whatever...

Why do we post pictures of ourselves being silly with a person we love? Is it to prove to other people that someone loves us? See! See! Someone smiles with me!

Or is it to prove it to ourselves? I think the latter.

Too anxiety ridden to write anything much. A situation that is not that big of a deal has us anxious. The Mister and i are not good with any sort of uncertainty. Kind of removes the possibility of relocating to the jungle.

A Stand Off witnessed this morning:

An immature bald eagle landed on our dock. As i looked out the window, i noticed it was hopping around on our dock rather oddly. Then i noticed that there were about thirty coots huddled under the dock, seeking shelter from the bird of prey. The bird would stay in one place for a while, and the coots, being silly birds, would forget that they were the hunted, and would start to ooze out from under the dock. Then the eagle would hop over to where they were oozing, and they would contract back under the dock, practically flying over the water.

I watched this stand off for about 10 minutes, then we had to go. I wonder whether the result was hunger for the eagle, or death for a coot.

Footloss

My right foot hurts, so I went to visit a podiatrist. I made the mistake of wearing a new pair of black cotton socks that day, so when he asked to see my feet, they were covered in black sock fuzz that looked like mildew. Nice.

After i scraped off the black fuzz, he told me that I have what is called a Z -shaped foot, and because of this I have developed arthritis between my metatarsal bones.

The first line of attack is arch support. Way to make me feel decrepit. Now I am wearing the kind of shoes normally reserved for ancient waitresses named Flo who call you 'honey.'

I have small breasts, so they are staying up. I have big feet, so they are sagging. I can't see my butt without making an effort (an effort I have no desire to make) so I can't speak for it, butt I have my suspicions as to which direction it's heading.

By this logic my nose should be safe.


(The above is an example of self-deprecating body humor for which female bloggers are well known. It's not clever, but it is fun.)

family as shield

Last week a woman invited me to have lunch with her.

Sounds good right?

The problem is that i don't really like her. In fact, i find her smug and boring, with heavy emphasis on the boring.

I wasn't quick enough or mean enough to say, "How about never. Is never good for you?" This woman does not have the social skills to pick up on body language or she would know i don't really care for her.

I feel that everything she says is done as a way to impress me. Examples:

-On my geology class field trip the other day...
-I used to manage a lot of people at...
-I was in my studio working on my scuplture...
-My grandson will be graduating from the University of W-- when he's barely 19.
-When my last piece was commisioned...
-I designed the data base for...
-I know alot about the economy because...

She is about 70, and has been divorced for over 10 years, and while i think it's great that she has so many interests, they don't interest me.

At one point i found myself saying something like, "Oh, i just tell my husband when my car needs washing and he does it for me." All that statement needed to make it perfect was a simpering giggle.

And while i might wish it were, it isn't even true! I have to wash my own damned car. I had to laugh at myself when i realized on the way home that what i had done is play the 'stupid female card' in hopes that she would find me impossibly dull and never invite me anywhere again.

I also blamed having my daughter home this weekend as an excuse for not going to the movies with her.

trip report

For those of you following along at home, i am back home after my big adventure in Ohio and Tennessee.

Em and i went to see Coraline (good) and He's Just Not That Into You (I'm sick of movies that portray all women as desperate to get married without regard to the suitability of the man. Gag!) and then she made me watch High School Musical 3 in the hotel room.

Dreadful movie. I read a book while she watched.

We ate good food, drank some champagne and had a good time.

I only got to meet one of her friends, so i didn't get the chance to use my advanced interrogation skills on the future ex-boyfriend. Damn! In fact, the future ex might already be the never ex. You gotta move fast on these things or you'll miss your chance to intimidate.

Monday i flew off to to meet with Ms. Chica. The weather was cold and beautiful. We spent most of the day on Tuesday hiking along the Cumberland Trail. The scenery is so different from here that i was fascinated. Deciduous forests, delicate streams, elaborate rock formations, good company, icicles, turkey sandwiches that i didn't have to make, moss theft. It was all good.



Here i am preparing to ride my broomstick across this bridge.

Intelligent discourse

This is more in the nature of a diary entry than a thoughtful blog post. Fair warning.

I'm all excited as i leave at o'fuck thirty tomorrow morning to wing my way to Ohio to visit my offspring.

"Oh," she says, "Come visit me. I miss you. I want you to meet my friends"

Translation: Come spoil me rotten for a weekend mommy.

Okay, i can't resist THAT! Tell me you could.

There's also a person she likes. Maybe even likes likes. I have prepared a list of questions for this person. I hope s/he doesn't mind.

-so, what does your mother do?
-so, how do you feel about pre-marital sex?
-so, what are your political views?
-so, do you understand that i will kill you if you hurt my daughter?
-so, do you know how to don a condom?
-so, how did you vote in the last election.

(just kidding baby.... mostly.)

And then, and THEN (!) i'm going off for a few days to visit one of my blomies. (Say it out loud, it's obscene.) We hope to go hiking together.

I'll be in touch as i have my precious with me. (laptop)

In which i swear freely

We have just put our house up for sale. Don't we have AWESOME timing?

I fucking hate living in a for sale house. We have to keep it neat, which is totally hard for us because The Mister is a a slob, and i'm lazy. At least my hideously messy daughter is away at college, although she has a roomful of crap that will need to be dealt with.

Some cranky letters to make me feel better:

************
Dear Makers of Aveeno Oatmeal Lotion,

I love your lotion, but i hate that the suction pump straw thing is an inch and a half above the bottom of the container. I feel like it's a plot to get me to buy more of your lotion.

Not going to work as i am stubborn AND cheap, plus i recycle the bottle, after i eke every last bit of lotion out of it.

