Windy City

Dean and I are going to Chicago tomorrow until Wednesday. We are going with Dean's best friend and his wife for the occasion of his (the friend's, not Dean's) thirtieth birthday. We are also using it as an excuse to belatedly celebrate our anniversary.

I'm a little nervous. I've known this couple for nine years now (since before Dean and I were a couple!), so that's not a problem. I feel weird because Dean and I aren't really one of "those couples". You know what I mean, the couple that vacations with other couples. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that, it's just that, well, we sort of keep to ourselves. I hope we can pull this off.

Anyway, we'll be going to two Cubs games. I've never been to Wrigley field despite it being my cat's namesake. We'll be eating indulgently fatty Chicago food and probably spending too much money on Michigan Ave. I'll tell you all about it when I return.

Reunion Weekend

My last weekend in Minneapolis was pretty fun. I spent the whole time with my mom and step dad. Saturday morning I tagged along while they ran errands. I helped them pick out a new stove while I drooled over all the kitchen appliances I still have to wait for until we move on up outta the ghetto. We had tickets to the Twins game so we tried to get a late lunch/early dinner at Gluek’s (sounds like “Glick’s”) because I haven’t eaten there since we moved. They were closed until later that evening for a private party. I was sorely disappointed and since it was raining and a little chilly we just crossed to street and ate at NBA City inside the Target Center. My parents are Timberwolves season ticket holders and they said NBA City was pretty good. But they will be the first to admit that their palettes are aligned more with pub food than fine dining. I was shocked. It was really very good. I had the pot roast, one of their signature dishes and I was very pleased. The service was phenomenal (it helped that we were one of maybe a half dozen occupied tables) and the waiter obviously knew much more about food than sports. When I called Dean that night for my nightly “check in” I had totally forgotten that he had eaten at the NBA City in Orlando several weeks back and had the same impression. He said he had thoroughly enjoyed the bleu cheese pasta- another of their specialties.

After dinner we went to the Twins game. This year is the 20^th anniversary of the 1987 World Series win and they chose this weekend for the reunion weekend. Other than the actual game (which they lost- offense was deplorable as usual) it was very fun. They handed out 20^th Anniversary Homer Hankies to all the fans to wave during the reunion parade. They got the 1987 team together, save for a few guys, and had a parade inside the Metrodome. Pickup trucks drove around carrying a couple guys in each and they threw balls into the stands while having their personal feats announced by Dick Bremer. They also played highlight reels of the post season games and celebration. Of course there wasn’t a dry eye in the house during the Kirby Puckett tribute and while the pickup truck meant for him drove by carrying his two kids instead. All in all it was so much fun going back to that time. 1987 wasn’t nearly their best season, but those scrappy guys made it to the playoffs and fought tooth and nail for each win. What I remember most about that season (I actually remember 1991 much better, I was 12 years old, versus a mere 8 years old in 1987) was the Homer Hanky. I wore that thing everyday and in every way. Tied in my ponytail, around my neck, around my head or through a belt loop. So waving mine at the pot-bellied, gray-haired Twins that brought us those thrilling moments 20 years ago was a joy.

Yesterday was rainy again so we just went to the Mall of America and did some shopping. Seems everyone had the same idea as it was packed more similar to the holiday season than the dog days of summer. But it was still a fun time. I got a shirt, some funky new tennis shoes and these from Williams-Sonoma. So excited to try them when I get back.

Speaking of getting back, only 5 days left. I'm so wound up I can hardly stand it! Usually I have such mixed feelings about leaving Minneapolis. I always feel like I don’t have enough time. This time, I think three and half months was long enough.

A Brief History of Me

From the suggestion bin:

A little insight into how your opinions were formed, who were the people who influenced you most in your life and some of your hopes and dreams for your future

Where to start with this one?! I couldn’t decide exactly which angle I want to attack this from, so I might just try a couple. By “opinions” one could mean political opinions, opinions on particular events or people, or even more broadly one’s worldview and how it was formed. I’ll throw in a little of everything.

I was raised by a number of strong-willed and vibrant people, and I feel blessed to this day to have so many role models in my life. I was an only child (until Emma entered the picture) and while my mom put off working in my first few years, she started work when I started kindergarten. With both parents working, my summers were spent with my grandmothers. I am still so thankful to have been able to experience these strong women in their prime. Both my dad’s mom and my mom’s grandma (my great grandma!) are still alive though neither is in the best of health. My mom’s parents are alive as well, but both worked up until only recently. So I spent a lot of time in the summers switching off between spending time with Great Grandma Irene (my mom’s grandma) and Grandma Celia (my dad’s mom). My mom and dad (and now by extension step parents) helped me shape my personal ideology the most, I really do consider my upbringing as being a collective effort on the part of many thoughtful, wonderful people. While at the time this seemed like an ad hoc alternative to daycare, it turned out to be a lifestyle that I absolutely want for my own children. These experiences I think really brought the balance into my life that allowed me to become a well-rounded individual.

Grandma Irene definitely reinforced my early interest in reading. She read like a fiend before she lost her vision. She is also incredibly curious, loves learning new things. Her curiosity, however, has a macabre side- she had me hooked on Stephen King in middle school and watching horror movies. Beyond that, she has a deep pride in her own roots. She has always been fiercely patriotic, yet enamored with her Irish and German ancestry. It is because of her that I identify not only as an American, but also as my own melting pot- a microcosm of America who mustn’t forget all the places from which I am descended as well.

My Grandma Celia is a free spirit to the highest degree. Her love of animals definitely rubbed off on me and I hope some of her pure golden heart did as well. She was a firm believer in letting kids pave their own way and nurturing their imagination. But while she always let me let me run wild (both figuratively and literally), she also played an active part in my games and silliness. She was a visionary in animal welfare- she always had stray dogs and cats living with her. She made her own dog food (which still seemed eccentric until the recent scare surrounding commercial pet food) and would sterilize any cat that crossed her path, sometimes to the dismay of the neighbors. She still has a few feral cats living in her home – the result of a “rescue mission” about a decade ago. For a long time I have meant to discuss both of these amazing women and not just when they were my grandmothers, but as women growing up and making their way in the world. They both have fascinating life stories that need more dedication than I can give in one post.

