I just stabbed myself in my mouth with my sandwich

So, to ease my pain, I'd like all of you to take your cute little bottoms over to ToyWithMe and comment on my new article. It'll ease my pain, and enlarge my ego to the point where I will need a whole new house just for that.

kthanxloveu!

I am so bored

OMG, REALLY?! I am so bored right  now.

So, I'm going to tell you a story. It's a story about a girl who gets a job as a Project Manager at a new company a few weeks ago.

This girl, let's just call her "Banana" joined up all excited and wide-eyed! Ready for the test!

When she got there, however, she learned that the manager of one of the other contracting firms with whom she was working was a TOTAL FUCKING ASSHAT, and was trying to get her pregnant employee fired. We'll just call that asshat, "ASSHAT," and we'll call the employee, "Izzy."

Well, Asshat doesn't like Izzy, so he sent our Banana an email stating that she should review Izzy's work history, as it is deficient, and that she should consider the fact that Izzy is pregnant when evaluating Izzy's place on the contract.

Banana was shocked! "Why! That's a violation of Izzy's civil rights!" she thought, and sent back an email replying that Izzy's work, and ONLY Izzy's work, would constitute the basis for review.

This did not please Asshat, and he continued to approach, not just Banana, but Izzy, and intimidate her to leave.

Finally, it got to the point where Asshat started saying that the Customer wanted Izzy gone... not just because she was pregnant, but also possibly because of her race.

This blew Banana's mind.

Banana forwarded all of her emails, as well as Izzy's account of her interactions with Asshat, to Banana's boss. The customer got wind of being called racist and misogynistic, and was none too please with ol' Asshat.

Keep in mind that ALL Banana wanted to do was to make the harassment stop... but she overshot her mark.

"I WANT THE ENTIRE COMPANY *GONE*" thundered the customer, when referring to Asshat's company. "Not just Asshat, the whole shebang! I want Banana to take over!"

Banana dropped in her chair, and felt very much like the end of "The Chronicles of Riddick," where the main character has been fighting so hard just to have some peace, and suddenly turns around to find that he's running an entire kingdom. "You keep what you kill," is what his enemies say.

Banana didn't mean to kill the company... but I guess she gets to keep the promotion!

Nanowrimo question

Hey y'all... do we post our progress ON the site? Or do we write in our own computers, and then post the word count up there? I am super-fantastic confused!

I am way too needy for my own good

So, I finally joined a Scene social networking site, despite the fact that I can think of at least of 15 of my friends who are on there and have been after me to create a profile for over a year. Here's the sad thing: now that I'm on, I'm TOTALLY OBSESSED! I have my email up right now to see if people have accepted my friend requests.

This is my life people. I need one with more hobbies.

Wanna feel dirty?

YEAH YOU DO!!! So go read my new article on ToyWithMe about submission and sex. My exploration of the dark underbelly of the DC sex scene continues! Only, I find that it isn't so much "dark," as "lightly tanned."

http://toywithme.com/sexuality/the-psychology-of-submission

Time out

The hubs and I attend couple's counseling from time to time. Like maintaining a valuable car, even when it's running smoothly you still want to be sure that there are no break-downs on the horizon, if possible.

It was in couples' counseling last night that the hubs started talking about how upset he was with the fight I'm in with my dad. His concerns about how I have zero contact with my father's side of the family (even though he doesn't blame me), and his issues with me not speaking to my dad right now.

"He's a part of my life, for better or worse. You cant just cut him out!" the hubs said.

"Ok," I said, trying to think about how I was going to explain this, "Think about it like this: I have made a the promise that my dad is going to be in our lives, and our children's lives. Any kids we have, they will be his grandchildren, and I won't stand in the way of that relationship. HOWEVER, that does not then mean that I have to be his punching bag, and whenever he's upset, he gets to take it out on me.

Think of it this way," I continued, "when a little kid acts up, you give them a time out, and you say, 'you are welcome to come back to the table any time you like, but you have to change your behavior. So, whether or not you come back is really up to you.' That's what I'm doing here. I'm not cutting him out of my life, but I'm giving him a chance to cool off, and realize that a relationship doesn't mean he gets to act out."

"I like that," our therapist said. "You're demanding respect, without closing doors."

And it's true; for all that my father can be an ass sometimes, he's a well-meaning ass. It's an issue of communication, not of lack of love.

I, personally, tend to connect very well with other women who have had issues with their fathers. We just "get" each other, and there's this under-current of a bond. It took me a long time to learn how to deal with him, and as stupid as they sound, here are my secrets for dealing with MY dad (YOUR results may vary):

The buddha said, "All life is suffering, and suffering stems from desire. So, to end desire is to end suffering." It's true in a lot of ways. My desire was for my dad to ACT the way *I* wanted a dad to act. He consistantly failed to meet up to those expectations, and so I was consistantly angry and stressed. Once I became an adult though, I realized that he is the way he is, and if I want him to accept me, I have to accept him. I can't expect him to act the way I want. Well, I can EXPECT it, but it'll just make me mad.

So, I stopped expecting him to act a certain way. When I stopped that, I found that I was able to take a step back and take control of the relationship to some degree. If he wants to throw a tantrum, he can do that, but he doesn't get to snare me into it. I don't desire from him what I know I can't have, so my committment to his emotional swings are limited.

Does that sound kooky? Maybe. I love him, and I'll always love him, but finding a way to deal with him has been priceless.

Last night, he sent me an email, apologizing for his swing, and asking if I wanted to follow up on that suggestion I made to see him and his wife after our birthdays. I said that sounded wonderful, and I was all for it.

So, I think my conclusion is this, "time outs": they work for small children and insane parents, when you just can't pick up and move to hawaii.

BANANA DOWN!!!

I'm home sick today. It sucks, but I've learned that it's better to take the day than try to work through it, which makes you sicker for longer. The hubs, who was also feeling a little under the weather, and I tried to get to bed early. Our morning conversation went like this:

Him: How are you feeling this morning?

Me: I would be BETTER but SOMEBODY was taking up an entire half of the bed last night!

Him: Who? Me?

Me: No!! Moe! (our kitty)

Him: WHA?!

Me: Not bad for a little furball who's only about 2 feet long!

No lie, this cat STRETCHED himself out on his back (like his daddy), and started squeezing me off the bed! But can I be mad at him?! No...

Him: THIS little kitty caused all the problems?! Who's a widdle kitty?! Who's a siwwy, widdle puddy?!

Me: SNUGGLE KIDDY!!!

...and so on. What is with these little guys?! How can I be mad at him one minute for taking the entire bed while I'm trying to sleep, and the next minute I can't stop tickling his tummy?!

I've fallen victim to that yummy little face.

BANANA DOWN!!

The thing about the 60's

Here's the thing, I think most people my age (though I guess I no longer count as a "young person") WANT to get involved, and WANT to help change the world, but we just don't know how it's done.

I'm not blind to the fact that over 5 million people have died in the Congo since the 2003 "Peace Accords."

5 MILLION.

As a Jew, that hits home, and as human beings, I think most of us are horrified that people are starving, and that rape is being used as a weapon against women and children. I think most of us, if we could, would DO something to help.

But what?

Let's face it, I don't know if you've looked at your checkbook lately, but I'm living paycheck to paycheck right now. I just started a new job, and while I want to help women in the Congo, I can't afford not to pay our mortgage.

Not having been there, it seems to me that in the 60's, there was always some protest or another going on, and you could just join up! But now... how do I start a protest? What... what do I do? Does someone know?

In my humble opinion, I think maybe those soldiers would be a hell of a lot less likely to rape those women, if the women could defend themselves. Yes, it's very important that "justice be done" and that the soldiers are brough to court, but how do we empower those women there? Honestly? Stupid as it sounds... what... what if we taught them self-defense? And not like those little "knee-to-the-groin" classes you took in college, but like real, fucking, beat-the-shit-out-of-the-guy self defense that they teach to military? Like Krav Maga, or something? At least a shot to defend THEMSELVES and take back some honor? But who do I talk to about this?

I'm not ignorant that globally we're losing free speech rights, and women are being abused and murdered... but how do I START doing something?

Thoughts?

UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!!!

I sent an email to my step-mother today, letting her know that my hubs has been planning a surprise for my birthday. Not a couple of hours later, I get the MOST passive-aggressive call from my dad.

"Well! You do what you want!" He says.

It all stems from this: I am terrible on the phone. I HATE talking on the phone. I have a hard time understanding things people say, I can't hear them that well, I don't like holding phones so close to my head... whatever. I just don't like it. So I always tell people, EMAIL ME. It's easier, and I can get back to you WHILE I'M AT WORK!!

So he calls up:

Dad: Can I talk to you about something?

Me: Well, I'm at work, but if it's important, sure, what's up?

Dad: I just want to talk to you about the way I'm feeling.

Me: Uhhh... ok.

Dad: I just don't feel like I'm a part of your life anymore! You haven't called for MONTHS! (Backstory: the reason why I stopped calling him was because of yet ANOTHER passive-aggressive phone call where he called me selfish for not calling his wife to thank her for the gift card the MOMENT we got it... which was our one-year anniversary. I'm such a bitch!)

Me: Well A) That's probably because when I do call you, I get conversations like these and B) You KNOW I hate to talk on the phone... why don't you just email me?

Dad: You KNOW I hate emailing! It's so impersonal! I could have been dead for months now, and you never would have known!!

Me: Dad, I really think your wife would have sent out an email if something like that happened. That seems like news to know.

Dad: NO! Cause I told her not to!

Me: ..... what the fuck?

.... and it goes on and on like this. The problem is that this is his 70th birthday party, and neither his brother, or my older (half)sister (Julie) will be there. Why? Because they're fucking nuts. I'm not saying I'm a poster child for normalcy, but I've made the promise to have my dad in my life, and family is about being there for each other, even when your crazy father goes tripping the fuck off the deep end.

Whatever. He had his tantrum, so I wrote him an email:

"Your Call:

I'm sorry that you're having a hard time understanding that I don't like the phone. I am sorry that you're feeling abandoned by your family with your 70th birthday coming up, and knowing that your brother, first daughter, and grandchildren will not be there. That's a pain I never hope to imagine.

However, that does not then make it appropriate for you to call me at work and load it all on me. I am NOT sorry that I don't like talking on the phone: it's just the way I am. If YOU don't like sending emails, then we'll have to come to a compromise, no matter how much you may not like it. This is what an adult relationship is like; not throwing a tantrum on the phone and telling me that you've now told Mona not to tell anyone if you die. That's childish.

You've been so impressed by my analysis of Julie, so let me impress you again: you're angry because you feel older now, and the rest of your family is a bunch of shitheads. That's no reflection on you, but anyone would feel alone knowing that their family won't be there for them. You're mad at me, because you want me at your birthday party. I understand that, and I want to be there for you. *I*, unlike the rest of your family, DO love and support you, even if I can't be there physically. However, *I* also have a big birthday coming up, and I would like to think that my father would be SO HAPPY for me to have a wonderful man in my life who wants to take me out of the country and surprise me with a trip, that he would be sad, but understand.

I would hope that a father who loves me would be aware that his daughter doesn't like the phone, and would condescend to send her an email once in a while, so that she could chat with him while she was at work. And not a mass email that you send to G-D and country, but something to say hi to her. Letters DID come before the phone, you know.

You, Dad, were an ass on the phone. You didn't call to discuss, you called to unload on me. Well, I don't appreciate that.

You talk about how no one ever taught you how to be a "good" father. Let me give you a pointer: I love you, even though you're an ass sometimes. My husband wants to take me on a romantic trip. Your wife is wonderful, and I appreciated the gift card, but not the aggressive call I got the morning after my anniversary telling me how rude it was that I didn't call IMMEDIATELY upon receiving the card (the night before).

I won't be at your birthday party, not because I don't want to be there for you, but because I have a life too. Stop being an ass, stop feeling abandoned. As frustrating as you can be, I still love you, and I'm not going anywhere... even if you can't send out an email every once in a while.

I will try to call more. YOU try to email more.

Also, try not to be an ass.

Love,

Hannah"

If I had to analyze this relationship as a stock investment (because, let's be fair, everything in life is SOME sort of an investment) I would say that I don't get a lot of return on my investment. There are some people (Back me up, Sally!) who are energy-suckers. You almost have to ramp yourself up to talk to them, because they take so much out of you. I love my dad, but he takes A LOT. He throws tantrums, he has his fits, but at the core, he's a good kid. An annoying kid, but good.

So the question is: do I give in to his games and say "to hell with this!" or do I let the tempest pass? Frankly, I feel like the main reason I reinitiated this relationship was because so many people told me how healthy it would be.

I'm thinking: EPIC FAIL.

Nip/Tuck

I can't really point fingers, because my mom had a facelift, but the thing about plastic surgery that freaks me out, is that it's so entirely unregulated.

Our own Roberta put out an interesting post that Arnold Schwarzenegger has signed a law stating that in California, you have to have a physical exam before having plastic surgery. Could you even imagine going into any type of surgery by just rolling up in your car, pulling off your clothes, jumping on the table and yelling, "CUT AWAY, DOC!" I read an article in Marie Claire last month that talked about how some women go to their local "man-in-a-van" (literally) to get cut and lifted and injected. IN.A.VAN.

And now maybe you're thinking, "OMG! So stupid! I would never do that!" Ok, sure, but what about your dentist. You trust him/her, don't you? They're so good with your teeth, that when they send out a pamphelet announcing that they now provide discounted botox injections, you figure, "SURE!" but here's the problem: not all "doctors" are created equal. Many of these specialist-cum-cometic surgeons only have to take an online course for a couple of weeks to be allowed to purchase the medical-quality botox.

So, the man who is stuffing your face with deadly poisons, just stabbing that needle around your head, only had to put in a few hours to know how to (basically) PROBABLY not kill you. Would you want someone giving you anesthesia after taking an online course for a few weeks?

I get it, I do. My mom wanted to look younger, so she got a facelift. But the doctor, who I never met, and who she claims IS certified to be a cosmetic surgeon, DIDN'T do a detailed enough medical history on her.

My mom is a breat cancer survivor, and like many people who have gone through chemo and radiation, her ability to clot and heal after bruises was compromised.

Her. Face. Was. Black. Not even purple with bruises. He made her eyelids so tight, that with the swelling, they bulged out. She looked like she had been beaten half to death, and the bruises continued all the way down her neck to her sternum.

I cried when I saw her, and though she's ok now, what if it had been worse? What if she couldn't stop bleeding, and the doctor didn't know because he hadn't paid enough attention? Is that beauty? Is that what people want?

I get it. I'm only 29, and maybe someday I'll want a little nip here and a tuck there, and if YOU do, then I certainly don't blame you. All I ask is that you do ALL of your homework. There ARE board certified cosmetic surgeons out there, who KNOW what they're doing. Find them. Don't do what one of the women in the article did, and go to some cheap-o on the side... her left nipple ended up rotting away.

WHO LIKES BOOBS?!?!

YEAH YOU DO! Go visit one fantastic website (complete with boobs) and show your support during Breast Cancer awareness month. Also, you get to read a story about my mom's boobs and a dude named Vinnie. OMG, you are SO in!

http://toywithme.com/accepting-your-body/my-mothers-magnificent-mams/#comments

This is why we can't be friends

To better understand this story, you need some BACKstory.

My parents are divorced. My dad became crazy-religious when I was around 2 or 3, and my mom couldn't take it any more (and frankly, neither could I). My childhood was punctuated by events in their relationship that included me as a bargaining piece.I'm not complaining, and I know that there are MANY other people who had it far worse than I did growing up. They never hit me (I don't count well-deserved spankings as "beating"), and I always had food to eat.

Still, there's a lot to be said about my parents' own issues and how they interact with the world. For example, my dad loved me so much, that he kidnapped me twice... it made sense in his head.

Anyway, my dad and I have birthdays that are 3 days (and 40 years) apart. I'm December 4, he's December 7th. The problem with having birthdays so close together is that when major milestones hit, you have to figure out who gets to celebrate it.

This year, I'll turn 30, and he'll turn 70.

This morning I got an email from my step-mother (bless her, the woman can drive a saint to murder), telling me that I should keep that weekend free, because they're having a big birthday party for him.

For him...

Not that I don't think he doesn't deserve a wonderful birthday! We've both worked very hard at our relationship. I spent much of my life not actively dealing with him, but I feel that as I get older, it wouldn't be fair for me to keep him from any kids my husband and I may produce. If they choose not to be in touch with him as they get older, then that is their decision, but I won't keep family from family.

Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. It's likely that my step-mom has planned some sort of "surprise" thing for me, in addition to my dad's party, but here's where the tough part comes in (ADVICE IS WELCOME!!!)

I've been telling the hubs FOREVER how much I love him, but how he is not at all romantic. He isn't. He's sweet, and kind, and considerate, but to get a bouquet of flowers out of the man is like pulling teeth. Well, for my 30th he said, "I'm planning a trip for us. Bring your passport, and warm clothes."

I have my suspicions, but CRAP! WHAT DO I DO NOW?! I don't think he's bought tickets yet to where ever, but if he hasn't, then do I forego having fun with the hubs in some possibly amazingly romantica locale, so I can sit around with a bunch of 50+ Orthodox Jews?Why would I want to celebrate MY birthday like that?

DAMMIT!!!!!!!

Hugs: Cheaper than Zoloft

You know, I get that some people are just born with chemical problems in their brains, but I really think that most of us could just use a damn good hug. Especially as winter comes on. I mean, don't you just stop in the middle of your day sometimes and think, "If I just had a really good hug right now, I could make it through this day, easy."

OMG. How great would it feel to be like, "fuck this. I'm going out for a Starbucks. No! Wait! I'm going out for a HUG! A nice big bear hug!"

Ugh! Why aren't there people who just offer sweet, warm, hugs all the time?

...my mommy lives too far away....

I will beat you to death, and other tales of the workplace

HI ALL! I know, I suck, I haven't been on in a long time, and I've missed y'all. A recap of the last few weeks: Carm and I have been texted back and forth like crazy people, because I needed a piece of PVC to put up my Sukkah (look it up, peeps!), and she was the only other person IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD who knew what piece I was looking for, so she totally went, ON HER BIRTHDAY, to get the pieces from a local hardware store in Washington state, so that she could mail them to Washington DC. Cause she's awesome. Yes.

Then, I started my new job... AS A MANAGER!!!! WOOT!! For a little back story as to why I feel the deep and abiding urge to murder today, let me explain a little bit about what you've missed by not living inside my head:

The guy I work with who runs the other half of the team is named Tony, but for now we'll just call him Tony the Asshole. TTA decided that as soon as I came on-board, it would be a good time to try and overwhelm me with work and craziness, so that he could get all the things done that he wanted to get done, but COULDN'T when my predecessor was here. Nice. So he starts throwing things (work, not actual things) at me and my team, trying to overwhelm me, and this morning I get an email in my inbox.

"We have to talk about 'O'". "O" is a very sweet girl who works with me. Is she snarky? Yes. Does she lack the finer skills of handling men who use paperwork to compensate for significant other deficiencies? Sure. She's not, what my former manager would have called, "demure." But girlfriend knows her shit, and all the rest, baby, is ICING.

We have to talk about "O." Some of her customers have been complaining, and the fact that she's pregnant should be discussed.

Are you fucking retarded, Tony? First of all, by even MENTIONING her condition, you open us ALL up to litigation you fucking fuck! Secondly, YOU'RE TALKING TO A WOMAN. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I FEEL TALKING ABOUT REMOVING A WOMAN FROM A CONTRACT BECAUSE SHE'S PREGNANT?! Jesus-tittyfucking-Christ! Were you absent during "common sense" day at school?!

I told myself I was going to be calm about this, and not pull off his head like a twisty top on a grape drink, but this man is working my LAST DAMN NERVE.

Oh... and my former company hasn't paid me in a month. Awesome. So now I totally owe Carm money, and I have to run to the bank today so that I can actually pay this wonderful woman back for all her help and not look like a mooch.

It may be a Tuesday, but it feels like a Monday.

Why pseudo science makes my head hurt

When I was in college, I had the most awesomest of awesome Psychology professors OF. ALL. TIME. Dr. Rudski.

Dr. Rudski was a victim of a very serious and very real case of ADD. So much so in fact that everyone in his class learned to make our papers concise and to the point, which was very different from the other profs who wanted verbose and flowery. I loved Dr. Rudski. I would totally have had his little crazy babies.... but he was already married.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, one day in class he starts off saying, "We're going to talk about the difference between CORRELATION and CAUSATION. A CORRELATION is when two events appear to have a relationship to each other. You don't know exactly what that relationship is, but you know there IS one. A CAUSATION is when one event can be PROVEN to cause another."

Sexy, fucked up, AND smart. Totally my type.

Anyway, he used this great example that stays with me to this day:

In the Fall, kids go back to school. Also, geese fly south for the winter. That's a correlation: kids go to school, and geese fly south. You can't say that the children CAUSE the geese to fly, nor can you say that the geese CAUSE the kids to go to school.

I learned that in a Psych 101 course, and yet I see people like this who, though they SAY there is no causational relationship, act all excited and discuss their findings in terms of causationals.

Winter babies = kids who are more likely to quit school early? How does that make sense? Do you think kids hit 16 in the winter and think, "YES! Now I can drop out in the middle of the school year!" whereas summer kids are like, "Yeah, fuggit. I'll just do another two years, since I'm already half way through my summer."

What?

But since we're going with hairbrained theories, here's mine: since people with a stronger education tend to have fewer kids, their data has to be "stretched" mathematically to fit with the population of people who have poorer educations. So, let's say you have 100 couples who really got a bad shake at school, and 10 couples who went to the finest schools around. So, those 100 couples just have babies all year around, no particular pattern; but a December baby would probably be conceived in March or thereabouts. So, you get a couple of friskies on during March. 

But the 10 couples, well, maybe they're professors, or business people, or whatever you like. March is a shitty time for professors; you have school you have things going on, and it's not much better for the business folks who are just getting funding for departments back and track and hiring and promotions and things like that. You're not really relaxed during March. But when are you maybe more relaxed? Oooooh, Thanksgiving sounds lovely. Things wind down, you relax, there's food, or at the very least, it's fall and nice and the colors are changing.... whatever.

