'Cause We're Empty as the Desert as We Move From West to East

I think tonight I'll keep with the years ending with a 6 for my "year in review post". So, let's examine 1986, why don't we? Come on, it will be fun. I lived in San Francisco for most of it. This here picture is of me and my friend Laurie. She was the one who talked me into moving to California in the first place.

1986

General: I started 1986 in Big Bear Lake, Ca. I moved to San Francisco at the end of January and stayed until the end of December, when I moved back to Iowa City. If you haven't guessed, this was smack dab in the middle of my confused/lost years.

Age: I was twenty at the beginning of 1986 and turned twenty-one in July.

Music: I worked a lot and was subject to the New Agey/ Adult Contemporary stuff that was shoved down everyone's throats in nicer restaurants. So, I heard a lot of Windham Hill and Deep Breakfast stuff as well as, Steve Winwood, Dire Straits, Sade, Sting and in the Fall, Paul Simon. At the beginning of the year, I worked at a shoe store in Berkeley, so I was forced to suffer through The Bangles, Falco, The Miami Sound Machine and The Pet Shop Boys, in very short rotation and ad nauseum. Ouch. My roommates were hippies, and at home I heard a lot of The Dead, and Bob Marley, and Joni Mitchell-girlie music. In June, my boyfriend (who turned 21 one month before me) went to see Camper Van Beethoven at a club and was totally hooked. They were probably the closest I came to theme music that year.

TV: I didn't own a television back then, but other people talked to me about their favorite shows. I had to schedule some of the high school girls at the shoe store to get off at eight so they could make it home to watch Miami Vice.

Movies: Because I was single and made tips, I had a lot of disposal income, and dispose of it, I did. Here are a few of the movies I saw that year: Blue Velvet, Peggy Sue Got Married, A Room With a View, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Hoosiers, Nine and a Half Weeks, Amadeus, The Mosquito Coast, Soul Man, and Absolute Beginners. Here are some movies I managed to avoid that year, but may or may not have caught later on video: Stand By Me, Transformers: The Movie, Under the Cherry Moon, Band of the Hand, Top Gun, Platoon, Pretty in Pink and Howard the Duck.

Books: As far as I remember, I read a lot of Margaret Atwood, Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, Margurite Duras, Jean Rhys, Henry Miller, Italo Calvino and probably overdid the Beat stuff. Because my roommate was going to the New School to study poetry, I picked up a lot of her school books.

What I Wanted to Be When I Grew-Up: That was what I was trying to figure out back then. At the time, I kept a drawing, every day and a dream journal. Maybe I thought I'd be a professional journal keeper. Too bad they didn't have blogs back then. Or maybe it's just as well. It's pretty hard for me to stomach my journals from that time. I threw most of them away when I moved to L.A. in 1988.

Winter: The Winter of 1986 sucked ass for me. I moved to San Francisco with my boyfriend and at first, I lived in his crazy mother's house and worked at that horrible shoe store. By March, I was ready to take-off and go where? I had no idea, so I actually stayed and fixed things...For a while.

Spring: In the Spring I started working at the Courtyard Cafe on 24th Street in San Francisco. I moved in with an English girl named Susan. We shared a bedroom in a house with a bunch of other Europeans all living here illegally and desperately trying to get Green Cards. We lived on 24th and Harrison, right by the projects, where even little kids were in bicycle riding gangs. I moved out after I woke up one night to Susan and some guy she had picked-up at a bar, snorting coke off a mirror right next to my bed. It was way too eighties for me.

Summer: I moved in with two girls I worked with in a flat on Randall Street, just up from Church Street, by Day Park. It was fine at first, but then the one who was dating the drummer from American Music Company kept getting snottier and snottier and finally got to the point where she was so much better than us, that she had to move into a nicer place. She was replaced by a wonderful woman who was studying accupuncture. Like I said, they were hippies. We smoked a lot of pot, ate a bunch of mushrooms and made big communal dinners with food we bought at the Noe Valley Community Store. I can't imagine a better way to turn twenty-one.

Fall: I thought I'd try my hand at getting my shit together and went to college again. I was already a California resident, so I could go to Community College for $50 a semester. Even I could afford to fuck-up for that much money. My boyfriend decided he needed to move to the Seattle area where his dad lived and I decided not to go with him this time. He lasted about a month and a half before he came back. In that time, I made up my mind to move to Iowa. He thought he might follow me, but since he'd never been off the West Coast in his life, I didn't think he'd like it. I quit the Courtyard Cafe and worked as a bartender at Macy's Department Store, instead. I finished my semester with all A's and one B, because I went to a Dead Show (the first one after Jerry Garcia's diabetic coma) the night before the final in that one class, and missed it altogether. My professor let me take it later, but dropped me a grade.

Eat Your Words But Don't Go Hungry

Here is Stinky with one of her friends in Des Moines last week for the girls state basketball tournament.

My friends who have boys in junior high, always complain about how it's so hard to talk to their sons. They say most of their questions are met with one word answers or grunts. How wonderful would that be? Yeah, yeah, I know it's good that my daughters feel comfortable enough to talk to me about everything. But every now and then, I fantasize about having a boy who would say, "Nothing," when I asked him what was wrong.

On Saturday afternoon I was transporting what seemed like 150, but was really closer to five kids from one destination to another. There were a couple of boys in the car, and they totally shattered my illusions. They talked more than the girls. (which I honestly, had no idea was even possible) So, here's my version of overheard in the backseat of a 1999 pine green Subaru station wagon:

Teen Boy: Last summer all we did was play Halo. It was so boring, and my friends were so mean to me. One time I washed with some soap my mom got at Bath and Body Works and the guys kept telling me how pretty I smelled. They just kept flipping me shit and they wouldn't stop, so I slapped one of them. He turned around and slugged me, but not very hard because he didn't want to lose his game. So, then I said, hey watch it, you almost died and when he turned to pay attention to his game, I punched him in the face really hard. He was so mad. He told me that if I didn't smell so good, he would have fuckin' killed me.

At this point, I think I should maybe say something, but I'm not sure what. Plus, there's a sixth grade kid jogging just ahead of me on the sidewalk. He's wearing an iPod and he looks all kinds of spaced-out, so I pay a little more attention than I normally would have. Sure as shit, he turns without looking, and runs right in front of my car in the middle of the street. If I hadn't been watching him, I would have hit the poor dumb kid for sure. All of us in the car are a little shaken. I would have felt horrible, if I had hit him, which is why I'm irrationally pissed-off at him

Teen Girl: I know that kid. He used to go out with a girl I know.

Me: Has he always smoked crack?

Teen Girl: What?

Me: Nothing.

Teen Boy: Dude. What a dick. We should just go back there and all kick his ass.

Me: (Just in my head) That would be awesome. I'd feel so much better about almost, accidentally, hurting someone, by taking all the power back and hurting him on purpose.

Me: (Aloud this time) Although it sounds tempting, how about we just get you all home safely? Is that your house there, with the basketball hoop in the driveway?

Sometimes it's no fun to be the parent.

Where Everything Was as Fresh as the Bright Blue Sky

This was my alley a little bit earlier. Now, almost all the snow has melted. Bring on Spring.

Remember how on Friday I said we could check and see if I ended up being lame or not this weekend? Well, it's time to add it all up. Are you ready?

1. On Friday I went to Stinky's talent show. I know, I already talked about the scary kids and the hormones, but I forgot to tell you the best part. Two girls did a tap dance routine to Guns and Roses', "Sweet Child O' Mine". How rich is that?

2. After the show, Coadster, Stinky and I went to the rec center to rent a space for Coadster's birthday party. We were able to get the Social Hall there for the 5th of May. There's a $100 deposit on it, so all the girls' talk of a cake fight was quickly squashed. Hey, anyone want to volunteer to be a bouncer? How fast are you reflexes when you see a 15 year old with a handful of cake?

