"So I want to go to this wine store . . . and get wine with labels for each game . . ."
Princess is telling me of her plans for this year of tailgating. A voracious Michigan fan, Princess and I have been on opposite sides of the Michigan/Michigan State rivalry. But I have been honored with an invite for the first home game . . . a big deal, as it was suspected that I might show up in green. (I bought a new Michigan shirt just for the occasion. It burns my flesh a little, but I'm hoping to blend in.) And Princess's family knows how to tailgate. They have made it an art form. There's even a special car involved somehow.
Last year, Princess brought themed wine titles that she meticulously shopped for . . . bringing a new brand to each game. This year the plan was to "make wine" for each game.
The "microwinery" is near work, so I get there first. There is a rather rowdy group of people bottling and corking their own wine . . . sort of like a boy or girl scout trip for making something, but with alcohol and adults. And those adults had "tasted" the wine.
And there are two employees. One behind the counter on the computer and one who keeps asking me if she can help me with anything, even though I keep telling her that my friend is meeting me here and she is in charge.
Princess arrives and explains what she want to do. 16 bottles of wine, one red and one white for each game. All with different labels. I am there as wine label design consultant and we sit and draw out what she wants. I pick out the fonts. We taste wine, helpfully served up by the "may I help you" employee. I then write out what needs to be put on every label. I present this to the employees. And it can be done, for the price of the wine, plus five dollars for the custom label.
"All right. Let's do it then." And the plan then immediately falls apart. The behind the desk employee is suddenly skeptical, or maybe it was the whooping in the background, or the fact that they were tipsy, so they kept messing up labels on their wine . . . I don't know. But the behind the desk lady. She wanted to nix the whole plan.
"Well . . . we could do that in a week. Usually takes at least a week for special orders."
But Princess wants the wine tonight. What's the problem? You just print up the labels and smack them on the bottles, right? And her money, it's green.
But the behind the desk lady is done with us. She does not want to sell us wine. And she has to go home and feed hamburger to her family. And she may know the limitations of the may I help you lady . . . who knows nothing about the label making device.
"No, problem. I brought Emily. She can do anything on a computer." But I cannot go behind the counter. It's against company policy (for good reason). So the may I help you lady has Princess picking out the wine . . . so we can "soak" the labels off. And the behind the desk lady is arguing that it can't be done. And I am getting crabby.
As soon as the women get remotely out of earshot, I point out to Princess that we could go to the grocery store and the office supply store and do exactly the same thing. For less than five dollars. And without either lady helping us. But Princess wants this "experience".
The behind the desk lady leaves. I patiently walk the "may I help you" lady through the computer layout process from six feet away, without actually knowing the program (wine label pro . . . ). And when I say walking through . . . I mean, "Go to file. No up at the top. File. More to the left. Yes, file. Now click on it. Now find something that says print."
We manage to get the label finished. It only takes an hour. But when printing, it is discovered that she has chosen the wrong template with the help of the "I just want to go home and make hamburger." lady. The rowdy people have finished their bottling and now want to hustle her for tasting. And there are only two labels removed . . . fourteen more to go.
"Just go back there." Princess hisses. And so I do. I find the correct template (#1800). I remake the entire label because the program with not do simple functions, like copy and paste. I have to print out each label individually because there is no function for multiple labels with different type. I spell all the games, dates and wines correctly, changing colors for white and red wines. Princess is now behind the counter taking off the labels. The rowdy people are still there, buying out the store, pulling things from the wall to purchase. The may I help you lady does not know how to ring anything up and has to make phone calls. The rowdy group finally pays and leaves . . . but only after they tell us their drunken border crossing story. Evidently, if you can get over the U.S. border drunk then you are exempt from being pulled over anywhere else. You are invincible.
Two and a half hours later, all of the bottles are labelled with each distinct game. There are more phone calls so she can charge us . . . but really Princess and I did all of it. But Princess had them in her car at the end of the evening. We did not have to wait a week.
So if you want custom wine labels, I can do it . . . and Princess is very handy at removing the old labels. Princess insists that I will be famous for my design work . . . but I'm not sure I want to be famous for this. Next time I'll just do it in my kitchen.
I was taken out for a nice dinner for my services. And the bottles do look very nice. And I think I probably got that lady fired, if there were any cameras at all.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Graph of Cuteness
Ah Freshmen. They have very, very short attention spans. Something to do with the hormones still flooding their bodies. Right on that line between middle school and being a "real" person, with some of them standing firmly on each side of that line.
It was a whole day of fixing names because they didn't listen to instructions. A whole day of turning items into the office, because they had been set and left on my table. A whole day of telling the congregation to "Go all the way to the end and get your picture taken" as they wandered in packs, seemingly lost in the vastness of the front hallway of the high school.
Often they are accompanied by an adult, to shuttle them through the experience. One of these adults was a graduate . . . although in the eight years I have worked there, I couldn't tell you the year he graduated. Lost in the mist of an old teacher brain. He is over 21 by now. I never had him personally as a student. Don't know his name, but don't think I ever did.
"Oh, hey . . . you're Miss ________!"
"Yes. I am." (smile my cheesy "I'm at registration and so happy about it" smile)
"You're way cuter now . . . "
How does one respond to that?
"Um . . . thanks."
So I have gone up on the cuteness graph. My cute nature has appreciated since he has graduated. Good to know that I am making some sort of cute progress. Now if I can just keep the upward trend.
It was a whole day of fixing names because they didn't listen to instructions. A whole day of turning items into the office, because they had been set and left on my table. A whole day of telling the congregation to "Go all the way to the end and get your picture taken" as they wandered in packs, seemingly lost in the vastness of the front hallway of the high school.
Often they are accompanied by an adult, to shuttle them through the experience. One of these adults was a graduate . . . although in the eight years I have worked there, I couldn't tell you the year he graduated. Lost in the mist of an old teacher brain. He is over 21 by now. I never had him personally as a student. Don't know his name, but don't think I ever did.
"Oh, hey . . . you're Miss ________!"
"Yes. I am." (smile my cheesy "I'm at registration and so happy about it" smile)
"You're way cuter now . . . "
How does one respond to that?
"Um . . . thanks."
So I have gone up on the cuteness graph. My cute nature has appreciated since he has graduated. Good to know that I am making some sort of cute progress. Now if I can just keep the upward trend.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Versatility
I guess I have lived long enough to appreciate versatility.
I sold yearbooks at registration. Was nice to see the students, all rested and relatively well behaved. But some of them brought their parents . . . or their parents brought them, I'm not too sure.
And for the most part, the parents look like parents. Like my parents look. And then there are the others. Tattoos on wrists, hands, shoulders. Eyebrows pierced. Lips pierced. Tattoos on chests brought into view with a tiny tank top. No, really, I'm talking about the parents.
And lately, I've been thinking about how lucky I am that I feared my parents tremendously . . . and that they weren't into that. Gives me versatility.
I can go as punk as the next person. And the next day? I can be teacher girl. Preppy as can be. I have the luxury of being able to "clean up nice", something you cannot do with a large bad faded tattoo on your wrist . . . or your breast. And all these thirty somethings must have gotten the facial piercings in the last five years. Why? Couldn't they just have made the statement with fishnets and black eyeliner? So they can show up at school with their kid without it obviously looking like they are still trying to look like a kid?
There is nothing more brain swelling than the juxtaposition of a teen trying to look grown up, next to their grown up who to trying to look like a teen.
And I know Princess wants to turn me in to What Not to Wear for wearing skully socks. But I can take them off.
