Butter No Parsnips

The Ratings: Christmas Festivities

2010-12-29T12:28:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve: I spent the day working on an apple pie. It used to be a fairly easy pie to make, until MacGyver pointed out he preferred soft apples in chunks for the filling. So instead of running six apples through the Cuisinart and throwing them in the pie dough, I have to chop 10 apples by hand, cook them down, and drain them before assembling the pie. YAY. The pie was for the Cooper family Christmas Eve dinner. The one dish I get excited about is my faux mom/aunt's cheesy potatoes. The socialization was better than usual because I scored a seat close to VBG and her sister, and Nico let me hold him for about an hour. I keep my eye on a certain uncle because he made a pass at MacGyver a few years back. When he grabbed MacGyver's ponytail, I slapped his hand and told him to be glad I didn't have a knife. My fingers stung for a good five minutes afterwards. B

Christmas: We skipped brunch with MacGyver's immediate family and I slept till nearly 11am. We watched Mythbusters and cuddled on the couch with the kitties. We hit the Woodwose family Christmas Extravaganza of Awkward Silences, and when I scanned the room I discovered my favorite uncle (on that side, duh) wasn't there, and my favorite aunt (ditto) was engaged in a boring conversation about dogs (I love dogs, but I don't give a fuck about whose neighbor owned what breed back in the day) with one of MacGyver's most despised cousins (it's not that he's flaming and closeted that bothers him, it's that he's a selfish prick). So we sat near his grandma who was playing cards with some of her kids. Attempts at conversation were futile. KT and her crew arrived, and after some small talk prodding she recounted Sunny's misadventures with gluten-free baking. Sometime after we left an uncle threw a cousin out of the house for insulting his mom and aunt something awful. We split after an hour to see True Grit with my dad and brother. I really enjoyed it. Since nothing else was open, the four of us had Chinese food for dinner. A-

Boxing Day: Because my eldest brother couldn't visit until the 26th, I organized a family dinner the day after Christmas. My entire family (except one sister-in-law) gathered at the family farm. I made triple-chocolate and cranberry-orange cookies, MacGyver made grilled teriyaki salmon, I coached my brother through making potato soup, my sister brought a delicious salad (a monumental event), Ruth brought fruit salad, and my youngest brother brought rolls. This was the meal I was fantasizing about through the Cristmas Eve Cooper Family Dinner of Repetition and Mediocrity (except those potatoes!). This was the meal I had organized and delegated and could be proud of. This was the meal I missed because I was sick and stayed home to vomit in privacy. F---

Piss and Vinegar Tom

2010-11-26T09:03:00.000-08:00

At MacGyver's family gatherings, there is a woman I avoid. She is MacGyver's dad's brother's wife's mother. This woman only sees me on Christmas Eve and the occasional Thanksgiving, she's not related to me, and I'm fairly sure she doesn't even know my name. However, she always demands to know when I'm going to make some babies.

Here's the thing: my biological clock is broken. I love my nieces and nephews and my friends' kids, but I have no desire to spawn my own. The ticking of MacGyver's biological clock is nearly deafening. It's a sad point of contention, and if anything ends our relationship, it's this.

So. Every time this woman asks me about subletting my womb, it is a pointed stick to my heart. No, Lady, I am not pregnant. I may never be pregnant. And there's a chance the love of my life may someday leave me because of it.

To amuse myself, while I avoid her I think of things I would like to say, but am too polite to say out loud.

She asks, "When are you going to have babies?" and I mentally reply:
-"No hablo inglés."
-"When I run out of 2-for-1 abortion coupons."
-"When I run out of wire coat hangers."
-"I'm barren, and your question deadens my soul."
-"Shut the fuck up."
-"When sleep and money lose their appeal."
-"When the novelty of aborting them wears off."
-"When I'm too drunk to remember the condom."
-"When the black market price of blue-eyed infants plummets."
-No words. Just a swift punch to the throat.
-"AFTER YOU DIE."

Liquid Sin

2010-11-01T17:51:00.000-07:00

I was the perfect daughter.

Mostly.

During my teenage years, I made the effort to not misbehave, ever. My motivation came from my mother's rare and unpredictable illness. Seriously. Do you know what agnogenic myeloid metaplasia is? Of course you don't. She had a lot of ups and downs, and I was riddled with fear that I might do something to disappoint her, and then she'd die, and she'd die disappointed in me.

It was horrible. Also irrational. But real.

Anyway, I never ever broke curfew, smoked, drank,* backtalked, argued, had sex, talked on the phone too long, or ignored schoolwork. I flossed, went to mass, studied hard, followed the rules, and smothered my desire to give Doug a concussion with my biology textbook because that would be wrong despite how vindictively satisfying I knew - nay, fantasized - it would feel.

However. There was a major point of contention between my father and me. It inspired the closest thing to arguments I ever had with a parent. I protested on my behalf when confronted. I indulged in it behind his back. And the vice behind all of this?

Orange juice.

I drank orange juice by the glassful every day, sometimes twice a day. Dad did not approve. He said I shouldn't drink an entire glass of it, I should use a juice glass. And if I was still thirsty, I could have water. What he called a juice glass was a pimento-cheese spread jar. It held four measly ounces. I pointed out that a serving size was EIGHT, and it said so on the label. I left out the fact that I drank two to four times that amount daily. He told me it was too expensive. Apparently, orange juice is made of liquid platinum and the tears of baby unicorns. And that is why it cost an entire six dollars per bottle.

After he made noise about how he couldn't support my habit, I'd mutter "Fine" and act like I repented, but on the inside I was all "Give me orange juice or give me death!."

Later, I'd drink all the damn OJ I wanted. When I ran out, mom bought more. Repeat. Because I was just that kind of rebel.

*Except when my brother gave me that Apple Jack when my parents were out of town. It doesn't count if your big brother gives it to you, right?

Epiphany. Or something.

2010-10-17T09:34:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd post a random thought, but I couldn't remember my password to log-in. And I was all "I don't need you to email me my password, Blogger! I'm better than that!" Because, you know, that would show weakness and I'd be attacked by a bear even sooner than I anticipated.

And then I remembered my password. But I used it with the wrong user name.

Go me!

So now I can post that thing I was thinking, which went something like: "If I ever meet someone less cool than me, some jerkwad is going to tell me it's an ironic lack of coolness. Which is cool. And I would no longer have someone I could lord my coolness over. FML."

That is all. Good night.

Point of No Return

2010-06-10T09:22:00.000-07:00

In a matter of days, I will begin graduate classes for physical therapy. I began preparing to apply to this program just over three years ago, and I will graduate in just under three years.

Three years ago I was a social worker, my mother was alive, my brother Job didn't have cancer, I was living with my brother Chevy, and my antidepressant was working beautifully. None of that is true now. I can't help but to worry about what is going to happen in the next three years. Will my 80-year-old father live to see me graduate? What will the stress of work+school do to my marriage? Will I still be agnostic, or will I be atheist? Or muster a belief in God? What will I weigh?

As tough as taking night classes and applying to grad school was, I'm nervous that was the easy part. If my classmates are unitards, I won't have the luxury of a whole different class next semester - I'm going to be with the same people for three years. What if I can't make friends and most of the classwork is group work and presentations? And if I do flunk out, I will have thousands of dollars of student loans, no degree, and no career. Awesome. I've had nothing but nightmares the last couple of weeks.

The time has come to put on my big girl pants and grab school by the throat.

Rare Photo of the North American Carpet Flounder

2010-06-07T11:12:00.000-07:00

I Ate the Garden

2010-06-02T17:32:00.000-07:00

MacGyver has been out of town for days, and if I don't have someone else to cook for, I tend to not cook at all. Last night I had precisely no food in my fridge, not nearly enough to fill my empty belly.

My first step to remedying the situation was to pick a big bowl o' snow peas. Our first planting is currently producing like sex-crazed rabbits, and the pods are weighing the plants down. It's so beautiful. Wasps kept flying out of the pea patch and toward my head, at one point I was dancing around yelling "LET'S BE ADULTS HERE!" and tried to reason with them to leave me the hell alone. Back in the kitchen I heated up olive oil with a heavy-handed dash of red pepper flakes and globs of minced garlic - the classy kind from the jar. After a quick stir-fry my snow peas were bright green and dotted with the flavorings. I ate the entire bowlful with my hands and felt sinful doing it.

I grabbed a knife and thinned the lettuce in the backyard. The greens are more mature than baby but far from full-grown. I washed them up and picked out the weeds and slug, then dried them (five paper towels later I remembered my salad spinner, d'oh!) and inspected them carefully for more slugs. I drizzled the lettuce with Caesar dressing and chewed thoughtfully - the leaves were crisp but not chilled, the texture was nearly buttery, and the babiest leaves were sweet.

Still hungry, I headed the the strawberry bed. I picked the overripe berries, the berries that were dark, dark red and had lost their luster. I selected a few of the younger, vibrant ones to eat right away, but the majority went into the mini-blender with some cheap vanilla ice cream and milk.

I didn't once regret not ordering pizza.

Cats and Floors do not Mix

2010-05-28T17:02:00.000-07:00

First, MacGyver and Friend ripped up the old flooring. Beneath it was some rotten subfloor and a crooked joist. This had to be fixed, so out came the rotten wood, giving us a nice view of our creepy cellar. Most of it was repaired that day, but there was a hole where the fridge usually sits. MacGyver didn't think the hole was big enough for any of the cats to fit through. A few hours later we couldn't find Moca, our smallest cat*. We checked the cellar out of desperation. She was there, covered in mud and cobwebs, fur full or roly-polys. She started protesting even before we gave her a shower.

MacGyver's brother-in-law came over to lay the vinyl flooring. Part of the process required glue to be spread over the entire surface. That's when Domino ran in. She got glue all over her paws and ran around the kitchen, jumping on appliances and windowsills, trying to outrun the stickiness. When MacGyver finally caught her, he took her outside so I could hose down her paws. The chore was complicated by my inability to stop laughing.

*She's really a baby monster

I'm Back

2010-05-26T19:34:00.000-07:00

Holy expletive, it's been so long since I blogged that I almost forgot my password.

Life hasn't been totally awesome since I last wrote, gentle readers. After a long and painful struggle with cancer, my brother died. He was only 34. My family is tight, and losing him was like losing my left arm: I can get by without him, but it's SO GODDAMN HARD and I never forget he's gone. Actually, sometimes I do. Sometimes I see something and go to send him a picture message, or I wonder what he'd like me to make him for dinner this week. Then I remember he's gone, and life stands still just so I can feel like everything has fallen apart. I celebrated my birthday without him, attended our friend's wedding without him, and I wonder how life can possibly go on when his has ended. It doesn't seem just or possible. But that's the way it is, and I have to keep waking up every day.

My depression took a turn for the worse when I lost him, and out of desperation tried an antipsychotic. It worked really well, and I'd still take it except the side effects were terrible. The least unmentionable side effect was the weight gain: fifteen pounds in two months. This was due largely to the constant, unending hunger. I switched meds; this pill makes me sleepy, a nice change from inhaling every morsel in sight. I'm exercising a lot more, and I'm slowly seeing results. Normally I'd be more upset, but this is the fourth worst thing to happen this year, so it's bearable.

32

2010-04-12T10:53:00.000-07:00

Though healed, the scar is palpable.

No News is Bad News

2010-02-20T12:15:00.000-08:00

My brother has been in hospice since August. The last few months have been very tough for my whole family: we're still grieving for mom while watching Job slip away, and being with him has been like dancing over eggshells.

He took a turn for the worse this week. He just started sleeping more and more, a sign the oncologist told us to watch for before he died. He's losing control of his arms and hands; he tries to take a drink and spills water everywhere. He fights with us for control, demanding that we let him do things that he is incapable of. I've known many people who've died, but no one has fought death with such a bitter intensity.

He smells like death.

I feel hollow.

The Ratings: Simple Machines

2010-01-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

The Pulley: What part of simple don't you understand, pulley? You never track straight and you're never there when I need you. Also, do you know how hard you are to rig up in a jiffy? You suck. D

The Lever: Hypothetically, you can move the world with a long enough lever and a fulcrum on which to place it. People have been pondering that awesomeness for centuries, but the lever has never stepped up to the plate and actually done it. What a pussy. On the other hand, bored second graders can whip up a lever with a pencil and ruler and launch erasers at other people's heads. That I like. B+

The Inclined Plane: Inclined to do what, exactly? I had a lot of experience with inclined planes in Physics I, and they're inclined to just lie there while someone else does all the work. However, it makes movie theaters wheelchair-accessible. Props for that. C+

The Wedge: The wedge is more than the sum of its parts; never before have two inclined planes been so hardcore. The wedge is all about destruction and death metal, rawr! Wedges bring to mind axes, nails, incisors, ice picks, and gouda. A

The Screw: Why screw is a euphemism for sex, I do not know. It's not like the penis spins like a Japanese sex toy or anything. Since it is a euphemism, this simple machine conjures up ideas not meant for readers with delicate constitutions. That's pretty nifty. Also, I like how screws hold together vital bits of my house and refrigerator and remote control and other important things. A-

Yes, I Can

2009-11-14T08:16:00.000-08:00

I'M GOIN' BACK TO SCHOOL, Y'ALL!!!

I have been working for this since March of 2007. I took 10 science and math prerequisite classes, studied my ass off to earn all As, job-shadowed for over 140 hours, went through the application process twice, faced rejection once, and received an acceptance letter yesterday.

I start classes June 14, 2010, and I graduate in the spring of 2013 with a Doctorate in Physical Therapy.

I AM SO UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLY HAPPY!!!

Yay!

Where the Sidewalk Ends

2009-11-11T10:37:00.000-08:00

One of the things I miss about living in Bloomington (besides Aver's pizza, theatrical productions, lower humidity, hawt guys, and The Chocolate Moose) is the plethora of hiking trails, so on vacation in Acadia MacGyver and I made hiking a priority. A trail we had our eye on from the start was the Precipice Trail, widely considered the toughest hike in the park. We didn't attack it the very first day, we waited until I was lulled into a false sense of security after summitting Mount Penobscot.

