Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Know a Good Lawyer?

I have had my first official bike accident.

The good news - It wasn't July 16th.
I was riding on the sidewalk.
I hit them, they didn’t hit me.

The bad news – I hit a pedestrian.

It was totally her fault – she was one of those weavers; the ones who can’t decide which part of the sidewalk they really want to claim. I find these types tend to scare easily. Don’t ask me ask…stuck in their daydreams maybe? So I followed my normal protocol, and using my “indoor voice” I said “On your right.”

She responds not.

“On your right.”

She begins to veer to the right, completely unaware of me. Shit.

“ON YOUR RIGHT!” The distance between us becoming dangerously small, not leaving me enough time to change to an “on your left,” I felt the need to yell at her.

The dumbass jumped a mile as if there was no warning, no groaning rusty tires, no squeaking breaks, no previous mention of “on your right…”

Landing from her short flight, she threw herself to the right. Of course. And I mean THREW herself, clearly trying to avoid certain peril and instead throwing herself directly in it’s path – the path of my bike.

As I flew over my handlebars, the only thing I could think was whether one could be sued for hitting a pedestrian with their bike.

Yet the first words out of my mouth were: “That would be your right.”

Obviously I had a concussion. I would never say such a thing under normal circumstances. (I swear.)

As I then contemplated the bump on my head, the grass in my hair and the dirt in my pedals, it occurred to me that I had too much work to do to spend the day in the ER, and decided to go the way of Natasha Richardson*…which required me appearing sane, if only momentarily.

“Are you okay?” I was still staring at the sky, not having the energy to force my muscles upright again. But after a few minutes of addressing the sky with the reciprocated polite concern and personal bone palpation, I decided she was not the suing type. I road my bike on the street (almost) the rest of the way to work. I figured God couldn’t hate me enough to let me have two accidents in one day… Perhaps that was pushing it…but again, obviously I had a concussion.

*I know it's dumb to use a pop-culture reference in a blog, especially one that is ALREADY out dated, but whatever - so if you don't remember, she's the English actress, married to some other unknown European actor that fell and hit her head skiing, told the paramedics to shove it, and later died of a brain injury. Now you're all caught up.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Vampire Porn

I don't like science fiction. I don't like it (most of it...I'm certain the Unsupportive Louse will out me for liking some of it if I don't fess up) because there's no good explanation. Aliens look like blue people. Yes, I'm sure the life that developed on a completely different planet looks exactly the same for us except those three eyes and that pesky blue colored skin. Dumb. Just dumb.

I especially hate vampires. I think whoever invented vampires was an uneducated, wholly unimaginative retard. (I know, I know, I should say what I really mean...I'm always trying to be so nice to people, I swear.) But really, they're a separate species from humans, right? That happens to be exactly the same except for elongating teeth and a propensity for blood. Uh huh. And don't forget their undead human slayers. 'Cause that makes them more believable. By the way, teeth are a calcified solid - how exactly do they elongate? And what does drinking blood do? And why vampire blood? They've already got the shit in their veins - why can't they just drink their own? Really, how does this make any sense? And what's the deal with the sun? I mean, I'd believe it if they told me they'd get really burnt really fast, but die immediately? Incinerate on contact? Turn straight into ash? REALLY?? So whatever, they're dumb, but you can like 'em if you must, that's fine.

On a very related note (oh, it is, you'll see) I also hate romance novels. I mean, every once in awhile I enjoy me a little romance slumming, but Danielle Steel-esque romance? BLOWS. I mean, middle aged women, done nothing with her life but serve her husband and pop out some babies and now her husband is leaving her for a ridiculously younger woman (who, in the end, will discover that he's a douchebag after all and leave him all alone, only to realize that his first wife might have been the one he wanted all along...) and first wife has since moved on to find a man and a career. Barf. Just barf. And every one is exactly the same barf. (ah, whatever, she's got enough followers, I'm not hurting her business any)

So...a few months ago, a friend of mine (who we will call "Creative" because...well, she's creative) sent me a box of books. I asked the Unsupportive Louse to grab me a book from the box, and he comes up with a vampire romance novel. For real. A friggin' vampire sex book. Oh hell no. If I hadn't momentarily grown a conscience and not wanted to send him back downstairs for a different one, I might have just burnt the book right then and there. I suppose I probably did as much with my mocking comments for the first three chapters.

