DAY ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY

I love this xkcd comic because it's about one of my favorite astrophysicists (i'm kinda in love with a lot of them):

This is a horrible autotuned version of a lot of cool things other science educators, theoretical physicists, and astrophysicists have said"

About once or twice a month, I go through the most popular youtube videos as a way to make me feel somewhat like I'm connected to popular culture. I saw a video of a bus monitor being bullied - it was so bad that I shut it off after about 20 seconds. Absolutely horrifying. Which made me happy to read good.is's most recent people are awesome post, which made me go back and click on the original again - and, though I was still unable to watch much more of it, it did make me feel slightly better to see that the video had 28,000+ dislikes.  Read also this article, which discusses the need to recognize and combat bullying, something I strongly agree with.

So while it's great that the internet rallied to send Karen on vacation, and Josh and Wesley may feel genuine regret, we need to teach students—and everyone, really—to identify situations in which group behavior is veering into dangerous territory and to speak up effectively. That means changing the cultural norms and practices in a school, so that kids and adults alike learn to help each other rather than compete. It means cultivating empathy with the same zeal that we teach science and math. And it means rethinking how we educate, so that today’s lunchroom bullies don’t grow up to be boardroom bullies.

More amazing things that reddit has helped do here. I myself am partial to the cutie with Huntingtons who died.  But my real favorite is Cain's Arcade.  Watch the documentary here and learn more about it. It's absolutely adorable. A kid created his own arcade out of cardboard, but nobody came... until someone decided to make a flashmob event.

One day, by chance, I walked into Smart Parts Auto looking for a used door handle for my ’96 Corolla. What I found was an elaborate handmade cardboard arcade manned by a young boy who asked if I would like to play. I asked Caine how it worked and he told me that for $1 I could get two turns, or for $2 I could get a Fun Pass with 500 turns. I got the Fun Pass.

It's spiraled since then and over $200,000 have been raised for his education (with matching funds going to creating a foundation to spur an 'imagination foundation' to inspire other kids). I love it!

And finally, sent by officemate:

Men and women who chew too much khat abandon their domestic responsibilities in favor of spending hour of hour getting mildly high.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY NINE POST TWO

the season of shows has arrived, and with it, many choices. sad that i cannot do four million things at once, like get kittens, do lesson, sit outside with visitors + pets, go to concert, go to tower, go to teras, and play with kittens.

breaking news!! scotus upheld obamacare! with scalia, alito, and thomas joining kennedy dissenting. kennedy dissents but roberts upholds? crazy pants!

my craptastic phone is really on its last legs. i think it's time to upgrade to one that was built in this century.... or not. i also want a banjo. and a violin.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY NINE

triumphant return (again) of lolita tonight, along with her brood.  exciting times we live in, no?!

How to make a viral hit. How? Steal. Steal steal steal!

A bunch of computers looked on youtube and learned for themselves what's really important: cats and tool-like objects rotated at a 30 degree angle.

As we all know, the Mexican elections are almost upon us. We all know that, right? Remember back in the day when if you took AP US Government you go to take the Comparative AP test too, and I found a comparative book that had been one of my cousins that analysed the USSR's political system? And then after using that I somehow got 3 credits of college credit for the Comparative test? Man, those were the days - days when you were rewarded for doing nothing...

I have to love this. Have to, of course. I mean, how could I not?

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT POST TWO

I got a fig today. Every time I get one, I'm totally paranoid about eating wasps. Except from what that article says, every single fig is the product of at least one dead wasp. So figs, like many other fruits and vegetables, are insect killers, digesting their bodies!  Nobody ever believes that tomatoes are another kind of insect killer. Fun fact. Or carnivorous plant.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY EIGHT

I know everyone's anxious to hear about the cat issue, so, it's all good! No idea if the (5 out of 6 who survived) kittens will live, but at least the mom's ok!

Care of Sara, a really cool video:

Last night we got into a debate about the tv show Girls. I saw one episode and decided it was horribly, terribly, annoying and that I never wanted to watch another one.  The reason why?  Let me take some clips from this Gawker article to tell you:

Girls is a television program about the children of wealthy famous people and shitty music and Facebook and how hard it is to know who you are and Thought Catalog and sexually transmitted diseases and the exhaustion of ceaselessly dramatizing your own life while posing as someone who understands the fundamental emptiness and narcissism of that very self-dramatization. This is a recap of it.

