But Call Me Betsy

It is impossible to take a flattering picture of yourself using this so-called digital camera. But since my mom has requested a photo of my new haircut, I give you:

I have a temperamental relationship with my i-pod. Half the time, it doesn't work. It's acted funky ever since it got wet and so it sometimes doesn't shut off and then runs out of steam in the middle of an important walk, leaving my soundtrackless. I was thinking the other day how so many of the bands or songs that I have on it can be attributed specifically to certain guys I dated for either a short or long period of time: Lemonheads, Toad the Wet Sprocket: The Bartender with the Concave Chest. We went out a few times but he was too young for me and had super skinny legs. REM (Monster c.d. only), Cracker's "Low": The Other Bartender with the Drinking Problem. Flaming Lips: Not Over His Wife Yet. I said, I love you. He said, Oh, I think of you fondly! That was the end of that. Aimee Mann's "That's Just What You Are," Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me": The Poet Who Made Me Numerous Mixes. But who was also too young for me and

Can't believe it's been a week since I wrote; mainly because I was out of town for a couple of nights to have Christmas at Jodie's brother's house, but also because I've been taking long daily walks and knitting and this has exhausted me completely. Since I never manage to keep my even most well-meaning resolutions for more than two days, I have decided to create a list that I am sure I can handle: 1. Gain at least twenty-pounds, mostly in my ass and face so that I am disproportionately large and will have to start wearing size 14 pants. 2. Drink more, preferably hard liquor such as cheap gin with tap water. 3. Have meaningless, unfulfilling one-night stands with numerous stupid men. 4. Read fewer books. 5. Stop taking vitamins. Consume more sugar and processed foods. 6. Drive everywhere instead of walking. 7. Discontinue recycling. Insist that produce and such be wrapped in extra plastic bags at the grocery store. 8. Procrastinate as much as possible. Pay all bills

Yesterday was Joe's last day and he has spent the three weeks since giving his notice locked in his office trying to finish a feature and tie up loose ends. I did manage to drag him out to the dollar store where he bought me a Diet Coke (50 cents). Later, we all went to Lucky Strikes for a fare thee well hurrah and I had the lowest score, mainly because I can't throw the ball without spinning it or thunking it directly into the gutter. I discovered that Joe is excellent at recognizing movie quotes in like one line, particularly those related to Top Gun . He also got ones from Bull Durham and The Princess Bride ("As you wish.") Did not get the one from Pretty Woman. Joe wore a bowling shirt and approached the lane with his quiet confidence. Alberta, who claims to have never been in a bowling alley in her life, beat out Joe by a few points to be the surprise winner. I had secretly hoped I would be a natural bowler, but I was not. The only real casualty of the day was

Here are the most unhappiest Christmas dolls that ever existed, followed by the most ornate reindeer that ever existed. South Philly is the best place for finding superlatives. Find the kitty:

I am having some difficulty lately keeping my emotions in check, must be the whole dark weather thing and no sunlight and my toe hurts and also I really, really need to take a shower. I can't wait to get home to do that. But something that does make me laugh is this video that I finally figured out how to upload to blogger. This is what my cousin Steph, my Aunt JoAnne and I did on Friday night. We made lego constructions; JoAnne's was the most abstract. At one point, she said that we wouldn't be allowed to go to bed until all of the 5,000 pieces were used up. I like this video b/c you can see how often she uses her hands to express herself. Like, she didn't know I was focusing just on a close-up, but still, she's very expressive. She could be a hand model for QVC for sure. Here are two other photos of windows I passed in South Philly on my way to work and then on my way back. The first has a sign you probably can't read that says "God Bless America with a n

I have made it home, though to do so, I spent sixteen hours at the airport before my flight was due to taxi down the runway. Mom's plane left at 9- ish from Omaha so we had to leave Giltner at 6- ish and then my flight to Minneapolis took off at 2:30. I finally arrived at 9:45 p.m. and was giddy to see the cats. Nothing of note on any of the flights, except that I sat next to a guy on the ride to Philadelphia who didn't bring anything to read or look at or do. He just stared at his hands. He tried to talk to me, but I'm not very friendly. He said, Did you go home for the holidays? I said, Yes, no. I mean, I went to Omaha but now I'm going home to Philadelphia. He said, Huh. I didn't ask him any questions. I pretended to be suddenly interested in my NY Times crossword puzzle. The woman on the other side of me snoozed most of the way, which was fine. Even though I had a long day, the flights seemed to go quickly--must be faster coming back to Philly, plus we had th

