cleanliness and a peeping spock

Have been preparing for the young houseguest. Without extra hands to help, the morning's cleaning looked like this:

Sprayed out the cat shower (this being the hissing, spitting, unused shower in the small bathroom, which the cats have taken to dropping small animals into as a gladiator arena); Leif dug his hands into the litter box and fished for poo to paint with.

Got up on a stool and swept dust off the ceiling fans, which fell in thick ribbons as if they were being disemboweled; Leif dumped an entire bag of goldfish crackers onto the rug and bashed them into crumbs with a Hess truck.

Washed dishes; Leif emptied the pan cupboard and dumped cat water into them to make soup with a mangled banana.

Determined that in order to save the house, cleaning needed to stop. It is far less messy to do some cookie-baking with the tot, play with blocks, and lay around reading board books in front of Food Network. Maybe I will hide dollars around the house, and make the big kids clean up to find them.

Oh, Nimoy

How have I gone this long without mentioning Spock? He's a daily delight/sensation of lurking horror: a life-sized cutout who lives in the landlord's house, peering out the window to keep vigil over the parking lot and terrorize the smokers on those paranoid days.

See him there, that blue thing?



Someone thought it would be extra fun to put christmas lights in his eyes. That has landed me flailing in the bushes by the car on more than one night. You'd think I would eventually remember that it's just Spock, but no, each time I go a'flailing all over again. Evidently giant men with glowing blue eyes are not something we are naturally equipped to accept.

To-do list, slightly diminished

I have been meaning to re-cover the chair pads for a while. Spurred by the need to impress a 10-year-old, I finally did it.

Before and after:


Oh, look. Spock is happy.

Only now I'm noticing that the pattern looks like a sort of landing strip for the ol' bumoley and hoo-ha. Now I'll never be able to un-see it. Thanks, creepy flowers.

I also managed to start a few blocks for a new couch quilt. I was going to show them off by pretending they were shotgun wounds, but then the infink tried to smother me with a head-shop tapestry.



Two boys and a 10 year-old girl. I am going to need a lot more cherry bourbon.


edited to add: while baking cookies, Leif accidentally smashed a glass. While I was cleaning up the glass, he dumped a bottle of water into the cookie dough. I drained it out and baked it anyway.

Spiders included for free

Yes, I still do stuff.

The spiderweb monstrosity is ready for trimming, binding, and foisting.



Look, an action shot. It's a terrible yoga mat. Which is fine, because it's a baby blanket.

Hearsty Mashup

Today's entry written by guest author William Randolph Hearst


STILL, WARY LIBRARIAN. Her Gaze Passes Over the Hungry Worshippers of Myspace, Alighting on a Stack of Ponderous Tomes Adorned with Scrolling Font, Pugnacious and Alluring. Seized by a Moment of Abandon She Plucks Up a Book of Love Poems, Clutching it with a Silent Plea for Some Piercing Words to Ignite Her Soul. She Opens at Random, With Unruly Hope, and Reads:

Maybe - though I do not bleed - I am wounded,
walking
along one of the rays of your life.
In the middle of the jungle the water stops me,
the rain that falls with its sky.

She Stares Dismayed. The Book Flies Suddenly Across the Desk with Savage Fury, and the Librarian Tosses Her Hair Tempestuously. Oh, Shut Up, Book --- She Thinks to Herself --- For Last Night I Dreamed I Was Cradled in the Protective Embrace of My Long Absent Lover, Come For Me at Last --- Bumblebee the Transformer. Suck it, Pablo Neruda.

