Comped!

As previously mentioned, I finished my 2nd comp yesterday (!!!). For my non-sociologist readers, I thought I'd explain a little about comps, grad dept requirements, and sociology more generally. (Laying it all out is also a helpful reference for me when I get confused about what, exactly, it is that I'm doing with my life. This happens with potentially worrisome regularity.)

My program (which seems fairly typical of doctoral programs in sociology, although I can't speak to all social science programs or other disciplines more generally) offers 5 years of guaranteed funding - 3 yrs teaching assistantships and 2 fellowships. Teaching assistantships mean you T.A., and I am chuffed to report that I've just finished grading all my little kiddies final lab reports and have sent off my grades, which makes me officially done with those 3 years of obligations (!!). Fellowships are basically free money - I'm on fellowship next year which is why I'm able to relocate to SoCal. After next year I have to either a) secure outside funding (via a grant or sugar daddy) or b) come back to NY and TA. (Note to self: start looking for funding opportunities immediately). There are a number of requirements to fulfill pre-dissertation stage:

• 3 yrs coursework - check (18 classes - 72 credits, 2 incompletes, but that's not bad - RKG still had 1 incomplete when she got her full-time, tenure track job offers, and I am banging out one of those before I leave NYC)


• an "early research" paper - got one in the works; research is done, paper needs revisions before I (hopefully) submit it to a journal


• 2 comprehensive exams - check!!

The idea behind the comprehensive exam ("comp") is that you demonstrate proficiency in a sub field. What constitutes proficiency is unclear - feeling competent to teach an undergraduate course on the topic is a fairly good measure. You create a reading list with a faculty supervisor which you can tailor to your specific interests (sub fields have further sub fields), read the stuff, maybe write some memos and then answer 3 questions in 3 hrs. Technically you then "debrief" with your readers (the faculty supervisor and one other faculty member). I don't think anyone has ever failed a comp - basically your faculty supervisor shouldn't let you take it if you're not prepared - so hopefully I will hear if I've "passed" in the near future. Theoretically I am now proficient in Sex & Gender and Culture & Media. I'm teaching Sex & Gender in a few weeks so we'll see how well my comp prepared me.

So this is what I've been up to for the last 4 yrs. Now all I have to do is my dissertation!! Once I've defended my dissertation proposal (Fall '07 hopefully) I will be ABD (All But Dissertation), officially be a "doctoral candidate" (right now I'm just a regular 'ol 'doctoral student', and be able to start my research for the thing for which it is that I'm here. I don't think people understand how much work there is that comes before the dissertation (especially Paul - and other Brits - who just go to grad school and start their dissertation off the bat, which is why they can finish in 3 yrs). Other random stats: 70% of people go ABD - they get to that point and never finish. Also, I think the average soc PhD takes 7 yrs. That leaves me 3 years to achieve averageness.

Finally, "sociology", according to the OED, is "The science or study of the origin, history, and constitution of human society; social science. Also, the study of social organization and institutions and of collective behaviour and interaction, including the individual's relationship to the group." It's the inverse of psychology. I will not be a social worker. I will not analyze people. I will not go into clinical work or private practice (unless I ditch this career for my back-up plan of becoming a professional organizer). My colleagues and I have often mused about writing a book called "What My Grandparents Think I Do." I've always joked that mine think I'm a little slow for still being in school at age 26. The best one so far comes from SBK; her grandparents, who met at a Communist Party meeting back in the day, think she goes to Socialism school. To be fair, this is probably the closest approximation to what we do.

So I've comped! Janiac threw me a little surprise party last night and I celebrated with friends, grilled cheese and gazpacho shooters in Brooklyn. (She also bought those lovely tulips.) And now, as RKG reminded me, I have to work on my dis, cause there's nothing else left! Except, of course, everything that's not sociology.

Bodies in Motion

I just finished my 2nd comp exam (yay!), it's a rainy day, I have nothing specific to do, and so I can blog again (double-yay!)

Last night SBK had one of those evenings that makes you happy to be a grown up. We got dressed up (note: the application of Spanx power panties requires two hands at all times) and went to a beautiful neighborhood French restaurant called Chez Jacqueline. I will dine at Jacquie's crib any time - it was delicious. The wine, the soup, the salad, and most importantly, the strawberry tart. 2 words - pastry chef. The shell was perfectly flaky and firm without being hard, the custard was rich and flavorful without being heavy, and the strawberries were freshly sliced and sweetly arranged without any sugar or weird gelée.