As for my parents, they instilled in me all of the moral fiber I possess. My sense of right and wrong, fairness, and the importance of equality. My mom and step dad work together in a county hospital pharmacy and they deal with the outcome and fallout of government. They see people whom government has failed. People who take advantage of the help given them. People who are trying to pull themselves up from the darkest imaginable situations and people who cannot control their own spiraling self-destruction. But mostly they see people who are trying to live the American dream, a dream that often simply consists of a modest, steady paycheck. While I am quite a ways away from those meager aspirations, my mom and step dad have always taught me to be thankful for what I have. That no matter what I’m griping about, there are people much worse off than I am, and they live in my own back yard. My mom has taught me the value of humility. Not only that, she taught me to tip well, make friends with the janitors and make new people feel welcome. Life isn’t easy for anyone, but it is easy to make someone’s day a little bit better. Oh yeah, and she taught me all about baseball at the ripe age of eight years old. (That was 1987, for those of you counting- a fortunate year to start following the Twins.)

My dad has always been the one to encourage me to explore. Both intellectually, and in life. He is responsible for getting me into playing the piano as a young child, but as an ex-professional musician he also steered me away from it as a career. He recognized that science could satiate my curiosity of the natural world. He eagerly encouraged me to experience the world beyond my small little corner. And even though my political opinions mostly align with my dad’s, it is not because he taught me to be liberal, he taught me to be an independent thinker. The political leanings came after years of reading and soul searching. Knowing how to teach oneself is a valuable tool.

So there you have it. The four people that influenced me the most growing up. Of course there were others, my mom’s parents, not to mention aunts and uncles, and family friends. Maybe some day I’ll talk about them as well (the family friends were an especially interesting group) but this has been long enough. As far as future hopes and dreams, I will just say this: I hope my own kids can enjoy their family as much as I have enjoyed mine. I hope they can spend many many years getting to know their grand parents and where they come from. I’m excited for my future, but I wouldn’t say I have any dreams. The way my life has turned out is so much better than the dreams I ever I had as a kid. I can only hope that the future keeps revealing new and different things that I haven’t even thought of yet.

Montreal Circa 2004

Fermicat suggested I write about the crazy times we have at physics conferences. (Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the other wonderful suggestions. I will need a little time for them.) While there have been times like what she described on her blog where we meet up with other groups (I vaguely remember 2 Russian physicists and a bottle of sake in Los Angeles…) the best times have just been with the people in my group. I am lucky enough to work with people who are genuinely fun to travel with and can thankfully see the humor in the eccentricities that tend to plague physicists. Especially when they congregate in droves. You can hear some crazy stuff at these places and see some major social dysfunctions. But that’s cool, it’s part of who we are. You see people frantically writing out calculations on envelopes, scrap papers or Kleenexes and you hear some of the absolute worst presenters of your life at these conferences. You see people dressed in three-piece suits, people in jeans and sandals. You even see some interesting mixtures of the two. You see men with ponytails, people with tattoos, piercings. Hippies and Einstein look-a-likes (though often they don’t intend to…). You also see plenty of people dressed in preppy or trendy clothes. I tend to stick with the slacks-and-blouse look which puts me about smack dab in the middle. But you know what? There is very little judgment or ostracizing. Unless you are presenting your idea for a perpetual motion machine. Then you are a physics leper.

But what I want to write about today is my first and still favorite APS conference in Montreal, March 2004. I went with Jeff and James from the lab. The three of us along with a few other grad students were very close and I look back on that time as one of the best times in my life. Those were the days when we still had Randy. Before Jeff punked out on us and before James showed me his true colors.

To save money, we flew into Burlington, Vermont and drove across the border to Quebec. The money we saved on the flight we put towards staying at the conference hotel, still the nicest hotel I think I’ve ever stayed in. It was the Fairmont Queen Elizabeth in downtown Montreal and because I was the only girl I got a room to myself. It was bliss. Ironically I remember very little of the actual conference except that my talk went well and Dr. Hari was proud.

We did a little sightseeing in Montreal, mostly driving along the St. Lawrence and stopping at local pubs. The last night though, we really did it right. We first went to a Montreal Canadiens game where Jeff spent the whole time teaching us the intricacies of hockey (yeah, I still don’t get it) and met some really nice locals who told us the story of the “Habs”. Then we hit the pubs. James to this day has the highest alcohol tolerance of anyone I have ever met in my life. And he looks like a total geek, which makes him a hoot to go out with. The very first bar we went to was a small brewery and of course Jeff and I sampled the local microbrews. James, going great guns right out of the gates ordered the special- 5 shots of Jagermeister, which undoubtedly was meant as a special for a table to share. He lined them up on the bar and downed them one by one with most of the patrons watching in disbelief. It gave him a buzz roughly equal to what Jeff and I had after two beers. The night proceeded in similar fashion, going from bar to bar sampling local specialties and meeting beautiful French Canadians. Damn, I have never seen a city full of such good-looking people as Montreal. I remember going to one bar that had live music- a Bon Jovi cover band that people were going crazy over. After every song the crowd would shout “Vive le Bon Jovi!” It was awesome.

By the time last call was drawing near at our fourth or fifth stop, we had moved on to tequila shots and I was swooning over that bar’s singer, not really listening as James reminisced about him and his then-girlfriend. Jeff was trying to pick up some girl by deriving the Lorentz factor on a napkin. After closing we stopped for a midnight snack at a local pizza by the slice place where I boldly broke out my college French skills. We barely beat the sun back to the hotel and managed four hours sleep before we had to get up and catch our flight back to Tampa.

Needless to say, all three of us woke up still incredibly inebriated from the previous night’s exploits. Even though it was tempting to sleep later, we gave ourselves four hours before our flight left: two hours to get to the airport, two hours to get checked in. I crawled in the back seat and passed out again on the drive across the border. I awoke to a tense conversation between Jeff and James. Apparently James the navigator had missed a turn somewhere and now we were lost. We decided to drive “along the hypotenuse” rather than turn around and make two turns. Not anticipating how much winding the back roads of Quebec did, we then got severely lost. On the positive side, the scenery in those small border towns was amazing.

We found our way to the border, only to get stopped by customs. Why were we crossing the border in a town so off the beaten path? They were quite suspicious of us hooligans and searched the car and our luggage. We had to fill out claims forms, which James was unable to do due his continued alcohol impairment. After getting dirty looks from the border patrol, he confessed to being still drunk from the last night and we had to promise not to let him drive. Then they told us how to get back on the interstate.

By this time we were severely pressing our departure time. Jeff was doing 80 mph on the Vermont interstate, only to get pulled over by a state trooper. Everything that could go wrong did. By some act of heaven we didn’t get a ticket. Jeff was calm and told the truth while I sat terrified in the back seat. The trooper was understanding, gave us directions for the rest of the way and told us if we drove the speed limit we’d still make out flight. He was lying but didn’t want us trying to make our flight- he already knew it was too late.

