Breakfast of Champions...

This morning my dad called to tell me he had a cheese omelet and a half piece of toast for breakfast this morning... and not through his feeding tube. He says the toast was rough going down, but the omelet was easy. He is so thrilled to be eating, though slowly, through his mouth again... soon he'll be up to that Mushroom Swiss Burger at Red Robin he's been craving since this whole mess started.

Way to go, Dad -- keep up the healin'!

Have a Jewish Christmas?

I know I'm a day late and a dime short, but I was passed along this link this afternoon at work and thought it was worthy of sharing. A free download, I highly recommend.

Take the time and listen to it - it's hilarious.

I think I'll add this on to my Christmas traditions.... a movie, Chinese food, and this CD.

Socks...

Two things I forgot to do this morning before heading to Tara's to watch the Packer game:

1. Check the snow forecast.
2. Put on socks.

As it turns out, by the time I left Tara's there was a good two inches of blowing snow on the ground... and I was sock-less.

Awesome.

I guess I should have known better in the middle of winter in Minnesota....

Dirty Dr. Seuss?

Can you imagine if Dr. Seuss wrote this book instead of Dr. Seuss's A-B-Cs?!
I'd love to get my hands on a copy...

Menorah? Or my worst nightmare?

While I find personally important to fully celebrate holidays, engaging in tradition, and starting new ones, Chanukkah has always been one where I have to overcome a personal fear.

For those of you who know me well, or even well enough, you know of my immense fear of fire. Chanukkah takes me right into this one, as for eight nights I have to light the chanukkiah, each night adding an additional candle, meaning replacing the shammash after lighting said candles is tricky. Now, for the average person who doesn't mind fire, this isn't an issue. For me, it is. For the last eight nights I have twisted my candles in so tightly there is no chance of them falling and have slowing and ever-so-carefully replaced the shammash in the middle of the lighted chanukkiah.

All this being said, when Nickolas sent me a link to this chanukkiah, I had to not only laugh, but shudder as well:
Seriously folks, a chanukkiah in the shape of matches. You've got to be kidding me!

--

Really though -- this chanukkiah reminds me of the time when my roommates hid matches under my pillow, formed a heart out of matches on my bed, and woke me up in the middle of the night with a lighter lit in my face. I will never forgive you guys for that -- ever!!

I'm fine...

Now that I’ve got everyone (or at least you) worried, everything is fine. I just miss my boys. They are all over the place and it’s the holiday season and I just miss having them around. That’s all.

I love you, boys – and I miss you tons!

Damn.

I wish I didn't learn how to be such a girl.

I cry all the time now.

I hate crying.

Happy Chanukkah!

Wishing you all a very bright and happy Chanukkah!

R.I.P. NYC Pen

This year for my birthday I got an awesome NYC pen. For most, this would just be another pen, but for me, it was much more.

See, I love office supplies. Pens, post-its, paperclips -- anything. This year I was given this sweet NYC package for my birthday. It had a magnet, shot glass, little yellow cab cookies, a set of 30 black and white postcards of Old New York (which I have successfully made into an amazing wall in my living room), and this phenomenal NYC pen.

Black ink, a nice finger grip, clicky top -- it was perfect.

Today I have to retire the pen. I have successfully used every last drop of the ink.

The pen was amazing and it will be greatly missed.


(No need to sit shiva, but words of condolence would warm my heart.)

Three reasons Einstein Bagels is no good...

1. The bagel was undercooked. Doughy bagels are not good. Too yeisty. Too chewy. Just gross.
2. The salmon cream cheese is nasty. It doesn't taste like salmon at all. It tastes more like pink, salty, paste. Good try.
3. It's not Bruegger's or a street cart in NYC.

All I wanted was a decent bagel and schmear. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently after being up since 3:00am it is. I should have taken his advice and gone to McDonald's.

Random thoughts...

...on you moving here:
I can’t believe this might be an actual option. We haven’t lived in the same city in literally seven years. I’m not even sure what it’ll mean for us. I know it’ll be awesome to be able to hang out whenever and I know it’ll be awesome to only be presumably fifteen minutes away. It’s exciting to think this could potentially happen. Would we be together? Would that even be smart? Would it open a can of worms we closed a long time ago? I am not sure. But I can’t help but be excited to see.

...on the possible breakup:
All I have to say about this follow your heart. I know it’s not easy – trust me, I know. But if you’re not happy and if you’re not sure it’s what will make you happy, then there’s something to be said for it. And if he is what will make you happy and you just need to take a little time and figure out what you need to do for you, then take your time and work it out. You know whatever you decide to do I will be here for you and support whatever your decision. I love you.

...on my sister:
Last weekend my sister came up to visit. We had an amazing weekend. We partied with some friends, we went to shul, we had our photos taken, we ate, we drank, we laughed. It was awesome. Maybe I can convince her to move up here after school. I think it’s possible. It’s very interesting how our relationship grew when I moved away to school and even more so when she went off to school (even though she really is only 20 minutes away from home).

...on skyping with my boys:
Today I spent two hours on skype with all three of my boys. It was amazing how we went right back into our normal routine… as if we were all actually sitting in the same room having the conversation. When in all reality, Harry and Brett are in Israel, Nathan in Atlanta, and I here in Minneapolis. It was really great to all be “together”, bantering, laughing, catching up. Crazy to think we all haven’t been in the same room together since February. An hour and half into the conversation, I had to sit back and just listen. It really was incredible. There we were, miles and miles and oceans apart, and we were all together. I love you boys.

...on the road trip of a lifetime:
I’ve been toying with this idea for a long while now. I really want to do it. I think I’ll start the plan. Start doing the research and finding the places and mapping the route. I wonder who I’d take with me. Anyone want to go on what could be the coolest, most awesomest, most amazingest, most spectacularest experience ever? (There's more to come on this...)

Two must-haves and a reconfirmation...

Must Have #1: iPod Shower Caddy
This would be a great replacement for my old CD player/radio shower caddy. It still works, but I never think to swap out the CD. I think the G Love CD in there is still what Nathan put in there when still inhibiting the House of Transients and Deviants. This would be a good replacement:
Must Have #2: Human Butcher Block
This would be great to get out all my aggressions... and come on, everyone knows someone they want to stick a knife in. Enough said:
Reconfirmation:
This morning I watched a movie with LLCoolJ in it. Yes, I still love LLCoolJ and his body. And yes, I will still have his babies.

Update [dad]...

After 35 radiation treatments, 8 sessions of chemo, and one small stint in the hospital for some pneumonia, my dad finished his treatments yesterday afternoon. Now we just have to let him heal. It will be about a month before he starts to feel better and we really don’t know when he’ll stop using the feeding tube and return to eating through his mouth, but we are all excited he doesn’t have to go to through the chemo and radiation anymore.

Thanks to everyone for the kind words and thoughts and prayers. While my dad is still on the road to recovery and could use every thought and prayer, I am certain what has been said thus far has gotten him to where he is today.

Sidenote...

Stephanie is coming to Minneapolis this coming weekend -- really looking forward to spending the weekend with her...

Update on the home front...

*Note this gets a little graphic about the side effects from my dad's chemo and radiation.


All weekend my dad was pretty much sleeping... he sleeps a lot, which is good. It's part of the healing process. When he's awake, he's in a lot of pain. His throat is sore. They explain it as being sunburned on the INSIDE of your neck instead of on the outside. He can't swallow. He eats only through his feeding tube... and it's all liquids. Seven cans of this protein stuff a day. Vicodin every four hours. He has so much gunk in this throat, but it hurts to cough, clear his throat, and swallow, so he spits a lot. He gags a lot, which also hurts. His tongue is so sore, his lips are so sore, even his teeth hurt. He only lost a little hair -- though it's hard to tell as his hair was already thinning anyway. He's lost a lot of weight -- most of it in his face, but you can tell in his body too.