And another article, "Am I Rich Enough?":

Let the record reflect that the television program Girls, which is "like nothing else on TV," and which has at long last brought the previously buried perspectives of 23- to 28-year-old females to bear on mass culture, has bravely broken yet another taboo by choosing to set its season finale at a surprise wedding. Nothing has ever been like that, on TV...So what have we learned here, kids? What is the message, finally? That all television shows are stupid, and that television is not art, and to relentlessly valorize a 26-year-old show-runner with tattoos of scenes from children's books as the voice of a new generation is foolhardy and empty? That youth is callow, and navel-gazing, and small-minded? That wrapping your persona in layer after layer of defensive irony and self-deprecation does not absolve you of the responsibility to be interested in something outside of yourself? That an awareness of your flaws is not a defense?
"But," you will say. "You don't get it. The show is a satire. A gentle satire, but a satire. The flaws are the point."
"And yet you celebrate her as an auteur," I will say. "The 'artist' and the character are virtually identical, and you valorize the artist for skewering the character. Besides, she's not skewering the character. These people are meant to be loved, to be understood and explained. It's a celebration, not a satire."
"Do you apply the same standard to Woody Allen?" you will say. "Is his filmic self meant to be loved or is he a comic foil? Is he the hero or the butt of the joke, or both?"
"Laurie Simmons' daughter is no Woody Allen," I will say.
"Stop calling her that," you will say. "Why do you insist on calling her that? Do you really think a feminist artist who works with dolls can call up HBO and get her daughter a gig? The TV business is rife with nepotism. Why single her out?"
"You misunderstand me," I will say. "I don't think she got a TV show because of her mother. But I think that the concerns of the wealthy private school girls ought to be dismissed as a matter of course and not be taken seriously. There are enough people who take them seriously; for largely tribal reasons I don't want to be among them. Especially if they surround themselves with their well-bred peers. I think that we should fight to rob the Laurie Simmons' daughters and David Mamet's daughters' and Brian Williams' daughters' and Drummer from Bad Company's daughters' of this world of the opportunities they have been unjustly awarded. Or at least highlight the injustice." 

He says he doesn't hate the show. I do. Although I guess my hatred shouldn't stem from the one episode I watched. Then again, it can.


A horrifying recount of an event earlier this year.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN

Heart's not in posting today. Spent all night with a dreadfully preggers cat (Shortbus) who finally returned to the house... to give birth. Fourteen hours later, nearly no sleep, and two emergency vet calls/visits later, she's getting the ultrasound that really turned her off the cabortion idea (my theory for why she ran away the last time; that, and idiocy) and I have no idea whether she has kittens or a mass of stillborns from what was, in all accounts, a massive hulking cat father. Which is leading me to become a neurotic cat mom, which I almost never am - if they run away, they run away, if they come back, they come back, but I hate her being at a vet's and not knowing. And what sick large cat would mate with my tiny little adorbs kitten? Can cats have midget fetishes? She's not very smart, so whatever sexual predator is out there should be stopped before he goes after another mentally disabled midget cat.

STRESSED. and had dreams of trying to assist difficult cat births. and yelling about my kedi being hamile, which i actually did have to do last night to emergency vet number one.

OBLIGATORY CAT LADY POST DONE. NEUROTICISM ENGAGED.

nothign better than some racism to distract. 'the unpronouncables', the turks. i don't really think ess key shay here spore is very hard to say, but i guess it is. now, if it were muvaffakiyetsizleştiricileştiriveremeyebileceklerimizdenmişsinizcesine spor we may have something to talk about.

still fixating on my cat.... will just sign off for the day.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SIX POST TWO

How and why one person changed their stance on gay marriage.  While I don't agree with his views of society, it's still interesting to read, and I'm happy he's come about.  One thing I don't think that's so cool about the article: referencing the Convention on the Rights of the Child... without mentioning that of the three countries in the world not to have ratified it, the US is one. Somalia is another, but it's pledged to ratify it. The other country not to have adopted it has a slightly better excuse, given that it's not even a year old. 

My mother, my daughter. Sad, sad, sad yall.

A disappearing act of major proportions. I'm so fascinated by people who do this. I think it's all the recent Person of Interest I've been watching (excellent, excellent, excellent show. Watch.). I'm even more fascinated because this tale involves a tiny village in Turkey, a "Turkish immigrant" named Nesrin Wolf, and Steve Buschemi, who I am in love with. Here's a critique of the article, which I don't agree with in its entirety - though, as the author of the critique notes, he knows the subject personally and so my own reading of the New Yorker piece will obviously be different; it's interesting to read both together. From the New Yorker, these two are meant to be friends - this much animosity belies an amazingly deep relationship. From the Rumpus Magazine, I actually kind of get the same. The amount of time and energy these two men are going to is crazy.

Ick. I just found out the actor who plays in my favorite show has done the following:

-Opposed stem cell research

-Donated money to Santorum

I kind of feel like I shouldn't even support him by watching it, but considering I stream it for free and really only earn Turkish streaming websites money, I guess that's fine.

Now that I'm looking at it, one of the actors is a relative of the actual discoverer of the geographic North Pole.  I had no idea that the first person - and the person to plant a flag there - was a black American named Matthew Henson, not Robert Peary. Plus, she was in Hustle and Flow and was sang a song in it that then won an Academy Award - the first song by a hip hop group to do so.

