Who you callin’ “Doll?”

You’re GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip!! You’re
strong, tough, and know how to kick some ass.
Don’t forget though, no matter how manly you
think you are, you’re still just a doll. God
Bless America.

What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


HAHAHA!! Thanks for sending this, Kathleen. I loved the response, “Use your ability to puke at will to vomit your breakfast all over his face,” although I didn’t choose it. I can’t puke at will. It’s always a surprise to me and others involved.

I feel old.

Last night was fun. Went over Dilly’s and hung with a bunch of old friends. Very reminiscent. At one point, Geoff was like, “This is how I remember it, the old gang.” I was thinking, “Holy crap. For real.” It’s weird. Same people as before, but really different. I think last time all of us were together in the same place was like four or so years ago. Now it’s all these years later, we’re different people somewhat, life situations are changed, and we’re dropped in front of a different backdrop.

Dunno how to explain it. We played “get-together-games” like always happened at these things with the same people, but totally didn’t feel the same. For one thing, we’re not students anymore at someone’s house procrastinating some important work, but yet most of us can’t stay up as late as we used to. More than half of us aren’t in the Fenway congregation anymore. Four have since gotten married. And then while you sit there, you reflect on the past years and all the things that have happened since the last time things were “like this.” I guess that’s what makes it different—lives and jobs (well, some of us.) I think that was the oddest thing. Before when we’d hang, we’d do things like this on almost a bi-weekly basis at least or see each other at the hall twice a week, and the conversation was like “Hey, what’s up?” “Not much.” and have nothing to say so just shoot the breeze. Now it’s more like catching up on all this time in a short life-story sort of fashion. “How’s your congregation?” “What are you doing for work, now?” Funny what a few years can do. It’s kind of like Dawson’s Creek without the sex, back-stabbing, and dying. No, I never watched the show. 😛 But with as many people as I know addicted to the show, at times that’s all I’d hear about.

This all isn’t necessarily bad, but more like the first time it’s hit me. This is like how old people feel at reunions. In that sense, it’s bad ’cause I feel old. Other than that, it’s more nostalgic and weird than bad. I think I’ll write more in my writey journal so I can get off the computer now.

Pee-Wee’s magic word of the day

So today I added a word to my vocabulary. “Episiotomy.” What does it mean? It’s when a woman is giving birth and the baby doesn’t fit out, the doctors cut a larger hole down to your anus, in short, tearing you a new A.

Maybe I’ve led a sheltered life, but I’ve NEVER heard of this before, let alone that there’s a name for it. I’ve heard of some pretty horrific things about birth but never this. Today, some people were talking about it at work and I just listened in disgust.

Why would anyone want to put themselves thru this. God-forbid I ever fell on my head and suffered permanent amnesia and suddenly wanted a kid, I’d totally go in the C-section direction, ’cause it’s rhymey for one thing. But also because it’s pretty much predictable, you know how long approximately you’re delivering for as opposed to 12+ hours maybe of labor, less after effects, and now, no episiotomy.

I hear it’s 6 of one, half dozen of the other. Yes, with a C-section you have the pain of operation recovery and a huge cut across your stomach, but if chances are you get cut either way, I’d rather have the cut on my stomach where I can treat it easier than it being where the sun don’t shine and effecting my natural bodily functions. I also heard that when they rip your butt open, they don’t even give you a colostomy bag to do your business while you heal. You have to subject the incision to passing crap. Doesn’t that sound healthy? And then you have to deal with the hemerrhoids that normally come after natural child birth.

How ’bout no to all of that. After all, one has to keep one’s butt in tact incase one wants to become a spy someday.

I took some food, I added food, and it became FOOD!!!

I cooked tonight. I just ate what I cooked. I’m still alive to write this!

It’s good. Dilly showed me how to make this sausage thing. It’s better when she makes it. Something seems missing. (No, I didn’t forget the sausages.) It’s supposed to be this almost unbearably hot stuff, but it’s only just hot now. Go figure.

