Yesterday's post was a ruse. Some people DO like sex more than other people and care about it more, too. I just don't see having a high sex drive a unusual or unique or important aspect of a person's being. Even if you do it every! single! day! How much of your time does that take, exactly? Yeah. Not much.
I am a less sexual person than most. Unless there is a marriage and a baby in it for me, I could happily go the rest of my life without ever seeing a naked man. How unfun am I?
Anyway, since I am being gross this weekend, I thought I would solicit your opinion about something that I am a bit __________ about. I might be __________ about it because of my above-revealed unusualness, but never mind.
Behold the conversation I had with my three-year old nephew Liam on Wednesday as I was strapping him into his car seat.
Nina: Please hold still. I can't find the leg strap thing.
Liam: It is under my butt. (Here he arches and extracts it for me).
Nina: Hold still, please. I can't get these untwisted.
Liam: OK. (Here he holds perfectly still and observes me not succeeding and fastening the straps).
Nina: This one here... it's just... (Here Liam helpfully secures the button in the proper position and "click" - he is in).
Liam: Yay!
Nina: Whew! That belly strap was a struggle, huh?
Liam: Actually that strap is close to my penis. (Here he points helpfully to the securing mechanism, which is, in fact, pretty close to the region he specified).
Nina: Yes, I see. Ok, hands and feet in. I am going to close the door.
So then I shut the door and reflected: had my brother and his wife done this right when they decided to refer to all body parts by their clinical names and to attach no special importance at all parts that will be necessary for future reproduction? Their intentions were good: they didn't want their kid to have body/shame issues and they didn't want his manparts to be any more important in his emotional register than any other parts.
But the kid, at three, will mention is stuff (albeit, if there is a reason) any old time without thinking twice.
I am leaning toward saying: eh, this is fine. He is totally innocent. He exhibits no weirdness except for having a big vocabulary and a lack of... here is where I get unclear - awareness that most people don't mention their stuff to other people, even if there is a reason. Or do they? Damn. I don't even know.
Also, he is three. He gets a break for not understanding social nuances until he is at least ten. Or maybe much older. Hell, I still don't get most of those nuances myself.
Your opinion please. Will Liam turn out to be
a) inappropriate and sexually awkward
b) fine
c) something else
Gracias. Oh and to all of you showing up wanting an update on my dad: he still feels fine. He is still (maybe, probably, who knows) very sick. Tomorrow, being father's day and all, I will post about him and his status at greater length.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
This doesn't matter
For no particular reason, I have been thinking about the statement many people make regarding their sexual selves. The statement is:
"I am a very sexual person."
People the world over say this very thing - usually to someone they wish to engage in reproductive behavior with - all the time. The implication is that the speaker is relating something about him or herself that is unique and special - different - worth pointing out, when in fact, any human being possessing reproductive gear labors under constant hormonal signals to breed. It is part of the human situation.
So if you say to me that you are a sexual person in a manner suggesting that you are letting me in on some very important and one of a kind fact about yourself, I am going to call you out on that bullshit. Instantly. Especially if you are a man trying to convince me to remove my underwear and your "I am a very sexual person" bit is supposed to let me know that your really very unique and refined and one of a kind sexual drives and desires are my problem. Bull. Shit.
Your turn: what thing can a person say that will automatically irritate you?
"I am a very sexual person."
People the world over say this very thing - usually to someone they wish to engage in reproductive behavior with - all the time. The implication is that the speaker is relating something about him or herself that is unique and special - different - worth pointing out, when in fact, any human being possessing reproductive gear labors under constant hormonal signals to breed. It is part of the human situation.
So if you say to me that you are a sexual person in a manner suggesting that you are letting me in on some very important and one of a kind fact about yourself, I am going to call you out on that bullshit. Instantly. Especially if you are a man trying to convince me to remove my underwear and your "I am a very sexual person" bit is supposed to let me know that your really very unique and refined and one of a kind sexual drives and desires are my problem. Bull. Shit.
Your turn: what thing can a person say that will automatically irritate you?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Strongly scotch marshmallow (with baby)
Tuesday I went to NJ to watch Liam for the afternoon. My plan was to stay long enough to get Liam into bed and say hi to my brother when he got home from work - and then head back into the city. It turned out my brother had a compulsory work related beer to drink and he would be catching the late train. All fine. I got the toddler bathed and read him his books and played the word game and saw him close his shiny blue eyes. There was lightning in the distance, and I like lightning, so I took my book out to the front porch. Leta was in busying around in the kitchen and our familial situation was good in every way (except for the one where my dad might be dying, but that is the new normal).
About nine o'clock, the undersides of the leaves had started to turn up in the breeze, which means thunderstorm. I read one more sentence. Then I heard a sound I have never heard before - a roar like a train was coming up the back yard. Then I heard Leta scream and I stood up and saw the the rain was coming UP from the ground and the trees were bent sideways. I heard several cracks and then lightning struck a tree in the golf course about a hundred yard from me. Then the wind blew me back against the house and I had to fight to get in. When I got in Leta was standing at the sliding glass doors watching the deck furniture get tossed around the yard. I pulled her away from the window.
