Excuses, Excuses

Hi everybody! I have been told I need to put something up here because it's a disgrace to leave my blog in such a sorry state.

I used to have such interesting* things to say, but I guess I'm plum (plumb?) out. I need to recharge.

*or possibly tedious, depending...

I'm moving into my own apartment (hallelujah) in two weeks, and my optimistic side says I'll be a regular blogger again when that happens. Also I'll have a kitchen island for cooking (pending a trip to IKEA), a dance area so I can be a superstar (hope the downstairs neighbors sleep soundly), a computer desk for all the aforementioned blogging, and possibly another TV, semi-big screen (just throwin' away all the money I saved living at home, aren't I?).

In the meantime, sorry for the lack of Beckyness. We apologize. Or as they say at Marshall Field's, "Please pardon our appearance. We are working hard to improve your [blogging] experience."

The Ankle Succumbs*

*So after I wrote this I wanted to think of a funny title. I always liked the word succumb, even though it always looks like it's spelled wrong. I went to check the spelling (I heart dictionary.com) and found out that one of its meanings is, as they so simply put it, to die. My ankle didn't die, guys. But it did suffer some trauma. Let me attempt to set the scene.

I was walking to the train station after work and it was snowing but melting, so there were lots of puddles. Actually, it was very cool looking snow. Looked like Dippin' Dots (the ice cream you get at the mall that comes in little pellets), or bits of styrofoam. Anyway, so there was a puddle that didn't look very deep but that had a pothole on one side of it, and I stepped into it and turned my ankle under.

It's funny, because that very morning I was walking behind a woman who tripped and fell over her shoe or something and wiped out on the sidewalk--on her face, practically--I mean, we're talking wiped out. People asked her if she was okay, and she just said yeah, got up, looked a little embarrassed, and went on her way. And I said to myself, "Wow, if that was me, I would have totally started to cry." Surprise injuries always make me cry. The surprise/embarrassment/pain combo gets me every time. I am a wimp, what can I say. . . .

Then, later that night I fell in the aforementioned pothole (of course, ever so gracefully). The lady behind me asked if I was okay, as people behind you are supposed to do, and I said, "Yeah," but I knew that was going to leave a mark and that crying was imminent. (Ironic because just the other day I was bragging to John and Christy about how I have really strong ankles and even if I step wrong off the curb or something I never get hurt. And they said that was a weird thing to brag about. And I said, "Yep. But it's true." That's what I get, I guess.)

So within the first 5 steps out of the pothole, right on cue, I start to cry. Sigh. Allllll the way back to the train station. I'm sure people thought from my look of pitiful despair that someone had just died or something. Which makes me think, how come I never see people crying while they're walking around? I mean, everyone has probably been sad enough that they wish they could just stay home and cry, but instead they go out, go to work, etc. Anyway.

I went to the doctor this morning and they told me nothing was broken--I know, wimpy--but they did say I sprained it and gave me a spiffy green and white plastic aircast to wear, so now I can put weight on it. Not as good/bad as a cast--I'm weirdly jealous that I missed out on the whole, have your friends sign your cast thing--but I'm glad I'll be able to walk on it. The apartment hunting while on crutches, taking the bus/el/walking from place to place was going to suck even more with crutches.

The good thing about getting an x-ray* done today (Wow, look how optimistic I am--must be because I stayed home from work. . . I probably could have gone in this afternoon, but I decided I needed a mental health day (They should have those, by the way, because sometimes you just really do need one)) was that it replaced my other x-ray memory, which was traumatic. When I was 3 I broke my collarbone and I had to get an x-ray. All I remember--in fact, I think this is probably my first memory in life--was being put in a dark room on a big cold metal table (and to me, being 3, obviously the table felt huge); I was all alone and in pain and very confused. That's not a good first memory, but that's probably why I remember it, because it was so traumatic.

*Let's talk about x-rays for a minute. First, I think it's cute that they gave me a little 1 foot-by-1 foot lead protector to put over my uterus during the x-ray. Even if I don't ever use my uterus, it's nice of them to protect it anyway. Also, what if you could really have x-ray vision? I mean, besides the whole seeing under people's clothes thing (which, I'm sorry, is kind of creepy and a little 12-year old boyish), I'm sure there are lots of other cool things you could do. Like you could go into a deserted parking garage at 4 am (not recommended ordinarily, by the way, and definitely not practiced by me. . . anymore) and not be worried, because if someone was there, you could see them. Or you could tell if your boss was coming around the corner and stop e-mailing your friends. . . of course, if she had x-ray vision, too, she'd know what you were doing already, unless the x-ray vision doesn't work on computer screens, in which case I'm in the clear. Discuss.

And now it's time for some Buffy episodes and planning out my apartment-hunting route for tomorrow.

Things That Annoy Me Part II

In the category of things people do or say that frustrate me:

I just got an e-mail back from a woman I e-mailed to ask about being a tutor. I signed my name "Becky," and my signature at the bottom says Becky, but my name comes up in my address as Rebecca. So she wrote me back as Rebecca.

