glow glitter groove gumball gip gip grime goo gee

I’ve hardly written. Kinda because of Christmas and good cheer and egg nog and sugar plums and “all that David Copperfield kind of crap.” Kinda because I’m sorta sick of myself. Blah blah blah. Yeah, boys can be assholes, girls can be mean, everyone can be selfish. Hasn't this story been around since penises were invented? There is much worse in the world than my little problems. If there was a way to textly shrug my shoulders, I'd do it here: ______

Dang.

I’m not as upset as I come off.

This whole thing misses out on the eyebrows. I write something like that and I seem all sullen and basement dwelling, but when you know me. DANG. When you know me, it’s not like that at all. I am full of sugar and spice and one liners and tap dances with my tounge kinda sticking out to one side. My glass is half full even when it’s empty. In my medical records somewhere it says I “suffer” from childhood magical thinking. That’s the “what do you mean there is no Santa Claus, I just saw him at the mall” kind of thinking. That's the horoscopes are true and maybe I'm a superhero kind of thinking.

I am as not set up as I off come.

Meanwhile, I’ve been making glitter paintings like I was the principal set designer for the magical musical known as Xanadu.

Did you know that crafting is the new rock and roll?

I sparkle when the lights are down low.

Do you ever think of tradgedy in terms of people lost forever? Today, 115,000 people killed. For the generations to come, it's multiplied. 250,000 people, 500,000 people, a million. So very sad. Who would those people have been?

I picture the entrance to what comes next to be like a crowded subway station right now.

Like I said. My problems are small.

Do you ever wonder what you want? Who you would be without radio or tv or catalogues to influence you. Without the Jones to keep up with? Ever wonder what you’d invent if no one had ever invented anything? Me, I think I woulda invented the George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Maching.

Or maybe I would have invented George Foreman.

With my magic wand.

hoppy knew leer!

1. WHAT DID YOU DO IN 2004 THAT YOU'D NEVER DONE BEFORE?
I got high for the first time!

2. DID YOU KEEP YOUR NEW YEARS' RESOLUTIONS, AND WILL YOU MAKE MORE FOR NEXT YEAR?
I don’t think I made any last year. And I probably won’t make any this year. Apparently, I’m perfect and in no need of annual improvements.

3. DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU GIVE BIRTH?
Nope!

4. DID ANYONE CLOSE TO YOU DIE?
Nope!

5. WHAT COUNTRIES DID YOU VISIT?
Canada. For about 5 minutes. In the rain. Funner than it sounds!

6. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO HAVE IN 2005 THAT YOU LACKED IN 2004?
Love. Trust. Peace. Quiet. Calm. Some kind of predictability. Some kind of fun unpredictability.

7. WHAT DATES FROM 2004 WILL REMAIN ETCHED UPON YOUR MEMORY AND WHY?
Leap Day. May 17. December 4. Y'all know why.

8. WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT OF THE YEAR?
Not running away.

9. WHAT WAS YOUR BIGGEST FAILURE?
Not running away.

10. DID YOU SUFFER ILLNESS OR INJURY?
I didn’t. But my gallbladder had a rough couple of months.

11. WHAT WAS THE BEST THING YOU BOUGHT?
New jeans in a size that finally started with a 1 instead of a 2! WOO HOO!

12. WHOSE BEHAVIOUR MERITED CELEBRATION?
Jason for being some kind of sad girl saving super hero. Christa for giving me some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten nearly every time she opened her mouth. Irene for being there without question when I needed her. Lisa for being so sweet and smart and insightful. My mom for being a shoulder to cry on. Holly and Bean for being so fucking funny and keeping it light and simple. Amy for being so funny and nice and brand new.

13. WHOSE BEHAVIOUR MADE YOU APPALLED AND DEPRESSED?
Mike.

14. WHERE DID MOST OF YOUR MONEY GO?
Bills, bills and more bills.

15. WHAT DID YOU GET REALLY, REALLY, REALLY EXCITED ABOUT?
New friends! Pollyblogging! New pollyblog friends!

16. WHAT SONG WILL ALWAYS REMIND YOU OF 2004?
Float On by Modest Mouse. That was my happy song this summer!

17. COMPARED TO THIS TIME LAST YEAR ARE YOU:
a) Happier or sadder? It’s a toss up.
b) Thinner or fatter? Thinner, baby.
c) Richer or poorer? Way way way poorer.

18. WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU'D DONE MORE OF?
Laughing.

19. WHAT DO YOU WISH YOU'D DONE LESS OF?
Weeping.

20. HOW WILL YOU BE SPENDING CHRISTMAS?
Amazingly enough, with Mike’s family. Opening presents and eating too much.

21. DID YOU FALL IN LOVE IN 2004?
Nope.

22. HOW MANY ONE-NIGHT STANDS?
None.

23. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE TV PROGRAM?
The Housewives of Desperation, hell yeah!

24. DO YOU HATE ANYONE NOW THAT YOU DIDN'T HATE LAST YEAR?
I dunno about hate. I definitely dislike some people that I didn’t dislike this time last year.

25. WHAT WAS THE BEST BOOK YOU READ?
Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut.

26. WHAT WAS YOUR GREATEST MUSICAL DISCOVERY?
The Hold Steady and that seeing local music in bars is FUN!

27. WHAT DID YOU WANT AND GET?
The year ending better than expected.

28. WHAT DID YOU WANT AND NOT GET?
To be loved by a boy in a way that makes me feel crazy amounts of special.

29. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE FILM OF THE YEAR?
Napoleon Dynamite or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

30. WHAT DID YOU DO ON YOUR BIRTHDAY, AND HOW OLD WERE YOU?
I turned 33 and all I remember is that I got a sewing machine.

31. WHAT ONE THING WOULD HAVE MADE YOUR YEAR IMMEASURABLY MORE SATISFYING?
The ability to fly.

32. HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONAL FASHION CONCEPT IN 2004?
Aging hipster.

33. WHAT KEPT YOU SANE?
My friends! GOD, I love you guys.

34. WHICH CELEBRITY/PUBLIC FIGURE DID YOU FANCY THE MOST?
Isaac Brock. We’re gonna be married one day!

<-- my boyfriend!

35. WHAT POLITICAL ISSUE STIRRED YOU THE MOST?
The gay marriage debate – can’t we all just get along?

36. WHO DID YOU MISS?
Mike, he was here the whole time, but I missed the him I had known and loved for so many years.

37. WHO WAS THE BEST NEW PERSON YOU MET?
Jason and Amy. It’s a tie. They are both super cool and great friends.

38. TELL US A VALUABLE LIFE LESSON YOU LEARNED IN 2004:
Look out for yourself, because no one else is.

39. QUOTE A SONG LYRIC THAT SUMS UP YOUR YEAR.
Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands
Good news will work its way to all them plans

Your turn!!

take that

I’m oddly captivated with that horrific news story about the baby who was kidnapped from her mother while still in utero. The mother died. The baby is doing well. Well only because she can’t yet grasp how she came into this world. To be born into such violence and lose your mother to it, that is a burden to bare. That is the beginning of a book. Some hero tale where this little girl goes on to save the world. Something where she has a handful of unique talents, like smarts and intuition and a black belt in karate by the tender age of 5. Something where she has a group of ragtag friends who are devoted to her journey and possess their own special blend of cleverness and cunning. They journey off to make the world free of evil, despite her being born of it.

She will have to be raised by people who don’t love her as they should. Who make her do chores and never buy her any toys. People who told her that her mother abandoned her on their doorstep. She will have only a few close friends, but those friends will be like family to her. They stick together though thick and thin. She will be happy in spite of her circumstance because she knows there is something great brewing inside of her. She will excel at most everything, except she will lack one thing. Perhaps the ability to win at chess. And then winning at chess will be what she has to do to save the world.

Then one day, she’ll get a letter or a visit from a stranger who she immediately takes a shine to. This mysterious stranger will tell her the truth of how she was born. That the woman who killed her mother was really trying to kill her, but she survived and now is the only person who can stop evil from taking over the world. There would have to be some kind of amulet. She would need to go get it. Or keep it safe. And once that was done, fight the ring leader of the evildoers and save the world.

She would have to venture into a secret world unknown to us. A world where there is a raging battle of good vs. evil. Where each day is fought for. Each deed fought for. A world that is in control of us like puppets. We fall to their whims and evil is perched to win the game. But they are missing the amulet to complete the set, and they smell that it is afoot.

So this little girl has to keep the amulet safe and get it to the kindly old man who is the leader of the good. This amulet will tilt the scales and make the world safer, for a while. So she gathers her friends and starts on this journey. She only has a ragged map and a vague idea of where she needs to go. She will find her way. She will be betrayed by a friend. Her mentor will die. She will have moments where she thinks she can see her mom, where she thinks her mom has helped her, only to find out that it was her who saved her. She will think of giving up. She will think that this journey is too much for her, but she will press on with the support of her friends. She will engage in a battle of wills and smarts and intuition with a evil sage much older and wiser than her. She will think she has won when she will come upon a final game. A maze of sorts. With pieces to move and strategy to be strategized. Her math whiz friend will whisper in her ear that it’s just like chess excitedly, not knowing she has never won a game of chess in her whole life. She’ll sit down at the board and play this evil mastermind for fate of the world. Her winning move will be linked to something she learned on this journey. There will be a flashback to a wise word about how evil always plays to win, only looks out for itself. So making a move that is kind or strives to tie the game instead of win it throws off the sage’s plan. Makes her win the game. Saves the world.

But it won’t get her mom back. But she’ll also learn her mom has been with her the whole time. The kindly old man who leads the good will fill in all the gaps in the story. Everything will be clear. She’ll understand her place in the world and why what happened, happened. She’ll find a new home with people who love her.

Her world will be saved as well.

The end.

evil eye

I’ve never been the kind of girl who can stay angry for long. Or hold a grudge. Definitely not the kind of girl to bring up the past in snippy one liners years later. Or give you that look at a party. You know the look. The wait until we get home look. I don’t do that. (Cringe when I see others do it.) I’m not the kind of girl to let things build up and simmer into a thick resentment. I’m definitely not the kind of girl to plot revenge. Or take glee in another’s misfortune, regardless of circumstance.

