tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-287613782024-02-03T04:46:25.276-06:00with an eyeJennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-81768062042764925222012-01-07T16:51:00.009-06:002012-01-07T17:43:54.851-06:00Compost pile<div style="text-align: left;">When I first saw this apartment back in June, I saw the back yard area and I began dreaming grand dreams. In my mind there was a garden, with veggies and flowers, and a compost pile in the corner. I was eating salads that I grew myself, and all of the waste was being composted. Now, here we are January, and this is totally how the back yard looks....in my dreams.</div><div><br /></div><div>I began clearing the "dirt patch" one day in September. I purchased supplies for a compost pile. And, after an hour </div><div><br />I took a break and never went back at it. Today is unseasonably warm, and my weekend plans involve a lot of cleaning and "re-organization" (or organization, since I never really did that to begin with.) I went through the fridge and was saddened by the amount of wasted food - lots of produce - and began to be very upset at my lack of composting. I began researching the old sites and resources I had found in June, and decided I wanted to go a different route than I had planned. I headed off to home depot to return some things (for a $17 store credit), and purchased something new (for $13 - don't worry, I more than</div><div> spent that extra $4 but we'll get to that!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's what I need:</div><div><ul><li>a 20-gallon trash bin, with lid<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKt-Z4hWXsJohS_s3nXvXCySgXwE2CGL3R_g2NDtSCWxzNPhBPqVoHokfLz0zKaUIin0NugZoyj9sVsswyhvZFWUcUPH5WTYrIjPiE2ksBQJcV7DcdtdXsW0VnNzIShysv8C2yKg/s200/P1000091.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695038293043774130" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 115px; height: 200px; " /></li><li>power drill (you could probably use a hammer and nail, but lets face it I'm lazy and have a drill)</li><li><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJnh14xdXb2Xbn9E_Y6bp7Aw8GlBkQ19Gqk8xdiQIn4xA2fv209Jpzhp780mtcn5o2Xsw6u0YPWNnBz77pFszaCeHatevTlZxXnu35szpaEbM88yyzvCsNZjlnIm_OpKgeui-5A/s200/P1000095.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695039098034702706" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " />"brown material" - this is the paper, I've got stacks of junk mail (not magazine like pages or anything plastic), light cardboard boxes (frozen pizza, soda, etc) and some newspaper.</li><li>"green materials" - this is my produce, I've got celery stalks, brussel sprouts, avocado peels, green onions, parsley, regular onions, and some small christmas tree branches. All cut up into unappetizing bite sized pieces.<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdDZQskARNpEOYu9nul0g8e82191GfNH9MyNB0LeqI4aMHpTvKo8PN8BPJweiiqUzzkhFPBMt5UEJn85ezauMxGIzg1XokMJJ1ZYq7F8twHc2PnWPq3Nz45KfM1FaACrVyWbtzA/s200/P1000093.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695038701247901890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></li><li>fertilizer</li><li>soil</li><li>other ground clippings that I did save in a pile in the yard (and not bag up) from when I cleared the area in September</li><li>water</li></ul><div><br /></div></div><div>I began by drilling holes in the trash barrel, as this <a href="http://video.about.com/greenliving/Homemade-Compost-Bin.htm">video clip</a> instructed. I ended up with 40 holes - 10 around and 4 up. Then I started filling. According to this <a href="http://web.extension.illinois.edu/homecompost/building.html">site </a>the layering starts with an organic layer. This is the green and brown material. I decided to start with the pile of yard clippings I had outside. Hoping that maybe those has started slighting composting while they were in the pile outside since September. Then I put in a layer of the fertilizer I had, and then a layer of the potting soil I bought. The next organic layer contained all the veggies and paper I had collected. Everything I've read says to keep the compost wet, so after the first organic layer I "watered" it. Then I watered again after the fertilizer and soil layers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once it was all in the can, I put the lid on and rolled it over to the corner of the yard where it belongs. Hopefully the rolling was enough to give it a good mix. </div><div><br /></div><div>And....with that, it's supposedly composting. Who knows. I read a lot over the summer, and nothing made it seem too difficult. Now I'm almost looking forward to the inevitable moment when I have some produce that's about to go bad.</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-28737932961097598692012-01-07T16:48:00.002-06:002012-01-07T16:51:34.910-06:00SegueIt's not that Baltimore is so unexciting that it didn't warrant any blog posts. Or that it's so exciting I haven't had time to write. I needed a break to regroup, recoop, and settle in, before I decided what I wanted to share.<div><br /></div><div>Lots of things happened since I've been in Baltimore. But, as we rung in the new year last weekend I've decided to leave them in the past. So with this, we're moving on to bigger and better things. Step 1: Home Re-organization.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stay tuned.</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-73270775339804519542011-08-05T23:35:00.003-05:002011-08-05T23:46:00.866-05:00On orangeIt was my last week in Austin. Thursday. And I was at the gym. I was becoming very reflective, and savoring every last drop of Austin that I could. As I was running on my treadmill I noticed the amount of burnt orange around me. I remembered how this seemed horrible a short four years ago. I thought, with an almost sweet condescension, about how I would miss these people and their odd love for this color. I saw a girl with a shirt that proudly read "Come Early, Be Loud, Stay Late, Wear Orange", and I had a twinge of nostalgia - for this sentiment, for this color, for this team. But still, I viewed them all as sweetly silly, clinging to this color. It was around this time that I looked down and took note of my own outfit. Burnt orange shirt with a longhorn. Black shorts and a burnt orange boarder with a longhorn. Then I realized, I felt such nostalgia because I had become one of them without knowing. How quickly things change, how quickly the plethora of burnt orange went from odd to normal, as if it had always been.<div><br /></div><div>And now, having been gone a short 6 days, I wish Baltimore had a "color", because I already miss the familiarity of burnt orange and belonging to something awesome.<br /><div><br /></div></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-10399765085617020732011-07-27T13:58:00.002-05:002011-07-28T14:39:19.216-05:00On TexasFour years ago <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2007/07/cypress.html">today</a> I left Boston and headed for Austin, and clearly I was <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2007/07/omission.html">terrified</a>! If only I could go back and tell that past-me how wonderful it would all turn out, maybe she'd have spent less time feeling scared and sad. If only some future-me could come and tell me the same things right now. In 3 days I'll drive off and leave Austin behind, heading on to the next chapter of my life. I never dreamed how difficult it would be to leave Texas. I mean, come on y'all, it's T-E-X-A-S. <div><br /></div><div>Four years here have seen everything I was nervous about for Texas come true, in wonderfully awesome ways. I was originally skeptical of people who were unnecessarily friendly, of people who moved a little bit slower than lightening fast. I was nervous about the prevalence of big trucks and guns. I held a disdain for boots and belt buckles. I cringed at country music and southern twang. But it is these things that are going to be the most difficult to leave. In other places, people wearing boots and buckles are dressing up. People moving slow and smiling unnecessarily are trying to pull one over on you. But here, these are reflections of honest, hard working people. Southern twang is the background music for Austin's daily grind, where the outdoor adventures meet city life. Austin is a city that sees the ability and possibility in everything. Where people work hard, but stop early to enjoy an outdoor concert and a beer. Where a restaurant is not complete without a stage for the band. Roofdecks, patios, and sidewalk tables are overflowing with hipsters, hippies, suits, and dogs alike. We've got big skies, bright lights, and the ability to feel like a community over things as far fetched as running, roller-derby, football, or rodeo. There's something about Austin, a vibe that transcends specific places and people, and ties the whole city together. And while I'm not nearly ready to go, graduate school has taught me that life doesn't wait for you to be ready it carries on anyway. I hope that I've breathed in enough Austin-ness to bring it with me on my next adventure, because it's a world without this southern twang that I'm not sure I want to exist in. <div><br /></div><div>I wish that some future-me could show up right now, and tell me how in a few months I'll feel just as at home in Baltimore as I do in Austin, as I always will in Boston. Because part of me thinks maybe I've been greedy with the "i'm living in the greatest city in the world" thing. If you haven't been, please add Austin to the list of cities you owe it to yourself to visit.<br /></div></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-74377755638905042022011-04-19T13:08:00.003-05:002011-04-21T15:09:54.825-05:00a lot can happen in one day...<div>The countdown has begun, 4 days left until the day when...well, the day when I'm not sure what to do after it. What will I do when there is no dissertation to write, no looming deadlines, *gasp* an entire weekend where I may not need to be in my office? Truly, I'm not sure I remember how to handle a life like that.</div><div><br /></div>For you to really get the full picture of this story, we need to go all the way back to December. Picture a day when I needed to be up north to run a scan at the imaging center in the early afternoon, and had tickets to see an early evening movie downtown. My scan was canceled at the last minute, after I was already up north, so I did a few errands and made my way home around 2:30pm. I wasn't in a particular rush, I wasn't stressed out, I was just enjoying a nice, sunny, December afternoon. I was heading west on MLK Dr, about to turn left onto my street. I waited for traffic to slow on the eastbound side, then all of a sudden, there was a motorcycle cop on the eastbound side who stopped before my street and waved me to turn. So I did. Because, when a cop tells you to turn, you do. Although, I was mighty confused as to why he stopped in the middle of the road, in the left hand lane, and made me turn across traffic. But I did it. As it turns out, he also turned and put his lights on. I live about 4 houses in from MLK, and so by the time I realized what was happening, I was pulled into my driveway. The motorcycle cop right behind me. What? Had he pulled me over? From the other side of the street? Going the opposite direction? on a motorcycle? In my driveway?! Turns out, he had. He says I was speeding, in a school zone. Which, I was in a school zone. He "clocked" me at 30 mph. The normal speed limit is 35, the school zone limit is 20. The school zone starts one street west of my own, so I had been in that school zone for all of 20 feet (ok, 302 feet according to google maps). In that span I came to a complete stop (to make my left hand turn) and the cop was equally as far away going the opposite direction. I'm unsure HOW this happened. But, I am not one to question authority, so I just sat there. In my own driveway, while he wrote a HEFTY ticket for going 10 miles over the speed limit IN A SCHOOL ZONE. <div><br /></div><div>In TX, you can opt out of one ticket per year by taking a Defensive Drivers Training. You have to pay something like $130 to the court for this option, but then it won't get reported to insurance. The $130 was cheaper than the price of the ticket, and avoids all the increases in insurance premiums. So, I opted for that. In order to request this option you need to mail the court a copy of your insurance card, a copy of your license and a notarized form from the ticket. This all happened right before I was to leave for RI for Christmas, so the day before I left I decided to make copies, find a notary, and send this sucker off. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was given a speeding ticket in my driveway, this next bit was infuriating.