It was bad enough having to get up at 4:45 AM to make it to the airport for a 6:45 AM flight. On top of that, I knew the plane was going to be one of those small ones, because the airline recently (for some ungodly reason) switched over all of their flights between Chicago and Hartford from normal, safer-feeling planes to the tiny, wobbly ones where you can barely hear yourself think over the engine noise. I'd also forgotten to medicate myself, it being so early and all.

I had a driver to take me to the airport, and noticing his foreign accent, I started to chit-chat with him, asking where he was from and the like (he was Bulgarian). Halfway to the airport, he suddenly--and OUT OF NOWHERE, I might add--asks me, "Do you believe in God?" Now, aside from the fact that this is a highly inappropriate question for a service provider to ask his customer (who is TRAPPED in his car with no escape), my immediate reaction to this question was an overwhelming feeling of being in a bad made-for-TV movie, this scene being the one that foreshadows my forthcoming doom in the rickety plane I am on my way to board.

I made the mistake of telling him I was an agnostic (which I then had to define for him). He went on to preach to me for the entire remainder of the car ride, basically telling me that if a person *really* wants to find God, he will (no shit). To add insult to injury he alluded to his being a veterinarian by training and thinking that evolution was ridiculous (WRONG way to approach the religion topic with me, sunshine). As we pulled up to the terminal, he said he was sorry we didn't have more time, and that perhaps we would meet again, maybe he would even pick my husband and I up from the airport at Thanksgiving (we are definitely now going to drive, not fly!)

Lesson learned: next time a stranger asks me if I believe in God, I will steal a line from Frank Lloyd Wright and answer, "Yes, I believe in god. I spell it N-A-T-U-R-E."

Housekeeping

Before I moved in with J, I had one simple rule: I don't do garbage. I mean, I knew I'd get stuck with the majority of the household tasks, so I just wanted to lay it down right then and there. I never wanted to take the garbage out again. This is probably because in my last apartment I lived on the third floor, so taking the garbage out meant going all the way downstairs--not forgetting the keys since the doors locked automatically--and then going into the darkest corner of the parking lot to the dumpster, where sometimes a homeless man would be hanging out to collect the recyclables, touching the nasty dumpster lid, and then taking the 3 flights back up to my apartment.

Well, my friends, I believe that I have just discovered a household task that makes taking the garbage out seem like a day watching monkeys fondle themselves at the zoo (which, in case there's any doubt, is something I would consider FUN):

The worst household task EVER is having to fix an inside-out plunger after having frantically plunged a crap-clogged toilet. It's bad enough when the thing goes inside-out mid-plunge as the water rises in the clogged bowl, because then you don't know if it'll still work or if you'll end up with shit water all over your cream-colored bathroom rug. But then you have to deal with the fear of that thing splashing shit-water at your face as you try to put it right (and you can't just put it back on the floor inside-out because, well let's just say one should never have to see what's on the inside of the plunger after a frantic plunging).

Remembering

I was on the treadmill at the University of Illinois gym when it happened. The Today show was on the overhead TV, but I was listening to music on my headphones when I saw the first footage of the WTC on fire. At first, I thought they were showing movie footage. The thought that this could be REAL, and happening right NOW, was almost impossible to grasp. I had switched over to the TV audio in time to see the second plane hit on live television, and was completely and utterly stunned.

I got home and stayed glued to the television. I also called my mother to find out where my father was. He is an American Airlines pilot. Turns out he had been flying, but had landed safely just before the tragedy happened. After watching the towers fall on television, I didn't know what else to do so I went to work. Many of the other people in my lab are not Americans, so I don't know if that's why a CD and not the news was playing on the stereo, but I was dumbfounded that no one else seemed to appreciate the magnitude of what was happening. Was I the only one afraid that the attacks weren't over? Yes, it was true that we were a thousand miles from New York, but the absurdity of what had happened already that morning meant that nothing would be impossible now. I somewhat angrily dialed up the news on the radio, and struggled to get through the day. At some point that day, or maybe the next, at home in my apartment, I thought about the number of people who had lost someone in the attacks--a mother or father, a daughter or son, a sister or brother, a friend--and I cried.

Hey everybody! To document my new-found obsession with bonsai, I've started up a new blog dedicated to the subject. Follow along with my successes and (hopefully not too many!) failures over here.

(from dooce.com):

I just never got around to it because other things kept getting in the way. Like air.

There really is no excuse for this, only that I used to approach all my school work in exactly the same way. I’d write papers three hours before they were due, study for tests as I walked to the room where they were being given, finish my homework as the teacher was collecting it. I performed best under that kind of pressure, and my teachers often told me that they wished all their students would work as hard as I did. If I could patent my technique I would call it Laziness™.

