Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

I Don't Want to Do This Meme, But I Must; I Am Driven

I've seen this meme around and about at least three places. It's a year-end retrospective, and of all the years I'd like to put in retrospect it would be '08. To borrow Friend #3's phrase, 2008 sucked out loud.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
Ooooo... that's a bad start. I can only think of one thing. Perhaps this isn't the year to do this meme. 

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Made no resolutions, will make no more for next year. I make daily resolutions.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Not a soul. Not even any of the 14 year old S______ relatives. That's a first.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Not a soul - wait! I forgot! MOM DIED. Thanks for asking, Meme. You bastard.

5. What countries did you visit?
Canada ... West Indies ... the Greater Antilles

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
My balls. I'm looking to gain more self-confidence at the new job.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Fuck, you, meme, you know it's April 10. Don't ask "why." Don't be cute.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I did what Mom wanted. Oh! And I got to go all Spartacus on '08 and be in a clinical trial. (And since my leukocytes leapt up to 2,000 from 1,800 I get to stay  in the trial too.)

9. What was your biggest failure?
I really could have done better at my new job. My focus just wasn't there.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Well, clearly I don't have enough leukocytes to sustain an exacerbation even if my white blood cells could cross my blood-brain barrier, so no. Of course, those cells were probably clogging up my crotch and giving me the varicose veins snaking through my thinning hairs. But nothing permanent.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Given that I just hung up the last of the frames, I'm still excited about the twenty-odd prints and frames at 90% off. 

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Ah, Gary. He truly is a man among men. He was by my side every minute he could be those awful two weeks while Mom died. He couldn't have been better.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Well, I must admit I'm a bit appalled that my nephew will be study Arabic for nine months in ... um ... Emen-Yay.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Slapping down the debt. Or else into the ether of the stock market.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
I can't think of anything I got "really, really, really" excited about. I did get "really really" excited about our three vacations. (I call them vacations, but essentially we were going to BNL concerts.) And I got "really" excited the day we got the notice we paid off the house. I recall Gary dry-humped the counter.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
Who By Fire

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Sadder! 8 pounds thinner! Richer.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Playing the guitar. I was surprised when I picked it up last night and I seem to have passed some strumming blocks I'd been having. Then I listened to Bel Air Rain and decided I will always and forever suck. 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Sleeping. I swear, entire days evaporated. Granted, the weeks I didn't devote a day to sleep I crashed Wednesday night.

20. How did you spend Christmas?
...Or as we call it here Mid-Hanukkah. Playing Wii American Idol.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
I fell more in love.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
The Election Show - shown on Countdown, Hardball, All of CNN. Really liked the finale, too.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
You betcha! I didn't even know about Sarah Palin last year.

24. What was the best book you read?
I think the only book I read was the Jewish Policeman's Union.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I know you won't think Vampire Weekend is a discovery, but truly Gary just randomly yanked it off the shelf at B&N. Oh, and I loved Boothby Graffoe from the cruise.

26. What did you want and get? 
I got another visit to the Wild Animal Park. I think the is the first time I've returned to a place I had vacationed before.

27. What did you want and not get?
You know, I don't have a really great ensemble. If only that company that made that robe / kimono could punctuate.

28. What was your favorite film of this year?
I think Milk. Then again, I went in the company of lesbians and we ate sushi beforehand, so how could you not love it?

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
The blog says I watched the Olympics, made a chopped salad and used the Wii Fit. I am 46.  I am in my late 40s.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Oh! Thanks for bring that up again, Meme! Mom not dying would have been very satisfying.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Lots of Etsy necklaces and whatever fits over my boobs.

32. What kept you sane?
Celexa. 40 mg a day. Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's what always keeps me sane. Otherwise the Voice starts up again.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Okay, I know this is going to cause confusion over my sexuality, but Rachel Maddow should come to lunch with me and my friends. (Hey! She could be Friend #69. Someone needs to fill that position.)

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
The prospect that anyone but G.W. Bush might be our president. Well, anyone but G.W or Sarah Palin.