The whole process was comical tho. I think I added too much water to the cooking sausages. Halfway thru I started to bail it out so there are cups of grease around the stove. I knew I’d need some grease for the later steps but I didn’t remember having that much grease last time. Well, later it turns out, I did need the grease. Good thing I saved it. So then I poured the grease back into the food. As necessary as it was, it just looked gross to be adding cups of congealed grease to what you’re cooking.

All came out right for the most part. Just wish it were hotter.

Going to kill someone

There is absolutely no words that can describe what I just went through. Needless to say, I hate shopping. It’s hit a low I don’t think I’ll ever reach again.

Lori and I decided, instead of flowers, to get Teresa’s baby a teddy bear. So we go to vermontteddybear.com to look for one. Turns out this would cost more than $100 including a ridiculous shipping price. Then I recalled that there’s this new Build-A-Bear Workshop store in the Burlington Mall. Why not do that? Well, I’ll tell you.

So we go there during lunch break. We enter this store with shiny, happy, prozac-medicated employees. First guy wasn’t so bad. Gave us the low down on what’s up. “Have you ever been here before?… Well, here’s how it works. Yadda yadda. You pick out an unstuffed bear, stuff it, give it an air bath, and then dress it and pay at the end.” Well he said it in semi-toddlerish words. I guess he forgot we were adults. Whatever.

We’re looking around, trying to ignore the Channel 2-ish music looping again and again in the background. We finally decide on a bunny which we bring over to stuff. So what could this all involve? Get the rabbit, stuff it, dress it, and be on our merry way. No, no. You’re forgeting this is happening to me, not to mention Lori’s with me and she seems to have the same kind of “every day’s a Monday” days that I have.

Anyway, so we bring our unstuffed rabbit to the stuffing booth. This OVERLY, and I can’t express that enough, man says, “OK. I’m going to need your help.” Oh, good god. “I need you to step on this pedal.” Lori and I look at each other. I’m thinking, “We’re paying for this thing. You step on the pedal.” But I was nice. I reluctantly step. It would be nice if that were all I had to do.

Then he says, “Now pick a little satin heart to go inside.” Fine. Here you go. “Now rub the heart. You don’t want to put a cold heart inside.” So I squeeze the heart with a look on my face that combined embarrassment and a look that said, “We really don’t want to waste time here.”

Guy: “Now put it on your forehead so the bunny can be smart.”

Me: “Are you serious?”

Guy: “Yes.” (So I comply.) “Now, put it on your chin for good luck.” (I don’t believe I’m doing this. Then he tells Lori to do the same.) “Now, put it on your stomach so the bear doesn’t go hungry.” (Oh we mustn’t have that now.) “Now kiss the heart.”

Finally, this excruciating ordeal is over. Well, the heart part anyway. Then he tells us to go give the bear an air bath. It clearly had no point except to make it fun for kids. Lori did this. I just stood and watched. Then we dressed the bear. Man, I can never see me dressing a child. I’d probably be arrested for abuse. I’m cramming the feet into the shoes on this table that’s about knee height. I had Lori do the rest of the dressing ’cause she’s got a baby so she’s used to it. To me, it felt almost perverted, especially when we put the underwear on it.

Now it’s time to make the birth certificate. I have to type all this info into this computer with Funhouse font on the keys and every letter I press, it talks to me telling me what letter it is. That was just obnoxious, but not nearly as obnoxious as the people.

So now we’re done. We go to the register and this woman who I’m expecting to be halfway normal is far from it. She’s talking in a voice that’s about 2 octaves higher than the average person’s and apparently she’s the “sheriff.” Says she, “Oh, no! I lost my star! I’m the sheriff and no one’s gonna know I’m the sheriff now!” After all, what happens if we need help from the law? So the whole time she’s talking to us like we’re 3. She’s also talking to the rabbit. She’s trying to get it into the box and she’s like, “Sorry, but we’re going to have to sit you down so you can fit in here?”

