International Women's Day Was Yesterday

Basically, I have no idea what is going on outside of my little sphere of work and thesis writing. I thought today was March 8th, which is International Women's Day, and was all excited to write about it. I understand now that March 8th was actually yesterday. I'm going to say some shit anyway.

I wrote a post for BlogHer about 30 Woman Making History, a campaign by the Woman's Media Center to highlight, yes, 30 women making history while also raising some dough to employ women to write about news and politics. Good idea. I picked five women that I thought were making history (Shada [Shatha] Nasser, Eveline Shen, Sindiwe Magona, Shirley Rodriguez Remeneski, and Alysa Stanton). Links for more info on each awesome woman is in my post at BlogHer if you want to know more, and yes, that's my way of getting people to click over there. Whatever.

Today I read a post over at another awesome woman's blog, Suebob's Red Stapler. She quoted a not awesome woman blogger who said that equality is stupid because it is about fairness and we all know that life isn't fair. "Fuck that!" was essentially Suebob's reaction, echoed by all the excellent people who left comments on it.

One comment in particular stood out: "Vagina's are wasted on some people I swear." This was written by Thordora, who totally made my day.

And now, back to my day.

Bring on the Funny

My thesis, which is about the spoken and unspoken experiences that I inherited from my paternal side, uses humor to explore the horrible things that happened to my grandparents and father during and after World War II. The humor is integral because my grandfather relied on jokes to deflect topics that he didn't want to deal with and as a coping mechanism for his enormous losses. I think that this reliance on humor is something that I inherited from him.

Anyway, today I spent some time reading Jewish humor books. Partly it is for research, partly to procrastinate because I have no ideas at the moment. I thought I'd share one:

Sadie says to her husband, "Moshe, I'm fed up with frozen chicken. Please buy for me a live chicken for a change. Then I can make for us a lovely meal."

So Moshe goes to the market and buys the chicken. On his way back, he sees that Funny Girl is showing at the movies. He calls Sadie on a pay phone. "Sadie," he says, "They're showing Funny Girl at the movies. I think I'll see it before I come home."

"OK," replies Sadie, "but what about the chicken?"

"I'll take it inside with me," Moshe answers.

Moshe stuffs the chicken down his trousers and goes in to see the film. Unfortunately, part way through the movie, the chicken pokes its head out. Two women are sitting next to Moshe and one turns to the other and whispers, "There's a man next to me with his shmeckle hanging out of his pants."

Her friend says, "Why be shocked? If you've seen one, you've seen them all. Just watch the movie."

"But this one's different. It's eating my popcorn."

OK, this joke totally cracked me up because it is so weird and random. I can almost hear my grandfather telling it. (He really liked dirty jokes, just like I do.)

Freudian Slip

Before I went to my peer advisory writing group this evening, I attended a going away party for a friend at work. There were many inappropriate discussions about snatch, viewing porn on a BlackBerry, and women ogling other women. (Oh, how I adore my colleagues!)

The latest draft of my thesis, which is about how I inherited my Jewish identity and outlook on life through what was both spoken and unsaid by my grandparents' and father's Holocaust legacies, includes this line about a nighttime asthma attack I had when I was seven:

"I could almost taste the blackness as though an octopus has replaced the night air with its inky discharge."

We discussed the strangeness of the metaphor/image and why it worked even though it shouldn't. Then my friend asked what the plural of octopus is.

"It's octopussies," I said. Then I turned bright red and we laughed until it hurt.

If You Want to Look Good, Check This Out

Although I cannot be bothered to wash my face on a daily basis,* I am excited to link to my friend's blog, Ask An Esthetician. She is a licensed esthetician who is giving out excellent (free!) advice on beauty, particularly skin care. I know that most women are not slovenly shlubs like me who wander around with uncombed (albeit usually clean) hair, un-moisturized skin, and legs and armpits that make them look like Chewbacca's midget sister, so I thought I'd do a public service promote her blog.