35. Who did you miss?
Fuck you, meme. Just bite me.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
I like almost everyone I work with at the new job. We shall see, though. They still have to pass the test of Tea 2009.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.
Take care of people you love, and make sure they know your wishes.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Easy to bitch, easy to whine, easy to moan, easy to cry."

Vista

Not Windows Vista. Picture-frame Vista.

Due to the poor economy I now have more framed artwork than there is in Florence Italy. Before I nailed it up, I made paper templates on all the frames, marked with where the center is and where the wire peaks. Then I lived with the paper templates on the walls a few weeks. Then I did some shuffling and lived with that a few weeks.

Finally I hung all the frames by first: hammering in the nail into the marked place on the template, then: hanging the picture, and finally: sitting in every seat in the room to study if the new frame still contributed to a harmonious vista.

So this is why I was annoyed when Gary suddenly said this morning, "Damn! Dude, is there a wall you didn't leave empty?"

"Yeah, the green wall in the living room only has one picture on it."

"It looks kind of  crazy from this corner. Come stand here!" he squealed delightedly, as he does when I have done something stupid.

And he was right. If you open all the doors and stand at the very end of the hallway with your back against the linen closet door and slowly turn your head about 20 degrees you can count about 24 frames.

To the right:

 

(That's the guest room / music room / blogging room / Waverly Wallpaper Tribute room.)

To the left:

 

(That's a blurry row of Alphonse Mucha prints - only 4 of the 8 prints in the bedroom.)

Then when you look straight down the hall you can see the wall of the medical bathroom in the mirror and the BNL shrine with its nudity.

 

Turn your head a shade to the right and you can see the BNL Shrine plus the big print over the messy bench. About the bench - I considered cleaning off the bench (and making the guest room bed) but I know I always feel so much more welcome when friends let me in when things haven't been tidied. So, here's the big print over the Cinema Verite bench / coat rack/ shoe rack/ Wii cabinet:

 

Down in the bottom right corner below the thermostat is the edge of a frame Gary insisted last night had to go up in that big green space. I put my foot down and insisted he live with a paper template for a while.

With 46 prints and a 1,400 square foot house -

Excuse me - did you just think, "What a tiny house!" I can hear you, you know. A 1,400 square foot paid OFF house -

- that means one framed print every 30.43 square feet, or 6.57 pictures a room. But somehow, it doesn't look too crazy. As long as you don't stand against the linen room door at the end of the hallway. It looks nuts from there.

Oh, and here's the print that started it all- The Booger Print:

Reader's Choice Listing

Okay, what I finally did was to search the comments for every time someone admitted they laughed.

That's why on the left at the top you will see a new link for "It's Too Much To Read - Just Click Here for the Reader's Choices"

There. I know I've done this too late for those who trudged through three years of posts, but it would have narrowed your work from 1000 posts to 73.

New Holiday

I hereby establish a new holiday. It will replace Boxing Day. It begins the day after Christmas and it is called Sleeping Day. It actually lasts two days. When it is over you find yourself awake at 3 am with lots of energy.

Road Conditions in Florissant

Both Gary and my families are from Florissant, a suburb of Saint Louis. (It is not pronounced "Fluorescent" but rather "FLOOR-ih-sent." It's French! French for "Valley of the Moms.") It's a middle-class suburb, and happily it's becoming more and more diverse the older it gets.

So, Gary and I were driving to Florissant on Highway 270 in the inclement weather on Christmas Eve, and as we exited the off-ramp I said,

"Watch out for black ice."

Gary was shocked for some reason. "What! What did you say?"

"Black ice. Watch out."

"Ellen! You aren't serious! You did not just say that!"

"What? Watch out for black ice? What's wrong with that? You have to be careful."

"Oh my GOD! What is wrong with you?"

Luckily, we both caught on and I started enunciating more clearly.

This is Genius

What do you do if it's your first Christmas without a loved one?

 

Celebrate Hanukkah instead.

