A boy called me the other night, not just any boy, but one of the boys alluded to in an earlier post. The post where I found someone interesting, but wasn’t sure if I was interested. There are actually two boys that fall into this category, but given my recent (try, last two years worth of) attempts at openly pursuing (with no positive results) I decided to sit back and wait. And yeah, three weeks later, one of them actually called. The other one doesn’t have my number. One guy is the complete artsy type, the other, a conservative with an established career, though I would imagine he probably doesn’t perceive himself as conservative. It’s all relative.
Listening to the voice mail from the artsy-boy was one of those, ‘I’ll be damned,’ moments.
“Hey, Ana! Call me back.”
I couldn’t believe the tactic had actually worked, but now what? Do you call back immediately? The next day? I sat outside smoking a cigarette and pondering the idea. I decided it would be rude to wait until later and phoned an hour or so after I received the message.
He was at the PG and invited me over for a drink. I surveyed my apartment. There were dishes soaking in the sink, an open case book on my desk for class the next day. The timing was not good. Maybe I could shrug him off for another day. Then I stopped myself. I’m always whining that no one shows interest by actually picking up the phone and calling. This was a boy I’d wanted to call me, and he’d done that, AND he had a plan. And let’s face it, as much as I’d love a dinner date, inviting me out for alcohol at my neighborhood bar is as close to my definition of romance as you can get. So I told Artsy-Boy I’d be over to PG as soon as my last load of laundry made it out of the dryer.
As I placed Martha’s fresh clean blankie in her crate I remembered, “Oh crap. What about Bartender-Boy?”
After my initial falling out with BB, I held fast to my claim on the bar, but over time, I’d stopped going. BB was everywhere, on my walks, at the dog park, at my bar. One easy way to avoid him was to stop my frequent excursions to PG, and that had worked well.
What day was it? Sunday. BB didn’t work on Sundays. I was safe! I happily trotted over to PG and found Cute Pigtailed Girl working the bar, while non-descript owner sat at the bar.
“Hi Ana!”
Cute Pigtailed Girl has short bangs and chin length hair that I’ve only ever seen in pigtails. She’s a bouncy walker and her feet are typically clad in either Mary Janes, ballet slippers, or a cute pair of sneakers. Though tiny in stature, she has a massive tattoo on her chest that’s hidden when she wears crew neck tees which is probably why she typically wears lower cut tank tops. She’s almost always smiling and calls me her stalker due to our grocery store run-in, random sightings in the neighborhood (she lives here, too), and of course, my regular attendance at PG. I once apologized for being a stalker and she told me it was okay, I was her favorite one.
“I saw you walking your doggie the other day,” I told her.
“Stalking me again, are we?” she asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
As Cute Pigtailed Girl handed me my drink I looked over at the owner, or at least the guy who I think is one of the owners. We’ve never talked, but he’s third on the rotation. Whenever I enter the bar, BB usually notices me first. If he’s busy or not there, CPG gets my drink. If not her, then non-descript owner. (After that, I’m screwed.) I know his name, but I don’t know how. At some point I must have picked it up in the background noise. He never says anything to me, just always looks at me askance. I’ve never known if it’s because he’s seen me at something other than my best, overheard my wild conversations with friends, been told stories, or was there the night 2 am rolled around and the other bartenders hid me inside the bar like contraband because they knew better than to let me wander home alone. More than likely it’s none of these things, and I’m just paranoid when the owner is simply taking note of my presence.
I didn’t see artsy-boy inside so I wandered to the back courtyard and quickly found him attired in dark jeans, black-rimmed glasses, and small fedora with a goatee and dark hair that fell just below his chin. Tattoos, if there were any, were not visible. He commented on my Powell’s canvas tote, and I told him how I use it as a screener: You either don’t know what Powell’s is so you think, “Why is that girl using a canvas sack as a purse?” or you do know Powell’s and you say, “Wow, that’s freakin’ cool.”
I have a canvas Trader Joe’s bag that I use in the same manner. There are no TJ’s where I live, fie! My mother refers to TJ’s as “Ana’s store” and takes me there on every trip home to Seattle where I am allowed to purchase whatever strange, cheap, organic, ethnic goodies that I choose. Occasionally, she will cut TJ articles out of the newspaper and mail them to me, much like her mother before her.
“I’m so glad you called me back,” AB said.
AB and I discussed the neurotic tendencies of dating, how you never can tell if someone’s interested, how the more observant you become in another’s body language, the less you seem able to discern. It was a rather hilarious conversation given that we were in exactly that situation as we talked, yet neither made mention of personal interpretation. I found AB intriguing, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say, “Yep, I like him like that,” which is why I just smiled and continued the conversation. As we began to lose ourselves in listing the stresses involved in dating, I felt a hand on the back of my shoulder.
“Hello, Ana. How are you?”
BB…BB! But it’s Sunday! He doesn’t work today! This is my night, BB. What the heck are you doing here? And why the heck are you suddenly being so gracious when you see me sitting with a boy? Perhaps BB was growing as a person and had decided to forgo the silence routine when he spied me speaking with a member of the opposite sex? Or maybe he was just being an asshole. When I ‘broke things off’ (if you can call it that) with BB I told him, “Let’s just stick to polite hello’s and I won’t contact you again.” After that, he seemed to go out of his way to get in my face with his polite hello.
Without waiting for my response, BB sat down at the table directly next to us, his back facing Artsy-Boy. I was still staring in wonder when I noticed a brunette-haired girl sit down with him. …Oh. He wants to show me he’s here with another girl. Well, congrats, take a look, kiddo, I’m here with another boy, so nah-nah-nah. And seriously, we’ve got like 800 square feet of bar here. You couldn’t come show me your prize and then sit somewhere more than ten inches away?!?!?!
