I don't have an e-mail

Fear of holes...

2007-04-28T18:02:00.000-04:00

1) If I hear one more thing about Global Warming, I'm going to leasetrade.com and trading my Volvo lease for a Hummer. Climate change is not new. It's a little self-centered to think that it can be stopped. Shut up Sheryl Crow and Laurie David! Love that you're so in touch with the probably middle-class college population that can afford hybrid cars. What planet are you living on? Although, I would've been supportive of you smearing your one square in Rove's face.

2) I know it's not real, but I am still haunted and a little obsessed about the mass e-mailing of the boob superimposed with the lotus seed pod. You can see it on Snopes.com if you do a search under "breast rash." It's like a train wreck, I just can't look away, but I've been threatened that we're going to have netnanny software installed because B is tired of hearing me go "ewwwww" and sending it to people so that I can go "ewwww" on the phone with them. Besides a fear of zombies, I have a fear of holes in things where there shouldn't be holes. I'm not talking piercings or anyhthing like that, but holes in boobs that are either semi-filled with what looks like worms or left empty and dark because there were once worms there freak me out. I'm sure there's a name for it.

3) Looks like we'll be CA residents for a while, can't afford a house here, but we'll be here. I'm trading personal care for chocolate and I can't wait. No more babysitting. No more explaining the point of the exchange of work for pay. No more showing people how to turn on a computer, or telling grown adults that they need to get along with each other and learn to share tools or papertowels or whatever, or that they need to find a notebook or place to keep their passwords so that I don't have to stay on the phone with IT for an hour trying to unlock their locked accounts so that they can do said day's work only to get locked out several weeks later. No more hearing that I'm a racist against my own race because I asked someone to do their job and they're unhappy about that. Better yet, no more hearing that I'm a Kentucky racist against my own race because you know how they are. No more of hearing from management that after having been called a racist by someone "who is just two paychecks shy of homeless crazy" with paranoid delusions who seems to have a history of "issues" with others, that I should just continue being my same old "sweet self" and act as though nothing happened so as not to insult the person who called me a racist although the same crazy person asked that I keep them in mind for a job at my new place...yeah, I'll get right on that. No more being asked by managers, "how was your weekend, have you made it up to Big Bear yet?" when you know that I've spent most of my weekends at work.

I may even get a scooter to make the new 8 mile commute vs the 28 mile one. It should fit in the space with my Hummer just fine. I think I will celebrate the new position by burning my steel-toed shoes. Let's be honest, I don't hike and I don't build things. It'll be odd having to plan a wardrobe again, but I like being able to wear my "cute clothes" again instead of pulling on one of many black-hoodies and jeans everyday. I don't know if I'll even be able to wear the hoodies again. I may have to burn those too.

4) I love having a dog. He's still alive--4 months with us and counting!!!! He graduatess puppy school tomorrow and I won't be there to see it because I have to make one last trip for my current job, but I know he'll do well. Hopefully he will avoid pooping on the floor of the Petsmart this time, but that's why they have OOPS! stations in every aisle.

5) I am really 2 episodes away from giving up on Lost, but like the lotus seed boob, I can't stop watching.

Meh...

2006-11-29T11:50:00.000-05:00

I had this whole thing about going home for the holidays and seeing people and memories good and bad and nostalgia planned, but seeing as how I've been filling out my annual review form for the last two days only to find that we now have an extended deadline and I could've been using that vacation time for X-mas shopping or sleeping or whatever that doesn't have to do with work, I just didn't have it in me...

Just a few thoughts:

1. Edward Scissorhands is now a musical...Why?

2. If you are leaving someplace cold for someplace warm, it's advisable to wear pants. I'm not adjusting the a/c for my allotted 22" on the plane just because your dumb ass decided to wear shorts. Also, separate incident, but a scarf, fur-trimmed uggs with pom poms, a tank top, and hot pink short-shorts is not a good look. It makes you look confused.

3. Dove ice cream bars and Shasta Tiki punch will be my undoing.

4. I can forgive Michael Richards for the expletives. The entertainment value of the meltdown alone made up for it for me, but I can't forgive him for teaming up with Jesse Jackson. That's just wrong.