Or, if you are Jewish and this is the first Hanukkah without a loved one, then celebrate Christmas instead this year.

The reason this is genius is that you are still celebrating, still eating, still giving gifts, but instead of thinking "Okay, this is when we would usually go pick up" [say] "Mom," you instead think, "Now let me see ... where does Mom usually spend Hanukkah? With us? Or does she stay at home? Oh, that's right! She never celebrates Hanukkah!" Then it become just another holiday that Mom ignored, like Easter and Ramadan.

Genius. GEEEEEEENNNNNius. It's a Hanukkah miracle.

Sigh. The Holidays Begin.

Yesterday. Watched Babe. Babe the Pig calls every female animal "Mom" and says almost nothing but "I miss my Mom," "Don't die Mom," and "Can I call you my Mom?" Cried.

Today, on the way home. Thought about what to do with the rest of Mom's ashes. Cried.

At home, putting up the Nativity Scene on the top of the bookshelves. Used the basket Mom's ashes are in to hang the angel from. Cried.

Midnight. Gary came in from walking the dog with a gift from Mom's friends. I started to laugh even before he opened it because, as I guessed correctly, it was the  Missouri Botanical (Shaw's) Garden Calendar which her friends would buy her every year. I laughed because every year she would apologize to me because then it would be my job every month to turn to a new page, seeing that she couldn't raise her arms and she insisted on hanging it on the fridge. Then I read their very sweet card. Cried.

There was an interesting article on crying today:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/28366779/

What I need is a good cry. I'd better get it over with.

Clinical Trial Update

I had a fun-filled day of tests for the clinical trial last Friday.

The current blood tests showed that my white blood cells are low. Normal is 4,000 - 11,000; I'm at 1,800; 1,200 gets you dropped from the trial. Soooooo ... looks like the "placebo" is working a little too well.

Actually, I don't think we still have to pretend it's a placebo. Still, I clapped my hands over my ears and said "Lalalalala" when the doctor mentioned it.

He had to mention it so he could warn me to "be careful." I asked, "So. If any children with smallpox run toward me I should dodge them? How am I supposed to be careful?" He answered, "Just...be careful." Oh, and he also double-checked my chickenpox numbers and it seems I have had that particular pox, so I won't die like the other two people in the trial did.

The opthalmology test was uneventful, except that Merilee the tech was intrigued by the BNL cruise. Oh, and it was at 8 am.

I was so sleepy by the time I got into the MRI that I drifted off (in the MRI, while it was running) and dreamed the MRI tech asked me some questions about my grandfather which I had to answer "Yes" or "A." (Or perhaps a Canadian "Eh.")  I grunted "Mmm-hmm," but so softly the tech didn't notice. Over the MRI. Which was running.

I did not get a satisfying nap in the (running) MRI machine, so my mind was wandering a lot during the Pulmonary exam.

I abruptly asked the technician:

"Have you lived in Saint Louis a long time?"

"All my life."

"I remember going out to eat when I was a kid at some lady-luncheon type place and ordering a Monte-something sandwich. I had it more than once. And now that I've been thinking of it, I remember it was cheese wrapped in ham wrapped in turkey, made in a sandwich, then - and this is where it gets weird - it was all dipped in batter, deep fried, and served with powdered sugar and jelly."

"Never heard of it, but I don't eat at luncheon places."

And after a little research at home, I found that in my youth I was actually allowed and maybe even encouraged to eat one of the Monte Cristo sandwiches served at luncheon-lady places in South Saint Louis. Clearly it affected my health later in life.

Flarp

I pick at my nails. To overcome this weakness, I've taken to obsessively manipulating Silly Putty, even at work, even in meetings. People soon began to envy me my Putty. So, when Christmas rolled about I decided to give out Silly Putty.

Trip to Wal-Mart. They had no Silly Putty. Absurd! (Or, may I say, silly.) What they had instead was Flarp.