I sold yearbooks at registration. Was nice to see the students, all rested and relatively well behaved. But some of them brought their parents . . . or their parents brought them, I'm not too sure.
And for the most part, the parents look like parents. Like my parents look. And then there are the others. Tattoos on wrists, hands, shoulders. Eyebrows pierced. Lips pierced. Tattoos on chests brought into view with a tiny tank top. No, really, I'm talking about the parents.
And lately, I've been thinking about how lucky I am that I feared my parents tremendously . . . and that they weren't into that. Gives me versatility.
I can go as punk as the next person. And the next day? I can be teacher girl. Preppy as can be. I have the luxury of being able to "clean up nice", something you cannot do with a large bad faded tattoo on your wrist . . . or your breast. And all these thirty somethings must have gotten the facial piercings in the last five years. Why? Couldn't they just have made the statement with fishnets and black eyeliner? So they can show up at school with their kid without it obviously looking like they are still trying to look like a kid?
There is nothing more brain swelling than the juxtaposition of a teen trying to look grown up, next to their grown up who to trying to look like a teen.
And I know Princess wants to turn me in to What Not to Wear for wearing skully socks. But I can take them off.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Blame Bop-Bop
1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yes, but ironically my parents didn't know it. I was named after my Great Aunt Ruth, whose name was Ruth Velma Emily M________. My parents didn't know about the second middle name.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Last week.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Hell yes.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? No lunch meat at all. But I worked in that meat packing plant and all. So I'd have to say . . . avocado.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Nope. Would have liked, well, like eight . . . but a little late for that now. Unless I adopt.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I don't know. Evidently, people find me intimidating the first time they meet me . . . and the second time, etc. But then again, I'm not easily intimidated and we all know how I love integrity. And punctuality. So I'm going with yes.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? All the time. Really. I mean it.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? No, but would have liked them in a jar if I had had enough stones when I was six to ask for them.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Yes, of course.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Yogurt with granola. Vanilla and no raisins. Raisins are gross.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends on the shoes. Converse?
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I'll kick your ass.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Cinnamon. Makes me think of dinner at Bill Knapps with my grandmother. Sigh.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Truthfully? Probably, attitude and shoes. Then, if they have good hair.
15. RED OR PINK? Red, unless it's a barrette.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I talk too much. About everything.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My maternal Grandmother (when she was well) and my paternal Grandfather (who truly knew how to show love and always made me feel loved)
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I'm not sending it to anyone other than the one who sent it. If reading it on the blog, feel free to copy and place answers in comments (put your name on it, sillys)
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? No shoes. Cut off jeans with paint. The usual. Sorry Mom.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Glass of wine and a pretzel rod stuck in peanut butter.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? a train in the distance.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? f*ck. I'd have to go check my box of 64. A different one every day, if I could be. Otherwise, I'm feeling "red violet" or "violet red". Two different colors according to Crayola. Yes, I have them sitting right here.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? This box of crayons (yes, I did just go get it), lavender, pumpkin pie, fall, the ocean.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My Mom.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Yes. But I don't "like like" him. (smile)
26. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Live? Lacrosse.
27. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? Today? Black. Evidently, with blue highlights.
28. EYE COLOR? Brown.
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes. Pretty much always.
30. FAVORITE Foods? Currently? Pretzel rod stuck in peanut butter. I like soup. (insert rest of Dead Kennedy's line here) Soy lattes. Gyros.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Do I have a boy? Scary Movies. Because I need a shoulder. If not, Happy Endings, for sure. I'm a wimp about scary movies.
32. LAST BIG MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Borne Supremacy, with my brother, Dad and Paul.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Green. Old MSU shirt. So old it has my name sewn in it by my mother.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? winter, ironically.
35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kissing. I feel trapped by hugs. Don't know why.
36. FAVORITE DESSERTS? Any and all.
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Don't care.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Still don't care.
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Winkie . . . some story about a stuffed bear that gets arrested as a terrorist. Haven't read it for a while though. Pretty surreal.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A friend's address. How much to add to my principal when paying my mortgage to make an even number. What my username is to pay my credit card online. (No, not the password, Mom.)
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T. V. LAST NIGHT? Last night? Howard Stern. I was over at Princess's house and she and her sister love him.
42. FAVORITE SOUND? Crickets.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Rolling Stones.
44. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Paris, France.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can draw realistic portraits if given the time. I can knit. I can pick good colors for things. I can make people do things . . . in a nice way. I can say "no", without ever really saying the word "no". I can speak in front of 500 people, without even really knowing what I'm speaking about.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Ohio
47. What frustrates you most? People without integrity.
48. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Again. Don't expect answers from anyone. But this was kinda a cool thing to do. Don't send me any more though.
2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Last week.
3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Hell yes.
4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? No lunch meat at all. But I worked in that meat packing plant and all. So I'd have to say . . . avocado.
5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Nope. Would have liked, well, like eight . . . but a little late for that now. Unless I adopt.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I don't know. Evidently, people find me intimidating the first time they meet me . . . and the second time, etc. But then again, I'm not easily intimidated and we all know how I love integrity. And punctuality. So I'm going with yes.
7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? All the time. Really. I mean it.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? No, but would have liked them in a jar if I had had enough stones when I was six to ask for them.
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Yes, of course.
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Yogurt with granola. Vanilla and no raisins. Raisins are gross.
11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends on the shoes. Converse?
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I'll kick your ass.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Cinnamon. Makes me think of dinner at Bill Knapps with my grandmother. Sigh.
14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Truthfully? Probably, attitude and shoes. Then, if they have good hair.
15. RED OR PINK? Red, unless it's a barrette.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I talk too much. About everything.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My maternal Grandmother (when she was well) and my paternal Grandfather (who truly knew how to show love and always made me feel loved)
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I'm not sending it to anyone other than the one who sent it. If reading it on the blog, feel free to copy and place answers in comments (put your name on it, sillys)
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? No shoes. Cut off jeans with paint. The usual. Sorry Mom.
20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Glass of wine and a pretzel rod stuck in peanut butter.
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? a train in the distance.
22. IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? f*ck. I'd have to go check my box of 64. A different one every day, if I could be. Otherwise, I'm feeling "red violet" or "violet red". Two different colors according to Crayola. Yes, I have them sitting right here.
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? This box of crayons (yes, I did just go get it), lavender, pumpkin pie, fall, the ocean.
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My Mom.
25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? Yes. But I don't "like like" him. (smile)
26. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Live? Lacrosse.
27. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? Today? Black. Evidently, with blue highlights.
28. EYE COLOR? Brown.
29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes. Pretty much always.
30. FAVORITE Foods? Currently? Pretzel rod stuck in peanut butter. I like soup. (insert rest of Dead Kennedy's line here) Soy lattes. Gyros.
31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Do I have a boy? Scary Movies. Because I need a shoulder. If not, Happy Endings, for sure. I'm a wimp about scary movies.
32. LAST BIG MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Borne Supremacy, with my brother, Dad and Paul.
33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Green. Old MSU shirt. So old it has my name sewn in it by my mother.
34. SUMMER OR WINTER? winter, ironically.
35. HUGS OR KISSES? Kissing. I feel trapped by hugs. Don't know why.
36. FAVORITE DESSERTS? Any and all.
37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Don't care.
38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Still don't care.
39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? Winkie . . . some story about a stuffed bear that gets arrested as a terrorist. Haven't read it for a while though. Pretty surreal.
