Inane Ramblings or ... Anne F. Is My Only Normal Friend
Or so she says... Then again, she drives 3 hours just to get a haircut.
I have a question: Are all lesbians crazy? Are they? If someone can just verify that, I'll be able to sleep at night, and no longer be worried that it's just me. Unless ... it IS me. Hmm. (I know Eric is sitting there, reading this, thinking "Jesus, is she still pondering that? I thought we decided they were about 5 years ago. Crazy lesbian.")
Jack told me a new joke last night: Have you heard of the new cereal Queerios? You put them in a bowl and they eat themselves. Ha. He also explained to me what precisely a "squamba" is. Very enlightening. If you want to know, email me.
2 more weeks until school ..... I actually dug out my old chem books to begin reviewing and almost had a panic attack. I forgot how much nomenclature I have to re-memorize. Perhaps I'll be slithering back into my cucoon sooner than I thought.

Deb just shoved a Q-Tip so far into her ear canal it made her cough. And then she wonders why I yell at her because she doesn't hear a damn thing.

CT DMV Can Kiss My Squamba
An hour and 20 minutes. That's how long it took me to drive to work today. I only live 15 minutes away!!! Why did it take so long? Well, as if I-95 isn't a horrifying nightmare to begin with, the geniuses at DMV and Emissions sent a letter out a week ago to everyone whose emissions would expire on June 28 stating that if they did not have their cars tested by today, their registraion would be cancelled. So... this morning, the line to get into emissions in Darien, CT -- which is located in a rest area on I-95 -- caused a traffic back up from Darien to Bridgeport -- about 20 miles. On a Friday morning. I can't even begin to fathom the depth of ineptitude that permeates that agency. Are they that hard up for money? Why weren't the letters sent out a month ago? Why, all of a sudden, does it mean automatic registraion cancellation instead of the hefty $30 fine they love to impose? Why? Because they are complete jackasses. Yeah, everyone waits until the last minute... but they are cramming a month's worth of emissions into a week. Really smart. Good thinking. Stellar work, guys. Just stellar. What will you do for your next trick? Pull your heads out of your asses? That might be a toughy!! But I say "Go for it!"
Assholes.
I'm leaving work early today so I don't get screwed yet again.

Holy shit am I tired. We rowed our asses off this morning. And ... I am joining the master's program!! Woohoo! That means I get to compete in the fall regattas. It's only going to be 2 -4 days a week (depending on my preference) for the next several months, which is much easier for me than daily. Except we row from 5:30-7:00am instead of 6-7:30am. So, I'll be rising before the rooster at a very unpleasant 5 am. Yuck.
But I won't be so tired at the gym in the evenings if I'm not rowing daily. I ran 2 miles last night and almost fell off the treadmill I was so exhausted. OK, so I had 2 Coronas before that which probably didn't help. (I was out to dinner with my peeps after a failed attempt at shooing hoops in the rain.)
Tonight is my last sailing race until the end of August. I'm bummed.. but I'm going to COLONY PIZZA afterwards!!! Wooohoooo!!!
Who, me, addicted to that pizza?? Pah.
I call it pleasantly obsessed with perfection.

Don't Like My Beliefs? So Sue Me
This just in ... SAN FRANCISCO, California (AP) -- For the first time ever, a federal appeals court declared the Pledge of Allegiance unconstitutional Wednesday because of the words "under God" added by Congress in 1954. The 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals said the phrase amounts to a government endorsement of religion in violation of the Constitution's Establishment Clause, which requires a separation of church and state.
"A profession that we are a nation 'under God' is identical, for Establishment Clause purposes, to a profession that we are a nation 'under Jesus,' a nation 'under Vishnu,' a nation 'under Zeus,' or a nation 'under no god,' because none of these professions can be neutral with respect to religion," Judge Alfred T. Goodwin wrote for the three-judge panel.
The court noted that the U.S. Supreme Court has said students cannot hold religious invocations at graduations and cannot be compelled to recite the pledge. But when the pledge is recited in a classroom, a student who objects is confronted with an "unacceptable choice between participating and protesting," the appeals court said.
"Although students cannot be forced to participate in recitation of the pledge, the school district is nonetheless conveying a message of state endorsement of a religious belief when it requires public school teachers to recite, and lead the recitation of, the current form of the pledge," the court said.
The case was brought by Michael A. Newdow, a Sacramento atheist who objected because his second-grade daughter was required to recite the pledge at the Elk Grove school district. A federal judge dismissed his lawsuit, but the 9th Circuit ordered that the case proceed to trial.
"I'm an American citizen. I don't like my rights infringed upon by my government," he said in an interview. Newdow called the pledge a "religious idea that certain people don't agree with."

My 2 cents:
So what next -- is this guy going to go after the US Treasury to remove In God We Trust from all our currency?

