Mary Bellamy

I threw a baby shower on Saturday. What? Just because I don't like babies doesn't mean I don't like a party. I attended a baby shower with Dara a few years ago, but it was one of those that was all baby-centric. We guzzled one bottle of champagne and went outside. That was where we found a mom cleaning up the mess from where her baby had shit on the porch. Seriously. On it. We took the other bottle of champagne and went back to the commune to drink alone.

But back to the shower....it was the very best kind of baby shower. It was baby-less (except for the one in Rachel's womb). Georgeanne of Cloud 9 Doula came out and gave us all fantastic henna tattoos.


My new art. I have been contemplating a new tattoo on this part of my body for a while now. I like to get henna as a placeholder to get used to the idea.


Joyce got a back piece done.


As did Jessica L.


Jennie has also been contemplating a tattoo. I think she wants hers on this part of her wrist. Maybe not so much curling down around her finger, though.


Rachel, the baby-momma, got an elaborate hand piece that conveniently kept her from helping with the food. I can't complain too much (too much more than I just did, that is) because she made me a batch of paneer the night before.


Last time we got henna, Georgeanne didn't want to do Liz's face. So after she left, I drank some more and then drew on her face with the extra henna. This time Georgeanne did it, and it looks much better.


As it turns out, we can all work together and make an Indian meal. This is a relief, as I loooove Indian food but don't like having to do all the cooking (and ingredient purchasing) by myself. Ellen has the gift of bread, and tackled the naan, which were fantastic. I made paneer curry, spinach chicken, ginger scallion raita and tamarind peanut chutney. Next time I really need to convince everyone of how easy it is to make the chutney and raita, and then I will only have to do entrees.


Liz chipped in with the dessert, and use my leftover rice to make kheer.

After dinner, we rounded out the baby shower with the presentation of a diaper cake and then all took turns coming up with names for the baby. Just kidding! We watch a Bollywood movie. As is so often the case, Joyce and I opened a bottle of rum at the start of the night and finished it by the end. Sorry, Glenmore! I hear you didn't like that rum anyway.

I'll give you two guesses as to which one was me.

I've been a Shakespeare slacker this year. I still haven't been to any of the Bardathon. I am going tonight for the midnight reading, which means I am going to spend the night at a friend's house and will be very tired at work tomorrow. Bardathon was much easier when I worked until 1 a.m. at the newspaper and could just wander over and join the late-night/early-morning readings without worrying about being at work for 9 a.m.

I'll also be going back on Saturday when they will take a brief break from Shakespeare and focus on one of the masters of modern playwriting, Tom Moran. (Tom, you owe me $2 for that.) He wrote Friar with a Crowbar last year, and I'm going to be ditching a baby shower I'm hosting in order to attend.

OK, I'm not really ditching the shower, just taking a break for Tom's play. And it's not so much a shower as it is a henna party with a whole lot of Indian food and a Bollywood. Because I'm not so much a baby person as I am an "I love Rachel and Bollywood and henna" person.

First I lapsed on the posting front, and then apparently my blog had a meltdown. Apologies. Everything should be right as rain now.

I was at brunch a few weeks ago and a friend started asking me what I had on the line. It seems that as the token single person at the event, I was expected to regale them with stories of wild nights. For obvious reasons, I can't post all my sordid tales here (Hi Mom!), but I can share this: I have a personal ad online. In that personal ad, I make it clear that my dates need to be capable of intelligent discourse. I go so far as to put the phrase "Spelling counts" in the headline. And in response I get e-mails like this:

ok im [name] lol no i have no idea what bollywood is but did you mean dollywood i know what that is lol anyway i like you profile and agery with you on a lot of things you have in there i dont think this massage is to clever but o well i cant spell ether but i do hope to here back from you evin if its a no i dont think your my tipe at lest i will no than so thats enuf now hope to here from you soon.........oh and sorry about the bad spelling and tipeing

Words fail me.

Friday was the Snow Ball at the Marlin, hosted by Sweating Honey. There is nothing better than a band playing in white tuxes in a basement bar. Except getting dressed up to go to the ball!

I finally found a man who can break my will on the dance floor. I have a touch of a dominant streak, and I tend to try to lead. Tristan just took control and spun me until I gave up. I like to think he was just clearing the path for all the men I danced with afterward, as I finally let them lead.

On Saturday, I stopped back in at the Marlin where the band was playing once again, but this time not in tuxes. As per usual, I was still dressed up. After a quick martini, Dara and I headed out to Garrison's house for Portia's goodbye party. She is heading to Texas for a year to attend midwife school. The party was one of those bizarre series of people and events that cannot be fully explained, but suffice it to say that by the end of the night we were throwing ping pong balls, there was a potato in the refrigerator with a phone number written on it, and I kept singing Dio every time someone mentioned the Chili Driver.

Now I'm trying to figure out how to make up my sleep deficit and still manage to attend some of Bardathon, which started this weekend.

It's 5:30 p.m. The work day is over. I just noticed that my shirt is on inside out. I'm going to go to the gym and see if I can put those clothes on properly.

And on a side note, it is FINALLY warming up. I try not to kvetch about the weather too much, because I do voluntarily live in Alaska. But just so you know, today was the first day since December 27 that it has risen above -30.
Yesterday: -40
Today: -4

When I hit the gym after work yesterday, it was uncharacteristically crowded. I have always been a morning gym person, so I kind of wondered if it's normally that busy. Then I realized that I was surrounded by New Year's Resolution type people. There were certain cues.

Step one when going to the gym is wearing the proper attire. The woman on the elliptical wearing woven cotton pajama bottoms and one of those spaghetti strap tanks that touts built-in support? The guy running laps in over-the-ankle hiking boots? These are not the normal denizens of the gym.

Step two is, of course, proper gym behavior. Go in the same direction as everyone else on the track, even if it is 15 steps shorter to go the other way to get to the stairs. If you are walking, use the walk lane. If you are walking with a friend, you'd damn well better be walking close to each other, not spreading across 2 lanes.