When we hit the trailhead I read multiple warnings: hikers should turn back if they were prone to acrophobia, pets and small children were not allowed, and there was the risk of your heart exploding and the park service would not be the ones dragging your sorry ass out while you clutched your chest dramatically. Twenty feet in MacGyver had to turn back for a forgotten item, I said I'd wait there because I was not going to do that twenty feet again if I didn't have to. It was practically vertical! Well, it was definitely UPWARDS. As I waited for him a dragonfly the size of my forearm zoomed around some trees and charged me, and stopped to hover half an inch from my right ear. It sounded like a locust apocalypse, and I could just see it out of the corner of my eye, lurking like something from The Mist. I felt pretty awesome about it until my partner returned. I asked MacGyver if he'd ever been bitten by a dragonfly, and he reassured me that he had, and it hurts like a bitch.

The Precipice Trail is the hardest trail I've ever done. For half a mile I heaved my poor, pathetic body against the grain of gravity, and the one time I didn't maintain three points of contact I nearly lost my balance and hurtled to my death. At strategic points along the trail iron bars were drilled into the granite, creating ladders, handholds, and bridges. Several times I scooped up trail dust to combat sweaty palms, a hazard when clinging to a smooth iron rung bolted to a treacherous cliff face. The warning signs had not been joking around; I broke out in cold sweats more frequently as I ascended, calmed only with the promise that death would be swift if I fell.

Besides being an arduous death march, the Precipice Trail offers absolutely gorgeous views of the ocean, forests, and other mountains. I wished my mother could have seen this before she died, and felt heartbroken she was gone. Everyone knows it sucks to lose a loved one, but it's hard to comprehend the chronic missing-piece feeling that dogs you the rest of your life. Minutes later I came up behind a woman whose hair looked just like mom's did. It was bittersweet, feeling like I could see her but not touch her.

When we reached the summit the sky was turning gray, the temperature was dropping, and the breeze had a bite to it. I, however, was burning up, and stripped down to my camisole to cool off. We suspected the rain would start soon, but I was loathe to leave; I had made it to the top and I was going to stay on top. On the summit I had my picture taken with the mom-ish woman facing away from the camera, because that's the kind of freak I am. I chatted with her for a while and learned she and her husband live in Denver, and they were in Maine on a bicycle tour. I was secretly pleased she was a sweet lady. MacGyver and I took pictures and soaked in the views, and eventually headed down Mount Champlain the back way, getting a close-up of a squirrel on our way.

The Precipice Trail was jam-packed with beauty and danger, and I can't wait to hike it again.

In My Opinion

2009-11-05T14:15:00.001-08:00

I just watched X-Men Origins: Wolverine on DVD.

The plot was convoluted, the dialogue sucked, the pacing was erratic, Gambit and Sabretooth were miscast, the character development was lacking, Hugh Jackman posed more than acted, the climax fizzled, and the ending was a letdown.

Other than that, it was actually pretty bad.

Here We Go Again

2009-10-26T12:40:00.000-07:00

I have become one of Those Bloggers, the ones that post every couple of months. In my defense I'll state that my life is Very Busy, and I don't have internet at home, and it's not like I have groupies anxiously waiting with bated breath for my next post. It is kind of nice to have some aspect of my life with a low-set bar, to have low standards and not really care.

Since I last posted MacGyver and I road-tripped to Acadia and Shenandoah National Parks, and BOY HOWDY was that awesome. I climbed mountains with ocean views and biked carriage trails and science-geeked out on geology/astronomy/birding activities. I earned a senior ranger badge and ate clam chowder and posed for mucho photographs. I have officially visited 43 states now, and hope to visit 5 more before I'm 30. Good times.

When we returned home I was informed Job needs companionship 24/7, so my sister keeps a schedule of who can sit with him when. The whole situation is just horrible: he's in a lot of pain and is dying slowly, so he could be in pain for months more. He's grouchy a lot, and illogical, and frustrates the Hell out of me. I'm grieving for the brother I had. There's a lot more to the story, but this is all for now. Can't use up all my fodder at once, can I?

My best friend is pregnant and I threw her a baby shower last Saturday. I planned and organized the fuck out of that thing, making lists and spreadsheets and visualizing what would be needed when, and launched myself into a baking/cooking rampage the day before and got to bed at 3 a.m. I had help and appreciate it very much, but some things I wanted done a certain way and decided to do myself. In the end it was worth it, the shower went pretty smoothly and a good time was had by all. Then I went home and napped.

MacGyver has resumed the kitchen remodel! The walls are all mudded and He has built casings for the over-fridge and under-sink cabinets. I'm positively tingly with giddiness.

Shenandoah National Park

Preparation

2009-09-02T09:42:00.000-07:00

MacGyver and I leave for Maine in less than two weeks, which means we have a lot of preparation that I'll probably put off until the night before. Fortunately for me MacGyver is the responsible one and I profit from his labor. We've decided to drive my '96 Buick Roadmaster to Acadia NP, so the other night he bought and attached a bike rack to the roof of the car. This completely changes the vibe of my ride.

BEFORE: "Hello, I'm a Buick Mom-mobile. I can safely seat up to nine passengers, perfect for taking your large brood of home-schooled children on educational day trips. I offer spacious cargo room for groceries and boxes of off-brand high-waisted jeans. Praise Jesus!"

NOW: "They don't call me the Roadmaster for nothing. Check out this sweet bike rack, baby. My driver is obviously an extreme athlete and all-around awesome person of great kick-assness. Usually the far back is used to stow outdoor adventuring gear, but you can imagine a carpeted space like this also allows my loose-moralled driver to indulge in other satisfying activities. It's all good."

Always Thinking

2009-08-24T10:32:00.001-07:00

Since no one is going to give me any accolades and I don't feel like working hard enough to earn them, I've decided to invent awards to present to myself. I can make ribbons and trophies and certificates to accompany them, I can even notarize them to make them all official. I deserve a prize for this mother-flippin' awesome idea.

We started seeds and planted 48 tomato plants too close together, thinking we'd thin them as they died. None of them died. They grew and orgied and made fugloads of tomatoes. This August MacGyver and I have put up dozens of gallons of tomato juice, sauce, whole tomatoes, and puree. We can on Friday nights, weekends, and whatever nights he's exhausted tired from work (It doesn't matter how I feel. One energetic MacGyver is worth four of me, so he often pulls my wieght). The leaves on two varieties are finally dying off and IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME. We easily overfill a five gallon bucket every two days with the tomato harvest. I'm ready for the tomatoes to disappear so the house doesn't smell like a ketchup factory all the time. I will say it's a nice problem to have.

Speaking of problems, cancer SUCKS. When my brother was admitted to the hospice program the doctor prescribed morphine. Which is great for controlling his pain and he isn't suicidal all the time now. Yay! Unfortunately his memory is shot and his temper erupts unexpectedly and sometimes violently (not physically violent, yay!). I don't know if these are side effects from the morphine or if the cancer has metastasized to his brain. Sigh.

Grandpa

2009-08-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

I don't have many solid memories of my grandfather.

I remember he usually wore a suit and tie. I remember sitting on his knee and feeling the slippery scratchiness of his wool jackets and breathing in his aftershave scent. He would bring ziploc bags full of pink gum, raisins, and cracker jacks when he visited us. When we visited him he would give me Bugles, and I would slip them over my fingers and wiggle them about before eating them. He took me to the zoo and I fed the giraffes leaves I found on the ground. He took me to McDonald's and I would always order a cheeseburger just ketchup. He taught me to draw little Vs to represent birds in flight. He gave me five dollar bills slipped into a fancy card for birthday presents. He took us to Dairy Queen after school Christmas programs. I loved him fiercely.

When he died I was 8, he was 85. He died of bone cancer about a month after his diagnosis. We thought he was going to get better at first, but he never did. I drew Get Well Soon cards for him and my mom and I would see him in the hospital in the evenings. At his wake I wrote him a letter and my mom tucked it into his jacket pocket, and I have repeated that ritual for other loved ones several times since. His death brought relatives to town that I had never met before: my uncle Jack, my cousins Tony and Mark. I keep a picture of grandpa and me on my bookshelf - I'm just a baby and I'm looking him right in the eye. We're both bald. I like to think I loved him even then.

Now What?

2009-07-29T14:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I look at my blog and think, "What's the fucking point?"

Bullets

2009-07-17T14:43:00.000-07:00

On July first the university of my choice updated its application materials and I've spent this month getting my Physical-Therapy-School-Take-Me! shit together. In February I had the brilliant insight that I'd be running around like a decapitated chicken about now, so I ordered most of my school transcripts then. My biggest obstacle is writing an essay that doesn't blow. So far I'm failing with that.
At work I'm getting trained to proctor employment test. Though we don't give as many as of those as the academic tests, they're more profitable and the consequences of fucking up are much more dire. I've been there long enough that I'm getting more chummy with my coworkers, which is nice. Even my supervisor talks to me more. One of the best parts of my job is having a closet filled with neatly organized office supplies. It's like candy, but without the tooth decay.
My kitten is so cute she makes me want to implode with squee. And she is SO SOFT, and her tail is so luxurious she'd fit in with Mac's cats. She's constantly terrorizing Gonk and Domino but they're finally learning to deal with it.
I've harvested oregano, rosemary, strawberries, sugar snap peas, snow peas, sweet corn, enough basil for a batch of pesto, and cherry tomatoes. We have five zillion green tomatoes and several peppers we could pick now, or let ripen further. The pumpkins are close to done and the biggest watermelon is the size of a ping pong ball. I've already started a list of what I want to add to next years garden.
As I type Mikey and some buddies are ripping out the walls of our kitchen. In a few days they should be rewired, insulated, and drywalled, plus two windows will be replaced and one window will be added. Then: redoing one more wall, fixing the subfloor, replacing the door, laying vinyl flooring, painting, building cabinets and an island, plumbing a dishwasher, and the other two thousand things that have to be done.
My brother is not doing well. I am rather distressed. The tumors are causing nerve failure. He's constantly in pain and won't go to the doctor. He won't get more chemo until the pain subsides, which won't happen unless he gets a new pain control regimen. Which the doctor has to prescribe. That would be the doctor that he isn't seeing. A few of us have suggested hospice, but he says he's not ready. He's talked to the priest about buying a burial plot. Buddha hit the nail on the head when he said life is pain.
I've been making to-do lists for my BFF's baby shower. I have umpteen cousins and have been to multiple dozens of baby showers over the years. So, I don't know babies but I know showers. I'm aiming to make baby shower history with the awesomeness I'll wreak, but really I'd settle for some people showing up.

Doppelgangeresque

2009-06-25T15:27:00.000-07:00

Of my 10 nieces and nephews, Baby Bunny resembles me the most.

The gleaming candlelight, still shining bright through the sycamores for me.

2009-06-16T09:54:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid I'd tromp through the fields to play in the creek with my brothers. It wasn't nearly big enough to swim in, so we chased bugs and looked for minnows, followed deer tracks along the banks, made mud castles and used crawdad towers for turrets. Years later my mom informed me it wasn't really a creek, it was a drainage ditch.

*****************************************

Yesterday I got a call for help from MacGyver that concluded in me cancelling social plans and driving an hour and a half through southern Indiana to pick him up from a job site. I was almost cranky about it. Then I wasn't. I filled my gas tank, bought a diet root beer, tucked my road atlas into the passenger seat like a security blanket, and I was off.

I have lived in Indiana my entire life. My choice to stay here is based entirely on proximity to friends and family. I have visited 35 states and four foreign countries, and there are many places that far surpass Indiana in many ways. As I drove to my true love I really looked at the scenery and the small towns, I really tried to see.

I passed barns with the commandments painted across the broad sides, storage units with second-hand children's toys strewn about, baseball games played in the haze and humidity, kids on hand-me-down bikes in packs, floppy-eared black dogs with their heads held high with the knowledge they are loved.

Indiana is not a beautiful state in the same way that California or Colorado is beautiful. We don't have mountains or ocean views or nice weather. I think the beauty is in the tenacity of the people who live here, and in the loving eye of the beholder. Yes, the vast corn rows smack of factory farming, but those verdant fields are still oh-so-easy to gaze upon. I've driven through these little towns when the economy was stronger, and now the buildings are worse for wear, but they still stand. Indiana is a comfortable state for me, I know what to expect and I know how to look for my own fun. I know how to appreciate the fireflies and distant thunderstorms and phantom-white sycamores lining a mud-brown river. I know how to feel at home.

Struggle

2009-06-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

Watching someone you love suffer from cancer is harder than you'd think.

Burn!

2009-06-08T15:03:00.001-07:00

OW? OW OW OW! ow ow ow ow ow ow.

The Future is Sometime!

2009-06-06T10:36:00.000-07:00

People are always asking me, "Danger, is it the future yet? How can you tell?" I'm happy to provide the answer*, but I recognize the need for a checklist, so you can tell exactly when the future arrives yourself. Check off seven of nine items and you can be certain the future is now!

-Transparent Aluminum A substance vitally important for the survival of the humpback whale. Excitingly, it sort of exists now as aluminum oxynitride. The future is indeed at hand!

-Flying Cars Duh.

-Robot and Android Slaves They dream of freedom. And electric sheep.

-Robot Masters Indicates the distant future.

-Detroit collapses Next up, robot cops!

-Fancy helmets As technology advances, everything gets smaller and lighter. Except helmets.

-Wyld Stallyns is considered the greatest band of all time. Only in a utopic future, though. In a dystopic future it's Matchbox 20.

-Phasers Because what's the point of living in the future if I can't say "Set phasers on stun" and mean it?

-The Rapture We would have experienced Ragnorak except Baldr lost the arm wrestling match.

*No.

