on failure and procrastination

so i fucked up nablopomo 2 years in a row. the first time it was because i was busy getting laid after a nice dinner and some scotch; the second time we moved and had no internets for 5 days, and i'd had a sufficient enough amount of beer on top of exhaustion that i forgot i had a cell phone capable of texting my blog. i certainly feel the former reason was a worthier cause, but the latter is quite justifiable. maybe three's the charm; we'll give this a go next year. and if i drink too much wine and forget to post, maybe i'll need to recognize a pattern of behavior and join AA.

i haven't posted since "the failure" on the 14th because of my chagrin, and the boring sameness of each day spent avoiding all the things you should be doing - work, unpacking, the gym - and instead, doing something else that you can't remember at the end of the day. i realize that sounds like i've been hitting the hookah and watching talk shows - man, i wish. we've hit up ikea and survived; we've built a bed and frame, and i've spent a remarkable amount of time testing it. my boss has systematically evaded every scheduled meeting or opportunity to complete his half of the paper we're writing, to the point where i wish i hadn't stressed all last weekend about rushing to get my half done (he still hasn't even read it, much less edited it). it's way past deadline and i think i'll find that the past 2 months of reading and 3 weeks of writing will wind up in the toilet when it's not submitted in time. my reaction to this should illustrate what kind of person i am. i could have offered to help with the remainder to ensure that our paper gets out on time. but what would that get me? the reputation for someone who will roll over and take it when someone else slacks off. so i could be at work, writing away on the sections i said i wouldn't do. but instead, i slept till 11 and now i'm going to bake some pies.

life sucks

when you have no internets at home.

yup

this blog post is definitely being made as just a daily token, much like yesterday's. i could tell you about how much beer we drank last night after the second truckload was emptied. i could tell you how nothing but TP and paper towels have actually been unpacked. i could paint a picture for you about how one room is so full of stuff, the door won't close. i could go into how we rushed to clean, spackle and touch-up the old place, toss in the keys 5 min before office closing, and woke the wrx from its year of parking lot slumber to drive it down and park it in our new garage!

but instead i will tell you that lo, i have showered and changed socks for the first time in 36 hours, and i'm about to go eat half a cow and some fries, and i love our new home.

so....

ok, we've moved.

it's beer-o-clock.

the great pea coat saga

sometimes, i think the wires in a woman's brain cross during times of stress, and some outside thing becomes hopelessly intertwined with the stressful issue at hand. your relationship with this object becomes a metaphor for your battle with the stressful event. for men, i think this is often 1 fixed thing; like whenever they are too busy at work, suddenly doing laundry becomes the biggest deal ever and it requires multiple failed attempts and much overwrought griping. for women, i think it is often some incarnation of shopping.

for me, this whole process of packing and moving has been kind of stressful. outwardly, it seemed pretty simple: put things in boxes, transport, put things out of boxes. between time, organization, mass purging of crap, classes, a review my boss and i are supposed to be writing that he left till the deadline (next week), paperwork, the headache of changing states, and then the emotional side (we've only ever lived here together; what if all the great no-fighting happy doesn't come with us to MA?), i found myself eating tums each night and waking up all twitchy in the morning.

the weekend of my birthday, i had dinner with some friends and several of the chicks sported great coats that made me salivate. i began to fixate on this unresolved issue. i was turning 27. and i didn't have one. i needed one. i realized that before we moved, it had to be accomplished: i had to buy a pea coat.

and not just any. from kohl's, of all places, because i had a gift card there so that might make it almost free. any time something is so cheap as to be almost free, whether or not it is a logical or necessary purchase becomes totally moot. and it had to happen before we moved, not after, because i know there is a kohl's near here but god only knows where the closest one is to our new place. i'd never find it and then the gift card would be lost and then it would be like i took money out of my wallet and lit it on FIRE instead of magically turning it into clothing goods. clearly, one cannot waste such an opportunity, even if it happens to occur during the busiest week in recent memory.

last weekend i went to go look for one, and stumbled upon a tragedy in timing: it was the same weekend of the 24-hour kohl's sale. it follows that since kohl's is equal to or slightly less than sears in lack of quality or decent branding, the sales are even more chaotic because poorer people need cheaper stuff even more than yuppies do. it was like a cutthroat marketplace in a 3rd world country after a typhoid outbreak and some bulls running loose. i made it as far as the coats, noted that some appeared to be woolen and have big buttons and lapels, but then i heard some children screaming and saw men suffering, and turned and ran. then i had to fight my way out of the parking lot full of old people driving cadillacs in the rain, all the while vowing never to go to kohl's again. the pea coat dream was overrated.

wednesday i took the day off to do some packing. i drove a carload full of stuff over to the salvation army, and realized it was only...1 exit south of kohl's. it was midday, with less traffic and probably fewer shoppers. so i gave it another shot. this time i made it as far as trying some of the coats on, and was really happy with the way their pea coat fit. they only had one in XL, and it was charcoal grey. i'd envisioned a green pea coat (don't ask me why), and wandered aimlessly looking for one long after it was clear there were none in anything but size small. i asked a salesclerk if i could order one online and use a gift card. she said yes, so i abandoned my armful of coats and headed home, once again empty-handed but driven by purpose.

