Well, I was going to write about the Family Reunion, but that may have to wait for the weekend now. Instead, today was somewhat sidetracked by having my car side-swiped by a rather large dark green Ford F-250. The good news is he stopped and gave me his insurance number and his name. The bad news is-- well, I was kinda hoping to go for more than a year-and-a-half before my next major car accident.
In other good news, it's drivable, and I am not at fault. Also, the autobody shop was able to fix the tail light so I'm legal, and my insurance will give me a loaner until they fix everything else. Which should take about a week. So GB and I will be driving a rental car down to visit his family in Sacramento next week, which isn't exactly what we'd been planning... We've requested something with good gas mileage. And nobody was hurt. I'm really grateful for that.
However, the driver's side rear quarter-panel needs replacing, and the whole lower panel and bumper need a new paint job. And I need a new light cover on the rear tail light. Also, apparently "pannel" only has one N in it.
So yeah, that all kinda put a kink in my plans for the day. I'm really glad GB was there with me, and I'm really glad that-- unlike the LAST time a large dark green vehicle slammed into me-- my passenger was uninjured. Last time, I saw the land rover speed up and ram my car in the rearview mirror. I said "He's not going to stop." And he didn't.
This time, I saw the ford truck veer into my lane and said "Please don't hit me?" But he did anyway. Last time, my passenger turned to me and said "What?" right before we got rear ended horribly. This time, my passenger turned and watched us get side-swiped, and then knew more than I did about exactly how and where it happened. He also ran back and picked up the busted light cover for me while Ford and I exchanged info.
sigh...
Showing posts with label accidents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label accidents. Show all posts
Thursday, July 23
Saturday, July 11
Oogling Goggles
When I first became a nanny, little Annabelle would wear her swim goggles when she wanted to look like me in my glasses. She was totally adorable, and I have this awesome photo of her using lotion and a baby wipe to "clean" the mirror, wearing a really cute little dress, leggings, and swim goggles. She was two at the time. GB wears HIS goggles when he's riding his motorcycle.
I've always secretly wanted to ride motorcycles. Okay, so it hasn't been much of a secret... but I don't tend to bring it up because a lot of my friends just wouldn't understand. And some women have insisted that I should want to ride my OWN motorcycle-- but what I really want is to ride behind somebody else on theirs. Preferably, somebody I'd be comfortable hugging for long periods of time. All the fun, none of the responsibility.
With this background, you might understand why I was rather excited to start dating a guy who rides. Except that he'd recently hurt his thumb (motorcycle accident), and couldn't... So even though we've been dating for a couple of months now, I have yet to take my first motorcycle ride. Maybe it's just not meant to be.
...But I'm still hoping.
Yesterday, we took the bike (he rode it, I drove behind just in case) to a repair shop for estimates. First time I've had opportunity to watch someone ride a bike for any period of time. Usually when I start to show interest in a motorcycle on the road, the rider tries to pick me up, so I've learned NOT to oogle strange motorcycle riders. sigh. But GB was fair game, and it took us a good 20 minutes to get where we were going. It totally whetted my appetite to ride all over again.
The funny thing is that he was in SUCH a better mood after his ride. I've got to convince that boy to either ride his bike or go for workouts in the gym on a regular basis. I much prefer him happy. I cannot, however, tell you whether or not he looks adorable in HIS goggles-- he forgot to wear them yesterday. It took some doing, but I finally convinced him to wear my sunglasses for the trip home, since it was a very sunny day, and the goggles are, apparently, tinted. BOYS!!! sigh...
I've always secretly wanted to ride motorcycles. Okay, so it hasn't been much of a secret... but I don't tend to bring it up because a lot of my friends just wouldn't understand. And some women have insisted that I should want to ride my OWN motorcycle-- but what I really want is to ride behind somebody else on theirs. Preferably, somebody I'd be comfortable hugging for long periods of time. All the fun, none of the responsibility.
With this background, you might understand why I was rather excited to start dating a guy who rides. Except that he'd recently hurt his thumb (motorcycle accident), and couldn't... So even though we've been dating for a couple of months now, I have yet to take my first motorcycle ride. Maybe it's just not meant to be.
...But I'm still hoping.
Yesterday, we took the bike (he rode it, I drove behind just in case) to a repair shop for estimates. First time I've had opportunity to watch someone ride a bike for any period of time. Usually when I start to show interest in a motorcycle on the road, the rider tries to pick me up, so I've learned NOT to oogle strange motorcycle riders. sigh. But GB was fair game, and it took us a good 20 minutes to get where we were going. It totally whetted my appetite to ride all over again.
The funny thing is that he was in SUCH a better mood after his ride. I've got to convince that boy to either ride his bike or go for workouts in the gym on a regular basis. I much prefer him happy. I cannot, however, tell you whether or not he looks adorable in HIS goggles-- he forgot to wear them yesterday. It took some doing, but I finally convinced him to wear my sunglasses for the trip home, since it was a very sunny day, and the goggles are, apparently, tinted. BOYS!!! sigh...
Monday, July 6
Bang Bang Bang
There has been on-and-off construction on the house next door, and specifically on the roof-patio that looks into my bedroom windows, since I moved in. And apparently, for two years prior to that as well. Now that house, and the one on the other side (ten feet to the right, if you include the upstairs hallway) both have little 2-year-old boys living in them. Bang Bang Bang.
Actually, I was originally going to call this post "In With A Bang," and then I was going to talk all about the Fourth of July, and the total lack of relationship between today's fireworks parties and any sort of leftover patriogtism about the colonists's war with the British. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone was probably drunk and stogned at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (History Channel), and so were most of the fireworks partiers we encountered on Saturday. But seeing as how this is already the 6th, what happened two days and over two hundred years ago... Well it just seems like old news.
SO... to sum up... Humperdink gonna marry Buttercup in a littlelessan khalph-an-hour. And GB and I went downtown and watched the big fireworks display from the bridge, with 50,000 of our closest friends. It was very cool. Bang Bang Bang.
And then the insurance claims dude came to look at GB's bike this morning, and declared it totaled. Which shocked the hell out of everyone, because there's basically some scratching, a dent in the gas tank, and maybe the handlebars are bent crooked, and some lights and a mirror snapped off... but other than that, she was just fine! Wait... when you put it like that... there doesn't seem to be much left undamaged besides the engine. Huh.
Anyway, GB first introduced me to his motorcycle soon after we started dating. "Innt she beauuuuutiful??" So for him to think of trashing her for the insurance money... well, I suspect it feels a bit like a cold-blooded murder. So as soon as the insurance claims dude left, GB called me up, totally upset that the most logical option seems to be agreeing that his baby is totaled, and letting the cold-hearted insurance robots drag her away. Because the truth is that he was just planning to fix her up and sell her anyway. But going against all his carefully organized manly reasoning and well-thought-out acknowledgment of the financial reality, he just doesn't FEEL LOGICAL about it. And in the background, I could hear his fist on the desk... Bang Bang Bang.
There were three other serious examples of "bang bang bang" in my world today, but one was the sound of my head hitting my desk, one is the way Abbigale's sneezes keep getting louder and closer together, and the other was this new and bizarre "Rule of Three" that the nurse practitioner told me about at Planned Parenthood. Somebody should have told me that a long time ago, thank you very much. And honestly, I just don't want to talk about any of them at the moment. Sorry. Bang Bang Bang.
Actually, I was originally going to call this post "In With A Bang," and then I was going to talk all about the Fourth of July, and the total lack of relationship between today's fireworks parties and any sort of leftover patriogtism about the colonists's war with the British. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone was probably drunk and stogned at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (History Channel), and so were most of the fireworks partiers we encountered on Saturday. But seeing as how this is already the 6th, what happened two days and over two hundred years ago... Well it just seems like old news.
SO... to sum up... Humperdink gonna marry Buttercup in a littlelessan khalph-an-hour. And GB and I went downtown and watched the big fireworks display from the bridge, with 50,000 of our closest friends. It was very cool. Bang Bang Bang.
And then the insurance claims dude came to look at GB's bike this morning, and declared it totaled. Which shocked the hell out of everyone, because there's basically some scratching, a dent in the gas tank, and maybe the handlebars are bent crooked, and some lights and a mirror snapped off... but other than that, she was just fine! Wait... when you put it like that... there doesn't seem to be much left undamaged besides the engine. Huh.
Anyway, GB first introduced me to his motorcycle soon after we started dating. "Innt she beauuuuutiful??" So for him to think of trashing her for the insurance money... well, I suspect it feels a bit like a cold-blooded murder. So as soon as the insurance claims dude left, GB called me up, totally upset that the most logical option seems to be agreeing that his baby is totaled, and letting the cold-hearted insurance robots drag her away. Because the truth is that he was just planning to fix her up and sell her anyway. But going against all his carefully organized manly reasoning and well-thought-out acknowledgment of the financial reality, he just doesn't FEEL LOGICAL about it. And in the background, I could hear his fist on the desk... Bang Bang Bang.
There were three other serious examples of "bang bang bang" in my world today, but one was the sound of my head hitting my desk, one is the way Abbigale's sneezes keep getting louder and closer together, and the other was this new and bizarre "Rule of Three" that the nurse practitioner told me about at Planned Parenthood. Somebody should have told me that a long time ago, thank you very much. And honestly, I just don't want to talk about any of them at the moment. Sorry. Bang Bang Bang.
Thursday, March 27
Old Hat
No shigt, there I was...
Driving home from a busy day in someone else's office. And on the way, there is the one intersection with no left turn lane, and a lot of traffic. Frustrating for everyone, I'm sure. And of course, I wanted to turn left. So I waited through one whole green light with no break in oncoming traffic-- good thing I didn't pull too far out into the intersection, because I was STUCK! And by the time the green light came around again, there were a variety of determined drivers behind me. So I pulled a little way into the intersection.
And if the guy in the blue ford right behind me hadn't been riding my bumper so close he probably couldn't even SEE my turn signal, there would have been plenty of space for them all to go AROUND me and keep on straight through that green light. But he was a minor idiot in a sea of fools at that particular moment, at that particular intersection.
And then suddenly, I SAW IT! An oncoming car lagging a bit behind the rest, with *ITS* left turn signal on, TOO! So I inched a little farther forward, and got ready to hit the gas so I could get through the darn light while it was still green-- when he made HIS left turn in front of ME! But... then I hesitated. And I'll tell you why.
