No post tonight

Well that's an ironic post title. But, don't want to be neglecting my duties. Something important has come up and I don't have time to make a post today. I should have more time tomorrow. I apologize.

Free Association Friday, or Autopublish Fail

Note: I had thought I hit an autopublish for this for last night, but apparently I hit save instead. D'OH!

Today's word is: Pluto

Ah. Pluto. The planet that never was. Or was, and then wasn't. Counted among the planets, then stripped of its status, just because it was small and far away. It even has moons! How can something without moons not be a planet? I was scandalized the day Pluto was demoted. After all, science curriculum from first through seventh grades was looking at leaves, raising chicks or chameleons, and the NINE planets! Let's all hold a moment of silence, then raise our glasses in remembrance of poor, poor Pluto! (It occurs to me that this isn't really free association but when one's finger randomly lands on Pluto, this is difficult!)

Urgence de Mode

I used to work for a cirque that was based in Ontario; when they stopped by Minnesota, blocks away from my apartment, I got a job womanning the box office. In the box office, I had some flamingly french bosses. Pascal loved to watch the customers walk by and we were instructed, if we saw an outfit gone hideously awry, to yell "Fashion Emergency!" (we were in the box so no one outside could hear) so he (and everyone else cramped in the box) could run to our window and behold the nightmare. Well, one day, one of the managers left their walkie-talkie on and a customer overheard our titilation. We were instructed, the next day, to substitute Urgence de mode! since most minnesotans don't understand french anyway.

Well, at my current institution, we have missing person alerts from time to time. 99% of the time they're benign, like, someone wandered off to the bathroom without telling their spouse. There are a lot of people here and it's easy to get lost in a crowd. This morning, I hear the usual PA announcement: "Attention, attention. There is a missing person. Last seen in XXX building. 78 year old male wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt with a flag and a Harley." I immediately thought "Urgence de mode!" That man wasn't missing, he was just kidnapped for a quick round of What Not to Wear. (less than 10 minutes later we got the all clear announcement, I'm not a complete monster :P)

My fuckit list

I actually started this a while ago before the meme got old, but you'll have to take my word for it :P

So here's my (growing) list of things that, at some point I had considered I would/could/should do, but decided...eh, fuck it:

• Eat anything containing insects.
• Go on a road trip.
• Run a marathon.
• Learn how to change the oil in my car.
• Cut butter out of my diet, even temporarily.
• Not waste any time.
• Have a spotless house.
• Making everyone around me happy.
• Go hunting.
• Gamble at a casino.
• Keep a diary.
  
• Waste my time taking the stairs just to get that minuscule amount of exercise, when the elevator is faster.
• Try to understand/be understood by toxic people.
• Tweeting.
  
• Wear uncomfortable pants because they look good or are in.
• Read a boring book just because it's a "classic" (I'm looking at you, Gatsby).
• Put up and/or shut up.
• Purposely tan.
• Give a crap about "social networking."
• Learn to appreciate modern art.
• Vote for the lesser of two evils rather than the best candidate.
• Deal with people who piss me right the fuck off.
• Read/discuss/think about any more Jane Austen books, especially if someone claims "Oh but this is the good one, it's not like the others!"
  

The Crux

10PM and I'm seeking inspiration for a post. LB suggests I write about what's been on my mind; he knows what it is but I only just admitted it to him today. But I suppose with his blessing....

I was a bit cryptic in this post. The problem is, I want to have a kid, and LB doesn't. And I don't just want a kid in the abstract. I want one yesterday. My best years have come and gone, the aches and pains of getting older are already catching up with me (I realize this is a bit melodramatic for someone who's only almost 30; still fertility peaks in the early-mid 20's and I'm past that). Or maybe they're from stress; it hardly matters, since my career can only get more stressful from here.

And I know I have a good 1.5-2 years of school left, that we're in no financial position to have a kid and, even if we were, LB's responsibilities at the store would leave me with most of the childcare on top of going to school. But that doesn't change the longing in my heart, and it doesn't make it sting less every time I hear someone else is pregnant (I feel like the last person in the world who will recieve the honor; hell for all I know I'm infertile).

