tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-241569372011-07-28T14:09:46.540-04:00unkillable cactus killerChristine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.comBlogger4811100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-75531989727884182732011-06-02T16:32:00.002-04:002011-06-02T16:36:22.723-04:00

Ennui continues: "que est-ce que ce est."

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-65725915224145428812009-11-14T11:41:00.002-05:002009-11-14T11:46:19.949-05:00

This blog is not dead, I swear. I know I haven't posted anything of substance in forever, I am just totally uninspired by my life right now. I'll come back one day.Love,Lady C

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-61066500889077555102009-09-07T10:42:00.000-04:002009-09-07T10:43:48.013-04:00

I have never been able to resolve my feelings about Andy Warhol, and attending his museum in Pittsburgh only made my confusion worse. Eccentric genius whose very life was performance art? Arrogant prig, self-absorbed in his own belief he was genius? A phony? Maybe my confused perspective was his actual goal. (He even wore a gray-haired wig before he naturally grayed. Isn’t that pretty cooky

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89329236544854174492009-09-02T15:15:00.000-04:002009-09-02T15:16:00.102-04:00

I know I don't write as much anymore. It's for a couple of reasons.Number one, real life is sort of more prominent in my day-to-day than it has been in the past. There's not as much space for writing.Number two, I have found out that people where I work have found my blog. My blog started out as PG when I thought I was writing for my family. When they didn't read, I upped it to PG-13. When I

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-14879791427174753862009-09-02T15:07:00.003-04:002009-09-02T15:15:19.111-04:00

I have a weakness for Krispy Kreme doughnuts that borders on pathological. When I was a kid, for evening entertainment my parents would load us in the station wagon and take us to Krispy Kreme. We’d watch as the raw doughnut dough circles came down the conveyor belt and slid into the deep fat frier. Then, like magic, that rotating arm would flip the doughnuts and fry the other side, leaving

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-8934968003051759942009-08-08T17:16:00.002-04:002009-08-08T17:19:21.089-04:00

“And stay away from the lakes,” the HOA orientation woman, says. “It may not look like it, but there’s gators in there.”The orientation group stares at her with our mouths half-open.“Oh yeah,” she says. “We just pulled out a seven-footer last week.” A seven-foot alligator. Living fifty feet from my brand-new home.“And because it’s been exposed to humans, they euthanize them.” Gator,

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-52301195946645702852009-08-07T22:26:00.000-04:002009-08-07T22:27:28.228-04:00

Tonight, I went to Blockbuster for a really bad movie. Matthew’s out of town, so I have guilt-free anonymous liaisons with trash media, then never tell anyone but the internet about it. Fortunately, this is a blog. No one reads blogs anymore, right? Just Twitter?Anyway, I’m at Blockbuster picking up a Lindsay Lohan straight to DVD movie when I realize I have to pee. Pretty bad. But I’ve

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-16089652617868081192009-07-29T16:17:00.002-04:002011-04-16T07:34:42.233-04:00

You may want to check the Wikipedia Rorschach Test site soon. It appears to have some errant Wiki-fiti of an Argentine band squeezed into the intended content.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-36650003520303661242009-07-28T10:49:00.000-04:002009-07-28T10:50:20.550-04:00

I dreamt about the Russian mob running out the local crime syndicate. The leader of the mob was named “Chemkin,” which I don’t think is a real Russian name. The last thing I said in the dream was to someone trying to get the Russians’ attention: “You don’t find Chemkin, Chemkin finds you.” Pretty bad-ass.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-78633565490041086072009-07-22T12:27:00.001-04:002009-07-22T12:29:40.606-04:00

Like most 18-year-olds, I had some pretty warped ideas about what constituted a healthy relationship. Case in point: Bruce. I wish I could remember his last name so I could publish it. (Just because I retroactively hold onto warped ideals that I expected at the age of 18.)So, Bruce. He played guitar. I believed that if he really loved me, he’d write a song about me. He did write a song

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-26624852899160370692009-06-26T23:30:00.002-04:002009-06-26T23:33:27.183-04:00

How do you non-germaphobes see the world? Do you touch PIN pads then lasciviously lick your fingers? Yeck! I am prompted, “Please use the PIN pad device below,” and I nearly die. Think of all those grubby, nasty, un-washed fingers that have danced there before you. Just seconds before you were there, someone wiped their nose and touched the PIN pad, and now here you are, typing that little

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-30418887965158788612009-06-23T13:51:00.002-04:002009-06-23T14:01:55.802-04:00

Cravings are curious, unpredictable things.When I moved to Chicago in 1998, I was shocked at the number of hot dog stands. Everything from one window booths to large sit down restaurants committed to the peddling of hot dog cuisine could be found anywhere in the city, no matter the neighborhood. Weird. I can’t think of any culinary predilection in my home of Louisville, Kentucky like hot dogs

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-47084553843597329312009-06-05T16:27:00.000-04:002009-06-05T16:28:21.102-04:00

