Yes, Dad, I'm still writing...

...I never stopped. But blogging took a back seat since the last 1/3 of 2008 has been pretty distracting, but in an amazing sort of way.

How amazing was 2008? Here's how amazing:
-Morgan and Thom had twins.-I bought my first kayak.-I finished filing my 2004 taxes.-I realized the upside to spending $5 per gallon on gas: It makes getting a latte at Starbucks feel like charity work.

And while I'm always looking forward to a fresh shiny new year like 2009, I can't help but look back on 2008 with a sort of chokey-gurgle-sneeze squeal thing. And I've got my reasons. Like back in...
JANUARY when after a twelve day illness, I set out for Providence, RI to see Amy, one my oldest friends and her new husband for their Superbowl party. There, I ate home made chicken wings fresh from a brand new deep fryer, and learned all sorts of exciting words like linebacker, halfback, and Pepto-Bismol.
FEBRUARY After a rough handful of weeks apartment hunting, my roommate and I finally moved into a huge old place on the outskirts of the city. It was close enough to work, which was great if I ever wanted to bike the two miles there. All I would have to do is get a new bike then choose between joining The Bloods or The Crips (NOTE: the first time I said this to someone, I thought we laughed because I was making a very clever, if not, dark joke. It turns out: the surrounding streets of our neighborhood are, in fact, populated by several upstanding members of The Crips).


MARCH was when I decided last minute to go and see the St. Patty's Day parade in the city. What a hoot! It was windy, icy cold, and the sun was shining! I grabbed a hot latte at 'Bucks and saw bagpipes, balloons, Irish Wolf Hounds, Shetland Ponies, Irish Dancers, drunk men, police, funny hats, and all sorts of traditional Irish performances. But my hands-down favorite part was the floats and without questions the best float had to be the Kayaking/Rock-climbing one. There was even a guy rigged up to a harness climbing a replica of the famous Irish rock formation called Giant's Causeway (float pictured above).
APRIL I have no recollection of this month. But, since I am my father's daughter, it behooves me to touch on recent political events and the current soci0-economic state of the nation--OH! WAIT! April's when my throat and lips got all itchy and I found out that I'm allergic to peanuts, spinach, and all corn products and by-products and that if I continue to ingest even trace amounts of these items, the likelihood increases that these -my food allergies- will become anaphylactic. And a special thanks goes out to my fellow food allergy suffering roommate without whom I would never have developed an irrational fear of grocery stores.

MAY I learned that my good friend Lea eloped with her boyfriend of six thousand years. Lea and I met at my first job here in Connecticut where we worked for The Devil Who Wears Too Much Make-up. Congrats Lea! On the left is a photo of us from her reception later in the summer. Not pictured: Great Uncle Hank who wins the Most Likely to Hug You For Just A Liiiittle Too Long Award.
JUNE On the 21st, I went kayaking for the first time in years. It is a city-run guided program where I meet a park ranger whom I eventually start dating, also known as "He Who Requests To Be Known In This Blog As Ranger Sexy Pants" (HWRTBKITBARSP). And guess what? HWRTBKITBARSP just so happens to be the brains behind the kayaking/rock climbing float on St. Patty's Day (See MARCH). Coincidence? Perhaps.
JULY I take off from work to spend some summer weeks in tropical Buffalo. Then, my beautiful, healthy twin nieces are born on the 5th. Through tears of joy and relief, our family grows into double trouble. Happy Birthday and welcome home Kelsey Faith and Catie Rose!

AUGUST I've known Anna since Kindergarten, so it was with pride, love, laughter, and tears that I watched her walk down the aisle to the man of her dreams. And what's more romantic than attending your best friend's dream wedding with your gorgeous and happily married big sister as your date?
Seriously though, Morgan and I were the cutest Davis Girls there.


During The 29th Olympiad, the United States brings home more medals than any other statistic I could find from google.news.
Towards the end of the month, communications with HWRTBKITBARSP, are on the rise, he asks me to be on his bowling team. I say yes, and the rest is history in the making.
SEPTEMBER On the 1st of September HWRTBKITBARSP and I go on our first un-chaperoned date to a diner in "downtown" Branford. So, now when people ask me that time-old question: "Erica, when did you first KNOW that you could get a piece of omelet lodged in your trachea then projectile sneeze it out of your nose?" I can say it was then. Later in the month, HWRTBKITBARSP and I take our first road trip to Maine, where we met up with my old pals from my wilderness instructor days Clobby P. and J. Kilch (pictured right).

OCTOBER Hosted a very successful Haskoween Potluck at work, with a special visit from the Guilt Fairy, whom no one seemed to like. But the best Halloween party was without corn products at HWRTBKITBARSP's, where I came in second place for the Most Obvious Use of a Three Dollar Glue Gun.

