I'm So Glad I Put On Pants

I locked myself out of the apartment yesterday.

I had gone out back to check for our recycling toters, and after giving the door handle an assuring jiggle, closed it and went outside. Apparently the door didn't understand "assuring jiggle," because it was locked when I came back to it. Don't ask me to explain the hows or whys. Maybe I jiggled the inside handle, which turns regardless of whether it's locked or not. Maybe I didn't turn the lock 90 degrees and it was jostled when I closed the door, locking me out from the inside.

Regardless, I was so happy that I had put pants on to go outside. And shoes. I so rarely get dressed to peep out onto the backyard.

Other things I could have taken outside: keys, a cell phone, my wallet.

I walked down to MIT, because what other choice did I have? I could have hung out in our laundry area until J came home six hours later. Or the backyard. Those were my choices, and it was cold. Once I went outside the apartment building, I was out, so I had to make the decision quickly. Was there anywhere I could go without money or ID? Not really. So I walked down to MIT, hoping to find J in his lab before his class started, knowing it could be a shot in the dark. At least he wasn't out in Lexington!

I met J's office mate, who told me a story about the time his wife was locked out of their apartment and he found her curled up, asleep, on their landing. I was again reminded of how very glad I was that I had put on pants.

I played spider solitaire on J's computer.

Then, I got lucky. He came back to his desk before his class started. I got the keys and came home. Will this make me more careful in the future? Probably not. I swear I checked that door before I went outside. Which is why I'm never leaving the apartment again. Without pants.

Thanks For the Personal Growth, Though, Assholes.

Every time I see the title on my previous entry, I read "Will Knit for Tacos." Upon further reflection, I have decided that I will also knit for tacos, because I have finally reached the end of my severance funded vacation. This means that next week, I start receiving unemployment benefits. Ouch. Talk about a pay cut.

So the other day, J brought home Bud Light Lime. The king of...lime flavored beers. "It was on sale," he said. "I'm a grad student, and you're not working right now. Tonight we're going to drink like it."

It tasted faintly of limeade, it didn't really taste like...what's the word? Beer. If you visit their website, though, by clicking on the image to the left, you can download a free remix of Santogold's Lights Out. Redemption factor: 3/10.

The time off part isn't so bad, really. I set my own schedule, and as long as I don't wake up in the middle of the night, in a panic thinking about health insurance or the fate of my [former] 401k, I can actually start my day at a reasonable hour and get work done. Last night was, unfortunately, a wake up in a panic night. I bolted out of bed to make a To Do list just to stop my heart from pounding so loudly in my head. I couldn't stop thinking about my health insurance and the library book I had to pick up and how the fuck we were going to pay for rent and utilities and still not have to supplement our diet of ramen noodles by dumpster diving (is it at all that bad? No, of course not. Try telling me that at three in the morning). I felt like a rock was sitting on my chest.

I'm going to level with you, though. The stress of my current situation still hasn't rivaled the stress of working for an understaffed corporate nonentity that is in desperate need of management training. I don't work well under those parameters, and I might point out that my panic attacks started with that job and didn't simmer down until after the side effects of my anti-depressants went away. I may have been comfortable with the steady income, but having my happiness compromised on a daily basis was wearing pretty thin by the end. Sundays were unbearable because of the dread I felt - upon waking up in the morning - that tomorrow was, ugh, Monday.

I need to find something I enjoy doing that pays a teeny bit more than the unemployment insurance - with medical benefits. That shouldn't be so hard. And in the meantime - in the daylight, at least - I am enjoying the time off to the fullest of my ability. Who needs a job when they've got daytime TV?

[Currently Spinning: Yeah Yeah Yeahs]

Will Knit for Tattoos

I lost my job last monday. I'm not going to beat around the bush here: I am so effing happy about it. I was not happy doing what I was doing, and I needed a change so badly. It wasn't a matter of whether or not I was going to walk into my manager's office and quit, it was a matter of when. Yes, they made that decision a little bit easier for me by letting me go, thereby making my *life* a little bit more difficult (maybe?), but I haven't been this excited about anything since I got into MIT.