Let me preface this rant: I consider myself an atheist, a liberal, and a tax payer who loves her country. With that, yes, I agree with him in that his daughter shouldn't have to recite anything against her beliefs. Yes, he had a very good point, church and state should be separate. Absolutely. I personally have strong feelings about this. But I think kids having the option to not recite it in a classroom was enough. Or even better: One Nation, Under [insert name of preferred deity here or leave blank], with Liberty and Justice for All." I mean... what the hell is wrong with that?
Wasting taxpayer money and court time doesn't solve much in this case.
It means his daughter, and thousands of other kids don't have to recite something whose meaning they probably aren't even aware of. Older kids, yeah.. but not the little ones.
I guarantee some parent in some school district will invoke the Freedom of Speech right and kids who WANT to say "under God" will be able to, while kids that don't will be ostracized anyway. And then this guy's kid is still going to get her ass kicked because she's opting out. Of course, he's going to have to sue about having his kid's civil rights violated again.
I'd have to think that 90% of the time, recitation is done by rote, and kids generally have NO IDEA what they are even saying. It's like mindless chanting. (It was for me when I was 10) They're more concerned with their lunchbox or GameBoy or how to annoy the kid in front of them than being patriotic or religious. Go ahead and ask any kid in 7th grade or less what "indivisible" means. Or to define his civil liberties. Guaranteed you'll get a blank stare more often than not.

I've recently been asked several times "Why do you do so much? Why can't you relax?" I've had several variations on my reply, including the standard "I have ADD, so I don't know how to not multitask/relax/do only one thing." But an old quote I recently stumbled across gave me the exact answer I needed:

"An idle mind is the Devil's playground."

I find that when I am not studying or activley involved in some pursuit that involves constant concentration, be it scuba diving, shooting, painting, or working out, I find myself getting entrenched in unnecessary drama. Up to no good. When I am focused on a task, my mind does not wander. I don't have time to overanalyze, criticize, judge or complain, unless it's about my workload. And that's my own doing.

So there you have it. My answer to inner peace and tranquility: Use your brain.

Hoooooooooooooo doggy! I am getting buff from rowing! :) Lost another pound, too. he he. Only a zillion more to go. OK OK, another 25 or so.

I'm really liking this rowing thing - I'd actually consider buying my own scull if I already wasn't thinking about buying a ski boat, new telescope and oh yeah, paying my tuition. Mmmm that reminds me... Countdown till insanity: 19 days. And I still haven't opened a chem book to review.

Speaking of school, Deb picked up all her old college stuff from her parents' house last Saturday. She went through it last night, and in amongst the crap was the very first birthday card I ever sent her. Man, I was a sappy thing when I was 22. Pathetic. She also found some old loveletters from her ex psychos girlfriends. Gee.. and all this time I thought she threw them out. (Ahem.) On her 21st birthday - the first one I celebrated with her (we were only "going out" for 3 months at the time) - 2 of her exes showed up unannounced. Yes, 2. The whore. One brought flowers. The other brought drama. I was not amused. They didn't stay long.
13 years later, looks like I brought the best gift: Flexibility. Yes yes, I was very talented back then. Ahh.. the days of yore...

Got this from my buddy Eric. Think you know me? We'll see about that!
One of these things is a lie. Can you figure it out?

1. One of my nicknames used to be Winky.
2. I have had two stalkers.
3. I have been arrested for serving to minors and had the charges dropped.
4. I’ve had 4 dogs in my lifetime.
5. I climbed Mt. Washington.
6. I’ve been to 15 different countries.
7. I learned to handicap racehorses when I was 7.
8. For years I had a lock of Secretariat’s mane until my dog ate it.
9. I have read the complete works of Shakespeare twice.
10. I have never been skinny dipping.

Well, here's my dykewrite writing assignment -- enjoy.

10 Things I Am and Am Not

I am:

1. Hot. As in temperature. (Well, yes, I'm incredibly sexy, but that's not what I was referring to) Right now, it’s really hot in my office. And every time I open the window to get a cool breeze, 27 yellow jackets fly in and try to attack me. My officemate saves me everyday. I think hearing a lesbian scream unnerves him.

2. Positive that small animals could learn to eat cake instead of insects and that we most certainly can do without several lower levels of the food chain.

3. Certain that laughing hard and often is the only way to live your life.

4. Completely in awe of survivors. I’ve never fought off an illness that quite possibly could have killed me. The strength I see in [insert illness here] survivors, how they carry themselves every day, how they keep on living life, how they let it affect them in a positive way is something I think I could never have the strength to do.

5. Trying to be cautious of making sweeping generalizations. I slip more often than I’m sure I’m aware of.

6. Someone who curses way the fuck too much.

7. A lot more even-tempered than I was 10 years ago, and 180 degrees from what I was 20 years ago.

8. Too often too forgiving. Too often too tolerant.

9. Baffled by the three hairs growing on my big toe where I had poison ivy a few weeks ago.

I am not:

74. So hot at math.

2. At all impressed by fame or fortune. Matter of fact, both bore me. Yawn.

3. The jealous type. Unless someone’s flirting with my wife. Then I usually just put their head through a wall and poof! Jealousy problem solved.

4. Religious.

5. A virgin. Unless ... well, I'm not sure if that counted. Hmm.

6. The antichrist.

7. In the greatest shape. But I am working on it.

8. A member of the NRA. Fuck ‘em. Ha.

9. In the mood to spend 5 weeks in a chemistry class. But I’m going to do it anyway.

The USPS can bite me.