NOVEMBER I travel to Buffalo with HWRTBKITBARSP to attend my first Sabres home game. Did I mention HWRTBKITBARSP is a huge Sabres fan? Coincidence? Perhaps. But between his iPhone, natural honing skills, and effortless charm, he found out more about the parking situation than the valets. Sabres lost 5-4 in overtime, but I got a soft pretzel.
DECEMBER I still can't get used to how green Connecticut is, even in winter. Actually since you've been reading this, about 3" of snow and ice have covered the ground and my car. But it's so freakin' beautiful. HWRTBKITBARSP says that here in CT, you really have to pray for a white Christmas. But no prayers were needed for the white stuff in Buffalo. After Aunt Margo's amazing Christmas Breakfast, we open presents. Them. Mom and Dad tell me that my gift is to help send me to a writers conference in NYC this August, which I think I very well may take them up on. Immediately following the conference, HWRTBKITBARSP and I head to Ireland to see Giant's Causeway (right). Coincidence? Maybe.
Which brings us to today. The last hours of 2008. Amazing really is the best word to describe this year. HWRTBKITBARSP has not only opened his heart and his home to me, but his friends too have met me with big smiles, too many laughs to count and open arms. Tonight, we are joined by our friends and family for a New Year's Eve/House Re-Heating party. So, Everyone: Here's wishing you all health, wealth, safe travels, many blessings, laughs and an amazing new year.
Dad, I may be off the blogging radar now and again, but my future best-seller can't type itself. So, rest assured that I'm always writing --I come by it honestly-- and that you're still my #1 man. I love you forever. Happy Birthday!
Love,

Your Davis Girl

This is Science...and So Can You!

HYPOTHESIS
I think everyone should work at a research laboratory. Research laboratories give you money and a place to bring your latte when your morning conversation with the disgruntled Starbucks employee comes to a screeching halt while he bodily escorts the self-dubbed --and aptly named-- "Top-Tooth Timmers the Homeless Wonder" from the premises for rearranging the rolls of toilet paper in ladies' room according to his preferred sleeping position.
DISCUSSION
Fact: Research is fun. So, now that you're all excited to go out and apply for a job at a research laboratory, I'll take this time to crush your thinly woven dreams of Ivy league grandeur with the following four (4) poorly researched but correctly numbered steps to landing your dream job in a research laboratory:
1). When applying for various career-like opportunities available to you at a research laboratory, it is imperative to take the time to look up the use of smart sounding words like imperative before you use it in a sentence on your cover letter. Then: apply for it, nail the interview, and get hired in a research laboratory.
2). If you want to become a sleep deprived, self-absorbed twit, then you should be a scientist. Back in 1629 when the first scientist was discovered loitering near an old-timey microscope by a pack of dateless Mathletes, no one had even heard of science. But they did what anyone of us would have done and published a 1,732,684,351,867,530,932 page Nobel Prize-winning paper discussing the bejeezus out of the probability of securing a federal grant for the Society for the Continuation and Preservation and Encouragement of the Research for Left-handed Gnat Populations of New Guinea (SFTCAPAEOTRFLGPNG) --donations accepted--.

3). As a researcher, your job will be to run participants through studies and answer any questions they may have such as:
-What is this research study about?
-Are we done yet?
-Where's the bathroom? In between running participants through a study, your primary responsibility will be to fabricate scores and averages and type them into nauseating virtual towers of numbers called spreadsheets or typing TBD (To Be Determined) when you are unsure or are bored being in the lab and leave for a Starbucks run.
4). Please don't think that just because your superiors are "scientists" and not "bosses" that working at a research laboratory is easy. It's not! Unless, of course, your idea of easy includes making at least 17 (seventeen) trips to Starbucks within a 25.9 hour work week or learning to seamlessly toggle out of the eBay screen a millisecond before your crazy-eyed boss walks by and gives you what we here in Academia scientifically refer to as a "grumpy-face." Seriously, that takes, like, a freaking hour to get the hand movement down.

RESULTSTBD

CONCLUSION
In conclusion, if you are still reading this, then --CONGRATULATIONS!!!-- you are interested in working at a research laboratory! But maybe you're uneasy about where to start looking. No one
blames you for being worried! And, if it makes you feel any better, it's much easier now to find a job in a research laboratory than it was back in the Good Old Days (October 3rd & 4th, 1987) and here's why: Back then, I was approximately 64% creative and 37%mathematically inclined and had a very short attention span. But now I can watch three (3) back-to-back episodes of Law & Order without moving. And so can you! Just work at a research lab and have more time for doing the important things in life like reading poorly researched/caffeine-induced blog entries.

BLOGCATION NOTICE

TO: Everyone everyone@thewholeworld.com

FROM: The Guilt Fairy theguiltfairy@givegivegive.com

SUBJECT: Blogcation Notice

DEAR KIND READERS,

THIS IS THE GUILT FAIRY WRITING.

IT HAS RECENTLY COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT ERICA WAS, IN FACT, SERIOUS ABOUT MY SEVERANCE FROM HER EXISTENCE AS WAS CONVEYED TASTELESSLY IN AN POST EARLIER THIS YEAR. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE.

AND I WOULD HAVE RESPONDED TO THIS MATTER SOONER, HOWEVER, I'VE BEEN ON A VOW OF POVERTY TO RAISE AWARENESS OF THE DIMINISHING ECUADORIAN AMISH COMMUNITY --MORE ON THAT IN A MOMENT.

