Two more weeks

In two weeks, the semester and all related work will be tied up and I can start leading a slightly more normal life. Until then, it's grade, grade, grade, grade, climb a little, grade, grade, bullshit on IM, grade, climb, grade, grade grade.

I am working less this summer, which is good news. The bad news, of course, is that I'll have less money. However, at this point, it is more important for me to rest than it is for me to make money. Sure, I am habitually broke. Of course I am. But I can't ignore the fact that physically I am falling apart. (I fell apart mentally a long time ago). So I am going to rest. And blog, hopefully.

What are you doing this summer?

Flowers for you

Thanks to all of you who keep stopping by even though my blog has been so not interesting lately. Have some flowers.



And a picture of my dad, the medical unicorn.



I also took some good pictures of the family hanging out in the back yard around the fire pit. But all of them disclose the identities of not just me, but also my people. And they might not like that. So here is a picture of the rabbit ranch.



I will try to have a real post soon. Promise.

My people

Friday night at dinner, the game was "to say words that start with the 'ch' sound only".

Pop: chihuahua
Buzz: china
Leta: chisel
Nina: chin
Liam: chalupa


Pop: chomp
Buzz: chore
Leta: chill
Nina: chastity
Liam: what?

Pop: chop
Buzz: champion
Leta: cello
Nina: challis
Liam: choo choo train


Pop: chafe
Buzz: chow
Leta: chew
Nina: chink
Liam: chocolate


Do we sound boring to you at all? How about the next day when the game was to think of as many names for the wood-pecker in the maple tree... and we settled on "Bore"?

I am climbing tonight. Have a chalky Monday.

33

Today is April 25, 2008, and as soon as I do my laundry, wash dishes, vacuum, dust, deposit my paycheck, fill out a form, fax a form, climb for an hour, run for an hour, wash my inexcusably long hair, and pack my bag...

I am going to New Jersey to see my dad, my brother, my Leta and my Liam. Last time I was there, I took a picture of this creature in the back yard:



I'll take more pictures this weekend, and maybe even post a few of my dad, who alive and well 33 weeks after he was told he had 2 weeks to live.

Wheeeeeee.

See you tomorrow.

Grace

Dear Jesus,

Please do not create any more stupid people. We are full up, here.

Love,

Nina

PS Please please please? I mean, honestly. Why is it that people who spell their own NAMES incorrectly are... never mind. Jesus, please give me the grace not to kill them. Thanks. Sort of.

3o

Leave now and go by Woodrow's place and wish him a happy birthday. Make sure your comment is polite, friendly and conveys a proper sense of appreciation for the specialness of his blog and the momentousness of turning 30, which he is. Today.

Now that you are back, read the following:

About a month ago, I sent a small cardboard box out to my Woodrow. I made him socks for his Oklahoman feet just because... ok I didn't really have a reason. The great spirit made me do it.

So anyway a few weeks later, I was surprised to find not one, but two package slips taped to my mailbox. Both were marked with my real name and then in parenthesis: NINA?

I opened the first box and found in it several fun and surprising items:

Venison jerky made from a deer shot by Woodrow, sliced up by Woodrow, marinated by Woodrow, and placed in a dehydrating machine by Woodrow - and thereafter bagged and mailed by Woodrow. In a bag with my name on it.



I was also delighted to receive three new things to read, one of which is a copy of Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat, complete with bent corners.



Imagine my euphoric swoon when I discovered, tucked up against the side of the box, this:



I am sure you all know that the beer went right into the freezer so I could crack it open and get gloriously half-drunk. Right there in the middle of the afternoon.

Next, I discovered some items that puzzled me. There were are 1500 of these in the box:



Confused much?

So was I, until I opened the other box. Holy crap.







If you think I swooned when I saw the beer, just imagine the delirium caused by this magnificent gift. I opened this here gun, drank the beer (newly cooled by the freezer) and proceeded to shred the can with live ammunition. Then I shot up some old magazines, a pair of old running shoes, and why, just the other day, I shot the dead leaves off a houseplant.