So, if 5 out of the 10 couples have babies in the summer, you're like, "HOLY SHIT! THAT'S 50-FUCKING%!!"

But if the same 5 couples were in the 100 couple pool, that would be 5%.... and hardly worth mentioning.

So, what I'm trying to say is that I don't trust their comparison methods, and I think they're stupid sacks of shit. Mostly because I'm a December baby.

Anyway, that's my theory. It has nothing to do with "babies born in the winter are stoopid'r" it just has more to do with scheduling and realistic demands on life.

..... or, it could be space aliens.

Fuck it. It's the aliens.

Prayers couldn't hurt...

If you're the prayin' kind, I could use some help.

I have a friend, a sweet and kind and loving friend, named Sasha. She lives in England. We met over MySpace, and have been in touch for about 4 years now. Bless her, she is the type to give until it hurts. She would hug the world if she could.

Sasha has OCD. She's been in and out of hospitals and mental wards. Her older sister committed suicide when Sash was a little girl, and it had a profound impact on her, as they both suffered through many of the same illnesses.

Sash and I connect over our depression, but her issues go far beyond something that a little bit of Zoloft can fix. When she was 16, she met an older, married man. He encouraged her affecting and devotion, and like anything else, she became addicted after a while. It's an abusive relationship, and he can become violent with her. He and his wife (who is well aware of the relationship) call her names, can be physically abusive, are cruel and trashy people. They at once encourage her dependency on him, and put her down for it. They've taken money from her in the past, and thrown it in her face when she has none. He got her pregnant, and told her that she had to have an abortion, because he didn't want any more Jewish babies in the world; he's an antisemite, who seems to have no problem screwing a Jewish girl.

Sasha has been addicted to drugs and alcohol, but in 2008, she got herself clean and moved away from England in an attempt to get herself off of her addiction to this man as well. She moved to Israel (being Jewish, they took her instantly), and began to try and build a new life for herself. But like going on any wagon, she fell off.

She's back in England now, and fighting very hard to kick her abusive relationship. She's trying everything she can do, but she's so angry at herself for "failing" to stay in Israel that she's allowing the abuse.... but hating herself for it.

I don't have a lot of money, but I may take a quick trip to London. Maybe buy her a ticket to come here. There's not much that can be done from my side, other than try and be there for her.

But if you pray, then pray. If you're aethist, then just wish good things for her. She scared and alone, and she doesn't know what to do, so even if all you have is your good hope, then please send that to my friend Sasha in London.

It's on like Donkey Kong!!

Perhaps you have read a previous post of mine where I talk about the front desk woman who WONT BUZZ ME INTO THE OFFICE, because I "go out too much."

She won't press her fat-ass finger to the button to buzz me in.

And while I was away..... she told my manager.

Seriously. She pulled my manager aside and was like, "She goes out too much!" And my manager, bless her heart, was like, "You mean Hannah? The girl who HASN'T BEEN HERE ALL WEEK?!?!"

But I can't even believe she fucking ran to my manager to snitch on me because I go to the bathroom and get lunch!!!! My last day in this office is October 4th. That bitch had better be here so I can yell at her for being entirely unprofessional and a fucking HUGE ASS BITCH!! EAT A DAMN SALAD!!!!

ARGH!!!

FUCK YOU, NEWARK!!

So, if we don't stalk each other on Facebook, then you've missed the journey that was my trip to Israel.

You see, my husband is half Yemini, and half Easter-European Jew (like me!). The Eastern-block folks are mostly all here in America, but the Yemini side is in Israel, along with his 90+ year old grandmother who was born in Yemin and FUCKING WALKED TO ISRAEL. Walked! So, the next time you're like, "do I take the car to go to the bodega on the corner, or do I walk?" WALK!! Anyway, she came to Israel, met her husband, and had 8 kids. But, she's old now, so the husband wants to go back at least once a year to go see her and do a Jewish holiday here.

Oh yeah. It's the Jewish New Year. Happy New Year, peoples!!

Anyway, so we got our shiznit together on Friday, and were supposed to fly out that night. Now, seeing as how it's a 10.5 hour flight going, plus the 7 hour time difference, we figured we'd be there around noonish Saturday. We get our shiz, and head to BWI, and then on to Newark for our connection.

FUCKING NEWARK! Our plane to go to Israel arrives, and Newark is like, "Yeah.... no" at 11pm!!! So we all have to go and get vouchers for a hotel stay and some food, until the flight can leave at 6am the next morning.

Here's the problem. The flight going to Israel was filled with Israelis. While I don't like hating on my own people, this is a group of folks who are typically no-nonsense, abrasive kids. On top of that, most don't speak-a the English. My hubs, as one of the most bilingual folks there, ends up being the fucking MOSES of the trip, getting all the info from the people at the counter and leading a sea of Israelis to the hotel. It was hilarious. AND NOT ONLY THAT, BUT THEY'RE ARGUING WITH HIM THE ENTIRE TIME THEY'RE FOLLOWING HIM!! "I think the woman at the counter said go here!" "Sir, do you speak English?" "No." "Then HOW DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?!?!"

They put us up overnight. The next morning, we all get on a bus to the airport again, and he leads the way to the gate.... while they're arguing with him. "I don't think it's this gate!" "Sir, do you READ English?" "No." "Then how do you know what the SIGNS SAY?!??!!"

We get to Israel. I get a damn eye infection... because the country hates me and wants me out. I am allergic to the entire damn country.

Then, it's time for me to fly back (my guy is still there, giving lectures at some universities cause he's all smart and shit).

The 11.5 hour flight back was punctuated by the continued YAMMERING of a bunch of Israelis, and I probably could have gotten put in jail for taking them down. I can't sleep on planes, but if I can't even close my eyes because you people won't shut up.... there will be blood.

Back to good ol' Newark again. They put my luggage somewhere else, not on the belt, so I had to go find it. Why?

Because you have to PICK YOUR LUGGAGE UP, AND THEN RECHECK IT AND GO THROUGH SECURITY ALL OVER AGAIN. Seriously.

I walked my luggage the 30 feet to check it again after picking it up.

"Has your luggage been with you the whole time, ma'am?"

"No."

"What?!"

"It's been on a plane for 11.5 hours, and then some dude took it off the plane and put it somewhere in the airport for me to find like I'm fucking Poirot. So no. It's been with you guys the whole time."

"I'll just mark that as a 'yes'."

Then I go through security. Or I try. The woman in front of me is going to Mexico. That sounds lovely. So I guess that makes her exept from the flying regulations, because she brings an 8oz bottle of lotion in her bag. The TSA agent pulls her aside.

"Ma'am, we have a fluid limit of 3 oz on the plane. You'll either have to toss the bottle, or check your purse as well."

"But the bottle is mostly empty! There's probably only 1 oz left!"

"Ma'am, I can't check the fluid levels. You need to bring in-flight liquids in a 3oz or smaller container."

"But it's almost gone."

"Ma'am, I apologize if I gave you the impression that this was a conversation. It's not. These are the rules. You are welcome to keep the lotion, but then you must check your purse and not carry it with you..."

...and so on, while the rest of us are standing there thinking, "UNFUCKINGBELIEVABLE."

Why are you arguing with TSA? She isn't going to bend the rules FOR YOU. Just figure out your course of action and bitch about it to your friends when you get there!!

Ugh! Finally, I get on my flight to go home. Where I realized.... it was 11am and I had the whole day, and no idea what to do with it because I was still on Israeli time, and exhausted from the 2 hours of sleep I DID finally get on the flight.

I took an hour long bath, and watched the "Axis of Evil Comedy Tour" on Netflix. Awesome.

Also. I'm quitting my job today, because I got another job offer where I can be a manager, and not have to listen to sex stories at work. Or maybe I will. Who knows. I've totally given up on a sane working life here in DC.

So..... what did I miss??  

GO TOUCH MY BALL!!!

Alright, I admit it! I stole Phil's topic, and wrote a piece for ToyWithMe about Purity balls: http://toywithme.com/articles/purity-balls-because-metaphorical-incest-is-totally-cool/

I think it's kinda funny. I also think the couple who run the site asked me to be more Jewish in my writing. I don't know how to do that... my articles might start popping up in yiddish. I'll keep y'all posted.

GO SEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

.... MoM - no fighting!

What do you put on your walls?

First of all, I'm ignoring the fact that it's September 11th. Why? Because my mom was there on 9/11, and she just called me all chatty and talking about her trip (she just got back from Israel), and I didn't want to say anything that was going to get her upset again. The one image that will always stick with me, was of Styvesant High School, covered in dust from the blast. To anyone else, it was just a building, to me, it was where I took my SATs. It was my home. But we're ignoring that, and just thinking it quietly to ourselves, and softly mourning those who are gone.

Ok.

So, on to other things. Last night, I was looking around the walls of our bedroom (which is quite small, sadly!) and I realized that, while we live in our house, we haven't really made it a *home*. We have some art up around the house, but nothing in our bedroom. I think that comes as a function of the fact that we want to keep the bedroom a restful place (no tv), and we don't want to make it look any smaller than it is. That being said, it looks REALLY bare!!

What do you guys have up on the walls of your bedrooms? I want something soothing, preferably in the blue range of colors, but nothing huge, and nothing crazy. What do you all have up? Do you have some kind of color scheme??

HELP. ME.

I WIN!!!!!!!!!!!

Can be tailored to fit a cat!!: http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41qn9-pqijL._AA260_.jpg

OMG. Halloweeen is going to be AWWWWWWWESOMMMMMMME!!!

JOOOOO FOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!

Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the High Holy Days! Yes, Septmber is the month of a bunch of Jewish holidays!! Starting September 19th, we have Rosh Hashannah, or the Jewish New Year (I hope you all caught that my name was in there, because things should always begin and end with a good banana!), then there's Yom Kippur on the 28th. This is our day of fasting.

*****Boring background info: The Jewish New Year isn't exactly like the Calendar YOU know, because we believe that G-D opens two books on Rosh Hashannah: the book of life, and the book of death. Between Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur, G-D takes the time to inscribe the names of all living things, great and small, in those books. On Yom Kippur, at sundown (EST thankyouverymuch, because G-d is CIVILIZED), He closes the books, and your general future for the coming year has been determined. On Yom Kippur, we're all,

"HOLY SHIT, G-D! PLEASE DON'T KILL US! I'M TOTALLY SORRY FOR ALL THAT CRAP I DID LAST YEAR, AND I SUPER-DUPER PROMISE TO BE AN AWESOME JEW (Banana, if it's me) IN THE COMING YEAR!!! IN FACT, I'M SO SERIOUS, I'M TOTALLY NOT GOING TO EAT ALL DAY! WERD!"

**********Thus ends boring background info.

So anyway, loads of people send each other Kosher gift baskets for the new year. You're supposed to eat sweet things, so that you'll have a sweet new year. But finding Kosher gift baskets can be a total pain in the ass.

Why?

You know Hebrew National Hotdogs? They're kosher, right? Yes, but NOT KOSHER ENOUGH for some people. See, they deliver on Saturday (shabbat), so some Jews are all, "FUCK YOU, AND YOUR DAMN FRANKS!!"

So, I wanna send some tasty Jew-food to my dad and his wife, but I gotta be all, "how koshery-kosher is it?!" and then it's a whole big thing, when all i really wanna do is send flower, but my dad is allergic, so fuck it, maybe i'll just send them a hedgehog. I hear they make good pets.

Oh. And if you wanna send fruit to an orthodox person, it has to be KOSHER fruit. See? You didn't know there was a difference between kosher fruit and just plain ol' shitty fruit, did you? Yeah.

Fuckin A man.

My mom is awesome in a way that makes me look normal.

The husband and I went to Brooklyn for Mother's day. Actually, we went up on Saturday, and stayed overnight. Sunday morning comes along, and the husband, my mom, two of our tenants (because all my mom's tenants love her to death and, like, wanna have her babies), my mom's coworker, and I go to a really nice restaurant in Times Square for brunch. The tenants just had a baby, and were going to have an abortion when they found out they were pregnant, and my mom was like, "I know where you live, and I will beat you down, because you're both in your 40's, and you're not going to have this chance again. Also, I know where you live."

So they had the baby, and are super thrilled! (The husband joined AA because he wanted to be around to see his son grow up, and hasn't touched a drop of liquor since.) So, we all go to the Marriott Marquis in Times Square.

This is a note if you're not from NYC, but you think you may head there: THE VIEW restaurant at the top of the Marriott spins slowly so you can see the whole city, is RARELY fully booked, and has a STUPID GOOD buffet. People are always like, "Oh, buffets are crap." This buffet has fresh oysters, five different HUGE stations, and these gourmet desserts that are so good, you want to open your mouth, tip the table back, and let it all slide down your throat. So. Good.

So I called ahead. Oh, no, you don't need reservations for the Buffet, please feel free to just walk in... which is what I figured they'd say.

We get there, ALL OF US, and we're told by the woman in the hotel that the buffet is a SPECIAL mother's day buffet, and is fully booked, has been so for two weeks, and they're very sorry. So was I! I felt terrible! Our tenant lost her mother 18 years ago, and has not had a good mother's day since, until THIS YEAR when she had her little wonder-baby, and this was her FIRST MOTHER'S DAY, and I just F*ED IT UP! I felt like the worst person of all time.

So we go to another restaurant in the hotel, but they say lunch doesn't start for 20 minutes. So we all go and sit by the Starbucks.

"Well," my mom says, "I think I'm just going to go upstairs to the View, and see if we can't just go and take everyone to just see it real fast." This is actually my mom's code for, "F* this shit. I'mma work this!" So she heads to the 47th floor.

We sit by the starbucks, and a few minutes later our tenant looks at me and says, "You know, I think if anyone can get us into a fully booked restaurant, it'll be your mom." Two minutes later, my phone rings.

I. Kid. You. Not.

"Get up here. I got us a table. I'm hungry. Let's eat."

I don't know what she said/did/paid someone else to do, but we got up there, and there was a table for 6 ready and waiting for us.

Because my mom is badass like that.

Self Esteem

Me: I don't think your cousin Ori likes me.

Hubs: No, he likes you, he's just very quiet.

Me: No, I think he likes that you're happy, but I don't think he really likes *me.* Like, I don't think that if you were out of the equation, that Ori and I would hang out or something.

Hubs: No, probably not. It's just that... you're not his type.

Me: His type? What's his type?

Hubs:.........

Me: You mean tall, lanky, gorgeous. That's his type.

Hubs: Yeah. That's his type.

Me: Oh....... gotcha......

Hubs: But she's never right.

Me: What?

Hubs: His "type," it's the wrong type for him.

The hubs and I had this conversation over dinner last night, because on Saturday we fly out to Israel for a week to see family. I was a little hurt when Hubs told me what Ori's type was, and that I wasn't it, but then I realized something more important:

I was right.

Ok, maybe I'm pretty, and maybe I clean up well, but no, I'm not gorgeous. But what am I? I'm smart, and I can plan for our future together. I'm aggressive in both my career and when I see something I want for us. I'm loving, giving, and, I hope, kind. I can be funny, I can make him laugh, and we're in couples' therapy because I know there is a closer bond out there for us than what we have now... and he agrees.

So, yeah, at first I was sad because no, I'll never be a super model. But on the other hand, I'm one hell of a woman if I can be all these things, and more. If I can be loving and caring and smart and giving.... and more than that..... I can be "right" for someome.

I hate to say that any part of myself is defined by who loves me... I would still be all these things if I wasn't married, but on the other hand... it's nice to know that I'm right.

Actually, Jews+Open Flames *AREN'T* a Good Idea.

I was raised in Orthodox Judaism, which from what I understand is kind of like saying, "I was raised Christian," because it gives you about as much detail. Within Orthodoxy, there are several streams. Let me cut to the chase: they're all crazy. You have not lived until you've worn pants to an Orthodox Synagogue on a High Holy Day, and watch the glares from the ugly dress/skirt-clad women. I love those glares. I roll around naked in them and suck them in through my pores. Fuck you, my legs enjoy individual movement.

When my parents divorced, my mom and I sorta fell out of it, and pants were suddenly a-ok in the household. This lasted through high school, into college, and continued as I enjoyed the wonders of shrimp, cheese burgers, and all sorts of other non-kosher goodness.

Kosher=Jewish dietary laws.

Moving on. When I met my soon-to-be husband, I was moving back *somewhat* in that general direction of, "Ok, I wouldn't mind bringing SOME of the crazy back into my life." My husband and I discussed making a kosher home, and we decided to give it a go. So, blah blah blah, engagement (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jl4W02fsINk, yes I knew about it, we planned it together), blah blah blah, wedding (sorry, still trying to get my mom's drunken video up), and fast forward to our apartment after we get back from the honeymoon.

If you're not familiar with Jews and Judaism (we're 1/2 of 1% of the world's population - HOLDIN IT DOWN, BITCHES!), we have very specific rules about what we should and should not eat. Then comes the real crazy: if you want a "Kosher" home, you need to have at least three sets of dishes: one for dairy, one for meat, and one for any non-kosher food that may come into your home (which it shouldn't do, because you're KOSHER now, asshole, so pay attention!). The downside being, if you're renting an apartment like we were, you have no way of knowing what was cooked in your oven before you. The previous tenants could have greased themselves up with lard (non-kosher) and had sex on top of your stove (Mmmmm, grill marks!). So, we called the local orthodox synagogue and told the Rabbi that we'd like to try and kosher our home. What do we do? Uhhh, burn some incense? Say some prayers? Dial 1-800-Help-A-Jew?!

The Rabbi comes over to assess the situation. This is kosherable, this is not. This has to be boiled, this can just be washed.

THEN COMES MY FAVORITE PART EVER, BECAUSE NOBODY EVER BELIEVES HOW CRAZY MY LIFE IS AND THEN THEY'RE ALL "WHY DO YOU LIE?!" BUT I TOTALLY HAVE WITNESSES THIS TIME, YOU DISBELIEVING SHMUCKS!

The Rabbi looks at our stove. "Well," says he, "a stove is difficult, because in order to get it kosher, it must be made hotter than it ever was in the past, in order to cleanse the "treif" (nonkoshery stuff). Sexy. So how do we do that? My mom, who comes from a long line of Rabbis and stuff was like, "Set that bitch to 'Broil,' give it a half hour, and call it a day."

Oh no! The Rabbi says. We need to blowtorch this shit.

Hells. Yes.

"Blowtorch?!" My mom says, "he's just making this shit up now!" "Mom, Rabbis don't make shit up."

Oh, also, his fly was open the whole time, but how do you tell a holy man that his junk is getting air-time? Exactly. So I REALLY couldn't focus on what he was saying, until the word "Blowtorch" came out. Like his junk. Ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Three days later, the husband takes a day off of work to stay home. In comes the Rabbi (junk hidden behind zipper, I assume), and three of his children (because the orthodox breed like we're trying to repopulate the earth with Jews), a MOTHERF*ING BLOWTORCH, and some kosher snacks for his kids to eat while HE BURNS MY F*ING HOUSE DOWN!

OMG, yes, thank you!

We only had our one cat at the time, Moe, who is pretty sure he's either a dog or a human, but he can't really decide, but either way you really should be loving up on him right now. He figures everyone is there to love up on him. He's awesome. No fear. So, in comes the Rabbi, some brood, and my husband who is just sitting there waiting for THIS SHIT TO GO DOWN. What follows is the description my husband gave me because even though I begged him to set up a live feed straight to my office, he refused, because he sucks.

Me: Is our apartment in tact? Cause I still have to write all those thank-you cards.

Him: Well, yeah, I think he might have taken Moe down a bit though.

Me: Ummm, do we still have a cat?

Him: Yeah, and he still has most of his fur.

Me: Jesus.

Him: Well, the Rabbi came in, and he turned the blowtorch on, and just basically went to town on the stove.

Me: ... Why do they let Jews play with blowtorches? How does anyone see that ending well?

Him: Dude, it was RED HOT at one point.

Me: Badass.

Him: Totally.

Me: So are we good?

Him: Uhhhh.... yeeeaaaahhhhh.....

Me: ...............!

Him: Well, we might have lost a wooden spoon or two as sacrifices unto our newly-kosher stove.

Me: ARE YOU LIGHTING SHIT ON FIRE?!

Him: Well, I mean, not anymore.

Me: Jesus Christ.

Him: I LOVE YOU!!!

The apartment survived, but I can't tell you how happy I was when we bought a house with all-new appliances. NO BURNING SHIT DOWN FOR US!!!! Standing near screaming fire-engines is no way to meet your new neighbors.

P.S. Moe was fine. Just a little freaked.

P.P.S. His junk wasn't worth the show.   

I know a little too much about my supervisor's vagina

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! I just got out of a meeting with my supervisor. You know what? "Meeting" would be the wrong word. She called me in to talk about some powerpoint slides I had sent to her, when all of a sudden her, seriously, son's "baby-mamma" (her words, not mine!) calls her on the phone and starts yelling at her for calling the BM a "slut" to the son.

All of a sudden, there's a giant fucking tizzy and my supervisor yells back into the phone, hangs up, and then STARTS CALLING HER ENTIRE FUCKING FAMILY. WHILE I'm still in the office. WHAT THE FUCK? She starts talking to her daughter about how this girl "has been passed around like a blunt."

Dude, I don't want to hear your drama. Not to mention the fact that this ISN'T THE FIRST TIME.

Twice already, she's told me how she likes it when her husband dresses up like a genie, and tells her she can have as many wishes as she wants, and then he draws her a bath and bathes her, and then he lotions her down.

Really? Was that conversation ENTIRELY necessary?!?!

Then, this morning, the guy who sits across from my cubicle was like, "I had a good time with my wife last night!!" And, like an ASSHOLE, I asked, "Oh? Where did you go?" His answer?: "To bed."

Dude. But why?

When the hell did I slip from my world into the damn Twilight Zone of horny TMI people?!?!

Why is Friday the longest day of the week?

