Signs of Spring

After spending seven years in northern Illinois, I was always amazed by the fact that in Virginia, spring came in March or April, rather than late June. And for me, the most exciting sign of spring was the cherry blossoms, which we didn't have in Illinois and which would burst into bright whites and pinks for a week or two, and then fade to a cheery green. Imagine my delight when I discovered, upon moving to Raleigh, that there are cherry blossoms here, too. Lots, in fact. So for the past three years, every spring, I've taken pictures of the cherry blossoms when they first start blooming because I'm still not altogether convinced that by the next year, they won't all have magically disappeared.

I was very excited to discover that the drab, little, green trees that are everywhere in our current apartment complex are actually cherry blossoms! White ones, which of course, are the best kind! They're turning more green every day, so this past weekend, I decided that it was time for my annual round of pictures:


And while we're talking about signs of spring, look what McMoose found sitting in our kitchen:
Apparently, this is what happens to onions after 2 weeks of sitting unused. Of course, I was completely unable to even think about throwing it in the trash, so instead, we threw it in the woods behind our apartment complex. If, 200 years from now, the state of North Carolina is one, big, wild onion patch, you'll know who to blame.

Productivity: Found.

Two weeks ago, I thought it would be a stellar idea to make an 8:50 appointment with the doctor. At 6:30 this morning, when my alarm started ringing, it seemed like a far less stellar idea, especially since one of the perks of grad school is that you can stay awake until 1 AM, sleep until 9 AM, and still be considered to have a productive work schedule. And because it's a Monday, we have birth class this evening, so I can't even console myself by pretending that maybe I'll go to bed at a decent hour tonight. The solution, of course, was to tell myself that I'd be super-duper-productive at work so that I could finish everything I needed to do in 3 or 4 hours instead of the usual 5 or 6, and then go home for a nap.

Towards that end, I came in, looked at my to-do list, and got to work immediately. I did not check email. I did not do "just one" sudoku. I worked on my thesis. And lo and behold, I am now officially done writing it! Granted, there are still some tweaks and I'm sure my advisor will have (lots of) edits, but oh-my-gracious! It's fully written! *Insert fireworks here*

This couldn't have come at a better time, because it is doing a lot to calm the slight panic that began when the doctor told me this morning that I should continue to watch out for pre-term labor for the next two weeks, but after that, it'll be fine for The Bug to be born. Um...excuse me? Two weeks? Hahahahahaha--no. Babies might be unpredictable, but thesis defenses? Yeah, those are predictable. And mine is predictably scheduled for the end of April, so this kid had better plan on staying put for AT LEAST another month. (Hear that, Bug? STAY. PUT.)

Snippets

Ok, bullet post time. I've been saving up snippets of oddness all week in preparation for today.

• On Monday, I got a phone call from a call center in Utah informing me that the warranty on my car was about to end. A couple of hours later, a call center in Montana informed me of the same thing. And about 30 minutes after that, someone called from Alabama to remind me again. Who knew Toyota was (a) so conscientious and (b) had so many damn call centers!
• On Tuesday, I was walking through the parking lot to my car, when I saw a man wearing a fluorescent yellow vest that was emblazoned with the words "Parking Services." Not so weird, right? Right. Until you consider the fact that he was RIDING A HORSE. The only explanation I can think of is that maybe the University has decided that horses are somehow more cost-efficient than the standard issue white pickup trucks that they used to drive.
• On Wednesday, I found a spider living in my desk drawer. Generally speaking, I am not a fan of spiders and would prefer that they leave me alone. The one in my drawer, however, was oddly endearing, so I have decided to let him stay. After all, it might be fun to have a pet at work. Today, my "pet" was quietly eating another insect when I got to work, which has made me like him even more. Although really, I don't understand why there are so many insects in my office to begin with...

Thank You, Delusional Stranger

I went to an Italian place for lunch today because even though tomato sauce gives me icky heartburn, I saw a picture of chicken parmigiana and of course, I couldn't get that out of my mind. The man who took my order asked me how far along I was and I replied that I was 7 and a half months, and his response was, "Wow! You look great! I would've guessed 3 or 4 months, tops!"

Can I just say that if we hadn't been separated by a 2-foot-wide counter, I might very well have leaned over and kissed that man? As it was, I gave him a $2 tip on a $5 meal because yes, I am THAT easy to please. Granted, this man probably has never had any real interaction with a pregnant woman before because 3 or 4 months? Ha! And it isn't that I wish I looked less pregnant than I do, but after listening to people like the UPS man and my co-workers and strangers on the elevator tell me how very large I am, this was a refreshing change of pace.

