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
Linda Catherine Grayling
John M. Grazioso
Timothy George Grazioso
Derrick Auther Green
Wade B. Green
Elaine Myra Greenberg
Gayle R. Greene
James Arthur Greenleaf, Jr.
Eileen Marsha Greenstein
Elizabeth Martin Gregg
Denise Gregory
Donald H. Gregory
Florence Moran Gregory
Pedro Grehan
John Michael Griffin
Tawanna Sherry Griffin
Joan Donna Griffith
Warren Grifka
Ramon Grijalvo
Joseph F. Grillo
David Joseph Grimner
Kenneth George Grouzalis
Joseph Grzelak
Matthew James Grzymalski
Robert Joseph Gschaar
Liming Gu
Jose Guadalupe
Cindy Yan Zhu Guan
Joel Guevara Gonzalez
Geoffrey E. Guja
Joseph Gullickson
Babita Girjamatie Guman
Douglas Brian Gurian
Janet Ruth Gustafson
Philip T. Guza
Barbara Guzzardo
Peter M. Gyulavary
Gary Robert Haag
Andrea Lyn Haberman
Barbara Mary Habib
Philip Haentzler
Nezam A. Hafiz
Karen Elizabeth Hagerty
Steven Michael Hagis
Mary Lou Hague
David Halderman
Maile Rachel Hale
Richard B. Hall
Vaswald George Hall
Robert J. Halligan
Vincent Gerard Halloran
James Douglas Halvorson
Mohammad Salman Hamdani
Felicia Hamilton
Robert Hamilton
Frederic K. Han
Christopher J. Hanley
Sean S. Hanley
Valerie Joan Hanna
Thomas Hannafin
Kevin James Hannaford
Michael Lawrence Hannan
Dana R Hannon
Vassilios G. Haramis
James A. Haran
Jeffrey Pike Hardy
Timothy John Hargrave
Daniel Edward Harlin
Frances Haros
Harvey Harrell
Stephen G. Harrell
Melissa Marie Harrington
Aisha Anne Harris
Stewart Dennis Harris
John Patrick Hart
John Clinton Hartz
Emeric Harvey
Thomas Theodore Haskell, Jr.
Timothy Haskell
Joseph John Hasson III
Leonard W. Hatton
Terence S. Hatton
Michael Haub
Timothy Aaron Haviland
Donald G. Havlish, Jr.
Anthony Hawkins
Nobuhiro Hayatsu
Philip Hayes
William Ward Haynes
Scott Jordan Hazelcorn
Michael K. Healey
Roberta B. Heber
Charles Francis Xavier Heeran
John F. Heffernan
H. Joseph Heller, Jr.
Joann L. Heltibridle
Mark F. Hemschoot
Ronnie Lee Henderson
Brian Hennessey
Michelle Marie Henrique
Joseph Henry
William Henry
John Christopher Henwood
Robert Allan Hepburn
Mary Herencia
Lindsay C. Herkness III
Harvey Robert Hermer
Claribel Hernandez
Eduardo Hernandez
Nuberto Hernandez
Raul Hernandez
Gary Herold
Jeffrey A. Hersch
Thomas Hetzel
Brian Hickey
Ysidro Hidalgo
Timothy Higgins
Robert D. W. Higley II
Todd Russell Hill
Clara Victorine Hinds
Neal O. Hinds
Mark D. Hindy
Katsuyuki Hirai
Heather Malia Ho
Tara Yvette Hobbs
Thomas Anderson Hobbs
James J. Hobin
Robert Wayne Hobson
DaJuan Hodges
Ronald George Hoerner
Patrick A. Hoey
Marcia Hoffman
Stephen G. Hoffman
Frederick Joseph Hoffmann
Michele L. Hoffmann
Judith Florence Hofmiller
Thomas Warren Hohlweck, Jr.
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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

take the puns and run

Today was....well, let's just say it wasn't a great day.

It was one of those days where..

It felt good to get wet in the rain.

The over-sized Red Sox sweatshirt felt like an old friend wrapping me in his warm and welcoming arms.

The elliptical gave me a welcomed and much needed destressing sweaty 15 minutes.

The showers soapy steam filled water washed away the memories of the day as it ran over my face, down my breasts, across my stomach, and between my thighs before finding its way down the drain.

Sammy Adams' smooth bottle glided easily into my hand.

His frothy white head is welcomed down my throat with little coaxing and a grateful swallow.

...and with the last swallow, today becomes nothing more than a memory.

I bet I'd look good in Prada

"The Devil Wears Prada" is the image that is on continuous replay in my head while I am at the incredibly low-paying, but proving to be high-networking job.

I have been asked to attend numerous meetings. Sure, no problem. My handy-dandy planner is filling up quite rapidly.

I have been asked to do numerous things very last minute.
Sure, no problem. I feel these are all tests and I am passing with flying colors.

Today I came in an hour early because there was a meeting and I needed to make coffee and get the room ready. Sure, absolutely. Up early and with only three hours of sleep I go into work 10 minutes before I had to be there. As it was a meeting and I didn't know how visible I would be with all the high-important people, I dressed nicer than normal and wore my hair in a cute ponytail. I have keys to all of the rooms....except for the room I needed into. Of course.

Boss Lady calls me at ten after eight. She is running late and she asks if I have things ready. No, don't have a key.

I walk across campus to get the key from the department secretary.

It is incredibly humid here today.

By the time I walk back to the office I am no longer cute. I am sweaty and gross.

The very minimal make-up I wear has been sweated off and the hair is now twisted up into a knot. I had a feeling I shouldn't wear flip-flops today. Good thinking on my part. There were several trips across campus today on the very humid and over-cast day.

When I get back to the office, with the key, I discover Boss Lady is also already there and has everything finished that I was to have done and why I came to work early.

Okay. Whatever. Not my fault.

There is a meeting for our Homecoming event at one. I inhale lunch, take a quick break, and head back to the office.

Now, when I told Boss Lady I would be back at one, she seem surprised that I was going to attend the meeting..however, it was expected, as the dept. assistant, that I would be there.

Oooooooookay.

I take my seat among all of the important people and assume I will just be a warm body and learn more about the event.

I should really stop assuming things. That whole, ass-you-me, thing.

Oh, I should point out: Boss Lady mispronounces my name. She makes it all fancy and more French-like than it needs to be. This isn't unusual. My name is always mispronounced, but c'mon. And it's not as if I can correct her in the meeting.
Perfect. All of the important people will not know my name. Excellent. Master Plan is going well.

It's just Party Girl.
It's not Par-tay Girrrrrl.
Ya know?

I am going through all of the papers, looking at the agenda, paying attention, but not really focused on every word that is being spoken, when I hear my overly pronounced French name said.

Huh?

I am now in charge of getting the funding and writing the grant for the Homecoming event.

Huh?
What?

I quickly shuffle through the paperwork to find the form. The deadline, it's next week. Okay. I will meet with Boss Lady tomorrow and figure out what needs to be said and written up. Can do.

A few minutes later I hear Boss Lady talking about the department's incredibly under-whelming organization.
Side note: Last week I told Boss Lady that I would be happy to help with the underwhelming organization. She said that I couldn't be a member because I am a grad student and it is an undergrad group. However, perhaps I could be an "active" member and be the rep at some of the bigger campus meetings.

Calendar is now full of meetings.

Back to the above point: I once again hear my name being mispronounced and it has been announced that I am in charge of the incredibly underwhelming department organization.

Huh?
What the hell just happened?
And it's not like I can ask right at that moment.

The underwhelming org. is being referred to by it's initials. One of the important peeps leans over to me and asks what the initials stand for.

Side note: the only reason I know what the initials stand for is because I looked it up on line one morning last week and also took one of our department's pamphlets. Yay, for nosiness.

I need to leave the meeting early and go to class. Turns out classes have been canceled for the day. (same prof, two different classes.) I get another meeting out of the way early and all five+ cups of coffee have suddenly kicked in and I am talking 255 miles an hour. Needless to say I was sort of in charge during that group meeting with the peeps in my grad program. I kept asking if they were annoyed with me. They assured me they weren't. Then again, maybe they just didn't understand what I had asked with the words coming out of my mouth in an incredibly rapid fire manner.

After said meeting I walk back to the office and ask one of the other grad-students who is in charge of organizing the homecoming event, what the hell happened and did I hear correctly?

She isn't sure what happened during the course of the meeting; it turns out she was just as dumbfounded as I was and yes, I am apparently in charge of the department organization. She can't believe I was blind-sided like that.

Me neither.