It wasn't too bad... the entire weekend. Slept a lot and when awake, really didn't complain at all about the pain. This morning though, wasn't so great. Mom get all his meds (liquid to go through the feeding tube) and his two cans of protein drink ready, got his chair set in the kitchen, and he made his way, wrapped in a blanket (he's often cold), to have his "breakfast". He sat down, mom got the two meds in and one of two cans.... and then he started to gag. Not from the food (remember, it's all going straight to his stomach, not through his mouth), but from all the crap in his throat. He starts to gag and dry heave and spit a lot. It's hard to watch your dad go through that -- be in so much pain. I can only imagine, no, I can't imagine, what it feels like. He apologized to me, once he was through, for the sounds and the heaving, because he knows I am a little squeamish -- and in the middle mom asked if I just wanted to go -- but as I told them both -- it was fine and me leaving would make it worse for me. I toughed it out -- just as my dad will. Once he finished "eating", he was pretty exhausted, and sore, from all the gaging and coughing, he pretty much went right to sleep on the couch. I woke him up briefly to say goodbye and had to hold myself together. Said goodbye to mom in the driveway and headed on my way. I don't think I made it past the neighbor's house before the tears came.

He has one chemo and eight radiations left -- then it's on to the healing.

Again, however you pray and whomever to, please keep my dad (and family) in mind. My mom and I are both firm believers... every little thought and prayer helps.


---


On a lighter note, here's a bookshelf, that while very cool, I think would drive me crazy -- mostly because the books would be all crooked and hard to organize:
Thanks, but no thanks.

Going home...

I'm heading back to Appleton tomorrow to see my dad. I haven't been home since August when we found out he was sick. Yes, I've talked to my parents at least two or three times a week -- it's the best I can do from here to keep in touch and keep up to date with my dad's treatments... but it's hard. I am so nervous to go home and see him tomorrow. In no way has it been easy to be here while he goes thought this, but not being there means I don't have to see him in pain. I don't have to see my mom feed him through the feeding tube because his throat is too sore to swallow even water. I don't have to see him sleep on the couch all day or get ready for his treatments. I don't have to see my mom care for my dad. I can call and get updates and talk to my dad and hear his voice, but I don't have to see it. Stephanie tells me it's really hard to see. I don't know how tough I can be. I have to be strong... for my dad, for my mom, and for my sister. Stephanie says she cries... I've only cried three times -- once at the hospital the moment we went into that damn little room (I knew all too well what comes out of those little rooms -- it wasn't good the first time with my mom and it wasn't good the second time with my dad), I cried after I got in the car after saying goodbye to my mom in the driveway, and I'm crying now. I know going home is what I need to do -- I need to see my dad so I know he's ok. I need to go home and be with my mom and sister... just be around. But I am so scared. I am scared to see my dad hurting. Two years ago I saw my mom this way. That wasn't easy. But I feel like this is worse. My dad's treatments are a bit more drastic than my mom's were -- I just don't know if I'm ready to see it. I know he's going to be ok. I know he is. Nine days and then healing. That's it. But it's hard. It's so hard. And I'm scared. I don't say it often and certainly not out loud. But I am. I am scraed.

I'm going home tomorrow to see my dad. I'll be back Sunday.

Bragging rights... etc.

Last night, as Greenberg and I sat around in his room, we started talking about circumcisions. I got to thinking.... Jewish men really do have bragging rights over Jewish women: Jewish men can say people traveled across country, maybe even across the world, just to see someone snip the tip off their penis!

That's amazing! Fascinating even! I mean, really. Jewish women just get held up in front of the congregation, a blessing said, a name given. But Jewish men... they get held, drunk, and snipped in front of family and friends -- friends and family that flock to see it!

---

Atlanta was amazing, in case any of you were hoping for a follow-up. While I was in a new city to which I had never been, I really saw none of it. Was I upset? Not the least. I didn't go to Atlanta to see Atlanta. I went to Atlanta to see Nathan. And Nathan (and his parents) I saw. We had an amazing time just sitting around and catching up. Needless to say, I really miss him around here and it was SO good to see him. Will I go back to Atlanta and see the sites (and Nathan again)? Absolutely. Besides, Nathan does owe me a fresh diet coke. :o)

---

Wednesday night I had dinner with Allen at Redstone. Yes, again I went to Redstone, and again I had the corn bread. This time, along with some amazing smoked gouda fondue and jerk chicken, a glass of syrah, and a berry crisp with oatmeal cookie chunks and vanilla ice cream. Amazing. While at dinner, Allen and I discussed why we would never end up together. Quote of the night came from Allen: "At least we share a mutual love: me!"

---

Final note for the evening: There is $225 in my New York jar... intriguing.

WOO HOO!

I'm going to Atlanta tomorrow!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

What is photography?

You know, the people here just keep getting stupider.

Just this morning I had someone, someone (Candy Bar!) who should know what it takes to launch a new product, ask me what I meant by needing photography.

Seriously people. Packaging as artwork. Artwork shows a picture of the product. I need a photograph of the product.

Photography.

Is it that confusing?!

Quote of the Day:

"I love work. Work is great."


Bullshit.

My boys...

Some would say we were inseparable. We were always together -- and when we were, there was really no separating us, so I'd say it was true. We had our moments, two against two, one against three, but really, we were the best.

I can still remember how I met each of them. Brett was the first. I was a peer advisor and he a new freshman. We went around the room during the college meeting and he caught my eye. I knew he was Jewish - not a bad thing, of course. We then broke out at the end of the meeting to ask questions and he asked about Hebrew. He knew he was more advanced than the first or second semester, but didn't know what to do. I knew just what he needed to do. He was the last student out of our office the next morning and it was then I knew we'd be friends forever.

Harry was next. Harry claims we also met during orientation, transfer orientation, though I don't so much remember him from then. I remember Harry from my Jewish Studies class. I was in love with the professor and though this kid (Harry) was so smart, knew everything there was to know, and yes, was kind of cute. We studied a lot together, watched a hockey game or two, really truly learned about each other -- and now we too are forever friends.

Then there was Nathan. There's not really much more to say than that. We met one night while Harry and I were working on an article I was writing for a magazine at Starbucks. Though that was the actual first encounter we had, we are pretty sure we knew each other from somewhere before. That's when I knew we'd forever be better friends than anyone would fully understand. I can't really say much more than that about how I met Nathan and the extent of our relationship -- whatever I say here no one will really understand. Nathan and I have been through a lot together -- on both our behalves -- and I would not change one moment of it. The turn of events we've been through has taught me more than I ever would have expected and I love him more and more every day for our friendship. (I love Harry and Brett too, but I think they'd all agree Nathan and I have been through a lot more together and will understand.)

I met my three boys at three different times, and over the past seven months, I've had to say goodbye to each of them. Nathan was the first to leave. I'm not going to lie -- it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, saying goodbye to him. I'm choking up with tears in my eyes even thinking about it now, seven months later... Nathan is one of the most important people in my life, to watch him go away to figure things out is something I am so proud of him for doing. Never will I ever be more proud of Nathan than I have been in the last year. ... and I am going to leave it at that. I love you.

Brett left next. Now Brett's departure was two-fold for me. Brett left me in Minneapolis, showed up randomly at my door one night, and then met up with my sister and me in New York City over the summer. Brett and my relationship has been one of openness. We talked about everything. Saying goodbye to Brett was hard, yes -- but I know he's going to be where his heart is - in Eretz Yisrael - and no one was going to stop him. Certainly not me.

