Let’s take a moment to discuss something very strange that has been happening in my apartment. For three years, every single pot holder that has come into my home has disappeared in a mysterious fashion. Gone. Each one. Vanished. This has long puzzled me and Meghan (when she lived there). I mean, it’s not like we threw them away. It’s not like we misplaced them. They just vanished. Into thin air. This has long bothered me and I have long held the theory that someone comes into the house and only takes random things. Things that you’d notice but not take seriously. Like oven mitts. However, I think this mystery prankster has recently stepped up his game and I do not appreciate it. For you see, the remote to the television is missing as is the battery charger for my camera. In fitting with his oven mitt modus operandi, he takes things that are minor and that you would just assume you had misplaced. However, last week Zak and I searched like fools for the remote. He lifted all the furniture, I looked under the radiators, in the kitchen and several other places that the remote shouldn’t be, all to no avail. The same holds true for my camera charger. So, I finally decided that my mitt thief has escalated (like most criminals do) to small electronics thief. I can only assume that phone chargers, the cable box remote, oven timers and i pods are no longer safe in my home. If I was clever with the electronics, I could set up a camera that only switched on when someone entered the front door and just took a photo of the person. That way I would know the evil thief as he would be the person that isn’t Brianne, Maren or Jeff. Hmmm..something to think on. So, evil stealer of my inconsequential things, if you read this blog, know that I am on to you and that I will not rest until I figure out who you are and make you rue the day!
beefs
November 4, 2009
I know, the title makes this sound like a real upper, and I tell you, it surely is. As part of a class assignment on aggression across cultures, I was doing some research on violence against women and was shocked to learn that approx. 1100 women were killed by intimate partners in the US in 2005. This is an average of 3 per day. Three per day! I must say that I was shocked by this number. That’s a lot of women. Some more shocking statistics include:
1. According to the National Crime Victimization Survey, which includes crimes that were not reported to the police, 232,960 women in the U.S. were raped or sexually assaulted in 2006. That’s more than 600 women every day.
2. Young women, low-income women and some minorities are disproportionately victims of domestic violence and rape. Women ages 20-24 are at greatest risk of nonfatal domestic violence, and women age 24 and under suffer from the highest rates of rape.
3. The Justice Department estimates that one in five women will experience rape or attempted rape during their college years, and that less than five percent of these rapes will be reported.
4. When we consider race, we see that African-American women face higher rates of domestic violence than white women, and American-Indian women are victimized at a rate more than double that of women of other races.
5. According to the Family Violence Prevention Fund, “growing up in a violent home may be a terrifying and traumatic experience that can affect every aspect of a child’s life, growth and development. . . . children who have been exposed to family violence suffer symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, such as bed-wetting or nightmares, and were at greater risk than their peers of having allergies, asthma, gastrointestinal problems, headaches and flu.” In addition, women who experience physical abuse as children are at a greater risk of victimization as adults, and men have a far greater (more than double) likelihood of perpetrating abuse.
6. The Centers for Disease Control estimates that the cost of domestic violence in 2003 was more than over $8.3 billion. This cost includes medical care, mental health services, and lost productivity.
I know this isn’t exactly a chipper blog post, but I found after reading these numbers that I thought violence against women had decreased and find that I am wrong. In reading about cultural psychology for my class, I think it’s interesting to think about the kind of culture we have in American where so much violence against women occurs. If it was less culturally acceptable across the board, then one would think there would be a lot less of it. In many cultures across the globe and in many smaller pockets of the US, violence against women and the control aggressive men exert over women is seen as a sign of prowess, masculinity and stature in society. Unfortunate for the rest of us who have to live in fear of them.
In case you are wondering where I got my numbers and information, it all came from the National Organization for Women website found here: http://www.now.org/issues/violence/stats.html.
October 19, 2009
Let’s take a moment to talk about why I hate Maren’s cat.
Maren’s cat is, quite frankly, a bitch. She’s mean and rude. You can never pet her because she’s likely to hiss at you and bite you. When Maren wants to pet her, Maren has to distract Luna with one hand and pet her with the other hand. How ridiculous is that?
Luna and I had been having a truce of sorts in that I didn’t talk to, touch or look at her and she basically did the same. I let her sleep in my room when I’m not in there and she can’t come in it when I am asleep. This seemed to be going pretty well until Maren went away for the weekend and Luna went crazy.
I was minding my own business on Friday night, catching up on General Hospital and Luna walks up to me and bites my foot. Just like that, out of nowhere, bites my foot! Evil whore! And then seems shocked when I’m mad and move her away from me.
