My stomach hurts; it's 85 degrees in my office (I am typing this in a camisole and bare feet because there's just no other way) I'm busy as hell at work; I'm behind as hell in everything; I'm out of books to read - and did I mention that my stomach hurts?
Oh well. Now that I've got that out of the way, let's talk about something more fun, like floods, which is completely what is going to happen if it keeps on raining like this. I actually made it over to the river with the dogs both yesterday and today and the river, hooo boy. The river is level with the park and the puddles have become smaller rivers with connectors to the big river and where there isn't water, there is mud. Django thinks the world has finally been perfectly arranged for his happiness and I think it is time for me to buy some big rubber boots. Last year I thought water would never fall from the sky again and this year I think the legs of my dog walking overalls (yes, I do wear the same pair of utterly horrible Carharrt mens denim overalls to walk the dogs every morning, yes, despite the outraged shrieks of my inner fashion police, I do) will never dry out again. Look what happens when you piss off Al Gore!
In other news, there is no other news. The deadline for Ditloa submissions is tomorrow night at 11:59 pm (fyi) and I will get 13 more images into the pool sometime between now and then because I know that the deadline is absolutely inflexible. Ah yes. Thank you for all your comments and thoughts! They are a huge help.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
More Ditloa and Some Other General Stuff Including Bloodmeal
I am still trying to figure out which 15 pictures from my DITLOA set should be submitted for judging. You can help me with this arduous task by looking at the damn things and commenting on the ones you like - actually, my one remaining reader (hi, Haskell!) has already done this but there's no reason that all you fictional nonexistent people shouldn't do it as well. Yes, I know that it's cruelly boring to look at a whole bunch of pictures in a row, some of which are damn near indistinguishable from one another (I'm looking at you, dismembered couch under the highway) but remember, if I get picked then it just further adds to my sense of incredible photographic genius and I become insufferable, but if I don't get picked it will erode my already fragile self esteem and I'll also be insufferable but whiny with it. Therefore, you want to shore me up.
Anyway, I keep looking at them myself late at night ("Can I use the computer yet?" "No. No, you cannot." "Are you looking at your pictures again?" "Why yes. Would you like to look at them?" "No way. Why don't you just let me play counterstrike? You know, if you moved the computer downstairs I could play counterstrike all the time and never bug you and hey, I know where you can get a sweet deal on a laptop, only $200, seriously.") and I think there is a real aesthetic going on here. A dark, gloomy aesthetic, an aesthetic of ruined things and doom, of decay and the slow, insidious and constant fall into entropy which we all experience, yes, but an aesthetic. Not that I've thought about it or anything. Except, that is, for the picture in this post, which bugs me, since it is neither dark nor gloomy nor metaphorical of a deep issue in our society but which all you cheerful types seem to adore. So I stuck it in the judging pool just in case the judges are shiny happy people. One never knows.
In other news, if I don't go home immediately after work to eat everything in the house (back on diet. Diet sucks. HUNGRY.) then I'm going to Lowes to buy the bloodmeal I've been planning to buy for days now. Bloodmeal. Yes. A meal of blood. I am picturing a bag, perchance, of clots or something horribly gory with a big old biohazard sticker on it and it's both fascinating and repelling me. Which is, hey, aesthetic in its own way, but the whole blood thing has been way too exploited by vampire porn, alas. Do you know that I grew up in a world without vampire porn? And yet, I managed to be sadly maladjusted anyway. Go figure.
In other other news I got a phone call last night from a friend who had a bad dream about a plane crash and was worried about flying the next day. I trotted out my best half remembered Psychology 101 (you are worrying about some deep issue and externalizing it into a tragic event to give it a visible shape; that will be 5 cents, please.) to reassure him that it almost certainly was not one of those creepy clairvoyant visions you hear about but I was a bit unnerved myself. Not, I'll grant you, as unnerved as he was, but still, uneasy. Or, well, I was last night and then today I totally forgot about it for most of the morning. Oh shit, I thought then, what if there was a plane crash and I didn't hear about it? No, I thought, it would be on Metafilter or Twitter, wouldn't it? And then I checked my igoogle page and decided that if there had, in fact, been such a crash than the new justice of the supreme court and the inception of glowing monkeys for use in SCIENCE would totally not be taking up all the space there.
But then they could be using citizen-journalists these days, so who knows? Citizen journalists (I am one myself, witness this blog) are fascinated by glowing monkeys. Yes, yes, we all are. So I do not know if they have preempted a plane crash but it is possible. As a responsible citizen journalist, I will say that when my evil self saw the Mountain Xpress asking us to report on the Mountain Sports festival (for free. Remember, the best thing about citizen journalists is how extremely cheap they are.) the very first thing I thought of was not citizenly at all. However, despite my evil brain, certainly I would never tweet the wrong results of a completely made up contest or just fill up the stream talking about how I'm not going to the festival. Or would I? Mwah ha ha. Okay, okay, I probably won't. But mostly because I'm not only too lazy to go to the damn festival, I'm even too lazy to tweet about it. That's the 21st century for you: more ways to embrace the lazy.
Anyway, I keep looking at them myself late at night ("Can I use the computer yet?" "No. No, you cannot." "Are you looking at your pictures again?" "Why yes. Would you like to look at them?" "No way. Why don't you just let me play counterstrike? You know, if you moved the computer downstairs I could play counterstrike all the time and never bug you and hey, I know where you can get a sweet deal on a laptop, only $200, seriously.") and I think there is a real aesthetic going on here. A dark, gloomy aesthetic, an aesthetic of ruined things and doom, of decay and the slow, insidious and constant fall into entropy which we all experience, yes, but an aesthetic. Not that I've thought about it or anything. Except, that is, for the picture in this post, which bugs me, since it is neither dark nor gloomy nor metaphorical of a deep issue in our society but which all you cheerful types seem to adore. So I stuck it in the judging pool just in case the judges are shiny happy people. One never knows.
In other news, if I don't go home immediately after work to eat everything in the house (back on diet. Diet sucks. HUNGRY.) then I'm going to Lowes to buy the bloodmeal I've been planning to buy for days now. Bloodmeal. Yes. A meal of blood. I am picturing a bag, perchance, of clots or something horribly gory with a big old biohazard sticker on it and it's both fascinating and repelling me. Which is, hey, aesthetic in its own way, but the whole blood thing has been way too exploited by vampire porn, alas. Do you know that I grew up in a world without vampire porn? And yet, I managed to be sadly maladjusted anyway. Go figure.
In other other news I got a phone call last night from a friend who had a bad dream about a plane crash and was worried about flying the next day. I trotted out my best half remembered Psychology 101 (you are worrying about some deep issue and externalizing it into a tragic event to give it a visible shape; that will be 5 cents, please.) to reassure him that it almost certainly was not one of those creepy clairvoyant visions you hear about but I was a bit unnerved myself. Not, I'll grant you, as unnerved as he was, but still, uneasy. Or, well, I was last night and then today I totally forgot about it for most of the morning. Oh shit, I thought then, what if there was a plane crash and I didn't hear about it? No, I thought, it would be on Metafilter or Twitter, wouldn't it? And then I checked my igoogle page and decided that if there had, in fact, been such a crash than the new justice of the supreme court and the inception of glowing monkeys for use in SCIENCE would totally not be taking up all the space there.