We continued to barrel down the highway until we came to am impasse where we took yet another wrong turn. It was at this time, like a surgeon who knows she has lost a patient I declared, “It’s over.” We all knew it. It was time to give up, be safe and just get to the airport in one piece. When we finally got there, our flight was loooong gone but the lady at the counter was nice enough not to charge us for new flights. I will never forget that. Unfortunately, there weren’t any flights to Tampa for two days. She ended up putting us on an evening flight to DC and a connection to Miami the following day. We checked our bags and left James by the baggage carousel where he passed out (despite all the bustle and the frequent beeping from incoming luggage). Jeff and I spent the day roaming around downtown Burlington. It was fantastic. Such a beautiful, vibrant town. We ate off our hangovers at an amazing diner and went to collect James from his bench.

We spent that night at a hotel in DC hanging out with a former grad student that had moved there a couple years earlier. I didn’t know him before that night but he was really cool. The next morning we flew into Miami, rented a car and drove the four hours back to Tampa in a very quiet, tense car. But if a tense car was the worst that came of that epic journey home from Canada, then I stand by my claim when I say I was pretty lucky to be traveling with those guys.

Reminiscing like that makes me realize just how much has changed since that now legendary trip. However, it takes maturity to go through what we have and still look back fondly on all those good times, independent of the hurt that is to come.

Our Dad

Yesterday was the first Father’s Day I spent with my dad since I moved to Florida. This also means it was the first one I was around for since my dad got remarried and officially became a “dad” again. I have been meaning to write this post for a long time now, and it seems in light of Father’s Day that this is as good a time as any.

For those of you who may not know, my stepsister was adopted from China by my stepmother, who was unmarried at the time. So technically she’s my stepsister because my dad married her mom, but because she doesn’t have any other dad but mine (well, now ours), she’s really closer to being like a half-sister. And even though my dad and stepmom got married just a couple years ago, they had been together quite a while, making my dad the only one my stepsister has really ever had. My dad and my stepsister always had a good relationship, but when my dad and stepmom finally got married, the roles of “father” and “daughter” really solidified. I always feel a little weird, growing up as an only child and now at 27 having an 11 year-old sister. But my dad was really young the first time around and now this second time around, he’s got experience under his belt.

If I wanted to write about my stepsister, I’d tell you about how she’s thoughtful, bubbly, witty, affectionate, and sweet. But what I mostly wanted to write about was fathers and daughters. Normally, I’d generalize as “kids” but it should be noted that my dad has always been a man surrounded by strong women, and my stepsister is certainly no exception. And recently, after watching stepsis try to style Dad’s hair, I asked him if he’d ever wished he could have tried raising a boy, he assertively replied, “not for a second.”

Now that I’m a grown woman, I really just like to observe dad and stepsis. I love to watch him be a dad again, see him take the same approach that he did with me so many years ago. I see the same gentleness and patience and feel so happy that stepsis can grow up with the same dad I did. At the age of 11, I can see how much she knows this already. One really good thing about the age difference is that I never feel in direct competition with stepsis. My turn is done, and now it’s her turn. While my dad’s personality and outlook hasn’t changed much over the years, life has a way of changing everything around us. This often makes me reflect on the differences stepsis and I have had growing up. By this I mean our childhood homes, our extended families, our pets, the frequented restaurants, (not to mention our moms…). But Dad’s a constant. And I feel lucky to be able to watch my dad be a father through adult eyes, it makes me appreciate my own childhood with him so much more. Maybe in a few years when stepsis is closer to being grown, and there’s another batch of little ones running around, she’ll be able to know what I’m talking about.

If Cheese Curds are Wrong, then I don't Want to be Right

Dean was in town this past weekend. He left this morning, and just now I have been able to pull myself together and tell you all what a fun weekend we had. Wednesday night of last week, I went down to the in-laws to stay with them and so I could be around when we went and picked Dean up from the airport. He didn’t come in until very late, and despite my attempts to nap before we even left to go the airport, I was wound up all night and got very little sleep. Friday, after practically requiring a coffee IV drip, I went to work and gave my first presentation since starting. It was basically just a summary of what I have gotten done so far which turned out to be very well received. It gave me a little boost.

Friday night Dean and his family went to Dean’s brother’s HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION. Yes, we had some geriatric moments this weekend seeing Kent and all his friends graduate when they were supposed to still be playing little league. Darn. I had to work too late, so I beat them home and watched while the Twins get spanked by the Nats. Yes, I worded that correctly.

Saturday, I helped Sylvia around the house while she was trying to get Kent’s graduation party in order. After coming frighteningly close to going postal over some deviled eggs, Dean whisked me away for a date at the Twins game. Now, despite the fact that it was Joe Mauer Batting Title Bobblehead Night, we did not wait in line. We are both adults with good paying jobs whose time is worth more than sitting in line and cringing every time the people in back of us tell someone about how their niece’s best friend’s sister was little Joe’s babysitter, don’t cha know. That’s exactly what ebay is for, thank you. Around 2:30pm we drove to the Mall of America and jumped on the light rail to avoid downtown traffic and parking. That got us to the ‘Dome about a half an hour before gates opened. The lines for the bobblehead were so long that they all just wrapped around the stadium and nobody could tell which line was going where. For a fraction of a second we thought about getting in line on the off chance we weren’t too late. However, it was strolling hand in hand down the plaza that the unmistakable aroma of deep-fried concessions seduced our noses just like the nebulous finger-under-the-nose from the cartoons. We each got a corn dog and then split the heavenliest of all the fried foods: cheese curds. It was while I was chewing one of these perfect little nuggets, my mouth wide open to dissipate the heat from the fryer and grease running down my arm that I commented, “This is SO wrong.” My loving husband’s reply: “If cheese curds are wrong, I don’t want to be right.” Truer words have never been spoken.

After we annihilated the cheese curds, we grabbed beers and got in line just as the gates were to be opened. We figured it would be awhile before we actually made it to the door. It turned out we were only about 25 people away from getting in when they ran out of bobbleheads. We were a little bummed because if we were going to miss it, we wanted it to be by a lot. But as a consolation, we got two raffle tickets for the second chance bobbleheads, which would give me something to do between innings. We still didn’t regret our choice: they don’t sell deep fried cheese curds on ebay.

