Errand Grrrl

We haven't talked a lot about the advantages of living in a small city, over the other kinds of places I've lived in: small towns and big cities and even medium-urban non-city census-designated place counties.

But here it is.
At 12:58 p.m., I was pulling my car out of the work parking lot.

I then:

• Drove to the bank
• Parked
• Went into the bank
• Endorsed two checks
• Deposited them
• Drove to the library (narrowly avoiding hitting RI's step-grandmother as I went)
• Parked
• Went into the library
• Applied for and received a library card*
• Found the book I wanted
• Checked it out
• Drove to the dry-cleaner
• Parked
• Dropped off a comforter for cleaning
• Walked to the fish market
• Bought lunch
• Drove back to the work parking lot
• Parked
• Walked back into my building and up the stairs to my office.

At 1:29 p.m., I was sitting at my desk, eating phenomenal seafood chowder and writing this post.

Thirty-one minutes, friends.

*I already had a college library card, which lets me take books out of either library. Today, I decided it was high time I had an actual city library card.

Good

Oh, look! It's November again. And one reader loooooooves the Month of Gratitude, so I'm doing it again.

Here's a thing about me that many people who know me well do not know about me: I am terrified, like, total-panic-level terrified, of Doing It Wrong.

That is true for almost any It I do over the course of a day or a lifetime:

• doing my job
• getting dressed
• accessorizing
• being a friend
• being a girlfriend
• dancing
• singing
• stage management
• staying in touch
• eating
• dental hygiene
• feminism
• antiracism
• telling a joke
• cooking for people
• playing pool
• coordinating an event
• having people over
• blogging

Some of you will want to reassure me that I don't do at least some of those Its wrong, because you like the way I do them. That is sweet, but not really the point.

Of course I'm good at some (many) of those things. I don't do a lot of them unless I'm nearly certain I can do them right. And even still, I screw up sometimes.

The most liberating thing a former colleague ever said to me was, "Sometimes, done is good." I don't put that advice into practice very often, but when I do, it is always, always a relief.

All of that by way of saying, some of why you don't get very many blog posts from me is that I am really really, often, afraid of Doing It Wrong — of not being funny or clever enough, of offending someone or making space for someone else to offend someone. And here is where I should say, "but I'm over all that. If people get offended, that's their problem. Maybe they needed to be offended." But I won't, because actually, I think concern for that kind of thing is one of my pretty good qualities, even if it is the flip side of one of the qualities that gets in my way most.

Day 1 of our month of gratitude: I am thankful for friends and readers who are not usually as hard on me as I am on myself. I'd also be super, super thankful if any of those friends or readers wanted to write a guest post this month, à la last year.

Note: Lest any of you start worrying that I apply the same standards to others that I do to myself, I don't. First, I am too busy worrying about me to worry about you. Mostly. Second, if you're in my life, it's probably because you do at least one thing very well that I wish I could do so well. Nearly all of my friends share that. 

Stormy weather

Today, my workplace was closed due to snow.

The highlights:

• As I am part of the "emergency communications team" at said workplace, I got up at 5:15 a.m. to share the word. Which mostly went fine.
• At about 6:15 a.m., after attempting to record the outgoing message for the switchboard about one million times, I texted my neighbor and subsequently went to her house in my pajamas to try again on her landline. That went better.
• I watched a few episodes of Dexter. Big revelation: A date that is featured sort of casually but repeatedly on that show is my exact date of birth. So that's fun.
• I videochatted with my sister and niece and nephew, which included tours of both houses, a puppet show, and my nephew's enjoyment of a toy drill for just slightly too short a time for me to come up with "that looks boring" as a clever thing to say. Those kids are very very very amused by seeing me upside down or sideways.
• I ventured out to the convenience store .6 miles away from my house on foot, both because I needed the exercise and because my driveway wasn't plowed yet. It took almost an hour round-trip because of the snow.
• My sweet friends had a temperature-solstice pot luck over the weekend that I was very excited about but then was too sick to attend, with the result that I have an excess of my favorite summer dish, which means peach cobbler, which is seriously summer in a bowl and good for the spirits of the snowbound.
• I watched Breaking Away. Golly, that's a good cast and a beautiful movie.

So, pretty much of a win overall.

How's your day going?

Sweet

Friday night, Laverne Cox from Orange is the New Black came to speak on campus.

Thursday evening, I quick invited a handful of friends to come over for a drink and dinner beforehand. And the group grew, and strangers were added to the friends, and suddenly I had nine people coming over to my house for beef and sweet potato stew.

