WARNING...rant mode *on*

I have heard more whining in the last two days than I think in any other time since my divorce. Why is this, you ask? Because I've been hanging out in the Halloween aisles of stores, looking for decent treats (as a pagan I'm not usually home during Halloween/Samhain, but this year I happen to be) or costume additions. Ah, the nearly constant sound of "I'm tired", "I don't wanna", etc. The worst thing of all? None of it was from kids. It was from tired, cranky adults who for some, inexplicable reason decided to wait until the day or two before Halloween and then hit stores like Wal-Mart or Walgreens between work and dinner to see if they could find a costume for their little one. The kids, with the exception of one totally unattended boy who was pretending to be a basketball star up and down the aisles, were actually using reasonable tones. "Hey, mom, what do you think about ____?" "How would this look?" While I'm sure I'm being unfair to frazzled parents (after all, I'm not one and what could I know, having only been a kid?), the fact of the matter is this stuff has been sitting in those aisles since July. It's not like our area has been gripped by a sniper or something. It just wasn't something that they particularly thought ahead for. Poor planning like that wouldn't get them ahead in the business world. Why on earth should it work at home? The result of all this is no one enjoys themselves, which is part of the Halloween holiday as it is celebrated by mainstream America, and they just annoy the rest of us who are approaching it with more enthusiasm.

The fact is, life usually doesn't play out as smoothly as something coordinated by Martha Stewart. Hell, even Martha's finding that out. We all have days when we crack, and certainly I've had my share of them--you've read about enough of them. But see, there's a difference. I blog, but you have to actually check things out to hear me whine. And while I will admit I also have breakdowns around my friends, that's sort of one perk to having friends--and I help them pick up pieces on their bad days. But I don't inflict my anxieties, fears, troubles, frustrations, etc. on children. They've already got enough of their own to deal with and (usually) a lot less maturity and coping skills to get them through.

I mean, think about just about any scary situation for a kid. Divorce. A sibling's or parent's illness. A bully. Kids almost always assume that there's something that they did, that's wrong with them, because they've only been on the planet for a few years and don't see the bigger picture, especially if no one's telling them otherwise. So if a parent is frustrated because a boss has set an impossible deadline, money's running low, there's this or that practice to shuffle kids to, and oh, by the way, we have to get Halloween costumes for whatever school or social thing that always pops up at the last minute--well, the kid has no idea what's up, and either clams up or acts out worse.

If it seems I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, it's because I've been working for years to break myself of the habit for taking responsibility for stuff I had no control over while simultaneously absolving myself of the stuff that really is mine alone. I grew up a seething (yet relatively quiet) ball of anger, guilt, fear, and shame, and to be honest, I had parents who could have used some parenting classes but who weren't torturing me every moment of my existence or anything. I think part of it was I was so isolated from other kids, as an only child and moving around so much. I didn't know that my life could have been different, or that other parents were different with their kids. And I have no doubt that if I hadn't started working on those problems, and had gone ahead and had children when the opportunity arose, I'd have been one of those parents whining at their kids at the store. I'm so glad I'm not. Part of me would rather miss out on all of the wonders of having children rather than become that, not just because of my own dignity, but because of the children in the audience, the child essentially told that he or she doesn't matter compared to "all those other problems". Kids aren't problems. They're gifts, and challenges, all rolled up in one, regardless of their individual talents or deficits. I'm not sure I'm emotionally mature enough to meet that challenge. But I know that five to ten years ago it would have been far worse.

Last night I watched a news segment (I can't remember which show it was, probably Dateline) about a teacher in California who ran off to Vegas with her 14-year-old student lover. She was in the midst of a divorce and at an "emotionally vulnerable" time. Because she crossed state lines and had sex with a minor, she could have wound up in prison for life. Granted, she wasn't going to hurt him. But his parents had no idea where they were for four days--that must have seemed a lifetime. She's on probation as a convicted sex felon as it is. She admits she made some stupid mistakes. She obviously rationalised her way along (trust me, I know how that goes). She probably convinced herself that she was protecting or helping him. She's an extreme case, of course, and I could almost sympathise. After all, I've had a breakdown of sorts, and I certainly have made really bad choices, most notably in marrying an abusive sex addict, which while it wasn't illegal could have easily gotten me killed. She's about my age, too. But you know...there comes a time when you have to start accepting responsibility for your behaviour. I started this year. There's nothing special that makes me different in that I made that choice. Others can, too. But it seems that so many people just want the world to fix their lives, rather than let their lives help fix the world. I don't get it.

And while I'm on a rant about people who harm children...this was on the news when I logged in...Authorities search for priest on the run. Please don't think that by posting this I'm being anti-Catholic or anti-priest. I have great respect for priests and nuns. However, that respect is based on their vows, which include celibacy. That's just such a step most people never take. The thing is, regardless of what sexual orientation a person is, a vow of celibacy should be binding, and if it can't be, then that person should either not take the vow, or ask to released from it. Now, I do not see paediphilia as an orientation like homosexuality, heterosexuality, or bisexuality. There is nothing inherent in sex, colour, whatever that prevents two people from having a satisfying sexual, loving, relationship. And I acknowledge that there is a grey area of age, since people don't really agree on any "one" age of consent. In my own state you used to be able to marry a 12-year-old so long as the parent consented, for example. But, the fact is, minors do not have the emotional maturity to be in an equal partnership with those with years of experience behind them. Two fifteen-year-olds having sex is more about exploring new horizons, emotionally and physically. An older person, particularly one in authority, preying on a child is another thing altogether, particularly when there is a breach of trust. This is especially true when it is a parent, family member, teacher, counselor, priest, etc. That breach of trust seems to leave more lasting emotional damage than anything that may go on physically. The idea that this man apparently operated for years, shuffling back and forth, and never was removed as a priest--I can't fathom it, and it makes me angry, and doubly so that someone may be helping him. I once read a Newsweek article about a priest who had had one encounter with a 17-year-old, recognised that it was inappropriate, and resigned. He did retain his priest status, but not only did he remove himself from the minsitry, he basically imposed a self-exile on a mountain removed from the temptations and sought counseling. I have far more respect for him. He took responsibility for his actions. He recognised that he couldn't undo it, but he could seek forgiveness and prevent it from happening again. This fugitive priest got wind of the investigation, booked a cruise, then returned to the country only to disappear--and his victims were under 14.

