DIY.

The other day, in the midst of printing out a large document, my printer stopped working and the Toner light came on. The last page it printed was very clear and so I was doubtful that it really was out of toner.

I took the toner out and shook it around. I put it back in.

The Toner light was still lit.

I found out that it could mean some other kind of error. I turned it off. I let it sit and cool down. I turned it back on.

Still lit.

I let it spend the night turned off and alone, and I pretended it didn't exist.

The next morning, the toner light was still lit.

I was getting worried -- the next troubleshooting bullet in the manual said to call my service center. I don't have a bloody service center.

So today I Googled the problem.

And now my printer works.

You know what I had to do? Put a piece of duct tape over the sensor that monitors the toner.

Duct tape saves the day. Once again.

Oh, family time.

Here's a conversation indicative of a kind I have every time I'm with my family. I try to just drop it but maybe...if we just keeping repeating the loop, logic will prevail.

My aunt mentioned a cake. I heard my mother whispering in the kitchen.

"Mom, I know about the cake. I found it in the fridge."

"Oh. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"It was. I don't like cake."

"I know. But the kids will be here. Kids like cake."

"So you got it for the kids."

"No, I got it for you."

"But I don't like cake."

"I know, but the kids like to blow out the candles."

"So it's for the kids?"

"No, it's for you."

"But I don't eat cake."

"I know."

Am I the only one who finds this kind of logic completely perplexing?

Thanksgiving, 2008

is over.

For reasons I don't quite understand, my mother chose to cook this year. My entree was a protein bar, my side some stuffing. I have never liked traditional Thanksgiving Day fare.

But it was still nice -- the grandmother, aunt, and uncle were here, all yelling over each other as usual. During dinner, my father (known in this instance as SANTA CLAUS) got a call from Cameron who wanted to make sure Santa knew that his Christmas tree was up and it was all EMPTY underneath. (My parents never had Santa on speed dial. This kid is so spoiled!)

Dinner ended, I did some Finance, and then my mother called me upstairs to watch a video of her family circa 1956. Imagine a bunch of guineas sitting around a dinner table (and porch, and goat -- yes, a poor goat) running amok and drunk, even the little kids. The soundtrack was my mother's uncles playing the guitar and accordion, singing old songs, my mom's grandfather chiming in with some WOP-talk every once in a while.

Tomorrow I will be visiting with a girlfriend from high school who I haven't seen since her wedding, doing a little shopping, and finally having dinner at home with the fam (and brother, and sisterIL and the kids) for my birthday. I found a cake in the fridge outside, but I hate cake, so it may end up in the deep freezer later tonight. (Teeheehee!) Only 2 more hours until my first 29th birthday!

Change and baby hugs.

When something changes, I go through the following process:
1. Freak out
2. Go underground
3. Consider worst case scenarios
4. Decide I can deal with worst case scenarios
5. Be okay with change

This happens with big things and with little things. It happened with Ann Arbor, and it happens with new classes. I hated Ann Arbor for the first month or so. I freaked out a bit. So I withdrew from AA life. Then I decided that worst case scenario was I spend two years of my life there. I figured out how to deal with that. I was okay with Ann Arbor. So it goes with classes. I see my schedule, I can't remember it for no good reason, I convince myself I will fail out of school. So I retreat for a week or so. I figure that the worst case scenario is I can fail, I decide that if I fail I will just try again, and then I'm okay with all the new stuff.

It's lame, and I know. And the worst part is I can't control the freaking out. It's not verbal, yelling, or anything like that, but it's "can't shake a very uncomfortable feeling" and it's visible on my face. So I ended up just avoiding everything so that no one knows I'm freaking out, and so no one else has to deal. Sadly, sometimes this going underground is seen as freaking out. And that's unfortunate. Believe me, if I could change it about myself in a snap, I would.

And now for the redeeming portion of this blog entry: baby hugs.

I brought home a Target Corp puppy for the 4 year old nephew. He didn't want it, but the 1 year old become a little obsessed. He carried it around, and I saw for the first time this one's version of the baby hug: He smooshed the puppy's face up against his own face and held it there, and then giggled. (He did this repeatedly).

I <3 mba2s

Some more than others, but sometimes they just make it easier to breath.

The gist of a blog entry previously written and deleted.

I previously wrote a blog entry about men taking initiative which I later deleted. But -- seeing as how I missed my morning class today, I have a little time to spend on the topic this morning.

