9.23.2006 

I'll Stick to Dollar Bills


So, while perusing the ol' 'Net today, I came across this article. For those of you too lazy to click, I'll summarize for ya.

A doctor was recently busted for giving the hand of a cadaver to a stripper. WTF?! Apparently he crossed paths with the not-yet-dissected cadaver while in med school, and decided to procure the hand. And passed it on to a stripper? For a tip? How well does a severed hand fit into a g-string? It seems cumbersome...

I like to think that the story went down like this: This poor dude was slaving away in his first year of med school, and he decides to head to a strip club after a rough histology test. He gazes at Linda Kay--surely not her stage name! We'll call her..Luscious Linda--across the dimly lit, smoke filled room. The bass is thumping loudly, even the ice cubes in his drink are moving. He moves closer to the stage as Luscious Linda slowly slides down the pole. She slithers across the stage, over to him, and he stuffs a few bucks down her g-string. She moves even closer and presses her breasts against his face. He is elated. He has not known such joy since beginning medical school 10 months earlier. He reaches into his pocket for a few more dollars, and realizes, to his horror, his pocket is empty. So, to show his appreciation for Ms. Kay, err.. Luscious Linda he reaches into his other pocket, and withdraws the hand of a kindly old woman. With a wink and a smarmy grin, proceeds to stuff said hand into the g-string of Luscious Linda.

Not such great press for the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey! The strip club patron in question could face up to 10 years in prison. Wow, that's a stiff penalty (heh).

I've thought about donating my corpse to a med school--it just may be the only way I end up there! I don't think I'd really mind if I knew this fate would eventually befall my hand. I mean, I don't need it anymore, and if it makes a stripper happy...

 

And That's Why I'm (Still) Single

Ah, here it is... Another beautiful Saturday night here in Saturnville. It's still warm enough to be comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts once the sun goes down. The sky is clear (well, as clear as it can be when you live in the bustling smogtropolis that is Saturnville) and the stars are all twinkly. You might be wondering how a young and I've been told, attractive, single girl is spending the evening. You may suspect that I will be getting all sexed up to spend the evening at some cosmopolotin hot spot, chatting the night away with the beautiful people of this fair city. Or, perhaps I will be making my rounds at a party, getting to know all of the eligible single men in the room. Or will it be a girls' night out, a night spent laughing, drinking, and dancing?

No, actually, it's none of the above. I am sequestered here in my house and I'm watching Charlie's Angels...sigh. I kinda want to be a risk-taking super hero.

9.10.2006 

Never Forget











Thomas J. Cahill was a 36-year-old securities trader who was working for Cantor Fitzgerald on September 11, 2001.

When I first sat down to write this blog, I thought about the best way to share who Thomas Cahill was. I began listing facts that I'd come across: He was a natural born athlete. He traveled near and far to enjoy his favorite sports including tennis, cycling, baseball, skiing, golf, and fishing. He loved life. He was kind hearted and giving. He loved his family and friends. He had a wicked sense of humor. He enjoyed having a cold beer and a cigar.

As I read the comments about Tom here, I began to get a picture of who he was. He was larger than life, and he left a positive mark on all he met. How many of us can really say that we love life? I mean, really love life on a day-to-day basis? In a New York Times tribute, his mother, Kathleen, shared that Tom really did love life and that though he was only here for a short time, he packed a lot of living into those 36 years.

I have quickly decided that Tom is someone that I wish I had gotten the opportunity to know. It seems as though he was the type of person that you not only wanted to be around, but also wanted to be like. I feel honored to be able to remember Thomas J. Cahill today.

No matter what I write here, I do not feel like I can pay tribute like Thomas, and all the others who lost their lives, deserve. So, as my way of paying tribute, I want to make the most sincere effort to be the sort of person that Tom was: To love life. It is so easy to get caught up in the trivialities we encounter. Traffic, rude people, the long line at Starbucks, getting cut off, etc. But, those things are all life. Embrace them! Take a different route to avoid the traffic, go to a small coffee house, forgive the person who cuts you off. It is difficult, but I am going to make a sincere effort to try. I didn't even know Tom, but it looks like he's touched my life as well.