3. When I put up the post on Friday, I had forgotten what happens when we hit a certain temperature - I get all kinds of energy and I don't even want to hibernate. That temperature must be about 50 degrees, because I was rarin' to go this weekend. I got my recycling done on Saturday along with a few other cleaning projects that I kindly won't go into on this here blog. If you've been having trouble sleeping lately, I'd be happy to e-mail you a detailed list of everything I cleaned, and it will be so mind numbingly boring, that it'll put you right out.

4. On Saturday night, I decided to go see a movie after all. I asked Coadster if she wanted to watch something, and she suggested that we see Zodiac. Stinky was going to see Ghost Rider with some friends, but they got confused about the time and missed their show and played hide-and-seek at Target while they waited for me and Coady to get out of our movie. I liked the movie a lot, but then again, I'm addicted to Cold Case Files, so I don't know if any normal person would find the length and the material a bit tedious.

5. I had originally planned to go home and read White Teeth, after the movie, but the whole snafu with the movie time, and the idea of Ale' and her friends playing hide-and-seek at Target, while Coadster and I were in the theater, made my head hurt. So, after I drove all the kids home for close to an hour, I wrote a very quick blog post and went to bed.

6. I lengthened my running route from four miles to six this weekend. I was tired for the last mile both days, but I didn't stop, even after a bird shit on my head on Sunday.

7. Running around town with bird shit in my hair, made me engage in deep philosophical thought. One of the things I wondered was, what happened to all that talk about the Avian Flu? Is it not a threat anymore, or did it just get overshadowed by other more important issues like Anna Nicole's death, Britney's melt-down and subsequent shaved head, and the diaper wearing astronaut?

8. Here are the things I didn't get done: Get my oil changed, read my book, wash my car and determine the paternity of Anna Nicole's daughter.

So, was I lame or was I not? I like to think that I was only a little bit lame.

If You Really Like it You Can Have the Rights

Hey kids,

I'm exhausted, so I won't be linking any of these blogs tonight, but I'll point you to my sidebar where you can click on the proper blogs. I want to congratulate Illiterati for being a finalist for the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award. There is more information on better written blogs like, Circle Jerk at the Square Dance and Earthgoat. Anyway, her book is called Icebergs, and you all should read it. I've been trying for months to buy a copy, but Prairie Lights keeps telling me it's on order and there are already several holds for it. One of these days, though...

I Don't Feel Tardy

The thing about getting off work early to go to Stinky's talent show, was that it took place at her junior high. In case you haven't been in a while, junior highs are scary places full of bad smells, tan colored lockers and feral hormones - lots and lots of hormones. If they wanted to, the hormones could all band together and take over the school. Fortunately, or unfortunately for us, hormones have no attention span and might be able to all rally together for a few minutes, before a totally hot hormone of the opposite sex came along or a really weird and slutty hormone of the same sex walked by, and they stopped conspiring to either ogle or talk a bunch of catty shit.


What was I writing about again? Oh yeah, the talent show. I have no pictures of Stinky and her friend singing, because I got there right when they started, and realized that Stinky's cousin had used up our memory card in order to take copious shots of herself looking pouty and alternately flashing gang signs, making the peace sign or flipping off the camera. Don't worry, I was able to delete all of those charming pics in time to photograph the male teaching assistants dressed in drag. Clearly, I have my priorities.

I was also smart enough to stand aside when the show was over, so as not to get trampled by the rabid, hormone filled beings fleeing the asylum on the Friday before Spring Break.

Swinging Down the Street So Fancy Free

Here's my weekend wish for you: May all the snow finally melt off of your patio furniture in the next two days.

Oh kids, the weekend's here and not a minute too soon. I could really use some extra time to waste. It's weird to think that both spring break and daylight savings time start this weekend. It still seems like February outside.

I really like it right now on Thursday night, before it all starts. I have tons of plans and fantasies about what I'll do with my weekend, and nothing to prove to me yet, that I might just putz around and not do anything all that amazing, after all. I have always been a big fan of potential.

I get off work at 2 tomorrow to see Stinky perform in her school talent show. Getting off early on a Friday is one of life's greatest gifts. After the show, Coadster and I are going around to see about renting a space to hold her fifteenth birthday party. I know, I said, no more teenage birthday parties ever, already. But what I meant to say was, no more poorly planned, held at my house, teenage birthday parties ever. Coadster will have her golden birthday this year. On the Mexican side of her family, a lot of her cousins have quincenearas for their fifteenth birthdays, but even if I had enough money for all of that, I think it's a little too ostentacious for my blood. Coadster is happy with our no frills birthday party - even if we don't have enough money to hire a DJ. I'm sure I'll do a great job. So, do the kids still listen to Motorhead these days?

On Saturday I am faced with the beautiful cunundrum of either contacting some friends to see if they want to catch a movie and/or get a beer after, or just staying home and reading the awesome book I just started. The book is, White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Of course, I'm only about forty pages in, and I know Illiterati had some problems with it, but, like this weekend, it feels so promising now. I'll let you all know later, whether me and my new book totally lamed-out, or if we both, surprisingly reached our full potential.

This is Your Night, Baby You've Got to be There

Here is a picture of a steamy tunnel in the snow. At least there isn't a train going through it.

Last year my neighbor/friend B. quit her job waiting tables at 126 and started working for Tait's Natural Foods, the new place downtown that didn't last very long. After about a month, B. decided she didn't want to be the cheese girl in town, so she quit that to begin her own house painting business, which she loves and is amazing at. I was also in my mid-thirties when I stopped working food service jobs, and the transition to a world where you actually have to work at maintaining a social life, can be awkward. Because of that, B. called me the other night to see if I wanted to join her and some others in a "ladies night" outing at 126. (we wouldn't be outing ladies so much, as going out with ladies in a purely platonic sense) I told her I thought I might, and I wasn't lying. I really thought I might.

At different times during the day today, I'd remember that I said I may go out, and I was okay with it. Even by the end of the day, when I was walking home from work, I thought, "You know, I might just join those ladies, tonight."

Then I went running and got a huge runner's high and came back all sweaty and was rocking my frizz halo. My house was warm and I had tostadas to eat and some killer guacamole I had just made. I also thought seriously about what going out with real live ladies might be like. It would be so much different than drinking PBR with my raucous girlfriends. These ladies were all moms from B.'s daughter's club swim team, so they probably had some money and talked about their homes in terms of square footage, and went on real vacations and had advanced degrees and could possibly be offended by dildo or blow job jokes. In fact, I may have almost nothing in common with actual ladies.

So, I stayed home. I know. Shut-up. I lamed-out, but I was so close to going out. For sure, the next time someone I know asks me to hang-out with them, I will totally go...At least, I'm pretty sure. I would seriously think about it, anyway.

And All That Remains is the Faces and the Names

Here's me in 1976. I had just moved to the Chicago area, but I was still wearing my Pueblo Dustdevils t-shirt from Arizona.

I know they keep saying it's going to warm up in the next couple of days, but we're not there yet and I don't want to write a bunch of blog posts (anymore) detailing how cranky it's making me. Last year, about this time, I did a bunch of posts on different places I visited or moved to, but this year, I thought I'd try a little experiment where I review different years of my life. I figured I'd start with the Bicentennial, because nothing is funnier than The Bicentennial.

1976

General: My mom died and we moved to Alsip, Illinois, (a suburb on the Southside of Chicago that was home to a giant, garbage can, looking water tower, painted red, white and blue for The Bicentennial) to live with my aunt and uncle at the end of 1975. So, 1976 was all about dealing with ch-ch-ch-changes.

Age: I was 10 when it started, but turned 11 on July 16th of that year.

Music: As with everything else, it was a big transitional year with music for me. I still liked cheesy songs like, "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" by Elton John and Kiki Dee, and "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot, but I was starting to get more into album and glam rock. I loved Heart when they first came out, and I remember writing "KISS", complete with the lightning bolts for s's, on the cover of my Little House on the Prairie book. My oldest sister was really into Fleetwood Mac, so I got to hear "Rhiannon" over and over and over.