Last night I said goodbye to Harry. He was the third and final boy to leave. Harry too is off to Israel for a year to start his studies in Rabbinical School. He'll be in Israel for a little over a year, and the back to the states, I think in California, to finish up and become an ordained rabbi. After dinner at Emily's I hopped in my car and Harry in his and we both headed off to my new apartment. On the way home I realized I had to say goodbye to Harry and that I really didn't want to do it. We sat around my apartment as if nothing unusual would transpire later. Finally, Harry looked at me and told me he was going to miss me. I brushed it off -- I didn't want to say goodbye because I knew he was the last to go. I know I have Greenberg (I'll always have Greenberg) and there are many others in line to try and step in for my boys who are off doing there things, being who they are... but it'll never be the same. I gave Harry a hug, told him to be safe and have fun, and keep in touch. I know he will. I closed the door and went to bed. I left it at that.

I have to stop since I can't really see clearly through the tears... I love the three of you more than each of you will ever know. I hope you realize each of you are my family and I truly love and miss you each and every day.

***

I'm not sure this is where I was going with this when I sat down to write tonight.. but this is what came out and I'm not going to rethink it. And for the record, I mean every word of it.

Moving: Spiritual and Physical

Rosh Hashanah:
Last year I had Rosh Hashanah in Minneapolis. My parents, my grandparents, and my uncle and his wife came up to Minneapolis; we went to shul at Beth Jacob and had a feast at my apartment. It was awesome. This year, my dad didn’t have enough vacation time left to make the trip back here, so I gave my grandparents a choice: they would drive to Appleton and I’d take a week off and spend it at home, or they would stay in Detroit and I would go stay there for a week. They, knowing the drive, thought it’d be nice to stay in Detroit – so off I went. It was an amazing week – exactly what I wanted. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my grandma, helping her cook, helped around the house getting ready for the big Rosh Hashanah meal, spent Rosh Hashanah at my grandparents’ shul (horrible cantor and choir, but I got over it), and was able to read an entire book. It was just what I needed.

Yom Kippur:
Yom Kippur is one of those days where you know it’s going to be hard, but it’s something you know you have to do. Fasting, sitting in shul for what seems like an eternity, it’s really not one of the more fun Jewish Holydays. However, we must do it. It’s the most integral date on the Jewish calendar and for those as observant as I, it’s quite the experience.

This year I spent Yom Kippur at my shul here. It was awesome. Thanks to Joe who toughed out my crazy “have to be there for the ENTIRE thing” mentality – we really had a good time. We fasted, boy did we fast; calculating the fast, both Joe and I went food- and water-free for a solid 28.5 hours. It was crazy. We also spent a good 14 hours in shul. It was about as intense as it gets.

While the fast was tough and our feet and tushes were sore, it was a meaningful Yom Kippur. The sounds in the sanctuary, the people, and Rabbi Allen’s sermon on Kol Nidre – the entire span was really moving. A Yom Kippur well-dovened.

Moving:
… is not fun. I have a lot of stuff. So much stuff, in fact, I am still not done. While I still have another carload or two to go, today my furniture made the pilgrimage and I am happy to announce the new place is coming along. In a one week I will be out of the downtown apartment and into the new one. “A new year, a new apartment,” my mom said today.


It’s been a moving two weeks – with Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and an actual move, my dad’s treatments moving along*… it’s a moving season for me.

L’shana tova u’metuka – I hope your holydays were as moving as mine.



* Dad started his chemo last week. So far, so good. He says his stomach feeding tube is still a little sore and hard to get used to, but he knows he’ll appreciate it when his neck is “sunburned on the inside”. Everyone’s spirits are high. He starts radiation on Thursday of this week. Thanks to all of you for keeping he and my family in your prayers.

National Talk Like a Pirate Day gone bad...

Today is National Talk Like a Pirate Day, so naturally my marketing department is having a good time with it.

Tom needs something from Peggy. Because it's Talk Like a Pirate Day, Tom calls Peggy "Peg Leg".

Peggy, in response to Tom says, "Tom, I wish I could come up with a good name for you, but 'asshole' just keeps coming to mind."

It was the funniest thing ever.

(though, you probably had to be here)

Now THIS would be fun!

When Nathan sent me this one, he sent a message along with it: "got room for this?". HELL YEAH I DO!

I am pretty sure this would fit in my new living room, as long as I don't move in my couch, tv unit, and get a bookself for the many many many bags of books.

Check it out people: a four-person hot tub complete with a 61" tv:
Seriously -- how awesome. Check out all the jets! Talk about fun. Complete with DVD, CD, AM-FM radio, and 2 pop-up speakers, this would be the ultimate entertainment center. And much much more ;o)

This I really do need!

This one's on wheels!

With this one, I could wheel around my apartment!
(Ok, so I don't really want this one, but it IS pretty cool! How awesome would it be to be reading, have to pee, and just roll down the hall to the bathroom, without having to stop reading until you transfer to the toilet.... or to the kitchen to get a beer!)

Yet another...

It's been a while since we've seen a bookshelf I need, but alas, Nathan has found me another:
Check out this one, for only $1800. Certainly it would look awesome in my new apartment... and I do need a bookshelf.

Grammatically incorrect?

As I watched the news Labor Day morning, I saw this headline (printed as-is) across the bottom of the television.

Correct me if I am wrong, but I am pretty sure this is grammatically incorrect:

LABOR DAY: THE NEW NEW YEAR'S

Wouldn't that be saying New Year's something? That something belongs to the New Year? Try and prove me wrong, but I am pretty certain the above headline is grammatically incorrect.

Second runner up...

So I showed my co-worker the picture of my glorious trifle and he showed me what he made last night:
"I'm a regular Chef Boyardee," he says.

You be the judge as to who wins...

Pumpkin Gingerbread Trifle!

I'm really not one to brag about my cooking. Yes, I can cook. Yes, 99% of the time, I produce something that does not make me (or anyone else) gag (ok, salmon rice balls excluded). And yes, I do pride myself on being a better baker than cook. In any case, tomorrow night I am having dinner with my girlfriends from the U -- you've heard me talk about them before, we do it about once a month, each bring a dish, blah blah blah.

Well -- I finally get to bring dessert. Last time we met I was also assigned dessert, but had to deal with a vegan theme, ergo my dessert wasn't as glorious as I knew it could be.

Until tonight. Though we haven't yet had dinner and I haven't yet presented the ladies with the glory, I am pretty proud of what I crafted tonight. And yes, I can vouch for taste, as I pulled a Paula Dean and was about to sneak a taste before decorating the top.

So I present to you, my Pumpkin Gingerbread Trifle:Here's how to make one yourself...

1 package gingerbread mix
1 box vanilla pudding
1 (30 oz) can pumpkin pie filling
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 (12 oz) container whipped topping, thawed
Cinnamon sugar for dusting

Bake gingerbread according to package directions; cool completely. Prepare pudding according to package. Stir pumpkin pie filling, brown sugar, and cinnamon into pudding. Cut the cooled gingerbread into small squares. Scatter 1/2 gingerbread on bottom of trifle bowl. Pour 1/2 pumpkin mixture over gingerbread, then cover with 1/2 whipped topping. Repeat each layer. Dust top with cinnamon sugar. Refrigerate overnight.

Here we go again...

Two summers ago, the doctor came into the waiting room and brought my dad, sister, and me into a little room. “The only thing you’re going to remember when you leave this little room is cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer.” And he was right. This past Wednesday, as we sat in the waiting room while my dad was in surgery, I told my sister, her boyfriend, my mother, and my grandma, I didn’t want to go back into another “bummer room”. Two and a half hours later, instead of the thirty to fourty-five minutes the doctor told us, the doctor came into the waiting room and led us, yet again, into another bummer room.

