The binge continues

I’m gross, I realize this, but I’m also kind of genius in my cupboard based concoctions of grossness.

I started off the day yesterday like a person who not only cares about her physical condition but is actively involved in improving and/or maintaining her health – multivitamin, brisk walk to the gym, quick jaunt on the treadmill, bumped it up a notch on stair master. Moved to the mats for some abs and stretches. Some chick tried her best to thwart be by going through a seemingly endless number of sun salutations on top of me (seriously, these are the quick stretch mats – yoga or elliptical, pick one). I even did the plank, and by conjugating irregular French verbs I lasted 45 seconds. Arms – boo yeah! Rock on.

Oatmeal? Normal. Salad? Normal. Grapes? Apple? Normal and normal.

I thought I had impeded my impetus to ingest totally unnecessary food with a late afternoon (early evening?) snack of Stacy’s Parmesan Garlic and Herb pita chips and a KitKat washed down with a Coke Zero (nectar of the GODS). I underestimated myself.

Flash forward to 9:30pm. When I had peanut butter with my apple in the afternoon I nuked it for a few seconds (it was in the fridge). Perfect, made it smooth and creamy. At home I put roughly 3 Tlbs in a bowl and set the microwave for 2 minutes – I don’t know what I was thinking. It was dry and crumbly. What could I use to emulsify it? Milk? Oh, hello Hersey’s chocolate syrup! When I drizzled it on the singed PB it made a bizarre crackling noise. Once that subsided the consistency worked. But what to pair it with? Pretzels? Oh, hello No Pudge ice cream bar in the freezer (I've lost my self control but not my sense of irony). Yummmmmmmmmmm.

Like I said, gross, but creative, inventive, and edible.

While I was enjoying my delicious blend of tastes, textures and temperatures I caught a few minutes of the new game show “Are you smarter than a 5th grader?” I might be gross, but at least I know the name of the ship on which the Pilgrims came. I’ll take slovenly over stupid any day, as long as I can get some Nutella to go with it.

Binge blog

WARNING: What follows is not pretty or dignified; it's barely human.

You know that episode of Sex in the City where Miranda eats the cake out of the trash barrel and then calls Carrie and leaves her a message about possibly having to check her friend into the Betty Crocker Clinic? Season 4, Episode 52. Well, I've been a little stressed lately. A March meltdown is on the horizon (workshop - Paul visit - London - conference - NY - Philly - conference - Paul's sister and husband in NY - NY - workshop - conference). I know I chose sociology as a career and so that suggests a certain amount of interest, but 3 conferences in 3 weeks in 3 different cities is a little too much sociology, even for me. And you know how when you get stressed all the little problems snowball, and I've just been so frustrated by the lack of body modification the gym has produced, so I did the most obvious thing - self sabotage.

I was sitting in class last night fantasizing about food. It wasn't hunger, just a craving, but what would satisfy it? I got it in my head that I wanted Bugles. (Yes, I know that my sister is the pregnant one, I'm just a fat ass). I went to the super market and walked around like a zombie with a bag of lettuce in my hands ogling all the various treats - the savory section with Wavy Lays, Sun Chips and Smartfood; the sweet section with gummy peaches, York Peppermint Patties, and Entenmann's Glazed Popems; the baking section with brownies, brownies and more brownies. I successfully walked out with just the lettuce, but that was the extent of my short lived victory of willpower.

When I got home I ate (this is after dinner, mind you), within the space of an hour and a half, a 100 calorie pouch of Goldfish, an apple with peanut butter, 4 pieces of cornbread with soy butter, several large scoops of whipped vanilla frosting out of the tub, and some leftover honey almond granola cereal.

I need help.

Oscar highlights

The material provided by the Oscar's is just too good to pass up - sorry.

First of all, I have a major lady-crush on Helen Mirren. She looked positively rav-ish-ing. Thank you, Ms. Mirren, for showing the women of Hollywood that "age appropriate" does not equal "frumpy" and that "sexy" does not equal "slutty" when done correctly. Now if someone could just teach these girls a lesson about up-do's!

