Vomit

Alright, alright...

For those of you who I have been talking to on a constant basis, I THANK YOU and boy do you have a treat of delicious French macaroons from Laduree coming to you!

So if you don't want to continue reading (because I'm going to complain again, you can stop). The post is self-titled so I'm warning you that it's going to get gross.

I take the RER A every day to work. It's like being herded into a cattle car and it smells like one too. Actually the smell is the sour stench of human sweat. It's disgusting. The only way I get through the 5 min ride from Champs Elysee to La Defense is to douse my scarf with perfume and put it over my nose as I am trying to avoid my head from being in some dude's armpit.

Maybe you don't believe me, but trust me on this. I've imagined that this might be the transportation that hell provides to its newly condemned population.

Today, I got on the train. It was crowded as usual and I positioned my scarf in the usual way, but GOD ALMIGHTY there was a smell that could have stripped you naked and left you shivering. Not until most of the people got off at La Defense, did I get to see what the stench was. It was not the sweat of morning commuters, it was vomit---a lovely parting gift that had dried on to the inner door of the train.

At the very moment that my eye glanced upon it, I was flabbergasted. I hustled my way to the next car and thought, "My god - what kind of person would do that?' but moreover I thought of all those people sitting in the train and standing next to it like there was nothing wrong with it! 'What kind of people would accept this as a part of their daily lives?'

I decided to banish the thought and lock it away forever, but then it happened again. I saw more vomit on the platform at Champs Elysee on my commute home and then more on my way to see my friend.

What is going on with this country? Why do people just lean over and vomit? Why are people okay with it? France just seems to be one huge contradiction after the next. It has wonderful glorious museums and to-die-for baked goods but then there's dog shit and vomit everywhere. I just don't get it.

Expertly avoiding dog shit (and now vomit)
Your truly,
Susan

Where do I start?

First - I want to caveat this post by stating that I am not feeling any joie de vivre as of yet. I don't know when I'm going to hit that stride.

So if you want to read about how I rode down a quaint cobblestone street on my bicycle filled with baguettes, wine and cheese on my way to a picnic along the Seine, stop reading.

I am going to give you the real Paris from a New Yorker's point of view. I see a lot of shit, specifically dog shit, from my side. It comes in so many various colors here, I keep wondering what the hell they feed their dogs? In fact I stepped in some soggy dog shit my first week here. When I recount my story to French people, they ask me right away which foot it was. It was my right foot- apparently it's lucky if you step in it with your left. I say fuck it's not lucky ever, EVER--especially if you are wearing your cute mostly open patent leather black flats. Dog shit is such a part of a Parisian's every day life that they've made up a stupid thing to say to those unlucky enough to step in it.

Carefully avoiding all sorts of excrement...
Yours Truly,
Susan

Haiti is not a popularity contest

For Israelis, Mixed Feelings on Aid Effort
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/22/world/middleeast/22israel.html?em

I am disappointed by the position that Israel's leaders who feel they will be quickly forgotten for being the first to send help to Haiti. Isn't the point to actually provide aid and medical relief to Haiti's victims not to seek recognition for it?

I didn't realize that sending aid to Haiti was a popularity contest. It's like Miss America saying, 'I want to save all of Africa's babies' to the question 'What would you do if you were Miss America?'

Shame on you--- Israeli leaders!

As I was watching CNN's coverage on Haiti, it was heart warming to see that the first baby delivered after the disaster was at an Israeli medical center. The mother named her newborn Israel in honor of the country who was first to send medical aid and safely deliver her child among the devastation.

I applaud that Israel was one of the first countries to send medical help.
Disasters will never cease to arise and all countries should follow in its example. Perhaps Israel can be the nation to lead all other countries in first response disaster relief training and deployment so that countries that can help will provide it more quickly and effectively.

If it were up to me I'd give Israel 10 gold stars but then take half of them away because it was being a demanding brat.

Eww thet moob pic is so gross.

Here's a better one.....

MOOBS

Holy shit! When I came across this picture, I actually gagged. UGH - I'm still sort of dry heaving. Wait - hold on give me sec......

