Fröhliche Halloween, Mein Lieblings! (Or, Would You let Your Kids Take Candy From This Woman?L

Last year for Halloween, I wore my wedding dress and went as a bride. Clever, huh? Yeah. The truth is that I wanted to wear my dirndl, but I may have consumed a bit too much candy since I purchased the frock on eBay in 2001; I looked like an overstuffed bratwurst. Halloween can be scary or gross enough without that.

This year, I decided to suck it up, admit that I'll never be that small again, and have the dress altered. I took it to the tailor. When I came out of the fitting room, I thought his eyes might pop out of his head.

"You are going to pay money to fix this?" he asked, showing the type of Eastern European sensitivity that my bubbe usually does rather than his normal tact that makes him money.

Knowing that it would cost me more to ultimately get a whole new dirndl, which would then likely need to altered anyway, I nodded. He shook his head for a moment, mystified, than said, "OK. It's your money."

I picked up on Tuesday and it fits much better. Plenty of room for Halloween treats before I burst through the seams. It shall be perfect for the two Halloween events that I am looking forward to attending this afternoon.

Happy Halloween!

PS - If you want to read about a trick that the health insurance industry plays on women, check out my post on BlogHer about how money pay more than men for the exact same crappy coverage.

Theo Thursday: Last Call with a New Friend

Theo is a plush animal companion to Suzanne. He wishes he could vote on Tuesday, and is hoping that this is the last protest he needs to launch on behalf of his polar bear brothers. Theo also is grateful to Flo for sending him a protest buddy! If Obama is not in office in January, he knows that his new friend will be critical in helping him bring attention to the plight of the polar bears.

GO OBAMA-BIDEN!

Master of the Stairs

The rain in Spain may fall mainly on the plain, but yesterday morning, the sky opened up in New York City and it rained on the Upper West Side like a mad motherfucker. And it was chilly. I looked outside and thought, "Nah."

Still, I needed to get some sort of exercise, so I suited up and hit the stairs. My building has 15 floors. When I reached 15, panting, shaking, and sweating, I heard the rain falling harder than ever. Looking up, I saw a skylight and another flight of stairs that led to the roof. I climbed to the top, triumphant.

On the way down, my left knee reminded me that climbing real stairs is a lot harder on the joints and knobs than the StairMaster. "Shut the fuck up, you whiner," I told it. "We have work to do." It somewhat complied with my demand, and we tromped back up 16 flights once we hit the bottom.

Other than learning what a fabulous workout I can get for free in my building,* I discovered that people use the landings to store a lot of stuff. On the 3rd floor, there is a broken trampoline with a paper taped to it, reading: "This belongs to #3G." Other landings offered bikes for children of various ages, construction materials, and a map of the world (still depicting the USSR) mounted on posterboard. It is nice to know that there are other hoarders in this building.

*I can't move my calves this morning.

Hot (Chocolate) Job!

When I stepped out of the subway station for my job interview yesterday morning, I felt a rush of excitement. The job is located downtown, which is easy to get to, and full of interesting places to grab a bite. One of the things I miss about my last job is being downtown. (OK, this is the only thing that I miss except for the people.)

Hence I already was tingling when I noticed the cafe next door to the potential job's office building. I stopped. "Oh, I can't take this job no matter what," I sighed. A sandwich board announced that hot chocolate made with Leonidas Belgian chocolates is the house specialty. To make it, they pour steamed milk over the chocolates in the "traditional" manner. Several flavors, like chocolate mint, chocolate orange peel, cinnamon, and chocolate raspberry, are on the menu. At $4.50 for a small, and god knows how many calories (as if melted chocolate in whole milk is not unhealthy enough, each purchase comes with a piece of chocolate, perhaps to help people justify the price to themselves), I can't afford to deal with such temptation four or five days per week.

Gathering my resolve, I went upstairs and had what I think was a good interview. As I left, I mentioned that I might treat myself to a hot chocolate downstairs. "Oh, those are amazing," the receptionist swooned. "Expensive, but worth it as a treat." She had tried the plain chocolate, but was curious about the chocolate mint. I said I would try it, and promised to email her with my thoughts. Minutes later, I was $4.88 poorer and burning my tongue on the creamiest, mintiest hot chocolate that I'd ever ingested.

Oh, I so hope that I get this job.

Does Anybody Really KNow What Time It Is?

Does anybody really care? As I was walking down the street one day, a man came up to me and asked me what of day it was... Wait. That's a song. Sorry.

Last night, as I prepared for several hours of restful (ha, if only) slumber, my alarm clock, which receives signals from outer space (via satellite) to keep the most accurate time possible, read Su 11:15. Right before Husband snuffed the light, I noticed that it said Tu 3:14 AM. Hmmmm... time warp or satellite malfunction? I pressed the reboot button.

While the clock decided if I missed a day or if it was telling me the wrong time, I looked at my watch. It's a blue Flik Flak with little pictures of a witch with pink hair and black cat flying on a broom stick on the band. Not only that, but the hands glow in the dark. (Every time I look at the glowing hands, I cannot help but grin.) Unfortunately, it seemed to indicate that it was after 1:00 AM, which I was pretty sure it was not. Then again, I'm not good at reading watches without numbers, and the digits on the watch do not glow.

Now that it is today, Monday, at 8:35 AM according to my computer (but 8:37 as per Flik Flak), I am relieved. I am heading to an interview for a potentially exciting job in 40 minutes. If the cow howls at the moon on the third Thursday and it is 62 degrees and a leap year, everything will work out great, and I shall be in school, writing a second book about New York, blogging for BlogHer, and gainfully employed with a flex schedule. Probably it will be helpful if my clock gives me an extra hour each day.

Old-ness and New-ness

On Saturday, Husband and I journeyed down to Philadelphia to meet up with Steph for a haunted tour of the old part of town. I invited one of my new friends from school - let's call her Jill - to join us. It is very hard to sufficiently prepare people for the hurricane that is Steph. She met up with us about two hours after we arrived at Reading Terminal Market and stuffed our faces silly with Amish and other goodies.

