I made it for you!

Current mood: playful

Totally Random Survey

Favorite word or phrase: Wicked awesome!

Do you get to use it enough? Actually, yeah. I'm very expressive ;-)

Do you really, really have to stop saying it, or others might want to hurt you? Unsure. Comments?

Favorite commercial and why: So help me God, I LOVE the Pepto-Bismol commercials. The chant! The dance! OH, THE DANCE! It has me rolling on the floor every time.

Best present ever: My dad bought me my (then) dream car a Celica coupe. Nice daddy!

Describe yourself with:

5 adjectives: loyal, sensitive, guilt-ridden, curious, excitable

5 nouns: music-lover, bookworm, gastronaut, Masshole, ex-overachiever

5 verbs: entertain, listen, strive, procrastinate, learn

5 words you think (hope, whatever) others might use to describe you: friendly, kind, thoughtful, intellectual, necessary

Ideal wall decoration: Something 3-D. Metallic and paint and wood. Maybe flowers v. abstract design.

Do you wish you could go back to school full-time? Constantly.

Really, full time? Or would you rather go part time? No, definitely full time.

For what? Therein lies the problem. Something to do with water, policy, equality, and health care. Possibly with an international angle.

Dream (fantasy) job: Food critic with no deadlines or defined medium. I could be a TV food person! An Internet food person! Someone who just walks around and tells others whats good! Rapture!

Dream (actual) job: Full-time artist, various mediums (wood, glass, stone, edibles, and sound).

Favorite aspect of your work: Industrial inspections seeing how things are made.

Least favorite aspect of your work: Paper cuts! And the ennui. And the feeling that I'm not really accomplishing anything worthwhile and therefore, should be making a lot more $ doing something equally nonworthwhile somewhere else.

Favorite soup: Chicken corn chowder

Colors you like best: Blue

Colors you look best in: Black, red

Colors you shouldnt wear. Ever: Light pastels, white pants. Any yellow-based color that clashes with my skin.

Favorite clothing: I would wear pajamas all the time, if I could get away with it.

Best-looking guy/girl, anytime, anywhere: Clark Gable during many, many parts of Gone with the Wind.

Most life-altering decision: Deciding not to go to Harvard.

How? $, first of all. The financial situation would be vastly different today if I had school loans. And the direction of my professional and personal interests. I don't think I'd be so interested in environmental issues if I'd lived and studied in the city or specifically, at that school. Oh, also, I would have hurt myself from living that close to home.

Favorite place to talk on the phone: In bed or in the car.

Pet peeve in others: Rudeness or unkindness, especially working in concert.

Pet peeve in yourself: Undeserved snappishness towards others. Deserved snappishness is A-OK.

Best place to unwind (think, day-to-day): My couchbed. Or, going on walkies.

Best place to unwind (think, vacation): Somewhere mountains water. By a waterfall after a long hike?

Favorite animal to own: Puppy. They should stay as puppies forever.

To fantasize about owning: Horse/Pegasus, depending on the level of fantasy. Either one will have to wait until I get over my crazy horse allergies.

To be: Otter. They always look happy and aren't usually kept as pets.

Reason you might need therapy: Inability to separate my self-esteem from the esteem of certain others.

Most comforting food: Chili cod, coconut tom yum gai soup, and pad se ew. Ummmmm, Thai food.

Most wicked (caloric or otherwise) food that you indulge in: Foie gras or crispy duck.

Favorite vegetable: Still can't get enough of eggplants.

Favorite form of transportation: Vacation moped-ing

Favorite fantasy form of transportation: Rocket jet-pack, or maybe Pegasus again.

Favorite country to visit: Italy

Country you most want to visit: New Zealand, and Ive wanted to go since way before the LOTR came out.

Rug or hardwood? Both, please. Hardwood in the living areas, rugs in the bedrooms.

If you were going to have to pick a personal platform, a la Miss America, what would it be? Sustainable development and resource conservation.

Your signature drink (to drink or to make): Orange juice and ginger ale. Yum.

Favorite West Wing character and why: CJ, because she is so wickedly awesome, looks great in formalwear, and gets some of the best lines - at least before she an became evil podperson.

Favorite driving song(s): Aerosmith and Run DMC's version of Walk This Way and Tubthumping by Chumbawumba.

