Pore me

This just in from my dermatologist: There is no way - do you here me? - no way to effectively shrink the pores in my nose.

But she did give me a goodie bag full of Retin-A in case I wanted to try. She also hooked me up with twelve samples of high quality face lotion and eight samples of sunscreen. Beats any birthday party I've been to in awhile (although I did receive a tiny fez-wearing monkey at the last fete, which is nothing to complain about).

Sleep is where I'm asleep

At this moment, there is nothing more inviting then the twin-bed-sized patch of carpet next to my computer. It calls to me, beckoning me to give my door a gentle tap, sending it shut, and avail myself of its industrial-quality glory.* Nevermind that it is undoubtedly strewn with bits of loose tea and graham cracker crumbs.
The only thing that at the moment that would rival that would be a hot fudge malt from the diner nearby. But alas, even slurping sounds too difficult (they do make 'em thick).

*The carpet was put in a year ago, and selected from a series of office carpets unified by a Chicago theme. This one was called "lakeshore," I believe. One option in the series was "deep dish pizza," a revolting orange with green and brown flecks. Pizza carpet? I admire the creativity, but eww.

Squirrelly

Cabin fever is setting in... send help! Husband and I escaped the city with a trip down to our alma mater to reminisce and eat at old hang-outs and smell the library and see college theatre featuring a previously-mentioned boy that I think is cute (although not as cute with the play-necessitated haircut). This weekend, thank god, I will be escaping to the wilds of the north, where there is hopefully enough snow for recreational activities. Am contemplating more cabin trips in March but am not sure whether that is a Wise Idea.

I celebrated Valentine's Day by getting up at 5 a.m. OK, I woke up early because I'd gone to sleep at 9 with a cold, but I did enjoy standing outside in the eerie silent dark of morning, amidst snow-frosted and laden trees, shoveling the wet snow in my lime green pajamas and coat.

Chew on this

As I was getting very close and personal with the mirror last night, working the floss carefully between each tooth as instructed by my dental hygienist, I wondered why Americans are so obsessed about teeth. Now I'm all for dental hygiene, but why exactly are dentists separate from doctors? Why do we have dental insurance and health insurance? What we get from all our obsessiveness is freakishly up-to-date information. Every time I go something has changed... they've realized that polishing is actually not very good for your teeth, and they have that annoying little tool for measuring the number of millimeters between your gums and teeth. "What I really want," I thought, as the mirror revealed just how large the pores on my nose are, "is someone to pay this much attention to dermatology." Why are we still getting zits in our mid-twenties? Why can no one give me a straight answer about moles? Help, medical industry! Why do you throw us to the mercy of the evil skin care industry that is Biore, with their empty promises and overpriced products?

You know you're lame...

when you own husband doesn't even read your blog! Yes, he cooked me a fabulous dinner last night, and snuggled with me while watching West Wing, and admired my abs when his hand rested on my stomach while snuggling, and encouraged me to get a chocolate malt (!) at the coffeeshop, and listen to me blab on and on at the coffeeshop because my book wasn't very good....
But he does not read my blog! So hee hee... it's like a guilt trip in advance... when he finally gets around to reading, he'll just find this and feel bad! Heh heh heh.

When BYOB goes horribly wrong

Our Super Bowl party host instructed his twenty-or-so guests to bring something to the party - namely BYOB.
Eighteen people brought food: four bowls of guacamole, two huge vegetable trays, four extra large pizzas, a platter of tacos, two pans of bars and a chocolate-chocolate cake, several giant bags of chips, a baked artichoke dip, french onion dip and potato chips, several bags of Skittles and Rolos, a cheese and salami platter, and feta-spinach tartlets.
And yes, that left two people who brought beverages: two six-packs of beer and one two-liter of Coke.
Hee hee.

If I'd only had one of those whistles...

Last weekend I got to do something that I've always wanted to do: direct traffic with one of those orange flags. I'm not talking about those blistered and miserable-looking people who have to hold a caution sign for hours. Rather, I stood in gorgeous 40-degree weather warning people not to drive down a road because it was closed at the end. Why was I doing this? Because I care about the local urban cross-country ski race (for which the 40-degree day was not so much a blessing). The best part was that if people blew off my warning and screamed past me, they were stuck having to turn around and slink back to my intersection, where I'd coolly glance over and give them the Look. [It might be helpful for readers to know that I was a Patrol Captain in 4th grade. Not only did my bright orange sash have a metal police-like badge pinned to it, but I got to leave class before lunch to escort the afternoon kindergarteners. In the winter we were allowed to help ourselves to cocoa from the staff lounge, where we discovered the golden ratio that is 4 parts cocoa powder to 1 part water].
This is why I volunteer - where else do you get to do fabulous things like watch famous athletes pee and wear reflective orange vests?
In other not-so-glamorous volunteering, I also worked two hours at our church's nursery. Wise of them, putting six teeny-tinys (I'd give you the ages, but I have no idea) in the care of a person who has never changed a diaper and who left a co-worker's very small child unattended in a wooden-armed office chair.