I know the phrase "up-do" may conjure up images of tight, Andrea Zuckerman style French twists and stacks of hairpins beside the sink for some, but for those that have access to celebrity stylists this is not a valid excuse. This isn't just some awards show - it's the awards show! Put your hair up! Yes, I mean you, Reese (this bangs thing has just gone too far - you bounced back from the divorce like a pro and are a hot single mom with a career and a sense of fashion, we get it). Gwyneth and Nicole, I don't know if you planned to do the matching side swept blond extension look, but would it really have been so hard to sweep those tresses up into a low pony or a loose chignon? The straightening iron is for use before appearances on Live with Regis and Kelly and E! interviews, not for the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Honestly, you two have been around long enough to know better.

My favorite moments of the evening all had to do with Al Gore. You have to appreciate An Inconvenient Truth for what it was - all politicians are self-congratulatory, but at least Al has a message and a purpose. Watching that movie was like watching my dad give a PowerPoint - I just wanted to give him a big hug afterwards. (The product placement was, for me, the biggest distraction. Every 10 minutes it was like, Al, are you being sponsored by Apple?)

Early in the night Ellen made the joke about America not voting for Jennifer Hudson on Idol, and now here she was (shocker of a win! nice job, J Hud, that's how to wear your hair down, and I am so glad you ditched that Judy Jetson shrug you were wearing on the Red Carpet - buxom girls can't do shrugs, sweetie; and, boy, did Beyonce looked piAssed!), whereas America did vote for Al Gore... [laughter ensues] That joke will never get old for me. I loved that Al went a little crazy after the 2000 disaster some called a Presidential election; I loved that he got all Castaway on us and grew that crazy hunter's beard and gained the combined weight of the Olsen Twins. I loved every second of it. And look how far he's come since then!

Then Melissa Etheridge won for best original song (looks like she's beating the cancer - hooray for her! - but has Jack Nicholson started chemo? I must have missed that memo, but I can't think of any logical reason why he would chosen to look like Daddy Warbucks' maniacal, meth-addicted little brother). The first person she thanked? Her wife, Tammy Lynn Michaels (who looks an awful lot like Dixie Chick Natalie Maines, don't you think?) That's right, conservative America, you heard correctly - wife. They're married. They sleep together. They do it - with each other - and they like it. As my brother-in-law's gran would say, "Anther one. Screwin'." I think, for once (and hopefully only once) in my life Tipper Gore and I were thinking the same thing - that's a damn good looking pair of lesbians.

Wardrobe Wishlist

If the boys (and girls) get fantasy football, I want fantasy fashion. I want to dream about teaming up designers to put together the perfect spring line for me. I'm usually a Gap, Express, H&M kind of girl, but living in New York it's hard not to get bit by the designer bug. And it I had any resistance before, it was completely broken down by Project Runway, which is why Michael Kors is going to be first on my design team. I've got my eye on these little puppies:

To be fair, they're not really even that expensive. Unfortunately, on my career student budget pretty much anything that doesn't magically appear by the grace of the fashion fairies is a strain on my wallet. But these, c'mon, they would be perfect with just about anything - skirts, dresses, jeans, capris. They're just so summery - I can almost smell the suntan lotion! Oh man I want a frozen pina colada....(I'd go for the daquiri but I'd be afraid of spilling it on the shoes).

I want Trinny and Susannah overseeing my whole hypothetical transformation. They are two vicious bitches, and I think they are fantastic!

This is what democracy looks like

Yesterday's protest to the NYU Republicans' "Find the Illegal Immigrant" event went off well. There was quite a lot of media there, and it was good to get back behind the police barricades.

And their excuse was bogus even for Republicans - "Sometimes, you have to be politically incorrect," said the club President. "Sometimes, you have to be provocative." Get real. You're not trying to start a discussion. This is an academic community. If you wanted a discussion there'd be a forum with representatives from both sides. What's next on the agenda? Stage a fake lynching of a Black man to encourage a dialogue about race relations?

He was singing, "I crossed the border, but I didn't break a single law," to the tune of Bob Marley's "I Shot the Sheriff."






Paul and I started arguing about immigrants' rights the other night (as we do; once we finally tired of arguing over pronunciation - and that lasted a good 2 1/2 yrs - we were bound to turn to politics). Here's another case where it's not a simple pro/con stance. It's not that I'm for illegal immigration; it's more a matter of what you do with people once they're here, and frankly spending any amount of resources on hunting people down for deportation makes no sense. Going after the cleaning companies employing hundreds of illegals, no doubt for dismal pay and in poor working conditions, that seems a little more fruitful.


The crowd of protesters was really an eclectic mix - it warmed my cold, cynical, bitchy heart and made me believe that people really can make a difference.


