Actually, now morning.
"Do you know how cool you are? You are so f**king cool."
"Yes. I know I'm f**king cool."
And I do. I am. I'm smart and funny . . . and relatively attractive. I have good hair. Really good eyes, so I'm told. I'm financially responsible. I'm educated. I vote. I'm kind to puppies and small children. I'm cool.
Doesn't make it any easier to find a date, bop bop, now does it?
And sorry. That was bitter.
Boys are silly.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Slurp Geek
I am going to what is basically a D & D convention next weekend. I imagine it will be something like this. (Sorry, I can no longer upload from youtube for some reason. A technical problem for another day. Something to do with switching to blogger beta.) (Love the lizard thing, by the way.)
I am going with my brother and his friends to the Palladium book convention, invited because it seems like an opportunity to meet slurp geeks . . . and I have developed an affinity for men wearing digital watches lately. Slurp geeks is a term coined by my other brother, J., to describe, well . . . the slurping sound of one's retainer being readjusted in one's mouth. When J. finds something that he deems as extremely geeky, he will make this sound . . . you put your tongue against the roof of your mouth and suck spit on the sides of your mouth.
Goes something like this: "Hey J. You want to go to the Palladium con with me? Seems they have like, four hour gaming sessions of Robocop."
J. makes long slurping noise with a look of distaste. "No."
Or "Hey J. look at that guy over there in the white socks."
"Umm, yeah . . . (slurp)"
And hence the term slurp geek was born. It's not in the urban dictionary yet . . . so it is truly a Emily's family made up term. You all know one, I'm sure.
Keep in mind, both of my brothers could be categorized as slurp geeks, in their day . . . J. possibly still is one, with his penchant for everything techie. And D. was, for sure, before he got married and his wife started buying him shirts from J. Crew. Mr. Crabbypants? Definitely slurp geek material. He was one part of the A.V. club . . . and the radio club in high school. I've seen pictures.
And a gaming convention (or "con" as D. keeps calling it) seems like an excellent opportunity to meet slurp geeks. I think I'm going to wear something that shows some cleavage. And no, I will not be gaming . . . at least not in the traditional sense. I read all the D & D books as a 4th grader, but was a girl and had no one to play with. Plus, once I figured out that there was just a bunch of dice rolling and you had to have this collective imaginary world . . . well . . . it just seemed like a lot of energy expended. Evidently, my brother J. was one of those Dungeon Masters who was a real tool. Found that out today.
P: "Yeah, I stopped playing with your brother after the butter knife incident."
"Butter knife incident?" (I don't remember anything about butter knives in D & D)
"I killed someone's character because J. told me he was running at me with a knife. Then he'd say, 'Why'd you kill him? It was a butter knife.' "
Evidently, that was bad form. My brother would do this, killing off the character who had the key to neutralize the nuclear bomb, or what have you, over a butter knife . . . thus killing off the whole room. The boy does like a good mind game.
So I've been promised that there will be more interesting things to do than watching a big bunch of slurp geeks play role playing games. Something about a costume contest and meeting all the writers. My brother has books for me to take around and get signed. And with the dawn of computers, it should be a thirtyish crowd. No one plays role playing games sitting around a table anymore. I think it's all done on the net nowadays. Low tech, old, slurp geeks. Yum. Hope they have jobs . . . and are not living in their mother's basement.
I am going with my brother and his friends to the Palladium book convention, invited because it seems like an opportunity to meet slurp geeks . . . and I have developed an affinity for men wearing digital watches lately. Slurp geeks is a term coined by my other brother, J., to describe, well . . . the slurping sound of one's retainer being readjusted in one's mouth. When J. finds something that he deems as extremely geeky, he will make this sound . . . you put your tongue against the roof of your mouth and suck spit on the sides of your mouth.
Goes something like this: "Hey J. You want to go to the Palladium con with me? Seems they have like, four hour gaming sessions of Robocop."
J. makes long slurping noise with a look of distaste. "No."
Or "Hey J. look at that guy over there in the white socks."
"Umm, yeah . . . (slurp)"
And hence the term slurp geek was born. It's not in the urban dictionary yet . . . so it is truly a Emily's family made up term. You all know one, I'm sure.
Keep in mind, both of my brothers could be categorized as slurp geeks, in their day . . . J. possibly still is one, with his penchant for everything techie. And D. was, for sure, before he got married and his wife started buying him shirts from J. Crew. Mr. Crabbypants? Definitely slurp geek material. He was one part of the A.V. club . . . and the radio club in high school. I've seen pictures.
And a gaming convention (or "con" as D. keeps calling it) seems like an excellent opportunity to meet slurp geeks. I think I'm going to wear something that shows some cleavage. And no, I will not be gaming . . . at least not in the traditional sense. I read all the D & D books as a 4th grader, but was a girl and had no one to play with. Plus, once I figured out that there was just a bunch of dice rolling and you had to have this collective imaginary world . . . well . . . it just seemed like a lot of energy expended. Evidently, my brother J. was one of those Dungeon Masters who was a real tool. Found that out today.
