Grace.

I’ve spent so much time wondering if I’d ever meet you. And when I’d meet you, what your hands would look like, and who I’d be then. If I’d become the person I’d always dreamt of. I thought about the normal things, the size of your pupils and the tiny eyelashes in between the bigger ones. Or the way your feet look like hands if you let your vision blur. I thought about the detail of elbow-skin, how it looks like elephant knees, and the way you have the sweetest underarms, sort of like leavening bread. I imagined you, because these things are universal–you could’ve been anyone. And then you came to be (to me) in your own way, even better than I had dreamed. Or I might still be sleeping. (Next to you?)

I fell asleep one night, not sure how I’d feel when I’d wake up: would I inch towards you or turn my back to you? Would I sense the need to fast-forward time so that it would be the convenient hour of 10:17 AM instead of that unsure hour of 4:12 AM? (One time speaks with authority, being the point of no return. The other speaks of hunger pangs and soap bubbles.)

I fell asleep one night, next to you, and found myself breathing vanilla sugar with each exhale. Contentment because I hadn’t known before what I was missing–I had a vague idea, sort of like a sketch, but you’re a Turner painting to me now. Full of mystery and massive waves, but always with a sense that the storm has just passed, copper strings holding up battered masts. And ease, such warming ease, as if breathing was the most difficult thing I could do. The rest is simple.

I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when I woke up, but I understood that the worry was only a bad dream, as I burried my face in your chest and wrapped all of me around you. I understood it then, at that moment.

I like to pretend I’m sleeping, and then open one eye just a little bit at first, only to see that you’re doing the same thing. And we both smile, as I laugh into the pillow and pull the blanket over us.

I like the way sunlight passes through sheets. I like the way it feels like camping; the walls are trees, swaying in the morning breeze. Filtered light means a rainstorm is coming. We are surprised to find snow on the ground when we peek through the netted window, and we laugh at how such a giant descended so silently (or was it that we were so oblivious to its noise?).

Parts of us are similar–-textures of earlobes or the way our fingers lock, interlaced, like thighs between thighs. Other parts...still not so different, if you understand the whys and hows.

I just didn’t know how light and airy each morning could be, or how warmth wasn’t a vague idea, that it was, in fact, a blessedly anchoring reality. How simple you make each moment, how happy. I couldn’t have possibly known.

I'm going to be in Boston and NYC this weekend. I'll be visiting some friends and going on an adventure with a fellow muppet, Schubert.

Here are the friends I'll hopefully be seeing:

Grace Freewill, Brightyear's Kirsten Major, and the So rich, so famous Josh and Josh.

Pictures to be posted upon successful completion of mission.

I was careless yesterday, and now I’m not. I thought that good people were a right, and now I see that they’re a privilege. I used to think that I was invincible, that I could say whatever I wanted because, well, that’s just how I felt. Now, I see that the wrong words can make a person love you a little bit less. I used to rush through the minutes, and when the days were finally over, I couldn’t wait until the weekend. I’ve found enough patience not to measure my life in deadlines, ultimatums and lease expirations. I look forward to what I can give myself, not what someone else can give me. I look forward to the day when I no longer have to keep cardboard boxes for the next move, but in the meantime, I’ll hang up pictures and buy nice curtains. Someday, I’ll have a dog. For now, my roommate’s cats are a great addition to my life. I’ll know my neighbors by name. I’ll cut them a piece of cake if I bake one. In time, I’ll master the art of making my parents feel comfortable when they visit me wherever I’m living. For now, I’m happy to meet them on neutral ground (Panera?). I might even own a tea kettle. I’ll be one of those women who can make fresh cookies while participating in the conversation. In the meantime, I swear, I’ll figure out why when I bake, the bottoms of the cookies are black and the tops are too doughy, even at 325 degrees. I’ll have clean counters and fresh flowers (tulips in the spring), and I won’t be sad when they tilt their heads and let their hair fall. I’ll plan out my summer garden soon. Someday, I’ll have a mailbox, and I’ll paint it myself. I’ll ask the realtor about the school district—Is it any good? What about the grocery store down the street? I’ll pack lunches for two, and then three or four. In time, I’ll make dinners for five, yes, your friend can stay for dinner. I’ll knit in the evenings, write on weekends, take walks in the park, and become giddy when the air smells clean. I’ll call my brother and talk to his wife first. She’ll tell me how her husband made a new bookshelf out of bricks and wooden planks. I’ll ask where he stole the bricks from.