Lori tells me later that the “sheriff” asked her, “Do you play this kind of music at your work? Oh, you can come back here anytime and listen to it.” Thanks. I’ll pass.

Now, on entering the store at first, I saw the people talking like this to a little kid making his bear and I thought, “Oh, it’s nice they’re involved with him through the whole process.” I am still in utter disbelief that they did the exact same thing to us. It was obvious we were people buying for someone else, we’re on lunch break, and we’re not toddlers ourselves. There are times you know people are just joking around or they’re really the way they are. These people were totally like that. Sooo soo creepy. It started out annoying, then it just got creepy. The whole aura of the place felt like everyone had just gotten out of a psych ward, high on some kind of happy pill.

Again, nothing I can write here can even explain what this was like. When we left, I was a combo of aggravated and freaked out. There is much to be said for shopping online and this is yet another example.

There is NEVER a happy ending.

All I wanted was ice cream. That’s all. Alas, too much to ask.

Went to the bookstudy tonight. Fortunately, didn’t have to tactile. Figures, since I was prepared this time with all my anti-bacterial gear. This week was difficult. Jeremy’s signing faster. I actually practiced a few times incase I had to tactile and still couldn’t get it right.

After hte meeting, I needed to vent, so Teresa and I went for ice cream. I almost said, “Let’s eat in the car,” but as we were walking back, she said, “Let’s sit here (outside table) for a bit.” OK, fine.

So I tell her the update on schtuff and also share my dream that I blogged the other day. I start talking about P. Diddy and how Paul’s interruptions ruined my chances with him. (Yes, I’m still holding a grudge.) So I’m getting ot the point where he proposed with the diamond-studded flip flop and the dream ended.

Just then, two bums come sit at our table. I had noticed one near the table with his dog, but mainly I noticed the dog, not the mutt on the high end of the leash.

The dog bum says, “Did they get married?”

I’m thinking to myself, “He is NOT talking to me.” I look over and he’s looking intently at us.

“Did they get married? I’ve been listening to the whole story over here. Are they married now?” says he.

Me: “Um… no.” (Considering one doesn’t exist.)

Dog Bum: “Aww. I was hoping for a happy ending.”

Other bum: “There’s no such thing as a happy ending… Is there?”

Me: “Umm… no.”

Incidentally, there are long pauses between the questions they ask and the answers I give. I’m trying to give the hint that I’m turned off by them trying to converse with us. Hint didn’t work as you can see.

Then I signed (or I think I signed), “No happy ending today.”

Dog bum: “I know a little bit of sign language.”

Me: “Oh, nice.” I was close to saying, “Like what?” Then I held my tongue. No way I’m keeping this convo going longer than it needs to.

Now there’s silence until the bums decide to speak again.

Dog bum: “Are you Chinese?”

(Kill me now.)

Me: “No.”

Dog bum: “Japanese?”

Me: “No.”

<pause> (‘Cause after all, what else is there?)

Dog bum: “Korean?”

Me: “Yes, but not really.” (Don’t even ask what that’s about. Isn’t it time for my train now?)

Teresa: “What time is your train?”

THANK YOU!!!

Me: “Soon.”

Teresa: “Shouldn’t we get going now?”

Me: “Yes.”

Dog bum: “Don’t let us scare you away.”

Teresa: “No, we just have to be somewhere.”

So we go. I didn’t think the dream entry would result in a sequel, but here it is.

Morals to the story:

  1. There are no happy endings.
  2. Always eat in your car.

Thank you, Paul, for killing my dream

Two nights ago, I had the most incredible dream that I was seriously dating P. Diddy. I’m not really ga-ga over him in real life, but hey, if that’s the kind of guy I end up with, I’m not complaining. Sounds like the average dream, right? But this is one of MY dreams, so you know it’s about to get weirder.