So there,

-a not to be manipulated consumer

************
Dear Mom who brought her baby to the National Geographic Lecture last week,

Judging from the auditory evidence, your baby didn't appreciate the lecture. And thanks to your inconsiderateness in bringing a baby to such an event, neither did the other 200 people who could hear him crying.

But hey, as long as YOU got to attend, fuck the rest of us.

Just so you know, i don't blame the baby. I blame you.

-One of 20 or so people who gave you the stink eye.

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

Dear Ace Hardware,

I bought a wedge style doorstop from you today. On the back of the package was this;

INSTALLATION INSTRUCTIONS:
1. Insert by wedging under bottom of door.

Thanks for that, i had no idea.

-Low IQ Consumer

For the love of yeast byproduct

This is a post that one of you sent me and asked me to post anonymously. I didn't publish it right away because i can't decide quite how i feel about it. It makes me sad, and it also pisses me off and makes me want to tell the writer, "For god's sake, grow a pair!" I hope seeing in in print will help, but i'm doubtful. Courage.


Things given up for alcohol:

Sex. Too drunk. We have chosen alcohol over each other.

Reading. I can't focus on the words, they swim before my eyes. I used to love to read.

Sleep. I fall asleep hard, and then wake up after a few hours wanting water and aspirin. Am awake for hours until I fall into an uneasy sleep just before it is time to get up and make breakfast.

Time with my children. I view them as a hinderance to what I really want to be doing.

Patience. I am crabby and annoyed by everything. I'm a mean drunk.

My word. Every morning I promise that last night was it, I am quitting. That night I buy more wine.

A neat scotch story

Two of my favorite people in the world are married to each other. (It's nice when that happens, because it's not always the case.)

I'll call them Mike and Susan. We've known Mike for 27 years, and he had the good sense to meet and fall in love with Susan about 5 years after we met Mike.

They each told me this story separately, which i found charming. It meant they were both pleased with the outcome.

Mike likes scotch, neat, preferably single malt. He has settled on a favorite one over the years, i forget the name of it. We'll say it's Bowmore.

Susan, in conversation with him about his favorite scotch, asked him why he had settled on just one, when there are so many different kinds of scotch in the world for him to try. Didn't he want to try some new ones?

He replied that there are many women in the world too, and he had settled on just one without trying them all.

That night, when Mike came home from work, there was a brand new bottle of Bowmore waiting for him.

Do cats mourn?

Is it better to live a free, but dangerous life? Or to be unhappy, yet safe?

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

The Mister found part of Grey Cat in our yard this morning. Coyotes i suppose, although i have only seen one here in 10 years.

We got Grey Cat and Brown Cat (they are brothers) from a cat rescue place. They were almost two years old, and had been indoor/outdoor cats with their previous owners.

So i let them continue to be indoor/outdoor cats, believing that they would be miserable if confined. The few times i have had to keep one or the other inside, they have been vocal about their displeasure and then become destructive.

I try to keep them in at night, but being cats, sometimes they are not to be found.

Brown Cat woke me up this morning at 4 am. He hasn't done that in a long time. He must have heard something. He has been uneasy and skitterish all day, asking to go out, asking to come in, asking to visit the basement, wanting out on the balcony to peer over the yard. He never asked to be fed tonight either, when usually he comes and sits his whole 15 pound self on my chest at 4:30, trying to look skinny.

So i am sad. I just don't know what i would have done differently.

Feel free to comfort or chastise me. Both are appropriate.

At face value

Here' s one place where we trip each other up. We read more into what is said than is there. Or actually, we try to guess what each other really meant, beyond the spoken words, and in that, lies madness.

A trivial example:

"Did the cats get fed?" does not mean, "I want you to feed the cats." If i wanted you to feed the cats, i would say, "Will you please feed the cats?"

I have watched my parents perform this dance for years. Because when my mother says, "Did the cats get fed?" what she means is, "Why haven't you fed the cats?!?!"

(Or my all time personal favorite, "You're not wearing those socks are you?" Translation; "Go change out of those hideous socks you hapless boob, they make me look bad because i am with someone who would wear those socks. Do i have to do everything for you? God! Where would you be without me to run your life?")

It's a delicate art, this translation we do inside our heads. The excuse for it is that we are trying to be helpful by anticipating the needs of others. The result of it is that signals get crossed and the cats may get fed twice. Which suits them just fine, but leads to fat cats and running out of cat food.

Of course more serious problems than obese cats can happen because of this inner 'what is he/she really saying' translation gene.

The point is, to retrain myself to answer the question. For example, "I do not know if the cats have been fed," rather than, "Would you like me to feed them?" or, "I'll do it in a minute, Geez!"

Less confusion all around.

Sucker

A Seattle joke:

Q: What do you call the first sunny day in Seattle following two days of rain?

A: Monday.

Heh. So today, for the first time in a while, is sunny. Happy Monday.


What does this day find me doing?

I am carrying around a small black mouse in a hand towel. (The towel is because the bathroom habits of mice are abominable.)

Why am i carrying around a stinky mouse that i don't want and that i inherited when Em went off to college?

Because i caused her little mousy friend to be killed, and i refuse to buy her another mousy friend.

So i'm worried she might be lonely.

GAH!

Landfill

Something pretty to look at, because the subject is ugly.

The Mister and i braved the wilds of our basement this past weekend and threw away a ton of stuff.

No, I mean we literally threw away a TON of stuff. Okay, i exaggerate a tiny bit, we threw away 1,890 lbs of stuff. Plus 8 boxes of books were sold (we made almost $60!) a huge pile of mixed paper was recycled, the Goodwill received 12 boxes of yet more stuff, and even the three dead rats we found were put into the yard waste.