I couldn't have said it better myself. I think it is this feature of my personality that has lead me to experience near-Catholic levels of guilt for the greater part of my life.

Who am I kidding, I am getting fat and it's not even winter! I just put on some jeans (that I bought about 15 pounds ago) and while they still zip, they definitely accentuate the beginnings of a muffin-top. I will NOT be that girl. Now, I could just resort to wearing nothing but big flowy hippie skirts and just let those hips and thighs swell up like Meg Ryan's lips, but perhaps some exercise is a better course of action.

Things I am currently obsessed with:
-Organic foods and nutritional supplements
-Bonsai

Things I have become obsessed with--or at least pretty gung-ho about--in the past (and then kind of lost interest in after a few days or weeks):
-Digital scrapbooking
-the "Grocery Game"
-Knitting
-the Atkins diet
-the South Beach diet
-"Sqaure Foot" gardening
-Guinea pigs (I still have them and like them, but am not reading about them every day)
-Taking vitamins (this one comes and goes)
-Exercising (ditto)
-Trading tapes of live Phish shows
-Drawing (I wasn't very good anyway)
-Meditation (would like to do it but don't reliably make the time)
-Yoga (ditto)
-Pilates (hurts my butt too much, though I like it in theory)
-Karate (I may return to this)
-Myspace (still use it, but the novelty wore off pretty quickly)

I think I have inherited this problem from my father. He has become obsessed and then subsequently lost interest in many things over the years, including food dehydration, home juicing, playing the piano and guitar, home picture matting and framing, photography, and stock trading.

I draw the line at buying ridiculous infomercial products. I can take solace in at least that much.

I just made my first ever Craigslist post (in the rants/raves section, which seemed to be the best fit), and it happens to be a story I feel like sharing here as well:

You pulled up next to me in the post office parking lot, right into the one handicapped spot. I glared at you, and then, as you were getting out of your car, I muttered loudly "that's a *handicapped* spot!" You responded, "check the plates." Like a coward, I kept my back to you as I offered a halfhearted apology. You followed me into the post office and said "you really should know someone's history before you start asking questions." You were right.

Let me explain myself. That week, I'd seen several people--who were clearly not handicapped--using handicapped spots (yes, I checked the plates). Normally, I'm not one to say anything. But you, you did not look handicapped at all! No wheelchair, no limp, and you walked just fine on your own into the post office. I considered that perhaps the plate was for someone else in your family and that you were just cheating, but then why would you have been so confrontational with me? It wasn't until I got back outside that I saw your plates, and now only were they marked with the handicapped symbol, they also said "veteran". Now I really felt like shit. But more than that, I wondered what could actually be wrong with you, seeing there was nothing visibly handicapped about you. Was it a war injury? Do they give handicapped plates for PTSD? Maybe you have epilepsy? No, then you'd have had your driver's license revoked. It remains a mystery. Let me just say once and for all, if you really are handicapped, I'm sorry that I said anything. You happened to be the object of my accumulated frustration over people misusing the handicapped spots. I will think twice before reprimanding strangers in the future.

One more thing that you might be glad to know: karma has already punished me for my harsh words toward you. Last night, I used the handicapped stall in a public restroom (come on now, who doesn't!). When I emerged, there was a woman in a wheelchair waiting outside the stall. I've never experienced such a clear example of karmic payback.

As a lover of science, it pains me deeply to know how backward the United States is when it comes to the evolution-creation/"intelligent" design "debate". It's embarrassing, really, a big, fat stupid "L" on the forehead of American science. Once and for all:

-Evolution IS a theory. A theory like gravity. And I sure as hell don't see anybody throwing themselves off buildings to disprove that one.

-If you use an arguments such as "you'll never see a monkey give birth to a human baby now, will ya?!" or "if we came from monkeys, then how come there are still monkeys?" in an attempt to "disprove" evolution, you have a fundamental misunderstanding of the entire process. Go read some Dawkins.

So, in light of my horror over the inadequacy of the American educational system and its probable relationship with US religiosity, I am especially pleased to report that Dr. Dino himself, prominent creationist Kent Hovind, is a big fat crook.

Saturday night we were wild and crazy kids, staying up til 4 AM. What were we doing, you may ask? Cleaning the house, that's what. We had an open house planned for Sunday, and it was my chance to use every ounce of my OCD for the powers of good. Of course, one never knows what to expect with these things. At about 2:30 am, J said to me "please don't cry if no one shows up". I assured him I would try not to.

On Sunday the house looked so good, it almost made me not want to sell it. And, thankfully, people did show up, so I was able to save my tears for sappy Today show segments that I should not watch while I have PMS. Only 2 couples looked at the house, but apparently one couple expressed a lot of interest (and their son wanted to know if the guinea pigs were part of the deal). So keep your fingers crossed for us!

