Weekend

Friday: J. and I went here to see them. Amazing. At one point, I leaned back into J. and we were sort of swaying along to the music and the lights and I felt completely happy and calm, and slightly giddy at the same time.

Saturday - Day: Subway ride of shame from the LES (why, yes, I always go out for coffee and bagels in the morning dressed in sparkly sandals and massive bedhead) followed by 5 mile run along the Hudson followed by my dad picking up me and 10 pounds of laundry for a trip out to The Jerz.

Saturday - Night: Preparation for The Peanut's birthday party.

Sunday - Morning: I skip church (and the possibility of an awkward set-up) to run 8 miles. Yup, 8 miles. In about 90 minutes. I then rush over to The Peanut's birthday party (princess theme, of course) for a blur of small children, relatives, confetti, and cake. And the sweetest 3 year old in the world. The Peanut is my BFF.

Sunday - Night: Unofficial birthday party for JP at The Gaf, including multiple games of Big Buck Hunter, leading into...

Monday - Morning:...a slight case of the Guinness flu, which I am attempting to medicate with a cranberry muffin and a gallon of water.

Running Advice

Don't wear a thong while you're running long distances.

Just take my word on this one.

Decisions, Decisions

My office is fucking freezing right now.

Every weekend, they turn the heat off. It takes forever to warm up again on Monday mornings. I'm guessing that the full heat will kick in tomorrow, just in time for the predicted 74 degree weather.

As for today, I *do* have a space heater. The problem with using the space heater is that it tends to blow a fuse if someone uses the microwave while it's on, and there is no-one to fix a blown fuse since our regular maintenance guy is on vacation, and his boss is also on vacation - a fact that I only discovered last Friday when we called to report that part of our ceiling had fallen down (for reals) and they tried to page both our maintenance guy and then his boss, only to figure out after 20 minutes of non-responsiveness that they were out of the office, and then tried to tell me that it couldn't be fixed until April 2nd (when they get back), and only hired and sent over an outside contractor to repair the ceiling after I threatened to call my union.

Point being, I think I can only use the 'I'm going to complain to my union' card once. And also, if I actually called my union, they'd probably be like, 'And you are...?'

So now I need to decide if I can risk a blown fuse (and thus, no computer access) or if I am doomed to shiver in my office for another 4 hours. Hm.

F Yeah, I'm A Runner

This morning, I woke up bright and early (read: 10:00 am), created a new running mix on my iPod (read: heavy on music of the loud and angry variety), clipped my pedometer to my shirt (read: I am a huge dork), and headed down to Hudson River Park (read: not so much a park but a path along the West Side Highway) for a training run.

I ran (read: jogged) for 80 minutes. 80 minutes. I could not tell you how I did this, or what I was thinking about.

At the end of this insanity, my pedometer told me that I had only completed 3 miles. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Luckily, Orangeman Mike had posted about this training tool on his blog. When I got home, I typed in my route, hit 'calculate' and hoped for the best.

I ran 7.49 miles today. I am psyched. I am not so in love with my pedometer.

PS: Saw this movie last night with J. Lots of silliness - I highly recommend.

Dodgeball Is Random

All season I've kinda...bitched...about dodgeball. It's on the UES, so it requires a lot of subway travel and a cross-town bus during rush hour, which is annoying. And there are these teams that are really intense and throwing the ball really hard and I'm afraid of getting hit in the face and then there's the slight social awkwardness of being on a team with people that you don't know at all and trying to make small talk each week.

The Lawyer is able to shrug all of this off, because she just likes throwing the ball at people. Hard.

Last night, something strange happened. I had fun. Here's why:

- During the first round of games, I caught a ball that was thrown at me, which means that I eliminated the thrower from the other team AND brought back in a previously eliminated teammate. In other words, I was actually able to contribute to a victory.

- Our games against the feared Alpha-male team (The Headhunters, and they all have nicknames on the back of their shirts like 'The Wolf' and 'The Hitman', for God's sake) were over relatively quickly with no serious injuries.

- Bon Jovi comes on the bar jukebox. I fist pump. The Lawyer points at me and says 'Jersey in the House'.

- N. and I procured a free pitcher of beer from a woman who claimed to work for Budweiser. We had to pose for several pictures which will probably turn up somewhere on the internet at some point, but hey, free beer.

- During the free pitcher/picture taking, The Lawyer got stuck going to a diner for about 45 minutes with one of our more annoying team members, which is pretty funny.

- Later on in the night, I got caught up in some heavy geek foreplay when one of my other team members was showing me his new Blackberry. For about half an hour. And he was visibly nervous when I started playing with the buttons. I love geeks.

- Around 11:30, I rediscovered my love for Honey Mustard and Onion Pretzel Bites. My cab driver probably wasn't psyched about that one.

Today, dilemma. Do I sign up for another season? Or was last night an anomaly brought on by rain, spring weather, and too much Budweiser?

Indulged

Last night, I met up with J. to watch the Syracuse/Clemson NIT quarter-final game.

I think we all know how it turned out. (Or maybe we don't, since it was the NIT, and who watches NIT games, other than Syracuse alumni and the group of drunk Englishmen at the bar who befriended us and became temporary college basketball fans? In case you fall outside of those categories, the good guys lost.)

Syracuse was behind for almost the entire game, but managed to play a little more aggressively and go on a bit of a scoring run late in the 2nd half. Coincidentally, this occurred while I was listening to a story that J. was telling instead of watching the television.

Because I am weird, I became convinced that in order for Syracuse to win, I needed to not watch the rest of the game. And so I deliberately turned away and ordered J. to continue telling stories, preferrably on the same subject matter. This lasted for about 3 minutes, until I demanded to know what was happening in the game.

J. then spent the next 20 minutes or so narrating the game for me, while I alternately squeezed his hand and leaned my head against his chest. Not only did he describe the game, he noted baskets made by my favorite players (that 'white punk kid' and the 'tattooed dunker-guy') and actively rooted for Syracuse.

When it was over, and I had stopped swearing, he bought me a drink and deflected the unsympathetic questions of the aforementioned Englishmen. It's not often that you connect with someone who not only defers to your oddities, but actually participates in them.

I think he's a keeper. For now.

Extra Credit

ridiculouschick, a 34 yo. social worker, passes her Social Work Licensing Exam. The appropriate response is:

a) immediately call friends and family to inform them of the good news and to thank them for dealing with/supporting her insanity over the past week

b) run a 5K 'race' against herself on the treadmill while watching the UNLV/Wisconsin game (and set a personal best time while doing so)

c) make arrangements with The Librarian to go out for dinner and drinks

d) all of the above

Things That Make Me Cry, Part II

I returned to my office this afternoon to find a beautiful bunch of roses, sent by my brother, my SIL, and The Peanut, wishing me well on this little exam I'm taking on Sunday.

(Also, worth noting that The Peanut has begun to state that her career goal is to be a 'Princess Social Worker'. This is probably because my family has been making an effort to emphasize that Princesses (her current obsession) have jobs other than looking pretty and getting married. )

Still Studying

ridiculouschick, a 34 yo. caucasian female, has a preoccupation with cake and other
baked goods. the social worker's BEST intervention would be to:

a) explore her feelings around dessert and her history of eating,
bingeing, and body image

b) suggest that the desserts represent a sublimation of unacceptable
urges and desires

c) refer the client to a physician and/or neurologist

d) bake a cake for the client

I Can See The Future

Just down the street from my new office, there is a pizza place that has these little potato/broccoli croquets that are only $.75 each. We've been here since Monday, and I've had at least one each day.

I'm trying to convince myself that they are healthy (broccoli) but...no.

I can see my future, and it includes continued potato-y goodness...and possible weight gain.

Studying

Yeah, so I have my Social Work licensing exam on Sunday. It kinda snuck up on me. And when I say: kinda, I mean: I just started studying this week.

All of this cramming is causing me to think about everything in the format of the exam. For example:

1. ridiculouschick, a 34 yo. Social Worker, provides counseling to clients every day, but has not had individual clinical supervision since November 2006. This situation would BEST be described as:

a) opposite of the directives of the NASW Code of Ethics
b) really scary for ridiculouschick's clients
c) totally fucked up
d) all of the above

Training

The half-marathon training is...going.

I've reached a point where the 4 mile runs are supposed to be the easy ones. Sometimes they are. I surprised myself this weekend by running 5.7 miles continuously, after a week of being sick and not training at all. And this was along Hudson River Park, contending with helicopter landings and tourists and Sunday lollygagging and strong winds.

I'm trying to access the person that was a competitive athlete from ages 7-17 (swimming) but she's buried under years of inactivity and cigarette smoking. Back then, I could train for hours, pushing myself harder and harder. When I raced, something would always...click...and I'd be focused and strong and driving toward the finish line.

Now, I get distracted by tiredness, the slow upward ticking of the distance meter on the treadmill, and the occasional shiny object.

On April 29th, I'm hoping some kind of dormant muscle memory kicks in. Or maybe just that it will be one of those days when the running seems easy, and 13.1 miles pass before I even know it.