The game was fun, Johan had his stuff even though he got the loss due to our ridiculous looking offense. We sat in front of a nearly-albino family from Fargo whose lack of baseball knowledge was making Dean visibly uneasy. To keep from being too upset by the Twins’ dismal outing, I kept drinking beer and watching the second chance bobblehead raffle. It paid off too because I won one! Admittedly, the beer made it seem like winning a Joe Mauer bobblehead was the highlight of my life (we already have several), but in retrospect it gave the evening more of a surreal glow, collecting my prize with a noticeable beer buzz and a feeling the night would never have to end.

After the game we met up with a friend of Dean’s where I took it upon myself to switch from beer to mixed drinks, because hell, winning a bobblehead makes you impervious to hangovers, right?

The night got quite blurry when Dean had to pour me back into the light rail, amongst the other downtown party goers and late shift workers. He had sobered up well before he needed to take us home from the mall, but he still had sympathy-drunk pangs and stopped for Taco Bell. Unfortunately, going home drunk didn’t mean going back to our ghetto apartment and spilling cat food all over the floor because it is way past dinner. It meant going back to the in-laws' house the night before Kent’s graduation party. Dean’s charming, lovely, perfect wife woke up the household, including a much-bemused new graduate. I’m sure Sylvia hadn’t gotten to sleep much before that but I definitely woke her up with my flailing and insistence that yes, I most definitely ordered hard-shelled tacos; the employee must have had it out for me.

So I was moving a little slow on Sunday for the party but I didn’t let it stop me from enjoying the beautiful weather, the fantastic food and the company of family and friends. It was nice to catch up with people I hadn’t seen in awhile and meet new people I’d heard stories about for years. And when it ended seemingly just moments after it began, Dean’s parents and brother got to enjoy having him around for his last couple of days. But for me, going back to work on Monday was like pulling teeth. I was inconsolable all day despite the fact that Dean hadn’t even left yet. It was the anticipation of saying good bye for three more weeks that caused the waterworks to come on full blast. And even though we had a fun time last night, there was a thick “good bye” rain cloud looming over us the whole time. So today although the worst of the storm has passed, isolated showers have occurred and are bound to persist until I see him again on the fourth of July.

Floodgates

I have been conspicuously absent from the blogging world lately, doing the obligatory weekly check in and picking a few e-friends to visit every couple of days. There have even been a couple wanderers over here from other blogs and under normal circumstances I would happily explore their space as well and see how much this stranger may have in common with me. If you are new and visiting again, have patience. I’ll seek you out eventually. But alas, these aren’t normal circumstances. There are a few good reasons I’ve been scarce, like:

1. My schedule is jam-packed. I work full days and when I get home I usually go for a walk to get some fresh air and exercise. I’m used to being very active in the lab and this desk job is driving me stir-crazy. Then I have a late dinner and if I’m lucky I watch/listen to a bit of the Twins game before washing up, reading about ten pages of my book and then passing out at the premature hour of 10:30 or so.
2. If I were to use the little free time during the week that I have for blogging, I would never complete a post to my satisfaction. Weekends are spent with family and friends (sort of like when I come up for the holidays).
3. In Tampa I’d post a lot and read blogs while in the lab because the work pace is “hurry up and wait” rather than this work which is more like a slow draining of my sanity stretched out continuously over nine hours. Today my two superiors are away and I’m determined to sneak some blog time in.
4. There is so much swimming through my head right now that I’m overwhelmed with where to begin. Since writing these posts is like my own form of therapy, I’m going to try and lay it all for you. Let’s see what advice you may have to offer.

I started off this job knowing that having done it would look very good on my resume. I was also hoping and somewhat anticipating the fit would be so good that I could expect a full time position waiting for me when I graduated. I had allowed myself to fantasize about a life where Dean and I would move back up to Minneapolis, where I’d have a great job with kick ass pay, we’d buy a cute house in the city, and start a family soon after. We’d have all of our friends and family just short car rides away and we’d all get together much more often than twice a year. Everything just perfect and wonderful. Well I’ve been working here now for close to three weeks and I can see a couple of different situations emerging from this experience. I know it’s still early, but I’m getting nervous because it’s really not that early.

Situation A. Things could turn around, and the fantasy life I had envisioned would be possible. Dealing with this situation is a no-brainer.

Situation B. I could end the summer with a clear idea that the group I’m working for doesn’t think this is a good fit. I’ve heard rumors from a couple of new full time hires that this group is difficult to get hired into. One new Ph.D. told me that his dissertation was based exactly on this group’s work but he couldn’t join after graduation because the group wasn’t hiring. He had to settle for doing something completely different but he was willing to do that because he liked the company and the Twin Cities area. Dealing with this situation would be difficult because I would be faced with the decision to start over someplace else or go for a job at this facility like the new Ph.D. did. That would be hard to do because this group is the only group at this facility that does more physics-based research rather than straight engineering. Starting over someplace else could involve starting with a fresh company or national lab or else checking out the same company at a different campus (they have facilities all over the world). I’ve heard that interning at one facility gives you an edge for full time positions at any other. In summary, this situation would force me to choose between materials physics, or stay in Minneapolis. Seeing as though I’m not qualified for much else at this point, it’s likely I’d go someplace else.

Situation C. Things could not turn around and I could feel exactly the same way about this job as I do now, but they could want to hire me. And quite honestly, I don’t love what I’m doing right now. But they are paying me a butt load just for an internship. That situation would make me choose between living near family and friends, making good money, doing some sort of magnetic physics or else just walking away because it isn’t like what I’m doing in the lab. And I love what I’m doing in the lab.

Situation B worries me a little, but I’ve talked to Dean about it, and he has the type of easygoing attitude that I need for him to have. Some days he’d like to live here again, some days the adventurer in him comes out and he goes on the internet to learn about different cities and ask me if there are jobs for me in them. It’s situation C that really has me concerned. What do I “settle” for? And is it settling if it’s a job everyone covets but me? Would things be different if I were in the quiet cubicle across the aisle with a permanent nameplate? The good news is I ask myself these questions every day, and the feelings get a little better. But the scientific culture shock is still very much there.

I knew going into this that there would be lot riding on this summer. I knew that my career, and thus our future could take shape without even having my husband here for every en-or-discouraging sign no matter how small. But anticipating it and living it are two very different things. So there. Now I’ve opened the floodgates of my mind. Any suggestions?

