Oh, for the love of wisdom

Last week I learned that starting Tuesday January 18th, I begin work towards a PhD in English Education. 

Needless to say, I am thrilled!

And if ignorance is bliss, then I'm in for a lovely ride, because deep down, I am 1,028% certain I have no idea what I've bitten off. 

And I'm starting to get nervous. 

Next week, I receive the formal acceptance packet, meet with the Dean, discuss academic goals, pick courses, outline a research plan, purchase books, and kiss my three-bubble-baths-a-day goodbye. 

Earlier tonight my five-year-old niece unknowingly summed up my concerns when she asked the adults, "What's a PhD?"

An excellent question met with a steady stream of blinking. But we tried our best. We really did:

“It’s, uh, like a doctor, but not with medicine,” I explained.

“It’s Latin for…something,” someone suggested.

“No, it’s the study of the field of Philosophy…” offered another.

By then, my niece was no longer in the room (clever girl). And the answer still eluded us. 

So, just now, I Googled it:

“PhD [is] Latin for philosophiae doctor, literally translating tο the love of wisdom…It is used in the original Greek sense, loosely meaning "the pursuit of in-depth knowledge" and does not refer to the field of philosophy.”

There you have it.

The love of wisdom.

Now, when someone describes me with the word wise it's usually followed by the three-letter alternative for 'donkey'. So for the sake of comfort, let’s substitute learning for wisdom.

The love of learning...

"The love of learning, paging Dr. Davis...Dr. Davis to love of learning, please...."

 ...That I can wrap my head around.

I’ve always loved learning. Especially college. Everything about it...the campus and professors and syllabi and crappy dining hall food and endless rewrites and moldy libraries and inaccessible archives...

As far as research goes, what I'm most interested in is J.K. Rowling's effect on American trends in literacy and young adult publishing, and how, if cognitive functions of literacy instruction differentiate in communities whose gross mean income is...

...This is where the Old Me would slap the new, studious me across the mouth and scream: "Nerd? Party of one?!"

Oh. My. God. 

It's already happening...

I’m turning into one of those uber smart people the Old Me used to make fun of! Thankfully, I'm past that now. When I started looking into PhD programs I swore I would stop making fun of anyone who called themselves "doctor" who didn't work within three feet of a syringe disposal bin. 

But, my God, I already want to make fun of myself and the semester hasn't even started...MUST...RESIST...MUST...FIGHT...THE URGE...

Old Me: Oooh look at meeeee, Everyone! I’m an academic "Doctor" of English! What I know about literacy rates in low income communities would fill the Grand Canyon! Nyeeeeah!

New Me: That’s clever, Old Me. And a really good idea for an alternative essay assignment. You’re welcome to explore the idea for your mid-term paper, if you like.

Old Me: Shut up Doctor Nerdy McNerderson!  You’re not even a real doctor! You can tell by your stupid face!

New Me: Silly. Now, class, if you could all turn to page 303--

Old Me: --You'd better leave or you'll be late for your elitist snot convention, Doctor!

Dear God, I hope I don’t ever have an Old Me in my class. She'll ruin everything. Or, worse...she'll wake up the others.

Not that it matters now. I’m too freaking excited. I still I can’t believe they accepted me. For a PhD!

Though, it doesn’t hurt that I'm a Davis Girl. 

Brought to you by Erica B. Davis, PhD ‘14

This Too Shall Pass: A CareBear's Tale

Victim: Friendbear

Henry killed a CareBear.

Ok, slight exaggeration. But he may as well have.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, I seriously considered taking him to the emergency clinic, but

(A): it was only the plastic heart-shaped nose and an eyebrow

and (B): I was right in the middle of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers Extended Version DVD Extras Disc 2 (The Future Mrs. Viggo Mortensen, party of one...).

Viggo Mmmortensen

I was distracted.

But Henry didn't seem to be in any immediate discomfort.  And I know I should have kept a closer eye on him, but he's so shifty. And smart.

