Friday, April 29, 2005


I'm looking forward to this weekend. Ron and I have a few tentative plans: shopping in Lancaster, dinner out, maybe a movie. It's supposed to pour, so I'm not sure if that will affect our plans. Driving out to Lancaster in a monsoon might not be so fun.

The reason I'm looking forward to this weekend is because it's the last bit of freedom before Ron starts his "admitting resident" service for the month of May. I call it "the end of the world as we know it". Basically, it's a month of working 12 or 18 hour overnight shifts. So he has to sleep during the day, except it takes the body awhile to get used to that. Plus there are still daytime requirements he has to fulfill like clinic on Monday mornings, and hour-long lectures on Tuesdays or Thursdays. Ron becomes a very, very grumpy bear during this month, but that's okay I guess, because I will hardly ever see him. Actually, that makes me sad.

I can't wait for June. Even though in June I turn 3-0.

So I'm looking forward to one last normal weekend.

The Puffer

When we were in NYC for a weekend last month, we did all the typical sightseeing. By the way: Sightseeing+Manahattan=Security Checkpoints. Nearly everything we did required some sort of security check. Which was fine, it's become part of the culture there now. The most intense security check happened at the Statue of Liberty. I was surprised about that actually, that security would be tighter at the Statue than at the Empire State Building. True, the Statue of Liberty is a highly recognizable landmark, with lots of symbolism, but so is the Empire State Building, and frankly, the Empire State Building has more human collateral.

Anyway, so the Statue of Liberty is on an island and the only way to get there is by ferry. The ferry costs $10, but tours of the Statue are free. We waited on an eternal line, in the cold, which moved towards a tent. Inside the tent, we knew, was the usual security check: Empty all your pockets, take off your coat, go through the metal detector, be prepared to be patted down, if necessary, take off your boots, send your purse through an X ray scanner, etc.. So we did all that, and while Ron put his belt back on for the 34th time during that visit to New York, we got ready to board the ferry. The ride over was beautiful. Freezing, because I insisted on being on the top (and outside) deck, but sunny and beautiful. After touring around the island for a bit we scored some tickets to the museum from a Park Ranger--we had previously been told all the reservations were taken. The museum is in the base of the Statue, so we headed towards the security check-point tent.

Once at the tent, a Park Ranger waved a little wand over us to make sure we weren't packing heat and we headed further into the tent towards another line. I was confused. We had already gone through security before we got to the island, and then the half-hearted security wand, so what was this line about? It snaked back and forth and lead to a door which was being opened and closed by another Ranger. Was it just a line to get in? No, I noticed the Ranger was searching each person's bags as he let them in through the door.

Then we heard a noise. A series of noises, actually. It sort of sounded like short bursts of machinery running. It was a very systematic set of bursts of noises, over and over again. Ron and I looked at each other. What is THAT? We couldn't see what was happening beyond the doors inside. As we got closer, there were TVs providing instructions for this security checkpoint. That's right, off with belt again, Ron. Finally, at the front of the line, I let the Ranger search my purse. Once through the doors, I saw the most peculiar thing. They looked like metal detectors, except they appeared to be blowing powerful puffs of air (or something) at the person standing within the frame of the metal detector-looking thingy. That was the noise we were hearing from the outside. Wild.

I asked one of the security people what it was. "It detects whether there are any chemicals on you." Really? Is it going to pick up that I'm wearing Chanel No.5? And why don't we have these at our airports? This cutting edge technology is reserved for the Statue of Liberty?

I thought it was kind of funny. My hair had been pulled up, but I let it down, specifically so it would fly in every direction while I was in "The Puffer". It felt kind of funny get hit with air. I was a little nervous, because security checkpoints and I generally don't get along. I have yet to fly since 9/11 and not get selected for a "special screening" or have my luggage torn open or need a "female assist", which is code for "another woman needs to feel this passenger's boobs." So I was a little worried that The Puffer would set off all sorts of sirens and alarms and we'd be in lock-down mode forever. Fortunately, I passed through with flying colors. Apparently, they don't care what perfume you're wearing.

