You should see this Monster Weed we have growing next to our front porch. We had a five year old stand next to it; the weed was taller than the five year old and looked like it was threatening to eat her alive. This weed, it provides enough shade to picnic under. I can't imagine how deep the roots must go down; even if we wanted to tear the thing out, I don't think we could. I think we would rock the house's foundation in our attempt to dig it up, possibly splitting our living room in two.
Speaking of our living room, you should see the color red we painted it. I think it's called "We're Not Fucking Around" Red. Our walls look like they belong in a super bloody, super evil, super awesome slasher flick. I have to tell you, I was pretty nervous when we lifted the lid off the gallon. Believe it or not, it looks pretty freaking awesome. So now we have a red living room, an orangey-yellow family room, and a purple loft. We are never going to be able to sell this house when it's time to go. Between our bold, not-for-everyone color choices and the Monster Weed, this house is undeniably... something else.
Jun 28, 2008
Jun 23, 2008
Death Is Almost Fun These Days
by George Carlin, page 172 of "Brain Droppings"
Seems to me it wasn't long ago that when an old person died the undertaker put him in a coffin, and you sent flowers to the funeral home where the mortician held the wake. Then, after the funeral, they put him in a hearse and drove him to the cemetery where they buried his body in a grave.
Now when a senior citizen passes away, he is placed in a burial container, and you send floral tributes to the slumber room where the grief therapist supervises the viewing. After the memorial service, the funeral coach transports the departed to the garden of remembrance, where his earthly remains are interred in their final resting place.
RIP, George Carlin. Thank you for making me laugh and for making me buy "Brain Droppings" not once, but three times- twice for myself and once as a gift. I know you were up in years- I mean, old- and it was your time to go- I mean, die- but it hit me kind of hard today to see your face on MSN.com with the word "legacy" in fancy white letters above your head. Something tells me you would have thought that the MSN thing was horseshit. Nonetheless, a moment of silence.
Thank you.
Jun 20, 2008
Chris likes to say that our marriage will end in murder-suicide. He's still not clear, however, on which one of us will do what. I told this to my friend Reb, and he said, "Don't worry, I see you snapping a lot sooner than Chris does." And, strangely, it was one of the nicest, most comforting remarks that anybody has ever made to me.
Jun 19, 2008
1. X-Ray Technician. Pros: Get to take X-rays. Cons: Two years of classes, radiation issues, might grow tumors.
2. Private Dick. Pros: Get to solve crimes. Cons: Need to buy trench coat, not terribly realistic.
3. Librarian. Pros: I know the Dewey Decimal System. Cons: Too quiet, would go insane, not good with stamps.
4. Magazine Editor. Pros: Would likely love it. Cons: Might have to work for a golf magazine.
5. Teacher. Pros: Summers off, snow days. Cons: Need certificate, hate kids.
6. Car Salesperson. Pros: Commission. Cons: Commission.
7. Baker. Pros: Like cupcakes. Cons: Can't bake.
8. Architect. Pros: Like art. Cons: Bad at math and measuring.
9. Retail Manager. Pros: None. Cons: Hours, dislike people.
10. Different Banking Position. Pros: Know banking. Cons: ARGH!!!!!
11. Mary Kay Representative. Pros: ? Cons: Never really learned the ins and outs of make-up, dislike women.
12. Administrative Assistant. Pros: Used to being an assistant, excellent typist. Cons: Might have to sleep with much older man.
13. Web Designer. Pros: Work in robe. Cons: Might be too stupid, no degree, resume not in order.
14. Soap Opera Writer. Pros: Fan of inappropriate couplings. Cons: Getting foot in door might prove difficult.
15. Accountant. Pros: Decent money. Cons: Not qualified, don't know Excel.
16. Fashion Designer. Pros: Might be like "Fashion Plates" game I played as kid, loads of fun. Cons: I can't improve on boot leg jeans, turtleneck, boots.
17. Senator. Pros: If crooked, could make bank. Cons: Need platform, campaign manager, funds, pantsuit.
18. Caterer. Pros: Like food. Cons: Can't cook for more than six people at one time. Pros: Used to be four. Cons: Can't always serve casseroles.