TV: My taste in televsion shows was also changing. I was moving away from the sappy "back to nature" shows like The Waltons and watching things like the The Muppet Show and Wonder Woman. The cool thing about moving to Chicago was that they had VHF channels 32 and 44. Channel 44 had all the Superhero cartoons, and weird Japanese shows like, Speed Racer and Johnny Sokko. They also ran The Banana Splits which I loved. Even though, the run was almost over, I was still in love Randolph Mantooth from Emergency! Sigh.

Books: In 1976 I was just starting to read Judy Blume. I wouldn't get to her racier stuff until later in junior high. At the time, I was into, Deenie, Are You There God? It's Me Margaret. and Blubber. I met my first real best friend, Cindy Ruf, because we were both nerd girls and I told her she should read To Kill a Mockingbird, since it was my favorite book back then. She came back from the library all frustrated, because she searched and searched and couldn't find Tequila Mockingbird. I was also getting into biographies and read Gayle Sayres', I am Third and another one on Eleanor of Acquitaine.

What I Wanted to be When I Grew Up: My aspirations have never been realistic, and in 1976, I thought I'd grow up to be a famous singer. I wrote idiotic songs in my head and practiced singing them when I was alone walking the dog or working in the garden. Ouch.

Winter: During the winter of 1976, we went into the city to do all the legal work needed in order to make my aunt and uncle our legal guardians. They asked us if we wanted them to adopt us, and we all politely declined. I, as usual, went along with whatever my siblings said, and I'm so glad now.

Spring: Our school was pretty tough, and the cool guy in our class, Michael Smolik, hated my guts because I defended a girl he was making fun of for being ugly, on one of my first days of school. He would be the bane of my existence the whole time I lived in Alsip. Since we were both really fast runners, we raced down my street when he came by to deliver papers one day. He won, and it really pissed me off.

Russell Marcordes and some of his friends were bullying my brother the first few months we lived there. We were at a skating party at the roller rink in Oak Lawn, when they started to beat him up again. A couple of my aunts saw what was going on, and went off on them. I think my brother was kind of humiliated, but Russell and his cronies never bothered him again.

Summer: My brother became best friends with Cindy Ruf's brother, John and we all hung-out at the Ruf's house. Their grandparents did ceramics and had their studio in Cindy's garage, right where the ping pong table was. We used to annoy the hell out of her grandfather, who was originally from Mexico, and he would putz around the garage muttering, "You kids can go to hell," all day long.

Cindy and I also liked to lounge around in her family's pop-up trailer and write brilliant songs like,

I am so dumb.
It is pathetic I am dumb.
And I am glad to hear
that I am a big fat jerk.

Oh, how the talent oozed out of that trailer.

Fall: I cried for the first time, almost a year after my mom died. Kenny Kozlowski (who lived across the street from me) lost his dad to cancer and I finally cried for him and me at his dad's funeral. Kenny was kind of like a friend of mine back then. I once caught him playing red light/green light with a bunch of younger kids and never told any of our friends on him. He repaid me for my kindness, by coming over to my house with his friend, Vince Martinez and shoving snow in my face. My brother and my cousins retaliated, and we had the most, balls-out, kick-ass snowball fight I've ever experienced in my life.

Hold On 'Cause the Coldest Hasn't Thawed Yet

What a surprise, I'm showing another ice storm photo. My, but how the icy branches are both beautiful and dangerous all at the same time.

So, you know how it was all the way up in the thirties today, and there was just the littlest, tiniest, hint of Spring in the air? Well, it's making me rethink the whole hibernation thing I've been successfully working the last few months. Who knows? I might actually go outside other than to walk to work or go running. I know, it sounds a little scary, so I've prepared a list of things that could possibly happen, if I went out and tried to socialize. I'm not promising anything, mind you, I'm just entertaining the possibility.

1. I would have to leave my house.

2. I could have conversations with other men than I already know from work and they might sound so much different than this:

Guy at Work: Hey, pull my finger.

Me: Knock it off, loser. I'm not falling for that one again.

Guy at Work: Well, you can just bite me then.

Me: Ew. No. Gross.

Guy at Work: I don't blame you. I wouldn't bite me either.

I could also talk to men other than the ones I see out walking their dogs, and we might have different interactions than this:

Dog Walker Guy: (shortening his dog's leash) Boy, I bet it's not much fun running on all this ice, is it?

Me: Yeah. it's pretty tricky today

Both of Us: (Give each other a fake, polite laugh and move on.)

3. I might not have any idea what to say to a guy who doesn't ask me to either pull his finger or talk about treacherous sidewalks.

4. I would no longer have an excuse to wear jeans, the first thermal I pulled out of the hamper, and big man boots, or my winter running gear.

5. I may not know what else to wear.

6. There is a good possiblity that I will drink two beers and get all screechy, and talk too fast and too loud and forget to finish sentences, because I am so excited at the prospect of communicating with my actual peers, instead of thirteen year old girls or disgruntled cubicle dwellers, a generation older than me.

7. I might also have to find new friends - ones who are ignorant of my tendency for #5.

8. It could actually be just fine.

9. It could also suck, and send me running back to my lair for six more weeks.

You Got to Lose to Know How to Win

Here is a picture to prove to you that they really did perform an Aerosmith song for show choir. I'm sure that a bunch of Iowa high school kids wearing, matching outfits and flashing overly dramatic, jazz hands was exactly what Steven Tyler envisioned while he was writing it.

It might take me a while to get back into the groove of blogging again. I've been resting on lame-ass computer updates as blog posts for so long, I've forgotten what I used to write about before that. It's certainly not like I ever really do squat on any given day. With as much as I write on here, I keep arriving at the same conclusion - man, I talk a lot of shit for someone who doesn't ever do anything.

This weekend in particular, I had two whole days off, and my house is still a mess, I didn't take care of my recycling, get the oil changed in my car or even do my big grocery shopping for the week. What exactly did I do? Who the hell knows. On Friday I made a ton of Mexican food. It's kind of labor intensive, but I made more than enough for BK and me and the girls for the next week.

On Saturday, we did a lot of show choir preparation. Every time I deal with all the hair and make-up for Coadster, I remember why I'm not high maintenance - normally, I just couldn't be bothered. As you can see from her expression in the next photo, Coadster feels the same way.

I ran by BK's place and dropped off food and beer and grabbed my computer right before Coadster's show. The performance was a tad long, running at about two hours, but Coadster handled her solo just fine.

I slept almost twelve hours straight on Saturday night. I'm usually lucky if I get six or seven hours on any given night, but I woke up with a migraine, which explains it. It's also the excuse I'm using for not getting anything done today. Oh, and what the hell, I'll blame this tedious blog post on it too. Is there anything anyone else needs an excuse for? Did you forget to turn your library books back on time? Please feel free to blame it on my migraine. I'm really generous like that.

This Tuesday, Coadster has a mathletes competition in Des Moines. Because I'm going to win the mother of the year award this year, the first thing I said, after she told me she was going was, "You big nerd." And because she's inherited the gene pool she has, she laughed and responded,

"I know, right?"

I'm not quite sure how all the attitude and flare she learned in show choir is going to work for her in a mathletes competition?/program?/event?/sparkle spectacle? What the hell do you call it?

Cold as Ice, I Know

So, I got my computer back today, right before Coadster's last show choir concert. BK rocks and he fixed a bunch of stuff and loaded me up with some cool things, and now I'm trying to figure out how to work with all the differences that are good, but will take a little time getting used to. Hopefully, by the early part of next week, I'll get back to my old blog reading schedule. I also want to try to add some new blogs to the roll this weekend.

Mostly, tonight I'm posting the photos I took during the ice storm. The first one, was our screen door that we couldn't see out of when we first woke up.