*Despite this gross habit, my skin is pretty clear. I am not sure why this is since in my pre-teens I was a horrid pizza face on the way to scars that would make Norriega look like a beauty queen. My mom insisted that I go to a dermatologist even though I protested, and the antibiotics he prescribed made a huge difference. (Thanks, Mom!)

After years of happy skin, I was covered with cyst-like zits in my early 20s. Another dermatologist gave me drugs, which did not work well, and he said I should consider Acutane as an option. No fucking way was I going on Acutane. In addition to requiring me to take birth control pills (which I was on anyway) and submit to regular pregnancy testing because it is so dangerous to fetal development, and cause hair and skin to fall out in chunks, it could cause people with depressive tendencies to commit suicide. I told him I'd rather be zitty than dead and fleshless.

Happy Anniversary, BlogHer!

Four years ago, someone took a chance on me. I'd only been blogging for a few months when I heard that BlogHer was looking for volunteer contributing editors for a new site they were launching. I rushed to their current homepage, noticed that people already claimed the topic I most wanted (feminism and gender), and saw that travel and recreation was still open. Well, I love traveling and do it a lot. I had just blogged a trip to France. I left a message with links to three posts (this was before I had any idea what HTML was, not that I'm an expert at it now), and hoped for the best.

Not long after, I heard from Lisa Stone, one of BlogHer's founders. She said that she "loved" my blog and offered me the gig. I was thrilled! (Re-reading her email today, which I just looked at again, brings tears to my eyes. Yeah, I still have an email from January 2006 in my inbox.) My first post - Introduction to Travel and Recreation appeared on January 22, 2006. I hoped for many things, but was not sure what to expect.

Four years later, I still write for BlogHer, although on feminism, not travel. It offered me a platform when I was just exploring writing. It offered me a platform when I sent out proposals for a travelogue I was writing about unusual things to see and do New York City. It offered me a platform when my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track, was published 2.5 years later. It offered me a platform to meet and be inspired by other women.

Sure, it hasn't been all champagne and roses. When I realized that my four year anniversary was coming up, I compared it to my marriage: sometimes I wanted to scream and stomp around with selfish, delusional indignity, but overall my life is richer, happier, and better in every way because I have it. (Husband was slightly offended by this analogy, but I stand by it.) I'm so lucky.

My Stash

I sorted my stash tonight, and made a horrific discovery. One of my maintenance inhalers (Qvar) expired in October 2006. Even I'm not messing around with that - in the trash it goes. I also discovered that the sample of my regular inhaler (Ventolin) given to me in December by my allergist expired in June 2009. Harumph.

Ironically, earlier in the evening, while chatting with Dr. P on the phone, I discovered a jar of pasta sauce that expired in December 2007. It was unopened. Dr. P advised me to toss it. I put it back in the pantry. (It was unopened!*) I did, however, toss out the jar of pasta sauce that expired in June 2009, which seems to be a busy month for products to expire in my household. (It was half empty, and I thought I spotted mold in it, although it was refrigerated.**)

Fortunately, my 'stache stash is stocked and ready to rock the world, should I ever need a clever disguise or seven. Steph gave Husband a new extra long fake mustache and a mini mustache comb for the holidays. Between the asthma meds and the synthetic hair and glue, we are good to go.

*God, I am turning into my aunt. If I ever serve salad dressing that expired two years ago, then claim it is fine because it is unopened, I give the recipient of said dressing permission to slap me.
**There is hope for me yet.

Birthday Fiver

Despite the breakfast birthday cake and burek that sat in my stomach like a lead hockey puck, I accomplished my goal and ran five miles today. It took me slightly under 55 minutes, for which I'd like to blame the birthday cake and burek, but I'm just out of shape. It felt good to run, though.

Then I did what I promised myself I would do and sat on my ass for the rest of the day. It's a shame because it was gorgeous outside, but that's how it goes. I watched many home films from the olden days (early 1976 - about 1985) on my father-in-law's film projector. I have about 10 more to go, then I'm having them transferred to DVD as a gift to my parents. What was cool was that I watched movies from my 1st, 2nd, 4th, and 5th birthdays on my 34th birthday. What was not cool was how much I miss all of the relatives in the movies who aren't able to celebrate with me today.

