So good, so good

Last week, I was in Whole Foods. It was after work, I was feeling really tired, and it was rainy as all snot outside. I think the only word that could really describe me that day was bedraggled. I was be-effin-draggled.

As I shopped, I immediately noticed that my spirits, they were brightening. The spring was coming back in my step. And then I realized what was causing this. It was the music. Whole Foods was blasting some DEBARGE, people! Debarge. Oh. Yes. There must be some kind of marketing study somewhere that shows that humming "Tothebeatoftherhythmofthenight, dance until the morning laht! Forgetabouttheworriesonyo'mind, you can leave them all behaaaaaand" makes you want to buy more tangelos. Because it did. And I was happy to do it. Oh, Janet, how could you have let James Debarge go? Did being around him make you want to buy tangelos all day long?

So then, last night, I went in there again. This time I wasn't bedraggled or anything. I walked through the produce section and starting squeezing the avocados (is there any other food that gets felt up at the rate of avocados?). This time, they had Neil Diamond blasting. And the produce guy, standing next to me, stacking up the tomatoes? Did this.

Piped in music: Sweeet Caroline!
Produce guy: Bah, bah baaaah!
Piped in music: Good times never seem so good!
Produce guy: SO GOOD! SO GOOD!

Just right out in the open. Didn't look at me, kept stacking those tomatoes, but singing back up for Neil. With HEART.

I moved on to the noodle aisle. The song kept playing. And in that aisle, there was another worker unloading some such. And it happened again!

Neil: Touching me, touching youuuuuu!....Sweet Caroline!
Noodle guy: Bah, bah baaah!
Neil: Good times never seemed so good!
Noodle guy: SO GOOD! SO GOOD!

I walked all around that store, and there were people singing back up to Neil everywhere! I mean, EVERYWHERE. Not to each other in a sing-along way. Just to themselves, as they were going about their business. Not a shred of irony in the whole thing.

This, my friends, is the world I want to live in. I think I am going to move in at Whole Foods.

BAH BAH BAAAAH.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Horrible Photography Photo Essay

So did you all care about my weekend recap last weekend? Was it a good idea? A nice break from the usual stupid ramblings?

This weekend was another one jam-packed with fun times. And I tried to document it all, with moderate success, which is the only kind of success I really am apt to have. As I haven't had a moment to write about it all, but I do have some photogery, let's just load 'em up and comment.

We went on a grand tour of our city looking for some sort of energy-saving, eco-energy-measuring magical device that Nordic Boy wanted. I still don't quite understand what it is. First, we went to a big box store. Who the hell thinks that you find an environmentally-friendly ANYTHING at Best Buy? Us. That's who. Stupid us.


Plus, Best Buy makes me feel sort of crazy and not nice. And I am afraid Max Headroom lives there.

Then we went to Radio Shack, where we were outnumbered by salespeople. Six of them, two of us. No other customers. But they have fun old-school phones that you can dial and act stupid with! But they don't have eco-cord-devices. I didn't take a photo of the Radio Crack store because, you know, the Best Buy photo was all the retail artistry I could manage.

We finally went to Ecohaus, where I was forced to look at many different kinds of insulation. Many, many different kinds. Many, many, many. I am such a good partner, it's kind of amazing. Plus, they had the eco-device (that I still don't understand).

Also, this weekend I saw this sign at the local Beauty School, which you totally can't read in the picture, so I will read it to you.

"BOYS WITH CURLS GET MORE GIRLS"

Which caused us to try and come up with more couplets like this. Among them: BOYS WITH PERMS MUST HAVE GERMS; BOYS WITH GLASSES GET MORE ASSES; BOYS WITH JOWLS HAVE LOOSE BOWELS. Come on, you try!

I also read this book, which was awesome and you really should read it too.

(That's The Arrival, by Shaun Tan)

We also got gussied up and went out to dinner, and then to the ballet.

Pretty Seattle Opera House from the outside.

We saw Swan Lake with our friend D, who had never seen it, or any ballet before. The main things I told him.

1. There is a lot of clapping during ballet. Like, from the audience. Not from the dancers.
2. Be prepared to clap for like 10 minutes straight at the end.
3. Swan Lake is not a happy story.
4. Yes, their feet hurt.
5. Those male dancers are wearing dance belts under their tights. That's not really the size of their actual business you are seeing.

This is what he told me after seeing it:
1. Did they just die in the end? Really, after all that. They are going to just die???
2. That music sounds kind of like the Darth Vader theme music from the Star Wars movies.

Which yeah, it kind of DOES.


I also went to a tea house with BioGirl and they had a million teas in jars on the wall and I think she drank "samples" of all of them.


Oh, and I accidentally took this photo of myself with my camera, which is sort of terrifying. I don't even know when this happened.

GIANT FACE! GIANT FACE!

I think that's about all I did. The end.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Dreams, Marcia, Grease and Lapidus

Last night? I had this dream where I was in some sort of acting or public-speaking class. There were chairs set up all around the room, and in turn, each person had to get up and stand at a lecturn and tell a story. I got up and told some story about someone sleepwalking in the library and my having to go over and wake them up and how when they woke up I realized that it was the Homecoming Queen from my high school (do you capitalize "Homecoming Queen?" Because I kind of think you do, but it sort of pains me to do it at the same time). Anyway, in the background of my dream were the other people in the class. Among them were Paul Rudd, Malia Obama, Katie White from the Ting Tings, a green-skinned baby in a tuxedo that kind of looked like the Gerber baby, and Josh and the Maiden Metallurgist. That's right, people. I have populated my dreamscape with celebrities, weird babies, and blog friends. To whom I tell really boring anecdotes about library work.

There's got to be symbolism in there somewhere, but I don't think I want to try and figure out what.

This week has flown by in a flurry of activity. That's right, I said flurry. Oh, and speaking of flurries, I almost had a conipption fit yesterday because as I was working, out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked to me to be snowflakes blowing past the window. I became a rage-filled slobbering maniac. "ARE THOSE SNOWFLAKES?!!???" My co-worker looked at me with fear and said "Those are just cherry blossoms floating past the window." I could see in her eyes that she added to herself, silently: "ya friggin' freak." What can I say, I have been scarred by the snowy winter we've had and am gunshy. Or snowshy. Or something.

There is a copy of "Here's the Story," the tell-all sordid autobiography of Maureen "Marcia Brady" McCormick, sitting on the new book shelf at my work. I see it every day. It is pulling me toward it, like a blackhole, and I warn you I may be powerless to stop myself from checking it out. I just needed to confess that.

I saw a little bit of "Grease" on tv recently. Why do all of the people in that movie look like they are 30 years old, and how come I never noticed that when I was a kid? And also, how did they get Olivia Newton John's hair that big at the end of the movie? There had to be fake hair involved, right? And how come I never noticed that the whole point of that movie was to tell girls that you have to change everything about yourself and also put out if you want to keep your boyfriend? On the other hand, it also gave us the line "Where ya going? To flog your log?" so that's good.

So is anyone still watching Lost? And does anyone else think that Lapidus belongs in an 80s detective show a la Magnum PI or on the cover of a late 70s Harlequin Romance novel? And in this week's episode when they were yelling for him, didn't it sound like they were yelling "La Penis! La Penis!" like a fucked up Pepe LePew? And was Kate really wearing a big ass red scrunchie in her hair, for serious? And why did they have to make child-Ben so Harry Potter looking?

You may think I watch that show for the theories and the mind-twisting plotlines. But no. I watch so I can giggle at La Penis.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Walking On Sunshine

Holy shit it is nice weather here all of a sudden. I am kind of all agog about it.

Good thing too, because Sunday I went and did the MS Walk, to raise awareness (and dolla bills) for folks living with Multiple Sclerosis. And as much as I wanted to do the walk, I was afeared that it would be miserable weather outside, which makes me sound like the biggest asshole on the earth but I cannot tell a lie, I was so cheered up when it was all sunny.

As I was leaving that morning, I threatened Nordic Boy (who couldn't come because he was trying to get over a cold bug) with my wardrobe.

Me: (dressed in jeans, a shirt and a hoodie) I'm just wearing this! NO COAT!
Him: Good!
Me: I mean it!
Him: Fine!
Me: I'm not kidding!
Him: I believe you!
Me: I'm serious!

BioGirl and Borgsmith came to pick me up, and we headed over to the University of Washington campus to start the walk. All I knew was that we were starting somewhere on campus, and then walking over to Gasworks Park and then back again- about 4 miles. What I didn't realize was that the actual starting point was inside Husky Stadium.

