That Kind of Day

Today I bought toaster strudels and made it all the way home before I realized that I might not have a toaster. And my car is leaking transmission fluid. The days keep getting longer.

Baraka, the Blog

Although the title defies my stated intent of the previous post, the two are inextricably linked. Roughly two weeks ago, I talked to my roommate's son Luke for the first time. I've known him for about a year, but we seem to stridently avoid any direct personal contact. He's living with us until the end of July, so it was inevitable that we should converse - and in doing so, he asked me to watch Baraka. I deferred viewing indefinitely due to external circumstances. Allow me to pause this particular thread in order to pick up another - I hope to tie the two together shortly.

Alan and Jana were on the great end of a good barter that resulted in their possession of a houseboat on Lake Shasta for a week plus change. They invited me out, and accordingly I went. What they failed to mentioned was that I would have one of the best weeks of my past year or so. The entourage included a couple of excessively intelligent people all of whom also possessed an uncanny knack for self-deprecation, deep belly-laughs and a dollop of meta-thought. I swear it was more or less heavenly. Not only was the temperature several degrees cooler on the water than in the valley, we were able to jump into the water for immediate relief. Nobody was concerned about his/her appearance, and there existed easy camaraderie from the get-go. Furthermore, a few incredible conversations came about that jarred me back into rational thought which has been sorely lacking in my vie quotidienne, as they say. We discussed science and philosophy among other topics and in every case I was treated with enough respect to be decently challenged. I loathe feeling the patronizing agreement of brilliant people who are intent only upon mollification. Bah, that's got nothing to do with here, because it was conspicuously absent there. In short, I felt a deep stirring in my soul that I've missed. In one of these conversations the movie Baraka was mentioned again & this time by a party that I had reason to respect and appreciate.

Like all good times, the houseboating came to an end, but to be honest - I'm still not quite ready to let go. Hence my viewing of Baraka. When the participants go their separate ways and ties are severed, I feel a dissatisfaction that no amount of effort can truly recapture the precise scenario and chemistry of what came before. It is, in large part, due to my reluctance to compartmentalize brief meetings to the realm of past history that I perceive the need continue my mental conversations by actually experiencing subjects of our discussions. Turns out, Baraka was an excellent choice. I think I'll take some time tomorrow to jot down my reaction to the film. In the meantime, life moves forward and once again, I am convinced that the only indelible impression to by left on earth is that which we leave on each other.

PS - I keep spell-checking my blogs & the function continually highlights words that I've spelled correctly. What's that about?

Demoralization

Today I participated in an annual ritual that is perhaps among the most hated activities in my life: swimsuit shopping. My mother is an excellent seamstress, and yet even she struggles to craft the perfect suit. With this knowledge in mind, I find it peculiar that the modern American fashion industry has chosen to populate the market with what can only be described as village idiots.

My angst has less to do with my physique than it has to do with the impossibility of adequately addressing simple things like torso length. Note to swimsuit designers: it is not beyond the realm of possibility that a women would be both tall and thick. I found a plethora of suits that were wider in the hips & bust - and yet the length of the torso either left my breasts or my bum utterly exposed. I find this unacceptable for family vacations. Additionally - those of us who have surpassed the median American height of 5'5" are not all plagued by eating disorders. I found a number (albeit a lesser number than the thick suits) of long-torso suits, each of which may have nicely covered a thigh, but little more.

I also think it's inconceivably rude that there is precious little variation in age-appropriate swimsuits. The aforementioned idiots must have failed to observe that there are several stages of life, stylistically speaking, between puberty and menopause. Tours through Old Navy, Target, Kohls, Macy's, among other venues failed to reveal any concept of transitional ages. I can only assume that the designers, in their infinite wisdom, have learned that by the end of the shopping experience a woman will be worn into utter haggard, premature aging and thusly identify with the matronly suits that are slight degrees removed from a floral burqa.

Anyway, stay tuned for another post on how I was re-moralized by a fantastic week! Until soon lovely readers...