And for the love of God, leave your kids at home. I get it: They're precious and babysitters are expensive. But while you are well adjusted to the rhythm of life with a child, I am not. I do not like your abrupt stops in the middle of the track to let the child climb out of the baby stroller and walk all by itself! While you may be able to stretch in a state of zen while your child runs in a circle around you, that child is actually physically running into me, and it's pissing me off. And if you do bring your whole family to the gym, please use a locker room. Do not leave your coats and boots in a massive pile upstairs. The dance floor is closed for refinishing, so there is only a tiny, tiny space for everyone to stretch upstairs. Your outwear is not cool.

Rant over.

Turns out it was just an issue with Blogger. I couldn't make any changes to the XML without getting an error message, but I now have dates. Well, I have dates for one post per day. If there's more than one post, only the top one gets a date and the rest are left blank. So there's still something to work on.

The first step to throwing a successful party is to select a theme. Initially I was drawn to A Very Jewish Christmas, mostly because I wanted to make latkes. But then I remembered how yummy moussaka is, and so it became My Big Fat Greek Christmas.

Tom had already created some festive art a few days before.

And the holidays wouldn't be fun without friends.



Before we gorged, we saunaed. It's both a verb and a tradition.

And after the meal, we kept up another sacred holiday tradition - the anti-Christmas movie. In this case, Top Gun with RiffTrax.

And of course I lit a fire. This will be a common theme.


Since Christmas is one of the Seven Major Holidays, I can once again treat you to images of James at a high level of drunkenness.


It gets better.



The day after Christmas, I went to visit with Rachel and Glenmore before he headed off to Iraq. On the way home, I stopped at the store for some supplies. This would prove key in the days to come.

First up: I needed to make some gifts for Tom. And what better says "I used to love you but now we're just friends" than Skittles vodka?


Actually, I lied. The Skittles vodka, while clever, was not the best possible gift.

Remember how I said that fire would be a prevalent theme and that it was fortunate I went to the store? On December 27 my car stopped starting. Or maybe is started stopping. I'm not quite sure, but one thing was clear: I was going nowhere fast.

To be fair, Fairbanks had fallen into a bit of a cold snap. If one considers -40 cold. Personally, I consider it to be the magical moment when Fahrenheit and Celsius collide. I brought my battery inside overnight to try to warm it up, and put it back in the car the next day. No dice. I resumed my work of starting fires, keeping fires going, running space heaters to try to thaw the pipes, etc.

Now, I had already broken my wireless router before Christmas. Since the house was hovering around 50 degrees but my bedroom was considerably warmer, I decided to bring the modem up there. Big mistake. That is when the entire Internet went bye-bye. Fortunately Bob left me with a lot of TV. I have now seen all of Heroes. I can see how it might be addictive, though when you watch it all back to back, it gets tiring to see certain characters continually flop between two positions.

By December 31, the situation was starting to get a little dire. I was running a little low on food and a lot low on morale. Even though it was his birthday, Tom agreed to go buy me food, get me movies and come over to my house. The cupboards were getting empty, but I was not without a few tricks.
Tom graciously brought over burgers from Brewsters. We hooked my thawed battery up to his car and left it jumping for a while, then tried reinstalling it in my car. No dice. The car was frozen solid.

Back inside, we decided to take a culinary journey to India. Or at least drink some Indian sodas I had in the cupboard.

First up: Spice soda. The label seemed to have cumin seeds on it, but we didn't let that deter us.


We should have.

Tom, being an optimist, noted that we hadn't actually puked yet. I realized that this stuff was worse than Unicum.


Next stop: Masala Soda.


And our third stop was me desperately swigging water. Tom couldn't believe it was worse. It tasted like cumin, with cardamom - but not enough to be tasty - and ginger - but not enough to settle my stomach.


It's worth noting that Tom Moran refused to finish the drink. And that man will eat anything.

Finally, on Jan. 1, the temperature rose to a balmy -26. I spent about 3 hours rotating pans of hot coals underneath my car, then reinstalled the battery and finally achieved success. The temperature is back down in the -40 range, with no hope of warmth anytime soon.

The kinks are not all worked out. Namely, I cannot for the life of me get the date to show up on my posts - only the time. What good does the time do? I want dates! If I can't get it working, I may revert to my old template and go back to the drawing board.

Sigh. I just wanted to finally have valid XML code.

I broke the Internet. My failed attempt to change the settings on my wireless router earlier this week has resulted in a nonfunctional wireless router. Oh, sure, the little lights come on, which is very festive and pretty this time of year. I can ping the router, and my computer says it is working. But the damn thing will not connect to the Internet. I currently suffer the great indignity of having to compute in a single location. Two, if I count the outlet in my bedroom. I can only use one computer at a time. Surely this is hell.

Christmas was really something this year. When I take the time to download pictures to my other computer, format them, put them on a drive, download them to this computer and then upload them to the Internet, you'll get to see just how fun. Yesterday I went to visit Rachel and Glenmore. G is leaving tonight for Iraq, so I wanted to get a little quality time with him. I also got cookies and fudge, so the trip was a success.

The gym cheated me on Christmas eve. They had sent out an e-mail to all UAF employees with the holiday schedule. I woke up on Dec. 24, baked cookies, braved the grocery store (and felt a rage I've not felt since my last trip to Bad Feng Shui Fred Meyer), and then grabbed my gym bag from my office and went to the SRC. My first thought was "Great! Almost no cars! I'll have the gym to myself!" My second thought was "Wait, why are the lights on inside the gym, but off in the office?" Someone had crossed out the 7 p.m. closing time on the sign on the door and wrote in 2 p.m. It was 4:45. They owe me.

I would go work out today, but it's currently -25 outside. I know it's not as cold as, say, -50, but it's still cold enough for me to decide not to drive into town if the only purpose of my trip is to exercise. I'm going to pretend that I'll exercise at home. I may dance or hoop a bit later on, perhaps even some yoga. But I'm not setting foot outside unless it's to grab more firewood.

