2 Good 2 Be 4 Gotten

This is a sad story, involving balls.

You heard me.

When I first moved to Seattle many years ago, Nordic Boy had a job out in the boonies. On the weekends, I would get my ass on a bus and travel out to suburbia to visit him. I know that bus route like the back of my hand. Being in suburbia was like a whole new world to me, and we had a blast discovering things like breakfast at Shari's (where we once saw Ruthanne from Northern Exposure right at the next table) and shopping at a football-field sized Albertson's and going to this winery and pretending like we knew anything about wine.

Since those days, that particular part of our state (Woodinville, Washington) has boomed. Whereas before it was a sort of wannabe suburb, now it's gone full tilt, with its own Target and everything. So if we ever make the drive up there now, it all looks different.

Except for the Balls.

On the way out to Woodinville from Seattle, you pass through a bunch of suburbs. There's Lake Forest Park, and Kenmore, and Bothell, and then Woodinville. I know the succession well, as that dang bus ride I used to take has pounded each of them into my skull.

During this drive, there was one highlight. A place that I would crane my neck to see. As you round the bend and enter the hamlet of Bothell, there is a house, right on the bend. And in front of this house is a quaint little sign. A wooden sign with gold curly lettering.

The sign announces:
"THE BALLS OF BOTHELL"

What the heck does THAT mean, you are probably wondering. Yes, indeed it is a fine question. If you look at the sign, underneath its proclamation it says in smaller letters two names...I can't remember what they are. "John and Mary," let's say. So, there is a family that lives there, and their last name is Balls. And they want to have a quaint sign at the end of their driveway. So what? Why is that funny?

Because I'm me, that's why.

The balls! Of Bothell! What I love so much about it is that geographically, it's actually true. Because Bothell has a main street north of there, which would clearly be the heart of Bothell. And what would be south of the heart of Bothell? The balls! Of course. It's like geographic poetry, really. It's just so fitting that as you drive in from the south, you would have to pass the balls of Bothell to get to the heart of Bothell.

I can't tell you how much I adored that sign. Loved it like an old friend. Looked forward to seeing it any time I had cause to drive by there. There have been many times in the past few years where I thought that I needed to take a photo of that sign, just so I could share the joy with you, my blog friends.

A couple of weekends ago, Nordic Boy and I were meeting friends in Bothell for dinner. We hadn't been by the Balls of Bothell for a while. I was prepared to give it a hearty wave.

Except, sweet friends, the sign. It was GONE.

The Balls! They up and moved! The house is empty, the sign is gone. My sign! My favorite sign! Like Benjy in The Sound and the Fury, I blinked, turned a page, and the balls were missing!

So I thought I would post in honor of the Balls. Wherever they went, they will be missed. Bothell won't be the same without you.

Sigh.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

FAQ Attack

Hey people. I love getting da emailz from alla yous. But there are some things that get asked over and over again, and that are prolly pretty apparent if you've been reading my crap for a while, but if you're new, it's like coming in to the middle of a movie and being all "who was that guy? why is he killing him? why is she chasing her?" Not that there is a lot of killing and chasing going on around here, but you catch my drift. So, for those questions that keep coming up, I am going to attach this to my "about me" page. I think I have all the most-asked questions covered, plus a couple of things I just threw in. If I think of more frequently asked questions, I will add them on. Cool? Cool.

LG's FAQ: answers to stuff readers often ask, especially if you're new around here.

1. Where do you work?

I work for a large urban public library system. I get off on things like Intellectual Freedom. I will defend everyone's right to access information in order to build an informed citizenry. And also everyone's right to read Mary-Kate and Ashley paperbacks.

2. So you check books in and out to people all day long? Or shush people all day long? Or sit in a cardigan and read all day long?

At my job, I help people do research, recommend books to people, answer reference questions, teach people how to find information, run library events and programs, maintain part of the collection, make booklists for people, go out into the community to promote reading, and many other things. As for sitting around and reading books all day long and getting paid for it? I wish.

3. And about that cardigan thing in the last question...

Even though I am a librarian, I do not wear glasses (not even hipster ones), I do not wear my hair in a bun, I do not wear sweater sets or clunky shoes. This means that I also will not be able to whip my glasses off and take my hair down and go wild after dark like a Skinemax movie. Sorry. Also, please stop making jokes to me about how Sarah Palin looks like a "sexy librarian." Every time you say that, a unicorn dies.