***

Sixty more years? Seventy, max. I play this game all the time. It scares me as much as it soothes me. And then I take a little bit longer playing in the snow.

***

I thought about calling my mom last night, but my parents are on a cruise. So, I called my brother instead, and then Natty. I had a very morbid glimpse of what family means when parents are no longer around.

I’ve heard that when people die, friends still want to pick up the phone and call them. Perhaps to share something funny they heard, or to ask about the recipe for taco salad—you used to make it with that special ingredient, what was it?

***

Grandma hoarded her recipes. Once, I asked her how to make Russian bread—the dark, heavy, sourdough bread. She told me, "It’s too harrrrd. It takes a lot of vork. When you’re older, I’ll show you." I understood what she meant. Making bread wasn’t for domestic lightweights. It was serious business.

If you didn’t know why you were making it, and if you didn’t love the person you were giving it to, then the bread was just as bad as store-bought Wonder Bread.

Thanks to my best friend, Natty, for giving me finger puppets for my birthday. We spent about 30 minutes picking these out at a shop in Georgetown. Unfortunately, Natty had to get back to her crime fighting career in Minnesota, so we didn't have enough time to name these guys.

I'd like to hold a naming contest. Each winner gets to go drinking with me and these five, Peruvian-knitted friends. If that doesn't sound appealing to you, then I'll just drink alone...with these fuzzy dudes. An oxymoron, I know, for one is never alone with five finger puppets.

I'll post the winners next week. And I almost forgot to mention that my favorite one is the brown one on my pinky. But I don't know what it is exactly. Five points to whoever tells me what animal that is.

On my walk home from work today, I saw a flower vendor spill out a bucket of water onto the street. The floating leaves and rose petals spilled out with it, and when the wind blew, they shivered and were birds drinking from the puddle.

I liked the way that looked by lamp light. The behemoth, gargantuan beacon atop the Hill, the dome of the capital rising ahead. The golden blue sky that hints at spring made more beguiling against the stark contrast of the white stone facade.

And chickadees drank as the jazz man played to the breeze, sax blinking shining gold in morse code.

Sunday morning

Melted ice cream sidewalks

Windy like an open door

Ears baiting touch

A string of copper through the clouds

I walk into Bubbles Salon on 20^th and K. Outside, It’s midnight-dark at 6 PM. I’m a half an hour early for my hair appointment, and I’m completely frozen. I unbutton my wool coat, unzip my winter vest, unravel the scarf, pull off my hat, and I sit sort of bewildered that it could be so insanely cold in DC.

When my fingers thaw a bit, my hands start itching for a magazine. I reach for what’s on the coffee table, hoping to check out a few different hair styles in the tabloids before I go in for the actual chop. Haircuts are no small thing with me—I sometimes have to spend a few weeks talking myself into getting one. The symbolism of a haircut does not go unnoticed either. Once, in Barcelona, I chopped off about a foot of my hair in a spontaneous gesture of liberation—from the ex-boyfriend I had been hurt by, from the society that ties femininity with healthy, long hair, from the constraints and shackles that had been weighing me down.

(Earlier that summer, I had had a small fling with a man I met in London. When he saw me again in Barcelona—this time with short hair, the passion of whatever had happened dissipated faster than showing a man a picture of genital herpes. “Do you like it?” I asked him, fluffing the back of my two-inch long hair. “No,” he said bluntly, “I liked it better long.”)

Even though that decision seemed impulsive, the need for such a change had been brewing within me for a long time. When the need manifested itself, it simply took on the form of a haircut. It could have been anything: a skydiving trip, enlistment in the Army, or an escape to a Buddhist monastery.

