Noodles on for Safety

It turns out the technological black-out was not the end of my universe. In fact, it was quite nice. I arrived in NH at the camping place (whose name I have sworn I would not mention in this blog) to meet Laura (my dearest and apparently most patient friend), her husband Matt (a constant source if intrigue) and her parents (lovely and fascinating people). Shortly after arrival, we all decided it would be prudent to head down to the lake, as it was so hot. We came up with the brilliant idea of placing lawn chairs into the lake, and brought along a cooler. Laura and I got some of those styrofoam noodle things and set about fastening ourselves into the chairs. We used one as a makeshift seatbelt, and the other as a floating footrest. After several beers, it occurred to me that should a good wave come, and either of us was dumped into the drink, we would be floating ass-end up, unable to right ourselves since we had used the noodles for "safety." Her comment was "Do scoop me up if I should go ass over tea-kettle." I do believe that is what best friends are for... to pick you up when you have gotten yourself into some situation that seemed like a good idea at the time.

Lola Travels

At the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow, I will be venturing off to the wonderful, tax-free land of New Hampshire. I will be camping for an indeterminate length of time with my best friend and her husband (and various others, apparently). I have realized that I am looking forward to this trip far more than is rational. After all, I have been to NH a hundred times before. But for some reason, this one is different. I have just finished school, and am about to begin teaching once again. In a way, this is the time to take a breath before I leap. The last few weeks have been somewhat tumultuous, and I am looking forward to the dead quiet of NH.... or rather, the extreme nature-noisiness of the outdoors. At any rate, for several days, I will be away from computer, internet, and most likely any sort of cellular reception. I am terrified. I used to camp quite frequently, but at some point in life became dependent on technological devices that I am not entirely sure how to properly operate. As I will be away from the laptop, I will actually have to write by hand... on paper... with a pen. I fear that this trip might result in a mild case of carpel tunnel. I am not entirely sure if I can even remember how to physically write in the English language. I suppose time will tell.

F#%* The Fung-Wah Bus

This past Saturday was the big move back to MA. As if the entire ordeal of packing and saying my goodbyes was not stressful enough, I had a bus try and kill me not once but twice on the way home. The actual packing portion went well.... we got most everything into the UHaul on Friday, and had Saturday morning just for the last minute things. On the road by 9, and all was well.... until we get to CT. As I have lamented before, this particular state is a state of confusion and irritation every time I drive through it. Saturday was no exception. The traffic was not terrible, but not fantastic either. One nimrod had clipped the mirror on the UHaul, and the Fung-Wah bus tried to kill me. For those of you not in the know, the Fung-Wah bus is a shuttle from China Town in Boston, to China Town in NY for a nominal fee. On two separate occasions during my trek through CT, the same friggin bus changed lanes without checking his blindspot. I know this, because I was in said blind spot, and the front of my car almost got demolished not once, but twice! No... I am not bitter. But I have since realized that I am the reason there are gun control laws... If I had had some sort of firearm with me in the car, there would have been a nasty little postal incident.

Discard Fallen Insects

Triumph! Today I have waged war on the wasps living under my tarp. And by my tarp, I mean the one that covers the bike I am too lazy to ride. They have built quite the impressive little nest there, and I have been somewhat leery about venturing outside into their domain. So I borrowed some flying insect killer from my father. Which is another issue..... why on earth do bug destroying companies make these gargantuan bottles of insecticide? Chances are, the people buying it are not trying to wipe out an entire insect population. But I digress. So I read the directions on this bottle of poison quite intently, only to discover that is intended for indoor, not outdoor use. Ok.... so the question is, do I actually buy the proper chemical for outdoor use, or do I just bite the bullet and spray the hell out of the hive? After all, the last thing I want to do is spray them with a weak toxin that merely pisses them off. As if wasps aren't cantankerous enough to begin with. I chose the latter. This morning, before the little nasties had properly woken up, I opened up the sliding door, used a mop handle to pull the tarp aside, and went to town. I sprayed the HELL out of that wasps' nest! MWAHAHAHA!!!! After a few seconds, they started to twitch and fall to the ground. I happened to see, at the end of the bottle's directions, to "Discard Fallen Insects." Discard fallen insects? Wha? That makes them sound like martyrs... I don't fuckin' think so. No, I shall not discard them. But I might give them a Viking funeral.

New Beginnings

And so Lola sits, very sad on the couch, as the countdown begins to the Great Move. For the past 2 years (exactly, as of yesterday), Lola has been living an interesting, if somewhat less than riveting existence in NJ. Whilst here, she has finished her Master of Music degree; no meager feat. She has also met people that would change her life irrevocably and help her grow as a person. But the time has come.... graduation has been and gone, and she needs to move in one direction or another. After much deliberation, Lola thought it would be best to move home to MA. After all, the piano is there (and thus her business) and it is also rent-free. Being a recent graduate makes pretty much all of one's immediate decisions financial ones. Lola knows that what she is doing is exactly what she needs to do at this point in her life. But she can't help but feel angst and trepidation over leaving the wonderful friends she has met while here in the Sometimes Stinky State. So whenever if you happen to remember a time in your life when you had to make a heartrending yet exhilarating choice, say a little prayer for Lola. I know I will.

