Monday, October 31, 2005

Arf arf arf Arroooooooooo

Tina/Gladys/Fay/Bessie/we finally settled on Tess is a delightful pooch. She does have one icky mole on the side of her face similar in size and shape to a canned straw mushroom cap and apparently she will mostly smell bad because that's what hound dogs do, but boy is she a cute galumphing doggie.

As she has no sense of space she's always whacking things over. And she likes to sit in your lap even though she weighs seventy pounds.

Things are classing up at the McPolack homestead, though. Rather than use ancient baling twine to tie Tess up on the front lawn, Polackpappy used some newer plastic rope to tie Tess up on the back lawn.


Saturday, October 29, 2005

Ain't Nuthin But a Hound Dog

So Dr. Moo adopted Tina the coon hound, who, (my bad) is not five years old, but "more like 10 or 11." She was just tied up and ignored for five years. True to form, Dr. Moo has brought Tina to the McPolack family homestead -- but she did ask permission. As I type, Polackpappy is setting up some sort of rope for her outside. I can guarantee that it will be some sort of jerry-rigged oddity, as that is what Polackpappy is famous for. Why have a regular dog lead when you can have 25-odd feet of extra-thick baling twine you've had kicking around for thirty years tied underneath the apple tree on the front lawn?

I know as well that Pp is thrilled to have a project.

The family corgi, Wendell Jones, of course immediately tried to rip poor Tina's throat out as soon as she walked in the door. Tina also tried to tree one of the three kitties on the property. But she's been groomed and spruced up and I for one am excited to meet her.

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Friday, October 28, 2005

The longer that I am alive...

...the more I realize that the real accomplishment in this world is not winning the Pulitzer or having kids or discovering the cure for cancer. It's continuing to get up and just go -- go and do life. Look for a job, for a husband. Get rejected. Look some more. Get rejected some more. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

I am going out right now back to where I had my last job to show my face because who knows, maybe they'll hire me again and because hey one of the new Flash guys they hired is apparently hot hot hot and available.

Oh, and there's free sushi.

Thursday, October 27, 2005


My kitty is okay. Her ear growth still needs to be biopsied, but it hadn't penetrated the cartilage layer, so no hole -- just a stitch. She was feeling good enough to yell at me in the car all the way home and now she wants her dinner.

Pet News

Dropped my little kitty off at the vet's this morning for her ear surgery. It was kind of cute watching her reach into her bag of tricks to try and get me to feed her breakfast (I had taken her chow away at 8 pm the night before). She'd rub her maw on my legs, then sit with her tail curled up, smiling at me, then do the Meow Mix dance on her tippy-toes before running to where her bowl usually sat.

When I dropped her off at the vet, she refused to look at me.

In other pet news, Dr. Moo may be adopting a five-year-old, never-been-housebroken coon hound named Tina. She's been tied by a short rope outside one of the dairy barns Dr. Moo visits. She's free, and she's kind of a mess, which is music to my sister's ears. And as Dr. Moo is coming to visit me this weekend, she may indulge in the time honored tradition of saddling our parents with pet care while she goes off and has fun.

Over the years, she has brought home various and sundry animals with different levels of care requirements. She never asks permission to do this, because of course McMumsy would say no. She just shows up with a pathetic-looking ball of fluff, leaves a set of instructions, and takes off.

McMumsy screams and yells about this and generally gets pretty pissed, but that's actually part of the fun! We kind of enjoy making her mad, as she drives us crazy on a regular basis. But it's a loving kind of mad.

For example, every year on Christmas morning for a good 8 years in a row we'd bring Dr. Moo's pet sheep in the house. Sheep are large, pleasant-smelly, kinda dumb (but very sweet!) farm animals and let me tell you, it is hi-larious to have them in your kitchen. We'd open presents and give the dog, cat, guinea pig named Sheila, and mice their gifts from Santa. Then my sister would ask "Can I bring the sheep inside" as she was running out the door, conveniently missing my mother's "No way!" Polackpappy would chime in "I don't think that's such a good idea," but as soon as the baas were in the house, he was all "Who wants some Saltines?" (Saltines are like crack for sheep)

Good times, good times.

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Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Beef on the hoof

Another tale from the files of Dr. Moo...

Dr. Moo discovered she was a bad shot this afternoon when it took her three tries to get a tranq dart into a fat angry beef cow that had been on the loose since running away from an auction in April. Apparently the cow, who, much to Dr. Moo's delight, had been named Annie (Dr. Moo's first name is Annie) by the woman who had trapped her in a barn, had been running riot through the streets of Middlebury, "menacing" the locals. A team of local police had been trailing the cow through town, intent on shooting her. They couldn't keep up with her.