I've had more than one person's share of car accidents in my lifetime, and I'm just not that old yet! And... the guy in that car with it's little left turn signal on was...
AN OLD MAN IN A HAT!!!
WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN, AND HIS LITTLE SWEET BLUE-HAIRED WIFE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, GAZING BLINDLY OUT THE SIDE WINDOW.
So I hit my brakes, and hoped the guy in the blue ford behind me didn't just run my little grey car over and be done with it... and there... there, on the other side, away from everybody else on the other side, just where he'd have to start seriously turning, in the middle of the intersection, he realized that his turn light was on, and slowly reached around the steering wheel with his left hand, and turned it off...
And if I'd assumed that he was turning (since you know, his TURN SIGNAL was on, and he'd SLOWED DOWN WHEN ENTERING THE INTERSECTION), I'd have been the author of yet another totalled car wreck. Because that old man in that hat was going to go straight THE WHOLE TIME!!!
And that, children, is why we ignore the rude drivers behind us, and concentrate on the possibility that the guy in the oncoming lane is an idiot. Just in case. And I'm sure he was a very NICE idiot, but I'm even more sure that I really didn't want to go through another car accident. Oh, and by the way, about three cars later, there was a nice big opening, and I turned, and all the cars behind me DID make it through the poorly designed intersection before the light turned red again. Even the guy at the end of the line of cars behind me, who was ALSO planning to make a left turn.
The End.
Driving home from a busy day in someone else's office. And on the way, there is the one intersection with no left turn lane, and a lot of traffic. Frustrating for everyone, I'm sure. And of course, I wanted to turn left. So I waited through one whole green light with no break in oncoming traffic-- good thing I didn't pull too far out into the intersection, because I was STUCK! And by the time the green light came around again, there were a variety of determined drivers behind me. So I pulled a little way into the intersection.
And if the guy in the blue ford right behind me hadn't been riding my bumper so close he probably couldn't even SEE my turn signal, there would have been plenty of space for them all to go AROUND me and keep on straight through that green light. But he was a minor idiot in a sea of fools at that particular moment, at that particular intersection.
And then suddenly, I SAW IT! An oncoming car lagging a bit behind the rest, with *ITS* left turn signal on, TOO! So I inched a little farther forward, and got ready to hit the gas so I could get through the darn light while it was still green-- when he made HIS left turn in front of ME! But... then I hesitated. And I'll tell you why.
I've had more than one person's share of car accidents in my lifetime, and I'm just not that old yet! And... the guy in that car with it's little left turn signal on was...
AN OLD MAN IN A HAT!!!
WITH HIS MOUTH OPEN, AND HIS LITTLE SWEET BLUE-HAIRED WIFE IN THE PASSENGER SEAT, GAZING BLINDLY OUT THE SIDE WINDOW.
So I hit my brakes, and hoped the guy in the blue ford behind me didn't just run my little grey car over and be done with it... and there... there, on the other side, away from everybody else on the other side, just where he'd have to start seriously turning, in the middle of the intersection, he realized that his turn light was on, and slowly reached around the steering wheel with his left hand, and turned it off...
And if I'd assumed that he was turning (since you know, his TURN SIGNAL was on, and he'd SLOWED DOWN WHEN ENTERING THE INTERSECTION), I'd have been the author of yet another totalled car wreck. Because that old man in that hat was going to go straight THE WHOLE TIME!!!
And that, children, is why we ignore the rude drivers behind us, and concentrate on the possibility that the guy in the oncoming lane is an idiot. Just in case. And I'm sure he was a very NICE idiot, but I'm even more sure that I really didn't want to go through another car accident. Oh, and by the way, about three cars later, there was a nice big opening, and I turned, and all the cars behind me DID make it through the poorly designed intersection before the light turned red again. Even the guy at the end of the line of cars behind me, who was ALSO planning to make a left turn.
The End.
Sunday, February 10
Apocalypse Now
This is not how I would have guessed that Apocalypse was spelled... But, technically, I DID guess that it was spelled this way, and I was right. Hmmm...
Anyway, I'm writing about apocalypses because I've been DREAMING about them every night for over a week now. And I wouldn't call them nightmares. To my mind, categorizing something as a nightmare would require a certain level of emotional involvement, and waking in fear, cold sweats, etc. I don't have any of that. In fact, I'm strangely emotionally detached from the various and many different apocalyptic visions I've lived through in my dreams of late. I think the one saving grace has been the utter ridiculousness of the scenarios. I think it also has helped that when I do wake up, I realize right away that I know a better way (than the one I acted out in my dream) to handle whatever crisis I faced in my dream. It's bizarrely reassuring.
In fact, for all that last night was spent--in my weird dream, this is-- trying to find help for an injured ambulance driver after several layers of overpasses collapsed on each other (so there I was, with SLM, driving an ambulance around, missing my exits, and looking for help-- thank goodness we eventually drove past DM, who is licensed as a lesser EMT, and he had time to stop filling sandbags and come help us help the injured-- I have no idea what the sandbags were even for!)... I was surprisingly calm when I woke up part way through the dream. In fact, my first thought was-- That's dumb! I'd just have stayed with the injured guy and called 911 on my cell phone!
Previously this week, I dreamed of being a refugee in the hills of Idaho because Oregon and Washington were lost; getting caught in some sort of riots in a small midwestern town with a surprisingly large number of rioters around me, and... well... you get the picture. Whatever it is that my psyche is trying to work through (you've heard that theory about dreams being our subconscious way of working through internalized problems, right?), I really hope I'm making progress.
In other news, I've created my own organic mixed bean soup mix, and am looking forward to trying it out in my crock pot. Wish me luck. You know how well I do with crock pots...
Anyway, I'm writing about apocalypses because I've been DREAMING about them every night for over a week now. And I wouldn't call them nightmares. To my mind, categorizing something as a nightmare would require a certain level of emotional involvement, and waking in fear, cold sweats, etc. I don't have any of that. In fact, I'm strangely emotionally detached from the various and many different apocalyptic visions I've lived through in my dreams of late. I think the one saving grace has been the utter ridiculousness of the scenarios. I think it also has helped that when I do wake up, I realize right away that I know a better way (than the one I acted out in my dream) to handle whatever crisis I faced in my dream. It's bizarrely reassuring.
In fact, for all that last night was spent--in my weird dream, this is-- trying to find help for an injured ambulance driver after several layers of overpasses collapsed on each other (so there I was, with SLM, driving an ambulance around, missing my exits, and looking for help-- thank goodness we eventually drove past DM, who is licensed as a lesser EMT, and he had time to stop filling sandbags and come help us help the injured-- I have no idea what the sandbags were even for!)... I was surprisingly calm when I woke up part way through the dream. In fact, my first thought was-- That's dumb! I'd just have stayed with the injured guy and called 911 on my cell phone!
Previously this week, I dreamed of being a refugee in the hills of Idaho because Oregon and Washington were lost; getting caught in some sort of riots in a small midwestern town with a surprisingly large number of rioters around me, and... well... you get the picture. Whatever it is that my psyche is trying to work through (you've heard that theory about dreams being our subconscious way of working through internalized problems, right?), I really hope I'm making progress.
In other news, I've created my own organic mixed bean soup mix, and am looking forward to trying it out in my crock pot. Wish me luck. You know how well I do with crock pots...
Sunday, December 23
What To
I don't know what to think. Ever since ... well, no. Before that. At some point on my way home from Mexico, I started to have this niggling feeling of dread. And then the car accident happened. I am so glad nobody was hurt! My insurance company was just awesome about it all, too.
I had a rental, I had a second interview for a job I wanted, I found out I didn't get the job. I found out my car really IS totalled, and I switched to an easier-to-drive rental. I actually kept the Behemoth longer than necessary because of the continuing feeling of dread in the pit of my tummy. If you're going to worry about bad things happening, you might as well be driving a cross between a tank and a toaster oven when they do. Technically, I think it was a Dodge Nitro.
I discovered that I had made the smart choice to pay a one-time fee for auto-loan-coverage on my old vehicle. That means that if your car is totalled (like mine), and it probably isn't worth what you still owe on the auto loan (like mine), your insurance pays the full loan amount regardless. I'll definitely be getting THAT coverage again. Then I got a good new auto loan, and started shopping around for a good new vehicle to drive. My parents even decided to help me with a down payment as a graduate-from-grad-school gift. No strings. Very cool of them!
VERY!
Today, I found an awesome new car. I got it for a decent price, and I drove it home with no problems. So WHY do I still have this feeling of dread in my tummy, and WHY is it getting WORSE?!
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Tomorrow I finally get to talk to a real person about my new vehicle and my new loan, etc. Tomorrow I'm also going to call and make sure my old loan really has been taken care of at this point. Tomorrow I go visit my folks. Tomorrow I have GOT to figure out a good gift for my aunt. I still can't believe we're two days out from Christmas. In Mexico, it's 85* and sunny for grinch's sake!
I'm suddenly remembering that although I wrote a new will, and my two friends, SM and DM agreed to be my new medical decision-makers, well... I still haven't gotten the sucker signed and sealed. It's sitting in a folder on the desk top of my computer... waiting.
I even found time to apply for one of the Youth Librarian Substitute slots that just came open in a city near me. It would be a great short-term solution to my job crisis if it works out. I know several people who are actually supporting themselves as librarian substitutes right now.
So in the meantime... if you have any idea what I'm so worried about-- let me know, okay? I'd like to deal with it and move on. It's almost Christmas, and I have things to do, people to hug, a cat to pet, and a car to drive. My life is pretty darn amazing. I'd like to be enjoying it. It's a good life. Really.
I mean-- I lived. I got away with some stiff muscles and a small bruise on my forehead. I don't owe thousands of dollars on a vehicle I no longer own. And I actually qualified for another car loan after that. With no job, no income, and no collateral.
I've got a place to stay with people I like. I've got a trip planned to visit a good friend and troll for jobs in the big leagues mid-January. I've got food in the fridge (I should really clean out the fridge!!), clean laundry, and a solid internet connection.
Like I said-- Life is good.