I made my first trip to the Joyce Theatre, where we ran into 3 social scientists - weird, for a production by the Stephen Petronio Company. AMAZING. This is the type of art I like. I always feel a bit stupid when it comes to the arts because I'm not really an art museum person. Of course, it's different strokes (or steps) for different folks - I've found the type of art I like to consume. The music was by Rufus Wainwright and the Beastie Boys; the costumes were by Imitation of Christ's Tara Subkoff. And the dancers weren't some prima ballerinas, they were these gorgeous, toned, muscular beings that moved in the most powerful ways.

Watching the performance I started to think about masculinity (ever the sociologist) and how ironic it is that we label dancing as feminine and therefore male dancers as effeminate. Far from being emasculating, all I could think watching these guys was, If he can do that with his own body, I wonder what could he do with mine?

Playing catch up

Oh man, there has been so much going on. So much to blog about, so little time! There's my sister's belly, sex toys, Steve's workout of death, ice cream cone shoes, nasty See You Next Tuesday lady at the dr's office, the new apartment in Solana Beach, Rachel's nuptials, sandal season, end of semester grading, an exam Friday and my friend coming to visit for 2 weeks. Exhausting! I will try and keep up better, and hope to return with copious thoughts on each of the aforementioned topics, but right now I've got to get back to studying. I'll leave you with just a little something that's making my day brighter. These little puppies hit the streets of Manhattan for the first time today - they look fantastic with my Vinny-is-my-car-ready? red toenail polish:

Welcome to the Blog World, Rachel!

Was very excited to find an e-mail from Rachel waiting for me in my inbox this morning. Rachel is a friend from my days of Cambridge - she lived across the hall from me and was actually the very first person I met there! (Probably more memorable for me than for her, although I can only imagine what I looked like when I crawled out of my room in one of my waking intermissions to my jetlagged sleep, rising only to use the bathroom and eat another bag of nutri-grain bites I had luckily packed). She's also the first kiwi I ever met, and one of the coolest people I have ever had the pleasure to get to know. She embodies the word "lovely" and inspired me to start making my own humus. We share some very found memories.

So I was thrilled to bits she got in touch, and even more excited to find out she's just started blogging! I knew we weren't all being attention whores and that this would actually be a great way to keep in touch when good friends and loved ones are scattered over the globe. I'm still hoping to get to New Zealand in the not-so-distant future (5 year plan?), but in the meantime I'll have to be content with pictures of wonky carrots and stories of court summons.

P.S. I just had a small moment of heart failure when I realized I accidentally posted to the NYLON blog (which also appears on my dashboard) instead of my own baby. NYLON is a research collective between students at LSE and NYU, it's great, blah blah blah, but holly shit I was sitting here going, "No. No! Nonononono!!! Delete! How do I DELETE!" Man, that was a close one. It was like a bad "reply-all" mistake but with a much larger audience. A warning to all - careful blogging!

Yoga Toes

I always take a quick glance at the last few pages of magazines where they advertise all sorts of crap - from psychics and thumb rings to breast enhancement creams and "pen pals" (depending on what magazine your reading). In several women's magazines I've seen ads for Yoga toes. Apparently they're supposed to help alleviate foot pain by stretching and realigning your toes. I think they actually look pretty comfy and would feel nice after a long day on your feet (especially paired with a bubble bath and a glass of pinot gris).

Unfortunately, those aren't the yoga toes I'm thinking of. I'm thinking of actual feet-digits, the little piggies you press into the mat in downward-dog. To compliment our new fitness regimes (I've done 2 sessions with a personal trainer and she's in P.T.) RKG and I decided to check out Yoga to the People. Peter recommended it, and he's not exactly low maintenance so we figured we'd give it a shot. The studio is really cool, conveniently located, and clearly popular - the room was packed. I haven't done yoga in at least 2 years, but I enjoyed it then and figured I'd remember the basics. What I forgot was how hard yoga is! Forget the body postures (it was like a really intense game of twister), clearing one's head is not easy when you're less than 4" from the person next to you and every time you try to "flow" and take in a deep breath for cobra you find your face planted in the feet of the amazon woman in front of you.