We received some upsetting news on Friday night and by Saturday night we were feeling rather pleased with ourselves and better able to deal with the news. Such, at least for me, is the power of organizing.

At the same time, i feel ashamed for all that junk that now resides in a landfill.

Before i buy anything ever again, i vow to ask myself, "Do i really want/need this. Remember that almost everything i buy i will end up throwing away, someday."

When i walk into a Walmart (which admittedly is not often) or a similar 'big box retailer,' my first thought is "landfill."

Although after our performance this weekend, i have no right to point fingers.

A Cheap Shot

Okay, no one else has gone there, that i've read, and it's such low hanging fruit for making fun of that i can no longer resist.

Did you all hear about PETA's (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) campaign to get fish re-positioned as "Sea Kittens" to get us all to stop eating them?

I am not making this up.

Who knew that fish were just cuddly little love pets with bad PR?

Okay, seriously, i respect vegetarians, and i understand why they don't eat meat. And that's cool. But this is just a really stupid idea. Can you imagine the meeting where they thought this up?

Gloomy Earnest Person in Charge: "We need a do-over on the anti-fin food lobby."

Earnest Person #1: "Oh, hey, let's try calling fish 'Ocean babies,' no one wants to eat babies!!"

Earnest Person #2: "Yeah, that's a great idea!"

Earnest Person #3: "I know i know! let's call them 'Ocean dogs.' That'll work!

Earnest Person #1: " How about 'Scaly Puppies.'"

Earnest Person #2: "That's good, really good"

Earnest Person #4: "Fluffy Sea Bunnies!"

Earnest Person #2: "No, no, "Sea Fairies."

Earnest Person #5: "Ocean Pandas!"

Earnest Person #3: "Sea Kittens!"

...stunned silence....

Gloomy Earnest Person in charge: "That's brilliant Earnest Person #4! Just fuckin' brilliant! Sea Kittens. It's so simple, so elegant. I'm convinced. Let the campaign begin."

Tonight The Mister and i are going out for raw Sea Kitten on rice with just a hint of wasabi.

Assvice

What is it about me people that makes me them so love to give advice but so stubborn about taking it?

Although, having thought about it a bit further, i only hate taking advice from some people, who just happen to be the people who love to give advice.

I found myself in a situation where i was rejecting, without thinking first, everything she was telling me.

Why?

That's a complicated question.

Because i'm stubborn and i want to be the one with the answers? A little bit.
Because she always gives advice, even when i'm not asking for it and i resent that, i have managed to take care of myself for several decades thank-you-very-much? Yes, that's part of it too.
Because she sounds pompous and bossy and reminds me of my not-best-me? Ouch! Yes.
Am i prepared for the smugness that will ensue if i do take her advice? Or should i continue to reject everything without consideration? Maybe. And no.

So what did i do?

I sat back and decided that she might actually have something to say that i could use. So i asked for it. Advice.

And then i listened.

I might even follow it too.

And i might not.

Letters

Dear United Airlines,

You are zero for two on transporting Em's bags for Christmas trip. You must be so proud.

She liked the toothbrush though,

-Em's Mom

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

Dear Rain,

You can stop now. The dock is under a foot of water and i've got moss growing between my.....oh never mind.

kthxbai,

-meno moss

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

Dear husband,

Do you really need to keep your textbooks from 30 years ago? I think they might be obsolete, plus you haven't unpacked them in 15 years.

I'm renting a truck to go to the dump this weekend. Be there.

-Your lively and attractive wife

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

Dear cats,

For fuck's sake! How many times do i have to kick you off the bed each night before you understand you are not wanted??

You act like you have a brain the size of a walnut. Sheesh!

-She who wields the can opener

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

Dear Offspring,

Ummm, you left all the wrapping for your new toys at the bottom of the stairs. When i saw it, i thought and thought about you.

I guess this helps me miss you a little less, so thanks.

Be good, and really, don't worry about your mouse, i've asked Grey Cat to take care of her in your absence.

-mommy

Social Conditioning

I've struggled for years with how to reply when Em says "I'm sorry" when she is neither responsible nor sorry.

It's a sort of cringing behavior that infuriates me. What is it about someone cringing that makes me want to hit them?

These are the responses i have tried;
- I'm sorry too.
-You should be.
-stop apologizing, it's not your fault.
-thank you for your concern.
-etc....

The trouble with these is that they all came out sounding either sarcastic, annoyed, or both. (Probably because i was annoyed.)

It is Em herself who gave me the answer.

She told us about a study she learned about that says women apologize far more often than men. Apparently it's some cultural conditioning thing. Nothing gets to Em more than having to consider herself a result of cultural conditioning.

So my new response to an inappropriate "I'm sorry," is "Don't be such a female!"

We'll see if it works.

This post was inspired by a discussion between Maggie and Egan.

A rude shock

As mentioned previously on The Fascinating Life of Meno, friend Kim, The Mister and i went to see a live taping of Says You on New Year's Eve.

The pertinent facts for those of you who have lives, is that this is a public radio quiz type show involving word play.

It was great, lots of silliness and fun with vocabulary. I enjoyed it a lot, as i did the dinner immediately preceding the show. (There was champagne, so yeah, good stuff.)

But the audience was a bunch of pudgy middle-aged white people with stringy grey hair, wearing micro fleece, gortex, natural fibers and Birkenstocks, and sporting unfortunate jewelery choices. In other words, the quintessential public radio audience.

Yes, he has another one just like it, on the other side. We checked.

The worst part? WE FIT RIGHT IN.