I've recently received a notice from the USPS that our zip code is changing. Not just by one or two numbers, but by 3. For what? It's not like they recently added more land to the state of Connecticut. It's not like when cell phones came into being and we needed more area codes to help ease the burden (which I still don't get). Nevertheless, my zip code is changing, but I am going to be a stubborn pain in the ass and not adhere to it. Why? Because the fuckers are raising the costs of stamps AGAIN, even though people like ME pay bills ONLINE. I don't even use stamps. Maybe if they stopped carrying around so much shit -- marketing materials, credit card offers, coupons, etc. that go from the mailbox right into my garbage can they wouldn't need to pay so many salaries to people with bad backs who go out on disability from carrying too much shit around. So, I'm keeping zip code and if they get too confused, good. Less shit for me to carry to the garbage can.

It's really f'n hot today. I worked in the garden and yard all afternoon and then passed out for an hour. Someone please tell my wife that I need a pool. I bought her a truck, so it's the least she can do! :)
Our 13th anniversary is in 16 days. Wouldn't that make a great anniversary present? I come home from work to find a lovely inground pool and topless waitress serving me frozen drinks! I'd be so happy, I might just put the potatoes to my old lady. (thanks, Jack!)

Finally - I've had a good 8 hours of quality sleep time and back to myself again.
We had an excellent race last night with the added bonus of a beautiful red sunset. The best part about a twilight racing series is just that - the twilight. And the sunsets. (Especially when the skipper cracks open wine and beer seconds after crossing the finish line.) We were reminiscing last night about the NYC skyline we used to see during the race. From the middle of the sound, we had an unobstructed view of the WTC towers. It was always fun looking for them on a clear night. Last night, it was as clear as you can get - zero haze - and it was a strong reminder of what was no longer there to be admired.
I'm going to miss 7 races this summer thanks to my chemistry lab. And I just realized that I've got less than one month until class starts and I haven't begun to refresh my chemistry knowledge from 3 years ago. Yikes.

For the past 3 days I've risen at 5:15am, dressed and drove 15 minutes to Norwalk so I can once again row to get my fat ass into shape. I'm getting there.. although, my torn rotator cuff (I've been steadfastly refusing to have surgery to repair it) is forcefully reminding me that, despite running, weightligting and Weight Watchers, I may need to go back into the shop. Like Cher. I suppose that while they have me under I can have a few nip-and-tucks. Oh hell, they might as well filet the old girl. I won't miss it.

And sheer exhaustion is slowly quickly hitting me. I can't seem to adjust to going to bed at 10:00. Usually I'm up puttering around, reading, drooling in front of the TV, or helping Cody torture the cats until at least midnight. So, now when I try to go to bed "early" my head is resting on the pillow but my eyes are popped wide open, and I'm staring at the ceiling until midnight. Let me tell you, 5:15 comes way too soon when you've only dozed off 5 hours earlier.

Tonight is going to be especially brutal -- I've got a yacht race at 7:00, which means I won't be home until 10:30pm. I'll either be semi-concious or completely hyper and over tired. Tomorrow I get to sleep into the late late late hour of 7am. Then work a full day (ya right) and hit the gym. Yawn.
Why am I torturing myself like this? I can only surmise that I am trying to squeeze in as much life as possible while I still have one. Soon I hope to be studying 'round the clock, pulling 36-hour shifts and memorizing neural circuits and drug interactions. For no less than 11 straight years. 11? 11. Of course, I have to pick the specialty with a 7-year residency.

Just shoot me now.

My sister keeps saying I look like the Utz girl -- you know ... on the bag of potato chips they sell at Yankee Stadium and all over NYC ...

I don't think I look anything like her. I'm much sexier.
And I have a nose.

I am getting my haircut tomorrow, and I can't wait. The shorter I cut it, the less I want any hair on my head. Especially during the summer. But I'm not the type to get away with shaving my head completely. Although the thought has occurred to me more than once. I've had long hair, short hair, blonde hair, green hair (yes, green) and a mohawk. Curly hair, straight hair, and I once had a bad mullett. But I've never had no hair. Even at birth my mother was convinced I was a werewolf because I was so hairy. The pointy ears with fuzz on top probably didn't help. So, I've never been bald. I'd probably look like Uncle Fester. Some people carry baldness really well. Take, for example, my buddy Jack. The only man I know who shaved his head because he wanted to know what the shape of his head looked like. He was worried that the back of his head was just a long extension of his neck.. it's not. It's big and bulbous just like his ... brain. :) The bald thing works for him. Besides, he's got a beard, so he's plenty hairy. I don't think I'd look good in a beard. They may look at me funny at work, and I've got a thing about being itchy.
So, I'm going to cut it short, but not shaved. Which means I have to use gel. And when I cut my hair short and use gel, I tend to have that "rode hard and put away wet" look. Chicks dig it. I think I poke Cody in the eyes a lot though with my spikes when she sleeps next to me. So, she's not too crazy about it. But what does she know. Her idea of personal hygeine and grooming consists of hourly licking of her squacker.

Snatch Adams
I had an interesting thought before... if I become a gynecologist, I think I'm going to keep on hand one of those joke cans of peanuts so that when I insert the speculum into the ... you know, and crank it open, I can pop the can of 'peanuts' and all the snakey things will come flying out ... could be a good ice breaker with new patients, eh?

It's a visual thing, I guess.

Women
I just do not understand women. Been one for 35 f'n years, and even I can't figure them out. When someone figures out what the goddamn rules are, please come find me and let me know. Until then, I'm slithering back under my rock. [What is she bitching about now? you may wonder. And I answer you: Does it matter? Does it really matter? Ladies, I gotta side with the men on this one. There is no figuring out women. Ever. And yes ... me included.