There are a couple of reasons men should take initiative with the ladies. Firstly, we like to feel wanted. Mere availability reeks of indifference, and indifference doesn't make us feel good about ourselves or about the man in question. Yeah, it sucks to put something out there; rejection isn't fun. I've learned to deal with it and so most men can, too.

Secondly, it's no secret that women are the more emotional gender. Women open their hearts much more readily than men do, most of the time. A man taking the initiative signals to a woman that it's okay to like him, it's okay to think about him, it's okay to feel anything at all. Lack of initiative on his part and things simply won't get off the ground. And most of the time that's a good thing, since a man lacking in initiative probably isn't that into her, anyway.*

Thirdly, there's still a bit of gender imbalance. Sure, women can solve their own problems, and take care of, well, ALL of their needs. But that doesn't mean we want to all of the damn time.

*I still stand by this theory. A man who is interested will do something; interference causes a confusion in which a man convinces himself he's interested (there's a cookie on the counter so I'll eat it syndrome) even though he isn't.

Anyway, that's the gist of it. Go ahead, roommate, send it to whoever you want.

Grargh!

The holidays aren't supposed to be stressful for people who don't actually have to do anything for them.

And yet -- here I am, stressed out.

Part of it is because I've never really cared for Thanksgiving. Indeed, my favorite Thanksgiving was one I spent in the city, with the family of a new boyfriend of 3 weeks. I didn't have to cook, I walked to dinner, it was peaceful, we ate, we chatted, his mom told me to convert to Judaism, I ate turkey for the first time in about 8 years. I don't know why; I have very warm memories of that day.

While I know it's going to be dead here for the holiday, I nonetheless wish I was sticking around. I could spend the whole day in the kitchen. No turkey to be found here. First course -- winter vegetable stew. Second -- salmon with lime and cilantro. And dessert? Something spicy and simple (and not pumpkin pie). A good movie on the TV and the day would be perfect.

Instead of this, however, I have to get on a plane with a suitcase of clothing and camera and a backpack of homework, to spend the week in the house where I grew up, where there is not a single moment of quiet (old-school heating vents in all the floors, what happens in one room is heard in all the others, which is why I almost failed out of high school -- okay, not actually failed, but you get it), where there is a lot of noise and probably parents bickering, the smell of dry turkey and kids screaming. There have been times that I've welcomed the chaos; this week is not one of them. Perhaps I too closely associate the idea of Thanksgiving and being alone, especially when I'm a student -- in college I rarely went home, choosing when I could to work on the holiday instead (double pay!).

Sheepy went west. Again.

I admit, I had never taught him how to evacuate an airplane. To be honest, he's usually packed cozily in a bag and he's never had to worry about evacuating. However, on this trip, he was riding like the big sheeps.

Jill came to visit!!!!!!!!

Jill says "GO BLUE!"

The pastry chef at Cake Nouveau

Challah bread at Zingerman's

Some dude at the cheese counter at Zingerman's

Flowers in the snow

Jill's a giant! Look how teensy that spoon is!

Playing artist at the wine shop.

More of the same

Yeah, I like food. (Olive bar at Whole Foods).

Jill in the sunlight through the Whole Foods window.

I've been wanting to try the Prickly Pear on Main Street for some time now, so Jill and I decided to go there for dinner. I ordered the fajitas. Upon their arrival, I realized I had no idea how to eat a fajita. But I noticed there were tortillas. So I plopped one down on my plate and started to fill it up. But then there was too much stuff in it to fold it over. So I ate it with my fork and knife instead. I figured, after that, I would just eat all the fajita parts instead of trying my hand again at assembly.

After dinner we went to the Michigan Theater to see Rachel Getting Married. I knew this was an Anne Hathaway movie and so I figured it was one of those cheery, yay, Anne Hathaway is getting married things. I told Jill that I was considering our going to be one of my super secret single behaviors and I was going to tell no one. But then I saw the poster for the flick. I still didn't know what it was about, but I knew it wasn't what I thought it was. So, surprise #1.

Surprise #2 came during the opening credits. Beau Sia! I haven't heard about or seen Mr. Sia in quite some time. For those of you just tuning in, Beau Sia is a slam poet who was a senior at Tisch when I was a freshwoman, and he went on to star in Def Poetry Jam on Broadway. I used to be kind of obsessed with him and a few of his poems. Sammi and I used to go to the Bowery Poetry Club every Tuesday for his so-called show, which basically consisted of Beau and various supermodels hanging out and being silly. I was unemployed; it was $5. It was a good time.