Whatever, I was with a guy. I couldn’t be bothered – that is until they started talking and I realized I could hear every word they were saying! She was a writer. Hmm, a small-statured, dark-haired writer, well, that’s original now, isn’t it? Wait a second? Why was he having a drink with her? Why couldn’t he have ever asked that of me? Why did he instead show up at my house one night after his shift and suggest cheap sex, essentially handing me a ticket to the short bus to crazy town? Asshole! And BB appeared to be chatting incessantly. Half of me was sitting there thinking, “Why the hell couldn’t he hold a conversation with me?” while the other half was relieved, “Thank god he’s not borderline retarded!”
Wait a second, Ana. You are here with a boy who asked you out for that drink. No need to obsess and be bitter. Focus, Ana, focus. Oh, hold on… If I could hear BB, then he could hear me.
“So I’ve been involved with some of the biggest nut-jobs of my life since moving to Big City,” I told Artsy-Boy.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah,” I continued, “you wouldn’t believe the stories I could tell.”
And then I told them. I told AB how I’m a magnet for potheads who ultimately end up on meds for clinical depression or bipolar disorder, how the guys in effect ultimately make me crazy, then point the finger and bail.
“I don’t do drugs…,” I heard BB tell his girl.
“You know,” I told Artsy-Boy, “I just have this thing for guys who are a little bit different, but it always ends up biting me in the butt, because OMG, behavioral disorders, drugs, gross personal insecurity…I’m convinced every person I talk to is a freak show. And gah, I must be a freak show for continuing to get involved with them.”
“…Wow!” said BB’s girl, “That was so smart of you to turn down PCP.”
Suddenly I was able to tune out the conversation. Why? Because I realized exactly why BB and I would never work. Never in a million years would it dawn on me to congratulate someone for having the wherewithal to turn down freakin’ ANGEL DUST! If BB’d said that to me, I probably would have replied, “Congratulations for not behaving like a moron. You’ve officially crossed the threshold past stupidity.”
I imagined myself walking into my mother’s house and saying, “Guess what, Mom? I didn’t shoot up heroin today!”
No doubt my mother would have responded to this statement with a slap so hard that I was sent flying across the room.
“That’s for being so stupid as to find yourself in a situation where you even needed to make a decision,” she would say.
Thinking back, my mouth always was a bit of a problem with BB. I’m kind of snarky and scathing, and BB always seemed affronted by what were meant to be affectionate teasings. I looked over at him enjoying his company and smiled, because, well, I actually felt happy for him.
“Egad, this neighborhood is small,” I said to Artsy-Boy.
“Do you see someone you know,” he said.
“Yeah,” I returned.
I neglected to add, “If you were to spit just to your right you’d hit a guy who’s had his tongue down my throat.”
I returned to my conversation with Artsy-Boy and stayed there for the rest of the night. We talked about silly things like music and life and literature. I don’t know if I like him in that way, but for now, we’ll just see where it goes.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Just when you thought chivalry was dead...
I always walk through the law school slightly loaded down. Though they make special books in large print for people with poor eyesight, they do not make special-sized books for those of us who are essentially midgets. The weather’s changed lately and in addition to my ten thousand books bags, I’m now carrying several layers of clothing which are removed and reapplied at random intervals.
Today, leaving school I dropped something, and I stood there for a second balancing my cup of coffee, jacket, books, and computer as I bent down to retrieve the object. A cute boy saw my dilemma and quickly ran over to scoop up the item.
“No!” I yelled, but it was too late.
I smiled sheepishly as the boy returned to my hands a slightly used Kleenex.
To the boy whoever you are and wherever you are: Thank you...and you're cute!
Today, leaving school I dropped something, and I stood there for a second balancing my cup of coffee, jacket, books, and computer as I bent down to retrieve the object. A cute boy saw my dilemma and quickly ran over to scoop up the item.
“No!” I yelled, but it was too late.
I smiled sheepishly as the boy returned to my hands a slightly used Kleenex.
To the boy whoever you are and wherever you are: Thank you...and you're cute!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Costume?
Wine-Time-Girl: What are you dressing up as for Halloween?
Ana: We’ve had this discussion ten times. I’m not going as anything. You always shoot down my idea to fashion a cardboard box to look like an oven, place it on my head, and go as Sylvia Plath. Last year I went as Annie Hall, and no one knew who I was, even after I told them. Halloween is just another bad reminder that nobody gets my jokes or appreciates my sense of humor.
WTG: Well, I have an idea that will involve little to no effort on your part.
Ana: What’s that?
WTG: You put on make-up and a dress. That would be kind of a costume in and of itself, no?
Ana: Bite me.
WTG: Oh, but it’s ironic, Ana as sweet, soft feminine gal.
Ana: You’re mean! How did Anne Sexton die? Maybe I could go as her. Or what about Peggy Guggenheim? I could give myself a funny nose prosthetic to represent her many bumbled nose jobs. OH! Isadora Duncan...after her scarf got caught in the wheel of the car…
Happy Halloween, everyone.
Ana: We’ve had this discussion ten times. I’m not going as anything. You always shoot down my idea to fashion a cardboard box to look like an oven, place it on my head, and go as Sylvia Plath. Last year I went as Annie Hall, and no one knew who I was, even after I told them. Halloween is just another bad reminder that nobody gets my jokes or appreciates my sense of humor.
WTG: Well, I have an idea that will involve little to no effort on your part.
Ana: What’s that?
WTG: You put on make-up and a dress. That would be kind of a costume in and of itself, no?
Ana: Bite me.