Can't fight this feelin'

2006-05-29T19:53:00.000-04:00

Still working a lot of hours and thanks to someone who shall remain nameless, it appears that as long as the demand is there (and other reasons), I'll be working some Saturdays too...I keep telling myself that my sentence is up February 1, 2007 because that is when I can apply for other assignments or quit and not have to pay back relocation costs. Anyway, enough about work.

While my building is not quite luxury complete with gym, pool, and laundry service-- I love having a washer and dryer in unit where the spin cycle on the washer finally works and doesn't sound like it's about to drill through the floor--my building is nice. There's sort of a courtyard that no one ever sits in, there are manmade slate tiles on the floor, there's subterranean parking, there's an elevator. If I start feeling the stress of my job, there's a Spa in one of the commercial spaces, and if I ever really, really feel stressed, there's a botox clinic in the other. Target is within walking distance...theoretically. Not that I've ever walked there, I mean, I guess you could, but it's got a parking garage. I don't even drink coffee, but there's a Starbucks in the Target and a Pizza Hut, but only the express kind where you have to get pan everything and the pizzas have been sitting on the shelf for a while. I digress...

So, nothing says class about expensive apartment living than having a shopping cart by the elevator in the garage. Let me explain...It's not that I'm not used to seeing shopping carts outside of parking lots, but like someone leaving their tag on a nice building or really anywhere for that matter, I've always found shopping carts outside of parking lots to be a bit undersirable (excluding the good times to be had by people using them as a means to get their drunk friends home--I'm not mentioning any names). I could even see a cart outside my current residence, meaning on the block, near the building, in the alley or something, but the cart (now carts) I see in the building is a deliberate cart. This isn't the work of your local homeless (which I realize is another good use outside of shopping), Jackass wannabes, or drunk friends. This is someone who has a garage door opener and key access to our building and elevator. And let me say that what began with one cart has increased to two and sometimes three carts. First, there was the 99 Cent Store cart, which I was willing to overlook. I don't know where there is a 99 Cent Store in the vicinity which makes it all the more strange how it could find its way into the garage, and I don't need to know where the store is because I know that I can easily spend over $50 at the 99 Cent Store. I have yet to actually give anyone the gift bag with the cows, but it seemed like such a good deal at the time that I bought ten. Not to mention the pastel bags perfect for weddings--I don't know anyone getting married in the near future, and if I did, I would probably just have the gift wrapped at the store, or just buy a card and stick a gift card in it. Why I thought I needed ten of those is beyond me. I do use the Chip Clips, though. So anyhow, the 99 Cent Store cart has been replaced with a Ralph's cart, which makes more sense because that's close. (By the way, I heard from a friend that the 99 Cent Store operates completely without debt. Isn't that interesting?)

Prior to yesterday, I'd never actually seen anyone using the cart. I've heard what sounds like people pushing the cart around at night, but when I leave for work in the morning, the cart is always back in its place by the elevator door...mocking me.
So, about 2 weeks ago, I noticed that there are now 2 carts. Both Ralph's. I guess the 99 Cent Store cart is MIA. Or is it? I don't know why they don't just add a corral in one of the unused spaces. It's getting to that point.

There have been plenty of times when I thought about using one of the carts, but somehow I felt as though I would be "caught" and labeled as That Girl and that my neighbors would think that I had twenty cats or something. I DON'T KNOW. I even used my milk-crate file box with wheels to move stuff for the Goodwill downstairs to avoid using the cart. In retrospect, I'm sure the sight of me rolling 60 lbs of random, misshapen junk atop a small, rectangular cart meant to hold file folders for 8.5" X 11" paper that only sits about 13" off the ground that really can't be steered well enough to turn the wheels when needed because it wasn't designed to hold that much weight on it was probably just as ridiculous as taking the chance of being seen using one of the carts. I know this to be true, and yet, I couldn't do it.

That said, when I saw a petite fashionista pushing the cart full of her Manono shoe boxes onto the elevator yesterday, I felt like that somehow gave me permission. So, as a matter of convenience today, I used one of those carts to move my trunkload of groceries upstairs in one trip. I must say I felt quite free although I did so in sunglasses. Not so much because I was ashamed to be seen using the cart, but primarily because I went to Pavilions and it was kind of wrong to use a Ralph's cart. I do have standards if not dignity.

