I do good things, but don’t tell people. If I have to tell them, I feel really uncomfortable talking about it -- but I also sort of really want them to know, because I want people to think I am a good person.
I don't feel well today. Not sick, but as though I might get sick if I don't take care of myself and take it easy. Just a little sore throat and really tired. Bleh.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
cabinets1
These are the first 4 of 16 cabinets and 6 drawers in the whole kitchen. Mom and I refinished them from a dark brown -- shoot, I should have taken before pics. Well, I still will, just of the ones we haven't done yet. My kitchen is this dark hole in the middle of the house, and the only window it gets much light from is a Southern exposure and is pretty diffused. Just of note -- that refridgerator masterpiece is AFTER I sorted through the magnets and posters and got rid of everything but the essentials. And the light? Oh god, don't ask about the light. After crawling through the attic insulation in a tiny space, wondering if I was going to be electrocuted, I decided I'd just wait until I had some cash and call the handyman. There's one more picture coming . . .
Friday, January 27, 2006
Secret #5
I worry that other people are smarter than me, then feel guilty for worrying.
I'm kind of troubled -- there's this girl at my gym who's anorexic. Yes, I'm makikng assumptions, but here's my evidence -- she is always there doing aerobic activity, no matter what time of the day I'm there. She is there when I arrive and there when I leave. Her upper arms are, being generous, probably 4 inches in diameter. Her wrists look like they will snap under the weight of her hands. At times she increases the lever of activity on her stair-climbing machine to the point that it is whining and rattling loud enough that people turn around to look at it. And of course, I have no business whatsoever caring.
I don't. I know. There's nothing I can or should do. But as a member of the human race, I can't help but care, and want to help somehow. I know she probably has people in her life who care, and that this issue has probably been brought up by others, but it's just troubling. I want to slip a note in her locker, or talk to her quietly. I checked around today to see if there was a defibrillator on the wall in case she gives herself a heart attack. MM-- if you don't know who Im talking about already (I can't imagine there's anyone ELSE there with arms like that), she's the one who increases the difficulty of her stairclimber workout by raising her hands above her head and lifting them up and down. Okay, no closing thoughts. Sorry.
CM
I'm kind of troubled -- there's this girl at my gym who's anorexic. Yes, I'm makikng assumptions, but here's my evidence -- she is always there doing aerobic activity, no matter what time of the day I'm there. She is there when I arrive and there when I leave. Her upper arms are, being generous, probably 4 inches in diameter. Her wrists look like they will snap under the weight of her hands. At times she increases the lever of activity on her stair-climbing machine to the point that it is whining and rattling loud enough that people turn around to look at it. And of course, I have no business whatsoever caring.
I don't. I know. There's nothing I can or should do. But as a member of the human race, I can't help but care, and want to help somehow. I know she probably has people in her life who care, and that this issue has probably been brought up by others, but it's just troubling. I want to slip a note in her locker, or talk to her quietly. I checked around today to see if there was a defibrillator on the wall in case she gives herself a heart attack. MM-- if you don't know who Im talking about already (I can't imagine there's anyone ELSE there with arms like that), she's the one who increases the difficulty of her stairclimber workout by raising her hands above her head and lifting them up and down. Okay, no closing thoughts. Sorry.
CM
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Secret #3
I find a lot of classic literature boring, incomprehensible, and unrelatable.
For reference -- I have a Master's in English.
For reference -- I have a Master's in English.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Secret #2
I always plan to submit my poetry to journals, but then never do it, because I’d rather never be published than face rejection.
Missing finals!!
I have four kids absent this morning for their final exam. Now, I don't know what's up with the other three (one, I know her mom is in town, and suspect she's trying to spend time with her), but one of them I know for sure has a court date this morning. I don't know what he did and I don't much care. But this is a special education student who misses a ton of school, yet works his ass off to keep up and make up work he misses. As of right now, he has a B-. What will he have after missing his final exam? God knows. But this is the JUVENILE court system -- don't they understand that kids need to be attending school if they ever want to get out of the system? Seriously, I can't tell you how many kids I've had over the years who have missed school due to court dates. So, um, how about Saturday court? How about 2:30 pm onward court? How about scheduling this shit so the kids can still attend classes!!?? I know the kid did something wrong, but does that mean we should penalize him by making getting an education more difficult? Frankly, I suspect it's hard enough...
Speaking of the goings-on at Horticulturalist High, I have a co-worker named Bill Green. I usually try to give people fake names on here, but I don't think a guy named Bill Green is ever going to be able to Google himself and find this. So, are you picturing a Bill Green? You're picturing an old, stocky or overweight white man, aren't you? This Bill Green is in his twenties. White, yes, but otherwise not at all what I'd expect of a Bill Green. I don't know, I think if I had, like, the world's second most common name, I'd maybe go by William, or choose a good nickname or something. You're too young to be a Bill Green!!! Save yourself!
Incidentally, there are 170,000 Google hits for "Bill Green," and the same Google image search bears out my "old white man" theory precisely enough to be pretty funny.
Speaking of the goings-on at Horticulturalist High, I have a co-worker named Bill Green. I usually try to give people fake names on here, but I don't think a guy named Bill Green is ever going to be able to Google himself and find this. So, are you picturing a Bill Green? You're picturing an old, stocky or overweight white man, aren't you? This Bill Green is in his twenties. White, yes, but otherwise not at all what I'd expect of a Bill Green. I don't know, I think if I had, like, the world's second most common name, I'd maybe go by William, or choose a good nickname or something. You're too young to be a Bill Green!!! Save yourself!
Incidentally, there are 170,000 Google hits for "Bill Green," and the same Google image search bears out my "old white man" theory precisely enough to be pretty funny.
Monday, January 23, 2006
PostSecret
Whoa, dude. I found the book of collected postcard secrets people had sent to this art project thing. I read the entire thing while riding the stationary bike at the gym. It was unbelievable, intriguing, and very moving. So in the spirit of that, I'm going to try to post a secret a day. I've already got 36 -- let's see if I can part with them all. I invite you to post your own, comment on mine, whatever.
1. I toyed with lesbianism when I was a teenager, and sometimes I still wonder if I’d have been a good lesbian if I’d just committed to it.
1. I toyed with lesbianism when I was a teenager, and sometimes I still wonder if I’d have been a good lesbian if I’d just committed to it.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Sacramento, and smells at Slim's
We always say that Sacramento seems like a small town, and that ultimately you could play "six degrees of Sacramento" with nearly anyone who has lived in the area their whole life and find that you went to school with their cousin and their first boss was your great-uncle. So here's a perfect example of that sort of thing.
Step one -- I'm dinking around on MySpace and discover that the cashier at the grocery store I shop at graduated from the same high school I did the year before me.
Step two -- I'm chatting with her at the store, and I say "I realized you must know my cousin, Nelly Belly Mockula, because she worked here for years." She responds that she does; they used to hang out.
Step three -- The woman standing in line behind me says "Did you say Mockula?" I reply in the affirmative, and she says "Are you Albert Albert Mockula's daughter?" Again, I affirm. She says "I work with him at Horticulturalist High!"
Step four -- I turn to her, shake her hand, and introduce myself as a colleague, because I also work at Horticulturalist High.
Step five -- while we are all laughing, the bag boy comes over and looks puzzled. Still laughing, Grocery Clerk says, "Well, Mockula, meet Solid Gold Dancer." Laughing even more, I say "Solid Gold Dancer lives across the street from me!"
Sometimes I think I should shop at Raley's.
Okay, on to last night, which was great. I went to Martinez to meet my Elementary School Best Friend (ESBF) at her parents' place. We all talked, and then went and had dinner at a Chinese-Japanese place (I know, I was skeptical, too). Then we went to Slim's in San Francisco to see AC/DShe. We got drinks, then the opening band played. They were called "Ride the Blinds," and they were really good. They had a very '70s straightforward rock sound. It's hard to tell anymore when someone's doing the 70s sincerely or ironically, but with them I think it may have been sincere. I'm not gaga over self-indulgent solos, but I had to give it up to their guitarist and drummer, who laid out some of the best solos I have ever witnessed live. It was awesome. The second band, Elegantly Wasted, was okay, but seemed to be unclear as to what genre they wanted to be. It sort of had the same sound, but then nu-metal would creep in, and the lead singer had stringy black hair and probably eyeliner. And he GESTURED. I hate that. Like, when he would say "me," he'd take his hands off the guitar and point to his chest. And when he said "driving" he did the two hands on the wheel, turning it back and forth gesture. There were many like these, and it was quite dorky. As the evening wore on, the place got WAY crowded, and people kept smooshing towards the front. It was certainly not the worst I've been in, but as I get older, I get less tolerant of people smooshing up against me. And I am totally INtolerant of body odor in a crowd. Hello, WASH YOUR HAIR if it's going to be six inches from someone's nose! One guy in front of me had hair that smelled like Cup O' Noodles. And in the least-appetizing way imaginable. The whole place started to smell like vomit, Cup O' Noodles, liquor, sweat, body odor, and when the two middle-aged ladies walked by, powdery perfume. But AC/DShe was awesome. Better than I expected, actually. They reproduced the songs perfectly, and the songs translated very well to a woman's voice. And they were great show(wo)men, particularly the lead singer, who totally channeled the kicking, head swinging, microphone pumping rock-and-roll antics of some of the greatest performers in rock. It's a lot more fun than watching a shoe-gazer.
In a related note, I heard AC/DC's "Let There Be Rock" on the radio earlier in the day yesterday. I hadn't heard it in a long time, and suddenly it dawned on me where Jack Black's entire schtick comes from. "Let there be drums! . . . and there were drums."
Okay, Mockula's got a Sunday paper to read. Take care, y'all.
Step one -- I'm dinking around on MySpace and discover that the cashier at the grocery store I shop at graduated from the same high school I did the year before me.
Step two -- I'm chatting with her at the store, and I say "I realized you must know my cousin, Nelly Belly Mockula, because she worked here for years." She responds that she does; they used to hang out.
Step three -- The woman standing in line behind me says "Did you say Mockula?" I reply in the affirmative, and she says "Are you Albert Albert Mockula's daughter?" Again, I affirm. She says "I work with him at Horticulturalist High!"
Step four -- I turn to her, shake her hand, and introduce myself as a colleague, because I also work at Horticulturalist High.
Step five -- while we are all laughing, the bag boy comes over and looks puzzled. Still laughing, Grocery Clerk says, "Well, Mockula, meet Solid Gold Dancer." Laughing even more, I say "Solid Gold Dancer lives across the street from me!"
Sometimes I think I should shop at Raley's.
Okay, on to last night, which was great. I went to Martinez to meet my Elementary School Best Friend (ESBF) at her parents' place. We all talked, and then went and had dinner at a Chinese-Japanese place (I know, I was skeptical, too). Then we went to Slim's in San Francisco to see AC/DShe. We got drinks, then the opening band played. They were called "Ride the Blinds," and they were really good. They had a very '70s straightforward rock sound. It's hard to tell anymore when someone's doing the 70s sincerely or ironically, but with them I think it may have been sincere. I'm not gaga over self-indulgent solos, but I had to give it up to their guitarist and drummer, who laid out some of the best solos I have ever witnessed live. It was awesome. The second band, Elegantly Wasted, was okay, but seemed to be unclear as to what genre they wanted to be. It sort of had the same sound, but then nu-metal would creep in, and the lead singer had stringy black hair and probably eyeliner. And he GESTURED. I hate that. Like, when he would say "me," he'd take his hands off the guitar and point to his chest. And when he said "driving" he did the two hands on the wheel, turning it back and forth gesture. There were many like these, and it was quite dorky. As the evening wore on, the place got WAY crowded, and people kept smooshing towards the front. It was certainly not the worst I've been in, but as I get older, I get less tolerant of people smooshing up against me. And I am totally INtolerant of body odor in a crowd. Hello, WASH YOUR HAIR if it's going to be six inches from someone's nose! One guy in front of me had hair that smelled like Cup O' Noodles. And in the least-appetizing way imaginable. The whole place started to smell like vomit, Cup O' Noodles, liquor, sweat, body odor, and when the two middle-aged ladies walked by, powdery perfume. But AC/DShe was awesome. Better than I expected, actually. They reproduced the songs perfectly, and the songs translated very well to a woman's voice. And they were great show(wo)men, particularly the lead singer, who totally channeled the kicking, head swinging, microphone pumping rock-and-roll antics of some of the greatest performers in rock. It's a lot more fun than watching a shoe-gazer.
In a related note, I heard AC/DC's "Let There Be Rock" on the radio earlier in the day yesterday. I hadn't heard it in a long time, and suddenly it dawned on me where Jack Black's entire schtick comes from. "Let there be drums! . . . and there were drums."
Okay, Mockula's got a Sunday paper to read. Take care, y'all.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
God Damn, I Smell Great!
Totally unrelated to yesterday's Clinique parable or whatever, I really smell good today! While I was in SF, I went into Gap Body (I know there's one in Roseville, but who the hell wants to go to Roseville?), and I had recently read that they had a new line of scents and body lotions out and that they were really nice. Well, they are! I bought Orange Blossom and Torn Verbena, and I'm wearing Orange Blossom today. I don't think I'm overpowering or anything, but it keeps sort of catching my notice in a pleasant way. It's sort of associated for me with this jasmine tea I used to drink, and I have nothing but pleasant memories attached to drinking a nice cup of jasmine tea. Once an hour or so, I'm transported to the tea gardens, or to my warm bed, or to the time I made a tea cake . . . It's great! It also reminds me of going to Casablanca restaurant and having the orange flower water poured out of the samovar into my hands. Just nothing but warm and pleasant . . .
I liked several of the others, too, and would have bought Kuzu if they weren't out. The magazine I read about the scents in suggested you could blend them to create your own fragrance, but I am kind of a one-note girl.
I liked several of the others, too, and would have bought Kuzu if they weren't out. The magazine I read about the scents in suggested you could blend them to create your own fragrance, but I am kind of a one-note girl.
Monday, January 16, 2006
No, really, I mean, it's about gay cowboys, but . . .
I finally saw Brokeback Mountain. It was awesome and I recommend it. I went down to SF today and spent money. Had a really nice, relaxed day just getting stuff at H&M, having a little salad at the Nordstrom Cafe (I know, when in SF, I should actually go somewhere besides the familiar, but it was really really good and right off the BART station, and I was hungry), getting a cappucino and some Scharffenberger truffles (I'm determined to try them all, so today I had Meyer Lemon and Niblet something, and I still have sea salt caramel in my bag) . . . not much else, really. I stopped at Pooja's Indian restaurant on the way home on Monkeygirl's recommendation. It was good, and we had a nice dinner here at home.
In other news, I got a sample of Clinique's Happy to Be a while ago, but I was really skeptical about trying it. I thought it might be too flowery or powdery. I really hesitated in trying it, and whenever I did wear it, I found myself sort of sniffing myself all day to make sure I didn't stink, that it wasn't noticeable. Finally, my mom assured me it was fine, nice even, and I have now worn it on a few occasions and am more comfortable with it. The story of my 30th birthday went pretty much the same way.
I checked, and I still don't have any gray hairs. My three biggest concerns about turning 30 were as follows: I thought I'd have had babies already, like, maybe eight years ago. I used to have people who were suprised and impressed at all I'd acheived for my age, and that's going to pretty much become a thing of the past. It's 30, and that number just has a ring to it. I have located one positive already; by having ANY sense of fashion and eccentric punk-rock-ness, I'm amazingly hip for a 30-something. Like, I'm not a soccer-mom at all. That's cool, I guess. And the babies are coming, and all that stuff I achieved (like owning a home at 26, getting my master's at 28) is still cool stuff that a lot of people don't have, 30 or otherwise. Okay, I don't feel much like blogging anymore, but mainly because I've got two episodes of Scrubs to watch. And possibly a sea salt caramel truffle to eat. Take care, y'all.
CM
In other news, I got a sample of Clinique's Happy to Be a while ago, but I was really skeptical about trying it. I thought it might be too flowery or powdery. I really hesitated in trying it, and whenever I did wear it, I found myself sort of sniffing myself all day to make sure I didn't stink, that it wasn't noticeable. Finally, my mom assured me it was fine, nice even, and I have now worn it on a few occasions and am more comfortable with it. The story of my 30th birthday went pretty much the same way.
I checked, and I still don't have any gray hairs. My three biggest concerns about turning 30 were as follows: I thought I'd have had babies already, like, maybe eight years ago. I used to have people who were suprised and impressed at all I'd acheived for my age, and that's going to pretty much become a thing of the past. It's 30, and that number just has a ring to it. I have located one positive already; by having ANY sense of fashion and eccentric punk-rock-ness, I'm amazingly hip for a 30-something. Like, I'm not a soccer-mom at all. That's cool, I guess. And the babies are coming, and all that stuff I achieved (like owning a home at 26, getting my master's at 28) is still cool stuff that a lot of people don't have, 30 or otherwise. Okay, I don't feel much like blogging anymore, but mainly because I've got two episodes of Scrubs to watch. And possibly a sea salt caramel truffle to eat. Take care, y'all.
CM
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Not just a gay cowboy blog
Well, I'm the one always haranguing people to update their blogs, and here I haven't updated in ages! Shame on me. Anyway, there's not all that much going on -- I had a great and relaxing vacation, the best part of which was getting to hang out with my girls, and the second best part was chilling at home drinking coffee and reading my paper. I'm on a working-out streak. I read a tip that you should set a goal to work out every day, and then see how many days you make it, then next time strive to make it a longer streak. Well I'm already at like 9 days, I think, so it may be hard to make it a longer streak next time.
School has started again. Finals are in two weeks, which means grades are due, too. I'm going to have to really get to work, but it's been hard to use my prep period efficiently, because there's a sub in my room 6th period, and the kids have been really loud and bad, so it's impossible to focus. I may have to just ditch her and go to another room to grade.
I turn 30 on Friday. Still don't know quite what to say about that. I'll keep you updated. I went through several photo albums on Sunday and looked at photos of my mom with me as a baby when she was younger than I am now. It's an odd kind of time warp.
I'm trying REALLY hard to not let myself get so involved in work stuff that I don't do any fun stuff for me, so I started reading "Saving Fish From Drowning," which I already enjoy. In fact, if I want to read at all tonight, I'd better go. Sorry this wasn't more interesting, but I promise I'll come up with more to say. I can think of stuff already, I'm just pressed for time.
G'night, all.
School has started again. Finals are in two weeks, which means grades are due, too. I'm going to have to really get to work, but it's been hard to use my prep period efficiently, because there's a sub in my room 6th period, and the kids have been really loud and bad, so it's impossible to focus. I may have to just ditch her and go to another room to grade.
I turn 30 on Friday. Still don't know quite what to say about that. I'll keep you updated. I went through several photo albums on Sunday and looked at photos of my mom with me as a baby when she was younger than I am now. It's an odd kind of time warp.
I'm trying REALLY hard to not let myself get so involved in work stuff that I don't do any fun stuff for me, so I started reading "Saving Fish From Drowning," which I already enjoy. In fact, if I want to read at all tonight, I'd better go. Sorry this wasn't more interesting, but I promise I'll come up with more to say. I can think of stuff already, I'm just pressed for time.
G'night, all.
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