HASN'T SHE ANY IDEA OF WHAT I GO THROUGH FOR HER? THE AMOUNT OF UNCOMMONLY SELFLESS GODDESS-LIKE SOCIAL PROWESSES I INJECT --RATHER FREQUENTLY- INTO HER ARTICULATION SO AS TO SPARE HER FROM OTHERWISE GALACTIC EMBARRASSMENTS? I SUPPOSE NOT, OTHERWISE SHE WOULD HAVE WRITTEN BACK WITH SOMETHING OTHER THAN A RESTRAINING ORDER IN MY ABSENCE.

HOWEVER, AMONG MY TRAVELS IN THE AMISH COMMUNITY, I CAME ACROSS AN EXTRAORDINARILY RARE SPECIES OF ANIMAL. WHILE INTERACTING WITH THESE CREATURES, I BEGAN TO SEE HOW THEY WOULD BE JUST THE THING TO IMPRESS UPON OUR DEAREST ERICA THE IMPORTANCE OF A HUMBLE, MORE ME-LIKE EXISTENCE. SO, KIND, SENSIBLE READERS, I GIVE YOU: THE HOWLING ECUADORIAN GUILT MONKEYS (Guiltius, schreechius).

THE ECUADORIAN GUILT MONKEY CAN BEEN TRACED BACK THOUSANDS OF YEARS PROTECTING AND GUIDING THE AMISH TRIBES. IT'S QUITE SOMETHING REALLY, ALL THEIR LITTLE EYES WIDE OPEN, MOUTH AGAPE, IN DISBELIEF WHEN THEY SENSE GUILT OR BAD KARMA.

PERHAPS MOST EXTRAORDINARY ARE THEIR BUILT-IN HOMING DEVICES, PROGRAMED BY SCENT, IN MUCH THE SAME WAY A BABY CHICK WILL "IMPRINT" UPON THE FIRST CREATURE THEY SEE.

FORTUNATELY FOR ERICA, MY HORDE OF HOWLING ECUADORIAN GUILT MONKEYS WERE NOT MATURE UNTIL THIS MORNING, WHEN, UPON HATCHING IN A DARK CORNER OF ERICA'S BEDROOM, THEY WERE, UNSURPRISINGLY, FACE-TO-FACE WITH --AND THUS ENSUED ROLLING IN-- HER DIRTY LAUNDRY.

WHICH IS IN NO SHORT SUPPLY.

SELFLESSLY, I'VE ARRANGED A BRIEF INTERVIEW WITH THE ALPHA MALE, KANGORA --PICTURED ABOVE-- WHO SHOULD BE HERE SHORTLY.

WHILE WE WAIT, I THOUGHT I'D TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO BRING TO LIGHT A FEW 'LEARNING MOMENTS' THAT WOULD OTHERWISE HAVE BEEN WASTED IN ERICA'S LESS-THAN-IMPRESSIVE SHORT-TERM MEMORY ABILITIES. TAKEN PRIMARILY FROM A CANDID OBSERVATION YESTERDAY, I CALL THIS NEW BLOG SEGMENT: "TOP TEN THINGS NOT TO DO AT A YALE STAFF MEETING---

==INCOMING MESSAGE==

___________________________
TO: Everyone everyone@thewholeworld.com
FROM: thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com

SUBJECT: at Starbucks

________________________

Anyone happen to know why there is currently a swarm of midget chimps screeching at my latte?

-Erica

That WAS easy.

So, guess where I'm writing from? MY PAJAMAS. And that's because I went to Staples last week, dropped of my laptop at Laptop Camp...and seven days later my laptop was FIXED and now it's home and I'm blogging in my pajamas on my laptop which is now "online". And an hour ago, I came across a website. A website is one of many different and interesting things you can find "online." So, here's what I made:

You can make some too. Here's the website: http://diy.despair.com/motivator.php

More later,

Erica

Dear Staples,

FROM: TheDavisGirl@inmypajamas.com

TO: StaplesPresident@StaplesOfficeSupplyStores.com

SUBJECT: Hey, that was easy.

Dear Staples,

I am writing to congratulate you on your success as a kick-arse Store. I've had this laptop since 2004. It came with wireless network, which worked perfectly, once at a Borders bookstore in California. Never since. Which was all very well, since I've somehow managed to convince friends and loved ones alike that I didn't need the internet, because:

-"It would interfere with my writing..."

-"It costs too much..."

-"I have it at work..."

All of which, I now realize, are moot. I am currently writing you this email from my very own writing chair in my bedroom and, more importantly, in my pajamas. Do you know how great this is? I can't tell you how many odd looks I've gotten when asked "what's my aim?" and I say "best-selling author." BUT I GET IT NOW! They meant the 'Americans Instant Messanger!' Did you know you can even buy things? I'm not kidding! I was just looking at the fruit juicer which only cost $37.78! I know!

-

Life takes Visa. And Pants.

Round trip gas for shopping trip to J.Crew outlet store: $23

Blue polka-dot belt: $6.

2 Striped oxford blouses: $49.

Dark gray tailored pants: $78

Corduroy blazer suggested by good-looking manager: $72

Knocking into sock display when good-looking manager smiles at me: Embarrassing.