This is all taking place at like a ho-down thing. It’s actually the exact same picture I get in my head when I listen to “Rocky Racoon” when Rocky’s fighting Dan.

Anyway, trying to figure out where this dream all started, but I can only trace it back to the point where I’m making out with Diddy in the back of a parked hay ride. Well, miniature hay ride. It was like one of those pickup trucks with a wooden fence-like thing around the bed. It had hay in it. It was a ride. It was a hay ride.

So this was a fun dream. Funny how dreams can be like movies with cuts and fades and zooms and slo-mo effects. Anyway, all of a sudden it cuts to a point where I’m wandering around the setting what has turned desolate and almost fake stage looking. Diddy is doing this concert-like thing in one of these barns. I wasn’t there. Dunno why. So then I was questioning where our relationship was going and he sent out one of his guys to discuss things with me who looked like that hottie from “Above the Rim” who shot Tommy at the end. (Sorry to kill the ending for whoever hasn’t seen it. )

So Mr. Hottie takes me into this big, dim, empty, barn-like shed to talk about Diddy and what’s up as far as where we stand, whether it was a fling or whatever. Last thing he was in the middle of saying was that I was different than the others. Haha! Take that, Jenny from the block! All this time we keep getting interrupted by EVERYONE and EVERYTHING. We keep kicking people out or moving to another barn. Finally, Paul barges in needing to talk about something. I’m like, “Can’t this wait?!” He’s like, “NO, it can’t.” We try to avoid him by leaving him there and like beaming ourselves into other places (which is perfectly normal in dreams), but he keeps finding us!! Arghhh.

It then cuts to the point where I guess we let Paul have his way and pay attention to what he’s doing. He’s proposing to this girl and I guess he wanted to ask advice on it. This moose of a woman is middle-aged, fat as anything, around 6′ tall, wearing a lime green laced moo-moo (sp?), and basically looks like an enormous version of the stereotypical lunch lady, hair net and all.

In this dream, it was customary to propose to someone in the middle of a circle of people, much like in elementary school music class where you’d play “Farmer in the Dell” and there’s a circle of people surrounding the “Farmer” as he picks a wife. So me and Mr. Hottie are standing there at the perimeter, rolling our eyes, waiting for it to end. Paul then says in the most deadpan voice you can imagine, “I want you to marry me.” At this time, he pulls out a large flip flop from his back pocket (magic back pocket like a clown car) and tosses it on the ground. The lime green flip flop had the typical flip flop bottom but had what looked like several strings around the top that held the shoe to the foot. Tied on these strings was a giant 1″ diameter diamond. Bling bling, Paul.

So picture this, “I want you to marry me.” <plop> The equally deadpan look on the woman’s face said to everyone that she consented.

Just then a random voice in the crowd pipes up, “HEY!! That’s not the way it’s supposed to happen!! You’re supposed to put it on her foot!” I guess that’s why you have an audience—never know when you need help with the traditional proposal. So Paul does just this. He takes the flip flop, but alas to his dismay, it’s a few sizes too big and keeps falling off. BUT, Paul comes prepared! (Only in dreams.) Gorilla woman had monstrously hairy feet, which her beau knows quite well. He was equipped with a few bobby pins which he used to attach the flip flop to her foot so it wouldn’t fall off. So we have an engagement. Congrats to the apathetic couple.

Now that this whole interruption is over, me and Hottie can get back to our convo about Diddy and stuff. Just then I wake up. &@!^*#!@^&%!*@#@!# PAUL!!! If you could’ve just waited 5 minutes for your engagement, I’d have gotten an answer. AUGHHH!!!

Oh my head!! I’m broken! I’M BROKEN!!!!

AHHHHH! This is my first time on a Mac since a few weeks ago. In the last five minutes, I’ve tried to move my cursor to the bottom of the screen and wondered why my task bar didn’t pop up, tried to use my “return” key to send an IM, and tried to control-C something. I have been on a PC way too long. I don’t like this. I need a graphics job again. 🙁