Technical difficulties

You know what is more dangerous than having a blog? Just about anything. Especially when you work with the public, and that public doesn't like paying .25 cent late fines or having to actually have a library card to check out books. Summer is the peak of hobo season, and they are all hot and cranky. This morning we had a staff-time sparring session with the lock-down bar, exchanging tips like, "Aim to swing through their head!" and "Jam it in the solar plexus!" Library folk look nice and fluffy, but we'll cut a bitch.*

Melvil Dewey, 1876

Diet update: gained another half a pound. Have begun dumping powdered old-person fiber supplement ("Now without grit!" - must have cut down on the powdered old-person) into, well, everything. Soup, oatmeal, rice, coffee. Turns out that the little note on the side of the jar that says "not recommended for carbonated beverages" actually translates into "will make your soda violently explode". Begs the question: are Mentos made of old-person?

Tuesday is Tuesdaying on.

*Actually, no, probably not.

not going great and am not happy

In which we are all in jr. high school again.



Let's do bullets for this one:

* Noticed last week that Mr. Downstairs, after verbally abusing his pregnant girlfriend and then screaming at their newborn, was having another woman sleep over while girlfriend and baby were out of town. Seemed shady, but could have been his sister or something, right? At least it was quiet for a change.

* Was still punchy on Thurs about Dance Class Girl resurfacing, and heard neighbor return, to minor squabbling. Happened to be on computer, and noted on assfacebook that I hoped she knew about the visitor. Mentioned no names, deleted it about an hour later, but someone had already had a scandalized joyride figuring it out and calling everyone in creation to squee in mock-horror about it, including Ms. Downstairs.

* Received badly structured "don't talk shit about us" message from Ms. Downstairs. Replied with a "sorry about that, and also your boyfriend is an asshole" message. Am a respectably employed knitting-type person who doesn't do drugs, one of the benefits of which is that the cops like me and wave hello. Am not afraid of abusive partying drug addicts who scatter like roaches when they see flashing lights.

*Am, however, afraid of paranoid schizophrenics. Came home after a long day in town to a late-night phone call from the Apocalypse guy. He asked if I had heard anyone talking about him or his kids, I said I had not (which is true, haven't even thought of him myself since the dinner thing a few months ago). He said he had heard someone say that his baby was tiny, and had got on the phone and threatened to kill them and the cops were all over his house because of it. I suggested that was a bad idea, he said, "That's your opinion, people have to be prepared to pay the consequences for what they do". I suggested that was what was happening if you threatened to kill people, he said, "That's your opinion." First clue that rational thinking is not present. He deflected with a question about a library book, which I answered and then said goodnight. He called back immediately to talk to Mike, as "the man", and told him that when I came over for that Dinner of Doom a few months ago, I had called their newborn baby "tiny", and he'd better make sure his woman didn't talk about them anymore (OH NOES I AM TALKING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW AND I AM A WOMAN HAAALP). Mike suggested that newborn babies are tiny and it's usually a normal observation, but the guy said he would get me fired and went into yell-over-other-person mode and then politely told Mike to have a nice night. Am going to have a nice morning at the police station instead.

* Have not noticed any local readers to my blog, but am shutting it closed for now, just in case. People are too bored out here, and I will turn into the next Us magazine and people will whisper in scandal about my yarn choices.

Ok, so this has all led to some agitation, locked doors, and not a few thoughts about Mike running half-naked out of the bedroom with the broadsword to hack up an intruder, a la Jamie Fraser. (Oo-er) No word on the status of my transfer request, but I may push the notion just a bit.

Memorial Day

The boy-child has been mailed to his grandmother for a few weeks, leaving us to linger in the doorway of his empty bedroom with a feeling that we have misplaced something really important. Leif is happy to have finally done away with the older brother, and has been doing pirouettes of joy and punching his fists into the air with a triumphant, "YEAAH!" Boy, will he be surprised when Gavin comes back in 3 weeks with an entire extra kid. More on that development later.

The man returned from the airport on Friday with a bottle of Costco vodka. He carried it around like a baby for about half an hour, drank a bit of it, became addled with delight (and, you know, vodka), and ended up baking a coconut cake, which he frosted with a steak knife.