I'm running low on reading material, but Bob left me with a lot of TV. I've started watching season 1 of The Big Bang Theory. I'm enjoying it, and I understand why other people find the show funny, but frankly I relate to the geeks. Plus, I think that if I had geeky neighbors, my Internet wouldn't be broken.

Given my latest computer woes, it's probably not the right time for me to undertake a new web project, and yet I feel the urge. Details to come.

Your help,please. I've been trying to come up with an "Overwrought" playlist for my iPod, but I need some suggestions. What constitutes an overwrought song? Well, it's pretty much song where the emotional level of the singing far outweighs the meat of the lyrics.

The rules are that only one song from an artist can be nominated. This eliminates the chance of people suggesting the discography of, say, Meatloaf. Or Tom Jones. Or Neil Diamond. Instead, you've got to say "I would do anything for love (but I won't do that)" or "Delilah" or "Captain of a shipwreck."

Here's what I've got so far:

• Bangles - Eternal Flame
• Martika - Toy Soldiers
• Aerosmith - What it takes
• Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
• Asia - Heat of the Moment
• Dio - Holy Diver
• Cyndi Lauper - All Through the Night
• Don Henley - The Boys of Summer
• Dusty Springfield - Son of a preacherman
• George Michael - Somebody Tell Me or maybe Teacher
• Glen Campbell - Rhinestone Cowboy
• Gordon Lightfoot - Sundown or If You COuld Read My Mind?
• the "Enterprise" theme song
• "Man in motion" from St. Elmo's Fire
• Journey - Don't stop believin'
• Poison - Every rose has its thorn
• Susan Tedeschi - It hurt so bad
• Europe - The final countdown
• Coolio - Gangster's paradise
• Kim Carnes - Bette Davis eyes
• Starship - Sara
• Frank Black - Los Angeles
• Jamie O'Neal - All by myself
• Jars of clay - Flood
• John Denver - Take me home, country roads
• Lee Greenwood - Proud to be an American
• Laura Branigan - Gloria
• Ozzy Osbourne and Lita Ford - If I close my eyes forever

So, suggestions for Bon Jovi, Winger, Damn Yankees, etc.?

edit to add suggestions:
Mama Caselli sez Night Ranger - Sister Christian
Tom sez Asia - Don't Cry; Journey - Separate Ways
Mr. Caselli sez Nazareth - Love Hurts
Archeobot sez Def Leopard - Love Bites; Guns N Roses - November Rain; Bon Jovi - Livin' On A Prayer; Winger - I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

I can't believe that it took me until Dec. 22 to hear "Christmas Wrapping" by The Waitresses. That's my 80s Christmas song. Then again, I only listen to the radio if my iPod is in my bag. I don't understand why they always take one of the only decent radio stations and make it all Christmas music. We seriously only have about 7 radio stations. Can't they take the country one?

Nasty weather seems to be ensuring that most of the country will also have a white Christmas, but it's also been stranding a lot of people. James was supposed to fly to Dallas on Monday, but will not be leaving until after Christmas. I have demanded that he come to my dinner and sauna. I was briefly flirting with cooking A Very Jewish Christmas, but that was mostly because I wanted to make latkes.

Insomnia on Monday combined with waking up at 4 today to take Bob to the airport means I am very sleepy. I worked two 10-hour days, and thus will not be going in to work at all tomorrow. Instead I will bake and clean and go to the gym. I don't have to go to work again until Jan. 5, but don't get jealous. UAF closes down between Christmas and New Year's, but doesn't give all their employees vacation time. Only 4 days are covered, and you are required to use leave time for the other days. It could suck more - when I was a temporary hire (my first 16 months at UAF), I didn't accrue vacation time, and thus had to take unpaid leave.

I managed to break my wireless network tonight, and am currently connected to the modem. Oh, the indignity. And all because I decided it was time to require a password to get on my network. I brought my new iBook home and saw that it could locate another network, so it suddenly seemed wise to add a password. Bad idea. Now I'm torn between cooking and fixing.

One of my friends is settling down and buying a house. They accepted her offer and today was inspection day. In the basement, she noticed hinges along some of the pegboard wall, which pulled back to show a padlocked door. And beyond the door? A grow room. Another friend wants to know if the grow room increases the house's value. I love Fairbanks.

I've been up since 4:30, though I've been trying to deny it. Looks like I'll be going to the gym and work early today. Stupid insomnia.

I dye my hair. Yeah, shocker, it's not really red. Quite frankly, I blame my parents for not passing on the correct genetic makeup. They got just about everything else right, though. But my point here is that it's getting close to time to dye my hair again, and the roots are getting visible. As I was getting ready for dinner with some friends tonight, I happened to look closely and I think I saw gray hair. Mind you, I only think I saw the gray hair. I made Celine look, and she said she couldn't see any gray hair, but I think it's there. Is it time to admit I'm no longer young?

What is the face of evil?

This, my friends. At work today, we had a white elephant gift exchange, and that man stole my gift! My dvd of Office Space - the special edition with Extra Flair! I'd call him a dirty rat bastard, but some of my coworkers read this blog. I seized the opportunity to take advantage of the an-item-can-only-be-stolen-three-times rule and finalized the ownership of The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead.

In entirely unrelated news, I decided to send my mom an e-mail letting her know the Christmas package was on its way. But, what with my personality, this is what came out:

Fort Fairbanks
December 18, 1863

Dearest Mother,

I write to you today to inform you of a recent package sent via Pony Express. It contains tokens of my affection which I hope will help my family to remember me while I am away during these holidays. Please do, at your earliest opportunity, open the parcel, for it contains some goods which may not last until Christmas morn. I speak, of course, of a small gold tin, which contains baked goods for my beloved sister, Jeanne, and her husband. I fear if not given early, these tender morsels of my affection may be bitter and inedible by the time the holiday celebration dawns. Also in the package, but not disguised by the normal trappings of Christmas finery, are two small discs which contain a multitude of music for both my father and my sister and her husband. I rather think they will find these discs a most wondrous invention, for though they bear none of the grooves of our old records (and fondly do I remember those wintry days of my youth when we would listen to records for hours) yet still they issue forth melodies. I dare say I do not understand how such devices create the sounds, but hope that all present might enjoy them.