 

"Well, when I find Silly Putty I'll buy that, but for now I'll get this." I didn't think too much about the dainty packaging copy. I mean, I got that it made disgusting noises, but I thought that was just in addition and secondary to its putty properties.  I am not comfortable with flatulence. As you may know, Gary does not allow the word "fart."  "Poot" is what we say. Or "my GOD what is WRONG with you, what did you EAT?" But mostly "Poot." Growing up whenever Mom was flatulent my brother and I would scream "Gas Warfare!" and laugh hysterically. I had no idea the word "fart" even existed.

I got some real Silly Putty later and I brought both to work. I went to each member of my my team with a full bag and demanded, "Flarp or Putty?" Most had no idea what I was talking about and said "Putty" because I scared them a little. The guy in the next cube chose Flarp, squeezed it, and said "My Flarp is cold! I'll never get a chance to say that again." His Flarp was soundless. "Huh," I thought, "I guess it is just like Silly Putty."

This left me with a big bag of mostly Flarp.  I hung it on the door knob outside of the room where Marcia's team was having a team meeting.

I had pictured the workers daintily taking Flarp or Putty out of the bag before they trudged back to their desks where they would treasure my gift. Instead, I'd been back at my desk for a few minutes when I began to hear some mad giggling coming out of that conference room. Marcia's teammates had torn into the bag then gone back in to finish their meeting. The Team Leader was familiar with Flarp and decided as a Cool Team Leader to show them how it worked. (FYI: You take the Flarp out of the jar, then you put it back in. This disrupts the Flarp's digestion.)

Now I have unleashed the Genie in the Fart Bottle.  Marcia's team has not let up on the Flarp (or at least I hope it's the Flarp.) There are constant squeaks and gurgles coming from Marcia's cube and those in her area. Strangers from other departments have come up to me and said, "Um, I hear you know where I could get some Flarp."

And ironically, you can't get it on Amazon or Walgreen's anymore. I had to buy the rest of the supply at my Wal-Mart because some people got a little pissy they chose Putty over Flarp.

Christmas Spirit

Gary's Christmas-celebrating sister Karen has some cats she takes care of. You might call them feral cats. Or, you might call them domesticated cats Karen has caught roaming the neighborhood, taken to the vet, and sterilized. 

These cats, after their adoptions (or, again, their abductions), stay in Karen's garage until they have recovered from surgery. Often they remain. Karen feeds them, plus Stockholm syndrome may account for some of it.

That's why she sent Gary this email:

-----Original Message-----
From: S_____, Karen A
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2008 12:28 PM
To: Gary S______
Subject: Wed - Christmas Eve
Importance: High

Hi Gary:

Can you and Ellen make it earlier this Christmas Eve.  10:30 am. I would like to
be home by dark because of my cats.  (I have to leave the garage door
cracked when we are gone.  Don't like to do that at night).

-----Original Message-----
From: Gary S_____
Sent: Wednesday, December 17, 2008 2:05 PM
To: S_____, Karen A
Subject: RE: Wed - Christmas Eve

Xmas eve in the morning...   That sounds a little wacky but I wouldn't
want your wild cats to have to seek their own shelter OUT IN THE WILD.

I was going to work until Noon on Xmas Eve but I moved things around so
that I can celebrate Xmas Eve morning with you.

Gary S_____
"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's
too dark to read." - Groucho Marx

==========================

Karen responded with "Ok thanks," and that meant Gary had to call me and have me give up a vacation day so Karen Mengle could be sure her house was secured against nighttime cat burglars. The laugh was worth it.

Food Day at Teddy J

Pre-Christmas Gluttonfest at TeddyJ tomorrow. I bought supplies for two Gooey Butter Cakes, one for Teddy and one for Gary.

Teddy's looked like this. It just never turned cake-like. Just Gooey and Buttery, no Cake.

 

So I took the second pound cake mix, sacrificed my one remaining cup of milk, and made TeddyJ the prettiest and most boring little cakes ever in my new mini-bundt pan.