Steph and I proceeded to horrify Jill with our loud discourse on whether it is more insulting to call someone a "snatchface" or a "cuntface." Steph, Husband, and I agreed that cunt was much worse, although Jill said that in the part of the world in which she grew up, "snatch" was a verboten word. My grandmother believes that "cunt" is a perfectly harmless word, but that "fuck" is an awful word that should never be used. Interesting, isn't it?

Today, another new friend from school - let's call her Vicky - and I went to Jill's to help her paint her very dark gray bedroom an off-white. I noticed that the word "fuck" was used on occasion, but not "snatch" or "cunt." Still, much laughter was laughed.

One common thread through this weekend, beside hanging out with friends, is eating. I ate a lot. I am turning into a real Flabby McFlabberstein. Of course, I would rather be a Flabby McFlabberstein than a Cunty McCunterson, but I should go to the gym more often and stop eating pancakes with peanut butter chips for dinner.

Speaking of Cunty McCunterson, the weekend also reminded me that I have far more comrades at school than enemies, so that makes me happy. To old friends and new!

Cum (on a Cookie) Again

Mar sent this cartoon to me almost two years ago (!), and I think it is as hilarious today as it was on November 3, 2006.

Drill, Baby, Drill!

About an hour ago, drilling began right outside my living room window. When I say "right outside," I am not exaggerating - I live on the ground floor facing the street, and the sidewalk runs right up to the building facade. There's no building set back.

As annoying as the racket is to me, I worried about Tycho. His compound is right next to the window. I assumed his giant rabbit ears would be even more bothered than I was by the noise. Surveying my apartment for a safe place in which to evacuate him, I decided that the kitchen might work best. Tycho had other plans.

"Hey, Tycho," i said as I approached his cage. "Wanna move?"

He sat there staring at me. Then he decided that I was there to feed him, so he began running around his cage. When no food was forthcoming after a few minutes, he sat back down and stared at me. I gestured to the living room.

"Come out! Let's go play!"

He remained in his place, a bunched up, 13 pound blob of fur. I guess the noise was not bothering him. Still, I worried about the vibrations, and as mayor of this apartment, I forcibly relocated him. I know that this means I will be punished for my actions, as he will certainly pee and crap on the floor. But I stand by my actions.

Theo Thursday: Polar Bears for Obama

Theo thanks Suzanne's husband for finding this awesome sign online and printing it for him in color!!! Theo is also moved by Palin's latest actions against his fellow mammal, the beluga whale.

Reliving the Good Old Days

Being old and senile, I could not remember when I went to Israel for my friend Hanah's wedding. I swore I blogged about it while I was there, but that would mean that I did not go to her wedding in August 2005, as I didn't start CUSS until October 2005. The best way to find out was to check the archives, and lo and behold, there was a trip to Ocean City, NJ, and a trip to visit my sister in Iowa, but nothing on Israel. (Hence the wedding was August 2005, not 2006.) Still, I'm glad I checked because some of my old posts cracked my ass up! I think I was funnier when I was miserable at work and hated my life, before I had a book and went back to school to learn to be literary and shit. For example, here is my three post re-cap (conveniently combined into one, for an extra long treat) of the Iowa State Fair:

On Saturday, my sister, my brother-in-law (BiL), and I set out for the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines, which is about an hour and a half drive from their house. As we left a bit late, we were too hungry to wait to get to the Fair for lunch, so we stopped at a roadside Subway attached to a gas station. Kum & Go is also known to locals as “Ejaculate & Evaculate.” Ha ha ha. I love it.

After ingesting a low-fat sandwich, Diet Coke, and Baked Lays for lunch, I met my healthy obligations for the day and was ready for some serious Fair eating. Pork chop on a stick? Count me in! Taking BiL’s advice, I put a little bit of Cookie’s BBQ sauce on the chop, and an equal amount on my shirt. YUM! It was tasty on the chop. (Not sure about my shirt, though.)

After the chop, we headed over to the Agricultural Building. Sister and BiL assured me that there were many samples to be had. We tried various jellies and honeys, which were delicious. I bought a Dark Sweet Cherry jam, which Sister must ship to me because I could not bring it onboard the plane thanks to the terrorists. The Ag Building also housed the butter sculptures. Does anyone else find the butter cow slightly disturbing? I think it is the veiny udders and prominent ribs. I don’t hang out around many cows, so maybe I just don’t know what they truly look like, but this one is like some weird starving cow on the Ganges or an anorexic bovine. I just never picture cows with their ribs sticking out or bulging veins when I think about them. I like Superman and his butter bulge much better than the cow. (Sacrilege, I know!) Insert your own “melt in your mouth” joke here. I’m not sure who Mr. State Fair is, but he rounds off the troika of butter sculptures nicely. For some reason, I think he has something to do with the Riley of “The Life of Riley,” but like the anorexic cow, I could be making that up. On a final note regarding the butter sculptures, I was amused to see a book about Norma “Duffy” Lyon, the woman who has sculpted the butter statues at the Fair since 1960, was available to purchase.

The butter sculptures were not the only food art on display. Oh no siree! [Here's] the chocurkey. I actually think that this looks a little like a turd molded into a turkey shape placed on a spray painted gold cardboard disk. Gobble gobble!

These are just cute.

No state or county fair is complete without ginormous vegetables and animals. Iowa did not disappoint when it came to the veggies.

The rabbits, however, were not so impressive (although they were damn cute!!!). I mean, sure slightly under 18 lbs. sounds big for a rabbit, but last year at the North Carolina State Fair, I saw a 25 lb. Flemish giant. Tycho, my New Zealand white, is 13 lbs. of sleek fur and muscle. I think Tycho can totally take down that lame ass “Big Betty.”