I had hoped to send monies to you for the purchase of some local spirits for my sister and her husband. Alas I discovered only after my parcel had been taken forth from this place that I had neglected to send the cheque. I will, at my earliest opportunity, send one payable to your order, so that you should not face any unnecessary hardships during these times.

As we are fighting on the front lines, our local command sergeant has seen fit to raise our combat pay, and I entreat you to spend $50 on spirits. The local shopkeeper would surely know of a suitable drink, though if he does not or is a teetotaler (as many these days are), I pray you ask of him for some nice red wines. Don't let him fool you with cheap goods, as some tricksters are wont to do, but rather insist on an Argetinian Malbec or a Shiraz or Red Zinfandel. I have heard also that some white wines are quite pleasing to the palate, though our supply lines have been cut off in the winter and I cannot reasonably advise on any.

The time wears slowly away, though my superiors tell me that the end approaches plainer to view. We are now slowly and surely closing ranks along the city and in a few days I think a glorious victory will be won and a bright day will dawn upon our afflicted company. I still cannot get my colonel to grant a furlough, else I would be home with you for the holidays. I hope these few lines may find you enjoying good health. I remain as always, your affectionate daughter.

Mary V. Haley
Corporal, Company H
17th Alaska Regiment

And her reply?

Beloved daughter,

I received your missive and was happy to hear that all is well with you. I have just finished stringing the cranberry and popcorn for the garland. This forenoon I made several French meat pies and readied a stuffing for our Christmas turkey. This year with conditions such as they are, there is nary a goose available to grace our holiday table. At present we are in the midst of a heavy snow storm. The snow is falling at about 2 inches and hour so there is much shoveling to be done. The Lebanon stables were not prepared for this storm so the horses will not be available for our use until perhaps a day or two.
For now I will busy myself with some knitting. Sister Mary I presume is still knitting her scarf. She seems to have great difficulty in maintaining a pattern. However, I have often told her not to worry. As long as the scarves are nice and warm, no one will notice a few errors in pattern. One must give her credit for her perseverance in mediocrity. I will be working on an afghan to lay over the bed warmer.
Your uncle James is in the vicinity of Fort Griswold in Groton. We are presently unsure of his condition and can hopefully assume that all is well with him. Yesterday I spoke with your grandparents. They too are in Groton. Your grandfather is doing his part in securing his domicile. He stands watch generally from early morning until evening. Your grandmother is still working on the quilt she began about 15 years ago. It should be a work of art if she ever manages to complete it.

Your father was unable to get to New London today. The roads are impassable so he was disturbed but agreed he could only stay home. Your sister did go to her office this morning but was back home before lunch. Her husband was unable to get to New Haven. In good weather, it is a very long trek so it was unthinkable that he should attempt it in the midst of a storm. Your sister is doing some holiday baking while her husband tends to the wood stove and the roadway.

I bid thee farewell for now and will let you know when we receive your package.

We send you all our love and fondest wishes for a wonderful holiday.
Devotedly,
Father and Mother

Yeah, that stuff seems to run in the family.

Awkward: Trying to get into your work building at 9:45 p.m. when a girl is on the speakerphone next to the card swipe, begging her boyfriend to come downstairs and talk to her.

Awkwarder: Trying to get back to your car 10 minutes later and encountering them in the stairwell where she is crying and asking him to come home.

Also, WTF? How did I get an A in my art class? OK, technically an A-, but still.... I was not expecting that. I refer you to my Type A personality, as discussed in posts prior to the start of the class.

To be honest, my craft projects sometimes go spectacularly wrong. This one wasn't so bad, except that apparently you can't etch some Pyrex. Live and learn.

This was not one of my wildest weekends, and I blame that on not drinking. I blame not drinking on some medications that will, apparently, kill me if I drink. Also, I never, ever want to see these words on my medications: May cause tendon rupture. Tendon rupture? Are you serious? I'm scared to go to they gym tomorrow, as I think both running and lifting weights are in the may-cause-tendon-rupture category even before they get pharmaceutical help.

Despite the not-drinking, I still went out to the Pub with some MFA boys after a reading on Friday. The sobriety was more apparent on Saturday when I went to Super Smooth Andy G's housewarming. Yes, our favorite SSAG has moved up into civilized society. Congratulations on your new 7 acres. I guess this mean you won't have to ride your snowmachine in a tight circle around your Goldstream cabin anymore.

A friend of a friend was moving to Fairbanks this weekend and needed a ride out to Chena Hot Springs. I offered to do it, and after several back and forth vollies, it was decided that he had found another ride. I, however, had gotten myself in a hot springs kind of mood, so Tom and I took a trip out early this afternoon. We tried to go out for dinner on the way back but were stymied several times. 1: Mia's was closed for a private party. A wedding. Judging by the smell at the door, the bride wore tempura. 2: Harley's is apparently closed for the season. Since we were already out in North Pole, we decided to check out the Mambo Grill. The food was quite good, but we were mostly sharing the restaurant with babies. If you know anything about me, it is that I don't like babies. Baby #1 was OK, relatively quiet except for a few screeches. Baby #2 came in halfway through our meal, which prompted us to start shoveling down our food with abandon. Baby #2, you see, was apparently the crossbreed of a young North Pole female and Satan. The thing just wouldn't stop crying. In the brief moments when it paused to gather its breath for another aural assault, I overheard its mother saying that it had not had its nap. Well, fuck, lady. If your child hasn't had a nap and is cranky, maybe you shouldn't be taking it out to a restaurant where nice people (and some not-so-nice people, such as myself) are trying to eat. But the restaurant did make some damn good shrimp.