Weird World

As I type this, I'm sitting on my parents' couch watching Cathy's sweet dog Sophie cure her insomnia. She was nicely snuggled up beside me, when a pesky bug started buzzing around the room. I'm a little amazed that she woke up at all, but the puppy seemed genuinely agitated at the resonant intrusion into her Land of Nod. So, up she pops and promptly finds the offender on the ground. It's a strange brown bug, about the size of a peanut. She stalked it for a second, sniffing and huffing, curious every time it moved. Well, she darn near messed her doggy drawers when the bug took off in flight, but bravely recouped and attempted to catch it mid-air. This must have caused a mess in the little buggy drawers, because the critter proceeded to fly right into the ceiling fan and get knocked back down into Sophie territory. I'm now sitting here watching the two of them duel unto the death, presumably the insect's. Sophie picks it up and then freaks out at the movement and drops it. She swats it with her paw and apparently gets tickled and lets it go. Now she's figured out that she can literally toss the thing with her mouth which wouldn't bother me if I wasn't afraid it would land on me. Anyway, here's to unexpected entertainment.

Let the Hot Flashes Begin

I was not built for extreme heat.  I know this because I near death every time the thermometer exceeds 95 degrees.  I also know that I am a wimp.  

In an effort to toughen up, I have begun researching simple tricks to acclimate myself to the debilitating temperatures that will inevitably mark my first summer in Redding.  What follows are my favorite tips on how to sleep through an extremely hot night.  Good people, I'll have you know that I am not making this up.

The first tip I found was called the "Laurence Method."  It entails kicking the covers off the bed.  Apparently, something so obvious as removing fabric intended to trap warmth as a means of cooling oneself required a label.  Whomever this Laurence is, he's a genius of sorts.  

Second - Position yourself spread-eagle and think cool thoughts.  I'm amazed at the brilliant self-awareness anyone might possess that would allow them to "think cool thoughts" while sinking into REM.  In an effort to toss cynicism aside I will attempt this mind-over-matter method. Right now, for example I am conjuring up images of hiking across a frozen tundra while scantily clad.  I feel no cooler.  

Next up - Sleep naked.  Again, I thought this was rather obvious, but okay, I'll go with it.  My favorite part of this tidbit was the admonishment to refrain from the skivvie-less tact if one lives with roomates or in a dorm.  Priceless.

And then there's the one about wetting your bedding/clothing in an effort to speed up evaporation - nevermind the fact that you'll be twisted in a tangle of hot, moist fabric until you suffocate.

Okay, enough sarcasm - there actually were some tips that seem viable: put a bowl of ice in front of a fan and position the air flow towards your face (I'll probably use this one tonight); freeze a couple of ice packs & place them at your feet & pulse points along your body; run cool water over your wrists a few minutes before bedtime; make a solution of rubbing alcohol, spearmint oil, and water, and spritz it on your face and neck if you start to overheat; use a pillow that retains less heat - buckwheat, for example, and go to bed with wet hair.

I'll keep you posted on my progress!

Inane Injustice

Good people, I pay taxes.  Roughly 20-30% of my income goes to Uncle Sam and at least one of his 50 retarded children.  Those taxes, presumably, go towards the upkeep of the roads upon which I drive and for which I am grateful.  I also, occasionally park upon those roads that are "publicly" owned.  I consider myself to be part of "the public."  Now, follow this with me.  Today I parked in a spot, upon the surface of a road that I, as a part of the collective whole, own.  I put money into a meter at $.25 per 12 minutes for the right to park in the spot that I own.  While spending money at the shops that surround the spot, I inadvertently allowed the meter to expire resulting in a parking ticket.  The meter maid is a public employee - to be clear, my taxes pay the meter maid who ticketed me.  I have now been charged by an individual I pay for overstaying my welcome on a small plot of land that I own, and had already paid to use.  Is it no wonder that I am mildly infuriated?

I Knew I Loved Her When...