Time to read about the Mexican oil and gas sector. Fun, fun fun!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SIX

I've been wondering quite a bit lately why we no longer call bedrooms bedchambers.  To remedy this obvious failure of modern English language, the area where my bed is located will now be called my bedchamber.  Which brings me to the lady of the bedchamber, gentleman of the bedchamber, lord of the bedchamber and the Bedchamber Crisis, which was a 'crisis' involving replacing Whig ladies of the bedchamber with Tories. Scandal! I'd like to thank my hideously trashy novel WAKING UP WITH THE DUKE (good get stacey!) for reminding me that bedchamber is the only acceptable term for the living space containing a bed.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE

UNDER DESK IS AWESOME

THE HAIRPIN USED THE WORD SMANGING! Let me smang it girl, that's smash it and bang it!

A YEAR! wikipedia article.

Dorothy Parker's ashes.

Paper in prison!

EVEN WORSE THAN NORMAL POST DONE

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FOUR

YOU CAN'T FOOL NATURE. purer words have never been said.

i got a party on a boat today! it's a wedding! but not eritrean. 

exhausted. so tired. so much coffee.

slippery slippery slope!

I just wish their other songs sounded similar to that one!

hey, all the boys that got AIDs be quiet, and all the girls that don't like guys be quiet!

There are few things in the world more terrifying to teenaged boys than the power of teenaged girls. On the Straight Outta Compton Ice Cube spotlight track “I Ain’t Tha 1,” the rapper attempts to negate that terrifying power by fundamentally denying the humanity and agency of women, reducing the complicated, messy, and crazy-making dance of sex and romance to a simple formula: Men want sex, women want money. And it’s every real man’s solemn duty to get the sex he craves without sacrificing any of his hard-earned scratch. 

These slave shackle shoes are amazing. Pure genius marketing here.

If I don't get proposed to like this, I'm just going to have to say no:


I used to spend many a lunch in that park, but definitely didn't see anything like that.  I did once see a human-eating plant. It had its own show!

The libraries and closed schools are the saddest.  Reading through it, I'm not sure they understand what happened to some of the buildings, especially the libraries, which were closed 'temporarily' while I was in college... never to open again. At least some of them.

Read up on the race riots in Detroit from back in the day - it's kinda insane how politics remains the same. Conyers is still in office, and Romney's son is a politician. "This gave Detroit the distinction of being the only domestic American city to have been occupied by Federal troops three times."  I'm not actually sure if that's true - I don't know what other than the riots in the 40s would have led to occupying it... Loyal readers? What was the 3rd?


Amaaaaaaaaaazing. Art from a single thread.


Dorothy Porter, stupid as a poet.  Loved the final sentence (from their tumblr!). "Bring this poem to your mouth and suck it til I die."


That's about the most random long blog I've had in a while.  Those of you doing fulltimesucks stuff, enjoy!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THREE

I've been reading a lot of her stories and listening to them on YouTube.  An example: 

I absolutely love it, and love how even though times have certainly changed, and very few people waltz any more, the same story line plays out many evenings anyway. Tons of her stories are available online to read or hear.  You were fine is a particularly great one, and applicable to some folks I've known.

Unrelated, but Elisabeth Moss said this, which I'm going to use:

He's so great at doing impersonations. But the greatest impersonation he does is that of a normal person. 

Honesty, dishonesty, and creativity.  Premise is that everyone lies to themselves, nobody is rational, and those who lie the most are the most creative because they have imaginations that are able to connect things in unique ways. Interesting.

I know I've been promising to share all the cool Reader stuff I've been looking over, but check out my google updates instead because I don't feel like putting them all on here.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO POST THREE

I just discovered this - tots adorbs.  If you search a variety of words on Google, they come up with a little Easter egg.  Try it! Gay, lesbian, transgender (but not trans).  Here's an article about it.  And sad yall, it looks like I may miss the pride march because of two lovely lasses swooping in and a boat ride celebration. It was lovely last year, though!

Hey, remember when I kept telling people not to go to law school and when my professors in college told me not to, but I did, and I kept doing it, and then it wasn't the best idea ever, even though it worked out for me?  Don't go to law school! This year, a whopping 55% of graduates found full time employment.  Full time sucks, but it's easy to remember in this economy how extremely lucky I really am.  The class of 2011 that graduated from my school has a 13% unemployment rate, which isn't too shabby compared to national norms.  But only 63% got a position that required a law degree, while an additional 12% were hired at a place that preferred JDs but didn't require them. 

BLERG. Time's ticking down before I can go outdoors and to the tower for a fun-filled evening of song and dance. And sleepiness, judging from my current state.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO POST TWO

Ode to Billy Joe is one of my favorite songs, care of Bobbie Gentry. Should have posted this about two weeks ago:

Remember that time that a woman said vagina and then got banned from the Michigan House? The video's here.