I'd like to start enjoying it now.
kthxbai
I had a rental, I had a second interview for a job I wanted, I found out I didn't get the job. I found out my car really IS totalled, and I switched to an easier-to-drive rental. I actually kept the Behemoth longer than necessary because of the continuing feeling of dread in the pit of my tummy. If you're going to worry about bad things happening, you might as well be driving a cross between a tank and a toaster oven when they do. Technically, I think it was a Dodge Nitro.
I discovered that I had made the smart choice to pay a one-time fee for auto-loan-coverage on my old vehicle. That means that if your car is totalled (like mine), and it probably isn't worth what you still owe on the auto loan (like mine), your insurance pays the full loan amount regardless. I'll definitely be getting THAT coverage again. Then I got a good new auto loan, and started shopping around for a good new vehicle to drive. My parents even decided to help me with a down payment as a graduate-from-grad-school gift. No strings. Very cool of them!
VERY!
Today, I found an awesome new car. I got it for a decent price, and I drove it home with no problems. So WHY do I still have this feeling of dread in my tummy, and WHY is it getting WORSE?!
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Tomorrow I finally get to talk to a real person about my new vehicle and my new loan, etc. Tomorrow I'm also going to call and make sure my old loan really has been taken care of at this point. Tomorrow I go visit my folks. Tomorrow I have GOT to figure out a good gift for my aunt. I still can't believe we're two days out from Christmas. In Mexico, it's 85* and sunny for grinch's sake!
I'm suddenly remembering that although I wrote a new will, and my two friends, SM and DM agreed to be my new medical decision-makers, well... I still haven't gotten the sucker signed and sealed. It's sitting in a folder on the desk top of my computer... waiting.
I even found time to apply for one of the Youth Librarian Substitute slots that just came open in a city near me. It would be a great short-term solution to my job crisis if it works out. I know several people who are actually supporting themselves as librarian substitutes right now.
So in the meantime... if you have any idea what I'm so worried about-- let me know, okay? I'd like to deal with it and move on. It's almost Christmas, and I have things to do, people to hug, a cat to pet, and a car to drive. My life is pretty darn amazing. I'd like to be enjoying it. It's a good life. Really.
I mean-- I lived. I got away with some stiff muscles and a small bruise on my forehead. I don't owe thousands of dollars on a vehicle I no longer own. And I actually qualified for another car loan after that. With no job, no income, and no collateral.
I've got a place to stay with people I like. I've got a trip planned to visit a good friend and troll for jobs in the big leagues mid-January. I've got food in the fridge (I should really clean out the fridge!!), clean laundry, and a solid internet connection.
Like I said-- Life is good.
I'd like to start enjoying it now.
kthxbai
Monday, December 17
Crashing
There has been a lot of crashing in my life lately.
Crashing into each wave on the hour-long boat ride from Puerto Vallarta to Yelapa Mexico...
Crashing waves in Yelapa, Mexico...
The folks who crashed the wedding party in Yelapa, Mexico...
The wedding-crasher who had way too much to drink and then crashed in Yelapa, Mexico...
Crashing because I was SO DAGM TIRED when I got home from Yelapa, Mexico...
And my least favorite,
The car crash that happened to me this morning, in the USA, on my way to work the morning after I got home from Yelapa, Mexico.
So... what's new with you?
Okay okay-- I don't have it in me to type up all the great stories from my trip to Mexico right now, but I do want to say that I have never appreciated the very LOUD noise of the pounding surf as much as I did on Saturday Night. And I was also grateful for the mosquito netting around the bed. Not only did it keep all the crawly-biteys out, but it kept me from having a full frontal view of our naked guest after he and my roomie got out of the shower. Shower being a loose term, in this particular instance. In Yelapa, the showers are... rustic... and you get to share them with the local fauna.
Also on that subject, I have a new job title to add to my resume. I became the official lizard-wrangler at the wedding, thus allowing the bride to use the "bathroom" (again, a loose term in Yelapa) prior to the wedding ceremony. I'll have you know that no animals (or reptiles) were injured during my stay. They all went out the front door under their own power. I tell you, I am a master lizard-wrangler.
And my car accident? Well... not happy. Hopefully, I'll get a free rental for a few days. Hopefully, it only takes a few days to fix my car. Hopefully, they install an all-way stop at that dagmn intersection sooner than later. The officer did say, though, that this accident had less residual car-bits to clean up than most accidents at that intersection do. Yay. Nobody was hurt in any visible fashion. That's the good news.
Crashing into each wave on the hour-long boat ride from Puerto Vallarta to Yelapa Mexico...
Crashing waves in Yelapa, Mexico...
The folks who crashed the wedding party in Yelapa, Mexico...
The wedding-crasher who had way too much to drink and then crashed in Yelapa, Mexico...
Crashing because I was SO DAGM TIRED when I got home from Yelapa, Mexico...
And my least favorite,
The car crash that happened to me this morning, in the USA, on my way to work the morning after I got home from Yelapa, Mexico.
So... what's new with you?
Okay okay-- I don't have it in me to type up all the great stories from my trip to Mexico right now, but I do want to say that I have never appreciated the very LOUD noise of the pounding surf as much as I did on Saturday Night. And I was also grateful for the mosquito netting around the bed. Not only did it keep all the crawly-biteys out, but it kept me from having a full frontal view of our naked guest after he and my roomie got out of the shower. Shower being a loose term, in this particular instance. In Yelapa, the showers are... rustic... and you get to share them with the local fauna.
Also on that subject, I have a new job title to add to my resume. I became the official lizard-wrangler at the wedding, thus allowing the bride to use the "bathroom" (again, a loose term in Yelapa) prior to the wedding ceremony. I'll have you know that no animals (or reptiles) were injured during my stay. They all went out the front door under their own power. I tell you, I am a master lizard-wrangler.
And my car accident? Well... not happy. Hopefully, I'll get a free rental for a few days. Hopefully, it only takes a few days to fix my car. Hopefully, they install an all-way stop at that dagmn intersection sooner than later. The officer did say, though, that this accident had less residual car-bits to clean up than most accidents at that intersection do. Yay. Nobody was hurt in any visible fashion. That's the good news.
Monday, December 3
The Phonebook Incident
So... One of my best friends is getting married soon, and we just had her bachelorette party. Excellent naughty cupcakes, let me tell you! Made me think back to some of the events surrounding my own wedding (back before the divorce and all)... Things that were crazy-making at the time, but are just so FUNNY now that so much time has passed!
Like when they forgot to deliver the wedding cake on the morning of, or when all the guys in the wedding party got drunk and shaved their heads the night before, or those hikers who got locked out of their car and wanted to make that phone call in the middle of the ceremony... Or the pie-eating incident...
The one that really made me laugh, though, was the memory of my leg waxing. Now, normally, a leg-wax is more of a scream than a laugh, but this was different. Well, not that different. I think there was actually a lot of screaming going on at the time. You see-- my mom made the appointment for me about two weeks before I got into town-- and didn't write it down anywhere. So there we were-- me and three frantic bride's maids-- trying to jog my mom's erstwhile memory, hunting for clues about who she might have called for my leg wax, and hoping I wasn't already late. I think we called two or three places in town and asked if they had an appointment for me on their books before I found the pencil dot next to one in particular in the phonebook she'd used.
That may have been the most stressful fifteen minutes of the whole weekend. Thank goodness she had remembered the time wrong, too! Man, is that a funny memory now. Adventures with mom. I tell you, there is nothing like laughing at old and now irrelevant memories to remind me how good it is to be single ... and independent.
... and how lucky I am to have such good friends to laugh and remember with...
Babe, I'm wishing you a beautiful wedding, to go with your beautiful relationship. One full of happy calm moments, and free from all those unexpected memories that are only funny a few years after the fact. Love you both.
oh, and by the way, thank you all for NOT telling me those stories until after the wedding was over and the guests had gone home. I'm not sure I could have handled the pressure as well as you all did, under the circumstances.
Like when they forgot to deliver the wedding cake on the morning of, or when all the guys in the wedding party got drunk and shaved their heads the night before, or those hikers who got locked out of their car and wanted to make that phone call in the middle of the ceremony... Or the pie-eating incident...
The one that really made me laugh, though, was the memory of my leg waxing. Now, normally, a leg-wax is more of a scream than a laugh, but this was different. Well, not that different. I think there was actually a lot of screaming going on at the time. You see-- my mom made the appointment for me about two weeks before I got into town-- and didn't write it down anywhere. So there we were-- me and three frantic bride's maids-- trying to jog my mom's erstwhile memory, hunting for clues about who she might have called for my leg wax, and hoping I wasn't already late. I think we called two or three places in town and asked if they had an appointment for me on their books before I found the pencil dot next to one in particular in the phonebook she'd used.
That may have been the most stressful fifteen minutes of the whole weekend. Thank goodness she had remembered the time wrong, too! Man, is that a funny memory now. Adventures with mom. I tell you, there is nothing like laughing at old and now irrelevant memories to remind me how good it is to be single ... and independent.
... and how lucky I am to have such good friends to laugh and remember with...
Babe, I'm wishing you a beautiful wedding, to go with your beautiful relationship. One full of happy calm moments, and free from all those unexpected memories that are only funny a few years after the fact. Love you both.
oh, and by the way, thank you all for NOT telling me those stories until after the wedding was over and the guests had gone home. I'm not sure I could have handled the pressure as well as you all did, under the circumstances.
Sunday, October 21
Neighborhood BBQ
It's 2am. I'm up and blogging because it's quiet. You know, in comparison to the last 25 minutes, during which time the all-building fire alarm was screaming at the top of its lungs.
Loudly.
But I learned that having some idiot pull the fire alarm at 1am is a REALLY good way to get to know your neighbors. No shigt, there we were. All of us. From the whole building. Standing around in our coats and sweat pants, laughing because we each determined that it wasn't OUR room that was on fire, and therefore tried to dismantle the ceiling alarm in our respective rooms... before we realized that this was not an alarm we could dismantle. No. In fact, someone came up from a different floor to apologize to those of us standing around outside, and explain that he'd left his friends alone in his apartment for a few minutes, and that someone had gone and pulled the fire alarm. Which can only be turned off by the fire department, it turns out. Thank god someone thought to call them.
