2008, that is. Hol-le-hell. How did another year go by?
There is something about new year's eve that calms me and makes me reflect. Not that reflecting is anything new, I tend to reflect on the past and on new possibilities a lot..perhaps too often, but I like to remind myself of where I've been, where I've gone, and where I'm going. I do more thinking about it all tomorrow, only there is a very good chance that tomorrow's reflection will be interrupted by a banging in my head, greasy food to try and curb the banging, and dark sunglasses to stop the blinding in my eyes. So, along with some errands and watching a mindless marathon of "No Reservation" with Anthony Bourdain, I'll reflect on one of the most amazing years of my life and I'll wonder what the new year will bring to me and those around me.
One thing I know for sure is that I grew in ways I could not have imagined, saw things I only dreamed about, and learned enough to know that I don't know anything at all. It was an interesting, heartbreaking, stressful, imaginative, eye-opening, courageous, daydreaming, tear-filled, laugh line making, liver killing, exhausting, insomnia inducing, wondrous and glorious year. I look forward to more of all the above starting tomorrow. (Around noon-ish.) (I'm expecting a late night.)
Happy new year everyone!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Merry Christmas!
to all and to all a wonderful holiday!
(...and if need be, add alcohol. Alcohol makes everything seem wonderful and glorious.
Me, I had a bottle of red wine last night. Hmmm, good Christmas eve.)
I hope your day is wonderful and (not too) bright!
(...and if need be, add alcohol. Alcohol makes everything seem wonderful and glorious.
Me, I had a bottle of red wine last night. Hmmm, good Christmas eve.)
I hope your day is wonderful and (not too) bright!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
inner dork: it's literature, my dear.
Yay! It's inner dork Thursday. Or, how to make book-learning fun.
Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was the first manuscript to be sent to the publisher already type-written.
The typewriter was invented in 1876.
The first names of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were Henry and Edward.
Dr. Frankenstein's first name was Victor.
Mick Jagger turned down an advance of 3.5 million pounds for his memoirs, because he couldn't remember enough significant information about his own life.
(Does that make it a good life or a bad life??)
In 1900, Americans voted their favorite book, after the Bible, was the Sears Roebuck Catalogue.
There are twenty different kisses described in the Kama Sutra.
J.R.R. Tolkien's name stand for John Ronald Reuel.
In the Batman Stories, Riddler's real name was Edward Nigma or E. Nigma.
According to Ernest Hemingway there are four achievements to become a real man: plant a tree, fight a bull, write a book, and have a son.
(Hmmm, so apparently, he was a real man.)
(A son, not a daughter. There will be no substitutions.)
One edition of a current Sunday New York Times has more information in it than a typical adult was exposed to in an entire lifetime a hundred years ago.
Gosh, I sure have missed Inner Dorkings.
Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer was the first manuscript to be sent to the publisher already type-written.
The typewriter was invented in 1876.
The first names of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde were Henry and Edward.
Dr. Frankenstein's first name was Victor.
Mick Jagger turned down an advance of 3.5 million pounds for his memoirs, because he couldn't remember enough significant information about his own life.
(Does that make it a good life or a bad life??)
In 1900, Americans voted their favorite book, after the Bible, was the Sears Roebuck Catalogue.
There are twenty different kisses described in the Kama Sutra.
J.R.R. Tolkien's name stand for John Ronald Reuel.
In the Batman Stories, Riddler's real name was Edward Nigma or E. Nigma.
According to Ernest Hemingway there are four achievements to become a real man: plant a tree, fight a bull, write a book, and have a son.
(Hmmm, so apparently, he was a real man.)
(A son, not a daughter. There will be no substitutions.)
One edition of a current Sunday New York Times has more information in it than a typical adult was exposed to in an entire lifetime a hundred years ago.
Gosh, I sure have missed Inner Dorkings.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
wish hard, hope hard, drink hard...
Okay, so grades are due today.
Grades have not been posted as of yet.
I need to get a 3.0.
A 3.0 means: I won't be placed on probation, I won't lose my scholarship, I will be able to apply for scholarships and grants for my Brazil trip.
It basically means I won't have to worry.
So, if all of you, most lovely of lovely people, can think all good thoughts for me, that would be great.
There are two classes that have some cause for concern. Bad start, strong finish, but that bad start was a really bad start, so even though I had a strong finish there is still need for worry.
In another class, which I was (perhaps the keyword) getting an "A" I was most annoyed with the professor and with his test. I kinda showed this in my answer on the essay portion. When the question asked us to show our knowledge in research and apply it to the (stupid ass) question being asked of me, I (kinda) responded in a snarky manner.
The question, to paraphrase: developers want to build a new housing development along the Mississippi river...and it goes from there.
My first sentence to the questions read: "Well, I would ask why people would want to live along a flood plain." (not kidding)
Second sentence read: "Will the people have a problem with needing to buy flood insurance?" (Nope, still serious.)
Third sentence, "Will they have a problem with the smell of the river?" (Nope.)
..and it went from there.
So, who knows where my "A" might have went.
Other class I was (again, keyword) getting an "A" in, that professor decided to grill me over the hot, hot bed of evil known as the, end of the semester pissiness for over 30 minutes in front of my peers because she misunderstood what I said only I didn't know that she misunderstood and couldn't for the life of me understand why she wasn't getting it and when she finally did understand she didn't seem to care about the hot, hot bed of uncomfortableness and flusteredness she had just put me through. The class, however, apologized on her behalf.
So. Please. Please, squeeze your eyes tight and think happy good thoughts for (or, of) me.
See it. Think it. Visualize it.
The 3.0.
Or. 3.2.
Better yet, a 3.5.
That'd be great.
Thanks.
You're all the most-bestest.
Grades have not been posted as of yet.
I need to get a 3.0.
A 3.0 means: I won't be placed on probation, I won't lose my scholarship, I will be able to apply for scholarships and grants for my Brazil trip.
It basically means I won't have to worry.
So, if all of you, most lovely of lovely people, can think all good thoughts for me, that would be great.
There are two classes that have some cause for concern. Bad start, strong finish, but that bad start was a really bad start, so even though I had a strong finish there is still need for worry.
In another class, which I was (perhaps the keyword) getting an "A" I was most annoyed with the professor and with his test. I kinda showed this in my answer on the essay portion. When the question asked us to show our knowledge in research and apply it to the (stupid ass) question being asked of me, I (kinda) responded in a snarky manner.
The question, to paraphrase: developers want to build a new housing development along the Mississippi river...and it goes from there.
My first sentence to the questions read: "Well, I would ask why people would want to live along a flood plain." (not kidding)
Second sentence read: "Will the people have a problem with needing to buy flood insurance?" (Nope, still serious.)
Third sentence, "Will they have a problem with the smell of the river?" (Nope.)
..and it went from there.
So, who knows where my "A" might have went.
Other class I was (again, keyword) getting an "A" in, that professor decided to grill me over the hot, hot bed of evil known as the, end of the semester pissiness for over 30 minutes in front of my peers because she misunderstood what I said only I didn't know that she misunderstood and couldn't for the life of me understand why she wasn't getting it and when she finally did understand she didn't seem to care about the hot, hot bed of uncomfortableness and flusteredness she had just put me through. The class, however, apologized on her behalf.
So. Please. Please, squeeze your eyes tight and think happy good thoughts for (or, of) me.
See it. Think it. Visualize it.
The 3.0.
Or. 3.2.
Better yet, a 3.5.
That'd be great.
Thanks.
You're all the most-bestest.
Friday, December 14, 2007
that's why they call it, practicing
I joke about my drinking ability.
I make fun of my liver.
I've been known to beat my liver into quiet submission.
I always win the battle.
At least until the next morning.
Yesterday, you know, the last day of the semester, I told my three most-bestest friends to meet me at the bar. At the bar at 1:15 CST.
They came.
Aaaaaand, they did not drink.
I made fun.
I ridiculed.
I said, what the fuck?!?!
They said, they were tired. (They complained, really)
They were up late.
They wanted a nap.
In the meantime I drank five of my most favorite drinks in about two hours. Actually, two hours is probably being generous. More like 1.5 hours, but I don't want to brag.
I would have kept drinking but they mentioned money constraints and tired eyes and wa-wa-wa.
Fine.
They went home to nap.
Okay, I took a nap too. Hey, I was home and the alcohol had kicked in. Nappy-time sounded like a good idea.
Back to the bar at 9:ish.
Aaaaaand we all drank the night away.
When I wasn't drinking fast enough, they enabled me.
When they weren't drinking fast enough, I enabled them.
It's a give and take relationship.
I'm not an alcoholic.
I'm a practicing alcoholic.
There is a difference.
Here's the thing, I'm 33 years old. They are: 22, 24, 26. (My most bestest friends. The rest of the gang is mostly 22 and 23.)
I have, admittedly and I've been told, that I have the worst sleeping patterns of just about anyone alive.
Meaning, I don't. Sleep. I don't sleep. Rarely. Six hours, tops. Mixed in with a lot of insomnia.
Yet, they were tired. Several of the gang left early.
I closed the bar.
And I can drink all of them under the table without slurring or being stupid.
Maybe loud and hilarious. But not stupid.
There is a difference.
There are two different levels of obnoxious.
I am the fun kind of obnoxious.
Oh, and I met someone.
I'll see if there is any chemistry when we're both sober and I'll let you know.
I don't have hopes of it being ever-lasting.
Or more than weekend-lasting.
But I've been known to be wrong.
About a lot of things.
I make fun of my liver.
I've been known to beat my liver into quiet submission.
I always win the battle.
At least until the next morning.
Yesterday, you know, the last day of the semester, I told my three most-bestest friends to meet me at the bar. At the bar at 1:15 CST.
They came.
Aaaaaand, they did not drink.
I made fun.
I ridiculed.
I said, what the fuck?!?!
They said, they were tired. (They complained, really)
They were up late.
They wanted a nap.
In the meantime I drank five of my most favorite drinks in about two hours. Actually, two hours is probably being generous. More like 1.5 hours, but I don't want to brag.
I would have kept drinking but they mentioned money constraints and tired eyes and wa-wa-wa.
Fine.
They went home to nap.
Okay, I took a nap too. Hey, I was home and the alcohol had kicked in. Nappy-time sounded like a good idea.
Back to the bar at 9:ish.
Aaaaaand we all drank the night away.
When I wasn't drinking fast enough, they enabled me.
When they weren't drinking fast enough, I enabled them.
It's a give and take relationship.
I'm not an alcoholic.
I'm a practicing alcoholic.
There is a difference.
Here's the thing, I'm 33 years old. They are: 22, 24, 26. (My most bestest friends. The rest of the gang is mostly 22 and 23.)
I have, admittedly and I've been told, that I have the worst sleeping patterns of just about anyone alive.
Meaning, I don't. Sleep. I don't sleep. Rarely. Six hours, tops. Mixed in with a lot of insomnia.
Yet, they were tired. Several of the gang left early.
I closed the bar.
And I can drink all of them under the table without slurring or being stupid.
Maybe loud and hilarious. But not stupid.
There is a difference.
There are two different levels of obnoxious.
I am the fun kind of obnoxious.
Oh, and I met someone.
I'll see if there is any chemistry when we're both sober and I'll let you know.
I don't have hopes of it being ever-lasting.
Or more than weekend-lasting.
But I've been known to be wrong.
About a lot of things.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
inner dork: all about the numbers
No, I've missed inner dork more. Honest.
This one is an inner dork (of sorts) about me and this semester.
Day the semester began: August 20th.
Day I started my job: August 28th.
Day I quit my job: December 7th.
Last day of the semester: (for me) December 13th.
Papers finished: 37.
Friends made: 3, life long friends.
Experiences had: Too many to count.
Things learned: Enough to let me know that I don't know anything.
Annoyance level: Has been high.
Number of times I've cried: 1 time. Maybe 2, due to stress and not being sure I was making the right choices.
Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: Off the charts. I cannot count that high.
Time the last of my papers are due: 1:00 CST, today.
Number I have to turn in: 21.
This time last year: My undergrad thesis advisor was telling me: I had no talent, no concept of the English language, I wouldn't pass the thesis committee.
And Mr. London told me he was moving.
Exactly at this time last year.
Ah, the difference a year can make.
Time I will be at the bar: 1:15 CST. I won't be late.
Hours I will be at the bar: Until they ask me to leave. Or until my credit card reads, "denied" whichever comes first.
This one is an inner dork (of sorts) about me and this semester.
Day the semester began: August 20th.
Day I started my job: August 28th.
Day I quit my job: December 7th.
Last day of the semester: (for me) December 13th.
Papers finished: 37.
Friends made: 3, life long friends.
Experiences had: Too many to count.
Things learned: Enough to let me know that I don't know anything.
Annoyance level: Has been high.
Number of times I've cried: 1 time. Maybe 2, due to stress and not being sure I was making the right choices.
Number of alcoholic beverages consumed: Off the charts. I cannot count that high.
Time the last of my papers are due: 1:00 CST, today.
Number I have to turn in: 21.
This time last year: My undergrad thesis advisor was telling me: I had no talent, no concept of the English language, I wouldn't pass the thesis committee.
And Mr. London told me he was moving.
Exactly at this time last year.
Ah, the difference a year can make.
Time I will be at the bar: 1:15 CST. I won't be late.
Hours I will be at the bar: Until they ask me to leave. Or until my credit card reads, "denied" whichever comes first.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
well, that ain't right...
(A moment to set the scene:)
Finals week. 36.5 papers finished out of 37.
Take home essays to finish: 1 set of 2 questions.
Finals taken: 1.
Finals left to take: 2.
Two of those finals are tomorrow.
I really, really need to get an "A" on one of them.
(Feel free to send me all kinds of warm and fuzzy thoughts around 1:00 pm CST.) (Thanks.)
(and then again around 6:00 pm CST.)
(Thanks.)
21 of the papers are due on Thursday at 1:00 pm CST.
They count as a total of 55% of my grade for the semester.
(No pressure.)
Today, my state was hit with another ice/snow storm.
School was not canceled.
I lost three hours of precious study time to go take a final on an undergrad stats class that has nothing to do with my GPA.
I was annoyed as all hell.
Tonight I finished a research paper and I needed to refresh my eyes. So, time to wash the face and brush the teeth, take out the contacts, put on the glasses and start the next round of typing. The take home essays, to be exact.
Take out the contact container from my medicine cabinet.
Grab the container of multi-vitamins, put one in the right contact holder, one in the left contact holder.
Stand and stare at the contact container.
Try and figure out what I did wrong.
Why doesn't that look right?
Tilt head.
Hmmm.
Oh.
...and let the laughter commence and the dark circles under my eyes brighter for a moment.
Pretty sure the contacts would be healthier in the morning, but they would not be cleaner.
Brush teeth.
Feel (slightly) refreshed.
Write blog post.
Think of some bullshit to write for the essay test.
20% of my grade, so it needs to be good bullshit.
Wonder Twins, activate! In the form of: giving a shit!
Almost there....almost there.....
Finals week. 36.5 papers finished out of 37.
Take home essays to finish: 1 set of 2 questions.
Finals taken: 1.
Finals left to take: 2.
Two of those finals are tomorrow.
I really, really need to get an "A" on one of them.
(Feel free to send me all kinds of warm and fuzzy thoughts around 1:00 pm CST.) (Thanks.)
(and then again around 6:00 pm CST.)
(Thanks.)
21 of the papers are due on Thursday at 1:00 pm CST.
They count as a total of 55% of my grade for the semester.
(No pressure.)
Today, my state was hit with another ice/snow storm.
School was not canceled.
I lost three hours of precious study time to go take a final on an undergrad stats class that has nothing to do with my GPA.
I was annoyed as all hell.
Tonight I finished a research paper and I needed to refresh my eyes. So, time to wash the face and brush the teeth, take out the contacts, put on the glasses and start the next round of typing. The take home essays, to be exact.
Take out the contact container from my medicine cabinet.
Grab the container of multi-vitamins, put one in the right contact holder, one in the left contact holder.
Stand and stare at the contact container.
Try and figure out what I did wrong.
Why doesn't that look right?
Tilt head.
Hmmm.
Oh.
...and let the laughter commence and the dark circles under my eyes brighter for a moment.
Pretty sure the contacts would be healthier in the morning, but they would not be cleaner.
Brush teeth.
Feel (slightly) refreshed.
Write blog post.
Think of some bullshit to write for the essay test.
20% of my grade, so it needs to be good bullshit.
Wonder Twins, activate! In the form of: giving a shit!
Almost there....almost there.....
Monday, December 03, 2007
Since last I graced you with my presence
Well, some things have happened, not a lot, but some.
First, jet lag is horrible. Mine seems to be in the evening. I wake-up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and by 10 p.m. I have tears in my eyes and my body and brain are begging for bed.
The jet lag being a result of my trip and my trip being so fast, all I want to do is daydream about my travels and fantasize about my next one. In my fantasies (trip fantasies, not my sexual ones...although...) I have been to: the Croatia coast, the capitals of central Europe via rail, Amsterdam, London and Paris....I really need to focus on the $5,000 I'll need for Brazil. Oh, and the last of my papers which are due this week and next. I have nine left. Nine out of 37....almost there.
Even with the jet lag and an impending ice storm I still managed to go out on Friday night. (and Thursday before class...and...) Live music, the company of good friends, and plenty of my drink of choice; vodka and her girl Cranberry.
Now.
When the label on the bottle, which houses the vodka literally reads "vodka" and nothing else well, the head is going to hurt the next day.
The wonderful night of live music, good friends, and vodka and cranberry ended at a greasy spoon with a few of the friends and a member of the band (who would also drive us home...)
...the morning started with the friend who crashed on the big, ugly, comfy couch waking me up to tell me there was snow on the ground and she needed to make it home.
Opening the door to go outside there was an ominous silence in which the only sound was that of freezing rain. A look at my car and....ick.
After spending about 36 minutes scrapping my windows in time with the little drummer boy who had made himself comfortable in my skull. (And just an FYI, when freezing rain, a.k.a ice, makes its way from car windows and flies (pelts) your face, it hurts. Just FYI.)
A drive to buy sandbags for my trunk, dropping my friend at her car, the buying of some wonderfully greasy food, a nice hot shower and being snowed in...or iced in...for the weekend, I do love a good snow storm when I don't have to be out in it...I enjoyed a wonderfully lazy two days.
On another note, I quit my job. My last day will be this Friday. I am super excited about this.
It wasn't the pay, it wasn't the job, it wasn't the horribly random and not well thought-out assignments; no, it wasn't any of those that made me give my notice. It was the completely random and hateful comments, the condescending remarks from the grad assist, the remarks about my intelligence, the complete ADD moments, and the lack of active listening and the ability to give coherent instructions on how to do my job. I spent most of the last three and a half months trying to take it all as sarcasm...then I just realized it wasn't worth the minimum wage hassle and I quit.
Oh, and my schedule next semester wouldn't work out with my job, although true, that was really just the excuse I gave. Honestly, I just hated it.
On another note: look what Mr. London sent me
Yep. Color me surprised. Just a, "Sorry I missed you in Budapest, hope to see you over Christmas" $80 flower bouquet that I ordered from London.
Okay, I added that last part. That part wasn't on the card. That part just made me feel special.
On another note: I have no attention span to finish the last of the 37 papers or study for the four finals. None. At. All. This needs to change.
On another note: I got nothing else.
Oh wait, yes I do: PTG what happened to your blog?
Okay, that one was a bit specific.
Now. I have nothing else. Except, how are all of you?
First, jet lag is horrible. Mine seems to be in the evening. I wake-up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and by 10 p.m. I have tears in my eyes and my body and brain are begging for bed.
The jet lag being a result of my trip and my trip being so fast, all I want to do is daydream about my travels and fantasize about my next one. In my fantasies (trip fantasies, not my sexual ones...although...) I have been to: the Croatia coast, the capitals of central Europe via rail, Amsterdam, London and Paris....I really need to focus on the $5,000 I'll need for Brazil. Oh, and the last of my papers which are due this week and next. I have nine left. Nine out of 37....almost there.
Even with the jet lag and an impending ice storm I still managed to go out on Friday night. (and Thursday before class...and...) Live music, the company of good friends, and plenty of my drink of choice; vodka and her girl Cranberry.
Now.
When the label on the bottle, which houses the vodka literally reads "vodka" and nothing else well, the head is going to hurt the next day.
The wonderful night of live music, good friends, and vodka and cranberry ended at a greasy spoon with a few of the friends and a member of the band (who would also drive us home...)
...the morning started with the friend who crashed on the big, ugly, comfy couch waking me up to tell me there was snow on the ground and she needed to make it home.
Opening the door to go outside there was an ominous silence in which the only sound was that of freezing rain. A look at my car and....ick.
After spending about 36 minutes scrapping my windows in time with the little drummer boy who had made himself comfortable in my skull. (And just an FYI, when freezing rain, a.k.a ice, makes its way from car windows and flies (pelts) your face, it hurts. Just FYI.)
