Stike Out for Choice!

Others might make jokes about "striking out a life" (which I find really funny, by the way, because my gallows humor on this topic is so finely honed; another good one might be about alleys), but I am participating in an abortion access bowl-a-thon in April. Seriously.

"But Suzanne," Dear Reader may be thinking, "abortion is legal. How can it not be accessible?"

Yes, that's what I used to think, too. Then I found out that 87% of counties in the US have no abortion providers. This affects approximately 1/3 of American women. The lack of providers increases exponentially for women who need abortions after 16 weeks.* These women are forced to travel long distances, sometimes as many as hundreds of miles, to get the medical services they need.

Add it up: there's the cost of the procedure (not covered by Medicare in 32 states; although those lucky enough to have private health insurance are covered by many policies for now), the cost of transportation, and potentially the cost of a motel if the person has to stay overnight. Since 50% of women who get abortions already have children, there's the cost of child care, too.

While abortion may be legal, it is only really accessible to women who live in certain geographic regions and/or those who have financial resources.* So, I join the abortion access bowl-a-thonin an attempt to keep pins, not women, in (back) alleys. Um, or something like that.

*There are many reasons for why that may happen.
**Just like other health care! How nuts is that?!?!

The Rabbi and The Librarian (Not a Joke)

So many of my posts are focused on the people who disgust and disappoint me by working to reduce understanding between people and to eliminate freedom while claiming they are protecting the community. Today's post is different. Rabbi Caspers Funnye and Judith Krug are two people who work(ed) to create a better society.

During the festivities surrounding Pres. Obama's inauguration, I read a story that mentioned that his family contingent was undoubtedly the most diverse of any president's. It included Southest Asians, African-Americans, Canadians, and a rabbi. "A rabbi?" I thought. "Why hadn't I heard about this person before, especially when people were spreading all those hideous rumors that Obama was anti-Semetic?"

Well, a few weeks ago, the New York Times Magazine ran a story about the rabbi. Turns out that Rabbi Caspers Funnye is Michelle's cousin, and that he is on a mission to bridge the gulf between the black and white Jewish communities. Amazing person, although of course I am not down with the traditional gender segregation they practice in his congregation. Still, I would love to get involved in creating a more diverse understanding of Judaism, although I have no idea how to do so.

In today's Times, there's a small piece commemorating the work of Judith Krug, who passed away on Sat. Ms. Krug headed the American Library Association's Office for Intellectual Freedom, battling censorship and fear. During the Bush administration, my mother-in-law, who is a children's librarian, proudly noted that librarians were at the forefront of protecting First Amendment rights. They were supposed to report on anyone who checked out suspicious books or looked at "bad" web sites, but many librarians refused to do so. Engaging in this battle for over 40 years, Judith Krug set a great example of leadership for not only librarians, but for all of us who truly care about creating democracy.

Rescue!

While walking back to our hotel from Ghirardelli Square, I noticed an abandoned pirate on the sidewalk. I was horrified! Who would throw aside a perfectly good pirate like trash! Since his whiskered yellow face and brown musket were covered with sand, dust, and cobwebs from neglect, I procured a tissue (unfortunately, a used one, but I doubt that the pirate cared) from my coat pocket, and scooped the little guy up.



As we continued on, I stopped at a little corner grocery to purchase a libation for myself (Cherry Coke Zero, the most expensive bottle I ever bought at $2.01!!!). At the store, I snagged a piece of wax paper that was intended for use in picking pastries up from the case of baked goods, and further enrobed my new friend. He rode the rest of the way safely in my coat pocket.

Upon our arrival, I plunked my adopted pirate into the bathroom sink for a bath. At that point I noticed that much of the gunk that previously covered him had already transferred itself into a gunky part of the tissue, so he was already in better shape than when I first came across his sad little body. After he floated around in the hot bath for a few minutes, I wiped him down with a (clean) tissue. The rejuvenated pirate seemed very grateful, and I now have a guard for my desk at my new job!

Often times no good deeds go unpunished, but I am pleased that I took a few minutes early in this new year to help a plastic trinket in need.

Good Deeds

The fine people at BlogHer are participating in the DonorsChoose Challenge. Basically, because public education is grossly underfunded in communities across America, teachers often spend their own money on supplies for the kids. Since many teachers are underpaid, they often cannot afford the things that they need for special projects that enrich kids' lives and help them learn. DonorsChoose is a website that lets teachers tell potential donors about what they need for their classroom and why. If donors like the idea, they can give a portion of the project cost or the full amount. All the projects are awesome.