We then had the dumbest conversation we have ever had. Ever. And we have had some stupid ones.
"I am really scared. Is this a hurricane?" said Leta. She tried to go back by the window. A tree hit the driveway.
"No. It's probably some kind of thundernado," I said. "Get away from the window and let's get the baby into the basement."
"Oh, a thundernado," said Leta. "Do you really think we should get the baby into the basement?"
The power was out by the time I reached the top of the stairs. Leta was behind me and by this time she was crying. A tree in the front yard had split and the power lines were dangling.
I picked up Liam and we made our way down the steps in the dark. Leta focused on not screaming, and I focused on not stumbling and dropping the sleeping three year old. In the basement, we fired up the generator and watched through the window. We saw two trees come down and several transformers hit by lightning.
Can we have an intermission?
It has been a strongly bad three or four years running. (You can read about the gist of it here.) During the most recent Lent/Easter season, I tried being a re-good Catholic, and the result was poor. I ended up screaming at God like a spoiled child and saying, "I don't like you," and "You suck," and "So what about your bad day with the nails and stuff?"
Yeah.
So it was there in the basement of my brother's house, with the sleeping toddler on one side of me and my sobbing sister in law on the other, that I realized that the entire thundernado event was about me.
(See how skillfully I did that? Made an entire meteorological whirl - and the destruction of other people's home and property - about me? Do NOT try this at home. Years of training, I tell you. Years. Oh and by the way, this here thing that I am doing is called narcissism and it's a bad thing, actually, even though the results are {sometimes} funny).
Two days prior, I had been reflecting that for a 38 year old woman, I have little to show for myself. I have no husband and no children. My career (read: job) and my performance at it is unremarkable. I own nothing. No house, no car, and no real assets aside from an unimpressive retirement account. I have student loan debt to pay off from a degree I have no plans to finish. With grim satisfaction, I thought, "Gee. Everything I was ever afraid of happening actually did happen. I have nothing left to be afraid of." And then the one thing I have left to be afraid of came rushing into the room like a pack of rabid dogs: something terrible could happen to Buzz, Leta, and Liam. (Note: this is called self pity. Don't do this either, as it is so unattractive as to be toxic and will interfere with your ability to engage in even moderate narcissism.
And of course, as I was cowering in the basement Tuesday night, the sky opened up and Jesus stepped out of the firmament, wearing, as usual, a couture track suit and visor. He brought me a bag of marshmallows and a lighter. He handed them over and said,
"Nina, for a smart person, you are surely stupid in the ways of all things me. Consider this storm and its results a reminder - of the unsubtle kind - that there is still plenty of strongly bad material I can give you to make misery with - if you continue with your obstinate refusal to see anything good about anything. I'll visit with you again soon. Meantime, keep your eye on the baby and reassure Leta that all her gardening has not been in vain. Gracias. Oh and P.S. don't sweat that stuff with your dad I am on that. Adios."
Then he stepped back into the firmament and I think I might have seen my mother and her parents dealing him into a card game, but I wasn't quite sure. That my mother was wearing a velour pants suit - well, that I could see in high-def.
Thank you for the intermission. I will now continue telling the story in a normal way.
The roaring continued for fifteen minutes or so, and in that time the neighborhood lost 25 trees, two cars, a garage, and two houses (if you count having trees in them as "losing" which we kind of do since they will have to be rebuilt. After a half an hour, we thought it safe enough to go upstairs and feel around in the liquor cabinet for something to make mischief with. We found some scotch. We dared not open the freezer for ice. Upon returning to the basement, we found a lighter and in the deep recesses of the emergency food storage, a bag of marshmallows.
What a good time that was.
OK, not really.
We were still terrified, but scotch and marshmallows helped and they seemed a fitting repast as we discussed whether it might be okay to put the toddler back to bed. We decided not to try that until my brother got home, which he did, at about 11pm. The trains were not running, and he was lucky to get a taxi - but even then, it had to drop him off half a mile from home because the roads were impassable.
So he got home and we told our story and he took a flashlight outside to see if the house was okay enough to consider permitting the toddler to sleep in his bed. He decided it was, so we put the child back to bed, poured my brother a big glass of scotch and we all proceeded to freak out.
People, I am normally down for stuff like this. In general, I think it's cool when nature kicks up an interesting weather event. Nature's fury and all.
But this was not cool. It felt as if a hole had been punched in the atmosphere and everyone I had left in the world was going to get sucked out. I did not like it at all.
As promised, Jesus did stop by to discuss a general cease-fire/amnesty deal, which I will describe tomorrow. Today, I have to make phone call number four to my landlord about the 100 degree heat in my apartment. It sort of reminds me of hell, which.... never mind.
Have a good Thursday.
About nine o'clock, the undersides of the leaves had started to turn up in the breeze, which means thunderstorm. I read one more sentence. Then I heard a sound I have never heard before - a roar like a train was coming up the back yard. Then I heard Leta scream and I stood up and saw the the rain was coming UP from the ground and the trees were bent sideways. I heard several cracks and then lightning struck a tree in the golf course about a hundred yard from me. Then the wind blew me back against the house and I had to fight to get in. When I got in Leta was standing at the sliding glass doors watching the deck furniture get tossed around the yard. I pulled her away from the window.