Sparkly Clean...Concrete

My first year at this University, there was a parking lot across the street from my current office building and although it was off limits to students during the day, it so happened that most of my classes that first year were at night, so I got to park in that lot. Then, after that first semester, they closed off the lot with the intention of building a new math and statistics building instead. After 2 years of dust and noise and dust and dump trucks--and, oh, did I mention the dust?--the building is finally complete. Actually, I'm very impressed that it only took 2 years because usually, doesn't it take longer than that just to fix a pothole in the road? And they managed to build an entire building?

Anyway, they opened what's left of the parking lot last week. Of course, now that I'm only here during the daytime hours, I don't get to park there anymore, but it does make the walk to my lot a little bit faster. So this morning, I was walking through the lot and noticed that there were three fire engines sitting there. Immediately, I assumed there must have been some kind of catastrophe, so I squinted my eyes and craned my neck to try to get a glimpse of what was happening. And as it turns out, what was happening was that they were washing the parking lot. Using fire trucks with their hoses connected to hydrants. In a city where there is a drought every. single. summer and so far this year, our rainfall levels are already below average.

So...either washing parking lots is now considered part of the fire department's jurisdiction or the University has invested in fire trucks of its own. Either way, I stand by my previous belief that this city is CRAZY.

Scheduling Issues

I got to meet with my advisor today to talk about my thesis, and as the weeks go on, I'm feeling increasingly anxious about this thesis thing. Under normal circumstances, I would just say "Well, if I can't finish this semester, I'll just do it early next semester." Now that next semester isn't really an option, unless my committee members are willing to let me defend with my baby in a sling, I'm very aware of exactly how long I have until I have to defend this thing.

So I brought up this topic with my advisor, who let me know that she is available until May 14th. When I pointed out that I was due on May 12th, she proceeded to tell me about the woman she knew who had defended her dissertation on her due date, and then given birth the next day. Yes, because the possibility of going into labor while defending my thesis is EXACTLY what I want to be worrying about.

Sunshiny Day

It's the first day of spring, and in honor of that fact, I managed to lock my keys in my car this afternoon. This used to be a common predicament for me back when I had the Corolla because the locks were manual. The Matrix has power locks, which means that I have to have the keys with me to lock the car, which makes it much harder to lock them in. Somehow, I managed.

The last time I found myself in this situation was at about 9 PM on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, 4 and a half years ago. And I remember this because when I realized what had happened, I went straight into UTTER PANIC because thanks to it being a holiday week, I knew all of 3 people who were still in town and I didn't know any of their phone numbers off the top of my head. My phone, along with my keys, were locked inside the car, and all the people I did know lived all the way across town. Oh, and it was sleeting. Luckily, I was just down the street from a Very Helpful Mechanic Shop, which employed a Very Helpful Mechanic, who came out after the shop closed and helped me break into my own car. Needless to say, I remained a faithful customer of said Very Helpful Mechanic Shop until I left that town.

This time, there was far less drama, but the same sense of utter panic settled over me when I realized that I was on the outside of my car and my keys were still happily on the inside. The thought of walking all the way to the apartment office and back was far from pleasant, especially since I made the foolish decision to try to wear "pretty shoes" (aka: not flip-flops) to work this morning. Luckily for me, I found a pair of spare car keys rolling around the bottom of my purse...a pair of spare car keys, I might add, that I DID NOT EVEN KNOW I OWNED. So all said and done, it was a very happy first day of spring for me...

Barbecues, Diets, and Flies

• There were four grown men barbecuing in the parking lot as I was walking to my building this morning. I emphasize the "grown men" part of that sentence because if it had been four college students, I wouldn't really have thought twice about it because...college kids...barbecuing in a parking lot at 10:30 in the morning...on a Thursday...yeah, sounds about right. But balding, paunchy, grown men usually have more sense, not to mention more productive ways of spending their time than trying to light up a grill while arguing over how best to keep their beers cold. Not THESE grown men, clearly.
• On Monday, I went to the doctor, where I was informed that I was gaining too much weight and that I should go on the South Beach Diet, which my midwife translated as "eating small, protein-filled meals every 2 hours." On Tuesday and Wednesday, I tried to follow this ridiculous advice by eating "meals" that consisted of a slice of cheese or a handful of peanuts. Today, I came to my senses and decided that as much fun as it is to live in a state of CONSTANT HUNGER, I'll be a much more pleasant person over the next 8 weeks if I eat like a normal human being, instead of a scavenging hyena.
• I sent a document to be printed about 10 minutes ago, and instead of sending out a sheet of paper, the printer sent out a fly. A living, flying fly. Which is now buzzing around the office. I still haven't gotten the document I printed, by the way.

