cheetos with chopsticks

Charlie is a very naughty Charlie.

2008-02-11T08:43:00.000-08:00

Just what the doctor ordered:
Charlie Bit My Finger!

Do NOT stick your finger in Charlie's mouth!
love you,
p

full of shame

2008-02-08T23:01:00.000-08:00

Why? Because I have a serious urge to hang pictures of famous hotties around my desk or on the fridge. The problem is that I'm about 20 years too old for that. Can you please tell me what I should do? Should I release the shame and just hang away? Or should I find some way to work through this and make myself be an adult with a shred of taste? Help. In the meantime, make like this is my "locker."

Antidote

2008-02-07T10:30:00.000-08:00

I see this nuggest every day when I go to work. He is the happiest thing in my day sometimes. It doesn't even matter what kind of day, he saves it. What is more awesome than being hugged around the knee? Not much.

Love you.

Flowers for you

2008-02-07T09:08:00.000-08:00

Dearest Pea,

Thinking of you.

Love,

P-

Rice is the new Cheeto

2008-02-07T04:03:00.000-08:00

My sweetest Pea,

Looking for a way to improve your vocabulary, feed hungry people, and wile away countless hours at your computer, all at the same time?

Look no further!

Thinking of you,

P-

INTERCHANGEABLE ROBOT CUPCAKES!

2008-02-05T08:35:00.001-08:00

Magnificent

2008-02-04T21:14:00.000-08:00

I catch my breath sometimes when I see storms over the mountains. Thrilling and terrifying.

Also really fucking cold.

love you. P.

Hitting a wall

2008-02-02T05:33:00.001-08:00

My last two weeks have been consumed by a very important decision:

which of THESE to choose?

Help, my sweet Pea!

Love,

P-

Beautiful Print

2008-02-01T08:26:00.000-08:00

No longer available; more great prints at obeygiant.com.

I would love to see the usual political posters get some art schooling.
xoxoox
p.

Drunk dialing...

2008-01-31T20:37:00.001-08:00

...or blogging.

Nothing more to report, but that I'm tipsy on a school night, and blogging to my Pea. I went to an Obama rally tonight, and watched with sadness as my glorious, earnest, and honorable Barack got roundly spanked by Hilary's superior debating skills.

Sadness, then drunkenness, then hamburgers.

Wish you were here for the politics and the fries,

P-

Nice to See You

2008-01-30T08:06:00.000-08:00

glumbert - THX for the Eyes

An Official Annoucement

2008-01-29T22:12:00.000-08:00

On May 10, I will run the Susan G. Komen 5K Race for the Cure. I've never run a race before and I'm out of shape; but this year, I'm going to do it. Now that it's in writing, I've made a promise. Please send a case of the thigh chafing gel.

Maybe someday we can run a race together. We will race to a finish line made of cupcakes. Yum.

Love you, love you!
p

Managing Bloodthirsty Beasts

2008-01-29T21:20:00.000-08:00

Utah has heart.

Hygeine

2008-01-29T12:57:00.001-08:00

Dear Pea,

Do you have a DIRTY COMPUTER SCREEN?

Never fear! Click HERE!

I'm always happy to help you out.

Love,

P-

Back in the Saddle

2008-01-28T21:16:00.000-08:00

Yee-haw! It's taken me until today to look at the blog because I've been missing you so much and I didn't want to look at an old post. It's like that time you moved away (Remember? When you broke my heart and moved to that sparkly place you live?) and I couldn't/wouldn't call you? Because I'm a little crazy and because sometimes nothing feels better than a tiny speck of contact? That's just stupid. And I've wanted to work the blog too, for all the reasons you mention and because I might as well write down the notes I recite to you in my head.

Let's get this party started.

December brought an impromptu trip to Seattle for a choir concert. Star of concert: my awesome brother. Attendees at concert: me, brother's girlfriend and her kid, mom, stepdad, grandparents. SO MUCH PROCESSING to be done on that familial melange, and on my overwhelming pride and love for my rockin' sib.

I saw the pictures and guessed about your trip. What a cute bunny Stan is. Can't wait to talk about all of it. Family processing? My favorite kind.

Someone's girlfriend has applied to work at my job. The SWFing continues.

I wasn't sure which of two possible crazies it would be, but that seems right. Are there not other jobs in your tiny village?

I'm planning an ACTUAL VACATION. For real this time. Destination? Here's a hint: husband and I took an online quiz to figure out which is the best island to visit for our beach sitting and ecotourism desires.

WOOOOOO!!! New Zealand? Tell me! Tell me! Hooray for going bye-bye.

Wedding plans back on for this summer; date TBD.

July 26? SWF much? That gives me plenty of time to tattoo tiny images of your face on my face-- multiple profilies, etc. I just want to make sure the guests have something to chat about.

Husband passed his licensing exams. Yay, husband!

Indeed! A true champ! So, uh, what does he get to do now?

Built in bookshelves installing this weekend. I'm almost crying with excitement; I love and miss my books.

I love them too. I've always liked to look at the way you put your books on shelves. You do this beautiful thing where you have just the right books-- it's like super-condensed goodness. The way a really good cupcake can be better than a huge cake.

Have purchased my very first grown up bag. Witness its splendor.

Splendiferous! I like the inside. Do you snuggle it? Can I ride inside?

Many things going on here--mostly good. I shall share with an efficient bullet-point presentation as well:

Brother and SIL: PREGNANT! Hooray times a million. I'm insane about it. L. told me yesterday that the baby is the size of a sesame seed. That is verrrry verrrrry tiny.
Husband got into the MSW program at the U and is also part of a tiny group of students picked to be in a pilot program that emphasizes abnormal psychology and criminal justice. He is very excited. I am too-- I think he's ripe for this kind of education and I'm thrilled that the school figured out what I know--that he is a very tall parcel of potential.
I dreamed that I made out with my boss at school. I think you know who I mean. Even in the dream, he was wearing sandals and athletic socks. I need an enormous psyche scrub brush.
It's taken me awhile (1.5 years) to completely figure out that a woman I work with (a staff member!) is some combination of antisocial pd and narcissistic pd. For real. It's maybe the scariest interpersonal situation I've been in/around. It's so crazy that she has bamboozled all of the bosses in the company the whole way up to the CEO. It's not a small company. So my excellent boss and friend, P, is fighting for her to get the boot. This is after two other attempts to get her fired-- once was for an incident that involved her throwing a client's stroller in a fit of rage, destroying it. She did this in front of other clients and kids. She talked her way out of it. SCARY. I'll keep you posted partly because, of course, I'm in her cross hairs. She could eviscerate me. Husband contends that she is made of the exact material of serial killers. I don't want to be the one to check her trunk.
Speaking of serial killers, we are hooked on Dexter. More than hooked. When I watched the last 2 episodes of Season 1, I had to call Husband at work for emotional support. When do we get Season 2? Also, how is a serial killer so hot? Seriously, how? Oh yeah, Ted Bundy.

Oh, my sweet. I miss you so much. And I did mangle your birthday-- I looked at my calendar last week and internalized the wrong day. I'm a tool. But I'm a crafting tool (perhaps an awl) who is crafting away on a dorky gift. As usual, I'm making sure that you get to celebrate your birthday long after the actual date.

I love you a billion...

-p

Lonesome Pod

2008-01-18T05:38:00.000-08:00

My most beautiful Pea,

You searched the world and found all delightful pea-themed treasures, and sent them to me. I was overwhelmed and amazed and I miss you and love you.

The overabundance of peas also inspired me once again to blog, though I have little time this morning. I'm realizing that blogging, like jogging or eating veggies, is something that makes me feel good but that I also sacrifice in the face of random other business. I'll try to be more diligent, pea of my heart. I have so much to say to you every day.

A few highlights until we speak again:

December brought an impromptu trip to Seattle for a choir concert. Star of concert: my awesome brother. Attendees at concert: me, brother's girlfriend and her kid, mom, stepdad, grandparents. SO MUCH PROCESSING to be done on that familial melange, and on my overwhelming pride and love for my rockin' sib.

Someone's girlfriend has applied to work at my job. The SWFing continues.

I'm planning an ACTUAL VACATION. For real this time. Destination? Here's a hint: husband and I took an online quiz to figure out which is the best island to visit for our beach sitting and ecotourism desires.

Wedding plans back on for this summer; date TBD.

Husband passed his licensing exams. Yay, husband!

Built in bookshelves installing this weekend. I'm almost crying with excitement; I love and miss my books.

Have purchased my very first grown up bag. Witness its splendor.

Love you so much, wish you were with me every second.

P-

time consuming = -calorie consumption?

2007-11-24T17:42:00.000-08:00

(not a day goes by that a colleague doesn't mention this annoying triangle, but it's so frustratingly on target most of the time)

Heavy math. I have thought a million times about your post re. the eating and the learning and the struggling to do what should be one of the easiest things we do. After all, if eating is at the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, then it should be as basic a process as taking shelter for the night. I pay the rent, I have an apartment. I buy the food, I eat it. Except that basic isn't as easy as it looks. So sayeth P.

I have crowned myself Team Captain of my unit's (of the Valley Mental Health conglomerate) Holiday Weight Loss/Maintenance Team. I knew that if it was a competition, I'd get off my ass (literally and emotionally). For now, I'm okay with my weight being linked to my craving for an A+ -- for being the valedictorian of weight loss. Seems to me that you're more fully evolved in this area than I, and as I overachieve my way into a smaller booty, I hope to learn to eat.

Oh, and also, I got sucked into this. Someone found me and steered me to this wee struggling non-profit with the suggestion that I might help with grant writing. I can't do much, really, because I don't know tons about grants and also because I don't care to know much about them (despite once being paid a nice little salary for doing just that). I met with the "development team" (so named today) this afternoon and we already have a plan to offer a "healing movement" workshop for my inpatient clients. Hooray! I don't have much time for this project and so I'm being very selfish. In other words, I'm going to do only what I want to do and will squeeze everything out of this experience that might make me happy. And that's that.

I only wish you were here to play too. How happy it would be to have you inserted into my favorite parts of my days.

Love you,
p.

Miss my Pumpkin

2007-11-22T10:29:00.000-08:00

Dearest P-is-for-Pumpkin,

Remembering Thanksgiving several years ago, me with pink hair and you with delicious cheese. Wish we could do it again this year.

All my love,

P

One answer.

2007-11-09T21:48:00.000-08:00

Sustainable

2007-11-08T05:15:00.000-08:00

My sweetest of Peas!

My heart is with you on this subject. Please don't take diet pills. Or get tucked or snipped or anything else. You are perfect and flawless as you are. I know this is an obnoxious mom-ish kind of thing to say, and I have also found it infuriating when my mom says it to me, but it is true.

Problem is, that doesn't solve the problem. My therapist and I were talking yesterday about this very issue. I talked about the good days: eating well and exercising and feeling great. I talked about the bad days: marathon eating from start to finish. Then, I talked about the worst days: starting out well with grapefruit and scrambled egg whites in the morning; moving to a healthy salad and soup for lunch; and then dissolving into desperation with a too-large greasy dinner and intermittent snacking right until bedtime. Her question was simple: "Do you know how to eat?" I was startled and a little offended. Yes, from the high chair and "here comes the airplane," I have indeed evolved into an adult human who can use her opposable thumbs to pick up a fork, thanks. Yes, I understand about food groups and three meals a day, as I am not a complete fucking imbecile. The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized that she is right; at a very basic level, I don't know how to put together a day's worth of meals, or to plan in advance to do this every day for an entire week, or to develop a practice that allows me to do this sanely for the rest of my life. She gave me the number for a nutritionist. I'm hoping she can provide me with a plan of attack. When I get up in the morning, what do I do? What do I prepare, and how much? What do I do after that? And after that?