What a world.

rant mode *off*

(Tomorrow, in honour of the holiday, I'll try to keep my blogging light and upbeat--promise. I think with the end of my DBT coming, though, these issues are just hitting closer to home because I'm doing some reflecting).

Is it a girl thing, or am I just psycho?

I'm realising more and more lately just how hard it is for me to ask for anything. A day off. A cookie. I just look at a person with this puppy-dog-begging kind of way, even when I really am trying to be a responsible adult. Earlier tonight, I had taken the bus out to Walmart and ran into Zabet and her hubby, and after we'd talked a bit, I just sort of stared at her, trying to get up the courage to ask for a ride home, no doubt looking stupid. She had to say, "I suppose you'd like a ride?" Now this is the same woman who just braved plague for me, mind you. I've known her for years. I know that I can usually depend on her. And the worst she could have said was no, she couldn't, and I'd take the bus like I'd planned to begin with.

It's like I feel that I don't have a right to ask for anything, or that in saying no, someone will be literally rejecting me. That may be the borderline personality talking. I dunno. I know I never seemed to be able to get my dad to notice me when I wanted him to--he certainly did when I didn't, except when I was really little and cute. Momma says that once I got old enough to talk to and it was obvious that I was intelligent--well, he just never felt comfortable with me, because he was afraid he'd fail, that his answers weren't good enough, that he'd be wrong. (Gee, that sounds familiar, too, although I'm scared of really little kids before you can have a conversation with them and they just scream). The sad thing is all my life I've felt overlooked, underappreciated, etc., etc., but I've been helping that whole thing along. And maybe Daddy did too. I mean, it's silly to resent people when you don't even give the chance to give you what you want, hmmm? But I've done that my whole life, and I think he has, too. And while I've got a lot better (I do actually ask for help now, and unless I'm emotionally warbly, I'm usually okay). I think part of the problem tonight is that by running into them, my plans were changing, and I don't shift gears easily.

You probably wonder how I can even be a professional librarian. I do too, sometimes. Thing is, I'm good at it, and with a few exceptions, I'm pretty flexible. But in my personal life, well, I'm still working on it.

My point being is even though I'm...well...a bit rabid...mad...rabid...I'm also a girl, and women in general seem to do this a lot. Are we trained to? I mean my mom was pretty passive with my dad, too. I dream of a world where women can be assertive without being afraid of being agressive. Funny how if you're so caught up in that fear, you just come off as a bitch. If you're self-confident, you just come off a capable.

Oh, small note among the revelations...I came out as bisexual to two of the most conservative people in the hospital today, at once. We were having a discussion about a gay couple here who have had quadruplets through in vitro fertilisation (with one partner as biological parent) and a surrogate mother. They're both Catholic, and the children were christened. Anyway, in the midst I had a small breakdown because while actually one does believe "you're born gay" and both believed that regardless of the parents the children should be christened, that thrice-damned phrase "gay lifestyle" kept coming up again and again. Now, I recognise that there is a gay subculture. Ha--I married into it, of all things. But it is not the end-all-be-all of being gay. Most gays I know don't even participate in that aspect of bar-hopping, gay-pride-parading, chorus-singing, whatever you want to call it. They'd all be nicely married if they were allowed to. (And in fact, most gay and lesbian couples I've known have been together longer than most heterosexual ones I've known). Even my ex and his partner have been together longer than my parents were married. But they don't count, right?

Anyway, I went into a "what is this gay lifestyle?" mode. I asked the woman if she had a heterosexual lifestyle. She said, well, no, actually as a new divorcee, she really didn't jokingly. See--it's synonymous with sex, not subculture, in that mindset. I said, you know, I'm bisexual, so you'd think I'd have quite a bit of "lifestyle". But I haven't dated since 1994, and I haven't had sex with a guy since 1991. But that doesn't change that I'm bisexual, it's just a small part of what I am. Same for gays.

Jeesh, that'll make it through the hospital. I think the stomach problems did something to my mouth. I also read out the side effects of Pepto-Bismol. That's sure to get me comments and strange looks. (Ah, you gotta love the folks at Procter & Gamble, who not only got the domain www.pepto-bismol.com, but also http://www.diarrhea.com/, assuming anyone can spell it. Well, unless you're PETA, since P&G has mostly, but not completely halted animal testing of their products.) And just for the record, I generally admire PETA's goals but sometimes think...well, they outrabid this Rabid Librarian. I recognise that some animal testing may be necessary, especially in medicine. (I give you the movie The Fly as evidence). I mean, where would diabetics be without pigs? Now we have human, and I think, synthetic insulin. For years, though, it was pig. I try not to impact the animal kingdom beyond what I need to survive. Certainly for years I think the general view of need was up there with Dr. Seuss' "The Lorax" thneed-obsessed rather than real, basic need. And certainly I think the worthiness of animal testing should be examined on the same level as human testing. "Will it give us reliable, new information?" "Does it subject animals to unreasonable pain or suffering considering the results". However, the other day I considered the Pepto-Bismol a godsend, and I notice that the info site I found did not list animal safe alternatives for over the counter medicines, and you can't depend on the generics either. I remember when Gillette was still being boycotted as one of the bad guys, and they're touted on that site.

Anyway, back to the pink stuff. I was looking to see why I felt all sweaty and greasy (I already knew about the little item they print on the bottle about turning your stools black, thank the Gods). But this was so great I read it out loud--and I am not making this up--(emphasis mine):

Anxiety; any loss of hearing; confusion; constipation (severe); diarrhea (severe or continuing); difficulty in speaking or slurred speech; dizziness or lightheadedness; drowsiness (severe); fast or deep breathing; headache (severe or continuing); increased sweating; increased thirst; mental depression; muscle spasms (especially of face, neck, and back); muscle weakness; nausea or vomiting (severe or continuing); ringing or buzzing in ears (continuing); stomach pain (severe or continuing); trembling; uncontrollable flapping movements of the hands (especially in elderly patients) or other uncontrolled body movements; vision problems

And with that, I bid you a fond adieu. Go easy on that pink stuff.

PS Why is it that the little finder on the address line of Internet Explorer seems to keep the &*##^&(*^*& typos??? I always have rabid-librarian.blgospot.com come up when I try to access my site. Oh, yeah. Microsoft. Did that come out of my mouth..um..fingers? I think Zabet and her hubby have been splicing Mac subliminal ads into our Friday night videos!

