My Life As I Know It

This is a repost

2005-10-27T17:01:00.000-04:00

I read this the other day, and thought I'd share it.

10-26-05

"BAGHDAD, Oct. 25 -- After 31 months of fighting in Iraq, more than half of all American fatalities are now being caused by powerful roadside bombs that blast fiery, lethal shrapnel into the cabins of armored vehicles, confronting every patrol with an unseen, menacing adversary that is accelerating the U.S. death toll.

U.S. military officials, analysts and militants themselves say insurgents have learned to adapt to U.S. defensive measures by using bigger, more sophisticated and better-concealed bombs known officially as improvised explosive devices, or IEDs. They are sometimes made with multiple artillery shells and Iranian TNT, sometimes disguised as bricks, boosted with rocket propellant, and detonated by a cell phone or a garage door opener."
-The Washington Post

My mother always told me I was good at things. I could play in the yard like none other, I was a Skip-Bo champion, and later in life, I was a better Home Improvement Salesman than Sal Junda. Lego creations were made. The hospital, the firehouse, the Lego Whorehouse, the list goes on. I'm smart ok? Just fucking get over yourself and say "Gee, Sloth is smarter than I am." I want you to say that right now. Creative too. I made Lego Boba Fetts, Lego Batpeople, I put the yellow 4 blocker in my asshole, I made the great wall of China out of Legos. You need to seriously get off my case. Then I grew up and had a lead foot.

Only fucking pussys drive slow. Pussys or fucking goddamn old people. Why doesn't anybody say, "You can't drive anymore, you're too fucking old. You might have a seizure and start talking to someone who isn't there, old." Every time I drive fast I get a ticket. Except when on the Interstate. I have driven on the interstate 64 more times than you have. Trust me. Way more times. I know more about it too. I know how to get to Portsmouth from Chesapeake. I know how to get to Yorktown from Pungo. I know how to get from Emporia to South Norfolk. I know how to get from Suffolk to Richmond. So when I drive fast I get tickets. Because those fucking cops, those fucking cops, (repeated again for double emphasis in place of italics) always shoot me with their poor excuse for a phallic totem, the fucking radar gun. I could be doing 61 in a 55 and I will get electronically sniped from a distance of 450,500 feet. If we have the technology to monitor how fast a speeding car is going above the set limit, why DONT WE HAVE A FUCKING ROADSIDE BOMB DETECTOR? What in the fuck.

If those terrorists were speeding on 17 they'd be fucking caught. They wouldn't have time to say "Jujujuju" or whatever the fuck they speak before they were popped by York County's finest on his home tour from Dunkin Donuts. Millions of dollars. Per day. And we don't have the technology to detect the home-made equivalent of high tech cherry bombs? Fuck me. Dying for your country is one thing, but dying because the leaders of your country are imbecilic, thats another.

Sunday

2005-10-23T20:48:00.000-04:00

I went skydiving! It was the most awesome thing I've done in a loooonnnggg time.

Revelation of the day

2005-09-30T22:53:00.000-04:00

I have to work a little over 2 hours in order to earn enough money to buy a $30 tank of gas. That's before taxes. This does not make me happy.

The Art of Denial

2005-09-28T21:50:00.000-04:00

Last week, somebody called me "mentally sound." Ok, before I get comments assuring me to the contrary, let me be a tad more accurate. What they actually said was that they believed me to be more mentally sound than them. That can be misleading depending on who I'm being compared to. But still, I never thought I'dd hear those words from anyone.

Let me tell you the secret to my sanity - or at least the way I deal with most things. Denial. Denial. Denial.

Because of my previously mentioned OCD, unless I consciously deny that something exists, I'll continue to think about it ... constantly.

You might ask how you can consciously deny something. By definition, if you make yourself conscious of it, aren't you still thinking about it? I haven't figured it out the details yet. Just humor me.

I usually try one of several methods. When the bad thought pops into my head I'll either 1) switch to thinking about something else, or 2) think of all the things I hated about that thing, or 3) I tend to imagine "alternate endings" to deal with situations I'd rather forget. And because of this, I often mistake my alternate world with real memories. I call it self-induced brainwashing. My theory of method #2 is that thinking about all the negative things about something will automatically make you not want to think about it anymore.

So I figure if I'm in denial long enough, by the time I decide to actually face the issue head on, so much time has passed that it's not such a big deal anymore.

Of course keep in mind that it can also backfire by delaying your recovery over the object of denial because, well, you denied its existence for so long.

But folks, this is an art, not a science.

Public Service Announcement

2005-09-18T01:42:00.000-04:00

50 THINGS GIRLS WISHED GUYS KNEW!
1. Don't tell us whenyou think other girls are hot

2. Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.

3. If you don't act like soap-opera guys, don't expect us to dress like Victoria Secret models.

4. Mark anniversaries on a calendar.

5. Don't ever tempt us to break up with you...we'll do it, I promise

6. We think about you all the time.

7. This is how we see it . . . Don't call = Don't Care.

8. Pay attention. Remember even the little things we tell you.

9. We like you to be a little jealous . . .but overly possessive is not necessary.

10. Being able tomake us laugh is so much more important than how much you can bench-press.

11. Return favors

12.NEVER let uswalk away. We walk, you follow.

13.We're allowed to be late . . . you are not.

14. Eye contact is key.

15. Don't take longer to get ready than we do.

16. Laugh at our jokes.

17. Three words . . . honesty, honesty,honesty.

18. Girls can be groupies. Guy groupies are stalkers.

19. Don't ask, just kiss us

20. Do not startwith us. You will not win.

21. Would you like it if a guy treated your sister that way? We didn't think so.

22. If you ask nicely, we usually answer the same way.

23. We will never have enough clothes or shoes.

24. We have an excuse to act mean...at least once a month.

25. Open the door for us no matter where we are . . even at our house and getting into the car.

26. We love surprises

27. We liked to be kissed softly

28. We pay attention to the little things you do.

29. Boxers and maybe boxer briefs sometimes . . . NEVER whitey-tighties

30. Clean your room before we come over.

31. Always brush your teeth before you see us

32. We like it when you are willing to break the rules for us.

33. Even though you are sometimes insensitive and hurt us, we still love you with everything
we are.

34. "Hit it and quit it" is not an option

35. Don't act hard around your friends

36. "NO!" really means "NO!"

37. "Wife Beaters" arenot an adequate form of fashion.