Cheney/Voldemort '08

So there I am, horrifically irritated on I-95 on my way back to MA for a cookout at my brother's house. I have made this drive innumerable times, and am quite sure my car could make it without me. I merely point it north, and it seems to know the way. This particular trip, however, is less than ordinary. When I started out from NJ, there was rain. I am not talking a bit of water, I am referring to the Ark-building rain where one cannot see more than 50 ft in front of one's car. This was problem number one. Then, of course, there is CT. I firmly believe that New England would suffice perfectly well without this particular state (sorry to all you Connecticutians). We could just blow it up and then stitch RI and NY directly together. Or just have areally big bay. It is the bipolar state. Half the state think that they belong to New York, and thus root for the Yankmees. The other half has the decency to act like proper New Englanders and root for the Red Sox (no matter how trying this is at times). CT is also famous for more than its fair share of un-driving. While I am trying desperately not to get killed on a fun strip of highway in New Haven, some jackass who got his license out of a Cracker Jack box, flies by me and proceeds to cut me off, so as not to end up on I-91 by mistake. I look closely, and notice this fool has a bumper sticker that says "Cheney- Voldemort '08." Despite his obvious lack of driving skills, I guffawed as I pondered this little witticism. I suppose even CT has a sense of humor.

Great Expectations

In my relatively short span on this earth, I have discovered a few things about expectations. First, you cannot always hold the same expectations for others that you hold for yourself. Second, expectations must sometimes be altered given another's point in life. Third, expectations should never define a relationship of any kind. As a general rule, I have extremely (sometimes exorbitant) expectations of myself; in work, study, etc. However, I have learned that I cannot keep the same template for my friends and family. Tonight I realized that I have been holding ridiculously high expectations for someone who is just not equipped to meet them at his personal point in life. This friend is 5 yrs younger than I am. Granted, this is not a great span of time, but by the same token, I have learned a few life lessons that he has not yet encountered. For example...I know that if I ever needed anything, he would be there for me in a minute; but sometimes, the simple things escape him entirely. Its not always about the grand gesture, but sometimes just the little things, like doing something you say you are going to do. I am a person that, if I say I am going to do something, I do it. No questions asked (usually). I have learned that sometimes people are not always at the same point that you are. I have learned that sometimes it is prudent to be patient, and let others work their own shit out in their own time.

Psychological Crisis

I am sitting here at my (or rather Diana's) desk in the Library, trying my damndest not to fall asleep. It is exceptionally boring at this time in the evening, when I have finished all the major projects for the day, there are no patrons, and I don't want to start anything new. So I am looking up at the bulletin board over my desk (the one with actual notices; not the nice one with the pictures and the quotes), and I notice an emergency listing of some sort. We had something similar when i worked in the hospital... however, emergencies were prioritized... The most hazardous were on top, and they decreased in severity as one descended the list. This list in the Library, however, seems to have no significant order at all. The first item on this list is Psychological Crisis. However, nowhere does it inform the reader of what, exactly, may be considered a psychological crisis. Closely followed is Explosion. Now I REALLY want to know what the psychological crisis could be, that would warrant it being placed above explosion. I can see how a psychological crisis could be the result of an explosion... altho, maybe it is the cause and that is why Explosion makes number 2 on the list. But it gets better! As you read further, there are things such as "Bomb threat, Riot, Severe Weather, Chemical Hazard, Threatening/Violent Behavior...." It goes on. But what I like the MOST about this lovely list is that the section labeled "Important Information" is in the middle... between Resource Teams and Homeland Security. I think, if I had an unspecified Psychological Crisis, I might be ok, but if I needed Important Information of any kind, I might just be screwed. Oh, and Fire is at the bottom of this list.

Great Fairy Tale

My friend Myrna sent this to me in an email today. A forward that I had NOT actually received before, I felt compelled to share:
Once upon a time in a land far away, a beautiful, independent,self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle. The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: "Elegant Lady,I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however,and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so." That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sauteed frog legs, seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself: "I don't fuckin' think so."

Clothing Designers are Succubi from Hell

Lola needed a new pair of sneakers. So, like any other poor, recent graduate, she trekked to Kohl's, the Mecca of the financially strained. There, she found not only cute sneaks to fit her dwarfishly small feetsies, but some nice tops that accentuated the bosom whilst simultaneously de-emphasizing the booty. When Lola first found one of these magical tops, she tried it on in her regular size. Lo and behold, it was too big! Angels promptly descended from the heavens and began to sing. She ventured on to more of these wondrous clothing items, and tried on a smaller size. Damn the clothing people, some of them didn't fit. Lola is now perplexed... she is unable to fathom why one size cannot truly be that size. Clothing designers choose random numbers out of an evil hat that can, one moment, boost a woman's confidence, only to shatter it the next when she has to move up to the size of Tent (or other unsightly, tarp-esque sort of size). A pox on all designers who toy with our minds in such a manner!