The final highlights from the Iowa State Fair was spotted in the general store and in the Various Industries Building. As illustrated by this photo, the death penalty is not only barbaric for humans, but also for dolls. Is this not freaky? If I were a five year old girl, I think seeing a doll hang from the rafters of the general store in a noose would give me nightmares. I’m surprised that it didn’t give me nightmares now. On the other hand, every home (or apartment, even if it is a 200 square foot studio like my first one was) needs an “Infrared Health Cabin.”Hmmmm… is this not also known as a sauna? I like how they claim it can “balance” blood pressure (what the hell does that mean?) and lower your cholesterol. Is sweating your balls off really a way to lower cholesterol? If so, Husband, Brothers-in-Law (both of them, Sister’s Husband and Husband’s Brother), and various other men I know must have some of the lowest cholesterol known to man. At least it achieves something other than generating tons of laundry as they sweat through everything they own and change four times a day! Now if only sweatiness would reduce noxious gas emissions, they’d be set…

State fairs are supposed to be all about fun. People go to them to see the latest in tractors, ginormous vegetables, impressive animals, the projects of overachieving 4-H kids, and most importantly, to eat things that are fried or on a stick, or even better, both fried and on a stick. We do not go to them to be brainwashed. Or at least I don’t.

Imagine my horror when I passed by this scary booth: Worse, it was innocuously wedged between a display of whirlpools (for some reason, there were many such displays – hot tubs seem to be the coolest thing in Iowa after tractors and combines) and vacuum cleaners in the Varied Industries Building!!! What does crazy zealot brainwashing have to do with industry? Unless, of course, the state of Iowa is suggesting that the business of denying scientific evidence like evolution has grown into an industry. (And they would be correct in that suggestion.) I was completely offended. If I want to be offended, I watch Fox News. I don’t need to see this shit at a fucking state fair! I want pig races and other entertainment. Bah.

Just as I was calming down about the religious nutjobs, I saw something even worse: You can imagine the scene I wanted to cause. First, I wanted to point out that if you are printing ginormous, factually incorrect propaganda, get your fucking punctuation correct. The asterisk that footnotes whatever bullshit study you invented does not go before the 94%, it goes after it. Stupid fucks can’t get anything right, can they? I was tempted to tell them that there was a booth selling fried aborted fetuses on sticks, and that the teensy skulls have a nice crunch to ‘em. Then again, you never know how these life-loving loons might react. I could easily get shot and killed. I have found that anti-choice folks don’t have great senses of humor. Saving souls is fucking hard, serious work, you know? Maybe they should be outside the general store, protesting the hanging of the doll.

Speaking of the death of thousands of innocent people, I found this attraction at the carnival section of the fair to be in rather poor taste, albeit hilarious: I don’t think it is clear, but the kids climb up the middle section of the angled, sinking, inflated Titanic in a section marked “first-class only” and then slide down the deck. Who the hell thought of this? I admit it is sort of genius, although the class issue annoys me. (All the steerage folks of course were locked underground and drown like rats.)

Also on the offensive yet funny side: Sure, you can get a nice fountain, but why not go for broke and put your very own statue of a Vietnam vet on your lawn? (That is what the sign identifies this extremely white soldier as.) He's fending off the gooks for you and making the world safe for the George W. Bushes of the world to fuck up. What scares me are the people who actually do think that this is a great lawn decoration. They are usually those militant types I try to avoid, not to stereotype or anything.

Thus concludes my overview of my time at the Iowa State Fair. It’s been fun for me, and I hope you feel the same.

Spam

One museum that I long harbored dreams of visiting is the Spam Museum in Minnesota. That said, I do not appreciate the amount of spam that CUSS has accumulated in the past few weeks. While I hate to do it, I see no other option but to enable comment moderation for a little while. For the less tech savvy (i.e. - Mom), this means that you will not see any comments you leave until I approve them.

My hope is that this will discuorage the many tentacled spammers and then I can go back to free posting. I leave all non-spam comments up, even when they suggest that the world would be better off if my mom had aborted me. I believe in free speech, and I figure that these types of comments reflect more poorly on the anonymous pieces of shit who leave such hateful comments than it does on me.

Anyway, sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope it does not encourage people from leaving comments. Especially on my request for what gifts are good for feminists.

What Would CUSS Readers Do?: Holiday Gifts

On November 3, I will be writing about great gifts for feminist bloggers on BlogHer. Since I seem to only want bizarre things (like a Jody Davis Cubs jersey) or charitable things (donations to the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice and/or National Network of Abortion Funds), I seek input.

What do you want for the holidays?

Leave me a comment, and when I write up the post I'll link to your blog, unless you ask me not to do so. Be honest, but also be warned: I probably won't recommend gift certificates to waxing salons, even if it is something you would adore. I might buy you one, though. :)

Jeez, I can't believe the holidays are right around the corner.

Website Review: Jooners

My friend Flexible Parenting requested some volunteers to review an event planning website called Jooners. Thinking that I'd be a good pal, I stepped up to the plate. Then I missed the date that I signed up to post my review (Oct. 12), although for the record, Jooners did not do its job, either. (They were supposed to send me a reminder.) So, I beg Alex's forgiveness, and belatedly post my review.

When I first poked around on Jooners, I thought it was a neat idea. While it is mainly targeted to busy parents as a way to help them coordinate schedules and events, it is useful for any volunteer group or other entity that plans events. Participants can RSVP and, critically in my mind, let the other attendees know what food or beverages they will bring to the event. I've coordinated a lot of volunteer meetings in the past, and this would've been enormously helpful in ensuring that we did not wind up with 600 cupcakes but no salad, drinks, or napkins. (Not that there is anything wrong with an overabundance of cupcakes, but not everyone is down with empty sugar calories for dinner.) I think Jooners is more accessible than another program that I've used to organize big meetings, Basecamp.