Eight Random Facts About Me

Damn it, Scott! I can always count on you to give me a tough assignment. It’s difficult for me to come up with 8 random facts that don’t intersect with my 100 juicy details on the sidebar, so my apologies in advance if my random facts are things you may have seen before…

1. I am a physicist. Most of you know this by now. What you don’t know is that in high school I took advanced placement physics and advanced placement calculus classes for one trimester my senior year. I hated them and dropped them both. I just didn’t understand the physics course and I hated the math teacher. She was a total bitch. I took health and painting instead. I have always felt like not liking math and science in high school made me “not a real physicist” and a lot of my successes I attribute to overcompensating for those feelings. In college my undergraduate advisor recommended I take a calculus class to “keep my options open” since I was completely undecided. I loved the college math classes and became a math major. Then after taking the required physics courses to complete the major, I ended up in the physics and astrophysics programs. I settled for just a minor in math.
2. In high school I worked at Bachman’s, a flower and garden center. I still know a lot about gardening and can identify most annuals, perennials, and shrubs. I started as a cashier but by the time I left as a sophomore in college I did stock, carryout, sales, customer service and even spent a few days working the help desk.
3. I classify myself as an “anxious meat eater”. One day I would love to be a vegetarian, but with a completely carnivorous husband and a weakness for good cuts of meat it isn’t meant to be right now. I go through fits of ultra-conscientiousness and avoid it altogether but an intense craving for a steak or fried chicken inevitably ends these fits. To find a temporary balance I decided to cut my meat consumption completely in half. In practice, that means that I almost always have meat with only one meal a day (usually dinner). This seems to make me feel like I’m doing something about my “meat issues” without taking the oh-so-difficult plunge. Real vegetarians might look down on me for it, but it’s a solution that works for me.
4. As a junior in high school I tried out for cheerleading with a friend of mine. I don’t know why I did it, it wasn’t my kind of thing at all. That’s the power of friendship in your teens. She made the varsity squad and I made the junior varsity squad. I declined the offer and went back to being shy and awkward.
5. I’ve kept all the ticket stubs from everything Dean and I have ever done together. This includes sporting events, movies, visits to museums, and boarding passes from flights on vacations. I have two shoe boxes full in my closet. I have another shoe box in my closet full of pressed flowers from bouquets he has given me. I have been meaning to shellac them onto a picture frame for one of our wedding photos. Maybe someday when life slows down. (yeah, right)
6. I have never broken any bones, nor had any surgery except for the removal of my wisdom teeth.
7. When I was in elementary school, I was in an after school program until my mom could come and get me after work. In hindsight it was a good program- we had healthy snacks and played games, watched educational TV, etc. I remember my mom was supposed to pick me up at a specific time each day, and about a half an hour before she was due to arrive I would get terrible panic attacks and cry because I thought something had happened to her. When someone finally got exasperated and asked me why I was always convinced she wasn’t coming for me well before her expected arrival, they learned that I couldn’t tell time properly and in my little world she was late everyday. Things improved after this correction was in place.
8. I am very self-conscious about my feet. Growing up I hated being barefoot and I never even used to wear sandals. I didn't like people seeing my feet and I didn't want them to get dirty. Even now, I don't usually go barefoot unless I'm in my own apartment or someplace I am VERY comfortable. I will wear sandals but only if my toes are painted and not at all chipped. If I feel like my feet are getting too dirty I will put socks on.
   

The meme goes that you are supposed to tag eight people. Pretty much all my blog friends that are willing to do these have done this one so I’m out of ideas. If you haven’t dons this and you want to, consider yourself tagged by yours truly. If you don’t have a blog but want to share eight random things about yourself, feel free to do so in the comments!

Loyalty

This post may get a little long and even a bit cryptic so don’t feel obligated to read it all. I just need to get it out of my head. And if you want to share advice, opinions or thoughts please do.

I had the annual symposium for NSF fellows yesterday and as I sat down at one of the students table I noticed right away that two of the people were not people I was currently on speaking terms with. Now, I’ve never considered myself as difficult to get along with. I think I am a nice person, a good friend and intensely loyal. Maybe to a fault. The two people I am speaking of had at some point broken my trust, or deeply hurt one of my friends. One of the girls is someone I had repeatedly tried to be friends with, only to find myself burned a few times over. She had also done the same thing to runnergirl and even Randy. The other girl played a role in driving a wedge between my good anonymous friend and her roommate. The result was my good friend being all but forced to move out of her apartment so this girl could move in. I don’t know her that well myself, but she comes off as extremely shallow and immature. I ended up taking a seat between her boyfriend and an extremely friendly engineer whose company I really enjoy. He leads our biweekly discussion and lets me sit out on the animal testing talks because it gives me such bad anxiety. Anyway, just as an aside about how immature some of these people were, that girl and her boyfriend sat and texted each other during the whole keynote address. Recall they were sitting right next to each other.

The point I am trying to make is: When did I become someone who is reluctant to talk to people because of a history? I used to be so good at letting things go. I take pride in the fact that I stick up for what I believe is right. I want to be thought of as someone with convictions, about which I am passionate, not some spineless blob of goo who agrees with everyone. But on the other hand, people generally like the gooey spineless people because they are friendly and easy to get along with. But I am human and I want people to like me too! You know that I am worried about walking the fine line between “strong woman” and “bitchy woman”. And the line is blurry depending on who you are asking. But it almost always exists.

Another related story on my mind involves how loyal my friends are to me. While my labmates and I were in Denver last month, I got into an argument with another grad student from our department. It was a very bad situation (yes, there was alcohol involved which often exacerbates bad situations) and one of my labmates- who is also a very close friend- wouldn’t stick up for me. I’m not talking about “sticking up” as in “agreeing with me” during a political discussion. I don’t need that, I can hold my own in political discussions. I mean “sticking up” as in attesting to my character when it is being verbally attacked. As a last resort, I said, “Would you like to weigh in about this?!” To which he responded, “I think I’ll stay out of it.” Needless to say, the other grad student is another on my “don’t speak to” list at the moment. Of course, gooey, spineless labmate is as chummy with him as ever.

So what do I do? I work with my labmates for 8-10 hours a day and I don’t want to wreck my relationship with any of them. But I also feel like his lack of standing up for me is still really an issue. I haven’t gotten over it and I’m not going to get over it until he understands the magnitude of how this hurt me. Much worse than the other grad whose opinion of me I couldn’t care less about at this point. Okay, if you’re still reading this, now is the time to chime in. And I promise, I won’t put any of you on my Don’t Speak To list.

Spring Training Report (or: The Longest Post in the History of the World)

My mom and step dad were here last week for a whirlwind Spring Training tour. They flew in Wednesday morning, and right off the bat we had a game Wednesday night. They left Monday morning, but that didn’t stop me from continuing on my manic baseball spree. I have been to seven games in seven days, a feat I don’t think I have ever accomplished. Here’s a (not so) brief rundown of this magical week.