Has everyone been emoticaroling yet? Tom refuses to get into a war with me, but he did fire back this volley:



FYI, we are surmising that "dort" is German for "dork." This is, of course, based on the, um, video of Hamlet being performed in Klingon at DortCon, which is a sci-fi convention in Germany.

And yes, you have to spell things wrong if you want the emoticarolers to pronounce them right.

I managed to keep myself amused.

New books.
New music.
Newfound lust for watches. Right around the time I need a new one, too.

In the office....

In the bar....

In art class....

I hurt my back over the weekend. No, nothing naughty was involved. I think the defining moment of pain happened while shoveling the deck to the sauna on Friday. I have an appointment with my chiropractor tomorrow, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be doing much dancing at the drag show on Friday. I’m also flummoxed when it comes to the gym. I can’t not work out. An unexercised Mary is an unhappy Mary. I’ve been trying to figure out how I can lift weights without hurting my back. The recumbent bike seemed to be OK on Monday, but today I decided to try to walk around the track. Not so good. It took me almost 30 painful minutes to walk a mile. Other things that hurt are sitting, standing and laying on my stomach.


Apparently mimosa is going to be the next big thing. No, not the drink, although it does put me in the mood to hit up the Pump House for Sunday brunch. I’m talking about Pantone’s release of the color of 2009. 2008 was the year of blue iris, and although mimosa is not quite my cup of tea, I do happen to have a pair of cute shoes in this color, so all is well.

Tonight is the last night of my art class. We have to hand in our portfolios. I’m pleased to say that my second attempt at a face self-portrait went much better. But bear in mind that I only made a second attempt because the instructor looked at my first attempt and told me to just throw it out and start over again. Despite how I have suffered this term, I signed up for another art class next semester. I’m a glutton for punishment.

Unlike some ex-boyfriends of mine, I did not go overboard on Thanksgiving. Dinner at Kevin's was a delightful potluck. I don't mean to sound egotistical, but I always feel bad when people bring desserts. Especially if they are calling their dish Bananas Foster when it is, in fact, friend bananas. I know Bananas Foster. I have made Bananas Foster. And that, sir, is no Bananas Foster. I did get a marriage proposal after just one cupcake. That might be a personal record.

After feasting, people kept rearranging their configurations in the apartment to better facilitate naps. Soon a plan formed to get the ingredients for White Russians and go to Hans and Eddie's place to watch The Big Lebowski. That certainly sounded like a good plan, but dammit, there were family traditions to uphold! And that, dear readers, is how Tom and I came to be at the movie theater, settling in for some Bond.

Oh, James. Why did this movie have to try to carry over plot from the previous film? I treasure all Bond movies as standalone experiences. If you've never seen any Bond before, you should be able to pick one at random and not be expected to know characters. (Yes, there's Bond and M, but those are so easy to figure out that they don't count.) However, the film earned extra points for having a foot chase, a car chase, a boat chase and a plane chase. And as soon as they showed the hotel that was powered by hydrogen fuel cells, Tom leaned over to tell me that it would blow up real good. It did blow up real good indeed. It goes against my female nature, but I do love it when shit blows up.

And on the subject of movies, I find it very difficult to be a movie goer in this town. I am not going to waste my time on shit like Madagascar 2. But there's only one real movie theater, so unless Adam decides to get certain films at the Loon, I'm kind of screwed. Here is a list of movies I demand to see: The Road; Synecdoche, New York; Slumdog Millionaire.

You know what I’m thankful for this year? Finding a box of my old photos and scanning some of them in. I could only find the negatives from a lot of the arty “I only shoot in black and white” days, so those will have to wait. But expect a few gems every now and then.

The holidays are here. I know that starting tomorrow morning there will be at least one radio station playing nothing but Christmas music. And thus I am doubly thankful that I have not only an iPod, but also a car with a working cd player. Fred Meyer seems to have decided that cinnamon is the official smell of Christmas. They’ve had their holiday display up for weeks, and the overwhelming smell turns my stomach.

Last night I went into a full-on frenzy of baking. The three desserts are done, though the cupcakes still need to be frosted. I’ll do that tomorrow morning. Although it is only Wednesday, tonight counts as a weekend night. I’ve got class until 8:30, and then I expect to meet up with Trista and Dara, ending up at the Marlin for open mic night.

At some point this weekend, I’d like to uphold family tradition and go see the new Bond movie. I’ve already declared Saturday to be a fancy shoes night with the sci fi/Bollywood group. I claimed desserts, since I imagine I might have some left over after Thanksgiving.

The final thing I am thankful for is Miss Leah Hill. She was eating her breakfast at drag rehearsal on Sunday. I had never thought of a bagel with goat cheese and bacon, but it does contain three of my favorite things: bread, goat cheese and bacon. I finally went to Lulu’s and ordered one this morning. OMFG. Good stuff.

The stock market keeps plunging, and I’m alternating between calculating my losses for this year and wanting to throw more money into it. But, for the foreseeable future, my money is going toward land and building a house. I got a promotion and pay raise, which kind of translates into “Mary is a grown up now,” plus I’ve been in Alaska almost 6 years now. It’s time to settle down.

So what did I do with my newfound wealth? New Fluevogs? I wish! No, I set up a high APY savings account that automatically sucks money from my bank every time my paycheck gets deposited. I figured I was living comfortably on what I earned before, so ALL of my raise, plus some extra, goes away every other week. I feel so mature. And I still wish I had new Fluevogs. Specifically, these:

Hotness, right?

Strange things are afoot in Alaska. For instance, last night I found myself flirting with two guys. Well, technically I was flirting with three, but two of them were simultaneous. It was a delightfully awkward situation. Tonight my troupe must decide if we will continue our domination of the Fairbanks dance scene by assimilating a new dancer, Borg-style. And tomorrow night I am going to check out a new restaurant, go see Laramie Project and just maybe coax someone to my sauna.