But...uh, as it turns out? I like it. Oh, fine, fine, I love the stupid things. I even went out and bought a few more. Told my husband it would be a good thing if I got a few for my birthday. Really crazy stuff. Like, can't put it down, considering sending out mass e-mails to see if anyone has the ones I skipped in between. But that would be tantamount to admitting I maybe kinda sorta liked the thing... (and while clearly a TOTAL understatement) I've been a feminist science fiction hater for far too long to take it all back now.

But JR Ward? You can consider this your shout out. Your writing must be awesome, because I hate vampires and I'm not too keen on romance and I LOVE your damn vampire porn!

Thursday, July 16, 2009

July 16...

Only two little ants in the kitchen this morning...I'm going to assume this is a good sign...I think. And I made it to work alive. Even braved riding my bike.

But today is the lab picnic. And the lab picnic happens to be in Dexter. Where my dad grew up. Where my dad is now buried. (We were living in California when he died.) How ironic would it be for my little evil fairy godmother to have me knocked off right next to his grave??

Or perhaps that's just too much coincidence.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


I'm educated, I'm intelligent, I'm liberal, I'm a scientist, I'm trained to question anything I haven't seen supporting data for. But I'm superstitious.

Not COMPLETELY superstitious; it's not like I think I need to throw salt over my shoulder to avoid bad luck or that saying "Bloody Mary" three times fast at midnight will cause Bloody Mary herself to pop out of the mirror and come get me (...not that I would try it...) I'm ridiculously superstitious on just one point. It's not one that you've ever heard of, I promise. But I'm sure this one is true.

I'm pretty damned sure that if there is an invasion of ants in my kitchen on the morning of July 16 (yup, tomorrow) I am going to die. I know, you're a little shocked. You thought it was going to be something little and amusing. Well, it is amusing really, but the whole death thing is a little over the top, don't you agree?

Here's the deal. 28 years ago, on July 16 1981, after my mother discovered a massive ant infiltration in the kitchen, my father left the house to ride his bike to work. He'd had a meeting scheduled that morning, so despite my mother's pleas for him to stay and help clean up the nasty little buggers, he left. And never made it to that damn meeting.

Now you agree I've got a pretty good reason for this stupid, overly dramatic superstition, huh?

Want to know why it's even worse? Every year, every single freaking year after that, there were ants in our kitchen on July 16. Like a little reminder. Like some cruel supernatural being was having a little laugh somewhere.

There were three little scavenger ants in my kitchen today. If they find anything, a single damn crumb (and I'd like to point out that I'm sitting here writing my mandatory blog and therefore NOT cleaning...rather leaving the scrubbing to the Unsupportive Louse who, true to his name, does not understand my ridiculous superstition), there's sure to be a mass attack tomorrow. And then I'm going to die. Possibly on my bike on my way to work. Or perhaps that vindictive little god will laugh in my face and crash my bus when I try to avoid destiny by not riding my bike.

But here's the thing, if I were a malicious celestial being, I'd wait until it was really appropriate. And when my dad died, he had TWO kids, my older brother and I. I've still only got the one. So perhaps my three little scavenger ants are just a friendly warning to enjoy life while I'm here and I won't in fact die this year, but possibly next year, or maybe two years from now...

But if there are no future blogs, you'll know why.

Friday, July 10, 2009

"You have 24 Friends in Common"

This blog was not originally supposed to be all about Facebook. I just want you to know that. But, as previously stated, I'm clearly addicted. And when you're not drinking, all you can think about is drinking.