At around noon on Friday, I got a text from a number I didn't recognize*, asking if they could stay in my guest room that night.

And my first thought was, "sure."

Eventually, it occurred to me that that should probably be conditional — that I should probably only actually say, "Sure," if it was someone I knew and liked and who was ideally going to Laverne Cox.

But, you know, whatever.**

Day 16 of our month of gratitude: I am thankful for my home. I am grateful for its shelter, but also for the chance to open it to family (and the police) and friends and strangers, for stews and dilly beans shared of an evening, for latenight conversation, for morning cups of tea in the kitchen.

*After my phone issues a few weeks back, a few contacts were wiped out. I thought I'd figured them all out, but apparently not quite.

**If you must know, it was RI's sister, who was, in fact, going to Laverne Cox.

Halloween costumes: Now, even more fun!

I loooooooove Halloween. Love, love, love it.

But also, I work on a college campus and live in a college town, which means that there is approximately zero chance I will not see a racist, sexist, or homophobic costume. There is some chance I will not see an ableist one, but there is also a chance I will.

I am pretty sure none of my readers would ever do such a thing. But in case you know people who might, I will write this post so you can share it with them and save everyone some trouble.

Here's the thing: No one says, "Hey, Halloween's coming, how can I be superoffensive?" No one says, "I am a big racist, and like other big racists, I think this is funny. My racist friends will be so amused!"

People wear superoffensive costumes because they aren't thinking about it at all.

So here are a few things you can think, very quickly, about your potential costume, to see if the offensiveness of it might override the scariness or cleverness or awesomeness.

• Might someone else possibly construe this as offensive? This is a good one because you don't need (or get) to excuse it with, "My black best friend thinks it's hilarious." It's not about your one black best friend. It's about all the other people who don't know you and how awesomely clever you are, who will see you in person or on Facebook or anywhere else.
• Am I dressing up as a stereotype of people who actually exist? If you got past the first question but stumbled a little on this one, go back to the first one again now.
• Might my costume hurt a real person's feelings? This is a little trickier, but maybe (probably) you actually know someone who has struggled with addiction or unwanted pregnancy or mental illness. Maybe you know someone who embraces a religion you think is hilarious. Maybe you don't, but maybe someone you don't know will see you at a party and you will remind them of the person they used to know who died, and it will make them sad. If you're stumbling here, go back to the second question, and also the first.
• Does my costume rely on making fun of someone, and can I do better than that? Because, if yes, then yes. 

Did I ruin everything for you? I'm sorry you are having a hard time thinking of a really good costume.

May I offer you this one? I love it, and really feel like someone should do it. I think it's equally good for a kid or a grownup. Plus, now, if I see anyone dressed as a snail, I will assume they were thinking of dressing as a lesbian or a Mexican and decided, based on this post, that a snail would be better, and that will make me so beyond happy.

I might even give them a hug.

Redefining "productive"

Today has been an unusually productive day.

Among the things I've done are going through old (in some cases, very old) notebooks at work, which have sometimes doubled as to-do lists or places to take notes about other things I've worked on. I've recycled a lot, filed some more. It's been very gratifying.

My note-taking may or may not be conventional. It was for sure shaped in the seventh grade. In seventh grade, it involved a hodgepodge of me actually taking relevant notes and writing down things for the edification of my friend and lab-table-mate Trisha, which I would then oh-so-slyly show her.

I still do that in meetings, except generally, I don't have anyone to show. I am essentially passing notes with myself, in among all the to-do lists. Sometimes I just make note of funny things people say; often I write down my real feelings about what is being said. I curbed that last impulse briefly when I was a reporter, lest my notes ever be subpoenaed, but made up for it with all the funny quotes I was taking down.

Anyway, here are just a few of the gems (quotes, to-dos, and my real feelings) that have emerged in these old notebooks today, for your lab-bench edification.