WTG: Oh, but it’s ironic, Ana as sweet, soft feminine gal.
Ana: You’re mean! How did Anne Sexton die? Maybe I could go as her. Or what about Peggy Guggenheim? I could give myself a funny nose prosthetic to represent her many bumbled nose jobs. OH! Isadora Duncan...after her scarf got caught in the wheel of the car…
Happy Halloween, everyone.
Mememememememmeme...
I was tagged by CM (Chicken Magazine) or if you like, MC (Magic Cookie) to do a meme.
1. Name one person who made you laugh last night? Martha’s making me laugh pretty hard right now because it’s game day, and she’s stuck in that darn sweater again.
2. What were you doing at 0800? Daydreaming in Bed.
3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago? Picking up grosgrain ribbon at the fabric store for my Halloween costume.
4. What happened to you in 2006? I had sex, no small feat given my level of pickiness and oh-so-nurturing personality. Also, I went to
5. What was the last thing you said out loud? You’re welcome! (to a little old lady at the fabric store as I held the door open for her.)
6. How many beverages did you have today? Still finishing that first cup of coffee, some Italian stuff called Lavazza. I bought it because it was a price performer ($3).
7. What color is your hairbrush? Pink.
8. What was the last thing you paid for? Grosgrain ribbon ($4).
9. Where were you last night? At the house with Miss M. I went out Thursday and have costume parties tonight so we were chilling.
10. What color is your front door? White. It’s so boring, but I am glad that the landlord had it fixed to where the hinges are on the INSIDE now. Geesh!
11. Where do you keep your change? In an old ash tray that belonged to my grandparents and was made by my grandfather’s best friend from childhood.
12. What’s the weather like today? Cool and sunny. (It will be chilly tonight in my costume. BRRR!)
13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor? Ice cream flavors are kind of like men. I love them all in their own way.
14. What excites you? Learning new things. Meeting new people. Reading new books.
15. Do you want to cut your hair? I will when I get around to it, but as we know, personal grooming – not a priority with Ana.
16. Are you over the age of 25? Age-wise? Yes. Maturity wise? No.
17. Do you talk a lot? Less than six people? Yes. More than six people? Not at all.
18. Do you watch the O.C.? Nope.
19. Do you know anyone named Steven? There was a dude in
20. Do you make up your own words? Yes, and I’m always hacked when people tell me it’s not a word. Duh.
21. Are you a jealous person? Not typically. I do enjoy playing the part of lunachick sometimes, though. I think the best revenge on a guy who treats you poorly is acting completely nuts and frightening the crap out of them.
22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘A’. Alex. Ha-ha!
23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘K’. K from Divine Angst!
24. Who’s the first person on your received call list? My brother.
25. What does the last text message you received say? ‘PLEASE CALL!’ It was from my brother. I thought it was an emergency. Turns out, he was in Vegas for Georgia-Florida weekend and had already had a few Bloody Marys with breakfast. CharlsieKate and Law School Transplant, be safe today whilst you celebrate the World’s Largest Cocktail Party.
26. Do you chew on your straw? Nope.
27. Do you have curly hair? This is totally dependent on my hair’s mood. It is its own entity. I received a lot of unintended physical abuse as a child from my mother because she tried to tame it before school each morning.
28. Where’s the next place you’re going to? Costume parties – at the med school and law school.
29. Who’s the rudest person in your life? Probably Me!
30. What was the last thing you ate? Gardenburger.
31. Will you get married in the future? God help that poor man if I do.
32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks? Two weeks? Try two years. Actually, I saw the Edith Piaf movie this summer. That was the last one. Oh wait, I saw Paris Je t’aime a few weeks after that.
33. Is there anyone you like right now? Wine-Time Girl says the dog and I make a cute couple. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
34. When was the last time you did the dishes? Uh, two weeks ago?
35. Are you currently depressed? A little. Not sure about this whole law thing…and how I will pay off my debt…and what I want to do with my life…and I haven’t had a decent date since I moved to Big City…and the dog has been stressed lately…and I’m going to stop now.
36. Did you cry today? Not yet.
37. Why did you answer and post this? CM told me to!
38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey. Baloney.
Two days left! Go Vote for Kim!!!!!
Kim is a law student and mother, and oh yeah, she's also currently undergoing treatment for cancer. She's been nominated for a $10,000 blogging scholarship which no doubt would help defray the costs of the kids, school, and medical expenses. From what I hear she's the only nominee that's also a law student. If you could take a few seconds out of your day and vote for Kim, I'm sure she would appreciate it.
Here's a link to the voting page:
Here's a link to an article in the most recent issue of Student Lawyer, which mentions Kim:
Finally, here's a link to Kim's blog, if you weren't already familiar with her:
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Why you (meaning me) should MYOB...
So I'm sitting in class. The end is near. I'm getting a little bored.
And what do I do?
I decide to be nosey and casually glance at the computer of the guy sitting next to me.
What did I see on his screen?
MY UNDERPANTS!
Yes, I know people I know read this stuff, but still. Sitting in the hallowed academic classroom, playing the role of serious student, it is disconcerting to look over and see what I just saw.
And what do I do?
I decide to be nosey and casually glance at the computer of the guy sitting next to me.
What did I see on his screen?
MY UNDERPANTS!
Yes, I know people I know read this stuff, but still. Sitting in the hallowed academic classroom, playing the role of serious student, it is disconcerting to look over and see what I just saw.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Don't even ask what would happen had it been chocolate...
There it was on the table. Pizza. I hadn’t eaten all day, was starving. The other scavengers quickly grabbed their slices before I swooped in and was able to capture both a cheese and a veggie selection.
