Ice cream social

Still shocked by Mike's sneaky purchase of a more expensive motorcycle than I thought we could afford, I found myself milling through a small crowd of library students with a bowl of melting ice cream. Gavin used Mat as a playground while I chatted with my colleagues. We gathered up the gruesome foursome, grabbed a couple others (we really need to become a fivesome by adding Marie), and headed out for Chinese food. Imagine that - out on a Friday night with a group of friends! The earth will crack in two any time now. We ate, we laughed, we did impersonations, and Adnan promised not to grow a beard.

But the working weekend is here again. Gavin tucked into bed soundly, I tried to read while watching Indonesian soap operas. Oh, Raj, how will you get the girl with a haircut like that? I am mad that Battlestar Galactica isn't on tonight. .

Cheering up.

Cookies of shame

Cookies of shame are better than cookies of revenge. Gavin helped me measure the ingredients (shaving off a few slices of butter for himself), got me an egg, and helped me mix in the chocolate chips (eating a handful). While they baked, we listened to classical music and Mike helped me work on my web design job while Gavin lined up his cars on the rug. This was the perfect batch.

Why did I make these cookies? Well, I applied online for a job as a librarian at an art institute in Arizona - but sent them a cover letter and resume for New Mexico. I quickly sent along a humble-pie email and a new resume with the right state on it. What a great first impression. Very professional. I even signed it:

eek,
Holly McIntosh
 

Maybe I'll win points for trying. Maybe they'll roll their eyes and throw out my resume. Either way, I got cookies out of the deal.

Other news

Mat bravely came out last night, joining us at the cafe with beer. Mike sang better with a slight buzz. Now we know why rock stars are all alcoholics. There was a newbie last night, a local guy with big dark eyes, a buzzed head and armfuls of tattoos. His voice was too soft to hear, but he played his guitar with all the "diddly diddlies" that I like, so he's okay in my book. Mike excited and angered the crowd by starting a System of a Down song, then laughing,"just kidding".

Mike was also very brave this week, going to the DMV and getting both a new Hawaii license and a motorcycle permit, earning the respect/pity of the civil servants for taking two exams at once.

I am getting annoyed about this whole long bike process, but I just remind myself how cool I'll look in leather and shit-kicker boots. Maybe.

Party

I put on the leather jacket that I accidentally stole from my high school boyfriend's sister and discovered that it was like wearing an oversized cardboard tube. Miss December was an Amazon, but just being 6'1" would not make up for the girth of this garment. She must have stolen it from an actual biker herself. At any rate, it is stiff from disuse, and I think I might have to buy myself a graduation present of a nice fitted leather jacket at Christmas and let Mike break in this roll of cardboard.

Speaking of graduation - party! Mat is also graduating, and instead of fighting over our small group of mutual friends, I suggested we have one big party. Must brainstorm venue and theme. The head of the department also told us that celebration would be due to mark the passing of oral exams, so I'm thinking there's a doomed lobster with my name on it come October.

My working weekends are long this semester. Mike has agreed to meet a guy about a motorcycle outside my library this afternoon, and I will be glad to come out on my break to check it out. Maybe make "vroom" noises, because we can't actually test drive it, since neither of us have licenses. Maybe the guy will give us rides.

big plans

We are busy making preparations for our newest addition... a motorcycle. And believe it or not, this was not my idea. We are facing transportation issues between 3 adults with 3 agendas, so I jumped on Mike early yesterday morning and suggested we buy a moped for him (since he doesn't have to use the highway to go to work and it requires no extra licensing). He said that if we're going that direction we might as well do it right the first time and just get a motorcycle. Ok.

Mike has already read the state manual, and is looking to register for a surprisingly inexpensive state-sponsored training program. I have ripped "for sale" flyers off the bulletin boards on campus, and we've circled a few possibilities in the newspaper. We rode around town checking out bike dealers just for fun, and Gavin was so excited. "Oh mom," he says, "I need a motorcycle. We buy one now." He ran around patting all the silver and yellow bikes affectionately. He likes the sporty crotch rockets. He will learn.

Even if we do just get an affordable Honda instead of an Indian, I'm only a few weeks away from busting out my stolen Playboy model's leather jacket. Ha.

And it begins...

The first day of school came down around my ears with a crash. I pushed my way through the crowds of undergrads, looking at all the colorful self-conscious, flirting students. I realized that I was the only person in black and felt weirdly smug.

I bought my overpriced textbooks and tossed a few extra supplies on the counter while the cashier made fun of my last name. With 30 pounds of books hanging off my arm, I walked up to the LIS offices to pick up an application for the state library, as 22 positions have opened up and I am suddenly eligible. This application requires speedy action, lots of paperwork, written consent, arguments with the summer office over a problem with my credits, and the ordering of official transcripts. On top of my first week's worth of homework and 4 meetings for work, oral exams, and internships. Ah, well, armed with my trusty daily planner, I should make it through the semester with most of my remaining hair.

Fresh Meat

Children's lit doesn't attract many men, so we're all waiting to see whether the incoming group of new library students has brought in a new Class Hottie to bump Tim and Mat from their competing positions. Yuri and my mother both have their fingers crossed for an older gentleman to appear. Meanwhile, my obnoxious vegan co-worker has reportedly been replaced by a cute tubby rocker guy. We will see on Friday how he shapes up. If he can take some friendly insults and work 5 minutes without complaining or fucking up, he's gold in my book.

Vacation from hell

(technical blog problems cured!)

I am so tired of fighting with my mom all the time.
 