that night i went online and found the green one i wanted, only it was kind of a dark green. would i wear it with brown or black shoes? not sure. both, maybe. but maybe more black. so get the black pea coat. better than grey; more dressy. i clicked to add it to my shopping bag and began to checkout. then the site crashed.

the next night i was even more determined. i went back through the process again. i re-throught green versus black. black won again. i put it in the shopping bag and checked out. i entered in my address and was about to put in the gift card when the price came up as 79.99. the ones in the store were 70.00 with the 50% off sale. i figured my gift card had about $60 on it, which meant i only needed ten bucks to get the coat at the store. but online, it was more and then tax was over $6, and shipping was $15. i closed the window and cursed the pea coat urge.

this morning, i decided to take the bull by the horns. i checked the balance of the gift card just so i'd know what we were talking about here. it was only $25. what the hell? i felt like if i was going to blow an extra $30 for the online purchase, it would be like i bought it in the store with no gift card, which means i could have gotten a pea coat from somewhere other than kohl's, and i wouldn't have it NOW, which is how i always like to have things. fuck it. no pea coat for me this year. i've survived 26 winters without one. i hadn't even told kz about it yet, choosing to omit any mention of the quest which filled my waking hours because i didn't want him to know i was truly deranged.

then i had to bring another carload of stuff over to salvation army, which is...you guessed it...near kohl's. that's it. that's totally it. i am being owned by this curse no longer. so i went back AGAIN and, with my black and greasy paws all scuffed up from my morning session fighting with my car's accessory belt tensioners, i shuffled through the coats and found the one i had tried on the day before. i then bought it and tried to hide my dirty hands inside my sleeves, making the whole checkout line think i was crazy and poor. i fit right in.

it is no coincidence. we're moving tomorrow, and this morning i finally began to believe the house would be packed and ready in time; i no longer felt pressure on my chest from worrying about how this whole thing could possibly happen.

and i am now the proud owner of a motherfucking charcoal grey pea coat, which i have no occasion to wear for at least a week. but i stick my hand in the kohl's bag and stroke it every so often while i look around and marvel at the vastness of our empty rooms.

white lies

after a quick jaunt to target this evening to get some last minute packing tape and sterilite bins, we headed over to on the border for some cheap mexican food. seated in our booth and knocking back negro modelos, we sighed and began to relax...

until the 4 bimbos behind us began cackling. it looked to be a "girls' night out," from the string of vaguely vaginal pink fruity drinks ordered by the quartet. these broads were actually behaving just like extras for sex and the city: tyngsboro edition. i used to think that sitcoms were some tragic detritus sloughed off from an alien world, but sometimes i realize that it's reality for most people and we happen to be the weird ones. like, ohmigod, did you not realize that the purpose of a book club is to like, actually read the book first? gawd it's so boring and people are so serious. what i never understood was the need among the female species to both increase pitch and frequency of nasal snorts for emphasis. i asked kz if he wanted to move, but he hadn't gotten to that acute point of hatred yet.

while kz went to the bathroom, i began concocting my speech for the waitress. kz and i were both raised by mute mothers. it's far more common than you think. we actually met at a conference for people raised by dumbstruck caregivers, isn't that crazy? met there and married 2 years later, godbless. but yeah. so since we both grew up without the auditory conditioning normal children receive from years of nagging and wailing, we find such gaggles of loud women in public places to cause actual physical pain, no offense to the responsible party. so could we possibly move to the booths near the bar and allow our still naive otoliths some recovery time? thank you so much, you're so understanding, no really...

alas, the bevy had quieted upon kz's return, and i never got to use my story. it had such a classical romulus and remus undertone. she totally would have bought it too. some things are just too weird to be untrue.

perfect timing

you know what's awesome? developing a random allergy to newspapers.

especially when you're packing up a 2-bedroom apartment and you have a lot of breakable stuff.

NB for posterity: benadryl makes you not want to pack anymore.

so if you see a freak in a long-sleeved tee with hot pink dish gloves up to her elbows frantically stuffing a big box with china coated in layers of the sunday star ledger, give a wave, cause she could probably use a little cheering from the sidelines.

schroedinger's pizza delivery

how dinner is decided in a geek household...

me: i sense a general unwillingness in the force involving active procurement of outside goods for consumption. i know you're going to ask me later if we can order in pizza delivery. i just want to let you know that the answer is yes.

kz: well, i didn't know in advance that i was going to ask you that; i was in a superposed pizza decision state. however, the comment you just made has reduced that state.

me: pizza it is.

we do some cloning, yeah

it was decreed that today was 'dress like our boss day' at the lab.
larry usually wears a pink button-down, khakis and white sneakers, especially on mondays and days when he has a presentation to give.

we all showed up like this and he didn't notice till lunchtime. seriously.





me and the guys practiced one of larry's best subconscious poses in the hallway.



we get a lot of work done with your tax money.