Then later that night, just as I was trying to sleep, she went nuts and was running back and forth in the loft for a long long time. Now, I know what you’re thinking-how loud could a cat running be? Well, it was loud enough for me to hear over the sound machine I use that plays me a rainstorm and loud enough that more than once I had to remind myself that it was not an intruder in the house but merely the STUPID cat!
That’s it, Luna, the truce is off. I will no longer merely ignore you and allow you to do your business, this is war. I am coming after you. I’m going to flick water on you when I have the chance and not let you sleep on my blankets or in my room. I certainly will not ever give you a treat. And if you ever want to drink some leftover milk in my cup, guess what? No way!
Isn’t it nice that I live such a cozy life that my greatest nemesis is a cat?
September 26, 2009
Hello friends and family,
Remember earlier in the week when I complained about my Statistics class? Well, get ready for some more of that as I have gone from bad to worse at math. I never have problems with school. I have always made excellent grades, graduated with honors, gotten the scholarships and the awards and done all of this with very little work on my part. I’m that annoying person who doesn’t have to study or do their assigned reading and still walks away with the A. Except in math. You see, I’ve just never mastered this art. I was good at math in elementary school but, like a lot of females, lost my abilities around adolescence. (Interesting sidebar-there have been a great deal of studies about this phenomenon. In elementary school girls outperform boys in math and then there is a drastic shift in the opposite direction with boys outperforming girls in math from adolescence on. Isn’t that strange and interesting? At least I’m normal in my post-adolescence math crappiness).
Point being that math classes have been getting the best of me since the 8th grade. Yes, I’ve made some A’s in these math classes, but it always took a lot more work than I like to put into things and I’ve still never really gotten it. Sure, I could master something for the test, but it was never lifelong learning. I can’t tell you the quadratic equation or how to do long division even though I mastered those at various times in high school. I just don’t get math. Just do not get it. Can’t look at a problem and know how to solve it and then do it and know it’s right.
Math makes me doubt myself in major ways. I never doubt myself, even when I’m wrong. But math. Evil math makes me feel stupid. Really, really stupid. Like people who say “supposebly” or “fixin’ to” or confuse the verb “teach” with “learn”. Yes, I feel like an idiot. Let me tell you why:
This week, after my not so stellar score of 70% (eek!) on my last quiz, I decided to calm down and focus a little more and do some more practice problems and write everything out and take my time. Okay, so I read the lessons about the mean, mode, median, range and standard deviation and did the sample problems and felt pretty good. Felt like I could take the quiz (which is open book, by the by) and do well. And then I got my grade. Prepare yourselves for something awful. Brianne, formerly smart person got a 50% on an open book quiz that she thought she aced! Oh, for shame! This is what math does to me! Every stinking (I wanted to use another word here that starts with F but thought I’d keep things G rated, you know, for the kids) time!! I cannot master this and it’s only the 3rd week of class. There are 9 weeks to go and I’ve already sucked it up. Why do I suck so badly at math? Why can’t my brain process this information? This is like the humiliation of the ACT test all over again. My scores:
English: 30, Reading: 35, Science Reasoning: 30, Math: 25. That’s right, 25! Infants could score a 25 for the love of Pete!
Well, sorry for the long rant but I just cannot get over my frustration with this. The fact that a subject in school is getting the best of me is one thing, but the fact that it’s my arch nemesis, Math, is another. I hate this.
I hope you all have a lovely, statistics-free Saturday and, as always, M Go Blue!
Sincerely,
Statistically stymied Brianne
P.S. I must say that having a blog on which to rant is a great thing. For example, I haven’t mentioned to anyone over the phone or in person that I’m so frustrated with my Statistics class. If you asked non-blog readers, they’d have no idea. But, here I am with this great forum for venting my irritation and self-loathing about this subject. Look at this, blog, you’re positively impacting my life. Score!
September 17, 2009
Tuesday night, the Genow sisters went to see the movie 500 Days of Summer. We had several choices as 4 different movies started around the same time, but Zak said we had to see this and I must say, he was right.
This movie was great. Cute, funny, smart. All the things I like in a movie. Plus, there was a kick ass soundtrack.
Amber, you would love love this movie and if it’s playing in Oklahoma, you need to see it. If not, add it to your Netflix stat.
Erica, you would also really love this.
(P.S. Amber and Erica, are you loving the personalized movie recommendations?)