Angry song(s): Most of the stuff by Evanescence.

Mopey song(s): Jack Johnsons Brushfire Fairytales.

Song(s) to sing with: Pretty much the entire Little Mermaid soundtrack.

That hits you emotionally: Barber's Adagio for Strings

What time period would you most like to live in (as an approximate version of your life now)? Now, but I also think I would like the life of an upper-middle-class scholar (thats sort of close to my life now) in the Elizabethan or Renaissance ages.
In a fantasy role? (e.g., lord of the manor, queen of the Nile, cowgirl in the Wild, Wild West, etc.) I think it would be fun to be a gentleman of the European lower-to mid aristocracy with plenty of family $ in the non-wartime mid-1800s. Pretty much anything goes. Or basically be an independently wealthy anything now, for the same reason.

Is it her or me?

Current mood: shaken to the core (well, maybe a little)

What happened to Carrie Bradshaw? I used to love her so. Well, actually, what I loved was the ensemble acting on SATC, the tart storylines, and some of the oddly realistic reflections on the single life, or life in general - I never really liked her being pushed as the show's center. Maybe I only liked it on HBO, where they could actually show and tell about s*x in graphic terms and images; maybe the whole point was to be frank and shocking. I never realized that I could HATE these characters in their sanitized, censored, made-for-slightly-after-primetime network TV incarnations, but I do. Samantha and Charlotte have become slightly officious and unlikeable caricatures, Miranda is (well, is still mostly fun, but a bit excessively) shrill and shrewish, and Carrie...well, I want to constantly jab her with pointy things!!! Things that were fine and quirky before, well, I can't take it any more. OH THE CLOTHES!!!! OH THE HATS!!! OH THE ME!ME!ME! passive-aggressive, emotionally f*cktarded, immature and insistent drama-queening! Her pancake makeup, head-tilting, screechy-whiny excuse for "acting" and "womanhood" makes me want to throw hard things (pillows sometimes just don't cut it) at my television set. Hmmm. Maybe my issues are with SJP... still, I used to adore this show. Maybe it's because the stories simply can't survive the flow interruption due to commercial breaks. Maybe the gals really do have to be able to say c*ck, c*nt, j*zz, f*ck, etc., to drive home the "realism." Maybe it's because my tastes have changed (I'm not sure about that, though. I am still loyal to Buffy, and I've loved her longer.), though at this point, it makes me question why a show about a nauseatingly annoying woman whining was ever interesting to me.

I guess the easy answer would be to stop watching; peel my eyes away from the trainwreck. And mostly, I do avoid the WB between 11 and 11:30 (among other times, basically being all but Gilmorean hour). Still, sometimes I flip by and think, "Hey that episode was good..." and get sucked in, only to find that it's been utterly destroyed and now devoid of wit, humor and charm. Maybe the reason I keep watching is because I want to reassure myself that I wasn't grossly wrong as to have liked this show during its first run. But so far? Not so much. Sigh, another illusion of the past shattered :(

Double- or single-spaced?

Current mood: sourpuss

A question one should consider asking the professor before turning in her term paper...

An excellent plan!

Current mood: harried

At times, I am at the office until fairly late at night - more than safely the last person on deck. On the days when I am merely ordinarily entranced by the shiny, shiny Internet, then I stay 'till 8 or 9ish. If work picks up and I'm slammed with a deadline, I'll be there until 10 or 11. However, when I have a project due for (STUPID, STUPID) school, then I can be found at the office until the wee hours of the AM. (I should really consider getting an Internet connection at the house...the online class I took was particularly fun.)

Some time ago, I had an epiphany: What if, leaving the office in the dark of night, the elevator happened to jam in between floors? (What? It happens on TV all the time!) Possibly no lights, probably no cell phone reception, and definitely no bathroom access for hours upon hours...*shudder*. Since that awful realization, I've vowed to always take the stairs when leaving late at night. (I should take the stairs anyway, right? Squeeze in every tiny bit of physical activity? What a great plan!) The problem is, I hardly ever remember my vow until I'm already going down in the elevator - I generally remember just after the elevator starts moving and then I spend the remaining time utterly convinved that the elevator wants to trap me for some quality one-on-one :(

Luckily, it's a short ride.