P: "Yeah, I stopped playing with your brother after the butter knife incident."
"Butter knife incident?" (I don't remember anything about butter knives in D & D)
"I killed someone's character because J. told me he was running at me with a knife. Then he'd say, 'Why'd you kill him? It was a butter knife.' "
Evidently, that was bad form. My brother would do this, killing off the character who had the key to neutralize the nuclear bomb, or what have you, over a butter knife . . . thus killing off the whole room. The boy does like a good mind game.
So I've been promised that there will be more interesting things to do than watching a big bunch of slurp geeks play role playing games. Something about a costume contest and meeting all the writers. My brother has books for me to take around and get signed. And with the dawn of computers, it should be a thirtyish crowd. No one plays role playing games sitting around a table anymore. I think it's all done on the net nowadays. Low tech, old, slurp geeks. Yum. Hope they have jobs . . . and are not living in their mother's basement.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Tired
Sorry. Too tired. Have evaluation meeting tomorrow . . . probably telling me what a sucky teacher I am . . . and I'm not a sucky teacher, by the way . . . so I hope not . . . will wear my lucky socks, just in case . . . just graded 90 essay tests . . . so these kids can have some idea of their grade before report cards go out . . . my last photo class is tomorrow . . . yippeee . . . didn't cut matts . . . just bought them . . . and didn't email the stuff I was supposed to email for Princess . . . will do it tomorrow morning, I swear . . . bought origami paper today for no reason . . . tired . . .
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Stories
I have a lot of stories.
And I can usually top someone in the strange tales department.
But I can't do anything with this one . . . can't beat it.
The woman who sits across from me in metals class limped into class with a cast.
She was in Ferndale (Fabulous!) last weekend and was hit by a car . . . driven by . . . a transvestite. Somehow he didn't see her as she was crossing the street in front of his car. Perhaps his blond wig shifted and was in the way. Ripped all the ligaments in her knee. And then he tried to drive off. He was in a pink dress and high heels.
Yeah, I got nothing for that. I have never been hit by a car. Thank goodness.
And I can usually top someone in the strange tales department.
But I can't do anything with this one . . . can't beat it.
The woman who sits across from me in metals class limped into class with a cast.
She was in Ferndale (Fabulous!) last weekend and was hit by a car . . . driven by . . . a transvestite. Somehow he didn't see her as she was crossing the street in front of his car. Perhaps his blond wig shifted and was in the way. Ripped all the ligaments in her knee. And then he tried to drive off. He was in a pink dress and high heels.
Yeah, I got nothing for that. I have never been hit by a car. Thank goodness.
Monday, April 23, 2007
New Stuff
For my birthday, I bought a shed. Actually, a 6'x8' rubbermaid tote with doors.
Unfortunately, a 6'x8' rubbermaid tote comes in 500 pieces, which are now in my backyard waiting to be assembled like some giant lego project. The instructions do not have any words. I find this disturbing.
So in assessing the situation, I have determined that I will have to tear down the old shed first. My insurance company sends me a special letter every year, telling me that they will not insure the shed and I think if I lean on it in the right spot, it may just fall. But I have to clean it out first. And the only thing in the shed that I put there? The lawnmower. All the other stuff was the previous owner's, and has been there for fifty years. Untouched. And spidery. So after I put on some protective gear and pull all that out, I might just tie a rope around the shed and tie the other end to my truck. It sounds like a fun Friday afternoon.
And then I have to find someone that is really good with legos.
Unfortunately, a 6'x8' rubbermaid tote comes in 500 pieces, which are now in my backyard waiting to be assembled like some giant lego project. The instructions do not have any words. I find this disturbing.
So in assessing the situation, I have determined that I will have to tear down the old shed first. My insurance company sends me a special letter every year, telling me that they will not insure the shed and I think if I lean on it in the right spot, it may just fall. But I have to clean it out first. And the only thing in the shed that I put there? The lawnmower. All the other stuff was the previous owner's, and has been there for fifty years. Untouched. And spidery. So after I put on some protective gear and pull all that out, I might just tie a rope around the shed and tie the other end to my truck. It sounds like a fun Friday afternoon.
And then I have to find someone that is really good with legos.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Today's Birthday
"Be specific, because you're going to get what you want this year. Next month brings renovations. In August, investment opportunities require decsions. Libra and Capricorn are star connections."
Friday, April 20, 2007
Hazard
"Teachers lie. I would have liked to gun them all down too." was a blog quoted in the Free Press. The article was about "fringe society" making Cho a martyr on the internet. And somehow it made what I've been thinking about for the last two days worse.
I break up fights. I listen to threats. I've been called every swear word in the book. I've been knocked over by a student this year. I report off-hand comments, things students say without thinking about the possible consequences and then have the student mad at me for making the report . . . which usually leads to more threatening behavior. In the incident where the student knocked me over, causing a visible bruise, I had to call the parent myself. And some of the state legislature think that teachers have too good a lot in life.