I'll let you know how it goes. In the meantime, try snacking on raw sugar snap peas. I ate a whole bunch for lunch yesterday, and with every sweet bite I thought of you.

All my love,

P-

P.S. I added a new fave blog to our links; check it out. Pretty scary shit.

It's been a long time... (and diet drugs)

2007-11-06T13:28:00.001-08:00

I miss the blog. Oh, and I miss you too, P. Even before I realized (with a roll of the stomach) that's it's NaBloPoMo, I thought that I should try to post one time every day. To sort it all out or to figure out if there's anything I can make with a keyboard that means anything other than "LOOK AT ME! I CAN'T SHUT UP ABOUT MYSELF!"

I had a dinner with friends on Saturday that, though mostly pleasant, was maybe 2 and a half hours too long. I was sitting with a beautiful plate of scallops and butternut squash ravioli in front of me and suddenly, I realized that I was sitting at a table that were it my dissertation would be titled "Eating Dysfunction: the Deconstruction of Diet Pills and Plastic Surgery." My pals exchanged stories about the diet pills and or prescribed uppers they're misusing for weight loss. Also, plastic surgery. Also, how can we push our food around our plates for an hour and appear to have eaten?

Not the way I'd like to enjoy a meal with friends. I felt so sad. I'm 33 and now, more than ever, I'm in the middle of a highly appealing eating disorder culture. I don't want it, I don't want to feel like I need it, but it's there. I got all kinds of tips about how to fake ADD or order Phen-fen from a company in India via a special club that sounds more than a little illegal.

Who are we? I made it through my teens and twenties and now, when everyone's supposed to be finally, happily settling into their own skin, I feel a little like a self-righteous idiot for not partaking of the short-cuts that are all around me.

I ordered diet pills yesterday.

xoxo
p

Dear Al Gore,

2007-10-14T14:51:00.001-07:00

I have a friend without a blog. Here's what he told me. Now I'm telling you:

I'm thinking about writing an open letter to Gore in my blog, urging him not only to run, but also providing him with a campaign strategy. I worked it all out in my head just yesterday: his grand narrative, which the media would eat up like dogs, would be that he's a Cassandra-like visionary, with the internet, with the environment, withIraq. And now, with the future of America. I am deeply underwhelmed by all the candidates in the field, all of whom refuse to take on real issues with any substance. Only a Gore candidate could change the political dialogue: Gore loves the intellectual part of figuring out solutions to tough problems, and I'm sure he's already got ideas on all the major challenges facing our nation in the years to come. And Gore would rather talk substance than shit. He would force the other candidates to reckon with his visionary approach and come up with their own concrete plans. But in order to do that, Gore must have answers: real policy proposals, foreign and domestic. He must have an exit strategy for Iraq, a plan to deal with Iran, a health care plan, ideas for paying down the deficit and strengthening the economy in the face of the E.U. and Chinese threat, a full-scale Climate Change policy, and ways to prepare for retiring and dying baby-boomers (Social Security, Medicare, etc.) His campaign watch-word will be: VisionQuest! Also in my blog, I would unveil my master stroke, my genius maneuver for how Gore could defeat Hillary. It's very simple: Gore must joinforces with Obama. Make him his running mate -- even before the nomination! That's the brilliance of it. A month or so into Gore's candidacy, he should start campaigning with Obama, generating a huge buzz of excitement. They should deny everything, until their campaign staffs integrate, agree on a way forward, and figure out all the legal issues. The press would be frothing at the mouth, and Dems would be out of their minds. Can you imagine a Gore-Obama ticket?! Finally, after a couple weeks of speculation and media hysteria -- say 4 weeksbefore the Iowa Caucus -- they should annonce their joint candidacy. Hillary would be toast. I would write all that in my blog to Gore. If I had a blog.

I'd write that in MY blog, if I had thought to write it at all.
Love,
Your ever-loving, always faithful, deepest, truest fan,
SLC-P

how would you respond?

2007-10-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

... if you got the following chain letter in your inbox?

Like a lot of folks in this country , I have a job.I work, they pay me.I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as they see fit.In order to get that paycheck, I am required to pass a random urine test, which I have no problem with.What I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine test. Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check,because I have to pass one to earn it for them ?Please understand, I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet.I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sit on their ass, and buy dope and booze with my hard earned money.Could you imagine how much money the government would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public assistance check ?Please Pass on if you agree.

I can tell you that MY BRAIN MATTER IS ALL OVER THE COMPUTER SCREEN.

where a line should be drawn.

2007-10-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

When there's not enough time in my day to check Perez Hilton even once, I know that things have gone way, way too far. And also that I'm not being paid enough. If I were paid enough, I'd have someone else read Perez for me.

an actual clinical note I just wrote

2007-09-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

J. was brought to staff by his mother who reported that J. was having trouble listening to her requests at dinner. J. refused to "use his word"s and, instead, cried and kicked at his mother. Staff asked J. to sit in the "time out chair," which he did. J. did not sit quietly as asked, but instead forced himself into coughing fits, which led to gagging fits, and eventually he dry heaved. J. was noticeably quieter when staff ignored him. He eventually was calm enough to be returned to his mother.

What I neglected to say is that this charming youngster managed to push every single button I have in the brief time we spent together. What I learned from this interaction: when a kid combines screaming with fake whooping cough, with forced gagging, and with (obviously, forced) dry-heaving, I will come unhinged.

hypothesis:

2007-09-28T18:49:00.000-07:00

One might feel weird of one works in an office in which there is a cabinet full of pregnancy and drug tests. And tiny candy bars.

what to do if you feel weird

2007-09-28T18:43:00.000-07:00

1. Call husband up.
2. Say, "I feel weird. Why do you think I feel weird?"
3. Get crabby when he doesn't know.
4. Go to work.
5. Sneak a pregnancy test from the closet.
6. Stash it in your purse.
7. Go to bathroom.
8. Wonder the the hell you're going to pee in.
9. Pee in the plastic/foil envlope the test comes in.
10. Do test.
11. Notice that it's negative.
12. Make note that you don't feel weird because you're pregnant.
13. Eat 3 little candy bars.
14. Ask co-worker why she thinks you feel weird.

Wishing it weren't so hilarious

2007-09-28T11:02:00.000-07:00

http://www.kpho.com/news/14227870/detail.html

Sad. But try not to at least giggle.

P-

pliable young minds

2007-09-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

At least I'm at a point in my life where I can laugh my ass off when one of my students turns this paper in:
(it's a response to an article that reveals studies that show that men also have hormonal changes during their partner's pregnancy)

Men are truly trapped in a web of women’s psychological and physical needs such that it destroys the male role which is constantly under attack.
I came from a family deeply rooted in the idea that women do women things because that is their calling or role, to be a woman. Similarly men do man things also according to their gender. Those relationships I’ve noticed in my family are interesting to watch because if the roles change families get screwed up. Not just during pregnancy but through out a marriage and their whole lives. For example my mom makes every Sunday the best dinner that a human woman can possibly make and my dad does everything not to get in the way. He watches football and sleeps the day away until, the dinner bell rings he is ready to pounce and eat. I couldn’t imagine if my dad who has never made a meal in his whole life decided one day to make a meal. The world would for sure rotate differently. The U.S. would be hailed as geniuses forever because of the curing fumes to the ozone layer. It just won’t ever happen. It’s not my dad’s nature. What I am saying is that if he did try it just wouldn’t work. I’ve never seen my dad during the birth of his children since I am the youngest but I know that my dad knows when he needs to help and when he should just relax.
Men do things according to their role and that’s how it should be. I’m not saying that men should not help with birth or with the needs of his wife and family but there needs to be some loosening up on what the man is not doing and more on what he can be doing.
When I hear that men are sick or are feeling similar to what women are feeling I immediately think that the woman is overpowering her role as a woman and attacking the male psychological views. I agree with Stretch Marks for Dad that men can get sick from the pregnancy but it is due to the woman snaring him with her own pain and mental situation that it literally makes him sick too. I think that men can only do so much in a pregnancy. He should love her for her sacrifice and praise her. However, he should not fall into the same emotional pit of child birth. He should be the man and lift the wife with encouragement, service and love during times of stress.

Enjoy! Love, P.

the risks of having a very dangerous killer pitbull, who is also bloodthirsty and means business

2007-09-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

Dear P,

Recently, TD was the gracious (as you can imagine) recipient of a piece of information that, had we not known it, could have led to disaster. A neighbor was just minding her own business when she happened upon WHOOBIE standing on the sidewalk. As you know, Whoobie is a threatening creature (especially when she stands and stares) and this woman had the presence of mind to remind TD that dogs, especially dogs like her are at risk for the following:

From Salt Lake City Ordinances:

6.04.350 Fierce or dangerous dogs--Destruction.
It shall be the duty of all animal control officers and peace officers of the city to kill and destroy, or cause to be killed and destroyed, any dog, whether registered or not, found running at large at any time within the limits of the city off the premises of the owner or keeper, when, in the judgment of such officer, it is necessary to kill such dog in order to maintain or to protect the health, safety, peace of property or the inhabitants of the city. (Ord. 4-81 (part), 1981: prior code §4-19)

If you see this dog, stay away. She is a soulless demon-dog:

Just a public safety alert.

Love,

The blog is a 16 year old girl...

2007-09-22T05:55:00.000-07:00

...who tries on outfit after outfit, most of which end up on the floor. What will she put on next?

Putting it out there, bit by bit.

2007-09-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

P,
As you well know, I am one painfully sensitive girl, especially when it comes to my relationships with my women friends. At this point in my life, I barely mourn old boyfriends, but I carry around mounds of guilt and sadness and melancholy for all of the girlfriends I have and love. I want to think of my friends with a cheerful heart, but mostly I feel like I'm going to have diarrhea and start crying. I constantly think I've burned bridges or haven't done the right thing or the enough thing-- not because my friends tell me so, but because I know I've been a hard friend sometimes and maybe someone or someones just don't love me anymore. A topic for therapy? Absolutely. This could be annoying, but I must. I need to just say a few things, not because I'm looking for a response, answer, or forgiveness. I just need to say them because I believe that one way to start being okay is to get it out of the head and onto the paper/screen/blog/pea.