The good news is I figure if I can empty my mind in that setting I'll be able to do it anywhere. We're going to aim to go once a week. I just wonder how long it will take for me to a) have the postures down enough that I can focus on my breathing more than maintaining my balance, and b) not think about what I'm making for dinner while in Warrior 2. It's especially hard when the aroma of Chinese food from one of the nearby restaurants wafts in.

It's a love/hate thing

I have sort of a love/hate relationship with Fresh Direct. At first it was total devotion - they could do no wrong as far as I'm concerned. Then they started getting a little sloppy - produce wasn't fantastic, and egg would be broken, they came late or early (and when I've opted for the 8:00-10:00 am time slot I do not want my doorbell ringing at 7:30!). I wonder if maybe they're getting a little big for their britches and unable to cope with increasing demand, not unlike JetBlue's experience a few months back - they were too popular for their own good. Plus RKG gets coupons every week for a free item - she forwards them to me so I benefit, but FD doesn't know that. Why does she get the freebies? Is it because my zip code offers better delivery time slots? That's not really a fair trade.

I had the really bad experience with the raw chicken, but I felt a little guilty afterwards because within two weeks my microwave had shit the bad, and I wonder if the failure of the meat to cook through wasn't one of the first signs of the appliance's demise. My guilt went away, however, when we ordered a massive FD delivery for the accepted-students pre-conference party we had at my place, which included 3 cases of beer (a great feature of this service - you can order beer and wine, plus all your snacks and goodies, and it gets delivered. I can't emphasize how great that is when you don't have a car and have to carry all that stuff). For starters, one case was missing entirely - Sam Adams was on the packing slip, Sam Adams was on the bill, but Sam Adams was not in my apartment. Secondly, I noticed when started packing the fridge that one of the bottles of Amstel had broke. The beer had soaked the entire bottom of the case and all 4-6 packs. I new this meant the cardboard would be week and tried to be extra careful, but sure enough when I was rearranging the dairy to make room for the alcohol the bottom of a 6 pack opened up and 4 more bottles smashed. Now it was 9 am, I was done 5 beers, my kitchen floor was covered in glass and booze, and my apartment smelled like a brewery - not exactly how I like to start my day. The customer service lady was an absolute peach, so that mitigated my unhappiness.

Then today I felt like the god of commerce were smiling in my favor. In my order, along with all the things I had actually ordered, were some extra goodies: a package of almond biscotti, Tide for sensitive skin, and a 6 pack of orange soda. Now none of those are awesome, but it's always kind of fun to get things you didn't pay for (without having to steal them). Now of course this probably means that someone's order will be short those 3 products, but they can call and get a credit.

Maybe next time I'll get something even better - like sausages or toothpaste...

I heart Crate & Barrel

Somehow I ended up at Crate&Barrel on my way to the library last night. I'm not sure exactly how that happened, but I really do love this store. Truly, madly, deeply. My aspirations in life include having enough money to actually buy furniture from there. Not sure my current career path as an academic is going to take me there - might have to rethink that one.

Anywho, I got some fun little tidbits:

Laptop blotter, on sale for $9.95. This is going in my straight-to-San Diego pile.
Magnetic measuring spoons - I've wanted these little bad boys since I saw them in a recent issue of RealSimple. I like their design features, namely that they lie flat on the counter, they have a narrower, oval shaped end for getting into small jars, and they stack together with magnetic attraction. This will help keep my utensil draw nice and tidy; I gave up on putting my other measuring spoons back on the ring a long time ago.
Bamboo picks - I got the ones on the left with the twisty-tie tops. They'll be perfect for the melon-olive-mint-feta skewers I'm making for my cocktail (emphasis on the first syllable) party Saturday. I don't like olives myself, but I've been told these hors d'oeuvres are the perfect blend of sweet and salty.

And if you've never checked out cb2, I highly recommend it. CB2 is to Crate&Barrel what Old Navy is to the Gap. (take that, SAT verbal section makers!)

Some how I never made it to the library...

Happy Easter!