In honor of the fact that we have not yet killed each other (and hopefully this will remain the case at the time of our 1-year anniversary), J and I have decided to go back to Belize this fall. As of this morning, the tickets have been purchased!! :)

This time, we're going to stay on Caye Caulker, a laid-back, bohemian strip of sand right off the barrier reef. Six days of chilling and scuba diving, sounds about right to me. (OK, we might visit this place, too...just to switch it up).

Sorry, J hadn't had enough coffee yet this morning to be giddy about this with me, so I'm sharing my overflow of excitement with you, Internet.

My doorbell rang at 9:30 this morning, and I wasn't expecting anyone. I was still in my nightgown. I grabbed my robe (which, for summer, is short and satiny) and frantically ran about the house, trying to decide what to do. But then the bell rang again and, against my better judgement, I answered the door. Right away, I knew it was THEM: the Jehovah's Witnesses here to try to save my poor heathen soul.

In an effort to get rid of them, I tried to explain that I was working and that I'd be happy to take their literature, and, GOODBYE, NOW! They asked if it would be alright if they came back another time to see how I'd enjoyed my complimentary copies of the Watchtower and Awake!. I said, well, OK, but not during my business hours, which I explained were between 9 and 6. (Sorry, J, I know I should have said no but this is what happens when you are not here to help me with these things).

Now that my panic has died down and I can look at what transpired in retrospect, I wonder what those 2 nice ladies must have thought about a woman in a short silky robe with disheveled hair (and not much interest in the Lord) trying to explain that she works out of her home and that these are her business hours and that she really needed to get back to work...

tequila, inducer of apocalyptic dreams

Last night after 2 margaritas, I had a very vivid and detailed dream.

First there was a very short pre-dream, in which my friends Chrissy and Dave had gone to a movie and text-messaged me the ending: "The punks did it!"

Then, the big dream began. It started out with a cryptic premonitory note from my mother, warning us to fill up the car with gas and prepare to evacuate. While it was not exactly spelled out, I interpreted this to have something to do with upcoming potentially apocalyptic world events that would require mass fleeing and chaos. Next thing I knew, I was in the driveway of Heather and Jon Armstrong (of dooce and blurbomat, respectively), where Heather was completely freaking out, muttering about sea monsters and other things. In the meantime, there *was* mass chaos in the streets, and school buses lined the neighborhood, and everyone was being told to put their children on the buses. I had a strange feeling that something was not quite right, that maybe this was just a covert alien plot to abduct all of earth's children. But Heather was convinced that the earth was under attack of some kind and that putting the children on the buses was the right thing to do.

Fast forward to a sort of post-war scene, devoid of most people (at this point Heather was hiding in her attic in an almost catatonic state and Jon was creeping around the yard trying to avoid being seen), and full of overturned cars and other debris. Suddenly, a mass of youths came spilling out into the streets, cheering and causing a ruckus. I realized, "the punks did it!" It had been their plot all along to rid the world of mainstreamers by taking away their children, and they had succeeded by convincing everyone that the earth was under some kind of horrible attack.

(A side note: while I identified the youths as "punks" in the dream, and they did *act* like punks, they were clearly attired as goths.)

I need to stop drinking tequila before bedtime.

house-hunting heartbreak

So, as of today, our house is *officially* up for sale. We spent the weekend refinishing our deck (turns out the wood hadn't actually turned grey, it was just covered in a thick coat of mildew!), but still have a ton of organizing to do before I will actually feel comfortable having a showing. Tonight we tackle the nightmare of laundry and crap that is our bedroom.

Yesterday our realtor took us out to look at 2 houses we'd seen listed online. We absolutely fell in love with one of them, a huge colonial on over 2 acres with a big pond in the backyard. And it was a steal, price-wise. We spent the afternoon saying things like "we could put in a patio" and "I could build us a little dock there on the pond for our kayaks". Our realtor was supposed to call the agent and get "the scoop" on the house last night. We haven't heard from him yet. Last night I went online to look at the listing again, and lo and behold the house was listed as "Pending" sale. J says not to get too upset, that anything could happen, but I'm pretty sure we won't be getting that house. :( To cope with the not-quite-loss (can't really lose what wasn't yours to begin with!) I simply went back online and looked for more listings. Screw you, Buttermilk Lane, we can do better!

dream report

The other night I dreamt about falling. Two consecutive/connected dreams in which I fell from great heights, to be exact.