If I had gone into advertising, like my parents told me too, it would be stressful. But would I be breaking up fights in the hallway outside my cubicle?
I know that every career has its downside, but what is too much of a downside? I am consistently reminded that I'm taking care of "their" children. That my job is so important. That I have to be very careful, all the time. My personal life is constantly under scrutiny. I am told that I have to set a good example, 24/7. And yet, I am paid less than people with the same education level in private industry.
My profession is seen as easy to get into . . . the tenure system has kept some in my profession in place when they probably shouldn't be. Everyone can remember that terrible teacher they had . . . or the terrible teachers, more likely. "Those who can't do . . . teach." And there is the "you get summers off" argument thrown out there. And somehow, everyone thinks of high school perpetually in the 1950's. Sure everyone was bored, but no one was throwing desks. (I've only had chairs thrown at me.)
Oh, and when I call about "their" children? "I don't know what to do, either" or "I'm afraid of them too" is often the response.
Keep in mind, I always have to be the "bigger" person. I cannot retaliate. I can only defend myself if I can prove that child is being a danger to themselves or others without a doubt. And I will be questioned. And it will be assumed that I am in the wrong (assumed guilty) should I ever have to restrain a child. I am held to a higher standard than a citizen walking on the street.
And I'm not saying that I shouldn't be held to a very high standard. But I just don't see many people gunning for librarians . . . or engineers. He shot the professors first. And how many of you had to break up a fist fight at the office? With blood? Is it too late to go into advertising?
I break up fights. I listen to threats. I've been called every swear word in the book. I've been knocked over by a student this year. I report off-hand comments, things students say without thinking about the possible consequences and then have the student mad at me for making the report . . . which usually leads to more threatening behavior. In the incident where the student knocked me over, causing a visible bruise, I had to call the parent myself. And some of the state legislature think that teachers have too good a lot in life.
If I had gone into advertising, like my parents told me too, it would be stressful. But would I be breaking up fights in the hallway outside my cubicle?
I know that every career has its downside, but what is too much of a downside? I am consistently reminded that I'm taking care of "their" children. That my job is so important. That I have to be very careful, all the time. My personal life is constantly under scrutiny. I am told that I have to set a good example, 24/7. And yet, I am paid less than people with the same education level in private industry.
My profession is seen as easy to get into . . . the tenure system has kept some in my profession in place when they probably shouldn't be. Everyone can remember that terrible teacher they had . . . or the terrible teachers, more likely. "Those who can't do . . . teach." And there is the "you get summers off" argument thrown out there. And somehow, everyone thinks of high school perpetually in the 1950's. Sure everyone was bored, but no one was throwing desks. (I've only had chairs thrown at me.)
Oh, and when I call about "their" children? "I don't know what to do, either" or "I'm afraid of them too" is often the response.
Keep in mind, I always have to be the "bigger" person. I cannot retaliate. I can only defend myself if I can prove that child is being a danger to themselves or others without a doubt. And I will be questioned. And it will be assumed that I am in the wrong (assumed guilty) should I ever have to restrain a child. I am held to a higher standard than a citizen walking on the street.
And I'm not saying that I shouldn't be held to a very high standard. But I just don't see many people gunning for librarians . . . or engineers. He shot the professors first. And how many of you had to break up a fist fight at the office? With blood? Is it too late to go into advertising?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Okay, Today We are Going to Talk About Blogs
I have been asked to do a presentation about blogging tomorrow.
Does that take me out of amateur status?
I don't think I'm getting paid. Evidently, I'm focusing on being a writer, a teacher of writing and the different utilities that you can use to blog. Wonder if I should bring up that I'm not a blogger. (remember? diarist.) Maybe I could quickly make up a "not a blogger" shirt.
I did have a slight panic attack about whether I should share my address or not. I think I will just look up "teacher blogs" on google -- the internet is a wonderful thing and show mine as one example without giving the address. No use in giving 40 busy bodies the material that makes my mother's eyes roll.
So I'm going semi-pro.
Does that take me out of amateur status?
I don't think I'm getting paid. Evidently, I'm focusing on being a writer, a teacher of writing and the different utilities that you can use to blog. Wonder if I should bring up that I'm not a blogger. (remember? diarist.) Maybe I could quickly make up a "not a blogger" shirt.
I did have a slight panic attack about whether I should share my address or not. I think I will just look up "teacher blogs" on google -- the internet is a wonderful thing and show mine as one example without giving the address. No use in giving 40 busy bodies the material that makes my mother's eyes roll.
So I'm going semi-pro.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Saw the News Today . . . Oh Boy . . .
Well . . . yeah . . . my life isn't that bad.
I scurried to my car today, after dealing with a fight this morning and the senior beer T-shirts that they all want to wear after spring break . . . and realized, horribly, that my life is great. Just as soon as I turned on the news.