For the DonorsChoose Challenge, I decided to write about a project called Puzzling Diversity. Mrs. G teachers four year olds in a low income community in Oklahoma. She would like puzzles for her pre-k classroom that illustrate the different types of careers that people from various ethnic backgrounds and genders can aspire to. I believe that almost nothing is more important than quality early childhood education, and I also love that Mrs. G is working with her kids at a young age to see outside of restrictive gender stereotypes and dream about what they can be when they grow up. Puzzles are also critical tools to help children develop fine motor skills and develop a spatial reasoning. Puzzling diversity really touches me in so many ways.

To equip her classroom with puzzles illustrating positive behaviors, Mrs. G only needs $75 more dollars. If 75 people give a dollar each, that would do it. I know that these are terrible times economically, but I think most people can spare a $1 to help kids. If you give $1 today, research on the benefits of quality early childhood education indicates that you will actually save between $7 and $17 in future spending (i.e. - taxes) because these programs lower the rate of dropping out of school, teen pregnancy, juvenile delinquency, repeated grades, and other social ills. So it's a double benefit to support Puzzling Diversity if you think about it.

When I was a wee lass, I wanted to be president when I grew up. I also, at various points, wanted to be Jenny Lind (aka The Swedish Nightengale; a singer who toured the world and charmed audiences with her melodious voice in the early 1900s), Florence Nightengale, a teacher, and/or a bank teller. Husband wanted to drive the bus to the zoo when he was pre-school age. How about you?

Murder in the Laundry Room

Are the concepts of common courtesy and sharing completely dead? I ask myself this question multiple times a day, and today is no exception. The laundry room in our building has eight driers. The building has 135 units. Of course, not everyone does their laundry (or has their maid do their laundry) at the same time. Plus, some lucky bastards have washers (which empty soapy water into my kitchen sink - grrrr) and driers in their apartments, so generally things work out in the laundry room.

Given the small number of machines, good manners dictate not monopolizing all the machines. Further, it is pretty important to take your laundry out of the drier within a few minutes of the end of the cycle. I always aim to get down a few minutes early so that I can be there when the drier stops and get my stuff out. Sometimes, I'm a little late, and once I came down 2 minutes after the load stopped and found someone had already removed my clothes and was loading hers in the drier, which I was annoyed at but understood. Hence I was furious to find someone claimed half of the driers for himself and left his laundry sitting in them for two hours. (It was done when I went down to start my wash, so I know.)

Somehow, I refrained from smoting him on the spot. I folded my towels, packed them up, and headed into the elevator. When I noticed him shuffling his two bulging laundry bags out of the corner of my eye, I even held the elevator door open for him. My good deed was rewarded with a polite, "Thank you."

There's no real point to this story except that I wish people were more considerate. Perhaps if more people were able to attend high quality early childhood programs, there would be more sharing in our society. Or maybe I remain annoyed at the person who thinks that there is no public benefit to child care. Either way, I will try and return to enjoying this splendid June day.

Last Chance Before December

When I was a wee lass growing up on the "wrong" side of the Edens Expressway in Wilmette, IL, my dad had a t-shirt that puzzled me. It had a picture of a cartoon women who (according to my partly unreliable memory) was scantily clad and had big titties sitting on a bale of hay with a piece of hay in her teeth. Above her, it read, "Last chance before the freeway." My dad also had a t-shirt with McDonald's golden arch logo that parodied the fast food purveyor. It read, "Marijuana: Over 5 Billion Stoned."

Of course, these memories have nothing to do with NaBloPoMo, a scheme to encourage people to blog at least once every day in November, but as today is Nov. 30 and thus the last day of NaBloPoMo, it's people's last chance to create posts and backdate them if they didn't make the daily postings. In my case, pretty much post at least once every day, every month anyway. However, as I decided to enjoy myself in London over Thanksgiving weekend and not pay the outrageous internet connection fee at my hotel, November happens to be the one month I didn't post every day. Some may say I lose, but I say I win. Dude, I got to go to London!!!