So, I reach for a magazine, and the only one that’s left on the table is Parents. Involuntarily, I make a face that says, “I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.” I then, of course, look around to see if anyone saw that reaction. Preppy ivy-league man on my left is engrossed in whatever he’s reading, and California soccer mom on my right clamps her People tighter (sort of like putting your arms around a plate of food). “Eff it,” I think to myself, so I get up to dig through the bin of old magazines, and I pull out an Us Weekly.

(In case you were wondering, Jessica Simpson is the most-often featured star in that publication. She’s been featured in over 300 articles and covers over the last 4 years. Don’t believe me? Check it out on wikipedia.com.)

My name is called finally, and the hair stylist looks like she’s completely disappointed to have another customer. In fact, she has her coat on and she’s about to step outside, but the receptionist yells at her, “Hey! You can’t leave yet. You have one more. Merana… this one,” she points at me, butchering my name.

(“I hope they won’t do the same with my hair,” I think to myself.)

A few minutes later, I’m scrunched down in one of those salon chairs with the towel wrapped around my shoulders, neck uncomfortably pinched into the carved-out neck holder thingy, getting my hair washed by the woman who wanted to skip out on my appointment. If this is supposed to be relaxing, I’m not sure how to get there. I make small talk with the stylist for a while, she tells me scrunch down further, and I notice how strange it feels to have a wet head being massaged by a total stranger while the rest of me is completely clothed and uncomfortable.

With a turbine around my head, I plop down in front of the mirror for the fun part. She asks me to take off my glasses, so the fun ceases immediately, since I can’t see what she’s doing anymore. I make more small talk:

“I’ve been losing a lot of hair lately.”

“Did you just move to DC?” She asks.

“No, I’ve been here a while.”

“Do you eat vegetables?”

“Yes,” I say, “and fruit.”

“Do you have kids?” She asks. And she stops cutting my hair to let the suspense of the moment hang in the air.

“No,” I say, trying hard not to add, “Oh, heavens, no” afterwards.

(Reference: The Royal Tenenbaums. Dudley, Dudley, can you tell time? “Oh, heavens no.”)

“Well, it’s the DC water,” She says. “People develop all kinds of skin problems and allergies living here in the city. All those chemicals and chlorine. You don’t drink from the tap, do you?”

“No,” I answer. “Heavens, no.”

“Well, that’s why people don’t stay in DC for long. It’s just not healthy. They come here. They work for a few years, and then they leave.”

She finishes the cutting, and pulls out the dryer. A small mammal has now formed at the base of my chair in a strikingly similar color to the mammal that lives on top of my head. She hands me back my glasses and I realize that neither mammal is actually living, nor does it bear live young.

She puts most of my hair in a claw in a mop on my head, and then starts to blow-dry my hair with a prickly, round brush, pulling countless hairs out of my head. I want to say, “Jesus, woman. Did you not hear me say that I’ve been losing hair?” I don’t say anything, and I let her waste time setting the do just right—waste because I’m only going home to watch TV, eat a half of a frozen pizza, squished grapes and frozen chocolate truffles, and then go to bed.

A man comes by with a broom and shoos the mammal away.

The total? Forty-five dollars, plus a 20% tip. I leave Bubbles feeling a little bit taken advantage of and a little bit raw, and mostly disappointed. Nothing bubbly about that experience.

I love wikipedia.com. I found the following cultural lesson to be fascinating, even though some items on this list make me wonder, "What? But why?" Oh well, that's the beauty of different traditions. My favorite part is the list of rules for drinking at a Russian table. 

• It is widely believed in Russia that sitting on cold surfaces, such as rocks or even the ground, is not simply taboo for a woman, but it is extremely hazardous to her health and inhibits her ability to bear children (by somehow exposing her ovaries to the cold). It is a practice that is rigorously upheld, especially in cold weather and with young children, who will often unknowingly sit on the ground, and who will frequently be lifted up by a supervising adult.

• Keeping all parts of one's body as dry and warm as possible in cold weather and rain is generally practiced as prophylaxis for the common cold in Russia, as it is in many parts of the world. There are a variety of home remedies used to treat the common cold, including hot tea. Cold beverages are avoided while one is sick. This is not unique to Russia; however, many Russians tend to be more adamant about it than most Westerners.