I sunk my teeth into the cheese piece, still warm and melty and gooey. Oh wow, it was really good. Whoever made it had clearly added spices. I was relishing the feeling of the cheese on the roof my mouth when from across the table…
“Hi Ana.”
I looked up.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah?”
The cheese was turning cold, hardening into a rubbery mess.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah?”
Glancing down, I noticed that my two slices stacked one on top of the other were beginning to congeal together.
“NO!” I said observing the pizza in agony.
“Oh, well, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
There was nothing I could do. I was about to have a pizza emergency on my hands so I just shrugged and walked off before the damage worsened.
Several hours later with Wine-Time-Girl…
“Hey,” she said, “I thought you found so-and-so cute.”
“Oh, I totally do. I just never seem to have a chance to talk with him.”
“Well, then what was that today?” she asked.
“Today?”
“Yeah, he asked you if you were going to a lecture. You said no. Then he said he was going and you should go, too. You responded by shrugging and walking away.”
“Seriously?”
I slapped my hand on my forehead.
“What on earth were you thinking?”
“Pizza. I was thinking about pizza.”
Wine-Time-Girl glanced over at me like I was a lunatic and then replied, “You must display quite enthralling conversation on a dinner date.”
“It’s probably not the best option for a first date with me.”
I sunk my teeth into the cheese piece, still warm and melty and gooey. Oh wow, it was really good. Whoever made it had clearly added spices. I was relishing the feeling of the cheese on the roof my mouth when from across the table…
“Hi Ana.”
I looked up.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah?”
The cheese was turning cold, hardening into a rubbery mess.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah?”
Glancing down, I noticed that my two slices stacked one on top of the other were beginning to congeal together.
“NO!” I said observing the pizza in agony.
“Oh, well, blah, blah, blah, blah.”
There was nothing I could do. I was about to have a pizza emergency on my hands so I just shrugged and walked off before the damage worsened.
Several hours later with Wine-Time-Girl…
“Hey,” she said, “I thought you found so-and-so cute.”
“Oh, I totally do. I just never seem to have a chance to talk with him.”
“Well, then what was that today?” she asked.
“Today?”
“Yeah, he asked you if you were going to a lecture. You said no. Then he said he was going and you should go, too. You responded by shrugging and walking away.”
“Seriously?”
I slapped my hand on my forehead.
“What on earth were you thinking?”
“Pizza. I was thinking about pizza.”
Wine-Time-Girl glanced over at me like I was a lunatic and then replied, “You must display quite enthralling conversation on a dinner date.”
“It’s probably not the best option for a first date with me.”
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Where's your team spirit?"
This week marked Martha’s six month anniversary, so I bought her a present.
Unfortunately, she didn't seem to think it was as fun as I did.
"What the heck is this? Some kind of strait jacket?"
Yay! We got it on her!
Ok, Martha. Smile for the camera!
Hope everyone enjoyed football this weekend.
Unfortunately, she didn't seem to think it was as fun as I did.
"What the heck is this? Some kind of strait jacket?"
Yay! We got it on her!
Ok, Martha. Smile for the camera!
Hope everyone enjoyed football this weekend.
Finding Religion in Your Underwear...
Today was one of those days where I was feeling extremely lazy. Around 1 pm I finally decided to dress myself, but even that turned out to be quite a task. I am quite literally a dirty hippie and when I dug a pair of jeans out of pile to put them on, I pondered the correctness of wearing jeans that I KNEW had already been worn for three days without a washing. I shrugged and called myself an environmentalist. It was not that I was too lazy to do my laundry I told myself. Rather, I was saving water and electricity.
Before I put on the jeans though, I had to make another major decision. Should I change my underpants? Yes, I call them underpants. Underwear sounds too boring and panties sounds a little creepy to me. Underpants, for some reason, sounds pretty neutral and reminds me of childhood. That is what my mother called them. I always wonder if they are called underpants because you wear them under your pants or because they are pants that you wear under your clothing. Questions like this are the great musings in life that keep me from doing anything productive on a Saturday.
I stood in my bedroom half-dressed, holding the jeans in my hands, and decided that the contents of my underpants drawer would be the deciding factor. Did I have any that were clean AND that I wanted to wear? As I opened the drawer I realized that I MUST change my underpants on principle. The principle, not of cleanliness, but that underpants are the last bastion of freedom of self-expression in the adult world.
When we are children, it is perfectly alright to wear just about whatever you want. If you wear two different colored socks, no one bats an eye. If you do this an adult, people think you are missing a few screws. As a kid, you can wear every color of the rainbow in every fabric imaginable. As an adult, we wear suits in blacks and navys or if we really feel daring, GREY or BROWN!
There is of course no rational reason for this. Someone a long time ago decided that these colors were appropriate for adults and today we follow these rules blindly without question. If someone appears for work in a purple or an orange we call them unprofessional because color, as we all know detracts greatly from one’s ability to do their work.
In today’s world what you appear to be IS what you are. Fat people have no restraint. People in less-expensive clothes/cars/houses are either cheap or poor. Women who apply make-up correctly are put-together. Single people are lonely and probably have offensive personalities. Married people are boring. Frumpy looking people are disorganized. Dirty hippies are too lazy to get a job.
This is why underpants are so instrumental to the maintenance of our mental health.
NO ONE ELSE CAN SEE THEM.
You can wear whatever shape, color, fabric you feel like wearing that day. You do not have to worry about whether they match what you are wearing or whether they will bring you judgment. You can choose comfort over acceptability. Every morning, you are allowed to make a decision without any outside influence and without any fear of reprisal. Which is why, every time I spy a pair of underpants in a new color, I HAVE to get them.