I tried to offer a prize for those who successfully completed NaBloPoMo, but the organizer never responded to either of my emails. I guess it's OK for others to offer their blog merchandise, but not offensive little old me. However, if you are a CUSS reader who successfully completed NaBloPoMo, email me (my email is on the right side of the blog), and you can have any short sleeve t-shirt or mug from the CUSS store. If more than one person is a NaBloPoMo champ, I'll do some sort of random drawing at the end of next week. Just because the official NaBloPoMo people rejected me doesn't mean I shouldn't try and make good on my offer. Holiday spirit and all that shit.

Back to growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, this last day of November brings the news that former member of the House of Representatives Henry Hyde from Illinois died. Rep. Hyde did everything he could to ensure that low income women had few options for terminating pregnancies by blocking federal Medicaid funds from paying for the procedure. On the other hand, at least he was slightly less hypocritical than his anti-family, pro-forced-childbirth colleagues, as Hyde supported the federal Child Care and Development Block Grant. This important money helped low income parents pay for safe places for their kids to stay while they worked or went to school. I won't call it even, but at least he tried to help families even as he coerced them into living by his religious beliefs.

When (B-List) Celebrities Care

Yesterday I attended a ribbon cutting at an affordable housing development in the Bronx. My involvement in the project came from my former job, when I gave the community developers a small grant to cover some of the costs of planning a child care center to build into the ground floor. The overall $14.5 million budget led to the creation of affordable apartments for 63 families and 120 child care slots for children living in the building and the community at large.*

My former former employer financed a good portion of the construction costs, so it was very nice to catch up with people at the ribbon cutting. Near the end of the endless blathering during the ceremony, another familiar face moseyed into the building. Although I am generally clueless, I recognized Ed Norton immediately. He's the grandson of the founder of my former former employer, and when he was a struggling Off-Off-Off Broadway actor in New York, Ed worked on community development. I've seen him at other events (once, years ago, with Salma Hayek in tow), and he is just as handsome in person as he is in the movies. He's also taller than I thought he'd be.

Turns out that Norton found out that this particular community developer wanted to start doing green buildings, and sustainable design is a pet cause of Norton's. He became personally involved in helping raise money to cover the incrementally higher costs of a green roof and solar panels to reduce energy costs and emissions. Norton was not on the agenda to speak, but as soon as he sauntered into the community room in a crisp white button down shirt and jeans, he was called up to the podium to speak. I almost lost it at that point because I had already (barely) tolerated the first half of the program which involved six politicians talking about how awesome they were and the final speakers were the financial folks who keep it short and sweet, and I was itching to see the fucking child care center already. Norton half-bloviated, half-inspired.

Regardless, I was impressed that he trekked up to a slightly inconvenient location in the Bronx to support this important work. There was no media or paparazzi on his ass, no entourage surrounding him, just a guy who felt strongly that poor people deserve affordable, healthy, and safe places to live. It was cool.


*I cannot for the life of me understand why all the luxury condo developers don't bother including child care centers in their projects. The shortage of quality early childhood program space is increasingly acute for the super wealthy as more families with young children opt to stay in the city and live in these condos to raise their infants, toddlers, and pre-schoolers. My friend Logan told me that 600 children tried to enroll in the 30 slots that were available in her son's preschool in Tribeca. There's no excuse - condo developers are just lame and exceptionally stupid.

The Week in Preview

Is October almost halfway over already? Sometimes time crawls by on its hands and knees like a dehydrated person seeking rehydration pills from a crabby pharmacist in a horrid chain pharmacy. Other times, it passes me by like all those assholes who refuse to stop their cars at red lights.

Sorry, I got carried away for a moment there. The point is that October is almost over and that means that this upcoming weekend is my brother-in-law's wedding. In terms of how that affects the hilarious stories that I strive to write for CUSS, I am happy to announce that the whole mispucha (the entire gang, i.e. - my whole family) will be trekking out east for the celebration. Yes, everyone - Mom, Dad, Bubbe, Granny, Sister, and Sister's Husband. (And of course cousin Rebecca will be there too, although she only has to take the train down from her school in Westchester County.) There is no doubt in my mind that stories will be generated. I'll build the anticipation by pointing out that Bubbe has been looking forward to meeting my 13 lb. pet rabbit Tycho for five years, and that she used to raise and cook rabbits when she was a girl in the Old Country.

