So Gross I Had to Share it!

I try to keep my house reasonably clean, but for some reason my coffee pot always escapes my notice. I'll open my coffee filter and find that I left the used coffee grounds inside, which is usually accompanied by a little mold. If you are a person who always cleans their filter every time they use it, then you probably don't realize just how effective coffee grinds are for growing mold. If I ever decide to grow my own penicillian, I know exactly how to do it.

After running out of coffee filters, I haven't bothered to make coffee in probably two months. That means the filter from my last coffee making was left there to mold. When I finally pulled it out, I was shocked to discover a rainbow of mold had taken residence there. But the grossest, and yet oddly fascinating, part was this strange white mold that had the texture and smell of mushroom. It had completely filled the bottom of the filter bowl, and clung to the sides so tightly I could barely pull it out. Here's the final kicker: In that white mold, I discovered tiny, translucent inch-worms! GROSS! The filter - worms, mold, and all - quickly went into a sink of boiling water and bleach, where it will remain indefinitely.

What I don't understand is how the worms got in there. I understand that the air contains mold spores that are floating around looking for coffee grounds to latch onto, but could there possible be "larvae spores" floating around? Am I breathing larvae spores even as I type this? GROSS!

It's making me question my doubts about spontaneous generation.

You may be wondering if I am going to use that coffee maker again. Of course, it's a Gevalia!

Celebrity Emmissions

So, Leo Dicaprio is warning that the human race is facing extinction. Maybe if climate change occured as suddenly as depicted in The Day after Tomorrow, then this would be true. But really, Leo darling, have a little more faith in your fellow man. Surely we'll be able to adapt enough to start driving hybrids and installing solar panals on our mansions just like you. Heck, maybe more Hollywood celebrities will start following your example and flying on commercial airliners ... but I doubt it. It seems that to the "special people," the ones who really need changing are the ignorant, unwashing masses, aka, their fan base.

Lost

One of the biggest fears I struggle with is being lost. It started back when I was probably 8-years-old and I went to the San Diego Zoo with my family. My parents, burdened with my two little brothers and their strollers, diaper bags, and other accessories that seem to come with an infant and a toddler, gave permission for my older brother and me to go through the bird exhibit by ourselves. They thought this was a pretty safe choice, the bird exhibit was one big circle, with the entrance and exit door side by side. Well, me being me, I managed to the one exit on the opposite side of the exhibit. I ran out the door, flushed with excitement, only to not find my family. I was scared, but decided to look around for them just in case. I wandered around that section of the park, until finally coming across a school field trip group. I went up to the lady directing the tour (I could tell she worked for the zoo because of her safari outfit) and said pitifully, "I'm lost."

As you can surmise by the fact that I'm here writing this, the lady was not a cleverly disguised kidnapper, so she took me to the security office where I struggled to remember my mom's real name ("Her name is Mom, no, Karen, um ...). The zoo blasted my mom's name over the loudspeaker, telling her to fetch her wayward child.

Even though everything turned out all right, I still have real fear of being lost. Even when I'm in my car, if I'm in an unfamiliar section of town, I start feeling anxious. This is really difficult when you move to a new city, because every section of town is unfamiliar.

With my job as a real estate agent, I'm forced to go somewhere new every day, something I used to hate, but actually turned out to be a blessing. After living here for 11 months, I know how to get around Quincy, no problem. I know main routes, back roads, and short cuts.

I guess most of life is about facing fears, but it's a long process, and I don't know if I'll ever truly conquer it. I got an invitation to an event in Boston from my friend Taylor, and the first thing I wanted to know is if we would travel together. There ain't no way I'm risking walking through Boston on my own! But I guess the important thing isn't exorcising the fear, but being willing to face it so you can move on with life.

DRAMA! Part II

And now for the exciting conclusion ...

Okay, so in the previous super-long post, I told you about the drama that when on trying to rent my old apartment. Now here's the drama happened while trying to rent my new apartment. To be honest, this post might be a little anti-climatic, since this drama isn't quite as dramatic as the first drama, but given that in real life they occurred at the same time, it all added to one very dramatic week and a gray hair on Meghan's head (Uh-oh, you know things are bad when she starts referring to herself in the third person).

This super special awesome apartment was listed by my fellow agent Carol just a little before May, with the landlady hoping for a May 1 rent. Now, this landlady is 89-years-old, and very sweet, although she's sharp as a tack. Although she was hoping for a May 1 rent, she didn't want to bother the current occupants by allowing Carol to show the apartment while they were still living there. Carol tried to point out that that would made it difficult to rent the apartment for May, but the landlady was insistent. So, May 1 comes and goes, the former tenants are now out, and the apartment is vacant. Carol was scheduled to visit the apartment and take pictures, and I asked to tag along, since I would soon be in the market for an apartment.

Well, it was love at first sight. I wanted this apartment. Problem was, it was only May, and I was stuck in my lease until the end of June. So I decided to wait and see what happened. My hopes were crushed that weekend when Carol said she found a tenant for the apartment - some police officer with a dog and a girlfriend. A week passed while Carol negotiated the deal, and then ... it fell through. I was hopeful again, only to learn that Carol has two female roommates waiting in the wings to take the apartment. My hopes of getting this apartment again looking pretty hopeless, but once again, the deal fell through.

I knew this was either God, or a happy coincidence, but either way I knew I had to pounce on this apartment right away. So I called up Taylor (who happened to have the day off that day) and told him we were going to see an apartment.

Taylor loved it, like I knew he would, and we immediately went down and made an offer for a June 15 move-in. The landlady was reluctant - she'd really want someone in there June 1 - but she liked us so she agreed.

That weekend Taylor and I scheduled for a check for the down payment to be sent from our online bank on Monday, thinking is would arrive on Wednesday to my agency. All that was left now was to wait.

Tuesday comes, and I get a call from the landlady. She asked me what was going on, if I was really going to rent this apartment. I said I fully intended to rent the apartment, I was just waiting for my bank to get me my money. She said that she had someone else call her about the apartment because of a sign in her window, and since she didn't have a deposit from me, she was going to response to that call. I told her she would be getting not just a deposit, but the full amount (15 days of June and security) tomorrow. She was happy, and we hung up.

Taylor and my original plan was to move in on the 15th of June, and move out of the old apartment June 30th. We'd only be losing half a month, but it would be worth it. However, when the check from my bank didn't arrive on Wednesday as planned, the wheels in my mind staring whirling.

I figured that if we could get out of our lease 15 days early (and surely Landlord and Mrs. Landlord wouldn't care about that!) then we could move into new apartment June 1st, and we'd still just be out one month's rent like we planned, but we could move a whole lot earlier. Taylor said that was a smashing plan (okay, he's not British, so he didn't literally say "smashing," but the sentiment was there) and we took out another half month's rent in cash. We called up new landlady and told her we were coming by with a deposit. She said "great."