I am a happy woman.

I have told a few people about my gun and I find the response is mixed. My dad, who has never touched a gun in his life, instantly said "You'll shoot your eye out, kid." My two best climbing friends looked at me with compassion and understanding and then gently suggested that, well, even though I haven't held up very well in the last few months, I still had a lot to live for. Perhaps it wasn't quite time to commit self harm.

I haven't talked to P about this yet, but I know what she'd say. She would say, "Yo, you should totes have me over for a shooting party." Right, P?

My sister was eerily silent for a half a second. Then she said, and said, "Yo, that's so awesome. You should totally make out with him."

And then I had to explain that he is an imaginary friend, a person who lives in my computer. A vapor, practically. And she doesn't get it. And I don't blame her, because I don't either.

One minute, I want to put on an apron and fix him some eggs. The next minute I want to h*ump his leg. Then I won't think about him for a whole day or two, but when I do I'll be thinking how fun it would be if I could set him up with P and then I could find some idjit to boyfriend me and we could all go out on double dates. Never mind that P already has an excellent boyfriend. And then the geography confuses those plans and I spend an hour or so drawing little hearts in the margins of my notebook. And then I go shoot more stuff and try to figure out, again, which one of my friends to set him up with. You know, when he happens to be in New York. (He has no business here, I am pretty sure). Other times I want to give him is vitamins and scrub him behind his ears and remind him to floss. I want to bake him cookies and fold his laundry and when he tells me his boy has fallen off the swings and bumped his head, my heart cracks a little. And then I am back to scrambling eggs and the great spirit tells me to knit more socks. I also get a little snappish if other girls leave flirty comments on his blog. As if they have any clue how special he is. Thou shalt not molesteth my Woodrow! How dare they? Really.

Woodrow, I internet love you, which I guess means I love you just about as much as girl can love a guy she has never met. On the internet.

Happy Birthday, honey.

Blog love gone wild

You all might remember that whallago I promised to write about blog love, a subject that thrills and confuses me -- but mostly just makes me wiggle around in my pajamas with child-like glee.

Seriously, I do that. I wiggle with glee when I find someone new and fun to read, someone I think no one knows about but me... some new blog love all my own, a new blog I can dip into and read and then return to my bloglines list without anyone knowing a thing about it.

Last couple of months, however, things got a little weird, and I found myself experiencing real jealousy for the first time in my life. It first happened when I discovered that my beloved Avi had somehow discovered the wonder of my Maggie and when I discovered that the love of my internet life, Woodrow had also been dipping into Maggie's blog and had alluded - not offered, mind you, but alluded to a willingness to impregnate her.

I kind of lost my shit.

Maggie, according to me, was MINE. How dare people click on all those links in my blogroll and visit my top secret blog friends? How DARE?

Then when I read carefully, I saw that my other top secret blog love, P, had been over to Woodrow's One Man Internet Bordello* and was all BFFs with him, too. The one true love of my internet life was all cuddled up nice and cozy with my top secret blog love! I was crushed. Betrayed on both sides. Everyone all meeting for beers and nachos and not even, like, being shy about it.

And not so very long after than, my own beloved, Julie was openly asking for new internet friends. And that sent me into a paroxysm of jealousy. My Julie.... she is mine, internet. Between Julie and me, it is not merely chatting and giggling, I can tell her anything. Anything, no matter how ugly and wrong. She is my second self, my dark twin, my confessor.

And then she suddenly wanted other internet loves. Jesus. Can you even fathom the pain?

Of course, I realized on the quick side that these feelings were absurd and irrational and the opposite of nice.

As therapy, I decided to create a mighty tribute post to everyone who had EVER stopped by my blog and commented. The plan was to out all my secret blog loves all at once so that I was sharing all that goodness I had found on my internets without prejudice. It was a painful exercise, and after I accomplished it, I thought surely I would feel better.

I didn't. The result is that now even Em has been discovered by Avitable and Woodrow. I don't even have Annie all to myself anymore.