The cow was eventually cornered in a barn by an old woman who'd been feeding her. An outfit called Farm Sanctuary stepped in and Dr. Moo was sent to knock the cow out for transport.

The cow was pretty pissed, so Dr. Moo had to take aim at her from far away. Her first shot hit the wall; her second the ceiling. The third dart hit the Rambovine, who was so hopped up that, even though Dr. Moo had put five times the amount of tranq it takes to drop a normal cow in seconds, this cow took a good half an hour to get dopey.

Although many of Dr. Moo's cohorts felt it was a waste not to turn this beef on the hoof into beef on the bun, I for one believe that if you escape the chopping block once, you've earned your freedom.


Assfirmations Update: Asstacular?

So it has been 8 days since I started smoothing firming lotion on the backs of my (mildly) cottage-cheesy thighs and fine Polish buttcheeks. I am, according to the back of the bottle, supposed to be experiencing, after week 1, "younger-looking skin."

Would that I spent a lot of time in front of the mirror looking at my ass when I was younger. If only I had known I would need a frame of reference! Instead, I have to rely on popular notion of how a young-looking ass is supposed to appear: like Jessica Simpson's in that retarded Dukes of Hazzard video.

My ass does not look like Jessica Simpson's. At least not yet. But the back of the bottle does not promise firmness until week 2! Perhaps it is firmness combined with younger-looking skin that will give me a J.S. heinie.

Check back next week for an update. In the meantime, I shall continue to, um, enjoy getting to know my flab more intimately.


Decided to google the fancy home for sale that I jog by every other day. It's on the market for 5 and a half million dollars. Further googling brought me to this story. It mentions the same house, which was at one point, according to it, on the market for an even 10 million. My how those prices do drop. What intrigued me most about the story, which focused on holding "extreme open houses" to move expensive properties, was this quote from the son of the home's now-deceased owner, who felt very protective of his childhood home and didn't want to open it to the public. The extreme open house was ''more selective," he said, and did ''not let the riffraff see the house."

Yeah, riffraff? That'd be me. But the fellow who was putting on such airs, well, he came into money because his dad invented Pringles. Yes, that's right, Pringles, those formed potato flakes in a can. And his father owned monkeys! Freak. Riffraff, my ass. If you were a Brahmin or some other old-moneyed blueblood I'd put up with your calling me what I essentially am, but not when your daddy was a monkey-lovin' junk food maker.


Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Sometimes I wish I lived on the prairie

Weighed myself at le gym today, which was le mistake as I am apparently 3 pounds larger than what I was when I started going to the gym. It's all muscle gain, which is a lot better than fat, but still.

If only I lived on the prairie. In the 19th century. When a body like mine was valued by men. I mean, I am strong -- I have these tree-trunk legs, with calves that are pretty much entirely made up of muscle. And I'm good at endurance -- I can walk or run or swim a long way.

I'm built for carrying heavy loads long distances. Something valued by peasant cultures and westward-ho types from a hundred and fifty years ago.

As we are now in the 21st century, I keep myself in fighting form jogging by the houses of the extremely wealthy, where the womenfolk are, I am sure, stick thin.

But also quite possibly miserably unhappy, which I, pasta-loving strong girl, most certainly am not. But I am just a wee bit blue.

Why I love the Fox 25 Morning News

1. No uptight stupid Katie-Couric esque anchors
2. Lots of local coverage
3. A good amount of silliness. Case in point: This morning, they had a report on pet health. A vet brought in a big German sheperd, who was rolled over on his side on the floor, exposing his belly, while the vet explained how to take his vitals. Before going to commercial, the camera pans to...their traffic guy, laying on the floor, his belly ready for a scratch, just like the doggie. Oh, and you could hear giggling in the background. I'd like to see Katie Couric do that.


Monday, October 24, 2005

No focus group for me

Got a call from the survey firm where I was supposed to participate in a focus group on coffee tonight. They went and changed their demographic on me. Bastards.

Boom-boom pumpkin

Apparently I arrived too late to the pumpkin festival in the Boston Common on Saturday night and I missed all the excitement. It actually wasn't that great; most of the pumpkins were crappily carved and it rained like the dickens. I went with my international friends, the fluent in Mandarin and Cantonese L and the fluent in German I. I is five or six years younger than me but much much more mature than I was at her age. Maybe because she's European?

