Friday, June 30, 2006


Last night I was treated to dinner with Karen and the fam as part of Meat Aid '06 (a.k.a. "we discovered a gremlin left the freezer door open and we're giving away all the rapidly thawing meat") and the older sprout was lamenting a wound he'd recently received (casualty of going shirtless) piteously throughout. No amount of boo-boo kissing from Mama, or ice, or helpful suggestions that he had experienced worse and lived, could convince him that the pain he was suffering right then was not the worst thing that had ever happened. It was a brush burn in his underarm region that was freshly pink and it did look a little ticklish, I have to admit, but surely not worth the strident and anxious protests.


After I carried off my meaty booty and reached home, I thought I would do a little personal grooming, as is my wont. Long story short, I guess I really shouldn't use Nair on my underarms beacuse I have a rash under my left ampit right in the bend. Guess what? It HURRRRTS!
I didn't want to put on clothes, I didn't want to put anything on it and I definitely didn't want to touch it. The sting is very, very distracting and even small movements are noticeable.

I feel your pain, little one.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

You deserve it

I'm going crazy with the weird google searches since it is the quietest thing I can do to amuse myself during long conference calls.

Stacey deserves a second chance at happiness and true freedom for the first time in her life.
Stacey deserves a worse fate than death
Stacey deserves her own action figure
Stacey deserves no more hope or mercy than she offered Alex 18 years ago.
Stacey deserves to be the cross-over voice of the new millennium.
Stacey deserves this recognition.
Stacey deserves the extra juice
Stacey deserves the whole thing; who cares if she is a wrestler?
only Stacey deserves my zealous love
Stacey deserves getting punched
Stacey deserves to know the truth.
Stacey deserves to lose her husband and be left alone
Stacey deserves whatever Dr . Phil throws at her
stacey deserves to be told that Tommy's a werewolf
Stacey deserves to never work again

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Name Twin

I'm a big copycat. Aubrey had this first.

I googled myself to see who else came up.

So far I have discovered myself as:

a recording artist
a student reporter
and a college student in a facebook .

I still say "I googled myself" sounds potentially dirty.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Pickup lines

I'm skimming Shere Hite's gigantic Women and Love and came across an amusing collection of pickup lines reported to Shere by women on college campuses. Some favorites:

Would you like to see my marble collection?
Would you like some affection?
It's the will of God.
Let's merge.
We can get rid of the sexual tension in our friendship.
I'm (insert age here). Can you believe I'm a virgin?
How do you like your eggs? (True story: Young Scott has a friend who got a tattoo of bacon and eggs on his chest. He shows it to prospective, I mean unwitting, females and asks if they'd like breakfast in bed. No, it's never worked.)
I'm confused about my sexuality. Can you help me figure it out?
Nice dress, can I talk you out of it?
I like your legs. I'd like them better if they were in the air.
Do you want to get a pizza and have sex? (she refuses) What's the matter, you don't like pizza?
Do you want to have sex? No? Neither do I, let's get it over with.
I'm not wearing underwear.
I think I'm in love - but you'll do for tonight.
My zipper is reaching critical mass.

Did men actually think these would WORK? Astonishing.

Weather or not

To quote my youthful coworker Scott, who occasionally uses colorful and pungent language, it's been hot as balls here in the Northeast. Actually, it really, truly isn't the heat, it's the humidity.
Do you suppose that that expression is such a cliche, and is hated as such, because it is so effing accurate?

I've been told that my great grandmother was a Southern belle who liked to make a lot of her gentility and delicate nature. I assume I inherited this quality, because I haaaaate humidity. Ugh! I don't mind feeling hot, but being consistently damp and sticky is like inhabiting the seventh level of hell. In the past couple of years I've been to Arizona/New Mexico no fewer than five times and I have to say, they do hot weather right. Yes, that other cliche. It really IS a dry heat, and I really like it.

To be contrary, of course, I rarely if ever use my central air because I am a fresh air freak, and also was born and raised in a household that was stoic and old-fashioned about such "luxuries" as AC. So I change clothes at least twice a day, shower frequently, and make inordinate use of talcum powder in certain places to avoid prickly heat.

This past weekend has been especially brutal because in addition to the humidity, it's been raining off and on since Friday night, with enough irregularity to make outdoor activities difficult if not impossible. A trip to Storm King a friend and I have been planning for a month was cancelled yet again as thunderstorms were predicted for that area. Something about open fields and monumentally tall metal sculptures didn't seem like a good mix to us. So I've been indoors mainly, muttering, puttering, cleaning, and sweating, moving fans around the place to oscillate in my specific direction at every turn.

I must announce the imminent demise of my summer frock. This is an empire-waisted voluminous gauze number that serves as a housedress when it is too dang hot to wear much of anything. The unconstructed fit has no waistband to bind/chafe and the fabric swishing around my legs feels nice and relaxing. I have a vintage cotton caftan purchased at a rummage sale a while back that I have great hope for, but I may have to retire the original frock and hope a true replacement shows up soon after. This one is beginning to take on the transparency of tissue and I fear tearing will be inevitable.

At any rate, I awoke this morning with an idea. I could get out of the house for a while and stare at walls not my own, AND get some writing (if not actual work I brought home) done, AND enjoy AC I wasn't paying for if I hied me to the nearest Borders cafe. So away I went with my laptop. What did I expect on a rainy Sunday? Peace and quiet and a table by the window that was also miraculously near an outlet. What did I get? Screaming children, tables all taken, and no joy in the prospect of huddling on the floor behind the men's magazine rack, where a lone outlet taunted me. I browsed a few DVDs and left, and it dawned on me that the only time Borders would be a good choice for hanging with my laptop is weekdays, when I'm ensconced at work. Gah.

You can't always get what you want, no?

Mental Health Chicken

Many moons ago, when my sister was still in college and I was living at home, there appeared in our Sunday Buffalo News an illustration of a frolicking chicken. It probably accompanied an article featuring chicken recipes; I really don't remember.

But because I had spent some time during my sophomore year of college (both of them) battling depression, and my sister was studying to become a psychiatric nurse, the happy image became dubbed "The Mental Health Chicken." I believe she even cut it out and hung it up in her dorm room.

As the years went by, we would refer to visits from the Mental Health Chicken as some people talked about getting a quarter from the Tooth Fairy. "The Mental Health Chicken will rescue you," we'd remind each other when things were getting us down.

Well, the other week I received a birthday card from E. and it featured a picture of a little girl riding a chicken on an old-timey carousel. "It's your birthday!" it crowed. "Ride the wild chicken!"

And inside was this little ditty. It, and the memories of times with my sister, brought a tear to my eye, they really did.

It's the Mental Health Chicken!
Jump on, and hold on tight!
Visit happy places, both day and night!
Lay golden eggs of mirth and joy,
with all your might!
You'll both cackle with delight,
'Cuz mental wellness is out of sight!