"It's a New Year, Trying to Be Nice."

Actual quote from my mother this afternoon.

This was after she told me that . . . well (lips smoosch to center) . . . the hair, it wasn't any better . . . well . . . the cut is better . . . but you looked younger with the black hair . . . maybe you should go back to that . . .

Okay, then.

Concert was awesomely awesome. Bought t-shirts. Actually M1 and I bought matching t-shirts, but we don't live in the same state, so it's okay. Wearing my pink "Deal's Gone Bad" tee today, with just enough of the jolly roger sticking out of my sweater. Good pit. Good music. No one to pick up. Oh, well.

M1 kept looking out into the crowd (it was sold out) and saying . . . "This is the dating pool." with a circular hand gesture. I thought she was being sarcastic . . . like I should try the bar at the Townsend instead . . . but she was serious and commenting on the bleak state of affairs.

There seemed to be two demographic groups at the Magic Stick last night. "Old" people who actually remembered Gangster Fun and the Parka Kings when they were bands. And their children. There were groups who looked like they hadn't seen anywhere except the inside of a mini-van for a long, long time. And they kept walking past . . .

"M? Do we look like that? When the twenty-somethings see us . . . do they see that? Do they think what I'm thinking right now?"
"No. We aren't carrying Liz Claiborne purses."
"Cause those people are old . . . and they're our age."
"Yeah. We don't look like that."
"Are you sure? Cause they don't know they look like that."

Now the ska crowd is geeky in general . . . boys in skinny ties and white shirts, newsboy hats (fedoras, if they are really into it) and spectator shoes, who look like they know how to really work a computer. Boys in glasses, who look like they might actually enjoy doing your taxes after they were done bouncing up and down . . . (my idea of hot, by the way) Boys with a bit of an edge, but way too nerdy (or too smart?) to end up pulling off goth.

But mix that in with groups of nerdy soccer moms (that married the nerdy old guys?) and it gets kinda surreal.

M1 did talk to the lead singer of Deal's Gone Bad, who was just wandering around, looking like he needed a friend. He remembered us from last year. M1 wanted to see what R looked like . . . and his doppelganger was at the show . . . but skinnier with neck tattoos. He was part of "the Rovers" (a scooter club, very manly) so maybe I'll see him again at the Front (just what I need, someone with neck tatts). No students this year. Almost disappointing.

Can't wait until next year though.

For M1 . . .

This is completely for M1 and nostalgia . . . shoot me if I go out like this.

Awful.

A Touch of Oompa Loompa

So every so often I am overcome by the girlyness . . . and do something totally insane that I KNOW is insane. This week one of the insane acts was to succumb to that combination of marketing and moisturizer called "Healthy Glow", which I will henceforth call "A touch of Oompa-Loompa".

The whole premise is that you put self-tanner in moisturizer . . . a "touch" of it, and over what is supposed to be several days, you overcome the pallor. Relieved of the pallor is actually what the advertisers want you to think (and Princess . . . who hates pallor. Hates it.) As I cannot tan; for two main reasons, being a. I go from white to lobster to white again . . . no matter how many times I repeat and b. my father just had a huge chunk of skin cancer dug out of this face; I figured that I might try "the touch of Oompa-Loompa" lotion.

While I do not currently look anything like an Oompa-Loompa (though I might get closer if I dye the muppet hair green), I could see where it could go in that direction. There are streaks of what look like sorta tan . . . which I'm sure are supposed to blend in with whatever streaks I add tonight. I guess if you get enough streaks, they blend together in an Oompa-Loompa like glow (a light-skinned Oompa-Loompa anyhow) . . . but that may be too much maintenance for me. So much for my adventure in girlyness for this week.

Thank god I went with the "touch of Oompa-Loompa" and not with the fake eyelashes . . . I could have put my eye out by now.

One Year Later

Hard to believe that due to M1 limited mobility a year ago . . . this happened. My first post was on March 6, 2005 -- Eharmonizing. And I received a comment right away, warning me of the dangers of eharmony. Little did they know that I'm the type to get kicked off.

So happy blog birthday to me. This has served as wonderful outlet, a great creative discipline and well, it's really early in the morning so I'm not really sure what I'm typing and this is probably all crap.

My Teacher the Rock Star

As I was reading the newspaper yesterday, there was a picture of a group of handsome young men with a little caption reading "mustardplug.com". This caused me to READ instead of skim the daily "what to do" section and found that Mustard Plug, the ska band from my youth, was playing at the Magic Stick.

I immediately called Molly (M1), who is in town for the holiday, and she graciously agree to accompany me to the show. I knew that I would see at least two former students from yearbook who are Mustard Plug fans, so much so they actually own MP T-shirts. Turns out that there are quite a few Mustard Plug fans as the line wrapped around the building. Unfortunately about 16 of these fans are over the age of 21, including all the guys in the band (and it's a ska band . . . with a horn section). We got to talk to Dave (the lead singer) and he was very nice . . . nice enough to listen to two girls babbling at him about people he knew fifteen years ago.