Anyhoo, went back to L's house after for dinner and a movie. Bypassed Hotel Rwanda to watch the very good (but also very sad) Swedish movie A Song for Martin. Basic premise of movie: Alzheimer's is bad. Curiously features some very un-American hot middle-aged person sex scenes.


Look out for beavers!

So says my latest newsletter from NH Fish and Game. Apparently lots of the paddle-tailed buck-toothed wonders have been flooded out of their homes by all the recent rain, and they've been getting squished by cars in record numbers. Poor little guys.

I interviewed to be the main writing person for NH Fish and Game awhile back. I think I would have been perfect for the job, but it wasn't to be. I still get the newsletter that I would have been writing, tho'; it satisfies my craving for woodsiness. You can subscribe to it here, if you like.


Saturday, October 22, 2005

OMG, Whole Foods drivers!

Went to Whole Foods to pick up some stuff to make green beans and cornbread. As I'm packing stuff in my trunk I notice some guy in a Volvo thisclose to me. He wants my spot. That's totally cool.

What is not totally cool is when that little bitch just sits there and doesn't give me any space to back out once I've started my car! Look, buddy, you can have the space, but if you want it, you need to give me room to get my own car out of it.

I had to keep turning around and shouting at him to "Back up!" which he did, inch by bleeding inch.

Aye yi yi!


Wolfgang Puck is a Horndog

But he makes a mean piece of salmon.

He seemed a bit nervous when he first came on stage, with a local radio and tv host. Once he started cooking, though, making pizza and "sahl-mohn," he was comfortable and at times hilariously funny and also at times kind of mean.

And also at times kind of horny. "Good food, good wine, good sex," are the three things Wolfie thinks are key. He kept on bringin' up the booty. He's got a three month old and he certainly has gusto.

Alas, when I asked him to come to Bertucci's with me and my friend L after the event (we decided to skip the Brown Sugar) he didn't even respond!


But again, his salmon was tasty. And one of the pizzas he made was, yes, a wedgietahble pizza. Praise Jesus! L poked me in the side when that word came out.


Friday, October 21, 2005


I am off to see Wolfgang Puck give a cooking demo at Boston University and then heading out for some din din at Brown Sugar.

I hope hope hope ole Wolfie will be cooking up some wedgietahbles such as cawots and pahsnips. I love his wacky accent.

I wonder if Wolfie is single?


Thursday, October 20, 2005

John Edwards, Senatorial Hottie

Went and saw John Edwards speak at the Kennedy School of Government today. He's on a college tour for a new poverty initiative and I got an invite to go via Move On (as I am sure all area members did).

He had some good stuff to say -- about raising the minimum wage, about how we need to band together as a nation and push for new policies at the federal government level. He is a child of the sixties and was hoping for the same grassroots activism that drove the Civil Rights movement.

The cynic in me wonders if this isn't a prelim to the next presidential race, but at least if he's doing so he's backing an important issue. I do wholeheartedly agree that we as a nation have been ignoring the poor, instead swinging our big collective dick around and whacking a lot of Iraqis and other folks in the head with it, for ill-defined reasons and with poor results. I also think that time and effort and energy can be much more valuable to give than dollars.

And, as this blog is my truth serum, I must admit that some part of me hoped that perhaps, as I sat on the lawn today looking extra-cute with my shiny blond hair and blue eyes, some hot Hahhhhhhhhhhvahd grad student might look my way. And that John Edwards is a Grade-A certified handsome may-an. Damn!


Know what I love about Whole Foods?

When someone nearly runs into me in the parking lot and I see she's got a "Love Heals" bumper sticker on the back of her Subaru.

Um, I do not think that Love is going to Heal the front end of your car, sweetheart.

Networking No-No's

1. Do not email the wrong person 2 times in a row about a job an agency is trying to place you in when that woman works for another agency.

2. Do not sell your elearning skills to a contact person who doesn't do elearning but might have work in another type of writing you are also skilled in but stupidly do not mention.

3. Do not call the woman named Diane who you are supposed to meet tomorrow for coffee the name Margery while you are setting up your meeting with her.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhh! I want to be smooth like buttah when chatting with these people, not all disorganized and unprofessional.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005


Daphne-Moon, my double-pawed gray ball of love and fluff, has what may be a cancerous tumor on her ear. She's had a lump on her ear for several months now. I didn't think anything of it until today, when I happened to google about it just to see what turned up. What I found freaked me out enough to call the vet. The vet looked at cells from it under a microscope and determined that they are "mast cells" and that the tumor will need to be removed -- and then sent out for biopsy.