Haiku For My New Office Space

unplanned office move
'that's a waterbug - not roach!'
well, that's comforting

the head of nursing
welcomes us to the building
oh yes, there are mice

old x-ray machine
moldering down the hallway
hello, third eyeball!

listing positives
miss mary fucking sunshine
oh god just shut up

THANK YOU

I'd just like to shout a big huge thank you to the fuckwits at the NCAA tournament selection committee for excluding Syracuse from this year's college basketball tournament.

And let's not leave out the folks at CBS (Greg Gumble, I'm looking in your direction) who kept expressing their shock in regards to this omission. Way to rub it in, guys.

As The Reporter so eloquently put it: "It's like they've cancelled Christmas.'

Misery

You all have permission to shoot me right in the head if I ever refer to a conversation as 'dialoguing' with someone, or if I take to wearing clothing appliqued with kittens or holiday themes.

That is all.

Hmmm

Too much analysis leads to paralysis.

I'm kinda stuck here, people. I know there are choices in front of me, but I'm having trouble taking them.

So I'm gonna sit here. Eat some ice cream. Think. Nap. Read blogs. Dream.

'I'm not the girl you once put your faith in, just someone who looks like me.'

Bad to Worse

This morning, on my walk back from my school to my job, I had to abruptly sit down on someone's (beautiful brownstone) front steps because I almost passed out.

Stress? Illness? General tiredness?

I'm not sure, but I think it's time for me to stop self-diagnosing and seek medical advice.

Bad Day

Yesterday morning, I ignored the important rule of NYC transit, and took a seat on the subway where no-one else was sitting, only to discover that someone (or something) in the immediate area reeked of urine.

I went to Dunkin' Donuts, where my request for coffee with 'milk, no sugar' was interpreted as 'cream, 10 sugars', rendering the coffee almost undrinkable.

Arriving at work, I was confronted with a series of crises.

My grant documentation was returned, and I am missing a 20-page questionnaire. This puts the grant renewal in jeopardy, which would make me responsible for killing off the funding for the school project.

The department administrator shared the news that we are moving offices again within the next two weeks to a 'partially rennovated' warehouse space within the next two weeks.

My current office mate announced that she is leaving for another job. She is the only person there that I have really connected with.

I had not had time to pack my lunch, so I subsisted on an apple, peanut butter, cottage cheese and a protein bar all day, and then almost fainted during my 4 mile 'easy' training run last night.

Given the above, can anyone blame me for not wanting to get out of bed this morning?

(Just About) Halfway to the Half*

I ran 6 miles today. I RAN 6 MILES TODAY!

It didn't look at all good. When I'm running, my face turns bright red, and I sweat a lot. And I'm pretty sure that I was making strange breathing noises and, at times, (not so) silently mouthing lyrics from whatever was playing on my iPod. Also, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich an hour before running, and it made me a little...burpy.

But damn, it felt good. I'm still feeling good, good enough to maybe go to yoga tonight.

Alternately, The Lawyer's advice: 'Maybe you just need to get a grip on yourself and chill the fuck out.'

*Post title courtesy of MS, who helpfully reminded me that I'm halfway to my goal.

Blah, Blah, Blah

I don't seem to have coherent enough thoughts to comprise a solid post, so...

• Space continues to be an issue here at Dream Job. I lost my office 2 weeks ago, and had to move in with another Social Worker, which is kinda fun, but the physical office is kinda shitty. Actually, it's literally shitty at times, since it is connected to a bathroom which is frequently used by the nursing staff.
• Oh, and did I mention that I can turn from working at my desk and wash my hands in the 1960's era sink located directly to my right? I don't even have to stand up to do this. Score!
• Also, at any given point in the day, there are people in engineering uniforms measuring the hallway outside my new office and talking loudly on their wireless phones.
• Boys are kinda dumb. I (sorta) directly asked MySpace Guy to meet on purpose for a drink next time, a request which he chose to...ignore. Whatevs. Next!
• Speaking of Next!, DJ's friend and I had a 12 hour date on Monday night. I live in fear of The Jinx, so I'll just leave it at that. He might need an alias here, and his initials are already taken by someone mentioned on this blog. Hm. Very uncreatively, I shall name him LawStudent.
• I have dodgeball tonight, and my only stated goal is to 'not look like an idiot.' I think I'm kinda setting the bar a little high with that one.
• At MS's suggestion, I plugged my cable internet into my television. I now have 25 glorious channels, including numerous Spanish language stations and QVC. Score!
• I continue to make awesome decisions, like bypassing Taco Bell and the hotdog vendor at lunch today, and proceeding directly to the deli and a turkey sandwich. This was mostly motivated by the fact that someone will (probably) be seeing me naked within the next month.

Like, Totally

OMG!!!! You guys are like, never going to believe this. So, on Friday I went to this birthday party on the Lower East Side with DJ. And I have to say, I looked, like, totally cute. Like, super cute. So, anyway, we're at this small-ish party in this bar in this private room, and I look up from scarfing down this piece of amazing red velvet cake, and like, OMG!!!! it's MySpace Guy. Or, at least, I think it's MySpace Guy and we're at the same party!!!! Like, what the odds, right? I've had like, a super-big crush on this guy for, like, ever, ok? But I'm not sure it's him. I mean, I think it's him, but I really can't be sure because it's not like I spend time studying his pics or anything, right!?!?!? So, I'm not sure if I should go up to him because, like, what if it's not him, and that would totally suck and I'd be, like, totally embarrassed, and probably have to leave or something, or just like, hide in a corner for the rest of the night.. Plus, I was talking to this friend of DJ's who's also, like, super cute, and we've actually had a real conversation before, not just, like with MySpace Guy where he's my 'friend' and all, and, I mean, sure we message back and forth about Edward 40-hands and like, slutty Halloween costumes, and Cabbage Patch Kids, but, like, how much do I really, like, know him? I mean, I think he's my soulmate and all, but only after I get to know him a little more. So then I keep talking to DJ's friend, and MySpace Guy must have left because I didn't see him, and then it was tiime to go get hotdogs to go with the red velvet cake, but then you are never going to guess what happened?!?!?!?!? Like, I can't even believe it. MySpace Guy sent me a message asking if I was at that party. So, it was, like, so him. Out of, like the gazillion people in NYC!!!! So now I think we're like totally meant to be bf/gf. I really think we're perfect for each other. You can tell a lot from a cute boy's MySpace profile. OMG!!!!! I, like, totally need to change my pic to something waaaaaay cuter.

(This message was brought to you by the age 15.)

Oh And

My friend Kingswing sent this picture to me yesterday.

Was I a man in 1993? Apparently, the answer is yes.

[Correction: Kingswing said this was in the 1996-97 timeframe. But, luckily, still look mannish. ]

Little Pieces

- I have been sick for most of my 4-day weekend. Perhaps this is karmic retribution for calling out 'sick' last Thursday. Or just a message that I need to slow it down a bit.

- I just returned from the grocery store where I narrowly avoided purchasing more cake mix and frosting. Narrowly.

- After a few scant weeks of actual winter weather, I am longing for beach outings, symphony in Central Park, and Bryant Park movies. Or just to sit outside in the sun with a drink in my hand.

- It is perhaps funny, or sad, or both, that I was more achy after my first game of dodgeball last week than I am after working out with my trainer.

- I did some healing work with LK yesterday, which proved to me that being open is not quite the threat that I've always perceived it to be. I've spent a lot of energy trying to protect myself...and it all seems very silly right now.

- A conversation about bedbugs reminded me that it is a huge accomplishment that I've remained relatively clutter-free over the past year in my new apartment. I guess it took losing everything (twice) for me to discern what is necessary.

- Which, lately, is cake and Netflix.

Close

Saying that I am happy right now seems like a stretch...but I have my first two Netflix movies, 8 more episodes of Brothers & Sisters on abc.com, the most recent Us Weekly, and a 4 day weekend. I also managed to run 4 miles last night and finish off most of a 13 x 9 cake, so I guess that's something.

Be Mine, All Mine

Some might say that it's a little sad to bake yourself a cake on Valentine's Day.

I say: I get to lick the bowl and eat spoonfuls of frosting without having to share.

Relativity, Theoretically

So, as I stood on a chair in front of my bathroom mirror this morning, scrutinizing my thighs and wondering if all this running is actually making them thicker...

...I thought, yep, this is pretty crazy behavior...

...but at least I'm not strapping on a diaper and driving 900 miles because of "more than a working relationship but less than a romantic one".


(And I got that link by typing 'astronaut diaper' in Google. Heh.)

Ridiculouschick 101

Ok, I’m stumped.

I’ve been asked to serve as a panelist for a Teen Dating Violence / Teen Sexual Assault conference taking place next week (which is mystifying enough on its own) and I need to prepare a short biography.

Ugh. I hate writing about myself. (I’m also a nervous public speaker, but I’m just going to have to put that aside for the moment. One episode of paranoia at a time, please.)

Maybe I can just send my list of General Interests…or something about how I love long walks on the beach, unicorns, and Precious Moments figurines…my Virgoan astrological profile…a link to this blog?