I will be talking to Boss Lady tomorrow for some clarification.

Ah, Master Plans and networking. Be careful what you wish for.

Now. Who wants to join an incredibly underwhelming organization? Of course by the time I am finished with it the org. will be all sparkly and new. So, who wants to be part of that?

...Sparkly and new looks good on a resume, right?

Told ya. Faith, baby. Faith. You've just gotta have it.

I told you to have faith.
I told you the next post would be upbeat and positive.

Today, while at the incredibly low-paying, yet proving to be high-networking job, I had a message from the interim director of my program. I called her back and she oh, so kindly informed me that because someone dropped out of the program I now have a half-tuition scholarship for both the fall and spring semesters!!!

Let's hear it for free money!

Let's hear it for more money than $300 a month to make ends meet!

Let's hear it for filling out paperwork even though the deadlines have long since passed because you never know. You just never know.
(But,now I do and it says, free money!)
(And that's why I didn't receive one to begin with. Deadline was January. I didn't even apply to the program until May.)

Whoo-hoo!

Go, me!

Now, it's nap time.

screaming trees

The title has nothing to do with this post. It just popped in my head and I felt like throwing a 90's grunge group reference out there to the masses. (Or eight readers.)

Anywho. I could write another, "poo on me" post, but I don't want to give in to my fetish readers, so this is a, "eh, life is looking up" post.

1) I felt pretty stupid at my job last week. Something about the combination of menial work and lack of coherent instructions. It will be better this week. I blame the insomnia for the feeling of stupidity and the lack of coherent instructions on my boss.

2) I finally slept. This is proof that the stupidity should be dissipating shortly.

3) However, do to sleeping for the first time in three weeks, I felt pretty run-over all weekend.

4) But it was over 10 solid hours of sleep and it was goooood.

5) If there is a sudden migration of misplaced birds, squirrels, owls, and other woodland creatures; blame me. I've just been killing trees with the printing of research.

6)The killing will continue in earnest this week. I need to hit the papers.

7) The count is up to 37. Thirty-seven papers and two presentations.

8) Several of those papers will be on health insurance policy.

9) *Yawn* Group consensus.

10) I was not part of the consensus.

11) Damn democracy.

12) Today I was hit with an optical migraine. Yeah, it is a mystery as to the reason for the brain hit.

13) Today, I once again, got lost on my way into the adjoining city.

14) Normally I get lost on the way home from the adjoining city, so this was a new development.

15) I know what you're thinking. Do the opposite of whatever I had to do to get there.

16) Duh. Tried that. Doesn't work. Stupid. Simply stupid.

17) And when a person is feeling down and out, those things just add to it.

18) After a quick grocery stop last week I discovered I lost my key chain I bought while I was in Boston.

19) Still upset over that one.

20) I know. Silly. If I was back home, it wouldn't matter. But when away from home with only one friend, and he is married and wants to sleep with me, well, it all adds up.

21) The requests for sex from the married friend were getting old two months ago. Getting really old now.

22) Yes. I've been clear in where I stand with him. He's married. Karma, bad.

23) Beer consumption is up. Mmmmm, Sam Adams in many glorious foamy frothy forms.

24) The man front is looking up. (Huh, that pun wasn't even intended, but it's a keeper.)

25) If you all could keep the words of encouragement and praise coming my way that would be most excellent.

26) I am doubting my choices on a daily basis and in a constant hourly basis.

27) Program choice, what the hell am I doing, why am I doing it now, and on and on, choices.

28) However, with at least six hours of sleep a night, I have faith that this will pass and I will be feeling semi-super-not-dumb any day now.

29) Cause George Michael and Limp Bizkit told me I got to.

30) Have faith, that is.

31) Hmmm, this wasn't very upbeat, was it.

32) The next one will be better.

33) Have faith.

Simply because in my twisted mind I find this humorous. It may be the insomnia. It may just be my life.

It's late, I am still, for whatever reason, not sleeping, thus a quick blog post because I should be, but alas I am not, naked in bed.

Yesterday, well I guess that isn't accurate, Monday, was the first day of classes at my old job. Later in the day I received two emails and then even later in the day a phone call from one of my former employees begging me to come back to work. I laughed and asked what had happened in the course of the crazy first day of work known as fall semester. Well, I guess the first person they offered my job to, turned it down. Option number two accepted the position, came in and introduced herself on Friday, was sent home with my job duties, ect. and then called in on Monday (first day of classes) and quit. They were up a really big poo creek with no one to take the paddle; because as I pointed out to the former employee on my phone, do you really want to hire option number three because obviously there is a reason they are option number three.

The reason I find this funny: The new person, who ever that may be, will be making more money, only working 20 hours, not forty, has MUCH less responsibility as there are currently two other people doing the other aspects of my job so the new hire, whoever that may be, will only being doing one...ONE aspect of my former job. So. To recap: more money, less hours, more flexibility, less responsibility, and apparently no one wants it.
Yet I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave a position where: I made less money, worked forty (or more) hours a week, had no benefits, and there are currently (or will be) three people doing the (jobs) I alone did.
Nice.

I told her tomorrow would be better and the next week would be even better and so on. Soon she would have a boss telling her what to do and all in the world of academia would be fine. I was feeling pretty loved after an hour of calming the former employee off the proverbial ledge.

Now for an update on my new job: Today (Tuesday) was my first day. I did some alphabetizing and I met the gal who has the assistanship within the program, the computers were down so I couldn't do any typing, and I didn't know the password to check voice mail, I worked on some homework. I felt I earned my pay today.
When the afternoon (real worker) came in she asked how it went. I told her it was uneventful, but fine. She told me to enjoy it while I can because it won't last. As she put it so delicately, "Director Lady will be keeping me busy, so enjoy it while I can."
I suddenly felt like a misplaced character in a chick lit book. Th title character who is about to meet her fate, which she has misinterpreted as a plus but was about to be multiplied into a big minus.
I am sure I am wrong, but every once in awhile I like to pretend I am the star in my own TV show. It makes life more interesting that way. Hmmm, I wonder what will happen to my misguided character tomorrow? I foresee papers, the library, cute lost students asking me questions, and feeling as if, at thirty-three years old, that I know nothing. Nothing at all. Sometimes that is refreshing and sometimes not so much.


...Oh, I need sleep.

I GOT IT!!

That incredibly low paying, high networking job, yeah, it's mine! I start tomorrow. Monday-Friday 9-12. Now, I won't be working this job for the money. Seriously, the pay is laughable and by far the worst pay I've ever been offered. How laughable and how bad you ask, my take home will be less than $300 a month. Yes, that was a month. I am doing the job to: get on a schedule because mine is currently horrible, (falling asleep around 4 a.m. up around 11 a.m.) to network, and to meet some people cause I know two people here. One is a friend, Phil, who is married and really wants to sleep with me. The other is a former employee and I don't know that I would actually consider her a friend. Me need some peeps to hang with and also to utilize my vocal cords.
So, let's hope I get the additional student loans I need because yeah, less than $300 a month won't exactly pay the bills.
But, typically I have always been the happiest at the jobs where I make the least amount of money. So, I expect to be ecstatic every single day at work.

Whoo-hoo!

how you livin'?

Karma, destiny, pre-destined, happenstance, haphazard. How do you live your life?

Me, I am a firm believer in karma. What comes around goes around. Big believer in that. Predestined? Um, not so much. The thought that my whole life has already been all planned out for me? It's too much to think that I don't have any control over path A or path B. Happenstance and haphazard, yeah, those are pretty much how I feel I live my life sometimes. I think I come off as very spontaneous and as if I don't think things through sometimes. Which, okay that's true, but mostly I think things through privately and then announce what I am doing which seems to be out of the blue. Sometimes I just have things that get stuck in my head and then I write them down. This post would be a case of that. (The popping and writing down thing.) Back in March (remember March? What a great month. Mr. London was leaving, my girl friend was secretly stalking Mr. London because, I have no idea why, friends stabbing me in the back, job falling through, school telling me I was one credit short of graduating...good month.) I kept having the date August 24 pop into my head. I finally wrote it down in my planner and wrote, "life will change for the better." in the date blank and that was that. Even up until yesterday I was having doubts about my psychic abilities. Well I'll be damned. I think life did just change for the better.

After a week of coming to terms with the quirks of my apartment, having a friend tell me he could no longer in good conscious be friends with me anymore because he is attracted to me, but dating someone else, going to all of my classes and meeting everyone in the program, but still feeling a bit lonely and misplaced at times the week has come to an end, and a wonderful end at that.