I've since learned that a couple of airports are currently using The Puffer and more are planning on using them soon. Puffers. Soon we can all look forward to being Puffed when we fly. Puff on.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Top Gun

For the first time ever, I think I'm jealous of Tom Cruise.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005


Wow. A little too much like "Psycho."

Obvious Realization of the Day

That it's a lot harder to sculpt a body at 30 than it was at 22.

Song of the Day

Because it's stuck in my head is "1 Thing" by Amerie.

Monday, April 25, 2005


A conversation between myself and Ron's 3-year-old niece:
Me (reading one of many, many Disney Princess stories): Okay and what do you think happens next?
S: The birds give her a bath!
Me (bending over to put a sock back on her 5 month old cousin for the 40th time): That's right! And I think they're going to help Cinderella with all the housework too.
S: What's that?
Me: What's what, honey?
S (pointing to something on my back): What's that?
Me (confused): What are you talking about, silly?
S (pulling up my shirt): THAT!
Me (thinking, Crap, it's my tatoo. Do I tell her it's a tatoo? How do I explain that? That it's like a picture? Am I corrupting her?) Oh that? That's um...
S: I know what it is!
Me: You know what it is? Really?
S: It's a tatoo.
Me (shocked): You're three. How do you know what a tatoo is?
S: I have a tatoo.
Me: You have a tatoo? Okay, where is your tatoo?
S: I washed it off. I got it at Mickey's house.
Me: Oh, you had a washable tatoo from Disney World? What was it?
S: Minnie. But I washed it off so it's not there any more (lifting her shirt to show me where on her tummy it was).
Me: Well I guess I have to try to wash mine off.
S: Yeah, you need a bath.
Me: Thanks, kid.

Naughty Boy

You know you shouldn't be reading this, right?

Going to the Chapel

Okay, not so much, because Heather's getting married on the beach, not in a chapel. Actually,
it's a little unclear who is marrying her. Anyway, our dresses are picked. The color will be blue breeze. Envision it without the horrific neck flowers the model has on.

I think we'll look pretty. Maybe a bit like cotton candy. But pretty.


So 11 months into my gym membership, I finally made good on my promise to myself to take a class. I decided on Sunday morning to go to a stretching class. I figured it was a good way to ease into classes. I want to work up to taking power yoga, but the very concept of adding "power" to "yoga" seems unsettling. Anyway, so I go to this stretching class which turns out to be less about stretching and more about bodily contortion. I'm very flexible in some ways but totally inflexible in others. I can put my feet behind my head (hold your comment, please) but I can't touch my toes. Anyway, after 60 minutes of feeling like my hamstrings were going to snap, I decided to push myself a little and do my usual work out routine*

*please note: this means I was at the gym for 2 solid hours. TWO SOLID HOURS. Do you understand how dedicated I am???

Anyway, I did the bike, I did stairmaster, I did weights. I came home, completely spent, but feeling pretty good about myself. I rewarded myself with two desserts last night. TWO desserts for the TWO hours I spent at the gym. I didn't even feel guilty about it. I felt damn good.

Today, however, is a whole new ballgame. My thighs are screaming at me, "You damn bitch, what were you thinking spending TWO SOLID HOURS at the gym yesterday? Idiot."

Tonight, more punishment. Some sort of aerobic activity for 45 minutes, maybe 50 if I'm lucky. I may throw in weights, too but since I did them yesterday, I may lay off that. Crunches and yoga at home to top everything off.

Have I mentioned that I hate working out?

Friday, April 22, 2005

Random Fact of the Day

One of my guilty pleasure movies:
The Cutting Edge

I don't even really like figure skating. As a sport, I mean.


Okay, this about made me pee in my pants.

Song of the Day

Because it's stuck in my head is "Broken" by Seether.

Thursday, April 21, 2005



Wednesday, April 20, 2005


So there's a new pope. Saying "Pope Benedict the Sixteenth" makes me trip over my own tongue for some reason, so I've been thinking of calling him something else. I like "Pope Ratzinger." Ratzinger. Has a ring to it doesn't it? The Ratzinger. It sounds like he could a character in a sci-fi movie. My favorite name, though, is "God's Rottweiler," which is apparently a nickname of his (probably much to his dismay).