I know that this is a medical condition called gynecomastia. And yes, I can take the route of talking about how sad it is that there are men who go through the psychological and emotional torture of having to endure something like this. BUT COME ON! That's not why you are reading my blog. If the picture offends you, navigate away from this site immediately.

I think that most men have MOOBS because they are fat or were fat and out of shape. To these men, I say to get on a treadmill pronto and do some push ups. Your secret might be safe in the winter when you can cover yourself up with a thick sweater most likely knit by a close female relative, specifically grandmothers who love you no matter what.

I'm going to let you in on a secret. Women know. We know. And you know deep down that the reason why the same women who were calling you in the winter have suddenly disappeared or are too busy for you. That's right... warm weather. You can't hide your MOOBS. The double t-shirt thing just doesn't work. Go ahead put on three for all I care. Wearing t-shirts in the pool or in the ocean is even worse. Wet t-shirts have a way of clinging to your (ahem) curves.

I bet you are really nice and funny in your own way. I'm sure that there is a woman out there who is a 1 or even a 4 who might want to be with you because you are really nice and sweet.(http://uvtblog.com/2009/01/keeping-it-real-the-real-scale-of-1-10/)
Be forewarned that by procreating with them you are effectively removing any trace of yourselves from the gene pool. Do yourselves a favor and go to the gym. We want to see you out there with your shirt off proudly displaying your pecs not MOOBS, playing shirtless ultimate frisbee or basketball.

GOT MILK?

So the one thing about being slick is that you have to actually cover all your bases to actually pull off being slicker than thou. So I ask you now, "Got milk?"

So Slick Rick was dating a whole bunch of girls at the same time. (I don't mind this actually, we all need to to do this to optimize our free time in searching for Mr./ Ms. Right.) The catch is he started dating my sister, the Super Sleuth. They had had a talk about being upfront and honest and about each other's dating situation from the start so she assumed that Slick Rick would comply. Not so. On their most recent date night, he was obnoxiously texting a mystery person back and forth. (Suspicious? Yes.) Then as soon they got back to his place, he said he needed to go out and get some milk? That was completely understandable because he drinks a lot of it.

Call it a woman's intutition or her super Sherlock Holmes skills but she was compelled to check his refrigerator to see if he actually had milk. Turns out he did.... and that it was 2/3 full .... and its expiration date was a full month from that day. Hmmmm... even more suspicious is the fact that he ran back into the apt without the milk saying he forgot his wallet. He is not an absentminded type of guy so if his sole purpose for going out was to buy milk, why would he leave his wallet behind but take his phone?

DUH! What an idiot!!!

When it rains it pours --

Doggone-it prats! Confounded idiots who should be banished to a desert island of idiots to compete for drinking water in a thunderdome style battle. Excuse my lame attempt at cursing without using expletives. Anyway bad things happen to good people and bad people and good things happen to both but some feel like it's luck and the others just think they deserve it.

OMG! How can the bad just pour down on both Jane and me at the SAME time???! I am confused by this -- events happen in 3's but to both of us at the same time? Mathematically it would look something like this 2x(3x3x3) =666??? Yes, that would make it the mark of the beast.

Really though, all kidding aside - it's been a shitastically turd burglar type of day and it all started the other day with the crazy drunk guy telling us he just went through his second divorce, almost puking on us while sitting really close to us, then trying to lean on me to touch Jane's face THEN to top it all off as we were scrambling to leave because we were so weirded out he grabbed the back of my coat and wouldn't let go. REALLY??!! Did that really need to happen? Wait I think the thing that happened to us today was the last one. YES!

BTW - ENTJ's may rule the world but will be tremendously unhappy doing so

Are you freaking kidding me about these career options????
I don't want to be any of these!!

* Corporate Executive Officer; Organization Builder (bleh)
* Computer Consultant (bleh)
* Lawyer (BLEH!!)
* Judge (bleh!)
* Business Administrators and Managers (OMG, this one doesn't even merit a bleh, but BLEH!!!!!
* University Professors and Administrators

* Entrepreneur (MAYBE THIS ONE THOUGH! - Birdie post to follow!)

