the panic alarm

I found this in the restroom at a theatre recently and had a hard time not pulling it off the wall and carrying it around with me, you know, just in case. I'm not really a panicker, but it seemed like a good idea. You never know when the tables might turn and a good old-fashioned panic might set in. In general, (as long as there's no barf) I'm cool-headed, strong, independent, confident, you name it, I am it (if "it" in this instance doesn't equal "panicky").

But, to be honest, things seem to have changed a bit recently.

Maybe it's because I still haven't decided what to do with my life, and it's been months now that I've been examining it.* Maybe it's because it's almost my 32nd birthday and I feel like a fourteen year old. Maybe it's because I've met someone who seems to care a great deal about me.** Maybe it's because I'm constantly afraid of losing my job, even though I have no indication that would even be a possibility.*** Maybe it's because I feel lost, confused, unsheltered and numb. Maybe it's because my peers all seem to be married, and not just married, but happily married. Maybe it's because my sister owns a second house and I still rent a lopsided one bedroom.**** Maybe it's because it's almost December, and December kicks me in the groin every year, even though my birthday and Christmas are two of the best holidays ever.

* "Now with 50% more ambiguity!"

** Eek! Run for the hills!

*** A communal knocking on wood now, if you will.

**** in which a marble placed on the living room floor would roll through the office, the bedroom and the kitchen before lodging itself in the bathroom

If I could, I'd like to move to the other side of that alarm. Just nestle down at the Panic Command Center, where the elite members of the Life Service Team solve my life's little problems (or at least make them go away). Where things are warm and soft, and everyone's given a protective spirit tiger to watch over them. (I've always wanted one.) Where I don't have to make any money, break any hearts, buy any houses, or deal with any physical therapists who, after a MONTH of working on the way I walk, tell me that my walk's "no good." (Yeah, I love the chiropractor but the PT can kiss my ass -- more on this later.)

One of the hardest parts about the holidays is that when I'm at home with my parents, I feel like I already am on the other side of the alarm. And it makes going home (to my uneven little home in Brooklyn) all that much harder.

I do it, though. I just sometimes wish I didn't have to.

what I ate on thanksgiving

Turkey Day (or Non-Turkey Day for the aspiring vegetarian among us) began virtuously, and then slipped and slid into the level of hell reserved for hand-holding-four-across-pedestrians-in-times-square and people who bash baby seals over the head with baseball bats. (I only know because I saw them there in the middle of the night when I thought I was actually going to die from overeating.)

This is how it went:
Breakfast -- Fiber One english muffin with almond butter. (See? Virtue!)

Lunch -- Chex Mix, half a banana, cheese and crackers, vegetables and dip and a small child

Dinner -- Two teeeny tiny pieces of turkey (just to see if the free range, organic, non-anti-biotic, mansion-dwelling, bon-bon eating turkey was any different than the fat-assed, lazy one we usually get), eighteen pounds of stuffing (which we, in my family, affectionately call "Wet Bread"), some roasted vegetables (which were supposed to have tofu on them for the aspiring vegetarian among us, but said tofu was left behind), six tons of mashed potatoes, fourteen pounds Grandma Green Beans ("now with 100% more Grandma!") and about six pumpkin pies.

I'm never eating again.

Except, I have to go have a snack now.

wedding bells are gonna' chime

The chiropractor and I are moving in together!* Maybe to one of those beautiful new high-rise buildings on the water in Long Island City. You know, the ones with a gym and a Healthy Foods Store at the bottom of the building, and lots and lots of babies. It’ll be perfect!

Proof that we’re in love:

1) We discuss some very important stuff. Like sandwiches. And logosophy.

2) We’re pretty romantic. We hug a lot, and he rubs my back. And as you know, we talk about farts and fat people. Today he even said to me, “Suck me, beautiful.” (I’m not actually making this one up. He really did say it.)**

I am, however, getting some mixed signals. He always wants to talk about the men I’m dating. And he’s willing to share me with the physical therapist. And he keeps mentioning his “girlfriend” (even though I know he’s really talking about his cleaning lady). Is that supposed to be funny? Maybe it just means he’s an understanding guy…

*Ok, ok, he and his girlfriend are thinking of moving out of my neighborhood and into a nice new condo of their own. But that’s hardly an important detail.

**But before you go get all riled up and weirded out by this, apparently it’s a quote from American Pie (a movie I loved myself enough to avoid) that applied somewhat obliquely to the conversation we were actually having.

instructions for the under-assed

How to Make Your Butt Feel Bigger in Three Easy Steps

Feeling too trim? Butt not wiggly enough for you? Never Fear! K8's Three-Step Butt Increasing Regimen can help!

1. Wake up in the morning and put on a pair of pants, preferably lined, that fit just perfectly fine last year. (If you can, select a pair given to you by your sister, so you can be sure that HER ass would fit in them, even if yours doesn't.)

2. Sit down in said pants. Make sure the lining stretches like sausage casings over your bee-hind and thighs. This step is crucial because it indicates to you the fabulous increase in fannitude without actually communicating that increase to the good people around you (namely the head of HR or anybody you might be dating).

3. Walk around and feel the lining stick to your things. This is essential to at least the perception that your butt is growing.

