sam running ahead
speckled orange leaf in his hair
first sign of autumn
---------
I "suffer" from magical childhood thinking.
It's characterized by an otherwise grown-up persons ability to believe in something that makes no good sense. Things such as imaginary friends, life being fair, toothfairies and horoscopes. It's the horoscope thing that's messing with me today.
15 days after a day that I probably should have a name for, like D-Day or The Terrible No Good Very Bad Day, this horoscope appeared in City Pages:
"I predict that some of you overly sensitive Pisceans will soon be beaten down by the cold, cruel world. Maybe you'll move in with your parents or flee to the middle of nowhere and live off the grid in a log cabin. Similarly, more than a few of you Piscean artists, actors, writers, and musicians will get weary of the uphill battle to make a living from doing what you love. You'll think about selling out, seeking dull but secure gigs in the corporate world. But I'm begging all of you not to give up. Please continue your heroic struggles to be true to yourselves. If you can manage to hold on a while longer, you will be blessed with a breakthrough no later than September 1."
Did you catch the whole September 1 thing. YEAH. That's TOMORROW and as far as I am aware, I have not had a breakthrough of any sort. Now, granted, I don't know exactly what Mr. Rob "Free-Will Astrology" Brezsny was referring to when he used the word "breakthrough" but I took it to mean that everything would be FINE as of September 1. Clearly, he has LIED to me.
Regular people with regular type thinking might not get this - but I'm really a little upset. Not crying upset and I am in no immanent danger of throwing myself on my bed anytime soon, but I did, honest to goodness, harbor a little hope that as of tomorrow my life would look more like a bouquet of happy daisies than the unfinished jigsaw puzzle it is.
When all this started, back in May, and I read that horoscope, I hung on to it. September 1 wasn't THAT far away. I could weather this. Fall would be great. We'd be happy and on and on and on. Silly? Probably. Er. I mean, TOTALLY. But I just can't help it. I really BELIEVED it. That's the whole magical thinking thing - you really believe stuff that most people would just think is nice and fuzzy and let slip through their minds.
Except for the few days where I get a little bummed because there is still a tooth and not a quarter under my pillow, I think I would pick to think this way if given an option. I mean, who WOULDN'T pick it?!? It's WAY better than adult non-magical thinking. Way better. So I'll bounce back at approximately 12:01 am on September 1. And I'll go ahead believing in horoscopes and that the spirit of my dead grandma lives in my Magic 8-Ball and that if you wish hard enough, sometimes it does come true.
And for those of you following my Adventures In Babysitting... I got pooped on today.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Monday, August 30, 2004
blanket ponchos are the next big thing
Due to a horrible baby bottle mishap, I now have breast milk all over me.
Not MY breast milk mind you - someone else's. Just like the baby who was about to drink it is someone else's too. Cute and all, but happily someone else's.
So. Yeah. I don't really know what to do about this. I am mostly thinking "ewwww!" right now, but a few ideas have crept in. Like wondering if I could convince the 4 year old big brother that my underwear is really a bathing suit while I quick do a load of laundry. Or like wondering if I could fashion that blanket over there into a stylish poncho and wear that today instead - and if I did that, would anyone notice that I wasn't wearing pants? And why is this so gross anyway? It's natural and babies seem to like it just fine. But, poop is natural too and babies don't mind sitting in THAT. Apparently, their judgment isn't the best on matters regarding bodily fluids.
OH why couldn't it have been a horrible jar of pureed sweet potatoes mishap instead?!? Whyyyyyyyy!!!
Not MY breast milk mind you - someone else's. Just like the baby who was about to drink it is someone else's too. Cute and all, but happily someone else's.
So. Yeah. I don't really know what to do about this. I am mostly thinking "ewwww!" right now, but a few ideas have crept in. Like wondering if I could convince the 4 year old big brother that my underwear is really a bathing suit while I quick do a load of laundry. Or like wondering if I could fashion that blanket over there into a stylish poncho and wear that today instead - and if I did that, would anyone notice that I wasn't wearing pants? And why is this so gross anyway? It's natural and babies seem to like it just fine. But, poop is natural too and babies don't mind sitting in THAT. Apparently, their judgment isn't the best on matters regarding bodily fluids.
OH why couldn't it have been a horrible jar of pureed sweet potatoes mishap instead?!? Whyyyyyyyy!!!
Sunday, August 29, 2004
college ruled even!
seeing him so small,
i realized that the world
had beat him down, too
---------
Where did this weekend go? It has been lost in a swirl of work and emotions and beer and THC and naps and hair braids and pipe cleaner horns. I liked it though. Even the icky parts, I think.
I’m crazy tired right now. Waiting for laundry to finish so I can hang up the shirt I hope to wear tomorrow and cross my fingers that it will dry despite the drizzle outside. Monday morning I’m going to attempt what is most likely fraud to get my dryer fixed for a mere $4 but until then, it’s finger crossing and trips to the laundromat that doesn’t so much smell like laundry as it does damp gym socks.
I think I realized this afternoon that M’s life isn’t all fabulous fantastic funner than fun nights of adventure where he can eat mac and cheese for dinner every single night and his neighbors have a pony that they let him ride before bed time. Somehow, on the couch, facing him, he seemed like he was lost in a world that wasn’t being very nice to him at all and I kinda realized that I was most likely the mouth piece for that mean mean world just then too. And what’s even more amazing to me is that his world is maybe just as mean to him as my world has been to me.