A drive to buy sandbags for my trunk, dropping my friend at her car, the buying of some wonderfully greasy food, a nice hot shower and being snowed in...or iced in...for the weekend, I do love a good snow storm when I don't have to be out in it...I enjoyed a wonderfully lazy two days.
On another note, I quit my job. My last day will be this Friday. I am super excited about this.
It wasn't the pay, it wasn't the job, it wasn't the horribly random and not well thought-out assignments; no, it wasn't any of those that made me give my notice. It was the completely random and hateful comments, the condescending remarks from the grad assist, the remarks about my intelligence, the complete ADD moments, and the lack of active listening and the ability to give coherent instructions on how to do my job. I spent most of the last three and a half months trying to take it all as sarcasm...then I just realized it wasn't worth the minimum wage hassle and I quit.
Oh, and my schedule next semester wouldn't work out with my job, although true, that was really just the excuse I gave. Honestly, I just hated it.
On another note: look what Mr. London sent me
Yep. Color me surprised. Just a, "Sorry I missed you in Budapest, hope to see you over Christmas" $80 flower bouquet that I ordered from London.
Okay, I added that last part. That part wasn't on the card. That part just made me feel special.
On another note: I have no attention span to finish the last of the 37 papers or study for the four finals. None. At. All. This needs to change.
On another note: I got nothing else.
Oh wait, yes I do: PTG what happened to your blog?
Okay, that one was a bit specific.
Now. I have nothing else. Except, how are all of you?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Upon my return from Budapest
...I realize wanderlust has a powerful pull and I have no desire to fight it.
Budapest is an amazing and beautiful city. A person can read all the books, do all the research, but it isn't until I step foot in a new city and do some exploring on my own that I finally get what the travel books are tying to explain.
After 14 hours of flying (one way) and 4 airports (8 airports altogether. So much better than the 17 to go to Greece) I landed in Budapest, Tuesday afternoon around 3. In my hotel by 4. Since insomnia just seems to be part of my life at this point, along with not sleeping on the plane, the time difference, and just being plain (and plane) tired, Tuesday was mostly a bust. A trip around the block to see what I could see in the dark (not much) a bite to eat from a local shop and back to my room.
Wednesday was the tour of the city. A trip to the Jewish District, which was the Jewish Ghetto during the war, to Hero's Square (the square built in honor of their Millennium celebration in 1896, not completed until 1929, oops.) Opera House, Parliament, around the city, over the Chain Bridge and the Danube, over into Buda, to the Fisherman's Bastion,(which serves as a viewing terrace and nothing more.) Gellert Hill, (Gellert was a man who tried to convert the locals to Christianity. The locals didn't like this very much so, they put Gellert into a barrel, sealed it, threw the barrel down the hill, thus killing him. Let all other Christian converters be warned.) and then I was left in the town square to fend for myself to find my way back to my hotel. Hmmm, where's my map. In my pocket. Excellent. Now. Where am I?
On my way back to my hotel I stopped at St. Stephen's Basilica and then, since it was approaching dusk (which happens around 3 and dark by 4. Me no likey.) I wanted to make the trek back to my hotel since I wasn't sure how to get there and according to the helpful man on the street, it was only a 15-20 minute walk. Totally do-able. However, on my way I came across the Jewish Quarter again and I wanted to walk around since we really didn't have the chance on the tour. After a short stroll I realized I had forgotten the directions back to my hotel. (hey, the synagogue was shiny and sparkly, the stop couldn't be helped.) I stopped into a quaint Jewish bakery and asked the girls for directions. English was not a second language and there was some stumbling, but I was pretty sure I got it. And while in the bakery, stomach rumbling as it had been several hours (several) and many miles (many) since breakfast I bought a few pastries and they gave me a loaf of bread as a present. (ah, girls after my own heart.) Short story long, after about two hours I found my hotel. I didn't get lost, I got distracted. There is a difference.
Thursday I walked back to the Jewish district and took a tour of the synagogue, the second largest in the world, which also included a tour of a museum, the memory garden, which included mass graves from the Holocaust, and the Tree of Life, built in memory of those who were lost. The whole thing was beautiful, amazing, lovely, and heart wrenching.
I walked through the streets which was once the Jewish ghetto and let my mind wander back to another time. I listened to the sounds, the noise, the quiet, the smells, and took in all the buildings and it was suddenly 1940s World War II. It wasn't hard to image that the graffiti on the buildings once spelled out racial slurs and the buildings once housed thousands of Jews cramped into a small space. The fear, the dread, the threat of being taken away. It never ceases to amaze me what man can do to human kind and how human kind can overcome what man tries to do. It was an emotional journey.
From there I walked over to Buda and into the Castle District. To do so I had to walk over the Chain Bridge over the Danube. Pausing on the bridge to, once again, travel back in time and image when there wasn't a bridge, through the years of the war, post-war, to the present day.
Buda and Pest are totally different from one another. Pest is busy, busy, busy, noisy, lots and lots of traffic, lots and lots of car pollution, and the buildings all have graffiti on them. Buda is quiet, quaint, and has a feeling of old world. A place where a person can sit and watch the world go by. Pest, you are the world going by.
Friday was a walk down to the House of Terror. The building where both the Nazi's, during the war, and the secret police, post-war, used as their headquarters. Just as the name suggests, it was a house of terror. Again, what man does to each other. Again, it was an emotional morning. Later in the day it was back across the Chain Bridge, into Buda, and back to my hotel.
Saturday, up at 4:30 a.m., picked-up for the hotel at 6:15 and on the plane home. I arrived back in home state around 6:35 pm. Back to my apartment at 5:32 pm on Sunday.
It was a lovely and very quick trip. It hasn't all hit me yet, but I wouldn't mind going back some day.
Some highlights: I don't know what it is with me and European airports, but from Amsterdam to Budapest, I didn't have a boarding pass. I needed to stop at a transfer desk to get one. After learning the difference between "t" and "d", running, waiting and being told to go to another "t" gate with a shorter wait, running to the transfer desk and being told the plane was closed. Telling the girl I would run really fast if they would let me on, she said she would call the gate and in the meantime I needed to run. Now, running in an airport is interesting in itself. Running in an airport after sitting for 10 hours straight with a 30 pound backpack strapped to my back, well, yeah, "running" is not necessarily what I was doing. More of a fast jog. They were waiting for me at the gate. Yep, they held the plane for me. (ah, special.) After struggling to get the pack off (nice backpack strap burn on my arm) I was on the plane. On the return flight, I was booked on a plane/flight that didn't exist, they were most kind to me in Budapest and they placed me on the correct flight. Then I realized I had a whopping six minutes to get from the Budapest plane to the Amsterdam gate. Yep, six minutes. This time I had a boarding pass and I figured between the six minutes, plus the 30 minutes to board, I had 36 minutes to get on the plane. Totally do-able. I made it in 15, (I have learned to navigate my way through airports quiet nicely) but it turns out they make you go through security well before the need to board. I "ran" for nothing. Lesson learned. I also had to answer several security questions before I could board. Toughest test I've ever taken.
The food: Lots of bread, lots of pastries. Good wine. Since I hardly ate and I walked from one side to the other (literally) no weight gained. (yah!) (Must eat more next time.) And if you like things pickled, go to Budapest. A gyro in Greece is not the same as a gyro in Budapest. The same is true for falafal. The difference: it has all things pickled on it. Red cabbage, sauerkraut, carrots, and just for good measure, pickles. Mmm, that was a surprise....and not a pleasant one.
The people: very lovely.
The language: Almost everyone spoke English. When there was a language barrier, it is amazing what a smile, a pointing of the finger to what I wanted, money, and a nod of thanks, can get a person.
The currency: I made a cheat sheet, which was a really good idea; and when I would see 924 I kept reminding myself, that it was only about $5.
The weather: Not bad. Cold, but it didn't rain or snow. Definitely needed hat, gloves, and a scarf.
Problems: The only glitch was my cell phone. I had made it an international phone, but unfortunately, Verizon added that feature without checking to see if it would actually work. I spent about $80 on phone calls. Verizon will be getting an earful later today.
My feet: cobblestone, bricks, and ornate streets are beautiful, but good Lord, they hurt my feet. My shoes are literally worn out. The tread has been worn smooth. I ended each night with a foot massage. Sadly, performed by me.
Me: I honestly did this trip all alone. I was alone in Greece, but I would run into the same people, or the same people would be on the tours, so I was alone, but I met others. This trip, not so much. I literally did it all by myself and I am very proud of that achievement. I didn't get lost (getting turned around and distracted by shiny things is not the same as getting lost.) So, go, me!
My next trip: If I wasn't going to be spending my summer in Brazil (and wow, that's tough) I would be going to Prague and Vienna. Everyone I spoke with (and by "everyone" I mean shop keepers) kept asking if I was going on to those two cities. I wanted this trip to include all three, but time didn't allow for it, I now need to see the others. (I almost did a day trip to Prague, but again, time.)
It was a lovely and very quick trip, again, it hasn't all hit me, yet. I'm sure, just as Greece took some time to all hit me, the same will be true for this one.
The synagogue
The view of Pest from Buda
St. Stephen's Basilica
The House of Terror
The Chain Bridge
One of the lions guarding the Chain Bridge
Memorial garden, mass graves in the synagogue yard
Tree of Life, synagogue yard
View of Pest, from Buda
Fisherman's Bastion
Budapest is an amazing and beautiful city. A person can read all the books, do all the research, but it isn't until I step foot in a new city and do some exploring on my own that I finally get what the travel books are tying to explain.
After 14 hours of flying (one way) and 4 airports (8 airports altogether. So much better than the 17 to go to Greece) I landed in Budapest, Tuesday afternoon around 3. In my hotel by 4. Since insomnia just seems to be part of my life at this point, along with not sleeping on the plane, the time difference, and just being plain (and plane) tired, Tuesday was mostly a bust. A trip around the block to see what I could see in the dark (not much) a bite to eat from a local shop and back to my room.
Wednesday was the tour of the city. A trip to the Jewish District, which was the Jewish Ghetto during the war, to Hero's Square (the square built in honor of their Millennium celebration in 1896, not completed until 1929, oops.) Opera House, Parliament, around the city, over the Chain Bridge and the Danube, over into Buda, to the Fisherman's Bastion,(which serves as a viewing terrace and nothing more.) Gellert Hill, (Gellert was a man who tried to convert the locals to Christianity. The locals didn't like this very much so, they put Gellert into a barrel, sealed it, threw the barrel down the hill, thus killing him. Let all other Christian converters be warned.) and then I was left in the town square to fend for myself to find my way back to my hotel. Hmmm, where's my map. In my pocket. Excellent. Now. Where am I?
On my way back to my hotel I stopped at St. Stephen's Basilica and then, since it was approaching dusk (which happens around 3 and dark by 4. Me no likey.) I wanted to make the trek back to my hotel since I wasn't sure how to get there and according to the helpful man on the street, it was only a 15-20 minute walk. Totally do-able. However, on my way I came across the Jewish Quarter again and I wanted to walk around since we really didn't have the chance on the tour. After a short stroll I realized I had forgotten the directions back to my hotel. (hey, the synagogue was shiny and sparkly, the stop couldn't be helped.) I stopped into a quaint Jewish bakery and asked the girls for directions. English was not a second language and there was some stumbling, but I was pretty sure I got it. And while in the bakery, stomach rumbling as it had been several hours (several) and many miles (many) since breakfast I bought a few pastries and they gave me a loaf of bread as a present. (ah, girls after my own heart.) Short story long, after about two hours I found my hotel. I didn't get lost, I got distracted. There is a difference.
Thursday I walked back to the Jewish district and took a tour of the synagogue, the second largest in the world, which also included a tour of a museum, the memory garden, which included mass graves from the Holocaust, and the Tree of Life, built in memory of those who were lost. The whole thing was beautiful, amazing, lovely, and heart wrenching.
I walked through the streets which was once the Jewish ghetto and let my mind wander back to another time. I listened to the sounds, the noise, the quiet, the smells, and took in all the buildings and it was suddenly 1940s World War II. It wasn't hard to image that the graffiti on the buildings once spelled out racial slurs and the buildings once housed thousands of Jews cramped into a small space. The fear, the dread, the threat of being taken away. It never ceases to amaze me what man can do to human kind and how human kind can overcome what man tries to do. It was an emotional journey.
From there I walked over to Buda and into the Castle District. To do so I had to walk over the Chain Bridge over the Danube. Pausing on the bridge to, once again, travel back in time and image when there wasn't a bridge, through the years of the war, post-war, to the present day.
Buda and Pest are totally different from one another. Pest is busy, busy, busy, noisy, lots and lots of traffic, lots and lots of car pollution, and the buildings all have graffiti on them. Buda is quiet, quaint, and has a feeling of old world. A place where a person can sit and watch the world go by. Pest, you are the world going by.
Friday was a walk down to the House of Terror. The building where both the Nazi's, during the war, and the secret police, post-war, used as their headquarters. Just as the name suggests, it was a house of terror. Again, what man does to each other. Again, it was an emotional morning. Later in the day it was back across the Chain Bridge, into Buda, and back to my hotel.
Saturday, up at 4:30 a.m., picked-up for the hotel at 6:15 and on the plane home. I arrived back in home state around 6:35 pm. Back to my apartment at 5:32 pm on Sunday.
It was a lovely and very quick trip. It hasn't all hit me yet, but I wouldn't mind going back some day.
Some highlights: I don't know what it is with me and European airports, but from Amsterdam to Budapest, I didn't have a boarding pass. I needed to stop at a transfer desk to get one. After learning the difference between "t" and "d", running, waiting and being told to go to another "t" gate with a shorter wait, running to the transfer desk and being told the plane was closed. Telling the girl I would run really fast if they would let me on, she said she would call the gate and in the meantime I needed to run. Now, running in an airport is interesting in itself. Running in an airport after sitting for 10 hours straight with a 30 pound backpack strapped to my back, well, yeah, "running" is not necessarily what I was doing. More of a fast jog. They were waiting for me at the gate. Yep, they held the plane for me. (ah, special.) After struggling to get the pack off (nice backpack strap burn on my arm) I was on the plane. On the return flight, I was booked on a plane/flight that didn't exist, they were most kind to me in Budapest and they placed me on the correct flight. Then I realized I had a whopping six minutes to get from the Budapest plane to the Amsterdam gate. Yep, six minutes. This time I had a boarding pass and I figured between the six minutes, plus the 30 minutes to board, I had 36 minutes to get on the plane. Totally do-able. I made it in 15, (I have learned to navigate my way through airports quiet nicely) but it turns out they make you go through security well before the need to board. I "ran" for nothing. Lesson learned. I also had to answer several security questions before I could board. Toughest test I've ever taken.
The food: Lots of bread, lots of pastries. Good wine. Since I hardly ate and I walked from one side to the other (literally) no weight gained. (yah!) (Must eat more next time.) And if you like things pickled, go to Budapest. A gyro in Greece is not the same as a gyro in Budapest. The same is true for falafal. The difference: it has all things pickled on it. Red cabbage, sauerkraut, carrots, and just for good measure, pickles. Mmm, that was a surprise....and not a pleasant one.
The people: very lovely.
The language: Almost everyone spoke English. When there was a language barrier, it is amazing what a smile, a pointing of the finger to what I wanted, money, and a nod of thanks, can get a person.
The currency: I made a cheat sheet, which was a really good idea; and when I would see 924 I kept reminding myself, that it was only about $5.
The weather: Not bad. Cold, but it didn't rain or snow. Definitely needed hat, gloves, and a scarf.
Problems: The only glitch was my cell phone. I had made it an international phone, but unfortunately, Verizon added that feature without checking to see if it would actually work. I spent about $80 on phone calls. Verizon will be getting an earful later today.
My feet: cobblestone, bricks, and ornate streets are beautiful, but good Lord, they hurt my feet. My shoes are literally worn out. The tread has been worn smooth. I ended each night with a foot massage. Sadly, performed by me.
Me: I honestly did this trip all alone. I was alone in Greece, but I would run into the same people, or the same people would be on the tours, so I was alone, but I met others. This trip, not so much. I literally did it all by myself and I am very proud of that achievement. I didn't get lost (getting turned around and distracted by shiny things is not the same as getting lost.) So, go, me!
My next trip: If I wasn't going to be spending my summer in Brazil (and wow, that's tough) I would be going to Prague and Vienna. Everyone I spoke with (and by "everyone" I mean shop keepers) kept asking if I was going on to those two cities. I wanted this trip to include all three, but time didn't allow for it, I now need to see the others. (I almost did a day trip to Prague, but again, time.)
It was a lovely and very quick trip, again, it hasn't all hit me, yet. I'm sure, just as Greece took some time to all hit me, the same will be true for this one.
The synagogue
The view of Pest from Buda
St. Stephen's Basilica
The House of Terror
The Chain Bridge
One of the lions guarding the Chain Bridge
Memorial garden, mass graves in the synagogue yard
Tree of Life, synagogue yard
View of Pest, from Buda
Fisherman's Bastion
Thursday, November 15, 2007
...and to all the biggest part of the wish bone
Okay, so I know I am a week early, but I won't be here this time next week.
..okay, that makes it sounds like I am going to parish by this time next week. Rest assured I have no plans to do that. However, I don't think I really have any control over such things.
ANYway. I will leave for home tomorrow, celebrate Turkey Day on Saturday (Cause my family loves and misses me that much that they are willing to sacrifice the bird early for me) and then Monday I will be on a place bound for Budapest around 4:43p.m. CST. According to the flight schedule I will be in Amsterdam around noon-ish on Tuesday and Budapest around 2-ish (Buda time.) (Actually, Pest time as I will be on the Pest side for my stay) (I wonder if they have ghosts there?) (Get it? Boooo-da) (Fine. I thought it was clever.) I will return last Saturday night. Short trip. And for this trip I will only be in eight airports. The reason I say "only" is because for the Greece trip I was 17. I am happy about the 8.
I am curious about this trip. I am excited to see the Jewish quarter and the artist quarter, which according to the map to hotel location I am close to everything that any one would or could care to see. However, I also had hopes of Mr. London joining me for the trip. However, he just emailed me and told me he is sad and very upset to say that it will not work out. I am a big believer in, life works out the way it is supposed to. We'll see each other again. I know this.
Also, on another "I must see the world front" my internship to spend the summer in Brazil was approved!! Now. I just need to come up with a few thousand dollars. This will work out. I know this.
So, I managed to finish two of my main papers, finishing touches will be put on them when I finish typing this awesome post. I will work on the others today and over the weekend. In the meantime I will be out celebrating with the rest of the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol tonight as a "see you later and have a fabulous trip" to my awesomeness.
So, may all of you have a wonderful Butterball Day and may your pumpkin pie come whipped and creamy.
I'll see you back here in about 10 days or so.
..okay, that makes it sounds like I am going to parish by this time next week. Rest assured I have no plans to do that. However, I don't think I really have any control over such things.
ANYway. I will leave for home tomorrow, celebrate Turkey Day on Saturday (Cause my family loves and misses me that much that they are willing to sacrifice the bird early for me) and then Monday I will be on a place bound for Budapest around 4:43p.m. CST. According to the flight schedule I will be in Amsterdam around noon-ish on Tuesday and Budapest around 2-ish (Buda time.) (Actually, Pest time as I will be on the Pest side for my stay) (I wonder if they have ghosts there?) (Get it? Boooo-da) (Fine. I thought it was clever.) I will return last Saturday night. Short trip. And for this trip I will only be in eight airports. The reason I say "only" is because for the Greece trip I was 17. I am happy about the 8.
I am curious about this trip. I am excited to see the Jewish quarter and the artist quarter, which according to the map to hotel location I am close to everything that any one would or could care to see. However, I also had hopes of Mr. London joining me for the trip. However, he just emailed me and told me he is sad and very upset to say that it will not work out. I am a big believer in, life works out the way it is supposed to. We'll see each other again. I know this.
Also, on another "I must see the world front" my internship to spend the summer in Brazil was approved!! Now. I just need to come up with a few thousand dollars. This will work out. I know this.
So, I managed to finish two of my main papers, finishing touches will be put on them when I finish typing this awesome post. I will work on the others today and over the weekend. In the meantime I will be out celebrating with the rest of the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol tonight as a "see you later and have a fabulous trip" to my awesomeness.
So, may all of you have a wonderful Butterball Day and may your pumpkin pie come whipped and creamy.
I'll see you back here in about 10 days or so.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
I'll take the anitbacterial soap. Thanks.
It's late and I am sitting here in the computer lab killing trees as a result of printing off research. (hate crime policy, specifically gender based hate crimes. Should be fascinating.)
However, what is keeping me entertained is the fact that I am pretty sure the guy across from me is looking at porn and trying to keep his erection to a minimum.
Why do I think this? Because of his grinning, constant movement in his seat and his need to "re-adjust" in his seat to the point that no person needs to be that comfortable that often.
...wait. Is he unzipping his pants?
Okay, I am starring right at him..he is about three feet from me...what the hell.
...yeah. That was a zipper I just heard.
Good lord.