LB talks about how he'll be happy to have a kid once we're stable (he used to talk of kids without stipulation, before we were married). When we got married, stable meant a lot different of a thing than it means now. It has been a moving goalpost in our marriage. Every time we talk, he talks about maybe he just doesn't want a kid "right now" and when the time is right he'll want one. I'm skeptical. But otoh, I have had this same skepticism in our relationship before. Before we were engaged, we had dated for about 6 years. LB went on a month-long trip; while he was gone on that trip I decided, since he had fed me a line about not wanting to get married "right now" but maybe someday, that I'd give him until our lease was up, then I was moving on, since it didn't seem we were on the same page anymore. On that same trip LB decided to propose to me. So, you see, I have simultaneous hope and pessimism. I don't know what to believe, and my gut is so hurt it can't give me any hints. I don't know whether to wrench my heart from the person I love, or from the children I would love, or whether I even need to make that decision.

All I know is that my nightmare is to wake up one day and realize that the ship has sailed, and I will die childless.

In Memoria

I'm sure everybody and their brother have a memorial day post up, but I'm adding one anyway :P

I don't know very much about my grandfathers, but I know that they both served in WWII. On memorial day this year my thoughts turned to what I do and don't know about them. What really unites their service is that neither would talk about it. The living veterans may not have given their entire lives to our country, but they still have given a part of their life, a part of their soul.

I'll start with my paternal grandfather. He died when my father was 12, so I never met him. To me he is a collection of stories and a face in pictures. I don't remember if he was injured in service or not, but I do remember he joined the army late in the war and didn't see as much combat as others. When he came home, he was drafted as a pro baseball player (something he had dreamt of before the war), however he ended up declining the position in order to spend more time with my grandmother and to start a family. He died of a heart attack, leaving my grandmother a widow in her late 30s, with 4 children. They didn't have lipitor back then. It was a blessing, then, that he decided to spend more time with his family than being a ball player on the road would have allowed. I have inherited a lot of his looks, although my personality and hair are more like my grandmother's than his (I doubt anyone would mistake me for a blonde!). I also did not inherit his high cholesterol, although my own dad did. In a final act of kindness, we later learned that before his death, he left instructions and money with some of his military contacts, and these contacts kept my uncle from Vietnam (my father would have missed a draft due to his age when the war ended, although instructions were in place for him, as well). He didn't know when or how, but he knew war would come again and he did everything in his power to keep his sons from it. Sometimes, when I think of how I almost joined ROTC for college, I think that it would have put me straight in Afghanistan or Iraq. I like to think that his spirit helped me make the decision not to join, a decision that, at the time, was very uncharacteristic of me.

My maternal grandfather disappeared from my mother's life when she was 2, leaving my 20 year old grandmother for a younger "woman" (I, however, think 15 hardly counts). I don't really talk (or think) about him. My grampa was my grandma's 3rd husband. He was shot and recieved a purple heart, and that is all anyone knows about his time in the service. My grandma possibly knows more, but not much. To me grampa was not a soldier, he was not a man who had taken human life. He was the man who smelled of tobacco and taught me much of what I know about fishing. He was the sweet man who sometimes would thrust his dentures at me and my cousins to elicit laughter or, in the case of one cousin, shrieks. He was the tall man who would carry me everywhere, even when I was getting a little big for it, giving me a view of the world that I would never otherwise have, being always of short stature. He was the man who would take me on long walks around their large, woody Upper Peninsula property and show me every bird's nest, filled with speckled eggs or small tweeting chicks. He was my partner in crime, smiling at me when I played on the wood pile, in the mud, or in my uncle's shop where he was constantly trying to convert junkers into functional cars, knowing my mother would object. He was the gentle carpenter who only ever yelled when we entered his woodshop, because he wasn't very tidy and had nails and saw blades all over. I remember all these wonderful things and think of the impossibility of him shooting Nazis in Europe. But it happened. I don't know what he saw that horrified him so much that he completely shut out that part of his life, but perhaps I can imagine.

So this memorial day, I'm not so much remembering the women and men who have died for our country; I'm more remembering those soldiers who lived on, but left a part of them behind. A part they chose never to touch again, a part they chose to let die, but to warn and protect future generations. Today my heart is with them.

Resentment

How can you love someone so completely, and be so perfect for one another, except in one, heartbreaking way? How does this happen?

Healing

After my disastrous and traumatic experience in my first lab, I talked with a friend of mine - who, somewhat serendipitously, ended up occupying the previously vacant lab across the hall from my new lab - because he had also had a disastrous and traumatic experience in a lab, left, and completed his PhD in a second lab. It had been 3 months. I asked him how long it took to move on, because I felt, after 3 months, I should be completely over the abuse I suffered and get on with my research life. I asked him, how long until I feel at home again.