We all know my love of instagram. Just add water!  Oh, and this one's for an unnamed grad student whose blog you'll find handily on the right side of your screen. Can you tell I'm updating myself on Google Reader, which I've let go far, far, far too long?  Wait for a ton of stuff coming in the next couple of days - I've already gotten rid of about 5,000 articles that sucked. And am posting comics that rock!  Hey, check out my see-through underwear!

And, sorry, but I'm friend breaking up with you! Muwhaha.  And I'm off to go work and whatnot.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO

FROM JIMOTRON


Officemate: "I wish they would stop fighting in the Ukrainian parliament." me, upon seeing video: "Ohh. That kind of fighting."
 

Maybe they should take a lesson from BoaMistura:

And finally, I'm sorry but... Other than the ones involving astrology, I've heard a lot of these before.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY ONE

Detectivize some mothertrucking stuff:

 Cavities from chocolate in your mouth.

Twitter is a religion?

Coffee club win win win.

Aww. The family cook - My Mom Couldn't Cook. It's such a sad but pretty story.

The Abortionist. Speaking of, the protest was really good yesterday.  The article's about John Britton, a doctor who took over for David Gunn, an abortion provider who was shot.  It was published a few months before Dr. Britton's death - killed by an individual noted in the article.  Sad yall.

I almost forgot to post this because I've been busy alls day long doing stuff. Doin actual stuff!! And looking at places in MURKA. And planning refugee gardens. Rock. And now it's time to go terasing about!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY

This post'll have to be short because we're moving office-ish today.  

The correction that Obama issued about Polish death camps is not, strictly speaking, not in completely the wrong vein. And more history in this article.

Let's all look at officemate. 

Heard a story quite similar to this recently... except involving an unwilling participant and a bunch of (actual) burning dead bodies.

Weekend fun begins soon, and I must leave, letting you, the readers, decide whether you think this is the worst blog post ever, as I do!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY NINE

Instead of reading the best piece of literature written in a long time, 50 shades of grey, watch this! It's very similar.

NY Times in the journalism correction news for their piece beginning with the line: "Men invented the internet."

I too am very interested in this man, but mostly because he's really good at rap battles.

"There are three things I want in a guy: tall, dark, and that he drives a f*cking teal Grand Am."

Another:

The judge asked if I had anything else to say, and I thought for a second and said "You can get anything you want in Alice's Restaurant". He looked confused for a second and then a wave of recognition came over his face. He said "Okay good. You're crazy. I mean, I wasn't trying to draft you or anything so it's not really...relevant here. But that was pretty funny, missy!"

 Do you need a quality rumpy-mumpy?

I love it!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT POST THREE

OH AND I TOTALLY FORGOT I CANNOT BELIEVE I FORGOT TO ANNOUNCE IT ON THIS IMPORTANT PIECE OF INTERNATIONAL NEWS MEDIA THAT IS MY BLOG

IT'S OFFICEMATE'S BIRTHDAY!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT POST TWO

sigh. super sigh. super, duper, duper sigh.

"cross training's good training for cross training, but... it's not training."

BUT FREAKIN AWESOME!  a topic that's very near and dear to my heart as previously blogged about!!!  paperclips rock! except, of course, one notable exception.  sadly though, the title of the article is WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG.

i thought i wrote about dorothy parker before, but guess not. she's awesome! some quotes:
I don't care what is written about me so long as it isn't true.

That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.

The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.

Men seldom make passes
At women who wear glasses.

She's got a lot more too... Love her.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT

I went from 16,000 unread messages to 0 yesterday! now i have the oppressive burden of maintaining it at zero. almost more work than it's worth.

check it:

taxes, grammar, and taking that bitch to college and give that bitch some knowledge.

and of course, the remix. of course.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN

Let's do some chemical calisthenics to get ready for officemate's party this weekend. Looks like you have to go to youtube to access it but whatevs:

Oh and hey, we all know FILK music right? folky science fiction themed music? duh!

To participate in a filk song circle, as in, "we were filking last night until three in the morning."

 I'm not joking. Here's a great video explaining it. Listening to the music, it sounds a lot like TMBG.

And a final goodbye before signing off for the day. Highly obnoxious:

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SIX

While I don't agree with the war on drugs, this article on Wikipedia seems rather poorly written - lots of POV issues.

Uber bored with my life here, so I'm planning on accelerating GET OUTTA HERE REALLY SOON plan, which may leave officemate sadly devoid of my presence. 

racism still exists. SHOCKING!

now i want a dog. actually i wanted one before but i really don't think my apartment's the right place for one. pretty sure if the dog saw me it'd run to me to cuddle up. apparently i am so rarely pouty that when i get pouty it looks like i'm just faking. i'm going to go pout some more, and maybe try some retail therapy later on or something, though i don't really need anything. at all. bleh.

does anyone need a cat? an office mate has a 3 year old house kedi which has never lived on the streets. adorbs:

and no, i really don't know why the picture keeps showing up sideways. it's right side up on my computer.

another POV issue?

now going to read about rooftop gardens for a volunteer project i'm working on, which in my mind has some major flaws (more expensive than buying food) but whatever. they're excited about building rooftop gardens and i love gardening and have friends who did green roofing. another profession that i find to be under represented in this city; maybe it was just from going to an ag school, but i miss people who were into progressive farming practices. 