However, on our way there, Bob, my boss called, and said new landlady called him and said she wasn't comfortable with us coming over without Carol there. He advised us just to wait until tomorrow. We agree. I go back to the office, where landlady calls again asking why Taylor and I hadn't arrived at her home yet. I told her was Bob told me, and she said "I never said that!" I then told her we'd have all the money tomorrow, and Carol would be with us, and we'd wrap up the whole thing.

Thursday comes. The leases are written. I'm still waiting for my check to arrive, and for Carol to get back from her other job. I'm was so nervous I jumped at every footfall, thinking it was the mailman with my check. Then, landlady calls, and she asks why we hadn't arrived yet (again). She said she thought we had an appointment at 1:00. I said we had an appointment for the afternoon, but we never set a specific time. She then said she was confused her commission (you can imagine how I reacted to that). I handed her over to Bob, and he tried to explain, but she's an old Irish gal, and she decided to haggle the commission. Billy, Carol's husband, was quite upset by this, and he said we shouldn't negotiate, and I said "No! Whatever you, DON'T LOSE MY APARTMENT!"

Landlady and Bob come to an agreement - he took fifty bucks off for her - and finally, my check arrives, along with Taylor. We're now waiting for Carol. An hour passes and she finally breezes in. "Well, let's get going."

Of course, anyone knows that when a whole group of people try to "get going" it takes awhile. We arrive at the new apartment at 3:30, the money is paid, the leases are signed, and Taylor and I breathe a sigh of relief because we are finally in!

DRAMA!

I've been feeling that I really need to get back into the swing of posting regularly again, but after achieving nine comments on my bathroom post, I kinda feel like I reached my peak as a blogger. In reality, I've been experience some drama at work lately, and after re-hashing said drama with real life friends and family, it's exhausting trying to type it out again.

However, for posterity's sake, I'll try.

Through my connections as a real estate agent, I found the most super special awesome apartment ever!. It's the top floor of a Victorian three-family for only $850 and that's with heat included! For those of you who live down South and are thinking "she's excited about paying only $850 a month?" let me assure you that it's a steal around here. The average nice one bedroom apartment (nice being defined as clean, relatively up-dated appliances, and no scary paint colors, ceiling cracks, or grubby floors) right now is renting for $925, and that without any utilities included at all. Usually these apartment are located in bulky, large buildings that have not character or style (but they're functional). If you want something in a multi-family, which usually have the pluses of being in a residential neighborhood, have yards, and are much more attractive, you can pay up to $1,000. So yeah, this was the apartment opportunity of a lifetime, and I jumped on it like a kid belly-flopping into a pool.

Like most belly-flops, there was pain involved. The landlady who owns the super special awesome apartment wanted a June 1 move date, and my lease isn't up until June 30th. Never fear! I schemed that if I was willing to sacrifice 1/2 a month's rent, (and who wouldn't for this apartment?) Then I could start my new lease at June 1st if my current landlord was willing to let me leave my old lease just two weeks early.

I didn't feel that was too unreasonable, was it?

Well, he didn't either, provided I find a tenant who was willing to move-in on the 15th so he wouldn't lose out on half a month's rent, perfectly understandable.

Here's the rub - my landlord is also a client of my boss, who is a real estate broker. I was immediately trapped in a very awkward position. You see, as a tenant, I am obligated to find a replacement tenant (or else pay until the end of June). As a real estate agent, I am obligated to collect commission for my services finding a tenant. Both my boss and my landlord believed I should fulfill my obligations.

Well, I found a tenant right away. She was the perfect tenant - single, hardworking, middle-age woman with great credit. It seemed like everything was going to work out just fine. Until the tricky issue of commission came up.

My boss and I both felt that since my apartment was scheduled to go on market July 1st, and any tenant we provided for that time would earn us a fair commission. However, even though it went on the market two weeks early, a tenant was found, and therefore no rent was lost. Therefore, since we advertised the property, we ran the credit, we checked the references, and we presented this great tenant, we were full entitled to our full commission.

The landlord, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, the landlord's wife, didn't agree. She felt I should suffer some penalty for leaving two weeks early even though they weren't suffering any monetary loss of any kind. So she and my boss then engaged in a battle over commission that lasted several days.

Meanwhile, I couldn't sleep, I'm was hounded by my tenant who kept calling me asking "What's going on? Am I in, am I not? Do I need to bring in my attorney?" I nearly had a panic attack when the word "attorney" was brought up.

Finally, I called Mrs. Landlord myself and informed her that, as I only keep 40 percent of whatever commissions I bring into the company, the current negotiated commission of $200 was so low that I probably wasn't going to see a red cent of that money, and that my boss was really just fighting for his share, not mine. The revelation that I wasn't going to get paid after all seemed to make a difference. The deal finally closed, and I am out of this crappy apartment come June 14th!

You would think this was enough drama for one week, but no, there's more, and it involves the super special awesome apartment and what it took to actually make it mine. But that will have to wait for another time. So be sure to tune in next time for DRAMA! Part II.

Apartment Hunting with Chris

A comic just for Chris!

Incompetency at its Finest.

The building where my office is located leaves a couple things to be desired, mainly toilet paper and paper towels in the bathroom. In response to our many complaints about the lack of both in the facilities, our landlady hired a crew to install automatic paper towel dispensers and t.p. holders in the bathroom.

Now, I understand critical thinking is not everyone's strong point, but that doesn't explain this:


Yes, that is the toilet paper holder above the sink, and the paper towel dispenser in front of the toilet. I can't even begin to imagine the thought process that must have went into this job. Clearly it was one on par with most government workers.

"Well, I'm not sure where to hang the towel dispenser. Well, this wall is bare, I'll hang it on front of the toilet. Oh no, now I don't have room for the toilet paper dispenser, because I can't possibly hang two dispensers on one wall. Oh, I know, I'll put this one over the sink. Boy, oh boy, and my mother said I'd never amount to anything."

Well, everyone in the building had a good laugh over this. At least now we won't run out of toilet paper as quickly, even if we do have to stand up and walk over to the sink to get it.

Grocery Shopping

Went grocery shopping with Jen yesterday. Like so many chores, buying groceries is always better when done with a friend. However, it seems that everytime I go to the store, I manage to grab the one cart that has a wheel problem. At first, it's barely noticible. Then, as you start packing more and more items into the cart, it becomes more and more unmanagable. Now, I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but I'm being very literal here when I say that I had to wrestle with that cart like it was a two-year-old kid. In other words, everywhere I wanted to go, the cart wouldn't go, and instead would veer off on it's own, usually bumping into people on the way. It's bad enough using all you weight to steer a cart away from an 80-year-old lady in an almost hopeless attempt to avoid knocking her over. It's worse doing this in front of an audience. But it's even more worse when a memeber of this audience is your good friend who was trying to nice by suggesting you go shopping together.

More Zombie Fun!