 

Precious? All form, no substance. Then again, maybe Box Cake Simplicity will shine amidst the Thin Mint Brownies and Super Hot Chili.

First Commenter

Citizen of the Month had the fine idea of honoring his First Commenter.

My First (apart from my Mom), my very first, even before Becs, even before most of the Assorted Friends had even looked at the blog, was Catherine of So That Happened.

I had logged in to Typepad and knew no one.  I was the kid alone at the lunch table. I scanned the "Recently Updated Blogs" and Catherine's caught my eye. I read a few posts. Then I read all the  posts. Then I fell in love with her. Then I added her to my blogroll. I don't even think Dooce was on there.

When she saw my inbound link she came by and left a comment:
http://mocklog.typepad.com/queen_mediocretia/2006/01/my_stubborn_val.html#comments

I came in to work at Elliot the next day, where the talk turned to pedophiles.

"Catherine  - she's from LA, she's commented on my blog - won an Emmy for a piece she did on pedophiles," I said casually.

Hot Mom explained, "No. A fourteen year old boy commented on your blog."

"No! Her name's Catherine! She lives in L.A. and works in news."

"Fourteen year old boy," agreed Friend #3, because she was jealous.

"No. Stop making fun. She's my little blog friend. You all are mean."

Mom started reading Catherine's blog, and we would gossip about her until ~Silk started dating a younger man. "I just like her attitude," Mom said. "Even if she's pissed off, it still sounds upbeat. And she named her purse Zsa Zsa."

So, if you haven't already met the girl who decided "Fingering Husband's Rectum" would make a good band name:(http://mocklog.typepad.com/queen_mediocretia/2006/04/yall_are_nasty.html#comments) you should go by and visit.

Happy?

Seriously, this will make no sense to any new visitors. I am sorry.

==================================

For you new visitors, I was at the Dermatologist today (because of the clinical trial) and he was checking for skin cancer. "Let me see your back. Now your front. Now raise you arms so I can see your sides. Now lift up your breasts so I can see under them."

I thought about telling him the medical term was "Underboobs" but I thought better of it. I just sighed and yanked them skyward.

==================================

And, Oh my Lord, one of you has started at the beginning and is reading every one of the 1000 plus posts.

I Could be Secretary of State!

Colin Powell just said something like this on CNN:

"I told all my staffers, throw away all the books on your shelves. All you need is a search engine and Wikipedia."

I say we all go out there and write up Wikipedia articles on Canada, Mexico. and their vast oil reserves, just to save travel costs.

You Have to Wonder

We had quite the long day. We drove to Independence MO (by KC), then we watched the graduation of our half-Pakistani 24 year old nephew, we ate at a Japanese steakhouse, and drove back.

Now I'm home watching a documentary on 9/11.

I ask myself why our clearly South Asian nephew has recently taken to eschewing utensils and eating his rice and salmon with his right hand. I think the answer to that is "He's 24."  I suppose what throws me is that he's used utensils all his life; it isn't as if they sit in a cave in their backyard in Kansas City and squat around a fire.

Oh, well, I suppose it's good he's proud of his heritage. I totally had a chance to eat lobster, but I accepted that lobsters are unclean and it is Ramadan, so I went with duck. Im stuffed with duck. I'm an EllDucken.

We Peaked Yesterday. You're Still Here?

Yeah, I could compile a list of posts, or I could do that this weekend, or I could give you a pop quiz (What is Spunky Labia's middle name? No Googling!) or I could do THAT this weekend, or I could go to my nephew's college graduation, which is what I'm doing this weekend.

Or I could show you how to manipulate your way into dinner.

Step 1. Call Gary.

Step 2. "Hi Gar. I was just calling to see if you'd be home soon and if I should heat up the oven to make this box of turkey stuff I have."

Step 3. Accurately describe Box O' Turkey to Gary.

 

Step 4. Gary says, "You know, Tuna Helper and Hamburger Helper don't really have tuna and hamburger in them. Are you sure it comes with the turkey?"