Any sports fans reading this will defriend me after I say this, but I have never been inside a stadium before. Unless you count sports arenas- like for basketball. I have been in one of those. But a football stadium? Never! It was TOO EXCITING.

We met up with our team which consisted mostly of other library folks, including the always adorable Hopscotch and Rambo, who won the award (in my mind) of "Cutest T-shirts on Cutest Couple Ever."


Come on, people. The cuteness!

So we walked and walked, and the city was gorgeous. We walked along Lake Union, and the water was blue, and boats were drifting by, and all the trees were in full blossom mode. If only I would have taken photos (other than the t-shirt cuteness), I could share it with you. Shows you where my picture-taking priorities are.

After the walk, we all met up at Eastlake Bar and Grill for a late brunch. We sat out on a deck overlooking Lake Union (again, it was really pretty, wish someone would have taken a photo or something) and there was sunshine. Actual sunshine. It was so mothersucking pleasant, it was almost wrong.

When the walk was over, we sat down to rest a bit before getting on the road, and Borgsmith and I decided that the stadium turf was the cushiest spot available. But hey, do you all know that perfectly dry looking turf can be totally full of water like a sponge? Which may just cause your jeans and under-wheres to get sopping wet? Which will then make you feel like you have cold, soggy Huggies on as you are walking around trying to look normal? Yeah, because that's what happened.

Of course, BioGirl, Miss SMARTY SMARTGIRDLE did not make the mistake of sitting on the turf and kept her skivvies dry. See what they teach you when you go to Stanford?

And when I went home? Our windows were all open! And there was a nice breeze floating through the living room! And Nordic Boy and I dozed on the couch and listened to birds chirp and shit like that. It was totally ridonk.

And now, here it is, Tuesday, and it's still nice outside. It makes me feel a little manic- like I just want to be outside all the time no indoor anything just wake up and go outside and also wear skirts every damn day and I know this won't last because let's face it it's Seattle and the clouds shall return but for now it's so so nice. And I am enjoying the rest of my week with non-soggy drawers as well. Bonus.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Pretend Like You Care

Hey, guess what happened on this very weekend umpteen years ago in the magical land of Illinois?

I met my dude.

It was a grand affair.

At least to us.

Cherry Blossoms, Art and Mustaches

There was snow again this morning. And that ain't no April Fools. I don't think Seattle is really Seattle any more. Since when do we have snow like this? And since when do we have snow in April? Crikey.

I got up super early this morning to see Nordic Boy off on another business trip. But then I just stayed in my house all morning, with the shades drawn, eating my oatmeal and watching my tivo'd episode of Ellen in peace, not knowing what kind of crap was going on outside. So when I got myself ready for work and I stepped out my front door, I was so stupified and disappointed to see snow falling that I said, loudly, "AWWW MAAAAN!" and scared my elderly neighbor lady next door, Maggie, as she was sweeping her stoop.

Winter. Making me scare the elderly with my outbursts.

To spare you more whining about snow, let's just load up some photos of my lovely weekend. I got to thinking last week that I never really write anything on my blog that could be said to chronicle my daily life very well. Like, I tell you about when I say stupid things in meetings or I hearken back to the days when I was in a menage-a-hand-holding relationship, but I don't do the whole "this weekend I went to dinner and had a lovely kale pesto pasta dish, and then we went to the theater where we saw a revival of Cats." Maybe that's because I would probably not go see a revival of Cats, but a lot of you list off events in your lives like this on your blogs and I find it really interesting. Isn't that what is so compelling about blogs- to see a glimpse into someone else's life? And believe you me, I am more than just the girl who leaves inappropriate notes accidentally under people's doors. So much more.

On Friday afternoon, I went for a walk after work. The sky was a particularly striking color of dark gray. We get a lot of gray skies in Seattle this time of year. Ok, lots of times a year. Oh ALRIGHT, every time of year. And when you get this many gray skies, you start to see the nuances in each. It's like that thing that people say about Eskimos having nine grillion words for "snow." We have a million shades of gray skies.

Sounds depressing right? But it ain't. Because we also have pretty, pretty plantings and things, which break up the gray with lots of green and also flowery type colors. One thing about Seattle is that, even in the city, there are trees. Planted right into the sidewalk a lot of times.


Pink against gray. It's so 1988.

After that, I went out to eat dinner with Hopscotch and K8 at a nice little pub. I totally forgot to take photos while there, but at the last second I remembered to take a photo as we were leaving. This was taken right before BioGirl texted me to tell me that she had sighted a dude with a large handlebar mustache at Whole Foods. Yes, we really communicate about such things. In fact, you don't even know the half of it.


Minutes after the Great Mustache Alert of '09

Saturday, Nordic Boy went to the Green Festival for most of the day, and saw things about how there is a fungus among us, and how to build solar panels out of toenail clippings or some such thing like that. You know, bettering the world for our children, who are our future. Me? I went out with BioGirl and had brunch (including a GIANT BISCUIT OF DOOM). Which I am sure helps children in some way too.


Then, I put on my galoshes (not really) and my slicker (not really) and braved the rain to go see an exhibit of paintings on loan from Jodhpur that was showing at the Seattle Asian Art Museum. Rather than rent the headphones that tell you the art history about the paintings (I is a cheap bastard), I wore my iPod and listened to Ira Glass. Which was kind of a weird juxtaposition of media intake, really. It did help me to not be irritated with the room that the museum had set up for Interactive Cultural Appropriation Purposes where white people got to find their Indianness by donning saris as if it is Halloween. So that was nice. Also, the paintings were all kinds of awesome.




After that, I just sort of sloshed around the park outside the museum, getting rained on and kind of not caring how bad this was making my hair look. Kind of.

Behold the park's sculptural donut with the Space Needle in the background.

Later, I met up with Nordic Boy for a delicious dinner and then we went home with some rented movies and sat on our couch under a blanket, which is on my top five list of most favorite things in the universe.

Sunday, we walked to the grocery store and did some shopping, which is a really dumbass thing to do on a Sunday, since the whole world is also doing the exact same thing and so you are almost sure to get accidentally groped in the cereal aisle. At least I hope it was accidentally.



That night, we had friends over for dinner and stayed up talking with them into the wee hours. Which meant that we woke up on Monday morning to this.


The measure of a good weekend is how much clean up you have to do afterwards. Or something.

Hot Links

I'm taking the reciprocity links off the sidebar there. This here list below is only the folks that are known to me from comments and other suchlike. I know there are more people out there linking to me, which is awesome and thanks, but if you want me to know about you, I figure you woulda said something to me or something. So if you link to me and I don't know it, by all means shout it out and I will try my tootin'-est to add you to the list. If you're not on here and you think I shoulda included you, you may have a point. Rest assured you're not on here because I am sloppy, not because I am an asshole. Cool? Okey dokey.

At the Library
And You Know What Else
Back to Me
Because It's the Dallas Etiquette
Belly and the Bug
Brown Sugar
Christy Lou Who
Do They Read Obituaries In Hell
East Coast F'Lakers
Fianna's Little Internet Space
Fortune For You
A Girl And Her Neuroses
Got Gauge
It's All In My Head
Jell-O Universe
Kelly Green Rogue
Librarian Interrupted
Life of a Lovechild
Moving Right Along
Musings or Endless Ramblings?
No Apathy Allowed
Orange Chair
Pardon the Egg Salad
Pitter Patter and Chitter Chatter
Playful Librarian
Return to Rural
Rude Cactus
Salem Press
Sauntering Soul
Site Insights
Sphincterhood
Spotless Mind
Tales of a Library Lady
Teacher Ninja
Steel Away
This Won't Hurt A Bit
Tiny Little Librarian
Wind in the Wire
Your Neighborhood Librarian

Boys Next Door

Hey, remember the weird house that is next door to me? The one that should be on Extremely Crazy Home Makeover?

There is finally someone living there!

(If you want to remind yourself of The Crazy, read my post about it here).

To recap and bring you up to date, the house next to mine was a perfectly fine house. Then this lady bought it and went batshit with flip fever. Then she put a For Rent sign on it and tried to lease the gigantic shack for $5500 a month. It sat there for months and months with (what a shock!) no takers. Then she tried to sell it for one point one meelion dollars. Then it sat there for more months and months. Then she tried to rent it again. This time she got some takers who she didn't get a background check on and didn't get any deposit from and who never paid her a red cent in rent and squatted there for about three months. After they were evicted, the For Sale sign went back up. Then the fFor Rent sign went back up. Are you following all this??

Well last weekend, someone MOVED IN.