Since then, I have had more than one reason to reflect, that is to say think long and hard, about my peculiar jealous affection for people who live in the computer. But before I say more on this subject, I would like to know what you... the people who live in my computer... have to say about my brand of internet crazy.

Say something. Anything.

* Check back later today. I have lots more to say about blog love, especially of the Woodrow variety.

And it goes to zero

Two weeks ago, I sent an email to my dad listing the dates I would be available for a family vacation this summer. I also listed the dates that I had professional obligations that would bring me within driving distance of his place. Since I knew that their schedule was pretty packed this summer, I left told him that I would come back from Africa early if that's what it would take to make a family vacation possible.

For a few days I was puzzled that I didn't hear back from him. Since I copied his wife on the email, I figured there was no chance it had gone astray. After fours days and no reply, I started crying just a little bit. When I hit the seven day mark, I cried a whole lot, finalized my plans for Africa, and moved on.

My brother Buzz has never been thrilled with the idea of me going to Africa. He didn't love it the first time I did it, and now that I will be visiting the country right next door to Kenya, he is the opposite of happy. When I told him I had booked the trip and why, he told me that Dad had written an email in response to my email as part of a reply to some other email he had gotten from Leta. And had forgotten (somehow) to copy me. Or whatever. So my brother was the only person who knew that the only time it is convenient for my dad and his wife for us all to get together are the first two weeks of August, which is precisely when I will be in Africa. The rest of their summer is already wall to wall with plans.

So now there will be no family vacation and I will be going to Africa and my brother is the opposite of happy with me and who the hell knows how my dad feels about any of it? He knew the dates I was planning my trip back in January, so the fact that the only dates that he declared it ok for us to visit happen to be the only dates when I can't make it? What does that mean, exactly?

I am done. Done letting other people tell me what is important, done putting other people's feelings first, done bleeding money to see people who think they are doing me a favor. And I am most especially done letting my dad hurt me.

So if anyone notices my anxiety level flat-lining as if I were in a coma, please note that it is no accident. There really does reach a point where "it" goes well beyond not sweating the small stuff. I am sweating NO stuff.

Lalalalalalala.

Happy Tuesday.

Sixty One

... is the number of papers I have graded today. The sad thing is that most of them are just as bad as the first draft because no one paid attention to my comments in the first place.

Y'all might have noticed that under a crushing workload, mandatory Kili training, and the opposite of leniency from my friends regarding my burying myself in work, the blog is suffering. In fact, it is barely existing.

All I can say is there will come a day when I write something substantial again. And there will come a time when I respond to comments and visit all your blogs, too. It just isn't going to be today. Instead, have another picture of me. For no reason. Oh and in this one, I was five.




See you tomorrow?

Sin of the week, 4/20/08 *updated*

I could give you the mitigating factors, but why take the sting out of it? Why not just go all the damned way for it?

Here it is:

I have been flirting with, carrying on a pre-affair...

with a married man.

Yes, me. Nina alone-a-lot. Nina judgmental and prudish. Nina never does anything racy or dangerous (unless you count sporting activities), has been engaged in conversation way too personal and way too friendly with a person of the opposite sex who is currently married.

Does it count that his marriage is circling the drain? Does it count that he is, uh separated? Does it help matters at all that his wife is already seeing someone else? Do I feel any better about the fact that aside from talking to him on the phone, nothing has "happened" between us?

I am going to go hold my body parts over lit candles now, just so I can be sure I know what hell is like.

*update: I am not having an affair with a married man. Everyone calm down. This is a friend thing. He just happens to be a going through a tough divorce and we talk. Mostly about how he is getting divorced and how much it sucks. So calm down, ok? *

See you tomorrow. That is unless I get hit by a truck and then go to the hot and fiery place.