I've started developing my own website, where I plan on hosting my portfolio, and maybe eventually my blog. I've started to spray paint our dining room chairs, which were in serious need of an overhaul. And most importantly, I've gained a lot of perspective. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but that's okay. I have a general direction, now.

Five Hours and Fourty Seven Minutes

The other day I wanted cream in my coffee, but the kitchen on my side of the office was out of cream. Because there was only one carton left in the other kitchen, I filled a small cup with creamer and brought that to the kitchen with me, instead. Imagine my surprise later in the day when I came to check on the cup, and MORE CREAMER was in it. I could have exploded with happiness. I wanted to cover the person who did that with kisses. It's not often someone does something so small that actually restores my faith in humanity.

So imagine how dark a cloud spread when, no less than an hour later, I went to the kitchen and couldn't find the cup. When I threw away my sugar packets, I saw it sitting at the bottom of the trash can - STILL HALF FULL OF CREAMER.

If it had been empty, fine. BUT IT WASN'T. I am having trouble concentrating on anything other than counting the minutes until five.

Gold Star

I parallel parked for the first time, ever today. Yes, I realize that at 24.5 years old this is a ridiculous statement.

I have to say, I did a damn fine job. It only took me one try, and I was thisclose to the curb. Time to go celebrate!

An Educated Fish

Allow me to introduce you to our new roommate, Phineas H. Bubblesworth, Esq. You can call him Phinny.

Phinny likes eating bloodworms, hiding in his cave, and resting in his plant. Also, sunsets and long walks on the beach.

J and I are already the world's most sickening fish parents. We really need a puppy.

Kodak Duaflex - Through the Viewfinder

I am obviously way in love with my Kodak Duaflex, so much so that it's not enough to just use the camera, but I have to take pictures of it and screen print it onto a canvas, too:

Inspired by Sean Tubridy

But how can I not? I am really loving these:

Taco Flavored Fishes

I believe that I am getting a fish this weekend. I haven't done ridiculous amounts of research about this, but I've done enough to decide that we will be getting an Anabantid or Gourami of some sort. Anabantids and Gouramis, or "Labyrinth fish" have a labyrinth organ, which a) allows them to live in water with less oxygen support than other fish, and b) Labyrinth is a movie featuring David Bowie.

They are hardy fish, and while most of them are somewhat aggressive and are not community fish, we are going to be an only fish couple for a while, anyway. If we want to introduce small freshwater schools, we will be able to do that if and when we upgrade our tank.

I won't be able to come home and cuddle with my fish, but we know we won't be getting a puppy for a while, and this seemed like a fair compromise. I hope to be working less hours, preferably from home, when we do get a dog (I say puppy all the time, but most greyhounds come into your heart and home as adults). We already have a name picked out, and a title. Now we just need to find the right fishy for our home.

It's Because My Job is Making me Crazy with Last Minute Deadlines

Last night I had a dream that J and I were getting married.

The whole thing was completely disorganized and had been slapped together at the last minute. I remember that I kept saying to myself, "SHIT, if only I had had more time! I would have thought of this!" (This being any number of things from the dinner to the location to the invitations, and if I remember correctly, we'd been engaged for a while...or were embarrassingly stupid enough to think we could plan a wedding in a day?) I think the worst part was the invitations, which ended up being printed the day of, and even though the wedding was happening that evening, we were still using a laser printer at home so that "at least people would have something to remember it by." (Who? Since no one was invited...I don't know who was coming...)

My dress was something hideous that was borrowed at the last minute, and the ceremony+reception were being held in the basement of an old used bookstore (any poetic notions about that were blasted when I saw the cast iron spiral staircase with slap-shod blue carpeting that led down to the basement, which was equally dingy, leaky, and poorly lit).

The whole thing was a nightmare, but through everything, I just wanted to get it over with because the important part was that J and I were together - I didn't care about the wedding.