No, I'm not dead...

2006-04-08T17:59:00.000-04:00

A few observations:

1) People in the greater Los Angeles area can't drive as evidenced by the rear passenger panel of my new car. Despite the best intentions, you really do have to look prior to making a left-hand turn from the center lane. It would also help if you didn't say "woopsie, I don't know what happened" to the pissed off person you just hit. I guess at least having insurance and stopping is a start...

2) Del Taco = Taco Bell with fries. The first time I experienced this phenomenon, I thought I had gotten away with something. I was all, "they gave me fries and they didn't even catch it." Not only was I still on the corporate dole meaning that I was getting reimbursed for the meal anyway, I also got free fries. Free meal + Free fries = crazy delicious. Unfortunately, just proves how much I don't pay attention to the details. I no longer feel special. It was like that time in high school when we went to Kentucky Kingdom for Physics day (stop me if you've heard this one) and everyone was boarding the pirate ship ride (you know, "tastes great...less filling") except me because I was further back in line and the guy told everyone to lift their arms for the safety bar only it didn't occur to me at the time he was only addressing the people on the ride and I had a brain misfire and lifted my arms too and felt really dumb for doing so and couldn't play it off like I was just being a smartass or something...

3) Cell phone reception is not good here. Just to add to that, it is not always 70 degrees and sunny. Standing outside on the balcony when it's 40 degrees and raining to get a phone signal is not fun.

4) Vonage + TiVo = no new TiVo programming. While I am happy to say that as of today, I feel as though I am back in civilization--not that I didn't have cable and a phone in temporary housing and then later at the extended stay motel, but it wasn't my phone or cable or even really my computer (which died for a period of time so I had no access to Mapquest)--dial up just doesn't cut it, and I went from having a dial up connection using my work computer to having no dial up, no phone, no cable, and no good cell phone reception for the last week or so. Didn't even know about Tennessee until today. And while it is 65 degrees and sunny, it will rain again next week. It never rains in southern California my ass.

5) While I feel like I will have to hock things monthly to afford my current rent, I still refuse to pay $.5 million on a "fixer upper" with less square footage than the apartment I used to rent for $350 in Kentucky. I don't care if real estate is an investment or if things appreciate here (housing bubble say vhat?), I'm not doing it.

6) Pasadena is like Evanston with palm trees.

7) One day, I will work less than a 12 or 14 hour day. I just know it. It's coming. I can feel it. Any day now....soon. Really. Not even like where I think that one day I will be thin again like in high school. I think the work thing will happen before the body thing.

California or bust...

2006-01-15T21:41:00.000-05:00

First: Those kids on the Welch's juice commercials are disturbing. I think they are CGI.

Secondly: I'm really disappointed in the way the Boondocks animated series came out. The timing is all wrong. It's not nearly as entertaining as the comic strip, and while I love Regina King of 227 fame, I don't think her voice is right for Huey...really any male child characters. I think that grown women playing young boys really only works for The Simpsons and Rugrats.

Third: So, yes, still moving to California. No, you won't ever hear me refer to it as Cali (you know, unless I'm singing some LL), or L.A. At the very latest, I will be there around the first of February. At the earliest, next Monday? Right now it feels like being in limbo. I can't sleep well partly because of nerves, but also because the apartment is a complete wreck. I'm torn between whether or not I should clean, or just leave everything out as it should be easier for the movers to pack--I so love having relocation benefits. I'm sure things will be fine once everything is done, but it's all the preparation beforehand.

Fourth: Didn't sell Dieta yet. Will probably just trade her or sell her when I get there. It will be a good test of whether or not I really want manual transmission in bad traffic.