I hadn't seen a whole herd of us together like that before. It's a sad sight. I kept thinking, "For god's sake at least get a decent haircut!"

I came home and made an appointment to have my hair highlighted. I look fabulous by the way.

I've known you a long time

The trouble with family is memory.

This is the brother who belittled me, 40 years ago.
This is the brother who bullied me, 30 years ago.
This is the sister-in-law who accused me, 25 years ago.
This is the me, who made a snide remark and hurt someone, 15 years ago.
This is the sister who made a threat, 10 years ago.
This is the niece who went through a morose period, 5 years ago.
This is the nephew, who harassed my child, 3 years ago.

It's easier to note changes in the kids, their bodies remind me that they are growing and changing. But my brothers and sisters are changing too. I know this, because i am too. More slowly than the kids, but changing nonetheless.

We remain wary, our long memories of past transgressions, large and small, fogging the lens through which we experience one another, in a way that never happens on the blanker slate that is a newer acquaintance. Just the echo of that past can send me back to that time, looking at the bully or the belittler, even though they no longer exist. Just a whisper of that cutting tongue can have them seeing that hurtful bitch who is no longer really me.

So carefully we must act, in order to avoid these echoes and whispers.

There needs to be an expiration date on certain memories, a way to delete them permanently.

The trouble with family is memory.

Marginally Amusing Poop

It's funny how when i am away from you, my friends, i spend time trying to remember things i MUST tell you.

So i must wander in the weeds a bit, in the telling.

Christmas Day made me hopeful that my extended family (brothers, sisters-in-law and their offspring) can actually have fun together. Because we did have fun. The nieces and nephews had a great time locating their Christmas money inside Kleenex boxes. (I think next year i will steal the idea of gluing the money inside walnut shells.) Then we all went off to see the movie BOLT, which was the perfect Christmas movie for us.

The snow finally ended, and there is very little of it still around. But there are Bott's Dots everywhere. I have harvested a few.

My parents were the first people (my mother kept repeating this fact to anyone who would listen) to move into their new retirement home, right before all the snow hit. This is a huge relief for all of us. We went there on Christmas Eve for dinner and inspection. The place is gorgeous. Their apartment is spacious and on the 9th floor and has a great view out over the city. Plus, did i remember to tell you that they were the first people to move in?

Our New Year's Eve will be spent in a manner befitting geeks. We are going to see a taping of the radio show Says You, and should be home tucked in our beds by 10:30, at the latest.

Em got a stuffed elephant which she has named Rudyard.

I'm thinking of moving. The fact that my daughter reads this makes me feel stifled. So far, it's just a thought. But it's hard to be as dismal as i sometimes want to be, and i never wanted a cute little blog where i always post marginally amusing poop.

Cocoon

I know you in the actual Midwest and Northeast and Canada and etc. will laugh at us here in Seattle, but we are not used to this.

SNOW! It's so beautiful here. I just can't believe it.

Em made it home from Ohio on Saturday, between storms and only about 40 minutes later than scheduled. I was anxious that she might get stuck somewhere as she flew through Chicago's O'hare airport, but all went smoothly.

Well, except that her luggage didn't show up until 11:30 last night, but on the plus side, she looks cute in The Mister's jeans.

The Mister's fancy-ass SUV FAILED to make it up the driveway on Thursday morning. (Not gloating, not!) This thing is so fancy it has many special settings for driving in different conditions:

1) Loose gravel less than 20mm

2) Loose gravel greater than 20mm

3) Gravel that stays home at night

4) Plague of locusts (crunch, crunch)

5) Snowing lightly

6) Snowing heavily

7) Snowing somewhere else

What it does lack is a setting for getting it up the driveway.

So we spent 2 hours clearing the driveway (we have a long driveway) and got his car up and it has been parked on the street ever since.

It's been kind of fun. We venture out once a day to hunt and gather (at Top Foods) and then head back home to watch trashy movies and eat popcorn.

Today i went to the hardware store, hoping to maybe buy a snow shovel. Of course i am the 5,436th person with that idea, but they did tell me that they were expecting a small shipment in about an hour.

After lunch i called the store back to see if they were in yet and was told to hurry back as they were in and going fast. I had to shove a few old men and a woman with a baby out of the way, but i am now the proud owner of a $15 red plastic snow shovel. Wheeeeee!!

More snow expected tomorrow. Thank god i have my shovel.

A Christmas Tradition Continues

A few years ago, i started playing a little game with my nieces and nephews at Christmas. They are all old enough so that everything they want costs lots of money, so i just give them money, and they can do with it what they will.

The first year, i bought them all white underwear and hid the money inside the undies. They were pretty disgusted with me, until they figured it out. We all had a good laugh.

Last year, i hid the money inside white socks. But they were on to me and found the money right away.

This year i thought i'd just hand them money, because i was too lazy to come up with another idea. But then i thought - Kleenex! I slit open the side of a practice box, and the game was on! This morning i bought 5 boxes of different sized kleenex, slit open the sides, inserted money and some Christmas bells in each box, and glued them shut again.

Bwah hah aha hahha hah!

Evil aunt meno is evil! I can't wait.

Extra photos of random stuff:

Back lit Pampas Grass:

The high temperature here today was below 0 C (32 F) so everything is covered with a layer of frost that sparkles like diamonds in the sun:
Yesterday at the grocery store i saw this display at an idle check stand. I am assuming that it was for training new cashiers, but it amused me. The manager came over to ask me why i was taking a picture of it. I told him "Because it amuses me." He left, but watched me warily after that:

Brown cat helping with my crocheting:

fluff and nonsense

Things that made me smile today:

~walking in to the place i volunteer and having someone who was leaving call out to me, "have a good weekend, meno." It's this little stuff about working that i miss.

