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.

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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.