A SAT simile emerged: M is to this big heap of emotional goo as H is to:
a) socklettes
b) chocolaty flavored breakfast cereals
c) the big heap of accounting nightmare in the armoire
d) pudding
The answer: C
That’s something I can relate to. That’s something that actually makes me shut down and day dream longingly of being catatonic. I can only cope with what is hidden in the otherwise harmless armoire by never ever thinking of it. I go out of my way to NOT deal with it. And maybe that’s what this gigantic emotional puddle of goo is to M. It’s a big landslide threatening to wisk him away and he just has to walk away for now. Just like I have to do with the mountain of receipts and daily sales reports and taxes and bills that is everything I don’t want to think about. I just shut the doors, grab my keys and walk away. I kinda get the whole shutting down thing now. It just took a while. WOW. I CAN learn.
So I just want to say that I'm sticking around. Maybe it's my sleepiness talking, but I could fill a notebook with all the reasons why he is still absolutely worth this. From the big obvious things like his creative superhero-like talents to the smallest things like his KISS coloring book and his gift for rhyming poems written on the fly and decorated with clip art.
Alright. I go seepy now.
i realized that the world
had beat him down, too
---------
Where did this weekend go? It has been lost in a swirl of work and emotions and beer and THC and naps and hair braids and pipe cleaner horns. I liked it though. Even the icky parts, I think.
I’m crazy tired right now. Waiting for laundry to finish so I can hang up the shirt I hope to wear tomorrow and cross my fingers that it will dry despite the drizzle outside. Monday morning I’m going to attempt what is most likely fraud to get my dryer fixed for a mere $4 but until then, it’s finger crossing and trips to the laundromat that doesn’t so much smell like laundry as it does damp gym socks.
I think I realized this afternoon that M’s life isn’t all fabulous fantastic funner than fun nights of adventure where he can eat mac and cheese for dinner every single night and his neighbors have a pony that they let him ride before bed time. Somehow, on the couch, facing him, he seemed like he was lost in a world that wasn’t being very nice to him at all and I kinda realized that I was most likely the mouth piece for that mean mean world just then too. And what’s even more amazing to me is that his world is maybe just as mean to him as my world has been to me.
A SAT simile emerged: M is to this big heap of emotional goo as H is to:
a) socklettes
b) chocolaty flavored breakfast cereals
c) the big heap of accounting nightmare in the armoire
d) pudding
The answer: C
That’s something I can relate to. That’s something that actually makes me shut down and day dream longingly of being catatonic. I can only cope with what is hidden in the otherwise harmless armoire by never ever thinking of it. I go out of my way to NOT deal with it. And maybe that’s what this gigantic emotional puddle of goo is to M. It’s a big landslide threatening to wisk him away and he just has to walk away for now. Just like I have to do with the mountain of receipts and daily sales reports and taxes and bills that is everything I don’t want to think about. I just shut the doors, grab my keys and walk away. I kinda get the whole shutting down thing now. It just took a while. WOW. I CAN learn.
So I just want to say that I'm sticking around. Maybe it's my sleepiness talking, but I could fill a notebook with all the reasons why he is still absolutely worth this. From the big obvious things like his creative superhero-like talents to the smallest things like his KISS coloring book and his gift for rhyming poems written on the fly and decorated with clip art.
Alright. I go seepy now.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
pass the light ranch dressing, please.
I feel invisible today.
I could test it out. Sneak into movies. Crash birthday parties and eat lots of birthday cake. Steal a present or two. Wander, undetected, into the mythological underground tunnel system that lies beneath the Fall of America. Test drive a VW bug convertible and never bring it back. Create chaos wherever I go.
OR
I could sit here and write what is already promising to be a lengthy journal entry while eating cherry tomatoes.
I am begrudgingly eating cherry tomatoes. What I really want are dozens upon dozens of the mini-bismarks M invented in a recent journal entry. Except I want the chocolate ones with the pudding inside and he is a fan of the white ones with the raspberry goo inside. A true mini-bismark stand at the fair would surely have both options and maybe even a third for variety. Like blueberry or lemon, with powdered sugar topping. But anyway, since, THANKFULLY, mini-bismarks have not really been invented yet and if they have, THANKFULLY, there is not a roaving mini-bismark truck that peruses area neighborhoods while playing a cheerful music-box ditty to draw all the housewives and couch potatoes out and into the street waving five dollar bills, I am safe from actually eating the mini-bismarks I wish these tomatoes were. Too bad cherry tomatoes aren’t more like turkey. Turkey can pretend to be almost anything.
I KNOW what this whole mini-bismark thing is. It’s my crutch rearing it’s ugly head again and my eating cherry tomatoes is my attempt to kick it’s ass.
A few months ago when my life was suddenly akin to an ant farm that had been violently shaken by a 3rd grader, I saw some stuff clearly for the first time. I got why I overate. I got why I was content watching TV for hours a day. I got why I was depressed. I got why I let my most important relationship deteriorate to near nothingness. I got why I was afraid of people. And once I got it, I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted nothing to do with how my life had become. All the things that use to comfort me suddenly repulsed me. I ran full speed ahead away from everything my life had been.
And now, with a few months between me and that day, I find that I didn’t run as far away as I thought I did. While nothing is really different in the ant farm, I feel happier just because of time passing and just because I’m a happy person and you can’t really have that beat out of you forever. So with a slightly better mood, and the icky feelings that acted like Super Extra Strength Professional Edition Dexatrim for three months slowly making way for a new normal, here is this food thing that I thought I had left in May, and wow, it’s almost September.