</div><div><br /></div><div>I headed off to school to make my photocopies, and find a notary. I started with the notary. There are supposedly 3 in the bulding next door to ours. Turns out, each office sent me to one of the other offices, because no one actually had a notary. Then finally one lady just recommended I go to a bank. Turns out, I'm wasn't at a bank, I was on the University of Texas campus, where there are supposedly 100+ notaries. But, she suggested I just try a bank. This ordeal had wasted about an hour, and it was lunch time, so I quickly made a copy of my license, my insurance card, and went off to meet a friend for lunch. After lunch I made a quick stop at the grocery store on my way to the bank. At the grocery store I needed to return some items (I know, I know, who returns things to the grocery store....) and they needed to see my license. My license. That I just photocopied. I couldn't find it ANYWHERE. Panic set in, because I was getting on a plane at 6 the next morning, and while I had a passport, that wouldn't do any good for all the driving I was planning to do on my visit home. I searched everywhere - my backpack, my car, my office, the copy machine, the place I ate lunch, the various offices without notaries. Nothing. Anywhere. In my search though, I did find an insurance card in my backpack that had the correct date on it, which made me wonder about the card I had photocopied and returned safely to my glovebox. Yes, expired. So here it is, I have been given a ticket in my driveway. I have a photocopy of a license that has been lost, a photocopy of an insurance card that is expired, and no notary. It's closing in on 2:30, and I have a flight in 18 hours. I'll save the goory details of having to go to two different DMVs, and stopping at a bank on the way because the DMV only takes cash - a bank that probably had a notary, but I was there without my things that needed notarizing. I'll also save you from the conversation I had with my mother who suggested I "be sure not to lose my passport too", as I didn't find her suggestion very humorous at the time. And I will conclude this portion of the tale by saying I received a new temporary license at 4:15pm, 15 minutes before the DMV closed, and my photo resembles a raging lunatic. Seriously.</div><div><br /></div><div>At about 5pm, I returned home and began packing for Christmas. I was sure to bring my temporary license, a copy of my unexpired insurance card, the thing to be notarized, and the court address, and once in RI I would find a notary and mail this all out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Turns out, the court was expecting a check in there too. Who knew? I thought I paid that fee when I enrolled in defensive driving. But, no. I returned from Christmas to a letter from the court. It contained everything I sent them, and indicated I was missing a check. I was to write them a check, and send everything back to them. So I did that. And they received it on January 24th. At which point the clock starts. Ninety-days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly thereafter, a little thing called my dissertation took over my brain. And I had forgotten all about this ticket. It was in the back of my mind, a looming "to-do" list item. But, certainly not dire. I had 90 days. An eternity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except January flew by, and February came and went, and then March started slipping away. I lost sight of the timeline of anything but my latest dissertation draft. When all of a sudden, another happy notice appeared. Reminding me of my need to take and pass Defensive Driving. Failure to do so by April 24th could result in a warrant for my arrest. (over a SPEEDING TICKET, where I was going THIRTY miles an hour IN MY DRIVEWAY!) I giggled at the date. They could issue a warrant for my arrest on April 25th, if they didn't receive things by the 24th. April 25th, the day of my dissertation defense. Coincidence?!</div><div><br /></div><div>So, naturally, I waited some more before taking the course. Because that dissertation draft was due soon, and I just needed to get this one more thing done. Finally, one Friday I sat down to start the online course, and they promised I would receive my certificate of completion within 20 days of passing the course. TWENTY DAYS? I'd left myself little over two weeks to get it all in to the court. So I sat through 6 grueling hours of boring drivers tips, and passed the final exam with a score of 100%. Here they promised to send it in the mail the following business day, and promised it would arrive in 20 days. Now, I know the mail in Austin isn't that slow, so I hoped it would arrive in time. </div><div><br /></div><div>It arrived, and with a sigh of relief I went through the last hoop - ordering a driving record from the DoT. Which, oh Christ, could take up to TWO WEEKS to be delivered. At about this point in this whole ordeal I became angry. Angry at that stupid cop, angry at the school zone, angry at my misplaced license, angry at my angry new license picture, angry at the fees, angry at the boring drivers course, angry at this stupid driving record. Never once though, was I angry at myself for putting it off so damn long. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was able to print out an official driving record, and I had everything ready to go. Except that, it was now one week before the deadline of April 24th. and dropping this silently into the mail seemed...irresponsible. What if it got lost, what if I never knew it was delivered, what if they showed up the morning of my defense to take me away in handcuffs? Would they at least sit there and wait for me to finish, so I could get charged as Dr. Jennifer "speeds in school zones" Pacheco? Because, if I need a criminal record for speeding into my driveway, I sure as hell want Ph.D. to follow my name.</div><div><br /></div><div>I waited patiently until the post office was opened, and I mailed it certified mail. Which left me with a receipt of post-mark, and would give me delivery confirmation. Confirmation which I got this morning, April 21st. I will not be hauled away in cuffs from my defense. But, really, I kinda cut that one a little close.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sadly, I think the moral of this story is - learn to question authority. Also, when stopping at a traffic light stop far enough away from the car in front of you so that you can see their tires connecting with the ground. According to the defensive driver's training, this leaves you with adequate space to maneuver around them if you'd like to change lanes at the last second!</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-22625916945837212092011-04-01T09:37:00.006-05:002011-04-01T10:32:27.861-05:00what to expect when you're dissertatingI've had a few friends who have had babies, I've babysat for babies, I know enough about babies to know that most people really like <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Expect-When-Youre-Expecting/dp/0761148574">this book</a>. Now, I don't know if the What To Expect people have already written a book about dissertating, because frankly I didn't even consider googling that until this very moment. But, for the sake of this blog post, let's assume they haven't!<div><br /></div><div>Someone should write the book What To Expect When You're Dissertating, because really, there are things I would have liked to have known. And, having never had a baby myself, there are things I suspect are very similar to being pregnant. Let's discuss.</div><div><br /></div><div>The things I got used to months ago:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Dissertation brain </b>- I have no ability to maintain a coherent thought outside of science. I frequently send a very similar email twice, sometimes three times, having forgotten I already sent it. I agree to things, and then instantly forget I've agreed to them (this is how I managed to be signed up for a road race I didn't really know about for a few weeks). It sounds just like bad memory, but as a memory expert I can say it's worse than that. Like the time I tried (several times in a row) to gain access to my car by flashing my school ID in the air near the door. Turns out, that move only really works at the building card-readers. Or that time that I drove a car full of prospective psychology students to my house instead of to their hotel. Luckily, they had no idea, being that none of them are from Austin! </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Snackies</b> - Frequently I miss lunch. Or dinner. It depends where and when I've become productive that day. And I find myself snacking, almost constantly, on ridiculously terrible snacks. Yesterday morning I think my breakfast was a poptart and a coke zero, and I think that's the healthiest I've been all week! I reached an all time low when I realized the fridge in my office had more food than my house, and I should stay here longer because I could eat a bagel for dinner rather than go home where I'd be forced to eat ice cream. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>One Track Mind</b> - When I do venture out and attempt participation in social events, everyone had better be ready to discuss one thing and one thing only. My dissertation. I am constantly updating people on the thing, how long it is, how many chapters are done, what the new title is, how many appendices it has at the moment, the latest comments I received on it, what my plan is for progress in the next day/week/month. I hear myself doing it, and I can't stop. There is nothing else in my mind to discuss, and I can't imagine that this isn't on the forefront of everyone's mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are the things I am still not used to:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Cleanliness, what's that?!</b> - On a normal morning I do a few things regularly. I make my bed, I close my closet doors, and I generally make sure there aren't shoes and other crap strewn about my floor. I don't think my bed as been made in over a month. At the moment, in fact, I am sure that the comforter is balled up at the foot of the bed, and I'd be lucky if 2 of the 4 pillows were even at the head half of the bed. A purple rubbermaid bin of sweaters has been perched beside my bed for 5 weeks now, and I have a pile of dirty laundry exploding out of my closet so badly that I can't close the closet doors if I wanted to. But, that doesn't mean to indicate I've even tried doing so. I consider it a win when I get myself into the shower on an every-other-day schedule. And luckily, I don't have dishes to do because as I mentioned, I'm not really eating meals.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Holy Nightmares, Batman!</b> - These have really done me in. I've had some doozies, and they range from <i>terrifying</i>: One involved me visiting my parents in Rhode Island, but we had to flee the state because people were lighting it on fire, and we were scurrying out past burning buildings, burning people, and lots of terrible devastation. To <i>hilarious</i>: One showcased a CEO of the Nike company who got very angry with a labmate of mine for enrolling him in a study that he didn't want to be in. I jumped in to help her out and he began yelling at me. At this point the very large angry CEO of Nike ripped my red external hard drive (with my dissertation data) from the computer, claiming the data now belonged to him. I've never been as strong or as mean as I was when I beat that guy to the ground to get my hard drive back! To <i>absolutely insane</i>: Last night all my friends that were in my dream were enormously obese. But, not like enormously obese versions of themselves. Just random, obese people. Everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Sniffle, Sniffle</b> - Is it cliche to say I'm more emotional? Perhaps. But it's not just that, it's not an overall emotionality, but rather completely irrational reactions to things. Sometimes, I'm just fine. But then sometimes, I might get stuck watching a show on lifetime about soldiers coming home to their families, and I might cry for an hour straight. I might cry so much that at the end of the hour I've got to change my t-shirt and towel off my stomach because it's covered in tears. maybe. There was also a time when I was watching Toddlers and Tiaras at 3 in the morning and listening to some wretched woman talk about entering her 2-year-old into a pageant because it was about time she learn how to be beautiful and a good wife. Normal people might react with rage towards that lady, I on the other hand found myself angry with my own mother for a moment. Why hadn't she taught me these things at the age of 2, because then maybe I wouldn't be lying awake at 3am watching toddlers and tiaras while stewing over my dissertation. Turns out, after a little sleep, I'm happy to not have been in pageants at the age of 2, Mom. So, thank you!</div><div><br /></div><div>The good news is, one week from today that thing will be written and turned in. And I will probably forget about all the pain and suffering and whining and complaining I've done, as I look proudly down at my beautiful dissertation. All 124 pages of glory. Complete with 13 figures, 6 tables, and 4 Appendices. "Characterizing the age-related change of memory monitoring: Neuroimaging and genetic approaches" has never rolled off the tongue quite as sweetly as it will next week. </div><div><br /></div><div>And after a (hopefully extensive) nap, I will be sending out a slew of Thank You cards, sent to all of you who have patiently listened to my endless whining, dramatic story telling, crying threats of quitting all together, and all the other ridiculous nonsense that has gone on. Really, I had no idea this would happen.