I woke up and went to therapy. Not only did I not get what I needed out of my session, but instead of deciding that my suggestion of once every other week was fine, we figured that in reality, I probably should ramp it up to twice a week (as if. Hello - I need to have a life, too. I can't just spend my life being in therapy and working my shitty day job, then recovering from therapy and my shitty day job every day). I left feeling like I kind of wished that I could go no times a week, hating that my therapist knows things about me that even I don't want to know about me. Yes, that is the point, thanks. I left kind of wanting to smack some hypothetical someone in the teeth.

I'm unreasonably angry with myself about being myself, and I'm also kind of pissed that I have to be at work non-stop for the next two days. This is why Wednesday is going to be a beach day. Unless it rains, in which case it will be screen print some arts for my walls day. Either way, by then I hope to no longer be hating myself.

For My Fellow Bike Commuters

Dear Cyclist-Who-Thought-He-Almost-Got-Hit-By-A-Car-This-Morning:

That car had its turn signal on long before you approached the light, and the light turned green just as you approached his blind-spot. I know, I know - you were in the bike lane, which naturally means that all those mean-old cars have got to stop for you, even when you're not biking defensively* or paying attention to anything, which is why you yelled at him, I presume. God - that motorist was such an asshole. Except...wait...he didn't even honk at you!
*(See Collision Type #3)

I noticed that you had the decency to seem embarrassed when I yelled that you should pay attention, and that the guy had his turn signal on. I probably shouldn't have called you an idiot, though.


Dear People Who Got Tickets After Running The Red Light on Hampshire and Broadway:

I'm sorry. I totally empathize, because it's happened to me before, and half of you did check for cars, although you managed to somehow miss the bike cops (who were positioned in the middle of the bike lane)...but who am I to judge.

I do not, however, empathize with the guy who got exasperated with me for waiting at the red light and ran it even after I said, maybe with not enough conviction, that there were cops ahead. You, sir, definitely deserved that ticket. Perhaps, though, it was a little mean-spirited for me to shout "HAVE FUN WITH THAT" just before the cop held his hand up in your face and pulled you over.

But three cheers to the Cambridge Bike Cops. Thanks for finally starting to do your jobs (for the most part...well...it's a start).

I was reading stories about the bicyclist who was struck and killed by a trash truck in D.C. on Tuesday, and while wading through all the comments on the WP story about drivers vs. "asshole bicyclists", I saw this:

No, the stories about bikers who choose to run red lights aren’t irrelevant. Someone has placed a bike spray painted white at the intersection of Connecticut and R as a memorial to Ms. Swanson. This morning, as I sat in my car on R St. at a red light during rush hour, I watched as a young woman pulled up right next to the white bike. She appeared to be in her twenties, and was wearing a helmet. Having seen the aftermath of yesterday’s tragedy, I wondered if she knew what had happened just 24 hours earlier, at that very spot. Just as I pondered that thought, she glanced quickly in both directions, then rode across all six lanes of Connecticut, rather than wait the extra 30 seconds for the light. Yesterday’s horrible accident may have been entirely the truck driver’s fault, but bikers and drivers alike can do much to improve safety on our streets.

Let me tell you, lady, I will bet you money that this girl was perfectly aware of what had just happened in that intersection, was probably scared shitless to be on her bike at that moment, and used the "extra 30 seconds" to put herself ahead of traffic - which is actually a smart way to ensure you won't be wedged in by the cars waiting at the light with you - provided, of course, you check that all six lanes (omg, so many lanes) of traffic are clear before you go. I get a kick out of the philosophical pondering regarding this girl's safety, when the cyclist likely did make the decision, not out of haste to reach her destination, but out of a desire to not get taken over by a car.