• Traditional self-medication is prevalent in Russia. Banki (банки) are little glass jars that are usually applied to the back. A match is lit inside in order to burn up the oxygen and create suction. This technique is known as fire cupping in traditional Chinese medicine. Gorchichniki (горчичники) are mustard plasters that are applied onto the back or the chest. Mustard plasters have been and still are used by Westerners, as well. ^[1] [1] Doctors often prescribe banki and/or gorchichniki instead of chemical medications or antibiotics when a patient has flu and cold like symptoms.

These beliefs and practices may be considered as superstitious by some Westerners, who think that viral and bacterical causes of colds and flu make it irrational to associate body temperature with the probability of getting sick and hot remedies with better recovery. However, some existing research shows that mild hypothermia inhibits the immune response, in which case Russian traditional beliefs and remedies may be not be completely baseless. ^[2] [2]

• Men in Russia will always shake hands (or at least offer a wrist if a hand is dirty, wet or otherwise unavailable) when they greet for the first time during the day. However, it is taboo to shake hands with your gloves on. One glove must be removed, no matter how cold it may be. Russia is one of the many countries where this handshake tradition is rigorously upheld.

• Shaking hands and giving things across the threshold is taboo. Usually a guest will come inside before shaking a host's hand when arriving and shake it before leaving the threshold when leaving. Sometimes people will even avoid saying "hello" and "goodbye" across the threshold.

• It is traditional in Russia for men to give flowers to women on nearly every occasion, but only an odd number can be given. Giving an even number of flowers is taboo, because even numbers are brought to funerals.

• You should never go to someone else's house empty handed. Alcoholic beverages and/or dessert is a common gift to bring when invited to someone's home.

• It is traditional to always propose some kind of toast when drinking. Refusing to drink vodka on certain occasions or to a certain toast (honor) may sometimes be considered rude. For instance refusing to drink vodka at a funeral banquet is considered unacceptable. However you never toast in honor of those who have died or on Easter (for the same reason). Your glass cannot touch the table from the time a toast is proposed to the time you drink. Your glass should remain on the table when it is being refilled.

• Many Russians consider it bad form not to finish a bottle of vodka once it has been opened, no matter how few people there are left to finish it.

• It is also considered bad form to drink alcohol -- even relatively mild beverages, such as beer -- without eating something between sips or shots. For this reason, Russian cuisine is particularly rich in appetizers and finger-foods (закуски), as they are used as chasers.

• When pouring wine, you should never pour back handed.

• It is impolite to point with your finger. But if you must point, it's better to use your entire hand instead of your finger.

• It is impolite to put your feet up on furniture with your shoes on. Sometimes, simply showing the soles of your shoes is considered rude.

• Whistling indoors is taboo. Russians sometimes say superstitiously that you will "whistle away your money". The origins of this are in superstition, as it used to be considered a sin: it was believed that when you whistled you were entertaining the devil. In general it is considered rude.

• Traditional Russian cheek kissing is done using three kisses, but it is not widely upheld all the time.

• When someone sneezes you tell them "Bud'te zdorovy" (Rus: Будьте здоровы), which literally means "Be Healthy" (in the formal form of address). It used to be believed that saying this would help the sneezer keep from getting sick. Russian speakers will say it just as freely as an English speaker will say, "Bless you", but the superstitious origins of the phrase have been widely lost in both languages.

• Before leaving for a long journey the traveler(s), and all those who are seeing them off, must sit for a moment in silence before leaving the house. It is often conveniently written off as a time to sit and think of anything one may have forgotten.

• After someone has left the house on a long journey, their room and/or their things should not be cleaned up until they have arrived.

• Knocking on wood is practiced just as much, and in most cases much more, in Russia as it is everywhere else. However Russians tend to add a symbolic three spits over one's left shoulder (or simply with the head turned to the left), and Russians will often knock three times as well. Traditionally one was spitting on the devil (who is always on the left).

• Breaking a mirror isn't considered bad luck in Russia, but looking at one's reflection in a broken mirror is. And the effect is more severe than 7 years of bad luck.