However, in my paranoid heart of hearts, I'm fairly certain that this scenario will actually play out at some point - at which time I can think (or yell) to myself, "Fraggit! I told me so!"

She was...An American Girl

Currently: pleased to be home

When I travel for work, I'm the youngest person on all the teams. Most of my travel partners are nice about it, though one of my colleagues was adorable enough to repeatedly address me as "Hey, trainee!" in front of clients. However, during trips it is made patently clear that I am the junior partner and my schedule is always at the mercy of others. I don't get to decide where we go or when we go; where we eat or when we eat. I don't get to say when we are finished, I don't get to set the pace (Now, most of this doesn't bother me. I am, after all, in training, but...), and mostly, I don't get to drive.

Actually, I don't mind not driving (except on twisty, hilly roads that lead to death by nausea), so much as I mind not being allowed to drive. It takes me back to my teenage years when I had to be constantly schlepped around by adults. Try as I might to fight it, I have totally bought into the American ideal of "owning the open road." As long as I am behind the wheel, I have at least a semblance of control and freedom. My car is my castle and in it, I can follow any path to self-determination.

So, after traveling, my true moment of homecoming is when I flop behind the wheel in Dulles long-term parking (after taking the parking shuttle, after waiting on baggage claim, after taking the terminal shuttle, ugh!) and let the leather and the oh-so-perfectly-adjusted-to-MY-body-and-no-one-else's seat cradle me for a sweet, meditative moment. The engine purrs, my presets blare, and once again, I am mistress of my own destiny! (Once, when I was sitting there, I thought to myself, "Mistress of my own density!" and thought it would be a great title for a book someday.)

Note: The pop music stations, especially the country station (which I miss so, because I wouldn't subject anyone else to that) really s*ck at 2 AM, exactly the time you need some boppy, belt-it-in-the-car cheer to carry you home...

Obliviousness = bliss

Current mood: disgusted. and (very) slightly bemused

Things that you wish you hadn't witnessed:

The doctor looking down your shirt (during the few times you are actually clothed)
The person in the next car picking his nose...and eating it
Puppies sampling their own excrement (yeah, that's the same mouth they kiss you with)
The old guy fondling himself at the grocery store...and then handling the fruit
People having sex in the hotel hot tub (that you were going to use. Um, SO never again!)Oddly, enough, you know that phrase, "You don't want to know how the hot dog is made"? I've actually inspected one such factory and came out the other side wishing they had an onsite 'dog stand. Clean as a whistle and very, very reassuring. All food is made in shiny, pretty factories, right?

Right?

Flanked!!!!!

Current mood: kill me now.

Or, "I used to like flying."

Babies to your left, babies to your right, babies all around you, all through the night!!!

Other than the plane falling out the sky or bursting into flame, this is pretty much my greatest flying nightmare. And, naturally, a perfect baby storm pretty much describes my flight. The kids on my left weren't exactly babies, but they were pretty young kids, with noisy toys, each other to amuse themselves/fight with, no parents in the same row, and there was NO in-flight movie (thanks sooooo much, American! What exactly is the American Advantage?). The baby in front of me was actually the most engaging, snaggletoothed (literally, one tooth) thing, gurgling happily to himself the whole time at the top of his fully operational teeny-tiny baby lungs. 4 hours of mehmehmehmehmeh... oooooooooooooooooooooooooo... (he worked his way through the entire vowel set) gatgatgatgatgatgatgatgatgatgat!.. uhbauhbuhbauhbauhbauhbauhbauhba... and he had the rapid-fire, cackling laugh of a cat trying to hock up multiple hairballs: kakkakkakkakkakkakkakkakkakkakkakkakkak. Actually this little guy totally cracked me up...for about ten minutes. I spent the rest of the flight wishing it were OK to tranquilize other people's children, or at least stuff (clean! I'm a nice person!) socks in their mouths. The baby behind me (shock of dark hair and a fully-formed adult face. It's weird to see a real face on a young baby - usually, they're sort of squashy and formless) was just pissed off. For the entire flight. I'm fairly certain the baby wasn't hungry, cause the mum fed it. And not dirty, cause the mum changed it, but something was sure stressing it out and it was making its displeasure KNOWN. Oh, to be a baby, when you could just scream at the top of your lungs if anything displeases you - of course, there's the downside of no one understanding you...

