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February 28 Die another dayMy day at work was a bit like that game you played at a slumber party when you were ten and told a secret to someone, who in turn told it to someone else until the end result was a completely different tale (well, if someone had peed in a sleeping bag and we had consumed enough snacks to put us into a sugar coma, then it would be just like that game).
Details were fuzzy and ever-changing, but apparently our area on base was under quarantine because of a white powder substance. The Military Police blocked off most roads in our vicinity, so it was a day spent unravelling the rumor mill. I'm still clueless but one thing I do know is that I'll detour all day long to get home, but I am not about leaping tall buildings to get to work in the morning, so they'd better have it figured out by then or I will be taking the day off.
On a much, much sadder note, I found out my cousin Travis passed away today from a heart-related problem. He played football for USC, then was drafted by the Atlanta Falcons (his brother followed in his footsteps, to be drafted by the NE Patriots last year). Twenty-seven years old. This will definitely take some time to digest. My heart goes out to my aunt and the rest of my family.
February 27 License and registration, ma'amI fell in love today.
Oh, sure we had a rocky start, as I watched him two-finger peck my car registration information into his computer. I tapped my foot, exhaled several times (loudly), and chewed through three packs of gum as I wrestled with the idea of jumping over the counter to help the idiot type FASTER. But then, after twenty excruciatingly long minutes, he handed my driver's license back to me and said, "you definitely don't look your age. You don't look a day over 32."
Me: My eyes are puffy today...and I didn't sleep (kittens!)....
Lovebunny: Well, you look amazing for your age. You look amazing for any age.
Me: Thank you. I'll be back tomorrow. February 25 I Me Mine
February 22 AlcatrazSo many people are afraid of dying. My biggest fear seems to be living.
My best friend in 4th grade and I sat at her Ouija board with our eyes closed and covered, socks tightly wrapped around our heads. Her younger sister, Sarah, wrote down the answers to our questions as the fingertip toy whizzed around the wooden board, stopping on various letters and numbers. I needed to know, and found out, my expiration date: forty-two years (and if it was a joke, someone had a horrible sense of humour, telling my friend she would die in a fire on her 16th birthday. We moved the following year, so I'm not sure if it happened as predicted or not).
I have no retirement, no 401 k, no savings account, no plans for a future. I couldn't tell you what would become of me, should I become ill. Sometimes I wonder how much of my grim future is self-imposed, if I'll be disappointed or elated to survive and become a frail old woman.
"I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."
- Scarlett O'Hara February 20 Fair feathered friendI complain a bit/all the time about the messes my kittens make because it seems to be never-ending. Like the hockey tournament they held in the kitchen with an entire box of Fruit Loops, or the glasses of water they consistently knock over, or even the trail of kitter litter throughout the house. Today, however, I reset the bar.
I was trying to change a lightbulb above the fireplace, lost my balance (I never claimed to be graceful), fell onto the mantle, which is apparently not attached, flipped it over and caused four potted plants with soil to sail through the air and crash onto the (BEIGE) carpet. Oh, and the black basalt cat statue I had from Egypt? It's not so much stone as something...less stone-like and more breakable since the ears broke off. Stupid cats.
My best investment: their new feather bed, which should sleep one but will occasionally sleep four. It keeps them out of trouble for...minutes at a time.
I wanna be loved by you, you, and nobody else but you...poop poopy dee doo. February 18 Hit and run (and splatter)There are three types of people in my food-related world:
(1) Brussel sprouts. I'm sure there are people, somewhere, who love brussel sprouts, but overall, they're kind of bitter and don't even taste good when smothered with say, butter or cheese.
(2) Bread. Bread can hold its own, complement other meals or stave off hunger pains until the main event. From bland, soggy white to banana, this wide category describes about 80% of the population.
(3) Cherry cheesecake. Cheesecake makes the world a better place. Period.
Yesterday morning, a brussel sprout was apparently in a hurry. I was driving around 45 mph in my lane on my way to work, when I noticed a dark lump in between lanes. As I came closer, I realized it was a black cat, so I slowed down, and glanced in my rearview mirror to get out of traffic to help the animal. Rushed, an impatient lady veered over in front of me with her Forerunner, completely obliterating the small animal in the road and flinging blood/cat bits onto my hood and window. All I can think about is how much I hate brussel sprouts.
February 15 SurgesI’m not complaining (much), because I realize our version of a “cold snap” is hardly worth much sympathy without the accompaniment of two feet of snow, but we did have frost last night (which undoubtedly killed my blooming azaleas, dammit).
I usually get up early, with the “kitten terrorist crew”, crank up the heat, check email, then get ready for work. Slight change of plans this morning since my electricity was out. Fortunately, I have city water, so I was able to take a tepid shower, then appy my makeup by the romantic glow of candlelight and fluff my flat hair using the heating vents in the car (roughing it is staying with either of my parents in Michigan when the electricity goes out since they both rely on wells, which means NO WATER. Yes, I’ve moistened my toothbrush with milk in order to brush my teeth. Ew).
My insides were still slightly frozen when I left the house…until I discovered my new car’s best feature: heated seats. My ass, my ass, my ass was on fire (!) and it felt wonderful. I may spend the evening just driving around, looking and aiming for my annoying male co-workers, who spent the afternoon on the golf course. February 13 I want candy. Pecan caramel turtles.So, I'm working on my new cd filled with love songs.
My top 5:
1. In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel
2. Someone Like You - Van Morrison
3. If Not For You - George Harrison
4. Only You - Yaz
5. I love you - Sarah McLachlan
Happy Valentine's Day, all you love muffins!
XOXO,
Still-feeling-the-love-but-slightly-dizzy-and-nauseated
[Media player: It's the End of the World as We Know it (and I Feel Fine) by REM] February 12 Last night, I fell out of bed and had an epiphany (seriously!)A phone conversation:
My sister, TQ, mid-emotional/low blood sugar moment: And they just left me here, with nothing to eat, and I can't get to the mall...
Me: Just slow down and tell me if you need me to pick you up.
TQ: Why?
Me: Because you're my sister and I love you.
TQ: Who is this?
I think my emotional growth was stunted sometime around kindergarten. The why's don't matter so much as the what-the-hell-can-I-do-to-fix-it.
There's something wrong with someone who struggles with affection, who braces for hugs, who can't say "I love you" without being drunk. Do I want to be that old, bitter, jaded man-hating woman viewing people in love as idiots, with "kick me" signs on their backs? N-O. (probably not, anyway).
From now on, I am ALLLLLL about the love, baby. Truly, madly, deeply. February 10 Tell Tale (missing) heartMy friend came over for a while last night to work on her “My Space”, which inevitably led to sipping a bit of alcohol (yeah, who am I kidding? It was an 18-pack and the computer work was secondary, though I did impress myself by accidentally combining two background templates).
I managed to catch a bad case of size-8-in-mouth, by trying to be funny and telling someone I would hate him if he wasn't so sweet on his space last night (I'm sorry!). What was his horrendous crime? Being a devoted husband. Profuse apologies and introspection followed, which leads me to this disclosure of one of my biggest flaws: envy. Oh, I’m not jealous of people with money, important jobs, sweet cars, big breasts, or beautiful faces. My big black heart hates LOVE.
Deep down, I probably want to be that princess, up on the pedestal, accepted, adored, flaws overlooked, and perhaps even worshipped. I’m trying to get over it. I need to keep my miserable mouth shut if I can’t be happy for others who find true love. Soul mate should not be a vomit-inducing word (two words, as it were). My one year anniversary on Spaces is tomorrow. I was hoping to have something profound to write about, but instead I think I’ll grab my pillow and sleep on the couch.
[Media player: Damaged by Plumb] February 09 Is that...it? (A Grammy post script). Making love with his ego
Ziggy sucked up into his mind
Anyone who has been out drinking with me knows Ziggy Stardust is a song I choose on the jukebox at the bar. Repeatedly. Perhaps even loudly. Accompanied by air guitar.
I was psyched as I heard David Bowie was being given a Lifetime Achievement Award during last night's Grammy's. Oh, wait, he wasn't there. There was no footage of his music...no sloppy kisses or satellite speech. Ten whole seconds of introduction and then...nothing.
Imagine my surprise when more was said about Richard Pryor near the closing...a funny, talented man, definitely, but not even a musician. I'm disappointed, playing Ziggy Stardust all day to honor the man who should have received more...something.
Not related, but thank you, Mariah for finally putting clothes on for an award show. And thank you, Madonna, for leaving yours off. Even her boobs are looking muscular lately...
Like a leper messiah When the kids had killed the man I had to break up the band. February 07 Shaving with Parkinson'sIrish humour involves ridiculing those you love, so while she was here, my sister showed her affection by making fun of my propensity for all things 80's, especially my Personal Touch razor (circa 1985). I happen to like it because it doesn't slice my achilles tendon or dice my tender, yet knobby shin skin.
Occasionally, I use that razor of death to trim up the hair around my eyebrows when I'm all plucked out. This morning, distracted (and apparently blind), I shaved off half my eyebrow. Right in the middle. Cute little trained hairs replaced by smooth baby ass skin.
Maybe no one will notice...or I can draw some Vulcan-looking things with a fancy pencil...or shave the other one. Eh. I've always wanted to start a fashion trend.
[Media player: Girlfriend in a Coma by the Smiths] February 06 Lick the lineFebruary 03 Center for Disease UncontrollableMy son, Dr. Truant, informed me this morning that he had pink eye.
Me: Let me see. Yeah, it's just red from staying up too late on the computer last night. Get in the shower.
Truant: Pink eye is extremely contagious, you know.
Me: Don't make out between classes and you'll be fine. You missed yesterday because of a sore throat - you are going to school today. Per-i-od.
So, dumbass walked into his first block class and told the teacher he might have pink eye...and, not surprisingly, was sent home. His theory, he told me tonight, is that he has bacterial conjunctivitis caused by streptococcus, thereby explaining his sore throat and red eye in one devious plot twist (this only confirms my theory that he's spending too much time on the internet).
My kittens are battling their own contagious fungal infection - ringworm - right now (any idea how difficult it is to give pills to four squirming little maniacs with teeth?).
Me? I've been itchy, scratching, feeling a fungal/bacterial growth over my entire body. Maybe my son will write me a doctor's note so I can skip work on Monday.
[Media player: Breathe Me by Sia] February 01 Aw, take your censorship and shove it up your a.How is it possible that I, a 30-something-closer-to-40-ish year old woman living in the state of Alabama in the year 2006, am not allowed to buy sex toys or watch Brokeback Mountain?
And more importantly, when are they going to start sending my allowance?
Assholes.
[Media Player: Someone Like You by Van Morrison] |
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