</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-16592997462317904702010-08-24T22:38:00.003-05:002010-08-24T22:52:36.151-05:00odds and answers<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><div>There is a vending machine in the building that I work in. It has a few different soda options, but the ones I would choose are Diet Coke and Diet Dr Pepper. It's a known fact that sometimes when you select a Diet Dr Pepper the machine will accidentally dispense 2 cans. Better, sometimes it returns one extra quarter in change. It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens frequently. Enough so that it is obviously the only legitimate choice when buying a soda. At worst you spend 75 cents and get one can of Diet Dr Pepper. At best you spend 50 cents and get two cans of Diet Dr Pepper. An intermediate case you spend 75 cents and get two cans of Diet Dr Pepper. Just the possibility of either of these latter two occurrences makes it the clear choice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until three weeks ago. I put in my 75 cents, selected a Diet Dr Pepper and was given one can of <i>regular</i> Dr Pepper. To me, this is useless. I will not drink that can of soda. So I've lost 75 cents and gained nothing. I thought this was a fluke. It has happened a few times since then, although not every time - I have successfully gotten a Diet Dr Pepper once or twice.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now, if you select a Diet Dr Pepper the odds have changed. At worst, you spend 75 cents and get two regular Dr Peppers (I have no reason to believe that this characteristic has been rectified). An intermediate is that you spend 75 cents and get only one regular Dr Pepper. But, at best, you could spend 50 cents and get two Diet Dr Peppers. The new options seem endless. You could also spend 50 cents and get one Diet Dr Pepper and one regular Dr Pepper. Or maybe you spend 75 cents and get one Diet Dr Pepper. </div><div><br /></div><div>Alternatively, if you spend 75 cents and select Diet Coke. You will get one Diet Coke. No better. No worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>The conundrum now is - which is the best selection? Diet Coke, where you know what you spend and what you get, or Diet Dr Pepper. The worst case is pretty bad, but the best case is pretty good. And some of the intermediates break out even. I stood there one day, trying to work out my odds, and the cost/benefit ratios and what my actual best choice would be. I promptly returned to my office, filled a glass with water from the bubbler and decided that I should put forth this much careful thought towards my dissertation project. May 2011 is rapidly approaching.</div><div><br /></div></span>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-15590679980658774162010-08-24T22:29:00.000-05:002010-08-24T22:30:38.351-05:00toothpaste obsessionI tend to like things that are logical and efficient. I tend to be a little OCD about things. These are traits that, I'm assured, are what make me an ideal PhD candidate. Apparently people with these desires are the types of people to subject themselves to a lifestyle like the one I'm in right now. And it's probably true. I see these things becoming more...problematic. Some of them are beneficial. I think my mom would be proud to hear that I make my bed completely every single morning. It is, in fact, the first thing I do before even leaving my room to go to the bathroom in the morning.<div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, it's just a little strange. I've developed what I consider the "right way" to do things, because at some point it seemed more effective than some alternative. Currently, when I open a can of cat food I have a particular method. I use a fork or spoon and cut the mound of food in half (because Mia gets half a can), and I put half in her bowl. I use the spoon (or fork) to 'mix-up' the food, to make it not shaped like a can, combine in some of the gravy and juices, and make it look more appetizing. I then use the spoon to do the same thing with the half left in the can before I cover it and put it in the fridge. My logic is that it is easier to accurately divide the food in half before it is all mixed up, but that Mia will enjoy it more mixed, and that it will survive one day in the fridge better all mixed up. I watched my roommate feed her once, and neither her half nor the fridge half was mixed. Clearly, Mia lived to tell the story about it. But, I didn't quite make it - as I definitely went immediately to the fridge and mixed up the half that was left in the can.<br /><br />Which brings me to toothpaste.<br /><br />I squeeze my toothpaste from the bottom, to the top. I don't know when this started, but I do it.<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-Wf6Cx5cttMRs39QIjRCDunz9hYxgwhyynYharr5l_mBh086JLaToEEGhO59LtzCX-j13ZUooKZxOIyIcR9rXAOClXQ2X4N62CCmBnFDh-8Wt__9hL_YXSqBY-YHtZUwSOfk/s200/image.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509181218329186114" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div>And I don't think about it. It's just the right way. If you squeeze from the middle it sends toothpaste to the back and corners of the tube. This means you may have difficulty getting every last drop of toothpaste from the tube. Also, if you are going to try and get every last drop, you're going to waste a lot of time re-squeezing the tube from the bottom anyway. So why not just do it right the first time? I mean, right? This makes perfect sense to me. So much so, I'm more than willing to say this is the correct way to do it. I don't care whether your toilet paper comes over the top or under the bottom of the roll - but, the toothpaste, squeeze that from the bottom everytime.</div><div><br /></div><div>In December I realized that this obsession is further reaching than I originally realized. I was home for Christmas and I spent some time visiting a few friends, in total I stayed over at 3 different friends' houses. In each house, I had my own tube of small travel toothpaste (also properly squeezed), and was not borrowing anyone's toothpaste - but I found myself seeing squeezed-from-the-middle tubes of toothpaste in my friends' bathrooms, picking them up, and squeezing them properly from the end of the tube. Leaving behind a clean, organized, efficient tube of toothpaste.</div><div><br />Last week, one of my roommates had a friend in town visiting. One morning I opened the bathroom cabinet to grab my toothpaste. And here's what I found:</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU0J_pNrXNBXcPhirOjYU4W1IsMNaEFOfYxJCRqFi1aAovZqbzLDU1bNDqu_lh1nQfUK3PZGl0zBNVsAPwNtDX7fS1YFyvuP2kOBXWqZ4CobWvizE7i5UlIMA5Ojh0oObMZiu/s200/image+(1).jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509181600619641618" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly, someone has been using my toothpaste. Annoyance consumed me. I wasn't annoyed that someone used my toothpaste, without asking at that, I was annoyed that someone squeezed it from the middle - clearly the less efficient way. I was more annoyed that someone used my tube of toothpaste in a manner that clearly went against the way I used it. So, I spent some time properly re-squeezing it. The next morning, same thing. I was so frustrated - if I hadn't caught this error, precious drops of toothpaste could be lost, and precious time wasted re-squeezing unnecessarily.</div><div><br /></div><div>It struck me, perhaps my Boston friends have some desire to improperly squeeze their toothpaste. Perhaps they have a reason to squeeze from the middle. Perhaps I was in the wrong by trying to re-squeeze their toothpaste. Perhaps I ruined someone's morning when they reached up and found their messily middle-squeezed toothpaste ruined with an orderly end-squeeze. For this, my dear friends, I apologize. I apologize for trying to impose my squeezing technique on your tubes. But, come on, it's clearly the right way to do it. For the toothpastes sake!</div></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-57541158446787559162010-07-29T22:37:00.008-05:002010-08-03T07:34:39.898-05:00fortunateMost of my most avid readers (all....3 of you?) already know the main events of the past few days. But, it's time that the full story be released. The ending is a happy one, but the 2 days leading up to it were some of the worst I've experienced in a long time.<br /><br />Our story starts on Sunday morning. Well, in fact, I guess the story starts nearly nine years ago in October of 2001, when I first met a certain teeny tiny kitty. These past few days <img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/4837760420_fe1eae0a30_m.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" border="0" alt="" />I've become really aware of everything that the two of us have been through. It's fun to count the states, schools, apartments, roommates we've shared. But more importantly are the life events. She's been with me through my graduation from college, when I was scared to enter the "real world" (little did Iknow that 8 years later and I'd still have never entered it!). She was there when my college boyfriend and I broke up and I didn't leave the house for 2 weeks. She was there when I started working in Boston and hated it. She was there when I fell in love with working in Boston. She was there when I tearfully packed up my life and moved to Texas for graduate school. She was there through Bentley, and Princess. She was there when my grandmother died. She was always there. For nine years, perhaps my most consistent friend has been Mia.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Her Escape</span><br />Sunday morning I woke up late. My first thought was, "wow Mia, thank you!" because normally she's whining for breakfast much earlier than that. When I emerged from my room I noticed that RO'D's bedroom door was slightly ajar, but it's normally been closed since he's gone this month. I went in there to scold Mia - she loves being in his room, but also loves hacking up hairballs in there. Needless to say RO'D is less than a fan of the latter. When I went in, I saw that the back door to the outside was wide open. Panic set in instantly, but I didn't know why right away. Where was Mia? Did someone break in? Was someone still in Ryan's room? Without thinking I took off into the back yard, hoping to see Mia, if she was there. With no immediate sign of her, I went back in to ask C-dogg when she last went out there (and to assess the possibility of a stranger having been or still being in our house). Saturday afternoon was her answer. We were on the move - searched the house for Mia, and then hit the outdoors. We roamed through the yard, and took of in opposite directions around the neighborhood. It was on my second lap, when I started to think about the last time I saw Mia (Saturday night around 8pm) panic really set in. Panic, but not logic. I had no idea what to do.<div><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Our Search</span><br />Back inside, we made the dining room table our operation central. After a quick facebook post - mostly asking for advice on what to do - I googled "what to do when you lose your cat", and read a few things. C-dogg and I headed out again, this time with proper shoes, contacts in, and other under garment necessities. Still, nothing. Back to operations central, I was faced with the task of making a flyer. This nearly killed me - describing Mia to make signs to post about her being gone.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4121/4829811722_44087f1732_m.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 240px;" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4121/4829811722_44087f1732_m.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>In retrospect, these first searches were crap. We barely looked anywhere - we just walked. I roamed. I was so unsure of what to do. After a small break, to get myself together, we had a plan. We posted the flyers directly on the doors of surrounding houses. Then we hit nearby hot spots - major intersections, bus stops, coffee shops and churches. Further internet reading let me know that we really needed to scour every hiding spot, as Mia was likely hiding scared and would not answer our calls. This is when I realized, our neighborhood is a cat HEAVEN. Every yard has a shed, with space under it. Every foundation has a hole to under the house. Every backyard is a veritable old car grave yard. Perfect for your freaked out kitty - horrid for her freaked out owner.<br /><br />That afternoon, we checked under sheds, in bushes, under cars, through fences, and under houses. Then I called animal control. They told me which animal shelter stray cats are directed to, and I went down there to talk to them. It was about this time that the skies opened up for the first time - pouring rain, thunder and lightning. At first I was sad for Mia, how scary. But shortly there after I was very glad for the rain. It meant she was getting water - which was a big concern to me. Sunday was hot. I got a pretty painful sunburn from 4 hours of searching for Mia. </div><div><br /></div><div>The internets also told us to surround the house with her scent, and with our scent, to entice her back. We put one of her blankets and a toy on the back porch, along with a bowl of food. We put her litter box and another bowl of food on the front porch. We then hung up some of my dirty smelly unwashed running clothes at both the back and front of the house. So yes, our house smelled great!!