As far as I can tell from further googling, "Prognosis of mast cell tumors of the skin is usually excellent and surgery is generally curative." It had better be, because I love that little kitty more than anything and she's not yet 8 years old. It's not her time yet.

She goes in for surgery a week from tomorrow and may end up with a wee hole in her ear.

I am going to focus on the positive. She will be just fine.


"Just a few tablespoons"

Another stomach-churning tale from the files of Dr. Moo:

Dr. Moo was at a farm where they were hosting a Japanese exchange student. She was dealing with a prolapsed uterus -- basically, the uterus had fallen out of the cow and needed to be shoved back in. The exchange student was assisting.

This uterus was especially troublesome -- the cow was having contractions, and the uterus kept pushing back out. Dr. Moo filled it with water once she'd shoved it back inside, to help hold it in place, and was explaining the technique to the exchange student when it happened...

...the cow's uterus contracted and sprayed the water, now mixed with some other interesting cow-based fluid, all over the side of Dr. Moo's head. "Just a few tablespoons" ended up in her open mouth.

"I guess that'll boost my immunity for awhile," said Dr. Moo, referring to the low doses of bacteria she received, um, orally, from said moo cow.



Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Only in Canada

This, er, creature is running for mayor in Canada. Read more about it here. My favorite quote: "Of course I'm not a real person, I'm a big piece of poop."


I had a coupon and so I bought Dove Intensive Firming Lotion a few weeks back.

Now in the interest of Science! I am going to test it out.

I rubbed it in a circular motion this morning onto the parts of me that are flabulous. This would be the area directly beneath my fine fine asscheeks. I can hold several pencils beneath each cheek now. If you add the number of pencils I can also hold beneath my bosoms, I could probably supply an entire roomful of standardized test takers.

The product promises "Testing proves: After 1 week, skin feels significantly smoother and appears more youthful. After 2 weeks, skin is noticeably firmer."

Well, we'll see about that, won't we? It's going to be two long weeks of standing naked on my tippy-toes craning my head to get a glimpse of the backs of my flabby thighs to see if this shit works.

Oooooo! I'm going to be in focus group!

Responded to a posting on Craigslist that offered a hundred bucks for two hours work spent yammering on about coffee. You had to answer a preliminary list of questions about your coffee drinking habits. I did so and got a phone call, where they asked me more questions, including "If you could use Velcro for something atypical, what would it be?" I told the woman on the phone they should stick people together with it that don't get along, to force them to work things out. I could tell from her questions that she was looking for a bleeding-heart liberal; she came to the right place.

I go in on Monday from 6:30 to 8:30. I have to bring in two pictures I have clipped from a magazine or newspaper, one which I feel reflects me, and one which reflects my "ideal coffee drinking experience." I'll get a hundred dollars and I don't even have to take my clothes off!

Tune in Monday night for the results of the focus group!

Monday, October 17, 2005

Read This

Finished, quite quickly, Joan Didion's new book The Year of Magical Thinking. It's a stellar, stellar book. Her writing is everything I want mine to be -- intimate, rhythmic -- so much so that it makes me feel like I'm talking with a mouthful of marbles as I'm trying to type this sentence.

I've got a couple of her books on my shelves; saw this latest one at the library and took it out as I had already finished the first 33 pages, excerpted in the NYT, which also reviewed it.

I'm normally not a Didion fan -- I've disliked her tone. It never seemed to be the right time for me to really read Slouching Towards Bethlehem, and a friend who actually lived through the counterculture said she thought Didion had it all wrong and was nasty about it to boot.

In TYOMT, Didion mentions -- and the review mentions -- a mother not wanting to let a messenger into her house because the messenger is there to tell her that her son is dead; if she doesn't let him in, he can't remember the news.

I can remember, the night my maternal grandmother was killed in a fire, walking in the door, seeing my mother's face, and rightthen knowing my grandmother was dead and just going into the other room because I didn't want it to be true.

But it was. And so is Didion. I just wish she could believe that there's an eye on the sparrow. But I understand why she can't.

Career Counseling

Went to the McPolack homestead this past weekend to watch the pets and the Babcia. Arrived just before noon on Friday; McMumsy and PolackPappy were closing down the pool for winter. As PP rushed about doing MM's bidding, MM approached me. She was carrying a 15 foot long wobbly metal pole. "Eyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeee knowwwwwwwwwwwwwww what you should do about getting a job," she said from beneath the hood of her yellow rain slicker, as she wobbled the pole in my face.

"What, McMumsy?"

"Go to church."

This again.

"You don't have to listen to what they say about women. I don't believe all that bullshit and Jesus doesn't either. Trust me. Plus, you can talk to Mary. Now, those Protestants, they don't like Mary. The Catholics are where it's at. Think about it."