Because nothing real or professional (or real professional) is coming to mind at the moment.

Or maybe, on the day of, I could just smile, give my name, and ask “How you like me so far?”

General Interests

Here's what I'm into...lately: spite, college basketball, yelling, yelling related to college basketball, ice cream, yoga, gin & tonic, sushi, tossing my hair, rolling my eyes, making the world safe, afternoon naps, ridiculousness, the drive-by eggings that are plaguing LA, confounding all those around me, coffee so strong my spoon stands up in it, subterfuge, brilliance, beautiful misapplications of the english language, random social experiments, endless games of 'would you be my friend if', dismantling patriarchy, composing a list of words i love, composing a list of words i hate, running.

Cross Training

Today is the official start of my 12 week training for this little race that I’ve been so preoccupied with since the start of the new year. As part of the program I am following, I need to cross train 2 days per week, which “could be swimming, cycling, walking, cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, etc.”

Given the reality of my life, I am considering the following alternatives:

Fighting to squeeze into a packed subway car during rush hour.

Worrying about overdue bills.

Observing the extended internal battle between my pragmatism and romanticism.

Lugging work presentation materials all over the Greater New York area.

Devising new and inventive ways to flirt with someone via MySpace.

Competitive grocery shopping an hour before the start of the Superbowl.

Eye-rolling, hair tossing, and fist shaking.

Blog posting.

A What In The Who Now?

I spent the morning at my school untangling the usual difficulties...

...only to return to my office and amuse myself with using Microsoft Word to compose 'Message' slips for the Valentine's Day Candy Fundraiser taking place at the school next week...

...and to think about the absurdity of organizing a Valentine's Day Fundraiser which involves the secret delivery of chocolate roses with notes, in that it mirrors an event held at my high school in which students received carnations from secret admirers - an annual tradition that was almost always traumatic due to the inevitable analysis of how many flowers one received and the direct proportionality to one's self-worth/popularity...

...which leads to wondering why I'm promoting the celebration of Valentine's Day at all...

...and causes me to reconsider my decision to reactivate my profile on match.com starting February 1st, because I'm not really in the right mindset to date anyone right now and given how painfully things shook out last time I was on match.com, do I really want to open myself up to that again?

...even though it's technically not match.com's fault, and as much as I'd like to place the blame squarely on Dr. Phil, the whole unraveling had very little to do with internet dating per se...

...but then maybe I just need to make a firm decision about the guy that I've been sort-of-but-not-quite dating for the past two months...

...and while I'm at it, figure out why I'm overly invested in the ridiculous messages flying back and forth between me and someone I've been referring to as 'myspace guy' (because, hey, I found him on myspace, and he's a guy)...

...but what I really need to do is just get back to work so I can leave on time to go to the gym, since my attempt at running last night resulted in a paltry 2 miles, and that's certainly not going to get me anywhere close to where I need to be on April 29th.

For Realz

I've finally calmed my life down. Part of the shift was a growing acceptance that I am once again an adult (as opposed to a graduate student - and believe me, there is a huge difference) who has to go to work and (gasp) be productive for 8-10 hours a day.

I supposed it also helps that I've been on the wagon for the past month, and will most likely continue a bit longer - although I do have a dinner date on Thursday at Dinosaur Barbeque, and can I seriously be expected to go beerless while I'm eating my way through a Big Ass Pork Plate?

Weekend: Restaurant Week, running, movies, errands, Veronica Mars marathon, laundry, more running, visiting the 'rents, eating cake, even more running. (Believe me, the cake eating is necessary to, um, keep up my strength for training.)

Lately: Well, since I've been called out on it elsewhere, I might as well confess that I've been watching a lot of stuff on abc.com. It's amazing how quickly your evenings pass while you're catching up on an entire season's worth of shows. And how little you actually have to talk to real people. And how much clearer the reception is on your computer than on your tiny 13 inch antenna-powered television.

Good One

I started today in a equi-shitty mood (carry over from yesterday). However, that all changed when I got my mail this afternoon, which contained marketing materials for a luxury residence they are opening in my neighborhood. Enclosed therein was an explanation of the benefits of purchasing a condo in their building. My monthly costs would only be $4500.00 and I'd be earning equity and tax deductions!!!!

I'll get right on that....after I stop laughing.

Challenges Are Opportunities In Disguise

I'm not so in love with my job lately.

I've been supervisorless since January 2nd.

I will be losing my office within the next 30 days to a group of family practice doctors. There is no plan in place as to where I will go.

I'm still wrangling with my union over health insurance. No-one seems to be able to discern when my benefits start, but they are very good at deducting union dues from each paycheck.

I have a number of counseling clients whose issues are escalating, and I have no support/input as to whether my treatment modalities are effective (see 'supervisorless' above).

On Monday, a packet containing white powder was found in the semi-public bathroom across from my office. Yesterday, I arrived at work to find that someone had broken into my office and stolen client metrocards from my desk.

The Social Work Interns, in addition to being silly and immature, frequently call in sick. They are in the same program that I graduated from last May. They embarrass me.

And this morning, I got caught between some sort of power-struggle/pissing contest between our admin and another staff member.

Luckily, Yahoo Astrology is here for me:

A rude or unpleasant person will make your morning very interesting -- and give you a fresh perspective on where you are in your life right now. This person offers an example of what not to do ... and seeing him or her in action will make you very grateful for the choices you have made in your life. Your diplomacy will serve you well as you take stock of all the gifts you have in life. Extend a kind hand to the people who use anger to hide their sadness.

It's so clear now. To work my way out of this sulk, all that I need to do is breathe deeply and remind myself of the utter fabulousness of the non-work side of my life.

Damn.

I must be doing something wrong, because I'm having difficulty achieving a Zen-like state of mind. Any hand that I'm extending at the moment is likely to be engaged in a back-of-the-head punch, rather than in kindness.

Yeah, Not So Much

As it turns out, eating cotton candy at MSG until you feel ill, then embarking on a 3.5 mile training run is not a good idea.

Below, my team at the close of their miserable performance on Sunday. Or perhaps they're reacting to my poor nutrition choices.



Oh, and the even better part of Sunday's game?

The loss snapped Syracuse's 47-game winning streak against schools in New York state. The last in-state school to beat the Orange was St. John's, 76-75 on Feb. 19, 2000.

ATTENTION NEW YORKERS:

This is what my travel coffee mug looks like. You may notice that it is predominantly red. Perhaps this will help you to think of it as a stop sign.

If it is morning, and I am holding my mug stop sign, I'm am not available for conversation, pleasantries, or directions. Please do not appproach.

Thank You.

Ahead of the Game

This morning on the Today show, Penn/Teller (I never know which one is which; it was the tall one who talks) was promoting Identity, a game show which asks contestants to determine a person's occupation by their appearance.

In the course of his interview, Penn/Teller said something very significant.

"It is very important that we know how to judge people."

Well, I have news for you, Mr. Penn/Teller. I already know how to do that quite well. I am all about judgment (after working hours, of course).

New Plan

I ran 4 miles yesterday, easily.

The trick, I discovered, is to time my run with a college basketball game. I was so busy watching Syracuse kick some ass that I didn't even notice the distance ticking upwards.

I've asked The Lawyer if, on race day, she can ride some sort of cart (?) in front of me, with a television showing a game. Since the college basketball season will be over by then, she'll need to rebroadcast (2-hour highlight reel? national championship game?).

There's also some sort of idea about me running in a shiny orange unitard...but it's in the early stages.

We Can Work It Out

I have two running partners!

Mike signed up for the half-marathon this week. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this, because all of our previous teamwork activities have revolved around heavy drinking, chicken-wing eating, and sport spectating.

Caitlin has been my virtual partner; her interest and enthusiasm moved me from 'semi-declaring/considering/waffling' to 'registering/training/doing'. And we're scheduled for a training run this coming Monday.

I guess I really, really need to do this now.

In other news, I went to the Syracuse/Rutgers basketball game on Wednesday night. The good guys won. And EB and I amused ourselves the whole way back into the city with an extended game of 'Would You Be My Friend If...' while the boys slept, possibly in defense against having to listen to EB and I play 'Would You Be My Friend If...'for 45 minutes.

During the game, JP and I determined that 1) the name 'Devendorf' is fun to say and 2) Devendorf is a punk.

Yes I Am

I think I've told everyone about my half-marathon, the idea being that if I get the word out to enough people, I will be shamed into following through and actually completing the damn thing.

In the course of the telling, several friends have pledged to attend the race so they can provide motivation point and laugh, which I think will be really helpful fun for them, not so much for me.

When I talk about the half-marathon (frequently, as I prefer to over-examine the things that make me anxious) I find myself saying that I'm 'not really a runner' - which I'm not, because I kinda suck at it.

That statement was thrown back at me this morning by the salesperson who was helping me find the correct running sneakers. "Once you start doing half-marathons", he said "I think that makes you a runner."

Ok. New mindset. My name is ridiculouschick, and I am a runner. Who doesn't suck.

The first step is acceptance.

I Must Be Crazy...