Now I'm planning a trip home for January to see my grandmothers. I'm really, really worried about them. Husband told me that the TSA has new stupid rules that will do nothing to prevent situations like the one on the Detroit flight that inspired them, and he now refuses to fly. (Eye roll.) But really, forbidding people from using the bathroom during the last hour of a flight or having anything in their laps for the last 30 minutes is evil. I hope that some sanity prevails soon.

Whatever the case, my 33rd year pretty much sucked overall, so here's hoping that 34 brings better times. And thanks to everyone on Facebook for the awesome birthday wishes!!!

More Butt Humor, Butt (ha!) Not Gross

While Dr. P was in Vermont with her family, she noticed a product at a general store called "Anti-Monkey Butt Powder." We watched two hilarious ads on YouTube for this excellent product, which I thought I would share:

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder: The Jogger

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder: The Biker (as in motorcyclist, which is even better than bicyclist)

I hoped to embed the short videos in CUSS, but no codes for embedding were available. Boo. Well worth clicking on, and safe for work!

Speaking on work, my first day at my new job is tomorrow. I'm nervous, but excited. I wish I had not down enormous quantities of Indian food last night, though, as my stomach doth protest. I need to quash the rebellion ASAP if I want to continue to have a job after my first day. No one wants to work with a gas bag.

Best Cartoon Ever Revisited

Years ago, I wrote a post about a "game" called "ookie cookie" or "cum on a cookie." Basically, guys stand around in a circle and jerk off onto a cookie and whoever finishes last has to eat it. I profess to not understand males in any way, shape, or form. There are so many things that are wrong about people who would engage in such an activity.

Anyway, in response, my friend Mar sent me the greatest cartoon ever:



I am committed to republishing this cartoon every once in a while because I find it so fucking hilarious. Enjoy!

Quote of the Month

Yes, I know it is early in October, but it would be very hard to beat out this excellent wisdom, as gleaned from my friend Dr. H's Facebook feed:

"Mustard don't change the word"
--significant other of a patient in response to her concerns that his sandwich was dripping onto the open Bible in his lap

Hitting the Big Time - Inconceivable!

Last week was (another) rough week. This not having a job thing is really weighing on me. Even though other good things are happening, I've been in a serious unemployment funk.

Then, as I was moping around Grand Central Station on Thursday while waiting for a friend, I received the following email on my BlackBerry:

I'm writing to invite you to a live radio show at the UCB Theater in Chelsea next week, Weds, Oct 7th between 6-7pm. I'm sorry for the short notice, but one of our listeners suggested you as a guest, and you'd be in great company -- also booked for that evening is author/actor Wallace Shawn and comedian Brent Weinbach. We'd love to
talk about your book "Off the Beaten Subway Track" and get some tips from you about exploring NYC.

The show is a WFMU radio talkshow called "Seven Second Delay" hosted by Andy Breckman and Ken Freedman. Andy's the creator and executive producer of the Emmy-award winning show Monk, airing on the USA Network, and Ken is General Manager of WFMU, an independent radio station. They co-host Seven Second Delay, an hour-long
loosely-formatted radio show that broadcasts live from the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater in Chelsea and reaches about 30,000 listeners an episode. More information on the show is available here: http://sevenseconddelay.blogspot.com/.

Are you available? Interested? We also have a date in November we
could look into.

Am I interested? Am I available? Fuck yeah!!! Not only does it sound like a rad radio show with awesome hosts, but Wallace Shawn from the motherfucking movie The Princess Bride is going to be on. Missing that show would be inconceivable! (Which, I am embarrassed to admit, was more or less my reply. I am glad they still wanted me after I made that lame joke.)

This invitation perked me right up, and I've been feeling much better these past few days. I owe it all to Pamela. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Pamela!

As noted, the show is on Wed., Oct. 7 at 6 pm at the UCB Theater (307 W. 26th Street). It only costs $5 to see me share a stage with Wallace Shawn. Inconceivable, I know. The show also streams online or can be heard on the old fashioned radio at 91.1 FM in New York, at 90.1 FM in the Hudson Valley. I am major excited.

