Big Girl Underoos

I've discovered that I can either be productive at work, or productive on my thesis, but I can't be productive at both at the same time. Right now, I'm going gangbusters at work. My thesis, however, not so much. I've got 16 more days (yikes!!!) before I have to turn in my thesis to my final readers. Then, they have until May 15th to either cut it to bits or to sign the cover sheet approving it. I'm guessing I'll get a little of both. Sixteen days. Sassy Pants lets out long, faintly lamazian, breath.

Having a car totally encrusted in road salt AND having bird poop on the windshield. Universe, if you're listening, I'd appreciate it if I only had to deal with one season's nastiness at a time. Thank you.

So, I'm busy. Busy, busy, busy. Between my thesis (only 3 weeks until it needs to be handed in) and work (only forever, or until I get a new job, before everything I need to do is done) I am one busy person. And I'm tired. I went to bed at 8:30pm last night. No reading, just lights out at 8:30. But I'm too busy to be tired. And I'm too tired to be busy. I'm tired of being busy. I'm tired of being tired. I'm pooped and I have too much to do. How are you?

How much do you want to bet that if HPV gave men prostate cancer, instead of women cervical cancer, the current debate about the HPV vaccine would be less about chastity and more about cancer and health ?

I am on a roll with a work project and I have plans to work on my thesis at lunch. I've been really productive at work this week, so here's to eight more hours of the same. I do know that soon, however, I will more than likely feel like this. TGIF!

Dear advertising agencies and big pharma corporations, No one likes to be eating breakfast, nursing a hangover, running on the treadmill, or just generally living their life in front of the TV only to look up and see things like this: And those are the tame images. There's another one that's been on the airwaves that I can't find, and I don't even know the product, but it's just as well because it's grosser even than Mr. and Mrs. Mucus and Digger the Dermatophyte up there. Please, it's gross enough that we have mucus, we don't need to think about it having an Archie Bunker/Al Bundy life inside our body cavities. Do us all a favor and stop grossing us out. Or better yet, stop advertising drugs altogether. I don't care if it has a brand name, I just care that it works. And if I only have to pay the $5 generic level co-pay, so much the better.

You know the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Game? We're going to play the Zero Degrees of Sassy Pants Game. Trust me, there is no separation. The Players: Sassy Pants - Blogger extraordinaire, or maybe just ordinaire, but blogger nonetheless. Friendster Guy - Sassy's boyfriend extraordinaire The X - Sassy's X husband X's Girlfriend - self explanatory Dr. R - Sassy and X's good friend from college (in Pennsylvania) Mrs. Dr. R. (aka Dr. G's sister) - self-explanatory, sort of Dr. G - Another good friend of Sassy and X from college The Game (try to follow along, it's not easy): Dr. R and Dr. G were roommates in college. Dr. R is now married to Dr. G's sister (aka Mrs. Dr. R). Dr. R and Mrs. Dr. R moved to New Hampshire a year ago. Dr. R now works for the hospital affiliated with the college where X and Sassy Pants are employed. Dr. R introduced X to X's girlfriend. X moved in with X's girlfriend who just happened to live in the same apartment complex a...

And yet, I'm one of the lucky people with salmonella laden peanut butter. I only found out about this recall (since I don't watch the news or read the paper) because I was in the office kitchen with a jar of Peter Pan and this very intense woman got all over me about how I couldn't eat it because the code on the lid started with 2111. When she explained what the heck she was talking about, I eventually stopped looking at her like she had two heads. Then other people joined us in the kitchen, we conversed and joked about the recall (If I eat it, and get sick, I can go home right? har har har), someone printed out an article to go on the fridge to warn the other hapless people without access to the real world, and another person let me use her jelly. Except for being disappointed that I couldn't have the peanut butter I was looking forward to, it was actually a good time. Obviously, we don't get out much in my office.

...to get that creepy, you will be assimilated, Britney Spears picture off the page when I open your blog. Every time the page opens I have heart palpatations. I can't help being sucked into the vortex of crazy. Please Sassy! Make It STOP!!!!! I hear you loud and clear people. Is that better? Phew. She was freaking me out too.

Either Britney Spears needs some help (duh!) or, maybe, in a glass half full scenario, she's embraced Buddhism and will be living a life of quiet reflection from now on. One can only hope. Either way, if the whole bald look catches on, I'd totally jump on that band wagon. Although, I'm sure I'd look a whole lot more like Charlie Brown than necessary. (Thanks Go Fug Yourself for the picture)

I just got home from watching Music and Lyrics with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. The movie wasn't the best I've ever seen but I didn't mind paying matinee prices. I did love the song from the movie, and since it got stuck in my head, I figured I'd go on-line and get it. So here it is! Music AND lyrics. (Yes, that is Hugh Grant singing - not Drew Barrymore though) I've been living with a shadow overhead I've been sleeping with a cloud above my bed I've been lonely for so long Trapped in the past, I just can't seem to move on 
 
I've been hiding all my hopes and dreams away Just in case I ever need em again someday I've been setting aside time To clear a little space in the corners of my mind 
 
All I want to do is find a way back into love I can't make it through without a way back into love Oh oh oh 

 I've been watching but the stars refuse to shine I've been searching but I just don't see the signs I know that it's out the...