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE POST TWO

i can't wait to go to sleep. maybe huntsmen no more tonight? sleep. sleep! sleep. sleep! all i want. all i have wanted.

brooks brothers has eight shades of gray ties. blergh.

I FORGOT TO POST THIS BECAUSE I WAS SLEEPYSMAGEE FRIDAY BUT NOW I'M BETTER

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE

"you don't know, i've just been throwing myself at you for weeks!"

"slut up"

"he's not 19. he's at least 20."

"he's just this little ball of energy waiting to explode all over [you]."

and then there are a bunch of very bawdy comments i'm not allowed to put up here because it's not lady like.

when officemate and i have been out until insane-oclock, the conversations we have entertain me to no end.

good day vietnam! this isn't on the front page of wikipedia, which i don't really understand.

look! gidget bangs! better if they'd be gadget bangs.

burasi turkiye ya! wait, except, it's not.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FOUR

this post is dedicated to presenteeism and also ZIZI'S BIRTHDAY

YOU CAN PLEASE SLAP ME ANY TIME YOU WANT.

Let's hang out 1 on 1. Sorry.

Prime quotes from one of my favorite social phenomena, out in force last night.

fancies is such a cute word.  also, married men suck at gossip, even if they do have a "hard" exterior, although it's amusing when they try to act like they're with it.

i wish i had a coat at work because i'd be exploring the under-desk region, boldly going where very few have gone before. instead imma chug a whole bunch of nescafe (coffee club fail).

awwwwww, nuns!

i listened to this like, 10 times in a row last night. you best do it to, now

cannot. function. so. tired. is it sad that i can't wait until friday, just because i'll finally be able to just go to the movies and then have a lazy night in?

164 - amazin number. but don't you think once it says it's a deficient number it's necessary to note it's not an abundant number? <3 abundant numbers make me happy.

MUST GO NOW. everyone say happy birthday to zaid.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY THREE

today will have to be an off day for INOFFICEWORKOUT2012!!!!

unconventional warfare. long, but worth it.

<3

Midwives are really, really, really cool.  Here's an article about a non-nurse midwife who started the movement, and here's a website of hers dedicated to maternal and neo-natal health care. A patch of a quilt for every woman who died from childbirth. I remember when I got my tattoo in what was to become an unfortunate location (stupid tramp stamp term), and I was warned that I wouldn't be able to get an epidural for childbirth... a warning I really did not understand.  

In the 1970s when Gaskin began advocating for natural-birth options, she found herself at odds with feminists who were focused on getting women into the workplace and out from under the constraints of family. She was even booed off the stage in 1975 by a Yale feminist group. Some feminists, like the theorist Shulamith Firestone, hoped ardently for the day when human reproduction would be handled completely by machines.

One thing that *does* deeply disturb me, despite the fact that a lot of my hippie friends seem to be doing it?  Eating placentas. Ew.

“Mommy going to eat it,” Kanase, the 3-year-old, volunteered, pointing at the quivering placenta.

So far, I've had to read (as status updates) recipes for placenta sushi, dried placenta (like beef jerkey!), frozen placenta, and how to put placentas into pills to pop for a pick-me-up. Ew.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO POST THREE

MY INNER GODDESS as told through the lens of one of the richest, most well developed characters in recent literary history: Anastasia Steele.

I glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing the Seattle Times crossword. How unfair. Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right – and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba.

Tonight’s the night! After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently. She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with Christian Grey, but I still don’t understand what he sees in me… mousey Ana Steele - it makes no sense.

Moving down, I push him into my mouth. He groans again. Ha! My inner goddess is thrilled. I can do this. I can fuck him with my mouth. I twirl my tongue around the tip again, and he flexes his hips. His eyes are open now, blistering with heat.

I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.

Quickly, he clambers out of the bath, giving me my first full glimpse of the Adonis, divinely formed, that is Christian Grey. My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring too, mouth open and drooling slightly. His erection tamed, but still substantial… wow.

Christian’s mouth drops open, shocked. What a great reaction. My mood shifts immediately, and I sashay into the house, part of me wanting to jump and punch the air. YES! My inner goddess is thrilled.

I nod shyly. My inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face.

My mind drifts to last night, and this morning… and the incredible, sensual sexuality I’ve experienced. Do I want to say goodbye to that? No! Screams my subconscious… my inner goddess nods in silent zen-like agreement with her.

You can’t seriously be considering this… My subconscious sounds sane and rational, not her usual snarky self. My inner goddess is jumping up and down, clapping her hands like a five-year-old. Please, let’s do this… otherwise we’ll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company.  The only man I’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues. Well, at least I got my way this weekend. My inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. Oh yes… she mouths, nodding at me smugly.

