Saturday, June 30, 2007

Yah Mean That Back?

Sadly, I have an affair of state to go to . . . which I will write about later when it is not so fresh. But Princess, you doubted that I would have one. Too bad this is a very sad occasion, but thank goodness I bought that wig and don't have to try to dye my hair to its normal color tonight.

However, my family had to move an apartment of furniture today. My brother kept saying that we could put the giant mirror that we had to move in "the back of the truck", which to me, meant the bed of the truck. And I kept arguing with him, because I didn't want to break the mirror and quite honestly, it wasn't going to make it in the bed of the truck with the two dressers and the bed we were moving. Finally, he gave me the tone of "just drop it" and I did. He was getting pissed at my big sisterly advice. Or so I thought.

We moved all the really heavy stuff first.

As we went in to get another load, I noticed that the giant truck of lease cheapness (my father's folly) (which to his credit was very useful today) had a full backseat . . . and that it was mostly empty. And I hatched this great idea.

"Hey, Dave . . . we can just put the mirror in the back of the truck."
"That's what I've been telling you for the last hour . . ."
"But the backseat of the truck. That way, it won't get broken."
"Um. Yeah. I know. That's what I've been sayin. Doofus."

"Oh, you meant that back of the truck?"

Friday, June 29, 2007

But The Grocery Kid Just . . .

I left the house today. To buy buttons and coffee and a cd I was longing for . . .

I ran into someone from my belly dancing class at Starbucks, meaning there was smiling and chit-chatting. And we all know how much I like that. And then I had to "unknit" the shawl I brought to work on while I drank the coffee . . . because my sticky note is unsticky. And yet, it was okay.

At Habermans, I figured I could find buttons for eyes in the bargain bin . . . but then I got distracted by the buttons behind the counter. That you have to ask to touch. And I picked out a bunch, because I couldn't decide what would look better. And when I got to the register, the total came to $24.95. Who can spend $24.95 on sock monkey eyes? Granted, I have enough for four or five monkeys . . . but the damn socks only cost $2.99. But they are beautiful eyes. So that was okay.

So I went to Record Time and Ingrid Michaelson was not in the "M"s in the indie section. And that was annoying. To whole point was to buy the independent label music at the independent record store. And I was starting to think that perhaps I should give in to itunes, instead of my archaic idea that I have to touch it. But then I found her in the "I"s. And the music is really good. So that was okay.

And then I went to the arty gift shop on Nine Mile, that I never remember the name of, and I almost bought a t-shirt that read "Knitters are Knotty" but decided that I really didn't like brown and that it would have been better if it actually said "Naughty". But I talked the clerk into applying for an internship at "Bitch" (the magazine). Told her that she should go for it . . . that she could certainly just call them and they would give her an internship. Opportunity favors the bold. She seemed convinced. And that was okay.

Then went to T.J.'s to get some food. (Just spilled some wild mushroom quesadilla on my skirt.) Bought three bottles of wine. Couldn't find the no raisin trail mix because they put it on the bottom shelf. They like my hair. Oh, and almost killed one of the grocery clerks because she tripped over my basket. But the boy who rang my groceries very earnestly asked for my i.d. to buy the wine. And I love that . . . very much.

And as I ripped the new found CD to itunes . . . a new category appeared in the "genre" section. "Easy Listening". I just bought something that reads easy listening. And that is sooooo not okay.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Orange Devil Sock Monkey

So I have moved on from hats to monkeys.

I am sewing my first sock monkey tonight . . . have his body done, just have to do the bits. You know, ears, arms, tail. All the things you do with the second sock.

I don't have any eyes, so that may have to wait for tomorrow. I don't know where to buy buttons at 1 a.m..

As this is my first sock monkey, I am sewing him completely by hand. That and I don't know how to work my grandmother's sewing machine that is sitting in my dining room (another damn thing in my dining room). The sewing machine would be way quicker, so I will have to figure out how to thread it. (That's what the internet is for, right?) And have some boy move it to the place that it could live. (Basement? Office? Living room temporarily?)

There is this group called The Sock Monkey Ministry . . . and although they are actually aligned with Christianity (I thought they were just a group of nice people. Which I suppose, is what some Christian groups are about.) AND although there doesn't seem to be any way to donate actual monkeys . . . if I get good at it perhaps I will send them some. Plus, I'm thinking of all the people in my life that really need sock monkeys. And I can think of more than a few.