Christ has risen - whoop whoop! Props to all my Christian friends on this highest of holy days, and a belated Happy Passover to those of the Jewish persuasion. I tried some dark chocolate covered matzo the other day - not as good as a hollow milk chocolate bunny filled with milk, but tasty in its own way.

Even though it's snowing in NY today, Easter always reminds me of white patent leather shoes, pastel dresses and tulips. I think Steph and I may have even had bonnets and gloves when we were little, but I don't know if I'm just romanticizing the less guilt-ridden aspects of our Catholic upbringing. Easter also conjures up images of egg hunts for many, but not the LeClair sisters. For those of you unfamiliar with our unique traditions (Steph, where did this one come from?), allow me:

The Jelly Bean hunt: Easter morning Stephanie and I would ready ourselves at the top of the staircase, still in our pajamas and ready for a sugar fix. Our parents would dispense the equipment - empty Cool Whip containers (a.k.a. redneck salad bowls - we weren't rednecks, I guess my parents were just ahead of the times on recycling) - and when given the signal we would bound down the stairs with the force (and grace) of startled cattle. In preparation, our parents would have placed jelly beans all over the first floor (back hall excluded for toxic chemicals). On the ledges of the hallway, legs of the coffee table, in the microwave and on the toaster oven, behind the couch and under the window shades, on the lighting fixtures and beside the Hummels - pretty much every surface was fair game. Plonk, plonk, plonk went the jellybeans as they fell into our plastic receptacles. Once we were pretty sure we'd got them "all" we'd regroup and count our booty. Stephanie always, always won. In the history of LeClair Easters I don't think I ever won a single jelly bean hunt, and I'm sure I cried over the inherent disadvantage of being the younger sibling (I clearly understood the basic principles of social stratification at a very young age).

The one glitch in the jellybean hunt was that we never really found "all" the jellybeans. Over the course of the next few days, weeks, even months, someone would occasionally call out, "guess what I found?" having stumbled upon an overlooked bean. There was even the occasional Christmas discovery of a petrified bean, a sucrose relic of Easter (which one?) past. On the rare occasion that someone ever attempts a deep clean of the ground floor of 151 Prospect St., I would bet my peeps that they will find at least one little survivor from the hunts of yore.

Simple as they may be, I think jelly beans are the underdog of Easter candy. And I bet they're at least 50% off at Duane Reade. Happy hunting!

Spring Goals

I like the idea of applying the metaphor of spring cleaning to my life every few months - taking time to reevaluate, figuring out what's working and what's got to go, tidying up. I'm doing pretty well with my early January goals. So far I have read (non-sociology wise, that list isn't very exciting):

• Dry by Augusten Burroughs


• Barrel Fever by David Sedaris


• Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel


• Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekaran

I've seen the following movies in the theater:

• Children of Men


• Venus


• The Last King of Scotland


• Zodiac

I also saw Dream Girls and Night at the Museum on a plane and numerous others at home on the couch by myself (but those don't really count since the point of the movie a month in the theater goal is not to be on said couch).

I'm falling behind on the letter writing, but 2 out 3 ain't bad. I haven't bought any mascara. And on the topic of beauty products, I've thought of a new goal: This summer I will not attempt any self-tanning. Every year I do it, every year I fail. There's just entirely too much effort involved - you've got to exfoliate, but not moisturize, or moisturize your elbows and knees so they don't get all orange. You've got to let it dry which involves hanging out naked for a bit, and this can really inconvenience your roommates. Your sheets get all nasty and you always, always miss a spot. I have at least 5 bottles of creams, sprays and foams that are more than 1/2 full.