Gas for next-day trip to get security tag removed from pinstripe pants: $12.

Wondering if good-looking manager just saw me trip on argyle sweater display table leg: Mortifying.

Blue jersey-knit dress: $33.

Time spent pretending to search through rack of wool herringbone blazers I can't afford while waiting to see if good-looking manager: a) has a ring on his left ring-finger; b) calls security on me for loitering: 8 minutes 27 seconds.

Wool herringbone blazer suggested by good-looking manager: $168.

Moving with the prowess of Wonder Woman and the stealth of McGyver; handing manager a scrap of paper with my number on it, while walking shoulder-first into a partition wall: Super easy.

Minutes sitting in car, trying to remember if I wrote the right phone number: 6.5.

Good-looking manager calling last night and asking me out for coffee:
Priceless.

There are some things money can't buy.
For everything else, there's social awkwardness.

Dear Hailey,

Dear Hailey,

I had so much fun visiting you last weekend! Especially when we went on the Merry-Go-Round at the mall. Twice. In six minutes. And I know it’s only been one week, but I already miss you more than the moon, Peanut, and I can’t wait to see you again!

I want you to know how proud I am that you are being such a good girl while your mommy’s belly continues to approach meteoric proportions. Are you excited to be a big sister? When Catie and Kelsey come, you’re not just going to be a big sister, your going to be the big sister!

Two little sisters is no small potatoes. Now, I know you are a very smart girl, –it’s not everyone who at the age of two years and seven months can write their own name using nothing but a Magnadoodle and ketchup– but I think it’s time I passed on the sisterhood history. A sistory, if you will.

As you may have not quite yet grasped, your very-pregnant mommy is my big sister –pun intended– and since you are going to be the big sister soon, I thought you might benefit from a few tried and true tips on how to be a good big sister.

1. Eat your Greens. Dog food might smell great...Dog food might taste great, but it is not for giving to your little sister(s) no matter how much it looks like Coco Puffs. Wouldn’t you rather feed them some broccoli stems? Or how about some nice asparagus!? Mmmmmm!

2. Socks not Rocks. In the very near future you will most likely be trained by your devilishly clever parents in the ill-favored Davis-Girl-skill of Laundry. But when it comes time to wash, rinse, repeat, fluff, snap, dry, and fold, please, don’t throw balls of socks for Catie or Kelsey to catch. Even if it is in jest. Do you have any idea how much those black and grey tube socks look like rocks? In a certain light, even argyle can play with your mind. It’s just scary, so, please, NO socks-throwing. Or throwing of anything for that matter. Unless it’s a Frisbee. And you’re outdoors. Or indoors.

3. Sharing means Caring. I know you’ve heard this before, but I cannot tell you how important this one is, Hailey. In a year’s time, your little sisters will be in love with EVERYTHING you use, wear, touch, eat, poop, and look at. Just please use a little more discretion than your mommy did in which you decide to let them have.

4. Patience is a Virtue. For the next few months eighteen years, your house is going to be what we in the “real world” call busy-busy --a word here meaning: twice as much crying, whining, complaining, tooting, stinking, and tantrum-throwing. And when this does happen, just ask your parents to chill out, especially if the twins are sleeping.

5. Hugs not bugs. When Catie and Kelsey get here, it’s going to be very warm outside and everyone knows that ants and bugs love being inside to find yummy crumbs. Please don’t feed either to your sisters. Or vice versa.

6. Keep Quiet. When we were little, your mommy and I used to disagree on a few silly things, like: whose crayons were whose; whose turn it was to use the remote control; the State of the Union, etc... But in the end, we did what any reasonable and mature 9 and 12 year-olds would do: we pinched. we held hands and talked it through. And if that didn’t work, we’d scream come to an involuntary 3^rd-party compromise. And while standing in our respective corners, passersby who were so inclined to turn up thier hearing aids, would have heard barely audible taunts flowing back and forth:

Erica: Nerd.

Morgan: Twit.

E: Booger brain.

M: Dillweed.

E: I already said that.

M: Did not.

E: Did too.

M: Did not!

E: Did too!

M: Did too.

E: Stop copying me.

M: Stop copying me.

So if you do feel like you have something to say, but you’re not sure you should say it and you don’t want to get into trouble for saying it, just say it in a little quiet voice like this so no one can really hear you.

7. Lead by Example. Catie and Kelsey are going to be watching you, learning from you. But I’ll eat my hat if they ever listen to a word you or your parents say. So be mindful of what you do, how you walk, where you go, and what you touch, because they’ll be watching. Always watching. And if they see you sharing your toys with Brooke, they’ll do that. If they see you slipping Ashley a fiver to your laundry chores, they’ll do that. Except that they’ll pool their money so then Ashley has twice as much profit from doing half as much laundry since being the youngest AND twins they’ll share all the hand-me-downs, anyway. Not that I didn’t love me some hand me downs! Who said your Pina doesn’t have style. Back in ‘86 brown leaf-print cords were IN!