This week I also hope to complete my second draft of my book, Off the Beaten (Subway) Track. (I finished the first draft last Wednesday and wound up my pen-and-paper revisions on Friday.) I'm fairly happy with what I've got. The goal is to write something that is fun, amusing, and informatively inspiring, and I think I did a good job with that. Things need to be prettied up, though, before I have to turn it into the publisher on Nov. 1, which will be here before I know it.

To prove how quickly time flies, on Monday morning I'll be going to the grand opening ribbon cutting of an affordable housing development with a child care center. It seems like just yesterday that I had a job in which I provided a small grant for the child care portion, then stood with my friend Maria in a treeless empty lot on a 110 degree day while politicians spent 10 minutes each talking about how their speeches will be short because it is so hot out during the groundbreaking ceremony. Things have changed so quickly. It's amazing.

Elephant Ball-Sized Oddity!

Many monikers and labels have been thrown at me ("baby killer" is my #1 special favorite, with "stupid cunt" a very close second), but no one ever accused me of being an animal rights activist. I enjoy eating dead animals (even baby ones), wear leather, and feel my blood boil with the urge to kill people who bring their dogs into food markets, drug stores, or boutiques. I almost always prioritize the welfare of children over animals.

I say "almost always" because if a person is being mean to an animal, the rules of the game change immediately. Yesterday, Des and I were at a completely ludicrous home-based barge museum. The captain, a former cruise ship juggler whose partner is also a juggler he met while working the ships and their daughters are trapeze artists who all perform on the barge they live on, pulled out several enormous binders ("My press clips," he explained) that also included personal photo albums. (One of those pictures involved him wearing no clothes while repairing something. I'm not sure what.)

While we (and believe it or not, there were other people at the museum: a guy from a Norwegian historical society researching the stories of Norwegian families that performed and lived on riverboat barges, a Columbia journalism student who rocked and is writing her first school assignment on the Red Hook nabe of Brooklyn, and a woman with a kid) were all staring at photos of this guy and his life in juggling, the woman's kid was playing with the house rabbit who resided on the boat. But "playing" means tormenting. The woman paid no mind as her kid repeatedly hit the bunny (Dewey, a gray and white lop) in the face with the cage door as he tried to come out of his cage after the kid chased him in.

A familiar bubbling sensation overtook my blood supply. I stormed away from the photo show taking place on the kitchen table and approached the brat.

"Excuse me," I said firmly but pleasantly. "Please leave the bunny alone."

Kid stared at me and said nothing, but also did not remove her hand from the cage door. Dewey poked his head out and was rewarded with a door to the nose.

"I said, do not close that cage door on the rabbit." Blank stare from kid. Voice rising, I asked, "How would you like it if someone kept closing a door on you?" More curious looks. Cage door closes on rabbit face. Repeat comment in louder voice. Kid backs away slightly, which is good because I was thisclose to grabbing her hand and slamming it in the cage door. (This, people, is why I am not having kids.)

Long story short, I went back to the table and the mother continued to ignore her animal - I mean, daughter - resulting in the kid spilling the container of rabbit food all over the floor. At this point, Des and I left and went for key lime pie, which Des discovered unfortunately contained gelatin, thus rendering it inedible because she is a vegetarian. I scarfed it down because nothing tastes better than ground up horse bones after an afternoon's work of defending a helpless animal.

Suzanne Reisman, Swimsuit Model, Takes a Stand

A few months ago, I launched a lame protest against the unattainable beauty standard set by the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. I was way too wussy to actually pose in my underwear, though, so I made a duct tape version of myself. Duct Tape Suzanne didn't really capture all my bulges, but she did a good enough job demonstrating that people with B cups don't explode out of bras.

Recently, a number of airbrushing incidents have come to light. Catherine Morgan put a nice photo montage of some of the incidents on her blog; Rita Arens described the photoshopping of young pageant girls on BlogHer, and D Listed puts up tons of photos on his site. The Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition contains women airbrushed to the hilt.

With all the airbrushing out there, I wonder why models are even needed any more. Magazines and the fashion industry could save tons of money by hiring shlubs like me at a low rate, then painting a new face or body on the picture. That said, I am also increasingly pissed at the bullshit that is out there. Other than the Dove Real Beauty campaign, which depicts "normal" women of a variety of body types and ages in order to sell lotion, there are very few depictions of just us regular ladies. Fuck that. Let's start the "Normal Woman Photo Campaign." Here's what I look like in my new Gottex Blue bathing suit:



Am I mortified at how chubby I look? Yes, but it is me. I shouldn't feel ashamed at not being perfect. I'm not going to any more, either. Join the Swimsuit Brigade and stand up for normal women. Post a picture of yourself online in your swimsuit. Don't put yourself down. You look fabulous. Models don't speak for us, and airbrushed ones even less so. Let's represent.