I'm doing desserts for Thanksgiving. No, I mean I'm doing desserts. Like Martha Stewart on a bender. Like Betty Crackwhore. I'm planning on no less than three dessert options. I even found a cupcake stand at Value Village. It was $0.99, of course I bought it!

Speaking of $0.99 day at Value Village, someone scored herself a new fur coat. It fits with my aesthetic, but I can't wear it to the bars because then it will smell. I've not yet figured out how to get the smell of smoke or fried foods out of dead animals.

And speaking of new things (you follow my train of random thoughts?), I have a new computer. Just a cute lil' thing with 1 TB of hard drive space. Nothing to write home about. Dual processors, 8 cores, nothing fancy. This also means an upgrade to Leopard, which I am thus far not a fan of.

Confidential note to NB: It's not creepy to read my blog. Blogging just makes stalking easier!

I thought that Dove Promises were supposed to contain words of encouragement. You know, sappy shit about the light within. The instructor has been giving these out as our prizes, and my candy has been encouraging inappropriate behavior.

I'm such a brown-noser. I'm in a training class all week, and the teacher is handing out chocolate if we answer questions correctly. I am already the sort of person who always has her hand up first and desperately wants to be right. I don't necessarily need the chocolate encouragement. But just for the record, I'm currently kicking the collective ass of the rest of the class. I even gave away one answer to Jeff Fay today. No sense in making it a total sweep.

Once again, I say that you always learn something at the Marlin.

Tonight I learned that:

a) I still like to smoke clove cigarettes. Don't worry, I didn't actually smoke one. I just kept grabbing Sean's Djarum. Does this mean I'm a smoker again?

b) No matter how smooth he talks, don't let a man buy you a "Bloody Mary martini." It is NO substitute for a dirty martini.

c) They still remember the wee top hat. Oh yes, they do!

Thanks, America. It feels good not to be totally disenfranchised anymore.

Halloween should never be on a Friday. It's dangerous. But I put some work into my costume this year, so I couldn't not go out.

Dara and James interfered with my plans to nap after work on Friday, so I didn't get my pre-party rest. After dinner, we decided to go to a party at a drummer's house, which was conveniently located across the street from the Marlin. Since the car was so conveniently parked, I walked across the street to partake of the Marlin for a bit. It was disconcerting to see other people in costume there. That's the downside to being a random costume wearer - sometimes it's not just you and your friends.

Although I had plans to go to the Loon, I found myself still at the Marlin at 2:30. I opted to just go home at that point.

On Saturday night, I went to Tom's house to get ready for Dead Writers. The Cliff Notes: English grad students dress up as dead writers and read their works. Somehow this turns into a lot of topless performances.

Tom was a very smashing Noah Webster, reading from the dictionary. Nerd. I think the cravat I made for him really made the outfit.


Dead Writers was followed by Latin dancing, which was, in turn, followed by the Oasis. Tom and I ran into some actor friends there, and then I kind of sort of accidentally maybe invited his ex-girlfriend to meet us at the bar. In a roundabout fashion. For which I've apologized.

Sunday was a day for rest. After starting a fire and installing a door closer on the sauna, we had dinner and went out for some quality sweating time. And now it's back to work and to the mad rush to get everything packed up and out the door for Supercomputing Convention 2008. Ugh.

I think that “There’s a Hole in the Bucket” is not so much a children’s song as an example of dialogue between a frustrated woman and a lazy, passive-aggressive man.

Not this year's costume. Not any of this year's costumes. But a picture of me in costume nonetheless.

Someone used the phrase “interwebs” in a presentation at the ARSC staff meeting today. It was Halloween, so the meeting was particularly festive. Since tonight’s outfit is not work-appropriate, I simply grabbed one of my normal “wear-a-costume-to-the-Marlin” ensembles, in this case the Schoolgirl. I toned it down a bit, wearing a looser sweater, but I did put on white knee-high fishnets. I think my new retainers really complete the schoolgirl look. Did I mention I was getting some orthodontic work done? I got the retainers on Wednesday and my word! They sure are sparkly. I did opt for the silver glitter "Elvis in Vegas" model. So now my teeth hurt and I'm slurring when I talk, which just makes my coworkers think I've been drinking.

I’m getting tired of trying to coordinate many schedules so that we can all meet up tonight. I think a nap is in order after work so that I can be rested and ready to go for hours. We’re hoping to hit multiple stops tonight. Tomorrow night will require yet another costume, but only one bar. I'll be supporting Tom in his quest for the top prize at Dead Writers. Let's hope that guy from last year doesn't copy him again.


Tom as the best Hunter S. Thompson last year. Until the OTHER Hunter S. Thompson won first. Bastard!

Who knew a post about an alcohol-fueled weekend would inspire comments and e-mails? But in a grand service, I have decided to stop addressing my readers indirectly and instead address them directly.

Anonymous Admirer asks “Was the Trek talk/flirting about TOS, TNG, DS9, Voyager, or, (god forbid) Enterprise?”
Although we touched briefly on some of the other series, mostly the conversation focused on my recent attempts to watch DS9. I know, I know. I always thought it was crappy too. But after listening to 20+ podcasts of Make It So, I decided that if two fucking funny British nerds listed it as their second-favorite series (after TNG, of course), it might be worth another look. Thus far (5 episodes into season 1), some of the acting has been remarkably wooden. I find myself once again wondering why Miles O’Brien is around. Clearly I’m supposed to like him, but I just can’t do it. A pleasant surprise, though, is Quark. Normally Ferengis just annoy me, with their thick way of talking that you just know involves lots of spraying spit. Quark has had some good lines, though, and I find myself hoping for some character development.