<br /><br />After dark, we went out on another Mia search, armed with flashlights. Everyone told me she'd be likely to come out at night - and the flashlights could catch her eyes. On this, and subsequent searches, we located every stray in the neighborhood - something like 11 different cats were found. 11 non-Mia cats. Sunday night I was beside myself. What if she never came back? Where was she? Was she hurt? Was she nearby? How would she find us? We decided to leave the back door ajar, and I slept in RO'D's room. Just in case. Sleep is a loose term - there wasn't much of it. As cliche as it sounds, everytime I closed my eyes I saw her. And I'd get up and look out the back door. How was I supposed to sleep with Mia out there somewhere? It was the worst.<br />Monday morning, C-Dogg and I did a morning hunt. This time I wore what would become my Mia-Huntin' Outfit. Black and white baseball socks pulled up to my knees, a pirate bandana, carrying a towel and a flashlight. The towel allowed us to lay down on the ground and really get under everything. We went around back, through neighboring yards, and around the block. Searching as best we could every hiding spot. During one search a friend and I carried chairs around, this allowed me to easily hop over every fence in the neighborhood. We'd drop one chair over the fence, and I could leap from chair to chair. These searches took about 40 minutes for each loop, and I was going about 4 times a day. In between I was trying to hold it together, but would lose it for about 2 hours after each search. Where was she? Was she alive? Was she hurt? Was she scared? Was she close? Could she see me?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Her Return</b></div><div>Monday evening had me feeling pretty hopeless. I was happy for everyone's concern and help, but if one more person asked me "are you sure she is not in the house?" I was seriously going to lose it. I appreciate the helplessness most of my friends felt, but yes - 2 days later and I was sure she was not in the house. </div><div><br /></div><div>I sat in the living room Monday night, doing work, watching tv, until about 11pm. At that point I headed back into RO'Ds room. I went back out into the living room to grab my computer power cord, which is when it happened. The motion sensor light on the porch turned on. It ALWAYS turns on. Every car that drives down the street turns it on. But, there was no car. It was like a spot light on a dark fluffy tail. A dark fluffy tail that was very close to Mia's litter box. Again, cliche, I know, I just KNEW it was her, and I was overcome with such excitement that I threw open the door and gasped, MIA? And whatever it was, was gone. Off faster than a bolt of lightning, into the darkness. I ran to RO'Ds to get my flashlight (yes, I was sleeping with my flashlight), and ran back out the frontdoor. This commotion had C-dogg up, and we were both out looking and calling for Mia. Here's where I lost it. I just began crying so hard. I wasn't even sure if it was her, but it felt like her. And here I had scared her away. I'm such an IDIOT. C-dogg had a different perspective. It was likely her - the strays do not come on our porch, nor would they go near her litter box. Which meant, she was close, and wanting to come back. She assured me she would be back and we should wait some more.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was now that I assumed my "father of a teenage daughter" position. I opened the front door, I turned off every light, and I turned the chair around to face the front door and window. And I sat there. Starring out the window, clutching my flashlight.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's then that I heard the most horrendous cat fight I'd ever heard. Screw you strays, do not even think about touching my Mia. I was out the door and running down the street, 11:30pm, barefoot, with a flashlight. About 5 houses down I found the cats making the noise. Two cats, up a tree in someones front yard, fighting. Neither of them Mia. Damnit. I took off running home, as I had left my post and was sure to have missed her.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back in my chair, I waited. And then. There she was. I saw all of her, in the light of the porch, she was there. I was slow, I was quiet. I made my way to the door encouraging her "Mia, come in Mia". By the time I'd made it to the door to look out on the porch, she was gone! And, of course, I hadn't seen where she'd gone. I bust into C-Dogg's room screaming "SHE'S NOT DEAD!" And I cried all over again. This was it, she was close. We looked again, but dang if Mia is not a persistent hider. C-dogg suggested that we try to wait again, and the next time she was on the porch I should text message C-dogg, who would go out the back door and come around front. I was to watch Mia. </div><div><br /></div><div>Come on Mia, what do you want, a signed invitation, GET INSIDE THIS HOUSE!</div><div><br /></div><div>So I sat, my finger on the "send" button with a text to C-dogg. When I hear C-dogg herself saying "she's at the back door". The wha? She's...huh...the back door? I go into RO'Ds room, and the back door is wide open, and C-dogg is about 7 feet from it saying "Mia, come home Mia" and I'm thinking, is it her? Is she there? Is C-dogg just being hopeful? But I get the sense that something very important is happening. So, I crawl around the corner of RO'Ds bed, and I see her. She's in the doorway. She's moving slowly, looking all around. So now I start too, "Mia, come here Mia!" but, quiet. And gentle. and slow. She's inching in, and I'm using every ounce of my concentration to not move towards her. She clears the door, but isn't close enough to grab yet. C-dogg reaches over the bed and slowly, quietly shuts the door behind Mia. </div><div>WHOA-MAMA, this sets Mia off. She's off on a full sprint, out of RO'Ds room, down the hallway, headed straight for the....</div><div><br /></div><div>OPEN FRONT DOOR.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm consumed with two thoughts: 1.) do not freak her out. 2.) do not let her out of the house. Thankfully the second one wins, as I take off after her, scream MIA!!! NO!!! Leap over her, and body slam the door shut.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mia flattens herself against the ground and hisses at me. At this point, C-dogg and I collapse onto the ground, and I cry my eyes out again. We instantly got her food, but she brushed past it, walking through the house, rubbing up on everything, and finding every plastic bag she could to lick. The we both sat in the middle of the house, mostly unable to let her out of our sight. She seemed dirty, but healthy.<br /><br />She and I slept<img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4106/4838583909_c10c149b8d_m.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 177px;" border="0" alt="" /><div>in my bed that night, and I've never been more happy. A quick trip to the vet in the morning confirmed that she is a-ok, and then the groomer made her clean - and furless. She was covered in so many burrs and twigs that it was just better to shave her fur all off.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since then, she'll stare out at</div><div>the back yard - now called AdventureLand - and I ask her, "where were you Mia?" But she still hasn't told me.</div><div><br /><br /></div><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4107/4838583267_47b46ca6b3_m.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" border="0" alt="" /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>oh, and now, she wears a collar.</div><div><br /></div></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-43248222645968481672010-07-01T09:18:00.001-05:002010-07-02T08:56:08.368-05:00thirty downThirty years ago today my mom woke up, looked at her very pregnant belly and told me that if I wasn't going to come out today I could just stay there forever. Afterall, I was already 2 weeks late, it was a heat wave, and she was pretty much done with being pregnant. And I could tell she was serious. A few short hours later, I was born - and the world was never the same!<div><br /></div><div>It seems that not everyone has the same feeling of pure joy over birthdays that I do. But, birthdays are among my favorite things. My birthday, your birthday, anyone's birthday! I love celebrating them, I love making them important. Perhaps it's because my parents spent a lifetime of making me feel like my birthday was such an important day. <br /></div><div>I've had a series of fabulous birthdays. I remember my 4th birthday, the Inside Out Backwards birthday, where all my friends had to wear their clothes inside out and backwards. Kermit the Frog was at that birthday too. I remember one year when my mom made a barbie birthday cake for me, where the skirt was the cake, and the doll body and head was stuck into the top. I remember my 10th birthday, celebrated on our boat in Watch Hill, RI. I was very excited to be turning a double-digit age. And I remember they bought and wrapped TEN presents. I also remember thinking, man one day I'll CLEAN UP! You know, like when I turn 17. SEVENTEEN PRESENTS! Sadly, wee Jenni, it doesn't always go that way. I also remember a different boat birthday when mom made a cake that had chocolate chip icing and was maybe decorated with twizzlers. I think in the past I've made mention of this cake, and there has been some contention about whether it existed. I remember it though, in the harbor of Oak Bluffs, Martha's Vineyard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then there was my 18th birthday, where they pulled off the one and only surprise party I've ever had. And, I almost ruined that one - remember, Mom? I was so angry that Andrew wasn't answering the phone and was going to ditch me for birthday dessert that I refused to waste more time to use the bathroom at Memere's. So when we arrived back home and Andrew and all my other friends were hiding in the kitchen to jump out at me I had to run immediately to the bathroom to pee! </div><div><br /></div><div>I kept the traditions going with a 25th birthday trip to Martha's Vineyard for the day, and a 24th birthday in NYC with tickets to a Red Sox/Yankees game. Not just any game either, the one where Nomar threw a fit and wouldn't play, Pedro was pitching, and Jeter dove into the stands after a foul ball and busted his face. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, 30 is no different. Sure, there were small moments of "OH MY GOD, what am I doing with my life?" but those passed quickly. In reality, I'm a very lucky and fortunate girl. The first 30 years of my life have been full of unconditional love, unfaltering support, and faultless guidance from two of the best parents I've ever met. And while I suppose I can no longer blame them for any of my problems, as at 30 my life is certainly my own to mess up and has been for a while - I think we all know that they are there behind all of my successes, cheering me on, leading by example. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for always making me feel like I was something important! I'm excited to see what I can manage to do with the next 30 years!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-60042915463748434472010-06-21T10:25:00.007-05:002010-06-21T10:34:09.935-05:00For M, From MMia wants to send a very special message to one Maija Hevelone. <a href="http://www.hevelonian.com/tag/goondog/">Happiest of birthdays Maija</a>, hope you did something special!<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/with-an-eye/4721353252/" title="Maija ale by with an eye, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1217/4721353252_d8ace7fc2a_m.jpg" width="180" height="240" alt="Maija ale" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/with-an-eye/3656570545/" title="June 8th, commemorator by with an eye, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2478/3656570545_e054191328_m.jpg" width="180" height="240" alt="June 8th, commemorator" /></a>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-62315753660303973302010-06-17T13:17:00.003-05:002010-06-17T13:26:57.311-05:00Good KittehLast we left Mia, she was struggling through some bad behavior. She had peed twice outside the litter box. My yelling seemed to do the trick, as she made it to the litter box the next time. However, even after her return to the litter box, she managed to poo NOT IN THE LITTER BOX. Oh man, I was angry. I again treated her like a dog. There was a lot of yelling, and face smushing in (near...near! I'm not going to clean poop off my cat) the poop, and repeated times of putting her on the litter box. She'd also lost all bedroom privileges at that point. Bedroom privileges are like gold to her - it cuts out most of her window sills, and any view of the back yard, which is by far the most interesting yard too look at. It also cuts out her direct sunbeams for much of the day.