Kirkland vodka: possible side effect

Sunday was a day of firsts. First poop in the potty (Leif's). First grey hair (the man's). First day of weigh-ins (145 & 164 lbs), yoga (20 minutes before Leif started knocking us over like lawn ornaments), and jogging/strolling/running from pit bulls, to start off this year's round of oh-shit-it's-summer-already fitness mania. Also, unrelated, I got to see the neighbor pee under our window.

But best of all: the new batch of homebrew was ready. This time around, Mike diluted a few bottles just for me, which knocked the Honey-Vanilla Ale to about 4 percent alcohol, down from just over 9 percent and SWEET JUMPING JESUS IT IS THE GREATEST BEER IN THE WORLD. My thanks to the three jumbo honey bears who gave their lives for this brew.

Why I don't care that he can't pronounce 'monogamy'.

The weekend was just about every kind of fantastic. I even got cussed out by a family of mongoose, in surly-enchanted-woodland-creature manner.



In the evening we lit the grill, put on some music, taught the infink to play rummy, enjoyed a cold pint, and debated the people we would most enjoy punching in the face. Intellectuals and sophistocates are we.

knife to the 'stache!

Have emerged from depression, like a rabbit running outside while the foxes are busy trying on top hats, or whatever foxes do.

"If Mr. Vole calls again, show him up; if I am alive I shall be delighted to see him; and if I am dead he would like to see me. "

-Henry Fox, 1705-1722

Arrived at work with hair tossing and shoes squeaking, which set my janitor off into a bit of a happy dance with his tiny broom and dustpail-on-a-stick. Good mood was spoiled slightly by emails by person in another department who is unhappy because I asked them to cancel a thing I had requested, saving them work, and they wanted it in a form which they didn't actually have. "Please build a flaming hoop and jump through it before mailing the forms. No, you don't need an example - NO THAT IS THE WRONG KIND OF HOOP." Set fire to the hoop anyway, and I'm done with it.

Diet today:



Am still under-calorie. But there is a chance I may die.


In other news

Have an infected finger due to a light saber injury.

Have started answering the door with a kitchen knife, because I don't trust one of the lurking lurkers. He has a blond mustache, and pops up at the window like a squirrel in a baseball cap. For extra fun, have been using this one:


Have been arguing for weeks with FTD, who failed to deliver my mom's flowers on Mother's Day. Which she did not fail to notice. It took a while, because they "have a high volume of nondelivery complaints due to the holiday" (hmmm) but it appears they will grudgingly throw a box of flowers at her door and not charge me for it.

Potty training update: making headway - the toddler has been running to the same spot to pee repeatedly. If I can figure out how to hide the potty in the couch and disguise it with throw pillows, we could have this in the bag.

Enjoyed cards, bourbon, and laughs with friends the other night while the kids watched a movie. Mike bought a little case of darts for the weekly dad's dart group. We have started to settle in and form roots; worrying.

but where's my candy, mister?

A day in town to buy books for work. I dropped off the kid for his last day of school and considered making a dash around the back of the island for the first time. Took a look at the ocean while considering this; huge clouds walked the horizon, dragging heavy feet of rain. Opted for the road more familiar. Kept just ahead of the storm, ducking as it passed a leg overhead, blowing rain in a slow-moving mist through the valleys. 

 "Oh, we are doing such a good thing here, look at you, you're dying," said the bookstore barista, startling me out of a wide yawn. Two of them stood looking at me expectantly. Thursday morning doesn't have a lot happening, even at a place with free wifi. The rolls in the case were as large as my head, and I wanted one, for no other reason than to hold it and lord it over the other cafe-goers, but instead I said, "Coffee. Um, medium." "Which one?" said the she-barista, waving the cup between the two spouts of the machine. "Whichever you like better." "Give her 'Henry'," said the he-barista, swiping my card. "That'll be two-hundred dollars and fifty cents. If you need anything, I'll be in the back having a nap." I took my $2.05 coffee, which had a sleeve that told the story of Henry, who had been a cat. I looked into the coffee suspiciously. A few minutes later, I was back at the counter, considering a tin of gum and a tin of mints. "Gum?" "That delicious coffee gave me horrible coffee breath. Now I need mints. I see what kind of an operation you're running here." "You're on to us." "It's freezing in here. If I get the gum, the act of chewing might help keep me warm." "No, no it won't." "But I have to look official because I'm here for work and chewing gum will make me look stupid." "Oh, no, you could never look stu..." he trailed off, watching my horrible chewing pantomime. "Mints, then." "Yes, please." 