There's a lot of grumbling about the need for reform in the Catholic Church, particularly as it relates to women's roles and priests marrying. People all over are bitching that Pope BXVI is too conservative, that change will not come with his papacy.

Did anyone think it would? I, for one, did not. No matter who the pope was. Christianity is 2000 years old. I won't pretend that I know much about when the Catholic doctrine started. Let's just say it's been the way it is forever for the most part. Vatican II provided some reform, maybe it seems to me anyway, mainly so that we could understand Masses in our own languages. I know the scope of Vatican II was greater than that, but since it happened before I was born, all I ever think about is that Masses were said in Latin back in the day.

I'm a woman and I don't feel the least bit alienated by the fact that only men hold positions of power in the Church. I've been hearing a lot about "American Cafeteria Catholics"--a term I had never heard before. I guess I am a Cafeteria Catholic. I assumed almost everyone was. But it seems that a majority, although not all, of the calls for reform come from the U.S. Catholics. U.S. Catholics, however, do not represent a majority of Catholics. I tend to forget that. Just because we want something to be a certain way, doesn't mean it should be that way.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Pope Benedict XVI

We didn't have to wait long. Anyone who was hoping for reform in the church can pretty much kiss that thought goodbye.

Song of the Day

Because it's stuck in my head is "Karma" by Alicia Keys.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Drowning in Debt

I just read this article and I'm glad this issue is getting noticed. I felt this way in college: I needed to go to college to get a job and I needed a job to pay for college. Of course I went to a private college, and could have saved myself a lot of college loan debt if I had gone to a state school. Same thing with grad school: I chose a private Ivy League. I could have gone to Temple. Turns out ivy league isn't worth the hype, but Temple's one very small step above community college. And I'm a snob.

Anyway, I think aside from college, a large part of the problem is that people in their 20s today (myself included) have this instant gratification thing going on. If you want something, you whip out your credit card and buy it. I'm not even talking about super large purchases: a sweater here, curtains there, a new CD.... it all adds up. Back in the day (did I really just type that?) people used to save money and not buy more than they could afford. Aside from a morgage, my parents have never had any debt. Ever. I find that pretty damn impressive. I just recently paid off my credit cards. I still have educational loan debt but you can bet I'll never have credit card debt again.

Butt Bows

I survived. And by survival I mean that I did not cause myself or anyone else as I tried on about 53 dresses on Saturday. We're down to about 3 options for the bridesmaids. All of them look very nice. To her credit, Heather is really concentrating on what the dresses will cost and making sure all the bridesmaids look good in the dress (of course, any dress picked won't look 100% ideal on all 5 of us, we're all totally different shapes, but she's really thinking about flattering styles).

I would be happy with any of the dresses. There's one that I think my boobs may have a problem staying in, but hey, that would make the wedding more interesting. I do have my favorite, but my favorite is organza which wrinkles very easily and I totally acknowledge is a problem. If only it came in another fabric. Whatever dress is decided upon, the color will be an ice blue, which will look really cool. Ironically, there was a purple dress I tried on (well, I think the color was eggplant) that was actually very flattering. Because I love purple.

Honestly, I have no idea how people plan weddings. They're exhausting.


Honestly, I think some people need to lighten up. If your 12 year old is kicking in doors and you feel you need to call 911 to get it resolved, bad jokes a dispatcher made is the least of your problems.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Charming Me

While I'm pouring my coffee in WaWa, some guy, probably in his mid-40s, who is pouring his coffee next to me looks over and says, "Your coat's really cool." I don't know what charmed me more, that he complimented my new tapestry-inspired coat, or that for the first time in a long time, a stranger managed to speak to me and not seem like a crazy creep. I smiled all morning.


Awhile back Ron and I were having a conversation about kids and he said something that indicated that he thought I would be staying at home if we had them. It was like the motion of the earth suddenly came to a complete stop.
Me: Wait. What? Do you think I'm staying home with the kids?
R: Well, I don't know...
Me: I mean I know it's better for the children if their mother is at home. And you and I were both raised by stay-at-home moms...
R: You know you won't have to work, right?
Me: (blink) I never really thought about it.
R: Well, it wouldn't be a bad thing. You being at home with the kids, I mean.