As if I haven't spent enough time and money of my parents' anniversary/mother's day/dad'd 60th birthday bash, tomorrow is father's day and next week is mom's bday. Yes... I am happy and lucky to still have my parents. I realize it. I'm just tired of opening up my wallet, only to watch the moths that have taken refuge in its cavernous space filled with nothingness be set free ...

So, we decided to combine events (serves 'em right for combining my bday and Xmas gifts for years... but i'm not bitter, oh no) and have a BBQ today. However, Deb is sick. After 4 days of complaining about allergies, and me yelling at her that it wasn't allergies and she needed to go to the doctor, she finally admitted she felt really crappy this morning. She felt very warm, so I whipped out the thermometer (oral, for those of you playing along at home) - yup, a fever. Allergies my ass. Poor thing is back on the couch sound asleep.

Usually I use opportunities such as this to get into all sorts of trouble, but I'm being a wonderful wife and nursing her back to health. Until my sister and Pete get here soon. Then I have to go entertain the folks. Then come back and play doctor. he he. Whee.

She's supposed to be doing her family thing tomorrow afternoon ... hopefully, she'll be better by then, because I am not about to entertain in-laws, too ....

I hear intense coughing ... must go investigate.

Spider in the Ear
Here's the link to the news article... and video clip of said spider.

Or you can read it on Nando times.

The picture, fake or not, it completely wigging me out..

Free to Good Home
One, small ovary. Only a few centimeters long. House-broken. Owner no longer needs it, nor has time for it. Has not been spayed. Needs to find a loving owner who has patience, Advil and/or other medication. The new owner should be aware that it can be a rather vocal little ovary, and therefore needs to live in a single-family home so that it will be less likely to annoy the neighbors.

Wanna know why I'm an atheist? Well, I'm going to tell you anyway.
For starters, where is the logic behind menstruation? Only a serious wrong left turn during the evolution from primordial ooze would create this little alien inside my abdomen that's beating the snot out of my one remaining ovary. If there is a higher power, then He/She/It needs to rethink the whole f'n process. And while He/She/It is at it, they also need to reevaluate the reasoning behind alloting migraines to women suffering from PMS.

Not a winning combo, in my opinion.

I was listening to the radio this morning, and heard some very disturbing news. My *worst* nightmare came true for some poor woman. Apparently, she went to the doc because she was having terrible headaches. After a thorough examination, the doc found ... that a spider had crawled into her ear canal and was living inside it -- it had even spun a web.

That's it. After hearing that and the factoid that, over their entire lifespan, the average human being swallows 8 spiders during their sleep was enough to put me over the edge. I'll now be sleeping with mesh net draped over my entire body. And ear plugs.

There is nobody on this earth funnier than my 2 grandmothers. What's sweet is that they just happen to be *very* good friends. (My parents have known each other their entire lives b/c my 4 grandparents were friends before they were born.. kinda cool yet kinda creepy). And they are always in cahoots together:

The phone just rang in my office: it was Nana Mary (mom's mom):
"Hellooooooo!!! It's Nana!! What are you doing?"
"Hi! Working. How are you?"
"Good good.. I'm at Nana Ann's (dad's mom) house. We just had cake and coffee."
"That's nice! Are you there for the day?"
[ignoring my question] "So, did you make reservations for Saratoga yet?" (My sister and I (and Deb and Pete) take them to the races every year for a weekend)
"No, not yet. I'm waiting to see what day I get tickets for."
"Well, don't wait too long! I had a lovely trip to England with your mother! How is she? Did she tell you we went to a pub? It was nice. They made you order food at the bar. She was out gallavanting to all hours. I had to nap in the afternoon."
"I heard you had a nice ti-"
"Here, your other nana wants to talk to you." [muffled noise in the background]
"Helloo!!! It's your Nana!! What are you doing?"
"Hi! Working. How are you?"
"Good .. Your other nana is visiting me. We just had cake and coffee. I have a weird raspberry looking thing on my arm, so I am going to the doctor at ... Mary, what time am I going. Oh, 5:30 ... to the skin man."
[Now I know they are up to no good... I have a sneaking suspicion they had wine with the cake and coffee.]
"The dermatologist. Are you on medication?"
"No, he burned it."
"He cauterized it? OK. It's probably just a mole."
"And my allergies are really bad, Laura. When are you going to be a doctor? I need the Allegra."
"I thought you were taking Claritin? Not for another few years. Think you can hold out that long?"
"It's no good, Laura. Frankie says to take the Allegra. A few years!? Oh! I have to keep hard candy in my mouth because I have the cough."
"OK, then take (conciously dropping the "the" from the beginning of every noun) Allegra. As long as you feel better."
"Did you make reservations for Saratoga yet?"
"No, I am wai-"
"When are you coming to see me?"
"What are you do-"
"You haven't come to Brooklyn in a long time."
"-ing on the 4th of July weekend?"
"Ok, you come then. Bye Laura!"
Click.

I hope I am as feisty and active as they are when I'm 85 ...