Sandwiched between the babies, it was almost entertaining to listen to the kids bicker.

I've never looked forward to a layover so much in my life.

*********************************

So, DFW Airport. I haven't seen such commitment to a mullet (carefully coiffed spikes! Well-groomed tail!) in quite some time...

*********************************

Another baby. A screamy, angry, little bugger. Wasn't even cute. HATE babies. What did I do? My baby karma is totally wonky today! (Maybe it's because pretty much all day I was thinking, I hate babies, I hate babies, I hate babies!) I think for my return flight, I'll do an anti-baby juju dance.

The flight was delayed for 1-1/2 hours while we waited to vet a cranky light. Unfortunately, while the plane engine isn't engaged, they can't run the air-conditioning, which is quite uncomfortable in 94-degree Dallas weather (90s, 100s, in April! I can't wrap my mind around that!). Also? At night, at 32,000 ft is not the best time to be running daytime, 94-degree-strength air-conditioning. Urgh.

13 hours total travel time. Fresno, you are so not worth it!

Gym musings

Current mood: lazy

Why do girls wear thongs to the gym? I'm a huge advocate of thongs for day and nightwear, but I firmly believe that the gym, especially in classes that involve a lot of stepping action or yoga poses, is not place for the increasing ubiquitous thong. (And I'm speaking from experience, not blind speculation. Those suckers are uncomfortable if you're doing anything that requires full-body movement.) Frankly, (because I can't mind my own business) it's distracting!! Unless, of course, the aim is to attract attention. Here's how I imagine it:

The Boys: Wow, check out that thong! It's riding higher and higher on her...(loses concentration and falls off the treadmill. SPLAT!)(Note: This is something I would like to see, rather than an occurrence I've personally witnessed.)

The Girls: God, how can she wear that thing? It's totally in my face as we jazzercize and must be riding up like crazy! And lace itches!! Seriously??!! Everyone knows that it's more comfortable to just go commando at the gym! Little Miss Juicy Couture just wants to show off...(snark, b*tch, whine, anything to take my mind off the workout).

(Yes, this is how I amuse myself at the gym, since I, unlike every other person in the exercise world, do not own a personal musical listening device. Until recently, I had a circa-1994 walkman that I dropped one time too many. It's OK, as I now watch the TVs by reading the closed-captioning and no one looks at me strangely when I giggle inappropriately, as they are all lost in their own sweatin' mix.)

*****************

A while back I was in a class where one of the women brought her child to what? Observe? Hang out? Be punished by being trapped in a room full of smelly adults voluntarily held at the mercy of a too-perky instructor? I felt badly for the poor mite (no idea how old she was. Maybe 7? She was about yea big. The size/age correspondence of children sort of mystifies me.), who was just sitting along the classroom wall, sad and bored and occasionally shooed away when she tried to approach her mother. Then I thought of all the times parents have to wait and watch on the sidelines, zoo-like and bored out of their gourds, while their precious poppets finish music, horseback riding, karate, scouts, sports lessons, etc....and applauded the mother's approach to fair turnabout. Until, of course, the child started running around the room to alleviate her boredom. A running creature without a firm grasp of personal space is not really what you want to have around while you're punching and kicking. Then again, it could have been an opportunity for her to learn a valuable lesson, as the mother did nothing to restrain her errant offspring...

Who is to blame? Kids aren't designed to have an attention span for sitting quietly and doing nothing while others have "fun", and parents must be exhausted from supervising their children every waking moment. Either way, I don't want this particular drama to be played out in front of me. PLEASE, leave your kids at home!! This is one of the last adult-only (not gross) zones left standing!!!

Heh, strangely enough, I have no desire to work out today. Perhaps thinking about the gym is like going to the gym? Must explore that thought...

Go to work already!

Current mood: weary amusement at my procrastination techniques

I would like to be the kind of person who doesn't procrastinate. To go with my schoolgirlish, first-one-to-shoot-her-hand-into-the-air, continually-asking-random-questions classroom manner, I really should be the kind of person who types up all the assignments a couple of days in advance. If you're going to be that irritating, you should at least be calm, controlled, and prepared, right? If only...then my term paper would already be written. Sigh.

