Wishing You a...

Merry Christmas from Shelby, Alex, and The Grinch!

Christmas Music

I love Christmas music, almost any kind. I have about 8 CDs of Christmas music, mostly compilations. Some of my favorites:

A Charlie Brown Christmas--classic
Barbra Streisand/A Christmas Album--love her version of Jingle Bells
Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics--from the people who brought you South Park. Not PC, and not for kids, but hilarious. Good for the car.
Now That's What I Call Christmas!--more classics.

Some Christmas songs I have are creepy. One of them is on as I type this. Have you ever heard "The Little Drummer Boy" sung by Bing Crosby and David Bowie? Apparently, David Bowie appeared on a special with Bing Crosby in 1977. Bing sang The Little Drummer Boy, which was a song that Bowie hated. He added a counterpoint song, "Peace on Earth", that he sings at the same time. Together, it's creepy. And whiny.

Worst Christmas cover ever: Celine Dion singing "Feliz Navidad". Stick to your heart going on, Celine.

Best Christmas cover ever: Bruce Springsteen singing "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town".

Annoying? The Beach Boys singing "Little Saint Nick". I hate the chorus that goes, "Christmas comes this time each year..." No shit, Beach Boys.

One of my favorites, just because it's different and has a good beat: Run DMC's "Christmas in Hollis".

Any other Christmas comments out there?

REDRUM

I have a Netflix account. It's fun. I get one
movie at a time. When I first opened
this account, it was so much fun to
go through all the movies and put them on my "queue".

One of my favorite movies is The
Shining. I hadn't seen it in many
years, and I like it so much, up it went on my list. Before you know it, it was at my house.

For some reason, I thought it would be fun to wait until a snowstorm came and watch it then. By myself.
What the hell was I thinking???

My opportunity came yesterday, as "a foot of snow" snowstorm came rolling in. I did a half-ass job of asking some people if they wanted to watch it with me. No takers. I was determined. I thought I would start it when it was still light outside, so I wouldn't get so scared. But then I was talking with my friend, and when I came home I wanted to read my new double issue of People magazine, and watch the news about the storm, and eat dinner, and Facebook a little, so by the time I actually started watching it, it was 8 pm. Late. Dark.

The Shining has got to be one of the scariest movies out there, maybe the scariest. I had forgotten how scary just the music was, never mind the girls, the bathtub scene, "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy..."

I took pics of some of my favorite scenes. I love when Shelley Duvall is feebly swiping the bat at Jack Nicholson. Of course, everyone knows the "Heeeere's Johnny!" scene. One of the scariest parts to me is the whole blood pouring into the hallway part, which they show throughout the movie. Oh god.

A very supportive friend got me through by responding to my request to text me every five minutes. During the bathtub scene, I called other friends. The wife was supportive. The husband was not. He was saying some of the lines in a creepy voice in the background. Not what I needed, Chris! No matter, I got through it. Loved it.

Afterwards, I needed to unwind with something not scary. I turned on the TV. My set is on the blink right now, so I only get channel 7. What was on channel 7 when I turned it on? Dateline. About a murder. Thank god it was Keith Morrison's soothing voice that I heard, and it was a love triangle murder, so it wasn't scary.

I went to bed, and left my Christmas tree lights on because it was so...festive. When I got to bed, I got a text from my cousin. The text? redrum. I texted back, pu tuhs. I am happy to report I slept through the night with no nightmares. Sleeping with a knife and a bat under one's pillow can be uncomfortable, however.

Unavailable--That's the Way I Like it

Okay, so I'm getting a lot of comments from friends about my Bob post. I want to know how this crush is similar to other crushes I've had, and...whatever happened to Michael Phelps, you ask? Summer is over, and he's dating a cocktail waitress. Hey, I always go for the unavailable guys!

Anderson Cooper--gay (this is confirmed, yes?)

Keith Morrison--married, and age inappropriate

Michael Phelps--dating, and age inappropriate

Bob Harper--gay?

I like the TV relationship. You get to admire and swoon, say whatever you want, and they don't talk back. And you can turn them off when you're done. Perfect.

I Love Bob

I am in love with Bob Harper, one of the personal trainers on The Biggest Loser. I have a new hobby of taking pictures of images on my TV, and I got some good ones of my latest crush. Here we see how he feels about me, and life in general.
Yes, Alex. I love you too.


I'm comin' ta git cha!


I was this close to becoming a model, but I decided that training was better for humankind.


I am good looking, aren't I?

He will be my inspiration when I go back to the gym after being away for 2 1/2 weeks. What can I say? I gotta monkey on my back.

Prosthetic Barbarella Barbie

Scarlett brought in a new Barbie doll today. She was a mess. I asked her mom if this was CSI Barbie. Look at her! Chalk Outline Barbie?

I decided to fix her up. I put her hair up, and grabbed a piece of fleece from the scrap box. Not for nothing, but I could be on Project Runway Barbie. Look at that outfit I crafted, all without sewing, buttons, or glue! My boss, Rosie, said she looked like Barbarella from the 60's, aka Jane Fonda. She does.

I also made a prosthetic leg for Barbie. It was really for show, because it didn't bend. She's showing it off rather nicely, though, don't you think?

Of course, When Scarlett saw my creations, she said, "Barbie doesn't want that outfit or that leg." She let me keep her hair up, at least.

Small Town Charm, Really

Here's what I love about my small town. I was just at Trader Joe's; I ran into my co-worker, Sue. Later, I got a call from my friend (and mom at my school) Chris. She and the kids were at Trader Joe's at the same time and also ran into Sue. Sue told them I was there, and they called me so we could meet in one of the aisles.

Turns out I had left by then, but I love the fact that friends can call each other when they're at the store at the same time and meet. Yay for cell phones, and yay for small towns.

Hold the Phone

And here we have the Pizza Nazis (nod to Seinfeld). Believe me, I did not talk on my cell phone and made sure I had bills with me when I picked up my pie.

Don't be a Hater

The other day at school I was at the play dough table with about six kids. I looked at the clock and said, "I hate to tell you this, kids, but it's clean up time."

Rose looked at me with a straight face, as usual, and said, "That's a bad word."