...because this morning, I signed up for a half-marathon. See countdown clock to the right. More details to follow, once I stop freaking out.

Research

Appropos of nothing, I'm tracking the first thing that I say out loud every morning. Leaving aside the whole 'observation changes that which is being observed' argument - I believe that this is a very interesting and useful (and dare I say...scientific?) experiment, from which I've deduced that I am slowly becoming one of those people that talk to the television, and by extension, themselves.

With any luck, I'll become a full-scale mutterer within the next year.

Things That Make Me Cry, Part 1

This story.

Sobering

Genesee Cream Ale stands as a proud icon of exceptional smoothness. Our storied ale has slaked the thirst of many since its birth in 1960. Its remarkably smooth quality is made for the refined and not so refined. Cream Ale boldly challenges the past and celebrates the present while keeping a knowing eye on the future.

Enter the House of Cream and learn what so many have known for so long – Genesee Cream Ale is as refreshing to the body and mind as it is nourishing to the soul.

Yeah...despite what their website says, continuously ordering cans of GCA is not such a good plan, even as you are telling the people that you are dining with that it is "awesome!".

Along the same lines, drinking directly out of a bottle of champagne on a rooftop on NYE because you've "lost your cup" (read: it's about 2 feet away from you) is not particularly sound logic either. Finishing the bottle is pretty dumb too.

Today, my pledge of January sobriety jumps from "what was I thinking?" to "a well-timed break".

How Can This Be?

Yesterday, I finally received my three-month performance appraisal. Yes, I am still employed. And will continue to be employed, at least for the forseeable future.

The review is really just a series of categories, all based upon a complex ratings scale:

1 = Poor

2 = Needs Improvement

3 = Average

4 = Above Average

5 = Excellent

I'm reading through the paperwork...blah, blah, blah...I scored 5's in critical thinking, teamwork, communication skills, adherence to Code of Ethics (what? really?), and program development...when I catch something that gives me pause.

[Pause.]

Category 21 - Appearance (Dress Code)
Rating = 3

Um, are you kidding? I am AVERAGE in appearance? This contradicts everything that I had previously understood about myself. (This is almost as earth-shattering as when I found out that 'Arby's' does not stand for 'America's Roast Beef, Yes Siree!' - a very dark day. Very dark.)

Ok, so AVERAGE???? I thought I was rocking my appearance here.

Take today, for example. I mean, sure, I got up late, so I didn't have time to dry my hair or apply make-up. But I think that only serves to highlight my natural beauty. And the outfit? Slammin'. How else would you describe a pair of brown Oxford Mary-Jane Dr. Martens, brown plaid work pants, topped off by a pink cashmere hoodie?

I'd describe it as Very Professional. And most certainly as Above Average.

PS: *And* during my recent trip to the bathroom, I discovered a piece of blueberry stuck in my teeth from breakfast. C'mon. I'm friggin' gorgeous over here, people!

A Little Worshiping Of Me Might Be...Nice

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: Reverend Lady J_______ the Insouciant of Walk upon Water Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Singleton

So, I decided to attend church on Christmas Eve with my parents. (And already, you know that this story can't end well.)

Round 1: As we are leaving our pew at the end of the service, we are literally chased down by the Pastor's Wife. Actually, I am literally chased down, and then hugged by the Pastor's Wife. This is extremely strange because a) I haven't seen her in at least 5 years; b) I've never had a close relationship with her; c) she's not, to my knowledge, a warm and huggy person; and d) the church is not aflame, and I've been inside for about an hour.

After an extremely awkward hug (picture me, extending my hand in greeting, and her, oblivious, going in for full contact), she asks if I will be attending the 5:30 service. I tell her, with feigned regret, that we will be at my brother's house. Which is absolutely true.

She then says that she is hugely disappointed, not because she's trying to save my soul or anything, but because her son, B, is driving up as we speak, and wouldn't it be great if we could reconnect.

[Some history here: B and I attended church, senior high youth fellowship, and high school together. Our previous 'relationship' consisted of months of note writing and flirting during 10th grade geometry and church youth group activities, culminating in one afternoon of hanging out after school and kissing, followed by the mutual ignoring of each other the next day. So very high school. ]

While Pastor's Wife is still talking about B, I steal a glance at my parents. With relief, I note that they look as confused as I feel.

Round 2: In order to exit the church, we must greet the Pastor. He too enfolds me in an inappropriate hug, and asks if I'll be returning for the evening service, I supply my same response, adding feigned regret, he conveys disappointment, blah, blah, blah...and then goes even further. About how he and Wife have long felt that B and I would be perfect for one another, having been through similar "situations", both being of a certain age and still single, and don't I look beautiful (ew), and can he give my contact information to B?

Round 3: When we arrive home, my mother tells me that Pastor's Wife ran into P, my mom's close friend, in town the other day, and told her what a perfect couple B and I would make, and asked for P's help in getting us together. My mother allows that she probably should have warned me about this before we went to church.

Questions:

Is this it? Have I finally reached the stage of my life where "well-meaning" semi-strangers will decide that 34 is too old to be unattached, and therefore attempt to matchmake without any discernible interest on my part?

By similar "situations", did he mean my broken engagment? And if so, how did he know about that? Was B engaged at one point? Furthermore, why would he assume that our "situations" are similar because of that one fact?

Why would Pastor's Wife and Pastor presuppose that I am currently single just because I'm not engaged or married?

Given that Pastor's Wife and Pastor know nothing about my life, personality, circumstances, preferences, or (ahem) situation since I was regularly attending church at age 18 (and they had limited information at that time as well) - what makes B and I "perfect" for each other?

Can't I just be engaged in worshiping Our Lord Jesus Christ without worrying about engagements of another kind?

We Have A Plan

Current Music: 'Hide and Seek' - Imogen Heap (obsessed)

Last night, The Lawyer and I walked over to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree and bump into 50 million tourists. And while we were there, we witnessed an proposal/engagement taking place on the ice skating rink that even managed to touch our black, shriveled, bitter hearts (I think I got a little teary - don't tell anyone).

But that's not the important part of the story.

As many of you know, The Lawyer and I have a retirement plan which involves Catalina Island, gaudily decorated golf carts, poolboys/poolgirls, and perpetual drunkeness. Our escape will take place 25 years two weeks from now. So last night, as we're standing by the rink, The Lawyer turns to me with a maniacal gleam in her eye and says:

"You know what we should do on Catalina? We should build an ice skating rink just so we can be the Zamboni operators. But we'd have to have a Zamboni for each of us."

Me: "And they'd need to have cup holders for our martini glasses."

The Lawyer: "And really big bumpers so we could have ice fights."

Me: "Because we'd need something to do other than harassing our pool staff and running people off the road..."

The Lawyer: "Um, yeah."

And then the only thing left to do at that point was to High 10 (because really, some situations are simply too momentous for a High 5).

Etiquette

Dear Lady At Work Who Was Walking Down The Wrong Side Of The Hallway And Would Not Get Out Of My Way, Forcing Me To Engage In A Strange Game Of Chicken, Which I Think I Lost:

When I look directly at you and say "Excuse me", what I'm really saying is "Go fuck yourself."

Kisses!
r

Whaaaa?

I managed to drag myself out of my self-imposed social isolation on Saturday night. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because I did a little drunk blogging when I got home. And unless you assumed that I achieved that state of inebriation on my own (which wouldn't really be that much of a leap) you figured out that I left my apartment.

Also, I discussed attending a holiday party in my previous post.

Anyway.

Megan holds a theory that Ex Encounters can proceed in the following manner:

1) Upon contact, all of your previous romantic feelings come rushing back, usually causing "you + a bottle of something, in the person's face", yelling and attempting to deconstruct the end of the relationship. Emphasis on the yelling.

OR

2) Uncomfortable, yet insignificant. Brief conversation. Gauging for deeper feelings, finding none. Anti-climactic.

Luckily, my interaction with A on Saturday night fell into the second category. It was, in fact, so non-eventful that I'm left with a vague sense of puzzlement as to why I was so upset earlier this year. This has caused me to examine all the unecessary drama in my life as of late. I'd like to be able to leave that behind. Obviously, my next step is to track down the ARH and have a non-event with him so I can enter the new year unencumbered. Somehow, though, I don't think that this is the way it works. My closure tends to sneak up on me, despite my best efforts to control it.

PS: (and totally unrelated) I brought in cookies today for my Secret Holiday Gift Person and left them in her mailbox. She's out sick. Would it be bad to 'ungift' and eat the cookies? I can see the mailbox from my desk, and the cookies are there. Taunting me.

PS: (and somewhat related) The other fun part of Saturday night was a conversation with JP's girlfriend in which she referenced her 33rd birthday as memorable because it was the same year that Jesus died. Yes, I'm serious. No, I don't have any idea what she was talking about.

Lessons Learned - LA

1. It is one thing to profess an affinity for Pabst Blue Ribbon; it is quite another to 'throw down' by chugging two in rapid succession within the space of an hour.