I’ve blogged a little about it before, but Facebook is doing straaange things to my head. One: I have learned that I am a Negative Nelly. I look back and remember all the reasons relationships with Facebook’s ghosts of the past didn’t work. They’ve contacted me and told me all the wonderful things they missed about friendship with me. [Insert eerie noise of brain doing flip-flop here.] Hold

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-20713676128805653392009-05-28T16:40:00.002-04:002009-05-28T16:46:44.653-04:00

Since moving to Florida, I have not been able to find my favorite brand of earplugs. When I mentioned this to my office mate, she said in disbelief, “You have a favorite brand of earplugs?” I mean, she’s kinda used to the weird stuff like this that comes out of my mouth, so I don’t think she was that shocked, just mentally adding another tick mark on the list of “Christine’s insane” tally. Usual

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-87507346701669198922009-05-19T17:27:00.001-04:002009-05-19T17:27:59.844-04:00

I was a substitute teacher in Chicago public schools. Believe it or not, the students and in-class work really weren’t that bad. You hear “Chicago public school,” and I know you are thinking terrible scenarios, but it wasn’t the kids who gave me trouble—it was my fellow substitutes.When there were more teachers out than there were subs to cover, one of the schools I worked at would put all the

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89097721877604234872009-05-19T16:39:00.000-04:002009-05-19T16:40:06.159-04:00

"I guess you can be a bitch like that when you are queen of the internet?"

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-31969019880370103702009-05-13T22:52:00.000-04:002009-05-13T22:53:08.759-04:00

The greatest economic indicator is going to be my stomach. If you see me eating organic ground turkey, baby asparagus, and pre-cut watermelon, then the world is fine. If, however, you peek in my shopping cart and see ground chuck, French style green beans, and canned peaches, then you know we are in trouble.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-35742851696042522112009-04-26T22:54:00.002-04:002009-04-26T22:56:08.055-04:00

Wild honeysuckle cascades down the wood fence south of my front porch. Every time I open the door, the nectar-drunk scent hits me bodily; I feel enveloped in its honeysuckle cloud. I inhale honeysuckle with my nose, my mouth, my eyes, and my arms, as it exhales through the soles of my feet. I feel the pure essence of wild honeysuckle deep in my lungs, inspiring my limbs to breathe in the scent

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-32674697973190252552009-04-19T19:39:00.001-04:002009-04-19T19:41:02.484-04:00

I love finding graffiti in Wikipedia. Behold:In 1559, Spanish Pensacola was sam so fine following year.I italicized "sam so fine" for emphasis. Love it.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-40393951911281739502009-04-16T11:16:00.000-04:002009-04-16T11:17:22.081-04:00

My feet hurt. I have really bad arthritis in my subtalar joint, droopy arches, and pronation. I like my new podiatrist, but her voodoo isn’t working on my right foot. I want to go to South Africa.In college, I somehow ended up friends with the long distance track team. And somehow they were almost all from South Africa. The South Africans told a story of a foot guru who could fix

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-38473342904388433922009-04-15T11:12:00.002-04:002009-04-15T11:15:00.637-04:00

Actual e-mail to my boss:Boss, I’ve decided my office is haunted. I hear strange irregular tapping sounds coming from behind me all day. It’s always been like this, but I thought it was a bathroom noise—people coming in and out. I no longer think that. The sound comes from behind me where there’s a maintenance closet. Rather than call a priest, I propose that I need a noise cancelling radio

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-48227367342482553832009-04-12T16:33:00.001-04:002009-04-12T16:35:17.685-04:00

I’m talkin to a guy who obviously has an accent. Somehow the accent comes up in conversation, and he says, “Besides, no one can understand me.”I could understand him clearly, but whatev. I asked, “Where are you from?”“Sierra Leone.”Brain wheels start churning badly, and fortunately my Thought Filter was semi-functional that day.“Blood diamonds!” Brain shouted.“Shh!” via Filter.“Forced child

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-45052345986187054822009-04-03T16:03:00.000-04:002009-04-03T16:04:11.291-04:00

Wanna know what really grinds my gears? Semi-pro singers who grab-up karaoke spotlights. Don’t you get enough attention singing on your own that you can let us Plebes have a little fun and not be intimidated by you? Like, what’s up with that?So, Matthew and I were at a party. This party boasted karaoke and 80’s music—perfect! But, no, awesomeness was not to be had. First, no one at the

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-26344697776126952552009-03-21T13:38:00.000-04:002009-03-21T13:39:23.944-04:00

My adventures with toxoplasmosis gondii effing continue. Why can’t I get away from this germy-virus thing?Our neighborhood is a veritable dog buffet of cat shit since all the feral and “outdoor” cats poop willy-nilly in the sandy soil. Joy to Blanche DuBois, champion of munching all things disgusting!I do try to keep her away from cat poop, but she’s so low to the ground that it’s hard to tell

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-32545073266867126932009-03-21T09:08:00.001-04:002009-03-21T09:08:56.471-04:00