That said, it didn't send me my reminder to post this review! I'm also not clear on whether everyone invited must sign up or only the organizer must do so. (I think it says that only the organizer need be a member.) You know how some people are about signing up for things and giving out their email, so that could be an obstacle. Still, I think it could be useful for a variety of groups, small or large, in planning events. It also utilizes Yahoo groups if the organizer is the moderator, which could be very convenient. On a personal level, unless I write something down, it doesn't get done. I like the idea of an online weekly calendar tracking my plans and preventing me from double booking, which I do more often than I'd like to admit.

Try it out yourself. Jooners is free, which is another big plus. I love free things!

Happy Blogiversary, CUSS!

As we walked home from dinner on Friday night, I told Husband that Sunday is the 3rd anniversary of CUSS. "Did you think it would be a fad when I started blogging?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I mean, how many blogs make it past a few months, or even weeks, before people move on?"

Yet, here we are. Blogging, as cliche as it may sound, changed my life. When I drafted my first blog post, I was a burned out do-gooder on the verge of snapping. Even though I only wrote a few paragraphs every day, I realized how much I enjoyed writing my little stories and rants. I "met" awesome people, some of whom even softened my hard core stance against unshaved snatch. A year later, I pursued a life that incorporated writing.

Although, some of what I wrote on Oct. 19, 2005 makes me cringe, I think in celebration of three years of blogging and personal growth, it is worth republishing. Happy Blogiversary, CUSS!

Why the world needs pubic hair

Far be it from humble unstylish little me to suggest that the New York Times Style Section is lagging on their trend reports, but in a Sept. 1 article titled "Skin Deep: The Revised Birthday Suit," they breathlessly reported that significant numbers of women are opting for totally bald crotches, or if not totally bald, then certainly having large tracts of hair ripped out so they can look "sexy." Please. Cosmo has been reporting for years that men prefer women with little or no pubic hair. Brazilian waxes went mainstream along time ago. Which, quite frankly, scares me. What on earth would make a woman spread her legs wide in front of a cosmetician, allow her to smear hot wax into her vagina, and then have all her hair ripped out? This sounds like something the US government might institute as a torture tactic in Abu Gharib. (And they could easily justify it by noting it can't possibly be torture if gazillions of American women voluntarily have this done all the time.)

No, it is scary and wrong to me. For goodness' sake, pubic hair exists for a reason. We lost most of our body hair during evolution. We lost our tails. We grew taller. So what's left seems to have a purpose. And we need our pubic hair! Think of pubic hair as vagina eyelashes - they stop bad things from getting inside during sex and causing infections. Pubic hair is our friend.

I'm not sure how we so quickly arrived at this hairless situation, but it's arguable that it is the popularity of g-strings, thongs, and other revealing bikini bottoms and underwear that led to the widespread (ha ha) acceptance and even expectation of shaved beavers. Fair enough, but I'd say that if your cooch hairs are hanging out of your bikini bottom, the solution is not to have them torn out of your vag and butt, but to get bigger bottoms. Think of pubic hairs as an organic warning system of sorts. It's Mother Nature preventing you from humiliation by telling you to put on some clothes because you look obscene.

Let's face it: female genitals got the nicknames pussy and beaver because they are furry. And who wants a hairless cat? No one. Having a hairless cat doesn't even help if you are allergic to cats since the problem is with the dander, not fur. Feline pussies with fur are nice to stroke. Hairless cats are freaky. The same goes for human pussies and beavers, my friends.

Is the Mile High Club Even Possible? - An Investigative Report

I spent some time re-reading my old posts on BlogHer, back when I was the contributing editor for travel, and I thought this post from May 2006 was hilarious:

I spent the past week visiting Florence and Rome with two friends (which explains my absence from BlogHer). We had a great time, but as I endured the 9 hour return flight from Rome, I began wondering: Who are all those freaks writing letters to Penthouse Forum boasting of hot encounters with other passengers on airplanes? Unless these letter writers are some sort of contortionists without senses of smell or fear, my experience with flying leads me to doubt whether any regular traveler really belongs to the mile high club.
Click Here

Anyone who flies economy class knows that the seats are ridiculously close together, so it would be very hard to get it on with someone and not involve the people around you. (That would then be a mile high club threesome or orgy, which I suppose some people would not mind). You could try and get away with your partner and slip into the plane bathroom for some action, but the bathrooms on commercial aircraft are barely big enough for one person, even in business class. I am not very large, and when I am in the bathroom I find that there is barely enough room for me alone. Even if they squeezed in, people would find that there's not very much room to maneuver around for boot-knocking to happen. I suppose two standard size adults could do it if one sat down on the toilet and the other person on his lap. Somehow letters to Penthouse Forum about chance encounters on airplanes never seem to mention sitting on the porcelain throne as part of the action.

At any rate, even if you can fit into an airplane bathroom with someone else, I noticed that they tend to reek. Not exactly like a sewer, but a different type of gross fecund smell; a bit milder. I try to breathe as little as I can while I use the facilities of an airplane and get out as quickly as possible before I pass out. This may then be perfect for someone who engages in autoerotic asphyxiation (i.e. - denies himself oxygen to heighten his orgasm), but does masturbating in the bathroom of a plane allow you to count yourself as a member of the mile high club? I think not.

A final problem with sex in airplane bathrooms, whether alone or with another person, is the other passengers. While some people could not care less what other people think when they see two adults going into a lavatory together, I noticed that lines for the toilets can get pretty long when someone takes his sweet time to do his business. The people waiting start to get very cranky. (Or maybe it's just me - I've come damn close to trying to kick the door in and find out what the hell was taking so long in there.) The flight attendants become annoyed by the hordes of people blocking the aisles as they wait to relieve themselves. Violence could easily break out if it was known that people were in there having sex. Even if the trysters are not discouraged by the thought of an angry mob, there's the risk of injury during turbulence. It just sounds dangerous.

Unless the prospects of physical cramping, stench, and potential violence turn you on, I just don't see how anyone could find these good conditions which lead to great sex. Am I misunderstanding the situation?