<br /><br />It seemed that this worked, since she resumed peeing in the litter box. She peed 4 times in fact. Four times, and not one poo, anywhere. In order to entice her into the bathroom I sprinkled some catnip into the litter box. I was nervous. This was going to be the game-decider. If she used the litter box, we were still on. If she didn't - I was calling it quits. <br /><br />Last night, she decided to get back in line, and she used the bathroom appropriately. She was lavished with treats and praise. And we continue to practice Stage 1, hoping someday soon to move up in the world of Kitty Potty Training.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-52144098963808504202010-06-14T08:03:00.002-05:002010-06-14T08:09:39.084-05:00Bad KittehYesterday marked Day 8. The end of the week was similar to the beginning. She'd use the litter box in the early morning, things seemed ok. I was debating staying at stage 1 for another week, just so she could get used to it a bit better. But then, yesterday happened. It was monster cleaning day in our house, which always makes her a little skittish. She doesn't love when I'm in one room moving all the furniture around, so she travels through the house staying either ahead or behind me. She also hates the vacuum. When it was time to clean the bedroom she had been laying on this bag on my floor. She got up to run to another room, and there it was. She'd peed right on the bag. MIA! I was mad, so I treated her like a dog. I picked her up and yelled at her, I put her face in (ok, NEAR) the pee, and then I brought her right to her litter box. <div><br /></div><div>This morning, much like every morning, she's been whining. I sat with her, I petted her, I played with her, I talked to her. And how does she repay me?! She peed ON MY BED! My bed! Again, I scolded her. And then I immediately put my sheets in the washing machine. I quickly grabbed some baking soda and piled it on my mattress and began searching the internet for some cleaning tips. Wouldn't you know, baking soda is the first in most lists.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, I'm unsure of how to proceed. I'm supposed to be patient, right?! I'm supposed to give her a chance, right?! We'll see what the rest of this week brings. But two accidents in two days - this is not very Mia-like.</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-27024404903131062752010-06-09T13:35:00.006-05:002010-06-10T07:54:19.363-05:00Kitteh Potty Training - Stage 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs264.snc3/27841_1442637181313_1094602954_1294395_4033298_n.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 604px; height: 453px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs264.snc3/27841_1442637181313_1094602954_1294395_4033298_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><i>*Updated Daily</i><br /><div><br /></div><div>We opened up the CitiKitty and began our training on Sunday and not Friday. It seemed that Friday ended up not being the best night, and I was going to be gone all day on Saturday, that Sunday really worked ideally for our schedule.<div><br /></div><div>Stage 1 is to put the full liner into the toilet seat, full with litter, and let Mia get used to climbing up to the toilet to go. She can stand in the liner, it'll flex a little, but will support her. The flexing will encourage her to use the seat for balance. We are supposed to stay at this stage for a full accident free week, but I may modify this and stay at this stage until she's back to a somewhat regular usage. I fear that she may only go 3 times in this first week, and I'm not sure that's exactly enough to graduate to stage 2.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know everyone has been reminding me that we need lots of pictures, but I haven't yet actually caught her in the act. When I do, there will be pictures for sure. For now, all I can do is take pictures of the empty (or full, if you really want that) litter box. And we wait!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 1 (Sunday): </b>I was much more excited than she was as I filled the emptied the old litter box and put it away. I got out the CitiKitty, and placed in under the toilet seat. After filling it with litter, I quickly grabbed Mia and put her on it. You know, to show her. She leaped off pretty quickly. She spent the rest of the day not going anywhere near the bathroom. I decided, that was fine for day 1.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 2 (Monday): </b>Ugh, this morning Mia was WHINING. I mean, more than her normal whining. She was just roaming around the house whining. It was about 6am, so I moved from my bed out to the couch (because she seemed to prefer the living room) and I slept there for a bit to keep her company. I woke up on the couch at 7:30, and when I passed by the bathroom I realized that she had used the litter box. Yay for cat pee! I cleaned it out, and I showered her with treats - in the bathroom of course. And I felt proud of my talented kitty.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I returned home Monday evening, I was even more proud to find some cat poo in the toilet litter box as well! Nicely done, Mia, nicely done. We celebrated with more bathroom treats.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 3 (Tuesday):</b> Again, with the whining in the morning. I can be tolerant of this for a bit, because I've just totally rearranged her life, but she'll have to get used to it at some point. When I woke up, there was nothing in the litter box. I kept checking back frequently, and one time I went into the bathroom she was there - and bolted out. I noticed that she hadn't gone yet and began to feel guilty that I had interrupted. The guilt subsided as soon as I saw the wet spot on the bathroom rug. MIA! You peed on the rug?! I scolded her appropriately - which included yelling at her and putting her near her pee spot. And then I put her in her litter box. She was displeased, and I was off to do some laundry.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I guess we call that accident #1. Really, I'm pleased she picked the bathroom to have her accident in. I've been wondering if we'll need to search the whole house looking for these presents. I did not return the bath rug to the bathroom, hoping that with no soft surface to use, she will get back up on her litter box. When I returned home, nothing. I went out that night, and when I got back much later, still nothing.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 4 (Wednesday):</b> I woke up to a normal amount of whining, which just means "feed me", and decided to go check the bathroom situation at that point. Boy am I glad I did. She had used it - twice. And, as a good roommate, it needed to be cleaned immediately (so that the roommate wouldn't have to deal with this when she woke up to go to the bathroom). We again celebrated with bathroom treats, and I cleaned out the litter. We'll see what's waiting for me when I get home.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day 5 (Thursday): </b>My goodness, the whining. It's non-stop. I couldn't handle it so I went out to investigate around 6:15. She hadn't used the litter box since Wednesday morning. So, I joined her on the couch. When she's whiny like that, she really has no desire to come in to my room, and she seems quieter if I'm around. I had been on the couch for maybe 20 minutes when I heard a small scrambling in the bathroom - nothing major, but some litter being kicked around. I rushed in, and sure enough, she'd peed. She was being un-whiny, so I went back to bed. I think I heard her in there again, so I got up to check, and sure enough, she'd done the deed. </div><div><br /></div><div>I set out to clean the litter. Now, there is one thing I haven't been honest about - and that's her aim. It's not great. She's gotten poo both on the floor and on the toilet seat just about each time. So the litter cleaning routine goes something like - grab the paper towels, a sponge and lysol. Scoop poop and pee-litter into a small plastic bag, replace with some new litter. Disinfect the floor, and the toilet seat, and the sink. Throw the plastic bag and paper towels in the dumpster outside. This morning when I stepped out to throw the bag away, Mia poked her head out on the porch. I saw her looking around and wondered if she was thinking "Hey, there doesn't seem to be a litter box perched inside a toilet out here, maybe I should make a break for it."</div><div><br /></div><div>The aim, I expect, will get better. I've not yet SEEN her use the toilet, so I don't know how she stands on it, but as we remove rings from the inside, she'll be forced more to the outside. I think she'll get the hang of it. We're just in day 5, so I'm going to stick with it. I think she's doing great - but I know she's not loving it. Hopefully, in a few more days, she'll forget about the time she didn't have to jump up on the potty to go!</div></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-11510966651153353592010-06-03T08:42:00.002-05:002010-06-03T09:17:31.512-05:00everybody poopsAnd cats too! The thing is, with a cat, you've gotta do something about it. I'm getting tired of the litter box cycle. The constant scooping, and changing. The litter that gets out of the box, the smell (although, I seem to be immune to it my roommate seems to think it's unpleasant). Mia has always been a gem about the litter box - in the whole 8.5 years I've had her she's only not used the litter box twice. Once when she was 11 weeks old, and I moved it to a new location and forgot to show her where. She ended up peeing on the floor where the litter box used to be. (Sorry baby, you tried so hard!) The other time was when we were in DC, so she was about 1 and a half, and she was accidentally locked in my roommates room while we were all out for the night. Oops. Again, my fault.<div><br /></div><div>I've had conversations with fellow cat owners whose kittehs are pretty demanding over everything litter-box related. Some people have to scoop daily (or twice daily). Some people have to clean the thing completely once a week. Some people can not just up and change the type of litter without a protest. Others have to fear the vengeance of their bad kittehs, who will purposefully not use the litter box in protest of some other travesty. Not Miss Mia, she goes in that box no matter how full it is, how long since it's been cleaned completely, whether I've been home for 5 days straight or gone for a week. I can use a different type of litter everyday and she wouldn't care. I could move the litter box to a new location every hour and she'd find it and go. I'm lucky. We're lucky!</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/08/funny-pictures-cat-wonders-if-he-is-big-now.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 499px; height: 553px;" border="0" alt="" /></div><div>I'm about to push our luck. I've been thinking for a while how great it would be if Mia could use the toilet. No more smelly box, no more dirty litter. No more scooping, no more changing. Mia gets a bad rep as a mean cat - sometimes it prevents people from wanting to come take care of her. She's not mean, she's a big ol' fraidy cat - who has learned to hiss and swat to protect herself. That, and she's a touch moody! But, how wonderful would it be to cat sit a cat who doesn't need a litter box?!</div><div><br /></div><div>It arrived yesterday, our <a href="http://www.citikitty.com/">toilet training kit</a>. I've read through the directions. Basically you are at each step until you can make it through one week accident-free. In preparation, today I moved the litter box back in to the bathroom. Tomorrow night, I will set up the contraption. It's basically a pan that sits under the seat, and gets filled with some litter (and catnip if needed!). Roommate is out of town from Saturday to Tuesday, so this gives us a few days to experiment, and determine the extent of the "accidents". If she can master the litter pan on the toilet, then we start removing small pieces from the center - creating larger and larger openings. This will teach her to use the toilet seat to stand on.</div><div><br /></div><div>My predictions. If this doesn't work, it will be because she refuses to go to the bathroom at all. Also, I'm setting the over-under at 6 for the number of times we forget to remove the litter pan before peeing in the middle of the night. Place your bets.</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-5308269112771210572010-06-02T15:25:00.003-05:002010-06-02T15:56:21.728-05:00The great headphone debate<div>It seems like I go through <a href="http://yjp-likes.tumblr.com/post/650998514/these-sennheiser-headphones-seem-to-be-the-answer">headphones</a> faster than anything else. I haven't quite figured out what the problem is. One pair broke so that when I was running and it was windy the volume would oscillate with my stride, and the volume control didn't work to combat the problem. Eventually, the started doing that when it wasn't windy. The next pair broke pretty quickly, the wires frayed inside, or something, but the sound started getting crackly and then stopped working all together. I've had sets that just don't fit - they start to slide out when I get the tiniest bit sweaty. I've tried the over the ear ones, but those are even worse - it's really got to be earbuds for me. And then, we've got the problem with the cord. I like to run the cord down the back of my shirt, and directly into the pouch where the iPod lives. Sometimes if the cords are too short (or too long) they get all tangled around my running belt. Currently, I'm limping along with one pair - they fit ok, because they've got these foam covers around the earbuds that seem to keep them in place, no matter how much sweat. Unfortunately, those foam covers come off very easily. I've lost them about17 times, somehow I always manage to find it - sometimes days or weeks later. Without the foam, they don't fit or stay in at all. I've seen some posts for wireless headphones, that are bluetooth enabled, those seem sweet. But, perhaps impractical. At some point, I may decide to replace my lost iPod shuffle and bluetooth headphones would be useless.