• On examination day, you shouldn't make your bed, wear anything new or cut your fingernails. It's good luck.

• It is bad luck to use physical hand gestures to demonstrate something negative using oneself or someone else as the object. For example, when describing a scar you saw on someone's face you should not gesture on your own face or someone elses. If you must, you can demonstrate in mid-air. If one does it without realizing, it can be countered by making a hand motion towards the body part used and then an abrupt motion away (as if to pick up the bad energy and throw it away).

• If one person accidentally steps on another person's foot, it is common for the person who was stepped on to lightly step on the foot of the person who stepped first. It is said that they thus avoid a future conflict.

• Birthday parties should be celebrated on or after one's birthday, not before. So when one's birthday falls during the week, it's best to celebrate the following weekend.

• Talking about future success, especially boasting about it, is considered bad luck. It’s better to be silent until the success has been achieved or to even sound pessimistic.

• Returning home for forgotten things is a bad omen. It is better to leave it behind, but if returning is necessary, one should look in the mirror before leaving the house again. Otherwise the journey will be bad.

• Many Russians consider giving sharp objects, like knives or scissors, as gifts to be taboo. You can avoid this taboo taking symbolic little money (ex. one Russian ruble) in exchange as if it is a trade, not a gift.

• Birds that land on a windowsill should be chased away. If they tap on the window, or fly into it (open or closed) it is considered a very bad omen (often of death).

• Things bought for a new born baby (such as clothes, toys, furniture, etc.) should only be purchased after the baby is born. This is usually done in a big hurry.

• It is often considered taboo to step over people, or parts of their body, who are on the ground. It is often said that it will prevent the person from growing (if they are not fully grown already). It is better to politely ask the person to move or to find a way around them. If one accidentally steps over a person (or people), it is sometimes standard to step backwards over them.

• Unmarried people shouldn't sit at the corner of the table. Otherwise they won’t marry. This mostly applies to girls, and often only young girls. Sometimes it is said that you will not marry for 7 years, making it alright for young children to sit there.

• When giving an animal as a gift (a cat, dog, bird, etc), the receiver should give the giver a symbolic sum of money (for example: one Russian ruble).

• A purse (or any other money holder) as a gift requires a little money inside. Given empty it causes bad financial luck.

• A funeral procession brings good luck. But one should never cross its path or it is bad luck.

• A woman with empty water buckets coming towards you is considered a bad omen.

• A group of two or more people should not walk on either side of a tree. They should all keep to one side or the other.

• Bread should only be cut with a knife, not with your hands. Otherwise, it is said, that your life will be broken. The opposite is held true by some people.

• Two or more people should never use one towel at the same time to dry their hands or bodies, or it is said to bring conflict.

• A stranger should not look at a new born baby before it is a certain age (between two months and one year). If one looks at the baby it is considered bad luck to compliment it. Instead, one could say, "Oh, what an ugly child!" instead.

• It's good luck to trip on your left foot.

• One should never hand a knife directly to another person or it is said that the two will get in a fight. Instead a person should always place the knife down on a surface, and only then can the other person pick it up. In several cases you can give it directly, but only pointing sharp end to yourself and making the knife's handle accessible for the opposite person.

• If one feels that he or she may have been cursed by someone (had the "evil eye" put on them) or just has the feeling of a hostile presence, it is recommended to remove one's coat and then put it back on starting with the hand opposing the usually used one.

• If your ears or cheeks are hot, someone is thinking or talking about you (usually speaking ill).

• If your nose itches, you'll be drinking soon. For children they might say, "You'll get hit in the nose."

• If your right eye itches, you're going to be happy soon. If your left eye itches, you'll be sad.

• If your lips itch, you'll be kissing someone soon.

• If your right hand itches, you're going to get money soon. It sometimes means you're going to greet someone. If your left hand itches, you're going to give someone money.

• If you have the hiccups, someone is either just talking about you or talking bad about you.

• If an eyelash falls out you'll receive a gift. If someone finds an eyelash on someone he or she will sometimes let the person blow it away and make a wish.

