Latest and Greatest

The docs have been fighting for a spot on my List of Affection this week. Whitecastle had been leading strong with his support through the school/interview process, but...

Doc Query: So I signed up for Twitter.

Moi: OK.

Doc Query: Now what?

Moi: You tell people what you're doing.

Doc Query: That's the thing. I don't have anyone to follow or anyone to tell.

Moi: I can't help you there. I don't even have Twitter. You're more hip than I am.

Doc Query: That's really why I signed up.

Now for something completely different.

Mother: Well, if you don't get into Harvard, I guess there's always Hopkins.

Moi: "There's Hopkins?" It's the best program in the country.

Whitecastle (who is in no ways biased): It's perhaps among the "top 2" programs in the country. But not the best.

Deep Springs of Hope

Moi: I don't like being made to go to the bathroom.

Young Bo': Trust me. Your bowel will thank me for not rupturing later.

Moi: It should write you a note on monogrammed stationery. Too bad it's not literate.

Young Bo': I hope it's in cursive.

Moi: I just said it's not literate.

Young Bo': I can hope for the future, can't I?

Boundless Enthusiasm

It's a good thing that emails are not made of paper.  Because if they were, we would all hate TChu for depriving our future generations of the oxygen they so need to thrive.  He writes them as if they were free or grew on trees.  You see, Reader, it is a spoken rule that whenever we arrange BCF get-togethers and cc' the other on the invite, whoever is cc'ed-- despite having been checked with in regards to time, location, and guest list and confirmed attendance-- is to enthusiastically reply-all to the invite so as to drum up excitement among the group.  It's a cheap lie, but one we have learned to live with.  Today, however, we crossed a new low.  I realized belatedly that I forgot to include Liz on my email and did not want her to feel left out.  So I thought of the personalized email tactic.  I would, I said, pretend that I was inviting everyone individually to a small dinner.  But TChu thought it would be too obvious.  And he relishes in lies.  So he suggested I email Liz AND him to make it seem like I was starting with them two though I had a. already discussed the arrangement with him and b. included him on an email invite once.  I reluctantly complied.  And TChu held up his end of the bargain, replying to both emails enthusiastically, as if he really had been waiting for Ethiopian food all this time.  Not only so, but he even tailored his two lies so that they were different from each other, each with a different reason of why he was looking forward to dinner.  Needlessly complicated, perhaps.  Hilarious, a bit as well.  Demonstrative of the deceit of TChu?  Oh, absolutely.

Into the Wild

Trekking across Lake Winnipesaukee. We learned the hard way that cabins on lakes are farther than they appear.

This weekend was the church's small group retreat and so my small group and I retreated from the city and went forth into the New Hampshire woods. It was two days of group bonding over old Mitch jokes, Thomas's mother's beard, skipping designated quiet times for breakfast, arriving late at large group meetings, and generally endearing ourselves to other retreaters by a. questioning whether their mothers loved them b. entering cabins when everyone was already asleep and c. whupping them in Taboo (it isn't our fault that for the word "Unicorn," one player gave "The Shining" as a clue). There was also sledding, a snow angel, and kicking butt in foosball (would you expect any less from me?). Mostly though, I laughed a lot and was reminded of the awesome jealousy of God. What did you do this weekend?

This picture would probably be cooler if I know who these people are. But alas, I was cliquey all weekend and never learned these people's names.

Contrite

Dear Blogger Diary:
I am sorry that I have been busy. As I have been telling everyone lately: this too, shall pass, and soon I will go back to spending my nights alone. In the meantime, however, I'm very tired and have copious amounts of television and people to catch up on. And something about a financial aid form. Toodeloo.

Say No Kids

Thomas very recently discovered the late great comedian Mitch Hedberg.  Watching him through the process has been like watching a newborn grow and change before my eyes as he revels in each new joke and keeps sharing with everyone one in small group (according to Katy, he also has the big head to match newborns), a small group that, I'm sad to say, thinks all the jokes are new and laughs too readily at them.  I won't go into the threefold reasons why I'm enjoying his late discovery except to say that "eavesdropping" (I was at the same table, it hardly counts when you're at the same table) on his line of "Dufrane party of four?" last night, I immediately said, "you mean, search party of four?"  And this light just sparked in his eyes-- a spark I've never seen when we talk about things like Jesus-- and he started nodding happily and saying, "she knows it, she knows it!"-- that was one of the highlights of my Tuesday.  Then I lost interest in that side of the table was saying and went back to trying to turn Chris and Katy's conversation to be about me. 