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Poor, poor Dr. Moo (Part II)

Mcmumsy called Dr. Moo's work and had her paged this past Friday. Mcmumsy asked the dispatcher to ask Dr. Moo where her teddy bear, the one dressed like a vet, was, because when she came to visit she wanted to bring it along so she and Dr. Moo could go shopping together to "buy him his Halloween outfit."

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Thursday, October 13, 2005

Kittie in Need

Hi all -- if anyone can help out this kittie, just email me your contact info or leave it as a comment --

Hey guys, Can you help me put feelers out to your friends, family and co-workers to find someone would be interested in temporarily fostering an orange tiger cat? Her name is Ruby. She about 3-4 years old. Very sweet and vocal, UTD on all shots and healthy. Loves to hang out and watch TV at the end of the bed, preferably on or near you. She is currently posted/fostered through Great Dog Rescue New England and is on She just really, really wants to be the only cat.... and as we all know.... I have many other cats..... She gets along with my 116lb. Great Pyreenes dog just fine - has no issue with dogs. I just feel badly because she spends a lot of time alone on a chair; she won't intermingle with the other cats. She can be either an indoor only or indoor/outdoor cat as long as the person lives in a safe/quiet neighborhood. If you wouldn't mind asking around on my behalf I would be so appreciative. All monies spent on fostering an animal for GDNE are completely tax deductable. Thanks so much in advance. G.

Car Madness

Spent a lovely day shopping with Contagious. Smacked her on her badonakadonk in the dressing room of Macy's as she was trying on some fabulous pants. As she was driving to meet me some crazy lady nearly sideswiped her on the highway in Portsmouth and then came running out of her car, motioned to Contagious to roll down the window, and then grabbed her hands and said "Praise Jesus! We were saved! Pray with me."

Contagious noted that this is something that would normally happen to me. I get all the weirdos. I attract them, and also dogs and occasionally small children.

Other interesting traffic items of note:

1. As I was running through Harvard Square today, an SUV that I believe was being tailgated stopped. As there was a lot of traffic and the car behind it was short and couldn't see beyond the SUV, that car stopped as well. Then a man got out of the SUV and headed for the car. The car then zipped away. The SUV man yelled "Pussy!" and jumped in his vehicle and gave chase. I kept right on a-joggin'. I was listening to some Burt Bacharach on my walkman at the time; it was an odd juxtaposition. Or had I switched to Alanis Morrissette?

2. As I was driving back home through Davis Square this evening, the big van in front of me stopped in the middle of the intersection. Honestly, he was probably confused. He had some sort of "Jesus is Lord, Praise the Heavenly Father" bumper sticker on his car. I thought to myself "Praise this, asshole!" and I laid on my horn.

(Okay, I didn't really think that and I just gave a couple of medium-length toots. My full conversion to Masshole driver has not yet taken place.)

Wednesday, October 12, 2005


Went to RedBones today with the same friend I went to see the glass flowers with a couple of weeks ago. It further confirmed to me that I just don't like the foods of the South.

I ordered their catfish sandwich. It came with dirty rice and coleslaw and was on a mammoth bun. My problem with catfish (although I don't have this issue with the catfish I buy at the grocery store; theirs must be the special Yankee version) is that it's kinda juicy, and the juice it exudes tastes like how I imagine getting a big swallow of slow-movin' slippery-slidy stagnatin' Southern river water might taste. It tastes funky. Kind of dank. Vaguely musty and, dare I say it, sexual, but in a really dirty, base, animal sort of way.

It feels like I am Eating Something I Shouldn't.

I also had a bite of a sausage off my friend's bbq platter. It looked like a fat turd laid by a large hound dog and didn't taste much better.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Then she did her job.

I have been tagged by miss amy of California Eating. It is something called a "23/5 meme" where you go to the 5th sentence of the 23rd posting of your blog and write something interesting about it. My fifth sentence is posted above.

It was in reference to how the McPolack work ethic compelled Dr. Moo to work through some sort of horrible stomach flu that left her so sick she could hardly drive, let alone wrassle cows. But wrassle cows she did. Because that is what we McPolacks do.

Well, I suppose that is more what that McPolack does. When I am working, when I have a task in front of me, when someone is expecting something out of me, I give, and I give a lot. But I have trouble motivating myself. Especially now, when I'm out of work again -- when there aren't any platitudes left to make you feel better -- like, you should network, and go to job fairs, and do what you love and the money will follow.