• If a fork or spoon falls on the ground, expect a female guest. If a knife falls, expect a male guest.

• If you eat from a knife, you'll be "mad like a dog".

• If someone is not recognized when seen or heard, he or she will be rich. So if someone calls you on the phone and you don't recognize them you can cheer them up by telling them they'll be rich.

• If a cat is washing its face, expect guests soon.

• If a black cat crosses your path, it's bad luck (as it is in most places). People will often avoid crossing the place where it crossed, or will at least wait for someone else to cross it first.

• If a hare crosses your path, it's bad luck. This is much less common than the cat superstition, which is understandable given the lack of hares in urban conditions.

• If you spill salt, it's bad luck and is said to bring conflict, but no one will throw salt over their left shoulder.

• If you step on a crack, it's bad luck. This one isn't very common, and Russians who do avoid cracks don't do it in an effort to save their mothers' backs.

• If it's raining when you leave a place, it means you'll return, and it is considered a generally good omen.

• If it rains on someone's wedding, it means they'll be wealthy.

• If someone sneezes, it means he or she is telling the truth.

• If one or more birds defecate on you, it's good luck.

• If you find a bay leaf in your soup (commonly Borscht) while eating, it means you'll get mail from someone.

• If you wear clothes (such as an undershirt) inside out, you will get beaten. Your friend should point this out, wait for you to fix the clothes and then punch you symbolically.

• If you wear a shirt backwards, you will become acquainted with someone new.

My boss passed this along to me in a forwarded email today. Guess which parts are true, and which are not quite as true.

Ready??? Ok. Go:

In the Historical Society business, items of historical interests are freely shared.

Minnesota became the 32nd state on May 11, 1858 and was originally settled by a lost tribe of Norwegians seeking refuge from the searing heat of Wisconsin's winters.

The state flag of Minnesota consists of a blue background upon which sits a design best described as "how a 7-year-old city girl would draw a picture of life on the farm.”

The Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota covers 9.5 million square feet and has enough space to hold 185,000 idiot teenagers yapping away on cell phones.

Madison, Minnesota is known as "the lutefisk capital of the world." Avoid this city at all costs.

"The Mary Tyler Moore show" was set in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and was Mary's first real acting job since leaving the "Dick van Dyke Show." The show-about a single woman's struggle to find happiness in the big city, was originally titled "Life Without Dick," but that was changed for some reason.

Cartoonist Charles M. Shultz was born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and was the only artist to accurately depict the perfectly circular heads of Minnesota natives.

The Hormel Company of Austin, Minnesota produces 6 million cans of Spam a year, even though no one actually eats that crap.

Water skis were invented in 1922 in Lake City, Minnesota by Ralph Samuelson. Sadly, he drowned shortly afterwards, as the motorboat hadn't been invented yet.

St. Paul, Minnesota was originally named "Pig's Eye", after French Canadian whiskey trader Pierre "pig's eye" Parrant. Its "twin city," Minneapolis, was known as "Pig's Colon."

The stapler was invented in Swingline, Minnesota by a chubby, mumbling man named Milton in 1899. The city was mysteriously destroyed by fire later that year.

In 1973, Olivia, Minnesota, erected a 25-foot tall fiberglass corn cob to celebrate its rich, agricultural heritage. Then in 1974, it was eaten by a 50-foot statue of Babe the Blue Ox.

Minnesota license plates are blue & white and contain the motto "Blizzards on Independence Day - You Get Used to it."

Frank C. Mars, founder of the Mars Candy Co., was born in Newport, Minnesota . His 3 Musketeers candy bar originally contained three bars in one wrapper, each filled with a different flavor nougat - chocolate, spam, and lutefisk.

The first fully automatic pop-up toaster was invented in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1926. Minnesota 's stringent bread-control laws currently only allow residents to own semi-automatic toasters.

Tonka trucks continue to be manufactured in Minnetonka, Minnesota, despite the thousands of GI Joe dolls killed by them annually in rollover accidents. No airbags, no seat belts; these things are deathtraps.