Clambering into bed, I switch off the light and lie staring up at the ceiling. Oh, I wish I’d never met him. My inner goddess shakes her head at me. She and I know it’s a lie. I have never felt as alive as I do now.

This beautiful man wants me. My inner goddess glows so bright she could light up Portland. He stops kissing me, and opening my eyes, I find him gazing down at me.  “Trust me?” he breathes.

“I see.” Paul looks positively crestfallen, stunned even, and a very small part resents that he should find this a surprise. My inner goddess does too. She makes a very vulgar and unattractive gesture at him with her fingers.

My inner goddess frowns at me. You can do this, she coaxes – play this sex god at his own game. Can I? Okay. What to do? My inexperience is an albatross around my neck.

I’m a physical coward, and I will go a long way to avoid pain. I think of my dream… is that what it would be like? My inner goddess jumps up and down with cheerleading pom-poms shouting yes at me.

Finally, the Chancellor leads the faculty members off the stage to yet more rousing applause, preceded by Christian and Kate. Christian does not glance at me, even though I’m willing him to do it. My inner goddess is not pleased.

“Okay.” I blink up at Ray, trying to find my equilibrium. What have you done? My subconscious screams at me. My inner goddess is doing back flips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.

“Okay… swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.”

I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her lips together glowing with pride.

“So.” He looks down at me grinning. “Swallowing semen okay?”

“Right – bondage,” he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and my inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream.

“Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you too.”

I squirm. My inner goddess is panting.

“See? Beside, there’s something I want to try.”

Oh the possibilities… my inner goddess roars, and from somewhere born of frustration, need, and sheer Steele bravery, I push him on to the bed. He laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him feeling victorious. My inner goddess is going to explode. I yank off his shoes, quickly, clumsily, and his socks. He’s staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks… glorious… mine.

I sit up, blinking at him, and I’m panting like him, but confused. I thought I was in charge? My inner goddess looks like someone snatched her ice cream.

“Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain.”

“Crack? How?” My inner goddess has woken and is paying attention.

He nods slowly, and then he grins, teasing.

“Could get really ugly.”

Because I know it will be over if I say no. Do it! My inner goddess pleads with me, my subconscious is as paralyzed as I am.

“I’m waiting,” he says. “I’m not a patient man.”

Boy… I survived. That wasn’t so bad. I’m more stoic than I thought. My inner goddess is prostrate… well at least she’s quiet. Christian nuzzles my hair again, inhaling deeply.

No, not to me. Bewitched… my inner goddess is staring open-mouthed. Even she doesn’t believe this.

The atmosphere between José and I has returned to normal, the attempted kiss forgotten. Well, it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. There’s a knock on the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. Is it?

You should really be unpacking these, my subconscious nags, pursing her harpy lips together. No… today’s the day. My inner goddess is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly – as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me… and of course, I have to sign that damned contract or do I?

Go girl! My inner goddess has her pom poms in hand - she’s in cheerleading mode.

I’m really going to do this. My inner goddess is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette. He opens the door to his playroom, standing back for me to walk through, and I am once more in the Red Room of Pain.

Who could have thought it would be so exhausting? My limbs are deliciously heavy, sated. My inner goddess has a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.

He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and then not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes.

That’s the bottom line. I want to be with him. My inner goddess sighs with relief. I reach the conclusion that she rarely uses her brain to think but another vital part of her anatomy, and at the moment, it’s a rather exposed part.

She proceeds to clear the table, brushing rather too closely to Christian for my liking. Fortunately, he seems oblivious to her, but my inner goddess is smoldering and not in a good way.

I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know – I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face – You didn’t have to ask for them.

“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”

My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet.

“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.” My inner goddess pouts at me, failing miserably to hide her disappointment.

“Sure? We cater for all tastes here – at least thirty-one flavors.” He grins at me lasciviously.

“I am going to put these inside you, and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.” He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction.

Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils.

“Then we’ll fuck, and if you’re still awake, I’ll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?”

I roll my eyes at her, grateful that a certain twitchy-palmed control freak is not in the room, and resolve to ask him about the personal trainer. That’s if I sign. My inner goddess glares at me in desperation. Of course you’ll sign. I ignore them both, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I go in search of Christian.

Glancing up, he notices me at the door. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his beautiful face, and I’m rendered speechless as my insides melt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man on the planet, too beautiful for the little people below, too beautiful for me. No my inner goddess scowls at me, not too beautiful for me. He is sort of mine, for now. The idea sends a thrill through my blood and dispels my irrational self-doubt.

We had sex… and then he wasn’t. No, I don’t get it. I look to my subconscious. She’s whistling with her hands behind her back and looking anywhere but at me. She hasn’t got a clue, and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of post-coital glow. No – we’re all clueless.

He’s really here – for me. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise longue. Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints burnished copper and red under the recessed halogens. His bright gray eyes are shining with – anger? Tension? His mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit… no.