Finally: Lately I've been feeling the generation X & Y gap. It's really not a big gap when you think about it, not even as big as the one between X and Boomer, but there is a definite gap. Maybe it's just age, but I still find myself looking at some of the Y'ers thinking "I know I wasn't like that at that age." Not to say that I haven't come a long way and that I didn't do a lot of stupid things and that I'm not the same person I was at 20 or at 25 and that with any luck a lot of the Y'ers won't be either. [You know, this was a much longer post, but I edited it because, well, because] Suffice it to say, though, that if I hear one more NPR broadcast about why Generation Y'ers should be given management "stretch" positions right out of school, or how particular Gen Y'ers can't afford the Manhattan lifestyle right out of the Ivy League, I'm going to go on a rampage. I really will. You'll get all the things you think you deserve right now (and I'm sure so much more undeservedly) in due time. In the meantime, suck it up, quit yer bitching, stop acting like certain things are beneath you, and that you know everything. Learn some humility and how to treat others with respect.

GET OFF MY LAWN!!!!!!

Okay, off the soapbox.

So, California, here I come. I just don't know when. No, I'm not sending any pictures of me on a forklift, but if you're nice, I may show you the license.

I was hoping for Bat Manuel. . .

2005-11-29T11:20:00.000-05:00

Your results:
You are Catwoman

Catwoman		80%
Spider-Man		70%
Iron Man		60%
Hulk		55%
Green Lantern		55%
Supergirl		50%
The Flash		50%
Wonder Woman		45%
Robin		45%
Superman		40%
Batman		35%

You have had a tough childhood,
you know how to be a thief and exploit others
but you stand up for society's cast-offs.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

Catching up . . .

2005-11-29T05:12:00.000-05:00

I’m finding that my life really isn’t all that interesting. It really doesn’t warrant commentary in my on-line journal as a certain person informed me that the term "blog" makes him want to hurt people.

Over the last few weeks, I confirmed that I don’t like musicals. Especially when they happen to be adaptations of books. I won’t give away the ending, but let’s just say there’s a lot of singing in Wicked and a lot of liberties taken with the story. Plus, if you get good seats, there’s a lot of spitting. It lands mostly on stage and into the orchestra pit, but consider yourself warned. I thought I could justify going because I found the book magical (aside from the obvious). I thought I could overlook the singing because it wouldn’t be out of place for people to break out into song and then go back to dialog in such a magical setting. Plus, I really loved the book, which helped me come to terms with the fact that I still can’t watch the movie because it scares me. As does the story of the Three Little Pigs—who reads that to a toddler??? You won’t catch me at a Cats revival. There’s nothing magical about alley cats no matter how impressive the leotards are. I also won’t be seeing Rent in any form.

Had an excellent Thanksgiving and birthday. I am thankful to have great friends and family to spend time with and a shitload of vacation days to do it and recover. AND, I will treasure my Foxy Lady Motel keychain always. Another warning: while Thanksgiving dinner at The Drake is lovely, if you’re not one for giblets, avoid the stuffing and gravy. Those aren’t lima beans. Trust me, stick to the seafood on the ends and the oysters and mini-crab cakes in the middle. You’re on your own with the dessert table. Although, if you can successfully swipe the white chocolate-dipped strawberry tree (not the strawberries, just the stump covered in white chocolate), I will be your best friend. I'm easy.

Met someone I admire (well, spoke to while she was signing my book) so that I can stop stalking her now. Not that I was really stalking her, I just happen to see her around town (purely coincidence--I try to play it cool and not stare and point) and I've attended a couple of her readings. Her book and her websites are wonderfully entertaining. There's 1 copy of the book in circulation in KY, and I purchased another copy for her to sign--so don't feel obligated to return the KY copy, please keep passing it around. Buy more for your friends and family. That said, I wonder when David Sedaris will be in town again? Where does he go when he’s in town? Not that I would stalk him either, but we do share a common fear of zombies and I think that could be a good foundation for friendship. Yes, I am delusional.

I came to terms with letting Dieta go. I hope to find her a good home. Someone who will care for her in the manner she deserves. Someone who will polish her rings on a regular basis, get her out on a freeway in 5th, keep her interior clean, crank up her stereo, drive her on a daily basis. I know that I can replace her one day, but it won't be the same (um, because there will be a warranty). I know that I can use Jurgen (my name for his car since he won't name it anything other than "Car"), but it's still not like having MY OWN CAR. I haven't been without a car since I was 17. Gas wasn't $2.60 a gallon either, though. Maybe this will force me to wwwwalk more. I used to be good at that. I should purchase some shoes that are designed for that purpose and not just the "athletic lifestyle" shoes that look oh so good on the train that let people know that I'm corporate but fun (and that I would sprain something if I had to walk from the train to the office in anything over 2").

