Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Almost Got Cans of Soup

When I first moved to this house, the first Halloween was exciting.

My favorite holiday. I had lived here almost a year. And I bought a big batch of candy. My first trick o' treaters . . . in my new house. My very own. So exciting. And so, I bought good candy. Willy Wonka sugar and Reese's Peanut Butter cups. I was ready. Ready to be the best candy house on the block.

And no one came. Except a stray cat.

And the next year . . . different stray cat.

And last year, one child from next door.

So as of this morning I had not purchased candy. And I have thrown away all the candy in my house on one of my cleaning binges. So after school I tossed around the idea of NOT getting any, going home and taking a nap. But thought about it . . . and all I would have in the house to give out were cans of soup. Cans of Italian wedding soup to be specific. Santa brought me a twelve pack (from Costco) last Christmas.

So I went and bought one bag of candy from Target.

I had six trick o' treaters tonight. All got handfuls of Willy Wonka sugar and I still have most of the bag left. And I work in a school, so getting rid of the rest of it won't be a problem. But I won't be known as the house of soup.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Might be a Waste of Good Eye Makeup Though

I had the greatest date ever today . . . but I'm not sure if it counts if the other person doesn't show up. Good coffee, chatted with the Starbucks crowd and then went to a dinner that was awful for me. And the french fries were delicious.

Is that bad? I really enjoyed myself. Very glad that he didn't show up. And can't figure out if that is a step forward or a regression.

Will consider it a step forward . . . as I am thinking it is all in how you look at things.

Monday, October 29, 2007

The Guilt of American Girls

I went out with PB yesterday to deliver the hat. The hat I wanted to mail. But I didn't know his last name. And we went to The Fly Trap and had a lovely lunch. And he kept teasing me about "American girls and their guilt".
I'm not sure what that means. First off, PB is as American as I am . . . it's not like he is an expatriate from somewhere overseas, or that he grew up somewhere exotic. Although "out East" is certainly more exotic than Detroit, one could argue. But I could argue the other way too . . . Detroit is very much like a jungle sometimes. I digress.

And granted, he does travel internationally for his job, so maybe he can throw out an American girl generalization. Somehow, I am pleased that I can be generalized, although by his tone "American girls and their guilt" is not something to be wished for or envied. I think it's because we are saying "we're sorry" all the time. At least I do. Maybe.

And "The Guilt of an American Girl" is the best book title ever, I swear.

And then he could not carry the gift home on his motorcycle, as he did not expect it to be a nice day and didn't expect a box? So I ended up delivering the damn thing anyhow.

And now that I have thought about the Jewish tradition . . . one shouldn't even buy the gifts until the baby is born. I just said to not open it. Oops. So we shouldn't have gone out to lunch at all. But it was pleasant. And the chicken was yummy. (yes, I had chicken . . . and not even "family chicken")

So if someone could explain the guilt of American girls . . . that would be very appreciated. It was noisy in the restaurant and I don't think I understand the concept.

Hand+Wringers




Saturday, October 27, 2007

Sans Back Seat

"I mean, what do I need a back seat for? . . . I'm not going to have kids anytime soon."

I'm looking at sports cars, I think. Because I am closer to forty than thirty. Because I don't have any car seats. Because I can.

And I went out to breakfast with my father and listened about Prague. Watched someone drop her kid on her head. Watched cute dad with two under two. And there were diapers, and screaming, and goo.

And I'm going to shop for a sports car.

And I have changed the handmade baby present presentation three times in the last 24 hours . . . want to sit and talk, but hard to avoid subjects when you bring presents celebrating them. So the air of dread, which it shouldn't be. I should have just mailed it.

And I have become better, finally and perhaps just for this moment, at thinking positively about my situation. I have a job that I get to draw and I get hugs in fifth hour (I teach the developmentally disabled that hour), I have a nice house, good shoes, and too much stuff. And I'm in the market for a sports car. F**K, I'm the new American Dream. Or at least the boy version.