Seriously. This day has been like, 54 hours already. What is up with that? Why is there some evil time warp surrounding Fridays? I think we should get to the bottom of this. Also, I think we should designate Fridays as "PIEdays," because everyone likes pie (I don't want to see any comments at the bottom of this post, "Oh, but Hannah, I like CUPCAKES!" Yeah, we all like cupcakes, but how does this sound: CUPCAKEday? Lame. It's PIEday. Cupcakes are for Saturday; everyone knows that. Show a bit of fucking class).

Right, so, Friday is now PIEday, and also it's only going to be 4 hours long, with free cocktails at the end of it.

If I ran on this platform, I could totally be our first Lesbian/ Bisexual Hobo President. Who does magic.

Punky Brewster has gone PIMP!!

I feel like that's the only way to explain these two items being sold at the same time:

http://www.propertyroom.com/ItemDetails.aspx?l=7003489

http://www.propertyroom.com/ItemDetails.aspx?l=7000969

Poor Punky. Bitch never had a chance.

Space Safety is EVERYONE'S Concern

I went to see the new Star Trek movie last night, because I am a nerd, and it was AWESOME. I won't give away any spoilers here, but I will say this: at one point, on an alien ship, there was a fight scene ("no way! in a star trek movie?!" "YES WAY!"). So, anyway, there's this fight scene on an alien ship that *used* to be a mining ship or something, but then the aliens got all bat-shit crazy and were like, "Let's blow shit up!" But, here's my point. During this fight, people are punching and flying and kicking and whatnot, and falling off of these platforms that are just SUPER high, and abide by ZERO safety regulations. Like, NONE. Not handrails, no stickies on the floors like they have in showers to make sure you don't trip. What the hell?!

YOU ARE AN ALIEN STAR SHIP! SOMEBODY, at SOME POINT, is going to trip. Doesn't it behoove you to have some sort of banister or SOMETHING installed?! Do badass aliens never trip? Cause it was a long way down to the bottom, and I would totally be like, "This is an unsafe work environment, and I am calling my Union rep." Out of everything, I found THAT the hardest to believe. The Starship Enterprise at least had handrails and everything, and you're all, "Oh, yeah, don't touch that cause it's hot, CAUSE IT SAYS IT RIGHT THERE IN THE WARNING POSTED ON THE WALL!"

Alien planets are clearly not to be contacted until they can understand that space safety is everyone's responsibility.

Somebody is going to buy this

I don't really feel like I have to explain why it's weird that anyone would buy KY off of a Police Auction site: http://www.propertyroom.com/Catalog.aspx?Category=Other%20Health%20&%20Beauty&CategoryId=453

I get it; you need to raise money for your defense, but let's be honest: I DON'T WANT TO BUY YOUR POSSIBLY-USED KY JELLY. Ice cream carts I can get behind, but this is just WEIRD!!! 

You're the reason us Faux-Lesbians drink.

Ummm... I don't think I want to be a lesbian anymore, thankyouverymuch.

ROBOT SEX IS ON!!!

HUZZAH! I wrote an article for ToyWithMe that I'm PRETTY PROUD OF, mostly because it's so weird, and it's UP! IT'S UP IT'S UP!!! Go see it. It's about robot hookers!! C'mon, you know you wanna hear more!!

I would make an AWESOME lesbian!

I've been having a debate with my lesbian friends. I think I am WAAY more lesbian than they are, aside from the whole sex-with-women thing, which they really seem to get hung up on. Here is my argument (and their counter arguments) in brief:

1.

Me: I cut my nails SUPER short. This is good if you have sex with other women. I actually do it because I rock-climb, and it makes it easier to grip, but I still feel like it counts.

Them: Do you have sex with women? Noooo? Then you're not a lesbian.

2.

Me: I rewired our sorority house, AND was the in-house plumber for the three years I was in the sorority. I can fix almost anything related to plumbing with my eyes closed.

Them: Sex with women? No? THEN YOU'RE NOT A LESBIAN!

3.

Me: I am way strong, and moved most of the stuff from our apartment to our house right beside the movers.

Them: Sex + Women = Lesbian.

(I really felt like their argument was getting repetitive at this point, and they were TOTALLY ignoring some of the seriously awesome stereotypical lesbianness about me.)

4.

Me: I can retile our bathroom, at any point, at any time, because I know what I'm doing and am just that cool.

Them: What is the deal here?

Me: Nothing. I'm just saying that I'm a better lesbian than you guys.

Them: SERIOUSLY?! Cause, you're married. Legally. To a MAN.

Me: Right, aaaaaand?

Them: YOU'RE NOT A LESBIAN!

Me: Yeah, but if I was, OMG, I would be so fucking good at it. I would ROCK that lesbian shit.

Them: We are hanging up the phone now.

I think we can all agree that I've made my point here. I would be an AWESOME lesbian. Case closed. Banana over-and-out.

Ok... I know how this looks...

Yeah, ok, I SWEAR I'm going to stop posting in a second, but YOU HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS: http://www.propertyroom.com/ItemDetails.aspx?l=6986917

It's nothing dirty. I mean, it could probably be cleaned, but whatevs. So, I LOVE police auctions, and this is where I get some of my shizz....

AND THEY HAVE ICE CREAM CARTS FOR SALE!!!!!! THREE!!!!!!!!! I really wanna buy them, but I have ZERO use for them, but I don't really know that USE factors into my direct need.

They're awesome. I would totally keep my work files in there, like instead of a purse, and then people would be all, "HOLY SHIT! YOU HAVE AN ICECREAM CART!" And I'd be all, "Nope! Just my files!" and then, just to fuck with them, I would pull out some icecream AND my files from inside there.

OMG. MUST. HAVE!!!!!!!!!!

You know what? I'm not afraid to admit it...

The new basement in my new home is new. And dark. I don't want to shower in the house alone, in the dark. I mean, we have lights, but, you know... it's creepy!

My nipples are going to fall off.

Every ceiling light in my office has an air vent around it. That means that if you sit directly under a light, as everyone does, then you're ALSO sitting right under a vent.

My fucking nipples are going to freeze over and fall off. My fingers are turning blue. My nose is cold and wet (which would be great if I were a dog, but I'm not). Seriously, haven't these people heard of Global Warming?! We would save SOOOO much money if everyone could adjust the temp in their cube, so I wouldn't be FREEZING MY ASS OFF!

WHY THE HELL ARE OFFICES SO COLD? ARE THEY PRESERVING MEAT?!?!?! COME ON!!!!!!!!!

You hate me! You really hate me!

Well, ok, probably not you guys, but in my new column on toywithme.com, I've had some interesting comments.

I wrote a piece (GO SEE IT!) about circumcision. Now, you know me! If you're fair and level-headed, then I figure everyone has a right to their own opinion - even if *I* personally disagree. Being Jewish, I don't see a HUGE problem with circumcising an 8-days old male baby. It's a tiny bit of skin! And I certainly don't think that having, or NOT having it, makes someone "more" or "less of a man."

Well, that's not the response I'm getting. While I understand that not everyone is comfortable with circumcision, I really thought that at least they would make logical arguments... and SOME have. Some, however, have not.

The comments have run the spectrum from, "interesting post," to "no wonder modern men are such pussies!" meaning, circumcision, I guess, turns a man into a woman. The person who made this comment seems to think that that's a bad thing.

People are weird, y'all. I'm moving to Hawaii and raising wombats.

"BiSexuals," and Why don't they give poor people handiwipes?

Since I can't really post about sluts and drugs and homeless people at work (because I have WORK ETHICS!), I have to wait to do it at home. So, now you get two for the price of one.

Issue one: "BiSexuals."

Let me say first that I do believe there are some people out there who are legitimately bisexual. However, this post is not about them. This post is about, bless her, a friend of mine. Let's call her K. K and I have known each other for years and years. We go way back. And in all that time, I don't think she's ever been in a serious, committed relationship with another woman. Yet, she still calls herself a "bisexual" because I think she got drunk a couple of nights and kissed a few girls and maybe grabbed a tit or two.

I would like to set the matter straight (so to speak) on this point. If you have not, nor could you see yourself in a life-long relationship with a person of either gender, then you are, my friend NOT BI. What does this make you? Well, it makes you slutty.

But that's OK! Live your sluttiness! OWN IT. But you ARE NOT BISEXUAL. If I use my virbator, it doesn't mean I have a sexual attraction to robots or some crazy shit. It probably just means the husband is away for the week. That means I get slutty for some vibey-sex. I am not going to leave the husband for some battery-operated goodness. Thus, I am not bi.... or into sex with robots. I dont know, maybe if the robot looked like Ryan Gosling I could manager it, but otherwise, probably not.

Point two: Why the fuck aren't there people on ever corner giving out handiwipes to the homeless? These people are HOMELESS! THEY ARE WITHOUT HOMES. Life sucks enough for them, they do not have to STINK LIKE HELL in the process.

I was coming up the escalator in the metro coming home. Anyone familiar with the DC metro knows those escalators are famous for being so long, you could birth a child, send it to school, then college, then mechanical training, and you would finally reach the top just in time to send you kid to find out WHY THE FUCK THEY HAVE SUCH STUPID LONG ESCALATORS, DAMMIT! So I get on the escalator behind this homeless dude because, I don't know, I guess the homeless commute, too. I had to ride the whole length of the escalator with the wind coming past him and pushing the "I'm-homeless-and-haven't-bathed-in-weeks" smell towards me. Now, I don't blame him, I mean, if you don't have a home, where the fuck to you put your Dove Shampoo, right? Totally.

I blame society. Do you think, maybe, if he didn't smell like ASS, he could get some kind of a job? I GAGGED behind this dude the whole way up, and all I kept thinking way, "This guy could have a PhD in Physics. He could know how to cure world hunger, and I really don't think I would be able to hire him to save the world BECAUSE HE SMELLS LIKE ASS!"

I am a tax-paying citizen, and therefore feel that I am allowed to make suggestions as to where my money goes. I say it should go to handiwipes for the homeless. It won't cure the problem, but it's at least a start!

...I really wanted a way to tie in "bisexuality" into this last bit, but I think smelly bisexual hobos is just a lot, even for me, right now.

My time has come. I welcome you to it.

Clearly, the good people from Cellfoam have come to realize the wonderfulnessocity of the BANANA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For BEHOLD! THE BANANA-SHAPED CELL PHONE HOLDER!!!!!!

MY TIME IS AT HAND, PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are you sick of hating yourself yet?

I've seen a couple of blogs on here talking about how our culture pressures women into defining beauty in such a narrow range that most women will never achieve it, and thus spend their whole lives feeling fat and ugly.

The problem is, talking about how much it sucks doesn't do anything to help. So, I want to hear what you love about yourself. Not *like*, as in, "oh my hair looks super pretty today!" but more like, "I love that I am bilingual," "I love my bootylicious bubble-butt," "I love that I know more star trek trivia than most geeks in the Northern Hemisphere." What makes you special? What can you do, that no one else can? What makes you, you, and therefore sexy no matter what Cosmo says?

I'll start: I love that I'm a good story-teller, and I make people laugh. Also, I know how to give AWESOME hugs. Next?

Are you a geek, too?

I found this website: http://www.usnews.com/usnews/documents/document_time.htm

It's 100 of the most influential documents to affect American History. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THE LEE RESOLUTION?!?! I had never heard of it before! But this little napkin-sized piece of paper is what inspired our Declaration of Independence!! DID YOU KNOW THAT?

School can only teach you so much, people. At some point, you gotta go out into the brave world and get a Banana to show you the way.

Lo. I am here. And now, lo, for I am going to Au Bon Pain for lunch.

It isn't MEM-WAH BITCH!

Once, a looooong time ago, I used to write, and I won some pretty good awards for it, but I stopped because I was worried that it wasn't a viable career. I haven't written in 10 years, but recently I started taking it back up again as a way to add quality to my life.

I *was* having fun in my previous class, which was filled with really creative people, and my teacher told me that I didn't suck. She said it much more elegantly, of course, but I just heard "not suck" and I was like, "FUCK YEAH!!" Which I think scared her because she started to back away slowly from the crazy that I think comes out from my pores.

Anywho, fast forward to a few weeks ago, to the start of the next class. None of my previous classmates are taking this class, but GUESS WHO IS! You know that one annoying person you always meet who is just waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more sophistocated than you'll ever be? Her children were always perfectly dressed and were Opera fans at the age of 7? She's travelled the world and blah blah blah? Yeah, that bitch.

I knew she and I were going to have problems when she started talking about how she has had SUUUUUUUUUUUCH an interesting life (she has Black friends) and wants to write her "mem-wah". That would be "memoire" for those of us playing at home, who also happen to not be assholes and realize THERE IS A FUCKING "R" IN "MEMOIRE"! "Ooooooh, but it's French," you might say. Am I French? Is she? No. Bitch is from Vermont. It's memoiRe, woman. You're not fooling anybody, we all know you're American no matter how you pronounce it.

Oh my G-D! That whole first class, she pretty much hijacked it from the teacher who is this sweet, skinny little poet with long gray hair down to her waist. OMG, she's so cute. I could shove her in my purse and not even realize I did it. And what did MEM-WAH do? Oh she's taking this class because she's lead suuuuuuuuuuuch an interesting life. She was involved in the civil rights movement (yeah, my mom was too, idiot, and she doesn't hijack writing groups for it!), and she loves Chamber music (have you heard this stuff? Yikes! My mom and I were once trapped in a movie theater waiting for our movie to begin and, heaven knows why, they played chamber music for 45 FUCKING MINUTES... we almost had to leave), oh and she's done this, and that, and all her little friends think she should write a MEM-WAH.

KMA.

As annoying as all the rest of that was, I almost cut a bitch last night. She had written something that, to be honest, wasn't the worst thing I had ever read. It was about an older woman who was now sick and living with her daughter, and she's remembering how she used to care for her family and now the situation was reversed. Great premise, really touching. Dry as toast. It was like reading a list of facts, and at one point I just got kind of confused, so I tried to gently bring it up with her, BECAUSE I AM FUCKING CONSIDERATE LIKE THAT YOU FUCKTARD!

"I think this is a really strong piece, but if I may, the only thing I might change is that you have her lounging on a kid skin sofa, wiggling her toes in her silk pajamas in the beginning, but then you have her as infirm by the end. I understand that you're trying to show how her life went from hard, to relaxed, but when you think of a sick person, you don't think of silk pajamas."

"Oh, well, maybe you haven't spent a lot of time near the elderly or sick but..." I almost slapped her. I spent YEARS taking care of my family members after 9/11 you stupid slut. I will break off your spindly little arm and beat you with it.

Then we're reading this story, which took place in the 1960's, and it makes reference to the song, "All Along the WatchTower." And she says, "What is that? A song? Oh, I wouldn't know such things; I was trekking through China in the 60's, and I only love Opera, so I wouldn't know this music." EVERYBODY has heard "All Along the WatchTower," it's a classic. Stop pretending you're all that and a bag of snausages, cause you're  not.

I hate you, MEM-WAH.   

OMG, am addicted to PNN

I'm sitting here at 10:38pm, watching Chris Rock, and posting follow up stuff on people's blogs. I *might* be addicted to PNN. It could be an issue. Unless they're hiring posters! I would WIN!

Self Medicating

I am weaning myself off of carbonated beverages and caffeine. First, because they think carbonation degrades the calcium in your teeth and bones, and fuck that shit! I don't need crapy-ass bones! and 2, because I have arythmia or however it's spelled, which means my heart likes to spazz the fuck out from time to time. Whereas a normal heartbeat is a double-beat, mine sometimes likes to kick it solo-beat. The first beat of your heart is it contracting to push blood out, the second one is where it expands to pull fresh blood in. Mine will contract, and then seize up. It's like being punched in the chest... and caffeine makes it worse.

So, no more sodas for me. Of course, not being a coffee drinker, sodas were my way to wake up in the mornings. The result?: Snapple Raspberry Iced Tea. I literally have empty glass bottles all over my desk. I look like I have an addiction (which I totally do!).

Now, if you're like the hubs, you're wondering, "Why doesn't she just go down the hall to the water fountain, and drink water?"

You know what, smart ass? I would totally love to, but I don't have a badge yet to let me back into the main office area. That, and the semi-regular woman at the front desk who COULD buzz me in is such a fucking bitch, that she complains when she has to PRESS THE BUTTON to let me in. WHAT THE FUCK ELSE DO YOU DO ALL DAY? PRESS THE FUCKING BUTTON YOU FAT-ASS BITCH!!"

So, I don't get a lot of water, because I can't go out to get water, and THEN again to pee, because she won't let me back in.

So, I have my snapple. The raspberry goodness helps to dull the pain of my life. Which, I guess isn't all THAT painful, except that Ann Taylor has some cute outfits right now, and I'm broke until payday.

Fuck.

How much sex appeal is too much?

So, I had my job interview this morning, and (she said not wanting to jinx anything) it went *ok*. The thing of it was that the guys interviewing me said they didn't necessarily want someone who knew everything about the job, but someone who could make the useful connections and form a network that would facilitate completion of tasks in s government environment. Basically, they want someone who knows a lot of people, so they don't have to take the time to make friends. Yeah, whatever, that's fine.

And then a task came in from my current job. Find out such-and-such information ASAP. I could have written to a female colleague of mine, who would point me in the direction of yet someone else, and eventually I would have gotten my answer. Eventually. But what did I do? I emailed this one dude, let's call him "Dean." Dean is cute! If I were single, I might tap the shit outta that. But I'm not. And I don't flirt, well, not with him. Not anyone at work. But I'm friendly and I joke around. I could have contacted my female colleague, but I exploited the fact that I have been told by multiple people that Dean has feelings for me. So I contacted him and asked for help.

Here's my question, which is almost humiliating to ask but, was I wrong in exploiting that connection? I know, out of all the people I could have emailed, that he would get it to me faster. It's not like I haven't gone out of my way for him before. Am I justifying using my gender to get further, or was it a legitimate strategic move? GAR! HELP. ME. BRAIN. FALL. OUT. VAG!

HELP MEEEE!!!!

Ok people!! I need an image for a profile pic for http://toywithme.com, where I'm writing a new blog.

HELP!!! I don't put my pictures up on the web if I can avoid it, and I want something funny! It can't be my Banana avatar, because I write under the name "KinkyJew" there.

PEOPLE!! SEND ME PICS!!!!!!! I NEED HEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP! What should I use?!?!?!

Is this a fucking joke?

It's 3:30pm. My supervisor left at 3. HER boss left at 2. I'm the only jackass still working.

People, THIS is why government drives me crazy. Peace out. It's our first anniversary, and I ain't stickin around here!!

Any proof readers out there?

As stupid as it sounds, I never knew that Oil of Olay tests on animals. Below is a letter I am going to write to them, and I'd love to get some feedback. Lynn Martin is a director in the Governance and Public Responsibility committee.

Ms. Lynn Martin,

I am a long time customer of Oil of Olay, and several other products from Proctor & Gamble. I love them! I have purchased your products for years, and have encouraged others to do so as well, based off of my rave reviews. However, I am writing to inform you and your company that I will no longer be able to purchase any of P&G's products, if I can avoid it. Aside from Oil of Olay's appauling waste of packaging and resources (which, to be honest, I really could overlook), I have recently learned that P&G allows cosmetic testing on animals. This is simply not in line with the direction in which your customer base is going, and I can no longer support it.

As a Government Consultant in DC I find that my appearance matters to me quite a bit. That said, I, and many other young men and women, your customers, find that our country is moving in a more responsible direction and we are simply not inclined to purchase from vendors those products we feel are irresponsible. I'm about to turn 30, so it does pain me quite a bit to give up some of the only products that I have found work for my skin, but this is the direction in which your customer is moving; more responsible both fiscally and socially. Animal research, which has never been shown to provide significant information as to a product's impact on human skin, is no longer acceptable to me or to a growing portion of your customers. If it were in my power, I would urge you to stay ahead of the curve of what your customers want, rather than waiting until sales figures drop to realize that responsible vendors are where the money is headed. If we can't be responsible ourselves, we are willing to pay a bit more to get it from our products.  

Please let me conclude this letter by saying, again, what a huge fan I am of your products; I spend hundreds of dollars every year on the newest items in the Oil of Olay lines. However, your customer is moving in a new direction, and I, at least, will be taking my money and my friends' monies elsewhere. Please do announce when/if Oil of Olay decides to halt animal testing; I would be thrilled to use your products again!

Best regards,

Hannah    

Why you don't fuck with people from Brooklyn

The start of this post is dead boring, but if you want to understand the funny part at the end, you're just going to have to wade through. Sorry!

I am a subcontractor to the government. It's an extremely complicated and equally boring relationship that means that I work under other contractors to provide my customer's HQ with technology solutions to deploy out to the field. So, in the great scheme of things, I actually have 3 levels of customers, 1)The primary contractors, 2) HQ, and 3) The field guys. The "Prime" as we call them, is lead on this contract by a guy, let's call the asshole, well, "Asshole".  Asshole LOVES the sound of his own voice, and has made what should be 30-minute meetings last for 2 hours. Asshole likes to tell you one thing in private, and then call you out in meetings in front of the customer about how you f*ed up, even though you did what he ASKED for. Asshole likes to be the big shot, tell people what to do, and talk shit about the customer behind their backs.

Asshole recently took away a peach project from me. I don't like things being taken away. I have put up with Asshole's attitude for long enough. When he took my project away from me, I sent him an email letting him know what deliverables the customer was expecting, and the timeline. This made asshole very angry; after all, who am *I* to task HIM?! So he pulled me aside in a meeting not too long ago, expecting me to apologize for sending him an email letting him know about upcoming deadlines that with anyone else would be professional courtesy. The meeting, and my internal monologue, were as follows:

Asshole: "Well Hannah, I wanted to talk to you about this email. It really upset me."

Me: "..."

A: "I don't think your place is really to task me with any deliverables, do you?"

Me: "I was just letting you know what the customer was expecting. If you're taking over my role, you should know that."

Internal: This is why nobody likes you, asshole. You think the customers are a couple of little bimbo bitches, but they got their eyes on you.

A: "What I *know* is that you had a little too much attitude in that email."

Me: "..."