No. Those things aren’t me.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and suffer from a compulsion to make sure you know how I feel. I can’t hide even the most happy and subtle of emotions. If I get you a birthday present a few days before your birthday, I can’t even wait that long to give it to you. I write long posts to rid myself of demons and have never plotted anything worse than a surprise party in my entire life. I have a capacity for compassion that rivals a 4 year old’s capacity for cartoon viewing. I am your best friend through thick and thin. Loyal to a fault. I still believe in things that most people outgrow with their first broken heart. I wear my rose colored glassed with pride.

The nicest little nick name I’ve ever been called: princess. In the sweet way. In the “you should be adored my millions” way. Andrew said that.

The nicest little nick name I’ve ever called anyone: Cocoa Puff. In the “I could just eat you up” kind of way. That was M.

If I had a million dollars I would divide it up equally among all my friends and family.

If I had a really big brownie, I’d eat it all myself.

You can trust me.

I’ll trust you even when I shouldn’t.

I like cats the best.

I make up dances.

I punched someone in the nose once and made them bleed. A lot. Not a good day.

I think it’s really really funny when someone slips and falls.

Even if they get hurt.

I accidentally dropped a baby off a changing table once.

I learned that being manipulative is a lot of work and gave it up in my early 20s.

I was someone’s mistress once.

I’ll never do that again.

But then I kinda did that again this summer.

I’ve stolen money and things long ago.

I can’t lie very well.

But I'll try anyway sometimes.

58 toes

We bought a house just over a year ago. It’s one of six units in a Melrose Place style building, sans pool. It has a basement and three levels. Built in 1926, there are built-ins and hardwood floors and lots of charm. It’s all crooked and slanty and sometimes I think it will collapse at any moment. There is a fireplace and a tv room and a kitchen so small all the appliances have been blasted with our shrink ray in order to fit. We call it The HOM. Or the CONDOM, given it's condominium status.

Yesterday, it felt like a HOME for the first time in our forever there. It has something to do with :A: and her things filling out the gaps in our things and her just being there really. A happy face to come home to. And her feathered friends, too. I love their tweeting. It has something to do with M and HIM the cat being there. M’s kitschy contributions to the décor polka dotting all the rooms. His basement bedroom, all circa 16 year old him. His guitar playing making its way through the heating vents and filling the rooms with music as homey as fresh baked bread. And it has to do with me. My art on the walls. The odd ball colors I opted to paint everything. I am a maker of the cozy. I know how to fluff a pillow and fold a blanket in such a way that you want to take a nap the second you look at ‘em. It’s a gift.

I was finishing my paint-by-number when I felt it. :A: was getting ready to meet her boyfriend for coffee and studying at Spyhouse. M was waiting for his friend N to pick him up to go play music at an open mic night in northeast Minneapolis. I didn’t have anywhere to be, but a movie to watch and a painting to finish. It just kinda hit me and I felt at home and smilie and thankful for it. Lucky even. It’s a nice place. Full of funky things. Overflowing with neat people.

Happy.

doom doom doom doom doom

Today is Pretend You Are From Outer Space Day!

Yay!

Inspired by Invader Zim!

He is an alien invader who, like most alien invaders, wishes to take over Earth through a string of evil plots and hijackings.

Also, like many alien invaders, he is petite.

Here are fun facts about Invader Zim:

• He like waffles that have waffles in them!
• He has a dog that isn’t really a dog named Gir.
• He calls money “earth monies.”
• He occasionally sports a name tag that says “Human” on it.
• He has an “I HEART EARTH!” sign in his front yard.
• He asks people things like this: “In the event of, say, a full scale invasion, how prepared would you say this planet’s defenses would be?”
• His understanding of human biology is smallish and adorable: “You can't keep your eyes closed forever! You have to breathe sometime!”

Being from outer space myself (just for today) I have come up with my own list of words to describe common earth items for my fellow invaders:
• head = brain bag
• home = earth shelter
• car = motorized automobile car
• children = underdeveloped earthinoid beings
• pets = underspecies companion slaves
• food = nourishment pellets

These from my pollyblog pal and companion alien invader, Jason:
• cat = apathy creature
• bus = motorized crowd organizer
• sushi = smelly sustenance
• sitcoms = timely hilarity
• slippers = furry foot wear
• paper towels = roll of sponge

Coming Soon: More from my partners in earthly misdeeds!

Make your own list, er, your own stacked pile of thinked thoughts! It’s fun!

Now on to two important side notes:

#1. Apparently this has been on the box since 1978 (thanks, Internet!) but today was the first day I realized that Frosted Flakes are actually Frosted Flakes Of Corn. I had no idea. Probably because it's written all small under the 1000 point sized "Frosted Flakes."



#2. I came home from a babysitting interview feeling rather hungry and lo and behold, :A: was making dinner for all of us. It was like a present! I couldn’t have been more happy to smell supper smells than I was just then and to top it off it was delicious :A:-A-Roni with cheese. Happiness!

candy apple grey

the ground opened up
and suddenly i was gone
he didn’t notice

- - - - - - - - - -

There is so much churning inside me it’s hard to spit out these words. Big mean authoritarian voices, scolding. I should have stayed home. I am not good enough. I will never be good enough. I am not pretty. I have funny shaped lips. My eyes are lopsided. My body, unbelievably flawed. I am not clever. I am not precious. Or special. Or anything written on a 3rd grade sticker of accomplishment. It’s loud sometimes. Drowning out everything else. Drowning. Holding me under. I am not anything. I am not worth any work. The. Most. Beautiful. Girl. I. Have. Ever. Seen. In. Person. Thinks. She. Has. A. Pin. Head. And that is just what she says aloud.

I have to write that I am worth work on the black board a hundred times in dusty white chalk. I am worth a swim across an ocean. I am worth a million poems. That voice is small. Small and defiant. A quiet little whisper from a secret little hidden room. I am good. I am adorable. I am swimming. I am pretty. I have eyes that speak for me beautifully. My smile lights up rooms. I am a good person. I am kind. Clever. Whip smart. Loveable. Goose bump inducing. My friends are lucky. The boys I choose to kiss are the luckiest boys in the world. My hands are so soft it’s like they aren’t even there. My heart is sometimes all I can hear. It’s thumping downs out traffic noise.

I am worth work.

I am worth work.

I.

Am.

isn't he cute?

For two days, I could eat cheese unbothered.

Let me explain.

:A:’s mom was visiting this weekend. She stayed with us. “The more, the merrier!” is apparently our motto. In order to make her stay comfortable, we had to lose the cat. She’s allergic. He’s furry. Enough said. So I made arrangements for HIM to visit a kitty resort, otherwise known as J and K’s house.

We love J and K. Did I mention that?

My first worry was their Christmas tree. I saw it all WWF style, with HIM in one corner and the tree in the other. There would be end of round bells and a referee and jeering fans. I pictured him swinging from the branches and ornaments crashing all around him, the lights flickering. This crazed look in his eyes. But you know what, he totally ignored it! Must have just thought it an overgrown, picky houseplant. Must have thought it was an air freshener. Either way, a trip to Target to replace all their holiday flare was unnecessary. Thank GOD, because we’re broke!

My second worry was that he would make himself too at home. Which he did. He always does. He has a lot of kitty self esteem and chutzpah. He is food obsessed. Wants to smell everything. When you open the refrigerator he hops up on his hind legs, paws on a shelf, and sniffs around for something that strikes his fancy. And if he finds it, he bats at it until it’s within reach, grabs it with his teeth and makes a run for it. Cheese is a favorite. You can’t leave anything on the counter or within jumping reach, which is surprisingly far given his small stature, or he’ll eat it. We’ve woken up to many a chewed up bag of bread or a half eaten cake. He has a sweet tooth, too. It’s crazy. He spanks scones. Loves bagels. Will climb you for a taste of blueberry muffin.

The first checking in phone call consisted of me apologizing for 1) HIM not letting them get any sleep 2) HIM eating everything he could 3) HIM spilling yogurt on the floor and 4) HIM's pesky want of attention. They tried to keep him out of their room because J has cat allergies too, and of course, their room was the only place he wanted to be. Meowing and scratching on the door. When J took a nap, not having gotten any sleep the night before thanks to the aforementioned meowing and scratching, she woke up with him on her chest and a piece of string by her side. He wanted to play. He figured out how to open the door. No good.

The second checking in phone call consisted of more apologies. He ate a bunch of bread that they had “hidden” on top of the refrigerator. K opted to sleep on the couch with HIM so J could get some sleep. Thankfully, that worked. Cold weather HIM is a snuggler. And then to pay K back for keeping him company all night, HIM ate all K’s scrambled eggs. And they were fancy scrambled eggs to with cream cheese and herbs. He hit the motherload.

“When are you guys coming to get HIM?’

“Immediately?”

“Yeah.”

banana bandana billowing breathlessly boing boing

I have the attention span of a gnat. My mind flips from topic to topic, thing to thing with lightening speed. I’m easily distracted. Easy to entertain. The vacant look in my eyes probably means I’m ignoring you. My hair looks fabulous today. Don’t you think? Who are all these people walking by, alive at the same time as me? The picket fence across the street looks like it’s made of licorice. I wonder what the cat is doing. Why does caffeine do this to me? I have natural rhythm. I love to tap dance. Smooth bossa nova beats are falling like raindrops around me. Hitting the floor with the sound of a wisk broom gliding over a snare drum. My stomach is growling for no good reason. Will I ever match who I think I am? The most beautiful woman I have ever seen in person thinks she has a pin head. What would I trade to be able to fly? What would she trade? Is this really that bad? I sold almost all my books. Losing proof of my intellect became more attractive then lugging them around. Nothing left to say how smart I am other than me. How smart am I? Is this a game? A race? Can I take my ball and go home now? I wonder what my favorite song would be had I heard every song. The strongest M&M should be used for breeding purposes. Does anyone eat Hostess Fruit Pies anymore? Why doesn’t the FDA demand that fruit pie be in quotes? I want to play a vicious game of Scrabble. I want motorcycle boots. I have a thousand ideas for a-line skirts. And paintings. And collages. And dioramas. Evil bands of pixies who steal baby limbs and hide them in flower blossoms. The aftermath of a wedding gone wrong. Pink polka dots. Stripes. Patterns. Men’s ties on the bias. Half and half is not good on cereal. Joyce has bats in her belfry. Louise always runs. Will the house fit the three of us? Will the three of us fit the house? I love screen prints. Graphic. Colorful. The simple ones are best. The ones with words are best. I’m going to the art sale today. Picking over the picked over. I want to play an instrument. I want to sing. I want to sing like a bird. I want to roller skate and drink eggnog. Like Christmas break when I was 12. All my childhood memories are in golden hazy colored Kodacrome. I came across letters when I cleaned the basement. Wonder where Jack is. Wonder where Andrew is. Wonder where Dave is. Of the three, Andrew is the one I wonder about most. Brilliant. Boyish charm. Brontosaurus. Boisterous. Bang bang. Beveled. Beehive. Burdon. Bluelight. Brain crazy. Bigger than life. Bubblegum pink. Bam do bloop goo ja ja goo. Bursting.

it's his pants that are square

Ah, Friday afternoon at the little shop of horrors.