40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? A friend's address. How much to add to my principal when paying my mortgage to make an even number. What my username is to pay my credit card online. (No, not the password, Mom.)
41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T. V. LAST NIGHT? Last night? Howard Stern. I was over at Princess's house and she and her sister love him.
42. FAVORITE SOUND? Crickets.
43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Rolling Stones.
44. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Paris, France.
45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I can draw realistic portraits if given the time. I can knit. I can pick good colors for things. I can make people do things . . . in a nice way. I can say "no", without ever really saying the word "no". I can speak in front of 500 people, without even really knowing what I'm speaking about.
46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Ohio
47. What frustrates you most? People without integrity.
48. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK? Again. Don't expect answers from anyone. But this was kinda a cool thing to do. Don't send me any more though.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
School Shopping
I had my first day of work on Friday.
And I dressed up. And my bosses showed up in golf shirts.
I sat for three hours in a windowed hallway that rapidly became what felt like 300 degrees. Tomorrow will be the female equivalent of golf shirt.
It was nice to see the kids and although I don't really want to come in a week early, it's good to be able to "ease" into things. Sell yearbooks. Go out to lunch. Somewhat like normal business people.
So I work three days next week. And then four days the following week. But then it's straight through until Thanksgiving.
And although I have been school shopping for the last two days . . . I haven't bought anything. Much.
And I dressed up. And my bosses showed up in golf shirts.
I sat for three hours in a windowed hallway that rapidly became what felt like 300 degrees. Tomorrow will be the female equivalent of golf shirt.
It was nice to see the kids and although I don't really want to come in a week early, it's good to be able to "ease" into things. Sell yearbooks. Go out to lunch. Somewhat like normal business people.
So I work three days next week. And then four days the following week. But then it's straight through until Thanksgiving.
And although I have been school shopping for the last two days . . . I haven't bought anything. Much.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Did You Know?
I cannot be an employee at Starbucks.
According to their corporate policies, hair must be of a "natural color", visible tattoos must be covered, no facial piercings are allowed . . . (okay, I do fit all of that . . . as of today)
. . . and you are only allowed five TOTAL ear piercings.
I have six. It makes me feel more balanced. Had five for years, but now have two earrings in my right ear.
Although, the manager (who also told me about the great partner benefits and how the corporation could care less that she is gay) pointed out that I could just take one earring out for my shift.
Good to know.
According to their corporate policies, hair must be of a "natural color", visible tattoos must be covered, no facial piercings are allowed . . . (okay, I do fit all of that . . . as of today)
. . . and you are only allowed five TOTAL ear piercings.
I have six. It makes me feel more balanced. Had five for years, but now have two earrings in my right ear.
Although, the manager (who also told me about the great partner benefits and how the corporation could care less that she is gay) pointed out that I could just take one earring out for my shift.
Good to know.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Last Day
Today is the last day of the blue hair. Last day for children to look at me in wonder. Last day for the homeless person to tell me how good my hair looks. Last day to be totally separate in a room, without really noticing.
That was the most interesting thing about this experience. I know I have blue hair. I see it in the mirror. I can picture it in my head. But when I go out in public, I forget that having blue hair is weird. That people are going to stare at me and frown. Or raise their eyebrows slightly. Or, my favorite, refuse to look at me at all.
So it was an entire summer of "What? Do I have something on my face? Is my fly open?" when it was just my hair.
And I have to say, the blue hair . . . maybe it's my skin tone, or my aura (my aura was "shiny" the other day, but that is another entry), or maybe it's just that humans should not have blue hair . . . but it never really felt as "right" as the bright red did. Say what you want, Mom. I loved the red. The red made me feel confident and beautiful and special. And the blue? It made me feel different. Which was cool, don't get me wrong. Maybe it's just that the blue somehow wasn't as approachable as the red. Don't know.
So it's back to black tomorrow. I'm trying to grow it out and have already planned the perfect thing to say to my "loves to cut" stylist. Pigtails. Maybe a color streak next summer . . . but then again, I have to stop watching LAink, or I'm going to get some sleeves and become a tattoo artist. And I so want a nickname like "Pixie". Don't know why. I would be a wicked good tattoo artist though. And I'm due for a career change.
Sigh. So last day. I have to break George out of his bag and take some pictures. So sad. Sniff.
That was the most interesting thing about this experience. I know I have blue hair. I see it in the mirror. I can picture it in my head. But when I go out in public, I forget that having blue hair is weird. That people are going to stare at me and frown. Or raise their eyebrows slightly. Or, my favorite, refuse to look at me at all.
So it was an entire summer of "What? Do I have something on my face? Is my fly open?" when it was just my hair.
And I have to say, the blue hair . . . maybe it's my skin tone, or my aura (my aura was "shiny" the other day, but that is another entry), or maybe it's just that humans should not have blue hair . . . but it never really felt as "right" as the bright red did. Say what you want, Mom. I loved the red. The red made me feel confident and beautiful and special. And the blue? It made me feel different. Which was cool, don't get me wrong. Maybe it's just that the blue somehow wasn't as approachable as the red. Don't know.
So it's back to black tomorrow. I'm trying to grow it out and have already planned the perfect thing to say to my "loves to cut" stylist. Pigtails. Maybe a color streak next summer . . . but then again, I have to stop watching LAink, or I'm going to get some sleeves and become a tattoo artist. And I so want a nickname like "Pixie". Don't know why. I would be a wicked good tattoo artist though. And I'm due for a career change.
Sigh. So last day. I have to break George out of his bag and take some pictures. So sad. Sniff.
Not the Tomb Raider One
It was an interesting day.
Giving advice . . . when I don't take advice very well. Certainly don't do well with constructive criticism. Felt very much like the pot speaking firmly with the kettle about being black today.
Finished the baby hat that I'm not sure I'm going to send. QO doesn't have a last name . . . so I'm not sure how to address it. Okay, I'm sure he has a last name, I just don't know what it is. And why knit for people if you don't even know their last names? Very cute hat though. Just the right color blue . . . organic cotton yarn . . . very soft . . . almost wish it was big enough for me.
I just got off the phone. Talked Peter Pan down for a while, using tiny stitches on his shadow. Doesn't want to grow up . . . doesn't want to live like this though. Spinny, spinny, spinny. Conversation ended with how much he was attracted to Angelina Jolie . . . not the Tomb Raider one, when she was in Hackers was better, without the fake boobs. So much for the grounding conversation about being a grown up.
So now I'm tired. Kinda the theme for the summer. Just tired. Languishing. Perhaps the Fall will be better.
I did buy the cutest ballet flats though. Red. Shiny.
Giving advice . . . when I don't take advice very well. Certainly don't do well with constructive criticism. Felt very much like the pot speaking firmly with the kettle about being black today.
Finished the baby hat that I'm not sure I'm going to send. QO doesn't have a last name . . . so I'm not sure how to address it. Okay, I'm sure he has a last name, I just don't know what it is. And why knit for people if you don't even know their last names? Very cute hat though. Just the right color blue . . . organic cotton yarn . . . very soft . . . almost wish it was big enough for me.
I just got off the phone. Talked Peter Pan down for a while, using tiny stitches on his shadow. Doesn't want to grow up . . . doesn't want to live like this though. Spinny, spinny, spinny. Conversation ended with how much he was attracted to Angelina Jolie . . . not the Tomb Raider one, when she was in Hackers was better, without the fake boobs. So much for the grounding conversation about being a grown up.
So now I'm tired. Kinda the theme for the summer. Just tired. Languishing. Perhaps the Fall will be better.