Right, I think to myself, not a bad thing for you, because it doesn't really impact you.

Here's the thing: I'm pretty independent. I won't say I have drive, because if you compare me to my brother, I am so NOT driven, but I like not depending on anyone. In the past, this has served me well. I put myself through college. It wasn't easy. I put myself through grad school. I've worked hard, I've gotten oodles of promotions, I've tripled my salary within 7 years.

My mom was the best stay-at-home mom ever. She completely and totally dedicated herself to her kids, something I had less of an appreciation for as I got older. She didn't drive, so she would either walk my brother and I to our various extra-curricular activities or she would take public transporation with us. While my dad was working, my mom, brother and I went everywhere together. When I think about schleping two kids on city buses criss-crossing Staten Island for soccer games and gymnastics and every other sport under the sun, OH MY GOD, I could so never do it. What a pain. But my mother did it without complaint. Just because she couldn't drive us, didn't mean we weren't going to go to all our parties and games. She was a saint.

But as I got older, specifically an obnoxious teenager, I looked at my mother differently. I thought it was sad that she didn't have her own life. When she mentioned something about "her money", I smirked because I knew it was really my father's money. I mean she didn't have any money of her own, she didn't work! I did mention I was obnoxious, right? That thought process, compounded by being on my own at a fairly young age, caused a streak of independence that is very difficult to compromise.

The truth is, I would be terrified to be a stay-at-home mom, because, for me, it means surrendering my life to other people, to my husband and children. Not having my own money that I earned with a real paycheck. Now, I'm not putting down anyone who chooses to stay at home. I don't doubt that for any frustrations experienced, there is a greater sense of fullfillment when women are full time mothers. Maybe I would feel that too. Maybe I wouldn't.

Here's what I think: I think I would be bored. I think post-pardum depression would hit hard. I think I would feel resentment at giving up my work, my career. I think I would resent my husband for not having to give up his. I think I don't have much patience. I think I'm not social enough to join those damn "mommy and me" get togethers, so that I would still have adult interaction. I think day care isn't a bad thing. In fact, Ron's niece, who is as spoiled as the day is long, goes to a preschool (she's 3 years old) so she can interact with other kids. It's done wonders for her temperment. I don't think moms who work, even if they don't have to, love their children any less. I don't think you have to be with your kids 24 hours a day to raise them well and love them well. When I think of all the unfit mothers out there, me wanting to work 20-35 hours a week doesn't seem so terrible.

I'm not vehemently opposed to staying at home, if I ever even have kids. Maybe once I have a child I'll want nothing more than to stay home. I can think of a good compromise: staying at home most of the time and going back to school part time. Because I feel a docorate degree calling.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

The Mess

I previously posted about spring cleaning. I realized last night that, really, it was the kind of spring cleaning where you pull everything out of the closets, throw things away, and then don't have the energy to put the remaining items back in the closets. So really, I just made a mess.

My apologies to Christy and Michelle who will see the mess, this evening.


I have a new friend. I've named him Sparky. He's living in my office and keeps me company.

Sparky is roach the size of my head. Oy.

Jewish Mafia

I'm standing at the check-out line of the grocery story and this kid, well, this guy, who is maybe in his early 20s, gets in line behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that he's one of those sort of skater guys, with the jeans that have legs that bellbottom out so wide, they cover his shoes and zipped up sweatshirt with the hood up. I hear him mumble something behind me but have no idea what he said or if he was talking to me. Then he very deliberately leaned into me and said, "You agree with me, don't you?"

Here's the thing, if I don't know you and you talk to me, I assume you're crazy. I don't particularly enjoy people who I don't know and who are crazy.

So, I turn to look at this person, because if you're crazy or harmful or whatever, I want you to know that I know what you look like. And I can pick you out of a lineup. In doing this, I notice two things: that he has a scraggily red goatee-beard, you know one of those goatees, not a full beard, where the hair is about 5 inches long, and that his eyebrows have been recently plucked pencil thin.