What else?

My dad informed me that he has taken up cowboys and Indians. No, he’s not mentally challenged, but I am starting to question his sanity. After asking him what he wanted for X-Mas, I was given a list of miscellaneous western gear (not a big deal there) and oh, blank shooters/cap pistols (wha?). Being the smartass I am, I asked, “what, are you like playing ‘cowboys and Indians’?” His answer, “yes, but it’s like paintball.” Okay, it’s like paintball when there are paint pellets involved. It’s like cowboys and Indians when paint isn’t involved. I mean, at least they are using blank shooters and not wandering around some forest preserve in North Carolina yelling “bang bang” using their hands as pistols. Right? I would assume there’s some playing dead. Apparently this is a new craze like strip aerobics. I wonder if it's too late to exploit for financial gain? I shouldn’t be surprised after hearing about the yoga retreat last year. BUT I AM!
So I guess that’s something else to be thankful for . . . not seeing one of my parents on Real Sex. Yoga retreat my ass.

Pick on Someone Your Own Size in 31 Years!

2005-10-15T12:30:00.000-04:00

Now They are going after the babies! What’s wrong with fat babies? Fat babies are cute. Fat babies look a little happier and healthier than skinny babies. I mean there’s only so much space for the food to go in a little body. It’s not like they can do 30 minutes of cardio. Just because a baby is fat doesn’t mean it will grow up to become an obese adult. I just know a baby diet is coming. . . Similac-Lite, Fat-free Gerber. Dexatrim Toddler. I’m taking a stand for fat babies everwhere (okay, maybe not the 200 lb toddler that was on Maury, but that’s bad parenting, so I guess I will take a stand for him too).

I’m really tired of Them and They. Just a couple of weeks ago, They had me all paranoid about being a lefty. It seems that all those years of being special (doing ‘it’ better, being in company with Jimmy Hendrix, having special desks, being right-brained, getting ink all over your hand as you write) are coming back to bite us lefty females in the ass because we’re more likely to develop breast cancer. This probably means that I’ll never get to see a Leftorium built in my lifetime. Of course They don’t tell you until close to the end of the article that They are still researching whether or not the two are correlated and that you shouldn’t be concerned. WHAT? Then why not tell me after you’ve concluded your research. I think They need to get their shit together before publishing vague, preliminary findings. Or, maybe They should consider Their audience--anyone with access to Yahoo who is just waking up to check her e-mail in her PJs and thinks it’s a glorious day until she finds that she’s GOING TO DIE--and break the news gently, maybe starting with part about not being concerned closer to the beginning of the article. Fuckers. I wonder if this could qualify me for that new Amy Grant show:

Me: Amy, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. I have all your albums. My Christian Youth Group used to think that your cross-over music was blasphemous, but I stood by you. “Baby Baby” has had a lasting impact on my life.

Amy: Um, great. [Gives concerned look to producer that says, “what the fick (she’s Christian, ya’ll) have you gotten me into now?”] Tell me about your illness…

Me: Well, it seems that I am going to die because I’m left-handed. (Not really a lie, I mean, I am going to die one day, we are all going to die one day…my death could be left-hand related. Yes, I’m going to Hell.)

I wouldn’t do that. I know there are people who are really suffering and this is in no way meant to belittle or make fun of that. That said, the other day, “R” informed me that They make radioactive pellets for prostate cancer patients. The pellets are inserted into the prostate and can just shoot out at inopportune moments, and, if they do, they have to be saved because they can’t be disposed of because they are RADIOACTIVE. Patients have to pee through a strainer. I’m not making this up, but "R" knows that I'm gullible, so he could've made it up.

Men, please make sure to “release” at least 3 times per week. Let’s all be healthy. I’m going to get the reduced-fat Cheez-Its from now on and really commit to social smoking. (Don’t tell my mom.)

