Conversation v. Flirting

Okay, today we are going to explore my inability to make new friends without my current friends making fun of me . . .

Yesterday there was a couple at the bar (we went to the Hardluck . . . evidently our absence for two weeks made us lose our "regular" status, so now we have to keep up with that . . . so see you on Friday, you know where) and they were talking about sock monkeys. No prompting. And how could I give up that chance? They were talking about sock monkeys . . .

They were married. The wife was from Livonia and about my age. So I was warning them about getting addicted to expensive buttons (as I have a stash and somehow still buy more, I mean, does anyone really NEED $11.25 buttons? That's $23.oo dollars for eyes on a $3.00 sock) and we were just getting to selling on etsy when Princess and E2 called me back.

"Stop trying to pick up that couple . . . "

But I wasn't trying to "pick them up". I was just conversing pleasantly about sock monkeys.

They accuse me of this every time I talk to anyone . . . anywhere. And I don't know if it's my intensity or if I seem like I'm flirting (how does one flirt about sock monkeys?) or my body language or what. From my view, pleasant conversation with strangers about things I am interested in . . . seems like the way to make new friends, actually. How do other people do it? E2 even texted her boy about it and then showed me. "Emily is trying to pick up a couple at the end of the bar." (somehow to bother to text, concretes things)

So . . . am I just flirty all the time? And my current friends are immune? Or are Princess and E2 just giving me shit . . . all the time? Because it's starting to make me self-conscious. What about the people I talk to randomly at the grocery store? Or the book store? Or in my life in general? Am I flirting with everyone?

And if I am, shouldn't I be way more popular?

Easter Hair

So I just did my hair (and nails) and I am amazed at how much less mess just doing your highlights is . . .

Jennifer (my hairstylist) had stripped out pieces and then dyed them purple . . . which immediately washed out with the first shampoo. So I had brown streaks for a while. And I'm sick of brown streaks. So for Easter, I found some purpley stuff at Noir (called "Burgundy Wine") and kinda painted/mushed some on the brown spots.

Voila! Easter hair.

Not really school appropriate . . . but what the hay, there are a lot of things going on there. And no one seems to notice my hair, except the students. Will probably dye it all black if we have parent teacher conferences or something. But I can do that myself with some other temporary stuff. So now I have purple . . . well, red violet, spots. And my bathroom does not look like anyone was killed. So definitely going with the one skunk stripe for summer. Fun hair. Less mess. Everyone wins!

And yes, I promise to have pictures. Did you not just read the last entry?

List

I am off next week . . . which I need after today's little disaster.

So the list from this morning:

Next week I want to . . .

Go see an artsy movie
Go to the Tiger's Opening Day . . . or just a Tiger's game
Check out the Town Pump
Road Trip . . . although a short one and I don't know where
Go to the Hardluck on Friday
Sock Monkey for Harry . . . must be done
find out more about bit torrent
NIN downloads
record shopping -- MIA, Adel, and that lazy eye song
Breakfast at Forte . . . or at that Breakfast place on Woodward in Detroit . . . or both
find waffle iron
do taxes
add pictures to blog
curtains for sweater cubbies

More to come. I just need a list and I cannot lose the internet, so I'll make it on here.

In Between

I know it's Michigan . . .

but I really would like the powers that be to decide that it is Spring.

I LOVE my phone AND I LOVE Matthew Good

There are no t-shirts at the Matthew Good concert.

Correction. There is only one t-shirt on the table at the Matthew Good concert and it is brown. Brown with light blue lettering that states "in it for the money" in very loopy script.

I am not in it for the money.

And I don't wear brown. So no concert t-shirt. So no matter how much I desire to have "Matthew Good" scrawled across my chest, it was not in the cards.

And as stated previously, the opening act was cute. I liked her. (Not Rachel Ray cute . . . there was a discussion about that . . . more like baby chick cute . . . I didn't want to take her home, lest she grow up to be a chicken, but she was nice enough to listen to . . . I bought her little CD)

And Matt? He was much, much more strong musically than I had anticipated. He sang two songs a capella. It was impressive. You always think that they fix things in the studio . . . but he was just as strong live.

The people in the crowd? Not so impressive. No wonder Matthew Good hates Americans.