I Found The Clue Bag! It's Over Here, Behind The Sofa
The past 5 days I've been a complete ditz. Losing things, forgetting things, emotional roller coaster, hyperactive, moody, lack of concentration ... you know, all the symptoms of ADD. When it dawned on me (Ok, Deb had to point it out to me): When was the last time I took that wonderful little purple pill?

5 f*cking days ago.

I ask you: How am I supposed to remember to take my pill that's supposed to help me remember to take it once I've forgotten to take it?

Follow that? Neither did I.

******************************************************
Public Service Announcement:
Attention Loud Talkers: You're really annoying.
Please shut the f*ck up and learn to control your volume.

Thank you.

We now return to our regularly scheduled
programming bitching and moaning.

******************************************************

Free Advice
OK, I'm in a rare charitable mood, so I've decided to share some pearls of wisdom with my readers.
Fine print: I am not singling out anyone in particular, especially since this can be directed at so many people I know. So, if you feel it's directed at you personally, good. Take heed. Pretty soon I'm going to be paid well to dispense medical advice, and I won't be doling it out without charging you.

With that, here are Laura's Rules for People Who Need a Clue:

Women's thangs:
Seeing a gynecologist every year is something you NEED to do. It's not optional. It's unpleasant, but so is having your parts falling out and dropping dead. No excuses. I know several people, myself included, who had life-threatening tumors found during a regular, routine exam. No symptoms, no pain gave me any indication that there was a 5 lb solid mass growing on my uterus and ovary. The doc saved my life. Literally. Cancer can be curable only if it's caught in time. For those of you playing along at home, well-women exams can be a team sport. If you're into that sort of thing. I suggest you pick up one of those Our Bodies Ourselves books before you slap on the latex, tho...

Other medical issues:
Dentist: Twice a year -- once a year bare minimum. And brush them, please. Even if you only have one toof, Ollie, brush it.
Skin: Got moles? Get 'em checked. All of 'em. Yes, even those. Despite what you think, it's not sexy and it is not something to be shown off at parties.
Feet: Don't wear stupid shoes (Karen). Take a hint from lesbians (Karen): sensible shoes work. Spikes = bad. Sneakers = good. Shoes that make you fall down 4 flights of stairs are not recommended (Karen).
Excercise: Just get off your fat ass and move. I shouldn't have to explain this one.
Eyes: Mr. Magoo called. He wants his eyes back. Get 'em checked -- yes even the annoying glaucoma test. Frickin babies. Just stick your eye in the machine, for chrissakes.
Heart: See my advice on exercise.
Brain: Got one? Use it. Enough said.
Weight: Step away from the buffet, put down the Krispy Kreme Original Glazed Donut and go to www.weightwatchers.com. Now, fatty.

Relationships:
Honesty at all times. No head games. No cheating. No lying. Respect other people's relationships. Bottom line: The Golden Rule. If you're religious: Do unto others. Do NOT be a doormat. If you think you're a doormat, psychotherapy is available. So are your friends. Listen to them. If you ask for advice, take it. Unless it sucks. Always remember that you can do something in an instant that will give you heart ache for life.

Friendships:
Do not abuse thy friends. No lying. No cheating. No stealing. No coveting. No copying. No excessive, unnecessary drama. See above for subclause on advice. And remember, there are people that want to be your friends and don't know how to show it. Explain it to them. Or show them. There are also people posing as friends with hidden agendas. These people suck.

Family:
It's a fact of life that all families are annoying. Nobody's parents/siblings/aunts/uncles are flawless. Annoying, yes, very. Flawless, no. There is nothing wrong with pointing this out at the appropriate time. If it hurts their feelings, then learn tact. Everyone needs to learn boundaries. People, including your family, will take advantage of you only if you let them. This will only make you bitter and hostile. Like all relationships, familial ones also need 50/50 give and take. If you choose to be the rock, and suck it up and take it on the chin, so be it. Just don't complain.

Personal goals:
Have them. No matter how long, how hard, or how intense, you must, must, must follow your dreams. As my buddy Jack says "You're dead a long time." Make the most of life while you can.

Job: Job sucks? Change it. It's just a job. Boss sucks? Tell him/her. Work too many hours? Do the math -- you're only cutting your salary in half, genius. What's the point of making $$ if you can't enjoy it? See above for quote on being dead a long time.

Money:
Don't have enough? Suck it up. Nobody does. Stop buying useless shit. Cool shit is OK. But useless shit is useless shit. Save your money. Drink the crappy coffee at work. Avoid the stock market right now -- there's a Republican in the White House.

I'm feeling very feisty this morning. Maybe it's the heat. Or the humidity. Or boredom. Or hormones. Or everyone around me annoying me. The thought of the 7 oz block of dark chocolate I bought at [drumroll please ...] CVS yesterday in the freezer isn't even helping. Someone needs a sharp stick in the eye .. and only then will I feel better.

