rachelpink rides the bus

Pages

Meg recommended This Book Will Save Your Life, so I added it to my library list. It was ready for pick up a day later. It's a great book, a profoundly great book, and I'm reading it every chance I get.

It's the paperback version. And there are two problems.

1. I don't like the jacket. 

2. The pages stick together two at a time.
The jacket I can get over, but the sticky page problem really puts a dent in the reading experience. At the back of my mind when I turn every page I think, "Separate the pages!"

Political Wisdom from my 8-Yr. Old Nephew

On the Debates:
"McCain went, and then Obama. And then Obama said, 'That's right, I agree, but you're wrong.' Yadda, yadda, yadda."

On Palin:
"I like her, she's pretty. And she can say "Free Pizza Day every Friday" if she wants to. . . if we're lucky."

Bad Dinner

I worked until 9ish. I didn't really have a dinner plan. When I got home, I realized my options were:

Eggs and toast
Pancakes
PB&J

Pancakes won. I've been craving them for weeks even though it's been a year since I've touched a pancake.

Now my stomach feels pancakey. I ate them with ginger ale and I don't think the combo did me any favors. I need to make some real food tomorrow.

I Don't Want To Turn It Back

Cher wanted to turn back time.

I'd just like to stop it. I need to catch my breath.

Plus, it would be fun if time stopped and I could swap people's clothes.

A Little Help From My Friends. And Their Friends.

To distract myself from the stress ball in my stomach, I'm trying to raise some money for the animal shelter. My idea is goofy, and I'm hoping it's goofy enough for people to pass on to their friends.

Here's the deal:
The cats and dogs of The Animal Shelter of Queens can't vote, but they are doing their part for the election. For a $25 tax-deductible donation to the shelter (http://www.bestfriendadoptions.org/Donations.html), you can elect to line a litter box or dog cage with images of their least favorite presidential ticket. Donations will be made via PayPal. Please specify your litter-lining candidate when you're checking out! Every week until the election we'll post updates here about which candidate is lining the most cages.

We've already gotten our first donation (thanks, Kambri!). The money goes to a great cause, and I will personally be handling the papering of the cages and kennels. There will be pictures :)

Voluntarily

Today was a little hectic nutso at the ACQ. I knew I was down two volunteers before I even stepped through the door. I did not know that I'd have a handful of giggly high school volunteers milling around all morning.

The giggly girls moved at half speed. One of them freaked out when she saw me throw a cat-food can in the trash. "They don't recycle??"  "No," I snapped back, "as you can see, they have bigger fish to fry."  I need to learn how to manage these situations better. I need to learn to send giggly girls up front to hold kittens while my nycares volunteers do their thing.

With all the confusion and extra people, it took us three hours instead of two to clean the cat cages--all 20 of them. Half of those cages hold kittens, and kittens are absurdly messy. Hilarious and cute, but messy.

WWTRD?

I'm taking a break from MSNBC tonight and catching up on Friday Night Lights. I'm only a few hours away from finishing season one.

Just when I though Tim Riggins couldn' t be any hotter, he befriends little Bo. Hot guy extricating little kid from a schoolyard fight? Super super hot.

Even for those of you not interested in dirty hotness, you need to catch up on the joy that is Friday Night Lights. You do not need to be a football fan, but you will learn all manner of fun facts about QB1s. You might even be tricked into believing that you like football because FNL only includes the most exciting, game-ending, nail-biting moments of the game. Don't be fooled, football in real life is seriously super boring.

Keith is my new Lenny

Change is afoot.

For years and years I've had a hardcore Law and Order habit. Seriously friends, it was so bad that you all should have gotten together and held an intervention. I could easily watch 10 episodes in a single weekend, or 2-3 episodes after a long day at work. That's a whole lot of L&O. And yes, most of the time I'd just have it on in the background--but that's only because I knew all the episodes so well that I could step in and handle the closing arguments for Jack McCoy.