Going to see "Lars and the Real Girl" this evening. And hopefully it will have an ending that will not create "I don't have a relationship" angst . . . although I have too many relationships already, really, truthfully. They are not Relationships with a capital R but relationships, nonetheless. I am not bored or boring. But perhaps I can get my own "missionary". He he.

But I still don't need a backseat.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Lucky Girl

Every so often it will smack me on the forehead.

How lucky I am. I get paid to draw. And paint. And make spiders out of styrofoam and pipe cleaners.

I get paid to roll my eyes and be slightly sarcastic. I get paid to tell the truth . . . like, to a student joining the Marines, "I really think you need to reconsider a career path based on your love of the costume." (But, the Marines have swords, Miss ______. Swords.)

I get to make a difference. Most of the time I won't know about the difference, as that is the zen of how it works, but I'm pretty sure I make a dent somewhere. Maybe a scratch or two. A redirect, here and there.

And today is not the best day to reflect on this, as I can hardly keep my eyes open. Parent Teacher conferences were last night. But maybe that is the best day to think about it. I am blessed. I can draw. I can make things. I can improvise. And I have a biting wit.

Not everyone has those skill sets.

And I have found a place, a career, that will compensate me for doing what I love to do . . .

Thursday, October 25, 2007

New Favorite

My city's still breathing (but barely it's true)
through buildings gone missing like teeth.
The sidewalks are watching me think about you,
all sparkled with broken glass.
I'm back with scars to show.
Back with the streets I know.
They never take me anywhere but here.

Those stains in the carpet,
this drink in my hand,
these strangers whose faces I know.
We meet here for our dress-rehearsal to say
"I wanted it this way"
and wait for the year to drown.
Spring forward,
fall back down.
I'm trying not to wonder where you are.

All this time
lingers, undefined.
Someone choose
who's left and who's leaving.

Memory will rust and erode into lists
of all that you gave me:
some matches, a blanket, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely,
duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.

I wait in 4/4 time.
Count yellow highway lines
that you're relying on to lead you home

-- Left and Leaving, The Weakerthans

Home By Midnight

Yeah. It was awesome.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Poor Skunk

The skunk was diagnosed today . . . with a $1460 problem. This would be fine, my love for the skunk being deep, except that the skunk is not worth over $2000. And that is through my biased eyes. It has over 150,000 miles on it. And a possible bearing problem. In addition to the bad PCM thingy.

Can one hold a funeral for her car?

And can someone drive me there to pick up the skunk? From the expensive people?

My brother has offered some other options, but I think I may donate it. Makes me so sad though. My little racecar. Sigh.

The Weakerthans

I have the ticket. It's in my kitchen. I'm so going to get a shirt . . . so I can advertise their goodness everywhere to everyone. And I can hardly wait. Hope they do "Plea from a Cat Named Virtute" and "One Great City!"

And it's only about 33 hours from now.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Simple Kind of Life

Now all those simple things
are simply too complicated for my life
How’d I get so faithful to my freedom?
A selfish kind of life
When all I ever wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
-- "Simple Kind of Life" No Doubt

We were talking about something I did. A classic Emily move, suitable for television writing, which expanded to a discussion of someone following me around for an HBO show.

But my life is not quite that interesting . . . and quite frankly, I never wanted it to be. My plan was to be coming home to someone, maybe making dinner, putting the kids to bed . . . maybe watching a little T.V., telling the dog to get off the couch. The mundane intrigues me because I do not have it. And my reflection is so idealized . . . like a punk rock Leave It to Beaver.

Didn't even have it when I wasn't actively looking for people to meet. When I was holed up in my shell. Not looking for adventure, as I am now. There have always been "classic Emily" stories. This life finds me. And I suppose I am, and will always be, never one for simple.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Two by Two

E2 and I went out to dinner yesterday . . . yesterday that was the "hallmark holiday" of Sweetest Day.

"We are the only people in this town that aren't a couple. Look."