This one is my favorite. I've always been a little weirded-out by the pod vine that tries to choke out this bush every year. I think the pods are even creepier encased in ice.

Here is some ice on the weeds in my backyard. I like how it's frozen in mid-drip.

For some reason, we didn't do any grilling that day.

This was the view across the street from me, complete with heavy trees and sagging wires. I don't know about you, but I thought the powerlines could have benefited from a well engineered bra.

Stranded in Iowa

Here are some snow covered hay bales that I happen to think look like frosted mini-wheats.

It's Friday and I'm only capable of a random drive-by.

1. I used to always think that periwinkle was my favorite color, but lately I've been partial to sea foam green or sage. What do you think that says about me?

2. I went to Stinky's band concert last Friday. (she plays the trumpet) It was weird that they played the theme from Star Wars just like I did in junior high band - except they mixed theirs with the "The Raider's March" and we paired ours with the "Cantina Theme".

3. Coadster has her last show choir performance tomorrow. It's my very last chance to see her with big, poofy hair, wearing sequins and flashing jazz hands this year. It's making me a little teary-eyed.

4. "I just want to be able to go outside wearing a tank top, sandals and a cute skirt. Wah, wah, wah," I whined as I pulled on my big man boots for my walk to work in the snow and wind on the second day of March. "Iowa, you suck today."

5. On a happier note... I got an e-mail from BK this morning saying that he thinks he fixed my computer and I can pick it up anytime now. Hurray!

Flashlight

Here's another recycled photo from last year. This was my favorite piece of grafitti in Iowa City, and the bastards cleaned it up.

You and your cousin have been planning this weekend forever... Well, at least for a couple of weeks now. Your cousin lives in Muscatine and she is so much cooler than you. She swears more, she wears sluttier clothes, she says she knows a guy who's in the Latin Kings' gang, and her mom is rarely home, so she can do whatever she wants.

Your mom, who is always home and seems to know exactly what kind of shit you're going to get into before you even try, suggests you wait for a different weekend - one that won't include an ice storm. Your cousin doesn't want to wait. After all, you've already made all those plans. Your cousin's mom has agreed to drive her both there and back. You miraculously get your mom to relent, and your cousin arrives on Friday night.

You wake up to the storm on Saturday. The ice is already so thick, that you can't see out the windows. Your trip to the mall gets cancelled. Plan B is watching an America's Next Top Model marathon with your cousin, while switching between eating green grapes and white powdered sugar doughnuts.

When the electricity goes off, you are stunned. What will you and your cousin possibly do without it? Your mother lights about 100 candles and suggests you read, paint or make clothes. Your cousin doesn't like to do any of those things. At first, you both text your seperate friends on your seperate phones, but your friends all seem to have electricity, and therefore, better things to do.

Finally, you ask your cousin if she wants do make-overs, and that is something she's actually interested in. Your mother digs through a cupboard and finds stuff you can use to do manicures and pedicures too. At some point, the lights come back on, but neither you or your cousin can really think of anything you'd rather be doing. For the next few hours, you talk, and soak feet and hands, and exfoliate, and paint nails, and your cousin suddenly doesn't seem that much cooler than you. She even admits that being allowed to do whatever she wants, feels a little lonely.

What's Goin' On

Here is a recycled picture from last year about this time that I uploaded at work. I just wanted to see a photo. That's all.

Computer Update: I brought the old girl to BK's last night, and all the rumors about his expertise were true.

The bad thing is that my computer is all infected with bad juju. All this time, I thought she had been using protection. Apparently, the anti-virus stuff the cable company offered for free, wasn't updating or something. It kept giving me reports showing me the viruses that were detected and deleted, but never said anything about the ones that were NOT detected and deleted. BK tried getting rid of the cyber clap, but it didn't work.

The good thing is that he's going to keep working on it to see if he can clean her up, (dirty girl) and re-install the system. I'm still hoping it doesn't turn into a hardware problem. BK says he should know something this weekend.

Since he won't take my money, I'm going to spend some time this weekend rolling enchiladas, and refrying beans, and chopping veggies for pico de gallo salsa. It still won't come close to what I owe him, though.

I promise tomorrow, I'll write about something other than my stupid, boring computer...For real, this time.

La, La, La, La, La, Live For Today

Computer Update: So, I'm going to bring my computer over to my friend BK's house to see if he can work on it. I've been told that BK is the lord, king, god computer guy and if he can't fix it, it can't be fixed. Without even looking, he told me he thought my inner-tubes might be clogged. (shut-up)

Since my landlord is stopping by to change the filters in my furnace and drop off the new lease to be signed today, I had to (ahem) tidy up my place a little and didn't have time to prepare a blog post last night. It's pretty tough to write anything at work with everyone reading the paper aloud to me and talking about which of their trees they lost in the storm this weekend, so I'm giving up. Hopefully, I'll have a working computer in the next week and I can stop with all the computer updates and lame-ass posts. I also took some cool, ice-covered-world photos that I can't wait to post.

Ice, Ice, Baby

Computer Update: The computer was put on hold this weekend since we didn't have electricity and couldn't really leave our house for most of Saturday. I will begin bugging people anew today.

...And now for the rest of the blog post (the one where I overuse three consecutive dots)...

Paying for my expenses after the tornado last Spring... A few thousand dollars.

The amount of my heating bill over what I paid last year at this time...$150.

Overhearing one drunk guy in front of the Deadwood telling another drunk that global warming is less about steadily rising temperatures and more about weather extremes...Priceless.

Come on, Let's See What You've Got

Alas, my computer still isn't working. For the most part, I had to take last night off in order to allow for my daughter chauffering duties.

I e-mailed my friend Gareth and talked to my brother over the phone about my computer woes. They both introduced the concept of a power source problem. If that is the issue, it sounds like it will be kind of costly to remedy, so I definitely want to eliminate all other variables before I call Dell and order whatever it is I need to order to fix it.

Sarcastic Fringehead, who is awesome, has also been encouraging me to contact her boyfriend, and I may get to that point this weekend, if I can't get in touch with my friend, Bob. All this "asking for help" stuff is really hard for me and goes against all of my orphan issues. On any normal day, I like to fool myself into thinking that I'm self-sufficient, but as we are all now witnessing, I am not. There. I said it, and now I have to just suck it up and ask people (who have already offered) for help. That's my plan this weekend, in addition to preparing for the nasty winter storm that should be arriving tonight.

I just want everyone to know, that I appreciate all the suggestions and commiserating and I hope to have the problem fixed in the next week. Then, I can get back to writing about such pertinent subjects as the weather and my expanding mid-section.

You're Not Welcome Anymore

Computer Update: Bob talked me through some maneuvers over the phone, all to no avail. He's thinking about what to try next and will get back to me.

I'm tired of talking about my computer. Let's talk about something else now. Last year about this time, I wrote a Dear John letter to my winter pelt. I thought it was goodbye forever, but I am a weak, weak girl.

A held out until sometime around Christmas, but then it got cold and my winter pelt came by with his sweet talking and his promises of extra warmth and comfort and I caved and let him in. And it was okay for a while.

Then I got so tired of him hanging on me all the time, so I finally was all, " Okay, I've had it. Get out! Just get off me."

Then my winter pelt was like, "Yeah, I've heard that before. How do you expect me to believe you, when you keep taking me back, year after year?" I knew he was right, so we've just been living together in silent resentment for the last few little whiles. Except, now that it's warm again and I've been running everyday, I've noticed his hold on me has loosened. He's finally letting go. I just hope that I can be stronger next year.

If I Had a Rocket Launcher...

Dell's tech support sucks: Let me count the ways.

1. Their hold music sounds like they stole it from a bad eighties, movie soundtrack. The kind with overwhelming saxophone played over a moody synthesizer. It's usually on during the romantic scene just before the lights go out.