I said, "What? Clean up time?"

She replied, "No. Hate."

I told her it was an expression and that I'd talk to her mom about why I said it.

I hate when little kids call you out on stuff and make you look stupid. There, I just said two bad words. Sorry, Rose!

Shelby's Sick...Again

Poor Shelby. She's got the loose stool blues. After her last episode weeks ago, all her blood tests came back normal, and her poop got better. Then it started up again; not as bad as before, but enough to make Mommy worry. I had a consult with the vet.

She just finished her second round of anti-diarrheal meds. I have to shove pills down her throat now because she can't have any more Pill Pockets or treats. She takes 'em like a champ. Or like a champ who is too weak to fight.

I had to change her food. Miss Thang now eats venison and green peas, thank you very much. At $20 a bag, she'd better like it. So far, so good. I have to sprinkle probiotic powder on her food once a day for the next 30 days, I'm not kidding. She's getting the royal treatment! I also have to squirt a deworming medicine into her mouth, and give her a huge deworming pill. She's geriatric, all right. On some days I've had to give her 4 pills a day, because she's still on her heart medication.

Did you know that to hand over a vial full of shit for analysis costs $20??? Two days of consult, food, and meds cost $130.00. Thank god I live on a budget.

I hope all this works; we'll find out at the end of 30 days, I guess. If this doesn't work, we're on to more invasive exploration. I pray it doesn't come to that. More good vibes for Shelby, please!

Monkey and a Moon

My friend Fawn told me there was some poem about a monkey and a moon...so, because in this day and age of high technology, I looked it up and instantly came up with a few things.

Hakuin, a Japanese Zen master, lived from 1686 to 1768. He wrote the following poem:

The monkey is reaching
For the moon in the water.
Until death overtakes him
He'll never give up.

If he'd let go the branch and
Disappear in the deep pool
The whole world would shine
With dazzling pureness.

Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) coined the term "Haiku". He wrote:

The long night
Monkey dreams how to
Catch the moon

Thanks, Fawn. Now I know a little bit about the image on my back. When people ask, I can Haiku away!

Monkey on my Back

I don't even do drugs, and I've got a monkey on my back. Got my back tattoo yesterday. Bigger than I had expected, but when Ram (the artist) gets excited, I get excited. It's always this way. I go in for a consult, we talk about what I want, I go home with a picture in my head, come back months later, he shows me what he's drawn, it's different than what I was imagining, and I go, "Okay!"

I had admired this picture of a monkey that was hanging in Ram's space. I looked at it for years, and finally said, "I want that monkey tattooed on me." Didn't know where it would go; I talked about my back, my shoulder blade, and my calf. At my consult, he said, "Let's make it a sick back piece!" and I said, "Okay!" It's also significant because I was born in the year of the monkey, 1968. I've always loved monkeys. And it's Japanese. It all fits.

The picture I had in my head was more tree, smaller monkey. When he showed me how he'd blown up the picture 180%, I was taken aback at first (no pun intended), but his enthusiasm is infectious. I said sure. It's not done yet, this is just the outline. There will be more shading, and cherry blossoms to follow next month.

Everyone wants to know what he's reaching for. I can get creative and say, "My arse? A silver dollar pancake? My soul?" But the real answer is the reflection of the moon. Should be more obvious with shading.

It's amazing how mental getting a tattoo is. You really have to be "in the zone". I was not in the zone yesterday, and it affected me. I was still thinking about how big the monkey was, and how I was very exposed, with nothing on except my pants, and some personal stuff, and it hurt more because I wasn't relaxed. Ram also said that with the back, there's so much space to cover, every new spot feels different so it's hard to zone. He helped me relax, and by the end of it, I was in the zone. Oh well. Got it done in two hours, which is amazing, considering what he produced. I love it. I have friends lined up to wash my back and put Neosporin on it while it heals. That's a true friend.

Stay tuned for developments in the coming months.

Low Battery

I went to bed early last night, I was exhausted. I was in a deep sleep, and all of a sudden, I got woken up to the sound of a robotic woman's voice:

(beep!) LOW BATTERY.

WTF??? I bolted out of bed (thank God I didn't hurl myself off of my loft, I was so scared). I looked at my cell: 11:50 pm. Did my friend leave her phone at my house? Who said that? It took me a minute to get my bearings, then I realized it probably came from my smoke detector. Of course it couldn't just beep, it had to have some scary voice attached to it. I wondered when it would beep again. Could I go back to sleep? Of course not.

It happened again half an hour later:

(beep!) LOW BATTERY.

All right, all right!I couldn't listen to this thing all night. I unscrewed the thing from the wall (Thank God I could reach it from my loft and I didn't need a ladder!). I took the batteries out, and it screeched a little. It seemed like it was alive. I didn't want to put new batteries in it in case it beeped when I put them in.

I put the new batteries and the detector next to me, as if it was some rejected lover. How pathetic. My imagination took over and I thought it was going to come to life and smother me. I saw it covering my whole face, like it had a life of its own. I said to myself, "You have GOT to stop reading so much Stephen King!"

I prayed that no fire or carbon monoxide would come to the house in the eight hours I would need to sleep, and dozed off. Woke up safely this morning, and put the new batteries in. Sure enough, it tested itself by beeping and talking:

(beep, beep, beep!) FIRE!
(beep!) CARBON MONOXIDE HAS BEEN DETECTED.

Then it stopped. Thank God I waited till morning. She's been quiet all day. I'll sleep with one eye open.

Things I am Thankful For

It may sound corny, but every year at Thanksgiving I make a mental list of things I am thankful for. This year, I'll do it here. In no particular order, I am thankful for:

• paying off my student loans
• being out of debt
• not bouncing a check for years
• every test I have at the doctor's coming back normal
  
• wonderful friends
• wonderful friends
• wonderful friends
• having a roof over my head and enough to eat
• my family
• my cat
• good hair
• making peace with both my mother and my father before they died
• my therapist
• a job and profession that I love
  
• bubble baths
• my iPod
• tea
  

Tales of Thanksgiving

I'm staying home this year. I was going to go to New York to be with my brother and sister-in-law, but then Shelby got sick, and I got sick, and the last thing I wanted to do was get on a bus for five hours and do it again in three days. Yesterday I looked forward to leaving work at 1:00 so I could have four and a half days to myself. I'd gotten tons of invitations, but I was, and still am, feeling rather antisocial. But I wanted Thankgiving dinner.