Gavin helped me rip tape and bend wire to build my armature, looked from the finished figure of Mike to the one I was working on and said, "Mom make baby statue?" He then sat on a stool and posed for me. He's a natural.

After a harrowing few days, Mike sat with a beer and regaled us with Tales of the Lifeguards while I modeled a clay figure of Gavin. How cup-of-chips Chris had his hair lit on fire; toilet paper thrown from a plane; Mike's toe skin flapping in the wind as he tumbled down the deck for a rescue; games of Assball and Dicktag. I spent a bit of time reminiscing about tiny lifeguard shorts. I think both of us miss having a group of friends to hang out with. Heck, we miss just hanging out with each other. It's funny how lonely you can get by not having any time to yourself.

But some day we will have a house, and a yard, and a bathtub with claw feet. I'll hang drawings of my family along the wall, and watch them age as the years go by. We'll have cats dozing in sunlight, and we'll eat enchiladas and play cards with friends every Thursday.

Yes we will.

"Did anyone ever tell you..."

"... you look like Red Sonja?"

I narrowed my eyes at my soon-to-be-ex vegan coworker. "Are you saying I look like Brigitte Nielsen?"

"No, I just mean, you're, like, in great shape and you look like you could kick my butt."
 

Okay. Works for me.

book signing

asshole: So, how big is your run?
me: Oh, I'm not sure.
asshole (with sneer): did you even sign a contract?
me: yeah
asshole: did you read it?
me: yes. I'm sure I could look it up.
asshole: you'll just sign anything? Doesn't matter? You should know your book run, your royalties, you know, important things. Did you even bother looking?
me: Nope, I just sign what they give me.

Idiot.

Today I was the literal kid in the candy store, taking a plastic baggie for the first time and hopping from bin to bin in the candy kiosk across from the bookstore in the mall, scooping up malt balls, red licorice, mint candies, and chocolate covered gummy bears. It was great. It's important to celebrate things, and I make a point to treat myself on book signing days. One of my library school colleagues dropped by and gave us leis, took our picture, and bought a book to show support. It was our happiest signing yet.

Only a week left of school. I walked into class last night and gave Adnan a bump, he turned and grabbed me gently by the neck with a weird smile. He had hit the campus bar before class. I had forgotten such things existed. He wasn't impaired, and I was jealous about how relaxed he was during the difficult first half of class (library students: a 5 minute presentation means 5 MINUTES, not 15, not 20, and definitely not 30! I know we can't count, but sheesh). Yuri had prepared herself for this with half a pan of brownies. This is how other people avoid going apeshit under the grind of summer school. All I had was a pack of gum. Mike, however, had me covered. I returned home to a mindless movie (Hitch), a bowl of popcorn, and a recording of Battlestar Galactica. I'm back in business now.

Several days ago I had a close look at my face in Mike's shaving mirror and decided that the blonde fuzz on my face was actually a mustache and beard. So I shaved. This seemed harmless enough until this morning, when I woke up with the invisible itchy torture of hundreds of sharp blades of blonde stubble. This was bad enough, and then I was exposed at work to the naked horror that is GG Allin. The joys of working with the public.

run Holly run

After making me strip down and put on a flimsy hospital gown, the nurses had me lay down on the exam table, then pulled blankets up to my chin and tucked me in like a little kid. I felt cozy and secure. Then they shooed away the old man in the next stall, pulled down my blankets, and stuck cold jelly and electrodes all over my torso, breaking the spell. The treadmill was an awkward speed; my legs were just slightly too short to manage it at a fast walk, and it was too slow for a jog, so I sort of lurched around on it, not fooled at all by the faded poster of a country lane that they had tacked to the wall in front of the machine. I almost lost my footing and smacked my chin off the hand rail when the doctor grabbed my arm and made me run like an Olympic torch bearer while he took my blood pressure. I took a bit longer than the old man ahead of me to get my heart rate up to speed, so that's good, I guess. I was finally able to flop down, out of breath, and watch the technician examine my heart with the ultrasound. I am totally healthy, it seems. This morning I told my professor why I had been absent, and she laughed, saying, "Oh, I had that same thing happen when I was in library school, turns out it was panic attacks!" Oh good.

1st class

I headed out early this morning to test the traffic, and arrived an hour before class. I don't know if it was the 6 hours of sleep or what, but it was hard to keep my eyes focused on the road, and my head felt like it was a balloon on a string, making it hard not to panic and crash. I've been particularly sleepy lately; maybe I'm fighting a form of narcolepsy or something.

There needs to be a paperback in my purse. I miss reading for pleasure. I still haven't found the fiction section in this massive research library, although I know it exists. Maybe I will go looking while I wait for class to start, even though I am muzzy-headed and sleepy, weak in the chest and slightly queasy from my pills and empty stomach. I am not grumpy, at least. Yesterday was great, the smells of pie and brownies filled the house. We listened to classical music and sat around all day, watching Gavin play and catching a few episodes of Carnivale while he napped, snacking on chips, dip, and shrimp cocktail. We broke out the kebabs and barbecue grill while Gavin splashed in his baby pool, blended up some Kahlua, Irish cream, and ice cream, and rented a movie. Very American of us, even if we did opt for grilled veggies and steak instead of cheddar brats. At least Mike did his part to empty the beer drawer in the fridge.

But I do feel slightly grey today. This class isn't something I'm very interested in: Pacific Island Resources. But as long as I am not expected to turn out a 15 page paper in 4 days, I will probably stay out of the hospital this go-around (it's a lie, I have an appointment for heart tests in a week). I lost a bit of my pep somewhere in the past few weeks; to take a page from Bilbo, I feel thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. In every area of my life. I don't know how to get my stride back.