I promise I'll get off this kick, but I couldn't resist. In the comments of Last Blood I found a Zombie Simulator that shows how quickly a zombie infection could spread through a population.

Zombies

Of all the horror creatures out there, I think the creepiest are zombies. It's not really the zombies themselves that are so horrifying, but what they represent. In every zombie movie I've seen, there's always a terrible sense of hopelessness. Will we survive the night or be eaten and turned into the very things we're fighting? And even if we survive, will life in a zombie-infested world be worth living?

Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that zombie movies are really just an excuse for us to watch people killing other people. It's okay that I blew this guy's head off, he was a zombie!

And yet, I can't stay away from the morbid genre. So, that being said, here's some fun zombie stuff I've found.

The Last Stand

For your reading delight, an online comic I've been following entitled Last Blood.

And a clip from Sean of the Dead, which, if you haven't seen, you should. (Caution - There are some Swears in this Scene).

Being Upwardly Mobile and All That ...

Megan Basham has an interesting article about feminists complaining that most women are choosing or preferring being stay-at-home moms over advancing in their careers, and because of this, are somehow being taken advantage of and should still receive wages equivalent to those of men who work full-time and overtime. Which is silly, obviously. But it reminded me again of how feminists have long struck me as a minority who claim to represent a majority, yet has no real idea what that majority actually wants (kind of like the current Republican party leadership). However, while feminists promote girls learning math and science, most women continue to seek degrees in the "soft sciences," like biology, or English, or medieval French art, or whatever. It's not because girls are not capable of learning or enjoying math, some certainly do, but I think there is evidence that most girls do not enjoy them. In the same way, while there are certainly women who do not want, or even like all that much, children, and are willing to dedicate their lives to shaping a powerful career, most women genuinely want to stay home, make babies, and then make cookies for those babies to eat. I know that's what I want to do.

This thing is, our current feminist culture makes me feel guilty for not wanting a career. I really don't enjoy being in the workplace. It's not that I'm lazy, or unintelligent, or "brainwashed by a paternalist, masochistic society/religion." It's just not where my interests and passions lie. Whenever I picture my future, there are babies and pies and reading and writing and providing a home for my husband. I got my degree because it's alway good to have a back-up plan, but I think my primary plan is a pretty good one. So why isn't it good enough for the so-called "women's movement"?

A Note Worthy Event

I got a front row parking spot at Wal-Mart. Nuff' said.

Camping Fun

Taylor had his first weekend off in about a month, so he chose to celebrate by taking us camping. Now, people have many different ideas of what constitutes "camping." For some, camping is taking an RV to a outdoorish area and basically enjoying all the amenities of home in the woods. For others, camping is driving up to a designated area and pitching a tent about twenty feet from your car. And for Taylor, camping is hiking for twelve hours into the middle of nowhere and then setting up camp, living off the fruits of the land. That is not my idea of camping. Fortunately for whimpy me, we could only find the "pitch your tent twenty feet from you car" kind of camping.

Now, I don't want to give the wrong impression. I was really looking forward to camping, just not the hiking in the wilderness part. Things started off really well. We got our camp site set up, a fire going, and then started carving our sticks for roasting hot dogs. My carving was going well, until I came across a stubborn knot in the wood. I slid the knife toward me (a major no no, I know). The knife bounced off the knot and right into my knuckle. I've never bled so much in my life before. I turned to Taylor and said "Um, Taylor, I need some help." Taylor was rather concerned because at this point my entire hand was covered in blood.

"Put pressure on it!"
"I am! But my hand is really gross, can't I wash it off?"
"No, hold your finger, now!"
We weren't able to get a picture of the event, as we were performing first aid, so here is a dramatic re-enactment.

We got the finger bandaged up, and everything went smoothly from there. Until I added some more logs to the fire. I felt a burn on my finger, and took my hand out from the fire pit. The pain, however, continue. It took me a couple seconds to realize my bandage was on fire. I threw the bandage off, and it flew like a flaming arrow into a pile of pine needles. After stomping out the pine needle fire, I tended my wounded finger with ice. It was rather pathetic.

That was the most dramatic thing that occurred. The rest of the trip went rather well. We definately plan on doing it again. Except for the severing my finger part.

The Wii is Gone Again

Divination is Easy!

It's nice to know that you, even you(!), can master reading tea leaves with a little practice. It seems odd to me that something that supposed to be a powerful as predicting someone's future can be gained from mere intuition and practice. It's seems cheap, or fraudulent, for some reason.

Yet this stuff holds a strange facination for me, one that I try not to indulge. If I weren't a Christian, I suspect I would be the wackiest neo-pagan you've ever met.

The Dove

I was driving from an appointment in Quincy back to Wollaston, where I work. As I was going along Newport Ave. I saw a row of cars in the lane to my right just stopped. I was trying to figure out what they were doing with suddenly a beautiful, white dove flew from the right lane. The cars were obviously trying to avoid it. And then I hit it. Not on purpose! The stupid thing flew (in vain) right in front of my car. I didn't have time to stop. It's probably a good thing too, because if I had tried to stop, or serve, I would have caused an accident. Bird of peace or no, I think it was the one that had to be sacrificed. So the bird crashed into my car with a loud BUMP! and I had a fleeting hope that it might be OK until I saw it fluttered lifelessly down to the left hand lane. It was not going to be performing magic tricks ever again.

I was torn between a conflict of emotion. On one hand, I was sad that I killed something so frail and beautiful, and on the other, I really thought the whole thing was kinda funny. In the end, the humor won out. I know, I know, I'm a bad person. But you know you think it's funny too.

"Why Meghan, why?"

My Grandma and Grandpa Are the Best!

I just got off the phone with my step-father's mother and step-father (my family tree is a little complicated). I only mention the "step" part for clarity, not because it's a terribly important distinction. But then again, it is kind of important, because even though we're not related by blood, I can't imagine having a more caring set of grandparents. My papa (step-dad) married my mom when I was about five-years-old. It was a difficult transition, but I remember how totally my Grandma Carla and Grandpa Juergen embraced my brother and me as their own, in spite of the many "real" grandchildren they already had.

One of my most treasured pieces of jewelry is a red stone ring my Grandma Carla gave me. She said it belonged to her mother, and she wanted me to have it.

I hesitated accepting it. "Are you sure you want to give it to me? Wouldn't you rather give it to Sarah or one of your real granddaughters?"

She looked me square in the eye and said "You are as real to me as any of my other grandchildren. I want you to have it."

It bring tears to my eyes even as I type this. I dealt with a lot of issues in my childhood, but having such a great family, formed by love rather than genetics, has helped me have a great life. Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa!

Sunday Treat

PG version of 300. Enjoy!

Bill and Carol's Wedding

Taylor and I went to my co-workers' wedding today. I have one complete sentence for you: Open bar and open menu. Good times were had by all.

Friday the 13th!