19. Astronaut. Pros: How fucking awesome. Cons: Troubles upon re-entering atmosphere, who pays for space suit?
20. Stewardess. Pros: Get to travel. Cons: Have to travel.
21. Radio DJ. Pros: Get to pick music. Cons: Might quickly run out of things to say.
22. City Planner. Pros: Like Sim City. Cons: Have no fucking clue.
23. Journalist. Pros: Break big story, get to go on CNN. Cons: Not comfortable with idea of being on CNN.
24. Inventor. Pros: Just need one good idea. Cons: Don't know how to improve on DVR and cheese and crackers.
25. Waitress. Pros: Would make tips, friends with the regulars. Cons: Can't balance tray, not good at accepting criticism.
2. Private Dick. Pros: Get to solve crimes. Cons: Need to buy trench coat, not terribly realistic.
3. Librarian. Pros: I know the Dewey Decimal System. Cons: Too quiet, would go insane, not good with stamps.
4. Magazine Editor. Pros: Would likely love it. Cons: Might have to work for a golf magazine.
5. Teacher. Pros: Summers off, snow days. Cons: Need certificate, hate kids.
6. Car Salesperson. Pros: Commission. Cons: Commission.
7. Baker. Pros: Like cupcakes. Cons: Can't bake.
8. Architect. Pros: Like art. Cons: Bad at math and measuring.
9. Retail Manager. Pros: None. Cons: Hours, dislike people.
10. Different Banking Position. Pros: Know banking. Cons: ARGH!!!!!
11. Mary Kay Representative. Pros: ? Cons: Never really learned the ins and outs of make-up, dislike women.
12. Administrative Assistant. Pros: Used to being an assistant, excellent typist. Cons: Might have to sleep with much older man.
13. Web Designer. Pros: Work in robe. Cons: Might be too stupid, no degree, resume not in order.
14. Soap Opera Writer. Pros: Fan of inappropriate couplings. Cons: Getting foot in door might prove difficult.
15. Accountant. Pros: Decent money. Cons: Not qualified, don't know Excel.
16. Fashion Designer. Pros: Might be like "Fashion Plates" game I played as kid, loads of fun. Cons: I can't improve on boot leg jeans, turtleneck, boots.
17. Senator. Pros: If crooked, could make bank. Cons: Need platform, campaign manager, funds, pantsuit.
18. Caterer. Pros: Like food. Cons: Can't cook for more than six people at one time. Pros: Used to be four. Cons: Can't always serve casseroles.
19. Astronaut. Pros: How fucking awesome. Cons: Troubles upon re-entering atmosphere, who pays for space suit?
20. Stewardess. Pros: Get to travel. Cons: Have to travel.
21. Radio DJ. Pros: Get to pick music. Cons: Might quickly run out of things to say.
22. City Planner. Pros: Like Sim City. Cons: Have no fucking clue.
23. Journalist. Pros: Break big story, get to go on CNN. Cons: Not comfortable with idea of being on CNN.
24. Inventor. Pros: Just need one good idea. Cons: Don't know how to improve on DVR and cheese and crackers.
25. Waitress. Pros: Would make tips, friends with the regulars. Cons: Can't balance tray, not good at accepting criticism.
Jun 18, 2008
I don't know, folks, the commute is starting to get to me. Gigi told me to think of my hour long car rides (on good days, it's only 45 minutes, on bad days it can be 90 [!]) as "me" time. As time to think my own thoughts, listen to my music, sip my coffee, and unwind. Guess what. I don't like spending my "me time" in stop and go traffic. I like to spend my "me time" immobile on the couch in underwear with a mouthful of cheese and crackers.
It sucks. And something has to give. If they would only widen a few key roads, I'd be golden, but they're not going to do that. The roads that I take are flanked by expensive houses, and roads never get widened by expensive houses. Oh, no, the wealthy won't have traffic cruising by at a cool 55. The wealthy don't approve of cruising.
And, what the heck is going on with this empty lot of land near my house that was supposed to become a Super Target? The other Super Target is 7.3 miles away. They were also supposed to build other things- restaurants, shops, maybe a bar, maybe a Hair Cuttery. But I don't see any progress. In fact, I see the opposite of progress. Where once there were trucks and men carrying blueprints, now there are only weeds and crumpled dreams.
