134.0
Perhaps the day has not been perfect: the serated knife accidentally mistook my knuckle for foods, I spent way longer than I wanted to straddling my ex-husband's shoulders while screwing hooks into the ceiling, and in a fit of homeopathic inspiration I glugged 8 cups of special herbal tea with the only notable result that I am now the magical ginger fart fairy. On the other hand, I made a bread pudding of breathtaking splendiforousness (the secret ingredient is blood - possibly gingery), there is now light in the bedroom by way of a dangling paper lantern and blinding energy-saver bulb, and the chow - tea aside - has been amazing. Helloooo Trader Joes. Fresh guacamole with thick hunks of avocado, flaming hot tomatillo salsa, organic corn chips, herb and goat cheese potato chips, Fat Weasel Ale and Oregon Honey Beer. A feast! Too full of magical tea to actually feast, but still a damn fine meal in front of Firefly on a Saturday evening.
My bottom started vibrating midway through eating, and I realized I was sitting on my phone. One of my co-workers has been trying to get me into the world of Mexican hip hop and bar crawling with his group of soccer hooligans, so I might cave in and be adventurous this week. Also hoping posse of rowdy men might protect me from creepy middle-aged library stalker man, who evidently unsettled the circulation staff yesterday by interrogating them about me after I made a brief appearance out front to chat with Marc at the reference desk about crunchy parenting. Cloth diaper chat is so damned sexy.
And now for something completely different
Things I just realized I never blogged about (bad record-keeper)
• In late January I found a funky tupperware in the wine cooler, and discovered my half-eaten rock-n-roll fruitcake from hell. 6 weeks old and looking mighty fine. After some rummaging, also located hard-sauce in fridge. Served to family. They lived!
• Being bid goodbye at my school, one of the classes (mysteriously bearing sombreros and a giant stuffed puma) gave me a box of girl scout cookies from a bag of about 20. Why so many boxes of cookies? Why, to catch on fire, of course! Teacher explained class activity, based on tragic demise of student's cookie in infamous burning microwave incident the previous semester (not mine! Although earned points for contributing flaming fortune cookie data). I miss those kids.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
weekend
I started falling asleep in the papasan while reading, when suddenly my eyes popped open and I looked over the back of the chair at Mike, who was reading on the floor with headphones on. "Our anniversary was 2 days ago! And we didn't even remember!" "I remembered." "Not one thought about it! Or yesterday either!" "I thought about it." "Didn't even occur to me until just now! Well that wasn't so bad. Huh." Mike's lips flattened and he went back to reading. I frowned at him. He could at least get really ugly or go bald or something if he's going to be hanging around all the time. He has at least stopped crying for 5 days running, so his chances of surviving to find his own apartment by the 1st are improving.
Yesterday John called. "Giiiirl how you doing? No, it was time. It was time. You had to go and get on your own feet, we're 30 already! Well practically. I go out to clubs and the boys are like, 'dayum, you're 27? You're OLD' and I'm like 'shut UP, I know'. Anyways I made a pact with my friend and for our 30th birthdays we're going to have black parties. No, we're going to wear, like, all black, everything bllllack. You know, to mourn our lost 20s. No, you will not be eaten by wolves, shut up. You're not that lucky. No, you are a very attractive woman. If I ever turned straight you'd be the first person I'd call. Not Stacy - skank alert! Hahaha. Huh, I wonder how she's doing. Ok, you coming to the reunion this summer? Shit, that means I have to go, too. Well, call me more! Ok I love you, too." Got off phone feeling validated and also old.
Brooke called as well, but will not transcribe conversation as it involved a waaay too detailed argument about the merits of Battlestar vs. previous seasons vs. Firefly vs. Serenity vs. Hero, which I clearly won, although cannot really recall the outcome beyond, "yeah, get Netflix."