Ah...It's ALIVE!

I decided to celebrate Halloween early this year by becomin a zombie. Well, not actually; I contracted some puking plague that left me unable to do much more than lay on the couch and sip ginger ale and PeptoBismol. You know you're sick when the yucky taste of the pink stuff doesn't even faze you. Thanks to Zabet, I survived without withering to a husk. She left the aforementioned items along with children's acetaminaphen on my door as a care package and then scampered out of the plague zone. (No sense getting sick being a good Samaritan, after all). :) Unfortunately, I didn't get to see Mecca's rendition of "Thriller" zombies because I was pretending to be one. For a full description, check out Zabet's blog.

I did manage to make it to work yesterday, but apparently must have looked like crap, because no one bothered me and I quietly wrote out book cards and defragmented my hard drive. Oh, and took a nap for lunch, right at my desk. After all, I wasn't up to much other than saltines. You know you look bad when the cashier just tells you to take the little packages because she doesn't want you to be too close. Now normally, working in a hospital, I wouldn't have come in. But with all the doctor's appointments I've had this year, even though I haven't been missing days and have tried to make appointments near the beginning or end of the workday--and I've finally built up some personal time off (about a week's worth, actually), I'm under verbal counseling for attendance. So...I dragged my ass into work. Besides, I hadn't thrown up for about 14 hours and I wasn't shivering anymore, so I thought I was safe. More than anything I was sore. I literally felt like someone had beaten me senseless with a splintered baseball bat. Even my ankles hurt. So once the clock came up for quitting time (well, actually, it didn't; our clocks at work have responded to the return from daylight savings time like they were in the twilight zone--we finally got everything back on time today) I skipped DBT and went home to crash for a few more hours.

My mom and grandmother called last night. Apparently the sickbed emanations of "I want my mommy!" winged across the aether. I had almost called Momma on Sunday, but decided that was kind of pathetic. Apparently they'd both been thinking about me and wondered if I were doing alright. That's the Reardon women for you--I used to think they just had eyes in the backs of their heads (and flames in their eyes, but that's another story). After a few times of my mom slowing down right before the deer darted in front of the car or pulling over because she felt "like a lot of people died, all at once)--nearly crashing the car that time--just as a plane crashed about 500 miles away, I stopped questioning. When my mom told me she didn't feel she could give me an old car of hers because she could see me dying in it, I understood. I'm still convinced that it's just as well that my own car has been reduced to non-working status. I got flashes of a crash from the first week I had it, and certainly no one ever seemed to see the thing, since I was rear-ended not once but several times.

Anyway, going back today was much better, despite getting soaked. I'd left my umbrella, which is breaking down anyway, at the office the day before. So I wore my purple duster, thinking that it didn't look that bad, and got soaked through. One of my coworkers said something about a nice day for a morning stroll. I said I was starting Halloween early, going as a giant purple Jawa. After awhile, with my life, you learn to take things with humour. Fortunately I had an extra shirt squirrelled away at work, and my shoes dried out fairly quickly. To be honest I'm not sure the umbrella would have helped. I am thinking that now that I'm a pedestrian I need to get some brighter duds. Nearly everything I wear or carry is purple or black. It's no guarantee--that bright umbrella of the woman killed by a bus here in Lexington not too long ago still haunts me, but it couldn't hurt. I found an umbrella that was bright blue with cats on it tonight. I'm thinking though that I need something more reflective, like yellow--and a jacket, too. :) Of course, I'd look like a giant duckling. That would be a Halloween monster guaranteed to scare the kids. :)

Well, that's enough for now. Time to go eat real food (black refried beans in a bluet taco shell, with European salad, tomato, and onion). Oh, hell. Maybe I should just go for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. No sense in tempting fate too much.

The Good News and the Bad News...

The good news, of course, is the general relief that the country is feeling regarding the capture of two men in the Washington, DC sniper case, which at this point is old news, but I didn't get a chance to add my rejoicing to the pot last evening when the news broke. The details have been at times chilling and harrowing, but at the same time, as with most serial killings, it is the story of two apparent osers who thought they were playing God. Granted, they're innocent until proven guilty, but the evidence seems particularly strong, especially with the recovery of a weapon linked through ballistics to the killings. The sad thing, of course, is that while people may venture out of their homes now, their safety really is an illusion. We're never really safe, after all. We just have to live life like we are, because if we refuse to go out because of fear of people like the snipers, then we allow a small possibility of becoming a victim to run our lives. It's funny; I've always been fascinated with how the criminal mind works, and of piecing the clues together. As a mystery buff and potential writer, it's always been a natural obsession. As I've gotten older, though, I find I care less for the work of the criminals and more for the results of their crimes--their victims, whose names get shuffled away while the criminals go down in the record books, the families left behind, the pain. If I ever do write fictional murders, I hope I can convey that part, too. It's cases like this that have you wonder "what if's". We could all put ourselves in the position of someone pumping gas, or walking out of a store, after all, people just going through their normal lives. Everything changes in an instant, but that pain of losing a loved one never goes away. My sympathies go out to the families of the victims.

Also, the Russians have liberated the theatre where several hundred hostages had been taken by Chechen militants. While I understand the desire to have an independent homeland, I do not understand taking innocent lives in an effort to gain it. It's unclear at this time how many of the hostages were killed by the militants and in the final push, but it sounds like the Russian forces had no real choice--people were being killed and the hostages were trying to escape. An ultimatum had been made that the hostages would be killed soon.

So much violence. Okay, maybe it's not so much good news, as relieved news.

The Bad News? Distinguished actor Richard Harris is dead. I've admired him for years, having first seen him in A Man Called Horse. He and Peter O'Toole were a decent pair of Irish rogues. And of course lately, he's played Dumbledore in the Harry Potter movies. Sad to think he won't be able to complete them. He's also one of the only "classic" actors I really ever remember being blonde--the old stereotype for leading men being dark and handsome, with leading ladies usually being blonde.

Also I'm concerned that one of the most liberal Democrats in the US Senate was killed in a plane crash today (along with his wife and daughter), just 11 days before the elections. According to what I read earlier, Sen. Wellstone was the only Democrat up for re-election who voted against the recent resolution to use force against Iraq. He was a professor who taught students about Grass Roots politics. He served despite having multiple sclerosis and was a proponent of health care reform, veterans' rights, and environmental concerns. Essentially it sounds like he stood for a lot of the same things I did, and I'd hate for the balance between the parties within the Senate to tip due to this terrible tragedy.