Wednesday

Game: Twins vs. Yankees
Location: Legends Field, Tampa
Highlights:

• Seeing Biff Henderson filming a segment for the Late Show.
• My mom and Dean making fun of the grown man sitting in front of us obviously there with his parents sending text messages the entire game rather than watching it. He also had on a pink polo shirt with a popped collar. He was asking for it.
• Seeing the New Yorkers with their gelled hair, chains, stogies and accents. It never gets old.
• Seeing Joe Mauer face off with Derek Jeter after Mauer beat Jeter for the batting title.

Thursday

Game: Orioles vs. Twins
Location: Hammond Stadium, Ft. Myers
Highlights:

• The guy who screamed “You got Neshek-ed!” after Pat Neshek’s two stikeouts (he threw 8 pitches the entire inning).
• Being amongst “my people” (i.e. Twins fans).
• My step dad obsessing over not getting the last batting practice hat at the gift store and then questioning if he even wanted one in the first place. (Sorry to tease!)
• And, as always, the playing of the old school “We’re gonna win, Twins!” song over the loud speaker.

Friday

Game: Phillies vs. Tigers
Location: Joker Marchant Stadium, Lakeland
Highlights:

• A 12” Little Caesar’s pizza for $8.
• Seats only a few rows up from the first base line.
• The “Detroit Superfan” sitting a couple rows ahead of us wearing a Tigers hat, world series jersey, ticket lanyard, beads, wrist bands, watch, a towel tucked into his shorts for waving when runs scored, and the piece de resistance: prescription glasses just like Nate Robertson’s. The guy was out of control and he was there with his wife, baby and in-laws who were obviously a little embarrassed. And he looked like Dwight Schrute from the Office.
• Oooh, and after the game we went to the “lake” behind the stadium and saw about an 8 foot long alligator sunbathing on the bank. I’d never seen one without a fence separating us, he was absolutely breathtaking. And a little scary. I ran like a maniac when he roused a little from his sleep and lifted his head.

Saturday

Game: Twins vs. Pirates
Location: McKechnie Field, Bradenton
Highlights:

• The St. Patrick’s Day street party before the game in Bradenton. There was free food, pop, iced coffee, free picture postcards of fans, beads, and a dressed up Pirate singing karaoke of Unchained Melody.
• The St. Patrick’s Day Pirates pin giveaway (I collect Spring Training pins, so this was very cool).
• I got Torii Hunter to sign my favorite Twins hat. It made me happy even if he probably won’t be with us next year. All Dean had was a blue Sharpie, and I wasn’t sure how it was going to look on my pink hat. It actually turned out purplish, which looks VERY cool.
• We moved from our expensive seats to the bleachers to get some sun because it was chilly out, and the bleachers were next to the visitor’s clubhouse so we could switch between watching the game and watching the starters hangout in the clubhouse after they were done for the day. Boof played around with some of the young fans and flirted with some of the older ladies. He seems like a good guy, I hope spending more time in the big leagues doesn’t screw with him.

Sunday

Game: Dodgers vs. Indians
Location: Chain of Lakes Park, Winter Haven
Highlights:

• Being comparatively tall and slender compared to most Cleveland fans (sorry, Clevelanders…).
• Watching my lover Grady Sizemore take batting practice up close at the practice fields.
• Driving one car ahead of Bob Feller out of the stadium parking lot (he waved us ahead from his gigantic Buick).

Monday

Game: Reds vs. Tigers
Location: Joker Marchant Stadium, Lakeland
Highlights:

• Dean’s birthday (28!!) and his choice for a birthday activity. He has the week off of work and is traveling the state right now with his dad.
• Dean being mortified at my conversation with a woman who worked in the gift shop. She noticed my handbag (with cats on it) and we got to talking about taking in strays which led to my explaining the TNR process. Apparently not appropriate conversation at the ball park.
• Arroyo versus Rogers was a fun match up even though Arroyo didn’t look great. Rogers was in classic form already.
• Pudge and Maggs both played, two of my favorite non-Twins players.
• The guys that rake the field mid-game at that stadium do a funny YMCA dance. They rake for awhile and when the chorus starts they do the classic moves. Then during the bridge they break it down which is hilarious because they are all pretty big guys.

Tuesday

Game: Twins vs. Red Sox
Location: City of Palms Park, Ft. Myers

Highlights: I hadn’t planned on going to this game at all. I went back to work yesterday and late in the morning I got a call from Anonymous Blog Buddy reminding me she and her girlfriend were going to the Sox Twins game in Ft. Myers and assuming Dean and I were going as well. When I told her that no, we weren’t going and by the way I hated her for getting to go, she said she had an extra ticket. They were leaving at 3 with their roommate to tailgate. The ticket was mine if I wanted it. I consulted Dean, who couldn’t have gone anyway, and he agreed I should absolutely go since I had never seen the Red Sox facility at it SHOULD HAVE been a good game. Even though they were at a visiting park, they were in their home city so all the starters would be in. I snuck out of work early, gambling on the fact that I had already met with Dr. Hari and he wouldn’t come looking for me again. We drove to Ft. Myers, grilled burgers and hot dogs outside the stadium and included a stray Red Sox fan who came by himself and asked where the nearest sports bar was. He was grateful for a beer and a burger and asked questions like “So where were you all in ’04?” I had to laugh to myself as I was reminded what Red Sox fans were like. I had a fantastic time catching up with Anon whom I hadn’t spoken to in weeks, talking baseball with Girlfriend and meeting Roommate. Anon and Girlfriend went onto the concourse for more beer and Girlfriend recognized Torii Hunter signing autographs. She ripped the tag from her new shirt she had with her, and had Torii sign it (the tag, not the shirt) and then gave it to me. She was obviously high from meeting a ballplayer, and recognizing him as one of my favorites. It was too cute.

*****

What I realize is apparent with the highlights is that very little has to do with the game. I don’t even remember who won many of the games; it is the whole experience which makes Spring Training unlike anything else. The starters get taken out after 4 or 5 innings and your attention begins to wonder. You see the little towns who thrive on this time of year for their economy and how they turn into Little Cleveland or Little Pittsburgh because people vacation or even retire there just for Spring Training. The real baseball know-it-alls pay close attention to the prospects (which I do occasionally), the fanatics scope out autographs (Deano) and the vacationers soak up the precious Florida sun before going back to the snow.

My mom and step dad took pictures of most of these things. They did it the old fashion way, you know, with film? So maybe if I’m not too lazy and I get some pictures from them I’ll scan a couple in and post them. But I’m not making any promises. You’ll just have to take my word that all this stuff really happened.