Speaking of unrelated things: I have already gotten to the point in week 2 of my statistics class that I knew would come but hoped would arrive later in the semester: the point where I read the lesson, paid attention to the sample problems then got to my problem set and had no idea how to do some of the problems. Literally, no idea where to start. I am pretty confident (nearly to a fault) in most things I do. Very few things make me have low self-esteem of feel like a loser. Math, however, kicks my ass, throws me in a hole, fills it with snakes and burys me. That’s how bad math is for me. I just feel like the answer I come up with is always wrong. It just never feels right and I’m always positive that when I turn it in, I will be laughed out of the class. It’s a shameful secret. It’s why I tested out of college algebra and have tried my best to avoid math in all other areas of my life. It’s probably why I don’t balance my checkbook. Alas, I still have 12 weeks of this class left and I’m stubborn enough not to want to get a B and have it be the only black mark on my otherwise spotless grade record so far in my Masters degree endeavor. So, I’m going to try to man up and figure this math thing out. I hope…
August 23, 2009
First, I am super happy to be headed back to the city today. I have missed it and my bed very much this week that I have been gone.
Second, I am also excited to be meeting Maren and Jeff and Zak for brunch where many mimosas will be consumed.
Third, I am officially mad at Autumn and Maren for pushing me to watch The Office for years and now that I have and bad things have happened and I don’t want to watch it anymore and I’m sad and confused and yearning for things that might never happen and I don’t like it! It’s like on GH when they taunt you with your favorite couple getting together and then take it away (Jason and Elizabeth). Or like when Kelly breaks up with Zach at Zach and Kelly’s prom (Saved by the Bell). It’s all bad and I’m now mad at Autumn and Maren and will continue to be mad at them until I watch some more episodes and the problem is fixed. If the problem is never fixed then I am afraid that Maren will no longer be allowed to live with me and I will have to stop pretending that Autumn is naming her baby Annie after me. That’s right, Brianne’s serious!
August 20, 2009
If any of you have ever spoken to me for longer than five minutes, then you know how I feel about Facebook and why I don’t have a page there. But, the Facebook does give you something handy which is the ability to block who can look at your page. This is not a feature that I can employ here on my blog (or is it?) and I find that annoying for one reason: that people that have stopped speaking to me this summer, which is a fair amount of people, can look at my blog and I must say that I think that’s cheating. If you don’t care to speak to me, then you shouldn’t get to read what I’m up to or complaining about or randomly mentioning. Right? This seems fair to me.
So, mystery blog readers that if you are one of the three people who stopped speaking to me this summer, then I say to you: stop reading this blog. It’s not for you. Or, perhaps if you do continue to read this blog, I’ll start planting fake posts about where I am and what I’m doing and who is there with me and what I’m thinking just to throw you off your game. Then the only people who will know the truth will be those of you actually still communicate with me. Ha! Yes, this may seem like a lot of work just to spite the threesome that is done with me this year, but I’m willing to do it. You’ve all met me. Once there is a challenge extended, I will follow through, even if it’s a self-challenge and even if it makes life ever so much more difficult. Examples:
1. not checking out a library book while i was in high school
2. not looking at my grandmas house since she died when I was 13 so as to not see what the new owners have done to it. this involves a lot of closing and averting of eyes and is really only problematic when driving
3. not paying tolls in oklahoma-this causes problems, but i committed to it on principle an thus do not pay tolls, or whenever possible, do not take the toll road. like when i lived off the turnpike, but instead of connecting to it on my way to and from work, went all the way to the memorial exit on 2-35 to avoid paying the toll.
Point being that while inventing a fake life may be challenging and confusing, it’s a challenge I’m up to should it come to that.
So, if any of you Brianne-droppers are reading this then kindly stop after today. Those of you who still like me may, of course, proceed. And I guess I should send out a thank you to those of you who still talk to me since I seem to have lost so much value this year. Geez, what did I do? One can only guess. However, since 2009 was pre-planned to be astronomically better than 2008 and certainly has been, I must say that I’m not exaclty crushed by this development. I like to save getting upset for things that are really important like sports and books and General Hospital. So I can’t say that I’m crying tears over here, but I am slightly confused. Particularly since they all stopped talking to me around the same time. Was it a plan? A conspiracy? Were there secret meetings? Is there a secret “we hate Brianne” handshake (oh, I surely hope so!)? Is there a penalty for the first person to cave? Are there rewards for reaching certain milestones? Like a keychain for not talking to me for 3 months or a frisbee for two months? Or a pen with the “we hate Brianne” logo for one month? Gosh, this is sounding like a pretty good club to join. I mean, rewards, secret meetings and secret handshakes?! That’s the dream!