So sock monkeys it is for the next couple of days. After all, how many hats does one need (I finished three this week . . . meaning two of you are getting hats. Soon. To get them out of my house. They are like tribbles.) If you have a color request, please comment. I will try to find socks to match the decor. Oh, and there are no actual sock monkey socks being purchased . . . I like to wear mine and will not give them up. They are really good socks. So if you want a traditional sock monkey, the socks are available on the internet . . . buy them and I'll sew one up for you. I find hunting for non-traditional socks much more fun.

Speaking of sock hunting . . . the men's sock department at Target sucks. I don't know how men find socks. Unless they just wear black all the time (probably for the best, in most cases).

And shopping for socks in the summer is a bit challenging. I found some nice bright argyle and some stripes, but would have liked to have a better color selection. But then again, I'm not really going to spend more than . . . say. . . three bucks for socks that I'm going to cut up. So if anyone sees some orange or yellow, especially solid, socks, let me know. D. wants an orange sock monkey. With devil horns.

Yeah, don't know what's up with the orange devil sock monkey . . . but it will be created as soon as I find some orange socks. I think he should be named LeRoy.

More Purple Than Blue


Yeah, Well Maybe It Does . . .


. . . look like a dead squirrel, dyed black, tied to the top of my head. Maybe.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

And That's a Good Thing . . .

Not that Martha Stewart would endorse this . . .

Famous Dave's has Guinness for a dollar on Wednesday nights. That's ONE dollar. Cheaper than iced tea. And that, folks, is a really good thing.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Correction


The cartoon is a creation of Disney . . . trying to benefit from the Anime trend. So I'm not even a live version of real anime, just Disneyifed anime. Like cooked sushi. (okay, in reading the wiki, maybe Cartoon Network . . . which may or may not be cooler)

According to D., the character is soooo me:

Yumi (pronounced /ˈumi/) is depicted as a cynical, sarcastic punk rocker with purple hair and eyes and is dressed in a heavy metal/grunge/goth style with studded necklaces and bracelets, a light purple T-shirt with a skull that make the same expressions as she does, a black miniskirt over purple bike shorts, and black army boots.


Now D., I don't wear black army boots anymore . . . closest I've come is green Doc Martens and that's only in the winter. I'll give you skully shirts, cynical and sarcastic though.

So really, I look like a cartoon Disney punk character (Disney and punk in the same sentence. Yay.) . . . which is really just Disney's attempt to cash-in on Japanese culture (and a weird thing that is . . . two words . . . Hello Kitty). Great. Again, exactly what I was going for . . .

Oh, and PuffyAmiYumi is a Japanese pop/rock group. One of their songs is titled "Destruction Pancake" . . . but there are also titles like "Go Baby Power Now".
Yeah, Hello Kitty.

Monday, June 25, 2007

Because I LOVE Anime

According to my brother . . . I look like this. Evidently, there is a purple-headed one (Yumi).

And Japanese cartoon character was exactly what I was going for . . .

Weaving

You wonder why it all happens.

Or maybe I just wonder . . . why it all happens.

Connections that I make. People that I feel for.

And I'd like to think that it is for a reason . . . that it all is for a reason.

Maybe a reason that I don't see.


I explain the Greek idea of the fates to the ninth graders every year . . . and wonder what the tapestry has in store for me . . . why it is, what it is. And I wouldn't change it. I wouldn't trade. I don't regret. But sometimes . . . just sometimes . . . after a couple of glasses of wine, usually . . . I wonder why.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Bitten

The change has occurred, despite all the measures taken . . . the classes, the projects.

I went to bed at 4:37 a.m.. I probably could have made it to sunrise, but it burns the flesh so . . .

Vampire time has arrived.

To my credit, I did finish three knitting projects and am 23 inches into a 60 inch shawl. But this is way too early for the change. It is hard to interact with people on vampire time. Unless, of course, they are on vampire time also. And I wanted to hold out until July, at least. So maybe I'll pull an all-nighter and get back on day schedule.

And some of you are asking why? Why do you need to be with the daylighters? I mean Meijer is open 24/7. Why shouldn't I go with my natural circadian rhythm?

Because I don't know anyone that works third shift . . . or any other vampire-time teachers . . . so the lifestyle is very isolating. And think about who is at Meijer at 4 a.m. (including me, if you don't know me). Yuck. Plus "Daysleeper" by R.E.M. plays in my head a lot. And that isn't pleasant at all.

Sigh. Maybe I'll have to get a job.

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Quotes from Last Evening

(sigh) "So it looks like a wig?"
"Um. No. But it doesn't look like you. At all."
"So it looks like a wig?"
"Well. It looks like a wig on you . . . but it's all one color. You never have hair that's all one color."
(sigh) "So it looks like a wig?"
"I just don't think I've seen you with such normal hair . . . "

AND . . .