I’m proud that I can see this now. That my habits are different enough where I can point out this new abnormality with sniper-like accuracy. But, even with that, I still don’t really know what to do, other than eat cherry tomatoes. And maybe that’s all there is to do. I want so badly to move my life along, to start rebuilding the tunnels and the little community that was my ant farm, but I am stuck here in this spot. The waiting spot. I am waiting for the store to sell. I am waiting for a job offer. I am waiting for M to make some kind of decision that is so fuzzy and out of focus that I can’t even articulate what decision I am even awaiting… but all those things, I feel powerless to. But I’m not. I know that. What I am choosing is to stay in this waiting spot because there is either no readily available alternative (…the store, the job) or because what I am waiting on means enough to me to wait some more (…M.)
Here is The Fear: Eventually, the waiting will become icky enough to make the things that I am so sure are worth it, not be worth it anymore. And my mini-bismark fetish is exactly how that would happen. I’m not willing to go back to my old life of Trading Spaces reruns, buckets of cookies and being terrified at the idea of going to see a band. I just can’t do that. Not that it was crazy hard to get to this new normal that I’m trying to make, but it was hard enough. And this new normal is the crowning jewel of all the weird and unsuspecting good that came from the mean 3rd grader who grabbed hold of my ant farm in May.
So what now?
Writing it down. Talking it over. Working tirelessly to prevent the invention of mini-bismarks with chocolate frosting and vanilla pudding inside. Being strong. Being a little brave. And being a lot patient.
I could test it out. Sneak into movies. Crash birthday parties and eat lots of birthday cake. Steal a present or two. Wander, undetected, into the mythological underground tunnel system that lies beneath the Fall of America. Test drive a VW bug convertible and never bring it back. Create chaos wherever I go.
OR
I could sit here and write what is already promising to be a lengthy journal entry while eating cherry tomatoes.
I am begrudgingly eating cherry tomatoes. What I really want are dozens upon dozens of the mini-bismarks M invented in a recent journal entry. Except I want the chocolate ones with the pudding inside and he is a fan of the white ones with the raspberry goo inside. A true mini-bismark stand at the fair would surely have both options and maybe even a third for variety. Like blueberry or lemon, with powdered sugar topping. But anyway, since, THANKFULLY, mini-bismarks have not really been invented yet and if they have, THANKFULLY, there is not a roaving mini-bismark truck that peruses area neighborhoods while playing a cheerful music-box ditty to draw all the housewives and couch potatoes out and into the street waving five dollar bills, I am safe from actually eating the mini-bismarks I wish these tomatoes were. Too bad cherry tomatoes aren’t more like turkey. Turkey can pretend to be almost anything.
I KNOW what this whole mini-bismark thing is. It’s my crutch rearing it’s ugly head again and my eating cherry tomatoes is my attempt to kick it’s ass.
A few months ago when my life was suddenly akin to an ant farm that had been violently shaken by a 3rd grader, I saw some stuff clearly for the first time. I got why I overate. I got why I was content watching TV for hours a day. I got why I was depressed. I got why I let my most important relationship deteriorate to near nothingness. I got why I was afraid of people. And once I got it, I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted nothing to do with how my life had become. All the things that use to comfort me suddenly repulsed me. I ran full speed ahead away from everything my life had been.
And now, with a few months between me and that day, I find that I didn’t run as far away as I thought I did. While nothing is really different in the ant farm, I feel happier just because of time passing and just because I’m a happy person and you can’t really have that beat out of you forever. So with a slightly better mood, and the icky feelings that acted like Super Extra Strength Professional Edition Dexatrim for three months slowly making way for a new normal, here is this food thing that I thought I had left in May, and wow, it’s almost September.
I’m proud that I can see this now. That my habits are different enough where I can point out this new abnormality with sniper-like accuracy. But, even with that, I still don’t really know what to do, other than eat cherry tomatoes. And maybe that’s all there is to do. I want so badly to move my life along, to start rebuilding the tunnels and the little community that was my ant farm, but I am stuck here in this spot. The waiting spot. I am waiting for the store to sell. I am waiting for a job offer. I am waiting for M to make some kind of decision that is so fuzzy and out of focus that I can’t even articulate what decision I am even awaiting… but all those things, I feel powerless to. But I’m not. I know that. What I am choosing is to stay in this waiting spot because there is either no readily available alternative (…the store, the job) or because what I am waiting on means enough to me to wait some more (…M.)
Here is The Fear: Eventually, the waiting will become icky enough to make the things that I am so sure are worth it, not be worth it anymore. And my mini-bismark fetish is exactly how that would happen. I’m not willing to go back to my old life of Trading Spaces reruns, buckets of cookies and being terrified at the idea of going to see a band. I just can’t do that. Not that it was crazy hard to get to this new normal that I’m trying to make, but it was hard enough. And this new normal is the crowning jewel of all the weird and unsuspecting good that came from the mean 3rd grader who grabbed hold of my ant farm in May.
So what now?
Writing it down. Talking it over. Working tirelessly to prevent the invention of mini-bismarks with chocolate frosting and vanilla pudding inside. Being strong. Being a little brave. And being a lot patient.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
gambling is SO not fun enough to be a sin
white spot in the dirt
my underwear, out of reach
dang! i was real drunk
----------
This weekend was full of fabulous adventures!
