The Underdog Triumphs

Thursday, April 27, 2006


I have always had a thing for George Clooney often saying, "he's the oldest I'd ever go." But today, I really have a thing for Clooney. Sometimes celebrities do the right thing by using their celebrity to get national attention to an important cause and God Bless Clooney for bringing world-wide attention--after millions of others have tried--to the situation in Darfur.

And I'm also proud to be Illinoisian as Senator Barack Obama--for lack of better word--Rocks. Um, yeah there are much better and distinguished terms to descibe Obama--but the wine is hitting me...and I just got so tired I can actually feel my eyes getting heavy. Oh yes, I must sleep, besides I've had awesome dreams lately. Good night moon.

How was your day?

I think what I want most out of life (at least at the present), is when I walk through the door, after a 12 hour work day, is to have someone greet me with a glass of wine and ask: how was your day? I'd be too happy to be home and too tired to answer, but it's nice to be asked. It's a simple question on the surface, but it rings a deeper meaning. How was your day (when heard on a--well--daily basis) means, I care about hearing about it, or at the very least, I care enough about your well-being to ask.

Then I would take a hot shower. And then, I would ask for a footrub. And get it.

Shut up!, it's my fantasy.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Notes on Procrastination

The words vision, empowerment, motivation, organizational change, leader, follower, subordinate, among hundreads of others have been numerously typed today. I waited 8 weeks to start my 30 page paper due in 6 days. I've been pulling some research at the library or from journals online for weeks now, but only now am outlining and piecing it all together. I've actually (despite the blog title), have rocked it today. I've cranked out beautiful sentences and at end of paragraphs in red font written notes on what else needs to be included in order to create meaningful segues. Could it be that in strange way I'm actually having fun writing a paper?

I'm also starting to think that the older I get, the easier school work is. Sounds strange because grad school work is suppose to be hard, it's not as much hard as it is time consuming. Mentally of course, school is harder--which I somewhat attribute to also working full-time among many other of life's little reasons.

Side note: I have Tyra Banks' talk show on the background and there are women on who are only attracted to gay men. One just declared, "I love gay men so much I wish I was a gay man." Now there is a woman talking about being in a relationship with 2 gay men--Tyra asked her if she slept in the middle, she replied, "no, on the end." Surprise, surprise. I love gay men as much as the next straight girl, but I don't want to have sex with them knowing they're not going to dig it. To each thier own.

Okay, back to school work. Thank you Judaism, for having holidays I don't celebrate, but still get the benefit of 2 days off of work. I don't know what I would have done without today and tomorrow off...Procrastinate until the weekend I suppose. I must admit, 6 days advance, I'm pretty proud of myself.

Side note 2: Funny that the word "blog" is not in blogger's spell check dictionary thing.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Thoughts From An Exhausted Mind

I love Sunday nights. They are quiet, reflective, meditative-especially a rainy night like tonight. I'm thankful for silence especially after a week of FF&M. Family, food and matza. Throw too many Baum's in one room and it begins to get ugly. I think I actually wrote "the get ugly" part after hearing it on a re-cap of Desperate Housewives which is blaring in the background. It's not as good as last year. Commercial. Speaking of TV, I still have to watch this week's Amazing Race. I'm obsessed. Only my best friend watches it and she doesn't get as worked-up about it as I do. I watched Gilmore Girls this afternoon. How can Rory love that jerk Logan and not hot lil' Jess? I'm sorry to say, but that show has really run it's course. I'm also terribly missing Felicity lately. There are moments when I suppose I get sentimental and think to myself, "I feel like watching Felicity."

Anyway, Sunday nights are great for getting in bed early, surrounding oneself with the NY Times and the Chicago Trib reading with ABC on in the background. I think I need to crawl back in bed, back to ABC and my papers.

Friday, April 07, 2006



I woke at four this morning thinking I had indigestion. I took some Tums but five minutes later I was kneeling in front of the toilet trying to not to view last nights Thai dinner I had with Paige. I guess she was smart to stick to a vegetarian curry dish. The morning couldn't have been more disastrous. At 7 am I realized I was out of toilet paper and started crying. I made myself throw on some clothes and go to Jewel. You would think at that time of the morning I could make a quick trip picking up TP, Canada Dry, and saltines. But I got stuck behind double transaction coupon lady. As my nausea increased I dreamt of running her skinny ass over with my shopping cart I was using for support. I made it home safe with out a public display of puke. And since the stomach cramps and nausea continued I decided to call into work. It couldn't have happened on a worse day because the 105 forefather of the institution I work for died the other day and his memorial was being held today in the auditorium. My boss freaks out at these kind of events where self-important peeps with deep pockets show up. The funeral kit had been prepared for years. I picked up the flowers yesterday. Our publicist got word to all press. The catering was ordered. The memorial books at the printer. I'm sure she would have just given me the job of lint picker-upper if she could have today. But instead I got workaholic attitude. All that she asked is if I would periodically pick up messages through out the day.

A half hour later I tried. I couldn't remember how to get in the system so I called her again, and got cut off when I tried to apologize for not being there "things are crazy I don't even time to hear you apologize again. We'll talk Monday." I tried checking my messages again but blanked on my voicemail password. For the past year and some months I have checked voicemail several times a day. And several times a day I knew the password and now it was erased from my memory. I called the receptionist to search my office for it to see if I had it written down in a folder I logically call, "Handy Info to Know." But it was no where. I tearfully called my dad and asked him to do hypnosis on me to help me remember. It didn't work, but it helped me relax.

Why do all have like 300 passwords anyway? For personal things I use the same 3 passwords. For work I only have 2-to unlock my computer, and for voicemail.
In American we need passwords for passwords. If "Big Brother" is supposedly watching our every move, do we need passwords? Identities are still stolden on a daily basis, the passwords obviously aren't controlling that. Are passwords really protecting us or causing us to go crazy that we need to seek mental help and medication. That's two more points for healthcare system. It is a vicious circle.

It finally occured to me at around noon when I was finally in a relaxed state. Now if there was only a password to cure stomach cramps and nausea.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006


My friend Meg said my grad school doubt is totally normal. All grad students at one time or another get overwhelmed, doubt their intentions, and get the blues. I'm a newbie; I still have 2 years to go. 2 years in the cohort, 2 years of spending weekends in coffee shops--I will be impressed if my laptop survives another 2 years. And since I am fortunate enough to have work paying for grad school, that means I stay at my job for another 2 years. I feel my life may be on hold for the next 2 years.

There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

The End of The Voice

The conversation ended like all others on that Saturday morning in January. The Voice said "We’ll talk later this week. Bye.” The Voice waited for me to say bye, but instead I let it listen to my sobs a second longer and then silently hung up. At the time I didn’t know it would be our last conversation. But I wasn’t surprised it was. It was months in the making. I was still full of ideas of possibilities and The Voice wasn’t and let me know it a year before. But I never accepted it. A part of me still doesn’t, even though I have been forced to.

There were only words, millions of words exchanged; there was little that was ever left unsaid. Except that simple word, “bye,” which has haunted me for months now, because it means finality, but more importantly it means I have to accept it. If I am mad or angry at anyone it is I for not accepting. I have forgiven all except me.

The Voice and I often spoke about and related to music. The Voice would like and deeply grasp the words that sound so simple in Jeff Buckley’s most popular song “Last Goodbye.” This is our last goodbye. I hate to feel the love between us die. But it’s over. Just hear this and then I’ll go. You gave me more to live for, more than you’ll ever know.