So, shouldn't he know better, really? I mean, if he can find his way into the fridge and down an entire container of take-out rice before I even realize he's moved off his half of my couch, why can't he know NOT to eat a pushpin!?

Nothing hurts that good, little man.

Then again, Henry is AKC resgistered equal-parts mix of Border Collie / garbage disposal: Bordage dispollie.

Case in point: In the past two weeks, this darling dog may or may not have consumed the following items:

-the aforementioned pushpin

Squirrel: Before

-a most beloved Smartwool sock

-the bottom hem of an Ikea curtain

-squirrel (pictured)

-the contents of three Puffs Plus tissue boxes

-half a sharpie pen

-eleven crayola crayons

-one Artvoice

-the contents of leftover Chinese take-out carton --how McGruff the Thumbless Wonder gets my fridge door open, I have yet to learn--

-$10.28 in change

-half a fake-chandelier crystal

and

Boa: After

-a feather boa (pictured)

Luckily, a nearby friend works at Henry's vet and gave me some helpful, if not descriptive, pointers on how to know if the foreign object(s) are a cause for concern. For example, if the object is soft enough then his stool is --(text deleted. You're welcome.)--.

While waiting for things to pass, as it were, I naturally became curious on the origins of the veterinarian practices in North America, but Googled CareBears, instead. What I found was very boring:

"In 1981, CareBears were created for Hallmark greeting cards and one foggy night, a group of left-handed Scandinavian pretzel makers thought, 'Hey, we should invent CareBears!' Twenty-nine years later, the CareBear was flourishing and a bored seven and-a-half-month old puppy ate its precious face off."

On the upside it was Friendbear's nose, so there's been less hostility between Henry and the (remaining) resident squirrels.

All in all, he seems to be doing fine as long as I continue to engage him with constructive outlets for his creative energy like refrigerator padlocks. Now, the only problem is the love-shaped farts.

Henry

Not that it isn't an improvement, little man.

ATTN: Complaint Department

COMPOSE MESSAGE: Yes / No?
Yes, please.

=======================================
FROM: thedavisgirl@blogspot.com

TO: mother.nature@universe.com
SUBJECT: Dear Mother Nature,
=====================================
Dear Mother Nature,

Seriously? 84 degrees at rush hour? It’s almost October, Ladyface. Have I offended you somehow? I don't recall showing up in your ethereal hometown and setting fire to it.

What, are there are no calendars in your neck of the Universe? I have it on good authority (you) that it is, in fact, Autumn. Do you know what Autumn means, Mother Nature? It's Latin for Argyle sweaters, pumpkin picking, corduroys and a steaming cup of mulled cider. Not an unwanted freakish heat wave you spiteful twit!

Oh, I'm sorry...

Did I hurt your feelings, Mother Nature? Well too bad. YOU HURT MY WARDROBE!

Regardless of the fact that the air conditioner was invented here, statistics prove that Buffalo has ten months of winter and two months of bad sledding. This hardly qualifies us to enjoy the heat, now does it? What are you, a polar bear? If you're cold, don't turn up the intergalactic thermostat just because there's a chill. Put on a sweater.

Here...have one of mine.

Really, I insist. Not like I'll be needing it any time soon.

You and I both know, Mother Nature, Autumn began yesterday. And for once I am prepared for a season. I've got sweaters. I've got synthetic wool socks. I've got Ugg boots (horrid looking things, but too cozy to pass up). And at the risk of losing what little tan line I did manage in the seven hours of sunlight this past summer, I've retired the tank tops and have ready the scarfs. So stand down, you spiteful woman because I'm--Oh.

Oh no.

Crap. Seriously, woman?

Snow?

You jerk.

DELETE MESSAGE: Yes / No?

Yes.

MESSAGE SENT.

No. Hey, wait...no! Oh, crap, no. Undo! Undo! Please, undo!

CANNOT UNDO SENT MESSAGE.