*air-kiss*

Yesterday's pictures

Yesterday as I left for class, I discovered that my neighborhood was on lock down. Crowds gathered on the overpass to watch the Pope Benedict arrive at the UN:



These festivities nearly made me late for work. For one thing I had to take pictures of the security preparations:







Then I did my stuff and went to the gym:





That last picture is not me... but it is one of my best friends. We were out with the two guys in the picture until well after midnight, which is why I didn't post yesterday. I hope you can forgive me.

Love,
Nina

Finally

I am getting better at climbing. Finally, finally. I finished a few routes last night, and it took three instead of two and a half hours for me to burn my hands out. Progress made.

Other news: we are looking into a trip to Boulder, CO for Memorial Day Weekend. Can we afford it? Not really. But when we consider that it's three nights and we can camp for two of them... well... it starts looking less expensive. Now all we need are men-folk to gather fire wood and drive our tent stakes. OK maybe we don't need them, but they would be nice.

Additional other news: I am now almost sort of caught up on my job. Ok not really. But a little bit caught up. And next week is a lighter week, which I will need while I push myself up and down all manner of stairs.

Fortunately, my dearest P made me the most fun and inspiring workout CD ever. Take a look see:





Please note: I DID recently receive other blogger gifts that are so fabuloso that I am still swooning. Swooning so completely that I have not yet written about them. Fortunately, the statute of post limitations doesn't run out until next week.

What is the most excellent gift you ever received from a fellow blogger? (If you haven't received any yet, let us know that, too. Knitting season is coming sooner than you think).

Love,
Nina

47

What's that, you say?

It's the number of papers I need to grade by the end of the day. Rewrites, most of them, but damn... It is going to be a rough day. And yes, I am going to the gym tonight.


Oh and here's your Larry update: We went out to dinner the other night (that would be the night I got told to come to Jesus) and Pax, the only one of us who still hangs out with Larry, has recently learned that Larry and his new crew of sycophants climb at our gym.

You might be wondering, since we are in that gym on a near daily basis, how we could never have seen him. Well, I'll tell you. It's because of Thursday.

Sri works late on Thursday. I have a meeting every Thursday night until 830. Bibi doesn't like to climb alone, and so she never goes on Thursday.

Larry always climbs on Thursday and on no other day. (If you were reading back when I told the Larry story, you know how busy a boy he is. Click on that Larry label if you care to find out).

Initially, we were all grossed out beyond measure to know that such a disgusting person was all over our climbing holds, that on Friday nights when we showed up to climb, the wall would still be hot with his nastiness.

Then we had another thought: we know his schedule. We never have to see him there if we don't want to.

And then we had a third thought. If we do want to run into him, say, on a Thursday, we know just where to find him. Sri's idea is that sometime just before Kili, we should all show up to climb on a Thursday, just to wreck his day and make him all itchy and uncomfortable.

Could we be any more immature and vengeful? I think not.

Happy Wednesday.

Mean girls

I had another bruising night at the gym. After getting crushed and tearing my hands to bits, we went to Rachel's, one of the many restaurants that will seat a bunch of girls covered in chalk and sporting inexcusable hair. At Rachel's, we compared our calendars and mapped out our training schedule for the summer. We will be climbing Mt. Washington, Mt. Marcy, and if Sri has her way, we'll be going out to Colorado to climb Snowmass Mountain. We will also be hopping Breakneck a whole bunch of times and we'll do Gertrude's Nose a whole bunch too.

After reviewing this training schedule in its full glory, I started to feel a little bit trembly and squeamish.

Have I mentioned I am thick and ordinary? Have I told you I have been face first in a plate of cookies for the last eight months?

Yes. I have mentioned. I have told. You totally know.

Guess who else knows? My awesome (but mean) friends, who staged what might be categorized as a climbing intervention last night by saying, in no so many words:

We are not going to Africa and leaving a climber at camp five. We are ALL summiting. Time to come to Jesus, Nina.

OK so perhaps they didn't mention Jesus, seeing as one is Jewish, one is Buddhist, and the other is Muslim. But isn't it Jesus who is supposed to hook you up when you are short on whatever goodness you need to do better?

Right Right?

Tune in tomorrow for a Larry update. Yes, there is one.