As I'm at the bar, I hear a "Hey, Miss _______!" from this guy with a beard. Turns out there was a group of former Cranbrook students (including one in a mustard bottle costume) in the crowd, who are all old enough to drink . . . thus making me older than dirt.

M1 and I proceed to make up stories about the guys sitting at the bar, including a guy with glasses that is very cute in a Drew Carey way . . . and you know how I'm hot for Drew. However, he calls the bartender by name and orders up a shot of Jager so he is disqualified from the "flirt with" category for potential alcoholic status. The next band is coming up and I have moved on to staring at some guy with a fauxhawk in the corner, who might even be my age and not a parent. The next band is GREAT so I look up to see who is singing and it's Drew Carey guy. So he was just getting some liquid courage to go up in front of the throng of teenie boppers. And of course, any guy that's up on stage with a microphone gains like a thousand cuteness points automatically, especially when the band is actually good. Unfortunately, I hate people who don't like me at first and then see my art and want to be my best friend so I refused to go talk to him . . . it just wouldn't have been right under the circumstances . . . but the band was really cool. Deal's Gone Bad. Check them out. So we go dance and end up at the stage.

Cute Drew Carey singer boy calls all the girls up on stage. People are videotaping and have camera phones so I do not go up on stage, but some dumb sixteen year old decides to stage dive without looking, colliding with my head on the way down to the floor. It really hurt but if she had caught my nose, I would have kicked her ass. I mean it. It was very cute how the former yearbook students checked to see if I was okay.

So there was much more merriment before the night was done, all of which I will not bore you with today. Good clean fun, I tell you. Good clean fun.

Gotta find a band I like that my students don't like though.

Oodles of Yayness

I received a package from my friend M today . . . new music for me to listen to gleefully! I will now have to make intricate playlists to return in kind. Love it! So awesome . . .

I now have "Love Cats" by The Cure. It sooo makes me want to break out the entire Smiths collection, maybe rat my hair and mope for a while.

New Hat and Neighbors

This is the new hat purchased in New York, which no one will ever see because we cannot wear hats in school, for some mysterious reason. Bought it from the hatter across the street from J's apartment and it came with instructions . . . I was shown lint brushing and everything.

I will eventually lose the feathers. In my memory this hat is very much like one I used to steal every chance I got. So now I have one of my very own. The picture was taken by M in the lobby of J's building, with the doorman rolling his eyes. Such silliness.

Went to Royal Oak this morning for coffee but forgot that it was the citywide trick-or-treat fest. It was like the heterosexual suburban frat/sorority culture took over for a day. And children . . . children everywhere you looked or stepped. Funny how I was thinking about how much my uterus ached for one earlier and then this . . .

The good news was all the stores were open. Got some Lamb's Pride Bulky for a hat I am planning and some hair dye . . . though Noir was out of colors again. I know I'm the only one who buys it but still . . . at least I'm loyal. Had to buy some candy, in case some children show up at the house (the last two years has just been a cat . . . a different cat each year but just cats).

Walked back and met the new neighbors. With ache being the word of the day . . . I now ache for the former tenants, very cute engineer boys. The new renters are NOT cute engineer boys . . . the introductory conversation started with "that van won't be there long . . . just have to get all the parts off it. It doesn't run and I got tired of fixin' the trans, you know . . ." Great. Let's start with the van that's up on blocks. I love being a homeowner.

A Little Shopping Center on Every Corner

Once upon a time . . . my parents moved to the boondocks, or what their collected families thought were the boondocks, way out in Plymouth-Canton. It was a very confusing time and there was much discussion about how to get to the farmlands of Canton. Taking Joy Road all the way out was often an option.

As an aside, before Stu (and others, I'm sure) gets pissed off . . . I grew up in Canton, the poorer (and lesser in some opinion) of the two suburbs of Plymouth-Canton. My parents eventually moved to Plymouth . . . but I am a Canton girl, if that matters to you. Just so I don't hear Canton under everyone's breath when I say Plymouth. By the way, Canton now has better McMansions and better social amenities . . . have you seen their pool?

So while driving Joy Road all the way from Wyandotte one day my Great Aunt Hazel made a startling observation, which she then shared with my parents. "There is a little shopping center on every corner out here" she informed them. My parents, who knew that they had not moved to the permanent boondocks and that there would soon be McMansions built over the little shopping centers, nodded and smiled. And then they made it the family joke . . .

I know I'm taking a long time to get to it, but that's how I felt in New York this visit. Except that the line was "there's a little Urban Outfitters on every corner" instead. When did Manhattan turn into a mall? As I described it to my father (who says he hates New York), "it's just like Somerset, with a couple of rats thrown in to give the tourists something to talk about." Actually, I only saw one rat and that was in the subway . . . and he wasn't very big.