I received a call at 1:24 p.m. today wanting to know what my availability would be for a job I had applied for at 12:03 a.m. this morning. I told them and they quickly hung-up. At 1:28 p.m. I received another call and they wanted to know if I could come in at 2:00 p.m. for an interview. Ah, no. (hair was still wet, I wasn't dressed, and I wasn't sure where the building was.) What about 3? Ah, no. I have a meeting at 3:00. My mind is racing a gazillion miles an hour trying to figure out when and what I could do because I really want this incredibly low-paying, but high networking job. We decided on 4:00 and I will just leave my meeting early (it was a meeting for all of us grad students.)

The interview went magnificent and she (the director) ended the interview with, "I have one last interview on Monday at 8:30." A glance at the other applicant's paperwork and a look of irritation on her face about the prospect, "but I am very excited about you. You stay close to your phone."

Super score! I would be the assistant to the director of the Women's Studies program here at Semi-big U and it is exactly in my area of interest and what my undergrad minor was in. More importantly it is in an area I want to focus in when I am finished with my degree and I can do some serious networking and getting my foot in all the right doors.

The one friend I have here calls it, lesbian studies. He is super excited about all of the lesbians I will meet and he sees it as a way to speed up the process of making his birthday present come to fruition that much quicker (a threesome.) I see it as an excellent opportunity in the area of future employment and that whole, changing the world thing I am so fond of, but I'm guessing it isn't going to do much for the future dating prospects. (Of men. Or is it? You tell me.)

I had decided at the beginning of the week that I would celebrate the end of the week with a trip to the local pizza place in the middle of college central. I ordered the pizza, it was delivered to my door and all five cheeses were nicely melt together. After digging into the third piece (fourth piece) I came to the conclusion that what I was smacking my lips with was stoner food. Complete and total stoner food. I didn't have any pot, but the beer was super gooooood. (I was actively ignoring the brick in my stomach.)

After a particularly harsh Thursday night class (I have 24 papers due just in that one class. No need to re-read that Yes, 2-4. 24 papers for one class. Yay.) I stopped at a local non-mass-marketed-coffee shop. The gal working the counter was adorably cute, friendly, went on and on about the bracelets I was wearing and oogled them even more when I told her I had made them. Is it shallow that this totally made my week? The chocolate goodies I ate on the drive home totally made my night. Score on a cool non-cookie-cutter coffee shop with friendly adorable locals to talk with. The two middle-aged moms sitting at one of the tables knitting sold me on the place.

A neighbor knocking on my door and greeting me with an apology that was nicely phrased in a British accent and sporting a rock star faux-hawk asking if I had water, only to discover I did not; was a lovely pause in my morning. Having the mystery smell disappear from my bathroom once the water returned and stopped running red-brown was a most welcome unexpected development. (I realize that reads as if my water was always red-brown...ah, no. My apartment isn't that gross, it was that color when the water came back on and the pipes cleaned out. It is now the proper water color, which is none.)

Finding the local art store and discovering they have the proper art supplies to make my apartment even cooler, hipper, and more vibrant and alive with color makes the feeling of perpetual dusk that I actually live in bearable.

I am currently trying to talk myself out of going to get ice cream. One, I don't "need it." Two, I have to get dressed (I'm naked a lot.) (actually I'm in my "jammies") (which is naked....)(kidding.) Three, the brick is still in my belly and the ice cream will turn into a bigger brick...but I'm not sure I care about that. Yeah, it's more about having to get dressed. Jammies and nakedness in public needs to become more acceptable. I need to make that a goal.

So, did I win a million dollars? I wouldn't be writing this if I did. Did I meet the love of my life? Again I wouldn't be writing this if I had. Win a trip around the world? Again with the typing thing. No, none of those, but sometimes we have to think about all of the small things, lump them altogether, take them for their greater sum and realize life is pretty great when we focus on the good things and not the bad things. Here's to life changing for the better from here on out.

Oh, and hoping I get that incredibly low-paying, exceptionally high-networking job.

inner dork: all things whore-like

Oh sure, I may be living in the perpetual dusk thus making it feel like Oregon. I may be living in a monsoon like some randomly chosen Asian country. I may not know what a decent night's sleep feels like because my apartment, mind, and body are all sabotaging me and there may be some sort of funky smell coming from my bathroom that is totally not bathroom related, but inner dork will live on!

So, did you know...

In the 18th century it was common to refer to a penis as a "whore pipe."
(And I am sure a few men of this blog will know start to bring that phrase back.)

In early-sixteenth-century Europe, harlots and courtesans were referred to as "nuns," and a brothel was a "nunnery." The expression "Get thee to a nunnery" was actually an encouragement to go to a brothel.
(I need to go to a nunnery.)
(So, then when did nuns become christians and harlots become whores?)

During the 1800's there were approximately six thousand brothels and eighty to a hundred thousand prostitutes working in metropolitan London.
(And that's why it is refered to as, "Merry 'ol England.")

During the first Crusade, English knights spent their entire campaign fund on prostitutes.
(And that's why there had to be a second, and third Crusade.)


..that's all I's got for today. I have to run off to class. Well, fist I have to get dressed, and then run off to class.

and so it begins

Yesterday was the start of classes. Ah, what a vacation, I tell ya.

The class is a seminar, basically a way to get to know everyone in the program and also a way to write a crap load of papers. Today is the start of my most feared class, but I am trying to have a good attitude about it, social statistics. I hate math, math hates me. I'm also pretty sure I have a learning disability towards math, it's called fear, but I am going in with a positive attitude. It's also an undergrad class, the grad stats class is this spring. (I don't have the math requirement, hence the class.)

Anyway, I have all late afternoon and night classes- super score. I also don't have a job- super, super score. I'm also going to fall into a super lazy routine in about another week. To go from six jobs, two classes, two moves, six hours of sleep a night, to- nothing....screech! That would be the sound of my mind coming to a screeching halt. I have gotten decent sleep the last two nights. Here is why that is significant: every night, every single night, something in my apartment has fallen in the middle of the night scaring the crap out of me. The other night I had two pictures fall on my face while sawing some zzz's. That was fun. Last night nothing fell. This meant I actually got out of bed earlier. However, I either need to get up at a decent time and hit the workout and then hit the library or....lupy, bumpy, slug will start to set in...or I will be getting a job. And that's simply sad.

Oh, and I know this will be shocking, but all of my blog time in the past was done from work. I know, shocking. So since I don't have a job right now, um....the blogging might decline. Might. Don't know. Keep checking in.

chapter 1

It's a game of true and false.

I moved into my apartment site unseen and it is exactly the apartment I was hoping for. (In terms of location and such.)

True. Right building, right side of the building, right floor.
Ta dah!

Friday, when I drove all the way up to my new place to sign my lease, get the keys, and to "clean" my new place, it took about six hours longer than I expected, thus cancelling my master plan for the rest of the day/weekend.

True. I am convinced that I could live in this apartment for two years, never clean, move, and still get all of my deposit back. Yeah. It was gross. Three people living here and apparently never cleaning, gross. I was planning to leave by 2:30 to return home on Friday, however I left around 5 and the place still wasn't clean.

The number of things listed as "broken" vs. "not broken" on the walk-through list is in the "not broken" favors.

False. Pick something, anything, "broken" is written next to it on the walk-through. Plus, I was just given the paper and the keys. No landlord was present. I thought about writing "huge hole in living room wall" because I'm pretty sure there will be one when I move out, I just like to be prepared.
Pretty sure the front door has been kicked in at least once. Definitely once, but I'm leaning more towards three, possibly four times. I feel safe.
Note to self: buy another lock for the door. Buy two. Three. Four? Naw, stick with two. No need to feel like I'm in New York.

"Mold all along the bathroom wall, under sink" is also written on the walk through.

True. And it's the really healthy safe kind, you know, the black kind of mold. The kind that can kill you. Yay!

This caused me not to go out Friday night and also not to pick-up the Uhaul Friday night.

True. So I didn't get the early start I had master planned out for Saturday.

Saturday, move day, couldn't have been hotter.

False. I'm pretty sure hell is hotter. Probably. Probably not by much. Literally. 104 degrees with humidity to match. Awesomeness.
Did I mention I live on the top floor?

Three is the number of times I almost passed out on Saturday due to heat, sweat, and exhaustion.

True. I never actually passed out, however, I did manage to see the nothingness of a black tunnel three times. I also mumbled to my mom that I didn't want mustard on my sandwich at one point when the blackness was most prevalent. See, even in the darkest moments I still have sandwich standards. Mayo, no mustard.

