a lot can happen in one day...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

what to expect when you're dissertating

I'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 this book. 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!

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.

The things I got used to months ago:

Dissertation brain - 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!

Snackies - 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.

One Track Mind - 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.

Here are the things I am still not used to:

Cleanliness, what's that?! - 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.

Holy Nightmares, Batman! - These have really done me in. I've had some doozies, and they range from terrifying: 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 hilarious: 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 absolutely insane: 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.

Sniffle, Sniffle - 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!

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.

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.

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!

Catch-22, defined

The problem: I've been spiraling out-of-control down this slippery funky slope where things I used to enjoy have become a burden, there is a significant lack of motivation of any kind (internal or external), and copious amounts of self-pity have set in. Allow me to clarify (for those who might be worried for my mental health), I don't actually feel sad or unhappy, and I still spend 90% of my day giggling uncontrollably. I just feel like doing nothing. Forever.

The answer: Probably to get off my butt and start running again. I've matched my run-cycle with this weird-funk cycle perfectly. Running makes me happy. Running makes me productive. Running makes me less stressed.

The catch-22: I can not muster the motivation to get out of the house and actually run in order to pull myself out of said spirally-disaster. Which only results in further depths of unmotivated lump-dom. And on the two occasions I did get out the door, it was such an awful run...cue the self-pity.

The cure: I'm gonna run in the morning, and I'm going to like it. And I'm going to do it the next day, and again, until I don't have to write about it on the friggin' interwebs just to make sure I get out and do it.

undecided

Dear Internets,

I'm so behind on documenting my ever-so-exciting life that I can't decide if I should try and play catch up, or if I should just skip the past events and start anew. The reality is, you aren't missing much. But there are a few things I've got queued up to write about. Like, well, my trip to San Francisco*. Or the day I gave up cable. I ran another race which involved big exciting goals to be met. Oh, and how about, I haven't eaten meat in over 6 weeks. I feel like those could all be interesting stories, and I'd like to tell them. But, I'm so tired, Internets. I'm so tired, and also a little insane. Observe.

Date: March 30th
Time: 4pm
Location: locked in an empty testing room with no windows.
Event: I was using my laptop and I clicked something, to open something. And then I was waiting for it to open. As I was waiting, I forgot what I was waiting for. I only perceived about 15 seconds of time had elapsed, but I had no clue what I was waiting for. Looking at the computer screen did not help to answer said question. To this day, I still have not remembered what I was trying to open/click on/look at or what I thought I was waiting for. Hopefully, it got accomplished somewhere.

Date: March 31st
Time: midnight
Location: perched on a bar stool at my table in my living room.
Event: I spent about 45 seconds hovering between the "send" and "save" buttons in gmail when trying to send an email. It took me 45 seconds to determine which button would actually achieve my desired results. Whats worse, I had to resort to a two-step process of figuring this out; 1.) what IS my desired result? 2.) which of these words means that. 45 seconds is actually a very long time for someone hoping to get their PhD to spend deciding between the words SEND and SAVE.

Date: April 1st
Time: 8am
Location: the shower
Event: face wash......shampoo......face wash......shampoo......face wash......shamp - wait a minute. Conditioner!

Respectfully yours,
me!

*If I link you to my photos, and N's posts here, here, and here, I think we can check this one off the list!

basketcase

I was nervous to come back from my vacation to a cat who was angry and neglected.  I had no idea I should expect her to be a complete nutjob.  On the one hand, she has continued to sleep on my bed - a fact aided, I think, by the addition of my old comforter.  It's been cold here at night, and I've dragged out an old, fluffier comforter for the bed.  She's perfectly content snuggling up to that at night, and I'm perfectly happy to take whatever I can get!

On the other hand, she's displaying some anxiety problems.  The last time she displayed significant signs of anxiety was right after Princess (my roommates cat) was put to sleep, and those symptoms re-emerged shortly thereafter, when our entire apartment was packed up and Stacey had moved out.  At that time Mia sulked around and hid intently under Stacey's bed, for hours and hours at a time.  I remember that Stacey kind of gave up and just started talking to Mia and telling her that it was going to be ok, that Princess had been sick and she was much happier now.  Stacey told Mia that Princess hadn't done anything wrong, and that nothing was going to happen to Mia.  It was then that Mia came out from under Stacey's bed.  

For about a week Mia has been covering her food bowl with her blanket when she walks away from it.  I noticed this habit slowly, sometimes I thought that the blanket ended up there accidentally, it is usually on the floor near where the food bowl goes.  But, one day I watched it happen.  Mia eats in shifts.  She nibbles, takes a break, comes back for more.  The entire process can take the entire evening for her to eat about 3 oz. of food.  She had just finished her first little nosh-fest and she walked over to the blanket, pawed at it a few times, gripped it in her paw, and dragged it on top of her food dish.  At first, I was just amazed...WHAT?!  So A bit later I pulled it off, and she came back for more food after that.  When I looked back next, the dish was again covered.  So this cycle continued, and I kept removing the blanket, placing it further and further away from the dish each time.  And she continually covered up the dish when she was done eating.  I, of course, made fun of her and took pictures, but after 2 days of this I began to get concerned.  I decided to take the blanket into another room for a while.  And then, I broke out Stacey's style of therapy, and I began talking to her.  We had a heart-to-heart (or so I think), and since then, the blanket has been returned and has remained off the dish.  We're out of the woods....

