IHOP

"I have yogurt and cereal and pop tarts, if you want any breakfast . . ."
"What I'd really like is some IHOP. Do you have IHOPs here?"
"I can make you an omelette."
(make squishy face) "Aayucka!" (I hate eggs . . . and my sister has known me for 27 years and has never seen me eat an egg)
"Well, I don't have an IHOP in my kitchen."
"No, Mere . . . I meant do you have IHOPs in this town?"
"Oh, yeah, it's on Westnedge."

"Mere . . . well . . . she doesn't leave the house much." says my mother.

Kalamazoo, part two

My sister moved to Kalamazoo. My brother likes wine tours. They are currently mowing her lawn in the snow. I don't know why.

So we are having a family fun weekend in Kalamazoo at my sister's house. Her bathroom is incredibly small. So small, that I can't believe I let her buy this house . . . if you step out of the bathtub, you are standing in the sink. Not good. She has nice towels though.

So my mom, sister-in-law, brother and I are all at my sister's house. Mr. Crabbypants stayed home with his television. I'm on all sorts of drugs to stave off the cat dust. And I would like some IHOP. Do they have IHOP in Kalamazoo?

Dave made the heater work in the garage . . . so he will be out there until the wine touring starts. My sister has a lot of garage. Two of them, in fact. They are now augering drains in the snow. It occurs to me that I should probably assist in that process, with all my extensive drain augering knowledge. The cats are totally freaked by the people, and the lawn mowing and the drain augering.

And it's cold in Kalamazoo.

"Guest" Blogger

Hello. I am a guest blogger, by request of this blog "owner". Quite an honor....but the pressure is on, as I am not 1) a good speller 2) usually clever, witty, and/or entertaining, and 3) have no topic in mind or provided for me to blog about. I am, however, pretty good about rambling on and on about something....So, welcome to "guest" blog by a "guest" author searching for a topic to ramble on about.

I could mention the SNOW, which is happening as I type (not really ready yet for this stuff this year!). I could carry on about the torrential rains, lightening, and thunder that happened last night (these were Kansas summer storms....not something you find where I live in NOVEMBER!) I could blog about 5 lb. cans, and how they will only hold 5 lbs., no matter what you put in them, or how you rearrange it. (there are 5 of us and 2 cats in a house usually inhabited by one with the cats!)

I could blog about the birds in the attic (we spend an unexpected day blocking their entrance and removing a huge trash bag full of nesting material), or perhaps I could tell you about the cat antics with popcorn ball and candy wrappers left over from Halloween (don't worry, L. only plays with them, nothing morbid or disgusting happens!)Perhaps I could recount how "M" had to tell the mower man how to start the mower that Mr. Pants "gave" to her, then had to have fixed so it would run (long distance) and how Mr. Pants did not see that this was a problem--talking to fixer people by girls!! The mower macho man was devastated by a girl having to start and drive the mower off his truck! Pretty funny (for us girls!)

I could talk about insulating the attic, discussions about the potential floor plans, the bargain we found on a drain snake (everyone should have one as a back up --no pun intended--plan!) or finding some new restaurants in town that we like...but no one probably really cares. So as the guest blogger without a topic, I have probably rambled on enough. Besides, a turn in the shower may turn up soon while there is still hot water, and I want to be ready! It has been fun!

Kalamazoo

There is cat hair on this computer . . . in Kalamazoo. There is cat hair on everything . . . in Kalamazoo.

And my brother showed me the llama song. Don't play it. It's obnoxious.

More later. It's been a busy week and I've been tired. Been going to bed at 9 p.m. But I promise to write things soon.

"You're a Superstar . . . at the Gay Bar"

It struck me that St. Andrews hadn't changed much since I'd been there last . . . say, fifteen years ago. I don't remember the bar being located along the west wall, but the last time I was at St. Andrews I didn't drink, so it could have been there all along. I wouldn't have noticed.