But then they could be using citizen-journalists these days, so who knows? Citizen journalists (I am one myself, witness this blog) are fascinated by glowing monkeys. Yes, yes, we all are. So I do not know if they have preempted a plane crash but it is possible. As a responsible citizen journalist, I will say that when my evil self saw the Mountain Xpress asking us to report on the Mountain Sports festival (for free. Remember, the best thing about citizen journalists is how extremely cheap they are.) the very first thing I thought of was not citizenly at all. However, despite my evil brain, certainly I would never tweet the wrong results of a completely made up contest or just fill up the stream talking about how I'm not going to the festival. Or would I? Mwah ha ha. Okay, okay, I probably won't. But mostly because I'm not only too lazy to go to the damn festival, I'm even too lazy to tweet about it. That's the 21st century for you: more ways to embrace the lazy.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Another Ditloa Survived
I took 401 pictures this weekend, of which 130 were deemed worthy of a second look and which are up right here. The rest have vanished into the cyber trash. Before Friday I have to pick 15 of the best and submit them to the pool; as it stands right now I'm not sure I've even got 15 I really really like. Oh well. It was fun and exhausting in turns - okay, the DITLOA rules do not really demand copious drinking of beer but hey, tradition is tradition. I walked all over Asheville and West Asheville, looked at crafts and graffiti and landscapes and architecture, went to the Admiral and the Sky Bar and Little Bee Thai Kitchen, which is just as good as everyone says it is, although you have to call your order in an hour ahead of time. Now I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.
My house is scarily trashed and any minute now I'm going to stand up from this computer and clean it down to the ground, including the porch, where I think I will don gloves and toss the dogs "bed" - aka the dogs' pile of filthy rags - into the washing machine. Once my house is habitable I'm going over to Annie's with Susan to work on the last bits of her website, which would include, yikes, the bio I have yet to write. I'm going to go to Lowes and buy some bloodmeal (ewww. I don't even want to know, but my gardening gurus tell me that it will help my sad and yellowing vegetable garden.) And tomorrow I will take the Citizen Camera from the Admiral on over to Iris for developing.
In other news, there is no other news, just a giant giant list of tasks to complete and projects that are woefully behind. So I suppose I had better get to them. Toodles!
My house is scarily trashed and any minute now I'm going to stand up from this computer and clean it down to the ground, including the porch, where I think I will don gloves and toss the dogs "bed" - aka the dogs' pile of filthy rags - into the washing machine. Once my house is habitable I'm going over to Annie's with Susan to work on the last bits of her website, which would include, yikes, the bio I have yet to write. I'm going to go to Lowes and buy some bloodmeal (ewww. I don't even want to know, but my gardening gurus tell me that it will help my sad and yellowing vegetable garden.) And tomorrow I will take the Citizen Camera from the Admiral on over to Iris for developing.
In other news, there is no other news, just a giant giant list of tasks to complete and projects that are woefully behind. So I suppose I had better get to them. Toodles!
Friday, May 22, 2009
DITLOA
Well, here it is: that moment you've all been waiting for: Day in the Life of Asheville 2009! I was all ready to be jaded and grumpy and not give a shit but I have to say that instead I'm excited and have already even taken a bunch of peculiar photos. I just went out to smoke a cigarette and took some pictures of Asheville's firefighters hanging around in the sunshine outside the firehouse. That's the best thing about DITLOA for me - it forces me out of my comfort zone and makes me brave enough to go up and ask perfect strangers if I can take their picture. The reason I mostly take pictures of mountains and dogs and traffic lights is not only because I find these things so utterly fascinating (although I do) but because I am an abject coward who is very shy about taking pictures of people. Something about being "on assignment" though, makes all the difference and I manage to smile and talk to perfect strangers and snap their picture. Sure it makes me nervous as hell and I want to go back in afterwards and take a klonopin and have a little lie down or perhaps a double vodka to recover, but I manage it, which is some kind of triumph, I guess.
Last night was the big DITLOA meetup and it was very fun. Hung out with old friend and met some new ones; cuddled a truly adorable puppy and, of course, drank beer. That was all good and when I got home I discovered that my friend Adam had successfully put in a really great looking new door downstairs which is moving me slowly towards my evil plan of renting out part of the basement to some needy college student type. He also dumped half a ton of gravel on the mud where I wanted to put a paved patio but, oh well, this is much cheaper and it looks pretty cool and, hey, it beats mud.
In other news I don't have much other news except that my computer is fixed, thank the gods, and I'm going to go pick it up this afternoon, so perchance there will be more blog updates this memorial day weekend. One can hope. Have a great one, anyway, and take pictures!
Last night was the big DITLOA meetup and it was very fun. Hung out with old friend and met some new ones; cuddled a truly adorable puppy and, of course, drank beer. That was all good and when I got home I discovered that my friend Adam had successfully put in a really great looking new door downstairs which is moving me slowly towards my evil plan of renting out part of the basement to some needy college student type. He also dumped half a ton of gravel on the mud where I wanted to put a paved patio but, oh well, this is much cheaper and it looks pretty cool and, hey, it beats mud.
In other news I don't have much other news except that my computer is fixed, thank the gods, and I'm going to go pick it up this afternoon, so perchance there will be more blog updates this memorial day weekend. One can hope. Have a great one, anyway, and take pictures!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Running Around
I suddenly seem to have gone from quite mellow to full speed ahead which is not really surprising - it's what happens, alas, when you take procrastination to a fine art - and that's just at work. I need to go full speed ahead at home too, and I need to do it before some of the dust in the house achieves sapience, forms a civilization and takes over the world. It's amazing, really, how much time I can spend avoiding housework when it doesn't actually even take that long to do. But I would rather be doing cool fun stuff like this picture - which Susan made and I am totally going to copy this weekend. I have a funky "stone" head not unlike this one and I think it also needs a body, so a body it shall receive. Right as soon as I finish mosaicing the last two vegetable beds, planting the begonias and the bat flower and stitching up a summer weight quilt out of my mother's fabulous 70s designer scarves. Yes. Uh huh. Or I could just walk around in circles smoking and obsessing about calories, which is, let's face it, way way more likely to happen.
An old friend of mine from Spain just called; I talked to her a year ago when Annie first had her stroke and I hadn't spoken with her since. It was awesome to briefly catch up and also really wonderful to be able to report that Annie is doing fantastically well and is, I think, really pretty happy in her house here. Yes she still complains about being out in the boondocks and etc., (what IS it with New Yorkers? You would think they liked grime and noise and tiny tiny spaces all made of gray concrete.) but she's actually liking her house and her garden; she's busy - people are dropping by every day doing stuff with her and it's all good. So if you are reading this from Deia or to catch up on Annie Truxell, you will be glad to hear that she has recovered amazingly - really amazingly, nobody thought she would ever come this far - since a year ago and is totally as great as she ever was. And she likes mimosas.
Tomorrow is the last DITLOA meetup before the great project, y'all, so make plans to be at the Asheville Brewing Company on Coxe Avenue at 6ish or thereabouts to meet people and get your business cards and all that good stuff. Remember, DITLOA - Day in the Life of Asheville Photography Project - begins at noon on Friday the 23rd and continues until midnight Saturday. Yes, it is 36 hours which is not properly speaking a day but it turns out that 24 hours is simply not enough to capture all the wonderment of an actual day in Asheville and besides we had to put some of that time aside for drinking beer. Speaking of which, see you tomorrow night!
Oh oh and wait, I almost forgot, read this. I nearly fell off my office chair in hysterical laughter and I think that what my life is lacking might just be a three wolf shirt from Amazon. Yes.
An old friend of mine from Spain just called; I talked to her a year ago when Annie first had her stroke and I hadn't spoken with her since. It was awesome to briefly catch up and also really wonderful to be able to report that Annie is doing fantastically well and is, I think, really pretty happy in her house here. Yes she still complains about being out in the boondocks and etc., (what IS it with New Yorkers? You would think they liked grime and noise and tiny tiny spaces all made of gray concrete.) but she's actually liking her house and her garden; she's busy - people are dropping by every day doing stuff with her and it's all good. So if you are reading this from Deia or to catch up on Annie Truxell, you will be glad to hear that she has recovered amazingly - really amazingly, nobody thought she would ever come this far - since a year ago and is totally as great as she ever was. And she likes mimosas.