It's fairly indicative of my particular pathology that I generally think of school as fun. WTF you say? Seriously, it's one of the things I choose to do for "entertainment," so my brain doesn't atrophy from all the TV I watch. But actually, classes are fun, especially when I get to verbally shoot people off their soapboxes (environmental, water quality, or resource management-related courses seem to attract as many self-righteous, leftist howler monkeys as you could possibly ask for). Not that I actually disagree with them, necessarily, but often their arguments can be so...unfocused and unpolished *delicate sneer*. (And not that I'm any good as a debater. In fact, I have a friend that would laugh himself sick if I claimed to be adept at presenting and winning an argument - but even I can hear when something is utter cr*p, as long as it doesn't come from me.) Usually someone whines about the president or mumbles something about the "end of the world." I get enough of that at home, so we really don't need to be speculating about the age of the ants and cockroaches in my class, thank you very much.

So...many journal articles and much less-fun typing awaits. (Classes are fun, classes are fun, classes are fun...please, tell me why I thought that this would be fun??!! OK, classes can be amusing, but homework s*cks!!!!) I hope others are making much better use of their weekends.

Tossing my hat over the fence

Current mood: intending to be industrious

Well, I wanted to use the Internet to give myself the proverbial kick in the arse, so here's a list of tasks I've been meaning to complete for a long, long time (in no particular order of obviously-not-much-urgency):

-Finish the MCP wedding present project from October 2004.
-Finish the JD wedding present project from October 2004 (this is what happens when 3 friends have their weddings on the SAME DAY in different states, I manage to attend two, and am thereafter burned out for weddings forever).
-Finish the SD wedding present project from October 2005 (what is with October? And why do people keep inviting me to their weddings when I don't deliver? Gotta love my friends.).
-Frackin' suck it up and just go to Home Depot. (I love HD! It's one of the few places were I can still go to breathe in the lovely scent of wood shavings. I'm not at all kidding.) I'm just afraid of spending one meeeeeel-yun dollars (mwahahahaha) that I don't have.
-Sweep my porch, get rid of my dead plants, and come to terms with having the blackest of black thumbs.
-Change my furnace filter (this move is predicated on actually going to HD).
-Hang up my pictures at home (I have a new drill but I'm afraid to use it. Putting holes in my walls is a scary, scary business).
-Um, finish unpacking (from my August 2005 move).
-Change my license (do I really need to explain why I don't want to go to the DMV, where they listen to my accent and then ask for my green card?)
-Get a parking sticker from the City so they can stop gratuitously ticketing me. I didn't think City officials could come onto private property to issue parking tickets, but I WAS WRONG.
-Put the documents that really should be in a fireproof safe into my safety deposit box. That is, after all, why I got the d*rned thing, and its been sitting empty for many moons now.

Hmmm, that should do it for now. These are things I really have to finish up, but have been putting off for rather ridiculous lengths of time. Now I can log in and mock myself in the future for continuing to do so...

So, breaking up

Current mood: combative and Get. Out. Of. My. Way-ish

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. There are lots of ways to break up with a person, and if we all 'fessed up, I think we've all done things we're not exactly proud of.

I've decided that the Universe is punishing me for breaking up (well, sending a friend to do it for me. I know, I know. *smacks self* Bad!) with a guy on Valentine's day a zillion years ago. Poor schlub had no idea it was coming, because, really, high school boys? Not so good at reading the incredibly subtle hints that only high-school girls can dole out. (Like telling him you don't like him anymore, or, you know, suggesting that he should really stop calling. Geez!) It was kinda ugly.

There's the ever popular method of acting like a total a**jack until your significant other gives up and writes you off in a blaze of disgust and expletives. Or, perhaps, pours a drink on you in public (without lighting it on fire. Now that would be excessive.) or hooks up with your best friend. Ah, the classics.

Speaking of the classics, there's always the "It's not you, it's me" routine. Even if you tell the person to Zipit!!!! midway through, much in the style of Dr. Evil, it's still almost laughably horrible.

Or, you could just say "I'm not that into you." (Horrid, truly horrid, but you know what? Has an unpoetic simplicity and truth.)