But the funny thing is I don't necessarily feel so bad about my current situation, or even at times particulary urgent. I don't know that it's so much that I've been broken by the endless revolving door of my work experiences as it is that I've found some sort of acceptance: ah, so this is how it is. At least insofar as this is how it has been.

So, to sum up: This ties back into the 23/5 sentence because if I were really heeding my mother's advice I would be doing something, anything, rather than "burn through my savings," although I hate that phrase. But I'm not. I'm trying to keep my radar open for possibilities; I'm talking with some folks; I'm sending out some resumes. I'm not freaking out.

Although I may be hiding under my bed. At least a little.

Anyhoo. I'm tagging my pals Contagious and Male Mannequin. I'm eager to see what they post.

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Possibly TMI

...and my apologies if this skeeves you out, but...

my period is due soon and when I get it I will officially have been menstruating for...drum roll, please...


I was reading the "Best of" section of Craig's List and someone posted something about tampons and that's when I realized it. Aunt Flo first came to visit me on my twelfth birthday. I remember it like yesterday. I had read Our Bodies Ourselves, the real groovy seventies edition with lots of full-on bush shots of various and sundry hippie ladies, and I knew what to expect. I also pretty well knew the non-Dutch definition of the word "dyke" and that people occasionally liked to insert things like candles and tubular vegetables into various and sundry bodily orifices.

I called to my Mom from the bathroom, who was watching tv on the antique horsehair sofa that we eventually sold. It took several tries to get her in to help me; I was not going out to see her.

Then I called my friend Gabby Perry. I think ole' Gabs already had gotten her period. She did everything first, including smoking and drinking and having a baby as a teenager. Wait, I never did that last bit. Anyhoo, she was the more worldly one.

I also remember my McGrammy telling me as I was going upstairs to play "Brady Bunch" with my multitude of cousins "Congratulations on becoming a woman." I turned beet red and mumbled a shy thanks.

I think that now I finally am a woman, twenty years later.

So here's to you, special monthly lady friend! May you continue to bring me moodiness and blotation, backaches and Mcgassiness, and of course the ability to bear children, for many moons to come.


Now I'm a Registered Masshole

I registered my car in Mass of Chewy Zits (as Dr. Moo likes to call it) and got my Mass plates, the whale ones, and got my car inspected and got one plate on. (The other has to wait till next week due to rusty screws.) Now I can zoom around and drive like a prick with abandon. Unfortunately, people will not be able to recognize my New Hampshire je ne sais quoi from viewing my automobile. They will have to get to know me first.

The DMV was both Orwellian and sci-fi. Lots and lots of people waiting in various and sundry lines, or sitting on benches, with news tickers overhead and a bizarre combo deli number and letter/number system for calling people up for service. You wait in one line to get a number, then sit with a bunch of sad looking people, young and old, some with mewling kids, some swearing openly, until your particular number/letter combo is called out by a cold computerized voice "Now serving F173 at window 9. F173 at window 9." Both the DMV ladies that waited on me were tough bitches; I could tell. I was appropriately subordinate. One woman, clearly younger than me, with painted-on white and black eyebrows told me I had shitty handwriting and called me darling.

As these DMV ladies have all the power I smiled and said thank you. I do in fact have shitty handwriting and anyway, and I wanted to get out of there alive.

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Monday, October 10, 2005


Went to see the film Proof this evening. It didn't get the best of reviews but I personally really, really liked it. It was my sort of film -- all moody and feel-y, plus some math. And then they tie math together with emotions and talk about the elegance of it and you see how everything is interconnected and I am reminded of 1.61803399, which is the Golden Ratio. If they had told me about the Golden Ratio in math class in high school I might not have gotten an F. If only I had known then that I needed math to be related to things like Taoism and A River Runs Through It. I could go into more depth why math and Taoism and a Norman Maclean story are related but that's better in person over coffee. Also, it may fall under the "throw-uppy dime store philosophy" topic heading.

Anyhoo, after the movie we went to Pad Thai, which is near the Hynes Convention Center T stop. The ambience is bad but the food is very very tasty and cheap. L wanted to take me there so I could taste some "good" cheap Thai food. I was raving about a place near my house that I had actually never been to, and when we went there, it sucked, and she let me know it, several times. She is quite blunt at times, but I can tell she is not doing it to be nasty; it's just her nature. Tonight she paid for the movie and my dinner and gave me a birthday present and said she likes me a lot and she hopes we're friends for a long time. And because of her blunt tendencies, I know she was being really sincere. And I hope we're friends for a long time, too.