We then had the dumbest conversation we have ever had. Ever. And we have had some stupid ones.
"I am really scared. Is this a hurricane?" said Leta. She tried to go back by the window. A tree hit the driveway.
"No. It's probably some kind of thundernado," I said. "Get away from the window and let's get the baby into the basement."
"Oh, a thundernado," said Leta. "Do you really think we should get the baby into the basement?"
The power was out by the time I reached the top of the stairs. Leta was behind me and by this time she was crying. A tree in the front yard had split and the power lines were dangling.
I picked up Liam and we made our way down the steps in the dark. Leta focused on not screaming, and I focused on not stumbling and dropping the sleeping three year old. In the basement, we fired up the generator and watched through the window. We saw two trees come down and several transformers hit by lightning.
Can we have an intermission?
It has been a strongly bad three or four years running. (You can read about the gist of it here.) During the most recent Lent/Easter season, I tried being a re-good Catholic, and the result was poor. I ended up screaming at God like a spoiled child and saying, "I don't like you," and "You suck," and "So what about your bad day with the nails and stuff?"
Yeah.
So it was there in the basement of my brother's house, with the sleeping toddler on one side of me and my sobbing sister in law on the other, that I realized that the entire thundernado event was about me.
(See how skillfully I did that? Made an entire meteorological whirl - and the destruction of other people's home and property - about me? Do NOT try this at home. Years of training, I tell you. Years. Oh and by the way, this here thing that I am doing is called narcissism and it's a bad thing, actually, even though the results are {sometimes} funny).
Two days prior, I had been reflecting that for a 38 year old woman, I have little to show for myself. I have no husband and no children. My career (read: job) and my performance at it is unremarkable. I own nothing. No house, no car, and no real assets aside from an unimpressive retirement account. I have student loan debt to pay off from a degree I have no plans to finish. With grim satisfaction, I thought, "Gee. Everything I was ever afraid of happening actually did happen. I have nothing left to be afraid of." And then the one thing I have left to be afraid of came rushing into the room like a pack of rabid dogs: something terrible could happen to Buzz, Leta, and Liam. (Note: this is called self pity. Don't do this either, as it is so unattractive as to be toxic and will interfere with your ability to engage in even moderate narcissism.
And of course, as I was cowering in the basement Tuesday night, the sky opened up and Jesus stepped out of the firmament, wearing, as usual, a couture track suit and visor. He brought me a bag of marshmallows and a lighter. He handed them over and said,
"Nina, for a smart person, you are surely stupid in the ways of all things me. Consider this storm and its results a reminder - of the unsubtle kind - that there is still plenty of strongly bad material I can give you to make misery with - if you continue with your obstinate refusal to see anything good about anything. I'll visit with you again soon. Meantime, keep your eye on the baby and reassure Leta that all her gardening has not been in vain. Gracias. Oh and P.S. don't sweat that stuff with your dad I am on that. Adios."
Then he stepped back into the firmament and I think I might have seen my mother and her parents dealing him into a card game, but I wasn't quite sure. That my mother was wearing a velour pants suit - well, that I could see in high-def.
Thank you for the intermission. I will now continue telling the story in a normal way.
The roaring continued for fifteen minutes or so, and in that time the neighborhood lost 25 trees, two cars, a garage, and two houses (if you count having trees in them as "losing" which we kind of do since they will have to be rebuilt. After a half an hour, we thought it safe enough to go upstairs and feel around in the liquor cabinet for something to make mischief with. We found some scotch. We dared not open the freezer for ice. Upon returning to the basement, we found a lighter and in the deep recesses of the emergency food storage, a bag of marshmallows.
What a good time that was.
OK, not really.
We were still terrified, but scotch and marshmallows helped and they seemed a fitting repast as we discussed whether it might be okay to put the toddler back to bed. We decided not to try that until my brother got home, which he did, at about 11pm. The trains were not running, and he was lucky to get a taxi - but even then, it had to drop him off half a mile from home because the roads were impassable.
So he got home and we told our story and he took a flashlight outside to see if the house was okay enough to consider permitting the toddler to sleep in his bed. He decided it was, so we put the child back to bed, poured my brother a big glass of scotch and we all proceeded to freak out.
People, I am normally down for stuff like this. In general, I think it's cool when nature kicks up an interesting weather event. Nature's fury and all.
But this was not cool. It felt as if a hole had been punched in the atmosphere and everyone I had left in the world was going to get sucked out. I did not like it at all.
As promised, Jesus did stop by to discuss a general cease-fire/amnesty deal, which I will describe tomorrow. Today, I have to make phone call number four to my landlord about the 100 degree heat in my apartment. It sort of reminds me of hell, which.... never mind.