“The only thing you’re going to remember when you leave this little room is cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer,” he said. I thought to myself: he’s said this before – the same exact thing – they must take a class on this shit and actually have a script. My dad, this past Wednesday, was diagnosed with cancer of the tonsil and neck.

At the age of 52, my dad had his tonsils out. Not fun for someone that age… most people have their tonsils out (if needed) when they are little, 10 maybe. Not my dad. 52. His throat is sore, it hurts to swallow, he is bloated from the medications (expected, says the doctor, but very uncomfortable for my dad), and has been on a liquid, cold liquid, diet since Wednesday last. It seems he is now eating lukewarm mashed potatoes, sans salt, jello, ice cream, and applesauce, but the man must be dying for a great big juicy steak.

Next steps: meet with the doctors later this week after he’s had some time to recooperate from the surgery. Take out the stiches from his surgery (he now has a scar that, together with my mom’s, makes one giant ring around the neck), get the results from all the biopsies to ensure the cancer has not spread, and then meet with the chemo and radiation doctors to see what those processes will entail and for how long.

We are all hanging in there, doing the best we can. My dad’s spirits are high and he is determined to “beat this thang”.

I ask you to please keep my family in your thoughts and prayers as we venture down the cancer road… again.

Here we go again, we said… here we go again.

My dad...

Two summers ago, my mom was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer. She found a lump in her lower neck area while at a dance lesson with my dad. She had it checked out, they removed it, and found cancer. She had a huge, solid six-hour surgery, had her thyroid removed, as well as bunch of fatty tissue and lymph nodes, underwent radioactive iodine treatment, and beat it. My mom has been cancer-free for just over two years now.

Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from my dad. He waited until later in the afternoon to call, not wanting to stress me out all day (also not knowing of my coworker’s father-in-law passing). My dad found a lump under his left ear. From what he told me, it’s about the size of a ping pong ball, but flat, under his left ear, kind of back by the muscle tissue. He too had it checked out. He went into Urgent Care, who sent him over to see and ENT (ear, nose, and throat doctor). The doctor thinks it’s just a cyst, but did a CT scan to take a better look. No results until today or tomorrow. Either way, my dad is having the lump removed at the end of the month.

I know – think glass half full, but it’s hard. It’s hard to think back to the last time I encountered and ENT, a lump. I think back to sitting in that little room, the one everyone in the waiting room dreads being led to, hearing the doctors tell you the surgery went fine, but… But. The worst part of any sentence when you know something is coming next, probably not pleasant. Cancer. The doctor told us the only thing we’d remember walking out of that little room in cancer. Cancer, cancer, cancer. And he was right. That’s all we remembered.

However, two years later, my mom is cancer-free.

My dad’s lump, g-d-willing, will just be a cyst. They will remove it, biopsy it, and it will be nothing. In any case, please keep him in your thoughts and for those of you who have or say them, prayers…

Stay tuned for an update…

Ridiculous...

One of my boss’s father-in-law died last night in a car accident. Her nephew works here also… on our team. We called him this morning to tell him not to come in; we would cover what he has going on and he should go be with his family. When my favorite person came in this morning, we told her he wasn’t coming in to work today and she flipped out. She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t come to work. He has a lot going on here and we really need him. Forget his aunt’s husband’s father just died… there is work to be done!

PLEASE.

I looked up at her and didn’t hold back – as I probably should have. I asked her if she was really challenging whether he should be at home or at work. Come on – his aunt’s father-in-law just died – he was part of the family too.

Good lord, woman – have a heart.

I am just going to put my headphones on and pretend she’s not even here. I can’t even look at her right now.

Heartless.

Awkward

Talk about an awkward lunch! I just got back from an hour and forty-five minute lunch with she-who-shall-not-be-named. Why we went to lunch just the two of us at one of the most amazing Petters-affiliated dining abodes, I will never fully understand, but we did. And awkward it was.

First I shall detail my meal, as Redstone deserves all the credit in the world. I had a rotisserie chicken chopped salad consisting of fire wood pulled chicken, cornbread croutons, grape tomatoes, golden raisons, and sweet corn, tossed in a honey lime vinaigrette. It was a decent salad (though does not even come close to the amazing Chopped Salad at Tucci Bennuch). Then I also had a slice of the cornbread with maple butter. Now, I think I’ve detailed this cornbread once before, but good lord is it amazing. I could have had that and my diet coke and been happy. She had a bowl of chicken-tortilla soup and a flatbread pizza, as well as a slice of the cornbread and a diet coke.

The meal, delicious. The lunch itself, awkward. We really don’t have much to talk about at all. We made small talk about high school (she’s going to her 20-year reunion this weekend) and she asked about my love life (what the hell?), I made a joke about hers (take that!), and we talked about the bridge collapse. I knew she was holding back, I knew she wanted to talk about work. And finally, after they cleared our plates and the check was paid, she did. She asked about my work with the other team, I answered very little. She can’t really know yet. She asked about my current team, what I liked, what I didn’t like. I again answered very little. She asked about her, what I liked, what I didn’t like. Again, I answered very little. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut – that when I open it with her, it comes back and kicks me in the ass later. So I was pretty quiet. She asked my opinion of two other temps – two we are trying to decide between. I said very little. I know she could tell, but I didn’t really care. I knew she wanted more details, to know what I was really thinking, what I am really doing with my job and what I have in store… up my sleeve, but I was wise – didn’t say much.

Finally she gave up. We left. The ride back to the office was strange too – we both were pretty quiet. I know I’ve used the word one-too-many times, but it was awkward. Plain old awkward.

Morning rant...

I know it’s been a while and though a rant is not what I’ve been meaning to post, here comes a quick one:

Please, for the love of pete, give me a little more direction when giving me projects. I understand we are all busy, but when I am not involved in the original meeting and get not one, but two new projects with little-to-no information and direction, whatever I do produce will not be even slightly close to what you’re looking for. We both know this. It has happened before, and you know it will happen again. So let’s save each other a little slack and bitching and complaining and just put it all out there right away. Ok? Ok.

Oh, and when I ask for more direction, don’t look at me like I should know what you are/were looking for. I wasn’t in the meetings, I wasn’t part of the discussions, and thank g-d, I am not inside your head. If you want it done a certain way or there is something specific you’re looking for, write it on the creative brief so I know, send me an email, have a quick conversation with me, or for goodness sake, do it yourself.

Ok. Done. I feel better. Thanks.

Now – I probably owe it to myself (and those of you who like to read up on me) a review of my birthday extravaganza… I hope, I really do, to get it out there… if things would only slow down a little…

Brazil!

So Sunday MontazeriSchool and I went to the zoo and saw Guster that night at the zoo amphitheater. It was awesome -- we had amazing, second row seats. MontazeriSchool took this awesome video of Guster singing "Brazil". Two things of note on this video:

1. In the bottom right corner, shortly after the video starts, you should be able to see some dude recording video on his iPhone.
2. If you look closely, it almost looks like Nathan playing the drums!! :o)

Enjoy the clip:



Birthday recap to come tonight or tomorrow -- then it's off to NYC with my sister to celebrate her 21st birthday! That recap will come when I get back.

A chair for my bookshelf...

Some of you may recall an earlier post about needing a sweet bookshelf with built-in chair. This morning Nickolas sent over a link to a chair that would be a perfect fit with said bookshelf.

Check it out, people! A chair and ottoman that double as bookshelves! How sweet would this be! I mean, not only do you get more storage, you also get a chair and and ottoman! I am pretty sure this would make the coolest reading room ever -- especially doubled with the bookshelf with built-in chair!