A to Z (thanks to Crazy Tracy).
A - Animals/Pets: Cody (Pit/Lab mix) and AJ, Phoebe, Elmo
B - Best Friend(s): My wife, my sister and Annie plus whoever is making me laugh at the moment
C - Cohabitants: My wife, a dog, 3 cats, 4 fish.
D - Desire(s): To be a brain surgeon. Seriously.
E - Eye Color: Chocolate brown.
F - Favorite Food(s): Italian, Malaysian
G - Games: Pool, darts, puzzles, Mafia Monopoly (That’s when Anne and I control the whole damn board and shakedown all the other players but each other. Italians are fun like that.)
H - Habit(s): Caffeine indulgence, losing things
I - Interests: sailing, photography, reading, painting, shooting, motorcycling, SCUBA, astronomy
J - Job: Writer/Editor
K - Kitchen (Wonder or Blunder?): Total and complete Disaster
L - Languages: English, Italian, Spanish, French.
M - Most Valued Possession(s) (an item, not people/pets): My wedding ring, my winged lion pendant my wife bought me.
N - Name (Named after?): Laura. My mother was a Little House on the Prairie fan (the books, obviously) and also after my grandmother’s sister who died at the age of 4.
O - Outfit You Love (and most likely found in): My army green cargo shorts, any t-shirt or Hawaiian shirt and bare feet
P - Pizza Toppings: Hot cherry peppers
Q - Question Asked To You the Most: "What the hell is wrong with you?" followed by "Oh, so how is school going?"
R - Relationship/Partner: Wife, Deborah.
S - Sport: Sailing, softball, rowing
T - Television Show: ER, Six Feet Under, Dawson’s Creek (don’t ask, please …), Whatever’s on Discovery Channel
U - Unsavory characteristic(s): Hot tempered, skeptical
V - Video (Favorites): Good Will Hunting, Fried Green Tomatoes, Silence of the Lambs.
W - Webpage (Favorite--not your own):The ones I write for, Amazon.com, Mensa.org
X - Xylophone (or other Instrument?): Attempted to play drums and guitar as a teen...
Y - Year Born: 1966.
Z - Zodiac Sign: Sag.

The Weekend
Today’s one of those easy Mondays everyone should have once in a while. The kind when you barely accomplish a blessed thing. Today, I rolled into my office somewhere around 10:30 after bullshitting with friends in my living room all morning – including Robyn who was more than happy to blow off the morning with me (and Nancy and Anne) and gave me a lift to work. Since we already wasted the first hour or so of the work week, Robyn and I also felt the need (who, us compulsive? obsessive? Pah!) to drive over to Costco during an extended lunch hour after I had learned earlier that they were selling fireworks. Yes, FIREWORKS. Run, don’t walk, and buy some now! Of course, we had to buy the really big f*cking $250 value for only $65 box. We showed modest restraint in not buying the way-too-fucking-big-to-get-out-the-door-without-causing-a-scene box. Worried that they might go off in the trunk on such a hot day, we drove back to my house to store the contraband until a later date. By 3:00, I was back and ready to start working.

It’s been that kind of weekend, and I just felt the need to carry it over one more day …

It all started on Friday night when I dragged Deb to WalMart instead of folding laundry. (I’m culturally sophisticated like that.) Ordinarily, the people in places like WalMart scare the bejesus out of me: Butterfaces (everything’s nice about her … but her face), summer teeth (some are there, some aren’t), Those With No Chins, you catch my drift. But I was on a mission. I went to get one thing – ammunition for my shooting excursion the next day (I know ... I know … and I think other people are scary).

Of course, one can never go to a place like WalMart and just get one thing. So, as I was strolling down the aisle with Ma, (uh, Deb), after loading up in the garden center, shiny, bright objects caught my eye. Be still my beating heart! Lo and behold, I was stunned to see a fireworks display of colossal proportions. Stunned not by their beauty and grandeur, but by its presence in the state of CT. Fireworks are illegal! And I had to have them!
Wheeeee! Thinking that they’d suddenly realize their error and start removing them from the shelves, I quickly threw a medium sized box in my cart, and convinced Deb that The Disaster would not blow off her fingers on the quick trip back to the register.

As I was leaving, I suddenly became paranoid that the FBI was notified by my “red flag” purchases: bullets, fireworks, and fertilizer. I threw in a few tennis balls for the dog and a paintbrush to lose the scent. I suppose two lesbians driving a red pick up truck aren’t as alarming as other folks … Nevertheless, I was looking over my shoulder. Who knows what destruction and havoc I could be accused of plotting with Scott’s Step 3 lawn fertilizer and a Piccolo Pete whistler.

The remainder of Friday night was spent in my backyard “testing” all the new fireworks, as Deb stood by, ready with the garden hose and kitchen fire extinguisher. Night one of pissing off the neighbors concluded with no harm done.

Saturday was a great day on the range as I tested the limits of my new found shooting ability, while Saturday night wasn’t so great as I tested the limits of my liver. The wife’s goal for the evening was to get me “toasted” so she could take me home and … [fill in the blanks here] and, well, let’s just say she succeeded in the first part – only. We ventured to the local gay dive bar with a few friends, and 2 beers, 3 margaritas, 2 shots of tequila and 1 Marlboro Menthol for the nonsmoking asshole later, I was teetering out the door, incoherent and not feeling very amorous. Sunday morning was spent not racing in Stamford’s Mayors Cup, basking in the warm glow of the sun and a night of passion, but on the couch nursing my first hangover in about 5 years. My only thought the entire morning: You Are A Dickhead. The night was not a total bust as I did manage to help my new-best-friend-of-the-moment Dorothy score the stripper’s phone number and email. Yes the only straight woman in a predominately gay men’s bar managed to pick up the disappointingly straight male stripper – I think she charmed him by telling him that he had to lose his sneakers – not sexy and not cool when you’re 98% naked – and that he couldn’t dance worth a shit.