If these steps don't make you feel like you've stuffed a down coat into your trousers, here's an additional step -- pinch the flesh of your left hip when zipping them up. Nothing says "Un-Slim" like zipper wounds on the hip!

you now owe me six cents

1. Lemmings and Lemurs are not the same thing. If you are wondering what the differences are, Lemmings look cute and small and furry and like perennially pregnant hamsters, and they periodically, accidentally run off cliffs in droves.

Lemurs don't.

2. Imagine my surprise when I discovered, at two o'clock in the morning, that my daily vitamins have caffeine in them. Fun! FUN! FUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUNFUN!!!!!!!!

3. I recently went to a very interesting set of sales meetings, but due to a confidentiality agreement that I signed, this is all I can tell you. I got to the ___________________. I sat down in the back and listened to _______ say, "Thanks for coming! ____________________ and _________________, but the ______________ is ______________ and I think ________________ should _______________ with the ____________. Additionally, I think ___________________ is a good __________________ while _________ probably ________________. Afterwards _________________________ will do _________________ on the _________ with a _____________ and the__________ should start __________________. Otherwise, _______________ and feel free to __________ with the _________ on the ___________."

4. If you are wearing pants the button up the side, I highly recommend not wearing a belt that fastens in the front. If you do, however, it's advisable not to wait until the very last second to pee.

5. "Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. 'Pooh,' he whispered.
'Yes, Piglet.'
'Nothing,' said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'"

6. Here's an interesting list of characteristics, taken from the book Secrets of Six Figure Women, by Barbara Stanny. She says you should try to whittle the list down to five values you couldn't live without. I managed to get it down to about 11, but had a hard time after that. Go ahead, you try it.

Achievement
Adventure
Beauty
Being free
Being generous
Brother/Sisterhood
Charity
Comfort
Community
Creativity
Dignity
Discovery
Family
God
Growth
Happiness
Health
Honesty
Honor
Humility
Independence
Individuality
Influence
Integrity
Intimacy
Justice
Kindness
Knowledge
Leadership
Learning
Leaving a legacy
Leisure
Life partner
Love
Making a difference
Parenting
Patriotism
Peace
Physical activity
Power
Retirement
Security
Seeing the world
Self-discipline
Self-esteem
Service
Simplicity
Spirituality
Strength
Success
Time alone
Truth
Using my talents

If you show me yours, I'll show you mine...

tricks and treats

It may no longer be Halloween (and, please, Park Nope, take note that it's NOT Christmas, either), but that doesn't mean we have to be done with all the tricking and treating.

Treat:

I collect photos of geriatric pumpkins. You can see the last few years' worth here. This year, I thought it was only fair to also include exuberantly joyous pumpkins.

So, for your delight, this year's inhabitants of the Old Folks' Pumpkin Home:

And some adorable little candy stripers:

Trick:

The physical therapist is killing me. And, my right thigh is getting thinner and more cut than my left. This is NOT good. I'll have to walk more arduously with my left leg to make up for it. Or only wear skirts on my right leg.

Treat:

A fun link for those of us who have a small crush on the future commander in chief. (Thanks, Sarah!)

Treat:

Further juicy details involving my love affair with my chiropractor.

1. He hugged me today.*
2. In so doing, he somehow managed to unhook my brassiere.**
3. We're getting married.***

*when I say "hugged" it's really a layman's term for some sort of fancy back cracking. It was, honestly, the most physical I've been with a man in a long time, but, alas, utterly non-romantic.

** it's one of those annoying, racerback-optional bras in which the straps can come out of their loops so you can cross them in the back. I have never done this. I have, however, unhooked myself as many as 14 times in one day. Note to self: buy more non-racerback-optional bras.

*** this is an out and out fabrication.

Trick:

The heat came on in my apartment today and the whole place now smells like hot dust.

Trick:

I had a dream last night in which I was relegated to sleeping in a sewage drain with mouse poos and rat poos and Indeterminate Vermin Poos (which were long, greenish, and scary). In the same dream, I had one of those odd substitutions that make perfect sense (but only in dream-world) -- a gentleman caller (from my real life) was replaced with Owen Wilson. And we were grocery shopping with his father, who wanted to wait until the cashier he "knew" showed up so we could get all the good grocery "deals." I'm sure there's a message there, but I'm too tired from dreaming it to suss it out.

some things that don't make sense

I went to a lecture with my mother recently whose title was "Thirteen Things that Don't Make Sense." (The lecture, not my mom.) Here, in my opinion are some of those thirteen things (and I think my mother would likely agree):

-- Why my mother and I thought we could understand a lecture about astronomical anomalies
-- How you can possibly be expected to stay awake in the Hayden Planetarium in dusky lighting after a cocktail
-- Why the website said the lecture was at 6:30 on Tuesday when the guy at the box office said it was at 6:30 on Monday when, in fact, it was at 7:30 on Monday
-- The way my dad dresses (but this has no bearing on the lecture whatsoever)
-- Why, in a lecture entitled THIRTEEN things that don't make sense, you'd only cover four of them
-- Why British accents are so much cuter than American ones
-- The difference between WIMPS and CHAMPS (I'm not kidding, this was actually covered in the section on Dark Matter. Or Dark Energy. I forget.)

Another thing we learned was that way back in the day there was a physicist named Fritz Zwicky who came up with an explanation for dark matter (or dark energy, I forget) that was, according to our understanding of the situation now, not far from the mark. However, in Fritz's day, he was maligned and basically kicked out of the establishment. He responded to this by calling his fellow physicists "Spherical Bastards" -- because any way you looked that them, they were bastards.

Now THAT made sense.