My Subway Pervert

Usually after class, I join my classmates for drinks and bonding at a restaurant/bar near school. I happen to loathe the gathering spot, as the waiters seem to count the second from when we walk in the door to when we will leave. Nothing makes me feel more like socializing than an ancient waiter in a red coat throwing my overpriced Diet Pepsi at me and demanding payment the second the mini bottle hits the dirty reddish table cloth. The free snacks do not make up for the general nasty atmosphere.

On Monday, we went elsewhere, and while I now fear that I misled the waitress about my interest in her, at least no one yelled at us or forced us to keep ordering as we chatted into the wee hours. Despite our positive experience, the group headed back to the crappy restaurant bar. I decided to go to a wacky open mic event instead.

The event was still going strong when I slipped out at 12:30. I could barely keep my eyes open. Fortunately, I did not have to wait too long for the subway. I sat toward the front of the train, reading a magazine. A few stops into my journey, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone with grey-ish colored jeans walking rapidly toward me.

The woman sat in the seat on the bench next to me. What the fuck? I thought. The entire car was empty. What was wrong with this asshole? Then she pressed her thigh against mine.

It took me a nanosecond to decide that this was bullshit. I didn't even look at her. Eye contact seemed like an invitation to chat. I got up, walked out of the car, and re-boarded the one behind it. I had just settled down to read again, when the jeans reappeared. Fuck fuck fuck!!! I knew I shouldn't wear a dress that was so low cut. Now I have stalker.

The woman sat down on the same bench on which my ass resided. I looked over at her. It was my friend T. from school. I burst out laughing, as did she.

Three Adjectives

My friend decided to join a dating site. One of the many irritating tasks to complete her profile involved filling in three adjectives to describe yourself.

"What do you think of whiny, judgmental, and anxious?" she asked me.

After I picked myself up from the floor of the Indian restaurant (I had fallen off my chair laughing - almost not an exaggeration), I told her that I thought it was brilliant. "It's honest - although I do not think you are whiny - and intriguing. It seems like only people who get it, and thus get you, would respond." (Incidentally, I initially suggested that she use generous, intelligent, vibrant. OK, I actually said zestful, but she pointed out that sounds like a soap commercial, and just thought of vibrant now. Lively could also work. I still sort of like zestful, even if it is sudsy.)

Then I thought about what three adjectives I would use to describe myself. I realized that I would have to steal two out of three of her words because they are so true for me - judgmental and anxious. My third would be petty. I could substitute spastic or stressed for anxious and mocking for judgmental if I was forced to, but anxious and judgmental are just so perfect. Obsessive could also be a good choice. (If also forced to choose three positive ones, I would opt for entertaining, wonky, chatty.)

I hate ending blog posts by posing a question, but what three adjectives would you choose?

Back in Action

Although I rescheduled my interview for this afternoon (excited and nervous!), I was a fucking wreck yesterday. Frustration, lack of sleep, and the mess that I arrived home to triple teamed me into a crying blob of jelly. I attempted to clean things up a bit, napped for a few hours, then showered. I feel much better today.

I didn't take many pictures at the BlogHer Conference, as I am not very good at photography and I always forget to take out my camera. I ride the coattails of my friends. However, I did get a few snaps (in random order):

Laurie of LaurieWrites and Sarah of Sarah and the Goon Squad at Thursday's reception.

Gorgeous view of the Chicago River from my filthy hotel room.

The plastic beaver cream cheese knife that Suebob of Red Stapler gave me - a beaver spreader!

With Pam Mandel, travel writer extraordinaire, of Nerd's Eye View at Thursday's reception.

Moi, Count Mockula, Maren, and Suebob graced the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile with our loveliness on Friday.

Carmen (whose blog I forgot - sorry!!!) and I tested out the bathtub of the Presidential Suite at the CheeseburgHer party on Sat. night. It passed my rigorous requirements for spectacular views, but I swear was a bit dirty.