~We are wrapping presents for the Adopt-a-Family program, and someone brought in cupcakes from that fancy new cupcake store in the mall. They cost $2.50 each. I ate a red velvet cupcake. MMMmmmmmm. It was worth the money.

~Someone telling me to put ice cubes down my bra, because i was fanning myself during a hot flash.

~The Mister is back home.

Something that made me laugh out out today:

~someone got to my blog by googling "How long do you have to wait to kiss after having meno."

Not long, not long at all!

Traveler's Blues

I was all set to announce my appointment as Illinois' new senator, to fill the position that Obama just vacated, but some legal and technical things came up so i had to withdraw my name. Saved me a BUNCH of money though.

Anyway,

The Mister is traveling again. A few weeks ago, he went away for two weeks, really really far away. This time he's just gone for 5 days.

I've always had a tough time when he's been away. I don't sleep well. I'm anxious. (Those of you who get anxious know that anxiety is a lot less pleasant than it sounds, and it doesn't sound pleasant.)

The anxiety is because i didn't trust him to not do something stupid, and a little because i was concerned about his safety. That is shitty of me to say, but it's the truth.

Back when we had a young child, it was harder to be the one at home. (The Mister found this out when i did a little traveling for work one year.) But now it's harder to be the one away. I'm home, in my own bed, surrounded by kitties and he's off staying in weird hotel rooms with other people's ass juice on the bedspread, eating crappy food and dealing with airlines.

With his being gone this much, and with the modern communication devices we have (did you know that you can text message someone in China?) it's really no big deal anymore, and i'm getting used to being here alone. In fact, i kind of like it. And in truth, it's almost annoying how many times a day he texts, IMs or calls me.

But i'll be glad when he's home. I just feel good that it doesn't bother me anymore. I feel stronger and more independent.

I told him this. I think it made him sad, a little.

Gossip hound

I love gossip.

Okay, i'm exaggerating for maximum shock value.

I like gossip.

It's not cool to admit that, but damned if i don't think most people do like it.

The reason this comes up is that i went to lunch with someone today who told me that she does not gossip, and then spent the whole time talking about other people, which, i think, is what gossip is.

The failure to examine our own behavior is the definition of denial. I hate denial.

Ask a stupid question

I really want to do a rant about the book/movie Twilight, because i have fairly strong feeling about it being not just harmless entertainment, but pornography for young girls.

But i won't, because it would be useless, and really, in the long run, what does it matter? Who am i to swim against the overwhelming stream of salmon who love love LOVE it? Plus i know i will catch hell.

Ahem.

Do people ever ask you questions that leave you standing there with your mouth open, waiting for something to come out of it, but nothing does?

Today someone asked me if i think i'm "complicated?"

What the hell does that mean?

Complicated compared to other people? And how would i know having only been myself? It's like asking someone if it feels different to be them than it does to be you.

"Oh, yes. I'm VERY complicated."

Seems kind of an arrogant thing to say.

I finally answered that i think we are all simple AND complicated. How's that for not answering a rhetorical question meant to be a real question?

Simple as in we all just want a beautiful immortal person to come along who will love only us forever and ever and will save us and take care of us and make us live forever and ever too. A fictional person that will give us an unrealistic idea of what love is really like, that it takes work, and that no one is perfect, thus dooming all future relationships to disappointment.

Ooops, slipped back into the Twilight rant. Sorry. I know i'm taking it too seriously, but i just can't get over the icky feeling that it's worse than just incredibly badly written crap.

***pant pant****

Where was i?

Oh, complicated.

And complicated because everyone has baggage and buttons and experiences and....all those things that give us the deep psychological scars that make us so interesting in later life and keep therapists in toys and cookies.

I should have just replied "Huh?"

Media sadness

I have told you about this before, that i am a wimp as far as visual entertainment. I think it's getting worse.

We tried to watch the series "Mad Men" recently. I made it about half way through the first season. The Mister still wants to watch, but i don't. It's just so sad. The people are all miserable and fucked up, and so despicable towards one other. After every episode i felt depressed.

The Mister can watch if he likes, i will just leave the room. Which means he probably won't watch it.

Imez wrote something about the movie "Trainspotting" in a post. I admitted that i left partway through that movie too, feeling battered and sad.

Imez answered "I never thought of you as the type of girl to wander away from things that seemed depressing."

Oh, yes i am.

It's hard for me to understand why people want to watch/read things about sad, unhappy people who are unlikely to change. It's difficult to watch things that make me feel sad. I have a hard enough time trying not to be sad without any help from media.

We also started watching "Arrested Development" while Em was home for Thanksgiving. I did some laughing, but i also wanted to slap the people and tell them to stop being so self-indulgent and get a spine. Plus the undercurrent of financial desperation makes me sad.

Sigh.

Can you explain it to me?

Maybe i should write menus

The Mister and i were driving around together earlier today and we passed by (as in didn't even consider stopping) one of the ubiquitous McD*nald's that litter this area. The sign board read:

MCRIB IS BACK!!

The Mister was annoyed by the grammar. "Shouldn't it say 'McRibs ARE back?'"

"I don't know," i replied, "Maybe it's like their hash browns where you order A hash brown instead of SOME hash browns. Maybe it's a single lump of some vaguely pork-like meat reformed into a rib shape and then drowned in a sweet red sauce."

"You make it sound so tasty!"


I for one vow to eat TWICE as many as i ate last time they were available.

The dangers of snap judgments

Sometimes when i spot a person casually in passing, my mind invents a back story to explain what they are doing.