...for now.

it's that day again

Last year there was much build up for today, this year I feel ill prepared.  I got up early to run this morning, I have to work all day, and I have not made a single list yet!! (well, ok, there was a list of recipe ingredients that was then made into a grocery store list - ordered by store aisle of course!)

I did my grocery shopping on Monday night, turns out I didn't need too much.  And I only have 3 items left to get*.  I was having trouble finding vegetable boullion - but Melanie assured me it exists.  I found mushroom based "Better than Boullion", but blech I don't like mushrooms.  She said also Knorr's makes a vegetable one.  Now, the Knorr's at my HEB was way up high, and I saw chicken, and beef, and tomato chicken, and an empty space in between.  I decided to scale the shelf and start digging.  I was perched on the end of my shopping cart, clutching tightly to the shelf with one hand, and digging with the other.  It was about this time that the shoppping cart slipped out from under my feet, and I was literaly dangling from the shelf.  So I decided that I could stand on the second to the bottom shelf and it might be easier.  I planted my feet, pulled myself up a little higher, and continued the search.  Only to find out that the empty space wasn't even where the vegetable boullion belonged.  Turns out that HEB didn't have any in stock.  Tonight, to Randall's.

I'm only making "half" of a Thanksgiving dinner this year - since a SchoolFriend of mine and I are splitting the job.  We're having it at her house (it's bigger), which also means I don't have to clean, or prepare for the onslaught of guests.  That's the best part.  I'll be making some breads, stuffing, cream of broccoli soup, and a dessert.  I'll start in on most of it later today - but I've already made my pumpkin ice cream for the dessert.  Feel free to follow my adventures photographically!

*I had 2 quarts of organic vegetable broth in my cart, for $2.73 each when I passed a display of regular HEB vegetable broth for $1.99.  At that time I couldn't remember the price of the organic broth, so I doubled back to check, realized it was more expensive and put it back on the shelf.  Then I began the climb up Mt. We-Don't-Have-Vegetable-Boullion, and forgot to triple back for the cheaper vegetable broth.

The Kickball Diaries, volume 1.

Week 1. Kitshickers vs 99 Problems but a Pitch ain't one.
Game time: 4/17/2008, 7:20pm
Game Conditions: It's hard to remember, but I'm sure it was hot, and dusk.
Result: L 4-1
Record: 0-1

Our league is a coed league, and there are inevitably rules about how many girls must play, a separate bunt line for the girls, and just a general feeling of how we can "even things" out to make up for the girls being crap players. It's a mindset that I hate. It implies that merely because I am a girl I will be one of the worst players, or worse that merely because someone else is a guy he will be a force. Just, untrue. Maybe. We began going over the rules, and our "manager" was explaining some things, pointing out the bunt line for the girls, telling me that as the center fielder I should come in when a girl was kicking, and informing me that my only strategy when at bat was to just try and kick it on the ground towards 3rd so I'd have a shot at getting on base. Well, I launched in to a diatribe about how girls can be good players too - how these rules were crap, how I could try and aim to kick a gosh-darn homerun if I felt compelled. He shrugged me off, and I took the field. RO'D was sitting out first, and watched the following transpire from the sidelines.

It was the first play I was going to make as a kickball-er, and let me just preface with...that ball is HUGE. It's about 3 times bigger than you are picturing in your head right now. It is red, similar to the one you probably used in elementary school - but bigger. Some guy kicks the ball to the outfield, it's totally mine, I'm all over it. And then....then this happened. I looked up, and this enormous ball was falling towards my face and I quickly realized I had NO IDEA what to do about it, not a clue. So, I closed my eyes, screamed a bit, and swatted erratically at the air. I shouldn't have to add (but I will) that I didn't even touch the ball at all, it went behind me. I turned and ran to it, picked it up, and half rolled, half overhanded it somewhere towards the in-field. Not nearly close enough to do anything reasonable. I think that guy was standing on third picking his nose by the time I finished with the ball. After that I brushed my shoulder off, and patted myself on the back for single-handedly undermining the integrity of female kickball-ers everywhere. When the inning was over RO'D slyly said to me, "Um, did you close your eyes?!" By the end of the game I was feeling it a little better - I knocked a few down, held some people from scoring, although I never once made a catch.