Precipitating event: I knew one of my friends is pregnant. Knew because friends sometimes just know these things. She's a great and fun blogger and today she posted sonograms and I am thrilled. But also, I am sad because I want to be the one who runs over when she finds out and holds her hair while she pukes. I'm sad because her son doesn't even know me. I'm sad because I think about her all the time and feel like I owe her so much. She has seen me at my craziest and never, ever gave up. We'll probably never live in the same city and I may really never do for her what she's done for me. I am jealous of her friends where she lives. By the way, the baby's a girl.
When I left Wisconsin, I never said goodbye to the only woman who was my friend there. She tried and tried to contact me and I never picked up the phone. I've still not said goodbye. Or I'm sorry. Or that I cared for her as much as she cared for me. I don't know why.
I'm jealous of my friends' spouses. Across the board, I've had trouble with this and still do. I love them all (really my friends pick 'em well) but I'm the one who needs to hear all the details and anxieties and reap all the love and attention.
I miss spending time with my sister-in-law. I love my family, really, I do, but I miss her and OUR friendship. When we were recently together, I felt terribly sad when she left. So sad that I almost didn't even want to have seen her because then I wouldn't miss her so much.
When you, my pea, moved away I couldn't call you. I still hate that I did that. I couldn't bear it. When you were studying for exams, I barely knew and you were in a hideous situation. One that maybe I could have helped. Forget about a particular pal of yours who I stewed over for years. When I was with you two, HAVING FUN, I was a puddle of sad and selfishness. The list goes on here. On and on.
I recently had a weird confrontation with a friend here and, after resolution, she wanted to hug me and I wouldn't let her. I also wouldn't look her in the eyes. That there's some pretty crazytown behavior.
I miss my Philly friend, badly. So badly. I am even a little tearful now as I think about her because I worry that she thinks I'm a drain, and sometimes I am. I don't send her postcards as much as I used to.

There are at least 5 more things I could write, but I'm wearing myself out. I'm considering writing an essay on art in "therapeutic writing"-- a "considering the 'outsider art' of therapeutic 'journaling' as a literary form" kind of thing. I don't know, just thinking. I'll leave you with a rather self-aware piece (which is surely more avoidance/excuse than anything else) from a French site on Personality Disorders):

Borderlines are born with an innate biological tendency to react more intensely to lower levels of stress than others and to take longer to recover. They peak "higher" emotionally with less provocation and take longer to come down

The patients are at a disadvantage in their relationships, unable to have"normal" human relationships. They sometimes give a misleading appearance to not feel the whole range of human emotions, in fact it would be rather than they feel too much

Since Borderline people are emotionally hypersensitive, imagine what the consequences of abandonment or heartache is like for them. It would seem that their way of dealing with abandonment varies with different patients - Some will be often very alone, undoubtedly because they try to avoid their emotions. "Best" way of being never abandoned. - Others will create a cocoon around themselves that includes for example a spouse or their parents.

And there you have it for today. Off to diagnose myself some more...

Love, p.

Further evidence of general philosophical disconnect

2007-09-19T07:09:00.000-07:00

PEA: (passing very cute but terrible bakery in neighborhood) See, that kind of stuff just makes me unspeakably sad.

BOY: What, crappy and disgusting pastries? Me too.

PEA: No, I mean when a cute little small business tries and fails.

BOY: They sure didn't try very hard.

PEA: Come on, that can't be true. They tried and for some reason didn't make it work.

BOY: They should try eating their own crap pastries.

PEA: Maybe they think they're delicious.

BOY: Doubtful. I mean, look at all the random Chinese joints all over this neighborhood who make all sorts of delicious food.

PEA: Come on, that's an entirely different story! How hard is it to rent some hole in the wall, give it a sloppy paint job, hang the same fucking stock photographs of random Chinese dishes that you find over and over again, and throw a bunch of oversauced deep fried stuff on a pile of rice? The owners of the bakery put a lot of thought into it; they made the place look beautiful, they developed this menu of unique and diverse pastries, they put a lot of effort into display and arrangement, and they really could have made something unique and lovely.

BOY: They should have just bought a wok and made something worth eating.

Addendum

2007-09-18T03:35:00.000-07:00

PEA: I am excited about the new fish; don't get me wrong. I just don't want to get attached, because I'm still sad.

BOY: Oh, yes, about the snails.

PEA: Snails? Don't you mean the hermit crab?

BOY: (silence; trapped and guilty look)

PEA: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SNAILS?

BOY: Well, two of them died.

PEA: (deep breath) Aha. I suppose that was the same day you told me I should probably stop counting the snails every morning?

BOY: (searching for words)

The Circle of Life

2007-09-16T17:42:00.000-07:00

BOY: (from living room, looking into fish tank) Honey, I don't see it.

PEA: (from bedroom, sobbing into pillow) ON THE SAND! RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE!

BOY: Oh...yeah. Hold on (rustling around in drawer for net).

PEA: (sobbing and sobbing)

BOY: Yes, I think you're right. This hermit crab is dead.

PEA: (lifting head from pillow) I TOLD YOU SO! WE KILLED HIM!!!!! (sobbing)

BOY: (coming into bedroom) Honey, I think he probably just had a bad moult. That happens to these guys sometimes.

PEA: HE DIED ALL ALONE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SAND! We couldn't help him. We did something wrong. He came out of his shell and had nowhere to go and HE DIED!!!!

BOY: Honey, it's just a hermit crab. Sometimes they die.

PEA: It's (sob) not (sob) FAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hate the fish tank! I never want to look at the fish tank again! Don't make me ever look at it again!

BOY: Do you want me to get rid of the fish tank? This kind of thing will happen, and I don't want it to be hard for you. I know someone I could give it to; just say the word, and we don't have to have it anymore.

PEA: (gulp/sob) YES! Also, the dog. We have to give away the dog too! This is too hard! What if something happened to the dog? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (sobbing and sobbing).

BOY: (sighing) Maybe we talk about this again tomorrow, OK?

Dear Britney: This is how I'll remember you...

2007-09-11T21:18:00.000-07:00

Because It's That Day

2007-09-11T08:37:00.000-07:00

Dearest P,
I'm not sure that there's anything else that could make me feel better about my place in the world than this video:

Sit back with a box of kleenex and just let it out.
Happy "We Haven't Learned a Fucking Thing" Day!
Love,
P-Fury

What Shall the Bride Wear?

2007-09-08T12:34:00.000-07:00

A veil:

A gown:

Jewelry:
And shoes (in case of rain or peeing of britches):

I don't know why this is the best thing ever (but probably only for the next five minutes)

2007-09-08T09:52:00.000-07:00

Licensed

2007-09-05T20:05:00.001-07:00

Dearest Pea,

Today, boy and I took an important step on the way to an important step. Here are a few highlights.

Instructions, carefully researched by diligent boy:

(if this isn't funny to you, please digress for a moment: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dmVU08zVpA)

Making a wish at the fountain outside city hall (here's a hint; we wished for a lifetime of happiness...and cookies):

Apparently, you have to pay money to get a marriage license (look at how boy wields it so well):

Welcome to RM 262, the place where the magic happens! Yes, RM 262, combining all the romance of the DMV with the intimacy of a metal detector search.

Here are some snippets of my favorite conversations to happen in RM 262:

ME: I just farted.
BOY: Oh man, I farted the whole way here, and my farts are smelling like DEAD people.

AND

ME: Should I change my name?
BOY: Honey, whatever you want to do is fine with me.
(later)
ME: That just felt like the right thing to do. All of my piercings have been impulse decisions too, and I have no regrets.
BOY: (laughing and laughing and laughing) I love you.

AND

ME: Um, so, is that it? Are we done?
DISAFFECTED CITY EMPLOYEE: (rolling eyes) Step around to the cashier.

It's official!

Well...official enough for tax and health insurance purposes. All that's left now is for my Pea to come officiate over the big fancy party with cupcakes and everything. Stay tuned!

Love and miss you always,

P-

class discussion

2007-08-27T16:40:00.000-07:00

The context: an entirely student generated discussion about some writing basics. I'm just sitting in the corner taking note of how much they "get" and at what level.

Guy in Corner: Is "stance" always about persuasion? What if you're trying to persuade someone who completely disagrees with you?

Guy with giant eyeballs: I think that maybe you can write a paper and hope that you can convince one person who will convince another person who will eventually convince someone who will convince someone important?

Girl with long ponytail: Like Clinton!

silence.

Girl with ponytail: Like Clinton! If we could just convince Clinton! Everybody listens to him! (sneer)

silence.

that one time with the dead body...

2007-08-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

Dearest P-stank,
My one attempt as an undergraduate to have a hip, groovy party was on Valentine's Day (1995?). My roommate, Alexa, and I made cute little invitations and made sure to insist that our friends wear "festive love duds." It was the dorkiest premise considering how extremely dorky the two of us were (we grew out of it, for sure).

We lived in an old, shifty apartment building in the North Oakland neighborhood in Pittsburgh. Across the street from our building was a Dairy Queen that was open year round. Despite the regular winter customers, I never saw a DQ cone being passed over the counter during the winter, if you know what I mean. We lived on the sixth floor and sometimes had to walk the steps when the elevator was down. Sucked.

So when party time came 'round, we were pretty desperate about the elevator working. Which didn't happen. Lex's boyfriend hauled the keg up six flights and we were mortified that our cool, hip friends would have to climb the steps to get to our shindig. It was completely embarrassing, given that we (maybe it was just me) so very much wanted to be adored via this cool soiree. Additionally, there was an odor. It was definitely strongest on the first floor and it was miserable. It smelled a lot like rotten poopy baby diapers. Not only did our guests have to schlep up the steps, but the first thing they mentioned when entering our apartment was something about the horrifying stench.

No, our combined cuteness, delightful decorations, and delicious snacks were not the subject of the evening. It was the gut-wrenching fragrance of death on the first floor. I have a great picture of me dancing with my boyfriend and his twin brother. It's sweet and funny and what I remember most about that party. I wish I could insert it here.

Unfortunately, I can't; but I can recall that about three or four evenings later I came home to TV news reporters filming from our front door. Alexa hounded them about what the hell was going on and they wouldn't say. Finally, while watching the late news, we found out that the reporters were there to deliver the story of a man who died of "natural causes" in his apartment. (a question: why wouldn't the reporters just tell us? seriously? were they afraid they'd lose us as viewers if we already knew the news?)

Yup. That's all. No foul play, no suicidal drama. He was just old and didn't have anybody keeping track of him and he happened to live on the first floor of our building. All of this is to say that I know what a dead body smells like and damn, it's grody. Also, I guess I'm sharing a little nostalgia for 1995 when I had a bob and thick bangs and Alexa had a bob with a perma-curl-under (you know what I mean? the thing where the hair is always perfectly curled under?). It was also the year that I called 911 twice while watching someone beat the shit out of someone else in front of our apartment building. Same year and neighborhood where I was chased down the street by a delirious woman WITH A BRICK THAT SHE TOSSED AT ME (she accused me of giving her the evil eye). It was a good year. It was the second year of my writing life.

How's the stink?
with much sighing and remembering,
p

Eau de CRAP

2007-08-23T10:13:00.000-07:00

Dearest Fragrant Pea,

Some time in the middle of the day yesterday, my apartment developed a smell. A deeply unpleasant death-like odor. A nostril-splitting, stomach-turning, crazy-making sort of stench. On hands and knees with a flashlight, on a ladder with a screwdriver, on a maddened rampage, I tore the place apart. I looked over, under, and in everything I could lay hands on. The odd thing is that the smell is strongest right in the middle of the room; when I get near any surface, cabinet, wall, or piece of furniture, the smell fades, only to return when I move to the open air.

WHERE IS IT COMING FROM??????????????????????

As you can imagine, I'm slightly at the end of my rope about this...

Yours craving congestion,

P-

no, I can't stop...

2007-08-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

...posting stupid shit in lieu of saying anything interesting myself.

verrrrrrry tiny paintings.