We also laughed about what each of us thought to bring out of our apartments when we thought the building might be burning down. I brought my cat, my purse, and my book of passwords. I even remembered to put on pants and a coat, and get my car keys before I opened the door to my neighbors and went to stand in the cold for however long it took. The girl below me who thought to call the fire department took a moment to clean up her dirty clothes pile, and then grabbed her purse and her recycling so the place would be clean when the firemen arrived. She even had her make up on. A guy from down the way grabbed ear plugs and his leather coat. The guy below me grabbed his guitar.
Funny what matters most when you can't take everything. Funny that we all checked out our own places and assumed it was our own false alarm (because this happens a lot individually for us all-- any combination of cooking and oil will do it)... and that it took probably 5 or 10 minutes for us all to get out of our apartments. If it had been a real fire, would we have made it out?
I put my cat in the car, and then stood with everyone else on the sidewalk while people who'd been through this before told us how it happens, and how it gets turned off. And the guy with the do-it-yourself tattoos and the idiot friend (and the just-starting party) apologized. And finally the fire truck came. And they turned off the alarm. And we all wished each other a good night, and went back to our respective 2am activities. If my cat catches pneumonia, I know where to send the bill, that's for sure!
I've definitely decided to sleep in. Don't call me, k? And... I'm glad to say that most of my neighbors are pretty darn nice. Even at 2am.
Loudly.
But I learned that having some idiot pull the fire alarm at 1am is a REALLY good way to get to know your neighbors. No shigt, there we were. All of us. From the whole building. Standing around in our coats and sweat pants, laughing because we each determined that it wasn't OUR room that was on fire, and therefore tried to dismantle the ceiling alarm in our respective rooms... before we realized that this was not an alarm we could dismantle. No. In fact, someone came up from a different floor to apologize to those of us standing around outside, and explain that he'd left his friends alone in his apartment for a few minutes, and that someone had gone and pulled the fire alarm. Which can only be turned off by the fire department, it turns out. Thank god someone thought to call them.
We also laughed about what each of us thought to bring out of our apartments when we thought the building might be burning down. I brought my cat, my purse, and my book of passwords. I even remembered to put on pants and a coat, and get my car keys before I opened the door to my neighbors and went to stand in the cold for however long it took. The girl below me who thought to call the fire department took a moment to clean up her dirty clothes pile, and then grabbed her purse and her recycling so the place would be clean when the firemen arrived. She even had her make up on. A guy from down the way grabbed ear plugs and his leather coat. The guy below me grabbed his guitar.
Funny what matters most when you can't take everything. Funny that we all checked out our own places and assumed it was our own false alarm (because this happens a lot individually for us all-- any combination of cooking and oil will do it)... and that it took probably 5 or 10 minutes for us all to get out of our apartments. If it had been a real fire, would we have made it out?
I put my cat in the car, and then stood with everyone else on the sidewalk while people who'd been through this before told us how it happens, and how it gets turned off. And the guy with the do-it-yourself tattoos and the idiot friend (and the just-starting party) apologized. And finally the fire truck came. And they turned off the alarm. And we all wished each other a good night, and went back to our respective 2am activities. If my cat catches pneumonia, I know where to send the bill, that's for sure!
I've definitely decided to sleep in. Don't call me, k? And... I'm glad to say that most of my neighbors are pretty darn nice. Even at 2am.
Sunday, August 26
Eat It
I've concluded that puking in public parking lots is infinitely more humiliating than puking in the privacy of your own bathroom. I've also concluded that food poisoning sux as much this time as it did last year when I got it (by golly, I think that was in August, too!). And, to top it all off, puke stains are not easy to remove from the fabric of one's car.
On the plus side, I've reestablished my love of and appreciation for food, and I will now be stocking flat soda pop permanently in the back of my fridge, as it is the only thing I've found that STOPS the continued after-effects of food poisoning for me. I also want to thank my good friends, whom I called between frantic jaunts to the bathroom because I didn't have any soda pop, or soda crackers, or baking soda (for the car stains)-- and who called each other, and then eventually LG showed up at my door with half her pantry and a bunch of kids movies to make my life easier. Luckily, her pantry included some sprite and a whole box of soda crackers. I love my friends.
Oh, and my cat's tooth cleaning (and mine, come to think of it) went fine. It was just the drive home that was painful-- because that's when my food poisoning struck. She's fully recovered but for some short fur on her front leg where they had the tubes (you don't clean a cat's teeth when it's awake, thank you very much). I'm able to eat rice and potatoes and vegetables again, and water with no sprite in it, so things are getting better for me, too.
Oh, and classes start again tomorrow. Yay. On the plus side, it is my final semester in my quest for a Masters Degree, and I don't have that one professor this time. YAY! ...bbbboooosssseeee...
On the plus side, I've reestablished my love of and appreciation for food, and I will now be stocking flat soda pop permanently in the back of my fridge, as it is the only thing I've found that STOPS the continued after-effects of food poisoning for me. I also want to thank my good friends, whom I called between frantic jaunts to the bathroom because I didn't have any soda pop, or soda crackers, or baking soda (for the car stains)-- and who called each other, and then eventually LG showed up at my door with half her pantry and a bunch of kids movies to make my life easier. Luckily, her pantry included some sprite and a whole box of soda crackers. I love my friends.
Oh, and my cat's tooth cleaning (and mine, come to think of it) went fine. It was just the drive home that was painful-- because that's when my food poisoning struck. She's fully recovered but for some short fur on her front leg where they had the tubes (you don't clean a cat's teeth when it's awake, thank you very much). I'm able to eat rice and potatoes and vegetables again, and water with no sprite in it, so things are getting better for me, too.
Oh, and classes start again tomorrow. Yay. On the plus side, it is my final semester in my quest for a Masters Degree, and I don't have that one professor this time. YAY! ...bbbboooosssseeee...
Tuesday, May 22
Stuck to the TV
So... remember the Flaming Pizza Box story? Apparently, I didn't learn the lesson. Don't get me wrong- I love Ikea as much as the next starving college kid-- but I will never buy a tea light candle holder there again. I always figured with a TEA LIGHT that is already in it's little cup, putting it in a container MADE FOR TEA LIGHTS was a pretty safe way to burn a candle. I was wrong. Those "do not leave unattended" warning stickers are there for a REASON, people!
The particular candles I buy come from Z Gallerie, a store I love. They are supposed to be smokeless, dripless, and the wicks don't have any lead in them. A good thing, I think. The 50-tea-lights-in-a-bag that I bought previously were turning my wall and my tea light holder black. Yuck! I've used a good 20-30 of these little dubers already, and have had no problem with them in the past-- in my nice little glass cup, on top of a ceramic plate, on a fairly flame-safe surface in my living room. It's a very happy thing.
So I thought nothing of leaving one of them burning in a (supposedly ceramic) tea light HOLDER, sitting on top of the TV (which is on loan to me from a good friend) while I was doing things in the other room. Fast forward to two days later. I decide to watch a movie. I notice that the tea light holder on the TV seems shorter than I remember it being. OH. That's because it has melted down INTO THE PLASTIC of the TV. Grand.
(Okay. I'd just like to note that this sort of strangeness could only happen to me. Or to my co-star, Shana. So... WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS HIDING THIS TIME???!!!)
Closer examination reveals that the heat of the tealight heated the candle holder to such a degree that it MELTED THE TEA LIGHT CUP (these cups are plastic, not the traditional metal, under the mistaken assumption that they'll conduct the heat less well or they look fancier or something) to a charred black soup in the base of the tea light holder-- now a cold, hardened black soup that has become one with the holder itself. And the whole thing has sunken down into the plastic top of the TV-- about 1/2 inch. The borrowed TV. And the smoke alarm was blessedly silent while the plastics melted, burned, and reformed themselves there on the TV. The borrowed TV. (This is starting to feel strangely like poetry...)
On the bright side, the TV now has a unique and very handy cup holder on it's top-- and the picture and function were not affected in the slightest. On the down side, I'm throwing out all the tea light holders that I bought at IKEA last year. Sigh... Also on the bright side, the sudden personalization of the TV has been seen with humor by the person I borrowed it from, too. And, I will never forget about leaving candles unattended again-- the warning sticker from the bottom of the candle holder is permanently fused to the TV.
The particular candles I buy come from Z Gallerie, a store I love. They are supposed to be smokeless, dripless, and the wicks don't have any lead in them. A good thing, I think. The 50-tea-lights-in-a-bag that I bought previously were turning my wall and my tea light holder black. Yuck! I've used a good 20-30 of these little dubers already, and have had no problem with them in the past-- in my nice little glass cup, on top of a ceramic plate, on a fairly flame-safe surface in my living room. It's a very happy thing.
So I thought nothing of leaving one of them burning in a (supposedly ceramic) tea light HOLDER, sitting on top of the TV (which is on loan to me from a good friend) while I was doing things in the other room. Fast forward to two days later. I decide to watch a movie. I notice that the tea light holder on the TV seems shorter than I remember it being. OH. That's because it has melted down INTO THE PLASTIC of the TV. Grand.
(Okay. I'd just like to note that this sort of strangeness could only happen to me. Or to my co-star, Shana. So... WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS HIDING THIS TIME???!!!)
Closer examination reveals that the heat of the tealight heated the candle holder to such a degree that it MELTED THE TEA LIGHT CUP (these cups are plastic, not the traditional metal, under the mistaken assumption that they'll conduct the heat less well or they look fancier or something) to a charred black soup in the base of the tea light holder-- now a cold, hardened black soup that has become one with the holder itself. And the whole thing has sunken down into the plastic top of the TV-- about 1/2 inch. The borrowed TV. And the smoke alarm was blessedly silent while the plastics melted, burned, and reformed themselves there on the TV. The borrowed TV. (This is starting to feel strangely like poetry...)
On the bright side, the TV now has a unique and very handy cup holder on it's top-- and the picture and function were not affected in the slightest. On the down side, I'm throwing out all the tea light holders that I bought at IKEA last year. Sigh... Also on the bright side, the sudden personalization of the TV has been seen with humor by the person I borrowed it from, too. And, I will never forget about leaving candles unattended again-- the warning sticker from the bottom of the candle holder is permanently fused to the TV.
Saturday, May 12
So Totally... I Don't Know.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love Netflix? Love it. Recently, I received Noises Off in my mailbox. I haven't gotten my hands on this particular DVD-o-CornyHumor in many years... like since high school some time. And I probably inflicted it on all my poor high school friends (hi, H!) then, too.