Drunk blonde teenager at 7-Eleven, 2:34 a.m.:
"Whoa. Your hair is BLUE."

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Summer Day Three

That whole idea that I was going to go into work? Yeah . . . I so haven't been into work.

Yesterday, after Pilate's (which kicked my ass), I went wig shopping.

And where does your everyday suburban white girl with blue hair go to buy a wig? Northland mall, of course . . . same place that she goes to buy furniture. What used to be Marshall Fields closeout furniture is on the third floor . . . stacks and stacks of scratch-and-dent furniture . . . marked down in a sorta Dutch auction style. And there is Lee Beauty Supply . . . with it's aisles of hair.

Lee Beauty Supply is between the Target and what is now Macy's. I stumbled upon it when I decided to figure out how to walk the maze to the Target, instead of driving the outside maze of Northland. Lee Beauty Supply had very earnest, but hilarious, commercials on cable about all my hair needs, so I decided to check it out. And I found the aisles of hair . . . and the wig room.

While I find the bags of hair fascinating . . . I don't need extensions. And this was the first time I seriously shopped in the wig room. There are signs on neon paper stating "Please wear wig cap and ask for assistance before trying on wigs" and well, I have blue hair, so assistance found me.

So you pick out your wigs and they put pantyhose on your head. Amazing how soccer mom I can look with a brown bob. After trying on several, I went with a longish black bob . . . made of 100% human hair in China. I was really shooting for synthetic . . . but the black bob looked the best. And according to the wig stylist, I can curl it and stuff. Made me very sad that I could buy someone's head of hair and a Styrofoam head for under $50. Plus all the sewing it to a cap and all. I really would have paid more.

So on summer day three, I bought new hair. And now that I have a "wig stylist" I may go buy more instead of dyeing my hair. Turns out that wigs are way cheaper. (no, they didn't have a blue one) I feel so Sydney Bristow.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Dining Room Plan

Okay, so the plan is . . . to deal with the dining room. Cause then there could be shopping . . . for dining room furniture.

So I'm on step one: finish stripping parent's "stereo cabinet". I'm taking a break because the new stripper keeps burning through the gloves. Which is a good sign. At least I think it's a good sign. Evidently, there is no product listing on the web but my brother just sent me the skin exposure warnings --

This product is a skin irritant. Product may be absorbed through skin. May cause irritation; defatting; drying of skin; and dermatitis. May cause and increase the severity of symptoms listed under inhalation

And according to D. "defatting" is not desirable. So I need to find thicker gloves. Which I have. Somewhere.

So after I strip the stereo cabinet (which I think was Aunt Hazel's buffet or china cabinet in another life), I have to decide if I want to stain it . . . or paint it. Have the painting plan in my head . . . saw it at a store in Scottsdale. You put on four layers of different color paint and then sand things off in spots. But the buffet has inlay . . . so might not paint it. Anyhow, have to get it to a state in which I can move it to the living room, so it can live there for a while. Then will move everything else out of the dining room (tools, more tools, random shit, shop vac, electrical whoseits and whatsits) so I can wash the walls twice. And then paint.

I didn't start this project because I had this vision that I was going to put up wainscotting to eye level and then have a shelf around the room . . . and well, that's hard. It's a lot of pieces and wood and thinking. So I think I'll just paint the damn room, so I can use it and invite people over. Plus, I think I have a tiny roof leak . . . so I have to repair the ceiling before it gets worse (and repair the roof too . . .) Crap, I need a bigger ladder.

So if I just get it painted, then I can go buy stuff at IKEA . . . like shelves . . . and a table . . . and maybe even some chairs. And then I can have dinner parties . . . with no food and lots of martinis. So off to go find some thicker gloves.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Summer Day One

"Miss _______, that's the best thing to happen to your hair . . . EVER!" said the student who was waiting at the school for his ride. "I mean it. Best thing ever."

My hair is now on its third color in four days . . . and is almost the color I was originally shooting for, Grover blue.

Watched True Romance on the insistence that it was "the greatest movie ever" (a lot of evers today) and was up late. Woke up early and then managed to go back to bed. Redyed the hair in the late morning while watching season one of NCIS (on episode three). Managed to get everything together by 1 p.m. Outfit, shoes, makeup . . . and walked out into the 96 degree sauna. Drove to work. Assessed the mess. Decided not to do anything about the mess. Made a few phone calls and drove downtown.