Life in V-Town is lousy.
It sucks. And something has to give. If they would only widen a few key roads, I'd be golden, but they're not going to do that. The roads that I take are flanked by expensive houses, and roads never get widened by expensive houses. Oh, no, the wealthy won't have traffic cruising by at a cool 55. The wealthy don't approve of cruising.
And, what the heck is going on with this empty lot of land near my house that was supposed to become a Super Target? The other Super Target is 7.3 miles away. They were also supposed to build other things- restaurants, shops, maybe a bar, maybe a Hair Cuttery. But I don't see any progress. In fact, I see the opposite of progress. Where once there were trucks and men carrying blueprints, now there are only weeds and crumpled dreams.
Life in V-Town is lousy.
Jun 14, 2008
I've been thinking a lot about my parents' first house in Midlothian, the house that I spent the first six years of my life. It was brown when the bought it, back when they only had one dog, no children. Somewhere along the line, they painted the exterior pink as if to say, "That's it. We give up. Bring on the daughters."
It was a small house. If Chris and I had come across that house in our search to become homeowners, it would never have made the cut. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchen, one living room. It did have a basement, though, fully equipped with a bar. That's the only thing I remember about that basement, the bar with its black stools. I couldn't tell you if it was finished or unfinished; all I remember is the pattern of the vinyl countertop that covered the bar and how there it hosted a cool, pull chain lamp that said "BAR" on the bulb.
There are few other details I remember. My bedroom had a wall of faux plastic bricks that I used to trace with my finger at night while I trying to fall asleep. I remember where the little Christmas tree went in the living room, and where the air conditioner wall unit poked out of the plaster. The kitchen was yellow, and there were two big climbing trees in the backyard. There was also a tiny, screened in porch that I clearly remember playing Barbies in, using my dad's shoe as a Barbie car. One of my other friends recently brought up how she had used her dad's shoe as a Barbie car, too. It would probably blow me away how common that was in households where there wasn't enough money left over from the budget to buy Barbie a little pink convertible.
Some of my very distinct memories of life in the Midlothian house, aside from the faux bricks and the shoe car for Barbie, include:
- "Reading" illustrated bible stories in the back yard under one of the big trees. My mom was all about bible stories. As you can see, they didn't really take.
- Falling down the stairs. This happened all the time. I also used to walk into this one particular wall on a pretty regular basis. I remember once walking into the wall and my dad asking me how many fingers he was holding up. Then he held up the Seagram's bottle and said, "And what number is THIS?" It was seven. Seagram's Seven.
- Getting the Sesame Street magazine in the mail one day while my mother was asleep and deciding to work on a "project" on my own. Cut to twenty minutes later, glue all over the kitchen table, and my mother screaming at the top of her lungs.
- Eating raw hamburger meat out of the refrigerator. I can still taste it now, if I concentrate. My god, I loved raw meat.
- Witnessing a fight between my parents on Christmas Eve. I remember what dress I was wearing, and I remember that I was playing with my new yellow purse and fake make-up set when the whole thing started.
- Pretending I was a farmer. For some reason, this was a game that I used to play all the time by myself. I was a farmer, and I planted things, and then I collected my plants and started all over again. Lame.
- I feel like I remember climbing out of my crib, but that could have been Marcia, not me.
- I remember when Marcia came home from the hospital, though. To this day, I still don't know the logic behind this, but my parents kept my infant little sister in a cardboard box on the floor of the living room. The box was full of blankets, so I suppose it was comfortable. I remember peering at her in the box and wondering if she had been delivered that way by the mailman who sometimes brought us other things in boxes. Note to self: Ask parents about the box.
- Begging my dad to give me a surprise (I love surprises!). He'd say, "Okay. The surprise is, there is no surprise." And then I'd scream and beg and it would go on like this for a long time until finally he found a piece of candy somewhere and, tiredly, announced, "Here you go. Surprise."
- Glo-Worms. Hiding in the closet with Glo-Worms. Whatever happened to Glo-Worms?