I have a large proboscis. I’m OK with it now, but I really had to grow into my nose, both physically and emotionally. As a pre-teen, I was teased mercilessly by my peers. They made my life at school a terrible hell, but I obviously survived their cruelty.My best friend toward the end of middle school was Gretta. She had one of those super cool older sisters that even though she was still in

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-44270647793603431932009-03-15T20:03:00.002-04:002009-03-15T20:04:27.337-04:00

I just realized that Bridget Jones's Diary is Pride and Prejudice. I feel ripped off.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-53789011221507780582009-03-14T15:31:00.003-04:002009-03-14T15:50:47.752-04:00

I normally write my posts in Word then copy them to the little Blogger box. It's just easier that way since Word tends to make me look smarter when it prevents me from making grammatical errors. Today, however, I'm freestyling and microblogging the little things on my mind straight into that Blogger box. We'll see what happens next.I experimented with wearing no panties. My crotch has this

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-66322156313711007552009-03-01T21:45:00.002-05:002009-03-01T21:46:02.910-05:00

I just thought of another awesome Christine Wy song lyric:"Yeah, I fought the four leaf clover and always win."

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-39477892033321920892009-02-25T12:17:00.001-05:002009-02-25T12:19:18.049-05:00

I got some good karma today. I went to sit on the back steps at the library to eat an apple. There was already a guy there, and from behind he looked like a student. I said, “Do you mind if I join you?” And then I realized he was a homeless dude chillin on private property and that he might get in royal trouble with the campus police.I sat with him anyway. He talked to me a little, but

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-78514370131553883102009-02-19T14:40:00.002-05:002009-02-19T14:42:25.898-05:00

Short staple cotton. I loathe short staple cotton. Like, I don’t know if I can use words to describe all this without using swears and visual aids. Unfortunately, I don’t have a camera with me, so you will probably get swearing without visual aids.You know those nice, crisp, fresh sheets that stay soft without feeling limp? Those are good old-fashioned long staple cotton sheets. They don’t

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-4563041373162675412009-02-16T15:51:00.000-05:002009-02-16T15:52:57.120-05:00

I have discovered that I am fat. This was not an overnight sensation, but last night I realized that the mirror ain’t lyin. I wore something that turned out to be seriously unflattering last night. I caught a look at my butt in the mirror, and, gasp! It was huge! I turned this way and that to see if any view made my wide load look any smaller, and, no, it didn’t. Not at all. In fact, it

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-27609025416302913672009-02-12T18:53:00.004-05:002009-02-12T19:13:02.987-05:00

Just in case you haven't received one of my whiny e-mails, you may not know that I am allergic to the top most common food products: wheat, chicken, and peanut. (There are others, but they're more arcane.) Having the general yuckies, I wondered what to do for dinner tonight. No chicken soup. No beef soup with noodles. Ah! Beef broth and rice!I cooked some short grain brown rice, heated up

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-49581470238992636432009-02-12T14:16:00.000-05:002009-02-12T14:17:28.820-05:00

Today we celebrate the bicentennial of the birth of Charles Darwin. Here’s a quote from him that Google found for me: I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent God would have designedly created parasitic wasps with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of Caterpillars.I admire Darwin immensely, and I use a personalized version of this quote for

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-20214790004871852522009-02-07T16:47:00.001-05:002009-02-07T16:49:31.479-05:00

"If I were to get hit by a bus, it would be like ...""You mean there's nothing you would regret?""Not a thing."***So, now wait, are they too young to have regrets, or just too young to realize they have regrets?

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-40505234156815362622009-02-05T22:37:00.002-05:002009-02-05T22:43:00.708-05:00

"She had a crush on me. She was really into Robert Palmer. Went to one of his concerts. Do you know who Robert Palmer is?""Yeah.""I guess she was addicted to love.""Did I ever tell you what I used to think that song said?""No.""'Bite his little face and you're addicted to love!'"

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-38990875154057824822009-01-31T15:58:00.001-05:002009-01-31T15:59:38.270-05:00

I am diggin this so hard.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-59073192587461661792009-01-29T14:29:00.000-05:002009-01-29T14:30:29.383-05:00

Sometimes I weigh the consequence of death versus my freedom. I’m not being morbid, it’s just that there are so many restrictions in my life that I often wonder, “Would I really die if…”I’m allergic to the most common things you can find around. Chicken. Wheat. Peanuts. Chicken and wheat cause me anaphylactic shock (death by un-breathing). Every time I drive by Chick-fil-a, I wonder, “Is it

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-71826057716208595402009-01-28T16:12:00.001-05:002009-01-28T16:12:38.600-05:00

I have this major problem with song lyrics. If I’m not really sure what they are, I kinda make up random words that sound right.I have the uber ipod now that I got for Christmas, and I’m putting everything on there I can think of. In the mix: my husband’s Buzzcocks CD. The first thing I realized was how many live songs I had heard and loved in my life that were actually Buzzcocks covers.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-29866887713268156962009-01-24T23:27:00.001-05:002009-01-24T23:28:57.674-05:00