Moca

2009-05-29T13:15:00.000-07:00

My kitten is so damned cute. And suicidal. She's two and a half pounds of fluff and energy, which she uses to pounce on Gonk and Domino and has earned her the nickname "Rocket Pants." Domino has figured out that if she stays on top of the washer nothing can hurt her. Gonk is retardedly trying to cling to his dignity and go about his daily routine. They snarl and hiss when she's being really annoying, but she doesn't speak Cat and thus is not frightened one bit. That, or she has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. I'm not really sure how describe her personality except as manic. She purrs as soon as you touch her, she loves belly rubs, and she follows us room to room like the big kitties do, so I'm hoping she'll be a cuddler someday. If not, well, I can always mail her to Abu Dhabi, like in the Bugs bunny cartoons. That always worked well.

Forest Spirit

2009-05-19T07:45:00.001-07:00

This Week's Tally

2009-05-15T07:31:00.000-07:00

Tape Deck: 2 Me: 0
Oven Timer: 2 Me: 0
Computer: 3 Me: 0
Toaster: 0 Me: 2 Ha ha! Take that, bitch! Take it all!
Turn Signal: 1 Me: 0

Machines: 8 Me: 2

I feel like I'm being primed for when robots rule the Earth.

Writer's Block

2009-05-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm doing something I didn't think I'd do again.

I'm writing fiction. For fun.

A few weeks ago I was washing dishes and listening to a story on All Things Considered about how adults don't draw for fun, but they should. I thought about how I still sometimes draw for fun, and didn't think the story was really relatable, and pitied the poor inhibited bastitches. Then I thought of things I'd given up when I realized I wouldn't make money at it: playing piano, photography, writing. I used to write all the time, and not just the horrible poems I posted. Mostly short stories, but I also had ideas for novels, and I scribbled out a very, very rough draft for one of them my senior year. Two of my high school teachers encouraged me to pursue an English or Writing Degree, but I never did, though I published a short story in a college literary magazine. The last time I actively wrote was the summer after my freshman year of college. I even had a few sleepovers with Velocibadgergirl where we holed up in my room with the stereo playing and a candle* burning, writing our hearts out. I was such a dork. And I loved it.

Then I just...stopped. I composed a few poems sophomore year of college, but the spark was out. I felt uninspired for the first time since I was literate. As soon as I learned to write, I authored a book. In the first grade I scrawled a really long story about journeying to a kingdom made of diamonds and my ensuing adventures. There were unicorns, I remember. I threw it out in the fifth grade, and I wish I still had it because I'm sure I'd laugh my ass off if I reread it. I wrote and illustrated my second book in the third grade, which I still have somewhere. It features a dragon. I'm pretty sure there's a unicorn mentioned, but I'm not certain.

So, I'm writing. No, you cannot see it. At least, not unless 1) it's done and 2) you're one of my best friends and 3) you promise to not hurt my feelings when I ask you how you liked it. I'm open to a writing-themed slumber party, though. I'll even supply the pillows and cookies.

*When I burned a certain purple candle, I wrote better. I saved it, just to remember how much fun I used to have.

Karma

2009-05-05T12:31:00.000-07:00

I don't really believe in karma, I haven't seen enough proof that one gets what one deserves to truly believe. But I didn't write that I don't believe, I wrote that I don't really believe. I still find anecdotal evidence for it, like my sister's daughter Dolly. Having to raise your clone seems pretty karmic to me. The latest anecdotal evidence for it is ending up with exactly what I was trying to avoid. I did not want a third cat. I did not ever want a long-haired cat. I planned on always adopting grown cats. Guess what's living in my solarium?

Right now I'm telling people we're fostering with the option to adopt. See, on April 20th my brother was visiting our mom's grave and found her. He took her to the vet the following day for treatment for her respiratory infection and get checked for feline leukemia and the like. He called me immediately to ask if I was interested in adopting her, to which I wholeheartedly responded NO. Two weeks later our other brother Job moves back to their house, and he's allergic to cats, so he had to find her a home right away. MacGyver had already asked me to make her his birthday present*. We've had her since Saturday. He did agree that we'll find her another home if she is a jerk or if Gonk and Domino hate her. Honestly, I think I'm stuck with her. Fortunately, she is so damn cute, and she hasn't been acting like a jerk yet. Mostly she plays with string and pounces on little pieces of cardboard. She's 10 weeks old and weighs 1.5 pounds, 75% of her volume is fluff. My brother called her Wheezie, but we're discussing other names. I'm pushing for MoCa (or Moca). Her black hairs have a cinnamon cast, kind of like mocha, but MoCa stands for Mobile Cactus. If you've handled kittens, you know what I mean.

*All he wants for his birthday is a little pussy.

Happy 42nd Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

2009-05-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

In this photo, mom was around my current age and pregnant with my sister. I love this photo because they are standing in a way that is staged, but their happiness looks so spontaneous. Also, I was born about 13 years later, so these are people I love but never knew at this stage in their lives. When I look at this picture my heart aches and sings at the same time.

Many thanks to Evil Ducky for repairing and ameliorating the original photograph.

Laying It All Out

2009-04-28T11:01:00.000-07:00

Because I have nothing else positive to talk about, and because I like it when other bloggers share their teen angst poetry, today I am posting some of mine. You've been warned.

This gem is untitled and was written in 1998:

What would happen if I took this turn
and never thought back?
Can I make myself be a good girl
and stay the beaten track?
To turn my life from loathe to hope,
it is my dream come due.
My life lies crumbled under my feet,
and it's because of you.
You have run me down in this circle,
you shush me when I speak.
You've sapped my spirit in this cycle,
I'm tired and I'm weak.
I stopped following now I'm dragging,
because I'm on your leash.
You expect me to beg on command,
but wait until I breach.
I'll take off the halter and the reins,
I'll knock the fences down.
Unrestrained I'll fly off and away,
I'll never turn around.

My favorite part is how I have superpowers when all the bondage gear is stripped away. Next!

Also from 1998:

Finding Sense

Once I thought I'd die for you
and now I think I did,
'cause as soon as you left me,
my senses ran and hid.
After weeks of feeling empty,
feeling no love nor pain,
I decided to move on,
and find some sense again.
Depression was waiting at the door,
Anger was close behind.
Bitterness was watching lovers
and wasn't hard to find.
Rage and Hate were hand in hand
with Agony in tow.
Apathy was on a crowded street
just going with the flow.
I walked into a crowded room
where I got Rejected.
Forlorn sat on the sidelines
visiting Dejected.
I found Peace in the churchyard
while Hope danced in the rain.
Dignity held her head up high
and tried to comfort Pain.
Joy lay in a painter's brush,
Love came out of the blue.
My senses found, I'm feeling whole,
so all I miss is you.

I had a crush on the same kid for eight years, then he moved to another state after the 10th grade. I was so crushed, and I wrote this after mourning my loss for months. I met my first boyfriend at the end of 12th grade, and I still felt if my crush reappeared I would throw myself at him. Next!

From 1999:

Mars

Writhing and wrestling
In the iron-clad dirt,
The red soil covering
Two fighting bodies
In a crimson fog.
My sweat
Shattered onto your face
Creating streaks of war paint.
A piercing kiss
Followed by a soft embrace
Of your burning salty lips
On my bitten flesh.
We bled for power
In the red dust,
My nails raking seething muscle
Your hands pinning convulsing shoulders.
Raging together,
I flailed my limbs
In pursuit of an exit,
Leaving the impression
Of a fallen angel
In the rusty soil
As you called for God.

The lack of rhyming shows I was in college. What really makes me cringe when I read this is that I was absolutely virginal, and I cannot fathom that this is what I imagined sex was going to be like. Good lord.

I was going to add another two, but I've lost my stomach for it. I encourage you to post your old poetry, because it amuses me greatly.

Hello There

2009-04-21T12:20:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, MacGyver helped my brother remove a dying maple tree and MacGyver brought a 200ish pound cross-section of the trunk home for a carpentry project. Yesterday he spent several hours working it into an end table, so there was a lot of pounding and screwing and power tool action. He sloshed some mineral oil over the top surface to show me the grain, and I asked about the hollow rotting spot on one corner. He descibed the rest of the project for a few minutes while poking out bad wood with a stick, and eventually out fell a...frog. This guy had been chilling out in our garage for weeks amidst MacGyver's welding and woodworking and oil changing and remained hidden while his home was refashioned into a piece of furniture. We left him by a pile of mulch next to our maple tree and told him to count his blessings he had Nature to deal with instead of Domino.

How It Is

2009-04-17T10:45:00.000-07:00

My new job is technically part-time, but my higher-ups will give me extra hours for a while, and next year they want to make it full-time. So ~~time~~ my account balance will tell if I need to get a second job. This last week I spent training on main campus, which is chaotic and understaffed and made me grateful my actual job will be much, much more boring. I still can't believe it pays the same per hour as my old social work job but is about five times easier.

In other news, my brother is participating in a stage three cancer drug trial. I told him it's not fair to include him, since the placebo is a sugar pill and he has type one diabetes. My aunt by marriage, who is a retired nurse and full-time health nut and aerobics teacher, was recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. It metastasized from her colon to her lungs and liver, and she decided to try chemo. We don't know if it's working yet. She lives in North Carolina, which my cousin tells me is a miserable hellhole of a state. She might be a little biased, though.

31

2009-04-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Wish you were here.

Rigamarole

2009-04-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

The job search was not going well. As of March 25th I had applied for dozens of jobs and only scored two interviews. Since my radio is almost constantly tuned to NPR, I often listened to Nightly Business Report while cooking dinner, and rarely heard anything to make me more optimistic about my unemployment. I kept checking out McDonald's Web site, trying to talk myself into applying. I had even decided to lie about my education and experience, as I had been rejected numerous times for being overqualified.

On March 26th, I got two reasons to hope.

The first was a text message from VBG, who informed me that there was an opening where she worked. The second came a couples hours later, I got a call for a job interview at a local college. A couple hours after that I had landed an interview with Kay the next morning at VBG's place of employment. Things were looking not entirely sucky.

The interview with Kay was...odd. She asked one or two questions, read me the job description, and scheduled me to come back the next week for a follow-up with her boss, Jack. I was happy that someone was throwing me a bone and there were many reasons to take the job, but I felt a little apprehensive. Still, I would have loved to work there.

The night before my interview with the local college I got a call. It was not a good call. I was informed that one interviewer couldn't make it and they needed to reschedule, and could I come in two weeks from tomorrow? I let Elizabeth, the primary interviewer, know that I might be employed elsewhere in two weeks, so could we do a phone interview? Elizabeth said she'd get back to me. I felt sick to my stomach.

The next day I practically glued myself to my phone, waiting for Elizabeth to call and reschedule. She didn't call. I practiced for my follow-up with Kay and Jack like it was my only hope. It sort of was.

The next morning I was getting ready to see Kay and Jack, and trying to calm the fuck down. I brushed my teeth and visualized breezing through the interview. The phone rang, and I almost ignored it due to my mouthful of cavity-fighting bubbles. It was Elizabeth. I did my best not to get toothpaste all over the phone. She asked me to come in that afternoon. I agreed happily.

My interview with Kay and Jack was incredibly short. I was asked one question and told I was overqualified. He promised to call me if they couldn't find anyone else. I wished again I had been accepted to grad school.

Elizabeth was very nice and organized. She had a page and half of questions to ask me and put her boss on speakerphone. I thought my answers were pretty good, but I kept trying to make eye contact with the telephone. I had been preparing hardcore for this for days, one of the questions I had been pondering that day. I didn't quite rock their socks off, but they did schedule me for follow-up testing the next day.

I took a personality test and an Excel test. I thought I'd mastered spreadsheets, but there were questions about commands I didn't know Excel could even do. I figured out a few of them by staring at the buttons, but in the end only scored a 77%. Afterwards I met Elizabeth's supervisor Theresa and her supervisor Susan. Susan took me on a tour and asked me about my background, even though she'd already seen my resume. She told me it wasn't an interview, but I wasn't too sure. We had some things in common, and she was rather encouraging. After three interviews in two days I felt wiped out, and spent the rest of the day cleaning house and making an amazing homemade pizza for dinner. You totally should have been there.

I had a crappy night of sleep filled with nightmares and woke up late. Instead of getting out of bed I laid there wondering what my chances of employment were.

Ten minutes later Elizabeth called.

I start this afternoon.

Violets and Tea

2009-04-04T12:48:00.000-07:00

Hope

2009-03-30T09:20:00.000-07:00

I have a job interview tomorrow and Wednesday. Wish me luck!

Popsicle Toes

2009-03-30T09:07:00.001-07:00

Ahem

2009-03-26T15:54:00.000-07:00

I'M TIRED OF SUCKING AT EVERYTHING!

Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

2009-03-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

A little while ago I mentioned seeing tortoise intercourse at the zoo. Here's my proof. I wish I could have gotten sound.

The very next day, I was in Indianapolis with some family and we enjoyed a jaunt through the woods. We came upon a retention pond, and discovered two snapping turtles expressing their love in a physical manner. This reptile dude was not so proficient though, he kept mounting the wrong end. Poor reptile lady, that must have been so awkward for her.

On April 15, 2003, MacGyver and I went on a night hike with Anami and Joe around Ogle Lake in Brown County State Park. MacGyver and I had been dating for three years, we hadn't been having a good day, and the hike was a last ditch effort at not having a crappy anniversary. The moon was nearly full and the weather was perfect. When we got to the trail, there were thousands of frogs in and around the lake making whoopee. I remember I had to plan my steps so I wouldn't squish frogs, and more than once we had an amphibian collide with our ankles while jumping across the trail. We had planned to travel a couple of connecting trails for a nice four mile hike, but we were going so slowly we could only manage to take the much shorter trail along the banks of Ogle Lake. MacGyver stopped to poke a lone female, and she wrapped herself around his finger and wouldn't release him. Apparently she secreted something on him because his finger was numb for the next hour or so. We also discovered a few frog balls - one female with up to seven males clinging to her and each other. The sight was simply amazing, I had never seen so many frogs at once, and they were so focused. Usually when I see one it jumps out of sight the first chance it gets, but these dudes paid no attention to us whatsoever. Around this time of year I always wish we lived there again, just to try to relive that night.