What's even funnier is that one guy actually left a comment about getting it on in an airplane bathroom. All I can think is, ew...

Karl Rove Said...

Husband attended a pre-conference dinner last night that featured a discussion between James Carville and Karl Rove. He told me that it was fascinating in many ways, including Carville's multi-tasking (whenever Rove spoke, Carville began reading some sort of bound report that he had with him, probably billing the client for his work) and Rove's tautological arguments based on nothing. Saying things quickly, forcefully, and with anger is how he convinces people that he's right, despite the utter lack of facts in his presentation. Usually this works well because he speaks to audiences of acolytes.

Possibly the most horrifying statement he made last night, in Husband's opinion, was when he was asked if the Bradly effect was in play in the presidential election. "Well," he replied, "you never really know if people are going to vote or a black or not."

The woman in the audience who later asked Carville if "Obama is a socialist" probably approved of that. The one person of color, who was at Husband's table, was visibly offended. The people who clapped when Carville said that the porter who carried Rove's bag to his hotel room deserved more of a tax cut than any of the dinner guests also were disturbed.

Incidentally, he also insisted that all economic research that comes from Princeton University - which is probably the top university in the United States - is "bullshit, utter bullshit." Facts, it seems, are useless unless they are manufactured by the GOP machine as "facts."

It makes me sick.

Worth 1,000 Words*

(Photo credit: Reuters)

*Some actual words: This photo appeared in The Age, a newspaper in Australia, with the following caption, "Slip of the tongue: John McCain reacts after almost leaving the stage the wrong way following his debate with Barack Obama. Photo: Reuters." (The full story is McCain goes for jugular, but misses.) I first saw the photo on the front page of google news, and thought it was linked to a story in The Christian Science Monitor. It is also on the Reuters website, with a slightly longer caption, "Republican presidential nominee Senator John McCain reacts to almost heading the wrong way off the stage after shaking hands with Democratic presidential nominee Senator Barack Obama at the conclusion of the final presidential debate at Hofstra University in Hempstead, October 15, 2008." Whew!

Theo Thursday: Stop Global Warming, Save the Poalr Bears

Theo is a Plush Animal Companion for Suzanne. His goal is to raise awareness of the plight of his cousins, the polar bears, whose habit is melting thanks to global warming. When he heard that Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin not only supports violating the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in order to drill for oil, but also denies that human behavior impacts global warming, he became enraged. Fortunately, unlike John McCain, he has a good poker face and can hide his temper for the greater good.

Theo thanks his plush canine friend for rallying the support of sled dogs for his cause.

In My Medicine Cabinet

Yesterday I took a good look at the contents of our medicine cabinet. I found:

• Pepto-Bismal chewables (expired 2/07, although I swear I bought them in 4/07 for a trip to India...)


• Sudafed Sinus Headache (2 boxes, both expired 8/06)


• CVS cold & cough liquid gelcaps (expired 9/06)


• Sudafed Sinus Nighttime (expired 11/06)


• Chloraseptic (expired 9/07


• Maalox Anti-Gas (expired 11/02)


• Zantac 75 (expired 12/03)


• Immodium AD (expired 2/08 - not bad given the other expirations)


• NyQuil (2 bottles, both open, neither expired, although on Sunday I threw out a 3rd bottle that was also half used that expired in 2007)


• Vicks Formula 44 (not expired!)


• Sudafed Cold & Allergy (2 boxes, both open, neither expired)

I cannot believe that nearly every single box of OTC meds that we had in our medicine cabinet expired. This is only slightly less horrifying than the boxes of tea that I chucked on Monday. The Wild Berry Zinger expired in June 1997; I'd had it since college. The Cinnamon Apple expired in December 1998. The Iced Tea expired in December 1999.

I sort of wish I kept the Wild Berry Zinger as a relic. Ah, nostalgia.

Is Sarah Palin a C Word? A Scholarly Consideration of the Issue

On one of the many sites on which I've been devouring political discussions lately, a self-identified PUMA* was irritated that no one decried an Obama supporter who wore a t-shirt that read "Sarah Palin is a cunt" to a recent rally. To which my first thought was, "Well, she is a cunt, so why would I get my knickers in a bunch?" Then I felt a little bad, since I would probably be furious if someone wore a shirt like that with Hillary Clinton's name. Except that HRC is not really a cunt, so that's why I would be so irate. (Bill Clinton, however, is another story.)

Perhaps, I wondered, was I being unfair because I loathe Sarah Palin's evil social policies? Only an impartial and wise source could settle the matter for me. I whipped out my trusty slang dictionary, Slang and Euphemism: A Dictionary of Oaths, Curses, Insults, Ethnic Slurs, Sexual Slang and Metaphor, Drug Talk, College Lingo, and Related Matters (2nd Revised Edition) by Richard A. Spears. ("College lingo?" Seriously?) It read:

cunt (see also c*nt, c**t, c***,****,----) 1. the female genitals, specifically the vagina. [said to be from Latin CUNNUS (q.v.)] 2. women considered sexually. 3. copulation [in numerous spellings since the 1300s] The word was banned from print in much of the British Empire until the middle of this century, and it is the most elaborately avoided word in the English language. There are numerous dimunitives: CUNNICLE, CUNTKIN, CUNTLET, CUNNY. Avoidances are: INEFFABLE, MONOSYLLABLE, NAME-IT-NOT, NAMELESS. Disguises are: GRUMBLE AND GRUNT, SHARP AND BLUNT, SIR BERKLEY HUNT, TENUC, UNTCAY. See MONOSYLLABLE for additional synonyms. 4. a rotten fellow; a low, slimy man. [colloquial, 1800s-pres.] 5. to intromit the penis. [attested in a limerick, late 1800s] See also DECUNT.