And school shootings always make me cry . . . and I don't find it any different because it was a college. My heart goes out to Virginia and the families and their loss. To the people who ran out to pull the students back into another building. And I haven't watched the news yet, but I'm sure I will be sickened.
And we will have a meeting about it tomorrow and there will be reaction and more reaction . . . about making everything "safer". When there is no "safer". I'm sorry kids. It's a terrible world sometimes.
I scurried to my car today, after dealing with a fight this morning and the senior beer T-shirts that they all want to wear after spring break . . . and realized, horribly, that my life is great. Just as soon as I turned on the news.
And school shootings always make me cry . . . and I don't find it any different because it was a college. My heart goes out to Virginia and the families and their loss. To the people who ran out to pull the students back into another building. And I haven't watched the news yet, but I'm sure I will be sickened.
And we will have a meeting about it tomorrow and there will be reaction and more reaction . . . about making everything "safer". When there is no "safer". I'm sorry kids. It's a terrible world sometimes.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Done -- No. 16
I am done poking RB with a stick. Him being annoyed doesn't make me feel any better. And as much as I would like to attribute mystery to him . . . there isn't one. He calls me when he is lonely and bored. I don't know why I can't figure that out.
I am done with bars. I had fun last night, but there is always this expectation that this will be the night . . . the night that we meet someone . . . and we never meet anyone. Actually, I should speak for myself. I never meet anyone that I am remotely interested in. I would rather just go and hang out.
I really just want to curl up on my couch and watch movies for a while.
I'm done with drinking for a while. No, I'm not sick. I drank Coke for most of last night . . . but I'm sick of the headaches. And I do have a "oh my god I can't stand any smells ehw I smell like bath and body works soap" kind of headache today. Which is inconvenient. I'm a girl. Every product I use has a smell. Usually recognized as a good smell. But with a migraine, anything with a smell makes me nauseous.
I'm going to try to be done with apologizing. I apologize entirely too much. For everything. Things that are not my fault. Things that I have nothing to do with. And I know it is from my childhood and an oldest child thing, blah, blah, blah . . . but really I have very little to apologize for, but I spend an enormous amount of time apologizing. So hit me if you hear me saying I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. I think I'm just trying to get the upper hand in the conversation.
I need to be done being snobby about meeting people. If I'm really serious about having a relationship, then I need to do what it takes and be over my thoughts about how I should meet someone. Someone just said, "Well, our choices make our lives. If you really wanted to be married, you would be married." So golf lessons it is . . . yuck. Cause I'm not going to meet my glasses-wearing, tech-loving, bad-fashion choices, geek boy hanging out at the Front. And if I did, he wouldn't talk to me because he's with his friends at the Front . . . or I'm with my friends. I hear there are tech conventions somewhere.
I am done with bars. I had fun last night, but there is always this expectation that this will be the night . . . the night that we meet someone . . . and we never meet anyone. Actually, I should speak for myself. I never meet anyone that I am remotely interested in. I would rather just go and hang out.
I really just want to curl up on my couch and watch movies for a while.
I'm done with drinking for a while. No, I'm not sick. I drank Coke for most of last night . . . but I'm sick of the headaches. And I do have a "oh my god I can't stand any smells ehw I smell like bath and body works soap" kind of headache today. Which is inconvenient. I'm a girl. Every product I use has a smell. Usually recognized as a good smell. But with a migraine, anything with a smell makes me nauseous.
I'm going to try to be done with apologizing. I apologize entirely too much. For everything. Things that are not my fault. Things that I have nothing to do with. And I know it is from my childhood and an oldest child thing, blah, blah, blah . . . but really I have very little to apologize for, but I spend an enormous amount of time apologizing. So hit me if you hear me saying I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. I think I'm just trying to get the upper hand in the conversation.
I need to be done being snobby about meeting people. If I'm really serious about having a relationship, then I need to do what it takes and be over my thoughts about how I should meet someone. Someone just said, "Well, our choices make our lives. If you really wanted to be married, you would be married." So golf lessons it is . . . yuck. Cause I'm not going to meet my glasses-wearing, tech-loving, bad-fashion choices, geek boy hanging out at the Front. And if I did, he wouldn't talk to me because he's with his friends at the Front . . . or I'm with my friends. I hear there are tech conventions somewhere.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Latest Music Find
Heard these guys on PRI's "The World" . . . Pakistani pop duo from Montreal. JoSH the band. Maybe I can pick them up on itunes.
What I Learned Today
That I am a little leery of e-filing my taxes. I did it, but I'm not sure about it. Especially because you have to wait 24 to 48 hours to find out your "status". But I didn't want to find stamps. And I don't even know how much stamps are these days . . . I think I have 37 cent ones in my drawer, with some 3 cent ones or something. Note to self: look up first class stamp amount. (41 cents?)
If you ask enough people, enough times, you will eventually get the answers you need. Not necessarily the answers you want . . . but the information you need.
I am really good at asking questions. Some people are not as good at this. I am also good at asking the right questions. Some people are not.