John from Nashville says “I just really need to know...what is MFA....”
MFA stands for Masters of Fine Arts, in this case all from the Creative Writing department. This advanced degree virtually ensures that you’ll spend the rest of your days teaching high school kids and trying to convince people to play Scrabble at cocktail parties. I’m just kidding. Or maybe I’m not.

And finally, a confidential note to one of my readers: The Constitution guarantees your right to free speech. So thanks for breaking one of your rules and telling me what you think. As it so happens, you are in the majority.

On a side not, the title for my car finally arrived. That means I can now get real plates and, more importantly, can get vanity plates. It’s not too late to vote in my vanity plate reader poll!

Another long weekend has come and gone. After the drama during the week, I managed to get out and about several times without running into any unpleasantness, which I count as a victory.

Friday night was, as expected, quite a treat. I met Tom at an English department reading, then he and I went out for Korean food and complaining. He works very well as a friend, and the best part of the whole breakup is that I no longer have to share my food with him. We headed back to his place so he could plug his car in to go to a bonfire while I changed into a costume. The Good Daze were playing at the Marlin and had declared it Viking night. I was only able to find one Viking costume in town, and the package referred to it as “Viking Vixen.” It was indecent even by Mary-wearing-a-costume-at-the-Marlin standards, so I had sewn another skirt to go underneath it. Tom kindly cut the skirt up to a more desirable (read: shorter) length, and then we headed our separate ways.

If you’ve never been to the Marlin before, I must tell you that you have to descend some stairs into the basement before you enter. Once inside, you’re pretty much on the stage. I fear for the noob who tried to visit the bar for the first time on Friday, for he or she likely walked in as the entire bar was singing along to a Viking song, mostly dressed in costume.

I had the pleasant experience of flirting with someone. Actually, I have that experience several times a week, but in this instance the flirting soon turned to talk of Star Trek. It’s a good bet that you can win my heart through geek talk. Too bad I got blocked by some skinny girls from the Pub Line.

Saturday found me baking up a storm in preparation for a round of events that evening. The best-laid plans always fail, though. I brought baked goods #1 to a bonfire at Kendall and Wayne’s house. I was supposed to bring baked goods #2 to JK’s going-away party at Chris John George’s Rock Band extravaganza, but instead found myself at a quite acoustic concert in a candle-lit Pub. Sista Trista and I quickly departed that scene in favor of the Marlin, where the Good Daze were once again playing, though this time in their street clothes. More flirting with the Trek guy, more MFA action, then someone force-fed me part of their hotdog and I realized it was time to get out of the Marlin. Which is how I ended up at the Big I, where I found Christi, Gary and Steven. Christi had not mentioned her birthday, but fortunately I just happened to have baked goods #2 in the car (still). Gary dubbed me Betty Crackwhore. I take it as a compliment.

Sunday should have been a day of rest, but Tom and I had agreed to usher at a play. OMG. Our friend Brandon directed “Wait Until Dark,” and it is fantastic! Holly Carroll, Mike Karoly and Shannon Luster are a particularly talented trio, and they helped put on what will easily be the best play at FDA this season. After that, I canceled my sauna plans in favor of a night of Halloween costume sewing. I really do plan to cut back on my going out, but it will have to happen after next weekend. I’ve been working on the costume for a while, though I’m not giving hints just yet. Pictures to come.

Yeah, so maybe there's truth to that whole "Mary shouldn't be around kids" thing. I do lack the internal censor necessary to keep me PG or even PG13.

And speaking of underage girls, I heard some disturbing facts about my ex tonight. And then he showed up at the bar. And proceeded not to talk to me. WTF? This was the guy who, when I broke up with him, proclaimed that he loved me and wanted to be my friend and still wanted to hold me in his arms. I guess a lot can change in a few weeks. Thinking back on it, he did tell me in our first conversation that he didn't believe that exes could be friends. I guess Tom Moran will remain the only exception to that rule.

On the bright side, I met a guy tonight who just wanted to dance. Well, just wanted to twirl me around enough to raise my skirt. I think is name was Charles. And a group of the MFAs showed up again, including the one I have a vague crush on. Too bad they're all smokers.

Why do the authors wait until page 297 of an instructional book to tell you how to start a project? I’m trying to use Final Cut Pro to edit a time-lapse movie I made of the construction of our newest supercomputer, and it’s been about 3 years since I’ve used the program. However, Diana Weynand has seen fit to spend the first 296 pages teaching me how to edit my film. On page 297, we start to get into how to get my film on the computer in the first place. The logic defies me. Plus, as it turns out, I remember how to do it.

I had a strange dream last night. I’m on Facebook and have been running into a lot of old high school friends there. (Can I call them friends? I don’t recall having many friends in high school, but there they all are...) I dreamed that a whole bunch of them started working with me. It bugged me because the powers that be decided to take away my cubicle and just have us all working together at a bunch of desks. It got to the point where I wanted to see if I could just share a cubicle with my supervisor. Interestingly enough, the only classmates I recall from this dream were all male.

Seriously, do these lines normally work? I went to Tom's reading last night, which meant drinks afterward at the Pub, which meant the rest of the MFA students showing up later on and quickly wising up to the fact that there was a female in their midst. Naturally, the cute Asian one was not flirting with me. Sigh. Why must I be white and therefore somehow off-limits to most Asian men?

The new rims for the snow tires?

Did.
Not.
Fit.

I gave up and went home to eat my breakfast and contemplate the situation. The flood gods have shined on me, and among the pile of shit that floated to my house was a tire on a rim. A tire on a rim that fits my car. Don't ask, because I don't want to know. But if you want your tire back, you'll need to pick up your 55-gallon fuel drum, 3 ripped tarps, 2 sleds, pile of stuffed animals, jacket, 2 garbage cans, wood pallet, wire spool and raft too. We ended up with a lot shit, but at least one bit was useful.

Still need to figure out those tires, though.

My new car did not come with a spare tire. But don't worry - Robin and I went to a junkyard in Portland where we got a full-size tire mounted on a rim for $16. I've been thinking about this as I contemplate paying $70 and up per rim to get my new snow tires mounted. And that's just for one rim, mind you.