By the time Electric Six was getting ready to go on stage the crowd was divided into three sections: The under 21 crowd in front (with some frat boys mixed in for good measure), the "older crowd" (my age) up in the balcony, and the die hards in back. I'm pretty sure the die hards were all animatronic robots because they looked exactly the same as they did in 1992 . . . same hair, same clothing. I know the eighties are back "in" but it was surreal. Like they kept them in a closet and brought them out to fill the place.

We ended up in the frat boy section.

Electric Six. Well, they didn't live up to the hype. I kept reading and hearing about this great band . . . and they were good . . . but the lead singer's whole act seems to be to either direct the crowd to make hand gestures (which they all did, like good trained monkeys) or stand on stage with a goofy grin on his face (which the crowd always laughed at). A cute little frat boy warned us, with a very earnest look, that we didn't want to be "down here" because it was "gonna get wild" and for a minute I was worried (the band hadn't started yet) . . . but the most anyone did was pogo-ing. Lame. So funny lyrics just can't carry you if you are six aging white guys. Who knew?

Oh, and there was this wife/girlfriend/groupie section, up in the balcony, who kept throwing things at the band and then would try to talk to the bass player while they were playing. Like, "honey, look . . . I threw that at you . . . yeah, that was me! . . . " So that wasn't distracting. At all.

I guess I'm hard to impress. The coney island food at 2 in the morning was good. And we didn't run into anyone I knew.

I'm Goin'

. . . to Electric Six tonight . . . and you're not.

Hope they dress up as the Lincolns (third video down), cause that would be really fun.

And it was my first experience buying tickets online . . . and I'm never going to do that again. Figured that the service charge would be worth it to not have to go down there or worse yet, get there and find that they were sold out. But at $5.20 extra a ticket, next time I'll chance it. We could always go to Small Plates to dinner instead.

While Sitting in the "Cone of Silence"

I talk to a lot of divorced men. Something about being single and 35. And I always take their stories with a grain of salt . . . figuring that there are two sides to every story I hear (and sometimes three or four). I never get to hear the ex-wife, but know I would present my story in a way that is favorable to me. We all do it to some extent. It's psyche preservation.

And I don't really want to hear from the ex-wives anyhow. Not even curious. Well, maybe with that one . . . and the moving away to live in the single wide with the "platonic" friend and the goat . . . but just because it's such an interesting story.

And unfortunately, the stories are very similar . . . married in our twenties . . . thought I knew the girl . . . people change . . . she doesn't want to be married anymore . . . she left.

With a smattering of infidelity mixed in.

And as someone who really wants to be married, I never understand the motivation. As someone who really wants children, I can't understand why anyone would leave them. And so I listen to the stories and hope that there is another side. A rationable, reasonable side . . . though not too reasonable (like he beat me) because I'm probably about to go out with the storyteller.

And then I went to Starbucks today and my fears were realized. (No, I didn't run into anyone's ex . . . but that would have been fun, wouldn't it?) People talk on their cell phones like they are in a magical "cone of silence" somehow and the woman next to me . . . she is leaving her husband. She knows that it is at least 50% her fault, but she can't be married anymore . . . just can't. And single people, they can do anything, you know . . . they can be authors and . . .

The whole time, her toddler is sleeping in his mega-mobile stroller.

And he wants to sell the house . . . and she could get a pretty good job . . . and yeah, I've thought about marriage counseling but really, what's the point?

I wanted to snatch her parenting license away . . . until I realized that there is no parenting license. A woman on her cell phone telling her friend that she was leaving her husband. Not because he was mean, or beating her, or for any other good reason that I can't think of right now, oh, like cheating on her . . . just because she didn't want to be married anymore. And those single people . . . yeah, well, they have it so good.

I really wanted to turn and tell her about being single, but I talk to strangers too much about things they don't want to hear. So I held my tongue. I didn't tell her that she could be whatever it was that she so wanted to be . . . and she could still be married doing it. I didn't talk to her about the stress and needless crap that her two-year old was going to go through because she just didn't feel like staying married anymore. Didn't talk to her about the dating pool for 35 year old women, like ourselves, who would all be men like her husband . . . except a little more angry because they had found someone that they wanted to commit to . . . and that other woman didn't feel like being married anymore either.

I really didn't want to think that the stories were true. And yet, here, in the seat next to me, was the confirmation . . . gabbing into her cell phone . . . surrounded by her imaginary cone of silence. And I felt horrible. And sad. For all the stories that I have heard.

And I think I should get props for slipping a "Get Smart" reference in . . . and not hitting anyone at the Starbucks.

Photoshopped In

Princess and I are on the queen size bed, drinking extremely good wine (Princess brought it) out of plastic cups that had been wrapped for our safety. In fact, everything had been wrapped for our safety and I was unsure how to get the toilet lid open . . . for at least a couple of minutes. Sex in the City is on the television. We are in our jammies. Princess has washed her face with all the things in her kit. I'm not sure this is what Marv had pictured when designing this room.

There are no window treatments . . . so getting into the jammies was an interesting show to the single wide trailers across the lake. I do not think of these things (being not shy . . . ) but Princess, she notices and is appalled. I set my stuff all over the edge of the forbidden hot tub and am sure that someone will know that I "used" it, in some capacity . . . to hold my makeup and toothpaste.

Princess has claimed the single bed in the corner to sleep in and falls asleep immediately. I am more awake, since I had coffee at dinner. I had turned on every light in the room at one point, to stave off the eerie red glow and now I cannot find the switch to one light in the middle of the room. It is not red, thank goodness, but I am a light sleeper and the light keeps me from sleeping soundly. Instead of my normal waking up at every hour, I wake every 15 minutes or so . . . to the point that I get up to search for the switch several times. Examining the lamp to see if the switch is contained on it. Switching on other lights to see if that switch might somehow magically control two. I get no sleep.

The shower is hard to find . . . behind the entry door with a large "SHOWER" sign, routered and varnished. I let Princess shower first (her hair takes longer). The shower is small . . . not as small as European showers . . . but small by American standards and the water smells awful. I know that it is because of the well water, but ugh. And this is what people fill the forbidden hot tub with? I leave the experience not really feeling clean and welcome the sounds of Princess complaining that her hair . . . it's going to be flat, because the water is all soft. I dress for the people with binoculars across the lake.

The sign on the inside of the door reads: "Be sure to take all your belongings. Items left will be disposed of in five days." Disposed and five are both underlined and unlike all the other signs in the place, this one is paper covered in plastic, letters green. "Boy, this place just has a plethora of rules." Princess muses.

Marv had talked up the complimentary breakfast, so we expected great things as we hauled our things through the kitchen again. Scrambled eggs, toast, and jiffy mix muffins. That was breakfast. The toast was being made two pieces at a time in an ancient toaster, with some of that Hillbilly bread that my grandmother used to like. I don't eat eggs, but I heard they were nothing to be excited about. The muffin . . . which was a Jiffy mix muffin (I've toured the factory. I know.) was underfilled and was dwarfed by it's pastel blue cupcake cup. We both took some coffee and both regretted the decision. Princess decided that the best way to deal with the brown water-like substance was to throw it down her throat. I was a bit more cautious, as it smelled much like the shower. In the end, Princess was nauseous . . . I was just cranky.

As I sat there, beautiful lake on one side . . . Princess openly wondering why anyone would paint on a saw on the other . . . I thought about the surrealness of the moment. Princess, with her perfect hair (despite, or perhaps in spite, of the soft water) and her general perfectness, sitting with a buffalo head over her head. It was if someone had taken a photo and then photoshopped her in . . . with the Mennonites and all the signs in the background. Couples, smiling from what I suppose was the hot tub experience, were filing in for their complimentary eggs and Jiffy mix muffins, and not a one was a day under 80. I suppose I looked Photoshopped too.