• This is the creepiest form of joking.
• "Oh, you're really talking. I thought we were quoting the play."
• And then remember the next day, when it was still all like that?! Hahahahahahahaha
• I understand XYZ, we'd be glad to have you join us — talked to J&D — SC
• Made reserve pool for phone interviews
• "accidental butt reiki"
• "tastes like brown"
• "calls himself a witch"
• Add to cauldron: Irish soap actress, Chaz Bono
• Who's real?
• "I don't anticipate it's going to be smooth right away"
• She took me to the carnival — I wonder what that means.
• BE Akzidenz Grotesk
• has a knack for wording good, reasonable questions so they sound as rude as possible
• It is weirdly complicated, and most folks here wouldn't be able to articulate it
• Talk to Ellen re: weather
• So. Angry.
• "I just carried a bust of Granny D made of plaster wrapped in a sweatshirt from the back of her son's Jeep to the archive."
• Colonialist approach to service
• diversity=lawyer

...and one haiku:

I won 3 raffles

Sang 9-5 with Manley

Lots of integers

Sentence(s) of the day, e-mail edition

"Tuesday I sent in some new class notes.

Please delete the information on the death of [person].  He is alive.  Fortunately we found out."

Another productive day

About an hour ago, I went out to the parking lot behind my workplace and gave some rough-looking 20-ish-year-old man with a lip ring some cash.

It was just the first chance I'd had to catch up with my plow guy since he plowed my driveway.

But I assume/hope my coworkers thought it was a drug deal. Or maybe something prostitution-based, though working through the specifics of that get a little more complicated.

Just trying to keep things interesting at the ol' place of employment.

Argh,

So, sometimes, in my work as an editor, however much I may enjoy my job, I may find that it is time for me to apply for a new job, in the same office I've been working in, in hopes of gaining some new kinds of experience and growth, and maybe also some more money. It might be a seemingly perfect job, for which I am seemingly perfectly qualified. I might work very hard on crafting a perfect résumé and cover letter in hopes of having a shot. I might ask several folks to read it over for me.

And sometimes, three months after I've applied for that job, I still haven't heard anything — not so much as a whiff of the possibility of a phone interview — and might find that somewhat frustrating.

And sometimes, I may go back and look at the résumé I submitted, after more than three months have passed, and I may notice, in this résumé applying for an editorial job, a typo. I might, at that point, observe that I have ended a line with a comma that needed to be ended with a period.

And then, at that point, I might think of how I would respond to observing said typo in an editor's résumé if I had the hiring power in that case.

And then I might close the door to my office, lest my colleagues observe the sheer amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth that might result.

Damn.

What are the odds I can convince my boss that it's a UCC thing?

Things that would not happen in Washington (but would happen in a movie)

In a staff meeting, at my office, discussing a technical freelancer we may hire, my boss had reason to say, "She had a goat emergency yesterday."

I love this series.

Pointy

It's been a busy time around here, resulting in me attempting to write a handful of bullet-point, scattershot posts of whimsical thoughts and failing at even that by the time I get to about the second bullet point. Why so busy? Glad you asked.

• At work, there are a bunch of big, time-sensitive projects, and we're down three staff (in a roughly 14-person office). That means I'm working lots of extra time, which, for me, in unsustainable. I work a 12-hour day, come in the next morning and can't focus because my brain is fried, don't get much done in the early part of the day, have to stay late, wake up early and do a little work then, come in and can't focus.... You get the picture. I am hopeful that by the end of tomorrow, I'll be done with the crunch and able to focus on work at work, rest and play when not at work.
• I'm also doing a little volunteer work for my church. The volunteer work is in my professional field, which means when I'm too fried to work, I'm also too fried to volunteer.
• Outside of work, I'm stage managing a staged reading. Lots of fun, but it's two rehearsals a week with an hour round-trip commute.
• My car's broken. I've got a crack mechanic working on it now, but meanwhile, I've been on foot off-and-on for about a week and a half.
• I don't need a lot of social time, generally, but I do need some, because my work is largely unsocial and I live by myself. Trying to squeeze that in is one more thing.
• It's still beautiful up here, weatherwise. I want to be outside in it every minute I can before that gets less practical.
• When I'm stressed and busy like this, I tend to most easily cut back on both spiritual practices and physical exercise, which is unacceptable, because while those also take time and focus, they (along with aforementioned social time) are also what enable me to handle the rest of it. So, trying to make time for those.
• Oh, dishes and laundry and figuring out how to fix the front hall light fixture and showering and, you know, stuff.

Fallen asleep yet? OK, for all three of you who are still out there, you get the reward of the bullet-point-or-two from each of those unfinished posts. Woohoo!