Step 5. "Yes, sure Gary, I'm sure they have some way to dehydrate turkey so you can rehydrate it and then cook it in the oven."

Step 6. Consent to let your husband bring broccoli soup, Italian sandwiches, and chocolate croissants home for dinner.

God, wouldn't that make a great commercial for Turkey in A Box? "Turkey In a Box, what to serve when you want Take-Out." I am never eating this Box O' Turkey. It's a Secret Weapon.

TaDa!

This is post number one thousand.

 

T-Minus 1

Eeee! So exciting. I really thought hard about naming tomorrow's post T-Minus .50, but no.

By the way, someone came along today and read from September this year to the present day. I sit here and wonder about you Dots out there, and I assume this person has been in prison three months and is trying to catch up.

But, out of pity for new readers, I'm thinking of making a page of Reader's Choice Posts. I never look at these lists of "Top Posts" on other blogs, because the idea of a list of posts the author thinks are good just turns me off somehow.

But if YOU guys made a list, then that would give it some validity. Are there any posts you remember that would make a good summary for someone who just got out of prison?

T-Minus 2

Yo! Gary! If you are in the bathroom reading this, hear me now:

I do not want to watch The Girls Next Door. I will not watch it on the floor, I will not watch it heretofore. I will not watch it when you're gone, I will not watch if the twins are on.

Why is there a show devoted to stupid women? And, I'm sorry, even though there's one who is supposed to be smart: Bridget (you know, the chesty blond one) she is only average.

There's a Pelle Carlsburg song about how Clever Girls Like Clever Boys (and then the clever boys seem to have a different choice).

I think of dumb men and clever men and how there's no satisfaction in making an already dumb man get glassy-eyed and inarticulate, but dimming that light in the eyes of a clever man until the best he can do is mumble ... well. Well.

Well?

Why is there such love for the pre-stupefied women? Are men that lazy? They want the "challenge" of taking a woman with an IQ of 90 and plummeting her all the way to an 89? Feh.

T-Minus 3

This morning at about 9:45, I was in the guest room / computer room / music room / my room, while Gary was sleeping in our bedroom. Suddenly there was a massive thud that shook the house, and Gary cried out.

Gary bellowed in pain and moaned until I came in. He was lying on the floor next to the bed. He was writhing, so I was immediately relieved.

He moaned.  Then he gestured toward the bed and shouted accusingly, "IT'S THIS STUPID BED!" Then he moaned some more.

"What happened?" I asked, comfortingly.

He was livid. "I was rolled up in the STUPID comforter, and I was trying to get it out from under me, so I pulled up on it from the middle of the bed and it rolled me out!"

"So you rolled yourself out of bed?"

"THIS DAMN THING!" he roared, and threw the comforter across the room in a rage. He moaned and writhed some more.

I thought about saying, "You poor baby, you fell out of bed," with a slight emphasis on the "you fell," but given his mood it seemed better to agree with him that while he slept, our bed had violently thrown him out and the comforter conspired in the plot. It is a matching bedroom accessory to murder.

T-Minus 4

Gary's Dream

Sometimes on the weekend I'll wake Gary up and he'll say "Lemme alone. I wanna finish my dream." Then he emerges from the bedroom three hours later and gives me wild details of the dream he just finished. Pirates and action-adventures, usually.

I've always been suspicious of this. I say things like, "Those are called fantasies, Gary." He insists he's able to wake up and then go back to a dream. Someone suggested I look into lucid dreaming and I suppose that explains it.

However, Gary said this a few days ago: "I started having a Big House dream, but then I woke up. I got as far as seeing the bottom half of the house, but I didn't look up to see the rest of it. But, it was surrounded by water, not a moat, more like a lake. Of course, as usual, there were squatters, and we were visiting our own house. But this was new, the guy who paddled us across the lake didn't recognize us. Then I woke up."

"Well, that's not much of a dream."

"That's okay. I'll finish it later this week."