And there it was . . . just like Noah's ark. Two by two, the couples wandered by.

Therapy

Retail therapy is the best.

Went to Harp's. Dragged someone through a knit store. Had an excellent lunch, awesome dinner. Found a new store, that I'm reluctant to share, because it had such cool stuff that I found Christmas presents galore. Bought shoes. And have shoes on the list for next payday. Found red things to buy. To go with the red things I bought with my sister the day before.

So despite the last blog entry, which I got phone calls about -- how sweet, thank you Princess -- it really was a very good day. And I play on having another one today. Maybe going to buy some socks at Target. Or IKEA. New throw pillows at IKEA. And Swedish meatballs. Yum.

And to bed early. Have concerts this week and parent teacher conferences. And plural concert is never good when there are school nights.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Going or Not

It was supposed to be simple.

Phone call. Confirmation. Buy tickets.

That's all I wanted. Are you going or not? Because I'm sick of the girl alone thing. Sick of the attitude that takes. Always being on your guard. Safety in numbers.

And it dissolved into the same complaining . . . always the same story. "Too good for this" is your f-ing mantra, I swear. And so I called you on your shit. And you yelled at me. Yelled. Yelling. And I hung up.

There was a call of apology. Which dissolved again into "don't be like that" "don't patronize me". And so I kept quiet . . . which made you even more unsure and made me exhausted. Exhausting not telling you what I think . . . especially when you ask me what I think. But you don't want to know.

So I guess girl alone at the show . . . again . . . it is.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Top Ten English Teacher Pick up Lines

Actually seen on the white board in the English/Social Studies office:

1. Will you be the ellipsis in my parenthesis?
2. Don't dangle your participial at me, it makes me hot!
3. You are the direct object of my affection
4. Can I preposition you?
5. Is that an exclamation point or are you just happy to see me?
6. So, do you conjugate here often?
7. You are the subject of my fantasy.
8. Can Harbor your Pearl? (okay, that's from the Social Studies one from this week)
9. I'll be your Sacco if you'll be my Vanzetti.
10. I can pre-amble all night.

And the credit should go to the English/Social Studies teachers . . . not me.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Beware the Ides of March

Or, why I can no longer date.

I don't like psychics.

And this dislike goes back to when for fun, E1 and I went to a psychic fair . . .

Got my palm read . . . blah, blah, blah, . . . typical stuff. Except the ending. "Do you want me to tell you this?" the man said. "I don't usually tell people stuff like this that I see."

There is a man your life that is evil. Very dark. Avoid him. He will try to become close to you. Bring you down with him. Avoid him.

E1 was with me. You could ask her.

And I chalked it up to the recently broken-up with ex-boyfriend (who was really just annoying, maybe bad, but not evil . . . ) and called it good.

And then that thing went down . . . you know that thing . . . and I didn't trust anyone for years and my life was completely f**ked up . . . and I was spending every night watching, making sure nothing happened . . . and it took over my life. God love the friends who listened to my crap at that time. God love my family for putting up with me. And thank goodness I took that social workers advice.

So I don't take psychic stuff lightly. And I know that it will never happen in any way that you would think it would happen. I assumed it would be a romantic interest . . . instead it had to do with my career. I wasn't on guard. Had forgotten all about it.

And my mother called yesterday. Said her friend, who sees things, asked about me. Said I would meet someone who is a danger to me. On the internet. Said that I should be very careful about my personal information. This to a girl who blogs her life on the internet. Said some other things to . . . but I don't want to jinx the good things by writing them down.

So fun is over. Cause I can't tell who is a danger . . . and it could be the dating or it could be work or it could be the random guy on the street. Or the dvd I buy next week. And I wasn't there to ask questions. And what level of danger? Annoying? Kill me in my sleep? Destroy my psyche? It sounds like I'm being flip, but I'm not. I'm actually freaking.

E2 offered to give the kids my address and have them toilet paper my house, just so I wouldn't dwell.

