I heard of Douglas before I met him. The girls in the labs were a-twitter about Professor Radke's cute new graduate assistant. So naturally, in order to substantiate their claims only, I had to see this guy for myself. My reconnaissance found a tall broad-shouldered and exceedingly handsome man with some terrific arms. He had the added bonus of a smooth, melodic British accent and a dry languid wit that made everything he said sound so intellectual and funny at the same time. My report back to the girls was that yes, the new guy was intelligent, beautiful, looked just like some classical Greek sculpture, and thus I wholeheartedly agreed he was an excellent eye candy addition to Wurster Hall. I am not sure which one of us took the sculpture analysis one step further and came up with the nickname "Greek God", but I continued to use the acronym "GG" as my nickname for Douglas for many years. His attempts to decipher what it meant became so self-debasing (Grotesque Gargoyle, etc) that I finally had to admit what GG stood for just to stop his delusion that it meant something terrible about him. His response was simply "Oh?" Not an "of course" kind of "oh" with that mix of satisfaction beautiful people get because they are so used to being admired, rather, more like a "Where is the hidden camera? Where is Alan Funt?" kind of "oh", like it was impossible from him to believe he would ever been given such a flattering nickname. I had to scribble down "humble" along with his other attributes.

Douglas was more than good looks, he was a good friend. In my presence he was playful, lighthearted and wholly and biasedly on my side during any my endeavors or complications with others. He was quick to slice down my perceived enemies; to this day when I feel I need some invisible backup I say aloud "slimy profiteering bastards!" imitating his crisp indignant accent for the full effect. He was thoughtful and encouraging when I needed it, and made me laugh with his witty emails deep in wild metaphors and polysyllabics. How could he be such a cheerleader for me but not himself? I don't know. Yet I can't remember any hint of coldness or contempt in him, only unmitigated kindness towards me. I have many fond memories and I will hold on to them fiercely knowing they are my last with him. I will protect my little pockets of this happy friendship and press them between the leaves of a book, put it high up there so I can take it out and page through them when I'm in so need of his loyal bolstering support again. I'm going to remember it all this way. Douglas, I'm going to remember you this way.

The most exciting thing that happened to me yesterday was that I found a cell phone in the girls bathroom.  It was a boring steel-gray razr like mine, only with newer software, just sitting on the toilet dispenser waiting for me to rescue it.  I  had a light bulb idea how to return it to the owner, but I went to my co-workers for advice.

I told Coworker 1 and 2 about my find, and said "I am just going to call the contact name "Mom's cell" and tell her how to find the cellphone.  Is that creepy?"

"No, good idea!" exclaimed Coworker 1.  Coworker 2 was depressed  (crying at his desk most of the day for reasons we couldn't get out of him) so he didn't offer his opinion.

"You do it for me?" I asked hopefully.  It is well known I don't like phones.

"No."

So I dialed contact Mom's cell and hallelujah got the voice mail.  "Hello, you don't know me but I found your son or daughter's cell in the bathroom. If he, or she, would like to retrieve it, he or she can come to Room --- in --- Hall and then he or she can describe--"

"You found the cell in the GIRLS bathroom, I hope, so it is a SHE." Coworker2 interruped

"Oh...it must be your DAUGHTER's cell phone," I continued leaving a message but already  flustered.  "Well, unless your son likes to use woman's bathrooms -- no I didn't mean it that way. Dammit.  That is totally inappropriate for a cold call message from some stranger, sorry.  Um,  just have your daughter come to Room --- in --- Hall and she, or he, can  get it.  I mean SHE, SHE can retrieve it there.  I won't be here, someone else will be.  Fortunately.  BYE."

Coworker 2 didn't look so depressed anymore.  He was grinning.

I can't wait until Monday to see if the cell phone is still there!

Yesterday

I was in the hall talking to Coworker #1 when Coworker #2 appeared running frantically towards us.  Coworker #2 usually is polite and quiet, but at that moment she was in a panic. "Oh my god! There is a roach in the bathroom!"

Unimpressed, I said, "Oh neat," and turned back to what had to be an interesting conversation with Coworker #1.

But she continued, "It is HUGE...HUGE!  I can't pee with a HUGE roach in the bathroom."

"All right," I sighed. "I'll go kill it." 

"You aren't scared? It is HUGE."  She made a guttural sound to emphasize the HUGENESS of this creature.

"I'm no California bug wimp."