2. I was on hold a lot.

3. The gentleman "helped" me for way too long, (where I was mostly on hold) just to figure out my warranty had run out and I needed to be transferred to the expired warranty tech support area.

4. The gentleman couldn't figure out how to transfer me and for the first five minutes we sat in silence, and after that he felt obligated to make small talk with me. "So, how's the weather there?" Was his first question and it went downhill from there.

5. The gentleman got his supervisor and after five more minutes, he told me that everyone at the other office were at a meeting, and gave me a number to call them back in an hour.

6. When I called back to the new number, it got me to the same office I called before, but thankfully, to a different representative. The woman who answered seemed much more competent. She figured out right away that I needed to go to the other office, and was also aware that other office was only open during the day, (what about the meeting?) right when I would be at work.

7. Since Dell can't help me, I had to call my friend Bob. And you know how hard it is to me to ask my friends for help.

My friend Bob was at work, but his wife thinks I might need to do something called a "hard start". Hopefully, Bob will be able to help me with this.

The saga continues...

I Feel That Ice is Slowly Melting

Hey, Lookee here, I'm embracing minimalism:

BAD: I tried cleaning the hell out of my computer as Booda Baby suggested, and it's still pulling the same crap. I'll try the Dell tech support tonight.

GOOD: With all the extra time I saved not obsessing on the internets, I was able to watch Wife Swap and Supper Nanny. I also increased my vocabulary, by reading my violent novel that's full of swears.

GOOD: The February thaw finally arrived and I spent as much time outside as possible.

BAD: The snow melting suddenly exposed the carnage of car wrecks and a season's worth of dog shit in my neighborhood.

GOOD: I've been able to run outside for two days in a row now. At some point both times, I've found myself thinking, "Dude. I am sooo high right now."

BAD: Uh, yeah. I can't think of one bad thing to say about endorphins.

Somethin's Happenin' Here

Okay, kids, let me put it to you straight - my computer died. It makes me so sad because she was only a year and half old. Is that normal for a Dell, or do you think it was a virus? She was fine on Saturday night, but then when I woke-up on Sunday and turned her on, she shut-down before she ever got going. On the fourth try she actually worked for about fifteen minutes. I read and responded to comments, and then, boom. Everything closed down and she shut-down. Now, all she'll do is get me to the first Dell page before she closes.

Obviously, I know nothing about computers, but I do know that Dell wants to extend me lots of credit, I get a discount from my place of employment, and I've become increasingly dependent on the internets. So, unless I want to actually go out and talk to people in person, (and lord knows, I can't have that) or try to fight with the homeless guys at the public library looking at porn to use the computers there,I'm going to have to buy me a new one.

I can only get on the internets at work during lunch and breaks, so my reading and commenting on blogs, will be a little sparse and my posting should happen at some point everyday during the week, but the content will be on the anorexic side until I can get me a new, tall silver crack pipe. Sorry, for the lameness, but that's kind of how I am.

I Know This Much is True

This is a picture of the creek across the street from me.

Now, here is a list of some truths I hold to be self-evident.

1. This first one occurred to me this morning when I woke-up still sick, at 5 am, had to curl and spray Coadster's show choir hair up, it was cold and snowy out, oh, and what the hell, let's just throw in a liberal dose of PMS in the mix: A long hot bubble bath will cure about 80% of what ails you, both physical and mental.

2. This truth was given to me by a co-worker who heard it from her seven year old daughter: Another bad thing about the wind and the cold is that it really makes you feel the boogers in your nose.

3. This truth came to me while viewing Coadster's choir concert (regular, as opposed to show choir) on Thursday night: There is no better way to suck the soul out of a spiritual, than by letting Iowa high school students sing it.

4. This one I'm experiencing right now: The best way to spend certain Saturday nights in February is to plant your pale, doughy ass on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eating Chinese take-out and watching cheesy movies. (I would have added alcohol in there, but I'm on migraine watch 2007 and have to lay off the hooch)

Eyes Without a Face

I did a bad thing tonight. I read over a few of my posts from the last week. I know better than to do that. It's like looking down at my thighs when I'm running for the first time after a hiatus. It's too much. It makes one want to stop running and writing altogether. Just in case you were wondering, yes, I do own a thesaurus, I actually know how to spell, and at one point in my life, I at least knew some basic grammatical rules. In my defense, I have to choose between sleeping and a well crafted blog post, and I don't want to make my daughters' lives any harder than they already are. So, all I can say is, I'm sorry, but you can expect more of the same in the future.

Tonight, though? Tonight, I will give you a break. I haven't done one of these in a while, and with Stinky around, the material is piling up. So, in the interest of purging, I'm doing another "More of Stinky's Self-Portraits" posts.

These first few are more typical of a thirteen year old girl.

These last three are kind of creepy in that dark, purposely over-exposed, noirish way.



Funky.

Gimme Danger

Stinky forgot to fasten her seatbelt the other day, and it made me a little nervous. Not just for the fine that we'd get if a cop spotted it, but for what would have happened if we had been in an accident. Then, I had to laugh at my spaz, because I don't think I ever wore a seatbelt until sometime in the late eighties. People always say that cars were bigger and safer in the seventies, but we had a little Toyota Corolla back then and now I have a Subaru station wagon. And honestly, I'm still not very good about making the girls wear bicycle helmets. I'm not saying it's bad that we're safer with our kids now, I just wonder how me and my friends made it out of childhood alive with all the dangerous shit we did. Here is a list of things we did the back then, that probably would cause DHS to maintain an active role in our lives now.

1. Not only did we not wear helmets when we rode bikes, we also didn't even wear shoes. My bike was red white and blue and had one of those big banana seats, (it was called the Liberty Bell, and you can start being jealous right now) so I could usually fit one friend on the seat with me, and one on the handlebars. I sure couldn't see very well, but no one ever seemed to worry about that.

2. When I lived in Mesa, during monsoon season we would lie in the gutters in nasty, dirty puddles of water on Horn Street ( a very, very, busy street) and wait for cars to drive by and splash us. I never heard of even one kid getting their legs run over. Weird.

3. We played in construction sites almost every day. In Mesa, during the seventies, you couldn't throw a rock without hitting a building project, and that's exactly what we did. We threw rocks at new windows, climbed around in half-built houses with bare feet and pretended they were ours. I do remember one kid stepping on a nail and having to get a tetanus shot, though.

4. When we lived in Chicago, we used to play this game called frisbee tag. It was basically like dodge ball, but with a hard plastic frisbee, so it would do more damage. Did I mention that we played this quaint game in the middle of the street?

5. We used to go up to a relative's summer cabin on Paw Paw Lake on the weekends. My Uncle and his brothers would get drunk and take us kids water skiing. After a while they'd get bored and think of imaginitive ways to make us fall, so they could drive the boat back to the cabin and get more beer. My two favorites were; cranking the boat up past 30 miles per hour and making the sharpest turns possible, and then taking us right up to the ski ramp so that if you didn't let go of the rope, you'd be forced to jump at neck breaking speeds. I wish I had been drunk at the time so I could have appreciated it. Come to think of it, it was really funny when they did it to my cousins...

6. My Uncle's mom used to give us a lunch bag full of M-80's on the Fourth of July to play with. Is it four or eight of those that equal a stick of dynamite? We liked to blow them up in the big pipes that were used for irrigation in the ground. (explosive gases? What gases?) One year, my cousin Teddy thought it would be fun to explode all the toys in his sandbox with M-80's. I have to say, there is nothing more satisfying than watching metal trucks blow-up and knowing you were responsible. The next morning, I found my six year old cousin on his knees in the sandbox, lamenting the demise of all his Tonkas. He must not have finally realized that when you obliterated something into tiny pieces, there was no putting it back together.

Here is me and a cousin on an inner tube at Paw Paw Lake in 1980.