Many hours later, I loaded boxes of books into the car for the library, and set off to pick up a few items before heading home. As I was shoving the grocery cart into the corral and running back to the car, a battered van suddenly slowed in the parking lot. The driver was barking at a passenger, who was hitting the driver's chest eagerly with the back of a hand, and he began to lean out in the way a man does when he's about to try something. I avoided eye contact and ran by, pretending not to hear him. Drove to the exit, which was blocked for road work, and had to swing around up an aisle of the parking lot. The van had circled and was coming in the other direction. The driver leaned out again, and I was going to drive past, but caught the words "your roof". Maybe I had a drink or a box of donuts up there or something. It wouldn't be the first time. "I have something that can fix the top of your car, where the paint is discolored!" "What's that?" "It'll get it all smooth and look like new!" "What's that." There were people moving in the back of the van, behind tinted windows. "I can give you a price, you can think about it." "What's that." He turned to reach for something, his passenger was trying to suppress a wolfish grin. "If you don't mind, pull over and park." "Oh, I DO mind, no thank you." I sped off, slipped onto the main road, and gunned it. Idiots. Suppressed urge to brake, turn around, and go tell them off for being such godawful kidnappers and/or salesmen.

  Foolproof! 

 But that is all ok, because I bought a fancy new potato peeler and a bottle of alcoholic Sweet Tea. Summer is for partying and peeling things.

Nuffinmuch

Wherein the harpy goes on an aimless ramble.

After unlocking the library and flicking on the lights, we pressed ourselves up against the glass doors to stare down the field at the Career Day happenings: myself, to oogle whistfully at the cops, firemen, and EMTs; my co-worker and janitor, to tut disapprovingly about the high school boys playing basketball around the booths instead of getting career info. I put on a cardigan and settled into a cart of books to barcode, while janitor ruminated on the subject of forced sterilization of stupid kids.


I don't know how you do it, JT - I tried looking up "stupid kids", and got distracted by this. It's all downhill from here.

My mind has been circling a few tracks of thought these past few days. Have been composing a mental letter to someone in real-life, whom I am fairly sure does not read my blog (but if so, well, it saves me an awkward conversation).

Dear married men man,
When I said that no stray peen had landed in my hand, it was not a complaint, or an open invitation. You are fairly attractive not-hideous good-looking You're nice and all, but it's not gonna happen. I know it can be confusing when a woman has breasts breast one or more breasts and gives eye contact and laughs occasionally and does not push you violently away when you get too close, but that does not a contract for nookie make. Even hussies nice librarians enjoy a bit of friendly eye-batting, please don't muck it up by jumping in with your face and hands and trousers. I freeze up when caught by surprise, like that time in 9th grade I was watching a movie with a boy and he got a stiffie and it brushed my leg and I froze up and then dumped him by phone the next day but that does not mean I am subscribing to your service. If I were, you would know, because I would make a shameless ass of myself. Please go back to being politely aloof. The thrill of the new really, really isn't worth ruining everything in your life over, anyway. For real.

love kthx
librarian

Derailment: I recently saw that crossed-out "love" signature on passiveaggressivenotes.com, which made me laugh/facepalm because I had actually done it once. But not to be a douchecanoe. I had written the word because I meant it, then realized that was not really such a good thing, but I didn't have another card and had already taped things to the inside of it and the mail lady was coming, so I stared at it, almost left it, started to cross it out, realized I now had to cover it completely or it would look like a deliberate guilt-cross-out, scribbled madly, considered drawing flowers and hearts sprouting out of it to make it look like a fancy motif, and finally decided, feck it. Signed it and sent it. Am now owning my douchecanoery.