He tenses and eyes me warily, as if I might bite. Well, that’s a turnaround. My inner goddess gazes at him in quiet, surprised speculation.

I blink at him. Truth or dare time – my subconscious and inner goddess glance nervously at one another. Hell, let’s go for truth.

“You wore my underwear.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yes.” My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar.

“You didn’t wear your panties to meet my parents.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yes.”

He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down. Victory!

I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn’t this what I want? He wants more. He wants it, too! My inner goddess has back flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium. It’s not just me.

Where did this ridiculous grin come from? Actually, part of me is terrified. My inner goddess – she’s under a blanket behind the sofa.

“I told you, I want what you want.” I keep my voice soft, low, and he looks at me hungrily. Jeez, my inner goddess swoons. Am I up to this game?

Why am I so nervous? And I know it’s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood, my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.

“No trace… Okay… Yes.” He turns and sees me, and his whole demeanor changes. From tension to relief to something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a look of sensual carnality, gray eyes blazing.

Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess.

Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm. She’s so ready. I lick my lips instinctively. My blood pounds through my body, thick and heavy with salacious hunger. What is he going to do to me?

“I want to get something straight,” I whisper as my pulse starts to accelerate, and my inner goddess closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his lips on me.

He’s left my bathrobe on. In a quiet part of my brain, I’m vaguely surprised that he hasn’t made me take it off. Holy fuck this is going to hurt… I know. My subconscious has passed out, and my inner goddess is endeavoring to look brave.

My subconscious is shaking her head sadly, and my inner goddess is nowhere to be seen. Oh, this is a dark morning of the soul for me. I’m so alone. I want my Mom. I remember her parting words at the airport,

Follow your heart, darling, and please, please – try not to over-think things. Relax and enjoy. You are so young, sweetheart, you have so much to experience, just let it happen. You deserve the best of everything.

Deep down, a nasty, unbidden thought comes from my inner goddess, her lip curled in a snarl… the physical pain from the bite of a belt is nothing, nothing compared to this devastation. I curl up, desperately clutching the flat foil balloon and Taylor’s handkerchief, and surrender myself to my grief.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO POST TWO

Last week or so, I started reading what was supposed to be the *most* amazing smut out there, 50 Shades of Grey.  This week, I've been forced to seriously grapple with the sunk costs fallacy as I've been struggling to maintain any interest to finish it. I love trash, like, seriously, love crap books, but this is just absolutely terrible.  I've passed most of examples I would ever want to give, but let me briefly describe the premise.  

22 year old beautiful liberal college student somehow falls in love with boring 27 year old billionaire ginger CEO who appears to have little to no personality, and whose every interaction with the 22 year old is tracked in the book, including a series of extremely long e-mail exchanges. The kick? He's into S&M! And she's an innocent! What fiery passions will this book raise?

Well, actually, for those who are used to reading books with character development or plot, almost none.  

Christian Grey’s iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen, and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn’t have figured him for a Britney fan. The club-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it’s too early for this: Britney’s at her most sultry.
“Toxic, eh?” Christian grins.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I feign innocence.
He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down. Victory!
“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” he says casually, and puts his foot down so that I am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.
What? He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Who did? And I have to listen to Britney going on and on. Who… who?

Really, grams James? Really? Brittany Spears? I mean, it was cool when she went to Wikipedia, but I think we were all a little suspicious when the relatively well to do girl was described by you as lacking a laptop. DON'T WORRY THOUGH MASTER GREY TO THE RESCUE with a computer for her. and a blackberry so he can track her everywhere. and an Audi. heyyyyyyyyyyo! And she "isn't" into him for the money! MY INNER GODDESS IS REBELLING AT READING THIS PIECE OF CRAP BUT THERE ARE ONLY LIKE 30 PAGES LEFT OF THIS 350 PAGE BOOK. and then i resolved to do it again and within one page this
My inner goddess has back flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium.
FUCK YOUR INNER GODDESS. NO SANE GIRL THINKS OF HER INSIDES WITH THE TERMS INNER GODDESS. THE BITCHES I KNEW WHO DID THAT IN COLLEGE ARE ALL UNDER EMPLOYED LIVING IN THAILAND AND HAVE BRAIN DAMAGE FROM DOING TOO MUCH ACID OR WHATEVER.

in essence my book review can be summarized as follows:
don't believe the hype
this book is absolutely terrible
read some trashy historical romance instead, and if you're in instanbul trade with me
or best yet just read some real books
if anyone says anything about an inner goddess, do not proceed slowly, but rapidly, rapidly, find or construct a shiv if no nearby sharp or heavy blunt obejcts are available. use against said goddess.


I'm sure I'll find more to critique of grams James's book along the way. back to the grind!

Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding.


Yeah, fuck those Elenas. Granny James clearly has no idea what sorts of naming conventions there are in 'Murka.  Note also that the main character's name is Anastasia. I'd say it's more than likely that Granny James hasn't interacted much with those MEXICAN TYPE folks. Or is it the Greeks she hates? Regardless, I'm not really sure how an Anastasia can call an "Elena" all foreign sounding.