2. It is quite possible to eat your own weight in cookies.

3. Megan and I still agree on the important things: people who annoy us, optimum cruising music, baked goods, shopping.

4. Lungs partially closing in reaction to cat dander = bad.

5. Waking up in your hotel room with bedbug bites = bad.

6. It is almost painful to watch Cameron Diaz attempt to be an actor.

7. Megan is still the coolest person I know, aside from myself.

8. People in LA don't go out when it rains. Which is very strange indeed, but it makes for a blessedly uncrowded Saturday night.

9. All-you-can-eat sushi = surprisingly good.

10. Bacon is a necessary side dish with every meal. And when I say 'meal', that includes '10 peanut butter cookies and a large diet coke'.

Drunk Blogging

A. you always remember your keys

2. you were ROCKING that party in your new haircut and your skinny jeans in the face of A. and you're not shallow at all...

and another thing: i can identify

Separate

We spend so much time in NY trying to establish our own space, separate from the people that seem determined to invade it. I often think that the reason that iPods are so popular (and I spend time counting the number of people that I see with an iPod on my way to work) is that they allow us to carve out some time alone. When you're always in a crowd, the closeness can be too much sometimes.

[You do realize that when I say 'we', I mean 'I', right?]

However much we desire isolation, there is an equal yearning for connection. Which is why we'll spend time talking to a neighbor, or the woman on the subway whose toddler is asleep on your shoulder, or the dry cleaner who gives you a holiday present. Or the friends who see through your forced jokes and lightheartedness.

Relationships and emotional ties carry you through. Even when you push them away.

And now, I need to push aside this moodiness, and prepare a cup of the awesome that is me for JP's holiday party tonight. I'll start with the dry cleaner holiday present: a pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves. Random. And awesome.

This Is My Job?

When I completed my graduate degree, did I ever imagine that my job would entail:

• bickering with various and sundry Brooklyn restaurant owners over receipts, tipping practices, and non-profit tax exemption?
• screening a Ludacris/Mary J. Blige video for suitable language/content and relevance to school program?
• discussing the ethics of 'borrowing' said video from Limewire/YouTube?
• providing sex education workshops to 8th graders as a 'sexual health professional' in lieu of same workshops being presented by an actual health instructor?
• mediating the aftermath of a fight, which requires asking for clarification of terms I don't use in my personal life, and am not even comfortable writing here?

No, no I certainly did not.

Sick

Having a cold and a nose ring...sucks.

Home today, huddling under my covers. Blowing my nose.

Yup

I have cool sneakers, which means I am now cool. Yes, that's how it works.



I'm sorry...kicks. I have cool kicks.

Pause, Rewind, Pause

I have returned, triumphantly (?) from California, and have lots to report. However, I've been preoccupied today with various work stuff.

And also, I'm busy bringing sexy back. As soon as that is accomplished, I'll be right with you.

(I'm not even sure what the above means. And I wrote it. So if you're confused, I don't blame you. I also find myself confusing.)

Packing, Heat

I am facing quite the dilemma tonight. Quite the dilemma.

Tomorrow is supposed to be very cold in NY. I will spend the morning in NY. I will spend the afternoon on a plane. I will be in LA by evening.

Here's the question. (Wait for it. Wait for it.)

Do I trundle miserably around Brooklyn tomorrow morning, hoping that a few layers of clothing and my new favorite (cold weather inappropriate) jacket will suffice for a few hours...or...do I wear my warm down winter coat (which I also love), knowing that it will need to be stowed for the entirety of my time out West?

The other huge decision I am taxed with tonight (Oh, you thought there was only one? Silly. You obviously don't know me.) is: having finished my Us Weekly at the laundromat, what exactly am I supposed to read on the plane?

Decisions, decisions. It's a wonder that I get anything done at all, what with my need to self-debate the simplest things until I arrive at a conclusion.

Oh, and by the way I am going to LA to hang out with my AWESOME, FUNNY, AMAZING, BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL friend Megan. Who is also a DOCTOR. And did I mention that she's WAY COOL? No, like, seriously, SUPER COOL.
(Hi Megan. See you tomorrow. Love.)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Every time I send something out from my new Yahoo beta account, I get a banner advertisement exorting me to 'Email A Jerk Chicken'.

And today, the phrase 'jerk chicken' is making me giggle. Or maybe it's the concept of being able to email a jerk chicken. But I think it's just the phrase. Making me giggle. Out loud.

Jerk chicken. Heh.

I must be overtired.

Please

9:05 am and it's already one of those days.

I've been awake since 5:12, when some sort of public utility truck was parked outside my window, loudly rumbling. I'm tired. It's cold outside. My horoscope is telling me that today, I need to 'think with my heart, not my head' but I don't know if I can even access my feelings, or why I'm paying so much attention to the stars.

Life in NY is challenging me. Winter is coming, and I am lonely. Something needs to change.

Right now, though, it's enough to sit in the sunlight coming through my office window and drink coffee from my favorite mug.

It's That Time Of Year Again

Who the fuck are the Wichita State Shockers, and why were they able to beat my team on Saturday night?

I can only hope for a better game tomorrow during the Jimmy V Classic, because I'll be there. And when Syracuse is playing badly, I start swearing and sulking. While I am unconcerned about this display of unattractive behavior, it might frighten some of the people who will be attending the game. Like small children. Including T's girlfriend. (Oooooh, burn!)

And if they lose, I might be forced to...swear and sulk right on into Wednesday morning.

You Said It, Kate

"A sharp knife cuts the quickest and hurts the least."

Sigh. Why do I bother with trying to be nice?

I finally replied to Annoying Creepy Email MySpace Guy (formerly known as Saxophone Guy) yesterday. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s easier to be honest and direct, and experience a few moments of discomfort rather than to ignore/avoid and hope that the person just goes away. (So says the girl who preferred to live in denial from, roughly, early August through, I don’t know, say…October 24th, but that’s another post entirely.)

ACEMG has sent 5 messages since last Thursday, each progressively more desperate, culminating with a request to get together ‘for coffee’ this week.

My answer: ‘M – That’s not going to work. You’re a nice guy, but I am not interested in seeing you. J.’

And, of course, his reply was exactly what I thought it would be. In fact, it mirrored his defensive, rude, and passive-aggressive response when I told him that I no longer wanted to see him in July. Maybe I should have let loose and told him exactly what I thought about his personality (non-existent), sense of humor (non-existent), and behavior (creepy, pathetic). Or taught him how to respect people’s boundaries (much like I do with my Anti-Violence Program kids each week). Or maybe let JP handle it as he wanted to this summer by giving him a ‘Jersey-style talking-to’ (this probably would have looked like something on The Sopranos, would not have embodied anti-violence principles, and is JP’s standard offer to resolve any bumps that I have in my dating life).

However, the *other* lesson that I’ve learned the hard way is that endeavors like this are rarely worth my time. Which doesn’t explain why I’ve just spent 20 minutes writing a blog post about it, but learning is a process, no?

Bits

- I really want to get a Christmas tree. I love the scent of pine and turning off all of the lights and just having the tree illuminated. Unfortunately, the only area in my tiny living space that could accomodate a tree is directly in front of the radiator. So, if I got a tree, in addition to my current Grinch-like attitude, I'd be guilty of killing off a small part of Christmas.

- I found out today that my health benefits don't begin for another three months. Grrr. Until I'm covered, this continues to eliminate activites like skydiving, crossing the street, or climbing stairs (I'm highly accident prone).

- I think I'm dating again, which I fell into by accident when drinks with an acquaintance turned into...something different...last week. He's intelligent, kind, funny, and attentive. This sets off all of my alarm bells to run in the other direction. I guess I'll need to work that out somehow.

- For whatever reason, I cannot bring myself to do laundry tonight, so I might need to bring my dirty laundry to L's this weekend in Boston. That feels kinda immature and strange. I guess I'll need to work that out somehow.

- Over drinks last night, JP and I decided to take the month of January off from consumption of alcoholic beverages. Hm. Not a decision you'd expect to arrive at while having drinks.

- The Lawyer is thinking about moving into the city. The apartment beneath mine is vacant and currently being rennovated. I really want her to move in there, as I'm envisioning wacky Three's Company-style antics. But, you know, with two of us. And no Mr. Roper.

The Only Possible Answer

Tonight, Spanish class:

'Quienes es su jefe?'

Tony Danza. Obviously.

A Whole Lot Of Nothing

Over the weekend, I've been sequestering myself on my couch, watching DVD's and napping. My brain has effectively been turned off.

Today, coming home from necessary errands (you know, food, so I can continue on sequestering myself in the apartment), I encountered my neighbor, S, outside having a cigarette. He's a 72-year-old acting coach who has lived in the building for 26 years. We've talked on several occasions, which he forgets every time I see him. I try not to take it personally. I know I'm a fabulous conversationalist. Seriously.

I greeted him, reminded him of my name and settled in for a repeat conversation, which was going along as it always does, until he asked me if he could ask a personal question. Which, he quickly clarified, he was doing because he had been enjoying several drinks and 'marijuana cigarettes'.

Oh boy, I thought, this should be good.

I nodded.