I've gotten a citation for running a red light on my bike before. I admit, fully and freely, that I deserved it, but where are these damn cops when cars are parked in the bike lane? When people are riding their bikes on the sidewalks? Where's the city funding for cops who actually do their jobs? Since that citation, would I run a red light again? You betcha. Especially with the frequency that people use their turn signals out here. It's just safer, sometimes. It's sad that it takes stories like this to make me sit back and think about how recklessly I ride, but with every one I read I try to take a little bit of knowledge away, and hopefully will be more conscientious (and alive) for it.

By the way, the nicest thing a cop has ever done for me in my life, ever, was force a car to remove itself from the bike lane when he saw me coming up the road - I seriously wanted to make out with him for that.

P.S. - the "white bike" she was referring to was a ghost bike.

Seems like a fair price to me!

How much would you pay for the luxury to not give a crap about something?

Yesterday, at work, we were given the numbers for the bonuses we will be getting at the end of the week. We recently switched to a Performance Based Compensation plan that involves all kinds of ratings and algorithms and numbers. It's kind of cool, actually, since I tend to prefer numbers (because I went to MIT or why I went to MIT...the eternal question).

Yesterday, one of my coworkers came over and asked (aggressively? Am I projecting?) whether they had messed up one of my numbers, because they seemed to have messed with hers. In the previous round of bonuses, they had screwed up some input or another and instead of fixing it then, they promised it would be fixed in the future.

She stood over my shoulder and watched as I opened my spreadsheet (I had not checked it before she came over - the reality is that I forgot that this spreadsheet is downloaded as a one page PDF, and our bonuses are right there in a bright yellow box, which the eye is immediately drawn to on our great big 19" monitors). She saw my bonus, then pulled a printed copy of her own out of her pocket, opened it a sliver, and said, "Nope, they didn't screw yours up, just mine," and walked away.

Fortunately, paper is not opaque when it's lit from behind, or I wouldn't know that she made a whopping $300 more than me - the cost of not passing the LEED exam. She did not get paid more than me based on merit, or because she's more awesome or pretty or better than me in any other way than she studied her ass off, gave up her life for a while, and passed an exam. We've already been through how I felt about not passing, and how I spent all of seven hours studying, and I knew that my bonus would be the consequence. Were she actually a friend, she would have at the very least looked away when I opened that file, but because she doesn't care about other people, it's completely beyond her comprehension not to be an asshole (otherwise in an ideal world, she would have shown me hers, too, because I honestly don't mind sharing these things with friends (I should have seen the whole thing coming, since it was barreling at me like an freight train)). I've known this about her for a while; It's not her fault I'm so damn gullible.

So, against my will, I started justifying the whole thing in my head last night; not because I need anything to change, but because I needed to feel better about the fact that she is a jerk. I know for a fact that when I started, I was paid more than another one of our co-workers, presumably because I graduated from MIT and, even though it is from an accredited university and they have worked here for three years (one year longer than me), their degree is from a less prestigious school. More people may have heard of her school, but it's still not MIT - and she has one year less work experience. I wouldn't normally think about these things so much, because I'm perfectly content with what I make relative to the market these days, but she annoyed me yesterday, and so I started rationalizing that she should go ahead and be happy with that $300, because I'm 89% certain it's absorbed into my slightly higher paycheck. Plus, I can always pass the exam at the end of the summer, if I decide I want to waste two weeks of my free time. I know she only feels she has to make other people feel badly about themselves so she can soothe her non-existent self esteem. Knowing that doesn't make me want to punch her any less.

So. I suppose that $300 is the cost of not giving a shit around these parts. Reasonable?

Weekend Bike Fun

On Sunday, Aaron, J and I took the commuter rail out to Ipswich for some fried clams. I did not have fried clams, but I did try one, threw up in my mouth a little bit, and remembered why I generally stay away from seafood. We went to Woodman's in Essex, and I would go there again in a heartbeat for some more of those onion rings. Mmmm.



After eating our own weight in fried food, we zipped off to catch the 7:51 pm commuter rail back to Boston. Unfortunately, J blew a tire on the way, and had to stop to change it. Aaron rode back to help him after riding the rest of the way to the station with me, where I waited.