Whew! That didn't entirely clear the matter up for me, but I believe that she meets definitions 1 (she is certainly interested enough in what comes out of other women's vaginas, anyway), 3 and 5 (she is totally going to screw us if she gets into the VP's office). Hence, Sarah Palin is, in fact, a cunt, and the t-shirt is accurate. Perhaps, however, anti-Palinites might want to wear shirts reading, "Sarah Palin is a monosyllable" to confuse her supporters and avoid controversy. (Plus, "monosyllable" is a great double-entendre in this case.)

Wasn't this fun? Not only did I learn interesting facts about my grandmother's favorite word (I love that she hates the word "fuck," but will cheerfully spew out a word that is otherwise "the most elaborately avoided word in the English language"), but also that I run against popular sentiment in my embrace of the word cunt.


*A group of the Clinton supporters who are possibly the sorest losers in political history.

Roaches

Perhaps the one thing that is more despicable than than exploiting the fear of breast cancer to sell women products that may actually cause the disease is a roach. Roaches are repulsive. They exacerbate asthma and other conditions. Worse, they are everywhere in New York City. I nearly puked when I killed one this morning. Just thinking about it makes me itchy.

My friend J. hates roaches to the point of irrationality. I asked her if she had seen Wall-E yet, and she told me that it was so offensive that she had to leave ten minutes into the film. I was surprised, as I heard that Wall-E has a good message that I thought a progressive like J. would dig.

"What is so awful about it?"

J. threw her arms around as she ranted. "It's repulsive! It should be rated X! I can't believe they allow children to see such filth!"

"Um, are you talking about the cartoon?"

"Yes, of course! I asked to get my money back, it was so sick!"

Now I was really confused. "What is so bad about it?"

"The sidekick is a roach!!!!!" she screamed.

Ah, that explains it.

October Public Service Announcement: Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Is there anything more despicable than exploiting the fear of breast cancer to sell women products that may actually cause the disease? That's what Breast Cancer Awareness Month is all about these days. Check out my snarky remarks on this travesty of a mockery of a sham at BlogHer. My mom had breast cancer when she was 33, so this stuff hits me right on a pinched nerve.

In other news, my uber-talented brother-in-law created an author website for me. As usual, it is the bomb. In exchange for his help, I'm promoting his gourmet cooking business, Hot Pot Culinary Events. Hot Pot will conduct cooking parties and/or lessons right in the comfort of your own home! Fun times are practically guaranteed.

Unrelated Thoughts

Beans are full of protein. They can also cause gas when consumed, thus the nickname "the musical food." However, none of the nutritious or gaseous benefits of beans are derived when bodies decide not to digest them. I thought about this when I discovered that I shat out an whole soy bean at 2:45 AM. The bean was consumed on Friday night, not long after the host at Ruby Tuesday may or may not have mistaken me for a 10 year old boy.

While I was at the BlogHer Boston conference yesterday with Alex and Sally HP, I suspect Theo sneaked out and attended an anti-Palin rally. He looks extra secretive today, and no matter how many times I ask him what he did this weekend while Husband and I were gone, he refuses to answer. Maybe I should sign him up for Twitter, which I finally joined yesterday (@suzannereisman) so I can follow him when I am away from home.

Cough, hack. Colds suck. Fortunately, Husband stocked up on the miracle cold cure that is sold in Britain while he was there for work this week.

Hey Little Girl!

Last night, Alex, her hubby BG, her two sons, and I went heading to Ruby Tuesday's for a fine dining experience. Upon entering the restaurant, BG told the host that we needed a table for five. BG held their younger son (age 2) in his arms, and I held the hand of their older son (age 5). The host looked at all of us.

"Do you need three children's menus?" he inquired. We stood silently for a moment, staring at him. Then BG and Alex started laughing, and the host turned bright red. "Of course you don't! Come right the way."

As I followed him to our booth, I wondered if he thought I was the third child or if it was Alex. Lately I've been looking my age more than ever, so if it was me, that would be pretty hilarious. He probably thought I was the oldest brother. Strangely, before we went to the restaurant, Alex told me when BG flipped through pictures from their older son's (OS) September birthday party, when he asked her which friend of OS's was in this one. Alex took one look at it and burst out laughing. "Um, that's Suzanne!" (Evidence to be posted later.)

Maybe school is aging me down. Not only am I breaking out again for the first time in years, but another comment the little wench in my workshop left for me was that my writing is juvenile. Maybe I'm all Benjamin Button or something.

Hello from Alex's Kitchen

This morning I hopped a Greyhound bus, then transferred to another Greyhound bus, and after too many hours with my new best friends at Greyhound, I am finally at Alex's house. Her cute older son enthusiastically greeted me as I approached their car at the bus station. Her cute younger son snored loudly, as he had fallen asleep while waiting. It was a very nice welcome.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, Alex and I will swing by Sally HP's house, and then head over to Starbucks for a quick eye opener before we go to the BlogHer Boston Reach Out Tour conference. (First we should probably figure out when it starts.) As I told one of my new friends from my MFA program, these blogger networking opportunities are wonderful. I am so grateful to the blogging community for the support and friendship I have received over the last three years. (CUSS's third anniversay is next Friday. As Alex said, "Who knew there could be three years of conversation about snatch?" OK, so its a bit more than just snatch, but still...)

I'm still reeling a bit from the obnoxious comments that one of my classmates left on my paper, so I'm even more excited to be amongst my blogging people. The wisdom from Alex's kitchen is thus: Bloggers rock!

Theo Thursday: Who is a Terrorist?

(Click on photo to enlarge)

Theodore Roosevelt Reisman is a plush animal companion who wants to live with his human friend and her husband in freedom. He became an activist when he heard that his polar bear cousin's lives were threatened by the so-called "pro-life" governor of Alaska and Republican Vice Presidential candidate, Sarah Palin. Theo believes that, although the Constitution does not seem to allow 20 year old stuffed animals to run for elected office, he is more qualified to be Vice President than Sarah Palin.