Reading Is Fun

2005-10-09T11:49:00.000-04:00

I joined a book club. Not so much because I enjoy reading, but because I thought it would be a good way to meet people. AND since I’m an overachiever disguised as an underachiever, I’d like to feel as though I’m getting something out of reading.

Remember those public library competitions in grade school where you got rewarded for reading so many books over the summer? How they checked, I don’t know. If they went by your library card, you could’ve just checked out a shitload of books. It’s not like they asked you questions about the books because you could read anything that you wanted. Although I suppose if you were a nerd like I was, one who liked the freedom and feeling of competence and young adulthood that came from riding my bike (yes, I know, physical activity. . . I even walked there on occasion--this was B.efore C.able) to the library and checking out and returning books on my own (akin to your first checking account), you probably wouldn’t lie about how many books you read. It’s just now after becoming a jaded adult that I’d even think of lying. I am evil. So anyway, as a reward, you got stickers or stars or coupons to Burger King or something like that for reading. Stuff that eventually ended up in the trash after being forced to clean your room--I was more of a Mc Donald’s fan (the only way I could be convinced to be baptized)--and because I could never keep up one of those sticker books, which probably means I’d make a terrible scrap booker. The stickers weren’t even cool like the scratch n’ sniff kind that I wanted to steal from my cousin.

So, to make a very short story (more of a comment really, “I joined a book club” should’ve sufficed) much longer than it needs to be and to get out of not only finishing the book, but also doing laundry before everyone wakes up, I feel in some way that I should be rewarded for taking up reading again . . .without the stickers or coupons. I especially chose this book club because there’s not so much pressure--1 book per month--and the organizer writes for this site, so I’m fairly certain there won’t be any Nora Roberts or John Grisham-like books.

You’d think that me being a procrastinator and trying to commit to this, I would find the time to read this month’s book. I’m halfway through it, but, of course, I’ve waited until the last minute to finish it. The meeting is tomorrow night! It’s not War and Peace; it’s only 242 pages. Yes, 242 pages (small type, though). I’ve tried. Though the imagery the author creates is vivid, I just don’t like it. I don’t care about the characters, it’s not compelling, it’s just way too much detail about a people and things I don’t care about. Here’s an excerpt, you tell me:

“There was the pungent smell of the plastic shower curtain and the disintegrating soap. The toilet bowl was agape, with a dissolving piece of toilet paper in it throbbing like a jellyfish. The faucet was sternly counting off droplets.”

242 pages of that!!!! It's like listening to Natalie Merchant. Just too rich. I think what I need is something more Suzanne Vega. Something lighter.

So, of course, now it feels like an assignment. But I realize I CHOSE TO DO THIS. I thought I could finish it by reading it during my commute, but what signals a bad read to me is that it makes me motion sick. I don’t feel like vomiting when I think a book is good.

Next month we’re reading a book I’ve already read. A book I liked. So, I’m thinking that I could just un-join until next month. Do they let you do that? Probably not good to do that…I’ll start some laundry now and try to finish it in the laundry room. As a bonus, I may even get to this morning's paper before it's stolen.

UPDATE: My, how things can improve with a dream sequence of boy on boy action. I just don't understand why it took 98 pages to get there.

Stink Eye

2005-10-06T23:37:00.000-04:00

Before I get into the stink eye, just know that I can do a lot of things (except finish them). Crazy isn't one of the things I can do. I think that's why the universe challenges me with the mentally challenged. They always seem to occupy the same El car I'm in. Nevermind that I go out of my way to move down one. They manage to make it there anyway. Though it's harder to discern crazy now that people have hands free phones (I know this because my friend "R" is one of these people. He has a hands-free phone and is only crazy-ish, but he's not crazy, he's my friend.), but it's easy to spot crazy when a kid is holding a Red Eye and laughing hysterically. It's true that I may not be giving him credit. It could be that he was laughing because the writing really is that bad. However, I think it was crazy laughter. The kind that you can hear faintly through the glass after the men close the van doors and have secured the restraints. The kind of crazy that has the woman in the back row having a disagreement with herself out loud (of course with the only free seat next to her, so you stand for 5 more stops). The kind of disagreement you would have with yourself after a confrontation didn't go quite the way you planned. The only difference being that your confrontation was with a person other than yourself and you practiced the things you should've said in front of your bathroom mirror. You know, batshit crazy.