Have a good Thursday.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Yesterday
Yesterday's events included
1) a train ride
2) a trip to the barber shop
3) two Richard Scarry books
4) a good talk with my dad (who is fine)
5) intermittent shrieking
6) carrying a sleeping three year old to the basement
7) in a dark house
8) listening to AM radio on the generator
9) toasting marshmallows over tea lights
10) scotch with no ice (at least we think that's what it was)
Jesus just arrived at my apartment and he brought me a bottle of liquor and some cheese. He wants to talk about a cease fire and since I am sure he is bored and sweaty, sitting over the by my broken air conditioner in the 100 degree heat, I should probably break out some shot glasses and get to talking.
Does one negotiate terms in cases such as this? Or does a person like me just take what she is offered? I think it's the last one.
I'll tell the whole story tomorrow.
1) a train ride
2) a trip to the barber shop
3) two Richard Scarry books
4) a good talk with my dad (who is fine)
5) intermittent shrieking
6) carrying a sleeping three year old to the basement
7) in a dark house
8) listening to AM radio on the generator
9) toasting marshmallows over tea lights
10) scotch with no ice (at least we think that's what it was)
Jesus just arrived at my apartment and he brought me a bottle of liquor and some cheese. He wants to talk about a cease fire and since I am sure he is bored and sweaty, sitting over the by my broken air conditioner in the 100 degree heat, I should probably break out some shot glasses and get to talking.
Does one negotiate terms in cases such as this? Or does a person like me just take what she is offered? I think it's the last one.
I'll tell the whole story tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
8,200,000
Here's a first: last night, I slept with the DOOR to my apartment wide open. Why would anyone do such a thing? I did it because my air conditioner has been broken since last summer and I never bothered to get it fixed. When I went to bed last night, it was 98 degrees in my apartment, and I was flattened like a blade of grass. And I was sweating. And my persian cat, who is basically a wiggling fur coat, wanted to sleep on my neck.
So in a city of 8,200,000 people, I propped my door open with a box of cereal and opened my windows - and went to sleep - right there for all the 8 million to see. The cross breeze was worth possible rape, torture and dismemberment. I was sort of hoping someone would abduct my cat and steal a few computers. To reduce the clutter, you know?
Today, I am going to the gym (to the gym!) and then I am going to NJ to watch Liam all day so that Leta can take a nap and read a book in peace. Poor girl has a tough time with all that parenting and I want to help her out. Plus, their yard is just luscious, and I want to be among flowers.
Have I said yet how great it is not to be working three jobs? I mean, being broke sucks and all, but damn it's nice to spend the day with Liam just because I feel like it.
Have a good Tuesday.
So in a city of 8,200,000 people, I propped my door open with a box of cereal and opened my windows - and went to sleep - right there for all the 8 million to see. The cross breeze was worth possible rape, torture and dismemberment. I was sort of hoping someone would abduct my cat and steal a few computers. To reduce the clutter, you know?
Today, I am going to the gym (to the gym!) and then I am going to NJ to watch Liam all day so that Leta can take a nap and read a book in peace. Poor girl has a tough time with all that parenting and I want to help her out. Plus, their yard is just luscious, and I want to be among flowers.
Have I said yet how great it is not to be working three jobs? I mean, being broke sucks and all, but damn it's nice to spend the day with Liam just because I feel like it.
Have a good Tuesday.
Monday, June 9, 2008
You gotta be kidding me
I answered the questions on this quizlet truthfully. I really did. And yet I think we all know the results are just flat wrong.
Oh and by the way, good morning. It is 5am. I have been awake since 1am because I have no A/C and it is a sweat box in here. Not that I am complaining or anything... keeping it positive it who I am, after all.
Thanks to Cajunvegan for posting this first.
You Are a Positive Person |
 No one would accuse you of being too negative! You're a naturally upbeat and optimistic person. Like everyone else, you come across things you can't stand every day. But unlike everyone else, you ignore what annoys you and focus on what uplifts you. |
Oh and by the way, good morning. It is 5am. I have been awake since 1am because I have no A/C and it is a sweat box in here. Not that I am complaining or anything... keeping it positive it who I am, after all.
Thanks to Cajunvegan for posting this first.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Beach test
By way of Liz, the Beach Quiz.
What the Beach Test Says About You |
 You tend to be a very social person. You live for your friends and family. You can get social burnout occasionally though. You aren't a total extrovert. You have cold feet when it comes to love. You have a lot of uncertainty until you convince yourself to dive right in. You are a passionate person. You are free wheeling, fun loving, and ruled by your emotions. Your sense of humor is goofy and silly. You are good at making almost anyone laugh. |
Sin of the Week, 6/08/08, in which in reveal my hatred of Jaw
There is a person I will call Jaw. She is a good, nice, friendly, well-intentioned person. I don't like her even a tiny little bit. The reason I don't like her is that when I am leaving to go somewhere, I have typically budgeted enough time to get to my destination on time, but not much more. Jaw, because she lives in my neighborhood and has a seemingly endless assortment subjects to discuss with me, never lets me get out of the neighborhood without wasting a good fifteen minutes of my time with her insipid prattle. Some notable Jaw sidewalk subjects include:
1) describing her child's habit of sticking her tongue out while doing her homework.