High Fashion

My mom always tells me about a woman in her office who is about as pregnant as I am, but who apparently has managed to expand in such a way that she always looks well put together and adorable. I, in comparison, have expanded in such a way that I cannot get up off the couch without first rocking back and forth to build up momentum. Hell, even The Dog feels bad for me and has started walking into his cage of his own free will when I call him because he and I both know that there's no way I can chase him, catch him, and carry him in there.

So what does a person like me wear? Before this whole experience, I would have thought, "Why, maternity clothes, of course!" Now that I'm smack dab in the middle of this experience, I'd like to reach back in time and smack that cheerful, past self. Because maternity clothes were apparently made for (a) people like the woman in my mom's office or (b) people who are four months pregnant. Which means that they were decidedly NOT made for people like me because I am now at the point where none of my shirts--my MATERNITY shirts--are long enough to cover the entire belly, which means that they no longer cover the elastic band on my pants. And every morning, I cringe at the thought of walking around in public with my navy blue, elastic clad belly hanging out from under my shirt.

I'm starting to understand the wisdom behind walking around in workout pants and a tank top, except that I have a mental block that prevents me from leaving the house in workout pants on a weekday morning. I've tried. I've failed. So here I am, with my elastic band jeans, my too-short shirt, and the flip-flops that have become my standard footwear, now that I can no longer reach my feet to put on socks. Meanwhile, I'm surrounded by people wearing suits and high heeled shoes and I AM JEALOUS.

Looking Back to See Forward

My co-workers/co-students and I had lunch today with a potential new student today. The food was yummy. The conversation was...awkward. Not because it was difficult to talk to the new student, but because it was difficult to know how much to divulge. Should we have told her about the unsupportive environment in this program? The lack of guidance? The fact that the "freedom to focus your research on your own, unique interests" actually translates into "you're on your own--sink or swim?"

I remember my own campus visit, almost exactly three years ago, when I met with my future professors and fellow students. I remember that I was nervous and naive and excited to be entering graduate school. All the students I talked to on that visit were still fairly new and fresh and enthusiastic about the program and their research. Three years later, many of those same students are still here, still doing the same work with the same professors, and now they're far less enthusiastic.

The conversation at lunch began with safe topics--where we were from, what our research interests were, how we liked the city. And then, it began to drift into more dangerous territory--how long it typically takes to graduate from the program, what we thought about the funding opportunities available to students, how much support we received when trying to publish or present our work. And then, the biggie: if we had to go back and choose, would we still choose to enter this program? It was telling that of the four seasoned students at lunch, not one of us was able to answer "yes" to this last question.

I hope that we didn't scare the potential student too much because in the end, as much as I complain about this program, I have to admit that it has shaped me--my attitudes, my beliefs, the way I look at the world. I'm more confident in myself, but also more trusting of the people who form my support networks. I can more clearly see what I want, but am equally able to voice when I don't want something. I am more developed in my own beliefs about the world, but I accept that other people don't have to buy into those same beliefs. I might be less naive, but I'm also more able to find the silver lining. I plan for the future, while acknowledging that the most important parts of my life right now are things that, when I first began this program, were not even in my plans.

So given the chance, would I do it again?

The Plant

Waaaay back in August (which, can I just say, seems like it was about a decade ago?), I decided that it would be a good idea to buy a plant because after two years of not having any outdoor space, we finally moved to an apartment with a porch. I had this lovely vision of filling the porch with hanging, flowering plants that would fill the neighbors with love and cheer every time they looked upon our porch. Of course, I very conveniently forgot that I don't necessarily LIKE plants. And for the most part, they don't really like me either. And also? Flowering plants attract flying insects of all kinds and there are few things in this world that give me the heeby-jeebies as much as flying insects do.

Luckily, McMoose had the presence of mind to suggest that perhaps, I should start with one plant and work my way up to the lush, garden of Eden I had pictured. And after about a week of living with the plant, the novelty was COMPLETELY GONE. The thing is, I've never really had much of a green thumb, so plants tend to die pretty quickly under my care. Just ask McMoose about the expensive, flowering plant that he so tragically left in my care for a week. So from previous experience, I fully expected this plant to have a lifespan of maybe 3 weeks.