My roommate in college found a new bar: “Come on! It’s great! Dollar beers!”I was skeptical. If this dollar beer place was so awesome, why hadn’t we learned about it from our peers? But, she talked enough of us into going that I went along too.“Dollar beers” turned out to be 5 ounce Dixie Cups of watery Pabst. No one but myself and my friend Jason seemed to mind this place, so we played

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-19903300740038354222009-01-21T17:23:00.000-05:002009-01-21T17:24:45.481-05:00

I read in the New York Times online that workers who can see greenery from their office space are happier. I looked at my completely drab and overwhelming (maybe underwhelming) office and thought, “Yeah, I do need some green.”I set Operation Green Office into motion. Phase One: not tell Matthew because he usually points out that my ideas are hare-brained. Phase Two: requisition a spectrum lamp

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-69801300847293713962009-01-21T15:22:00.000-05:002009-01-21T15:23:09.868-05:00

How is it that Resolutions never last? Cease fires. Peace treaties. Border agreements. And, most dreaded of all, New Year’s.I resolved to lose weight and cut back on caffeine this year. Losing weight is only partly for vanity. My mom was just diagnosed as being on the slippery slope to Type II diabetes, so, I thought, hey, maybe it would be good for me to not even have to go there at all.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-38892159577872703032009-01-09T14:36:00.002-05:002009-01-13T22:08:59.886-05:00

When I was a little girl, we lived in a huge five bedroom house on an acre of land. Our neighbor had a plantation house and probably an acre and a half, filled with crumbling gazebos and detached garages with ancient cars. I lived in a magic place, where I could run free and imagine anything, like all the pretend horses that lived in the stable I imagined under the pine trees. And I had an

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-91906662792445825002009-01-09T13:50:00.001-05:002009-01-09T13:51:47.432-05:00

I am like, I mean I'm just so like... Ugh! Could I be more like?

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-79461082798575626442009-01-09T12:28:00.001-05:002009-01-09T12:32:02.631-05:00

Despite my ban made of best intentions, I gossiped today. Sort of. I guess I admitted something I was thinking that didn’t shed another person in the best light. An acquaintance has said to me that he tries to stay out of the fray of a certain circle of people—tries to avoid their attention and power plays, preferring to blend into the background. This morning, I was alone with him, and I

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-47090384159080705652009-01-03T21:05:00.001-05:002009-01-03T21:08:32.931-05:00

I took the concept of New Year’s self reflection literally: I stared in the mirror. In particular, I was wondering, “What is wrong with my eyelids?” Wildly generalizing, Asian women are obsessed with eyelids. It has to do with epicanthic folds. The premise is that it’s the epicanthic fold of the eyelid that makes Asian eyes appear smaller than their Euro-Anglo pals. I don’t know what white

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-42363460140269469892008-12-18T22:57:00.000-05:002008-12-18T22:58:35.911-05:00

Men lack the fine-toothed subdivision that women exercise over their underwear. For example, I have the flattering and slightly titillating first date panties. Provocative and decidedly skimpy first-time-for-the-big-reveal panties. Knickers that say, “I’m still new to this relationship and feel obligated to tantalize you but don’t want to get a wedgie while doing it.” These drawers move on to

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-69275326656801261392008-11-30T15:41:00.000-05:002008-11-30T15:42:24.290-05:00

I was talking on the phone with my sister when my nephew T.H. interrupted the conversation to proclaim, “Mommy! I got the booger!” I'm so proud of my little angel.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-77659033549625686252008-11-29T11:01:00.001-05:002008-11-29T11:03:20.180-05:00

I’ve decided that my boobs are a weird size—44B. It is insanely easy to go to the store and buy a 32B. It is sort of easy to find a 44D. But 44B is unavailable in regular retail outlets. I took a chance; I ordered two bras online. One fits great. The other… well, it’s pretty crazy. I put the bra on and it felt light and refreshing, but then I looked down. My boobs were pointing east and

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-16725161527731813512008-11-27T12:37:00.000-05:002008-11-27T12:38:29.782-05:00

I am grateful to have so many friends and family worthy of missing this holiday. I'm thinking of you, and I love you.-Christine

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-25323367067598880922008-11-26T16:17:00.001-05:002008-11-26T16:17:43.378-05:00

I got bad news yesterday, and I’m trying to get it into my head straight instead of how it’s stuck jamming in crooked.I went in for my final examination, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that at this point, my ankle is pretty much as healed as it’s going to get. He said it was a very severe break and implied that I needed to come to terms with that. He told me that eventually my brain will

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-68518600345254364012008-11-22T13:56:00.001-05:002008-11-22T13:56:27.681-05:00