Bored, we went to the playground, where Gavin collected bits of colorful rubbish and raced them down the slides and I watched roving gangs of 10-year olds roll by on skateboards. They seemed to like me, which was nice, but they were also insane. "BAM BAM BAM! I'm all out of bullets," one of them said, twirling a plastic cap gun, "but I have more at home. I get this loaded and I can shoot eight bullets at once. I broke my fingers, look. Playing football at night. Then between these fingers got cut by glass. First there was a line and then pssshhhht it just starts shooting blood." He walked away, talking to himself. They looked like a group of kids from a Stephen King novel. I was still thinking about Uncle Steve (my cousin is married to his son) when I was at the book shop later a bit later, looking at the new Gunslinger comic. 7 installations? 7? I'll buy the first one as soon as I have 3 dollars to spend...
Yesterday John called. "Giiiirl how you doing? No, it was time. It was time. You had to go and get on your own feet, we're 30 already! Well practically. I go out to clubs and the boys are like, 'dayum, you're 27? You're OLD' and I'm like 'shut UP, I know'. Anyways I made a pact with my friend and for our 30th birthdays we're going to have black parties. No, we're going to wear, like, all black, everything bllllack. You know, to mourn our lost 20s. No, you will not be eaten by wolves, shut up. You're not that lucky. No, you are a very attractive woman. If I ever turned straight you'd be the first person I'd call. Not Stacy - skank alert! Hahaha. Huh, I wonder how she's doing. Ok, you coming to the reunion this summer? Shit, that means I have to go, too. Well, call me more! Ok I love you, too." Got off phone feeling validated and also old.
Brooke called as well, but will not transcribe conversation as it involved a waaay too detailed argument about the merits of Battlestar vs. previous seasons vs. Firefly vs. Serenity vs. Hero, which I clearly won, although cannot really recall the outcome beyond, "yeah, get Netflix."
Bored, we went to the playground, where Gavin collected bits of colorful rubbish and raced them down the slides and I watched roving gangs of 10-year olds roll by on skateboards. They seemed to like me, which was nice, but they were also insane. "BAM BAM BAM! I'm all out of bullets," one of them said, twirling a plastic cap gun, "but I have more at home. I get this loaded and I can shoot eight bullets at once. I broke my fingers, look. Playing football at night. Then between these fingers got cut by glass. First there was a line and then pssshhhht it just starts shooting blood." He walked away, talking to himself. They looked like a group of kids from a Stephen King novel. I was still thinking about Uncle Steve (my cousin is married to his son) when I was at the book shop later a bit later, looking at the new Gunslinger comic. 7 installations? 7? I'll buy the first one as soon as I have 3 dollars to spend...
Thursday, February 15, 2007
where am I?
I'm still living in my head. That wasn't in the plan.
At least the skies are clear. And no moon in sight. Here I am in Kern County, near my grandmother's ashes. Library full of college students and old women in turquoise jewelry. Me in emotional armor. And my underpants showing. Need to buy thread and needle to keep my pants up until payday.
Po has stopped dragging her butt across the floor seductively and has gone back to chewing off my fingers. She's so mean. I ordered a manual self-cleaning litter box, the kind where you roll the thing across the bathroom floor and watching the balls of poop drop into a compartment, then you roll it back upright and take the drawer of poop out to empty. Po showed her appreciation by flipping onto her back and shredding my arm. Worst Valentine's Day ever.
Friday, February 09, 2007
new plan
"Mom, be careful driving to work. Don't hit any more cars."
"What? I've never hit a car!"
"Or trucks." [stern expression]
"Ok."
"Or motorcycles."
"Fine, mom doesn't get to have any fun."
"Boats, too!"
"I don't know about that."
Tights
I love my tights. You don't get to wear tights in Hawaii. Tips I have learned:
1. Watch out for your name badge lanyard while using the toilet. It can get caught on your tights and make you tip headfirst into the stall door when you try to stand up.
2. Sometimes your dress might get stuck to your tights while you are sitting, so give it a tug before standing up in an auditorium in front of 60 of your coworkers and admin.
Did they tell you about the black widows in the atrium?