FORWARD MESSAGE TO THE GUILT FAIRY: Yes / No?

No! Please, no!

MESSAGE FORWARDED TO theguiltfairy@universe.com

============================================
============================================

The Phone Interview: A visualization

So, there's this job I applied for at UB. There were 250 other applicants, 10 of whom were chosen for the phone interview (this Davis Girl is one of them!), and 2 vacancies.

As excited as I will be to find out if I've gotten the job--and that I was head and shoulders above the other applicants and that with my new corner office they're throwing in a desk pre-stocked with dark chocolate and a Rivendell Errand Elf-boy for my beckon call--I choose a serene and patient outlook on this very long and serious hiring process.

Except in this blog.

I applied for this job in July and have been sitting on my phone since. Honestly, it's starting to chafe. Granted, it took Yale eight weeks--that's 173 episodes of Law & Order in Davisworld--to hire me. But now that I know I am one of the ten, I'm getting nervous. Not only about locating my phone, but that I might say something weird, lest we forget the deposition.

I mean, I've done lots of successful in-person interviews but never over the phone. On the other hand, I've introduced myself to the Hiring Manager already (gone back each Friday to say Hi, actually) and since there's no restraining order yet, she's really nice.

And ok. I guess if I already know the Hiring Manager, that takes some pressure off. And, of course, I have Henry. He's nothing if not comforting.

If and when I successfully complete my phone interview, I choose to be prepared for the onslaught of open-ended questions. Since visualization is a great preparation tool, I'll share with you a vision of my successful phone interview with the University at Buffalo. Wish me luck!

Official Phone Interview Transcript
Interviewer: University at Buffalo
Interviewee: Erica Davis
Date: Very Near Future

::START TRANSCRIPT::

Phone: Ring, ring!

Erica Davis (ED): Hello?

University at Buffalo (UB): Hi, Erica, this is UB calling. Are you ready for your interview?

ED: Oh, hi, UB! Yes, your timing is perfect. I just finished polishing my Employee of the Month Plaques. The ones from Yale. (silence) And Harvard.

UB: I didn't know you worked at Harvard!

ED: And Princeton. (forehead slapping sounds) Just Pro bono stuff, really, so. You know.

UB: How...nice. So tell me, why do you feel you are good fit for this position at UB?

ED: Great question, UB. Not only am I a dedicated, creative, and patient worker, I am a team player and am focused on every--Henry, be a buddy, and drop my shoe…thank you...Focused on whatever I'm doing. And I am a professional. I worked at Yale, you know. What? You wanna cookie pookie face? Who wants a cookie? Who’s my little handsome puppy man? You are. Yes you are. Good boy. I wuv you Henwy. Oh yes I do puppy-handsome-Henry-man!

UB: Uh, Erica?

ED: Yes, UB?

UB: What would you say is your biggest accomplishment so far?

ED: Hmmm…It’s a toss up between not flipping his water dish and training him to stay off the couch when there’s company, although--Henry. Be a buddy and get off the table. Get off the table. Get off...get! Good boy. Mommy wuvs you. Who wants a cookie? Does Mr. Handsome Henryface wanna cookie?

UB: Is this a good time, Erica? We could call back.

ED: Oh, its fine! Uhm…right…I am a motivated, kind, and diligent worker. I'm not afraid to ask for help..and I always refill the coffee if I take the last cup. Ha! I'm kidding. Not that I don't refill the coffee pot, but that it's relevant to this interview. Because of course it's not. Unless UB was owned by Starbucks. Which would actually be pretty awesome.

UB: That's...wonderful. So tell us, what would you do if you had a problem with a co-worker?

ED: Oh, I haven’t the faintest. That’s never happened so far--Henry, we already talked about this. We do not eat shoes, Do we? Henry? I’m talking to you. Henry. Look at me please. Henry. No. Henry. Bad. Goodboy. Cookie? Who's gotta cookieface?

UB: Are you sure this is a good time, Erica? You seem distracted.