Yes, my Matrix - Philip K Dick - Alice in Wonderland obsessed husband is able to dream in installments. "Oh, I've always been able to do that. You don't do that?" No, you freak. He says that he'll be back to the Big House (specifically, back to the very same Big Stone House on the Lake) this week. I think this one is easy. The Rock House on the big body of water? That's pretty obviously the BNL cruise.

My Dream

While Gary's out there watching dream re-runs, I dreamed a dream with two unreal events in it.

First thing, I ran in to one of my college boyfriends, Dave, and decided I was going to have a affair with him. I have never had an affair even in a fantasy, much less a dream. I always do Gary the courtesy of at least killing him off. This time, though, I made quite the conscious decision to cheat on him with Dave the college boyfriend.

However, Dave was not in luck, because as the sex with Dave started, I became aroused, and glanced down to see that I had grown an erect penis above my vagina. I thought perhaps I could pass it off as a clitoris, but when it curved up to my navel I realized I should honestly call Dave's attention to it.

"That's okay," said Dave (It happens to everyone), "I was almost done anyway." And then he was, by his own hand, done.

First of all, and this was odd, the whole sexual experience took less than two minutes, and second, it seems my old friend Dave ejaculates something that looks like cappuccino foam with raw egg whites beaten in*. Oh, and I had a penis. I really don't know what this means.

* I AM allergic to raw egg whites. Freudian?

T-Minus 5

Reasons I Don't Twitter

As I understand it, twitter is essentially texting, which is essentially Instant Messaging. Please review an example of an IM when we worked at Elliott:

Marcia: Hey, I have a question
Me: What
Marcia: Can you come over?
Me: busy
Marcia: We were thinking of getting Chinese, do you want some?
Me: fried rice
Marcia: Do you want to go out or get delivery
Me: busy
Marcia: stop working a minute
Me: I AM BLOCKING YOU

(Can you picture me with kids? "STOP PESTERING ME CHILD! I AM BLOCKING YOU. YOU ARE DISMISSED.")

or as posted before:

Me: su does hwe want us to tesat the product befoire or after>
Caroline: Before, I would imagine.
Me: welkl hbouw does he expct us to test it without a sigbed contratc?
Caroline: Get. An. MRI.

IM now has developed into another type of pestering, text messaging. I do not have a text plan on the iPhone because up till this year, Arzanna-fay was the only one who has ever texted me, and she has important things to say, both on IM and text. So, instead of the five dollar a month text messaging option, we got the pay-as-you go option, and I have no idea how much I'm paying, so I assume it's five dollars a text. So, here is an example of a text conversation from last night, as I was driving to Friend 1's birthday party. From out of the blue:

.75
Tell Cat and Graq I am going 2 B late
Me
noyb there yet
I don't text
.75
Well I aint calling a noisy bar! : P
Me
Not even there
Basaaaaad traffic
Dmanotdpnt make me text
Not ok plano
not on plan
.75
U dont * have 2 reply
Me
K
(later)
Thor that pissarr u off
.75
Have 2 have the last word huh?

* Through that whole conversation it annoyed me that .75 did not use apostrophes when appropriate.

Text messaging has now branched out into twittering. I would not have the patience for any spell check, and any replies would have met with "BUSY." So, essentially, were I to have twittered yesterday:

I am eatig a donut
I am eating leftoverpizza
Gary has had glass in his foot for a wekke and finally got it taken out. Thanks be top the patron saint of glass.
the Carter institue has almost eradicatyed the painful worms thar eat theior way out of your body. Yay!
My high sckool latin teacher once told our class he and his friends would take down theoir pants and do something called squirelling which was like swordfighting with ther penises. penii. I don't know why this didn't shock me.,
Stocks r boring 2day. Only down 14 - yawn.
2 projects cncelled. I am going 2 b laid off
Back on another project. Boss says not to worry
Pasta House found my sungl;asses! Yay!
Sitting in traffic on way to Catherines party at McGurks
Gah
F'ing tradfic
Eating steak and loing island iced trea
Holly is here! Yay! looks skinny and just had a robot take out her uterus.
Gah. Irish music is loud. Leaving.