Behind the plate, the entire team was dead. It was my first at bat, and I walked over to home plate - instantly scared crapless - what would happen here, any one's guess. There was a radio nearby blastin' out some tunes, and while it was not my original theme song the new Madonna song, 4 minutes, came on. (Quick interruption - I've been obsessed with this song lately, listening to it maybe 6 times a day while dancing in my office) So as soon as I heard this I screamed over to RO'D - "This is the song I've been dancing to in my office all week", forgetting that I work in the same building as everyone else on the team. They all begin to laugh at me, as I danced my way into my first out. I finished the day 0 for 2 behind the plate.

But damn it all if I didn't have a ton of fun while doing it! Go Kitshickers, I smell a win soon....

my professionalism will astound you

On Thursday afternoon I was in my office and received a phone call from a potential subject. My research is directly dependent on people wanting to participate, and the fact that I want to use elderly subjects - well, recruitment is tricky. So, when someone calls to volunteer, basically I will agree to give them whatever in the world they want. My advisor was in the lab area outside of my office, but I decided it was ok to carry on with the phone conversation with my door open. A few minutes into the conversation, however, a classmate walked in to use the lab area. I decided it would be better to shut my door, so she could not hear my conversation. I had to slide my phone from the back of my desk to the front edge so I could get up to shut the door.

And there it was - a giant bug. HUGE. with antennae. You know how well I deal with these things. But, I was on the phone. So, I grabbed the paper I was writing notes on and stood up on my chair. I had my eyes locked on that sucker, while I spoke to the subject from atop my chair and tried to make an appointment for our first meeting. Finally I decided I could not wait any longer, and I found a post-it note pad to try and crush the bug. BUT - he began to run. I LOST THE BUG. So, now I'm back up on the chair scribbling notes.

Finally, I made the appointment, hung up the phone, and opened my office door. At which point I burst into high-pitched squeals "omigawd, a bug. A BUG, omigod!! There was a bug. I lost the bug. omigawd!!" Both my advisor and classmate turned to look at me, slightly unphased. The classmate asked, "was it big?" I wanted to scream - DOES IT MATTER?! But, I calmed down a bit.

I removed everything from my desk, and used some lysol wipes. Then I got down on my hands and knees, armed with wipes and a heavy tape dispenser, and began the search. My classmate looked in and laughed, "What are you doing? Oh my god, are you looking for it?" From beneath my desk I shrieked "Of course I am! It's here somewhere. I lost it. Where did it go?!"

Defeated, I stood up and packed my bag. As I headed out of my office my advisor said, "heading home? Have a nice night!" and I responded, "yes, I'm itchy. There's a bug in my office!" I wonder if he regrets working with me? Thanks to my dad, I know the bug isn't there anymore. He assured me it has crawled out, under the door, and made its way down the hall by now!

in dreams

I've not been shy about sharing my experiences with odd-ball dreams. They happen. A. Lot. The last two nights have been no different.

I'm prone to the "teeth dream", y'all know that one? Mine generally go something like this. I'm having a typically normal day and I eat something, and my teeth crumble. They are all loose in my gums and then as I talk I'm spitting out splinters of crumbled teeth. This goes on for what seems like an eternity, clearly I've spit out more pieces of teeth than I ever could have had in my mouth. Many, many mouthfuls of teeth have been spit out. And while this happens I am mostly panicked, anxious, and embarrassed (diagnosis right there!) I've had this dream often, in various forms. But, last night. Well. The dream began to get smart.

In my dream last night it was a typically normal day, and then my teeth were loose in my gums, and they were falling out. This time, though, they were not crumbles. They were whole teeth. And my dream-self was perplexed. I never have tried to salvage the crumbles...but, whole teeth?! Maybe they can be fixed. So I began to try and discretely save the teeth, through the anxiety and embarrassment so I could go to the dentist. (as a side note, I put them in a glass of milk because I remembered this commercial from when I was a kid, with a bear who fell off a skateboard, telling you to put the lost tooth in milk and get to the dentist quickly!) My dream-self was under the impression that far too many teeth had fallen out, and I actually said to someone in my dream that "this can't be real, too many teeth have fallen out for this to be real!" So I took the saved teeth and counted, sure to reach something like 55 (and, mind you, I still had about 12 left in my mouth). But, I only counted ten that had fallen out. And ten holes in my gums. And, dream-me started to panic more. Dream-me decided, "This must be real! In dreams they are crumbles, these are real teeth. I've lost my real teeth...and I don't even have a dentist here!" And levels of panic and anxiety were reached that I can't say I've felt in a dream before.

When I woke up this morning, no teeth were missing, and they look just fine. But, maybe I should finally find a dentist!

sending out an s.o.s.

could someone please tell the cat to get out of the damn bathtub and eat something, she stopped listening to me weeks ago!

UPDATE: While you are at it, can you also tell her I'm sick of playing "how many places can I hide a hairball", and that I know it was her that turned off my alarm clock three days ago!

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.