Pretty Much the Worst Week Ever

Last week, which included this and this, ended yesterday with word that my step-grandpa died. It was not sudden, he had been sick quite some time. He was an extremely kind man with a fantastic sense of humor. He will be missed.

Despite the ugliness this past week has brought I'm okay. But I'm getting tired of writing sad serious things and I just need a couple of days to regroup.

Meanwhile, thanks for all your kind words from last post. I know not everyone understands why I am so passionate about this cause. You don't have to. Accepting that it's part of who I am is enough.

What I wanted to write about yesterday

but I just couldn't.

runnergirl did a much better job than I would have anyway.

Ummm....yeah.

I have a friend in the lab who I can never get a good read from. For now I'll call her Mo, since she hasn't told me I could use her real name. She has the appearance of being very prim and proper. She's sort of quiet and reserved, yet will come out and do the funniest things. For instance, one day James and I were sitting around the lab making weird noises. You know, like cracking unusual body parts, whistling through our teeth, pretty much par for the course. Then Mo busted out with the classic spit on your hand, clasp your hands together and make fart noises. That was when we knew she was one of us.

For the holidays she visited her family in the Philippines. She very thoughtfully brought me back a gift that was prefaced with, "We're friends, right?"

"Sure, Mo," I said puzzled. She handed me the gift:

I couldn't figure out what the heck it was. Why was a wooden man hiding in what appeared to be a barrel? Was this some sort of local deity? I tried to pick it up by placing my fingers around the barrel and lifting. Much to my surprise, the barrel was unattached and slid off while I was trying to lift up the figurine.

So it was a prank. A shocking (coming from Mo) and pretty funny one. Wrigley was impressed by the spring action arms and peener.

2006

From the time we are little we learn that growth happens in spurts. I remember wearing the same shoes for a year and then needing new ones, two sizes bigger. Sure, we grow a little each day, but largely physical and mental growth is not a linear function. We never stop growing, and this growth never stops happening in fits and starts.

2006, unlike any other year I can remember, was a growth spurt of a year for me. The changes I have felt within myself have been nothing short of immense. I feel as if an inner eye finally opened widely with clear vision so that I could see what is important, what isn’t worth sweating over, what it means to live, to give, to hurt and to be loved wholly for (or in spite of) who you are.

Losing Randy was the most difficult thing I have ever experienced. It showed me how unfair life is, how cruel nature can be. It forced me to face mortality and taught me how to keep people alive through the memories they leave behind. I lost dear friend on January 29^th, 2006. But I also made friends by getting to know his family and the people in his other circles. And I’ll never listen to a tuba the same way again.

On the other hand, getting married was one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced. Even though no one was there to see it, the flood of emotions I felt when Dean stood up before me, the non-denominational minister and possibly God (whoever He or She may be) and swore to love me and honor me no matter what was the best high I have had. On September 9, 2006, we vowed to live our lives together, to love each other come hell or high water, in times of financial distress, emotional distress, in any city we wind up in, no matter how many kitties, bobbleheads, or books. He vowed to accept me and love me despite the volcano of crazies that is constantly threatening to erupt. And I him, even when his team loses and he’s hurtling insults at the TV and the kitties are hiding. It isn’t going to be easy, but something about taking this step makes it more concrete.

Though I joke about being a crazy cat lady and write way too much about my adventures with the dumpster kitties, those mangy fleabags changed me for the better this year as well. What I am about to write to so cliché, but I don’t really care. It feels so good to do something that makes a difference. I realize in the grand scheme of things fixing 13 stray cats isn’t going to change the world. But it has changed their world and my world. It isn’t easy and it isn’t always fun but damn it can be rewarding. And even that puts things in perspective. I love caring for them and I’ve reached a point where I would rather spend my hard earned money feeding and caring for them than buying myself another book I won’t read or a trendy shirt I’ll wear for a couple months. I’m not finally going off the deep end, I’m still relatively presentable and keep Dean well fed. I guess what I’m trying to say is doing good is addictive. It’s a drug I’m glad I discovered this year.

All these things and others have combined to make me grow up this year. I feel a maturity I didn’t possess before. An understanding (not necessarily an acceptance) of the world in a broader sense, and a taste to do more. To live for those who are no longer with us, to help those that cannot help themselves and to know that no matter what all this entails I won’t have to do it alone.

I'll Have to Remember for Next Time

Yesterday I was in the car with my mom and stepdad, both of whom have been in pharmacy for upwards of 15 years working at the county hospital.

Jokingly I suggested, "The day after Christmas can we celebrate one year of me being boil-free?"

My mom laughed and commented about how often they are seeing strains of antibiotic-resistant infections. They keep filling the same perscription: two strong antibiotics and Vicodin.

"Vicodin! I only got Tylenol with Codeine! What the heck?!"

"If you want Vicodin," my mom said matter-of-factly, "you should tell your doctor you're allergic to Codeine. That's what everyone else does."

Point noted.

Old Friends Revisited, Part II

Remember Angelina Fettuccine? Well, she's my other "old friend revisited" that I promised my readers. Out of the blue when I was in Minneapolis, I got an email from her titled "Surprise! It's me!" I was shocked. And delighted. She said she had first contacted my dad looking for me and he gave her my email address.

The internet is a wonderful thing. If she would have called me up, I would have been at a total loss for words. Instead, after quickly acknowledging her email and telling her of my recent nuptials, I took a couple days to work on getting her updated. I spent a couple minutes a day here and there thinking of things I wanted to tell her.

She is still living in New Mexico with her husband. She works for the same large financial firm that my dad does, she has two dogs and no kids yet. She said when she does, she wants them to grow up with a best friend just like me *sniffle*.

After we got caught up, the reminiscing started. We are still exchanging emails frequently, renewing our friendship- a task made remarkably simple in the information age. In our adolescence I always felt like I was the one working just a little bit harder. I am pleasantly surprsed at the promptness and fervor of her communication. I send her a message, and hear back within the hour. I am the one to often wait until the next day to resume the discussion. I like this change in her, and see how badly she wants to rekindle our bond and how deeply she finally values what we shared growing up. I am a realist. I know that it may die off, we may again get busy with our lives. But this time I feel more confident that if we drift apart, we will find our way back.

Old Friends Revisited, Part I

A theme of late on this blog is what to do about friends who simply don’t hold up their end of the relationship, drift away, or show themselves to be something different from what you believed. What do you do? Try to help? Try to mend? Try to let go? Give them time and space and hope they will find their way back? Of course all of these things are heavily dependent upon circumstance, but my readers have generally expressed their spectrum of opinions, all for which I am grateful.