8. Share your Feelings. Creepy as 12ft singing dinosaurs are, that Barney guy knows what he’s talking about. I for one, don’t know why Fraggle Rock isn’t still on. It’s not like the Fraggles didn’t have important lessons to teach us. I know what you’re thinking, Hailey, and yes, when Jim Henson created Fraggle Rock, his goal was to teach both kids and parents that if the Fraggles could laugh at their own mistakes, or overcome their squabbles with those they cared about, then hopefully people could learn the same thing. And that still rings true today. Everything you feel now is precious and important. When your sisters do come, you are going to have a lot of feelings. Sometimes you’ll be happy. Sometimes you’ll be sad. Sometimes you’ll be frustrated. And that’s OK! Tell a grown-up or someone else bigger than you about these feelings.

Unless it’s a 12ft talking dinosaur. I don’t want you talking to any fat dinosaurs. Capisce?

In closing, before I was born, your mommy was the youngest, just like you are the youngest now. Then, when I was born, I was the youngest and got away with everything. When Catie and Kelsey arrive, they will be the youngest and will always stay that way until your identical triplet brothers are conceived.

Love to the moon and back,

Pina

This entry was brought to you today
by the number: Venti
and the letters: T-r-i-p-l-e E-s-s-p-r-e-s-s-o.

Law & Order D.G.V.

LAW & ORDER D.G.V.
-DAVIS GIRL VERSION-

In the Criminal Justice System
there are two separate but equally important people:
Attorneys who ask confused plaintiffs inane questions
and the disgruntled stenographers who swear at their computers.
These are their stories.

DUNG-dung.

Two weeks ago, I received a message from my attorney that the law firm defending the driver that hit me was at long last ready for my deposition. If you don’t know what a deposition is, you’re not alone. Scientific studies prove that one out of every person currently typing this sentence has no idea what deposition is. Only after I told my roommate that I was getting deported was I corrected.

So it was with some relief that my attorney asked me to come in the day before the depo (that's hip lawyerish slang for 'deposition') to prep. When I got to his office in the aptly named town of Plainville, CT he brought me a dixie cup of tap water and set up a deposition training video. Remember those Workplace Safety Training/ Loss Prevention Training/ Customer Service Training videos about how to do things like how to handle a difficult customer, how to administer first aid, how to approach an aisle-four pickle jar spill, or how to determine if a victim is conscious and/or breathing...yeah, remember those? Well, this was a 'how-not-to give a deposition' video. And from this stimulating half hour video --yes, that's 30 minutes of my life which I will never get back-- I learned some exciting How-Not-To tips such as:

1. Do not lie as you will be sworn in and under oath or you will be arrested.
2. Do not offer information that is not asked or you will be arrested.
3. Do not get emotional. If you cry, you will be arrested.
4. Do not interrupt the opposing counsel or you will be arrested.
5. Do not be discourteous. Address counsel as Sir or Madam or you will be arrested.

After the video, my attorney took away my dixie cup and we moved on to my case file review where we went over the details of the night of the accident, my resulting injuries, treatments, follow-up treatments, and current complaints, issues, and so on. The prep took about two hours and when I was leaving he assured me I was going to do great.

Well the deposition came and went...And I must admit; I am 95% confident that I have no idea what came out of my mouth. I'm pretty sure I've blocked it. But as some of you have asked me how it went, I could probably fill in the blanks. I’ve paid enough visits to the mysteries stacks at Barnes & Noble to know that the transcript of that closed-door meeting probably will look something like this:

The Deposition in the case of
Erica B Davis vs. the Defendant
held at the offices of
Blah Blah and Blah, Suite 702,
Plainville, CT

Appearances:
Erica Davis (ED)
Her Attorney (HA)
Other Attorney (OA)
Stenography Lady (SL) Shorthand Reporter/Notary public within and for the State of Connecticut.

BEGIN TRANSCRIPT:

Erica Davis (ED): --en what’s that thing for?

Her Attorney (HA): Just a tape recorder. We record all our sessions to be compared later with the stenographer’s notes.

ED: So...that other attorney...He’s not going to ask about my math grades or anything is he?

HA:Where did you get an idea like that?

ED: There was this episode of Law & Order on the other night and this guy was innocent, but the other attorney subpoenaed some of his old report cards and--

HA: Just calm down, Erica. You’re going to do great.

(Sound of door opening)
(Sound of door closing)

Other Attorney (OA): Sorry I’m late everyone. I passed this accident on the way here and--well anyway--let’s get this thing started. Everybody Ready? Great.

Stenography Lady (SL): Miss Davis, raise your right hand. Your other right...Now, Miss Davis, do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

ED: I do.

OA: Thank you, Miss Davis. Good afternoon everyone. Thank you so much for being here. First, Miss Davis, when I ask you questions you must give a verbal answer and please wait for me to finish a question before you respond. Do you understand?

ED: I do.

HA: Nice! You’re doing great, Erica.

OC: Just for the record, Miss Davis please state your name.

ED: Erica Davis.

OC: Are you testifying that you do not in fact have a middle name or are you saying you don’t use it? Remember, you are under oath, Miss Davis.

ED: Uh...

OC: Please refrain from not using verbal responses, Miss Davis.