They are a group of guys- college students, it looks like. A parade of cars pulled up over the weekend and a bunch of boys and what looked to be their parents moved them all in. So now I think we have actual neighbors. Ones that might stay a while. I saw two of them on the sidewalk as I left my house this morning.

You know what will make you feel old, like a piece of cheese that has grown green and hairy? Looking at college students and thinking that THEY LOOK LIKE BABIES.

Seriously, these boys look three heartbeats away from a pair of Pampers. One of them is a dead ringer for Chunk from Goonies. The other one doesn't look like he can shave yet. Don't you have to have pubes in order to rent a home? Isn't that written into law somewhere?

I'm sorry I just referred to my new neighbor's pube deficiency. That was probs really inappropriate, huh?

Anyway, I guess new neighbors doesn't seem to be enough to get a whole blog post out of, but after two-plus years of waiting to see who was going to rent/buy the neighborhood monstrosity, we have a winner!

Subject change! Can someone please tell me what the hell that smell is that you get when you sit on a plane for a while? You know what I mean? There is that very specific, special plane stank. Nordic Boy got home from business in Dallas last night and the reunion was somewhat ruined by my having to tell him that instead of his usual deliciousness, he smelled of Plane. It's not something you can really smell unless you get way up in someone's koolaid, but still. It's not nice. Especially when you have a thirst for someone's koolaid.

Speaking of koolaid, there was this boy that Biology Girl used to like, back in the days of yore. And for some reason, Nordic Boy and I called him Purplesaurus Rex. It doesn't really matter why. Then, when we all figured out that he wasn't so nice, we called him Purplesaurus Rash. Which, let's face it, is a pretty good name for someone you don't like. Last week? Nordic Boy says the following.

Him: Remember that guy? The one BioGirl liked for a while?
Me: Who?
Him: Oh, you know. That one. Oh, what was his name? KOOL-AID STAIN?
Me: BioGirl liked someone named Koolaid Stain?
Him: Yeah, you know.
Me: Do you mean Purplesaurus Rash?
Him: Yeah. That's it. Same thing.

I'm kind of mad that that dude didn't stick around long enough for us to call him Koolaid Stain when we talked about him. He was gone too fast, and we never really talked about him again. But Koolaid Stain just seems like a nickname that has totally gone to waste.

Next time you think someone's kind of an a-hole, call them Koolaid Stain for me, ok?

Wow, how's that for a random post?

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Enjoy the Silence

When Nordic Boy goes away on biznazz trips, I need to make plans with other people. Like, I really really need to do that. You may think this indicates that I am a weak-willed, codependent girly who can't go two days without her loverman. That is not the case. I am an independent lady. I can do for myself. I got this. Throw your hands up at me.

The reason that I go out of my way to make plans with people when Nordic Boy goes out of town is that if I don't, I can easily go through the entire time he's gone not saying one word outside of work. And to go three, four, five days without any non-work-related speech is just wrong. Right?

A big part of why this can happen to me is that when I am by myself, I don't speak. Perhaps this seems like an obvious thing to say, to some people. Of course you don't speak when you're by yourself. There's no one to speak to. But I have been conducting a little informal survey of my friends and I am realizing that most people, at least most weirdos that I hang out with, talk to themselves when they are alone. It doesn't seem to matter whether there is another person there or not, people are talking. They sing to themselves, they say hello to their plants, they make decisions out loud instead of in their head ("let's see, what shall I have for dinner tonight, Self?"). Ok, maybe they don't address their comments to "Self" like that, I don't know. How should I know? I don't do that. When I am alone, I shut up. I don't hum, I don't comment, I don't pontificate. I think to myself, inside my head, vocal cords turned off. Maybe if I stub my toe I might cuss or something. Other than that, it's crickets at my house.

So out of curiosity, I want to put this out to blogland. Do you talk to yourself when you are alone? Or are you a silence is golden type of person? Let' s hear it.

Put up or shut up. Or don't shut up, if that's how you roll.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Playing By Toothpaste

There is this horrifying scene in a movie I saw once, and it scarred me. Like, forever.

It wasn't The Ring. It wasn't Dawn of the Dead. It wasn't creepy Norman Bates and his momma. It was "Playing By Heart" starring the likes of Angelina Jolie, Sean Connery, and Gillian "Scully" Anderson, among others.

First of all, the movie is b-list. It's not a straight-to-dvd movie, but it was probably close. It's not high quality, is all I'm saying. In the movie, there are all of these separate plotlines about different romances, and as the movie goes on you see how all of these characters all know each other. Sort of a "Sidewalks of New York" idea.

One of the couples is Scully and Jon Stewart. Yes, that Jon Stewart. Don't go out and rent the movie if you are a Daily Show fan (me), and have a teensy crush on Jon Stewart (me again). First of all, it's embarrassing to see the man we all know to be so smart and funny and smart and smart and funny sitting right in the middle of this dumbass movie. He's just so... better than that. You don't deserve to see him that way. And second of all, he is in The Horrifying Scene. The one that scarred me.

I don't even remember the plot line. I don't remember anything but the awful scene. He and Scully, there are in wedded bliss in their apartment. Or shacked up bliss. Something like that. And Scully is brushing her teeth. Not fake brushing her teeth, the likes of which you see in tv and movies, where there is no actual toothpaste involved and it looks all pretty. She is actually brushing her teeth. With white, frothy, saliva-activated toothpaste. And Jon, my lovely Jon, swoops in and takes her in his arms, and they kisss. Like, he just laps up the toothpaste spilling out of her mouth, and they smooch it up.

THE HORROR.

Nordic Boy and I, we have been together for a long time. And we make out quite a bit. More than is really necessary, really. But in all the times we have kissed, we don't let our toothpaste, our IN USE toothpaste, touch each other in any way. Because, gross, right? Isn't that gross?

If I am wrong about this, and you all are sharing toothpaste in this way, please do not tell me. I want to believe this is not acceptable behavior.

So this weekend, I was brushing my teeth (and no, don't worry, I am not about to tell you a story where I saw the light and actually thought it was fine to kiss this way. I wouldn't do that to you). And while I was doing so, I look to the side (where the door is open into the hallway). Nordic Boy is walking back and forth in front of the door. First, he walks by in a "Walk Like an Egyptian" sort of dance. Next, he kicks by, like he has a top hat and is marching off a vaudeville stage. Next, he does an MC Hammer scoot by. Next, he booty-bops by, swinging an invisible pretend weave, and singing "to the left, to the left," like Beyonce. And so on. Each one weirder than the last. Finally, he stays in the hallway, and just peeks his head around the corner with a weird bug-eyed, smiling Carol Channing face and sings "Jeepers, Creepers, where'd you get those eyessssss!"

To which I answered by taking my toothbrush out of my mouth, bursting into laughter, and SPRAYING HIS ENTIRE FACE WITH TOOTHPASTE.

It was brutal. I didn't mean to do it, I swear. But the more he did crazy walks past the door, the more I wanted to laugh, but the more I thought I could hold it in until I was done. Bad call. Very bad call.

Some performers get tomatoes thrown at them. But this? This is unprecedented I am sure. The toothpaste spit-take. Onto the person I love most in the world, who is just trying to cheer up my day.

So as much as "Playing By Heart" has made me think about how I would never let my used toothpaste touch anyone else, ever, I have indeed sunk that low. Not cool, LG. Not even cool.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

"Memes, Madam! I Know Not Memes!"

So, I'm sorry this whole blog thing has fallen to shite for the past coupla weeks. Let's just leave it at that, ok, and not have to have an awkward Ross-and-Rachel-I-was-on-a-break conversation about why posting more often was just not working for me and how I cannot always fulfill my blog's needs. Every day for two weeks, the blog would look at me with desire. And I was all not tonight, honey, I have a headache. And then the blog would say something like pleasebabybabyplease and I would say I don't like it when you're all clingy and then the blog would say I'm waiting for you, every day and you are letting me down, and I would say dang you, I gots to hang with my girls sometimes, and then I gave the blog an icy stare and it crossed its arms at me.

But, we are all good now, mending fences with each other, so we don't have to keep playing these mind games.

Here's a little meme action for your pleasure, which was tagged at me (tagged to me? tagged for me?) by one of you all somewhere some time ago and I am all shame-shame to admit I can't remember who it was. That's right, I am not only going to not post for two weeks, but when I do, I am going to get all memey on you. HOW LAZY CAN I GET?

I am not usually very good at memes because I start to get all ornery about how the questions are formulated and I am not so hot with succint meme-like answers because I am Lady Blabs-A-Lot, so bear with me. You didn't think that meme-answering was a thing one could suck at, did you? It is not exactly a skill-based activity, after all. However, I suck at many things that require little to no skill. Kickball, for instance. Also, eating lunch is difficult for me. And Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Anyhoo. Here we go. My attempt at memery.

1. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

Not to start off all Pollyanna, but why are we starting off with murdering someone? Is this really necessary? Chill out, dude. It's so not worth it.

2. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Who will it be?

This whole meme better not be about killing people. I'm trying to play along but I really can't think of an artist I hate that much. The most I can muster up is just a mild disdain. Like...Heidi Montag. Who did attempt a recording career, yes? Or did I just dream that?

3. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Wow, so now we're not killing people, we are just hitting them. Emily Post didn't write this meme, that's for damn sure. I haven't been able to answer these questions very well so far, but this one, I think I can do. Bill O'Reilly kind of makes me go there. The librarian does not like Papa Bear.

4. What is your favorite cheese?
Dean Martin.

5. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your immediate disposal. What kind of sandwich will you eat?

I swear I am not trying to be difficult, but the truth is I'm not a big sandwich eater. I tend to like a nice slice of avocado on a sandwich though. And spicy mustard. Is that good enough?

Jeezy Creezy, I suck at this.

6. You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no-strings-attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity of your choice?

Celebrities honestly don't do it for me, for the most part. Like Brad Pitt and George Clooney I find completely repulsive. A young Gregory Peck (who doesn't find Atticus Finch sexy?), maybe. So, yeah, I don't know.

7. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music celebrity of your choice, who will it be?
I'm not getting burned on that deal again. Band boys are the devil and I have a strict policy of not touching them ANY MORE.

8. Now that you've slept with two people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. What do you buy?
Yay! A question I can definitively answer! Clothes, without a doubt.

9. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
Home to see my folks. Not glamorous, but it's true.

10. An angel appears out of heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the beverage of your choice. It is?
A beverage angel? Really? Water is my favorite beverage. Then I am partial to fresh squeezed juices. What a square.

11. Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anywhere in the PAST. Where do you go?
Rufus? Like Chaka Khan Rufus? Or Gossip Girl Rufus? Or Wainwright, Rufus? (Yes, yes, I know it's Bill & Ted's Rufus, I just wanted to list all the Rufuses I could think of). I'd like to go and spend some time with my parents in Fiji when they were young and had just met and were rocking the hizzouse.

12. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?
No alarm clocks.

13. You have been given the opportunity to create the half-hour TV show of your own design. What is it?
I want the old variety show to come back. Like Donny and Marie, Sonny and Cher, Carol Burnett, Laugh-In, The Smothers Brothers, Ed Sullivan. God I am old.

14. What is your favorite curse word?
I love all the cusses like they are my own children.

15. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, what do you do?
Freak the fuck OUT. Obviously.

16. Your house is on fire! What do you do?
Get Nordic Boy and me out of there? Again, obviously.

17. The Angel of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?
Hold onto my honey, I'm not gonna lie. And also, ask the Angel of Death if he's related to the Beverage Angel and how the Angel duties get doled out like that.

18. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What super-power is it?
I hate it when I accidentally eat radioactive vegetables. I always thought Magneto was really cool, but I don't really feel like I'll need to manipulate metal with my mind in my daily life. I mean, really. What am I going to do? Go to work and staple papers together with my mind? So maybe...accelerated healing would be good.

19. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
Some sort of dance highlight, I think.

20. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?
Yeah, I don't really want to say. Who put this depressing shit in the meme?

21. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check this out you can move anywhere. Where are you going?
I kind of love where I live now. But if I am kicked out of the US, I would go to New Zealand where lots of my family are living now.

22. This question still counts, even for those of you who are under age, if you were banned from every bar in the world except one, which one would it be?
I so could not care less.

23. Hopefully you didn't mention this in the super-powers question... If you did, then we'll just expound on that. Check it out… Suddenly, you have gained the ability to fly! Whose house are you going to fly to first, and be like "Check it out I can FLY!?"
BioGirl's. Although I have given her crazy news in the past and it has caused her to run away from me and shut herself into the bathroom for a few minutes. If I could fly, she might might never come out, so maybe not.

24. The constant absorption of magical moon beams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous person of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?
Mr. Rogers.

Since I've Been Gone

Two weeks of no blogging? Are you kidding me?

Here's the excuse: much of that time, I was visiting my folks back in Michigan. As they live over the border of the Digital Divide, I usually make trips to the local library to get my blog fix while I am there, or at the very least ask a friend to blog sit for me and write up something guesty. This time, I didn't do a damn thing. I just up and left without a word, like the ungrateful heifer I am.

The heifer is back! Woot! Can I get a whut-whut??

...How about just a single whut?

Anyone out there?

***

Ah well, serves me right.

Rather than going into lots o' deets about the trip, I shall summarize it all with some lists. Because you know I love me some lists.

List of Books on My Childhood Bedroom Bookshelf
(Alternate Title: Why I Was A Teen Weirdo)
1. The Pistachio Prescription, by Paula Danziger
2. Comparative Economic Systems: Models and Cases
3. Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass
4. The Thorn Birds, by Colleen McCullough
5. Death of a Salesman, by Arthur Miller
6. Waiting for the Barbarians, by J.M. Coetzee
7. Pretty In Pink, movie novelization
8. The Cherry Orchard, by Anton Chekhov
9. Anne of Avonlea, by L.M. Montgomery
10. Jacob Have I Loved, by Katherine Paterson
11. Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte
12. Dracula, by Bram Stoker
13. Betty and Veronica Double Digest
14. The Color Purple, by Alice Walker
15. The Art of Making Dances, by Doris Humphrey
16. Maggie Adams, Dancer, by Karen Strickler Dean
17. The Great Wall of China, by Franz Kafka
18. Staying Alive movie novelization
19. One Brief Sweet Hour (a Harlequin Romance)
20. North and South, by John Jakes
22. The Second Sex, by Simone de Beauvoir
23. The Shy Ones, by Lynn Hall




Homemade things I stuffed in my gaping maw this past fortnight...(thanks, mom)

1. Cinnamon rolls
2. Blueberry muffins
3. Curried black eyed peas and potatoes
4. Fiji-style cabbage curry
5. Okra masala
6. Hummus
7. Baba ghanoush
8. Spinach pie
9. Tabbouli
10. Falafel
11. Veggie calzone
12. Dahl with dried mango strips
13. Breaded mozzarella sticks (ok this one wasn't homemade)
14. Chicago style pizza (that one either)
15. Stuffed grape leaves
16. Banana bread
17. Currant scones
18. Raspberry trifle
19. Lemon bundt cake
20. Veggie samosas
21. Baked eggplant
22. Sauteed spicy spinach
23. Rice pilaf (three varieties)
24. Avocado salad
25. Portobello mushroom sandwich
26. Sesame ginger stir fry
27. Channa masala
28. Cassava and tomato stew
29. Apple pie
30. Gallons and gallons of tea

Things Nordic Boy Fixed At My Parents' House
1. Re-tiled the floor in the laundry room and entry.
2. Replaced old parts in the furnace.
3. Replaced old parts in the de-humidifier.
4. Repaired a leaky sink.
5. Fixed a breadmaker.
6. Fixed creaks in the floor.
7. Fixed sticky windows that wouldn't open properly.

Things I Do Not Miss about My Hometown
1. The potholes. HOLY JEEZUS. I don't think I can even call them potholes. The roads where my parents live are like cement streets that have been walked on by Gojeera and Mothra. They are just big huge cracks filled in with large pieces of rubble. It is not even right.
2. The lack of basic things you would think an American town would have. Like ditches with drainage. It is really not cool, people. Shouldn't tax-paying people have yards that are not buried in muck, rather than shit that looks like this?

3. Trash. There is trash all over the place. It's sad.

So basically my message here is that if you live in a depressed town, shit just don't work. Like, infrastructure that should work, just doesn't. And it makes me kind of crazy and mad.

Things I Do Miss about My Hometown
1. The friendly people. People are so nice there, it's weird. All the warmth is like, overwhelming.
2. The pretty, flat grasslands. Makes me want to run around and fall down like Carrie Ingalls.
3. Huge, puffy white clouds in deep blue skies. We don't have those in Seattle.
4. Big factories. I know it's odd, but seeing a big smokestack makes me feel right at home.
5. My folks. Really, my parents rock, ya'll. They really, really do.

iCrochety

Oops, did I just take a week off from blogland? Why I believe I did. Lookee that.