Last night was the first night with all the roommates in the HOM! We stayed up late making crank phone calls and braiding each other’s hair. Then we skipped around the block holding hands. All the elements are there for us to be a big happy family, I guess it’s just a matter of seasoning. Here are the happy inducing elements, in no particular order because, again, that would be too hard:

• We all heart the Daily Show and two of us want to make-out with Jon Stewart. I’ll let you guess which two.
• We all like warmed buns.
• As though we had lived together since childhood, we painlessly staked out our spots on the sectional to watch tv.
• We all like chocolate!
• Our cups overflowth with the one liners.
• We have mix and match parts that lead to endless combinations for songs about how one of these things isn’t like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong.
• We are ripe for comic misunderstandings, ala Three’s Company.
• All our things blend together like a delicious soup.
• You’d think two birds and a cat would spell disaster, but so far so good! Here’s to hoping the cat doesn’t sprout door knob friendly thumbs!
• We all like alcohol!
• While only one tap dances, the other two like to watch tap dancing.
• While only one plays geetar, the other two like to listen.
• While only one is a brainy bird biologist, the other two are fans of the feathered friends.
• We all like macaroni and cheese.

That’s just like the Top 14. Our harmony goes on and on. Like Fruit by the Foot or a really bad movie. It’s never ending!

Here is a secret message to my friend Holly: Hello, my name is Grimace!

Tonight is tangy food stuffs and the Sponge Bob movie with M. I always call him Square Bob Sponge Pants. I had a whole if/then equation worked out to help me get it right, but it usually didn’t work. Mentally asking myself if it was him or his pants that were made of sponge. Somehow, I’d still mix it up. I feel like a grandma. Scratching my head wondering why the young’ns are watching a cartoon about a dish sponge. Named Bob, nonetheless.

Question: How do you make 6 hours feel like 600?

Answer: Work the afternoon shift at the shop!

My indentured servitude is nearly over. With that happy thought, I bid you ado.

sweet rolls and fast cars

Yesterday was a blur. Most likely due to the fact that I had very little sleep and had gotten high the night before. Everything was in slow motion and all my feelings were swirling close to the surface. It takes sleep for me to smile though this and when I don’t get it, well, watch out. I just might ask some questions or talk about my feelings. And then order dinner and watch a movie with you. And hold hands. It’s terrible.

My favorite line in the French dubbed version of Tommy Boy: “Ah, mon petit animal!”

It still feels like Thanksgiving. Mostly due to out of town visitors. :A:’s friend Z is here and while I hardly know him, his presence is reminiscent of still having the pumpkin pie on the table. Same thing goes for M’s brother. Although, he left yesterday. But when he was here, he was like the turkey. Maybe today, when :A: is driving Z to the airport through the grey and cold, the cornucopia of my Thanksgiving holiday will slowly start to disappear and it can just be December again. No one left to make time to see. No one to take to the mall or the zoo or the art museum. The quiet of their departure.

It snowed a few days ago, and against all odds (do I have to pay Phil Collins royalties to use that phrase?) it has stuck around. Only in patches and only on the side of the street that doesn’t get any sun. But there it is. Patchy. Grayish. And stubborn. A hint of what’s to come. It makes me think of Georgia and how I’m not there. How I wouldn’t have seen snow this year had I left when planned. How I wouldn’t be on the hunt for a warm pair of mittens. But there it is. And here I am. Holding on tightly to the idea that it could be nice somehow and that I could be very glad I stayed. Trying to escape this thin ice feeling that’s been following me around for days now. Much like me walking to the store on an icy morning, I feel unsure where to step. Here’s hoping for a warm day.

:A: is making me a tiny pillow shaped and colored like my gallbladder.

For two days now, my car has been unlocked with the key under the mat. I’d put the address up here if I thought it wouldn’t amount to insurance fraud. I will say this, it’s a VW Jetta. 1997. Black. On a side street in Minneapolis. Near a lake. Good luck!

Things I should add to my list of interests: hatching evil plans, fraud, bank robbery, black lights, Slayer, rubbing my hands together fiendishly, Kiss boots, ass kicking, doing things under the cover of darkness, illegal dumping.

My gallbladder says “hi” by the way.

The house is full. Like big Italian meal full. All of :A:’s things are piled on top of my things. And much of M’s things are yet to be moved in. But when they are moved in, they will be on top of :A:’s things, which are on top of my things, which just might be on top of someone else and their things, too. Perhaps some poor schmuck who answered a roommate ad I forgot that I’d put in. And is now buried under a pile of our things. Hopefully, he was smart enough to create an air bubble for himself. There are just paths leading from room to room. To the cat, it must seem like a corn maze.

But, today, I will clean it. I will organize it. I will make soup. With God as my witness, yeah, yeah, yeah. These intentions are, of course, pending nothing good being on tv.

When M’s brother was in town, we wound up getting treated to some karaoke by accident. (Isn’t that how it always happens?) It was at the Chatterbox. Our neighborhood pub. (AH, that could be a clue for those interested in stealing my car!) The guy who puts it on sings EXACTLY like Johnny Cash. And he pretty much only sings Johnny Cash. Smart move on his part. It was worth sitting through all the off-key, drunken versions of Top 40 favorites to hear him croak out Ring of Fire. M was so inspired by him, he wrote a blog (Excuse me, I had something in my throat.) post imagining his life. Giving him an Aqua-Netted wife, Mabel, and having him spend some time in the service. Gave him hobbies like gun shows and flea markets. A couple estranged kids. And a name, Clem. I told him it was a life he’d kick his ass over. Probably would hit too close to home. Made me wonder what someone would write about me.

Maybe they’d write that I was a fairy princess estranged from her kingdom to follow her true dream of taming wild squirrel into house pets and learning how to make bubblegum. I’d live in a mushroom and drive around in a black platform knee high boot. I would only eat gum drops and never grow old. I’d be president of the Weezer fan club and meet Rivers for lunch once a week at a little vegetarian place just off of 5th. He’d bring me daisies and kiss me on the cheek. I’d be able to fly. I would be TIME woman of the year. I’d inspire a mismatched sock trend that would last for years.

leo kottke in streaming consciousness

I've been trying to write more. Just whatever is in my head, a few minutes at a time. Not editing or thinking about it too much. And apparently, not using the shift key either. Most, I don't post. They are too personal or rambling or show all the cracks in my armor too well. But a couple have made it here. Like this one.

We went to see Leo Kottke on Sunday night. He is this amazing acoustical guitarist and very clever storyteller. You should look him up and give him a listen if you haven't heard him before. His music is like audio hot chocolate with a little bit of cinnamon in it.

--------

leo kottke. the smell of a theatre full of people is a mix of perfume and animal. and upholstery. some cigarette smoke. depending on who you were standing near, booze. the lights were home sweet home like. lamp like. subtle and cozy. making me wish for a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. making me wish my theater seat was a couch and that instead of the balcony it was on the stage. everything had an amber glow to it. that’s my favorite kind of light. 40 watt light bulb filtered through an off white paper shade kind of light. or better yet afternoon sun coming through a curtained window. makes me want to nap or hug someone. i don’t know which. everything i touched was smooth. the railings were oiled dark wood, silky after decades of hands. the cups, plastic and cool to the touch. the velvety fabric covering the movie theatre style seats. my hand holding my other one. all smooth. all soft. even the hard things, soft. it was quiet given all the people and their winter coats. all the shuffling and seat adjusting that was done was done in near library quiet. if there is such a thing. truth be told, i’m probably use to such a constant din of traffic and furnaces and coffee grinders that i wouldn’t know what quiet really was until i was left out in it for a few days or more. but i said it already. it was quiet and it was considering there were hundreds of us there. but when he started playing, the quiet turned to silence in the audience. he said his notes hung in the air and it made it hard for him to catch up to himself. and i think they did. it’s like water or fine sand, his music fills in the cracks. the theatre was already full of people but soon there was no room left to move. light and airy and happy and frog croaking. i wanted to hold hands sometimes. touch knees other times. once, my head felt to heavy to hold up. but i held it up. the night flew by. the intermission and encore seemed nearly on top of each other. i liked how his feet tapped. i was surprised to see him standing up. he mentioned that too. that people are often surprised to see him on his feet. and i was. he looks the same every year from the distance our tickets always seem to put us. i wonder if the front row dwellers thought he looked older. he never talks about thanksgiving. never makes any food jokes. never plays any Christmas music. makes me like him all the more. it seemed warmer outside this year than other years although i remember always wearing my winter coat.

haikoo holiday

the only one who
coveted it was the cat
fourteen dollar pie

holding breath, afraid
he slides the needle in slow
vials fill with blood

decorated, she
crossed the street in too small shoes
icy hmung new year

when he picked up his
guitar, the crowd went silent
breathing in his notes

army green grease stains
1950s sear’s care tag
fifteen dollar coat

pass the stuffing, please

Ah, Thanksgiving. The giving of the thanks. A time for family and friends and holiday circulars and lots of jewelry commercials. A time for turkey and it’s pasty side dishes and wee bottles of wine. A time to reflect on what you’re thankful for. And if you haven’t guessed, that’s where today’s story will begin

…and probably end.

My list of things that I am thankful for. By Haiku Girl, grade 27.