4. What's with you and Nordic Boy?

Nordic Boy is my dude. In my objective opinion, I think he is the best person ever made. We have been together for eons and eons, since before the advent of dinosaurs. As of this writing, that means sixteen years. Saying that makes me feel older than dirt. Even though we've known each other for a long time, I do not feel like my relationship is "work" although I hear you're supposed to think that way according to Dr. Phil which totally makes it true. Maybe someday it'll be work, but not so far. Being around him is the easiest, funnest thing I have ever done. I will wait while you finish barfing before I continue.

5. How did you and Nordic Boy meet?

I wrote about that here. Then here. Then here.

6. Are you and Nordic Boy married?

ZZZZZZ. That question bores me. What would change about the way you think of me if I said yes? Or no? Does it matter if I am a Miss or a Mrs.? Not to me it don't.

7. Who is BioGirl? Your sister? Your best friend? Your imaginary soulmate? Your hand twin?

BioGirl is my bff. Many readers seem to think we are related (maybe because we share the last name "Girl"?) but that's ok since she is actually more like a sister than a friend. We are almost telepathic with each other at this point, but we still manage to talk ourselves hoarse anyway. She is a marine biologist but she does not work with whales or dolphins or orcas, which seems to be everyone's only impression of marine biology. I blame Seaworld. Her PhD had to do with barnacles and from her years of study I learned that barnacles have huge penises. Thank you Stanford for allowing her to study well-hung arthropods (is that even right? Are barnacles arthropods?) because it has given us reams of glee.

8. Where are you from? Like, where are you from-from? Like, what is your ethnicity? You are brown and I must know why!

My family is from Fiji. Our ethnicity is Indian, but the transition from India to Fiji happened like, back in the 1800s, so I'm Indian...but islander. It's complicated. Also, I was born in Flint, Michigan. And I lived in Chicagoland, and also Madison, Wisconsin and a few other midwest places. And now Seattle. So I guess I am a midwest-south-pacific-east-indian-pacific-northwesterner. As Gayatri Spivak would say, just call me a hyphenated identitarian. It's easier.

9. Did you just say Gayatri Spivak?

Oh yeah. I am a geek in disguise. Don't tell anyone.

10. What is the story with your past as a ballerina? Do you miss it?

I was a ballet dancer in my youth and went to lots of fancy schools at a wee age and danced alongside famous ballet dancers that you only would care about if you were a ballet dancer yourself which most likely you are not. What this means for me these days is that I have the knowledge in my heart that I peaked at age fifteen in terms of impressive achievements and so I can just coast along for the rest of my life without much ambition because it all burned out a long time ago and now I keep myself busy with hippy new age sounding things like living in the now and being happy. Plus I no longer have to wear leotards every damn day. The biggest lasting remnant of my dance career is the fact that shoes are never uncomfortable to me. Also yes, I do miss it.

11. Siblings?

I have two older brothers and one older sister. They are older than me by kind of a lot. This means that they still say things to me like "you can drive? Weird." Like me, they all seem a lot younger than they actually are. That's true of my parents too. I don't know what that is about my family. It's like our maturity is stunted or we've been sipping a Ponce De Leon Fountain soda or something.

12. You seem to do a lot of work on that house of yours. Can you give me any pointers?

Nordic Boy and I bought a house a couple of years ago, which is exactly what we wanted. Small, mid-century, in a great neighborly neighborhood. Yes, we work on it a lot. By we I mean he. So no, I have no pointers. Other than to get yourself a dude who knows how to build houses.

13. What is your favorite....

Although I love pop culture as if I birthed it from my loins, I do not have favorites. No favorite song, no favorite band, no favorite movie, no favorite book. Everyone is always asking me about favorites and I just don't have one. OK? Stop asking me about favorites! It's too much pressure!

14. I don't like pressure.

15. I love your blog design. Where'd you get it?


The illustration was done by my friend Neighbor J. The layout was pulled together by my other friend Josh. You should hire them to design stuff for you too.

16. I would like to be a librarian. How do you do it? Will you look at my resume?

Get yourself to graduate school. It will be painful. Very, very painful. Like, you-will-curse-the-day-I-was-born-for-telling-you-to-go and shake-your-fist-at-this-blog-screen-in-despair painful. But the rewards are worth it.

Feline Freakout

Ok, so you remember how I said that I had this thing where I didn't throw parties because I was always afraid that no one would come to my party? Well get this. BioGirl and Nordic Boy are throwing me a birthday party. And although I was totally excited when I got the evite, I was FILLED WITH FEAR. Let's list my fears and laugh at them.

1. With the evite, all the names of the guests are listed. (My mind says) that if everyone says no, then everyone else can SEE. Oh the shame!