We made our escape but not before raiding the gift shop, full of more signs that Marv had evidently made for sale. Princess purchased three signs with giant dollar store pencils attached to them. "Word Processor" was wood-burned underneath each, in slanted handwriting, with "The Shack" sort of melted into the paint of each pencil. I bought some mugs, mainly for the "Jugsville" reference (Princess and I . . . the Jugs in Jugsville) and a small box that had "Three piece chicken dinner 99 cents" written in the same handwriting. If you slide open the box, there is a hole with three pieces of corn. My grandmother would have thought that was hilarious.

I was hoping that there would be a McDonalds . . . for some coffee . . . but no luck. Just corn and barns and single wide trailers and churches and more churches.

Every day is Halloween

"I wonder if anyone else knows that Emily just dressed as herself today?"

Aside

The universe is still conspiring . . . and I'm currently experiencing some anxiety about it. Not too much, could just be that I need some breakfast.

Why is it that when you really, really like someone, they want nothing to do with you? And when you are kind of eh, I might sorta like you . . . well, then they really, really like you . . .

Wrong time, wrong place, wrong emotional level . . .

And I just wanna find my lobster. And he isn't it.

I don't think anyway . . .

(and then there is the sinking feeling . . . shit, what if he is? No, he's not. But what if he is? But he is not, although he is the nicest man in the world . . . and so it goes . . .)

And I'm not sure that he even likes me. Just a scenario I'm playing with in my head.

The Shack Inn

I don't suppose that I mentioned that they have a website.

So Princess and I get all our stuff. Marv leads us through the kitchen to our rooms (that can't be sanitary). There are people sitting at the kitchen island eating ice cream and they nod at us in acknowledgement. Are they guests? Relatives? Disciples? I'm not sure.

There is no elevator, just a run of steep stairs with a 90 degree turn in the middle. Everything is knotty pine. Well, not the industrial grade carpet that makes everything look like a 70's basement . . . but everything else is covered with a protective layer of knotty pine . . . and varnish . . . and signs . . . with Bible verses . . .

We get to our room (room 106, I believe). There is a giant NO SMOKING routered sign on the door, bigger than the room number. Okay, we won't smoke. We open the door to find . . .

The first thing that hits you is the hanging red light. Red glass, hanging off a chain from the ceiling. Underneath the red light is an enormous tub, in the middle of the room. Across from the tub is a queen size bed, framed with red lights. The wallpaper is red velvet. It is dark, from all the red lighting. There is a single bed to the back of the room, made of knotty pine. And there is rope . . . stapled to the wall with giant staples. A design rising up the wall, ending in two hearts. Princess and I have been assigned the honeymoon, plus one? suite. And we stand in awe.

Fall Back

Did we fall back and I just didn't know about it? Usually it's on the T.V. or the radio . . . but oh, that's right, I haven't looked at or listened to either of those things in a while. I guess I'll trust my phone.

I would have slept longer.

Every Inch

So I'm at this compound . . . and we park the mega-mobile near the door. Every inch of the front porch is covered with signage. All signs are wood. Hand carved. Router crazy craftsmanship. With shiny varnish. Lots of shiny varnish. It was word overload. "Welcome" "No Smoking" "Smoke Free Building" "Fabulous Brunch" And then there were little signs between the big signs. Woodburned. Too much to read.

The front desk is empty, but there are little angel statues with flowers and an open Bible. Not a good sign. There are inspirational quotes on the walls. Also not a good sign. Handwritten sign: "Sorry, having banana splits. Be back soon." I'm going to sleep in the mega-mobile.

"Marv" comes from the dining room. He had waved to us as we had come in but just sat at the table, next to "Janette" I later found out. Didn't get up right away, had to finish his ice cream. I thought he was a guest at "The Shack". Marv looks like he is a reanimated corpse. With perma-smile. Finds our reservation. In slow motion. "You have a hot tub room but you can't use the hot tub. Costs extra. It was the only room with two beds." Princess starts riffin' on the hot tub, trying to warm Marv up. It doesn't work. He is very serious about the non-use of the hot tub . . . a hot tub that Princess and I would never use in the first place. And when he says hot tub, I'm picturing a whirlpool tub, like in my parent's bathroom. We finally get the keys, after swearing that we will never even think about using the hot tub. I stare at the truck hat display. They all say "The Shack" on them. I find Shack postcards. They have Bible sayings on them. I buy all five of the series.

You Just Like to Say Newaygo

I packed early in the morning and only forgot two things . . . important things as it turned out . . .

We left right after work and took Princess' mega-mobile. It was her gig. I was the navigator. But all I had really to navigate was "drive to Grand Rapids . . . turn right . . . drive until there is nothing . . . "

We stopped in Okemos and had a lovely dinner. Princess had a filet . . . because she is named Princess for a reason . . . I had a nice sirloin and dessert . . . although I am just as princess-y. I think I left my hat at the restaurant. If anyone goes to Stillwater in Okemos, it is burgandy and hand-knit. Please pick it up for me. It was a nice hat.

Then the serious driving began. It was 7:30 and dark. We stopped twice to go to the bathroom because we could never do that as children. Our fathers always made us hold it. For too long a time.

Grand Rapids is part of my mental map system. I feel secure in G-Rap. Even when we turned off on Leonard St. to go to the bathroom. But then we got on M-37. It was dark. And there was nothing . . . well, single wides and propane stores . . . and nothing. We were looking for 8th street and when a street came, which was a long time, and it had numbers, which was a longer time . . . it was 146th street. This was not encouraging.

The hotel we were going to stay in was called "The Shack" according to the itinerary that I had on my lap. Who books at a hotel named "The Shack"? The name was not promising. The lack of familarity was not promising. The amount of propane being sold was enormous and I did not find it promising. Princess found it puzzling. Why did everyone need so much propane? And how did you buy it? There didn't seem to be any stands next to the propane signs. Just big tanks.

There is a McDonalds AND a Taco Bell AND and KFC in outer Newaygo. And that was the last hint of connection or familiarity to our very suburban lives. Plus, at this point, I was pretty sure that "The Shack" may well be an actual shack. Or a Bates motel. And we were no where near it according to the directions and I thought we might be lost, in the dark, with insanely numbered street signs.

As I was wondering where people bought fancy underwear, Princess was wondering why everyone needed so much propane. What were they grilling? Did just everyone grill? How could they support all these propane stores? And where were the little canisters?

To calm our nerves, Princess was playing "Roll Out" by Ludacris and some "Ass like that" song by Eminem that has the word "pee-pee" in it repeatedly. This was making the lost hopelessly in the woods, broken up by single wide trailers thrown about, all the more surreal.

After about eight left turns, on roads that kept changing names . . . we saw lights and thought it was White Cloud. However, there was a giant sign that read "The Shack Inn Bed and Breakfast" with an arrow. The Shack turned out to be a compound, with four large buildings, on a lake. We had arrived. " . . . makes my pee-pee go duh-doing-doing-doing . . ." was playing in the background. I am leery of compounds. They are usually bought and built by people who eventually will (or should) be surrounded by the FBI. But we could stop driving in the dark. And we probably should cut the pee-pee music.

Too Perfect

It's like not even dressing up! (link here)

Full Name: Jane Lane
Current Age: 18
Current Vocation: Freshman at Boston Fine Arts College
Season One Age: 16
Season One Vocation: Sophomore at Lawndale High
Parents: Vincent and Amanda Lane
Siblings: Trent, Penny, Summer, and Wind
First Appearance: Esteemsters