TonyN asked for the rest of the story of my friend’s bitchy mom. What happened to the friend?Betty (fake name) and I drifted apart. We had an incident involving a boy she liked, and that kind of sealed the deal on ending our relationship. I got new friends, I didn’t really miss her. That much.Her family moved to Atlanta, and occasionally I’d get letters or phone calls from her. Her life

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-64946425774638710142008-11-21T13:44:00.001-05:002008-11-21T13:48:46.496-05:00

When I was 14 or 15, my best friend was someone I thought was preeminently cool. She knew how to skateboard, wore baggy flannel shirts, and wore long underwear under skate shorts instead of pants. Rock. She also knew what bands to listen to, like The Doors and The Grateful Dead. Her family was much more comfortably middle class than mine, and they lived in a huge house out in the boonies of

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-7618446441613228882008-11-15T15:28:00.002-05:002008-11-15T15:30:04.283-05:00

Reading the comments on this former blog post, I forgot that for a while our favorite excuse for everything was, "Ooh, yeah... but I'm in a cult." I think we should resurrect that.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-88235935041788143902008-11-14T01:04:00.001-05:002008-11-29T11:03:45.497-05:00

Slightly more sexually mature than some of my peers, by the time I got to health class, I knew that the cock-and-bull story that all penises were about the same size was a big ol’ rod o’ salami. I’m not saying I made the rounds of the track and field team, but I had a large enough sample size to know that every transmission is as unique as its owner’s manual. Even if I just watched porn I might

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-84433961186655010172008-11-12T15:47:00.001-05:002008-11-12T15:48:57.930-05:00

The Spanish expression "Pura Vida" appears to mean "Pure Life." It really means "Everything's OK." Pura Vida,Christine

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-1310539763633269422008-11-11T15:36:00.002-05:002008-11-11T15:48:02.475-05:00

I have writer's block. I just do. Sometimes if I blog about not being able to blog it unclogs me, so I'm hoping this is the trick.I write and write, and then I read and read, and it is so banal and unworthy of publication. I'm looking at my favorite apple, Honeycrisp. They have a short growing season so you should buy as many as you can if you see them. They're amazing, I swear. I see my

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-84861785832995182242008-11-10T21:55:00.001-05:002008-11-10T21:57:27.876-05:00

Today I washed and put away the beach towels for the final time this season. See you next year, you denizens of sunshine.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-9758489283382173832008-11-09T16:00:00.001-05:002008-11-09T16:00:47.341-05:00

Shockingly—and I know, really, this is shocking—I am becoming satisfied with my lot in life. 1: OK, my house is kinda crappy, but it’s not a slum, the house is pretty big, and we live in a great neighborhood. And I’m getting used to the roaches, even if I’m not better at killing them. I have learned that hot water stuns them. That’s my Martha Stewart tip Christine Wy style.2: OK, I’m not

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-21650760333270391002008-11-05T15:55:00.001-05:002008-11-29T11:04:00.719-05:00

I’m not a political blogger. I think that’s become pretty obvious. I am so grateful, however, that our president elect is Barack Obama. Forget his skin color and how radical that is, I care that I really believe he’s the genuine article. Thank you, United States, for giving us this gift.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-14490024148146856572008-11-03T23:36:00.002-05:002008-11-03T23:41:45.924-05:00

Vacuum commercials really frost my cookies. I totally get off on the promise of suction power. I don’t know what it is, but I have to talk myself down every time I see a Dyson Ball commercial. I start scheming ways to get a Dyson, calculating how many Christmases I’ll have to barter away with Matthew to get it as a gift, or estimating how much is in my checking account versus how closely I am

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-59809502877065041122008-11-02T21:27:00.001-05:002008-11-02T21:28:45.058-05:00

At a hipster cafe on the beach, an easrnest surfer says to his friends, "Later y'all."

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-3824220915676928662008-11-02T15:06:00.004-05:002009-03-25T16:49:04.584-04:00

I had a boss when I worked at The Alley in Chicago who thought if he tried hard enough, he could still be one of us. He didn’t understand that the boss-ness to employee wall could be made of plexiglass and seen through, but those crappy communication holes drilled through garbled the message so it was never received as intended. Because an employee was once murdered behind the store, it was a

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-74554028945161386702008-11-01T13:51:00.002-04:002008-11-01T13:55:55.925-04:00

I think that by nature people are all sluts for something. There are insecurities in each of us that create holes, voids that must be filled by some tangible thing to make us feel validated and affirmed. For my husband, it’s Vans shoes. For me, it’s usually Birkenstocks and MBTs. But lately my hole is not full enough.I confess--but let me count—I have bought eight pairs of shoes in the last

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-51240195806423040752008-11-01T12:11:00.001-04:002008-11-01T12:11:51.218-04:00

I should probably have said something about Halloween. It’s just one of those things that ought to be mentioned. Taken pictures of me and Matthew in our “ghoulish outfits” to share.As an aside, I wore Matthew’s old Misfits t-shirt with the Crimson Ghost skull on the front. People were really scared of me. It was supposed to be in good fun, but, um, it was taken a little too seriously. I felt

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-41002229747365819742008-10-30T16:54:00.002-04:002008-10-30T17:00:01.208-04:00

Making a point about too many pictures of Obama talking to boys in the media, Melissa McEwan compiled a length of photos of Obama photographed with girl supporters. Thank you, Melissa, for giving me even more Obama love.(The apparent siblings--a boy holding up a younger girl on his shoulders--is my favorite photo. They are so thrilled, together.)