So, recently I've been noticing that while I have an ever increasing number of friends, so do MY friends. And I happened to notice that my best friend from high school has 217 friends. Not surprising, really, just another way to avoid the real world (right, Dr. Jealous?).

Now here's what surprises me: we only have 26 friends in common. And for real, I spent half an hour perusing her friends. I maybe knew of 10 more of them. I sincerely don't know the other 181. That's a lifetime of friends I don't know.

Calmly, I reassure myself that we went to different colleges and now live in completely different states. We can't know every person the other person knows.

To reassure myself, I look at a good friend from high school who ALSO went to college with me. The bastard has 278 friends. 24 friends in common. What the fuck?? I thought we knew so much about each other! Not everything's been a long time, but really? 24 friends in common?

My sorority sisters, my absolute best friends from college whose friendships have extended into my "grown-up" life- 180, 20 in common; 264 - 21 in common, 239 - 19 in common (clearly there are about 20 of us sorority sisters on the site, huh?) then 547!!! 28 in common. Well at least I have more sorority sister friends than the rest of you losers!! But for real? Who even knows FIVE hundred people???

I must look at a page that makes me feel better. Uh, duh!? The Unsupportive Louse's page!! While I was pleasantly mollified to discover we had 77 similar friends (clearly, he must have only 80 friends total, right?) I was absolutely HORRIFIED to find he had more friends than me! 231 to my measly 222! And who the hell are these ONE HUNDRED FIFTY FOUR other people I DON'T KNOW ABOUT??

Who is Becky Jones who lives in Ann Arbor?? And Betsy Pickney who is a UM alum?? All these women who have been right here under my nose!! Abby Shaw and Amy Richards and Maureen and Natasha and Rachel and Lisa...oh, Lisa Appell. At least I know one of them actually DOES want my husband. Well, now, somehow, I feel better.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Unsupportive Louse

So my husband sends me an e-mail today. (and I quote, not even paraphrasing a little bit, I SWEAR!)

I read your blog, so I want my extra play tonight.

Unsupportive Louse.

(If you don't get it, read the previous blog)

Thursday, July 2, 2009

On Being a Blogging Celebrity

I have a new favorite blog of the month. (Don't worry, I have precisely six minutes to read blogs a month, so I may just not have gotten to yours...) But this blog is SO deserving of a link that I'm even willing to send all thirteen of my readers her direction, risking losing every single one of you. Besides my husband. Because he knows what's best for him. And really because he only graces my blog with his presence approximately once every three months, and at that point he may skim for content so he can "non-chalantly" bring it up, in exchange for praise and maybe a little extra play, so he most likely will never click the link to know a true blogging celebrity when he sees (reads?) one. I'm definitely only an 80s B-movie star in comparison. Though, having such a tough life as a blogging celebrity, I think perhaps I should cherish my non-existance while I still can.

=== The Jet Set: On Being a Blogging Celebrity

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


I've realized that I'm a bit out of reality, I've accepted it (no cable, no newspaper, small child, etc.) Life goes on. But perhaps I had not realized how bad (good?) it had really gotten.

One day last week (oh, don't ask me wht day, hell, it could have been today for all I can remember) I was at work fooling around on Facebook (come on, you all know I'm addicted, let's not act shocked) and I see a friend's status update, (which is now just called a "What's on your mind" box, isn't it? Either way, us old addicts have yet to accept so many words into our vocabulary when status update worked so much better)...ANYWAY - the update simply said, "RIP MJ."

My first thought was "Oh God, did a friend die!!?" I have a problem with people I know dying - it's a problem I'm doing my best to solve... not the point. Point is I racked my brain forEVER trying to figure out a former classmate who might have had the initials MJ - or maybe they'd gotten married. What if I never figured it out and it was someone I was close with a million years ago?? Tick...tock...tick...tock... Oh! Michael Jackson? Did Micheal Jackson die? What?

I was dumb enough to pose this question out loud. My coworkers all collectively laughed at me. It was, by that time, very old news. (At LEAST 24 hours.)