As a coda, Gary thinks Twitter is genius. I think Gary should twitter. He was just in bed with me and out of the blue asked me what research papers I had written in college. ("Sex Roles in the Tlingit Indian Society.") He needs another outlet for that shit.

T-Minus 6

A woman at work is quite a wordsmith:

"I don't see any one on our team going all clock tower any time soon."

"A teacher friend of mine calls them 'helicopter parents' - they hover noisily."

T-Minus 7

This morning, TeddyJ treated me to:

Donuts
Bagels
Minimization of my entire personality to a label
Free coffee

Yes, TeddyJ says I'm a Perfectionist, based on my answers to the DISC Assessment.  (If you are familiar with Meyers-Briggs (INTPs rule!),  it's like that, only less complex.) I'm a Perfectionist because I gave myself low scores in Dominance and Influence and strong scores in the Steadiness and Conscientious categories.

My co-workers also got to let me know what my strengths and weaknesses are by individually sticking orange dots on the chart below. Dominance: green, Influence: orange, Steadiness, yellow, and I know this isn't in a parallel form but Conscientious: purple.

 

DOES ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR JUMP OUT AT YOU? she screamed, directly, in her undiplomatic way.

T-Minus 8

Since the sale at the pricey West County store, artwork has overwhelmed my house, I have all that artwork, plus the "artwork" I unearthed at Moms, including this primitive:

 

With all this redecorating Gary has decided he wants to participate. He is going to take the dog's kibble (the kibble he sprinkles on top of the mixture of Minute Rice and turkey in gravy):

 

...take it out of the bag, and instead display it in an attractive vase:

 

All his idea, just like Martha Stewart. Clearly he has been sucking the estrogen from my body in my sleep.

T-Minus 9

More grimness! What is with me?

So, it's true what they say, the holiday season is rough if you've lost a loved one.  I wasn't expecting it to be rough on Thanksgiving, because Thanksgiving was never really a Mom holiday, given the heavy turkey and Mom's 5-pound weight limit.

Still, we'd always go visit Mom and bring her a plate of Wilma food, and we unwisely dropped by the house to pick up some stuff, and surprise! Mom was not there! Commence crying all night.

Here is where it gets strange: I cried, of course, as you do, but after I had the big snot suck at the end of of the cry (the therapeutic part during which you supposedly grow and heal and square your shoulders bravely and soldier on), I did not not feel one bit better. I woke up the next day and I was still sad.

This is the point at which Friend #3 barks, "Duh! It's your Mom! You aren't getting over that so fast." But here's the thing, or rather, here are the things:

Thing 1)

I've been fascinated recently with the coping strategies people use in lieu of a good cry, or when a good cry doesn't help. For example, I eat. I ate quite recklessly the three months after Mom died. "I can have a homemade Ben and Jerry's Heath Toffee Bar Crunch sundae with hot fudge and pecans and whipped cream because fuck it, I'm an orphan." I eventually ate so much I screwed up my blood sugar and got a threatening letter from the doctor.

So, I've straightened that out, which leaves knitting, drugs, and alcohol. Oh, or cooking, which a work friend relies on the relieve her stress. My own particular drug and its dosage acts on my thoughts, not my emotions, so that's no good. However ... I did notice today that some alcohol has passed my lips every day for the past week. Shot of Baileys; I had to know what limoncello tastes like; wanted to see if I could drink the Patron straight; etc. It's atypical for me. It's a slippery slope. So I'm back to eating, but that can't go on.

Thing 2)

I know there are some things that take time to heal, and even some things that should never heal (such as resentments vital to your self-esteem). I think Mom is one of those things that should never heal. I should be sad about that the rest of my life.

I wonder what other people do when they have sadness they can't cry out. I can avoid the constant irrational sadness, now I need to learn how to live with constant rational sadness. Friend #3 says, "It's only been seven months. Give yourself some time." And I respond, "You know what's good? Fried chicken."