38. If we wanted to be on video tape, we'd be a porn star not your girlfriend.

39. Sensitive guys are great . . . but crying more than we do just isn't right.

40. Don't let ex-girlfriends cause drama, relationships are stressful enough.

41. It takes a special kind of stupid to forget birthdays.

42. Guys who are good cuddlers = guys who know how to satisfy a woman.

43. Don't talk trash about our friends.

44. Silent treatment, shoulder shrugs, tears, yelling and nasty looks all add up to . . . YOU DID SOMETHING WRONG!

45.When we're done, our friends are NOT an option.

46. Just because a girl doesn't pick up on the first ring doesn't mean she's not waiting by the phone.

47. You don't have to spend a lot, if it means a lot.

48. Don't say you love me if you don't mean it.

49. Don't lie to us . . . we will catch you...and it won't be pretty!

50. When the girls get together, we talk aboutEVERYTHING. Meaning my best friends know everything about you.

Exorcisms, etc.

2005-09-12T23:05:00.000-04:00

My roommate and I went and saw The Exorcism of Emily Rose Saturday night. I must say, this movie is not only freakishly scary in visual effects, but also raises many many good questions. For some background, this movie is based on the actual trial and events surrounding the exorcism of no other, Emily Rose.

The possession of Emily Rose is either one of two things. Thing number one could be any combination of mental disorders. She could be having some nasty nasty epileptic seizures which caused so much brain damage that she became schizophrenic or psychotic. Or she could've just been schizophrenic to begin with and it was a pretty bad case. Psychotic alone works well, with a little bit of catatonia mixed in. Whatever your choice of mental disorders, it seems to make sense.

Thing number two could be that she was actually possessed by the devil or his cronies. Which could potentially make sense if you believed in that sort of thing. Well, this girl and her family sure did. And so did their priest and their church. It could make sense....but how does it occur? How does one become possessed in the first place? I believe that if your convictions are sincere enough, then you could believe anything you wanted to.

What do you believe? In modern society, could someone become possessed by the devil (or his cronies)? And why would God allow Lucifer to inhabit the soul/mind/body of one of his most devout followers? It seems to me like if God wanted to communicate with people that he'd have to come up with something much better that didn't raise questions about its meaning or its cause. I know that God in the old God days used to send plagues and floods and appeared in burning bushes and miraculous things like that, so what's up with the demonic possession?

Any ideas?

And as a side note, I've had success with my cancer treatments. I still have to use some radioactive skin cream (Efudex) for a couple of more weeks, and it smells bad, but I think my friends have adjusted to the smell.

The diagnosis

2005-07-29T16:45:00.000-04:00

Today, at approximately 12:30 p.m., I was diagnosed with cancer. Very unfortunate for me.

Trust me....

2005-07-28T11:45:00.000-04:00

"Trust me."

The two most dangerous words one could ever speak. It brings up so many issues to me, and it could potentially bring up so many issues for other receivers of these words. And do the people who utter these two little words to another person really mean it? Is it all relative?

The issue of trust is another topic altogether. Should you innately trust others? Or is this something that has to be earned over time? Because if you don't trust others up front, they can pick up on that in some subconscious way. But if you do trust them from the get go, then you're disappointed when they break that trust at the get go.

I feel like trust and respect go hand in hand with each other. I do feel like respect builds over time, but if you don't trust, then you don't respect. And lying seems to be a violation of both. Why do people lie? Is it because they respect you or they don't respect you? If they do respect you enough to lie, then is it an issue of them not wanting to hurt your feelings? Then they run the risk of losing your trust. If they don't respect you, then why the hell are they lying in the first place? Why not just tell the truth and get it over with?

Lying can be so petty and stupid sometimes. If you say you're going to call someone back, and then you don't, that's a lie. And you don't respect the other person's feelings or seem to be man/woman enough to keep your word. Actions do speak louder than words all the time. There's no reason to lie to me...I'm a big girl and I can handle the truth. Sure, it might be hurtful, but why not just address whatever it is and be up front about it?

For example, if you're my car financing company, and I've called you 3 months in a row about a miscellaneous charge that keeps on appearing on my statement, and you tell me that you're going to look into it and call me back on Tuesday, and then it's Thursday (I called you Monday), what's the deal? Why is the charge still freaking there? And why is it there in the first place? And why can't I get any friggin' answers? Are they doing this on purpose or do they really really just not want my car payment business anymore? Is this a respect issue?

Another example...if you're a guy and you tell a girl you'll call her back later, and you don't...what does that mean? Do you not respect me enough to say, "I'm not interested"? And if you are actually interested, do you think I should trust you when you can't even return a phone call? How do I know that you'll mean what you say in the future? An action (or lack thereof) which may seem small and insignificant at the time that you do (or don't) perform it can have HUGE implications in a single person's life. And yeah, this b.s. happens all the time in the dating world, but at some point a guy has just gotta know that females will no longer stand for it. What you say when you don't call is more important than what you say when you do call. It can be anything small or big that you say you're going to do--it doesn't matter. If you don't do it (excepting death or disaster), then you're telling the other person you don't respect them. And then they don't trust you anymore.

But how is that respect even lost in the first place? What does one person have to do to another person to lose their respect? Is it true that if a girl sleeps with a guy on the first date that they no longer respect you and think of you as easy? OR do you then have their respect because you're a girl who knows what she likes? I can tell you one thing.....if I sleep with a guy on the first date, I no longer respect myself. And if you're doing the deed, shouldn't that mean that you trust and/or respect them anyway? (Theoretically, it should, but in practice, I'm not so sure.)

And if trust is earned, then how do you earn it? How do you re-earn it once it's been lost? There's the old stand-by "forgive and forget", but let's face it, that's really hard to do. And what about the golden rule? Do unto others as you would have done to you? Are these just some lines created to make you feel better about yourself when someone stomps on you for no apparent good reason?

What is the deal?

The meaning of success

2005-07-08T22:08:00.000-04:00

I offically can never sleep.

From a strictly mathematical viewpoint it goes like this:

What makes 100%? What does it mean to give MORE than 100%?

Ever wonder about these people who say they are giving more than 100%?

We have all been to these meetings where someone wants you to give over 100%

How about achieving 103%?

What makes up 100% in life?