'Do you have a boyfriend?'

I shook my head.

'Why not?'

I should have pointed out that he had asked about a personal question, not a difficult one. Or that he had received permission for a question, not multiple questions.

But mostly, I didn't know how to answer.

After a few days spent in my own company, diving into television character's lives, rather than my own - his question felt overwhelming. And unsettling. But most of all, complicated. It's always complicated. I'm tired of it being complicated.

(There were parallel thoughts running through my head, of telling him something completely spectacular, and completely fabricated because, let's face it, this conversation will have never happened the next time I run into him.)

I shrugged, smiled brightly, and rolled my eyes. And then escaped back into my apartment, content to grapple with the complexities of fiction. For now.

Thank You. No, Really. Thank You.

After two years of long student breaks, and an entire summer spent not working, I guess the real world had to catch up with me at some point.

And when I say ‘at some point’, I mean ‘Friday, 11.24.06, The Day After Thanksgiving’ aka ‘The Day That Every Single Person In The World United States Has Off From Work, Except For Me, And Some MTA Employees, And Hopefully Someone At Dunkin’ Donuts’.

I did request Friday off, which was denied because I am A Sucker The New Girl and everyone else beat me to it when they filed their requests months ago. Friday should be a Very Big Day for trauma in our emergency department, given that, statistically, violence escalates when families are together. Which is a lovely thought to bring into the holiday season, no?

Anyway, because my family goes away for Thanksgiving, I’ve had to decide whether it is worth the trip to the cabin, only to turn around and leave less than 12 hours later. I’d be driving, which is kinda stressful when you’re a) sitting in the inevitable traffic caused by everyone attempting to leave the Tri-State area at the same time b) borrowing your brother’s new car and c) not used to driving any more. The alternative? I don’t know, staying in the city, along with some form of sitting on my couch, eating a PB&J/String Cheese/Protein Bars and feeling sorry for myself.

Wow. Tough choice.

Over the past two weeks, amid this raging internal debate, I’ve been lucky enough that several friends have asked me to consider a third option – spending the holiday with them. So please ignore all the bitterness and self-pity contained above, and allow me to dedicate this post (and my thanks giving) to MM, RC, LK, JP & SN.

(But, however things turn out, I do hope that you’ll also allow me to be unrepentantly cantankerous on Friday. It's more fun that way. )

Um, No

On Friday morning, I received a compliment from one of the male teachers at my school program. Not a good compliment. More like ‘ok, this guy is really disturbing me, because he’s pretending to admire my dress but staring at my ass’. [This is the same person that, whenever I am presenting to the staff at the school, and I name my program, holds up his hands in mock surrender and says something like ‘Rape? Whoa, I wasn’t even there.’ Hilarious. ]

Then, on the subway ride back to work, a man asked for directions to the criminal court building, which I gave. I guess this opened the door for him to move closer to me and start muttering about how ‘pretty’ I am, along with commentary about how he was going to be late for ‘the arraignment’. As he exited the train, I noticed that his fly was wide open.

After those two encounters, I pretty much resigned myself to being a creep magnet for the day. But I’d hoped that there was a 24-hour limit to this experience.

No.

I opened my email this morning to discover that I have a friend request *and* a new message on MySpace from, um, let’s call him Saxophone Guy, whom I dated this summer. The brief history of our (non)relationship was that he got way too attached, way too quickly (after our 3rd date) and I told him that was no longer interested in seeing him (or hearing from him). I had thought I was completely clear during the 'break-up' discussion, but he continued to send email and text messages, which I ignored. That communication eventually died down, until the MySpace nonsense this morning. Sent, by the way, at 2:15 am.

Hey, how are you? Where did you end up getting a job? Are you dating anyone? If you want to get together for a drink sometime, let me know. I’m right down the street.

PS: You look good. Really good.

Perhaps I need to start carrying mace. Or get a guard dog. Or both.

Foolhardy

Current Music: 'A Quiet Mind' - Blue October




One of my favorite birthday presents this year was a t-shirt from L which reads 'Don't Drink And Dial'. Whenever I wear it, I feel like I'm part of an amusing public service announcement.

I should have been wearing that shirt last night. And aiming its directive toward myself.

After returning home from dinner and (too many) drinks with MM, I decided that 10:57 pm would be the perfect time to call The ARH. Apparently, that was also the perfect time to leave him a 3 minute and 17 second voicemail, vocalizing my thoughts on how much I was missing him, and how much I hate missing him, and how I had been at the scene of our last date, and...the rest of the details are blurry. The embarrassing part (oh really, only *one* part is embarrassing? I don't think so.) is that this phone call was made a mere 2 weeks after ending our relationship and asking him to refrain from contacting me at all in the future.

Gah.

Obviously, the blame cannot be placed with me, so I've spent the day thinking of other targets. Here's what I came up with:
- Vodka
- An earlier conversation about Singles which contains the best drunk-dial scene, ever. (YOU...BELONG..WITH...ME.)
- A text message from him last week
- The alignment of the planets and our horoscopes

(And yes, I realize that pinning it on the message from him is some sort of adult version of whining 'But he started it...' - I don't care.)

Gulp

The danger of the Venti Starbucks Peppermint Mocha (aside from the cost and the empty calories) is the ensuing caffeine/whipped cream/chocolate hyperactivity which manifests itself at work, where you’ve concluded during the past week that if you can’t change the stresses of your job, you can at least transform your environment.

This morning, while my blood was 90% coffee and 10% sugar, I spoke to my director about my latest brilliant idea - a weekly peer-to-peer supervision/case presentation meeting among the Social Workers, Case Managers and Interns in my program which will (undoubtedly) lead to greater collaboration, resource sharing, and teamwork. Somehow, by the end of the conversation, I’d committed to organizing and managing this assembly, a task which will strain my packed schedule to the tipping point.

There is an additional teeny tiny concern. As the newest and most inexperienced team member, I am hardly qualified to lead such a group.

Oh, and did I mention that my three-month performance appraisal (a slightly important review that determines if I will remain employed) is just around the corner?

Damn you, Starbucks. Damn you.

Math Skillz

Fee for LMSW exam + plane tickets to Los Angeles + plane tickets to Boston + gym membership + impending holiday shopping + goodbye dinner/celebration with MM + weekly psychotherapy with no insurance coverage + new 30G video iPod + the misguided belief that my salary is a lot higher than it actually is = meals of Oodles of Noodles/PB&J for the next two months.

(But seriously, the new iPod makes it all worthwhile.)

Good Example

I'm going to be an awesome parent someday. Consider all that I've achieved in the past 48 hours:

• Advising EJ, age 10: The raw eggs in uncooked brownie mix are actually good for you, and may conteract the growth-stunting effects of coffee. This is how I grew to my current 5'5".
• Balancing baby Audrey in one arm, drinking wine with the other...and not spilling a drop. Or a baby.
• Contributing $7.00 to the 'swear jar' ($1.00 per offense).
• Inventing a game where the players run at each other, throwing a nerf ball with as much force as possible at the other person, while yelling out random items off a Chinese food menu (HAPPY FAMILY!!!!!!).
• Eating brownies with fudge topping for breakfast.
• Watching hours upon hours of cartoons on Sunday morning.
• Winning various staring, cross-eyed, 'see food' contests. And loudly proclaiming my dominance.
• Adding to the tolerable level of chaos which already exists in a household full of kids and pets.

The Life I Chose / The Life That Chose Me

Social Work is the pathway to riches.

This is true.

Take this past month, for instance, when I got a haircut that wasn't part of a free modeling project.

Or the work-related research conference that I attended today where both cheese *and* crackers were served.

Also please consider that I am sitting on my couch right now, enjoying Annie's Organics Mac N' Cheese and a glass of Coppola Rosso, courtesy of a weekend trip to Trader Joe's.

But there's more.

Tomorrow, I am travelling to Boston, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I will not be joining the huddled unwashed masses on the bus.

Greyhound will have to live without my $40.00 because I've booked a flight! Bonus: I'll make it there in less than the usual 10 hours. And there's a snack basket and DirecTV.

As I said, pathway to riches.

Signifying Nothing

I couldn't think of what to write about today.

I had a lot of half-formed thoughts in my head: my upcoming LMSW exam and the concept of me currently running amok in my hospital, practicing without a license; how I got soaked on my way to work this morning; fear that my space heater is going to set my desk on fire; seeing a bartender that I couldn't quite place while I was voting yesterday (context); world peace; social justice; hero tendencies.

No, no, no, no, no, no, and...no.

So I asked The Lawyer if she had any ideas:

How the rain messed up your hair and why lesbians are so cool.

Then I asked MM:

You could write about Mormons, actually just one Mormon named J that your friend works with who won’t drink coffee because he can’t have caffeine but will drink Coca-Cola. That’s annoying to me…those crazy Mormons and their crazy rules.

Then MS, who was clearly not indulging me:

How about writing about the ridiculousness of asking friends what ridiculous topics you could write ridiculousness about.

