mini dramas

The big excitement of the morning was delivery; twelve boxes of books to sort, and amongst them a stray package for the school. I trotted over to the office with the errant box, passing a forlorn pair of shoe soles which looked as if they had been left behind when their occupant erupted violently skyward. Glanced up at building overhang, and saw no student-shaped splat-mark. A pair of teenagers were loitering up ahead, so I straightened up to imply authority, causing the box to tug on my clothes and one my nungas to leap out of my top like a salmon. Hurried past with the box mashed to my chest. Am going to start wearing footie pajamas to work.

At home, there has been much ado about the refrigerator. The beast limped and went drippy and then died, leaving us with a mountain of meat to fire up - just in time for the power to go out three days in a row. The groundskeeper, in a fit of inspiration, pilfered the fridge from the landlord's house and hoisted it up to our place. This is fine, except that his fridge had rats living in it. The cats have been in throes of delight, but now there is an ominous ratty smell coming from the underside of the couch [MY couch], where I suspect a poor wee rodent crawled off to die. Plans underway to cook remaining meats on couch bonfire.

In other news

Hair has been chopped and dyed, teeth are ablaze (with whiteness). Thanksgiving foodstuffs procured, eggnog tippled, tub of peppermint bark devoured, last 5 lbs not lost in time for birthday. Resorting to 3-day fast. Not off to a good start; ate poptarts (with FIBER!) at snack time, and a chocolate covered cherry after lunch (fruit serving). Will henceforth consume only brothy soups and milky tea until Thursday.

Shorn

Hairs have been cut.

Rememberance

I woke up suddenly because someone called my name, a man's voice with a tone that said "Come here." The house was asleep. The winter before last, I woke because someone kissed me, and I opened my eyes to an empty room with my lips still blushing. I'm a little bit haunted.

Three years, next week. Around here, it's the hardest time of year. But I'm alright.

Here is a song. And here is another.

pas de bling

Favorite pastimes in New York include hanging out at the Palisades Mall, counting teens in hoodies with gold foil dollar signs while making alternating trips into the Lindt store for free samples.

This year the boy will fit right in.

Here note the small child wedged between my knees, which is my standard productivity position.



Ta da! *fanfare of tinkling pennies*

14 hour blackout!

No, not the kind where you wake up "wondering why you have a bra on your head and your hand smells like pee." (Thanks, Mike)

It was a dark and rainy day. I hid innocently at the back desk, keeping an eye on the hobos.



Then - apocalyptic rains, crashing thunder, roaring ocean! The library patrons froze like rabbits under leaves as the power flickered and died. We chased the rabbits out into the rain and locked the place down, fleeing to our cozy homes. On the way, a soggy cop dragged a tree off the road and beckoned us to follow him, braving the flash floods and waiting for our sissy vehicles to make it safely through the waters.



We gathered all the stinky decorative candles and hid from the lightning under the couch blanket and sipped milk and Irish cream and told stories of Before You Were Born until the boys dropped to sleep and left us to read by booklight. [That last sentence is for Cormac McCarthy, who hates punctuation as much as he hates unicorns and puppy dogs - except to eat.]



The man-person sleeps in the other room most nights. A small cry called me to bed, my hands patted around for the baby and tucked him in close against the darkness. I dreamed of light.

note

Those of you whom I have accidentally 'followed' twice (you're welcome for boosting your ranks, Heather and Marie!) already know that I skulk around with two logins. I am consolidating them and going by my actual name, since I am a famous local illustrator and all now (*cough*).

So when I go from "tempestpilot" or "harpy" to "Holly Jane" on your comments, please don't toss me out on my ear. It's still me.

More severed heads

Did anyone hear that day-long howl of anguish? That was me. I took a break from baying at my incident reports and program prep to do a dry-run for storytime. "Tickle tickle tum tum, giggle giggle goo* - ERLAACK!" It is important to preview your books before launching into them live in front of the kiddies, in the event of treacle-induced throat spasms. Tossed the book over my shoulder and read Duck Soup again, just for the bits where the cat wails, "Auugh, his eyeballs!".

As I arrived home from work and dropped my tote bag, the kiddo ran up in excitement, holding his Fantastic Four vehicle, which we got at a thrift store for $3 and looked like a really boring piece of grey plastic until the boy discovered all the hidden pop-out wings and guns and detachable bits. "Mom, look what I found, it's AWESOME! It was jammed inside, I found it when I was digging out a fire missile!" and he held up the decapitated head of Mr. Fantastic. Now we know why the other Three ditched the vehicle. Gavin loaded the head in the bomb compartment and used it as a projectile. That was pretty Fantastic.

*actual text

New stash

My boyfriend Adam Rex* is growing a mustache for charity - get over there and give the man money. Don't do it for the kids, do it for me. I want to see the mustache.

I don't have any money, but I grew my own mustache in solidarity.









I expect this is a fairly accurate depiction as to the outcome of Adam Rex's 'stash.

*shhh don't tell his wife. Or my other boyfriends; Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion, Alan Tudyk, Seth Green, that guy from Top Chef with one testicle, etc. Or their wives. Just give him the money and shut up!

Did someone say tropical knitwear?

I have begun making hats for the trip to New York. Which is in February. Did I mention it is in February? Because it is.


ok, this one is a santa hat, but it is a hat nonetheless.

I would rather be vacationing in New Zealand, but hey, at least there will be the Bagel Train.

At the grocery store, I stood behind a man who was declaring his birthday to be on Thanksgiving this year. "Me, too!" I chirped. "I don't think you're turning 58, are you?" Tactful gent."No, but I get to turn 30." The cashier leaned forward to hear over the beeping foodstuffs, "23?" I almost kissed her.

Am not exceptionally interesting tonight, but I do have new underpants and a bag of discount Lindt halloween truffles. High living.

edited to add: yeah, remember my rant about parents needing to take screaming children out of public spaces? Lest anyone think I am a snooty-snoot privileged person who never has to do shopping with a bratty kid under stressful time restraints - that was me at Safeway with what might as well have been an angry cat in a 3-point harness. And that was also me 8 minutes later, re-entering the store with the baby sitting in the cart gnawing a 3 Musketeers bar. MOTFY!

Holly's Harpy Hobby

I have name ribbons! Now I can label things I have made. Like tropical knitwear. And my offspring.