Sunday, October 09, 2005


I came into this world 32 years ago at approximately 11 o'clock in the morning, on this day in 1973.

Last night at dinner, McMumsy, after a Cosmo and a glass of red wine, announced that in honor of my special day, she would reenact my birth. Then she started moaning, loudly.

I have always been an overly sensitive, maudlin sort of person and on birthdays this only gets worse. I can remember when I turned ten feeling quite significantly the weight of being an entire decade old. Who does that at ten? Probably only Emily Dickinson and Eeyore. Geez. When you add in the fact that it will be my specialmonthlyladytime in just a few short days, well you've got a toxic mopey feely-weely cocktail. I am going to have to take extra care of myself today.

My birthday gifts were a Target card, a visit from Cousin Molls (she brought bagels and we chatted for awhile), a visit from Dr. Moo and some nice earrings, and a giant roasting pan from my parents. Apparently I will be making the turkey this year at Christmas. Which is cool. (I requested the roasting pan.)

But the gift that keeps on giving would have to be McMumsy's very existence. As we were driving home from dinner last night, she announced that she would be getting drunk at the first family wedding (there are three siblings). Then she said to me "By this time next year, you'd better be engaged. It would be nice if you were knocked up, too. I don't care if it's male or female, animal, vegetable, or mineral. Just get married and have some kids. I don't want you to end up like those (name removed) weirdos."


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Thursday, October 06, 2005

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

Poor, poor Dr. Moo.

She has fallen victim to an unfortunate side effect of being an independent McPolack female: Sometimes, people think you're a lesbian.

I was misjudged by my own mother. I had called her one evening, baked on some fine VT weed and also drunk on wine and sad. I was hanging out with the Joanie/Amy/Marika triumverate in their wee apartment on School Street. We were close. But not that close. Anyhoo, I told McMumsy that I wished I liked women because they were so much easier to get along with.

The next time I came home to visit my mother sat me down with a copy of some book about homosexuality and Christianity and basically let me know she was totally okay with the fact that I was gay. Which was cool. Except, of course, for the fact that I'm straight. It took awhile for me to convince her of this. I finally had to rhapsodize about my love for the penis. This was a tad uncomfortable. I'm really glad she didn't bring my father in on the conversation.

Dr. Moo was misjudged by the lovely couple from NYC who own the garage she lives above. Them and their lesbian gardner. Apparently there's going to be a nice young lady coming to visit the property on Friday, they told Dr. Moo, and she is "pretty cute."

"I was wondering why they told me that," said Dr. Moo. "Then I realized and I didn't know what to say."

Luckily Dr. Moo will be out of town when the cute girl arrives, but she's going to have to let them know she likes the penis sometime.

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Wednesday, October 05, 2005


When I was but a year or so out of college a folk singin' boy composed a tune for me. Now I have inspired poetry! I always knew I was a special lady.

I Almost Forgot...

...The best part of the story: My sister's ass with her hand up an ass:

Hee hee hee!

This Just In...

Dr. Moo is the cover story in this week's edition of Seven Days, the newspaper where I got my start in the working world. Check it out!


Tuesday, October 04, 2005

I Heart Ron Popeil

The first piece of writing I ever had published (my junior year in college) included a reference to one of his magical inventions. It was 1990. I was a senior in high school. I stayed up late with my best friend Walnut watching infomercials. Walnut wanted a food dehydrator. You could make apple snacks! And yogurt! And, mm mm mm!, turkey jerky! Zowie!

Apparently the food dehydrator infomercial was his very first, and it pulled him out of bankruptcy.

Even though neither I nor Walnut ever bought a food dehydrator I like to think the my reference to it in print helped him out in some small way.

You can learn more about Mr. Popeil here, in a swell slideshow.


Get In Mah Belly

Inspired by various blogs and driven by the fact that not much of interest has happened in my life today, I present all the items which have (or will) pass through my belly today:

2 (smallish) bowls of raisin bran mixed with Kashi honey puffs. I won't be buying this raisin bran again as the raisins are teeny and so hard that they sink to the bottom of the bowl and rip out my fillings when I try to chew them. I tried out the skim milk that claims to taste like 2%. It doesn't.