Verdant

2009-03-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

During the third week of February MacGyver bought some peat pots and dirt, and we spent a Sunday starting seeds for FutureGarden. We planted three kinds of tomato, two kinds of basil, morning glories, sunflowers, and rainbow bell peppers. We also transplanted my Valentine's berry bushes out of their sawdust-filled baggies into much larger pots of dirt. Last week we bought corn and snow peas to sow directly into the garden, and I started some watermelon and pumpkin seeds in another batch of peat pots. There wasn't enough room on the table, so I propped up the lid of a plastic tote and placed the watermelon pots on it. Every few hours I move the lid back into the sun.

Lately I've been busy thinning the tomatoes, basil, and sunflowers because they're running out or room. The tomatoes and basil even smell like grown-ups, I brush the leaves with my fingertips to smell summer. The peppers took their sweet time, as of this morning there were 13 seedlings. I keep yelling at the watermelons to grow but no one has poked up yet, every night I go to bed hoping to see a change in the morning. The homebuilders used clay from our yard to make the bricks for the foundation. When MacGyver excavated the northwest corner he saved those bricks, and he's now using them to build raised beds in our north yard for berries. The south yard will be tilled for vegetables.

I feel like we've taken on more than I can handle, but at the same time I think of how much more I'll plant next season if this year goes well. Everything just seems so possible in March.

Blanket Thief

2009-03-19T11:36:00.000-07:00

Observation

2009-03-17T14:02:00.000-07:00

Turns out, simultaneously sneezing and eating oatmeal is exactly as horrible as you'd think.

Memory Snapshot

2009-03-16T09:14:00.000-07:00

When I was nine or ten years old, I was in the family van with my mom, dad, and sister heading back home from Vincennes. My sister would have been 21 or 22 at this time, and I was a year or two away from my first sex ed class. Our parents sat in front, and we were sitting behind them. I was staring out the window and mulling over a word I'd been hearing at school, trying to work out what it meant. I turned to my sister.

"Are you a virgin?" I asked with no warning whatsoever.

There was a pause. "No." There was complete silence up front, and our parents stared. straight. ahead.

I nodded, astonished that my sister had most likely taken her clothes off and kissed someone. My formative brain attempted to process the information, and I eventually went back to thinking about something that was actually interesting, like sharks.

Puss in Boot

2009-03-13T08:46:00.000-07:00

Bad Boys in the Dark

2009-03-10T12:44:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I was young and naive. I had only lived on the family farm, I sucked at making friends, and I never knew what to do with myself. Now I am almost old, and that first detail is untrue. One day, the time came to go to college and move away and live amongst completely new people (except one, and she was crazy). The first thing I did at college was carry all my stuff into the dorm room that I would share with the crazy one. The second was to meet the bus for a Freshman Pre-Orientation Rock Climbing trip. After a long weekend of camping and rock climbing, I came back to campus feeling emboldened and mighty.

I felt so bold that I talked to a stranger when I got home. He was from India and went by Nik, and was impressed by my adventures in Red River Gorge. We chatted awhile and he offered to give me a campus tour and show me his climbing equipment. What happened next should have taught me never to talk to strangers.

He held my hand when we crossed the street, which didn't seem as weird as it should have. See, I did not have skills to cross the street safely every time. Even three years later people would occasionally grab me to yank me out of the way of a bus. The last part of the tour involved playing in Showalter fountain. This was before the Bobby Knight riot and the fish statue population was higher. Nik and I made plans to come back at the end of the year and collect spare change from the fountain. The tour was over, but he still had to show me his rock climbing gear.

When we got to his dorm, I was sopping wet and dripping water everywhere. I thought he was so nice to let me borrow his workout clothes so I could be dry. He suggested we watch Bad Boys, as his room was pimped out for the ultimate viewing experience. It was really late and I was absolutely exhausted, but I agreed. He got the TV and DVD and stereo hooked up, and turned on the black light. He started bragging about his ballroom dancing skills, as he had taken a beginner's class last semester. He was so glad he had learned, and he was sure he could teach me some steps. In normal situations, I was a social imbecile. In the eerie light, I started picking up on his signals. We danced, and every nerve in my body sang, keeping me as far away from his body as possible. He smiled, and his teeth and eyes had an unholy glow against his dark skin. He tilted his face and grinned, and all the hairs on my neck stood up. I thought No one knows I'm here, and I wish I was wearing my own clothes, and I have no idea how to get out of here, and He could rape me. I was so tired, and so freaked, and so scared of being rude. I was so afraid that I wouldn't make friends at college that even in a bad situation I didn't want to offend someone.

His bed was lofted, and I sat and the edge. If I fell asleep and tipped forward, I would fall to the floor and hurt myself. If I tipped back, I would be at Nik's mercy. The movie played, but I couldn't concentrate. All my focus was on staying conscious. I remember it was a talkie, so people said lines, and there might have been some explosions and a blonde female. The movie must have ended at dawn, because I remember walking home in weak sunlight, wearing a stranger's clothes and holding mine at arm's length. A week later I would begin taekwondo class, and I would wish I had known then what I know now.

OMFG

2009-03-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

Today at the zoo, while Blaze was checking out the snakes, I noticed the tortoises were unusually active. I got closer to investigate, and there were five in the corner. Three were intently watching the other two GET IT ON. And the boy tortoise? WAS MOANING. LOUDLY. This guy was deep and rumbly, he was the Barry White of reptiles.

Mother Nature never ceases to make me wonder WTF?

Without You

2009-02-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

The Meme of Us

2009-02-23T14:03:00.000-08:00

What are your middle names?
Marie and John. Guess who has which name!

How long have you been together?
We met in March of 2000 and started dating a month later.

Who asked whom out?
I guess I did. Sort of.

How old are each of you?
He is 28 and I'm 27, though for two weeks we are the same age.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Mine. He has more in commom with my family than I do with his. Plus, there's nothing like cancers to bring a family together!

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
My unemployment paired with the unreliability of his freelance work.

Did you go to the same school?
I took two classes at the university where he spent three semesters, but in totally different years.

Are you from the same home town?
Yes, but my neighborhood had cornfields, and his neighborhood had people and drugs.

Who is smarter?
Not only is he better at everything useful, but he also scored 100 more points on the SAT. What a jerk!

Who is the most sensitive?
Me! I am more likely to take things personally. And in a totally different area of sensitivity, I have to wear ear plugs to the movies or I get headaches. However, I don't have to let my cocoa cool off as much.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
I don't know, we rarely go out anymore.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
The Hoh rainforest.

Who has the craziest exes?
I'm guessing he does. I only have one, and he was more quirky than crazy (mostly). One of his exes is one of my favorite people, but I get the feeling I'd hate the rest of them.

Who has the worst temper?
He gets angry more often than I do, but I get in a worse rage when I do lose it.

Who does the cooking?
I do, but there are dishes that only he makes, like barbecued chicken.

Who is the neat-freak?
He despises clutter, and I hate that he doesn't take his shoes off in the house. I have managed to change much more than he has.

Who is more stubborn?
That's a toss-up.

Who hogs the bed?
Me! I'm very acrobatic in my sleep. He says he has to sleep on the floor at least once a week because I literally kick him out.

Who wakes up earlier?
He does, and he wakes up throughout the night. I don't sleep as much as I slip into a deep coma for nine hours.

Where was your first date?
We went to Jimmy John's, the used CD store, and then camped. We decided it was a date after the fact.

Who is more jealous?
In what context? We don't get jealous of each other, but sometimes I get jealous of people with steady jobs and two living parents.

How long did it take to get serious?
He was serious after a matter of weeks, I held off for months. I'd heard about his fickleness and refused to get too attached. Meanwhile, he wanted to marry me.

Who eats more?
He does, but he burns way more calories.

Who does the laundry?
I do usually.

Who's better with the computer?
Definitely me.

Who drives when you are together?
He does, because he drives faster.

Our House

2009-02-23T11:16:00.001-08:00

Last week, a housewarming card and free address labels from a charity I never donate to arrived in the mail. Then, MacGyver and I bought a washer and dryer.

Our house is now a home.

The washer is a high efficiency front-loader, and the first load of laundry was quite exciting. In fact, it garnered an audience.

That's MacGyver on the right, sitting in a full laundry basket. Gonk is on the left in the empty one, trying to be just like his daddy. Domino inspected it from the top down and stopped giving a shit. As usual.

One room in our house has four windows and a southern exposure. Someday it will be the library, but for now it houses the fish, the coat tree (literally), an extra couch, and our new starship. MacGyver duct taped (actually, it's "semi-reflective cosmic protective strips") the appliance boxes together, cut hatches and port holes and a cat door, and I designed the control systems. So I got to curl up in a poorly-ventilated enclosed space with a Sharpie for my part*. Wheee! Right now it's a starship, but you can also set it to dirigible, time machine, or submarine. It's powered by dilithium crystals, has a navigational touch pad, and has an army of ninjas, space monkeys, and velociraptors in holding cells. The velociraptor holding cell is reinforced by TWO layers of duct tape, just in case.

*I pimped my box! tee hee!

Working Backwards

2009-02-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, the 15th, I had the pleasure of eating homemade tiramisu amongst friends. Most of the day was spent washing dishes. The task was truly Sisyphean.

On Valentine's Day, I made Chicken Parmesan, Spinach-Gorgonzola Dip in a bread bowl, Salad, and Hot Fudge Sauce (everything was delicious enough to merit capitalizing). MacGyver and I stuffed ourselves silly and watched The Princess Bride. Life doesn't get much better.

On the evening of Friday the 13th, two of my brothers and I saw the premiere of the latest Friday the 13th movie. That morning I began passing out snickerdoodles and cards. I accompanied Job to his appointment with the oncologist and got the CT scan results. Apparently, the chemo has stopped the tumor's growth and even some of his bone is recalcifying. So, fuck you, metastases!

I'm a Winner

2009-02-05T09:43:00.001-08:00

MacGyver and I have been very, very careful to not waste food, as it costs money, which we need more of so we can buy a dryer. Unfortunately, I let something slide. Yesterday I was cleaning the kitchen, and had to throw out the kitty litter and six-week-old chicken legs. I had the genius idea to empty half the litter (absorbent pine pellets!) into the trash, dump in the meat real quick, and pour the rest of the litter on top. I mean, it's odor-absorbing, so what could go wrong?

I'll tell you.

Chicken so old it's starting to liquefy is far more potent than cat poo, and even the power of pine is no match for it. When I finally shook it out of its container, I nearly retched. It smelled like a rotting corpse. I would know. The last thing that smelled this bad was the week old cadaver of a man who had perished in his unair-conditioned apartment in July the summer I interned at the morgue. When we got him, he had a vivid green cast to his dark brown...skin. We had to slough off what had been his epidermis so we could read his tattoos. Also? Two of his girlfriends called the morgue looking for him. And? He was HIV+. It was a memorable day.

Anyway, I ran to the bathroom and turned on the exhaust fan. I was still feeling vomity when I called MacGyver to find out where the Hell the garbage can was. I had never paid attention to where he took the trash, to me it just disappeared to a magical land where I never had to deal with it, ever. He said something like "You opened it up inside?!?" and I yelled something about believing the cat litter would take care of it, and he told me to look out the window so I could notice where the trash can was, and I retorted that I couldn't see out the window because I was hiding from the smell. There was silence, I believe he was reflecting on how he won the spouse lottery. I mean, some wives have jobs and watch their weight and can remember the last time they washed their hair. Me? When I call, he has no idea what's going to come out of my mouth. I'm interesting.

Like BOOK IT!, But Not

2009-02-03T11:39:00.000-08:00

While we moved in in January, I culled unread and unfinished books from my multitude of tome-filled plastic totes. By February 1, I had 38 books lining a shelf waiting to be read. I started with Starship Troopers, and am more than a third of the way through thus far. I have a bad habit of buying books and not reading them, instead turning my attention toward those I borrow from friends or the library. I reason that I have the rest of my life to finish the ones I own, but just weeks for the others. My goal is to finish all 38 books by February 1, 2010. Knowing me, I'll still be borrowing books to boot (and I already have! I'm also working on Wicked, Truer than True Romance, and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian), so the goal is attainable but not easy. I'm hoping to finish the three shortest in two weeks, and then take about ten days for every other book. For accountability's sake, I'm making a list to be posted next year (or when I finish, whichever comes first) and I'll note the ones I complete as the year goes along.

In other news, I'm sick of winter and I have another job interview Thursday morning. Wish me luck!

Unsurprise!

2009-01-26T11:11:00.000-08:00

I did not get the job.

On My Knees

2009-01-22T13:02:00.000-08:00

I'm not much for praying. When I was a wee tyke, I would get agitated in church because when I asked God a question, I couldn't hear any answers. In high school, my devout parents brought home books about the historical Jesus, and they talked about who this guy really was. A memorable dinner table discussion involved the fish and the loaves, where it was decided he didn't make them out of thin air, but he convinced people to share what they already had. When I was a social worker, I counseled people who got off their meds and believed they were God, or Jesus, or Jesus in a black woman's body, or Zeus*. I started wondering about the mental health of biblical characters and evangelicals. I mean, I always thought of Oral Roberts and his ilk as weird, but maybe they're closer to clinically psychotic. With time, God has felt less and less real. My beliefs have been stuck in an agnostic limbo.

However, for the past week I've been praying about every 20 minutes. Why? Because I had a job interview, and I need it real bad. I've committed everything short of bribery to get hired, but I really doubt I'll actually get it. So for the first time in years I'm taking my grandfather's advice to act as if it's all up to me, and to pray as if it's all up to God.

So I'm wondering: if i do get the job, will I start sincerely believing in God again?

*This one patient thought he was Zeus when went off his meds. When he took them, he was pentecostal and spoke in tongues. I had the damnedest time telling when he was actually mentally well.

