November 27, 2007 at 3:08 pm (Uncategorized)

The two most popular search strings that brought folks to my blog this week are “brutal sex” and “cartoon window shopping.”  Make of it what you will.


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Travelin’ Jones

November 27, 2007 at 2:14 pm (Uncategorized)

Tomorrow SuperFudge and I will be driving down to DC.  Road trip, whoo hoo!  I am presenting a paper at a very important academic-type conference filled with grown-up academics talking about important things like Theory and Research.

I have not yet written my paper.

It will not be the first time I will have written my presentation the night before I have to give it.  In fact, I do that almost every time.  This is a bad habit, encouraged by my ability to get away with it.  Should I crash and burn so that the universe can teach me a lesson?  Not this week, please.

I will also be taking this opportunity to have a mini-vacation.  I really need quality time away from my bosses.  I’m looking forward to walking around and sightseeing.  Oh, and we have been charged with a task: we will be helping one of the Ohio nephews-in-law with his homework.  Like Amelie and the garden gnome, we will be taking pictures of a Poo Bear (“Winnie the Shit” acc. to my mother) amidst the sights of DC.  I’m envisioning poo at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial.  Poo on the Mall.  Poo in the various Smithsonian venues.  (No poo in the Air and Space Museum.  That place is yawnful to me).  Poo at the zoo–perhaps a shot of poo and the pandas?  Poo at the Jefferson monument.  Poo riding that little statue of FDR’s dog…..

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Thanksgiving for One

November 23, 2007 at 11:09 am (Family)

For the first time in my life, I celebrated Thanksgiving toute seule.  When the prospect of a singular Thanksgiving first occurred to me, weeks ago, I thought it would be incredibly lonely.  I tried to organize a dinner party for my friends who would be stuck in the city, but, as it turned out, all of my friends were traveling home to be with their families.

TragicCrusade and I had made tentative plans, but even before the break-up I’d convinced him that it was not a good idea for me to become known to his family as “that woman who kept their son away from them on Thanksgiving,” especially since Thanksgiving was something of a high holy day to them.

In fact, it was not lonely at all.  That TragicCrusade and I have reached some kind of understanding definitely contributed, otherwise I would have been crying and drunk-dialing everyone in my phonebook.  It was nice to wake up whenever I wanted to, to eat/cook whatever I wanted, to watch whatever I wanted, and to clean up (or not) whenever I wanted.

I did manage to have some traditional foods: hot italian turkey sausage and roasted sweet potatoes.  I was supposed to have had salad as well, but I discovered that, in my emotional confusion over the past few days, I’d put the mixed greens in the freezer, not the crisper.   Alas, there was no pie, because I’d eaten the leftover pie I stole from the company luncheon the day before for lunch and dinner.  Don’t judge me.  Some people use wine; I use pie.  Party Cake ice cream comes in close second.

So, this was the first Thanksgiving where I didn’t have to wake up early and help chop vegetables.  The first in which my mother didn’t browbeat me into watching the parade.  The first where we didn’t get into an argument over the serving platters.  The first where I didn’t have to be surrounded for hours by the smell of food, finally to sit down and ravenously attack a plate of tasty victuals.  The first where I didn’t have to roll my spare tires down the basement steps to play Playstation away from the tedious grownups.  (If any of you suggests that I have become a tedious grown-up, I might get violent.  See gun entry below).

I woke up late.  I watched movies (Sherrybaby and Dial M for Murder).  I ate peanut butter and banana sandwiches for lunch and breakfast.  I napped.  I wrote in my journal.  I napped.  I spent most of the day in my nightgown.  I asked my drunken neighbors across the hall not to stand in front of my door to smoke and talk loudly about their wives’ episiostomies, since both the smoke and the conversation go straight into my apartment.  I went online and researched a fun new thing I discovered my body can do.  I napped some more.  I talked to my mother on the phone.  I did not watch one second of football.

It was a very happy thansksgiving.

Tonight I fly out to meet my family and my sister’s soon-to-be in-laws.   I don’t relish flying during Thanksgiving weekend, but I will do anything for La Belle Helene.  Besides, her fiance’s family is nice, and his mom is a fantastic cook.  I hope they saved me some pansit and coconut rice.