There was a hookah (hookah?) left in the Uhaul.

False. There was a HUGE one in the Uhaul trash, however. My brothers and I stood there in giggling admiration of the discarded pot paraphernalia, but it was in the trash. No amount of alcohol or Dial antibacterial soap would make it clean again.

By Sunday I was basically unpacked and living in a livable living situation.

True. By Sunday night I was hanging pictures and artwork and it was beginning to look like home.

I love the shade tree in front of my apartment.

Um, false. It is so shade-o-riffic that I need to have my lights on all the time. So. I will always be cool and well shaded, but my electric bill will probably be so high I won't be able to live here for much longer.
And it makes working on my tan really difficult.
Note to self: invest in candles for practical purposes.

Monday I was driving around, shopping, and finding stuff.

True. I found my class buildings, bought my books (I'm sure it will be $400.00 well spent. Sure of it.Turns out the bookstore is not owned by the university so financial aid was not an option. Wrote a check, didn't chance it with the debit card. No need to be embarrassed before school starts. Pay day was today.) I found Super Target and Barnes and Noble, coffee shops, organic stores. It was a good day. I haven't found a bagel store, but I have hopes.

Tuesday.

I have no idea what I did Tuesday. I'm sure it involved boxes, nails, hammers, and unpacking, hanging, and rearranging. Sure of it.

Oh wait. Tuesday I masturbated and watched porn. It was a good day.

Wednesday. I decided I was in desperate need of food groups for dinner. I'd been living on turkey sandwiches (mayo, no mustard) for breakfast and dinner (I've been too busy to eat lunch. See references to Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.) I decided I needed green beans as one of the food groups. I had to go to five stores before I was able to locate any.

True/false. I only had to go to three stores. It was a mission. I'm not sure it was from God, but it was a mission to find green beans.

I also received a two-fer from Starbucks again.

True. Messed up order, got the mess-up and the non-mess-up. Twice. Once on Friday once today. The caffeine gods smiled on me and I called it good. Miraculously my headache went away as well. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, and the angles sang down on me.

Today I decided it was time to relax and get my Greek Island tan back.

True. After the great green bean mission, I decided to check out my pool. Hop into my suit, okay more of a pull-on the suit, throw on the pool dress, grab the beach towel (pool towel), book, keys, and cross the two yards. No one is in the pool. Super score. My side of the fence is locked. Hmm, okay cross over to the other side, that side is locked as well. Crap-ola. Oh. Hey. Look at that. There is a big 'ol sign on the gate. "Due to the theft of the floatation device the pool is closed until Thursday at 2:00. Management."
Poop stain.
Walk back to my apartment feeling very much like I was just scolded by my kindergarten teacher.
Tan will have to wait.
Until tomorrow.

I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Wednesday. As in a week ago.

True. It is to the point that I don't think a good night's sleep is possible.

Tomorrow more running around, picture ID, finding an ATM that doesn't charge me to get my own money, (seriously, why? It has to be the greatest idea ever...that and insurance. "Hey, tell you what. You give me your money for protection on something that may or may not happen, but you give me copious amounts of money just in case."
"Wow. That sounds fantastic! How does about $300 a month sound? Excellent. Here you go.", oh, and working on my tan. Damn kids had better returned that floatation device by now. I need to relax! However, most importantly I need a tan.

True. All true.

inner dork: PG factoids

All my books along with all of my useless knowledge are boxed up. So I will supply you with useless information 'bout me.

Did you know... (and if you did, um, who are you and why are you stalking me?)

I've been in five car accidents. Two of which should have killed me. However, I have managed to walk (limp) away from all of them.

None of those car accidents were my fault.

One, roll over (rolled three times and landed upside down in a corn field in the middle of B.F.E. and in the backseat.) I was 17.
Hit a bridge embankment due to ice. Around 19 or 20 years old.
Rear-ended a guy (oh, that one was my fault. More damage to my car than his.)I was 17.
Rear-ended by a guy going over 50MPH, I was in the middle of two other cars. My car was mushed really good. I was 21 years old.
Roll-over, mom was driving. I was 22 years old.
(knock on wood.)

I have two brothers. One older (36) one younger (23.) I also have a step-brother and a step-sister (I dunno. If I think they are idiots, do they count?)

My parents divorced when I was 15.

It is still one of the most pivotal moments of my life.

Also one of the best things that ever happened to our family.

I always say goodnight to the moon.

I also always pause to look at the moon.

I love gardening.

Therefore my deck garden is my solace.

I love a weekend that has the phrase: "I read a book while working on
my tan."

When someone says something that I think is sending bad vibes out into
the universe I always knock on wood three times.

When I spill salt I always throw some over my shoulder.

"The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien is one of my all time favorite
books.

But so is the "Lorax" by Dr. Seuss.

I believe it is perpetually 1997.

I have no idea why. It wasn't a particularly good year, but I am always surprised to learn it is not 1997.

So I am surprised a lot.

My first car was a 1981 Citation. My aunt bought it for me, cost
$200.00. That would be total dollars.

It lasted less than a year. We moved the middle of my senior year of high school and I commuted over 50 miles each day.

My porn star name is: He-She Cornell. (Name of my first pet, name of
the first street I lived on.)

My mom couldn't remember if the dog was a "he" or a "she." Hence the name,
He-She.

First pet I owned as an adult was a mean as hell black Cocker Spaniel
named Busker. (Boo-sker.) After the band Busker Soundcheck. He had
separation issues. And territorial issues, and just generally mean as
hell doesn't want anyone he doesn't know around him, issues. He just generally had issues. Otherwise he was a great dog....well, and awesome watch dog.

I lost my virginity at 16. (I'm still trying to find it. "Virginity!" "Virginity come home!")

The first time I got into a bar was 16. (The above are not related.)

I've done professional acting work. (There was no soundtrack of, "Wa-chicky-wa-wa," involved.)

....that's all I can come up with for today.

So, tell me a useless factoid about you.

happy sad

Well today was it, my last day at Big College.
It was a lovely send off.
A few care packages to send me on my way.
One large sheet cake (with not a single piece left to bring home. *sigh*)
One corsage made out of money (and it matched my outfit. Awesomeness.)
Several peeps stopping by to wish me well.
One card filled with a lot of money. (A lot of money.)
Many hugs.
A few tears.
Many, many promises to keep in touch and many email addresses shared.
One round of applause when I announced my soapbox plan for the world (make woman powerful, stop the dumbing down of women in society, end the media images of beauty, thinness, and idolizing stupidity. The power of one person to change the world and the ripple effect of those changes. Quite simple really.)
Several students, and a few of my employees came in to campus just to wish me well.
Even the guys in the IT department were sad to see me leave.

I am sad to leave as well, but I am very excited about the first sentence of the new chapter that will begin this weekend. Very excited. It is finally here. I can't wait to see what the first words on the page will be.

Its been a wonderful chapter

He walks by my desk and notices the book I have lying next to my arm, “What’s this?”
“It’s a book that Cynical Sue gave me to read. It’s a book about an immigrant son who is also a first generation college student. She is letting me borrow it because he and are going though some of the same things.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“What that I’m an immigrant or a first generation college student?”
He smiles at the immigrant crack because he knows full well that I am not, “No, that you’re a first generation college student.”
“Yep, I am and there are many, many things that I am having trouble with emotionally in terms of that.” He walks away as my eyes fall to my lap and my mind becomes distant as I get emotional just thinking about it. I come from a very Midwest, very blue collar family. All are very successful (some are happy) in what they do, however, no one has been to college in my immediate, and for that matter I can only think of one cousin who has also attended college and has a Master’s degree, in my entire family.

This whole college business, the whole B.A., the whole Master’s program, the thoughts of going after my Ph.D? Yeah, the family doesn’t understand it. No, I mean they don’t understand it at all. When I came back to school a few semesters ago, my mother’s only advice was, “Just don’t drop out this time.”
Gives you warm fuzzies doesn’t it? Yep, that was the only thing that was said to me. Do you know how many times she told me to drop out over the last two years? Too many to count. She didn’t understand the stress of it and hated to see me going though all of the stress and tears; so the fact that I am willing to go through it all again, and in an even more intense way, why in the hell would I do that to myself? They also don’t understand the difference between a Bachelor’s and a Master’s. They don’t understand the degree I am pursuing (Public Policy) and they don’t understand what is that I want to do, (change the world for all of humankind) why I want to do it, (because I can. It's all about the power of one) or what the degree means (personal happiness, personal freedom, a better job, a better future.) I finally sent my mother the link to the Small State U’s website with the link to the program description because she couldn't remember what the program was called or what it is I want to do. She has since printed it out and tacked it to her bulletin board.