I feel obliged to mention that today is Friday the 13th and all the implications thereof, but I just don't have anything new or exciting to add. So I'll just post of picture of my black cat.
Oooo! Making ya nervous, aren't I?

Fenway Park

Yesterday Taylor took me to my first Red Sox game. He was more excited about it than I was, especially after I saw the forecast was 100 percent chance of rain and discomfort. But we bucked up and took the hour-long T ride to Fenway anyway, because we felt there was a slight chance a miracle could happen and that ball players would leave the Jacuzzis in their lockers and play a nice game in the rain. After all, we dedicated fans were there, waiting for them! Also waiting were the dedicated vendors, who, rain or shine, are willing to overcharge you for hot dogs, beer, and candy. Giving in the atmosphere of the occasion, Taylor and I bought our Fenway Franks, a pretzel, and a big ol' bag cotton candy and waited in our cold, wet seats for the team to come out.

As you probably guessed, the team did not come out, but they waited an hour before informing us of the inevitable rain delay. I suspect delayed long enough to make sure fans spent as much as they were going to on food.

Even though we got wet and cold, we still had a good time. The make-up game is set for May 3. You'll see us there, buying more Franks, pretzels, and cotton candy. After all, it's for our team.

The Great Diet Weigh-Down

My boss Bob and I are in a little competition to see who can loss 10 percent of their body weight by the 4th of July. So far, I've lost three out of 16, he's lost six out of 23. $100.00 is up for grabs for the biggest loser! And for once, I want it to be me!

This is Why I Don't Like Going to the Doctor

because they always tell you something you don't want to hear! I went in for a routine checkup, and they did some blood work. I just got the results back yesterday. I have high cholesterol! My total is 273 (the chart says abnormal). My good cholesterol is at 62, which is good, but my bad is at 195, which is very high. I feel so depressed. I'm too young to be having this sort of problem! High cholesterol is a problem my parents have, not me! Of course, the worst part is not the diagnoses, but the remedy. Basically, no good tasting food ever again.

They sent me a food chart to help my sort my food.
Good Food: Everything you don't like . Bad Food: Everything you do like. Simple, huh?

It doesn't help that aspartame gives me headaches, which means many of the so-called "fat-free" stuff is off limits too. Taylor's been trying to cheer me up by telling me how much healthier we'll be by "eating like adults" now. But I have to wonder, is giving up everything I love really worth my health? If I die of a heart attack eating a Boston Creme Doughnut, wouldn't it be worth it?

Okay, maybe not.

There's no fighting it anymore. I'm really going to have to make some changes, and now that I know I could have real health issues, it really become more real to me. Bummer. Now it's time for me to say my goodbyes.

Me:"Well, Butter, we had some good times together, but we're going to have to break it off."
Butter: "But why?"
Me: "You're just not good for me. I have to make some changes."
Butter: "You'll never have anything as good as me! Margarine can't satisfy you like I can!"
Me: "Why do you have to make this harder than it already is?"
Butter: ".... Can we still be friends?"
Me: "Maybe we can get together sometime next week. For breakfast. I'll bring Pancakes."

Getting High?

I hate to be cavalier about such a serious topic such as drug use, but as I'm currently under the influence of over-the-counter cold medication, so I don't really care. Unfortunately for me, the "influence" hasn't been a very postive one, leaving me questioning how people get hooked on medication in the first place.

Take codiene for instance. I apparently have an allergy to codiene. I discovered this after getting my wisdom teeth pulled out and recieving hydracodiene as a pain reliver. I suppose you could say that my constant vomiting took my mind off the pain in my gums, but it wasn't a pleasant experience overall. Yet, hundreds of people sneak into pharmacies trying to con poor techs (as I once was) into giving them these pills so they can get "high." What highs are they experiencing exactly? Does nausea result in an endorphine rush that I wasn't aware of? And why doesn't my body release these endorphines?

The other one I don't get pseudoephedrine, which as you know if often used to make meth or speed ( I know this from having lived White County "Meth Capital of the World," Arkansas, not from experience, thank you). When I take my single pill to relieve allergies, I don't experience anything resembling a high, unless you count the vauge, out of body experience I have all day. But feeling sluggish and slow and yet being able to type over 500 words-per-minute is still not my idea of a good time. Right now, I'd much rather be sleeping, or at worst, watching daytime television, but instead I'm stuck at work trying to focus on what clients are saying over the phone.

Client: "Hello, I'm looking for a one bedroom apartment."
Me: "You want a what?"
Client: "A one bedroom apartment."
Me: "Oh, an apartment. And how many bedrooms do you need?"

In between phone calls and posting listings on craigslist (which on average, takes about 30 minutes to load pictures) I'm getting out my nervous energy by typing out this post as fast as I can.

And people take these drugs for fun? I just don't get it. But I guess that's a good thing. I'd hate to become a cold medicine junkie.

Dishonesty at Work

Real estate agents have a reputation for being dishonest, and to be honest, it's true. Most of the people I work with are more than happy to cheat on their taxes, make promises they can't necessarily keep, and flat-out lie when convenient. My co-workers confidently assure me that I too will exhibit these unsavory traits soon enough, to which I reply "No way!"

It's difficult, however. They say you become like the company you keep. So how do I live as a light for Christ when the people I'm trying to influence for good are also trying to influence me for ill? I'm pretty open about my religious beliefs, but most my co-workers are either also "religious" or openly secular and "tolerant," so they don't care about what I believe.

What I hope will happen is that I will become like a Joseph to Potiphar. I hope that my efforts to do what I believe God expects of me, even if they don't appear financially advantageous, will result in successful business year. Maybe that will show the people I work with that God provides for his children, and that what seems foolish to man is actually the key a full life.

The Spencers are Here!

So, our friends the Spencers are here visiting. They are planning on moving to Quincy at the end of May, so right now I'm showing them apartment that won't be around by the time they move. But at least now they know their options.

Headlines of the Day

Some news days are just better than others. Today was headline gold! Out of a favorite of mine, wikihow, comes How to Safely Swim with Piranhas. Because who hasn't wanted to swim with piranhas? It's been a silent ambition of mine for years.

From Reuters comes Lawmakers may ban texting while driving. Now, this is probably a good law to pass. I just don't understand how it's possible to text while driving. I have trouble enough texting while sitting down. "Okay, 'D-O-Space-Y-O-U-Space-W-A-N-T-Space-P-I-Z-Z-A-Space ...' Forget this, I'm just gonna call him!"