ED: Yes, Sir. Uh, I don’t understand your question, Sir.

HA: Nice. You’re doing great, Erica.

OC: Please describe for me, in detail, how exactly you spell your middle name.

{17 MINUTES LATER}

OC: Are you or are you not saying that you may or may not have been given a so-called middle name in which case, that you choose not to use it, or if you do, that you refrain from giving it under oath?

ED: Is it getting warm in here?

HA: You’re doing great, Erica.

OC: Now. If I were to subpoena your seventh grade report card, what would I find written for your third quarter math grade?

ED: (inaudible)

{32 MINUTES LATER}

OC: And what was the listed phone number for the chocolatiere where you bought the so-called yogurt-dipped pretzels?

ED: I’ve never been to France.

OC: In as much detail as you can, please tell me; what are the effects of Plutonium on an unexpired non-callable substance when combined with a superconductor or unobtainable metal?

ED: Near my old house there was this big pond. I threw pennies at ducks.

OC: Miss Davis, earlier you testified that you drank a ginger ale at a so-called restaurant that night of the accident. Is this true?

ED: Ginger ale has 65 calories per serving.

OC: And did this so-called Ginger ale have ice?

ED: My mom had cockatiels that screeched when Golden Girls came on.

OC: But did you or did you not just testify that you drank ginger ale?

ED: I have to go to the bathroom.

OC: But now, you’re saying you drank Ginger ale with ice or do you mean to say that you drank the aforementioned so-called ginger ale so quickly that the ice didn’t have time to melt, and if so, did you not stop to think of the hazards of ice-choking; but if it did melt, you are lying under oath and if such is not the case, would you be saying that--

{TWELVE MINUTES LATER}

OC: (Continued)–for which the drink distributor of this so-called restaurant versus a delivery truck invoice slip which was not actually signed for by the dishwasher who cleaned the alleged glass that your drank from containing an un-iced ginger ale?

ED: My neighbor has a guinea pig. His name is Disco. The guinea pig, I mean. Not my neighbor.

OC: Do you know my client’s name, Miss Davis?

ED: I didn’t floss in college.

OC: Have you ever called my client on a telephone?

ED: A giraffe has the same number of bones in it’s neck as humans. They’re just longer.

OC: Have you ever called my client on a cellular phone or spoken to my client since the night of the events of March 10, 2007?

ED: Broccoli scrubs your insides.

OC: Miss Davis, what is my client’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s name?

ED: I like pineapple.

(Sounds of papers shuffling)

OC: Ok. That about covers it for me. Thank you, Miss Davis.

ED: (inaudible)

HA: I’d like to cross examine my client now. Miss Davis, please describe in your own words the events that took place on the night of--

Stenography Lady (SL): --stupid battery’s about to–

END TRANSCRIPT

Waiting to Inhale

DISCLAIRMER: If anyone reading this is fortunate enough NOT to know what Asthma is like, but is willing to find out for the sake of better understanding what I'm talking about in this blog... Then try this quick exercise:

1. Inhale.
2. Exhale.
3. Inhale & hold breathe (3 seconds)
...one...two...three...
4. Then, INHALE again.

Did you feel it? Not much air coming in with that last breath, right?

That's asthma. Only it's like that for some people 24/7; myself included.
Asthma is a continual inflammation of the bronchial passageways (tubes that carry outside air into my lungs). Even without an asthma "attack," it's been a struggle since I was 12 to take big deep gulping breath of fresh air. The same things happen to my lungs with cold air--but in spades.

While physically struggling through the winter season as a Wilderness Instructor, it was a physician in Maine who figured out that my already-diagnosed Exercised-Induced Asthma was joining evil forces with my newly acquired Cold-Induced Asthma.

For whatever reason, my lungs and heart work overtime to turn cold air into warm breathable air. When I take a breath during the cold months, not only is there less room for air flow, but what does get in-- just hurts. Like thousands of ice-knives in my throat, stabbing all the way down to my neck, chest, lungs, stomach...

But one year ago, my doctor said Mylanta. Not really. But my doctor seemed to like the idea of my trying Singulair especially since I was using my inhaler to treat both my symptoms and as a preventative. When my doctor heard that, she made it very clear that my asthma fell into a category of: NOT AT ALL UNDER CONTROL YOU SILLY AMERICAN GIRL.

So, she refilled my inhaler prescription, wrote me one for Singulair and I started taking it that day. I figured, the worst that could happen was that it wouldn't work. I mean, my inhaler was OK for helping me breath a bit better --and if you don't know what an inhaler tastes like, just picture making a big pot of Mom's Spaghetti Sauce, burning the pan, throwing out the sauce, then eating the burnt pan. Yeah, not so much the yummy as the not-yummy.

But when I wasn't having an asthma attack, I could manage a little shortness of breath. I mean, as long as it wasn't below 55 degrees. Or raining. Or humid. Or dry. Or allergy season. Other than that, I'd be totally fine. And until that first hour when my first dose of Singulair kicked in...I never realized just how much air I had been missing. It had been fourteen years since I last had a real full breath like that. It was beyond incredible.