The Name Game

2009-01-16T12:47:00.000-08:00

Use the first letter of your name to fill in the following. Don't make anything up. Tag ten more people if you want. But strife and misfortune won't befall you if you don't.

1. What is your name: Laura

2. A 4-Letter Word: Love

3. A Boys Name: Lester

4. A Girls Name: Lacey Lee

5. An Occupation: Lineman

6. A Color: Lilac

7. Something you wear: Lycra leggings

8. A Beverage: Lemonade

9. A Food: Lobster lasagna

10. Something found in the bathroom: Live microbes

11. Movie Title: Lawrence of Arabia

12. A Reason for being late: Lack of motivation

13. Something you shout: Look alive!

14. A Place You've Visited: Louisiana

15. A Word That's Fun to Say: Lollipop

16. Celebrity Baby Name Idea: L'ondon

17. Reason to Break Up With Someone: Lackluster lust

18. Fake Band Name: Lakeside Lemmings

19. Book You've Read: Little House in the Big Woods

20. Something You're Afraid Of: Losing loved ones

Presenting Belle

2009-01-08T09:07:00.000-08:00

Meet the newest addition to the Danger family, she's the firstborn of my second oldest brother, Chevy. She was born by C-section and has the fortune of not having the weird, compressed skull look many infants sport. Most babies take a few months to cuten up (in my opinion), but I could just eat her up. And she's not even seven pounds, so I could probably fit half of her arm in my mouth without gagging. Her hair has an interesting off-center cowlick in front, I'm crossing my fingers that she grows out of it and escapes a life of side ponytails.

What's New with You?

2009-01-05T19:36:00.000-08:00

My little Pontiac is in hospice. The seals and a gasket on the water pump failed, the water pump developed holes, the radiator leaked, and the cooling fan died. MacGyver fixed all of these problems, but now it misfires and tried to die in Christmas season evening traffic at the mall. Now I drive my mom's old Buick Roadmaster, which has more than double the power and seats more than twice as many people.

Also, MacGyver and I are mostly moved into our new house. We should be living there within a week. I look forward to keeping our bedroom a secret from the cats (don't ask how) so they don't stand outside the door all night and say "brrrrMEOW brrrrMEOW" (he sounds like a ringtone) or "MAAHH!!! MAAHH!!! MAAHH!!!" (she sounds like a bitch).

Also, all my classes are over, and I am looking for a job. This is an activity I hate even more sincerely than moving.

Also, I went off of my antidepressants. Not because I don't need them, but because I can't afford them anymore. If my level of crazy seems to increase over the next few weeks, it's because IT IS.

Also, Joe and Anami visited for a couple of days. Their visit coincided with some of the best weather we've had here, and walking in the sunshine with friends felt like the best thing ever.

Also, three cousins from California came to visit for a few days. I missed a day of their visit due to violent illness, but I recovered and made chicken pot pie for all. Hooray!

Also, I would like to know how you are doing.

I Heart Thrift Shopping

2008-12-28T15:37:00.000-08:00

Not only is MacGyver a top-notch carpenter, but he is a genius at operating on a budget. The other day he needed doors for our bathroom, so he took me to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore, the Goodwill of home improvement shops. I had never been there, and marveled at the buckets of doorknobs, the $3000 widescreen TV for $600, the $45 washing machines, and the crap. I tried to take pictures of everything that awed me, but the employees were giving me disapproving looks. Here's a taste of the appalling treasures I found.

Note the illustration of a gloved hand. Is this supposed to imply that sophisticated ladies use this product, or is it a warning to never touch a mercury switch with your naked flesh? And it's only five cents! Has it ever been so cheap to poison yourself?

Among the mugs and chotchkies I found an old, old bottle of cologne. I couldn't wrap my head around this thing. I mean, it just screams mammy doll, and yet it is celebrated kitsch. Avon Small World Perfume...the smell of racism.

This would be just darling in the parlor. I was really hoping it was a chair with a periscope, but it turned out to have air-conditioning controls, so I guess it's from a hair salon. Or maybe it's really an evil robot from the future. I think we're safe as long as no one plugs it in.

It's a vinyl record! For your car! That caption reads Take a super adventure with "Kid James" through a very special book...the KID JAMES VERSION of the Bible! Discover the stories of Bible Characters who traveled...God's Super Travelers! When I was a kid we listened to our Bill Cosby: Himself cassette tape on road trips, not Christian propaganda. We would have considered this aural punishment. I hope whoever buys this burns it.

Memorable Holiday Moments

2008-12-26T09:28:00.000-08:00

-I spent all day baking on Christmas Eve. I was trying a fancy new recipe for brownies and had put the nice, pourable batter in the fridge to mellow overnight per the cookbook's suggestion. To my horror, I discovered the consistency had turned to that of stiff modeling clay. I had to dig out chunks of batter and mold them to fit the pan.

-At MacGyver's aunt's Christmas Eve party, his sister Sunshine reminded VBG's sister that she and a guest are invited to her wedding. Sunshine added that the guest does not have to be her boyfriend, and nearby relatives piped up and offered to let Sis bring their dogs. Why? Because dogs are much better people than that tool.

-I've been attending church semi-regularly since this summer, and I joined my family for Christmas Eve services. Before mass started I felt someone staring at me. I knew something was wrong, because I don't believe* it's actually possible to feel another's gaze. I looked over at the source, and discovered the presence of Nick from school. You could say I felt a wave of pure hatred wash over me if you wanted to put it nicely. I spent the first part of mass trying to convince myself I am a grown-up and I do not solve problems with sidekicks to the knee.

-MacGyver and I were in his parents' neighborhood for their Christmas morning get-together. He had the tailgate of his dualie open to wrap a rake, and I was carrying the wrapped presents when a terrier broke out of its yard and ran barking madly toward us. I love dogs, but I am scared of strange ones. In half a second I went from loitering in the street to standing on the tailgate, still holding presents. I guess I levitated. A Christmas Miracle!

-MacGyver's two and a half year old niece, KP, has seen me but has never wanted anything to do with me. So when she kept coming up to me to hand me toys, I was confused. She has better motor skills than Baby Bunny but is less intelligible, and I had no idea what she was very earnestly trying to tell me. Her favorite thing to hand me was a toy plate, a fork, and a Mr. Potato Head ear, so I pretended to cut off chunks and held the fork out. Very solemnly, she pretended along and ate what I offered. She didn't get tired of it, and every member of MacGyver's family got a chance to watch and laugh their asses off.

-This was the first Christmas I did not glue myself to MacGyver's elbow at his grandparents' Christmas party, and I went and made conversation with people independently. His grandparents' parties always stress me out because there's dozens of people who look vaguely familiar, but I can't remember their names, and I have no idea what to say to anybody. I am thinking that next year I should remember to take a pack of malt beverages.

-MacGyver grilled ten pounds of salmon for my family. Droooooool.

-Mercury abruptly announced "I'm too full to" and stopped playing with his sibs. When we figured out what he meant was "I'm too full to do anything but vomit" my sister rushed him to the bathroom, but it was occupied, so she tried to get him to my dad's bathroom. "Tried" is the operative word here. Mercury threw up all over my dad's bedroom carpet.

-Amidst all the gift unwrapping, Baby Bunny found me and crawled onto my lap. She smiled sweetly and grabbed my cheeks with both hands and tried to rip them off of my face.

*I also don't believe Jesus was magical, and yet, there I was.

One Year Later

2008-12-24T08:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Mom,

The world misses you. Someone in Cambodia didn't get a cow from Heifer because you weren't around to donate. Most of the birdfeeders at the farm have been put away because you weren't here to fill them. Some asshole blew through a red light guiltlessly because you weren't there to yell at him.

I miss you. Arranging family get-togethers is like herding cats. I never knew how picky dad can be because you quietly fed him what he wanted. I'm still trying to figure out how to get the bloodstains out of the upholstery. You must have been some kind of magician to make order out of this chaos.

This has been the worst year of my life. The suck has been compounded by being unable to receive advice from you. You knew how to make people listen to you, and you always knew the best thing to do, and you had the balls to do it. Remember when you hugged a stranger in an elevator, and she hugged you back and cried on your shoulder? Or when I wanted to strangle my sister-in-law, but instead you visited her in rehab to help her? Or when you stuck to your diet just in case you got better and it made a diference? I've bungled so many situations this year, and run from confrontation on a monthly basis. It seems half of my success as an adult stemmed from your counsel.

At least I know that no matter how much I fuck up, you'll love me anyway.

Yours,
L

Feedback for the Damned

2008-12-15T09:28:00.000-08:00

Last week I met with the lady that signed my rejection letter. It took almost an entire month to get her to agree to a date and time, which must mean I'm really important, right? No? Screw you! Her explanations were unsurprising, mostly. It was the interview that killed my chances, people. I knew the interview was going badly before it ended, so I was not shocked. At all. My application essay was not received well either, it was about how a PT that I shadowed demonstated commitment to the core values* of the APTA while working with a client. And I had to do it in two pages.

She suggested I get more experience in the field and really work on become an outgoing person. Really? 'Cause I consider my antisocial tendencies as part of my charm. She encouraged me to put myself in positions where I am uncomfortable and am forced to talk to people. That sounds awesome! As awesome as performing self-flaggelation with live wires! She did not know that I was interested in research, which I mentioned during my interview. So, my interviewer apparently didn't share that tidbit with anyone, which makes my three years as research assistant seem unimportant. Then she told me I ought to apply to more than one program, despite informing her minutes prior that since I bought a house here, all my eggs were in her particular basket. Grrr.

I am making a plan to became the applicant they cannot turn away. Ideas, anyone?

*Accountability, altruism, compassion and caring, excellence, integrity, professional duty and social responsibility. Dude, I can barely list that in two pages.

That's Good Enough For Me

2008-12-13T00:05:00.000-08:00

One of the few holiday activities I have done this year is bake. I tried a new chocolate chip cookie recipe for a mini-road trip, made a carrot cake for Eid, and and ear-marked about two dozen desserts I want to try for Christmas. I like to tinker with recipes, but can rarely justify it.

I finally had a reason to experiment this week. I wanted to send orange-cranberry cookies to Anami and Joe, and the original recipe wouldn't do. I got the recipe from Evil Ducky, who got it from the internet. The first time she shared them I shoved as many into my gaping maw as I politely could, then silently wished for many more. I made my own batch a few weeks ago with dissimialr results. The flavor was awesome, but my cookies spread out and were more crispy than tender. On top of this, Joey is allergic to eggs, a staple of about every baked good on the face of the planet.

I began by halving the recipe, because I didn't want to waste too much sugar and butter on a potential failure. My taste is along the lines of there can never be enough cranberries, so I increased them by 50%. I also threw in more walnuts to give it better crunch. Then I was stumped. I knew egg replacer was an option, but I didn't know where to buy it. I usually decrease the butter to reduce spread, but with so many nuts and berries I really needed that batter to hold it together. So, I hit the books. Last week I got stood up at Barnes & Noble, so I perused the cookbooks to make the evening less of a waste. That's when I discovered Shirley Corriher. Her explanations about why recipes succeed or fail made sense, and I incorporated her teachings. I replaced the egg with more orange juice for liquid compensation, used cake flour rather than all-purpose for less gluten, and increased the brown to white sugar ratio to absorb more moisture upon standing. I would have used ghee instead of butter to reduce spread, but I didn't have any. It's not something I just have sitting around, OK? I chilled the batter for 24 hours and kept it in the fridge between spooning it onto baking sheets to help them keep their shape. I made them smaller than usual, because I imagined Joe would have them with tea. Hey, it made sense to me.

Ta daaa!

Cream 1/2 cup softened butter, 1/2 cup brown sugar, and 1/4 cup white sugar together till smooth. Add 2 1/2 tablespoons orange juice and 1/2 teaspoon orange zest. In a separate bowl combine 1 1/4 cup cake flour, 1/4 teaspoon baking soda and 1/4 teaspoon salt; stir into the orange mixture. Mix in 1 1/2 cups chopped, fresh cranberries and 1/3 cup chopped walnuts. Bake on ungreased cookie sheets for 12 minutes at 375 F, until the edges are golden. Let them continue to bake on the sheet for a few minutes, then remove and cool on wire racks. In a small bowl, mix together 1/4 teaspoon orange zest, 1 1/2 tablespoons orange juice, and 3/4 cup confectioners' sugar until smooth. Spread over cooled cookies. Makes 32 to 36.

Gimme!

2008-12-10T16:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa Claus,

How are you and the Missus? I hope you are well and the North Pole isn't melting too much. I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. We're still cool, right?

I have been very good this year. I have done all of my homework and flossed every day. I haven't punched anyone in the face, and I only yell at people when I am in my car and they can't hear me.

Down to business! This year I want:

-My cats to stop shedding.
-To lose 12 pounds.
-Winning Powerball tickets.
-Love.
-The library to order all of my requests.
-The economy to stop sucking salty balls.
-Michael Keaton to be funny again.
-This shirt.
-These cookbooks.
-My serotonin level to be awesome.
-Inspiration.
-Laurie Notaro to comment on my blog, because she loves it.
-Grad school to realize it can't go on without me.
-A helicopter to fly me to San Francisco at my whim.
-A favorable prognosis for my brother.
-To look like Mariska Hargitay. But younger.
-Superpowers.
-A decent job.
-More cowbell!
-Christian Bale *wink wink*.

I trust you will use good judgement to choose which gifts to bring me. In return, I offer tasty baked goods and coffee. Please inform me of any food allergies.

Hugs and kisses,
Laura Danger

I Get Around

2008-12-08T10:42:00.000-08:00

create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

I would love to visit the lower 48 by the time I'm 30. It's possible, though not likely. Six years ago I had visited very few of the western states, and then a couple of major road trips later I had a big chunk of the US filled in. Two more big road trips (that I'm too broke to do) could get me through New England and the rest of the West. Mississippi and South Carolina will probably be done separately. The big problem with that is: why would I ever want to go to Mississippi? Arkansas and Alabama are my least favorite states, so why would Mississippi be any different? During my entire drive through Arkansas I had a look of abject horror on my face. I decided the state would have a better reputation if they diverged the highway away from the white trash. The image of 50 broken washing machines in front of a rotting trailer home is burned into my memory. I do think it's a little odd that I have never been to Pennsylvania. I mean, it's right on the other side of Ohio, a neighboring state. I'm not trying to ignore you, Pennsylvania, you're just so unassuming and the glitz and excitement of other states (like Nebraska!) draw me in the opposite direction. Maybe if you weren't so, well, Amish I'd notice you.