And for the record . . . I wasn't trying too hard. I was having fun.

Chapter Eight

It has been requested that I tell the story of yesterday between 3 and 5 p.m.. Somehow, Princess thinks this will be interesting. And we all know what happens when you don't listen to Princess.

I had already cancelled once. He had been too pushy on email. Slightly. The kind of guy who will email you again if you ignore his email. So red flag. So give no last name, no phone number, no location. Everything vague . . . like smoke.

We were meeting at a Starbucks out near him. Another red flag. I live in one of those damn "cool cities" of Jenny Granholm's vision. Men usually offer to meet near me. So I have to drag myself out of my orbit.

And he wants to meet early and only for " a half and hour". Okay. Well, I have lots of rules . . . about children, about not dating the newly divorced . . . I'll tell you how to live your life, no problem. Seems only fair that someone else have some rules too.

I run home from work. Change clothes, shoes. Am fixing my make up when the phone rings. "Private call" Interesting. "You are coming, right?" Why wouldn't I be? I explain my philosophy about being stood up. Just more of a chance for "me" time . . . I'll just get to read my book for half and hour. But assure him that I am not standing him up. (yes, I finally gave him a phone number -- I have caller id)

He then starting freaking out about the meeting place. He knows a guy that goes there three times a day and doesn't want to run into him. " . . . just don't want to deal with that . . . " Another red flag. So you are asking me out but don't want to be seen with me? And men are so weird about meeting on the internet. "Just say we met at the grocery store." I say. "Yeah, that'll work" he agrees.

I am five minutes early. Have the book that I keep carrying around, hoping that I will have time to read. Spook Country. The new Gibson. I have read chapter six three times. And Gibson always starts with about twelve chapters of characterization before he connects the plot line. And he is ten minutes late. At least I'm now to chapter eight.

It funny how your capacity to observe changes when you are waiting for someone. I rarely look at everyone in a coffee shop when I'm just there for coffee. Three employees. One with his mustache dyed to match his toupee. Two women, one pregnant, telling the story of how she announced she was pregnant at school. I assume she is an elementary teacher. One Asian man sitting in the corner, on the comfy chair. He is frowny. One good looking man, slightly older in the other corner, working on a laptop. And when my date arrives, I secretly wish I was on date with laptop guy.

He is not my type. But I knew this from the pictures he sent. But despite the red flags, and the tardiness, and the bo-hunk exterior (which very bleached white teeth), I give it a chance. Eternal optimist.

Within five minutes he is telling me about his girlfriend . . . and his other girlfriend. This dating thing is too much. Too much emotions expended and he doesn't know where the emotions should go. Which girl should he pick? And the one girl? She hasn't called him back. And it's been a whole . . . FIVE HOURS.

"So you decided to solve this dilemma by going out with another girl?"

"Yeah, well . . . I'm sorry, my head is just not in this . . . " Really? I'm shocked? And the half an hour thing? Girlfriend no.2 (the married one) is coming over to his house. (but she is now separated . . . and he just doesn't know what to do with that) And I can't figure out if he is lying or really serious about all this. No, really, wait . . . where are the cameras? Am I on punk'd?

I cut him off at half an hour. Nice meeting you. Go get your head together. Sorry I don't know who Catherine McPhee is (American Idol?).

Maybe I need to start to work on "No". Just saying it in the mirror or something. But then again, where would I get my stories?

And I did get to chapter eight.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Pilates Geek

I managed to do "roll-overs" tonight. All of them.

Roll overs have you bring your toes to the ceiling while on your back and then lift and pull your legs over your head and then roll back down. There are zipping and spreading of legs too while in this position.

And I did them so well, that the instructor let me do "jack knife" . . . and not everyone gets to do jack knife. And I did all of those too.

Yeah me.

Wasn't Meant to Be

Chatting with my friend H last night, when that came up. "Wasn't meant to be." The ultimate in placation. The fates wove your thread in a different direction. Wasn't meant to be.