I guess I'm just on a gloom-and-doom kick. I'll try to keep things on an up beat next post. :)

Here's a spooky Friday Five!

1. What is your favorite scary movie?
Probably the "Nightmare on Elm Street" movies. The first two and the last one, at least. I didn't see them until my 20s, and then they were used to demonstrate the perils of astral travel. :) My truly favourite supposedly horror movie is "Wicker Man", which has been adopted by most of my pagan friends; but we think it's neat, not horrorific.

2. What is your favorite Halloween treat?
Peanut-butter kisses, followed by the mellocreme pumpkins.

3. Do you dress up for Halloween? If so, describe your best Halloween costume.
Yes. Hmmm...my favourite was probably a "Planet of the Apes" costume when I was 7 of the character "Lisa". I got it because it had my name on it. Egocentric? Moi? It had that funky smell that those 70s plastic costumes had. One of the best was for "Rocky Horror Picture Show". I wore my father's handmade purple paisley tuxedo jacket (honestly, he had it made in Tokyo during the Vietnam War) and went as one of the groupies.

4. Do you enjoy going to haunted houses or other spooky events?
Oh, yes. One of the local belly/ethnic dance studios is doing a re-enactment of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" this weekend (30 zombies dancing down Limestone Street). There are usually candlelit tours of Henry Clay's home, Ashland, in my neighbourhood. And there are lots of haunted houses around UK. I can't really afford Phantom of the Opera or the Lexington's Ballet Dracula--yes, ballet, but they sound nifty.

5. Will you dress up for Halloween this year?
Yes. Ha, you didn't ask as what. I have the benefit of working in a children's hospital, and so staff are encouraged to dress up, especially since the kids come around trick-or-treating to the various offices. Our laboratory head once came as Dracula (you know, they take the blood tests). I'm leaning toward my mediaevelly-witch costume from last year's Harry Potter party. It's purple with silver tie ups, a big pointy hat, and a wimple. I do wimples well. It's a shame they went out of style centuries ago. I have a matching lavender/sparkly wig to match, and an owl and wand of my own.

Aaaaahhhh....

To be home at last is a joy. But my days have perked up, too. The library is BEAUTIFUL. It's in the best order since I've been here, the back journals are ready to be sent for binding, and I can see my desk. I can also see people coming through the door for the first time in five years, due to some rearranging. The little room where the patient/family library will be is going well. We've ordered more bookshelves and then I need to fill them with books. For now, though, I'm catching up on some of my other duties, like working on an open house for Medical Librarian's month, preparing for an organisational meeting in December, and checking on some articles, although I spent a good couple of hours creating word puzzles for one of the departments because all the demos I downloaded wouldn't allow you to print one lousy copy as part of the trial period. Then it was on to TV night. I went to catch the last bus of the night and left my keys. My friend A came running out to the bus stop with them, at which point I rewarded him with some snack food. He saved me a lot of trouble. Besides, he's always appreciative of snacks.

I found out that while Shannon the rescue dog lady was away on her trip the puppy nearly died, was nursed back to health, and then her partner, not knowing I was interested, placed the puppy with the guy who was fostering her. I have to give him credit--not only did he get her through a rough patch, he actually moved because he wasn't allowed to have a dog at his old place. Now he lives upstairs from Shannon. All in all, I think it worked out well. I wasn't ready for a puppy, and I'm the last person who would insist on breaking up a team that had already bonded. Three weeks for a puppy is probably about on par with those kids who get snatched at about a year old back from their loving adoptive parents on a technicality. So, I'm a little disappointed, but I'm glad it worked out the way it did. I know that people are concerned because all of my pets are geriatric and it's a matter of time before I start losing them, but I'm not sure I'd want to add any more animals until that happens. Cerys loves being the only dog, for example. I certainly have responsibilities with her and the cats. Spock is like a large kitty magnet, and especially loves draping himself over my shoulders. Darius has turned from a feral, scared kitten into a very loving cat. Buns loves to be scratched--he's always so itchy. Right now he's having a flare-up where his ear has itched to a point where he broke the skin and it's gone into a mild infection. It happens occasionally when his allergies worsen. I'm keeping it cleaned and I'm using an antibacterial cream on it but it's not to a point where I have to take him to the vet yet. I don't think he really likes the cream--it's in a petroleum jelly form, and I've never particularly liked that sticky sensation, either. But I'm hoping that will clear it up without having to take him to the vet.

Okay, you probably don't want to hear about my cat's weird illnesses (just slightly less tedious than hearing about mine, I know). So here's something to end on a light note. It was an anonymous quote I came across today. "The reason more activists target fur than leather is that it's a lot easier to attack a rich woman than a to take on a whole motorcycle gang." :) :) :)

I feel a little like Tinkerbell...

Today I expected the weather to be dreary and grey again. So, since I wanted to brighten things up, and I wanted to distract people from a thankfully small but annoying cold sore, I wore a new top that is purple with paisley-patterned black velvet and lots of silver glitter. I should point out that the main reason I bought this was for holiday parties; I'm a little too much of a stick-in-the-mud to gallavant around normally in sparkly things. Since today was actually quite sunny, I kind of felt like a purple and silver disco ball as I walked around campus. But it was a lot of fun to watch the sparklies. I also deposited large amounts of glitter like faerie dust wherever I went; my chair at work, the bus, the student centre, DBT. Ah, glitter--the gift that truly keeps on giving, because from there others will sit in those spots and take glitter back to their own homes, depositing it about all the way.

Tonight I also started reading Prospero's Children by Jan Siegel. It's written with beautiful language that's evocative of sea shanties, mournful ballads, and tales of magic. In tone compared to other books I've read it's probably closest to Patrick O'Leary's The Gift which is one of the finest novels I've ever read. So, I've been reading and listening to Loreena McKinnitt, so it's been very Otherworldly here tonight as a theme.

If I seem ever-so-much calmer, it's because my huge library project is essentially finished. I still have to do some cataloguing and ordering of more books (it's always lovely to discover that you still have more grant money to spend). Most importantly, the library itself has returned to order. Housekeeping has some things to take away for me, but otherwise everything's back in place. Yea! I feel like I moved a mountain of stuff. Oh, that's right, I did. The family resource room is quite cozy. There's a carpet, couch, books, bookcases, plants, and a TV/VCR for the videotapes. I've ordered a vertical file for pamphlets, newsletters, support group papers, etc. I think once we get it publicised it will be very helpful for our patients and their families.