Tomorrow is the last DITLOA meetup before the great project, y'all, so make plans to be at the Asheville Brewing Company on Coxe Avenue at 6ish or thereabouts to meet people and get your business cards and all that good stuff. Remember, DITLOA - Day in the Life of Asheville Photography Project - begins at noon on Friday the 23rd and continues until midnight Saturday. Yes, it is 36 hours which is not properly speaking a day but it turns out that 24 hours is simply not enough to capture all the wonderment of an actual day in Asheville and besides we had to put some of that time aside for drinking beer. Speaking of which, see you tomorrow night!
Oh oh and wait, I almost forgot, read this. I nearly fell off my office chair in hysterical laughter and I think that what my life is lacking might just be a three wolf shirt from Amazon. Yes.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Calories
I am on a theoretical diet. It's extremely theoretical in that I am counting calories like crazy with the help of this helpful website but unfortunately, I am noticing that just counting the damn things is not enough. I'm counting like crazy but there are so many of them and, clearly, I need to learn to subtract. Egads! I feel kind of like talking Barbie: I like shopping! Math is hard! It is hard, too, and particularly hard when it involves gently putting that beer right back on the shelf because those are a whole bunch of calories that will be added in and besides, on that website, everything you eat is graded from A to F and beer, somehow, go figure, does not come in at a high grade. It's like a D, in fact. So depressing and, just like that D in 10th grade geometry, it brings down the high average I usually manage to achieve by eating hippie bread and lettuce, grade B+ and A, respectively. I don't know what happens if I fail - part of me really wants to try to have an all F day just to see if I get in trouble - but actually I'm afraid. Angry grownups might come out of the computer and berate me or something. I hate it when that happens.
I went over to Susan's last night and we worked on categorizing Annie's painting for the website, which has turned out to be a giant endeavour and a true catalogue raisonnee, which is extremely cool and really impressive. Susan is good at web design and it looks amazing. It was kind of fun to sit there and drink beer (Aaaugh! 110 calories each! Why is life so unfair?!) and look at thumbnails of over 100 of Annie's brilliant genius paintings and categorize them by decade. It was hard too and I bet a got a lot wrong, but at least we have somewhere to start. Then she can sit down with us and say which ones are wrong.
I actually went over to Annie's first last night, bearing a bottle of Prosecco. She hadn't answered her phone and then she didn't answer the door but I went on in anyway. "Annie?" I said, and she came out. "You didn't answer the phone," I said and she said, "That's because I'm in bed."
"I brought you some wine," I said,
"Oh," she said, "Glug glug!"
"Yeah," I said, "Glug glug! Should we have a glass?"
"No," she said, "It's too cold. I'm going back to bed."
And so she did. She's right: it was cold, too damn freaking cold for late May in Asheville, good god, I did not sign on for the fucking Yukon here. When I got home I dragged a whole bunch of sheets out of the linen closet and draped all the raised beds and plants in the front yard with them. It looked booth eerie and completely ridiculous and Miles asked me in tones of anguish why, just why, I had to do such weird stuff out front where everyone could see. "I can't help it," I said sadly, "I'm just like that." Poor Miles. Then we made a big pot of beans and rice and sausage and it was okay. Italian sausage, I find, can cure most things. But I lied about it on the calorie page.
I went over to Susan's last night and we worked on categorizing Annie's painting for the website, which has turned out to be a giant endeavour and a true catalogue raisonnee, which is extremely cool and really impressive. Susan is good at web design and it looks amazing. It was kind of fun to sit there and drink beer (Aaaugh! 110 calories each! Why is life so unfair?!) and look at thumbnails of over 100 of Annie's brilliant genius paintings and categorize them by decade. It was hard too and I bet a got a lot wrong, but at least we have somewhere to start. Then she can sit down with us and say which ones are wrong.
I actually went over to Annie's first last night, bearing a bottle of Prosecco. She hadn't answered her phone and then she didn't answer the door but I went on in anyway. "Annie?" I said, and she came out. "You didn't answer the phone," I said and she said, "That's because I'm in bed."
"I brought you some wine," I said,
"Oh," she said, "Glug glug!"
"Yeah," I said, "Glug glug! Should we have a glass?"
"No," she said, "It's too cold. I'm going back to bed."
And so she did. She's right: it was cold, too damn freaking cold for late May in Asheville, good god, I did not sign on for the fucking Yukon here. When I got home I dragged a whole bunch of sheets out of the linen closet and draped all the raised beds and plants in the front yard with them. It looked booth eerie and completely ridiculous and Miles asked me in tones of anguish why, just why, I had to do such weird stuff out front where everyone could see. "I can't help it," I said sadly, "I'm just like that." Poor Miles. Then we made a big pot of beans and rice and sausage and it was okay. Italian sausage, I find, can cure most things. But I lied about it on the calorie page.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Raining and So On
It is now Sunday evening, whoo hoo, and the huge list I made for myself to do this weekend is still mostly unaccomplished. Sigh. I didn't even make it over to see the Queen of Bohemia and I am a Bad Niece and mad at myself. But, on the other hand, the weather is just so foul today that nobody can really go anywhere and do anything but droop in a big chair and reread The Scar. Right?
Actually I did leave the house - I went to the Mall, a place I regard with about the same delight as Frodo gave to Mordor. I went because I need to buy a dehumidifier in case the weird ass fermenty smell in the basement is actually some kind of killer mold and the Consumer Reports people reported that Sears is the purveyor of the highest quality dehumidifier. Unfortunately, Sears was out and none are expected in for another week, which would have meant a return trip to the mall, oh horrors, so I went to Lowes and bought an unrecommended one which is even now humming away in Miles' room and hopefully rendering it safe for human habitation, or as safe as any teenagers' room can be said to be, given an alarmingly high population of nearly sentient filthy black socks. The mall trip was not a complete waste, though: I did buy an extremely adorable pair of purple plaid sneakers on clearance and some other vague objects of clothing also all on sale and a pair of jeans for Miles. I tried on some staggeringly hideous sort of capri type pants and wandered blankly in the fluorescent lights so, you know, that was okay. Unfortunately it tired me out completely and that's all I've done today. I really need a week off for every week I work, I think.
Yesterday I did get a lot done in the garden. I moved the forsythia bush and, since my giant order of plants from Springhill that I placed in March finally, finally came in, I planted things. I say things because what Springhill sent did not, for the most part, look like plants. No, they looked like dried roots in plastic bags and I'm not entirely sure if I was supposed to smoke them or plant them or wave them around menacingly in a complicated midnight ritual designed to invoke something. So I tucked them safely away in the earth with the disheartening result that my garden looks about the same as it did before, namely, half empty. I'm kind of dubious about them. I'm also dubious about how much sun that spot actually gets but oh well, life is nothing without experimentation. To that end, I'm going to experiment with going to bed at like 9:30 tonight after I drag my quilt, which I put away the day before yesterday for the summer, back out for this fimbulwinter which has suddenly descended on us. And there you have it for my weekend: always a dull moment available around here.
Actually I did leave the house - I went to the Mall, a place I regard with about the same delight as Frodo gave to Mordor. I went because I need to buy a dehumidifier in case the weird ass fermenty smell in the basement is actually some kind of killer mold and the Consumer Reports people reported that Sears is the purveyor of the highest quality dehumidifier. Unfortunately, Sears was out and none are expected in for another week, which would have meant a return trip to the mall, oh horrors, so I went to Lowes and bought an unrecommended one which is even now humming away in Miles' room and hopefully rendering it safe for human habitation, or as safe as any teenagers' room can be said to be, given an alarmingly high population of nearly sentient filthy black socks. The mall trip was not a complete waste, though: I did buy an extremely adorable pair of purple plaid sneakers on clearance and some other vague objects of clothing also all on sale and a pair of jeans for Miles. I tried on some staggeringly hideous sort of capri type pants and wandered blankly in the fluorescent lights so, you know, that was okay. Unfortunately it tired me out completely and that's all I've done today. I really need a week off for every week I work, I think.
Yesterday I did get a lot done in the garden. I moved the forsythia bush and, since my giant order of plants from Springhill that I placed in March finally, finally came in, I planted things. I say things because what Springhill sent did not, for the most part, look like plants. No, they looked like dried roots in plastic bags and I'm not entirely sure if I was supposed to smoke them or plant them or wave them around menacingly in a complicated midnight ritual designed to invoke something. So I tucked them safely away in the earth with the disheartening result that my garden looks about the same as it did before, namely, half empty. I'm kind of dubious about them. I'm also dubious about how much sun that spot actually gets but oh well, life is nothing without experimentation. To that end, I'm going to experiment with going to bed at like 9:30 tonight after I drag my quilt, which I put away the day before yesterday for the summer, back out for this fimbulwinter which has suddenly descended on us. And there you have it for my weekend: always a dull moment available around here.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday night, Later
Well, hello. I am home after being at the Admiral for a lovely evening with the usual suspects, which is to say, Susan and Jodi and Zen and Helen and Jennifer and, later, Charles and then Kyle but I left when Kyle got there. That is sad, but, well, these things happen. Kyle, you were late.
I made a small movie this evening of Susan telling the story of a date from hell but unfortunately it turns out that my phone doesn't capture sound very well. The picture quality is awesome, though, and soon, as soon as I master the arcane art of taking videos off my phone and placing them on my computer, you will all have to suffer through them. Or not - if you're like me, you will suffer through refusing to push the sideways-triangle ON button and flick right on down the page thinking, "Oooh, another photographer down the motion picture drain. Damn you, videos! I refuse to watch videos; they are impure!" At least, I was that way until I got a phone that takes video. For the record, I also used to be all "I only want a phone that is a phone and does nothing but makes and answers calls because I am a complete hippie purist, okay?" but I've long since given that shit up, because now I have a serious yuppie phone that does more or less everything and I treat it like the newborn Buddha. And, now that I have a videocamera, I am taking miserable boring shaking videos by the ton and I think, suddenly, that videography is a horribly underrated art and I am a master.
In the meantime, my toes are taped together with blue painters tape. I wore boots today and clumped around just fine although my toe, as you remember from yesterday, is still all messed up. It is okay, though. It looks pretty good and daring in the blue painters tape.
Hmmm. I believe that is all the news for today, although just a few minutes ago I fell victim to a long held dream and started putting bad haiku up on Twitter. I knew it would happen someday.
NATTERING ON A BIT
I finished all that above and then was going to go to bed but then I decided to instead just wander on for a while here. I mean, why not? Anyway, after posting some haiku to twitter, which is probably going to lose me followers left and right, awesome, I went outside to smoke a cigarette on the porch. Halfway between the edge of the porch and the big tree there is a small spider, suspended. It is raining and occasionally, there is quiet lightning; the spider looks illuminated and gravity defying. The spider has a stick, or, maybe he's a mutant spider, but I'm leaning towards the stick, because he's serious and intent on not letting his stick overbalance his delicate hold on antigravity. This is a tough task and he can only wave a couple of legs at a time before he starts to spin like a carnival toy. He's a very small spider and the stick would not even fill up one half of my thumbnail but for him, it's a very big stick. I'm not sure what he wants the stick for, maybe to start to build a house or perhaps in the spider economy sticks are exactly where it's at or maybe it was a dare from a group of spiders who were all, yeah, you loser, show us how you handle a stick and then we'll talk. But anyway he's out there, tiny, sort of glowing, and wrestling his stick.
This morning when I went outside I realized that it was summer. Yesterday, it was spring but today it is summer and everything has taken on that thick shade of green that makes the world smell like coconut oil at SPF 35. That is the way of seasons; they sneak up on you and before you know it you're trying to remember exactly which summer, which month, which coconut oil and SPF 15 you're trying to remember as you make your way through the thick, dark green.
I made a small movie this evening of Susan telling the story of a date from hell but unfortunately it turns out that my phone doesn't capture sound very well. The picture quality is awesome, though, and soon, as soon as I master the arcane art of taking videos off my phone and placing them on my computer, you will all have to suffer through them. Or not - if you're like me, you will suffer through refusing to push the sideways-triangle ON button and flick right on down the page thinking, "Oooh, another photographer down the motion picture drain. Damn you, videos! I refuse to watch videos; they are impure!" At least, I was that way until I got a phone that takes video. For the record, I also used to be all "I only want a phone that is a phone and does nothing but makes and answers calls because I am a complete hippie purist, okay?" but I've long since given that shit up, because now I have a serious yuppie phone that does more or less everything and I treat it like the newborn Buddha. And, now that I have a videocamera, I am taking miserable boring shaking videos by the ton and I think, suddenly, that videography is a horribly underrated art and I am a master.
In the meantime, my toes are taped together with blue painters tape. I wore boots today and clumped around just fine although my toe, as you remember from yesterday, is still all messed up. It is okay, though. It looks pretty good and daring in the blue painters tape.
Hmmm. I believe that is all the news for today, although just a few minutes ago I fell victim to a long held dream and started putting bad haiku up on Twitter. I knew it would happen someday.
NATTERING ON A BIT
I finished all that above and then was going to go to bed but then I decided to instead just wander on for a while here. I mean, why not? Anyway, after posting some haiku to twitter, which is probably going to lose me followers left and right, awesome, I went outside to smoke a cigarette on the porch. Halfway between the edge of the porch and the big tree there is a small spider, suspended. It is raining and occasionally, there is quiet lightning; the spider looks illuminated and gravity defying. The spider has a stick, or, maybe he's a mutant spider, but I'm leaning towards the stick, because he's serious and intent on not letting his stick overbalance his delicate hold on antigravity. This is a tough task and he can only wave a couple of legs at a time before he starts to spin like a carnival toy. He's a very small spider and the stick would not even fill up one half of my thumbnail but for him, it's a very big stick. I'm not sure what he wants the stick for, maybe to start to build a house or perhaps in the spider economy sticks are exactly where it's at or maybe it was a dare from a group of spiders who were all, yeah, you loser, show us how you handle a stick and then we'll talk. But anyway he's out there, tiny, sort of glowing, and wrestling his stick.
This morning when I went outside I realized that it was summer. Yesterday, it was spring but today it is summer and everything has taken on that thick shade of green that makes the world smell like coconut oil at SPF 35. That is the way of seasons; they sneak up on you and before you know it you're trying to remember exactly which summer, which month, which coconut oil and SPF 15 you're trying to remember as you make your way through the thick, dark green.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Toes
I think I broke my toe this morning. Or, because I am after all a big baby, it could just be bruised - I slammed it against the corner of the cedar chest in my bedroom and it hurt like fucking crazy so I threw myself across my bed and decided to call in late to work. Not all that late, but a bit. I have been sitting here at work putting ice on it and googling broken toes, which is of course a terrible thing to do. Naturally eveyone on the internet believes deeply in the magical power of doctors and encourages you to go doctor immediately you ever hurt yourself or sneeze or something. I don't know where the internet people find these doctors who can drop everything and see you every time you feel slightly off but the doctors I know firstly won't even schedule you for six months and secondly if by some miracle you wangle your way in or go to a doc in the box and there is nothing all that wrong with you they get these expressions of incredulous scorn and write something mean down in your permanent record. Then they tell you there isn't much that can be done and charge you huge sums of money. So I am not going to the doctor with my toe unless it does something seriously alarming, like falls off or starts to talk.
However, I fully intend to milk it for all the sympathy I can get, which I uneasily feel is probably not going to be much. Toe injuries are just not all that high on the sympathetic injury meter - people are more likely to laugh at you with a toe injury than they are with almost any other kind of injury. Knees get respect. Toes? Not so much. However, let it be stated for the record: my toe, which is now duct taped to the toe next to it in a highly attractive fashion, hurts.
In other news an internet friend of mine came to stay last night and yet again nobody got axe murdered. She brought her 3 month old English shepherd puppy (turns out English shepherds are basically collies, only black) and he was completely adorable and just like Theo at that age, which means that my poor friend is in for years of neediness and extreme barking but she will never, ever have to worry about squirrel invasions. We went out for dinner at the Westville, where I ran into my old friend Heather, who used to be my friend Charles' roommate and, it turns out, was my friend Nate's roommate in Hawaii a couple of years ago which is totally random and bizarre and crazy and kind of blew my small mind. Or possibly that was the free beer they were giving away. Anyway a good time was had by all.
Oh and in breaking local news, the Admiral's patio got run into late Tuesday night by a car that apparently backed up first, hit the telephone pole and then drove forward directly through the patio, jamming a picnic table into the cement wall of the building and narrowly avoiding killing several patrons. Not only that, but this is not the first time somebody has driven into the Admiral patio. Charles thinks that perhaps the only way to be safe in this dangerous land of West Asheville is to wear full plate armor at all times and keep your lawyer on speed dial and I think he is probably right. Look for me in the chain mail bikini.
However, I fully intend to milk it for all the sympathy I can get, which I uneasily feel is probably not going to be much. Toe injuries are just not all that high on the sympathetic injury meter - people are more likely to laugh at you with a toe injury than they are with almost any other kind of injury. Knees get respect. Toes? Not so much. However, let it be stated for the record: my toe, which is now duct taped to the toe next to it in a highly attractive fashion, hurts.
In other news an internet friend of mine came to stay last night and yet again nobody got axe murdered. She brought her 3 month old English shepherd puppy (turns out English shepherds are basically collies, only black) and he was completely adorable and just like Theo at that age, which means that my poor friend is in for years of neediness and extreme barking but she will never, ever have to worry about squirrel invasions. We went out for dinner at the Westville, where I ran into my old friend Heather, who used to be my friend Charles' roommate and, it turns out, was my friend Nate's roommate in Hawaii a couple of years ago which is totally random and bizarre and crazy and kind of blew my small mind. Or possibly that was the free beer they were giving away. Anyway a good time was had by all.
Oh and in breaking local news, the Admiral's patio got run into late Tuesday night by a car that apparently backed up first, hit the telephone pole and then drove forward directly through the patio, jamming a picnic table into the cement wall of the building and narrowly avoiding killing several patrons. Not only that, but this is not the first time somebody has driven into the Admiral patio. Charles thinks that perhaps the only way to be safe in this dangerous land of West Asheville is to wear full plate armor at all times and keep your lawyer on speed dial and I think he is probably right. Look for me in the chain mail bikini.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Spayed, Unspayed
I took Perdita to the humane alliance's spay and neuter clinic yesterday morning for that necessary operation which all dogs must undergo. The clinic used to be right downtown on that weird little part of Clingman or Haywood St. along with the sheriff's office and the gay bar and the giant, decaying Victorian mansion but now it is in a larger, nicer building out off Leicester Highway with a bronze dog statue and a cute little path of doggie footprints, amenities that were grievously lacking in the old place. The decaying Victorian mansion has been all fixed up and I don't know if the gay bar is still there or not, but, whatever, that is not important, since I took Perdita on out Leicester Highway at an ungodly early hour in the morning. Everyone at the clinic is nice and friendly and helpful and you can't help smiling at them even though it is, like, this insane time in the morning when nobody should be doing anything but walking alongside the river in a half asleep fugue state.
So I signed her over and off she went on a leash with a nice guy and I went in early to work and fretted about her all day. When I got home the other animals were clearly fretting as well - whenever I take just one of them to the vet the others get all uneasy, as do we all when a family member suddenly gets disappeared by forces unknown. I was worrying about how the post op period would go with the three dogs being rambunctious and so I went over to the dog superstore and spent too much money on a cushy dog bed and some special post op treats, all the while thinking to myself that it was ridiculous how quickly my house had gone from feeling too full with three dogs to too empty with two.
This morning I duly toddled back over to the clinic immediately on getting out of bed where they told me that I didn't, after all, owe them $38. No, I owed them nothing because it turned out that when they shaved her belly for the operation, there was a tattoo and a scar there from where she'd already been spayed. Well and good and I laughed about how now she was going to have to share her special recovery toys and I took her on home where she is even now bouncing around on the back porch with a whole bunch of new fancy toys that I sort of wish I hadn't unwrapped last night.
The only problem with all of this is that, as we recall, I took her to the vet last Monday to ascertain if by chance she was spayed and my vet totally missed the tattoo and the scar despite shaving part of her stomach. Apparently the wrong part. Hmmmmmmm. This does not thrill me. I suppose it's hard to see although you'd think they'd make the tattoos big and visible - I would, if I was them, but then if I was them I'd probably give in to temptation and put flaming dragons and gothic letters that said BITCH on the dogs' bellies which is why it is a good thing I'm not in charge of spay/neuter tattoos. Speaking of which, I wonder if they bother with the tattoos for the boys? It's fairly, um, self evident.
However, I've been thinking seriously about switching vets, particularly since Charles told me about a vet he knows who is both holistic and makes house calls. I don't care so much about the holistic stuff because frankly I cannot afford the fancy natural organic dog food - or the fancy natural organic people food for that matter - but house calls sound completely brilliant and hell, if my vet can miss a spaying tattoo and a scar, what else might she have missed over the last seven years?
So I signed her over and off she went on a leash with a nice guy and I went in early to work and fretted about her all day. When I got home the other animals were clearly fretting as well - whenever I take just one of them to the vet the others get all uneasy, as do we all when a family member suddenly gets disappeared by forces unknown. I was worrying about how the post op period would go with the three dogs being rambunctious and so I went over to the dog superstore and spent too much money on a cushy dog bed and some special post op treats, all the while thinking to myself that it was ridiculous how quickly my house had gone from feeling too full with three dogs to too empty with two.
This morning I duly toddled back over to the clinic immediately on getting out of bed where they told me that I didn't, after all, owe them $38. No, I owed them nothing because it turned out that when they shaved her belly for the operation, there was a tattoo and a scar there from where she'd already been spayed. Well and good and I laughed about how now she was going to have to share her special recovery toys and I took her on home where she is even now bouncing around on the back porch with a whole bunch of new fancy toys that I sort of wish I hadn't unwrapped last night.
The only problem with all of this is that, as we recall, I took her to the vet last Monday to ascertain if by chance she was spayed and my vet totally missed the tattoo and the scar despite shaving part of her stomach. Apparently the wrong part. Hmmmmmmm. This does not thrill me. I suppose it's hard to see although you'd think they'd make the tattoos big and visible - I would, if I was them, but then if I was them I'd probably give in to temptation and put flaming dragons and gothic letters that said BITCH on the dogs' bellies which is why it is a good thing I'm not in charge of spay/neuter tattoos. Speaking of which, I wonder if they bother with the tattoos for the boys? It's fairly, um, self evident.
However, I've been thinking seriously about switching vets, particularly since Charles told me about a vet he knows who is both holistic and makes house calls. I don't care so much about the holistic stuff because frankly I cannot afford the fancy natural organic dog food - or the fancy natural organic people food for that matter - but house calls sound completely brilliant and hell, if my vet can miss a spaying tattoo and a scar, what else might she have missed over the last seven years?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Another Weekend
Saturday night I joined Librarything. Yeah, for a big exciting Saturday night, let me tell you, nothing, but nothing, beats signing up for Librarything and then starting to enter all your books by hand. I mean, who could wish for a more thrilling Saturday night then sitting on a stool in the living room, handwriting ISBN numbers into a small notebook with a purple sparkly pen and then going to the computer room and entering all those numbers into a database?! I cracked after 50 books; that's about when I realized that I was working and what's more, I was kind of enjoying it in a terrible, OCD, deep seated nerdly way. Now I have no idea when, if or how I'm going to get around to entering the 1200 or so more books in my house, because, honestly. I mean, honestly. That shit is wack. But, you know, it's going to bug me until I get it all done. But not all that much. I forecast completion sometime in the spring of 2012.
Fortunately, my lovely daughter called right while I was in the throes of this madness and then she came over, rescuing me from my own insanity. The next morning, which would be, yes, yesterday, was Mother's Day. I don't think we traditionally do much on Mother's Day - at least I've never thought there was much to it, certainly not enough gifts, worship from fawning, adoring offspring and all that sort of thing - but yesterday we did it up, for us. That is, first Miles told me he would teach me to ride his scooter and Audrey came over with flowers and a dahlia. Then we went to Pomodoros for brunch and it was actually awesome. I had never been there before - it's on the other side of town, okay? I don't like to go beyond my usual stomping grounds and/or, I am lame. Also, this one time we tried to go there and something about the place scared us off. - and I was way pleasantly surprised. The calamari was out of this world and the bloody marys were fantastic. However (there's always a however, you know) my entree, Eggs Benedicto, which was delicious and tiny, featuring perhaps the smallest pieces of foccaccia I've ever seen if they even existed, which I'm not sure they did, was supposed to come with grilled asparagus. And it did - 2 whole pieces. That is not coming with grilled asparagus, Pomodoros, that is a garnish.
Still it was all incredibly good, so, whatever. And it was sunny and gorgeous and then in the afternoon I finally got around to working on the mosaics again for a while and Jodi and Charles and Susan all dropped by and Miles and his friends were noisily working on scooters and it was all quite bucolic and pleasant. I even set up a personal ad on Nerve.com. Yes, yes, I did. I haven't gotten a single response, which is par for the course for me and possibly a result of my panicking at the question _______ is sexy; ________ is sexier and then filling in the blanks with, respectively, Godzilla and Gamara. I can kind of see where that might scare off any prospective suitors, yeah. Oh well.
Anyway, my kids are AWESOME, I love my dahlias & my flowers & I am totally going to get a scooter lesson. So not a bad weekend all in all.
Fortunately, my lovely daughter called right while I was in the throes of this madness and then she came over, rescuing me from my own insanity. The next morning, which would be, yes, yesterday, was Mother's Day. I don't think we traditionally do much on Mother's Day - at least I've never thought there was much to it, certainly not enough gifts, worship from fawning, adoring offspring and all that sort of thing - but yesterday we did it up, for us. That is, first Miles told me he would teach me to ride his scooter and Audrey came over with flowers and a dahlia. Then we went to Pomodoros for brunch and it was actually awesome. I had never been there before - it's on the other side of town, okay? I don't like to go beyond my usual stomping grounds and/or, I am lame. Also, this one time we tried to go there and something about the place scared us off. - and I was way pleasantly surprised. The calamari was out of this world and the bloody marys were fantastic. However (there's always a however, you know) my entree, Eggs Benedicto, which was delicious and tiny, featuring perhaps the smallest pieces of foccaccia I've ever seen if they even existed, which I'm not sure they did, was supposed to come with grilled asparagus. And it did - 2 whole pieces. That is not coming with grilled asparagus, Pomodoros, that is a garnish.
Still it was all incredibly good, so, whatever. And it was sunny and gorgeous and then in the afternoon I finally got around to working on the mosaics again for a while and Jodi and Charles and Susan all dropped by and Miles and his friends were noisily working on scooters and it was all quite bucolic and pleasant. I even set up a personal ad on Nerve.com. Yes, yes, I did. I haven't gotten a single response, which is par for the course for me and possibly a result of my panicking at the question _______ is sexy; ________ is sexier and then filling in the blanks with, respectively, Godzilla and Gamara. I can kind of see where that might scare off any prospective suitors, yeah. Oh well.
Anyway, my kids are AWESOME, I love my dahlias & my flowers & I am totally going to get a scooter lesson. So not a bad weekend all in all.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Ah Weekends
Last night Susan and I went to the Sky Bar. I'd never been there before and I've decided I'm tired of going only to Broadways and the Admiral - there are more bars in this town, by god, and I'm going to start going to them. It's extremely cool up at the Sky Bar. First off, you are escorted up in this old elevator by an actual elevator operator - a cute young elevator operator at that - and then when you come out of the elevator you are immediately escorted by a server to a deserted table on a metal deck looking down on the whole city of Asheville. It's totally awesome. I occasionally get kind of weird around heights but the Sky Bar, for some reason, didn't bother me a bit and I had a great time drinking beer and taking pictures.
Today I weeded the rose garden, whacked a bunch of weeds and tall grass, took a long nap and nothing else. I had a bunch of plans and even as I type this I am really avoiding going outside in the last bit of sunshine and working on the mosaics. I think I'm getting a cold, though. AIEEE SWINE FLU! PUT DOWN THE BACON AND BACK AWAY SLOWLY! Oh wait, that's not in the media anymore. So it must no longer exist, right? Anyway, it's either that, in which case it's all over or, possibly, something allergen producing has come into full and baleful flower: my nose is running like crazy and soon I'm going to have to actually use the pretty neti pot I bought at Earthfare in a moment of wealth tinged by sinus issues.
Miles bought a scooter yesterday from the crazy old man down the street, or, at least that's where he said he bought it. Miles and his friends are all scooter mad so there have been a whole bunch of scooters around all day and then the necessary accompliment to scooters: broken scooters with teenage boys taking them apart. The whole taking apart and putting back together of the scooter seems to be just as interesting if not more so than the actual riding of the things, which is good by me, because the time a scooter is lying there partially disassembled in my driveway with a bunch of teenagers talking about it seriously is more time that my son will not be killed on the damn thing. Unless they blow it up, which is always possible.
In other news, I'm enjoying doing nothing. Yes, yes I am.
Today I weeded the rose garden, whacked a bunch of weeds and tall grass, took a long nap and nothing else. I had a bunch of plans and even as I type this I am really avoiding going outside in the last bit of sunshine and working on the mosaics. I think I'm getting a cold, though. AIEEE SWINE FLU! PUT DOWN THE BACON AND BACK AWAY SLOWLY! Oh wait, that's not in the media anymore. So it must no longer exist, right? Anyway, it's either that, in which case it's all over or, possibly, something allergen producing has come into full and baleful flower: my nose is running like crazy and soon I'm going to have to actually use the pretty neti pot I bought at Earthfare in a moment of wealth tinged by sinus issues.
Miles bought a scooter yesterday from the crazy old man down the street, or, at least that's where he said he bought it. Miles and his friends are all scooter mad so there have been a whole bunch of scooters around all day and then the necessary accompliment to scooters: broken scooters with teenage boys taking them apart. The whole taking apart and putting back together of the scooter seems to be just as interesting if not more so than the actual riding of the things, which is good by me, because the time a scooter is lying there partially disassembled in my driveway with a bunch of teenagers talking about it seriously is more time that my son will not be killed on the damn thing. Unless they blow it up, which is always possible.
In other news, I'm enjoying doing nothing. Yes, yes I am.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Fridays
It is at long last Friday (is it only me who has noticed that short weeks, i.e., weeks that you only work 4 days, last much longer than normal weeks?) and of course it's been raining on and off and is apparently planning on raining all weekend. Come on, rain gods, what do you have against me working in the garden? If the garden has not yet washed away, that is. I know the water table is still low - I know this, I say - but I don't care anymore. I need a couple of clear sunny days, weekend days, before I can handle the sight of another raindrop.
So Miles is home, looking cool, and it's great to see him. He is still hilariously funny, very tall and he likes Perdita, although he feels that we have too many dogs now. He's right, of course: having three dogs edges you right over into the territory of That Weirdo Who Has Too Many Dogs but what are you gonna do? Some of us are just weirdos with too many dogs and that's that.
Both my kids were home for dinner last night and it was wonderful. One of those things about parenting that nobody ever tells you is that once they've grown up and more or less left home, you will worry about them on a deep subconscious level all the time. You won't even really notice it until they're both there where you can see them and then for the first time in months it's as if a huge weight has been lifted and you could float away like an old Calgon commercial on the sheer anti gravity of love and safety. Then they leave again after dinner because you're boring and exhausted and go do something which is probably dangerous - ah well, that's the parenting thing in a nutshell: you cannot win. Still. It's worth it.
My gods, I'm boring. The only thing I can think of to talk about might be my diet, and the only non boring thing about that is how I keep breaking it, which is, let's face it, boring as hell. In boring news I'm going to go to Sears this weekend and purchase me a dehumidifier, whoo. I might get a bra while I'm there because I find it amusing to purchase lingerie at Sears - no, seriously, I do. I got a red lace garter belt there once. There is no other, non boring, news and for that I think we should all be grateful as fuck.
So Miles is home, looking cool, and it's great to see him. He is still hilariously funny, very tall and he likes Perdita, although he feels that we have too many dogs now. He's right, of course: having three dogs edges you right over into the territory of That Weirdo Who Has Too Many Dogs but what are you gonna do? Some of us are just weirdos with too many dogs and that's that.
Both my kids were home for dinner last night and it was wonderful. One of those things about parenting that nobody ever tells you is that once they've grown up and more or less left home, you will worry about them on a deep subconscious level all the time. You won't even really notice it until they're both there where you can see them and then for the first time in months it's as if a huge weight has been lifted and you could float away like an old Calgon commercial on the sheer anti gravity of love and safety. Then they leave again after dinner because you're boring and exhausted and go do something which is probably dangerous - ah well, that's the parenting thing in a nutshell: you cannot win. Still. It's worth it.
My gods, I'm boring. The only thing I can think of to talk about might be my diet, and the only non boring thing about that is how I keep breaking it, which is, let's face it, boring as hell. In boring news I'm going to go to Sears this weekend and purchase me a dehumidifier, whoo. I might get a bra while I'm there because I find it amusing to purchase lingerie at Sears - no, seriously, I do. I got a red lace garter belt there once. There is no other, non boring, news and for that I think we should all be grateful as fuck.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Whole Family
Yesterday, I was so good I could hardly believe it myself. I went to work (where we had a tornado warning, which was cool) and then after work I actually went to the gym. Then I came home and had a (relatively, okay) low calorie healthy meal (tuna melts are low calorie if you think they are. They have celery in them.) and then I nobly turned down an invitation to the Admiral and stayed home drinking water and trying to watch Space Truckers with Audrey. Space Truckers! Not just Space Truckers, but the Limited Edition Space Truckers! Unfortunately, it sucked.
Maybe it got better, though. We had to give up because it was just not good enough to distract us from the heinous, heinous smell in the basement. Here's a question for you: Why does my basement smell like fermenting fruit? It's smelled like that since before I moved in and right now, given all this rain (too much of a good thing, anyone? Yes. Yes, it is too much.) the smell is strong. Bog of eternal stench strong. It goes away if I air it out but I am afraid to leave the basement doors and window open - I did that last weekend and at some point on Sunday night, some doubtless well meaning soul popped the screen off the window. Perhaps they wanted to make sure there were no homeless mosquitos out there. Whatever, the discovery of the screen (made by Pebble, who felt it was a definite home improvement, but she didn't actually do it, unless she then picked up the screen and leaned it tidily against the house) made me way uncomfortable and glad I have dogs. Granted, I rarely wake up when the dogs freak out in the middle of the night anymore, since 99% of the time it is a possum or a ghost or something, but still. I'm assuming the dogs scared the would be burglar away - or maybe he came in, saw my TV, which cost $200 at Wal Mart five years ago and left in disgust - which means they're worth their gigantic vet and food bills after all.
In other breaking wonderful news, Miles is home! I am totally excited and thrilled and looking forward to going home and hearing all the news from the mean streets of Baltimore, where he has been these last four or five months. I always breathe a huge sigh of relief when both my kids are right there with me - it's like the only time I can really, truly, completely relax - and I can't wait to get home and find the fridge and freezer denuded of food and my son complaining about the fact that I got rid of the cable. GODS it is going to be so good to see him.
Maybe it got better, though. We had to give up because it was just not good enough to distract us from the heinous, heinous smell in the basement. Here's a question for you: Why does my basement smell like fermenting fruit? It's smelled like that since before I moved in and right now, given all this rain (too much of a good thing, anyone? Yes. Yes, it is too much.) the smell is strong. Bog of eternal stench strong. It goes away if I air it out but I am afraid to leave the basement doors and window open - I did that last weekend and at some point on Sunday night, some doubtless well meaning soul popped the screen off the window. Perhaps they wanted to make sure there were no homeless mosquitos out there. Whatever, the discovery of the screen (made by Pebble, who felt it was a definite home improvement, but she didn't actually do it, unless she then picked up the screen and leaned it tidily against the house) made me way uncomfortable and glad I have dogs. Granted, I rarely wake up when the dogs freak out in the middle of the night anymore, since 99% of the time it is a possum or a ghost or something, but still. I'm assuming the dogs scared the would be burglar away - or maybe he came in, saw my TV, which cost $200 at Wal Mart five years ago and left in disgust - which means they're worth their gigantic vet and food bills after all.
In other breaking wonderful news, Miles is home! I am totally excited and thrilled and looking forward to going home and hearing all the news from the mean streets of Baltimore, where he has been these last four or five months. I always breathe a huge sigh of relief when both my kids are right there with me - it's like the only time I can really, truly, completely relax - and I can't wait to get home and find the fridge and freezer denuded of food and my son complaining about the fact that I got rid of the cable. GODS it is going to be so good to see him.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Me and The Giant Birthday Beer
My friends took me to Papas and Beer last night for my 2nd birthday party. That was good, because what with the rain and the leftover Saturday party mess and the whole birthday thing, not to mention the taking of 3 large dogs to the vet and paying a large fortune for the privilege, I was getting that familiar feeling of Birthday Doom. Papas & Beer will solve that feeling quite quickly with one of their patented antidepressant Giant Cheap Beers. I mean, 24 or 32 ounces of beer for $3 - what's not to like? Why, nothing! It was awesome and a good time was had by all and, even better for this blog, my friend Charles is going to come over and help me write up a couple of internet dating profiles. Because I am an idiot who learneth not from experiences, I am going to try it again. Yep. And no doubt it will be awful but, oh well, barring the occasional axe murderer, what's the worst that could happen? Bitterly hilarious anecdote fodder, that's what.
As mentioned above, I took all three dogs to the vet yesterday. They were all behind on one thing or another and I wanted Perdita looked at just in case her previous owners had gotten her spayed. They had not, of course, so she will go in for that operation next week, poor dear. She had worms and thus I gave her a big honking pill and none of them have heartworm and so I bought heartworm pills and flea pills and oh my gods, I can't afford dogs. But, somehow, I do. The truly interesting thing about this, though, is that even the vet couldn't figure out what breed(s) of dog Perdita might be. She's completely, inscrutably, 100% pure American mutt. Therefore, I've been doing some googling of dog DNA tests out of curiosity and, you know, that deep urge to just set $50 or so on fire. And I might yet do it, just to find out. She's a pretty dog - I think I see some Lab in there and some Shepherd, maybe, and perhaps a touch of Pit and a little Hound, but honestly the gods only know.
She is, however, the kind of dog who can get fat, as the vet told me in slightly censorious terms. "She's not really fat yet," said the vet, "But she could get that way quite quickly." She's not the only one. Django has gained 5 whole pounds in the last year and, okay, I personally, having now seen all the party pictures, am going to bite the damn bullet and join Weight Watchers or something. Look at the fat chick with the giant beer, there! She is fat and happy, but fat and happy will not do, and giant beers are not good for fat chicks. Something Must Be Done and I'm terribly afraid that it will involve no beer at all, but, well, them's the breaks, I guess. The dogs are getting less kibble (mixed with yogurt in an attempt to stop at least some of the farting) and me, I am going to have to get less kibble too. And way, way less beer.
As mentioned above, I took all three dogs to the vet yesterday. They were all behind on one thing or another and I wanted Perdita looked at just in case her previous owners had gotten her spayed. They had not, of course, so she will go in for that operation next week, poor dear. She had worms and thus I gave her a big honking pill and none of them have heartworm and so I bought heartworm pills and flea pills and oh my gods, I can't afford dogs. But, somehow, I do. The truly interesting thing about this, though, is that even the vet couldn't figure out what breed(s) of dog Perdita might be. She's completely, inscrutably, 100% pure American mutt. Therefore, I've been doing some googling of dog DNA tests out of curiosity and, you know, that deep urge to just set $50 or so on fire. And I might yet do it, just to find out. She's a pretty dog - I think I see some Lab in there and some Shepherd, maybe, and perhaps a touch of Pit and a little Hound, but honestly the gods only know.
She is, however, the kind of dog who can get fat, as the vet told me in slightly censorious terms. "She's not really fat yet," said the vet, "But she could get that way quite quickly." She's not the only one. Django has gained 5 whole pounds in the last year and, okay, I personally, having now seen all the party pictures, am going to bite the damn bullet and join Weight Watchers or something. Look at the fat chick with the giant beer, there! She is fat and happy, but fat and happy will not do, and giant beers are not good for fat chicks. Something Must Be Done and I'm terribly afraid that it will involve no beer at all, but, well, them's the breaks, I guess. The dogs are getting less kibble (mixed with yogurt in an attempt to stop at least some of the farting) and me, I am going to have to get less kibble too. And way, way less beer.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Another Year Older
It's my birthday and despite being woken up over and over beginning at 6:45 this morning (the dogs think that's a good time to wake up and so, apparently, do the robo dialers at Charter Communications) I am not yet screamingly insane. Seems like a good start.
The cable guy came at the crack of dawn and took my TV away, which is no great loss. I haven't watched it for several months, so paying for it seemed a bit pointless. I was kind of hoping the cable guy would be drop dead gorgeous and my birthday could start with one of those Dear Penthouse I never believed it could happen to me but. . .episodes; unfortunately, or fortunately, the cable guy was not gorgeous and 8:15 in the morning is no time for pr0n. Deprived, therefore, of casual sex, I have started rereading Cold Comfort Farm, let the dogs in and out about 1500 times, mostly cleaned up the kitchen and reflected on the fact that you know you're getting older when there is a substantial amount of beer left over from your birthday party. Any minute now I'm going to take a shower and go buy some shoes and tomato cages. Then at 3:00, it will be time for the fun fun fun birthday extravaganza: taking three large dogs to the vet! Never let it be said that I don't know how to party.
The party was excellent. Thanks to Susan's voodoo dolls, the rain held off all night and so there was a bonfire and many people looking elegant on the porch - this dressing up for a party thing is really great - and it was totally wonderful to see everyone. Many old friends, many new friends, lots of beer being drunk (not enough, though. Good god, people! There's like a case of beer still here!) and we played Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, which also proves that we're getting older. It was an awesome party. It went on until almost 4 and then the next day we woke up and had delicious brunch at the Admiral, where they make a mean Bloody Mary, even if they do use that evil thing, pickled okra.
Susan and I went to the herb fair on Friday afternoon and I scored many excellent plants, most of which are in the gardens. The mosaic gardens are going along beautifully and, really nice, I have had several neighbors stop by to tell me how much they like them. One lady even brought me plates to add, great plates, although no one will ever bring a plate as amazingly wonderful as the plate Lee brought me from Atlanta, which shows the cast of Fame in all their 70s golden glory. I can't wait to put that one up and as soon as there's a day where it doesn't seem to want to start raining at any moment I will.
Thanks everyone for all the birthday wishes and kind thoughts, the fabulous gifts and much joy. Love you all.
The cable guy came at the crack of dawn and took my TV away, which is no great loss. I haven't watched it for several months, so paying for it seemed a bit pointless. I was kind of hoping the cable guy would be drop dead gorgeous and my birthday could start with one of those Dear Penthouse I never believed it could happen to me but. . .episodes; unfortunately, or fortunately, the cable guy was not gorgeous and 8:15 in the morning is no time for pr0n. Deprived, therefore, of casual sex, I have started rereading Cold Comfort Farm, let the dogs in and out about 1500 times, mostly cleaned up the kitchen and reflected on the fact that you know you're getting older when there is a substantial amount of beer left over from your birthday party. Any minute now I'm going to take a shower and go buy some shoes and tomato cages. Then at 3:00, it will be time for the fun fun fun birthday extravaganza: taking three large dogs to the vet! Never let it be said that I don't know how to party.
The party was excellent. Thanks to Susan's voodoo dolls, the rain held off all night and so there was a bonfire and many people looking elegant on the porch - this dressing up for a party thing is really great - and it was totally wonderful to see everyone. Many old friends, many new friends, lots of beer being drunk (not enough, though. Good god, people! There's like a case of beer still here!) and we played Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, which also proves that we're getting older. It was an awesome party. It went on until almost 4 and then the next day we woke up and had delicious brunch at the Admiral, where they make a mean Bloody Mary, even if they do use that evil thing, pickled okra.
Susan and I went to the herb fair on Friday afternoon and I scored many excellent plants, most of which are in the gardens. The mosaic gardens are going along beautifully and, really nice, I have had several neighbors stop by to tell me how much they like them. One lady even brought me plates to add, great plates, although no one will ever bring a plate as amazingly wonderful as the plate Lee brought me from Atlanta, which shows the cast of Fame in all their 70s golden glory. I can't wait to put that one up and as soon as there's a day where it doesn't seem to want to start raining at any moment I will.
Thanks everyone for all the birthday wishes and kind thoughts, the fabulous gifts and much joy. Love you all.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Ready
The house is completely clean. Not, of course, that I am the kind of slatternly wench who only really cleans when there are people coming over. Never! Not moi! Yeah, that would be why one day when I was vacuuming when Miles was 2 or 3 he turned around and excitedly asked me "Who's coming over?" Ah well. Anyway, it's pretty damn clean now.
Not only is it clean inside but Susan and I went to the herb fair and I bought many plants and they are all planted and, even better, the seeds I planted in the mosaic beds are sprouting like crazy and I'm all excited. Also, the incredibly nice man my neighbor turned me on to fixed my lawn mower so the yard is even halfway mowed. This is most excellent.
Anyway, in case you missed the ten zillion invitations and comments and so on, I'm having a party tomorrow night; email me if you would like to attend. It's basically an open party but it is a costume party so, you know, just get dressed up and come on over. There will be beer and finger food. No forks, no plates, none of that nonsense. Just fun.
Not only is it clean inside but Susan and I went to the herb fair and I bought many plants and they are all planted and, even better, the seeds I planted in the mosaic beds are sprouting like crazy and I'm all excited. Also, the incredibly nice man my neighbor turned me on to fixed my lawn mower so the yard is even halfway mowed. This is most excellent.
Anyway, in case you missed the ten zillion invitations and comments and so on, I'm having a party tomorrow night; email me if you would like to attend. It's basically an open party but it is a costume party so, you know, just get dressed up and come on over. There will be beer and finger food. No forks, no plates, none of that nonsense. Just fun.
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