I know they are proud of me, I know they wish me well, I also know they don’t understand me, and can’t for the life of them understand why I would willingly put myself though it again, and I have yet to hear, “Congratulations!” from anyone that has the same blood as me. This doesn’t do a lot for the moral or self-motivation factor. Does a lot for the self-doubt, self reflection, what the hell am I doing, factor.

The parent’s don’t understand the stress, the determination, the love of education and knowledge and the differences in the level of degrees. They don’t understand the money involved in college tuition, the financial sacrifices, the personal life that goes to the way-side, the sleep deprivation, the student loans, the textbooks (one semester in explaining the textbook buyback my mother exclaimed, “Well, that’s just a big ripe off.” Yes, yes it is. Welcome to academia.) any and all of it is misunderstood, which means, I am misunderstood, my goals are misunderstood, so therefore the support system and the words of encouragement are not always what I need, get, or want and the cheerleading is shown in words of, “you need to drop out and get a job.”

So. This next week is going to be rote with emotion. I am leaving my family (who drive me crazy, but I do love ‘em) and friends (who, over the past year, I have discovered who my real ones are and who were only using me) a job I love and adore, a place I have called home for thirty-three years all to start a new chapter in my life. However, the thing I am going to miss the most is the support, love, words of encouragement, and cheerleading I receive everyday when I walk into my job. I don’t think it is a huge secret that I work at a very large college and have for several years. I work within a particular office and I work with a great group of students. The students change with the semesters and with the seasons; many I love many I want to kick to the curb most have been exceptional and have been an inspirational to get to know their stories and see them grow over the years. But it is the staff, the instructors, who I work with, learn from, interact with, and have the most wonderfully random conversations with on a ongoing basis that have truly been the kick I’ve needed to keep going when the days, weeks, months have been tough. Their words of encouragement, wisdom, sarcasm, cynicism, and pats on the back, and cheerleading, which I am going to miss so very dearly. So, so very dearly when I leave next week. The intellectual and the asinine conversations, the loud laughter, the randomness, the sentences of, “…what is wrong with the students today….?!?!?!” The wonderful pressure of, “So, when are you going after your Master’s?” Which have now turned into, “So, where are you going to go for your Ph.D?” The students who say the kindest words to me, wave to me from across campus, who I pass by on the sidewalks, the days when I accomplish nothing at work because everyone stops by to talk and has the need for me to play psychologist, doctor, teacher, bartender, friend who are the encouragement and the push that I need because they see and know things about me that I haven’t had the opportunity to discover in myself yet. Knowing that so many people who I work with, meet, and have conversations with throughout the day have meant so very much to me. But I also have the knowledge that I have meant just as much, and have made such a difference to so many people; and that's when I realize that this chapter is going to be a very diffuclt one to close, but I also realize I truly do have a wonderful life.

inner dork: apples, and oranges (and other assorted fruit)_

It's all tutti fruity today.

Did you know...

Pomology is the study of fruit.

Tomatoes and cucumbers are fruits.

Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient for waking you up in the morning.(Yes, but coffee doesn't require flossing.)

Fresh apples float because 25% of their volume is air. (Therefore, 25% less calories than a non-fresh apple.)

The avocado has the most calories of any fruit. (But it makes such a tasty dip.) (And facial.)

The most widely eaten fruit in America is the banana. (Hmmm, bananas. They come in their own little carrying case.)

The average banana weighs 126 grams.

Approximately 17,000 bananas are eaten each week in the Boston University dining room. (The other universities refused to comment.)

Bananas do not grow on trees but on rhizomes.

Cranberries are sorted for ripeness by bouncing them; a fully ripened cranberry can be dribbled like a basketball. (She shoots, she scores!)

Lemons contain more sugar than strawberries. (Therefore making a much better beverage.)

Seeds are missing from a navel orange. The bigger the navel, the sweeter the orange. (You say navel, I say belly-button.)

Orange juice helps the body absorb iron easily when consumed with a meal. (And not so easily when it's not taken with a meal.)

Pineapples do not ripen after they have been picked. (How do you know when a pineapple is ripe? I do not wish to knock on its shell as it is prickly.)

Grapes explode when you put them in the microwave. (Totally gonna test this one out.)

A cucumber consists of 96% water. (Therefore contains 96% less calories.)

More than 200 varieties of watermelon are grown in the United States. (I can name two, seeded and seedless.) (Okay four, big and small.) (196 more to go.)

just killin' some time at work

American Cities That Best Fit You:

60% Washington, DC 55% Philadelphia 55% San Francisco 50% Boston 50% Chicago

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

well that was fun

First move out of two is finished. As far as moving goes, and moving unnecessarily, it wasn't horrible. Much in the way that having your skin ripped off and rolling around in rock salt isn't horrible. Not pleasant, but I don't think "horrible" is the word I would choose to describe either events.

I wanted to get started around 10, everyone agreed to this.
My phone rang around 9:30.
Everyone wanted to get started now. Right now. Now. Not later. (Much like the candy. If you bite into the the Now or Later you will enjoy it now, not later.)
Fine. I'm not 100% ready, but sure. Come over. (I knew this would happen as I have been part of this family for 33 years. I understand them well.)
I told everyone we would be finished around 12.
We weren't.
The men were getting short-tempered about this.
I told the men to chill-out.
We were finished by 1:00. (I think this is pretty good considering.) Considering I ran out of boxes and we had to improvise by throwing crap into any 'ol thing I could find. (Always fun. Thus I have peroxide in the same box as textbooks, nail polish, and shower hooks.)
Mom and I (notice, no men were involved) finished cleaning by 5:30.
We decided to throw my mattress on top of the hide-a-bed. (Hmm, ever know the name of something, but never put it together until you type it out, or think about it? Yeah, I just did that with the hide-a-bed. It is literally a bed that is hidden. How clever.) So, the bed is comfy, but it is also (literally) waist high. So, I (literally) climb into bed each night.
I have a lifetime stored in 3/4 of a garage. Is that wonderful or sad? And considering how much I threw away, donated, and sold, why do I still have 3/4 of a garage full of my stuff?
But, it's over. One move finished, one more to go. Days until my next big move: 11 and that's just crazy.

hodge podge

Just a quickie update. (Who doesn't love a quickie?)

This weekend is part one of two of "The Big Moves." (Dun-du-dun!)

It is the completion of moving all my crap-ola into my parent's garage and moving back into my old room for two weeks. (As a refresher: the reason I am doing this is because my landlords decided to be poo heads and wanted a full month's rent for the month of August even though there is nothing in the lease agreement that states this. Why didn't I argue with them? No time to argue. I believe in picking my battles and this wasn't one I wanted to fight. I just "found" my copy of the lease agreement yesterday. A.k.a. I had a brain storm and bypassed my landlords who aren't returning my calls and went straight to the rental/management company and they faxed me a copy of my lease.)

Doncha just love a brainstorm?

I am officially down to three jobs.

(Whoo-hoo!)

I finished one proctor gig and the transcription gig and the gig last night. That leaves me with: full-time (not so secret) profession, one proctor gig, one mentoring gig.

With all of the "extra" funds my savings account looks quite nice.

All of those "extra" funds will be gone by mid-October due to bills and a payment needed for Budapest.

Last night I got to play teacher.

No.

I mean, I actually got to be a teacher.

Just for one night, but it was awesome.

It might have been awesome cause it is not something I get to do very often.

Okay, last night was officially the first time.

I was so in my perfect element with this class. We discussed the play "End Game" by Samuel Beckett.

They told me they hadn't read it before class.

Yeah.

You're not getting off that easy. I guess that means we will have to read it out-loud in class then.

We discussed, existentialism, God, the universe, the war, mortality, religion, changing ideals, ect.

I love college students.

A little over a week ago I received a phone call that completely turned my pissy mood around and was exactly what I needed to move ahead.

London called me.

Completely out of nowhere in the middle of my work day London was on my phone. I simply got up from my desk, walked outside and had a wonderful and lovely conversation as if I had just seen him hours before.

I don't believe in anything as hokey as closure. So it isn't that, but it was what I needed. It was a little, "thank you" note for my heart and for my mind.

I don't want to talk anymore about it because I think it loses its simplicity and loveliness by doing so.

The new chapter in my life starts in exactly 14 days.