Nevermind, that I essentially stick to same 7-10 pairs for regular use. One day I might be in the mood to hide salmon-colored boy shorts under black pants and pearls.
Or I might be feeling grumpy, but decide that it’s in my best interest not to outwardly express such.
I also LOVE the color turquoise, but it doesn’t go well with my skin tone. Guess what? Not a problem when it comes to underpants!
Feeling kinda girly, but need to come across as tough in power suit? Ta-da!
I dug through the drawer carefully examining each option until I came across my Peanut days of the week collection, specifically the Sunday ones. They seemed to fit well with the Christian holy day. The underpants are white and Snoopy could very ostensibly be rejoicing in the Lord with his little step.
As a Jew though I was a little bummed, and threw the pants back in the drawer. I realize that we represent only about 2% of the population, but seriously, we should get fun underpants, too for Saturday, our holy day.
And then I found Saturday…
Look! They’re blue – a color often associated with Judaism and second, Shabbat is the Jewish day of rest. I think that’s clearly going on here, no? And who doesn’t think Linus is kind of a nebbish in a cute way?
And that, my friends, is how I chose to express myself today.
For all the Jews out there, Shabbat Shalom.
For everyone else, don’t forget to seek out the small joys in life.
And to all, remember to wear clean underwear.
PS - If you found this post in any way creepy, sexual, or inappropriate, you totally missed the point.
PPS - I can't remember who's doing round-up this week, but please don't choose this post and link my underpants to all mankind. Thanks.
Before I put on the jeans though, I had to make another major decision. Should I change my underpants? Yes, I call them underpants. Underwear sounds too boring and panties sounds a little creepy to me. Underpants, for some reason, sounds pretty neutral and reminds me of childhood. That is what my mother called them. I always wonder if they are called underpants because you wear them under your pants or because they are pants that you wear under your clothing. Questions like this are the great musings in life that keep me from doing anything productive on a Saturday.
I stood in my bedroom half-dressed, holding the jeans in my hands, and decided that the contents of my underpants drawer would be the deciding factor. Did I have any that were clean AND that I wanted to wear? As I opened the drawer I realized that I MUST change my underpants on principle. The principle, not of cleanliness, but that underpants are the last bastion of freedom of self-expression in the adult world.
When we are children, it is perfectly alright to wear just about whatever you want. If you wear two different colored socks, no one bats an eye. If you do this an adult, people think you are missing a few screws. As a kid, you can wear every color of the rainbow in every fabric imaginable. As an adult, we wear suits in blacks and navys or if we really feel daring, GREY or BROWN!
There is of course no rational reason for this. Someone a long time ago decided that these colors were appropriate for adults and today we follow these rules blindly without question. If someone appears for work in a purple or an orange we call them unprofessional because color, as we all know detracts greatly from one’s ability to do their work.
In today’s world what you appear to be IS what you are. Fat people have no restraint. People in less-expensive clothes/cars/houses are either cheap or poor. Women who apply make-up correctly are put-together. Single people are lonely and probably have offensive personalities. Married people are boring. Frumpy looking people are disorganized. Dirty hippies are too lazy to get a job.
This is why underpants are so instrumental to the maintenance of our mental health.
NO ONE ELSE CAN SEE THEM.
You can wear whatever shape, color, fabric you feel like wearing that day. You do not have to worry about whether they match what you are wearing or whether they will bring you judgment. You can choose comfort over acceptability. Every morning, you are allowed to make a decision without any outside influence and without any fear of reprisal. Which is why, every time I spy a pair of underpants in a new color, I HAVE to get them.
Nevermind, that I essentially stick to same 7-10 pairs for regular use. One day I might be in the mood to hide salmon-colored boy shorts under black pants and pearls.
Or I might be feeling grumpy, but decide that it’s in my best interest not to outwardly express such.
I also LOVE the color turquoise, but it doesn’t go well with my skin tone. Guess what? Not a problem when it comes to underpants!
Feeling kinda girly, but need to come across as tough in power suit? Ta-da!
I dug through the drawer carefully examining each option until I came across my Peanut days of the week collection, specifically the Sunday ones. They seemed to fit well with the Christian holy day. The underpants are white and Snoopy could very ostensibly be rejoicing in the Lord with his little step.
As a Jew though I was a little bummed, and threw the pants back in the drawer. I realize that we represent only about 2% of the population, but seriously, we should get fun underpants, too for Saturday, our holy day.
And then I found Saturday…
Look! They’re blue – a color often associated with Judaism and second, Shabbat is the Jewish day of rest. I think that’s clearly going on here, no? And who doesn’t think Linus is kind of a nebbish in a cute way?
And that, my friends, is how I chose to express myself today.
For all the Jews out there, Shabbat Shalom.
For everyone else, don’t forget to seek out the small joys in life.
And to all, remember to wear clean underwear.
PS - If you found this post in any way creepy, sexual, or inappropriate, you totally missed the point.
PPS - I can't remember who's doing round-up this week, but please don't choose this post and link my underpants to all mankind. Thanks.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Shut up, Ellen...
If you read this blog regularly you might have noticed my Petfinder link that advertised adoptable dogs from the Mutts and Moms rescue. I chose this particular rescue to display on my blog because they place the very types of dogs that often get overlooked and go unadopted – mixed breeds and mommy dogs that have recently had a litter of pups. Martha, the wonder dog, is a mixed breed. She sat in a shelter for over two months with few visits before I ultimately adopted her. One of the things that caused me to rush into my decision was that the shelter told me her number was about to come up. Martha was lucky, but many dogs are not. If you scroll down, you’ll see that Mutts and Moms no longer appears on Petfinder.com. In recent days they’ve had to effectively shut down due to threats.