I came upon a marvelous idea right before I was about to go home. I called my favorite New York Deli restaurant in Brookline, Zaftig's, and asked if they had a Thanksgiving dinner to go. The man on the phone said not specifically, but I could get the regular turkey dinner that was always on the menu; it came with potatoes, stuffing, the works. I said I'd be right over.

They had it ready when I arrived, and I was so excited, I rushed home and wolfed it down. I ate half of it, so I could have the other half today, on Thanksgiving. Imagine! Thankgiving dinner without leaving the house! I treated myself to two Dunkin' Donuts for dessert; who needs pie?

It's 10:00 am. Too early for dinner. I'm reflecting on Thanksgivings past. When I was a kid, we always schleped from our apartment in Manhattan to my Grandma's in Queens. I hated going over there. "Do we have to go to Grandma's?" I would whine. Going to Grandma's was fun at first. My mom, dad, brother, and I would take the subway for what seemed like hours, and my brother would make me laugh while he made faces behind my father's back.

We'd get to Grandma's and play some more, and then came dinner. It was pretty good, except for the turnips Grandma always tried to get me to eat. "She eats like a bird!" she'd screech about me. After dinner was when it got bad. Mom, Dad, and Grandma would all get drunk, and we'd stay for the longest time, until it got really dark and cold, and then we'd have to make the long trek back to Manhattan, tired and humorless.

As I got older, I'd spend Thanksgivings with boyfriends, girlfriends, and friends; we stopped doing Thanksgiving at Grandma's when I was about twelve, I'd say. In recent years I've had Thanksgiving at friends' houses; last year, I was in California with my cousins. This year, I want to be by myself. My friend Amy says it's a new stage in my life. It feels good.

So far, I've eaten breakfast, given Shelby the first of her three pills of the day, and started reading a new novel. Think I'll make myself another cup of tea. Happy Thanksgving!

Phone Call

I had just put my bag down at Liz's house and was preparing to relax, when my cell phone rang. It was Sarah. "Alex, I can't find Sylvester! I have to tell the Terminix man that we'll have to reschedule!" NO WAY. I am NOT going through this again. "I'll find Sylvester!" I growled. I stormed all the way back to my house and went to Sarah's condo.

Mr. Terminix, who had been at our house for an hour, sat on the steps. He said to me, "You have five minutes. I have other clients." I did one pass through the house, no Sylvester. I would not give up. On the second pass, I opened the bedroom closet and pushed aside some clothes. Sylvester was curled up in a ball, trying to be invisible. I grabbed that cat so hard, I surprised myself. I shoved him into his box, and got the other cat and Sarah as well. I stood there on the porch with her to make sure she got into the cab to go to the vet's. The Terminix man did his work, which took all of ten minutes.

Went back to Liz's, slept, and came back. And in the time between my ER adventure and the flea bombing adventure, Shelby has gotten diarrhea for the second time in a month, and I've caught a cold. I will spend Thanksgiving shoving pills down Shelby's throat and and blowing my nose.

I am thankful for tea, and tissues, and enough hot water for several baths, and for my many Enya CDs.

The Subplot

This will be the last installment of The Adventures of the Adverse Reaction. I'm tired of talking about it. I must finish with the subplot, because it goes with the movie this little episode seems to be in my head. It's like Keystone Cops.

Right in the middle of all of this, my neighbor Sarah was having her condo bombed for fleas. All of us neighbors have agreed on a time days before; Friday, between 9 and 11 am. Who knew that the Friday would be the day after I spent a few hours in the ER? Everyone had to be out of the house for four hours while the bombing did its work. We had already worked out a plan: my across the hall neighbors George and Christine would put their two cats and my cat Shelby in their VW van in the driveway, and pray that they wouldn't freeze to death.

The man from Terminix showed up at 9 on the dot, and we all set about to put the cats in the van; Sarah would bring her two cats to the vet's. Got Kipper in the van, but where was Phoebe? Couldn't find Phoebe. Finally, I opened a closet door, and there she was. "Got Phoebe!" Put Phoebe in the van. Put Shelby in the van. Whew.

I went upstairs to Sarah's. She said to me that she didn't think that her cats had fleas anymore, because she didn't see any flea dust on Benjamin. If there was no evidence of fleas, there was no reason to have the place bombed. What did I think? No bombing? I could sleep in my own bed? Great. Call off Mr. Terminix.

I went downstairs and told George and Christine, who were happy as well. Went back upstairs and just for kicks, decided to check Benjamin one last time, to be sure. I combed through the fur on his neck, which was very dense. After about three seconds, I found it. A bunch of flea dust. Evidence. Mr. Terminix was on again. Go downstairs to tell George and Christine. Get my stuff.

In the days we were making this plan, I figured I'd be at work, and just return home like any other day and be done with it. But now I was doped up on Prednisone and Benadryl and I had to find somewhere to be, because my boss had given me the day off to rest after my "adventure".

I immediately thought of my friends Liz and Chris. They have a room off of their basement that I used once when my floors were being redone. I had an image of this room as I thought about where to rest for four hours: the lush burgundy carpet, the double bed with flannel sheets, the cozy feeling...

I called Liz and she said to come on over, she'd be in and out. I went over. And got a phone call. From Sarah. Okay, next one is last installment. I swear.

Bedside Manner 101

Young Nurse was nice at first, chatty, and she did what everyone should do in the ER--tell you what she's doing. She said she was going to give me an IV, and right before she put it in, she said, "Big pinch." I was prepared, and it wasn't bad. I did a little name dropping; one of my good friends is a doctor at that hospital, and I wanted her to know who she was associated with.

Young Doctor, however...he spoke to me in a condescending tone, and didn't seem to realize that I was a person, not a textbook. He said to me, "Have you ever had this before?" but he didn't really look at me, and he sort of sounded like a robot. His tag said STUDENT, so I asked him what year he was. He was fourth year, going to graduate in May. I congratulated him, and changed his name from Young Doctor to Junior.