Internal: You spend all your time cozying up to the men, and you forget all about the women here. But the new director is a woman. From my neighborhood. You ignore secretaries and treat everyone like trash, but it's the secretaries who gave me the heads up about our new Director, and it's those stupid bimbo bitches of yours who have gotten me in good with her.

A: "I'd really hate for this to ruin our relationship, now wouldn't you? Why don't I just go ahead and tell you what needs to be done."

Me: "I'm not on the project anymore. It's yours now."

Internal: I would hate to ruin our relationship, too. Which is why I won't tell you that the Director has invited me over to her house with a few personal female friends for a strawberries and champagne-tasting event. I also won't tell you how she had me apply for a government job.

A: "Make time in your schedule to help out with a few of the easier tasks, if you can. Maybe note-taking? Do you think you can handle that?"

Internal: Handle this, Asshole: I have an interview at 11am today for a government job. I have the Director, all the secretaries, and pretty much half of the field Ops guys rooting for me. Do you know what that makes me at approximate 11:01am today?

A: "Why don't we see if there's any proof-reading that can be done, shall we?"

Internal: At 11:01am today, when I get the thumbs up from those silly bitches you don't want to deal with, those "girls" you talk about behind their backs? That makes me your customer, asshole. That makes me YOUR boss. Do you think they don't know how this game is run? Do you think they don't know what you say about them? You treat people like crap, but in government you never know who is moving where, and who is going to be your boss in a year.

A: "Ok, well, I see I'm not going to get an apology out of you."

Me: "I don't have anything to apologize for! I was just giving you the heads up on tasks."

A: "Then I think this conversation is over."

Internal: See you on the government side, Asshole.

Ladies, making the switch to government, and becoming my boss's boss is going to be so sexy, I might have to have a minute alone.

HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE!!

So.... I sorta got scouted like a good hooker draws pimps! YEAH MUTHFUCKA! And now I have an article up on ToyWithMe! To be fair, I write about how my vagina is NOT a Rubick's Cube, which I think is a good rule for most women.

YAYY! I'm going to be writing under the name KinkyJew, so come read all the dirty goodness! HUZZAH!!!

...back to your regularly scheduled banana.

I love you, I really do, just ask Carm!

Dirty little secrets...

I haven't told anyone, but since I don't really know any of you people (and I always have the distinct feeling that other people on the interwebs are actually figments of my computer's diseased imagination), I have a secret.

Before I got married, before I met my husband, and really before I went to college, I wanted to take some time and travel around the world. Not luxury style, just trekking really. I want to really experience the places that I go, not some disinfected, Disney version of it. But we didn't have enough money, and I couldn't take a "Gap Year." So, I went to college, went to grad school, got a job, met my husband, and got married. I was lucky enough to find someone who had had the same experiences; too poor early on to live our dreams, but now we felt like society expected us to "settle down" and begin the uterus-expanding job of popping out other people who may never have a chance to really do what they want in life.

So last night, though we love and would miss our cats, though we just bought a home, though we haven't even MOVED INTO that home until this Saturday, we decided to start our trekking fund. If we can only take one month off to travel, then that's what we'll do. One month. If we're very lucky, one month every year for the next two years before we decide to have babies.

This post has been inspired by The Lost Girls (http://lostgirlsworld.blogspot.com/) who went batshit crazy and decided to leap, and assume that the net would just appear.

HBanana: living spherically since 2006.

My name is Hannah, and I'm a Shopaholic

It's becoming an issue. Some women shop for shoes. Some hunt for the best price on a purse. Me? I'm a stock-a-holic. In this recession, it's a buying frenzy! There are such bargain prices out there, that I find myself buying things I never even considered before! They're the equivalent of impulse buys, like when you go to the supermarket for bread, and come home with a thanksgiving dinner!

Technically, I'm not spending over my limit, and it does diversify my portfolio, but I've actually gotten to the point where I see something that's doing well, and I think, "Fuck it!" and I hit "buy!"

To be fair, some things are the Chanel of my portfolio. My GS, GE, KO, and TEVA are my golden children and are here to stay. Others, like my RDN, SNY, and JCG are the heart-shaped pencils in my group; they're good now, but we may hit a few twists and turns where I have to consider ending the relationship before things get silly and I find myself trying to sharpen the upper half of an aorta.

Then still other things are zero thought at all. I swear to you, I have no fucking idea what EDAP is, but I saw the growth was over 200%, and I got greedy. Probably bad, but I only sunk a little over $100 into it, so whatevs.

The thing is, I now have shares in 18 different companies. It doesn't sound like much, but right now my investment strategy is "oooh! shiny!" and I'm pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to go.

But I'm like a kid in a shifting candy store! BUY! BUY! BUY! If there's another correction, I am going to kick my own ass. Anyone have any investment strategies that could help?

What the fuck?!

Remember when everybody found out that Nike was made by small children in some crazy, rat-infested locked room, or some crazy shit? And people lost their fucking minds? I mean really, like flipped their shit. There were boycotts, people were saying that Nike was the next anti-christ, omg, lock up your children cause Nike is going to find them and put them into forced labor to make the next high-top or something?

Lost. Their Fucking. Minds.

And what happened? Nike had the good grace to openly blush about it, changed their ways (at least somewhat) and apologized. Oh, they didn't know, blah blah blah, they're so sorry, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

So what the fuck! WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL SHOPPING AT WALMART?! Why are celebs doing commercials for them? Why are we as a society totally fine with Walmart fucking up the lives of people, so long as we get that Stussy shirt for $3.99? THERE HAVE BEEN DOCUMENTARIES telling how horrible Walmart is, and I still see that yellow fucking smily in my face. My husband and I won't shop there. You can't do a lot about products made in China, because *so much* is made there that it's really difficult to find something that DOESN'T have the sweatshop smell still attached, but we do try.

WHY ARE WE NOT FUCKING FREAKING OUT OVER WALMART? I realize we have bigger fish to fry (economy, terrorism, the rise of xenophobia in financially difficult times) but could we spare a minute to be just a little upset about this?!?

I'm gonna kick you in the uterus

Here's the thing: when you work with male managers long enough, you start to go into this euphoric, possibly starbucks-induced craze of thinking that, if ONLY you had a FEMALE manager, then maybe things would be different. Of course, in your head "different" = better, and you totally forget about that time you were in college in your Sociology class and your instructor was talking about how the Navajo tribe's war council was run by women and how the Navajo were one of the bloodiest (but strongest!) tribes in the Americas, and you were like, "holy shit! bitches were MEAN!" Yeah, they had game.

So you forget about this until you get a new job with a female manager who cannot stand to be questioned in any way, and just the fact that you and other people on your team BREATHE is a threat to her, and so you spend all your time trying to get stuff done without letting her see that you're getting stuff done. Right? Because she wants it done, but she wants it done the OPPOSITE way from however you were thinking of doing it. It doesn't matter what you were thinking, or if the end product is the same, she doesn't want it like that.

Now, I COULD chalk all of this up to the fever, which has been my loving companion for about 3 days now, but I hate blaming someone who wants to spend so much time with me. I'm calling him Felix. Felix the fever. I don't want to make Felix mad by blaming on him the fact that I have no FUCKING CLUE what the fuck is going on in my office. To be fair, no one else seems to understand either.

So, when my manager gets in, I'm thinking about taking a good running kick to her uterus. A) I need the running start because I'm so short, so you really gotta get that lift in there, and B) I'm planning on moving to hawaii and raising wombats anyway. Maybe I'll start my own Navajo war group out there, made entirely out of Peanut M&Ms and my cats. My husband can be honorary sex slave. I think he'd be cool with that.  

The Original Wandering Jew

Ever since I was little, I've wanted to leave. Not that I haven't liked the places I've been, but I love moving. Even walking; I REALLY like walking. The idea that just two feet can take you to totally different places, and it doesn't even have to be that far from where you started, although distance can help.

This year, for those of us keeping track, we're thinking about going to: Fire Island (Oy!!), Israel, Turkey, London, and possibly Paris. How can we afford this? Well, 1) I am crazy about watching the airlines for deals and going places in the "off-season," and 2) We don't have kids yet. NOW, I feel like, is the time to take a long weekend in London or something, because once you have kids, GOOD F'ING LUCK!!

But I've always liked to travel. When I'm in a car, I love to watch scenery speeding behind me, putting me to brand new places where nobody knows me, and I can recreate myself endlessly.

Yeah, there's no reason for this post, other than I have 2 Tylenol Cold & Sinus pills in my suit pocket, and I'm holding off on taking them because the husband is taking me to Stu's place tonight (yes, THAT Stu) to learn more about "The Lifestyle." But, also, because he promised to make us dinner, and there is nothing the hubby and I like more than free food. As long as it isn't served off the ass of some slave girl or whatever. I don't think that's very sanitary.

Wow. This post just TOTALLY wandered off course. Maybe I SHOULD take those pills...

Ethical Cloning?

This topic is a little heavy for someone who wrote about the best way to pass gas in a meeting without being heard (the now infamous Fart Superhighway). Still, stem cells and cloning have always had a place close to my heart, because I'm a product of Artificial Insemination. In fact, I'm one of the oldest in the country, and quite proud of it, actually! My mom and dad had difficulty conceiving, so they took an alternate route, and I have never once thought any less of myself for it, even though I've been confronted with people who tell me that I have no soul (because only G-D made things have souls, and since I am AI, I do not). I prefer to take it to mean that I have little knowledge of Soul Music, which I would argue is simply not true! I LOVE Floetry  ;)

Kidding aside, a recent article has come out letting us all know that we are either one step closer to successfully cloning a human, or that anyone nowadays can make a proclamation to the press without fear of being called a sperm-burping whore of a liar: http://news.sky.com/skynews/Home/World-News/Baby-Cloning-Possible-In-Two-Years-Says-Controversial-Fertility-Doctor-Panayiotis-Zavos/Article/200904415266774?lpos=World_News_First_Home_Article_Teaser_Region_7&lid=ARTICLE_15266774_Baby_Cloning_Possible_In_Two_Years_Says_Controversial_Fertility_Doctor_Panayiotis_Zavos

Awesome. So a woman wants to clone her dead daughter. On the one hand, I feel like I should support cloning; were it not for advanced science, this broadcast by your local Banana would not be taking place. On the other hand, just because you *can* do something, doesn't mean you *should*. I like the idea of cloning organs and limbs for people who need perfect matches for transplants. I do not like the sci fi horror concept of cloning a whole other you and cannibalizing them for parts. It's easier to clone a whole room full of arms than a single human, and less ethically sticky anyway. But, at one time, this same conversation was being had about AI, and Invitro. The monsters that might come out, the chaos, now everyone could make their own flying-monkey Banana hybrid! It was the Brave New World of our nightmares! And what's happened? Nothing. Most people born from AI or InV don't even know it; their parents don't bother to mention it.

But isn't fertility treatment just another way towards the same goal? Cloning is a whole new game! If this mother of a ten year old girl who was killed in a car accident is allowed to clone her daughter, what kind of future does that clone have? Always living in someone else's shadow, never appreciated for who YOU are, but just being forced to live out someone else's possible future.

There are times when I wonder if I'm meant to be here. After all, if it took test tubes, doctors, hormones, and all sorts of crazy shit to bring me here, then maybe I wasn't supposed to be here to begin with. Or maybe it took all that junk because I am SO FREAKING AWESOME that only science and an act of G-D could bring you your regularly scheduled Banana goodness. Whatever the truth, what moral issues will these clones deal with? At least I'm an original, but they will always be an echo of someone else. Is that fair? Just because we CAN make them, SHOULD we?

Salt and Cantaloups

Sally G. wrote an interesting article yesterday that I really enjoyed, but it took me time to sit and digest it. Her entry, "Honour the Everyday Heroes," made me think about who brings drama into your life, and who helps you remove it. Like salt and cantaloup.

I have a friend from high school. I've known her longer than not, and she's one of my best friends. I speak Kreyole specifically because her family considered to me to be a member, and so never spoke that much English to me. They just expected me to learn Kreyole like every other Haitian child, who just happened to be White and Jewish. But, as much as I love her, she constantly has drama. She's cut her siblings out of her life because they pissed her off. She never finished college, and I know it hangs over her like a black cloud of shame. She takes things personally, but if you need her, she'd probably be there for you in a heartbeat. She's my salt. She sustains me and fills me up, and there's nobody who could ever take her place. But she can be too much. She can fill me to the point of over flow, and I feel bloated with the drama, and off kilter.

Then there's my cantaloup. Actually, there's two of them. My sorority sisters, who turned out to be lesbians, fell in love, and are getting married in August. They don't have drama, but they'll listen to yours, and give you advice (but only if you ask). They're sweet and cool. They're the quiet island of peace and calm among my not-husband friends. Like cantaloup, they syphon off the extra salty drama, and help it pass out of me and pull me back to equilibrium. They counterbalance my salt.

As thankful as I am for my cantaloups, I do have a taste for salt every once in a while. Not too much, but it keeps my life flavorful. Nothing can replace it, because everything else would be different, and I'm thankful for that. I just keep my lovely cantaloups close at hand... just in case.

My P/E is bigger than yours!

So, I got a compliment, and possibly an insult (though I'm probably being overly sensitive here) over the weekend.

This dude, "S," and I have a weird relationship. Purely social, but he and I work in the same division of the government, and his wife and my hubster used to be coworkers. So, whenever we go places, the hubs and his wife start chatting about science and shit, and "S" and I talk policies. It's fun. Well, S's wife M got pregnant recently (mazal tov!), and we were talking about the size of babies' heads shooting out of places so small that sometimes a tampon hurts.

So, I casually mention (as one does) that I was actually a 10.5 month baby. We don't know why, but my mom never went into labor. In fact, she WOULDN'T have gone into labor, had the cord not started to dissolve in utero. Sexy, no? Anyway, one emergency c-section later, and I emerged upon an unsuspecting world. TA-DAH!!!!

OMG. S almost lost his freaking mind over this. He started talking about how human babies are actually born premature and the gestation should be about a year, but because our bodies can't handle the increased head size, females give birth long before the baby should be born. So, his theory goes, the longer you stay in, the smarter and stronger you are. So I sneezed on him. This was to make the point that I get sick often and am not, in fact, some brilliant Eistein chick combined with fantastic physical powers... though I can open that jar of pickles for you if you like.

Anyway, he goes off on how he wonders what my IQ is, and I stared at the pretty pictures my Mocha Frappuccino made in the plastic cup. Then I wondered if I'd locked the car.

Anywho, very nice.

Then, fast forward to the next day, and I was sitting around with a few friends (and some friends of friends), talking about what turns us on. As is normal with me, my answer was, "Google stock." Mmmmm, yeah.... you make me wanna buy at 200 you sexy bitch! So then this dude sitting next to me was like, "Well, I never buy unless I know my beta and P/E."

First of all, you arrogant sonofabitch, I fucking know what a beta is, so don't say it like you know something I don't. Second of all, all that stuff is BULLSHIT. (Ok, at this point, if you don't know what any of that stuff was, that's cool, I'm really just ranting at people who try to sound smart, but then end up being assholes that you just want to smack off of your deck and you're all, "Who the fuck invited you to my house anyway?" and then someone raises their hand and you are then forced to hire a bouncer just to get the two morons off your lawn, but you want it to be entertaining, so you tell the bouncer to rough them up a little while s/he's at it... cool?).

Oooooh! You never buy without your beta, huh? Fucking asshole. I know what that is, and I know why it's useless, and that's why I am going to make enough money to buy a deserted island.... and then drop your dumb ass off there.

Ok. I just needed to vent that out. The hubs was like, "I think you're being a little PMS-y, he was just telling you his strategy." Yeah? Well, his strategy can suck my non-existant balls, and I think I may be running a fever. Which is going to make this whole post WAY more fucking interesting when I read it tomorrow.

Fire Island: Not actually for White people

Last year, because my then-husband-to-be never believes that I am as White as I say I am, even though he can SEE ME WITH HIS EYEBALLS, he decides that we should take a trip with a group of people to Fire Island. If you don't know, it's this really beautiful extension of Long Island with beaches, and is super trendy, and very hip. All the things that I deplore in humanity, so we were really setting ourselves up for a whopping good time!

No, it really is pretty. I, however, am not a beach person. I don't get it. You spend HOURS in traffic, to get to some hot place with water that probably is just BARELY clean enough to go into, to be surrounded by HUGE people in TINY bathing suits, screaming kids, the hot sun, and....... SAND. I HAAAAAAAAAAAATE sand. It may have something to do with my ancestors wandering around in the deserts of Egypt for 40 years, or it could have something to do with the fact that whenever I get withint 1 mile of a beach, I somehow come away with sand IN MY EARS. WHAT?! HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN, PEOPLE?!

Anyway, so last year, because he REEEEEEAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLYYYY wanted to, we shlepped ALL the way out to Fire Island to hang out with a group of folks. I slathered myself in sunscreen, figuring, "Ok, now I'm good!"

FAIL. EPIC FAIL!!!

I missed my ankles.

Do you know what a second-degree burn looks like? Worse, do you know what it feels like, and particularly on a JOINT? First, no matter how much you ice it, you have effectively COOKED the protiens in your skin, so you're fucked. Ice it all you want, motherfucker, you're too late. Then the swelling started. IT was so big, that just putting my foot down on the pavement was agony. I had to wrap them, so that the fluid wouldn't burst the veins near my joints. It was possibly one of the worst experiences of my life.

So what does the hubs say this year?

Yeah.

"You know what would be nice? Let's go back to Fire Island."

Pretty much the only reason I can think of for this is because he hates me and after 1 year of marriage, is pretty much ready to throw in the towel. Fantastic. I gave him the "final warning."

"I swear to G-D: I will slather myself in SPF70. Everywhere. But if I get burned again, you NEVER ask me to go to another beach, EVER AGAIN." There was a trembling look of fear on his face as he nodded his head, but I'm not fucking around. That shit HUUUUUUUUUUUURT!!!!

Does anyone know where I can find a nice beach-themed burqa?

United vs. Fat People: a cage match... but with bigger cages

On the PNN site, I noticed a survey asking if United was being descriminatory for informing passengers of a certain weight that they would have to purchase a ticket for a second seat if they could not fit entirely into one seat. I also noticed (after I voted) that at the time, almost half of all respondants voted that it was descrimination on the part of the airlines.

Are you JOKING? Do you travel often?? I do. I used to travel at least once a month down to Houston, Texas to visit family. As tight as those seats can get, they're reasonably sized, and most people are able to fit into them just fine. IF YOUR FAT ASS CANNOT, THEN DON'T LEECH YOUR FAT INTO MY PERSONAL SPACE. I don't care how insensitive that sounds; if you can't fit in ONE seat, and have to use TWO, then you should pay for TWO. Why is that so wrong? I could understand it if people were being descriminated against for being tall, or short, or a certain color; you can't do anything about that, and as long as it falls within a certain statistical range, then the airlines must accomodate you. However, that last Big Mac? Yeah, your ass CHOSE to eat that.

Where did personal responsibility go? You may not like that you are fat enough to need two seats, but it is not the airlines' nor my job to do what you like. If you don't want to need two seats, then lose weight! Take responsibility for yourself and your health, and get to within a "normal" range, but don't expect me, or anyone else, to be forced to squish into 1/4 of my chair because you have to use 175% of yours! The fact that there was even a question as to whether or not this was descrimination is absurd! I side with United on this: if you want double the standard product, then you pay double the standard price. Or go first class. I don't care. Just give me back my arm rest.

Poly Dismorphic Disorder

Our evening went like this:

Hubs: "So, you're heading out with Tim tonight?"

Me: "Yeah. His group is doing a class on the Poly lifestyle, and one of the things I want to find out is how they make that work. I mean, your communication skills have to be off the chart, right?! I can barely manage ONE relationship, and some of these people have FIVE!"

Hubs: "Maybe I'll go with you."

Me: "Oh jeez."

Hubs: "Well! You don't know! Maybe I'll find another girlfriend there! How would you like that?! Then you can nap while someone else helps with the laundry!"

At this point, the hubs thought he was UNBELIEVABLY clever; like all your problems can be solved by adding ONE MORE person to the mix. I tried to explain that I REALLY doubted that adding more people to a crazy situation actually helped stabilize it, but to no avail. The hubs was pretty sure he was gonna start some crazy harem, so I was all, "Whatevs!" and we left.

Let me say this: after having taken the class, I am now pretty darn sure that I could never be polyamorous (in multiple relationships), or even polyfidelous (in multiple COMMITTED relationships). Why? If you have to ask, you have no idea how much energy it takes with the ONE INSANE relationship I already have. Not my hubs, he was off in some crazy world where he had women falling over themselves to accomplish his every whim.

The class started, and an average looking woman walked up to the front and started talking about what it takes to be in many poly relationships. AND THEN, she started talking about the difference between being Poly, and just being slutty. Surprise surprise, my hubs is a slut. As she was describing the difference I looking over at him and said (not too quietly either), "HEY!! THAT'S YOUUUUUUUUUU!!!" That went over REALLY well with everybody but him. Still, he is kinda slutty, so it was sorta cool.

The "instructor" talked about how vital communication is, and how many people think they want to be poly so that they can substitute whatever they're not getting in their current relationship, by adding someone new. Doesn't work, she says, because if you never confront and deal with problems in any relationship, you can keep meeting people but nothing will last. I thought that was just generally good advice.

"Are you coming next week?" Tim whispers in my ear as my husband sits flabbergasted at all the work he would have to do if he took on a new girlfriend... not to mention the bits of his pieces that he would have to hunt for in the middle of the night once I had cut them off.

"What's next week?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the speaker who has somehow wandered into a conversation about talking monkeys and while I don't know how that happened, I am enjoying it. Cuz I'm me.

"The board meeting. Politics. We're going to outline the curriculum for the year, and discuss speakers and lesson plans."

*Sigh.*

"Tim. When does your pervy group ever do anything, you know... PERVY?!"

"This is mostly an educational group."

Figures I would fall in with the book-reading pervs.

The class ends and little chunks of people get up; 3 here, 4 there, and everyone starts saying goodnight. I look at the hubby, and he looks back at me.

"Not what you thought it would be, huh?"

"Not even close, babe."

"No girlfriend for you?"

"The CLASS was exhausting enough!"