Anyway, one of the characters doesn't use nouns. Ever. His use of adjectives is also fairly spotty. The title of this blog is a direct quote from one of his speeches in the movie. He's telling the director of the play that he's worked with a lot of directors, but never one "who is so totally... I don't know." It's a profound sentiment. Really.
I have the same reaction to my recent afternoon playing hooky (from my own list of to-do chores on my day off, no less) in a very specific neighborhood of the local big city. It was an afternoon that left me laughing, and at a complete loss for how to explain its profundity. Good lord! Profundity is a WORD! that my spellchecker KNOWS! Will wonders never cease.
I started the afternoon having a great little mutual vent with a girlfriend while standing in front of my hair salon. I really think beauty parlours are the unofficial counseling center of the world, you know. I've gotten the best haircuts from women who became close personal friends and confidants. And some of the worst wax jobs from women who didn't.
Anyway, had my hairs cut-- all but this one she always misses because it tucks itself behind my ear until she's sent me on my way-- at which point it hangs down and starts tickling my neck relentlessly. Feels exactly like a mosquito in heat. ARGH!!!! Then I decided to swing by this one little cool strip in East downtown-- and maybe drop into the bead store there or something. Came at the strip from a direction I've never come from before, and as a result I parked about four blocks further down the street than I intended-- and found not one but THREE shops I'd never even seen before but was quite interested to visit.
The first shop... well, I went in under the mistaken assumption that it was a kitchen boutique. The storefront said something about cutlery and gifts. Yeah. The bald mannequin holding an offering plate with red lipstick and a samurai sword on his back should have alerted me... but you know... that sort of thing is NORMAL on the strip, so I didn't even stop to consider. Yeah. I should have been checking the area for cameras. It was at this point that my afternoon went from "unscripted" to "I just know somebody has got to be filming this!"
The store was a samurai's dream. There was actually a little bit of cutlery on the back wall, by the way. A very little bit. The smallest paring knife was priced at $43.-- Most of the stuff in the cases and on the walls had nothing to do with the kitchen, however. Samurai swords, throwing swords, jungle-hackers, pocket knives, belt knives, throwing stars... Plus racks of robes, traditional leather body armor, symbols of protection, and a young man behind the counter with one of those shaved heads and a long flowing ponytail at the crown of his head-- showing an older gentleman in a nice button-up shirt and slacks how to play a bamboo flute.
I left the store about 45 minutes later having received a dinner invitation (or just tea if I'm not ready to date yet after my divorce-- do I like tea??), a phone number, a short reiki-style healing, a conversation about car accidents and military tactics (and the resulting emotional trauma of each), and a CD of personally recorded gospel music. WTF?? All I can say is that it was par for course on the strip, and it was actually quite a fun conversation with the nice Christian Grandfather (with over 57 years of experience with blades of all sorts, and a wife who played piano on the CD) and the nice Samurai Man (with a weird ponytail, and several recent car accidents under his belt, who wants to take me out for tea). I left feeling loved.
I sat down on the next set of steps I passed and called a friend. Someone who could appreciate how FUNNY the last hour had been. Umm... I just had an experience that was just so totally... I don't know. Help? Then we both started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Only on the strip, she said.
There's a bumper sticker I see very occasionally on cars out here, and I totally want one. It's a great shade of purple, and all it says is "COEXIST." However, each of the letters in the word has been turned (quite obviously, and with no loss of readability, if you can believe it) into a religious symbol, ranging from the Star of David to the Christian Cross to the Pagan five-point Star, to a bunch of other stuff. The reason I bring up this bumper sticker is that I've lived here for over a year now, and I still haven't found one store that actually CARRIES this bumper sticker.
Until Thursday. When I found the second store I'd never been in before. To get to it, you have to walk through a side entrance to a little diner (which said diner was closed, adding to the oddity of the entrance program), up some stairs, and into this little reformed attic of an old house which is full of a mix of eclectic new age books, candle holders, sketchy essential oil home-mixes, and slightly pogrnographigc plastic statues of witches wearing little black dresses and bent way over their cauldrons, Betty-Boop style.
HOWEVER, the ceiling rafters were lined with cool bumper stickers. Including the elusive COEXIST. Which the proprietor has to reorder before I can go back and buy one. And the store itself was definitely a trip. I'm not sure what the destination was, but hey-- it's all about the journey, right? I left there with an inexpensive and scholarly book about the role of Women in ancient Celtic life (a side interest of mine-- I designed an independent study course in college about Celtic and Irish folklore, and had the damnedest time finding anything about women that wasn't how they were virgins or shape-shifting faeries or really vengeful deities, so this was something of interest), and a total feeling of... I don't know.
Walk on down the strip, enter the third store. This is a store on the part of the strip I've visited in the past. I've often thought it looked like a neat place for unusual jewelry and random stuff. I just never knew for sure because every time I go past it, it's CLOSED. Except Thursday. It was open. Actually open. I've walked past on a Thursday before, you know. I tell you, it was closed. I went in. And immediately got sucked into a political rant about the current state of the world, and our little corner of it by the store owner. Luckily, we were on the same side. I don't even think the poor man stopped to breathe.
All I did was comment on the cool pendants in his display case, and he went off about the rising price of silver on the open market, to be followed quickly by a series of quiz questions about the earnings of our city cops vs a cop in New York City, and a living wage being about $20,000 a year if you want to be able to compete with workers in China, and he went from there to ... well, anyway, he gave me a price break on the one little trinket I did pick up, because I listened to him rant for about 30 minutes, and because he found out that I plan to be a public librarian some day. He feels I'll be "right there in the trenches!" And he has a lot of respect for that. And I know what he means. (But I still like breathing better than complaining in most circumstances. And a lot of my sentences may be run-ons, but MY GOD! this man would have given an English teacher a heart attack!)
See, Public Librarians don't get paid as much as Academic Librarians (college/university types), don't have the same job security, and don't get to be snobs about who they serve. Public Librarians have the goal of bringing library services to under served populations, and this includes the homeless, the homebound, the illiterate, the ill, the recent immigrant and don't forget the incarcerated and incompetent! I think that's part of what draws me to the field. You get to help people who really need help, or at least will make good use of what help is offered in many instances-- to make their lives better and happier-- and to help them become a bit more self-sufficient as they do it. Our goal is to help as many people as possible help themselves. And it's hard, dirty, smelly, difficult work at times.
I did eventually make it to the bead store, by the way. I learned that they only carry rainbow obsidian, which I don't want, and a lot of onxy, which appears to be easier to find, but I also don't want. Odd, really, considering all the active volcanoes along the West Coast.
Not sure this post has a point... but I would say that I loved meeting so many strangers who were educated, eloquent, and so obviously comfortable with expressing exactly who they are and what they believe. People who took me at face value, and gave what they have to give-- to all comers, regardless. I could learn a lesson from that. I definitely learned a lesson in judgment from the Gospel Grandfather and the Reiki Samurai Youth-- who were obviously old friends, regardless of differences in belief and background.
I find that in today's world, it's a challenge to be who you are, and to not worry about being liked or accepted or approved-- by anyone. To find a place in the world where you can make a living in line with your belief system, without compromise. That's the beauty of the strip, and I think, the secret to its success. You find elegant conservative business men, little old grandmothers, out witches, spaced-out Rastafarians, rainbow couples, and everyone in between enjoying the strip and its offerings. They know who they are, and they know they'll find something they like on the strip, because each store has something specific to offer, even if it's just a good bagel and shmear.
Self, thy name is... I don't know. With a lot of individuality and good humor thrown in. And as a side note, can I just tell you that I found a dead yellow jacket in my salad at lunch today?! People, WASH YOUR PRODUCE before you eat it. This is an important tip from the trenches.
Anyway, one of the characters doesn't use nouns. Ever. His use of adjectives is also fairly spotty. The title of this blog is a direct quote from one of his speeches in the movie. He's telling the director of the play that he's worked with a lot of directors, but never one "who is so totally... I don't know." It's a profound sentiment. Really.
I have the same reaction to my recent afternoon playing hooky (from my own list of to-do chores on my day off, no less) in a very specific neighborhood of the local big city. It was an afternoon that left me laughing, and at a complete loss for how to explain its profundity. Good lord! Profundity is a WORD! that my spellchecker KNOWS! Will wonders never cease.
I started the afternoon having a great little mutual vent with a girlfriend while standing in front of my hair salon. I really think beauty parlours are the unofficial counseling center of the world, you know. I've gotten the best haircuts from women who became close personal friends and confidants. And some of the worst wax jobs from women who didn't.
Anyway, had my hairs cut-- all but this one she always misses because it tucks itself behind my ear until she's sent me on my way-- at which point it hangs down and starts tickling my neck relentlessly. Feels exactly like a mosquito in heat. ARGH!!!! Then I decided to swing by this one little cool strip in East downtown-- and maybe drop into the bead store there or something. Came at the strip from a direction I've never come from before, and as a result I parked about four blocks further down the street than I intended-- and found not one but THREE shops I'd never even seen before but was quite interested to visit.
The first shop... well, I went in under the mistaken assumption that it was a kitchen boutique. The storefront said something about cutlery and gifts. Yeah. The bald mannequin holding an offering plate with red lipstick and a samurai sword on his back should have alerted me... but you know... that sort of thing is NORMAL on the strip, so I didn't even stop to consider. Yeah. I should have been checking the area for cameras. It was at this point that my afternoon went from "unscripted" to "I just know somebody has got to be filming this!"
The store was a samurai's dream. There was actually a little bit of cutlery on the back wall, by the way. A very little bit. The smallest paring knife was priced at $43.-- Most of the stuff in the cases and on the walls had nothing to do with the kitchen, however. Samurai swords, throwing swords, jungle-hackers, pocket knives, belt knives, throwing stars... Plus racks of robes, traditional leather body armor, symbols of protection, and a young man behind the counter with one of those shaved heads and a long flowing ponytail at the crown of his head-- showing an older gentleman in a nice button-up shirt and slacks how to play a bamboo flute.
I left the store about 45 minutes later having received a dinner invitation (or just tea if I'm not ready to date yet after my divorce-- do I like tea??), a phone number, a short reiki-style healing, a conversation about car accidents and military tactics (and the resulting emotional trauma of each), and a CD of personally recorded gospel music. WTF?? All I can say is that it was par for course on the strip, and it was actually quite a fun conversation with the nice Christian Grandfather (with over 57 years of experience with blades of all sorts, and a wife who played piano on the CD) and the nice Samurai Man (with a weird ponytail, and several recent car accidents under his belt, who wants to take me out for tea). I left feeling loved.
I sat down on the next set of steps I passed and called a friend. Someone who could appreciate how FUNNY the last hour had been. Umm... I just had an experience that was just so totally... I don't know. Help? Then we both started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Only on the strip, she said.
There's a bumper sticker I see very occasionally on cars out here, and I totally want one. It's a great shade of purple, and all it says is "COEXIST." However, each of the letters in the word has been turned (quite obviously, and with no loss of readability, if you can believe it) into a religious symbol, ranging from the Star of David to the Christian Cross to the Pagan five-point Star, to a bunch of other stuff. The reason I bring up this bumper sticker is that I've lived here for over a year now, and I still haven't found one store that actually CARRIES this bumper sticker.
Until Thursday. When I found the second store I'd never been in before. To get to it, you have to walk through a side entrance to a little diner (which said diner was closed, adding to the oddity of the entrance program), up some stairs, and into this little reformed attic of an old house which is full of a mix of eclectic new age books, candle holders, sketchy essential oil home-mixes, and slightly pogrnographigc plastic statues of witches wearing little black dresses and bent way over their cauldrons, Betty-Boop style.
HOWEVER, the ceiling rafters were lined with cool bumper stickers. Including the elusive COEXIST. Which the proprietor has to reorder before I can go back and buy one. And the store itself was definitely a trip. I'm not sure what the destination was, but hey-- it's all about the journey, right? I left there with an inexpensive and scholarly book about the role of Women in ancient Celtic life (a side interest of mine-- I designed an independent study course in college about Celtic and Irish folklore, and had the damnedest time finding anything about women that wasn't how they were virgins or shape-shifting faeries or really vengeful deities, so this was something of interest), and a total feeling of... I don't know.
Walk on down the strip, enter the third store. This is a store on the part of the strip I've visited in the past. I've often thought it looked like a neat place for unusual jewelry and random stuff. I just never knew for sure because every time I go past it, it's CLOSED. Except Thursday. It was open. Actually open. I've walked past on a Thursday before, you know. I tell you, it was closed. I went in. And immediately got sucked into a political rant about the current state of the world, and our little corner of it by the store owner. Luckily, we were on the same side. I don't even think the poor man stopped to breathe.
All I did was comment on the cool pendants in his display case, and he went off about the rising price of silver on the open market, to be followed quickly by a series of quiz questions about the earnings of our city cops vs a cop in New York City, and a living wage being about $20,000 a year if you want to be able to compete with workers in China, and he went from there to ... well, anyway, he gave me a price break on the one little trinket I did pick up, because I listened to him rant for about 30 minutes, and because he found out that I plan to be a public librarian some day. He feels I'll be "right there in the trenches!" And he has a lot of respect for that. And I know what he means. (But I still like breathing better than complaining in most circumstances. And a lot of my sentences may be run-ons, but MY GOD! this man would have given an English teacher a heart attack!)
See, Public Librarians don't get paid as much as Academic Librarians (college/university types), don't have the same job security, and don't get to be snobs about who they serve. Public Librarians have the goal of bringing library services to under served populations, and this includes the homeless, the homebound, the illiterate, the ill, the recent immigrant and don't forget the incarcerated and incompetent! I think that's part of what draws me to the field. You get to help people who really need help, or at least will make good use of what help is offered in many instances-- to make their lives better and happier-- and to help them become a bit more self-sufficient as they do it. Our goal is to help as many people as possible help themselves. And it's hard, dirty, smelly, difficult work at times.
I did eventually make it to the bead store, by the way. I learned that they only carry rainbow obsidian, which I don't want, and a lot of onxy, which appears to be easier to find, but I also don't want. Odd, really, considering all the active volcanoes along the West Coast.
Not sure this post has a point... but I would say that I loved meeting so many strangers who were educated, eloquent, and so obviously comfortable with expressing exactly who they are and what they believe. People who took me at face value, and gave what they have to give-- to all comers, regardless. I could learn a lesson from that. I definitely learned a lesson in judgment from the Gospel Grandfather and the Reiki Samurai Youth-- who were obviously old friends, regardless of differences in belief and background.
I find that in today's world, it's a challenge to be who you are, and to not worry about being liked or accepted or approved-- by anyone. To find a place in the world where you can make a living in line with your belief system, without compromise. That's the beauty of the strip, and I think, the secret to its success. You find elegant conservative business men, little old grandmothers, out witches, spaced-out Rastafarians, rainbow couples, and everyone in between enjoying the strip and its offerings. They know who they are, and they know they'll find something they like on the strip, because each store has something specific to offer, even if it's just a good bagel and shmear.
Self, thy name is... I don't know. With a lot of individuality and good humor thrown in. And as a side note, can I just tell you that I found a dead yellow jacket in my salad at lunch today?! People, WASH YOUR PRODUCE before you eat it. This is an important tip from the trenches.
Friday, March 16
Errgh
Fun with Blogs, I've had. Yoda I am not. Clever, I am!
So... my friend started bugging me to get a flicker account. Then I noticed that flicker just got bought out by Yahoo, who I happen to think are a bunch of Yahoos, so I'm not signing up until I absolutely have to. However, in the spirit of sharing, I have created three new blogs based on the err-what concept.
Welcome t0 an err with my personal photo album, err-whynot, and an err with my professional resume and other job-related nonsense on it. I haven't actually created the resume one yet, so I'll get back to you on that.
I'm not really advertising the photos page. As you know, I've done my humble (and profane) best to maintain a semi-anonymous state of protection and production on this awesome blog of mine here. And since I'm posting my photo and detailed commentary for all heck to see on the photo album website, I'm not giving you a link to it. Sorry.
I am, however, quite proud of the other two names, even if I haven't actually DONE anything with either blog yet. Isn't it amazing how many different ways there are for me to NOT do homework??
More after I shower and buy food and water and contact solution and cat litter. Wouldn't you know it- I'm out of all the basics! At least... *I* think these are basic necessities. If I can't see, I can't type, you know. Or drive. Or play well with others. And kitty litter... the world as we know it would end if we didn't have kitty litter! I mean- good god, the smell alone would kill you! And water... well, it's WATER.
So... my friend started bugging me to get a flicker account. Then I noticed that flicker just got bought out by Yahoo, who I happen to think are a bunch of Yahoos, so I'm not signing up until I absolutely have to. However, in the spirit of sharing, I have created three new blogs based on the err-what concept.
Welcome t0 an err with my personal photo album, err-whynot, and an err with my professional resume and other job-related nonsense on it. I haven't actually created the resume one yet, so I'll get back to you on that.
I'm not really advertising the photos page. As you know, I've done my humble (and profane) best to maintain a semi-anonymous state of protection and production on this awesome blog of mine here. And since I'm posting my photo and detailed commentary for all heck to see on the photo album website, I'm not giving you a link to it. Sorry.
I am, however, quite proud of the other two names, even if I haven't actually DONE anything with either blog yet. Isn't it amazing how many different ways there are for me to NOT do homework??
More after I shower and buy food and water and contact solution and cat litter. Wouldn't you know it- I'm out of all the basics! At least... *I* think these are basic necessities. If I can't see, I can't type, you know. Or drive. Or play well with others. And kitty litter... the world as we know it would end if we didn't have kitty litter! I mean- good god, the smell alone would kill you! And water... well, it's WATER.
Thursday, February 1
The Flaming Pizza Box Story
Okay. So even though it's totally gauche to post TWO BLOGS on the same day... having mentioned the flaming pizza box story in the last post, which you really aughta read first anyway, I just gotta tell you the flaming pizza box story. In sequence. With major disclaimers so no one gets into trouble. And the one about the Eagle Scout and the bear with the dirty underwear can wait for another time. Trust me.
Ahem.
THIS IS A TOTAL FABRICATION. I TELL YOU, IT NEVER HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE.
(And the cameras filming the sitcom of my life were not rolling somewhere in the background, either. Nu-uh. ) I TELL YOU, THERE IS NO PROOF! AND ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL. THEY HAVE NO BASIS IN ANYONE YOU KNOW OR I KNOW IN REAL LIFE, OR THAT I'VE CASUALLY MENTIONED IN THIS BLOG BEFORE. NONE. NADA. ZIP. NO WAY, HOZAY! NIET. NIEN. NON. NONE.
Right. So. Anyway,
This guy I eventually married lived in a "dorm" while attending "college." AKA: West Point. The Army calls these dorms "Barracks," and they have all the same rules as a dorm, only you aren't allowed to have your lights on after 10pm, and you can't have girls in the boys' room without the door open, and you have to be fully clothed and sitting on different pieces of furniture even if the door IS open (and it had better not be after 10pm!). I kid you not. You can get dishognorably dgischarged for some of it... if you get caught...
So, naturally, no candles are allowed. But, here he was, with a candle on his desk. Lit. (Remember, this is a fictional story.) And he had his window open, because, just like the dorms you remember, this was nearly summer vacation, and there was no A/C. On the far side of the lit candle from the window was an open pizza box. Empty. Inhaled within 20 seconds of being delivered. By no less than 20 armed guards. You think I'm kidding. OH- and they did it in a linear and circumspect fashion, because it is BAD LUCK to break the wheel of a pizza by taking a slice out from somewhere other than the place the first slice was taken from! Seriously. Ask your local neighborhood USMA graduate. I've been banned from pizza parties before because I ALMOST broke the wheel. HORRORS!
Anyway... this random guy who almost-but-not-quite looked exactly like my ex-husband eight years ago... was smart. He made sure to keep the lit candle a good two feet away from the empty pizza box on his desk. But, he's not that smart because he leaves his room for a moment. He actually -gasp!- leaves a lit candle unattended! And this story is the moral to why this rule is so important that your parents and your college refuse to allow you to light candles in your bedroom. They don't even know about this story. And if you don't tell them either, we can keep it that way!