Karma Smiles Upon Me

To paraphrase Col. John "Hannibal" Smith, I love it when a good karmic plan comes together! On the heels of the bitch slapping I received from some pretentious wench in my workshop, I learned that my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track: New York City's Best Unusual Attractions was cited as one of ten indispensable guidebooks to New York City by Julie Schwietert at MatadorGoods. How awesome is that?!?! I am honored to be included on a list compiled by "A New Yorker who’s skeptical of guidebooks."

OTBST is also under review at a few travel blogs, and another travel website will have an article linking to the book soon. I may never write a literary masterpiece, but I like what I do, other people seem to like what I do, and I'm working to make it better. No complaints here. As "B.A." Baracus said, I pity the fool.*

*And I specifically mean the little ray of sunshine in my class, hopefully never to be mentioned again.

Things I Know

I know that I am not a great writer, and probably will never be a great writer.
I know that I want to be a better writer.
I know that I decided to go back to school so I could learn more about the craft of writing.
I know that attending an MFA program was a scary decision because it meant I would have to confront my lack of literary skill.
I know that I am not a lyrical or beautiful writer, but I also know that it is as hard to pull off humorous writing as it is to craft a gorgeous sentence.
I know that, although I am not a literary writer, I deserve to have my writing treated with respect.
I know that one person in my workshop thinks so lowly of me that she thought it was appropriate to leave me the following comment: "My bologna has a first name! It's n-o-t t-h-i-s s-e-n-t-e-n-c-e, p-l-e-a-s-e!"
I know that the person who wrote such an obnoxious line of criticism is capable of writing lyrical sentences.
I know that I have a published book that seems to be selling well.
I know that two publishers asked me whether I would be interested in writing more books about New York City.
I win.

Workshop

Tonight my story about developing breasts and how boobs have affected me over time will be workshopped in class. I am excited, but also nervous. The good news is that a few people already mentioned that they enjoyed reading it. (Right after I submitted my work two weeks ago, I convinced myself that I would be asked to leave the program.) Mostly, I look forward to hearing what people think I can do to make it a richer piece, but I am also relieved that at least a few people found it funny.

If I am lucky, I will avoid the same fate I suffered in class last Wednesday. My mysterious digestive ailment reared its ugly head earlier that week, plaguing me with acid reflux and cramps. The cramps and gas pockets were particularly painful on Wednesday night, and it is only a testament to how much I enjoy my literature class that I was able to focus on the discussion while simultaneously worrying that I might literally shit myself.

During the peak of my mysterious digestive ailment, I often worried that I might poop my pants, but I had never done so. As I gathered my belongings and dashed out of the classroom last Wednesday, I felt wetness on my ass. Two possible explanations ran through my head: 1. I got my period early (please, please, please); or 2. anal leakage. Whatever it was, I prayed that I did not reek. The two women who walked out with me did not seem to notice anything, so I took that as a good sign. All I can say is that I subsequently learned that anal leakage does not smell. Sigh.

Can I Call You Joe?

If nothing else, Sen. Joe Biden deserves a medal. How the fuck was he able to keep a straight face throughout the debate with Gov. Sarah "Joe Sixpack Maverick Hockey Mom" Palin on Thursday night? Watching it online, I was barely able to restrain myself.

The party that loves blaming low income people for all the social woes this nation faces, saying that people need to take responsibillity for their actions, blames everyone else for our economic crisis. Somehow, only Democrats - but Republican economic policies - caused this. It's Freddie and Fannie's fault! It is all the lenders' faults! Nope, the people who took out loans to buy McMansions that they could not afford are totally innocent. And, of yeah, "government is the problem."

I'm not saying that Obama-Biden are perfect. But for fuck's sake, I don't know how anyone can think that McCain-Palin are going to fix any of the problems we have today. McCain has proved that he is utterly unstable and Palin is a clueless religious fundamentalist who is essentially George W. Bush in a dress. (She even says nuclear the same way as Bush - "nucular.")

Good Deeds

The fine people at BlogHer are participating in the DonorsChoose Challenge. Basically, because public education is grossly underfunded in communities across America, teachers often spend their own money on supplies for the kids. Since many teachers are underpaid, they often cannot afford the things that they need for special projects that enrich kids' lives and help them learn. DonorsChoose is a website that lets teachers tell potential donors about what they need for their classroom and why. If donors like the idea, they can give a portion of the project cost or the full amount. All the projects are awesome.

For the DonorsChoose Challenge, I decided to write about a project called Puzzling Diversity. Mrs. G teachers four year olds in a low income community in Oklahoma. She would like puzzles for her pre-k classroom that illustrate the different types of careers that people from various ethnic backgrounds and genders can aspire to. I believe that almost nothing is more important than quality early childhood education, and I also love that Mrs. G is working with her kids at a young age to see outside of restrictive gender stereotypes and dream about what they can be when they grow up. Puzzles are also critical tools to help children develop fine motor skills and develop a spatial reasoning. Puzzling diversity really touches me in so many ways.

To equip her classroom with puzzles illustrating positive behaviors, Mrs. G only needs $75 more dollars. If 75 people give a dollar each, that would do it. I know that these are terrible times economically, but I think most people can spare a $1 to help kids. If you give $1 today, research on the benefits of quality early childhood education indicates that you will actually save between $7 and $17 in future spending (i.e. - taxes) because these programs lower the rate of dropping out of school, teen pregnancy, juvenile delinquency, repeated grades, and other social ills. So it's a double benefit to support Puzzling Diversity if you think about it.

When I was a wee lass, I wanted to be president when I grew up. I also, at various points, wanted to be Jenny Lind (aka The Swedish Nightengale; a singer who toured the world and charmed audiences with her melodious voice in the early 1900s), Florence Nightengale, a teacher, and/or a bank teller. Husband wanted to drive the bus to the zoo when he was pre-school age. How about you?