• Holiday Spice Pepsi!
• Good health and stuff.
• How sometimes, we’ll make a whole $10 - $15 profit in a day at the coffee shop and then immediately go blow it on beer!
• The fact that I’m skinner than I was last year! High fives for me!
• Hamsters.
• That turkey is a vegetable now! It’s true. Just happened this year!
• This phrase, drunkenly used to describe tiny bottles of chardonnay at M's parent's house: chardonette!
• The pitter patter of little feet around the house again.
• Johnny Cash.
• Cowgirl shirts worn with imaginary holsters and red felt cowboy hats. Oh, and finger guns! Bang! Bang!
• The fact that given the vast amount of restaurant and cuisine choices in our fair city, my parents always pick “American, casual.” Makes it easy.
• An invitation to the only place I’d really want to be on Thanksgiving.
• Christmas songs. YEAH, you heard me right.
• The fact that one day, hopefully soon, I’ll be able to get that U2 song outta my head. It’s gotta happen, right? One day? Somehow? Cross your fingers for me.
• Customers who tip in bills, not change! I want to hug them.
• Hand turkeys.
• My friends and family. MAN, I love you guys.
• Left-overs.
• Tap dancing.
• Air hockey.
• Netflix. This is in theory only, since my first batch of movies has yet to arrive. And it’s been a while. Like over a week. Wait a minute - that stinks! PERHAPS, I’m not thankful for them at all! Those fuckers!
• The Chatter Box Pub and their yummy chip strips and dark beer!
• This phrase: chip stips!
• That I learned how to read.
• Food obsessed cats who sneeze when they’re cold.
• World peace – oh wait, we don’t have that. Have to move that over to “Christmas List.”
• Calm. Calm. Calm. And more Calm.

Now – let’s go eat some turkey vegetables! Woo-hoo!

anodyne anecdotes

I’m at a coffee shop that’s much busier than the coffee shop we own. That's a picture of it. It’s not just a little busier, it’s kick our ass busier. Location is part of it. Another part of it is that the woman who owns this place actually likes owning it. Cares about it. Probably thinks about it with a smile on her face. She also has to be rolling in cash. ROLLING in it! That’s gotta help.

What the woman sitting next to me keeps angrily muttering as she reads the New York Times: “OH, that’s decadence. Pure decadence!”

What they just popped in the CD player: Le Tigre!

We play Le Tigre too, but at our store, the only people bobbing their heads are the staff. SIGH.

I landed a babysitting job today. The house smells like moth balls, the parents are hippies, the baby is, um, unattractive and it only pays $8 an hour. YEAH. Desperation lands you in odd spots. Ah, my old job. Cute kids, nice house, cool parents, $12 an hour, fun things to do, art supplies, naps, organic food that I got to eat for free. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!? Visual: me banging head on brushed metal table at hip, packed coffee shop.

What the woman sitting next to me switched her angry muttering to: “Good gravy!”

M and I went to his parent’s house yesterday. It was the first time I had been there since May. I could tell his parents were surprised to see me. I wonder if they could tell how surprised I was to be there! I tried to hide my awe and panic behind my trademark big smile and eager head bobs. After some chit chat, dog pets and peeks at some of the new things his mom has picked up during my six month exile, we left and went to IHOP for some breakfast-for-dinner food stuffs.

Important side note: they put pancake batter in their omelets.

While eating my aforementioned batter laced omlette , I confessed that it was sometimes weird for me to be there. It was nothing from him, nothing from his parents, it was all in my head and best I could figure was that I still don’t really believe all this. And being there, where I know she had been just weeks before, was odd. It was ghost like. It was a step toward accepting that this has happened. That she is real and not imagined. And that this soap opera isn’t a bad dream. It’s real. And I’m in it. Starring role.

But this too shall pass. I have come to be a firm believer in the temporariness of things. Whatever weirdness I feel is a wave, going under me as I bob in place. Whatever happiness, sadness, anger, regret - all waves. Me - always in place. Bobbing. Weathering.

Soon it will be a different wave lifting me up or pushing me down. That’s the only constant in this whole mess, in everything really, the up and down, the change, the flux, the unknown.

That use to scare me, now it just makes me swallow a little hard and keep my eyes open.

That’s something.

interstate 94

Driving today, I saw the eerie remains of an accident that had just happened minutes before. A crumpled car, it could have been made of paper for all the wrinkles and creases. Stunning that it was metal. The driver had been pulled from the upside down blue American made something or other and was lying on the ground, unmoving. A girl was crouched beside him with the distinct look of fear and panic on her face, not knowing what to do other than lay her hand on his shoulder and look at the cars passing by with her wide deer in the headlights eyes. There were no paramedics there yet. No police there yet. Just that girl, and a few lurking good samaritans. Walking around, on cell phones, surely calling for help. Safety glass chunks like crushed ice littered the highway. There were creeping fluids darkening the pavement and running along the slight dips in the road. I’d like to think it was gasoline or anti-freeze and not blood. It’s cold out today. Thirty-five degrees. He had a jacket on, a puffy Vikings jacket, and almost white blue jeans. I couldn’t help but to think of how cold the pavement must be on his back. Thinking that girl should get a blanket for him somehow. How if I had one, I’d have held it out the window. As I was passing the accident, I finally saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror and the traffic slowly and awkwardly part to let the ambulance through. I saw the girls head turn and look towards the sirens, she only looked slightly relived. I wondered if they were strangers. I wondered what she would think of the rest of the day, if she’d cry when she got back into her car to finish what it was she set out to do that morning. I put my hand to my mouth and could feel my eyes tear up as I drove by. Thinking about how lucky I am that wasn’t me or someone I loved. Thinking how horrible to have this happen a week before Thanksgiving, wondering if his family would be thankful for his bandaged and bruised body at the table or mourning his passing just a week before. Thinking the things that really knock you to your knees hit you randomly and out of the blue and leave you shaking and trying to put the pieces back together when you thought you had the puzzle finished. Thinking of the phone call his wife or mother would get this afternoon that would make them drop the phone and grab their car keys. Thinking how love binds us in ways we don’t even know.

i can't hear you! i can't hear you!

I bought a writing book. Looks like I’m committed to this. Know what that means: this will be my last post.

The holidays have crept up and pinched me in the ass. I’m feeling rather scroogish. Not that I’ll be whispering to 5 year olds at the mall that there is no Santa, or stealing plastic lit up snowmen from carefully decorated yards. No. It’s not like that. Others can have their cheer, I’d just rather not know about it. I’m trying to pretend that the holidays are not upon us. Pretending that it’s still October. Pretending that it’ll be October until it’s mid January. I’m plugging my ears and closing my eyes and singing “La La La!” at the top of my lungs. Please note the absence of the holiday cheer filled “Fa” there. It was on purpose.

:A: wants a Christmas tree. Which is going to make it slightly harder to ignore the holidays. I can just pretend it’s an overgrown houseplant. With things hanging on it. That also happens to be lit up. With pretty boxes underneath. Maybe I’ll just stop hanging out in the living room for a while.

Radio stations are off limits, so is shopping. I’ll have to have everything delivered. TV might be a little dangerous as well, with all the strategically placed Christmas specials and their fury claymation and catchy holiday tunes. Billboards, eggnog, snow. How am I going to ignore snow? I live in Minneapolis!?! I can dress inappropriately for the weather. Wear skirts and open toed shoes and look quizzically at people who ask me if I’m cold. I could carefully arrange a chain of extension corded together space heaters all along my walk to work. That idea is full of potential! Especially since I only live half a block away!

I could go and live in a country that doesn’t celebrate Christmas, if there is such a thing anymore. With all the invading and such. But I could try! I’m sure my mom would still track me down for a care package full of cookies and fruit cake and a silly Christmas card. Arg! It seems unavoidable. Too bad when you have one of those page-a-day calendars it doesn’t actually stop time if you stop removing the page a day. Then they would be worth the $8.95.

Here is my MySpace profile: http://profiles.myspace.com/users/11196283

Here is what I’m listening to right now: The Who mixed with the sound of cars driving by in the rain.

Things between M and I are surprisingly calm. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. But there it is. It’s been a week now. Which isn’t much I know, but it’s at least something. He’s been sleeping on the couch. We’ve watched TV. We’ve kissed a little. We’ve drank two bottles of wine and had food that came from this place in the house where there is a sink and a stove and stuff. My heart is still in bubble wrap. I’ve had realizations that I consider to be big and huge and important. Stuff like me being the only person who can put my life back together. Stuff like all I can do is control my reactions to things, not the things themselves. Stuff like I have to let him do what he’s gonna do and let my feelings for him change if they need to. I think I’m letting go. It’s kinda weird and kinda scary, but nice at the same time. Apparently, I’m the knight in shining armor I was hoping for.

Here is what I’m wondering: what would Jane Pratt do?

my body lies over the ocean

my body. i have never been a small girl and it tells that story. there are too many spots where my skin has all but given up trying to keep pace with the ever changing shrinking growing me. it doesn’t snap back like it use to but it’s still creamy smooth, hinting toward the pink. in spite of it’s flaws, i count it among my assets. my hair is dark brown with golden reddish highlights. in the sun, it glows. it’s fine and soft and when i let it air dry, it falls into barely there curls. i have cowlicks, and if i nap you can tell. i get a little sleepy snarl in the same spot every time. my face is my favorite part. i have big bright eyes under arched eyebrows. a nice smile. a small constellation of freckles lives on my left cheek. my lips are not thin nor full. my collar bone is only hinted at. buried under a cushion of me that softens all my would-be angles. my arms are long and end in hands i’ve been told are beautiful. i keep my nails short and unpainted. my knuckles are wrinkly in the right way. my breasts are big and round. and flatten out when i lay on my back. my stomach is where my insecurities sleep. it’s not flat or defined or anything that a magazine would suggest it be. it’s soft and pillow like. cushy. my belly button is an innie. my hips are in proportion to the rest of me and give way to long legs. i’m tall for a girl. i have a patch of blue-purple veins that i long to tattoo over on the side of my right leg. there is a small scar from a bike fall when i was ten. i have cute knees. they are dimpled and kid-like. i almost always have at least one bruise. pea soup green is the color they usually are. my ankles are nice, curving in good spots. they hold me up. my feet are wide but still have girlish charm. the arch is perfect and the skin there is soft. my toes are pudgy. especially the baby toe. it’s almost round. i have freckles all over me. spaced out, like a connect the dots. i am healthy and work well. my heart beat is strong. my breathing, fluid. i don’t need glasses. i can hear pins drop. my body is perfect imperfection.