9.01.2006 

Truth or Dare


I don't remember the first time it happened. When I think back to my childhood, it feels like it was always a part of my life like breakfast, Christmas, and the dentist. And the secret shame I carried around was always there, too. Always feeling like a too-heavy backpack weighing on my shoulders. Except that unlike my backpack, it didn't come off when I got home from school.

When I think back to it, there are bits and pieces I remember. It is like a patchwork quilt sloppily sewn together in shapes of different sizes, textures, and smells. I remember a tall brown dresser with a small black and white TV on top, the rabbit ears reaching tall toward the ceiling. I remember the Atari system on the floor and the Star Wars sheets on the bed.

He was my cousin. He was 5 years older than me and he was oh-so-cool. I remember in the beginning, it started off as a game. Along with Atari, Monopoly, and Hide-N-Go-Seek, we played Truth or Dare.

The last time anything happened, I was 14; a Freshman in high school. It was Christmas and as was tradition, we'd finished opening all of our gifts shortly after breakfast. The family was mingling about already preparing for dinner, tinkering with new gifts, napping in the Lazy Boy... My younger brother had received a dart board for Christmas and my cousin suggested we set it up. The three of us went into his room, and found a spot for it on the wall. We began by taking turns throwing the darts. My brother, who did not really enjoy anything physical, quickly tired of the game and went to watch TV leaving me alone with my cousin.

I carefully aimed my last dart, squinting to line it up with the bull's eye, and threw it. I watched it fall to the floor, and as I bent over to pick it up, I felt his hand on me. I froze. I didn't know what to say. I stood up straight and just looked at him. He didn't speak either, instead he grabbed me and pulled me close to him his hands squeezing my butt. I pulled away and backed up a couple of steps, but I still did not leave the room.

He began cleaning up his room, dusting his dresser, adjusting the picture of his girlfriend, straightening his bedspread. And then he spoke, "Remember what we used to do when we were younger? I want to do it again. C'mon. If I stand here," he motioned to the door, "you can suck me off, and I'll be able to hear anyone coming." When I was younger, I never stopped it. I knew I had to stop it now. I finally spoke, "[cousin's name], we can't. It's not a good idea. What if we get caught? I could get pregnant..." He wasn't swayed. "Don't worry. I have condoms." I wouldn't be swayed, either. I didn't care if he was upset with me. My legs felt like jelly as I made an excuse and left his room.

Later, in the afternoon, my mom called me into the kitchen where cousin and aunt were also standing. I felt my face go red and hot. Had he told them? Was I in trouble? Did they know? "Honey, will you help [cousin's name]? He has to go pick some things up at the print shop for work." I had no idea what to say. I was sure they could see my heart beating through my sweater. I remember feeling like I had no choice. I'm a horrible liar, and I couldn't think of anything to say.

We set off in his powder blue volkswagen bug. I sat in silence staring out the window, my arms hugged close to my belly. The streets were void of any activity, and I wondered if the printers' office would even be open. I didn't feel scared, just uncomfortable. We drove in silence until arriving at Poor Richard's Press. I waited in the car, and he returned with several boxes. He explained that he had to drop them off at the college bookstore where he worked. When we arrived at the school, he asked if I would mind helping him carry the boxes. I took one, and followed him inside. He led me to the back office where he stacked the boxes. He motioned to the desk and said, "There's no one here. I brought condoms."

My heart sped up again. It suddenly dawned on me how isolated we were. The silence was deafening. I could hear my heart in my head. I was suddenly afraid. Would he use force as he had once before? "We've been gone a while. They're going to wonder what's taking us so long." What could I do? Run? No, that would be too much to explain to Family. "We can do it right here on this desk." I felt sick.

"No, you're my cousin. You have a girlfriend. We've been gone too long. It's almost time for dinner." He sighed and eventually gave up. It felt like we'd been in the office for hours even though it was probably a matter of minutes. Once again, we drove in silence.

I don't know why I was so afraid to simply say NO! To this day, when I find myself in situations with guys, and things are moving too quickly, I freeze. I don't know what to say.

I will save the second, and most painful part of this story for another post.