The best part is, I probably have enough books to fill the bookshelf, chair, and ottoman!

Also true of the iPhone...

Thanks Nathan!

I need a cold shower...

I am not one to praise the short cube walls in our new office space, but today they proved themselves. It all started when the SVP of Product mentioned to one of my marketing coworkers he needed to open a job to review the packaging from the iPhone. Yes, I am short, and no, I cannot see over my cube walls when seated in my desk chair. But I can certainly hear conversations near and far. When I heard "iPhone" my ears perked and I immediately jolted up out of my chair. I asked the SVP if someone had an iPhone... he did have the packaging in his hand afterall. He pointed to the new technology guy (not a new employee Nickolas, an employee that focuses on new techology) and said he had the iPhone right there on his desk. I asked if I could touch it and he told me I could come on over and play with it all I wanted.

Yes folks, I played with the iPhone today.
I'll sum it up in one word: hot.

Now, I've read a bunch of reviews (thank you Nathan), I've heard all the flaws, missing applications, shitty keyboard, the list goes on. But damn... is that thing awesome. It's about the size of an iPod, a little longer. About the same weight, though I think it holds better in the hand. There is one button that really just takes you back to the main menu when in anther application. When locked, to unlock you touch the screen, a slider lock appears, and you slide it to the right with your finger to unlock the glory. Then.... then you get to play.

The office iPhone was not yet connected to our secured wireless system, so I wasn't able to surf the internet or really do much with the maps. Because they had just taken it out of the (standard Apple-amazing) packaging, there wasn't much media loaded, so I wasn't really able to experience the iPod or video functions. I did play with the maps a bit, zooming in and out with a touch or a "pinch" of the screen. The screen itself -- awesome. Great, bright, vibrant colors -- really sweet against the black background. I also got to try out the "texting" function. I will say I agree with the reviews - the keyboard is less-than-great. I've played with the crackberry, er, blackberry, and Nathan's phone with the slide-out keyboard (I can't for the life of me think of what that thing was called -- I blame the iPhone) and could use the keyboard just fine with my two thumbs. However, the iPhone is a bit trickier. The touchscreen keyboard keys are bit close together and makes it pretty difficult to ensure you are hitting the correct letters -- unlike the blackberry or Nathan's phone that you could feel the buttons. Apparently the new tech guys says it's supposed to take about five days for it to become natural, but I am not convinced. Maybe I'll just have to take it home for a couple days and try it out!

Am I ready to buy one? No. There are applications I would want on there many believe will appear in the G2 and G3 versions. That -- and still a bit pricey, no? In the meantime, I'll give the new tech guy a day (and the weekend, I guess) to get some stuff loaded and connected to the internet before I beg to play again next week. Yes, yes I will play with it again. I will experience more of the iPhone's glory. I will need another cold shower.

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In case you're wondering what's so amazing about the iPhone packaging or Apple packaging in general is that there are no words on the packaging. The iPhone packaging has the Apple logo on two sides and a front shot of the iPhone on the other two. That's it. It's hot. I'm not sure there is another way to describe it. There's something about the way the box looks, any Apple box for that matter, that makes the customer look at the product and know what they are getting is not only a great product, but a product that is worth all they are paying for it, and one with which they know they will not be disappointed. From a marketing standpoint: genius.

Really.

What's really frustrating is that it happens all the time. We have plans to do something and then either I don't get a phone call or something else comes up or because someone has to work or doesn't feel like going out (read: come over and hang out), I get stood up.

It's frustrating because you are the last of my three boys in town. Yes, it might only be for a while, and yes, I am crossing my fingers one of you (yes, you) comes back here, but you are here now. And that was exciting for me. Instead of loosing all three of you, I still have one left. The problem is, it doesn't feel that way.

I'm sorry if you read this and it hurts your feelings because that certainly isn't my intention, but understand where I am coming from in that I just want to be able to hang out. I miss you (all three of you, really) and the fact that you're still in town and I never see you -- something is wrong there.

So -- please don't break plans with me. I could have done something else tonight and turned it down because we had plans. Yes, I understand things do come up, but you still could have come over tonight.

All I'm asking is that if you make plans with me, please don't stand me up. It hurts more than you think.


(And to the other two of you who are not in town, I miss you both so much you have no idea.)

***

Damn I hate being a girl and crying all the time.

Need it!

Nickolas found this the other day when bored at work... I NEED one! It's a lamp, shaped like a pushpin, with a corkboard base. Whoever finds where to get one and buys it for me first gets a prize!!

An office classic...

I don’t remember how the conversation started because I started laughing so hard, but here’s a little back and forth between Tom and Matt about my favorite person around my office *note the sarcasm*

Tom: She called me a piece of shit because I was flashing a mirror in her face.
Matt: And she didn't like that?
Tom: Maybe she’s a vampire.
Matt: Yeah!
Tom: She does have pasty skin.
Matt: She is evil…

This is my blog…

Read it or don’t read it, I don’t give a damn. What I do give a damn about is when someone comments that not only doesn’t know me, but wrongs me in thinking I commented on their blog. (No, I am not talking about the two of you that sent me those lovely comments, I know who you are *wink*)

Yes, I understand people (yes, it was two different people, only once was it the person you thought it was) comment on other people’s blogs and I believe it’s more than welcome. Screen or don’t screen, fine. However, before you go around pointing fingers, blogging the commenter’s demise or posting unnecessary comments on other people’s blogs, let’s make sure you are pointing at the right person.

So to you (if you even read this other than when upset at random commenters on your own blog) – thanks for starting off my morning with that shit comment. It wasn’t me.

And to you – you were right the first time, but it wasn’t him the second time (nor was it me). Relax.

Why the two of you must come home and visit me...

So here's the deal. You (both) have been gone for quite some time. Not only have you been gone for a while, but you've been over the long enough where (whether you want to admit it or not) you know you would love a little break from the Mediterranean sun and would love to indulge in a nice Midwestern summer day. Not only that, but come on, you'd get to hang out with Lizzo -- that alone should be reason enough!

While I know one of you MUCH better than the other, I feel it is important for you both to make the trip, Why? Well, you Nathan, must come home and visit me. The apartment misses you. It gets lonely during the day. Leftovers don't go half as quickly. I could use a night of ass-raping rummy, too much wine, laughing until I cannot breathe... And if not for me, at least come home for the T-Rex. We have a T-Rex!

And as for Ilan, well, I have heard much about this Ilan fellow. I have seen picture upon picture, we're spoken on many an occasion, he's felt up Nathan (although many of us have) and he liked it, I've seen his credentials, and I do believe I (or my father, for that matter) owe him a dowry of 40 sheep and 800 hotcakes. You, Ilan, have to at least come home for the sheep and hotcakes!

You both owe it to me -- I mean, I'm Lizzo!!!

And anyway, how can I resist these faces?(Nathan and Ilan)

I mean look at you. With all that hair and headband (and from what I hear, ponytail) action... you can see why I am missing you BOTH so much and just need a little time with us all together.

So here's the plan. Take a long weekend, come visit me, I'll cook you endless amounts of deliciousness, I have enough liquor, beer (ok, lacking a little on the beer, but that can be easily fixed), and more wine than really necessary (is that even possible?), we'll have peanut butter and ice cream, wine, tickle wars until I can't breathe, wine, and a night of cuddling all together in my big bed. Allen will come down, you can smoke and blow it in my face, I'll even bring out the big guns and spring for Mesa!

Ultimately you have no choice. You must come home and visit me. You can go back, I promise to let you go back. But you have to come. And you have to stay with me. I miss you (both) to the point where there is no other option. There's just no way around it. Please oh please come! I'll make it worth your while. Oh, how I will make it worth your while...