ED: No, no. Everything’s fine--HENRY! I swear to God, if you don’t drop that shoe, I'm taking you back to the SPCA and pretending like I'm going to leave you there, but really going to pick up more dog food from their pet store because we're getting low! Now drop it!

UB: Um. Well, I think that about wraps it up for us, Erica. Do you have any questions for us?

ED: DO I LOOK LIKE I WAS BORN YESTERDAY?

UB: Excuse me?

ED: I said drop it! Uh, yes. Does my Rivendell Errand Elf-boy already come with a name or can I change it? I was thinking I "Mr. Bink-Binks."

UB: …(CLICK. Dial tone)

ED: UB? You there?

::END TRANSCRIPT::

Man of the Hour

I've been back in Buffalo less than a month, but I've met someone.

I know.

I know it seems soon but I can't help it.

It's love.

And it's amazing.

It started a little over two weeks ago. I was talking to his sister when I caught him looking at us.

At me, actually. Just me.

And at first I tried--I mean really tried--to ignore those dark brown eyes, but when he came over, I couldn't help myself.

He made me smile.

He made me laugh.

It even looked as though he wanted to kiss me right then and there.

I mean, yeah I felt bad that he'd nearly knocked his sister over to get to me, but it was kind of cute, you know? It's a desperate I-need-you-and-you-need-me-and-we-both-know-it sort of way.

If you ask me we both knew something was starting right then and there.

We made it official two days later.

I know it's soon, but he's been living with me for a week now and it feels nothing but right.

He's smooth, dark, handsome, and listens when I talk. I think.

My best friend thinks he's too tall for me, and that his ears are two different sizes or something ridiculous like that, but what does she know? She hasn't been out of vet school for three years yet. I think he's perfect.

His name is Henry and to me, he is beautiful.


Welcome home, Henry.

Love,

Mommy

CAUTION: PROCRASTINATION IN PROGRESS

So, I have less than five nights of writing before the current draft of my book is complete.

Done.

Finished.

The End.

No more.

That's good, right?

Of course it's good.

It's great.

Why wouldn't it be good?

It's really great.

So freaking great.

...SO freaking out...

Why though? It's just a book.

It's just my book.

It's just my first future-best-selling book.

And why not? Why the heck shouldn't I finish it tonight?

Why not just go and start the last chapter now?

I will be six pages closer in thirty minutes, if that.

But, no. Instead of sprinting for that seventeen-page finish line, I am here. Blogging.

Why? Because I don't know if I can handle being done.

If it's done, that means I print it.

If I print it that means I revise it.

If I revise it that means it's ready for publishers. For literary agents. For jacket design, blurbs, Kirkus reviews...and the closer it gets, the more real this is. So I'm going to lay low for a few hours. At least eight of them, I think. Or maybe another night. Just one night off from writing should do it. Or maybe I won't finish it. I don't even want to. I don't even care.

God, it's just like Senioritis. The relief. The giddiness. The chronic procrastination.

Oh my God, I wrote a novel.

Not that this is my first...but this is my first of publishable quality.

Oh my gawd, I want to ralph...

...And stand on top of the world and scream in victory!

Is this what it's like letting your first born go off to college? Kind of 'Freaking-Awesome with a side order of Holy-Shit'?

All I have to do is log off, grab my dark chocolate and type.

It will take me all of an half-an-hour before I'm a quarter of the way through the last chapter.

But what if it's not good enough?

What if it's drivel?

What if it's weak and full of plot holes that a six-year-old could pick out?

What if a monkey could have written it?

What if it's rejected?

What if it flops?

What if it doesn't?
What if it wins the Tassy Walden Award...again?

What if they publish it?

What if that stupid monkey tries to steal MY idea?

What if they want me to sign their copies?

What if another agent asks to see it before anyone else?

What if it wins the Newbery?







Excuse me, everyone.

I have a book to finish.