Last year before a wedding I decided to go for the professional spray tan. I thought I was just going to be in a booth, but I ended up getting the airbrush application. To say the experience was "interesting" would be an understatement. For starters, I wasn't really "prepared" to be naked in front of anyone, and unlike all those slim, toned, hairless wonders on the reality shows who are ready to jump into a hot tub at a moment's notice, I need at least a 48 hr warning when a stranger is going to see me sans vetements. At first I wasn't sure whether or not my "artist" was gay. There were some context clues - the bandanna with the bejeweled skull and crossbones on it, the all-too-precisely ripped jeans, the cut off "Free Li'l Kim" tee shirt - but I didn't want to be presumptuous. Then I got a closer look at the necklace he was wearing - the larger metal charm was, indeed, a cockandballs. That was the clincher. So 40 minutes and numerous, shameful poses later I was covered with bronzer. I took the bus home and frankly cannot believe that someone didn't accuse me of being a racist because I looked like I was in black-face. My roommate almost choked on her own saliva when I walked in the door. I had mixed feelings of relief and terror when I finally showered the next morning and the water running down the drain looked like it had been used to wash a bunch of school children's paintbrushes after an exercise with watercolors. I was still looking a little "ethnic" at the rehearsal dinner, but was nice and bronzed for the ceremony. Still, never again. That experience falls squarely in the "just not worth the effort" category.

Last week I was reading Glamour and they had the obligatory article on self-tanners and I thought, "Ooh, I should try that one." No! I won't! I'm putting an end to this madness and admitting defeat. Maybe Victorian pallor will come back in style.

East Coast Baby, West Coast Baby

While I'm going to make every effort to steer clear of botox and breast implants, there are some aspects of life in San Diego I am prepared to embrace fully. Number one on that list - beach culture. And I'm going to do it in style.

Check out this puppy:

It's got a face rest like a massage table - how cool is that?!? I still need to work on making peace with seaweed and calming down about sand in the house, but I really believe that once I own this chair anything will be possible.

Today is April 5th, correct?

So why is it snowing?!? I'm supposed to be in flip-flops, not ear muffs! I'll just add this to my arsenal of "things to look forward to living the SoCal life."

Never mind the weather, there are more important things to discuss. Paula Abdul, for example. As promised, I watched the results show, and I've giving up hoping Sanjaya will be kicked off. I think RKG might be onto something with her theory that Howard Stern's morning promos for votefortheworst.com is a key factor. Also, Janiac made a fair point that if Haley just keeps wearing less fabric on bottom than on top she's going to stick around (but she's got to stop feigning annoyance when Simon comments on her legs). LaKisha is my pick, although I don't understand why she was dressed like a bank teller last night. Melissa Doolittle is clearly the most talented, but she came into the game with a stylist and a vocal coach. I just don't feel like America's taking part in the discovery of some hidden gem. It'd be like putting a 5th grade teacher on Are you smarter than a fifth grader? Plus Melissa's head is a little too much like Guy Smiley's for my liking. And where's her neck? She looks like my Barbies whose heads I accidentally ripped off trying to brush their hair and then tried to smoosh back on.

But back to Paula. I saw the clips from Tuesday night's show. I saw the scarf, but what can I say? Really, Scott, what do you want me to say about her neckerchief? Do you want me to say that she looks like she's a guest judge on Grease: You're the One that I Want and she's getting just a little too into it? Do you want me to suggest that maybe she's spending a big chunk of her Idol paycheck on outpatient therapy and so has been waitressing at a 50s style drive up, girls on roller skates, sock hop diner to pick up some extra cash? It was terrible, it really was, and I bet Simon had to work very hard to restrain himself from grabbing either end of the scarf and pulling until Paula's head popped off. And Steph, I'm not so sure the extension is Jessica Simpson 4 Target, I think it may have just come from one of those mall kiosks where you can buy faux-hair in a myriad of forms - clips, scrunchies, banana combs. Perhaps she picked it up on her way to her interview for the waitressing gig to go with her poodle skirt. What I would really like to say, however, is that I'm proud. I'm just so proud of Paula, proud because for the second week in a row I think she really is sober, and that's something we should all be proud of her for. Maybe the scarf is there to hide a patch that's releasing a slow, regulated dose of oxycontin into her stream so she doesn't go into the DTs on live, national television. Hey, whatever works.

The thermometer might be returning to freezing, but this cold bitchy heart of mine is melting, just a little, for Pabdul. Besides, my favorite fashion critics already gave her a much better fugging than I could ever hope to.

Blog request

I've never gotten one of these before! Apparently my brother-in-law would like me to address Paula's scarf, while my sister "would like to see something in regards to that nasty ass Jessica Simpson for Target looking hair extension that she's sporting as a ponytail this week." (personal communication with sister, 4/4/07)

Sadly, I didn't see AI last night. I don't even know if Paula's still on the wagon. Damn you, teaching responsibilities! Oh, how I wish I could deliver. I feel as if I've failed both as an in-law and as a blogger. I pledge to my readers to have my caboose parked on the couch for the results show tonight and report back with something catty and cynical tomorrow. We all know we can count on Paula for an endless supply of material.