I Married a Lunatic, Part II: Photographic Evidence

For his birthday, Husband asked me for an orange bow tie and Mets suspenders. The suspenders were easy; I found them online at a place called Rainbow Connection (make what you will of the name). The bow tie was a bigger challenge. I found a perfectly hideous one at eBay. It was orange with blue polka dots, incorporating both of the Mets colors nicely, so I went with the buy it now option. A few days later, the fuckers told me that they didn't really have the damn bow tie and refunded me my money.

Unlike the Mets suspenders, no other internet purveyors popped up for orange bow ties. I pounded the pavement. Two days before Husband's birthday, I settled for a goldish orange bow tie and cumberbun combo from Today's Man (or Men's Warehouse, I forget). When I proudly presented him with the gift, Husband loved the suspenders but was not so enthusiastic about the damn bow tie.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, it's not really orange," he explained. "It's more gold." He looked crushed.

"OK, I'll try again."

A few days later, I happened to be on the Upper East Side for a visit to the Mt. Vernon Hotel Museum for my book about things to see and do in New York City that are off the beaten path. (It rocks, by the way.) On my way home, I stumbled into my arch nemesis department store, Bloomingdale's. I hate Bloomie's because the sales people tend to treat me as though they can barely stand the sight of me in their precious store, but I was desperate for the bow tie, and an orange bow tie strikes me as just the thing that rich fools with no taste would wear to Orange Bowl night at the club or something. I went in, and within minutes, found an orange bow tie with navy stripes. At $35, I almost didn't buy it, but then remembered that this was exactly what Husband wanted, even if I was offended at the price-per-usage ratio. (I mean, how often would he wear the damn thing?)

Anyway, to finally wrap this long story up, he was delighted with the bow tie. However, when we made a spur of the moment decision to attend a Mets game on Saturday night, the fact that he doesn't know how to tie a bow tie ensured that we didn't get there until the 4th inning. He looked very dashing in his outfit, though, and would have been ecstatic had the Mets not decided to put in a belly itcher not a pitcher, and thus lose the game by two.

(Fake mustache compliments of Husband and Photo Shop.) How can I not love him?

A Patriotic Proposal

Dear Elected Official,

I know that there are many serious issues our country is supposedly facing right now (and I say supposedly because mostly we don't do anything productive about them, not because they are not serious), but I must point out a very important problem we as a nation experienced yesterday: the 4th of July fell on a Wednesday. Many of us freedom (from work)-loving citizens found this distracting. We had to work on Monday and Tuesday, then go right back to work on Thursday and Friday unless we wanted to use vacation or personal days. Is it not the right of every American to enjoy a long weekend as the result of non-religious federal holidays?

If you would pass a law banning the 4^th of July from falling on a Wednesday that would resolve this upsetting situation. Since I know that Congress has little to no control over the calendar, I find it acceptable for the law to say that if the 4^th of July falls on a Wednesday, as a nation, it will officially be observed the following day. Then we can have fireworks on the evening of the 4^th and no one will have to go to work the next day. (Lovable but unpatriotic haters like Suebob can skip the fireworks, though, and still get the next day off. They need it to soothe their dogs' frayed nerves.)

I am concerned that not passing this law shows that you have no respect for the hard work of our Founding Fathers (and their wives, like Abigail Adams who often gave them good ideas and got no credit). Every year, we show our love for past presidents by guaranteeing that Presidents' Day falls on a Monday. Memorial Day and Labor Day are also cherished days on every American's calendar. I know that people generally don't give a rat's ass about veterans (other than lip service about our gratitude for making the world free and shit), which is why the Veteran's Administration health system gets cut every year, so it makes sense that Veteran's Day remain on Nov. 11. No need to give people a long weekend to celebrate them, which is the point: do we want to lump the birth of our nation in with Veteran's Day? No! We want people to have time to spend with their families, overeating hot dogs (or in my case, dumplings) and getting into arguments about how to best cut a chocolate chip cookie cake frosted with a big old American flag without worrying about finishing the rest of the week at work.