I have too much going on and too much stress to really be excited about this. Something about working six jobs, taking two classes, and moving twice. That might have something to do with it.

Not sure.

But maybe.

Other than the Yankee and Red Sox games I went to in May I haven't been to a single baseball game this season.

That makes me sad.

I am missing my boys of summer.

Not to mention my beer and hot dog consumption is way down.

The fact that August is going to be here next week? Ho-lee-crap. Where did the summer go?

My family is throwing me a going away party next weekend.

I will be buying water balloons and lots of alcohol will be present.

The stories of, "My Family the Geniuses" with commence shortly thereafter I am sure.

I was told by a student that I have become very sarcastic this summer.

I replied with, "Really? You think I've just become sarcastic?"

Notice how I replied to the comment about being sarcastic with sarcasm. (I thought it was a nice touch.)

I received a "B" in my econ class.

I am very proud of this achievement.

It's a bit below my standards, but I am very pleased with this considering everything I have going on, how burnt out on school I am, and how I've never taken an econ class before.

So. Go, me.

I am only in the middle of the latest Harry Potter book.

Do NOT tell me anything about it.

I can only steal a few minutes here and there to read it.

However, last night I had to make myself put the book down and go to bed.

Oh, I do love it when a book has that kind of power on me.

I feel like I've been on a continuous countdown since December.

Counting down until London left.

Counting down until I was finished with school.

Counting down until I left for Greece.

Counting down until I heard about grad school.

Counting down until the end of the semester.

Counting down until I move this weekend.

Counting down until my last day at work.

Counting down until I move/move.

Counting down until grad school starts.

Then I am sure it will be a countdown until I leave for Budapest.

And then a countdown until I am finished with the first semester in December.

Do you ever feel like you're on a perpetual countdown?

Isn't life just one big countdown?

Does anyone else have the song, "Final Countdown" in their head right now?

If so, I apologize.

Because it is stuck in mine.

And it is a sucky song.

Why is it that only the sucky songs get stuck in our heads?

Or is it that even the good songs become sucky songs after the same lyrics go round and round in your head for hours on end?

inner dork: all things salty

...that are innocent and condiment-like in nature. (but that does pose an interesting question, doesn't it?)


Did you know...

Salt is the only rock humans can eat. (That would mean that someone has actually tried to eat some other type of rock. Yawza! Me, teeth!)

Only 5% of salt produced ends up on the table. The rest is used for packing meat, building roads, feeding livestock (mmm, bloaty moo-cows) tanning leather (mmm, salty-moo-cows.) manufacturing glass, soap, ash, and washing compounds. (mmm, salty clean clothes.)

Salt is one of the few spices that is all taste and no smell.
(I tried to prove this, but I was only successful in inhaling salt up my nose. mmm, melty salt.)

Tabasco sauce is made by fermenting vinegar and hot peppers in a French oak barrels (German barrels are not allowed and could not be reached for comment on how resentful they felt about this snub) that has three inches of salt on top and is aged for three years until all the salt is diffused through the barrel.
(mmm, bloaty, salty, hot sauce.)

Worcestershire sauce is basically anchovy ketchup.
(And it tastes mmm, so good.)
(Do you all say, Worcestershire sauce or do you say, Worcestershireshireiiires sauce?)

I feel all edumacted, but I also feel all bloaty.

SOLD!

I sold a painting! I sold a painting!
(...and repeat to infinity.)

I'll admit, when she told me which of my paintings she liked the most, and essentially wanted a copy of, and then told me the colors she wanted, I was apprehensive.
I'll admit it wasn't until I was in the middle of the painting that I saw the colors complimenting each other.
I don't know how you could look at the painting and not have your mood brighten.
In the midst of moving it was nice to have an art project to work on this weekend.
All of that on top of being paid for my artwork, c'mon, are you kidding me? When I take a moment to enjoy this thing called life, I realize that my life really is a verb.

The memory of summer and youth

* The smell of books, the smell of libraries, the mustiness of all the knowledge that fills the air. The way the bindings creak and crack when you open an older book, like an attic door being opened and letting out all of its hidden treasures and secrets that have been hidden away waiting for someone to come in. I love looking at the dates on the punch cards in the front of the book to see when the last time someone checked that particular book out. When I was in high school I used to read the names on the punch card in the front of the book to see if a boy I had a crush on had checked the book out sometime before me and therefore we shared something in common. I would imagine the boy in his favorite t-shirt and jeans lying on his back in bed reading the book I now held in my hands.

The knowledge that fills a library reminds me of a childhood basement, the combination of dust, mildew, and damp brick walls that haven’t seen any light through the small ground level widows in a long while. The scent can hit you like a memory sometimes, but then while you’re within the confines of the rows upon rows of books the memories disappear and you can actually feel yourself travel back to your youth. Some of my own books have this same effect on me; when I open the cover and hear the binding crack the aroma of memories and youth hits me. I can feel myself travel back to when I was a pre-teen and I see myself sitting on my twin bed with its white chenille bedspread, the coolness of the air conditioner floating through my room, the bright sun and tall oak trees with their long green arms waving and watching me through my bedroom windows while I was reading the long hot summer days away traveling to wherever the black and white words would take me.

That is exactly how I felt this weekend. Saturday I awoke early to head to my local bookstore purveyor to purchase my copy of Harry Potter. I then proceeded to spend my Saturday afternoon on my deck enjoying the lovely weather while working on my tan as I traveled with Harry and his usual troop of friends on their final adventure. I suddenly flashed back to being 12-years-old when all I wanted to do during the summer was either be outside working on my tan or laying on my bed inside within the cozy comfort of the air conditioning. The fact that I knew there were several million actual 12-year-olds doing the same thing I was on Saturday, well that brought a smile to my face. The fact that there was as much hype and anticipation over a book...a book in the day and age where the i-Phone, i-Pod, and whatever other gadget is hot this summer, well, that brought a gigantic smile to my heart and to my memory bank.


* The first two paragraphs are from a short story I am currently suffering a bout of writer's blocked. It is about the summer I was 11 years-old and my love of books and how I whiled away the summer hours.

PG's a dork! PG's a dork!

Ok, I just called myself a whale's penis, but that is not the point.

The differences between geeks, nerds, dorks, and maybe dweebs.

Nerds: These are the brilliant types. The ones who know everything in a book and nothing about the street. Somewhere between being locked in the basement to learn about all things electrical, statistical, and mathematical they forgot how to talk to anyone, specifically the opposite sex.

Geek: These are the nerds who have some social skills, street smarts, and business savvy. They put all of the books smarts to use and are now taking over the world. Ala: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, et al of the computer and Google world. The geeks really are inheriting the Earth.

Dorks: These are the geeks who are oddly brilliant in whatever field they have so chosen to go into, but also have amazing social skills. They might be a bit quirky in their mannerism (lack of eye contact, or the ability to know useless facts, or the ability to look up words in the dictionary.) There is no desire to start or own their own company. They are perfectly happy in their brilliance and ability to be social with a variety of people and places.

Why I believe I am a dork. (Really you need proof?) I learned that there are exactly 216 noodles in every can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and that the soup is cooked only once it is sealed in the can. If there is one more or one less noodle it is kicked off the assembly line.....I learned that on the Food Network about 3+ years ago. It has stuck with me. In addition to that I can also:
Name all of the astrological signs- in order.
I break into song spontaneously.
I play Jeopardy!
I love to laugh
and I love shoes.
and Art.
and Jewelry (and make most of mine.)
I can have an asinine conversation about intelligent things and an intelligent conversation about asinine things.
I Google useless information All.the.time.
This week I called two women, broads. This then went into floozy, and hussy and what the differences are. I then realized that "broad" is such an odd thing for a woman to be called and I wondered what the word origin of it was. I then looked up the word "broad" in the dictionary. There are 25 definitions for the word "broad." However, I think I came up with the origins. Either definition 8 or 9 and also the word, broad-wife. (really, after that do I need to go on?)

But, I am also someone who loves baseball and boxing. Enjoys a good drink. Can make any comment go straight into the gutter. And enjoys a conversation with a nerd and a geek because inside, we're all a little dorky.

What's your inner dork?

inner dork: geeks, dorks, and nerds

...Oh my!

K, no useless info today. (I know, sad.) But after yesterday's post got me thinking about the differences between geeks, dorks, and nerds (oh, my!) I then proceeded to look up what Webster's had to say on the subject. (Who's a dork, huh, who?) Which led me into looking up another word, and then another, and then (Yep. I'm that loveable girl you all want to take home with you. Admit it.)