This week Nordic Boy bullied me into getting an iPhone. Maybe bullied is the wrong word. More like nagged me into getting one. Boohoo, poor me, right? He has been at me to get one for about a year and this week I finally caved. You may be asking yourself why I need to be nagged into getting something as nice and coveted as an iPhone. And the answer to that is the fact that, contrary to what it may seem like, in my heart of hearts I am what is commonly referred to as a Cheap Bastard. Maybe it's all that free stuff in libraryland, but paying for stuff really sucks the big one in my book and given the choice I am Squeezy McTightwad. Also, I am big on cell phone etiquette (also due in large part to what I see in libraryland) and the people who can't stop looking at their effin' phones are weird, and the mesmerizing powers of iPhones just raise the phone-love exponentially, and I am scared of becoming one of those people. When I am talking to you, I will not answer my cell phone or simultaneously text someone else, unless it really truly can't wait, and then I will say "I'm sorry, excuse me" and use my phone quickly. Cuz just talking on it and texting and checking it and stroking it and loving it in front of someone that you are supposed to be interacting with in person and doing that as a matter of course is way rude. When did acting that way stop being a rude thing to do?

Ha ha, I am cracking myself up. I am so GET OFF MY LAWN YOU STINKING CELL PHONERS! I need to practice shaking my fist at people to complete the crotchety picture.

My fist that is holding my iPhone, that is. My shiny, shiny iPhone.

Another highlight of my week was going over to Hopscotch and Rambo's house to play board games. We played Catchphrase, which I had never played before, but gave me all kinds of agida because it has this beeping siren thing that beeps at you very loudly the whole time you are playing and the beeping grows faster and faster as your time runs out and I was just waiting for something to blow up because that beeping was a pre-blow-up sound if ever I heard one. Which I guess I haven't. Heard one, that is.

We also played Loaded Questions, which was very difficult. The game goes like this- one person asks a question to the others (for example "who would play you if there was a movie made about your life?") and everyone else writes their answer down, and then the question-asker has to guess whose answer was whose. This game proved rather difficult, as apparently the four of us share a brain. We kept answering questions quite similarly, or even the exact same, making it kind of pointless to try and distinguish between the answers.

Most of the time, that is. Let's recreate a round and you can try and guess who said what. Ready? Ok.

Question: If you found $50 on the street, and you had to spend it immediately, what would you buy?

Answers given by Hopscoth, Nordic Boy, and me, in RANDOM ORDER:

Clothes, clothes, and insulation.

I'll give you a moment to contemplate that before you guess.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Mom Morph

As you get older, you may start to realize that there are things about you that are starting to resemble your parents. Like, for me, my sneezes are getting more and more overpowering. This is scary to me because both of my parents have sneezes that can bring a brick house down. When my dad sneezes, people are concerned for him. He is a slightly built man, but the sound that comes out of him when he sneezes is like a lion on a megaphone. My mom's is loud too. Like, it might hurt your ears if you were standing too close. My sneeze, so far, is not in ear-drum-blowing territory yet, but each year, my honker sneezes a little bit louder, and I am not ashamed to tell you that I am terrified of becoming a combo Disney Dwarf/Spice Girl hybrid named Scary Sneezy Spice.

In related news, did I ever tell you about Nordic Boy's propensity, (well, it's seldom, but it does happen every so often) to scream bloody murder at the tv screen? Let me tell you it is HIGH-LARIOUS. My theory is that he has a very specific gene sequence in his DNA that causes him to do this. To quote Will I Am, he got it from his momma. I love Nordic Boy's mom. She is gregarious, energetic, the life of the goldarn party. She is one of these people that you don't have to say a word to the whole time you are around her, because she is so vivacious and full of life and stories and jokes that she will just entertain you like a high energy vaudeville act until the sun comes up. No lie, she is a performer at heart- give her an audience and watch her go. I love it. Still, when you meet her, and you meet Nordic Boy, it's truly hard to see where the heck he even came from because there is not a lot about them that is alike. Nordic Boy will not tap dance for you, figuratively or literally. Will not happen. He is not one to make a scene about anything, whereas his mom has a spotlight magnet hidden in her purse at all times. There are many other ways they seem quite opposite, not just temperament, and I shall spare you the list because it would take all day but you get the picture.

One thing Nordic Boy's momma does is she yells at the tv. Tv is a two-way conversation as far as she is concerned and those effers on the screen more often than not need a good talking to and she will dress it up in a curse-filled bow while she is at it. Many of her comments are of a decidedly proletarian bent, where she is speaking up for the common folk who earn a living from the sweat of their brow. It is really a sight to see.

Nordic Boy doesn't yell. Like, ever. I don't think I have ever seen him yell and I have known him for eons. It's just not in him to do so. First of all he doesn't have much of a temper to begin with, so getting him to a point where he is even mad at all takes some doing. And if it does happen, yelling just does not come into the equation.

HOWEVER.

Every once in a blue moon, when we are watching tv, I SWEAR TO YOU HIS MOM POSSESSES HIM.

Last night, we were watching some economic meltdown coverage on BBC America. Everything is perfectly silent. I am typing on my laptop, and he is sitting across the room watching the show. And out of nowhere he yells out "THESE GODDAMN PEOPLE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK THEY ARE DOING! STUPID SHITHEADS. MAYBE IF THEIR ASSES HAD EVER WORKED AN HONEST DAY IN THEIR LIVES THEY WOULD WAKE UP! BUNCHA FUCKERS! JESUS THEY NEED TO GET THIS CRAP TOGETHER!"

And then, back to silence.

I looked at him, my jaw on the floor. He looked at me, his face as shocked as mine. And then we almost peed ourselves laughing.

"My mom!" he gasped. "She's HERE."

It's in the DNA, people.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Valentine's Card

Happy early Valentine's Day, everyone!

I grew up being intensely cranky about Valentine's Day, but I am mellowing out about it in my old age. Plus this year it is sidled up right next to President's Day so you can get romantic about Grover Cleveland if you want to and double up on the holiday goodness and so how can I get cranky about that?

I think the most favoritest Valentine I ever received was one from my mom when I was in college. It was some big, large, glittery ridiculous Hallmark number (my mom loves buying gigantic cards from Hallmark) with hearts all over it and a sappy embossed Hallmark-written calligraphy poem inside about how perfect I am (my mom thinks I am way perfect, please don't try to argue this point with her) and written across the bottom in my mom's careful writing it says the following:

"'I DON'T KNOW WHY I LOVE YOU LIKE I DO.' I learned this from a commercial about spaghetti. I love you, my darling daughter, MOM"

I don't know if you have to know my mom to realize how friggin' awesome that is. Every time I look at that card I laugh and tear up all at the same time.

Oh, and in case that totally went over your head, there used to be a commercial- like for Ragu sauce or something. And there was this cheesy rendition of that song on it. And this is how my mom chose to express herself. You gotta love a lady like that.

I hope you have a loverly weekend, everyone, and that you have someone in your life that writes you kooky love cards like that.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Sit UBU, Sit. Good dog.

Is the title of this post too obscure of a pop culture reference? Even for me? Oh well. Just pretend that it makes sense.

My job, sometimes, is a simple barrage of questions, all the live long day. Questions from library patrons, questions from other staff people, questions from all sides. The current form of library job I have doesn't just have information-type questions, but it also has decision-making type questions. That I have to answer. All day. What should we do about this? How should we handle that? The something-or-other is on the fritz, do something! And I have to answer. Decisions, decisions. Which leads me to have conversations like this, on the phone, at the end of my day, when all my question-answering and decision-making powers have dried up.

Nordic Boy: I'm ordering a pizza. What do you want on it?
Me: ...
Nordic Boy: Hello?
Me: I'm here. Just...
Nordic Boy: They have a special on the Super Margherita pizza.
Me: ...
Nordic Boy: And I'll get a salad too, right?
Me:....
Nordic Boy: Or would you rather get the Tree Hugger pizza?
Me: uh...
Nordic Boy: Hello? Are you there?
Me: Yes...I...that sounds...um...I...
Nordic Boy: Oh, I see where you're at. Never mind. Come home. I got this.
Me: Ok...um...what?
Nordic Boy: Hang up.

With a week that ended like that, I spent my day off, Friday, in my pajamas. All day. I don't think I moved more than two or three times the whole day. I never do that, unless I am sick or something. I watched the entire season 1 of Family Ties (thanks, Netflix Instant Player), a few episodes of Kate and Allie ("just when you think...you're all by yourself...you're not"), and two depressing documentaries. What is more depressing? Heavy documentaries or the fact that I watched Season 1 of Family Ties and topped it off with Kate and Allie? I'll let you decide.

