Hysterical

14 American Apparel Models Freed In Daring Midnight Raid

This one's a keeper

Prisoner's Diet

You really should watch this video from Slate of a Prison Food Convention. Priceless.

On Friendship and Desperation

There are four levels of friendship:

I. Aquaintanceship.

II. Friendship-Lite: Your names are on each others cell phones and you can call occasionally and ask to go out for drinks. During this stage, reciprocity is key if you are a paranoid crazy-person. You must make sure they call you at least half as often as you call them.

III. Friendship: you feel free to call this person at any time, any number of times per day and know that they won't think you're obsessive or a stalker.

IV. Friendship-Plus: Occasionally you come home and they have used their key to enter your house, made nachos, left a mess in the kitchen, and are asleep in your bed.

I've been pondering this lately and thinking about how great it was to talk with other mothers at my high school reunion. I'm lonely for a friend who shares my interests, which at this point are learning how to pee in a potty (Ben) and avoiding tantrums (Ben's and mine).

So, for the first time in my life, I am actively attempting to make 'friends.' (I just realized that is a total lie. Social experiences from grades 3-13 not included in previous statement) And, in typical fashion, I'll make sure to humiliate myself publicly by posting details on the internet.

I began my quest a few weeks ago in my Political Communications class. It's full of intelligent women around my age who care about the world and have similar interests to mine. I talked to people obsessively at every break. I felt that they must feel the sickly stench of desperation hanging about me, and I wouldn't blame them for running away. To improve the odds, I talked to one woman who was eight months pregnant, and thus unable to move very quickly.

This actively attempting to make 'friends' brings up all sorts of questions that I've never considered before. For example, when are you allowed to ask someone to go out for beers with you without appearing to be a lesbian or insane? After talking to them in two classes? Five? I hope it's not more than seven because there are only eight sessions of this class and I've already missed one.

3-Pee Morning

I was cleaning cottage cheese off the table, floor, chair, and myself this morning as Ben ran to the living room to watch PBS Kids. I found him in front of the TV with his lil' penis out of his diaper and in his hand. His pants, shirt and leg were wet. I did a complete toddler overhaul, got him a drink, and then we sat down to watch Curious George together.

Half an hour later after picking him up, my shirt was soaked by whatever liquid was on his pants. I don't know if it was milk or pee. One doesn't want to investigate these things too closely. Another change for him and a new shirt for me.

Getting him out of the car at his school, my hip was again soaked by his shorts. A cursory diaper check revealed that his little hose was pointed outside of his diaper. I assume it got that way when he was playing with himself, his new favorite game, or "work" in Montessori terms.

Ben's teacher was nice enough to change his shorts. She felt that I had been through enough. I let her.

Happiness Quest: Part I, The Commute

I was catching up on back issues of the New Yorker and found a great article about commuting--a subject I've been been mulling over approximately two hours a day from my home in Greenwood, to daycare in Sand Point, and then school at UW... and back. That's lots of time to think about commuting and how much it improves your life.

I take comfort in the fact that I am an "accidental commuter". My situation arose from finding housing and daycare from 2,000 miles away. I did not make a conscious decision to trade the hours of my life for square footage. These thoughts comfort me as I sit in traffic day after day at the same lights fiddling with the radio and meeting Ben's insatiable appetite for crackers.

That's a lie. They don't comfort me at all. I am, however, often cheered up when I think about the people who are still on the freeway after I exit. I imagine that they are headed to some far-flung, culdesac-ridden landscape. At least I'm not one of those losers. What kind of an asshole spends two AND A HALF hours a day sitting in traffic?!

There are two reasons that people take on such hideous commutes: they are either poor or, like most of us, they are bad at judging what will make them happy. Or, as the expert in the article says, people "make systematic mistakes. [they] are very good at predicting whether [they]’ll like something but not at knowing for how long." They see marble countertops and cathedral-like bathrooms and assume that the joy of soaking in the master jacuzi will outweigh a punishing trip home from work.

Me? I've had it. I'm uprooting my family once again. This time, to the complex across town where Ben's daycare is located. It's expensive, but it's beautiful, and there are several playgrounds. My commute next year will be a 20 - 25 minute busride each way. Then just imagine how morally superior I can feel.

Privacy

I've seen blogs detailng one's inability to get out of the house wihout a shot or two of liquo--and a few that read like resumes. Since deciding to 1) blog and 2) use my real name, I've wondered exactly how much detail I should go into regarding my personal life and habits. I usually err on the side of people knowing way too much and probably more than they want to about me. Yet I don't think I want prospective employers reading touching yet witty accounts of my last pap-smear or audit.

This is the trouble with written language. It's somewhat permanant (even the web has much more resonance than a conversation) and universal. The bloggers I read most often have a real gift for making me feel like I know them personally. It's almost creepy. I don't know how they manage to put so much of themselves into public space to be read and commented upon.

Perhaps my issue is that unlike these people, I'm not getting paid for my thoughts here. I have to find gainful employment elsewhere. Once someone gives me an advance on a book deal, I think I'll feel more free to detail my morning alcohol consumption.

American Bride Price

For the first time, I read an article that detailed some of the reasons I chose a very simple engagement ring and no wedding band. The author did more research than I ever did, and found many excellent reasons for not wearing a rock that I had never even considered.

Knocked Up

An interesting article in Slate talks about current views on abortion. While 40% of real American women have had one, terminating a pregnancy is not advisable for non-evil fictional characters.