To Do List for Sunday

1. Finish unpacking

2. Fold laundry!!!

3. Rescue a Great-Dane named Henry

4. Finish writing chapter 49

5. Revise & polish final draft

6. Publish book

7. Return from best-selling book tour

8. Write best-selling sequel

9. Put away laundry!!!

10. Purchase 17 acres of Berkshire property & retire with Henry & raise Clydesdale horses

"The time has come," the Walrus said...

...To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."
(from The Walrus and The Carpenter by Lewis Carroll, 1872)

Since my last --and in retrospect tell-tale-- blog entry, there have been some changes in The Davis Girl's world.

Within the space of a fortnight this Davis Girl has become single, enrolled in graduate school, obtained the sole occupancy of a 3,765,245,828,136 sq ft apartment, approached gourmet omelet maker status, and most recently roommate to a young woman who is best described as the love child of Johnny Quest and an insomniac pixie with unlimited access to the Neverland Starbucks storeroom.

I'd ask my new roommate to say a few words about the joys of having The Davis Girl as a roommate but I can't find her. From the sounds of it, she's either in the living room or on her jet to California, but I'm sure she sends her best.

As for my living area, nearly all of my books are unpacked and I finally found my inky pens. Plus, if you squint, the boxes and totes lining the dining room look just like the upholstered benches from Ikea!

Yes, it's chaos. But it's all mine. And if I already had my pure-bred Great Dane named Henry DuBuckminster, he and his huge drooly, shedding beautifulness would be curled up on the 3/4 of the couch next to me if I gosh darn well please!

Oh, Henry.

It's quiet here, but compared to a month ago, I am in a pretty darn good place. You know how they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Well now I know that this saying is not just a river in Egypt. So, without further ado, and with no more mixed metaphors, here are a few pictures of my new apartment as seen through my rose-and-rent-controlled colored glasses:

Here is the view of my place from across the street. That's me waving; third turret from the left.
And here is where omelet magic happens:

After a long day at the lab, it's nice to curl up in one of the 27' corners with a good book. The curtains were $17 at Job Lot!

And when I need to get away from it all, my reading corner:

And when it's time for a little shut-eye, there's nothing quite like that clean-sheets feeling. 100% Jersey Knit from Target!

Here's some friends at our little apartment-warming the other night. It's so nice to meet the neighbors.

Here's one from yesterday morning. Seriously, the landlady is great.

So, here I sit in the peace and quiet of my new home. If you're passing through, come on by. I'm at the corner of West Elm and bliss.

Love,

Your Davis Girl

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
--(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

Best. Christmas Gift. Ever.

I mean it Mom and Dad. If you want to top last year, you'd better be getting me a small island for next Christmas because I don't know how else you could top this.

If this isn't Mom or Dad, let me explain: Last Christmas, Mom and Dad offered to pay for me to attend a writer's conference in New York City. After a little background research I realized I'd be a donkey's behind not to take them up on it.

So I did. Which is how last weekend, I got to spend two and a half days rubbing elbows with fellow writers, authors, literary agents, editors and publishers. I mean REAL professionals. The late Michael Crichton's editor was there. Like I told Mom and Dad last night, I'm still reeling from the weekend. But I did manage to get a few things out before a literary brain freeze.

TOP TEN THINGS YOU LEARN AT A WRITER'S CONFERENCE IN NEW YORK CITY

10. Adjectives don’t make your book literary.

9. Rejection is just your manuscript getting sent to the wrong person.
8. The voices are normal.

7. If you're having trouble revising your story, print it out in a different font or size. This will detach your subconscious from what it thinks the story already is, and give you a fresh point of view.

6. If you're stuck, go back a few pages. You just took a wrong turn.
5. Prologues are old news. If the information is that important, call it the first chapter.
4. If the Writer's Conference Etiquette Handbook says "No cornering a literary agent in the bathroom," it doesn't mean you can't say hi while you're both standing there washing your hands. Just maybe don't have the toilet paper stuck to your foot, next time.