I Love My Sunny Day, Dream of Far Away

Damn! I’m sick again. I don’t know what’s causing my weakened immune system these last six months. It could be that I’m not running as much as I’m used to, and my toxins aren’t getting released, or it could also be all the leftover stress from the tornado and my inflated water bill and the fact that Blogger acts up on me almost every other night. Mostly, I think I’m spending too much time worrying about the possibility of finding out that Zha Zha (Zhazha, Zha-Zha?) Gabor’s husband did, in fact, sire Anna Nicole Smith’s child.

Whatever’s causing it, I had the flu two weeks ago, a bad cold right now, and I’m tired of being sick. I’m sure at this point, you’re all smart enough to see what I’m leading up to. That’s right – a big lame excuse to do a random thoughts post. Now, it’s at least thirty percent lamer, because Blogger’s out of whack again tonight, so I’m writing this all out on Word and I’ll be cutting and pasting tomorrow morning if Blogger’s working then. So, let’s start embracing the randomness, shall we?

1. February 14th was my mom’s birthday. Had she lived, she would have turned 75. I can’t imagine how she would look at that age. I do know that my daughters would have loved her. My mom would have introduced Coadster to as many cheesy Broadway musicals as she could handle. My mom would also have let Stinky draw and paint all over her walls and probably even do it with her.

2. Today is Dex’s birthday from Degrees of Grey in Iowa City. Feel free to stop by and show him some birthday love.

3. At work, we answer all the e-mails for our particular business, which means, we see a lot of Spam. Today, the ex-nun called out from her cubicle, “Hey, I got an offer for Viagra at $1.59 a pill. Can anyone beat that?” Sadly, the lowest offer on my Spam was $1.79, so the ex-nun won again. It’s got to be rigged, she has Jesus on her side.

4. The girls had a snow day on Tuesday. Of course, I still had to work. I don’t even think the threat of nuclear war would close our offices down. When I got home, I asked the girls what they did, and they said they watched two movies and had a dorked-out dance party in the living room. I was so incredibly jealous.

Now, I must go and open Blogger so I can flip it the bird.

Ain't Talkin' 'bout Love

Ah, love. Whatever. By the time most of you read this, it will be Valentine's Day. In the comment section of one of the blogs I read obsessively, (Citizen of the Month?) someone renamed this holiday, "Singles Appreciation Day", and I'm all for that.

I don't get all weird about Valentine's Day. I don't feel like I'm missing out, or particularly lonely, or any more bitter than I normally am. (and have been since I was in junior high) It's just one of those holidays like Father's Day, Flag Day, or Gay Pride Week that really don't apply to me. I'm all for people celebrating as many holidays as they possibly can, but in the past, Valentine's Day has been just another day when all of the women in my office decide to wear novelty sweaters. (believe me, this happens on many different days at my job)

"Singles Appreciation Day" is a holiday I could totally get behind. It would be a day where you revel in all of those weird things you do in the privacy of your own home, that you might not be comfortable doing if you had a boyfriend or girlfriend hanging around - of course, masturbation would be optional. You know, like you could slip into your biggest, holiest sweats, eat popcorn and ice cream for dinner, obsessively watch YouTube, read blogs, Google all your past sexual partners, (not because you're still into them, but just because you're nosy) or watch movie trailer after movie trailer on the Apple website. The possiblities are endless. Of course, for those of you who aren't quite so nerdy and weird, you could probably actually leave your house... Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Those of you who aren't quite so nerdy and weird, are probably in relationships and don't need to create your own special holidays.

Waiting for the Break of Day

Hey, I think it's time for a nostalgia post. Feel free to make the Wayne's World dream sequence noise and hand motions if it helps.

It is weird here during the day because it's not our home, but we live here now. It's my grandma's house that she owns with my Aunt Lee and Lee's kids. They are my cousins, but besides Paula, they are much older than me. While we stay here, we have to be extra good. We should try not to be messy or fight or yell or ask for too much. We are guests and good guests behave.

What if my dad comes home and we're not there any more? Will he know where to find us?

My mom says, he will come to his mother's house and we'll be here waiting... If he comes back, but we shouldn't get our hopes up.

What if we move away from grandma's? How will he find us then?

He will still go to his mom's house, and she will tell him where to find us. But remember, it might be easier to think that he won't come back. You don't want to get your hopes up.

My grandma is different than my mom. My older sister calls her stern, but my mom says she is regal. She thinks it sounds more respectful. My mother is not stern or regal. My mother is funny and messy and she can mimic any voice she hears. She talks back to the TV if she thinks it's being stereotypical, or just wrong. I don't know what a stereotype is, but I laugh when she does it, because I think it's funny to talk to the TV. My mom doesn't do these things at my grandma's that much. She also doesn't cry here like she did at our house, when our dad stopped coming home. Here, she is respectful and helpful. She is a good guest.

At night it is scary instead of weird. Me and Moira sleep in Paula's room and my brother sleeps in the top bunk of my cousin Jeff's bunkbed. At our old house, we only had one palm tree and it was was close to the street, where it couldn't leave scary shadows that looked like bad people racing across the wall to get me. Here there are several regular trees, and they sway and moan like ghosts. When I wake-up late at night, I remember I'm not at home. I want to run and find my mom, so I can sleep with her, but I know her pull-out sofa bed is full with her and my oldest sister, so I close my eyes and try not to see the shadows.

One night, I am already awake when I hear the thud in the next room. My brother has fallen off the top bunk and onto the floor. He's okay, but my mom tries even harder to find us our own place after that. She's done expecting my dad to come back. She's finally laid her hopes back down.

These photos are of my cousin, Paula and my sister, Moira at the Phoenix Zoo in the late sixties.

Where's December's Happy Crew, With German Bikes and Sidecars Too?

Here is a picture that is not at the Mill, but at the Picador, instead.

I went to The Mill tonight to help my friend C. celebrate her 40th birthday. The restaurant/bar was full of people I've known and worked with from the mid-eighties. Some of those folks, including the old owner, had been there back in the sixties and seventies. They are a deliciously odd crew who all still smoke and drink whiskey and work jobs, whether they be lawyers or social workers, or juvenile probational officers, where they can help people and/or be creative. They are awesome.


I was lucky to have started working at the Mill the day after I turned nineteen. Not just because I got a free meal and unlimited free beer any shift I worked, but because I felt very, very angry and alienated and the crowd there was a perfect combination for me. Even in the eighties, there were still a lot of employees and patrons who were all bluegrass, hippies who taught me how to mellow the fuck out. There were also many young, angry, kids just like me who helped me to channel my anger into taking drugs and going to shows. (an essential part of burning-out so you can start fresh again) It's the first, and maybe the last time I have met so many weird people all at once.


Now, even after all these many years, I still have to pay my daughters distraction money, so they can go off and play pinball while I have extremely intimate (read crude) conversations with my old cohorts. I'm so glad that I didn't work at an office when I was that age, or I never would have found so many freaks with which to create such a happily dysfunctional family.

You'll Have to Stop Me If I Get Too Big

Me and Stinky when she was still shorter than me.

Me: Ouch, ouch, ouch, Shit.

Stinky: What's the matter? Are you okay?

Me: Yeah. My foot just slipped and I stubbed my toe on the washing machine.

Stinky: (After she came over to give me a sympathy hug) Holy cow! I'm taller than you now.

Me: I know. It makes disciplining you seem kind of silly, doesn't it?

Stinky: Yeah. I could totally step on you if I wanted to.

Me: Um, maybe. But I do hold all the power when it comes to the use of your cell phone.

Stinky: Oh, yeah. Nevermind.

I Have Done All That I Could, To See The Evil and The Good Without Hiding

Here is a picture of a tree on the Pentacrest. I think it might be dying, which would make me sad because it's a great climbing tree. I like walking past it in the summer and seeing little monkey children hidden in its foliage.