• My left calf is significantly bigger than my right.
• Nonetheless, I found boots that fit, and I love them more than at least a couple of my friends. Not you, obviously — you're my favorite. Though the boots were cheaper than you. Wait, now we're getting into a weird place.
• The movie Brazil is less entertaining to me now than it was in 1987 — possibly because I was less aware in 1987, possibly because so much of what we could call "dystopian" then we just have to call "real" now. Or possibly because I don't like all things British — including Terry Gilliam — as much as it seems like I would.
• I know I'm in the minority, but there are few household chores that I find more satisfying than cleaning the bathroom.
• Two of my latest Pandora stations have been "Call Me Maybe" and "You Can Call Me Al." I bet you'd get something interesting if you mixed those two stations.
• Most of the "Bridezilla" phenomenon is a self-perpetuating media invention, and it makes me sad and we won't get into every nuance of feminist theory that applies here (though if any of you would like to, you need to let me know, stat). But here's one thought: How much of it is due to the weird but apparently prevalent idea that every bride-to-be needs to go on a diet before her wedding and is therefore starving and cranky and semidelirious?
• Since I wrote this post and have been, as I said above, on foot a little more often, I have worn a backpack with a shortish skirt three times. The result is, of course, that I am constantly checking my butt, which I am sure makes me look much more normal/self-aware/classy than those women I was judging.

So, how are you?

I am the gatekeeper.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that there was a dark, water-stained-looking spot on the ceiling in the common area outside my office.

I reported it to the powers that be, who reported it to the folks at Physical Plant, who could not find a water source, but said they'd replace the tile.

Then, yesterday, I looked at my own office ceiling and noticed similar stains, right over my desk. It also seemed to me that  the common area stain had gotten worse, but I couldn't swear to it. So I went to my office neighbor (ON)'s office. The dark stain over his desk (and several computers) was by far the worst. It was cracked and sagging. Very bad.

We reported it to the powers that be, who reported it to Physical Plant.

Half an hour later, ON came into my office. "You've gotta see this," he said. I went into his office and his stain had gotten even worse. More cracks, more sagging. We decided we needed to move the important stuff out from under it, but of course, we were joking around (and therefore standing around) as we did it.

It could be an incontinent raccoon, we thought. Or bees. Or snakes. And as we discussed these possibilities, the tile in question collapsed onto his desk, missing the computers and me, but barely. Obviously, I shrieked, loudly, and we all scrambled and then assessed the damage by the falling tile. It did hit a beautiful pottery lamp ON's wife had made, but didn't break it. 


I attempted to move my smallish desk (stuffed with files) and couldn't do it myself, so obviously, I wandered off to tell other people of my morning's adventures.

When I came back, action had been taken. The physical plant guys had arrived, had moved my desk out of the way, had removed all of the troubling tiles in all three locations, and had put trash cans and recycling cans under the now very obvious drips. It seems there was a clog in the line of the building's air conditioner and a bunch of other stuff I neither completely understood nor retained and now a lot of water.

My boss was very gracious and understanding when I suggested that, due to the sound of dripping water that was in no way contained to the two buckets in my office but kept dripping on my arm even when I sat at my desk's new location, I'd be working from home the rest of the day, which I did.

This morning, I got up early and took a beautiful hike, punctuated by elephant ears and fruit salad and mimosas with a stunning view of the sunrise. That is in no way related to the rest of the story, but it is nonetheless true and demonstrates that I am awesome.

When I came in to work this morning, the ceiling tiles were all still missing, and there was some water in the trash and recycling cans. No more dripping, though, so that was good.

And now my desk is seemingly comically close to the door. To give you a vague picture: in a roughly 9'x14' office, my roughly 3'x6' desk is directly in front of the door, close enough that you can open the door all the way, but just. I appear to be a receptionist for my own (smallish) office, blocking the entrance and making it uninviting.

And that amuses me enough that I'm keeping it that way.*

It's the little things, amiright?






*Plus, you know, can't really move it myself.

Hush

Tonight, I went to a fantastic show on campus, before which I had a session with my trainer. She and I take turns talking; I exercise, she watches me, and whoever's not talking counts.

I was all excited to tell her about this thing I was going to, and now I'm excited to tell you:
The Devil Music Ensemble, which includes a guy I used to work with at summer camp, composes and performs original scores for silent films. The one they brought to campus tonight is a silent kung-fu movie from 1929 called Red Heroine, and both the film and the performance were awesome. The band is actually touring to China with it in March; if that sounds like the kind of artistic endeavor you'd like to support, you can do that at Kickstarter.

So I set out to tell my trainer about it.

"You count," I said. "I'm going to this thing tonight; my friend's in a band that does original scores for silent movies, and —"

"Wait," she said. "What's a silent movie?"

I literally did not know there were people that young.