"Dude, what the hell?"
Yes, I just "dude-ed you."
"What the hell?"
Hmmm, he doesn't seem to be amused.
I think it is time to wash my hands and go home. Cause all I can think about is what hands have touched this keyboard and this mouse.
...Where is the hand sanitizer?!?!!?
However, what is keeping me entertained is the fact that I am pretty sure the guy across from me is looking at porn and trying to keep his erection to a minimum.
Why do I think this? Because of his grinning, constant movement in his seat and his need to "re-adjust" in his seat to the point that no person needs to be that comfortable that often.
...wait. Is he unzipping his pants?
Okay, I am starring right at him..he is about three feet from me...what the hell.
...yeah. That was a zipper I just heard.
Good lord.
"Dude, what the hell?"
Yes, I just "dude-ed you."
"What the hell?"
Hmmm, he doesn't seem to be amused.
I think it is time to wash my hands and go home. Cause all I can think about is what hands have touched this keyboard and this mouse.
...Where is the hand sanitizer?!?!!?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
...and now a moment to daydream...
First, I LOVE falling back and gaining an hour. Fantastic!
Second, In two weeks I will be celebrating Turkey day early because I will be in Budapest! How crazily wonderful is that?
Even though I scheduled the trip back in early June I've only had the chance to study up on it last night and then an evening when I was back home. I think I finally have the currency figured out (totally in my favor.) No idea on the language. Not happy about not knowing how to say the basics, but I still have two WHOLE weeks to figure it out. (yes, that was sarcasm.)
If anyone has any pointers, please point me.
Third, proving that life has to do with who you know and not what you know: A friend of mine (we will call her Enviro Girl) in the MPP works with a gal who has her own non-profit. In explaining to Enviro Girl what I want to do with my MPP degree, she told me I needed to talk to the girl she works with as she has an internship available for the summer, which is when I need to have one. So I emailed her a couple of days ago and yesterday we met.
Her org is EXACTLY what I want to do; educating and empowering impoverished women and children in terms of health education and life skills. She does teaching and also jewelry making/sales. So, this is awesome, right? Well, yes. However, the most wonderfully fantastic amazing part of it: it's in Brazil.
Yes!
Brazil!
I would be spending my summer in Brazil.
Well, if I can figure out how to make it policy related. Non-profit Girl has told me it is up to me how I want to direct the internship, let her know and she will figure it out from there.
Friday I meet with my director to discuss internships and requirements and such, so let's hope.
However, right now I am in full-force daydream mode. This is the stage where everything is possible and I haven't been told nothing is impossible...perfect daydreaming stage. The stage where I can think of, dream, and image all of the possibles and all of the probables and none of the impossibles or improbables.
I was too excited after meeting with her to just come home, so a stop at the local B&N was in order. One book bought on Brazil, Portuguese language tapes, and the new book, "American Creation." Sure that last one sounds random, but I had planned to purchase the book yesterday before any of this other came about. So on the way home I popped in the Portuguese language CD. I am no where close to learning the language. However, before I even knew this was a dream that could be a possibility I was thinking about taking a foreign language class next semester. Looks like that may be a good idea now.
Fourth, if you're thinking you hate me right now, well I do have four papers to write before I leave and two of the requirements haven't been posted yet. They were supposed to be posted by Friday, alas they haven't. Yeah, that professor is awesome. But, this is a small price to pay. Small price indeed considering I will be in Budapest in two weeks.
(!!!! Two weeks!!! How is that even possible? How is it November?)
So, I will be spending the rest of the day trying to be productive and trying to not let my daydreaming take over. Needless to say, the insomnia has been back for about a week now. Yeah, surprising. Last night, when I should have been sound asleep dreaming about all of the above I was instead daydreaming and planning about all of the above. I know, it's tough.
Second, In two weeks I will be celebrating Turkey day early because I will be in Budapest! How crazily wonderful is that?
Even though I scheduled the trip back in early June I've only had the chance to study up on it last night and then an evening when I was back home. I think I finally have the currency figured out (totally in my favor.) No idea on the language. Not happy about not knowing how to say the basics, but I still have two WHOLE weeks to figure it out. (yes, that was sarcasm.)
If anyone has any pointers, please point me.
Third, proving that life has to do with who you know and not what you know: A friend of mine (we will call her Enviro Girl) in the MPP works with a gal who has her own non-profit. In explaining to Enviro Girl what I want to do with my MPP degree, she told me I needed to talk to the girl she works with as she has an internship available for the summer, which is when I need to have one. So I emailed her a couple of days ago and yesterday we met.
Her org is EXACTLY what I want to do; educating and empowering impoverished women and children in terms of health education and life skills. She does teaching and also jewelry making/sales. So, this is awesome, right? Well, yes. However, the most wonderfully fantastic amazing part of it: it's in Brazil.
Yes!
Brazil!
I would be spending my summer in Brazil.
Well, if I can figure out how to make it policy related. Non-profit Girl has told me it is up to me how I want to direct the internship, let her know and she will figure it out from there.
Friday I meet with my director to discuss internships and requirements and such, so let's hope.
However, right now I am in full-force daydream mode. This is the stage where everything is possible and I haven't been told nothing is impossible...perfect daydreaming stage. The stage where I can think of, dream, and image all of the possibles and all of the probables and none of the impossibles or improbables.
I was too excited after meeting with her to just come home, so a stop at the local B&N was in order. One book bought on Brazil, Portuguese language tapes, and the new book, "American Creation." Sure that last one sounds random, but I had planned to purchase the book yesterday before any of this other came about. So on the way home I popped in the Portuguese language CD. I am no where close to learning the language. However, before I even knew this was a dream that could be a possibility I was thinking about taking a foreign language class next semester. Looks like that may be a good idea now.
Fourth, if you're thinking you hate me right now, well I do have four papers to write before I leave and two of the requirements haven't been posted yet. They were supposed to be posted by Friday, alas they haven't. Yeah, that professor is awesome. But, this is a small price to pay. Small price indeed considering I will be in Budapest in two weeks.
(!!!! Two weeks!!! How is that even possible? How is it November?)
So, I will be spending the rest of the day trying to be productive and trying to not let my daydreaming take over. Needless to say, the insomnia has been back for about a week now. Yeah, surprising. Last night, when I should have been sound asleep dreaming about all of the above I was instead daydreaming and planning about all of the above. I know, it's tough.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Halloween!
...and November 1st.
Good gravy it has just flown by.
Okay, last night was awesome fun and today came mighty early. I hear that happens when a person doesn't get to bed before 3 and their alarm goes off at 7:22. Just a rumor I heard, but I am hear to tell you, it's true. True that was me last night and true that it comes early.
Also, when you go to a dive bar as your last stop and you order a vodka cranberry; top shelf, middle shelf, bottom shelf, or no shelf, sink water. Which one do you think I ended up with?
If you guessed a combination of no shelf mixed with sink and a dash of cranberry, well you would be right.
I said it tasted like Ritz crackers with fake cheese. The two other people who sipped the drink didn't get that.
Okay fine. How about just the fake cheese part?
No.
Fine.
How about I couldn't even stomach it and the drink was not drunken. (I may have been drunken, but the drink was not.) I've brushed, flossed, and rinsed twice since last night and I still can't get the taste of the last drink out of my mouth. Oh yeah. Tasty.
Oh yeah. No stomach lining.
Wait, that makes it sound like I've thrown-up.
I haven't. I am a professional.
I do need some coffee.
And some bread.
And a cookie.
(To wake me up.)
(To absorb.)
(For the sugar. And the Halloween sugar cookies they had on campus yesterday were awesome.)
Oh, and some grease.
(Just because. A hamburger is always a good thing.)
Our group costume was awesome. We were the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol.
Oh yeah. Blue blazers, white shirts (that did not fit so well. Way big) and khakis. We either looked like we were trying to sell you a home or we looked like Mormons. I figured since we didn't have on backpacks no one would think we were trying to get them into Heaven. Luckily we also had on name tags to erase any confusion before it could start.
I would run up to the lucky winner, we would hand them the big fake check which was made out for $500 million, thousand dollars and fifty-six and half cents. (Any guesses whose idea that was?) They were then given red, white, and blue flowers, black balloons, a microphone shoved in their face that looked like a dildo (not intentionally) (no, really.)(yes, the microphone was mine. Toilet paper roll, with tissue still on it, and a paper mache' egg glued to the top which I Sharpied.) and I took their picture.
I now have a bunch of pictures of drunk people who I don't know.
But it was big fun.
We should have won the contest we entered; the owner, and the crowd said so, but alas, we were beat-out by a slutty Little Red Riding Hood and her Wolf. Sad, but true.
It was awesome and it just proves why I love Halloween so much.
Because it's awesome.
Duh.
Good gravy it has just flown by.
Okay, last night was awesome fun and today came mighty early. I hear that happens when a person doesn't get to bed before 3 and their alarm goes off at 7:22. Just a rumor I heard, but I am hear to tell you, it's true. True that was me last night and true that it comes early.
Also, when you go to a dive bar as your last stop and you order a vodka cranberry; top shelf, middle shelf, bottom shelf, or no shelf, sink water. Which one do you think I ended up with?
If you guessed a combination of no shelf mixed with sink and a dash of cranberry, well you would be right.
I said it tasted like Ritz crackers with fake cheese. The two other people who sipped the drink didn't get that.
Okay fine. How about just the fake cheese part?
No.
Fine.
How about I couldn't even stomach it and the drink was not drunken. (I may have been drunken, but the drink was not.) I've brushed, flossed, and rinsed twice since last night and I still can't get the taste of the last drink out of my mouth. Oh yeah. Tasty.
Oh yeah. No stomach lining.
Wait, that makes it sound like I've thrown-up.
I haven't. I am a professional.
I do need some coffee.
And some bread.
And a cookie.
(To wake me up.)
(To absorb.)
(For the sugar. And the Halloween sugar cookies they had on campus yesterday were awesome.)
Oh, and some grease.
(Just because. A hamburger is always a good thing.)
Our group costume was awesome. We were the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol.
Oh yeah. Blue blazers, white shirts (that did not fit so well. Way big) and khakis. We either looked like we were trying to sell you a home or we looked like Mormons. I figured since we didn't have on backpacks no one would think we were trying to get them into Heaven. Luckily we also had on name tags to erase any confusion before it could start.
I would run up to the lucky winner, we would hand them the big fake check which was made out for $500 million, thousand dollars and fifty-six and half cents. (Any guesses whose idea that was?) They were then given red, white, and blue flowers, black balloons, a microphone shoved in their face that looked like a dildo (not intentionally) (no, really.)(yes, the microphone was mine. Toilet paper roll, with tissue still on it, and a paper mache' egg glued to the top which I Sharpied.) and I took their picture.
I now have a bunch of pictures of drunk people who I don't know.
But it was big fun.
We should have won the contest we entered; the owner, and the crowd said so, but alas, we were beat-out by a slutty Little Red Riding Hood and her Wolf. Sad, but true.
It was awesome and it just proves why I love Halloween so much.
Because it's awesome.
Duh.
Monday, October 29, 2007
the cops, a crush that can't be had, wondering why I am here, wondering why I left, a few bad dates
but not necessarily in that order.
Okay, so I hit a rough patch. It happens. Nothing huge, but all of that small stuff that we're told not to sweat and normally I don't, but then, it kind of all got to me. So here is the quick of it (or the long of it.)
I had two huge tests coming up. I completely bombed one of them. The one that counted the most. I spent more time on the Wednesday night test when I should have spent all the time on the Thursday test. I knew this, but everyone was more worried about the Wednesday, so I listened to them, not to me. We will get the test back tomorrow (only taken two weeks, and conveniently past mid-term and last day to drop.) If I get 20 points out of 100 I will be surprised. I know I bombed it.
This in combination with a few papers, yeah GPA not stealer. This will affect my scholarship and my over-all need to maintain a 3.0, GPA. But no pressure.
Again, it happens.
However, another reason for not getting the study time in was that the day before I had a guy knock on my door. He seemed surprised that I was home/answered. He came up with a convoluted story about living here previously, had a refund check coming, when it arrived could I call him and he will come get it. I said, no, but I will forward it; give me your address.
He did. I thought the whole thing was odd, but let it go.
Two hours later I got a call from the utility company. The same guy had claimed he lived here and wanted his utilities forwarded here; they were making sure this was true.
No.
My friends went with me to buy another lock for my door and a peep hole for the door. The guy friend and I (Mr. IQ) stayed up drinking, talking, and eating pizza well into the morning. He was flirting, I was reminding him that he has a girlfriend..also a friend of mine.
The next day I called the cops about the guy once I had a chance to follow-up with the landlords and such. So, due to...I have no idea what, and much drinking, the study time didn't happen.
Again, it happens and it was my own fault..and not so much my own fault.
This lead into me questioning even more why I am here at grad school studying Public Policy. Thus far I am not learning about what I thought I would be and I'm not really enjoying the classes.
I looked into changing programs. The Communications dept. gave me until Thursday (about three days) to get all of my materials in. I did. So know I'm not sure if I will change programs or not come spring semester.
I spoke with the director of the Public Policy on Friday. We think we have a focus area all planned out for me, but I still need to figure out who teaches them and if they will be willing to make them grad level classes for me come next year if I decide to stay in Public Policy.
So, I am pondering over that.
A couple bad dates. No need to really go into that. They were bad. I left after an hour. No need to waste my time.
It's pretty obvious Mr. IQ is interested in me.
However, once again he is dating another gal in our program and once again, she is my friend.
No dice.
I'm a Party Girl, but I am good Party Girl with a conscious and I would never hurt anyone.
No, I am always the one who ends up hurt in the end.
This is a very quick gloss over of what the last few weeks have been. Basically everyday I question my decision to move up here and go to grad school and whether I am in the right program. I am enjoying grad school (as much as a person can) I love all of my new friends, I love the area, I love the school. Work has gotten better since Homecoming is over. It's more about whether or not I am in the right program and the decision to go to grad school when I did.
...
Okay, maybe now is the time to confess.
I knew I wanted to go to grad school, I had just forgotten my potential. I knew it was in me, I had just forgotten it was there.
Mr. London reminded me. He reminded me of my potential. (So did everyone I used to work with.) He moved. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The person who leaves always has it better than the person who stays.
...see where this is going?
Obviously I was accepted into school on my own merit, but I didn't want to wait until spring. For one thing, student loans would come due and I would have needed to get a few more jobs to pay for them, but I also didn't want to be in the same place, with the same story, thinking about someone who was no longer here. I needed to move on. Right decisions, but maybe the wrong choice, wrong time. Cause although I still have my own life and a new life, I still think about London more than I care to admit.
...anyway.
Hmm, okay. I said there wouldn't be any more whiney posts. I lied. I'll try to do better next time.
I have many bar stories to share. I'll start sharing those.
Something tells me I'll have another post by tomorrow as Mr. IQ called asking me out for a drink tonight. I declined. He then said he might need a drive home. I told him to call me when he is ready to leave the bar. (He doesn't need to be arrested or kill anyone.)
If nothing else Wednesday will be enjoyable. The four of us (he, me, his girlfriend, and another gal) are going as the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol. Oh, yeah. Halloween and a Party Girl are always a good time.
Okay, so I hit a rough patch. It happens. Nothing huge, but all of that small stuff that we're told not to sweat and normally I don't, but then, it kind of all got to me. So here is the quick of it (or the long of it.)
I had two huge tests coming up. I completely bombed one of them. The one that counted the most. I spent more time on the Wednesday night test when I should have spent all the time on the Thursday test. I knew this, but everyone was more worried about the Wednesday, so I listened to them, not to me. We will get the test back tomorrow (only taken two weeks, and conveniently past mid-term and last day to drop.) If I get 20 points out of 100 I will be surprised. I know I bombed it.
This in combination with a few papers, yeah GPA not stealer. This will affect my scholarship and my over-all need to maintain a 3.0, GPA. But no pressure.
Again, it happens.
However, another reason for not getting the study time in was that the day before I had a guy knock on my door. He seemed surprised that I was home/answered. He came up with a convoluted story about living here previously, had a refund check coming, when it arrived could I call him and he will come get it. I said, no, but I will forward it; give me your address.
He did. I thought the whole thing was odd, but let it go.
Two hours later I got a call from the utility company. The same guy had claimed he lived here and wanted his utilities forwarded here; they were making sure this was true.
No.
My friends went with me to buy another lock for my door and a peep hole for the door. The guy friend and I (Mr. IQ) stayed up drinking, talking, and eating pizza well into the morning. He was flirting, I was reminding him that he has a girlfriend..also a friend of mine.
The next day I called the cops about the guy once I had a chance to follow-up with the landlords and such. So, due to...I have no idea what, and much drinking, the study time didn't happen.
Again, it happens and it was my own fault..and not so much my own fault.
This lead into me questioning even more why I am here at grad school studying Public Policy. Thus far I am not learning about what I thought I would be and I'm not really enjoying the classes.
I looked into changing programs. The Communications dept. gave me until Thursday (about three days) to get all of my materials in. I did. So know I'm not sure if I will change programs or not come spring semester.
I spoke with the director of the Public Policy on Friday. We think we have a focus area all planned out for me, but I still need to figure out who teaches them and if they will be willing to make them grad level classes for me come next year if I decide to stay in Public Policy.
So, I am pondering over that.
A couple bad dates. No need to really go into that. They were bad. I left after an hour. No need to waste my time.
It's pretty obvious Mr. IQ is interested in me.
However, once again he is dating another gal in our program and once again, she is my friend.
No dice.
I'm a Party Girl, but I am good Party Girl with a conscious and I would never hurt anyone.
No, I am always the one who ends up hurt in the end.
This is a very quick gloss over of what the last few weeks have been. Basically everyday I question my decision to move up here and go to grad school and whether I am in the right program. I am enjoying grad school (as much as a person can) I love all of my new friends, I love the area, I love the school. Work has gotten better since Homecoming is over. It's more about whether or not I am in the right program and the decision to go to grad school when I did.
...
Okay, maybe now is the time to confess.
I knew I wanted to go to grad school, I had just forgotten my potential. I knew it was in me, I had just forgotten it was there.
Mr. London reminded me. He reminded me of my potential. (So did everyone I used to work with.) He moved. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The person who leaves always has it better than the person who stays.
...see where this is going?
Obviously I was accepted into school on my own merit, but I didn't want to wait until spring. For one thing, student loans would come due and I would have needed to get a few more jobs to pay for them, but I also didn't want to be in the same place, with the same story, thinking about someone who was no longer here. I needed to move on. Right decisions, but maybe the wrong choice, wrong time. Cause although I still have my own life and a new life, I still think about London more than I care to admit.
...anyway.
Hmm, okay. I said there wouldn't be any more whiney posts. I lied. I'll try to do better next time.
I have many bar stories to share. I'll start sharing those.
Something tells me I'll have another post by tomorrow as Mr. IQ called asking me out for a drink tonight. I declined. He then said he might need a drive home. I told him to call me when he is ready to leave the bar. (He doesn't need to be arrested or kill anyone.)
If nothing else Wednesday will be enjoyable. The four of us (he, me, his girlfriend, and another gal) are going as the Publisher's Clearinghouse Prize Patrol. Oh, yeah. Halloween and a Party Girl are always a good time.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
so, um, well, it's just that, ...yeah
Okay, so I haven't been the best about posting, but I know that none of you are holding that against me because your all not like that and I know you all still love and adore me, because your all just like that.
The thing is, I haven't had anything to say, but I also have a ton to say, but apparently no time to say it...or type it..whatever...and the truth is I've hit a rough patch, but I don't want to talk about...or type it out...whatever...cause it seems that the last few posts have been a bit whiney and I don't like whiney. So I am boycotting whiney. (And Sleepy. And Doc. And Dopey. And Bashful. And...well, you get the point.)
Wait. You mean you didn't get the point? OKay, well, the point is that I am still here, I don't want to leave, so bear with me (or bare with me..your choice) and I will stick my head...or stick a type written quip...whichever...in here now and again and I'll try to do it more than now than again..or again more than now...whichever...and I am still the PG you love and adore, I've just hit a rough patch and I'm trying to work it out. So bear with me. Cause I'm still here.
The thing is, I haven't had anything to say, but I also have a ton to say, but apparently no time to say it...or type it..whatever...and the truth is I've hit a rough patch, but I don't want to talk about...or type it out...whatever...cause it seems that the last few posts have been a bit whiney and I don't like whiney. So I am boycotting whiney. (And Sleepy. And Doc. And Dopey. And Bashful. And...well, you get the point.)
Wait. You mean you didn't get the point? OKay, well, the point is that I am still here, I don't want to leave, so bear with me (or bare with me..your choice) and I will stick my head...or stick a type written quip...whichever...in here now and again and I'll try to do it more than now than again..or again more than now...whichever...and I am still the PG you love and adore, I've just hit a rough patch and I'm trying to work it out. So bear with me. Cause I'm still here.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
just sayin'
I don't understand, when I look under the cap of my pop bottle and it says, "try again." I mean, duh, obviously I did it right the first time because I was able to take the lid off, so why do I need to try again??