Suburban Write Up

Carol: Are your socks intentionally mismatched?

Moi: These are my home socks. You're lucky I wore socks at all. I was in a plaid flannel shirt earlier.

Like I said before, there are certain truths about my visits home. I will drive to Market Basket and even as I am shopping there, weep silently at the thought of having to leave it and its wide parking spaces again. I will wear the ridiculous dregs in my closet (Exhibit 1: velour track pants. so tacky, but so soft like butter). I will watch an unhealthy amount of television while my bottom slowly melds together with the couch. I will bake. And, if I am lucky, I will see people from the awesome portions of my childhood and youth. Sometimes it's Punty. Sometimes Emily. Today, best of all, it was Less Accomplished Pan and Carol. I would trade at least 3 sashimi dinners for lunch at Olive Garden with those 2.

Awakening

New England winters have twisted our sense of right and wrong, perverted our senses of justice and temperature, and fomented in our hearts a notion that spring is right around the corner. Earlier this morning, I overhear a couple as they're taking their young daughter out of the car...

Lady: Oh, her hat!

Man: Come on, honey, it's nice out.

Lady: It's 26 degrees out.

But it was so nice out. With the sun shining, it almost looked warm.

In Which I Prove to be 457 Years Old

Take a long work week. Mix in fatigue. A modest (and I mean modest) amount of alcohol. Chill music. Quiet party in the suburbs. And me. With my yearning for sweats and soft pillows.

What do you get? Dozing off on three different modes of transportation, jumbled words, and I am still home before midnight. Past Me would be very disappointed at Present Me.

Mature Content Warning

The RAs (OK, Young Bo' and I) thought it'd be cute to make Valentines for everyone in the office as part of a big brownie points sweeps week.  So we did.  But as Young Bo' was taping 2 Hershey Kisses to each heart cutout yesterday, she realized that they looked… bosomy, standing next to each other like that.  She was skeptical whether we should stick with that configuration but I assured her that the Division was more mature than that, and plus, 2 Hershey Kisses together could look like any number of things, such as 2 neurotransmitters.  This morning, most people seemed to not notice the resemblence and really appreciate our kiss-ass (and kick-ass) Kisses.  Then again, most people are not Sister Claire...

Sister: Are you handing out stripper candies?

Young Bo': That's what I thought, too, but she said it was OK.

Sister: I think to her, strippers are OK.

Moi: Hey, those candies could look like eyes, or neurotransmitters.  I thought people were more mature than this.

Sister: If only I could get these paper strips to twirl like tassels, they'd really look like it.  Thanks for the stripper candies, guys.

Away from Ordinary

A. Clean new sheets! I am so excited for bed tonight.

B. Either something in my washer or detergent has gone terribly wrong, because my entire load of fresh laundry smells of Corona. Not that I'm complaining. But it is a wee bit disturbing.

Heart of Gold

Overheard at church on Sunday, uttered by old lady behind me, regarding the children choir's performance:

"The children will be singing?  Oh, goodness.  Well, that's too bad."

Past Perfect

Moi: I have a fridge full of food and an empty wallet... so I'm going out to dinner with my friend. Down the line, forty-year-old-me is going to hate twenty-something-me.

Jen: Are you sure twenty-five-year-old-you isn't going to hate twenty-four-year-old-you?

Moi: Twenty-five-year-old-me will be in school and accruing debt. Twenty-five-year-old-me doesn't get to make value judgments.

In other news- dinner party on Sunday, catch up with Lisa last night, large group tonight where I saw friends and made connections to volunteer-- what do you know, I'm feeling really at home this week yet I may or may not be moving in a few months...

Glutton Thumb

Quick, somebody bring me the economic stimuls package and let me touch it. My fingers can do no wrong. (Except perhaps turn my daughters into a delicious pile of dough.) Just look at these parmesean pull-apart rolls that I made in preparation for a dinner party tomorrow. (Thank you, Gourmet magazine)

Pied Pacer

I don't know if you remember my last pacing-at-the-T-stop story. It attracted the attention of a nice boy who thought I was cold. He gave me advice on how to stay warm. There was an awkward silence. Since then, I have taken that lesson and tried not to pace too vigorously at T stops. But alas, waiting for the bus is boring and I'm fidgety. So the other night, I paced myself gently behind the bus shelter, trying to do so in as unnoticeable a manner as possible.

