Bringing Fucker Back

So as far as swear words go, fucker is one that has lost a bit of usage and oomph of late. Words like mother fucker or the dreaded c word which I cannot say or other more creative cuss words have taken over. Very rarely do you hear fucker used on its own in its purest form.

Well ima bring fucker back.

Say it. It sounds brilliant! Its simplistic tone. Its ease of delivery. Fucker. It says it all. It need not be adorned. And it is not as rude or dirty somehow... It is almost sweet. You could even use it affectionately... I do!

So next time you feel a rant coming, go on... call someone fucker and clear the air. I guarantee it will at least make you giggle, if not them.

*giggles: fucker, fucker, fucker

10 from My Head

These are 10 random thoughts from my head this week. God help me.

-When you think about it, hair is actually quite gross.

-I am going to get lice from this fucker.

-Who invented sugar cubes?

-Simon Cowell is hot. That cheeky wink... Phwoar!

-I wonder if St. John's Wort would cure my anxiety.

-Corndogs and lemonade... Yum.

-I wonder what's in her bag.

-I am not doing any work today.

-That tennis racket is whizzing by waaaaaaay too close to my head.

-My pencil case rocks.

*wonders: why are these the 10 things I remember?

Big Sis

Recently, Big Sis wrote a story about our childhood... Specifically about a stint of time when we were in Japan. L'il Sis wasn't born yet. It was just Big Sis and, as she calls me in the story, the dot. I read that story, which has been published, and I cry and cry and cry.

Big Sis always felt protective of me, I think. I was not a very hardy child! I was extremely sensitive, and easily made anxious by life. When I was six, I was sure I was going to be abandoned at school. What did Big Sis do? She made her friends wait, which in middle school is a huge deal, and she stayed with me, by the green trash can, assuring me over and over again that she would wait for me there after school. She did not leave until I was done asking.

In so many ways, Big Sis was the person who made me feel safest in the world. When I first questioned religion, when I first fell in love, whenever I felt guilty or scared or anxious - all those moments in life... she was there to reassure me that it was ok. Not only ok, but that I was a wonderful person and that she loved me.

As a child (and as an adult) I have grappled with OCD and anxiety. I know I survived and became so strong because of Big Sis.

When our Mom died, I know Big Sis felt even more protective of me and L'il Sis. In so many ways she stepped in to fill the huge void... she has done everything to provide that safety net for us that Mom always made us feel like we had. Words will never be able to express the unbelievable gratitude and love that I feel for her for this incredible sacrifice. I only hope that I provide her with at least a fraction of the comfort she provides me.

Growing up, Big Sis and I were so close. I looked up to her in so many ways. At school, I stared at her in awe. She was the definition of a cool big sister. People would flock around her. People would look at her in wonder... I do not even think she realized it half the time. One day, she dressed up in her cool 80's look and then dressed me up, too. I never felt so proud or so good about myself. That photo she took with me on her shoulders, both in our 80's chic, is one of my most treasured possessions.

I think Big Sis knows me better than anyone, and out of everyone in the world, I have always felt the least judged and the most loved for who I am by her.

Like L'il Sis said in her comment on my last post, our roles as sisters change all the time. Sometimes the Big Sis becomes the L'il Sis, needing a helping hand or a guiding word. Sometimes the Middle Sis looks up to the L'il Sis and her independence. Sometimes the L'il Sis acts like the L'il Sis, demanding attention right away. Lol!

Whatever the situation...

We are sisters.

We are best friends.

We feel each other's worries and try to ease them.

We laugh the hardest when we are together.

We miss each other like crazy when we are apart.

...and this will always be the case.

*waits: by the green trash can

L'il Sis

When L'il Sis was born, I was almost 4 years old. I think I was really excited and did not experience a lot of jealousy. My Mom used to tell me often how, when she suggested that it was time to go back to school, I exclaimed, "But I have to stay home to take care of the baby!"

We became the best of friends. We fought like cats and dogs. We shared secrets. We tattled on each other - like the time L'il Sis decided to storm into Mom and Dad's dinner party to shout across the room, "MOOOOOOOM, Lola called me a BITCH!" She was so confused as to why *she* got into big trouble for that one.

She followed me around. Constantly. I would get up from watching TV, and she would get up, too - even though she had no idea where I was going. Mom would make me include her when my friends came over, and she was happy to sit by herself and do "homework" in a separate room if she thought it meant she was playing school with us. Dad would beg me to let her come sleep in my room every night because she was scared of the dark. And though I agreed very grudgingly, we always had a great time. We even had a way of saying our goodnights and sweet dreams in a very secret handshake way - Ok, so it was more of an OCD way, but it was still ours.

