Command Presence

My boss saw me wearing my knit hat the other night. It gets cold out at night and, especially in the wind, my little ears start to freeze. I like my hat and no amount of ridicule will stop me from wearing it. But when the boss saw me, he laughed. He said there's nothing wrong with my hat, he just thinks it detracts from my authoritativeness. Basically, the boss thinks I don't look as mean with warm ears.

You be the judge. Here I am, looking mean, with and without the hat. I think I look plum full of authority both ways, especially if you imagine me yelling at you. I don't think many of you have heard my "cop yell." Lets just say that some sissy Rangers in my FLETC class were offended by my yell during Officer Response Tactics (the fancy FLETC phrase for our butt-kicking class). Apparently, a few of my tree-hugging, granola crunching, classmates did not like being yelled at when they played the part of suspects about to get their butts kicked. But the instructors sure thought it was funny, hearing that vicious noise come from my feminine mouth (especially when the other girls in the class sounded, well, like girls).

So I have a mean yell, don't forget that when you judge whether I look tough enough in the hat.

The Experiment

Dianne. My roommate. She's a nice lady, in her quiet way. She's always polite and she feeds me left over Halloween candy and cake (when she makes cake).

But she is strange. The sweatpants, for instance. One night I couldn't help but notice that her sweatpants had a hole in the butt. It was about the size of a fist. I was embarrassed for her, so I told her about it. "Oh, I know," she says, "I should probably get a new pair." That was a month ago. The hole is now large enough to put your head through (I am NOT exaggerating) and it's driving poor Bill up the wall. Every time I see Bill he tells me, "she wore those pants again!" and he complains about having to see her butt. Sure, she has underwear on, and everyone in the house knows what color it is... nonetheless Bill is offended. I like Bill, so the other day when I drove by Kmart I stopped in and found a nice pair of fleece lined sweatpants on sale for $5. I can easily spend $5 to keep Bill from killing Dianne.

I thought Dianne might be embarrassed that I bought her clothing. Instead, she seemed pleasantly surprised and she thanked me. I told her that Bill and I had noticed the hole had gotten quite large and no, that's OK, you don't need to pay me back. That was last week.

Today I caught her in the kitchen wearing her old pants with her underwear hanging out. I couldn't help myself, "Dianne! You're wearing those sweatpants again!"

"I know," she said laughing, "even after you got me those new ones." I told her it was a good thing Bill's not here to get offended (he's at his sister's for Thanksgiving). She laughed. I think maybe she likes offending Bill. It's hard to tell with her.

My latest Dianne experiment is to see if she'll refill the water. With Bill and Victor gone for the weekend it's just Dianne and I in the house. Our house has really old pipes and we're not supposed to drink out of the tap so we have one of those bottled water thingies you see in offices with the 5 gallon jugs on there upside down. I don't think Dianne has ever put a new bottle on it. I usually do. Victor takes out the trash, Bill cleans all the time, I keep up with the water (and clean some of the time) and buy the dishsoap, but as far as I can tell, Dianne does nothing to benefit the house. This also drives Bill up the wall (Victor is pretty laid back).

So my experiment is this: Will Dianne put a new water bottle on the thing? There are several options.

1. Yes, she will.
2. She'll ask me to do it.
3. She will suffer from dehydration.
4. She will drink from the poisonous tap until I put a new bottle on.
5. She will walk to the store and buy water.
6. Bill or Victor will come back and put the new bottle on before Dianne has a chance to suffer any ill effects.

My hypothesis? Dianne will die of dehydration before she will put a new bottle on.

What am I going to drink, you may wonder? I'll be working so much today that my one full water bottle will tide me over.

I'll let you know what happens.

Staying up late to watch the sunrise

Sunrise in Boston with the USS Cassin Young.

The USS Cassin Young is a WWII Destroyer that reminds me of the submarine in "The Hunt for Red October." One night one of the sprinklers onboard was malfunctioning so the alarm company guy and I searched the ship for the broken device. All the old radio equipment and computer and radar stuff lit with soft red light really looked cool. Narrow passageways, low ceilings, it's just like in the movie. It's one of my favorite places to be at night.



Yesterday I stayed up to watch the sunrise. I'm glad I did, it was really nice. I love how the water turns pink to. When I first moved here, after working at Acadia, Sequoia and Mt. Rainier National Parks and after living in Alaska for 9 years, I didn't think I'd be able to find anything beautiful in the city. I was wrong. It's a different kind of beautiful, but it's still here.

My two dates

I know all of my eager readers are wondering how they went. Was I able to fit them both in? Did either one know about the other? This is new for me, all this dating, but I like it. Options are good.

The first date went really well. The cancer researcher guy laughed at my witty comments and he's really smart and interesting. He's from the former Soviet Union and he was able to emigrate here because his grandfather was stuck in a gulag for being a priest. So the persecution of his family made it easier for him to come here. He came with no English, but worked fixing cars and painting, started going to college, synthesized some new molecule, and got a full ride scholarship to Brown University. He's studying cancer and looking into med schools in the Boston area. We talked for about three hours and have tentative plans for a second date because he has never had a root beer float (I think I can ingest some high fructose corn syrup for a special occasion).