Then I watched the evening news. Lead stories included:

• outrage over the escalators not working at the new Staten Island Ferry Terminal (people have to walk up two flights of stairs?! dear god, they might be getting exercise!);
• the judge's ruling in the fight over Anna Nicole Smith's "decaying body" - okay the news talked about it like it was sprawled in a field somewhere swarmed by flies, and while I think ANS's mother is an evil twunt, to use Beth's term, I'm pretty sure the judge crying while delivering the ruling constitutes solid grounds for an appeal;
• Busta Rhymes being arrested for running a red light (a.k.a. Driving While Black);
• and speculations that a local doctor wasn't dosed with acid by 3 Hispanic males but, in fact, burnt himself in the shower and was too embarrassed to admit it.

Back to being cynical.

Upper Class Injuries

In my recitation this afternoon 2 of my students were visibly injured - one with her arm in a sling and one with a brace around his neck. "Gosh, was there some class accident? I hope you guys haven't been studying too hard?" har har har. It slipped out.

At the end of class Neck Brace had a question, so I went and sat next to him:

Me: Are you OK? What happened? You don't have to answer if you don't want, it's really none of my business.
Neck Brace: No, it's okay. I was skiing this weekend, but the worst part is it didn't even happen skiing. I was in a hot tub, and a really strong gust of wind came along, and the cover hit me in the head.
Me: Wow.
Neck Brace: Yeah, and at the clinic they said this is actually a pretty common injury.
Me: Yeah. That's the preppiest sob story I've ever heard. You should tell people you got in a car accident.

Like a Bay Leaf in a Melting Pot

I wanted to blog about the thief who stole my 100 calorie Jell-O pudding snack from the department refrigerator yesterday (I'll find out who you are, don't worry), I had a whole tirade mentally scripted, but something more "interesting" has come up.

Tomorrow the NYU College Republicans are holding a "Find the Illegal Immigrant" rally outside the main academic building. Yup, that's right. I shit you not. You can't make this stuff off (although who would want to? probably the same person who stole the creamy chocolatey goodness that would have been my late afternoon snack yesterday). If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself.

From what I understand, my only source being the rumors and side-conversations being held around the office, these little GOPers in training are going to stand around and try and point out illegal immigrants in the crowd. Besides being retarded, this activity seems to have some methodological flaws. There are a lot of foreign nationals in the NYU community - students, faculty, staff. How do you tell who's legal and illegal? Are you going to ask to see their papers? And will we be identifying all potential aliens, or just those of the "South of the Rio Grande/ East of the Mediterranean" variety? Empirically, there are boatloads of illegal Irish, and I'm sure a handful of Canadians have snuck in over the years, but somehow I get the feeling that's not whom the Young Republicans intend to finger. They need to give a much clear operational definition of "illegal immigrants." Also, the sampling couldn't be worse. You want to spot illegal aliens in one of the 5 New York boroughs, the Village isn't exactly a hot spot for undocumented workers. Try Sunnyside, Queens, or Jersey City, Jersey. Try mid-town at lunchtime - go on, snatch a delivery guy right off his bike and demand to know his visa status!

Anyone in the NYU vicinity interested in joining the opposition from 11-2 can gather outside the Silver Center. Wear a white shirt as a symbol of peaceful protest.
You'll spot me wearing an "I'm an illegal immigrant" tee.

UPDATE: Got some more info. Apparently they're not going to point out real illegal immigrants. They're going to have a person wear a name-tag that says "Illegal Immigrant." The other participants have to find that person and show their NYU ID card (symbolic of INS identification, obviously) before they can search him/her. The person who wins gets a gift certificate. See, it's all just fun and games! Wow, do I feel like an oversensitive tree-hugging sissy-pants Liberal or what?!? It's as harmless as the Affirmative-Action bake sale they held 2 years ago.

Read more at:http://www.nydailynews.com/news/local/story/499380p-421075c.htmlhttp://www.gothamist.com/archives/2007/02/21/nyu_students_pr.php

Victory!

En fin! I won the green bag on eBay (and I don't own a green bag so it's doubly exciting) for the bargain price of $46.24. I like eBay - it's like gambling, but you get a prize when you lose your money. Yeah, so I specially hauled my cu and my portable out to a cafe for the express purpose of wi-fi-ing my way into the winning bidding position, and some might see that as slightly pathetic. I view it as highly determined. Besides, I will be one stylin' laptop-toting mofo once my latest addition to the bag collection arrives. Je suis hyper chic.