Friday night, A and I hung out. We started out the night with spicy wontons, spring rolls and a good amount of beer to wash it down. She is an excellent conversationalist! That’s kind of a rare skill! Seems like we talked about almost everything you could think of! Boys with glasses, moms, board games, weird sex chains, questionable pornographers, not so questionable porn, cute yet creepy art, mutants, how some fantasies are best left as fantasies and on and on and on. Good mental exercise! One of the best parts of the whole night was her promise to show me how to make origami butterflies so I can make what could be the loveliest and most delicate chain of them EVER to hang above my bedroom windows. So pretty.
Ever have one of those ideas that you just can’t shake, like a little devil on your shoulder? I had one of those on Saturday and I gave into it. I won’t say much OTHER than it led to a trip to Target and a few minutes alone in the bathroom. *blush*
After my little personal adventure, M and I embarked on a shared one. The cast of characters for the evening: M, me, a crazy heavy box of change, Dawgwild and my undies. OH and a couple really really big beers.
We’ve had the jolly plan of hauling the crazy heavy box of change to a local casino in a dream filled attempt to become thousandaires for a few weeks now - and on Saturday, the time had come to put it into action. We donned our adventure suits, team lifted the box of change out to the truck and embarked on what would become a misadventure thwarted by TERRORISTS!
But first, we had to get drunk! Neither of us thought that we could take the 60 year old women sitting at the slot machines since 10 a.m., Virginia Slims hanging from their mouths, gigantic Larry sized cup of quarters, and polyester pants without a slight to giddy level of intoxication. Otherwise, that sight was libel to make us cry. So we stopped off at the Southside Music Café for some beer drinks. And, as an extra special surprise, we were treated to some musical entertainment by none other than DAWGWILD!! A coverband right out of some nutty 80s movie with a lead singer who smoked, drank and clapped on stage like a true professional and all without messing up his perfectly feathered hair!
Ever wonder where all those bleach blond women with huge boobs and no ass who have a penchant for faded Levi’s and tucked in black t-shirts hang out? I’ll give you one guess. YUP. Southside Music Café!
After a few songs and a trip BACK in to watch them perform Detroit Rock City (an extra special treat for M!) we headed to the casino. M = slightly, barely drunk. Me = about to lose undies in 3... 2...
We successfully get to the casino and after a few laps around the parking lots, find a nice little spot to call our own in the well lit and well populated ramp across from the Tee Pee of Lights. Somewhere between getting out of the truck and team lifting the change box, it seemed like a really good idea to rid myself of my undies. So right there, in the parking lot, for the whole world to see, I slid them down and threw them over the railing. Yeah. I was pretty drunk.
We haul the change box the half mile to the entrance of the casino, through the main doors, down the crazy carpeted corridor to the security guard.
“What’s in the box?”
Uh-oh.
“You can’t really take that box in there, since 9/11 you’ll be stopped by every security guard in the place. You know... terrorists.”
Terrorists?!?
“Not that you two are terrorists.”
Whew! We were starting to worry. I mean, we ARE carrying a big box of change and all.
Sooooo back to the truck with the now well-traveled and heavy box of change and off to Cub Foods to use the potty and buy some ice cream bars for the long drive home to a quiet night of debauchery, no sleep, drunken neighbors and thunder storms. It was oddly perfect in it’s own little way.
We did manage to complete the adventure on Sunday. Changed in the change, drove out there AGAIN, made it past security, and gambled the coins away. While not drunk this time, the silver haired, there since 10a.m. set didn’t make me cry, BUT I was quite surprised that we seemed to be the only two people in the whole place who were laughing! Gambling is, apparently, some pretty serious business!
I did learn something though! Things that would need to be added to the casino going experience for me to ever be at risk of becoming addicted:
1. Clowns who pass out balloon animals!
2. Free alcohol!
3. Can-can dancers!
4. Petting zoo!
5. Mini-donuts!
6. Free chair massages!
7. Face painting!
8. Tap dancing cigarette girls!
9. If you were required to dress up like it was 1978 and HAD to wear rollerskates at all times!
Off to be happy that this weekend couldn't have really been any funner...
my underwear, out of reach
dang! i was real drunk
----------
This weekend was full of fabulous adventures!
Friday night, A and I hung out. We started out the night with spicy wontons, spring rolls and a good amount of beer to wash it down. She is an excellent conversationalist! That’s kind of a rare skill! Seems like we talked about almost everything you could think of! Boys with glasses, moms, board games, weird sex chains, questionable pornographers, not so questionable porn, cute yet creepy art, mutants, how some fantasies are best left as fantasies and on and on and on. Good mental exercise! One of the best parts of the whole night was her promise to show me how to make origami butterflies so I can make what could be the loveliest and most delicate chain of them EVER to hang above my bedroom windows. So pretty.
Ever have one of those ideas that you just can’t shake, like a little devil on your shoulder? I had one of those on Saturday and I gave into it. I won’t say much OTHER than it led to a trip to Target and a few minutes alone in the bathroom. *blush*
After my little personal adventure, M and I embarked on a shared one. The cast of characters for the evening: M, me, a crazy heavy box of change, Dawgwild and my undies. OH and a couple really really big beers.