In the first part of the dream, I fell from or off of a very very tall building. Actually, it was the Sears Tower, but because the imagery as I fell in the dream was so vivid, I can tell you for sure that despite the great height of the Sears Tower, it was more like falling from an airplane. It was a LONG fall, and I wasn't terribly frightened. As the ground features became more visible, I started to look for a soft landing pad (as if I could somehow steer myself towards a dumpster or a truck full of feathers?), but suddenly a gust of wind blew me towards a body of water. I landed in the water and because it turned out to be something like a pond in the middle of an urban park, I walked right out of it unharmed.

Then, a while later, I was in the Sears Tower elevator with SV when something went terribly awry. There was a rumble or something, and then suddenly we knew that the building was falling straight over. Gravity shifted abruptly so that I was sort of stuck to the ceiling (formerly the side of the elevator). SV was wearing a hat and I grabbed for it while trying to brace myself in some sort of crash position. The next thing that happened was that the dream shifted into movie mode...my voice was narrating, saying things about how I had died. So that was strange, because in some way I did die in the fall yet not really because there was my voice narrating as if it were fiction. And then the dreaming continued with me in it somehow.

Isn't there an urban legend or something that says if you fall and die in your dream you've died in real life? Well, this isn't the first time I've fallen and died in a dream, and I'm still here to tell you about it, aren't I? Unless of course my brain is somewhere in a vat and none of this is real...think about that one, why don't ya?

so far today,

I have:

1) Locked myself out of the house. J had already left for work. I called him from the neighbors' (the only neighbors we really have any sort of relationship with are the retired couple next door. She has ulcerative colitis--I know because she's spent a LOT of time telling me about it--and for some reason was wearing a piece of scotch tape across her forehead and going all the way around her head. Maybe it was meant to match the housecoat? I digress...) and luckily he was able to call his dad, who works nearby and has a key to the house, to come and let me in. I did have to wait almost 40 minutes, during which time I walked the dog up and down the block--taking her for a walk was the reason I went outside in the first place--picked up one poop, and sprinted away from another one as I had no more baggies. She kept trying to squat but I made her run home, cruel, I know. I hear you can get hemmorrhoids from holding it in, but hopefully that doesn't apply to dogs.

2) Finished the big powerpoint presentation I've been working on for days, went to send it out to the client, copying some of the higher-ups on my e-mail, only to send it out with no attachment. I am chalking the flakiness up to pre-4-day-weekend-brain fog.

3) Found out that "bringing the gifts to the altar"--the task I've been assigned at a Catholic wedding ceremony tomorrow (J is a groomsman)--means I will be carrying the bread and wine (before it gets transmogrified into Jesus meat and Jesus juice, of course) up to the priest. If the church doesn't burn down we will have had a successful day. I also think I should probably not wear the animal-print, cleavage-baring dress I bought for the occasion until the reception.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

easily amused

Stupid laugh of the day: Hitler Cats

The latest event to remind me that I'm becoming an out-of-touch old fogey:

I step up to the window at Scoopy Doo's to order my ice cream. It is Friday night, and the place is staffed by teenagers. It is almost closing time, and they are a bit rambunctious, playing hip-hop and jumping around. I give my order, and they swarm to the window, yelling: "Drop it like it's hot, and you'll get your ice cream for free! DROP IT LIKE IT'S HOT!! COME ON, DROP IT LIKE IT'S HOT!".

I look at the girl. "Um, I'm too old to know what that even means. I have no idea what it is you want me to do." As they looked at me, I could feel the hairs on my head losing their pigment and my breasts inching more quickly toward the ground. They gave up and asked for my order again. They tried the same thing on J, who saved the day by reciting his order AND dropping it like it's hot *simultaneously*, even adding a provocative thrust at the end. He is my hero.

one of the joys of telecommuting

Maybe it's because we were away most of the weekend...but it's probably just because he's such a slut. This is where Monty has parked himself this morning, and I swear he got into this position all by himself:

all you need is LOVE

The Girl and The Boy got hitched yesterday! It was sweet and also kind of muddy ceremony followed by a rockin' reception, both held on a very lovely property. A good time was had by all, to be sure. I was honored to be included in the big day. Congratulations to the happy couple!! :)

church camp

Just got back from a long-awaited communion with nature. 5 nights camping in Acadia National Park (that's in Maine, on the Atlantic Ocean, in case you didn't know).

Beautiful pine forests, with floors of granite interspersed with soft spongy beds of pine needles and moss. Ferns springing forth from every surface. From rocky summits, grand views of treed islands and hidden lakes. Muscles flexing to scramble up just one more hill of rocks to see what lies beyond. Waves crashing against rocky shores. At night, stars and silence; cool forest mists. At every turn, life plentiful and spectacular. Warm rain falling against our skin as we stumble over rocks along the wooded lakeshore, thunder and pines our only chaperones.

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play and pray in, where Nature may heal and cheer and give strength to body and soul alike." -John Muir