He told me that 3 months was way too soon to expect to feel better. That realistically, it'll be 6 to 9 months before I start to feel at home, like this is more than a temporary situation.

Holy crap was he right.

I had sort of an "aahaaaaaa" moment the other day where my project just started clicking with me. Where I started to feel ownership over my project, and over my place in this new lab. And it has been almost exactly 9 months. This is *my* thesis project now, not just my job, not just something I'm doing to fill the time until I decide to quit. I'm not quitting. And, so help me God, I am getting a goddamn paper out of it if it kills me. I didn't abandon 2 years of research - which I knew and know is getting tossed in the garbage merely out of spite - and put off starting a family for something temporary. I'm going to get this degree.

She Works in Mysterious Ways

The other night LB and I got into a conversation about things we haven't had since we were a kid, and missed. Rice Krispie Bars, I said dreamily, and not those shitty premade ones that taste like cardboard, blue, and glucose, either. No, the nice gooey home-made, buttery and delicious ones. I haven't had those in at least a decade. I could really go for a Rice Krispie Bar right now.

Today, what treat did my adviser randomly decide to make and bring in to lab to share with us?

Home-made Rice Krispie Bars.

Hot damn, someone up there was listening. I even had two, despite my diet. Looks like dinner tonight is fish and....fish.

It was *so* worth it.

2 asses, 3 cushions, 0 seats

Ugh. I can't sit on my own couch. Why? My husband's ass is on one cushion, and his paintball gear is spread akimbo on the other two. I told him I could sit next to him if he would please move his gear, or I could go upstairs and find a seat at my computer (he hates when I go play on the computer and ignore him.) He was silent for like 5 minutes, so I went upstairs to the computer. He gets mad that I'm going off to ignore him. I get mad and yell that had he not just given up and sat there like a lazy lump, maybe I'd sit next to him and spend time with him. And he still isn't moving the gear. And can't understand what I'm mad about, since clearly, his anger over something he could change is entirely rational, and my anger over him blaming me for it is psychotic. Clearly. (The best part? "You didn't even say please or ask nicely!" Ummmm, yes I did. Selective memory, I'm sure.)

Not Quite Dead Yet

Well the basil was pretty droopy on Monday and Tuesday, but as you can see, it resumed vertical growth today. And! Look! It has like 4 new leaves! 2 on the stem there and 2 on top. The thyme looks much better too, although this picture is so dark because I forgot to get out there until sunset was pending. I think I'll pick up some marjoram and oregano at the farmer's market this week.

Sore Throat from Hell

You know that feeling where your throat is so itchy and scratchy and painful, you want to rip it out of your neck?

Yeah. That's what I've been feeling the past few days. That along with a fever, disorientation, and the internet going in and out and in and out have left me with few post ideas and little time in which to post.

Oh! But! Garden update: The plants are still droopy, but I watered them some more and they're starting to look better. Still no rain here though, which I think would help immensely. We'll see, we'll see.

Outside the Comfort Zone

I have always had a brown thumb. My grand botanical achievement to date (aside from my B in Botany 101) is that I managed to keep a cactus alive for three whole years. Clearly I am a talented horticulturist.

So why I decided it would be a good idea to plant an herb garden is beyond me. I picked up two plantlings (basil and thyme) at the farmer's market a few weeks ago. When these plants continued to live and, indeed, thrive for 2 weeks in my kitchen, I decided it was time to put them in the ground. Armed with naught but trepidation and a shovel, yesterday I cleared out a weedy patch of soil that was growing next to my house. I dug deep holes, then gently buried my plants about a foot apart, with the crown slightly below the soil level, as per instructions. I watered them. Then I walked away.

Before

After

I went to check on them this morning and they looked droopy already (buy not yellow or brown! That's encouraging, right? Right?). The soil was dry so I watered them again. I really hope this takes...I don't know what I did wrong! The soil there is pretty shitty, but the weeds seem to like it ok. LB thought I didn't need to buy any of that there fancy soil. We'll see again tomorrow...we should be getting some rain then.

Fun Times with Wine

Last night, LB and I went to a wine pairing dinner at our local Alsatian restaurant. The meal was six courses, each paired with its own wine. Overall the evening was lovely. Near the beginning of the meal I listened intently to the sommelier, but near the end LB and I were drunkenly gabbing through her speeches. During most of our courses, the owner came over for a little chat and told us a bit about the food preparation. It was a lovely evening, and LB and I both loved our little date.