Actually I have a new idea for a blog post. Be right back.

IT KEEPS GOING! be sure to read post three, which has a helpful guide to ANASTASIA's goddesses.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He smirks as we pull into the International House of Pancakes.
“IHOP.” I grin back at him. I don’t believe it. Who would have thought… Christian Grey at IHOP.

WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND OTHER THAN JOKING REFERRING TO GOING TO INTERNATIONAL FOOD EVER CALLS IHOP INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PANCAKES. s

that's it. i cannot finish this drivel. this is a shoutout to one of the two people who i know who've managed to finish the book to complete the book review.

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY TWO

Did you all know about the Malice in Dallas?  From Wiki:

"Just Plane Smart" In March 1992, shortly after Southwest started using the "Just Plane Smart" motto, Stevens Aviation, who had been using "Plane Smart" for their motto, threatened a trademark lawsuit.  Instead of a lawsuit, the CEOs for both companies staged an arm wrestling match. Held at the now demolished Dallas Sportatorium (the famed wrestling facility) and set for two out of three rounds, the loser of each round was to pay $5,000 to the charity of their choice, with the winner gaining the use of the trademarked phrase. 

Even better? Southwest's video, which features the 5-pack a day smoker CEO using bottles of Wild Turkey as weights:



I've got a rather busy day with a lot of stuff to do, and the MALICE IN DALLAS has reminded me that I gotta go do some girly push ups. But first, read all about the airline!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE

big weekend, that one, and an intercontinental protest filled one to boot! along with a dinner, a birthday, a fete, the biggest meal ever (DONT JUDGE ME IM STARVING), a book that stars a friend, a skype date revolving around quacks and byes, a cafe-hopping extravaganza, an outdoor performance and a brilliant rooftop ending, someone i used to know that's distracted me into game theory and other fun articles, and most fun of all, a very dramatic slap to claps and money finds. and a very sore me from inofficeworkout2012!

oh no! paris review! although apparently this news is older than me, i didn't know it til today. sad yall:

All of which means that at the dawn of the CIA’s era of coups and nefarious plots, America’s most celebrated apolitical literary magazine served, in part, as a covert international weapon of soft power.

last night i made the most deliciously extremely overly hot dish that has ever existed, thanks in a large part to dave's insanity sauce, which i may have spilled a weeeeeee bit too much of in the dish. on the plus side, DEATH TO ALLERGIES! and speaking of allergies, last night saw the triumphant fifth plus return of shortbus, very, very, very preggers, and this morning saw her fleeing outdoors. poll for the audience: should i spay her? let her have her kittens then spay her? she's basically a street cat who occasionally enters my abode, kittens are awesome, and i can't keep her inside long enough for her cabortion...

a word to the wise: the british consulate's parties are very boring even with jubileeing.

hey! this day today a long time ago, and depressing as fuck!

locked in syndrom, sad sad sad. there's a gallery showing of ali arif ersen and where he'd go if he weren't locked in. at milli reasurans art gallery and ohboy let's move on to some more chipper stuff!

this review in timeout istanbul is amazing - just takin this sentence alone: "if you ask me, one of the most impressive things about [name] is he's from austria, the homeland of classical music, a place that makes us think of grand structures, gold leaf, porcelain." - i too would want to be written up on the basis of my nationality.

gotta get off the depressing topics theme... onto underground railroads and the best book about science ever!

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY

Transgender issues in the news like whoa! Here's a New Yorker article about kiddies, and here's a sports illustrated article that a former Bowerite Megan shared.

PROM PROM PROM! Segregation!!

Cute little girls with powerful blogs can spur change. It's also interesting to see how the lunches differ between areas - those filled with richies have nutritious lunches. Those that aren't as well known for richies look a lot worse and less healthy.

detroiiiiiiiiiit what? cool kids galore?? and good.is, all it took was a simple click to figure out it was not salon, but nytimes that said cool kids. oh! i can't believe i missed this! companies owned by friends! and, of course, mostly in corktown, midtown and eastern market. sad the article doesn't mention the rather limited areas that have been helped by folks like tommyguns.

And continuing on that theme, the article, WHICH YOU MUST READ, ruin porn -  features a WONDERFUL picture of a place that was fantastic for urban exploration, smack dab in corktown:

Interesting fact: if you go to encyclopedia dramatica's article on Detroit (which has the ever lovely memorial song "It's so cold in the D" - major thanks to Kenyon for sending that my way long ago) - there's this picture of a typical Detroit resident. 

That, my dear readers, is a person who died and was frozen to death in the bottom of that glorious building above, frozen so long that he became encased by ice and had to be removed from the ice with chainsaws.  That building's not more than a few blocks away from my Bagley street apartment. Backstory here.  It's depressing.

Second