Seven months later, the plant is still around. Not only is it around, but for the past seven months, this has been the most magically tenacious plant I HAVE EVER SEEN. It has cheerfully gone for weeks with no water. It has lived in the darkest corner of our dining room all winter, where it gets no sunlight whatsoever. It has put up with both cats eating its leaves, digging in its dirt, and using it as a hiding place when they're stalking each other. And yet, it persisted.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, our water started smelling (and tasting) awfully suspicious. McMoose says it's an excess of chlorine in the water supply; I say it's an excess of dead and decomposing fish. So I watered the plant shortly after the change in water AND THE VERY NEXT DAY, the leaves were turning yellow and falling out by the handful. Right now, it's the sickliest looking plant I've ever seen. And as it turns out, I've actually become attached to the thing over the past few months, which might help explain why I spent 30 minutes this morning looking up ways to save dying plants instead of writing up the last section of my thesis.

Oh, and also? I drink about 50 ounces of this so-called water every day. And if one little cup was enough to kill a plant with an indomitable will to live, I'm assuming that means that either (a) it's giving me cancer or (b) The Bug will be born with three ears.

Sleepy Babblings

• I had a dream last night that I was drowning and when I woke up this morning, my nose felt like it had been breathing in water all night. It was very odd and trippy and has left me feeling like maybe I sleepwalked into the bathtub and accidentally inhaled water or something, but that seems highly unlikely.
• I went to bed at 8:30 last night. Woke up at 9:15 this morning. Got to work at 11 and promptly fell asleep at my desk until 11:30. Worked for two hours, ate lunch, and then fell asleep AGAIN at 2. It is now 2:30, I've just woken up, and I'm thinking about calling it a day so I can go home and go to bed. So I've been asleep for almost 14 of the last 24 hours. AND I'M STILL SLEEPY!
• Yesterday, the temperature was in the 80's. Today, it's in the 50's. Tomorrow, it will be in the 40's. If the weather could kindly make up its mind about what season it would like to be in, it would be much appreciated.

Sparkling Grape Juice: Check

As of today, I can officially say that McMoose and I have been together for four years. I know that technically, once you're married, you're supposed to stop celebrating your when-we-started-dating anniversary and start celebrating your wedding anniversary. But. By the time our first wedding anniversary rolls around, we will be responsible for the life and well-being of a Very New Person, so I'm thinking that we're probably not going to feel like doing the whole dinner date thing.

Plus, in all honesty, the paper-signing anniversary (aka wedding anniversary) just seems less important, somehow. I mean, the wedding was fun and all, but...the only thing that changed afterwards was my last name. And even THAT was such a haphazard change that half my mail still has my maiden name on it. March 11, on the other hand, caused tremendous change--in my life, in my plans, and in me. So I'm understandably excited today, both because of the anniversary itself, and because the way we're celebrating it is to go eat Ethiopian food and then lie around like cobras who have just ingested whole goats. *Insert huge, grinning face here*

Sarcasm: Locked and Loaded

McMoose's mom told me once that when he was young, he didn't realize that you could have internal thoughts, so he voiced every thought that came into his head. At the time, we laughed because (a) it was a cute story and (b) McMoose is the complete opposite now and often, it takes a full five minutes of interrogation to get to a desired answer. For example:

Me: Did you check the mail?

McMoose: Yes.

Me:...and...did we have any mail?

McMoose: Yes.

Me:...and...was any of this mail for me?

McMoose: Yes.

Me:...and...are you planning to tell me where you put it?

McMoose: Yes.

Me:..................Well?

McMoose: Well, what?

As you can see, at the end of this oh-so-frustrating conversation, I STILL did not know where my mail was.

But yesterday, I thought back to this conversation because I was standing in the middle of Lowe's, looking at curtains that might be suitable for a nursery, and a strange man approached me and asked if I was pregnant. My reply? "Nope. I just have a stomach tumor."

WHO? SAYS? THAT? I mean, yes, it was annoying to be asked such a ridiculous question because anyone with eyes can see that I'm pregnant. But still. Completely unnecessary. And it occurred to me that maybe the lack of an internal filter was genetic and McMoose passed it on to The Bug, who is now infecting me with it and making me say ridiculous things to complete strangers.

