Raphael: Okay, Amy, since you're such an excellent neighbor who gives us free tile for our bathroom and lives a few doors down to the west, Lila, Jenny, and I will accompany you down the street to the now-vacated house of the Strange Cab-driver --
Amy: Who moved out over the course of several nights.
Jenny: Nights?
Amy: Yes! Nights! Between ten o'clock and two o'clock in the morning.
Raphael: Well, that certainly sounds suspicious! It explains why you want to sneak into the backyard and see if he left a meth lab in the shed!
Jenny: AndI'm suspicious because Strange Cabbie carried a big shiny gun and frequently brought it along when he got into altercations in front of our house with Other Scary Neighbor, Mike*!
Amy: Yes! That's why!
Lila: Can we get a move on? There's trespassing to be done.
(They proceed down the street, past Other Scary Neighbor's house, and enter creaking gate into what used to be Strange Cabbie's unkempt backyard.)
Amy: Creepy.
Jenny: Was that a fleeting shadow?
Raphael: I love sleuthing.
Jenny: Yes. I feel like I'm in an episode of Scooby Doo. That makes you Shaggy, Raphael.
Amy: Who does that make me?
Jenny: Velma.
Lila: I want to be the blond guy with the neckerchief.
(Amy and Raphael try the locked shed door and peer through the grimy window while Jenny and Lila keep a nervous lookout for weirdly glowing phantoms.)
Amy (frustrated): No meth lab!
Jenny: But the clock on the wall is stopped. Maybe something significant happened at precisely 10:17.
Amy: Yes. Maybe.
Raphael: Well, if there's no meth lab, I guess we'll be going. We've got to go home and wait for the cops to show up since we called them on Other Scary Neighbor shortly before you invited us on this crazy yet ultimately pointless adventure.
(They leave. Gate creaks ominously behind them. Jenny and Raphael escort Amy to her house, two to the west. As they make their goodbyes, they note the passing of a battered white SUV bearing two of the Shifty Characters who have been coming in and out of Other Scary Neighbor's house all day long. They also spot a cop car parked a few more doors to the west. They decide not to go back home and continue west, past the cop.)
Raphael: I think we should go for a little walk.
Jenny: Yeeeesssss.
Lila: Whoohoo!
Jenny: So, uhhh...not so happy with our neighbor situation right now.
Raphael: Yes. I mean, no. Me neither.
Jenny: You know, I'm more worried about Lila than about us.
Raphael: Really? Why?
Jenny: Because people like Other Scary Neighbor Mike who really, really, really seem to be dealing drugs out of their house, do things sometimes. According to t.v.
Raphael: What things?
Jenny: Like, they won't come after you, but they'll soak a steak in antifreeze and throw it over the fence for your dog.
Raphael: They do that?
Lila: Really? Steak?!?
Jenny: Yes.
Raphael: Did you see that on t.v. too?
Jenny: No. That was on the radio.
(They pass two children playing on the other side of the street. A little boy, six or seven years old, carrying a long stick, and an adorable little girl, about five.)
Little Girl: Hey! I like your dog, and that's my brother! He wants to kill your dog!
Raphael: Thank you!
Jenny: Um. She said 'He wants to kill your dog.'
Raphael: What?
Little Girl: He wants to kill your dog!
Raphael: Okay!
Jenny: She said 'He wants to kill your dog.'
Raphael: Oh.
Little Girl: He's cute! Can I pet him? He wants to kill him!
Raphael: Okay!
Jenny: Uh...
(They pass children. Jenny is now thoroughly freaked out.)
Jenny: I'm thoroughly freaked out.
Raphael: Why's that now?
Jenny: Because we were just talking about someone wanting to kill our dog...!
Raphael: Okaaaay...
Jenny: And that little girl just said 'He wants to kill your dog!'"
Raphael: OHHH. (pause) That is weird.
Jenny: Yes. Yes, that is weird. Let's go home and see if the cops are there.
Lila: Yes! Let's go see if Other Scary Neighbor is there! He might have steak!
Jenny: He might actually be Mr. McPherson, the Bank Manager, disguised as a drug dealer.