Aw man, but now what am I going to obsessively hunt for online??

Cas de portable: épisode trois

In an effort to keep a positive attitude towards this week's auxiliary No-No Dr. appointment, I'm doing some preemptive pity shopping. The hunt for an affordable function-meets-fashion laptop case continues, and today I've found even more goodies (including this consumer rating site).

In the luxe department:

• Knomo SAMARA 15" in Porcelain
  

• FranklinConvey's Chelsea Business Tote in Ivory
  

(are we seeing a theme emerging? I'm drawn to impracticality - although white leather is more feasible in SoCal)

• FranklinConvey's Martina Business Tote in Chocolate
  

(although I already have a similar but cooler Kathy von Zealand version of this bag in chocolate faux-croc; in general this is just a great website, all of their bags are delicious and the binder/tote combinations make the corporate world look enticing)

• Moonsus Icon Tote

(indeed, I quite like many of the Moonsus bags - they are the closest to what I'm looking for, but the deal breakers are a) these bags are retardedly expensive and b) the wannabe Luis Vuitton print is so lame)

Hopefully I'll win this green DVF laptop case on eBay and the search for a laptop case will be settled once and for all.

Aging gracefully

Signs I am getting older:

• When the temperature drops below freezing, comfort surpasses fashion on the list of dressing priorities (thermals, please).
• The advent of the 2 day hangover
• My body won't let me sleep past 10am unless I'm really sick.
• Friends getting married
• Friends getting divorced
• Friends getting pregnant. On purpose. (Oh! You guys meant for this to happen! Congratulations!)
• I can discuss the relative merits of Pepto Bismal vs. Tums.
• I understand the importance of fiber in one's diet and eat accordingly (Kashi fiber twigs, mmmmm).
• I know what 900 sq.ft. looks like.
• I know the market price of various types of produce and shop accordingly (grapes are how much?!? f-that! get some apples - no, the cheap ones).
• I have a basic knowledge about the real estate market in at least 3 major U.S. cities.
• Large groups of teenagers intimidate me.
• On any given day, I need to choose between caffine and alcohol.
• My students don't get my cultural references (What do you mean none of you have seen Heathers?).
• Two glasses of wine with dinner or watching T.V.? Better chase that with a liter of water or it's going to be some kind of headache come 7:30 am.
• I have asked someone to turn the music down.
• I have asked someone to turn the volume on the T.V. up.
• If I want my body shape to change, it's not exercise -OR- eat right; it's both; with vigilance.
• When I'm home, I listen to the same radio station as my dad. And we swap CDs. (Joni Mitchell? Awesome. Here, try the new Dixie Chicks. Is this my David Grey or yours?
• My hips crack.
• I'm going to live with a boy!

Life lessons

Man, I'm getting all existential lately.

Here are some important things I have learned as an adult (not quite sure when that happened) that I thought I, in my infinite wisdom, might share with you:

• When in doubt, do nothing (thanks for that one, Aunt Mary).
• Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to (e.g. What makes pad thai so darn tastey? Did he sleep with anyone while we were "on a break"? What makes the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser so darn effective?)
• In a pinch, a stapler makes a great hem/button.
• Stop the Q-tip when you get resistance (thank you for that one, Chandler Bing)
• Karma's a bitch (e.g. if you cheat on your girlfriend and don't use protection and there's a high probability your ex has an STI b/c she's a dirty slam pig and then you go to get tested and the nurse accidentally sticks the swap too far down your pee hole, so be it)
• There's a fine line between revenge and restoring the balance of cosmic justice - I like to err on the side of justice
• In a recipe you can substitute a mixture of 1/4 tsp lemon juice and 1/2 c milk for buttermilk
• There is no substitute for baking soda, or baking powder, I forget which...
• It is safe to chew while blowdrying your hair so long as you don't flip your head over
• It is not safe to chew while applying mascara
• Looking through a miscroscope and applying mascara are two things most successfully performed with your mouth wide open
• Hairspray gives you a competitive advantage when trying to kill a fly (it makes the wings sticky and slows them down)
• Always, always screen calls from my mother (now some of you may be thinking "but I don't know your mother, why would she ever call me, and how would she even get my number" - see, she's got your defenses down already)

Okie dokie, enough wisdom for a Sunday evening. I've got to go suspend all knowledge of reality so that I may enjoy a new episode of Desperate Housewives.