Here is the pony who shall star in our film. Her name is Shasta. Is she not beautiful, for spacious skies? Now all we need is a Ken doll and we shall be in business. Tonight, we ate macaroni and Velveeta cheese and chicken nuggets. Even as I type this, Sam is putting together a train display for the holidays. He is meticulously setting up Lego tiers so that we can see all of the trains.

This is a quite blurry photo of the Virgin Mary that lives on my grandma's back patio. I tried also to take a picture of the trees in the back yard, but couldn't get them in focus. I was hoping that I would be really good at photography, you know, like some kind of instant prodigy, but I'm not. It would help if I would read the instructions that came with the camera, but why would I want to make it easier? In other news, my cousin Stephanie is going to help me with this stop motion photography project that Lisa Marie and I want to do. Did I write about this before? Can't remember. Well, my parents brought me my childhood dollhouse when they last visited and so I thought it would be fun t o use it to make a short video for YouTube or whatever. The song I want to use is Tracey Ullman's "They Don't Know About Us" and it will involve these secret loves that each m ember of the family has. So Steph is finding me a rugged Ken doll and will also supply a plas

I'm staying at my Aunt JoAnne's and she has some of the best food that I never get to eat such as Cheetos. I don't know how much actual cheese or real food are incorporated into Cheetos (I believe it's 1% cheese powder and 99% chemicals), but I really don't care because they are so good. I am leaving orange fingerprints everywhere I go. I must be careful not to commit a crime before I shower as they will surely be able to track me down. Yesterday, we went to the mall and Best Buy and got my Christmas present. Can you guess what it is? Are you wondering if from here on out you might be inundated by various photos of the cats doing really nothing exceptional? Over and over? You will. Pictured above, you will see a lovely photograph of my one and only mother. Below, please find my most artistic photo to date. Those are the legs of my grandmother. As you can see, I am a natural with the digital camera. Please note that it is 3 degrees above zero and she's wearing sa

Oh, and cute little rabbit pawprints in the snow which I spotted last night in JoAnne's front yard. We also saw several pheasants dorkily running across the road and Grandpa's farm lit up with white lights. Very pretty and strange too to keep running into these achingly familiar yet distant things like the Hoffman's mailbox and the Giltner water tower and the long stretches of white dotted with cows and horses here and there and brown stalks of corn peeking out of the ground. My Aunt M. brought over a shoebox of old photos from when I was little and also my mom's childhood pictures and it's great and sad to see all of us there, particularly grandpa. There's a photo of him holding me, I'm one year old or so, and he's about to give me a bath in a tub in the kitchen and he's kissing my cheek and seeing it, I thought, Oh, he loved me so so much. How lucky I was to have that and also how hard it was to lose it. Today, we will go back over to Grand Island

After traveling for 72 hours yesterday, finally made it to Omaha and then on to Grand Island (where my grandma lives) and then to Giltner (population 204 + me now) . Oops, have to run. More later... A

Went with Lisa Marie and her bf John and my other friend Ingrid S. to a couple of art shows this weekend. For the occasion, I attempted to look more alternative by putting my hair in two side buns ala Princess Leia. I believe I looked slightly like a very special girl who should've also been wearing a crash helmet. At one place, we were crammed into a room with 1,001 hipsters and a man dressed as a woman who was the photographer. Please, please, please God do not let my photo appear on any art web sites; I don't photograph well when I haven't had five minutes to practice my fake smile. I always come off as appearing shocked and discombobulated as though someone has just told me that my skirt is tucked into my underwear. I couldn't tell you what the art was like; there were too many people blocking it. Then we walked 500 blocks to Vox Populi , this great loft space in Chinatown. They had a video installation on running loop; I only saw two of them. The first was a girl f