I was fond of Sophie when we first got her.  I was delighted with her when I witnessed her unabashed curiosity.  I adored her when she displayed all the spunk and joy an puppy should possess.  Today, however I can say with utter finality that I love this dog.  I spent the past couple of days baking & cooking in anticipation of a dinner party that was an absolute balm to my soul.  Recovering from the effort occupied the better part of my day and I was just relishing the relaxation of having completed tasks... still though, I had a bit of a lingering need to cook, and so invited a few folks over for a simple meal.  I observed throughout the past few days, that Sophie would roam the kitchen floor, seeking fallen morsels.  Not sure what her teensy puppy belly can tolerate, I would inspect her findings if she lingered too long in any one spot.  This afternoon, she was not only lingering, but seemed to be kind of playing which prompted me to dutifully examine the situation.  Turns out, my Duchess Sophie Diamond Darling had found a huge black spider and chosen to execute it, doggy-style.  She caught it in her mouth and I imagine the wiggling tickled, or something, because she flipped it up in the air and worried over it as it landed.  The poor brute had no chance; ferocious Sophie repeated her ritual until the spider was robbed of its despicable life.  I congratulated her heartily, while Tawny admonished her - I'm not real sure what message Sophers took away from the event.  All I know is that I got a spider-killer in my camp.  Yessir.

A Day for the Birds

Some days weird things just happen.  Today was one of those days.  I woke up late, and got the puppy out to go potty and was standing around outside waiting for my mom to call.  We have a typical Monday phone date to catch up and connect, and I was expecting a long chat so I stood outside to ensure better reception.  While on the phone with Momma Bear, I was watching Sophie roam the yard and scout poo places.  All in all, it was business as usual - until I detected motion at my eye level, raised my head and came face to face with a hummingbird - inches away from my skin.  Seriously, I kid you not - this bird was close enough that I could feel the breeze from its furiously beating wings.  It hovered for a moment and then flitted off into distance.  It was strange, but weirder things have happened, right?  

I know that weirder things happen, because this evening I was out on the river trail trying to get in some good solid motion.  I was minding my own business, about an hour into my trot when a bird flew overhead into the blackberry bushes that line the trail.  Nanoseconds after, another bird flew, not OVER my head, but INTO my head.  NO LIE!  I felt the beat of wings upon my skull and only had sense to be grateful that it wasn't a beak-first collision.  I have no idea why these things happen - but there's two for one day.  

These Boots Were Made for Marching...

Alrighty friends, it's time to saddle up the walking shoes for a good cause.  I know that I've got a couple of faithful ghost readers out there, and it just occurred to me that I could be posting blogs that focus on causes near & dear to my heart.  On the plate today is the Family Yussman and their work with the March of Dimes.  To be honest, I knew nothing about MOD except the name until Amanda, her husband and their children had reason to be blessed by the foundation.  18 months ago, Amanda gave birth to triplets - three tiny, wonderful, beautiful babies who were cared for by an incredibly talented team of physicians, nurses and other health practitioners.  The level of care they received was made possible, in part, by the mission of the March of Dimes.  Even through the devastating loss of one of the babies, Spencer, Amanda and her family were assured that the best possible treatment and attention was devoted to her precious baby.  The surviving triplets, Paige and Levi are thriving at a year and a half - I'll refer you to these resources for more detail:

http://www.marchforbabies.org/personal_page.asp?w=251005060&u=yussmantriplets&bt=2

http://www.yussmantriplets.blogspot.com/

The reason I'm writing this blog is to ask you for your support for the Yussman family.  I know as well as anybody that times are tight and that it's a difficult thing to open up expendable income for a stranger.  I also know that there is nothing like the warmth of kindness extended in the hand of an unknown person... So, if you are inclined, please consider donating to the Yussman March of Dimes team - I can assure you that it will be received with deep, unabashed gratitude on the part of a family that has endured the worst horrors of prematurity and revels each day in the rich joys of having survived.  

I'd Rather Cry With You Than Laugh With Anyone Else

I still haven't come to any firm conclusions about capitalization in titles, but seeing as how the internet has nearly obliterated any sort of absolute standard in grammatical propriety, I'm going to follow my heart.  Perhaps I'll write on that later - the contribution world wide connectivity has made to ultimate relativism.  Perhaps I'll lose the motivation and not.  

This past weekend four of my sweet girlfriends came up to visit me.  The Assyrians came up about a year ago & my parents came up to rescue me in November, and those have been the only visits I've had here in the 'Ding.  Until this weekend, that is.  Witness below the joy of camaraderie.  

Jill, my sister-in-law; Joy, a dear friend for years; Sarah, likewise a loyal friend; and Emily, the backbone of my emotional stability.