2. There was a long guest list. (My mind says) that people will look at all the names and feel less obligated to come. Because other people will come. It's like donating blood or giving to charity. Oh, someone else will do that, so I don't have to. Yes, I am equating my party to taking blood out of a human body.

Yeah. I am so warped. Like, more than I thought.

Last night after watching Project Runway (and how assy is Kenley, by the way?) I checked the evite and said, out loud: "oh my god! People said yes! They are actually coming!" To which BioGirl said "You have GOT to shut up. Immediately." Which, granted, was warranted.

That is true friendship. Throwing you a party but also telling you when you need to shut up. That should go on a decorative embroidered pillow or something.

So yes. I am having a party and people are coming. Getting babysitters and marking their calendars and everything. Lookee that.

In other news, I totally fucked up my rug last night. My actual floor rug. Not my toupee. Not that I have a toupee. But you don't know me so you don't know that. First of all I sort of had this weird day at work. It kind of stressed me out a little, or more than a little. And then Nordic Boy and I have been doing all sorts of social plans separately all week and so we have barely seen each other solo. I got home from work at like 8pm last night, and he was leaving at 8:15 to go over to a friend's house, and I was having people over at our house to watch Project Runway, so I knew we were going to have a small window to say hi-bye to each other.

Him: So, your dinner is on the counter in there, ok? I should be home around 10 or 11. I gotta go.
Me: Ok sure but-are-you-LEAVING-RIGHT-NOOOOWWWWW???!!???
Him: Whoa!

I don't know what happened in that moment, but I kind of turned into a weird cat. I started the sentence normal but my voice started to get higher and higher and I started talking fast and by the end of the sentence I was sort of howling in panic. Like oh-my-god-you-can't-leave-I-have-barely-seen-you-this-week-and-I-had-a-really-hard-day-and-I-need-to-relax-and-you-are-my-relaxicab (as Rachel Green would say) and-I-am-this-close-to-losing-it-ooooooooowwwwww!

It was funny. And weird.

Then, as he was getting his shoes on, I brought my plate of food out to the living room and got the tv tray out (oh yes indeed I have a 50s style tv tray, doesn't everyone?), put my food on the tray, put my open bottle of Izze soda on the tray, and then decided that I wanted to pick up the tray, with the food and open beverage on it, and lift it over the couch and take it across the room. And as I did this, here's what I said. Out loud.

"Wow this is a really bad idea what I am doing here I mean this is an accident waiting to happen for reals I can't really believe I would try and lift this tray over the couch because it's a bad idea, bad idea, bad idea! SHIT!"

And then I dropped the whole tray on the floor. On the rug, actually.

Nordic Boy helped me clean it up before he left.

Him: So yeah. You were saying. Bad idea?
Me: Bad idea.

We're hanging out, just the two of us, tonight. If we don't, someone might get hurt.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Move Over Scorsese

It's my dad's birthday today. He is 79. And still rocking the hizzy.

I wish you all could meet my dad. He is awesome and I have yet to meet anyone who has spent any amount of time in conversation with him who was not completely enamored with him. He is one of those people that affects everyone he interacts with in a most beautiful way. It's totally true. There are lots of people I know who didn't have dads around at all growing up, or who had them but had difficult relationships with them. The ones who know my dad often tell me that they think of my dad as their dad, or the best dad figure they ever knew. I dated a guy in high school who was trouble on wheels. My parents always treated him with kindness. My dad would sit on the porch and have long conversations with him sometimes when I was being a slow ass or was late showing up. I never really knew what they talked about. A few years ago, this ex-boyfriend called me to catch up. He asked about my dad, and told me that my family, especially my dad, was the most supportive person he knew of as a kid. And he choked up just remembering it. That made me choke up too. Then we both had to recover from the fact that we were CRYING ON THE PHONE with each other. Yeesh.

I could tell you he is kind, and gentle, and gentlemanly, and thoughtful, and funny, and sweet, and non-judgmental. But if you want to know about his awesomicity, read what I wrote about him here.

I love my dad.

In completely non-gushy, non-dad news, my roof? She is 99% done! Finish! Totalmente kaput! Nordic Boy just has to tape up some seams on the weatherproofing. Or something. This is the biggest thing in my life right now. How sad.