Not Looking To Buy A Bridge

The first time I was introduced to the idea of recycling, I was in the fourth grade and it was an instant hit with me. How could it not be? The way I understood it, all I had to do to save THE ENTIRE EARTH was to put stuff that I was ALREADY THROWING AWAY into a little blue recycling bin. Plus, it seemed to me that sorting the class trash into paper and plastic and aluminum and glass during science class was a pretty good deal.

That first introduction got me all excited about saving the world, and when it became clear that the Power Rangers did NOT need a trusty sidekick in the form of a nine-year-old Indian girl, I decided that the way to go about saving the world was by being a friend to the environment. So I continued using the classroom recycling bin, even when the novelty of it wore off for the rest of my classmates. And I made sure to turn the water off while I was brushing my teeth. And I started taking Very Quick Showers instead of Long and Leisurely Baths. And all of this was great because it helped me channel my obsessive tendencies towards a productive cause.

Fast forward to 2009, when environmental concerns seem to be on EVERYONE'S mind. I still turn off the water while I brush my teeth. I still prefer showers to baths. I still recycle. I have four dozen cloth diapers sitting in my apartment, washed, folded, and ready to go, because the thought of using disposables sends me into paroxysms of guilt. And yesterday? I made McMoose take a cardboard box out of the trash bag that he had so neatly finished tying up because to me, putting a perfectly clean, biodegradable material like cardboard inside a closed plastic bag is similar to killing innocent puppies out of the pure meanness of your heart.

So of course, when we were walking out of the grocery store last night and one of the store employees was emptying out the bin where they collect plastic bags for recycling, I HAD TO turn back and look at what he did with the bags. So I watched him collect them. And bag them all up. And walk 10 feet down the sidewalk. And PUT THEM INTO THE TRASH CAN.

Of course, this instantly triggered a rush of indignant sputtering on my part because seriously? People save those bags for days or weeks and then take the time and trouble to cart them back to the store and all those efforts are WASTED? So this morning, when I still couldn't get it out of my head, I decided that it would be a good idea to call the store. See where this is going?

Me: Hi, do you have a plastic bag recycling collection bin?
Grocery store employee: Yes, we do.
Me: And what do you do with the bags you collect?
Grocery store employee: We recycle them.
Me: Uh-huh. Because I've heard that some stores just throw them away instead of sending them to a recycling facility.
Employee: Oh, really? Yeah, we recycle ours.
Me: Okay. Because if I take the time to bring them in, I want to be sure they don't just go in the trash. So...you're sure you recycle them?
Employee: Absolutely! We're really environmentally friendly.
Me: Hm. It's just that when we were there last night, I thought I saw someone taking the bags out of the recycling bin and just putting them in the trash.
Employee: Oh, really? Yeah...that's...sometimes, people just do that. You know, they just walk up and take the bags and throw them away. We've had lots of issues with that lately. People stealing the bags. And throwing them away.

So...random people off the street walk up to the grocery store, take bags out of the recycling bins, and then throw them in the trash? I understand the need to lie in this situation, I really do, but couldn't you AT LEAST come up with a better lie??? Something along the lines of "The aliens made us do it," perhaps?

Beauty Secrets Revealed

I've been wearing glasses since I was nine and contact lenses since I was 12. By this point, I would *like* to think that I've become fairly adept at managing life with blurry sight for the 30 or 40 minutes every morning before I put my contacts on. In fact, it's been WEEKS since I've had to ask McMoose to help me find my glasses or my cell phone late at night or early in the morning. WEEKS since I've tripped over the dog or one of his myriad, small, fluffy toys. So maybe I got a little overconfident in my abilities.

I'd like to preface the rest of this story by saying that I always get brightly colored shampoos specifically so that they're easy to see because in the past, I have been known to put things like bubble bath in my hair. But the bottle of bubble bath is now far, far away from my shampoo and I can differentiate the shampoo and conditioner bottles by touch, so I thought I was safe.

Even when I first picked up the bottle, it felt lighter and somehow different. But so great was my hubris, that I still didn't see the need to open my eyes and check it out. So I started lathering up...and noticed an odd, oatmeal-like smell wafting through the air. And quickly came to the realization that hey, this is exactly what The Dog smells like after HIS baths. So I looked at the bottle I had just put down, and sure enough, I had used dog shampoo. I tried to undo it by using about half of the bottle of my own shampoo, but apparently, dog shampoo is made to last because two hours later, I still smell like oatmeal.

...at least I know I'm flea-free.