I could breath in and breath out and actually feel the air filling--FILLING!--my lungs. Oxygen! Joy! Lots of Oxygen!

So it is not with a little worry when early this week, I heard about the FDA investigating Singulair --my sweet, sweet, wonderful, breath-giving, asthma-butt-kicking Singulair--, for links to some not-so-wonderful things including but --scarily-- not limited to:

-anxiety (a little bit yeah)
-seizures (no, thankfully)
-depression (only in the morning for about 3 minutes coming out of a dream)
-restlessness (yes)
-feelings of guilt (yes)
-hallucinations (I swear to got there's this yellow cat following me everywhere)
-irritability (no!!!)-aggressive behavior (no)
-tremors (no)
-trouble sleeping (yes)
-bad/vivid dreams (yes)
And the list keeps going, but I'll stop there for the sake of not freaking myself out anymore than the Singulair may already be doing.

So, though I've been chalking up my own change in behavior to the stress of the accident coupled with Real Life at Yale giving me minor anxiety about stuff that I never used to worry about (getting to work late even though I make my own schedule, weird dreams, not making my bed, wrinkled clothes, Law & Order reruns, driving); maybe its not just me. And if there's a chance that waking up feeling guilty for nothing at all is due to my asthma meds? I'm a little relived.
And, I know some of you --who will remain unnamed, Mom-- may think otherwise; but, guys, I'm no hypochondriac. And though this FDA v. Singulair stuff would explain more than a few weird things happening in the year since I started taking it, I'm a BIG FAN of breathing freely. So, for now, I'm keeping the Singulair until the FDA comes to my door and TRIES to rip it from my kung fu grip.
I'll take emotional instability and phantom cats over not being able to breath any day.
Until then, if anyone does any deeper google-ing, let me know what you think, or find, or know, or have experienced. It's going to be a while before I get in to see my physician, and this freaking cat is getting on my nerves.

February 18, 2008

A BIRTHDAY STORY IN PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE DIGITAL PERSUASION

PRE-SWITCH: ENSEMBLE


UNTITLED SELF-PORTRAIT. PRE-SWITCH, OF COURSE.


AND THIS IS PART OF OUR 50' CEILING LIVING ROOM

PRE-SWITCH: ALL THE NEIGHBORS

PRE-SWITCH: THE NEIGHBOR FROM 2A ENJOYS SOME DELICIOUS CASSEROLE LIDS.



DURING SWITCH: THE ROOMMATE



DURING SWITCH: THE GUY IN 2A SURRENDERING GREEN BIKINI


MID-SWITCH: HOSTESS SURRENDERING PINK SKIRT BENEATH YELLOW SKIRT


THE ROOMMATE WITH SPECIAL GUEST: DISCO THE GUINEA PIG FROM 2A.


MID-SWITCH: THE GUY IN THE ATTIC

MID-SWITCH: THE BUFFALONIANS



DURING THE SWITCH: THE ROOMMATE'S BOYFRIEND ADJUSTING BIKINI

ANY GRACIOUS HOSTESS KNOWS: BE READY TO "FIX" YOUR $8 GARAGE SALE STEREO

POST-SWITCH: THE ROOMMATE (RED) IN HER VERSION OF "NOT LAUGHING"


POST-SWITCH: THE BIRTHDAY CUPCAKES!



WITH OUR POWERS COMBINED...

Realtors, Landwitches, and Other Horrors

Last summer, a young woman named Emma started working with me at Haskins Labs. Now, as we are both in search of housing, we've decided to look for an apartment to share. I mean, we're young, successful, financially secure, sane, drama-free, drug-free, personal-life free girls. Finding an apartment has never been easier. Right?

Wrong.

Very, very wrong.

To put it simply, if our apartment hunting experience, thus far, were a Made-For-TV-Movie starring one Ms. Sally Field, even my mother would have changed the channel before the opening credits were rolling.

As far as how we would be as tenants, what landlord wouldn't be falling over themselves to have us living in their apartment. I mean, look at our credentials:

We're gainfully employed.

We're quiet.

We're smoke-free

We're drug-free

We're pet-less.

We're packed.

We're responsible.

We're nice.

We're clean. (Lock it up, Arwyn. And Erin. And Morgan).

We're sane.

According to one sleazy Realtor, we're cute.

We're financially secure.

But still...

We're homeless.

Ok, not literally. I mean, I'm still crashing in a very kind family's guest suite for the time being while all my earthly possessions await their return to my use in their respective storage units around the great state of Connecticut. And Emma's at her parent's place.

But still. Cut a couple of girls some slack, will you?

Not that we haven't tried. I mean, really, REALLY tried. What, with every lunch break, weekend day, after-work time slot we can find we've been driving, searching, surfing, calling, writing, emailing, smoke-signaling any landlord, landlady, and Realtor from here to Hartford looking for an apartment with two things:

1. No previous crime scene history on premises.

2. Washer/Dryer.

Basically, we want to be safe and clean. The rest will take care of itself. So why then are we met only with smarmy Realtors who couldn't be old enough to pee straight or a disgruntled octogenarian landlady who somehow has the idea stuck in her head that if you don't have four children or a fat trust fund, you're not going to be able to pay the bills.