Appetizer
Duck Breast Saurbraten with Shiraz-Vionier, Terlato & Chapoutier, Australia
The duck was prepared as a saurbraten with a marmalade-blueberry sauce, served over a few fingerling potato coins. The sauce was absolutely delicious, but both LB and I felt that the duck could have been prepared differently or pork could have been used in a saurbraten. The meat was cooked down a bit more than duck should be, and the technique would have lent itself better to a less delicate meat. We were a bit dissappointed with this dish; it did not deliver on its promise. The Shiraz-Vionier was made as a 95% Shiraz/5% Vionier in the style of a Syrah, which made it robust but smooth. The wine was very good, although it was better with food than on its own, and we felt it was quite versitle. It could really have gone with nearly anything that a red wine would go with. Food: B-; Wine: A-; Pairing: B

Soup
Cream of Artichoke Heart Soup with Gruner Veltliner, Wolfgang Concerto, Austria
The soup was made with artichoke heart pureed and creamed not with cream, but instead with mascarpone and a wee bit of bleu cheese. It was served with a fresh artichoke leaf floating on top, and a crumble of bleu cheese riding in the leaf as if it were a wee boat. The soup was absolutely delicious. The fresh bleu cheese on top, when tipped into the soup, melted just enough so as to leave little melty surprises in each bite, which added a bit of saltiness to the freshness of the soup. The artichoke flavor was featured well and not at all overpowered by either cheese. The Veltliner was sweet, effervescent and light, without venturing into the territory of holy crap that's so sweet I can't stand it. If a champagne and a gwertsweimer had a baby together, this veltliner would be it. It was also very versitle, and I thought it might go wonderfully with a dessert of fresh berries in cream. Food: A; Wine: A-; Pairing: B+

Salad
Three Pea Salad with Albarino, Martin Codax, Spain
The third course was a salad of english peas, sugar snap pea pods, and snow pea pods over a small amount of micro greens, garnished with toasted, seasoned pecans and a light balsamic vinaigrette. This was the perfect refreshing spring salad. The salad was mostly peas, and just a little bit of greens, which was a good ratio (really, you don't win friends with lettuce). The pecans and dressing played off the peas well, which were perfectly fresh and crisp. The Albarino was a bit heavier than the Veltliner, but it was still sweet. On its own it was a bit plain, but it went very well with the salad. Food: A; Wine: B; Pairing: A-

First Course
Coquille St. Jaques with Chardonnay, La Crema, CA
The Coquille was made in the traditional style and served in scallop half-shells. They were served piping hot, and we had to let them cool a bit before eating them, but they were delicious. The scallops were done perfectly, just firm enough without getting tough. The cream sauce was light and just a little sweet, to complement the scallop meat. I appreciated that the scallops were cut before cooking them, so I did not have to fiddle with trying to cut them inside a scallop shell which, knowing my general level of dexterity, I would likely have shattered. The chardonnay was very good as well. It was aged in french oak barrels, which leech less of the oak flavor into the wine, letting the wine's own flavor shine more. This chardonnay was creamy and smooth, almost buttery. It was a little less dry than traditional chardonnays, but this lent itself well to the flavor of the scallops. The wine enhanced the flavor of the scallops, adding to the creaminess of the sauce without adding any heft. In turn, the scallops added depth to the flavor of the wine. Overall this was my favorite course, and LB was very impressed as well. Food: A+; Wine: A; Pairing: A+

Second Course
Lamb Shanks with Monticello Gran Reserva Rioja, Spain
Our second entree was a frenched lamb shank served over a bed of white beans and spinach, with a light sauce. To be quite honest, I don't remember this course very well because, well, if you're counting, we're on our 5th type of wine, and our table was the server's first stop for refills. The cut of lamb was excellent, and the flavors of the lamb, the sauce, and the white beans married well. I felt the lamb was overdone; I like my lamb to be medium or medium-rare and this was more medium-well. I would also have preferred a few more tablespoons of sauce. LB disagreed on both counts; he thought the lamb was cooked perfectly and that the amount of sauce was just right. The rioja was, as is appropriate with lamb, a heavier, dry red wine. It had a spiciness to it that went very well with the lamb; it added a juiciness to the lamb that was needed. In turn, the fat from the lamb added a bit of body to the rioja. The pairing was excellent. This was LB's favorite course. Food: A-; Wine: A; Pairing; A+

Dessert
Strawbery Sabayon tart with Muscat, Beaulieu Bineyard, CA
Fresh strawberries were sliced and served over sabayon cream in a pastry tart, topped with fresh whipped cream. The strawberries were perfectly fresh and delicious; LB and I were wondering how they got such fresh strawberries here in Minnesota in the early spring, since our local strawberries don't usually get good until late July. The cream and whipped cream complemented the strawberry flavor well, although with these berries I would have been happy with a fresh plate of them plain. The Muscat was very sweet; it tasted like liquid honey without the heaviness that honey can have. It was very tasty, although I felt it did not go well with the strawberry tart. This muscat was made to be a dessert in and of itself, without accompaniment. Food: A; Wine: A-; Pairing: C

Things I am Grateful For Today

1. Sunshine
2. Flowers
3. Fresh Spring Air
   
4. Allergy Medication
5. French Food
6. Wine
7. Short Summer Dresses
8. Rub-0n Tanner for showing off legs in said Short Summer Dresses
   
9. A dog that knows not to answer the neighbor dog when he barks
10. Advil
    
11. Soft Kitties
12. Snuggly Doggies
13. Alone Time
14. A healthy body
15. More Advil to assist healthy body a day after too much weightlifting

Fridays are busy!

ll this random crap just got dumped on my lap and I think I'll be busy until bedtime, so for now, here are some Freki pics that I just uploaded. Also if anyone can tell me how to get blogger to actually post a SMALL picture when you check the SMALL box, that would be fantastic. I just don't have the time to individually change the size of every picture, for every post. kthxbai.

Chillin on the stairs

Freki Enjoys a Bully Stick


I'm not sure what this was about; I found this picture on my phone after leaving it in LB's care.

For the Furbabies!

Stop the presses! Call the governor! We've got a Furry.2 on the Richter Scale!

When one lives, as I do, far away from fault lines, and one wakes up, as I did, at 5 AM during what surely must be an earthquake, it behooves one to check the bed for rambunctiously wrestling kitties before becoming alarmed.



A Terrible Joke

What do you call it when your 75-lb dog and your two 15-lb cats wedge themselves between you and your husband in your queen-sized bed (besides hot, smelly and cramped)? A Furrito.


The Babysitter

You may already well know about Max's love for escaping the house and feasting on grass. So the other day Max is whining and complaining to be let out. I'm ironing laundry, and have a pretty decent view of the yard, so I let him out and check up on him in 5 minute intervals (he usually doesn't go very far). As soon as I come back from letting Max out, Freki takes post on the porch and stares at Max through the windows. Every two minutes or so he looks at me reproachfully over his shoulder as if to say "What are you doing, you neglectful wench! The cat is out there all by himself! He could get hurt, or lost! Thank your lucky stars you have ME to watch him while you do whatever it is you're doing with your clothes and that scary board OF DOOM!" After a few more minutes of that he would come and nudge my hand then resume his post by the door periodically, until I got fed up with it and brought Max in. It turns out Freki thinks it is his solemn duty to babysit the cat when he is outside; as I was relating the above episode to LB, he had a story to tell me as well:

One day LB was out on the deck grilling dinner, and he had Max and Freki out with him, under his oblivious watchful eye. Max, as is usual during this situation, escaped over the fence into the vacant yard next door, to taste some foreign grass. Freki saw this, then ran up to the fence, and barked at Max until Max did something he has never shown himself capable of doing before: he jumped back over the fence and back onto our porch. Clearly Freki has decided his role in the family. I wonder how he is with small children?

So I am a little behind the times...so what?

So I was watching the Frontline special on the Madoff thing, because LB pph loves Frontline, and HO.LEE. CRAP! I didn't really understand what was going on other than some abstract concept of a Ponzi scheme and everyone hated him for stealing their retirement money. I had no idea that basically, the FCC let him get away with it after like 3 or 4 investigations in the last 15 years.

So LB and I were talking about it, and he says, "Now, if you had millions or billions of dollars, that you knew was gained illegally, wouldn't you get the hell out of there?" I definately would. I mean, only a cocky idiot asshole would stick around and keep growing an obviously illegal front business while being investigated repeatedly (although since the FCC let him completely off the hook so many times maybe he had no reason to believe the dipshits would come after him for realz). But where would I go? Well, if I hadn't pissed off the Swiss, Geneva would be my first stop. It's a lovely city and I know french, so I could get along fine. Or? The Caymans or some other tropical paradise/tax shelter. Where would you go to spend your ill-gotten gains?