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Are you on your way yet?

Giving credit where credit is due...

I cannot take ownership to the recipe I posted below (Almond Chive Salmon). Let me explain. Three of my girlfriends, all with whom I used to work at the U, and I get together about once a month to have dinner. We each make a dish (sometimes two or three, Melissa!) and bring it to one of our houses and eat and chat and just hang out. It's probably one of the best nights of the month.

Anyway -- a couple dinner groups ago, Emily made the salmon dish. I had to have the recipe -- which is something we planned on doing anyway but never really follow through on. So I harassed her for the recipe and voila -- there it is.

So, thank you Emily for the delicious salmon recipe!

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On a related note, we met tonight for a BBQ-themed dinner group. I made "the sauce", marinated some chicken tenders in it, and skewered them on the grill. "The Sauce" was, as always, delicious and the girls loved it. We had about three different salads, some homemade baked beans, sparkling peach iced tea, and delicious scone strawberry shortcakes. As always, it was amazing.

I love dinner group nights!!


PS. Katy: If you read this, we (and by we, I mean I) would love the scone recipe!

Oh what a feast...

It's been quite a while since I have had Molly and Joe over for dinner. It seems that with our busy schedules we've only been able to hang out on the weekends, which means we usually grill out in Molly or Joe's backyard. Don't get me wrong, there is NOTHING wrong with a nice night of grillin'. Molly has also made her fair share of deliciousness. But it had been a while since I cooked for them.

Tonight I made a feast. Almond-Chive Salmon (see recipe below), Cheezy Orzo, and Lemon-Scented Green Beans. For dessert, Oreo Cheesecake Bites. We toasted on a nice crisp bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. It was awesome. I might even say this salmon is almost as good as my mom's salmon on the grill. ALMOST.

In any case, it was nice to have them over and to get to cook a nice big meal. Though we were missing our fourth diner (yes, you), we had some nice conversation about prostitutes and bathroom stalls with hard-to-reach toilet paper.

Great success!


Almond-Chive Salmon

1/4 cup sliced almonds
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon rind
2 (1-ounce) slices white bread, torn
1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
4 (6-ounce) salmon fillets (about 1 inch thick)
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Cooking spray
4 lemon wedges

1. Preheat oven to 400°.
2. Combine first 5 ingredients in a blender; add 1/4 teaspoon salt. Process until finely chopped.
3. Sprinkle salmon with the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and pepper. Top fillets evenly with breadcrumb mixture; press gently to adhere. Place fillets on a baking sheet coated with cooking spray.
4. Bake at 400° for 10 minutes or until fish flakes easily when tested with a fork. Serve with lemon wedges.

A tidbit from the Polaroid News...

The three of us writers here at work all write for the Polaroid News -- a bi-weekly electronic newsletter. Tom created a section called "Pixels" - pretty much acknowledging fun and exciting bits of information about employees. Though we pulled this one because the VP thought it might be a little controversial (really?!), here's what Tom wrote about me:

Liz Orenstein, Minnetonka, visited Appleton, Wisconsin, her hometown, last weekend. While in Appleton, Liz went to a Bar Mitzvah for a family friend, and also attended a Memorial Day bar-b-que that included potato salad with bacon. Liz asks, “Who ever heard of potato salad with bacon?"

Long drive. Lost thoughts. Missing you.

• I miss singing in the car.
• I miss random nights of drunkenness.
• I miss getting tickled so hard I can hardly breathe.
• I miss coming home to you and Allen on the couch, you playing PGR, he watching (like I would).
• I miss smoke in my face.
• I miss coming home from work knowing you’d be there or knowing you’d be home soon.
• I miss stumbling home from the bars and waking up with two slices of Mesa in the frige, only a bite or two missing.
• I miss miserably losing playing cards.
• I miss having a T-Rex.
• I miss the fish face followed by the fins face.
• I miss microwave cakes with ice cream.
• I miss ice cream with peanut butter.
• I miss going to Al’s.
• I miss bantering with the boys.
• I miss two towels on the back of the bathroom door.
• I miss your curly hair all over the bathroom.
• I miss phone calls – or even the option of phone calls.
• I miss Heroes.
• I miss going through vodka and rum and gin and anything else on top of the frige like it wouldn’t be there the next day.
• I miss hearing about what went into the eggs.
• I miss knowing you’d eat whatever leftovers were in the frige.
• I miss making you laugh.
• I miss you making me laugh.
• I miss watching movies and the same ten episodes of Scrubs over and over again.
• I miss you hogging my mac… and my couch.
• I miss random pillow fights every night – making them not so random.
• I miss wondering if I know how to cry rather than crying all the time.
• I miss you so much it hurts sometimes.

Why does Hawaii have interstate highways?

After doing a little research on this one, there were many-an-explanation. However, I am not settled with any of the scientific explanations behind this mystery. Ergo, I present to you a very simple, and probably skipped over answer: Hawaii doesn’t want to be left out.

Think about it: 50 states. 48 continental, 2 drifters (Alaska and Hawaii).

Wikipedia says “there are four officially designated interstate highways in Alaska, even though Alaska is usually considered to have no interstates, and the routes do not connect directly to any highways in the contiguous United States.” However I am going to go right out and say I disagree. I’d argue the four interstates, while they go into Canadian provinces and not US states, should be counted. And with Alaska’s long tail-like appendage, it pretty much reaches Washington State anyway. Alaska has interstates.

Hawaii, on the other hand, is a bunch (literally) of islands. The state doesn’t border another, thanks to a large ocean, but does have different islands to hop to and from. But if I am not mistaken, there really aren’t large bridges connecting one island to another – so we couldn’t’ call them interisland highways. So should they just be called highways?

About.com told me “any highway built under the auspices of the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 and funded by the federal government is called an interstate highway, even if it doesn't cross state lines.” So then, the three interstates in Hawaii, H1, H2, and H3 are valid. Not only are they valid because they federally funded after 1956, but I’d say they are also valid because they “connect important military facilities on the island of Oahu”.

But, again, still not satisfied. I mean really… even though Hawaii is way out there in the “middle” of the ocean, it still is a recognized member of the United States. I can only imagine even with all the surfers, coconuts, hula shirts, and pig roasts they still probably feel a little left out when they want to say, go on a road trip. Can’t really state-hop in Hawaii. Nor can you drive down the highway and hop out and take a picture of your front in Minnesota and your back in Wisconsin (ok, not a good example, there’s a river there, but you get the point). While many are jealous of Hawaii and all its warm weather and tropical fruit and beauty, it certainly doesn’t have the “connection” with the continental states (and Alaska). They just want to be included. And really, you can’t blame Hawaii for that!

(Official Word Count: 426)

So now answer me this: can vegetarians eat animal crackers?

Quote of the Day

"I have just taken my beer drinking to the next level"

- Dan Hemken, after purchasing his new Sumbeam Beer Dispenser and realizing his beer will stay fresh for a month!

Another reason why I love Minneapolis...

...it can be 81* during the day and drop to 45* that same night.

An extra $0.50 really adds up...

I went down to do a load of laundry tonight. I thought I had put in the $1.25 the machine usually asks for. It made me put in another quarter. I thought maybe I didn't count right and went back upstairs. 36 minutes later, I went to put my one load of laundry into the dryer. I put in the $1.25 the machine usually requires, counting this time. Much to my dismay, the machine requested another quarter. I put it in and pressed "Start". I looked around at the other machines: $1.50. My lovely landlords uped the laundry prices $0.25 a load. That's an additional $0.50 to do ONE LOAD of laundry.

Bitches.

I hate paying to do my laundry.