2) explaining why it's for the best that I never got married because some people are just supposed to be alone.
3) explaining (over and over) why even though her mother almost became a nun, she is raising her daughter Jewish because it just feels right.
4) describing the vasectomy scars on her husband's manparts and exclaiming with joy that they can now do it whenever they want!
5) has she mentioned lately how glad she is that I never got married? Because it is just so obvious that I am one of those people who is meant to be alone?
6) reminiscing over the time when she thought she might be pregnant, but whew! what a thrill to find out it was just a viscous fluid filled cyst on her left ovary and that they could drain it with a big long needle. Through her vagina.
7) telling me how her child is in the gifted and talented program at school and how that's probably because she was breast-fed for three years.
8) not that I would be able to relate to anything having to do with having a family, or anything.
9) how I should definitely finish my PhD because my career will continue to go nowhere until I do (please note that Jaw herself never finished her Master's degree).
And now to the sin.
Most of the time when I am obstructed by Jaw, I cross the street and wave. It's rude, but to even say hello to Jaw means fifteen minutes of conversation at a minimum- and I can be pretty sure the conversation will piss me off. When I do find myself confronted by Jaw and there is no way out, I smile, say hi, oh, I am fine, how are you, how is your husband's vasectomy treating you, gosh you were right all those times when you said I was so defective that I didn't deserve a man and a child in my life, I am so glad I spend every day of my life in unrelenting loneliness and despair, that was definitely meant to be, you are a genius, how's your daughter's tongue, OH, I am going to be late for my unfulfilling job, so I have to go, bye bye.
Yesterday, I did 16 minutes of time with Jaw, and I was not able to perform gracefully. Here's a transcript of our conversation:
Jaw: Hi! I am so glad I ran into you!
Nina: Hi! I really don't have time to talk because I have to run stairs.
Jaw: Did I tell you that ________ won first place in her school art contest?
Nina: Nope. Not until now.
Jaw: She did! I am so proud! She makes drawings!
Nina: (awkward pause during which Nina says nothing).
Jaw: How is your dad?
Nina: Dying.
Jaw: Really? Well, you know you have to keep your chin up!
Nina: I disagree.
Jaw: Well, yeah, but you can't do anything about it, so you might as well just be happy. Focus on the good!
Nina: Well, Jaw, you sometimes forget that I have an dead-end job, no husband, no children, and no money, which means my list of good* things to focus on is rather short. If I did have any of those good things to focus on, maybe I'd keep my chin up. But I don't, so I can't, and I am muddling along as best I can.
Jaw: that's the spirit! You were really not cut out to be married anyway, and you do have a job, so that's better than being unemployed.
Nina: Yep! Well, I have to go now.
Jaw: Oh, I wish you could stay and talk! Bob got a raise and we are going to buy new furniture and it would be great if I could tell you all about it!
Nina: I have to go now.
Jaw: We are getting a settee!
Nina: I am late.
Jaw: We might get watered silk wallpaper!
Nina: I am going now.
Jaw: Come up for tea when you get back! I'll show you the decorator's swatches!
Nina: Doubt I will have time.
Jaw: How can you possibly be so busy all the time? It's not like you have kids. I never get to visit with you anymore!
Nina: Goodbye.
Jaw: Call me when your dad dies! I will bake you a pie!
And... then I turned my back on her and went to the stairs and went up and down them and was pissed off the whole time that God put this person on the earth just to torment me.
Reader, I hate this woman. I really do. She means well, but I just despise her.
Help me. What can I do?
* So that I do not leave you all with the impression that I really believe everything about my life is bad, here is a short list of good things that I still count on the credit side:
1) I am sort of healthy.
2) I have a computer full of invisible friends who are so nice to me that my faith in basic goodness, decency, etc. has improved dramatically.
3) I have visible friends, good ones.
4) I have, for the time being, one living dad, two living siblings, a sister in law who is as good as a real sister, a brother in law that prevents my real sister from being a complete jackass, and a nephew who will build a rabbit ranch out of blocks with me any time I say that sounds like fun.
5) My step mother, despite her insanity, does the best she can.
6) Julie still puts up with me.
7) I am unencumbered by the kind of drama, intrigue, and misery that is inevitably caused by dating (this is where Jaw, that crazy _____, has a point).
8) I have no known allergies.
9) I have both my legs.
10) My teeth are good.
1) describing her child's habit of sticking her tongue out while doing her homework.
2) explaining why it's for the best that I never got married because some people are just supposed to be alone.
3) explaining (over and over) why even though her mother almost became a nun, she is raising her daughter Jewish because it just feels right.
4) describing the vasectomy scars on her husband's manparts and exclaiming with joy that they can now do it whenever they want!
5) has she mentioned lately how glad she is that I never got married? Because it is just so obvious that I am one of those people who is meant to be alone?
6) reminiscing over the time when she thought she might be pregnant, but whew! what a thrill to find out it was just a viscous fluid filled cyst on her left ovary and that they could drain it with a big long needle. Through her vagina.
