In my last entry, I boasted about my hair. When I walked in the door tonight, I kicked off my shoes and stepped in a puddle of kitty hurl.
I am humbled once again.
In other news.....
A few weeks ago, my hubby and I visited the orthodontist. Today, he picked up the new appliance that he'll be wearing for a year in preparation for the braces he will then have for about a year-and-a-half. The purpose of this device is to create more room in his mouth. He's got these retainer-like gadgets on both top and bottom teeth. He can't talk. He can't close his mouth all the way. He can't swallow. Or eat.
Just now he said, "I'm so over this. Can I just take it out and forget about it?" At least that's what I think he said.
I confess that I have teased him a bit. And I can't quite keep myself from laughing sometimes. To my credit, you have to understand that he is a ham with a tendency to be overdramatic just to get a laugh. However, I know that he will get even with me.
See, in about a week I will be getting braces. Metal ones. Brace face. Tin grin. Metal mouth.
I have a feeling that he is already plotting his revenge.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I needed a haircut. So I went to a new stylist yesterday.
The first thing I noticed about the "Salon and Spa" was that it was very spacious and it looked expensive. That made me nervous because, in my rush to do something about my Bad Hair, I had neglected to ask what I would be charged for it.
As I sat waiting for Denise to come repair my 'do, I gawked at the other stylists. They were all very, very pretty. They all wore very stylish clothes and very cute chunky shoes. I felt very, very unkempt.
Denise arrived with hairstyle books in hand. She won me over right away by telling me that, with my face, I could wear my hair any way I wanted to. She followed that up with a compliment on the highlighting job that I did myself. So, of course I was LOVING Denise so I agreed to let her give me the cut that she suggested even though I was a little uncertain.
It took Denise a long time to chop through the thick, wild, untamed wilderness that was my hair un-style. When she was done, I had the cutest little cut I think I've ever had. It's a short, chunky, shaggy, bobby, flippy sort of thing. What's more, my head no longer feels as though I've got a small pygmy clinging to it. I swear, it's like I lost five pounds overnight.
To make this already pleasant situation even better, I found that I would not have to sell a kidney to pay for the cut. AND they also threw into the deal a heap of free samples.
And then? All day today at work? I kept getting complimented on the new 'do. And that made me happy even though this day was (in actuality) a whirling, sucking, eddy of dispair. One of my coworkers even called Denise and scheduled an appointment for herself today.
Shallow much? Yep. But what do I care? I've got cute hair!
So, if you live in Sacramento and you are looking for a stylist, e-mail me and I'll let you know where you can find Denise.
It's raining here today. As a result, my hair is a bit unruly.
It started out puffy. By mid-morning it had taken on the architectural structure of Roseanne Roseannadanna's hair. Around lunchtime it became a humidity induced afro.
While I lassoed, wrestled into submission, and hogtied my hair into a scrunchy, I realized that it is time for a haircut.
See, I haven't had a haircut since November because the stylist that I went to for five years moved too far away for me to be able to drive there in a day. So I just sat around slowly turning into a chia pet instead of finding a new stylist.
So, yeah. I have an appointment to remedy this situation tomorrow. I'll let you know how it turns out. Wish me luck.
My friend Dana has been fantasizing about selling all her belongings and moving to Oregon to live in a yurt.
This is yet another reason why I adore her from the top of her head to the toes of her mismatched socks. I believe that, if she has the means, she will carry out her plans. I hope I get to help build the yurt.
When I was young I dreamed of living in a cottage by the sea. I would live there year-round and write novels. I would grow my hair long, never wear shoes, swim naked in the ocean. I would collect seashells and I would paint and I would learn to surf. I would live a wild, succulent, unfettered life.
I still dream of that cottage. Maybe someday we will move into a cottage on the Oregon coast, just a short drive from Dana's yurt.
The universe gave me a karmic bitch-slap today in the parking lot of Jamba Juice.
I came out of the store to find my compact car sandwiched between a big white minivan and a big black SUV. The minivan was so close to the driver's side of my car that there was no way I could open the door wide enough to squeeze in. But the driver was still sitting in it, apparently waiting for the wife and kids. So I gestured hopefully at him in an effort to communicate, "Please, sir. Can I have some more? Space, that is."
He ignored me entirely. If I didn't believe in karma, I would have just wedged my door open against his pristine white door and climbed on in. But I do believe in karma so I heaved a big sigh and went to the passenger side of my car. The SUV was close enough that I had to be very careful to not door ding it. I squeezed in and crouched in the passenger seat to close the door so that it wouldn't swing wide and hit the SUV who's driver hadn't done anything wrong. I shot minivan man the stink eye and crawled over to the driver's side (wracking myself on the parking break in the process).
That's when the SUV driver returned. She was rail thin. I figured that, if I could squeeze myself between our cars without doing any damage, she would have no problem. That would have been the case, too, if she hadn't just flung her door wide open with no consideration to the fact that there was something else occupying the space next to it.
I've been very well behaved lately and I really wasn't expecting any karmic due coming my way. So, the way I figure it, the universe now owes me one "oops, my bad" to make up for today's snafu.
That's right, inconsiderate large-vehicle drivers of Sacramento. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Because we can not let the terrorists win, my hubby and I went to San Francisco today and spent money.
The day started out good for me. I made a bet with hubby regarding our fat tabby, Puck. Puck is a smart cat. He knows that I only give him food if my husband isn't here. So, this morning when he was hungry he plopped down at hubby's feet and looked up expectantly. Hubby suggested that I try to get Puck to follow me to his food dish. He further declared that I wouldn't be able to do it. He claimed the only way I would get Puck into the kitchen was if I opened the cupboard where the food is stored.
"So you're saying that's the ONLY way," I clarified.
"Yep."
"The only way he'll come in here is if I open the cupboard. No other way. That's what you are saying?"
"Yes."
"What's the bet?"
"Five dollars."
I bent down, picked up Puck's food dish, and gave it a little rattle so the bits of food that were in the bottom would make noise. He came running, of course.
So after outsmarting my husband, I was ready to face the world.
On our way to San Francisco, we stopped off at Best Buy to buy a digital video camera. WooWoo! And because I am impatient, I also had to buy a rapid charger so I would be able to use the camera when we got to the city.
We went to a furniture store that my dad loves just so we could tell him we went. We can't afford to spend $8,000 on a piece of furniture. But it was fun to pretend we could.
We went to the Presidio and to Baker Beach. By then we were tired and it was getting dark. We made one more stop for purchases before returning home. We bought a featherbed and some new pillows.
And now I can't wait to go jump in my comfy bed. I just might stay there until Monday.
Today is my friend Audrea's birthday. I remember this even though it has been 12 years since we've spoken.
I think about her a lot. I don't know how or why we lost touch.
We talked all the time of dying. Of the best ways to do ourselves in. We agreed that life was unbearable. We believed it would never get better. We were very dramatic in a tragic, wearing-all-black-listening-to-Bauhaus-regretting-our-middle-class-lifestyles-teen-angsty sort of way.
"Strewn with time's dead flowers. Bereft in deathly bloom."
When I wasn't thinking of dying, I was contemplating running away. My friend Greg was my partner in that drama. Between writing deep and meaningful poetry together, we would discuss how it would go down. He was The Man with The Plan. We would take my car and head west. He would get work washing dishes.
We were having that exact conversation over the phone on the night Audrea showed up at my bedroom window with a knife. I found myself in the strange position of talking my friend out of using the knife to cack herself in my back yard.
As I was talking to her about all the people who loved her and all the things she had going for her and everything she had to look forward to and how it would just be wrong and selfish and unfair for her to take herself away from the rest of us.....I had a fleeting moment of sanity that I'll never forget.
We didn't want to die. We were just in love with our misery.
I'm happy to say that we outgrew that. Life went on. It got better. I moved away to go to college. She moved away to get away. She got married. And divorced. And then we lost touch with each other.
I saw her dad in church on Christmas day. He told me where she's at and what she's doing. He said she's happy. I said I would call him to get her phone number. I haven't done that. But I really do plan to do so.
I bought some cheese tonight at the grocery store. The package said it was "Lusty, tangy, sharp, and distinctively-aged".
I like to think the same of myself. ;)
Have you seen this?
I'll try to keep in mind that I'm not supposed to panic as I'm digging the bomb shelter in the back yard. So, if you need me....I'll be in there with my duct tape, plastic sheeting, and High Efficiency Particulate Air Filtration fan. My first aid kit. My whistle. OH! Moist Towelettes!
President Bush is encouraging us all to go on with our lives. I can do that. As long as "going on with my life" includes pre-cutting and labeling heavy garbage bags and mainlining sedatives.
I had my second fiddle lesson last night and I got to use the bow. Go, me!
So tonight, I called my parents and played my childish little song for them. Twice. Because I have regressed to a five-year-old and I need to hear my parents say, "Wow! That was very good!" in voices that are at least two octaves higher than usual.
When my dad asked me to play, he requested "The Devil Went Down to Georgia". When I instead played the "A E A Song", he said that I'd be playing like Charlie Daniels in no time. I love my dad.
When I first decided I wanted to learn to play, I asked my husband how long he thought I'd stick with it. He said one month. Tops. He didn't say that because he doesn't support me or because he doesn't believe in me. He said this because he knows that I am impatient with myself. He knows that I have a tendency to want to quit things that I am not immediately good at. He knows too much. I may have to do something about that.
I can't wait to do the "I was right and you were wrong" dance. And you can bet there will be fiddle music to accompany it. That's what a mature five-year-old would do.
So, I was channeling my inner diva today. Ok, fine. I was channeling my inner bitch today. No, I'm not pre-menstrual and screw you if that's what you were thinking.
Wow. Where did that come from?
Anyway......
I don't really know what my problem is. All I know is that everything is annoying today. Everything is too sharp and too loud and too much.
In a meeting today, I found myself particularly annoyed with a certain woman. I was annoyed with everything about her. Her hair annoyed me. And her impossibly round head. And her droning, slow voice. And the stupid, stupid words that were coming from her pinchy mouth. And I just wanted to grab her by her ugly shirt and yell, "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!"
I hate when I'm like this. Would someone please sedate me?
Some of the women at work started Weight Watchers a couple of weeks ago. They've all been talking in "points". And while I do not intend to start attending the meetings with them, WW is an insidious cult from which I can not hide.
So, I'll be starting to count my points tomorrow. The thing is, Weight Watchers kind of weirds me out. In the last two weeks, I've been privy to unnumerable conversations around "two point snacks" and "free foods". These woman seem far more obsessed with food now than ever before. And I know that I am already prone to obsessing without encouragement.
I'll let you know how that goes.
I was enjoying my Sunday until I remembered that my Monday is going to involve drilling. In my mouth. And not a good kind of drilling - wink, wink, nudge, nudge. I have to get a cavity filled tomorrow.
My husband gets a leisurely day away from work because of some dead presidents. I get a shot in the gums. The benefit, I suppose, of the dental appointment is that I will get to leave work for a little while.
Yep. That's me. Always looking for that silver lining.
Me and my girlies had Diva Day yesterday. Robin reads my blog (hi Robin!) so she knew that I was freaking out a bit over the current state of the world. She made me feel better by reassuring me that I was not alone in my state of freakingness. Then Janice and I decided that beer was a good idea. Then Janice decided that Robin needed tequila. She also decided that I would support Robin in that endeavor by downing an apple pucker. Janice encourages togetherness.
We wandered around the mall and played the part of Good Americans by spending money. Must stimulate the economy, y'know. Vans had a "buy 2 get 1 free" sale so hubby and I now have new shoes. Mmmmm.Vans.
I lovelovelove my girls. They are the best. I wish I could take them with me to the dentist tomorrow. I swear, they could make a painful dental appointment fun.
Ok. Maybe not. But I'm sure they could suggest some creative beverage combinations that would help.
I made a grave mistake today. I went to the grocery store. See, normally this would be a perfectly logical thing to do considering that I was in search of lunch. But today is Valentine's Day. A day upon which frantic procrastinators swarm stores and street corner flower vendors in search of the perfect symbol of their love.
I have nothing against a holiday dedicated to shmoopy things. I'm a slave to love. I am love's bitch. So I am certainly not talking smack about Valentine's Day in general.
I was standing there with my little number ticket in the line at the deli counter waiting for them to call "38". I was watching people push and shove and grab with vaguely panicked looks on their faces as they picked over what was left of the flowers and candy and plush animals. At that point, I was just sort of thinking to myself that nobody really looked like they were doing this in the name of love. Words like "obligation" and "my wife will have my nards if I don't find something quick" came to mind.
An elderly couple was in line in front of me. They were ordering macaroni salad. They seemed very, very serious about selecting just the right type and amount of macaroni salad. I don't know these people, so I don't want to comment on what may or what may not be their general attitude toward life. But I would venture to guess that being that old is uncomfortable at best and that, if I am blessed to reach that age, I would expect a bit of respect from younger persons.
While they were trying to pick between "gourmet" macaroni salad and "golden gate" macaroni salad, a woman came to the counter to help them. But she didn't say, "May I help you?" Or, "Can I get you some macaroni salad today?"
No. She said, "Hi, kids!!!! HOW ARE YOU???" Only she didn't really *say* it. She shrieked it. And the tone was not unlike what you might use to talk to one of those very small dogs that people keep in purses. If you didn't hate those dogs.
The elderly couple looked at her in stunned silence. My right eye began to twitch and water. The shrill woman continued to shriek.
"HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!!"
At this point my ears began to bleed, I'm pretty certain. That's when I stopped being able to distinguish any actual words coming from Shrilly's mouth. It was just this very loud, very high-pitched squeaky noise emanating from the deli counter. For a moment I thought that her voice was going to cause me to have an aneurysm, which might be a blessing due to the ensuing lack of consciousness that would be certain to follow.
I decided that the produce aisle was a much better (and safer) place to find lunch.
I can remember going to sleep at night praying that the Russians wouldn't bomb us. I remember how afraid and how helpless I felt.
I've been remembering it a lot lately. Maybe that's because the local news is encouraging me to go buy duct tape and plastic sheeting to tape over my windows and doors in preparation for the impending nuclear or biochemical attack.
When I was a kid I would ask my mom, "What will we do if Russia bombs us?" My mom would remind me that we lived near NORAD and, therefore, we would die instantly so there was nothing to worry about.
Well, at least I didn't have to worry about prolonged fallout misery.
This morning as I showered, I shouted out to my husband, "If North Korea tries to bomb San Francisco, we have ways to stop them?"
He said yes. He said the way was that we would kick their ass.
I'd like to say that made me feel better. But I was overcome with thoughts about the playground bully finally getting his ass kicked when the paste-eating kid, the kid who wets his pants, the smelly kid, and the kid who set fire to the cloakroom took him from behind while he was boasting about beating their faces in.
I want to take part in the American bravado and believe that we can save the world from...well, itself. I want to feel bold like the DJs on the radio beckoning to North Korea to "bring it on". I want to believe that we, as a country, are untouchable. I want to join in the chorus of, "If we are afraid then the terrorists win so we will not be afraid!" I want this all to be a simple equation of x+y=Z where X is "if they fuck with us" and y is "we will bomb them off the face of the planet" and z is "and everything will be peachy".
I've never been good at math, but this doesn't seem to add up.
So, I've been a bit on edge lately. I feel childish because my kid fears are back in full force and I feel ignorant because I'm getting to the point where I'm too scared to watch the news.
But I've apparently been able to retain my stupid sense of humor as evidenced by this e-mail exchange between me and my friend Lauren. What's that they say about humor masking inner turmoil?
L: I cannot stop laughing! Shall I move to Amsterdam now?? "The war on terror involves Saddam Hussein because of the nature of Saddam
Hussein, the history of Saddam Hussein, and his willingness to terrorize himself." -President George W. Bush, The Boston Globe, January 30
M: Soooo......if the terrorists terrorize themselves the terrorists have won?
L: I'm sure GW Bush would agree with that! YOU KNOW you were the first person I thought of when I read that! I couldn't stop picturing his bodyguards wearing Saddam masks and jumping out at him to yell "Boo!"
M: I'm still trying to figure out that "willingness to terrorize himself" thing. Seriously. I can't stop thinking about what that means. Does he force himself to watch movies that he finds horrible and terrifying? Like American Pie and American Pie 2? Does he sometimes like to pretend he's Catholic just to shock himself senseless? Does he whisper to himself, "Soon. Soon. It's coming."
Don't you think "The Nature of Saddam Hussein" would be a great name for a band?
We had a great time on our road trip this weekend.
We bought a new puff at the Bed, Bath and Beyond in Santa Rosa because I was freezing. We drove through a huge redwood tree. We stood in awe in the middle of the Avenue of Giants next to trees that were potentially 4,000 years old and up to 300 feet tall.
We walked on sand that made our shoes squeak. We took lots of pictures. We played with a dead jellyfish. We watched people ride ATVs on sand dunes next to the ocean.
We said "wow" and "beautiful" a lot.
We collected seashells and some things that I believe might even be fossils.
We watched a great but terribly frightening movie that gave me nightmares for two nights. I can't even tell you what it was called because the mere mention of it may cause me to have nightmares again.
My husband bought a camera bag that was too small and then made me tell him "I told you so."
We saw a lot of sheep and made sheep sounds at each other.
We took turns quoting one of our video games that has encouraged a healthy disrespect for the law. "There goes an orange Opel Speedster." "I'm ending this pursuit in the interest of public safety." "REDUCE YOUR SPEED!"
When we got back into town, we saw a man standing in the median with a cardboard sign that said, "Homeless Vet. Need work. Excellent references."
Yep. A very satisfying weekend it was.
I had a bad day at work today. It was the kind of day where I blinked a lot and where I had to dash into the bathroom to splash cold water in my face. But you know what? It doesn't matter. Because I had a happy thought to get me through the day.
I had my first fiddle lesson tonight. And I have to say, even though I didn't even touch the bow yet, I am going to be one mean fiddle player. Yes indeedy do.
My instructor is delightful. She looks a lot like Betty White. I keep thinking to myself, "Betty White is teaching me to fiddle" and that makes me giggle. I'm pretty sure she couldn't distinguish between my "Betty White" giggle and my "I'm very happy about learning to fiddle" giggle. Even though one comes with hand clapping.
Tonight I learned to identify the parts of the fiddle and I learned how to hold it properly. I learned pizzicato. I learned to play the "A-E-A Song" which involves plucking at the strings and, occassionally, stamping your right foot on the floor. I learned to hold a pencil as if it were a bow.
I learned that it is never too late to start doing something you always wanted to do.
The most wonderful thing that I learned tonight is that this is something I was meant to do, as cheesey as this may sound. It felt like coming home.
We're taking a road trip this weekend. We're heading up the coast with our cameras and our credit cards and a huge assortment of CDs.
I'm going to roll the window down and let my hair blow around. I'm going to stick my arm out the window and get a sunburn. I'm going to sing at the top of my lungs. I'm going to forget everything, expect nothing, and breathe.
When I was a kid, I frequently got the urge to misbehave. I wanted to be bad. Really bad. Wickedly...um....bad.
For awhile, the absolute worst thing that I could think of to do was to smoke. My mom is a smoker but she would always tell me that it was something I should never do. So I would steal butts out of my mom's ashtray and smoke them in my bedroom, pressing my lips to the window screen to blow out the smoke. I was soooooo bad.
I'd like to say that I outgrew that whole thing. I'd like to claim that, as I grew older, I didn't do things that were harmful to myself and others. I'd like to say that nothing I ever did was illegal. I'd like to say that I only aspire to do good and wonderful things. But that isn't true.
Sometimes I still want to be bad. I want to do mean things to total strangers for no reason. I want to drink until I'm dizzy, dress like a slut, knock over a liquor store.
My friend Lisanne shares this characteristic. She once said it was like we were standing on a trap door, both of us with our horrible thoughts and desires. Outside the trap door is sanity. Below the trap door dwell all those insane criminals whose neighbors would say "seemed so nice" before they snapped.
I don't know what keeps me on the right side of the trap door. I don't know how to define the fine line between just wondering what would happen if I suddenly jerked my steering wheel to the right while driving 80 down the highway and actually carrying out that plan.
But I wonder. Is this just human nature? Are all of us intrinsically bad but some of us just have a tighter handle on it than others? Is everyone walking around thinking horrible thoughts but only a few of us are willing to admit it?
My earliest memory of having a really horrible thought involves my father's head and a car door. I was six. That makes me think that it is just something that lives in me and not necessarily something I developed in some tragic "oh-the-cruel-cruel-world-has-ruined-me" sort of way.
But then there's my husband. I asked him what the absolute worst thing he has ever done would be. At first, he didn't even understand the question. Finally, he told me a story of how, in kindergarden, he stepped on a boy's hand and made it bleed. It was an accident.
He is what gives me hope that we aren't all doomed.
Lately I've been daydreaming up juicy plans for exacting revenge on the soon-to-be-ex of one of my dearest friends. I'm typically not a vengeful person. Well, not in practice.
I came up with what I thought was a brilliant plan. I'm not going to tell you the details, but I will say that it involved both NAMBLA and Viagra. However, my husband told me that I may be going just a tad too far.
In other news.....Coffee installed my Moveable Type for me. YAY! Thank you, Coffee!