We had our last painful graduate class with our theatrical teacher and the assorted cast of characters minus the angry lesbian and the dude who answered his cell phone during class, left to buy soup and slurped it up while we were discussing Lawrence, and checked his email from his laptop. Occasionally, he also said something. Who else? Agnes, whom I love because she has a beautiful accent and is shy and pretty and shares the same name as my grandmother. Molly, my friend and co-worker, who would never look at me during class for fear of bursting out laughing and several times unsuccessfully attempted to open bags of pretzels and failed because of the crinkling noise. The Jesus guy, and a few other people who tried very hard to pretend we were learning something and not just stuck in a show starring our loud, dramatic instructor who boomed out pronouncements in voice loud enough to induce Molly's migraines. On the last night, I presented my analysis of "The Death of Ivan Ilych&

I should not be surprised that instead of admitting any kind of wrong-doing or lying or bullshit or intentional cover-up for financial gain, the president responded to the knowledge that Iran has absolutely no nuclear weapons and halted production four years ago, by saying we should still be afraid. We must still blow them up. I cannot listen to this primate masquerading as a human masquerading as a leader speak. He sounds like an illiterate Southerner. We have a president who cannot pronounce words, you guys. Who sounds as though he's speaking through a mouthful of cotton or the haze of Oxycotin. I'm sure I've said this before, but how is it that we twice elected someone who cannot pronounce the word "nuclear" and instead says "newclur" every single time? I like Barak Obama but I am sure he won't win. I am not confident that Hillary will win either. I honestly don't think our country is progressive enough to elect a female president. We're s

I swear to you that I never watch these prime time make-over shows, especially after I read that some of the families who had their houses made over later found themselves in big financial trouble because they couldn't afford the taxes on the much bigger property (I think this problem was resolved in later episodes). However, NPR was playing some kind of nerve-jangling jazz and Bravo had on a rerun of Criminal Intent and so I started watching this network show and I swear to God, within four minutes, I was in tears. And you know how I mostly only cry when physically wounded. But come on, this family was ridiculous; a wife and husband and their four adorable tow-headed children, all of whom were suffering from some life-threatening illness that would likely kill them before the end of the hour. It was some kind of blood disease or boy in the plastic bubble disease where they were allergic to oxygen and couldn't eat food but had to be fed through (discrete) feeding tubes. But of

Instead of wearing hairnets and dumping instant mashed potatoes on plastic trays at a shelter, our office opted to give bodily fluids for the holidays. We all signed up, went to lunch at the Draft Horse beforehand, and then bravely headed to Liacouras Center where we were each asked in turn in three different ways if we had slept with prostitutes, had unprotected sex with someone who was HIV+, had the skin on our body replaced in the last several months, any new tattoos or piercings, or been partying it up in Africa. I held my tongue about my years in the early eighties turning tricks in Haiti while recovering from my heroin addiction brought on by difficult my kidney transplant. One of the best things about my job is the people I work with. Everybody is great in a different way; Greg is unbelievably funny, Alberta is calm and caring, Joe will answer any question you pose without pause or judgement (yesterday, I asked him if he thought he was born in the wrong time period. He didn'

Well, if by almost, you count that we have been at a few of the same social gatherings, and if you count that he might have just been pretending to have zero interest in me, and if you count that if we were introduced again tomorrow, he would politely shake my hand and say, Hi, Annie. Be that as it may, I do sort of know this guy--Val/Matt of Val Emmich , the indie pop band with all attractive members. Val/Matt is the lead singer and also adorable and has an agent and so got this part on 30 Rock wherein he gets to kiss Tina Fey. Look, look at his dirty li'l hipster cute pensiveness! We first met at Julie and Danny's wedding, where my other friend, Jess and I were single gals living it up in our high heels. I danced a song (or two?) with Val and at the end of the song, put both hands on his face and said, I think you will go far. I think you are a very special person. Apparently, I had been watching way too many Dawson's Creek reruns. I think he said, Gee, thanks, ma'a

Now that I have nearly 500 songs on my i-pod (had more but accidentally deleted them all and had to start over), I am starting to realize that my taste in music is pretty goofy. I almost always listen to the i-pod on "shuffle," and then fitfully hit "next song" if I don't like what comes on until I find something I do want to hear. More often than I'd like to admit, the song I settle on is by Greenday or BareNaked Ladies or Blind Melon or The Lemonheads. Tragic. Got to meet Padhraig's sister and her boyfriend on Sunday. Padhraig made brunch and we got to taste real, smuggled in Irish bacon. Then we walked downtown and the Suzanne and Carrie went to the spa and Padhraig and Richard and I went to Macy's. We walked down to Borders and Padhraig found my book. They had five in stock at the Philadelphia store and a few in other area stores. Very exciting. They also had them alphabetized in the wrong place, but I asked the guy and he moved them. Richard bou