Sunday, Anne finally made it to Connecticut. (The odds were 7-5 that she wouldn’t get out of the state of NJ before Sunday afternoon… she actually thought she was going to be here by Saturday. She’s funny that Anne.) She also had prepared the absolute worst excuse EVER for not being able to make it up on Saturday. It was so bad, it had to be mentioned in this space: She had to buy new underwear for her new New York apartment. Apparently, the New Jersey collection was not up to the rigorous standards of the chic city, and Anne was forced to abandon her Hanes Her Way for the more upscale Jockey for Her. Offering the need-to-know-only info that she’s usually commando, and only owned a handful of lacey ladies, who was I to argue and question her? We went down to the marina for scallops and steamers for dinner, and ended another fun evening by pissing off the neighbors with premature July 4th celebrating.

Right now, I’m heading to the Yankees/Diamondbacks game – got GREAT seats right behind home plate... If you’re watching on TV, I’ll be the cute one in the FDNY sweatshirt, waving sparklers.

I am sitting here in my post-lunch haze, pulling the last bits of roast beef strands from my teeth [insert collecitve "ewwwwwww" here] when a big ass fly goes humming by my head. I heard the distinctive "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" followed by "zzzzzzzzzzzzz....z.....z.................z." Curious as to why the there were so many periods between the z's, I turned my head just in time to see the little f*cker drop dead in mid air. Thud. Just like that. He landed right on my window ledge. Like it was some last ditch effort to make it out the window, and he fell short by about a 1/2 inch. Poor bastard.
It's not often you see animals croak out of the blue. Hit by cars, trucks, small children, yeah, sure. But just drop dead? No, not very often at all ... Unless you're my friend Jack, who sees the craziest shit. He once saw a duck have a heart attack in mid-flight over his head while he was driving down the road. "Quuaaacccccckk. Thud."
That's gotta be disturbing. Even when it's a fly, it's unsettling. It's like Nature's sick little joke.
Please, if you can prevent it, don't drop dead in my office or over/in front of/behind my car/motorcycle. I've got enough issues as it is, thank you very much. (Someday, my shrink is going to be a very, very very wealthy man...)

The Corrections
I'm currently reading The Corrections, by Jonathan Franzen, based on the recommendation from a friend -- not the Oprah controversy. (Generally, if the O word or the R word are attached to a novel, magazine, film, whatever, I'll avoid it. With the exception of The Color Purple, which was outstanding.) Wow. It's funny in a "Jesus, these people are more dysfunctional than my family" way and very well written. I very rarely indulge in fiction, usually I can be found reading the dry, but essential science/nonfiction books. On occasion I make exceptions. And I was glad this time around.

From Amazon.com: "Jonathan Franzen's exhilarating novel The Corrections tells a spellbinding story with sexy comic brio, and evokes a quirky family akin to Anne Tyler's, only bitter. Franzen's great at describing Christmas homecomings gone awry, cruise-ship follies, self-deluded academics, breast-obsessed screenwriters, stodgy old farts and edgy Tribeca bohemians equally at sea in their lives, and the mad, bad, dangerous worlds of the Internet boom and the fissioning post-Soviet East."

There's a somewhat large focus on sexual hang-ups and idiosyncracies (which, now that I think of if, makes me wonder about the sexual status of my anonymous friend who recommended it. ;), and if you can get past that, it's a worthwhile read.

Biddy Ball
22 years ago. That was the last time I played "organized" basketball. I was in 8th grade, had boundless energy, two working knees and a flat chest. Flash forward to yesterday, where I played pick-up bball (notice I didn't say organized) with some old lady friends (avg. age: ~35) ... Miracles never cease -- The Disaster didn't get hurt! Nor did anyone else! My arthritic knee, rebuilt 6 years ago after three unsuccessful arthroscopies, didn't even have one twinge of pain. I didn't twist an ankle. I didn't get scratched by an errant nail. A few body bumps from my wife, who was guarding me, but that was both expected and enjoyable. Ahem. Most of all, there was not even one black eye from an escapee of the good ol' jogbra. (I call it UniBoob.)

What a blast -- 7 old biddies out on the court, dishin in the paint, no-look passes, exotic fake out spin moves ... we actaully looked like we knew what we were doing! And, we survived for an hour and a half out there in the early summer twilight. Granted, we did manage to squeeze in 27 water breaks and scare off the children. But that was beside the point. We had a great time! Thankfully, I only made about 14 girl throws. I even made a few baskets. I've been an athlete most of my life, but never excelled in basketball, despite having a hoop in a cul de sac on the street where I grew up. Sure I can dribble, pass, drive, and make an occasional lay-up, but outside shots? I usually get my ass kicked in HORSE. Perhaps I was distracted by the shiny backboard -- shiny objects have mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effects on me.

We've decided to make it a regular thing. Every Wednesday, weather permitting, we'll be out there getting our fill of cardio the old fashioned way. True that, yo.

I'm sitting here, listening to Radio Margaritaville, chilling, thinking "Cool! I'm heading home on my motorcycle shortly, and I'm going to make myself a frozen margarita," and out of the f'n blue, I was completely overwhelmed by the biggest urge to have a Drake's Coffeecake. So I ran, not walked, ran over to the lunch room vending machine and bought one. In 2 bites, it was gone. Devoured. All that's left are a few crumbs on my Hawaiian shirt and an empty wrapper. And I'm not even PMS.