I'm contemplating upgrading my birth control. Don't get me wrong, I love the Nuvaring. It works beautifully. I don't have to think about it for a whole month. But it does cost me $30 a month because there is no generic available yet. ('Cause I'm so cutting edge with my BC. Hey, if I can't be fashionable on the outside...) Also, I have to remember to refill my prescription, find a time to go get it, and then remember to, you know, use the thing on the right day. It's not exactly rocket science, but then again, it is fertility I'm messing with. You can never be too careful. So yeah, I'm looking into Mirena . It's an IUD that covers you for 5 years. Five years! I have to find out about my insurance coverage but if they do what I think they'll do (based on a friend's experience) it will cost me a $10 co-pay and $60 for parts and labor, so to speak. Doing the math, the Nuvaring at $30/month for 5 years means I'd be shelling out $1,800 (st...

Apparently, when it snows, people forget how to drive. I think they might be assuming that the big fluffy piles of white stuff lining the road are bumpers so it's ok to drive like an a'hole. "Look Ma, no hands! It's ok though. I got stuff to bounce off of." In the first minute of my commute I encountered several such idiots. Including one who was trying to pass a line of 5 dump trucks, and an industrial snow blower/plow thing that was hoovering the "bumpers." We were all trapped behind them and probably not happy about it but what are you gonna do? Well, this dumbass pulled into the opposite lane, in a school zone, on a curve, and somehow thought he was going to make it around the vehicle parade. When another dumptruck came down the road toward him I had to laugh because Mr. "I'm so impatient" had to pull onto the front lawn of the school, still facing the wrong direction. The scary thing is, I was about to take a left hand turn into the sc...

I successfully weathered Valentine's day. "Weathered" perhaps being the operative word considering we got about 2 feet of snow yesterday. Friendster Guy was very sweet. Although he had to work both his jobs yesterday* he gave me a call in between to say Happy Valentine's Day and to tell me he looked forward to our date Saturday night. Aw. It may not seem like much, but it was plenty to me. Now on to other subjects. Like this story from the Today show on the dating service Pocket Change. Are you a guy with money? Are you a beautiful woman? Then this is the dating service for you. Applicants needed to meet some basic criteria — guys who are 25 and under must make at least $200,000 a year, and men between the ages of 26 and 30, $300,000 a year. Older than 30? The required income level jumps to $500,000. “For the women, the application process is very simple,” said Abelson. “You need to be beautiful. End of story. You go to the Web site, you upload five pictures. Those f...

And happy SNOW DAY!!! Work was cancelled. Whoo hoo! Ignore, if you can, Peter Gabriel's creepiness and this weird video for In Your Eyes. I tried for a version with John Cusack but Viacom seems to have gotten their clutches and lawyers into YouTube. Anyway, enjoy this uber romantic song and think about Lloyd Dobler in your front lawn.

My lovely friend Jennifer (scroll up one entry after the jump) is calling me out on my Valentine's woes. Since one of the reasons I started this blog was as a therapeutic device, let's see this through to some sort of conclusion. Let us therapize me. And by using the plural "us" I mean me and the voices in my head. Bring 'em on psyche. It's not Valentine's Day in and of itself that is my problem. I was in Walmart last night (yes, I know, I know) and there was no way to avoid the commercial, niknak, why the hell would anyone buy that or think it was a good idea to buy that, Valentine's Day frenzy. It was fairly disgusting. Hallmark and their minions have pretty much turned every holiday into a marketing extravaganza. However, I do not accept to phrase "It's a made up holiday" as an excuse to disregard it. All of our holidays are made up. But, they are made up to celebrate something. In Valentine's Day's case it is love. Love is no...

My X husband seems to have, pardon my French, fucked me up when it comes to Valentine's Day. I have some serious issues . Some burst into tears at work level issues. My need to know, my need to feel appreciated, and my need to not be a nag are currently in conflict and stressing me out. How does one go about making sure there are plans, without thereby inducing someone to make plans, which then means that the plans may not be all that genuine in the first place? It's a conundrum. If Valentine's Day existed to make people feel bad about themselves, it would be succeeding at its goals. It's not just the singles that suffer. It's also a day for people in relationships to be reminded of how little their partner cares about them. In my case, I am talking about my X. My indifferent, you are 4th or 5th on my list of priorities, I don't love you although I'm not going to realize it until you decide to divorce me, X. Just because the divorce was amicable, doesn't...

My little brother got engaged this weekend. To do the deed, he put together a scrapbook of pictures from their relationship. On the last page it asked her to marry him and he was ready with the ring. We've all been waiting impatiently for him to finally do it since he got the ring in December. Saturday night, he called me up, told me she said yes, and then joked that they are getting married next weekend (not very likely given the number of bridal magazines she already has). Then I hear his fiance in the background yelling, "I need dental insurance!" Cute. They are made for each other. He's been in love with her since he was, at most, 10 and she was 15. As I mentioned in my last post, my sister is 2 months pregnant. This was an unplanned plan. She'd gone off the pill in December thinking now was the right time. Then decided she'd go back on the pill in January because it wasn't the right time. In those brief 30 days, things happened. So on the one hand, t...