And that's it, everything I remember about that house. I've been trying to remember more, but I can't. I've been wracking my brain trying to remember what the bathroom of that house looked like, just as a mental exercise. I can't, though. I can't remember it all. And that really, really bothers me for some reason. Because if I can't remember what an entire room looked like, who knows what else I can't remember?
It was a small house. If Chris and I had come across that house in our search to become homeowners, it would never have made the cut. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchen, one living room. It did have a basement, though, fully equipped with a bar. That's the only thing I remember about that basement, the bar with its black stools. I couldn't tell you if it was finished or unfinished; all I remember is the pattern of the vinyl countertop that covered the bar and how there it hosted a cool, pull chain lamp that said "BAR" on the bulb.
There are few other details I remember. My bedroom had a wall of faux plastic bricks that I used to trace with my finger at night while I trying to fall asleep. I remember where the little Christmas tree went in the living room, and where the air conditioner wall unit poked out of the plaster. The kitchen was yellow, and there were two big climbing trees in the backyard. There was also a tiny, screened in porch that I clearly remember playing Barbies in, using my dad's shoe as a Barbie car. One of my other friends recently brought up how she had used her dad's shoe as a Barbie car, too. It would probably blow me away how common that was in households where there wasn't enough money left over from the budget to buy Barbie a little pink convertible.
Some of my very distinct memories of life in the Midlothian house, aside from the faux bricks and the shoe car for Barbie, include:
- "Reading" illustrated bible stories in the back yard under one of the big trees. My mom was all about bible stories. As you can see, they didn't really take.
- Falling down the stairs. This happened all the time. I also used to walk into this one particular wall on a pretty regular basis. I remember once walking into the wall and my dad asking me how many fingers he was holding up. Then he held up the Seagram's bottle and said, "And what number is THIS?" It was seven. Seagram's Seven.
- Getting the Sesame Street magazine in the mail one day while my mother was asleep and deciding to work on a "project" on my own. Cut to twenty minutes later, glue all over the kitchen table, and my mother screaming at the top of her lungs.
- Eating raw hamburger meat out of the refrigerator. I can still taste it now, if I concentrate. My god, I loved raw meat.
- Witnessing a fight between my parents on Christmas Eve. I remember what dress I was wearing, and I remember that I was playing with my new yellow purse and fake make-up set when the whole thing started.
- Pretending I was a farmer. For some reason, this was a game that I used to play all the time by myself. I was a farmer, and I planted things, and then I collected my plants and started all over again. Lame.
- I feel like I remember climbing out of my crib, but that could have been Marcia, not me.
- I remember when Marcia came home from the hospital, though. To this day, I still don't know the logic behind this, but my parents kept my infant little sister in a cardboard box on the floor of the living room. The box was full of blankets, so I suppose it was comfortable. I remember peering at her in the box and wondering if she had been delivered that way by the mailman who sometimes brought us other things in boxes. Note to self: Ask parents about the box.
- Begging my dad to give me a surprise (I love surprises!). He'd say, "Okay. The surprise is, there is no surprise." And then I'd scream and beg and it would go on like this for a long time until finally he found a piece of candy somewhere and, tiredly, announced, "Here you go. Surprise."
- Glo-Worms. Hiding in the closet with Glo-Worms. Whatever happened to Glo-Worms?
And that's it, everything I remember about that house. I've been trying to remember more, but I can't. I've been wracking my brain trying to remember what the bathroom of that house looked like, just as a mental exercise. I can't, though. I can't remember it all. And that really, really bothers me for some reason. Because if I can't remember what an entire room looked like, who knows what else I can't remember?
Jun 13, 2008
Need to kill five hours? Consider it done at Super Target. My local Super Target embodies everything that is wrong with America and everything that is oh so deliciously right. From an awesome selection of groceries (I want to move to Archer Farms!) to great, cheap clothes and shoes to electronics and toys and furniture and a coffee shop and a Pizza Hut- my goodness, where does one know where to begin? Your best bet is to start at the corner with the coffee and the pizza and then work your way around the perimeters and spiral inwards until, at last, you're at the clearance rack in the juniors section. Last time I was there, I needed to check out TWICE just because I filled up one whole cart's worth before I'd even hit the grocery section! At first I was embarrassed, but then I thought- heck, this is SUPER TARGET! This must happen all the time! Cashiers are probably USED to checking out the same person more than once within a single afternoon! And I filled up my trunk, and then rented a U-Haul trailer, while filled with the best kind of pride. Patriotic Pride! Because only I, in conjunction with Super Target, can stimulate the economy and put this country back on the right path. Spend, spend, spend! Cheap goods everywhere! Two for one? How about six for three! I've got lot of storage space in my big, oversized American house! I can definitely eat this much within the next week if I really put my mind to it! How much for this piece of crap made in China? THAT'S IT? I already have one, but if that one breaks, I'll need a back-up.