On Saturday, I worked. When I came home from work, my living room was cavernously empty, as Nordic Boy had donated away a bunch of our furniture in preparation of our new couch, which is an event that is so exciting that I can't quite talk about it right now. Then I spent the evening hanging out with BioGirl and Nordic Boy, and almost passing out with tiredness by 11pm. Woo hoo!

Sunday, I woke up early and watched another depressing documentary. This one was "Deliver Us from Evil," which made me cry my eyes out, which was unfortunate as I was having friends over for lunch and so they were met with bleary eyes and sniffles from me. "Hi friends, it's so good to see you....waaaahhhhhh! Oh don't mind me, I'm just an emotional wreck. I always get this way over bagels sandwiches and mini-doughnuts."

Sunday evening I went to bed with visions of the new couch that is to come dancing in my head. Did I mention how exciting this is? So exciting that I slept like ass. That's right. Over a couch.

Usually, Nordic Boy is a very heavy sleeper. His head hits the pillow and he is out. And when he wakes up in the morning, he is awake and fresh. Not me. It takes me a long time to fall asleep, and if I hear the slightest noise, I wake up, and when I wake up in the morning, it is like being ripped from the jaws of death.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up at 3am because Nordic Boy was getting up. He walked out into the living room for a minute, and then came back in.

Me: What are you doing?
Him: I just had to check and see if it's snowing.
Me: Is it?
Him: Yeah.
Me: How did you know that?
Him: I don't know. I guess I heard it.

HE HEARD IT? He heard it. A train can come through our room and he will not hear it, but snowfall? All of a sudden he's got bat ears.

Oh, and also? I AM GETTING A NEW COUCH ON MONDAY.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

All Shook Up

Oh hay, did I forget to tell you? There was an earthquake here in Seattle. Look at me, so west coast, forgetting to tell you about an earthquake.

Last summer I was at my parents house and there was a tornado warning in the area around their house. We had to go sit in the basement and listen to the radio and hope to heck that we wouldn't be swept away to Oz. And it was SO NORMAL to me. We did this on a regular basis when I was growing up, and hearing those tornado warning sirens, eerie and loud in the still, tornado-colored air (I swear there is a specific color of gray that befalls the surroundings when a tornado is on its way in Michigan) and the tornado smell. Didn't phase me at all, really. I mean, it's scary, but I'm used to that fear. If that makes any sense.

Since I have moved to Seattle, I have been in various earthquakes, and although I have never panicked or anything during one (I'm too lazy to panic), they have freaked my freak somewhat. Even the little ones. I was never one of those people that didn't notice an earthquake (you crazy Californians). If the ground is shaking, even in a not-violent way, you bet your sweet hiney I NOTICE.

But Friday morning? When Nordic Boy and I were being shaken awake at 5:30 in the morning? Not only were we not scared, we didn't even think it was an earthquake. Our windows were rattling in their frames, our roof was shaking. Rather than an earthquake, we jumped to our own individual conclusions reflecting our respective WORST NIGHTMARES.

Me: Oh my god. There's someone rattling our window! (ie a murderous killer who is going to break in and eat our brains after sawing us to bits with a machete).
Him: Oh my god. There's a squirrel that somehow got into my roof! (ie my well-insulated, newly built, tightly seamed roof that I love like the fruit of my loins.)

See how our fears differ? I am deathly afraid of Hannibal Lechter. Nordic Boy is deathly afraid of roof penetration.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Twitter Me Timbers

Ok Librarian Girl, snap out of it! For serious! You have got to start updating this dang blog more often! This is NOT EVEN COOL.

Oh hello. You seem to have stepped in whilst I was giving myself a good talking to. Pardonne moi.

You know what I am not understanding lately? Twitter. I mean, I have a Twitter account, and I use it sometimes, but really? As a concept, I just don't quite understand it. I looked at my Twitter account the other day, and it was crazy to see how many people are following me on Twitter. I am not saying this as a brag- ooh la la- I am so popular people are following me on Twitter! I'm sure just as many people are following you. But why? What are we doing? What is the point? I thought that it was maybe just a few of my friends that want to know that I am waiting for a table at a restaurant or that I am about to go for a walk or that I am on my way to Target. But no, it's hundreds of people! All wanting to know these types of things about each other.

So I have no wisdom to impart to this whole Twitter concept, nor do I have any real critique of it. I just want to say, a la Jerry Seinfeld: "Twitter. What! is the deal! with THAT?"

There are many lovely things going on in my life lately, which is a good thing because I am all done with watching Deadwood and I was afraid that the void would be too much for my poor heart to handle. But so far, I have been able, as the Deadwood folks have taught me, to "sally fuckin' forth," which hasn't been too hard because I have been filling my time with many other lovely things, like the giant tome that is the Kaufman biography of Doris Day (which doubles as a bicep strengthener). And going out to family Italian restaurants that have jazz bands and dance floors where frilly little girls twirl around to upright basses. And awesome friends that throw pie parties. (And seriously? A pie party? Why have I never thought of such a thing before? There should be all sorts of social activities that are built upon the premise of eating pies!) And my lovely gentleman friend with whom I reside bringing Dance Dance Revolution into my house to stay with us forever and give us even more of a reason to challenge each other to dance offs. As if we needed more of a reason. Plus Battlestar Galactica is back (the final cylon! that totally surprised me), and so is Lost, so never fear, the time that I spend sitting on my ass absorbing the light from the tv directly into my brain is being maintained.

The loss of Deadwood has not broken me. The confusion about Twitter just might.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Typing From Under a Blanket

It has been snowing a little bit in Seattleland this week. Again. I have lived in this town for over a decade and I have never, ever seen the white stuff fall like this. It's not a lot by my Midwestern standards. It doesn't usually even stick after it falls, really. In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing.

But, people, I am telling you, it has GOT TO STOP.

Not even because I am cold. I can handle being cold. Heck, I am cold when it is 50 degrees outside. The real reason it has to stop is because I fear I will never leave my house again if it doesn't. I have a serious case of the cozies. Give me cold weather, a full fridge, a warm house, and (the ultimate kiss of death) a whole set of Deadwood dvds to watch, and you may never see me again. Nordic Boy and I, we just sit at home. All the time. And we never want to leave. Ever. There were things that I could have done this weekend. Things I should have done. I had free tickets to a play at the Seattle Shakespeare Company. We ditched it. There was an awesome librarian crafty party, but did I go? Nope. And there was a pub night out on Sunday evening, but again, as Ronny, Bobby, Ricky, Mike, Johnny, and Ralph would sing, you got to count me ow-out. Instead, we got under a blanket, ate grilled cheese sandwiches, and watched the snow fall. And also, watch Al Swearingen and Calamity Jane cuss people out. I am convinced this is all I need out of life.

Good thing I have to get my ass to work every day. Although that has been making me want to stay home even more, because things in Libraryland have been hella ornery lately. It's weird how these things go in waves. I can go days and days without anything too dramatic happening, and then all of a sudden, one day, it's like the entire city of Seattle has decided to collectively come to the library and freak out. Everyone lately is ANGRY. And they are especially angry at librarians, because we are being all pesky by helping them find information and doing research for them and oh, what was that other thing we do? Give them FREE STUFF. I can see why that would make someone want to go ballistic. Stupid librarians.

In other news, I think Nordic Boy is kind of rubbing off on me. Ew. Not like THAT. I mean his brain. Before a meeting yesterday, I was sitting and taking some pre-meeting notes.

Lady #1: (looking at the wall, and speaking to other people around me) What is that paneling made of? It's so interesting looking.
Lady #2: I don't know. It does look nice though.
Me: (butting in and not looking up from my notebook) It's MDF.
Dude #1: What?
Me: (still writing) MDF.
Lady #2: What is MDF?
Me: Medium Density Fiberboard.
Dude #1: What's that?
Me: (still writing) It's made from like, broken down wood fibers, and resin. They use heat and pressure to compress it together into sheets. Depending on the materials used, it can be pretty environmentally friendly. Unless they emit formaldehide from the binder, which some do, which is bad. But there are types that aren't toxic, and the materials used can be totally recycled, from like, recycled paper, or scraps from logging, or whatever. Or straw and bamboo, which are much more renewable.
(silence)
Me: (stopping writing, looking up, and seeing all three people staring at me).
(silence)
Me: I just...know that. Somehow.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

In Your Facebook

There are many, many things I love about Facebook. I love reconnecting with people that I haven't talked to in a long time. I love being able to see the photos of my friends and their families and trips and weddings and all. I love taking a moment out of my day to take a quiz on "Which Sweathog from Welcome Back Kotter Are You?" I love that I can Facebook Chat easily with my friends and relatives overseas. I love that it's easy to send my friends a quick message, or link, or photo, or video or whatever. I love that it's like having a high school/college reunion without, you know, actually having a high school/college reunion.