Here's a little mathematical formula that might help you answer these question.
If:A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
is represented as:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

Then:
H A R D W O R K
8+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

K N O W L E D G E
11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%

But:
A T T I T U D E
1+20+20++9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

And:
B U L L S H I T
2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 =103%

AND,
Look how far ass kissing will take you.
A S S K I S S I N G
1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 =118%

So, one can conclude with mathematical certainty that while hard work and knowledge will get you close, and attitude will get you there, it's the bullshit and ass kissing that will put you over the top.

Curious

2005-06-20T18:15:00.000-04:00

My super intelligent questions and thoughts:

1. Can I e-mail the president? What's his e-mail address?? Is it shockandawe@yahoo? (Don't e-mail these addresses.) gwbush@hotmail? i'm_an_idiot04? (Turns out you actually can.)

2. Why isn't there a U-turn signal on our cars or incorporated into the left turn signal? This would a) avoid some accidents, and b) make me happy. Why hasn't this been invented/thought of yet?

3. I watched The Mothman Prophecies the other day, and the Mothman is this guy named Indrid Kold. Indrid is some kind of entity that can make you hallucinate, see your wife in your bed who's been dead for 2 years, he knows what's in your hand under the bed in your shoe in the floor, he can make you see him in his scary glory as a scary moth thing with big red eyes, but he calls on the phone. And if he can't get you on the landline, he'll call your cell phone. What kind of scary entity being thing calls you on the phone?!? If he has all those other powers, what's even the point of a phone call? That's not scary!

4. Why is my mom insane?

5. What's up with all the singles websites? It seems to go against evolution to have so many people all at the same time looking for "the one." I think the E-harmony t.v. ad says something about not having to worry about being at the right bar at the right place. But wouldn't you be worried about being on the right website at the right time? Having your ad and photo in the right place on the right site at the right time?

6. Why do people say they'll call you when they never intend to? Why can't they just say "nice meeting you" and leave it at that? Why even go through the song and dance?

7. Why is farting considered rude? Everybody does it. Man B once told me that he didn't fart because when he was little he was taught that it was evil to fart. Evil. That's just wrong to tell a little kid that they're evil. Isn't it?

In the Intersection

2005-06-01T22:32:00.000-04:00

Today, I was on my way to the store when at the corner of 97 Street and 135 Avenue, my roomate's car stopped at the light. It'd been giving me the gears (pun intended) all the way from home, but when it got to the light at this particular intersection, it stopped and would not be convinced to try again. When this became obvious, I hit the hazard lights and called the roomie on my cell phone to advise her of my predicament.

That's when the real fun began.

It's a busy intersection, and I was in the middle lane. As I waited for the tow truck to arrive, all of my suspicions about most people being either mentally retarded or fucking assholes were confirmed. Driving is not a passive activity; hurtling along at 60 miles an hour in engines of death requires one to be alert and proactive and aware of everything going on around in each direction. Certainly, one should be able to ascertain that the vehicle ahead of you with the flashing hazard lights is no longer moving and needs to be avoided: there are two other lanes, one to either side of you. All that is required is for you to shoulder check, signal, check again and safely change lanes. Miracles do, I'm sure, happen, even in our modern, secular world, but the chances of one happening to my car just as you've pulled up behind me are slim to none. The Jesus Fish on your Dodge Caravan does not apply to me. Please pay attention to the FLASHING YELLOW LIGHTS THAT ALERT YOU TO THE FACT THAT I AM STOPPED IN TRAFFIC AND UNABLE TO MOVE MY CAR.

And, in the event that you have, in fact, honed in on my predicament and have successfully changed lanes, don't whiz past me honking your horn and waving at me with a singular finger. My car did not stall in order to inconvenience YOU. You may rest assured, you ignorant shitheap in your fiberglass penile substitute, that however inconvenient it may be for you to change lanes and avoid getting trapped behind me by the Whitecap in the Crown Victoria with the Handicapped permit dangling from the rear view, it is still far more inconvenient for me to actually be in a stalled vehicle with fuckheads like you careening past me, trailing unnecessary levels of testosterone and aggression. Fuck you. I hope your stick shift gives you cancer. This isn't even my car in the first place.

Anyway, having purged myself of this angst, I can now tell you that we have ascertained the problem with the car is that it needs a new computer. It was not getting any spark to the engine, so it has a kind of vehicular epilepsy. A brand new computer costs about $600.00, but Leonard the mechanic feels that a used one can be had for significantly less.

I just have one question though: why does a car require a computer to send spark to the engine when an internal combustion engine is perfectly capable of performing this function by itself? Anyone?

I hate my store

2005-05-31T17:13:00.001-04:00

I love my job, but I hate the store that I work at. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it.

Who in the hell changes Tuesday's schedule on Monday and doesn't bother calling the person who was originally scheduled for Tuesday night? Why wouldn't you call the person that drives half an hour to work and tell them not to bother coming in?

And why is the schedule changed anyway? Is it because the person in charge is playing favorites? Could it possibly be? Apparently the other girl "needed more hours." Yes, hello?? Has anybody seen MY FREAKING HOURS lately??

But this is funny.

Excuse me??

2005-05-30T22:45:00.000-04:00

I just finished moving over the weekend. And I'm really excited about living in the suburbs! So today, the cable guys came over to set up the cable and the oh-my-god-I-can-download-things-in-5-seconds internet. But before I sat in front of the computer to sort through 5 days of unchecked e-mails and bank stuff, I had to watch some tv. (Somebody gave us free HBO, too!)

I'm flipping through channels having a good ol' time, when this show comes on called "14 Kids and Pregnant Again!" I was thinking...you have to be kidding me! This is just wrong on so many levels, I don't even know where to start. But Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar of Arkansas are die-hard Southern Baptists who are letting God decide how many children they should have. I personally believe this is about 12-14 children too many, but these folks seem to be pretty darn happy.

Michelle and Jim Bob have divied up the household chores to all the kids, so basically Michelle has babies, and Jim Bob impregnates her. And how in the hell do you afford 14 kids?? I still wonder, but J.B. is some real estate guy, and used to be the state representative of something or the other. The chores aren't even called chores, they're called "jurisdictions," and the children behave and dress in such a way as to show their countenance. They sew their own clothes, a ll play both the violin and piano, and they seem to be pretty normal kids, barring their wacked out parents.

And then number 15. Holy crap Batman. Can you friggin' believe it? The female human body is made to have a maximum of 10 kids. This lady has had 15. Her ass is as wide as a house. I swear, they had a shot of her walking down the hallway with one of the kids and the kid saw the mom coming and he slammed himself into the wall and like got as tall and skinny as he could just so that thang could pass by. He like melded right into the wall. Trick of the disappearing child so the ass can pass. MAN!

