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.