I was tickled pink in anticipation of their arrival, but I could not have anticipated the sense of calm euphoria that their presence provided.  I realized that I am perfectly happy where I am, however something is continually missing - and that is my friends.  I know we all have grossly busy lives and that if we were to live in the same place we'd be apart more than we'd be together - it's just the simple fact of inaccessibility that drives me nuts.  That I can't call any of them and ask if I might swing by on my way home from work, that I can't invite them to a dinner party at regular intervals, that I can't just be there when something hurts or goes wrong, that I can't just be there when something is wonderfully right - these are the things that are missing.  It's terribly unfair to all the people I meet nowadays that they pale in comparison to these friends of mine.  How lucky am I to have even one person to call my friend, much less these ladies who delight my heart!

PS - MANY MANY thanks to Tawny & Cathy who put up with us all weekend & double helpings to Tawny for serving as the photographer when I didn't even think of it :)  

I've Been Dabbling in Exterior Design

More or less designing my exterior:

This tattoo is now about 2 weeks old and although I'm only a short-while into "the rest of my life," I still love it.  I got it as a reminder to constantly question my premises regarding myself and my worthiness in love.  Some of people's better comments:

From Alan, my boss - "It's a reminder to you?  So you put it on the back of your neck?"

From Bonnie, my mother - "I heard you got a spider bite!!!  Is THAT what happened to your neck?!"  

Thank you loved ones, you are ever an encouragement.  

Three Mommies and She Pees Like a Boy...

But we love her to pieces & this is why:

Diamond is a Girl's Best Friend

So, she's not specifically mine & there's a good chance that I won't be her favorite, but really all that matters is that she's my favorite.  Please welcome Duchess Sof(ph)ie Diamond Darling - our sweet, wonderful Boston Bull Terrier:

I was truly conflicted about the coming of this little girl on a couple of levels.  First is that as sweet as Zsa Zsa was, I really had a tough time bonding well with her.  Second was that I was concerned that this new puppy would be expected to be "second string" Zsa-zsie...  I thought long and hard about it & decided that it was plain as day that Cathy & this house require a Boston Bull Terrier to be happy.  Even if she & I weren't BFF, this home was never quite as pleasant before her, or after.  That is, until the arrival of Sofie.  There is no way this girl will ever be second string - she has all the spunk and will that her little self can handle.  She's curious as George and not afraid of anything - I loved her the moment I laid eyes on her.  All I know is that we're whole again.

Jen S Asser

So, if you've got a moment to spare please google "jensasser."  This blog should be one of the pages that comes up.  Another page, however is a google map to Jens Asser's location.  I'm pretty sure it's in Germany & I'm pretty sure that it's a guy's name.  That just led me to think how great it would be if a Jen Sasser married a Jens Asser.  If they hyphenated their names it could be Jen & Jens Sasser-Asser.  Or Jens and Jen Asser-Sasser.  Or any one of a number of different permutations.  I just hope his middle name is Noel.  I think that's a boy's name in England.  

Criminy

So I'm reading this book to help become a more proficient seller of goods - I mean, to encourage others to be more proficient buyers of my goods.  By my goods, I don't mean "MY" goods, I mean the goods that I sell.  Anyway, the book made the point that we live in a culture that advertises by virtue of fear - if you make me afraid enough, I will buy your product to stave off whatever threat is looming.  I thought that was interesting, not in the least because I believe less and less that our perceptions of reality are effectively compartmentalized.  I mean only that if we succumb ot a philosophy of preventing the feared in our consumer lifestyles, we will likely exhibit the same preventative behavior in our personal/spiritual/physical lifestyles as well.  Anyway, I decided to categorize some of the things that I'm afraid of in order to deal with them rationally and sequester them according to probability.  

1.  Killer Bees.  I forget which elementary school teacher threw this bit of biological horror my way, but I've been crippled by my fear of Africanized Honey Bees since childhood.  They really are scary little $*@%@#*!, but still - the migratory patterns of the past ten years have limited them to latitudes beneath my present realm.  Fear sequestered.

2.  Spiders.  I have been bitten by a venomous arachnid with enough ferocity to cause serious swelling and bruising, but have lived to stomp all over other spiders.  Fear sequestered.

3.  Rejection.  This sucks.  I experience some semblance of rejection on a regular basis and it never stops sucking.  Fear remains, I will deal with it at a later date.

4.  Procrastination.  I have a gross tendency to put off unpleasant tasks rather than investing in the long-term benefits immediately.  I have only to examine the consequences of prior delays to motivate me to attend to pressing matters in a timely manner.

5.  Rejection.  Still a little hazy on this one, but I think the answer is that I have very rarely been rejected on the basis of my personal merit.  I think.  At least no one has had the cajones to tell me otherwise - which leads me to conclude that what I perceive to be rejection is likely a response to extenuating circumstances on behalf of the other party which has been interpreted incorrectly by my narcissistic worldview.  I resolve to continually check my premises in order to correctly evaluate instances.  Fear sequestered.  Kinda.

Okay, that's enough for now.  I've got sleeping to do, and bug bombs to research.

APB: 8-Legged Exoskeletal DEMON ON THE LOOSE!

Date: January 26, 2009

Time: Approximately 4-8 hours before 12 AM

Events: Infernal creature of doom and destruction meanders, unbeknownst to this author, across the shin of said individual, with the sole intent of wreaking havoc upon her members.  Having identified a prime location to inflict pain and distress, the aforementioned perpetrator sank its fangs into the tender flesh of its victim, thereby injecting potentially fatal venom into said flesh.

Description: 8 Legs, height: less than 1 inch, weight: light enough to tread upon human skin undetected, hair color: probably brown, personality characteristics: slightly reclusive, distinguishing marks:

 

Okay, now let's get down to business.  I was minding my own goshdarned business yesterday, accomplishing stuff here & there, not causing any harm to anyone or anything.  I was under the naive impression that nothing was conspiring to cause harm to me.  Fool, that I am.  I got into the shower last night & realized that my shin hurt something fierce.  I reached down & felt a hard lump directly to the right of my right shin bone & realized that the pain was radiating down the leg into my ankle and that my skin was itching like nobody's business.  I figured that I must of have scratched my leg at some point and during the course of my cleaning, got some chemical irritant into the scratch.  I washed the area with soap & water, both of which were readily accessible in my shower.  Having emerged, I noticed that the pain had not subsided,so I inspected the are much more closely.  To my absolute and abject horror I discovered two puncture marks - fang holes, to be specific.  At this point I developed several hypotheses as listed below:

1.  I was bitten by a spider

2.  I was bitten by a retarded pygmy vampire with no skill for identifying arteries

3.  Two of my leg hairs spontaneously rebelled against my body and ripped themselves out, leaving gaping follicle holes and extensive nerve damage

I think you know which hypothesis I leaned towards, but having never even HEARD of pygmy vampires, I was forced to conclude that I had indeed been bitten by a spider.  In my world, it's no small business to make a claim of arachnid invasion.  I try very hard to believe the rationale that they are indeed more scared of me than I am of them, but for God's sake - they're vicious, carnivorous predators.  Their brains are smaller than their venom glans - they don't have enough sense to be scared of me - their sole instinct is to KILL.  And this particular demonoid did a darned good job of trying.  

I thought about calling poison control, but considered the mockery if it turned out that I was overreacting (Perish the thought!).  Instead, I decided to check my surroundings for visible offenders and then, go to sleep.  You can imagine my relief when I woke up this morning decidedly not dead.  And my growing fear at the continued discomfort at the scene of the crime.  When I got to work, I alerted my coworkers that I had been bitten (after all, what if I was contagious?).  Marty, Alan's mother told me that perhaps it was a brown recluse, and if so, I could expect the skin of my leg to die & be cut out by skilled medical professionals.  Additionally, she informed me that these insidious critters haven't got the decency to build a web, so you know they're in the vicinity, rather they hide in innocuous little places - like YOUR CLOTHES.  Follow this train of thought with me: poisonous spiders hide in your clothes and when they bite you your skin turns black and falls off of your body in blackened chunks.  Anybody else panicking just a tad?!  I did what any reasonable person would do: I googled "brown recluse bites."  Do not repeat my error because you will never sleep again.  I did, however, find out that oftentimes victims do not know that they've been bitten for roughly 4-8 hours - giving the vile minions of Satan plenty of time to escape.  This should explain my irritation when I was asked, repeatedly "What did the spider look like?"  I did not see my attacker.  Anyway, when Doug found out that I had been bit, he suggested that I not pick at it because I might pick off my whole leg.  These coworkers of mine are helpful, aren't they?