We’ve had the jolly plan of hauling the crazy heavy box of change to a local casino in a dream filled attempt to become thousandaires for a few weeks now - and on Saturday, the time had come to put it into action. We donned our adventure suits, team lifted the box of change out to the truck and embarked on what would become a misadventure thwarted by TERRORISTS!
But first, we had to get drunk! Neither of us thought that we could take the 60 year old women sitting at the slot machines since 10 a.m., Virginia Slims hanging from their mouths, gigantic Larry sized cup of quarters, and polyester pants without a slight to giddy level of intoxication. Otherwise, that sight was libel to make us cry. So we stopped off at the Southside Music Café for some beer drinks. And, as an extra special surprise, we were treated to some musical entertainment by none other than DAWGWILD!! A coverband right out of some nutty 80s movie with a lead singer who smoked, drank and clapped on stage like a true professional and all without messing up his perfectly feathered hair!
Ever wonder where all those bleach blond women with huge boobs and no ass who have a penchant for faded Levi’s and tucked in black t-shirts hang out? I’ll give you one guess. YUP. Southside Music Café!
After a few songs and a trip BACK in to watch them perform Detroit Rock City (an extra special treat for M!) we headed to the casino. M = slightly, barely drunk. Me = about to lose undies in 3... 2...
We successfully get to the casino and after a few laps around the parking lots, find a nice little spot to call our own in the well lit and well populated ramp across from the Tee Pee of Lights. Somewhere between getting out of the truck and team lifting the change box, it seemed like a really good idea to rid myself of my undies. So right there, in the parking lot, for the whole world to see, I slid them down and threw them over the railing. Yeah. I was pretty drunk.
We haul the change box the half mile to the entrance of the casino, through the main doors, down the crazy carpeted corridor to the security guard.
“What’s in the box?”
Uh-oh.
“You can’t really take that box in there, since 9/11 you’ll be stopped by every security guard in the place. You know... terrorists.”
Terrorists?!?
“Not that you two are terrorists.”
Whew! We were starting to worry. I mean, we ARE carrying a big box of change and all.
Sooooo back to the truck with the now well-traveled and heavy box of change and off to Cub Foods to use the potty and buy some ice cream bars for the long drive home to a quiet night of debauchery, no sleep, drunken neighbors and thunder storms. It was oddly perfect in it’s own little way.
We did manage to complete the adventure on Sunday. Changed in the change, drove out there AGAIN, made it past security, and gambled the coins away. While not drunk this time, the silver haired, there since 10a.m. set didn’t make me cry, BUT I was quite surprised that we seemed to be the only two people in the whole place who were laughing! Gambling is, apparently, some pretty serious business!
I did learn something though! Things that would need to be added to the casino going experience for me to ever be at risk of becoming addicted:
1. Clowns who pass out balloon animals!
2. Free alcohol!
3. Can-can dancers!
4. Petting zoo!
5. Mini-donuts!
6. Free chair massages!
7. Face painting!
8. Tap dancing cigarette girls!
9. If you were required to dress up like it was 1978 and HAD to wear rollerskates at all times!
Off to be happy that this weekend couldn't have really been any funner...
Saturday, August 21, 2004
Seriously dude... it's only 4:30?!?
Another fabulously dull Saturday afternoon at the shop. If there were a brick around, I would consider hitting my noggin with it repeatedly.
Things that are bothering me today:
smoothies
the phrase: chai tea latte
“granadas”
removing the tinfoil tabs off of rectangular shaped beverage containers
twenty dollar bills
people who have to pee
cooing couples
the cruel lack of bricks at the coffee shop
mail
this request: decaf
it being sunny outside
I’m gonna go look on the world wide web for ancient tribal dances, potions and rituals that are believed to help facilitate the sale of coffee shops now.
Things that are bothering me today:
smoothies
the phrase: chai tea latte
“granadas”
removing the tinfoil tabs off of rectangular shaped beverage containers
twenty dollar bills
people who have to pee
cooing couples
the cruel lack of bricks at the coffee shop
this request: decaf
it being sunny outside
I’m gonna go look on the world wide web for ancient tribal dances, potions and rituals that are believed to help facilitate the sale of coffee shops now.
Friday, August 20, 2004
wanna be my friend? eat artichoke dip with me.
Yesterday was a fun day! Hooray for fun days!!
I finally met A! We had artichoke dip at Pizza Luce. GOD, I love that stuff. We also had lots of good conversation. She’s super funny and has this cute little way of storytelling that is quite charming. She’s a new girl here. She moved here for grad school and is in the throws of all the awkward awe that is moving to a new city. I was having sympathy pains as I relived my own geeky misadventures of trying to fit in here. And trying to make new friends. And the crazy loneliness that often times went along with it. I’m glad we hooked up.
I think that I started something I will regret in the very near future. I started painting the bedroom. It’s not a regular bedroom. It’s a bedroom that had previously been the boudoir of a very persnickety gay man who was obsessed with molding. There is molding EVERYWHERE! He did this design to make it look like the walls were paneled, all French Revolution style. Which looks kinda cool, but is shaping up to be a huge pain to paint! I suspect that this project could take me up to a decade to finish.
M and I hung out last night, too. A near perfect end to a pretty perfect day. He claims that I hatched an evil plan that consisted of having him upstairs to “look at the paint job” and culminated in my ninja like ability to kiss his ear without him ever even knowing what happened. Which in turn drives him MAD. Apparently, I’m some kind of evil genius. Yezzzzzz.