Moral Dilemas

SBK and I scheduled a hot date last night - she wanted my feng shui consulting know-how on her new room. She had an apt to go to, so we planned to meet by the subway. Then we'd travel uptown, see what genius insight I could offer about rearranging her bedroom, order in, and watch movies. I stopped home first to pick up a wrench and drop off shtuff, and there, beckoning to me from the corner of my dresser, was the Kit-Kat I'd purchased the day before but hadn't gotten around to (what with the cheeseburger, sweet potatoes fries, beer and ice cream, there really wasn't time).

I devoured all four sections en route to the designated meeting place. I was racked with guilt. If I had held off all of 15 min I could have shared with my friend. Should I tell her? Approaching the rendez-vous destination I was seized with anxiety as the two halves of my conscience debated furiously:

• Confess - you gluttonous sow!


• She'll never know, and your hips pay the full price - when it comes down to it, your rapid ingestion was downright altruistic!

And they were both right! I had done something bad, but my friend in blissful ignorance of the fact that minutes ago a delicious chocolaty wafery treat had existed in my possession. What to do?!?

Conclusion: Consumption was selfish, but telling would be cruel.

If only all sins were this yummy.

Big Sis to the Rescue!

My sister just e-mailed me the PERFECT pick me up:

http://townienews.blogspot.com/

Just a little Bawston accent to brighten my day. Heed her warning to cease all food and beverage consumption whilst viewing. I followed her recommendations and viewed the SuperBowl coverage and the review of The Departed (10/6/06).

Mother Nature is a vengeful C*nt

Things started looking not so good when Paul’s flight was delayed 1 hr 15 min before he left for the airport. I went into the dermatologist for a quick, annual mole scan (“the quantity is concerning, you gotta come in every year, but the quality, the quality I’m seeing today is excellent” – if only all my Doctors’ appointments were this easy). When I came out I talked to Paul again and his flight was delayed until 8pm. That was crap b/c it put him on the red-eye, which he was trying to avoid by taking the 2pm flight in the first place, and it means he took a full day off from work for no reason. By the time I emerged from K-mart, having purchased a heating pad for Jane, 2% milk and Honey Bunches of Oats for Paul, and a Kit-Kat for me (I was already feeling a little down, but I did resist the Mint Chocolate covered Oreos) Paul was calling me to say his flight was canceled. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fucker. Shit. Fuck.

Fly out Friday? Not unless he wanted to risk going through Chicago, which the airline personnel did not recommend. But he needs to be back in SD by Wednesday, so by the time he hypothetically got here Saturday we’d have about 72 hrs. Poo. Big stinky yucky poo. Long story short, he’s coming in 2 weeks. So help me god, if the weather gods try to fuck with me then I will haul my fat (but increasingly taught) white ass to JFK with a hairdryer and extension cord and make that place fit to fly my g-d self. Grr. [t-minus 10 days to P-day, apparently the “pissy” part is kicking in.]

I, of course, handled the news like a big girl. I cried, but I took my contacts out before too long so they wouldn’t turn into relentlessly adhesive pieces of saran wrap (very adult). I uncorked the bottle of Lambic Pêche MMR brought over last week and drank it straight from the bottle (only grow-ups can legally drink alcohol). I then pouted and cried and quibbled unintelligibly to Paul. I may have even kicked my feet a little whilst blubbering “it’s not fair.” That last bit was a little childish, but I recognize the difference, an obvious sign of maturity.

I then engaged in some moderate wallowing, but I think it was justified. Bad things that have happened this month (in chronological order):

• SBK’s friend dying – world loses great defense attorney
• Thinking JJJ had cancer
• SBK reporting back on the continued dire state of NOLA
• Steph not getting to come visit b/c of her butt-munch megalomaniac professor dumb fuck
• Having a 2nd abnormal pap result [TMI warning: This means a 2nd cervical biopsy, and if there was one thing I could do with never experiencing more than once it was having my hoo hoo snipped)
• Having to cancel a weekend with Paul I was really looking forward to
  

Enter SBK and Bec to the rescue! They called to check how puffy I was from crying and told me I had 45 minutes to get dressed and mitigate the blotchyness. I started to think a little more positively. Good things that have happened this month (again, in chronological order):

• SBK coming back – I missed her! – and moving into an amazing apartment
• My students pro-actively researching class topics and then sharing their info with me
• JJJ not having cancer – yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay fungus!
• Paul getting permission to travel (Immigration stuff)
• My uncles visiting and taking me to a delicious restaurant
• Steph feeling Li’l Spins moving around insider her
• Getting a great mix CD from Beth in her ingenious CD swap
• Unexpected request for help with a wedding speech – very flattering
• Little reminders about how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends
  

And, trying to maintain a more optimistic outlook, bull-frog eyes the morning after a good cry make an excellent pallet for eye-liner.