2007-08-18T11:11:00.000-07:00

Made by me. No, made by Susie Ghahremani. Would that I could spend my time making tiny tiny art... gawd, when will I get to do what I want to do?!

unsatisfyingly,
p

cure for all ills

2007-08-17T22:38:00.000-07:00

If there is any sorrow in your heart, any at all, watch this. Your pain shall disappear. And I know you can spare 7 minutes. It's worth it. Perhaps watch without sound.

much loves,
p

McSweeney's is only a little funnier than me.

2007-08-16T18:09:00.000-07:00

from internet tendencies:

No. 86:Novelty Items—Some Novelty ItemsThat Never Caught On.
by Eric Hoffman and Gary Rudoren
- - - -
Itchy milk
Exploding eye patch
Shit gum
Gassy nun's habit
"You're Dead, Cocksucker" inscribed pencils
Tiddly-cancer
Syphilis ink pen
Dirt-in-a-bottle
"Stinky" drink coasters
Placebo suntan lotion
"Squirting" glass eye
Hobo negligee
Leaky-mercury anal thermometer
Farting brick
Measles underwear
Asbestos wig
Bendy turd
Mosquito-on-a-stick
Weewee toothpicks
Bouncing ice cubes
Indestructible ice cream
Pills that make you vomit boxing gloves
Prancing foot-odor mustache
Lice beer
Faux insulin
Jumbo eyelash
"My Other Car Has Cancer" bumper sticker
Poo-poo eye drops
Sexy edible shoe insoles
Shrinky toilet paper
Invisible-ink "Missing Child" poster
President Anne Frank dollar bill
Halitosis adult board game
Vomit bikini
"Keep On Truckin'" inscribed on the head of a pin
Glow-in-the-dark elephantiasis glitter
"World's Greatest Grampa" coffin comforter
Pet fingernail

think of the lists we could make if we put our minds to it...
love you and miss you,
p

having fallen headfirst into every stereotype about gender roles and marriage...

2007-08-12T21:53:00.000-07:00

...I hid a pair of jeans and three shirts from my husband after shopping with a girlfriend. Additionally, I created stories about where they came from should he notice that they're new. I'd like to welcome you to the land of the money struggle in which every purchase is scrutinized for its benefit to the household. I can make a damn fine case for the jeans, but TD is going to have to come up with something pretty damn creative to explain the $42 Lowe's purchase. Don't worry, spying on bank statements is another way in which we have decided to plunge headfirst into deception. When did this happen? I was never this woman. Bullocks.

Your pea who needs a vacation from a world where this is a FUNNY joke--"Alllllll women do this, right? Tee hee! Let's go scrapbook!"...

Totally Not an Epic Battle

2007-08-08T09:27:00.000-07:00

Dearest P,

As you know, I'm a supremely confident person who never worries about all the ways in which everyone most assuredly hates me. Please allow me to share a recent example of this.

The successful execution of my job means that I need and have access to a lot of information, including my boss's email inbox. Everyone knows this, and we have systems in place to make sure that messages intended for his eyes only are routed to folders that I'm unable to see.

Occasionally, however, people don't follow the proper flagging procedures, so things show up that aren't intended for my review. I recognize these items immediately and have never looked at them, which has always made me feel really grown up and responsible.

Yesterday, one of these types of messages arrived. Its subject line had one simple word: my name.

I did not look at it. It has been approximately 18 hours since it arrived.

Don't worry, though, because I ABSOLUTELY am NOT freaking out. I'm not replaying every interaction I've had with this person over the past few weeks. I'm not worrying about what I may have said or done. I'm not nervous every time I get called into anyone's office or whenever my phone rings. I'm not failing to remember all the ways in which I'm clearly competent at my job and appreciated by my colleagues and supervisors. I'm certainly realizing that the message could be about anything, and could even say nice things about me, and is not necessarily some kind of scathing condemnation of my very being. And, most importantly, I'm not straining with every fiber of my being against the temptation to look at the message while simultaneously kicking myself for begin absurdly ethical and trustworthy.

Just thought you might like to have a reminder of how very together I am.

Maturely yours,

P-

Ominous

2007-08-07T06:03:00.000-07:00

Comment made to me as casually as, "I like your knitted panties":

"The Relief Society knows where you are. They always know when someone moves into their ward"

Might this explain my terror?

Dear Abby,

2007-08-07T05:47:00.000-07:00

I am a moderately crazy woman who, at work and in most social situations, seems well-adjusted and friendly. I have a lovely life with a very tall man and two delightful little dogs. I love our home, my jobs, and my computer. Here's my problem, Abby: I am terrified at the idea of making friends with my neighbors. Or even seeing them. Or having them see me. Yes, this begs the question, "Why the piss would someone so dysfunctional move into a cozy neighborhood full of dog-walking conversationalists?" and even more to the point, "Why in the name of the holy of holies would you marry a man who will strike up a conversation with a pigeon and in the first 24 hours made friends with the drug-dealing, dying, drunk next door who sweeps the street at midnight?"

Help me, Abby. I am so desperate that I will wait until my neighbors go inside to run out and drive away in my car. Why? They seem pleasant enough. Maybe they're just waiting for the chance to bring me chocolate chip cookies and who am I to stand in the way of their dreams? In therapy speak, "What's the worst that could happen?" Tell me, what?

-quivering behind drawn blinds

we found a place!

2007-07-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

p,
I tried to spare you all of the drama and disappointment of apartment searching. Seemed like every place we saw and got even a little attached to fell through. Finally I gave up and TD looked. He did it! I am so proud and excited to move out of the cave and into a quirky, sunny, big, guest-friendly house. See Flickr photos. It is now safe (for real) for us to raise a glass to our new digs.
HUZZAH!
love,
p

headlight disaster

2007-07-16T02:46:00.000-07:00

hi.

I was recently troubled by a woman at work who wore a fairly revealing tank top (white/sheer) and had extraordinarily erect and obvious nipples. I felt so dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty. How does that even happen, especially while wearing a bra?

Needless to say, I had my eye om those nipples all day. Not a moment went by when she was not using her high beams.

How did the answer to my mystery present itself? The way a false erect nipple might if it slid to the side of the bra (under the pit, almost)-- which it did.

Witness:

According to the manufacturer of the above nipple enhancers, this is designed to make you sexier, more "natural" looking. Indeed! Nothing is less like a slutty horror movie than a nipple that travels toward your armpit.

with real live perkiness,

something worth crying about

2007-07-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

MY JELLO CAKE GOT RUINED IN THE SUN!

in sadness,
p

The Last Time I Cried

2007-07-14T00:45:00.000-07:00

These things happened (in order) on Wednesday:

Went to look at fab apartment.

Fell in love with fab apartment.

Called rental agency to make final arrangements.

Was informed that, contrary to popular belief, our dogs could not live there.

We've been looking for 6 weeks, only to have this happen over and over.

Dave, still in hospital, near tears because he's SO tire of being there. And it hurts.

Called mom and dad to cry about apartment.

When I was done crying, Dad told me that paw-paw has colon cancer.

Paw-paw's 88, Grandma's not-all-there, the prognosis can't be too great.

I didn't get much sleep and so...

I bawl like a big baby-- that ugly cry with the mouth open and the spit running down my face and the almost-wail. Yup, right there in the hospital. However:

We have a last option for an apartment showing this Monday. After that, the grand Rosenberg visit happens and we'll have no time to look, at which point we're moving out.

Dave's out of the hospital.

Paw-Paw is "amazingly strong for his age" and came out of surgery well.

Sometimes it amazes me what odd combinations of stuff send me into meltdown. Just some FYI, case you're curious about my crying habits of late.

Miss you... hold me...

Out-Mormoning The Mormons

2007-07-14T00:29:00.000-07:00

P,

Yet another bridal shower tomorrow. It's mind numbing; most people (women, rather) I know go to several showers a week. For the love of all that's sacred, STOP GETTING MARRIED. No, let me amend: STOP HAVING KIDS. My friend, Jen, told the most alarming baby shower story ever, in which the mom-to-be (who HAS KIDS ALREADY) wants a soiree of 75 people. Huh? Also she's dictating every detail. Hi, showers are a gift, not a right. So anyway, tomorrow's shower should be excellent because it's just a barbeque, no games, no decorations, no hoo-ha. But there will be jello shots and...Jello Cake! I suddenly remembered a cake my mom made when I was little, from a jello cookbook (who knew?) (also, I loved to look though it because the jello parfaits looked so yummy). When I mentioned that I would be bringing a Jello cake, there was a room full of blank stares. HA! Beat you at your own game. I found a classic trashy cake to bring that is made with Jello and HA! Suck it, Utahans! You don't know about Jello Cake and when you taste it, you'll be mine forever...

JELLO "POKE" CAKE

1 bx. yellow or white cake mix
1 (3 oz.) bx. red jello
1 (8 oz.) carton Cool Whip topping
9 x 13 baking dish
Optional flavor combination: lemon cake mix - orange or lemon jello

Bake cake according to package directions. While cake is cooling in its pan, poke holes all over with large fork. Mix jello according to package directions. Drizzle jello liquid over cake. Make sure jello penetrates all holes. Chill several hours or overnight. Frost chilled cake with whipped topping. Serve.

Yeah, sister. You get classier, I start investigating the wide world of jello recipes and casseroles. I'm a rocker. I rock out.

Love you with Cool Whip on top,
p

water into wine

2007-07-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

So we've had some shit-ass luck finding a new apartment in this fuckhole town. There's a crapper full of reasons (the latest including dog breed restrictions that mean that Whoobie not only can't live in some apartments, but she's not welcome in some towns. Nice.) However, yesterday, a very cute couple came to look at our apartment and they loved it (?!) but what is even more fortuitous is that, in a moment of jovial chit-chat about how much apartment hunting sucks, the guy said "Hey! Wanna trade?" You'd think that someone who's interested in our dungeon might be trading up from a box in Pioneer Park, but no! They're downsizing for awhile and have THE PERFECT DIGS (from what I hear and see in pics) for us. It was almost creepy. The woman sent me pictures ASAP and her fiance is working out the deal with the landlord. Nothing's even close to final, but if we get this place, we can have guests! That means you! And you, and you! I'll share pictures then ask you to engage in some prayerful activity or at least say a toast or two...

Love,

High Livin' P who's turning down the covers for you already...

One reason we have so many blog fans:

2007-07-08T22:55:00.000-07:00

I'm not gonna lie. I have nothing to say that is insightful, clever, or mindboggling. It's just been so long since I've posted and I feel like I owe our vast audience a little update on things. One of these days, I'll sit down and write something that will change someone's life, even if only for a few minutes, but that time is not now and the forum is not this. But okay, here's what's the haps:

I am losing my ability to figure out what words are compound words and which are two separate words. (see "mindboggling" above) More often than not, I make two words one.
My Man is in the hospital, but you knew that. Even when everything is going to be fine and there's really nothing to worry about, there is a certain amount of lifeforce (see?) that is sucked away when one's constant companion is in the hospital. I would imagine that jail is similar. Let us not find out.
My new laptop is a little enthralling, though only one paragraph of real writing has been written on it. Many movies have been watched on it-- mostly during my Monday night grave shift.
100 degrees is hot, I don't care who or where you are.
I am way behind on bills and so my DSL is gone, meaning that my desktop, which is picture central, is out of commission for a few weeks. No flickr for awhile. Booo. Everyone loves pics of people in hospital beds.
Overheard at Walgreens:

Loud Guy: Hey, how's Robert?

V. Trashy Lady: He's doing fine.

Loud Guy: Really, are you sure?