But this week I didn't watch Law and Order when I got home from work. I turned on Keith Olbermann. And when Keith was done I stuck around for Rachel Maddow. And then, well, I just left MSNBC on for the rest of the night. And then I turned it on the next night. And with the election and the sick economy I know I'm not the only chick watching the news. Hell, we all SHOULD be watching and reading the news. But it's not just that I'm watching it, I'm liking it. I like having an interest, passion, and nascent understanding of politics and economics. There. I said it.

Cheese

Murray's Cheese is as magical as a unicorn.

It's got everything going for it. A perfect location. CHEESE. Olives of every ilk. CHEESE. Weird and special yogurt. CHEESE. Oh you get my drift.

The thing is, I'm a little bit terrified of the cheese counter.Without hesitation I'll pick up off-the-shelf items like honey on the comb, artisinal butters and yogurts, small loaves of local bread, and other rare and special things. But pulling a number for service at the counter. . . I just can't do it.

And that's why I have to call in my cheese husband, Vince. Lisa and Vince have perfect taste, and they always know a lot about the delicasies that rock. They've introduced me to truffle cheese, and Mrs. Quick's cheddar, and all kinds of Murray's delciousness. So when I get a hankering for a hunk of cheese, I ask Vince to come along. He knows the best cheesemongers and all the right questions to ask them. Tonight I wanted a goat cheese, and after answering 5 quick questions I came away with a perfect, mild, semi-soft goat cheese from Spain. Feeling brazen, I chose a tasty wedge of riccotta salata all on my own. Oh how I love living in a city where I can walk a few blocks, open a door, and have unlimited access to the world's very best cheese. Carrie Bradshaw had her shoes, but I'll take a Coach Farm Triple Cream over Manolo's any day.

The Trouble with Facebook, Part One

If you went to high school with me, you probably have babies. Lots of them. Cute pink-cheeked ones wearing striped leggings and little leather shoes adorned with animal faces.

For the record, I LOVE babies. Especially babies that are related to me, or babies who belong to people I like. Babies are cool little creatures full of potential.

For a few years of my grownuphood I wished to birth no babies. Then, for a month or two, I thought a baby could be cool, iPhone cool. Days passed like weeks and I remembered that babies cost $$ and that I, at present, can only inconsistently afford the good, organic, wholesome and overpriced cat food for Foster and Cupcake.

A month or so ago I read a great book (Comfort by Ann Hood, I highly recommend it), and it made me think I could one day adopt a baby. In hindsight, it's a good thing I chose that book instead of HOW TO JUMP OFF BRIDGES AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE because it's very likely that I'd be writing this from a dangerous perch atop the Brooklyn Bridge.

But I digress. Three days after announcing my intentions to prance off to China in 2011 with my sights set on an adorable mini-me, I looked up some wikipedia entries on adoption and nixed the whole imaginary operation.

Which, however tangentially, brings me back around to Facebook.

So I've made it to 33 without having a serious lady-crisis about my own desire/ability/opportunity to make babies. All of my thoughts on the matter have been fleeting, goofy, and shared for a cheap laugh. There has been no hand wringing or hair tearing or rending of garments. Thanks to Facebook, that's changed. A spate of high school acquaintances became PEOPLE I MAY KNOW. And these PEOPLE I MAY KNOW are covered in babies. Multiple babies. Old babies who go off to school and talk and choose their own outfits from darling Mammut dressers.

A baby here and there has been fine for my pysche. But the multitudes of babies? I just wasn't prepared for this, and now I'm having bizarro dreams about having alien babies and misplacing babies. I want my old dreams back! The ones with talking cats and rainbows. Those I like, those leave me refreshed and positive in the morning light.

There are people I may know, people I did know, people I maybe I kind of knew--and they're all being fruitful and multiplying. Living in New York is like living in a bubble of delightful edgy sameness. A few of my friends have babies. Most of them don't. Here, I'm the baseline, as much as there is a baseline. But there, in the land of PEOPLE I MAY KNOW, I'm the odd bird out.

Two roads diverged from my high school, and I took the one less traveled--I just didn't know it until now.