loco parentes?

today i was fortunate enough to observe several examples of what's wrong with the way this country raises children.

first, we came across the rudest little brat ever when we went to our regular diner for my birthday pancake brunch. when kz attempted to sit down at the counter, this little punk of around age 7 or so spat at him, 'hey my BROTHER is sitting there!" in the whiniest, most accusatory tome imaginable. kz and i exchanged glances and began chatting with the waitstaff. all the while the little monster is kicking the chair, pushing his brother, fighting off his father's half-hearted attempts to restrain him, and making a lot of noise. i remarked to kz that it appeared to be 'take your autistic child to breakfast day', and we decided to move to a table at the other end of the diner. the woman at the counter on our other side asked if we were leaving and i said, "yeah i don't deal too well with poorly behaved children and their gutless parents," to which she said, "neither do i!" and shot a dirty look at the offending party. all the while, the dad is hanging his head in chagrin trying to ignore the stares and sighs of every single patron in there, quietly saying, "no, please - stop hitting your brother, no, come on now, settle down" to which the imp keeps shrieking louder and saying stuff that would have gotten me a fresh one as a kid, like "no, YOU shut up dad!!" i kept hoping maybe a box of rat poison would somehow tumble into his breakfast as they prepared it in the kitchen. it certainly made me wonder why some parents think they have the right to subject the rest of the world to their dreadful offspring.

later on found me at marshall's, trying on a lot of shoes to help me further my quest to purchase 1 frivolous item for myself on my birthday. i succeeded, of course, in the form of a pair of black slingback anne klein pumps. expect nothing less at marshall's on a sunday than throngs of women of all ages and from all walks of life, speaking in several languages and followed by a melee of bored children intent on knocking down everything within reach. i was standing in front of the nine west boot display doing some visual scanning of the goods when unremarkably, a girl of about 10 walked quietly in front of me, muttered 'sorry,' and continued down the aisle. her mother was in tow and snapped, "patricia! what are you thinking? how about 'excuse me,' maybe???" and all i could think was jeez, i have to squeeze by so many old biddies and women in their conspicuous consumption trance in this store that i can't be bothered to excuse myself each and every instance, or i'd spend more time apologizing than shopping. so i said to the mother with a smile, "don't worry about it, it's totally ok," hoping she would see her daughter hadn't done anything to offend me. she turned her death-ray laser sights on me and said in the same tone she had just used on her kid, "no! it's not ok at all!" and stalked after the little girl to lecture her further. all i could think was jesus, this is as rough as the cambodian mom i had just observed in old navy, who landed a fierce smack across her toddler's face because he was making the sounds men and children often make to inform the matriarch that shopping has gone on long enough. i had chalked that up to cultural differences; i guess not.
if only i could rotate these kids around and give that little fucker from the diner to these two moms. let's see who comes out on top of that throwdown...

so seriously, parenting in this country is a disaster. stop hitting and shaking and pulling your defenseless toddlers because they don't feel like being dragged around the discount bin a 3rd time, and stop acting like a pussy instead of a parent when your kid is making dining a miserable experience for everyone in the vicinity. take some fucking classes or something. or just stop getting pregnant, that'd work too.

weekend of ME

yesterday, i was treated to sushi lunch by my labmates, and ate enough cake to choke a donkey.

today i'm richer by two beautiful custom-made beaded necklaces and some angora and mohair sweaters, and we're having more sushi with 15 or so friends. and cake part deux: the carvel ice cream experience (with crunchies!).

it's not even my birthday until tomorrow, when i will be taken out for birthday pancakes and demand a chauffer to the nearest sephora so i can blow the checks my family sent in one swift motion.

BIRTHDAYS RULE.

the new courtship

while i was emptying the contents of the skim milk carafe into my iced coffee at the hospital condiment cart this morning, i was eavesdropping on two elderly gents chatting on a bench to my left. the larger, older of the two was wrapping up a soliloquy in his gravelly, corase voice, enlivened with a touch of central-MA and some good old eye-talian: "so i made her some music, you know, on all dese cd's. on my computer like, you know. and i puts her face on all the covers of dem cd's, as a picture like, and i gives it to her as a present. for no special reason, too. i just says, here you go, for you. and boy do i hope it gets me somewheres with her, cause otherwise why bother with all dem mp3's, y'know?"

all this juxtaposed with his cataracts and an old tattered flannel jacket. it's touching, really; an old man from an era past, embracing a new technology, a different media format; an unsolicited gift, and the woman he loves.

i sure do hope it gets him laid.

breaking it in

we haven't yet moved into our new apartment, nor have we even signed the official lease.

but we've already farted in it.

kz and i went to check it out today and get a sense of the measurements for our furniture (good thing, since it's smaller than we thought - but at least with more closets). we were in one of the bedrooms discussing how we could possibly have both a home office with separate desks and a guest bedroom in the same small room (answer: you can't) when we each let one rip, in perfect synch. our reflexive high-fives followed with the usual platitudes ('good work,' 'nice tone'), and we both beamed as we declared, "yay! now it's really our place!"