This law will be the best thing to happen to our nation since we founded it, you'll get the love of the people forever, and it was all my brilliant idea! I am sure that bipartisan support will be easy to garner, and the idiot in the big chair at the White House will sign it right away into law, as he loves taking long vacations, so he'll get it.

Sincerely,

Suzanne Reisman

Losin' It

Losin' It was on of Tom Cruises' first hit movies, or something like that, wedged right between The Outsiders and Risky Business. To me, though, "losin' it" is a near daily occurrence, although the "it" that gets lost varies tremendously.

Often times "it" is my temper or tenuous grip on sanity. Other days it is an object, like a water bottle I'm carrying with me, which I put down for a second to look at something, then wander away and 15 minutes later, realize that I lost it somewhere. Today, "it" was the last week's edition of New York Magazine, which had a very interesting feature on books, writing, and MFA programs. I read it on the train back to New York from New Haven, and after I read the main feature, I realized that I enjoyed the rest of the magazine immensely, too. Unfortunately, I lost it after I debarked in Harlem, sweated buckets on the walk to the subway, and noticed a Dunkin' Donuts. At DD, I bought a mango pineapple smoothie. Sometime between slurping down the icy beverage and entering the subway station and refilling my MetroCard, I dropped the magazine. I didn't notice until I was getting on the subway and it occurred to me that I wanted to finish reading some article.

What was I doing on the train from New Haven in the first place? Well, that is the main thing that I lost today. I helped Dr. P pack up her UHaul for Stage 1 of her moving process, which involves dropping her shit off at her parents' house in Connecticut. (Long story.) Despite being ridden with cold germs, I asked her if she wanted company on her drive north before we embark on a much longer drive south in two weeks. She dropped me off at the train station to go back to NYC, which is where I then lost my magazine. But of course, I had already lost something much more important today when one of my closest friends - someone I think of as a sister - moved away.

Government Adventures: Two Tales from the Front

In preparation for her departure from NYC, where we have lived in harmony and friendship more or less for 13 years, Dr. P went to register her new wheels (parents' used mini van) at the New York State Department of Motor Vehicles in Harlem. I admit that I didn't even know that there was a branch in Harlem. Dr. P invited me to accompany her on this small step towards our roadtrip, but alas, I had to work on an extremely annoying spreadsheet that I fucked up at least three times and had to begin again from scratch.

Here's what I missed: while Dr. P waited her turn, another customer and a DMV employee broke out into a screaming match. It was so intense that the DMV rep actually left her position behind the counter and came out into the general area so that she could yell directly into the other woman's face. It took the assistance of two burly men to separate them.

Unfortunately, the fight was not helpful in completing the customer's transaction, so she returned to the waiting room. She was called to another DMV employee's window about 15 minutes later. At that point, Dr. P said the original employee who had "helped" this customer came out and began bellowing at her again. The burly men again were required to keep the peace. As she was dragged back behind the counter, Dr. P said the woman shouted, "Your momma ain't professional!"

I am so sorry I missed that. I am further sorry because my spreadsheet revealed that the taxpayers of New York City may in fact be paying rent to the tune of $13,000 per child for one sweetheart deal of a child care center. (Hopefully, this is the result of a horrible typo or formulaic error, although I fear for the worst.) I'd much rather spend my mornings watching crazed DMV employees, although I suppose my number crunching may lead to more good in the world as I provide solid evidence to move children's programs into more affordable, and hopefully, more modern buildings. It's a different sort of battle.

I Brake for Long Weekends

Tiredness consumed me yesterday. Possibly because I didn't get to sleep until 4 am the previous "night," but I did wind up sleeping until 10:30, so that's a good 6.5 hours. I don't know. Ultimately, my evening consisted of eating dinner, waiting for Husband to return from his week-long business trip, then greeting him when he got home at 7:45. Both of us were passed out by 9 amPM (thanks, Des). I slept so long that my watch even stopped. Good times.

Now I just need to make it through today, and a long weekend with Husband and friends awaits me. Unfortunately, making it through today means that I will need to sit through a meeting with a person that I have diagnosed as having Aspberger's. Basically, the man cannot think conceptually about anything. Every single step of a process must be spelled out in detail, or he spazzes and derails the meeting. It is extremely painful to sit through, and when I decided that he must have Aspberger's, it was a mercy to him on my behalf. Because if he was just an asshole instead of a man with a disability, I would wrap my small hands around his pompous, smug fat neck and kill him. I am just not cut out for prison.