15 kids. And she says she's ready for more.

Glutton for punishment

2005-05-15T00:27:00.000-04:00

So, as I was taking my last exam on Friday, somebody mentioned that we were real gluttons for punishment to keep going to school day after day and to keep taking these finals and all that stuff. Which made me wonder what the phrase meant. Lets' break it down:

Glutton-
[n] wolverine of northern Eurasia
[n] a person who is devoted to eating and drinking to excess

For-
Indicating the remoter and indirect object of an act; the end or final cause with reference to which anything is, acts, serves, or is done.

Punishment-
[n] the act of punishing

So, apparently my classmates and I are wolverines. Doing on online search, I found a fun online test. And then the other definition I found: If a person is described as a glutton for punishment, they happily accept jobs and tasks that most people would try to get out of. A glutton is a person who eats a lot.

I'm a pushover wolverine who eats a lot. At least I'm earning my degree while doing it, right??

Just stuff

2005-05-07T23:25:00.000-04:00

New news....

My little sister has had a big three weeks! She got into college, got a car, won first place in an art competition (complete with $50), and she got the lead part in a play in Colonial Williamsburg!

Exams start on Monday. Boo. But beginning Friday, I'll have half of my doctor, and you can call me D. The 'r' will come in two more years and another $65,ooo. I will not sleep for the next week or so, but it's all good. I just remember the paycheck....remember the paycheck...

My ex and his new fiancee had their baby on April 18th. She's a healthy little one, and she looks like a mini-ex. He's overjoyed and couldn't be more excited about the new addition. Congrats to them! No matter how much I tend to not like the whole idea of the baby and the upcoming wedding bells, I still sent them a baby gift and a card after she was born. For all of those that want to see, check her out here. Also check out the pictures of the nursery.

Hmmm....what else? I, of course, have a thing for a guy, but am still on 2 month dating probation, per my best friend and mother. I have 3 weeks left. This period of time has been used wisely--it's been me time all the time, and I've spent a lot of time figuring out me. I also have kept my room in a total state of disaster just because I could. And I didn't have to worry about people coming over, so I didn't shave my legs quite as often as I usually do. And I also got really really really good grades on three tests without any man distraction. After I finish getting me in order, maybe I'll add a boy to the mix. But I think I'm kind of enjoying all this time to myself!

My roommate and I are moving to a house at the end of this month, so we've been collecting boxes. One of our classmate's mothers just moved, so we got some boxes from her. One of the boxes she brought us is a 'wardrobe box,' and it's sooooo big that I made it into a fort. Kind of. It's basically a tunnel. That the cats sleep in. I did crawl through it once. And I made my roommate crawl through it, too. The joy of boxes revealed at last.

Long time...

2005-04-27T22:54:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since I threw anything up on my blog...trying to plug through the school days, the crazy landlord, the crazy roommate, and all the other things that go on 'round here.

Someone at school put me in charge of something semi-important: the class website. Me being who I am, and basically technology-impaired, delegated the pieces out to other people, and now we have an awesome website with tons of pictures and games and stuff.

I've also been keeping up on other stuff: ankle rehab has been fun--I've been going to the PT school here on campus and I'm the practice patient for the aspiring physical and occupational therapists. Fun times. Then there's the library, where I think I now have my own special table reserved in my name. That table and I have been good buddies, though. I've slept on it, eaten on it, spilled stuff on it, and learned on it. Good tables are so hard to find these days.

We had our annual Winter Formal in February, and I went with a first year medical student. He ended up having a) no manners, and b) no personality. Although he was sooooo gorgeous, that's about where that ended. I met him at the rock climbing gym one night, where I was on my first date with crazy 2nd year med student who fixed my ankle. I had a great time at formal, though, as the envy of all the other girls. And damn if I wasn't pretty hot myself. I must congratulate myself for finding the perfect dress the day before formal.

Then I went home for Spring Break with my sister and we visited the Tennessee branch of the family for a few days. I got the rest of my stuff from my ex, including my kitty (yeah!), and then my sister and I drove a grueling 9 hours back home with the cat. We did have the forethought to sedate the cat, but that only lasted for so long. We made it back to ol' Virginia just before she was about to kill me for the cat in the car.

Then back for the last half of the semester...with one snowboarding adventure with Man B--I thought I was having a good time until my ass hurt so bad I couldn't even sit. He said the conditions were wrong...man, were they ever. I ended up begging to go back to the car, and then we had a miserable 2 hour drive back home. The lesson here is never try to teach someone you care about how to ski/snowboard. It's ALWAYS better to involve a disinterested third party (read: hot Austrailian guy) when you've got a novice on your hands. So, until next season. I still can't ski, but I don't think I mind too much.

Man B and I dated for about 3 months until he decided that he wanted to rip my heart out and stomp it into the ground strewn with broken glass, nails, scorpions, hot molten lava, cacti, salt, tomato juice, lemons, etc. It came as quite a surprise to me, and even more of a surprise to his friends. We actually had (I thought) a good thing going, and he had asked me if we could be boyfriend and girlfriend and we talked about being together and spent time together.....why, he even brought up the kids we were going to have! Silly me, thinking we had a good relationship.

And then I found a great link on The Onion. I found this after I followed another blog's link to a story about otters. God, I love the onion!

And that pretty much brings us up to speed.

Fun Things to Do

2005-02-01T21:34:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of fun things to do on a day when you're lying in bed staring at your huge ankle that is so large and round and red and swollen and unlike anything you've seen before that it therefore escapes adequate description.

First things first. I woke up at 7:16 a.m. because of the jackhammer across the street is poundung into the ground. Put pillow over my head. Cursed under my breath at the man who is qualified enough to use a jackhammer at 7:16 a.m. Called the police to file a noise complaint. Hung up and put another pillow over my head. Limped and drug my way to the bathroom and took a shower.

Next, I put on my favorite pair of warm pajamas and crawled back into bed. Propped the offending ankle up above my heart to reduce swelling and pain. This isn't as effective as the pain killers, but I tried it anyway. Then I got the book that I've been trying to finish since before Christmas and finished it! (Life of Pi, by Yann Martel) Discovered at the end that it's actually a wonderful book, full of imagery and words and descriptions of things you can't imagine. His first book was kind of a flop, but it's now experiencing a rebirth of sorts with the success of his second book.