Those are the things I like about my Facebook experience. There are also things that confuse and perplex me. That's right, confuse AND perplex. Both. Not at all redundant, me.

The following are some of these.

The people from middle school who send you a friend request, and you accept, and then you say hi, and they NEVER MAKE A SOUND? I mean, what is that? Why are you friending me, oh silent one who I haven't seen since puberty? You have no interest in saying hello to me, or catching up, and yet here we are, Facebook friends. Goodie for us. This seems like the equivalent of asking me out on a date, and then sitting at the restaurant with me in silence the whole time. Which has actually happened to me, by the way. Except I was the one that didn't talk during the date. And that was only because I was so intimidated by the boy that I clammed up like I had too much Polident in my mouth. And I don't think that intimidation has anything to do with this behavior on Facebook. Regardless, it's weird.

The people who were assholes in high school who continue to be assholes as grownups...on Facebook. COME ON! This is your big chance to show us all that you have changed! That you grew out of it! That you have become a decent human being! There was this one guy, who lived in my neighborhood? And although he was nice to me growing up, he was pretty much a dick to anyone that he deemed not on his level. I recently saw that he had made a high schooly dickish remark on a fellow classmate's Facebook page. Really? Still? You're going to go there? Gross.

Braggy braggy on the Facebook page status updates. WHAT? WHY? "Jane is wondering what she is going wear to the Oscars." "Jack is having highballs at the London Ritz Carlton." Jane, I remember when you barfed all over the floor during dodgeball, and Jack, I pantsed you in 9th grade and saw your skidmarks, so talk to the hand, ok?

Ladies who, instead of an actual profile photo of themselves, just put a photo of their hand with a big diamond ring on it. To be fair, none of my Facebook friends have done this, but I have seen these on the "suggested friends" lists that I get.

In "real life," people are funny. And weird. And confusing. So too on Facebook, I suppose. At least now I know that I am 70% Vinnie Barbarino with 30% Freddie "Boom Boom" Washington mixed in. So thanks, Facebook, for that.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Obamarama

I hate to be a bore and talk about what everyone else is talking about in all media, everywhere. But yesterday was momentous, was it not? I mean come on. A bonafide Big Deal. And we lived it, all of us, together. That's right, people. Shia LaBeouf got his driver's license suspended, and we all had a front row seat.

Oh, and there was that other thing too. In Washington DC, I believe.

So here's what I have to say to you about this whole Obamarama we are involved in. I HAVE GOT TO STOP CRYING. It is serious waterworks around here, and I am not used to it. I am not a crier. I hardly ever boo hoo it up and yet there I was, 8am and getting all choked up. They should call the parties after the inauguration the Inaugural Bawls, because me, crying, yes, check.

Inauguration Day Recap, here we go.

First off, I got up at the crack of ass so I could drive Nordic Boy to pick up his rental car that he took to Portland for a biznazz trip. I was sad that we weren't going to be all Inaugural together, but I kept the pouting to myself. I did yawn at him quite aggressively though, so my feelings were not bottled up inside, in case you were concerned.

After driving him through the fog (oh my god Seattle, with the fogginess! It's enough to make me wear my Foghat!) and back home, BioGirl came over and proceeded to be confounded by my toaster/microwave combo appliance. We narrowly escaped a waffle incident, but it all turned out ok and we settled in to watch the festivities.

I have quite a few friends that attended the Inauguration in person. And you know what? I was convinced-- CONVINCED!-- that I was going to spot one of them in the crowd shots on CNN. I blame Alli's mom for this. Ever since I watched the 1996 Democratic Convention when I saw Mrs. Alli's Mom dancing the Macarena on the convention floor, I am sure I am going to see people I know in crowd shots on tv. Alas, it didn't happen this time. Still, friends, I was thinking of you. It looked COLD. And I didn't see where they could fit enough port-a-potties in that mix either. I am still waiting to hear from a lot of them and I fear that the communication silence is due to some horrible lack of Pee Booths incident. How that would cause someone to go missing, I haven't really thought through.

So the coverage. First of all, the entrances. It was like a debutante ball, wasn't it? All the dignitaries walking in and finding their seats, blahdiddy blah blah. I must be getting old because I kept looking at the politicians and thinking that they looked older than I remember. George Bush Sr? ANCIENT! I remember when he was kicking up his heels and puking on the Japanese prime minister. Ah, how time passes. On the other hand, Jimmy Carter looks spry. And when do you really have a chance to use the word "spry?" But that's what he looked like. He shoulda rubbed it in everyone else's face a little, is what I think. Dontcha wish your girlfriend was SPRY LIKE ME? And jeez louise could Cheney look any more sinister? It's like he practices looking sinister in the mirror. Instead of Tyra-style smiling with his eyes, he seems to drip scariness. That sounded gross. But then again, he kind of is gross. Then W comes in and is it just me or does he always look super duper confused? It's like he doesn't seem to know where he even is. And to change the subject to something more awesome, god bless Aretha Franklin and her milliner, whoever that may be. You know you were thinking that too. The Clintons looked nice. Oh, and the Obama daughters? Clearly are on a strict diet of Cute Juice, because sheesh. The cuteness kind of smacks you in the face a little. Michelle Obama also kind of knocks me out each time I look at her. Do you think she had fleece lining inside that dress? Because she didn't look cold, but she must have been right?

Then, Obama comes in. Could he have looked any more calm and collected? That dude is one cool customer. Perhaps inside his head he was all "ohmygodohmygodohmygod." Because wow. Talk about pressure.

Then Rick Warren spoke. Phooey on you-ey, Rick.

That song that Yo Yo Ma and Company played was really sad sounding. Me and BioGirl got all teary listening to it, in a sort of sad way. Did I mention that I am a big ass crybaby these days?

Then Chief Justice Roberts (who I can't help but think of as Dread Pirate Roberts), screwed up the oath. Talk about a whoopsie. Listen, it could have been worse. He could have accidentally said "fuckface" or something, which is a fear that I have. That I will accidentally say "fuckface" or the like at the wrong moment.

Then the speech was made. And I choked up again. WHAT THE FUCK.

And then the poem, and the final prayer, and putting Bush in his helicopter, and the parade, and the balls. I laughed every time Anderson Cooper said "each of the balls," I am not ashamed to admit this.

Plus, tonight I get to watch it all over again when Nordic Boy gets home from his trip, since he missed the whole dang thing because he was on the road. I'm sure I will be a crying freak the second time around too.



I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Happy Birthday Butchlaroy

Hello internets! I'm glad that you traveled through a series of tubes to come see me.

Today is a lovely day, you want to know why? It's the day that Nordic Boy was borned. Which, to me, is a highly important day, since if that hadn't happened things around here would be totally different in a not good sort of way.

What is there to say about Nordic Boy? So many things. Let's limit to 5.

1. Nordic Boy is like Mr. Ed, who only ever spoke to Wilbur. Or Snuffleupagus, back when only Big Bird could see him. When you first meet him, he is friendly, understated, introspective, kind of serious, and an intense listener. If you stay acquaintances with him, he will continue to be all of those things. But once he has truly befriended you, this whole other side opens up. He is, it turns out, the silliest mothereffer you would ever want to meet. To the outsider's eye, I am the zany one in this pair. But little do you know, people. I learn it all from him. Once he starts doing Supermodel impressions for you (BioGirl and Neighbor J, remember his Kathy Ireland?) you know you are truly in the circle.

2. When he was born, his mom almost named him Butchlaroy. That is pronounced like this: Butch La Roy. But spelled all as one word. Not Leroy, mind you. Laroy. Lah. Roy. I love his mom to death but I am convinced there was some sort of crack pipe involved in this story. Because really. What the hell is that? I am convinced that had that been his name, he would have grown into a very different sort of guy. God bless whatever part of her brain decided that it was a bad idea. Am I right or am I right?

3. Nordic Boy likes to put an s on proper nouns that do not have an s on the end. Like George Michaels. Or Dukes of Hazzards.

4. Nordic Boy is an awesome dancer. He is also a dancer that only dances in front of a select few people. Again, it's very Mr. Ed. He likes to make up dances, with names to go along with them. My two favorites are called "Butt Bongos" and "The Bowling Ball." I will leave you with those names and let you conjure up your own images.

5. Nordic Boy is awesome about going with me on things. Like, if I all of a sudden bust out with "YOU ARE THE SUN! YOU ARE THE RAIN! THAT MAKES MY LIFE A FOOLISH GAME!" he will not even react in any other way other than to say "YOU NEED TO KNOW! I LOVE YOU SO! AND I'D DO IT ALL AGAIN AND AGAIN!" It doesn't matter what kind of mood he is in, or I am in, or what we are doing, or even if we are in the same room. If I initiate acting like a nutjob, he will go with it. I believe this to be a pillar of our relationship.

Happy birthday to Nordic Boy. When it comes to him, I do indeed quote Lionel Ritchie. You need to know! I love you so! And I'd do it all again and again. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Mr. Bentley was TOO on Sesame Street

I have become the once-a-week-if-I'm-lucky blog lady. Whassup with that? I'll try to get it back up to two times a week, as in the glory days of yore. All you daily bloggers out there, dang. You are wondrous to behold.

So let's see, what's going on with me. Shall I list? Let's list.

1. The crazy days of snow have abated and Seattle is back to cold, cold rain and gray skies aplenty, as Jeebus intended. That's ok though because my entire life is now revolving around watching Deadwood dvds. How come nobody told me about this show? Huh? I count on you to tell me these things. I'm not going to go so far as to recommend the show, because you know, it's not for everyone. But if you are like me and enjoy good writing with a lot of creative cussing bandied about, you should watch it. This is with the caveat that it's basically a show all about filth, so be prepared for that. Those effers are naaaaasty. And I love them.

2. Are you all going to the inauguration? I feel like the whole world is going except for me. All I hear from my Facebook friends is who is going and where are they staying and when should we all meet up and la la la. On the one hand, I tell myself that being in the middle of that many people is bound to be a clusterfuck with not enough port-a-potties. On the other hand, it would be kind of cool to be there. The fear of not enough port-a-potties is enough to keep me away though. I can be flexible in many respects, but I like to know that people around me will have access to their number one-ing and two-ing in an orderly fashion. Call me crazy.

3. Am I the only one who listens/reads economic news and laughs every time someone says the phrase "ponzi scheme?" Because the word ponzi? Come on! It's like Arthur Fonzerelli and Warren Weber had a baby together. Fonzie and Potsie hybridized. Into PONZI. Am I the only person who is thinking this? Am I?

Ok, so maybe I am.

4. This happens to me a lot, this whole no one understanding why ponzi schemes sound funny. My pop culture references never seem to go anywhere with people. You ever feel that way? Like this one time, BioGirl took me to a party when she lived in California. It was at her boss's house. Her boss was a Bonafide Big Shot. And in the middle of this party, someone made some comment about how annoying it was to make air quotes whilst talking. And I said something along the lines of "ha ha, that reminds me of that Chris Farley thing on SNL where he does air quotes so much that he starts flying away. Like his air quote fingers are wings." And the whole party stopped talking to each other to stare at me. And so I began to overexplain the Chris Farley air quotes. And maybe act it out a little. Or maybe a lot. And no one knew what the hell I was talking about. And there was lots of silence, and looking at me, and me not shutting up.

5. In fact, this same thing happened to me this weekend. People were talking about spectactular falling (the likes of which was seen on New Year's Eve) and I brought up how on old skool Sesame Street, there was that falling chef guy, who would do that thing where he stood at the top of the stairs with a pyramid of some sort of baked goods on a tray and then fall down the stairs with the whole thing. This then triggered that memory of Sesame Street when Mr. Bentley from the Jeffersons would go around painting numbers on things where he wasn't supposed to. Like, a guerrilla graffiti artist. Once again, everyone looked at me like I was wearing underwear on the outside of my pants. DOES ANYONE ELSE REMEMBER MR. BENTLEY ON SESAME STREET? ANYONE?

6. It's hard to live in my head sometimes. Also, it's hard for me to remember to keep my mouth shut when I want to talk about things like Mr. Bentley on Sesame Street.

7. This list isn't really a list any more is it? It's more like me randomly numbering my insane thoughts.

8. Sit on it, Ponzie.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Our New Year is Old

Happy New Year everyone!

I know, it's kind of late for that. But I have realized that for the past month or so, I have been late. No, not that kind of late. Not lady business late- bite your tongue. I am just about a week late with everything that is going on. I have managed to meet all deadlines pretty well, but only with an overwhelming sense of "wait, WHAT?" as I am crossing those finish lines. It all started on Thanksgiving. And I have been cruising by on a 5-7 day mental delay ever since. So to me, it seems like the new year right about now.

What did you all do on your new year's? You probably already told me, but I am about a week behind on checking in on blogland. Here's what I did. On New Year's Eve, I worked. And by that time, I had just limped to the end of a week of very snowy days. I shall not bore you with why snowy days in Seattle result in extra long work days for library folk, but suffice it to say that I had worked a week where the hours, they were looooong. I did nothing but work for a week there, and I know some people live their whole lives doing nothing but work, and have no kind of downtime or fun or seeing of loved ones whatsoever, but that just ain't me so that week was way weird. And then New Years Eve rolled around and there I was, still at work. The whole thing made me want to say GOOMBYE TWO FOUSAND EIGHT as quick as humanly possible so that I could have a fresh new year with which to remember what Nordic Boy's face looked like, I hadn't seen it in so long.

On the last eve of '08 the snow had let up which meant that I was free to leave work at a reasonable hour and not think about it for the rest of the night. YEE HAW. Nordic Boy and I met up with BioGirl and Borgsmith at the Borgsmith homestead, where we proceeded to act like big old fogies. Here's how.

First of all, Nordic Boy and I had gotten up that morning before the crack of ass and had been running non-stop until the moment we hit the deck at Borgsmith's house. That meant that we arrived tired. Like, yeah, we are ready to party, as long as the party can be in a sitting down position. Staying upright was just about the most we could do.

But you know what? We were just thinking about not staying upright. Little did we know that one in our midst was going to not just THINK IT. She was going to BE IT. See, it all started because I needed a coaster. And the ones right there on the table were already in use. So BioGirl runs upstairs to get me another coaster. And on the way back, she decided to fall down the stairs. Like, fall on her ass and slide all the way down the stairs in the loudest, scariest-sounding manner possible. CRASH BOOM CRASH OOF BANG. As the rest of us stood up in alarm and looked toward the stairwell, all we saw was the requested coaster, doing a perfect roll right toward me.

We all rushed over. BioGirl was fine. Well, she actually was hurting due to the smacking of her ass on all the stairs, but she took it like a champ.

All I did was ask for a coaster, and that girl sure busted her ass for me trying to get one.

Get it? She busted her ass, as in she tried really hard, but then she literally busted her ass. See what I did there? Ha ha! For droll acquaintance be forgot!

Anyhow. To recap. So far, the ingredients that indicate a Grandmaw Style party are:

Arriving at 7 pm already ready for bed.
Being very concerned about having a proper coaster.
Running around the house to fulfill coaster needs.
Almost breaking a hip falling down a flight of stairs.

And then, do you know what the Grandmaw Style Party Handbook says one should do once someone has almost broken their neck while coaster hunting? DO YOU?

You spend the next few hours talking about every injury and ailment you have ever had in your mothersucking life.

I'm serious. This is what we did. We talked about the time someone broke a bone as a child, and the time someone almost got run over by a car, and the time someone got stitches. How many stitches? How much blood was there? Did you almost die? Ooh, that reminds me of the time I fell out of a two story window! Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I projectile vomited across two rooms!? FOR HOURS. We didn't talk about bowel movements, but it was this close to going there.

After all the war stories were told, we attempted to play a board game. Which at that point was almost incoherent because the sleepy sauce was hitting us hard. And then at about ten minutes to midnight, we turned on the tv to watch the ball drop. Well, first we watched an incredibly awkward few moments of Ryan Seacrest welcoming us to Times Square while Taylor Swift and that Joe Jonas kid tried to stand as far away from each other as possible to as not to get break-up cooties from each other and Kellie Pickler mesmerized us with her glowing white eye shadow. Then the ball dropped.

We all sat on the couch as the seconds ticked down to midnight, our drinks in hand, ready to clink. Happy New Year! Nordic Boy and I smooched. Borgsmith and BioGirl smooched. We clinked glasses. Then I turned to stand up to give BioGirl and Borgsmith a hug each. Which they received graciously in Grandmaw fashion, by chiming in, along with Nordic Boy, in the following manner.

"Oh my god, she's standing up for hugs. So, we're all getting up? Ok, we're all getting up. Oh my god I'm so tired. What the hell, Librarian Girl? Who asked you to get up?"

Happy New Year, everyone.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl