Hey. I've had a couple very chill days. I went to the chiropractor yesterday (my neck's been all screwed up) and I feel better, although I'm still being really careful with it and can't move it too far to the left. Anyway, then at home I just did a little watering and organizing (I'm working on shredding about ten years of Sweetie's papers). We went to Kathmandu Kitchen for dinner (MMMMMMM), then I went to the gym. Oh, we also went into the Avid Reader and the record store, both of which occupy the buildings that used to hold the flagship Tower stores.
Today I did almost nothing! I finished reading Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. I'm a little pissed that I timed it the way I did -- now I have to wait three weeks for the next book, and I want to read it NOW! By the way, Rowling's denials to the contrary, I think there's ample evidence to allow me to believe that Dumbledore is not dead. I won't go into it all here, but let's just say that if he miraculously shows up and it turns out that he had ordered Snape to pretend to kill him and that Snape hadn't really meant the killing curse and instead done a non-verbal curse that did something else... well, you'll all look back and say "The clues were all there!" At one point, Dumbledore even tells Malfoy that they can pretend he and his mother are dead and hide them away. Anyway...
I did some laundry and watered the lawn some more. I feel really horrible about watering so much, because it's such a waste, really, but I also am not ready to go with a no-lawn landscaping (don't have the time and money, for one), and my neighbors would be scandalized if I just let it die. It already looks patchy and sad next to the putting green that is my across-the-street neighbor's house. I tried to go to the gym, but forgot that it closed at 8, so only got 20 minutes in on the bike.
The only truly interesting thing that happened was that Thursday I had sent an e-mail to the crazy chick saying "I'm sorry the paint didn't meet your needs." Then I washed my hands of it. Well, she e-mailed back because blah blah, she just wasn't sure if that was the paint for her, she wanted it, blah blah. She called at 12:30 and said she'd be over in the next hour. Well, I was doing the shredding, so I wasn't paying much attention, but it was 2:30 before she got there. And then, oh my god, she was CRAZY. Like, she thought she was my new best friend! I put the paint in her car for her, and she had a bunch of lemons. I made some comment about how we had tons of lemons, and she was like "Oh, you have more?" Which is when it clicked -- those were lemons from our tree. Well that's fine, we're not using them, so she's welcome to more. I got her some lemons. Then she was like "Oh, your husband said you had more Alice stuff, but didn't want to show me because he said it was put away." I was like... well okay. I showed her some of the stuff that was in the spare bedroom. She was like "I first saw your cookie jar, and then he showed me the hutch..." Blah blah, she likes Alice too, she collects caterpillar stuff, she noticed it when she was checking her e-mail (What? Ding ding ding -- THAT'S why my computer was open when I came home from ballet! Hubby had signed on to my computer so she could check her e-mail!) because she couldn't remember what she was supposed to be getting from my house, because she's picking up several things from Freecycle. Then my cat wanders in. She's like "Oh, and I made friends with your cat. Hi Mina!" I mean, after she'd been here for like 20 minutes (and offered to call me the next time she was at Disneyland if they had cool Alice stuff), I was thinking "If she shows up tomorrow in a vintage dress and a faux-hawk, I'm calling the police. Christ almighty! I mean, she was friendly, but it was a real imposition on my time and privacy. I can't imagine going to someone's house to pick something up and expecting to wander through most of the rooms, use their computer, pick fruit from their trees... and she had a 16 year old girl with her who kept honking the horn and I felt for her. If she gets dragged around all day while her crazy mom spends ages in strangers' homes, no wonder she gets annoyed.
Okay, that is all. I am now reading "Bloodsucking Fiends," a goofy vampire novel Monkeygirl lent me because I had inadvertently purchased its sequel, "You Suck."
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The vagaries of Freecycle
Yesterday was mainly a paperwork-catching-up bill-paying kind of day. I got air in my tire, sent in the paperwork to renew my credential, organized my binder of sheet music, etc. But I had put some things on Freecycle on Tuesday. On Tuesday evening, I made a young lady deliriously happy with a barbecue and a poster of Marilyn Monroe. She told me a bit of here life story, blurting out that she used to have a barbecue, well, she really does have a barbecue, but it's at her boyfriend's house. Well, her ex-boyfriend's house. And it's not like she can't stand him or anything, she just doesn't want to go back to that house, you know? Like, if she saw him in the street, she'd say hi, but to go back to that house, you know? Anyway, she's really, really happy to have a new barbecue.
Another gal wanted my diffuser for my hairdryer. She said she'd come at ten today, she was here at 10:01, and she smiled and said thank you. Freecycle can work very well.
And then there are the freaks. A woman e-mailed me and wrote "I'm interested in the paint, and looking at other things you might have, please." That is the extent of her e-mail. No signature or anything. I write back pleasantly, provide the address, directions, and a phone number, and mention that the barbecue and poster are gone, but there are still several other things available. She e-mails back (again in its entirety) "Can you please call me with directions this afternoon at ###-####? Thanks! I was interested in the paint." Uh, yeah. I know you were interested in the paint, but you said you wanted to look at other things, too. And again, no signature, and her e-mail doesn't have a name. Plus, I e-mailed her the damn directions so why do I need to call her also? Whatever. I call in the afternoon, as requested, and she's on another "very important call" and will call me back. I am at home making dinner and stuff for the next couple hours and she doesn't call. Well, the paint is on the side of the house, but frankly, I'm not troubling myself about this too much. I come home, and she has dropped by. She looked at the paint and said she wanted beige, not white. Well, I had written that the shit is beige, and it IS beige (I opened the lid last night just to make sure), so I have no idea what the fuck she is talking about. She left her number so I could call her back. You know what? I don't think I will. I wrote her an e-mail saying I was sorry the paint didn't "meet her needs." I mean for fuck's sake, do we need to hold a summit? Come get the paint. You don't want the paint? Go away. Someone else will take it. That's how easy it should be.
Another gal wanted my diffuser for my hairdryer. She said she'd come at ten today, she was here at 10:01, and she smiled and said thank you. Freecycle can work very well.
And then there are the freaks. A woman e-mailed me and wrote "I'm interested in the paint, and looking at other things you might have, please." That is the extent of her e-mail. No signature or anything. I write back pleasantly, provide the address, directions, and a phone number, and mention that the barbecue and poster are gone, but there are still several other things available. She e-mails back (again in its entirety) "Can you please call me with directions this afternoon at ###-####? Thanks! I was interested in the paint." Uh, yeah. I know you were interested in the paint, but you said you wanted to look at other things, too. And again, no signature, and her e-mail doesn't have a name. Plus, I e-mailed her the damn directions so why do I need to call her also? Whatever. I call in the afternoon, as requested, and she's on another "very important call" and will call me back. I am at home making dinner and stuff for the next couple hours and she doesn't call. Well, the paint is on the side of the house, but frankly, I'm not troubling myself about this too much. I come home, and she has dropped by. She looked at the paint and said she wanted beige, not white. Well, I had written that the shit is beige, and it IS beige (I opened the lid last night just to make sure), so I have no idea what the fuck she is talking about. She left her number so I could call her back. You know what? I don't think I will. I wrote her an e-mail saying I was sorry the paint didn't "meet her needs." I mean for fuck's sake, do we need to hold a summit? Come get the paint. You don't want the paint? Go away. Someone else will take it. That's how easy it should be.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Whew! Catching up
Okay, lemme see. Friday, Sweetie was gravely ill until about 4pm, so he took the day off and was on, uh, bedrest until the afternoon. We then went shopping (which is a totally different experience than shopping with a girl, since among other things, we are jogging) and got him new shoes and a few new articles of clothing. Then we went to dinner with some friends of his and had a nice chat and meal. They had recently returned from Costa Rica and had some very funny stories about exotic wild animals.
Saturday was cleaning/ballet day, and then I made sushi. Monkeygirl was doing some stuff to her house, but came over later and we all had a glass of wine, then Monkeygirl and I walked to Burr's Fountain for ice cream. I love this neighborhood.
Sunday was yoga and Mom day -- we watched "Flight of the Conchords" which was HILARIOUS and made me wish I had HBO. I laughed my ass off, and the next day looked up everything they've ever done on YouTube.
Monday I reorganized the laundry room. It badly needed it: it was one of the rooms that we just backed up the Uhaul and put shit in. Like, shoved next to the washer and dryer was a big wire storage thing, and pretty much everything that didn't fit somewhere else got shoved in there willy nilly. I finally moved that thing out, got rid of a few things, packed others more efficiently, and moved the washer and dryer over so that there's more room for the garbage and recycling. I still need to do a bit more (like eventually finding a better place for the mops/brooms/swiffers/other long-handled devices). Then I did some work on the back bedroom (it needs a lot of organization, since it has become my personal dumping ground) and installed blinds in there. Mom came over and helped with a bunch of stuff, too.
And finally today, Tuesday. I did some paperwork-y things, got the refrigerator door repaired (did you know that your food goes bad if the door won't close properly? Shocking!), installed a new porch light that Mom bought us (and it is beautiful, but was a BITCH-AND-A-HALF to install). The old one did not work and was hideously ugly, so now we have a new beautiful one! I took a quick shower because I was sweating buckets (imagine me straddling the handrail of the porch, balancing a heavy light on my shoulder and feeling around for screws in 95 degree weather) and went out to lunch with my friend from work. We had a really nice lunch and pleasant chat, and I'm hoping we can hang out more. Actually, I want to introduce her to Monkeygirl and MQ, but I'm afraid they'll all like each other more than they like me! Finally, I tried but failed to do a favor for Monkeygirl.
Now it's dinnertime. Wondering what I've been doing with any unaccounted-for hours? Reading Harry Potter books. Duh.
Saturday was cleaning/ballet day, and then I made sushi. Monkeygirl was doing some stuff to her house, but came over later and we all had a glass of wine, then Monkeygirl and I walked to Burr's Fountain for ice cream. I love this neighborhood.
Sunday was yoga and Mom day -- we watched "Flight of the Conchords" which was HILARIOUS and made me wish I had HBO. I laughed my ass off, and the next day looked up everything they've ever done on YouTube.
Monday I reorganized the laundry room. It badly needed it: it was one of the rooms that we just backed up the Uhaul and put shit in. Like, shoved next to the washer and dryer was a big wire storage thing, and pretty much everything that didn't fit somewhere else got shoved in there willy nilly. I finally moved that thing out, got rid of a few things, packed others more efficiently, and moved the washer and dryer over so that there's more room for the garbage and recycling. I still need to do a bit more (like eventually finding a better place for the mops/brooms/swiffers/other long-handled devices). Then I did some work on the back bedroom (it needs a lot of organization, since it has become my personal dumping ground) and installed blinds in there. Mom came over and helped with a bunch of stuff, too.
And finally today, Tuesday. I did some paperwork-y things, got the refrigerator door repaired (did you know that your food goes bad if the door won't close properly? Shocking!), installed a new porch light that Mom bought us (and it is beautiful, but was a BITCH-AND-A-HALF to install). The old one did not work and was hideously ugly, so now we have a new beautiful one! I took a quick shower because I was sweating buckets (imagine me straddling the handrail of the porch, balancing a heavy light on my shoulder and feeling around for screws in 95 degree weather) and went out to lunch with my friend from work. We had a really nice lunch and pleasant chat, and I'm hoping we can hang out more. Actually, I want to introduce her to Monkeygirl and MQ, but I'm afraid they'll all like each other more than they like me! Finally, I tried but failed to do a favor for Monkeygirl.
Now it's dinnertime. Wondering what I've been doing with any unaccounted-for hours? Reading Harry Potter books. Duh.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Back to day 2
So, since I posted details of days 1 and 3, you may be wondering about day 2. Day 2 was get-my-medical-tests-out-of-the-way day.
I hurried out of the house at 7:30. I can't say any more, because my dear husband has said "we must never speak of this again," but I will say this was HIS part of the tests and I was rushing to the lab with a beer koozy in a paper bag. Then I had three hours before my test.
I was in Elk Grove, which is not my hood, and it's far enough from my hood that I didn't really want to drive all the way home and back, so I went to Starbucks for breakfast, then went to Lowe's (because I can't resist a hardware store -- what a freak, right?). Finally, I decided I couldn't kill any more time, so I went back to the hospital to wait. When I got there, I realized I had forgotten the 800 mg of Motrin they'd recommended. I walked through a couple of the pharmacies to see if I could locate some, but I couldn't. Well, I figured, they said it would only be uncomfortable, and I'm a trooper, so... I just checked in.
Long story short, OUCH! At one point, the nurse was like "Hey, that's the worst part, so if you got through that, you'll be fine!" I was thinking "Yo, I'm still on the inhale part of a deep breath, so I'm not sure I'm through it yet..."
Then there was an X-ray thing over me and a TV next to me, and I watched my bits get filled up with dye. First I saw what looked like a big, fat letter "Y," and then a tiny thread shot out from the right side of the Y. The nurse pointed and said "There's your fallopian tube." I watched as it got longer, then the dye spilled out and created a pretty swirl in my abdominal cavity. Then some more dye went in. Then I was asked to do some yoga. Then some more yoga (my work on those internal obliques came in handy!). And yet... nothing ever happened on the left side. My Google-happy self decided that I only have one working fallopian tube, but there are two things to remember: First, I am not a radiologist. I have no idea what those results mean, and I cannot read an X-ray. Second, even if I have just one, that's plenty, you know? Yeah, it reduces the chances, but it doesn't make it impossible. Anyway, I can't come to any conclusions until I've met with "the group." I can't get my blood tests until the week after next, so I won't even be able to make the appointment until then. That's okay, though. I can keep myself occupied. I suspect there are other house projects I can throw myself into! Nothing like distracting yourself.
I hurried out of the house at 7:30. I can't say any more, because my dear husband has said "we must never speak of this again," but I will say this was HIS part of the tests and I was rushing to the lab with a beer koozy in a paper bag. Then I had three hours before my test.
I was in Elk Grove, which is not my hood, and it's far enough from my hood that I didn't really want to drive all the way home and back, so I went to Starbucks for breakfast, then went to Lowe's (because I can't resist a hardware store -- what a freak, right?). Finally, I decided I couldn't kill any more time, so I went back to the hospital to wait. When I got there, I realized I had forgotten the 800 mg of Motrin they'd recommended. I walked through a couple of the pharmacies to see if I could locate some, but I couldn't. Well, I figured, they said it would only be uncomfortable, and I'm a trooper, so... I just checked in.
Long story short, OUCH! At one point, the nurse was like "Hey, that's the worst part, so if you got through that, you'll be fine!" I was thinking "Yo, I'm still on the inhale part of a deep breath, so I'm not sure I'm through it yet..."
Then there was an X-ray thing over me and a TV next to me, and I watched my bits get filled up with dye. First I saw what looked like a big, fat letter "Y," and then a tiny thread shot out from the right side of the Y. The nurse pointed and said "There's your fallopian tube." I watched as it got longer, then the dye spilled out and created a pretty swirl in my abdominal cavity. Then some more dye went in. Then I was asked to do some yoga. Then some more yoga (my work on those internal obliques came in handy!). And yet... nothing ever happened on the left side. My Google-happy self decided that I only have one working fallopian tube, but there are two things to remember: First, I am not a radiologist. I have no idea what those results mean, and I cannot read an X-ray. Second, even if I have just one, that's plenty, you know? Yeah, it reduces the chances, but it doesn't make it impossible. Anyway, I can't come to any conclusions until I've met with "the group." I can't get my blood tests until the week after next, so I won't even be able to make the appointment until then. That's okay, though. I can keep myself occupied. I suspect there are other house projects I can throw myself into! Nothing like distracting yourself.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Got asked to be in a play, and then I called 911 on a homeless guy
My phone rang while I was blogging earlier, and it was a co-worker who has written a play. She was calling to ask whether I'd gotten the e-mail (I asked if I could read it), and to ask whether I wanted to do a reading of it on stage. She has me in mind or the titular character. Heh heh. Titular. Anyway, not a real performance, just a reading, but still fun!
I left to pick up my veggies and a block away from the house, I saw something on the sidewalk. My mind went "Is that a person? Oh shit, it IS a person! Oh fuck, it's a person with their pants off!"
I seriously waffled -- I wasn't going far. I could get my veggies and come back and if he was still there, call someone. But... what if he wasn't breathing? What if he'd hit his head? The waffling felt like it lasted a long time, but in fact I only got to the very next block before I decided to turn around, park, and call the police. I got out of the car and walked around him. He was breathing and moving slightly, and he was not bleeding. Further, there was a cloud of alcohol smell. So it was fairly obvious that he'd just passed out drunk. I waffled again. It was hot outside, but not THAT hot. Would he get heat stroke? Fuck it, I called the police. And got stuck in the longest-ass voice mail ever, because I had said it was a non-emergency. So I called 911 and got the CHP, and again saying it was a non-emergency, got stuck in an apparently unending loop. I waffled again. He was moving, after all... Fuck! I couldn't just walk away. I don't want to waste valuable city resources, but I can't let this dude die on the street, either. Was it that likely? I don't know. But dehydration, heat stroke, and I don't know, choking on your own vomit are real dangers. I didn't, however, want to provide first aid myself, as he was still pantsless. Completely. There was his wiener.
Anyway, there was no Paddywagon direct line, so I called 911 again and said it was an emergency. In all this phone-waiting time, a woman walked by (actually crossed the street to talk to me) and I assured her I was doing something about it. A car also pulled over and the driver said his fiancee had called, too. Finally I got through and described the situation. They said they dispatched a fire truck and I asked if I should wait there. She said it would be good if I didn't mind so that I could show the fire truck where to go. I did. In the meantime, a guy on a bike wandered by and was like "Is everything okay? Is he dangerous?" I'm like, he's lying butt nekkid on the sidewalk; I think I can fucking take him if he lunges for me.
Anyway, then the fire truck came, they shook him and got a response, and I took off. On the way home, I saw him sitting on the lawn in front of the Burger King eating, so I think the fire guys bought him lunch, which was probably what he needed. I still don't know whether he was in any real danger, but people do die in the heat here, and alcohol can cause dehydration. I think I did the right thing.
I left to pick up my veggies and a block away from the house, I saw something on the sidewalk. My mind went "Is that a person? Oh shit, it IS a person! Oh fuck, it's a person with their pants off!"
I seriously waffled -- I wasn't going far. I could get my veggies and come back and if he was still there, call someone. But... what if he wasn't breathing? What if he'd hit his head? The waffling felt like it lasted a long time, but in fact I only got to the very next block before I decided to turn around, park, and call the police. I got out of the car and walked around him. He was breathing and moving slightly, and he was not bleeding. Further, there was a cloud of alcohol smell. So it was fairly obvious that he'd just passed out drunk. I waffled again. It was hot outside, but not THAT hot. Would he get heat stroke? Fuck it, I called the police. And got stuck in the longest-ass voice mail ever, because I had said it was a non-emergency. So I called 911 and got the CHP, and again saying it was a non-emergency, got stuck in an apparently unending loop. I waffled again. He was moving, after all... Fuck! I couldn't just walk away. I don't want to waste valuable city resources, but I can't let this dude die on the street, either. Was it that likely? I don't know. But dehydration, heat stroke, and I don't know, choking on your own vomit are real dangers. I didn't, however, want to provide first aid myself, as he was still pantsless. Completely. There was his wiener.
Anyway, there was no Paddywagon direct line, so I called 911 again and said it was an emergency. In all this phone-waiting time, a woman walked by (actually crossed the street to talk to me) and I assured her I was doing something about it. A car also pulled over and the driver said his fiancee had called, too. Finally I got through and described the situation. They said they dispatched a fire truck and I asked if I should wait there. She said it would be good if I didn't mind so that I could show the fire truck where to go. I did. In the meantime, a guy on a bike wandered by and was like "Is everything okay? Is he dangerous?" I'm like, he's lying butt nekkid on the sidewalk; I think I can fucking take him if he lunges for me.
Anyway, then the fire truck came, they shook him and got a response, and I took off. On the way home, I saw him sitting on the lawn in front of the Burger King eating, so I think the fire guys bought him lunch, which was probably what he needed. I still don't know whether he was in any real danger, but people do die in the heat here, and alcohol can cause dehydration. I think I did the right thing.
Summer vacation day 3 -- cleaned the garage!
First is the north wall. I know it doesn't look that much better, but everything to the left of the ladder is going away. I'm not sure how yet, but I'm pretty sure that's all stuff I don't want. Eventually we're going to have bookshelves built in the house and not have to keep so many books in the garage.
This is the west wall. The door is to the kitchen. I think I'm going to get rid of that shelf so I can put some storage in.
This is the south wall. In the left cabinet are the painting supplies and in the right are most of my cleaning and gardening things.
And finally, check this out. The container on the far left and the one on the far right have my Christmas ornaments, lights, and other sundry holiday itens. What appears to be the empty space in the middle is actually the tree stand. And everything else? That's all my dear, sweet husband's Christmas stuff. I feel ever so justified! Now I can say "If you think I have a lot of Christmas stuff, you should see my husband's!"
This is the west wall. The door is to the kitchen. I think I'm going to get rid of that shelf so I can put some storage in.
This is the south wall. In the left cabinet are the painting supplies and in the right are most of my cleaning and gardening things.
And finally, check this out. The container on the far left and the one on the far right have my Christmas ornaments, lights, and other sundry holiday itens. What appears to be the empty space in the middle is actually the tree stand. And everything else? That's all my dear, sweet husband's Christmas stuff. I feel ever so justified! Now I can say "If you think I have a lot of Christmas stuff, you should see my husband's!"
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Bathroom!
Okay, I was going to tell the story of the painting, but there wasn't that much to it. I cleared the shit out, cleaned, taped, cut-in, painted, re-painted. There you have it. I still intend to paint the trim a brighter, cleaner white and install the lightswitch plate, but when I took the photo it was still drying (the old one was metal, and I bought a wood one and painted it white). (Edited to add that I also patched and sanded some shit. How could I leave that out?)
Before:
After :
And a few other details:
I know you didn't NEED to see my toilet, but it shows the floor tile, which was my biggest hurdle in picking a color. Finally, I decided it would represent sand and sun and I would pick a water color and it would just go becasue I said so.
Before:
After :
And a few other details:
I know you didn't NEED to see my toilet, but it shows the floor tile, which was my biggest hurdle in picking a color. Finally, I decided it would represent sand and sun and I would pick a water color and it would just go becasue I said so.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Grasshopper
No, not this kind: 
And not this kind:
But this kind:
Yes, that's the color of my half bathroom now. Tomorrow I think there will be pictures and story, but I want to wait until all the tape's down and the decor is back up. But I LOVE the color. It feels very cool and soothing.
Today was a good day. I read the paper, drank my coffee, then went to buy paint and supplies and our coffee. I went to Naked Coffee, the place that roasts my regular coffee, but you can buy it at the warehouse for half price AND they'll make you a complimentary Americano. Yum. I sat there and drank my coffee and read some HP and the Goblet of Fire, but it was quite sunny, so I didn't stay long. I bought my low VOC paint ("Teal Twist"), and did my stuff. Mom came over at about 12:30 and helped me out -- we went to Home Despot for some stuff (most of which we couldn't find) and got helped/harassed while we looked for a bathroom cabinet/were pressured about getting a a credit card. Mom painted some outlet covers and light switchplates -- they were weird dark brown stained wood and she painted them white. Yay!
While we were chatting, my uncle stopped by with a CD he'd recorded of our band practice. It was, you know, band practice. Some of it's better that other bits, but it was kind of cool just to have it.
This evening I made a pasta salad and now I feel done-ish.
So, I got some house stuff done, but no writing or bass playing. That's okay, I think. I don't have to do EVERYTHING every day.
If you're not interested in hearing about my Volkswagon, read no further and have a lovely day.
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Okay, so my hysterosalpingogram (which Mom pronounced for me today -- the accents are on HYS and PING) is tomorrow at 11. How do I explain it? Well, let's say you wanted to make sure that the Volkswagon... had working windows. You might, you know, put a hose in through the air vent, fill it with, uh, seltzer water, and make sure the water comes out the windows to make sure they're properly rolled down. That's not working, is it?
Anyway, they're checking to make sure my fallopian tubes are open by shooting dye all up in my business. The dye's supposed to come out the ends of my fallopian tubes. Right into my abdominal cavity. Isn't that weird? It would seem like everything would be attached, a closed system, like. But it's not. No, there's a wee gap between your ovary and the fallopian tube and your eggs have to pole vault from one to the other through the open space. I think that's strange. Even sex ed diagrams make it look like there's a tube or something, but there's not. I've been instructed to take 800 milligrams of Motrin, which I don't have, so I'll take some Advil. I also have to take antibiotics so I can avoid an infection. As the nurse practitioner said "Our tools are sterile, but your vagina isn't." They gave my doxycyclene, which did a number on my stomach this afternoon, so I am going to try to take it with food for the rest of the five days.
I'm feeling good this month. I'm not over-confident, and I knows there's a really good chance that nothing will happen, but witness: there's a higher rate of pregnancy in the months right after the HSG test. I received a Peruvian fertility god figure from a friend in the mail a week ago. And last night, I received these two Chinese fortune cookie fortunes: "No obstacles will stand in the way of your success this month" and "Focus on your long-term goal. Good things will soon happen."
Okay, I think that's finally all. Bye!
And not this kind:
But this kind:
Yes, that's the color of my half bathroom now. Tomorrow I think there will be pictures and story, but I want to wait until all the tape's down and the decor is back up. But I LOVE the color. It feels very cool and soothing.
Today was a good day. I read the paper, drank my coffee, then went to buy paint and supplies and our coffee. I went to Naked Coffee, the place that roasts my regular coffee, but you can buy it at the warehouse for half price AND they'll make you a complimentary Americano. Yum. I sat there and drank my coffee and read some HP and the Goblet of Fire, but it was quite sunny, so I didn't stay long. I bought my low VOC paint ("Teal Twist"), and did my stuff. Mom came over at about 12:30 and helped me out -- we went to Home Despot for some stuff (most of which we couldn't find) and got helped/harassed while we looked for a bathroom cabinet/were pressured about getting a a credit card. Mom painted some outlet covers and light switchplates -- they were weird dark brown stained wood and she painted them white. Yay!
While we were chatting, my uncle stopped by with a CD he'd recorded of our band practice. It was, you know, band practice. Some of it's better that other bits, but it was kind of cool just to have it.
This evening I made a pasta salad and now I feel done-ish.
So, I got some house stuff done, but no writing or bass playing. That's okay, I think. I don't have to do EVERYTHING every day.
If you're not interested in hearing about my Volkswagon, read no further and have a lovely day.
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Okay, so my hysterosalpingogram (which Mom pronounced for me today -- the accents are on HYS and PING) is tomorrow at 11. How do I explain it? Well, let's say you wanted to make sure that the Volkswagon... had working windows. You might, you know, put a hose in through the air vent, fill it with, uh, seltzer water, and make sure the water comes out the windows to make sure they're properly rolled down. That's not working, is it?
Anyway, they're checking to make sure my fallopian tubes are open by shooting dye all up in my business. The dye's supposed to come out the ends of my fallopian tubes. Right into my abdominal cavity. Isn't that weird? It would seem like everything would be attached, a closed system, like. But it's not. No, there's a wee gap between your ovary and the fallopian tube and your eggs have to pole vault from one to the other through the open space. I think that's strange. Even sex ed diagrams make it look like there's a tube or something, but there's not. I've been instructed to take 800 milligrams of Motrin, which I don't have, so I'll take some Advil. I also have to take antibiotics so I can avoid an infection. As the nurse practitioner said "Our tools are sterile, but your vagina isn't." They gave my doxycyclene, which did a number on my stomach this afternoon, so I am going to try to take it with food for the rest of the five days.
I'm feeling good this month. I'm not over-confident, and I knows there's a really good chance that nothing will happen, but witness: there's a higher rate of pregnancy in the months right after the HSG test. I received a Peruvian fertility god figure from a friend in the mail a week ago. And last night, I received these two Chinese fortune cookie fortunes: "No obstacles will stand in the way of your success this month" and "Focus on your long-term goal. Good things will soon happen."
Okay, I think that's finally all. Bye!
Friday, June 15, 2007
Two theme songs today!!
First -- Alice Cooper's "School's Out for Summer!" 
I'm checked out, I turned my keys in (well, all except the secret master key -- that I don't have), my room's all packed up for the move (my 8th in 8 years), and I spent the morning afterwards eating a cinnamon roll and reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in the sunshine. (And yes, I am such a dork that I am re-reading all 6 books in anticipation of the last one.*)
The second theme some is Chariots of Fire, or the triumphant theme of your choice: I am BACK on schedule, and I was able to finally, an entire fucking SEASON later, schedule my hysterosalpingogram. (We're homies now, so you can call it by its initials, HSG). I don't think I have ever looked so forward to a doctor's appointment, especially one that I've been advised to take painkillers prior to. I even made up a little song, in which "hysterosalpingogram" rhymes with "eleven a.m."
*Plus, I got a little teary in the first book when Harry meets Ron and Hermione for the first time. Fuck off, you wouldn't understand.
I'm checked out, I turned my keys in (well, all except the secret master key -- that I don't have), my room's all packed up for the move (my 8th in 8 years), and I spent the morning afterwards eating a cinnamon roll and reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in the sunshine. (And yes, I am such a dork that I am re-reading all 6 books in anticipation of the last one.*)
The second theme some is Chariots of Fire, or the triumphant theme of your choice: I am BACK on schedule, and I was able to finally, an entire fucking SEASON later, schedule my hysterosalpingogram. (We're homies now, so you can call it by its initials, HSG). I don't think I have ever looked so forward to a doctor's appointment, especially one that I've been advised to take painkillers prior to. I even made up a little song, in which "hysterosalpingogram" rhymes with "eleven a.m."
*Plus, I got a little teary in the first book when Harry meets Ron and Hermione for the first time. Fuck off, you wouldn't understand.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
John Lennon, Marilyn Manson, Aunt Flo, and a famous horticulturalist
John Lennon: I am a Beatles fan. Anyone who knows me well knows this. And of the Beatles, I am a John girl. George is my second favorite. But as for John's solo career? Well, I like some of it. I had the album "Shaved Fish," and I like Instant Karma, Cold Turkey, and a few others. Some of the stuff with Yoko Ono is really ear-splitting, and I think little of what Lennon did without the Beatles lived up to what he did with them. But Imagine is a great song, as is War is Over (Happy Christmas). Still, I was never so much of a John-alone fan that I had more of his music, so there are great swaths o fhis music I've never heard. Well, recently they've bene playing a new Green Day song on the radio, Working Class Hero. I like Green Day all right, but this song really struck me. I was thinking to myself that it was a much better-written song than most of theirs -- sophisticated yet simple and powerful. And then I realized -- it's a John Lennon cover. He was a great songwriter, that's for damn sure.
I painted my toenails last night, and on a lark, painted them black. Then I chased my husband around the house telling him I had Marilyn Manson toes and singing "The beautiful people, the beautiful people!" This morning I sang "The Dope Show" and told him my toes were going to start dating an eighteen year old, but Sweetie didn't get it.
I suspect Aunt Flo is on her way -- she called from the airport. I have NEVER looked so forward to a visit from her in my life! She's terribly, terribly late, and not because I'm pregnant, but because things are all jacked up. But Cycle Day One means that Cycle Day Eight is coming, meaning I can get some of my tests taken! Yay!!!!
And finally, today is the last day at Famous Horticulturalist High. Another year gone by. Man, I'm getting old. Next year my sophomores will be juniors! My juniors will be wandering around being big seniors, and they won't be mine. They'll only come by to visit once in a while. Aww. Okay, whew, got a big day ahead! Bye!
I painted my toenails last night, and on a lark, painted them black. Then I chased my husband around the house telling him I had Marilyn Manson toes and singing "The beautiful people, the beautiful people!" This morning I sang "The Dope Show" and told him my toes were going to start dating an eighteen year old, but Sweetie didn't get it.
I suspect Aunt Flo is on her way -- she called from the airport. I have NEVER looked so forward to a visit from her in my life! She's terribly, terribly late, and not because I'm pregnant, but because things are all jacked up. But Cycle Day One means that Cycle Day Eight is coming, meaning I can get some of my tests taken! Yay!!!!
And finally, today is the last day at Famous Horticulturalist High. Another year gone by. Man, I'm getting old. Next year my sophomores will be juniors! My juniors will be wandering around being big seniors, and they won't be mine. They'll only come by to visit once in a while. Aww. Okay, whew, got a big day ahead! Bye!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
So, what are your plans for the summer?
Well, I was thinking that I might catch some daytime TV. I understand Tyra Banks has her own program now. Also, I've never had much of a taste for beer, and I'm considering seeing whether I can develop a taste for it. And I might see if I can put on a few pounds.
Just kidding. But everybody asks, I'm not sure how many of them really care or listen to the answer, and I've been dying to say this.
Graduation wasn't the weep-fest I thought it might be. Oh, sure I teared up a few times, but between the air-horn blowing chatters behind me and the smack-talking teachers next to me, the mood wasn't right. Three of us walked around the corner and all spotted the Slutty Pocahontas teacher at the same time and screeched to a halt like we were in Scooby Doo. She was in a strapless pink mini-dress and high heels -- basically, a hot pink tube. It was horrifying.
Just kidding. But everybody asks, I'm not sure how many of them really care or listen to the answer, and I've been dying to say this.
Graduation wasn't the weep-fest I thought it might be. Oh, sure I teared up a few times, but between the air-horn blowing chatters behind me and the smack-talking teachers next to me, the mood wasn't right. Three of us walked around the corner and all spotted the Slutty Pocahontas teacher at the same time and screeched to a halt like we were in Scooby Doo. She was in a strapless pink mini-dress and high heels -- basically, a hot pink tube. It was horrifying.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Once
Read about Once on IMDB.
This one's an indie film, so I don't know whether it's playing everywhere or for how long, but at the very least, go put it on your Netflix list. I LOVED this film. A guitarist working in his father's vacuum repair shop plays for change on the streets, and he meets a young woman from the Czech Republic who plays piano. They write music together and form a bond. I was really touched by the whole damn thing, and the music was awesome.
If anyone remembers The Commitments, the lead singer of the band is the lead guy here. If you're averse to musicals, I even think you might enjoy this, because it isn't just random people breaking into song; rather the music springs organically from what's happening in the plot, and even drives the plot at points.
I just can't speak highly enough about this movie.
This one's an indie film, so I don't know whether it's playing everywhere or for how long, but at the very least, go put it on your Netflix list. I LOVED this film. A guitarist working in his father's vacuum repair shop plays for change on the streets, and he meets a young woman from the Czech Republic who plays piano. They write music together and form a bond. I was really touched by the whole damn thing, and the music was awesome.
If anyone remembers The Commitments, the lead singer of the band is the lead guy here. If you're averse to musicals, I even think you might enjoy this, because it isn't just random people breaking into song; rather the music springs organically from what's happening in the plot, and even drives the plot at points.
I just can't speak highly enough about this movie.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Flying and climbing dream
I have flying dreams plenty. Usually they're kind of inferior, for example -- I ran really hard and flapped my arms and got a little height. Or a trampoline allowed me ten or twenty seconds in the air. Or I ran off a cliff and soared for a bit. But last night's was an honest-to-goodness flying dream. I flew over a sunny countryside filled with trees and grapevines and hills and streams and country houses. "You're quite right;" I remarked to someone at one point "It's very like those roller coasters that almost fling you into the branches of a tree!"
In the same dream but later, I was at a museum exhibit (inspired, no doubt, by the TWO science museums I've visited in the last month) which had imprints of hands in a light color on a dark background. It looked like an x-ray. Two handprints would be right atop one another, with one offset just half an inch. I was instructed to put my hand over the prints and unfocus my eyes until the two sets came together. As I did, I felt my hand drawn toward the wall as with magnetism. "Cool!" I exclaimed. "Yeah," the docent said, "you should see the people who really get good at it." Then he directed my attention to the two young women who were climbing the flat, vertical wall by placing their hands over the prints.
Neat.
In the same dream but later, I was at a museum exhibit (inspired, no doubt, by the TWO science museums I've visited in the last month) which had imprints of hands in a light color on a dark background. It looked like an x-ray. Two handprints would be right atop one another, with one offset just half an inch. I was instructed to put my hand over the prints and unfocus my eyes until the two sets came together. As I did, I felt my hand drawn toward the wall as with magnetism. "Cool!" I exclaimed. "Yeah," the docent said, "you should see the people who really get good at it." Then he directed my attention to the two young women who were climbing the flat, vertical wall by placing their hands over the prints.
Neat.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Passing the principal, what is she wearing, computer class, and my
By the way, aren't those lovely earrings? You could have them if you went to Jewelry by Des.
On the freeway on the way to school, I got stuck behind a little white Acura, the slowest car in sight. I went to pass, and saw from behind that the guy was talking on his cell phone. "Naturally," I thought. I was going to give him my patented disgusted look as I passed, but luckily realized it was my principal before he saw me. I put back my normal look and sped up a tad.
Speaking of people I work with, there's a woman... I may have mentioned her before. She was my bathroom nemesis, because she always spend like ten minutes in there at lunchtime. I'd need to go and I'd wait and wait and hear flushing and handwashing, but she'd never come out. I probably mentioned her fashion sense before, because it's so strange... she dresses like you would expect a pole dancer to. Or an escort. Like, in the winter (and most of fall and spring) she wears head-to-toe skin tight leather. Purple suede dresses, thigh high boots, leather skirts with corset-style tops... It's pretty crazy. This week for some reason it has really gone haywire. Monday, she was wearing painted-on denim shorts, platform shoes that laced around her calves, a skin-tight shirt and a shrug that came just below her boobs. Tuesday she wore what I thought THEN was the weirdest ever -- she looked like slutty Pocahontas. It was a tan suede skirt with fringe. Tan suede sandals with fringe. A tan suede purse with fringe. And a BACKLESS tan suede halter top (think the hippies at the music festivals -- just one tie to keep the thing on) with fringe. There was a thin tan shirt underneath it, but really.
Then yesterday, she was wearing a top that I am certain cannot be purchased at a store that does not also sell handcuffs. I'm not fucking around -- it was black patent leather with metal studs. It was lingerie. It was fetish lingerie. I mean... I don't even know what to say. I admit, I'm more likely than anyone to show up at work in some odd color/pattern choices or in a vintage dress. I don't have J Crew taste. But what the fuck? I mean, that's just not appropriate.
Computer class is finally over, and I'm going to brag a bit. Three times last night I thought I was in trouble. I was messing around with my PowerPoint, and the teacher leaned over and was like "What are you doing?" He had a low, serious tone. I was like "I don't know! I just made a hyperlink!" He was like "tell me more. What did you do? How did you get the arrow?" Apparently, the girl behind me could see my screen and wanted to know how I was doing something, so he came over and learned, and then taught the whole class (although he didn't really get the arrow thing). Then another assignment I turned in, he looked at it skeptically and said "You did this in Excel?" I was like "yeah." He had mentioned that some people try to do something in Word and pass it off as Excel, so I thought he thought I was cheating. I was like "I can show you the file!" He said, "No... no, it's good. It's just that no one ever thinks to put clip art in Excel." There was another one, but I'm boring you. At the end, he asked "so, did you get anything out of this class?" I had. I learned a few tricks. But I'm a fast learner, too, so when he introduced something new, I'd get it right away, so it probably looked like I already knew stuff that I didn't really know until he taught it. Mainly because the other people in the class were still, fifteen minutes later, going "how did you get there? What's that?"
And finally, I'm hiding this at the end in the hopes that you have stopped reading. I'm going to really miss my seniors. I'm trying not to get weepy over it, but they're so sweet, and they keep coming in with their yearbooks and cards and stuff. I just can't believe how grown-up they all are, the plans they have, how mature they seem... I'm so proud of them. I'm going to be a wreck at graduation.
On the freeway on the way to school, I got stuck behind a little white Acura, the slowest car in sight. I went to pass, and saw from behind that the guy was talking on his cell phone. "Naturally," I thought. I was going to give him my patented disgusted look as I passed, but luckily realized it was my principal before he saw me. I put back my normal look and sped up a tad.
Speaking of people I work with, there's a woman... I may have mentioned her before. She was my bathroom nemesis, because she always spend like ten minutes in there at lunchtime. I'd need to go and I'd wait and wait and hear flushing and handwashing, but she'd never come out. I probably mentioned her fashion sense before, because it's so strange... she dresses like you would expect a pole dancer to. Or an escort. Like, in the winter (and most of fall and spring) she wears head-to-toe skin tight leather. Purple suede dresses, thigh high boots, leather skirts with corset-style tops... It's pretty crazy. This week for some reason it has really gone haywire. Monday, she was wearing painted-on denim shorts, platform shoes that laced around her calves, a skin-tight shirt and a shrug that came just below her boobs. Tuesday she wore what I thought THEN was the weirdest ever -- she looked like slutty Pocahontas. It was a tan suede skirt with fringe. Tan suede sandals with fringe. A tan suede purse with fringe. And a BACKLESS tan suede halter top (think the hippies at the music festivals -- just one tie to keep the thing on) with fringe. There was a thin tan shirt underneath it, but really.
Then yesterday, she was wearing a top that I am certain cannot be purchased at a store that does not also sell handcuffs. I'm not fucking around -- it was black patent leather with metal studs. It was lingerie. It was fetish lingerie. I mean... I don't even know what to say. I admit, I'm more likely than anyone to show up at work in some odd color/pattern choices or in a vintage dress. I don't have J Crew taste. But what the fuck? I mean, that's just not appropriate.
Computer class is finally over, and I'm going to brag a bit. Three times last night I thought I was in trouble. I was messing around with my PowerPoint, and the teacher leaned over and was like "What are you doing?" He had a low, serious tone. I was like "I don't know! I just made a hyperlink!" He was like "tell me more. What did you do? How did you get the arrow?" Apparently, the girl behind me could see my screen and wanted to know how I was doing something, so he came over and learned, and then taught the whole class (although he didn't really get the arrow thing). Then another assignment I turned in, he looked at it skeptically and said "You did this in Excel?" I was like "yeah." He had mentioned that some people try to do something in Word and pass it off as Excel, so I thought he thought I was cheating. I was like "I can show you the file!" He said, "No... no, it's good. It's just that no one ever thinks to put clip art in Excel." There was another one, but I'm boring you. At the end, he asked "so, did you get anything out of this class?" I had. I learned a few tricks. But I'm a fast learner, too, so when he introduced something new, I'd get it right away, so it probably looked like I already knew stuff that I didn't really know until he taught it. Mainly because the other people in the class were still, fifteen minutes later, going "how did you get there? What's that?"
And finally, I'm hiding this at the end in the hopes that you have stopped reading. I'm going to really miss my seniors. I'm trying not to get weepy over it, but they're so sweet, and they keep coming in with their yearbooks and cards and stuff. I just can't believe how grown-up they all are, the plans they have, how mature they seem... I'm so proud of them. I'm going to be a wreck at graduation.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
4, 3, 2, 1 Earth below us, drifting, falling...
I am not one of those teachers who begins counting down when there are still 80 days to count. People ask me all the time "Are you counting down until summer?" No, usually I'm not. But as of this morning, I have packed my last lunch! 6 days, baby! As I packed my Weight Watchers Smart One (Fettucini Alfredo), I realized that tomorrow was a shortened day, so I likely won't eat lunch at school. Next week is finals, so I also won't be eating at school (I will still have work to do in the afternoon, but I'll do all I can off campus.) It hit me that this is (almost) it! I have a bunch of papers to grade still, but graduation is less than a week away, and those will be MY feet in that hammock (well, in my own hammock) just a week from tomorrow.
*All of this hammocking and eating off campus depends on my getting everything graded and packed up, so who knows if it'll go like that.
*All of this hammocking and eating off campus depends on my getting everything graded and packed up, so who knows if it'll go like that.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Queer as Chautauqua
My character and scene classes are doing Chautauquas... They research a famous person, then bring them to life in a monologue. I'm giving credit for costumes and attempting to use accents and vocal styles, etc. It's had mixed success. There have also been some interesting moments. For example, I did say that if a person did not speak English, the kids should speak in English, but with the appropriate accent. Which led to a student doing Li Bai, speaking in horribly broken English! Yikes! I didn't want to interrupt her, but holy god, how un-PC! Does it make it better that she herself is Chinese? I don't really think so. It was like "I born in China. I write poem." It could only have been worse if she swapped Rs for Ls.
Another student did Edna St. Vincent Millay (okay, I suggested her). I'm not sure I ever knew Millay was bisexual - I've read lots of her poetry, but never read much about her life. But apparently that fact rather JUMPED out to the student, whose presentation began. "My Chautaqua is on Edna St. Vincent Millay. She was a poet, and she was bisexual." And then the performance itself began "I am Edna St. Vincent Millay. I am bisexual." In her introduction, she also pointed out that she didn't "agree with that lifestyle," but that she admired Millay for being herself and not conforming to society. I really wanted to lash out over the "not agreeing" thing, 'cause really, who cares whether you agree with anyone's lifestyle? But I liked that other message, about respecting her anyway for her independence, that I let it go. That sounds to me like step one on the journey of a thousand steps to enlightenment. She is only a sophomore, after all.
Speaking of bisexuals... another student chose James Dean because his father has some pictures of him in the garage. He's never seen a movie or anything, but liked the way the guy looked. He read that Dean was from Ohio, so naturally, gave him a thick, drawling southern accent. Yeah. When doing his research, this student came across evidence that Dean might have been bisexual. He was fascinated, showed me his research, mentioned it several times and to several people, but when it came time to do his Chautauqua, it didn't come up at all. Interesting. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that this kid is TOTALLY closeted.
I'm really bummed this week because I can't find my flash drive. Everything that was on it is also on my computer at home (well, except for my homework for that computer class), but it was so damn handy!! I need to go buy a new one. Also, I think I'm going to have to e-mail myself a PowerPoint presentation in order to do tomorrow night's classwork. Actually, I may just have to buy myself a new one. Grr. Of course, the minute I buy one, I'll find the old one.
Another student did Edna St. Vincent Millay (okay, I suggested her). I'm not sure I ever knew Millay was bisexual - I've read lots of her poetry, but never read much about her life. But apparently that fact rather JUMPED out to the student, whose presentation began. "My Chautaqua is on Edna St. Vincent Millay. She was a poet, and she was bisexual." And then the performance itself began "I am Edna St. Vincent Millay. I am bisexual." In her introduction, she also pointed out that she didn't "agree with that lifestyle," but that she admired Millay for being herself and not conforming to society. I really wanted to lash out over the "not agreeing" thing, 'cause really, who cares whether you agree with anyone's lifestyle? But I liked that other message, about respecting her anyway for her independence, that I let it go. That sounds to me like step one on the journey of a thousand steps to enlightenment. She is only a sophomore, after all.
Speaking of bisexuals... another student chose James Dean because his father has some pictures of him in the garage. He's never seen a movie or anything, but liked the way the guy looked. He read that Dean was from Ohio, so naturally, gave him a thick, drawling southern accent. Yeah. When doing his research, this student came across evidence that Dean might have been bisexual. He was fascinated, showed me his research, mentioned it several times and to several people, but when it came time to do his Chautauqua, it didn't come up at all. Interesting. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that this kid is TOTALLY closeted.
I'm really bummed this week because I can't find my flash drive. Everything that was on it is also on my computer at home (well, except for my homework for that computer class), but it was so damn handy!! I need to go buy a new one. Also, I think I'm going to have to e-mail myself a PowerPoint presentation in order to do tomorrow night's classwork. Actually, I may just have to buy myself a new one. Grr. Of course, the minute I buy one, I'll find the old one.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Alarm!
We had an exciting moment last night. Sweetie was asleep and I was reading in bed, and I heard a high-pitched tone. I didn't think much of it, but then the alarm went off! Sweetie LEAPT out of bed and before I could even turn over, he was in the hallway screaming "YOU'RE DEAD! RRRRAAAAAWWWWW!!" By the time I got my robe on and made it out to the living room, he had the alarm off and was wielding a weapon, stalking around all the doors checking for intruders.
There were none. There was also no smoke or anything else. The only thing we can think of was that the garage door might not have latched perfectly and blew open a little bit because of last night's wind. We proved to each other that, given the exact right circumstances, it was possible to think you had deadbolted the door but to not actually have done so.
Sweetie went into the front and back yards, checked all the windows and doors, and then we both went to bed (although he got up once more to re-check the windows). Still, that sucker is LOUD and my adrenaline spiked. But not, apparently, as much as my hero and protector.
RAAAAWWWRR!!! YOU'RE DEAD!!! AAAARRRRGGHHH!
There were none. There was also no smoke or anything else. The only thing we can think of was that the garage door might not have latched perfectly and blew open a little bit because of last night's wind. We proved to each other that, given the exact right circumstances, it was possible to think you had deadbolted the door but to not actually have done so.
Sweetie went into the front and back yards, checked all the windows and doors, and then we both went to bed (although he got up once more to re-check the windows). Still, that sucker is LOUD and my adrenaline spiked. But not, apparently, as much as my hero and protector.
RAAAAWWWRR!!! YOU'RE DEAD!!! AAAARRRRGGHHH!
Monday, June 04, 2007
By popular request
Okay, two of you asked to see the hutch with my Alice stuff on it. Here ya go. This is a teeny fraction what I have, but I like the way it looks.
One of those you-learn-something-new-every-day days
That thing in the title? With all the hyphens? That's called a Teutonic, or a Germanic. Who knew? I'm still reading that "Spunk and Bite" book, and that's the chapter I read last night. I abuse those, but I never knew they had a name. Isn't it nice to know?
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Bah!
The next three posts are out of order, so if you want to read chronologically, start with Friday and read your way up the page. Sorry!
46 hours in the City -- Saturday evening & Sunday morning
I finally made the executive decision that we would go to New Ganges Indian cuisine, near Golden Gate Park (across the street, actually). Our motel info recommended it. We fought for parking, then went in. There were four other people there, two of whom quickly received their to-go order and left. Another was an older Indian woman who sat perfectly still in my peripheral vision all evening. The fourth was Aftab, the proprietor. He was a trip. He was very proud to announce that everything was fresh -- no frozen! He was a hard sell on the appetizers. "Okay, what appetizers?" "Samosas." "Okay, samosas AAAANNNDD...??" "Uh, pakoras." "Very good please. Samosas and pakoras AAANNNNNDD...??" We ordered our food (aloo gobi and mushroom muttar -- later he also pushed a whole-wheat chapati on us), and when he came back with the samosas, there was a whole performance that went with it. I reacher for my fork, and he said "Ah, may I offer a bit of life advice, please? He who eats with his fingers will never get burned." So I picked up my samosa with my hands, and he said "You like sauces?" There was a mango sauce and a mint sauce on the table, and they were delicious. I nodded. He made some noise about "allow me," and then poured a bit of mint sauce on the corner of my samosa. I took a bite and raised my eyes and mmm-ed appreciatively. He then spooned some mango sauce on it. I bit and mmm-ed again. He said "You give me a bite?" Uhhh... "You would give me a bite, please?" "Um, okay." "Which can I have, a small bite or a big bite?" "Uh, a small bite, I guess. It's so good, I want to keep it all to myself." I didn't know how to play this game! He instructed me to turn the bitten end upright. Then he spooned in mint and mango sauce and said "This is my bite?" "Sure." "I can have this bite?" "Uh, yeah." "Take my bite for me." Oh, thank god. I did, and it was very good. He then proceeded to do the same for Sweetie, minus the "my bite" gag. I was concerned fro a while that he would stand over us and spoon sauces onto our individual bites all night!
Then a creepy lady walked in. He offered her a seat by the window, but she said "Oh, no thanks, I'll just sit right over here!" and sat right next to us. She then made a big production out of having met him before, but she couldn't remember his name, she met him at a vegetarian society event, does he know Jim, blah blah... When she sat down, she was like "Hi guys!" Then she asked if there was a discount for vegetarian society members. She had her card! (Sweetie pointed out that it's a little fucked-up to ask for a discount in a deserted restaurant.) When we finally left, we laughed our asses off. It was so strange! We were really tired, so we just went back to the motel and watched strange subtitled-in-Korean Chinese TV. Or vice-versa.
Sweetie took this artsy shot from our window.
This morning we got up early, dropped off the keys to the room, and went to the Ferry Building.
I had had this fantastic idea where we would get some cheese from Cowgirl Creamery, some Acme bread, some Peet's coffee, and maybe some fresh fruit and sit and watch the water. Well, that would have worked better if the place was open. A few stores did open shortly after we got there, and we got our bread and coffee, and some cheddar from Golden Gate Meat Company.
Then we took a last picture of some creepy outdoor art and headed for the freeway.
There was some confusion as to how to actually get on the freeway, since all the signs said "take the detour!!! Right now! Detour!!" And then the detour signs ran into a chain link fence. Then we found some more signs and we followed them, but they stopped without ever putting us on the freeway. Then we found some more signs, but they ran us into a bunch of those folding barriers in front of a closed on-ramp, and then we found some more signs, and they ran us into a bunch of construction rubble and an unmarked, one-lane tiny scary tunnel, but that actually put us on the Bay Bridge. And then we were home! Yay, home!
I think a lot of my love for S.F. is nostalgic. Like, when I was a kid, those people selling jewelry on the street near Pier 39 were practically magical. The kids breakdancing by Ghiradelli square were unparalleled. Each block held a new surprise -- a man painted silver and pretending to be a robot! A Peruvian pan flute band playing El Condor Pasa! People flying Chinese box kites! Steel drums, bongos, a fiddler, a guitarist, a crazy person! It was all so cool! And as an adult, I can see how it is a bunch of shit-peddlers, panhandlers, and crazy people. But behind it all is still something magical, whereas for Sweetie, I recognize that's not there. I still want to show him the Sutro baths, the Zoo, Golden Gate Park, the planetarium and aquarium, maybe the Japanese Tea Gardens. But I realize that in my mind, things like the Tea Gardens will always be bigger and more mysterious than they are in real life. And in real life, the buses are late, the on-ramps are poorly labeled, and the crazy people carry specimen bottles full of loogies on the bus (no, for real. My stomach turned.). I just wish I could share some of that magic with Sweetie. I know my California will never live up to his Oregon, just as his Oregon will never live up to my California. It makes me a little sad.
Then a creepy lady walked in. He offered her a seat by the window, but she said "Oh, no thanks, I'll just sit right over here!" and sat right next to us. She then made a big production out of having met him before, but she couldn't remember his name, she met him at a vegetarian society event, does he know Jim, blah blah... When she sat down, she was like "Hi guys!" Then she asked if there was a discount for vegetarian society members. She had her card! (Sweetie pointed out that it's a little fucked-up to ask for a discount in a deserted restaurant.) When we finally left, we laughed our asses off. It was so strange! We were really tired, so we just went back to the motel and watched strange subtitled-in-Korean Chinese TV. Or vice-versa.
Sweetie took this artsy shot from our window.
This morning we got up early, dropped off the keys to the room, and went to the Ferry Building.
I had had this fantastic idea where we would get some cheese from Cowgirl Creamery, some Acme bread, some Peet's coffee, and maybe some fresh fruit and sit and watch the water. Well, that would have worked better if the place was open. A few stores did open shortly after we got there, and we got our bread and coffee, and some cheddar from Golden Gate Meat Company.
Then we took a last picture of some creepy outdoor art and headed for the freeway.
There was some confusion as to how to actually get on the freeway, since all the signs said "take the detour!!! Right now! Detour!!" And then the detour signs ran into a chain link fence. Then we found some more signs and we followed them, but they stopped without ever putting us on the freeway. Then we found some more signs, but they ran us into a bunch of those folding barriers in front of a closed on-ramp, and then we found some more signs, and they ran us into a bunch of construction rubble and an unmarked, one-lane tiny scary tunnel, but that actually put us on the Bay Bridge. And then we were home! Yay, home!
I think a lot of my love for S.F. is nostalgic. Like, when I was a kid, those people selling jewelry on the street near Pier 39 were practically magical. The kids breakdancing by Ghiradelli square were unparalleled. Each block held a new surprise -- a man painted silver and pretending to be a robot! A Peruvian pan flute band playing El Condor Pasa! People flying Chinese box kites! Steel drums, bongos, a fiddler, a guitarist, a crazy person! It was all so cool! And as an adult, I can see how it is a bunch of shit-peddlers, panhandlers, and crazy people. But behind it all is still something magical, whereas for Sweetie, I recognize that's not there. I still want to show him the Sutro baths, the Zoo, Golden Gate Park, the planetarium and aquarium, maybe the Japanese Tea Gardens. But I realize that in my mind, things like the Tea Gardens will always be bigger and more mysterious than they are in real life. And in real life, the buses are late, the on-ramps are poorly labeled, and the crazy people carry specimen bottles full of loogies on the bus (no, for real. My stomach turned.). I just wish I could share some of that magic with Sweetie. I know my California will never live up to his Oregon, just as his Oregon will never live up to my California. It makes me a little sad.
46 hours in the City -- Saturday morning and afternoon
In the morning, we walked to the Bashful Bull Too, which was about three blocks from the hotel.
We just had eggs and toast and potatoes and coffee, but for the record, they also had avocado shakes. It was an oddly decorated place -- sort of a Chinese Mel's Diner with a bull head. But I liked it.
Then we headed out for the day. I wanted to drive, but Sweetie wanted to take transit. I think we was scared from the day before -- in S.F., people are sort of scary, aggressive drivers anyway, and when you mix them with the tourists who don't know where they're going, streetcars that barrel down the center lanes, massively steep hills, and (let's face it) many elderly Chinese people, you're just asking for trouble. Anyway, we walked catty-corner from the motel, where there is supposed to be an "L" streetcar that goes straight downtown. But the streetcar wasn't going this weekend, so there was a bus instead. We got off on Castro and walked around there for a while. It has really good shopping, but we were there before most of the stores opened. Sweetie thought it was a little "too out" for him, probably because it is the gay district in a gay town, and most of the store windows featured male mannequins in underpants that were stuffed with who-knows-what. Funny.
Then we walked to the Haight area. This proved more fruitful, for though it was still early (a few minutes before 11), most of the stores were beginning to open, including Giant Robot. We bought lots of toys.
We went in a few more shops, then stopped for a cold drink (those Izze sodas are yummy!). Then we walked a few blocks to a bus that would take us to Market street. This was the first long wait for a bus that day, but it was an omen. We got off about a block south of Market, in the Tenderloin, and even that was a little too much color for me. Between the drunk who literally fell off the curb and did a somersault, to the dead, brain-leaking pigeon on the same corner, we were a little full of the South of Market area. It was lunchtime, and we were looking for our favorite Thai restaurant, but got sidetracked several times by shopping excursions. Sweetie bought a new backpack and a polo shirt that he swore me to secrecy as to the price of. I spent the same amount on a skirt, dress and pants at H&M. Heh heh. We also went to the Tintin store, where Sweetie got two pieces of art (very cool ones) and a new book, and had his picture taken with Herge.
By then, we were like "Eh, screw eating down here, let's go to Pier 39." So we did. We took a bus that went through Chinatown (which was absolutely bustling with activity) and North Beach, which wasn't. Here is me with Coit Tower growing out of my shoulder.
We got off in North Beach and walked a few blocks to the Pier. It was overrun with tourists (which we were, too, I know), and Sweetie made about a two minute dash through the entire thing, declared it "a bunch of shit-peddlers" and we got a soft pretzel and sat down and ate. There were probably hundreds of sea lions sunning by the pier, from which you can see Alcatraz.
We were debating what to do next. I wanted to go to Ghiradelli Square, but we were both a little tired. We decided to go ahead and go, and on the way, saw people on a Segway tour and a very odd bicycle.
I bought lots of chocolate at Ghiradelli Square (they have a new line of "Intense Dark" bars) and the most delicious chocolate-covered strawberry ever.
Then we walked back to the stop where the "F" streetcar is supposed to pick us up. There is a helpful LED sign that tells when the streetcar is coming. Only 4 minutes, and the one after that in 9 minutes. We wait about two minutes. The times now say 7 and 11 minutes. We wait another two minutes. The sign says "arriving" and 14 minutes. No streetcar arrives. We wait. Finally a streetcar goes by, but it is full and doesn't stop. We got there at 3:45, and at 4:10, we leave. We decide to walk to the 19, which will also take us to Market street (Market is kind of the hub -- you can go anywhere from there). It is on Polk. Well, we were in a bit of a hurry, and mistook one bus line for another. Polk was 6 blocks away, not the expected 2. In the meantime, we got turned around on Columbus, which cuts diagonally across the other streets, and end up walking a total of 14 blocks to the bus stop. On the way, we pass bus 19 -- getting towed. I would like to state for the record that 14 blocks is nothing, if your shoe isn't broken and you aren't going up and down hills like this.
So we were both cranky and tired when we finally (at 5) got to Market. Needless to say, we'd have appreciated it if the signs there at the bus stop were labeled correctly. For example, we waited for 20 minutes for an "L", and we were waiting under a sign that said "L", but we actually had to take another bus four blocks down to actually catch the "L", which we only found out because I accosted the driver of the second "N" to roll by. At 6:15, we reached the motel. So yes, we spent 2 1/2 hours of our 46 hours in San Francisco waiting for, walking to, or on Muni. It sucked. It sucked so much that by the time we got back to the motel, Sweetie didn't even seem enthused about going out to eat, and it was WAY later than usual dinnertime, and we'd only had a soft pretzel since breakfast at 7-something.
We just had eggs and toast and potatoes and coffee, but for the record, they also had avocado shakes. It was an oddly decorated place -- sort of a Chinese Mel's Diner with a bull head. But I liked it.
Then we headed out for the day. I wanted to drive, but Sweetie wanted to take transit. I think we was scared from the day before -- in S.F., people are sort of scary, aggressive drivers anyway, and when you mix them with the tourists who don't know where they're going, streetcars that barrel down the center lanes, massively steep hills, and (let's face it) many elderly Chinese people, you're just asking for trouble. Anyway, we walked catty-corner from the motel, where there is supposed to be an "L" streetcar that goes straight downtown. But the streetcar wasn't going this weekend, so there was a bus instead. We got off on Castro and walked around there for a while. It has really good shopping, but we were there before most of the stores opened. Sweetie thought it was a little "too out" for him, probably because it is the gay district in a gay town, and most of the store windows featured male mannequins in underpants that were stuffed with who-knows-what. Funny.
Then we walked to the Haight area. This proved more fruitful, for though it was still early (a few minutes before 11), most of the stores were beginning to open, including Giant Robot. We bought lots of toys.
We went in a few more shops, then stopped for a cold drink (those Izze sodas are yummy!). Then we walked a few blocks to a bus that would take us to Market street. This was the first long wait for a bus that day, but it was an omen. We got off about a block south of Market, in the Tenderloin, and even that was a little too much color for me. Between the drunk who literally fell off the curb and did a somersault, to the dead, brain-leaking pigeon on the same corner, we were a little full of the South of Market area. It was lunchtime, and we were looking for our favorite Thai restaurant, but got sidetracked several times by shopping excursions. Sweetie bought a new backpack and a polo shirt that he swore me to secrecy as to the price of. I spent the same amount on a skirt, dress and pants at H&M. Heh heh. We also went to the Tintin store, where Sweetie got two pieces of art (very cool ones) and a new book, and had his picture taken with Herge.
By then, we were like "Eh, screw eating down here, let's go to Pier 39." So we did. We took a bus that went through Chinatown (which was absolutely bustling with activity) and North Beach, which wasn't. Here is me with Coit Tower growing out of my shoulder.
We got off in North Beach and walked a few blocks to the Pier. It was overrun with tourists (which we were, too, I know), and Sweetie made about a two minute dash through the entire thing, declared it "a bunch of shit-peddlers" and we got a soft pretzel and sat down and ate. There were probably hundreds of sea lions sunning by the pier, from which you can see Alcatraz.
We were debating what to do next. I wanted to go to Ghiradelli Square, but we were both a little tired. We decided to go ahead and go, and on the way, saw people on a Segway tour and a very odd bicycle.
I bought lots of chocolate at Ghiradelli Square (they have a new line of "Intense Dark" bars) and the most delicious chocolate-covered strawberry ever.
Then we walked back to the stop where the "F" streetcar is supposed to pick us up. There is a helpful LED sign that tells when the streetcar is coming. Only 4 minutes, and the one after that in 9 minutes. We wait about two minutes. The times now say 7 and 11 minutes. We wait another two minutes. The sign says "arriving" and 14 minutes. No streetcar arrives. We wait. Finally a streetcar goes by, but it is full and doesn't stop. We got there at 3:45, and at 4:10, we leave. We decide to walk to the 19, which will also take us to Market street (Market is kind of the hub -- you can go anywhere from there). It is on Polk. Well, we were in a bit of a hurry, and mistook one bus line for another. Polk was 6 blocks away, not the expected 2. In the meantime, we got turned around on Columbus, which cuts diagonally across the other streets, and end up walking a total of 14 blocks to the bus stop. On the way, we pass bus 19 -- getting towed. I would like to state for the record that 14 blocks is nothing, if your shoe isn't broken and you aren't going up and down hills like this.
So we were both cranky and tired when we finally (at 5) got to Market. Needless to say, we'd have appreciated it if the signs there at the bus stop were labeled correctly. For example, we waited for 20 minutes for an "L", and we were waiting under a sign that said "L", but we actually had to take another bus four blocks down to actually catch the "L", which we only found out because I accosted the driver of the second "N" to roll by. At 6:15, we reached the motel. So yes, we spent 2 1/2 hours of our 46 hours in San Francisco waiting for, walking to, or on Muni. It sucked. It sucked so much that by the time we got back to the motel, Sweetie didn't even seem enthused about going out to eat, and it was WAY later than usual dinnertime, and we'd only had a soft pretzel since breakfast at 7-something.
46 hours in the City -- Friday
On Friday morning, we left for Berkeley at about 9:30. We arrived at 11 and parked near People's Park, a couple blocks from Telegraph. The first place we went was our favorite noodle house, Slurp, where we had Pad Thai and watermelon juice.
We walked up and down Telegraph a bit, but didn't really go in any stores, even Amoeba Records, which we normally do. We got back in the car and headed to the Claremont area to Dark Carnival books, which is always fun. Then finally to Ohmega Salvage, where I looked for medicine cabinets, but didn't find any I liked as much as the one I saw last time, which I should have just bought then. Oh, there was also a very creepy picture for sale. I thought about my friend Gynagirl, but she's more into velvet.
Finally we headed into San Francisco, where we took 101 south to 280 East to the area that borders Daly City, right next to the zoo. We drove through some of the nicest houses I've ever seen. Our motel was built in 1937, and is very Art Deco. It's about two blocks from the ocean and you could pitch a rock at the zoo from it.
Then we drove to the Exploratorium. Well, there was a little accidental detour almost onto the Golden Gate Bridge first, but THEN we got to the Exploratorium, which is housed at the Palace of Fine Arts.
This building was built for the 1915 World's Fair, if I'm not mistaken, and was meant to be temporary. It's absolutely stunning. But the best part is the Exploratorium. We got there around 3 and ran around touching stuff until 5, when we had tickets to the Tactile Dome. I could have spent at least another hour looking at exhibits, though. It is the coolest place. It's like any museum, I guess, in that its purpose is to educate and collect stuff, but you can touch and play with everything there. It's designed to be completely interactive. This is us inside a model of a prism.
And here is Sweetie in a mask (this exhibit is designed to show how much of others' mood we take from their facial expression).
Next, we went into the Tactile Dome. It's a Bucky ball (geodesic dome) with a number of pathways that have slides, stairs, rope ladders, bouncing air-filled jump-house thingies, pits full of styrofoam, etc. Along the walls are keys, stuffed toys, bubble wrap, shoes, fur, etc. And it's all pitch black, so you have to feel your way around to get anywhere. It's so fun we went through three times, even though it meant sitting in the tiny feet-stinky waiting room with a VERY EXCITED little league team ("I wanna go with Miles." "No, it's me, Miles, Mason, and Finn." "But! But me and Mason haven't gotten to go yet!" "Guys, I know the way! Let me be first!"). The guy in charge of the room was a 24-ish year old guy named Jesse who was, against all odds, trying to reason with them instead of just telling them to shut up. ("If you were in there and you called for help, wouldn't you want me to be able to hear you?") Poor Jesse. He looked so harried. This is what we walked through on the way back to the car. Pretty, huh?
Then we left, and it was getting late. We were hungry. We headed back to the Sunset District and ate at a place I had been once before, Taraval Okazu Ya.
Sweetie was starving, so he ordered three rolls and beef terikayi and miso soup. I ordered four rolls. Of course, he was expecting that what he ordered would be much, much smaller, and even though he ate himself into oh-god-I'm-so-full-ness, he still had leftovers. I, on the other hand... well, I still got really full, but my rolls were smaller. I am officially in love with the umeboshi, shiso leaf and cucumber roll. MMM.
The last thing we did on Friday was walk to the beach. The sand was oddly black, like oil-spill black, and we found it creepy, so we didn't walk around. Then we lolled around saying "I ate too much" until it was time to go to sleep.
We walked up and down Telegraph a bit, but didn't really go in any stores, even Amoeba Records, which we normally do. We got back in the car and headed to the Claremont area to Dark Carnival books, which is always fun. Then finally to Ohmega Salvage, where I looked for medicine cabinets, but didn't find any I liked as much as the one I saw last time, which I should have just bought then. Oh, there was also a very creepy picture for sale. I thought about my friend Gynagirl, but she's more into velvet.
Finally we headed into San Francisco, where we took 101 south to 280 East to the area that borders Daly City, right next to the zoo. We drove through some of the nicest houses I've ever seen. Our motel was built in 1937, and is very Art Deco. It's about two blocks from the ocean and you could pitch a rock at the zoo from it.
Then we drove to the Exploratorium. Well, there was a little accidental detour almost onto the Golden Gate Bridge first, but THEN we got to the Exploratorium, which is housed at the Palace of Fine Arts.
This building was built for the 1915 World's Fair, if I'm not mistaken, and was meant to be temporary. It's absolutely stunning. But the best part is the Exploratorium. We got there around 3 and ran around touching stuff until 5, when we had tickets to the Tactile Dome. I could have spent at least another hour looking at exhibits, though. It is the coolest place. It's like any museum, I guess, in that its purpose is to educate and collect stuff, but you can touch and play with everything there. It's designed to be completely interactive. This is us inside a model of a prism.
And here is Sweetie in a mask (this exhibit is designed to show how much of others' mood we take from their facial expression).
Next, we went into the Tactile Dome. It's a Bucky ball (geodesic dome) with a number of pathways that have slides, stairs, rope ladders, bouncing air-filled jump-house thingies, pits full of styrofoam, etc. Along the walls are keys, stuffed toys, bubble wrap, shoes, fur, etc. And it's all pitch black, so you have to feel your way around to get anywhere. It's so fun we went through three times, even though it meant sitting in the tiny feet-stinky waiting room with a VERY EXCITED little league team ("I wanna go with Miles." "No, it's me, Miles, Mason, and Finn." "But! But me and Mason haven't gotten to go yet!" "Guys, I know the way! Let me be first!"). The guy in charge of the room was a 24-ish year old guy named Jesse who was, against all odds, trying to reason with them instead of just telling them to shut up. ("If you were in there and you called for help, wouldn't you want me to be able to hear you?") Poor Jesse. He looked so harried. This is what we walked through on the way back to the car. Pretty, huh?
Then we left, and it was getting late. We were hungry. We headed back to the Sunset District and ate at a place I had been once before, Taraval Okazu Ya.
Sweetie was starving, so he ordered three rolls and beef terikayi and miso soup. I ordered four rolls. Of course, he was expecting that what he ordered would be much, much smaller, and even though he ate himself into oh-god-I'm-so-full-ness, he still had leftovers. I, on the other hand... well, I still got really full, but my rolls were smaller. I am officially in love with the umeboshi, shiso leaf and cucumber roll. MMM.
The last thing we did on Friday was walk to the beach. The sand was oddly black, like oil-spill black, and we found it creepy, so we didn't walk around. Then we lolled around saying "I ate too much" until it was time to go to sleep.
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