Monday, October 15, 2007
and now, a moment to reflect...
or an update, which ever you prefer.
Okay, I know I've been really bad about writing, posting, and reading. I know this. I apologize. Here is an update on what has been going on with me.
Saturday was our homecoming. We kicked booty. The parade and the event that was pulled off basically by me and all of the organizations I belong to, went well. I'm hoping this will mean that work will become at a minimum at least tolerable. If not, I quit. My job is taking way too much time, energy and effort away from school and most importantly, my happiness.
Last Tuesday and Wednesday my chest hurt so badly I thought I was having a heart attack...no joke. Seriously, not worth it. Oh, and the Grad Assist, or as I call her, the Devil's Spawn, (I have crowned my boss, Devil Boss and the other grad assistants call her a "henious bitch") the grad assist I work with was way too condescending to me on Thursday that I went to talk to her about it and she had a complete breakdown in front of me. Said all things not having to do with what I went to talk to her about and screamed and then finally cried. She screamed at me to the point that I had to shut the door. I don't believe in raising my voice or yelling or interrupting others...why, cause I tend to stop listening when people yell at me, thus I feel they do the same. And interrupting is rude and allows for misunderstandings, which is what happened in this case. So while she screamed and cried, I just sat in my chair and calmly tried to talk to her. Again, not worth it.
Bad part is that if I do quit I would lose the nice new sparkly paragraph that has been added to my resume.
poop stain.
Internship: I need to start hitting the application process hard by the end of the month. It will be for the summer of 2008. I am hoping for one that is paid (oh, hilarious I am!)(Not sure where Yoda came from.) and also overseas. Cross all things crossable for me.
Friends: I have met some really great friends and it is amazing how easy those friends are to make when the question is: “Do you want to grab a drink?” Ta dah! World peace. Notify the leaders of the world, I have found the solution. My liver is growing nicely cause if it isn’t me saying that sentence it is one of the three other new most bestest friends who is offering up the alcohol consumption.
I started, what was supposed to be a study group on Thursdays before our night class, but it has turned into a “Let’s grab a bite to eat and have a drink” before class group. Just a note: vodka makes me smarter during class; beer just makes me sleepy during class.
Classes: They are going well. I have two huge tests this week (which I should be studying for, but no, I am blogging. Ah, good use of my time.) I am hoping when I get two papers back this week they will have a big gold star on them or a nice scratch and sniff sticker (really, why don't we get those as adults?) I will be able to breathe easier and hopefully not feel even more overwhelmed.
Apartment: I hate it. (And done.)
Tree is still shade-o-riffic. I will it to die during storms. The tree is still winning.
Black mold: I haven’t looked under the bathroom sink recently, but I like to think I am winning the war. Denial means I win.
I lost 200 sq ft from my last apartment to this apartment. I had no idea what a difference 200 sq ft could make. I now know. Big. It makes a big difference.
The girl down the hall, who was having all of the baby-daddy drama, seems to have shut-up. This may be a direct result of the cops being called. May just be a coincidence, but I don’t think so.
Honestly, I am already a bit tired of school and I am trying to fight it. I really, really want to quit my crap-ass job with the Devil Boss and the grad assistant Spawn, but I am really, really trying to fight it; cause, the resume padding has been amazing. But, where is the line? The line between sanity and the line between "I can see what this will mean and do for my future" become blurred and lost? That's where I am. I'm hoping that I can take the easy way out and my class schedule won't allow for a work schedule next semester. Chicken-shit, you say? Yep.
However, the balance between going out (a lot) and the really great friends I've made has made the above paragraph almost bearable. (Almost.)
Paper count: 5/37 (My plan to hit some of these out was squashed due to my Wednesday and Thursday at work; the chest pain and frustration thus not allowing for any type of mind to keyboard collaboration.)
Presentation count: 2/2
Test count: 1/7
So far I have all A's (I think.)
Okay, I know I've been really bad about writing, posting, and reading. I know this. I apologize. Here is an update on what has been going on with me.
Saturday was our homecoming. We kicked booty. The parade and the event that was pulled off basically by me and all of the organizations I belong to, went well. I'm hoping this will mean that work will become at a minimum at least tolerable. If not, I quit. My job is taking way too much time, energy and effort away from school and most importantly, my happiness.
Last Tuesday and Wednesday my chest hurt so badly I thought I was having a heart attack...no joke. Seriously, not worth it. Oh, and the Grad Assist, or as I call her, the Devil's Spawn, (I have crowned my boss, Devil Boss and the other grad assistants call her a "henious bitch") the grad assist I work with was way too condescending to me on Thursday that I went to talk to her about it and she had a complete breakdown in front of me. Said all things not having to do with what I went to talk to her about and screamed and then finally cried. She screamed at me to the point that I had to shut the door. I don't believe in raising my voice or yelling or interrupting others...why, cause I tend to stop listening when people yell at me, thus I feel they do the same. And interrupting is rude and allows for misunderstandings, which is what happened in this case. So while she screamed and cried, I just sat in my chair and calmly tried to talk to her. Again, not worth it.
Bad part is that if I do quit I would lose the nice new sparkly paragraph that has been added to my resume.
poop stain.
Internship: I need to start hitting the application process hard by the end of the month. It will be for the summer of 2008. I am hoping for one that is paid (oh, hilarious I am!)(Not sure where Yoda came from.) and also overseas. Cross all things crossable for me.
Friends: I have met some really great friends and it is amazing how easy those friends are to make when the question is: “Do you want to grab a drink?” Ta dah! World peace. Notify the leaders of the world, I have found the solution. My liver is growing nicely cause if it isn’t me saying that sentence it is one of the three other new most bestest friends who is offering up the alcohol consumption.
I started, what was supposed to be a study group on Thursdays before our night class, but it has turned into a “Let’s grab a bite to eat and have a drink” before class group. Just a note: vodka makes me smarter during class; beer just makes me sleepy during class.
Classes: They are going well. I have two huge tests this week (which I should be studying for, but no, I am blogging. Ah, good use of my time.) I am hoping when I get two papers back this week they will have a big gold star on them or a nice scratch and sniff sticker (really, why don't we get those as adults?) I will be able to breathe easier and hopefully not feel even more overwhelmed.
Apartment: I hate it. (And done.)
Tree is still shade-o-riffic. I will it to die during storms. The tree is still winning.
Black mold: I haven’t looked under the bathroom sink recently, but I like to think I am winning the war. Denial means I win.
I lost 200 sq ft from my last apartment to this apartment. I had no idea what a difference 200 sq ft could make. I now know. Big. It makes a big difference.
The girl down the hall, who was having all of the baby-daddy drama, seems to have shut-up. This may be a direct result of the cops being called. May just be a coincidence, but I don’t think so.
Honestly, I am already a bit tired of school and I am trying to fight it. I really, really want to quit my crap-ass job with the Devil Boss and the grad assistant Spawn, but I am really, really trying to fight it; cause, the resume padding has been amazing. But, where is the line? The line between sanity and the line between "I can see what this will mean and do for my future" become blurred and lost? That's where I am. I'm hoping that I can take the easy way out and my class schedule won't allow for a work schedule next semester. Chicken-shit, you say? Yep.
However, the balance between going out (a lot) and the really great friends I've made has made the above paragraph almost bearable. (Almost.)
Paper count: 5/37 (My plan to hit some of these out was squashed due to my Wednesday and Thursday at work; the chest pain and frustration thus not allowing for any type of mind to keyboard collaboration.)
Presentation count: 2/2
Test count: 1/7
So far I have all A's (I think.)
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
tag, I'm it
ptg, that most beautiful of new moms, tagged me. She tagged me last week. I'm just now getting around to it, sad. She hoped it would spur on some creative juices. I'm not sure it helped, but it did get me to post, so there you go.
THE RULES:
1. Post these rules before you give you the facts.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) someone and list their name (linking to their page).
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged
1) I hate parades. Regardless if there are 76 trombones, or not. I don't like to go to them. The last parade I did attend I was 19 and had just had all of my wisdom teeth pulled a few days before so I was kind of hallucinating during it. Still didn't make me enjoy the floats.
2) The fact that I don't like parades is funny because I am in charge of organizing this weekend's homecoming parade and not only that, but I will be walking in it as well. (Yippee!)
3) I also hate clowns. They scare me and sort of freak me out. But, when I was in my teens I dressed up as a clown for my cousin's birthday. (I think she was 3 at the time) and she knew it was me.
4) I've had over 20 jobs. These range from retail, to waitress, to working with disabled children, to bus driver, to day camp counselor, to supervisor on a large college campus.
Many times I've worked at least two jobs at the same time and sometimes three. This past summer I had six. The longest I've ever worked at one place continually was five years. This was at my last place of employment.
5) Since I was a bus driver, I have a CDL drivers license.
6) When the kids stood up on the bus when I was driving I would shout, "Seat to seat and floor to feet!"
I know, I'm cleaver.
The bus was very old and dark blue in color. I literally had to stand up on the brake to make it stop. Hmm, safe.
7) In college, the first time around, I changed my major many, many, many times. However, the one I finally settled on was English. I was going to get my PhD and teach.
I then had a lousy English teacher who gave me a C in her class and I was none to thrilled. I also thought this meant English wasn't for me.
Skip ahead ten or so years and I what was my undergrad in? English. So, there you go.
8) When I was in my teens I thought I was pretty smart.
In my 20's I thought I was wise.
In my 30's I am baffled and stupefied by what I learn, have learned, and will continue to learn on a daily basis. I truly believe I change in some way each and everyday by something that is said, something new I experience, or from a person I encounter. I can't imagine all of the life lessons I still have to discover and how much of life still lays ahead for me to explore. I realize I may know lots, but ultimately I don't know crap.
I'm not going to tag anyone, but feel free to tag yourself and let me know!
THE RULES:
1. Post these rules before you give you the facts.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) someone and list their name (linking to their page).
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged
1) I hate parades. Regardless if there are 76 trombones, or not. I don't like to go to them. The last parade I did attend I was 19 and had just had all of my wisdom teeth pulled a few days before so I was kind of hallucinating during it. Still didn't make me enjoy the floats.
2) The fact that I don't like parades is funny because I am in charge of organizing this weekend's homecoming parade and not only that, but I will be walking in it as well. (Yippee!)
3) I also hate clowns. They scare me and sort of freak me out. But, when I was in my teens I dressed up as a clown for my cousin's birthday. (I think she was 3 at the time) and she knew it was me.
4) I've had over 20 jobs. These range from retail, to waitress, to working with disabled children, to bus driver, to day camp counselor, to supervisor on a large college campus.
Many times I've worked at least two jobs at the same time and sometimes three. This past summer I had six. The longest I've ever worked at one place continually was five years. This was at my last place of employment.
5) Since I was a bus driver, I have a CDL drivers license.
6) When the kids stood up on the bus when I was driving I would shout, "Seat to seat and floor to feet!"
I know, I'm cleaver.
The bus was very old and dark blue in color. I literally had to stand up on the brake to make it stop. Hmm, safe.
7) In college, the first time around, I changed my major many, many, many times. However, the one I finally settled on was English. I was going to get my PhD and teach.
I then had a lousy English teacher who gave me a C in her class and I was none to thrilled. I also thought this meant English wasn't for me.
Skip ahead ten or so years and I what was my undergrad in? English. So, there you go.
8) When I was in my teens I thought I was pretty smart.
In my 20's I thought I was wise.
In my 30's I am baffled and stupefied by what I learn, have learned, and will continue to learn on a daily basis. I truly believe I change in some way each and everyday by something that is said, something new I experience, or from a person I encounter. I can't imagine all of the life lessons I still have to discover and how much of life still lays ahead for me to explore. I realize I may know lots, but ultimately I don't know crap.
I'm not going to tag anyone, but feel free to tag yourself and let me know!
Monday, October 01, 2007
ho-hum
..that's what the john said to the prostitute.
...Sometimes I am just so, out-of-my-ass witty.
OKay, don't know that I have much to report, but I felt the need to procrastinate and not read, write, or kill any more trees with research. Ah, gotta love the blog and all things not getting done. What did we do before the Internet? Oh, I know..we worked and talked, and made eye-contact. Also, I read all of yours, but I had nothing creative, witty, or sarcastic to add to the comments. Just know that I was there, I left a non-staining mark, and I love you in my own special non-mark leaving way.
School is going well. Papers are being widdled down. Classes are chugging along. How did it get to be October?
I leave for Budapest in six...maybe seven weeks, not sure how long it is. Too lazy to get up and look at a calendar. I'm excited, but for some reason sad about the trip all at the same time. Not sure why. I haven't had time to read the books or learn the language. Let's hope I have time to do (at least some) reading and learning in the next six...or seven weeks. Trip payment is due this Friday.
I've made some good peeps. I don't know where "peeps" came from, but I've been saying it a lot lately. I apologize in advance. So, I've made some pretty good peeps (again, sorry) It's amazing the kind of friends (ah, much better) I can make by simply saying the phrase, "hey, you guys wanna go for a drink?" Amazing. I wonder how people make friends if they don't drink. Hmm, perplexing and I doubt I will ever find out.
I tested my hyphothesis of vodka makes me smarter, out last Thursday. Greasy bar food with vodka. Hmm, tasty. Three vodka cranberries in 30 minutes, laughs with the friends, walk back to school, rock out by being brilliant in class. Ta dah! Hypothesis becomes theory. Wait. Is that how it goes? Ah, who cares. I was brilliant. See, vodka slows the thinking process down, thus making me think longer before speaking, thus giving everyone else in the class the opportunity to be wrong, and I get to throw my arms up in a, I just scored a touchdown, sort of way when I say the brilliant answer to the perplexing question.
I'm not really dating. Talking to a couple of men, but not really dating any of them.
I'm okay with this.
I also haven't had sex in a really long time.
Again, I'm okay with this.
Yeah. I'm surprised by this too.
I've needed some PG time.
I don't mean time to masturbate.
I just mean some time with my thoughts, feelings, and me.
A sorting out of sorts.
I went to get my nose pierced on Friday.
Didn't have the stud I wanted.
(...and I wasn't even looking for a stud, just a nose ring. Ha!)
...anyway, this was after three years of contemplation about the nose piercing and three and half hours of drinking free beer and dollar domestic bottles. (The drink special knows as, Friday After Class. (Me likey, a lot.) After drinking $6 worth of beer and one glass of free beer I decided I need a hole in my nose.
Again, no stud.
I decided I needed a seventh hole in my ears.
Again, not the hoop I wanted.
So, I just went home.
Hole-free.
(so to speak.)
I love Monday night TV. ("How i met your mother" and the new show, "The Big Bang Theory.")
I've gotten into the habit of drinking beer each night before bed.
Thanks, Sam Adams.
One of my neighbors is having serious baby-daddy issues.
This would be on top of her lifetime of issues she seems to be paper-cutting her way through.
She also seems more than happy to share these issues with any and all within earshot.
Oddly enough my completely uncontrollable scream of "shut-up!" went unnoticed.
Everyday I lose and gain the same four.five pounds.
I find this odd.
They may be odd, but I keep finding them (I know, they just keep coming!)
I think it has more to do with my scale.
Wake-up thinner than when I went to bed.
Gain two pounds after breakfast. (really, does an English muffin weigh two-pounds? I'm not putting that much peanut butter and jelly on the nooks and crannies.)
Lose four while at school.
Gain two after a poo. ('Splain that one to me. How do you gain weight by expelling?)
Gain two.five after dinner.
Lose half a pound before bed.
I think my scale is stupid.
Of course it might be the twenty pound book bag I carry during my two mile walk around campus. (I refuse to use a back-pack. I'm 33, no back-pack. So, I will just be the left-sided gimp.)
Or, it could be the combo of beer drinking and.....yep, just the beer drinking.
This is why I have never owned a scale until five weeks ago. As a woman to own a scale is stupid.
My boss is still crazy.
No need to go into it.
She's just nuts.
Nuts and has a short-term memory of which I somehow get blamed for not knowing how to do things, get into things, complete things, or be good at things.
She seems to have learned my name.
Seriously, just watch the movie, (The Devil Wears Prada) that's my Monday-Friday for approximately 20 hours a week. (Not supposed to be more than 16, but whatever.)
Resume will be stealer.
No idea where my level of sarcasm will be.
I'm guessing off the charts.
Oh, wait.
On second thought, maybe the four.five pounds of perpetual weight gain and loss is beer to sarcasm inflow and outflow.
See, blogging is good. It makes me think and come to conclusions.
...Sometimes I am just so, out-of-my-ass witty.
OKay, don't know that I have much to report, but I felt the need to procrastinate and not read, write, or kill any more trees with research. Ah, gotta love the blog and all things not getting done. What did we do before the Internet? Oh, I know..we worked and talked, and made eye-contact. Also, I read all of yours, but I had nothing creative, witty, or sarcastic to add to the comments. Just know that I was there, I left a non-staining mark, and I love you in my own special non-mark leaving way.
School is going well. Papers are being widdled down. Classes are chugging along. How did it get to be October?
I leave for Budapest in six...maybe seven weeks, not sure how long it is. Too lazy to get up and look at a calendar. I'm excited, but for some reason sad about the trip all at the same time. Not sure why. I haven't had time to read the books or learn the language. Let's hope I have time to do (at least some) reading and learning in the next six...or seven weeks. Trip payment is due this Friday.
I've made some good peeps. I don't know where "peeps" came from, but I've been saying it a lot lately. I apologize in advance. So, I've made some pretty good peeps (again, sorry) It's amazing the kind of friends (ah, much better) I can make by simply saying the phrase, "hey, you guys wanna go for a drink?" Amazing. I wonder how people make friends if they don't drink. Hmm, perplexing and I doubt I will ever find out.
I tested my hyphothesis of vodka makes me smarter, out last Thursday. Greasy bar food with vodka. Hmm, tasty. Three vodka cranberries in 30 minutes, laughs with the friends, walk back to school, rock out by being brilliant in class. Ta dah! Hypothesis becomes theory. Wait. Is that how it goes? Ah, who cares. I was brilliant. See, vodka slows the thinking process down, thus making me think longer before speaking, thus giving everyone else in the class the opportunity to be wrong, and I get to throw my arms up in a, I just scored a touchdown, sort of way when I say the brilliant answer to the perplexing question.
I'm not really dating. Talking to a couple of men, but not really dating any of them.
I'm okay with this.
I also haven't had sex in a really long time.
Again, I'm okay with this.
Yeah. I'm surprised by this too.
I've needed some PG time.
I don't mean time to masturbate.
I just mean some time with my thoughts, feelings, and me.
A sorting out of sorts.
I went to get my nose pierced on Friday.
Didn't have the stud I wanted.
(...and I wasn't even looking for a stud, just a nose ring. Ha!)
...anyway, this was after three years of contemplation about the nose piercing and three and half hours of drinking free beer and dollar domestic bottles. (The drink special knows as, Friday After Class. (Me likey, a lot.) After drinking $6 worth of beer and one glass of free beer I decided I need a hole in my nose.
Again, no stud.
I decided I needed a seventh hole in my ears.
Again, not the hoop I wanted.
So, I just went home.
Hole-free.
(so to speak.)
I love Monday night TV. ("How i met your mother" and the new show, "The Big Bang Theory.")
I've gotten into the habit of drinking beer each night before bed.
Thanks, Sam Adams.
One of my neighbors is having serious baby-daddy issues.
This would be on top of her lifetime of issues she seems to be paper-cutting her way through.
She also seems more than happy to share these issues with any and all within earshot.
Oddly enough my completely uncontrollable scream of "shut-up!" went unnoticed.
Everyday I lose and gain the same four.five pounds.
I find this odd.
They may be odd, but I keep finding them (I know, they just keep coming!)
I think it has more to do with my scale.
Wake-up thinner than when I went to bed.
Gain two pounds after breakfast. (really, does an English muffin weigh two-pounds? I'm not putting that much peanut butter and jelly on the nooks and crannies.)
Lose four while at school.
Gain two after a poo. ('Splain that one to me. How do you gain weight by expelling?)
Gain two.five after dinner.
Lose half a pound before bed.
I think my scale is stupid.
Of course it might be the twenty pound book bag I carry during my two mile walk around campus. (I refuse to use a back-pack. I'm 33, no back-pack. So, I will just be the left-sided gimp.)
Or, it could be the combo of beer drinking and.....yep, just the beer drinking.
This is why I have never owned a scale until five weeks ago. As a woman to own a scale is stupid.
My boss is still crazy.
No need to go into it.
She's just nuts.
Nuts and has a short-term memory of which I somehow get blamed for not knowing how to do things, get into things, complete things, or be good at things.
She seems to have learned my name.
Seriously, just watch the movie, (The Devil Wears Prada) that's my Monday-Friday for approximately 20 hours a week. (Not supposed to be more than 16, but whatever.)
Resume will be stealer.
No idea where my level of sarcasm will be.
I'm guessing off the charts.
Oh, wait.