What the hell was that about?

4 million Weight Watchers points. Right to my swollen right ass cheek.

The Disaster
It began as an ordinary summer Sunday. I awoke at 7:00a.m. to sunny skies and chirping birds. I had a leisurely breakfast cooked by my lovely wife (omelets, toast, coffee), took Cody for a 1-mile run, then walked to the gym, got in a good hour long workout, came home and cut the lawn. All that exercise before 10:30am had me primed for the day.

And then it happened. At approximately 10:45 she jinxed me. She told me I was “her little Disaster.”

After I finished cutting the grass, I decided to water it. As I was spraying down the $80 a piece shrubbery that I replace very week after Cody gives them a good thrashing, Deb told me to get the Miracle Gro lawn and garden food and water the veggie garden. After retrieving it from the shed, I proceeded to pour the blue granules into the easy-to-fill “no-clog” container. Half made it in. The other half fertilized the deck. Deb just looked at me and shook her head.
“Honey… you are a disaster. But you’re my little disaster.”

And that was all she had to say …

She helped me get the rest of the blue stuff into the container, screw on the cap, attach the whole thing to the hose, which of course, I couldn’t do because disasters have Fred Flintstone fingers, and then I started watering again. Five minutes into it, I was convinced that it wasn’t working because the water didn’t look blue. So I unscrewed the cap to investigate the clog in the no-clog container, and accidentally fertilized yet another small chunk of the deck, my poison ivied toe, and about 6 blades of grass as I spilled about ¼ of the container.
Deb laughed, gently took the contraption away from the retard, and once again screwed on the cap and warned me to leave it alone - it was working. I continued. And managed to finish the lawn without any further evidence of my ineptitude.
But, as if fearing that I was being lulled into a false sense of competence, the Evil Forces struck again. Everything else I touched the rest of the day either exploded, spilled, got stuck, smeared on, burnt or broke.
For example:
To ward off the bugs that were harassing my sister all afternoon, I fetched the Citronella liquid and candles in the shed. Luckily, I managed to pour only half of it onto the deck as I was refilling the Tiki torches. (If the deck could rip up one of its own planks and smack me in the head, it would have at this point.)
After dinner, my dad handed me a beer, and as if on cue, I popped the top and was immediately showered with a cold one. In my eyes and everything. The bugs were happy. They love beer-dipped Italians.
“My little disaster…” cooed Deb as she handed me a towel.
Later, as I was showing off the poison ivy rash on my big (now red and pulsating) toe, Karen remarked “Who the fuck gets poison ivy on their big toe? Besides me, because that’s exactly what would happen to me.”
“My little disaster… that’s who.”
An hour or so later, as I was cooking hamburgers on the grill, I dropped about one hot dog, 2/3 of a hamburger and 47 pieces of grilling vegetables into the fire.

“My little disaster… Somebody has to love her – and I guess I was volunteered.”

The day finally ended, and I crawled upstairs to my bed to read. At about midnight, I was sufficiently tired, and decided to go downstairs, brush my teeth and wash the remaining beer from my face. Not wanting to wake Deb, I decided to not turn on the hallway light. I took one step onto the stairs, stepped on Phoebe for the bajillionth time, and fell down the entire flight of stairs. Yes, the entire flight. As I was halfway through my tumbling routine, the banging of my head on the railing reminded me of the fact that this is exactly how and why my grandfather is a quadriplegic. He fell down his stairs 8 years ago, compressed his spine, and has been in the VA hospital ever since. I made it down without breaking anything ... but I have a bruise and a rug burn on my ass and thigh the size of Montana. Yes, my ass is that big.

This morning, as I was in the kitchen at my office, regaling Robyn with my “tail” of woe and what a disaster I was, I reached for a paper towel to dry off my coffee mug, yanked too hard, and sent the roll of paper towels flying across lunch room …

And so it continues.

The Gift
"OH MY GOD!!! I've always wanted to see Mick Jagger wiggle his ass!!! He's so sexy!"
Those were the exact words that gushed from my mother's lips at the party today when Karen, Deb, Pete and I gave them (and us) tickets to see the Rolling Stones 40th anniversary concert at the Meadowlands. They were beyond thrilled -- my parents, both baby boomers that remained catholic and saintly (ahem) through the 60s, have never been to a rock concert. Now they will. I'm psyched... I've never seen the Stones either and going to a rock concert with my parents should be a trip -- if anything. Maybe I can even get them to smoke a big fatty...

Tomorrow Karen, Pete, Deb and I are giving my parents their anniversary present... I'm as excited as I think they should be -- it's going to be a fun gift. But I'm still not revealing it yet because I have a slight suspicion that my mom may be secretly reading my blog. So... I'll hint at it: we got them tickets to something very cool... and it's something they've never done. And we're all going.

Enough about that. I spent the day doing housework like the house bitch I am.Cleaning, vacuuming, napping, car washing, laundry, napping, spreading diazinon all over the deck, napping. Now I'm heading off to dinner. I'm craving Malaysian, but I think I'm going to have to settle for Italian since I'm in no mood to trek to New Haven...