So, I got off work at four to go to my dentist appointment yesterday. My dentist's office is quite quaint. It's in an old house and inside, it's all hardwood floors and lace curtains and they pipe in mellow, adult contemprorary, Sting-Dave Matthews kinds of music while they're diligently drilling your teeth. I have to say, though, that one of the dental hygenists is a little odd. I wrote about her last year on my old blog here.

Yesterday, while she was scraping nasty stuff off of my teeth, she said, "This is what your tarter looks like." And she held an instrument with a tan colored chunk on it right in my face.

"Ew," I said. I don't know how else I was supposed to respond. Has anyone else been to a hygenist who made them look at the crap she scraped off of their teeth? I guess I would like to be asked first, so I could politely decline.

Before you start thinking I'm not "Our Bodies, Ourselves" enough for you, I used to go to Emma Goldman clinic for my annual appointments when I was younger and didn't have insurance or a regular doctor. I've been asked and have agreed to take a peek at my cervix. Since, as far as I can tell, it hasn't changed any since I was nineteen, I don't really need to see it again. I worked in an ob/gyn clinic long enough to see more inner-parts and bodily secretions to last me a lifetime. So, I've decided to contact any dental or healthcare facility at which I may be seen, and ask them to kindly put something in my chart that says I decline any offers to view anything - including any earwax, kidney stones, or cyst fluid that they may extract from me. There. I think that should cover it.

Shine on Me Sunshine Walk With Me World It's a Skippity-Dooda day

Because it's the weekend, I thought I'd help you navigate your way to a bar.

I know I've told you several times already, that I'm a sucker for false hope. Well, tonight I'm full of it. (and false hope too) Now, please allow me to count the things that make me stupidly hopeful.

1. I got an e-mail at work from Stinky's reading teacher today. It doesn't appear that she ever got her hands on my fake e-mail, because she was all effusive about how wonderfully behaved Stinky has been of late. She even thanked me for keeping her in line. Of course, Stinky came in with a splint on her arm after the weekend, so she probably thinks I used physical force and is grateful for that too.

2. This is another show choir competition weekend for Coadster. It means I have to get up at 5:30 am to get Coadster to the high school, but she loves it so much, it's totally worth it.

Coadster came home after choir class this week and told me she just found out she had a four octave vocal range. Being completely ignorant about such things, I asked, "Oh. Is that good?"

"I think it is."

"Well, then I think it is too." God, I sound like such a douche bag when I write down these conversations with my daughters. At least Coadster will have plenty of fodder whenever she applies for legal emnacipation.

What I'm trying to say here, is that I'm glad that Coadster is really good at the thing she loves the most. Ever since she was little, she has loved to sing. Once when she was in first grade and completely unaware that she was crooning all over the house, I asked her, "So, do you sing like that at school, too?"

"Not anymore I don't," but I know even now, she forgets she's doing it, she loves it so much.

3. Yesterday, someone got to my blog by googling, "Shut-up with the I'm a single mom bullshit" and I can't imagine anything more perfect.

4. I might actually get my tax refund direct deposited into my account tomorrow. I think it was downloaded to the IRS last week on Wednesday, which means I should see it tomorrow. It was originally rejected because the drop down box with my birth year slipped to the year behind and it didn't match what the IRS had. I corrected it and resubmitted it, so hopefully, tomorrow I will be as giddy as a 41 year old school girl.

Because I'm nothing if not a woman with a back-up plan, I'm going to try to distract myself if my refund doesn't appear. On Saturday, I was thinking I'd eat some comfort food, (I'm taking suggestions of anyone's favorites) drink some of my bottle of cheap Shiraz, and watch two African movies that should be really good, but will inevitably make me cry. I kind of like these frigid temps when I don't have to leave my house.

Oh Well, Whatever, Nevermind

Here lies Freddy Funk. I love his name. That is all.

I've been doing this weird thing lately. In my head I've been using the same catch phrase in answer to everything I experience. As far as I know, I've never said it aloud, but I'm kind of Turretsy that way where I'll be thinking something, and all the sudden I find myself voicing it outloud. It's not like I yell, "Cocksucker!" or anything. (but don't think I haven't been tempted) It's more like I'll be thinking about what I need from the store as I'm walking to work, and I just spew out, "Oh, toilet paper."

The catch phrase I've hopefully just been saying in my head is, "Whatever, bitch." It is not reserved for women, either. Lately, the whole world is my bitch and judging by the "Whatever" that preceeds it, I have total diregard for every single one of its inhabitants or inanimate objects, for that matter. If an old man pulls out right in front of me when I'm driving and then crawls along very slowly, he gets a "Whatever bitch". If my computer starts getting really slow and kicking me out of the system, my brain sends out the "Whatever, bitch" signals too. If I heard anyone say that appropriate but none the less annoying catch phrase as often as I think it, I would have to give them the "Whatever, bitch" vibe too.

Now that I've recognized my latest affliction, I'm trying to work really hard on curbing it. I don't want to finally let it fly for real, at an innocent seven year old girl who accidentally walks into me at the library.

There Ain't No Tellin' Who You Might Meet

Hey, check this out. Mr. Atrocity of Renaissance Monkey reworked my cartoony photo and made it very, as he says, "A Scanner Darkly". It is so much more comic booky than it was before. When it comes to photos of myself, as far as I'm concerned, the more cartooned-up, the better. Mr. Atrocity has also worked on the special effects of some of my favorite movies, so that just makes it even cooler.

Now, for the post:

It's weird how going to the ER last Friday made me a little nostalgic about working in the health care industry. There are parts about it that I really miss. Yes, at my current job, I get paid a lot more money to sit on my ass all day and not expose myself to bloodborne pathogens, but it is also so boring that I can feel a little bit more of my soul disintegrate inside my cubicle everyday.

At least when I worked at the clinic, I felt like I was helping people. I put so many scary patients on birth control that I think you all owe me money. At my job now, the only thing I really do is make it possible for more overly entitled rich kids from the Northshore Chicago Suburbs to come to town in really expensive SUV's and pee right in front of me downtown on football weekends. Okay, now I owe all of you some cash.

At my old job, I got to ask people totally inappropriate questions and not only did they answer them, they also told me way more than I ever wanted to know. It's always fun to be able to ask a complete stranger how many sexual partners they've had or how many times they were pregnant or if they were feeling any itching or burning at that moment. These are things you'd get slapped for asking some schmo on the street.

At the clinic, I had the feeling that I was on the cutting edge of information and technology. We got to play around with colposcopes and cystoscopes and any kind of Tischlers you would want to try. I also got to teach med students all of these technologies and watch them be all cocky at first because I was a lowly nursing assistant, but then kiss my ass after I taught them how not to put their grubby paws all over the sterile field. At my current job, I talk to people on the phone and tell them they need to order supporting documentation. Yawn.

It was also the best freak watching I've ever experienced. Since it was a state hospital, we saw every homeless, crazy or special case from here to Chicago. I felt so at home there. I even assisted with a woman who was there for a liver transplant and was completely yellow - her eyes, her skin, and even her hair. It was so eerie. It's not like there aren't any freaks at my current job, it's just that they're the same crazies I see everyday, and I seem to need a little variety with my nutjobs.

The weird thing is, I didn't realize how much I missed it, until I heard the med student walk into the room of the guy who had been retching violently and ask if she could feel his stomach. See? That's another thing you can't just go ask someone on the street without getting jacked. Sigh.

Don't Let it Bring You Down

I just found out a guy I know died this weekend in a plane crash. He was a great husband and father to his wife and three kids and he was also just an all around good guy. I don't think I ever even heard him talk shit about anybody. He always made me look really bad in comparison.

The weird thing, is that his death was almost one year to the day of the awesome history professor's last February. Both men were amazing and worked hard at raising great, healthy kids. Of course, those kinds of deaths always beg the question: why, when there are so many nasty people fucking up kids on a daily basis, do the good dad's die before they have a chance to finish, or in this case, barely begin their job?