Bonnie and clod

I have a few friends who've been going through big deal nasty health stuff this year. And two are now, blessedly, through the worst of it for now. Which is great. So much relief. I suspect you'll hear more about one of them next week, but now you just get a funny story at my expense, about the other one.

So, she's doing great. Her treatments are over. We needed to celebrate, I thought. And what started out as talking about having one or two of us go out for drinks turned into her thinking about all the great folks who've been really very much there for her, which turned into our inviting a bunch of people to come have a party at my house. Which is all as it should be.

In the interest of not making her life any more difficult, I handled the invitations.

Now, it happens that there are two women who work with us who have the same first name and last initial. We'll call them Bonnie Cormier* and Bonnie Carruthers.* They are otherwise nothing at all alike, except that they're fun to have around. I'm a little closer to Bonnie Cormier, who is also a friend to the guest of honor (who we'll call GOH). But GOH is closer to Bonnie Carruthers, who I like fine but do not know well, and Bonnie Carruthers has been a great help to GOH in her illness.

So, of course, as we were planning, GOH reminded me to invite Bonnie. And I invited a number of people, including Bonnie. And Bonnie was the first person to respond, saying what a great idea it was and how glad she'd be to attend, and could she bring anything? And because I'm organized like that, I started an RSVP list, and wrote "Bonnie C." at the top of the "yes" column.

(Confused yet? Welcome to the three-card monte that is my brain. I, too, have lost track of which Bonnie we're talking about.)

And when I sent GOH a list of who was coming, "Bonnie C." was right there at the top of the list, but as I was typing it, I thought twice. So the actual list item says:

• Bonnie C. (Hm. I invited Bonnie Cormier. Just occurred to me, did you mean Bonnie Carruthers? It is not too late for me to invite her.) 

And then the response came: "I did mean Bonnie Carruthers ... Bonnie Cormier is great too!!"

Ah, ick. Now I feel like a jerk, because the invites went out almost a week ago, and now the gathering is tomorrow. But, as diplomatically as possible, I send this message to Bonnie Carruthers:

I am SO sorry to have inadvertently left you off the original list for this; you were on my paper list, but I just realized as I was nudging people with reminders that you’d never actually gotten the e-mail. Yikes! I really hope you can join us; I know GOH would want you there if you can make it, but I understand if the notice is too short.

to which I get the response, from Bonnie Carruthers:

You didn’t leave me off the list – I got the original and I’m planning to be there (bringing a munchie).

and so I responded how glad I was to hear it, and then quickly checked my sent messages to see if I had also sent one to Bonnie Cormier. Nope.

So, all is right with the world, except that Bonnie Carruthers probably thinks I’m a crazy person. Or drunk at work. Either way, should be a hell of a much-deserved party.





*Not their real names, though Bonnie Cormier and Bonnie Carruthers were two girls from my second-grade class with whom we had somewhat similar difficulties, back in 1978.

Things that would not happen in Washington (but would happen in a movie)

We haven't done one of these lately, but I couldn't resist. (See previous incarnations here, here and here.)

This e-mail just received from a cabinet-level administrator at the college:

Hi, all: If anyone is interested in having some, I have a cooler full of fresh venison here today. We have WAY more than we can use (and I mean WAY), and are very interested in sharing with anyone who would like some. If you want to take some, please, please take as much as you want, either for yourself or for others. For those unfamiliar with venison that has been properly prepared, it does not have any strong taste; it’s more like eating filet mignon, but without any fat whatsoever.

I’m only here until noon, as I am headed to a professional seminar this afternoon, so let me know before then. If you can’t do it today, let me know any time, as we always have more than enough to share. I can always bring some in.

Training

I wrote about my last year's trainer; it's probably time to introduce you to this year's.

On paper, they're similar: college seniors, long blonde ponytails, excited about helping folks get fitter. But their personalities are night and day.

Last year's trainer was tough, serious. She was very nice, and very good, but also very firm. When we talked, it was mostly about her future or her studies or her work. She had me deadlifting 125 pounds or something ridiculous. When I couldn't do something, or thought I couldn't, she scoffed at me, and insisted I could. I want her on my side in a zombie attack.

This year's trainer is bubbly, fun, maybe a little unnecessarily worried about going too hard on me — though she's learning. (Example: Last night, we were doing stirpots. She had planned to have me do 10, but then decided to let me do as many as I could — which was 30.) She knows everyone in the gym, and greets them all. She is very encouraging, pointing out every rep done with good form, praising every completed set. And when we talk, it's about everything — her classes and her roommates and their girlfriends and local bars. I want her to coach my (hypothetical future) children in gymnastics.