Poly Dismorphic Disorder: Thinking you can go poly until you find out what it is and realize, no, you're just slutty.

Pay me more, and I'll be as horrified as you want.

People keep sending me emails like I read them. I have so far been approached by approx. 326 African princes who want me to help them move their cash from Africa to the U.S. They will then happily give me a huge chunk, because I'm just awesome like that. I have also won I-don't-know-how-many TVs from Walmart if I just fill out their ONE survey. Then, there are the financial emails I keep getting which either:

A) Depress me, or

B) Do not apply to me.

This latest email was the latter...

April 20, 2009

Dear Hannah:

It may just be a matter of time before you encounter age discrimination, as 44 percent of senior-level executives we surveyed were in strong agreement that their age will affect their ability to land their next position — up from 33 percent last year. I write documents all day, and read PNN waiting for The Bloggess to update her page. I think I saw an exec last week, but I can't be sure; he came in at 10 and left at 3.

Despite increased awareness and federal protection, charges of age bias have escalated. In fiscal year 2008, the US Equal Employment Opportunity Commission logged more than 24,000 charges of age discrimination and recovered $82.8 million in monetary benefits. That’s a sharp increase over the previous year’s 19,103 charges and $66.8 million recovery. THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME! Dude! I've been aged descriminatoryated against! I want some $82.8 mill! WTF?! It's hard out there for a short, Jewish pimp!

Since this issue strongly resonates with our senior-level executive membership, we’ve been tracking relevant trends and saw some slightly shifting attitudes from search firm consultants:

None of this is me, assholes. Read my profile.

There is clearly considerable room for improvement, Clearly. You can't keep sending me depressing emails about how much other people make on pathetic salaries like YOURS! That's positively BARBARIC! but in an ExecuNet Roundtable discussion, members shared methods for finding the right fit for their long-term experience: First, become an executive, and stop rewriting other people's documents...?

"Age discrimination is alive and well in some industries and companies. However, there is a push in our favor (over 40, 50 or 60). We are regarded as the knowledge base from which the next level will grow. Welcome. I am the manure from which your tree will sprout.  The key is to target companies that value experience, wisdom that comes from experience and the fact that chronology doesn’t necessarily mean ‘antiquated.’" So, you're looking for a company that sees past age, gender, and race, and sees who you are inside, utilizing you to the best of your qualifications, and allowing you the freedom to grow and inspire? Are you fucking HIGH?

"The actual consideration is cost vs. experience. The goal is to hire the best talent at the lowest cost. No, the goal is to hire whoever will put up with this work, correcting documents of people who don't know what the word "behoove" means, but feel free to use it liberally throughout a paper. Usually, younger, less experienced individuals can be hired for a lower cost. Hi. More experienced, mature individuals will usually cost more. The challenge is to balance your need for experience with the price you’re willing, or able, to pay."

I applaud these noble people who demand the six figures + that they want to earn. I am using my cat to clean my kitchen floor because I am 1) too lazy to pick up that chip that fell (a sacrifice to the deities of snack foods), and 2) He can really reach those "in between" places. He also doubles as a foot warmer. I want to feel pity for you people here. I am sure that only 7 or 8 years at six figures isn't nearly enough to afford that yacht off the coast of Greece; don't they understand that you have expenses?! But dude, your salary could pay for 10 of me, or just a really nice bonus for the one chick who has to constantly explain that "behoove" is not a type of vaccum cleaner.

Stop emailing me!!

No, I'm sorry, no. I can't stand my MIL.

I'm sorry, but no. I seriously cannot stand this woman, but let me tell you why:

1) She left her two youngest children with her abusive ex-husband (their father) while she went off to the US to be "fabulous."

2) She would never allow the hubs or his younger brother to socialize when they were in school. They couldn't have sleep overs, they couldn't go over to other boys' houses after school, and they couldn't be in sports. The no-socializing was because she was afraid they would be kidnapped (wtf?!) and the no sports was because "Jew don't do sports." What? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!?!?

3) She ACTUALLY said to me last weekend, and this is a DIRECT QUOTE when talking about her mixed up 17 year old, "I just don't want to have to be her mother, you know?" As in, she doesn't want to have the responsibility of watching after her, making sure she gets up, gets a job, goes to school, or all the other small things that a parent is SUPPOSED to do. No. She doesn't wanna.

4) The woman is, admittedly, very smart when it comes to her business. She sells antiques. She can pick out good ones. She can find buyers. But what does she do? She keeps herself in business long enough to build up a small cash reserve, and then QUITS so she can live fabulously without working for a while. Until she's broke. That's fine for her, but what legacy does it leave her kids. And speaking of kids...

5) She owns a house in a VERY good area of Israel. VERY good. She owns it. A small mortgage. So what is she going to do? She's going to sell is, so that she can have some money and move to UPSTATE NEW YORK. Let me explain why this is a bad idea: if her daughter has as hard a time as we all think she will, then she's going to need a place to live. YOU OWN THE HOUSE OUTRIGHT!! WHY WOULD YOU SELL THAT?! Rent it, and it makes money. Sell it, and all you have is a little piece of change.

6) It's not just this time; she is CONSTANTLY making poor real estate and financial decisions. She MAKES money easily, but never KEEPS it. ARGH!

OMG. I really can't stand this woman. Everything is "just fabulous!" to her. It's all so "fabulous". Meanwhile, my husband's step-mom has probably been the only positive influence on his life (hopefully until me). He said that if it were not for her, he would have been a ranging misogynist, and you know what? I would have too. I really can't blame him. And the only reason I can say this here is because I would NEVER say it to his face (he already knows how I feel about her), and I won't put him in the position of dealing with both of us if I say it to HER face. But man oh man, how I wish I could!!!!

Ghetto House, or Decorating on a Budget

Have you recently bought a home? Have you made many and varied trips to the following places: IKEA, Costco, HomeDepot, Maryland Home Security, and U-HAUL? Have you suddenly realized that you blew all your cash on something called an EKTORP (which, by the way, you couldn't pick out of a line up if someone paid you) and now you can't afford to put up silly things like BLINDS so your new neighbors don't catch an eye full as you're walking around your new house buck-naked because DAMMIT THIS IS YOUR HOUSE AND IF YOU WANT TO WALK AROUND LEAVING BUTT PRINTS ON YOUR FURNITURE THEN YOU DAMN-WELL WILL!?

Then let me invite you to our house. Yes ladies, that really *is* Hallmark wrapping paper over our windows. You see, custom blinds are surprisingly expensive. I don't know how much because each time the husband quotes the price to me, I pass out on the floor in a puddle of my own vomit. Suffice it to say, we're going to have to work our way up to real blinds. So while we were sitting on the floor (the EKTORP hasn't arrived yet... maybe we have to set out some bait?) the husband suggested making a trip to CVS and picking up some wrapping paper to put over the windows. Let me save you the anticipation; yes, it *is* as ghetto as it sounds. But you know what?! I don't care! YEAH, I DID grow up in a neighborhood where people used bedsheets as curtains. And, ok, maybe it was a terrible waste of paper, but when I walk into a living room that shouts, "MERRY CHRISTMAS," "CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR GRADUATION!," and, "GET WELL SOON!" it really cheers me up. I like knowing that my living room is so invested in my life and personal health. And, you know, "ghetto" *could* just be another word for FISCALLY RESPONSIBLE, or RECESSIONISTA-FAB! Hey, maybe that's the next big thing: wrapping paper window shades!

Ok. Probably not.

Still, there's nothing like walking outside your new house to marvel at your masking-tape abilities and seeing the "HALLMARK" written all over your windows. It's like my house is a gift from a greeting card company... with nothing in it, because those cheap bastards couldn't get me that damn EKTORP!

Husband: What do you think?

Me: We should fix up the INSIDE, too... Home and Garden might want a few pointers.

Why is everyone so fascinated by my uterus?

My husband and I got married six months ago. We closed on our first house 34 hours ago. And for some reason, everyone's next question has been, "So, when are you going to have baaaaaaaaaaaaybies?!"

I've checked; there is no "For Rent" sign on my uterus, and no "Open House" sign on my vagina. So, imagine my confusion when person after person keeps asking me when I plan on splitting my DNA with the husband.

A) Being married does not mean that the cooch is now a viable table topic at dinner. No, I assure you, the virility of my husband's testicles is just something (somethingS?) I don't want to discuss over brunch with my parents. When am I going to have kids? When are you going to retire, move to Florida and die? Just curious. Yeah, how are those wrinkles coming along? Lookin good, kid, lookin good.

B) Shut the fuck up. That's my fuckin point B.

I would be way more "hoo-rah" about this whole spawning thing if they would just perfect star trek technology so they can "beam" that badboy outta me. I have to push WHAT out of WHERE?! Is this some kind of delayed hazing bullshit that my sorority didn't tell me about? Cause it ain't fuckin funny.

Neither was the conversation I had with my ORTHODOX JEWISH father not too long ago:

Me: Hey Dad. What's up?

Dad: You know Hannah, I've been thinking about this, and I've decided that your eggs aren't getting any younger.

Me: What?

Dad: Your eggs aren't getting younger, and neither am I, and I'd really like to see my grandchildren before I die.

Me: Are you sick?

Dad: No.

Me: Take vitamins.

Dad: You're missing the point.

Me: Dad. What the shit is this?

Dad: You know I don't like it when you curse.

Me: Totes. I'm waaaay immature. Best not pop that mucus plug just yet huh?

Dad: Ew!

Me: Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

For some reason, I feel like Orthodox Jews shouldn't be talking about this type of thing. I don't know why. It's like having your priest discuss how your lactation is going. Um, ew.

Yes, so I am giving my official notice: the ring on the finger does not mean that my ovaries are now open for conversation. Ew. Get your own vagina and shoot babies outta THAT; leave mine alone.

The smackdown is coming.

I earn more than my husband. No one is less surprised by this than, not surprisingly, my husband. And we're not talking a difference of 5 or 10 grand. We're talking whole pay grades. When we were dating, I asked him out-right, "It's likely that in the course of our relationship, I'm going to earn more than you. Are you ok with that?" You know what his response was? "That would be AWESOME. Maybe I could stay at home and take care of the kids!" Why? Because he's a fucking fantastic human being and has a butt you just wanna GRAB!

Well, I don't know if the butt actually factored into anything, other than my love of him, but whatever. That's not the point of this article. Today I would like to point out how some women make me want to beat them into unconsciouness.

Exhibit A: http://articles.moneycentral.msn.com/CollegeAndFamily/LoveAndMoney/survival-guide-for-breadwinner-wives.aspx

This is an article, written by the appropriately-attractive-but-not-too-atractive-as-to-be-threatening-to-women-readers MP Dunleavy. Oh MP, where have you been all my life, that I have had to manage to be the primary breadwinner in our household without your STELLAR advice? I do wonder...

MP would like us to know that as the breadwinner in her household, she felt like the first female astronaut. Let's let that sink in for a minute. She felt like the FIRST FUCKING FEMALE ASTRONAUT TO STRAP HERSELF BODILY TO A GIANT FUCKING ROCKET, SHOOT INTO SPACE RISKING LIFE AND LIMB, AND THEN SAFELY LAND BACK ON TERRA FIRMA. Are you fucking kidding me? Sure, in 1959, I would go with that analogy, but this is 2009 dipshit! Are there issues with women in the workplace? OF COURSE THERE ARE! I've written about my own on PNN! Does that make me a fucking space explorer?! NO!!!!!!!!!!

Clearly, this article is aimed at women, otherwise I doubt it would have been called the "Survival Guide for Breadwinner Wives," as though we've all been walking this crazy fucking minefield called LIFE until now without her award-winning guidance. THANK YOU MP. My career until now has been NOTHING without your three bite-sized tools to suriviving my marriage. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Exhibit 2 & 3 (Yes, I am still sticking with this format): Claire Shipman and Katty Kay. Claire and Katty. Seriously. Katty.

Ok. Why not.

Claire and Katty have, through PAINSTAKING pseudo-scientific stasticial manipulation that they may or maynot have participated in/ had peer reviewed, discovered (shockingly enough!) another 3 vital points for us ladies to know. They've discovered why there are more women in the workplace. TAKE IT AWAY, LADIES!:

• Women are better educated.

• Men have lost more jobs. Unemployment data from January 2008 through January 2009 suggest that recent layoffs have hit male-dominated professions (e.g., construction and manufacturing) harder, leaving more women to bring home the bacon.

• Women are profitable. Several studies indicate the presence of women in executive positions is linked to better company performance, according to the best seller "NoFuckingWayI'mPluggingYourUselessBook" by Claire Shipman and Katty Kay. "The companies with the very best records of promoting women beat the industry average by 116 percent in terms of equity, 46 percent in terms of revenue, and 41 percent in terms of assets," the authors write, referring to a 19-year study of more than 200 Fortune 500 companies conducted by researchers at Pepperdine University.

Better educated? Alright, I can buy that women are more MOTIVATED to receive higher degrees than their mothers might have. Maybe more opportunities. Alright, it's anecdotal, but I'll buy it.

Men lost more jobs because of construction layoffs. Really? SERIOUSLY? Let's ask the folks at Lehman Brothers... oops! Well, surely the kids at Citibank, uhhh.... I mean..... Fannie Mae? Err.... Freddie Mac?! Nope, not buying it. This would only make sense if the number one employer of men in America was construction.

And finally, their home-run, hit-'em-where-it-hurts, final point: "Uuuh, girls rule." FANTASTIC. You see, some studies INDICATE that in some unknown industries, having a woman MAY (or may not) be LINKED (not "lead to" not "create") higher profit. Or maybe it doesn't. But it just sounds neat-o, doesn't it, girls? It certainly does, Katty, it certainly does.

Here's my argument for why all of this is bullshit and why MSN really needs to think just a little more highly of their readers. Are you ready? It's a super fucking doozy!: WWII.

WHO SAW THAT COMING?!?!

In WWII, women were often the primary breadwinners for their families. Why? BECAUSE DUDES WERE OFF IN EUROPE N SHIT. Women HAD to work, because they couldn't NOT. Ok, it's not the 1940's, that's true, but in a globalizing economy, our country cannot afford, literally, to waste brain power. Yes, women's lib helped, blah blah blah, but the fact of the matter is that the U.S. NEEDS more skilled employees. If women weren't NEEDED, I think this fight to be equal would be a shitload harder, don't you Katty? Sure you do.

Ok, this post is getting really fucking long, so here's my point: if you're the breadwinner of your household, and you're a woman, no one can tell you how to negotiate that in your relationship. Our children are going to grow up with a very different concept of "gender roles" than maybe some of us did. No 3-point plan from an online article is going to tell you how to manage that. What works for Katty (I seriously can't believe she used that as her name) may not work for you. It doesn't really matter why you're the CEO, you are, and it's up to you and your spouse to sit the fuck down like damn grown-ups and figure out a way for him to define his masculinity differently, and for you to define your femininity differently. We can't use our parents' and grandparents' rules, if any of us ever really did. You know how I define myself as a woman? I have a vagina. He has a penis. He is a man, I am a woman. That's sort of the extent of it in our house.

Feel free to borrow our model.

Dear Asshat

In my email this morning, I received the following letter:

Hello,

I'm working on some new financial education programs to help people create a fulfilling financial future. I want to make sure that I'm offering what's most important to people now. Here's my question:

What's your burning question about your personal finances?

Thanks in advance for helping me.

Kind regards,
(person who found your email from your last J.Crew order and has now sold it to everyone, their mother, AND their cat)

My response as follows (for much nicer/more interesting responses, please see Jenny The Bloggess' column and webpage)

Dear Asshat,

I'm working on new government documents to help me create a fulfilling next two weeks by getting paid. When I consider the most important things in my financial horizon, I think about avoiding eating Raman noodles for three days straight because I'm broke as shit, and turning my socks inside out to get twice as much use out of them.  

In this difficult time of recession I feel my best option, frankly, is to start using my skills learned on the loving streets of Brooklyn and rob houses. I'm not particular; anyone who has nicer crap then me is totes on the list! I think my financial future could include things like regular trips to the pawn shop, and learning how much I can lift and run with at a single time, while avoiding the po' po.

So, I guess my burning question is this: where do you live, asshat?

-HBanana

Serious Post: Stacy Barnett

If you live in the Houston area, then you already know, but for those who don't; two beautiful lives were violently snuffed out this week, and for no good purpose.

Stacy was half Chinese. She was one of my sister-in-law's closest friends growing up. The knew each other for 13 years when she got the call that Stacy's boyfriend had been found murdered in their apartment. At first everyone thought Stacy was missing, but a short while later they found her body.

Why this has hit me so strongly, I don't know. I never knew her that well, and I'll always picture her as the young girl, back from college over the summer, standing at the island in my in-laws' kitchen, picking at fruit off the counter. If she and I had an entire conversation in the entire time I've known her, I would be surprised. She was just this sweet kid.

You know how, when someone dies, everyone always says nice things about them, even when you know they might have been a real ass while they were alive? Nothing could be further from the truth with this girl. When everyone says that she was always smiling? She was. Even when her face wasn't smiling, you just liked being around her. She and my sister-in-law once told me some story about Stacy's mom and how crazy she can be sometimes. Something about a missing sock. I can't remember the details, but all at once it seems so important that I do.

There are different theories. Drugs. Money. One perp. Two. The more I hear, the more I want to shut it out.

Stacy in her little pearls, picking at fruit on the island.

Rest in peace, sweetpea.

Serious Post: Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

I have had a friend, Melissa, for a VERY long time. Not as long as some of my other friends, but I've known Melissa since I was 14 and she 13. That's a long time. She was my maid of honor at my wedding. When they say that two people can think the same thoughts and finish each others phrases, they're speaking about Melissa and me. I once went to a fair, and a palm reader said that my soul-mate's name started with an "M," and Melissa called me right at that very second. She is closer to my heart than most people you may ever know.

She's Catholic, so when in college she found herself pregnant, she made a very difficult decision to have an abortion. The only people who knew were her brother, sister, and me. Of course me. Because I love HER, and no matter what she does, I will always love HER. People make mistakes, and in my mind, she was correcting one. So I loved and supported her.

Three months ago, I was coming up to New York. We had planned to see each other, but as things happen, we crossed like ships in the night and just missed one another. Big deal. I'm up in New York ALL THE TIME. One missed trip was nothing, I thought.

She ripped into me on Monday morning. Said things to me that I would never think about saying to her. I didn't hear from her for a week. I asked her what was going on, and said that the idea of losing our friendship over this petty little thing made me sad. Again, she ripped into me.

I stopped talking to her, because, chump that I am, I had spent DAYS crying over it. She started sending me forwards after a while, and then a few texts. I ignored them because I was just really fucking hurt.

Then, this morning, we start emailing back and forth. Maybe I am a bitch. Maybe I'm the worst friend ever, so I'm putting it out there. You don't have to read the whole silliness, but I wanted to put it up somewhere. So here it is. If you want to read it, read from the bottom up. Then you can tell me what a bad friend I am, because I am older and tired, and I don't have time for this. It's over.

*************************************************

Ok so let me understand this completely... And I'm going to start from the beginning as you started to include Dina and I've also continued so she knows what happened... When you you were on your way to Brooklyn with Guy, I called to see if you had arrived. I woke you up with my call however you did tell me you were still enroute to bk and will go back to sleep as you were tired and would call me when you got in and that was Saturday afternoon. I didn't hear from you until you got back to Maryland on Tuesday, I believe, and that was me emailing you stating I was still waiting for your call. You then replied with you feeling I didn't try hard enough to come see you. I then said I didn't want to talk about it and did so because I was upset and felt you used that as kind of a cop out for having forgotten to have called me. So I didn't want to talk and then you basically assumed the absolute worst and decided to express this by sending me an email that pretty much included an ultimatum on our friendship because I hadn't gotten back to you when you wanted me to. And what do you do? Make the worse possible assumption and lash out at me with your orginal nasty email asking me about things that never even crossed my mind. So I said if that's how you felt then perhaps you need to evaluate our friendship as this was obviously crossing your mind. If that was nasty then it was only a reaction to the nasty hurtful email you wrote before hand because you assumed to worst and had nothing to work with (because god forbid you would assume I just don't want to blow up at you and just need to blow of some steam). And the email below Hannah was the first and only time you apologized. And that's really all I was hoping for considering your original hurtful email. I'm sorry for my response as two wrongs don't make a right and I've never compared you to Bernard or Patricia because I've always been closer to you and even now for you to mention something in regards to Bernard knowing I told you that in confidence in hopes to it not to be thrown in my face knowing how hurtful that time for me was... You know what... I'm not going there but you felt it was in your best interest to mention it... Its whatever because I've stopped crying about my siblings a while ago. Point being this spat should have been over a while ago. We both apologized so there is no need to dwell

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

From: Hannah
Subject: RE: Important update on Melissa and Amani

I was sorry that your family turned you out the way they did, not because you decided to make a move that made you happy.
 
And yes, I questioned whether or not you wanted to throw away our friendship because after just crossing our signals, you became really angry and refused to consider that maybe it was just a miss communication. You wouldn't speak to me for a week, Melissa. What is a person supposed to think? That you're super happy with the whole thing? No. I didn't hear from you, I didn't know what was going on, so I asked. What I got was a nasty response. I've said it before and I'll say it again, for whatever I did to make you mad, I'm sorry, but you have never once apologized. "Reaching out" is not the same as coming back to the table and saying, "yes, maybe my temper got away with me a little bit, and maybe I said some things that came off as hurtful. I didn't mean to, and I still love you, and let's work on getting past this."
 
Not once have you said anything like that. So yeah, I am still hurt. Do you *choose* to not get past things with your brother? Or is that just the way it is? 