This weekend I went to a party/concert where there was chamber music being played. Like, a live quartet, with a cello and a harpist and everything. Fan-swah, no? I felt very cosmopolitan and also in sheer awe of the gigantic nature of cellos and harps. Those effers are yooge. How are you supposed to go all Pete Townshend with instruments like that? Can you imagine trying to smash one of those suckers? Anyway, while I was there, there were a couple of people who had cameras and who discreetly took photos. Which made me think that I should take a photo too, especially to show you guys so you won't think I am making up going to fancy shindigs like those kids in high school used to do when they would talk about their "girlfriend from Canada." My party was not a fake girlfriend from Canada! I really went! I didn't have my camera with me, but I did have my cell phone. So I took a shitty quality photo with that. And I felt horrible about doing it. Because I was afraid that all the fancy people would think I was the asshole who was messing with their cell phone in the middle of the civilized concert. Like it might have looked like I was texting or something. I wasn't texting! I wouldn't do that! But I fear that I appeared that way. I was That Person. Cell phone person. But at least I got the photo.




Speaking of my cell phone, yesterday I stopped by my neighborhood pizza joint to (duh) get a pizza. As I sat there waiting for it, I futzed around with my phone, sent a couple of texts, looked at the photos I had saved on there. Then, I pressed this mystery button on the phone. I never knew what it was before so I never pressed it in case it was, like, the self destruct button or something. But you know what it was? VIDEO. I can record shit with my phone! I never knew that! So because I didn't know that's what it was doing, I recorded a random few seconds of the pizza joint floor, the window, and part of my skirt. And when I played it back later, it was disturbing. Because of the sound. Listen to this and tell me that this doesn't sound like I am in hell. I swear there are demons or banshees in the background.



Creepy, right?

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

The Statler and Waldorf of Graffiti

Walked by this yesterday, and then noticed something as I got a bit closer.



Everyone's a critic these days.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Sally Field Moment

Hello ladies and germs!

Did comedians really used to say that? And people laughed at it? Comedy is weird.

So I have been feeling kind of disconnected to bloggy land lately, hence the sparse posting. It seems, with all bloggers, that there comes a time when blog-steam gets low, and then there is the obligatory post threatening to cease writing all together. Which I assure you I am not doing right now, because it would be insincere as I do plan on keeping this carcass animated somehow and so to threaten closure would just be a cheap ploy to gather up comments of the "please don't go!" variety. Which I am not above telling you that I did consider writing just to see if anyone would say "please don't go!" but then decided against it not because of any ethical pants-on-fire concerns (I'm totally not quitting) but because I was afraid no one would leave that kind of comment.

Which brings me to a Weird Thing About Me.

I have lots of lovely friends and loved ones, who are awesome and treat me nice and do very cool things for me and are there for me when the chips are down and also when the chips are up which I'm happy to say is most of the time. So why, I ask you, why do I have little-to-no expectations of lovely friendship niceties?

Example 1. Throwing parties. I don't tend to throw parties. Not because I don't want to throw them, but because I don't think anyone will come. Which is ridiculous. I have lots of people to invite and no reason to think that they wouldn't show up. I have thrown parties where guestlists were just fine and have never had one of those awful events where I am sitting there all dressed up with food and beers and no one ever shows. But still. I fear this.

Example 2. That blog comment thing that I just talked about up there. I know there are people reading this. Blogland loves me this I know, for my sitemeter tells me so. But sometimes, I don't believe the sitemeter. Like, I wonder if it's broken or something, or if I have one creepy stalker who is checking my blog hundreds of times a day. I'm not kidding, I've really thought that.

Example 3. When I am invited to other people's things, I often think it is for reasons other than they just wanted to invite me. Like they feel like they should because I invited them to something once and so they have to reciprocate. Or some stupid shit like that. Like, I think this often. OFTEN. I then tell myself that I am being a dumbass and move on from the thought, but just that it pops into my mind at all seems...slightly paranoid.

Example 4. So there are people in my life that do nice things for me all the time and I don't have doubts about them secretly doing so because the mafia has threatened their kneecaps if they don't. Top of that list is my parents and Nordic Boy. Those people just have a machine gun of nice that they let rip constantly in my direction. (Wow, so violent I got there). Also, BioGirl. She is thoughtful and does all sorts of going-out-of-her-way niceness.

So, when she showed up at my house last week and presented me with this:


What the hell this is I shall say in one moment.

I was super surprised, and touched, but honestly...not SHOCKED. Because her doing this sort of thing is just part of who she is and also part of the crazy bff-ness that we share. You are talking about two ladies that used to get each other birthday presents in the quantity of the year we were celebrating. Like, when she turned 25, I got her 25 presents and she did the same for me. (We had to stop that shite when we started to get WAY OLD but it went on for a while). Don't get me wrong, I was surprised and touched, but also...she is part of the army of machine gun niceness so I didn't faint from shock or anything.