Time for grad school for me and undergrad for L'il Sis. Mom and Dad were nervous about her going away on her own - to be fair, she *was* a bit of an accident prone trouble maker. So we both got into schools in DC and became roommates. We had so much fun. We drove each other crazy. We watched a Real World marathon over spring break and literally only left our sofas to answer the door when our food and cigarettes arrived. We discovered Krispy Kreme donuts, ordered a whole dozen for delivery, and devoured them within minutes - six each.

And now, here we are, both married, both living in the UK. Nothing much has changed. We fight like cats and dogs. We call and talk on the phone about nothing. She still tries to follow me around, often lamenting, "Why wasn't I invited?" every time I mention an outing.

When I am worried or when she is upset, we know we are there for each other. When we need someone to appreciate the awesomeness of our new Docs, we know we are there. When we need to complain about student budgets, we know we are there. When we need to laugh like loons while people look on in shock and awe, we know we are there.

When I was being bullied at seven years old, three year old L'il Sis was there, waiting on the sidewalk as my school bus pulled over to drop me home. On to the bus she stormed. "Is that him?" she demanded, to which I nodded nervously. *SLAP* right across his cheek... "Don't you ever bully my sister again!" He never did.

When we were in DC, L'il Sis fell (as she often does) and tore something in her thumb, I was there. I almost passed out when she had surgery and I saw the pin they inserted into her thumb - but I was there. I got nauseous - but I used cotton buds to clean around that pin everyday and stayed up every night to make sure her arm stayed elevated while she slept, her good arm wrapped around Ricky Thumbtack, her stuffed surgery buddy bunny.

We always know we are there. <3

I am a middle child. Which means that I had two very special bonds with my sisters. L'il Sis was my playmate and best friend. Big Sis was my confidante, protector, and best friend.

*prepares next post: Big Sis and the dot (me)

Yo-Yo

From Wikipedia:

The yo-yo is a toy consisting of two equally sized but not specifically equally weighted pieces of plastic, wood, or metal, connected with an axle, with a string looped around the axle. It is played by inserting onto the end of the middle finger into a slip knot made from the top loop at the end of the string, winding the string around the axle and throwing the yo-yo down so that it unwinds the string. Once the yo-yo travels to the bottom of the string and returns to the hand, grabbing it and throwing it down again. Many tricks exist, most based on the basic sleeper trick. The sleeper, or throwdown, is one of the most common yo-yo tricks. It is a required state before many other tricks can be performed. The essence of the trick is that the yo-yoer throws the yo-yo with a very pronounced wrist action so that when the yo-yo reaches the end of the string it spins in place rather than rolling back up the string to the thrower's hand. While the yo-yo is in the “sleeping” state at the end of the string, the yo-yoer can then execute other tricks like “around the world” or the more complex “rock the baby.” When the yo-yoer decides to end the “sleeping” state, he/she merely jerks the wrist and the yo-yo “catches” the string and rolls back up to the hand. First made popular in the 1920s, yo-yoing is still very much enjoyed by both children and adults.

I *am* a yo-yo!

I am composed of various parts that get worn with age. I go through life’s ups and downs, sometimes feeling “thrown down” just when I have climbed back up again – and vice versa. I sometimes get lulled into a false sense of security, or sleeper state, only to be spun around the world – which can be good or bad. Many times, I have really needed to be rocked like a baby.

I am a yo-yo. And life… life is that show-off down the block that hurls yo-yos around like he is some kind of god.

*decides: roll with it

Duet on a Mailbox

This post was sparked off by a memory... The memory involves one of my closest friends. One of those friends who you don't see in years, but nothing changes. One of those friends with whom going out to dinner results in tables being set on fire... literally. One of those friends with whom crossing the street may result in riding a fire truck. One of those friends with whom nights out always result in fun and chaos.

The thing about memories is, you remember some of the details vividly, and others as cloudy notions and feelings. This is how I remember the incident that sparked this post...

After a late night out dancing, a big group of us ended up wandering the streets of DC. Me and this friend ended up sitting atop a blue mailbox (I can't even begin to image how we got up there or how we both fit), and belting out the Elton John and Kiki Dee duet, Don't Go Breaking My Heart. We gave it everything we had. Right there. On the mailbox. In DC. In the wee hours of the morning. Sure we got what I hope was water hurled at us from above (OMG, it was pee, wasn't it?!!). Sure people howled, "F$%@ YOU" as we roused them from their slumber (city dwellers can be SO unreasonable). But what a fun, spontaneous night! And what a great memory to have.

*sends a shout-out to OB: time for some more hilaga memories!

A Crowdsourced Post

It has been a while since I have had more than a fleeting hmm-this-may-be-a-potentially-possible-blog-idea-ish feeling. So I posted the following status update in facebook: 

(Lola) needs a blog topic. Ideas?