Felt like that old woman in the story by Flannery O'Connor today as I browsed Circle Thrift and found myself followed by two little African-American kids--one was about three (the boy) and the other was maybe 6 (the girl). They were with their grandma and something I said to them made them think they could talk to me and then the little girl came asked me if I could help her look at some baby clothes. She said she had two dolls and wanted to buy booties for one of them. I took the box off the shelf and we went through it and she said, But I can't buy this. I only have two dollars. I said, Well, go ask your grandma if it's okay if I give you a dollar. She went over and asked the silent older woman who was browsing through the kitchen stuff and seemed utterly unconnected to the children. I didn't want to be insulting, I didn't want to be like, Oh, you poor li'l Negro chillren, here you go, here's a penny! At the same time, what's a dollar to me? So, the li

Have perhaps been reading too much Alice Munro as of late. This is due to the fact that instead of buying the book for this comedy of a grad class (an anthology), I checked out most of the novellas from the library (and borrowed others--thanks, Stephanie--and owned others already), but can't remember which one we're actually supposed to read for class. Consequently, I have overdosed on her stories; having read about six of them in this library book. I do like Alice Munro though her stories are somewhat dense with disgruntled Canadians. She always seems to have an interesting secret at the heart of each piece. A murder, a mistress, a cutting betrayal from a loved one. But the drama is muted, not sensational and is more interesting this way. Anyway, a lot of her characters are looking back on their lives or the narrator is a child trying to puzzle out the behavior of adults. This of course made me think of myself (what doesn't?) and about the kids who live in the house behind

As it turns out, Lisa Marie's oven broke at the last second and she had to come over here to finish cooking the turkey, the stuffing, and some potatoes. We were not able to cook the frozen pumpkin pie because neither one of us could figure out how to remove the oven racks. You will likely not find two less qualified people to be attempting to put together a dinner for ten. I did nothing actually except at the end, I suggested we could baste the turkey in some of the juices. We both did this for awhile, wondering if it would do something toxic to the meat, unbeknownst to us. But we made it and turkey was served (though it wasn't cooked all the way through in every place, it was mostly done). Got to meet baby Ruby who is a dream child--didn't cry or fuss like the rest of us. I suspect she's not fully human; she must be part Sainted baby. I expected her to bless us at any second, holding up two fingers and waving them our way as most baby pope statues do. Didn't help

So, like, at what point is okay to start hearing Christmas carols? Because in flipping through the TV channels, I have heard no fewer than 5 Christmas songs, most featuring animated snowmen (note: why are snow people always men? Or am I just assuming that they're men? Maybe they are actually snow women. I mean, what does the carrot symbolize, anyway? Obviously, I should stop drinking wine and just go to bed). Maybe I'm being over sensitive, but there seems to be something desperate about all of this sudden holiday cheer, something Wizard of Oz about it, like, don't look behind this curtain, don't fret about this "war" in Iraq, stop thinking about how we might possibly be spinning into a recession and/or depression--instead, go to Old Navy or Macy's or Home Depot and buy, buy, buy in the name of Jesus' birthday. Or possibly I am all out of sorts because it's 60 degrees in November. Is this winter? Does this unseasonable weather have anything to do

My contribution to the Thanksgiving dinner will be brie, crackers, celery and carrots with dip, and wine. None of which required any sweat or tears on my part. Lisa Marie is making a turkey and everything else. Here are some great Thanksgiving crafts you can do to make this joyous holiday even more fabulous (as taken from Martha Stewart's Living magazine): 1. Catch a few squirrels and dress them up in traditional pilgrim/Native American wear (probably just hats) and put on a play re-enacting the first Thanksgiving. 2. After eating the turkey, separate all of the bones and glue them to a large piece of paper and label each bone with its proper anatomical name (tibia, fibia, ulna, radius, etc.). 3. Fill the bathtub with hot cider (requires approximately twenty gallons of juice) and bob for cranberries. 4. Get a copy of Pilgrim's Progress , cut out relevant passages and replace and fill in the blanks with random verbs and nouns to rewrite the book ala a Mad Lib. 5. Gather 500 pin