On second thought, maybe the four.five pounds of perpetual weight gain and loss is beer to sarcasm inflow and outflow.
See, blogging is good. It makes me think and come to conclusions.
Monday, September 24, 2007
I'll be at the bar by 6
................and I'm now a member of the Public Policy Commission Board.
The entire class was asked three times. Resume padding was mentioned several times. No one bit. Hey, I can't help it if the youngins don't understand how important that is.
Limpy, notice that one is Public Policy related. I'll see you at the bar. You buy the beer, I'll buy the Jager. Wait, I don't think you like Jager. Okay, you buy the beer.
The entire class was asked three times. Resume padding was mentioned several times. No one bit. Hey, I can't help it if the youngins don't understand how important that is.
Limpy, notice that one is Public Policy related. I'll see you at the bar. You buy the beer, I'll buy the Jager. Wait, I don't think you like Jager. Okay, you buy the beer.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
more beer please
Just a quick update on the life of a poor, but eager to network grad student.
So remember that incredibly low-paying, but hopefully high-networking job I go to everyday? Well, I attend a lot of meetings...a lot of meetings, on behalf of this low-paying and low-budgeted program (The Women and Gender Studies program and on behalf of the Gender Org. (their organization.) That group that I somehow became the president of) Anyway, so I attended a meeting yesterday. In the process of getting ready for the meeting I asked my boss what I needed to do to get prepared for it. Turns out I am a board member of this particular group. Yep. I am a board member of this all-important group all without even trying or being aware of it. How 'bout them apples?
So, I decided to quickly put together a list of things that I have haphazardly gotten myself involved with, involved in, appointed to, and generally swash-buckled, bamboozled, and Shanghaied into:
Gender Org. president, (still have no idea or clue how.) Wrote and was awarded funds for the Pepsi Grant, (Go, me!) Board member of influential cultural group, (no idea.) Homecoming organizer,(this I am aware of and know how and why I am a part of it. However, I am WAY more involved than I ever intended to be.) Board member of the Dean's Advisory Board, (no clue.) Institutional Review Board member (Have no idea what-so-ever what that is or what it means. I will find out (hopefully) come Wednesday October 3rd at 4:00 p.m. and be wiser come 6 p.m.) Public Policy Member. (Notice that one is not Women's and Gender Studies or Gender Org. related. Why? Because my actual Master's degree will be in Public Policy, not Women's and Gender Studies. So, that one makes sense.) (I like it when things make sense. You could say I am a big fan of all things sensical.) (Sure, it's a word.)(I just deemed it as such.)
Anyway, resume is being padded nicely. Brain cells are tired. Mind is tired. Eyes don't look tired. (Thanks, Cover Girl) Have killed all trees belonging to WA and OR. So sorry about that. Northern CA is next, just FYI.) Tuesday I was uber frustrated. Today I am better , but Thursdays are really long 8:30-9 straight through, no breaks. Exhausting. And I need to buckle down. Calendar is way too full. Beer drinking = not enough. (and actually my beer consumption has increased 12 fold.) (and making fun of the 20-something's at the bar last night was quite entertaining.) I need more of that.
So remember that incredibly low-paying, but hopefully high-networking job I go to everyday? Well, I attend a lot of meetings...a lot of meetings, on behalf of this low-paying and low-budgeted program (The Women and Gender Studies program and on behalf of the Gender Org. (their organization.) That group that I somehow became the president of) Anyway, so I attended a meeting yesterday. In the process of getting ready for the meeting I asked my boss what I needed to do to get prepared for it. Turns out I am a board member of this particular group. Yep. I am a board member of this all-important group all without even trying or being aware of it. How 'bout them apples?
So, I decided to quickly put together a list of things that I have haphazardly gotten myself involved with, involved in, appointed to, and generally swash-buckled, bamboozled, and Shanghaied into:
Gender Org. president, (still have no idea or clue how.) Wrote and was awarded funds for the Pepsi Grant, (Go, me!) Board member of influential cultural group, (no idea.) Homecoming organizer,(this I am aware of and know how and why I am a part of it. However, I am WAY more involved than I ever intended to be.) Board member of the Dean's Advisory Board, (no clue.) Institutional Review Board member (Have no idea what-so-ever what that is or what it means. I will find out (hopefully) come Wednesday October 3rd at 4:00 p.m. and be wiser come 6 p.m.) Public Policy Member. (Notice that one is not Women's and Gender Studies or Gender Org. related. Why? Because my actual Master's degree will be in Public Policy, not Women's and Gender Studies. So, that one makes sense.) (I like it when things make sense. You could say I am a big fan of all things sensical.) (Sure, it's a word.)(I just deemed it as such.)
Anyway, resume is being padded nicely. Brain cells are tired. Mind is tired. Eyes don't look tired. (Thanks, Cover Girl) Have killed all trees belonging to WA and OR. So sorry about that. Northern CA is next, just FYI.) Tuesday I was uber frustrated. Today I am better , but Thursdays are really long 8:30-9 straight through, no breaks. Exhausting. And I need to buckle down. Calendar is way too full. Beer drinking = not enough. (and actually my beer consumption has increased 12 fold.) (and making fun of the 20-something's at the bar last night was quite entertaining.) I need more of that.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
because it's time
The thing is, Brad wasn't the first one who I held my emotions for. He wasn't the first one who I set aside my thoughts and feelings for because they were with someone else, because life had other plans for them.
Brad was engaged and moved out to Seattle to try and work it out with his fiancee; even though he was in love with and wanted to be with me.
I said nothing except to wish him luck and promised to keep in touch. Now, he's gone and I will never be able to tell him how I felt about him.
Lloyd Dobler Wanna-Be who I dated a couple times a little over a year ago. Due to timing (i.e. my schedule of working full-time and going to night school full-time) I decided to just be friends with him. We kept in touch, but then, again do to my schedule, (See the above) I lost touch with him. I also started dating Mr. London. However, this past spring I got back in touch with him. He was back with his ex-girlfriend, but it was a touchy subject and he didn't like talking about her; so I respected this and didn't bring her up. We talked about all other subjects. However, I started to have feelings for him, but wasn't sure if they were still together. About the time I was ready to broach the subject he sent me an email in mid-August (right after I moved) thanking me for my friendship, saying that he was attracted to me and was foolish enough to let himself believe that one day maybe something could come of it, but he realized now he needed to concentrate on his relationship with his girlfriend and didn't believe it right to continue a friendship with me.
Instead of an email telling him how I felt, I instead told him I respected his decision, but was saddened by his revelation to discontinue our friendship. That was that.
Mr. London, no need to really recap in detail, simply put, he moved, I didn't have the courage to ask him to take me with him. I felt he was stressed enough with his life; moving across the world, he didn't need me to be one more stress and I also couldn't help but feel that my feelings toward him were too premature and foolish. We had only known each other about a month when he told me he was leaving; therefore my feelings weren't justified, or so I thought. He is now there, I am here, we email. I don't email as often as I would like because he is there and I am here and I feel I need to move on. (I am however to the point where I only read his emails to me twice instead four or five times. Progress.)
Last weekend I met someone. Today we had our first lunch date. I wasn't that excited about it, but Mr. London wrote in his last email (received on Friday)(read only twice) that I need to stop and smell the roses and not work so hard because this time goes by too fast. Seeing as how he didn't know about Brad or anything else, he was simply referring to my habit of over-scheduling and my penchant to work ump-teen jobs, I however, took this simple sentence to heart.
Brad died.
Lloyd Dobler told me he could no longer be my friend.
Mr. London is there and I am here.
I traveled to NYC, Greece, and Boston, and soon Budapest by myself, I moved and started grad school because I don't believe in putting my life on hold in all other aspects, so why am I holding onto this one, the biggest one; my love life?
So I went to lunch.
We sat out on the patio and enjoyed the lovely warm weather. I planned to only stay for two hours at the most. Three and half hours later I told him I had to get going. I still had to drive home. (oh, yeah. he lives back at old home-base.)(But of course.) I told him I would like to see him again and we could figure the logistics out later.
I didn't want to go, I just wanted to drive home. But I thought of Brad. I thought of Lloyd Dobler. I thought of London. I thought of taking time to smell the roses. I thought of myself and all of the times I held back. I thought of all of them while I was with the new guy. And again, I thought of myself and all the times I held back. I tried to stay in the moment. Because in order to move forward, to live in the present, I have to remember the past; in order to pick myself up and move into my future, I went to lunch.
And now I sit here with tears rolling down my cheeks. I am crying over my past and lost moments, lost words, lost looks, pauses that turned into silences. Walls that were built. A heart, mind, body that had to be protected. Worrying about someone else and their feelings, their emotions, and setting mine aside. I need to move on. Because it's time. And so I went to lunch.
Brad was engaged and moved out to Seattle to try and work it out with his fiancee; even though he was in love with and wanted to be with me.
I said nothing except to wish him luck and promised to keep in touch. Now, he's gone and I will never be able to tell him how I felt about him.
Lloyd Dobler Wanna-Be who I dated a couple times a little over a year ago. Due to timing (i.e. my schedule of working full-time and going to night school full-time) I decided to just be friends with him. We kept in touch, but then, again do to my schedule, (See the above) I lost touch with him. I also started dating Mr. London. However, this past spring I got back in touch with him. He was back with his ex-girlfriend, but it was a touchy subject and he didn't like talking about her; so I respected this and didn't bring her up. We talked about all other subjects. However, I started to have feelings for him, but wasn't sure if they were still together. About the time I was ready to broach the subject he sent me an email in mid-August (right after I moved) thanking me for my friendship, saying that he was attracted to me and was foolish enough to let himself believe that one day maybe something could come of it, but he realized now he needed to concentrate on his relationship with his girlfriend and didn't believe it right to continue a friendship with me.
Instead of an email telling him how I felt, I instead told him I respected his decision, but was saddened by his revelation to discontinue our friendship. That was that.
Mr. London, no need to really recap in detail, simply put, he moved, I didn't have the courage to ask him to take me with him. I felt he was stressed enough with his life; moving across the world, he didn't need me to be one more stress and I also couldn't help but feel that my feelings toward him were too premature and foolish. We had only known each other about a month when he told me he was leaving; therefore my feelings weren't justified, or so I thought. He is now there, I am here, we email. I don't email as often as I would like because he is there and I am here and I feel I need to move on. (I am however to the point where I only read his emails to me twice instead four or five times. Progress.)
Last weekend I met someone. Today we had our first lunch date. I wasn't that excited about it, but Mr. London wrote in his last email (received on Friday)(read only twice) that I need to stop and smell the roses and not work so hard because this time goes by too fast. Seeing as how he didn't know about Brad or anything else, he was simply referring to my habit of over-scheduling and my penchant to work ump-teen jobs, I however, took this simple sentence to heart.
Brad died.
Lloyd Dobler told me he could no longer be my friend.
Mr. London is there and I am here.
I traveled to NYC, Greece, and Boston, and soon Budapest by myself, I moved and started grad school because I don't believe in putting my life on hold in all other aspects, so why am I holding onto this one, the biggest one; my love life?
So I went to lunch.
We sat out on the patio and enjoyed the lovely warm weather. I planned to only stay for two hours at the most. Three and half hours later I told him I had to get going. I still had to drive home. (oh, yeah. he lives back at old home-base.)(But of course.) I told him I would like to see him again and we could figure the logistics out later.
I didn't want to go, I just wanted to drive home. But I thought of Brad. I thought of Lloyd Dobler. I thought of London. I thought of taking time to smell the roses. I thought of myself and all of the times I held back. I thought of all of them while I was with the new guy. And again, I thought of myself and all the times I held back. I tried to stay in the moment. Because in order to move forward, to live in the present, I have to remember the past; in order to pick myself up and move into my future, I went to lunch.
And now I sit here with tears rolling down my cheeks. I am crying over my past and lost moments, lost words, lost looks, pauses that turned into silences. Walls that were built. A heart, mind, body that had to be protected. Worrying about someone else and their feelings, their emotions, and setting mine aside. I need to move on. Because it's time. And so I went to lunch.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Brad was here
That's what was etched into the hard wood surface on the desk next to me in class. I thought, how appropriate, when I saw the faded blocked penciled words.
Brad was here.
I received an email from a woman this morning. I didn't know the name of the sender, but the message was entitled Brad. So, I opened it. I figured it was Brad's fiancee' wanting to know why I was emailing him; so I braced myself for the onslaught to come.
Instead I was greeted with a short message that started with: this email will seem weird...I am Brad's fiancee...I found your email address...have you heard what happened?....Do I know you?
I emailed her back to explain who I was and how I knew Brad.
Brad, ah the big lovable teddy bear whose heart I broke too many times to want to recall. I met him back in 1993 when I was an angsty teenage girl listening to all of the angsty angry punk and alternative music I could find. I had found my fellow grungers at the local cool-kids bar and I would spend every night there that I could. Big Brad was the door guy. My brother was also a door guy. I was just the lovable floral skirt, message T wearing girl who was happy to be there and enjoyed talking to everyone. Turns out, Brad enjoyed talking to me.
We flirted, we dated. I was not in any place emotionally at the time to be doing either of those things; thus I did the only thing an angsty mixed up girl would do; I broke-up with him, still went to the club, and ignored him.
But of course.
A few years later through a mutual friend I was telling him how I always felt bad about how I handled it and I thought "Brad was the one who got away."
He passed the news on and Brad and I were quickly dating again.
This time both of us had just gotten out of a really bad relationship. Neither one of us should probably have been dating, but we dated each other anyway. But, that wasn't the problem. No, I let a friend convince me that Brad wasn't good enough for me.
I was stupid enough to listen.
Fast-forward about seven years. Out of the blue I run into him at a local bar. Neither of us had been to this particular watering hole in years; even though we both used to frequent the joint. We spent all night laughing, joking, cuddling, kissing and catching up with one another. I could not have been more excited. I gave him my number, I didn't think to get his, and he promised to call and we had a date set for the next night.
He didn't call.
I did everything I could to try and find his number.
To no avail, but I tried.
I figured this was just Karma's (or Brad's) way of getting back at me for my past stupidity.
I don't know remember how many days or weeks passed or if we ran into each other before hand or not; but I happened to be turning the corner as he was driving up the street and we both quickly pulled into the closest parking lot. He told me he was moving to Seattle to try and work it out with his fiance. He was all packed and sold and would be moving in days. He felt bad about misleading me. He didn't love her, didn't think she was the right person for him anymore. He felt sure the right person for him was sitting across from him, looking at him. The person he wanted to be with was me; but didn't think it was fair to her. He thought it was right, fair, to both of them to try and make it work, to see.
I told him he and I were "When Harry Met Sally" and our timing just wasn't right, it was always off. But I had faith we would run into each other again.
I didn't hear from him for several months. I thought about him, but assumed he was happy. He later emailed me to say he loved it out there, he was just with the wrong person.
This is how it has gone for the past few years. Random emails. Short, sweet, direct, to the point.
He kept popping into my head. But again, I didn't want to interfere with him and his fiancee if things were working out.
He emailed me in mid-August. It was short, simply, to the point. ..."I didn't hear back from you after my last email...I think about you frequently."
I emailed him the same day. I hadn't received a response. Last night I thought about writing him again; I thought it odd that I hadn't heard back. I thought last night that I should send him another hello, make sure he received my last message.
Then this message from his fiancee this afternoon.
"....I am so sorry to have to tell you this in an email.....Brad was in a motorcycle accident...he died.....services last week.....did Brad ever mention me to you?....so sorry to tell you this in an email....write me back when you can....."
I was in class when I read that. Gasping shock. I thought she was going to tell me he was in an accident and in the hospital, not that he had passed away.
She has given me good details. But, simply based on a few sentences in her emails, I have a feeling she knew how Brad felt about me. I always respected their relationship and never mentioned nor made any advances towards him once I knew about their relationship.
It's just weird. He really is the one who got away and I'm pretty sure he felt the same about me. But....I don't know...he was just one of those guys who I was sure would pop up in my life again in some random way. That's just how we were. When I was in NY last spring, at the Yankee game, I thought about going out to Seattle to see him. He would just come into my thoughts out of nowhere, like last night when I thought I should email him again to make sure he got my last message...because he said I didn't write back before....which isn't true.
I don't know. But I guess maybe that's just it, we never do.
Brad was here.
I received an email from a woman this morning. I didn't know the name of the sender, but the message was entitled Brad. So, I opened it. I figured it was Brad's fiancee' wanting to know why I was emailing him; so I braced myself for the onslaught to come.
Instead I was greeted with a short message that started with: this email will seem weird...I am Brad's fiancee...I found your email address...have you heard what happened?....Do I know you?
I emailed her back to explain who I was and how I knew Brad.
Brad, ah the big lovable teddy bear whose heart I broke too many times to want to recall. I met him back in 1993 when I was an angsty teenage girl listening to all of the angsty angry punk and alternative music I could find. I had found my fellow grungers at the local cool-kids bar and I would spend every night there that I could. Big Brad was the door guy. My brother was also a door guy. I was just the lovable floral skirt, message T wearing girl who was happy to be there and enjoyed talking to everyone. Turns out, Brad enjoyed talking to me.
We flirted, we dated. I was not in any place emotionally at the time to be doing either of those things; thus I did the only thing an angsty mixed up girl would do; I broke-up with him, still went to the club, and ignored him.
But of course.
A few years later through a mutual friend I was telling him how I always felt bad about how I handled it and I thought "Brad was the one who got away."
He passed the news on and Brad and I were quickly dating again.
This time both of us had just gotten out of a really bad relationship. Neither one of us should probably have been dating, but we dated each other anyway. But, that wasn't the problem. No, I let a friend convince me that Brad wasn't good enough for me.
I was stupid enough to listen.
Fast-forward about seven years. Out of the blue I run into him at a local bar. Neither of us had been to this particular watering hole in years; even though we both used to frequent the joint. We spent all night laughing, joking, cuddling, kissing and catching up with one another. I could not have been more excited. I gave him my number, I didn't think to get his, and he promised to call and we had a date set for the next night.
He didn't call.
I did everything I could to try and find his number.
To no avail, but I tried.
I figured this was just Karma's (or Brad's) way of getting back at me for my past stupidity.
I don't know remember how many days or weeks passed or if we ran into each other before hand or not; but I happened to be turning the corner as he was driving up the street and we both quickly pulled into the closest parking lot. He told me he was moving to Seattle to try and work it out with his fiance. He was all packed and sold and would be moving in days. He felt bad about misleading me. He didn't love her, didn't think she was the right person for him anymore. He felt sure the right person for him was sitting across from him, looking at him. The person he wanted to be with was me; but didn't think it was fair to her. He thought it was right, fair, to both of them to try and make it work, to see.
I told him he and I were "When Harry Met Sally" and our timing just wasn't right, it was always off. But I had faith we would run into each other again.
I didn't hear from him for several months. I thought about him, but assumed he was happy. He later emailed me to say he loved it out there, he was just with the wrong person.
This is how it has gone for the past few years. Random emails. Short, sweet, direct, to the point.
He kept popping into my head. But again, I didn't want to interfere with him and his fiancee if things were working out.
He emailed me in mid-August. It was short, simply, to the point. ..."I didn't hear back from you after my last email...I think about you frequently."
I emailed him the same day. I hadn't received a response. Last night I thought about writing him again; I thought it odd that I hadn't heard back. I thought last night that I should send him another hello, make sure he received my last message.
Then this message from his fiancee this afternoon.
"....I am so sorry to have to tell you this in an email.....Brad was in a motorcycle accident...he died.....services last week.....did Brad ever mention me to you?....so sorry to tell you this in an email....write me back when you can....."
I was in class when I read that. Gasping shock. I thought she was going to tell me he was in an accident and in the hospital, not that he had passed away.
She has given me good details. But, simply based on a few sentences in her emails, I have a feeling she knew how Brad felt about me. I always respected their relationship and never mentioned nor made any advances towards him once I knew about their relationship.
It's just weird. He really is the one who got away and I'm pretty sure he felt the same about me. But....I don't know...he was just one of those guys who I was sure would pop up in my life again in some random way. That's just how we were. When I was in NY last spring, at the Yankee game, I thought about going out to Seattle to see him. He would just come into my thoughts out of nowhere, like last night when I thought I should email him again to make sure he got my last message...because he said I didn't write back before....which isn't true.
I don't know. But I guess maybe that's just it, we never do.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
inner dork: here little piggy...
Never worry, never fear inner dork is finally back! Wait. That doesn't rhythm. Crap. Anyway...
Did you know:
The world's pig population is approximately 857,100,100.
(Give or take a pork chop. Or slab of bacon. Or...)
A pig always sleeps on its right side.
(Really? Always?)
A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes
(Jealous. Wait, is that the male piggy or the female piggy? I'm going with the female piggy, cause otherwise that's a lot of male piggy sperm.)
A gruntle is the best word to describe the snout of the pig.
(Why not just say "snout?")
A pig's skin is thickest on its back, where it can be up to one-sixth-inch thick. (Is that where the bacon comes from? Cause, mmmm, bacon.)
Did you know:
The world's pig population is approximately 857,100,100.
(Give or take a pork chop. Or slab of bacon. Or...)
A pig always sleeps on its right side.
(Really? Always?)
A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes
(Jealous. Wait, is that the male piggy or the female piggy? I'm going with the female piggy, cause otherwise that's a lot of male piggy sperm.)
A gruntle is the best word to describe the snout of the pig.
(Why not just say "snout?")
A pig's skin is thickest on its back, where it can be up to one-sixth-inch thick. (Is that where the bacon comes from? Cause, mmmm, bacon.)
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
just askin'
So, NBC Nightly News has a special series this week called, "The Secret to Her Success." Basically it is how women can have it all; home, family, babies, job, happiness. The balancing act.
...
.
........
...
Which leads me to, why is it when a women wants it all, it's called "wanting it all." Special reports and series have to be made to demonstrate how women can successfully balance and be happy. But when a man has a family, job, babies, happiness it's just called Tuesday and a day at the office?
...
.
........
...
Which leads me to, why is it when a women wants it all, it's called "wanting it all." Special reports and series have to be made to demonstrate how women can successfully balance and be happy. But when a man has a family, job, babies, happiness it's just called Tuesday and a day at the office?
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Because
I refuse to let the date September 11th, become a political sound-bite.
I refuse to let all of those who have died, are dying, and will continue to die because three planes crashed into three buildings and one plummeted into an empty field on a clear blue September morning become forgotten.
I want a little part of me to remain sad.
For the tears to keep being cried.
For the future generations to know. To understand.
I want us to move on, but maybe not to completely heal.
Our scars make us stronger, make us who we are.
I will never forget watching the TV that morning and seeing the second plane.
Hearing the impact.
The flames.
Listening to the news anchor calm composure.
The frantic phone call I made to my mom, screaming into the phone, telling her to turn on the TV.
The look on the faces...the look from all of the other people driving down the road knowing their radio was telling them the same confusing news.
The look on my employer's face when I ran into the restaurant, her mind racing to those family members who live in New York.
The days and nights of endless news coverage. Of nothing else to watch. Of nothing else to talk about.
Realizing each time I see the news coverage from that day, I am witnessing thousands of deaths.
Thousands of deaths.
Everytime that news reel plays we are seeing thousands of people die.
The resolve that we would get back at "those evil-doers who did this to us."
We need to have the wisdom, the scar, the tears, the hindsight not to let history repeat itself.
Because we must always remember.
We must not let this date become a soundbite.
Because it took ninety-three seconds to copy and past all of the names into this post.
Ninety-three seconds.
I don't mean that in a selfish way. I don't mean that in an uncompassionate way. I mean it in, ninety-three seconds. Copy and paste is supposed to be instant, yet that many people died that day. Just on one day, that doesn't count those who were affected. Those who have been impacted. Those who still mourn on a much deeper level, everyday.
Those who joined-up and decided to serve because...because of one day.
I realize there have been other "one day"(s).
I realize there may be more "one day" (s).
I believe that is simply the world we live in today.
I know it has been labeled "this generations Pearl Harbor," but it's not. It's not the same.
Media. History. Instant. Lives changed. Military. 911 calls. Movies. Reenactments. Wars.
One day.
One day that affected so many people it took ninety-three seconds to copy and past all of the names of one day into this post.
Because:
World Trade Center
Gordon M. Aamoth, Jr.
Edelmiro Abad
Maria Rose Abad
Andrew Anthony Abate
Vincent Abate
Laurence Christopher Abel
William F. Abrahamson
Richard Anthony Aceto
Jesus Acevedo Rescand
Heinrich Bernhard Ackermann
Paul Acquaviva
Donald LaRoy Adams
Patrick Adams
Shannon Lewis Adams
Stephen George Adams
Ignatius Udo Adanga
Christy A. Addamo
Terence E. Adderley, Jr.
Sophia Buruwad Addo
Lee Allan Adler
Daniel Thomas Afflitto
Emmanuel Akwasi Afuakwah
Alok Agarwal
Mukul Kumar Agarwala
Joseph Agnello
David Scott Agnes
Brian G. Ahearn
Jeremiah Joseph Ahern
Joanne Marie Ahladiotis
Shabbir Ahmed
Terrance Andre Aiken
Godwin Ajala
Gertrude M. Alagero
Andrew Alameno
Margaret Ann Alario
Gary M. Albero
Jon Leslie Albert
Peter Alderman
Jacquelyn Delaine Aldridge
David D. Alger
Sarah Ali-Escarcega
Ernest Alikakos
Edward L. Allegretto
Eric Allen
Joseph Ryan Allen
Richard Dennis Allen
Richard Lanard Allen
Christopher E. Allingham
Janet M. Alonso
Arturo Alva-Moreno
Anthony Alvarado
Antonio Javier Alvarez
Victoria Alvarez-Brito
Telmo E. Alvear
Cesar Amoranto Alviar
Tariq Amanullah
Angelo Amaranto
James M. Amato Joseph Amatuccio
Christopher Charles Amoroso
Kazuhiro Anai
Calixto Anaya, Jr.
Joseph Anchundia
Kermit Charles Anderson
Yvette Constance Anderson
John Andreacchio
Michael Rourke Andrews
Jean Ann Andrucki
Siew-Nya Ang
Joseph Angelini, Jr.
Joseph Angelini, Sr.
Laura Angilletta
Doreen J. Angrisani
Lorraine Antigua
Peter Paul Apollo
Faustino Apostol, Jr.
Frank Thomas Aquilino
Patrick Michael Aranyos
David Arce
Michael George Arczynski
Louis Arena
Adam P. Arias
Michael Armstrong
Jack Charles Aron
Joshua Aron
Richard Avery Aronow
Japhet Jesse Aryee
Patrick Asante
Carl Asaro
Michael Asciak
Michael Edward Asher
Janice Marie Ashley
Thomas J. Ashton
Manuel O. Asitimbay
Gregg Arthur Atlas
Gerald T. Atwood
James Audiffred
Louis Frank Aversano, Jr.
Ezra Aviles
Sandy Ayala
Arlene T. Babakitis
Eustace P. Bacchus
John J. Badagliacca
Jane Ellen Baeszler
Robert J. Baierwalter
Andrew J. Bailey
Brett T. Bailey
Tatyana Bakalinskaya
Michael S. Baksh
Sharon M. Balkcom
Michael Andrew Bane
Katherine Bantis
Gerard Baptiste
Walter Baran
Gerard A. Barbara
Paul Vincent Barbaro
James William Barbella
Ivan Kyrillos F. Barbosa
Victor Daniel Barbosa
Colleen Ann Barkow
David Michael Barkway
Matthew Barnes
Sheila Patricia Barnes
Evan J. Baron
Renee Barrett-Arjune
Nathaly Barrios La Cruz
Arthur Thaddeus Barry
Diane G. Barry
Maurice Vincent Barry
Scott D. Bart
Carlton W. Bartels
Guy Barzvi
Inna B. Basina
Alysia Basmajian
Kenneth William Basnicki
Steven Bates
Paul James Battaglia
Walter David Bauer, Jr.
Marlyn Capito Bautista
Jasper Baxter
Michele Beale
Paul Frederick Beatini
Jane S. Beatty
Lawrence Ira Beck
Manette Marie Beckles
Carl John Bedigian
Michael Earnest Beekman
Maria A. Behr
Yelena Belilovsky
Nina Patrice Bell
Debbie Bellows
Stephen Elliot Belson
Paul M. Benedetti
Denise Lenore Benedetto
Maria Bengochea
Bryan Craig Bennett
Eric L. Bennett
Oliver Duncan Bennett
Margaret L. Benson
Dominick J. Berardi
James Patrick Berger
Steven Howard Berger
John P. Bergin
Alvin Bergsohn
Daniel Bergstein
Michael J. Berkeley
Donna M. Bernaerts
David W. Bernard
William Bernstein
David M. Berray
David S. Berry
Joseph J. Berry
William Reed Bethke
Timothy Betterly
Edward Frank Beyea
Paul Beyer
Anil Tahilram Bharvaney
Bella J. Bhukhan
Shimmy D. Biegeleisen
Peter Alexander Bielfeld
William G. Biggart
Brian Bilcher
Carl Vincent Bini
Gary Eugene Bird
Joshua David Birnbaum
George John Bishop
Jeffrey Donald Bittner
Albert Balewa Blackman, Jr.
Christopher Joseph Blackwell
Susan Leigh Blair
Harry Blanding, Jr.
Janice Lee Blaney
Craig Michael Blass
Rita Blau
Richard Middleton Blood, Jr.
Michael Andrew Boccardi
John P. Bocchi
Michael Leopoldo Bocchino
Susan M. Bochino
Bruce D. Boehm
Mary Catherine Boffa
Nicholas Andrew Bogdan
Darren Christopher Bohan
Lawrence Francis Boisseau
Vincent M. Boland, Jr.
Alan Bondarenko
Andre Bonheur, Jr.
Colin Arthur Bonnett
Frank Bonomo
Yvonne Lucia Bonomo
Genieve Bonsignore, 3
Seaon Booker
Sherry Ann Bordeaux
Krystine Bordenabe
Martin Boryczewski
Richard Edward Bosco
John H. Boulton
Francisco Eligio Bourdier
Thomas Harold Bowden, Jr.
Kimberly S. Bowers
Veronique Nicole Bowers
Larry Bowman
Shawn Edward Bowman, Jr.
Kevin L. Bowser
Gary R. Box
Gennady Boyarsky
Pamela Boyce
Michael Boyle
Alfred Braca
Kevin Bracken
David Brian Brady
Alexander Braginsky
Nicholas W. Brandemarti
Michelle Renee Bratton
Patrice Braut
Lydia E. Bravo
Ronald Michael Breitweiser
Edward A. Brennan III
Francis Henry Brennan
Michael E. Brennan
Peter Brennan
Thomas M. Brennan
Daniel J. Brethel
Gary Lee Bright
Jonathan Briley
Mark A. Brisman
Paul Gary Bristow
Mark Francis Broderick
Herman Charles Broghammer
Keith A. Broomfield
Ethel Brown Janice
Juloise Brown
Lloyd Stanford Brown
Patrick J. Brown
Bettina Browne
Mark Bruce
Richard George Bruehert
Andrew Brunn
Vincent Brunton
Ronald Paul Bucca
Brandon J. Buchanan
Gregory Joseph Buck
Dennis Buckley
Nancy Clare Bueche
Patrick Joseph Buhse
John Edwards Bulaga, Jr.
Stephen Bunin
Matthew J. Burke
Thomas Daniel Burke
William Francis Burke, Jr.
Donald J. Burns
Kathleen Anne Burns
Keith James Burns
John Patrick Burnside
Irina Buslo
Milton G. Bustillo
Thomas M. Butler
Patrick Byrne
Timothy G. Byrne
Jesus Neptali Cabezas
Lillian Caceres
Brian Joseph Cachia
Steven Dennis Cafiero, Jr.
Richard M. Caggiano
Cecile Marella Caguicla
Michael John Cahill
Scott Walter Cahill
Thomas Joseph Cahill
George Cain
Salvatore B. Calabro
Joseph Calandrillo
Philip V. Calcagno
Edward Calderon
Kenneth Marcus Caldwell
Dominick Enrico Calia
Felix Calixte
Frank Callahan
Liam Callahan
Luigi Calvi
Roko Camaj
Michael F. Cammarata
David Otey Campbell
Geoffrey Thomas Campbell
Jill Marie Campbell
Robert Arthur Campbell
Sandra Patricia Campbell
Sean Thomas Canavan
John A. Candela
Vincent Cangelosi
Stephen J. Cangialosi
Lisa Bella Cannava
Brian Cannizzaro
Michael Canty
Louis Anthony Caporicci
Jonathan Neff Cappello
James Christopher Cappers
Richard Michael Caproni
Jose Manuel Cardona
Dennis M. Carey
Steve Carey
Edward Carlino
Michael Scott Carlo
David G. Carlone
Rosemarie C. Carlson
Mark Stephen Carney
Joyce Ann Carpeneto
Ivhan Luis Carpio Bautista
Jeremy M. Carrington
Michael Carroll
Peter Carroll
James Joseph Carson, Jr.
Marcia Cecil Carter
James Marcel Cartier
Vivian Casalduc
John Francis Casazza
Paul R. Cascio
Margarito Casillas
Thomas Anthony Casoria
William Otto Caspar
Alejandro Castano
Arcelia Castillo
Germaan Castillo Garcia
Leonard M. Castrianno
Jose Ramon Castro
Richard G. Catarelli
Christopher Sean Caton
Robert John Caufield
Mary Teresa Caulfield
Judson Cavalier
Michael Joseph Cawley
Jason David Cayne
Juan Armando Ceballos
Jason Michael Cefalu
Thomas Joseph Celic
Ana Mercedes Centeno
Joni Cesta
Jeffrey Marc Chairnoff
Swarna Chalasani
William Chalcoff
Eli Chalouh
Charles Lawrence Chan
Mandy Chang
Mark Lawrence Charette
Gregorio Manuel Chavez
Delrose E. Cheatham
Pedro Francisco Checo
Douglas MacMillan Cherry
Stephen Patrick Cherry
Vernon Paul Cherry
Nester Julio Chevalier
Swede Chevalier
Alexander H. Chiang
Dorothy J. Chiarchiaro
Luis Alfonso Chimbo
Robert Chin
Wing Wai Ching
Nicholas Paul Chiofalo
John Chipura
Peter A. Chirchirillo
Catherine Chirls
Kyung Hee Cho
Abul K. Chowdhury
Mohammad Salahuddin Chowdhury
Kirsten L. Christophe
Pamela Chu
Steven Chucknick
Wai Chung
Christopher Ciafardini
Alex F. Ciccone
Frances Ann Cilente
Elaine Cillo
Edna Cintron
Nestor Andre Cintron III
Robert Dominick Cirri
Juan Pablo Cisneros-Alvarez
Benjamin Keefe Clark
Eugene Clark
Gregory Alan Clark
Mannie Leroy Clark
Thomas R. Clark
Christopher Robert Clarke
Donna Marie Clarke
Michael J. Clarke
Suria Rachel Emma Clarke
Kevin Francis Cleary
James D. Cleere
Geoffrey W. Cloud
Susan Marie Clyne
Steven Coakley
Jeffrey Alan Coale
Patricia A. Cody
Daniel Michael Coffey
Jason M. Coffey
Florence G. Cohen
Kevin Sanford Cohen
Anthony Joseph Coladonato
Mark Joseph Colaio
Stephen Colaio
Christopher M. Colasanti
Kevin Nathaniel Colbert
Michel P. Colbert
Keith E. Coleman
Scott Thomas Coleman
Tarel Coleman
Liam Joseph Colhoun
Robert D. Colin
Robert J. Coll
Jean Collin
John Michael Collins
Michael L. Collins
Thomas J. Collins
Joseph Collison
Patricia Malia Colodner
Linda M. Colon
Sol E. Colon
Ronald Edward Comer
Sandra Jolane Conaty Brace
Jaime Concepcion
Albert Conde
Denease Conley
Susan P. Conlon
Margaret Mary Conner
Cynthia Marie Lise Connolly
John E. Connolly, Jr.
James Lee Connor
Jonathan M. Connors
Kevin Patrick Connors
Kevin F. Conroy
Jose Manuel Contreras-Fernandez
Brenda E. Conway
Dennis Michael Cook
Helen D. Cook
John A. Cooper
Joseph John Coppo, Jr.
Gerard J. Coppola
Joseph Albert Corbett
Alejandro Cordero
Robert Cordice
Ruben D. Correa
Danny A. Correa-Gutierrez
James J. Corrigan
Carlos Cortes
Kevin Cosgrove
Dolores Marie Costa
Digna Alexandra Costanza
Charles Gregory Costello, Jr.
Michael S. Costello
Conrod K. Cottoy
Martin John Coughlan
John Gerard Coughlin
Timothy J. Coughlin
James E. Cove
Andre Cox
Frederick John Cox
James Raymond Coyle
Michele Coyle-Eulau
Anne Marie Cramer
Christopher S. Cramer
Denise Elizabeth Crant
James Leslie Crawford, Jr.
Robert James Crawford
Joanne Mary Cregan
Lucy Crifasi
John A. Crisci
Daniel Hal Crisman
Dennis Cross
Kevin Raymond Crotty
Thomas G. Crotty
John Crowe
Welles Remy Crowther
Robert L. Cruikshank
John Robert Cruz
Grace Yu Cua
Kenneth John Cubas
Francisco Cruz Cubero
Richard J. Cudina
Neil James Cudmore
Thomas Patrick Cullen lll
Joyce Cummings
Brian Thomas Cummins
Michael Cunningham
Robert Curatolo
Laurence Damian Curia
Paul Dario Curioli
Beverly Curry
Michael S. Curtin
Gavin Cushny
John D'Allara
Vincent Gerard D'Amadeo
Jack D'Ambrosi
Mary D'Antonio
Edward A. D'Atri
Michael D. D'Auria
Michael Jude D'Esposito
Manuel John Da Mota
Caleb Arron Dack
Carlos S. DaCosta
Joao Alberto DaFonseca Aguiar, Jr.
Thomas A. Damaskinos
Jeannine Marie Damiani-Jones
Patrick W. Danahy
Nana Danso
Vincent Danz
Dwight Donald Darcy
Elizabeth Ann Darling
Annette Andrea Dataram
Lawrence Davidson
Michael Allen Davidson
Scott Matthew Davidson
Titus Davidson
Niurka Davila
Clinton Davis
Wayne Terrial Davis
Anthony Richard Dawson
Calvin Dawson
Edward James Day
Jayceryll de Chavez
Jennifer De Jesus
Monique E. De Jesus
Nereida De Jesus
Emerita De La Pena
Azucena Maria de la Torre
David Paul De Rubbio
Jemal Legesse De Santis
Christian Louis De Simone
Melanie Louise De Vere
William Thomas Dean
Robert J. DeAngelis, Jr.
Thomas Patrick DeAngelis
Tara E. Debek
Anna Marjia DeBin
James V. Deblase
Paul DeCola
Simon Marash Dedvukaj
Jason Defazio
David A. DeFeo
Manuel Del Valle, Jr.
Donald Arthur Delapenha
Vito Joseph DeLeo
Danielle Anne Delie
Joseph A. Della Pietra
Andrea DellaBella
Palmina DelliGatti
Colleen Ann Deloughery
Francis Albert DeMartini
Anthony Demas
Martin N. DeMeo
Francis Deming
Carol K. Demitz
Kevin Dennis
Thomas F. Dennis
Jean DePalma
Jose Depena
Robert John Deraney
Michael DeRienzo
Edward DeSimone III
Andrew Desperito
Cindy Ann Deuel
Jerry DeVito
Robert P. Devitt, Jr.
Dennis Lawrence Devlin
Gerard Dewan
Sulemanali Kassamali Dhanani
Patricia Florence Di Chiaro
Debra Ann Di Martino
Michael Louis Diagostino
Matthew Diaz
Nancy Diaz
Rafael Arturo Diaz
Michael A. Diaz-Piedra III
Judith Berquis Diaz-Sierra
Joseph Dermot Dickey, Jr.
Lawrence Patrick Dickinson
Michael D. Diehl
John Difato
Vincent Difazio
Carl Anthony DiFranco
Donald Difranco
Stephen Patrick Dimino
William John Dimmling
Marisa DiNardo Schorpp
Christopher M. Dincuff
Jeffrey Mark Dingle
Anthony Dionisio
George DiPasquale
Joseph Dipilato
Douglas Frank DiStefano
Ramzi A. Doany
John Joseph Doherty
Melissa C. Doi
Brendan Dolan
Neil Matthew Dollard
James Joseph Domanico
Benilda Pascua Domingo
Carlos Dominguez
Jerome Mark Patrick Dominguez
Kevin W. Donnelly
Jacqueline Donovan
Stephen Scott Dorf
Thomas Dowd
Kevin Dowdell
Mary Yolanda Dowling
Raymond Mathew Downey
Frank Joseph Doyle
Joseph Michael Doyle
Stephen Patrick Driscoll
Mirna A. Duarte
Michelle Beale Duberry
Luke A. Dudek
Christopher Michael Duffy
Gerard Duffy
Michael Joseph Duffy
Thomas W. Duffy
Antoinette Duger
Sareve Dukat
Christopher Joseph Dunne
Richard Anthony Dunstan
Patrick Thomas Dwyer
Joseph Anthony Eacobacci
John Bruce Eagleson
Robert Douglas Eaton
Dean Phillip Eberling
Margaret Ruth Echtermann
Paul Robert Eckna
Constantine Economos
Dennis Michael Edwards
Michael Hardy Edwards
Christine Egan
Lisa Egan
Martin J. Egan, Jr.
Michael Egan
Samantha Martin Egan
Carole Eggert
Lisa Caren Ehrlich
John Ernst Eichler
Eric Adam Eisenberg
Daphne Ferlinda Elder
Michael J. Elferis
Mark Joseph Ellis
Valerie Silver Ellis
Albert Alfy William Elmarry
Edgar Hendricks Emery, Jr.
Doris Suk-Yuen Eng
Christopher Epps
Ulf Ramm Ericson
Erwin L. Erker
William John Erwin
Jose Espinal
Fanny Espinoza
Bridget Ann Esposito
Francis Esposito
Michael Esposito
William Esposito
Ruben Esquilin, Jr.
Sadie Ette
Barbara G. Etzold
Eric Brian Evans
Robert Evans
Meredith Emily June Ewart
Catherine K. Fagan
Patricia Mary Fagan
Keith George Fairben
Sandra Fajardo-Smith
William F. Fallon
William Lawrence Fallon, Jr.
Anthony J. Fallone, Jr.
Dolores Brigitte Fanelli
John Joseph Fanning
Kathleen Anne Faragher
Thomas Farino
Nancy Carole Farley
Elizabeth Ann Farmer
Douglas Jon Farnum
John G. Farrell
John W. Farrell
Terrence Patrick Farrell
Joseph D. Farrelly
Thomas Patrick Farrelly
Syed Abdul Fatha
Christopher Edward Faughnan
Wendy R. Faulkner
Shannon Marie Fava
Bernard D. Favuzza
Robert Fazio, Jr.
Ronald Carl Fazio
William Feehan
Francis Jude Feely
Garth Erin Feeney
Sean B. Fegan
Lee S. Fehling
Peter Adam Feidelberg
Alan D. Feinberg
Rosa Maria Feliciano
Edward Thomas Fergus, Jr.
George Ferguson
Henry Fernandez
Judy Hazel Fernandez
Julio Fernandez
Elisa Giselle Ferraina
Anne Marie Sallerin Ferreira
Robert John Ferris
David Francis Ferrugio
Louis V. Fersini
Michael David Ferugio
Bradley James Fetchet
Jennifer Louise Fialko
Kristen Nicole Fiedel
Samuel Fields
Michael Bradley Finnegan
Timothy J. Finnerty
Michael Curtis Fiore
Stephen S R Fiorelli, Sr.
Paul M. Fiori
John B. Fiorito
John R. Fischer
Andrew Fisher
Bennett Lawson Fisher
John Roger Fisher
Thomas J. Fisher
Lucy A. Fishman
Ryan D. Fitzgerald
Thomas James Fitzpatrick
Richard P. Fitzsimons
Salvatore Fiumefreddo
Christina Donovan Flannery
Eileen Flecha
Andre G. Fletcher
Carl M. Flickinger
John Joseph Florio
Joseph Walken Flounders
David Fodor
Michael N. Fodor
Stephen Mark Fogel
Thomas Foley
David J. Fontana
Chih Min Foo
Godwin Forde
Donald A. Foreman
Christopher Hugh Forsythe
Claudia Alicia Foster
Noel John Foster
Ana Fosteris
Robert Joseph Foti
Jeffrey Fox
Virginia Fox
Pauline Francis
Virgin Francis
Gary Jay Frank
Morton H. Frank
Peter Christopher Frank
Richard K. Fraser
Kevin J. Frawley
Clyde Frazier, Jr.
Lillian Inez Frederick
Andrew Fredricks
Tamitha Freeman
Brett Owen Freiman
Peter L. Freund
Arlene Eva Fried
Alan Wayne Friedlander
Andrew Keith Friedman
Gregg J. Froehner
Peter Christian Fry
Clement A. Fumando
Steven Elliot Furman
Paul Furmato
Fredric Neal Gabler
Richard Samuel Federick Gabrielle
James Andrew Gadiel
Pamela Lee Gaff
Ervin Vincent Gailliard
Deanna Lynn Galante
Grace Catherine Galante
Anthony Edward Gallagher
Daniel James Gallagher
John Patrick Gallagher
Lourdes Galletti
Cono E. Gallo
Vincenzo Gallucci
Thomas E. Galvin
Giovanna Galletta Gambale
Thomas Gambino, Jr.
Giann Franco Gamboa
Peter Ganci
Ladkat K. Ganesh
Claude Michael Gann
Osseni Garba
Charles William Garbarini
Ceasar Garcia
David Garcia
Juan Garcia
Marlyn Del Carmen Garcia
Christopher S. Gardner
Douglas Benjamin Gardner
Harvey J. Gardner III
Jeffrey Brian Gardner
Thomas Gardner
William Arthur Gardner
Francesco Garfi
Rocco Nino Gargano
James M. Gartenberg
Matthew David Garvey
Bruce Gary
Boyd Alan Gatton
Donald Richard Gavagan, Jr.
Terence D. Gazzani
Gary Geidel
Paul Hamilton Geier
Julie M. Geis
Peter G. Gelinas
Steven Paul Geller
Howard G. Gelling
Peter Victor Genco, Jr.
Steven Gregory Genovese
Alayne Gentul
Edward F. Geraghty
Suzanne Geraty
Ralph Gerhardt
Robert Gerlich
Denis P. Germain
Marina Romanovna Gertsberg
Susan M. Getzendanner
James G. Geyer
Joseph M. Giaccone
Vincent Francis Giammona
Debra Lynn Gibbon
James Andrew Giberson
Craig Neil Gibson
Ronnie E. Gies
Laura A. Giglio
Andrew Clive Gilbert
Timothy Paul Gilbert
Paul Stuart Gilbey
Paul John Gill
Mark Y. Gilles
Evan Gillette
Ronald Lawrence Gilligan
Rodney C. Gillis
Laura Gilly
John F. Ginley
Donna Marie Giordano
Jeffrey John Giordano
John Giordano
Steven A. Giorgetti
Martin Giovinazzo
Kum-Kum Girolamo
Salvatore Gitto
Cynthia Giugliano
Mon Gjonbalaj
Dianne Gladstone
Keith Glascoe
Thomas Irwin Glasser
Harry Glenn
Barry H. Glick
Steven Glick
John T. Gnazzo
William Robert Godshalk
Michael Gogliormella
Brian Fredric Goldberg
Jeffrey Grant Goldflam
Michelle Goldstein
Monica Goldstein
Steven Goldstein
Andrew H. Golkin
Dennis James Gomes
Enrique Antonio Gomez
Jose Bienvenido Gomez
Manuel Gomez, Jr.
Wilder Alfredo Gomez
Jenine Nicole Gonzalez
Mauricio Gonzalez
Rosa Gonzalez
Calvin J. Gooding
Harry Goody
Kiran Reddy Gopu
Catherine C. Gorayeb
Kerene Gordon
Sebastian Gorki
Kieran Joseph Gorman
Thomas Edward Gorman
Michael Edward Gould
Yuji Goya
Jon Richard Grabowski
Christopher Michael Grady
Edwin J. Graf III
David Martin Graifman
Gilbert Franco Granados
Elvira Granitto
Winston Arthur Grant
Christopher S. Gray
James Michael Gray
Tara McCloud Gray
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Antonio J. Rodrigues
Anthony Rodriguez
Carmen Milagros Rodriguez
Gregory Ernesto Rodriguez
Marsha A. Rodriguez
Mayra Valdes Rodriguez
Richard Rodriguez
David Bartolo Rodriguez-Vargas
Matthew Rogan
Karlie Barbara Rogers
Scott Williams Rohner
Keith Roma
Joseph M. Romagnolo
Efrain Romero, Sr.
Elvin Romero
Juan Romero
Orozco James A. Romito
Sean Paul Rooney
Eric Thomas Ropiteau
Aida Rosario
Angela Rosario
Wendy Alice Rosario Wakeford
Mark Rosen
Brooke David Rosenbaum
Linda Rosenbaum
Sheryl Lynn Rosenbaum
Lloyd Daniel Rosenberg
Mark Louis Rosenberg
Andrew Ira Rosenblum
Joshua M. Rosenblum
Joshua Alan Rosenthal
Richard David Rosenthal
Daniel Rosetti
Norman S. Rossinow
Nicholas P. Rossomando
Michael Craig Rothberg
Donna Marie Rothenberg
Nicholas Rowe
Timothy Alan Roy, Sr.
Paul G. Ruback
Ronald J. Ruben
Joanne Rubino
David M. Ruddle
Bart Joseph Ruggiere
Susan A. Ruggiero
Adam Keith Ruhalter
Gilbert Ruiz
Obdulio Ruiz Diaz
Stephen P. Russell
Steven Harris Russin
Michael Thomas Russo, Sr.
Wayne Alan Russo
Edward Ryan
John Joseph Ryan, Jr.
Jonathan Stephan Ryan
Matthew Lancelot Ryan
Tatiana Ryjova
Christina Sunga Ryook
Thierry Saada
Jason Elazar Sabbag
Thomas E. Sabella
Scott Saber
Joseph Francis Sacerdote
Neeraha Sadaranghgani
Mohammad Ali Sadeque
Francis John Sadocha
Jude Safi
Brock Joel Safronoff
Edward Saiya
John Patrick Salamone
Hernando Salas
Juan G. Salas
Esmerlin Antonio Salcedo
John Salvatore Salerno, Jr.
Richard L. Salinardi, Jr.
Wayne John Saloman
Nolbert Salomon
Catherine Patricia Salter
Frank Salvaterra
Paul Richard Salvio
Samuel Robert Salvo, Jr.
Rena Sam-Dinnoo
Carlos Alberto Samaniego
James Kenneth Samuel, Jr.
Michael San Phillip
Sylvia San Pio
Hugo M. Sanay
Erick Sanchez
Jacquelyn Patrice Sanchez
Eric M. Sand
Stacey Leigh Sanders
Herman S. Sandler
James Sands, Jr.
Ayleen J. Santiago
Kirsten Santiago
Maria Theresa Santillan
Susan Gayle Santo
Christopher Santora
John A. Santore
Mario L. Santoro
Rafael Humberto Santos
Rufino Conrado Flores Santos Iii
Jorge Octavio Santos Anaya
Kalyan Sarkar
Chapelle R. Sarker
Paul F. Sarle
Deepika Kumar Sattaluri
Gregory Thomas Saucedo
Susan M. Sauer
Anthony Savas
Vladimir Savinkin
Jackie Sayegh
John Michael Sbarbaro
Robert L. Scandole, Jr.
Michelle Scarpitta
Dennis Scauso
John Albert Schardt
John G. Scharf
Frederick Claude Scheffold, Jr.
Angela Susan Scheinberg
Scott Mitchell Schertzer
Sean Schielke
Steven Francis Schlag
Jon Schlissel
Karen Helene Schmidt
Ian Schneider
Thomas G. Schoales
Frank G. Schott, Jr.
Gerard Patrick Schrang
Jeffrey H. Schreier
John T. Schroeder
Susan Lee Schuler
Edward William Schunk
Mark E. Schurmeier
Clarin Shellie Schwartz
John Burkhart Schwartz
Mark Schwartz
Adriane Victoria Scibetta
Raphael Scorca
Randolph Scott
Sheila Scott
Christopher Jay Scudder
Arthur Warren Scullin
Michael Herman Seaman
Margaret M. Seeliger
Anthony Segarra
Carlos Segarra
Jason Sekzer
Matthew Carmen Sellitto
Howard Selwyn
Larry John Senko
Arturo Angelo Sereno
Frankie Serrano
Alena Sesinova
Adele Christine Sessa
Sita Nermalla Sewnarine
Karen Lynn Seymour
Davis Sezna
Thomas Joseph Sgroi
Jayesh S. Shah
Khalid M. Shahid
Mohammed Shajahan
Gary Shamay
Earl Richard Shanahan
Neil Shastri
Kathryn Anne Shatzoff
Barbara A. Shaw
Jeffrey James Shaw
Robert John Shay, Jr.
Daniel James Shea
Joseph Patrick Shea
Linda Sheehan
Hagay Shefi
John Anthony Sherry
Atsushi Shiratori
Thomas Joseph Shubert
Mark Shulman
See Wong Shum
Allan Abraham Shwartzstein
Johanna Sigmund
Dianne T. Signer
Gregory Sikorsky
Stephen Gerard Siller
David Silver
Craig A. Silverstein
Nasima Hameed Simjee
Bruce Edward Simmons
Arthur Simon
Kenneth Alan Simon
Michael J. Simon
Paul Joseph Simon
Marianne Teresa Simone
Barry Simowitz
Jeff Lyal Simpson
Khamladai Singh
Kulwant Singh
Roshan Ramesh Singh
Thomas E. Sinton III
Peter A. Siracuse
Muriel Fay Siskopoulos
Joseph Michael Sisolak
John P. Skala
Francis Joseph Skidmore, Jr.
Toyena Skinner
Paul A. Skrzypek
Christopher Paul Slattery
Vincent Robert Slavin
Robert F. Sliwak
Paul K. Sloan
Stanley S. Smagala, Jr.
Wendy L. Small
Catherine Smith
Daniel Laurence Smith
George Eric Smith
James Gregory Smith
Jeffrey R. Smith
Joyce Patricia Smith
Karl T. Smith
Keisha Smith
Kevin Joseph Smith
Leon Smith, Jr.
Moira Ann Smith
Rosemary A. Smith
Bonnie Jeanne Smithwick
Rochelle Monique Snell
Leonard J. Snyder, Jr.
Astrid Elizabeth Sohan
Sushil S. Solanki
Ruben Solares
Naomi Leah Solomon
Daniel W. Song
Michael Charles Sorresse
Fabian Soto
Timothy Patrick Soulas
Gregory Spagnoletti
Donald F. Spampinato, Jr.
Thomas Sparacio
John Anthony Spataro
Robert W. Spear, Jr.
Maynard S. Spence, Jr.
George Edward Spencer III
Robert Andrew Spencer
Mary Rubina Sperando
Tina Spicer
Frank Spinelli
William E. Spitz
Joseph Spor, Jr.
Klaus Johannes Sprockamp
Saranya Srinuan
Fitzroy St. Rose
Michael F. Stabile
Lawrence T. Stack
Timothy M. Stackpole
Richard James Stadelberger
Eric Stahlman
Gregory Stajk
Alexandru Liviu Stan
Corina Stan
Mary Domenica Stanley
Anthony Starita
Jeffrey Stark
Derek James Statkevicus
Craig William Staub
William V. Steckman
Eric Thomas Steen
William R. Steiner
Alexander Steinman
Andrew Stergiopoulos
Andrew Stern
Martha Stevens
Michael James Stewart
Richard H. Stewart, Jr.
Sanford M. Stoller
Lonny Jay Stone
Jimmy Nevill Storey
Timothy Stout
Thomas Strada
James J. Straine, Jr.
Edward W. Straub
George J. Strauch, Jr.
Edward T. Strauss
Steven R. Strauss
Steven F. Strobert
Walwyn W. Stuart, Jr.
Benjamin Suarez
David Scott Suarez
Ramon Suarez
Yoichi Sugiyama
William Christopher Sugra
Daniel Suhr
David Marc Sullins
Christopher P. Sullivan
Patrick Sullivan
Thomas Sullivan
Hilario Soriano Sumaya, Jr.
James Joseph Suozzo
Colleen Supinski
Robert Sutcliffe
Seline Sutter
Claudia Suzette Sutton
John Francis Swaine
Kristine M. Swearson
Brian Edward Sweeney
Kenneth J. Swenson
Thomas Swift
Derek Ogilvie Sword
Kevin Thomas Szocik
Gina Sztejnberg
Norbert P. Szurkowski
Harry Taback
Joann Tabeek
Norma C. Taddei
Michael Taddonio
Keiichiro Takahashi
Keiji Takahashi
Phyllis Gail Talbot
Robert Talhami
Sean Patrick Tallon
Paul Talty
Maurita Tam
Rachel Tamares
Hector Tamayo
Michael Andrew Tamuccio
Kenichiro Tanaka
Rhondelle Cheri Tankard
Michael Anthony Tanner
Dennis Gerard Taormina, Jr.
Kenneth Joseph Tarantino
Allan Tarasiewicz
Ronald Tartaro
Darryl Anthony Taylor
Donnie Brooks Taylor
Lorisa Ceylon Taylor
Michael Morgan Taylor
Paul A. Tegtmeier
Yeshauant Tembe
Anthony Tempesta
Dorothy Pearl Temple
Stanley Temple
David Tengelin
Brian John Terrenzi
Lisa M. Terry
Shell Tester
Goumatie T. Thackurdeen
Sumati Thakur
Harshad Sham Thatte
Thomas F. Theurkauf, Jr.
Lesley Anne Thomas
Brian Thomas Thompson
Clive Thompson
Glenn Thompson
Nigel Bruce Thompson
Perry A. Thompson
Vanavah Alexei Thompson
William H. Thompson
Eric Raymond Thorpe
Nichola Angela Thorpe
Sal Edward Tieri, Jr.
John p Tierney
Mary Ellen Tiesi
William R. Tieste
Kenneth Francis Tietjen
Stephen Edward Tighe
Scott Charles Timmes
Michael E. Tinley
Jennifer M. Tino
Robert Frank Tipaldi
John James Tipping II
David Tirado
Hector Luis Tirado, Jr.
Michelle Lee Titolo
John J. Tobin
Richard Todisco
Vladimir Tomasevic
Stephen Kevin Tompsett
Thomas Tong
Doris Torres
Luis Eduardo Torres
Amy Elizabeth Toyen
Christopher Michael Traina
Daniel Patrick Trant
Abdoul Karim Traore
Glenn J. Travers
Walter Philip Travers
Felicia Y. Traylor-Bass
Lisa L. Trerotola
Karamo Trerra
Michael Angel Trinidad
Francis Joseph Trombino
Gregory James Trost
William P. Tselepis
Zhanetta Valentinovna Tsoy
Michael Tucker
Lance Richard Tumulty
Ching Ping Tung
Simon James Turner
Donald Joseph Tuzio
Robert T. Twomey
Jennifer Tzemis
John G. Ueltzhoeffer
Tyler V. Ugolyn
Michael A. Uliano
Jonathan J. Uman
Anil Shivhari Umarkar
Allen V. Upton
Diane Marie Urban
John Damien Vaccacio
Bradley Hodges Vadas
Renuta Vaidea
William Valcarcel
Felix Antonio Vale
Ivan Vale
Benito Valentin
Santos Valentin, Jr.
Carlton Francis Valvo II
Erica H. Van Acker
Kenneth W. Van Auken
Richard B. Van Hine
Daniel M. Van Laere
Edward Raymond Vanacore
Jon C. Vandevander
Barrett Vanvelzer, 4
Edward Vanvelzer
Paul Herman Vanvelzer
Frederick Thomas Varacchi
Gopalakrishnan Varadhan
David Vargas
Scott C. Vasel
Azael Ismael Vasquez
Arcangel Vazquez
Santos Vazquez
Peter Anthony Vega
Sankara S. Velamuri
Jorge Velazquez
Lawrence G. Veling
Anthony Mark Ventura
David Vera
Loretta Ann Vero
Christopher James Vialonga
Matthew Gilbert Vianna
Robert Anthony Vicario
Celeste Torres Victoria
Joanna Vidal
John T. Vigiano II
Joseph Vincent Vigiano
Frank J. Vignola, Jr.
Joseph Barry Vilardo
Sergio Villanueva
Chantal Vincelli
Melissa Vincent
Francine Ann Virgilio
Lawrence Virgilio
Joseph Gerard Visciano
Joshua S. Vitale
Maria Percoco Vola
Lynette D. Vosges
Garo H. Voskerijian
Alfred Vukosa
Gregory Kamal Bruno Wachtler
Gabriela Waisman
Courtney Wainsworth Walcott
Victor Wald
Benjamin James Walker
Glen Wall
Mitchel Scott Wallace
Peter Guyder Wallace
Robert Francis Wallace
Roy Michael Wallace
Jeanmarie Wallendorf
Matthew Blake Wallens
John Wallice, Jr.
Barbara P. Walsh
James Henry Walsh
Jeffrey P. Walz
Ching Wang
Weibin Wang
Michael Warchola
Stephen Gordon Ward
James Arthur Waring
Brian G. Warner
Derrick Washington
Charles Waters
James Thomas Waters, Jr.
Patrick J. Waters
Kenneth Thomas Watson
Michael Henry Waye
Todd Christopher Weaver
Walter Edward Weaver
Nathaniel Webb
Dinah Webster
Joanne Flora Weil
Michael T. Weinberg
Steven Weinberg
Scott Jeffrey Weingard
Steven George Weinstein
Simon Weiser
David M. Weiss
David Thomas Weiss
Vincent Michael Wells
Timothy Matthew Welty
Christian Hans Rudolf Wemmers
Ssu-Hui Wen
Oleh D. Wengerchuk
Peter M. West
Whitfield West, Jr.
Meredith Lynn Whalen
Eugene Whelan
Adam S. White
Edward James White III
James Patrick White
John Sylvester White
Kenneth Wilburn White, Jr.