Finally, the winner comes from CNN with Police: Man swiped 1,500 women's undies. And this whole time you thought the dryer was eating them. The best line of the story is "We were kind of concerned about how to match up bras and panties with victims." I would think the patterns would help. *Snicker* I don't even want to know what this guy was doing with 93 pounds worth of panties, although I imagine it was something like this:

The Tragic Tale of Trying to Find a Bathroom in Medford

Taylor, Chris, and I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday to browse the bookstores and use up the balance of my gift cards ($16.22). While there, we sat about talked about the issues of the day and drank coffee at the cafe. I felt very yuppie and cool all at the same time. However, an hour later we were were driving home I felt a lot less cool and a lot like I had to go to the bathroom, which I did. Have to go that is, not actually go in Chris' car. Gross. Anyway. I thought we were headed to Chris' house, so the bulging bladder was no big, because relief was soon in sight. Somehow though, the guys made some agreement without my knowledge to go to the Cingular store and activate Taylor's cellphone. We pulled in the the parking lot and I thought "Wait a second, this place doesn't look like it has a bathroom." I was right. Chris and I abandoned Taylor to the mercy of the salesman (Taylor has a serious loathing for cellphone salesman) and when in search of a bathroom. The salesman warned us that we would have difficulty as "places around here don't allow people to use their restroom 'cuz they're afraid they'll shoot up." With that in mind, Chris and I tried to look at little like junkies as possible and headed to a gas station down the street. No bathroom. We then briefly considered barging into "The Tiki Lounge," but I didn't have to go bad enough to overcome my reservations about peeing in a nice restaurant without ordering a $10.00 meal first. So we then got lost trying to make our way back to some other stores we saw on the way to the gas station. By this time I hit critical mass. When we finally pulled in the parking lot I tuck-and-rolled out of the car into a laundry mat, reasoning that in a place where people has to sit for hour there would surely be a bathroom. I was wrong again. I had only one hope left. The Subway. I has doubtful as most Subway's I've been to didn't have public bathrooms. I was ready to shout "I swear I don't shoot up!" in case anyone tried to stand in my way of using an employees' only room. Thankfully for everyone in the restaurant the restroom was for public use. In my desperation to reach the door in time I literally bunny-hopped inside. Then, blessed relief.

This story is very similar to a horror story, which are really just gruesome morality tales. If I had been smart, I would have gone before we left the bookstore. Instead, I risked it, and almost suffered a tragic end. Learn from me kids. The moral of this story is don't get stuck in Medford with a full bladder. And if you do, just go to Subway. They got ya covered.

Where was This When I Needed it?

Today I saw this post on wikihow: How to Turn Around a Bad Day at Work. Although, I think going to Bible study last night was what I truly needed. Being with the people I love worshiping the God I love can't fail to make me feel better.

Whoa, Emo!

After reading my last post, I realized that it sounded really emo. Please, if I ever get as bad as this, please, please, pull an intervention.

Being Stood Up is No Fun

It's just a part of the business I guess. I have a client who says he is so excited about seeing my listings, and yes, yes, he'll meet me at 3 o'clock sharp. So I wait. 3:10 rolls around, no big. 3:15. 3:25. 3:30. By this time I get the feeling he's not gonna show. If I'm lucky, I'll get a call saying "My bad, I'm not gonna make it. Sorry." around 3:35. If not, by 3:40 I give up and head home longing for some Ben and Jerry's Brownie Batter ice cream. Because if you can't make money, you may as well spend it on expensive, leftist ice cream.

The Science is Settled - Except ...

From NASA. And Mars is getting warmer too. And like everyone else likes to snottily point out, there are no carbon emmissions on Mars. :p

UPDATED! Uh-oh, They're Trying to Convert Us Now!

Was perusing through wikihow this morning, reading How to Make a Sideways Room (new project!) and How to Walk Like a Diva (just in time for beach season), when I stumbled across this gem: How to Constructively Discuss Science with a Creationist . Naturally, "science" in this case is not the Theory of Relativity or the possibilities of building a space elevator, but the Theory of Evolution. Although, I think the former would be a much more amusing conversation.

"You ignorant Christian Seven-Day Creationist! How do you explain the Theory of Relativity?"
"Um, special relativity is a theory of the structure of spacetime. It was introduced in Albert Einstein's 1905 paper "On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies". Special relativity is based on two postulates which are contradictory in classical mechanics:

1. The laws of physics are the same for all observers in uniform motion relative to one another (Galileo's principle of relativity),
2. The speed of light in a vacuum is the same for all observers, regardless of their relative motion or of the motion of the source of the light." (Okay, I totally stole that from wikipedia.)

My favorite "tip" from the article is "Remember, the other person is defending their faithful hope of eternal life and earthly purpose; you're simply defending facts. Because of this, if you remain neutral and rational long enough, many fundamentalists will eventually allow their emotions and fears to take over, and will descend into progressively worse arguments."

Wow, thanks for destroying someone's "hope of eternal life" just so you can win a debate at a party. And they say we are intolerant.

I was going to link to a humorous article written on this topic by my friend of Chris of Narf's Cavern, but I couldn't find it. I'll have to ask him to dig through his archives to I can link to it and you can be impressed by how smart an Intelligent Design proponent can be.

Update: Here is the link I promised, courtesy of Chris.

The Wii is Gone

Snow!

Another Reason Why I Love My Cats

Pure entertainment value!

Sorry about the poor quality. Taylor filmed it using our digital camera. And yeah, that background music is from me playing Zelda.

Sweet!

Study: Playing Violent Video Games Improves Your Eyesight

And here I was thinking video games were making my vision worse. Although, not all video games are equal:

Sedate games like "Tetris" don't work.

Sorry Mom. All I know is right now, I'm having to squint in order to read the dialogue in Zelda: Twilight Princess. But, if I keep playing, my eyesight will get better and better. So, sorry Chris, I can't give you your Wii back. Medical reasons, you understand.

Smashing New Hat Increases Ego Points by 30

I got a new hat yesterday. Buying hats is always a tricky thing, because they always look really good in the dressing room, only to prove to be all wrong for you when you get home. But my hat passed the husband approval test, so I knew I had a good thing going.

Even better, today I received five compliments. My boss, my co-workers, even the mailman were all impressed by my hat. I have to say, I was afraid the hat would rip because my head swelled larger and larger with each mention. What a great day!Now it's your turn! Admire!

Just When I Thought He was Cool ...

M. Night Shyamalan decided to produce an environmentally preachy movie. Thanks. I'm sure evil Amercians will be featured along with evil corporations. Personally, as someone who has been bombarded with these messages since Captain Planet, it's gotten old.

Judgment

One of non-Christians' favorite lines to throw at Christians is "Judge not!" Usually this follows after a Christian makes a stance against a particular lifestyle.

Me: "I really think it's a bad idea to go to parties and get wasted and engage in promiscuous sex."

Non-Christian: "Judge not lest ye be judged! So there! I'm off the hook."

Christians are admonished not to judge, yet later in the same passage we are told to judge a tree by it's fruit.

I see there is a distinction. The second passage is refering to false teachers, and how to tell if what they are teaching is right. However, where does that lead? If we judge a teacher to be false by his fruit, how are we to respond? Are we to judge the teaching, but not the teacher?