And The Librarian:

Write about how pathetic it is when you are 34 years old and lusting after a fictional character that is in high school. And you actually spend time thinking up why said character would be perfect for you. Not that I have done that or anything.

I quite obviously rule, having managed to write a post comprised of nothing but suggestions for posts.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to reward myself with a brownie cheese danish from Au Bon Pain.

Expression

I just returned from Spanish class, where, to my great relief, we spent some time learning 'state of being'.

My teacher tolerates a lot of questions. Ridiculous questions.

So tonight, in addition to the usual 'I am happy/sad/tired', thanks to my persistent queries, we practiced how to say:

I am in a rage.
I am furious.
I am disgusted.

And thanks to everyone else in the class, we know:

I am delighted.
I am fantastic.
I am super.

You Were Never Mine!

And yes, I'm aware that this sounds like every other song they've released. I still defend my decision to love it.

Trivial

I have 2 days left.

Last week, I decided to give myself a specified amount of time to react to my latest disaster in whatever way I thought was most appropriate.

I’ve chosen to go out and drink. Every. Single. Night.

There are alternate coping mechanisms available to me (wallowing, yoga, toilet papering, ice cream) but alcohol has always come through in the past. No need for a change in methodology which might exacerbate the difficulty of the healing process. Plus, I think adhering to a plan in troubled times can give one a sense of stability. Furthermore, sometimes it’s best to delay the inevitable coursework: Review of Relationship – Good Times And Bad; Living With Your Decision, Even Though It Was The Right One; Introspection 101 - until you’re ready for it.

Also, it’s fun to get drunk.

In the spirit of following my treatment plan, I went to Trivia Night at the Crocodile Lounge with H & L, two of the Book Club girls. The questions were surprisingly difficult but we managed to come in 6th place (holla!), despite a truly horrendous showing in the ‘Current Events’ category. (It turns out that we don’t know any Current Events unless they’re in Us Weekly or AM New York.) Oh, and the bar provides a free individual pizza with every drink purchase, so that means dinner *and* drunk snacks are covered. I’m already recruiting new team members for next week’s contest – The Librarian would totally kick ass at this sort of thing (both the trivia and the pizza-eating).

The upshot of all this excitement is that I’m tired today. I’ve been tired for what feels like a long time. Thankfully, life has intervened, and my monthly volunteering shift, which precludes any alcohol consumption, is scheduled on Saturday night. This coincides neatly with the end of this little social experiment that I’ve conducted with myself.

And for the next 2 days, I can continue to ‘cope’ like a rock star.

Addendum: By some strange twist of fate, L saw Anderson Cooper on her way home last night, and H has a remote connection to him through a co-worker. We're totally scheming to ask him to be on our trivia team. Because then, hopefully, current events would be covered.

Rational/Irrational

I was recently explaining my beloved calendar scheduling methods to someone, and he said 'I had no idea you were that organized.' Um, what? Do you know me at all? Next you're going to start using Words I Hate and mocking my string cheese addiction. (Oh, wait, you actually have done both of those things. Nevermind.)

However much I prize neatness, order, and structure...I can still be as disorganized as the next person. Take, for example, this past week when I went shopping, then remembered that I needed to pay rent, but that (as a result of the shopping) I would need to deposit my latest paycheck in order to pay my rent, and then the added layer of being annoyed that I still hadn't set up direct deposit, so that all this maneuvering would require a trip to the bank during business hours. And then there was the utter absurdity of forgetting until Sunday evening that I *still* hadn't deposited my paycheck, and then glancing at my calendar and realizing that November 1st was, in fact, happening on Wednesday.

The result: a meandering trip to the bank on Sunday night (deposit), then another visit this morning (certified check), followed by a stopover at my management company to hand them the rent. No worries, though, because a) it was a beautiful day to be walking around b) my management company had a bowl of Twix at the front desk and c) the accountant at my management company (who caught me pilfering several Twix, but seemed amused by it) is seriously cute.

I'm sure I'll come up with a better system next month. Or not.

Going Backwards

I miss my old job.

Wait, let me amend that statement. I don't miss anything about the actual work that I used to do, but I really miss the people that I worked with.

In my previous life, I was the only female member of a 14-person team of telecommunications engineers. There was a whole cast of characters: the super earnest, super nerdy guys who actually got excited by the prospect of building a SONET network and discussing mathematical theory; the super annoying guys who had no social skills; the super trendy guys who had somehow blundered into the job and had little interest in anything besides going out, maintaining their wardrobe and buying luxury cars; and the super inept managers who tried (and failed) to keep it all under control.

Some of you may remember The Fetus, Carlvette, EnRon, and Dan Halen (yes, his name was actually Dan Halen - go ahead and Jump!, Dan.)

There was never any shortage of ball-busting, name calling, shit stirring, or gossip. There was always someone to go to lunch with. There were always stories, good ones, about people's personal lives. There were daily pranks (vomit cup, anyone?) and weekly happy hours.

At Dream Job, everyone keeps to themselves. I can go for an entire day without actually talking to someone, and if I get a little hyper and (gasp) make an effort to socialize, my efforts are met with a polite smile/nervous laughter/look of confusion.

Maybe I can convince some of the guys to become social workers. Isn't work supposed to be a little fun?

Halloweenie

It is of great disappointment to me (and I’m sure everyone around me) that I did not parade around NYC this weekend in my skimpy Britney Spears costume. Actually, it's just fine with my stomach and my thighs that they were not exposed to the low temperatures or the scrutiny of other celebrants.

Nonetheless, I did manage to celebrate Halloween.

On Friday night, The Librarian and I went to St. John The Divine for a screening of Nosferatu , a silent film made in 1922 which is unintentionally hilarious (we especially liked the montage of Nosferatu wandering around the streets of Bremen with his coffin tucked under his arm). The movie was accompanied by organ music, and then followed by The Parade of Ghouls, which was also unintentionally funny, except for the giant creepy baby costume.

On Saturday night, we celebrated The Lawyer’s birthday at Cubby Hole. That didn’t really have so much to do with Halloween, except for MS and Groom showing up around 2:00 am in their costumes. Oh, and Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing about 10 times during the course of the night. And the strangeness of meeting our friend L’s car mechanic girlfriend.

The only thing left to do is to get my hands on some candy corn and lapse into a sugar coma.

2 Nights

The Same:
Dive75. Many, many vodka and sodas. Connect Four. Laughter. Rain.

The Different:
Two people who I dearly love, who will be part of my life forever.
One person who I will not love.

Alcohol

I've located my new favorite place to drink (well, other than in my apartment, alone, in the dark. Kidding! Totally kidding. Don't schedule the intervention. Yet.)

Moe's Bar is in Fort Greene. You've got to love a place that serves 'Duff' beer and plays weird vampire movies (complete with closed captioning) on a large screen in the back room. Last night, DK and I were sucked in by the (non)plot of the movie and the drink specials, and stayed much later than we had planned.

(Tangent. I think we had a long conversation about college basketball in which he passed the most important test: not being able to devise a scenario in which he would root for Duke to win a basketball game, despite their opponent. Even when given the choice between a team comprised of evil superpowers, like Hitler, Mussolini, and George Bush versus The Blue Devils, he opted for the Axis of Evil. I believe we were also engaged in some drunken "holdin' hands and makin' plans" by the end of the night. It's quite possible that we'll be attending the Final Four, wherever it's being held this year.)

The downside of having a fun night out is clearly evident the following morning when you're running around Brooklyn, preparing for your weekly visit to the school where you facilitate your violence prevention program, and your lack of sleep/hangover takes the peculiar form of hyperactivity and over-friendliness so that you somehow find yourself lugging around 15 Subway sandwiches and 3 bottles of soda but still greeting everyone you pass on the street with a wide smile and a cheery "Good morning!", like Miss Mary Fucking Sunshine.

Nothing Has Changed!

So, last night, on my way out to meet The Librarian, Honeychild and Big Daddy for drinks (drowning my feelings), I stopped by the NYPL to pick up some books I had on reserve. But I forgot my library card.

I knew that there was no way I could return to the library at any other point this week. I also knew that I NEEDED to check out one book in particular, so I would be prepared for the book club which is convening at my house this weekend. (It remains to be seen if I can finish the book in the 72 hours before book club and also manage to do my laundry, clean my apartment, and make lasagna. But I digress.)

So I brought my books up to the desk. Explained that I didn't have my card. And proceeded to rattle off my 14-digit card number from memory.

It's comforting to know that I am still a major geek who can recall things like my library number, on command. Because it's important.

If nothing else, I can hold on to that.

Quiet, Please

A slow strangle with feet on the floor
I've got 14 angels and we're sleeping alone
In the back of a cave, where the rest of us go
To feel normal

I call baby up. Leave me alone.
I'm in pain but I won't let you band-aid the wound
I'm mad at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own

Give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
You give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
Until the end

Give me strength to be kind... To combine
All the good things in life that were so hard to find
But I have and I won't let them go like I do with my friends

Still bearing voices... From front... From behind
They're the reasons I choose... When to live... How to die
When to cast... When to reel
When to buy... When to steal
And when to fiend for the friends that taught me
Being inappropriate will

Give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
You give me a quiet mind and I...
I love you
Till the end

Oh Shit, It's Back To The Quotes

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.