My plan was to go to the Majestic Cafe for dinner. Class is at six . . . so I figured an early dinner (as no real lunch was consumed) and then maybe coffee and some toothpicks to hold my eyes open for class. The waiter was very attentive . . . but then again, I was the ONLY customer in the place . . . crowd at the Majestic does not start at 5 p.m. Cute little young one, who was very flirty. And then he presented me with what I can only assume was the "blue hair discount". So I tipped him well. May go back to see him again.

So no work . . . good outfit . . . dinner half off . . .

So far a very good day.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Summer List Part One

Go see:

MOCAD's Stuff: International Contemporary Art from the Collection of Burt Aaron -- turn in volunteer application while there

Cranbrook's HOT HOUSE: Expanding the Field of Fiber at Cranbrook, 1970-2007 -- bring DIA card to see if membership works

Ingmar Berman's Persona at the Royal Oak Library on Tuesday 6/19 -- free! Pay off libray fines.

Gore Gore Girls 6/29 at the Magic Stick . . . because it would be nice to see Eric again.

SHOSTAKOVICH String Quartet No. 8 in C minor on 6/28 -- some special thing the DSO is doing to attract young people.

Call Princess and see if she wants to Whitney Garden Party . . . if the Whitney is even doing that this year.

See where the bus goes . . .
Fix bike tire . . . maybe go get the thing tuned. Or figure it out on the internet.
Find Day Bed Cover
Paint something . . . and finish the damn cabinet . . . or throw it away
M2 on Wednesday . . . shopping
Now go clean the bathroom

My Pretty Pony


Saturday, June 16, 2007

I Think It's a Bit Too Bright

"Can I touch it? Can I touch your hair?" the little voice said, with a toddler lisp.

"Sure. You can touch it."

Odd request, I thought, but certainly didn't hurt my hair. I leaned my head down to his reach and he quickly touched some hair on the top of my hair. His hand shot back and clasp his other. There was glee in his big brown eyes. A smile on his face. He walked over to his mother and sneered at his sister, as if he had won something. Like she had been afraid to ask and he had been brave enough.

Small children are fascinated when you have blue hair . . . perhaps it has something to do with clowns. (smile) Plus, I'm kinda dressed like a mom, but with punk rock hair.

So children . . . and transsexuals (the one waiting for the bus really liked my hair and asked all sorts of questions) . . . and random ladies driving in 1986 green Dodge Lancers (again with the questions, like they want the recipe) . . .

Although I think a man came out to "save" the dog I was petting outside of the Starbucks.

This phase may last less than the planned month. Interesting experiment in sociology though.

C is for Cookie

A box of saran wrap and a lot of water and shampoo later . . .

It is better color blue. At least a blue that I can go out in public in (ah, the irony). Off to the Royal Oak Ceramic and Glass Fest.

. . . and I tried to sleep in, I really did, but only could get to 8:30. Maybe I've grown out of vampire time.

Friday, June 15, 2007

My Pretty Pony

. . . or if Sea Monkeys had hair.

So today was the big day. Last day of school. Goin' to dye the hair blue. Yah.

Went out to a nice lunch. Browsed the paint chips at HD . . . always fun when you bring paint chips to your hair stylist.

And I arrived early, which J. pronounced as a good thing. And there was bleaching. And more bleaching. And cutting. And more cutting.

And then the blue was put on . . . and it was a beautiful sapphire hue. Brighter than I would like, but I could correct it easily at home. And there was heating and cooling. And washing.

End result? It really looks like the blue cotton candy that you get at a fair. So not the look I was going for . . . this is My Pretty Pony hair. Light turquoise. And J. was hyper-ventilating. And there was nothing she could do, something about waiting a week, so that my hair doesn't fall out. And I just figured I'd make a stop at Noir. But had to go to my parents first.

My hair is currently my paternal grandmother's favorite color. Let's see if they have a text color similar. And of course I have pictures, but I'm not showing them to you. Hopefully, all will be fixed tomorrow, with some gloves and saran wrap. And while at dinner (yes, my parents went out to dinner, in public, with my pretty pony hair), my father ran into a co-worker who had two little girls. They were fascinated . . . because I look like my pretty pony head . . . or it looks like sea monkey hair. I haven't determined which is the better description. My father muttered about having to explain at work.

To all of the people at work . . . this is not my father's fault. Really it's not. And in the scheme of things . . . I support myself, have a master's degree and a pretty good job. It's only hair.

And all I can do is laugh. I did go to a salon and ask for blue hair. And it's just hair. And maybe next week I'll dye it black. Because with my pretty pony hair, people have a tendency to stare. More than with the red. And I don't blame them . . . at all . . . but I am finding it slightly unnerving. Especially, at the Palace of Pork Products with my parents.