The second date involved dinner at a really nice Italian place with Mr. ATF. Normally I don't get rides from first dates, preferring to meet them somewhere and having my own, independent means of escape if the date goes bad, but I relax that for other law enforcement officers. The dinner was really nice and the conversation was good to. He brought me home to drop me off and we were talking in the car... about God. Yeah, you read that right. We talked (OK, he did most of the talking) about God until 2am. It was really neat. I had no idea that our beliefs would have such random similarities. It was a very fascinating conversation, although I found I had to talk like a Martian (ie a man) and interrupt or I'd never be heard.

He left at 2am, and at 3am the guy I really like called. Unfortunately, I did not get to my phone in time and I don't have his number to call him back (it's restricted so I don't get it on my caller ID). He works nights and must have forgotten that I wouldn't be at work. Hopefully, he'll call again tonight. We've had lots of great converstations, but he has yet to ask me out. Should I take matters into my own hands? Does he expect me to? What is he waiting for? If he waits to long, I won't be available. These other two guys are pretty neat.

Blood donation gone awry

So the last time I donated blood, I have to shamefully admit, was about a year ago. I'm not exactly eager to have needles stuck in my elbow. With IV practice, I limited my classmates and fellow medics to wrist and hand sticks. Somehow, the elbow just feels bad to me.

The last time I went in, I went to the Red Cross donation place downtown. It was the only place I knew of and it was easy to find. I rode my bike there. I was a little disappointed to find out that they don't take regular blood, but they roped me into donating platelets. I agreed because of the pictures of the cute kids with leukemia all over the walls.

Platelet donation takes about 90 minutes. I had not arrived with any reading material. Another woman was there in the chair next to me. We were sharing a TV and the phlebotomist was asking what we wanted to watch of a list of movies that were on. One of the options was "The Wedding Crashers." I'd never heard of it, but the girl next to me said, "Oh, I've been wanting to see that!"

I don't get offended very easily, but that was one offensive movie. It's all about two guys who show up to weddings of people they don't know so they can have one night stands with the female guests who are somehow more desperate for sex since they're at a wedding. It's a horrible movie, but the girl in the chair next to me was laughing and enjoying it, and I didn't get to offended at the beginning (I kept thinking it would get better) so I ended up suffering through the whole thing.

Add that to the very uncomfortable process involved in platelet donation. The tingling fingers and lips (because of the anti-coagulants), the pressure when the blood minus the platelets is put back in, and just having the needle in my tender elbow for an extended amount of time... I never want to give platelets again! Cute, sick kids or no. Is that a terrible thing to say?

Afterwards, I ate some of the food they have there and rode my bike home. No problem.

So the Red Cross called me while I was in Georgia. Normally, I can't say no. "Well, I'm sorry, I'm just to busy to do any small lifesaving service today. Nope, I'm booked all year." But, happily, being a few states away was enough to put them off. It didn't take them long to come after me once I got back.

I decided to give red blood cells this time, it doesn't take as long. RBCs is only a 20 minute process. There was the same tingling and uncomfortable needle thing, but it was a much easier experience. That is, until I tried to leave.

The three black phlebotomists said I looked pale. "I always look like this," I answered. Apparently I'd been pinker when I came in. So they made me stay there in the chair and they wouldn't let me read (I'd come prepared) because they wanted my head back. "Even if I hold it way up here?" "No, you must relax." Very mean lady. ;)

When they finally let me stand up I felt a little woozy, but I wasn't about to tell them that. I was tired of sitting there, not reading. Apparently my color had improved (from laughing at them teasing me) so they let me leave.

Sometimes I can be stubborn and pigheaded. And impatient.

On the stairs out of the T my ears started to ring, a familiar precursor to unconsciousness. "Great, on the stairs, so I can fall a long way." Instead I stopped on the landing in the middle and flexed my abdominal muscles, took a couple big breathes, and waited until I figured I could make it to the top. I was able to make it home without passing out. Whew! Good thing I hadn't tried to ride my bike!

I went home, feeling weak, and slept non-stop for 11.5 hours.

I'm not sure why I had such problems, but I think it might have been a combination of a lack of meaty food that morning, an ongoing insomnia problem, and the fact that I was short a whole pint of the oxygen carrying portion of my blood instead of the clotting portion.

I did find out that after I go to Nepal they won't want my blood for a year. I'm kind of relieved that I'll have an excuse not to go through this experience again for a while.

More pictures of my frogs

Look at how tiny they are! Here's one with a cricket sticking out of it's mouth. So adorable! (the cricket may disagree)

Here's the end of a pen next to this little guy for scale.


This one didn't quite know what to do with the fruit fly on it's head. You may notice that it's face looks a little weird. It's a brand new frog so it's head still looks kind of tadpolish.

How many dates can Liz squeeze into one afternoon?

Two isn't to ambitious, is it?

Date #1: 1400 hours. Cafe near MIT with a cancer researcher guy.

Date #2 : Time still to be determined, but it's "dinner," so that implies maybe 1800 hours. Or 1900 hours, to be more fashionable. In the North End (yummy Italian food!) with the ATF agent. That's Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms for any non federalis who might be reading. Mr. ATF is probably to old for me, but who am I to turn down a nice dinner with someone who makes a disgusting amount of money and will therefore, buy my food? I also plan on having desert. But he will save $$ on drinks, since I prefer water. In case anyone thinks I agreed to a date because I wanted a free dinner, I am also looking forward to hearing ATF stories. It's not everyday that I get an ATF agent all to myself. And getting all dressed up for a night out in the North End is fun and I don't get to do it enough.