So, to you, livers of this dream, I say, rock on with your disregard-I mean, after all that I just mentioned who could blame you? I certainly don’t. I just ask that you refrain from reading this blog. I mean, I’m pretty sure that would be frowned upon at the meetings, right?
August 14, 2009
Once upon a time, everyone wanted to take a nice trip to Chili’s and Target and then come home and watch An American Tale. Not giant or wild plans, but sure to be fun. Last time we did this, we went to Queens and got lost in a cemetery. So, this time, we went to Jersey City, New Jersey. When I googled the nearest Chili’s and found that it was in Jersey City, I immediately thought “no!” we will not go to Jersey! I hate Jersey! But then I thought that perhaps I was giving Jersey a bad shake and that my hatred was unfounded and that I should give it a chance. Mistake, Mistake, Mistake. And here’s why:
1. Zak and I went to the Financial District to pick Maren up from her work. After we picked her up hitchiking on West Street, we headed toward the Lincoln Tunnel. On our way, we got caught in a red light situation where we, and about 4 other cars were stopped in the intersection due to the congestion in the tunnel. Okay, this would be a problem except the traffic going the opposite direction was blocked so that there was no one trying to get through the intersection due to construction. Suddenly, a cop shows up and knocks on the window. We roll down the window and the first thing the guy says is “What’s your name?” Well, this is New York, we’re not giving our name to anyone without asking what Zak then asked, “Why?” Now, this is a cop and should tell us what we did or what he’s doing or why he knocked on our window, right? Instead he walks off to the sidewalk, fills out our ticket and comes back and hands it to us, meanwhile keeping us in the intersection until he could write it which I think created more of a problem than the non-existent one we created in the first place. After we get our ticket and drive up a little ways, a truck driver is yelling at us and so we roll down our window and he tells us about how the fuzz lies in wait for the light to turn red and hands out $115 tickets. Rather than conduct traffic like they normally do in highly congested areas, they stand around and hand out tickets at every red light. I wish you all could have been there to see how mad Zak was. Maren and I thought it was ridiculous, but what can you do? But Zak was more angry than I have ever seen him in the many many years I have known him. It was crazy how mad he was. He kept saying things like “this is a social injustice”, “this is a trap”! It was pretty funny, but Maren and I didn’t figure we should laugh at him.
So, we get to Jersey City and we park in a parking lot behind the Chili’s by a sign that says there is a two hour parking limit. Okay, we wouldn’t be in Chilis’ for two hours, so we proceeded inside. And when we came out on hour and 15 minutes later…
2. Maren’s car was gone. Yes, gone! Towed! And about 50 feet away in this empty parking lot was a tow truck with a number on it. So, Zak calls the number and proceeds to get into an argument with the guy on the phone as to why our car had been towed in the first place. Meanwhile, a guy in a truck drives up to me and Maren and asks us if our car got towed and hands us a business card to the tow place where our car is and says that he gets paid to drive around and hand out the business card of the place where they took our car. So, we google search the tow place since no one there will tell us how to get there and we head on New Jersey Transit to Hoboken (oh no!) to get our car.
In Hoboken, Maren and Zak walk under the Archway to Nowhere. That’s not really what it’s called, but I think it should be.
So, we take a train, then take a cab and end up at a non-existent 660 Grand Street. There is a 640 but then the addresses skip to 700. Hmmm…Then we re-google it and there is also a 660 Grand Street on the far side of Jersey City so when the iPhone map application looked for the address, it showed us the nearest 660 Grand Street which happened to be in Hoboken even though we were in Jersey City. So, then we’re lost in Hoboken, New Jersey, looking for our car and with no idea how to get where we are going. So, we look on the iPhone and it tells us to get on the 126 bus and then transfer to the 6 bus and the walk to the tow place. So, we get on the 126 bus and ask the driver if he goes to the place where we connect with the 6. Um, nope! The next stop, back at the train station, is his last stop. But, he listens to our story and asks us where we are going and tells us that this was his last run of the night and he’ll take us to Jersey City and to the tow place because he lives in Jersey City! So, worlds nicest bus driver takes us out of Hoboken, on the highway, into Jersey City and far into the sketchy part of Jersey City where the tow place is. So, when our personal taxi/bus driver drops us off, we try to give him our bus fares plus $20 for saving us from floundering in the wilds of New Jersey and he says no. He won’t take any of our money, not even the bus fare. He was so kind and so wonderful and shook our hands and wished us luck and told us he had time to play with since he was off and he was happy to help. Who is this guy? Frederick, most wonderful public transportation worker in the world, everyone salutes and thanks you profusely! Anyway, then we get out of our personal bus/taxi and step into a tow place that is the creepiest place in the world. On the plexiglass partition is a sign that shows that they take Visa and Mastercard. So, Maren asks if they take credit cards and he says no. Then she asks if they take debit cards and he says no. Lucky for us, I carry a ton of cash on me so I don’t have to pay ATM fees at the many non-Bank of American ATM’s that are closer to my house and I just happened to have gone to the ATM recently. So, I bust out $150 in cash to pay to get Maren’s car out of the two pound. Hmmm…why have Maren and I been to two tow pounds in two months? It is not fun!
