You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August, 2008.
Weekend so far:
Washed the interior windows in the whole house, save S.’s office.
Finished final outline for the project that dare not speak its name*. (My brother’s new name for the mysterious project.)
Made plans to meet with ptdnsin* interviewee for next week.
Participated in an experiment sent to me by Mystery Bro., in which I took a lengthy psychometric test. The surprise: I scored 18 pts. above my last tested IQ number. The bro. is testing some new software. Or so he claims. He’s a professional, highly-paid brain assassin, so one never really knows with him… In any event, I’m sure my result = software failure because I am quite certain I’m getting much, much dumber as I age.
Watched the anniversary edition of COPS. My favorite scene: A woman calls 911. Police arrive. Woman is outside someone’s house. Tells cops that person inside took her $20 and gave her a bag of plaster instead of the rock she thought she was purchasing. Tells cops she wants her $20 back. Cops tell her she’s going to be arrested. She doesn’t care. Insists that cops have to get her money back. Cops knock on door of house. Woman comes out and says, “I don’t have her $20 and I don’t need her here disrespecting my house. I got kids in here, you know? I don’t sell drugs. I’m a prostitute.” God bless you, COPS, for providing me with hours of viewing enjoyment.
This morning I met the charges and their folks for brunch at my beloved Enoteca. I had a delicious bellini (made with fresh peach puree – it really was fabulous), a chanterelle and gruyere omelet and a big bowl of fresh fruit. Afterwards, the charges and folks decamped for the CUPCAKE TRAILER across the street and I came home, ostensibly to finish washing the windows but…mmmm…bellini and egg belly…perhaps a nap, first.
When we were leaving the restaurant, a woman at the next table looked at me and said, “Is your name Laura?” and I said “Yes.” Then she asked me if I used to live in Chicago and I said, yes…and I stared at her, trying to figure out who the hell she was…then she told me she used to cut my hair and oh my God yes, she did. A long, long time ago. Way long. Back in my punk rock youth. I haven’t seen this woman since the early 1980’s and I damn sure would not have recognized her. I asked her how she knew it was me and she said “You look almost exactly the same!!” Well, yes, except for the wrinkles and flab, I suppose I do. Anyhow, she lives in Houston now. How very random.
I think I need coffee, then a nap. I am kind of wishing I had something else to do this afternoon. Something of a social nature. But in order for that to happen I would have to have some actual friends, so napping and housework it is.
No really, just look:
Mystery bro. forwarded this link to the 2008 BULWER-LYTTON FICTION CONTEST RESULTS . Some of them are hilarious – one of my favorites:
Joanne watched her fellow passengers – a wizened man reading about alchemy; an oversized bearded man-child; a haunted, bespectacled young man with a scar; and a gaggle of private school children who chatted ceaselessly about Latin and flying around the hockey pitch and the two-faced teacher who they thought was a witch – there was a story here, she decided.
Not much to report this morning. I’m sitting here trying to decide if I feel like driving downtown for a pre-work lunch at ENOTECA, wondering if I feel like taking a solo roadtrip tomorrow, thinking I should call YOU and see what you’re up to this weekend, wishing my friend would get in touch with me to firm up plans for our NYC trip next week, blah blah blah.
Mystery story has stalled out again and I’m about ready to say fuck it and write the thing without the participation of the major interviewee. I’m afraid if I wait too long the story will get ripped out from under me. The interviewee is not the most trustworthy person and I’m fearful that she’s stalling me while she tries to sell her story elsewhere. Again, I say blah. BLAH, America.
Did you watch/listen to Obama last night? What did you think? I think he did well but I was expecting something a little…meaner. Get mean, Obama! And as for the other side: I’m sorry to be so petty, but what’s with the hair, SARAH PALIN? Eek.
Happy birthday today to TEMPLE GRANDIN. If you haven’t read her books, I highly recommend them.
Weird tidbit from yesterday: The charges and I were playing on the train table when younger charge, out of nowhere, said to me, “Laura? I am going to call you Lar.” Which is what my dad used to call me.
Okay, this is about as pointless an entry as I’ve written, so bye. Happy long weekend everyone.
Older charge, glancing at the newspaper on the kitchen table: Is Barack Obama going to be president?
Me: I hope so.
OC: Me, too.
Me: Why’s that?
OC: I like his ears.
Me: And he isn’t an out-of-touch old white dude, either.
Okay, the last line wasn’t uttered out loud but, oy. Is it really possible that this country is stupid enough to elect John McCain? I hope not. Enough is enough. Vote for the ears, people.