 
> Subject: Re: Important update on Melissa and Amani
>
> You asked me if I was going to throw away our friendship then it would be a shame... Some thing that would have never crossed my mind but apparently crossed yours enough to make the comment yet I was the one that hurt you? You compare my comments to one that my mother would make but refuse to understand that my email and anger put toward it stemmed from the extremely hurtful things you included in your original email. I'm not saying two wrongs make a right but you have no right to make me seem like the only person who said anything hurtful. I'm sorry I really don't want to dwell on this any longer which was why I reached out to you via text and email. But if you don't want to this past then I don't know what to say... But never have I EVER said to you or to anyone that I would question our friendship like you had in your original email... Especially not over something this petty. And no need to be sorry because this decision makes me unbelievably happy.
>
> -Melissa
> Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
>
> -----Original Message-----
 
> Melissa,
>
> I am really sorry to hear all of this, I am. I send both you and Amani my love, but to be honest you really hurt me with the emails you sent a while ago. And when I say "hurt," Melissa, I mean that what you said to me was so beyond what I would have ever said to you, that I didn't even think it was possible to come from you. It sounded the way your mother would have spoken to you, and we both know that I have always defended you against her put downs. I have never said they were appropriate coming from her, but they were deeply, deeply hurtful coming from you.
>
> Maybe it's a mistake to send this email now; I'm certainly not trying to pick a fight. I have always considered you my friend, and always will. If you ever need anything, you know I am here.
>
> -Hannah
>
>________________________________________
> From: Melissa

> Subject: Important update on Melissa and Amani
>
> Hey lovely ladies :) this email is long over due but things have been a bit chaotic for me these past couple of weeks but I realized that I have to at least update my two best friends on what's going on in my life.
>
> On june 14th I found out my cousins (the twins) betrayed my trust over one of their boyfriends over something really stupid, but my siblings did it so what makes them so different right? On june 23rd I got fired from my job... A week after hanick asked me to leave her apartment... So yea... Lots have been going on...
>
> With all the chaos, I have been thinking about what I need to do to make sure I'm happy and no longer dealing or depending on family members so I concluded that I would follow through on one of the biggest decisions of my life...
>
> **If you want you can picture a drum roll in the back ground lol**
>
> I'm moving to stockton! Where the hell is Stockton you may be asking yourself... Lol.. I'm moving to stockton california :) I know I know... Big move... But I have been thinking about moving there for months and with the series of events I really don't see why I wouldn't carpe diem :)
>
> My moving date is july 30th (which I know is around the corner and such short notice but considered amani and I don't really have a roof over our heads for much longer so I kinda gotta act fast) and would love to see you both before I leave but understand if it won't be feasible as this is really short notice.
>
> I really have put a lot of thought in this and I'm looking for support more than anything. I have job offers out there and my god babies so this will be great!
>
> Hannah- I text and email you before with no response, but I hope this email finds you. Love and miss you.
> Dina- we haven't spoken in a bit but love and miss you just the same :)
>
> Ok I hope to hear from you both soon!
>
> Love and miss you guys!
>
> Melissa

Dirty Obsessions

Is it bad that I have a Clean House addiction? OBSESSION. The dirtier the house, the more addicted to the episode I am. I could put it on mute and provide my own "live studio audience" effects of gasps and "oh no she di'int!" (insert implied head-swivel here)

And forget it when "You are what you eat" is on BBC, I'm pretty much incommunicado. It should probably bother me that I get off (but not literally yet. I think that's when it's really going to start becoming a problem) on seeing those close-up shots of people shoving greasy food into their gullets. I mean, I eat like a fucking snake: I unhinge my jaw, and shove that shit down my throat. My coworkers once gave me a lesson on "mindful eating," which is supposed to slow you down and allow your body to "enjoy each bite." The gimmick is that by doing this, you fill up faster and eat less. Now, maybe in some part of the world this works. Those parts of the world do not currently contain my mouth. After a half an hour on one cupcake, I wolfed down the rest of mine, my coworkers', and considered the possibility of heading out to pick up one more.

In my defense, I didn't go.

But when I realized that Clean House was having a mini-marathon tonight, I gave up dinner out with the husband. I might have peed myself a little, but I'm not going to admit that on a website. If I had picture-in-picture with close-ups of fat Brits stuffing English Fry-Ups into their mouths, I might just flip my shit and staple my eyelids up so I could watch it all night. Is that a problem? More importantly, can you buy past seasons of this show on DVD? Then I could hit "pause" and save on staples and reconstructive surgery.

New things are afoot!

The time has come, my merry friends, to speak of many things. Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings.... Also of BRAND NEW JOBS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, ladies and whoever else has stumbled onto this site while trying to Google "Midget Porn" (you sick fuck!), I have a NEW JOB!

It sucks because I JUST got onto a new contract where they have had problems with people leaving, and despite the deadlines and stress, this project really isn't bad, but the wheels were in motion before I came here.

This job comes with many financial perks, but one of my favorites thus far: 2 days telecommuting. Are you kidding me? AWESOME. Sure, I'll miss my Starbucks (or SBUX for those of us who are obnoxious assholes and call everything by its financial ticker symbol), but the time I'm not commuting can be spent sleeping, working out, or..... WRITING! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

The job also constitutes achieving a certain REALLY superficial life goal of mine, so I feel like I can check that off my list now. With that complete, and with PNN around, it's time to get moving on a new career path as well.

For those of you who have gone to Jared's website to read up about "Rising Sign," all I can say is that while I have NEVER believed in horoscope nonsense, his description of a Saggitarius hits pretty close to home on my personality. As the Quakers sing: "To turn, turn will be our delight, till by turning, turning we come out right." Simple gifts indeed.  

Man, I wish I was interesting

PNN, these bastards, they made me create a profile just to contact the author of a blog and ask her about "greening" my home. So, now I have a blog, which is useless because aside from the proper use of the much abused semicolon (;) and how to fart quietly in a meeting, I really don't feel like I have much to add to the world in general.

Well, I did just buy a house. So, I suppose, if you have home buying questions, I could answer those. Also, I abuse commas. Like, a lot. Don't read this.

I am the most awesomest friend EVAH! And totally humble, too

A friend of mine from college wrote a book... and then no one would publish it. I share his pain; Science Fiction/Fantasy books walk that tight-rope that I don't think any other genre even has to consider: the line between pulling the reader in to create a whole new world (complete with language, customs, society, government, etc.), and making a hokey POS where people named Gorlock just zap each other with laser beams out of their ears or something. Anyway, he ended up having to self-publish, which I think was a good way to go.

The book is called "Rising Sign," and is the first in his "Starchild Trilogy." Yes, I am aware that there is ANOTHER series of books called the "Star Child Trilogy," and have emailed him to let him know.

Anywho, Jared gave me a copy of the book over the weekend, and BEGGED me to write a review of it in as many places as I can. The thing is, I'm afraid to read it. What if it sucks? Another friend of ours said that the STORY was strong, but the writing was what writing looks like without an editor (read: awkward wording, confusing scenes, etc.).

But, because I am a good friend, and because I encourage new writers and better products than what we seem to be getting from Hollywood lately, I am promoting his book... sorta. I'm going to read it, and I'm going to NOT talk about the lack of editing. I'm going to focus on the story, and then report back to you folks. If you're interestined in SciFi, or you just want to support a young man who took two years out of his life to follow his dream and pursue it on his own, then check out "Rising Sign,": http://www.starchildtrilogy.com/index.php. It's also available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Jared-R-Lopatin/e/B002GI35YC/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Additionally, you should feel free to give him LOADS of shit over that silly little picture of him on Amazon where he looks like a freaking 10 year old, because A) Yeah, that pic's like 5 years old, and we all laughed at him, and B) he's balding now, which makes that picture even FUNNIER!

In conclusion, at least check the book out, and see what you think. Then, if nothing else, tell him I sent you and that his picture makes him look 15. HA!!!!!!!! Ok, sorry. Right.

Welcome to PNN!

This is your blog, and this text is in what is called an article box.  In fact everything on this page are in boxes like this one.  And, everything  can be moved, edited or deleted.

To move a box:
Put the cursor in the blue menu bar at the top of the box, click and  hold the mouse button, and drag it.  Let go of the mouse button to drop it where ever you want.

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Change your personal preferences:
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Is it bad to sex up an tamale? Probably. Do I care? No.

I haven't written for a while. I know. Mea culpa. But my company moved me to a new contract, and I don't have wireless access yet, DESPITE the fact that I practically threw a fit and was all, "BUT I NEEDS TO COMMUNE WITH MUH PEEPS ON PNN!!" and they were all, "I think she's having siezure... don't let her swallow her tongue!" and then a priest came by and threw holy water on me, and I was all, "WTF is a priest doing on a government site?!" I don't know. It got very surreal after that. 

So, new things: I just got back from an interview with an editor, and he's agreed to run my articles in their "Entertainment" section. This means I have to go out to like, plays and shit, not that I can just submit my blog entries to entertain them. I was all, "But they're pretty entertaining!" Yeah, no go. Also, it's a magazine for Black families. I don't really know how that happened, but they like me, I like them, so we're gonna give it a shot.

I don't get paid. But frankly, I'm getting my name out there, so that's something. Yay! I don't suck! WEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Moving on... have you ever had food so delish you could have sex with it? Yes you have, stop lying, you still have that chocolate ring around your mouth.

I live in an area with loads of Salvadoran families, which is FANTASTIC if you like good food. Which I do, as evidenced by my ass.

Last night the husband picked me up from the metro and said those magical words every girl likes to hear, "Hey, want Salvadoran chicken tonight?" YOU BET YOUR BALLS I DO!! We got there, ordered 1/2 a chicken and I got a side of sweet corn tamale. I had to eat the 1/4 chicken first while I waited for the tamale to cool down. The poor people in the restaurant, I don't think they've ever seen anyone suck down a corn tamale faster. It was like sex in my mouth. There are some people who over eat because they don't know when they're full. Oh, I know when I'm full, but with so much tasty food in the world, I can't seem to care. I ATE THE SHIT OUT OF THAT TAMALE, AND ALMOST WENT BACK FOR MORE. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that one boy had gone through puberty watching what I had done to those corn husks with my mouth, and also my husband was a little horrified/turned on/confused. There's nothing like confused sex to really cap off a good night. Nobody's really sure what happened, but there's a high probability that you liked it. Possibly.

And finally, speaking of sex, the lovely little Korean lady who does my dry cleaning started asking me when I'm going to get pregnant. It's official: my vagina is fair play for general conversation. Pres. Obama is going to be discussing it tonight on "Inside the White House: the Vagina chronicles," DVR it. 

So, what have I missed? What's going on?

The bastards stole my Pussy-Pops!!!

SONOFABITCH!!! I was expecting a box FILLED with 15 vagina-shaped jelly pops, and when the husband and I got home.... NOTHING! It looked like someone had dropped off a package and tried to cover it up with our door mat, as our mailman has done in the past, but underneath that mat was NOTHING! Just coooooooold stone, man.

I need these pussy-pops for the lesbian bachelorette next weekend! FUCK, man! Do I buy MORE vagina-shaped candy? What if the other pops show up? Can one have TOO many vaginas around the house? I already have 13 keychain vibrators sitting in my living room!

WHAT THE HELL KIND OF A TIME ARE WE LIVING IN WHEN A PERSON CAN'T ORDER PUSSY-POPS TO HER HOME TO COMPLIMENT HER "POCKET-BULLETS" WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT THEY'LL GET STOLEN?! A SHITTY time, is what I say?

I'm betting this is not the sort of crime one typically reports, huh?

I'm so fucked.

From the lady on the corner...

Emphasis not mine.

He Thinks He's G-D's Gift to Women

"Let's face it. There are some men of our species who strut around prouder than a peacock. They have all the right stuff and their motto is: 'IF YOU GOT IT, FLAUNT IT!'

They show off at the water cooler and flash cash at the restaurant. Yet, when it comes right down to it, women end up saying, 'THE MORE I KNOW THIS MAN, THE MORE I LOVE MY CAT!' Is there really a man out there who is G-D's Gift to me?

The answer is, YES! And believe it or not, HE'S JEWISH!! He's G-D's gift to men AND women alike!

His name is Jesus.

Tired of putting your hopes and dreams in a man or woman? Accept G-D's gift to YOU."

Courtesy of the crazy lady on the corner wearing a hat with a Jewish star.

Let me see if I understand this correctly; this particular church is now going after LONELY SINGLE people by implying that it's normal to distrust men and women, and that the only person who is on your side is Jesus? Isn't that a little rough? And not every woman is sitting at home, bemoaning the fact that she doesn't have a man in her life, and so spends her time with her cats (ok, I have cats, but I got them AFTER we were married!).

And what's with the whole, "He's JEWISH!!" thing? You're going after lonely, single Jewish men and women? Dude, unless this is an outreach program from JDate (ugh!), then WHY ARE YOU HERE?

Honestly, I would be a bit more insulted, but it looks like it's going to rain (AGAIN) and she was wearing a REALLY silly hat, and at that moment, my coworkers and I had just happened to be discussing how Jews are actually space-Lizards. In that context, most things are difficult to take seriously.

For MoM: Jello Wrestling

The thing is, you have to understand that my mom has NEVER been normal. While her identical twin sister married pretty much right out of high school, as was the norm then, my mom took off to hitchhike around Europe. In the 1960's. Alone. Now, a woman traveling alone is nothing, but back then, it was INSANITY. When she came back stateside, her sister met her at the airport,

"Women are burning their bras to protest the male dominated society!" "Are you fucking CRAZY?!" My mom yelled  back at her, "These are FRENCH SILKS!!"

My mom was raised on welfare, and at the time, that was extremely shameful, but she, her sister, and their older brother made the best of things. I'm one of the oldest living products of Artificial Insemination in the U.S. The Catholic church banned it, and my mom promptly replied with, "Who gives a shit?" and went the Pyrex route. She had me when she was 41, which is older even for TODAY. 

I say all this to say, that when she challenged me to a jello wrestling match, I was entirely unphased. When she had gotten me a fake ID years before, again, unphased.

So, we were in Vegas because my mom had won a radio trivia game. Who actually WINS those? My mom, I guess. She, my Step-Dad and I went to Vegas. Since this was only a few weeks before their wedding, I dubbed it her unofficial bachelorette party, and took her to see "Australian Thunder from Down Under."

If you haven't been to Vegas, GO, just to see that. My mom LOVED it, but then again, one of her favorite movies is "Kill Bill."

As we were walking along the strip the next day, we saw a sign for jello wrestling.

"OH LET'S DO THAT!!!" My mom shouted.

"Get a 1lb steak for a buck-ninety-nine?" I asked.

"No! Jesus, Hannah! LET'S JELLO WRESTLE!"

"Mom, do you know where jello GOES when you've been squishing around in it?"

"No, do you?"

"Yes."

"YOU WENT WITHOUT ME?!"

"Jesus mom, I was in a sorority!" (I never actually Jello wrestled in my sorority, but I DID chase a girl around the sorority house with a gefilte fish on a fork until she crashed into a bunch of chairs. It was pretty funny.)

"We're going!"

So, we went. This is actually a pretty anticlimactic story because my step-dad was horrified/not overly surprised that she would do something like this, also the list of people waiting to wrestle was filled. She was very disappointed. We watched a few rounds, and then she turned to me and said,

"When you said the jello goes into places...?"

"Yeah mom. EVERYWHERE."

"I wonder which bar those nice Australian boys go to..." and we left. She still thinks she would have whooped me. All I can say is, "BRING IT!!"

No, seriously, she probably would have mopped the floor with me.

Serious Post: Sally G got me thinking...

If you missed book club tonight, that's a pity, because I think it's probably one of the few times so many women agreed on one little thing: meh. The book was ok.

But one of the comments got me to thinking: is it "ok" to do something unethical to save a loved one, and also, if you help a loved one who is in need, does it matter what your motivation was?

For those of us who have spent years inside the deep maw that is the Cancer community, it's one of the most challenging questions. Whereas once you and your family struggled to have cancer recognized as an illness, and not, say, a curse from G-D, now the pendulum has swung to the other end, and as a caregiver, I often found myself praised for what I did.

What did I do? My step-father was diagnosed with Cancer in 2002/2003. He went through Chemo, and the Cancer went away. Then my mom was diagnosed with Breast Cancer, and immediately after, my step-dad's cancer came back.

Then my best friend's mother was diagnosed with 9 brain tumors.

Cancer is like no other disease. If you haven't been a caregiver specifically for cancer, then you don't know what it's like. Three people at once was almost more than I could take, and I had to go on Zoloft and anti-anxiety meds. I dropped out of grad school and took care of my family, and that's where the trouble started.

Most people understood that grad school + full time job + 3 sick people was a lot. But sometimes I wondered to myself if I had used their disease to get out of doing hard work.

My step dad, I don't think, ever forgave me for dropping out. He yelled and screamed at me; I was using his disease, I was greedy, I was lazy. Those aren't the memories I choose to keep close to my heart, but they made me question myself. All you have to do is say the word "cancer" and people bend over backwards to help you. You're a martyr, a saint, and you can pretty much do no wrong. When compared to being "lazy" and "selfish," I liked the outsiders' image of myself better.

But I do still struggle with that question. It's been years now, and I could have gone back to finish graduate school. I tried, but it was premature and I had a major panic attack, and now I feel ashamed that after all this time, I would try AGAIN. So, did I drop out because of all the strain, or because it's easier to be a martyr when the cause is living in your own house, than to push and push until you pass the finish line?

Does it matter why I held his hand and read to him as he languished in a coma for days? Doesn't it just matter that I did it? I would have held his hand if no one had been there, and I would have read to him even if no one else came, but there's some sort of invisible crown that's given to caregivers, and after a while, I think maybe we start to believe our own hype. Maybe that's the wrong way of saying it; it IS late, but I've never settled that argument within myself: was I angry because my step-dad was so far off the mark, or because he hit so close to home? And should it matter WHY I learned how to make gatoraid pops, or just that I did?

I think I'm going to struggle with that one forever.

It's P90X Time!!

Due mainly to my FANTASTIC face-plant from 20 feet into the net of the trapeze near where I work, I wasn't able to start the P90X challenge on Friday. Having little to no skin on your hands can do that to a person. However, tonight is the night!! I'm going to head to the gym for some cardio, then home to do the first two CD's in the set. That's what it says; the first TWO as a jumping off point. I watched most of the first one, and it made me want to run and cry.

However, being the brave banana that I am, I bought it, so I'm IN. 3 hours of working out tonight, not to mention cleaning the house with the husband, and just generally exhausting myself before I pass out on the floor. Awesome.

I only see this ending well, people!

Why bananas don't fly, and other tales

So, Thursday I went to trapeze. IT WAS AWESOME! I went with my coworker and two of her friends. I really wanted them to like it, so I was trying to encourage them by saying how safe it was, how easy it was....

Of course, the face-plant to the net that I took about an hour in didn't really help with that. I lost a good chunk of skin on my right hand, an earring, and scraped up my left elbow. I have a large rope-bruise on the inside of my right arm (and how I got that one, I'll never know!), and I've had to wait patiently while my skin attempts to resemble less of a hamburger, and more of a hand.

I don't care; it was still AWESOME! And the other flyers were all like, "You're not a real flyer until you loose a chunk of skin!" So they made me a "grip" which goes over your hand, and cheered me on as I got back up in the sky.

And that's the feeling I'm holding on to today as I walk in and am confronted by other consultants who want to know why my supervisor has been asking questions about me. "Does she *really* come in at the time she says she does?" I could worry about what they said, except that everyone has already told me, "There's no reason for us to lie, because you DO come in and leave when you say you do." Not only that, but the OTHER people are offended that I'm being treated this way. I found that really funny. OTHER consultants are insulted that this is how my supervisor treats me.

It doesn't matter. F* this. I'm sending out resumes and writing up entries for journals. Whichever career path pans out first is where I'm going.

Hell, maybe I'll say "screw it all!" and just become a trapeze artist!

Rated X: Stuart

If you're interested, Stuart is a Switch. That means he will be both a Bottom and a Top. A female Dominant is called a Domme (dahm-AYE), Mistress, Lady or any other name she determines for herself. Stuart wants to know if I already have a name. No, I'm just visiting tonight for the class. Well, that's fine then. Stuart has an extra card, would I be interested in discussing the particulars?

If you're interested, as a Top, Stuart is skilled in bondage, rigging and rope, suspension, genitorment, tickling, massage, spanking and flogging. Stuart wants to know if I've seen flogging before. Yes, I have. I have a friend who is a well-known DC -based Master. "T"? Yeah, I know "T". He's a good guy to know in The Scene.

If you're interested, as a Bottom, Stuart is experienced in bondage, ball stretching (gag!), CBT, teasing and orgasm denial/control, sensual play, and public play. Which side might interest me? Uhhh, the Top? I don't really have balls to stretch.

I'm here for the class tonight, which is an intro for ANOTHER class that is held on the first Friday of every month. Both are "101" classes, but the one on Fridays shows different activities, and allows me to "test" things on myself, or on others. Do I know what a "violet wand" is, Stuart is asking me. Yes, I've seen them. "T" is actually one of the authorities in the North-East region on them. An electrical toy. He used it to touch my arm once, and I slapped him. No, I'm probably not much of a submissive.

Stuart isn't unattractive, but he isn't conventionally beautiful either. He's one of those men that, at a glance, you wouldn't bother taking a second look at, except that he has a certain way about him. He's very calming, and seems kind. He's the guy who was probably your friend in high school, but with whom you never made out, until graduation and you were like, "Gosh, I wonder what would have happened if..."

Stuart is tall. Stuart is Jewish. Have I noticed that there are a LOT of Jews in kink? Yes, I've noticed. My HUSBAND is Jewish, too.

Stuart isn't bothered by wedding rings. Stuart is probably going to be my new guide through the darker side of DC, but at the end of the night, Stuart is going home alone. Stuart is going to walk me through the specifics, if I go to the other class on August 7th.

Stuart and I have a date.

Several things at once

FIRST of all, let's just say that I know where the DEA HQ is. And, let's just say, I sat with eyes WIDE OPEN as a "deal" just went down out front. And, let's just say, I'm peeing myself laughing right now. Yiddish word of the day: "Chutzpah," meaning to have the gaul to do something TOTALLY ABSURD and without regard.

Next, for Kae & Carm: How my family crashed a plane.

So, here's the thing, my family is split between the two coasts. My mom and aunt stayed here, and my uncle moved out to Washington state. He had six daughters: Janet, Lauret, Suzette, Debret, Margaret, and Eavet (I'm not even joking). My mom and aunt had 3 girls between the two of them; me, and my two cousins. 