I did buy the cutest ballet flats though. Red. Shiny.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Disappointment and Future Regret
My brother and nephew were over on Saturday and we were mostly napping as they had just walked the "death march" my father likes to do during the Woodward Cruise. Napping and listening to NPR.
I download the podcasts of This American Life. So my brother and I were listening to this one (Act III, My Other Dog is a German Shepard), which brought up a show on the Disney Channel.
"The Suite Life with Zack and Cody? Yeah. I watch that show." my nephew says.
The radio show had not been kind about The Suite Life with Z and C.
"Really? You watch that show, huh? When is it on?" my brother asks.
"Probably on right now." my nephew replies.
We turn on the television and change it to the Disney Channel.
Now the Disney Channel was a big part of Dave and my youth . . . part of the reason we have seen every flavor of "Witch Mountain" movie. Escape to . . . Return to . . . Snowboard off of . . . Oh, and the "Apple Dumplin' Gang". Dave watched that movie over and over. The Disney Channel of our youth was old Mickey Mouse cartoons and Disney movies from the fifties and sixties. A might bit brain rotting, but nothing serious. If anything . . . campy.
Currently on the Disney Channel? "Hannah Montana". My brother and I tried to get through an entire episode without throwing up. Hannah Montana is about Billy Ray Cyrus' little girl, who is a star singer. A pop tart low rent version of Brittney Spears. If there could be such a thing. And although portrayed as wholesome . . . at one point the girl was on the floor in a maxi-mini and I swear I saw up her skirt. Basically, the writing was insultingly dumb with a message at the end, of course. The girls were dressed like . . . well . . . 25 year old whores, even though they were supposed to be 14 or 15. Oh, and there was a large dose of sexual innuendo. Hannah, the main character, is upset that her bodyguard keeps chaperoning her dates with an older boy because, and I quote, "a girl has needs . . ."
This is on the Disney Channel. THE DISNEY CHANNEL. And Dave had never watched it . . . because it was on the Disney Channel, and you trust Disney . . . it's supposed to be Escape from Witch Mountain and Tron. Not a horny, pop tart with a badly played southern accent. No wonder my high schoolers are so warped. They've probably been watching the Disney Channel since they were three, which is why they think it's okay to preform oral sex during science class . . . when they are thirteen. And I guess I could argue that it's a show for high schoolers. It is set in a high school. But what teenager watches The Disney Channel?
Z got really pissed at us for telling him that he couldn't watch "Hannah Montana" anymore. And while I understand his point of view (not his fault that his adults didn't preview The Disney Channel and now he's all into the character development) personally, the Disney Channel is off the list at my house. I may set the parental controls and everything. And yes, I know that sexual innuendo is everywhere, but bad writing and poor stereotypes with a smidge of "girls are just playthings" is not.
Later, as we were watching Surviorman, in an attempt to ease the brain swelling, there was a commercial for silver coins. Evidently, I should buy a 19 dollar silver coin to "avoid disappointment and future regret". I think they were talking about me regretting not buying the nifty coin . . . but boy, I would love avoiding disappointment and future regret for only one payment of $19,95. Sign me up.
I download the podcasts of This American Life. So my brother and I were listening to this one (Act III, My Other Dog is a German Shepard), which brought up a show on the Disney Channel.
"The Suite Life with Zack and Cody? Yeah. I watch that show." my nephew says.
The radio show had not been kind about The Suite Life with Z and C.
"Really? You watch that show, huh? When is it on?" my brother asks.
"Probably on right now." my nephew replies.
We turn on the television and change it to the Disney Channel.
Now the Disney Channel was a big part of Dave and my youth . . . part of the reason we have seen every flavor of "Witch Mountain" movie. Escape to . . . Return to . . . Snowboard off of . . . Oh, and the "Apple Dumplin' Gang". Dave watched that movie over and over. The Disney Channel of our youth was old Mickey Mouse cartoons and Disney movies from the fifties and sixties. A might bit brain rotting, but nothing serious. If anything . . . campy.
Currently on the Disney Channel? "Hannah Montana". My brother and I tried to get through an entire episode without throwing up. Hannah Montana is about Billy Ray Cyrus' little girl, who is a star singer. A pop tart low rent version of Brittney Spears. If there could be such a thing. And although portrayed as wholesome . . . at one point the girl was on the floor in a maxi-mini and I swear I saw up her skirt. Basically, the writing was insultingly dumb with a message at the end, of course. The girls were dressed like . . . well . . . 25 year old whores, even though they were supposed to be 14 or 15. Oh, and there was a large dose of sexual innuendo. Hannah, the main character, is upset that her bodyguard keeps chaperoning her dates with an older boy because, and I quote, "a girl has needs . . ."
This is on the Disney Channel. THE DISNEY CHANNEL. And Dave had never watched it . . . because it was on the Disney Channel, and you trust Disney . . . it's supposed to be Escape from Witch Mountain and Tron. Not a horny, pop tart with a badly played southern accent. No wonder my high schoolers are so warped. They've probably been watching the Disney Channel since they were three, which is why they think it's okay to preform oral sex during science class . . . when they are thirteen. And I guess I could argue that it's a show for high schoolers. It is set in a high school. But what teenager watches The Disney Channel?
Z got really pissed at us for telling him that he couldn't watch "Hannah Montana" anymore. And while I understand his point of view (not his fault that his adults didn't preview The Disney Channel and now he's all into the character development) personally, the Disney Channel is off the list at my house. I may set the parental controls and everything. And yes, I know that sexual innuendo is everywhere, but bad writing and poor stereotypes with a smidge of "girls are just playthings" is not.
Later, as we were watching Surviorman, in an attempt to ease the brain swelling, there was a commercial for silver coins. Evidently, I should buy a 19 dollar silver coin to "avoid disappointment and future regret". I think they were talking about me regretting not buying the nifty coin . . . but boy, I would love avoiding disappointment and future regret for only one payment of $19,95. Sign me up.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Cranky and Annoyed
I just got home. I think I had food poisoning. My house is less than neat and tidy. It is the Woodward Cruise so people are coming over. I need to do something about my lawn. I joined yahoo personals because a cute guy with a Basquiat painting emailed me. He has since fallen off the face of the planet. Must have offended him somehow with my last email. I should chalk it up to "well, then he wasn't the 'right' guy, even to be friends with . . . " but instead it is making me cranky. I didn't email him first. Bop-bop just looked at my match profile. Bop-bop of the "internetdatingisstupid" lecture tour. Want to email Bop-bop and tell him that I'm on match to find people I don't know . . . you know, new boys, not boys I already know. No spelling mistakes in his profile though. I'm so proud. I have to go to school this week. Which means I have to work this week. I woke up to Bob Ross painting something with titanium white, while I was dreaming about a gang of men that were about to jump me. "Go for the ankles" one of them said, as the other one was pouring out his Big Gulp. I thought in the dream he meant getting my ankles dirty with the Big Gulp mess. But in the shower, I realized that it was probably to break my ankles so I couldn't get away. Fun dream.
Cranky. Annoyed.
Cranky. Annoyed.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Home Improvement by Beer
I bought myself new school shoes today.
And new sexy pointy boots . . . but that was an impulse purchase.
All because I fixed my toilet yesterday.
My toilet has been running intermittently forever. Getting more and more frequent over time. And yes, I know how to use the internet. And I have installed a toilet in another house. And toilet innards in a few other houses. But my currently facilities, when checked, already had relatively modern innards and the new innard kit that I bought had me taking apart the whole tank and taking if off the bowl. Sigh. That's just a job you have to be in the mood for.
So I just replaced the flapper, after modifying the new one a bit. And there has been no running for 24 hours. In my mind, that's fixed. Hopefully, my water bill will go down. Maybe, if I'm in a plumbing mood tomorrow, I'll take out my bathtub faucet thingies. Makes me anxious, although my father went through exactly what to do. I'm the kind of girl that would get them out, go to Universal Plumbing Supply and find that they cannot be replaced . . . and then not be able to get them back in and not have a shower.
Like my cart. Harold (house's previous owner) left a cart from the kitchen. And I should know better. I should just throw things away that Harold left. But it's a nice cart. Ugly contact paper, but nice cart. Harold was all about the ugly contact paper. So I start peeling . . . to find another layer of even more ugly contact paper. Ugh. Sticky mess. I didn't even know they made contact paper in the early sixties. The point being, I thought the cart was going to be simple. Peel contact paper. Paint yellow. Now there is peel contact paper. Peel more contact paper. Ungoo somehow. Sand. Paint.
Yes, I did check the cost of new carts at IKEA.
And my parents, the kind and queen of "do-it-yourself" when I was a child, are suddenly the evil duo of "just get a new one". Including, it seems, a new mortgage. "You could just call Father and Sons, or Kearns Brothers and they would finish your attic." So says the woman who laid sod while eight months pregnant with my sister. "You can get a whole new toilet for a 100 dollars" says the lady who had either painted or stripped a whole house of hand-me-down furniture. "Just take a sledgehammer to the beep thing and throw the beep thing on the curb in pieces" says the man who did copper plumbing himself (in one afternoon, according to him, though it seemed longer to me) in his first house . . . and I think he did his own roof once. I can't figure out if they have forgotten how hard it is to have the capital to pay someone to do stuff (plus the stress of trying not to get ripped off and the resurrection of Buck the imaginary husband) or if they do remember and have figured out that they should have just "paid the man" all along.
Nah. They make my brother do stuff all the time.
Now granted, I remember my parents having a tribe. Which I do not have. Well, I have Princess, E2, and M2 in town . . . and if you have some shoe shopping to do or a manicure emergency . . . or if you need to revise a code of conduct. And I remember there were just copious amounts of beer. It's amazing they didn't fall off the roof . . . or cut off a leg when building the deck. Perhaps I will just teach Princess to be more handy. Except she drinks wine.
And new sexy pointy boots . . . but that was an impulse purchase.
All because I fixed my toilet yesterday.
My toilet has been running intermittently forever. Getting more and more frequent over time. And yes, I know how to use the internet. And I have installed a toilet in another house. And toilet innards in a few other houses. But my currently facilities, when checked, already had relatively modern innards and the new innard kit that I bought had me taking apart the whole tank and taking if off the bowl. Sigh. That's just a job you have to be in the mood for.
So I just replaced the flapper, after modifying the new one a bit. And there has been no running for 24 hours. In my mind, that's fixed. Hopefully, my water bill will go down. Maybe, if I'm in a plumbing mood tomorrow, I'll take out my bathtub faucet thingies. Makes me anxious, although my father went through exactly what to do. I'm the kind of girl that would get them out, go to Universal Plumbing Supply and find that they cannot be replaced . . . and then not be able to get them back in and not have a shower.
Like my cart. Harold (house's previous owner) left a cart from the kitchen. And I should know better. I should just throw things away that Harold left. But it's a nice cart. Ugly contact paper, but nice cart. Harold was all about the ugly contact paper. So I start peeling . . . to find another layer of even more ugly contact paper. Ugh. Sticky mess. I didn't even know they made contact paper in the early sixties. The point being, I thought the cart was going to be simple. Peel contact paper. Paint yellow. Now there is peel contact paper. Peel more contact paper. Ungoo somehow. Sand. Paint.
Yes, I did check the cost of new carts at IKEA.
And my parents, the kind and queen of "do-it-yourself" when I was a child, are suddenly the evil duo of "just get a new one". Including, it seems, a new mortgage. "You could just call Father and Sons, or Kearns Brothers and they would finish your attic." So says the woman who laid sod while eight months pregnant with my sister. "You can get a whole new toilet for a 100 dollars" says the lady who had either painted or stripped a whole house of hand-me-down furniture. "Just take a sledgehammer to the beep thing and throw the beep thing on the curb in pieces" says the man who did copper plumbing himself (in one afternoon, according to him, though it seemed longer to me) in his first house . . . and I think he did his own roof once. I can't figure out if they have forgotten how hard it is to have the capital to pay someone to do stuff (plus the stress of trying not to get ripped off and the resurrection of Buck the imaginary husband) or if they do remember and have figured out that they should have just "paid the man" all along.
Nah. They make my brother do stuff all the time.
Now granted, I remember my parents having a tribe. Which I do not have. Well, I have Princess, E2, and M2 in town . . . and if you have some shoe shopping to do or a manicure emergency . . . or if you need to revise a code of conduct. And I remember there were just copious amounts of beer. It's amazing they didn't fall off the roof . . . or cut off a leg when building the deck. Perhaps I will just teach Princess to be more handy. Except she drinks wine.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Yuck.
I had high hopes.
Chili made with meat replacement sausage like soy stuff.
Not good. No matter how much cayenne you put in it. Or cheese. (kinda defeats the point, the cheese)
No matter what those vegetarians say.
Chili made with meat replacement sausage like soy stuff.
Not good. No matter how much cayenne you put in it. Or cheese. (kinda defeats the point, the cheese)
No matter what those vegetarians say.
Annoying by Adding
So I went out and talked to my other neighbor today . . . the one that looks like a sweet old lady, not the one that has a weird semi-abusive screaming at 3 a.m. relationship . . . and I now remember why I don't talk to her. I annoy her. She will talk to me for hours, all while being annoyed that I am trying to get a word in edgewise.
Today I heard about her lawn, her neighbors (Cheryl and Avery), her dogs, her daughter, her granddaughters, her back porch, her husband, her husband's prostate, her husband's spine, male menopause, and how her husband is not "regular". And I kept trying to turn the conversation to, oh, say, the weather. I did finally figure out her name though. Sharon. Sharon and Chuck. Chuck is not doing so well, with the prostate and the shots and the irregularity (at that point I thought she was talking about her dog, George) and the spine problems and such . . . oh, and cataracts. He waited too long on the cataracts.
And I shouldn't have planted morning glories, cause they just get all over the place. I was just pleased that something I planted grew.
So I'm currently filthy. And want some dinner. Dealt with some of the dining room today. Boy, do I have a lot of shit I don't need.
Today I heard about her lawn, her neighbors (Cheryl and Avery), her dogs, her daughter, her granddaughters, her back porch, her husband, her husband's prostate, her husband's spine, male menopause, and how her husband is not "regular". And I kept trying to turn the conversation to, oh, say, the weather. I did finally figure out her name though. Sharon. Sharon and Chuck. Chuck is not doing so well, with the prostate and the shots and the irregularity (at that point I thought she was talking about her dog, George) and the spine problems and such . . . oh, and cataracts. He waited too long on the cataracts.
And I shouldn't have planted morning glories, cause they just get all over the place. I was just pleased that something I planted grew.
So I'm currently filthy. And want some dinner. Dealt with some of the dining room today. Boy, do I have a lot of shit I don't need.
All Clampetty
It's 2:48 a.m..
And I have new neighbors.
I think I mentioned previously that I did not like the new neighbors. I was doing a fine job of ignoring them. They have a dog sprinkler made out of a wood cutout. You know. Cutesy lawn ornaments that you pick out at flea markets. They never close their windows . . . so I hear everything if I am outside. So I have avoided going outside. To the detriment of my lawn.
I met one of them once. She mentioned that she lived with another woman and that they were divorced. She then proceed to walk over to her friend and say "I met the neighbor", a little too proudly, like she had won at Monopoly or something. There are children coming and going. Haven't pinned down which actually live there.
Tonight I kept hearing clunking. Strange sounds. Breaking into things sounds. And then there was yelling. And more yelling. And then really angry loud, as if in my backyard, yelling. Which is when I jumped out of bed.
Now being related to my mother, "the director of homeland security", I realize now that the action I am about to describe was very, very stupid. Which is why I am wide awake, sitting at my computer with my phone next to my hand. I may not sleep tonight. And the healthy stuff is off . . . life is too short not to consume splenda. I know that now.
I pulled on a pair of pants. I found my mag light . . . which is actually my father's mag light. 4 d cell. Good for clunking. I drop the mag light on the coffee table while going for the phone. CRASH. Find phone. Find flashlight. Hope nothing is broken on coffee table. Make sure flashlight still works. Go out front door. Follow sounds while dialing 911.
My stupid new neighbor is having a fight with her boyfriend. The boyfriend is about 50 . . . she is in her forties. "Everything all right? Do I need to call 911?" Everything is fine here. "Well, no, everything is not fine. Did you know it's 3 o'clock in the morning sir?" Something about she won't move her car so I can get to my damn truck and leave. My finger twitches at the phone. She is telling me that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. It's three in the morning and I'm standing on your driveway with my head bashing flashlight and the phone dialed to 911. NOT OKAY. "Are you intoxicated, sir?" Both parties then overly assure me . . . too much . . . that he is not the least bit intoxicated. He is furious, pacing.
So I see the solution as simple. Move your damn car so the man can leave. Seems simple enough to me. But I can see that the woman has some sort of agenda. Abandonment issues, control issues, something not right . . . I sense that she likes that this man has been wound up enough to be screaming at her and waking the neighbors. And that makes me really not like her. And I walk away. I sit on my porch. My phone is switched to the police non-emergency number . . . and yes, I have that in my phone. Because I have crazy neighbors. And I live on a crazy street.
As I sit and think about whether or not to call in a noise complaint, I realize that I do not want to start a war with this one. Because she may be crazier than I am. And I do not need any more crazy. And soon I will be gone all day. So I go in the house and make sure all the doors are locked. And will sleep with the phone next to me.
Gotta love living next to a rental.
And I have new neighbors.
I think I mentioned previously that I did not like the new neighbors. I was doing a fine job of ignoring them. They have a dog sprinkler made out of a wood cutout. You know. Cutesy lawn ornaments that you pick out at flea markets. They never close their windows . . . so I hear everything if I am outside. So I have avoided going outside. To the detriment of my lawn.
I met one of them once. She mentioned that she lived with another woman and that they were divorced. She then proceed to walk over to her friend and say "I met the neighbor", a little too proudly, like she had won at Monopoly or something. There are children coming and going. Haven't pinned down which actually live there.
Tonight I kept hearing clunking. Strange sounds. Breaking into things sounds. And then there was yelling. And more yelling. And then really angry loud, as if in my backyard, yelling. Which is when I jumped out of bed.
Now being related to my mother, "the director of homeland security", I realize now that the action I am about to describe was very, very stupid. Which is why I am wide awake, sitting at my computer with my phone next to my hand. I may not sleep tonight. And the healthy stuff is off . . . life is too short not to consume splenda. I know that now.
I pulled on a pair of pants. I found my mag light . . . which is actually my father's mag light. 4 d cell. Good for clunking. I drop the mag light on the coffee table while going for the phone. CRASH. Find phone. Find flashlight. Hope nothing is broken on coffee table. Make sure flashlight still works. Go out front door. Follow sounds while dialing 911.
My stupid new neighbor is having a fight with her boyfriend. The boyfriend is about 50 . . . she is in her forties. "Everything all right? Do I need to call 911?" Everything is fine here. "Well, no, everything is not fine. Did you know it's 3 o'clock in the morning sir?" Something about she won't move her car so I can get to my damn truck and leave. My finger twitches at the phone. She is telling me that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. It's three in the morning and I'm standing on your driveway with my head bashing flashlight and the phone dialed to 911. NOT OKAY. "Are you intoxicated, sir?" Both parties then overly assure me . . . too much . . . that he is not the least bit intoxicated. He is furious, pacing.
So I see the solution as simple. Move your damn car so the man can leave. Seems simple enough to me. But I can see that the woman has some sort of agenda. Abandonment issues, control issues, something not right . . . I sense that she likes that this man has been wound up enough to be screaming at her and waking the neighbors. And that makes me really not like her. And I walk away. I sit on my porch. My phone is switched to the police non-emergency number . . . and yes, I have that in my phone. Because I have crazy neighbors. And I live on a crazy street.
As I sit and think about whether or not to call in a noise complaint, I realize that I do not want to start a war with this one. Because she may be crazier than I am. And I do not need any more crazy. And soon I will be gone all day. So I go in the house and make sure all the doors are locked. And will sleep with the phone next to me.
Gotta love living next to a rental.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Apologies are in Order
"Don't encourage her . . . and don't be nice. Tell her what you really think about her hair."
The server, a parent of a former student, was complimenting me on my hair. My very blue hair. She kept saying she liked it and Princess kept telling her to tell me what she really thought. Evidently, liking it was what she really thought.
"She's just saying that to be nice."
Now I will say, Princess is a trooper. She would not normally be caught dead with someone with blue hair and I mortify her. So being seen with me is a huge gesture of our friendship. Especially at places like say, the Andiamo's in Grosse Pointe, full of couples older than our parents . . . who really should better at staring when I'm not looking. Don't they yell at their kids about that?
"Why doesn't anyone come up and say nice things about my hair? I have really great hair. I pay a lot for this hair . . . and it looks way better than yours . . . "
So if you see Princess, compliment her on her hair. It always looks great. And she deserves it.
The server, a parent of a former student, was complimenting me on my hair. My very blue hair. She kept saying she liked it and Princess kept telling her to tell me what she really thought. Evidently, liking it was what she really thought.
"She's just saying that to be nice."
Now I will say, Princess is a trooper. She would not normally be caught dead with someone with blue hair and I mortify her. So being seen with me is a huge gesture of our friendship. Especially at places like say, the Andiamo's in Grosse Pointe, full of couples older than our parents . . . who really should better at staring when I'm not looking. Don't they yell at their kids about that?
"Why doesn't anyone come up and say nice things about my hair? I have really great hair. I pay a lot for this hair . . . and it looks way better than yours . . . "
So if you see Princess, compliment her on her hair. It always looks great. And she deserves it.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Tempting Me with The Meat of the Shores
"You can't turn vegan. That's ridiculous. That's like calling yourself Jewish."
"I'm not vegan . . . I eat yogurt. And I had french toast this week." thinking about how I occasionally do call myself Jewish, but only because I work in the whitest, most Catholic, closed-minded school district and I like to shake them up a bit. I'm sure the state of Israel doesn't mind. Really. Too much.
"So we can't go out to Andiamo's then."
"Princess, I'll just eat pasta. I'm sure they have marinara sauce. It will be fine."
"Really? Because I'm having a steak . . . AND it's half off wine night."
"You can have a steak. Other people can eat meat. Heck, I may eat meat next week."
"But eat it in front of you? I wouldn't want to tempt you with the meat of the Shores."
Now I'm thinking about seafood, much of which I don't like. But Princess means the breaded NY Strip they have . . . which is good. But not so good that I can't stand to just watch her eat it.
"The meat of the Shores?"
"Yes, tempting you with The meat of the Shores . . . because I don't want to end up in your blog, after making you eat meat."
"I'm not vegan . . . I eat yogurt. And I had french toast this week." thinking about how I occasionally do call myself Jewish, but only because I work in the whitest, most Catholic, closed-minded school district and I like to shake them up a bit. I'm sure the state of Israel doesn't mind. Really. Too much.
"So we can't go out to Andiamo's then."
"Princess, I'll just eat pasta. I'm sure they have marinara sauce. It will be fine."
"Really? Because I'm having a steak . . . AND it's half off wine night."
"You can have a steak. Other people can eat meat. Heck, I may eat meat next week."
"But eat it in front of you? I wouldn't want to tempt you with the meat of the Shores."
Now I'm thinking about seafood, much of which I don't like. But Princess means the breaded NY Strip they have . . . which is good. But not so good that I can't stand to just watch her eat it.
"The meat of the Shores?"
"Yes, tempting you with The meat of the Shores . . . because I don't want to end up in your blog, after making you eat meat."
New School and Numbers
So in trying to get over my "Bored Now" crisis/thing . . . I decided to get up "early" and go to Cranbrook. Perfect plan. See some art, laugh at some nart. I get in free because I'm a member at the DIA. It was going to be a famous day. And I could shop (for school even! tax write off) in the gift shop downstairs. Maybe even a walk in the woods for old times sake.
Alarm went off at 8:30. Went back to sleep because I was having an interesting dream. Phone rang at 10. Went to see if someone was dying by checking phone at 10:30. No one was dying. Bop-Bop called to update me on his achievements. And I thought we weren't going to be talking anymore.
So had the inspiration to check the website before driving off to the fairyland that is Cranbrook (take that however you wish) . . . and Cranbrook art museum is closed on Monday and Tuesday. So much for having a plan. So back to "bored now".
So bought the new Matthew Good music, new school, not touching anything. But I will load it on my ipod and get out into the rain. Perhaps I will go buy little tiny diamond earrings. Or go to Old Navy and buy cheap sundresses. Or maybe to Rochester to look at their yarn store. The old rainy day standby is Somerset, or course. There are new school clothes to buy.
Just to go back to the diamond earrings . . . perhaps it's because I know more about it, but I'm seriously OCD about numbers. I can only use certain lockers at the Y. Very superstitious about numbers. And had pierced my ear again, because I had five holes and felt better about an even number. But I have lost two tiny diamond earrings, so am down to four earrings . . . and really I feel the need for six. Also, the more I shop for earrings, the more I realized how much I am like my mother. It is very apparent, while shopping for earrings, that some people change their earrings from day-to-day. I get one pair (or three pairs more exactly) that I like and then just keep them in at all times. My mother wore the same gold posts for most of my childhood. Now she wears diamonds. Anyhow, I feel the need for six earrings and it's damn hard to find plain old little earrings.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
Alarm went off at 8:30. Went back to sleep because I was having an interesting dream. Phone rang at 10. Went to see if someone was dying by checking phone at 10:30. No one was dying. Bop-Bop called to update me on his achievements. And I thought we weren't going to be talking anymore.
So had the inspiration to check the website before driving off to the fairyland that is Cranbrook (take that however you wish) . . . and Cranbrook art museum is closed on Monday and Tuesday. So much for having a plan. So back to "bored now".
So bought the new Matthew Good music, new school, not touching anything. But I will load it on my ipod and get out into the rain. Perhaps I will go buy little tiny diamond earrings. Or go to Old Navy and buy cheap sundresses. Or maybe to Rochester to look at their yarn store. The old rainy day standby is Somerset, or course. There are new school clothes to buy.
Just to go back to the diamond earrings . . . perhaps it's because I know more about it, but I'm seriously OCD about numbers. I can only use certain lockers at the Y. Very superstitious about numbers. And had pierced my ear again, because I had five holes and felt better about an even number. But I have lost two tiny diamond earrings, so am down to four earrings . . . and really I feel the need for six. Also, the more I shop for earrings, the more I realized how much I am like my mother. It is very apparent, while shopping for earrings, that some people change their earrings from day-to-day. I get one pair (or three pairs more exactly) that I like and then just keep them in at all times. My mother wore the same gold posts for most of my childhood. Now she wears diamonds. Anyhow, I feel the need for six earrings and it's damn hard to find plain old little earrings.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Bored Now
"Bored now."
Just like the character evil Willow in Buffy, bored now.
Have plenty to do. Don't want to go back to work. Don't want to go out. Don't want to stay in. Sick of my projects. Don't want to make any more sock monkeys. Don't want to sew. Certainly don't want to strip furniture or cabinetry. Bored now. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I could just lie on the couch and watch television. Don't want to do that either.
The character would say it when she wanted to eat someone . . . or destroy something. To be entertained. And that's just it. I want to be entertained. Bored now.
So my only way to deal, I guess, is leave the house . . . and hopefully find something entertaining. Don't even want to shop. I always want to shop.
Bored now. Sigh. And I want a "puppy".
Just like the character evil Willow in Buffy, bored now.
Have plenty to do. Don't want to go back to work. Don't want to go out. Don't want to stay in. Sick of my projects. Don't want to make any more sock monkeys. Don't want to sew. Certainly don't want to strip furniture or cabinetry. Bored now. Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. I could just lie on the couch and watch television. Don't want to do that either.
The character would say it when she wanted to eat someone . . . or destroy something. To be entertained. And that's just it. I want to be entertained. Bored now.
So my only way to deal, I guess, is leave the house . . . and hopefully find something entertaining. Don't even want to shop. I always want to shop.
Bored now. Sigh. And I want a "puppy".
Saturday, August 04, 2007
No Bacony Goodness
I played Dr. Laura today, which is always a dangerous thing.
And then we went to lunch. And he ordered three eggs with the plate of meat. Literally, a plate with just meat on it. Bacon . . . sausage . . . ham . . . yummy, yummy bacon . . . (Homer noise)
In the car, before lunch, we had discussed my plan about meat. That I'm starting slowly. That I can't be vegan because of my shoe fetish. (No, not that kind of fetish. Geez, get your minds out of the gutter. I just like to shop . . . for shoes.) And specifically about how I would be really tempted for yummy bacon goodness with my french toast and hash browns. (Again, geez, yes. I know. French Toast. Eggs. But I don't think the eggs have fear hormones. Maybe.)
And then he ordered the plate o' meat. I had to drink my iced tea plain. With no nutrasweet . . . and no bacon. It was a bummer. I got through it. Because I felt great yesterday. Not so much today, but maybe it will balance out tomorrow. I did eat a lot of fruit.
Oh, and soy ice cream. Yeah. No wonder vegans are skinny. Blech.
And then we went to lunch. And he ordered three eggs with the plate of meat. Literally, a plate with just meat on it. Bacon . . . sausage . . . ham . . . yummy, yummy bacon . . . (Homer noise)
In the car, before lunch, we had discussed my plan about meat. That I'm starting slowly. That I can't be vegan because of my shoe fetish. (No, not that kind of fetish. Geez, get your minds out of the gutter. I just like to shop . . . for shoes.) And specifically about how I would be really tempted for yummy bacon goodness with my french toast and hash browns. (Again, geez, yes. I know. French Toast. Eggs. But I don't think the eggs have fear hormones. Maybe.)
And then he ordered the plate o' meat. I had to drink my iced tea plain. With no nutrasweet . . . and no bacon. It was a bummer. I got through it. Because I felt great yesterday. Not so much today, but maybe it will balance out tomorrow. I did eat a lot of fruit.
Oh, and soy ice cream. Yeah. No wonder vegans are skinny. Blech.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Blah Emily
I have just melted my brain on season two of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And while I did enjoy it tremendously . . . as there were some episodes that didn't make it to reruns and I was not a first run Buffy fan . . . I think I am ready to be perky Emily again.
Instead of blah Emily, which has been going on for at least two weeks. I didn't leave the house for two whole days, which is so not like me. Or drunk Emily, which has happened twice this summer, which was twice too many times. Because blah Emily turns into melancholy drunk Emily . . . so not fun, or attractive. So perky, healthy eating, going into the sunshine Emily it will be. I think I'm just tired of moping.
Oh, and I have season three if this plan doesn't work out. And I'm not so sure about sunshine . . . and you are right, I have never been particularly perky. But I'm just shooting for perky for me. Which is a very low key perky. I remember.
Instead of blah Emily, which has been going on for at least two weeks. I didn't leave the house for two whole days, which is so not like me. Or drunk Emily, which has happened twice this summer, which was twice too many times. Because blah Emily turns into melancholy drunk Emily . . . so not fun, or attractive. So perky, healthy eating, going into the sunshine Emily it will be. I think I'm just tired of moping.
Oh, and I have season three if this plan doesn't work out. And I'm not so sure about sunshine . . . and you are right, I have never been particularly perky. But I'm just shooting for perky for me. Which is a very low key perky. I remember.
But They Have Access to Cable, Right?
So I am toying with the idea of going vegetarian . . . so much so, that I gave the PETA people my address. Which may have been a huge mistake. But they had this nifty "free starter kit". And I wanted to know what that would contain, other than a big sticker stating MEAT IS MURDER.
And I like animals and all, but really, I find them yummy. Family chicken weirdness aside, there's nothing better than a rare steak. But I read this book. Hate it when that happens. Didn't even have to buy it because I read it in the store, in somewhat less than two hours because I didn't have to pay for parking. Anyhow, this book was talking about eating habits . . . and how when you are afraid all these bad hormones go through your body . . . and how even if the package says that the cow had a very soft bed and comfy pillows, they all go to the same slaughterhouse. And then the book pointed out that there are some people that aren't the nicest to the animals working at the slaughterhouse.
And my first reaction would be "that's crap", except that I worked at the step after the slaughterhouse, with the people who worked there. And I didn't eat bacon for fifteen years . . . and I still can't eat ham. So the part in the book describing how some of the workers might torture the animals for kicks, because they are going to die anyway. Yeah, well, they used to laugh at the flies sealed in the hot dog packages. And the whole thing with the USDA guy and the tagging meat thing was totally true, because 40 pallets I personally tagged as unsafe went out. So yeah, that makes the whole meat is yummy idea, not so yummy.
My brother was vegan for a while. Now I think he might use butter. He refuses to sit in my house however, as I have leather furniture . . . and he has awful shoes. So I thought I might ease into things. Maybe try some "meatless" sausage in my chili . . . oh, and give the PETA people my name so I can get on another FBI list. Because, really, I like yogurt and cheese. And I'm sure those cows have comfy pillows, right?
Hopefully, I'll get over it in a week or two. I mean I have eaten veal before and not even felt guilty. Hmmm.
And I like animals and all, but really, I find them yummy. Family chicken weirdness aside, there's nothing better than a rare steak. But I read this book. Hate it when that happens. Didn't even have to buy it because I read it in the store, in somewhat less than two hours because I didn't have to pay for parking. Anyhow, this book was talking about eating habits . . . and how when you are afraid all these bad hormones go through your body . . . and how even if the package says that the cow had a very soft bed and comfy pillows, they all go to the same slaughterhouse. And then the book pointed out that there are some people that aren't the nicest to the animals working at the slaughterhouse.
And my first reaction would be "that's crap", except that I worked at the step after the slaughterhouse, with the people who worked there. And I didn't eat bacon for fifteen years . . . and I still can't eat ham. So the part in the book describing how some of the workers might torture the animals for kicks, because they are going to die anyway. Yeah, well, they used to laugh at the flies sealed in the hot dog packages. And the whole thing with the USDA guy and the tagging meat thing was totally true, because 40 pallets I personally tagged as unsafe went out. So yeah, that makes the whole meat is yummy idea, not so yummy.
My brother was vegan for a while. Now I think he might use butter. He refuses to sit in my house however, as I have leather furniture . . . and he has awful shoes. So I thought I might ease into things. Maybe try some "meatless" sausage in my chili . . . oh, and give the PETA people my name so I can get on another FBI list. Because, really, I like yogurt and cheese. And I'm sure those cows have comfy pillows, right?
Hopefully, I'll get over it in a week or two. I mean I have eaten veal before and not even felt guilty. Hmmm.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Found My Target Audience
I went to my hairstylist yesterday to show her that I fixed the My Pretty Pony turquoise and to make an appointment to dye my hair a "reasonable" color. It will be changed on August 17 . . . for those who want to get their pictures in before then.
My mother was getting her hair cut. Believe it or not, I found this stylist through her (and she is probably still kicking herself for suggesting that I go to Jennifer). And then we went out to lunch. Typical Mom/Daughter together time.
As we were leaving the restaurant, there was a group of boys outside. They had skateboards and were pretty ordinary suburban malcontents.
"Hey. I love your hair." one boy said, brown hair falling into his eyes. He could have been all of twelve or thirteen.
"Thanks." I said and kept walking.
"Yeah, it looks really good. So . . . I tried to dye my hair green once . . . um . . . it didn't turn out so well."
At this point, I go into informing the masses. "This is really hard work." I say pointing towards the blue and then go into the steps and the weekly dyeing. All of this while still walking.
"So you've found who wants to pick you up with that hair." my mother says, once we are out of earshot.
So according to my mother, I appeal to a twelve year old audience. First of all, eeehhhwww. Though she might just be trying to get me to change it back sooner. And second of all . . . eeehhhwww.
My mother was getting her hair cut. Believe it or not, I found this stylist through her (and she is probably still kicking herself for suggesting that I go to Jennifer). And then we went out to lunch. Typical Mom/Daughter together time.
As we were leaving the restaurant, there was a group of boys outside. They had skateboards and were pretty ordinary suburban malcontents.
"Hey. I love your hair." one boy said, brown hair falling into his eyes. He could have been all of twelve or thirteen.
"Thanks." I said and kept walking.
"Yeah, it looks really good. So . . . I tried to dye my hair green once . . . um . . . it didn't turn out so well."
At this point, I go into informing the masses. "This is really hard work." I say pointing towards the blue and then go into the steps and the weekly dyeing. All of this while still walking.
"So you've found who wants to pick you up with that hair." my mother says, once we are out of earshot.
So according to my mother, I appeal to a twelve year old audience. First of all, eeehhhwww. Though she might just be trying to get me to change it back sooner. And second of all . . . eeehhhwww.
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