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-16175745932162998922008-10-30T13:32:00.001-04:002008-10-30T13:33:45.669-04:00

I never gave much thought to music. I went to live shows of small indie rock bands as a teenager in Louisville. We were an underground hotbed of underground sounds, and we loved our little secret. I enjoyed the live music, but never bought the vinyl put out by the bands, and that was OK with me. I jammed with my friends, moshed when it wasn’t too violent, and generally enjoyed the music combo

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89365799951385223252008-10-30T11:28:00.002-04:002008-10-30T11:29:16.538-04:00

Are you still there? This is an official shout-out. I'd really like you to use my e-mail link to contact me. M'kay? Please?

Christine Wynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-89492722388123637342008-10-29T11:41:00.000-04:002008-10-29T11:42:03.274-04:00

Inspiration is a fickle thing, difficult to grasp and hold onto. Virginia Woolf described it as a darting silver fish that was always there but not quite caught. My fish comes out of hiding only at the most inconvenient time. Bedtime.I think I’ve even blogged this before. As I brush my teeth, brilliance flashes, and I think, “I need to blog this now!” I used to give in and blog it.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-81555266497260307652008-10-26T21:56:00.002-04:002008-10-26T21:59:50.594-04:00

My library keeps reference desk stats with examples of duties and little boxes to write ticks in for each time you complete these tasks. The two I use most frequently are "Library related easy tasks, general reference," and "Library research." A guy just came and stood by the reference desk for no reason for about five minutes. Finally, he spit in my trash can and walked away. I weighed what

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-66798729205599725872008-10-25T14:19:00.003-04:002008-10-25T14:23:30.488-04:00

Alexander Pope told me, “To err is human; to forgive, divine.” Boy am I human. And so not divine. I see myself as a series of flaws, endlessly wondering why I’ve made the choices I’ve made, where they’ve taken me, and why I have no self-control. I am “err.” Air. There is air between my ears. Matthew actually jokes that if he shone a flashlight against one ear he’d see the light on the

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-51974332844869327342008-10-25T13:24:00.000-04:002008-10-25T13:25:19.803-04:00

It’s hard to look in the mirror and say, “This is me.” I’ve written about trying to accept myself for who I am, and I’ve written about trying to change. Right now, I’m doing best at being annoyed that I’m too accepting of who I am and not spurred enough to change. What gives?I just went shoe shopping. I am so one of those girls. Fill my life with shoes, and I’m happy. I’ve always been that

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-82743317912533817722008-10-24T01:14:00.002-04:002008-10-24T01:16:29.626-04:00

"I can't believe you always forget that.""Really? Have ya met me before?""Yes, lots of times.""And didn't you ever feel like running?""Not yet."

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-3460966853912419922008-10-22T23:26:00.001-04:002008-10-22T23:29:52.236-04:00

There is an art to basset hound washing. While I have chosen a major in Basset Studies, I’m still sophomore in the Art of Hound Grooming series.I don’t know about other bassets since Blanche DuBois was brought into our life unexpectedly under mysterious circumstances, but her sternum is built like the prow of a Viking ship—which is covered in folds and rolls of blabby fur. And the back of her

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-54303474984391452822008-10-21T23:56:00.001-04:002008-10-22T00:00:06.198-04:00

Remember one of my ponderings about love? “The hardest-learned lesson: that people have only their kind of love to give, not our kind.” At the time I was thinking about how difficult I can be to love, how I only have my type of love to give, as imperfect as it is. Today I am meditating on the broader human aspects of that quote.People can only give what is in them to offer. It is my folly to

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-34917822238084143362008-10-15T23:42:00.001-04:002008-10-15T23:43:57.913-04:00

I’ve had my final surgery and my second-to-last follow-up, so I asked my surgeon about the future of my ankle. He told me to expect the possibility that my right ankle may never feel normal again. He said, “With that type of break, at the very least, that is always going to be your bad ankle.” When I told him I also had fibromyalgia, he said I should expect pain. The Real Christine says, “

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-83081738735080478372008-10-15T15:54:00.000-04:002008-10-15T15:55:07.232-04:00

My new thing is that I fart while walking a lot. Not like a lot a lot, but enough more than zero--which is the number of walking farts that I used to have—so that it seems like a lot of walk farts. Like chair farts in your own office are OK. Farts in the public bathroom are embarrassing but part of nature. But walking through the hallway launching a series of depth charges in your wake is

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-57586836818412448782008-10-11T13:44:00.002-04:002008-10-11T13:50:34.055-04:00