'tis the season for rampant commercialism!

Move over eggnog - - now there’s something with, uh, more cola in it?

YES. It’s true. Eggnog has a new competitor and it’s name is Holiday Spice Pepsi.

I kid you not.

Holiday. Spice. Pepsi.

We first met at Lund’s. It was on an end cap. I was walking by. Our eyes met, we stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Then I broke the silence: “What the fuck is this?!?” I grabbed the bottle and held it out for my companion to see. He was also stunned. His first question: “Is there cinnamon in it?” We read the label. We held it to the light to see it’s holiday reddish brown glow. We poked it. We prodded it. We left with out it.

BUT…

I couldn’t stop thinking about it! About it’s sexy elfin label. About it’s bright holiday packaging.

I bought the next bottle I ran across. I had to have it!

I took, maybe, two sips.

It’s not that its icky per se. It’s definitely not icky. But it’s not good either. It’s more curious. YES. Curious is the perfect word! After each of my two sips, I tilted my head to the side, scratched my head and shrugged my shoulders. Holiday spice is apparently cinnamon and ginger, with a hint of orange and pine. And maybe some tinsel and elf spit.

I can’t help but to wonder what all the uses of this new holiday beverage are. Recipes? Household cleaning tips? Cold weather insulation? Here is my short list:

1. Baste your Christmas ham in Holiday Spice Pepsi!

2. Save a can of Holiday Spice Pepsi until grilling season starts – make that pop can grilled chicken and infuse your summer dinner with the taste and scent of Christmas and cola. YUM!

3. Make a stove top potpourri! One can Holiday Spice Pepsi, one cup of Rice Krispies, a dash of Pine-Sol and two cinnamon sticks. Fill your home with the smell of Christmas!

4. Mix Holiday Spice Pepsi with eggnog and pour around the outside parameter of your home to keep non-Christians away!

5. Warm in crock pot and serve with candy canes and whipped cream!

6. Drink away your Christmas blues! Mix Holiday Spice Pepsi with the hard liquor of your choice and enjoy enjoy enjoy! You can also use Holiday Spice Pepsi to take your aspirin the next morning! Fun!

7. Set trap to catch Santa! Set out Holiday Spice Pepsi and cookies. When you hear Santa burp – nab him!

8. Save your cans to make festive tree ornaments or string them together with ribbon for an eye catching garland!

9. Gargle with Holiday Spice Pepsi to have holiday scented breath!

10. Grow your own Christmas helper! Plant one Keebler E.L. Fudge cookie 1” deep in large pot. Water with Holiday Spice Pepsi. Set in sun. Await elf.

11. Have an extreme snowball fight! Instead of wasting all that time and energy making snowballs – just leave a case or two of Holiday Spice Pepsi outside to freeze! Throw frozen cans at passers by, neighbors and carolers! Fun for the whole family!

I should stop now. Really. I should. This list could get to be longer than Santa’s list of naughty children!

Speaking of naughty children – I just heard on the radio that Dick Cheney went to the hospital with chest pains! The team of doctors who treated and released him said his heart is a-ok.

Heart?

What? He has one? Can they release some x-rays or something? I’d like to see some proof of this alleged “heart.” I was so sure he was a cyborg. I woulda bet money on it. Still would!

Insert your own Grinch joke here!

hotter than this

Saw The Incredibles last night with M. I heart superheroes!

I actually kinda wanna be one. I would like to be able to fly. Or at least levitate! I’d like to also be able to twirl really fast, like with my leg sticking out, so I could knock over everything in my path and plow through walls. Shape shifting would be awesome! Being able to turn into whatever or whoever at a moments notice – handy! You wouldn’t even need invisibility if you could shape shift! Need to be in a room to hear the super evil genius lay out the super evil plan? Turn into a lamp! Need to stow away overnight in an art museum to protect the world famous painting from being stolen? Turn into a velvet rope! Wanna be a size 0 supermodel for a day or twenty years? YEAH… enough said.

For my accompanying super weakness, I would pick to become totally helpless in the face of physical comedy. The bad guy trips on his cape, we’re in trouble. As a group of bad guy thugs run up a hallway, someone lets loose a bag or two of marbles, the day might not be saved. Evil plots in the city I protect would all involve cream pies and crack falls. Classic.

OH… what to wear, what to wear. I’d want to look like a grown up version of a Powerpuff Girl. Little 60’s style pink dress. Thigh high black boots. Pigtails. Tights. Maybe gloves. A little mask or something to protect my secret identity as a world famous supermodel. I’d kick ass and look good doing it! Maybe be Miss March in the Super Girl Pin Up calendar. With all the proceeds going to charity, of course.

Word that best describes the color of the Gatorade I’m drinking: pee.

What the label calls it: electric citrus.

Am I done yapping about being a superhero: I think so.

ice cream day dreams

I saw some sun today. Just a peek of it. But it was honest to goodness sunshine. Warm on my face and making my hair glow auburn. Not sure why it showed itself today. It wasn’t a good day. Today was mostly overcast and taxing. But then there was this sun. It could have been the support of my friends. It could have been the notion that maybe I’m stronger than all this. It might have been the idea that there is better out there finally sinking in. Maybe it was all three. But there was sun. And I saw it. And it made everything seem alright for a little while.

Here is something important: I need to write more poMs.

in the sun, he twirled
facing me with his wide smile
a million colors

seeing her, she is
pretty and not all at once
complicated face

i’m ice cream day dreams
superhero banana
never know what you’ll get

The good. Let’s talk about the good! L is good. She came and she mopped and she hugged and she ran errands but what she really did was prop me up a little, and I needed that. Losing weight is good! I am so close to reaching my baby step goal that I can taste it AND it doesn’t taste like a wheelbarrow of Nutter-Butters and a remote control! Hope is good! Maybe a job for me that I would be happy to do at a place where I would be happy to do it. Optimism is good! A belief that things will, of course, be ok is swirling around me now like I’m Snow White and it’s a dozen blue birds. Favorite things are good! Chocolaty chocolate cake that is the color of dark roasted coffee and shared with friends. The fluffy soft green puff cloud that is my bed. Shiny new mary janes. My mom. My friends. My potential. Cowgirl shirts. Chap Stick. How my head is full of good good things. How my heart is so big you can hear it beating from a block away.

Here is something that I wondered today: are we all connected with invisible string?

Here is something that I know for sure: we are all connected though something.

talking in my sleep

OH MY GOD.

The doofus who was supposed to buy the store, thereby triggering a chain of events that culminated in me getting the hell outta dodge for real, is MIA. He missed a meeting with my bank. He hasn’t called me back. He hasn’t called them back. All things that point to this: no good.

All I want right now is some pie.

Here is my favorite kind of pie: banana cream.

Upon hearing the bad news a part of my brain that has been long dormant kicked in. Wheels are turning. Ideas are being hatched. My hamster is getting tired. The goal: to leave here. I’m entertaining some creative escape plans. Faking my own death. Putting the word on the street that I’m a willing kidnap victim. Hitching the store to a trailer and driving it down to Georgia. Becoming more attractive for alien abduction (i.e. gaining 40 pounds and moving to a farm in Iowa.) Trying to take out a loan so I could cover the mortgage and go to Athens, have M take over the store.

WAIT A MINUTE.

That last idea… the one right after alien abduction. That one could actually work! I could borrow a little money, wouldn’t need much. I could pack up and move for the winter. I could be happy. I could go see a band without looking over my shoulder. I could start to get over this. Figure out what I want, what I need, what I have to do with a little distance, a little emotional detachment. Come back slightly more able to deal with all this.

YEZ. That is what I shall do.

More debt for emotional relief! Sign me up!

Of course, all this is providing I can find someone drunk enough to give me a loan. Wish me luck!

What I wish I was doing right now: packing.

Who I wish was president elect: Mr. T.

I had an annoying customer experience yesterday! Except this time, I was the annoying customer! A nice change! Here are the pet peeves I surely trounced upon:

#1: I had kids with me. My only saving grace on this one is that I left the stroller outside instead of bumping it into everything and blocking traffic. Good for me. I’m still annoying though.

#2: I asked to see the label on the vanilla flavor syrup. Sam is allergic to peanuts and he’s a cool kid, so I try to keep him alive by checking things like that for him. The vanilla syrup passed the test! Woo-hoo!

#3: I ordered him a small vanilla steamer and the girl working the counter asked me what kind of milk. Jokingly, I asked Sam what kind of milk he wanted FULLY expecting to launch into some kind of kid/grown-up Abbot and Costello routine about how chocolate milk wouldn’t work in a vanilla steamer… but he said SOY. Soy milk for a 4 year old. How am I gonna recover from this one?

#4: I get soy milk, too. Hello, yuppie!

#5: When the girl hands me the steamer, I taste it to make sure it isn’t too hot for Sam. It’s PERFECT. I tell her so, add another bonus point. Hand it to Sam and watch as, in slow motion, it slides through his outreached hands and crashes to the floor. Peanut-free vanilla soy steamer is EVERYWHERE. Gulp!

#6. I set the baby down to help clean it up, go to throw away the cup and spin around to a screaming Sam because Lucy is crawling for the peanut-free vanilla soy steamer puddle! OH NO! I run and grab her just in time. The screaming though, surely, it didn’t win us any friends.

They make us another one, we leave immediately.

My attempted redemption: I tip an extra $5 on top of the $1 I had already put in. So a scone, steamer and iced coffee cost me $12. Niiiiice. And they probably still hated me. Niiiicer.

Alrighty, I’m off to forge loan applications! Let’s all hope the credit bureaus get hit with good will computer viruses that make everyone’s credit report nearly perfect!

mondo curmudgeon!

At least I live in a blue state.

For now.

Yikes!

There is so much that was disappointing about the election – where to start! The first big huge thing was who won. Yeah, that was pretty disappointing! The second one was how all the states that had gay marriage bans on the ballots passed them. Mississippi passed theirs with 98% of the vote! So, it’s not ok for gay couples to marry BUT it’s ok to fuck your cousin!?! Go figure! The third disappointment was that Ohio, or Oh-Hell-No as we all should start calling it, was the pivotal state and they let us down, man. We gave them the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and they go red. What’s up with that?!? Completely uncalled for! Let’s do election day all over again – best two outta three? Is anyone up for that? Come on. It’ll be fun! Uh, please? Anyone? Anyone?

Since it’s icky cold outside, that means the start of the documentary film festival! Tis the season of waiting in outdoor ticket lines! Went to see I, Curmudgeon with some friends. It’s about grumpy people and happiness. Although, it’s much better than my description would let on. Crumb was in it. He was reclining the whole time and holding his head. Classic. Andy Rooney was a total dick. Fran Liebovitz was brilliant. Left me thinking some. At the after party, the weirdest thing was that no one was talking about the movie. It must be the kind of film that needs to sink in a bit, simmer there a while, before you can say anything smart about it. It’s been three days since then and I still can’t decide if it cheered me up or made me feel lousier! I’d recommend it though. Curmudgeons are funny people!

Also went to see Mondovino. It’s about wine. Taught me a couple of things. The first, people who make pricey wine are by in large a bunch of pretentious assholes. The second, America ruins everything. We suck. No wonder everyone hates us! I’m packing up and moving to France. Globalization and rampant consumerism have beat out tradition and variety. Everyone now makes their wines to appease the American palate and specifically American wine critic Robert Parker. And the Mondovi family – well, they are the wine mafia. Stay away from their wines if you can. They pretty much own everything, but if you can find one wine you like that maybe ISN’T owned by them, buy it often and maybe stock up, because chances are it will be owned by them shortly. The sad part is that what’s happening in wine is happening in everything! Media, film making, music, technology. The big companies rule the world! It’s hard to compete as a small business. We’re losing innovation and variety. It didn’t take me more than a few minutes to KNOW that this movie depressed me! We suck!

Stoopid Mondovino movie quote: “My dream is that in 10 or 15 generations we’ll be making wine from grapes grown on other planets! Wine from Mars!” – Michael Mondovi

Oh, boy!

killer bees are gonna get you

I spent yesterday afternoon at the Fall of America, Halloween costume shopping with A. We made mad dashes around the Fall looking for 30 small plastic snakes, a black dress, green hair dye and a tiara. If you’ve ever been to the Fall, you know that a few mad dashes around it will suck the life force out of you -or- just make you tired and cranky. Add in the billion people and their offspring dressed up for the season and you have a recipe for making haiku_girl something something.

Our first stop was the food court. DUH, we’re GIRLS. On the way to lukewarm pizza Utopia, I walked past a boy who was so absolutely beautiful my heart stopped for a second. Seriously. Our eyes met. I blushed. He crossed his legs to the right, kicking one of his many Banana Republic shopping bags over. Apparently, my GAYDAR was on a momentary hiatus. Maybe I should have given him my number anyway. He could’ve joined the Hot Gay Boy Army of One (well, then Two) who freely and frequently tell me my ass looks good in these jeans.

In route from the small plastic snake store to the tiara shoppe, I think I heard the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. The culprit: a woman pushing a stroller and chatting with her friend. We rounded a corner and she said, and I quote, “OH, that smell is CINNABON, it’s cinnamon roll smell!” She said this in a surprised manner.

Has she never been in a MALL before?

Has she never smelled a CINNAMON ROLL before?

There are a few smells in this world that are undeniably recognizable. Poop, Thanksgiving and Cinnabon. Has this woman been living under a rock? The sheer amount of cinnamon roll scent that this place pumps out in an hour is mind-numbing. Yet, this woman was surprised by her discovery. WOW, that’s cinnamon roll smell!?! Go figure.

The afternoon left me thinking a little too much about the event that is Halloween. Specifically, Halloween for grown-ups. Along with the many costumed tots at the Fall, were the token handful of childless, costumed adults. Please keep in mind that this was Saturday afternoon, people. A wee bit creepy. We saw a particularly bad batch, a trio, of poorly costumed grown-ups. The worst of the three was a woman dressed up as a bee. A bee that would so kick your ass if you looked at her boyfriend the wrong way at the 3.2 bar. Her potentially festive yellow and black stripes were smudged on like war paint. She had little fairy wings attached to her been washed with the darks a few too many times yellow sweatshirt. She didn’t seem to be having a very good time, unless her angry expression was part of the outfit. A and I came up with the idea that she might be dressed as a killer bee – hence the war paint and the sour puss – but we weren’t so sure. Didn’t seem the type. Missing a machete or something. Some blood maybe. Something.

I shouldn’t make fun. AWWW, ok, maybe just a little.

If I were smart, the afternoon shoulda ended my DAY. I shoulda just come home, put on my jammies and went straight to bed. But nooooo, M came over and we got stinkin’ drunk. Drowning our sorrows, we said. Finding the answers to our problems at the bottom of a bottle, we said. Working our way to killer hangovers, we did. OH, it was fun for about 45 minutes, then the initial tingle gave way to bad judgment and more booze. No good! It’s almost 24 hours later and I’m still not feeling so hot. M isn’t either. Double no good! We’re idiots.

Tomorrow is Monday. Back to the grind. Ha ha. Get it? Coffee shop… grind… yeah.

lists. everyone's doing it.

Here are the top ten things you should all know about me, in no order of course, because that would be too hard:

10. I believe that the spirit of my dead grandmother lives in my Magic 8-Ball.
9. I like to tap dance. What’s worse, I think I’m quite good at it.
8. I think the Arby’s oven mitt is kinda funny.
7. I am a vegetarian leather wearing walking contradiction.
6. I wish the world was safer for squirrels.
5. There is a mammoth laundry pile in my basement that I’ve had conversations with on many occasions. No worries, it comes in peace.
4. I’ve never been to an IHOP, but BOY, do I wanna.
3. The cutest thing that’s ever been said to me: that I reminded M’s grandma of the little girl in Monster’s Inc.
2. I think I could live on donuts and multivitamins.
1. I have a soft spot in my heart for cheap ass, white trash, chilled, frooty red wine. Anyone wanna split a bottle or two...enty?

Your turn.

it rolls down stairs, alone or in pairs

When we moved into our house about a year ago, the previous owner, a persnickety friend of ours, left us a little house warming present: a case of Crackling Hearth Loggs. Never having had a fireplace before, I was kinda unsure what to do with them. Were they for building forts? Were they really an unassembled coffee table from IKEA? Did they float? Could I use them as weighty log shaped throw pillows? Could I slice ‘em and serve them with mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy?

Holding out one curiously, I asked M what they were. He replied: They’re firewood for people like Alfred. Alfred = yuppie. Me = got it.

After using up the case, we kinda started making fun of them. We immediately switched to real wood and for the first time realized that fires could be both warm and nice smelling. Who knew?! But this autumn, Logg has made a come back.

Fall in Minnesota is all about being fucking COLD. Once the splendor of the season wears off (about a week) it changes to a season of freezing rain, gusty winds and no sun ever. Which is why it’s so odd that there is no firewood to be had in a five mile radius of the house.

You know what there is to be had at the grocery store just up the street though?? Yup, you guessed it: Logg.

I have come to love Logg. My new favorite thing is to curl up on the couch with M, hold hands, drink trailer trash wine and make fun of Logg.

Logg is good for the one liners! Here are the things we tease Logg about:

To ignite Logg, you start it’s package on fire. The package is where all the directions are! Not only directions for how to start Logg (i.e. ignite package) but for the care and maintenance of Logg as you watch it burn. Important things such as “Do not poke Logg,” “Do not look at Logg in an aggressive manner,” and “Do not feed Logg people food.”

Logg comes in Color Change Logg and Regular Logg. Why even make Regular Logg anymore? Why would anyone pick Regular Logg over Fucking Awesome Color Change Logg? Plain Ol’ Fire Color Logg vs. Uber Cool Logg With Color Changing Fire Crystals… no contest! Yet they keep making Regular Logg. Go figure.

You are to only burn one Logg at a time. OH, THE TEMPTATION. Each time I pick up some Logg at the grocery store, I always pick up two. I only ever burn one though, apparently, I'm a chicken. I wish the flammable package would go into more detail as to why one Logg equals three hours of fun for the whole family and two Loggs equal burning inferno, but it does not. Still I toy with the idea and swear as each individual Logg burns down to just glowing embers, that next time, I’m putting in two.

Logg claims to be firewood yet it does not smell or cast off any heat. M and I think Logg is really torn up and compressed Dr. Phil books. That makes more sense.

Logg is more than just fun to look at it, it’s fun to say as well! Logg! Logg! Logg! It’s especially fun after a bottle of cheap wine! Try it some time! You’ll see!

To recap: Logg = Awesome! Logg With Color Changing Fire Crystals = SUPER Awesome! Real Firewood = smelly and hot.

Now go get your very own Logg and if you don’t have a fireplace, just make sure to burn it in your bath tub.

Enjoy!!!

with lots of frosting, too

Excuse me, but could you please scoot that soap box over my way? Thanks.

A-hem.

Trust. What the fuck?

I’m a REALLY trusting person. I call it a character trait. Other’s call it a character flaw. Toe-mato, toe-mah-toe. Fuck you.

I would also claim to be very trustworthy. Ironic, considering that I am involved in a number of really big lies as I type this. Three to be exact. In two of the lies, I have no one to lie to, but am the one lied about. The wanna-be lawyer in me wants to jump to my defense and make some kind of argument about how my responsibility in these situations is negligent since I have no allegiance to the parties being lied to, blah blah blah. But I can’t make that argument. Mainly because it’s a fucking weak argument. I have no excuses. I shouldn’t be doing these things. I suck. I also have no plans to stop doing these things either. Further, I have no plans of ever telling the one who is being lied to about the things I’m doing. See - I really do suck!

The third lie is a lie I’m keeping. I haven’t been asked about it directly. I haven’t even been asked about it indirectly, but I am NOT saying something that might be of interest to someone important to me. AH-HA! Let all who read this and know me suffer in the cruel grasp of paranoia!

Now that my confession is out there, I am free to say this: WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING TO EACH OTHER?!?

Seriously.

All these lies are hurtful to the people we love. LOVE. People we would donate kidneys to. People we would bust outta jail. People we would organize search parties to find if they ever went missing. And we lie to them? What the fuck?

How do we sleep at night? I know! We sleep at night because we have convinced ourselves that these lies are better than the truth. We are protecting feelings! We are keeping the peace! We are noble in carrying this burden around by ourselves!

We are wrong!

That’s all total and utter crap to make us feel better. We want our cake and to eat it, too. And we want ice ceam on the side as well. And a clean fork. And maybe some more ice cream. Especially if it’s chocolate. And some milk. Skim. Ice cold. In a goblet. Is there any more cake left?

It’s all self preservation bullshit. We are trading the very foundation that our relationships are built on for some seriously silly shit. We do it because we think we can get away with it. It’s a calculated risk. If it works, we get what’s behind door number one AND doors two and three.

What could be better than that?

I don’t know for sure, because like I said earlier, I suck and am involved in three big lies right now – but I think what might be better than walking away with the new car, the donkey and the cutlery set is NOT lying. Maybe instead of lying or doing things we’d want to lie about, we could be honest with our feelings and talk to these people. Remember… we love them. We’d drop the phone and rush to the hospital if we ever got news they were hurt. We’d go to Walgreen’s at 3am in a blizzard to get them cold medicine or Puffs with lotion. We’d trade seats with them on an airplane if they wanted to look out the window.

But like I said, I don’t know for sure.

Yup.

Well.

Back to my cake and goblet of ice cold skim milk!

my favorite haiku

polka dotted lawn
let's pick a dandelion
to keep by the sink

down Tim, down!

Dinner last night was like Meet The Press. It’s nice that no one wants me to leave. And even nicer that one by one they seem to be coming around to the idea. Apparently, I’m pretty good at pulling shit out of my ass. My confusion on the matter comes and goes. Their confusion on the matter was laid to rest, New Orleans style, over loud music, fried food and much alcohol.

The Canadian puts it best: I’m trying to find a way to stop being unhappy.

Hence the move. Athens, Georgia. Peaches, peanuts and rock stars. Woo-hoo!

I have a little thing for the south. A crush of sorts. Southern accents make my knees weak. I love how green and warm it is. How the summer air is like breathing underwater. I love the kitsch of it all, too. Waffle houses, absurd metaphors, sweet tea. I want to take a million pictures. I want to come back one day with a slight twang in my speech and the relaxed glow of a southern bell dressed down in blue jeans and a rock n roll t-shirt.

One of my favorite quotes is this: Sometimes you just have to take the leap, and build your wings on the way down.

Here I go!

It’s been like a roller coaster with M again this week. Fun! The ups were way up. The lows, a little easier somehow.

The best up was a rousing game of late night truth or dare. We were both tipsy on beer drinks, laying in bed, holding hands. Talking. We were asking each other questions about things we’ve done, things we’d like to do, our favorite things about each other. Mostly naughty. Mostly x-rated. Lots of giggling and coy whispers. Daring each other for kisses and more. The anticipation was wonderfully excruciating. It was all butterflies and tingles once we gave in to it. Ended the night drifting in and out of sleep, sweaty, still holding hands.

You know how in movies, they’ll have the film montage of all the happy moments. Like in Annie Hall. The lobster incident, her nutty outfits, the snappy one-liners. All the good times, boiled down to a mutual laugh or a certain look or a knowing smile. Carefully crafted fifteen second snippets to tug at your heart strings and make you root for love over circumstance. Yeah. You know the ones. Our little game of truth or dare woulda made it into our montage. It was that nice.

The low. A tantrum. I AM A TWO YEAR OLD. I was mad, I refused to budge from his truck. We sat there in near silence for over half an hour. Haven’t talked since. We work together tomorrow. I assume the first I’ll see of him will be when he walks past the front store windows. His grandpa’s jean jacket on, backpack over his shoulder. Looking straight ahead, probably nervous to see me. Just like I’ll be nervous to see him. Dunno if we’ll be friends by the end of the day. Dunno if we’ll be anything by the end of the day. All I know is that I’ll see him walk past the front windows tomorrow and my heart will race.

My mom started speaking to me again today. Well… speaking might be too kind a term. It was more like yelling. But it’s better than nothing. So that’s cool.

I’m drinking lots of tea today. My stomach is queasy. I have no appetite. Stress, most likely. Bad cheese puff, less likely.

Here is the only tea that I like hot: Good Earth Original.

Here is why that’s surprising to all who know me: I’m not such a big fan of the cinnamon.

I hung out with A this afternoon. Another convert to the Athens cause! Yee-haw!

I think I am having a moment of sanity! OH, no worries, it will be fleeting. Here is what I can see right this second: I need space, too. For as stubborn as M is with wanting time to sort this out, I am as stubborn in not wanting it. I push, he pushes back. Here is the interesting thing though – my pushing doesn’t do anything to further what I want. Yet I do it anyway. I don’t want him back unless he is ready to come back. I need to trust that he’s had time to sort himself out and that if he comes to the conclusion that he wants to be with me that it’s real and honest and backed by a big commitment on his part to do his best. The only way I’ll ever believe that is if he has the time and space he says he needs. I know that he loves me. I know that we have something special and unique between us. I just need to put that in my pocket and go.

Building

my

wings

on

the

way

down.

OH YES, soup for me

I made soup.

This may not sound like a big deal. But it is. It marks only the 3rd time in over 5 months that I have chopped anything. My diet, if you can call it that, has consisted of cheese puffs, take out and Newcastle. It’s a medical miracle that I don’t have scurvy.

Search as I would, I couldn’t find a soup recipe calling only for marshmallows, ketchup and lentils. Apparently, the internet has it’s flaws.

M’s sister has no flaws though and she was kind enough to give me her super world famous fantastico recipe for wild rice soup. Perfect for autumn. Perfect for crackers. Perfect for eating while watching Letterman.

I needed ingredients. Lund’s has ingredients. It was a date.

The grocery store was really bright. And there were all these people there buying things. Pushing around carts. Squeezing fruit. They kept talking to each other and looking at these slips of paper they all seemed to be holding. I was carrying around a little green shopping basket. Always kinda makes me feel like Dorothy sans the dog and the cool shoes. $24.81 later and I had a buncha stuff that when combined in the right order would yield soup! SOUP! Cool.

Got home. Chopped things. Boiled things. Stirred things. Added secret magic herbs and spices. Stirred some more. Simmered. Chanted. Cast a spell on. Added some cream. Taste tested. Added some pepper. And VOILA, soup! I am proud. It is delicious. The house smells like someone actually lives here for once.

Here is the recipe if you dare to try this at home:

L’s Souper Douper Wild Rice Soup Extraordinaire!
3 T butter
3 stalks celery, chopped
3 carrots, chopped
1 good sized onion, yup, you guessed it, chopped
1 t of garlic
1 can of corn
4 ½ T flour
½ t pepper
½ t poultry seasoning
1 bay leaf
2 ½ cups cooked wild rice
1 ½ cups water
2 cans of vegetable broth
1 spell
1 ½ cups of half and half
½ cup parsley, chopped
½ cup slivered almonds

Melt the butter in a really big pan. Add the celery, carrots, garlic and onion. Sautee until tender. Add corn, pepper and poultry seasoning. Cook a little bit more. Add the flour one T at a time. This will turn it into a thick paste kind of mess. DO NOT PANIC. That’s what it’s supposed to do. Add water and vegetable broth. Toss in bay leaf, preferably over your right shoulder. Add cooked wild rice. Cast your spell. Add parsley. Stir. Simmer until you can’t wait any longer. Turn off the heat. Let it sit for about 5 minutes and then add the half and half. Stir. Taste test. Add more of what you like. Taste again. Top with almonds. Feel the soup happiness wash over you. Call your friends over. Receive their many compliments with a humble smile. Pat yourself on the back for a soup well made.

i'm fixin' to wax on, wax off

I am two weeks away from hoop skirts and parasols.

My plan to get out of dodge has taken a southern turn. House. Maybe a newspaper job. Bike riding weather all year round. It sounds pretty nice. Good scenery nice. Change of pace nice. And the best part, my would-be roommate doesn’t seem the type to have heads in his freezer. So it’s all good.

My mother, however, isn’t speaking to me.

Here is what I think of that: she’ll get over it. Right? Really. I mean, she will, right?

M is back from Heaveland! He almost got punched today by a shifty quick change artist! He got hollered at by a guy wanting a phone book! I told him I was moving to Georgia with a stranger! WELCOME HOME!

The dead squirrel that has been the object of a mild obsession of mine is missing. Missing in inaction. I assume some lucky dog came upon him and is now burring him in their back yard. I was really hoping to follow his decomposing process all the way through to dirt, but no such luck. Last I saw him, he was pretty much like furry jerky.

I am gearing up for what promises to be a very tumultuous couple of weeks. I have stock piled family-sized boxes of Puffs with lotion. I have switched to tear-proof mascara. I have enough sleeping pills and cheese puffs to make it through an entire weekend without leaving the house. I have stashed away enough beer money to last me two weeks, three if I can hit at least part of happy hour each time. In the words of our verbally challenged el presidenté, bring it on.

Athens, Georgia day dream #345: Me and Pete Buck sitting on a porch swing and drinking mint juleps.

Here is how A asked me to hang out this weekend: Do you have planimals on Friday or Sunday Night?

The Canadian asked me if I was secretly hoping M would come fetch me from Athens, Georgia. I told him no. I was openly hoping to be fetched from Athens, Georgia. I guess that makes some kind of difference. I don’t fashion M a fetcher. He’s too laid back for that. While in the kitchen, in between making out and yelling at each other, I asked him if he had ever fetched anyone. He proceeded to list off all his crazy ex-girlfriends, each followed by a resounding “No.” I asked, “Never, not even when you liked them did you go fetch them when they stormed out of a room?” He replied, “If I did, it was only to argue some more.”

No good!!



Here is where I get all Karate Kid. We had fetching lessons today! I left. M came and got me. I said, “See, that wasn’t so hard. We’ll keep doing this every day and each day I’ll be a little farther away until I’m in Georgia.”

Here is what I know: one day soon, I’ll tell him I don’t want him to fetch me.

Here is the biggest surprise of all: I’ll mean it.

Here is my biggest worry about this journal entry: fetching has become some kind of kinky code word for some kind of kinky sexual act and suddenly my weblog is gonna be A LOT more popular.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the day we closed the deal on the store, instead it’s the day I sign an extension on closing the deal on the store. I guess that’s better than nothing. Wish me luck all the same.

suede vests with tassels are cool

Another rousing game of Grover’s Near and Far as it relates to matters of the heart… well, MY heart anyway. Near. Far. Near. Far. Oh? You want to see near again? I, Grover, will run up and show you near! Now far? OK. I’ll show you far, I will run way back here. Near again? OH BOY. GROVER TIRED. Pant. Pant.

Here is what I’m having trouble remembering: did Grover have his cape on for that demonstration?

Here is what I think of hot apple cider: YUM!

Yesterday afternoon was spent watching M try on ill fitting sweaters, red suede vests with tassels and the occasional Christmas plaid blazer with gold buttons. M and his sneaky siblings are on their way to pulling off a holiday caper! While in The Mistake On The Lake this weekend, they are making what is sure to become a historic trip to the local Wal-Mart for some holiday photos as gifts for their parents this Christmas. The caper part: they are dressing up like uber-nerds in holiday flair with greased down hair and creepy smiles. We struck out at the thrift stores and at the mall and as the time clock ticked down, the responsibility of dressing M rested on me, and me alone. You can’t imagine the pressure!

THE CRUSHING PRESSURE!!

I came through though. It’s glorious! Imagine this: pine green polyester pants circa 1976, a bright green John Deer button up with bright yellow stitching and an embroidered logo on the collar, and the topper, I made him a t-shirt that has a big red felt bow hot glued to the front so he looks like a little present. OH and there are red and white wrist bands and a matching headband to finish it off too. AWWWW. It’s fucking perfect and he loves it. Hooray for M! Hooray for me! Hooray for Ragstock! And hooray for silly ideas that involve felt and hot glue!

My reaction to seeing M in his uber-nerd Christmas photo outfit: SUPER FANTASTICO!

Other names for Cleveland that are funny: Heaveland and The Armpit Of The United States.

You wanna hear something HORRIBLE? I had a fucking panic attack! Two Thursday nights ago. Icky! Super icky!! Super duper icky!!!

Here was my first thought upon commencement of the panic attack: OH MY GOD, I’VE TURNED INTO A GIRL WHO HAS PANIC ATTACKS.

I am not happy about it. I use to be all low maintenance and mellow. I use to be able to roll with the punches and not sweat the small stuff and any other laid back metaphor you’d care to insert here. USE TO BE. Now, I have panic attacks. E-gads. What’s next? A hysterical pregnancy? I’ll faint at the supermarket? I need to start using more hair spray? Lord help me.

This might help! I made a magic wand with the 4 year old wanna-be superhero I baby-sit for. It is a stick with colored paper stars strung on ribbon and tied to one end, the supposed magic end, obviously. So far, it hasn’t worked. But I’ll keep trying.

I bought a cool t-shirt yesterday. It was a bit of a splurge. Here is what it says: You say tomato… I say fuck you. I have it on, under a cowgirl shirt with snazzy snaps and stitched up western pockets. My new favorite outfit. And no. You can’t see the fuck you part, but I like knowing it’s there. Tee hee.

It’s gonna be weird not having M around for FOUR WHOLE DAYS! A little preview of my possible life in a few weeks, except instead of four days it’ll be for-fucking-ever. Not sure how I feel about that and when I say that it means I know exactly how I feel about it and I don’t like it one little bit.

I would ask my 8-ball what's going to happen, but it’s too scary. I WILL ask it if my golden fried tofu in delicious pink sauce will be here soon, though.

All signs point to YES.

180 degrees in 150 days

When my little ant farm was tipped upside down back in May, I bought this CD: Modest Mouse, Good News For People Who Love Bad News.

I came home, put it in my discman, pressed play and heard a song that would come to sum up my summer. I remember thinking that this was how M felt and I needed to find a way to make it how I felt. That was May. This is October, and I figured it out. I finally figured it out. Sold the store. Told M he had to decide what he wanted from me. Planning on leaving for a while. Looked for jobs in cities I've always wanted to live in. Learned that to do a professional style jazz hands, you need to slap your ass first to get the proper cup shape for your fingers or they'll be washed out by the stage lights. OH MAN, it's been a good week.

Here is the little song. Let's hear it for Isaac Brock. He's worth his weight in gold for the line about the moths alone. Brilliant boy.

World At Large

Ice-age heat wave, can't complain
If the world's at large, why should I remain?
Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand
I move on to another day, to a whole new town with a whole new way

Went to the porch to have a thought
Got to the door again, I couldn't stop
You don't know where and you don't know when
But you still got your words and you got your friends
Walk along to another day

Work a little harder, work another way
Well uh-uh baby I ain't got no plan
We'll float on maybe would you understand?

The days get shorter and the nights get cold
I like the autumn but this place is getting old
I pack up my belongings and head for the coast
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most

The days get longer and the nights smell green
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave
I like songs about drifters-books about the same
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane

Walked off onto another spot
I still haven't got anywhere that I want
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?

The moths beat themselves to death against the lights
Adding their breeze to the summer nights
Outside, water like air was grey
I didn't know what I had that day

Walk a little farther to another plan
You said that you did, but you didn't understand
I know that starting over is not what life's about
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth
My thoughts were so loud.

$100 to cry for a 50 minute hour

Therapy again today. This time with M.

M went to see Dr. J yesterday. Alone. The getting to know you, getting to know all about you appointment. She told him, after he surely expressed his desire for a break from us, that a break would be our first order of business. A break-up. A done for now. An over.

No surprise. I had imagined her, quite vividly, saying things like: “H, leave M alone for god’s sake.” or “H, are you BLIND?” or my personal favorite, “H, enough with the crying already.”

Forewarned from my imaginary Dr. J, I suggested that we have a Last Hurrah! on Wednesday. A final night of getting high, eating cheese puffs and laughing at silly things. It would be fun! It would be cute! It would be a little something to keep in our pockets as we navigated what came next! “OK!” he said. “Cool!” I said. It was a date.

Wednesday night. After band practice. Quick phone call. He’s on his way. I’m starving when he gets here. We opt for pizza and beer instead of pot and cheese puffs. Fine with me! We get to our little neighborhood hang out, M looks sad and distant and lost and afraid.

He confesses he doesn’t want the break. Declares that she isn’t the boss of him. Proclaims that we can still hang out. Exclaims that he doesn’t even want to GO today because he doesn’t want to hear that we can’t see each other anymore.

What? Huh?

In a complete role reversal, I say no, no. No and no. We have to do what she says, we are stuck in a rut. We can’t keep doing this over and over. I can’t keep doing this over and over.

But.

Inside, I puff up with a little hope. Maybe this break seems more real than our other attempts. Maybe he is afraid to lose me. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of our being apart. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

We go. In the car, on the way there, we laugh and make jokes about it. I say it’s like going to the airport for an unwanted goodbye. I call make-believe shot gun and declare that I want to the be one leaving on the imaginary journey to a far and distant land. He says OK. I sneak in a few hand squeezes. An arm pet. I tear up. He looks sullen.

“I’m ready for you two now.”

We go into her office, lit in afternoon sun, clean, cozy.

“M, what do you want to get out of this process.” Dr. J. says.

“A break.”

Did I miss something? I laugh, in a guffaw sort of way. I get looked at. He goes on. The session goes on. Conflict resolution tips. Rules for us to live by in the upcoming week. M says some things that hurt. I maybe say things that hurt M. At the end, I say the “but.” But he said this today, but he said that last night, but he didn’t even want to come today because of the break, but he didn’t want the break. But, but, but.

I start to cry. Hard for a second. Disappointed. Hurt. Confused. I hide my face behind my hands feeling forever gullible, forever blind, forever a hopeful 5 year old trapped in my 33 year old body.

“M! What?” Dr. J spins her chair toward him. “Is that true?”

He nods yes.

“Look what you are doing to her.” she points at me. I feel like I’m just over 2 feet tall, my feet dangling off the edge of the couch cushions, wearing a blue jean jumper with an apple embroidered on the pocket, my Mrs. Beasley doll by my side.

“It’s my can’t say no thing.” M says.

“H didn’t ask you anything. She didn’t ask you to hang out, didn’t ask you to not want the break. You initiated it. You said those things. She was the one saying no. That is crazy-making. You can’t say that kind of stuff to her anymore.”

She ends the session by dishing out our homework. We leave.

I am speechless. I am never speechless. Right away in the car, M says that he doesn’t want the break but needs it. Like a dentist appointment. Everything he says is exactly the kind of everything that he has just been forbidden to say. I look out the window the whole way home. When I do finally mutter something it’s cold and operational. A work detail. I get out, he drives away.

And here I am. Feeling slightly bigger, maybe 8 years old now. In bubblegum pink polyester pants and a flowerily blousy top that my grandma got me. I carry a red haired Barbie in my tiny little hand.

Hence, begins the break.

Now we are officially just uneasy co-workers. Small talk. Weird silences. Eagerly looking to the door for customers to break the quiet. We are to schedule appointments in neutral places to talk about store or money problems that arise using methods and tips that as of yesterday were foreign to us. I am to not bring up the past. He is to not say anything that I would want to hear. We are to work together as little as possible. We are to not be friends. We have therapy again next Thursday.

I will use this week. I will sleep finally. I will talk to the dozen or so ladybugs that have decided to call my house their home. I will hang out with a boy I think is cute. I will talk to and see my friends. I will finish my paint by number! I will find the perfect coolest blue tie for L to rivet to my Holly Hobby lunch box, turning it into the bestest purse ever! I will do lots of laundry. I will look this financial mess in the eye for the first time in a long time. I will scream along with Le Tigre and let it make me feel better. I will write in my journal. I will drink some beer! I will maybe see if some tea will help. I’ll stay playfully busy. I’ll start to fill the whole that is shaped just like M. I will do my best to cry as little as possible. I’ll hope someone sends me flowers. I’ll be nice to customers. I’ll look for a job. I’ll be ok.