Oh and by the way if you're wondering what exactly that photo is supposed to be, it's a birthday countdown giftie extravaganza. So from now until my birthday next month, I get to open a little something every day. Kind of like an advent calendar, except instead of each day getting you closer and closer to the birth of the baby Lordy, this one counts down to the birth of baby me. Which now that I think about it, might just be sacriligious. Any Lordy experts out there (of which I am not one) who are offended by my birthday advent calendar...oops. Sorry about that. See you in hell.

ANYWAY.

So the first day of my birthday calendar, I opened a teeny box, and it had a cute little present in it. Aw, sweet! Then, the second day, I opened up the next box, and there was a present from a TOTALLY DIFFERENT FRIEND. And then next day after that, something from another friend! And so on and so forth, hallelujah, praise my birthday.

See, that BioGirl, she had corralled ALL OF MY PEEPS, and they had each gotten me a little something. I am not talking about huge things. Just little, thoughtful, meaningful things. Many of them are notes that are for time spent with them later-- like one says "I'm taking you to lunch at the Kingfish Cafe" or another one says "I'm taking you to ice cream" or whatever.

And you want to know something nuts? Every night, when I open one of these puppies, and I see yet another lovely name of a lovely friend who has done this? I mist up. Just a little. And I'm not a big crier, really. I just can't get over the fact that people are THIS NICE. For no other reason than to just BE NICE.

Really, I can't get over it. It's so frickin' awesome.

I think I need to throw a party for all these folks. I think they just might come.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

In Your Face!

Weekend tidbits:

1. What the hell is a tid and why does it have bits? Is this a dirty word I am using?

2. On Saturday, I asked Nordic Boy what he was thinking about having for lunch. He said he was going to make a sandwich. And when he went into the kitchen to do so? I heard him bust out into "Oh Sandy" from Grease. Singing to his sandy-wich! "Love has flown! All alone! I sit and wonder why-yi-yi- oh why. You left me... oh Sandyyyyyy." That dude is funny.

3. That dude, while funny, also has taken to telling me romantic things in a very aggressive way. Like, when he leaves for work in the morning, he'll call out from the door: "I LOVE YOU!" and then point at me and say "IN YOUR FACE!!" Is this what happens when you've been together for this long? You get loved and trash-talked simultaneously?

3. I went to a bunch of parties this weekend. And managed to make an ass of myself everywhere I went. Ready? Here we go.

a. At one party, I thought I was going to get out of it without any points of stupid flying forth from my pores. I made it the all way through the whole dang thing and I behaved myself just fine. Then, as I was leaving, I was making the rounds, saying goodbye, shaking hands, hugging where appropriate. I got to one of my friends, who I think was not really thinking I was going to go in for the hug, but then I did a HUG AMBUSH and surprised him. If you are a hug ambush person, you may already know that there might be some weirdness with your victim because they don't know which way you're coming in, and so you have to think on your feet about where your respective faces are going to go, or else the hug ambush could turn into an accidental makeout. Oh, oops, hugging is happening, which way to turn my head, which way, which WAY? Well in this case, we both decided to go the same way. Which resulted in us hugging, and pressing faces. Like the whole side of my face from temple to cheek to chin, was pressed right up against his face. For a kind of long moment. We were there, in tango-ready position, in a full-side-face press. This guy went from thinking he was going to wave goodbye at me all the way to a weirdo face invasion FAST. I'm not sure I can describe how uncomfortable this is if you have never actually been involved in an accidental face press. Next time you try and hug someone, maneuver yourself into a position where you are pressing their face with your face. And then hold it there for a minute. It is weirdly intimate. And mortifying.

b. One of the parties I went to was a wedding, where I did my nuptual duty by dancing my rear off in honor of my friends. On the dance floor, the lovely bride danced over to me for a dancey chat. I thought I would make a lame joke, because you know, hey, it's to be expected from one such as myself. So I said "hey, so are you nervous about having sex tonight for the first time ever?" because ha ha we are all adults and she lives with her honey and so...yeah...I told you it was lame but that's not even the embarrassing part. Somehow, the music swelled in volume right at the moment I said "for the first time ever" and so it just seemed like I said "so are you nervous about having sex tonight?" which...seriously, why would anyone say that to anyone, ever? She sort of looked at me and said "oh, uh, I don't know if we're really going to be having sex tonight, I mean we'll probably be pretty tired..." while all the while I'm sure the end of that thought went unsaid. Why is this crazy bootyshanker asking me about my private sexy bidness? She clearly had no hometraining and was raised by hooligans. Again, sort of mortifying.

Stop judging me. Or I swear to god I will face-press you.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl