so, as some of you know, i watch the music channels when i’m at the gym. and… well, madonna freaks me right out.
exhibit the one: four minutes. which i rather like as a song. and this video is visually interesting.
but.
i saw this video right after four minutes, and i have a question. madonna, you’re a mom and a grown-up. can you please keep your damn pants on? don’t make me come over there with duct tape.
thanks for stopping by.
so, in december of 1999, i lived in seattle, washington. and my parents lived in salinas, california. because of that math, i ended up flying down for christmas. at that point, i had never missed a christmas with my folks. and it’s not like i’m a nut for christmas. i’m not exactly christian, so i feel like a bit of a hack celebrating a religious holiday just because it’s what the advertising and retail industry expects of me. anyway, i’m not really interested in christmas. my mom, however, lives for the holiday. the weekend after thanksgiving, she digs out her christmas carols and spends an entire day spreading the holiday cheer about the house. she had a particularly hateful tape of carols as sung by elvis presley, and while i don’t really mind elvis i loathed that entire recording.
anyway.
my mom doesn’t get all crazy about holidays in general. she sometimes remember birthdays, and i get a little worried when she doesn’t call within a day or two of my own birthday. secretly, between you and me? i love that she sings ‘happy birthday’ to my voicemail. and yeah, it’s rather bad and off-key. and i play it for anyone who will listen. but in general, she lets other holidays slide right on by. thanksgiving, she has her turkey (and the spare in the freezer, which amuses me to no end) (my mom, she loves the turkey. we might be burying her with one), and during dinner she talks about all the things she has to do for getting her christmas swag up. my dad usually retreats to another room, to read or catch up on paperwork. and when i lived at home, i tried to find something else to do, somewhere else. largely because of that elvis tape. so, i flew down to visit the peeps.
i don’t remember a whole lot about that particular christmas. it was just me and my parents and the dog. i had just gotten official word that the cancer was gone, and i remember telling everyone asking what i wanted for christmas that that right there was gift enough. i bought my parents books, because we’re all big ole nerds. and the one present i really remember is one from ’santa’. which my whole extended family knows is my mom, but we never say this out loud. because, she says, if you don’t believe you don’t receive. and the woman loves to shop for gifts, as do i.
for christmas 2001, for example, she got me this talking eeyore doll. clearly, this thing was meant for very young children. the deal was, you were supposed to press eeyore’s paw, and he would lift his head and say something. you were to ask him a yes-or-no question, and press his paw again. he would then answer, and drop his head. i was so charmed by the talking donkey that i took him to work with me. he was like the magic 8 ball, but for the grade school set. we passed him around the office for hours, asking him weird questions and laughing at his canned responses. one of my co-workers even called my mom to thank her for the great present. but she just said, i didn’t get that for her. ’santa’ got it for her.
the talking eeyore doll is in a box in my garage at the moment. i got a wild hair the other weekend, and decided to go through all my boxes and get rid of things i really didn’t need. so far, i’ve managed to give four boxes of stuff to the goodwill. but it was during this cleaning that i found him.
it’s a weenie baby. like a beanie baby, but better endowed. i’m not kidding you, this was wrapped and under the tree with a tag that said ‘from santa’. i think i stared at it for a full minute, while my mom started laughing. my dad asked me what it was, and i pointed it at him. he rolled his eyes and excused himself to the kitchen, which is the appropriate british response to your daughter holding a fluffy pink phallus. i asked my mom where she got the bunny, when she reminded me santa had bought it for me.
santa’s a freak, i said, which made my mom laugh even harder. tears were streaming down her face. look at this thing, i said, pointing the penis at her. it takes up his entire torso. could you imagine how heavy that would be? and his balls are huge. and… is that pubic hair?
she just couldn’t stop laughing. i tried to imagine a santa character walking into one of the adult stores in nearby santa cruz, where i just knew she had bought this crazy thing. but the best i could do was imagine my mom wandering around the sex shop, with her santa elf hat on, and seeing this bunny. and laughing herself silly.
it was a funny gift, even though i didn’t laugh nearly as hard as she did. when i was packing to leave a few days later, i stuck the bunny in my suitcase. my mom later admitted she took it out of my suitcase, and stuck it in my carry-on.
she drove me to the airport, and since this was before the trade center exploded, she waited with me in line. now, i almost always end up being the person that security decides to randomly search. not so much since now we all have to take off our shoes and belts just to get to the gates, but back when you were allowed to stay dressed i must have looked threatening. which i don’t get. maybe it’s my complete lack of eye contact with security officials, whatever. so, the big security guard has us step to the side so he can peek inside my backpack. i have to explain the two big prescription bottles, but he checks them against my driver’s license anyway. my mom tugs at my arm and starts to talk, but i sort of wave her away. the security guard removes the weenie baby. holds it up so several people can stare, and he asks me, what is this supposed to be?
it’s a bunny with a cock, sir, i say. santa brought it for me. you know, for christmas.
he looks at me, then at my mom. i glance and my mom, and i see she’s biting her lip, and trying not to laugh. people around us are starting to snicker. the security guard drops the bunny.
santa’s a damn freak, he says.
thanks for stopping by.
so, yeah. i’ve had plenty of time to get some blogging happening, and i’ve started a fair few posts in my head. but, what it comes down to, people? i’ve been a lazy sack of protoplasm, and i’ve been enjoying it. i’m not the type of person that slacks off, in general. i like getting things done, and ticking them off a list. however, i also like napping and staring out the window, it appears. so, i make my half-hearted promise to get my tushie over to the compy a little more often.
and, by the way? naps are awesome.
oh! i’ve been savoring the new david sedaris book, when you are engulfed in flames. i’m a huge fan of his - and, by the way, if you’ve never read holidays on ice, then your life is a sad little shell, i tell you what - and this book does not disappoint. i’ve read reviews where people say, oh, it’s not as good as his other books, blah blah blah. pay no attention to them. it’s good stuff, and i’ve been limiting myself to one or two essays a day, so the book will last longer.
and i’m kind of excited to read assisted loving, largely because i heard the author on NPR, and he was quite engaging. i’m getting it from the library, unless i manage to tear through all the books at my house in the next week or so (which, i’m telling you, simply is not feasible). it just sounds cute and sweet, and something of a labor of love.
hm. i’m still frustrated over the indiana jones movie. look away if you don’t want it spoiled for you. dude, harrison? i’m pretty sure those are the exact same pants from the first three movies. you’re a professor and badass; surely you can pack a second pair of trousers. and… come on, now. aliens? flipping aliens? did someone confuse indiana with han solo? oh, and you’re a grown-ass man, now. button your shirt up a little, hm? not that i’m complaining, because you’ve taken great care of yourself. but, well… the general rule of thumb should be, when you get your AARP card, you have to show less chest.
… and, this has nothing to do with anything, and may possibly give you more information about me than you really need. i was in the gym the other day, and i became aware of how old my bra was, and i made a mental note to go buy a few new boob holders. for reference, i wear a 36C (see? i told you there would be more than you really needed to know about me. but it is relevant, i swear). and when did it become so goddamn hard to get a bra in my, er, ample size that did not have padding? i mean, seriously. and i’m not talking about the molded cups that are great with t-shirts and all. that’s not padding, so much as modesty protection. i’m talking about the bras that make what you’ve got look even bigger. which is retarded when it comes to the bigger sizes. thong bikinis shouldn’t be made in plus sizes, and any bra over a B cup does not need extra padding. i come with my own chest amplification, thanks.
jesus. so annoyed by undergarments.
oh, and i believe i’ve cemented my awkwardness in the minds of my co-workers. see, the other morning, i was supposed to go to this hour-long certification thingy. and about ten minutes before the thingy started, i got a nosebleed. i don’t mean a little trickle, like when you get when you’ve blown your nose too hard. i’m talking a gushing torrent that lasted a little too long for comfort. i’m standing there, talking to this guy i work with, and i think my nose is running. i grab a tissue, and i discover i have a little red river action happening above my lip. i dash over to the employee restroom area, where i fill up three or four tissues while trying to stop the flow. by the way, the best way to stop a nosebleed is not to pinch your nose closed, or lean your head back. you can actually cause yourself to choke on your own blood doing that. what works 99.9% of the time is firm pressure on the bridge of your nose, kind of parallel with your tear ducts, for around a minute. i stood there, pinching the bridge of my nose with a tissue to catch the blood torrent. and while it slowed, it did not stop. my other co-worker, and hopefully a soon-to-be good friend, grabbed a bunch of tissues, told me to ‘be a man about it’, and led me by the elbow to our meeting thingy. where we promptly ran into the not-drunk veteran, and where my nose re-began it’s crazy expulsion. there’s nothing less sexy than trying to make a good impression while blood is coursing down your face. well… okay, there is. but at that moment, i couldn’t think of anything less attractive. also, i had to sit through a meeting - with a bunch of my new superiors who hadn’t met me before then - with a fistful of red tissue clamped to my face.
good impressions. i can make thems. and, ew. and, sorry if you have a sensitive stomach.
and… i’ve finished a mitten! you know, just in time for summer. which… yeah. the other night, the weatherman was talking about the freakin’ snow level. snow. in june. i blame everyone that drives a hummer.
and… i require a coffee refill. because i’m not caffeinated enough.
thanks for stopping by.
i keep waiting for spring to show up, and so far it has yet to get past winter here. i’ve put air in my bike tires, i’ve put away my scarves. and still, it’s really cold and rainy here.
meh. anyway.
so, may hasn’t been a total loss. i’ve finished a bunch of projects, and i haven’t killed any plants yet. i have, however, nearly drowned my lovely roses. and completely drowned my seeds. see, i saved the seeds from a tangerine earlier this month, and i got a wild hair to try getting something to grow from them. as of today, all i’ve managed to grow is copious amounts of mud.
but my roses!
they’re fraternizing with the gnomes.
hm. i may need more gnomes.
oh, and i’ve seen a million movies in the last week. saturday night, though, my evil twin and i saw the new indiana jones movie. which, we decided, was not exactly worth the 3-4 gallons of gas our tickets cost. i won’t deliver any spoilers, but… well, i did want to hide my hands in my face a few times. yes, harrison kicks ass. yes, there is a totally goofy fight/chase scene that smacks of return of the jedi. yes, there are snakes and explosions. and yet… meh. with a side order of feh.
i did, however, have an odd response to the first narnia movie, which i finally saw on tuesday. i actually couldn’t give a damn about the story itself, but… well. there was a beaver in chain mail during the big war sequence. i can’t even begin to tell you how funny a beaver in chain mail is to me. sadly, no pictures to support my claim.
anyway, this was just a quick drop-in to say howdy. my knickers are in a total twist about the weather, and i have decided to take a cruise next year. which means, i should probably get on planning that.
oh, and i recently drew blood from a baby’s head.
thanks for stopping by.
i can’t make this stuff up, y’all.
so, friday night, i came home to teenage pandemonium in the driveway and street in front of the house. there were kids everywhere, and there was chalk everywhere. we have this tub o’ sidewalk chalk, and occasionally i come home to names scrawled across the driveway. friday night, there were drawings and names, words and phrases. from these kids that are flunking the 8th grade. and a few of these genuises bum-rushed my car. i ignored my natural instinct to speed up, and instead slowed down and honked. once i was parked and out of the car, the kids explained to me they thought i was so-and-so’s mom, which is why they ran at my car.
don’t apologize for stupidity, i said. just don’t run at oncoming cars. ever.
so, saturday afternoon, i pull into the driveway again. only now, the only thing to greet me is a police car. oh, yeah, you betcha. it seems that, along with jumping out in front of my car, the kids fron the previous night also peed on soneone’s lawn and made a general nuisance of themselves. including the chalk scrawl all over the public road. which the officer now pointed out to me, if i missed it the first few times.
he pointed at some random words and said they were gang-related. i said, that’s a misspelled profanity. it simply read F-U-K. he insisted it was a ‘gang thing’, and i may have lost it a little bit. i said, sir, i agree that the writing on the road is inappropriate. but that’s no gang sign. i grew up in los angeles. you want gang-related? give me a spray can and i’ll show you gang related.
he didn’t laugh, naturally. but he did point to another drawing and said it was gang related. it was a giant, hot pink phallus.
the gang-related wang. sadly, i do not have pictures.
kids, i cound’t stop laughing. i told the officer i would have the road cleaned off when the offending parties returned home. the kids apologized to me, and z (who had been supervising the night before, and saw nothing wrong with big pink penises on our street) apologized to me, for having to deal with the cop.
and that’s the end of my story. thanks for stopping by.
i know i was just all persnickety about the weather being inappropriate for this time of year, but i wasn’t expecting anyone to be, you know, listening. so, we’ve had the sun cranked on high for the last two or so days, and that coupled with a new and exciting way for my body to make a fool outta me (fabulously huge headaches AND the most offenive gas ever, thanks) (sorry if y’all didn’t need to know that, but there it is) have left me feeling like not opening the compy.
if you were at all curious.
so, i’ve been doing random and silly things. as per usual. and… did i mention i went a little insane and decided to grow some stuff? i have plants, and i haven’t killed them. yay! i’ll hold off on talking foliage until i have a few pictures to share. i’m not really a plant person. but, i’ve managed to not kill a few bamboo plants, so i decided to try roses and trees.
oh, and i saw speed racer friday. that will totally give you epilepsy, but it might be worth it. and, naturally, i’ll be seeing indiana jones at some point. mmmm, harrison.
anyway.