I am, however, rather tired for some inexplicable reason. I think I may go on to bed a little early tonight. Hope everyone has a safe night and a happy tomorrow.

Ah, Saturdays...

Last night I did the laundry-and-a-movie thing (actually movie [The Ring, which I found creepy rather than scary, sort of like Blair Witch, but enjoyed immensely]), laundry, then movie [The Road to El Dorado, partly in an attempt to not have creepy thoughts regarding movie A before bedtime, although Chel coming out of the water at the end with her hair down over her face takes on a new meaning :)]. This morning I got up early (as in before noon) so that Zabet's hubby could take me to hunt down my allergic cat's venison and green peas food from the vet. Turns out I needed him for more than driving. I totally failed the open the vet's door. We got there right after noon and I pulled on the door and nothing happened, then knocked on the window, with no response. He walked up, turned the knob, and went in. Sigh. I can only blame the fact that I wasn't really awake yet. Then we returned, got Zabet, and went to the co-op so I could get food that I'm not allergic to. I'm trying to cut back on the wheat, eggs, and milk. I generally don't itch or otherwise seem to have reactions, but it seems to keep the weight on me, so I got some alternatives like rice pasta, soy cheese (without the caseine, yea!), and spelt bread (which is technically a wheat but a different type than we usually use). Then we went to Vishal, an Indian grocery and got I got some bread that I am allergic to but I'm willing to eat in small amounts because it's so damn good. After getting back, I went to sleep again; it's one of those rainy days where the sky just spits at you, so I just curled up with the animals and snoozed. Then I got up at sundown. It was nice to catch up on some sleep. I've been online doing some genealogy research. I'm finding quite a few cousins to collaborate on this project, too.

Well, that's enough for now. Talk to you later.

Okay, technically it's no longer Friday in my timezone, but I'm operating on the theory that it's still Friday somewhere on the planet....

1. How many TVs do you have in your home? 2; only one is hooked up; the other is one I still have from high school that works with some of the old video game players better due to its dials

2. On average, how much TV do you watch in a week? 5 hours per week

3. Do you feel that television is bad for young children? Generally, yes. PBS is an exception. I learned to read from Sesame Street and Electric Company, for example. But TV as a babysitter is definitely right out. Time limits are nice; locking cabinets are better, or just throwing the box out completely. I use mine mostly for videotapes--even my news and weather come from the Web. Also, TV should be watched with adult supervision into the early teens at least, and the child should feel free to talk to the parent about his or her thoughts on the story, subject, etc..

4. What TV shows do you absolutely HAVE to watch, and if you miss them, you're heartbroken? None. TV just isn't that important. Now, if at all possible, I watch: Buffy, Charmed, CSI, and now, Birds of Prey. CSI, I watch at home. Everything else I watch at a friend's, so really, I could easily be TV-less.

5. If you had the power to create your own television network, what would your line-up look like? Oh, a mixture of mysteries, science fiction, horror, educational (i.e. Discovery/PBS/History channel), cartoons, and international TV. I'd especially run the more esoteric/occult/psionic-related shows, ones that imagine other worlds or purport to solve ancient mysteries. I was just joking when I told Zabet and Hubby that I'd run Murder, She Wrote 24-7 until people's eyes bled from their sockets (although I dearly loved that show once upon a time). What I'd really like--and all you cable people out there listen up--is the ability to choose JUST the networks I'd like, tailor made to my interests. That way I could dump the sports and inspirational networks, the shopping and other insipid infomercial paradises, and concentrate on the aforementioned genres. So I'd have my local channels plus TLC, Discovery, History Network, BBC, Cartoon Network, Lifetime, A&E, etc., without the 40-70 channels I never watched. :)

[*rant mode ON*]

How difficult is it to find a person who can legibly copy down some information and then take said information and peck it into a few computer fields? I'm beginning to think I'd have better luck with getting one of the patients (who, after all, are kids, and therefore fairly comfortable with technology) to help me finish my family resource centre project than a volunteer. Apparently suitable volunteer jobs are putting magazines in stacks--but not lifting them, hence the reason I never got any help when everything was coming out of storage. Grrrrr....

[*rant mode OFF*]

But still, it's a Buffy/Charmed night, so it should be getting better soon. :)

okay, not to make light of the last post

But as it is often pointed out to me, I am the Harbinger of Gloom and Doom. So, I decided to lighten things up with a Monday night tradition: a quiz. In all my years of gaming, I've never actually played D&D, but I thought this might be fun, and it was.

I Am A: Neutral Good Elf Ranger Bard


Alignment:
Neutral Good characters believe in the power of good above all else. They will work to make the world a better place, and will do whatever is necessary to bring that about, whether it goes for or against whatever is considered 'normal'.


Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.


Primary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.


Secondary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.


Deity:
Mielikki is the Neutral Good goddess of the forest and autumn. She is also known as the Lady of the Forest, and is the Patron of Rangers. Her followers are devoted to nature, and believe in the positive and outreaching elements of it. They use light armor, and a variety of weapons suitable for hunting, which they are quite skilled at. Mielikki's symbol is a unicorn head.


Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy of NeppyMan (e-mail)

Oh, damn...

I just checked the news, and there seems to have been another person shot to death in the DC area tonight. I'm wondering if this guy works 12-hour shifts on the weekends or something. The latest shooting was Falls Church, Virginia, outside a Home Depot. I also think it may be easier for him to do this at night, with all the people who are trying to find him. Still, if people start expecting that, I could see him change times just to spite them. Ugh.

For any of you in the region: be safe. I hope they catch the sniper soon.

hi, it's me, feeling much better...(and yes, I know it's really "it's I" but that just sounds silly)

Reasons for feeling good:

1. I'm back on a regular medication schedule. Apparently I'd inadvertedly missed some doses while working on the great upheaval that has been my library, because I'd get busy and forget to eat, then forget to take my meds. Granted, my doctor had warned me about skipping doses, that there could be withdrawal. It doesn't stay in the body like Prozac does, so the effects are swift. But I didn't mean to skip doses, either. Ugh. Since Paxil is used against migraines, and I do get migraines, those always seem to hit first. But the weather had been weird and my stress was up, so I figured that was it. I didn't have any nausea or dizziness, but lots of lability and suicidal ideation. Lovely. I wouldn't recommend it. Anyway, if you're ever on Paxil, don't stop taking it abruptly--you have to wean off of it. A lot of doctors don't know that, which has led to litigation. Let me just reiterate that it has literally given me my life back--between obsessive-compulsive disorder, social anxiety, and major depression, my life was becoming pretty unbearable. I just need to make sure I remember to take it--which is why I've got an alarm in my PDA that'll go off every day now. Anyway, I'm back to normal. Sorry if I raved too much.