I read a blog post last year, (I have no idea which one it was, or I would attribute) where they talked about being able to trade one living asshole, for a great person who was already dead. I wouldn't even have to go that far. I'd be happy to just prevent the good ones from dying young in the future. I'd also be willing to trade some other jerk to die in their stead. In fact, I think we could easily work out a two for one deal. Give me five minutes to write a list of possible jerk candidates that I'd be willing to sacrifice, and it would stretch all the way down to the end of my very long street.

Okay, I'm done being all depressing for now. Tomorrow I promise to make more dork-ass cartoon pictures of myself, or go on ad nauseum about how crunk I was because I drank my gin and juice out of a sippy cup at the mall or whatever heinous nonsense I usually write on here. However it turns out, I'm dedicated to making my next post more Churlita-lite.

Don't Know What I Want, But I Know How to Get It

Here is a cartooned-up photo of me. I didn't draw it myself or anything. Instead, I used my little Kodak program on my computer, just to prove how punk rock/hardcore/extreme I'm not. It kind of looks like I'm eating the magnetic fuzz stuff from that Wooly Willy toy.

I know I'm old and a mom and shit, but on Friday I crossed so many different party genres, I could put you all to shame. Yes, even you, you seventeen year old blogger girl who breezed on here just to leave a snotty comment about how funny it was when old people drank. You couldn't have kept up with me for even a second.

To begin with, the way I kicked my flu's ass on Friday morning, was totally punk rock. It was just as if I had worn safety pin earrings and three inches of black eyeliner all the way around my eyes and stomped the shit out of it with my biggest, most bad-assest, combat boots. By noon, it was pretty much gone.

Then I got super hardcore, because I was broke until the first and couldn't afford to buy my migraine prescription until Thursday, but then got the flu and couldn't safely leave my house. I had me one violent headache by three o'clock. The hardcore part was all of the out of control shit I had to do while entertaining my migraine. You know, like how I drove Stinky and four of her closest male friends home from Rock and Skate, with their overwhelming combination of stale sweat and dirty hair smells. I also had to listen to them talk, which made me sad and then want to laugh and then get kind of angry all within about two minutes.

Once we spent almost an hour driving all the smelly boys home, I found out that Stinky had fallen hard on the ice and we worried away another hour debating whether or not her hand was broken and we should go to the ER, or not. Around 1:30, we drove to the hospital and honestly, there is nothing at all more hardcore than going to the ER at bar close on a Friday night. My migraine withstood, flourescent lights, the sound of someone continually and violently retching, and the eye tearing alcohol fumes of the whiny, surly, drunken college kid sitting next to us who had been punched in the nose. Hard. Core.

At four a.m. when we finally got to leave the ER, (Stinky's arm wasn't broken, just really swollen) I changed my partying status from hardcore, to X-treme. The winds had kicked up and made the already ridiculously low temperatures feel like thirty below zero. Both Stinky and I had to hold onto each other so we wouldn't get knocked down on our way to the car. Yeah, I know dude - wicked X-treme.

So, to all you kids who think you're so much more intense than me because you're young and you can stay up for several days straight with the help of a bottle of tequila and a few lines of coke, step back. You couldn't hang with me for more than an hour or two. I had to do all of my partying completely sober. Suck on that!

In Her Hand Was a Bottle of Wine

So, yeah. I just got back from drinking wine at 126. It was fun and wonderful, but you know it means I can't be counted on to make much sense. I know, I know, I always have an excuse. Either I have a migraine, or the stomach flu, or I'm drunk, or I've just fed my ravenous heroin addiction - there's always something preventing me from writing a proper post. Maybe the "about me" section should just contain a huge dislcaimer where I don't hold myself responsible for the content or quality of the writing here. Whatever. I was going to rely on an old photo and intelligently, forego any text that would embarrass me later when I was sober, but I just couldn't shut my pie hole, so there are words written under the photo. As usual, read at your own risk.

Here is a picture that came in that box from my sister. I think the woman in the green shorts is my mom and I don't know who the woman is wearing the white head scarf. This photo was taken in 1954. I have no idea where they were either. (Bermuda?)

My mom went through a period after she graduated from art school and before she went to Loyola to finish her BA., where she lived at home with her folks and worked at someplace called Utilities Engineering Institute. (I got that off of an old resume. The same one where she listed her weekly salary in 1975 at $159.60) She did paste-ups, layouts, illustrations and stripping for visual effect printing. (hmmmm) She saved up her money and would go on trips to South America, Mexico and Bermuda with her friends until it ran out and then would come back to Chicago and start again. It was an odd lifstyle choice for a woman back in the mid-fifties when women didn't really know they had a choice in lifestyles. Though, I certainly went on adventures when I was in my late teens and early twenties, I wish I had been smart enough to leave the country like my mom did.

In Restless Dreams I Walked Alone

Yesterday Rel tagged me for a meme. I'm almost always up for a meme, because they're all about me,me,me and then I don't have to come up with something to write about on my own. Okay, here goes:

Things That Scare Me

1. suffocating - I can't even face someone I'm sleeping with, (no, it hasn't been a big problem for a while, thank you) for fear they might suck all my air.
2. Controlling and angry people.
3. Rush Limbaugh - I prefer to think of him as a thing.

People that make me laugh

1. my daughters. (sometimes even on purpose)
2. David Sedaris.
3. Rush Limbaugh. (until I cry)

Things I love

1. My family - I totally stole this answer from Rel.
2. Running - that is, if by "things I love", you mean "things I'm addicted to".
3. Words and images - yeah, I know those are two things. I never read anywhere on here that I wasn't allowed to cheat a little.

Things I hate

1. Poverty.
2. Hate.
3. Rush Limbaugh.

Things I don't understand

1. Men.
2. Why so many people Google various forms of the lyrics "Who's Gonna Drive You Home Tonight?" It was about the worst Cars song ever. Most of the searchers must speak English as a second language because they're usually actually asking the Google gods for "Who gonna home tonight?", and my personal favorite, "Who gonna drive your home tonight?" (they must be big RV'ers)
3. Hormones

Things on my desk

1. Computer- another answer stolen from Rel.
2. messiness
3. Dust, spores, and allergens

Things I'm doing right now

1. Answering a meme
2. Feeling my arms get really heavy due to the effects of my migraine meds
3. Playing with my hair, as usual.

Three things I want to do before I die

1. Wish my girls happy eighteenth birthdays, so they won't have to live with anyone else but me.

2. Own my own home.
3. Learn to paint and draw really well.

Things I can do

1. Run a chainsaw.
2. phlebotomy.
3. Run - a direct consequence from my childhood conundrum of being a smart-ass and a horrible chicken shit after pissing off so many people.

Things you want to listen to

1. Whatever the hell you want.
2. the sounds of silence.
3. Your mom - this is directed specifically at my girls.

Things you should never listen to

1. Michael Bolton.
2. The voices in my head - trust me on this one.
3. Rush Limbaugh.

Things I would like to learn

1. Yoga - Shut-up. I know.
2. How to play the guitar
3. How the other half lives.

Favorite Foods

1. Navratan curry.
2. Chicken Parmesan.
3. Scallion pancakes with peanut butter sauce.

Favorite beverage

1. Thai iced tea - almost any kind of tea, really.
2. beer.
3. Cranberry/raspberry juice.

TV shows I watched, books I read as a kid

1. Land of the Lost and any other Sid and Marty Krofft shows - Lidsville, H. R. Pufnstuf, The Bugaloos, Sigmund and the Seamonsters...
2. The Little House on the Prairie series on TV and in book form. I was Laura Ingalls Wilder crazy.
3. The Changeling. I wanted to say, A Hero Ain't Nothin' but a Sandwich, because I love the title, but even though the book was good, it wasn't my absolute favorite.

People I would like to tag:

As most of you know, I don't believe in tagging people. I think people should do their own thing. So, if you want to, let me know, I'd love to read it. If not, that's cool too. I'm all seventies that way.