Anyway, the film was good. Very good. I didn't quite get the ending, but I won't let that ruin the first hour and a half or so. Highly recommended.

This would never happen in New York. And if it did --

I was walking down hill in a little blizzard of flurries, hoping someone would drive by and take pity on me, when a bus stopped along the curb. The driver opened the door and asked, “Wanna ride?” I thought it was a little strange that a bus would hail a passenger, but, with snowflakes making friends with my contact lenses every second or so, I was in no position to argue. I got on the bus and sat down; it was completely empty.

“I ride up and down Hill everyday,” the driver said, “but no one ever rides my bus.” He told me that it went to some building by the mall. “I see people walking in the cold, but I can’t pick them all up.”

The bus was warm and I got nice and toasty.

He dropped me off at Green street.

“Maybe we’ll do it again one day,” he said.

For reasons you would never suspect, nothing makes me feel better about life than a McKinsey recruiting event.

CARE.

I'm a big fan of the organization CARE, so I enjoyed reading a case for my BoP class about their ventures in Latin America. But I might enjoy random facts a little bit more than that, even, since my favorite part of that case is this: After WWII, they provided food and supplies to Europeans who would otherwise have starved. And what did they call this set of provisions which later came to define an entire species of postal items? CARE packages.

About me.

I break things
I drop things
I spill things (a lot)
I misplace my keys
and make coffee I forget to drink
I don't know how to use half the things I own
and I probably spend my money on the wrong things a lot of the time
I have an unrefined palette
and drink not-so-good wine
I never learned formal etiquette
I usually forget to brush my hair
I have too many opinions
I've never cared for money
I use a Mac instead of a PC
I haven't changed the music on my iPod in months
I'm not such a champ in the kitchen
I don't like to make the bed
and I can't fold a fitted sheet
I don't know how to drive stick
Sometimes I get annoyed with little kids who make a lot of noise
Today I stubbed my toe, and I probably shouldn't have gone to the gym afterwards and now it's all swollen and kind of purple, but I broke this one once before and figure it's probably gonna be fine
I forget to eat rather often
I don't drink enough water
I like staying in hostels instead of hotels
I often chat with the people working at events -- caterers, coat check folks -- rather than the people I'm supposed to talk to
I'm a sucker for a good story
I don't deal well with partial information
I almost always say the wrong thing
My feet are two different sizes
I like bad TV
I forget to treat my leather jacket
I haven't taken a photo since August
I'm bad at ironing
I often forget to introduce people to one another
Sometimes I confuse people of the same ethnic group
I'm pretty good with chopsticks
I often fall asleep in the middle of homework
I tune out out lectures and movies to think about other things
I still fantasize about winning the New York City marathon, the Nobel Prize, and the Pultizer
If I have to eat at a fast food joint I usually get a happy meal
My nephew thinks I'm the same age as him (4)
I somehow slept through 80s music
I don't know how to ice skate
My grammar isn't tops
I'd rather watch a party than participate

On election night I baked cookies for some folks who were over. I absent-mindedly pre-heated the oven. Soon, the room smelled funny.

I forgot to take out the nasty broiler pan.

I took it out of the oven and sat it outside the front door, propped against the side wall. I fully intended to throw it away rather than clean it.

It sat there for a few days. And then the UPS guy game. And for the first time since I moved in, he left my package like I asked him to. Behind the broiler pan.

Missing pieces.

Tonight I received the missing piece to a puzzle I've been dealing with for the past few weeks.

It was the piece that the whole puzzle rested on, the one that let me know whether I was working on a puzzle of a pie, a dolphin, or a car.

Everything clicked into place, and events of the last few weeks made sense.

Crystal, clear, immaculate sense.

But it made me wonder about all the things I think I've done wrong, or haven't done at all. Things I've said, haven't said, shouldn't have said - or, more to the point, should have said.

And it makes me wonder:

How many mistakes did I make, and can they be fixed?

It's tough speaking my language.

hi.
1. An exclamation used to call attention.
2. A word of greeting. colloq. (chiefly N. Amer.).

Other possible translations:
1. Sigh. You again?
2. I don't even like you but you might get me a job.
3. I love you.
4. I hate you.
5. You're in my way.
6. What do you want?
7. I want to bear your children.
8. (pause while I think of something else to say)
9. I'm kind of happy you're here.
10. Hello. (rare)
11. The girl behind you is really cute.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Election day, 2008.

Today will either be very good, or very very very bad.

Sheepy went to SF. Without me.