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I made the mistake of shopping while hungry today and bought a bag of dill-pickle-flavored cashews that are surprisingly…well…not as gross as they may sound. They’re T@rg3t’s in-house snack brand, if anyone wants to seek some out.
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Irritation of the day: For the past two years, I’ve gotten a ticket for having an expired inspection sticker on my car. (I usually space it out because A) there is no mailed reminder from the state and B) the sticker comes up at a different time of year than my registration, for which the states does send a reminder.) Determined not to have that happen again this year, I took my car in for some routine maintenance and its yearly inspection and my mechanic, who I love, accidentally disconnected something that made the check engine light come on during the emissions test, which meant they had to fail the car. They didn’t charge me for the inspection and the guy was so embarrassed he gave me a 10% discount on my other services but…blah. Now I have to drive the car for 80-100 miles in order for whatever “unset” to reset and get it tested again. And my sticker expires this weekend so I will probably be getting my yearly ticket after all.
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In other news, a skunk has apparently set up house under our porch and I am praying that Stevie doesn’t go after it in some reverse-Pepe LePew scenario…or in an attempt to eat its young. He’s not a stupid cat but he is very territorial.
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DHL update: still no pants. And when I called them today (Day Three, for those keeping track), the woman I spoke with didn’t have the updated information from yesterday. I barely refrained from telling her off. At this point, they can just send the stupid pants back. It’s not worth the hassle of trying to have them delivered.
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And on that note, I am going to go eat some dinner and listen to the man with the nice ears.
Here, yours can be, too:
Older charge is very excited by the fact that he gets to eat lunch in his school’s cafeteria. He has the option of brown-bagging or purchasing his lunch. Thus far, he has been brown-bagging it. After school today, we had this conversation:
OC: Laura, did you know if you buy your lunch at school you can have whatever you want?
Me: Yes.
OC: So I could just buy cookies and eat those.
Me: You could…
OC: I like to bring my lunch though.
Me: Well, you do have that awesome lunchbox…
OC: And I can order chocolate milk every day so that’s good.
Me: Yes…
OC: And Laura, they have the best invention for eating at our cafeteria. We can get utensils if we need them and do you know what I got all three days?
Me: No, what?.
OC: (leans in, as if conveying a great secret): It’s something called a spork. It is half spoon, half fork. Can you even believe that?
Me: NO!
OC: Yes. I get one every day to use for eating my cantaloupe chunks.
Me: Do you spoon them or fork them?
OC: (Looking at me as if I am the dumbest person he’s ever encountered) Laura, I spork them. I spoon them onto my plate, then I fork them. That’s what you do with a spork because it’s both things.
Me: Ohhhh….
OC: Kindergarten is so, so good.
Also on his mind today: Absolute outrage that he and his classmates have to do quiet time every day “on mats…like we’re babies!”. The unmitigated gall of some people.
That’s about it. S. is off catering an event tonight and I am sitting here, fielding phone calls from the world’s most inept DHL driver, who has now failed to find our house for two days in a row. He called yesterday and argued with me about our address -”GPS says there’s no such address!” – Oh but there is, Blanche, there is! Our street technically starts north and east of here, then is broken up by a subdivision and I think that’s what’s confusing him. I gave very detailed, specific instructions (again) to his dispatcher about a half-hour ago. All this for a pair of clearance Ann Taylor pants I probably don’t need anyway. Blah.
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You Are Comic Sans |
 You are a nothing but a big goofball. You’re quite playful and fun! You’re widely known for your zany personality and your vivacious attitude. To say that you stand out in a crowd would be a definite understatement. |
I was loading up my car at the laundromat this morning when a guy walked up to me and said, in a sarcastic tone, “I like the way you park!”. Um… I had backed into a spot because it’s easier to load and unload that way. I wasn’t blocking anything, wasn’t taking up more than one spot…I couldn’t figure out what his problem was so I ignored him and continued loading the car. He repeated himself and stood there, glaring at me. Again, I said nothing. Then he yelled, “Don’t you speak English, bitch?” to which I said, “Yes, but unfortunately for you I don’t speak crazy, you asshole.” And with that I got in my car and drove off. Ahh…made me nostalgic for Chicago, I tells ya.
From there it was on to the bank (uneventful) and then over to Central Market where some hippie doofus tried to engage me in conversation about my choice of coffee (Ruta Maya – very delicious – if anyone wants to try it let me know and I’ll send you a bag). He had some rant about Ruta Maya’s hiring practices and I finally dismissed him by saying, “I really don’t care.” Because I didn’t. Ack. Go away, crazy people! I’m not nice or patient. You will be sorry you spoke to me. Run far! Run fast!
I’d categorize yesterday’s return to work as barely contained madness. The kids were totally squirrelly, older charge was pissed that he had to share me with his brother “I thought you were coming here to play with only ME!” and it was generally a chaotic (but fun) afternoon. For reasons he could not explain when asked, older charge spent much of the time randomly shouting “Let’s party!” and singing some off-the-cuff tune about butts and pooping and diapers and underpants. Good times.
And now, I must eat my delicious Greek salad and continue on with my chores for the day. Tally to the ho, America.
Which means that our normally quiet two-lane road is backed up from the corner to past our driveway (roughly a half-mile). Yay. A major cross-town thoroughfare dead-ends about a mile south of us and our street is one of two options to connect through to the new school. In about five years, the major thoroughfare will be extended through the old ranch lands to our south but until then, we have to deal with the traffic. It’s not bad for me because I don’t have to leave early but S. sat in the driveway for a while before someone let him out this morning. Happy Monday.
Last night was filled with variations of my most common anxiety dream, in which circumstance or weakness of will has led me back to working in an office job. Last night I took a job in a p.r. office and then while on an errand to another, that office tried to hire me. Throughout the dream I kept trying to think of ways to quit. I am happy to be going back to my little part-time gig but…something obviously is bugging me about it. What, I am not entirely sure.
Yesterday was spent doing a lot of domestic work, including altering two pairs of pants Since hemming is about the only sewing task I ever mastered (probably because I have to hem almost every pair of pants I buy), this wasn’t a particularly hard task. Another job was finishing up some yard work S. and I had started Saturday. I was pulling vines out of our honeysuckle bush and after one particularly hard yank, a large swarm of wasps flew up and out – and luckily – away from me. Yikes. Upon closer inspection, I found three large wasp nests in the back of the honeysuckle and two smaller satellite nests between the screens and windows of S.’s office.
Another lingering task I knocked out this weekend was clearing files off my computer, tweaking my iToons and various other computer-related stuff. I finally ordered an external hard drive – I’ve been backing up/storing various components of stories on mini-drives and that just seems inefficient. I am still primarily computer illiterate so any time I think I need a new accessory, it requires a huge research and learning process for me. Blah.
For the writers out there: Do you compose on a keyboard or by hand? I’ve never gotten away from, at the very least, the handwritten notes/first draft. I think it’s because that’s how I learned to write and because I like the physical sensation of pen on paper. (A pleasure I thought I might be alone in until I read THIS BOOK, which not only waxes poetic about writing by hand, but encourages it. Thanks, Lynda!) That said, I have to confess that what appears on this blog almost always flows directly from my head to the keypad without any editing, news that A) Probably doesn’t seem too surprising a revelation and B) should give you some idea of how shitty a writer I am when I compose on a keyboard rather than by hand. Any cleanup is done after I post and re-read.
And speaking of writing, I have to go review some notes and research on the mystery story, so off I go.
First: What a good pup!
Second: Enjoy hell, non-human.
Third: Really? Joe Biden? The plagiarist?
So…what else. I slept until 11am today. It’ s unusual for me to sleep past 7:30 so I didn’t so much wake up at 11 as I bolted out of bed in a groggy panic. I am still trying to shake off the weird dream I was having when I woke up, in which I was shopping for cat-eyed glasses with one of my aunts and watching people flying around overhead on construction cranes.
I am feeling quite anxious and put out today, for no tangible reason. I will risk the private and public eye-rolls and admit that I think part of the cause is my impending return to work. Yes, I know, 15 hours a week hardly constitutes a job but I have gotten very used to my free time and, well, it will be an adjustment. I am still looking forward to it but it will definitely create an outer-driven element to my schedule. Not necessarily a bad thing, I suppose. So yeah, waah-waah. Poor put-upon me. Feel my pain, America.
We’ve had enough rain in the past week that our brown yard is sprouting some green patches. The overall look is still that of…lawn alopecia. There are spots where 6-8 in. tufts of green are pushing upward and other deep, cracked brown spots. There are also quite a few burial mounds – Stevie has taken pity on us and has been leaving his overnight kills in the yard rather than on the porch. What this means, though, is that the ants quickly chew up the grass around the little carcasses and build a mound over them while dessicating the bodies. It’s like a little CSI: Wild Kingdom out there.
It’s almost 1 and all I’ve accomplished today is a phone call, two cups of coffee and this so I think I better go try to carpe diem before it completely vanishes.