And so here are the fab responses and my responses to their responses:

A said...

Yes: How to 'take out' humans that are a waste of oxygen so the world can be a better place.

Me: Amen. I can think of one country where this would be ideal! It would leave us with a population of about 100, but I can live with that. LOL! 

Z said...

"How to kick a** in Tennis without really trying" ;)

Me: There is a context to this one. Namely, my recent training session with Rafael Nadal. Ok, so it was a dream, but in my facebook discussion of this dream, we all decided I could totally kick his a**. (We will forget for the present time that I cannot play tennis and instead bask in the glow of my success.)

K said...

Predictions on when the Dow will soar past 15,000?

Me: Clearly K has forgotten that I am a full-time PhD student, and so all things monetary are reduced to whining about never having enough income and the cost of academic books. Dow Jones? Is he tenured? 

AB said...

hatred for people who walk too slowly on sidewalks!

Me: AB lives in London. It is summer (well, so they keep trying to convince us). London is currently overrun with tourists. Those of us who live here tend to get very grouchy when tourists leisurely stroll along (we are NOT on holiday), when they stop suddenly to take a photo (some of us will walk right through it), and when they get that panic-stricken look in the underground (we will plow over you). Forgive our grumpiness. It's the rain.

L said...

Postal and tube strikes!

Me: Another Londoner. I think I could easily devote a whole blog to the London underground. As for the most recent tube strike... It was amazing to see the vast differences in people's reactions, based on their favored mode of transport:

OMG the streets above ground bear no resemblance to the underground routes! (those who rely heavily on the tube)

This is why I take buses. (those who take the bus)

I only ever ride my bike. (smug bastards) 

Why aren't there any free taxis?! (pompous buggers)

There's a strike on? (walkers and morons) 

Z said:

or "how to crowdsource blog ideas"

Me: I just love the savvy lingo, hence my title ;) If only we could crowdsource a whole PhD thesis!

J said...

learning how to cook these fabulous dinners!! What was your inspiration?

Me: I often like to show off cooking triumphs via my facebook status updates. I never, ever status-ify cooking fiascos, as is my wont. I think the answer here is that I got sick of food, both food in restaurants or takeaways, and the rut meals my O and I would cook at home. I also fell in love with Jamie Oliver's Ministry of Food cookbook, which makes everything so simple and easy. It gave me the confidence to try other stuff minus the frenzy, the panic, the sweat, the anger at know-it-all chefs who pretend they are teaching you how to cook, but who really need you to fail... etc.

Wow! Look at that!! A completed blog post!!!

*says big thanks: to A, Z, K, AB, L, and J... you are all rock stars

Michael Jackson

What does one say about Michael Jackson? I think a lot of us who grew up with his music are shocked and saddened by the void his death has left… as though a part of our past has died along with him. I definitely feel that as I remember Wednesdays in an ice rink, Billie Jean blasting out from the speakers, and teenagers speed skating wearing The leather jacket.

I also feel sadness for him. As I listen to the news and to the ‘did he, didn’t he’ media fodder, I am sad for him. Because I imagine his life… his childhood… his rise… the profound loneliness he must have experienced.

I just feel sad.

The world is less of a place now that he is gone.

Rest in peace Michael Jackson...

*thanks Michael Jackson for sharing his talent:

"you rocked my world, you know you did..."

School's (not) out!

I have been a student or a teacher my whole life. That means that mid-June, I am dead. Done. Finished. AND ON VACATION! 

So my brain and body are in shock and not amused at the fact that not only am I still attending classes, but that I have mountains of work for the entire foreseeable summer ahead. 

It's wrong. PhD or not, it's wrong. Teacher = summer vacation. Student = summer vacation. 

People do not understand. If they have not taught, they do not get it. "Oh please, you get three months off!" *punch* Try it. Try it for a year and then say that. And being a PhD student is like being a teacher... It is non-stop deadlines, reading, writing, and stress! 

So where is my summer vacation? Is this a British thing?

*pines: for rest in the sun

Why I <3 Ally McBeal

Ally McBeal: To me the true meaning of Christmas has always been Santa. It still is. You're allowed to believe in something you know doesn’t exist.

John Cage: I actually still did believe till I was 12 years old. I just wouldn’t give it up.

Ally McBeal: And what made you stop

believing?

John Cage: My mother… she told me he fondled the elves. Some therapist told her step one was to at least undermine my admiration for him. Next year she told me he died. Heart attack. Cholesterol. I blamed myself for leaving the cookies. Fat man… trying to squeeze through a narrow chimney... and I taunt him with Oreos and a glass of whole milk.

Ally McBeal: And you call me odd.

*advises: watch it here