I was striding through the aisles of the drug store last week when i passed by a slightly rounded Indian man who had a tuft of hair coming out one ear, and one of those brain slugs*, (also know as a Bluetooth,) coming out the other. He was standing in the cosmetics aisle as i brushed past him.

Without me really being aware of it, my mind decided that he was too lost in his brain slug conversation to notice that he was, in fact, in the girly section of the store.

A few minutes later, having completed whatever errand had brought me to the store, i passed by him again. This time he was crouched down in front of the lipstick display, still talking into his brain slug.

"Midnight Frost or Pale Shimmering Frost?" i heard him say in that lovely Indian singsong accent.

Awwww, he's picking up some lipstick for his wife. How cute! And he's not afraid to stand in the cosmetics aisle and utter words like 'Pale Shimmering Frost' for all the world to hear.

This time i smiled at him.

*Futurama reference to an alien life form that attaches itself to your head and takes over your mind.

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

If you are not offended by the obscenity, this will crack you right up. If you are offended, skip it.

Now it can be told

I killed one of Em's mice. One of Those Damn Mice. I feel so guilty.

I was not the actual instrument of death, but a moment's inattention allowed Grey Cat to sneak in and cause grievous bodily harm.

I remember reading the torture scenes (i can't remember if it was in Fahrenheit 451 or Animal Farm, or maybe some other book entirely) where the man kept getting killed and revived and then killed again, in a new and horrible way.

Somewhere in my heart i believe that all life has the same value. I'm not saying that all life has the same complexity, but i don't believe in killing just for the sake of it. (Yes, i eat meat. But being eaten as meat has purpose and meaning.)

I keep thinking that someday, when i die, i will be killed in all the ways that i have wantonly killed. I'll be squished with a rolled up newspaper, stepped on by a giant shoe, flushed down a toilet, ground up in a garbage disposal, sucked up into a vacuum cleaner and lastly, i will have my spine snapped by a giant feline, be stuffed into a plastic bag to suffocate, and placed in a freezer.

Later, after i am a frozen corpse, my body will be placed in the trash.



I had to wait until today to tell Em, as yesterday was her birthday. Happy Birthday sweetie, i love you, and i am SO sorry about Elizabeth. But no, we are not getting another one to keep Rain company.

I am not the center of the universe

My mother, upon learning that The Mister has been out of town for the past two weeks (he's home as of this morning, jet-lagged all to hell, slept all day, still snoring gently beside me at 9pm) decided that i needed to be amused. So she offered to take me out to dinner last night.

Now i am a restaurant whore, so there isn't much i won't do for a free meal, including sit at a table with my parents.

My mother also invited my brother (a tidbit of information that will become relevant in a bit,) as he was also sans spouse.

We met at a nice restaurant, one with real tablecloths and candles. Things were looking good!

My dad immediately excused himself for the men's room, where he spent at least ten minutes before returning to the table.

This repeated all evening. Of the two hours we were at the restaurant, he spent at least 45 minutes in the can. At one point, he returned to the table and before he sat back down, turned around and left again. So clearly, something was wrong.

My dad has had prostate cancer and numerous other urethral/penile problems. I am blissfully unaware of the exact grim details, but i know he has had his exit path re-routed, as he could no longer pee or be catheterized due to scar tissue.

My brother carried on as if nothing odd was going on. He remained calm and friendly, while my mother was freaking out, and i was getting more and more tense in response to her angst.

The evening eventually ended, with no one really saying anything about my poor dad's "problem." (Denial. I challenge any family to outdo us in this regard.)

I came home feeling really sad. "Ooooh," i whined to The Mister on the phone from China, "it was awful."

But, after thinking it over, and taking a cue from my brother, i am being a complete ass.

What do i want the man to do? Stay home and limit his activities because it makes me soooo sad to see him struggle? Oh poor me.

How unutterably selfish of me.

He's out and about, coping the best he can with what must be embarrassing and uncomfortable aging issues. And just because i don't like it, doesn't mean that the end result of living isn't dying. My dad's body is giving out on him, slowly. What i want to do is to celebrate the fact that he's eighty-fucking-two, and he's out at restaurants, playing tennis and traveling; not bemoaning the fact that bad shit is happening to his body.

Love accepts things, even the icky. If he can stand it, the least i can do is be there for him without letting my self-centered feeeeeeelings get in the way.

What got into her?

I was loitering at the bus stop the other day, looking for some action, when i noticed these little white tubes discarded on the ground.

"What the hell?"

Upon closer examination, they proved to be the containers in which one buys a single cigarette.

I know i am naive, but i hadn't realized that you could buy a single cigarette, all packaged in a plastic container. This is wrong on SO MANY levels, that i just keep thinking of more.

Packaging waste. This just takes it to a new level of awfulness.

Marketing to kids. If anyone believes that this is not a way to market cigarettes to kids, you are move naive and foolish than me.

Marketing to poor people. So you can't find the (what is it up to these days? $4? $5?) cash for a whole pack, no problem! For 50 cents, or whatever, you can still suck some nicotine into your lungs. That this works out to $10 per pack. Nice work tobacco industry.

Just because people will buy something, doesn't mean it's a good idea. Except that of course it's a good idea if you stand to make some money. Bastards!

This just makes me sick.

Too pathetic?

Okay, i was going to go for NaNoPoMo* but i've decided to become the anti-christ instead. Seems like it might be easier.

"The Holidays" are coming up. I shudder at the thought. I've been thinking about why that is.

You know how kids are silly and grandiose and say all kinds of things that are ridiculous? Some examples;

• I'm gonna be a lion tamer!
• I can really fly, wanna see?
• I'm going to marry DADDY when i grow up.
• Last night i saw a REAL fairy dancing in my room!
• This hole goes all the way to CHINA!