We capped off the night at King and I, bothering J-boy, drinking foo-foo drinks and munching on more golden fried things all the while listening to loud, throbbing techno music. I had some crazy vodka infusion that had eerie lime green vapors rising from it when held up to the light just right. It knocked me on my ass! I was drunk after like two sips! DANG. We chatted about journals and music and customers and I pretended to walk like I was a gang member in West Side Story. It was fun.
Time to make the sandwiches.
I finally met A! We had artichoke dip at Pizza Luce. GOD, I love that stuff. We also had lots of good conversation. She’s super funny and has this cute little way of storytelling that is quite charming. She’s a new girl here. She moved here for grad school and is in the throws of all the awkward awe that is moving to a new city. I was having sympathy pains as I relived my own geeky misadventures of trying to fit in here. And trying to make new friends. And the crazy loneliness that often times went along with it. I’m glad we hooked up.
I think that I started something I will regret in the very near future. I started painting the bedroom. It’s not a regular bedroom. It’s a bedroom that had previously been the boudoir of a very persnickety gay man who was obsessed with molding. There is molding EVERYWHERE! He did this design to make it look like the walls were paneled, all French Revolution style. Which looks kinda cool, but is shaping up to be a huge pain to paint! I suspect that this project could take me up to a decade to finish.
M and I hung out last night, too. A near perfect end to a pretty perfect day. He claims that I hatched an evil plan that consisted of having him upstairs to “look at the paint job” and culminated in my ninja like ability to kiss his ear without him ever even knowing what happened. Which in turn drives him MAD. Apparently, I’m some kind of evil genius. Yezzzzzz.
We capped off the night at King and I, bothering J-boy, drinking foo-foo drinks and munching on more golden fried things all the while listening to loud, throbbing techno music. I had some crazy vodka infusion that had eerie lime green vapors rising from it when held up to the light just right. It knocked me on my ass! I was drunk after like two sips! DANG. We chatted about journals and music and customers and I pretended to walk like I was a gang member in West Side Story. It was fun.
Time to make the sandwiches.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
wednesday night, 9pm
watching him, asleep
reminders of what is and was
it’s all orange now
---------
It feels like fall. Which is terribly depressing. Although, I do like sweaters a lot. I'm not ready for summer to be over. I'm not ready to be cold. But alas, the seasons are one more thing to which I have no control. Usually I greet autumn with a big hello and an eager trip to the basement to haul up my wool sweaters. This year, it's met with melancholy. This year, I'd like summer to last forever.
I am supposed to be somewhere else right now. Right this very second. But I'm not. I could be, I guess. But I don't really feel like that's the right choice. You see, when I do finally go there, I want it to be right. I want it to be welcomed. And I don't think those things would happen right now. Right this very second even. They just wouldn't. So here I am, at home. And not there. Which is OK, I guess. It's OK.
*deep breath*
I’m going to tap dance now to shake myself out of this icky mood.
I'm finding out that my new happy pill is shopping. WHO KNEW!?! So instead of moping around the house lamenting how I should be somewhere else, I skipped around the Fall Of America and bought two super cute new shirts and a pair of trusty blue jeans. All of which, when put together, make a darling little ensemble. So sadness CAN be cured by shopping! What a wonderful world, indeed!
Had a super fun morning at work! M had on this super sexy red t-shirt that led to some impure thoughts. And a few impure actions. I'm not sure what's gotten into me lately! Confidence perhaps. How nice is that?!?
I should try and go to sleep. I have to open tomorrow which means setting my alarm for 5am. YIKES! That’s crazy, isn’t it? It's still DARK out for goodness sake!
OK, off to dream about worlds where sad people float along in the breeze.
reminders of what is and was
it’s all orange now
---------
It feels like fall. Which is terribly depressing. Although, I do like sweaters a lot. I'm not ready for summer to be over. I'm not ready to be cold. But alas, the seasons are one more thing to which I have no control. Usually I greet autumn with a big hello and an eager trip to the basement to haul up my wool sweaters. This year, it's met with melancholy. This year, I'd like summer to last forever.
I am supposed to be somewhere else right now. Right this very second. But I'm not. I could be, I guess. But I don't really feel like that's the right choice. You see, when I do finally go there, I want it to be right. I want it to be welcomed. And I don't think those things would happen right now. Right this very second even. They just wouldn't. So here I am, at home. And not there. Which is OK, I guess. It's OK.
*deep breath*
I’m going to tap dance now to shake myself out of this icky mood.
I'm finding out that my new happy pill is shopping. WHO KNEW!?! So instead of moping around the house lamenting how I should be somewhere else, I skipped around the Fall Of America and bought two super cute new shirts and a pair of trusty blue jeans. All of which, when put together, make a darling little ensemble. So sadness CAN be cured by shopping! What a wonderful world, indeed!
Had a super fun morning at work! M had on this super sexy red t-shirt that led to some impure thoughts. And a few impure actions. I'm not sure what's gotten into me lately! Confidence perhaps. How nice is that?!?
I should try and go to sleep. I have to open tomorrow which means setting my alarm for 5am. YIKES! That’s crazy, isn’t it? It's still DARK out for goodness sake!
OK, off to dream about worlds where sad people float along in the breeze.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
just call me minnie purl
little stack of books
where your alarm clock had been
kind of a nice change
---------
Those who know me can attest that my life has been more like a thunderstorm lately than, say, a field of wildflowers swaying in a gentle wind. Yesterday was all about the storm. The rain. The hail. The loud crashes of thunder that make you jump. The very best thing about yesterday is that it was yesterday.