30 Week Update

Here's an updated, 30-week picture:Yes, I know there's a yellow smiley where my face should be. Apparently, when you don't get any sleep the night before because you were up every 20 minutes attempting to roll yourself from one side to the other, and then you didn't have the patience to put on makeup that morning, and then you have your picture taken at the end of the day in a horribly lit room, the end result is that your face looks awful and somewhat bruised. So. The cheerful, yellow smiley face makes me feel better about posting this picture.

I now have 10 weeks to go before my due date, although I'm absolutely convinced that The Bug is going to be the kind of person who stays wedged under my ribs until the Last Moment Possible, which is to say that I really don't believe that he'll be here on time. And while we're on the topic, I've been asked by TWO different people this past week why I'm still referring to him as "The Bug," instead of by his name. And the answer is that although I've been set on using our chosen name for my first born son for, oh, 7 or 8 years now, there's still always the chance that something might change. For example, our "son" might end up being a daughter--after all, who hasn't heard stories about ultrasound techs being wrong about the gender? Or we might suddenly change our minds and decide to name him Jermelius-Jermanicus-Green. Which is MUCH MORE LIKELY if he keeps up this whole kicking-my-internal-organs-while-I-try-to-sleep thing. (Hear that, Bug?) So until the ink is dry on the birth certificate, this child will remain The Bug for all blogging purposes.

In other news, he's very receptive to a version of Chicken in which he pokes me, then I poke him back, and he pokes me again, and I poke back until one of us is either too tired (him) or too sore (me) to continue. So far, he's winning by about 247 points. And as of this week, he has figured out how to drag something that McMoose swears is a knee across the front of my belly so it looks like there's a wave going across it. I think it's cool, albeit painful. McMoose, on the other hand, seems to find it distinctly creepy and last night, when I asked him to feel it, he was all, "There's a PERSON in there, rubbing against me!" To which my only reply is: Dude, I KNOW. This is what I've been TRYING to tell you for the past few months. There is a person. In there.

All By Myseee-eee-eeelf

Despite the snow and ice that is currently residing in Raleigh, it's Spring Break for the University. Which means that (a) I found an AWESOME parking spot this morning and (b) I'm the only one in the office today. Actually, I think that aside from the cleaning lady and whoever is making that awful jackhammering noise up on the roof, I might very well be the only person in the entire building today. Which in turn means that this is PRIME OPPORTUNITY for roving serial killers and zombies. *Shiver*

So. How exactly does one go about protecting oneself from serial killers and zombies? I mean, vampires are easy because you just carry some garlic or a cross around, but I don't think zombies really care about garlic or crosses. And I imagine that if I waved a clove of garlic in the face of a serial killer, it would probably just enrage him further. So. My current plan goes something like this:

1. Check office for serial killers and zombies.
2. If a serial killer is found, stab him with the car keys and then run.
3. If a zombie is found, dump water on his head, THEN stab him with the car keys and run.

I'm not sure why I think water would help with the zombie situation, but I really feel it would.

...Maybe if I worked on my statistics instead of coming up with cockamamie plans, I'd actually be able to leave this building at a reasonable hour.

...Or maybe I should just carry a baseball bat around for the rest of the week. It would probably be a better weapon than car keys.

Maybe I Should Just Turn The TV Off...

There's an ad that's on TV right now that annoys the living daylights out of me. Actually, there are a lot of ads that annoy me because they're dumb. Like the ones about how high fructose corn syrup is the best thing since sliced bread? Does anyone actually buy into those? Or the toy commercial that has "board games for girls," except that the only difference between the "girl" games and the games that have been on the shelves for decades is that the girl packaging is an awful shade of pepto-bismol pink? Yech.

But the ad that's been getting on my nerves the most right now is the one by the Nameless Insurance Company, which basically says that in times of recession, people just hunker down and appreciate all the "little things" in life. Which is a very nice, idealized image, but let's be honest here. Appreciating the little things? Not so easy when someone's facing the prospect of losing their job, their home, or their retirement savings. Thankfully, I've been extremely lucky and the most difficult financial decision I've had to make recently was whether I would rather have fries with my Arby's sandwich or get a brownie later in the afternoon. And that right there? Was a VERY DIFFICULT DECISION.

So to belittle what people are going through right now by suggesting that people should just focus on "appreciating the little things" seems just ludicrous. Especially coming from an insurance company, whose ENTIRE EXISTENCE is justified by the belief that Bad Things Happen.