So, two minutes later, he returns to his room. And to flames shooting up from the pizza box-- a good two or three feet high. Cut to scene of tall, broad, and athletic young man RUNNING DOWN THE HALL WITH A FLAMING PIZZA BOX IN HIS HANDS, frantically dodging frozen-with-awe year-mates like a blitzing quarterback, in his quest to reach the mass shower room before the box a) burns his hands, or b) sets off the sprinkler system, or c) is noticed by anyone who can then ruin his future military career... While his roommate (who somehow hadn't noticed the flames until just that moment either) frantically waves a copy of his (my ex's) final term paper under the fire alarm-cum-automatic sprinkler system, to keep the remaining smoke in the room from setting it off and ruining everyone's life.
Yes.
So, How did this priceless moment happen???, you ask. Well, there was a box of kleenex sitting on the window sill. All these future engineers for the Army put their close-shaved heads together-- those who'd witnessed the flaming pizza box run, and therefore ...KNEW... --and the only thing they could come up with was that a breeze from the open window must have loosened an individual kleenex from the box, which then wafted over the lit candle, where it caught fire, and continued-- on fire-- to waft the additional two or three feet until it landed squarely on the open-but-empty grease-saturated pizza box, and resulted in some very tall, very blue, flames.
But, of course, this story isn't actually about real events, you see. So... children... don't try this at home. And, whatever you do, don't leave kleenex on your open windowsill if you plan to light an illicit candle in your bedroom. Trust me on this.
And, if you read the other blog from today (highly recommended) before reading this one... you now understand why I was so surprised that my kleenex wasn't great tinder for lighting my own personal illicit fire. No. It wasn't. That would have been too easy. And the filming crew must be amused. For, after all, the show must go on! (...at least until we're all filthy rich from it's popularity, and then we can just make some extra spending money off the reruns for a few years. ...Anybody wanna start paying me? Any time now. It worked for Arlo, and nobody believed anything HE told us about his personal history, either. But I'm telling you-- NOBODY COULD MAKE SHIGT LIKE THIS UP!)
Ahem.
THIS IS A TOTAL FABRICATION. I TELL YOU, IT NEVER HAPPENED IN REAL LIFE.
(And the cameras filming the sitcom of my life were not rolling somewhere in the background, either. Nu-uh. ) I TELL YOU, THERE IS NO PROOF! AND ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONAL. THEY HAVE NO BASIS IN ANYONE YOU KNOW OR I KNOW IN REAL LIFE, OR THAT I'VE CASUALLY MENTIONED IN THIS BLOG BEFORE. NONE. NADA. ZIP. NO WAY, HOZAY! NIET. NIEN. NON. NONE.
Right. So. Anyway,
This guy I eventually married lived in a "dorm" while attending "college." AKA: West Point. The Army calls these dorms "Barracks," and they have all the same rules as a dorm, only you aren't allowed to have your lights on after 10pm, and you can't have girls in the boys' room without the door open, and you have to be fully clothed and sitting on different pieces of furniture even if the door IS open (and it had better not be after 10pm!). I kid you not. You can get dishognorably dgischarged for some of it... if you get caught...
So, naturally, no candles are allowed. But, here he was, with a candle on his desk. Lit. (Remember, this is a fictional story.) And he had his window open, because, just like the dorms you remember, this was nearly summer vacation, and there was no A/C. On the far side of the lit candle from the window was an open pizza box. Empty. Inhaled within 20 seconds of being delivered. By no less than 20 armed guards. You think I'm kidding. OH- and they did it in a linear and circumspect fashion, because it is BAD LUCK to break the wheel of a pizza by taking a slice out from somewhere other than the place the first slice was taken from! Seriously. Ask your local neighborhood USMA graduate. I've been banned from pizza parties before because I ALMOST broke the wheel. HORRORS!
Anyway... this random guy who almost-but-not-quite looked exactly like my ex-husband eight years ago... was smart. He made sure to keep the lit candle a good two feet away from the empty pizza box on his desk. But, he's not that smart because he leaves his room for a moment. He actually -gasp!- leaves a lit candle unattended! And this story is the moral to why this rule is so important that your parents and your college refuse to allow you to light candles in your bedroom. They don't even know about this story. And if you don't tell them either, we can keep it that way!
So, two minutes later, he returns to his room. And to flames shooting up from the pizza box-- a good two or three feet high. Cut to scene of tall, broad, and athletic young man RUNNING DOWN THE HALL WITH A FLAMING PIZZA BOX IN HIS HANDS, frantically dodging frozen-with-awe year-mates like a blitzing quarterback, in his quest to reach the mass shower room before the box a) burns his hands, or b) sets off the sprinkler system, or c) is noticed by anyone who can then ruin his future military career... While his roommate (who somehow hadn't noticed the flames until just that moment either) frantically waves a copy of his (my ex's) final term paper under the fire alarm-cum-automatic sprinkler system, to keep the remaining smoke in the room from setting it off and ruining everyone's life.
Yes.
So, How did this priceless moment happen???, you ask. Well, there was a box of kleenex sitting on the window sill. All these future engineers for the Army put their close-shaved heads together-- those who'd witnessed the flaming pizza box run, and therefore ...KNEW... --and the only thing they could come up with was that a breeze from the open window must have loosened an individual kleenex from the box, which then wafted over the lit candle, where it caught fire, and continued-- on fire-- to waft the additional two or three feet until it landed squarely on the open-but-empty grease-saturated pizza box, and resulted in some very tall, very blue, flames.
But, of course, this story isn't actually about real events, you see. So... children... don't try this at home. And, whatever you do, don't leave kleenex on your open windowsill if you plan to light an illicit candle in your bedroom. Trust me on this.
And, if you read the other blog from today (highly recommended) before reading this one... you now understand why I was so surprised that my kleenex wasn't great tinder for lighting my own personal illicit fire. No. It wasn't. That would have been too easy. And the filming crew must be amused. For, after all, the show must go on! (...at least until we're all filthy rich from it's popularity, and then we can just make some extra spending money off the reruns for a few years. ...Anybody wanna start paying me? Any time now. It worked for Arlo, and nobody believed anything HE told us about his personal history, either. But I'm telling you-- NOBODY COULD MAKE SHIGT LIKE THIS UP!)
Monday, January 8
Flickering
There. All I did was describe what they often do, and you KNEW I was talking about candles!! ...unless you thought I referred to some random technological gadget... No matter! The topic of the day is candles.
Isn't it amazing how the quality of light, and amount of smoke a candle creates can vary so much? And the length of the wick beyond the top of the candle both determines how BIG the flame will be, and how fast the candle will burn down! Finally-- technology I can understand! I can use all sorts of technology with no problem. I can even learn a new computer program without instruction or read the directions on a new gadget and use it with confidence... but that doesn't mean that I actually understand what's going on, or how A+B goes about always equalling C. But candles? Those I can really comprehend.
I actually found a candle recently that burns clean, has no smell, gives off a very reliable steady light, is supposed to last for 56 hours (I've burned it for about a total of 10 hours so far, I think, and its not much shorter than when I bought it.)... it's a gorgeous not-quite-white so I really love looking at both the flame and the candle together... and it only cost $7. Wow. Now THAT is affordable technology!
There are candles collecting dust on my shelves that cost a lot more than $7, and had all sorts of great selling features when I bought them... but there they are... collecting dust. And its not just that I'm an infrequent candle-burner, either. I've lit a candle almost every day (or two or three) since I put up my first Christmas lights at Thanksgiving... and a few times even before that. I'm more of a seasonal candle-burner. Adding more heat to a stifling room in August just doesn't appeal to me somehow...
The thing is that it has taken me this long to find a candle I really like. I've found candles I really liked for a day or two... but because I liked them so much when I found them, I bought big ones, and they definitely were built to last for more than a day or two. Unfortunately, the candle's appeal didn't last that long. I wish there was a candle-recycling program. Wax is a very reusable substance, and I just can't bring myself to THROW OUT a 2/3 burned candle. I can't even regift it! What a waste of a perfectly good resource. But candles aren't something that the commercial industry thinks anyone would buy used, and apparently they don't do enough damage to the environment to warrant sorting them out of landfills or giving them their own bin at the recycling centers I've visited.
I guess the good news is that with enough preparation, research, unused wicks, as well as free time and creativity, we can recycle our own half-used candles. Melt them down in a double boiler, roll new ones in wax paper with a brand new wick at the center, and let them cool. There you have it. Perfectly good unused candles. Of course, mine would be brown. I've got red and green and white and blue and probably variations of each color... and most of them have a scent. That seems to be what draws me to candles initially... and why I'm so happy to continue using my $7 unscented candle over and over again now while the other candles go on collecting dust. What would pomegranate and evergreen smell like, mixed with "fresh linen," for example? It worries me.
What if the combination I come up with is even less appealing than the original ones I started with? What if re-melting the wax makes the scent STRONGER?? What if I get done making the candles, and the wicks just FALL OUT??? I'm telling you, technology still has the power to make me nervous. If you enjoy living on the edge, taking risks, destroying the old and creating something totally new out of the ashes, let me know. I've got a box full of half-burned candles on the bottom shelf, and they're not going anywhere.
Isn't it amazing how the quality of light, and amount of smoke a candle creates can vary so much? And the length of the wick beyond the top of the candle both determines how BIG the flame will be, and how fast the candle will burn down! Finally-- technology I can understand! I can use all sorts of technology with no problem. I can even learn a new computer program without instruction or read the directions on a new gadget and use it with confidence... but that doesn't mean that I actually understand what's going on, or how A+B goes about always equalling C. But candles? Those I can really comprehend.
I actually found a candle recently that burns clean, has no smell, gives off a very reliable steady light, is supposed to last for 56 hours (I've burned it for about a total of 10 hours so far, I think, and its not much shorter than when I bought it.)... it's a gorgeous not-quite-white so I really love looking at both the flame and the candle together... and it only cost $7. Wow. Now THAT is affordable technology!
There are candles collecting dust on my shelves that cost a lot more than $7, and had all sorts of great selling features when I bought them... but there they are... collecting dust. And its not just that I'm an infrequent candle-burner, either. I've lit a candle almost every day (or two or three) since I put up my first Christmas lights at Thanksgiving... and a few times even before that. I'm more of a seasonal candle-burner. Adding more heat to a stifling room in August just doesn't appeal to me somehow...