</div><div><br /></div><div>During Ragnar there was a discussion as to whether headphones were allowed or not. Most official marathons have taken to banning headphones, mostly because they could be dangerous if you can't hear what's going on around you. It's a rule I understand, but not one I love. I live for the music on my runs, and I'm not sure I'd enjoy it as much without the soundtrack going on in my ears. That said, some recent posts to the Ragnar facebook page indicate that, for Ragnar at least, <a href="http://www.safesoundsports.com/product.html">these guys</a> ARE acceptable. It's funny, when we started Ragnar, I wasn't wearing my headphones (there had been a headphone debacle, and I thought I forgot mine so a teammate lent me a pair. The pair I was using were the <a href="http://www.krunker.com/wp-content/audiotechnicaATHEQ77.jpg">big over your ear ones</a>, which I never did figure out how to wear, but before starting I had them just clipped to my tank top straps. Many people made comments about the "speakers", but I never really understand so I ignored them. I guess they thought I had a set of these already.) I wonder how these actually work. Will they aggravate everyone around you, or are they really "personal" speakers? However, they may be the answer to headphone bans!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-82419331949935643632010-05-21T06:04:00.010-05:002010-06-02T14:37:07.321-05:00Ragnar was a Norse god.Today's the day - some friends and I have been preparing (mentally, emotionally, and physically) for the craziest of races. It's a 12-person team, running 191.3 miles from New Haven, CT to Foxboro, MA. We run straight through the night, straight through the states, on to the end. This will be my attempt to bring you through it with us!<br /><br />3:45am - alarm goes off, I clocked a total of 2 hours of sleep, thanks to ongoing panic in my head!<br /><br />5:15am - van 1 has all it's passengers and is headed to new haven.<br /><br />7:38am - van 1 arrives in new haven to meet our other van and head to the start line.<br /><br />8:20am - one of the main things that kept me awake all night was this vision of our team showing up at the start line and being unable to check in. At this point, we're registered and have gone through our safety training, and we're waiting for our start time.<br /><br />8:53am - holy crap, I'm super scared.<br /><br />8:55am - Super. Scared.<br /><br />Sometime later - Live blogging this thing is not going to work at all. Stay tuned for a thrilling recap.<br /><br /><hr /><div><br /></div>It's now Thursday, a week after the Ragnar insanity started, and I wonder if I've still got some residual adrenaline coursing through my veins. This last week has been killer, physically and emotionally, and is truly something I will never forget. <div><br /></div><div>We arrived at the start line a wee-bit frazzled (ok, maybe I was the only frazzled one) I had been up the entire night before with visions of our team being unable to start - maybe we showed up late, maybe we forgot to register, maybe we didn't have all the things we needed to have, maybe our vans broke down, whatever it was, I was positive we'd have trouble. And as one of two coordinators, it would be my fault. This was all for naught. We checked in, underwent safety training, and then had about 20 minutes to kick around the start line extravaganza before we start. START. Oh my gosh, did I get nervous. I love the starts of races, they are probably what keep me going back for more - it's so exciting. This one seemed just terrifying. After much hoopla, I was off. It was probably about 6 minutes later that I realized I was running. It was terribly hot, much hotter than I expected. I was also having some technical difficulties - problems with headphones, sunglasses, my running belt. Nothing felt right. Nothing was the way it normally is when I run. I can't quite place it, but being that I'm something of a mental-case, I think my head just wasn't in it yet. After about 12 minutes of running I'd managed to separate myself from the pack (read: I was at the end!). I pushed through, but mentally I felt defeated. What's worse, this was the teams first of thirty-six legs, and the first of my 3. I was supposed to feel the best during this one. I was supposed to turn it on, start us off well. My initial 3.8 mile leg felt horrendous. When I finally arrived at the exchange point I felt embarrassed. I was ashamed to see my team, wondering if they were ready to ask me to leave and replace me with whatever rando they could find along the course. I couldn't have been more wrong - the 6 other people in my van could not have been more supportive and enthusiastic. They were waiting for me with cheers and shouts and excitement. They had water for me, and had decorated the van while I was running. They were amazing. Their enthusiasm carried on through the next 5 legs, while each runner battled the grueling hot sun, and we drank more water and G2 than I thought possible.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had some time to kill while van 2 started their runs, so we set off to find some food. This proved much more difficult than anyone thought, and by the time we'd found something acceptable everyone was pretty much done with being inside the van. We headed to the next major exchange to relax for a bit. There was a large grassy area along side a river, and we (attempted) to sleep there. I think everyone else got a little rest, but I was again restless. Being the first runner in the van proved stressful. I had to rely on the other van getting me the message that I should prepare to start - and I was nervous about that. I know in our van I was never really focused on the other van and when they might need to start. I couldn't have blamed van 2 if I wasn't foremost in their thoughts. Between this, and my second leg being the most difficult of my set (questionably, the entire race...I mean, right?!), I spent a lot of time trying to get my head in the game. I think it worked. This leg was pretty awesome. I'm not sure whether it was <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nananio/4631987518/in/set-72157623980185617/">the bridge where I almost lost my life 3 times</a>, the wonderful people seated at an outside restaurant who cheered me along, the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nananio/4631988780/in/set-72157623980185617/">video camera I had strapped to my head</a>, or the <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nananio/4627377247/in/set-72157623980185617/">insanity of some major (MAJOR) hills</a>! This run was thrilling - if not difficult. Everyone that I met (who passed me) along the way was very encouraging, and generally stopped to chat for a bit. At the very end, when I was unsure if I could keep running, I met a friend. She and I ran together for a bit. But, I was slowing her down. I hurried her on her way, and promised I'd be right behind her. I was...behind...her. When I was in sight of the exchange, I decided I had some gas left. So I turned it on. I sprinted my way through the exchange, and enjoyed the cheers of everyone who was milling around there. Once I regained my sight, I spent the few minutes we could chatting with my dad - who was a wonderful volunteer at exchange 13. And then, we were off - to find Lisa's half way point.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our van was running a bit behind our projected schedule, and after Lisa the rest of the van ran through the dark - honestly, I felt a bit jealous because I was rather looking forward to a run through the darkness. I love the early morning summer runs we make where we start off in the dark. Things just seem more awesome. We stopped just past midnight, and were able to pull off into a high school parking lot for the evening. The 7 of us simply slept in the van, amidst other vans full of people. Once again, though, I found it near impossible to sleep. I was restful, if we can call it that - I lay there with my eyes closed, but could not drift off. I quit trying to sleep somewhere around 4am, and made more space for the teammates who were actually able to sleep. I quietly began getting myself dressed and ready to go - and then I got the text from Van 2, their last runner had started. I was ready for the last run, my legs felt ok, but I was nervous for the distance. Seven-and-a-half miles could get old pretty quickly. As I got ready I told our trusty driver to come meet me at the 2.5 mile mark, just to see how I was doing. I was up and out of the van before most people had woken up, and headed up to the exchange to wait. On the way there panic set in, I hadn't even GLANCED at the map for this leg. I had no idea, were there 17 turns, was it straight, was I going to get lost? In panic mode I stopped at another van who had an open window and asked to see their map - a quick peek and it seemed ok, but I was still rather nervous. When I saw John coming in down the driveway though, the good old adrenaline kicked in, and I was ready. A few minutes in and I realized this felt great - maybe the best run yet. I quickly shot off a text to the van telling them I was good, and to come by around 4 miles. This hopefully gave them a little more time to relax before hauling off to come find me. The run started just before 5am, which happens to be my prime running time. The weather was coolish - I was in long sleeves - and the streets were quiet and peaceful. It was really a lovely run. It warmed up quickly, and I ditched my long sleeves when I met up with the van at mile 4. The last half of the leg was through some heavily wooded neighborhoods and ended in a state park. When I finally arrived there, around 6:15 am, I decided that the last mile was really one mile too many - it felt like 4 miles. But, I was exstatic to be done. I completed my 3 legs, a total of 16.2 miles within 21 hours. Definitely the most running I've done in that time frame in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Van 1 finished strong, just as the heat of the day was setting in, and we were quickly off in search of a real restaurant with real food and real margaritas - we needed to replenish our salt afterall. We found a Chili's, and it seemed do-able for the group. It felt good to sit and eat, knowing there was no running coming up just around the corner. The food and margs did us all in though, as we collectively fell asleep on the grassy hill just outside the Chili's door - for nearly 2 hours. After a snooze, we picked up some pizza to go and cheer along Van 2, who were fighting with the heat and some gruelingly long legs!</div><div><br /></div><div>A slight set-back, our second to last runner was lost and went a few miles off course, and John was taking Sole Survivors into Foxboro for the last leg. We feared finishing DFL at this point, but knowing that our whole team was safe, and with only a few minor injuries - I felt relieved that we had made it. To me the end of the race was very anti-climatic, after months and months of preparation I couldn't believe it was just over.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, a week plus later, I really look back on that race as one of the best and most challenging experiences ever. It was an awesome group of people, who really came together and formed a supportive and fun team - when really, we were mostly strangers to each other. The physical challenges were not unbearable, and the satisfaction I feel with knowing we all made it has been great. I'm just hoping that next year's Ragnar does not coincide with the UT graduation as it did this year. I'll not be happy to have to choose one or the other (yes, I will choose graduation - much like a marathon, graduation will be like the finish line. I hope they'll have a tent with bananas!) Thanks, Sole Survivors, for such an amazing 2 days. I hope we can all run again somewhere sometime!</div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-45363307949458840792010-05-12T23:50:00.003-05:002010-05-13T12:55:21.313-05:00Funny the way it isLast night as I was changing into some running clothes, I tossed my pair of jeans into the hamper. They made a rattling noise as they landed and I thought, funny how I tossed them just so that the buttons clashed together like that.<br /><br />This morning when I got to school I opened the main lab door with my ID, and reached for the zipper of my bag to get my office keys. I hadn't even tugged the zipper when I realized, you don't have your keys they are in your jeans pocket from yesterday and made a rattling sound when you tossed them into the hamper.