If buttered bread always lands on the butter-side down and a cat always lands on its feet, what happens if you strap buttered bread to a cat's back?

Good question. Really good question. Mind-boggling, in fact. I thought about another experiment, similar to the bra one, but thought better of it in sparing a cat of many a drop and saving the money on a loaf of bread and stick of butter (I am going to New York in July, after all, and need to save every penny – there is no extra change for a loaf of bread). Then I really got to thinking about it, but even that didn’t help. I came up with outcome after outcome of all the different ways this could go down (no pun intended), and still, even with the below response, am not satisfied, nor do I think I ever will be. Ergo, you get what I have to offer here, as I know I will never fully get out what I want on this one.

If the bread is strapped to the cat’s back and the bread always lands butter-side down, not only do you lose your piece of buttered bread, you now have an injured cat. However, if the bread is strapped to the cat’s back and the cat lands on its feet, not only do you have a safe cat, you still have a delicious piece of buttered bread to enjoy (though it might have a little cat hair all over it).

Now, as far as which one wins – I think it’s got to be the cat. An IT intern sitting in on a meeting yesterday at work tried to explain to me the actual physics behind the cat falling and always landing on its feet, but I am a writer, not a scientist, so his words (though at the time I did kind of understand) didn’t stick with me long enough to remember (or care). I, on the other hand, would like the cat to win anyway – because really, when you look at it, not only is the cat winning, but you still get to enjoy your piece of bread. And who am I to turn down a piece of buttered bread anyway…

(Damn did I struggle with this one. With the number of drafts I went though and the time spent, at work of course, I probably could have edited an entire manual – Chinglish and all. Official Word Count: 345 *sigh*)

In case this did not provide enough bread talk, I ask you this: What was the best thing before sliced bread?

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On a side note: I miss you. Shitty days, or in this case, weeks at work were always made so much better when I could come home and hang out.

Music is an amazing thing...

There's nothing like the feeling of a song that takes you back... to an exact moment that only a song or maybe a smell can take you. I love that music has that effect. I love that I can listen to a song, album, or artist in general and can go back in time...

Music can be good like that... but it can also haunt you like that. I love to share music -- one of my old roommates and I make evenings out of it - sitting around listening and yes, sharing music. I do it all the time. We all do. But what happens when you have a moment or experience music takes to you back to that you don't necessarily want to forget, but that you'd rather the music did not remind you of. (I'm not sure that came out clearly, but I'm leaving it at that.)

One of my favorite artists released a new album today. Naturally, after work I picked it up. This artist was introduced to me years ago. It reminds me of that time -- that relationship - and our relationship now. Amazing -- then and now. But I also shared it. Almost that pay it forward concept. As I listened to the new album on my rush-hour drive home, I had the initial "way back when" memories, but it also took me back to not so long ago -- and I am not sure it was a good thing. I don't regret sharing the artist -- everyone should at least give it a try -- nor do I regret the relationship during which I did the sharing -- I learned a lot from that relationship. But I can't help but wish I didn't think about it when I listened... that I only thought about before... when it only meant him and not... him.

So I guess what I want to know is -- how do we move beyond the music -- how do we listen to a song, an album, an artist and only see one side of it. I don't think it's possible. But if you find a way, let me know...

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To you: no, I am not trying to hurt you any more than I know I already did and I'm sorry if that's the way this sounds. It's just what music does to me.

And to you: yeah yeah yeah, I'm fine and over it and know you know exactly what I am talking about with all that crap above.

And to you, who I know doesn't read this -- thank you for introducing me to this one and ultimately making me love, understand, and appreciate music on so many levels.

Motorcyclists...

Am I a bad person for hoping the motorcyclist falls off his motorcycle and cracks his head open when he has a helmet strapped to the back of his bike and NOT on his head?

I think not.

Flowers!

Friday night Harry came over after leading services at Hillel (which gave me time to have orgasmic cornbread at Redstone) and made dinner for my cousin and myself. Not only was the dinner (and company) amazing, Harry brought me flowers!

I can't even tell you the last time someone bought me flowers. It might have actually been that time, a good five years ago, when DJ bought be grocery store roses after we saw some dude buying flowers for his high school girlfriend for prom.

In any case, it made my night. Thanks for the flowers, Harry!

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I had so much more to say about my weekend with Harry, the Cinco de Mayo party, my day with Allen, and drinks at Azia with two of my old co-workers from the U, but frankly, I am too tired to get it all out. It was an amazing weekend -- sad it's over. And sad graduation is soon taking two of my boys away (more to come on this subject later...).

So I bid you all goodnight as I head for bed with John Coltrane and Harry Potter 4.

How do blind people know when they are done wiping?

An interesting question when thought about, really. I mean, most of us seeing folk probably sit down on the crapper, spend our time doing our business, and then get to the wiping, looking at the soiled toilet paper every so often until we see there is nothing left coming off the tush and leaving its mark on the toilet paper. However, for the blind, they really can’t do this – no way of “seeing” what they are leaving behind (no pun intended) on the toilet paper.

Though we seers have become accustomed to looking at the toilet paper, I presume if we wiped with our eyes closed, we’d still be able to tell if there was shit left on our ass cheeks and would know to continue the wiping process. I believe the blind know they are done wiping because they can feel no shit on their asses any longer. Something to think about the next time we all sit down to go #2. (Report back – I’d be interested to know if we all can actually feel the poop on our butts before and during the wiping process.)

When consulting with Nickolas, he made a good point: their fingers are fine-tuned to sensitivities like Braille. They just know. He makes a good point. Blind folk really are amazing feelers. They read entire novels, newspapers, signs, and placards all with their fingertips and little bumps. Their fingertips must just be able to sense their asses are clean.

However, if we want to take the Sheryl Crow stance on the subject, the blind (and according to Sheryl Crow, all of us as not to use too much toilet paper – I mean come on, while she preaches we should use one square of toilet paper per sitting, she probably uses more than one square anyway) could use a bidet. That way, with all that water pressure, their asses would be rid of shit and they wouldn’t have to worry about the wiping and the checking of the toilet paper.

So the blind… either they feel it on their asses, use their super-fingertip sensors, or use bidets. I’ll leave you to choose one of the three as the most probably.*

Feces are always fun to write about (and talk about – just the other night I was out with some people where a friend was telling a story about almost shitting his pants – literally – it was so funny and quite the story). And now, for you my traveling friend, why are there flotation devices under airline seats instead of parachutes?

* G-d-willing they get it all. I can only imagine the scent that would stream from someone who really doesn’t get it all. I bet it would smell a lot like Sklansky or Roommate Tom. And for those of us who were graced with their odors, we know it wasn’t pretty.

Even professionals in the corporate world could use a good grammar lesson!

In an email from a co-worker:

Let me know there response and plans to address in the very near term.

Please tell me what's wrong with this sentence and how someone in such an important and high position could get away with writing something like that.

*sigh*

To the one I know probably doesn't read this...

After an hour and ten minute conversation tonight, I remembered why we are still friends. Friends when all my friends tell me it's bad, it's wrong, and that I'll probably get hurt again. Tonight, I remembered that whatever they say, they don't understand and won't ever be able to understand what we are.

Some of you might understand the above mentioned sentiment -- knowing you made the right decision. Some may not. But know this -- that after that hour and ten minutes, our relationship, in whatever form it's in now, is what's right.

What happens to an 18-hour bra after 18 hours?

18 hours is a long time. And for me, a really long time to be wearing a bra. That being said, I had never tried out the 18-hour bra, so I thought in order to answer the posed question, I should do some research.

I walked to isles of the store, looking for said bra. After finding it amidst the million other brands claiming they’ll do wonders for the shape and size of your breasts, I found the Playtex display of 18-hour bras.