i’ve been reading at a rapid rate lately. i have my theories as to why this is, but really… i like to read. and i like even more to recommend the good ones:
how to be lost - there’s no real way to describe the plot without giving something away. but i rather love the author, amanda eyre ward. i’m not sure how i feel about her middle name.
i was told there’d be cake - the reviews i read of this essay collection suggest that the author is a female version of david sedaris. she’s not. i enjoyed the book immensely, found it funny, but i don’t think she’s any sedaris. anyway, it’s good. it’ll make you snicker.
the ghost map - i’m not sure why i bought this, and i’m less sure of why i read it. it’s a book about a cholera outbreak in england in the way-back times. so, it’s about old sewage and water problems. but, reading it on mass transit almost guarantees you a seat to yourself.
dishwasher - pete aspires to wash dishes in all 50 states. i’m smitten with such a hard-working slacker. and the book, the chronicle of his dish adventures, is amusing and interesting. and he’s kinda in love with portland.
red meat gold - i love comic-type books. i also have a sick sense of humor. so, max cannon’s books are right up my alley. he’s so… not right.
every which way but dead - moi got me hooked on kim harrison, and i really enjoy this series. the main character is a witch, her god friend and co-worker is a vampire, and they also have a pixy roommate. but it’s not at all silly. i’m currently reading the next one, fistful of charms, and it doesn’t disappoint.
i think that’s all i got for now. the sun’s still out, this place has the air conditioning pumping (i’m really cold, and that’s just not right), and i have plants to tend to.
thanks for stopping by. don’t breathe through your nose.
so, this morning i got into a minor hissy fit/ argument with a nurse about some protocol or other. at one point, i clamped my hands over my ears and said something like, “ack! ack! you’re killing my brain! stoppit!”
the other nurse laughed pretty hard, but the one i was talking to was less that thrilled.
so! in that same spirit, we have… a list of things that seriously annoy me. to be followed by a list of things that are distilled happiness.
ack! ack!
mmm… bacon.
we have movie and book shortlists coming later this week. woo!
and, thanks for stopping by.
i don’t have a lot to say. actually, pretend i didn’t say that. it would seem that i have so much bottled up inside me these days that i barely say anything. my schedule has been changing every two weeks, and this last week my alarm was going off at three in the morning. which i’m not complaining about. really, i swear. but by the time i get done at the gym and get my over-30 arse home, i have just run the hell out of words.
and really… i moved to oregon for seasons. i did not, however, sign up for snow on my birthday. or hail in may. i am just saying. al gore, i’d like my spring back. please.
however, i do not regret moving to the greater portland area. if i’ve done the math correctly, i’ll be putting down honest-to-god roots and buying a house in the next 12 months. and when you’re getting up at three in the morning because you love your job and you own the dirt under your feet… well, you kinda don’t need coffee. just saying.
and anyway, i’ve given up coffee, pretty much. i have a few cups of tea during the week, and that’s about it for caffeine and me. because the caffeine? makes my hands twitch a bit. which, when you’re in the business of shoving sharp sticks at people, is not so good, you know?
anyway. i was saying.
i love the portland. the other night, i was in the northwest portion of the city. for no real reason, other than to take up space. mind you, these aren’t edited or touched-up at all. this is just where i live.
the light, it was awesome.
even the trees here are amazing.
all the cool plants are in the house band. seriously, note the mic in the foliage there.
i love me some portland. i love me some daytime working.
we’ll return to regular posting soon, i promise. i’m still getting used to living in the daytime hours. and getting up at three in the freaking morning.
thanks for stopping by.
so, sunday night i went over to cinema 21 to watch the spike & mike show. and… well.
i think the title says it all.
when i first started going to the animation festival, it was a good time. it was gross and funny. the shorts were original and amusing. and there are still moments like that. i used to love the ‘no neck joe’ shorts, which are sadly gone now. i do love the ‘dr tran’ bits they have now. i strongly suggest you zip over to the lone sausage website, to get a gander of their absolute silliness. and of course, the festival is where i very first saw the don, who we all know and love now. if you don’t, or require a refresher, i suggest you go here and here. but, for the most part, i was a little bored saturday night. either i’ve changed, or the festival has lowered its standards. i’m sure the reality is somewhere in between the two.
final verdict - if you’re as high as the guy i bought my ticket from, you’ll laugh yourself silly. if you’re a little more tethered to reality, you’ll giggle a little bit.
thanks for stopping by.
i’ve been writing this post in my head for about a week now. and, if i may be honest? it’s not gonna be good.
anyway.