I am not a blogger. Evidently, I am a diarist. Bloggers talk about the issues of the day . . . diarist talk about their issues of the day. I feel so downgraded.
Mr. Cat is pissed when people leave him home alone for extended periods of time. And loud about his emotional pain if you come to visit.
I am like my father . . . in more ways than I really care to admit. Including walking full speed at the airport, but in more ways also.
If you ask enough people, enough times, you will eventually get the answers you need. Not necessarily the answers you want . . . but the information you need.
I am really good at asking questions. Some people are not as good at this. I am also good at asking the right questions. Some people are not.
I am not a blogger. Evidently, I am a diarist. Bloggers talk about the issues of the day . . . diarist talk about their issues of the day. I feel so downgraded.
Mr. Cat is pissed when people leave him home alone for extended periods of time. And loud about his emotional pain if you come to visit.
I am like my father . . . in more ways than I really care to admit. Including walking full speed at the airport, but in more ways also.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Cause I'll Know
Coming home tonight on the red eye . . . so put all my stuff back where you found it.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Shiny, Shiny
I have a rash. My mother says it's Vitamin D poisoning.
Went shopping and bought myself a birthday present. They have a very good mall in Scottsdale.
They are building everywhere and everything here. And there are jobs everywhere. Everything is shiny and new. Makes Michigan look like . . . well . . . not so good.
I miss green. It is snowing at home so I won't get green there either. But it occurs to me that I should move. I have no ties to the community (such the flight risk) and I've met more men here in three days than I've talked to in three months in Michigan. And I'm with my mother. Would like to think that I'm somehow doing something different here. Vacation attitude? Less clothing? Who can tell.
Went shopping and bought myself a birthday present. They have a very good mall in Scottsdale.
They are building everywhere and everything here. And there are jobs everywhere. Everything is shiny and new. Makes Michigan look like . . . well . . . not so good.
I miss green. It is snowing at home so I won't get green there either. But it occurs to me that I should move. I have no ties to the community (such the flight risk) and I've met more men here in three days than I've talked to in three months in Michigan. And I'm with my mother. Would like to think that I'm somehow doing something different here. Vacation attitude? Less clothing? Who can tell.
Monday, April 09, 2007
There was That One Summer
My mother just sent me an email chastising me for being on the Princess "Tan of the Isles" plan.
"eehw -- skin cancer"
I would just like to point out, for the record, that one of the multiple summers that I was grounded SHE MADE ME GET A TAN. I was well into my morbid, listen to Robert Smith and hide in the basement phase. I looked like Lydia from Beetlejuice. And was quite proud of it (things haven't changed all that much . . . though I'm not all that into the Cure anymore). My mother dragged me to Murray's Lake everyday that summer. It had water and sun. I tanned. I remember, because I was so pissed about my school picture that September. Me with blond hair and a decidedly unpunk tan. I looked so . . . healthy. And well-adjusted. It was awful.
So the woman who is responsible for that should be happy. Even though Princess' plan has backfired and I look like a lobster. (I am not in too much pain, so something worked) Don't tell anyone, especially Princess, but I slathered on spf 30 today . . . and will do it again when I sneak off to the bathroom at the pool. Cause I look like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer currently. And the allure of tan lines cannot overcome the repulsiveness of that.
Off to the super target.
"eehw -- skin cancer"
I would just like to point out, for the record, that one of the multiple summers that I was grounded SHE MADE ME GET A TAN. I was well into my morbid, listen to Robert Smith and hide in the basement phase. I looked like Lydia from Beetlejuice. And was quite proud of it (things haven't changed all that much . . . though I'm not all that into the Cure anymore). My mother dragged me to Murray's Lake everyday that summer. It had water and sun. I tanned. I remember, because I was so pissed about my school picture that September. Me with blond hair and a decidedly unpunk tan. I looked so . . . healthy. And well-adjusted. It was awful.
So the woman who is responsible for that should be happy. Even though Princess' plan has backfired and I look like a lobster. (I am not in too much pain, so something worked) Don't tell anyone, especially Princess, but I slathered on spf 30 today . . . and will do it again when I sneak off to the bathroom at the pool. Cause I look like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer currently. And the allure of tan lines cannot overcome the repulsiveness of that.
Off to the super target.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Vitamin D is Good for You?
We tried to go to the "Super" Target today. There is one. In the middle of the desert. Waiting for people to show up. I bet the clearance is awesome.
Princess insisted that the Target would not be closed for Easter . . . "Not everyone is Catholic" was her response. Nevermind that the Protestants also celebrate the rising of Jesus. They don't count. Somehow in Princess' mind, Target is a decidedly agnostic organization.
Target is closed on Easter. At least the Super Target in the middle of nowhere, desert, Arizona is . . . must be run by the Catholics.