Anyway, so what is your definition of each? Which one are you a self-proclaimed one of? (or something like that.) And who do you think is more loveable, the dork, the nerd, or the geek? I'll post my answer tomorrow.

It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it

Maybe it is all of the poo.

Maybe it is the inner dork in me who finds the jobs fascinating as many of them are things I never would have thought about other wise.

Maybe it is the humor.

Or perhaps the sarcastic wit.

The blatant attempts for a laugh and more camera time.

The voice.

The fact that the crew is picked on relentlessly.

How unabashedly the show is willing to do anything....anything.

However, chances are the real reason is the host, Mike Rowe.

Perhaps he is the reason "Dirty Jobs" has become my new favorite show and why I love a good marathon.

A good marathon of "Dirty Jobs" that is.

wide awake in dreamland

No one likes hearing about another person's dreams. I know this. However, this dream involved some of you, so I thought I would humor you by going inside my head. Also, I rarely remember my dreams once the hot water of the shower hits my face, so apparently these have significance.

Ptg and her husband were in my dream. She was pregnant and he had a very hairy back. His shirt was off, thus the hair was all there for me to see. I don't believe her pregnancy nor his hairy back are related, but one never really knows.

Joefish and Dirty Bunny were also there. They were comforting ptg through her labor pains.

I was apparently useless to help.

There was a stack of cows standing on top of each other eating paint off the side of a house. The house (was) white and was a turn of the century three story, so the cows were stacked very tall as one cow (all brown) was enjoying the lead-free paint from the very tippy-top of the house.

I was on my way to work (my old job from several years ago) when I passed the cows stacked on top of each other eating the paint.

Then suddenly ptg and her hubby, with his shirtless belly and hairy back, showed up and I was in the hospital.

Then Joefish and Dirty Bunny were there.

I thought it was very nice of them to show up to help out.

Then my alarm went off.

Now. I don't actually know ptg or her husband. I don't know if he has a hairy back, but I'm going to assume he doesn't. So I apologize for any harm my subconscious has caused.

I also don't know Joefish or Dirty Bunny either, but they seem like good peeps. I also don't know if they actually know ptg or her hubby, so see they are good peeps because they were willing to help out in a time of need. Good peeps. (better than the marshmallow peeps, I am sure. Although when put in the microwave the marshmallow peeps are fun to watch.)

I also don't believe that cows have the ability to stand on top of each other. I also doubt they would like a diet of lead-free paint, or lead based paint for that matter, but in my dream they seemed to think it was a tasty treat.

No drugs were involved in this dream. Copious amounts of alcohol were involved on Friday and Saturday. I don't remember those dreams at all. Perhaps last night's dream was merely catching up with me.

I will try and incorporate the rest of you into my dreams as soon as I have time.
You're welcome.
Good day.

inner dork: all things useless (I mean, useful)

Yippee-yahoo! It's Inner Dork Thursday. (It really needs to be a national event.) (I will get started on that campaign after this post.)

Did you know...

The slogan on New Hampshire license plates is "Live Free or Die." The license plates are manufactured by prisoners in the state prison in Concord. (Well, that's just mean.)

The abbreviation ORD for Chicago's O'Hare airport comes from the old name Orchard Field. (Now that I know this it makes much more sense.)

The names of the two stone lions in front of the New York Public Library are Patience and Fortitude. They were named by the then-major Fiorello La-Guardia. (Because if you are made of stone and sit in front of a library you need to be patient and have fortitude.) (I really wish I would have made it to see them when I was in NYC.)

The University of Alaska stretches across four time zones. (I need to Google this to see how that is possible.) (What did we do before Google? Oh, yeah. We had to get up an look at books. I wonder how much more instantly intelligent we are because we have it all at our fingertips.) (Okay, that made me laugh. Because people are Googlin' info all over the place. No one is going to porn sites.)

The largest object ever found in the LA sewer system was a motorcycle. (Maybe it just pooped out.)

In 1980, a Las Vegas hospital suspended workers for betting on when patients would die. (Oh c'mon. What's unethical about that?)

A third of Taiwanese funeral processions include a stripper. (Ecstasy, Champagne Showers, and Candy Cane could not be reached for comment.)

Hindu men once believed it to be unlucky to marry a third time. The could avoid misfortune by marrying a tree first. The tree (a.k.a the third wife.) was then burned, freeing the man to marry again. (Do you Bob take thee Maple to be your lawfully wedded wife?)

The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher. (Because it came from a kosher horse named Ed, of course.)

The radioactive substance Americanium-241 is used in many smoke detectors. (Well, that seems safe.) (And more than slightly counterproductive.)

The bark of a redwood tree is fireproof. Fires that occur in a redwood forest take place inside the trees. (And I'm gonna guess the leaves are not "poof-proof." Just a guess.)

Now, go apply for a chance to be on Jeopardy!

self-doubt

Last week and continuing into this week has been the natural feeling of, what the holy crap am I doing and it is the right decision and am I screwing up my life in major and irreversible ways?
Or something like that.
The natural progression of emotions when a major life change is in the works (or eight major life changes, but whose counting and keeping track?) (well, I am.) One thing that is adding to and not helping the moving on of this natural feeling is that my current place of employment is not making it easy on me. Not making it easy because no one...no one...(no, really, not one single solitary person) wants me to leave. I hear (numerous) (numerous) times a day, "I'm happy for you, but I don't want you to leave." Sometimes it is a simple, "Please, don't leave." Sometimes it actually goes into a full sentence of, "I never thought you would leave and I think when it comes right down to it, you're ultimately not going to leave." and numerous variations thereof.
It's nice to be loved.
I LOVE it here.
I wanted to stay.
My boss wants (really, really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay.
My co-workers, and those who I just generally bs with throughout the day, all want me to stay.
My co-boss (really, really, really, really, really, really) wants me to stay and ultimately she and I had a meeting with my boss-boss to try and convince her to get me to stay. But, (there is always a but) it's not up to my boss-boss, it is a much bigger machine (called state funding) than all of us. The place where I work is not creating any new jobs for the next two years. Mine would have been considered a new job (as it was re-worked and recreated to meet all of my needs, wants, and desires.)
So.
Not much choice.
I want to continue to do what I am, but for more money and in a greater capacity, but it's not going to happen. And I can't continue to be this poor and work five jobs. (no, really. I can't.)
So.
Off to grad school.
But, with all of the "Don't leaves" combined with no words of congratulations from the family, combined with the cycle of my own self-doubt, yeah. I'm questioning my decision.

On a completely unrelated front, after my econ test that I was sure I bombed (I actually didn't. I've already gotten the grade back. I truly most be learning through osmosis.) I decided I need beer. (Because beer makes everything better.)(And don't forget, smarter.)
I hit one bar and I had one beer.
Hit the second bar (and boy did my head hurt!) and had more than one beer. I think I had four...or five, I can't remember exactly. But however many it was, I paid for all of them.
Yep.
Not a single beverage was paid for by someone else. Now I did have conversation. I did have flirtation. I did have a proposition. But, not a dime, a dollar, a nickle was laid down on the bar for my beverage enjoyment.
I'm having doubts about my mo-jo.
Doubts about one's mo-jo is worse than doubts about ones future. Or is it that my future is in doubt over my mo-jo? I dunno. Either way I came home $20.00 shorter than when I left my house. And well, this girl is short enough.

Summer jobs

This morning on the "Today Show" there was a quick story about kids forgoing the summer job. The teens are deciding instead to attend summer school so that they can have an edge with college admissions and in college itself when the time comes.

At the end of the story they cut to Ann and Matt at the news desk and they ask each other what their summer jobs were when they were teens. Ann was a camp counselor and Matt mowed lawns and picked up trash.

Cut to me in my bedroom getting dressed while listening to the TV in living room and the tit for tat between them.

Yeah. I didn't have a summer job. I just had a job.
Apparently I grew-up in a different tax bracket than Ann and Matt.
First job, not counting babysitting, was at 15 working retail. If you count babysitting then my first job was when I was nine.

How about you? What was your first job or what was your summer job? (If you were so lucky to grow-up in that tax bracket.)

A quick shot of randomness

1) I spent Saturday morning and late into the afternoon packing, moving, throwing away and donating all things mine, in the first stint of: moving away to Medium Sized State U. (And all on four and half hours of sleep. I went to bed at 4:43 (Hmm, most curious) in the a.m. and waking up to the phone ringing (with Mama saying, "You're not up yet?" At the early morning time of 9:18.) A quick brushing of the teeth and a good scrubbing of the face I was ready (well, as ready as I could be) to do the first major over-haul of throwing away and donating under way.
On the way to get a concrete shake from Culver's, I stated I had a tension headache. to which Mama asked (in all seriousness) "why do I have a tension headache?" To which I replied with, "Really?"
I mean, really?