Breaking & Entering

While Dr. P is at work fixing people colons, she has no time for grocery shopping. For a variety of reasons, I hestitated to leave her place but since she understandbaly has no food in her apartment, I reluctantly slipped out for lunch. Although Dr. P left me her car, I decided to walk the mile or so to the shopping center up the road. It was hot, but not awful. I had a nice egg sandwich and iced tea, did some work, and then walked back home.

Everything was fine until I re-entered her development. Here is my problem with suburban developments: all the buildings look the same. Plus, there aren't identifiable streets to use as guidelines. I knew she was by the alligator pond (my terminology), so when I saw an apartment with her number on it near this body of water, I was proud that I found it quickly. Except that the key would not fit into the lock. And as I stood there wondering what was going on, a woman opened it. A woman who was not Dr. P.

"Can I help you?" she asked, surprisingly pleasantly given that I just tried to open her apartment door.

"Um, I thought this was my friend's apartment, but I guess I'm lost," I stammered, thanking my lucky stars that she didn't blow my face off with a gun or call the cops.

She asked me what building number I was looking for, which is when I realized that all the complexes had their own address. Fortunately, I wrote Dr. P's on a slip of paper. It turns out I was five buildings up the alligator pond. Ooops.

The Road to Hell is Paved with Spontaneity

In a burst of sentimentality this past weekend, I decided that I should search for bargain airfares and visit Dr. P this weekend in Florida. Given the price of fuel and other cost issues with airlines, I did not expect to find anything. I was shocked when US Airways offered me something for less than I would spend on an advance purchase from New York to Chicago. Remember, just because something doesn't cost a lot in terms of money, it can really add up in other ways. Yes, there are connecting flights in my travel plan.

"Big deal," I thought to myself. "An hour and change should be more than enough."

Silly me! When US Airways informed travels at the exact time that our plane was supposed to land at LaGuardia for my first flight to Philadelphia that it had just left North Carolina, I was screwed. Had someone mentioned the delay earlier, I could have switched to another flight. But it was too late. Long story short, the plane touched down in Philly five hours after I left my apartment that morning, just as my connection left on time for Ft. Lauderdale. Then I learned that the next flight was not for 2.5 more hours. And of course that one was already delayed.

Had I thought about this, I would have booked the ticket from Philly in the first place. (It takes, at most, 2.5 hours on public transportation to get to the Philly airport from NYC.) All the delays meant that I missed the fucking debate last night, which I had been looking forward to viewing for weeks. Argh! I'm hoping to catch it online while Dr. P is at work today. What did people think of it?

Theo Thursday: A Philosophical Question

Theodore Roosevelt Reisman has worked as the companion bear of Suzanne for approximately 20 years. His foray into political commentary was triggered by concern for his polar bear cousins, who are losing their arctic habitat at an alarming rate, which Alaska governor and vice presidential nominee Sarah Palin denies. Theo hopes that he will not need to make a career as a protest companion bear, but is prepared to do so if necessary. This fall, he is rooting for his baseball brethren, the Chicago Cubs.

The Future is Dangerously Tempting

Now that I have seen the Future (ATMs that scan deposits and require no additional documentation), I giddily anticipate the next time I need to put money in the bank. Let's see: I expect checks from my consulting job and from my writing gigs, then I'll bill my consulting job again in a few weeks. In December, I'll receive checks for my birthday and Hanukkah.

This is great, but I want to put more into the machine. While I showered, I wondered what would happen if I put random pieces of paper in the ATM scanner. Probably the bank would get mad at me and forbid me from using it in the future, so that would be bad. I know! I can write myself checks! How awesome would that be to see my checks to me on the ATM screen!?!? Totally awesome!

Yeah. That's the dangerous lure of the Future....

Speaking of money/finance and the future (or lack thereof), as I read this morning's column in the NY Times by Thomas L. Friedman on the credit crunch, Husband's voice floating into my mind. Years ago, he was an analyst at Bear Stearns. Whenever I told people that I worked in public service, he insisted that he did, too. "I keep markets liquid," he said with a straight face. Mostly (99.9%) he was kidding, but today I see that he did have a very slight point. When money is not freed up, it is a challenge for businesses to properly capitalize themselves. I think they should just write themselves some checks to put into the new ATMs.

The Future is Here!

All that nonsense I spouted yesterday about the end of the world? Forget it - I've seen the future, and it is here! Ironically, the future met me at a bank at a time when banks are falling to shit left and right. On my way to Long Island for Rosh Hashana dinner, I stopped at an ATM center by Penn Station. Finding only envelopes, but not deposit slips, I stormed out muttering and walked across the plaza to the actual bank.

There were zillions of deposit envelopes by the ATMs in the bank, but still no deposit slips. However, unlike at the ATM center, there was a large sign on the wall and handouts in multiple languages (except, inconveniently for me, English) informing me that deposit slips and envelopes were no longer required in order to make ATM deposits. The large sign encouraged me to just follow the instructions at the ATM. Weary and skeptical, I approached the machine.

I slid my card into the slot. (That sounds ridiculously sexual, doesn't it? Sorry about that.) After telling the ATM that I wanted to make a deposit, it asked me to insert my check face up into a larger slot. "OK," I said and took a breath. The machine greedily inhaled my check like an asthmatic sucks down her inhaler during a bad asthma attack. Two seconds later, a scanned image of the check appeared on the monitor. A line of words appeared under the picture. "Is the amount of this check $400?" I had not even realized that I never entered the check amount. I could even print a receipt with a picture of the check on it.

Maybe I am easy to impress, but damn, what a miracle this was! I wished I had more checks to deposit. (Not only because the ATM was cool, but because I wish I had more money to put into my account.) The future met me at Chase Bank,* and I approve.

*When I pulled up Chase's website to see if there is any information about how Chase is introducing their customers to the future, I discovered that they are welcoming "WaMu customers to the #1 U.S. Bank in Deposits!" That brought me back to reality. Go Cubs!