There are bunnies in the backyard. They are courting, because it is springtime. I almost ran over a quail . . . the first I have seen. Evidently they are not so smart, the quail, as he or she was desperate to run under the wheels of my rental car. Because I love to name inanimate objects, the car's name is Valerie for the week. So I had to make Valerie stop very quickly, so I did not flatten the quail.
After the failed trip to the Super Target, we went "tanning" by the pool. I brought knitting . . . except that I am making something out of "Naughty Needles". So it is awkward, when question "Oh, what are you knitting?" comes up, usually out of the mouth of a seventy year old women. If you say "I'm knitting a ball gag" then you have to explain what that is . . . so I just said "I'm practicing my short rows." This had the same effect, but it's easy to explain what short rows are . . . actually, that is not true . . . but it disturbs the ladies less.
I now have the closest thing to a tan that I can muster . . . pink. Princess insists that I'm doing it "on purpose" to prove her wrong. I'm amazed that she thinks that I have that much control. "Yes, I'm controlling the amount of melanin produced by my body . . . just to make you look bad." I told her that I was a white girl.
Now she is slathering me in Aloe, hoping that somehow that will turn the pink to brown. And I ruined the "Tan of the Isles" plan because I used the first stuff she told me to use instead of the second stuff. I'm not flexible enough about the tanning plan. Somehow it evolves as you are tanning. According to Princess anyway.
So if I'm not too pink, I may tan tomorrow. But really, I like being a white girl. Goes with all the black outfits . . . and the vampire teeth.
Princess insisted that the Target would not be closed for Easter . . . "Not everyone is Catholic" was her response. Nevermind that the Protestants also celebrate the rising of Jesus. They don't count. Somehow in Princess' mind, Target is a decidedly agnostic organization.
Target is closed on Easter. At least the Super Target in the middle of nowhere, desert, Arizona is . . . must be run by the Catholics.
There are bunnies in the backyard. They are courting, because it is springtime. I almost ran over a quail . . . the first I have seen. Evidently they are not so smart, the quail, as he or she was desperate to run under the wheels of my rental car. Because I love to name inanimate objects, the car's name is Valerie for the week. So I had to make Valerie stop very quickly, so I did not flatten the quail.
After the failed trip to the Super Target, we went "tanning" by the pool. I brought knitting . . . except that I am making something out of "Naughty Needles". So it is awkward, when question "Oh, what are you knitting?" comes up, usually out of the mouth of a seventy year old women. If you say "I'm knitting a ball gag" then you have to explain what that is . . . so I just said "I'm practicing my short rows." This had the same effect, but it's easy to explain what short rows are . . . actually, that is not true . . . but it disturbs the ladies less.
I now have the closest thing to a tan that I can muster . . . pink. Princess insists that I'm doing it "on purpose" to prove her wrong. I'm amazed that she thinks that I have that much control. "Yes, I'm controlling the amount of melanin produced by my body . . . just to make you look bad." I told her that I was a white girl.
Now she is slathering me in Aloe, hoping that somehow that will turn the pink to brown. And I ruined the "Tan of the Isles" plan because I used the first stuff she told me to use instead of the second stuff. I'm not flexible enough about the tanning plan. Somehow it evolves as you are tanning. According to Princess anyway.
So if I'm not too pink, I may tan tomorrow. But really, I like being a white girl. Goes with all the black outfits . . . and the vampire teeth.
Picking up Rocks
The weather is beautiful here.
And as I picked up the 30 spf sunscreen gel, Princess admonished me . . .
"You can't use that."
"What?"
"It has too many spfs in it."
"But I don't want to look like a lobster."
"Here." (hands me a bottle of tanning oil . . . with spf 4) "Use this."
"I can't use that . . . I'm whitegirl."
"And you'll still be if you use that . . ."
So we are on the Princess plan of tanning. Since the last time I even thought about "tanning", in the sense that I actually wanted a tan, was seventh grade, it's been an interesting experiment. The first day we only worked on our "fronts" with lots of spray on oil . . . that reminds me of the cooking spray I have at home, just with a more coconut smell. There is the mandatory rearranging of your bathing suit, to avoid "bad lines". (that isn't easy with this rack . . . let me just say . . .) And then there is just lying there. Baking.
Once you are done filling Princess in on all the gossip (and some guy from Omaha, that was listening to every word) . . . well, then it's just boring. But luckily, I had a lot of gossip, so we filled the first afternoon.
I ruined day two of the "tan of the isles" Princess plan by going to Sedona. I only have 200 pictures, which I will share with all of you . . . obnoxiously, in minute detail . . . later. Cause I, of course, took pictures of: my lunch, cracks in the sidewalk, random flowers, a broken beer bottle in the middle of the desert. Along with 146 pictures of red rocks, of course. Oh, and cactus. And twisty trees. And bark. Yeah.
I wore something strapless (again, not easy with this rack) in an attempt to please the tan nazi. And at this stage, I am vaguely pink. Which will fade back to white in a day or two. My skin, it was built for overcast climates.