The good news - I'm learning how to knit more better! Thanks to E and S! At about 9:45 p.m. last evening, I successfully did my first purl stitch ever! Prior to that, I could only do the knit stitch. BUT OH, could I do it well! Perfect little inch worm like rows of perfectly tensioned stitches. When you can only do one type of stitch and you've made your fair share of lengthy scarves, you can't HELP but to be good at it. But now with the purl stitch in my arsenal - watch out! I can make ribbed scarves now! If I ever learn how to make a pair of mittens, I'll be DANGEROUS!
IKEA and I made up on Sunday. I don't like going there, which surprises the poo out of me, because I had fully planned on moving in and living there all stealth like off left-over meatball gravy and squatting in one of the many model homes... but after my first trip and the near seizure that accompanied it, I've kinda stayed away. That is until last Sunday, when I forgave IKEA for trying to kill me. What made us friends again? A combination of my credit card still having money on it and them having some cheap bedding so that in an afternoon my room was mine again. Now I get to sleep in a fluffy cloud of soft green and baby blue puffiness dimly lit by the coolest retro plastic green lamp you can buy for under $20. Ahhhh. Happy.
I think I'm doing alright on this whole patience thing. M is probably the better person to ask! I'm slowly starting to see the benefits of letting things unfold at their own pace. And the conversations that we are moving slowly along are surely more meaningful at this pace and surely more real. Who knew.
I think I'm gonna go daydream about swing sets now.
where your alarm clock had been
kind of a nice change
---------
Those who know me can attest that my life has been more like a thunderstorm lately than, say, a field of wildflowers swaying in a gentle wind. Yesterday was all about the storm. The rain. The hail. The loud crashes of thunder that make you jump. The very best thing about yesterday is that it was yesterday.
The good news - I'm learning how to knit more better! Thanks to E and S! At about 9:45 p.m. last evening, I successfully did my first purl stitch ever! Prior to that, I could only do the knit stitch. BUT OH, could I do it well! Perfect little inch worm like rows of perfectly tensioned stitches. When you can only do one type of stitch and you've made your fair share of lengthy scarves, you can't HELP but to be good at it. But now with the purl stitch in my arsenal - watch out! I can make ribbed scarves now! If I ever learn how to make a pair of mittens, I'll be DANGEROUS!
IKEA and I made up on Sunday. I don't like going there, which surprises the poo out of me, because I had fully planned on moving in and living there all stealth like off left-over meatball gravy and squatting in one of the many model homes... but after my first trip and the near seizure that accompanied it, I've kinda stayed away. That is until last Sunday, when I forgave IKEA for trying to kill me. What made us friends again? A combination of my credit card still having money on it and them having some cheap bedding so that in an afternoon my room was mine again. Now I get to sleep in a fluffy cloud of soft green and baby blue puffiness dimly lit by the coolest retro plastic green lamp you can buy for under $20. Ahhhh. Happy.
I think I'm doing alright on this whole patience thing. M is probably the better person to ask! I'm slowly starting to see the benefits of letting things unfold at their own pace. And the conversations that we are moving slowly along are surely more meaningful at this pace and surely more real. Who knew.
I think I'm gonna go daydream about swing sets now.
Sunday, August 15, 2004
me = young grasshopper
open my mouth and
words pour out like glass marbles
you take what you can
--------------
I worked at the Pizza Luce Block Party yesterday. Saw the Soviettes and immediately added them to my ever growing list of things I like. What is it about yelling punk rock girls that is so fucking AWESOME?!? Especially ones wearing pink shirts! It’s some kind of careful mix of boy-like energy tempered with explosive and unapologetic girlieness that makes me smile every time. Or perhaps it’s as simple as seeing the secret day dream me from high school yelling into a microphone on stage. Whatever it is, it was super fun to see.
Was supposed to go see Happy Apple after, but plans got rearranged and instead we wound up doing things that would probably be considered naughty by most anyone who knew about them.
Today, M and I worked at the shop. He’s helping out with the magazine now too and we worked on some ads and layout. I love working on this stuff again. HELLO WORK INDUCED PERSONAL FULFILLMENT. I have missed you! It’s so amazingly nice and welcomed to care about what I do again.
A few bumps in the morning, but nothing major, I guess. Started a conversation that I can’t believe I am patient enough to let unfold over days instead of pulling it along unnaturally in a matter of hours. Patience is a theme of mine lately. Seems like the whole universe is yelling that at me and I guess I better take notice. So this is day one of my taking notice. Wish me luck.
The rest of the afternoon is pretty much mine to do with as I please. I see some junk store browsing with E in my future. And some artichoke dip. This evening will be full of icky coffee shop stuff and doing the stoopid store bank deposit. I hate the smell of money.
words pour out like glass marbles
you take what you can
--------------
I worked at the Pizza Luce Block Party yesterday. Saw the Soviettes and immediately added them to my ever growing list of things I like. What is it about yelling punk rock girls that is so fucking AWESOME?!? Especially ones wearing pink shirts! It’s some kind of careful mix of boy-like energy tempered with explosive and unapologetic girlieness that makes me smile every time. Or perhaps it’s as simple as seeing the secret day dream me from high school yelling into a microphone on stage. Whatever it is, it was super fun to see.