Fun and foreboding

Yesterday was my second day (or third?) back climbing, and I am beginning to get the feel of it back. The problem, of course, is that I now "know" how to climb a route, but I can't complete most of them because I am not strong enough. Not cool. Not cool at all.

On the other hand, it is gratifying to watch Sri climb, since she has made so much progress.

I don't have an adjective for yesterday's other developments at the gym.

One feature of climbing is the friendliness of climbers, especially toward other climbers. So yesterday we were climbing for over three hours, off and on, with an equal number of guys who were alternately coaching and spotting us. It was all very friendly, when you consider spotting often involves grabbing the climber's ass as he (or she) falls.

After we were all good and tired, we went out for tacos and made plans to climb in the Gunks next weekend.

How long do you all think it will take before this all goes from innocent good clean fun to someone running off into the woods to make out with one of those boys?

Not long, I say. And while I am glad we have new climbing friends, I hope - while not really hoping - that no drama comes of this development.

Oh and my hands really hurt. And I am really sore. And I have less than 90 days to get back in shape.

Happy Monday.

Sin of the week, 4/13/08

If staring at my nipples in a cold, detached, medical way is a sin, then it has been a bad week for me, spiritually speaking. Other than that, I have no spectacular crimes to report. Unless you count pervasive laziness, which I sometimes do, but which I never consider interesting enough to write about. After all, how exciting is it to read about how much I sat still and did nothing when I should have been doing something, anything else?

Not very.

I am going climbing today.



I am pervasively tired (see above laziness), so I don't expect it to be a high energy kind of climbing day. I am just going to show up because I hear that helps.

Excellent Sunday to you, and I"ll see you tomorrow.

Weekend workout

So I am off to NJ this weekend to play with the adorable and never ending talk-a-thon, Liam.



We are going to build a fire tonight:




And at least one of us will noing on some Bobby:



I will report tomorrow evening after a full schedule of noinging and chasing Liam around the yard. Yes, it counts as Kili training.

Happy Saturday.

As requested

So my pal Em dropped by a few minutes ago and expressed an interest in seeing a picture of my Julie, my person that I talk to all day long on instant messenger because, gosh, Julie and I are joined at the back of the mind.

Simpatico. Obviamente.

Take a look how cute she is:



You're welcome. Have a good weekend.

This was Val's idea

Valerie said something about post a picture of yourself. So here's one.

*** picture removed due to my craziness - catch me next time ***

I don't have a favorite, but this one looks like me. Sort of. Anyway it's only staying up for an hour because I am weird like that.

$1040 an hour

Powered By limobus


I was really pleased with this result until I realized that other women are worth more. Dammit. Don't my sweater orbs count for something? How about my silliness? And my lack of uninhibitedness? No?

Whatever.

Oh and thanks to Neilochka for posting this first.

Overheard at the gym

Marco, route setter and trainer: So Nina's back.

Curly, lead climber: Yeah.

Marco: how long was she gone, you think?

Curly: too long, apparently. She's wrecked.

Marco: Yeah.

Curly: (laughing) I heard her bitching to Sri that her fingers hurt.

Marco: Jesus.

Curly: Yeah, well she lost all her conditioning. She's like a baby all over again.

Marco: Anyone know where she's been?

Curly: Something about being busy or something.

Marco: Well she looks like shit. She's going to have to turn it up if she wants to summit Kili.

Curly: I imagine she will. No choice, really.

Marco: Sri looks great.

Curly: Yeah. Nina brought her here totally green about a year ago and now she can kick Nina's ass.

Marco: Bet it pisses her off.

Curly: (laughing) Then you don't know Nina. She could care less. Happy for her, I imagine.


First of all, I only overheard the first half of that conversation. Sri overheard the second. And you would think, wouldn't you? that it stings.

It doesn't sting.

And anyway, it's all true. I re-suck at climbing, Sri can kick my ass, and I am happy for her. And I am going to have to turn it up the ELEVEN if I think I am going to be able to climb Kili or any other damn thing this summer.