Today's plan? Lying "out". Which is tomorrow's plan too. Princess was by the pool all of yesterday, because trips to Sedona interrupt tanning. Everyone (except me) knows this. One thing about Princess . . . when that girl sets a goal . . .
Went to Scottsdale last night, when Princess ran out of sun. I don't recommend it . . . but more on that later. Maybe it was just the restaurant we stumbled upon, but even Princess has proclaimed that Detroit has better bars. And that . . . is a sad commentary.
To bring it back to the title: The fairy godmother that we are staying with picked up and gave me a red rock in Sedona. No scorpions jumped out. But I was worried about ruining the delicate ecosystem. If everyone who visits Sedona takes a rock . . . well, won't they run out of rocks?
"Look around. They've got lots of them."
Well, yes they do. And I suppose people have been taking rocks for a hundred years. So it's in my suitcase. Thank you Fairy Godmother.
Oh, and I bought a red cowboy hat. Cause it looks good.
And as I picked up the 30 spf sunscreen gel, Princess admonished me . . .
"You can't use that."
"What?"
"It has too many spfs in it."
"But I don't want to look like a lobster."
"Here." (hands me a bottle of tanning oil . . . with spf 4) "Use this."
"I can't use that . . . I'm whitegirl."
"And you'll still be if you use that . . ."
So we are on the Princess plan of tanning. Since the last time I even thought about "tanning", in the sense that I actually wanted a tan, was seventh grade, it's been an interesting experiment. The first day we only worked on our "fronts" with lots of spray on oil . . . that reminds me of the cooking spray I have at home, just with a more coconut smell. There is the mandatory rearranging of your bathing suit, to avoid "bad lines". (that isn't easy with this rack . . . let me just say . . .) And then there is just lying there. Baking.
Once you are done filling Princess in on all the gossip (and some guy from Omaha, that was listening to every word) . . . well, then it's just boring. But luckily, I had a lot of gossip, so we filled the first afternoon.
I ruined day two of the "tan of the isles" Princess plan by going to Sedona. I only have 200 pictures, which I will share with all of you . . . obnoxiously, in minute detail . . . later. Cause I, of course, took pictures of: my lunch, cracks in the sidewalk, random flowers, a broken beer bottle in the middle of the desert. Along with 146 pictures of red rocks, of course. Oh, and cactus. And twisty trees. And bark. Yeah.
I wore something strapless (again, not easy with this rack) in an attempt to please the tan nazi. And at this stage, I am vaguely pink. Which will fade back to white in a day or two. My skin, it was built for overcast climates.
Today's plan? Lying "out". Which is tomorrow's plan too. Princess was by the pool all of yesterday, because trips to Sedona interrupt tanning. Everyone (except me) knows this. One thing about Princess . . . when that girl sets a goal . . .
Went to Scottsdale last night, when Princess ran out of sun. I don't recommend it . . . but more on that later. Maybe it was just the restaurant we stumbled upon, but even Princess has proclaimed that Detroit has better bars. And that . . . is a sad commentary.
To bring it back to the title: The fairy godmother that we are staying with picked up and gave me a red rock in Sedona. No scorpions jumped out. But I was worried about ruining the delicate ecosystem. If everyone who visits Sedona takes a rock . . . well, won't they run out of rocks?
"Look around. They've got lots of them."
Well, yes they do. And I suppose people have been taking rocks for a hundred years. So it's in my suitcase. Thank you Fairy Godmother.
Oh, and I bought a red cowboy hat. Cause it looks good.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Flying Blind
Okay. Princess hasn't called.
So I don't know where I'm going tomorrow. Not just "don't know the address" . . . I'm not even sure what city I'm supposed to be driving to. So you will find me wandering Phoenix until Monday. Monday is Scottdale . . . at least I've got that down.
And it occurs to me that I should be freaking out. Having never been to Phoenix before and not knowing anyone . . . except for a family friend that I haven't seen in thirty years. But I've been told they have good mexican food there. And Princess may call eventually. So much for the mapquesting idea though. Already such the adventure.
Maybe I should make friends on the plane.
So I don't know where I'm going tomorrow. Not just "don't know the address" . . . I'm not even sure what city I'm supposed to be driving to. So you will find me wandering Phoenix until Monday. Monday is Scottdale . . . at least I've got that down.
And it occurs to me that I should be freaking out. Having never been to Phoenix before and not knowing anyone . . . except for a family friend that I haven't seen in thirty years. But I've been told they have good mexican food there. And Princess may call eventually. So much for the mapquesting idea though. Already such the adventure.
Maybe I should make friends on the plane.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Really, it's just lipstick
I don't know how anyone who has a job with travel keeps clean. I just found toiletries in neat little 3 ounce containers . . . but is it not the shampoo I would prefer . . . and let's not even go into the contact solution problems. I almost purchased cheap lipstick also, because I would cry if they confiscated my MAC stuff.
But they have stores in Arizona right? Because 2 ounces of contact solution is not going to do it for the weekend. It's not like I drink the stuff . . . but 2 ounces is a really little bottle.