Senior Doctor came in, and that's when I really let loose. Apparently, when I'm in shock, I'm like myself, times ten. Watch out. I started shouting out one liners. Among them:

SD: So, what happened?

Me: My palms started getting itchy. I didn't know if I was getting money or having an allergic reaction!

and later...

Me: Doctor, I got stars all over my arm, what's happening???

SD, giving me steroids intravenously: Do you use steroids?

Me: No, I work out naturally!

As the medicine started pumping through my veins, the adrenaline started wearing off and I began trembling uncontrollably. It was really weird; I couldn't stop. I asked Junior why I couldn't stop shaking, and he monotoned, "I think it's just nerves. You'll be okay."

Me: So you're telling me to fucking relax?

That got a big laugh out of Young Nurse. Later, they were both in the hallway. You could hear everything anyone was talking about. Young Nurse said to Junior, "How is she?" and he said something I couldn't hear, and YN laughed. Next time she came in, she said, "How are ya, Trouble? Just kidding." Trouble. I'll give her trouble, all right.

Thank goodness there was a shift change, and an experienced RN took over. She was great. Kept asking me if I was okay, was very sweet, and talked to me like I was a person. I slept for a little while, and after four hours, I was ready to be discharged. Upon leaving, I had to throw out one last one liner:

Me to RN: Hey, did you know the brand name of those latex gloves is "Esteem"? Do you feel better about yourself when you wear them?

Next day, my doctor friend told me I was a hit in the ER. I'm glad, but I hope to never repeat the experience again. I'm going to have a nice long chat with my allergist next week. Next up: The subplot...

Call, and They Will Come

When you call 911 in my town, they drop their donuts and playing cards and send the police, the fire department, and an ambulance. I'm not kidding, and that's the order in which they came. Protocol, I found out. About nine men in various uniforms showed up and started filing in my studio apartment. I talked to them all, telling them all I wanted to know was should I take a Benadryl or use my Epi pen. I wanted to take off my shirt to show them my rash, but I hesitated. Who were the EMTs in the group?

One guy started taking my information, and I flashed him my belly so he could see what he was dealing with. He put up his hand and looked away, "Okay, you don't need to do that", he said. What the hell was he there for? Uptight New Englander!

I finally figured out that there were two EMTs, and one of them told the rest of the boys they could leave. There was a younger one and an older one, and the older one said he thought I should go to the hospital, because even as he was standing there, my ear was getting pinker and pinker, and he didn't want me to get worse and stop breathing. That's all it took; I said okay, and grabbed my coat.

In the hallway, I asked if I could curse. Older said sure, and I belted out, "That fucking nurse!", referring to the woman who had given me the injections. We got into the ambulance and went quietly, with no siren. Younger drove. I started cursing again, and apologized. They said it was fine, they heard it all the time. I made small talk with Older, and called a friend to say, "You'll never guess what I'm doing right now..." I realize now that I was in shock. We got to the ER of the hospital of my choice, and as I got out, I said, "This is the most fun I've had in weeks!" Older said, "You gotta get out more!"

They put me in a wheelchair, another protocol. Got my info, and Younger did something very strange. He took a tool that had a round pivoting ball on it, and rubbed it on my face, from my eye to my cheek. I asked him what that was for, and he said, "Temperature." Indeed, on the machine next to me, it registered 99. I wasn't with it enough to tell him that he should really tell people what he was doing before he massaged someone's face with a pastry implement. I just kept looking at my hands and my arms, which were very pink. I kept saying, "This is fascinating!" Shock.

They took me to a bed, and I met Young Nurse and Young Doctor. And I could teach them a thing or two about something called Bedside Manner 101.

React Much?

Last night I took a ride in an ambulance and went to the emergency room. It was very exciting.
What happened? Allergic reaction to my monthly allergy injections.

I got my injections around 3:45, with a nurse I had only seen twice. I told her that the previous month, I had had a bad reaction to my shots, and showed her a picture of my arm all swelled up with a 3" circle of red. She made a big deal of cutting down my dose. You're supposed to stay in the office for a half hour afterwards in case you have a reaction. She gave me ice to put on my arms while I was waiting. At 4:15, she noted my arm was pink and had a little spot, but nothing to worry about. She noted it in my chart. She told me to take some Benadryl when I got home.

I stopped at the store on my way home. Walking towards home, I felt like my palms were itchy. Wasn't that a sign of an adverse reaction? I shrugged it off, thinking I was being paranoid.

When I got home at 5:00, I took off my gloves and saw that my palms were pink. Was I imagining it? I went across the hall to my neighbor's so she could see if I was red anywhere else. By that time, my ears were starting to feel funny. I went to see her, and she didn't even look under my shirt and said, "Alex, what's happening??" Oh god, I got a little freaked out then. Went back to my house and lifted up my shirt. I was red like a lobster.

I called the doctor's office, which was closed. I had no choice but to call 911; all I wanted to know was whether I should take a Benadryl or use my Epi pen. I was breathing, so I didn't think I should use the Epi pen. The woman on the line told me she would send an ambulance over to check me out, and that they could tell me better.

Next up: call, and they will come. And bring half the town.

Yes, I Bought It

Sort of. I had a card worth $15 from points at Best Buy, so it was really free. I am disappointed, as I always am when I get a CD from an American Idol alum (with the exception of the Dreamgirls soundtrack, featuring Jennifer Hudson). David's CD is sickly sweet, and doesn't show off his true talent. I got two of his live songs off of iTunes, both covers, and he rocked it then. Did you hear his version of Imagine? Then you know what I mean.

To hear this 17 year old boy singing about heartache and desperation is just a little too...not believeable. The beats are too poppy for me. Who writes these things? Some old lonely man who pours out his heart because he can't get the girl, and has to rely on a teenager to whine his heartache.

At least I keep my heartache to myself.

Funky Fresh

Rose, Kate, and Zoey were in a structure at school we call the "doghouse".

Zoey: Alex, can you write a sign that says, "No boys allowed"?

Alex: I don't want to write that. What if the boys wrote a sign that said "No girls allowed". How would you feel?

