got these in my email

And I love them.

Where was this mousetrap when I needed it? And I thought mice didn't actually like cheese because of the sugar content...was that some mice-preserving LIE when we were told to use peanut butter?? hmm....

And this is simply a PSA (ignore the unpleasant wording). Really, you don't look cool and it takes a lot of my self-control to not fix it for you.

brrrr

Ok, so its really not THAT cold outside.

But in comparision to the "winter" we've been having....we might as well be in Alaska. While I HATE the cold for the most part, I'm excited for two reasons (as my office has been hearing me discuss pretty much all month):
1) I would like to go snowboarding sometime this winter. And since I'm a poor graduate student, it needs to be on the east coast. Hence, we need the cold to allow for snow (or snow making).

(Now for the more exciting point)
2) I shut my window last night for the first time since that bizarrely cold day in December, before it hit 65 around Christmas. While I do like having fresh air and all, I don't like being forced to have it because the heat in my building is set at approximately 90. Seriously, with the window closed I can sit around in my skivvies when its 40 degrees out. Such a waste. I'd complain, but technically the place is a condo, so even if the heating costs drop, only my landlord might reap the benefits.

Also:
Stinks to live in the ice-covered parts...especially when you're in the south and a freeze is news, much less actual ice...
Really though, the most disturbing part about this article for me is that the strawberry crop may be damaged...sigh...

sigh

My neighbor is having a screaming match. I think she's on the phone, because no one seems to be yelling back. She also has a pronounced Indian/Pakistani/something accent, so all I can really make out is "fuck you" and "no you listen to me." This isn't the first time. Last time someone else was there, because I heard the door slam twice. I'm actually not positive if its the neighbor directly above me or next door (or maybe across the hall), because the arguement is strangely more audible from my hallway and closet/office/pigsty. Regardless, while she's not keeping me up (its 12:30, and alas, I haven't finished my paper because I chose to have two phone conversations in the vicinity of an hour, which while fun, were not academically productive), I do feel bad. Not bad exactly. Sad. For her. I've been there, in that awful screaming neverending fight about nothing or everything where all at once you want to make it all "poof" disappear and you want to make things "like they used to be" and you want your insides that are lying somewhere in the gutter of your intestines rather than your chest cavity to return to normal. And I don't, ever, ever want to be in that place again.

Things like this, that remind me of things that were, remind me that I'm a little afraid of life. I'm a little afraid I won't get happily ever after and instead I'll get a mid-life divorce, and having been through a (obviously, see above) messy early life break up (of a fairly long term for early life relationship), I have NO IDEA how people deal with getting divorced from someone they've been with for 10, 15, 25 years. No idea. Maybe that's why there's such a market for therapists.

Goodbye Clark

So I've moved out of my Clark apartment. I lived there longer than any other place since I graduated high school in '99 (13 months!).

I'm already feeling a little sentimental about it, and I haven't even turned in my keys yet. Heck, when I was still (ok, starting to) pack last Thursday, I had a semi-irrational breakdown and started crying staying into the abyss of my overstuffed closet. Despite the perpetual traffic on the GSP, and the demon dogs next door, I had such a positive year there, my first really good year in a long time.

And then there's my roommate, or former roommate I guess. Once I move out of my interim housing (aka, mom's) and into my studio in PA, who am I going to talk to when I get home? I'm certainly going to miss going into his room when I get home from [wherever I got sweaty] and plopping down on Greg's bed to chat and being almost instantly shooed from the (supposedly) clean sheets to the carpet : )

I know there's good things to come...the new experiences of living IN a city...living in a NEW city...grad school, and the eventual new career...but for now, lets say goodbye to Clark, where the past finally became the past and I started living for today again.

argh

Moving sucks. a lot.

tbc.

Whistler

I want to go snowboarding in Canada. I think it'd be sweet. And less crowded than even the fairly empty (compare to NJ) mountains of Colorado. But that's not the point of my post, just came to mind when I put up the title.

Why do men whistle at women?

This is the question of the day.

I am dressed for work today in summer work clothes, specifically black capris, wedges and a nice colorful shell. I do think its a flattering outfit. Appearently I'm not alone.
The shopping center where I picked up lunch today is doing some construction. There were workers gathered around the dumpster, several of whom whistled at me (well, either me or the rather chunky middle aged guy about 10 feet in front of me, equal opportunity perhaps?) What is their goal in whistling at women? Do they expect the women to stop and give them her number? Flash them? Grab one and plant a big wet one? I chose none of these and opted to ignore them and walk on by.

I've been whistled at before. A couple of times on the street doing [whatever], more frequenrly when running. There's also the occassional honker. I can only assume these are the obnoxious teenage boys that feel the need to call attention to the fact they are old enough to drive. (I am trying to give men some credit here). Honkers tend to startle me and I don't like them much.

I guess in general I should take the whistling as a compliment. But I still don't understand.