7) telling me how her child is in the gifted and talented program at school and how that's probably because she was breast-fed for three years.
8) not that I would be able to relate to anything having to do with having a family, or anything.
9) how I should definitely finish my PhD because my career will continue to go nowhere until I do (please note that Jaw herself never finished her Master's degree).
And now to the sin.
Most of the time when I am obstructed by Jaw, I cross the street and wave. It's rude, but to even say hello to Jaw means fifteen minutes of conversation at a minimum- and I can be pretty sure the conversation will piss me off. When I do find myself confronted by Jaw and there is no way out, I smile, say hi, oh, I am fine, how are you, how is your husband's vasectomy treating you, gosh you were right all those times when you said I was so defective that I didn't deserve a man and a child in my life, I am so glad I spend every day of my life in unrelenting loneliness and despair, that was definitely meant to be, you are a genius, how's your daughter's tongue, OH, I am going to be late for my unfulfilling job, so I have to go, bye bye.
Yesterday, I did 16 minutes of time with Jaw, and I was not able to perform gracefully. Here's a transcript of our conversation:
Jaw: Hi! I am so glad I ran into you!
Nina: Hi! I really don't have time to talk because I have to run stairs.
Jaw: Did I tell you that ________ won first place in her school art contest?
Nina: Nope. Not until now.
Jaw: She did! I am so proud! She makes drawings!
Nina: (awkward pause during which Nina says nothing).
Jaw: How is your dad?
Nina: Dying.
Jaw: Really? Well, you know you have to keep your chin up!
Nina: I disagree.
Jaw: Well, yeah, but you can't do anything about it, so you might as well just be happy. Focus on the good!
Nina: Well, Jaw, you sometimes forget that I have an dead-end job, no husband, no children, and no money, which means my list of good* things to focus on is rather short. If I did have any of those good things to focus on, maybe I'd keep my chin up. But I don't, so I can't, and I am muddling along as best I can.
Jaw: that's the spirit! You were really not cut out to be married anyway, and you do have a job, so that's better than being unemployed.
Nina: Yep! Well, I have to go now.
Jaw: Oh, I wish you could stay and talk! Bob got a raise and we are going to buy new furniture and it would be great if I could tell you all about it!
Nina: I have to go now.
Jaw: We are getting a settee!
Nina: I am late.
Jaw: We might get watered silk wallpaper!
Nina: I am going now.
Jaw: Come up for tea when you get back! I'll show you the decorator's swatches!
Nina: Doubt I will have time.
Jaw: How can you possibly be so busy all the time? It's not like you have kids. I never get to visit with you anymore!
Nina: Goodbye.
Jaw: Call me when your dad dies! I will bake you a pie!
And... then I turned my back on her and went to the stairs and went up and down them and was pissed off the whole time that God put this person on the earth just to torment me.
Reader, I hate this woman. I really do. She means well, but I just despise her.
Help me. What can I do?
* So that I do not leave you all with the impression that I really believe everything about my life is bad, here is a short list of good things that I still count on the credit side:
1) I am sort of healthy.
2) I have a computer full of invisible friends who are so nice to me that my faith in basic goodness, decency, etc. has improved dramatically.
3) I have visible friends, good ones.
4) I have, for the time being, one living dad, two living siblings, a sister in law who is as good as a real sister, a brother in law that prevents my real sister from being a complete jackass, and a nephew who will build a rabbit ranch out of blocks with me any time I say that sounds like fun.
5) My step mother, despite her insanity, does the best she can.
6) Julie still puts up with me.
7) I am unencumbered by the kind of drama, intrigue, and misery that is inevitably caused by dating (this is where Jaw, that crazy _____, has a point).
8) I have no known allergies.
9) I have both my legs.
10) My teeth are good.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Where we at?
Forgive my omission of the linking verb. I am a little light on class and grammatical fortitude today.
Here is where we at:
My dad got out of the hospital two weeks ago yesterday. Since then, his life has been, from what I hear, mostly normal. He has had to take some IV antibiotics, but since they know how to get that done at home, that has been non-event. He is eating, sleeping, playing in the yard, watching movies, and eating fried chicken. If he feels any anxiety regarding his predicted demise, he does not show it.
When I talked to my step mother the other day, she told me a strange thing, but in order for me to relate the strange thing I have to give you two sentence of background: before my dad had leukemia, he had some trifling, non aggressive (but annoying) bladder cancer. He has continued to have that situation monitored despite the fact that he has been supposedly terminal for the last, oh, nine months.
Ok so here is the strange thing: he went in to have the bladder cancer monitored this week and they wanted to do a biopsy on something or other in there. (This truly is a who cares type situation since the bladder cancer is such complete bullshit compared to the blood cancer). So they ran some preliminary blood work just to make sure it was sort of marginally safe to do the procedure. And the strange thing is that, uh, the blood work looked pretty good. Obviously, they didn't test for leukemia, since you need to run a leukemia scan to get a reliable result for that issue. However, WHAT? Apparently my dad's platelet and red cell counts were within normal ranges on Wednesday of this last week.