Kate: Actually, we don't want to play with boys, so we'd feel happy.*

Later on in the day, I had a group of kids playing a version of bowling. Simon had brought in these soft bowling pins and a ball. I had all the kids stand in a line, one behind the other, and take turns. I got into a character, and after a kid would bowl, I'd say in this vague Italian-sounding accent, "Okay, back-ada line, get in the back-ada liiiiinnne..."

After a few minutes of this, Calder looked at me with a straight face and said, "Alex, you're a freak."

*Btw, today the boys did indeed try to ban girls from the dress up area, and Kate was not happy. She eventually got in, with a big smile on her face.

Post # 500! Peek-a-Boo at the Nail Salon

For my birthday last April I got a gift certificate for a manicure and pedicure at a nail salon that I had never been to, and it's now my regular place, though not for the reason I'm about to describe.

If you want a free peep show, you'll go to this nail salon. There's a woman who works there who leaves little to the imagination when choosing her salon attire. The day that I got my free pedicure, she was wearing a skirt that was so short you could see her underwear, a cute little green lace thing. She dresses like she's on her way somewhere fancy...depending on what your idea of fancy is. She wears high heels, short skirts, and midriff shirts.

The other day when I went to get a manicure, it was chilly, so I was curious to see what she'd be wearing. She did not disappoint. She had on sweat pants--but not your mother's sweat pants, oh no. These were pink low rise sweats, and her purple thong, complete with a tiny bow in the middle, showed at the top of her waistband.

I wondered what the boss was thinking when I saw him catch a glimpse of her bow, but then I noticed what he was wearing. He had on a polo shirt with martini glasses embroidered all over it, and he had a gold ring the size of a small acorn. Just another day at the office, I guess.

Time for Sing-a-Long!

I made up a new song during singing time at school yesterday. Sung to the tune of "BINGO":

There was a man in the white house
Obama was his name-o
O-B-A-M-A, O-B-A-M-A, O-B-A-M-A,
Obama was his name-o!

I was spouting Obama all week long. I don't want anyone to forget how important this moment in history is. He is not just another president. A friend of mine described it as Part II of the Civil Rights Movement. I agree.

Yes, We Can!

Last night history was made. I am so happy to witness this time in history, and indeed have hope for our future. I've thought so much of my dear mother, god rest her soul, who would be such an Obama supporter. I wish she were alive to witness this. I can only imagine she's looking down and doing her own happy dance.

Today at school I left a piece of paper on the art table that said, "Today's Practice Letters:
O B A M A." At Meeting time, I sounded like a preacher, yelling out that a new day has come, and yes we can, and change has come to America! All the kids knew how to say Barack Obama, and they knew he was the new president.

When my boss, Rosie, was singing "The Wheels on the Bus" with the kids and she got to the part where they sing, "The driver on the bus says, 'Move on back...' I interrupted the song to belt out, "Not on this day, no one is sitting on the back of the bus anymore, no SIR!"

I heard one funny story regarding Obama. One mom told me that awhile ago, she and her husband were watching TV, listening to Obama speak. Their son Ben, age 3, was sitting on the floor, playing. Obama said something about "don't let your kids watch too much TV", and Ben, a TV lover, whipped his head around and started watching. Later, he proclaimed his support for McCain. Today at school, however, he said he liked Obama.

Me too. And I also love TV. I'll support you, Ben.

Simple Pleasures

I was at someone's house teaching English a few weeks ago, and they offered me a snack. They always have the coolest snacks at this house; this particular snack was a cake made with sweet potatoes. It had a simple message on the side:

"We love to see you smile with your people. So just taste this cake."

I believe the snack was from a Korean company. We should have nice sentiments like that on packaging in America. If we did, more people would smile with their people, after just tasting the cake. It made me smile.

One Year Workout!

It's been one whole year since I started working out, woo hoo! I've slowed it way down since school started, but I'm still going consistently, once a week or more. I'm happy that I've found my niche at the gym, with Steve, and by myself. I've come a long way, baby. Never felt better in my life.

Post Halloween Post

It's the night after...last night we got a bunch of teenagers. I kept making sarcastic comments to them; I couldn't help it. My neighbor George told me that I would be responsible for wiping egg of the house because of my big mouth.

I'd say things like, "Wow, just what I like to see...teenagers on Halloween!" and, "You can only get candy if you're over the age of fourteen!"

I loved one sarcastic kid. He didn't have a costume on, and I asked him what he was. He replied, "A teenager. I think I nailed it." He got extra candy for being a fellow smart ass.

A bunch of kids from my school came too, and that's always fun. We got rid of almost all the candy (and little pots of Play Doh, which the older kids especially liked), and there was no egg on the house in the morning. Let's see how many of them come back next year...

Get Well Soon, Barbie!

Barbie wasn't at school today; she was home sick. I found out through Scarlett, though, that Barbie's babysitter is named Alex, just like me! What a coincidence.

Introducing...Barbie!

We have a new girl at school named Scarlett. Scarlett is three. Scarlett brings Barbie to school every day, and she talks through Barbie. I love it. "Alex, Barbie doesn't want to do the art project. Barbie wants to listen to We Will Rock You."

Sometimes Barbie gets a little too excited. That's when Scarlett says, "Barbie's gonna mess up your hair!" and Alex gets attacked in the head by Barbie. That's when Alex says, "Barbie needs to take a time out." and Scarlett takes her and puts her in a corner for a few minutes.

Yesterday Barbie got sick. Scarlett announced this, and very thoughtfully got a hand towel, draped it lovingly over her shoulder, and allowed Barbie to throw up the towel. It sounds cruel, but I asked Scarlett to do it again so I could take a picture. It was worth it, right? "Scarlett, make Barbie throw up again so I can take a picture." Sounds sick, but it was all in the name of creativity and so I could put it on this blog for Scarlett's parents and the world to enjoy.

There will be more Barbie posts, for sure. And by the way, Marco has gone to kindergarten.

Rose's Retort

I was talking to Rose, who was turning four, about her upcoming birthday party.

Me: I'm sorry, but I won't be able to go to your birthday party.

Rose, with a straight face: We didn't invite you!