The long of the short of it is this: the swelling is going down, I have not developed any of the customary symptoms which leads me to conclude the following:

1.  I was not bitten by a brown recluse, but some other version of hellish arachnid fury

2.  I was bitten by a brown recluse, but really it was a baby brown recluse with a substantially unfortunate overbite

3.  I was bitten by the village idiot brown recluse who gets made fun of by all the other recluses for his impotence - shooting venomous blanks.  

When it's all said and done, I'm pretty glad I didn't die - graveyards are filled with creepy spiders.

  

CHPS Can't Be Bad For You...

The spelling is on purpose in the title above - you'll see why shortly.  I can't tell you how many times I've been driving along America's roads, being passed willy-nilly by all manner of reckless hooligans, only to be pulled over by some copper for a stridently less severe offense.  Okay, that's a lie... I know exactly how many times I've  been pulled over.  I just don't care to share for fear of lessening your (indubitably) lofty opinion of me. :) Now, I'm not trying to rationalize my brushes with the law; if I speed I deserve to be ticketed.  Any violation of the rules of the road is, degree notwithstanding, a violation.  So what if, from my perspective, I pose a substantially smaller threat to vehicular safety than Mr. Numb S. Kull whose blatant disregard for dividing lines or any speed less than that of light renders him a a danger on par with nuclear detonations?  Indeed.

Today, however, one of those amazing events that you always hope to witness took place.  I was driving to work and was cut off by one of those little morons who drive like every road is an audition stage for "Fast and Furious: part 6."  I don't generally become incensed when I'm cut off... I understand that oftentimes one is in a position to make a last minute decision that might impede upon the boundaries of another's personal car space.  It happens.  Except, when it happens like it did today, I seem to mind a good deal more.  This daft little beast of a driver who seemed to be propelled by raw adolescent testosterone proceeded to cut off every other driver, weaving in and out of two lanes of traffic & eventually using a turning lane to pass somebody whose pace didn't suit him.  Again, I typically attempt to err on the side of understanding.  He was headed in the general direction of the hospital - what if his buddy was bleeding out as a result of some horrifically misguided experiment involving bladed kitchen appliances and explosives?  In such an instance I'd be more than accommodating while doling out irrelevant judgments.  This was just not that instance.  Larry & Moe were, by contrast, laughing and pointing & banging their empty heads to some long-forgotten 80's metal band.  It was maybe this irreverent dismissal of a corporate responsibility for safety that lead to my not-so-quiet exultation when, several car lengths ahead of me, I saw a reasonably nondescript SUV light up with telltale red and blue beams.  They had just succeeded in cutting off a Highway Patrol Vehicle and were promptly pulled over. I think I should feel some sense of compassion, as if those of us targeted by the 'authorities' share something akin to camaraderie, but really - I'm just thrilled they were caught.  I hope the freakin' punks got kicked off the road.

Wii Are Fun

Tonight my roommates and I were sitting around having laughed our way through an episode of the Office (anybody else think it's hysterical to watch somebody being run down at 5 MPH?), when we decided to play a nice game of Wii Bowling.  Cathy got it all set up while I sat upon Tawny & tickled her knee pits until she consented to join us.

Then, we bowled.  Well, really Cathy & Tawny bowled while I hurled a virtual ball in every direction save in the general vicinity of the virtual pins.  It was a virtual disaster.  For one who was so intent on getting every person involved, I made a fairly lame showing.  How embarrassing.  I did talk Tawny into playing tennis with me & soundly whooped her @$$ which was remarkably gratifying until she pointed out that she was just letting me win so she could go to bed sooner.  I kinda believe her.  There was some slight satisfaction experienced on the part of your's truly when Tawn was turning to go to bed & said something to the effect of, "Thanks for making me Wii."  Best. Sentence. Ever.

I really had no reason to post this little ditty except that I feel as if it's been too long since I've had anything interesting to slop up here.  I've been a wee bit depressed these days and I think we're all happier if these pages don't get too maudlin, yes?  I'll try to look for the funny in the weeks to come.  Until next time, dear readers.