Leonard Anthony White
Malissa Y. White
Wayne White
Leanne Marie Whiteside
Mark P. Whitford
Michael T. Wholey
Mary Catherine Wieman
Jeffrey David Wiener
Wilham J. Wik
Alison Marie Wildman
Glenn E. Wilkenson
John C. Willett
Brian Patrick Williams
Crossley Richard Williams, Jr.
David J. Williams
Deborah Lynn Williams
Kevin Michael Williams
Louie Anthony Williams
Louis Calvin Williams III
John P. Williamson
Donna Ann Wilson
William Wilson
David Harold Winton
Glenn J. Winuk
Thomas Francis Wise
Alan L. Wisniewski
Frank Thomas Wisniewski
David Wiswall
Sigrid Wiswe
Michael Wittenstein
Christopher W. Wodenshek
Martin P. Wohlforth
Katherine Susan Wolf
Jennifer Yen Wong
Siu Cheung Wong
Yin Ping Wong
Yuk Ping Wong
Brent James Woodall
James John Woods
Patrick J. Woods
Richard Herron Woodwell
David Terence Wooley
John Bentley Works
Martin Michael Wortley
Rodney James Wotton
William Wren
John Wayne Wright
Neil Robin Wright
Sandra Lee Wright
Jupiter Yambem
Suresh Yanamadala
Matthew David Yarnell
Myrna Yaskulka
Shakila Yasmin
Olabisi Shadie Layeni Yee
William Yemele
Edward P. York
Kevin Patrick York
Raymond R. York
Suzanne Youmans
Barrington Young
Jacqueline Young
Elkin Yuen
Joseph C. Zaccoli
Adel Agayby Zakhary
Arkady Zaltsman
Edwin J. Zambrana, Jr.
Robert Alan Zampieri
Mark Zangrilli
Ira Zaslow
Kenneth Albert Zelman
Abraham J. Zelmanowitz
Martin Morales Zempoaltecatl
Zhe Zeng
Marc Scott Zeplin
Jie Yao Justin Zhao
Ivelin Ziminski
Michael Joseph Zinzi
Charles A. Zion
Julie Lynne Zipper
Salvatore Zisa
Prokopios Paul Zois
Joseph J. Zuccala
Andrew S. Zucker
Igor Zukelman
List of Victims on American Airlines Flight 11
Anna Allison
David Lawrence Angell
Lynn Edwards Angell
Seima Aoyama
Barbara Jean Arestegui
Myra Joy Aronson
Christine Barbuto
Carolyn Beug
Kelly Ann Booms
Carol Marie Bouchard
Robin Lynne Kaplan
Neilie Anne Heffernan Casey
Jeffrey Dwayne Collman
Jeffrey W. Coombs
Tara Kathleen Creamer
Thelma Cuccinello
Patrick Currivan
Brian Paul Dale
David Dimeglio
Donald Americo Ditullio
Alberto Dominguez
Paige Marie Farley-Hackel
Alexander Milan Filipov
Carol Ann Flyzik
Paul J. Friedman
Karleton D.B. Fyfe
Peter Alan Gay
Linda M. George
Edmund Glazer
Lisa Reinhart Gordenstein
Andrew Peter Charles Curry Green
Peter Paul Hashem
Robert Jay Hayes
Edward R. Hennessy, Jr.
John A. Hofer
Cora Hidalgo Holland
John Nicholas Humber, Jr.
Waleed Joseph Iskandar
John Charles Jenkins
Charles Edward Jones
Barbara A. Keating
David P. Kovalcin
Judith Camilla Larocque
Natalie Janis Lasden
Daniel John Lee
Daniel M. Lewin
Sara Elizabeth Low
Susan A. Mackay
Karen Ann Martin
Thomas F. McGuinness, Jr.
Christopher D. Mello
Jeffrey Peter Mladenik
Carlos Alberto Montoya
Antonio Jesus Montoya Valdes
Laura Lee Morabito
Mildred Naiman
Laurie Ann Neira
Renee Lucille Newell
Kathleen Ann Nicosia
Jacqueline June Norton
Robert Grant Norton
John Ogonowski
Betty Ann Ong
Jane M. Orth
Thomas Nicholas Pecorelli
Berinthia B. Perkins
Sonia M. Puopolo
David E. Retik
Jean Destrehan Roger
Philip Martin Rosenzweig
Richard Barry Ross
Jessica Leigh Sachs
Rahma Salie
Heather Lee Smith
Dianne Bullis Snyder
Douglas Joel Stone
Xavier Suarez
Madeline Amy Sweeney
Michael Theodoridis
James Anthony Trentini
Mary Barbara Trentini
Pendyala Vamsikrishna
Mary Alice Wahlstrom
Kenneth Waldie
John Joseph Wenckus
Candace Lee Williams
Christopher Rudolph Zarba, Jr.
List of Victims on United Airlines Flight 93
Christian Adams
Lorraine G. Bay
Todd Beamer
Alan Beaven
Mark K. Bingham
Deora Frances Bodley
Sandra W. Bradshaw
Marion Britton
Thomas E. Burnett Jr.
William Cashman
Georgine Rose Corrigan
Patricia Cushing
Jason Dahl
Joseph Deluca
Patrick Driscoll
Edward Porter Felt
Jane C. Folger
Colleen Fraser
Andrew Garcia
Jeremy Glick
Lauren Grandcolas
Wanda A. Green
Donald F. Greene
Linda Gronlund
Richard Guadagno
Leroy Homer, Jr.
Toshiya Kuge
CeeCee Lyles
Hilda Marcin
Waleska Martinez
Nicole Miller
Louis J. Nacke, II
Donald Arthur Peterson
Jean Hoadley Peterson
Mark Rothenberg
Christine Snyder
John Talignani
Honor Elizabeth Wainio
Deborah Ann Jacobs Welsh
Kristin Gould White
I refuse to let all of those who have died, are dying, and will continue to die because three planes crashed into three buildings and one plummeted into an empty field on a clear blue September morning become forgotten.
I want a little part of me to remain sad.
For the tears to keep being cried.
For the future generations to know. To understand.
I want us to move on, but maybe not to completely heal.
Our scars make us stronger, make us who we are.
I will never forget watching the TV that morning and seeing the second plane.
Hearing the impact.
The flames.
Listening to the news anchor calm composure.
The frantic phone call I made to my mom, screaming into the phone, telling her to turn on the TV.
The look on the faces...the look from all of the other people driving down the road knowing their radio was telling them the same confusing news.
The look on my employer's face when I ran into the restaurant, her mind racing to those family members who live in New York.
The days and nights of endless news coverage. Of nothing else to watch. Of nothing else to talk about.
Realizing each time I see the news coverage from that day, I am witnessing thousands of deaths.
Thousands of deaths.
Everytime that news reel plays we are seeing thousands of people die.
The resolve that we would get back at "those evil-doers who did this to us."
We need to have the wisdom, the scar, the tears, the hindsight not to let history repeat itself.
Because we must always remember.
We must not let this date become a soundbite.
Because it took ninety-three seconds to copy and past all of the names into this post.
Ninety-three seconds.
I don't mean that in a selfish way. I don't mean that in an uncompassionate way. I mean it in, ninety-three seconds. Copy and paste is supposed to be instant, yet that many people died that day. Just on one day, that doesn't count those who were affected. Those who have been impacted. Those who still mourn on a much deeper level, everyday.
Those who joined-up and decided to serve because...because of one day.
I realize there have been other "one day"(s).
I realize there may be more "one day" (s).
I believe that is simply the world we live in today.
I know it has been labeled "this generations Pearl Harbor," but it's not. It's not the same.
Media. History. Instant. Lives changed. Military. 911 calls. Movies. Reenactments. Wars.
One day.
One day that affected so many people it took ninety-three seconds to copy and past all of the names of one day into this post.
Because:
World Trade Center
Gordon M. Aamoth, Jr.
Edelmiro Abad
Maria Rose Abad
Andrew Anthony Abate
Vincent Abate
Laurence Christopher Abel
William F. Abrahamson
Richard Anthony Aceto
Jesus Acevedo Rescand
Heinrich Bernhard Ackermann
Paul Acquaviva
Donald LaRoy Adams
Patrick Adams
Shannon Lewis Adams
Stephen George Adams
Ignatius Udo Adanga
Christy A. Addamo
Terence E. Adderley, Jr.
Sophia Buruwad Addo
Lee Allan Adler
Daniel Thomas Afflitto
Emmanuel Akwasi Afuakwah
Alok Agarwal
Mukul Kumar Agarwala
Joseph Agnello
David Scott Agnes
Brian G. Ahearn
Jeremiah Joseph Ahern
Joanne Marie Ahladiotis
Shabbir Ahmed
Terrance Andre Aiken
Godwin Ajala
Gertrude M. Alagero
Andrew Alameno
Margaret Ann Alario
Gary M. Albero
Jon Leslie Albert
Peter Alderman
Jacquelyn Delaine Aldridge
David D. Alger
Sarah Ali-Escarcega
Ernest Alikakos
Edward L. Allegretto
Eric Allen
Joseph Ryan Allen
Richard Dennis Allen
Richard Lanard Allen
Christopher E. Allingham
Janet M. Alonso
Arturo Alva-Moreno
Anthony Alvarado
Antonio Javier Alvarez
Victoria Alvarez-Brito
Telmo E. Alvear
Cesar Amoranto Alviar
Tariq Amanullah
Angelo Amaranto
James M. Amato Joseph Amatuccio
Christopher Charles Amoroso
Kazuhiro Anai
Calixto Anaya, Jr.
Joseph Anchundia
Kermit Charles Anderson
Yvette Constance Anderson
John Andreacchio
Michael Rourke Andrews
Jean Ann Andrucki
Siew-Nya Ang
Joseph Angelini, Jr.
Joseph Angelini, Sr.
Laura Angilletta
Doreen J. Angrisani
Lorraine Antigua
Peter Paul Apollo
Faustino Apostol, Jr.
Frank Thomas Aquilino
Patrick Michael Aranyos
David Arce
Michael George Arczynski
Louis Arena
Adam P. Arias
Michael Armstrong
Jack Charles Aron
Joshua Aron
Richard Avery Aronow
Japhet Jesse Aryee
Patrick Asante
Carl Asaro
Michael Asciak
Michael Edward Asher
Janice Marie Ashley
Thomas J. Ashton
Manuel O. Asitimbay
Gregg Arthur Atlas
Gerald T. Atwood
James Audiffred
Louis Frank Aversano, Jr.
Ezra Aviles
Sandy Ayala
Arlene T. Babakitis
Eustace P. Bacchus
John J. Badagliacca
Jane Ellen Baeszler
Robert J. Baierwalter
Andrew J. Bailey
Brett T. Bailey
Tatyana Bakalinskaya
Michael S. Baksh
Sharon M. Balkcom
Michael Andrew Bane
Katherine Bantis
Gerard Baptiste
Walter Baran
Gerard A. Barbara
Paul Vincent Barbaro
James William Barbella
Ivan Kyrillos F. Barbosa
Victor Daniel Barbosa
Colleen Ann Barkow
David Michael Barkway
Matthew Barnes
Sheila Patricia Barnes
Evan J. Baron
Renee Barrett-Arjune
Nathaly Barrios La Cruz
Arthur Thaddeus Barry
Diane G. Barry
Maurice Vincent Barry
Scott D. Bart
Carlton W. Bartels
Guy Barzvi
Inna B. Basina
Alysia Basmajian
Kenneth William Basnicki
Steven Bates
Paul James Battaglia
Walter David Bauer, Jr.
Marlyn Capito Bautista
Jasper Baxter
Michele Beale
Paul Frederick Beatini
Jane S. Beatty
Lawrence Ira Beck
Manette Marie Beckles
Carl John Bedigian
Michael Earnest Beekman
Maria A. Behr
Yelena Belilovsky
Nina Patrice Bell
Debbie Bellows
Stephen Elliot Belson
Paul M. Benedetti
Denise Lenore Benedetto
Maria Bengochea
Bryan Craig Bennett
Eric L. Bennett
Oliver Duncan Bennett
Margaret L. Benson
Dominick J. Berardi
James Patrick Berger
Steven Howard Berger
John P. Bergin
Alvin Bergsohn
Daniel Bergstein
Michael J. Berkeley
Donna M. Bernaerts
David W. Bernard
William Bernstein
David M. Berray
David S. Berry
Joseph J. Berry
William Reed Bethke
Timothy Betterly
Edward Frank Beyea
Paul Beyer
Anil Tahilram Bharvaney
Bella J. Bhukhan
Shimmy D. Biegeleisen
Peter Alexander Bielfeld
William G. Biggart
Brian Bilcher
Carl Vincent Bini
Gary Eugene Bird
Joshua David Birnbaum
George John Bishop
Jeffrey Donald Bittner
Albert Balewa Blackman, Jr.
Christopher Joseph Blackwell
Susan Leigh Blair
Harry Blanding, Jr.
Janice Lee Blaney
Craig Michael Blass
Rita Blau
Richard Middleton Blood, Jr.
Michael Andrew Boccardi
John P. Bocchi
Michael Leopoldo Bocchino
Susan M. Bochino
Bruce D. Boehm
Mary Catherine Boffa
Nicholas Andrew Bogdan
Darren Christopher Bohan
Lawrence Francis Boisseau
Vincent M. Boland, Jr.
Alan Bondarenko
Andre Bonheur, Jr.
Colin Arthur Bonnett
Frank Bonomo
Yvonne Lucia Bonomo
Genieve Bonsignore, 3
Seaon Booker
Sherry Ann Bordeaux
Krystine Bordenabe
Martin Boryczewski
Richard Edward Bosco
John H. Boulton
Francisco Eligio Bourdier
Thomas Harold Bowden, Jr.
Kimberly S. Bowers
Veronique Nicole Bowers
Larry Bowman
Shawn Edward Bowman, Jr.
Kevin L. Bowser
Gary R. Box
Gennady Boyarsky
Pamela Boyce
Michael Boyle
Alfred Braca
Kevin Bracken
David Brian Brady
Alexander Braginsky
Nicholas W. Brandemarti
Michelle Renee Bratton
Patrice Braut
Lydia E. Bravo
Ronald Michael Breitweiser
Edward A. Brennan III
Francis Henry Brennan
Michael E. Brennan
Peter Brennan
Thomas M. Brennan
Daniel J. Brethel
Gary Lee Bright
Jonathan Briley
Mark A. Brisman
Paul Gary Bristow
Mark Francis Broderick
Herman Charles Broghammer
Keith A. Broomfield
Ethel Brown Janice
Juloise Brown
Lloyd Stanford Brown
Patrick J. Brown
Bettina Browne
Mark Bruce
Richard George Bruehert
Andrew Brunn
Vincent Brunton
Ronald Paul Bucca
Brandon J. Buchanan
Gregory Joseph Buck
Dennis Buckley
Nancy Clare Bueche
Patrick Joseph Buhse
John Edwards Bulaga, Jr.
Stephen Bunin
Matthew J. Burke
Thomas Daniel Burke
William Francis Burke, Jr.
Donald J. Burns
Kathleen Anne Burns
Keith James Burns
John Patrick Burnside
Irina Buslo
Milton G. Bustillo
Thomas M. Butler
Patrick Byrne
Timothy G. Byrne
Jesus Neptali Cabezas
Lillian Caceres
Brian Joseph Cachia
Steven Dennis Cafiero, Jr.
Richard M. Caggiano
Cecile Marella Caguicla
Michael John Cahill
Scott Walter Cahill
Thomas Joseph Cahill
George Cain
Salvatore B. Calabro
Joseph Calandrillo
Philip V. Calcagno
Edward Calderon
Kenneth Marcus Caldwell
Dominick Enrico Calia
Felix Calixte
Frank Callahan
Liam Callahan
Luigi Calvi
Roko Camaj
Michael F. Cammarata
David Otey Campbell
Geoffrey Thomas Campbell
Jill Marie Campbell
Robert Arthur Campbell
Sandra Patricia Campbell
Sean Thomas Canavan
John A. Candela
Vincent Cangelosi
Stephen J. Cangialosi
Lisa Bella Cannava
Brian Cannizzaro
Michael Canty
Louis Anthony Caporicci
Jonathan Neff Cappello
James Christopher Cappers
Richard Michael Caproni
Jose Manuel Cardona
Dennis M. Carey
Steve Carey
Edward Carlino
Michael Scott Carlo
David G. Carlone
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Brent James Woodall
James John Woods
Patrick J. Woods
Richard Herron Woodwell
David Terence Wooley
John Bentley Works
Martin Michael Wortley
Rodney James Wotton
William Wren
John Wayne Wright
Neil Robin Wright
Sandra Lee Wright
Jupiter Yambem
Suresh Yanamadala
Matthew David Yarnell
Myrna Yaskulka
Shakila Yasmin
Olabisi Shadie Layeni Yee
William Yemele
Edward P. York
Kevin Patrick York
Raymond R. York
Suzanne Youmans
Barrington Young
Jacqueline Young
Elkin Yuen
Joseph C. Zaccoli
Adel Agayby Zakhary
Arkady Zaltsman
Edwin J. Zambrana, Jr.
Robert Alan Zampieri
Mark Zangrilli
Ira Zaslow
Kenneth Albert Zelman
Abraham J. Zelmanowitz
Martin Morales Zempoaltecatl
Zhe Zeng
Marc Scott Zeplin
Jie Yao Justin Zhao
Ivelin Ziminski
Michael Joseph Zinzi
Charles A. Zion
Julie Lynne Zipper
Salvatore Zisa
Prokopios Paul Zois
Joseph J. Zuccala
Andrew S. Zucker
Igor Zukelman
List of Victims on American Airlines Flight 11
Anna Allison
David Lawrence Angell
Lynn Edwards Angell
Seima Aoyama
Barbara Jean Arestegui
Myra Joy Aronson
Christine Barbuto
Carolyn Beug
Kelly Ann Booms
Carol Marie Bouchard
Robin Lynne Kaplan
Neilie Anne Heffernan Casey
Jeffrey Dwayne Collman
Jeffrey W. Coombs
Tara Kathleen Creamer
Thelma Cuccinello
Patrick Currivan
Brian Paul Dale
David Dimeglio
Donald Americo Ditullio
Alberto Dominguez
Paige Marie Farley-Hackel
Alexander Milan Filipov
Carol Ann Flyzik
Paul J. Friedman
Karleton D.B. Fyfe
Peter Alan Gay
Linda M. George
Edmund Glazer
Lisa Reinhart Gordenstein
Andrew Peter Charles Curry Green
Peter Paul Hashem
Robert Jay Hayes
Edward R. Hennessy, Jr.
John A. Hofer
Cora Hidalgo Holland
John Nicholas Humber, Jr.
Waleed Joseph Iskandar
John Charles Jenkins
Charles Edward Jones
Barbara A. Keating
David P. Kovalcin
Judith Camilla Larocque
Natalie Janis Lasden
Daniel John Lee
Daniel M. Lewin
Sara Elizabeth Low
Susan A. Mackay
Karen Ann Martin
Thomas F. McGuinness, Jr.
Christopher D. Mello
Jeffrey Peter Mladenik
Carlos Alberto Montoya
Antonio Jesus Montoya Valdes
Laura Lee Morabito
Mildred Naiman
Laurie Ann Neira
Renee Lucille Newell
Kathleen Ann Nicosia
Jacqueline June Norton
Robert Grant Norton
John Ogonowski
Betty Ann Ong
Jane M. Orth
Thomas Nicholas Pecorelli
Berinthia B. Perkins
Sonia M. Puopolo
David E. Retik
Jean Destrehan Roger
Philip Martin Rosenzweig
Richard Barry Ross
Jessica Leigh Sachs
Rahma Salie
Heather Lee Smith
Dianne Bullis Snyder
Douglas Joel Stone
Xavier Suarez
Madeline Amy Sweeney
Michael Theodoridis
James Anthony Trentini
Mary Barbara Trentini
Pendyala Vamsikrishna
Mary Alice Wahlstrom
Kenneth Waldie
John Joseph Wenckus
Candace Lee Williams
Christopher Rudolph Zarba, Jr.
List of Victims on United Airlines Flight 93
Christian Adams
Lorraine G. Bay
Todd Beamer
Alan Beaven
Mark K. Bingham
Deora Frances Bodley
Sandra W. Bradshaw
Marion Britton
Thomas E. Burnett Jr.
William Cashman
Georgine Rose Corrigan
Patricia Cushing
Jason Dahl
Joseph Deluca
Patrick Driscoll
Edward Porter Felt
Jane C. Folger
Colleen Fraser
Andrew Garcia
Jeremy Glick
Lauren Grandcolas
Wanda A. Green
Donald F. Greene
Linda Gronlund
Richard Guadagno
Leroy Homer, Jr.
Toshiya Kuge
CeeCee Lyles
Hilda Marcin
Waleska Martinez
Nicole Miller
Louis J. Nacke, II
Donald Arthur Peterson
Jean Hoadley Peterson
Mark Rothenberg
Christine Snyder
John Talignani
Honor Elizabeth Wainio
Deborah Ann Jacobs Welsh
Kristin Gould White
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