The three girls behind me would NOT shut up and kept taking pictures of each other with their phones. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, click. There were two people next to me who talked on their phones the entire show. HEY DUDE. YEAH. I'M AT MATTHEW GOOD. YEAH. LISTEN. (holds phone up in the air) COOL.

And then there was drunk girl.

I like to think that Spider Monkey attracts them . . . but I'm beginning to think it's me. Drunk girl started the show much like the phone girls but with loud proclamation about how she loved Matthew Good. All statements were either made to the stage or to her assumed boyfriend. But as the show went on, drunk girl became more intoxicated . . . and thus, LOUDER. And more random in her statements. She yelled about her love of pretty much everything to her boy during Avalanche . . . a very slow and somewhat soft song. If Spider Monkey wasn't between us, I would have elbowed drunk girl . . . causing her to yell about how her side now hurt.

Oh, and I made poor SM stand next to the speaker, which was above the call of friend duty.

So Matthew Good awesome. Matthew Good fans, not so much.

And yes, I know I'm one of them . . . and my bad anger vibe and the thoughts of pummeling probably didn't help.

The last song was "True Love will Find You in the End". Sigh. It was good.

Kills Me

Have more to post later . . . but . . .

Listening to the opening act for Matthew Good, which in Detroit is Emily Rose. She has this song called Eggs and Bacon . . .

"She's your eggs and bacon, baby . . . she's your chocolate cake . . . " and something about being just "your side dish".

And the person I was with mentioned "cholestrol girl", to which I replied, "Well, what would you want? Would you want to go with chocolate cake girl? Or broccoli girl?"

And his answer, after a bit of thought, was "broccoli girl" . . . which makes me sad . . . for multiple reasons.

I think everyone deserves to be with their chocolate cake girl.

Can Hardly Contain Myself

Goin' to see Matthew Good. Yayness.

Quote of the Month

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious." -- Oscar Wilde

Cinnamony Surprise

So much to write about . . . so little time . . .

Well, actually, I have all night. As long as I get up occasionally to stir the chili.

First, Matthew Good is tomorrow. 26 to 28 hours away. And I invited a boy and am now having second thoughts . . . Spider Monkey may not understand my crush, he might distract from the crushing, or he might keep me from meeting other MG fans . . . he is amused by the whole thing. So I am celebrating the almost Matthew Good-ness by listening to all the songs I own. And musing if I can make the Cleveland show on Thursday night. Oh, and Mr. Good is sick with food poisoning so the whole thing might be cancelled anyhow.

Okay, now to the stories. On Friday I met Princess in Detroit for drinks and dinner. She had a meeting at the Ren-Cen and thought it would be cool to meet before and then drag me to the meeting. Now I haven't been to the Renaissance center since . . . well, I think I was ten. And when I was ten, I had adults to worry about how to get down to that floor . . . yeah, that floor with the Starbucks . . . how do I get to that floor? But I can see it . . . so how do I get to it?

I manage to find Princess with some cell phone help and we are off, escaping the cement. Out into the open air which is Detroit in early spring. We linger at the Dumouchelle's window, looking at the statues of space aliens for sale. And we find our way into Sweet Lorraine's for an early dinner. 20 minutes later and a stern talk to the manager later, I drag a hungry Princess to the people mover to try Greektown. "Oooooooh, Andiamo's . . ."

And so we ride the glorious people mover across the street, back to the Ren-Cen, for Andiamo's. Two bottles of wine. A very good dinner. Dessert. And off to our meeting. Well, Princess' meeting . . . I'm just an art teacher. A slightly tipsy art teacher . . . a slightly tipsy art teacher who is told to keep her mouth shut, which becomes increasingly hard as I realize that the people in the meeting might be out of touch with the very thing they are meeting about. Princess' elbow firmly thrust into my ribs keeps my mouth from opening . . . but not my eyes from rolling. And the meeting goes on for eternity. I go to the bathroom and watch the North American Bridge tournament.

And notice how much the interior of the Ren-Cen looks like the Death Star in the first Star Wars movie. So much so, that it almost needs battalions of stormtroopers marching around.