My R-squared is bigger than yours

Falls squarely in the "you've got to see it to believe it" category:

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=489221653835413043

I wonder what my students would think if I showed it in class...

Clumsy much?

I tend to get a bit clumsy before my period. In fact, if we each got to individualize the PMS anagram I think mine would be pissy/messy/stupid. But I've still got a good week and a half left before P-day so I'm not sure that I can use it as an excuse for yesterday's happenings:

Treadmill, 8:30 am - Accidentally hit emergency stop button. Can't figure out what's happening at first, but catch on and resume workout (and you can be DAMN sure I counted the 1/4 mile I'd already run). Drop towel, which flies off the back end. Pause. Retrieve towel and resume workout. Try to drink water and instead squirt it all over chest. Figure I would have gotten sweaty there anyways. Cut hand on little plastic tie that holds channel/volume control box to treadmill. Consider informing staff of sharp plastic projectile but think better of calling attention to what a spaz I am.

Stairmaster, 9:00 am - Drop towel. Descend to floor level, retrieve towel and resume workout. Attempt to drink water and instead drop water bottle, spilling water all over me, machine, and floor and scaring the bejesus out of the woman next to me. Convince neighbor she doesn't need to cease her rapid gyrating for me to retrieve bottle. Carefully kick bottle out from under her machine and resume workout.

Weight room, 10:00 am - Avoid free weights out of concern for personal safety.

Department, 11:00 am - Drop same piece of paper twice en route from mailbox to office. Distance - approx. 200 ft. I'm not carrying anything else.

Bulk of day - avoid sharp/ heavy objects, hot liquids and going anywhere I wouldn't be found for quite some time if fell and knocked self unconscious. Walk home at octogenarian pace.

And at night the only injury I incurred was stepping on a piece of glass (origins unknown). I was able to safely remove it with tweezers, no biggie (especially compared to the burnt hands/slip 'n hit face in shower/vertigo combination I had a couple of months ago, but that's another story for another day). Looking back I'm not sure if it's PMS or if I just need to come to terms with the fact that, no matter how hard I try, I can't force myself to be a morning person and, consequently, early a.m. workouts may not be in my best interests.

Valetine's Haikus

Flowers and candy?
Buy me more presents, fat boy
Or no sex for you

Not hard to love you
You could make it easier
If you didn't snore

Gonna get me some!
Chocolates and marshmallows!
What were you thinking?

Candy and flowers
Will not make up for cheating
But diamonds might work

Come hither sweet thang!
Wrap me up in your love, but
Don't drench me in sweat

Be my Valentine
I want you all to myself
Me? Stalking? Never!

Lucky to have you
But your psycho ex-girlfriend
Is cramping our style

Sexy lingerie?
Champagne and strawberries, too?
You are all I need.

Happy Valentine's Day

I'm neither for nor against V-day. I like candy and flowers, so if a Hallmark invented holiday gets me those I'm all for it. And frankly, anything that makes you warm and fuzzy inside on a day like today (say it together everyone - N'orEastAH) is a good thing. Unless it's tortuing puppies - then you are a sick, sick individual and should be removed from society. I love puppies.

But since I was feeling a little cranky this morning and then was forced into full-blown bitch mode when I had to hit a car on the trunk (it was BACKING UP at a cross walk, which is retarded any day of the week but which is potentially lethal when it's freezing rain and there's 1/2 a foot of slush on the ground - the guy could have run over Bec, who astutely pointed out that you know you're a New Yorker when you are willing to hit a car, and we're going to have to leave that behind when we relocate to New Hampshire and San Diego respectively), I thought I'd offer my sarcastic take on this holiday with a list of alternative conversation hearts I'd like to see:

• so what


• big deal


• unlucky


• too close


• stalker


• nice try


• not quite


• that's it?!