I'm struggling because I know a person who says she's a Christian, yet she is living with her boyfriend (who, while separated, is still married to another woman), cheats on her taxes, and is trying to collect worker's compensation in spite of the fact that she has a new job. I believe these actions are clearly inconsistant with the teachings of Christ. I would even go so far as to say she isn't really a Christian at all. And that's where the rub is. Am I judging her? Am I wrong to do so?

Of course, I haven't said anything to her, and I'm not likely to, as we are not close friends. My real concern is not even her at all, but myself. If I believe she is doing something wrong, should I say something to her? Should I let it lie? Sometimes I feel like we Christians embrace non-judgmentalness so strongly that we end up condoning what we ought to condem instead. Because if we really believe that sin is real, and separates people from God, then we need to help people see they have a sin problem, not ignore it. It's only when people realize they need saving that they'll look for a Savior.

So how do we do it?

Sometimes it's Hard to Tell ...

Important Alert!

The Williams and I went to IKEA yesterday. (Since I know you're wondering, I purchased a spatula, a mountable display case, and a overhead lamp.) Taylor and Jen planned "to only pick up a few things" so they didn't get a shopping cart. Well, as so often happens at IKEA, a "few things" turned in twenty things they just had to have, and both Williams had arms full of merchandise. That's when Taylor decided to put a pair of glass candle holder in his pockets "for safe keeping" and then promptly forget about them. We made our purchases, and it wasn't until we sat in the car and heard the tell-tale sound of glass clinking together that we realized Taylor's criminal offense.

Taylor, being a man of integrity, told Jen that the next time she went to IKEA, she had to purchase an identical pair of candle holders and leave them behind, so it would make up for what Taylor took. Jen and I laughed, and said this was no doubt the beginning of a terrible crime spree. I asked Taylor if next time he would mind putting a Billy bookcase in his pocket for me - those are nice!

My Pet Rock Story

So, I did what I said I was going to do and adopted a pet rock. And now, I feel the need to warn to rest of you out there about what I experienced. Don't let this happen to you!

Things started off pretty well. I found a nice-looking rock and asked her if she wanted to come home and be my pet rock. She said "Sure, it's not like I'm doing much out here in the dirt." So I named her Frannie and drew a nice bubble bath for her so she could get cleaned up and presentable.Next, I took little Frannie shopping for some clothes. She said she really like lacy things. I wasn't sure how to respond to her when she asked if the skirt made her look fat. White's not the most slimming color, but she's a rock. I don't know if anything would make her look slim.After a big day of shopping I showed Frannie her room. She was so excited! She said she never had a place to herself. Before, when she was outside in a big pile of dirt and rock, she said she never had any privacy and nice things. I told her she was welcome.Good night Frannie! What a great addition to our family!Today I took Frannie out to socialize with some friends around the house. This is her playing 'Go Fish' with Eggerton. She asked when she might be able to him again. I wasn't sure how to respond, so I said "Maybe we'll have breakfast sometime."So while I was putting Eggerton back into his carton in the fridge, I saw Frannie talking to this darkly dressed and hunched over stick fellow. She told me later his name was "Twiggy." When I told her I wasn't sure he was the kind of guy she should be hanging out with, she called me a "conformist fascist" and ran to her room crying.
I'm growing concerned with Frannie's attitude lately. While I know her room is her own and I want her to be able to express herself, but why does she have to be so dark? She's started wearing these ratty, dark clothes and heavy eye makeup. I told her she was too pretty to be dressing like that, and she said I was just another sheep towing to society's definition of beauty while ignore the real ugliness of the world around me. I told her the only ugliness I saw around me was her room, to which she ran crying.So I caught Frannie out by the windowsill smoking! I was horrified and asked her where on earth she had picked up smoking cigarettes? She responded "What makes you think it was a cigarette?" I wasn't sure what to do. Should you make a kid smoke a whole carton of marijuana joints in order to make make her stop smoking?Frannie ran away from home last night. This is a picture Twiggy sent me with a note saying that my conformist, fascist ways were too suffocating for a free thinker like Frannie. Apparently she's headed to California where the individuals are.

So, this is where loving a pet rock gets you. I tried to do my best to give her a better home, and she ripped out my heart and stomped on it with stiletto heels. Please, before you decide to adopt a pet rock, think about my story. Don't make the mistakes I did.

Pet Rocks

Who ever decided that a rock would make a good pet? I can only imagine it was some dad trying to persuade his kid out of a puppy. "You don't want a puppy! They're loud, they smell, they pee on my new leather furniture." Looks wildly around. "I know, lets get you a pet rock! Yeah, a pet rock. They're the greatest. You want a pet rock, don't you son?"

I bring this up because I was browsing through my "How to of the Day" and low and behold, there was an article titled "How to Find a Pet Rock". In fact, I saw more articles about pet rocks than I did regular pets. Seeing as how I have never better to do, I am going to get my own pet rock. I'll let you know how it goes.

Picture

If I could, I would like to be a cartoonist, or at least be able to illustrate my own children's books. I've been trying to improve my drawing skills by reading and studying other artists' work. So, here I have a picture I drew, scanned, and attempted to color using GIMP. I don't think it's too bad, but then again, they say mothers love their ugly children too. Let me know what you think.

Not Supposed to be Barbie by Meg

Random Question of the Day

Why does a lot of cheese smell really bad, and yet taste so delicious? Like blue cheese for instance. It smells like dirty gym socks, and yet I love to crumble it all over my salad. I consulted an expert, Jennifer Williams, Licensed Nurse Practitioner, on this matter.

"It doesn't make sense," Williams said, "as your olfactory sensor and taste sensor are connected together."

I guess we'll never know.

Gay Men and Models

I watched America's Next Top Model and the Search for the New Pussycat Doll last night. In my defense, I was just looking for something mindless to listen to while I folded laundry. You'd think folding laundry was mindless enough in of itself, but I needed more. So. As I was watching, I noticed a strange phenomenon in both shows. Gay men were teaching the women on the show how to be well, women. It made me wonder how far we've come as a society when it takes a man who likes men to show how to be a sexy woman to women who like men. Are our women so liberated that it now takes a man to be a feminine woman? After all, our single women are addressed as "Ms." This guy goes by "Miss J."

On an entirely unrelated note, I totally had a TV like this when I was a kid.

Delve into my Psyche!

This will explain everything to you.

Kitty Found!

First, I want to thank everyone who left encouraging comments. Sometimes I feel silly being attached to a cat, which is such a by-product of me being a spoiled and affluent (by most of the world's standards) person with enough wealth to feed a completely useless animal just because it makes me happy. But still, I don't have babies, so I have kitties instead.

But just like you can empathize, I fully believe God also empathizes with our little pains. There are a lot of important things God's working on, like the salvation of all our souls, but he still takes time to comfort a child over a simple loss. And even better, sometimes he evens answers those simple prayers.