Anyway, I don't say anything, totally planning to ignore this guy. I hear more mumbling, then "why you have to torture animals". Great, I think, looking at the chicken cutlets on the register belt in front of me, this guy is some PETA freak that's going to flip out that I'm buying meat. Then the guy leans towards me again and says in a low voice, "The thing about my family is that we're Jewish mafia and we kill people like you."

Well, well, this is getting more interesting I think to myself. I conclude that this guy isn't a PETA freak after all, but is probably high as a kite on crack, possibly with some bipolar disorder thrown in for good measure. I turn and glance at this guy again (oh my GOD, those eyebrows) and give him my best don't-fuck-with-me look, complete with one cocked eyebrow, the kind of look that has been known to freeze over parts of the Gulf of Mexico. He proceeded to mumble, presumably to me, about Lord only knows what. I pick up certain words like, "kill", "fucking", "mafia", "you" "animals".

I sigh, and wish for the millionth time that day that I lived in a time and place where I could say whatever I wanted and the repercussions would not involve me sustaining bodily harm. Because it took everything in me not to whip around and say, "First off, whoever does your eyebrows, THAT person should be killed. Second, I don't know who you think you are, but you need to shut the fuck up."

By this time I'm bagging my grocercies and the cashier is shooting the guy strange looks, possibily because of the eyebrows, but probably because of the muttering. She looks at me. I shrug my shoulders and indicate with a twirl of my finger near my head, that I think he's crazy. Cashier laughs.

I worried that Mr. Jewish Mafia/Eyebrow Freak would follow me once outside, because he only had two grocery items so he would be exiting the store quickly. As much as I joke about it, I'm fully aware of how dangerous people can be. So I booked it. And looked over my shoulder every few minutes.

Hopefully, that's the last time I'll be threatened by the mafia. Living in Philly, however, it will not be the last time I deal with a crazy.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Is it Friday Yet?

I'm looking forward to this weekend. One of my good friends is coming into town. Which is fun in and of itself. Plus we're going to have a good laugh at me trying on bridesmaid's gowns. Heather and I have very different tastes, so it will make for an interesting day. Unfortunately, for being a major city, Philly has a dirth of bridal stores, particularly in Center City. So we're going to "the northest", Elkins Park and Wynnewood. We're going to spend more time in the car than looking at dresses. Then we're going to down as many cosmos as humanly possible. Sounds like a plan, right?

Also, I'm enjoying the news of Britney's pregnancy immensely. Because over the next 9 months, that girl is going to get BIG AS A HOUSE. Not nearly as big as she'll get when Kevin leaves her, but still. It's like watching a train wreck. It's like watching white trash.

And I wholeheartedly agreed with Andy Borowitz who said this morning on CNN, "The dark side of this is that Kevin Federline is reproducing at an alarming rate." Right on. Kevin is total slimy leech--he's only 26 and will have 3 children by 2 different women? He's totally not using you, Brit. Yeah, right.


No not me. Britney. For Christ's sake Britney, you're only 23! Get a grip.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


That this weekend is going to be interesting.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Spring Cleaning

I went nuts cleaning this weekend. I finally attacked my storage closet and reorganized it so I can get to everything. My nemisis wound up being a mountain bike that was monopolizing the area. I wound up fighting with it for about 45 minutes. Seriously, it was a battle, but I emerged victorious. I threw out 5 bags worth of old junk I didn't need anymore.

It was a gorgeous weekend here in the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection. Spring was in the air and I took the opportunity to re-pot all of my plants. I also got some herbs: rosemary, sage and parsley. I'm not sure how much success I'll have in growing them, but it'll be fun to try.

Tonight I'm attacking my closet. Time to get rid of old clothes and shoes.

One of the reasons my spring cleaning has kicked into high gear is that one of my best friends is coming to visit this weekend. We're going to look at bridesmaid's dresses. She's the bride. I'm the maid. She and I have decidedly different tastes, so this should be interesting. But I told her that I would wear a purple potato sack if she wanted me too.