I mean, she was a sweet old lady and everything, but, I'm sorry. DON'T tell us you'd love to have us as tenants, then change your mind because we're not a rich old married couple then re-change your mind IF I put the lease in my name ONLY...and than increase the move-in price from $2,200 to $3,300 just because we MIGHT get into a tiff and move out on you.

Paranoid much, you old bat?

OK, I know it's not the octogenarian's fault that she's still hurt from being burned in the past by a cat-fight that probably started over who's dishes were in the sink longer. But I refuse to go bankrupt just to make her feel like she can trust us. I'm sure she would have been a landlady, landwitch is more like--

---PLEASE EXCUSE THIS BLOG INTERRUPTION AS WE PAUSE FOR A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE GUILT FAIRY

::INCOMING EMAIL:::
___________________________________________________
___________________________________________________
FROM: The Guilt Fairy theguiltfairy@goodthings.com
TO: Erica thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com
SUBJECT: Did you miss me?!

Hiya, Erica!

I was just reading your email from last month. Remember? the one where you pretended to fire me? Gosh you are SO funny! I even showed your fake-email ("femail!" Ha!) to those dyslexic blind kids I was telling you about. You know the ones whose parents' left them at the doorstep of the run-down orphanage? Only, there wasn't enough room in the building, so I donated my life savings to add a wing with a solar-powered computer lab, which is where I am writing from now on my energy efficient, earth-friendly laptop made from recycled non-toxic Crayola marker tubes...Oh one sec, the nice red-cross lady is almost done taking my 7th blood donation this year...ANYWAY, I heard about your little problem with the apartment hunt. Tsk-Tsk. Darling? Why didn't you tell me?! My Aunt Ruth has this fan-TAS-tic place: Hardwood floors, two-bedrooms, gated community, full kitchen with all stainless steel appliances, Laundry room next to the jacuzzi suite bathroom and everything! She's asking $800 per month, but I told her about your situation and how much TROUBLE you've had poor little thing. So, SHE said, she'll pay YOU to live there, just as long as you keep those "crazy" parties of yours to a minimum. Ha! You know I'm just kidding! You're never going to have parties. Kidding again! Aunt Ruth told me to say that. You'd never know she was 82 years old. I'm catching a red-eye now, so, I'll see you in a few hours -- HEY! If it doesn't work out with Aunt Ruth's place, maybe you me and Emma can find a 3 bedroom together!? OMG! We could tell stories about boys and brush each other's hair!

Love and big hugs and kisses,

Your Guilt Fairy
__________________________________________________________

WE NOW RETURN TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED BLOG---

So, I said to the Realtor, "No...we're talking about harassment here. And I don't have to take it." And I ripped the rental application up right in his face. Ask Emma. She was there.

And in lieu of all of this, Emma and I will find our safe laundry-equipped hamlet. Somewhere.

It's Not Me. It's You.

___________________________________________________
___________________________________________________
FROM: Erica thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com
TO: The Guilt Fairy theguiltfairy@goodthings.com
CC: My Conscience Iwouldntdoth@ifIwereyou.com
SUBJECT: It's Not Me. It's You.
___________________________________________________

Dear Guilt Fairy,

I am writing to inform you that I will no longer be needing your services.

In lieu of the fact that you've been my dutiful companion for more than two decades, I have decided that in order to best move forward towards my career as a best-selling author, there is little room in my life smug-mouthed, gut-nagging, local-buying, ankle-biting, half-wit such as yourself. No offense.

Please understand; not only was my choice to end a relationship such as ours exceedingly liberating, but also really freaking easy. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a load of laundry to ignore.

And a pile of dirty dishes to forget about.
And a bag of tortilla chips (Made in Japan) to devour.
And a closet of proverbial skeletons to never mention again.
And a stack of bills to pay. If I feel like it.
And a non-biodegradable bottle of sparkling water (bottled in France) to drink.
And a non-ecological car to drive three and a half blocks to Starbucks.
And a novel to write that's going to take lots and lots and lots of innocent trees to print.

Best,
Erica Davis,
Guilt free since 11:50pm EST

P.S. The restraining order paperwork should be arriving by messenger shortly.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
FROM: The Guilt Fairy theguiltfairy@goodthings.com
TO: Erica thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com
SUBJECT: Re: It's Not Me. It's You.
_________________________________________________
OUT OF OFFICE AUTOREPLY:
Greetings from South America!
I will be out of the office on a rescue mission to protest the degredation of the endangered peruvian chinchilla habitat, then a meditation retreat to find out how else I can change the world through the power of hugs. If this is an emergency, please do not hesitate to contact my second in command at Iwouldntdoth@ifIwereyou.com. And remember: no matter what you do...You could always have done it better.
Big Hug!
T.G.F.
__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
FROM: Erica thedavisgirl@guiltfree.com
TO: The Guilt Fairy theguiltfairy@goodthings.com
CC: My Conscience Iwouldntdoth@ifIwereyou.com
SUBJECT: Re: AUTOR REPLY RE: It's Not Me. It's You.
__________________________________________________
Bite me.
-Erica