toothpaste obsession

I 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.

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.

Which brings me to toothpaste.

I squeeze my toothpaste from the bottom, to the top. I don't know when this started, but I do it.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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!

two days in LA

In 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.

I arrived at LAX, after a lengthy day o'travel, 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.

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.

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. 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.

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.

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 new website that let me search for runs in LA. 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.




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.

1,949 miles from land* (4eva)

I read about this new book today, based on the blog of two friends who live three thousand one hundred and nintey-one miles apart. They each posted a picture every morning before 10am, for one whole year. And now it's become a book. (btw, don't we wish some other photo blogs could be books??)

I was reminded of that book tonight when I was talking to Allison, and while not a picture blog per say - we had an interesting little chat using ScribLink.  No one else may even care about our whiteboard adventure, but it made me smile.  Somehow it reminded me all at once of crazy conversations with the Stevens-Player clan about "your area of the dance floor" at Rivergods, and maple syrup races at free pancake day, and even a conversation about stenography (which I never did figure out by the way) over poker dice.  I miss those crazy kids!

Our whiteboard of fun:

and a hello from Mr. Player:

*ok, so it should be miles apart, but come ON - I was writing miles apart, and miles from land(4eva) just slipped on out!!  What was my reunion band name, Inches From Ocean?

The Off-Season

It's true, I gave up on posting about the KitShickers about one or two games too early. We ended out our season with a 3-2-2 record, and no hopes of making the finals. I've spent my offseason mastering the fine art of physical therapy, which I successfully graduated this week. I was "diagnosed" with IlioPsoas Tendonitis, and have been unable to run since sometime in early June. When I began PT the doc instantly pointed out my flat feet as the original cause, but indicated that my tight quads, IT band, calves, along with a significant decrease in range of motion throughout my hips and knees were keeping me in pain. He prescribed a regimen of stretching, and some combination ice/heat therapies for the iliacus tendon. This week, for the first time since I've been going, the heel from each foot was able to reach my butt - and thus, I was discharged. Only after agreeing to continue stretching for the rest of my life. Along with some new kicks and hot arch supports, I'm ready for action....sometime. Currently I'm only allowed to swim, which I've been doing as often as I can. In a few weeks I'll see the sports med doc again, who will recommend when and how I can get back to running. Since I'm now severely behind on my training.

And it looks like I've healed just in time. The Kitshickers are back, and ready for some fall-ball. We debated a name change, ROD said 'if it ain't broke don't fix it', however DI and LD and some others agreed, 'maybe it IS broke' - but we decided to stick with Kitshickers for one more season.

We've got a plan - there will be a kicking practice, and a catching practice. There will be team knee socks, and at-bat songs. There will be beer, and lots of Rudy's BBQ plastic cups. There will be winning, lots and lots of winning.

Stay tuned!

dear jack-holes

Dear jack-holes who don't know how to park properly,

There is limited street space nearby campus that doesn't require a neighborhood parking sticker, we all know this. I understand that those of you who arrive early want to park at the end of the street - closest to campus. But, as you pull in, please back-up completely, leaving minimal space between you and the car behind you. We could easily fit 10 more cars on this street. The 17 three-quarter parking spots I pass each morning really piss me off. And my car is small.

Thank you,
Disgruntled Commuter.

DISCLAIMER: It may be hard to see the actual size of these spots, but they are all about half a car length, and I took them all this morning. There were 3 I did not snap, since a car was coming and I was risking getting hit.

my rings

I've always worn rings. In high school. In college. After. One of the rings I wear my mom gave me, it's silver (all my rings are silver) and it makes a circle, with an opening, on top of my finger. In the summer I'll get a tan line around it, and when I take it off there is a tanned circle inside the white outline of the ring. Not sure why, but I always sort of love that tan line. In high school I never took my rings off, maybe only during field hockey and lacrosse games because I was forced. In college I took them off even less. I'd sleep in them, I'd shower with them. Really, they were always there. I've worn the circle ring for upwards of twelve years - whenever I get together with my friend Jenn from high school she muses over that fact, remembering it from high school. A second ring I've worn for about eleven years, it's my high school class ring. I went to a small private all-girls school and just about every girl got one. I think I'm the only one who still wears hers. It's simple, a silver ring with a black stone in the middle. On the right side it says "LS" for Lincoln School, on the left side it says "98" and stone itself is engraved with the helmet of Athena, the greek goddess of wisdom. Underneath it is engraved with my name. For our school the rings were symbolic, you received them in your junior year and wore them with the helmet facing in. On graduation you flipped your ring around, with the helmet facing out - letting all your wisdom lose into the world. Or something like that. The third ring is the newest, only about 5 years old or so, and is my college ring. It's daintier than the high school ring, it's white gold and has a small ruby stone in it. Our school colors were red and white, and a ruby also happens to be my birthstone. Around the stone it says Clark University. On the right side it says "02" and on the left side it says "BA". Underneath it is engraved with only my initials, it is too small to fit the entire name. I've worn these rings everyday for a long time. Until just under a year ago.