I don't know--that just really bothers me. Take the time to read someone's name, jeez. (GOSH!) Sometimes people are so lazy about reading and writing. I'm all about b/c, w/, gonna, shoulda, (but not LOL--that bothers me too, for some reason). . . . but a name is different.

"To Do" List

On days when I'm feeling disorganized at work, I make a pretty little list of all the things I need to do that day. I break out a nice big Sharpie marker (I love Sharpie markers) and a perky blue pad of Super Post-Its (Love wasting Post-Its), and I mark out each item to do in carefully rounded letters with a check box next to each one. (Check boxes are much better than crossing off things. Much prettier.) Today I only had a few things on the list, and most of them were, shall we say, optional. So after writing those down, I added another item: Sit around and be sad. I figured, if nothing else, I'd get at least one thing done for sure today. Yes, it is a bad day in Beckyland. I figure if I let you know up front, it'll explain why I couldn't come up with any amusing/entertaining thoughts.

Funny, looking at that little "to do" item later, all alone at the top of the page with the check box next to it, it kind of amused me. All the "woe is me," wallowing in self-pity I can conjure fits into one little check box on the list, amidst the papers to copy and phone calls to make. Something to squeeze in when I've got the time. Very efficient, in a way.

Time to look at more apartments.

Blogging Is Hard--Have I Mentioned This?

Possibly overboring fact. Feel free to skip
Did you know that Zanzibar was a real place? I always thought it was made up. I just found out that the country of Tanzania in Africa was formed when Zanzibar and Tanganyika merged in 1964. I think it's cute when places blend their names like that.

Actually, I like any time you blend two words to make a new one. (Except Hollywood couples like Bennifer (either first or second version) or Brangelina. That's just a fad that I hope is on its way out.)

Mundane Life News
Went to a Super Bowl party yesterday. I hardly watched the game at all, but I'm not going to cry over that one. The girls spent most of the time chatting in the kitchen while tending to the crockpots and serving dishes, and the guys watched the game from lawn chairs, stairsteps, and couches propped up on cinder blocks for a better view. Afterwards, we girls sat down 6-to-a-couch downstairs and watched Grey's Anatomy. Good show--I'd never really seen an episode before. Anyway, point is, there used to only be a few of us girls, but now most of the guys have girlfriends or wives, and so the number of girls has grown. It's kind of fun. We don't have to pretend we like football anymore. But see how nice we are? We don't intrude on their fun. No, not us-- We are cool chicks. We know not to block the TV and to ask if anyone needs a beer while we're up. Plus Christy brought two appetizers, both involving bacon. I'm saying.

I may take that one nice apartment I wrote about. I'm sick of looking and I found out it's a much better deal than I thought. I'd just have to get another TV. Updates to come on that one.

Attempts at Becky-style Thoughts
Lately I've been seeing the faces of people from my past in the faces around me. It's weird. Someone I pass on the street will remind me so strongly of someone I used to have a class with that I'll almost go up and talk to them. I don't know why this happens, or why I sometimes think I see the same person over and over again for a week or two in a row. Maybe my mind just thinks it's about time I ran into them, so it keeps trying to create situations where I can see them again. I don't know. It's kind of nice, but disappointing, too, because it turns out to not be them. Although for a while, I kept thinking I was seeing an old ex-friend with whom things did not end well, and I was glad, in that case, it wasn't actually that person.

Whenever I see an old movie or read a book about a historic love affair (whether it actually happened or is fictional), I can't help but think, "Yeah, but didn't they stink? Wasn't their hair all greasy? Didn't they have horrible breath?" I just can't imagine being swept up in the romance when your lover is smelly and dirty. Did it just not bother them? Especially the breath. I mean, you're going to kiss someone whose breath you can smell from across the room? I looked it up and, apparently, toothbrushes and teeth cleaning of any kind wasn't practiced in the West until at least the 1600s. And even after that, toothbrushes and toothpaste as we know them today didn't reach the US until after WWII. Um, eew. Here's a link with more info. (See, I'm trying to not be boring here and not force you to read at length about boring* things. You're welcome.)

...Funny, but in my search I found an article that says Americans surveyed in 2003 named the toothbrush as the one invention they couldn't live without, beating out the car, the microwave, and the internet. I suppose that's true for me, too. Because you can get used to anything: If I were to get stranded on a desert island, I could eat bugs--I wouldn't like it, but I could; I could pee in a ditch; I could sleep on the ground. But you let your teeth rot, you can't get 'em back. And, I guess, maybe, being sunburned all the time would be bad news, too, because then you could get skin cancer and die. But, hey, less time stranded on the desert island that way. Hmm.

*Tidbit: Lately when people say I talk about boring things, I just change the word "boring" in my head to "interesting," and I feel quite fine. Thanks! Boring is in the eye of the beholder, my friends... you're just sad you don't get excited about prison-based word roots or Athenian plague.