Mark, Martha's Brother
I am normally a big fan of Ellen Degeneres. She tries to do good things and we share the same taste in comfortable shoes, but I find her actions over the past few days to be simply deplorable.
The basic story is that on September 20th (less than a month ago) Ellen and her family adopted a dog through Mutts and Moms only to find out that the dog was not a good fit for her home. At the time of the adoption, Ellen signed a contract stating that if for any reason the dog did not work out, she would return the dog to the shelter. This is standard language in most pet adoption contracts. I signed a similar statement when Martha came to live with me. The reason shelters include this language is for the safety of the dog. As we all know from the recent Michael Vick scandal, not everyone has the best intentions in regards to the treatment of animals. That the shelter requires you to bring the dog back is practically a service to the adopter who ends up with an unwanted dog.
According to Ellen, she spent over three thousand dollars having someone else train the dog so that it could acclimate to its new surroundings. (That could be part of the problem right there. When you adopt a dog, the best thing to do is to bond directly with it and do training together – not pay someone else to do it for you. An owner needs training as much as the dog. Spending money on a dog does not equal love or effort.)
At any rate, after a mere two weeks Ellen decided the dog had "too much energy and [was] too rambunctious." (I think Ellen is now saying it didn't get along with her cats.) Anyone who's owned a rescue dog knows that they don't start out perfect. Some have lived on the streets, been abused/neglected, or shuttled from home to home. The lack of continuity in their lives sometimes causes behavioral issues that can be very stressful for the new owners as well as the dogs.
If you read the posts from last April, you'll remember that Martha had her problems. She'd go for long walks without a potty break only to come through the door and take a whiz in my living room. She had severe separation anxiety and cried whenever I got out of her sight. She tagged so closely that I tripped over her constantly. She chewed. She destroyed. Her energy and nervous behavior was tremendous. Today, she's a great dog, but it took over three months (and lots of love, patience, and work) for her to fully adjust and feel comfortable in her new environment.
Cutie, cutie, cutie!
Instead of returning the dog to the shelter as her contract specified, Ellen gave it away to a different family. The shelter, upon learning this, went and retrieved the dog. I’m not saying I agree with what the rescue group did. There are quite a few rescues with such strict standards that you sometimes wonder if they are doing the right thing. When looking for Martha I remember one rescue made adopters sign a contract saying that they would only feed the dog certain brands of dog food. I thought that was a little extreme, and as such, I chose not to seek a dog from that rescue.
Maybe it’s just the future attorney in me, but I don’t feel particularly sympathetic to Ellen. She didn’t do her homework. She signed a contract and then she violated the terms. She paid someone else to train the dog rather than make a personal effort. When things didn’t (immediately) work out, she dumped the dog, and now she’s crying foul. She had the gall to use her show and her name as a vehicle to malign the Mutts and Moms, going on the air sobbing and begging M&M to return the dog to its new home.
Mutts and Moms removed the dog from the new home due to the ages of the children in the family. Ellen claims not to have read the contract (even though this was the second dog she received from M&M that she didn't want) nor known of the return policy and/or rules regarding children. (I remember from viewing M&M’s website that it was very clear they didn’t want small dogs in homes with small children.) I don’t agree with that policy, but it is definitely the shelter’s prerogative to make that demand.
Mutts and Moms has now deactivated their website because they’ve been inundated with vicious threats and emails as a result of Ellen’s actions. Independent rescues like Mutts and Mom provide a great need. Often times these places have contacts at the local pounds and are called when a dog is near euthanasia. They rescue as many good dogs as they can, farm them out to foster home volunteers, and typically operate on donations. They give dogs like Martha a second chance. For the last couple of days, Ellen’s been pleading for the shelter to return the dog to the second family saying, “This dog had a home and now it has no home.”
Shut up, Ellen. You want to talk about dogs with no homes? Every day that you keep whining is another day that Mutts and Moms can’t place the other dozens of dogs that they’re trying to save. In addition, hoards of people are now saying horrible things about dog rescues with stringent standards. The fact remains that if these rescues didn't exist thousands and thousands more animals would be euthanized each year. We all feel bad for the little girls involved, but you've taken a bad situation and made it worse. This was your fault, and if you didn’t agree with the terms you should have gone somewhere else. Stop making little mutts like Martha suffer for your actions.
Mark, Martha's Brother
I am normally a big fan of Ellen Degeneres. She tries to do good things and we share the same taste in comfortable shoes, but I find her actions over the past few days to be simply deplorable.
The basic story is that on September 20th (less than a month ago) Ellen and her family adopted a dog through Mutts and Moms only to find out that the dog was not a good fit for her home. At the time of the adoption, Ellen signed a contract stating that if for any reason the dog did not work out, she would return the dog to the shelter. This is standard language in most pet adoption contracts. I signed a similar statement when Martha came to live with me. The reason shelters include this language is for the safety of the dog. As we all know from the recent Michael Vick scandal, not everyone has the best intentions in regards to the treatment of animals. That the shelter requires you to bring the dog back is practically a service to the adopter who ends up with an unwanted dog.
According to Ellen, she spent over three thousand dollars having someone else train the dog so that it could acclimate to its new surroundings. (That could be part of the problem right there. When you adopt a dog, the best thing to do is to bond directly with it and do training together – not pay someone else to do it for you. An owner needs training as much as the dog. Spending money on a dog does not equal love or effort.)
At any rate, after a mere two weeks Ellen decided the dog had "too much energy and [was] too rambunctious." (I think Ellen is now saying it didn't get along with her cats.) Anyone who's owned a rescue dog knows that they don't start out perfect. Some have lived on the streets, been abused/neglected, or shuttled from home to home. The lack of continuity in their lives sometimes causes behavioral issues that can be very stressful for the new owners as well as the dogs.