And I hate purple.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Happy Unbirthday

Yesterday was my friend Deidre's 30th birthday, or as she likes to call it, the 1st anniversay of her 29th birthday. She's being difficult by not readily agreeing to do anything fun this weekend. So if you're reading this, De, LET'S DO SOMETHING FUN SOMETIME THIS WEEKEND. You only get one first anniversary of your 29th birthday, after all. Might as well live it up.


A corrupted server resulted in an email outage for the last week. That's 7 days with no access to email at work. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get work done with no email?? Completely unacceptable. It means I have to call people instead of emailing people. I hate talking to people.

Charming Me

I was teasing two of the contractors who are wiring our new office, in such a way that if you did not know I was teasing, you would think I was serious and it would seem mean. However, the wiring guys and I are all on good terms and pass the time by slinging teasing comments at each other. The guy who pulls our trash everyday overheard me making such comments to the wiring guys and thinking that my honor, or perhaps my very life, was in jeopordy, walks over to me and says, "These guys giving you a problem?" He said it in such a way that that I knew if I responded that they were indeed giving me a problem, he would beat the ever-living shit out of them. And it warmed my heart to see a man willing to stick up for a woman, even if am taller than that man and would probably have more success in beating thugs to a pulp than he. However since everyone was just teasing and there was no foul play involved, I assured him that his services were not needed. It warmed my heart just the same.

Chivalry is not dead, after all.

Thursday, April 07, 2005


I've been watching a lot of Pope coverage. Because I was only 3 years old when Pope John Paul II was elected, I didn't know a lot about the man's life. Like that his name is Karol, which I find endlessly endearing. There was so much I didn't know, so much suffering that one man faced. Most of his family members died when he was quite young and Karol served in slave labor during WWII. When most Polish men were arrested after the Warsaw uprising, Karol was spared because he was praying in an underground room. His name, however, was blacklisted and he would have been killed if discovered before the end of the war. He abandoned his love of theatre and entered a secret seminary. The rest is history.

I've seen the pictures of Pope John Paul from his early days as Pope. I was too young to really remember. How handsome and strong he seemed then. The stories I've heard about him are charming. He seemed to have a sense of humor. His plane was called "Shepard One"; the media plane that usually followed his was called "Wolf One". The Pope-mobile makes me chuckle.

The conclave starts in 11 days. I wonder what the new pope will be like. I wonder if Karol's past suffering made him such a compassionate person. I wonder if the new pope will have that compassion and more. I wonder if he will have suffered.

Pope John Paul will be buried tomorrow. I still sometimes get teary watching the media coverage of his life. He didn't fullfill all of the wishes of the American Church, but he was, unquestionably, a good man. A very good little old man.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


It's springtime in the city. Today was the first time since probably October that I've walked to work wearing a suit and no overcoat. Glorious.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Completely Inappropriately Funny

So Ron and I are talking about the Conclave yesterday and about how the Sistine Chapel is swept for bugs and other electronic devices. The following conversation ensues:
R: I think Fox should tape the Conclave.
Me: You know the whole area is swept for stuff like that, right? There's no way Fox could tape it. And imagine if they did somehow? They would be fried.
R: Well I think they should tape it. Fox will air anything. In fact, they should send in a fake Cardinal to sit in with all the other Cardinals.
Me: Oh right. You think the other Cardinals wouldn't notice that there was a fake Cardinal among them?
R: There's lots of Cardinals, they haven't all met each other. Some of them don't even speak the same language. Fox could make it happen.
Me: You're a nut.
R: They could make a whole show about it. Have the fake Cardinal say stuff like he was only going to vote for a Pope who has back hair. Call it "My Big, Fat, Obnoxious Cardinal" or something.

So very, very wrong.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Holy Father

I just got off the phone with my mother. I'm refreshing my browser on CNN every minute for news on the Pope; she's watching FoxNews, where they're stating that they are awaiting an announcement from the Vatican. I fear the worst. Apparently, what I'm missing on TV is the cameras zooming in on the windows to the Pope's suite, which will be closed once he passes away. Such traditions. Sometimes it's the traditions that get me.

By the time I post again, the Pope will most likely be in Heaven.

Things That Make Me Want To Throw Up

The Charles and Camilla wedding. Gag me with a fork.

Salad Dressing

Very mature.

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