The song is "Send me an angel" by Real Life. But Sarah and I could both swear that they said, "send me an Asian."

Boy, does that conjure a bizarre mental image.

2 realizations

1)I can and will go on living my life as one big "cost-benefit-ratio".

2)Mahler is so emo. Sometimes we all need a good cry.

Ok I have a confession. A deep dark confession.

I feel like after the first few months of blogging I have revealed all the interesting thoughts, desires, experiences (I would feel comfortable sharing with an anonymous reader).

I've told you, gentle reader, of my:
parallel life with Norman Rockwell paintings,
my disdain for Telemundo,
emulation of Florence King--a southern humorist and misanthrope,
First experience with the sea,
fondness of quoting obscure Whitman,
my dreams in which I lead a field of cheerleaders to South Pacific's "gonna wash that man right otta my hair"

But now all I have to talk about is how I spend 65+ a week at work, run to the gym or FAB, and then climb into bed so I can wake up and do the same thing the next day. Starting at 6:00AM.

If there’s anything more pathetic than a uninteresting person—it’s a uninteresting person trying hard to be witty or interesting. “I’m quirky. Like me!” (pleading) “Really—I’m quirky and interesting.”

I mean, I wear little nerd glasses, I watch several Rag-tag films a month, I read Trends in Genetics and practice bel canto arias in my free time. Why do I feel so bland?

Think Mildred from Of Human Bondage.

So, here it is: the one shred of a tidbit of something about me no one else knows:

Each week when I read postsecret, I try to pick out which ones might apply to me. I think of it as a horoscope of sorts. This week’s checklist:

Acceptance
Desperation
Cynicism

But the one that fits me best is:

 

I can bitch, bitch, better than you!

110 degrees with the heat index. Day number 3 of getting up at 5:30 so I can be at the field with my cooler by 6:15AM.

Delusional from the sun, I am imagining be-sequined black afro'd back-up dancers singing "Ooo, talkin' bout a heatwave!". Think Sister Act. I know.

The good news is: I think my tongue is dyed permanently blue from the 4 liters (I'm absolutely serious) of delicious, delicious poweraid that I drank today.

PS- I fucking hate glorified secretaries with PhDs. And a democratic socialist state that sanctions their existence. That is all.

Tina Turner & Elton John - The Bitch Is Back Live '99

Timely.

Carreau! Pique!

Rainy days are perfect for ruminations. Stewing. Milling. Contemplation.

Here’s what I thought about today:

To hearken back to last night Mark and Craig: I do believe Pears and Britten were both versatile, but definitely Francis was the top, and Bernac the bottom. I just can’t imagine Poulenc on his back getting jack-hammered by a lyric baritone. Why do I care?

Strong women intimidate me. And turn me on. How naughty.

Epigenetic regulation of polyploids is more interesting than my current QTL mapping project of Spb1. However, our Chromosome 7 QTL is very close to zmet1 (a methyltransferase), histone 1a, but also intensifier 1. I hope to the Divine Miss M that Spb1 is actually an epigenetic modifier of Pl-Bh. If it’s not I will throw a tantrum.

Bombay Sapphire is the best gin ever made. I would so pour it on my Cheerios in the morning. Don’t tempt me.

Brent Corrigan can wurk it.

le choix (n'est pas heureux)

Carmen is over! It was absolutely breathtaking. Pictures to follow. Thanks to everyone who came--singers are fragile.

Robyn’s 21st B-day party was preposterous. Imbibed way too much, and spent most of this afternoon rehydrating and watching the Cup finals. Zidane?! Wtf.

It lingers, then you forget (you're a rock-n-roll suicide)

Oh Children.

After my blog was down for a couple days last week (wtf?) and Alan asked me if its leave of absence portended my death, I just wanted to see if posting worked. So “erer” were the first 4 letters that my little fingers hit. Sorry to all your theories. And Garet, you know I don’t do anything by accident.

My B-day was fabulous! I drank a lot and remembered most of it. I feel so blessed to have such fabulous friends. Sigh. Dancing to pussy control with Emily Bennett was an experience.

In other news:

Working like a maniac!

Nervous for Carmen, practiced for 4 hours today.

To my utmost delight, my fridge didn’t liquefy my bag of mixed greens from Miriam. So right now I am making a tomato, feta, lemon-garlic chicken, cranberry/walnut salad with Raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Eat your heart out.

Random story from this morning:

Having breakfast at Cucina Sorella this morning, and when some very dykey girl loudly ordered the exact same thing as me, it prompted my aghast question: “Is that lesbian food?”

Craig: “Does it come in a large bag like birdseed or dogfood?”
Ed: “Purina Lesbian Chow, now with real bits of carpet.”

Someone should really stop us. So un-PC.