The Body Issues Post

So I'm trying to lose weight. Again. I keep creeping up towards 150, then freaking out and dieting down to 140, so I can stay in the "normal" BMI range. I get successful at making the lifestyle changes; going to the gym, reducing portion sizes, then I get stressed out, then I stress eat (doritos and oreos are a staple!), stop going to the gym, and gain. It's hard though, because my body loves and loves to gain and hates and hates to lose. They say to lose 1 lb a week, you must have a difference between calorie output and calorie intake of about 500 calories a day. I have found that I maintain weight at that difference, and only start to lose weight at a difference of 700. Which is hard, let me tell you. So I reduce my intake by about 500 calories a day (which puts me just at the "minimum to not starve yourself" of 1200). Then I have to increase output (i.e. exercise) for the extra 200. That, at my weight, is about a half hour of running every day. Now I don't have time to go to the *#$@$&ing gym every day, there is just too much shit that needs to get done. So I try to walk to work (woohoo a measly 50), and when I do go to the gym I do an hour workout instead of just 30 minutes.

But that isn't what this post is about. You see, I can never seem to get a grip on how I feel about my body. I used to be one of those skinny-minny, can't gain weight if I try (seriously I even went to a doc about it) waif. I hated my body then. I got all sorts of sneers about how I must be anorexic or bulemic, envy for something I didn't want, and my body looked like, to me anyway, that of a prepubescent BOY. I felt unfeminine and hideous. Now, at the other end of the "normal BMI range," I still feel unfeminine. Sure I have boobs now, and hips (although that was more of a change in bone structure than weight alone), but I also have rolls and a beer gut. I also have...dun dun DUUUNNNNN!...thunder thighs. I am a "fat chick" in the eyes of many, much less ideal than my former underweight self. I hate myself in the mirror. I want to go back to that skinny 18 year old and tell her to learn to eat right, that even though she thought pounding down fries and pizza would help her gain weight and become acceptable, that really it was too much! That she was lucky she could find clothes that fit!

But then I think...so fucking what? So fucking what if I am 0.8 points "overweight"? My husband thinks I am sexy, I am pretty damn healthy if I do say so myself, and really, I do love my tits. I have nice tits and do not want to lose them! I love wine, I love dessert, and I can enjoy my food without having to constantly calculate how fat it is going to make me. There is so much shame thrown at a) fat people and b) fat women. And by fat I mean anything over a size fucking 6, because you and I and the world all know that it's the current fat threshold in pop culture, and even in medicine (thank the good lord I have a fat doctor; the one time I got a physical by someone skinny she told me "well being a little overweight is ok for now since you're in school and stressed, but you won't be able to get pregnant if you don't bring your BMI down to the normal range" orly, lady? I know pleeeeeeeenty of people over BMI over 24.9 who readily attained viable pregnancies).

So sure, weight is just a number, but no matter what the weight, if it isn't in a narrow definition of normalcy, there is all sorts of shame, faux concern and policing thrown at it. I see this and want to be comfortable in my body, and to love it like my husband loves it (well, hehe, not exactly like my husband loves it wink wink nudge nudge).

But I'm still trying to lose weight. And I suspect every time I creep up towards 150 I will. Sigh.

Resolution and Rhyme

Momma's got a brand new bag

So I have decided that it is time to revive my blog and get my damn ass in gear. I haven't been that great at posting regularly to begin with, and I let my annual Works-In-Progress talk* be my crutch for writing even less in the past few months.

So, I have resolved starting this Monday (which is, today, after all), I am going to write every day for 4 weeks. Hopefully this will help me figure out how to get my creative juices flowing rather than being a crapfest for my dwindling readership. We shall see. Bets?

*An annual talk where I get up in front of my peers and professors and whomever wanders in off the street for free pizza and talk for an hour about all the things I haven't done in the past year.

Ode to Nuvaring, an Elizabethan Sonnet

Note: I wrote this after a bizarre and increasingly gutter-dwelling conversation with a friend that started out with me bitching about being sick and ended with, well, this:

O joy is the feeling in my bosom
Upon pon'dring my glorious Nuvaring
For no babe shall my empty womb blossom;
Without my permission, babies shan't spring.
Encirc'ling my cervix comfy and warm,
You keep me safe from too sore breasticles,
You fend off persistent, unwanted sperm
That hail, ruthless, from husband's testicles.
Like a kitten, my uterus can nap
Lazily, emptily wiling her hours
Spending bachelorettehood behind my lap
Waiting, wistful, to unleash her powers.
O, Nuvaring, pray do not fail me now,
Or poverty's sweat shall pepper my brow!