I decided to take a good hard look at myself and who I was. Decided to return to this later when I wasn't in a narcotic daze.

After accomplishing this, I worked on my New Year's Resolutions. (Better late than never.) Here they are...1) gain weight. I have no bump in my trunk. 2) that's it. That's all I've got.
And now it's only like eleven o'clock and I have a whole lot of day left, which kind of scared me. I got right down to business and went back to sleep for about 30 minutes. Then I waited for exactly the right time and pulled out my notes from classes and ate some lunch while I studied. While I was gathering all the necessary materials for that, I scared my kitty with all my noise and clumps and crutch maneuvers.

And finally! It was time for my roommate and my friend to come home and come over and then I had lots of school stuff to catch up on! I never thought I'd see the day when I was excited about catching up on schoolwork I had missed. But by that time (around 5), I had just plain run out of things to do. TV isn't all that great anyway.

I passed a whole lot of time doing a whole bunch of nothing...what a day!

It's all fun and games

2005-01-31T23:17:00.000-05:00

Today, I decided to work off some nervous energy. I had a long day at school, complete with a three hour break between Pharmacology and Geriatric Pharmacy. I used this time wisely....ate lunch, had a soda, chatted with people, etc. Then I went to class where I was, I think, the most bored I've ever been for 2 hours of my life. Not that geriatrics isn't fascinating most days, but today was very dry and boring.

So I get home around 5:30 and decided to go and catch the 6 o'clock kickboxing class at the gym. And that was fun. I kicked and punched and jumped and screamed and worked out some of my frustrations. At one particular point I was feeling rather feisty, and I jumped and kicked and landed---on my ankle. Yeah! I was surrounded by people who were like "Are you ok? Are you ok?," and my roommate, whose face went through open-mouthed shock, to concern, to outright laughter.

I'm sitting there on the floor, looking at her, and then I must laugh as well. The other people in the class just kind of looked at us, and then they kind of dispersed. The nice lesbian instructor went to get me a bag of ice, and my roommate and I sat there on the floor just laughing and laughing. Turns out it's contagious, and pretty soon the whole room was chuckling or grinning at how silly we must've looked.

We spent a couple of hours at the ER, where the nice student doctor (Man B) told me that I had sprained the old fracture. Damn it all. So now I have a nice air cast, and I had to pull ol' sturdy crutches out of the closet. I love my crutches, and they're especially fun in the snow and ice.

But I had a lot of time to observe the ER while I was there, and what a time that was. First, we surveyed the contents of the room, which consisted of a multitude of things, the most disturbing which were the small/medium/large body bags. Next, we tried to make out the contents of the securely locked medical supply cabinet. You have to have a secret password to get to the sutures and saline and sports tape and bandaids. We didn't have the code, so we moved onto people watching.

This was the most interesting part. All walks of life had converged into this basement-like space at the hospital. Old, young, rich, poor, foreign, native, all gathered for health care. Most people were in good spirits. I think the homeless were there mainly for the warmth and conversation. Which made me think about how damn lonely and cold they must get sometimes. It made me appreciate my things and my warm (yet cold) room, my food, my clothes, my car, my education (no matter how torturous it seems), and my life. But they seemed so happy! It's amazing how people survive in the face of adversity. I would've given up a loooonggg time ago.

Seven bucks

2005-01-08T21:31:00.000-05:00

I recently was summoned to jury duty in Chattanooga, Tennessee. I don't live there anymore. I guess I kind of thought that when you registered to vote in another state that you would somehow be magically erased from the voter's list in the other state. I've lived in my new state for the past year and a half or so, and have had the opportunity to vote twice-once in the presidential primaries, and then for the presidency. I think I only voted once the whole entire time I lived in Tennessee, which was around 11 years or so. (But at least I'm voting!)

So I was talking to my ex about the summons (because it was sent to me at our old house where he still lives), and he said there was a little box at the bottom that you could check where you state that you haven't been a resident of the city/county/state for at least 12 months. And the phone number to the judge's quarters. I'm supposed to report for jury duty on Tuesday, the 11th of January, at 9 a.m. Hmmm...I'm working that day, and there's no way I'll be able to make it, especially since I don't live there. So I called the judge this past Monday, and she didn't call me back. I called her again on Tuesday. I guess I talked to her secretary, but she said that my ex could check the box and sign his name and send it back in to the court.

I called the ex back to relay this message, and it was then that he informed me that I was passing up the awesome opportunity to make SEVEN DOLLARS A DAY!!! Seven bucks??! I'm not exactly sure, but I think high schoolers make more than that flipping burgers. I make more than that in an hour of counting pills. I can only imagine if the jurors in the Scott Peterson or even the O.J. case made $7 a day. Man, I'd be pissed. What a huge time commitment that is, and someone's lives in your hands, and only $7.

Mormon's (Mormons' ?) don't register to vote because the Bible says, "Judge not, lest ye be judged." I think I heard on t.v. the other day that a Supreme Court Justice was called to jury duty, and as soon as the judge/prosecution lawyer/defense lawyer recognized him, they asked for him to be excused, but the Supreme being said he was proud to do his civic duty. I'm way more than happy to sit in a courtroom and listen to the case and serve my community, but $7 seems to be the breaking point.

One nation, under God, for seven dollars a day....

Randomness

2005-01-02T22:02:00.000-05:00

So I finally got up enough motivation this evening to go to the grocery store to get some milk and other things. I get to the store safely and park my car, lock the door, and begin to journey in. On the way in, a couple is walking beside me fighting about No Doz and ecstasy. I don't know what the connection was between the two, but she was giving him a hard time about taking the No Doz. And he said she had taken some, and she said no, she hadn't.

I picked up my pace just a little to get in the door before them, and hopefully to escape their fight, even though it was mildly entertaining. I mean, really. Who gets mad at someone else for having taken a No Doz? It's the equivalent of someone drinking two cups of coffee, or one cappucino. I've never seen anyone get angry over drinking coffee. Anyway, I make my way into the produce section, and I can hear these two yelling back at the front door. Whatever, I think. I just need some mayonnaise.

I arrive at the mayonnaise aisle. You know those signs they put up over aisles that say what the aisles have in them? This particular one says "catsup." This makes me wonder about the word catsup. Because the bottles of ketchup say "ketchup," not "catsup." What is catsup anyway? And who really calls it catsup anymore? The definition of catsup is "thick spicy sauce made from tomatoes." The definition of ketchup is the same. Now this makes me wonder more. Is ketchup/catsup really spicy?