Had a fairly innocuous Tuesday...Nothing crazy happened at work, I was in a pretty happy mood, good music on my ipod and then, very close to my house, I crossed the street after one car had gone past the stop sign, but apparently, the SUV behind that car didn't want to wait his turn and barreled forward without stopping. I probably would have been hit, except for this little hipster couple waiting to cross next to me who said, "Watch out!" I stopped and was not hit, but this upset the driver, who pulled forward and then stopped his tank. In the SUV was a fat man, his wife, and this twenty year old guy. The driver said, "Watch it, you jerk-off! What the hell are you doing?" I yelled back, "It's called a stop sign! Learn to read." He said, "Hey, jerk-off, take off your fucking ipod !" I said, "Ever take driver's ed?" The twenty year old jumped out of the back seat, to do what? Beat the crap out of me? I don't know. At the

Went with Celia this weekend as a passenger in her Philly car share extravaganza. We stopped at IKEA where I had just enough time to eat lunch (meatballs and soggy garlic bread) before racing to Home Depot where I had again just enough time to find a shopping cart before she had finished up. On the way, she put in a CD of The Postal Service , and I said that they sounded familiar and she said that they had one of their songs in UPS commercial, but I am fairly certain that I've heard them before outside of advertising. So I downloaded a few of their songs and can't stop listening to "Such Great Heights" (from the UPS ad) and am wondering if it's something they stole from Iron & Wine or am I confused? The writing is great, great, great and listening to it while walking to the subway or while riding on the subway or wherever I am always makes me feel like I'm in an indie movie and perhaps the next thing you know, some scruffy hipster dude while accidentally

I am not that popular of a girl. So sometimes, on Saturday nights, I find myself at home with the 1,000 cats, watching free Comcast movies. Tonight, it's Philadelphia , a Tom Hanks movie about a lawyer fired b/c he has AIDS. Normally, I hate Tom Hanks b/c of Castaway and Sleepless in Seattle , two movies that I think are highly over-rated. But he is pretty fucking good in this movie and his eyes are really blue. It reminds me of the only personal encounter I've ever had with AIDs . This guy I went to undergrad with, Chaz . I can't remember his last name. While we were in school, I was intimidated by him. He was this very vocal black kid who had a caustic sense of humor. I think that maybe he slept with this other guy I had a huge crush on in school, Michael Chick. And then, in my last year of college, my roommate Michelle and I went to visit Chaz in the hospital. Because he was dying. I recall going into his hospital room and feeling apologetic, not knowing what to say;

I have been listening to NPR nonstop; shows including Car Talk (the one with the two brothers who laugh manically the whole time but know what to do if your car is making a funny ticking noise) and whatever that show is after it...Garden Talk? And "This American Life." And "A Prairie Home Companion." Does Garrison Keillor narrate that show? I suppose he probably does and I have a love/hate relationship with his voice. Often, it seems as though he is talking while resting his nostrils on the microphone. It creates this muffled, intimate effect that causes me squirm. And who is the woman who does all of the female roles? Some of the shows are slightly entertaining and others sort of suck or aren't as clever as one would hope. Interspersed, they present folk singers who I imagine are on-stage wearing square dancing skirts ala the Lawrence Welk show. Perhaps I should try to write for NPR? But, like, what? Also, does GK sing on these shows? I think he does. I hate L

Molly told me a story the other day about how she was riding the bus and this frazzled, homeless woman was asking passengers for change to help poor children in a Christmas choir. She appealed to Molly directly and explained how every donation would receive a small gift as a thank you. Molly said, I only have fifty cents. The woman said, Every little bit helps. So Molly handed her the quarters and the woman gave her a pen without a top, something she had obviously picked up off the street. Molly was like, Oh, thanks...Similarly, I watched a homeless guy reach into the trash last week and pull out a McDonald's drink cup, sip what was left in it, and then throw it back into the trash. I also saw two guys walking a chihuahua after dark. They were using a tiny little flashlight to find the dog's poop. In other news, there are too many cats in my life. I actually made Liz allergic to me last night simply by sitting next to her in clothes that didn't appear to be covered in a fin