I named this post “Old Friends Revisited, Part I” because I actually have two stories that fall under this heading, but I’ll save one for a little later (thus the Part I. Genius, right Scott? *wink*).

This particular post concerns a friend whose situation I first introduced recently here. Truthfully, readers, I wasn’t content with the advice any of you had for me. Again, it is based on circumstance. You all had insightful things to say but none of them felt right for me and my situation. And even writing the letter didn’t quite satisfy me the way I believed it would.

A few days before we left for Las Vegas, I heard a rumor circulating around the department that the friend in the aforementioned post had taken a job teaching high school in Vegas. This left me in an odd situation. Should I make one last ditch effort to see what the hell he was thinking? To make sure he’s alright and not bipolar? Or worse, suicidal? And at what point do I weigh the notion that Dean and I are “eloping”?

I talked it over with Dean and he (being a much more forgiving soul than I), really felt that we would regret not at least making an attempt to see our friend. And if we were ignored or rejected, we could feel confident in washing our hands of him. So I sent him a lukewarm email telling him that I heard he lived in Vegas now, and that if this is true and would like to meet with Dean and I to respond. If not, I would respect his decision and leave him alone.

I heard back almost immediately and he seemed relieved that someone was reaching out to him. He called me (from his new, undisclosed number) shortly after to make sure I had gotten his response and to set up a time and place to meet. He and his current FOM (flavor of the month, a different issue entirely) ended up picking us up from the airport and we stayed up late at the hotel bar catching up. I did get a chance to gently voice the opinion that I and the majority of my friends and co-workers have (to one extent or another). And was ultimately unsatisfied with his answers. Basically, I am thinking he himself doesn’t really have answers. He knows people are hurt and disappointed not so much in his decision to teach at the high school level despite earning his Ph.D. but at the way he left things. Of course from a professional standpoint people are disappointed in his decision, but it boils down to following your heart. There are two well-defined sides to that coin. What upset me most was a general lack of remorse. He was still flippant about blowing town, and shrugged it off with an insincere ‘sorry’. I stressed that the people he spent all his waking hours with in the lab were just as qualified to offer life advice to him as the people he actually went to. Is there such a thing as listening to too many points of view? Maybe when none of them are what you really want to hear. And what he really wanted to hear was, “Go, teach high school,” and “You’re making the right decision.” I don’t necessarily think anyone of us would have said that.

In the end I am convinced that our friend is happy for the time being, until he gets restless again. Until there is something else that floats his boat. The sharp edge of my hurt is softening into more of an indifference. He is contacting people all of a sudden, sending more personal emails (the phone number for some reason is still undisclosed) and people are thanking me for sending him the signal that it isn’t too late for him to make amends with some of us. In sum, the right opportunity presented itself. I still have not let him off the hook, but maybe I’ve helped some other people deal with the question of what to do about this wayward friend.

Dear “Friend”,

About seven months ago, we got into an argument. You said that there were times when you felt that we were so close, almost like brother and sister and all you wanted was to keep that up. But then there were other times when you felt we were distant, tense and too uncommunicative. If you remember correctly, I said that friendships can be like pendulums, swinging very far in one direction and then turning around to swing in the opposite direction. I told you that we may live our whole lives with our friendship in a constant state of motion, but not to worry I will still be at the end of the string.

I am sad to say that I fear the pendulum has swung too far, the string pulled too taut. When you picked up and left three and a half weeks ago without saying good bye to me, your other “friends” or even your boss, I said, “enough”. What was basically a flippant “Dear John” letter to your coworkers was a slap in the face after being there for you through thick and thin for four years. I have listened to you and offered you valuable advice regarding issues both professional and personal. I knew you were at a crossroads in your life, but I expected more of you than to simply cut and run. Maybe you thought your friends would talk you out of it. Maybe you thought we would be disappointed in your ultimate decision. I can’t imagine being more disappointed than I am now- that you didn’t have the decency to at least give me five minutes of your time to say good bye, and good luck.

And you know what? Even when you left I expected more. I expected an apology, an explanation. I expected you to tell us what was so bad that you couldn’t turn to us. Instead I got a message from you on my answering machine at 6:00 in the morning saying your car broke down at the Florida border. I say: good. I say that Karma or the Collective Conscious or God(ess)/Allah/Buddha/Ying & Yang or whatever form of higher power you believe in is punishing you for running away from your problems.

Then, today’s email. I know I should be glad that “[h]ealing discussions in rural Oklahoma and the high country of Northern Arizona have been undertaken...” and that “[a]fter many, many hours of introspection and emotional/cognitive struggle” you have chosen to teach inner-city underrepresented minority children. Really, that’s a noble choice. But the selfish part of me wonders why you needed to run away from us to do your “soul-searching and reflection”.

I am coming to terms with never knowing the answer.

Wishing you success in hopes of achieving a stronger scientific community.

Natalie

What's Wrong With Me?

I like to think of myself as an optimist. Unfortunately, I come from a strong lineage of pessimists, most notably my great grandma. She is always complaining about the weather and when my mom and stepdad take her for her walk she is either miserably hot or miserably cold. On the rare occasion that the weather is truly comfortable in Minnesota (low 70s, low humidity, sunny) to the extent that someone can't POSSIBLY be uncomfortable, she says something like, "well, a bird will probably crap on my head." She's a firecracker and comes by her pessimism honestly.

So naturally I think of my pessimistic ancestry when I am in a funk (yes, still) and nothing seems to be making me happy. Take work, for instance. When we are doing experiments and working 16 hour days, all I can think to do is bitch and moan about how exhausted I am, how I need to rest. I just want to read a novel/take a hot bath/watch silly 80's movies. Now that we are not doing experiments and I have nothing pressing to do, I'm bored/unchallenged/restless/stir crazy. When the lab is full and people are bustling about while chitchatting I think to myself "I wish it were quiet so I could get some work done." While this week I've been either the only one or one of two people in the lab and I can't help feeling lonely and irritated that no one is coming in. So I've been bored and unmotivated which is the perfect time to catch up on literature searches or lab organization. But I have no desire to do either of those things.

What's wrong with me?!

Marathon Girl

Fellow blogger and close friend, runnergirl, has decided to run the Disney Marathon in January to raise money for blood cancer research. She in running in memory of Randy. Please visit her blog to learn more and if you are looking for a cause to donate to there is none better, in my humble opinion.

http://runnergirlfl.blogspot.com

runnergirl's fundraising website

Leukemia and Lymphoma Team in Training Homepage