Fortunately I never had to use the spare while Tom and I were driving the Alcan to get back home. Today I got a flat on my way to Pilates class. I swapped out the tire, and lo and behold the spare tire fits! Well, fits on the bolt pattern. When I tried to drive the car, the wheel grinds horribly and the car jerks. Now, I'm no mechanic, but that ain't good. So after leaving a message for Tom to please drive to work today, I walked to campus. (And did I mention I've been meaning to leave an extra hat and gloves, etc. in the car but haven't gotten to it yet? Good thing I decided to wear pants and practical shoes today.)

Since Tom did not get my message in time and biked in, I am beginning a delicate dance of getting Liz to pick me up and work and drive me to Tom's house to fetch his car (again with the reasons why we're still friends), then I can grab my dead tire, drive to the tire shop, hope that my snow tires have been mounted on the rims by now, possibly fall back on the alternate plan of getting a new tire, maybe find some time to get breakfast, and finally get around to actually doing some work.

I baked a cake last night and left it in my car. If it was here, I'd probably eat it right now. Instead, I can use it to reward Tom and Liz for helping me.

Boy, these election years sure do keep my social life hopping. The picture above is Hayley, me and Liz at the VP debate the Blue Loon last week. Liz won at Palin bingo, damn her. Since one debate is never enough, I ventured back to the Loon last night with Stefan to watch McCain and Obama go at it.

For someone who pays attention to politics like she pays attention to sports (i.e. every four years when the big events come around), it might not have been a wise idea to attend a debate with a former political reporter. Stefan is pretty cool, but I felt politically out-classed. Good thing he had forgotten that borough elections were yesterday, whereas I had already voted. Ha! One point for Mary.

The debate went much as I expected: McCain looked like a confused old man and I felt a little bad for him, especially since we’re friends. Very good friends. He kept calling me his friend throughout the night. I finally leaned over to Stefan and suggested we get a bottle of hard liquor and start playing a drinking game. Memo to the senator: You’re not even my MySpace friend.

All in all, a good evening, even if it did end in the destruction of my final pair of nude fishnets. I can’t find them anywhere in town, so I’m going to have to order them online. Someone asked me recently if I was going to keep wearing fishnets and heels throughout the winter. The answer is yes, yes I am. If other people can keep wearing shorts or sandals when there is snow on the ground, I can wear fishnets and heels. They go better with my dresses than stripey polypros and bunny boots anyway.

A breakup forces me to look philosophically at my romantic life. I never regret anything I do in my life, and I don't regret any of my past relationships although at times I feel like I wasted time before ending things. But from each relationship, I found a lesson. Some of the bigger ones:

J.R. A high school fling. If a boy says he loves you, actions speak louder than words. For instance, if you fight and he then sleeps with a mutual friend, he probably doesn't actually love you. You are perfectly within your means to never speak to him again.
Lesson learned: Don't listen to what people say, but do pay attention to how they act.

Ted My first love. Breakups happen for a reason. You can't control when they come, but you can control how you react afterward. Fortunately, Ted provided numerous chances for me to learn this lesson, as we broke up every six months for many, many years. I got to experience some horrific breakups this way, the kind that left me sobbing and calling my sister in California for hours of consolation. But, like a fool, I took him back every time. Well, every time until the last time.
Lesson learned: It's hard to keep going down the same road. Relationships don't fail for no reason, and it's usually best to leave them broken up.

Tom My best friend. Sometimes a guy can be right for you in so many way. So very many ways, but there's still something missing. We had 5 years of mutual love and respect, and he showed me that I deserve someone who is considerate of my feelings. I still consider him my best friend and the one person who knows me better than even my family. It hurt like hell to end things, but I ended up being able to keep him.
Lesson learned: Stop dating guys you wouldn't want to be friends with. And if you value him enough, you'll want him to be happy again after the breakup, instead of hoping he'll always be miserable without you. (Even though I'm the awesomest person on Earth and he'll never be more compatible with anyone!)

Robin My recent ex. It's hard not to sum this up as a rebound fling, but I did think it was a relationship since we lasted about 6 months. Maybe I'm just getting older, but it's hard to waste time when it becomes clear that the relationship can't go anywhere.
Lesson learned: Don't waste your energy trying to make something work. The first time someone does something cruel should be the last time. This would have made me single again by June, but live and learn.

So as I re-enter the dating scene (quite literally tomorrow), I'm trying to look at my past and figure out where I've gone wrong. The big thing that jumps out is that I fall into relationships too quickly. When I meet someone I really like, I don't see the point of dating anyone else, which means I get to that "exclusive" place far too quickly. It pushes things along too fast and blinds me to other possibilities. The other big issue is the "project boyfriend," aka my-love-can-change-him. I don't want to find someone who's good is some ways but really bad in others. I don't want someone to rely on me to help them change into a better person. I want that better person now. I want someone who meets a reasonable amount of my needs, who is considerate of my feelings, and who has their shit together enough to be content in their lives. I'm tired of transitions. So my goal is pretty much the same that it was until March: Enjoy single life, date a lot, get to know a lot of people, hold off on a relationship until I'm sure it's someone I want to be with. And this time I'll make sure he's someone I would consider a friend, too.

I have found the gays. It was supposed to just be a costume night at the bars (not for everyone, mind you, just me and my friends. We are in your bars, wearing costumes), but apparently there was a drag show across town. It ended, and the bar was infiltrated. Joy!

I know what you're thinking. "Mary, if you just broke up with your boyfriend, shouldn't you be looking for a straight man?" But the answer is no! Since Jeremy left, I've got no gay boyfriends left. And a girl needs to be surrounded by hot men who wink, flirt, dance and appreciate her wee little top hat.

Did I mention I was wearing a wee little top hat?

Today I am going to answer all questions in Palin-ese.







I wish somebody would ask me a question.