So starting now, if you catch me on email or IM or my new nemesis, Gchat, please tell me to put down the whiskey, step away from the computer, and go run some stairs. I have a little more than 90 days and I need every single one of them.

Thursday is a long day. I hope yours is good.

Excellent People

Recently I received the Excellent Blog Award from bloggers who are far better at what we do and far more deserving of praise than I.



Tenseteacher, Jane, and Finn, thank you.

Kayla started it, and the rules are that if you receive the award, you should pass it on to ten people. Happily, I can point y'all to ten excellent blogs without any trouble whatsoever.

Go check out:

Julie
Woodrow
LizB
LAS
P
Dagny
Chiropteran
Kate P
Charlene
Nightfly
Say it
Utenzi

Yeah, that's twelve. Who's counting?

Happy Wednesday.

Agony Sweater

It is a black cashmere cardigan with a roll neck and a clever and flattering sash. It is cozy warm and delightful. It is exactly what one wants to apply to one's person when one is feeling sorry for oneself for every reason in the known universe - and is eating Cheetos in front of the computer.

My sister Leta wore it when her aunt was dying of cancer. She wore it the entire time she was in labor with Liam. She handed it off to me when my dad was in the ICU on a ventilator, and I wore it every day while we were there. I gave it back to her this fall when things got especially rough around her house and she has been curled up in it for the past several months, hoping that some day her child would take a breath and stop talking. (See below).

I made the mistake this weekend of heading out the their place in a t-shirt and track pants. This was fine until the temperature dropped to forty.

So I am now in possession of the agony sweater.

The trouble is, for the first time in six months or so, I am short on agony.

I am sleeping at night. I am getting work done. I am seeing my friends deliberately. I am making it to the gym because I feel like it.

Is this what it is like to be happy?

Damn, it's nice.

(Oh by the way: did you like me better when I was always bitching? Just curious).

Three years old

Nini there was a rocketship and in it there were some dogs doing things in there and it went high up in the sky and sonic with flames and you should see it there. See it? Nini? There's also birds here shabbed in the carpet with wings and beaks and it's way in there if you can just see their beaks. They are shabbed in there. Nini?

What does shabbed mean, Liam?

Oh well you get shabbed when you are flying high in the sky and you fly through the carpet and you just get shabbed in there. See? These birds are shabbed in there.

Does shabbed mean stuck?

No no no no, Nini. No they are shabbed. Right in there. See what they are doing in their with beaks and wings?

... shabbing?

No no no no, Nini, they are shabbed. Right in there. Take a look and see how they are doing in there.

...

Shabbed.

Shabbed. Oh Nini here I got this for you.





Thank you, Liam. How is this? Is this also shabbed?


No no no no, Nini. Only birds and rocketship dogs can get shabbed up in the carpet there.


(He pauses to regard the tiny flower).


How you doing, Nini?


Liam, I am a little bit shabbed.


No no no no, Nini, you can't get shabbed. You are a person.

Really?

Yeah yeah you are. Whole person, no beaks or wings.

I beg to differ.

Nini you can't get shabbed.

Then why can't I get off this carpet. I am stuck to it. I can't get up.

You can Nini you just have to try it.

No no no no Liam. I am shabbed. In the carpet.


(Liam pauses to consider).

Put your flower down. I'll be right back!

(Liam disappears into the living room. Less than a minute later he returns, wearing a plastic tool belt and a fireman hat. He is carrying a toy fork lift.

Let's try this so we can ride bikes. You go onto this forklight and then you won't be shabbed. Put down your flower. And go on this forklift.



And so I permitted myself to be rescued from the carpet shabbery so I could ride bikes.


And that was my weekend. How was yours?

Sin of the Week, 4/6/08

I had several drinks. I had about four, actually.

And then before I knew it, I was at a comedy club down in Soho.



Then a bunch of girls were dancing around in their underwear. That wasn't very interesting.

Then a bunch of boys were dancing around totally naked.