Did I get into it with a four year old? Of course. I said, "Well, actually, your mom did invite me, but I can't go. Sorry." Sometimes I just have to get the last word in, especially with Rose, who seems much older than four. She's more like forty-four.

Just Another Day at the Gym

At the gym today it cleared out, so I had the opportunity to have my picture taken for my blog. Here I am during a typical workout. Well, actually, it's not so typical. Today was a light day. I was taking it easy; I mean, this plus yoga five days a week can do a number on you if you're not prepared. And those vitamin injections the substitute trainer has been giving me? Wow, they make me feel so...energized! And strong! And a little angry sometimes, but life isn't always a bed of roses, now is it? I'm gonna go hit someone...I mean, hit the hay. Good night, grrrr!

Fall in New England--Two Views

There is nothing quite like fall in New England. Here we have all the colors. On the left, Brookline. On the right, Cape Cod. Spectacular.

What's On Tonight?

I am so bummed. I get the Boston Globe delivered to my house every Sunday. I read most of the paper, but the original reason I subscribed was because of the TV Weekly insert. All of the shows for the week are clearly laid out. I can scan, highlight, and know every night what I'm going to watch.

Last week there was a message printed at the top of the TV Weekly. As of next week, the TV Weekly insert will cease to exist. It said something along the lines of "if you want a weekly TV listing, buy our newspaper every day or get a subscription to TV Guide". Dammit! I don't like TV Guide, even less now because they made it huge; it looks like a magazine. I don't like scanning on the TV to see what's on. I like to hold the paper in my hand and highlight. I might be forced to get a subscription.

Yes, I am a TV addict. So sue me. There are worse things.

Shelby Update

Shelby's lab results came back. They're all within the normal range, thank goodness. But now I wonder, what the heck is wrong with her?? I've learned that I'm an expert at popping pills down her throat, and she doesn't even get mad. She knows that Mommny just wants to help. We'll see how she does in the coming days. She's eating more, so things are looking up. Thanks for the good vibes!

Happy Halloween!

There's this place called Camp Sunshine. Last night they tried to break the world record for most lit Jack-O-Lanterns in one place. It was spectacular. It even got political.

Baby's Not Feeling Well

Poor Shelby. She's sick. She's had the runs for four days, and it got so bad I called the vet and they told me to bring her in. She was weighed, prodded,and poked, and had blood taken. She's lost one pound in two months, which is a lot for a cat.

First the doctor took blood from her front leg, and he said it wasn't enough for the tests he wanted to run. He tried her neck next--can you imagine the job of sticking a needle into a cat's neck to take blood?? Two people had to hold her while this was being done, and he couldn't get a good vein. Next, he tried her rear leg. Nothing. I told her if her veins were as big as her paws, we'd be fine, but no such luck. Finally, he tried her other leg and got some more blood, which he said would have to do.

Then they took her in the back and gave her some fluids. Then back to the exam table to get a giant blue pill stuck down her throat. I watched the doctor's technique carefully--lift the head all the way back to open the throat, pop the pill down, then put her head down for swallowing. She fought him, and it will take two people. I have to do this twice a day for the next 7-10 days. A picnic. I can't wait.

$217 dollars later, she's home resting from her traumatic morning.
I have to go buy human baby food so she'll eat something. Poor thing. It sucks getting old. I get the lab results on Monday. Fingers crossed that it's not too serious. Please send good vibes her way.

Quotable Kate

My friends are going away for the weekend, and I'm taking care of their daughter, Kate. I'll spend the night at her house on Friday and Saturday.

Last night Kate was talking with her mom about me spending time with her, and she said, "Mommy, I bet you're gonna be sad." Sounds like Kate was thinking her mom was gonna miss her, right? Sophie thought she'd check.

"Why do you think I'm going to be sad?" she asked.

"Because you and Daddy don't get to spend the weekend with Alex!" was her reply.

Next time I'm down in the dumps, I'll read this post. Thanks, Kate.

Katydid It Again

Photo on the left: second time I've seen a katydid in my life. Photo on the right: first time I ever saw one. I thought they were supposed to resemble a green leaf, but the ones I've seen have tried to camouflage themselves on asphalt. Are katydids dimwitted? Lost? On their way to greener pastures?

Maybe one day I'll see a rhino trying to hide in a field of grass.

Quote of the Day

Tate, 11, has just asked her mom for some Advil because she has a headache.

Tate: I can swallow pills now!

Alex: Wow, really?

Tate: Yeah, I learned it at camp.

So much for swimming and macrame.

This Won't Hurt a Bit

Last weekend I went to the Cape with friends. Diana made dinner the first night-- beer infused chicken. The idea was to stick an open beer can up the chicken's arse and the aroma of the beer would permeate the skin. I felt like the bird was being violated, but I took pictures anyway. I was grossed out and fascinated at the same time.

Here you can see before and after pictures. Did I eat it? Damn right I did, and it was good.

Get Used to It

I've lived in Boston for 16 years, and I still don't know the network channels here. To me, CBS is channel 2, NBC is channel 4, and ABC is 7. That's New York, of course. What channel is CBS in Boston?

Another thing I can't get used to here is pizza bags. I'll never forget the first time I got a slice of pizza to go in Boston. They laid the pizza flat and put it in a stationery bag! In New York, they use flat bags for cards you buy at the stationery store. For pizza, they fold the pizza slice in half and put it in a lunch bag like one of those brown paper bags kids put their lunch in.

I have gotten used to asking for a frappe when what I really want is a milkshake, and I use the words "wicked" (I'm wicked tired!) and "no, sir!" (I don't believe you) regularly. There's still hope.

Fire Alarm--Don't Panic!

The other night my friends and I went out to dinner before going to a movie. We went to this restaurant and had a good time, laughing, reminiscing, and catching up. Towards the end of the meal, the fire alarms went off. The first reaction of my friend Imke and myself? Ugh, stop that annoying noise! There was no visible smoke. Dawn was more proactive; she thought we should leave. We sat there for a few moments, and when we saw a line of guys from the bar start to walk out, we got up. It was like a wave--everyone eventually got up and walked out of the restaurant very calmly.