Most of us may not know, but the 18-hour bra actually comes in a box. It does not hang on the pegs making it easy to see the full thing. Instead of fighting with hangers and bra straps, you have to dig through the rows of boxes (which don’t seem to be in any sort of order at all), find the correct size and color, and then take it out of the box to see if the image on the box does the actual bra justice.

After finding the bra and the correct size, I weaved my way to the fitting room. It was time – time to try it out, hoping I like it enough to take it home and try it out for the 18 hours the bra is known for and really see what would happen for the remaining 6 hours of the day. So I put it on, looking in the mirror, and took it off. What a horrifying bra. Not only was it not comfortable at all, it was uglier than on the box and really made my boobs look pointy. Not worth it. So my scientific experiment ended right then and there in the fitting room.

However, I could not just leave it at that. I got to thinking about the 18-hour bra on my drive home. I thought about the other aspect of the 18-hour bra and it dawned on me. The 18-hour bra does not come with an underwire. What does the bra do those other 6 hours its advertising omits? It recovers from the pervious 18 hours of holding up breasts sans underwire and takes a break to regain the strength for the next 18 hours! It’s got to be tough – being a bra – holding up all that breast for so long. Those last 6 hours must indeed be spent preparing for the next 18. It’s a vicious cycle, but someone or something has got to do it.

I have all confidence you will master this one in all ways possible: If you had to be the underwear of someone famous, who would you choose to wear you?

No Entry. Restroom Closed.

I’ll admit I use the bathroom quite often. (Not as often as some people – you know who you are!) Well, every time I go into the bathroom at work, a yellow “No Entry. Restroom Closed” sign tent stares me in the face and brings me back to the good ol’ days in T-Hall.

Freshman year, Molly and I always went on adventures. We’d take the bus downtown, go to lunch somewhere new, usually make a stop at the two-story Target – the one with a cart escalator – and see what other trouble we could get into.

Some days, we’d just hang out in T-Hall. Molly and Rachel’s room was next to a stairwell. We found lots of cool stuff in there that because ours until move-out day. Our favorite items were these yellow tent signs – usually for “Caution! Wet floor!” We always had a good time spilling water on the floor and whipping the yellow caution tent out of the closet, warning our friends of the wet floor. Oh, the fun we had…

Anyway, now every time I walk into the bathroom at work, I just want to grab the sign, take it out to my car, and bring it home for Molly.

Someday I’ll work up the nerve. Just you wait…

You know you're a good friend when...

... four of you best friends call you at 2:30 in the morning, drunk off their asses, asking you to pick them up downtown because they have been waiting for a cab for over 30 minutes and know you'll come get them.

Awesome boys (and Em). Glad to know you know I am always a phone call away.

I love all of you -- even you way far away ;o)

I'm going back to bed...

Everything Is Illuminated.

Read the book. Actually read the book - give it a chance, it's hard to understand, really weird, but read it.

Then watch the movie.

But promise you'll read the book first...

Need it!

Between Nathan and Nickolas, I get my fair share of "check this out" emails and instant message. And my hat goes off to both of them for the links they do share -- they are usually right on the money -- I would indeed be interested in the gadget or bizarre new story passed my way.

Tonight though, as I skimmed the headlines in my reader, I came across an item Nathan posted. Amazing. I just have to have it. Probably with no intentions to hit me other than knowing I might come across it and he himself found it cool, I must have one of these:

Seriously - how awesome would it be to have a bookshelf in your place that you could actually read in! The cool thing about "The Cave" is that you can put it up against the wall and have a bookshelf with a reading spot right inside, but you can also store books on both sides - creating a room partician and virtually a crawling space to get from one room to another.

While it won't fit in my current apartment, I am fixing to move in the near future. I wonder if one will fit...

In the meantime, along with the bat-suit and bat-mobile my boys owe me, add this to the list. Or, if any of you want to pitch in and get me this for my birthday -- (you still have some time to save up) -- it will only cost you a mere $10,700.

Please buy it for me please!

Is a metaphor like a simile?

What the hell kind of question is this?! Quite a doozie, even for a lover of grammar and the English language. I looked at it the first time and was ready to whip out all my grammar and style books, give a really technical answer that few might really appreciate. I really had to think more about it – is a metaphor like a simile.

First of all, I congratulate you for posing a question about a metaphor in the form of a simile. Nice work. Secondly, thanks for presenting me with a chance to talk about grammar and style – not many really want to hear me drone on about comma usage or the difference between “good” and “well”. But there really isn’t a good way to make this interesting, so my apologies for the forthcoming textbook answer. I won’t lie – this one was tough.

Is a metaphor like a simile? The answer, short and sweetly, is yes, a metaphor is like a simile, but different. This may not be a fair answer, but it’s what I will offer. Here’s why:

A simile compares two unlike things using a comparison word such as “like” or “as”. Example: Quick like a fox. A metaphor, on the other hand, compares two unlike things without a comparison word. Example: Life’s a bitch.

So they are different, but the same, see. The main difference is that comparison word. We make comparisons all the time. Whether it’s about a meal we just had compared to a meal the night before or sexual partners (come on, we all say we don’t compare one to the next, but we all do it – it’s in our nature).

Ok, I give up – that was incredibly difficult and there is no way to make it any more interesting or fun. So forgive me, really. A metaphor, while different, is indeed like a simile.

I know this did no justice to the question and I’m sure I could do better, but I think this is the best we’re going to get. But… I’ll leave you with a simile:

Every time I look at the t-rex, I smile like a kid in a candy shop.

(Official MSWord word count: 366, jeezuz that was hard to hit!)


And for you, while it might seem like an amateur challenge, we both know it’s more complicated than the immediate, obvious answer. I challenge you: Why did the chicken cross the road?

If you had to choose to not ever wash your bed sheets again or not wash your bath towel ever again, which would you rather not wash?

If I had to choose to not ever wash my bed sheets again or not wash my bath towel ever again, I would choose never to wash my bath towel again.

Some may say that’s gross, but I beg to differ. Let me offer you both my reasoning for choosing the bath towel and my reasoning for not choosing the bed sheets.

First let us consider the bath towel. When you get into the shower, you’re dirty. You get in to clean yourself (or to wake up or to refresh, but let’s concentrate on the cleaning of oneself). Ergo, when you leave the shower (and are ready to use the bath towel) you are clean. The bath towel really just serves the purpose of drying your wet – and clean – body off from the shower water. You have presumably rid yourself of all the dirt, odors, and bodily fluids, so when using the bath towel you should already be clean. Alas, the towel really isn’t getting dirty, just wet.

Now, the bed sheets. I would rather wash my bed sheets. Why? We sleep on them every night. While we (should) also use our bath towels every day (or night, depending on when you shower), we use bed sheets in a completely different manner. As argued above, we are clean when we use the bath towel. When we hop into bed at night to go to sleep, we may be quite dirty, or may I offer odorous, from the day behind us. Not only that, but think about what happens while you’re in bed. Some may sweat like crazy – maybe it’s too hot in the room. Some may drool – droolers, you know who you are. And for those lucky ones – and I mean lucky – bodily fluids of one sort or another may get on the sheets. Not something you really want to sleep on for the rest of all time. We’ve all done it – slept on fluid-infested sheets for more than just that lucky night – but come on… it’s kind of gross.

Thus, this is why if I had to choose to not ever wash my bed sheets again or not wash my bath towel ever again, I would choose not to wash my bath towel.

(Official MSWord word count: 380)


Your challenge, if you so choose to accept, in at least 300 words, is this: Would you rather fly when you fart or pee when you laugh?