Damn those girls. Oh wait. I have confused myself.

At The Pit Friday night. Couple of beers. Bibi and Sri. And me. And serendipitously, it was Naked Boys Improv night (I really don't think this was serendipitous, myself - nor was it an accident; my friends have been punishing me for being a crappy friend - more on this later). So without really knowing what to expect, I watched clever smart boys (they were all under 30, certainly) performing various skits and improv-ing quite well and then, well, gosh. They started stripping. And then one after another, they all took their pants off and I was staring at six naked men. Or was it seven? Good lord. It could have been eight, for all I know. I just know it was a whole lot of naked for a woman who hasn't been on a date in two years.

Was this display of manflesh exciting? Well, it was funny. Did it turn me on? Not even slightly.

So was it a sin?

Anyway I did smoke a whole bunch of hooka later that night and I might have had a martini and several Jack and cokes. Sin enough for one week, anyway.

See you tomorrow.

In NJ

And really can't post... until tomorrow.

Recipe

The work week is over and I have to not a lot to say for myself except, wow. This apartment is inexcusably dirty and wow. I have to straighten all this out before I head out for the weekend.

So instead of saying something grotesque or inappropriate, like I almost always do, I deliver to you a shock of a different kind:





Cheap, easy, fool-proof, disgusting sweet goodness. Think I am kidding? Make the bake.

Have a good weekend.

Don't ask why

Last night on the elevator, I was standing next to a man. Looks, age and weight class unimportant. We were ignoring each other as people are supposed to do on elevators, so you can imagine my (un)surprise when, as the elevator stopped at floor eleven, he turned to me as said:

I need a bigger boat.

And then he walked off the elevator as if that was the same thing as saying have a nice evening and I will doubtless never see him again so ask what he meant when he told me about his boat problem. Perhaps it was just a metaphor?

This morning on my way to the 7 train, a woman in a long blue dress and a veil stopped me and said:

Thank you for sweatin' it with my workin' spirit.

Oh. Okay.

And finally this afternoon, I was talking with a student. I was trying to explain to him that in place of the word "female" it would be best to use the word "woman" - especially when referring to adult humans of the XX chromosomal arrangement. Below, our conversation.

Why?

Because the word woman includes both the notion that female creatures of our species are, in fact, one of us. Human.

I don't get it.

When you say "female" instead of "woman" you might be referring to any number of breeding zoo animals. Women are people.

Miss, have you seen some of the bitches on MTV?

I am Nina's complete lack of surprise.

See you tomorrow.

It's really dirty in here

No, no, not that kind of dirty.

I am referring to the fact that I can't really find time to do normal things, like housework, blog posting, working out - hell, even showering has to be squeezed in between emails and seemingly endless stacks of papers that are screaming to be graded.

Damn it all.

Why do I do this to myself?

Oh. Right. So I can pay bills and travel.

I have nearly reached the point where I call out sick so I can right my ship. Oh wait! I did that last week! And my ship was righted for about half a day before the whole nother big wave of crazy capsized me again.

So anyway when I woke up at dawn, I took this picture for you:




In the area of good news not yet reported:

1) my knee is no longer mysteriously sprained
2) I slept a reasonable number of hours, three nights in a row (yes, that's a big deal)

And yes there is a mega-post in the works about a box (or two) of goodness I received in the mail last week from my favorite blogger. Yes, I do have a favorite. Deal with it. (Ok, I love everyone but this week I love one particular blogger, extra).

Love,

Nina

Oh really?

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

I bet I could make it twice that long. The quiz doesn't take into consideration that I do very well all by myself - am in fact 95% introverted and domestic and have a job I can do from home. Or that there is door to door grocery delivery, online billpay and what the heck, there is a grocery store in my building. And yes, the whole building is home.

I could, if I chose to, never leave this building again. Literally.

How weird is that?

Oh and yes I am recently armed and I'll blog about it soon. I just can't seem to get more than ten consecutive minutes.

(Probably) never seeing anyone ever again,

Nina