Anyway, tomato sauce could be many things. Could be the stuff you put on your spaghetti. Could be the stuff you dip your cheese sticks in. English sailors discovered the original Chinese product in the 1700's, which was a pickled fish sauce made with tomatoes, vinegar, and spices. People in the northern states call it tomato sauce, not ketchup. Heinz created the current recipe for ketchup in 1876, although it has different recipes for the United States, the UK, Canada, and other portions of Europe. Whatever ketchup recipe is used, it also goes by many different names.

So there the arguing couple was again at the check out. But they weren't arguing anymore, and he was calling her "Boo." I paid for my stuff and came home. But not before wondering how the whole topic of No Doz came up in the first place.

I deserve a phone call

2005-01-01T22:59:00.000-05:00

So, the world of dating has bit me right in the ass again. I thought I had met someone (see So you meet a boy..... ). This man really was something great to and for me. Not only did he make me believe in the capacity of others to love me, but he also made me feel like the queen of the world. However, he stopped calling me. Just poof!, stopped calling.

This sucks on several levels. One, what the hell did I do? Two, I no longer believe that people will fall in love with me again. Three, instead of feeling like the queen of the world, I feel like crap. Four, I'm at a loss, and I feel broken hearted.

When I went to visit him, he spoke sweetly and softly to me. He held me and kissed me and complimented me to no end. He snuggled and cuddled me and kept making sure I had blankets around me all night long. He put his arm around me and held my hand in public. He spoke such a sweet verse, and I fell for him. I fell for him hard and fast. It wasn't the sweet conversation that brought this sensation....oh, no. It was just the nearness of him, and how he made me feel. I felt him so close to me and all my wildest dreams came true. He was so thoughtful...bought me a rose and an ornament, and weeks after sent me a silly card. He also called me and e-mailed.

Then he just stopped communicating with me. I don't know why he stopped calling. According to the book "He's Just Not that Into You," he's just not that into me. (Which further supports my theory that no one will ever fall in love with me.) I just want him to call me and tell me what happened. I fell like I deserve that much. Something has to have made him run, but I don't know what.

I deserve a phone call.

What I want.

2004-12-16T14:15:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wanted something so bad, but you just can't have it? And the more you want it, the less you can have it? It's like the more your internal want is fueled, the more barriers are created from you having it.

For example, I want a puppy. It's not to much to ask for a small slobber machine to live with you and eat all of your belongings that are lower than 3 feet from the ground. But I can't have one for several reasons, which include time, money, and an adequate puppy environment. I also have a cat. She's a little weird to begin with, and I think the addition of anything other than a new bedspread would throw her off. Actually, I think the bedspread would throw her off.

The next thing I want is peace and quiet. I want to sleep for 8 hours straight without interruption. My apartment isn't conducive to this want. Some funny people thought it would be fun to renovate the building across the street from me. This means that construction begins promptly at 7 a.m. every single day, even Thanksgiving and the weekends. At night, when people sleep, there are ambulances and fire trucks and police cars that try out their sirens at all hours. I know they're doing their job, though, so all this noise is theoretically okay. (But not really.)

The last thing I want is to be warm. Winter is my least favorite time of year. Apart from the hot chocolate I get to drink, I don't like winter. I was raised in a warm climate, and I still don't think I've adjusted to this whole cold thing. There are people I know who don't wear jackets in this weather. It's 30 degrees outside and they're in jeans and a long sleeved shirt with a hoodie. And I'll give them credit for at least putting on the long sleeves and the hoodie. I, on the other hand, will put on as many layers of clothes as possible, and I don't care what people think about it. I am determined to be warm! Yesterday I wandered out into the world wearing two pairs of pants, thick socks, one short sleeved shirt under two long sleeved ones, a fleece hoodie, my big comfy down jacket, a hat, and mittens. And I wasn't truly warm. People told me all I needed was a sign and I'd look like a homeless person.

I have three goals....to have a dog, to sleep, and to be warm. Is it too much to ask?!?!

Minivans

2004-12-12T22:31:00.000-05:00

Minivans are boxes with wheels and an accelerator, designed to carry either lots of people or lots of crap. They are useful for transporting stuff when you move, but otherwise their full carrying capacity dream is never realized. Some people who buy minivans are old men. They buy minivans to make their old wives happy. Therefore, they buy the sport edition to still retain their manliness and look cool driving it. Occasionally, their grandchildren/child will come for a visit, and then the old people get excited that more than the front two seats are being used.

Other people who buy minivans have just had a child. One singular child is enough motivation for two people to buy a vehicle that holds seven. Really, though. Does one kid have enough crap to fill a whole minivan?? I think you should have at least 3 kids before the minivan gets purchased. A nice sedan with a trunk will hold all of the things that kids generate (i.e.-used juice boxes, poopy diapers, half-eaten french fries, etc.). Plus, the sedan has fewer places for the kids to wipe their boogers on.

Most popular minivans: http://autos.msn.com/specials/landing_view.aspx?page=vans&src=msn&GT1=5840
The majority of people who buy minivans are the stupidest people on Earth. The car salesman has somehow convinced them to buy a smaller version of an 18-wheeler, and he/she will be living on that comission for the next week. People in minivans drive either really really slow, exercising extreme caution, or really really fast, exercising no caution at all, driving like they're on the Nascar racing circuit. Often, the back of minivans are the billboards for a plethora of stickers. They read "My kid is an honor student at blah blah," "In case of rapture, car will be unmanned," "POW/MIA," "I love horses," "I love my grandkids," but never things like, "Horn broken, look for finger," "Marilyn Manson rules!," "I won this on Jeopardy!," "I'm a lesbian/transgender/bisexual/homosexual and PROUD!" Minivans are the car of the conservative old person, or the people who have given up on life and cool cars.

And then, the advent of SUV's. Smaller, more compact versions of minivans. I'm not fooled!! SUV's are for the people who really actually do want a minivan, but know that minivans are uncool. So they package other stupid people in SUV's. And there are a ton of these cars. Some people call them "trucks" to maintain their ultra-cool image. I'm not fooled!! SUV's are also minivans. It's just not cool to drive huge cars on the road. When I see somebody driving down the road in a 3-mile per gallon SUV with $100,000 worth of bling on the outside and porn on the DVD screen, I definitely think to myself how cool they are. And this is becoming a trend lately. But what if you have an accident??? It's like the car is totalled, but the porn is still playing. How do you explain that one to the cops?!! "Um...I'm sorry officer, but I was distracted..."