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Disconsolate Playlist

November 20, 2007 at 10:19 am (Dating)


I Grieve/Peter Gabriel

Your Woman/White Town

You’re Not the Man/Sade

My Man’s Gone Now/Nina Simone

Ashes/Ben Harper

Now at Last/Feist

Desert/Emilie Simon

Pain in My Heart/Otis Redding

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Third Time Pays for All

November 20, 2007 at 3:41 am (Dating)

TragicCrusade and I are over.  We broke up for the third time this morning at around one o’clock.  We never really had a chance to begin.  La Belle Helene always thought he was imaginary, and I suppose in many respects he was.  It’s astonishing how easy it is to get caught up in the fantasy of someone–in the dreams and possibilities of building a life with someone.  Yes, I know this all happened very fast, which I guess is why he couldn’t quite trust it.  But, ultimately, it came down to him admitting that he is no longer in love with me.   Once he said that, I realized that no amount of time, space, hope, or support on my part would bring him back to me.  So, I finally agreed that he was right: we never were boyfriend and girlfriend, and now we won’t ever be.

This, of course, makes me inordinately sad.  I still love him.  He still loves me.  We’re going to try our hand at being friends.  The timing is unfortunate, though, because I’d just gotten around to telling some friends about him, and showing his picture to my family.  At least now I don’t have to worry about shielding him from Aunt Greater Evil at La Belle Helene’s wedding.

Never Leave Lonely Alone by Ben Harper

Like an old man
sitting alone at a lunch counter
never leave lonely alone…
Like a small town girl
a big city devours
never leave lonely alone…
Some of us laugh
even in our darkest hour
never leave lonely alone…

Unspoken rules of solitude
wound without a trace 
A lifetime of dreams roll down your face
All that we can’t say
is all we need to hear
When you close your eyes
does the world disappear?

There’s something in everyone
only they know
never leave lonely alone…
It moves in the hidden ways
of joy and sorrow
never leave lonely alone
never leave lonely alone…

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Nature Special

November 15, 2007 at 5:51 pm (Fauna Files)

What did I see from the balcony outside my office?  A little nuclear deer family: a young buck and doe and a tiny fawn scampering in the woods right near my building.  For one brief moment, I thought, “If I only had my M-1, it’d be venison for dinner.”  Instead, I just said, “Awww, how cute!”

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Tyranny of Pies

November 15, 2007 at 1:26 pm (Dieting and Fitness)

I am fearful that I am going to have some Lost Weekend-type incident with pies.  And that weekend may very well be next week, since Thanksgiving is the Pie Holiday of All Time.  Pies are now stalking me.  Suddenly, this morning, next to my fat free yogurt, appeared a chocolate silk pie in the employee fridge.

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November 13, 2007 at 1:14 pm (Dieting and Fitness)

I’m on day 2 of my draconian diet.  Okay, I’ll be honest.  It’s not completely draconian.  I am still doing Weight Watchers; so I’m on the point system.  The bad/good news is that I gained so much weight back over the summer that now I get to eat more points.  This week I am trying not to dip into the 35 extra points, and not use any points I gain by exercising.

So, I’m sitting at my desk, eating some vegetable barley soup, trying to psych myself up about salad and fat free yogurt while, in the staff kitchen, not 20 ft away from me, Crusty and Irmaturd are eating HOME-MADE PUMPKIN PIE. 

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Vermin Problem

November 12, 2007 at 4:19 pm (Dating)

The Vermin has reappeared.   Perhaps he read this blog and smelled blood in the water.  He sent me a song over the weekend.   It was not a happy song.  It was not a love song.  It was Cat Power’s “Metal Heart.”  Here are the lyrics for your perusal:

Losing the star without a sky
Losing the reasons why
You’re losing the calling that you’ve been faking
And I’m not kidding

It’s damned if you don’t and its damned if you do
Be true ’cause they’ll lock you up in a sad sad zoo
Oh hidy hidy hidy what cha tryin to prove
By hidy hidy hiding youre not worth a thing

Sew your fortunes on a string
And hold them up to light
Blue smoke will take
A very violent flight
And you will be changed
And everything
And you will be in a very sad sad zoo

I once was lost but now I’m found was blind
But now I see you
How selfish of you to believe in the meaning of all the bad dreaming

Metal heart, you’re not hiding
Metal heart, you’re not worth a thing

Now, if someone sends you a song that says you’re not worth a thing and you’ll end up in a sad, sad zoo, you wouldn’t necessarily respond positively, would you?  I didn’t.  I suppose I should have ignored him, but I sent him a song in reply: “Already Dead” by Beck.