Can someone, anyone, in the medical community propose a scenario that explains any of this - from a scientific point of view?
If you can't, just say some stuff about whatever is on your mind today, and have a fun weekend.
Here is where we at:
My dad got out of the hospital two weeks ago yesterday. Since then, his life has been, from what I hear, mostly normal. He has had to take some IV antibiotics, but since they know how to get that done at home, that has been non-event. He is eating, sleeping, playing in the yard, watching movies, and eating fried chicken. If he feels any anxiety regarding his predicted demise, he does not show it.
When I talked to my step mother the other day, she told me a strange thing, but in order for me to relate the strange thing I have to give you two sentence of background: before my dad had leukemia, he had some trifling, non aggressive (but annoying) bladder cancer. He has continued to have that situation monitored despite the fact that he has been supposedly terminal for the last, oh, nine months.
Ok so here is the strange thing: he went in to have the bladder cancer monitored this week and they wanted to do a biopsy on something or other in there. (This truly is a who cares type situation since the bladder cancer is such complete bullshit compared to the blood cancer). So they ran some preliminary blood work just to make sure it was sort of marginally safe to do the procedure. And the strange thing is that, uh, the blood work looked pretty good. Obviously, they didn't test for leukemia, since you need to run a leukemia scan to get a reliable result for that issue. However, WHAT? Apparently my dad's platelet and red cell counts were within normal ranges on Wednesday of this last week.
Can someone, anyone, in the medical community propose a scenario that explains any of this - from a scientific point of view?
If you can't, just say some stuff about whatever is on your mind today, and have a fun weekend.
Friday, June 6, 2008
54 stories
You all know that when Mike Reardon died, it bothered me a whole lot. I love climbing and climbers and all things related. But now this morning, I see headlines from The Post and The Daily News that confuse me.
On the one hand, any time someone starts on the sidewalk in front of The Times Building, applies his (or her) hands to the building, and makes it to the top, the climber in me is delirious with excitement and happiness because climbing stuff is the best thing ever. Plus that climb is a good one to pick if you are in the market for a free climb in NYC. I have observed the climb-ability of that building many times, and though I have never considered applying myself to it, the building is not tricky in terms of the hand and foot holds (plentiful and chunky). The only down side is that it is a long damned climb. The second guy who completed it collapsed from exhaustion when he got to the top.
But of course there is another hand to consider. Much as I love the sport and much as I love bravado and good clean fun - and as much as I am ok with other people making decisions to endanger their own lives as long as that's what they want to do, it's never cool to endanger the safety of other people, and unfortunately, free-climbing a manhattan skyscraper with no permit, no security, and no safety equipment causes people to gather on the sidewalk, spill into the street and block traffic and then it causes several units of police, and at least one ambulance to watch your skinny ass wiggle up the side of a building for several hours. Now, if you don't care about traffic and you don't think the police have other things to do, so far so good. The commuters will probably forgive you, too, as long as you don't slip and land on their cars.
But you have to consider (yes, you do) what would happen if you fell. You would die, but that's cool because you already accepted that risk. What wouldn't be cool is that your fall may or may not be broken by the bystanders who may or may not be themselves killed. And what happens when a body falls from that far up is also the opposite of cool; the people who witnessed the projectile disintegration of your skinny ass would be fortunate if they got out of the scene with no more than post traumatic stress disorder. Then there are the police officers and paramedics who have to clean up the mess that was you and inform your family.
Here's a picture, courtesy of The Daily News, of Alain Robert unfurling his banner protesting global warming on his way up.
Here's another of climber two, Ray Clark, near the top.
What do you all think?
On the one hand, any time someone starts on the sidewalk in front of The Times Building, applies his (or her) hands to the building, and makes it to the top, the climber in me is delirious with excitement and happiness because climbing stuff is the best thing ever. Plus that climb is a good one to pick if you are in the market for a free climb in NYC. I have observed the climb-ability of that building many times, and though I have never considered applying myself to it, the building is not tricky in terms of the hand and foot holds (plentiful and chunky). The only down side is that it is a long damned climb. The second guy who completed it collapsed from exhaustion when he got to the top.
But of course there is another hand to consider. Much as I love the sport and much as I love bravado and good clean fun - and as much as I am ok with other people making decisions to endanger their own lives as long as that's what they want to do, it's never cool to endanger the safety of other people, and unfortunately, free-climbing a manhattan skyscraper with no permit, no security, and no safety equipment causes people to gather on the sidewalk, spill into the street and block traffic and then it causes several units of police, and at least one ambulance to watch your skinny ass wiggle up the side of a building for several hours. Now, if you don't care about traffic and you don't think the police have other things to do, so far so good. The commuters will probably forgive you, too, as long as you don't slip and land on their cars.
But you have to consider (yes, you do) what would happen if you fell. You would die, but that's cool because you already accepted that risk. What wouldn't be cool is that your fall may or may not be broken by the bystanders who may or may not be themselves killed. And what happens when a body falls from that far up is also the opposite of cool; the people who witnessed the projectile disintegration of your skinny ass would be fortunate if they got out of the scene with no more than post traumatic stress disorder. Then there are the police officers and paramedics who have to clean up the mess that was you and inform your family.