The meeting ends. We somehow find our way back to the people mover (but I can see the CVS . . . it's just over there three floors down . . . now to just get to it . . . maybe we can repel) and ride to Greektown. Turns out Princess loves the slots. Wheel of Fortune slots, specifically. And truthfully, it is quite a rush to watch the wheel spin when you get one. And I am the fun governor . . . telling her to cash out repeatedly while she is ahead. I win $50. Princess, who is willing to risk more, wins $200. It is a great night.

Saturday, I go shopping and buy $25 dollars worth of expensive buttons, at half off . . . so $50 worth of buttons . . . again. I go out to Stately Wayne Manor and then the mall for cheap sunglasses. And expensive soap. Addicted to Lush's bar shampoo (thank you Princess, for another expensive addiction). Then make a sock monkey well into the evening.

Sunday, I am to go to the St. Patrick's day parade. I am hesitant, as I do not like parades . . . and I really do not like drunken crowds. And it's in downtown Detroit, which could go either way. But it turns out to be very fun. G
o to Mexican town for dinner, mistakenly thinking that NO ONE will go to Mexican town, as it is St. Patrick's day. Wrong. But am taken to the most amazing bakery at the end of the road . . . you walk in and there are cafeteria trays and tongs and cabinets and cabinets of yummy stuff. Ate something shortbready with chocolate AND cinnamon this afternoon. The cinnamon was a very nice surprise. Oh, and they had little mini-birthday cakes . . . so we got one for Spider Monkey. I had forgotten how good the margaritas are and dinner was cheap and yummy. So good day. And so taking Mr. Crabbypants to that bakery. Although, when mentioned to everyone I know . . . it seems that I am the only person who doesn't know about the bakery.

And did I mention that Matthew Good is tomorrow?

Thou Shalt Go to Level Three

Today was my first day in Pilates "Level Three" . . . and the back of my head is sweaty and I think I found new muscles in my back, one of which has just seized up as I am typing this. I didn't ask to move to level three, perfectly content to linger in level two. Level two was challenging. But evidently, the instructor decides . . .

So now I am doing more moves balanced on my butt with my arms and legs in the air like a wedge. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE jackknife and all the circus-ey moves . . . and I do admit that my "core muscles" seems a bit stronger. And the move called hundreds IS easier but shhhh don't tell anyone or they might make it a hundred and fifty.

I still hate push ups. So much so that I may have to start practicing them at home, so they don't hurt so much during class. And mine are really "hold ups" anyhow because I rarely go up and down. How I miss "girl push ups". I think the FBI only requires you to do, like, six to get in and I now, well, hold for at least eighteen.

I have to go shower (because again, the back of my head is sweaty) and then go to Walmart to get soap for a birthday present -- I'm really hoping the recipient doesn't read this -- and yes, I do realize that I could not shower and wear this spandex and fit in at Walmart. But I'm still going to shower.

Anyone want to go to Matthew Good next week? To catch my drool?

But it IS at the Mall

Princess says she scored "above average" without the scoring of the writing section. Considering that she is a former English teacher, I'm thinking that her writing section might be okay. That and I have actually read her writing.

We went to the Capital Grille to celebrate, which I was very hesitant about . . . because 1. I was in jeans . . . and 2. it's the Capital Grille . . .

When I worked at the restaurant, back what seems like long ago, we all aspired to work someplace like the Capital Grille. And our restaurant had a dress code. Well, in the fact that Chris would want us to kick out any man in a tank top. No wife beaters. On men. The women could come naked if they wanted to. But we didn't want to see any man hair while people were trying to eat. Caused a lot of fights and arguments, actually. Amazing how many men want to wear those things out. Anyhow, the Capital Grille was like the land of milk and honey . . . the land of corporate sponsorship . . . lots of business dinners. Business dinner = not really their money = big tip.

And as it turns out, you CAN go to the Capital Grille in jeans. Probably only during lunch, but as Princess pointed out, it IS a restaurant in a MALL. Geez. I should be able to bring my own moonshine and pets. We had a very nice bottle of French wine and a nice lunch . . . and Princess treated, so I should go buy her another nice bottle of French wine. And the CG is much more reasonable for lunch. I would take my mother, if she liked such things. I shall consider meeting Mr. Crabbypants there on some afternoon when we are both off. Or when I'm off . . . because he can go to lunch where he works. Unlike teachers. Would be a very good Daddy/daughter afternoon.