Sometimes, they sneak up on you and by the time you realize they're crazy, it's too late. Or, you unwittingly befriend them because the maternal figure in your office (former job) thinks it would be great if you met her friend's daughter who is about your age since you're new in town and all and the daughter tells you how she accepts calls from inmates and you think, "my, how trusting" and then she later goes off her meds that you didn't even know she was on and she decides to do a little off meds dialing on Thanksgiving and leaves some rather nasty voicemail about you and the size of your behind and you really don't know where that's coming from because you've only really been shopping a couple of times and the conversation was pleasant and you later find out that she was heavily medicated and ran away that same weekend to California and that it would've been good for someone to let you know that her mental situation was "delicate" at best.

AND, I know the man sitting across from me must've had a tough day. I could tell by the paint-stained clothing, the way he clutched his lunch box while trying to get in a brief nap before going home or maybe even to his next job. BUT you can't tell me that he couldn't feel those boogers in his nose. Not the little wheezy ones that could be mistaken for nose hair, but Frosted Mini-Wheat sized boogers. It's not like he was sleeping with his mouth open. You can't tell me he didn't feel that shit. Is life so bad that one would attempt asphyxiation on one's own boogers? I was so thankful for the light breeze today instead of heavy wind between stops. A little heavier and I could've been wearing a Mini-Wheat and then I would've lost my shit but in a polite way because he had a tough day.

Okay, enough about my day, let's talk about my neighbor. For some reason, this woman doesn't like me. Every time she sees me, she gives me the stink eye. Now, if you're sensitive like me, stink eye can be quite hurtful. I go out of my way to say "good morning," or hold the door open for her and her kids. So the stink eye is very hurtful, especially if you're sensitive like me. Now, if you're an acquaintance, I know you're thinking back to the saga that was "Bass Boy," but let me say this goes unprovoked. Plus, "Bass Boy" and I settled our differences. I moved to another state (not because it was mandated or anything) and even gave him a bottle of Maker's Mark for Christmas. You can't ask for a better ending. I'm very giving.

Which is why I can't understand why this woman doesn't like me. I mean, I really don't think she knows that I'm the one who called the police on her because she left her kids alone in her car while she did who knows what for over 30 minutes. It's quite possible that she doesn't even know that the police were called. I could understand you thinking I was overreacting IF at least one of the kids were over seven. I think I'm much more open in that respect because I am a product of a single-parent home and was a latchkey kid starting in the 3rd grade. I managed to keep myself alive, so I know older children probably could've too. (Especially children from Chicago. You should hear the mouths on some of these kids, but they're cute.) Anyway, we're talking toddler strapped in a car seat with the window all the way down staring at you like "please help me," or "please take me and sell me on the black market." So I did. . .the former, not the latter. I stayed with them, well sitting on the backstairs staring at the baby with the apologetic "Gee, I really hope your mom comes back soon so that you don't have to go to foster-care tonight" look waiting for either her to return or the police to show. I guess I should state here that I didn't know it was a them until after I called thback seat and saw the 6 year old sleeping on the backseat next to the baby, BUT STILL!!!

She left before the police even reached our block. I was even nice to her when she returned and I asked her if they were her kids (though they obviously were) as she got into the car and I told her, "Well, I'm glad you're back now, because I was worried." I didn't even say it in an accusatory "You're a bad, bad mother" tone. Although she's petite, she looks like she could box and I'm not one for violence, even pre-weave. Which is why I know Jerry Springer was staged because if you were to pull off someone's weave, the scalp is coming with it and I never saw blood on the show. She just woke the older one up, scolded her for falling asleep (mostly for my benefit) and took off.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm making a concerted effort to be a better neighbor. Just last Sunday, as the couple (okay, single guy bringing home new "friend") upstairs were experiencing climax loudly (I think this girl had Jenna Jamison beat), I didn't resort to the usual Swiffer ceiling tap (I use the cleaner end because it's flat and you get to keep your deposit that way), I just rolled over to my sweetie, smiled, and said as loudly as I could, "Oh Puh-lease! It is not that serious!" All was well. I mean, I think so. I really hope he didn't lose his concentration. It took him some time to recover, but they started up again, a little quieter and less porno-like at 3 a.m. and I didn't hear the obligatory 4 a.m. door slam. So I guess everybody wins. Maybe I'll invite them down for mimosas on Sunday. . .as long as he's not the bastard that keeps stealing our paper.