I'm sure it will be more Cookie Monster colored tomorrow.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Because They Stick . . . Duh

I brought my mommy with me to work today.

My mother works in the same field . . . but way, way up the ladder. And it's nice to bring her down to visit the trenches once a year. So I had her come on a day with children.

"I had forgotten what ninth graders do with sticky notes" she said.

And the people in charge? They always want lessons involving sticky notes. They see them as a good way to share thoughts.

Now I know exactly what ninth graders do with sticky notes. They stick them. Incessantly.

And I cannot buy enough sticky notes. There would not be enough money in the budget. Because ninth graders do one thing with sticky notes. They stick them.

And I had put sticky notes down so they would not just sit anyway for their exams. Put them in alphabetical order, facing front. And then they stuck their sticky notes . . . on their foreheads, on the back of their heads, on their neighbors butts, on their arms, on my board. One of the boys took his entire exam (an hour and fifteen minutes) with a sticky note stuck to his forehead. He only took it off after the exam to stick it on someone's butt.

One more day.

And then blue hair.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Peyton Place with Bungalows

I walked to the grocery store tonight . . . figuring that I would save some gas. I need a bigger bag to bring groceries home in . . .

As I walked back home, I notice there are two police cars very near what seems to be the location of my house. One of them is facing the opposite direction of traffic and all the lights are on. Granted, I do live on a rather busy street . . . but the whole light show? And there are three police persons (one was a woman) standing in a driveway.

Hmmm. Did my house blow up? Did someone drive into it? Are they waiting for me to come home? I've only been gone a half an hour.

The two guys on the porch at the house next to the really nice house . . . so the less than nice house (we all have the same house and floor plan) . . . one of them explains that it is probably not my house. "I think they are talking to R." he says.

"R?"
"Oh, you don't know R.? Yeah, how long have you lived here?"
"Ummm, about three years."
"And you don't know R.?"
"Who is R.?"
"He lives with his parents . . . he was sleeping with the woman in the house over there (nods head in direction opposite my house). Big scandal. She died. He was abusing her . . . sexually abusing her and she died while he was there. He's still under suspicion."

I look down the street and there is the weird guy that occasionally shows up in my yard. He used to mow the lawn for Harold (the guy I bought the house from). I told him I could mow my own yard. He seemed rather "off" in a trainable mentally impaired way.

"R. has been in your yard?" the guy says. "Don't talk to him. Never talk to R. I don't live here, but my buddy, he's lived here all his life, since he was born . . . since 1978. And the rule is you never talk to R."

The police finish their discussion with R. and pack up. R. lives four doors down, past the empty house and the Clampetts. I suppose I could look up things on the sex offender website, but really do I want to know? I lock my doors as a reflex anyway, be related to the "director of homeland security", as we lovingly call my mother. Crap, if she reads this, I'll have to get an alarm system.

I always set off the alarm system at their house, because I open the wrong doors to let the cat out on the porch. I couldn't handle the responsibility of an alarm system at my house. Trust me, Ms. director . . . I lock my doors. All the time.

So new rule . . . never talk to R.

Not like I did anyway. And the google bots are going to have fun with this one.

Monday, June 11, 2007

What's in a Name?

So I'm taking this fancy-schmancy web design class at CCS, which I thought would be all students . . . and is instead all people in advertising. Feels like it should be said in quotes, doesn't it? "People in Advertising"

And the whole purpose of me sitting here in this broken chair (no arm . . .) is to break away from the blogger and get my own domain name. Not that blogger hasn't been good to me . . . but I'd like to do some more advanced stuff. Or maybe just to figure out how to rewrite my widgets.

So I'm trying out domain names . . . and the one I really, really want, more than anything is:
www.iam_thanu.com

But I can't do that. Domain names (web addresses) cannot have underscores or spaces. And I suppose I could do www.iam-thanu.com, but it just isn't the same. The whole point is the space where you can put anything. iamlamerthanu. iamwaycoolerthanu. iamcuterthanu. I like the endless possibility.

So any suggestions?

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Ernie is Frowning.

Princess and M2 are filling out the application for "What Not To Wear" for me . . . again.

Qualified Observer wants me to be more positive . . . again.

Ah, the project. Always knew I was a project . . .

Whatever happened to the Sesame Street idea of accepting people for who they are?

(Princess would now argue that she will not accept bad fashion . . . no matter who they are and that she is only saving me. Perhaps she is. Bring it on, Clinton and Stacey.)

And when have I ever advertised myself as being a beacon of sunshine and light? My nickname is the dark princess . . .

(Damnit, I do listen to him though . . . and catch myself and will try to be more positive about things. But I have many, many talents. Seeing the sunny side just is not one of them.)

Whatever. Need to find an event to wear these new shoes.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

Uneven Terrain

I went with the wedges. It was a bad idea. But hindsight is usually twenty-twenty.

And I looked cute. The professional photographer who was there even said so . . . but he always says so.

And wedges are more comfortable than straight out heels. So everything was good . . . or as well as they could be considering. And then I hit the edge of the track. Uneven terrain. And I took my first digger. Fell. I hit the ground. So did george.

"SHIT!" My first concern was for the camera. But george was okay. My cute shoe was a little scuffed. The photographer laughed at me.

And graduation happened. Speeches. More speeches. Some choir singing. More speeches. I had taken a picture of the entire band from the top of the press box and figured I would walk out on the field to get a picture of the choir. Hit the edge of the track again. This time there was blood. Dripping of blood. And george took another hit.

So blood on the dress. Scraped knees. Ruined shoes. Totally torn up. Gave a kid the camera (have to write Nikon and thank them . . . george seems very durable) and went to the fieldhouse bathroom to clean up. Made it back for the throwing of the hats. And was just about to cry.

Then graduation was over . . . and I am collecting the cameras and passing out gifts to editors when my boss walks up to me. I am still bleeding. My friends have already gone to the restaurant. I have almost broken my face and my camera in front of a thousand people TWICE. And then the conversation did not go well.

So I cried. I cried at work. Only in front of one person . . . and not my boss . . . but I cried.

And then I went out and bought a new pair of shoes.

And my knees really hurt.

Graduation

I am now dressed and ready for graduation.

I remembered sunscreen this year . . . for the first time in seven years.

The dress, which I bought for blue hair affairs of state, shows entirely too much cleavage. So I had to augment it somewhat.

I'm unsure about what shoes to wear. Ballet flats? My new wedges? (I like to be tall . . . and am really tall in the wedges) My plastic sandals, as I will be crawling around on a football field?

I will take two hundred pictures of this event. My minions will take maybe twenty between the two of them. We will use 20 pictures, at the most, on the page. And really, I should just sit in the stands. Oh well . . .

But the stands are rowdy. And then there is the yelling and hooting for each and every graduate. It's their day, I know. But wouldn't they like to spend it at a nice restaurant, instead of the hot football field? Maybe it's just me.

I hate graduation.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Maybe Need to Run in Circles

I feel like a cranky child tonight . . . and was honest and told someone I was pissed, when I really didn't need to. I'll get over being pissed shortly. May be over it already.

And I feel like I really shouldn't talk until school gets out . . . to anyone. I realize that it is not them, it's me and how I am approaching things. I'm just over-tired, and perhaps over-stressed (never had a good gauge about when I'm really stressed, except maybe when I'm so stressed that I get hives and my esophagus closes up involuntarily). Like to think that I roll with it well, when I so don't, as evidenced by my physical symptoms to stress taking over.

And tomorrow is a different day. And in less than eight days, it will just be me, in my house . . . going for days without talking to anyone except maybe the Starbucks barista. And despite my insistence that I was "ditched" tonight, I really just needed to go to bed anyway.

So sorry, Princess. I didn't mean it. And it's too late to call and apologize tonight. Hope your car is beautiful and I will see you at Graduation. Sorry I was crabbypants.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Living Up to Her Name

"I just ordered a car over the phone. I just can't be bothered to go in there . . . twice. So I looked it up on the internet, called them, and ordered it."

I love Princess.

Have You Seen This Boy?

I get a phone call at 4:31 p.m.

I am still at work. It is M., my brother's girlfriend. I like my brother's girlfriend. I answer the phone.

"Hey, have you talked to John today?" John and I talk about once a month on the phone and I do not have a job that is conducive to phone calls. Cell phones are not allowed to be seen, nor heard in schools. "Um, no?" And mind jumps to things. Did they break up? Cause really my family doesn't want that to happen. My father loves M. Perhaps likes her more than his son.

"Oh, I thought you talked to him pretty frequently."

"No. Why?"

"He's missing."

Missing? What kind of missing? He was supposed to show up at work. His colleague, the other J. has called wondering where he is. M. has been in court all day but left him, perfectly intact, this morning.

Now the Crabbypants . . . we always show up at work. I've shown up at work even when I shouldn't have . . . one time when I was still bleeding profusely from my nose at random intervals. And should we not show up, we always call. We were taught to call even if we were going to be a minute late. For anything. And anything less is impolite. I'd call my friends if I'm was going to be late for meeting them at "book club". Until I figured out that was annoying and the whole world didn't think that was normal. I mean it's normal if you're going to be 20 minutes late . . . but not three minutes. And I have called and said, "I'm going to be about three minutes late." That has come out of my mouth. We are punctual, we Crabbypants.

So he didn't show up for work and he is not answering his phone. J. not answering his phone is not all that unusual. He often breaks it. He has lost two phones to cats flicking them into the toilet. At least one has gone into the ocean. And sometimes, often time, he simply does not answer when I call . . . because he is working. So not answering the phone and not at work is unusual.

So I have the "he has had a brain aneurysm and fallen but cannot get up" vision. Hit is head on the damn toilet and his seven damn cats do not have opposable thumbs and don't know what to do. He went kayaking and is now washed out to sea. He took the deposit from one store to the bank . . . and he is sooo not good with thieves. He will tell them "no". Very firmly, in fact. Has done it before. And I can't do anything . . . he is 24 hours away by car. I can't drive over and check.

M. has called all his friends. She has called all the hospitals. She has called him repeatedly. When I get home, I check my IM. He is on but idle . . . but it is always this way. I send a message. I do not get an answer. I call M. back at 6:15 to see if there is a blood trail across the living room. She is still driving home but is totally worked up. Again, it is very unusual for J. to miss work. If he is not home, I advise her to call the police. And then I stand around my house. Call E. to chat about my missing brother in Miami. Think about when I should call my parents.

Turns out he was home. In the living room. The small zoo of pets jumping from here to there. Didn't see the computer . . . as it is in a whole other room. His phone didn't ring. I ask to speak to him . . . to give him the big sister speech. "What? My phone didn't ring. And no one should worry if I haven't been gone for 24 hours." I let him go . . . I have had voice verification. And M. is furiously yelling in the background. "SIX HOURS!"

He calls back a little later and thanks me for worrying. I didn't tell him my thoughts about what a pain in the ass it would be if he were dead. He is my beneficiary on everything . . . and I'm just not organized enough to track everything down and change that. So he can't go missing anymore.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Love . . . and Spit

Really this is how I always pictured being in a relationship.

Of Tinkerbell Hair and Other Things

A couple of things:

I have named the new hair and it is "tinkerbell" hair. It stands up without any product . . . it's like two year old wispy toddler hair. In fact, I'm unsure if it will lay flat. Haven't gotten it to do it yet. And when I questioned a male friend about the attention, now that I'm blonde? His answer . . . this hair is less intimidating. Hmmm. I am getting used to it in the mirror finally. Not as much upkeep as the red, more upkeep than the black. Have to use this special purple shampoo that is slowly turning everything lavender. But lavender is better than the previous pink . . . well, actually, it was more like the set of Psycho every time I dyed it.

My father just asked about what I'm going to do this summer and I proudly announced that I had signed up for a class at CCS. "So what are you going to do with the other 23 hours of that day?" he asked. And I was so thrilled that I had managed to get organized and plan something. Going to sign up for yoga this evening. I think he thought I was going to get a job or something. Who wants an over-educated girl with blue hair who is ever so slightly crabbypants? For only four weeks? I'm sure it's Banana Republic. And yeah, it would be nice to have a part-time job . . . but they mostly involve kids (was already asked to run a tech day camp) and I don't really want to speak to any children for a month. Maybe someone would let me change oil or something.

Shopping continued: I bought the bestest purse ever . . . and got a deal on it. Bought one for my sister too. And managed to get Ralph Lauren sheets for 10 bucks each piece.

Two more weeks of school. Haven't started cleaning. The yearbook sold out. I'm in the black again this year, but barely. Might have to raise the price.

Oh, and I so need a nap.

Saturday, June 02, 2007

No, Really . . . the Last One Wasn't the Right Color

I shopped like it was my job today.

Was talked into more underwear by a very nice sales person at Soma. Bought some super cute shoes. Bought a blue dress so I will have something to wear at affairs of state with the blue hair . . . because frankly, it's a little hard to pull off blue hair at affairs of state and that's what I always did with the red. I would just wear a pretty red dress and assume that everyone would be impressed with my color coordination. And let me just tell you, they carried the dress in black . . . and I didn't buy it. (and pink, and white . . . but we all know that my body rejects white)

Oh, and some new lip gloss to go with the blonde hair. Problem with changing your haircolor every six weeks . . . you have to go buy different lip gloss. And I talked to the wrong sales person at the MAC counter. I think she was there for . . . I don't know . . . my mother. Because when I started babbling at her about what kind of color I wanted -- "Pink. But not fuschia pink. Frosted pink. You know, like, 1950's with platinum hair pink? Really, really light pink and not too sheer." -- She looked at me like my mother would look at me. That stop-talking-so-fast-and -crazy sheen in her eyes. But I was busy digging in my purse for the other three vials of pink lip gloss, so I wouldn't end up with the same color. "So not this one. And not Viva Glam IV. Boy, that is not pink. It looks like pink, but it really isn't. It's kinda beige-pink lip colored. Not at all what I wanted." Then the woman started pursing her lips, so I stopped. We eventually worked it out but she really wants me to wear lip liner all over my lips . . . which I never bother with . . . and, as I assured her, I already have three lip liners, thank you. But did have an enchanting conversation with the other woman, who sent the mom lady on break, about the coloring of one's hair and the upkeep of bright colors. UV protectant dominated the conversation.

After all my finds, I went to Westborn to get dinner, feeling slightly guilty because Trader Joe's is across the street . . . and the general population should not ever go to Westborn, according to Bop-Bop. But they have these great zucchini and feta pancakes. Already made and everything. So half-fill a cart with too expensive random groceries (mozzarella cheese, tomatoes, fat-free whipped cream in a can, Greek yogurt, more cheese . . . an assortment of pre-made salad) and when I get to the register I am told that I have to have cash or a check. That the computers are down. (It did rain like hell) Well, I never have either. So no groceries for Emily. Sadness.

So had a hamburger instead.

As Long As I Have an Ipod, it's Fine

Okay, I did go. And next time, let me suggest 6 a.m. or you won't find a parking spot. And there were people, people everywhere . . . and we all know how I like the general populace. Despite the headache (which has moved to the left side today . . . sneaky) I was not Miss Crabbypants. I was just there to see what I could see. Even bought some things. Strawberries and limes.

But at one point, in the tree and shrubbery part, there was a blonde former sorority chick who was openly Crabbypants. I thought about adopting her . . . but she was too skinny. Just like my father, she had no internal monologue. "SHE"S GOT A STROLLer AND a WAGON? No WONder WE CAN'T MOVE. AND WHY DO THEY PUT THESE TRASH CANS IN THE MIDDLE?" So b.f.s.c. was in a hurry to go nowhere. Everybody had the same shrubs. It's not like the good stuff was at the end. I was then taken out by about three strollers and somehow have a cut on my leg.

The Royal Oak Farmers market was just as crazy. No place to park and S.U.V.s darting around the parking lots fighting for position. These people know that they still have grocery stores that carry produce, right? Probably the same produce? And they're air conditioned? Hmmm. Maybe I'm a spoil sport, but I'm not into fighting three ladies with strollers the size of S.U.V.s for asparagus. But then again, I'm not all that fond of asparagus. Silly.

Up Too Early

It's 7:20 in the morning on a Saturday and I have had a headache for 24 hours. Yes, I have taken something. (My family's favorite thing to say if you have a headache - "Do you take something?") I stayed in last night, went to bed early, thinking that it might help with the raw throbbing scraping inside my head. It's not even time for me to have a headache. (I usually get them once a month)

I woke up thinking that I would go to Eastern Market this morning . . . but I've since mused that I do not have a wagon. So perhaps I will downgrade to the Royal Oak Farmers Market. I really just want to people watch and window shop for antiques. It's already sticky, so yard work would suck today. From what I remember, Saturday at the Eastern Market makes me a little leery. Doesn't help that I used to tour the Eastern Market on weekdays as I child (I remember it vaguely . . . maybe it didn't happen). My mother used to bring her students to see the "behind the scenes" when she taught foods at the college level. On a weekday, there isn't anyone there really . . . at least in the seventies. My last Saturday excursion, it was wall-to-wall people. Crowded. I don't like crowded.

Okay, as Mr. Crabbypants would say, don't want to waste any more of the day.

Friday, June 01, 2007

But Not Enough Entertainment

At least it is entertaining. Just received an email from a person who really looked like a friend prospect. And the first three paragraphs were alright. Discussion about bands and such.

Last paragraph? (paraphrased, of course) Haven't worked in a year. On disability. Oh, and can't drive because of my second DUI. And due to my probation, I have weekly Breathalyzer tests.

Ummmm . . . yeah.

So that tipped the scales. Cancelled match as soon as I read it. Okay, I have enough friends. I'm good. Don't need any more. Thanks.