2) When I was asked the other day how old I am I, for the life of me, couldn't remember. (Too much sex?) (Too much alcohol?) (Are those oxymorons?) I went back and forth with it. (Like a sad lonely tennis match) I am 33. No. I can't be 33. I must be 32. No. That's not right. I know I'm not 31. After going back and forth thinking out loud to the person who asked the stupefying question in the first place and who clearly had no idea seeing as how they are the one who asked me. (Baffled, party of one.) I (secretly) had to look on my blogger profile to find out the correct answer (33.) Is that sad or wonderful that I am that clueless as to the number of my age rings?
Is it sad or pathetic that blogger was the light that shined on me for this answer that I should already know?

3) Tonight (about 6 minutes ago actually) (you know, to be exact.) I finished job number two: (not, taking a number two. Job, number two.) (That's even too detailed for me.) (Why is it called "number two?") (Hmm, I'll work on that for Thursday.) (But I digress.) transcribing for the PhD candidate. The job officially became tedious within minutes of the first typing. It became clear I accepted the wrong dollar amount for the job immediately somewhere around page 2 of the first tape. (That was about 50+ interviews and tapes ago.)
The job was only supposed to last until the beginning of May. Yeah. Clearly that didn't happen.(As it is July.) (You're welcome.) That's officially a lot of tedium and seriously a lot of screwing oneself on pay. (Bad, whore. Bad.) (Whore because you are either the pimp or the whore. Most of us are the whore. Just to clarify.) But. It's over. And even though I offered a low price, (my own damn fault and not whore-worthy.) (damn me and my desperateness!) the (extra) (Ha! I laugh at the "extra" part) money has helped out a lot over the past couple months. (So that makes it all okay.)

4) I am now officially down to four jobs: (Not so secret) full-time job, the two proctoring gigs, and the mentoring of my student gig. This makes my stress level happy, but not my checking and (ha!) savings account. (oh, I kill me.)

5) My fingers are numb (not from anything fun or battery operated) so I am calling it a day.

6) This means I am going home to pack, clean, throw-away more things, and study for my econ test.

7) I am! I am the luckiest girl alive!

8) Ramble, over.

fall, go boom!

In the continuing episode of, "My Family the Geniuses" I forgot to mention this part in my post about last Saturday's drunken celebration of our nation's Independence from those damn Brits. (Whoo-hoo. London. Suck-ass.)

Anyway. As I was saying.

So my parents have a big house that sits on a corner lot and has a very large yard. Across the street sits some industrial businesses, i.e. businesses with vacant parking lots on a Saturday afternoon. i.e. perfect location to shoot things that explode. So in our infinite wisdom we use the opportunity (every year) to use the vacant lots to explode things (that go, boom and we say, pretty.) My brothers talk on walkie talkies to insure the coast is clear as one stands in the yard and the other runs across the street, hide behind the building, and then lights the exploding stick of firework excitement while my sister-in-law and I sing the song to "Mission Impossible." (Oh. Admit it. You want to be invited next year.)
This year there was only one misfire. (Aside from the tree episode. The neighbors coming over to join in the festivites. Oh. And the family fight with the (stupid) step-siblings.) (Other than that, only one misfire.) It occurred when I heard my younger brother (across the street lighting the stick of flammable flames) say, "Oh, shit" into the walkie talkie and then we see the flaming stick of sparkly flame shoot sideways across the parking lot instead of up in the air and over the building to show the beauty of the flames. When I say, "sideways" I mean it (the flamming stick of sparkles) was aiming straight for things flammable as, (in case you weren't paying attention,) I said, "industrial buildings" when I mentioned the businesses across the street. As in, sparkles of flames hit them and they would go boom! and we wouldn't be alive to say, "pretty."

Oh yeah. Our combined IQ when the family is all together drinking is low. Like, where's the bib to wipe the drool, low. But we sure have a damn good time and (for the most part) no one gets hurt and no one has ever lost an eye and that's sayin' something. (I'm sure it's saying something I'm just not sure what exactly, but it's sayin' somethin'.)

As for the actual fourth. Well, it was a Wednesday. Not much a person can do when I, along with everyone else, has to work before and after and I have to move in a few weeks. So. I worked on my tan, read "1984" and "Sex, Drugs, and Coco-Puffs," (good combo of reading material) packed, watched a marathon of "Monk," ordered a pizza, drank beer, watched the various fireworks from my balcony. It was actually quiet lovely. Boring. Perhaps. But relaxing.

How about you?

Oh. Sorry about the no, dorking. I'll catch you next week. Promise.

Master plans

Master plans are funny in that I like to pretend that I actually have control over my life and that I am actually indeed, master of my own life plans and stress. Yeah. Hee-larious. So, a quick update.

I was going to go up to my new place around August 1st to drop off applications for jobs and such.

My last day of work was going to be August 8th. (Work is very, very sad to see me go and several people won't even talk about my move or me leaving. Ah, feel the love.)

I was planning to move out of my current place the weekend of August 10th.

Grad school starts August 20th. Thus giving me about two weeks to settle myself and find employment, de-stress, become acquainted with the new surroundings and of being far from home.

Oh, wise readers you see where this update is headed? That's right. I made a Master Plan and the gods laughed and called me foolish.

My current landlords called and left me a message last Tuesday, the 26th, asking if they could show my apartment to a property manager because, and I quote, "my place is always so cute, clean, nice, and tidy..." after a quick scan of my apartment there wasn't anything cute, clean, nice or tidy about my apartment as I hadn't really been home and I had already started to pack and throw things out. My apartment was more in the, "hurl, throw, toss, disheveled" state. I call and leave a message as such and also give my notice stating I will be out no later than August 12. That would be six weeks of vacate notice. I didn't hear anything so I thought I was golden.

Oh, dear wise readers do you see the foreshadowing?

Yep. With my rent envelope that was in my door on Friday (that would be three days after my message) there was a note that read...and I quote: "FYI, you can only give notice on the first of the month. If you can give notice on July 1st and then you have until July 31st to vacate. If you give notice on August 1st you have until August 31st to vacate. There is no rent refund unless your apartment is rented during that time."

...and let the fuming begin. I received her note after 7p.m. on Friday. A.k.a. past any time when I could do anything about the vacate date. I fumed all day Friday. I let it go on Saturday. (See previous post.) Let it go for part of the day on Sunday (see previous post and add in a hang-over.) started to re-fume about it Sunday night and most of yesterday. When I say "fume" I mean, stress. What the crap-oroni am I supposed to do? I can't move to my new place, I can't leave work early, I am NOT paying $1200 in rent for the month of August (rent for both places.) And yes, I know. Just look at my lease agreement, right? Excellent point. Here's why I can't. About two weeks ago, in my little pro-active state, I went through all of my important papers and threw them all out. I put them in a (HUGE) paper sack to burn. I still have the (HUGE) paper sack, but what was an organized mess is now just a (HUGE) mess and I haven't been able to go through the sack of papers and the clock is ticking for me to give my notice.

Finally around 2:00 yesterday I called The Mom.
I will move home for two weeks and then move to the new place. Yep. Lucky me. I get to move twice. Twice within two weeks to be exact. My five weeks has magically turned into three and everything that I was doing at a leisurely pace has gone into warp speed and my plan for a stress-less transition, yeah. The gods are laughing. I am now moving out on the 28th and again on the 11th.
My plan to drop off job applications around the 1st to beat the rush of other applicants has been 86'd as I will now be moving. (Who needs a job? Green backs? Bah! I laugh at your paper money!)

Oh, just for shits and giggles, there is a super-major tiff going on with my step-siblings and my mom and step-dad. (See previous post where step-siblings leave in a huff and I am glad about it.) Basically something that should have been dealt with 10+ years ago with a band-aid is now in hemorrhage mode and imploding all over the place. Yah! I get to move home and be in the middle of it for two weeks during one of the most stressful times of my life...yah!

Why is my life stressful? I am currently: Working four jobs. Yes, four. (technically I have five, but one is currently on hiatus.) Taking two classes, and trying to move. Trying to move to a new apartment, new city, new school, away from the family and trying to sell, pack, and throw-out as much as I possibly can.

Ouch. My chest just clinched. I think I need to throw another rocket into a tree and drink more beer and say, "Pretty" when things explode. I.E. tomorrow.