But doesn't that make you want to ask "What is meant to be?" To question the weavers. Where is this going? Why?

And there were lots of fish and fishing metaphors, that we have all heard before . . . plenty of fish, throwing out lines, fish out of water . . . how we are atypical . . . about small target markets . . .

But what is meant to be? If there is "wasn't" certainly there is a was somewhere. Somehow.

And I don't want predictable. And I like the tapestry I have so far . . . even the holes and dark spots. So I don't want to change anything. Just want to question for a bit. So how do you know what is meant to be?

What is it that happens when you question the fates?

Monday, October 15, 2007

Caffienated Goodness

There is a tremendous amount of coffee being consumed today . . . even switched up the order at Starbucks. An extra shot of espresso is called a "triple" soy latte. Who knew?

So watch out at 3 p.m. when I crash.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

The Quay Brothers

I went to the most beautiful movie tonight. A collection of Quay Brothers' short films, my favorite of which was "Street of Crocodiles". The Quay boys were the inspiration for many of my favorite music videos, "Sober" and "Prison Sex" from Tool and I think "Closer" from Nine Inch Nails. (Closer video is NWS)

A really short, short Quay Brothers' film can be found here. And a video they did for His Name is Alive (evidently when he was big and had money?) can be found here. It has a bunny in it. (and I still don't like HNIA)

It is all stop animation and absolutely amazing.

Now two things to bitch about:

1. The program listed His Name is Alive as a British band . . . when HNIA is from Livonia. One would think that the people at the Detroit Institute of Arts could get that right. Especially when the first listing on google says "Michigan's finest".

2. The two guys behind me . . . one of them found all of the movies incredibly funny. A laugh riot. And NONE of the movies were funny. So laughing at the bunny. Laughing at the doll losing its' hands. I couldn't figure out if he just didn't understand the movies, if he was laughing nervously because the subjects made him uncomfortable, or if the guy next to him was just tickling him. Yes, that's how much he laughed.

Okay, one nice thing:

There was a couple, well into their seventies, if not their eighties, who were obviously on their first date. And that was really, really cute.
At the end of the first short:
"Well, what did you think of that?"
"I didn't understand a thing."
"Neither did I."
"Oh, well . . . then I don't feel so bad."

They were adorable. I just wanted to squeeze them both.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Quote

Quote you are my soul unquote
Now does that sound familiar?
You kissed the girl and make her feel this way

Quote well this is me unquote
And You have been so ugly you're entire life
So why change now

Is this how you wanna go down,
right before my eyes
You're the saddest sight i know

You're quiet
you never make a sound
But here inside my mind
you are the loudest one I know

Quote Well is me unquote
How different I've become
And no one understands, my dear,
no one really cares

And you were right,
right from the start
It took everything you had,
but you finally broke my...

And know the old flames will pass away
I saw your life once
Did you see mine
But not all things will pass away

You turned your light off
So I turned mine,
away from your sadness,
away from the nothingness
you feel for me

Quote, hey listen cause ill only say this once
I finally found the words
That mean enough to me
Good bye my soul, unquote

--- Quote, Evan's Blue

It's always hard for me to accept. That I will never talk to a person again. I will call "friends" out of the blue, just to reinforce my belief that we had a connection . . . had a connection for a reason even. I'm sure the guy I used to work with eight years ago just rolls his eyes when I call. But I'm not good at Christmas cards. And so I call.

Or worse yet, we'll run into each other and do the "we should really get together" thing, when neither of us wants to do that. But I will.

So really what I'm struggling with, today while mowing my lawn and sucking up cobwebs with a shop vac? Rat Bastard contacted me. Unsolicited. And in a moment of growth on my part, I told him that I didn't want to be the girl that he crawls to whenever he is feeling bad about himself. That I didn't want to talk to him.

Oh, and don't get me wrong . . . I back peddled immediately as he was collecting his argument for treating me like shit. But I got it out there (I so don't like conflict). And now, he won't contact me again. Whipped him good with a couple of sentences. Perhaps why I back peddle so often. My words can be terribly cutting. Miserably so.