Last night Taylor and I were sitting on the couch and talking after we posted "missing" ads on craigslist and leaving messages with the local shelters. We wondered about how God asks us to be joyful in all circumstances, and what that means for us. If Austin really disappeared, were we to rejoice over that? Or perhaps, knowing that God also says that he works all things for the good of those who love him, rejoice knowing that even if we never discover how or why, God will take tragedies and make something wonderful from them for his purposes.

As we sat musing, we heard a knock on our door. We looked at each in anticipation. We weren't expecting company, so there was no reason for someone to be there, unless ... I opened the door and there was our neighbor, who said "You guys left the interior light on in you car."

Not quite what we were hoping for. I thanked the guy, and left to go turn off the light. And as I was walking back, there I saw a little black furry thing scurry from out under the backstairs of my apartment. I ran up to it, and sure enough, it was Austin! If that guy hadn't warned us about the light, I wouldn't have seen him. But here's the oddest thing yet! The passenger side door of the car hadn't been shut properly, which is why the light was on. But the door had been frozen shut from the ice, and neither Taylor nor I remember opening it that day.

Coincidence, a secularist would say yeah. But for me, I think it was God showing kindness to someone he loves.

Welcome home Austin.

Missing Kitty!

Okay, so I may be jumping the gun a little bit, but I think Austin, my cat, is dead. I let him and his brother outside to play this morning, and only Healey came back. I spent half and hour walking around the parking lot of my building and the buildings next doors calling for Austin, but no sign. I tried following his footprints, but I'm no tracker, and I think he must have powers of teleportation I never knew about because many of the tracks just seemed to end in the middle of my front yard. I've been peeking my head out the door a couples times an hour calling him, but no response. I'm feeling really anxious and sad. I am ridicualously attached to that cat. I adopted him when he was just a puny runt, and nursed him into the obese and adorable cat that he is. Or was. I just can't understand where he could have gone or why he would be gone for so long unless something bad has happened to him. Hopefully, I'll be laughing at this dramatic post tomorrow, but until then I'll keep waiting and try to constrain myself from calling the police.

Snowy Valentine's

So the night before Valentine's Day, Taylor and I, along with our friends the Williams, went to P.F. Chang's for the occasion. We did this on the 13th because that 14th was completely booked, and it turned out to be quite fortuitous that we celebrated a day early.

The weather has been quite cool for a couple weeks now, but the long awaited snow finally arrived yesterday on the 14th. Well, you could call it snow, or you could call it gross, wet slushy stuff, which I think is more accurate of a description. After the gross, slushy stuff came ice pellets that somehow defied physics and managed to fly vertically into my eyes. It was in this treacherous conditions that my car decided it was ready to have its first flat.

I understand that there's a first time for everything, but not when you're parked in a six-inch deep puddle.

But I was okay, because my friend Austin was there to my rescue. While he's normally a bit of a ne're do well, he sprung into action and got me some Fix-a-Flat, filled my tire, and then followed me home to make sure I got there safely. I promised myself I would never let his dad say anything bad about him again.

Even though having a flat tire is really annoying, when I think about all the other things that could have happened, I know that I am blessed. After all, the roads were coated in ice yesterday (and today, come to think of it) and if my car got a flat on my way home, I could have spun out in the middle of a busy street to my fiery doom. Or in less dramatic scenario, I could have gotten a flat and ended up stuck in the sleet on the side of busy road, waiting 45 minutes for a Triple A tow truck that will inevitably arrive an hour late. If we haven't eaten our romantic dinner the night before, we would have missed out on a Valentine's date.

And now today is a beautiful day with bright sun and crisp air. So all in all, I have to say I have it pretty good.

The Goatman

Back in highschool I thought it would be fun to create my own urban myth. I clearly wasn't very good at it, because this story about Camp Goddard is what resulted instead. Recently a friend asked me to remind her of the tale, and since I took all the trouble to write it down for her, I thought I'd share it with the rest of the world. Plus, it saves me from having to write a real entry. Enjoy!

*****

Some 30 or so years ago in the hills near Camp Goddard existed a secret science lab that specialized in genetics. But all the years of researching slowly caused the scientists to go mad, and in a dastardly experiment they created the ultimate abomination ... the goatman. Well, he was really a goatboy at the time, but you get my drift. The sight of the hideous creature they created caused many of the scientists to regain their sanity, and, stunned and shamed by their own creation, they sent the poor goatboy out into the hills near Camp Goddard to fend for himself.

No doubt the goatboy would have perished out in the cold, had not a herd of wild mountain goats came upon him. Being kindly creatures, they adopted him into their herd and raised him. The goatman was very happy, and he loved to tromp the hills near Camp Goddard with his family. Until one tragic day ...

The goat herd decided it was that time of year where they had to go to the grassy side of Goddard, and in order to do so they had to cross a major four lane highway. Now, this highway had just been recently expanded from a two lane to its present state, so while the goats were used to crossing the road, they had yet to experience the rigors of multi-lane traffic. They told the goatman to wait last, since he had never crossed asphalt before, and one by one they started to cross. The bloodshed was indescribable, but I'll try my best. Four semis, two SUVs, three sports cars and a minivan, all traveling well over the speed limit, took out the goatman's entire goat family. Staring in horror at the carnage before him, the goatman raised his cloven fist to the sky and swore revenge upon all fast-moving vehicle, in particular minivans, which had caused the most destruction.

After that, the goatman roamed the hills of Goddard looking for stranded vehicles upon which to take his revenge. Any poor traveler who found himself stranded would be immediately attacked by the goatman, who would jump on their cars and create a numerous amount of golf-ball sized dents in their hoods and roofs (the worse part for the traveler was later trying to prove to his insurance that he had be attacked by a goatman and wasn't just a poor swing with a golf club.)

Life continued this way for many years for the goatman, until one day he came upon a minivan broken down on the side of the road. Readying himself to jump on the hood, the goatman looked inside the vehicle and made eye-contact with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was a bearded-woman. She had fled from a nearby circus after being spurned by the two-headed man, who said she was just too freaky-looking for him. The goatman was so taken by her that instead of attacking her, he offered to take her to the nearest gas station so she could call Triple A. While waiting the standard forty-five minutes for the tow truck to come, the bearded lady and the goatman sat outside the gas station eating hot dogs and discussing life. By the time the tow truck arrived an hour late, all he found was an abandoned minivan, for the goatman and the bearded lady decided to run off together and get married.

And once again, the goatman was happy, tromping around the hills of Camp Goddard with his beloved. But little did they know that tragedy was to strike again ...

The bearded lady was convinced that the goatman needed to face his fear of the four lane highway, so after much persuasion, they went to the highway together. It was midnight, and the air was still. She began to cross the highway, reassuring the goatman that everything would be all right, when they suddenly heard the sound of a roaring engine. It was a tour bus for the Backstreet Boys. The bearded lady tried to run, but the bus managed to clip her and she fell to the ground. The goatman watched in horror as she struggled to rise to her feet, only to be trampled by the hoard of screaming fanatic groupies who where chasing the tour bus. No one could have survived such an onslaught. Tears brimming in his eyes, the goatman once again swore revenge upon all fast moving vehicles AND boy bands. He ran into the woods, and he has been living there ever since.