3. You know you're a writer if you've ever missed the middle and/or end of a movie because you're too busy re-writing the opening scene in your head. (Guilty!)

2. Bring business cards to the conference. If you didn't bring them, DON'T PANIC. He Who Requests To Be Known In This Blog As Ranger Sexy Pants (HWRTBKITBARSP) or another trusted adult will hop on Staples.com, talk you through business card design options for an hour and seventeen minutes, patiently listening to you deliberate between bold times new roman or left-justified italics. Then, HWRTBKITBARSP or your trusted adult will locate the Staples store closest to your writer's conference, have the cards printed there, where you can pick them up on the lunch break later that day.

Brilliance, thy name is HWRTBKITBARSP.

AND THE #1 THING YOU LEARN AT A WRITER'S CONFERENCE IN NEW YORK CITY:

1. If Michael Crichton's editor writes you a referral for a literary agent, you might not be that bad of a writer.

Among the sea of hopefuls, few get to be in the picture.

FROM: TheGuiltFairy@gmail.com
TO: Everyone@email.com
SUBJECT: Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

Dear Readers,
It's been too long, I know. And I've missed you all too. But as much as I'd love to hear how you've been and what high-yield charities you've started, I'm here on business.

Due to the recent increases in my unparalleled generosity, I, The Guilt Fairy, have just unburdened The Davis Girl from her responsibilities as primary blogger on this site.

And this time, there's going to be some structure. Although we all enjoy a nice laugh now and again on the foibles --the many countless foibles of a certain writer (The Davis Girl)-- my new and improved blog will be interactive.

What does this mean? Well, I'll tell you. It means that for every three questions submitted to this new and improved advice blog, I will personally donate 47,196 bags of rice to St. Mary's School for the Emotionally Unavailable in Gulu, Uganda. It means that this, The Guilt Fairy's Advice Blog is the best thing since sliced bread. It means that instead of mindless drivel, we'll finally be reading some facts and getting some answers.

What's that Dear Readers? You're worried that you'll never laugh at your poor sweet moderately coordinated Davis Girl again? Oooh, ye of little faith. Of course you will. Just as soon as we've covered a few ground rules:

THE GUILT FAIRY'S ADVICE BLOG RULES

RULE #1: All Questions to this Guilt Fairy MUST be submitted by no later than 7:00pm the night before a posting. Late and/or misspelled submissions will be deleted in the order they were received.

RULE #2: Anything goes. Anything. Ask away. That's why I'm here. To give you, my Dear Readers, the best advice I can. Worried about your career? Love? Fortune? Ask me... Wondering if you'll ever find that cost-efficient non-pesticide nasal decongestant? Just ask me! I've got ALL the answers folks. And if you're not 100% satisfied with the responses, then ask your self: 'When was the last time I visited the elderly?'

RULE #3: Spelling counts so check twice, submit once. Just kidding!

But seriously, check your spelling.

Until such time that The Davis Girl decides to grace us with her presence, I, The Guilt Fairy assume command of this prestigious blog. In closing, I'd like to say something brief about the economy:
Something brief about the economy.
HA-HA! Oh, my pretty sparkling wings hurt! I'm laughing soooo hard!

You should be too. It took a four-day hunger strike to think of that. But knock it off. Seriously.
Guilterators are standing by, so I'll take your questions now. Write to me at theguiltfairy@gmail.com.

.

Yours Truly,

The Guilt Fairy

This cute baby animal moment is brought to you by The Guilt Fairy's Advice Blog.
Have you volunteered at an animal shelter lately?

A Note From The Guilt Fairy

Dear Readers,

Please excuse The Davis Girl's four-month absence from this blog. She has been working somewhat diligently on her future feebly proofread novel. Would it kill her to run spellcheck once in a while? Nevertheless, I take full responsibility for her absence (and 7% royalties, contract pending). She will be returning after a brief word from her Guilt Fairy.

Thank you,

The Guilt Fairy

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