V. Trashy Lady: Oh, yeah, he's doing good.

Loud Guy: Is he suicidal? (loud enough for the entire back section of Walgreens to enjoy)

V. Trashy Lady: Um, no?

and that's when I almost snorted Gatorade out my nostril. Uncouth moment of the week, I'd say.

I learned tonight while playing beads at work that beading is a favorite past time of tweakers. It's the organizing of the beads, I think. I had about 5 volunteers to sort my beads. Huh.
We need to move. We may go to an apartment complex for several reasons, none of which are interesting enough for our fans. I've avoided it for a long time, but I think it's coming. Urgh.

Uh huh. It's no wonder we're mobbed by fans. The writing is spectacular, informative, and relevant. Save me, already.

Miss you like mad. With big pulmonary love,

Baked goods

2007-06-30T08:49:00.000-07:00

Hi darling Pea,

Please enjoy this SPECIAL VIDEO.

My favorite line: "time is moving really really really really slow."

Yours,

P-

A communication lesson

2007-06-28T10:16:00.001-07:00

Dear P,

Passive Agression is a favorite topic of mine (and a favorite strategy), given my upbringing. I think we all, however, can learn new strategies from wise and seasoned communicators.

Exhibit A: A Sweet Potato Incident

Love and love,

P-

Passive Aggressive

2007-06-21T08:53:00.000-07:00

P,
Just when I think I've seen the height of passive aggressive behavior, it comes blasting back at me in a new, more elegant form. As you know, PA behavior is my favorite thing to point out (especially to the passive aggressor, who always loves when I open my big mouth about it). It's especially fun to call people on it who don't really know what it means, just that it's jerky. A thing that I have been raging about lately is Dell, Inc., a company that should have a slogan involving their beautiful talent for passive aggressive customer service. Today I will share a bit of Dell's wisdom. I'll preface this gem by saying that, for WEEKS, TD and I have been gently, kindly, fairly pushing Dell to fix crap they've screwed up and then asking them to please reimburse us for our time and hassle. Not only have we received no apology for things like, say, sending me a computer without a working hard drive, but at least one Dell representative told TD that he couldn't possibly understand how "these things work" because he's from Utah. You can imagine the head explosion that happened after that. Subsequently, I sent a little note to Dell (one in a series of about ten little notes):

Mark,
I'm not particularly pleased that my husband was contacted to get information about when I'd be available by phone. According to him, the person who spoke to him was rude and unaccommodating. Please just resolve this situation with me and I will stop bothering you. Dell is a big company that really should be able to be more pleasant and efficient than this. I can't imagine that, if Dell's computers are such good machines, that a warranty would cost the company much of anything. Warranties are expensive to the customer, but not to the company-- that's elementary.
Please keep all communication on this matter directed to me and not my husband.
Thank you,
Kate

Response:

Miss Rosenberg I apologize that your husband thought I was being rude. I was stern in my decision on this issue but ,I was not rude. Again I do apologize if he felt I was rude. As I told your husband Dell is not going to extend your warranty. We have made an offer for a 100.00 coupon which is more the adequate for this issue. If you would like to speak to me in person please just let me know when you will be available and I will make arrangements to explain this issue in detail.

Hmmmm... Nothing warms my heart more than a sincere apology. And it's even more precious that though I've been the one communicating w/ Dell, they decided to call TD. Women are scary and irrational. I filed a complaint with the BBB which will probably be trashed, but whatever. It's EVERYTHING I can do not to correct the grammar, spelling and format of all the letters I've gotten and send them back.

Okay, so maybe Dell sucks, but I suck too. This week my friend, Amanda, passed her Social Worker's licensing exam (which I would love to do but would requite a million more years of grad school). I was so happy for her until I realized that Pat was also so thrilled-- thrilled enough to have a bunch of quiet conversations about her moving into a therapist position with our company. And so, because I am who I am, I had to lock myself into an empty office to cry and pout and stomp around. None of my friends are allowed to like each other as much as they like me (sound familiar???). AND how dare they accomplish something fancy? Damn them! I practice the classic passive aggressive maneuver with them: no eye contact and "what's wrong kate?" "nothing" "Are you sure?" "yes, I'm sure. I'm just trying to do 15 things at once" (which = why the fuck are you standing around basking in your wonderfulness, bitch?)

I fixed it by fessing up and apologizing. Dell could do the same, no?

revelling/fuming in the thick stench of rude,
your p.

p.s. I love you. Would you care to rewrite some of Dell's notes? It's reeeeeeally satisfying.
p.p.s. Thank you so so much for my new friend. He lives in my tote bag now for photo ops.

play along!

2007-06-19T12:07:00.000-07:00

(click on it to read more easily)

Speaking of watching my sugar intake...

xoxoxo--P

like that game from a few weeks ago...

2007-06-18T20:24:00.000-07:00

from McSweeney's Internet Tendencies #2 (Lists):

No. 82:Movie Spoofs—Sample Dialogue (Nonporn Category).
From "Comedy by the Numbers" by Eric Hoffman and Gary Rudoren
- - - -
"The first rule of Polite Club: Don't talk about Polite Club. Please."

"I'm bald as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!"

"You talkin' to pee?"

"Forget it, Jake—it's Funkytown."

"Ron Livingston, I presume."

"I'm out of quarters? You're out of quarters! This entire courtroom is out of quarters!"

"Gattaca! Gattaca! Gattaca!"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a fuck."

Enjoy, my sweet pea. I only wish I had written them myself. I love you like mad and miss hearing from you. Please see flickr for pics of the new member of our family who arrived from NYC today...

love you love you,
p

The Replacement Diet

2007-06-15T09:03:00.001-07:00

It's a BACON PLACEMAT. It also seems to be a suitable way for me to get over the loss of refined sugar. Maybe my insulin levels are more stable, but I think my cholesterol would enjoy a little jolt-- you think?

the other conspiracy(s)

2007-06-13T10:08:00.000-07:00

P and S,

A half bottle of wine is a bad way to cope. WRONG. Such a big lie. Of course, drowning things all the time may not be helpful in the end, but really, I'd rather be hammered than hammering someone. Also, I'm just not going to buy that a nice little, reasonable, completely unnecessary purchase is a bad way to fix things. Whatever works, I'll do it and screw you, credit card companies. Oh, no wait, credit card debt sucks. Damn.
I think it's perfectly normal and reasonable for one to be furious and then not all in the space of an hour. Wide range of feelings can't be wrong. I'll take that before I'll be robotic. And, if you want to get all feminist about it, it's always women who are crazed when they express a range or a fluctuation, even.

I know that a giant pregnant therapist may not be amusing to you, p, but the image is hilarious to me (I'm not laughing at the other stuff). All I can see is a sort of New York-ified Buddha. What an interesting dynamic. There's not two people in your sessions, there's three! Weird.

So much love and stabilized blood sugar,

additionally...

2007-06-13T00:48:00.000-07:00

I'm a hypocrite. When my mom is pissed at me, I always tell her that anger isn't a primary emotion. "What are you really feeeeeeeling, mom?" Nothing makes her more angry than that and man, is that satisfying.

my little issue.

2007-06-13T00:38:00.001-07:00

In social work land, we have this stupid mantra about anger being a "secondary emotion." I am officially calling a halt to this bullshit:

Primary vs. Secondary Feelings
Perhaps the most helpful thing to remember about anger is that it is a secondary emotion. A primary feeling is what is felt immediately before we feel angry. We always feel something else first before we get angry.
We might first feel afraid, attacked, offended, disrespected, forced, trapped, or pressured. If any of these feelings are intense enough, we think of the emotion as anger.
Generally speaking, secondary feelings do not identify the unmet emotional need (UEN). When all I can say is "I feel angry," neither I nor any one else knows what would help me feel better. A helpful technique, then, is to always identify the primary emotion

Guess what? I am so pissed off I can't see straight and right now I have no, none, zero, indications that there is anything underlying it except rage. My theory right now is that people are just so turned off by real anger that they need to change it into something softer, more acceptable feeling. I say, fuck off assholes. I care about being so short-fused insofar as I may hurt someone unintentionally. Other than that, I am trying to allow myself to quit searching for the elusive Primary Emotion. It's probably crammed up some customer service guy at Dell who is jerking me around.

Love,

p.s. What do you do with your anger to keep yourself from hurting people (emotionally, or I guess, otherwise)? Seriously, I need a tip or two. Anyone? Anyone?

Answers: I've got some.

2007-06-13T00:26:00.001-07:00

P,
You are so mysterious. You leave me no choice but to answer my own PROBING question:

You were kidnapped by WW and forced to sit in a small room and calculate all of the points you've ever consumed in your entire life. And then your toenails were pulled off one by one.
When you went to WW, they insisted that to be a part of the "WW Family" you needed to tattoo their logo on your breasts.
Fergie (she's WW right?) visited you at home and asked if you and your man would be interested in taking her as your wife. In exchange, she'd give you a few free points a day.
Anal invasion.

That's all I've got. One's gotta be close.

Love you p,

burning question.

2007-06-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

P,
What happened between you and Weight Watchers that you can't post on our blog (that everybody cares about)? This is titillating. Does it involve nudity? Anal invasion? Fraud? Celebrity nudity and/or anal invasion? Fraud? Orgies?
Dying to know,
p
p.s. If it's not one of the above, please just make something up. Thanks.

watching and waiting

2007-06-11T16:25:00.000-07:00

Dear P,

Never content to be left out, I'd like to join you on your journey toward health and patience and the sane, sustainable kind of beauty. As you know, I recently tried Weight Watchers, which did not work for me very well, for reasons I'll not post in a (barely) public forum. Maybe Weight Watchers BACK IN THE DAY would be a different story, but for now I'm on my own.

As you know, however, I'm going to need some ACTION ITEMS. I'm going to need a SYSTEM, and some THINGS TO DO. I like the idea of facing down one eating behavior at a time with infinite patience and curiosity, though usually I run hiding from them (right into a bag of chips). The scariest ones (nervous eating alone at night while watching TV), I'll save for last. Let's start with something simple.

PROJECT 1: Eat One Raw or Steamed Vegetable Every Day (EORSVED) (catchy acronym, no?).

This is great, because I happen to love veggies. I also happen to have a friend named RIZO (You'll remember Rizo from a previous post), who can help me with the steaming part. This project doesn't involve taking anything away from myself, but rather adding things. This is psychologically useful. And for some reason, it's harder to do than it should be, and yet not so difficult as to make it impossible.

Here are some friends, offering moral support.

I confess to liking that last one due to its euphemistic possibilities.