Raphael: Not for long, with sleuths like us on his trail!
*His real name.
Wednesday, April 30
Tuesday, April 29
the collision of elements
Every day, all day long, little collisions casting off bits of spark and smoke. Mere specks of violence, some of these; others shuddering explosions. Chains and chains of collisions encircling the globe. Not the butterfly flapping its wings, these, but the butterfly caught helplessly in the roiling surge of wind off the windshield tumbling and smashing bloodily against the next in the procession of windshields. Tiny verbal collisions, misstatements, misunderstandings, misinterpretations; Collisions of larger words, more complex, words forced into shuddering silence; collisions that rage like summer mountain fires, that smear gritty smoke into the air, that call for police intervention, that reverberate and generate additional collisions. Collisions of eyes. Collisions of tongues. Collisions of hands and feet. Collisions of fears and tears and collisions of laughter on busy streets. Daily collisions. Elements colliding.
Friday, April 25
6,196
represents:
the number of words I've got my story down to.
the number of killer bees I've seen swarming within the past four weeks.
the number of hairs dropped by Lila in the bed.
the number of times I've had to explain how to make a map scale in the last week-and-a-half.
the number of coffee beans I've ground up for breakfast in the last month.
the number of pot sherds I saw today on the Zodiac Outlier site.
the number of sips I had during the wine tasting Jane and I did last night.
the number of times I've sworn never again to participate in wine tastings on a weeknight in the last 14 hours.
the number of words I've got my story down to.
the number of killer bees I've seen swarming within the past four weeks.
the number of hairs dropped by Lila in the bed.
the number of times I've had to explain how to make a map scale in the last week-and-a-half.
the number of coffee beans I've ground up for breakfast in the last month.
the number of pot sherds I saw today on the Zodiac Outlier site.
the number of sips I had during the wine tasting Jane and I did last night.
the number of times I've sworn never again to participate in wine tastings on a weeknight in the last 14 hours.
Tuesday, April 22
but maybe I'll learn something
I'm not going to be around much for the next few days. I have five days to cut 1,692 words from the story I'm working on for creative writing. That's something like three pages out of thirteen. You do the math.
Yargh! Self-editing is such a biatch!
Yargh! Self-editing is such a biatch!
Friday, April 18
lunch on a desert survey: cherry tomatoes and chickpeas with smoked paprika, cumin, and cilantro
Coyote #1: Whoa. Whoa. Wait up, dude. What is this? What. Is. This?
Coyote #2: What is it, man?
Coyote #1: Whoa.
Coyote #2: Come on, seriously, Henry. What?
Coyote #1: Oh, total score! It's a mouse heart!
Coyote #2: Sweet!
Coyote #1: Oh, wait. Wait...
Coyote #2: What?
Coyote #1: Oh, ick. Egh. Bleah. Bleah! It's not a mouse heart at all. Crap.
Coyote #2: What is it? What is it, Henry?
Coyote #1: It's, like, it's a...I don't know. It's red. And kind of round. But squishy. Squishy round.
Coyote #2: What's it taste like?
Coyote #1: Not mouse heart, that's for damn sure.
Coyote #2: Right, okay. But what does it taste like? Packrat?
Coyote #1: Naw, dude. It's not packrat.
Coyote #2: Some kinda bird maybe?
Coyote #1: No. No, it's definitely not bird. I know bird, man, and this is not bird. Shit.
Coyote #2: Oh, hey! Look over here! What's this? This wrinkly white thing?
Coyote #1: Awesome. Looks like a mouse brain, dude. Kinda big, though. Them mices ain't too smart.
Coyote #2: Yeah, right. I know. Lemme see...EWWW! EWWWWWWW! Ohmigod ohmigod get it out! Bleah! BLEAH!!!
Coyote #1: So...not a mouse brain?
Coyote #2: Oh, god. Eww, eww, eww. No, not a mouse brain.
Coyote #1: What the hell's going on here, man?
Coyote #2: I dunno. Something weird. I dunno.
Coyote #1: I don't like it. Strange non-mouse parts all over the ground...Did you see that pack of two-legged white coyotes with all that strange-colored fur move by this morning?
Coyote #2: I don't know if those were coyotes, dude.
Coyote #1: Yeah, I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe funny cows?
Coyote #2: Maybe. Do you think they left this stuff here on the ground for us to find?
Coyote #1: Yeah, maybe. Maybe it's some kind of trap or something. I dunno.
Coyote #2: Henry...I'm kinda freaking out right now.
Coyote #1: Yeah, dude, me too. Let's get outta here before them strange two-legged cows get back.
Coyote #2: What is it, man?
Coyote #1: Whoa.
Coyote #2: Come on, seriously, Henry. What?
Coyote #1: Oh, total score! It's a mouse heart!
Coyote #2: Sweet!
Coyote #1: Oh, wait. Wait...
Coyote #2: What?
Coyote #1: Oh, ick. Egh. Bleah. Bleah! It's not a mouse heart at all. Crap.
Coyote #2: What is it? What is it, Henry?
Coyote #1: It's, like, it's a...I don't know. It's red. And kind of round. But squishy. Squishy round.
Coyote #2: What's it taste like?
Coyote #1: Not mouse heart, that's for damn sure.
Coyote #2: Right, okay. But what does it taste like? Packrat?
Coyote #1: Naw, dude. It's not packrat.
Coyote #2: Some kinda bird maybe?
Coyote #1: No. No, it's definitely not bird. I know bird, man, and this is not bird. Shit.
Coyote #2: Oh, hey! Look over here! What's this? This wrinkly white thing?
Coyote #1: Awesome. Looks like a mouse brain, dude. Kinda big, though. Them mices ain't too smart.
Coyote #2: Yeah, right. I know. Lemme see...EWWW! EWWWWWWW! Ohmigod ohmigod get it out! Bleah! BLEAH!!!
Coyote #1: So...not a mouse brain?
Coyote #2: Oh, god. Eww, eww, eww. No, not a mouse brain.
Coyote #1: What the hell's going on here, man?
Coyote #2: I dunno. Something weird. I dunno.
Coyote #1: I don't like it. Strange non-mouse parts all over the ground...Did you see that pack of two-legged white coyotes with all that strange-colored fur move by this morning?
Coyote #2: I don't know if those were coyotes, dude.
Coyote #1: Yeah, I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe funny cows?
Coyote #2: Maybe. Do you think they left this stuff here on the ground for us to find?
Coyote #1: Yeah, maybe. Maybe it's some kind of trap or something. I dunno.
Coyote #2: Henry...I'm kinda freaking out right now.
Coyote #1: Yeah, dude, me too. Let's get outta here before them strange two-legged cows get back.
Thursday, April 17
daisy dues
We are increasingly dog-centric over here these days. It's the fur. It's messing with our minds. It's getting in through our noses and planting puppies inside our brains where they consume our brain tissue and grow. And grow. And no one ever suspects a thing because the missing brain tissue doesn't really seem to be a problem. And then, ONE DAY they come bursting out of our heads RAWWRRRR! in the middle of the workday or during drinks at Elle or at the Ghetto Frys deli. RAWWRRR! Crazy brain puppies tearing around everywhere, skidding down the ice cream aisle and licking all the deli guys and peeing on the archaeology and getting little wet noses into the calamari.
Believe it or not, I meant to transition smoothly after that second sentence up there into a story about the dog next door, Daisy, who has not eaten anyone's brains that I am aware of but who has started crying.
(Lesson #1: see what happens when your creative writing teacher tells you: "Let the story create itself. Let it goooo where it willll. Whooooo! WHOOOOO!" Apparently if you actually do this, your story becomes a story about brain-eating puppies that explode out of your head at inopportune moments in public places. Obviously a suppressed fear of mine. So, all I'm saying is, be careful if you attempt to use this technique.)
But I digress.
As I was saying: The neighbors around here are really starting to disappoint the crap out of me.
Not puppy crying anymore, but desperate, tragic crying, is Daisy's. She's also tearing down her fence to get to Lila. I'm so sad for this dog, who is about a year old, the furry daughter of a mohawked young man who seems like a good, honest kid. She has a little pink collar and leash and when they came over that one time so she could play with Lila, he seemed to be totally smitten with her and we thought: good. A neighbor who will have a healthy, happy dog and who doesn't own a gun as far as we can tell.
But Daisy's no puppy anymore. She's grown up to become a real dog with needs other than eating and sleeping and mouthing things. She's burst out of the brain of puppyhood, you might say, and can no longer sustain herself on gray matter alone. And I don't think her needs are getting fulfilled.
The kid rents the place next door - a guesthouse with a yard the size of a kiddie pool - and he works all day long. So Daisy is confined day-in, day-out in a tiny yard with no room for running or leaping, surrounded by other dogs that she can't get to. As far as we can tell, Daisy never gets out for walks or play, and she has taken to crying all day long, even when he's home, and he has taken to yelling "Shut up!" which leads me to believe the relationship has moved out of the honeymoon phase into the I-wanted-a-puppy-that-doesn't-actually-require-me-to-do-anything-not-this-raging-beast-that-needs-to-go-on-walks-and-eats-my-shoes period. Which so many people get to who haven't thought the whole thing through.
I understand the desire to get a dog, I really, really do. I wanted one for years before I felt like I had room for one and had gotten out of my system the inclination to go out after work and stay out until five in the morning. It's awesome to have a dog waiting for you when you get home, with the slobbering and the sob-sob-sob-oh-I'm-SO-UNBELIEVABLY-HAPPY-that-you-came-home-you-don't-KNOW!!!! But it's not so awesome, I guess, for the dog who's doing the waiting. Especially if she's a puppy who barely has room to chase a ball in her own yard.
Poor Daisy. I wonder if she still has her pink collar?
Believe it or not, I meant to transition smoothly after that second sentence up there into a story about the dog next door, Daisy, who has not eaten anyone's brains that I am aware of but who has started crying.
(Lesson #1: see what happens when your creative writing teacher tells you: "Let the story create itself. Let it goooo where it willll. Whooooo! WHOOOOO!" Apparently if you actually do this, your story becomes a story about brain-eating puppies that explode out of your head at inopportune moments in public places. Obviously a suppressed fear of mine. So, all I'm saying is, be careful if you attempt to use this technique.)
But I digress.
As I was saying: The neighbors around here are really starting to disappoint the crap out of me.
Not puppy crying anymore, but desperate, tragic crying, is Daisy's. She's also tearing down her fence to get to Lila. I'm so sad for this dog, who is about a year old, the furry daughter of a mohawked young man who seems like a good, honest kid. She has a little pink collar and leash and when they came over that one time so she could play with Lila, he seemed to be totally smitten with her and we thought: good. A neighbor who will have a healthy, happy dog and who doesn't own a gun as far as we can tell.
But Daisy's no puppy anymore. She's grown up to become a real dog with needs other than eating and sleeping and mouthing things. She's burst out of the brain of puppyhood, you might say, and can no longer sustain herself on gray matter alone. And I don't think her needs are getting fulfilled.
The kid rents the place next door - a guesthouse with a yard the size of a kiddie pool - and he works all day long. So Daisy is confined day-in, day-out in a tiny yard with no room for running or leaping, surrounded by other dogs that she can't get to. As far as we can tell, Daisy never gets out for walks or play, and she has taken to crying all day long, even when he's home, and he has taken to yelling "Shut up!" which leads me to believe the relationship has moved out of the honeymoon phase into the I-wanted-a-puppy-that-doesn't-actually-require-me-to-do-anything-not-this-raging-beast-that-needs-to-go-on-walks-and-eats-my-shoes period. Which so many people get to who haven't thought the whole thing through.
I understand the desire to get a dog, I really, really do. I wanted one for years before I felt like I had room for one and had gotten out of my system the inclination to go out after work and stay out until five in the morning. It's awesome to have a dog waiting for you when you get home, with the slobbering and the sob-sob-sob-oh-I'm-SO-UNBELIEVABLY-HAPPY-that-you-came-home-you-don't-KNOW!!!! But it's not so awesome, I guess, for the dog who's doing the waiting. Especially if she's a puppy who barely has room to chase a ball in her own yard.
Poor Daisy. I wonder if she still has her pink collar?
Wednesday, April 16
things that need to get done this summer
1. The two pieces of window in the bathroom need to be replaced with a single piece of glass that will not shatter when a person walks into the room. Ditto with that broken window in the bedroom, the one in the "dining" area, and the three in the Arizona Room.
2. The swamp cooler must be replaced with a cooler that
A. works.
B. has options such as High, Low, or (I know I ask for a lot) Medium.
C. does not sound like there is a bus driving at a steady speed through a very windy region of the kitchen. White noise is okay. The roar of whitewater is not.
3. The front yard must be walled in so we can avoid the neighbors. Okay, only a couple of the neighbors. The ones with the guns and the screaming fights and the yardsful of stolen bikes. Also so the Guatemalan will let me open the front door in the mornings to let the cool air flow into the hot, stuffy uninsulated house ("But I'm naked! And that guy with the gun is watching me!" Honestly, he's such a girl about things sometimes).
4. We. Must. Get. Insulation.
5. I need to start a garden. For real this year. I miss tomatoes.
6. We must put a window in the shop. And a door that doesn't want to kill me. ("Lila, I know you're hungry, but your food's in the shop and I'm not opening that door again. Not now. Not ever. I think it has a gun."
7. Paint. I recently discovered that Raphael's been making himself little notes on the wall by the bathroom. That's how little we respect the current paint job.
8. We need to truck in more gravel for the back of the yard to settle some of the dust kicked up by the crazy running antics enjoyed by one of three of us who live here. You guess which one. Cough cough cough hack cough bleagh. Or replace the dirt with, say...a swimming pool! Yes!
2. The swamp cooler must be replaced with a cooler that
A. works.
B. has options such as High, Low, or (I know I ask for a lot) Medium.
C. does not sound like there is a bus driving at a steady speed through a very windy region of the kitchen. White noise is okay. The roar of whitewater is not.
3. The front yard must be walled in so we can avoid the neighbors. Okay, only a couple of the neighbors. The ones with the guns and the screaming fights and the yardsful of stolen bikes. Also so the Guatemalan will let me open the front door in the mornings to let the cool air flow into the hot, stuffy uninsulated house ("But I'm naked! And that guy with the gun is watching me!" Honestly, he's such a girl about things sometimes).
4. We. Must. Get. Insulation.
5. I need to start a garden. For real this year. I miss tomatoes.
6. We must put a window in the shop. And a door that doesn't want to kill me. ("Lila, I know you're hungry, but your food's in the shop and I'm not opening that door again. Not now. Not ever. I think it has a gun."
7. Paint. I recently discovered that Raphael's been making himself little notes on the wall by the bathroom. That's how little we respect the current paint job.
8. We need to truck in more gravel for the back of the yard to settle some of the dust kicked up by the crazy running antics enjoyed by one of three of us who live here. You guess which one. Cough cough cough hack cough bleagh. Or replace the dirt with, say...a swimming pool! Yes!
Tuesday, April 15
excuses - and flowers!
I'm still here - just slacking again. We're busy with taxes and homework and walking around the backyard oohing and aahing at the cactus flowers that pop open every twenty minutes. So busy, we are.
Friday, April 11
yeah. this one's random. sorry.
I work at a college, right? So this semester I'm taking two classes: Spanish and Creative Writing.
Now, financially speaking - and not to brag or anything - that comes to...exactly five dollars a class. Plus the college paid for all the books because I am developing professionally (or so it is assumed) during the course of this edu-macational experience. So, if I do the math...this is, like, a 600-dollar value that I am getting for ten bucks. Apparently, I should actually be taking three classes. Or four. Or eight. Because the total of any of it would come to...ten dollars.
You might think the point of this is to talk about how much I love my job. But that is not the point. My job is a very good job, yes, with very good benefits.
But just the other day, Raphael said to Mike, "She's a student, too." And I said, "No, I'm not. I'm just taking a couple of classes." And Raphael said, "That's what a student does." And Mike kind of nodded noncommitally, but I know he was thinking: I wish these guys would shut up and get me another beer, dammit.
And I thought: Dude. I'm totally a student.
And now I'm thinking: Oh my god. I'm going to fail Spanish if I don't study, because I don't have the slightest idea how to tell my teacher that I take a shower, which has something to do with reflexive verbs but what, what?! And also, I have this story I'm working on that's supposed to be 5,000 words but that is currently at 8,300 words, and I'm not even completely sure that it makes any kind of point at all or is just 8,300 words stuck randomly onto a few pages.
And of course, instead of actually doing anything about these things, such as making flashcards or closing my eyes, pointing blindly to a spot in the story, and then deleting the following 3,300 words, plot be damned, I am...blogging about it.
Although to be perfectly honest, if anyone wasn't way ahead of me on this, plot's not really my strong point anyway.
Maybe I should be writing the damn story in Spanish. The shower thing might be an interesting addition, if I can figure out how to say it. Of course, as a student, I'm realizing that the more I learn, the more I don't know - but the more I want to know. If I don't chill out on the homework, I'm going to be out another ten bucks next year.
Now, financially speaking - and not to brag or anything - that comes to...exactly five dollars a class. Plus the college paid for all the books because I am developing professionally (or so it is assumed) during the course of this edu-macational experience. So, if I do the math...this is, like, a 600-dollar value that I am getting for ten bucks. Apparently, I should actually be taking three classes. Or four. Or eight. Because the total of any of it would come to...ten dollars.
You might think the point of this is to talk about how much I love my job. But that is not the point. My job is a very good job, yes, with very good benefits.
But just the other day, Raphael said to Mike, "She's a student, too." And I said, "No, I'm not. I'm just taking a couple of classes." And Raphael said, "That's what a student does." And Mike kind of nodded noncommitally, but I know he was thinking: I wish these guys would shut up and get me another beer, dammit.
And I thought: Dude. I'm totally a student.
And now I'm thinking: Oh my god. I'm going to fail Spanish if I don't study, because I don't have the slightest idea how to tell my teacher that I take a shower, which has something to do with reflexive verbs but what, what?! And also, I have this story I'm working on that's supposed to be 5,000 words but that is currently at 8,300 words, and I'm not even completely sure that it makes any kind of point at all or is just 8,300 words stuck randomly onto a few pages.
And of course, instead of actually doing anything about these things, such as making flashcards or closing my eyes, pointing blindly to a spot in the story, and then deleting the following 3,300 words, plot be damned, I am...blogging about it.
Although to be perfectly honest, if anyone wasn't way ahead of me on this, plot's not really my strong point anyway.
Maybe I should be writing the damn story in Spanish. The shower thing might be an interesting addition, if I can figure out how to say it. Of course, as a student, I'm realizing that the more I learn, the more I don't know - but the more I want to know. If I don't chill out on the homework, I'm going to be out another ten bucks next year.
Wednesday, April 9
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Tuesday, April 8
wanderlust
The main problem with being an archaeologist, as I see it, is that your co-workers don't leave for higher-paying jobs at huge pharmaceutical companies. They leave for Sudan. And as spring springs and your fancy turns to skipping merrily through the Mexican poppies, preferably naked, their wanderlust suddenly sparks your wanderlust and now you inexplicably wish you could go to Sudan too, and why are you still here sitting behind a desk in a windowless office anyway when you could be running from various rebel groups and swatting at flies the size of dinner plates?
I am actually looking at lovely cactus blooms out my back window, listening to strange scuffling, gravelly noises that indicate Lila is up to something I don't want to know about, having a cup (or eight) of Old Bisbee Roasters' Cafe Lavado Depilto from Nicaragua, and thinking...why exactly am I not IN Nicaragua?
Damn you, Wanderlust, you lusty siren! I'm simply too responsible to go off exploring in Nicaragua. I simply have too many bills. Too much casita. And the dog obviously needs chaperoning. But, what if I could just up and leave? What if I were brave enough? Or rich enough? Or unfettered enough? Or whatever it is exactly that I would have to be?
Sigh.
I am actually looking at lovely cactus blooms out my back window, listening to strange scuffling, gravelly noises that indicate Lila is up to something I don't want to know about, having a cup (or eight) of Old Bisbee Roasters' Cafe Lavado Depilto from Nicaragua, and thinking...why exactly am I not IN Nicaragua?
Damn you, Wanderlust, you lusty siren! I'm simply too responsible to go off exploring in Nicaragua. I simply have too many bills. Too much casita. And the dog obviously needs chaperoning. But, what if I could just up and leave? What if I were brave enough? Or rich enough? Or unfettered enough? Or whatever it is exactly that I would have to be?
Sigh.
Saturday, April 5
thanks furry much
Last summer, Lila was still a puppy so maybe her shedding mechanism wasn't fully functioning. This summer, however, Lila is a Shedding Machine. She walks around the house in a cloud of fur. I just opened a bottle of Zyrtec and, thankfully, Zyrtec was in there...but so was fur. Fur fur fur fur. Fur is in our food. Fur is in our coffee. Fur is in the bathtub. Fur is in the cracks between the keys on the keyboard. Instead of rugs, we have fur. Fur is ALL the hell over the bed.
I am watching fur dance gently in the shafts of sunlight coming through the fur-covered window. Fur is like our fourth roommate, only fur doesn't pay the rent and refuses to turn the music down. Fur is like a bad roommate who won't ever make dinner, cracks open beers at 9:00 in the morning, and tries to hit on you in creepy ways that make you wonder if you're really the crazy one and maybe fur's not actually hitting on you at all. But you're not sure.
All you know is fur won't leave you alone.
I am watching fur dance gently in the shafts of sunlight coming through the fur-covered window. Fur is like our fourth roommate, only fur doesn't pay the rent and refuses to turn the music down. Fur is like a bad roommate who won't ever make dinner, cracks open beers at 9:00 in the morning, and tries to hit on you in creepy ways that make you wonder if you're really the crazy one and maybe fur's not actually hitting on you at all. But you're not sure.
All you know is fur won't leave you alone.
Thursday, April 3
capering around
What's up with those caper jars? How are you supposed to get to the capers? I've tried it all. I'm like the fox and the grapes.
spoon
fingers
lobster on a stick
scissors
owl
Stumped. I'm stumped. But it's okay because I didn't really want capers anyway.
spoon
fingers
lobster on a stick
scissors
owlStumped. I'm stumped. But it's okay because I didn't really want capers anyway.
spring angst
Hair products. I am a dunce with hair products. In fact, I have no hair skills whatsoever. Is there a gene I can get for this type of thing?
Everyone's been coming into school with adorable new haircuts for spring, little flippy things with pretty streaks that accentuate their perfect cheekbones and bring out the color of their eyes.
My hair, on the other hand, looks like someone threw a llama at my head, lit it on fire, and then fluffed it a bit with a fork. It's like overcooked pasta. I don't need a haircut. I need a good meat sauce. Actually, I'm beginning to think I need to just shave myself bald and start all over again. Maybe it will grow in thicker and blonder and longer. And also curly.
And maybe it will make me smarter and give me the ability to fly.
Everyone's been coming into school with adorable new haircuts for spring, little flippy things with pretty streaks that accentuate their perfect cheekbones and bring out the color of their eyes.
My hair, on the other hand, looks like someone threw a llama at my head, lit it on fire, and then fluffed it a bit with a fork. It's like overcooked pasta. I don't need a haircut. I need a good meat sauce. Actually, I'm beginning to think I need to just shave myself bald and start all over again. Maybe it will grow in thicker and blonder and longer. And also curly.
And maybe it will make me smarter and give me the ability to fly.
Wednesday, April 2
dream interpretation
Last night, I dreamed:
that I had a baby. It was not my baby, though. Someone else had pawned it off on me, and I kept forgetting that I had it. This bothered me because I was fond of the baby. It was a nice baby. And I felt bad for it because it obviously needed stability. But I knew I couldn't keep it. I'd have to find a good home for it. I knew this because I lost the baby for awhile. When I finally found it, it was in a giant tupperware on the kitchen counter. The tupperware was full of water. Apparently I had decided that storing a baby in a tupperware full of water was the way to go. I was mainly concerned because I had forgotten to feed it for five days.
Am I reading this right? I obviously don't want a baby. But what I apparently need in my life is a fish. One that I don't actually have to take care of.
So, what is absent in my life is a low-maintenance fish that doesn't require food or attention and can live in tupperware. And I don't know if fish require a lot of stability, but I can't give that to my fish either.
Maybe what I really want is some new tupperware.
that I had a baby. It was not my baby, though. Someone else had pawned it off on me, and I kept forgetting that I had it. This bothered me because I was fond of the baby. It was a nice baby. And I felt bad for it because it obviously needed stability. But I knew I couldn't keep it. I'd have to find a good home for it. I knew this because I lost the baby for awhile. When I finally found it, it was in a giant tupperware on the kitchen counter. The tupperware was full of water. Apparently I had decided that storing a baby in a tupperware full of water was the way to go. I was mainly concerned because I had forgotten to feed it for five days.
Am I reading this right? I obviously don't want a baby. But what I apparently need in my life is a fish. One that I don't actually have to take care of.
So, what is absent in my life is a low-maintenance fish that doesn't require food or attention and can live in tupperware. And I don't know if fish require a lot of stability, but I can't give that to my fish either.
Maybe what I really want is some new tupperware.
Tuesday, April 1
the possibility of brain leakage
I'm really so uninspired these days, it's kind of ridiculous. Off the top of my head, here are some of my options for discussion:
1. Uhhhh.
2. Crap.
3. Seriously, it's like my brain leaked out of my ears last night while I was sleeping. Tonight I sleep on my back. Just in case.
4. So...does brain leakage mean I could be a zombie?
5. Now, that might be an interesting matter for discussion.
6. Me. A zombie.
7. Rawrrr.
8. Heh heh heh.
9. RAWRRRRR!
10. Would you know it if you were a zombie? Like, when you look in the bathroom mirror in the morning, would your head look bumpier or would you have a greenish skin cast or something?
11. Would your co-workers notice?
12. Because mine never said a word yesterday. And I definitely felt zombie-ish yesterday as well.
13. RAWRRRR!
14. Yes, my dog just gave me a VERY STRANGE look. I think she knows.
15. Of course, maybe she's just hungry.
16. Maybe she's a zombie as well.
17. Aren't zombies hungry a lot?
18. I'm hungry a lot.
19. Do zombies like pasta with silky cream sauces and fresh spring vegetables?
20. No. Zombies like brains. I'm not sure about the silky cream sauces.
21. Last night a classmate told me she thinks that, if you learn only a single word in any language, it should be "brain" so that you can then avoid any menu items that include it.
22. Apparently she's not a zombie.
23. But she's smart.
24. And I like a girl with brains.
25. (burp)
1. Uhhhh.
2. Crap.
3. Seriously, it's like my brain leaked out of my ears last night while I was sleeping. Tonight I sleep on my back. Just in case.
4. So...does brain leakage mean I could be a zombie?
5. Now, that might be an interesting matter for discussion.
6. Me. A zombie.
7. Rawrrr.
8. Heh heh heh.
9. RAWRRRRR!
10. Would you know it if you were a zombie? Like, when you look in the bathroom mirror in the morning, would your head look bumpier or would you have a greenish skin cast or something?
11. Would your co-workers notice?
12. Because mine never said a word yesterday. And I definitely felt zombie-ish yesterday as well.
13. RAWRRRR!
14. Yes, my dog just gave me a VERY STRANGE look. I think she knows.
15. Of course, maybe she's just hungry.
16. Maybe she's a zombie as well.
17. Aren't zombies hungry a lot?
18. I'm hungry a lot.
19. Do zombies like pasta with silky cream sauces and fresh spring vegetables?
20. No. Zombies like brains. I'm not sure about the silky cream sauces.
21. Last night a classmate told me she thinks that, if you learn only a single word in any language, it should be "brain" so that you can then avoid any menu items that include it.
22. Apparently she's not a zombie.
23. But she's smart.
24. And I like a girl with brains.
25. (burp)
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