Was supposed to go see Happy Apple after, but plans got rearranged and instead we wound up doing things that would probably be considered naughty by most anyone who knew about them.
Today, M and I worked at the shop. He’s helping out with the magazine now too and we worked on some ads and layout. I love working on this stuff again. HELLO WORK INDUCED PERSONAL FULFILLMENT. I have missed you! It’s so amazingly nice and welcomed to care about what I do again.
A few bumps in the morning, but nothing major, I guess. Started a conversation that I can’t believe I am patient enough to let unfold over days instead of pulling it along unnaturally in a matter of hours. Patience is a theme of mine lately. Seems like the whole universe is yelling that at me and I guess I better take notice. So this is day one of my taking notice. Wish me luck.
The rest of the afternoon is pretty much mine to do with as I please. I see some junk store browsing with E in my future. And some artichoke dip. This evening will be full of icky coffee shop stuff and doing the stoopid store bank deposit. I hate the smell of money.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
can i take a nap now? how about now?
Two days of no sleep IN A ROW. You’d think I was some sort of rock star. Hmmm, maybe I am! We went to see Weird Al at the State Theatre on Thursday. YES. Weird Al. HEY! Stop laughing. He’s a comic superhero! I smiled the whole time. I was even lucky enough to get serenaded before the night was through – I Wanna Be Your Lover, even. Truth be told, I am harboring a little crush. He is kinda, well, um, I’m just gonna say it… he's kinda SEXY.
M got hit on the head with a plastic cup there. When he went to Primus, also at the State Theatre, a big piece of curtain fabric fell on his head. INTERESTING trend, don’t you think?
After, drinks and plates of golden, glistening fried things at Sawatdee. I got DRUNK. We talked. I had a little bit of a hard time walking in a straight line. I was kinda mean to M. Thursday was a LONG day for us. It ended alright though. We’re friends again. Exhale.
Last night wasn’t as fancy. Gone Out Gone at the Terminal Bar. The Terminal might just be one of the most UNfancy live music venues in the entire city. It was a good show though. The GOG boys were a tad bit drunk by the time they played. And by tad, I mean COMPLETELY drunk. Good old rock n' roll. It was full of slurred intros, karate kicks and bumping into each other.
I can’t help imagining bands practice when I see them. Working out their set lists and cool stage moves. How they write songs. I try to guess if they have a space or if they set up in the drummer’s mom’s basement out in Coon Rapids or something. I especially try to figure out if they are friends. Do they fight at practice? Which one is the brat? Which one is the mastermind? Do they dream of being famous like J dreams of being a superhero?
I remember a part in Catcher In The Rye where Holden goes to see a show at Rockefeller Center and there is a midget riding a unicycle and swallowing fire – he can’t enjoy the show because he keeps imagining him PRACTICING to do that. It wrecks it for him. Riding around some warehouse, falling off his unicycle, burning his tongue, wearing tight sparkly pants. The ridiculousness of it all is too much.
It’s not like that with my weird band practice ponderings. They don’t ruin the show for me. Rather it adds a little something. And after each set, I always think I have it figured it out. I pick out the brat. I pick out the ring leader. I pick out the guy who just shows up. I feel sure that they like each other or that they don’t. That they are all gonna go home after this, or that they are all gonna stick around and drink more beer.
I’m at the shop. Hence the page long ramblings about almost nothing. It’s only 8:30 a.m. YaWn.
Wish I had a pillow.
M got hit on the head with a plastic cup there. When he went to Primus, also at the State Theatre, a big piece of curtain fabric fell on his head. INTERESTING trend, don’t you think?
After, drinks and plates of golden, glistening fried things at Sawatdee. I got DRUNK. We talked. I had a little bit of a hard time walking in a straight line. I was kinda mean to M. Thursday was a LONG day for us. It ended alright though. We’re friends again. Exhale.
Last night wasn’t as fancy. Gone Out Gone at the Terminal Bar. The Terminal might just be one of the most UNfancy live music venues in the entire city. It was a good show though. The GOG boys were a tad bit drunk by the time they played. And by tad, I mean COMPLETELY drunk. Good old rock n' roll. It was full of slurred intros, karate kicks and bumping into each other.
I can’t help imagining bands practice when I see them. Working out their set lists and cool stage moves. How they write songs. I try to guess if they have a space or if they set up in the drummer’s mom’s basement out in Coon Rapids or something. I especially try to figure out if they are friends. Do they fight at practice? Which one is the brat? Which one is the mastermind? Do they dream of being famous like J dreams of being a superhero?
I remember a part in Catcher In The Rye where Holden goes to see a show at Rockefeller Center and there is a midget riding a unicycle and swallowing fire – he can’t enjoy the show because he keeps imagining him PRACTICING to do that. It wrecks it for him. Riding around some warehouse, falling off his unicycle, burning his tongue, wearing tight sparkly pants. The ridiculousness of it all is too much.
It’s not like that with my weird band practice ponderings. They don’t ruin the show for me. Rather it adds a little something. And after each set, I always think I have it figured it out. I pick out the brat. I pick out the ring leader. I pick out the guy who just shows up. I feel sure that they like each other or that they don’t. That they are all gonna go home after this, or that they are all gonna stick around and drink more beer.
I’m at the shop. Hence the page long ramblings about almost nothing. It’s only 8:30 a.m. YaWn.
Wish I had a pillow.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
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