So quite the adventure. And Princess bought very nice earrings from "our guy" at Tiffany's. Congratulations. I told you it would be no big deal. And you already have your dissertation planned. Soon, we'll have to call her Dr. Princess.

Yeah, I Know . . . It Doesn't Seem Like I'm Listening

Sometimes, even though it's the worst idea in the world, you just have to roll with it . . . because something in your gut tells you to.

And, quite frankly, there has always been a positive outcome to the WORST of ideas. It may have taken a while for them to bloom, but they still made me a better person.

And I know I bitch a lot . . . and no one wants me to get hurt. I don't want to get hurt. I'm really kinda ugly when I cry. My mouth does funny things and I get all puffy. Not attractive.

Random thought: Princess is taking her GRE today . . . so let's all send a positive thought to her, or two. Especially for the math section. I know she'll be fine, but she was a little stressed about it. Go Princess! Kill that vocabulary!

Okay. I'm going to go to the D and hang with my brother. And maybe I'll go grocery shopping. There will probably be a trip to Habermas to look for sock monkey eyes. I'll check my stash but I don't think I have any green.

Gogol Bordello - start wearing purple

Yeah, these guys.

But I Really Didn't Want to . . .

Monday night. Concert.

Monday night. So I didn't really want to go. AND I was sick on Sunday. Spent the whole day in bed. Getting up only to procure liquids.

But it was Gogol Bordello . . . and they were sold out last time. And the free press loves them for some reason. So I had to go check it out. That and E2 made me.

And it was awesome. The energy of the crowd. The charisma of the performance. The fact that it is punk music with violin and accordion. Was incredible.

So you should go check them out. Their music doesn't sound like anyone else really.

And I'm really glad that E2 made me buy the tickets and go.

Approach with Caution

I just really wanted to use that title.

So yeah, if I went to law school every weekend for the next three years . . . I'd be done. Except that I'm not sure that I want to be a lawyer, but it would fill time. Good to know though.

And had a discussion about art this evening . . . about my making it and how that process has changed. And I'm not sure I want to be an artist either, except of course, that's what I do. Mostly unintentionally. But interesting how years ago, my art always had to say something. And now, when I draw, I usually go for saying nothing.

"Well, back then the process was always about working something out . . . and now . . . I have less to work out."

Nice to be here.

But I need to break George out and take more pictures. Adding it to the list of things to do.

Not Everyday

Saw a shooting star tonight. How cool is that?

But That's Work

"When I counted up my demons . . . saw that there was one for every day . . . with the good ones on my shoulder . . . I drove the other ones away." -- Everything's Not Lost, Coldplay

In the flurry of solitary activity, watched two movies, something that I rarely do. Really liked Martian Child, but am a sap like that. Now I really want to adopt a Martian. Am almost to the end of Middlesex making the fiction count for this year -- one. And am knitting a sweater, in winter, something that I rarely do. Sweaters are summer activities. Plus there is yearbook. Always with the yearbook.

Evidently, Cooley Law will let you take one class to see if you are cut out for law school. I've already attended a couple class sessions at Tulane Law, back in the day . . . in the glamorous life of S, when I was fascinated by such things. Seemed like a lot of reading (I do like that), some pretentiousness, and competition. But night school at Cooley? Probably just the reading. Wonder if I could get out of taking the LSAT.

Cause bop bop and I had a long conversation about how to meet men when you are not twenty one. He meets women at work . . . which doesn't work for me at all. So he suggested that I "join some hobby groups" except that my hobbies are making sock monkeys and knitting. And I already belong to those groups. So then he suggested that I do some art . . . get it in a gallery somewhere . . . and go to the opening. Which I suppose could happen. Not as fun as making sock monkeys though. Did do a wicked cool drawing as an example for class today.

And my mother recommends that I become a temp for the summer. Which would be great if I didn't have to get up, get dressed and, I don't know, WORK. Oh, and she suggested the Cooley thing . . . so looking for men . . . with homework. Because that is so much more fun than say . . . looking for men with drinking.

And there is the old adage about not looking . . . or when you are not looking . . . something . . .