Couldn't have said it better myself

... And Patronize Our Vendors

A tourist mom with three teens in tow halts in the middle of the block, causing two suits and several other people to crash into them.

Suit #1: For the love of God, move, you idiots! There are people walking behind you!
Tourist mom: You don't have to be so rude!
Suit #2: He's rude? You clearly see this is a busy sidewalk, and yet you stop dead in the middle and block all traffic!
Tourist mom: He didn't have to say it so rude -- we are not from around here!
Suit #1: And does that somehow excuse your being idiots and stopping in the middle of a busy street?
Tourist mom: At least we are not so rude in Tennessee!
Suit #2: That explains the idiocy, but it still isn't an excuse.
Tourist mom: That was unnecessary!
Suit #1: Perhaps, but it's true.
Suit #2: Here, maybe this is more polite: Welcome to New York. Slow walking idiots prone to stopping for no reason stay to the fucking right of busy sidewalks, and don't get in the way of the non-mentally impaired locals. Now fuck off.

--50th & 6th

via Overheard in New York, Apr 3, 2007

Spring Collections

With the weather warming my thoughts go immediately to one thing - shopping! While I think my fall line is the most flattering to my body type, I absolutely love spring clothing. Jeans, tee shirt and flip-flops are my favorite ensemble, which, conveniently, is appropriate attire year round in SoCal. Also, since I'm teaching this summer I have a good excuse to purchase some new work clothes.

There are certainly worse things than wanting to buy clothes and not finding anything you like, but it's a major shopping let-down. Has anyone checked out the spring collections at the shops lately? Here's my run-down of these major let-downs:

• The Gap - 2 words: Snooze Fest. My god could the clothes in there get any more boring? I mean, it's the Gap, I'm not expecting anything crazy. Stick to the palette - khaki, white, navy, black, many a grey or a cream - but do something with the cut, style, fabric - something! Their spring line could turn an ADHD suffering 5-year-old on a pixie stick and grape crush binge into a narcoleptic.


• Esprit - So nautical you need dramamine and a magnetic bracelet to cruise the shop floor. I do love me some navy and white stripes, and boat neck collars really flatter my clavicle, but we're just a few brass anchor buttons away from Cache - dangerous waters indeed. Add to that the fact that Janiac has barred me from purchasing any more graphic tees and there's not a whole lot left for me to choose from.


• Express - I've been loyal to EXP for a long, long time - since the days of the bejeweled-ankle jean and the over sized floral print sweatshirt; hell, Lisa and I gave a nod to the shop in our senior yearbook blurbs! - but you've got to meet me half way. I appreciate lengths, but Short does not equal Skinny! What the hell is the point of having lengths if you change the dimensions of the waist/hips? Last week I tried on a pair of Sz 8 Regular length editors and couldn't get them over my thighs. The same style, same size cropped length fit just fine - did they add the extra material to the seat of the pants? I'm pleased as punch royal blue is in this season - it's such a lush, vibrant color and it happens to suit my complexion quite well - but the arsenal of jewel-toned button down shirts are only appropriate for work if you're an accountant for a brothel. And do not get my started on the terry-onesies.


• H&M - There should be a sign on the door warning pregnant women, epileptics and people with heart conditions to seek medical advice before entering. Seriously, who hired a paranoid schizophrenic to head the design team? I am a huge fan of the 60's mod look (even though I wouldn't be caught dead in any garment that carries the mini- prefix), but there is way too much orange, and juxtaposed with kelly green it gives me a migraine. It's what I imagine a clothing store designed by my mother would look like. And while I appreciate that they're being socially responsible, the larger-than life billboard of Madona on the south side of Houston St. between Broadway and Lafayette freaks me out a little - she's slowly morphing into Marcia Cross.