I remarked about this out loud, and some guy did a fake panic scream for me. We all gathered along the sidewalk and noticed that it was the whole building that had alarms going off, not just our restaurant. We looked at our watches and noticed that the movie would start in about 15 minutes, so we just went to the movie theater. Yay, a free meal! At the movie theater, we started seeing fire engines arriving. Was there really a fire?

The thing that struck me was the fact that so many people were desensitized to the alarm. Yes, we didn't panic, but we also didn't get moving. That's a little scary. I bet if we had seen smoke there would have been a mad dash, and people would have gotten hurt. Dawn was amazed that no one was in charge. No staff person ever came out to tell us to leave or stay put, or anything. That was also scary.

In the end, I hope it was just that a cook burned the fries or it was a false alarm. It was nice to have a free meal. It was delicious, too.

UNO!

When I do English conversation with kids, we often play card games. One favorite game is Uno; we play "the Japanese way", where you get to put down several cards in a row. For example, if the color is red and the number is 5, you can put down as many 5's as you have. You can also do this with any other card.

Here's one of my students who whittled down all of his cards until he had four left, all draw 4's. See his expression of glee? He won, because he went out with those four, and his poor brother had to draw sixteen cards.

That day the kids also learned Spanish; they had no idea that "Uno" meant "One".

People at the Gym

Dear Readers,

You may have been wondering why I haven't blogged about the gym lately. It's because I haven't been. Before yesterday, I hadn't been in 11 days. I also don't train as regularly with Steve, because I've graduated to doing it myself. Consequently, I don't go as often. This is probably how I should have started in the first place, slowly, then working up to more days. I'm kind of doing things backwards.

In any case, I was at the gym yesterday, and the first person I saw was this woman whose husband wanted to take nude photos of me about ten years ago. Say what??? Yeah. I was working as a puppeteer at a child's birthday party, and afterwards, one of the dads said he was a photographer and he'd love to do a photo shoot with me. At the time I had a bleach blond crew cut and an earring in my eyebrow, so I guessed he was after my alternative look.

I went to his house, met his wife and young son, and saw his work: naked women. They were tastefully done, artistic, and all, but still. He told me he did nudes and he wanted me to shave my head. Uh, no thanks. I was creeped out, but agreed to take some photos with all my clothes on, thank you very much. I haven't ever seen him in town, but I see his wife occasionally, and I always get an icky feeling when I see her. She didn't remember me, thank god.

Later on, I saw this guy I've seen a few times before. He has curly black hair, very long, pulled back into a ponytail, and he wears a white sweatband around his forehead like he's living in the 70's. He was walking with a chain belt around his waist, and attached to the belt was a kettle bell. It looked like a cannonball with a handle. He was walking with this thing inbetween his legs, and I wanted to shout, "You got balls!", but I restrained myself. What he did was grab this bar and did pull ups with this thing attached to him. So strong and macho! Maybe I'll try it next time.

I got on the bike and didn't pedal quite as fast as the old man on the bike next to me, but I'm working my way up to it. Gotta protect myself from injury.

Watercolor Class--Any Better?

My friend Chris told me she was taking a one-time watercolor painting class, and when I said, "Oooh!", she asked me if I'd like to join her. I'd always wanted to take a watercolor class. It was just one night, two hours of our time. Perhaps this was the class I should have taken instead of Linguistics for the Linguistically Challenged. We got our supplies at the art store, and arrived in the basement of the library ready to learn.

There were five people in the class, including us. The teacher didn't introduce himself; he just pulled up a table and told us we could sit there. The three other people were already painting. It turned out that this was a two-part class, and we were at the second part. Perhaps these students had already been schooled for two hours?

We sat down and waited for instruction. And waited. Finally, the teacher told us to sketch the scene and then to paint it. I looked at the still life and groaned inside. It was so cliche--a wine bottle, a loaf of bread with one slice cut, and two brown eggs, all on a cloth, draped dramatically and taped to the wall. Look, it's France in the basement of a library in Boston!

Chris and I started sketching, and the teacher walked out of the room. Huh? He came back a few minutes later and looked at everyone's work. "Very nice shading", he said to the man next to Chris. "I like what you've done", he said to someone else. He came to me and said, "Why don't you erase all of this and turn the paper the other way?" I replied, "Check this out!" and I just flipped the paper to a new one. He sketched the whole scene for me, looked at Chris's work, and then left again.

We wondered why the teacher kept leaving, and why no one was talking. They were all so serious. The man painted one French scene after another, whipping them off his pad as if it was a new sport--Watercolor Racing, first one who uses his whole pad wins! I fell back into my comfort zone, and starting making wisecracks just loud enough for Chris to hear so that she'd laugh. We felt like the bad kids in school; I had to stop myself from passing her a note.

The teacher came back and announced that there was an art show upstairs and if we needed a break we could go get free refreshments. So that's where he'd been! Scarfing cookies and juice while we waited for some interaction. Technique? Tips? Answers to questions? He leaned over me and said, "How you doin', Kiddo?" He didn't know that one nickname I happen to hate is "Kiddo." I am forty years old, I am nobody's Kiddo. I told him I didn't know what I was doing. He told me that it was all about dark and light, the draping, the shadows. He told me where it was dark and where it was light, complimented Chris, and then left again. At least that time we knew where he was going.

I didn't see dark and light. I saw a vacant bottle of wine, probably emptied by our fearless non- leader, a loaf of stale bread, and eggs with samonella. I realized that I was not a watercolor artist, I was a photographer and an anthropologist. I liked watching the teacher interact with the different people in the room, and making assumptions about him based on the stories he told us about how people had seen his work and bought his paintings on the spot for lots of money.

I took a picture of the scene and compared it with my painting. My loaf of bread at first resembled a turkey, but once I added some shading, it turned out to be a hot dog. One of my eggs looked like a lemon, and the other one melted. My background just looked dirty. Chris's painting was much better than mine, but she kept blotting at it furiously in order to make it appear lighter. We agreed that what we both liked was watercolor outlined with black so that it was crisp and not flowy. We decided to look at children's books and admire what illustrators had done.

I gave up. I started sketching out the words for this blog post, I texted someone, and I went upstairs for free cookies and juice. I met a very nice artist and saw a book I wanted to borrow from the library.