I am doing nothing exciting tonight, unless you consider dyeing my hair and painting my toenails to be a scintillating proposition. I did something I'm not particularly proud of today. I bought dollhouse furniture. A sofa and a chair and a baby in a pink crotcheted dress and a lion cub, to be exact. I went with Lisa Marie to A.C. Moore and they have an entire section devoted to dollhouse furniture. LM said that we should do a stop motion film for You Tube using the dolls. Brilliant. I already have a narrative for the dollhouse family in my head. The dad is a closeted gay man (come on, he wears a tight flowered shirt and tie and pants that appear painted on) and the Mom, consequently, is a drunk who often wakes up on the kitchen floor with her head resting on a pat of butter. The daughter tries to ignore it by playing piano all day and torturing the baby. I don't know how the baby will factor in, though I suggested to LM that the baby could be a hermaphrodite who the parents are

How does one balance self-promotion and modesty? I don't know. So, like, I want to tell you good things that are happening to me, but at the same time, I feel like apologizing for being so self-centered. Pretend I'm writing about someone else. Not me. Not me got an e-mail the other day from a literary agent who read my story, "Wanted," in Cimmaron Review and said that he thinks that I could do well with a novel. He suggested that I send him 50 pages of a novel and he would read it and potentially shop it out to publishers. I wrote back to tell him that I do have a book of short stories coming out and that I had a couple of ideas for a novel. He responded with an anticlimactic e-mail that basically said, Well, when you have 50 pages, let me know. I think I could write an Evie book, but I don't know what it would be about. I am resistant to writing this Bridget Jones type book where everything works out in the end and the fat girl gets the hot guy. I'd rather

I didn't sleep well last night even though the bed is really comfortable here (I'm dog-sitting for Stephanie in King of Prussia). My first mistake was to read a quarter of the way through In Cold Blood before turning off the light. Next, my brain decided it was a good time to remind me that the house is located across from a huge cemetery. So, I don't know if I was worried that real people or ghosts would break in. Anyway, it made for a fitful night of sleep filled with at least three of my more frequent bad dream patterns. 1. The Return of the Ex-Boyfriend. In this dream, I am either faced with an ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend and their exuberant happiness or, worse, I dream I am still dating the ex and haven't, in fact, freed myself of his body odor. 2. You're Late and You Forgot Something Very Important! This dream centers around school anxiety. In it, I suddenly realize I haven't been attending my M/W/F calculus course for weeks and am likely failin

I am currently living in a two-story home in the suburbs of King of Prussia, watching a very intelligent and happy Eskipoo dog, T.J., named after a literary figure; I forget whom, maybe a character in To Kill a Mockingbird ? We have done mostly nothing today, aside from watching ten episodes of the first season of Project Runway, flipping through back issues of Domino and In Style , and folding laundry. I realize from being here that I am completely sick of my bathroom; more specifically, I hate the tiny, free-standing sink that seems more suited to a small boat than one in a home. Every time I attempt to wash my face, I end up standing in a puddle of water. What a luxury to be staying in a place where you can actually put things down on the bathroom counter. Is there anything I can do to make my bathroom more user-friendly? Aside from shrinking my body down to child-size, I don't think so. T.J. has been a dreamboat this whole time. All he wants me to do is to throw the ball in t

Here we are again. Tonight in class, we talked about Katherine Anne Porter's short story, "Old Mortality." I wrote my paper on the wrong story in the series, "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," which I highly recommend. Excuse me for mentioning here that Katherine Anne Porter was the name of the prize my book won. I refrained from dropping it into my commentary during class. I confess I wasn't listening most of the time, was instead trying to read the middle story, "Noon Wine." It ended in suicide. Our teacher managed to tell us about KAP's sex life (she was married four times). The guy whose cell phone rings during class had to present and it wasn't clear if he had read the story or not. Next time, we are going to read As I Lay Dying which I kind of hate. I vaguely remember that it starts with them talking the corpse of the mom across country. In other news, Emma Carol has decided in the colder weather to plaster herself to me during the night, no