Oscar Wilde

To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance. Oh, SHUT UP.

My mother has come to visit, while Mike has flown thousands of miles away. This has been great. Gavin knocked the papasan over onto himself, we went shopping at World Market, and I introduced my mom to Trader Joes. This week we have eaten Bakersfield's favorite chewy thingies, I got pepper spray up my nose, called a kung fu master, not called a clown, learned to make a "squirrel pole", watched Gavin learn to play volleyball, dug the volleyball out of a homemade grave he left it in, sat beside the pool in a bikini, washed the car while my mom and Gavin told me what to do, accidentally murdered the last Hawaiian car cockroach with soap suds, and bought a floofy dress with pink flowers on it.

Keeping busy.

Quiet afternoon. St. Patrick's Day alone, cleaning up pictures on my phone. Marc's pyramid of goat milk tins, my kid laughing, Chinese dragon... got all the way back into October's pictures and found myself with forehead on the floor, sobbing. 

 

American Wasteland

Marc: So how did the meeting go?
me: It was fine, boring, didn't have to kill anyone. I was a bit late, though, because I got distracted by a big sign that said "TORTILLAS". Painted right on the building! "TORTILLAS!" I got excited and missed the library.
Marc: I'm not sure anyone has called the tortilla excuse for that purpose before.
me: Well it was pretty amazing.

4pm: drove home from the east side, windows down to enjoy the heat, Black Sabbath blaring. I took in the whitewashed buildings, tumbleweeds against the sides of the liquor stores, cracked mud and date palms, shuffling old men. Someone in a low rider hooted at me when I leaned out the window to see around the layer of dust and bug on my windshield. I felt a sudden surge of affection for the dusty town, for the expanse of lonely roads like spokes into the desert. I feel like that kid in Arizona again.

10am: In Trader Joes I grabbed jars of curries, chutney, fancy peanut butter, frozen greek food. The clerk examining my ID for the liquor winked at me, "Why Bakersfield?" I put my hand over my eyes and jabbed randomly at the counter. He laughed and said, "I can't tell you how many people have told me they've done the same thing." City of wanderers. Maybe this will be okay.

hi-speed recording

13somethingstupidgoddambrokenscale.

Driving through the industrial district, all radio stations on commercials. I haven't seen any bugs in California, and realized this is because they are all splattered across my windshield. Peered through gutty yellow haze at lazily pumping oil wells, reaching blindly for a CD and popping one in to cover the radio advertisements. Aerosmith. Cat Stevens. Nickelback. Oh no. Last summer's mix disc of heartbreak Slapped stereo, grabbed disc, sent it sailing like a flashing silver frisbee out the window into a dusty oil field. Felt much better.

Morning not off to great start. One of my online friends is having marriage problems, which caused me to feel a fresh spurt of wounded anger and prompted me to take back my spare house key. Feeling sad in the car on the way to daycare, I looked out window at stop light to see the gruesome body of a dead cat beside us on the road. Whipped around and turned Gavin's head, too late to prevent the wide-eyed stare of horror at the small crushed form. And I punched a hole through my sandwich with my heel. Dropped off troubled child and arrived at work an hour early. Mondays.

the public life

Ah, lunch break.

The public library does not disappoint!

Having been ravaged by the preschool storytime, I crawled back to my desk and plotted to organize a new, improved, more psychological program of toddler mesmerization. May require me to overcome irrational fear of puppets, but will be well worth it in terms of quelling potential outbreak of library infanticide across the service base.

Foolishly leaping to the call, "We have a hot patron on the phone for you!" (oh, goody! Hot patron! Maybe it's Steve the Pirate!) was yelled at by patron refusing to pay fines, having many overdue books on - dun dun dun - bipolar disorder. Alas, no, I did not receive brownies the next day. Also, was asked out by middle-aged salesman who, upon repeated rejection, unblinkingly requested books on repressing one's sexual urges.

Saturday with Loverman Joe

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.