And therefore, it should be finally over. But like the song says . . . even though he is quiet, it is the loudest thing in my head. I don't want him back. But currently, I don't know what I want. And back then . . . I was so sure. To the point of breaking my heart.

So have to go find something to do and stop thinking so damn much.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Title Intentionally Left Blank

Just words.

And I'm sick of it.

Small Problem

Either my watch band has gotten bigger . . . or my wrist has gotten smaller.

Either way, annoying.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Belmont, cont.

It was pointed out today that I missed two parts of the story.

First part: E2 leans closer to me and says in a low voice, "I think we are the only people here with no tattoos." This was unsettling to her. Having the lowest tattoo count (of zero) and having the best hair. Like they were going to jump us, mess up our hair, and get out the buzzing ink guns to make us belong. E2 also noticed that people kept coming in and out of this door marked "private" . . . eventually, I figured out that it lead to the basement and I appeased her curiosity by telling her "that's where the bordello is . . . " when really I think downstairs is where they were doing all the drugs.

Second part: In addition to the obnoxious "toilet" band, there seem to be two overly zealous groupies for said band. And they are a couple that are my parents' age . . . and they have a video camera. Which leads me to believe that they are the lead singer's parents. In addition to clapping the loudest for every song, and video taping the whole thing, they were also dancing as wildly as a sixty year old can dance. So proud of their boy. The boy who cannot spell polyp . . . but can sing as crudely as he can about them.

Surreal.

Okay, I'm done with the Belmont.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

Vaginacide

Saturday Night.

We go to the Belmont to see an acquaintance's band. The drummer for The Cut Loose. And the Belmont is in Hamtramck. Somehow, E2 (whom I'm dragging with me, poor girl) has heard about Hamtramck, even though she is an extreme West Sider. And really, Hamtramck doesn't look all that different. And the Belmont looks like a bar that should be in Hamtramck. . . full of arty hipsters with bad haircuts (oh, Princess . . . the bad hair I didn't expose you to). Black floor, green walls, exceedingly hard to get a drink. Smokey. And very "art fag". (high school term for artist with nose up in the air, thinking that no one could possibly understand the deepness)

And E3 spots me right away. Is very nice, friendly. Chats with us over the noise.

But there is a "surprise" opening band. E3 thinks they may just do a couple of songs. It is the bar owner's birthday and the "surprise" opening band is part of the present. And they take forever to set up. There is taping up a bed sheet. Seems very Wayne's World.

And finally, they start. There seem to be strippers, in gold lame bikinis and thigh-high athletic socks. And they are hitting the bar owner with plungers and wrapping him in toilet paper, while the lead singer yells the most vile things he can think of into the microphone.

"Bloody, bloody tampon . . . I want to eat your bloody, bloody tampon . . . " And as you can see from the playlist . . . this goes on for hours. At least an hour and a half. It seemed like a lifetime. And it kept getting worse. The strippers did not strip (which would have at least been interesting), the lead singer did strip (and had horrible man boobs), and the loud vile yelling went on. It's as if a bunch of ninth grade boys had gotten together (or better yet, seventh grade boys) and thought up as much toilet humor as they could think of. "Vaginacide, vaginacide . . . I want to crawl up in your hole and die . . ." I kid you not.

And we couldn't leave, having come all the way to the bowels of Metro Detroit to see E3 play. And the poor guy was so embarrassed. And just when we thought it would end, there would be another song. "Seething F**K Patties" The name of the band. No, really. I think they even have a myspace.

And when The Cut Loose could finally set up, E3 stole their playlist for me. It was just sitting up on the stage. So I thought I would share it with you. And warn the world.

The Cut Loose are pretty good, however. Kinda like Doors, plus Buddy Holly, with a little punk edge. At least live anyway.

Monday, October 08, 2007

Goth

Is it too "old goth chick" of me to really want to see this movie?