Either way, I love this cheap, healthy, fun interaction I get to have with our students.

Day 16 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for today's slight muscle soreness, and for how I got it, and for my own brute strength.

Plus, you know, all the keggers

In the last few weeks, I've gone to:

• a lecture on emerging adulthood
• a workshop on rank and class in the workplace
• a dialogue with the legendary Vincent Harding
• a discussion on Native American mascots
• a discussion on how environmental disasters disproportionately impact the already underprivileged
• a health screening that checked my BMI, cholesterol, glucose, and blood pressure
• a lecture by Naomi Tutu (daughter of Desmond) on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission
• a discussion on bullying and GLBTQ youth isolation
• a whole bunch of free meals

...all at my job. You?

Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful to work on a college campus — and in a college town.

Train the trainer

I've been working out a little more lately. Yeah, I'm pretty awesome.

I started running about 6 weeks ago, and recently decided I needed to add some strength training to that. I am very gym-phobic, which is bad for someone who wants to add strength training. But I work at a college, which is good for the gym-phobic, because personal trainers cost $40 a semester.

My trainer is adorable. She's young and tiny. She dots her i's with circles. She wears sweatpants with things written on the butt. I try to get past these things, really, I do, because I know my dismissiveness is both harmful to the trainer-client relationship, and is also just a sign that the patriarchy is leaving its mark on me.

And yesterday, at our second session, I had gotten over them. We'd had a great workout; she's fun but also on top of things.

And she works in the evenings, which at a college gym in the summer is a boring time. Since she was bored, and since I irrationally love fitness tests, we decided to do a bunch of them yesterday. Including a skin-caliper test, which she was very excited about, because most people don't want to do them.

Afterward, we chatted about my body-fat percentage, and what a healthy percentage would be (25%), and what a really fit percentage would be, if I wanted to be more serious about my running (21-22%).

"But you don't want to go below 20%," she said. And I could hear her gearing up for the anorexia talk, which I was very pleased to hear her do, because I think that's just good responsible training. "Once you get to around 17%," she said, "you stop —"

And then she paused.

"I would normally talk about losing your period when your body fat gets too low," she said. "But at your age, I know, menopause..."

People?

I am 38 years old.

And yes, that makes me twice her age, literally. But come on.

Extracting joy, day 1: A bulleted list (of course)

Have you seen this thing of Whimsy's? It's a neat idea, right? And kind of out of keeping with much of my personality, right? Which is only an advantage to you, readers (if readers still there be).
Because either:

• I will feel compelled to balance, which means a whole lot of posts in this seemingly abandoned place, or
• I won't, but you'll get joyful posts for a week.

And I know that three of you still check here from time to time (I mean you, J and B and K). Thanks. This one's for you. And for Whimsy, because this will not be the one that wins, but it will be my declaration of intent. The winning entry will be later in the week.

Here are the joys I have extracted from this day, none of which I have yet properly taken quite enough time for:

• Memories of a lovely weekend, with amazing people, new and less-new
• My sister's hand-me downs
• The discovery that Magnum condoms are actually regular-sized condoms (what? So I giggled. You did, too.)
• Plans for an exciting new world-changing project
• Praise for the new thing I do at work
• Praise from my mom for another thing I did at work
• New running shoes, daring me to make good on my promises of running (no, seriously. I will. Soon, I'm sure.)
  
• An even-better-than-expected rewatching of Stranger than Fiction, which, really, if you watched it before and liked it pretty well, watch it again with an eye for the details. If you didn't see it, watch it, quick, so you can watch it again.
• Phone conversations with old friends
  
• Beautiful, beautiful weather, just a little hot, in a way that I may get sick of in August, but totally relish in May
• A sugar-free cherry Popsicle, which is delightfully and surprisingly much better than the generic version
• Sleeping with wide-open windows, strategically chosen for maximum cross-breeze

How about you?

What today is like

I'm so sorry, you people. I have sooooooooo much to tell you, if you're still there. I don't blame you if you aren't.

But for starters, here is my favorite thing that I have had to say today.

"It's, um, complicated for me to hear you suggest that the problem with feminists is that they aren't paying enough attention to men."

Yeah. So I'm about like that. How are you?

Update 6/11/10: Here is that same sentiment, expressed in awesomer fashion.