Everything was relatively shiny. Everyone was . . . for the most part, nice. I was only accosted by a woman in a Burberry coat because I was criticizing her parenting skills (one should not let two year olds take the stairs by themselves on the subway). (Molly got the brunt of it . . . and she wondered why the lady was screaming "I saw that face you made . . . " until she remembered that I was behind her) (But the Burberry lady was British, not a New Yorker)

The Starbucks employees were always shocked by MY politeness, especially when they f*#ked up my order, which happened more than you would think but . . . yeah, maybe Disney did take over the place. It seems like they put something in the water. So basically, I can't move to New York because it is way too nice . . . that and it seems that I could just move to Somerset and get some smallish rats.

Happy Lawnmower and Bats in the Moonlight

Very exciting! The lawnmower's oil is changed. The truck's oil is changed. The tires have been rotated. All is right with the world . . . except that I now will have to mow my lawn. I will mow my lawn tomorrow morning because I have bunches to do and I will wake up all my neighbors, the heathen set mainly because the rest will be at church. I will not be like Mr. Crabbypants and get up at the CRACK of dawn to mow (everyone everywhere is so glad he has a lawn service now) but I will be mowing in the 9 to 10 am area. I will probably only mow my front yard and maybe the side because my backyard still has giant holes and ruts from the "car getting stuck" incident, which we will not discuss at this time, because I just told my brother to read my blog. Since the holes are big enough to plant shrubs, I may, in fact, plant shrubs in them.

M is hopefully coming with me tomorrow to "great aunt wrangle" which will entail taking her to ice cream and confusing her with all the flavors for a time. This is so my parents and brother can move all of her things to a new apartment. Then M and I will just drop her off at the new apartment as if nothing happened. As if we are just taking the long way home. My great aunt, who is the sweetest, most wonderful woman in the world, inherited the paranoid gene and constantly thinks that people are stealing her things and replacing them with other similar but not quite the same, and certainly not as good things . . . because she knows her things and these things, well, they are not hers.

Keeping in mine that she is blind, can't walk, doesn't hear well and doesn't have anything to keep her mine occupied, I would probably think people were taking my bedspread too. If only to have something interesting to talk about. But tomorrow we are taking her bedspread and everything else. We are moving it to an apartment that is the same, but not quite the same . . . but does have a better view out the window. My great aunt has macular degeneration and can see in some spots, so the view is kinda important. This apartment is much, much closer to Stately Wayne Manor so it will be easier for my mother (my great aunt's only caretaker) to visit on a regular basis.

My father and brother pointed out that they have never met M (which I know that have . . . somewhere in the fourteen years) and are eager to meet her. I guess I'll have to take her to Stately Wayne Manor for the tour of the grounds. Saw a bat out there tonight. I could see through his wings in the moonlight. Very cool.

What to say . . .

What to say. Went to M's to work out with her and one of her students. I will be feeling it tomorrow but right now I feel really good. Punching people is really tiring though. . . I may not want to take up boxing anytime soon because that is punching until the "round" is over. I think I may like the punching and then running away, or punching until someone is on the ground, or maybe even punching until I am on the ground, better. It was very cool that I got to go have M teach me to punch and kick though.

In continuation with the eharmonizing updates, got matched with this guy who had "if you take drugs, click on the close button below" and thought it was very interesting . . . very cool in fact and was going to "fast track" him so he could hang out with all my drug-free little friends. However, I got home and found that he had already closed me . . . evidently, my photo leads him to believe that I do drugs? Was it the ponytails? Totally his loss, because my friends (and I also) are totally fun but makes me think . . . I'll have to call B and ask him for the male eharmony logic, not that B is ever very logical but he is good for the typical boy stance. So for "R" out there in Dearborn . . . you missed out bub, cause evidently all you meet are druggies (otherwise you wouldn't have found it important enough to put on your profile).

So I need to stare at the television for a while, instead of this monitor, having something fed to my brain instead of thinking.

Now if I could just get pictures on the sides

So I figured out how to post pictures but somehow cannot figure out how to connect them to my profile. No matter, no one sees this anyhow . . . though we did just email a bunch of M's friends that I have not seen in ten years. M's leg didn't look too swollen and she is walking pretty well. She saved the pictures from her surgery of the inside of her knee. They just cut off the jagged part . . . don't know how that will work. Will it grow back? Or did she just not need that much of it? Anyhow, her mother didn't believe that I would be all jazzed about the medical photos.

Evidently, the skull x-rays that were taken last week are mine if I ask for them . . . if the doctor lets me have them, they are definitely getting scanned and posted.

Had tremendous fun with M putting pics on the web. Made dinner (chili) which no one will believe. Almost living like real people. Have so much to do this week: wash walls in entryway, dining room and bathroom with TSP. Would like to get one of those rooms done by the end of the week. Also have to do taxes so I can hopefully afford new windows and a camera. Should probably find another job too, since my boss is making my other boss apologize to me . . . can't be good for office relations.