Various samples from Whole Foods. I went there on a secret mission for my friend JoyceFrances, who works in yogiland. She wanted to know what magazines Whole Foods carries so she could decided whether she wants to advertise in them. Oddly, they carry Elle. Not so oddly, they carry Shambhala Sun. They also carry an interesting one called ReadyMade which has instructions for doing all sorts of things. They call themselves "The bimonthly magazine for people who like to make stuff." I am the sort of person who "thinks she would like to make stuff and buys all the ingredients to make stuff but then never gets around to the making" and so I didn't purchase a copy.
I ate samples of:
Smoked Gouda
Brownies with walnuts
Chocolate chip muffins
mini toasts with Camembert

Lunch was 1 whole egg fried with 2 egg whites on an Iggy's multiseed bagel with butter and Cabot extra sharp cheddar cheese. I also ate some carrot sticks and a couple handfuls of pesto flavored pita chips. For dessert, I had a honeycrisp apple, a nibble of some mellowcreme treats in interesting shapes, and a wee 100 Grand bar.

I took a nap today and my kitty, delighted I was sleeping, curled up on my ass. When I awoke I had another honeycrisp apple. Then I went to Starbucks and got an iced coffee.

I have some fish marinating in olive oil, garlic, ginger, lemon pepper, and sea salt. I bought tilapia and catfish at the grocery store this week and I am marinating some of both. I will accompany this with a sweet dumpling squash and some steamed cauliflower which I will consume spritzed with butter spray.

If I'm feeling hungry after din din I may have some lemon sorbet. Or not.

Monday, October 03, 2005

I Hate my Neighbor, Part II: The Wasteroo

So today my buttween neighbor has been watering his postage-stamp back lawn and the frigging concrete for what seems like for-fucking-ever. His wife was waterwaterwaterwaterwatering earlier in the day. What could they possibly need that much water for? It did rain last week and it's FALL, the time when plants go to sleep. Dousing them with buckets of water is not going to revive them.

I also found, when I took out the heavy, smelly, fly-y trash today (I am much more comfortable now with writhing maggots than I could have ever hoped for; thanks neighbs!), that assmunch neighbor threw away an insecticidial soap container and a couple of hubcaps.


Ina Garten Wants to Kill You

Today she recommended making the following meal, for lunch!

Meatloaf, individual loaves, 1/2 pound of meat per loaf with onions cooked in oil mixed in
Mashed potatoes, with a stick of butter and milk and buttermilk mixed in
Brussels Sprouts cooked in oil with pancetta

For dessert?
Brownie pie with chocolate and nuts mixed in and chocolate mixed with cream drizzled on top.

Jesus, woman.

In other news, McPolack really needs a f***ing job.


Sunday, October 02, 2005

Karmic Payback is a Bitch

I recently commented about how much I dislike Ben Asslick.

Well, last night I had an extended nasty nasty nasty sex dream about him.

Of course I enjoyed it.

Damn you, Asslick!


Went to the Deerfield Fair on Friday night with Polackpappy. Last time it was just him'nme at the fair together I was in the fifth grade; he bought me whatever treats I wanted and we watched my Uncle John in the free-for-all horse pull.

This year my Pp bought me some onion rings, coffee, fudge, peanut brittle, and a doughnut as big as my head. He also shared with me this little gem, as we were looking at a classic three-holer outhouse in the fair's farm museum:

"You know, when your mother and I first bought the house in Chester, we had one of those in the barn, with some corncobs."

"Why corncobs, Polackpappy?"

"Well, if you look at the cob after you've eaten the corn off it, you'll see it's nice and soft, but also rough. It's good for wiping. It's also where the term 'cornholing' came from."

Um, what?


In typical Pp fashion, he ignores my aghast reaction and keeps going. "People starting sticking the corncobs in their butts...they liked how it felt...and that's how cornholing came to be. Get it?"

"God, Pp, why do you tell me this stuff? Yuck! No wonder I'm such a weirdo."

"Heh heh heh heh. Do you want to look at anything else?"

Pp also shared with me while we were looking at some pottery in the 4H building that when he was a kid he used to make ceramic turds.

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Signs that the Babcia is feeling better

(I went to visit my Babcia this weekend; we went to the Eucharistic Adoration chapel at her parish and said rosaries together, then it was off to purchase some dry skin lotion, Dulcolax, and a gallon of chocolate milk, followed by a Friendly's luncheon.)

1. When we passed by the door of one of her elderly lady neighbors, Babcia commented on how nice the (male) scarecrow looked hanging there. Then she said: "Want me to introduce you to her? You're looking for a man, aren't you?"

2. She looked me in the eye as she shoved the last bite of her cheeseburger in her mouth at lunch, then snapped her fingers and said "Amen!"

3. After I finished reading the emergency information about her that's taped to her fridge so the EMTs know what's up if she goes down and can't tell them herself, she asked me what the sheets of paper said about her. I told her it described her medical condition in very scientific terms: It said she was a really old lady. She tried to whack with me her cane.