2. I had a mystery/science fiction/superhero weekend. Zabet and her Hubby fed me, bought my "crazy candy" as it was dubbed--read Paxil--and rented Scooby Doo to cheer me up, then followed it up with High Spirits. Saturday I watched lots of things like "Mutant X", "Adventure, Inc.", and "Andromeda". Sunday we had the game. Our characters completed their initiations and gained several new abilities; then we were able to go back in time to the Salem witch trials and save one of the characters and kill the evil cultist in one fell swoop. Always a plus. Then I watched last week's "Charmed" and the new show "Birds of Prey". The latter is based off of a comic I used to read, with Huntress (the daughter of Batman and Catwoman), the Black Canary, and Oracle. Oracle is Barbara Gordan, aka Batgirl. She had been paralysed by being shot by the Joker (who also hired someone to kill Catwoman). For those who may not remember their DC character bios, Barbara Gordan is a librarian. No wonder she's one of my favourites, right? Well, she uses the codename Oracle because she serves as a base of information for various superheroes. She can instantly bring up necessary specifications, newspaper archives, whatever is needed to catch the bad guys. It's a great turn of fate, really. She has to deal with being in a wheelchair, no longer able to do the things she once did, but she uses her librarian abilities to still fight crime. Anyway, the series adaption was great--the characters mesh, and the actresses have done a good job. And I would love to have Oracle's lair and equipment.

3. I sold my first item on eBay. Not a biggie--it's an original Tom Swift novel, but ten bucks for something I found for free is nice, especially when someone for whom the book is special can get it in the bargain. I mean, I think it's neat, but I'm not attached to it like I am to some others, and so it'll just sit on my shelves otherwise. I hope the person enjoys it.

4. The Massive Project is almost completed. One more week and we should be open for business. I should have some volunteers to help with book labels and such tomorrow. Yey!

Hope you're having a good Monday, too. :D

It's Friday Five time...

These have more to do with their effect on my mood rather than whether they're "the best".

1. If you could only choose 1 cd to ever listen to again, what would it be?
Loreena McKennit's Live in Toronto and Paris

2. If you could only choose 2 movies to watch ever again, what would they be?
Mummy and Mummy Returns

3. If you could only choose 3 books to read ever again, what would they be?
Grrr....that leaves out most things I read, which are series, like Harry Potter, Anita Blake, . Fortunately, I could come up with new stories in my head...So, three. Gee. Um. How about Plato's Timaeus, the collected works of Shakespeare, and the collected works of Dylan Thomas?

4. If you could only choose 4 things to eat or drink ever again, what would they be?
Oh, that's easy: water, protein, fat, and carbohydrates. Ooo...you mean specifics? Rice. Beans. Nectarines. Chocolate. If I had to give up one due to allergies, etc., I'd add spinach.

5. If you could only choose 5 people to ever be/talk/associate/whatever with ever again, who would they be?
My mom. D. Z. My last boss, Kathy. Me

Sorry I haven't blogged...

I took a couple of days to crash after work and try to get my bearings again. Haven't been quite so down in awhile. It's like everything I've done for the last six months unravelled--how I felt about work, friends, finances, emotions, healing, feeling part of the world, oh, everything.

It's kind of weird to be feeling pretty good considering it's rained for 28 hours straight (which usually depresses me), there's yet another sniper attack in the news, our government is in the process of getting us into what I believe is a very ill-considered war which will make the world quite messy should it happen, a woman here in Lexington was killed this afternoon when a city bus ran into her, another was killed by a car, another accident killed two a couple of blocks from my house, a guy in the UK area was found bludgeoned to death, one of our local hospitals (UK) is talking layoffs due to the oeconomy (I have several friends who work there), and the CSI episode tonight was actually the first to gross me out (hey, it took two high school students getting high on PCP, attacking a cheerleader, and eating her intestines to do it. Actually it took sifting through the stomach contents to do it--but I did keep watching). Maybe Zabet is right: I do thrive on horrific stuff. I think it's because it reminds me that I'm alive, that I need to take that life and live it, and that as bad as I sometimes feel it is, things can ALWAYS be worse.

On the positive side, our family resource centre has a couch, lights, carpet, etc., etc. I have about fifty of the books catalogued, and hope to have the rest finished by next week. For someone who specialised in cataloguing, I find that it's actually rather tedious when you're doing everything from the computer record to the book pockets and labels. And somehow, cataloguing is just more fun in a MARC record. [That's the standard file format with each part of the record labeled with numbers and letters so that it can be easily transferred between institutions.] I'm not using MARC format--it's such a small collection that a simpler system works fine. I decided to classify the books by Dewey. I did that because I thought parents would be more familiar with Dewey from public libraries, if at all. Hee hee. Now that means I regularly classify by National Library of Medicine, Library of Congress, and Dewey systems. I guess it's better for the resume, anyway. Now I just have to finish putting away some children's books on a table, finish the cataloguing, and they need to set up the computer, TV, and VCR, and we are in business. :) Still, I'm glad tomorrow's Friday--oh, wait, it is Friday. Too bad the Friday Five isn't up yet.

I'm feeling a little better...

DBT helped (well, they do call it therapy, after all). I came home and finished Susan Wittig Albert's Witches Bane, a China Bayles mystery. I think taking a breather and reading helped, too. I've been working solidly for six weeks on getting our family resource centre ready, and doing quite a bit of running about after hours. I needed some time cuddled up with the animals and a mystery. I was a little disappointed--I knew who the killer was from the moment the character was introduced--but I think it's because I just have a nose for psychology. Maybe it's all the stuff I've been through, plus a lot of reading on serial killers and profiling. I haven't had that problem with the other series by Albert and her husband, who write as a team as Robin Paige. But it was only the second of the series, and I really enjoyed the characters. China reminds me of a gentler, kinder Anita Blake (fewer guns, no vampires or werewolves, but lots of committment issues/tough-as-nails attitude). Think cozy Anita, if that's possible.

It's a lot nicer than dealing with real life sickos like the sniper(s) who have apparently decided to go big game hunting around our nation's capitol. I get the need to create havoc and fear, and I'm sure there's some thrill in gunning down people instead of animals--but really, gunning down apparently random targets who are just going about their normal business, the latest a thirteen-year-old--well, it's a coward's way out. I mean, gee, how much does it take to take a rifle and scope (or whatever the hell's being used), pick out such thrilling targets as a woman sitting outside a post office, and pulling the trigger? Yeah, killing from a nice safe distance, no doubt from behind. If someone really is getting some sort of thrill off of that, then they're pretty damn pathetic, I'd say. Somehow I don't think that compares, to say, Hannibal Lector. Not to mention the location--oh, gee, let's go hunting in the FBI's backyard. Maybe that's the point--I don't know. But serial killers tend to escalate and get sloppier over time. The first shot was a miss, then several killings, now two survivors. Seems he/she is getting messy already. Here's to finding the sicko before anyone else dies.

Well, I've had my rant for the night. Take care.

having a small bout of depression...

I'm not sure why. Maybe there isn't a reason beyond messed-up brain chemistry. Maybe because my year of DBT purgatory is about to end, and while I feel ever so much better, and there will be an advanced class to go to...I guess I feel sort of let down. I mean, it's working--don't get me wrong. But it'll mean moving on to something new, and so I'm anxious, and I'm going from being a fairly put-together fish in a small pond to a unknown quantity in another one, where I know some people, but not others. I guess I'm nervous. I feel like I'm backsliding. I skipped DBT last week, and tried to get my car back and all again, even though it's really just dead, dead, dead. I bought a hideous blouse that three people all hated, and I don't even know why--I guess it was back to impulsive behaviour. And I feel like I'm being a burden on people. I feel like I should be more competent than I am. I feel that I go along a straight path for awhile, and then, when I get the least bit like I think I can ease up, I mess up again. I feel like I am working reallying really hard at life and taking of myself and helping others when I can but I'm not sure it really matters. On one hand I feel like it's time to take full responsibility (past time, really) for really living my life. But I seem stuck in babble-motion instead. I feel like I'm only superficially connecting with people and even though I am doing better, I'm not sure it's enough. And I guess I feel that people put up with me rather than love me, even though I know that's not true. I'm sitting here at a public terminal and crying for no good reason other than that it's apparently how I feel. It's nothing I can blame on hormones. I guess I still don't know what I want out of life, but I know I don't have it. I want to be loved, and to love. I know that. But that just seems like something so far away. I think it's really just the depression rearing its ugly head. There are always good days, and bad days. But last night, and today have been bad ones.

The thing is, I know I'm a competent person. Even with my breakdown, I'm still in an apartment, with a job, and animals that love me, etc., etc. I've got a better relationship with my mom than ever before. And I have friends; even if I act like a stupid idiot around them, they seem to like me anyway. But it's like I have to take that--hold that in my hand, just like the childhood magic, and concentrate on it, or it vanishes.

Does everyone else have days like this? Have I spent all my life just trying to be a little special that I've only achieved specialness through delusional thinking? I don't know. I'm not sure what I know anymore, or who I am. 95% of the time I feel connected to myself; the rest of the time I feel adrift. And I think I fit into life around me maybe 40% of the time, which is up a lot from a year ago. :) But today I feel like someone deconstructed me, put me back together, and left a piece or two out. I used to feel that way all the time. I'm trying to remember if I've taken my medicine regularly; maybe I haven't, maybe I've slipped up--it happens. Or maybe it's not working as well anymore. But I hope it's not coming back. Maybe it's just a speedbump. I hope so. Here's to a better tomorrow.

I missed the Friday Five. Oh, well, is there any rule against doing it on Saturday, after all?

1. What size shoe do you wear? 6 1/2 WW, but those tend to be very expensive, so I tend to just go longer until I can get my foot in. No catalogue shopping for me.

2. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Four. I am not Imelda Marcos. Whenever I visit my grandmother and see the pairs and pairs of shoes she has, I get a very unfeminine blank look of wonder.

3. What type of shoe do you prefer (boots, sneakers, pumps, etc.)? Anything comfortable--sandals, sneakers, etc. I actually prefer to be barefoot, unless it's cold or I'm out in public. Right now I tend to wear some hiking boots because they have room for some inserts that help my knees and they support my ankles, which I notoriously turn. A lot.

4. Describe your favourite pair of shoes. Why are they your favorite? I don't really have a favourite pair. I suspect I would if I had a pair of Birkenstocks. One thing I do like about the boots is that while they're not pretty, they lift me up to a point of towering over people. I'm 5'4" normally. I get to be something like 5'7" between the soles and the inserts, without having to brave evil heels.

5. What's the most you've spent on one pair of shoes? Oh, gee, maybe $25. I really should spend more. I'm beginning to appreciate the need for good foot support. I'm lucky to have escaped bunions, callouses, etc., because I refuse to follow fashion over comfort. But I have some issues with my arches, gait, etc. that need better-quality shoes, probably, and with the diabetes, I have to be more careful of my feet, and I'm not supposed to wear open shoes.

Sometimes I think I should be Canadian

It's not that I don't like being American, or Southern, for that matter. I just seem, well, more Canadian, sometimes than Kentuckian. Maybe it's all the Scots blood. Too bad they get so much snow. :) And I have a thing for Canadian music, television, etc. I developed a deep-seated love of Rush years ago, and tonight I've been both listening to Loreena McKennitt and doing searches on Moxy Früvous (drat...Zabet and her hubby introduced me to them, then went off for their anniversary, and the only think I have to play is one of their songs on a compilation wedding souvenir. I want to hear the "King of Spain"!) But, I did find the following King of Spain for Unix Weenies, so that'll have to keep me until they get back tomorrow.

Oh, by the way, I don't have the puppy. I went over to meet her the other day, and it turns out she has parvo, although she's apparently got a really mild case and they think she'll be okay. I hope so. It'll be three weeks at least before I could adopt her, assuming I do. Oh, hell, we know I will, and I haven't even seen her yet. Sigh. She's 4 months old, black, and apparently looks like a Black Lab with Cocker ears and wavy hair. She has a disposition similar to Cerys. She sounds adorable. We'll see.

There is a young boy who has been working very hard in our area for several years now to help kids with cancer who are stuck in the hospital. I know he's been on some of the national talk shows. Jarrett Mynear created a "joy cart" of toys to help get kids through the pain and isolation of cancer treatment. He'd had several bouts of cancer treatment himself--starting at about 2 1/2 and continuing until yesterday, when he died. He was just thirteen years old--but instead of focusing on what-ifs and whys, he chose to share with others and got out into the community to raise awareness and money for his project. I dare say a lot of adults couldn't have dealt with the things he did--chemotherapy, amputations, bout after bout of spreading cancer--and do something that would touch so many others and leave a legacy of kindness. He kind of reminds me of Ryan White, a kid who became famous for trying to live a normal life with AIDS back at a time when no one wanted their kids near someone with such a death sentence.

I think we need to learn from kids. If you look at the headlines each day--parents beating their kids in parking lots, snipers shooting random people on the streets, etc., etc.--well, these kids help us keep hope for the human condition. We normally hear about the ones facing some terrible tragedy. But the truth is, most kids are pretty cool. They see the world with innocence, but it's not phantasy. It's just sometimes adults get so innured into the hate, the pain of living, whatever, that we forget the magic of life.

Take a minute and remember how you felt blowing dandylion seeds, or how you pretended to be a superhero saving the world. No matter what sort of childhoods we had, whether it was loving or abusive, we all had moments of the magic. If you open yourself up to it, you can still feel it.

I sometimes think that the secret over the last year, in response to my "breakdown", was that I was forced to go back to living inside myself. I know that sounds weird, but the fact is, I'd let myself slip into a routine where I reacted constantly to the outside world without really interacting with it, and I lost all contact with myself. I couldn't remember something someone said even a moment or two later because I wasn't there. I was outside myself, dissociated, wrapped up in the anxiety, and obsession, and self-doubt. I was afraid to be alone, afraid to be myself, afraid to feel at all. Even now, when I start to feel that way, I go outside, watch a spider make her web, or feel the breeze--whatever single focus I need to remind myself that I am alive, and that is what matters. Everything else is just part of that. That's the secret--the thing I needed so much therapy and experience and awfulness to learn. I had to care for myself, to live my life, before I could reach out for others. Jarrett Mynear seems to have had that down early--and was able to reach out and care as a way to live. There are times I feel like I've wasted more years of my life than he had to live. I know that nothing's truly a waste, so long as we grow, and change. But it does make me wonder what he could have done with a longer life. And it makes me feel like it's even more important that those of us who have more time do our best with it.

Yeah, I know, it's a little corny. But so am I. Good night.

I am having great trepedation...

Why, you ask? Because...well, I seem to be destined for a small furball I haven't even met yet. I received a call the other day about something I really needed but would be reluctant to get. No, it wasn't a telemarketer. After a game of twenty questions, the answer turned out to be a puppy. A four-month-old Black Lab/Cocker/Australian Shepherd/several other unidentifiable breeds puppy, whose disposition is very similar to my dog Cerys' and who is apparently from incredibly small parents and so shouldn't weigh much more than 30 lbs, despite the Shepherd. She basically looks like a Lab puppy with Cocker ears and wavy hair, or so I've been told.

Now, you have to understand that I have four animals--one dog and three cats (obviously I'm not including the fish, who are generally not mobile beyond the aquarium). A few years ago I had another dog, a beagle/basset cross that I loved but no one else saw the charm in. Unfortunately, he needed a bigger family--one with kids that could walk him a lot and give him a lot of attention. And so, I found him a home. So, really, I know that five is doable. Also, my youngest is ten and my oldest will soon be fifteen--so I have a very rough few years ahead. It was pointed out to me that I would probably need a younger animal to comfort me through this time. Still, I placed myself on a moratorium for animals several years ago, because I was on my way to being one of those ladies with too many cats you always read about. I could see me hoarding animals.

This is different. I'm not even sure I want another dog. But I've learned to trust the caller's intuition--and my own. The caller felt so strongly about it that he offered to pay the adoption fee. And, just for good measure, I asked a certain version of my Patroness as well. So far, I keep coming up with a sense that this is a good idea. So even though my head goes no...well, of course we'll see.

Another snag: I went to go meet the puppy tonight but it turns out she's at the vet. Apparently she has a very light case of Parvo, which in itself is not good, but she's expected to recover. She's a rescue puppy, and the rescue group is paying for her vet fees at present. If, (oh hell, let's just say when) I adopt her, she'll be spayed with her first round of shots up to date.

I've never had such a young puppy. I've never actually done the training from the beginning. Cerys pretty much came the way she is--she was eight months old, housebroken, and pretty set in her psyche already. She only tore up two (irreplaceable) objects during a brief chewing phase. I'm not sure I'm ready for a puppy, but the universe seems to have decided otherwise. The universe, I've noticed, has a wicked sense of humour.

Nothing will come of any of this for at least three weeks. That's how long it should be before she's around other dogs. That will give me time to puppy-proof the house and get Cerys to her annual physical--she's due for her shots about now. Then we get to see how they get along, and I'll go from there. Oy ve. Wish me luck.

Oh, I suppose I should add something librarian-related...

It's October! Do you know what that means?

It's National Medical Librarians' Month. Be sure to tell a medical librarian what you think of them!

Well, now, that's settled, I suppose...

From yesterday's health news: Link Between Penis and Shoe Size Dispelled.

Now, I don't have a lot of experience with penises in general or specific, having never had one, but...um...they talk about how it wasn't practical to measure penile length while fully erect, so they took flaccid men and "gently stretched" the penis. From my limited experience (mainly with an ex) I know two things--one, he would have been quite small by this study, while in truth he was quite endowed, and two, I don't think you can "gently stretch" a man's member during some sort of scientific experiment and expect to get any valid result. Many men, I would say, would, well, shrink if faced with this. It seems like this was a terribly genteel but not particularly successful study. What do you think?

PS Egad, I probably just upped my site hits with that post. Ah, well. But sorry--you won't find much about penises (peni?) here. :) I'm just sort of fascinated by them because I don't have one. They're kind of like black hair--I'm interested in the mysteries of African-American hairstyles because they're just so different (especially with my baby fine white bread hair that won't do ANYTHING but lay limp), you can do so much with them, but they're such a bother. Kind of like penises, actually. :)