<br /><br />Many things happened between these two events - a 4 mile run, a kickball game, a few beers, and a full nights sleep. It's funny that I couldn't have been so insightful before i took my pants off, or as I heard them clinking. No, not until this morning was I clairvoyant enough to put it all together.<br /><br />Oh, and I think I'm back....Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-61189800016106019082010-01-05T08:32:00.002-06:002010-01-05T08:42:59.024-06:00baby stepsApparently, the gyms are overflowing this week, what with all the people who've made some resolutions to "lose weight" or "get in shape". I wouldn't really know though, since I've not been to the gym lately. Nor, have I made any concrete resolutions in the recent past. My <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/with-an-eye/sets/72157612086541966/">365 project</a> is the most concrete one, and that only lasted until July!<div><br /></div><div>I feel like I've got more time than most, I'm still on vacation and it's just silly to start my "resolutions" before I've returned to real life. But, I'm going to use this time to plan some needed changes, and to incorporate some good ideas. I'm devising an extensive list, with items under headings like "Health", and "Fitness", and "Money" and "Organization". There are many items under each heading - more specific than "lose weight", but with actual small steps to achieve these goals - like, "don't eat cheese at every meal, and 3 times in between!".</div><div><br /></div><div>My grand plan is to select a few of these smaller steps to focus on each month. Perhaps, if I can take January to cut back on my cheese consumption, I won't have to think about it as much in February. Then I can use February to stop eating every single thing I bake!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to be held accountable for most of these small goals, so I'm predicting that you'll hear about them at the beginning and end of every month. Join in if you'd like, I like tackling things as a team rather than all alone!</div><div><br /></div><div>Happy Twenty-Ten! </div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-1476027009939838392009-11-09T23:18:00.000-06:002009-11-09T23:35:43.151-06:00roseI'm sometimes amazed how clearly I can remember certain details of a situation and have no recollection of others. For instance, I remember the precise spot in my bedroom where I was standing when I heard the heart-breaking news, my junior year in high school, that this guy I was too-oo-otally in love with had kissed some other girl.* I mean, I remember EXACTLY where I was, I could go there right now. I can not, for the life of me, remember how my bedroom was arranged - I mean, which wall was my bed on, no idea. What tiny scrap of carpet was I standing on, got it. Why is that?!<br /><br /><div>Similarly, I think I will always remember exactly where I was as <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2009/03/memere.html">my grandmother</a> passed away. I've already forgotten what I was wearing, but I do know the intersection I was at. That morning, like many other Saturday mornings, I got up early and went running. It wasn't my best run ever, admittedly my mind was elsewhere. But during the run a song came on my iPod, and it reminded me of her. Not because we ever listened to it together, but the lyrics seemed to be exactly what I wanted to say to her. On my way home, somewhere slightly after 10am central time, I replayed Tom Petty's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Jr3uKOzNaw">Wildflowers</a> in the car, while silently telling my Memere that she belonged somewhere she felt free. Listening to my mom's stories of that morning, this pretty much coincided with the beginning of the very end. Almost makes me feel like she heard me. And then managed enough strength to wait for my parents to get there and be by her side. I couldn't have wished for anything better for her, than if I could have been there myself.<br /><br /></div><div>Her death came as no surprise to any of us, I had spoken to my mom the day before and we knew that she was very weak and going to go soon. In fact, when we spoke that day we both were wishing that she'd go quickly. She'd lived 98 mostly good years, and as best we could determine, she was probably tired of fighting. I give her credit, because I imagine I'd have quit fighting long before she did.<br /><br />Six weeks later, and I often feel selfish whenever I realize how much I miss her. I know full well that she's better off, but I haven't actually come around to the place where I feel much comfort in that. I consider myself very fortunate to have had such a close relationship with my grandmother, and to have so many wonderful memories of times with her. But, I still sometimes find myself waiting to hear a weekly update about her from my mom, then needing to remind myself that there isn't going to be one. Nearly 30 years being a family of four, I suppose it's understandable that it'll take some time to get used to this.<br /><br />Tomorrow my parents are heading up to Dracut to attend the funeral of my mom's <a href="http://www.funeralquestions.com/obits/mckenna-ouellette/memorial.asp?listing_id=143198">Uncle Henri</a> - my grandmother's baby brother. She was the oldest of four, and Henri was the youngest, and this marks the end of their generation of Ostiguy's. I can almost find some additional closure in that. I never knew her other brothers, or her husband - they had all passed away before I was born. But I did know Uncle Henri. It makes me feel happy thinking of them reunited somewhere. I know it would make her happy too!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*Turns out, in true high school girl fashion, I was freaking out over nothing. The boy who kissed the girl was NOT my boy, but a different one. I just ASSUMED we were talking about my boy. Stories about another boy?! Why tell me those!?</span><br /></div>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-8841968144090066252009-09-01T09:00:00.008-05:002009-09-01T10:29:12.101-05:00a new month, a new me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipV6Kv1fnD0Q-ahMCqEDPjP8xPOAvj-w8I4amDXOe3FfwpMnM8n5OnCNJ6hWH1QdbNOQ3uS2X5dd_CQ_HYYceBt4Np5cDvdR5FUiKHT1pfY7qgc1spkjYSOkA_AzK3e1KsFg1VUQ/s1600-h/IMG_2059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipV6Kv1fnD0Q-ahMCqEDPjP8xPOAvj-w8I4amDXOe3FfwpMnM8n5OnCNJ6hWH1QdbNOQ3uS2X5dd_CQ_HYYceBt4Np5cDvdR5FUiKHT1pfY7qgc1spkjYSOkA_AzK3e1KsFg1VUQ/s320/IMG_2059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376502265762564370" border="0" /></a>If you know me, you may know of a few things that I don't do that seemingly every normal person does. I don't drink coffee. And I don't ride a bike. I tried to <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2007/04/its-like-riding-bike.html">ride a bike once</a>, but that ended quickly.<br /><br />A little over a month ago I moved into a new house - and everything has been wonderful. It's cheaper, bigger, nicer. My best friend lives in the bedroom next to mine, and we have a new roommate who is pretty much the 3rd awesomest person in the world. And, I now live 1.5 miles from school. How can this situation not be a win?! Well, we're about to find out.<br /><br />My commute to school used to consist of a 15-20 min shuttle bus ride, on the days I opted for that. Or a 15 minute drive, followed by sometimes a 15 minute walk from where I could park my car. The latter is what happened most days. From the new place it's a 5 minute drive to campus. The search for parking and resulting walk seems too much given the short distance of the drive, so I've opted for no driving. There is a bus right outside my apartment, I can take it down the street to the baseball stadium, switch to a shuttle to take me to the football stadium, and switch to a shuttle that will take me to the Psychology building. You read that right, 3 buses for 1.5 miles. Seems, wasteful. So, the only logical answer is - ride a bike. It'll be the fastest, most independent way to commute. Not to mention, earth friendly.<br /><br />But. It's a bike.<br /><br />I rode with a friend of mine one day, and with a non-1974, non-Panasonic bike, I actually did much better.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZq2wJDnTn3Mn_Wq7J3jxOyjYEyThoEnSJyZbWiLCBL0eFemgkW4FrZ6tGSJR_2HerVqtpKpNO3AqB9JsmHJSaOBPOhNGofJkGoG5kbBVzYhoGHH4kTmxtUR_3IQPr6AUXKrH4A/s1600-h/IMG_2060.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZq2wJDnTn3Mn_Wq7J3jxOyjYEyThoEnSJyZbWiLCBL0eFemgkW4FrZ6tGSJR_2HerVqtpKpNO3AqB9JsmHJSaOBPOhNGofJkGoG5kbBVzYhoGHH4kTmxtUR_3IQPr6AUXKrH4A/s200/IMG_2060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376503338243529506" border="0" /></a><br />Then a very generous friend (and blog reader) decided to give me her bike. She was moving out of Austin and could not fit it in her car. So, now I've got a bike. I bought a helmet, and a bell for the bike, and I should be all set to go. I rode the bike around my neighborhood for a short while last night, just to make sure it seemed ok. And I've been planning out my route to school for weeks. There is one small problem. The hill at Dean Keeton. There's no way around it, I must go down this hill. Yes, down. I'm afraid of the down. The up, fine. It'll be hard, maybe impossible, but the down - I'll be going so fast. I won't lie, I'm terrified.<br /><br />But today, I'm going to ride to school. Look out drivers, bikers, and walkers, here I come. Worst case, I'll take three buses home tonight!<br /><br /><br />UPDATE: as of 10:15am central time, I have made it to my office. The bike is secured outside, I've changed my shoes and mopped up all the sweat. I suppose getting home will be the big challenge. Also, I didn't hate it. It was...almost nice!Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-48555830934780949682009-08-17T20:23:00.006-05:002009-08-17T22:22:25.007-05:00and we'll run for our livesI'm about half way through my training for the 2nd annual Rock 'n Roll half marathon in San Antonio. Last year's Rock 'n Roll was my first race ever, I'm excited to go back there. The course is pretty flat, and the bands are pretty frequent, but the crowd was pretty sparse. This year I'll be running with at least 2 other friends, RO'D and LD, which will be an exciting addition.<br /><br />I've been running on Saturday mornings with AustinFit since mid May, and even through all my traveling, I've stayed pretty much on track. I've done a lot of reading about running in the heat, because, well, it's been hot here. Today was our 58th 100+ degree day this summer. The record high was in 1923 with 66 over 100 days. The average is something like 14. So, to say it's a heat wave is an understatement. I read one <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-238-267--13245-1-1X2X3-4,00.html">article</a> that said that it takes as much as two weeks to get used to running in heat this extreme. Which is pretty awesome since my summer started with about 2.5 weeks in Austin, 2.5 weeks in cool, crisp, San Francisco. Followed by 2.5 weeks in blazing Austin, and 2 weeks in glorious Los Angeles. If you're keeping up with this - I've basically been allowing myself enough time to get acclimated before I leave again. I say, training at it's best.<br /><br />I read another article that indicated that your pace increases 30 sec/mile for every 10 degrees it is above 60. So, perhaps my 12ish minute miles are ok, considering it's routinely 90 by the time I'm running. I've been disappointed with my times, its been slower than I'd like - and tougher than I'd like. But, I'm hoping this is all heat-based, and will get easier quickly once mid-October rolls around.<br /><br />Last Saturday I did a 9 mile run, and it was pretty difficult. I've been having some awesome calf problems - the worst of which came on Saturday. It's like tiny seizures in my calf muscles, you can watch them twitching away. After about 6 miles, I'd get instant charlie horses whenever I flexed my toes. This made running up hills difficult, as I use my toes often for this. I gave myself a gold star for making it to the end, even though there were longer stretches of walking in there. When I got home, I was sprawled out on a chair in the living room, RO'D was in the kitchen, and we were having some sort of conversation. In the middle of it I began yelping in pain, tried to stand up, nearly collapsed, and yelped some more.<br /><blockquote>What happened?? Are you ok??<br />I pointed my toe, I won't do that anymore!<br /></blockquote>I was kind of a mess, but after some TLC from the massage stick, and some pretty painful stretching, I felt better. And I've been at it ever since - so hopefully tomorrows 3 miles will be a little less painful!