Love you, my little sweetest of peas,

P-

shedding the cocoon: an Oprah-esque post

2007-06-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

Dear P,
If we've talked about it once, we've talked about it 3.7 trillion times. And I'd say that's true about most of my other girlfriends too. It's about the body. The endlessly disappointing body. I've spent all of my post elementary school years worrying about my body and whether or not it's acceptable looking. One year, when I was 21, it was great-- for about 3 months. Why? Because I was really fucking sick. Not because I was healthy, or even better, just happy with the way I was. And so, as I age, I hope that I will evolve into a person who values health, but also values varieties of beauty, including my own. To that end, I've tried to name this extra weight that I've been dragging around for 5 or so years and understand who and what it's about. The more I understand the deep-rooted reasons for the way my body looks and feels, the more I want to fight it. I believe that the fat that's wrapped around me and even nestling in my chin, is a marker of a period in my life when I felt hopeless/helpless/worthless/unimportant. And so, I treated myself that way. But that's not my life anymore and I still have the marks all over me. I want it out! But this is far more complex than a diet or a gym routine. It's about living the life I really do deserve to live-- one that's full of action and energy and exploration and nourishment (one of my least favorite words, but it's way too applicable). Make sense? I'm living in a body that's uncomfortable not only because it doesn't like my old jeans, but because it doesn't move as well or bend as far or feel as electric as it used to. And so, I'm researching. I'm taking my time. I'm refusing to punish myself for what my body is. I will, however, take a new look at pleasure and what it really can be. Maybe some things will be a challenge (when I deal with sugar, I'm afraid I'll implode) but, in the end, I believe that what makes our bodies run well MUST be pleasurable. And so, that's where I am. The ideas are all so thoughtful and healthy, but there is a way big part of me that wants to be hot too. I'll admit it.
Love you, my beautiful,
p.
p.s. In case you were worried, I will most certainly be sharing the minutae of my journey of self-discovery, right after I hand you a barf bag.

Interior design

2007-06-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

P,

When I'm at a loss to contribute anything meaningful to an impossibly sad conversation, sometimes I stay right on the surface. To that end, I'm trying out some new colors on the blog, with an eye to the colors I'll likely use in my new apt...

Love you like crazy,

P

vicarious traumatization

2007-06-09T00:21:00.000-07:00

...also known as "secondary trauma." It's the name of that thing that happens to rescue workers, social workers, disaster relief, doctors, anyone who's witnessed (witness= any kind of feeling/seeing) someone else's "primary trauma." It's maybe a new kind of term that was probably attached to PTSD especially given the close association of PTSD to war veterans (I can't think of any more traumatic experience):

PTSD in and of itself is a relatively recent diagnosis in psychiatric nosology, first appearing in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1980. It has been said that development of the PTSD concept has, in part, socio-economic and political implications (Mezey & Robbins 2001). War veterans are the most publicly-recognized victims of PTSD; long-term psychiatric illness was formally observed in World War I veterans. The syndrome entered wide public consciousness after the Vietnam War. PTSD patients had difficulties receiving veterans' disability benefits because there was no psychiatric diagnosis available by which veterans could claim indemnity. This situation has changed during the last two decades and PTSD is now one of several psychiatric diagnoses for which a veteran can receive compensation, such as a war veteran indemnity pension, in the U.S. (see below: Mezey & Robbins 2001)

Google searches of "vicarious traumatization" yield pretty simplistic evaluations: social workers (etc.) sometimes suffer from a bit of PTSD. They should find ways to alleviate stress. Seriously, it was almost an Oprah-esque thing: take a soothing bath, get plenty of rest, light a scented candle. Fuck off.

After over a week of, frankly, feeling like a giant pussy for having such a severe reaction to a situation that is not entirely foreign to me, I feel the need to figure it out. Really, until yesterday, I thought that my fear/anger/sadness was a sign of weakness that indicates my inability to be professional and keep work separate from my own urges for drama. BUT, I also found that I couldn't talk myself out of it, that I was having floods of feelings that I have learned to keep at bay very well. The day of the final showdown, I was a complete wreck. I couldn't stop it. I simply could not pull myself together-- what a scary place for me! I have been there before and never wanted to be there again. The moment I realized that it wasn't just a self-serving drama surge was when I opened our office door, saw my co-worker holding the baby, burst into tears and grabbed him. I sat and sobbed into his neck-- like a giant pussy, yes, but right at that second, I knew it wasn't about ME (even in my own mind). It really was about him.

And so, since that day, I've thought about secondary trauma and how pervasive it is-- and also how our minds are so terrifically tangled and complex that some of us can shut off for some things-- others for other things, but in the end, I wonder if we don't all have a little PTSD. It took me weeks after Sept 11 to figure out why I was so uncomfortable, why I cried so much and was so inexplicably scared-- the scared that's in one's bones--terror, I guess. And I don't say all of this without knowing the enormity of the world and the billions of people who have faced or currently face far uglier things than I have seen. I want to write about this, but I drop the ball when I look at the story I have to tell and the million and one other bigger, maybe more important ones that need to be told.

The urge to share such a profoundly shattering experience is consuming. And yet it's the story that's told over and over. The Super Sleuth and I are now tracking down another child abuse case that's coming through an old client of mine. This time, mom was found passed out on her bed and the baby was on the floor between the bed and the wall. The girl who found the baby fed her and changed her and left. She didn't want to be busted for drugs if she reported the incident. It goes on and on and on.

See the picture at the top. It's the baby who was found between the bed and the wall.

Now I can get back to what matters...

2007-06-08T10:07:00.000-07:00

P,
Dude, I totally need to get real famous and go to jail for a few seconds and then come home and be on house arrest. That's way better than being rich and living a crime-free life; I'd be expected to travel and leave my home and crap. No way. PH has it way better:

While Hilton napped, goodies arrived. Earlier in the day, a representative of Mrs. Beasley's delivered three dozen cupcakes. "These are the flavors that she orders from us: strawberry and mocha. A dozen of each and a dozen assorted," said Anthony Crisafulli, a manager for one of the retail stores. "She's a customer of ours. She comes to our Beverly Hills store, and we decided it would be nice since she's had so much problems the last couple of days." Around noon, a large fruit basket from Edible Arrangements that included chocolate-covered strawberries, grapes and melons was delivered, along with six cases of Party Animal organic gourmet dog food. And later in the afternoon, two assistants carried in nine plastic grocery bags of food including cereal, Nature's Own breakfast bars, ice cream and frozen pizza.

It's my dream life. No mention of TV, but I guess that's obvious.
xoxo
p

a resolution

2007-06-07T08:38:00.000-07:00

Dear P,
Finally. After a whole lot of (ridiculous) tugging, pulling, pushing, and threatening, Child Protective Services took the baby into custody. The baby's mom went (voluntarily) to the psych hospital. Now at least I know that she'll have to do a lot of work to get the baby back. This is a huge relief.

I found out yesterday that I was not the only one at work who was really struggling. There were lots of tears behind closed doors, which doesn't happen much, believe it or not. And so. I only wish I had more time with him.

Love you,
p

a non-update

2007-06-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

Dearest P,
I'll first paste into this post a condensed version of the e-mail I sent to our staff updating them on the situation w/ the wee, sweet baby:

"After staffing (mom's) situation, A.L. made a referral to CPS. D. DOES NOT KNOW THIS—we’re waiting for more medical information to be made available. PLEASE BE EXTREMELY DISCREET ABOUT THIS (the walls have ears!) CPS essentially told A.L. that they could offer services to D. on a voluntary basis (!?) but we don’t have anything concrete enough to warrant an investigation. This may change as other information (hopefully) comes to light. In the meantime, we are very very worried about (the baby's) safety and tonight’s staff had him in the office most of the night, making sure he was being fed, changed, and cuddled. At this point, his safety is #1 priority and we need to be aware of where he is and what D. is doing at all times.

p.s. I forgot to mention that (2 clients) came storming downstairs about 9:45 telling us to go up to the dorm ASAP. When we got up there, (another client) pointed to the baby's bassinet and said “she’s bottle propping.” Sure enough, he was crammed in there with way too many blankets rolled up around him (they were around his head—suffocation risk) and a bottle jammed in there. I held him and fed him the bottle and Amanda (staff and friend) brought D. up from downstairs. As I was feeding him, she said various (sometimes contradictory) things about him throwing up all the time when he eats a lot (I fed him all the formula he wanted this afternoon and tonight and he was ravenous and didn’t spit up once). She also stated that she doesn’t want him to get obese—she feels like he’ll eat when he’s not hungry and get fat. AAAAACK! We told her that he needs to eat as much as he wants right now. "

Now, here's the letter I sent to my boss who is also a very close friend (this was extremely hard to do):

"Okay, here goes: I am feeling very strongly that we cannot sit on this situation for a minute longer. In fact, I am distressed that it took until this afternoon with a table full of staff to decide to call CPS. I feel that CFTC (our tx center) has dropped the ball big time and we are actively keeping the baby in harm’s way by not pursuing this with vigor. I am terrified, terrified, that he will die here. I do not believe that I’m being ridiculous with this concern.

Inefficiency with clients and kids happens here, but it’s not life-threatening. In this case, so many people with so many e-mails and so little time could and might cost this kid his health or life. I am not in a position to tackle this myself—it’s way, way beyond me. But I am starting to feel an ethical obligation to deal with this situation at any cost and I really don’t want to be backed into a corner because we can’t pull it together to:

a) GET HIS MEDICAL INFORMATION! We have NOTHING on him. NOTHING. How can it be 5 days since he was taken by paramedics and none of us is sure if he has a diagnosis and what it might be? (p.s. Amanda got a release of info for the hospital tonight, but the doc wasn’t in)

b) Recognizing that he’s being neglected and probably harmed and DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT. For example, the baby should be monitored constantly by staff. I know it’s “not our job,” but not if a baby is at such serious risk. D. is not feeding him, she says, because she doesn’t want him to be obese (he is so hungry; he couldn’t get enough to eat all night). She is propping bottles and leaving the room, he’s “slipped” and gone underwater in the baby bath, he has sustained head trauma from something (“I dropped a toy on his head”). Etc. etc. etc. We all have a million and one “red flag” moments with her but we can’t seem to combine them effectively.

c) Be relentless with CPS until they have enough information from us.

I hate to be so blunt, but I’m angry and scared. Really, just very very scared. And frustrated. I don’t want to be the Lone Ranger, but I can’t let it go until this baby is safe. "

This is maybe the most frustrating case of stalled bureaucracy I have ever waded through. I do not understand how this happens. Don't think for one second that I haven't considered stealing him. Obviously, the cops would be on that right away. Oh, the irony. I want to kick someone. One thing I can say is that it is such a deep pleasure to be able to hold, snuggle, and feed this baby. A swaddled infant who is sucking away with eyes closed in satisfaction= a terrifically satisfying experience. Sarah, if you're reading this, I remember at the Teen Home the first time I watched a mom swaddle her baby and stop his crying-- it amazed me and still does. Also, remember Miu? This girl reminds me of an amplified Miu. Total crazy train. Okay, I shall sleep now. I have an impenetrable headache and hope that a long, long sleep will help. Tomorrow I may be planning a kidnapping; I need my rest.

Much love and thank you for the thoughts. Send love and goodness to the baby,
p

It's true.

2007-06-04T16:40:00.001-07:00

Intercourse, PA
Blue Ball, PA
Paradise, PA

= all towns in Lancaster County, PA--where I was born.

So proud,
p

retail therapy didn't even help...

2007-06-04T00:05:00.000-07:00

P and friends,
To answer/address all your thoughts, here goes... I've been lucky enough never to have to call CPS outside of work because I simply haven't ever seen anything reportable. I also know how the shitty system works: CPS won't do anything without specifics which is often difficult. There are two reasons why I haven't moved on this situation yet. 1) I think the most legit reporters are hospital staff and my guess is they've reported. My super secret info passer will be letting me know ASAP tomorrow morning if there's a case open yet. 2) I didn't see anything. I have a lot of extraneous, damning evidence which comes straight from highly confidential files and incidents seen by others. I can report this anonymously, but for many good reasons, that information can't ever be leaked (unless by court order which is next to impossible). So that information can't be used against her-- it can only be used to steer the investigators in a particular way. Her psych records are rightly protected. However...