Time wears away
All the pleasures of the day
All the treasures you could hold
Days turn to sand
Losing strength in every hand
They can’t hold you anymore

Already dead to me now
‘Cause it feels like I’m watching something die

Love looks away
In the harsh light of the day
On the edge of nothing more
Days fade to black
In the light of what they lack
Nothing’s measured by what it needs

Already dead to me now
‘Cause it feels like I’m watching something dyin’

Now, if you send someone a song, and they reply with another song, the refrain of which is “Already dead to me now,” would you take that as an invitation to try harder?  Because his reply to my song was the message, “I want you.”

My reply to that so far has been silence, oh, and this entry.

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November 12, 2007 at 2:03 pm (Entertainment, Uncategorized)

This past Saturday, TenFeet and I drove up to beautiful Cocksackie and shot guns in the woods. I’ve always been intimidated by guns, and I still don’t think I would ever own one, because of my poor impulse control and my tendancy to treat my belongings rather carelessly. But shooting at stuff in the woods is great fun.

It is such great fun that I didn’t care (much) that I was dressed like a dork. The women’s shooting group recommended wearing a baseball cap, I suppose to keep the sun out of one’s eyes while shooting. I do not look good in a baseball cap. I decided to wear a bright pink fleece, because I didn’t want anyone mistaking me for a woodland creature. TenFeet looked utterly charming in her communist cap; as you will see in the photos below, her ensemble was perfect for an afternoon of gunplay. I would, without hesitation, join any revolution she might lead.


The morning began with a safety talk from Jim, the club’s president. We sat in the small clubhouse for about an hour, surrounded by NRA posters and flyers for local shooting events. On one bulletin board was a lovely pencil drawing of a buck with a bullseye on its back, under the heading, “Stick it IN!” Mounted on the opposite wall were parts of an actual buck, including hooves. On the table, amidst some very serious looking artillery, was a little green tin with Care Bears frolicking on the outside. This tin contained bullets. This was one of many incongruities of the day.

Once outside on the range, we paired up with club members who acted as our unofficial guides for the day. One charming gentleman, Christopher, took me under his wing and showed me how to load his rifle with .38 bullets. As you can see from the picture, this was a serious gun, and the bullets made impressively precise holes in the target (50 ft. away). Under Christopher’s tutelage, I did very well. Unfortunately I have not scanned my targets; so you’ll have to take my word for it, but he and the others were impressed with my skill, especially since it was my very first time holding a gun.


TenFeet was very excited to shoot handguns, which is not allowed in NYC without a permit. I was not so excited by the handguns. Too much unsteadiness in aiming. I much prefer the rifles, although I do look like I mean (dorky) business in the photo below. My shots, however, were high. I didn’t bother saving that target.


Later, we tried our hand at shooting at stuff that moved with a 12-gauge shotgun. TenFeet managed to kill her clay pigeon. Mine flew away unharmed. Again, I was aiming too high. But, oh what a kick! That shotgun knocked me back a good 6 inches every time I pulled the trigger.

After lunch, they brought out the heavy stuff. TenFeet could not resist trying the semi-automatic “assault weapon.” It looked really dangerous and menacing, but Jim was adamant that it was no different from any other semi-automatic rifle.

My favorite gun was the M1 Garand, a WWII gun owned by the club. (In many cases we were using private guns owned by the members themselves). This gun is no joke. The first shot knocked me back, and I could barely aim at the target through the gunsmoke on subsequent shots. But all my bullets reached the target, and four of them hit the black center. TenFeet’s performance with the M1 was even more impressive, and the men all came over to admire her “beautiful grouping.”


On our way back to the car, more than one woman stopped me, praised my markswomanship, and instructed me to show the target to my husband. I assume as some kind of warning. (I did bring the targets to work and have been showing off all day.) I will definitely be framing the M1 target.

The folks at the gun club were extremely friendly, patient, and kind. They were genuinely happy to see us and help us. They were especially gentle and supportive of the novices among us: I never felt talked down to, nor did I feel like any of the shooting was too advanced for me. I really enjoyed my time there, and look forward to my next visit.

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