So instead I'm going to sit here with my demons, for a while. Gogol Bordello is March 3, Matt Good is March 18 (YAY), Deals Gone Bad is back in town on March 22, and Streetlight Manifesto is back on April 23 (get your tickets early). Plenty to do.

After a Good Walk and 48 Hours

"'Will you ever learn? You're just an empty cage girl, if you kill the bird'" -- Crucify, Tori Amos

Yes, some posts have disappeared. You aren't imagining it.

So in my reflective state, I would like to point out that I do listen to you. QO and his philosophies on attraction and availability . . . that you won't look if you get hung up, won't see opportunity while you are busy treading water. Bop bop with his new agey stuff (see? I didn't say bullshit.) although I'm not going with the mantra he suggested. But comforting, his belief that there is someone for everyone. My mother, who did an excellent job of talking me down . . . with stories (all men are the same whether they are 14 or 45) and suggestions (all of her suggestions involved homework or working) E2 and M2, who haven't even said "We told you so . . . " Not once. Thank you.

I need some space and he now feels bad so is not giving any.

And perhaps I need to move. Get a new job. Or take a vacation.

I need to do something different.

No Really, You Shouldn't Try it Unless You're SURE I Like You

I talked to a brand-new, shiny teacher today . . .

And after a couple of "well, no . . . that's never going to happen" and "well, they certainly aren't going to give you that!" I realized that I was being a buzzkill. And yes, I often am. But the likelihood of her doing what she wants, it was past "never". So I decided to turn it around.

"Well, no only means no if you let it . . . " and tried to muster up one of those "shiny happy people" smiles.

"But you know, Em . . . "

And that was it. I stopped listening. My father is allowed to call me Em. Certain people that I am very close to can call me Em. I allow certain others with special permission (in my head, silly, I don't tell you . . . ) because they are charming or funny or I like them, call me Em. But otherwise, I'm not really an "Em". There IS one person in the world, so far, that can get away with calling me "Emmy" but again, he is charming and it is his term of endearment . . . and he lives in Colorado so I don't have to hear it.

However, with this bright shiny new teacher . . . this is the first extended conversation that we have ever had. And I think she would have been appalled if I came up with a nickname for her or, and this is probably what actually happened, was just too lazy to say the rest of the syllables of her name.

Perhaps I made her feel so comfortable that she felt we could be on a nickname basis in ten minutes? Nah. At least I don't think so, considering what the students call me sometimes.

I did not correct her. Just started pointing out that changing culture and traditions was a bit like turning the titanic. And gave her a few suggestions to ask for things that would ultimately benefit me and my program.

But in a world where we mostly address each other by last name . . . Em. It was jarring.

She's lucky I didn't stab her in the eye.

And It Only Took a Half an Hour

Just went to the dentist. No cavities. Yay me.

Comment made: "Your brushing is good." (yeah, I only floss occasionally)

Because back in the day, I would have to sit for four hours in a dental chair at U of M . . . and there was the torturous (well, all of it was torture) "eat the pink candies and let's see where you missed". An exercise that was repeated until you "got it right" or your gums were bleeding so they couldn't see anymore. AND then you got to sit in the chair while they poked at you for four hours . . . and then there was the retrieving of the instructor to see what they missed. And that's if you didn't have a problem . . . like a cavity.

So I learned very quickly NOT to have cavities. Because student dentists never use enough novocaine and there is no gas in the U of M pediatric dental section. And they slip a lot . . . which means the drill? It goes into your gum. Or your cheek. Or another tooth. "Oops" they would say sheepishly. And they always assumed that you could not understand English. Even though I was eight, I could tell when someone was messing up, and I could certainly understand the instructor. And what they said to the instructor.

And now, as an adult, I just went to a dental office with a television that they move so you can watch. There are paraffin dips for your hands and ultrasonic tools so they don't have to scrape forever. Sure, it's still hurt like a b**ch. But it only took a half an hour. I didn't even figure out what was going on with the show I was watching. (something called Project Runway . . . and I know, I'm the only person in the world who hasn't bothered to watch it) I bet ya they'll even let me listen to my ipod if I ask them next time. Woo hoo! Will the wonders of modern dentistry ever cease?