A half hour and the train went by and there was still no sign of the boys. I was reminded of how awful life was back in the '90s - when people had no cell phones.

That's right - on a highway bike ride out in the middle of Rural Anywhere, MA, I forgot my cell phone. All I could imagine was that one of them had been overtaken by a drunk or negligent driver, and the other was frantically calling my cell phone while they waited for the paramedics to arrive, blood everywhere. It became so unbearable that after about 40 minutes of waiting for what, in perfect circumstances, might have been a 20 minute tire change, I borrowed a local teenager's cell phone. Fortunately, no one had been run over or doored, but Aaron's tire had also gone flat. There was blood, but it was from mosquitoes and not from a mangled car accident.

Silly me.

We ended up watching the Celtics game at a bar while we waited for the 10:20 pm commuter rail, and polished off a bottle of wine in the process. While I wouldn't have actively chosen to be out as late as we were, and blown tires are never fun, it was actually a successful bike ride - and we will be taking the commuter rail out of the city more often.

The Other Boleyn Girl (i.e. the Stupid American Version of the Story)

This weekend J and I watched The Other Boleyn Girl. To get the awful taste out of our mouths, we also finally watched Gone Baby Gone. I recommend Gone Baby Gone if, like us, you are the last people on earth not to have seen it. But right now I have to gripe about the Other Boleyn Girl.

As someone obsessed very interested in Tudor England, I have read enough on the subject to know the basic plot-line. Especially regarding Henry VIII and his various wives. Yes, a lot of my "research" has been in the form of historical fiction, but I promise that I do my share of non-fiction reading as well.

The only [moderately] appropriately cast character was Scarlett Johansson. Natalie Portman is no Anne Boleyn, and the only thing Eric Bana has going for him as Henry VIII is his girth (comparing him to Jonathan Rhys Meyers, anyway). And going into it, I figured I would be bothered by the casting, but it turned out that the casting was the least of my concerns.

However, in the interest of time, I need to get off my chest the one thing that bothered me enough to warrant a blog post and ban further discussion of this crap in my house. I am referring to the scene where the Boleyn/Howard group is sitting down at the table, and someone mentions, in abject horror how their plot would mean that the king would break from the church. Oh My God! Break from the church?! Insert horrified face, here.

Jesus Christ. That's the whole POINT, isn't it? One of the political benefits of having a Boleyn on the throne was to reform the church, and they're not even portrayed as Reformists? Anne herself is known to have shared Reformist literature with the king. It's a good thing we don't have bricks in the house, because that's when one would have hit the TV.

The book took a lot of liberties that, while entertaining, were at least plausible - this movie didn't even attempt to pretend to know anything about anything - and what's more, they didn't even show any boobies, which is the only way I could convince J to watch this movie with me; we figured with Johansson and Portman, there'd be at least one far-fetched, stupidly inaccurate lesbian scene. I mean, I'm angry. We're talking exponentially worse than Everything is Illuminated, which at the very least stands on its own as a movie, and has a stellar cast.

Also, if I see another brown haired, dark eyed Spanish "beauty" playing Queen Katherine...I will be writing an angry letter to someone.

In other words, things are going well

Last night, J got me an air conditioner. He may as well have given me a ring.

This morning, I told him that I was thinking about getting table runners for the kitchen table instead of place mats. He looked at me and said, "okay."

Yes, there has been a period of adjustment, and yes, there have been a few incidents over some things like closet space and beds and my pile of clothes...but how can I not be totally head over heels for this guy?

We're slowly making it a home.

Photo a Day Challenge

This sounds like an incredible motivational tool to start using my fantastic Rebel XTi more often.

I am frequently frustrated with the quality of my photos, but it's almost as though I know exactly what I could have been doing right...only I didn't. The only way to improve is to take more photos, and I keep *almost* being "the person with the camera," but I'm not quite there yet (I am known as "the Polaroid girl," but that's another story).

There are a bunch of great shots I want around my new neighborhood, so I think I'm going to start there. It's J's "old" neighborhood, and I already have a few picked out from all those times I walked to his place. I think this is going to require a bit more thought, though.

Unprofessional, Like all the Kids These Days

I went to my orthodontist yesterday to get the "news" on my post-surgical braces status. Several things went wrong.

I am seeing a student at the Harvard School of Dental Medicine. I started going there as a patient in 2004 - when this whole orthodontic debacle began. Since 2004, I have had 4 different orthodontists. Well, three if you consider that I have only met this fourth one once, at an appointment with my previous guy.

I have always gotten lucky with the students I've been assigned, and I am still under the same faculty adviser, so regardless of the student, my broader treatment plan will stay the same.

Unfortunately, yesterday I had to see a student that was not my regular orthodontist. Nor was my faculty adviser there - none of the people who have met me before or are familiar with my case were there. Instead, I had to see a faculty member who is not familiar with surgical cases (not just mine! ANY!), and who hadn't even seen my chart before he met me (I don't think the student had, either, but that's just one of the many nuts on this sundae).

My original appointment was scheduled for last Friday, but it was canceled, presumably because "the clinic was closed," so my new guy called to re-schedule for this Wednesday.

Because I am so close to having these braces off, the plan was to get me in as soon as possible - I guess my next appointment couldn't be until late June, which is kind of when we want to start getting on this whole retainer business - and get me the fuck out of these godforsaken braces, so no appointment before then was kind of not an option in my book. I think he gets that.

What he evidently DOES NOT GET is that if I am not going to be seeing HIM or anyone else who has dealt with my case in ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM - maybe a PHONE CALL WOULD BE NICE.

We are no less than one hour into our acquaintance, and the words "Unprofessional" and "Asshole" have already crossed my mind multiple times.

Also, the guy I saw gave me a new upper wire, so my teeth are moving - PAINFULLY. They'd better be moving in the right direction, too, because at my next appointment this kid is already going to get a big damn lecture from me on professionalism and how I do not like him very much, yet.

Deer Island Bike Ride

J and I went for a bike ride today. It felt nice to be out, and it's not humid enough for riding in the middle of the day to be miserable. Here's the route we took:

That little loop between markers 22 and 28 is the little "detour" we took when we turned right instead of turning left. It was a nice detour - took us right through a Jewish cemetery, which was really beautiful. It was also a hilly detour, unfortunately. 30 miles or so in total.

Boycott Starbucks? Well, Now I Don't Want To.

Starbucks Logo Under Fire

According to the post, "A Christian group based in San Diego called The Resistance says the logo looks like a naked woman with her legs spread like a prostitute."

Well...thanks. Now it does.

How hypocritical funny is it that a group with higher moral standards than "the rest of us," is even capable of seeing something so profane in a harmless image? It speaks worlds to me about the inner workings of their minds. In response to the lewd picture on Starbucks' temporary new label, they are calling for a national boycott of all Starbucks.

Now, I do think that there are loads of other, more important reasons to boycott Starbucks, but I'm feeling oddly torn. While I do buy the occasional latte or coffee from Starbucks, I prefer to support local coffeehouses - and while it has more to do with personal preference than making a stand, I certainly feel a slight tingle of ethical superiority whenever I walk out of 1369. Sure, sometimes I walk out of Starbucks thinking about how reprehensible it is to support a "big corporation" instead of my little local house, but mostly I think about how much the caffeine is going to help me get through the rest of my miserable day (I usually only purchase on particularly bad days at work).

So if you'll excuse me, now, I'm going to go out and buy a venti caramel mochaccino, to show my support for real-sized whorish mermaids with half-exposed breasts.

Because I Heart Science, That's Why

Last night J and I were watching How It's Made, the one where they describe the process of making wheel loaders (Season 3 Episode 3).

Me: *starts laughing hysterically*
J: ...did that wheel loader just get bukkake tsunamied?
Me: *continues to laugh hysterically*

We both love learning about technology. Especially technology that ejaculates lubricant. It combines our love of science with our love of being twelve.