Control

Guilty?

Exploring the nature of guilt today.

I don't have many issues with regret. Don't usually want a "do over" or to change things.

(Okay, distraction . . . someone has found a detention slip and posted it on my bulletin board above my desk. It has "get me some newports please" scrawled across it, which is hilarious to the writer, and I know who he is, but not really funny to me.)

Okay back to guilt. Remorse. Karmic shifting. Things have been going too well. Too smoothly. Eerily so.

(The teacher next door is giving a lecture about being in high school and immaturity. Just threatened to throw erasers at them if they throw them again in her room. So hard not to intercede. Because I think getting the teacher to throw an eraser at me is funny. And if I think it's funny . . . . )

So why do I feel guilty? I haven't harmed anyone or anything . . . well, I did break a wine glass, but it's a marble table and s**t happens. Perhaps this feeling is anticipation, waiting for the other shoe to drop, which is a silly way to think. I don't know. Maybe I just need a nap.

On the plus side, my hair is extra spikey today . . . and I forgot it was picture day. So spikey ID this year. YAY.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Shows I Want to See

I haven't been to the Magic Stick's website in some time and omg I'm going to be spending some time there this fall. May just have to claim my own stool.

Oct. 9 Voo Doo Glow Skulls
Oct. 22 I AM X (guy from Sneaker Pimps . . . very cool stuff)
Oct. 24 The Weakerthans (I don't care what I have to sell to get to that show . . . I will be there)
Dec. 1 Big D and the Kids Table (another must see for me)

This is before I've even looked/listened to any "new" (to me) music that I might want to explore. With the start of school, I haven't been actively seeking bands to go see. Thank goodness someone suggested seeing Matt Pond PA this weekend or I wouldn't have looked. (because I'm going to have to buy The Weakerthans and Big D tix now, to avoid the "sold out" bother)

And, of course, you are all welcome to join me.

This is the Last Day of Our Acquiantance

"This is the last day of our acquiantance
I will meet you later in somebody's office
I'll talk, but you won't listen to me
I know your answer already . . . "

It would be so easy. I could just smile and thank you for the cute gesture ("I've got a new word for you") . . . it was how we met, what roped me in. And I appreciate attention. And I don't like conflict.

And quite frankly, I expected you to start first. But you really just wanted to talk, to play friends, you really are just lonely. And you know I will be nice to you.

But you only contact me when you are sad and lonely. I know she is leaving you. And you can't say that the timing is coincidential. And I don't want to be that girl.

And so I laid it out for you. Sorry, I'm not in the same place anymore. And I'm not your rebound girl. And I'm certainly no trained monkey.

We have mutual friends, that I am unwilling to give up. So I will see you again. But this is the last day. Because like the song states, you have taken me for granted.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Imaginary Friends

I sometimes will catch a television show called Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends . . . which is about a shelter for when kids grow out of their imaginary friends.

And my life is sometimes quite segmented, yet I tell all these stories. And I'm beginning to wonder if people think I have imaginary friends. Matthew Good was on the radio today. Free regular radio. This new old person station that I have taken to listening to in the last few days. Because it is programmed in my mother's car. Matthew Good . . . singing on the radio . . . even though all my friends may think he is imaginary.

And I dragged poor E2 out with bop-bop. To show her that he was not imaginary. Real. Tall, skinny, depressed and really there. Likewise, to show bop-bop that I had friends and wasn't just making it up. Worlds collide.

So yeah, I'm not making this all up, my life that is. I might squige a little for dramatic effect . . . like just making up the word squige (like squid but with a geh sound instead of duh) . . . but it's not imaginary. Because sometimes, I think people don't believe me.

Cool Socks -- or -- Amazing What Peer Pressure Can Do



Yes, I had to wear those stickers on my face all day . . . they made me sign for them and everything. Not sure why. And they did nothing for the glare.
I had very cool socks though.

Morning Glory


In my front yard.