Gas is almost cheap right now, I should just pick a state and aim for it*. Oh look, there's a state park in northern Mississippi that's less than 6.5 hours from my house. It even sells ice! How convenient! I'm changing my mind about the South already!

*This won't actually be happening, due to finals. Sigh.

The Ratings: Keys

2008-12-03T15:49:00.000-08:00

Esc: Not once has the Escape key ever gotten me out of trouble, in fact, I've never used it successfully for ANYTHING. I'll be working an unfamiliar program, something goes wrong, and I think "I'll just Escape!" I push it and nothing happens. I push it again and nothing happens. I don't give up easy though, I just whap it faster and faster until I feel stupid. It's frustrating, like a spermicidal condom breaking and thinking I'm still OK, I have this dandy backup, except OH WAIT IT'S NOT HELPING. What we need is an Abort key. D+

Caps Lock: Who thought of this? How often do people type in all capitals? Did some keyboard developer's pinky get a cramp holding down the shift key? No sane person actually needs a Caps Lock. Sometimes I get emails in all caps, and it shows the sender is either very angry, or very lazy. Good to know. B

Insert: This stupid key has only ever messed up my formatting. I actually had to look up it's function to talk about it. I'm still not sure what it does. What's this overtype mode? Would my life be better if I used it? WHAT'S GOING ON*? C-

The Space Bar: Poor anonymous space bar, it doesn't get a symbol even though we use it more than the letter E. It's such an accomodating key too, so long I can hit it no matter where my hands are. I can use either hand! Genius! A

F2: Imagine you are one of 12 siblings, and only your oldest sib has any respect. But wait! You know Little Mister Perfect better than anyone, you know all his dark secrets, like the incident with the Lucky Charms, smack, and five Canadian Mounties. You even have photographic evidence and a written request for the negatives to be released in case of your untimely death. Who has the power now, F1?! B+

*I didn't even think to use Caps Lock. It's that unnatural.

Missing

2008-11-29T11:49:00.000-08:00

MacGyver lent someone our copy of The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger by Stephen King. Neither of us remembers who has it. Normally we'd just buy another, but it's part of a boxed set. Anyone who offers information resulting in a successful location and recovery will be rewarded with baked goods.

Falling in the Ocean

2008-11-24T09:47:00.000-08:00

For a long time I've felt like I'm stranded in an ocean. Wave after wave drags me below the surface, and I never know how or if I'm going to breathe again. I only know there will always be another wave. Maybe I'll drown, maybe I'll be swept to shore eventually. I used to care, I used to fight, but I don't anymore. I just try to float. I'm lonely, but I'm not alone. Somewhere people are partying on a cruise ship. Somewhere a couple is falling in love on the beach. Somewhere a swimmer lost a leg to a Tiger Shark. What we have has nothing to do with what we deserve.

Another Goddamned Chance to Build Character

2008-11-16T08:17:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was supposed to celebrate my sister's birthday by going to the movies and eating ice cream cake. Instead, I got a rejection letter from grad school and spent most of the afternoon sobbing in bed. It got me thinking that I might have a curse, and I have begun researching how to lift a it.

Some answers:

just enter into the kingdom or ur heart,no curse can ever harm u-relaxed and be positive,enjoy every moment but meditate ,meditation will provide u strong shield where no curse can pierce it. Um, no. I don't take advice from LOLwiccans.

lift withyour legs, not your back. Lifting with your back can cause injury Because NO ONE wants a slipped disk on top of a curse.

yes, repent and turn to Jesus and obey His Gospel and His call, and no curse will bother you exept that of sin (which all men are cursed with). No curse has any power over you when you have turned to and become one of God's children who is living in obedience to Him. Of course! Everyone knows Jesus is the bomb at banishing everything pagan!

Curse the curser. Take an object connected to the curser and place a curse on it. Ask a witch doctor or some other person who practices curses to place a counter curse. Tell the person who cursed you, and it cancels the curse he or she placed on you. I asked Jesus what he would do. He said to punch you in the throat for that lame-ass answer.

Go get some of those salt packets you can get a fast food restaurant put one in your pocket. Place them in a black pouch with a red cord, some frankincense, mullein, sage. Also put in the pouch Jet, Obsidian, and some Jasper for good measure, in your pouch before you close it you should put a piece of paper with the following runes arranged in this order with dragon blood ink: Uruz,Algiz, Mannaz, Eihwaz, and Tiwaz. Remember to keep it with you at all times. Forget Christ, I'm putting my faith in rocks!

when you raise your vibrational frequencies with happy loving thoughts, random acts of kindness, trust and faith in your ability to deal with whatever comes along, a curse can no longer hurt you I'm all about the vibrational frequencies, if you know what I mean.

Oh. Yeah.

2008-11-14T09:45:00.000-08:00

Two of my favorite boys:

Meow, We Can

2008-11-11T08:49:00.000-08:00

Domino: Happy! Happy! Happy!
Me: What's going on? Did you snag a capybara or something?
D: For once my joy has nothing to do with maiming and nomming. Obama is president! One of my own!
M: Wait, what? Cats are libertarian!
Gonk: Not me! I joined the Greenies Party.
M: Buddy, that's the Green Party. It's about social justice and environmentalism, not yummy treats.
G: B-B-B-B-But I p-p-p-prayed all election for Greenies!
M: Stop crying and get control of your bilabial plosives, I'll get your treats!
D: It's pitiful how you fold, origami girl. True, I vote libertarian, but only because anarchists don't run for office.
M: Imagine that.
D: But Obama knows my pain, we face the same prejudices and racism.
M: Now you're just talking crazy-talk.
D: Look at me! White cats exclude me because I'm so black. Black cats reject me 'cause I have too much white. No one sees the real me.
M: No, they see the real you, and they're terrified.
D: Laugh it up, pink monkey. Things are gonna change around here. Obama and I are practically family, and I'll be riding his coattails to power. See, I'm writing him a congratulatory note. I'll mention how much we have in common, and before you know it I'll be on my way to D.C. Remember Socks Clinton? I am so much prettier, I won't even have to send a résumé, just a picture.
M: You don't watch the news much, do you? The Obamas are getting a dog when they move into the White House, and Gonk won't be there to protect you.
D: I don't want to be in his house, I want to be in his Cabinet.
G: Why would you want that? Being shut in the cabinet is punishment! It's dark and scary!

Wallowing in Pity

2008-10-31T13:40:00.000-07:00

Christmas Eve 2007: My mom passes away.
My Birthday 2008: I deal with pneumonia and a chemistry quiz.
Fourth of July Eve 2008: My brother is diagnosed with bone cancer.
Halloween 2008: We find out the chemo isn't working, his chance of survival plummets to 15%.

Not only do I have to deal with this shit, but I have to do it on days I'm supposed to be happy.

I am so fucking scared of Thanksgiving.

The One Not To Forget

2008-10-30T16:25:00.000-07:00

The other night I dreamt I was visiting an old friend. We sat on the floor playing video games all day, read comic books, and ate leftover mozzarella garlic bread for breakfast, because, as he put it, "Normal people make toast for breakfast, and this is like that but easier." On the tour of his apartment he couldn't explain why there were four bathrooms, one was just a shallow closet with a showerhead. Quirks like that usually tip me off that I'm asleep, but I ignored the surreal details. When I woke, I missed him so much my tummy hurt.

Why am I posting this? Because I don't want to forget. I've had two good dreams this year, the rest have been nightmares or hazy uninteresting crap. In the other dream I was trail-running on a perfect day, winding through a forest and by a river and over a stream, everything glowing in the presunset light. At the end of the path was a table full of pastries just for me. It was so wonderful I was inspired to use the treadmill at the gym. It didn't work out so well, with the burning lungs and all.

When I was a little kid I had dreams worth going to bed for. When I was 20 I had so many vicious nightmares that I was afraid to go to sleep, and sometimes put it off for a day or two. I've had some terrible nightmares this year that I wish I could forget. I cling to the memories of great days, and I do the same for my nights.

Suckahs!

2008-10-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

My father's decision to raise goats was met with general approval. "He needs a hobby," they said. "Staying active will do him good," they said. I know better. I know it's just a matter of time until the horror show unfolds and the FBI tries to hush it up, declaring it an act of terrorism or God or somesuch. When my daddy brought goats to the farm, he basically put out the welcome mat for chupacabras.

Don't believe me? Oh right, you just don't believe in chupcabras. You can afford to be dismissive, you're probably drinking a chai latte in an internet-café, making with the Facebook and texting your friends on the flipside. You can act all indifferent, the last time you were near a goat is when McDonald's was pimping the Mc-swine-brain-and-caprine-eyeball-Rib sandwich. Some of us basically live in a Denny's for urban legends, and we live our lives in fear.

My dad and I were standing over the latest bloodless corpse the other day, pondering the turning of the wheel of life while I found a poking-stick.
  "Dad? Can't you just get rid of the herd? Maybe raise pumpkins instead? No self-respecting chupacabra is going to attack a squash." (poke, poke)
  "It's too late for that. Now that there's an infestation, they'll move on to the next food source."
  "Oh shit, that's us, isn't it? My good turtleneck would get ripped to shreds, but I wouldn't be alive to care." (pokepokepokepoke)

So the problem remains, but not for lack of trying. I've tried trapping those goddamn suckers: I tied bait to a stick that propped up a box, labeled Chupacabras, Eat Here!! in black Sharpie. As it happens, that only works in cartoons, and I only got to try it once. The chupacabras ate my box. I tried exterminating: I climbed a tree in the pasture and waited with a gun. Yeah, even though it hurts real bad to shoot yourself in the leg (I'VE HEARD), surprisingly, pellet guns aren't as lethal as you'd think. I tried outsmarting them, but was prematurely thwarted: "Daddy! I have the best idea! The people can wear masks on the back of our heads, and the goats can wear masks on their asses! Just like the Indians do to prevent tiger attacks!" We did not agree on my idea's level of genius. I can't believe I wasted $40 worth of paper machie and tempra paint.

Now We Play the Waiting Game

2008-10-16T13:36:00.000-07:00

I woke up early this morning, the sky was cold and gray and foreboding. I took my time getting ready and even applied some make-up the right way. I left early to visit mom's grave, I imagined what she would say to me and how proud she would be. A patch of blue appeared.

I found what looked like little chalk marks all over my black pants. WTF? Some flicking and saliva did wonders, and I found a bathroom where I could check the seat for stupid white marks. I wore my friend's suit jacket like a hug. I almost looked grown up.

I had a brief meeting with my host, and had a chance to ask general questions about the college. She smiled a lot, and seemed sincere. She was a good person to start with.

I had exchanged emails with the next person I met, and hoped she didn't remember me. I had sent her a dozen questions about the minutiae of my application. I asked her many of the interviewees were accepted, and she danced around the answer. She informed me I had to write an essay, and led me to and adjunct professor's office. The man next door had a loud, lengthy phone conversation; I heard every word. After a while I started using the highlighters and colored-ink pens belonging to the adjunct prof. I felt only a little bad when I lost a cap.

For the essay I had to read an article about how poverty affects health, summarize the important points, state my reaction, agree or disagree with the authors, ask a question of the authors, describe an answer that would change my mind, and give an example of information that would solidify my initial reaction. WTF? I analyzed it well, and disagreed with the authors. They stated poverty causes poor health, and providing food security and housing stability through a community-based program would treat the root of it. I argued that JOBS are what get people out of poverty, and food banks and homeless shelters are short-term band-aids. My answer was inspired by F-bomb's crusade to employ the population we served. The analysis was good, but the actual wordage sucked. I sent an email asking for my notes to be considered as well.

The interview was about 20 minutes long, and I could have done better. I couldn't give examples of how I've shown leadership, and sometimes I forgot the question I was answering and had to cover. I asked my interviewer a lot of questions at the end, which usually earns points.

The college gave me a free meal, but all my stomach could handle was a smoothie, even though I really wanted pizza. I spent almost all of my lunch waiting in line. I got back just when the first campus tour left. I toured it last February, but the weather had improved and I wanted to enjoy it before my financial aid meeting. I had to wait for the next tour group, and sat next to a girl dressed just like me: black pants and jacket, blue shirt, briefcase. I struck up a conversation and confirmed she was there for the very same reason. A guy joined us a few minutes later. He was also dressed like us and there for a PT interview, but his shirt was red. I took it as a sign he would get rejected first.

The tour guide seemed awfully young, but she tried hard. I let off nervous energy by making random observations, but few appreciated my humor. I didn't care, nothing really mattered to me at that point.

My financial aid meeting was very short. I was informed of the sole scholarship I would be eligible for if I was accepted. I couldn't even get a Legacy Scholarship. I wished I could take the three semesters of free ride my sister-in-law had forsaken for work as a ~~glorified secretary~~ chiropractor's assistant. I tried to think of questions, but it's all moot until I know if I'm accepted.

Which I could know in three weeks.

It's gonna be a long three weeks.

I can has intervyoo?

2008-10-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

Thursday is the day that strangers will pass judgment on me, and it will affect the rest of my life. I lie awake for hours after going to bed, anticipating their questions and trying to come up with awesome replies. It hasn't been working out so well. I borrowed Bel Canto from the library, so if they ask about my hobbies I don't have to fess up to reading Brisingr, and I can say "I'm reading a great novel recommended on NPR about internationally-diverse hostages in South America who find common ground with music," rather than "My book has dragons and made-up words in it!" I am afraid I will pee my pants during the interrogation. And afterwards, I will be on tenterhooks until I find out if I'm accepted. Between this and my brother's chemo recovery, I will probably be drinking this week.