So, when Margaret was getting married, the ENTIRE East Coast crew was like, "WE'RE ON IT!" And we ALL decided to go; me, my mom, my two cousins, my aunt and uncle. And in SOMEONE'S stroke of brilliance, we were all taking the same flight. Cause THAT isn't asking for trouble. At all.

We board the flight, and my mom immediately falls asleep because the woman is a closet narcoleptic. I'm convinced. So, we're all sitting in generally the same area, which is a SUPER good idea so that everyone can hear my aunt and uncle argue like they constantly do in their SUPER THICK Long Island accents. Anyway, we hit a bump.

And then we hit a BIG bump. We've been up in the plan for hours now, and have no idea where we are. It's a red-eye, so everything is dark outside the window. Bump. Bump. DROP. My cup lifted off my little table. I think I was 14 at the time, so I was like, "AWESOME!"

"Uhhhh, Ladied and Gentlemen? We're unfortunately going to have to make an emergency landing."

FUCK YEAH!!!!!! My aunt flips out; "OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH! SHOULD WE WAKE UP YOUR MOM?!?!"

Me: "Why? Do you think she'll be mad if she sleeps through her own death?"

Her: "Good point."

We circled the airport in Minnesota for hours. We heard from the cockpit (because in those days, the door was sometimes left open) that we had to burn up the fuel in case we crashed, so that we didn't explode. This was every little girl's dream vacation.

We finally landed, and my mom was all, "What the fuck? Where the hell are we?!" People are freaked out. Nobody is sure what the hell just happened, all we know is that we're not in Washington.

Now, flash over to the airport in Washington State, where my uncle is patiently sitting staring at the arrivals screen, waiting for our flight. Now picture his face as the flight disappears from the screen entirely. GONE. He flips his shit. This is a man whom you DO NOT WANT TO GET MAD. This is a man who can't tell you what he did for years in the army. The exact quote I got from my mom a few days later was, "WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FAMILY?!?!?!"

So, we get off our plane, which has skidded to a VERY rough landing in Minnesota. We didn't know this. It was something like 3am EST, and most people are bleary, confused, and scared. I was none of these, because I was born with an immunity to the insanity that follows my life.

The airline is kind enough to pay for our hotel, if we will only load ourselves and our luggage into this little minibus. Fine. We stumble onboard, and my aunt and uncle start bickering again. That's pretty much what they do. So to stop them from talking, the bus driver, who I kindly named "Zit-face the Wonder Boy" starts talking to us about the wonders of Minnesota.

Are you fucking kidding me?

"I hope you're ready to enjoy a LOVELY stay in our great state! In case you didn't know, your hotel is RIGHT NEAR the Mall of America!! Perhaps you would like to do some shopping before continuing your trip!"

I would like to do some slapping of your face. Can we work that into the schedule? You have to understand, WE DIDN'T KNOW WHY THE PLANE HAD TO LAND. All we knew was that something was VERY wrong, and we were all lucky to be ok. And now this kid is giving us a SHOPPING PITCH?

The next day we got on a plane and finished our trip. We found out from someone that during our intial flight, the windshield had cracked. Let me say that again, THE WINDSHIELD OF THE PLANE HAD CRACKED. Whatever that does, it did it in a BAD WAY, and the plane could have crashed if it continued. My uncle picked us up from the airport the next day, and looked like he had been sitting there all night, which he may have been. My mom looked at me and said, "This is why I think there's a G-D: because heaven knows we aren't exactly the luckiest people around!"

How my family crashed a plane. By HannahBanana.

By the way, that's still my mom's favorite line: "Why wake her up for her own death?"

IT'S MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

When I saw Leigh's email regarding the "Blogger of the Month," I was totally like, "IT'S ME, FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!" but then she was all, "the winner exemplifies the creative and positive spirit of pnn in her blogging." Oh fuck me.

And when the shit are they announcing the winner of this damn writing contest so I can lose and drink myself into oblivion with the good Maneschewitz I've been saving, huh? TELL ME THAT, LEIGH!

Also, I've got my period. I don't know if that's coming through. There's nothing like being anemic and losing the tissues that store the MOST iron in your body. I was pretty much comatose until 5 minutes ago. My starbucks is tiding me over until I can get a GIANT BLOODY FUCKING BURGER at lunch. And not one of those shitty little Burger King bastards; I'm hitting Fudruckers, where they put a whole cow on a bun for you. I really want to announce this out lound in my office, but "A," my Indian coworker who is the funniest bastard on the planet is back from his holiday, and I think that might be a touch insensitive on my part. Or he could not care. Whatevs.

Also: TONIGHT IS TRAPEZE! It's hot as balls out there, people, and I am going to be flinging my body around on hot bars like I'm a Las Vegas stripper. I am going to be in SO MUCH FUCKING PAIN tomorrow. It'll be glorious.

In conclusion: I FAIL, and to punish myself, I am going to jump from a 20 foot tower. I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY LEIGH!!!!!!!! 

I'm not even kidding.

So, the old cycle should be starting in T-4 or 5 hours. I'm already bloated and exhausted. All I want to do is curl up in the bed with my cat and snuggle while we nap, but instead I have to go to the bank. I am sitting here with my pants unzipped because my gut was all, "FUCK YOU, BUTTON!" and now I have to think of a graceful way of getting up, zipping my pants back up, and then re-doing the button, without anyone noticing that I have been sitting here letting the ol' girl breathe for a bit while I dick around online.

Do you think anyone will notice if I pass out asleep on my keyboard and drool into the keys? I doubt it.

If the DC metro weren't so fucked up, I would SERIOUSLY consider going home for a nap and coming back in the afternoon. ZERO people would miss me.

Why 'banana' is not spelled 'HC'

And so it begins! My cellulite and I were having a conversation several days ago, as we often do, when the husband jumped into the bed like some kind of giant, hairy puppy. I've mentioned before our insane pillow-talk, and one of the things he likes to do is grab my belly and yell, "I AM RULER OF THE TUMMY! I AM KING OF THE TUMMY!" Because the man has clearly lost his marbles. As flattering as all of this is, and it isn't, it really highlighted the fact that since buying the house... hell, since getting back from our honeymoon, I haven't been working out the way I should. Not to lose weight specifically, because I am rather proud of my curvy patootie, but because I want to be HEALTHIER.

So, the next morning I ordered the P90X system. This is something that HipChick and Writing had mentioned to me. They seemed to be big fans of it, and I was like, "Bananas are an active fruit! I can TOTALLY handle this."

Can I just say one thing? The PICTURES look exhausting. Seriously. I was on the metro this morning with the husband, and we were both looking at the introductory guidebook, and hubby was like, "What is that?" Me: "The apocalypse."

I'm supposed to do chin-ups. Right now, the best I can do is hang like wet laundry. CHIN UPS? UPSSS? As in PLURAL? You know how in action movies, there is ALWAYS a scene where someone is dangling from a cliff from, like, their finger tips, and SOMEHOW they manage to pull themselves back over? Not for me! Whenever I see those scenes, I always think, "I would hold on for 1/1,000,000,000,000 of a second, and then fall to my doom." And then entire way down, do you know what I'd be thinking, aside from "OH SHIT!!!"? Well, I'll tell you what I WOULDN'T be thinking: "If only I had done more chin-ups in that P90X system!"

Or maybe I would. Who knows. Possibly I would also be thinking about chocolate covered strawberries and my vibrator... and my husband and family and blah blah blah.

The moral of this story is, this Thursday I have my trapeze class. Starting Friday, I have P90X to get ready for the lesbian wedding. I wanna be the hottest straight bitch in that joint! WHAT'S. UP. BITCHES?!

THE BANANA LIVES!!

Yes, it was my metro line, in my direction, on my part of the line, but I was not on the metro today during the crash.

I probably wouldn't have been on it that early anyway, but today I went to the gym. So, if anyone was going to call me obsessively (KAE! MoM!), please know that I'm a-ok.

My mom, however, has about 52 new gray hairs.

It's not paranoia, if they're really out to get you

Wednesday morning, my supervisor "M" gnashed his teeth and beat his breast at me for delivering what the customer wanted. Wednesday afternoon, I filed my grievance against him for being entirely unprofessional. Thursday and Friday I just ignored him, and now, Monday, I still have to do the same thing.

Workplace problems should be like boxing; someone should call time and allow us to go to our different corners.

Right now, there are approximately 30 people who know what's going on in my office. Me, the woman from HR, the supervisor's boss' boss, "N", and about 27 people on PNN.  :)

I've basically begun a life as a Jewish ninja; if I hear him coming I dodge around corners. If he says something, I stay totally silent and pretend I don't exist. Frankly, if I could shoot a blow-dart gun at him so that I could continue to work in piece, I think I'd be pretty happy. Cause that's all I want to do; just my job.

Instead I'm fucking climbing onto ceiling fans while he walks unwittingly below. I'm like motherfucking Tom Cruise (minus the crazy Scientology bullshit) in one of those action films. One time, in a meeting, I caught a drop of sweat before it hit a document as I was suspended 10 feet above the table. I am THAT awesome.

This is what it has come to, people! Slinking around in a Ninja outfit to get my fucking job done! Then again, they say black is slimming.

Bruce Lee-owitz

THIS IS A LONG POST. Mostly, because every time I start telling these stories, I find them too funny not to tell the ENTIRE thing. If you have a life, now would be a good time to go live it, rather than reading my ramblings.

In one of my "Ask A Jew!" posts, I mentioned that my dad had once gone "Bruce Lee-owitz" on a dude. When he heard about everything going on my with supervisor, "M," he asked me if I wanted him to come down and kick M's ass into next Tuesday. The funny thing is, he can do it!

In order to understand the hilarity in this story, let's go back... back... back... to the 1960's and 1970's. Not many people know this, but many Jews were EXTREMELY involved in the Civil Right movement. My uncle was the first White man to go to a local all-Black university. I'd like to say it's because he really felt that segregation was wrong n stuff, and that he was fighting the good fight, but, well.... it was the closest school to him that had the courses he wanted. My family is like the fucking Forrest Gump of the world. My uncle was just lazy, and by being so, he ended segregation at a local school. Awesome.

My mom was VERY involved in the Civil Rights movement, intentionally, always feeling that the story of Pharaoh's oppression and the Hebrew struggle for freedom was a lesson to be learned that if you see a people being abused, it's your duty to try and help.

That was the 60's. In the 70's, my mom was living in Israel with an Armenian friend of hers, when she heard that her mother, my grandmother, was being attacked. Jews, as I have mentioned before, tend to live in groups, so when a bunch of Jewish holocaust survivors moved to the US, they, naturally, looked for communities. A large one was in Brooklyn where my grandmother was living at the time. A bunch of kids were going in, roughing up old people, kicking over Jewish headstones in local cemetaries, and just generally making total fucking assholes of themselves.

My mom was freaked! Here she was, in Israel, unable to do a thing while her little old mother gets roughed up and terrorized! Who can you call?! (Don't say "ghostbusters"!)

Her Armenian friend told her to call a local Jewish defense group. My mom did, and came back to the U.S. The group staked out my grandmother's house, caught the little bastards, and beat the tar out of them. Then, the guy who was leading the squad asked my mom out.

..... and then they got married, and here I am.

I love that story. Filled with drama, and 1970's hairstyles. I have a picture of my dad with a HUGE jewfro and a pic in it. Why? Because we're insane like that. Also, my mom wore bell-bottoms. Cause she's 4'11 and freaking adorable like that.

Anyway, that's before my dad went crazy religious.

Fast forward to about 2 years ago. He's Orthodox, a lovely young neighbor of his falls in love with a Satmar boy. In on of my "Ask A Jew" posts, I talked about how this RARELY happens. Why?

Satmar make your average Orthodox Jew look like a raging atheist. They adhere to EVERYTHING. EVERY. THING. To the point where HOW YOU TIE YOUR SHOES is dictated by tracts in the Torah. It's not, by the way. Neither G-D nor Moses talk too much about the best slipknot, but that's how crazy these people are. THEY MAKE SHIT UP TO MAKE IT ALL HARDER!

I'm sorry, I hate to pass judgement on people, but Satmar are fucking WACKJOBS.

Anyway, she's young and stupid, and falls in love with his... his.... shiny black shoes? Who the hell knows.

So, 3 dates, and they marry.

3 months, and she's ready for a "Get" (a Jewish divorce). Seriously. She couldn't take it anymore.

The thing about a divorce in Judaism though, is that they're somewhat hard to get. You have to prove that there was just NOTHING left of the marriage, and BOTH parties have to agree.

In comes the husband's father.

Oh, he'll let his son give her a divorce.... for a price.

What money does she have? A little girl like this. Nothing. So she gets very upset and comes crying to her neighbors. What can she do? Her father has died, and her mom can't really stand up to these bullies.

My dad must have had some crazy vietnam-style flashback, because he TOTALLY went Bruce Lee-owitz on those cats! My dad and I have had problems, but this is one time where I am REALLY FUCKING PROUD of him.

He tells the girl, "don't worry, I'll be your proxy in these negotiations, you just tell me where to be and when, and I'll have a little talk with them."

So, she calls her father in law again. She wants to talk. My dad goes with her, and AGAIN, this asshole has the balls to say that she can have her divorce.... if she pays.

My dad looks the man in the eys and says, "It would be very unfortunate for you if I lost my temper. I know three different forms of martial arts (HE TOTALLY FUCKING DOES, TOO!)."

The dude was like, "ARE YOU THREATENING ME?!"

And my dad was like, "Are you going to give her the divorce she deserves? Because I will punch a Rabbi in the neck. I have zero problem with that." HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love that line. And he would, too!

From what I hear, the dude TOTALLY backed the fuck down and was like, "Take your divorce!"

My dad can be a real jerk some times, but there are other times where I see the man my mom fell in love with.  

Serious Post: I'm going to throw up

I'm of the "Old School." If you don't like me, or you have a problem with me, tell me to my face. At least then, we can call each other "asshole," and know where we both stand.

Two days ago, with all the flooding in our basement, and my Dad, Step mom, and Step sister coming over, we hired a cleaning leady to come help us out. A lovely Peruvian lady with the cutest little boy EVAH! I wanted to squeeze him until his head popped off and candy shot out. So, I officially requested a "Work From Home" day, which is not at all unusual when someone has to go "head-down" on some work, meaning you need HOURS of uninterrupted time. Well, I did. Aside from helping to clean the house like a maniac with Mrs. Delacruz, I also had a 107 page document to read, which had to be summerized into two pages.

TWO. PAGES.

They're called "Fact Sheets," and it's like a snapshot of a project. They're a pain in the ass because by the time someone requests it, you literally have HUNDREDS of pages of documentation on your project, and you have to go through it ALL. I was down to my last doc.

So, here I go, merrily along home, and I spend the first two or three hours of the day working like a madwoman, helping Mrs. Delacruz clean (because it's my house, and I may need the help, but I should still be doing the bulk of the work - is my belief). The rest of the day, I'm reading this fucking doc.

By the end of the day, I really start getting my fact sheet together. It's not great yet, but what the hell? I have all night, right? NOPE! 4:15pm I get a really nasty text from my boss. In sum: if I can't email him a copy of the document for him to read, then I have to come BACK into the office to send it via my govie computer. My wireless was in and out. I suggested sending it to him in a morning: a compromise. Nope. Now or never, kid!

So the husband drives me in to work. We're both pissed. We had other plans you know! AND this means I shouldn't keep working on it because any of his "edits" are going to be worthless if I have a totally different version by tomorrow, right?

Whatever.

I came in to work yesterday morning at 6:30am to keep working on this. My supervisor gets in early, maybe he'll have my edits. He comes in, pulls me aside, and proceeds to rip me a new asshole.

"TWO PAGES?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GIVE A CUSTOMER SOMETHING THAT IS JUST 2 PAGES LONG, HANNAH?!?!"

But... that's the length the customer specified.

"SO YOU'RE TELLING ME, YOU HAD 8 HOURS TO DO 2 PAGES?!"

No, I spent 6 hours reading that damn 107 page document, and the rest of the time I was working on the fact sheet.

......and so on.

He got in my face. It was inappropriate, and had this been Brooklyn, you better believe I would have knocked old boy there on his lilly white ass. I will fuck your shit up. Don't think just because I'm a woman/in a suit/ a Jew, I won't beat the fear of Jesus out of you, and then right back into you again.

But I don't have to. I'm filing a grievance. My customer was so thrilled with my work, she specificially came down to our offices, and told me how happy she was IN FRONT OF MY SUPERVISOR, who sat there like a little bitch and said nothing.

She followed it up with an email.

Which has since, found its way to HR.

Fuck you, M, you nasty piece of shit. I documented EVERYTHING. I GOT your "I'm such a devout Christian, I'm WAY holier than thou with my Men's Bible-Study group!"

Doesn't your side of the Bible say something about "treating others the way you would want to be treated," too? I thought so.

Ask a Jew!: Conchita hearts Jewish Peen.

Conchita has raised the EXTREMELY racist question of why Orthodox Jews breed like it's going out of style. DAMMIT CONCHITA, HOW DARE YOU?!

Darn Haitians!

Ahhh, just kidding. You can totally ask about our breeding patterns.

When a man and a woman love each other very much....

No, wait, sorry, we're talking about Orthodox Jews, right? Ok, so when a young man and a young women either:

a) Meet at a Schul (Yiddish word for Synagogue) mixer

b) Meet online

c) Are set up on a blind date by friends/family

d) Apply to and are matched by a local matchmaker

e) All of the above

The man will then officially ask the young girl out. This is only AFTER the families have received information regarding several factors of the potential spouse's background including, but not limited to, "Where did s/he go to school?" (Of course this should be an acceptable Jewish school), "What sect are they?" (A Satmar will probably not marry a Chabadnick, although I do have a KICKASS story where my dad went all Bruce Lee-owitz for a family friend!), and last but not least, "What Schul do they attend?" (The "better" the schul, the "better" the family. Also, certain schuls have rivalries.... like we're in motherfucking West Side Story, so they shouldn't belong to rival schuls, but these things *do* happen).

So, our boy and girl have been pre-approved by the families! WONDERFUL! Typically, an Orthodox courtship lasts 3 dates. Not 3 years, 3 dates. The first is to get an initial sense of the person. You already know that you're both fucking crazy religious; she probably loves G-D, and so do you. She likes keeping Kosher, so do you. She speaks Hebrew, Yiddish, and English, so do you. She likes living in a cloistered freakish community... it's like you were made for each other! 

The first date lets you know a little bit about the man you could be spending the rest of your life with. The second date is all, "Wait, was I high that first time, or are you as totally awesome as you seem?" And then third is, "Ok, so, we're go-ahead for launch then, right?" Dates are held in VERY public places; often a hotel lobby. Seriously. Cause nothing says, "Romance forever" like that dude's bag with the funky smelling side pocket that the bellhop missed. FUCK YEAH!!!

Ok, now you're engaged! Mazal tov! (Congratulations!) You want to get married as quickly as possible. While virgnity isn't required in Judaism (non-Jewish men are considered "practice" for your future husband - Seriously) you also don't want to sit around and wait. So, maybe two or three months, and YOU'RE MARRIED! YAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Now comes the kissy-face bit.

I say all that, not JUST because I find it horrifically, terrifyingly hilarious, but because you should know the level of comfort some of these women have when walking into a marriage. They may have known the men since childhood, or never met before the first date.

One of the things I don't really like about Orthodoxy is that it *does* still look at the woman's role as the "breeder." That is, one of the ways of showing that you're a good wife and mother, is to mother as many things as you can shoot out of your vagina at any given moment. Ping pongs don't count; I've asked.

So: loads of kids to prove your status. Also, because we ARE such a minority, there is a feeling that if you can have more kids to build up our people, then you should. I will be having a max 2-3 natural children. Then, I am hanging a "Closed" sign over the ol' uterus. Just an FYI.

Also, though no one will tell you this: Jews used to, and probably still do on some level, breed for intelligence. That sounds terrible, like a crazy sci fi movie, but it's not nearly as freaky as it sounds. The smartest daughter of a good rabbi marries the smartest boy at the school in the hopes that their children will be super-smarticles, too. The community sets it up, and the kids are pretty much like, "Whatthefuckever." So, the more kids you have, the more likely it is that you may have one REALLY fucking smart one, and then you're family's like, all "We're so awesome, cause we have a Rabbi in our family!" And you're like, "I totally could not care less."

I'm related to a really smart Rabbi, really dead Rabbi, and whenever someone starts to get in my face, I'm always like, "Fuck you; I'm related to the Vilna Goan" and then they back the fuck up. Or I punch them in the throat. Jews can't be above a good bar fight.

Wait... did I answer your question at all? I kinda passed out in the middle there.

Ask a Jew: For ComicTragedy

Our lovely Comic is a very inquisitive/annoying person, and has asked a few more questions for me to answer here. So, my blog has now become a vehicle for Comic's questions about who she can and cannot date. My dreams have come true.

Her questions were these:

1. Why do Jews cover their mirrors during "shiva," or the mourning period?

2. What's the deal with "kosher"?

3. Is it true that Jewish men can now marry non-Jewish women, and visa-versa?

Number 1 is kinda easy. As with everything in Judaism, there is more than one reason thought up for any particular action. The mirror thing is called a "chumrah." For those who have not had the benefit of growing up with Jews, PLEASE do not try to hack up a cat when you see a "ch". Just pronounce it as "hum-rah." That will be close enough to impress any Jewish friends you have.

A chumrah is a "superstition." One belief is that when a person dies, they're really fucking confused n shit. They're all, "This is like that '6th-sense' movie!" and are all wonky and shit. So you cover the mirror so that they don't get even more confused by seeing the reflections of the ones they loved. Yeah, what can I say? These Old World people had a LOT of time on their hands.

The other reason is the one I go with: you're supposed to be mourning; get the fuck away from the mirror and go deal with the situation. If you're primping yourself, then you're not thinking about the person you just lost, and you're a loser.