I am going to Arizona. A place with sand, sun, and spiders under rocks. Little ol' dark princessey me. And Princess's plan is to "just sit by the pool". So there are little tiny bottles of sunscreen . . . in case the state of Arizona doesn't have any. And I'm trying to pack something other than black (so not working).
And I don't need five pairs of shoes for five days, right?
But they have stores in Arizona right? Because 2 ounces of contact solution is not going to do it for the weekend. It's not like I drink the stuff . . . but 2 ounces is a really little bottle.
I am going to Arizona. A place with sand, sun, and spiders under rocks. Little ol' dark princessey me. And Princess's plan is to "just sit by the pool". So there are little tiny bottles of sunscreen . . . in case the state of Arizona doesn't have any. And I'm trying to pack something other than black (so not working).
And I don't need five pairs of shoes for five days, right?
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Nothin'
Have been swearing and avoiding the "n-word" all day . . . doing dramatic three readings a day. Can't bring myself to say the n-word in class, so say "beep-lover" the twelve times it comes up in chapter 10. Because I am ridiculous. However, I do an amazing rendition of Burris Ewell calling the teacher a "slut" in chapter 3. Occasionally slide into a bad southern accent too. Very entertaining.
Yearbook is still not done but we have managed to get something on every page. Just need more pages for all the ads that the "business manager" "forgot". Great.
Hold on for a day and a half. Just a day and a half. Well, maybe two days. And then there is a break.
Oh, and I have figured out what I'm going to do my final photo project with . . . take that Steve. Because all photo geeks love eggs. They are so round. And white.
And the Matthew Good site has new downloads if you register.
Yearbook is still not done but we have managed to get something on every page. Just need more pages for all the ads that the "business manager" "forgot". Great.
Hold on for a day and a half. Just a day and a half. Well, maybe two days. And then there is a break.
Oh, and I have figured out what I'm going to do my final photo project with . . . take that Steve. Because all photo geeks love eggs. They are so round. And white.
And the Matthew Good site has new downloads if you register.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Versions
I was talking to a side of the LR today (who gets to be the bottom?) and was amazed by how different a perspective got presented. I heard all the same stories last week, just through another's eyes.
We all change our stories, our version of truth, to benefit ourselves . . . the protagonist always wins, even if there isn't any winning. And we are always the protagonist, in our stories.
There were some parts where I bit my tongue. A spectacular bit of control for me. Because, again, I had already heard a different version of the story . . . and somehow, my brain wanted to add these insights to others' brains. It's funny that way.
I spend a lot of time in my career talking about point of view: Atticus' point of view (doesn't he know that they aren't playing strip poker? How can you tell?), Jem's point of view . . . Scout's telling of the story . . .
So here is my point of view. You . . . you over there . . . you are just doing this because it's a bad idea. I have a hard time believing that you are this morally corrupt . . . but if you are really that needy, well, whatever. Glad I won't be there when it goes boom. Please understand that people sometimes use other people to get what they need. When they are morally corrupt anyhow. Or not whole people. You notice that I'm not saying "bad". You are doing this. She is doing this. And a relationship cannot be based on use. As an outsider not really knowing either party involved, I wish you the best. And the worse.
And you . . . yeah, you . . . the one's who is distracted easily. I know I'm a sympathetic ear and I'm cool with that but we have a very unequal relationship at this moment. I know that I upset the equilibrium . . . but really, what it was based on, wasn't that good. So we either need to move through this. Or not. But I need you to stop being distracted by every betty that walks through your life. I wouldn't stop listening to you for a guy.
So there you go.
We all change our stories, our version of truth, to benefit ourselves . . . the protagonist always wins, even if there isn't any winning. And we are always the protagonist, in our stories.
There were some parts where I bit my tongue. A spectacular bit of control for me. Because, again, I had already heard a different version of the story . . . and somehow, my brain wanted to add these insights to others' brains. It's funny that way.
I spend a lot of time in my career talking about point of view: Atticus' point of view (doesn't he know that they aren't playing strip poker? How can you tell?), Jem's point of view . . . Scout's telling of the story . . .
So here is my point of view. You . . . you over there . . . you are just doing this because it's a bad idea. I have a hard time believing that you are this morally corrupt . . . but if you are really that needy, well, whatever. Glad I won't be there when it goes boom. Please understand that people sometimes use other people to get what they need. When they are morally corrupt anyhow. Or not whole people. You notice that I'm not saying "bad". You are doing this. She is doing this. And a relationship cannot be based on use. As an outsider not really knowing either party involved, I wish you the best. And the worse.
And you . . . yeah, you . . . the one's who is distracted easily. I know I'm a sympathetic ear and I'm cool with that but we have a very unequal relationship at this moment. I know that I upset the equilibrium . . . but really, what it was based on, wasn't that good. So we either need to move through this. Or not. But I need you to stop being distracted by every betty that walks through your life. I wouldn't stop listening to you for a guy.
So there you go.
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