Excel(lent)

It's been six months since I quit my do gooding work at an evil nonprofit organization that squeezed me dry like a grapefruit. I've tried semi-successfully to use that time to write. Generally, I've also used the time to feel guilty about not working. Then I got The Call.

My friend at the City's main child care agency asked me to help them develop a child care facilities strategy. (It was more like, "Please, Suzanne!" she begged. "Please! I really need your help.") I am terrible at saying no to friends, especially ones who plea for my assistance. Plus, it would be a good way to get money so I wouldn't feel guilty about mooching off Husband.

The truth is that it was about the last thing on earth that I wanted to do. I was really fucking burned out on that topic. Of course I said I'd do it, and spent the next few weeks moping and dreading it.

Yesterday was my first day. You know what? I forgot how much I like being useful. Even better, I spent most of the time parked in front of the computer developing a highly exciting Excel spreadsheet. Despite my hatred of math in school, I adore crunching numbers. There is nothing that can be more fun than a day with Excel. If only the rest of the consulting gig will be as fantastic as my first day.

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

Many thanks to Karrie at One Weird Mother for her kind nomination of CUSS for a Bligziter award at the Blogger's Choice Awards!!! I feel like someone finally asked me to the prom. Swoon, swoon, swoon.

Now, if you will be so kind as to click on this link and vote for my sorry ass, I promise not to go all "Carrie" on people and cause major calamities and carnage. Of coure, that is also assuming that you don't drop a bucket of blood on me.

Save the Best for Last, or Dammit, I Miss Everyone Already

Saturday, March 31

All morning, I was on the verge of tears. I can’t believe that this trip that I had been anticipating for months was already over. It was hard for me to think about not seeing some of the fabulous people I met on the trip for a long time. Almost everyone on the trip lives in Chicago. Plus, although I really don’t know Malikit (Bus Driver's Helper) and Mohinish (Bus Driver) from beans, it upsets me that I will never see either of them again. I don't know what is wrong with me.

We left Jaipur around 9 am for a six hour bus ride back to Delhi. Everyone except for me is leaving Delhi tonight. I have an overnight stay in New Delhi and time to shop for a day before I go back tomorrow night.

Of course, what day would be complete without a stop for shopping at one of Fearless Leader's favorite kick-back shops? We were supposed to stay for 30 minutes, and yet an hour later, we were still there. I hung out with Malikit for a few minutes. I showed him a picture of Husband and of Tycho the Giant Rabbit. He showed me a picture of his wife. Sundar! (That means beautiful.) Mostly, I was relieved that they seemed to live in a very comfortable and decent looking house. I also posed for some pictures with two women and the bus, and now I am super mad at myself for not asking them to take a picture of me with Malikit and Mohindish. I didn't know if it would make them feel uncomfortable, though. Fearless Leader shocked me by buying little gifts – painted pictures of elephants – for all of us.

More driving ensued. We finally stopped for food around 3:15. I am sure that Fearless Leader wanted to go to a place that would give him a commission, but one of the trip organizers insisted that we try this wacky fast food vegetarian Indian place. I am glad that we went, but once again Fearless Leader gave us no instructions, so when we got inside, we were utterly overwhelmed by the masses of people and various food counters. Eventually, we figured out that you order and pay at a central register, they gave you tickets, then you exchange the ticket for food at the proper counter.

I was getting nervous as hell because they day had gone by so fast and I had yet to find an opportunity to slip Malikit and Mohindish extra tip money. We were told that the tour guide had to make at least double what the bus driver made, who in turn had to make double what the helper made. You know how I felt about that. So in addition to my official tip, I had conspired with Ray and Brian to secretly give the guys more money. I am not good at doing anything in an inconspicuous manner. Plus, I didn't know how the guys would react.

Anyway, after shoveling down my food, Brian and I slipped out of the restaurant tot the bus. We sat down and asked Malikit if we could buy some water from him. (That's one of his jobs.) When he brought the bottles back to us, we gave him lots of money.

"Shadi ka enam," ("A wedding present") I said. I didn't think he would refuse it if I said it was a gift. He thanked us. When we saw that they were glad to have secret tips and not fearful of losing their jobs over it, we gave Mohindish money without any elaborate ruses. Then over the next few hours, Ray spread the word, and suddenly, a lot of people were ordering water. I was really pleased.

