of Dublin. Annoying.

Most Irish people are friendly even when they figure out that you're American, the rare exception being those who will start yelling about George Bush and war mongering.

Lager and lime is just as tasty as it was in 1993 when I was in London.


Top O' The Morning To Ya

I'm back, I'm awake unreasonably early (jet lag), and I'm broke.

Oh, and I'm supposed to be reading for my class at 9:00 am, so more later...


Klassy Lady

Moved some more stuff to B's last night. All my bags are already at his house, so I used a...garbage bag. Yup. Dragging my stuff through his slightly fancy lobby in a...garbage bag. Greeting the doormen.

And with that awesome image in your head, I bid you goodbye, as The Librarian and I are getting ready to leave for Ireland.



As if I didn't bring enough shoes over to B's house...I'm seriously considering these.

I think it'd be a wise investment. I hate rainy days (and Mondays, which always get me down, but that's besides the point) but the right boots could help.


MY SIDE: I've kinda temporarily sorta moved into B's apartment. Partly because I'm helping out a friend who will be staying in my lovely apartment for the month of October, and partly as an experiment to see if we can actually live together. But mostly because I absolutely love being with B, and I'm there all the time anyway.

Oh, and there's laundry services in his building.

So, yesterday, we packed up my 'necessary' items (B: "How many pairs of shoes do you have, anyway?') and brought them over to his house. And when we got home, we went right back out again to the dog run, then to enjoy the last bit of summer outside. Despite a few interludes of looking at each other and mock panicking about 'really' living togther (sample: 'This is great. Togetherness is great! We're together now. All. The. Time.') it was a perfectly normal night.

The only weird thing was getting up this morning and seeing all of my things in the closets and the medicine cabinet and the kitchen.

HIS SIDE: The email he sent to friends this morning.
"ridiculouschick (ed. note - he doesn't call me ridiculouschick)has moved in for October. Well, she's moved in for two daze, then she's off to Ireland for a week, and then back here for the rest of October. So far we're doing good...well, there was this "thing" that occurred last night. She woke me up sometime around 3 AM....

"What did you put on my waist?"
"Huh?" I asked, groggy, yet curious where she was going with this. I assumed that she was playin' some game.
"I said, 'What did you put on my waist?'" She answered, tinged with anger.
"I didn't, I didn't, umm, put anything on your waist."
She then turned over and went back to sleep.
I went back to sleep too... after I put a knife under my pillow.

She didn't remember it when we woke up.

This could get interesting.

Rock On,

B (ed. note: he doesn't call himself B)"


Weekend Update

I wrote out a whole post about my weekend, then re-read and decided that the details are boring to anyone who isn't me.

The general recap is that L&D were down from Boston. I went to Princeton to see a friend from high school and meet her 2 month old daughter (they were visiting from SF).

And when I got home last night, exhausted (surprise, surprise - the only adjective I use lately is exhausted) B had not only done the laundry, but had baked an apple crisp with apples that we picked last weekend in upstate NY.