I also am not in favor of killing defenseless animals, but hell, this was a roach. Those buggers have such a survival  advantage over me I didn't feel too bad about the impending murder. And although it meant no real harm to Coworker #2,  I knew what it was like to have to pee.  This roach had to die. I hunted down the roach in the bathroom and it was big for a California roach specie but fortunately it was wingless (unlike the beauties in Louisiana) and easy to corner.  I gave it a few good whacks with a broom to kill it.  Big California Road (BCR)  flipped over with its twiggy legs twitching the last throes of its life. So sad. Was this enough for Coworker #2?  No. She said she couldn't pee with a dead roach in the bathroom so I swept it out to the hall whacking it a few more times to insure that it was dead. Coworker #2 then demanded that BCR be thrown outside (apparently she is unable to walk in the hall with its corpse either).  I swept it to the front concrete steps.  She wanted it across the yard into the bushes. I golf-swung this unusually BCR into to the bushes, just missing some passersby. Mission accomplished.

Note that Coworker #1 stayed back in her office.  At least Coworker #2 delegated. Note that I can pee with a roach in the bathroom, or a mouse, I did it for Coworker #2. That is the kind of person I am. That was my good deed for the week.

Today:

Today I had my six month regular dental cleaning, When my dental hygienist started poking she noted my gums bled.  I lost my dental floss thus my gums were in flossing arrears. Since I wouldn't own up to this my (new) dental hygienist suggested I make an appt for a deep cleaning.

She said , "If you are flossing regularly like I know you always do your gums shouldn't bleed."  Then she promptly wiped my gums with a deadening agent so she could take pocket depth measurements for my next session.  I still didn't correct her. Having my gums numbed reminded me back when I did drugs. I admit I never cared much for the high effects of drugs, but I remembered how fun the mouth numbness felt. Now I am pretty excited about going for the deep cleaning next month.

I am so good now I can only get jollies from dental procedures. How pathetic is that?

Today I helped chauffeur Ruby's class to the Alameda Food Bank warehouse. Here they learned how the food bank collects and distributes food to the working poor, homeless, and seniors. Afterwards the 15 kids (and 3 parents and 1 teacher) loaded 3000 lbs of cabbage into boxes. Hard but fun work.

I was in charge of 3 girls: Ruby, her friend Rachael, and a new girl to the school "M". M says she used to be rich but her dad married another woman and they had twins together so she isn't rich anymore.

Instead of heading straight back to school like the other cars, I took the girls to Jamba Juice. I told them not to tell the other kids about the Jamba Juice because they would feel jealous but it was OK their parents because you can't be told by an adult to keep secrets from them. The girls pinky-sweared with each other... they seemed excited to have this important classified information to themselves. On the way back to school, while gulping our juices, I played the radio loud and we sang. I jiggled the car back in forth and said it was dancing.

We got back about 20 minutes after everyone else and the cute teacher eyed us suspiciously. I think he knew treats were involved given I'm always the rogue parent, but probably forgived me since I did not get lost and an hour late like I was once on a field trip a couple of years ago. Parent drivers must be hard to come by.

I said good-bye to the girls and M shouted back at me "This has been the best day of my life!"

When I went to the dentist six months ago, Attila the Dental Hygienist wasn't there. I assumed she was sick, the woman is in her late 70s -- maybe even 80 by now. But today I went for my scheduled appoint and Attila the Dental Hygienist wasn't there again!  I summoned up the courage ask the dentist what happened to her (I was afraid he was going to say she dropped dead) . Apparently she had to retire because her double knee replacement surgery didn't go well. I remember her talking about getting titanium knees; she was excited about being able to walk without pain.

Her replacement hygienist is very careful and quiet.  She is cautious around my ticklish gums (the only part of my body that is ticklish so it makes up for lost ground). She  never tries to sell me magnetic therapy or oxygenated water products. I don't have to hear about the intimate details of her lesbian firefighter daughter's fertility treatments. She doesn't make me feel guilty about some of my beverage choices.  More importantly, she doesn't leave my jaw feeling like I lost a boxing match.

All in all it is a pleasant and uneventful dental cleaning experience.

I didn't get a brightly colored toothbrush though.

I miss Attila the Dental Hygienist.

Sometimes out of nowhere an good memory swims though. And you smile, then move on. Sometimes you post it before it disappears again.

Eons ago, back when there were still Woolly Mammoths, my then bf and another couple (who I have since lost complete contact with - where are you Rick Causey & Julia House?) decided to go as the Beatles for Halloween. We tried to be very authentic and in accordance to the Beatles very early years (Rick was a good seamstress). Our costumes matched the exact round collars of their skinny gray suits and we all arranged our hair into those shaggy dark bowl haircuts. I even carried some drumsticks (yea, I was stuck as Ringo because of my nose though I probably would have been a better John Lennon). We had also practiced what we thought were cockney accents.



This was in Athens, Georgia, an incredibly hip college town where most residents already wore sixties outfits for everyday activities before grunge set in. We went from cool party to cool party with another friend who excitedly announced our arrivals in a fake british accent "It's the Beatles!" Strangers in varying getups and weird outfits would girly scream and ask for our autographs. Make believe was fun then.

That had to be the best Halloween, ever.



Yes, I just emailed the old bf (aka George Harrison) to see if he still has the picture we took. I left all my old stuff with him.

1) While waiting for a ride to the autoshop at Enterprise I struck up a conversation with a guy who also had an accident with a pole. This guy fell asleep and struck a post and when he called the cops later they asked if he left a note on the pole. The guy told them "no I didn't, it wasn't injured!" The cops said they would have to make it a 'hit and run'. I said that was funny because the insurance company asked me the condition of the pole I hit. I told them that the pole it said it was fine. The funny thing is after I said that the insurance dropped the pole subject.

2) I deposited almost $300 into my checking account. It is the money I somehow was able to raise for my coworker's going away gift. Isn't that a big hunk of cash? I got him the digital voice recorder he wanted plus a $50 gift certificate to B&N which I am not sure he wanted but I would love. I was sad to hear that the downtown Berkeley B&N is closing, though happy for the independent booksellers in the area.

3) At the gym while I dressed I couldn't help but overhear two women talking about a loser boyfriend. An older woman came up to them and said "I heard this whole conversation, and I think you should dump this guy. People don't change, if he treats you bad now he'll treat you bad later". She gave me the courage to pipe up my 2 cents too: "In a year you'll be over him and embarrassed that you allowed yourself to be used that way." Everyone agreed. It was a tiny "sister" session.

I stopped to buy a street newspaper from a homeless guy outside a bakery near my house. He said "Thank you ma'am, what is your name?"

"Carrie"

"Well, you look sweelll everywhere!"

He said "swell" like "swollen". I looked down at myself in horror. "I look swollen?."

"Yup, just swell, but don't tell your husband."

"Oh, that is a compliment!"

"Yes, thank you and god bless."

I thought someone was following me, so I walked fast and tried to look like I had a purpose and knew where i was going, like all the self help books tell you to do in order not to become a victim. I actually DID have a purpose and destination, I was headed to the bathroom at Albertson's. I memorized my follower's look so I could tell the police later: slight build, baseball cap, mustache, white. Once I got into the store he was nowhere around. I don't think he was really following me, I just play the games in my mind to amuse myself.

I wish I had the discipline to take some martial arts for 20 years or something. Then instead of walking fast I would stop, turn around and bam bam bam, floor the guy. From the ground he would mumble, "What you do that for? I was just following you because you knew the easiest path down the slope to the parking lot." Boy would I be embarrassed because I do know the easiest path -- I so often take a bathroom break during a run. That is what the guy was probably doing.

Today while I was running near a dog park I noticed a woman chasing a little mutt in the parking lot. When I stopped to watch she told me that it appears someone had dumped the dog because it had no collar and was almost getting run over in the lot all by itself. Poor baby, I told her I'd take the dog if we could catch it; so side by side we tried to corner the little thing. I even tried to entice it my Power Bar and no go (no it wasn't CHOCOLATE Power Bar, geez, I knew what you were thinking and about to start typing me a warning).

"See how he is scared of us?" the fellow dognapper-in-crime woman said, "That is a clear indication of some abandonment fear and distrust of people". We ended up chasing the dog back into the park where it ran to the real owners who were clueless that their dog was gone and in peril by way of two clueless animals lovers.

No wonder the dog was scared of us! He/she thought we were kidnapping it! I guess I almost did.

And, yes, one of my bosses rollerblades by as this is going on. I probably now have malicious dognapper written in my employee files.

As I trudged along downtown Berkeley to the parking garage, picking my way through dropped pizza slices and spacey pedestrians in rain gear, I passed a man staring intently at a horror movie display. I would not have really noticed him if he had not turned to me and say "Hey, do you ever feel like this?". He was pointing to a poster with a vicious prowling wolf from a movie I've never seen. The man had long red hair parted in the middle and hanging down his back in a single pony tail. His youthful pale face was full of freckles, and he had one of those long, lean Emo builds in black gear.