How to Write a Romance Novel, Part The End

2008-10-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

Your romance novel is nearly complete. Before you start shopping around for men to bare their chests and abs for the cover, you'll want to write an ending you can be proud of. Since the beginning we all suspected that the lead characters would find a happily ever after. At least, that's where the book ends. You'll want to stop writing the story BEFORE your leads get the herpes or are arrested for tax evasion. Your tale should end with a wedding or a proposal, and you have the option of adding an epilogue wherein the characters create some spawn. It's important to give your readers the standard white picket fence imprisoning two children in suburbia. The audience for this crap doesn't respond as well to the characters escaping corporate Americana to raise goats and sell homemade soaps or moving to Harlem to bring music and happiness to underprivileged children.

Example:"Oh Damian, I'm so happy your attempts at homosexuality failed miserably!"

"So am I, Angeline. I knew it was a sign that I'd think of you, even when making out with Rico. I just had to find my way back to you."

"I'm so happy your STI tests came back negative! We can be together forever now!"

Damian pulled a velvet box out of his blazer pocket and offered his love and a princess-cut diamond-encrusted ring to Angeline. "Does that mean you'll marry me?"

Angeline undid his pants with her teeth and grinned slyly, "Marrying you is just the beginning, baby!" With that, she proceeded to do things to her beloved that her mother would not approve of.

Epilogue

Damian and Angeline married in Hawaii before an intimate gathering of family and friends. Two years later, Angeline gave birth to twins. Damian never doubted the paternity of his children, because Nickolai was hit by a train during their honeymoon. No one missed him, not even a little.

How to Write a Romance Novel, Part IV

2008-10-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

If romance novel characters knew what was good for them, they'd stay in bed. They would just keep fucking each other until they didn't care if one used to be a child prostitute or a great big jerk. Once the sex is over, the real trouble begins. Just when the reader thinks the lead characters have found love, the author adds a twist to make you doubt the Happily Ever After.

It's a good idea to throw something into your novel that ties in with the original problem. If the man was afraid of fatherhood, create a pregnancy scare. If the woman had a broken heart, make her even more vulnerable. If the man was a scarred recluse, have a mob of villagers storm his castle with pitchforks and trebuchets and flaming cows.

Example: Damian walked into a bar to meet with his best friend, Jim Beam. His balls shriveled in horror when he spied Angeline and his brother Nickolai in an intimate booth. "Nicolai!" Damian shouted, suspicion and rage boiling to the surface.

"Damian!" Nickolai replied!

"Angeline!" Damian exclaimed!

"Damian!"

"Nickolai!"

"Angeline!"

"Nickolai?!"

"I knew it! I knew women couldn't be trusted! Women I love always leave me for Nickolai!"

"It's not like that! When you pushed me away, I had to find someone who knew about your past! I need to save you before we can be together!"

"Angeline didn't come here for me, Damian, she came here for information about you! Though I have been slipping her date-rape drugs!"

"You lie! You both lie! I hate you all! I'm never going near another woman!" With that, Damian ran off, crying like a little bitch.

You have to really convince the reader that this could be the end, or they'll notice the twenty pages remaining and the jig is totally up. So ramp up the suspense, already!

How to Write a Romance Novel, Part III

2008-10-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

Now that you've introduced your characters and kept them apart through weak plot devices, it's time for the climax. Not the part of the story where the reader knows who will win the conflict, because we all know how these works of tripe end. Rather, it's time for the mutual climax. Bow-chicka-bow-bow!

It's important to provide the appropriate setting for the sex. It should be relatively vanilla, so think luxurious four-poster bed rather than semi public pool table. Since you're writing a novel to blend in with the genre, the kinkiest situations will be no wilder than doing it doggy-style in a hot tub. Leave out handcuffs and blindfolds and don't even consider throwing a vibrator into the mix.

Watch your language. Your readers may be reading your book at least in part for the sex, but they don't want to be shocked with words like hard-on, cock, clitoris, fuck, and other terms that normal people use to describe boinking. I've read many books that completely avoid ass and substitute derriere or some weak shit like that. You're probably asking yourself who the Hell talks like that. Guess what? YOU will. It may be histrionic and insipid, but try to think of it as a writing exercise. Some assholes write books without using the letter E, you can work up to this level of grandiose frivolity by omitting penis from your sex scene.

The acts itself can be boiled down to five steps: passionate kiss, foreplay, she pants/begs "Now!", vaginal penetration, mutual orgasm. Throw in some adjectives and you're good to go.

Example: Angeline saw the lit candles and rose petals Damian had scattered about the room, and an excited tingling erupted in her nether region.

"I've wanted you for so long, and tonight you will be mine,"
Damian kissed her with such passion and tenderness she melted in his arms. He took advantage of Angeline's backless dress to run his warm hands up her spine, her skin tingled in his wake and she pressed her body against his arousal. He slowly and expertly unbuttoned her gown, peeled the crimson fabric away from her breasts, and brought his mouth to her peak. He laved her skin with his tongue and Angeline moaned with pleasure. His hands worked her over and soon she was wearing nothing but high-heeled shoes and a smile. He massaged her moist womanhood and to her delight explored the depths and folds with an artful intensity.

"Please, my darling, I need you now."

He slipped his tumescent manhood inside her, and she gloved him as if they were designed for one another. He meant to be gentle, but his desire magnified and his potent love-making soon took them over the edge and into each other's arms, together.

I wrote this piece of crap in roughly 90 seconds, which, coincidentally, was as long as Damian lasted. Zing! I just blended what I thought sex would be like when I was an eighth-grader with some suggestions from thesaurus.com. Trust me, there is some terrible writing out there, so nothing you create will be worse than what has already been published.

How to Write a Romance Novel, Part II

2008-10-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

At this point in the book there is no whoopie. This is the time to develop sexual tension, or something like that. You can't write that they immediately jump in the sack, this is what differentiates your book from erotica or pr0n. Your characters should be kept apart, so give them an obstacle like a long-standing family feud, a working relationship to uphold, a disfigurement that drives one to seclusion, or secrets from the past. These problems cannot be worked out through acting like rational adults or counseling or flipping a coin. Only marinating your characters in hot, id-based sexual attraction will smooth the way to a happy ending.

Your romance novel should have a sense of longing and unrequited affection from at least one of the characters. Often the emotionally stunted one is completely unaware of their true emotions. If you don't have enough material to bridge the gap between page one and the inevitable sex, just repeat yourself a lot.

Example: Damian's expression revealed his tormented soul, which only made Angeline love him more. "My past is too difficult to talk about. I should go."

"No Damian, your past is the weight on your shoulders no man should bear. Let me help you discard it." Angeline's spirit ached to make him whole.

"What's done is done. Rehashing the details won't undo this pain. All that matters now is that I will never let another woman hurt me again." Even as he spoke, Damian felt his heart slowly unfold to Angeline. She looked so vulnerable and unhappy, his skin burned at the idea of kissing the pout off her lips. In truth, he was more afraid of hurting her than himself. She needed a man who could commit, and he couldn't deceive her into believing he was that man. He closed his heart towards her, and generally acted like an angsty middle-schooler.

How to Write a Romance Novel, Part I

2008-10-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

When I have to read a lot of heavy, non-fiction material, I get the urge to rot my brain with vodka. Since I'm trying to cut back on that, I reach for a trashy book instead. These are terrible, terrible books. Just the plots, characters, and style are crappy. Of course, this leads to a numbing of the mind and eventual necrosis. Hooray!

I thought it was time to share my talents with the world on how to write one of these salacious tomes. Why? Because my credentials are impeccable. Not only have I not had a damn thing published, I haven't even written one. And what is worse than failure (besides a plague of locusts)? Right! Not even trying! To create a terrible book you need a terrible author, and I can't think of anyone worse than me.

I've noticed that romance novels follow a more predictable formula than a buddy-cop movie. First we meet our leading man and lady. They are attractive and one or both is independently wealthy. It's like a soap opera, the storyline is going to get bogged down if you focus on plausibility so only include careers if they have something to do with falling in love. One or both characters is emotionally fragile and has sworn to never love again. Then an obstacle keeps them from requited love, they have sex, a misunderstanding parts them, and they finally get married. If they were already married, you can make them renew their vows at the end. Same thing.

Example: Angeline surveyed the party, her eyes rested on the handsome figure across the candlelit room. She savored the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man. The tailored suit indicated sophistication while his alpha male posture cast an air of rugged machismo about him. Her champagne flute slipped through her fingers, for she was distracted by the thought of running her fingers through his thick black hair and fucking his brains out. Startled by the sound of breaking glass he turned to face her, and when his gunmetal gray eyes met her hazel green ones she realized she was staring at her elementary school sweetheart.

Damian's breath caught in his throat when he noticed Angeline. He had not seen her in twenty years, and he remembered the innocent joy of childhood love. The warm, soft emotions surprised him, for he had not felt his heart sing for seven years, not since his college girlfriend aborted her fetus and told him the father was none other than his nemesis and bastard brother Nickolai. His body urged him to gather the sultry form of this familiar stranger in his arms, to discover what time and puberty wrought, to pull her long auburn hair back and ravish her mouth, but his heart said "Nope."

As If You Even Care

2008-10-02T13:00:00.000-07:00

I had been thinking about doing a 100 Things (all the cool kids are doing it!) post for my 100th post, but then I lost track and didn't. So now it isn't special at all.

100 Points of Banal Minutiae

1. I went vegetarian when I was 15 and stayed that way for nine years.
2. Three years ago I added poultry and fish to my diet.
3. I'm that friend that gets real excited when a new Wes Anderson or Christopher Guest movie comes to theaters.
4. The family dog of my childhood was a golden retriever, and I would dearly love to have one of my own.
5. My job as a social worker for the mentally ill made me doubt the existence of God.
6. I had a speech impediment as a kid.
7. So I had to have speech therapy and a surgery to fix it.
8. Since the surgery, I have been terrified of needles.
9. Also, I came to hate the sound of my own voice.
10. I really hate how I sing.
11. Though my mom said that as a kid I had a British accent when I sang, so that was probably entertaining.
12. I have an unnatural affinity for glitter, Taco Bell, and martial arts movies.
13. The smell of dry rot makes me feel all nostalgic.
14. I don't really understand hockey, but I like watching it.
15. When I'm really bored, I make up ice cream flavors and new state mottoes.
16. I have many fears.
17. I've been birding since middle school.
18. I won the award for Best Art Student when I graduated from middle school.
19. I was the best Spanish student my high school ever had (my sister was the best German student). Though maybe someone has outdone me since I graduated.
20. I wish I hadn't forgotten so much of it.
21. I plan to relearn it when I'm not taking career-related classes.
22. I also want to relearn how to play the piano.
23. I am a certified SCUBA diver.
25. I have a first degree black belt in taekwondo.
26. I can't whistle.
27. I have threatened to keel-haul my husband on many occasions. Someday he'll learn I'm not bluffing.
28. I have yet to make a real Internet friend, but I'd like to.
29. I have saved all the letters I've received since I was itty-bitty.
30. I have difficulty discarding magazines in general.
31. I REALLY cannot get rid of a National Geographic. I've lost a couple, but I've been keeping them since 1990.
32. I am drawn to images of lone trees, including the Connecticut quarter and Days of the New album covers.
33. I totally dig black and white photography.
34. I like to cook, I love to bake.
35. I prefer baths to showers.
36. I refuse to carry a purse except for formal occasions.
37. I've been suicidal twice.
38. I have problems navigating through doors. I push when I should pull, or push on the wrong side of the door, or hit my shoulder on the way through.
39. I also have problems opening locks. So picking the lock on my car was a major moment for me.
40. Many people misread my mom's facial expressions (including me), and many people misread mine (including my mom).
41. I love road trips SO MUCH.
42. Early morning is my favorite time of day, but I often sleep through it.
43. I routinely got four hours of sleep a night in college.
44. Now my body demands I get nine.
45. The first three years of college were the most fun of my life.
46. It was the #1 party school in 2002, but I rarely partied.
47. The older I get, the less I like chocolate and U2.
48. I have visited 4 foreign countries and 34 states. And Graceland.
49. On my dad's side, I'm the last of 40 grandchildren.
50. On my mom's side, I'm the last of 16 grandchildren.
51. My siblings and I are the fifth generation to live on the family farm.
52. I can't pick a favorite ice cream flavor, it'd almost be like picking a favorite sibling. I love them each in their own way.
53. I grew up wanting to be a marine biologist specializing in sharks. I kept that dream alive for eight years, then got to high school and college and changed my mind a brizillion times. I've almost narrowed it down!
54. At least since 2004, my personal Christmas seasons have sucked salty balls. I'm really starting to dread December.
55. Canoeing is my favorite activity, but I usually turn to reading, a much more portable hobby.
56. I prefer to be barefoot.
57. I'm a pushover for tiramisu.
58. I entered kindergarten wearing an arm sling, and I graduated high school wearing a back brace.
59. I am not afraid of spiders.
60. The older I get, the more I like cream cheese, Peanuts, and PBS.
61. I only wear make-up a couple times a year, and that's usually only some lip gloss. If it's more than that, someone else has to put it on me 'cause I just don't know how.
62. My favorite book is Where the Wild Things Are.
63. I'm an INFP.
64. I was born on Earth Day in 1981.
65. That means I'm a Taurus born in the year of the Rooster. So I was born a bull cock.
66. I have had too many jobs to list them all on my resume.
67. My favorite tree is the river birch, my favorite flower is the daffodil, my favorite color is blue.
68. Sometimes I do things that are out of character just to see what it feels like. Sometimes I do them to shock my husband.
69. I usually have more than one best friend, but only one has been on the short list for over nine years. That's the longest I've ever had one!
70. I wish I didn't have to wait so long to find out if I did the right thing.
71. I think I would be an alcoholic if I didn't fight the temptation.
72. I have a thing for baked egg dishes (you know, like frittatas, quiches, and flans).
73. I am sort of embarrassed about how much I'm enjoying Kresley Cole's Immortals After Dark series.
74. I love camping and backpacking. I'm not embarrassed about that at all.
75. My favorite smell is a man's jacket infused with smoke from a campfire.
76. My second favorite smell is baking brownies.
77. No one knows all of my secrets.
78. I hate shopping. Sometimes I cry when I try on pants and have to look in a mirror. Then I have to part with my money, and that's not cool.
79. I can hold a grudge like it's my job.
80. I love pumpkins! They are so huggable and happy!
81. I lose my hair when I'm under a lot of stress.
82. Sometimes I do things just because it scares me to do them, and I like that rush.
83. I feel loneliest in a crowd or at a party.
84. I am very grateful for the friends I have.
85. I can sing Frère Jacques in four languages: English, French, German, and Dari.
86. I have a pet rock named Lucky from when I broke my back. The nurses found him on the long spine board when I got scanned.
87. I yell at Jeopardy! contestants when I know the question and they don't.
88. The key to my heart is cereal-based goodies: Rice Krispies Treats, Indoor S'mores, and Special K Chewies just rock my world.
89. When I was a kindergartner, I decided that since the biblical creation story didn't include dinosaurs, it was a make-believe story.
90. I miss my mom every day.
91. I really like hugging people.
92. I considered becoming Buddhist in high school.
93. My AP Lit teacher tried to convince me to major in English or Creative Writing. I used to be a decent writer, but I lost my skillz somewhere in college. Gosh, I'm so glad I majored in something as useful as Psychology.
94. Saying I'm not exactly fashionable is an understatement.
95. The first time I voted for President (2000) I cast my ballot for Ralph Nader.
96. I want a hobby farm.
97. I can't stand loud noises. Mom reported this aversion goes back to my time in the womb. I take ear plugs to the movie theater, fireworks displays, and the like.
98. I haven't had a professional haircut in eighteen years.
99. I worry too much.
100. If I win the lottery, you won't see me for a while. I'll be traveling.

