After spending half the day sorting through old photos I'd had up in the attic (gotta start thinking about a move next summer!), I realized that there was no justification whatsoever for the crippling body image I had as a kid. I was perfectly normal, and yet my parents made me feel like I was the ugliest, fattest, most unlovable kid ever.

Seriously, parents, what the fuck?

Me: "You know, pressing the doorbell once is sufficient."
Post Lady: [blank stare] "...you mean the doorbell works?"
Me: "Yes. In fact, we hear it just fine the first time you press it. You don't need to press a bunch of times in a row, like DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING. That makes me think there's an emergency."
Post Lady: "...I didn't realize it worked."
Me: "So you just pressed it for giggles? On a Saturday morning? Please don't ever do that again."
Post Lady: "Oh, um, well, I have a package. Sign here, please."
Me: [SIGH]


Teaching someone how to use a doorbell isn't really how I wanted to start my weekend.

My apartment is a duplex that's owned and shared by my roommate's aunt. It's way out in the suburbs, so unlike many apartments in the Boston area I live on the kind of street you'd expect your grandma to live on. About half the residents in our neighborhood are seniors. The other half are young kids - often younger than me - who benefited from the economic bust. Directly next door is one particular couple that I just know had to have been some former collegiate hockey player and his sorority girlfriend. They've got a dangerous dog and a baby and an SUV. Really, they're remarkable only for being totally unremarkable.

Except that at least one Sunday a month, the guy - who is a classic popped-collar and baseball cap wearin' Bro Dude - gathers his "band" right around the time all the little old ladies are just coming back from church.

The band is made up of other aging Bro Dudes who show up, plug their guitars into an amp in the garage, and begin to wail. If I had to guess, I'd say that at any given time two guys are doing an Aerosmith cover, two are doing a Marilyn Manson cover, and two are just tossing trashcans around. Sometimes the dog joins in.



Le sigh.

Speaking of big events, xkcd informed me today that GeoCities is shutting down. Boy oh boy, GeoCities. Which then reminded me that once upon a time ago, I had a web 1.0 page all about myself... back before we started calling these things blogs, donchaknow.

So I googled myself, and sure enough there it still is. It's not GeoCities, like I'd mis-remembered, but it's under a similar kind of server under a really emo pseudonym I used in high school. Man. It is SO last century - complete with midis, animating gifs, nauseatingly bad high school poetry, java cursors and... this is really opening up to you guys... a furry.

BECAUSE I didn't know what a furry WAS back then. I just thought it was a drawing of a kitty-cat in a space costume. I was a pretty innocent kid.


The sad part is that as fully embarrassing as it is, I'm sad I didn't back log any of my older news posts. There is nothing quite like mocking one's former self.




In other news:
-- My best friend got married 11 days ago (reception pending once they move to Jersey and Dan gets her green card);
-- I'm going in for another assin' in 3 weeks and G's parents are picking me up, which is oddly comforting;
-- This semester is friggin' Awesome (kindly note the capital A);
-- My supervisor is a rockstar; and,
-- Congrats are in order for my boyfriend, 'cause he's been putting up with my ass for a full 1.5 years now. I suppose after this point it's silly to count half-years, but by next October I'll be in Ohio anyway so whatevs.


Wow, I move to Ohio in 11 months. When I'm not studying for midterms I look for jobs and cheap rent-a-vans. I might be over-planning, but A for effort, right?


Ok, back to studying the demands/capacities model of stuttering for Tuesday's midterm.

Sometimes, being a graduate assistant isn't all bad. For example, I just got paid to make this:

Not to be hatin' on lawyers, but this argument over whether jaffas are cakes or bikkies is an awfully good reason why I think the profession can be silly at times.

Sometimes, enough is enough.


( Complaining about my health )

Despite all that nonsense, though, I'm doing surprisingly well. Having about a month off to do very little except some light travel and putzing around the apartment has really recharged my batteries. Mentally (aside from the food aversion thing), I'm in an awesome place. I'm ready for the new semester! Which is good, 'cause classes start Monday...

First off, the previous post is over 30 comments: the highest I think I've had in the last few years, probably the record to date. This is largely thanks to averagesmartguy and agaitis_byrjun and oingoing discussions of socioeconomic status and menses. So that's kinda interesting.



Last night I tried to get some folks together for a birthday/help-me-take-my-mind-off-my-upcoming-scoping bash. I left an open Facebook invite to everyone I knew in the Boston area (and some others that I invited by accident) and randomly picked a spot that came up when I googled "Harvard Square bars." About half a dozen people said they'd make it, so I packed some jazzy sandals in my work tote and T'd it in after work for a 7 pm meet-up.

Now, over the last 20-someodd years, I've tried about every 2-3 years to get folks together on my birthday. It has hardly ever worked. Short of my 21st, where I literally dragged two coworkers up the hill to the local watering hole to watch me not know how to order a beer (for which I didn't get carded because the bouncer knew me), I've had more birthdays that I care to count where people simply didn't show up. August is a hard time to get people together because everyone's on vacation or can think of better ways to spend a summer night.

So when 7:30 rolled around and not only did no one show up, but two people had kicked me out of my bar stool, I said, "FUCK this," txted everyone and told them not to show up, I was gonna go home and take a nap until bedtime.

To dosboof and mandy_moon's tremendous credit, they gave me a call and said, "Stop throwing a tantrum, let's meet up anyway."

But when you're trying to feel sorry for yourself, it's kinda hard to listen to reason. In fact, I would've made it home and gone on feeling sorry for myself if I hadn't doubled back through a small park and run into Amber sitting on a bench and looking awfully forlorn.

Amber's truly good people. So I sat with her and we BSed for a bit. Then, little by little, folks started showing up. Around 8:15 we left the park and headed to a different bar down the street. Had a pleasant if somewhat anticlimactic night out with folks who I genuinely enjoy.


Big apologies to mandy_moon and dosboof for behaving like a prat. Some day I might grow up. We'll see.


The rest of the weekend is slated for apartment cleaning (Mom's gonna be here Monday), playing my music extra loud (skravelle is at her bro's wedding), driving up to Medford (Ebisuya is supposed to be opening this month), and working out (assuming the weather gets back down to Not Boiling).

Awesome. Goooooooooooooo team!

You may recall that a couple of months ago I was in the hospital for tummy troubles and that the doctors found a pretty big ovarian cyst.

Went in for a follow-up last week, then got a call yesterday from one of my docs about results from my recent ultrasound and prior bloodwork. It appears that I've got polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), which very neatly explains any number of symptoms including sudden, unbelievable weight gain, acne, anxiety, et al.

I know, I know, I'm fat and I deserve it because I've always been fat and fat chicks are bad people, blahblahblah. Seriously, though, I put on weight as though I were suddenly eating mac&cheese and poptarts when in reality I primarily stick to fresh fruits, veggies, fish, rice, and tofu. Something was up.


My doctor recommended what I can only describe as a very, very, VERY bad idea. Terrible, in fact.

Instead, I started reading up on alternatives, one of which was a more natural, homeopathic approve involving a slight change in diet that is probably a pretty darn good idea anyway. As one of the big recommendations is an increase in soy in the diet, that might go a long way to explain why the weight gain and other issues coincided with my return to the States. Even though I'm getting a good deal more exercise here and my diet hasn't changed drastically, I am eating a lot less soy. So we'll see how that goes. I'm not expecting a cure-all, but some minor changes would be awfully nice.


One week 'til my scopes. Then maybe I can try being healthy for a while. That'd be cool.

Yesterday I saw a true crazy girl on the subway. Chick was furiously eating trail mix out of a bag at breakneck speed, one item at a time, and throwing every 3rd piece - which she picked up in a crazy person's overhanded pincer grip - on the ground behind her. By the time she got off the train she'd covered a good two square feet in all kinds of nuts and raisins.

I can has car with moon roof.
And brand new tires.

Good News: I got another accent mod client for the summer and I could not be more thrilled. Also, Ohio is full of as much awesome as can be expected.

Bad News: The G.I. specialist can't see me 'til July, which the secretary who made my appointment seemed to think was hilarious. Gee, I hope I don't bleed to death out my colon before then, 'cause I'd hate for her to have an aneurysm from laughing so hard. Bitch.

Hey folks. Sorry I haven't got something funny to add to your day. We've had a rather sudden death in the family (everyone's favorite uncle, my mother's eldest brother) and I've spent the last few days keeping company with my grandparents. I happened to be staying with them in Pittsfield when we got the phonecall at 5 am on Mother's Day. Oh, my Gram. The news was one thing. Seeing my Gram so distressed (and my grandfather subsequently acting like the worst like of asshole because he's too WASP to cry) was horrible.

The Grades Fairy came last night. ::shrug:: I passed everything and I'm not in danger of losing my assistanceship. That's good enough for moi.


Still trying to figure out the deal with the G.I. doc. Seems the first guy my not-a-doctor referred me to was a hepatologist specializing in liver damage from hepatitis. I called my not-a-doctor back and asked if she was obliquely trying to inform me of something. She said she'd had no idea, so we'll see who she refers me to next.

Have today and tomorrow off, then a two day seminar on craniofacial anomalies (e.g. cleft palate), then on Saturday I fly to Akron. I'd originally intended to drive down in a rental. See, here's the thing that confuses me. If I'd rented a car here in Boston, driven it down, and then driven it back the next day, it would've cost me ~$30 a day plus gas. But if I were to drive a car to Akron and leave it there, it costs $250 a day. ...huh? Thwarts my plan of moving in one carload at a time. Bummer.

Well, I'll tell ya. I'd originally thought I'd get up early, but I do think I might just go back to sleep for an hour more. I don't have anything that needs done today except laundry.

Folks, I'm in the middle of studying for finals, so this week's installment of Oh Japan, You So Crazy is just a quick blurb.

...if I'm reading that correctly, the presumed reason women go is so they can fantasize about "boy love".


So I guess there's your answer to whether women would ever find gay men as tantalizing as men find porno lesbians.

Hey, look, I apologise for getting on the catzes!hahars! train, but you gotta see the way this thing hops.






Man, Japan. Even your cats are crazy.

I've been neglecting you. Sorry. That happens when final papers/exams/presentations/clinic hours come around. Lots of writing, lots of time on Powerpoint. Bleh. I should be back to normalcy around May 7th.


But hey, frenz, I just wanna let you in on a little secret. I figure now's as good a time as any to let on, what with Stephen Hawking recently in the news for getting a chest cold. Know that machine that he uses to talk? That's known as an augmentative / alternative communication (AAC) device. They're pretty neat stuff, eh? I mean, who hasn't daydreamed about the hilarious things they'd say with one?


Well, here's the thing. There is a local teaching hospital 'round these parts which opens up a few clinical rotation positions every 6 months to Boston-area speech pathology graduate students. It's run by the otolaryngology department of a world-renowned Boston-area medical school, which I would be glad to talk to you about in a non-blog environment if you'd really like to know*. And well, the really friggin' spiffy part is that I've passed the initial screening and was allowed to send my resume to the head honcho, presumptuous as that sounds.

Should hear back by the end of the month whether or not I've gotten the rotation. Signs point to "it's entirely possible."


If I don't get that, I'll be given an in-house accent modification group. Which is something I've been pining for anyway. So really, this summer's clinic will be full of Win no matter which way the wind blows.


...which almost makes up for the medical issues I've been having lately. Stress, it turns out, does a number on one's, well, everything.



* I'd like to keep my online personality and my professional personality as separate as possible, please, so I won't be mentioning names here.

Why. Why oh why oh why oh why did this not exist when I was about to go overseas?? I'm pretty sure I can get a hearty "Amen!" from anyone else who ever opened that first stall door and experienced the shock of not seeing a seat. Even being prepared for it, there was a moment of total panic and a deep sense of wrongness the first time I encountered one of those. And I know we all have at least one story to tell about Japanese toilets, whether it was a matter of figuring out exactly how not to pee on your own foot (girls) or knowing why it's important never to use the princess button on a bidet toilet (boys). The video at the bottom is a laugh, but those of you at work will probably want to wait 'til you get home to view it. It's not vulgar, but people sometimes get a little worked up about toilets and toilet humor on the job.


Hey, I might have mentioned this before, but I was just mulling over something that's caught my attention. The American Speech-Language and Hearing Association (ASHA) awards what's called the Certification of Clinical Competence (CCC) to speech-language pathologists (SLPs) and audiologists (AuD) who complete their clinical fellowship year (CFY) and pass a praxis exam (praxis). It's our de facto license, although the law doesn't expressly require one to practice. After we have our CCC, SLPs trained in the U.S. are recognized just about anywhere else in the world. Certainly anywhere else that speaks English.

Somewhere along the line I realized that places like, say, the Caribbean, or Palau, where English is among the official languages would likewise need and recognize American SLPs. Wouldn't THAT be a hoot?

Of course, that's completely out as an option given that I would spontaneously combust in a tropical climate. But it's nice to daydream.

Oh Republicans. Why you gotta be so crazay?


...I do believe that's the first time I've seen two lesbians discussing teabagging.


Teahee.

Who wrote 20 pages today and cooked dinner?

Why, I believe it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.



Time for celebratory chemicals!

Maybe it's just me, but either I've got some seriously unhealthy mental shit going on or else grad school sucks ( censored ).

Insomnia? Really? Because I totally didn't have enough else not going for me.