on quiting consumerism . . .

I was shuffling down 7th street just the other day thinking "Hey Angie B, this no spending thing isn't so tough afterall."
I should have known that I was in for some trouble. This kind of statement made outloud to myself often spells doom for even my most elaborate plans-- like the 93 times i quite smoking, elimated an entire food group in the name of health, or swore off some apparently not good enough jerk.

Feeling strong and proud, I did not hesitate when a friend visiting from England asked me to go shopping with him. Besides, it is just part of what Matt and I do when he comes to town--shopping is so much more economical when the dollar gets paid in pounds you earn abroad. We made our traditional soho circuit. He spent. I enjoyed that he was enjoying himself. (Although it really is more thrilling to watch a girlfriend's chemically induced high after charging a "perfect" new dress or pair of shoes.)

Feeling stronger and more proud, I decided to let him in on one of my favorite shopping experiences--the young designers market. Some of my favorite purchases have been made there, and at a steal. Why shouldn't Matt have the same opportunity? Excited by my enthusiasm, we proceed more directly than the a-line of my skirt.

Safely down isle one, Matt considers a tie. I am considering nothing. Rounding the first bend, Matt is looking at a jacket. I throw something over my head that seems to be a poncho. No sooner than I pop my head out of the carefully crafted hole, the young designer comes over to explain that it isn't a poncho at all. In fact, it is a top that can be worn TWO different ways, and belted and so on. Matt and I also decide that it looks quite good as a skirt. Now i am in trouble. To know me is to know that i am a sucker for anything that can be worn more ways than one...and i have even been known to justify ridiculous cost down to the number of ways that i can wear it.

Matt asks the price-only $25--the cost doesn't even need justifying, except that I promised not to spend any money for 3 months. I certainly do not need this article of fashion freedom and creativity that would look so good with so many things in my wardrobe. What to do? What to do? I did buy it. I have already worn it two different ways. With three others in store, i calculate the cost for each expression equals only 5 bucks. Not so bad. Yet I still feel the need to out myself. Bad AngieB!

you say "front-load", i say "bah"

It is the end of a fiscal year. I have paid my taxes and invested more than I feel comfortable with into my most effective and only real tax shelter—my SEP IRA. 4 months into 2007, I sit reviewing my finances for last year. (I could have thought about it then, but I was apparently too busy spending money.) To my saddest and most shocking realization, I did not save one single cent. I am now compelled to recall what it is that I got out of all of this spending. Off the top of the head, here it goes:

--a siamese kitten—the purchas e and spoiling of which is greater than $1000
(incidently I was not able at the time to admit to friends that I actually purchased the purebred object of my absolute adoration)
--more shoes than one woman could ever wear, equaling ???
--dresses that hang behind my bedroom door, some with the tag still on, ???
--medical bills for my cat, ending in his eventual death, totaling over $2500
--trip to Italy =????????????
(I bought everything I wanted there no matter what the cost, except that one dress)
--did I mention that I bought a lot of handbags last year, one in Italy costing over $600 and I have only carried it out of my apartment on 2 separate occasions
--I do not cook, so spend a lot of money eating out
--I tried to learn how to cook, so I spent money shopping for the best ingredients at Whole Foods
--I am constantly redecorating my apartment. I also bought some art in Italy. It is still not hanging on my freshly painted walls
--I have quite a nice collection of lipstick
--and underwear
--t-shirts
--a few new jackets
--more boots
--don’t forget to accessorize
--I buy house plants like freshly cut flowers
--I adopted another kitten, with “special needs”
--I like to buy gifts
--books and more stuff

It is clear and very safe to say that I do not need any more dresses, shoes, tubes of lipstick, or kittens.

Completely depressed by my financial statements, I have decided to quite consumerism. (well, at least for 3 months) And I refuse to become any more self-sufficient than any single professional woman can pretend to be, so I promise to buy the essentials, and only the essentials. To this I can only say, there is nothing better than a new toothbrush—teeth licking good!

To text or not to text?

A good friend and I were out to dinner the other night. During a lull in our conversation we became sidetracked by a conversation between the couple sitting next to us. To our surprise the man was advising the woman on relationships. Naturally our ears perked up, as one should tend to think that a man could always give better advice than a woman on the subject of men.

Seems that the woman was wondering whether or not to contact a man she had recently been out with, to which he replied “sure you could poke your cute little rabbit head out of the snow and ask your man how best to build an igloo, but I wouldn’t advise this”. We were all a little doe-eyed by this statement, and happy to have an audience he explained “To a hunter, the most desirable prey is always the one who does not want to be caught!”

This made sense to me that night, especially after a few glasses of wine and certainly because it came straight from the mouth of a hunter himself. However, after second and third consideration, I am just not so sure. Trust me Ladies, being the vegetarian child of a deer-hunting father, I can honestly say that you do not want to be hunted!

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Upon successfully targeting a deer, my father might hang its pelt on the wall in our attic; it’s antlers or the whole stinking head might end up on a wall someplace else (sometimes even over a chair wherein if you fell asleep my father might drop water on your head to pretend that Bambi had drooled on you, usually in hopes to reclaim the chair for himself). My family ate venison for months afterward, until the freezer was empty or my father became tired of coming up with new ways to prepare it (My count = 3).
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

OK. Even if you don’t trust my childhood flashback to daddy’s hunting, because clearly I did suffer some therapy worthy trauma, let’s just consider the definition of the word “hunt” according to American Heritage Dictionary

1 To pursue (game) for food or sport.
2 To search through (an area) for prey: hunted the ridges.
3 To make use of (hounds, for example) in pursuing game.
4 To pursue intensively so as to capture or kill: hunted down the escaped convict.
5 To seek out; search for.
6 To drive out forcibly, especially by harassing; chase away: hunted the newcomers out of town.

Any way you slice it Ladies, is this really the fate you desire? To be the prize in a game, used for show or consumption? Let’s not even consider definition number 4—eeks! I’m not even sure that it is an appropriate way to treat an animal.

Where on earth am I going with this? Hmmm. I am obviously confounded and admittedly, my own instincts regarding to text or not to text are usually belabored. Regardless of whether or not you feel that it is human nature to play games or maybe even just part of an inevitable dating ritual, I suppose you should play the game by your own rules. Hopefully you will find someone who appreciates your style of gaming. But if you don’t want to be hunted, I suppose you will have to leave the forest!

How do they do it?

As I finished out a late night at my doctor/friend’s second annual international dinner party, I was convinced that I needed a book from her library for my very own coffee table. I was torn between stealing her copy of Gray’s Anatomy or How They Do IT. I decided upon the later, as it was hard to pass up a book dedicated to the mating practices of animals. Beside that, the book had already generated plenty of conversation over dinner-- it seems that most guests interest in the subject ranged from mildly amused to disturbingly fascinated. True, I passed up a pretty good opportunity to finally determine exactly where is that elusive prostate, but I happily gained knowledge on a wide variety of other levels. The following list is really just a tip of the iceberg:

--the etiology of the human expression “screwing” apparently makes reference to the peculiar design of the boar’s penis

--Elk in Norway refer to IT as Fjornicating

--the caged male Gorilla masturbates, whereas wild ones do not

--I am glad that I am not an Octopus—they tend to have violent, even deadly coitus—though the French insist that their octopuses always do it gently stating that their males know how to behave with “une certaine delicatesse”—really...

--I found my favorite sentence ever published: “The male opossum may be like someone you know, ugly as sin but ready to have sex at the drop of a hat.”

I wonder if he will call you the next day?

Geographical differences in the genetic makeup of my friends: A photographic perspective

I am a speech language pathologist by trade. I love most people, places and things. I have a special affinity for analyzing my friends-- to understand them and all of our differences, be it social, cultural or intellectual. It is with great pleasure that I prove, I mean, determine what is wrong with them, usually for the sake of my assistance in their betterment. Perhaps that is just the pahtologist in me; I have a compulsion to study disorder. There is another part of me that also secretly coveted the life of a geneticist--fascinating really. Luckily, my work with children led me to stumble upon some forceful information (please see photos!) that led me to marry so many of my favorite interests (friends, pathology, genetics, being right, etc.)
I will now shed light on recently discovered differnces noted in a small group of my friends: K, a 31 year old female of French Canadian decent; O, a 34 year old male of "purest" Norwegian blood; and A, a 29 year old Italian/German American born and raised in Chicago (that's me!)

Objective #1: Debunk cold-lovin' K's notion that Norwegians and Chicagoans should tolerate, even appreciate extremely cold weather as much as a Canadian from Plattsburg, NY

This is utter nonsense really. The proof is in the picture! As my extensive photographic research reveals, the people in Canada live in Igloos. This must be why K loves the cold so much; more a part of her genetic makeup than where she was actually born and raised (consider Canadian heritage compared to a Southern Italian or a skinny Norwegian). This is evidenced futher when we see that Norwegians in fact do not live in Igloos, but wooden houses covered with moss that grows in probably a pretty temperate climate. I also suspect that there aren't any Igloos in Chicago, but have not yet found any photographic evidence to disprove my theory.

Objective #2: Prove that Norway-lovin' O should branch out a little, in fact all of Norway should!

As K, O, and I (A) made our way through the cold, suffering or revelling, as only our genetic predisposition would have us, we wandered into a Japenese restaurant for brunch. O began to read his Norwegian newspaper and reported that recently in Norway there has been a significant increase in individuals born hermaphroditic. A picture says a thousand words here as well. Referring to the photographic evidence that does represent all, or most, of Norway, it is easy to see how difficult it would be for those children to cross the fjord to fjornicate with people in the other village (it appears much easier to climb the ladder to your brother.) I did not have enough time to research the genetic mutation that yields hermaphroditism, however, I will refer you to the book Middlesex (529 pages, no pictures!) This book not only skims the science, but also proves historically and socially relevant. It is also a good read.