Last night turned ugly. When Brook never replied to me, I went to her website to see if she was active or just ignoring her Facebook page. Nope, she was there. She accepted pokes, she commented on other people’s pages, and the kicker was that her most recent poke was like an hour before I checked. Yeah, she was there. I took TonyN’s advice and listened to my jilted side—I de-friended her.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-8090782712658852332008-10-10T01:20:00.000-04:002008-10-10T01:21:30.857-04:00

I always knew that one day she’d contact me. No, not in any vain, self-absorbed sort of way, but that it’s a small, microscopic digital world despite its vastness, and we still have people in common. No matter how many online pseudonyms I have (I can think of three off the top of my head), I just knew that bumping into one avatar would eventually lead to her. She found me. I wasn’t looking

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-23046475508957107692008-10-08T11:18:00.004-04:002008-10-08T11:24:24.846-04:00

So, um, how do you focus on not being self-absorbed without being absorbed in yourself? If you're obssessing over yourself, aren't you self-absorbed? I feel kinda stuck on this one. All I can do is look back on the conversations when I talked too much, and then try to rationalize with the conversations when I listened.This must be like "Clementia," and it is a challenge I need to work on

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-44243044267530761622008-10-07T23:52:00.001-04:002008-10-07T23:54:10.694-04:00

Absently picking at my navel, I shouted down the stairs to Matthew in the living room. “Hey! Did you know Tracey went to Chicago this summer?”“No.”“For a conference. For several days.”“Oh, yeah.”“Anyway, he has friends over at the newspaper where I used to archive. He said he got to go visit them at work and take a tour of the building.”Silence. I pulled a spec of crust from my belly button.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-17336888630683469612008-10-06T17:19:00.004-04:002008-10-06T18:57:37.309-04:00

My rear neighbors burn their yard waste all the time, and it drives me batty. Today, I called the non-emergency fire on them and asked if it were legal to burn yard waste. They said no and promptly dispatched a fire truck to deal with it. I wasn't here to see the confrontation, but I saw the fire truck leave, and I smell victory. Their revenge? They're weed-eating something so dense it's

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-38278525765329956922008-10-04T16:37:00.002-04:002008-10-04T16:43:35.080-04:00

Halloween brings out the age conflict in me. Too old to be attending theme keggers, too young to care for the older, nostalgic crowd. It’s really a mirror of my life.I look too young to possibly be in a position of authority at work. When I told someone I was the librarian in charge today, his jaw literally dropped and he stared at me agape as he said, “You are?” I wanted to take back

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-39905591453488327502008-10-04T11:54:00.003-04:002008-10-04T12:00:19.209-04:00

Remember the note to myself I couldn't find? The music artist I wanted so badly? I found it. It was on the mega-important insurance page I had filed in my desk under "Mega-Important Insurance." My brain. So peculiar.Turns out it's J'DaVey. Who knew? Once I read it I knew for certain that, yes, duh, that was the name, but I couldn't remember it on my own.Enjoy the performance. It's sweet.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-21744664843718295382008-09-30T22:54:00.000-04:002008-09-30T22:55:33.142-04:00

“Sorry, I just have to talk to everyone--it makes my sister so mad.”My heart sped up a little: “Me too! It drives my husband crazy!”“But, you have to talk to people.”“I know; you never know who you’re going to meet.”“Mm-hmm. See you later.”“Bye-bye!”Stunned, I’d just met the parallel me. I was so happy with my discovery that I couldn’t even share it with Matthew. I had to hold in the savor

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-68693619897443420582008-09-30T10:12:00.001-04:002008-09-30T10:14:23.158-04:00

Yesterday was vet day for Miss Blanche DuBois. Vet day involves lots of things Blanche loves: car rides, attention from strangers, and random treats. Perfect! The only thing that makes the vet even better is all the AMAZING smells outside to pee on. Every inch, there’s a wonderful new aroma that needs to be marked. I usually leave ten minutes early just to walk the ten feet to the vet’s door

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-4265294233996870052008-09-26T01:03:00.005-04:002008-09-27T16:00:29.315-04:00

I deleted this because my mommy said I should. It was too close to being about my workplace.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-48814217773201465182008-09-25T17:21:00.002-04:002008-09-27T15:58:43.981-04:00

I deleted this because my mommy said I should. It was too close to being about my workplace.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-63950951662654368702008-09-24T10:50:00.001-04:002008-09-24T10:53:26.525-04:00

I had no intention of blogging about my political views, but Matthew said it was obligatory. He planted a bug in my ear, and now I feel like I’ve got to get it out via Christine Wy.Yesterday I joined a (useless) Facebook group, St. Augustine college for Obama. I semi-publicly declared myself Obama-ite. I wish I had a deeply heartfelt and insightful reason for voting Obama versus the typical

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-57296965150639206042008-09-21T20:04:00.001-04:002008-09-21T20:08:58.016-04:00