Stranger in a Strange Land

2008-09-25T14:16:00.000-07:00

I'm doing better.

Last night Velocibadgergirl and I were accosted at the mall* by two young lads selling cosmetics from a kiosk. They were dressed all in black and did their best to sound Italian or something. We don't wear make-up, so we politely kept walking. The amazing part is when I didn't yell "Can't you see I'm OK with being unpretty? What about my face makes you think I'd be at all interested in buying overpriced crap from two metrosexual posers with fake accents?!?"

See? I'm improving my social skills!

*Icky!

No News is Stupid

2008-09-18T16:59:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I happened* to notice that the first interviews at The University will be in two weeks. The last I heard my application passed the first of three reviews, and that was the first of the month. Surely, I thought, I will hear something today.

I was RIGHT.

As I drove my brother to the doctor's office my phone started buzzing, and I didn't recognize the number. "Hello?" I answered, witty as usual.
"Hi, this is Susan with The University."
"Hi! Hi? How are you?"
"Fine, and you?"
Paaaauuuuuuusssssse. "Oh, I'm OK. Hi!" I totally sounded like a tool. My brother agrees.
"I'm calling..."
You're calling to set up my interview! I know it! This is going to be a day I eternally remember as a pivotal event of my adulthood! JOY! Oh damn, I'm drooling because my heart is in my throat with excitement! YES! I'm winning at life! I thought.
"...because your SAT scores weren't included on your high school transcript. We're going to need that before your application's third review."
Wait, what? You are supposed to be scheduling my interview. You are supposed to be making my life better! Why are you not doing your job? You are fired at talking to me! And I am mentally shaking my fist in rage at you! Take that! "Thanks for telling me. I'll contact my high school and straighten this up today or tomorrow."
"Great, bye."
"Nice talking with you, Susan."

The salt in the wound is that I specifically asked about having my SAT scores included when I requested that transcript. And then? I called my high school? And they had closed twenty minutes before Susan called. Just thinking about it gets my rage fist all shaky.

*Actually, I have been counting the days like I have obsessive-compulsive disorder real bad.

Sweet Home

2008-09-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

I have been a home-owner (or HOMO-ner, as brother 2 puts it) for a couple of weeks now, and the house is beginning to reveal its secrets. OK, maybe not so much "revealed" as pried out. MacGyver has the demolition of the bathroom well under way. He's done such a good job that you probably wouldn't think that it was ever a bathroom.

The first secret he discovered is the bathroom is nine years younger than the house, evidenced by the dates scrawled onto a board in the wall he tore out. Another wall came down, and he found 13 inches of dead space. An inspection of what remained revealed that the windows in the mud room are load-bearing. My favorite bit is when he found an 8'x8'x14' cistern under the floor, half full of water. He's going to install a pump and we can water the FutureGarden with it.

Also? There's a railroad spike under the basement stairs holding them level, there's a screw jack where some foundation should be, the stove hits three junction boxes before it meets the breaker box, there's asbestos tile under two layers of linoleum in the kitchen, and some of the walls had thousands of mouse bones inside. Lovely!

With luck, we will move in before November, when our five bedroom house has a toilet.

Taking 10 Deep Breaths

2008-09-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

It is easy to be nice when life is going well, when you aren't in pain, scared, and frustrated. It is easy to be kind to someone who appreciates you, who is pleasant and agreeable.

A person's character is revealed when the situation is tough.

I'm trying really, really hard to have good character.

Exclamatory Fragments

2008-08-30T11:40:00.000-07:00

Nom!

OMFG, these are so good. I thought the original was delectable, but now they've added spices! Takes it to a whole 'nother level.

Squee!

Less than a month till Burn After Reading premieres! I've been waiting all summer for this, and it's just a couple weeks till I can bask in the Double Coen-y goodness.

Owned!

A couple weeks ago I had lost all hope, but we finally closed on a house yesterday morning. It's a two-story white farmhouse in a quainter section of the county, and I'll have my very own stump!

Awesome, isn't it? It's taller than I am and it has all this cool fungus growing on it. The only bad part is MacGyver wants to remove it. Sigh. Maybe I can shellac it and put in on display in my very own house.

Come and Get It or I'll Throw It Out

2008-08-18T13:52:00.000-07:00

Due to circumstances involving cancer and pregnancy, MacGyver and I have moved into my dad's house. In a few weeks, we will move into our own house, unless I just jinxed the closing by believing everything will be fine and go as planned. Fuck. Our FutureHouse has about 174 things wrong with it, but only a few that truly make it uninhabitable, like a gas leak and a loose toilet and an unusable bath. Besides the important stuff, it also needs new electric and plumbing and some foundation work and non-ass-sucky replacement kitchen cabinets and a new furnace before it breaks. Moving into my dad's is sort of practice for living in a house that's older than Utah. He has let a few things go unfixed, to put it nicely. He doesn't cook, so he doesn't care about the kitchen unless it's burning down. Really, he probably doesn't care at all because I can't find a fire extinguisher and he can't hear high-pitched noises like smoke alarms anymore. The oven fan is broken and makes a loud buzzing sound at random intervals, so his solution is to turn it off at the breaker. Also, I can't remember when all the burners worked, but we're down to two now. One of the reasons I'm living there is to provide dinner for him and my brother while he's recuperating. Can you see the problem here? That problem would be cooking with half a stove and an oven that drives me guano crazy. It's only been a week of cooking dinners, but already I'm nominating my mother for sainthood. For forty years she made dinner for eight people and served it at six o'clock sharp. I'm cooking for four people that want to eat things I don't deem healthful for a cancer patient and they plain refuse to eat certain foods and I'm awesome if I can get dinner on the table at seven o'clock two nights in a row, plus I'm doing all the clean-up and most of the grocery shopping. HOW DID MY MOTHER DO THIS? How did she manage dinnertime by not drowning the pickier eaters, not ordering pizza more than once a month, and not threatening us with steak knives and the Cuisinart to eat our vegetables? It's comforting to use her pots and pans, to use her knives that my hands have known since elementary school, to look out her window when I'm washing dishes and imagine she felt this way once when she was my age. Oh mom, it's so easy to find more reasons to miss you.

Waiting x 6

2008-08-14T11:44:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting to find out if I get an interview for grad school.
Waiting for the doctor to schedule my brother's chemotherapy.
Waiting for fall classes to begin.
Waiting for negotiations to end so we can close on the house.
Waiting for my library books to arrive.
Waiting for Pfizer to invent an instant-Zen pill so I can chill.

Anyone want to work a puzzle with me? It looks like I've got some time to kill.

What?

2008-08-11T15:00:00.000-07:00

Some Chick: "I can't believe how immature people are in your town!"
Me: Disturbed from my reading by a complete stranger, I stare at her in confusion
SC: "It's like, I was at this light, and like, the person in front of kept talking on his phone when the light turned and blah blah blah!! I couldn't believe it!"
Me: "Yeah, they teach us that in Driver's Ed here."
SC: Laughs like she thinks I was being funny.

My Kind of Blessing

2008-08-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

I have four older brothers, and they have influenced me a lot over the years. For example, when I was a wee tot, my mom would dish food onto my plate to cool while the family said grace. One night, I examined the food on my plate and interrupted the prayer with "I HATE THIS SHIT! I HATE THIS SHIT! I HATE THIS SHIT!" Now where would a toddler learn that?

Also, my sister turned Baby Bunny into Ellen Ripley from Aliens 3. Check it:

Face-to-Face with Adulthood

2008-08-03T10:36:00.000-07:00

On August first, my life went all grown-up on me. My application reached the office of admissions for the physical therapy program I'm dying to enter and MacGyver made an offer on a house: two tiny events that could change our lives forever. By this time next year I'll probably be fully moved in (somewhere) and I could be finishing my first semester of grad school. Just thinking about it makes me light-headed and slightly sick to me stomach. I dislike the commitment of large furniture and I'm facing a thirty year mortgage.

And then? Yesterday we were with MacGyver's extended family and interacted with kids a lot. He mentioned that he thought one niece looked a little bit like me, and when I protested he barely heard me over the ticking of his biological clock.

Jeebus help me.

For Your Viewing Pleasure

2008-07-29T08:47:00.000-07:00

I have spent July studying for finals, worrying about my brother, and preparing my grad school application. Last week I took some time to enjoy the fair with my sister and her kids.

Mercury polishes his bouldering skills on a tractor. I was so proud, he actually didn't care that he got dirty.

Dolly, more mountain goat than monkey, amazes her audience on the climbing wall. Could this be the beginning of her professional rock-climbing career?

Blaze tackles an obstacle closer to his size. He tried so hard to follow his brother, but his arms just weren't long enough. He'll have to settle with being one of the world's cutest children.

Not to be outdone, Baby Bunny conquers the lawn mower.

Gauntlet

2008-07-18T09:08:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night I took a final exam, grabbed some cards and ate a slab of cheesecake, then rode to Indianapolis. I got about three hours of sleep and then a large chunk of my family took my brother to the medical center. We were there for 15 hours. His surgery took twice as long as they thought it would, in fact, they weren't able to start tumor removal until four hours after the initial incision. A nurse came through the waiting room every 90 minutes to update families on their loved one's condition. I tried to study for my next final, but gave up after a few hours and bought a terrible $5 novel from the gift shop to pass the time. The gift shop sold maybe 50 different books, half were Insipid Christian Inspirational and a third were Crappy Romances. The rest were Pieces of Shit that made Midnight Warrior seem like a jewel in a dung heap. That's bad. Anyway, after a seemingly interminable wait we finally got to see him in the ICU. He had about five tubes coming out of him and was retaining water. I was enormously relieved to see him conscious and talking, but I didn't know quite what to say so I showed him cards and made fun of him. We drove home that night, and I got a few hours of sleep. I job shadowed at a hospital and took my final right afterwards, all while the worst headache I've had in a year ate my brain.

He'll be at the medical center for at least a week. His treatment is still being decided. If it's one type of cancer he'll get chemo. If it's the other the doctors will cross their fingers and throw pennies in a wishing well. The only thing for certain is he'll never have full use of his right leg again. If he's lucky he'll be able to use a cane in a year instead of crutches.

Right now I would settle for him being cancer-free and alive.

No No No No NO!

2008-07-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

Nearly everyone has to experience the death of a parent. I watched my mother's body waste away over the course of months. I watched her take her last breath. I watched the casket lid close over her empty vessel. For years I knew I would outlive her. It is still painful, but I can accept that this is how it has to be.

My brother has been in pain for a year, he was misdiagnosed with herniated disks and received treatments that would not assuage the agony, that would not save his life. A year ago he carried 220 pounds on his handsome six-foot frame with barely a scrap of fat on him, and over thirty pounds has slipped away. In high school he held the bench-press record for non-football players, and even more impressively he was the fastest soccer player in the whole city. A year ago he could still pick me up over his head as if I weighed nothing.

Now we know he has bone cancer. An insidious disease is wrecking his very foundation. I can't accept this.

Of my five siblings, I shared the most active relationship with him. We climbed trees, skated on the pond, hiked in the woods, caught crawdads in the creek, biked through the stripper pits, rollerbladed through downtown, played flashlight tag on the farm. He made life an adventure. No one knows what long-term effects the treatments could have on his body. No one knows if there will even be a long-term. I can't accept this.

There aren't many people I love as much as I love him. Part of me died with my mother. I can't face losing him or any more of me. I can't.

This Isn't Supposed to Happen

2008-07-08T10:52:00.000-07:00

My brother has bone cancer. That is not cool.

Fuck It to Hell

2008-07-03T17:42:00.001-07:00

It occurs to me, after this fucktastic day, that law enforcers are the biggest hypocrites of any profession. One could argue that priests fondling children sure are high on the list, or physicians that self-medicate and smoke or what-have-you. But lawmen, it's the blind clusterfucking the blind. I can't fathom that there is one single cop that has never broken the law. Technically I could fathom a life-long coma victim being deputized, but that's beside the point.

Hope

2008-06-29T09:24:00.001-07:00