If you read the posts from last April, you'll remember that Martha had her problems. She'd go for long walks without a potty break only to come through the door and take a whiz in my living room. She had severe separation anxiety and cried whenever I got out of her sight. She tagged so closely that I tripped over her constantly. She chewed. She destroyed. Her energy and nervous behavior was tremendous. Today, she's a great dog, but it took over three months (and lots of love, patience, and work) for her to fully adjust and feel comfortable in her new environment.
Cutie, cutie, cutie!
Instead of returning the dog to the shelter as her contract specified, Ellen gave it away to a different family. The shelter, upon learning this, went and retrieved the dog. I’m not saying I agree with what the rescue group did. There are quite a few rescues with such strict standards that you sometimes wonder if they are doing the right thing. When looking for Martha I remember one rescue made adopters sign a contract saying that they would only feed the dog certain brands of dog food. I thought that was a little extreme, and as such, I chose not to seek a dog from that rescue.
Maybe it’s just the future attorney in me, but I don’t feel particularly sympathetic to Ellen. She didn’t do her homework. She signed a contract and then she violated the terms. She paid someone else to train the dog rather than make a personal effort. When things didn’t (immediately) work out, she dumped the dog, and now she’s crying foul. She had the gall to use her show and her name as a vehicle to malign the Mutts and Moms, going on the air sobbing and begging M&M to return the dog to its new home.
Mutts and Moms removed the dog from the new home due to the ages of the children in the family. Ellen claims not to have read the contract (even though this was the second dog she received from M&M that she didn't want) nor known of the return policy and/or rules regarding children. (I remember from viewing M&M’s website that it was very clear they didn’t want small dogs in homes with small children.) I don’t agree with that policy, but it is definitely the shelter’s prerogative to make that demand.
Mutts and Moms has now deactivated their website because they’ve been inundated with vicious threats and emails as a result of Ellen’s actions. Independent rescues like Mutts and Mom provide a great need. Often times these places have contacts at the local pounds and are called when a dog is near euthanasia. They rescue as many good dogs as they can, farm them out to foster home volunteers, and typically operate on donations. They give dogs like Martha a second chance. For the last couple of days, Ellen’s been pleading for the shelter to return the dog to the second family saying, “This dog had a home and now it has no home.”
Shut up, Ellen. You want to talk about dogs with no homes? Every day that you keep whining is another day that Mutts and Moms can’t place the other dozens of dogs that they’re trying to save. In addition, hoards of people are now saying horrible things about dog rescues with stringent standards. The fact remains that if these rescues didn't exist thousands and thousands more animals would be euthanized each year. We all feel bad for the little girls involved, but you've taken a bad situation and made it worse. This was your fault, and if you didn’t agree with the terms you should have gone somewhere else. Stop making little mutts like Martha suffer for your actions.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I was going to write a post tonight...
...but I got lost in a really fun episode of Nova.
Her dorkiness will return shortly.
Her dorkiness will return shortly.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sage Advice from the Faculty...
Prof: Don't smoke marijuana in your car - the smell lasts. If you must, at the very least wait until you've passed the bar.
I'm glad I'm allergic and don't have to worry about stuff like this. Then again, I'm allergic to a slew of drugs and have to take almost a Christi*an Scientist approach to medical care...not that my tobacco allergy has slowed me down much.
I'm glad I'm allergic and don't have to worry about stuff like this. Then again, I'm allergic to a slew of drugs and have to take almost a Christi*an Scientist approach to medical care...not that my tobacco allergy has slowed me down much.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Did I strike a nerve?
In response to my prior post:
And why did I bother writing that when Charlsiekate illustrates it so well…
I've got more to say about this and will continue later, but right now I need to read for class. Joy, oh joy. In the meantime, comment away!
Eff said...
ana, you know that is complete nonsense. boys like to be pursued to.
man up!
And why did I bother writing that when Charlsiekate illustrates it so well…
There was a boy I went out with a couple of times, who for numerous different reasons, I'd never actually made out with.
Then one night at the bar, when I hadn't seen in a long time and we had both been drinking, he kept trying to kiss me. And I kept telling him I wasn't going to make out with him in the bar. It was funny at the time.
Then we went to a late night party at his house, and we ended up alone in his backyard, so I turned and kissed him. He freaked out. After trying to kiss me all night. We argued about it, and finally came to the conclusion that he wanted to be the kisser. Which in turn irritated the shit out of me. We were obviously very sober at the time.
Sometimes you can't win.
Kee said...
"I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere."
I hate this. It can be equally weird when you're a girl (or a transguy that "doesn't pass well enough") trying to set something up with a girl. And it can be hard for guys to approach a girl they think is interesting because she could think he's trying to be skeevy instead of just trying to make a friend or have a conversation.
There was a girl in my (huge) sociology class wearing ears and a tail a few weeks ago, and I dropped a note in her lap along the lines of "You look interesting, here's my screen name" (because circumstances prevented me just saying hi and I hate phones). I'm not looking for a date, I just thought the accessories were cool and somebody who walks around with ears and a tail HAS to be interesting on some level.
But of course, no response.
I've got more to say about this and will continue later, but right now I need to read for class. Joy, oh joy. In the meantime, comment away!
Fairy tales, my ass...
Do you ever meet someone in passing and think, “Hey, this person is kind of interesting. I’d like to get to know them better and maybe ask them to share a drink?”