so, in general, i’ve learned a lot about myself in the last 32 years. like, i aspire to be ambidextrous, i prefer manual transmissions to automatics, my hair looks best when dyed red, i have issues with other people’s eyebrows (if i ever get a bunch of eyebrow pictures and a wild hair up my keister, we’ll have that chat), i’m more of a reader than a telly watcher, and i’m attracted to damaged and/or broken people.
before y’all get offended, let me explain.
i don’t mean people who have been involved in accidents, specifically. i have friends in wheelchairs, and friends with skin grafts, yes. i know people who have woken up in the hospital with no recollection of how they got there. i’m sure we all know people like that. but i’m talking more of internal damage. they were addicted to drugs, they’ve had a drinking problem. in the case of the ex-mister, they are schizophrenic. they maybe have a loose connection with reality, and the truth. this is not everyone in my phone book. but these are the people that turn my head. folks that make me an extrovert, as opposed to my usual nearly-wallflower state. i’ve said before that my picker is busted, meaning that i really shouldn’t be trusted to craft my own friendships and relationships. in a litter of puppies, i will be drawn to the runt. or the three-legged one.
if i thought about it long enough, i could tell you why this is. maybe, deep down inside, i figure i’m not worth the time of a real and whole person. that’s not how i feel in my conscious mind, naturally, but it could be wedged back in there next to my aversion of the sound of peope hacking up phlegm.
uh, sorry. even the word is gross to me. we have found my limit, and it involves what my dad used to call ‘lung butter’. eeesh.
maybe i have an aversion to perfection. i’ve sometimes felt that being in a room of talented and attractive people makes me look like an orc from the lord of the rings series, standing next to an elf. self esteem - i has some.
i’m straying from my original point here. which is, i am instantly attracted to people who have been through more fire than myself. while i don’t have many friends, i am fierce about the ones i do have. as i said, not everyone i know falls into the ‘damaged goods’ category. the people that seem to really appreciate my fiercity (which is totally not a word, but i think you’re picking up what i’m putting down there) are the slightly damaged people i want to pull so very close to me. however, the people who have a higher precentage of damage to their psyche are not always nice to me. sometimes i get manipulated, lied to, and trod on. more than a few times, i have been left with the bill from a very large party i was not really invited to. these are all analogies, of course. but the point is, the people i am attracted to are not always the best people for me. when i like someone instantly, i now have to internally check myself. it’s a defense mechanism that has slowly evolved to keep me safe. i’ve only recently begun to use it, and while i sometimes come off as cold and aloof, i have been happier and more relaxed in the last three years than i have been in a very long time.
my friends that have addictions each have their own little phrase they use to discuss their habits. mr sparkles, for example, used to say he was ‘on venus’ when talking about times he was high. i have a group phrase for these instances. it’s not terribly original, as i stole it from a cheech & chong record. i would simply say ‘dave’s not here’. the dave you are here to deal with is altered in some mental way, and you might as well beat your head against that brick wall over yonder. these aren’t the droids you’re looking for, we’re not in kansas anymore, and so on.
when i started my new position at the hospital, one of my co-workers turned my head. he caught my eye, and it was a physical and mental reaction. i don’t yet have a codename for him, although i have been referring to him as the ‘drunk vet’ when discussing him with moi. and that’s a truly inaccurate name. he’s a veteran, he has post-traumatic stress disorder (when did we remove the humanity from that condition? why can’t we go back to calling it shellshock, making it sound as brutal as it really is?), and in order to deal with the things he’s done for the government, he drinks. apparently, quite a lot. recently, the va stepped in on his behalf, and he’s been trying to not drink. it’s only been a few days, so i’m not really sure how he’s doing with it, but i really hope he keeps his demons at bay.
naturally, i want to be his best friend. from the first moment, when he was ringing all these bells in my head, i knew there was something wrong. his inability to meet my eyes, or sit still, confirmed the high damage quotient for me. when i found out about the drinking, a little voice in my head said well, naturally. dave’s not here.
but this dave is trying so hard to be here. he tried to bake me cookies (yeah, just me. i think this is how veterans flirt), but he ran out of time. so, he brought the dough instead. they were oatmeal chocolate chunk, and they were tasty. i’m bringing him peanut butter cups, which i already know he prefers frozen. to demonstrate a procedure, he drew his own blood. which was rather brutal to watch, if i may be honest. there’s a clicking sensation when he’s around. i have absolutely no idea where all this is going, but the dave factor has tripped all the alarms. i like him, i’d like to be his friend, and i’m completely terrified.
dave’s not here. but it doesn’t mean he’ll never be here.
thanks for stopping by.
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