Author Laura Ingalls wilder was born in Walnut Creek, Minnesota, and was famous for writing the "little house" series of books, as well as inventing the "spam diet" - which consists of looking at a plate of spam until you lose your appetite. Much like the "lutefisk diet."

The snowmobile was invented in Roseau, Minnesota so as to allow families a means of attending Independence Day picnics.

Minnesotans are almost indistinguishable from Wisconsinites. The only way to tell them apart is to ask if they voted for Mondale in '84.

I read the following blurb on cnn.com (Sorry I don't have the actual link. This was from one of those annoying pop-up-type trivia things.)

"Longest marriage: Sir Temulji Bhicaji Nariman and Lady Nariman were married for 86 years before Sir Temulji died at age 91 in 1940 in India. The marriage took place when they were both 5 years old. Also married for 86 years were Lazarus Rowe and Molly Webber, both born in 1725 and married in 1743."

Per my calculations, Lazarus and Molly were 18 when they got married. They both lived to be at least 104, although I'm not sure who died first. Isn't that romantic? I hope they liked each other. Can you imagine spending 86 years with someone you don't like?

And getting married at 5 years old... that's like marrying your sandbox buddy. Not sure how the logistics work with that.

Do you remember the last time you made a new friend? Platonic or not—a friend who makes the time fly by. The kind you don’t want to hear say, "Well, I guess it's time to go." As adults, people don’t really make friends in the conventional sense. They use words like “networking” and they add people to contact lists and cell phones. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken a person’s phone number or email address and never followed through on contacting them.

There’s also the accidental friend. You go out for dinner or to a bar with a buddy, and then you strike up a conversation with someone sitting next to you. You hit it off. Something just jives between you and you get that thrill of getting to know someone from the beginning. You’re both clean slates. The last sip of beer is sipped, info is exchanged, and you have every intention of following up, maybe inviting them over for game night next weekend. It just never happens because the giddiness of that first meeting disappears the next day, and you’re left feeling a little bit awkward about calling them. “Will they even remember me?” You wonder.

Schubert, this one is for you. I’m not sure where you came from either, but listening to Chopin, Bobby McFerrin, Camille, Moxy Fruvous, Chanticleer, and the orchestrated versions of Radiohead really made my weekend. All that was missing was making a fort out of couch cushions, a couple of flashlights and another Saturday night, instead of the Sunday night that led to the inevitable Monday morning. Keep your ears cold—they’re more fun that way. And don’t wave around your tuning fork in an electrical storm.

I read an article today on msnbc.com titled, “Mmm, sweaty! Women aroused by male scent.” Honestly, I could’ve told you that myself. No need to do a huge study.

This is an important finding because it “represents the first direct evidence that people secrete a scent that influences the hormones of the opposite sex.”

Seriously, I knew that. There are people whose smell makes me nauseous, and there are people who I could smell all day and night. I wish humans could just skip the handshake and stick their snouts into people’s necks. That’s a quick way to tell if you’ll get along with the person or not. It might be awkward at business meetings, but what the heck. Try it anyway.

I’ve heard from numerous women that, while pregnant, they couldn’t stand their husbands’ smell. One woman said that she used to make her husband shower the minute he got home from work because his smell made her wretch. Lovely, isn’t it?

I read almost to the bottom of the article, saying to myself, “Yeah. I knew that already.” But then… I read this: “The researchers used only heterosexual women in the study out of concern that homosexual women may respond differently to this male chemical.”

Now, that is something to study. Could that be a way of proving once and for all that homosexuality is not a choice?

Have any of you come across any other interesting studies on this subject?

You know the way it feels to laugh so hard that you can’t close your mouth and spit dribbles down your chin? Laughing so hard you can’t take a breathe... probably over something really dumb?

I give you a phone conversation that took place at the end of the day today at work.

Me: I’ve locked my shoes in my filing cabinet. (Giggling)

Friend: What?

Me: Yes, and my wallet. (Hysterical laughter.)

Friend: What do you mean "locked?"

Me: (After composing myself somewhat...) I placed my shoes and wallet in the cabinet, locked it, and now I can’t open it.

Friend: How are you going to get home?

Me: I’ll wheel the filing cabinet up the street. Or I’ll carry it.

Friend: That will get you mugged.

Me: Yeah, walking barefoot through Adams Morgan at night with a filing cabinet makes me a pretty good mugging target.

And so it went. I then had to chisel the frozen laughter-drool off my face because it’s so cold.

***

I saw a blind man two days in a row, standing in the same spot at the Chinatown metro stop. I wonder how he found the exact same spot through a mob of people. I sometimes count steps when I’m not wearing my glasses... he must be really good at that.

Even when I’m counting steps (say in the middle of the night when I go to the bathroom), I step on the cats much more often than I’d like to.

The worst sound in the world is the thud a foot makes when kicking a cat.

Natty and me in Georgetown:

The cat that kills me with how cute it is:

The other cat (he fell off my bed this morning):

I just read something interesting on CNN.com (it’s a morning thing while I eat my bagel with cream cheese [full fat], and usually a banana). A New York City councilwoman, Gail Brewer, wants to ban overly thin models from taking the runway. What constitutes being overly thin? The answer is simple. If the Body Mass Index (BMI) is under 18.5, then the person is underweight.

Out of curiosity, I went to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention website to check out what my BMI is.

Here are the stats: I’m 5 feet, 3 ½ inches (yes, the ½ is really important). I currently weigh 133 lbs, and I put on about 5 lbs over the holidays. That gives me a BMI of 23.2, which fits into the higher end of the “normal” range. The range is anywhere from 18.5 to 24.9.

However, here are some other stats that the BMI doesn’t take into account. My body fat percentage is 25% (normal range is from 20-27 for women, 13-17 for men). I wear a size 4 pant/skirt, and I’m top-heavy. I do yoga and Pilates, and I’m freakishly strong. At most, I’d like to lose about 7 lbs., and I’d like all of it to be fat. That would put me into a size 2 pant (although I’d probably still have to hem them).

I was curious to see what would happen to my BMI as I lost weight 5 lbs at a time. Here’s what I saw:

• At 128 lbs, my BMI is at 22.3 (At this weight, I could wear a bikini and not worry about how I look; i.e. no back flab or cellulite to worry about. I know for a fact that at this weight, I can fit into a size 5 pair of jeans from the juniors department.)
• At 123 lbs, my BMI is at 21.4 (at this weight, I’m a size 0-2 at places like GAP, and Banana Republic)
• At 118 lbs, my BMI is at 20.6 (around this weight, I know I would have to start shopping in the kids’ section of department stores, and I’m still in the “normal” range according to the BMI scale)
• At 113 lbs, my BMI is at 19.7 (This weight is now 1 lb lower than what Jenny Craig considers to be healthy for someone of my height. As an aside, way back when I was at about 125 lbs, my Jenny Craig sponsor told me that I’d have to stop the program soon because I was getting “too thin”.)
• At 108 lbs, my BMI is at 18.8 (At this weight, I probably don’t have any energy anymore, and I am one cranky bitch. That’s probably because I’m shopping at Baby Gap.)

I’d have to be 105 lbs (28 lbs less than I weigh now) to officially be out of the “normal” range on the BMI scale. Guess what? I’m officially anorexic at this weight for someone of my body type and tendency to grow muscles like tumors.

What’s more? I’d have to drink a liter of water, and I’m safely in the “normal” range again, so I can strut my bony self down the runway once more (making gurgling noises all the way down).

My point is that the BMI “normal” range is so broad that it actually encompasses too wide of a spectrum of what “healthy” is. It also doesn’t take into account a person’s body type, body fat percentage, energy level, or overall healthfulness. (Example: This fall, I was skinny but unhealthy. I dropped down to 127 lbs, looked good, had walking pneumonia, started losing my hair in clumps, and had a hacking cough for 4 months. Gross, right?)

Ms. Brewer, if you’re going to force the skeleton models off the runway because their rattling bones disturb the press and other audience members, do it in a way that can actually help them. Find a way that can’t be so easily manipulated, and more importantly, find some scale that’s actually valid (i.e. relevant to the inquiry). And now, I’m off to eat a Lean Pocket.