• American Eagle - I keep thinking I'm getting too old to shop here, but so far this is where I've been most successful. I got an adorable one-piece bathing suit, a nice casual and versatile blue skirt, and a black bra that fits (little size fluctuation going on)! Some of the clothes are just ridiculous - their shorts, even if I did wear shorts and even if I could fit my booty into them, both big if's, could not contain my 'lady-bits' (the 'ol sneeze and my labia might fall out worry) - but year after year they continue to be the only retailer that sells decent cargo-capris, and when you don't wear shorts, they're a mainstay of the summer wardrobe.

I haven't been to Old Navy in a while, and Summer lines are flushing out the Spring ones, so maybe there's still hope. Keep your fingers crossed for me, I really don't want to teach in clothes that look like they came out of the closet of a hypothetical love child between Popeye and Crystal Gayle from her Solid Gold days.

DIY, muthafuka

While I was only meaning to unleash my inner lesbian by volunteering to help renovate Peter's apartment, my inner gansta seems to have snuck out as well. Maybe it was the do-rag I was sporting yesterday. Or the "chicks dig my sweet ride" tee-shirt. (And, yes, chicks do indeed dig my sweet ride.) For some reason I feel compelled to yell "peace out, muthafukahhhhhhhhhs," when exiting a room full of people. Maybe it's nothing at all to go with my inner gangsta, and everything to do with being a suburban white girl. Apparently it's not an uncommon ailment.

Potty mouth aside, I realized that I quite like home remodeling. This will come in handy when I get to SD because the catch to Paul finding a reasonably priced 2 bedroom in my favorite area is that the second of those bedrooms has a "cloud-scape" painted on the ceiling. I'm not sure we can do anything about the wood panelling in the living room (Paul vetoed my suggestion that we take up macrame), but the white-washing of that ceiling will be Paul and me's first household couple project since assembling his flat-pack IKEA table.

Yesterday was also my first taste of caffeine and alcohol since the demon-virus. I was up until 1am - I usually tuck in around 10:30 - and woke up at 7am ready to take on the world. I was the first back at Peter's because I wanted to remove the painting tape from the bathroom walls. I was also thinking I needed to get there before his other friends because they put too much paint on the brush, roll and edger. I'm realizing that my control-freak disposition might make me unpleasant company, so I'm trying to chill out, but I don't think the tall non-fat no-whip caramel macchiato I had this morning is helping. Too much caffeine, muthafukahhhhhs.....

Good morning, Sunshine

Even the fact that last night's Grey's was a REPEAT, despite the fact that I was pretty much positive it was supposed to be a new episode, cannot get me down because it's BEAUTIFUL outside, and there is just so much to be excited about:

• The sun is shining, there isn's a cloud in the sky, and SBK and I might sneak out onto the fire escape this afternoon for some UV rays.
• I picked up some daffodils this morning, and they are the most glorious yellow (which is a nice contrast to the 'vase' I've fashioned for them out of red Solo cups). My trip to London reminded me how much I love this vibrant cup and saucer flowers.
• I had pasta for dinner, oatmeal for breakfast, and am packing PB&J for lunch - all (digestive) systems are go! I am literally a whole new woman on the inside.
• Peter is starting renovations on his apartment this weekend, so I get a chance to don a bandana, grab some spackle and unleash my inner lesbian. [Note: this stereotype-invoking comment was approved by an actual lesbian.]
• Janiac has an Express coupon for me, and what better time to go shopping than after unexpectedly shedding a few lbs.
• In a recycling binge last night I went through all my old magazines and tore out the recipes and ideas I wanted to keep. I've dedicated some time this morning to looking up things of interest on the internet, like these freaky-cool portable paper towels and ready-made meal plans from RealSimple.

And, in the event that a proverbial little grumpy storm cloud threatens to damper my happy-go-lucky mood, I can also try out some of stress-reducing techniques suggested by Beth in one of her new articles (yay Beth!).

Return to the Land of the Living

Sorry for the patchy blogging over here. It’s not for a lack of material – there’s so much to talk about! Heather Mills and former Miss America on Dancing with the Stars, the first signs of Spring in the Northeast, Paul getting evicted from his apartment and finding us a nice 2 bedroom a block from the beach. Unfortunately I’ve been distracted by the demon virus. Since Friday night the ultimate battle between good and evil has been ragging in my GI tract. Sure, the doctor said it’s just some viral gastro enteritis thingie, but I know that when my stomach pains Monday night almost sent me to the hospital it was because Lucifer and Yahweh themselves were going mano e mano in my small intestine.