"Yes, I do. Lots of times" I told him.

He starts laughing, scratching at his little red goatee, as if surprised by my answer. "Good, good, that is so good. Let it OUT, yup you need to let it the wolf in you OUT".

"Wouldn't I have a 'wolfette' inside of me though?" I said, a little embarrassed by the lameness of my comment.

"Wolfette! Yes, I love it!" And he starts laughing even harder. "Wolfette!! HAHAHA!"

I opened my mouth to say something else, then abruptly lost all confidence in my ability to say anything that would make him laugh more and closed it again. I could still hear him laughing when I finally got to my car in the garage.

Just when I'm ready to claim myself an misanthrope, something like this happens. Kids, this is what I love about Berkeley. Life is just so odd.

Eleven simple things that made the last few days go by a little nicer:

1. The old man who grinned broadly at Ruby and me walking hand in hand to the café


2. The old Chinese man who owns that café and smiled endearingly when Ruby ordered


3. The heavily pierced and tattooed boy who said a hearty "Y'WELCOME" after I thanked him for holding the door for me


4. My horticulture homeless friend waving and giving me his big toothless grin.


5. The wearied mother who thanked me for stopping her kid who was running away and heading towards the street


6. The high-five a co-worker and I did after figuring something out


7. Jennifer, my pilates instructor, encouraging "Relax your shoulders Carrie...right..perfect...beautiful".


8. Patty and Kris giving me my cool card.


9. The email from a friend that said "you are one of very very few who risked really telling me what you thought-i appreciate that more than you know"


10. The man that smiled at me for no other reason that we both existed together in that brief moment in time as we made our way over the crosswalk.


11. 9 year old Leia running up to me and giving me a hug (then asking for cheese-its)

Thank you.

I woke up feverish and feeling like a big turkey basting in my bed. My head, my poor aching head, felt detached from my body--a big swollen helium balloon of a head slipping from my grasp and tumbling over over doing loopy loops over rooftops while growing ever smaller and smaller away from me. Oh my poor ever-loving head. And I woke up to blood barely moving through my veins and some road map etched into my hot skin from the being knotted up in blankets all night. So I pronounced that shit, I'm sick. It's emo time!

( dance! )

When I was 9 years old my mother told me not to explore abandoned houses (there were many) because escaped convicts would use them as hide outs. She made it clear that if I went inside those shacks I would end up nothing more than a few hacked off limbs and severed eyeballs charred beyond recognition in some incinerator (though there were none of those around). Anyone who knows me, starting with my mother, could tell you that such descriptions would only ignite my already overactive curiosity. Yes, I visited those abandoned houses often, armed with my Daniel Boone stick to stun any hidden serial killers and put a stop to their alleged superhuman strength.

Innocent small town girl moves to the big city which, of course, is nothing more than concrete jungle of murderers, rapists and serial killers and the people will eventually be their victims. My mother tells me "Women shouldn't walk after dark!" Which, of course, I do all the time. I laugh at her hysterics and refuse to hear that Twilight Zone music in the background. I refuse to think that simply because that man over there was inappropriately friendly or dressed funny he is a serial killer. But yesterday when my daughter asks "I want to explore that abandoned lot" I look at the time and find myself saying "It's getting dark, and probably drug addicts are using it now--" Ack, I hear my mother's voice so I add "I'll look with you tomorrow during the day."

( some more pictures )

Pet Stores. If you ever want to see something amusing, in a low-slapstick kind of way, go watch the small animals at pet stores. Yesterday I thought I'd waste some time to watch the action in the parakeet cage again. However, I was distracted by the rodent area. A tiny little white mouse was testing out the exercise wheel, so tentatively and cautiously that I let out one of those embarrassingly loud "awwwwws" I try, but often fail, to suppress. But the cute scene was intruded suddenly on by a bigger mouse, a Genghis Khan among mice, who took over the wheel and started running and running before little mouse could get off. Faster and faster the big mouse spun while the poor little mouse, his little dark eyes radiating such fear and despair, clung helplessly to the wheel . It was funny at first, I admit, to see the little mouse nothing more than a blur on a ferris wheel gone mad. I smiled even though later I knew my mouth would feel guilty. The big mouse knew he was doing this. I watched Genghis Khan Mouse through narrowing eyes as he ran with something that looked like a cryptic smile on his face. I'm sure he was enormously pleased with himself. He should be. Evolution does this. Bullies do this. The big mouse effing up that little mouse's world. I looked around the store to make sure no one was looking, but the only person nearby was a teenager lost in his headphones. I opened the cage and pulled Genghis Khan Mouse off of the wheel. Little mouse tumbled off the wheel too, a little dizzy but all right.

You you you big things. Karma (me) is not going to allow it.

Interesting music of the week - Hasidic reggae

Yesterday I looked at my gmail and I thought I had sooo many new comments. Nope. 98% of them, due to my obsessive behavior, I had already answered. The 2%, well, the moment was gone. I hate being TEASED. LiveJournal is a man.

I find that I can no longer eat cottage cheese. I look at it, momentarily long for the taste, but then I remember that one brief description. That one damn description, just one, illustrating that yeast infections have a "cottage cheese consistency" and I can never eat the product again.

Evite sent me an invitation to a winter solstice party next week. It took me a whole 30 minutes to figure out who "Kristen" was. I should be shot, she is the only other hold out against the "Book turned Craft Club" debacle. I bet the other women weren't invited.

I wore my bitchin boots today for the Work Xmas Party. Somebody, anybody, better notice.

Yesterday, while I was outside painting flower pots (now that Martha is a jailbird I can emulate her), a hummingbird fluttered to only inches from my face. He hovered in place inspecting me like some space ship scanning for intelligent life. Finding neither nectar, or intelligent life, he left after a few heartbeats.

It was kind of neat.

I'm back!! That was a quick jury duty. The defendant decided to plea no contest, or nolo contendere, and will be sentenced in six weeks. It was going to be a messy trial involving children on the witness stand in front of someone who allegedly "hurt" them. I doubt I would have been selected. If I had been I would probably have started yelling at the defendant after the witnessing those poor children and then I'd have to deal with a contempt of court charge.

I wore my long red hippy dress given to me by a grieving friend giving away precious pieces of her dead sister's wardrobe. So I wore this dead woman's dress and my clogs and baseball hat. I had to take an alternative route since Hwy S880 was closed from a big wreck. This, of course, caused me to end up lost lost lost. I got to the HALL OF JUSTICE an hour late! I hate being late. Fortunately my tardiness didn't seem to matter--people were strolling in after me!

The jury waiting room is the one place where people on different rungs of the socioeconomic ladder all sit and wait impatiently together. Some people read books. Some people did word puzzles. Some people just sat and stared. I listened in on several "private" cell phone conversions. I talked to one woman that owned 2 cars, a motorcycle and 3 properties; she insisted that all her ownerships was why she got called in more often than anyone else she knew. She joked that she needed to commit a felony to counter all her profitable work. I met a university student that decided after fulfilling all this electrical engineering requirements that he preferred to go into psychology; those professions may work well together. I offered another woman some of my cookies and she said she couldn't take one because she was a diabetic. That sort of made me guilty about eating sweets in front of her, but, hey, it was my 10 o'clock snack time. Later a preschool teacher whooped when we were released because now he had a free afternoon to go cowboy boot shopping. He was telling me about the ideal teacher to student ratio and how water fountains were required for every school "because otherwise the kids would turn as red as your dress and die of heat stroke!"

So I did learn a few things about nolo contendere and teacher/pupil ratios. The judge thanked us all for coming. Perhaps I won't get lost next time they call me in, which won't be for another year. Duty fulfilled.

Today is junk day. It is when you put out all your junk (mattresses, rotted chairs, old electronics) on the curb and the city comes and takes it all away. It is very cathartic to be suddenly relieved of major junk. The day before everyone is outside putting out their junk and talking to their neighbors about their junk. People from other neighborhoods drive by slowly in their pickups and look at possibly wanted junk. It is such a neighborly social event! Half the things I put out yesterday were gone by this morning well before the junk truck arrived.

Yesterday I did my looong run (12 miles). I'm not much good for anything after that. I can wait for my daughter to finish socializing in the locker room after swimming before taking her home. I can walk the whole one and a half blocks to the library to get the three books on hold. I can do those necessities. But that is about it. Also yesterday, since Buff Jennifer has left the YMCA, I do advanced/intermediate pilates class at her own studio. I hope to see the results of all these efforts!

I won't rest until all my friends are running and doing pilates. I am so glad darthmollusc and wyckhurst are doing Couch to 5K successfully. I wonder how 8ofswords is doing with her running. I've seen the results of emmabovary efforts. I hear that cohen7 is neglecting his bike.