As I said, in college I never took them off. I slept in them, I showered in them, everything. Some years later I decided I couldn't sleep in them, and I started taking them off at night. And also to shower. Like a normal person. Just under a year ago, I woke up in the morning, got ready for work and made a conscious decision to not put my rings on. I don't even know why, but I remember thinking I wasn't going to wear them. And I didn't the next day either. Or the next. You get the picture. I've brought them places with me, they still get packed in bags for overnight trips. But I've not worn them. I forgot to pack them when I went home for Christmas, and I felt a little worried when I realized I didn't have them - but I'm not sure I would have put them on.

Yesterday, as I was doing my normal Sunday thing - errands and such - I put them on. This morning, when I got ready for school, I put them on. Again, I'm not sure why, but I did. And now, my hands look like my own again!

with too many cats

You know that old lady, the one who lives alone, up the street,with too many cats. She's crazy - or at least that's what you and the rest of your 13-year-old friends call her. In reality, she likely knows what is going on, but maybe she doesn't agree with it, or chooses to ignore it. She's not crazy, she's just in a different time. In a different place. But, you call her crazy, because she lives alone, with too many cats. You know her. In 50 years, I hope not to be her!

But, in the last two months, I had a glimpse. I was the crazy-cat-lady.

Mia and I went on a plane, twice. And she was great. It was me - I was the disaster. I was the spectacle. I was the crazy-cat-lady. When we left Austin, I put her in her carrier and she complained minimally. She tried to push her way out - this picture was her actually putting her small paw up against the mesh of the bag, and whining. Whimpering. Pulling at my heart strings. Whispering - "You're a bad mom". She stopped relatively quickly, because I'm a bad mom and I ignored her. In the car on the way to the airport, not a peep. I pulled her out through security - silent. The security guard even commented on her well-manneredness.

While waiting in the airport I tried to sit in quiet areas, and I tried to talk to her a lot. As Stace pointed out - most people probably didn't know there was a cat in that fashionable bag of mine, and I was the crazy-lady-talking-to-a-bag to most. I ensured that I could pre-board the flight (you know along with people who have legitimate mobility problems and small screaming children). When pre-board was announced, there I was, the crazy-cat-lady, the only one pre-boarding. Families with children were sitting and waiting, while I was rushing down the jetway to the plane. I crawled around the floor of the plane situating her comfortably under the seat, talking to her all the while.

On the flight up, we shared a row with no one. So after take off Mia got her own seat, and I opened the carrier enough to fit my hand in and pet her - while I tried to sleep. She didn't like take off, or landing - who can blame her. But she suffered in silence. As is a cats way, she drooled a lot. I had to ask for copious amounts of paper towels, and I kept talking to the bag, so eventually the flight attendant said to me "What's in here anyway?" I told her it was my cat and she said "Ohhhh! Kitty!" but had this look of relief, figuring out I wasn't insane - maybe.

I think the low-point occurred while I was waiting at Logan for my flight home. My parents were waiting with me, all of us sitting to eat a little and drink coffee (them, not me) and I needed to use the restroom. I left Mia in her bag with my parents and took my purse and went to the restroom. On the way....I talked to my purse. I did. I forgot it wasn't Mia. And I actually spoke to my pocketbook. Crazy-lady-talking-to-a-bag, with too many cats.

merry and bright....

looking for Santa...

looking for presents...
Merry Christmas from Mia and me!

a thanksgiving nightmare

It's the week I've been waiting for - this year I'm cooking Thanksgiving dinner (for somewhere between 5 and 7 people). And while this poses a few logistical problems (I've only got place settings for 4, my table only seats 2, and I'm not sure there is enough counter space to even spread out all the food) I couldn't be more excited. In fact, I've already baked the pumpkin bread and the zucchini bread - they are in the freezer now. I bought the turkey a week ago, and I had a practice run roasting a chicken. So, we're set to go.

Until my nightmare on Saturday night.

It just so happened that I acquired two turkeys. The one I bought and the one my advisor had given to me. They were both in my freezer, and on defrosting day I decided to pull one out and save one for later. On Thanksgiving, with dinner set at 2pm, I was a little stressed and running late, preparing to put the bird in the oven at 1:30pm. I was a thoughtful hostess and sent out a widespread text message to my guests, 'Running a little late over here...' I tore the packaging off of the bird, only to find that the turkey was not actually a turkey. It was, in fact, a bunch of shrimp constructed to look like a turkey. I freaked out. I couldn't serve a shrimp-turkey. So I quickly pulled out the "spare" turkey to check it out. It did not appear to be a shrimp-turkey, so I grabbed the phone and quickly called the Turkey Hotline.

'Turkey Hotline, what is your emergency?'
'HELP! I need to defrost and cook a 12 pound turkey in under 30 minutes!'
'Ok ma'am, calm down. We're sending help immediately.'