As we approached Delhi, we made a completely and utterly random stop without any warning at a modern shopping mall. Brian, Ray, John and I wandered around and made fun of things. It was so westernized that it had a plus size store in it. The power went out twice, the second time while we were waiting for the elevator. Suddenly, Brian did not object to using the escalator, even though it was laid out to ensure that you passed more stores on the way down. Ironically, a security guard refused to let us use it until the power went on again.

Eventually, we wound up at a fancy hotel near the airport where we hung out at the bar until it was time for everyone to go to the airport. As they unpacked my suitcase, Malikit and Mohindish said good-bye and shook my hand. Mohinidish said he would see me next time I am in India. As usual, they had to wait outside while we went in and sat down. When it was time, I called for a cab back to the center of Delhi and said my good-byes. Malikit came by and said good-bye again.

Since I can't really leave my fancy hotel for logistical reasons tonight, I had dinner in an Indian restaurant in the hotel alone. Although it was probably the best meal out of many excellent meals that I ate this week, I miss the scintillating dinner conversation with Ray, John, Brian, Liz, and Margie that I have feasted upon all week. Their flight is due to take off in 15 minutes. I wish them a safe flight, and I hope to see everyone soon.

Probably this will be my last post until I get to my parents' house on Monday. Have a great weekend!

Getting Lucky

Friday night was packed with excitement. I went to a burlesque show/fundraiser for Planned Parenthood New York and Haven Coalition. I am an increasingly shitty leader of Haven these days, both literally and figuratively, as my digestive tract is continuing its revolt against me and I keep forgetting to do important things for Haven, such as bring printed information about our work to fundraising events. That's another story, though.

Anyway, at the event, which was oodles of fun, I bought four tickets to the raffle. I am very pleased to say that Lady Luck gave me a big, wet, sloppy kiss, and I won a ginormous squishy dildo! How cool is that?Although given its girth, does it not kinda of scare you? I admit that it intimidates me. I'm wussy that way, though.

Husband was unable to attend the event because he went to a casino with a few co-workers. I eagerly awaited his return home so I could show him my loot.

"Hi!" I said as he walked in the door. "How was the casino? Did you win anything?"

He looked sad. "No."

"Oh well," I pretended to sympathize for a second, then shifted gears. "Look what I won in a raffle!" I blurted out as I shoved the dildo in his face.

"Great," he replied without much enthusiasm.

"I'm going to show it to your parents when they come over for dinner tomorrow," I teased.

"Yeah, can you please not do that?" he said, blushing. (As a redhead, he is a great blusher.)

"I'll think about it." I put it down on the bookcase next to the computer.

On Saturday, I helped Dr. H pick up a desk and dresser that she had in storage in Long Island. Dr. P also came along, and we had a lovely day together. When I returned to my apartment, I nearly collapsed with laughter."I felt like it was staring at me while I did our taxes," Husband explained. "Then I realized that it couldn't stare at me because it had no eyes, so I rectified the situation."

"Where'd you get the googlie eyes?" I asked, wiping the tears of mirth from my eyes.

"From your box marked 'googlie eyes,'" he said, as if everyone has a box of googlie eyes just lying around. (I love googlie eyes, and you never know when they will come in handy, as Husband proved.) "Now it's really a trouser snake!"
See how lucky I am? Not only does Husband take me on exciting trips around the globe, but he also tapes googlie eyes onto dildos and makes funny jokes. I am the luckiest girl ever.

All Hail!

I'm tired, but I did stop emitting toxic fumes from my ass. This is good because I went to a fundraiser for Planned Parenthood New York and the Haven Coalition, in which I had to get on stage in the middle of an excellent variety show featuring comedians and burlesque performers and depress everyone with the sad facts about women who were forced to travel to New York for abortions and had nowhere to stay. (With the help of Haven volunteers, they sleep in a safe home as opposed to on the street or in the bus station.) It would have not been cool to fart while I was holding a mic and trying to pull heartstrings.

Despite my depressing info session (which I did manage to leaven with a joke about hanging out in the back alley), the show was awesome. I am particularly smitten Desiree Burch, a comedian who launched into a 10 minute hilarious rant about why women should leave their snatch unshaven and proud. Oh, this woman is brilliant. Des and I nearly bust our guts laughing.

Also, I won a very exciting and sort of scary prize in the raffle. I shall take a picture of it and post it later/tomorrow.