Aaaaanyway. I've decided that there's something worse. After all, there's callous and then there's cruel. If you're planning on breaking up with someone, don't tell them that everything is great, act like it is great, make reservations fairly far into the future, or invite them to travel home with you. All that TLC and cute happy-acting? It's then, let's just say, rather confusing when you then begin, "By the way, it's not you..." Seriously, grow (or strap on, I'm equal opportunity) a pair, and tell your soon-to-be-insignificant other that something is wrong. Then, break up coldly, completely, and confidently. Nothing's worse than "I'm not sure...I don't know..." God. Oh, and a reason why is generally nice. We're all into self-improvement here.

Because that gobsmacking and lack of information creates "sorely puzzled and deeply hurt" person. Who transitions into "WTF??!! Scr*w you anyway!" person, to be soon followed by "OMG, I am so angry that I'm spitting nails that I wish would literally pierce your tender tiny bits!!!!!!!!!" person, which really isn't a pretty place to be.

Whew! I'm so glad that's not me!!!! That person sounds bitter or something. (Universe, am I forgiven yet? Please??!! I really want to be done with Purgatory...)

In which I delurk

Current mood: contemplative

I was kind of afraid of the Internet. Don't get me wrong, I can't imagine life without email and GoogleTM, but I had almost a pathological fear about writing anything that, you know, strangers could see. I learned early on that written documentation can sometimes be a Very Bad Thing. Thus, happy was I in the land of lurkdom.

But, from participating first in a closed online forum (okay, a class. I like school. A lot. Got a problem with that?!), and then an (gasp!) open forum, I've learned that I, um, really like at least the illusion that other people are hearing what I have to say (and really, the Very Bad Thing(s) had more to do with the pushing of the Wrong!Wrong!Wrong! send button, rather than the actual writing itself). And the responses! Debate with strangers! The admiration and adulation! (Hey, I can pretend.) Which brings us to...

Lately, I haven't made anything, nor have I accomplished anything of note. I can't blame that on the soul-suckingness that is the greater D.C. area. In fact, I like it here and live a quiet suburban life that has little to do day-to-day with the government that really could be nearly Anywhere, USA. The problem is that I used to fancy myself something of an artist/craftsperson - I have, dare I say, created objects and sounds of profound beauty (yes, and also junky stuff and wicked unpleasant sounds). But, I've been rather spectacularly unmotivated for the past few years, and actually, I've been a wee bit depressed of late. I mean, when you find yourself actually listening to Kelly Clarkson songs and nodding your head thinking, "She's soooooo right. Tell it, girl!", you know that Something. Must. Change (I love you, Kelly!). Now! Don't be hatin' bloggers, but I don't think that this blog counts as an actual creation (hah! Just give me time to get addicted). I just think that if I have to confess to the Internet exactly how much time I spend on the holy trifecta of food web sites, Television Without PityTM, and playing Snood (and, rapidly encroaching to displace one of the mighty Three, random Myspace surfing), I'll be shamed into getting off my lazy a** and maybe doing something with my life other than developing a textbook case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Or at least go to the gym, whatever. Using the old guilt factor (in this I'm practically Catholic) for good instead of evil or mild mischief.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm almost squeamishly honest (which is another way of saying a ridiculously bad liar) when dealing with other people. There's exaggeration, embellishment, and omissions galore, but outright lying? Let's just say that I'm not good at it (and sigh, my childhood and adolescence would have been epically better if I had been...). I gave journaling my thoughts a chance, and actually, my food journal is on its third consecutive year (heh, that might represent my longest and healthiest relationship in quite awhile)(also, what!? Don't you keep a record of all the yummy food you eat?). However, it turns out that lying to yourself and your diary is, well, stupidly easy. Here's where you come into play, lovely Internet!!!!! As long as there is the remotest chance that some real, live person could read this and call me out on my delusions of candor, I will have to stay scrupulously squeaky clean. Good plan, right? We shall see.

Oh, plus, I have a lot of random thoughts. Like, TRULY trivial cr*p that really isn't worth emailing your friends even for a moment of amusement. And yet, I think I'd like to hang on to some of them, if I have someone/thing to keep me honest. Who knows? One day I may be able to compile my thoughts into the next one-season-almost-hit, trashy beach novel. A girl can only dream...

So there you have it - a gentle manifesto.

Cheers!