The thing is that it has taken me this long to find a candle I really like. I've found candles I really liked for a day or two... but because I liked them so much when I found them, I bought big ones, and they definitely were built to last for more than a day or two. Unfortunately, the candle's appeal didn't last that long. I wish there was a candle-recycling program. Wax is a very reusable substance, and I just can't bring myself to THROW OUT a 2/3 burned candle. I can't even regift it! What a waste of a perfectly good resource. But candles aren't something that the commercial industry thinks anyone would buy used, and apparently they don't do enough damage to the environment to warrant sorting them out of landfills or giving them their own bin at the recycling centers I've visited.
I guess the good news is that with enough preparation, research, unused wicks, as well as free time and creativity, we can recycle our own half-used candles. Melt them down in a double boiler, roll new ones in wax paper with a brand new wick at the center, and let them cool. There you have it. Perfectly good unused candles. Of course, mine would be brown. I've got red and green and white and blue and probably variations of each color... and most of them have a scent. That seems to be what draws me to candles initially... and why I'm so happy to continue using my $7 unscented candle over and over again now while the other candles go on collecting dust. What would pomegranate and evergreen smell like, mixed with "fresh linen," for example? It worries me.
What if the combination I come up with is even less appealing than the original ones I started with? What if re-melting the wax makes the scent STRONGER?? What if I get done making the candles, and the wicks just FALL OUT??? I'm telling you, technology still has the power to make me nervous. If you enjoy living on the edge, taking risks, destroying the old and creating something totally new out of the ashes, let me know. I've got a box full of half-burned candles on the bottom shelf, and they're not going anywhere.
Wednesday, December 27
A Post Saved Is A Post Posted
Wow. I just wrote my usual long thoughtful blog entry. I re-read the entry. I edited it. I tried, for the first time, to add photos. Twice. Then I tried to move the location of the photos within the post. Notice I haven't yet said "I hit save." Yeah.
So... to recap what you will never now read, and I don't have the patience or the time to try and recreate...
Here are the pictures of a great wall mural and some quilted tapestries I've recently created, and wanted to celebrate by including:
I get sentimental and appreciative at this time of year. "Gag me with a spoon!"
(This all made sense in the original, I swear.)
The First Wive's Club is a great movie about three middle-aged women becoming empowered through their friendship at a time when each of their husbands has left them for a younger woman. One woman's mother says to her, "You're 46, you have a husband, you have a daughter. You're very happy. You don't need self-esteem!" It's a funny movie, and I love how the women don't hate men, but end up not feeling dependent on them or controlled by them any more. It's liberating.
Here are some of the women I want to thank for empowering me and sharing their great wisdom, even though they aren't rich movie stars: the Beautifuls, the musician, the school principals, the borrowed mothers of my friends, the muddy librarian, the business woman, the Scorpio, the stampers, and the artist's counselor. Thanks.
(Remember, I'm re-capping.)
One of my all-time favorite movie quotes is from Miss Congeniality. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, I have gel in my hair, and I'm armed-- Don't mess with me."
More another time.
So... to recap what you will never now read, and I don't have the patience or the time to try and recreate...
Here are the pictures of a great wall mural and some quilted tapestries I've recently created, and wanted to celebrate by including:
I get sentimental and appreciative at this time of year. "Gag me with a spoon!"
(This all made sense in the original, I swear.)
The First Wive's Club is a great movie about three middle-aged women becoming empowered through their friendship at a time when each of their husbands has left them for a younger woman. One woman's mother says to her, "You're 46, you have a husband, you have a daughter. You're very happy. You don't need self-esteem!" It's a funny movie, and I love how the women don't hate men, but end up not feeling dependent on them or controlled by them any more. It's liberating.
Here are some of the women I want to thank for empowering me and sharing their great wisdom, even though they aren't rich movie stars: the Beautifuls, the musician, the school principals, the borrowed mothers of my friends, the muddy librarian, the business woman, the Scorpio, the stampers, and the artist's counselor. Thanks.
(Remember, I'm re-capping.)
One of my all-time favorite movie quotes is from Miss Congeniality. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, I have gel in my hair, and I'm armed-- Don't mess with me."
More another time.
Sunday, December 3
Not Really
Bear with me. I don't always spell things correctly, and I'm not really sure what I'll write in a blog, though my original idea started with this:
"Catta-what? ooh-- I could title each entry with a new word! One could be catta-dict (for how much I like cats), and one could be catta-tonic (about how tired I'll be after this round of finals), and one could be catta-clysmic (for one of the many ridiculous situations my car and I will probably survive in the near future), and one could be catta-racts (for how blind I am without my glasses, and what happened because...), and one could be catta-log (of complaints? of advice? of websites?), and ..."
It was just an idea. Now I'm more interested in making you laugh.
Yes. I like cats-- and some dogs, and even babies, as long as I can give them back after an hour or so. Small drooly soft beings that require us to buy extra equipment for their beds and their car rides and their potty habits and their teeth and their entertainment and their delicate tummies and their need for exercise. I used to be afraid of dogs-- especially big dogs with long tongues. Its really disconcerting to walk up to a friend's house and find that you are the exact height of the dog's tongue (I was five), and he ain't afraid to use it! I was glad to get taller then that. Then I learned that big dogs can rear up on their hind legs, so that they are STILL the exact height of your face-- and if they weigh more than you when they rear up... Its actually more difficult to get away from a dog when it is above you than when it is beside you. I was afraid of dogs because I knew there was no escaping them. Then I was left alone with an 85-pound pitbull mix for a year (I was 25). I was responsible for her physical health, her mental well-being, for cleaning up before and after her, and for keeping her from licking any unsuspecting children. I... was... responsible. I am not really afraid of dogs, their tongues, or their potty habits anymore. There are even specific dogs that I really enjoy. But I like cats.
(Hi, Aussie-- I know you are reading this, and yes- you are one of the dogs I enjoy.) Aussie is very smart. She knows three languages, if you include "Dog." But she's not mine to brag about.
And yes- I'm going to school right now. Graduate School. Its the All-American pastime, and those of us who chose this route do it because we really HOPE it will eventually lead to a job with high enough pay to counteract all the debt we incurred to qualify for the job. I love going to school, but I do often wonder if those people who skip school and earn their qualifications through hands-on experience and basic know-how don't have the smarter career plan. These are the people who will eventually train me to actually do the work my future job requires.
And yes- I own a car. Its been through a lot with me. Five moves. An 85-pound dog. Blinding snow storms that only existed in the five miles around my house, so I still had to go to work. Several different tastes in bumper stickers. A random five-car pile-up that happened on a 25-mph road, squarely in front of a busy emergency room at a major hospital, and everybody refused to ride in the ambulance that the police officer HAD to call anyway. (I was not at fault. Of course, nobody else felt that they were at fault either.) Like I said-- we've been through a lot together.
And so... I leave you.
(I've recently watched the movie, "Much Ado About Nothing," from MGM in 1993. If you've recently watched the movie, this ending may make sense. If not... then sigh no more, and let it go. Passion, love, hate, humor, rumor, sheeps guts, premarital sex, marriage, war, murder, Keanu Reeves, Michael Keaton, and Denzel Washington all in the same movie-- you'd probably find it boring anyway.)
"Catta-what? ooh-- I could title each entry with a new word! One could be catta-dict (for how much I like cats), and one could be catta-tonic (about how tired I'll be after this round of finals), and one could be catta-clysmic (for one of the many ridiculous situations my car and I will probably survive in the near future), and one could be catta-racts (for how blind I am without my glasses, and what happened because...), and one could be catta-log (of complaints? of advice? of websites?), and ..."
It was just an idea. Now I'm more interested in making you laugh.
Yes. I like cats-- and some dogs, and even babies, as long as I can give them back after an hour or so. Small drooly soft beings that require us to buy extra equipment for their beds and their car rides and their potty habits and their teeth and their entertainment and their delicate tummies and their need for exercise. I used to be afraid of dogs-- especially big dogs with long tongues. Its really disconcerting to walk up to a friend's house and find that you are the exact height of the dog's tongue (I was five), and he ain't afraid to use it! I was glad to get taller then that. Then I learned that big dogs can rear up on their hind legs, so that they are STILL the exact height of your face-- and if they weigh more than you when they rear up... Its actually more difficult to get away from a dog when it is above you than when it is beside you. I was afraid of dogs because I knew there was no escaping them. Then I was left alone with an 85-pound pitbull mix for a year (I was 25). I was responsible for her physical health, her mental well-being, for cleaning up before and after her, and for keeping her from licking any unsuspecting children. I... was... responsible. I am not really afraid of dogs, their tongues, or their potty habits anymore. There are even specific dogs that I really enjoy. But I like cats.
(Hi, Aussie-- I know you are reading this, and yes- you are one of the dogs I enjoy.) Aussie is very smart. She knows three languages, if you include "Dog." But she's not mine to brag about.
And yes- I'm going to school right now. Graduate School. Its the All-American pastime, and those of us who chose this route do it because we really HOPE it will eventually lead to a job with high enough pay to counteract all the debt we incurred to qualify for the job. I love going to school, but I do often wonder if those people who skip school and earn their qualifications through hands-on experience and basic know-how don't have the smarter career plan. These are the people who will eventually train me to actually do the work my future job requires.
And yes- I own a car. Its been through a lot with me. Five moves. An 85-pound dog. Blinding snow storms that only existed in the five miles around my house, so I still had to go to work. Several different tastes in bumper stickers. A random five-car pile-up that happened on a 25-mph road, squarely in front of a busy emergency room at a major hospital, and everybody refused to ride in the ambulance that the police officer HAD to call anyway. (I was not at fault. Of course, nobody else felt that they were at fault either.) Like I said-- we've been through a lot together.
And so... I leave you.
(I've recently watched the movie, "Much Ado About Nothing," from MGM in 1993. If you've recently watched the movie, this ending may make sense. If not... then sigh no more, and let it go. Passion, love, hate, humor, rumor, sheeps guts, premarital sex, marriage, war, murder, Keanu Reeves, Michael Keaton, and Denzel Washington all in the same movie-- you'd probably find it boring anyway.)
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