At the end of the "space rented out so we could use the things we bought from the art store" session, because it turned out not to be a class after all, Chris and I met up with friends for dinner. Maybe she'll come to the "Dark Side of Boston" walk I signed up for at the end of the month. Whaddaya say, Chris?

Back to School

My school got a voucher for a free class at my alma mater, and after asking the rest of the staff if they'd like to use it, jumped at the chance when they said no. I was so excited to be taking a graduate course again, and I knew the professor, though I had never taken a class from her.

The class was entitled, "The Nature of Linguistic Language." I thought it would perfectly coincide with the work I was doing after school, teaching English conversation. We would learn how people learn language, how they acquire second language, and a host of other things.

The class was taught by two professors, and they had taught the course together for many years. They wrote a book, which was our textbook. I ordered that book as well as another book to read if we were interested.

In the first class, we talked about how to make plural nouns in English. We learned how to make plural nouns in Armenian. As always, I was quick to speak in class even if I didn't have the right answer. I figured out the young women to the left and right of me had the answers, and I made a deal with them: if we worked together, they could come up with the answers, and I'd be the spokesperson for the group. They agreed to do it.

The first class was hard, and the second class wasn't any easier. I learned this was a research course, and we'd be making hypotheses. I hypothesized how long I would last. I started making jokes under my breath, much to the delight of my new partners in crime. When one professor was talking about the soft palate in your mouth, I whispered, "I think my soft palate is up here", and I tapped my head.

I spent much of the class with a quizzical look on my face (see photo), and I talked a lot. Here's a sample of what we had to read in our textbook:

"The concept 'plural' is semantically interpreted at the NP level, as a result of the NP and the morpheme {plural} merging. However, the phonological form of the morpheme {plural} can be found on the head of the N of the NP, on the adjectives modifying the N, on the determiners, or on all of the above. Or on none of the above; that is, the morpheme {plural} does not have to be realized phonologically at all within the NP." (copied without permission from Honda and O'Neil, 2008)

Get it? Me neither. When the word "morpheme" came up in class, all I could think about was morphine, which I felt like I was on. I withdrew from the class and will now be watching Oprah on Thursdays instead of making my soft palate even softer with morphine.

iPod Fun

A lot of people put their iPod on "random" mode to get a good mix of music. Here's another way to do it: click on "songs", and just listen to them in alphabetical order. It's so much fun to see how they're organized.

How else could I listen to "White and Nerdy", a parody of a rap song by Weird Al Yankovic, followed by "White Lines", a classie rap song by Grandmaster Flash? How many songs begin with the word "Don't"? A lot.

Don't (Elvis Presley)
Don't Ask Me Why (Billy Joel)
Don't Be Cruel (Elvis Presley)
Don't Believe the Hype (Public Enemy)
Don't Break my Heart (UB40)
Don't Go Breaking my Heart (Elton John)
Don't Know Why (Norah Jones)
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me (Elton John, George Michael, David Archuleta)
Don't Play Me (Prince)
Don't Stop Till You Get Enough (Michael Jackson)
Don't Stop the Music (Yarbrough and Peoples)
Don't Stop--Planet Rock (Afrika Bambaataa)
Don't Take Your Guns to Town (Johnny Cash)
Don't Talk 2 Strangers (Prince)
Don't Worry, Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)

Can't wait to get to the end of the list, where song names begin with numerals...

English is Stupid, part 52

I just read an article talking about a new store, and it said something like, "She clothes her new space in blacks and tans..."

It occurred to me that in that context, we pronounce the "th" in "clothes".

When we're talking about things we wear, it's pronounced "close".

Ridiculous.

Countdown to Halloween

The other day a dad at school told me about a costume he once made for Halloween. He wore tennis whites; shorts, shirt, sweatbands, the whole bit. Then he made a gruesome hand out of papier mache and stuck it to his back. Ready?

He was a tennis pro with a vicious backhand!!!

That rivals one of my favorite costumes, The Madonna/Madonna! (seen here with newly adopted David)

No Halloween parties scheduled yet, but it's always good to be prepared...

Happy Fall!

Now that's a fresh apple!

More from the Early Ages

Written right before I saw Pre-Modern Pharmacist, while eating dinner at Panera:

I don't understand the baguette. What is appealing about a bread that looks and feels like a lobster without its appendages? It's so hard to rip apart, you end up gouging it with your fingers. I feel like a cave woman. Ugh! I beat my chest in frustration.

The middle part of the shell of bread does go with the soup, however. I'll deal.

Me Want Drugs!

There's a pharmacist at my local CVS who looks exactly like one of the Geico cavemen, I'm not kidding. He has long, scraggly curly brown hair, a full beard and mustache, and a Cro-Magnon-shaped face. He wears a white button down shirt, a tie, and dress pants. He looks like early man trying to fit into modern society. I have to keep from laughing every time I see him. Dude, get a haircut, and maybe shave a little!

The Scent of a (Single) Woman ('s Studio)

The other day I went out to breakfast with my friend Sophie and her daughter Kate. I had a scrambled egg, and Sophie had a fried egg. Her egg looked so good, I told her the next time we went out I wanted a fried egg.

Today I have the day off. I decided to get fancy and I made a fried egg for myself. It was yummy, though I always get scared that I'm going to get salmonella from eating a runny yolk. I put the air purifier on to get rid of the fried egg smell, and went out to do an errand.

Came back an hour later, and now my apartment smells like fried egg and cat poop. Thanks a lot, Shelby. Looks like we're going to get a visit from our friend Mr. Bleach Cleaner!

Do the Funky Chicken

The other day our school went apple picking. There was this toddler there who was hanging out with a chicken. They kept doing the same thing! From the top...
1) On the fence
2) Walking away
3) Squat down...
4) and up again!

Time to Go Through It

It's that time again...I'd collected about four containers worth of papers, and it was getting a little out of hand. As usual, I dumped it all on my couch and made myself go through it. Probably took about two hours. I shredded a lot of stuff.








My goal was to have everything fit into these three boxes.




Great news! Not only did I fit everything into just two boxes, but I found $60 in cash, leftover from my birthday in April! The next step is to immediately go through these two boxes and file everything in its proper place. I swear I'll do it next weekend.