Much as I didn't want to go to work tonight I did. And I held the baby and fed him and spent as much time as I could trying to assess him. The child is just not okay. He is not crying when he should and he is not being fed properly. We are, of course, doing what we can to educate his mom, but she is so manipulative that nobody's even sure what she knows or doesn't know. She has a history of fabricated "injuries" and has been in inpatient treatment 7 times with wildly varying diagnoses every time. She's 19. She's smart.

I sent a letter to all the therapists in our building advocating that she be moved somewhere where her baby can be safe. Which is probably prison, but by that time it'll be way late. So, I'll be in touch with Super Sleuth (super super illegal sleuth) and will make my report tomorrow. In the meantime I'm not sure if it was best for *me* to hold the baby so long tonight. He has lots of fair, soft hair and his head is so warm, but bumpy. He moves his mouth a lot, into wonderful, improbable shapes, but makes very little noise. He responds to touch, but not to sounds. He is light, but long, and his limbs dangle in a strange way. When he's hungry, he doesn't cry much, but kicks his legs. When I held him and fed him, he fell asleep while sucking and made sweet little ticking noises when I took the bottle out of his mouth. At least everyone I know who has been around him has snuggled and loved him. Whatever happens, there's that.

Why is this so rough when I've seen and heard so much? I honestly don't know. Maybe it's because I've never seen a baby so small with blood running out of his nose who didn't respond to stimuli. Maybe it's because I'm scared, for good reason, that he will die. And gut feelings can't save a baby, I guess.
xo
p

when it gets too real

2007-06-02T19:58:00.000-07:00

p,
It's been a sad 24 hours here. Last night one of our babies was rushed to the ER after having a seizure and sudden bloody nose. He's 7 weeks old. It was scary and shocking enough, until all three staff on shift (one of whom is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker who worked in infant ICU for awhile), independently of one another, started to suspect that the baby had been shaken. One of us overheard the paramedics guess that, but the other two of us hadn't. When I got home, I looked up everything I could about Shaken Baby Syndrome and all of it fit. All of it. I was sure when I woke up this morning, I'd find out that the baby's mom had been arrested and the child put in the custody of the state. Instead I learned he'd be released this afternoon. No diagnosis. He had a second seizure in the hospital. His mother is diagnosed as antisocial with a psychiatric chart what would wrap around the moon. Earlier in the day she said to me (laughing), "Sometimes I could just throw him against the wall." I've heard lots of new moms say things about wanting to hurt their kids-- exhaustion, depression, fear, can make one feel that way. But they don't laugh. Usually they cry. And their kids are healthy, not limp and unresponsive with blood crusted around their noses.

So the only choice I have is to call Child Protective Services and make an anonymous referral. I've never done that independently of a job I'm doing and it's scary. What do I say? If I were ever to be identified, I'd lose my job. But really? Right now I'd give up a whole lot to have that baby safe. Not that a call to CPS will do anything. If the baby's been released, that means the doctors were unable to find proof of a non accidental injury.

Or maybe someone's building a case. Maybe the baby will die before someone gets around to him (babies this messed up don't often live). This shit's awful.
xo
p

It's all about context

2007-05-31T10:30:00.000-07:00

"TAKE OFF YOUR BRA!"= sexy, if said in the bedroom.

"TAKE OFF YOUR BRA!"= not sexy if my co-worker and I are yelling it at a client who is hiding drugs under her breasts.

All in a day's work.
love,
p

TYB (B = Boss)

2007-05-29T20:33:00.000-07:00

because I can't control myself

2007-05-29T10:20:00.000-07:00

P-- my newest favoritest thing is to spend hours online looking at neato crafts on etsy. It's an extraordinary opportunity for "one for me, one for p" shopping. I just bought these for me and p so we can be twinners:

And it's not even wishful thinking anymore: your almost-half-birthday gift is completely wrapped save the newspaper that will keep it from rattling too much. Why the 5 month delay? I don't even know. Call me unconventional.

I love you and would enjoy knowing which pendant you enjoy more. I like them both the best, so you decide.

Many kisses and cupcakes and juicy juice,

makeover

2007-05-29T09:35:00.000-07:00

Dearest P,

Today's Wikihow is "how to be charming." Ah ha! I've been waiting for a project and one has magically fallen into my lap. I know very few people who couldn't benefit from brushing up on their charm. Most notably are a few meth-addict-gang-members I know. I'm not sure, but I think that charm may not be an important quality to them. For shame! I wish some people would just get over it and be adorable all the time. Okay, really? Let me present some of the how-to highlights for your consideration. Please have a garbage can or plastic lined handbag ready for barfing purposes (if you are short on time, look for the italicized passages):

Relax the muscles in your face to the point where you have a natural, pleasant expression permanently engraved there. For some people, it helps to dwell on something or someone that makes them happy.

Make a connection. When your eyes come in contact with another person's, nod and smile subtly with a subdued joy shining forth. Don't worry about the other person's reaction and don't overdo it.

Control your tone of voice. The tone of your voice is crucial. Most people feel insecure somewhere inside and have an inability to accept praise. For this very reason, when you praise, do it subtly and glibly. When you say, "you look nice today" it should be in the exact same tone that you would use to say "it's a nice day." Any variation from your normal tone will arouse suspicion about your sincerity. And since you will be trying hard to be a breezy, caring, happy personality, your eagerness will come across in both simple and complimentary talk. Practice giving compliments into a recorder and play it back. Does it sound sincere? Whether your praise is true or not, it must sound sincere! Practice until you get it right.

The degree of charm that you possess depends on the creativity of your praise. Say something that is not immediately obvious and say it in a poetic way. It's good to have some premeditated compliments and phrases but the most charming people are able to invent them on the spot. This way, you can be sure that you are not repeating it.

Every so often you will have no choice but to express an opinion that few others hold (to adhere to the honesty policy). You must do it in a humorous way. Humor is the teaspoon of sugar that helps the medicine go down.

Never argue. Remember if half of the people who hear your argument agree and half disagree, you have failed at being charming. What you say must be pleasing to 100% of the people who will hear it, whether they hear it directly from you or not.

I don't know about you, but I feel like recording my compliments ASAP. I've been running a "healthy body image group" at work and I'm pretty sure, now that I've read these tips, that body image is a complete waste of time. We're starting "how to be charming group" today!

fucking shit, dude! (do you feel the subdued joy shining forth?)

love you,

p

I'm rededicating my life to the blog: a photo essay without the essay

2007-05-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

Dear P,
To show you that I am beginning afresh with the blogging business (everyone LOVES our blog), I thought I'd illustrate how deeply fascinating my life has been. That I have stashed these stupid pictures just to show you what I'm up to is maybe more illustrative than the pictures themselves.

Saw "The Shooter" Saturday night with my own sexy sniper.

Surprisingly not a waste of $1.75 each ($1 movies are no more).

Reese's Pieces + Mark Wahlberg = TLA

The book I'm reading. Extremely disappointing and yet I can't give up yet. Suggestions?

The computer mommy and daddy bought me that came with a faulty hard drive and is sitting in its box. Hooray, Dell! ("another winner" my ass)

A mouse eating its chair.

This is who should play you in the movie of your life (and the photo even has the mood right).

The most depressing movie I've rented in years. If this is a dark comedy than boiling puppies alive must be light comedy.

The bag I must have for my new non-functional laptop.

Who I wish would play me in the movie of my life.

Light comedy without the boil.

Remember The Cranberrries? I look a little like Dolores O' Riordan, no?

Craig Ferguson talked about his alcoholism on his show not so long ago and it was sad and funny and very moving. He's my new hero.

And animate Japanese dessert treats.

Whatcha been doing, sweetheart?

Loves and kisses,

a safe place.

2007-05-17T23:33:00.000-07:00

Dearest P,

I won't even pose the question, "do you have certain objects or sounds or smells or textures or foods that are inexplicably calming-- and do you rely on them when you feel very sad or lonely or scared?" because duh. I guess everyone does, but I also know you are slightly ritualistic and have little "way things are" that are soothing to you.

I know that you are blue. I know this is a hard time with a big world and a teeny pea and a sailor way far away. I want to share some of the things that my grandma gave me that still make me feel safe and sound. They are mostly memories from her apartment in New Jersey that was in an urban area-- not so far from you. When we visited, I slept in Grandma's room with her-- she had twin beds with silky gold and green comforters that smelled a little of smoke and Jean Nate perfume. My grandma was a darling little woman who was graceful and delicate and powerful and, until she had cancer, wore her beautiful long silver hair in a tight bun with a tortoiseshell clip. She always tried to get me to talk into tape recorders, but even though I adored her, I was painfully shy. I wish now that I hadn't been. But now I still have some magical things from my grandma that you would love too. I know this-- she would have adored you too.

she believed in the power of pyramids and constructed perfect pyramids out of cardboard boxes and packing tape which she placed under every bed.

she slept with the window cracked open so the street sounds (very foreign to me then) became the most comforting sounds I now know.

those searchlight things (that rotate around and now I only ever see them on the top of the Luxor resort) swooped around and caught the corner of the room. Always. Never failed.

she kept a little stash of snacks-- mostly chocolates-- in her bedside table so she could snack throughout the night. She was so birdlike that it was positively elegant when she broke off a tiny bite of chocolate at 3 am. and one, if one is not a slob, can keep tiny snacks in one's bedstand if one wishes. and should do so immediately.

my favorite (and the sensation which is most poignant still) is her little radio, tuned to am talk radio, turned low, but babbling all night long. Nothing is better for soothing sadness. If you need, take a little radio (ipods are no good for this because they just aren't the same) and crawl under the blanket. Turn the radio down so you can just make out the words and turn the dial until you find either a) the BBC World News or b) a baseball game or 3) a staticky am talk show

try this: mix yellow raisins with dry roasted peanuts and put them in a pretty china bowl. eat no more than 7 or 8 at a time. but go back frequently. she did this-- always had a bowl of this delightful concoction.

limeade (if you're a kid), gin and tonic if you're grandma.

There are ten million things I would say about her and about how strange it is that these experiences, which really only solidified when I was in early adolescence, came after my grandfather's death and my grandmother became sick. I do not remember well the times when she was not sick. That's stored in a musty old book in my being somewhere. And it makes sense now that I would have been desperately looking for comfort, therefore the smallest sounds, smells (gas stoves are another soothing smell), tastes, would be fodder for comfort.

If I could take you there in a time machine, I would. We would find her enormous stash of costume jewelry and her lipstick in pink cases and we'd sneak a peek at her amazing hair when she finally let it down for the night... I want you to have some peace and comfort in your big world-- a small nest, perhaps, where you can wrap yourself up tight and feel safe knowing that the power of the pyramid is, indeed, emanating from under your bed.

I love you. Let me know what you need.

your pea.

also THIS for you...

2007-05-16T09:35:00.000-07:00

a knitted dinner.

love you,

thinking of you...

2007-05-15T09:26:00.000-07:00

These lilacs aren't exactly the lush, deep purple kind you see back east, but here they are. These pretties are growing as best they can behind a profusion of rose bushes. I don't really know, but I think you might be feeling a little lonely or yuck and maybe you could pretend that I've shown up at your doorstep with a bouquet of lilacs and some cookies. With frosting on them.

many lilacs and loves for you,
p

why should i send a card to mom?