Ha ha ha

2004-12-10T19:26:00.000-05:00

One day I wake up and I see the whole entire world outside my window. The whole world. "You FOOL!," they all shout in unison (because suddenly now a) the whole world speaks and understands English, and b), they all fit on the street), "You know better! Quit fooling yourself! You do this all the time and the same thing happens every time, so stop with the tom foolery already." I have to shoo the world away so I can get dressed and ready for my day's activities, but their words stick with me all day. I do know better...and I tell myself this all the time.

So, yeah, maybe I do live in a world of fairy tales and make believe. Yes, in my world, the knight in shining armor will come and rescue me on his white steed. He will rescue me and then sweep me away to his glorious castle and make love to me and we will live happily ever after. In my world, it's okay to trust every one and believe everything they say even if they're lying straight through their nose (as my Grandma would say). It's okay to give your all and not hold anything back when you meet someone, because you will never get hurt. You can do this as many times as you want to.

As the rest of the world may know, this is not the most practical, or the best way to live. You must play the caution card all the time. You can't let people know everything about you, who you are, what you are, within the first two times you meet them. You must play the reserve card. Don't throw caution to the wind. Throw caution in the face of all the people you meet. Make them work for it!

Boys lie, especially to girls. Girls lie, especially to boys. Moms lie, dads lie, friends lie, sisters and brothers lie. Be cautious with everyone. This means all people. If they say they're going to call, don't expect it. If they say they're going to do something for you, don't believe it. But don't be mean about it. Just lower your expectations of all people (except hold yourself to the highest standards), and then you will never be disappointed. Now, if the other person does happen to come through...well consider it a treat! An unexpected joy! And then, only through a series of keeping their word, should you trust these people. This isn't to say that they still won't let you down from time to time...but wait until that happens and deal with it then. But, true to the euphemism, actions speak louder than words. Much much louder.

I typically am too giving. I give myself to my friends, I give myself to organizations, I give my time and energy to volunteer work, to regular paying work, you can count on me to come through in a pinch, to bail people out of trouble (I'm too poor to bail you out of jail), to look you in the eye and tell you the truth, to look out for you, to watch your back, and to sacrifice myself all the time. At the same time, I don't like to let too many people in. I have these walls up. Huge walls. Both a blessing and a curse. "How does this work?," you may ask yourself. I have no idea. It's a careful balance between letting a select few people into my world while keeping the rest out. Sometimes I want to be a shallow person. But it never happens that way. I want to be able to only love myself and me only...but it doesn't happen.

And these are things I need to work on. Because it doesn't seem like people will ever live up to my expectations, so I am consistently disappointed by others. There are some people who have proven true over the test of time, and I will always always have them in my life. But other people will have to work for me. I'm worthy enough to set these standards! I have to break out of fairy tale land! The knight is never coming on his non-white steed, and I will never live happily ever after with him.

The world is outside laughing at me...

Mustard

2004-11-23T21:41:00.000-05:00

Have you ever walked through the aisles of a warehouse store like Costco or Sam's Club and wondered who would buy a jar of mustard a foot and a half tall? We've bought it, but it didn't stop us from wondering about other things, like absurd eating contests, impulse buys, excess, unimagined uses for mustard, storage, preservatives, notions of bigness...and dozens of other ideas both silly and serious. Write an essay somehow inspired by super-huge mustard. University of Chicago 2005

I've only been to one of the big warehouse stores once. I walked around a bit and thought about buying this really big pack of socks, but I already had enough socks to last me a month and a half without doing laundry. I was a little bit down about not having any rationale to buy a lot of socks when I saw them. They were beautiful, all green and red. The moment I saw those cute little animals swimming in a sea of themselves I knew that one of the 5 gallon tubs of Christmas themed animal crackers was for me. My mom wasn't too upset that I put them on the credit card she pays the bill for. It took a bit of selling, but I think she became convinced that we really needed them. Within a week, as I finished the last scrumptious red lion, I completely regretted not indulging in two 5 gallon tubs.

I don't know what I would do with a really huge thing of mustard. I've never even bought a thing of mustard. I usually rely on fast food restaraunts to throw in a couple extra mustard packets, so I don't have to think about this stuff. If I really did become enthralled with a big jar and impulsively decided to purchase it, I'm not really sure what I'd do with it. I think at first I would just set it on the counter and stare at it for a while just to see who would blink first. Then I'd make some hot dogs, and put extra mustard on them. Then the next day I might have a mustard sandwich, mustard pie, and mustard potatoes.

You see the thing is, every time I have anything I feel inclined to use it. If I have more than I really should I need to justify it by using it over and over. I've read many bad books just to make use out of them. Sometimes I buy stuff that I know is good for me, but will find excrutiating at the same time. For example, I bought Tolkien's The Hobbit in Spanish (El Hobbit) one summer because I knew it would help me improve in Spanish and even if I hated reading it, I would read it because I bought it and therefore I was reading it. I guess I never buy big, socks and underwear aside, because I hate the burden of "stuff." I like to make use of my stuff, but I am not always successful.

The world has a lot of people with very little. Some people have a whole lot. I think if everyone just had somewhere in between, we'd all feel a little happier, and a lot less burdened. Basically in an ideal world everyone would have thirty pairs of socks and only a couple packs of mustard. Oh, and animal crackers.

My roommate's cat

2004-11-23T14:02:00.000-05:00

Recently it has come to my attention that my roommate's cat has stopped cleaning himself. It's not cleaning its hind area, so it runs around with a brown butt and it stinks. This cat is excessively hairy, so maybe this is the problem. He's a pure bred white Persian, and is as fluffy and furry as the day is long.

I was trying to study last night for a test and furry cat jumps into my lap. I absentmindedly start petting him, and then reach up to brush my hair out of my face when I smell something funny. It's my hand. Eww. I re-evaluated the cat, and found that he is filthy. This animal obviously needs some help from someone else to stay properly groomed. His pretty fur is matted all over his body, his eyes have eye boogers, his tail is nappy, and his henie is brown. I don't think he's not cleaning himself as much as he just can't get through all that fur and the mats to get to the areas.