I forgot how much being sick sucks. I don’t have cable and I don’t like soap operas or day-time court shows, so I’ve been pretty much shit out of luck on the television front during the day. I bought Lucky, but it just pisses me off how insanely expensive everything in there is. Ooh, I can get a Kale handbag for $516 instead of $645 – ‘Lucky Break’ my eye. Instead, I’ve been sipping my Gatorade, vitamin water, ginger ale and other jewel-toned liquids from my bed. I never thought I’d say it, but thank god for Fox. American Idol to the rescue! I’m back on the couch and inspired to blog away, never mind my body’s violent aversion to solids.

First of all, and I cannot believe I’m going to document this statement, I think Paula Abdul was actually sober on Tuesday night. She made rational comments. They actually had substance. I can’t be absolutely sure because I was so distracted by Sanjaya’s faux hawk, but if she was using substances they were fairly benign. Second major observation, the girls on that show have got to get a new nail artist. I loathe chunky, thick squared off acrylic nails. You can get more natural looking results with Lee press-on’s. Third, not crazy about Haley’s version of “True Colors” but I covet the black dress she was wearing (although I’m not sure how that banded hem would work with my behind). I covet it almost as much as I covet Gwen Stefani’s eye liner.

One final thing I couldn’t quite understand. Did the AI wardrobe budget run out before Jordin could pick out her complete ensemble, forcing one of the interns to run down to a local Papa Gino’s, steal a table cloth and fashion it into a short sleeve zip up hoodie? That doesn’t seem believable, but what’s my other option? Am I really to believe that a) enough people in the fashion industry believed that garment was a good enough idea to bring to production, b) the garment then made it to the AI fashion closet, and c) this girl chose to wear it because she thought it looked good? I might be a little weak from not eating, but I'm not delusional people.

And by the look on Ryan's face I'm guessing he's sharing either my virus or my thoughts about her outfit.

Howdy, Neighbor!

You might think a short morning walk to the ATM and cobbler would be boring, but not when you live in my 'hood. It's amazing what types of characters you can encounter on a 15 min errand run.

• There's the poor guy being wheeled out of NYSC on a gurney sporting an oxygen mask to compliment his racket-ball whites. Oh, beyond middle-aged man, those little blue pills might make you feel like you're 25 between the sheets, but your knees can't be fooled that easily.
• A trip to the ATM - usually a solitary venture - brings us upon the homeless lady that sleeps in the vestibule. My, Lucy (she looks like a Lucy), those ski goggles really do compliment your Reebok high-tops.
• Then we run into a woman tottering down Broadway with a big, black dog (neither the woman nor the dog look entirely comfortable with their current partner) squealing to no one in particular, "Can you get to Broadway from here? Can you get to Broadway? Does anyone know?" I let her know she's on Broadway; it seems like the right thing, although I'm not sure it helped.
• And finally the Shoe Repair Guy, who persists in asking me if I'm a Russian Jew every time I go into his shop, despite my efforts to tell him my closest link to Eastern Europe is my grandmother, a Catholic Pole. He does a fantastic job with my heels, though, and I'm not particularly wedded to my religious background so being mistaken for a Jewess isn't offensive. It just makes me want a pair of diamond earrings.

Oooh, these are the people in my neighborhood, in my neighborhood, in my neigh-bor-hood...

Houston, we have a problem.

Just back from London and while I'd plan to go on and on about how the British will carpet absolutely anything (bathrooms, kitchens, subway seats - honestly, anything) I had an experience in Trader Joe's this morning that I have to share, if for no other reason than because I refuse to suffer alone.

In line in front of me was a woman, all of 5' nothing, with big, brown curly hair. She was wearing - and I could not make this up if I tried - a black lace cami over a blue, NASA jump suit with red cowboy boots.

!!

So many questions! Was she trying to be ironic? Was she just stocking up on snacks before strapping on her adult diaper and driving 800 miles to mace someone? Was she trying to raise awareness about the dangers of unrequited (imagined) love triangles and the potentially psychosis inducing stress working mothers face in male dominated occupations?

Urban Poetry