It's starting to wear me down

I'm sick of house hunting. Really. I'm just fed up with the whole thing. I want to crawl into bed and wake up three months from now, magically moved into a new house, with my stuff unpacked. Heck, I'll even take keeping it in boxes -- I can unpack it myself, thanks.

I find that even looking at listings of houses is making me a bit tired. Another crappy kitchen. Another boring shower. They're starting to look alike. Have I seen that fireplace before? I think I know that purple bedroom.

I want my house to magically appear. I got to redfin constantly, hoping that it will be there. I'm afraid that I'm getting so tired of this whole process that one day I'll see a house and just throw up my hands go say, "Fine, let's be done. This one will work." That I'll settle. And there's a part of me that thinks, well, would it be so bad? It would let me get on with my life.

But I don't want to settle, I want to love it. I'm just getting impatient, you know.

Walking away

Well, apparently I was too insulting. I put in a bid for the hot mess of a house and they were like, "yeah, we're not even going to answer that." So, yes, I am still available, if you know a nice place that will treat me nice.

This is probably not a bad thing. The house really is a mess. It would probably just lead to heartache. I mean, what would I do with those crazy holes in the ceiling anyway? Maybe they're just there to let out the bad spirits -- patching them up may only mess with the feng shui. Even the "good" rooms, the kitchen, the family room, they had issues. Yes, I must remind myself that it's for the best.

I am getting anxious. Of course, the rational side of me knows that there is a house out there for me. I'm starting to get sick of waiting. I'm sure it will all work out, but there are days I'm searching for the fast forward button.

Anyway, I've convinced myself that the hot mess needs an owner that is not me. I will miss the phone by the toilet.

My Latest Love

I may have found a house. I know, it took me long enough. I did have, well, complications, which is a big part of why it has taken so long. But, today, I put in a bid and now it's cross-fingers time.

Let me tell you about it: it's a hot mess. And, yet, I can't stay away. I first saw this house months ago. The good: glorious kitchen (a 15-foot island!), a lovely yard, good location, a glorious kitchen (oh, yeah, it's really [potentially] beautiful). The bad: wacked out master bathroom (with bidet -- ugh!), weird holes in the ceiling (yeah, we're looking at a pretty intense home inspection), missing kitchen cabinet doors, inch of dust on the ceiling fans, lots of little things that make you wonder, "Are they actually trying to sell this house?"

It does scare me. It is quite possible that these people have done no maintenance on it. (Why, yes, those are the original air filters on the furnace, is that a problem?) Here's one: the fan in the one bathroom is missing -- what the hell? Or, here's a better question: what the hell am I thinking buying this house? But the place draws me in. It's got personality.

I have been looking at smaller, more reasonable houses. But those houses will always be starter houses. The house that you hope to move out of someday. This house, while a bit of a mess, could be cleaned up, fixed up, and really be awesome. I can see wanting to stay there. Plus, this house, it fits me. It has things I want (good kitchen, nice but minimal yard, nice family room). Some of its weaknesses (only three bedrooms and one really small one, no real dining room) just don't matter to me. I just hope that they actually want to sell it. We'll see how negotiations go (although I did put in a really insulting offer...)

But, seriously, there's a phone right by the toilet. I mean, what the hell?

Count one to ten

There are times I wonder what might have happened. What would have happened if Mr. Higgy-Piggie would have gotten that pair-programming job in DuPont Circle? (I guess he's technically still Mr. HP, at least for a while longer.) What if he had gotten that job that was in Germantown? What if we had sold the house right away, or had loved a house down here? Would I be doing what I am doing now, I wonder. 

I can always point to things that cause the changes but what about the things that don't happen that cause those changes? I remember being excited about when Mr. HP was coming here, what our life would look like. There are times I look at the houses we were considering and I think, if we lived there, would we have been happy? And it really wasn't so long ago.

Right or wrong

Every week I read "The Ethicist" in "The New York Times" and it almost always pisses me off. Not that I disagree with some of his conclusions or advice (although it's almost always cutesy and a bit random: "Return the ball but keep the bat" or some nonsense like that.) But it does make me wonder: how does someone practice ethics for a living? What qualifies someone as a professional in the ethics department?

When I was in grad school, it was a requirement that we take a bioethics course. It was taught by that media whore Arthur Caplan. (Oh, you know who he is; you've seen him giving his opinion on CNN, MSNBC, all those places. I'm sure you have. I don't think he ever turns down an opportunity to flap his gums.) This was a 3-day course and all I can say is that there's three days of my life I'll never get back. Here's what I learned: (1) Nazis: not ethical (2) Tuskegee Study: also not ethical. Hey, thanks Caplan!

Seriously, if, for one split second, you think Mengele was conducting research in an ethical fashion, a few days with Arthur Caplan will not be changing you. I guess that's the question: can a course change your ethics? Can a few talks keep you from submerging kids in ice water? "Oh, now I get it! That's wrong! I'll stop that now."

(Although the course was held in the beautiful auditorium of the Archeology and Anthropology Museum, which almost did make it worth the three days. It is seriously stunning and the seats were comfortable.)

The thing that pissed me off the most was that there are some real ethical issues to discuss. The ethics of who owns research (I'm looking at you Watson and Crick, and how you screwed Rosalind Franklin), the ethics of not allowing a grad student to graduate because you want another year of his/her work in your lab, how to determine which data is just "outlier" information, etc. These are the interesting questions. These are questions that a lot of folks have to deal with, not the obvious abuses of human life.

But, back to the original question, what makes someone an expert on ethics? Seriously, I want that job. I want to be the person who dictates, yes, this is good; this, not so much. Of course, since I'm a scientist, I have shady ethics (as anyone familiar with Frankenstein knows.) (An aside that pisses me off: IRB boards are required to have a "non-scientist," as if that "non-scientist" raises that ethics bar. [And, seriously, what makes someone a "non-scientist?" I would argue that an MD is a non-scientist.] Do publishing houses run books past scientists to be sure that they are doing that job right?) But, I think I'm ethical; can I be a bioethicist? Can I go on CNN and tell the world that this or that genetic engineering is right or wrong? Because I really think I could handle the job.

Now I'm off to inject children with mysterious chemicals. 

Spoiler alert

I read spoilers. I can't help it. If someone knows what's going to happen in a show and they post it on-line, I'll be trying to find out. Yes, I do want to know who will be voted out, who will be killed in the season finale. It doesn't really ruin a show for me. I know it would for some people, but I just like knowing ahead of time a little bit about what will happen. 

Lately I have been wondering about my own life. If I knew there were spoilers out there for my life, would I read them? Would I want to know what is going to happen? These days, I'm not sure what I would want. I would like to think, yes, I welcome the surprises, those unexpected things that happen. But there is also a part of me that wants just a little peek into what is going to happen.

Lately, my life has had lots of changes. A lot of people would think that it would be stressful, which, yes, it is, somewhat. But it's also been exciting. It's been good. Really. As nutty as it may sound, I've been enjoying the crazy. There are times I think I should be more stressed out, but these days I can look at what is happening with a feeling that it will all be okay.

But there are days that I do worry a bit. As I sit in this "temporary" housing for the 7th month, I look ahead and do wonder what the future will bring. Yes, I am enjoying the surprises, some of these unexpected things that have been happening. I know I will find a place to live, I will settle in, I will meet people and start to find those places to go. But on these days when I worry, I really want that peek.

Cross fingers

We may have sold the house. We have a contract (we got screwed, in case you're checking on that one, but we expected that, it being a buyer's market). Now we just have to get through the inspections and hope that no other issue raises its ugly head. 

I just would like to say, these people have been jerks. I am sure they will continue to be jerks. I don't have a problem with negotiating a good price. Yeah, that's to be expected. But you don't have to change the settlement date (the date that we made perfectly clear to you a number of times) at the last minute. You don't have to see the house 20 times. You don't have to make, then cancel appointments. You don't have to demand things just because. 

I can't stand these people. Fine, it's a buyer's market. Feel free to jerk us around. But, you know what, we're still living in your house. Yep, that's right. We still are hanging out. So, maybe the house won't be as clean as you might hope when we leave. And maybe we won't point out that typo in the contract. Because you have given us absolutely no reason for us to help you out. In fact, I gleefully welcome any opportunity I have to screw you over. If I can make your life a tiny bit more difficult, I am a bit happier.

I may not be a nice person. 

Sunday Randomness

When I'm staying at Mom and Dad's, it's hard to grab time to write, let alone pull the thoughts together to get a "whole" post anyway. Plus, during the visit, there have been those little random bits that may not be a post, but are still interesting. Here's your list:

* Saw an old ad for the Fonz arcade game, which is silly and 1970s to begin with, but my favorite thing about it was what Sega called themselves: "The Quartermasters." 

* Tried to help Mom clean out her closet. She wouldn't get rid of one dress because she said it would be nice for a funeral. Her funeral. Or maybe she'd want to get buried in a nightgown -- she hasn't actually decided.

* Every time I get a manicure I swear I'm going to get them more often. But then I only seem to get one when my sister talks me into getting one.

* Mom really hates horse racing ever since she saw that filly die last year at the Derby. But she was happy that a long-shot like Mine That Bird won.

* While shoe shopping with Mom, the word "bondage" came up. From her. Not enough therapy in the world.

* For as long as I can remember, my parents have sworn by tea. "Coffee? Bleh!" This visit (in conversations separate from one another): "Sometimes I drink coffee now." Who picks up this habit in their 60s?

* Tried to teach Mom about her ipod touch. It was quite the challenge. She did successfully download a bunch of apps, but then went pack to the pool game she plays all the time (although she doesn't know the rules.  At one point she asked me what "ball in hand" meant. When I explained to her, she said, "Well, I didn't have all the advantages you did growing up?" When is knowing the rules of 9-ball an indication of a privileged childhood?)

* What Mom thinks is funny: "Maybe your next boyfriend will have 5 children and you'd be a stepmother to 5 kids." She couldn't stop laughing.

I'm sure there's more to come. We have all day today.

Skill set

I think we all have things that we're good at, the things that just come easy. We also have things we struggle with. "I can't dance." "I can't balance my checkbook." "I've never been able to juggle." When you say things like that, everyone nods and comes up with their list. I'm not sure why, but yesterday I was thinking, I wonder if I'm good at love.

I think it's a legitimate question: can you be good (or bad) at love? Some people are naturally funny, some people are generally bitchy, so there's a good chance that some people will naturally be good at love. That they would know what to say, how to behave, without even thinking about it. They know what the other person needs and they can just give it to them. Me, I'm prickly. I'm kind of a pain in the ass (as Mom has pointed out.) I'll forget your birthday. 

It's a skill set I need to work on. Unfortunately, there are no classes at the local community college.

A Letter

Dear Maryland Drivers,

I know that we haven't known each other very long and this may be a bit forward, but I feel I've waited long enough and I must share this with you: you suck. Yes, every one of you. I know it seems harsh and some of you may wish to argue, but I'm feeling pretty confident in that statement. 

Now, it's not all bad. I think you have hope. It's not like you're a Georgia driver! I think if you follow a few basic tips, you would be at least tolerable:

1. It is generally accepted that, when you drive on a major interstate (I-95, for example), that you drive at least the speed limit. This is especially true when you are in the left lane. Here's a secret: in many parts of the country, when one drives in the left lane, they often drive faster than the speed limit (gosh, I hope no cops are reading this.) I know you may not be comfortable with all that speed. That's fine; that's what that right lane is for. Yes, a whole lane for you. Enjoy.

2. If you pass a truck, you don't have to slow down when you pass it. It actually makes the job harder. Think about it. If you want to go 54 mph and the truck in front of you is going 50 mph, yes, you want to pass (you have all this speed!) But, as you pass, if you slow down to 40 mph, it will be a challenge. Keep up those 54 mph speeds; trust me, it will work out better for you.

3. That wet stuff coming from the sky: rain. Don't be frightened. It shows up now and again. You don't have to start driving 40 mph. Especially if it's so light, the windshield wipers are on intermittent. If it really is that scary, maybe don't drive those days?

4. Just because a cop has his flashy lights on on the side of the road doesn't mean you have to slow down and see what is going on. And, when you see that there's nothing there ("hey, where's the accident?") don't slow down more, just to really check out the scene.

I do think you have potential. Your roads are pretty nice and much better marked than anything you'll find in Philadelphia. I'll try to work with you. I think we can both be happy.

The spirit is willing...

I want to blog every night. I really do. And most days I have many, many thoughts (and, oh, in my head, I am so clever. Such thoughts!) I seem to have so many ideas when I am just walking home and thinking. But some nights I pull up that blogger dashboard and just stare at that empty space. Tonight is one of those nights. 

How can I not have something to write about? So many things are happening, not just with me but with the world. If I was at dinner with you, believe me, I would not shut up. Have I got a story for you! I would be saying. You would be hiding the wine thinking, that's enough of that! 

Of course, lately, there have been days when I've had the thoughts, the ideas, but this is not the place. Not yet. I am such a tease, but soon. (maybe.) Maybe you need to take me to dinner.

I listen two, three, four times a day

I miss Philadelphia radio. Look, I'm not going to say it's the best radio in the world. I was one of those people who listened to Howard Stern when he first came to Philadelphia because, oh God, not DeBella. (Those of you from Philadelphia know what I'm talking about; sorry to the rest of you.) But Philadelphia radio has two things I'll really miss: Oldies 98 and KYW.

Oldies 98 is a damn good station. First off, they use the term "oldies" rather loosely, so they pretty much play anything pre-mid-1980s. And because they have a pretty loose format, they play a nice variety. But the bonus is that they play the Philadelphia area hits. Oh, I love the Philadelphia hits! "The Bristol Stomp"! "South Street"! (Where do all the hippies meet?) "On the Way to Cape May" (oh just sing it, "I fell in love with you...") I miss those songs. I just want to sing those songs. Loudly. With no shame. (And let's not forget the secret Philadelphia hits like "Sweet Caroline" -- shout out to the Triangle Tavern!) (Now I miss the Triangle Tavern, which, of course, is not the same without Dusty.)

But Oldies 98, you can be replaced. (I'll have to see if iTunes carries "Wildwood Days.") However, I'll never replace KYW. KYW is an old-school news radio station. It may just be the perfect station. I love its theme (and can you resist singing along?), although they did "update" it a few years ago. I love that you get traffic every 10 minutes on the 2's. I freakin' love Fred Sherman! I love the teletype in the background. (How many times did I fall asleep to that in graduate school? So soothing...) I love the predictable order of the presentation (you'll get your sports at 15 minutes after the hour, financials at 25 or 55 after.) You'll get your beeps telling you the time at the top and bottom of the hour. Seriously, why don't other cities have these stations.

Now I'm off to do the Bristol Stomp.

Something tells you that you have to move away from it

The house has been on the market for a while and we just got our first offer. It's very low, but we're still negotiating. It's weird how you think about money in these situations. If I bought a television, and I noticed that it was on sale $100 cheaper a week later, I would be completely pissed off. "I lost $100!" But when you negotiate those house prices, thousands of dollars get thrown around. No big deal, let's shave $10,000 off the price. Hey, that's a car! A trip to Europe! A damn fine trip to Europe! I guess I can't really think about it -- it'll make me nuts.

It's a nice house. A really nice house. But it's too big for us. I could never make it feel cozy. Comfortable, yes, but not "home-y." We had empty rooms, rooms that were never used. We never had a meal in the dining room. I never took a bath in the big tub. The house is "staged" now, to look like we used all the spaces, but I know we never did. 

I'm beginning to look at this house as a symbol of my life. Big with lots of potential, but a lot of it hasn't been used. Why are you waiting to do with these spaces? I need to decorate these spaces and start moving in.

Happy new year!

It's been a crazy year. I was just thinking about this, because about a year ago, I was in Barcelona. I was working at Novo, and, if you asked me, I was planning to retire with the company. I was living in Pennsylvania. No plans to move. I was with Mr. Higgy-Piggie. All was well. So I thought.

Nothing is the same now, is it? A lot can happen in a year. Did I have any idea that it was all going to change? If someone had told me, if someone had pulled me aside and said, "Heads up. It's gonna get crazy" would I have believed them? I would have been wondering, why would I want that? And, yet, now that I am here, I am happy to be here.

I have a memory of that trip to Barcelona, standing in the sun and feeling absolutely content. Now, looking back, I know where the cracks were. I can see where things changed, where they fell apart. It's been hard, but it's been good for me. I know that this will be a year that I never forget. It's completely changed me. In a good way. (I think, I hope, I'm pretty sure.)

I'm glad for change. I'm glad for most of this change. But another year like this, I might die of exhaustion. 

I can name that tune in 3 notes...

For some reason, my dad feels it's important to be able to recognize songs on the radio. Name and artist. And so, when we were kids, he had this game where he would let us listen to the introduction of a song, and, before the singing started, he would turn it off. "Name and artist?" And we would have to guess and, once we got it right, we could hear the rest of the song. After a while, we would just shout out the names and artists so that he wouldn't shut off the radio.

All three of us have the freakish ability to name songs and artists on demand within seconds. (Well, older songs. We're all old now, so we have a limit of 1950s through the mid-90s.) Andrea and Scott are hipper and may have an expanded range. When I was at Rohn & Haas, the guys would love to try to stump me. Once. They got me exactly once. Freakin' "Radar Love." (I guessed Deep Purple, which was wrong but got the comment "impressive guess!") Slick used to say that's why he dated me: because I knew all the songs on the radio. 

Dad also encouraged the variety in music as well. So, yeah, that was a "Guys and Dolls" reference. Followed by a Salt and Pepa joke. Yes, that mix tape has a Patsy Cline song followed by one by X (and, dammit, it works.)

Last summer, we were out to dinner. "More than Yesterday" starts playing. Dad points at the speakers. Artist? I rolled my eyes, guessed correctly, and went back to my salad. Dad just smiled.

An inappropriate crush

I have a crush on a house. I keep thinking about it; it's so cute and nice to look at. I walk by whenever I get the chance. The thing is, it's just not good for me. It's too small, the kitchen is minimal, there's no room for expansion. I think one of the reasons I like it so much is that it's in a lovely location and is surrounded by bigger, beautiful houses. And I keep looking for excuses to get in it or just be in the neighborhood. I look at its pictures on-line and imagine us together.

There are other houses around that have more room, that have better space. I should like them more, and, sure, there's one or two who kind of get my attention. Maybe one will win my attention. And yet, I am still drawn to this tiny, inappropriate house. That's overpriced. 

Sigh. I have a crush on the Jordan Catalano of houses. 

Promises, promises

Tomorrow, I will be back to the regular schedule. No, really, I mean it. In the meantime, a picture. I am still trying to grasp that this is from just a year ago. So much has happened...

Ashes, ashes

I am no longer wearing any rings. The reason (the reasons), well, that's for another day. But, as of this past Sunday, my hands are naked. 

I used to wear 5 rings. One on each middle finger, one on the ring finger of my right hand, two on the ring finger of my left hand. I got these rings at various times; I've been wearing the two on my ring finger of the left hand the longest. My naked hands remind me of being younger. Of high school and days working in labs. 

I have no tan lines to remind me of the rings. However, the two that were on my left ring finger have left two ring-shaped dents in my finger. Here it is, days later, and the two ghost rings are still there. I wonder how long they will remain.

Thanks for coming, there's the door

My parents are visiting this weekend. I love them, I really do, but... My brother has already warned me: "Be nice." When I am not nice?! Oh, yeah, I could be nicer when they come to visit. Sure, I can point fingers and say that they could be easier when they visit. But I do have a tendency to freak out and overreact. I try to tell myself: relax. But I am not a relax kind of gal.

I think that sometimes it comes down to showing off your life. "Look at what I've done! See? I'm an adult and I've made good choices!" And, they know the weaknesses, not that they're looking for them: it's just easy for them. Not that they're even looking for them -- I'm looking for them to point them out. Of course, their opinion means a lot, so a throw-away comment from them, well, I can't help but take it to heart. 

I will relax. (deep breath.) I will enjoy myself. (close eyes. another deep breath.) It will be a good visit. I will not overreact. Okay, I will try not to overreact. 

I'll let my gal Sarah to take it out: "I've always had these fantasies about being in a normal family in which the parents come to town and their adult daughter spends their entire visit daydreaming of suicide."

Before and after

Today is a day with a before and after moment. You know those moments. They start with things like "I'm sorry, there's been a terrible accident." Or someone already crying when you pick up the phone. That moment when something is forever changed. When there is no going back. I'm not ready to talk about today's moment. But it was there today and I knew it right away.

But I know there was a before and after moment before, the moment which lead to this one. There was a moment when things were the same, and then they changed. And that moment, I can't find. When did it happen? Because everything used to be one way and now it is different. There was a time when it tipped into the new. I was happy with the way things were and now I am not. When did that shift occur? When was that before and after moment?