With BlogHer co-founder Lisa Stone at the CheeseburgHer party. (If I look tired, it is because of my crazy partying at the Playboy party on Friday night. OK, OK! I confess: there was no Playboy party. We invented it to compensate for not being invited to any sponsored parties and make people jealous...)

Laurie Kingston of Not Done Yet; Virginia DeBolt, techie extraordinaire, of BlogHer; and Maren at dinner at Gino's East of Chicago on Saturday night. (Maren and I each had 1.5 slices of deep dish pizza, then foolishly each ate a cheeseburger at the following CheeseburgHer party. On a related note, may I add that my interview pants are tight today?)

Even if I was functional yesterday, I could not have uploaded these jewels of fun until today, as I have no internet access in my apartment right now. Another casualty of the renovation. I really hope the damn thing is over before next year's conference in New York...

Greetings from Pittsburgh!

BlogHer was a trip and a half. I laughed and laughed with my
roommates, Suebob and Maren. I romped with Count Mockula, her mom,
and her genius toddler daughter. I wore a paper bag hat, sat in the
bathtub of the Presidential Suite in the Sheraton, and ate a
cheeseburger at the CheeseburgHer party. I socialized with
Sassymonkey, Denise, LaurieWrites, Heather Clisby, Megan Smith, Major
Bedhead, Amber Rhea, Pam Mandel, Sarah and the Goon Squad, Average
Jane, Liz Henry, and other exceptional women. Updated to add the Graces: Mitchell and Davis, who made my lunch on Sat. one of the highlights of the conference.) I wanted to meet
Nordette Adams, and failed. I collected swag. I ate Mars Bars,
courtesy of Sassymonkey. I dined at Gino's East of Chicago with Liz
Rizzo, Virginia DeBolt, Laurie Kingston, my parents, the
aforementioned roommates, and Count Mockula clan. And on and on.
(Oh, yeah. I attended some panels and also did a book signing.)

So I am tired. I want to get to my furnitureless, dust-infested
apartment (except for the bedroom, which has almost all of the
remaining furniture and boxes, but not so much dust at my last time of
residency). I want to prepare my bag and outfit for an interview I
have tomorrow morning. Then I'd like to sleep in my bed, which has
dirty sheets because we haven't changed them since construction began,
but this kind of dirty sheet smells like Husband, who is in Vegas
nowe, and makes me happy. And I want to prepare for my interview
tomorrow. (Noted twice, not out of senility, but to emphasize
importance.)

Instead, I am sitting in an airplane in Pittsburgh. The flight was
scheduled to arrive in NYC twenty minutes ago. Planes are not allowed
to land at LaGuardia right now due to a storm, so we flew in circles,
slowly progressing east, until we ran out of gas. (Like me, but no
refueling in sight!)

It could be worse. I could still be at O'Hare. And at least I have
six Mars Bars in my bag. And a Vosges chocolate bacon bar (thanks,
Suebob!). Plus, BlogHer will be in NYC next year. Yay!

--
Sent from my mobile device

Blog: www.cussandotherrants.com
Book: www.offthebeatensubwaytrack.com

Nephew!

Here's my mom holding little Marcus:


Cute little bugger!

Meet Maurice

Advances in brain scanning photography are so sophisticated, that an image of Maurice recently became available:


Maurice is, of course, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain. This picture of him hard at work clarified many things for me. First, I noticed that my brain hamster is incredibly furry. I assume that he sheds a lot, which may explain the fogginess that I often experience. With all that fur flying, who can think straight? The fluff is also probably why I have so many sinus problems. And forget the wood chips...

Still, I am impressed by Maurice's dedication to keeping the wheel spinning for 16 hours or more a day. He is a very hard little worker. Unfortunately, I have been rewarding him with treats rather often these days. Today we had a rocky road brownie as a bonus for making it through a torturous legislative hearing, plus a Berger's Cookie after dinner. All of this is not good for Zena, Shetland pony that turns the wheel that powers my digestive system. Oh well.