My dog ate my excuse

A few years ago my friend left a job as a corporate recruiter and as a farewell tribute she sent around a list she had compiled of the funniest things she had read on resumes. It was hysterical; I regret not keeping it. In a similar vein, I've started keeping track of funny tidbits and happenings from my world as a wanna-be academic, which includes being student/teacher/colleague to a host of individuals who are just a few highlights short of a full head. Today, I thought I'd share a new addition that's gone straight to the #1 position on the list of excuses/reasons students give for missing class:

Regretfully, I will not be in class on [date] as a result of a long standing commitment for a presentation aimed to inspire children and teenagers from the Bronx to be all they can be.

Blowin' a hammie

Now that I actually attend the gym on a regular basis and can honestly tell a health care professional that I workout 4-5 times a week, I feel I have earned the right to judge some of the other gym goers*. (*Some of these characters are more ideal types than actual people, but some really, physically exist.) Let the stone throwing begin!

• The contortionist - what physical activity are you about to engage in that you need to do a full split in order to adequately prepare? I didn't see any uneven bars or regulation-height balance beams on my way in. This is not a Bally's fitness, it's a school gym. Just go back to your dorm and dedicate your energy to hooking up with the baseball player down the hall. You know that's where you'd rather be.


• The smelly guy - This one deserves a gendered pronoun because I have never in my life experienced an odor like this emanate from a woman. Body odor is one thing. If you don't want to use deodorant, well I guess I can suffer a little - it is the gym, after all. There are probably some health benefits to getting it all out. The other odors drifting over from your treadmill...those we've got to talk about. You are clearly quite the runner, and maybe you are more accustomed to exercising outside where the wind and your movement whisk your wind away. Here, however, we are indoors. We are stuck next to each other for the next 30 minutes or however long our workouts may last, and there is no excuse for your flatulence. I mean, sometimes cardio stirs up my tummy a little bit. I'll admit, I've let the occasional foof slip out. I'm not proud of it, but farts happen. Your problem seems to be much more systemic. May I suggest some Gas-X as a side dish to your PowerBar?


• The holder-on-for-dear-life - Do you really need to be walking that fast at that steep of an incline? It looks dangerous. In fact, I'm not only concerned for you - if you want to power-walk your self into oblivion and your parents aren't going to force you to see an eating disorder specialist against your will, that's your prerogative - but when your arm detaches at the shoulder socket - and believe me it will - and you go flying off the back of the treadmill, all 78 lbs of you are going to smash into the poor girl unfortunate enough to have chosen the recumbent bike behind you. And no matter how much mass you don't have, remember that (according to urban legend) even a globule of spit at the right velocity can kill someone.


• The grunter/weight slammer - Okay, I get it. You're huge. You are gargantuan. Your muscles rival Sly Stallone when in prime physical condition for any one of the Rocky movies. Your shoulders are so broad and ripped you probably can't wipe your own bum after you go the bathroom. Women line up just to get a glimpse of your manhood. Testosterone oozes from your acne-ridden pores. You are a living Adonis. Etcetera, etcetera. I get it! Really, I do, but do you really need to make those noises? It sounds like you could use some more fiber in your diet. Aren't GI problems one of the side effects of prolonged steroid use? And if you're so strong, why are you dropping the weights? You're going to make smelly guy poo himself, and I'm scared the vibrations will propel holder-on-er into bike girl.


• The porn star - I tend to err on the side of prudishness in the locker room. Perhaps its an artifact of being on a swim team with lots of other white, suburban girls equally unhappy about their bodies (can't they design a racing suit that doesn't turn your boobs into under-arm pudge or, at the very least, diminishes your bum as much as it does your bosom?). I don't think everyone should have to work so hard at keeping all their bits covered with the teeny, fraying, prison-issue gym towel. If you are proud of your body, whatever form it may take, all the power to you. HOWEVER, there is a fine line between being comfortable nude in front of others and being an exhibitionist. Do you really need to dry your hair in nothing but a thong? Is it absolutely necessary for you to apply your make-up while the rest of you is au natural (and your mons pubis is resting on the sink counter)? Does the elaborate performance that is your moisturizer applying regime increase its absorption into your skin, or do you just want to show off how little your thighs juggle even when vigorously rubbed? (P.S. Please pass along the name of your waxer, she's clearly very talented, as I can see that she has removed hair from very difficult to reach crevices of your body.)

And anyone who doesn't wipe off the machine when there is excessive visible perspiration should have a 20lbs medicine ball dropped on his or her foot.