Here's a picture, courtesy of The Daily News, of Alain Robert unfurling his banner protesting global warming on his way up.
Here's another of climber two, Ray Clark, near the top.
What do you all think?
Thursday, June 5, 2008
5000 bites
This morning, my dentist said, "These are some good lookin' teeth. Perfect architecture. Straight and even. Tough enamel. Good color. But you, despite the gift of good genes and some good looking teeth, don't floss but once a week and you grind them so bad the ligaments in your face are spreading." (Yes, he really did say these things). (We are pals).
Then he told me that since I have a little bit of metal in my mouth from back when I was about 10, I need to get the fillings out and replaced with porcelain. Uh, ok. At $2500 a filling. Ok.
So I asked him how long I could wait to do this and do you know what that old wise-ass said?
"You got about 5000 bites left in these fillings."
"And how long is that?"
"Well I don't know, but if you lay off the nachos, better than a year."
I didn't bother to tell him that I have been laying off the nachos for quite some time. Odd thing is, I am just as chubby as ever, which means it is time for desperate measures, such as the crazy.
I will let you know how it goes.
Then he told me that since I have a little bit of metal in my mouth from back when I was about 10, I need to get the fillings out and replaced with porcelain. Uh, ok. At $2500 a filling. Ok.
So I asked him how long I could wait to do this and do you know what that old wise-ass said?
"You got about 5000 bites left in these fillings."
"And how long is that?"
"Well I don't know, but if you lay off the nachos, better than a year."
I didn't bother to tell him that I have been laying off the nachos for quite some time. Odd thing is, I am just as chubby as ever, which means it is time for desperate measures, such as the crazy.
I will let you know how it goes.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Nightdress, day two
Aside from the part where I worked out for three hours, I have spent the entirety of the last forty eight hours in my nightgown. Yes, in my nightgown. Why? Because I am working from home this summer (only! one! job!) and I can laze around in my enormous white cotton brocade nightdress, with my hair in braids, and offend no one.
Oh wait. Maybe I just offended you. Did I offend you?
Sorry if I did.
Some smart person once (or twice) said that you should get dressed and put mascara on every single day, whether you will be interfacing with other humans or not.
So you tell me: if I work from home, is it scuzzy and slatternly to do my job in my nightgown? With my hair in braids? With not a lick of make-up on?
Oh wait. Maybe I just offended you. Did I offend you?
Sorry if I did.
Some smart person once (or twice) said that you should get dressed and put mascara on every single day, whether you will be interfacing with other humans or not.
So you tell me: if I work from home, is it scuzzy and slatternly to do my job in my nightgown? With my hair in braids? With not a lick of make-up on?
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Yes
All my extra-curricular torture is over and I am now working, for the first time in three years, only one job.
It is noon, and I am in my pajamas. I am watching movies will I return emails and answer the phone. At 3pm, I get to do laundry. After that I can go to the gym and work out and climb - with nothing on my mind other than my dad's health (which I have sworn not to fret about) and whether to paint my toenails tonight after I get home from the gym.
Is this how the rest of the world lives? Is having only one job really this easy? Because if so, I may just pay the minimums and hope for the best forever.
This. Is. Awesome.
Happy Monday.
It is noon, and I am in my pajamas. I am watching movies will I return emails and answer the phone. At 3pm, I get to do laundry. After that I can go to the gym and work out and climb - with nothing on my mind other than my dad's health (which I have sworn not to fret about) and whether to paint my toenails tonight after I get home from the gym.
Is this how the rest of the world lives? Is having only one job really this easy? Because if so, I may just pay the minimums and hope for the best forever.
This. Is. Awesome.
Happy Monday.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Sin of the Week, 6/01/08
I don't want to say exactly how careless I was about calculating grades this week because if I explained it in any detail, you would be disappointed in me. A lot.
Let's just say that tomorrow morning, I have to do grade changes for two people I calculated completely wrong for. That's what happens when I am furiously running a calculator half an hour before grades are due. Dammit.
Other noteworthy bad behavior: I forgot Sri's birthday (horror) and instead of going out with my friends last night, like any good, well-adjusted person would do, I stayed home and ordered gear for the trip - gear I can't afford for a trip I very likely will never take. Is that sin? Or just stupidity?
I worked out like a crazy person both yesterday and today, so I am going to recline and eat peanut butter for the rest of the afternoon.
Have a good Sunday.
Let's just say that tomorrow morning, I have to do grade changes for two people I calculated completely wrong for. That's what happens when I am furiously running a calculator half an hour before grades are due. Dammit.
Other noteworthy bad behavior: I forgot Sri's birthday (horror) and instead of going out with my friends last night, like any good, well-adjusted person would do, I stayed home and ordered gear for the trip - gear I can't afford for a trip I very likely will never take. Is that sin? Or just stupidity?
I worked out like a crazy person both yesterday and today, so I am going to recline and eat peanut butter for the rest of the afternoon.
Have a good Sunday.
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