My sister gets up this morning and randomly glances at her carbon monoxide detector. Instead of reading zero like it usually does, it reads 30. This caused her some concern, although the alarm itself is not beeping. Her husband figures it's a good idea to have someone come check it out so he calls the fire department. A host of firemen descend on their townhouse to see what's what. With their specialized detectors they too get a reading of 30. They generally tell people to leave the premises when it reads 5. Not good. The firemen investigate and discover that the problem is coming from the unit next door. As my sister explains to me, "not the gay guys to the left, the crazy lady to the right." The firemen go visit the crazy lady. "Do you have a carbon monoxide detector?" "Yes." "Has it been going off?" "Yes, but the beeping was bothering me so I turned it off." (This is the point when the firemen officially decide that "her...

I literally gasped when I saw the headline, " Anna Nicole Smith dies at 39 ." This poor woman. If I were a psychiatrist I'm sure I'd have something to say about her desperate need for attention. I'm quite certain she didn't always get the type of attention she was looking for. She was a caricature . But a host of caricatures America loves to both admire and vilify. First, Marilyn Monroe (who was herself a caricature and also a tragic victim of America's need for entertainment.) Then, blonde bimbo who makes good by marrying a billionaire. To money grubbing home wrecker. To reality show personality. To full blown, only in America, over the top nutjob diet pill popping, tragically son losing, custody/paternity battling cartoon character. And now she's gone. No one deserves to die alone yet surrounded by people. I hope she had at least some moments of non-drug induced happiness. And that she can finally rest in peace.

You ever have one of those days where you walk into your office and think AAAAAGGGGHHHHH! ? I'm about 2, maybe only 1.5, emails away from overwhelmed. However, I know that if I just take an hour to regroup, prioritize, and reorganize I'll feel a little better. So I'm going to do that. I'm pulling a defrag on my desk. Here's hoping I don't crash.

Last week, I was all about escaping my life and going to a tropical island. This week is no different except that I am no longer growling and snarling at people because of PMS (or wishing to crush their throats Darth Vader style). So yesterday I asked my mother, who is the queen of cruises, about where I should go and if she knew of any good deals. She loves cruises. Any excuse she can find to go on one she takes. Therefore, her response was to offer to be my cruise companion. This may sound not fun but since she is the queen of cruises I wouldn't have to do any thinking about shore exursions or which seating we want for dinner - things cruise virgins don't know about until they get there. Since my goal is to not think, that works out perfectly. Plus, my mom is fun. She wants to go parasailing! THEN, when I told her I was doing it to celebrate handing in the final draft of my thesis to my readers (and to save my sanity), she decided she'd pay for the cruise as a graduation ...

Call me old fashioned, hell, call me crazy, but wouldn't you want at least an engagement ring, and preferably a wedding ring and some paper work, before you'd plop down nine grand on a vasectomy reversal surgery for your boyfriend of seven months? Nine Grand. Nine. Thousand. Dollars. To reverse a procedure on someone who could fairly easily take the newly freed DNA you are probably hoping to use for yourself and utilize it elsewhere. Well, that's what my X's girlfriend just did for him. Good lord. That's one hell of a Valentine's Day present. Is it wrong that I'm mildly amused that she ended up paying $9,000 to fix something that I (sort of) "broke" in the first place (but was covered by insurance)? I used to be such a nice person.

In my book, CareerBuilder.com won for best Super Bowl commercials. This one wasn't my favorite (I liked the one where they had to duke it out in a pit like gladiators using keyboards and such as body armor, and where the chinese delivery guy kicks butt.) but since my first performance appraisal in this new job in Wednesday, this one is particularly apropos.

More good things in life are lost by indifference than ever were lost by active hostility. ~Robert Gordon Menzies I don't like being one of those people who care about Valentine's Day. I really don't. But I do care. I care because if I had been paying closer attention in my last relationship - i.e. my marriage - the way I was treated on things like Valentine's Day, anniversaries, and my birthday would have clued me in to how indifferent X was to me. Actually, I was paying attention. I just didn't quite realize that he wasn't just indifferent to the holiday(s), he was indifferent to me. Anyone who spends a month planning for a Dungeons and Dragons game hosted at our home ON Valentine's Day, and doesn't then take the time to make reservations for us or give a gift, however small, is saying something. What he's saying is this: You don't matter to me as much as ____. In my case, the ____ was work, and Dungeons & Dragons. What Valentine's Day...

Me - I lost four and a half pounds in January. Friendster Guy - Really? From where? Me - From your ass when I kicked it! On the plus side, he probably won't notice/care if I gain four and a half pounds either.

People have way to much time on their hands. But if it leads to me being entertained, so be it.

This is awesome. I love YouTube.

This song always makes me smile too.

I have reason to want to rant about my thesis again (like how my advisor is going to be away for another month and won't get back until 2 weeks before it's due. Good times.) So instead, I choose to share this silly little song. I'm too sexy for my thesis.