Unfortunately, I was noticed. Not only so, but I was inspirational as well. A middle aged woman who had previously been standing still decided that she, too, ought to pace around the bus shelter. But she didn't stop there. Her arms shot out wildly as she walked about, like Tourette spasms. Her attention grabbing flails made me uncomfortable, as I was worried that we were quickly becoming a marching duo of dunces in the eyes of others. So I slowed my steps and eventually stopped, trying to act as cool as possible. Even in my inaction, however, I was inspirational. Soon, crazy arms stopped pacing as well (but her arms never stopped flailing). I'm a regular ol' pied piper. For freaks at least.

Pertinent to Nothing

Apropos is one of my favorite words. It is French, ergo classy. It sounds funny. And it's very useful. Not everyone, however, is a fan of that word.

Gak made fun of me for using that word in Chicago and said that "it sounds like it should be italicized." Although he did concede that Professor Franco also used the word. I'm OK with having things in common with Franco.

Just last night, I commented that Charlene's Micah 6:8 shirt was apropos of the occasion and she said, "That's old school. That's such a 90's word."

I don't know what either of these two kids' problems are. Apropos was a fine Wordly Wise word in 6th grade and it will continue to be a part of my extensive vocabulary.

Cane and Enabler

When I get ridiculous food cravings (i.e. when I don't want to work), I need someone with the good senses to set me straight.  Young Bo' is not that person.  She is what you would call an "enabler."

Moi: I want a bag of chips right now. 

Young Bo': Oh, I'll split it with you.

Moi: And wings.

Young Bo': Chicken tenders.

Moi: No, ribs.

Young Bo': Chicken tenders with BBQ sause.  From Thorne.

Moi: Popcorn chicken from Thorne.

(the next 4 minutes are spent discussing the merits of chicken tenders and popcorn chicken from Thorne)

Moi: Why do we do this to ourselves?

Young Bo': For the memories.

PS. I forget sometimes that not everyone went to the Bo'.  Thorne is one of 2 dining halls at the Bo', and much preferred by people with good taste.

One Treasure

Sure, we're in an economic crisis, but people are still throwing away perfectly good household items. Found by the condo recycling bin last night: a perfectly good sombrero. I'm going to play with this for at least a week before I toss it myself.

Run, Fat Girl, Run

I'm all for people being cheered up or amused by the little things in life.  I just don't like it when I'm that little thing.

During morning peak hours, the hospital shuttle leaves every ten minutes.  Naturally, I took this to mean that one leaves at 8:20, another 8:30, 8:40, and so forth.  Not so with these shuttles.  The "8:20" now likes to leave at 8:18.  The 8:30 at 8:29.  Which would be fine had my morning routine not been planned down to the last minute.  Actually, that still would have been fine had someone just told me that they were now all leaving slightly early.  I have chased after the shuttles the past 2 mornings.  This morning, I even had to run half a block more than usual and run all the way to the stop sign.  (Don't even try to question my time keeping, my new watch is calibrated against satellite signals… more on that story later) 

Moi: I'm pretty sure the bus driver does it just to watch me run.

(the suddenly empathetic) Whitecastle: Well, it's gotta be a shit job.  They need something to cheer them up.  'Hey look, there's that little Asian girl again.  Look at her run.  She looks so funny.'  'Hey look, it's the old man with the cane.  Let's make him run.  Oh, why is he clutching his chest?  The old man has fallen over.'

Moi: That old man never makes the bus.

Truthful Ground

On the validity of the groundhog day hog versus the tooth fairy.

Young Bo': Of course it's real. How else do you get your [tooth] money?

Moi: When a tooth rattles, I pick a fight and get someone to punch me in the face. Tooth gets knocked out. I threaten to sue. Why, how do you get money?

Young Bo': I just go to the strip club.

Amazing

Grace is a 40+ degree sunny day in February.  Grace is the man using his feet to stop his brake-less bike from running me down.  Grace is certainly not running after the bus in my big backpack yelling "whoa," but grace is catching it.