<br /><br />This year, I'm doing one thing a little different - I've decided to try and raise money for the Huntington's Disease Society of America through my running. It's an organization that has become increasingly important to me, the disease has been plaguing the family of a very close friend of mine for many generations. The Huntington's Disease Society of America is a great organization that is involved in funding research, and helping with both patients and their families as they try to cope with this devastating disease. For those of you who may not be aware, HD is a genetic disease that is dominant - so anyone who has the gene will develop the symptoms. It is a neurodegenerative disease, meaning it affects your brain to some extreme degree. I've been blown away by the generosity that my friends and their friends have shown so far. I started with a goal of $1,000 and this was achieved in just one month. I've updated my goal to $1,500, in hopes to do even more good. Please consider <a href="http://firstgiving.com/jennipacheco">donating</a> if you can.Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-49736902603233935092009-08-01T13:56:00.011-05:002009-08-14T14:48:09.363-05:00two days in LAIn reality, it was two weeks in LA, but there were really only two days that I was able to get out and explore. I was at UCLA for a class (advanced fMRI, aka, nerd camp), which ended up being a really great experience. It started off, well, less than that.<br /><br />I arrived at LAX, after a lengthy <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2009/07/aerially-challenged.html">day o'travel</a>, with a pit of anxiety in my throat. I was going to be staying in a dorm, on campus, with a roommate, and a meal plan, for two weeks. And I didn't know anyone. No one. And the one person I'd be at all interested in seeing in LA is notoriously bad at getting in touch with, and was also having a wedding that same week. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly excited for this trip.<br /><br />Turns out, not all neuroimagers are freaks, and I met some people that were totally awesome, and made the weeks go by a little faster. In addition, I have some pretty awesome ex-UCLA friends, who lent out their own personal friends as needed. Over the weekend we had no class, and I was forced/able to fill my time with random LA excursions.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcN-dklNZd0pFBW24W8e6P3fA9SRS-uNFZhKWRiIsN4GhQW6B6xAdTFFRR9Hs3oRg6ijFF0NNEdhK645GdJySpZKM-oVoQbcykb5s9DhFgeL-JowxsM5EUD-RiEkD5NsD8reHVQ/s1600-h/tidepools.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTcN-dklNZd0pFBW24W8e6P3fA9SRS-uNFZhKWRiIsN4GhQW6B6xAdTFFRR9Hs3oRg6ijFF0NNEdhK645GdJySpZKM-oVoQbcykb5s9DhFgeL-JowxsM5EUD-RiEkD5NsD8reHVQ/s200/tidepools.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369903918416373794" border="0" /></a>Saturday morning started early, around 5:30, and a friend of VC and Libs took me up to Malibu to see the tide pools. The tide was extra low, and we were able to see some sweet sea life in the rocky areas along the shore. It was a beautiful little hike around the cliffs to get there, and the beach was full of crazy surfers and dog-walkers alike. It was a fabulous way to spend the morning. Followed by some delicious lemon pancakes, yum! From here I went and rented a car - and I was off.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutUJKxGoK8hgItYKknke1JFIqb5ietir8CO3OXTndzfVmUsU3nKj-qFzjat2Kv9OpH5Ie3pNTrof2xqDUk018s2pWnlZSBrSOnI7M8mBdTy-V6W105WNbgdaQk6zPihyphenhypheneAd9hTw/s1600-h/dodgers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutUJKxGoK8hgItYKknke1JFIqb5ietir8CO3OXTndzfVmUsU3nKj-qFzjat2Kv9OpH5Ie3pNTrof2xqDUk018s2pWnlZSBrSOnI7M8mBdTy-V6W105WNbgdaQk6zPihyphenhypheneAd9hTw/s200/dodgers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369904114905267586" border="0" /></a> I started with lunch at In 'n Out, and then I drove down sunset through Beverly Hills. After seeing the most awesome palm trees ever, I was off to Hollywood Blvd where I drove past Grauman's Theater and saw the Hollywood sign up on the hills. I spent the rest of the afternoon at the big Farmer's Market on Fairfax and 3rd, tried some Pinkberry frozen yogurt, and then was off to Dodger Stadium to catch a Dodger game.<br /><br />The game was pretty awesome, although seeing Manny made me want to hurl. What's worse, I was sitting next to a tiny 3 year old boy who clearly idolized the idiot. I couldn't even jeer or boo, I just sat quietly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhgSDP5sHOIbeq5nHuxfGdRLj9REnXGmuo3zLggnDHv4G2XJ0dyEO-HjfdB2FYFvEiKlKTihjythILR66sX7UUB99vy7h9Ya7Z3RPQ0bfyyNM8zOZnDVWCvK4gS860-Xxl19m_A/s1600-h/BH.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuhgSDP5sHOIbeq5nHuxfGdRLj9REnXGmuo3zLggnDHv4G2XJ0dyEO-HjfdB2FYFvEiKlKTihjythILR66sX7UUB99vy7h9Ya7Z3RPQ0bfyyNM8zOZnDVWCvK4gS860-Xxl19m_A/s200/BH.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369904339619676354" border="0" /></a>On Sunday I woke up a little later than I had been, and was so happy to realize that I could still go running at 11am without fear of death by heat stroke. I found this <a href="http://www.run.com/">new</a> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/runtheplanet.com">website</a> that let me search for runs in LA.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaIctoxrqk9Y1HLOA-qM0-I7ohpjL_PXXGBOmqAzPbQXljWhkNBXrjaxz4Ez8yT8DA6nWnPULFrsOk8Ru03DHylAU4OBdruc8dqge_1nEY-6DdLWVSHGwRqkpqw7r1K9QqaYjug/s1600-h/santamonica.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxaIctoxrqk9Y1HLOA-qM0-I7ohpjL_PXXGBOmqAzPbQXljWhkNBXrjaxz4Ez8yT8DA6nWnPULFrsOk8Ru03DHylAU4OBdruc8dqge_1nEY-6DdLWVSHGwRqkpqw7r1K9QqaYjug/s200/santamonica.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369904531796155234" border="0" /></a> I found a great 6 mile loop through Beverly Hills, and I was off. It was a great run, through some gorgeous neighborhoods - with incredible palm trees. I was amazed by how few people there were out and about too. It was incredibly peaceful, and totally too much effort. I was so tired and sore when I was done. I spent the rest of the afternoon out by Santa Monica, and put my bare feet in the pacific ocean for the first time that I can remember. I forgot how much I missed being near the ocean, or how much I took it for granted growing up.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Two weeks later I've filled up an entire notebook, used the ink of one pen, made 4 or 5 new friends, survived a twin bed in the dorm, disgusto cafeteria food, and even saw a bunch of fun sites in LA. All in all, not the trip I feared when I landed at LAX.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixaVliA8v7UMeeFZiHpJynQkmNl8-gVRSkrCbh3qVU6cWmPRBz6Bh74pEPFyz-judWlkJlG6uUEiQbyIzrCmiURttXhTNvRbbXyR4MD8EAqSPTJysyRmKDkzuH7wKfMnBdJkUhA/s1600-h/feet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixaVliA8v7UMeeFZiHpJynQkmNl8-gVRSkrCbh3qVU6cWmPRBz6Bh74pEPFyz-judWlkJlG6uUEiQbyIzrCmiURttXhTNvRbbXyR4MD8EAqSPTJysyRmKDkzuH7wKfMnBdJkUhA/s200/feet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369904708556764562" border="0" /></a>Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-21458467747341484522009-07-20T11:17:00.004-05:002009-08-06T11:43:23.803-05:00aerially challengedI've adjusted to the fact that I'm going to be a person who just has trouble with airlines. Remember that time I had to board last so that they could install my seat, or when I slept in O'Hare after having made an emergency landing in Cedar Rapids. Oh, and there's the time I was stranded in Houston when I missed my flight by mere seconds. And who can forget my trip home from Australia, that ended in a 4 hour drive with a car full of strangers from Dallas to Austin. So, it's no surprise when things go awry, and I've learned to just roll with it. Why did I expect this flight out to LA to be any different?<br /><br />The first leg was fine, Austin to Phoenix. It was hot when we left, it was hot when we arrived, the flight was short and uneventful. There was something like a 45 minute layover and then we'd be off to LAX. Our flight was first delayed by a few minutes, then a few minutes more. Then they began the boarding procedures. And most everyone was thinking, here we go!<br /><br />They would have been wrong.<br /><br />After we'd all been sitting on the plane, at the gate, for about 35 minutes the captain comes on and tells us that there's a small problem. You see, an instrument in the cockpit that is encased in a glass casing has cracked. While the instrument works just fine, they can not fly with the cracked glass. The captain alerts us that the ground crew has rushed back to the hangar to remove the same instrument from another plane to install into this one. It should take about 20 minutes, and we'll be good to go.<br /><br />Another 35 or so minutes later the Captain gets back on the horn to tell us that "this plane isn't going anywhere". And that we will all have to get back off the plane, but they have to figure out how to do that appropriately. We "sit tight" for another 20 minutes.<br /><br />After we've deplaned, and are sitting back in the gate, people are angry. There is a lot of grumbling. They switch us to the next gate over, and in pulls a new plane. I think some people were sighing in relief that this hiccup wouldn't be too costly.<br /><br />They would have been wrong.<br /><br />We boarded this plane, or started to. The families with children and passengers requiring extra time got on. The bums in first class got on. And Boarding groups 1, 2 (me), and 3. And then, the halted this procedure as well. Turns out, our crew was about to time out and wouldn't be able to make this flight. Rewind, we all pour out of the plane back into the gate.<br /><br />Cue the grumbling. It was like a stand-off. Angry passengers, annoyed gate workers, everyone yelling and snipping and moaning. I just curled up in a chair to watch. It was a sight to see. I think we sat here for an hour. Then, up rolls a flight crew - hooray. And we start boarding the plane. Many people seemed happy.<br /><br />They would have been wrong.<br /><br />Turns out, this flight crew had somehow arrived without a pilot. I'm not sure if they lost him along the way, or what, but we had no pilot. In fact, there was no US Air pilot in the entire airport at this time. In fact, they boarded us all on a plane without really knowing that. So guess what we did then? We all got OFF THE PLANE! <br /><br />Now, it's a real mob-scene. I watched one gate worker lean over to another guy and she said something in his ear, and he was off. Pretty quickly he returns in a cart with boxes. Boxes full of snack-packs. And water. The scene that ensued was much like what you might imagine happens in third world war-torn countries when the red cross rolls in to pass out food and water. I mean, paper was flying, people were shoving. It was insanity - and we'd only been stuck for maybe 3 hours at this point. Stuck in the friendliest airport in America, mind you, with plenty of food courts, shops, and free wireless internet.<br /><br />US Air called up a few pilots. I imagined those conversations went something like this:<br />US Air worker, "Hey, Joe, you wanna come in and fly this plane for us?"<br />Joe the Pilot, "Well, nah, the game is on and I'm kinda comfortable."<br />US Air, "But see, there's this mob of people, and they're quite angry."<br />Joe, "In that case, heck no! Call Bob!"<br /><br />It seemed to take a while, but the gate worker was very pleased with herself when she was able to announce that they had located a pilot and he was in the building. Everyone began to cheer and clap and jump up and down chanting.<br /><br />They would have been wrong.<br /><br />Apparently once the pilot arrives to the airport he has one hours worth of preflight paper work to do?! Who knew. The cheers turned to grunts, and the gate workers tried to toss more water bottles around - hoping this would help.<br /><br />After about a 5 hour delay, boarding and unboarding 3 planes, we finally had a plane with working instruments, a flight crew, a pilot, and were pulling away from the gate. I was waiting for the cheers, it didn't happen. The flight attendant announced that they were going to give everyone on board a free cocktail for our troubles. I waited for the cheers.<br /><br />Forty-three minutes and one glass of red wine later we landed in LA. And that's when the crowd decided it was finally ok to cheer. Welcome to LA!Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28761378.post-23965541880712306832009-07-10T12:42:00.004-05:002009-07-16T14:42:16.982-05:002009, Third Quarter.We can sum up 2009, Second Quarter as complete slacker.<br /><br />Ok, that's not entirely fair - but I did slip into a dismal abyss when it comes to things I usually like to do quite often. We can make a list:<br /><br />1. <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2009_04_01_archive.html">frequent</a> <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2009_05_01_archive.html">blog</a> <a href="http://with-an-eye.blogspot.com/2009_06_01_archive.html">entries</a><br />2. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/with-an-eye/sets/72157612086541966/">Project 365</a><br />3. <a href="http://broccoliisforlovers.blogspot.com/">cooking</a><br />4. running<br />5. bathing<br /><br />On the plus side, today I finally switched the wall calendar in my office from April to July, last week I moved from one apartment to another, and a few weeks ago I got back into the saddle with my running - I'll be doing 6+ miles on Saturday morning. The outlook for the 3rd quarter is brighter, but I suppose there wasn't much direction to go but up!Jennihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12867024174751508784noreply@blogger.com0