And just as you’re about to open your mouth to say such, you remember that you are a girl. You remember the multiple other times when you’ve done the same only to receive a look indicating that you must be pathetic and desperate if you boldly ask men out of your own initiative. This is followed by a look of disappointment indicating that the guy may have first thought you intriguing, but now you’ve ruined the mystique, the potential chase, and the social protocol of life.
And silly girl, don’t you know that if a guy was interested, he would ask you out? Didn’t anyone ever tell you, boys are in charge? A date is supposed to be their idea. They pick you, not the other way around. Just keep smiling little girl and maybe one day you’ll get lucky. Maybe with enough batting of your eyelashes, a few nervous giggles and the help of a fairy godmother some man might ride up on a white horse and rescue you from oblivion.
I met someone a few days ago that gave me pause, but in the end stayed silent and watched him walk away. Had it been a chance meeting I probably would have just asked. As it’s someone I’ll see again, I decided to let it go in order to avoid the future piteous glances.
I am not desperate.
I am not weak.
I do not need to be rescued,
And I do not want to pretend to be such in order to have a good conversation with an intellectual equal.
Some things in life are just bullshit.
And just as you’re about to open your mouth to say such, you remember that you are a girl. You remember the multiple other times when you’ve done the same only to receive a look indicating that you must be pathetic and desperate if you boldly ask men out of your own initiative. This is followed by a look of disappointment indicating that the guy may have first thought you intriguing, but now you’ve ruined the mystique, the potential chase, and the social protocol of life.
And silly girl, don’t you know that if a guy was interested, he would ask you out? Didn’t anyone ever tell you, boys are in charge? A date is supposed to be their idea. They pick you, not the other way around. Just keep smiling little girl and maybe one day you’ll get lucky. Maybe with enough batting of your eyelashes, a few nervous giggles and the help of a fairy godmother some man might ride up on a white horse and rescue you from oblivion.
I met someone a few days ago that gave me pause, but in the end stayed silent and watched him walk away. Had it been a chance meeting I probably would have just asked. As it’s someone I’ll see again, I decided to let it go in order to avoid the future piteous glances.
I am not desperate.
I am not weak.
I do not need to be rescued,
And I do not want to pretend to be such in order to have a good conversation with an intellectual equal.
Some things in life are just bullshit.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Kids, Cancer, or Law School - which is worse?
Yes, I just made a joke in poor taste. This happens when you've experienced 'fun stuff' like cancer and other awful diseases with your friends and family.
Anyhoo, I've been asked by other members of the blogosphere to do a shout-out for Kimberly Klein.
Kim is a law student and mother, and oh yeah, she's also currently undergoing treatment for cancer. She's been nominated for a $10,000 blogging scholarship which no doubt would help defray the costs of the kids, school, and medical expenses. From what I hear she's the only nominee that's also a law student. If you could take a few seconds out of your day and vote for Kim, I'm sure she would appreciate it.
Anyhoo, I've been asked by other members of the blogosphere to do a shout-out for Kimberly Klein.
Kim is a law student and mother, and oh yeah, she's also currently undergoing treatment for cancer. She's been nominated for a $10,000 blogging scholarship which no doubt would help defray the costs of the kids, school, and medical expenses. From what I hear she's the only nominee that's also a law student. If you could take a few seconds out of your day and vote for Kim, I'm sure she would appreciate it.
Here's a link to the voting page:
Here's a link to an article in the most recent issue of Student Lawyer, which mentions Kim:
Finally, here's a link to Kim's blog, if you weren't already familiar with her:
Thursday, October 04, 2007
I see the light...at the end of the tunnel...
Do you ever feel like you have so much to do that your life is about to collapse on top of you? Do you ever respond to that feeling by NOT actually doing any work, but rather, surfing the internet, playing with your dog, drinking wine, creating problems in your personal life, or, if you’re me, some sick combination of all of the above? (I don't even want to know what my cell phone bill will look like next month with the six zillion drunken text messages I've sent in the past few weeks. I figure I will just tell myself there are worse things I could have done.) The other day I was sitting in class pondering whether to drop out of school or check into rehab, and in order to further castigate myself by bringing on feelings of guilt and doom, I decided to make a list of all the things I needed to complete ASAP.
Once finished, I waited for the self-hatred to rise, but instead laughed. As it turns out, yes, I have a lot of things to do, but it was not as bad as I thought. The hindrance it seems was a major project for which the deadline had already passed. I knew it was due, but I didn’t want to do it, and I realized that in the interim I wasn’t letting myself do anything else before the task at hand was completed. I also ascertained that the longer I put this thing off, the more crap I would have to go back and do later and the larger my liquor expenses would be.
So tonight I glued my butt to my desk and sat for hours (upon hours) until the little bitch was finished. Suddenly life is good again, and now I can spend the weekend catching up on reading, returning emails, servicing the car, as well as cleaning my house because I might actually be sober enough to do them.
Once finished, I waited for the self-hatred to rise, but instead laughed. As it turns out, yes, I have a lot of things to do, but it was not as bad as I thought. The hindrance it seems was a major project for which the deadline had already passed. I knew it was due, but I didn’t want to do it, and I realized that in the interim I wasn’t letting myself do anything else before the task at hand was completed. I also ascertained that the longer I put this thing off, the more crap I would have to go back and do later and the larger my liquor expenses would be.
So tonight I glued my butt to my desk and sat for hours (upon hours) until the little bitch was finished. Suddenly life is good again, and now I can spend the weekend catching up on reading, returning emails, servicing the car, as well as cleaning my house because I might actually be sober enough to do them.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Why you should never pursue a crush on your bartender...
Ana: What the heck are you doing here?!?!? This is MY bar.
BB: Um, I work here?
Ana: Oh. Good point.
BB: Um, I work here?
Ana: Oh. Good point.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)