So, lesson learned:
Jersey does not deserve a second chance!
Jersey sucks for very clear reasons!
We hate New Jersey and have vowed to not got there at least for the rest of 2009!
Everyone rejects New Jersey and you should, too!
With all this said, you might think we had a bad day. But, I found this whole thing quite funny and I think as the days and years pass this story will only be the funnier for it’s sheer craziness!
Goodnight, New Jersey!
August 3, 2009
We have a great apartment. It is, for the most part, awesome. Except for one tiny thing. When it rains outside, it rains inside. That’s right, we have a leak in our ceiling that seems to be unfixable. Many have tried and all have failed. Usually it’s a drip or two and the walls get a little wet. I say usually because last week our leak outdid itself and caused the paint to peel off the ceiling and walls in giant strips and caused the owner of the building to have to poke holes in the plaster to allow the water to pour out. My makeshift water-cathching bowls, cups and towels were rejected for a system he and I rigged together with buckets and trashbags and a giant funnel of sorts to catch the downpour in our living room. At the end of our work together we were both wet and covered in little dots of paint and plaster that had splattered us.
There was enough water to fill a five-gallon bucket and that was before we had the funneling system set up. That was just what I had caught in the bowls. I was going to take a picture of this all, but couldn’t bring myself to immortalize it all on film. It’s too horrible to ponder. Let me tell you why:
I hate puddles. How much do I hate puddles? Enough that for three years I have hated Meghan a little inside for the little puddle of contact solution she leaves on the edge of the sink everyday. Can you see this puddle if you aren’t looking for it? No. Has this puddle ever made my shirt or pants wet? No. And yet still, day by day, month by month, year by year it has driven me slowly crazy. Why did I never say anything? Well, I was at least smart enough to know that it was a stupid issue so I didn’t mention it until a few weeks ago when she mentioned something to me that drove her crazy so I felt I could reciprocate and I’m so happy to say that she has been cleaning her puddle like a champ since then. Anyway…
The point of that story is to let you see how much I am bothered by buckets and bins and bowls and cups of dirty ceiling water in my livingroom! AHHHH!!!
The hole was “patched” the next day but neither the owner of the building nor the guy who “patched” it could tell me if it was okay to remove the buckets and funnel. Grrrr…The roofer is coming by next week (next week?!!) to do an estimate on the work and then who knows when it will actually start! If I kill myself soon, know that it is due to this and not anger towards any of you. As an added bonus, we have had a freakishly wet summer and if it doesn’t rain everyday for the last month, it’s been every other day. This does not make me happy when I think about my “patched” ceiling and my sadly paint-chip-spattered living room. Not at all!
On the plus side, I think we can flip over our coffee table and use it as a boat to escape the flood if push comes to shove. Don’t worry, I’ll take Meghan and Maren if they are home at the time and we’ll help preserve the animals by taking Lady the turtle with us. Just like Noah did.
April 26, 2009
I just finished reading an article about the outbreak of equine flu in Mexico City. Their flu cases tripled in March/Arpil which they attributed to a late season flu. Then they noticed that people who normally don’t die from a flu infection (20-40 year olds) were dying. So, finally, Mexico decided to send off samples from the patients and it was discovered that it’s a new strain from pigs that humans don’t have any immunity to.
Okay, so now there have been cases in Kansas and Texas and possibly NYC. The interesting thing is what the Health Department in Mexico City (population 20 million) told its citizens to do to prevent infection: “always stay at least 6 feet away from another person”.
Seriously?! That’s the best idea you have? You can’t stay 6 feet away from other people in Mexico City or New York City unless you plan never to leave your home! What about the Subway and buses and taxis and standing on the corner of a street waiting to cross? I guess I’ll just have to hope that the NYC case is not actually this pig flu because if it is, it will only take about 2 days to get us all since we are all so close to one another all the time.
What a great time to be leaving the country. Sorry Meghan, I hope you don’t get it while I’m gone.