Crafty Memories or Practical Crafts?

2005-10-03T01:54:00.000-04:00

So, I have this cousin who is three years older than I am. Being an only child, until about the age of 17, this cousin was probably the closest thing to a sibling that I had experienced or really would ever want to experience. Thankfully I only had to spend summers with her because it's quite possible that I would be dead now as we would fight the entire time. Okay, she would nearly kill me every summer, but not have time to finish the job because my mom always timed picking me up right before things turned ugly. There was enough time, however, to leave me scarred and bruised (both emotionally and physically).

Anyway, as the closest thing to a sibling, I coveted the things my cousin had. Although, I'm convinced that she took my red, drop-waist Barbie party dress. The polyester shiny one that looked so great with the rainbow legwarmers. I clearly remember saving the change leftover from not buying milk with my school lunches (and stealing laundry money) to purchase that dress. I remember how it conveniently ended up in her Barbie case and she casually, yet mockingly saying, "maybe you lost yours and I have one just like it." BULLSHIT! Most of the Barbie clothing and accessories she owned were Barbie pink and magenta. I tried to get even by taking some of her Smurfs, but she found them. . . in my suitcase.

I digress. . . My cousin always had the most interesting trinkets and accessories in her purse: compacts, Bonnie Bell makeup, Bopo peel off nailpolish, Chinese finger traps, stickers, flavored lip gloss, the list goes on and on. Things that never occurred to me to put into my sorry little patent leather purse. Mine was usually filled with pennies, coinpurses and keychains with bank logos, or the odd rock or marble. Nothing cute or girlie, always practical. Not that girlie can't be practical, it just made perfect sense at the time to carry a purse full of pennies. I never knew when I'd get to leave the farm for penny candy or Dolly Madison 2nds. I really never knew when I'd get to leave the farm at all. Mostly we were tricked into helping pull weeds, which in hindsight was probably meant to calm us down so we wouldn't fight, but I still took my purse. Nevermind that it weighed over a pound and my fingers would take on that copper smell from counting and sorting the pennies by year or patina.

What prompts this stroll down memory lane is the recent craft or DIY movement. For me, it's a chance to get that part of childhood back again. To do it right. To stock my purse with all the goodies I didn't when I was young. Yet, at the same time, I find myself leaning towards practical.

Renegade Craft Fair was last weekend. While I highly recommend it (even in a downpour), and I was all "rah-rah women unite in crafts," I also found myself thinking, "dude, I could totally make that." But I don't. I don't want to "DIM," nor do I want to pay $35.00 for a tote bag that will be on clearance at Old Navy for $6.00 in a couple weeks anyway. I saw the Brini Maxwell episode. I read the step-by-step in Bust. It all comes down to the time value of money or opportunity costs (and any other economics term I can insert here to make my parents believe that I attended class) and me being generally lazy. Plus I can always pay my creative friends for their stuff. (I did buy a couple of prints from these people because I just can't duplicate that.) Besides, I'm not good at finishing things. I can't even keep up a blog! I spent on and off about 5 years completing one of those yarn macrame pot holder kits. My mother had to actually sit me down and finish it with me because she was so tired of finding those little orange and yellow bands of yarn while cleaning. She still has it, though. It's stained and has burn marks, but it's still in the drawer by the stove.

That said, I love that someone thought to make slap bracelets and wallets out of duct tape and write cool phrases on them with Sharpies. I'm not making fun at all. I totally appreciate and understand the thought put into it--just like those leather wristbands I was forced to make at camp. It's just that they probably won't find their way into my wristlet anytime soon. I haven't even carried a purse in over a year. It's just not practical.

Day 1

2005-08-23T21:49:00.000-04:00

I'm only doing this because my friends are doing it. I don't even read their blogs. I don't know what makes them think I will be able to keep up with my own blog. I can't even keep my info. on Friendster current.