Jane is Daria's best friend. They met during a self-esteem class at Lawndale High, which Jane had already taken six times (she could have easily passed the class, but having low self-esteem "made her feel special"). Like Daria, Jane is cynical, intelligent, and talented (she is a budding artist), but she is also a little more open to the world around her. She enjoys running, and once joined the Lawndale High track team... briefly.Like any good artist, Jane constantly explores the passionate and emotional side of the world, which usually translates into exploring -- sometimes impulsively -- various romantic possiblities with boys ("Bobby Big-head" in "The Invitation" (#102), Evan in "See Jane Run" (#211), Tom Sloane in "Jane's Addition" (#313), and Nathan in "Life in the Past Lane" (#509)). Her emotional nature tends to get the better of her, unfortunately, and is part of the reason why her only long-term relationship (with Tom) ended -- disastrously -- in "Dye! Dye! My Darling" (#413). Her strained relationship with Daria (who began dating Tom) finally was resolved in "Is It Fall Yet?", and she now appears to be (mostly) comfortable with her best friend dating her ex-boyfriend... though, of course, she doesn't miss an opportunity to tease both of them about it.

Status at end of series: Graduated from Lawndale High. Accepted into the midterm freshman class at Boston Fine Arts College, where she'll undoubtedly continue to drag Daria (who was accepted into the fresman class at nearby Raft College) into more adventures.

Daria on Jane: Artiste extraordinaire and pizza fiend. Believes paint-by-number kits are inherently evil.

The Universe Conspires

It has been the days of cancellation . . . R perhaps thought more clearly and cancelled tonight. (R being formerly known as RBBF. Yes, he has a name) And perhaps it is all for the best.

M36 called tonight while walking his dog. Very nice, and has a dog, so has some sense of responsibility. Answered all 39 questions quite reasonably and has a job. In fact, has a master's degree. So I might meet him. Maybe. Quite a jump from my usual fiasco, but we grew up in the same town, so we have that goin' for us. Plus he throws poker "tournaments"? There must be other boys there if he doesn't work out.

Trying very hard not to jump ahead in my mind. Don't have to have any expections, right? And R just makes me think of RB. Which is not his fault, but I just don't want to loop there anymore. He is the nicest guy on the planet. Wrong place, wrong time. Kinda my story, all the time. And glad he cancelled. It would have been fun to hang out, but complicated . . . and I'm so done with complicated. Want simple. Attracted to complicated, but want simple. No more imaginary rock stars . . . just boys walking their dogs and taking their dads to poker tournaments.

And yet, the universe still conspires against me . . .

Sometimes 2+2

really does just equal 4.

Had a "Hey . . . wait a minute . . . " moment this morning. And now I'm kind of frustrated and tired.

Sometimes a cigar . . . it really is just a cigar. No matter what Freud might say.

Hey! Are you calling me crude?

"Do you mind if I say something crass? Since you're all about the crude?"

"I'm not all about the crude . . . it just comes up. But sure, go ahead."

Just So My Friends Can SLAM Their Heads Into the Wall

Hmmm . . . 7 p.m. on a Sunday? With nothing to do and a jammed packed week ahead of me?

So what should I do?

Of course. Go to Trader Joes. Cause I need wine and trail mix . . . and attention. There were hugs . . . and some coming out of the "box" (freezer?) to talk again . . . oh, and there was the drying off of my cart, cause it was all rainy. There was some inviting ourselves over for tonight, but at midnight, so no . . . I'll be sleeping. And just to make everyone's head explode . . . there is coming to visit on Tuesday.

Got some coffee and yogurt too. See what happens when I'm left unsupervised?


p.s. I think that when as well as could be expected. Don't you?

And the Winner is . . .

Jane Lane from Daria . . .

After much thought about conjoined Halloween costumes, M2's friend pointed out that M2 is basically Daria, without the brown hair. In a moment of inspiration, it was decided that I can pretty much "do" Jane Lane with very little wardrobe alteration. Thus a Halloween costume idea was born. We are going to the party as Daria and her friend Jane. Already bought the boots, just have to find the maroon shirty thing and I'm all set.

Gotta love a costume that you don't really have to dress up for . . . and when an idea comes together.