Today at Super Target, I felt better about my life than I have IN A REALLY LONG TIME.
Today at Super Target, I felt better about my life than I have IN A REALLY LONG TIME.
Jun 11, 2008
Once every few months, Chris wrenches his neck so badly that he has to walk around with his head tilted to the side. He's unable to turn it, unable to look in any direction but due southwest, but still he manages to go on with his life, driving a car, eating cheese, playing computer games, carefully walking up and down the stairs.
Yesterday, I placed my hands on the side of his face and pretended that I was going to snap his head in a direction that would be normal for most people but incredibly painful for Chris. He didn't like that, the pretending. So he decided to pretend to hit me in the head with one of those splatter screens that you use over sautee pans- you know the ones, it's basically netting with a sharp metal border. He swung it at me, but for some reason I didn't duck and he didn't slow it down, and he clocked me in the head pretty good with the metal part. Three things formed immediately: a bump on the side of my head, tears in both of my eyes, and so much shame and guilt in the center of Chris' soul.
Chris apologized profusely, holding me and saying how it was an accident, et cetera. I know what you're thinking: it wasn't an accident. Have you met me? If I were Chris, I might hit me with a kitchen object, too. But, no, he was genuinely upset about this. So upset that when I went upstairs to wash my face and check my head for blood, he proceeded to grab the splatter screen and knock himself on the side of the head, just so he would know how much it hurt. And, I quote, so he could "empathize."
When I came back downstairs, he told me this. I replied, "Well, why would you do that when I wasn't around to witness it?" So, he picked up the splatter screen again and proceeded to knock it into the side of his head again, the good side that's exposed despite the wrench in his neck. And I don't know, it gave me a sort of sick pleasure to see him do this, and instantly I felt a little better about the whole thing. I considered asking him if I could take the splatter screen and hit him a few times, but I knew that if I did, I might seriously harm him, just for kicks. And the truth of the matter is that we love each other, and despite what it might look like, we really don't want each other to be hurt.
Yesterday, I placed my hands on the side of his face and pretended that I was going to snap his head in a direction that would be normal for most people but incredibly painful for Chris. He didn't like that, the pretending. So he decided to pretend to hit me in the head with one of those splatter screens that you use over sautee pans- you know the ones, it's basically netting with a sharp metal border. He swung it at me, but for some reason I didn't duck and he didn't slow it down, and he clocked me in the head pretty good with the metal part. Three things formed immediately: a bump on the side of my head, tears in both of my eyes, and so much shame and guilt in the center of Chris' soul.
Chris apologized profusely, holding me and saying how it was an accident, et cetera. I know what you're thinking: it wasn't an accident. Have you met me? If I were Chris, I might hit me with a kitchen object, too. But, no, he was genuinely upset about this. So upset that when I went upstairs to wash my face and check my head for blood, he proceeded to grab the splatter screen and knock himself on the side of the head, just so he would know how much it hurt. And, I quote, so he could "empathize."
When I came back downstairs, he told me this. I replied, "Well, why would you do that when I wasn't around to witness it?" So, he picked up the splatter screen again and proceeded to knock it into the side of his head again, the good side that's exposed despite the wrench in his neck. And I don't know, it gave me a sort of sick pleasure to see him do this, and instantly I felt a little better about the whole thing. I considered asking him if I could take the splatter screen and hit him a few times, but I knew that if I did, I might seriously harm him, just for kicks. And the truth of the matter is that we love each other, and despite what it might look like, we really don't want each other to be hurt.
Jun 5, 2008
This week sucks! I've been super crabby, and today my butt hurts for some reason. Not the internal parts, the cheeks. That's just the icing on the cake, that and the fact that I had to drive to work with one eye closed due to contact issues.