Help never came, Thanksgiving was ruined, and I was running around doing that weird dream crying thing where there were no actual tears falling...

And then I woke up. Panicked. I was fully aware it was Sunday, and I was fully aware of what Sunday meant:
This is the note that has been hanging on my fridge basically since I bought the turkey. I had to write it down, because I was stuck in this perpetual loop. Every three hours or so I would recalculating when to thaw the turkey, scared that I would forget. I needed a break from that, hence - the note. I jumped out of bed at 6am, and ran to the freezer. I looked all over the packaging, and I didn't see any indication that it was a shrimp-turkey and not a real turkey, none. So I transferred it to the fridge to begin the thaw.

Turkey update: As of today, Monday morning. It still seems very, VERY frozen. Not 1/3 less frozen than it was. Not 4lbs less frozen than it was. Maybe it's not a shrimp-turkey, but maybe it's a super-unthawable-turkey.

Fridge update:

dessert

Simple Baklava

Recipe courtesy: Giada De Laurentiis

1/2 cup almonds
1/2 cup walnuts
1/4 cup chopped dried apricots
1/4 cup plain bread crumbs
2 tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
Pinch of salt
1 stick butter, melted, divided
3 tablespoons honey
12 sheets phyllo dough

Special equipment: 2 mini-muffin tins
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Place the almonds, walnuts, apricots, bread crumbs, sugar, cinnamon, ground cloves, and salt in a food processor. Run the machine until the mixture is very finely chopped. Transfer the mixture to a small bowl. Add 2 tablespoons of the melted butter and the honey and stir to combine.

On a dry work surface place 1 sheet of phyllo. Using a pastry brush and the remaining melted butter, lightly cover the entire sheet of phyllo with melted butter. Cover the first sheet with a second sheet of phyllo and brush with melted butter. Continue until there is a stack of 6 sheets of phyllo. Cut the stacked phyllo rectangle into 12 equal pieces (Cut lengthwise into 4 pieces and widthwise into 3 pieces.)

Gently press each cut piece of phyllo into the mini-muffin tin cups. Press 1 tablespoon of the nut mixture into each of the phyllo cups. Gather the ends of each of the phyllo squares and twist to make a sachet shape. Continue shaping the remaining sachets in the other mini-muffin tin. Bake until the edges of the phyllo are golden, about 20 to 25 minutes. When cool enough to handle, remove the baklava sachets and transfer to a serving plate.

casualty

(Lizard squished under my front door)

Apparently Komodo came back, but I swear...he was like that when I saw him. I'm sorry little guy.

...and many more

Today is somebody's birthday! The big 0-6. We've been through a lot in the past 6 years, haven't we honey? Let's see - we've lived in 4 states (Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Maryland, and Texas), 8 cities (Worcester, Westerly, Silver Spring, Brookline, Waltham, Newton, Watertown, and Austin), been to 4 institutions of higher learning (Clark University, American University, Boston University and the University of Texas at Austin), worked in 4 different labs (the Jacobson lab, the Fantie lab, the Stern lab, and the Fischl lab), had 10 different roommates (Therese, Emily and Zainab; Mom and Dad; Anne and Maggie; Katie and Suzanne; Stacey), 5 different cat roommates (Bentley, Mr. Bojangles, Princess, Pepper and Oliver), owned three cars (Marv, Tibby, and this one with no name). In fact, in the last 6 years I can think of nothing that has remained the same - at all - except that you've been with me. Thanks for that, I guess I'll keep you! Happy birthday, punk!



It's also somebody else's birthday too, the big 3-1! Happy Birthday, dudeizzle!

evoo

my veggies in a frying pan turned out pretty not too horrible.

for those who are interested:
evoo, garlic, tomatoes, yellow and green peppers, red onion, and cilantro, on top of chicken

it's official

it's big, and divisible by 5!

Happy 35th Annivesary to my mom and dad!!

if you drive out of range

One of my favorite ways to explore a new place is to just drive around. I like to get lost and find my way home, it's the best way to see where things are and how they connect. Before I left beantown Allison once credited me as knowing how to get anywhere from anywhere in the city - and she wasn't wrong. It took years to connect all the pieces, but it sure is fun to drive and get lost. Even more fun with Millie, since I can pay a little less attention to how to get back and more attention to the scenery.

I drove yesterday around this neighborhood, amazing views of hills with completely beautiful houses, and the sides and cliffs. Lots of trees, with rooftops poking out. And I tried my best to get some good pictures while only causing minimal traffic dilemmas. At one point I followed a curve in the road and saw about 6 deer (deer? deers? these are things I definitely should know) in the road. Basically just standing around, chillin'. They slowly crossed the road as I approached and stopped in someones front yard to graze. They just stayed there. So content that I wonder if they belong there. I mean, are they pets? Could people own these deer? Either way - they were so peaceful. It made me happy.

these eyes will break hearts!