My idea is to shave the cat bald. Maybe give him one of those poodle cuts, with just little furry paws and a ball on his tail and something around his head. Or maybe just a buzz cut. Roomie and I had talked about this before, and she said something like she had seen a Persian with one of those poodle hair cuts before and the cat looked like a lion and really really sad. Thinking about it now, her cat has a permanent sad expression (it's just the way those cats look), so maybe a haircut wouldn't be such a bad idea. I think the cat might be grateful not to have all that hair. You never know!

In the meantime, the cat isn't allowed in my room. I think maybe I'll try to drug it on Wednesday and give it a bath.

So you meet a boy.....

2004-11-22T16:36:00.000-05:00

You go to your girlfriend’s wedding one weekend and there in the crowd is this handsome man. An incredibly handsome man. So you hold your peace and wait it out until the reception, thinking that maybe you’ll talk to him there.

You get to the reception, which has an open bar (yes!), and drink and dance your heart out. You pass the boy in the hall a couple of times on your way to and from the bathroom, and then at the bar, but still you get no vibe from him at all. Oh, well, you think. It’s just another boy, and he’s probably an asshole anyway.

The reception is winding down, and you mention to the bride how cute you think the guy is and how you’d like to dance with him. “You see,” you say to her, “I’ve been trying all night long to make eye contact with him and casually run into him, but it hasn’t worked.” So she brings him over to dance with you, but he declines, saying he can’t dance. A lame excuse you’ve heard a million times before. So he’s either just not that into you, or he really can’t dance. But you go to the bar with him and get a drink, and then your family decides it’s time to go. Crap, you think. Crap crap crap. You part ways, you to your family, and him back to his friends. And you’re standing there with your family and a slow song comes on….you ask your family to wait so you can go dance with him.

And you dance and you call him your boyfriend (oops). And then the song ends (damn) and he mentions that he and his friends are going to a bar and would you like to go? You think “CRAP AGAIN!! I’M HERE WITH MY FAMILY!!!” So you tell him you have to go ask your mom since she’s your ride and all. And he thinks that’s cute. He gives you his number, you go ask your mom, get a hotel room and directions to the hotel, and head back into the reception to get your man.

You go to the bar with him and his friends and spend hours talking. You guys draw little versions of the United States on napkins and ponder the reason why the cross at the church was underlined. “It should’ve had an exclamation point after it instead,” he says. And then his friends decide it’s time to go back to Baltimore where they’re staying. Triple crap. You do not want this evening to end! But while you’re away at the bathroom, he manages to keep a car with him while everyone else goes back and you guys stay there at the bar in the middle of nowhere, Maryland. You talk and talk and finally leave the place. Drive around for a little while, but end up parking in the hotel parking lot and you’re there until 4 a.m. He’s a Pisces, you’re a Cancer…totally and completely compatible.

This guy….he’s incredible. You’ve run into guys before. But this one…he’s the kind of guy who you trust immediately, who makes you feel loved, who wants to know all about you, who strokes your hair at the exact moment you’re thinking how nice it would be to have your hair stroked, who makes you comfortable, who you’re not scared to tell your skeletons to, who is impossibly handsome without knowing he’s handsome, who likes you for who you are, doesn’t make you feel small, who desires you, who makes you forget all about anything that might be bothering you or stressing you out (especially Men A-D), and who makes you believe in love at first sight.

This man….oh, this man.

Men and my new husband Jesus

2004-11-17T02:09:00.000-05:00

There are four men in my life....men A-D.

Man A: We've been "dating" or something for almost 4 months. At this point, I would be calling him my boyfriend, except that we seem to have gone insane. Madly, wildly, insane. You could be the one....but not so much. But maybe.....but not so much. But maybe....but not so much. And on and on like this for the past two to three weeks. This wasn't a problem until his ex called him up one night and they talked. They were (from what he's told me) bad to each other. Lying and other such things. A good reunion? I think not. But he has to "check things out just to make sure." I talked to him about them getting back together and told him it wasn't a good idea-he shouldn't regress, but move forward. I lost.

Man B: Second year medical student who I am resisting. Not charming, not chivalrous. (It's not dead.) He's nice enough. I met him for coffee the other day and he circled the table, much like a dog looking for a place to sleep, then approached me and said "Honor? I didn't recognize you." Not like he didn't recognize me because I was more gorgeous than the previous times I've seen him (I finally had my hair down, which is rare), not like he didn't recognize me because I was in disguise. He didn't recognize me. So he's Pakistani, and weird. I'm a white girl. I was on my way out to poker tonight when he practically begged me to come and pick him up. I was like noooooooo, I will not!, but ended up doing it anyway. A begging man isn't attractive. And so we played poker (I won), but in the meantime between him losing and me winning (hour and a half?) he went to play computer poker. Sources say he's "very interested." So I go to drop him off and he wants to know if Man A would be jealous if he cooked me dinner one night. I. could. not. believe. it. The guy is spying on me or something. I hadn't told him about Man A. I said we'd talk about it and maybe do something next week. (My mind...please don't call please don't call please don't call) I will hope he doesn't call. I do not want to date him. At all.

Man C: My ex. We go back and forth twelve times a week about what went wrong in our relationship. Basically, the discussion never changes. He says, "I still love you." I say, "You cheated on me 8 times." He says, "I was begging for attention from you." I say, "Bad method, you may want to rethink it." He says, "I'm so so so sorry." I say, "Uh-huh." Next day...repeat previous conversation. Sometimes we actually talk about other things...but it's rare.

Man D: Random boy who calls me only when he wants to have sex. I met this guy through a classmate of mine, and we got along fairly well (pre-Man A), and exchanged numbers. However, we've never had sex. He calls when he's drunk, typically at around 2-3 a.m. on Friday or Saturday night. Says he wants to "hang out." I have always replied I don't want to because of Man A, or just simply a "why the hell are you calling?" works pretty well. We've never even kissed. I don't even know his first name....everyone calls him by his last name.

Here's the problem with all this man madness. The only guy I really want is Man A. But Men B-D think I'm worthy of their time, too. I want to join a convent and just nun it up for the rest of my life with my new husband Jesus. He seems pretty fair, except he's married to a whole bunch of women...I'm kind of the jealous type. It's hard for me to juggle Men A-C...can you imagine approximately 4 million women all trying to get their piece of one man? Phew...it boggles my mind. Ah, well. I'll get in line.