I can't wait to go home, settle on the couch with a bottle of wine, and watch Season Three of Weeds. The fact that the sun is shining right now is really irritating. I want it to be dreary and gloomy; I want it to be perfect TV weather. I've been looking forward to wine and television since I was able to open my second eye this morning.
That's it. Smell ya!
I can't wait to go home, settle on the couch with a bottle of wine, and watch Season Three of Weeds. The fact that the sun is shining right now is really irritating. I want it to be dreary and gloomy; I want it to be perfect TV weather. I've been looking forward to wine and television since I was able to open my second eye this morning.
That's it. Smell ya!
Jun 4, 2008
The "face" of my new computer is Ubuntu. Here's their philosophy:
I'm really digging this whole Linux thing, even if I had to trade iTunes for Amarok, PhotoShop for Gimp, and Word for Open Office. It's like computing in Bizarro World. Anyway, everything seems to be working really well, and I like that Ubuntu is African for:
What a nice sentiment in general, not just for freeware. I think Windows is Seattlean for:
- Every computer user should have the freedom to download, run, copy, distribute, study, share, change and improve their software for any purpose, without paying licensing fees.
- Every computer user should be able to use their software in the language of their choice.
- Every computer user should be given every opportunity to use software, even if they work under a disability.
I'm really digging this whole Linux thing, even if I had to trade iTunes for Amarok, PhotoShop for Gimp, and Word for Open Office. It's like computing in Bizarro World. Anyway, everything seems to be working really well, and I like that Ubuntu is African for:
I am what I am because of who we all are.
What a nice sentiment in general, not just for freeware. I think Windows is Seattlean for:
Do you know how much it would have cost to fix your computer, Jackie, if Chris didn't get this whole Linux idea into his disheveled, yet lovable head? Don't you love free stuff?!Anyway, maybe you should support them, donate a couple bucks or something. I'm going to give this whole things a few months, just to be safe, and then maybe I'll send a card.
Jun 2, 2008
In one weekend, the following household items crapped out and died:
- our lawn mower.
- my computer.
We bought a new lawn mower at the Home Depot. I wanted Chris to get the electric one, but he said something about how electricity is for sissies. Our main problem now is what to do with the old lawn mower. We are strongly considering taking it out in the middle of the night and rolling it into a lake. Does that make us bad people? We need the space in our garage, and we're not good at disposing of large items.
My computer is a whole other can of worms. Chris has been working all evening (bless him) on seeing if he can salvage my data, but it looks like it may be a lost cause. I should probably be more concerned about losing photos, Word documents, MP3s, et cetera than I actually am, but, eh. Clean slates aren't necessarily bad things. Anyway, he's going to do his thing and then put Linux on my computer. He's super excited about it because he hates Windows. Me, I'm a little wary, but I like the idea of Freeware and, hey, I'll give it a shot. My only issue is whether or not I can still play my Nancy Drew games using Linux. Those Nancy Drew games (ages 12 to ADULT) are loads of fun. I always wanted to be a girl detective. Too bad I had to settle on being a lady dimwit.
- our lawn mower.
- my computer.
We bought a new lawn mower at the Home Depot. I wanted Chris to get the electric one, but he said something about how electricity is for sissies. Our main problem now is what to do with the old lawn mower. We are strongly considering taking it out in the middle of the night and rolling it into a lake. Does that make us bad people? We need the space in our garage, and we're not good at disposing of large items.
My computer is a whole other can of worms. Chris has been working all evening (bless him) on seeing if he can salvage my data, but it looks like it may be a lost cause. I should probably be more concerned about losing photos, Word documents, MP3s, et cetera than I actually am, but, eh. Clean slates aren't necessarily bad things. Anyway, he's going to do his thing and then put Linux on my computer. He's super excited about it because he hates Windows. Me, I'm a little wary, but I like the idea of Freeware and, hey, I'll give it a shot. My only issue is whether or not I can still play my Nancy Drew games using Linux. Those Nancy Drew games (ages 12 to ADULT) are loads of fun. I always wanted to be a girl detective. Too bad I had to settle on being a lady dimwit.
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