So far my new job is pretty good, but nothing exciting yet. The most unexpected part of my week was hearing my boss librarian say, "Ok, next week you'll be over at the Southwest Library. We'll give you a week to train over there before running the branch, don't worry." Wait, I'm going to do what now? That does not sound like "read cute stories and do hand puppets with toddlers between long stretches of reading and playing on the internet". Oh no.
"What? I've never hit a car!"
"Or trucks." [stern expression]
"Ok."
"Or motorcycles."
"Fine, mom doesn't get to have any fun."
"Boats, too!"
"I don't know about that."
Tights
I love my tights. You don't get to wear tights in Hawaii. Tips I have learned:
1. Watch out for your name badge lanyard while using the toilet. It can get caught on your tights and make you tip headfirst into the stall door when you try to stand up.
2. Sometimes your dress might get stuck to your tights while you are sitting, so give it a tug before standing up in an auditorium in front of 60 of your coworkers and admin.
Did they tell you about the black widows in the atrium?
So far my new job is pretty good, but nothing exciting yet. The most unexpected part of my week was hearing my boss librarian say, "Ok, next week you'll be over at the Southwest Library. We'll give you a week to train over there before running the branch, don't worry." Wait, I'm going to do what now? That does not sound like "read cute stories and do hand puppets with toddlers between long stretches of reading and playing on the internet". Oh no.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Ode to Hawaii
Things I will soon miss about Hawaii which annoy me now:
• The 4 o'clock Bob. All Bob Marley, all radio stations, every afternoon at 4:20. I knew every word to Buffalo Soldier long before I came here and had it shoved down my throat - thank you DJ Maleko for killing the magic. But at least now I know how to 'skank' at high school dances.
• The Shaka-Cut. Versatile driving technique in which you stick your hand out the window, shaka, and then do whatever the fuck you want.
• Honda boys. Nothing is more relaxing than the sound of drag racers at 2am, followed by ambulance sirens at 3.
• Eat or else. The office snack table is always filled with food I can't eat. Elaborate, steaming buffets appear at every staff meeting, baby shower, evening get-together, or casual conversation. I am only annoyed that I can't eat it all, I do like the culture of good and plentiful food. In Seattle someone got up before the conference lunch and announced, "Everyone please only take ONE wrap and choose ONE dessert, thank you" and my eyes shriveled a little. Mainland barbecues serve hot dogs. HOT DOGS.
• The Aloha Spirit. This is the spirit which drives people to shoot their neighbor's dog for barking, run over tourists, scream "GO HOME YOU FUCKIN' HAOLE" in the Ross parking lot, and otherwise make life spicy and interesting. Especially when coupled with the lethal "Christmas Spirit" from September to December.
Hawaii, farewell. I will return some day.
• The 4 o'clock Bob. All Bob Marley, all radio stations, every afternoon at 4:20. I knew every word to Buffalo Soldier long before I came here and had it shoved down my throat - thank you DJ Maleko for killing the magic. But at least now I know how to 'skank' at high school dances.
• The Shaka-Cut. Versatile driving technique in which you stick your hand out the window, shaka, and then do whatever the fuck you want.
• Honda boys. Nothing is more relaxing than the sound of drag racers at 2am, followed by ambulance sirens at 3.
• Eat or else. The office snack table is always filled with food I can't eat. Elaborate, steaming buffets appear at every staff meeting, baby shower, evening get-together, or casual conversation. I am only annoyed that I can't eat it all, I do like the culture of good and plentiful food. In Seattle someone got up before the conference lunch and announced, "Everyone please only take ONE wrap and choose ONE dessert, thank you" and my eyes shriveled a little. Mainland barbecues serve hot dogs. HOT DOGS.
• The Aloha Spirit. This is the spirit which drives people to shoot their neighbor's dog for barking, run over tourists, scream "GO HOME YOU FUCKIN' HAOLE" in the Ross parking lot, and otherwise make life spicy and interesting. Especially when coupled with the lethal "Christmas Spirit" from September to December.
Hawaii, farewell. I will return some day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)