Rumi

Every Other Day Of The Week Is Fine...

- I believe I have found the solution to my current malaise. And that is to renew my efforts to bring Social Work! The Musical to Broadway. DJ is on board with the plan, and we recruited an aspiring filmmaker to document our progress. It’s going to sweep the nation. Trust me.

- I am officially official at Dream Job as I received my salary offer letter in the mail on Friday *and* my timecard this morning. The timecard would be a lot more fun if it was made out of stone and was punched by a prehistoric bird, like on the Flintstones.

- I really should stick to my standby (vodka) instead of branching out (beer) when I drink. Beer just makes me full. And silly. I need to be very, very serious, especially at parties and social occasions.

- I sat in church yesterday (!), watching The Peanut in her performance debut as a monkey on Noah’s Ark. And then later gave the rainbow-covered program to The Lawyer and told her that Jesus loves ‘her people’.

- Despite my usual Monday tiredness, I am considering meeting up with JP tonight to watch the Giants game. Even though I don’t care that much about the NFL, and even less about the Giants.

- I am frequently very funny at work, which makes my co-workers look at me like I’m crazy. Because I guess trauma counselors aren’t supposed to have a sense of humor. I think its fine as long as I’m not making jokes about clients/patients. And I also think its okay that I just declared that I am funny, despite my typical assertion that if you have to make statements about yourself, they’re not true.

- It would be a lot easier to learn Spanish if I had my Ultimate Spanish! textbook. And if my teacher was less random. And if I remembered to eat something before I went to class.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Dear Everyone I Spoke To Last Weekend:

Remember how my boiler was broken? And how I bitched endlessly about how cold it was in my apartment? And then how I talked about sleeping in sweatpants and a fleece jacket and still freezing, and about how I was sure I was going to get sick from the lack of heat? And then the whining about how my muscles hurt from shivering and curling up in a ball under my covers for most of the weekend? And then remember the threats I made about calling 311 to report my landlord? And my announcement that I hated my building and that I needed to move again?

Yeah, at any point you could have interupted that tirade and reminded me of the alternative - blazing heat, a radiator that won't turn off, and the difficult choice between sweltering/dehydrating OR opening my windows and subjecting myself to the noise and dirt of 9th Avenue.

Or you could have just told me to shut the fuck up.

ridiculouschick

Brighter Than Sunshine

This is the song that is playing in my head today. I'm smiling while thinking about the impatience - but persistence - in getting things right (thank you, Reporter, for the phrasing).

I Am A Little Explosion

There are several reasons to be happy today, if I choose to do so:

- Sushi, Sapporo and Sleepover with DJ
- My walk through Brooklyn this morning in unexpectedly warm Fall weather
- Fresh fruit and coffee
- MC’s latest brilliant novel in my Inbox
- www.pandora.com
- The Lawyer is finally home from California, and has called me the 'bomb diggity' and a 'Mental Health Professional', both of which are hilarious

Thought of the Day

'miracles will happen as we speak.
but we're never gonna survive unless
we get a little crazy.
no we're never gonna survive unless
we are a little
crazy.'

-Seal

Fave

Kate: I'm sure I don't do anything you would find exciting. I don't open beer bottles with my toes, I don't sit around and count what's left of my teeth, hey, I don't even enjoy a good tractor pull.

Doug: Life of the party, huh? Place must be crawling with guys.

Classic

'We have so much in common, we both love soup and snow peas, we love the outdoors, and talking and not talking. We could not talk or talk forever and still find things to not talk about.'

Best In Show

I'll Be Right With You...

I'm negotiating some big changes in my life right now. It's chaotic and messy and strange, but I need to believe that something quite beautiful will emerge.

In the meantime, I give you...quotes! Or, you can wade around in my archives.

"It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to."

Anonymous

Major Plans

It's been a long week.

The only thing I want to do tonight is climb into bed at a ludicrously early hour and watch an appropriately absurd movie. Luckily, my new comforter arrived last night.

SGH?

Oh my my.

Whilst running between the Emergency Department and the Psychiatric Inpatient Unit, I believe I encountered my hospital's very own Preston Burke.

This ought to make work more interesting.

Well, this *and* the giant bowl of Halloween candy that magically appeared in the hallway outside of my office this morning. (And I didn't even need to wear my Britney costume yet!)

Mindfulness

I am strong.

When the dark clouds come into my life, I have the power to push them away.

Or to simply sit and wait for them to pass.

No Shame

Music: No Reply At All - Genesis

Is it my imagination, or do men simply take up more space on the mass transit system?

Almost every male on the subway sits with his legs spread wiiiiide open, totally disregarding any passengers seated next to them (which is usually me, squeezed into a tiny space and trying not to inadvertently touch their leg, arm, or any other part of their body.)

Men frequently and blatantly release huge globs of phlegm and spit on the platform and track. (Why do men need to spit so much?)

Then there is the almost daily leering and suggestive commenting. Sometimes, if it's an extra special day, and the car is crowded, you might get an ass grab.

And then yesterday, the man standing next to me at the Jay Street Station was digging in his nose and then picking whatever he had extracted out from under his fingernails and flinging it on the ground. When we boarded the train, he continued his excavation and commenced wiping his fingers on his seat. And then looked at me and winked.

I think the MTA needs to create a female-only subway system.

Love, Love, Love

I was woken up early this morning for the best of reasons.

At 5:57 am, L & D's daughter, Audrey Vanette, was born. Apparently, she looks a lot like her big brother E and has 'an adorably cute' nose. I can't wait to meet her.

I obviously need to begin plotting reasons and methods to skip work one day this week so I can go to Boston.

For now, I'm off to The Jerz to see The Peanut (my first niece) and hear all about her monumental efforts toward using 'the big girl potty'. This will be a continuation of the conversation we started last night while I was chasing away my hangover with wine and tapas. It's really fun to note the looks that you collect when you are talking loudly about 'poopie' and 'princess underwear' on your cell phone in a crowded downtown bar on a Saturday night.

Declarations

A few weeks ago, I was proudly telling a friend that it had been ages since I had thrown up from drinking.

You know what this means, right?

Yeah, I pulled the chord last night. Big time. The beginning of my night was lovely - drinks and dinner, followed by more drinks, and some cigarettes...and then I remember turning a corner and suddenly being way too drunk, which was exacerbated by a lurching cab ride home.

Luckily, The ARH was asleep while I was getting sick - there really is no more vulnerable a position than being hunched over your toilet, naked and dizzy. And it is perhaps even more fortunate that I wasn't drunk enough to make *other* foolish declarations. Those will keep, I'm sure, for another time.

One Year

There is a resurgence of stories about bedbugs in the media lately. Not that I’m actually reading a newspaper or watching the news – but I keep reasonably informed through an online discussion group. In the past couple of weeks, there have been articles in the NY Times, The Daily News, USA Today, The Post, and on NPR…

The media attention, interestingly enough, is coinciding with my lease renewal. I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since I moved into that quiet, empty apartment – leaving behind the chaos and sleeplessness of my old living space. That move seemed like such an easy choice at the time.

This morning, I read through the paperwork and reviewed my options. Do I really want to commit myself to staying for another year? When I walk to work in the morning, I feel the pull of a calmer existence in Brooklyn and last month’s trip to San Francisco kicked off thoughts of a life there. Signing the lease means saying yes to honking horns and sirens, to noisy people leaving the bars at 4:00 am, mice and bursting water pipes and strange neighbors. But it also means continuing to be surrounded by friends, happily losing myself in the activity and the loudness, all the familiar places and the new ones…to exploring the deeper levels of connection and trust that I am feeling right now.

Saying yes means opening to the possibilities. I’m here.

Grrrr

It is amazing how a malfunctioning photocopy machine can make you feel completely useless at the end of a 10 hour work day.

It is slightly gratifying to realize that the strange looks that you received on your way home were (probably) due to the copier ink smudged all over your face.

It is disconcerting to have a house full of food, and not want to eat any of it, including the chocolate M&M's in your refrigerator, and the ice cream in your freezer.

It is strange to know that you will be in bed ridiculously early for the second night in a row.

Beauty

Yesterday morning, I was just about as cheerful as you'd imagine I'd be, dragging myself from my warm bed and venturing out into a cold and rainy morning to go to work. On about an hour of sleep, no less.

However, about 2 hours into our day-long training session for new volunteers for my program, we hosted a survivor panel. 4 women placed themselves at the front of the room and began to speak. Everything stilled. They spoke clearly, eloquently, honestly of the horrible violence they had survived. And as they shared their experiences, there was anger and sadness and pain. When they ended, there was a hushed pause, and then a torrent of applause. All of the women in the room were out of their seats, talking and laughing with each other, crying together, hugging each other.

I was reminded yet again why I do this work. I am a witness. It is easy to get discouraged by the number of women that have a story, in both my personal and professional life. At times, I feel like we're fighting a war that we have no hope of winning.

The simple act of telling and listening restores some balance.