I just started doing my dramatic interpretation of Samuel Beckett's 1969 play Breath, when I realized I was sitting publicly at the reference desk. I'm not afraid of looking silly or unprofessional, but I don't think my boss would appreciate complaints about "the creepy chick who works Sunday nights."At least I got a breath and a half in before I aborted my performance piece.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-57808180862047414822008-09-20T14:26:00.002-04:002008-09-20T14:32:19.761-04:00

In case you hadn't heard (and I don't know why I did), former Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker is in critical condition after a plane crash. Do you know what I thought when I saw his slick Hollywood picture with the announcement? I took a quick breath through my nose, and thought about how I will never afford to be that tattooed. The guy is probably in intensive care, and all I can think is

Christine Wynoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-56519647978241953532008-09-20T11:40:00.000-04:002008-09-20T11:41:24.144-04:00

Update: Right leg saga installment number 5001.I finally got the hot pink cast off, but, honestly, I was a little sad to see it go. It was pretty cool to have a hot pink leg. I need to figure out how to replicate that. Leg warmers? Hmm. But, now I’m free to at last exfoliate the bound leg and remove the fungal-like dead skin covering my right leg. Ew. The goo that sloughed off from between

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-67779299779346915632008-09-15T22:43:00.001-04:002008-09-15T22:44:59.581-04:00

"You! You are obsessed with germy keyboards and hand-washing! And you’re letting the cat lick your hamburger?” I’m going to have to learn new words to describe the way Matthew talks to me because incredulity is just part of it. Exasperation? Is there a word that combines incredulity and exasperation? If so, that’s the way Matthew was yelling at me—incredurationed. Giddily, “Yeah!”And

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-50333331396073808842008-09-14T14:53:00.002-04:002008-09-14T15:48:16.556-04:00

I cried. My latest adventure in leg surgery has broken my spirit. I can’t quit crying and whinging over it. I do mean literal tears. I retreat to the bedroom, turn on the air conditioner to be comfortable while I wail, and let it rip. Totally in the gutter over this. Demoralized. I have felt like my life will never be pain free or normal for a year now, but surgery has taken me to new

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-57490544194080585772008-09-12T13:26:00.000-04:002008-09-12T13:28:30.223-04:00

I suppose I have mostly recovered from last night’s particularly bad “I hate me” attack, but now I have butterflies. I phone interview soon, and I want to be good enough, and I want them to be good enough. Both sides of the equation must be equal. Or it’s one of those logic problems: If A and B then C. If they like me, if I like them, then we’ll get together. I’m nervous for both going

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-86020828478363796302008-09-11T23:33:00.000-04:002008-09-11T23:34:04.354-04:00

I’ve hit my maximum output for the day. It’s that time of night where my daily allotment of self-esteem has evaporated. I’m left with the brain-gnawing grudges, angsts, and self-flagellations. I had a psychiatrist who called it “negative obsessive self-talk.” Every night--the precise time shifts from evening to evening--I reach the witching hour of negative obsessive self-talk. I’m starting

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-73552472052399150892008-09-10T00:03:00.001-04:002008-09-11T10:16:13.172-04:00

In therapy and in my friend-talk unofficial therapy, one of my big crisis points is tidiness. I am a slob. I know I am a slob. It’s physically evident, and therefore very difficult to deny. My specific disorder is untidiness. I do not leave dishes out or food bits laying around, but all the beads, hoola hoops, itinerant papers, purses, candles, toy cameras, and my endless stream of flotsam

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-79965588977417311742008-09-09T19:27:00.001-04:002008-09-09T19:28:38.618-04:00

Florida has changed me. I leave indoor crap on the porch, I wear flip flops in public, and spaghetti strap tank tops are de rigueur. Now, I’ve nearly made the full-on deep-South transformation—trailer park queen. I bought a nightgown, but before it even saw the bedroom, I discovered it was the best house dress ever. Now, I get home from work, look for shorts and a tank top and remember, “Ah!

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-77417692343981892492008-09-07T20:00:00.000-04:002008-09-07T20:01:31.140-04:00

more animalsI chose left.

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-1074110375889508672008-09-07T18:34:00.003-04:002008-09-07T18:40:29.085-04:00

Dear Diary,This most recent surgery hurts quite a bit, but hopefully it will be my last. I saw the surgeon last Tuesday, exclaiming that my incision continued to weep synovial fluid. He asked me to come in for follow-up surgery the very next day. He said he would read up on it to see if anything new had come up on synovial issues, and I thought of him studying for an exam and my leg the test.I

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156937.post-6563440352106443882008-09-03T15:48:00.004-04:002008-09-03T16:09:23.800-04:00

At my therapist's office last week, I excused myself to use the restroom. My therapist's office is in an old building, dating from I'd guess late 1800's to early 1900's. The bathroom reflects this. Tiny stalls made from marble slab and closed by solid hardwood doors set the time period well. Even if the cramped space makes me feel like I'm in Lilliput. Because of the original wood's

Christine Wyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05956363247402355587noreply@blogger.com3