Anyway, have also been thinking about babies. They are dropping out of people everywhere. There are now THREE downstairs, amongst the new neighbors. Arg, the new neighbors... if I start ranting about everything to do with all these new neighbors I will have to slap myself with my keyboard to get back on track. IT IS NOT FREE LAUNDRY FOR THE WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT THE KEY TO THE ROOM EVEN IF THEY DO BRING BEER AND WHERE DID ALL THESE SCABBY UNDERFED PUPPIES COME FROM. *slap* Babies. Three of them, squalling in chorus all day and night. And I don't even mind, because I love babies, and I squee in delight and clutch my ovaries when my friends bring their squishy little infants into the library - but I am surprised to find that while all this is true, I am so, so glad I don't have to pick them up and change their milk-poo and blearily coax my relationship through six weeks of bleeding aching sleep deprivation while juggling the needs of a toddler and school kid. It's a beautiful, wonderful thing, and I am very, truly happy for the folks I know who are plunging in and doing it - pats on the back and kisses to the bleary eyes, you glorious reckless fools. (But keep your fucking crack-head friends out of the laundry room and stop parking us in with trucks filled with puppy crates.)

Am swearing and going on because I am very hungry. Have replaced eating with reading and singing Fairies Wear Boots very loudly in the car and watching Dexter and studying Mike for signs of sociopathy.


Hmm, Mike also smiles and says reassuring things and wears pants...

Leif has helped by shredding an entire loaf of bread, and dumping beverages into my yarn stash. Will be hollow-eyed and shrunken-bellied in no time.

I think I was trying to make this more of a crafty-mom blog with pretty pictures of knitting and quilts and clean children in hand-sewn clothes. I am doing it wrong.

Mother's Day

Having two sons is kind of a fantastic and perfect thing. 

 Same age

There are things I wish I had done, things I wish I had not done, and things I wonder how I'll do, but the best bit of advice about parenting came from my mom when she said, "In order to screw up your kids, you have to screw up the same way every day. Learning from your screw-ups won't do it properly." So there you go. 

 I spent yesterday evening at the hotel with one of my best, oldest friends (well, she's 29 - she used to be 12) and her mom. We sat on the lanai, catching up on 8 years of stories, ordered room service, made fun of the risotto and tuna tartar, and boiled our butts in the hot tub. I drove home a bit late, and stood for a moment by the car staring up at the stars before feeling my way up the stairs in the dark to throw back some cold medicince and crash into bed next to my baby. He slept until about 3am before going into coughing fits every 30 seconds, and by the time he woke up at 6am I was almost crying with sleep deprivation. Finally got up and crawled onto the couch, where Leif snuggled up, nursed, coughed, and vomited all over me. All the makings of a real Mother's Day. Gavin gave gifts; a school-crafted pen with a fake rose florist-taped to the top (surprisingly not-terrible, which I think is an infraction of the DOE Standards, to which I owe a pile of dried-shaving-cream creations), and a package of tea blossoms sent over by my mom. The man, having again forgotten to get me anything, made eggs Benedict to make up for it. We video-chatted with my mom and drove over to the hotel to crash the pool with the ladies. Leif fell in the hot tub and I had to pick him out like a dumpling. We stole the room's packages of fancy coffee, drank all the complementary sodas in the mini fridge, and everyone came back to the house for a pancake brunch (more 'unch than br') with piles of berries and cream.

 

And pretended to fill up her mom's tea cup with syrup.

 

Compared sunburns and bottom-sizes; I won. Am going to make up with the scale. Pancakes will have to go frisbee-ing off the lanai, where stoned surfers will come flipping up out of the bushes like salmon to catch them out of the air. 

 Really a good day.