...and so on, you get the idea. Wonderful imaginative things that are the product of childish enthusiasm.

Family gatherings are an occasion to bring out these memories and ridicule the child that said them. This sport is accompanied by telling the adult that used to be the child that they are too sensitive and have no sense of humor.

That adult very well might have a sense of humor about this teasing, if it hadn't also been done back when the adult was a child and had no defenses.

I've never laid it out so clearly for myself before now. I think the correct tactic might be to say, "That child deserves to be defended, even though it's years later."


*National No Posting Month

I am not obsolete

Those of you who have kids (this applies to The Mister too, by the way) know they can't find their ass with both hands and a flashlight.

I can't tell you how many times i've responded to a frantic Em by walking into her room and saying, "Look, it's right here!"

Some things never change. Witness this IM exchange:

em: MOMMY :-( I can't find my black dress pants.
meno: uh oh!
meno: are they on the floor of the closet? slipped off the hanger
meno: ?
em: I've looked all over the stupid floor. :-(
meno: under the bed?
meno: behind the hamper?
meno: on the shelves above the closet?
em: I don't think so... :/
em: This means I have nothing to wear to matriculation or for Halloween.
meno: uh oh
meno: did they accidently get mixed into Roommate’s things?
meno: the last time you wore them was that stupid convocation thing i think
em: Yeah it was.
em: So they must be here. But... D:
em: I have no idea. ;_____; I know they're here. I just have no idea where and I can't find them. ._.
meno: in a drawer?
em: Nope. >_< meno: sorry, wish i could help, that's all the places i can think of
meno: i think you hung them back up, so either they are hiding on a hanger, or they fell off
em: But I can't find them anywhere.
meno: i believe you
em: ;___________;
em: What do I do? I can't go naked to matriculation, even if I have to skip out on dressing up for Halloween.
meno: did you look carefully on EVERY hanger? To make sure they aren't hidden half folded?
em: AHA!!!!!
em: PANTS
em: Under one of my coats. :D: You're a genius.
meno: who's your buddy???
em: YOU! <3

Nice to know i still have the power to find things in her room when she can't, even from 2000 miles away.

I need some cheese to go with this whine.

I wrote the following a few days ago. Thank god i hit save instead of publish.

But now i am going to publish it anyway because it made me laugh at myself and to understand where my daughter might have gotten her propensity for drama. I mean "living death???" That might be overstating it just a bit. :)

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

Hot flashes.

You have no idea how unpleasant they are, unless you do know.

Every day, 15 times a day, a reminder that you are OLD. That things in your body are not where they were for the last 30 years. That you are done. That you are HOT, and sweaty, and ugly, and old.

In the middle of the night. 2:15. 3:45. 4:20. 4:50. 5:25. Cats on your hip. Hot. Sweaty. Shit. 5:45. 6:10. 6:25. 6:55.

Sleep.

Alarm.

Another day of living death awaits.

Hijacked by your agenda

There is this woman i know, someone i thought might become a friend.

I have made plans with her a few times to do something, which she agreed to enthusiastically at the time.

And each time, her agenda begins to creep in, altering the plans so she can fit in other events.

"Oh, i made an appointment to take the car in on Tuesday morning, so can we start hiking later in the day?"

"Of course," i say.

Then a few days later,

"Is it okay if we just go for a short walk? One of my neighbors is having a party at her house and i should go."

And so on. If this had happened only to one of our plans, no big deal, but that it happens every time annoys me.

So i'm done making plans and adjusting them to suit her. Too much work. I'll just stick to the one set time we meet with a group and leave it at that.

The lesson is, don't do this. If you say you're going to be there, be there. If you say you're going to do it, do it. Don't jerk people around.

The beginning of a beautful relationship

It's been awhile huh? How is everyone?

Today i'm going to tell you a story.

Scene: My parent's living room, in the winter of 1981.

Cast: My parents, The Mister's parents, The Mister and me.

Background information: The Mister and i had been living in the deepest of sin for about two years when we decided we would get married. Since we were both graduating from college and The Mister had accepted a job in San Jose, it was either marry, or break up. I say that because my mother had drilled it into my head that i should never "place myself in a position of dependence on a man without being married." There's all kinds of wrong with that statement, but i was much younger then and believed it.

After announcing that we were to be joined in wedded bliss, my mother waited in vain for an invitation from The Mister's parents for an occasion to meet. (According to my mother, who knows these sorts of rules, it's the job of the groom's parents to initiate the first meeting.)

Such invitation was not forthcoming, so my mother decided to (gasp) ignore convention and invite The Mister's parents over for dinner.

Character development: The Mister's dad was a health food nut back before it was popular. He used to make these loaves of bread that we really, really good......for you. They could also substitute for bricks in a pinch. So dinner at their house was accompanied by a discussion of why we were eating skinless chicken and organic kale salad dressed with apple cider vinegar. After dinner he would prepare what i called The Bowel Bomb, a concoction of plain homemade yogurt, wheat bran and lecithin. (Have you ever seen lecithin? It's the consistency of honey, but tastes like motor oil.)

My family is all very tall, and The Mister's family are all very short. The Mister comments that hanging out with my family is The Land of the Giants. I believe i may have mentioned hobbits when visiting with his parents.

During the day that preceded this dinner, The Mister and i had taken our beloved cat Al to the vets as he was very ill. We found out about 30 minutes before dinner that Al had kitty leukemia and would not live very long.

Action: The Mister and i arrived at my parent's house with red eyes, still sniffling over poor Al. (We love our kitties!)

The Mister's parents were late, beyond fashionably.