2007-05-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

when i can send one to you???
love you, bootylicious,
-p

Deep thoughts

2007-05-09T14:09:00.000-07:00

This mother's day, send a thoughtful e-card to your loving mother.

So many special sentiments, captured so lovingly. Send a greeting to everyone you know.

Yours sentimentally,

P-

updated list of sexy things

2007-05-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

1. come on, even if i didn't ever wash my hair or get out of my pajamas, this little bike would make me look SO HOT.

2. The Shield. dude, the coolest cop show since Homicide. i am 5 seasons behind, but am catching up on DVD. please, at least consider the nerdy detective "Dutch" who eats ding-dongs compulsively and is always being made fun of. now, HE is sexy.

3. after coveting my co-worker's impeccable eye makeup, i've been promised the same ultra-luscious eyes w/
mary kay. i'm game. so ready to emerge into sexiness via mary kay (yes, I know that's not hot at all)

4. Promiscuous. Nelly Furtado. Hot.

5. not pictured: me having showered. that is way sexier than me right this second.
off to sexify myself.

love you, my sexiness,
k

p.s. is this sufficiently non-academic for you???

my new outfit

2007-05-05T12:25:00.000-07:00

dear p,
i am wearing a new outfit. i think it might be damaging to the retina. please change my clothes if my summer duds are too painful.
love,
the blog

color me___________.

2007-05-05T11:45:00.000-07:00

hi.
2 weeks ago, whilst talking about the chaos that was to be my exams, Uncle Tom told me all about an old student of his who had synesthesia. he thought she was fascinating and her takes on the readings were so, well, curious. of course i was immediately jealous that i can't really claim to have synesthesia but i REALLY WANT TO. but so, this morning i suddenly thought about a friend of mine and thought "she's blue." not that her fav color is blue or she wears a lot of blue or she lacks oxygen, but she is just Blue. try it-- think of someone and decide what color she is (i just don't think men should be included in this, p.s.) but try really hard without thinking of their favorite color or what colors they wear or whatever. its fun and will kill a few minutes while waiting for the subway or the doctor or your dog to shit.

P.M.=blue
S.S.=red
M.O.=violet
L.R.=plum-chocolate (i made this color up, der)
I.T.= this one was so hard-- but i think she's the color of my med-dark gray silver eyeliner.
FH= pale yellow
AN= sun yellow
JG= periwinkle

and you? next to impossible. i have a hard time with just one color. immediate thought: orange. like yellow-orange in the crayola box. or also (and completely on the other side of that coin) deep deep plum. oh, maybe pool blue. that retro blue that is non-stop pleasurable. i'll let you know when i've hit it. were you here, we'd compare our friends who are the same color and see if they're alike or compatible and if we would color the same people similar colors.

dude, what color am i????

also, have you read Ann Carson's The Beauty of the Husband ? killer. i'll give you mine when i'm done if you haven't.

also, about to start up a biography of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas --together-- no more Gertrude than Alice in this bio. it jumped off the shelf at the library. i'll keep you posted...

many loves,
p

Violence-inducing cuteness

2007-05-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

Witness.

as usual, it doesn't come in my size

2007-05-02T16:31:00.000-07:00

do i even need to tell you how many digits i'd saw off to have a big version of this dress?

so much love,

Holy shit! Satan's minions are HERE!

2007-05-02T08:06:00.000-07:00

P,
Let me begin with a few passages from The Daily Herald, central Utah's newspaper (who knew they could pull that off?) about the Utah County Republican convention:

In a speech at the convention, Larsen told those gathered that Illegal aliens are in control of the media, and working in tandem with Democrats, are trying to "destroy Christian America" and replace it with "a godless new world order -- and that is not extremism, that is fact," Larsen said.
At the end of his speech, Larsen began to cry, saying illegal immigrants were trying to bring about the destruction of the U.S. "by self invasion." (masturbation???!)
One speaker, who was identified as "Joe," said illegal immigrants were Marxist and under the influence of the devil. Another, who declined to give her name to the Daily Herald, said illegal immigrants should not be allowed because "they are not going to become Republicans and stop flying the flag upside down. ... If they want to be Americans, they should learn to speak English and fly their flag like we do."
He also said the LDS Church has studied the issue and tried to determine whether illegal aliens could be given temple recommends and allowed to serve missions but "gave up" because the issue was too complex.

No commentary on above is necessary, I don't think. Yesterday, at Salt Lake's City-County Building, a large crowd gathered to protest immigration laws. Husband and I were stopped at a very long red light right next to a large group of Latina protesters-- these women were young and meant business. It did my heart good. Until a (white) man with a video camera and two little (white) girls sauntered up to the protesters. He whipped out two "go home"-esque posters (can't remember exactly what they said but there was also something about white America not wanting "them" here, etc.) and handed them to the two little girls. He commenced videotaping as these two little kids just stood there in the middle of it all. So creepy and sad.

Husband tried to think of a way he could flash his Child Protective Services badge and give the guy a warning (from an enormous, menacing, guy with a very loud army sergeant voice) but everything we could think of to say ended with "...and then don't forget to take your bag of FUCKING WHITE PRIVILEGE home with you".

So it goes in the land of tolerance, love, rainbows and cupcakes!

Wish you were here! Love you even though you never want to come back...

-p

oral fixation

2007-04-27T04:19:00.000-07:00

Dearest P(hD),

The Oral Exam is a curious tradition in academia. I became convinced at one point that it amounts to a type of cruel, protracted hazing ritual. A good friend of mine developed hives while studying for hers, plus a few allergies from which she hadn't previously suffered. Still another was driven to therapy for the first time after experiencing her first anxiety attack (ah, remember the days?), while your very own pea quit all her meds, isolated completely in the middle of Brooklyn with only her books and an devilishly addictive video game called Animal Crossing, and lamented the fact that her therapist was on maternity leave.

What could be the possible use of this exercise? As researchers, we are trained that intelligence rests not in stuff you know, but in knowing how to formulate interesting questions and seek out answers to them in languorous, creative ways. College may teach us to "cram," but grad school is supposed to teach us to relax and dig in, to value depth over coverage, to submerge ourselves in the minutiae of words and images and ideas. The orals, on the other hand, drive us to distraction, to watching movies and reading Cliffs Notes, to relying on summaries and dust jacket blurbs and outlines we gratefully find via desperate Google searches. The orals make us hate books a little (or maybe a lot; why are they all so fucking long?), though we're supposed to be learning the art of more responsibly loving them.

But.

On the day of my orals, I felt plugged in. Completely crazy and wired, yes, but plugged in, grown up, able to think about wide swaths of literary history in some rough and provisional but still viable frameworks. I spoke in broad terms about centuries and dynasties and movements without being full of shit. Mostly, I made it through, and felt OK on the other end.

I have been watching you from afar, pea. I have been reading about your frustration, but also about your happy discoveries. I have seen the photos of your books and your piles of notes, and you look great together. I have thought about you at that lecture, feeling plugged in and at home while still recognizing the shabby ridiculousness of academic pretensions. I have seen the images that drive and move and inspire you. I have no doubt that you'll get through it, and even have hopes that you'll think maybe it was worth it.

I am so proud of you, my poet and academic and best of all friends.

With love,

P-

finding unexpected comfort

2007-04-26T17:30:00.000-07:00

p, i would so like to write about this day, this feeling, this stuff, this... what it means to have so many people love me and support me, especially you and how overwhelming life can be, and oranges (i think i may actually have that O'Hara 1/2 quote right!) instead I have to finish up some things, write my little introductory comedy routine for tomorrow and cry a little. but first, i wanted to show you this picture I found: it is Leslie Scalapino, a wonderous writer, whose website i needed a peek at because, well, Professor Scalapino, I haven't read your book.

When I saw this face, I got choked up. I hope you can see why. Has anyone ever looked so forgiving? So toothy and gentle? So like the woman I want to walk into this room right now and read me some funny poems? About dogs and about the drive-thru at Wendy's, maybe. I wouldn't know if she has any poems of the sort. But she sure looks like she should. Thank you, Leslie Scalapino for being born with particular soothing-appearance genes. And thanks for the huge book I haven't read.

thanks for thinking of me every minute, p. i need it.

much love.

just because...

2007-04-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

...I'm thinking of you with love.

Also...HAPPY PEPPERS!!!

I cannot take credit; my friend Rebecca who just moved to CA snapped this beauty, painted on the side of her local taco shop.

You make me happier than a dancing posse of Wild West Veggies,

P-

after our own hearts

2007-04-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

work and pictures of Mina Loy, an amazing poet, but even more amazing is that she never considered herself a poet at all. she made things. that's what she did. she made clothing, lamps, jewelry, drawings, paintings, "assemblages," hats, things. things that she wanted to surround her. she loved love and sex and dressing up and going out and hiding out and being coy and being a bitch and being smug and being humble and being like nobody else.

I see you this way.
p

how spell check can be very funny

2007-04-19T21:39:00.000-07:00

P: this from an article about CIXOUS, which is unpublished but available from a smart, concise, U. Colorado Boulder professor.

"--in order to become subjects in language, Cactus argues, is it possible for a woman to write at all?"

INDEED! Thank you, my prickly French philosopher, for taking up such crucial matters. I am thankful for your insight. Would you care for a glass of water? You look parched!

love and missing you,
p

p.s. photo included in case you had forgotten for a second how fucking gorgeous our cactus hero is. not that it matters or anything. god.

cheetos with chopsticks

Charlie is a very naughty Charlie.

full of shame

Antidote

Flowers for you

Rice is the new Cheeto

INTERCHANGEABLE ROBOT CUPCAKES!

Magnificent

Hitting a wall

Beautiful Print

Drunk dialing...

Nice to See You

An Official Annoucement

Managing Bloodthirsty Beasts

Hygeine

Back in the Saddle

Lonesome Pod

time consuming = -calorie consumption?

Miss my Pumpkin

One answer.

Sustainable

It's been a long time... (and diet drugs)

Dear Al Gore,

how would you respond?

where a line should be drawn.

an actual clinical note I just wrote

hypothesis:

what to do if you feel weird

Wishing it weren't so hilarious

pliable young minds

the risks of having a very dangerous killer pitbull, who is also bloodthirsty and means business

The blog is a 16 year old girl...

Putting it out there, bit by bit.

Further evidence of general philosophical disconnect

Addendum

The Circle of Life

Dear Britney: This is how I'll remember you...

Because It's *That* Day

What Shall the Bride Wear?

I don't know why this is the best thing ever (but probably only for the next five minutes)

Licensed

class discussion

that one time with the dead body...

Eau de CRAP

no, I can't stop...

verrrrrrry tiny paintings.

cure for all ills

McSweeney's is only a little funnier than me.

having fallen headfirst into every stereotype about gender roles and marriage...

Totally Not an Epic Battle

Ominous

Dear Abby,

we found a place!

headlight disaster

something worth crying about

The Last Time I Cried

Out-Mormoning The Mormons

water into wine

One reason we have so many blog fans:

Baked goods

A communication lesson

Passive Aggressive

play along!

like that game from a few weeks ago...

The Replacement Diet

the other conspiracy(s)

additionally...

my little issue.

Answers: I've got some.

burning question.

watching and waiting

shedding the cocoon: an Oprah-esque post

Interior design

vicarious traumatization

Now I can get back to what matters...

a resolution

a non-update

It's true.

retail therapy didn't even help...

when it gets too real

Because It's That Day