So if you are ever alone in the wood near Camp Goddard, don't sing "God must have spent a little more time on you," don't sing "Bye, Bye, Bye" for it could be the last song you sing, for you will be hit by THE GOATMAN. Muah ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA!

O Canada!

So, we made it back from our Niagara vacation and managed not to slide off an icy road into oblivion. Instead, we got to be cheated at every turn by friendly Canadians who made up for the currency value differences by charging twice what every item is really worth. Seriously. I paid nearly $10.00 for a pack of single blade razors, also know nick sticks.

But we knew what we were getting into. After all, when it lost it's status of the honeymoon capital of the world Niagara worked to become the number one tourist trap in the world. The center of town, known as Clifton Hill, is so packed with touristy entertainment that I felt like I stepped into ToonLand at Disney.

We didn't just spend ten dollars a pop for rides and exhibits at Clifton Hill. We were also sophisticated enough to tour several wineries and sample some of Canada's famous ice wine. If you think you don't like wine, you've obviously never had ice wine. It's so sweet and syrupy, it's like drinking fruit juice (imagine that - fermented fruit juice tasting like fruit juice). This is no Welches juice however, as is indicated by the $60 to $100 dollar price tag. I could explain to you the process of ice wine, but that's what wikipedia is for. A little word to the wise - when wine sampling, be sure to eat before you sample. It's amazing how ten one ounce samples of wine can really catch up to you.

All in all, it was a great trip. The best part was just being able to be with my favorite person, Taylor, for longer than four hours at a time. It was a time for us to reconnect, be close, and have pillow fights on a king size bed.

Those interested in viewing slides of the gorgeous Niagara falls and the two gorgeous people (ahem, that would be Taylor and me), you can click here.

Where to Go to Escape Winter in Boston? Niagara Falls!

Most couples in the North would plan their winter vacation somewhere warm, like Florida, Bermuda, or somewhere below the Ecuador. Not the Plotts, however. Not for us a week basking on the beach, escaping from the Boston Cold. We're going to Niagara Falls, baby, and we say bring it on!

Not that it's been all that cold up here anyway. It seems like the average temperature has been around 50 degrees ("And they say there's no global warming!" "Yes, thank you, Bob"), so we have yet to experience the bone-chilling, teeth-rattling cold that these Northerners like to boast about ( Actually, Taylor experienced that last year, in March, when he drove down 93 in a blizzard, but I was blissfully away at home planning our upcoming wedding. ).

However, a cold front is coming through this weekend, which happens to perfectly correspond with our vacation from Cold, MA to Even Colder, NY. Fortunately, I prepared by spending too much money on knee high boots and cardigan sweaters. They may not completely practical for icy weather, but when they find my frozen body come spring, at least I'll be nicely dressed.

This will be my and Taylor's first vacation together at a couple. We each have prepared in our different ways. Taylor spent hours on the Internet planning the perfect itinerary to make sure we made the most of every opportunity of enjoying ourselves. I prepared by spending hours on the Internet buying clothes. What can I say? I also like to make the most of every opportunity ... Okay, so I'm weak.

So stay posted friends, for the next installment of the Plott's Niagara Adventure! Trust, barrels will be involved somehow.

Is there a such thing as privacy anymore?

After I post a picture of my license, my friend Taylor W. kindly emailed me and advised me to blur out my personal information "just in case." Which was really good advice, since as so many highschoolers who have posted their drunken orgy pictures on MySpace have discovered, the internet is a public place. Not that I was really concerned, because I know only one person reads this blog, and that would be Taylor W., and he's not taking over my identity any time soon. Although, if I notice that I've been purchasing a bunch of Settlers of Catan expansion packs lately then I might have to look into it our friendship.

But really, is there such a thing as privacy anymore (You can tell I was leading up to this because of the title of my posting!)? Someone could easily look up my name in the yellowpages, or Google me, or just check any of the many forms that ask for a social security number to access information about me. Gone are the days when someone could set out West, stake a claim and isolate themselves from the world. And if you do, you're likely to get tagged as the next Unibomber. It seems like the concept of privacy is more in our minds than actually in our lives. I mean, the very fact that I'm keeping an online diary illustrates my point. So, gentle readers, please don't go stealing my identity or anything. It would really put a damper on my day.

So I'm a licensed real estate agent now ... that's doesn't mean I'm rich.

I successfully passed the Massachusetts state exam and earned my real estate license. I also managed to pass the first time around, which is a big accomplishment, as I am the only one in my office to have done so.

"Wow Meghan, you are so awesome!"

I know, thanks.

I have to admit, this whole real estate agent thing is turning out a little differently than I thought. Being a commissioned employee who sets her own schedule, I pictured a life of ease showing clients apartments in the afternoon and leaving around the office around 4:00, returning home and cooking and cleaning the house, thus becoming the perfect working wife. Well, if "perfect working wife" means not leaving the office until after 6:30, not cooking and not cleaning, then I'm doing really well right now.

Perhaps it was my naivete, but I honestly didn't consider the fact that the clients I would be working with would have jobs. And most people with jobs don't get out of work until 6:00. Of course, I could try to target people without jobs, but they tend to not have a little thing called money, which I hear is pretty important if you want to do things like eat and live in an apartment.

The good news is that I'm genuinely enjoying myself. The even better news is that I'm genuinely enjoying myself out of the pharmacy. Yes, it's true! I have left the Dismal Pharmacy Job! Let me tell you, quiting a job like that is so freeing. First of all, because I wouldn't be working for practically minimum wage until 8:00 at night, and second of all because I got to spend my last week telling customers what I really thought of them. After all, it's not like I was going to get fired.

Me: "You know sir, I would be able to get your prescription faster if you would stop coming up to me every five minutes and asking if it is finished yet."

Me: "Yes, I am quiting. Why? As a matter of fact, you're a big reason!"

However, I'm starting to have a sinking feeling that the same people who got their prescriptions at Brook's pharmacy are the same ones who call me asking if I have any two-bedroom apartments available for under $900 that will take their "small" 60 pound dog. Oh, and by the way, they're in between jobs right now and their credit score is "okay." Why won't these people leave me alone? I must give out some sort of pheromone.

For instance, I'm writing this blog posting because I had a 5:30 appointment that just called me and asked if she could move our meeting up to 6:30.

Her: "You don't mind, right?"

Me: "Of course not. It's not like I have a life to get to anytime soon or anything like that. Afterall, I keep a blog."

Hopefully my new schedule will allow many more opportunities for me to allow my wit to run long. 'Til next time, laugh with me at my real estate license picture!

Um, yeah, they used a web camera to take my picutre. I swear I'm not that squatty.