My mother had prepared her special guest dinner of standing rib roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, salad with blue cheese, french bread with butter, and cheesecake for dessert. Oh, and coffee. I thought The Mister's dad was going to have a coronary right there.

So he picked over his salad, ignoring the rest of the meal. The rest of us, including The Mister's mother, drank steadily.

So picture this, The future Mister and i are huddled miserably in a corner, lightly weeping, The Mister's dad is looking like he smells something bad, my parent's are trying to make polite conversation, and The Mister's mother is getting blasted.

Good times. The evening ended rather early.

Epilogue: My mother waited, again in vain, for a thank you note. She thought that as a military wife The Mister's mother should know that this is required. A few years later, The Mister's mother told me that she had written one, but it had never been mailed as it had gotten lost in her car.

Yeah, i didn't believe her either.

College Bound

The Mister and i are getting up at o'fuck thirty tomorrow morning and flying to Ohio to attend something known as "Family Weekend" at Em's college.

After having looked over the agenda i have broken the events down into three categories:

1.) Sessions telling parents how to butt the hell out while your child attends college and grows up.
2.) Sessions for soliciting money from parents, complete with opportunities to join committees. Wheeee. I LOVE committees!!!
3.) General foolishness; e.g. hot dog eating contests, choir concerts, campus tours, plays and arts-n-crafts exhibitions (I swear if i am asked to weave a lanyard out of cicada skins, i will explode!)

We received a "Welcome to the *insert name of institute of higher learning here* family". Excuse me? Did i go off to college with my kid? Yes, i realize it's a marketing ploy to make me feel all warm and fuzzy so that i will make free with my money. HA!

What we will probably do is skip all that, take Em away with us and spend the weekend eating good food and watching stupid movies. YEAH!

I took the kitties off to kitty jail this afternoon. They spent the entire drive loudly discussing their feelings and criticising my driving. I found this annoying because my driving really isn't that bad, plus i don't know how they could even tell from inside their carriers.

On the job training

I stopped at a Tully's store this morning (a Starbucks clone for those of you wondering what a Tully's is) to get some tea and a bagel with cream cheese. I asked the young girl working there to please cut my bagel in half.

She looked a bit confused, but said "sure" because the customer is always right.

Here is what i got:

I looked down at my bagel and then looked back into the soft bovine-like eyes of my bagel cutter. "How long have you worked here?" i queried.

"Three days!"

This is why i carry my camera around with me.

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

Scenes from a kayak:

The Mister and i took advantage of a calm afternoon yesterday to take the kayaks out for a long ride. My big feet pedaling away. Look how glassy the water is.

We stayed out later than we should. It was nearly dark when we returned home.

This pier needs some repair work:

NaDruPoNi

Sometimes we do things that don't make us happy. Things we do that make other people happy. Things we do that only make them happy, but do not make us happy. Things that stress us out and make us feel gross. Things that make us feel like we don't matter. Things that follow the patterns that were set out decades ago. Things we can do nothing to change. But things we should probably do because we are a bigger person than the people that do not make us happy. At least we can feel like we are bigger people, but are we?

Enough with the generalities. I did a good thing tonight. But it did not make me feel good. It made other people feel good, but not me.

Patterns. Old patterns. Patterns that will never change, until the people with the patterns are dead.

Do you get it? Do you do these things? If you do, good for you. Good for me. Because tonight, someone is happy, but that someone is not me.

I SEE WHAT YOU DID THAR!

A rodent has been exploring my virtual underwear drawer. (Thank you to Ms. Chica for the description.) I think it's time to tip the contents of the drawer onto the floor and expose the mouse.

Someone who thinks i don't know she is doing it, even though she promised she wouldn't, is reading my blog.

Say hi to my daughter y'all.

At first she didn't know. Then she knew, but i didn't know she knew. Then i knew she knew, but she didn't know that i knew that she knew. Now she knows. I know she knows, and with this, she knows that i know that she knows. Got that?

I discovered this mouse in my underwear drawer a while ago. I've been pondering what to do and how i feel about it for a while too. I still don't know how i feel about it. It's a little odd, but i can think of no actual harm done to me. Bemused might be the best description. Such are the risks of public blogging.

With growing up, comes new levels of relationships. Wonder if she'll be brave enough to say hi back??

Love you Fishie, you little stinker. See you in about a week. And if there's anything you've read here that you don't like, too bad. <3

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

Confidential to person standing next to me on the bus; Even though you can't hear it over your ipod, the rest of us can still hear you fart.

I need glasses

At her request, i went over to my mother's house a few days ago in order to help her throw things away. My parents are preparing to move into smaller accomodations and thus need to cram 7 rooms of shit into a 3 room bag.

It was kind of fun, in an 'i need earplugs' sort of a way. (My mother's middle name is Prolix.) I pulled stuff off her kitchen shelves, some of which she hadn't been able to reach for years, put it on the counter and stepped back. She looked at the 14 adorable little pitchers she has collected over the years and declared she needed them all.

But i am made of stronger stuff than that. I told her to "pick three of them. I'm putting the rest into the Goodwill box." And she did, after pleading with me for a few minutes.

Then it was on to the dishes. I am not making this up, i counted 57 drinking glasses, from 7 different sets. (This does not include the wine glasses, flutes, cordial glasses, shot glasses, martini glasses, DOF glasses, margarita glasses or brandy snifters. My parents like to drink.) Now she has 16 drinking glasses from two sets.

I have to admit, i get a thrill from ordering her around.

It's because my mother is now afraid of me, when for years she had no problem saying shitty things or exerting her power over my seven/nine/thirteen year old self.

My only consolation for admitting to that little thrill is i am much nicer than she was when she held the power.