2. Kosher

"Kosher" just means "clean." Back in the desert, there was no real way to be sure of how clean any food was, so you sorta had to go with trial and error. Meat rots, and dairy makes it rot faster, so no mixing the two. Pork could have tricinosis (sp?) and worms, so you couldn't know how clean that was either. Also, the pig is genetically very similar to humans, so I think it must have freaked a lot of people out.

THE ONE EXCEPTION: If you're like, lost on a desert island and all there are to eat are pigs, then you MUST eat them because it will save your life. The most important thing in Judaism is saving a life, so if you refused to eat it, then that's actually a strike against you.

3. No, Comic, it's not. There are a variety of streams of Judaism: Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, etc. ONE stream may say "yes" to something, without the others agreeing. If someone said "yes" to intermarriage, it was probably the Reconstructionist, and at the risk of getting slammed: nobody really takes them too seriously. Not to be snotty, but I've been to a bunch of their services, and while I really respect their whole, "We are the world" hippy dippy business, they get REALLY fucking liberal with a bunch of stuff.

Sorry peoples! Not as exciting as the other posts!

Ask a Jew: Calculus is G-D's way of saying "Fuck You!"

So, I've actually written this post TWICE before, and PNN/Satan has deleted it. Uncool!!

Moving forward - some good questions have been raised by the peoples: Victoria wants to know why we write "G-D" and JessicaLee (non-Asian for those of you playing at home) and Ris have asked about the Jewish view of the afterlife.

Names:

Ok, so the "G-D" stems from a certain amount of awe and respect that Jews are supposed to have for G-D, particularly in the face of growing science and technology. The logic behind it is this: so, it's easy for anyone to say, "And G-D created the universe and shit, and it was cool," and you're like, "yeah, whatthefuckever," but to know more about science is to say, "Ok, so then G-D was all, 'lemme make some shit outta particles and vibrating bands of electricity, and lemme think this Physics shit up, oh and let's throw in some Calculus to screw over High School kids trying to get through Math before they graduate and head to college, so they freak out and wonder if they're going to fail and lose that scholarship! FUCK YEAH!'" Yeah, a little bit bigger when you think about all the crap that goes into making the universe around you, so Jews are supposed to be all like, "Whoa! Holy fuck! That's amazing!" and then you don't write out the entire word of His name, because it's like, how can you sum up that kind of amazing abilities in one word? Dude, you totally can't. It's also the reason why you'll see some Jews (mostly when talking to each other) say "HaShem" which literally means "The Name." So, it's kinda like saying, "that deity who won't be named because a name totally can't sum up how awesome He is, but you know who I'm talking about..."

There's also the Old World belief that to bury something like a name is bad luck. Stay with me here: Jews have such a high respect for learning and education, that books are treated as the rarest gift. Yes, I am sure we all know an asshole here and there who has never read an entire book and drinks all day; we all have our trash, but for the most part, Jews are supposed to hold education in the highest regard. So much so that when a book is damaged or old, it's supposed to be buried like a dead person. Not ALL books, obviously, because nowadays you can buy a book on amazon for a penny, but back in the day they were expensive as hell. So, an old Torah for example is still be buried, and since if you write out the name you would be putting His name in the ground like a dead person, it's considered to be disrespectful, as though you were wishing ill on G-D. Weird? Of course it is. It comes from the Old Country. That's pretty much what they did all the time: thought up weird shit and died of the flu. Welcome to my world.

Likewise, the name "Jehova" comes from a series of Hebrew letters, but the letters themselves are actually an abbreviation for one of the other names. Do I know the names? No. I'm 29 and sitting in a fucking cube hiding a post called "Ask A Jew" from my boss. I don't know EVERYTHING about Kaballah, so don't ask me.

The Afterlife: 

Ok, so, Rissers, I think you said it, and you're right: no heaven, no hell, and just One Life to Live (HA! That's a mortality joke for you kiddies out there!).

Under TRADITIONAL Judaism, your soul comes from a place called the "Guf," which is like a waiting room for new souls. There is no recycling here: you get one shot at living, and then that's it. When you die, you sorta go into this twilight sleep: you can see family members, but for the most part, you're waiting.

This is where traditional Judaism starts to split off: there are some who believe in a Messiah, and the rest of us who don't. My *personal* political beliefs aside, one of the beliefs is that when the Guf is empty, and all souls have had a chance to live and die, then the Messiah will come. He doesn't make a heaven on earth though. What happens is he's all like, "Alright you peeps! We're gonna go through a judging now. Take a number!" And then you stand before G-D and you're like, "I was such an awesome person, I was like, sick to the power of rad!" And G-D turns to the prosecuting attorney who's all like, "Bullshit!" And you're like, "FUCK YOU, YOU STOOPID ANGEL!" And then G-D is like, "Take it outside bitches!"...... no, that was my wedding, sorry. Anyway, G-D judges you based on your life, and then you move on to the next phase.

This is where it gets weird.....er. Ok, a Jewish concept of "heaven" or peace is where you're all soft and warm and cozy as noncorporeal, and you dwell near the "spirit" of G-D. Yeah, that's kinda it. Pretty much, the better a person you are, the closer to the "spirit" you get to be; so assholes are like, really fucking far, and your average bodega owner is like, probably around the middle, and then Mother Theresa would be like, all up in His business n shit, and G-D would be all, "Yo, back the fuck up, bitch!" Yes, non-Jews are fully acceptable in our concept of "heaven." You don't have to be Jewish, Judaism has nothing to do with it; it's just whether or not you were good (Ok, there's more obviously, but that's a pretty easy way of looking at it). And you learn the secrets to the universe, and you get to just sorta hang out and be all knowledgeable and shit. You can picture it like Saturn, with the rings, and G-D is at the center. 

Yeah, TOTALLY different from y'alls Heaven and Hell and business, I know.

Did that make sense to everyone? I'm trying to keep it high level so we don't get into detailed stuff.

Any other questions?: "What's with them wearing black all the time?" "Why do the women wear wigs?" "Do they really have sex through sheets?" "What the shit is that thing hanging off their door?" "Why the hell is my local Jew eating crackers for one week a year?"

I'm like your source for random usless shit, people!  

It's ASK A JEW time!

Hello, hi, yes, and welcome to the newly minted, "ASK A JEW" show! This is where you get to ask your friendly local Jewish girl all those random questions you've always wondered like, "What the shit is hanging from their door?" and "What the hell is up with them wearing black all the damn time?"

Today's question comes to us courtesy of ComicTragedy, who is an awesome drinker, and just a helluva driver, folks. Her question, in brief, "What is up with that hairdo with the curls on the side, n stuff?"

N Stuff indeed, Comic! N Stuff indeed!

You'll be fascinated to learn TWO things tonight ladies and gentelman! 1) I am freaking exhausted, and my internal monologue has turned into a 1970's tv announcer! Yes, thank you, thank you.

2) The "side locks" as they're called, actually stem from a commandment where G-D tells the Jewish people to leave the sides of fields alone when gleaning or "reaping." This was meant to be left for the poor and the hungry. Also, if you dropped anything, you weren't allowed to pick it up, as that was to be left for the poor, too.

"But!" you may say, "You don't see a shitload of Jewish farmers around today!" No, Maggie, you don't. And since the ghettos of Europe didn't always have vast tracts of land, the Jewish people had to find another way to fulfill the commandment, and remind themselves to care for the poor and hungry. By keeping the locks on the side of their heads, it's a constant reminder that everyone should show a little kindness.

Interesting trivia: Jewish men will twirl the locks as they study Torah, therefore the curlier the locks, the more learned a man is assumed to be. I was once in an Orthodox house late at night, and the husband walked in with two little pink foam curlers on either side of his head.

If it's possible to laugh so hard and so fast that it doesn't actually come out, then that's what happened to me. A giggle supernova.

Well, kiddos, I hope that was as fun for you all as it was for me! Yeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh, me too. Ok, off to floss!

For Carm - Banana pillow talk

Carm encourages me MUCH too much. So here, for your enjoyment, is pretty much the sum total of the conversations the husband and I typically have during the 4 hour car ride back from New York.

For Carm - PEE ALERT

Me: (Totally out of nowhere) "The thing of it is, if Elves DID exist, wouldn't people have found little tiny castles and communities? Wouldn't there be, like, an Elvish city somewhere that people would find?"

Him: "Why do I let you drink Starbucks anymore?"

******************************

Me: "Does the state of my eyebrows bother you at all?"

Him: "What state are they in? A different one from where we are now?"

Me: "No, cause I haven't waxed them in a while."

Him: "I have a penis. That means I don't really notice your eyebrows."

Me: "I don't shave my arms either."

Him: "Are you supposed to?"

Me: "Would it turn you on?"

Him: "I don't know. Would it turn you on if I shaved my back?"

Me: "Do I have to be the one shaving it?"

Him: "Yes."

Me: "Then no."

*******************************

Me: "I'm going to get my nipples pierced, and then attach them via a chain to an eyebrow piercing, so whenever I'm surprised by something, my breasts look freaked out, too."

Him: "............"

********************************

Me: "I'm gonna get your name tattooed on my butt."

Him: "Your next husband is going to LOVE that."

*********************************

Me: "My magazine says that lip lines are unattractive."

Him: "What the hell is a 'lip-line'?"

Me: "Those little lines you get on your lips."

Him: "Isn't that called 'skin'?"

Me: "Yeah. Do you wish I had none on my lips?"

Him: "You're asking me if I wished I could just kiss straight on your teeth?"

Me: "I guess I would drool a lot then, huh?"

Him: "Yes. THAT would be your biggest problem."

***********************************

Him: "Do you tell those women on PNN everything we talk about?"

Me: "I told them about the Thorax thing. And about my forehead."

Him: "What about my fear of raisins and eggplant?"

Me: "No, not yet. And by the way, that's a really weird thing to have a thing about."

Him: "THEY'RE NOT NATURAL!!!!"

************************************

That's life with my husband. Well, that mostly life with the two of us trapped in a car for hours on end. The questions and conversations start to get really weird after a while, and we have to take pit stops to stretch our legs and stop talking about stupid shit.

Carm. You're welcome. Now, come live with us.

Ruuuun!!!! It's JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOS!!!

(Though racist and exclusionary, when I refer to "Jew" or "Joo" in the rest of this document, I am talking about Eastern European Jews -Ashkenazi. Not Ethiopian, not Spanish, not Japanese, not ANY OTHER KIND OF JEW. I am not saying we don't come in variety packs, I'm just talking about the Polish/Russian/German folk.)

Father's Day is almost here, which means spending time with the ones you love, and bringing back those fond memories of the time he kidnapped you and took you to New Jersey, which really is a double offense when we think about it, isn't it?

Yes, but years (and much therapy) later, and I now have a wonderfully warm (so long as I don't see him too often) relationship with my dad. Sure, he wishes I swore less, wore skirts all the time, observed shabbat (and by observe, we of course mean by HIS definition of "observe"), and started having my little Orthodox family of 8 kids as soon as humanly possible, but he loves me even as the heathen I am.

Despite his wanting me to be something I'm not (Orthodox), and my wanting him to be something he's not (a good father when I was little), we've come to a point where we're both adults, and things can be understood on a very different level. So, for the past six years we've been trying to focus on the good in our relationship, and one of the ways we do that is by spending Father's Day together. Typically, this is done out on Long Island (*gag*) in my step-aunt's house, which is as lovely as she is, which is to say, EXTREMELY. My step-aunt is one of those people who you could NEVER find a mean thing to say about her. She is warm and kind and you wanna stick her in your pocket and take her home! Yum!

This year, Father's Day shall be held at Chez Banana! For an afternoon, that would be superfantasticawesome. However, for a weekend, it becomes slightly more complicated:

How to Handle Your Average JOO for the Weekend:

First of all, Orthodox Jews are a breed unto themselves. Most will say, "Oh, don't bother taking a blowtorch to your kitchen and setting your cat's tail on fire, I'll just eat what I packed in my bag! No problem... I think I have a crumpled stale piece of bread in here *somewhere*." DAMN YOU! Now I *HAVE* to light that shit up, because my mom would be HORRIFIED if anyone ever left my house hungry. Seriously. I used to get yelled at if I didn't offer the Con-Edison men juice and snacks. It's a scene.

So, now you have to blow your fucking house up to kosher it. Fucking awesome. Once your cat is singed, and your living room looks like an ACME cartoon bomb exploded, you're ready to shop... or ARE you?

For a wide variety of reasons, none of which I will go into here, but they are very amusing and involve inbreeding and cold Russian winters so let me know if you care, many Jews are often hit with a variety of ailments. From acid reflux to upper respiratory infections (FUCK YOU, ASTHMA), there is ALWAYS SOMETHING wrong with any Jew you meet. No. Seriously. That sounds so horribly racist, and it totally is, but unlike that whole, "Joos own the world bank" business, this is actually USUALLY true!

So, the husband and I go out shopping for groceries last night:

Me: "What do you wanna make?" - because he's the one that cooks.

Him: "Jachnun...?" - Because his mom is from Yemen so he makes these sexy dishes that I always mispronounce, but want to roll around naked in because they are THAT FUCKING AWESOME.

Me: "Too greasy, Tammy (my step sister) has acid reflux."

Him: "Ummm, beef?"

Me: "Nope, Dad has high cholesterol."

Him: "Ok, a dairy dish?"

Me: "Sorry. Dad says dairy makes his asthma worse."

Him: "A lentil soup then!"

Me: "Nope, can't reheat it once shabbat starts. They'll freak out about us using electricity on Saturday."

Him: "Fuck it. I'm ordering a pizza."

So, the deal for this weekend is that once Friday night starts, we're going to try not to turn on the tv in front of them (which is why I have Netflix on my laptop, which is going to be in our room!), we're trying not to turn lights on and off in front of them, we're not supposed to walk more than a mile, we have to pre-rip the toilet paper (I am not even fucking joking on that, and it freaks me the fuck out), and we have to find the closest Orthodox synagogue to our house (which I just KNOW I am going to get roped into going to at 7-MOTHERFUCKING-o'clock in the DAMN morning on Saturday). We have to double check that all our food is kosher, and clean the shit out of the house.

The husband was like, "ummm, what if I want to microwave my pizza?" I was all, "Do it. When they pay our mortgage, then THEY can tell us how to live!"

Damn. That was a long-ass post. Jooos can do that to you!

Keep your fucking SARS on that side of the train.

As someone who has asthma, I know that it can be humiliating to have an attack and cough of up a fucking lung on the train. After a fit, I will generally say to someone near me, "I'm sorry, but I just want you to know that it's asthma, not a cold or something you could catch." Why? Because people think you have the FUCKING PLAGUE. That's just mother-fucking courtesy you sons of bitches!

This woman on my commute this morning acted like she had the pig flu, SARS, and the damn EBOLA all in one. Why are you going to work? Ok, maybe you can't afford to take a day off. I get it. COVER YOU DAMN TYPHOID-MARY MOUTH, BITCH!! I don't need your HIVs! This is AMERICA - we are GERMAPHOBIC here.

I nearly sprayed the bitch with hand sanitizer and left her for dead on the train. It was very nearly a scene. I might need Comic to hold her down while I beat the crap out of her for bringing her damn herps on the train! MoM - you have a couple of boys; get them to stop fighting over Kimber's farts long enough to beat the crap out of Patient Zero, ok?

Lesbian parties still require RSVPs, asshole.

When I send you an invite, motherfucker, Emily Fucking Post says that you should respond, bitch. Just because this is a lesbian bachelorette party, does NOT mean you get to email me like a fucking asshole and be all, "Oh, was *I* included in your count?" Well, did you RSVP, shit-for-brains? Noooooooo? Then you're not included. NO FREE KEYCHAIN VIBRATOR FOR YOU!!

Jesus-tittyfucking-Christ!! Where the hell have motherfucking MANNERS gone, people?

How many times can I say this?: I'M NOT GAY.

There's nothing wrong with being gay. I have many close friends who are gay... which I guess is part of the problem: I just got an offer to be in the Pride Parade in DC this weekend. My Lesbians friends asked me if I wanted to ride with them and their Gay male friends in the float.

"AWESOME!" I said, "I haven't been in a Pride Parade in... A YEAR! HA HA HA HA HA!!!"

So I called the husband and asked him if he wanted to go. His answer?: "Honey, maybe the reason people think you're a lesbian, is because HALF THE PEOPLE WE HANG OUT WITH ARE GAY!"

He wasn't trying to be homophobic, believe me, he loves our friends just as much as I do, but I think he likes to highlight certain instances in my life where, to some, I may give off the wrong impression.

I called my lesbian friends back: "Did you invite me because I make a better lesbian than you?"

Friend: "DAMMIT HANNAH! YOU'RE NOT A FUCKING LESBIAN!!! But yeah, you butch it up a little for us."

Dammit people. How many times do I have to say this? I'M NOT A LESBIAN!

Something wrong with PNN

Yes, I know there is something wrong with either my page, or PNN in general, because no one can leave new comments. I don't know what the deal is, but I sent in an email to see when we can get it fixed. Leigh is on it, but this is a funky thing so it might take a while.

In the mean time, I guess I'll *gag* work.

I fail... kinda

Months ago, I entered the Bethesda Magazine Writing contest. I had ZERO hope of winning, but that wasn't really the point. The point was that I had written something, and followed through to submission, something I hadn't done in 10 years. No, more than 10 years now. So, I had no real hope of winning.

When I sent in my entry, I got an automatic email from one of the editors thanking me for my submission and wishing me luck. That's pretty fucking funny, I thought, cause there's zero chance. Still, my mom raised a respectful kid, so I wrote back and thanked her for her kind words, and said that just entering had been a milestone for me. To my surprise, I got back a personal response from her saying how glad she was that contest had motivated me, and she looked forward to reading my submission.

*cringe* Ahh well. It was sweet of her to say so, and I liked the concept of the story, but it was certainly not my best.

Fast foward to this morning, when I get another automatic email. "Thanks for your submission," it pretty much read, "but you fail."

I sat and thought; was I disappointed? Even a little? No. Not at all. Submitting had been the best possible thing for me, so I wrote back to the editor and said that I appreciated the read, and that I would be subscribing to the magazine as a direct result.

Now she writes me back (I feel like we're dating at this point). "We're thrilled we could inspire, and if you ever have anything else, we'd love to see it, Hannah."

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. Not that I have anything right now, and maybe nothing that would fit a family magazine (hi, my last few stories have been about a suicide and a shoot out at a diner), but AWESOME. To me, that last email was TOTALLY worth everything else. That poor woman has no idea what she just got herself into, because I am going to submit the HELL outta that shit.

Why the fuck not? I loaded up on Forever stamps, bitch!

Hi, I'm 97, nice to meet you.

I wanted to go to the gym today. I wanted to go yesterday, too, and the day before. But I can't, and whyyyyyyyy?

Because I'm 97 fucking years old. My knees have been in such pain that it makes walking up stairs almost impossible. "Oh No, Nanner-Knees!" you might be saying to yourself, "what happened?!"

Yeah, nothing, I'm just fucking 97 years old. I used to be a fencer and play softball, and now I have less than half the support in my joints that most women have at my age. Fucking awesome. So, I pay for the gym. I look at the gym, and when I try to climb the steps? I start sweating from the pain.

I hate my life. I thought Lizard People were supposed to have it all made! Fuck this shit, I'm going back to my planet Zorak.

kthanksloveyoubye!

"Them Jews" would like you to shut the fuck up now

On the same day that shots are fired right outside of the DC Holocaust Memorial Museum (about 1 block from where my husband works), Fox News publishes an interview with the "Rev." Jeremiah Wright (http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2009/06/10/wright-suggests-jews-white-house-wont-let-speak-obama/).

It shouldn't be a surprise that this shmuck continues to spout stupidity and hate, but it hits closer to home when I realize that when he says "Jews," he means me. These things that are said, that we own all the banks, that we run the world, that we're evil and even, seriously, that we're actually Lizard People (no, SERIOUSLY!) is that much more hurtful because they are talking about *me*. They think I'M out to get them.

So, Asshole Wright, let me explain a few things:

1. You have nothing I want. Anything associated with you is tainted with your hate. Your money is blood money, and you are filth.

2. Jews are approximate 1/2 of 1 percent of the world's population. If we are able to run the world like you say, then we are either SIGNIFICANTLY more intelligent than you, in which case we should continue to run it, or we are significantly craftier than you, in which case you're not going to win so fuck off.

3. If we ran the world, how would you explain the fact that you still breathe, asshat?

4. You, personally, are now the reason I support abortions.

I won't lie people; Obama was in his church for YEARS, and not that I haven't heard all this before, but it does make me nervous. Of course, the gun shots outside the Museum don't help.

Serious Post: Do you remember being dead?

You know how some people say they remember their past lives? My ex-boyfriend's father said that his mother told him stories about when he, the ex's father, was little. She said he would ask about men in his platoon. Her 3 year old would name soldiers who had died in the Civil War. I guess he could have seen it somewhere, a book at the library, or overheard people talking, but what if it was for real? Can you imagine remembering your past life, and then all of a sudden, being in this one?

But what about the space in between? In that vast chasm between there and here, is there something else? Is there a brief rest where, as Jews believe, we just sleep? Or do we consider the lessons learned from past lives, and try, maybe unconsciously, to apply them to this one? Do we tumble like leaves in autumn into these bodies repeating over and over to ourselves, "the sound of thunder, the feel of rain on my skin, the smell of spring..." trying desperately to remind ourselves that each moment matters, even if we have a thousand lives? A million?

There are times I stop and remind myself to feel everything. How a strong breeze will curl around the tips of my fingers, like when you're in a boat dragging them just a knuckle below the surface. The sound of thunder, just a block away; there's nothing in the world like that cracking sound. The way rain drops hit my windshield in fat little plops, before they're swept away by my wipers. It suddenly hits me that someday, drops of rain on my skin won't elicit any movement from me, and I won't even notice how like a river the breeze can be. And you'd think this would make me sad, or scared, or depressed. Certainly depression from a depressive would be an appropriate response, but instead all I can feel is glad: the release of a cracked knuckle, the feel of my cat's fur on my legs in the morning, even an itch on my skin. I feed my memory on each sensation and moment, because if there is a darkness between Here and There, I may need snacks along the way.