Three Cheers for Maurice

Frankly, I'm in deep shit. I think that working full-time, attending a full-time master's program in creative writing, drafting two posts a week for BlogHer, serving on the Board of a nonprofit child care center that has real estate issues, attempting healthy-ish lifestyle through exercise, and continuing to have relationships with friends and family (which I am failing at miserably in some cases) is maybe more than I can handle. For the last two weeks, I've been exhausted constantly.

It's not just me who needs a break. Maurice, the hamster who runs on the wheel that powers my brain, is on strike. At first I was mad at his furry ass for not keeping up, thus resulting in me making big mistakes like handing in the same story twice (written in two different ways, since I didn't remember writing it in the first place) or smaller errors like when I called Oedipus Odysseus in yesterday's blog post. Now I realize that the little dude is just overworked.

Maurice and I used to take breaks to read friends' blogs or watch mindless TV. These days, I need to think for more hours, whether to learn about the nuances of Obama's foreclosure prevention plan or to answer questions about a book I read for class, and poor little Maurice runs nonstop from when I wake up until I go to sleep. That's a lot for any brain hamster, let alone a 33 year old one. So I want to thank him publicly for hanging in there. (Thanks Maurice!)

I need to take a hard look at everything that's on my plate. I know what I want to cut, but Husband is not on board with that plan. If only I could write a book and sell it for six-figures, like, say fucking Meghan McCain,* that would solve everything. Uh, right....

*Love Jossip's suggested title about Ann Coulter, as does Maurice.

Welcome to the Family!

Husband is back home from his business jaunt to Europe, and look what the cat dragged in:

(Also, he brought back two Mars bars, of which I already devoured one.) I am so proud of him for liberating the bear from his servitude as a hotel pimp! Theo is a little jealous, but like any older sibling, he will get used to the new addition.

Speaking of new family members, I offer a hearty mazel tov to my friends Rachel and Jenny and welcome their twins to the world! I am very excited for them.

Now I'm just waiting for my mom to arrive. Due to nasty rain, her flight was delayed by over an hour. I'm sure she'll be exhausted when she finally stumbles through my door. We'll just sleep in tomorrow morning. Hopefully, Tycho will behave his furry rabbit ass and not make a racket in his litter box so that she can sleep.

Stats

The year is 1/12 (8.4%) over already. For some reason, I find that reassuring.

I have completed four full work weeks (20 work days) already. I missed one (Friday) due to illness.

Thanks to a debacle* that had me spazzing for an hour on Friday while I was supposed to be convalescing, I finally discovered that from 8/1/08 to 11/1/08, I sold 960 copies of my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track. I don't know if that is considered good or not, but I'm pleased anyway. (BIG THANK YOU to all of you nice people who bought a copy or, in some cases, as many as fifteen - which is 1.5% of all sales. I'm lucky to have such supportive friends.)

I called my doctor yesterday to report my ailing condition. He said I should wait at least another 7-10 days before considering antibiotics. I'm at the point where I'm blowing out all the really yellow, thick, sometimes bloody (it's dry in here) mucus, so I suspect I'll be better by then.

Today is the second day in a month in which the temperature is expected to go above 35 degrees. (Although it is 30 now, it is supposed to get up to 45.) I have not left the house in 2 days. I'm debating whether I should go to a "porkapalooza" Super Bowl party catered by the infamous chow hound restaurant Momofuku or continue my self-imposed house arrest.

Regardless, happy first day of February and enjoy the 32nd day of 2009!

*Oh, the debacle is that my publisher is out of business. My agent received a letter on Jan. 30 that was dated Dec. 24 and had been sent to the wrong address informing us that most of the catalog was sold to another publisher, they didn't pick up my book. Hence, all copies were now remaindered (i.e. - unavailable for distribution) and my contract granted the rights back to me and the option to purchase them for $1.88 per copy to find a new distributor. FREAK OUT!!! I didn't even know how many copies sold. (And I still don't know how many were printed.) An hour later, my agent called back. He tracked the publisher down and was told "to disregard the letter. That deal fell through, and we sold the catalog to another company, which did pick up Susan's [sic] book." My heart began beating at a more regular pace again.