ENTJ - The Field Marshal

Extrovert
Intuitive
Thinking
Judging

The other night, Jane went out on a date with a prototypical Type A. The Myers Brigg's personality assessment would put him in the upper right quadrant. I took the test on http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp , which is a condensed version of the MB.

Turns out -- you guessed it! I am a Field Marshall. I think there are only 2-3% of us out there. I think it has to do with limiting the gene pool with pushy demanding people. Field Marshals are just that... they like to marshal the field - they like structure and organization and they like to be bossy and think they are always right. They have feelings but don't respond to them, more often than not, ENTJ's repress them.

Now imagine a world full of these types of people -- we'd always be fighting with each other -- getting nothing done at all. What we need are soldiers to carry out our plans... reach our goals.. get the job done...and you better not question the orders.

Are ENTJ's doomed to never find people to relate to on a personal level? I'm guessing you need to know what your feelings are to relate to other's feelings right? To make it even tougher for the ENTJ's, there are more S/F's than Thinking/Judging types. It all sounds Greek to me when people tell me how they feel. I'm always trying to find a solution to my friends' problems when they tell me they are sad, depressed, etc. I can't just let them stay that way for an extended time or else I get frustrated and want to run for the nearest exit. With me, they get 30 min max to talk about their problems and I get to find a solution for them -- plan next steps, conflict resolution, strategy, etc.

How typically ENTJ of me but I have a solution for this problem already. Here it is...

If I am to get along with others and play nice... I'm supposed to develop my N(intuitive)side. So I will try to just "know" when I am being overbearing or else will someone please put me in check and just tell me? I am going to try to "know" when people need to be in their depressed states or just be left alone. AND FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS, I will listen to my gut when it says I should back off. And I will listen more and try to commiserate and empathize with people.

This is going to be a tough year for me.... I am going to do 5 unassisted pull ups and be more sensitive to people's feelings? Sounds like a plan to me!

Love is a battlefield???

I try not to think that way -- as much as this song is among my top karaoke songs, I think it's too fatalistic.

I've always tried to stay away from the tantrums and baggage that come along with L-O-V-E. If love were a battlefield I'd be a sniper or a runner (one of those messengers who take info back and forth from the front line to HQ). I've always danced along the periphery and never really dove in. I don't like to get my hands dirty.

Then I met the Lieutenant and things changed. I opened up more and it was easy to do it because the he was soooo far away. It was so far away that it could even have been Oz.... oh wait, it was. He didn't make any demands on me, I didn't make any demands on him and it was really fantastic. It was sort of like having a pen pal who was turning into my best friend. There were times when it would have been nice to share things with him -- like maybe hold hands on a cold day -- show him my fave ramen joints -- go bicycle riding and join in reckless randomness but overall I was pretty content with the situation.

It was a nice little bundled up quasi-relationship and I absolutely enjoyed spending my virtual time with him; emails, skype, texts, phone calls. All of it was easy to digest -- not confusing at all. Then I went to go see him and things unraveled. Perhaps my expectations were too high -- maybe things just sped up too quickly -- our time together was stressed and it was like being in warp-speed headed for a big asteroid or something. I got confused and I think he did too. Maybe I should have held back but I dove in head on. It was important that I prove that I wasn't afraid to show someone how I felt - more importantly I needed to prove this to myself.

I remember talking to my sis about all this before I left for my trip. She told me that I didn't need to be afraid of it and that even if it felt like someone tore out my heart, ripped it to shreds and stomped all over it, that I'd be okay. Reluctantly I agreed because I just didn't want to talk about it anymore. Yeah, yeah whatever, I thought. And it happened to me - I got hurt -- but I survived. I told the Lt I loved him and things just didn't work out. I was sad and it felt bittersweet but as more time passes my memories are sweeter, less bitter.

Next time? You ask? I don't know when that's going to happen. I've always been more cautious with people whom I truly like --- maybe even grow to love. I might get on that battlefield and work my way up to the front line. I might not even have to fight for it at all -- I might just let it happen in its own way. I'll be ready for it though and I won't be afraid of it.