Whidbey, Take Me Away

Hey! I totally forgot to tell you about my weekend last week. Nordic Boy was super excited because he has been dreaming about taking out a non-functioning duct all summer long. Dreaming about it, I tell you. And ripping that thing out was going to cause us to rip a hole in the space-time continuum. Not really. It's actually going to rip a hole in the fabric of space. Ok, LG, stop it! It will rip a hole in our roof, which would then need repairing, but when I type the words "cause us to rip a hole in..." I just physically can not help but finish that sentence without referencing sci-fi space-time ripping. It's a typing compulsion that I cannot fight.


ENNYHOO. So this weekend, when the sun looked like it was going to grace us with its presence, Nordic Boy got his ass up on the roof, tore a huge hole out of it, ripped out the duct, and then fixed the roof. This is pretty much a perfect day to that dude of mine.

I, on the other hand, have other ideas about what constitutes a perfect day. Just because we are sweet on each other doesn't mean we have to agree on perfect-dayness all the time. The world don't move to the beat of just one drum, as the wise Mr. Seaver once wrote. The day I had in mind was to head to the Isle of Whidbey with my pal Biogirl. No ductwork was harmed in the making of our perfect day.

We took the ferry there, and I swear to you the ferry worker who helped us park the car was none other than Derek Jacobi himself! I am positive it was really him and not just some ferry worker who looked like him. It was HIM, dudes. Researching a role undercover, I just know it. We then made our way to Langley, where we walked around and had lunch at the Braeburn cafe. We made our way to Greenbank Farm, where I expanded my pie repertoire by sampling their famous Loganberry pie. Do you know that I am woefully undereducated on pies? I have only had four kinds in my whole life. Apple, peach, rhubarb, and chocolate cream. And now Loganberry. That is terrible pie representation for a lifetime of eating, people! I feel shame about this.

We also walked through some farmland that was opened up for hikers, and sort of got lost. Leave it to me to get lost in an open farm field. God.

We drove up to a local lavender farm to frolic in the purpleness. Prince would have totally loved it there, for reals.

Last stop before heading home was Deception Pass. Pretty pretty pretty.

Oh summer. You totally get me.

Avant Yarde

Last week was Seattle Night Out, a night where one is supposed to host a block party or a barbecue or some other such outdoorsy something in order to get to know your neighbors. I have always had grand dreams that when I owned a house I would be the sort of lady that would host such an event because it just seems all out of proportion saintly-like, does it not? The sort of saintly whereby you aren't really doing anything that big, but yet not very many people like to do it, and so you can do something pretty meager (hummus dip and a boom box playing 90s hits by Lisa Stansfield or something) but yet be really contributing something to building community.


As I am typing I realize two things. I have now revealed to you that: (a) I probably don't have a very good grasp of what the word "saint" means; and (b) in the deep recesses of my mind I think that party music = Lisa Stansfield. So there's that.

I love to have people over, or, as Martha Stewart wants us to keep calling it: to entertain. And the best entertaining happens on a sunny summer day in one's yard, right? However, I do it a whole hell of a lot less than I used to in the glory days of my youth because ever since we got our house, it is usually a construction zone much of the time in our yard. We are redoing one thing after another at the homestead from the day we moved in to right this very second and most likely on into unknown future years (omg it will never be over I swear to Charo), and we have decided that we are not going to do our yard and deck yet because we are still in a stage where we are tearing the shit out of the inside, and often we drag our house's poor discarded innards through the yard to make unsightly piles (you're welcome, neighbors!) and so we aren't putting in fancy landscaping yet because it's just going to get tromped on. Our motto: wait to do the landscaping until we're done with the landscraping.

So! I cannot be the patron Saint of Neighborliness and Perpetual Barbecues right now. However, that's ok because there are others in my neighborhood who will make the effort, namely our neighbors Sherry and Donna and their cutey son Elliot who live down the street from us. I had never met these folks before, at least in a for-realsies way that goes beyond smiling when we pass on the street, so I whipped up something for the potluck (well I bought a pan of brownies from Whole Foods) and my favorite neighbor (aka Biogirl) and I went. Nordic Boy was, as usual, out of town on biznazz. We met a lot of nice people and I put a lot of faces to names and I walked away with probably about 50% of the crowd thinking that Biogirl and I were a couple so that's batting about average for us.

Here is my fear about my neighbors, ready? Let's just get right into it. I fear that the neighbors are judging our yard. Because of the outflux of debris. And the landscraping. And the lack of landscaping.

This is the downside of moving into a cute neighborhood. You have to keep up with the cuteness! And we are not doing that, at least in the out-of-doors department. I am already mortified by our yard every time I approach it, and being in a party surrounded by every last one of my neighbors? Even though they are very nice people? I wanted to keep apologizing for my yard to every person I met.

"Hi I'm PCL, I think I have seen you in the bookstore a bunch of times and I've always meant to say hello. Great to meet you. Sorry about my whole yard thing. Really. Just, sorry."

Part of the reason I feel like this is because when we first moved in, our house was a serious wreck. It was unkempt, unloved, and needed a new...everything. We like to say that we are not remodeling our house, nor are we renovating it, but rather, we are rehabbing it. It was Keith Richards when we bought it and we are Benjamin Buttoning that shit as hard as we can. Hopefully we can get it to a place where it will age a la Dick Clark, is the goal. Anyway, so when we first moved in the main thing we had to do was just clean a bunch of stuff out to make it livable. When we did this? The neighbors fell deeply in love with us. The eyesore house on our street was being cared for! Looky looky! People came over to us as we left or arrived each day and congratulated us. You are doing such a great job! We are so happy someone is here to save this house!

That lasted for the first year. And yes, the house looks a jillion times better than it did. But we are not done yet, not by a long shot, and the neighbors...I don't know...I feel like I can hear their whispers through the trees, so soft, so ghostly...and they say...WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?

I don't know. Maybe they are still on our side, and all of this agida is just because of my own stuff. But there is agida. And so neighbors who were at the party last night, I promise you: when we are done with these shenanigans, we will have you all over for a barbecue of our own. And I promise you pleasant surroundings, and good food, and Lisa Stansfield.

But for now, there is a pile of old ducts in our front yard, to be taken to the home recycle place this weekend. Sorry. Please accept these Whole Foods brownies as a peace offering.

Love ABC Style

Hold onto yourself: I am about to talk about the Bachelorette again. I would promise you I'll stop after this, but you all know that my words on quitting are now meaningless so I shall not insult you.


I heard these two ladies talking about the Bachelorette on the bus the other day, and immediately leaned in to listen because no one in my life will talk with me about the Bachelorette because I only hang out with non-ridiculous people, unlike myself. So I am starved for someone who will agree with me that Constantine and Ben, when standing alone or with others, look normalish but when standing next to each other make me think of nothing but a giant Merry and Pippin from Hobbiton. Anyone? Anyone care? No one?

Hence, my new best friends on the bus.

The armchair quarterbacks on the bus (armchair quarterback? is that a thing? I always think I am making things up when I try to throw around sports lingo) were talking about how if the average lady or dude were set up to go on the Bachelorette, it would be really hard to NOT think that you were falling in love (or, in the parlance of the show "falling for someone" because the L word cannot be spoken before the overnight dates because that would be so trashy, OBVS) when put in the midst of such EXTREME LOVE GESTURES.

Let's just take a moment to take in the awesomeness of them coining the phrase "extreme love gestures," for Pete's sake.

They went on to talk about what an extreme love gesture is (and despite the term it is not dirty), and it made me realize that this concept alone is a big reason why I watch the show. Because I don't understand the concept of extreme love gestures, and I am endlessly fascinated with it.

Perhaps I do not understand it because I have never been under its influence. No one has ever picked me up for a date in a helicopter, flown me over the Grand Canyon, and landed me on a pedestal in the middle of the Bellagio fountain in Vegas. But apparently, if they did? I would HAVE TO fall in love with them. It would render me powerless! According to the ladies on the bus.

Extreme Love Gestures, Bachelorette style
aka How You Know You Are Feeling Love: a list

Riding an elephant or camel, maybe even a horse
Snorkeling
Repelling off a building or mountain
Bungee jumping
Tightrope walking
Having dinner at a table in the middle of a pond, fountain, or lake
Watching fireworks
Riding in a seaplane or helicopter or hot air balloon
Going on a sleigh ride, hay ride, or other horse-drawn situation
Getting invited on stage during a Broadway play, magic act, or Cirque du Soleil type show

If you have done any of these with someone, dude, you should totally be married to them by now, according to the Laws of the Bachelorette. You should also cry a lot. And also "put yourself out there." And also announce at various times that you know that your future husband/wife is "in the room right now, I just know it." And also, hot tubs are required. Lots and lots of hot tubs.

Lastly, whatever you do: DON'T MAKE FRIENDS. This is not just for romance. It's a rule for career, relationships, whatever. Friends are for suckers.

Consumables #46

Books!


Stolen, by Vivian Vande Velde
A girl finds herself running through the forest with no memory of who she is or how she came to be there. She is found by two families, one who claims to be hers and begin to call her Isabelle. They tell her that she has been missing for a long time, ever since she was snatched by a witch who lived in the woods where she was found. The witch has since disappeared, along with another baby. As Isabelle tries to piece together the story of her identity, we have to figure out what is going on as well. An interesting mix of fairy tale and mystery.

Run Far, Run Fast, by Timothy Decker
A simply told graphic novel about a young girl in Middle Ages in Europe whose village is struck by a plague. Her mother tells the girl to run away, which she does. I found the layout of the illustration panels to be a bit confusing and was distracted by this, but perhaps the young whippersnappers can read the comics better than I can.

TV!
Bachelorette
The season finale wrapped up in the motherland of Fiji, which just made it like, destiny, that I was watching it. Getting through all those hours of idiocy just to see that was worth it. Well, ok, maybe not.

Movies!
Harry Potter 7.2
We totally went to see this again because we are the biggest nerds on planet earth.

Men Who Swim
A surprisingly touching documentary about a group of men in Sweden who decide to form a synchronized swimming team. As each team member approaches middle age, the friendship they find in the team is really poignant.

Music
I'm totally feeling this song right now.


Gravity, Sara Bareilles

Ready, Set, Forget

Remember how I said that I left my phone in the coffee shop, only it wasn't in the coffee shop, but back at work where I left it? This was only one of many phone-leaving incidents of late, as well as some forgetting-of-lunch at home, as well as some forgetting to communicate with people who are emailing me, which especially galls me since that is a pet peeve of mine. Really, when did it become ok for someone to email another someone with a direct question (want to hang out this week? want these baseball tickets? could they have designed a movie poster that would make me want to see a movie less than this one?) and for that second someone to just ignore that email for weeks? It seems like that that is just commonplace these days. Acting in such a manner? Humph, I say. Except for when I do it like, um, lately. Just ignore that part though, I am way too busy being judgy to take note of my own shortcomings.


This morning all of this came to a head when Nordic Boy dropped me off at work and I hopped out of the car, leaving my wallet on the seat. "Hey! Forgetty With Meatballs! You forgot your wallet!" he said after me.

Forgetty With Meatballs! Like, my new nickname. I sort of love it.

This week has gone by in a flash. Time goes by faster when you just run around forgetting stuff. I have tested this all week and it has proved true, because that's just good science. Last weekend summer started up in Seattle for real (I know most of you have been roasting since May but we have barely seen the sun in all of 2011) so Nordic Boy and I celebrated by repainting our guest room. Because that's what summer is all about, Charlie Brown. That and ripping out old ducts. I know, it's like you can just hear The Sundays singing "Summertime" in the background, right?

We also went over to The Soggy Librarian's house for barbecue funness, and Nordic Boy was completely hypnotized by the awesomeness that is cornhole. I, on the other hand, was completely hypnotized by the sight of my other friend arguing so vehemently over the facts of Leona Helmsley's life (as you do) that her lawn chair seat broke and her butt fell through as she made her final points. There is nothing more emphatic that you can do to make a point than to fall through the bottom of your chair at the same time. I think lawyers should start incorporating this into their closing statements.

I have been having lunch outside pretty much every day this week, you guys. And it has not rained on me once! It's enough to make one do something like this.

Consumables #45: Just Ducky

I have started to use the phrase "fuck a DUCK" way too much lately. Last night, I said it one too many times and Nordic Boy had to say back "will you leave those poor ducks ALONE?" And yes, I really should leave those poor ducks alone.


In other duck fucking news (I have two whole things to say about that phrase in one day! That's weird), a long time ago I used that phrase on Facebook and people clicked Like a bunch of times and then my friend Lola said "I fooked a dook and I liked it." And so now that phrase makes me sing that Katy Perry song with those words plugged in pretty much every time. And now you will too. You're welcome, America!

In other news, can you all tell me how to properly fold a burrito? Nordic Boy and I have totally different techniques and he claims that mine looks like I am diapering something. I don't want to diaper my burritos! I feel like I need to break up with that technique, immediamente.

I shall stop talking that nonsense now and talk a different sort of nonsense. Consumables ahoy!

Movies!
Harry Potter 7.2
Unabashed LOVED IT. So many things about it to love- I'm not even going to get into it. If you are a fan, you know why it rocks, and if you aren't, my explaining the levels isn't going to make you care. I think we're going to see it in the theater again this weekend. I know- my geekometer just blew up.
So much so that I actually think this trailer that recuts HP as if it was a romcom is adorbs.



A Murder of Crows
Our house, like pretty much everyone's is surrounded by crows. I, unlike most people it seems, like them. I think they are beautiful. Yes, yes, they are a scourge, I know. But really, who are we to talk? We are so the scourgiest. Anyway, this documentary about crows was supah cool. So many interesting things about them, not the least of which is that if you cross one, they will remember your face for literally years. And talk shit about you to their friends.



Modern Views: A documentary on Northwest Architecture
Got 45 minutes to watch something about sweet midcentury Northwest architecture? I do. Delish.

Seattle Channel Video can be played in Flash Player 9 and up

Books!
Decoded, by Jay-Z
Beautifully designed book that features essays by Jay-Z on the context and history of hip hop from not every angle, but a lot of angles: political, artistic, historical, cultural. I bought a lot of his arguments, and didn't buy others. I think fans of Jay-Z would love this, as well as anyone engaged with hip hop culture. Much of the book focuses on close reads and break downs of Jay-Z lyrics.

Other stuff!
Hunger Games movie publicity
Are we concerned about this movie? I am concerned about this movie. I mean, come on. Look at the cover of Entertainment Weekly. Peeta looks like he is a bully from the Karate Kid movies. It just don't seem right, people.

I am going into my weekend with the blind and unfounded faith that it will be glorious weather and I shall frolic outside with abandon the entire next 48 hours. What? It could happen.

Happy Friday, all.

Passion Pit: Moth's Wings

Loopy Thursday

Things I have done this week to show how classy I really am:


1. Asked a friend to do something and then forgotten to respond when they said yes.

2. Worn a shirt that could only be described as Mrs. Roper-esque to a Board meeting.

3. Accidentally broke an unpeeled banana in half and gotten moist banana all over my notes at work.

4. Walked to my favorite cafe to get a cup of tea, walked back to work, got back to my desk and realized my wallet, phone and badge were no longer in my hand. I walked all the way back to the cafe and then realized that I could not have left my stuff there because I had succcessfully gotten back to my office, which I would need my security badge to do. I figured this out because I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU GUYS. I went back and found it all, right on my coworker's desk.

5. Double booked my weekend and then had to cancel on someone because of it.

6. Tried a new recipe (sauteed kale, potato, tomato and garlic hash) and made tator tots to go with them, not realizing until it was on the plate that I had two potato sides going at the same time for dinner.

On the upside, there was a lady at my bus stop wearing highwater white jeans, a purple men's button up shirt, and flourescent green tie, busting a serious move while this blasted out of her earphones. To which I say: YES, honey.

All You Need Is...

On Sunday morning.


Me: Wow, Amy Winehouse died.
Nordic Boy: She did? That's sad.
Me: Totally sad.

On Sunday night.

Nordic Boy: Did you hear that Amy Winehouse died?
Me: Yeah.
Nordic Boy: I just heard that today...somewhere. Someone told me. I can't remember.
Me: Sad.
Nordic Boy: Wait. I pretty much didn't talk to anyone but you today. Was it you who told me?
Me: Yep.
Nordic Boy: And you weren't going to point that out?
Me: Nah.
Nordic Boy: That's love right there.
Me: Or laziness.
Nordic Boy: The two keys to a successful relationship.

Consumables #45

Hello my lovelies!

 

I am feeling like a have a modicum of pep back in my step today. Not a bushel, just a modicum. (I just felt like mixing up some unit-of-measurement talk there, because I'm ker-azy sometimes). Perhaps this is because the sun came out today and I got to eat lunch on a rooftop terrace without my sweater. Actually not perhaps. It's totally because of that. I really am very easy to please sometimes.

 

Here's the week's roundup!

 

Books!

 

The Knife of Never Letting Go, by Patrick Ness

More dystopic fiction? How much more could there possibly be? When will people get sick of it? Yes, there's lots more, and people (at least me) are still licking it up. This one takes place in a world where people have caught a virus that causes them to be able to hear each other's thoughts, all the time. How can you keep secrets in a world like this? How can you lie? Turns out, you can do both of those things. Some of the reviews of this one say that it's a bit meandering in the middle, but I didn't mind that at all. Other reviews talk about how there is interesting gender stuff going on, which drives me a little batty because I want to know what kind of gender stuff? And what was so interesting about it? But now that I have read it I am also going to tell you that there's interesting gender stuff going on, but I can't tell you what because that would kind of ruin it for you if you haven't read it yet. So ha ha, the annoyed becomes the annoyer!

 

Ranger's Apprentice, Book One: The Ruins of Gorlan, by John Flanigan

I'm going to tell you a little something about my tastes. If you name a book or a movie with some Lord-of-the-Rings-meets-Rennaisance-Faire made up proper noun? I will not want to read it. I don't know why that is. "The Two Towers": okey dokey, no problem. But the Ruins of Gorlan? Ugh. GORLAN? There is nothing compelling to me about that, no matter how exciting the rest of the title is. I don't care if it's The Monster Bees of Limbus, where- no doy- I am going to want to read about Monster Bees, come on! But Limbus? I don't care if they are "of Limbus." (I just made up The Monster Bees of Limbus, so don't go looking for it in your library catalog because it sounds so awesome). For a long time, I thought to myself that I would probably like the Ranger's Apprentice series. I like rangers. I like apprentices. It's adventurey. But that Gorlan stuff just turned me right off. I finally picked it up, and I totally dug the story. So, lesson learned. The next time I see something that looks good except for the fact that it's called the Siege of Dinglegrad, I shall remember to give it a chance.

 

Movies!

 

The Real Dirt on Farmer John

Documentary about the American farm that isn't depressing. SAY WHAT? I know! The Peterson family has been farming in Illinois for generations. This documentary follows their story from traditional family farm through hard times and redemption. It's realistic but hopeful, and will make you feel super, super good about that CSA box you order every week.

 

Labyrinth

This is why I still go to my local indie video store. Because I can walk past a shelf, spur of the moment, and go OMG, I have to SEE THAT. This one especially had to be seen because Nordic Boy had never seen it before. Can you even believe that shit? Who am I sharing my life with, I ask you? How could anyone not have seen David Bowie in his Mad Max wig, playing with those silver balls the whole movie in a not at all metaphorically sexual way? "You shall love me, young lady. I shall hypnotize you with my shiny, shiny balls!" That's just good stuff, people.

 

TV!

 

Roseanne's Nuts

I love the old Roseanne show. It's one of those staple shows that I can watch here and there whenever I run across it on tv, no matter how many times I have seen it before. So, I gave her new reality show a try this week. I still sort of love her, even though the show isn't much.

Other stuff!

 

Google+

Do we care about Google+? I am trying it, but I don't know if I care about it yet. How about Spotify? Do we care about that one? I haven't gotten an invite for that yet, so if you've got one, send it my way. I'll give it a whirl.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Speaking of

Have you ever noticed that in movies or tv shows, whenever there is a little boy who is orphaned or has run away and been found or something, the people who have found him tend to refer to him as "The Boy" throughout the whole thing, even when they know perfectly well what the character's name is? "I'm very worried about The Boy. He's in shock after what happened, and he doesn't seem to be coming out of it." What is up with that? "Bring The Boy in. We have to ask him what he knows." No one talks like that, do they? Movies. They so crazy.


Speaking of the The Boy, I am seeing the new movie out (perhaps you have heard of it) this weekend about The Boy Who Lived, otherwise known as Harry PAW-TAH and I am SO GEEKY EXCITED ABOUT IT. I always say "Harry Potter" like that in my mind, because whenever anyone meets Harry Potter in the movies, that is how they greet him. They don't say hello, or wow, you're that crazy scar-head kid, they say "HARRY PAW-TAH!" It's sort of like shouting "Norm!" in Cheers. I think we should all decide to shout out people's names when we meet them. Maybe that's just how they do in England?

Speaking of England, we were driving downtown the other day, and we saw this dude driving a Segue down the street. When we saw him, Nordic Boy said, in a hoity-toity voice: "Hello, Chauncey!"

Me: Why did you just call that guy Chauncey in that voice?
Him: I don't know. People who ride Segues seem old-timey English.
Me: They do?
Him: Yes. Like, wouldn't he look perfect if he had on a butler outfit right now? With a top hat?
Me: Actually, now that you mention it, um, TOTALLY.

Next time you see someone on a Segue, just picture that for me, won't you?

Speaking of Nordic Boy's great ideas, I demonstrated one of his made-up dances (called "The Level") to my coworkers the other day (because yes, I bust out dance moves at work, SO WHAT) and my one co-worker took it to the Vancouver Folk Music Festival with her friends and got tons of people doing it. His genius is not only sweeping the nation, but it's international, baby. You've got yer Chubby Checker, you've got yer Soldja Boy, and then there's Nordic Boy.

Laters, people.

Edited to add: I realized after I published this that it's Segway, not Segue. I also realized that that is probably not the way you spell Soldja Boy, but I can't be bothered to look it up.

IDK. CINN?

You guys, I think the inevitable has happened. I have RUN OUT OF WORDS.


Actually, I take that back. I can boil my existence down to two sentences. One: I don't know. And two: Can I nap now?

I am at a place where I don't know seems to cover any and all situations in my life. This is unfortunate since my job is mostly, you know, answering questions for people. A case of the I-don't-knows is sort of not ok, so I am managing to pull out some non-I-don't-know stuff during business hours, but then after that? I don't motherfucking know, ALRIGHT?

Evidence: Nordic Boy was putting in baseboards in our guest room and we were in the lumber store and he was asking me which type of baseboard I wanted and I was all I-don't-know, just pick one. If you knew me but at all you would realize that any sort of aesthetic choice about anything is met with complete and utter decisiveness from me so an I-don't-know on a baseboard style? Proves that my world is off its axis.

My other phrase: can I nap now? is actually something that I have not said aloud but is on repeat over and over in my mind as I go through my day. I have a serious, SERIOUS jones for a nap. At all times. I have become nap-obsessed. Why? Have I been lacking in sleep? Nope. Have I been doing things that would make one over-tired? Nope. So what is up? I don't know. But can I nap now?

Maybe I do know a little. I think the way I deal with stress is to become completely dumb on every topic (I-don't-know-itis) and to go to sleep. Ever since that goddamn friendcut post, it has been one stressful thing after another in me-ville. Various people in my life acting a fool, followed up by family health drama, and then...actually that's about it. But that's enough. Those two general topics cover a lot of ground, actually. Why are people choosing to act a fool now, I ask you? All at once? When I have bigger fish to fry with trying to keep up with family health drama?

I don't know. Can I nap now?

See, it really does work in almost any situation.

I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day, and she was noticing how tired I sounded, and you know what she said to me? "You really should avoid stress." Did I mention that she was calling me from the Emergency Room? With not-great news? You really should avoid stress. Mom, I love you, but have you realized that many of the times, you and I are often standing in a shitstorm together? How can any of us in this here family avoid stress?

She probably doesn't know. And she could most definitely use a nap I am sure.

In other news, this crap few weeks has not limited my ability to giggle about stupid stuff, because that is just who I am. For instance, Nordic Boy came up with this idea that old people who usually eat dinner Early Bird Special style might also like to have a happy hour. Only problem is that if they are eating dinner at 4 pm, they will most definitely miss regular Happy Hour. So why not have their own, from like 2pm-4pm? We would call it "Pappy Hour."

Cracked me up, that one.

Ok, so maybe I have not run out of words. But still. I don't know. Can I nap now?

Oh Weekend Where Art Thou

Rattling around in my brain today...


I had dinner with Biogirl and HM, and it was one of those fancy places where they only bring you the bread after you have ordered. It's times like that when I miss the motherloving Olive Garden where it is a nonstop breadstick train as soon as you sit down. Choo choo!

I complained about this to Nordic Boy, which got us into a conversation about restaurants that we thought were way fancy when we were growing up. For instance, I thought Pizza Hut was completely out of reach. Also, when a friend had a birthday and we wanted to save up and splurge on a dinner, it was Olive Garden all the way. The fanciest, by far? Red Lobster, baby. My parents took me there the night I graduated from high school, because it was THAT special.

Met up with a friend of a friend who just moved here from Michigan. Welcome wagon! I adore meeting awesome people, and this one was top shelf.

Nordic Boy and I went for a walk, and we saw this dude riding his bike around the neighborhood, yelling at the top of his voice about some band playing at some nearby venue later that night. He was kicking it town-crier style! I was sort of digging that.

We also went to Radio Shack twice. TWICE. Once to buy something, and once to return something. When we returned our something, they seriously interrogated us, you guys. They apparently needed our phone number and address, and email, and wanted us to take a survey. All because we bought a wrong cord. I want to make a joke about Radio Shack, but I feel like that would be hackneyed, somehow. It's like making a joke about losing a sock in the dryer.

Ha ha, look at me, thinking that I have big enough britches to avoid hackery. Hack is WHACK, yo.

That's all I got.

Consumables #44

Consumables! Thar she blows!


Books!

Bossypants, by Tina Fey
Tina Fey is totally funny and smart in her book! And she can write well too! What a freaking shock, right? Jeez, way to be so predictable, Tina. Seriously it was super good. The only thing slightly eensy bit negative I can say about it is that she kind of needs to lay off on the self deprecation. Maybe in the entertainment industry she is considered not super attractive, but come on. That lady is gorgeous. And skinny. And hot. I realize it's funnier to talk about how hideous one is, but stop it Tina. Because that makes me nuts.

The Secret Science Alliance, by Eleanor Davis
Cutey cute cute graphic novel for kids about a crime-fighting nerd brigade. I loved how of the three nerds, one of them is out and proud with her nerdiness, while the other two are a tough kid and a jock who hide their nerd ways in a sort of secret agent way.

The Composer Is Dead, by Lemony Snicket
Only Lemony Snicket could get away with starting out a picture book with the words: "Composer is a word which here means 'a person who sits in a room, muttering and humming and figuring out what notes the orchestra is going to play.' This is called composing. But last night the Composer was not muttering. He was not humming. He was not moving, or even breathing. This is called decomposing."

Movies!

I Think We're Alone Now
This was a weird documentary about two obessive fans of the 80s singer Tiffany. Simultaneously really really creepy and yet still sort of sympathetic. I don't really know what to make of it. I just felt unsettled after watching it.

Teevees!

The Walking Dead: Season One
Zombies! Survival! Right up my alley, right? Well, maybe. I wanted so much more out of it. More development of the zombie idea, more back story, more everything. Maybe that is still coming up.

That's it, homies. Have a good weekend! Think sun.



And Run, by He is We

Getting Better All the Time

My life lately! Ahem.

1. I have a seriously elderly laptop. It was bought in 2004, which means that it really should be in some sort of hospice care right about now. The battery drops out of it completely if I carry it anywhere, which thankfully I don't have to do because it won't work on its own battery power anymore. It has to stay plugged in and even then it groans at me when I use it, which I try not to do, ever. Nordic Boy's iPad laughs at it, I am pretty sure. Rude ass bastard. I also have an old iPhone. (And SWEET JESUS can this post be any more bourgie hipster? I don't think so). Sometimes the ipod on it just refuses to play. The other day I was syncing the two, and they talked to each other, rebelled, and bam! All of my music disappeared from my phone, and then the sync was over, never to return. The two are On a Break from each other, which I fear is the precursor to We Are Broken, which will lead to me having no music and that means I will have a Psychic Break. I need new compooter stuff, you guys. But, to quote Nelly Furtado, I'm like a bird. Cheap. No retiring for you, gadgets! You will work until you DIE. If this were the Twilight Zone, I am pretty sure the next thing that would happen is that they would come to life and kill me somehow.

2. I went to my first ever baseball game last weekend. I am not anti-sports by any means but somehow they have just not played a huge role in my life. These are the things that fascinated me about my first ever baseball game. The knickers. It was "Turn Back the Clock" night and so the players wore their old school knickers. I think they need to bring those back on the regular. Who is carrying the knickers torch in 2011? No one! I think it's up to the baseball dudes. Also, any baseball fan that ever complained to me about soccer being "too boring" needs to re-evaluate that statement. You are allowed to love baseball and not love soccer at the same time, but the too boring criteria is no longer acceptable to me. Third, I enjoyed the game, but I think that baseball needs more bling. It's basically just the game, and a 7th inning stretch song in terms of entertainment value. I vote for dancers or cheerleaders, and some sort of mid-game show. Fourth, the stadium food I ate was straight up FOUL. I am not a choosy eater and will eat what I am given most often, but I couldn't eat that shit, people. They put fuckall in that food and charged me three million dollars for it! The nerve. My favorite things about baseball: being outside on a beautiful night with my friends. Also, they played a Michael Jackson song and put a 10-year-old kid on the jumbotron who was rocking the MJ dancing hardcore. This is what I need: sun, friends, and MichaelJackstyle.

3. Sun! It has been so sunny and nice I have wanted to make out with everyone. Be afraid.

4. I went to a 4th of July party where my one friend S (S stands for smartypants) had the rest of us play this game that was full of strategery. I don't want to insult my friends who are also smart, but we SUCKED at this game. So hard that I think S pretty much thought that we had all suffered a simultaneous brain injury. I made a delightful statement at the beginning of this whole episode when the rules were being explained. I shouted out in horror: "OH NO. Is this a THINKING GAME?" My parents would be so proud.

5. Walked to fireworks with my friends. I am not usually a fan of crowds, but the 4th of July is an exception. I love that my whole city spills out of their houses and packs the streets and looks up in the sky together. There's something poetic about it.

6. After the friendcut heartbreak of 2011 (which was closely followed by some other dysfunctional nonsense on top of it all, so double-whammy on the feeling blue), I felt like this week the universe was trying to tell me that I was still loved. That is, if I believed that the universe really has time to focus on making me feel better, which I don't. But it felt like that was what was happening, so I soaked it in. Along with the sun, which I believe I mentioned makes me so happy that I want to make out with all. Pucker up.

Consumables #43

Ok, I declare this week OVAH. Finito! Kaput! And good freaking riddance. People ain't been treating me right lately, you guys. Why that is, I do not get. Because in case you haven't noticed? I is awesome. Super for rill awesome. Perhaps you just aren't ready for this jelly? Still. Ima bring this jelly. Because as I mentioned, I am awesome. And you are lucky to know me.


I just had to have a Stuart Smalley moment with myself there. I beg your pardon. I'm done with that now.

On to things pop and cultural in my life this week!

The Answer Man
I will totally watch anything with Lorelei Gilmore in it, because I love Lorelei Gilmore. This was your typical asshole-meets-nice-lady story. You know the one. Horrible man is going through life being horrible. Then the jagoff meets a nice lady. The nice lady makes him want to be a better man, and he never quite becomes a better man (meaning he is still pretty much a jagoff), but unconditional angelic lady loves him anyway. This is supposed to be heartwarming. Did Woody Allen start this oeuvre in movies? I feel like Jack Nicholson was passed the torch there for a while (being an ass to Diane Keaton and then to Helen Hunt, remember that?). Anyway, Lorelei (Lauren Graham) is the nice lady in this one. So hey ladies! If a dude is an asshole, you can totally just be nice and then he will go from being a 100% ass to you, to maybe an 90% ass to you. That is all your saintly behavior deserves. Aw, so romantical.

God Grew Tired of Us
Documentary that follows some of the Lost Boys of Sudan as they transition from life in a refugee camp in Kenya to the United States.

Confessions of a Superhero
I don't know what it is, but I am fascinated with documentaries about people who are living their lives in pursuit of being famous, and who are living in this sort of purgatory where it isn't happening, but they just keep believing in it. This one is about 4 aspiring actors who make ends meet by dressing up as superheroes to make money by standing on Hollywood Boulevard and taking photos with tourists and asking for tips.

Camp Hollywood
This one is about a famous decrepit Hollywood hotel called Highland Gardens, where aspiring actors come to stay when they arrive in town. Supposedly Brad Pitt had a stint here, and the actor who played Mozart's father in Amadeus has lived there with his wife for a long time and still does. Other than that, it's full of young actors who go on auditions obsessively and dream super big. Why is this interesting? It just is.

I have been too busy hibernating to read books this week, so there you go. Bad librarian.

On to the weekend! Yippee! Let's dance it out.

Pseudo kudos

I have been frustrated this week, you guys. And I find that I deal with pretty much any negative emotion in my life in one specific way: I want to go sleepy bye bye. Sad, mad, frustrated? My answer to that is a date with Mr. Sandman.

So, this week, I have been frustrated and therefore super tired. I went to bed at 9pm last night and woke up at 8 this morning and I could have slept longer, I am not going to lie. When I am tired, my communication skills go out the window. Like last night at dinner.


Nordic Boy: I'm really glad I could finish that new flooring in one weekend. That makes the summer time line for other projects so much easier.
Me: Totally. You deserve cooties for that.
Nordic Boy: Hey, what?
Me: Kudos. I mean kudos.
Him: "Kudos?" You never say kudos. Why are you saying kudos?
Me: I think I should start. Kudos for you-dohs!
Him: Wow.
Me: I feel like poop right now. It's how I'm dealing.
Him: You feel like pooh-dohs?
Me: Now you're feeling me.

Band, Brunch, Blazer, Beach

This weekend felt like summer. FINALLY.


On Friday night, I went to see a band called Harry and the Potters. The teenagers dressed in their punky Harry Potter garb were too cute for words. Wizard rock is silly, and fun, and pretty awesome; I am not afraid to say it, people. My favorite part of the evening was a conversation I had with a teenager in line. We were talking about going to see bands play, and about whether one should get one's hand stamped on the back of the hand, or on the inside of the wrist.

Me: To me, the inside of the wrist is what you do. Because then you don't have to worry about it washing off when you wash your hands.
Her: I guess you're right. But I don't know.
Me: Why?
Her: If you put it on the inside of your wrist...you know, that's where Voldemort puts the Dark Mark on people.
Me: Yeah. Well, I hadn't thought of that.

On Saturday, Biogirl and I headed out of town to have brunch at the Salish Lodge. I ordered a three-egg omelet that I am pretty sure was either an 8-egg omelet or a three-egg omelet using eggs from a pterodactyl. We then walked around the Snolqualmie Falls (drenched in freezing mist! so refreshing) and said howdy to the mountains before heading back to Seattle. We coined a phrase for the act of walking off a large meal: beef strollin' off. Because we are geniuses.

And, just because we do live in Seattle where we have city, and mountains, and forest, and beaches, all within a one hour driving radius, we decided to do them all and ended up in Discovery Park where we hiked our way down to the beach. The best thing about this was that since this was totally unplanned, I was wearing a fancy-brunch appropriate outfit. Not a hike-through-the-woods-and-the-beach outfit. I did have enough foresight to bring along a pair of Converse with me, so at least I wasn't the crazy lady hiking in heels, but I was wearing, well, something like this.

So yes. I went hiking in a blazer. I know I am anti-fleece and clothes in the REI family make me have hives, but that? That was just ridiculous.

Biogirl and I see each other often, but it isn't often that we just spend a day together. When was the last time you spent a whole day with a friend, just hanging out, shooting the shit, doing whatever you feel like?

The next day, Biogirl and I tagged along with Nordic Boy to the hardware store and shopped to get her some gardening tools. Nordic Boy was long-suffering with our tomfoolery (him: "you should get this tool because you can use the whole length of it and not just the tip." Us: giggle giggle "Not just the tip! I hate it when they don't use the length of it!" giggle giggle) and then Nordic Boy and I walked to get some ice cream and then he lamented that he had missed the beach with us the day before, so I packed him up in the car and took him back to the beach. The beach, two days in a row. SUMMER, EFFERS.

I am all in for summer! Bring it!

Consumables #42

Movies!


Marwencol
This is one of those movies where explaining what it's about just would seem to take away from seeing it. I had sort of avoided seeing it for a while because I just kept hearing about it and hearing about it and sometimes when I hear about something so much, what people have said about it is more in my head than what I am actually seeing. So I waited, and I'm glad I did. It was beautiful and pretty awesome.

The September Issue
Every time I see Anna Wintour, I want to say "watch out, your face is going to stay like that" but it is way too late. That lady has cornered the market on having the most consistent stankface of all times. I am shocked that she has parlayed this ability into an entire career. Watching beautiful clothes being paraded in front of you all day long and making a poopoo face at all of them is apparently a jillion dollar job.

Thomas Jefferson
I watched the Ken Burns documentary on Tommy J, and for some reason my Netflix instant queue kept telling me that it was starring Gwyneth Paltrow which it most definitely does not. She does do some voiceover, reading from sources by Jefferson's graddaughter, but it's not even noticeable. Ossie Davis is totally the narrator for 98% of the thing, but Netflix doesn't care about that.

Easy A
I sort of loved this movie. Don't hate me.

Picasso and Braque Go to the Movies
The relationship between film and cubism. You will either find this riveting or the world's biggest snoozefest.

Books!

Kneebone Boy, by Ellen Potter
Potter once again does a great job of creating a world that does not contain magic or fantasy elements at all, but yet has all the weirdness and imagination that one could hope for. Two brothers and a sister, the Hardscrabble siblings, go to visit their nutty aunt who lives in a life-size play castle next to a real castle in which, legend has it, a sort of feral boy once lived, and maybe still does.

Revolver, by Marcus Sedgwick
A sort of Cormac McCarthy book for teens, the story begins somewhere near the Arctic Circle in the early 1900s. Teenage Sig finds his father frozen on the ice outside their cabin. He brings the body inside and sends his stepmother and sister to get help. As he waits, a gruff stranger knocks on the door and demands to know where Sig's father has hidden some gold that he is owed. Sig doesn't know where the gold is, but he does know where his father kept his revolver. Suspenseful and spare.

Hound Dog True, by Linda Urban
Mattie idolizes her favorite uncle, who everyone calls Uncle Potluck. Uncle Potluck is the custodian at Mattie's new school, and she decides to be his apprentice. I loved the characters in this book, especially the adults, who are less-than-perfect but very loving and who do the best they can with what they have. Not many books out there about working class families who are functional, and I appreciated it for that alone, although that's not the only good thing about it.

Everybody Sees the Ants, by A.S. King
In order to escape from a dad who is distant, a mom who is ineffectual, the memory of a beloved grandma who has died, and a kid at school who has terrorized him since he was in elementary school, Lucky escapes each night in dreams. When he sleeps, he travels to Vietnam where his MIA/POW grandfather has been since 1972 and Lucky tries to rescue him, night after night. Another novel where realism is never compromised but the imagined world feels just as real, this one was pretty brutal in its depiction of bullying. No after-school-special-ish-ness here.

Have a great weekend, peoples!

Because their names just have always sounded dirty to me

Email exchange of the week.


(Concerning the announcement from JK Rowling this week. The one that I really wanted to mean a prequel series, but turned out to be something I am way less excited about).

Friend: Are you bummed? Or is it enough that there will be "additional material?"

Me: BOO!

Friend: You're going to end up a star of the HP fanfic community.

Me: Only if it's slash fanfic. Dobby and Barty Crouch, together at last!

Friend: HA I would so read that.

Me: "Just give me a piece of clothing, Barty! Just one!"

Friend: Oh lords. That is hilarious.


Because I am here to entertain in totally inappropriate ways.

Love Makes Things Better. Also, Badly Sung 80s Songs.

Listen, just because my heart's a little bit broke doesn't mean that I can't go out and belt some tunes in front of lots of people and scare them a little bit, right? It's like chocolate after a Dementor attack. It really helps.


Here are some things I did this weekend to help me not think about my hurty heart.

On Friday night, I went to a party at this place, where every last cheesy song in the world was sung with abandon, despite the fact that I have a bit of a cough. You want to know what? My version of Take on Me by A-ha is hideous, people. HIDEOUS. Unless perhaps you make yourself believe that I meant to do it in the style of Yoko Ono. Which I could have been doing, totally on purpose. You'll never know for sure.

Two of the things that Nordic Boy has never done in the many years that I have known him: (1) get sloppy drunk. (2) sing karaoke. I have a dream that one day I shall see these two things happen simultaneously in one spectacular night of awesomeness. Alas, Friday night was not that night. I have seen him bust out such lovely renditions of songs such as "Tiny Dancer" or "Fuck the Pain Away" by Peaches in the privacy of our own home, but he has yet to unleash his talent onto the world at large. Some day, my friends. Some day.

On Saturday I met up with Delium for lunch and afterward we were at my house where he noticed an old photo of me, Alli, and Map where I was wearing a favorite Esprit shirt under a Benetton sweater with my teenage acid washed jeans. "I totally remember that outfit!" he said. I love that I have friends from ye olden days that can say stuff like that to me.

That afternoon, I went to a "summer barbecue" at the Soggy Librarian's house. I put that in quotes because it was raining and in the upper 40s that day, at least when we first arrived. That didn't stop us from pretending it was summer, especially when it stopped raining and got up to a balmy 50 degrees or so. We barbecued and played cornhole in the wet grass. You will not defeat us, Seattle.

That night, Biogirl, Nordic Boy and I went out to dinner where I ate way too much. Like, Thanksgiving too much. It was worth the belly ache though.

Sunday, I spent the first half of my day over at Biogirl's house, where we came up with some cockamamie theory that perhaps what a good relationship needs is less talking. We came to this conclusion after about three hours of talking, so I am not sure if that proves the theory or doesn't.

I then went on a walk around Green Lake with my friend M, who is awesome for many reasons, not the least of which is that she has chickens who lay delicious eggs and she gives them away to her friends. Score! She is also just super kind. What is better than super kind? I can't think of many things.

I came home to find that all of the furniture in our guest room had been moved out into our dining area, and Nordic Boy had installed beautiful cork flooring in the guest room. And then we danced on the new floor to "Electricity" by OMD, and Nordic Boy made up a hilarious new dance that we dubbed "The Level" and we did that until I almost puked laughing. This is why I love coming home.

I called my my dad, and he told me about something funny that my mom said that day, and he could barely tell it, he was laughing so much, and I could hear my mom laughing in the background too, and I hope that when we are in our 80s Nordic Boy and I can make each other laugh like that still.

We then made a cozy dinner and watched a movie and were in bed by 11.

Thanks, weekend.

Dropped Like It's Hot

A long time ago, I wrote a post about cutting a friend out of your life. In Fiji, there is a name for doing this. It's called Friendcutting. As in, I friendcutted his sorry ass.


I wrote it in a way that was for the cutter, not the cuttee. To encourage folks that yes, it's ok to cut a friend out if they are being a shitty friend. But what about when you're the shitty friend? And you get cut out? What's that like?

The short answer? It sucks, dudes. It sucks bad.

I'm not talking about drifting apart in a mutual fashion, or when someone moves away and you don't talk to them quite as much as you used to. I am talking about a conscious, intentional decision. They don't want you as a friend. They have decided. They don't tell you they have decided. They just stop calling you. This has happened to me three major times in my life.

First of all, I guess I should say that I am most definitely a friend-person. The place that friendships occupy in my life is near the very center. I define myself in terms of the company I keep and how much love I have, related to me or not. My parents are my parents, but they are also dear friends. Nordic Boy is so for sure my friend. Also, Biogirl is my family, and so are my other dear friends. Close friend or family, it's really one unit in my mind. I acknowledge that not everyone sees friendship in this way. Perhaps that's part of my problem, but we won't go there.

I have friends that I have known since we were both sporting the Huggies. I have high school friends, and dance school friends, and college friends. I have friends from every job I have ever had. I have neighbor friends. I have coworker friends. I have ex-boyfriend friends. I have blog friends (hi you guys!). This is not to brag about how many friends I have. I'm just trying to say that I am not one to leave people behind. If you're my friend, I cherish you. I'm in it for the long haul. I'm not fair weather.

I remember the first time I consciously went AWOL on a friend of mine. I am not proud of it, but I did it. It was a college friend: Megan. In our late teens and early 20s Megan and I had whooped it up. Then, something changed for Megan. She had a lot of things going on, and I tried to be there for her. I tried to make her laugh when she was down, and she told me that was insensitive. I tried to call her when she needed me, but she would tell me that she wanted to be alone. When I left her alone, she said that I was never there for her. When something good happened to me, she told me it made her feel worse about her life. When I was sad, she told me I was being a drag. I could not win. Finally, I realized (oh, youth, when it took me years to realize crap like this) that perhaps the shitty friend was not the Man in the Mirror. I remember it hit me, right in the face, and it was a SHOCKER, and I am not even being sarcastic. Maybe Megan was the shitty friend? Say WUT?

Picture me, slapping myself on the forehead in realization, in a "gee I coulda had a V-8!" sort of way.

Here's the part I am not proud of. I had called Megan this one time, and she made all sorts of pronouncements about all the things I could never do right, and I remember so clearly thinking "I am never ever calling you again." And after I hung up, that's exactly what happened. I never called Megan again. I just dropped off the face of the earth and didn't return any of her phone calls, or emails (we by this time lived on opposite coasts so I never ran into her at parties). No "peace out!" Nothing. I may have sent her a holiday card or a birthday card for a couple of years after that, but other than that, I ratcheted that mess down from full-on friendship to lukewarm acquaintance. I still had the audacity to sign her birthday cards "xxoo" like we were still in friend-love, but clearly, I was out of there. See ya, sucker.

I try to think of this situation when friends of mine disappear on me. You might think this would make me feel worse because that would mean that I am the Megan, a terrible friend who someone just can't frigging stand anymore. But no. In my way (I am nothing if not a glass-half-full kind of lady), it makes me think that the dropper is too scared to tell me, the droppee, that they just don't want to hang anymore. I could have tried to fix things with Megan, but I didn't. I put in no effort to communicate with her about what I thought was ailing the friendship. That was my responsibility and I didn't do it. I was the coward there, not her.

At the time I knew Megan, I had never had a friend drop me like that before, so I didn't really know what that would feel like. Soon after, I got my first taste. This time, it was my friend Kayla. I didn't know there was anything wrong between Kayla and me. And I would like to flag that sentence. I didn't know there was anything wrong between Kayla and me. The reason I am flagging? Because this is a MAJOR CHARACTER FLAW OF MINE. If you don't tell me or show me you are troubled? I always assume you are fine. If you seem happy, I believe you. This is because I grew up in the land of Midwest Bigmouths, where people tell you their troubles whether you want to know or not. No one is politely hiding that shit behind a genteel veneer of courteousness. If someone has a problem with you, you will KNOW. I have tried to get better about reading people who aren't so good at that, especially because Seattle is renowned for its genteel veneer of courteousness, but so far, I still suck at it. Anyway, so Kayla had been acting the way that she always had, and so I was going along, tra la la, we are friends, and then bam. She was gone. This time, I got a hold of her and asked her about it, and with some coaxing, she told me what was wrong. And turns out, I was being a shitty friend. In my own defense, I did not realize this and had she told me what she needed from me a long time ago, I would have been able to be a better friend. But now, it was too late. She was over it, I was so ten minutes ago, and flush. Down the toilet I went, our friendship with it.

Since then, I have been cut out two more times by people I thought would be in my life for my whole life. Each time broke my heart worse than the last. The number of them that don't hurt when I think about them? Goose egg, baby.

So now that I have been on this super awesome train wreck three times in my adult life, I feel like I have a lot of things about it figured out.

1. The genteel veneer of courteousness is like a foreign language that I am starting to learn, but so far my level of understanding is on par with only being able to say the phrase "donde esta la biblioteca" while traveling in the middle of Barcelona without a map and what I really need is to go number 2 really badly but I don't know how to say that and all I can ask for is the damn biblioteca. I continue to try to study this language but it is slow going. I at least can tell my friends that I suck at this though, so they are appropriately warned, so that is something.

2. I try really way hard to be a good friend. I think I try harder than most. Sometimes though, I just don't cut it. So I get cut. Sometimes trying just isn't even the point. Getting cut is just the way it bes sometimes.

Ok, maybe that's it. I haven't learned a lot of things. I have apparently only learned two things. Which is better than no things, but still. It's kind of a shit sandwich and I wish I could say I have learned a bit more that just two things. I know more about Kim Kardashian's upcoming nuptials than I do about dealing with losing a friend. (a) She is marrying someone really tall. (b) Her sister wants her to get a prenup. (c) His name is Chris something. There. Three things. Whereas traumatic life experience? Only two things. That's really very distressing.

Wait. Maybe I have a third thing. I am hesitant about the third thing, because I am not sure it's right. But Ima say it anyway. When I get cut, I just let the person go. Like almost immediately. Because if you don't want me around, who am I to argue? It's your choice. It's like in a romantic relationship, if someone wants to leave, isn't trying to talk them into staying, well...pathetic? I feel like there is a possibility that I am supposed to Make a Stand in these types of situations. Is that how people do? They Make a Stand? Or Fight for the Friendship? People aren't acting all dramatic like that, are they? That's what I am asking you, blog friends. Am I being a bad cuttee? Am I supposed to be hanging on to someone's leg while they try to walk out the door? Because I have never done that, and I am just realizing, after train wreck number three, that maybe I should have been doing that. But if that's true, I just don't know if I have it in me. I just don't know if I am cut from leg-hanging cloth. I am much more a "hey, still love you, I'll be over here. If you want to call me up, I will always take the call, but I'm not going to call you and have you hang up on my ass over and over again" kind of lady. But is that what we're supposed to do for love these days? Because if so, I have been doing it all wrong.

I just don't want to go through train wreck number four, you guys. I am getting too old for this shit. I am Dear Abbying you. If someone friend-cuts you, let go or no?

How Now, Whiney Cow

Most awesome conversation I have heard lately, between a mom and her daughter, about 5 years old.


Kid: Mmmmmmmm.
Mom: Was that a moo? Like a cow? Good job!
Kid: No. I was whining. Mmmmmmm.
Mom: Oh. Well, stop it then.
Kid: Mmmmmmmmm.
Mom: Stop whining!
Kid: It was a moo that time.

Why I will make a great retired person

Most of my weekends are full of activity. Every once in a while, my calendar is totally open, which means I get to do whatever I wish. This weekend was such a weekend, and I find it telling that "whatever I wish" is decidedly geriatric.


Here was my Saturday.

1. Woke up at 7am, because, you know, that's sleeping in.

2. Had a cup of tea and literally counted my leftover change and rolled it up.

3. Did laundry, dishes, vacuumed, dusted, and paid bills all before 10am.

4. Wandered over to Biogirl's house.

5. Had a leisurely brunch with the bff.

6. Went into the garden store next to the brunch place.

7. Went on a stroll around Green Lake.

8. Found the Parfait ice cream truck, and had a scoop in the sun.

9. Complained to each other about the cafe chairs on the sidewalk we ended up sitting in (her: "this cuts off my circulation in the back of my legs!" me: "these chairs make my butt fall asleep!")

10. Came home and watched David McCullough being interviewed on tv while ironing Nordic Boy's work shirts.

11. Read a book, while listening to Vivaldi.

12. Looked at some old photos of friends I miss and felt terribly nostalgic.

13. Opened up all my windows, put my feet up on my couch, and "rested my eyes."

14. Made a simple dinner of rice, beans and veggies with Nordic Boy.

15. Watched a movie under a blanket and ate cherries for dessert.

16. Did a crossword in bed.

I really hope my generation will be able to retire, because I am seriously going to rock that shit.

Consumables #41

Two Consumables in one week! I should be paid extra for that!


1. Witches of the East End, by Melissa de la Cruz

At Book Expo there were all sorts of publishers there with galley copies of upcoming books, handing them out to people who might be able to add to the buzz.* Oh yes, I am so important, I can create buzz. Not really, but you think I am going to tell those suckers that? How would I get a gigantic boxful of galleys to bring home with me then? Anyway, I picked this one up from my pile at random, and also a little bit because I am familiar with de la Cruz's teen stuff (this is her first novel for adults). This one is set in the Hamptons, and stars a family of three witches. With all the zombies and vampires running around literary land (and now fairies too), seeing a good old fashioned witch was sort of refreshing. It was still super frothy and would appeal to teens even more than her teen books, I think, because the story was like her teen stuff, only with plenty of the sexy bidness. Which makes it a novel for adults, but let's face it, teens want books with the sexy bidness in it too.

2. Home improvement shows

Nordic Boy watches home improvement shows sometimes, and they make him, out of anger, pop an o-ring. (This is a favorite phrase of Nordic Boy's. To pop one's o-ring. That means to get rageful. It has to do with plumbing. Trust me, he tells me it's hill-air). It drives him to a poopy pants state when someone Norm Abrams like, who has the fanciest tools around that will laser draw all your cuts for you and then execute those cuts with a press of a button, does this and then says something like "and there you go! Once you learn that trick, you can make mitered joints in seconds!" I found Nordic Boy yelling at the screen last night: "THAT IS NOT A TRICK! THAT IS NOT A TRICK! AUTOMATION DID IT FOR YOU! YOUR VIEWERS CAN'T AFFORD THAT SAW! THAT IS NOT CRAFTSMANSHIP! GAHHHHH!" I don't know why he puts himself through that. Maybe it's the same part of the brain that causes me to watch the Bachelorette, which makes me pop an o-ring.

3. The Bachelorette

OMG, you guys. I really was so ready to not watch the shitstorm anymore. And then I got sick, and watched all the teevees, and saw an episode. And now I am back in. GODDAMN ME. But come on, the guy who wore a Zorro mask for the first few episodes, so that she would fall in love with the Real Him? And how she had spent probably a collective 4 or 5 hours in some guy named Bentley's presence (cue Jon Cryer as Duckie: "his name is Bentley? That's a car, not a name!") and when he left the show, she TOOK TO HER BED because she was devastated by the loss! I don't do the Real Housewives, or the Jersey Shore, or anything like that, but this one: I just can't not look at it. I can't. O-ring be damned.
4. I don't really find celebrities hot. I don't know why, I just don't. I never watch a movie and think "ooh, Ryan Reynolds, homina homina." Instead, I think, really? Ryan Reynolds? Why? I just don't think that I can have a crush on anyone based solely on their looks. So, no fantasizing about McDreamy or McSteamy or McFeely (wait, that's the Mister Rogers guy) or whatever. I do, however, have friend crushes. Like, I have looked at people and thought "we would so totally be friends." For instance, I am convinced in a completely (well 98%) non-stalker-ish way that Amy Poehler and I would be total besties. I also feel that Kate Winslet and/or Emma Thompson (I don't know, the two of them have to come in a set, right?) and I could have a pint together, no probs. I have always found Ewan McGregor completely charming in interviews and like him in a non-hubba-hubba way.*** I couldn't make you a long list like that, but I could make you a list. The latest friend-crush I have? Luke Burbank and Jen Andrews on TBTL. I listen to their podcast on my way to work in the morning and am pretty sure I am conducting an imaginary friendship with both of them.

5. I know this has made its way around the intertubes a bunch, but my fake friends Luke and Jen play the audio from this often, and it makes me laugh every. fucking. time.



*I am sure I must have mentioned the dude that my friends and I eavesdropped on at Coastal Kitchen this one time, where he was obviously on a date, and trying to impress his lady friend with high falutin' intellectual talk** and our favorite quote from this 21st century Keats was on the subject of his artwork and the effect that he wanted it to have on the world. "I just want to make a dent in the buzz, man," he said. A dent. In the buzz. Oh, lady, if you ended up bedding that dude later, I just don't even know what to say to you.

**otherwise known as jibber jabber

***homina homina and hubba hubba in one post! Just wanted to point that out in case you missed it.

Later gators. Tell me, who is your imaginary celebrity friend?
 

Consumables #40, or "Have You Ever Read that Ray Bradbury story?"

There are a lot of people in my city obsessed with the weather. I can't hold myself apart from this- I am as guilty as anyone. I check the weather reports obsessively, and do a disproportionately jubilant dance whenever the sun decides to show itself. I have made valiant efforts to not talk about it so dang much, and although I want full credit for mostly succeeding at this, I also have to dock points for the fact that I would actually, in complete seriousness, describe my efforts as "valiant."


This obsession with talking about weather amongst my Seattle peoples is highest in spring time. I think we can partly blame this on the Facebooks and the Tweeters, as we can blame almost anything. Springtime is when many other places in the US are telling us via their Facebook and Twitter statuses about sunshine, and flowers, and putting on shorts. Seattle has to wait longer than most other places for these sentiments, and so looking at those statuses all day long makes us hemmorage agitation.

This is the paragraph where I disclaim the pants off of all that I am saying and acknowlege all the messy scary weatherness in the news. Places that are not Seattle are being tornadoed to Kingdom Come and I know I am a horrible person for talking about a measly lack of sunshine. But trust me, Seattle during the month of May is full of horrible people just like me. Just know that I am aware of our collective disgustingness. Thanks.

My friend and coworker the Soggy Librarian and I have a special weather-complainant bond. As I said I have valiantly cut down on the weather drama, but that does not extend to my conversations with TSL. She is in the ok-to-whine zone. And part of what makes her be in that zone is her dedication to her weather rage. She actually makes weather rage sort of fun. It doesn't even feel whiney. It feels like a sport. How many ways can she and I complain about the lack of sunshine? Turns out, millions of ways. Millions.

This year, TSL has extended the weather rage into full on storytelling. It starts like this. "Have you ever read that Ray Bradbury story?" Then she'll tell you the summary of "All Summer in a Day," a story that takes place on another planet, where the residents only see the sun for one day out of seven years, or some crazy shit like that. The rest of the time it rains. So basically, the "other planet" is Seattle. Whenever she brings this up, everyone around her says "Wow. That is so us." And we bond in our feelings of Vitamin D deficiency. There is one character in the story who is from Earth. All her little kid friends have never seen the sun, but she has, and she misses it badly. And when the day finally comes where the sun will come out? Her bastard friends lock her in a closet and she MISSES THE WHOLE THING. Because kids are little angels, that's why. Oh Ray Bradbury. Such a joyful sort.

This weekend was the first weekend of sun that Seattle saw in for-freaking-ever. People were planning for this weekend like it was their prom or something. And you know what happened? I got sick with the worst cold. Right on the sunny days! Like, right on them. Square on the nuts.

And thanks to TSL, I could wallow in the misery of not being out in the sun by thinking of that Ray Bradbury story. I AM THE LOCKED IN THE CLOSET GIRL! Not to be confused with the Locked in the Closet boy, R. Kelly. I don't think even Ray Bradbury could have dreamed that guy up.

So I spent most of the sunny days in my house, under a blanket, sipping soup and watching movies. Boo hoo!

Here's what I watched. It's a lot of movies. I was sick for a while.

My Date with Drew
A documentary in which this dude wins $1100 on a game show. He decides to give himself 30 days with this budget witht the goal of ending up on a date with his childhood crush, Drew Barrymore. He manages to go the whole movie trying to get in touch with Drew in all kinds of ways. And bee-tee-dubs, he somehow never comes off as a stalker, which is pretty impressive.

Restrepo
A pair of embedded journalists document a group of soldiers deployed in the mountains of Afghanistan, in an area that is known for being one of the most dangerous for American soldiers.

Following Sean
In 1969, filmmaker Ralph Arlyck makes a short film where he interviews Sean, a 4 year old. Sean lives in the Haight with his hippy parents, and talks frankly about things like the fact that he already smokes pot. The movie got a lot of attention back then and caused lots of people to speculate about what would happen to Sean when he grew up. This movie finds Sean as an adult to answer that question.

Dear Zachary
Movies don't tend to make me have nightmares. Not ghosts, or zombies, or even serial killers. This one made me have nightmares. A few years ago, the filmmaker's lifelong friend, Andrew, was murdered by his ex-girlfriend. After his murder, the ex-girlfriend gave birth to a child that was fathered by Andrew. The filmmaker travels across North America interviewing as many people as possible that ever knew Andrew so that he could give the finished movie, full of remembrances, to Andrew's son Zachary. Things go downhill from there. Like, as heartbreaking as that sounds, it gets so much more heartbreaking.

Between the Folds
Documentary about crazy cool origami art. What more is there to say?

Last Dance
Documentary about the collaboration between Maurice Sendak and Pilobilus. If you know anything about Sendak, and about Pilobolus, you know that they are both cranky but awesome entities. Half the fun is seeing who can out-cranky the other. The collaboration's result is an abstract(ish) dance piece about the Holocaust. The thing I liked seeing was the rehearsal and creative process. If you're wanting to see the actual finished piece, they don't really show much of that. I can see how that might bug some viewers, but I was ok with it.

Purple Rain
Ok, I hadn't seen this in years, and I saw it now and I was totally appalled. Prince beats up Appelonia! Like, full on smacks her up. And pushes her down, and threatens to beat her up some more. And Jerome throws a mouthy woman in a DUMPSTER. And Prince identifies with his domestic abuser father and never really rejects that whole mess, even at the end. And lots of other jacked up shit. I mean, I know I shouldn't expect Prince to be the model of gender equality or anything, but COME ON. This was way, way, waaaaay over the line. I sort of can't get over it.

Kings of Pastry
Fancy pastry chefs competing to become MOFs (highest culinary honor in France- you thought I said MOFOs didn't you?). The pastries in this were r'dick. I have to say though, they didn't look tasty to me. They were amazing, but they didn't make my mouth water or anything. It was more like an amazing sculptural feat than anything else. Then again, I think the best dessert ever made is probably, oh, like an ice cream sandwich or something. That's how I do. MOF that shit.

127 Hours
I know we're not supposed to like James Franco anymore, but I still do.

The Next Three Days
I was mad that the Elizabeth Banks character was so...not assertive. But not too mad, because how much am I really going to get riled about a Russell Crowe thriller? Not that much.

Red Dawn
Patrick Swayze never looked like a teen, even when he was a teen. He must have spawned onto this earth as a thirty year old man, I swear.

Bridesmaids
Ok, I'm cheating- I saw this in the theater a week ago. I thought is was adorbs.

Gotham

I'm back to the land of grey skies and polite people. Hi Seattle!


Here is what I have to say about my trip to New York.

There are two things I love in life. Well, more than two, obviously, but in the long list of things I love, these two would be near the tippiest top of the list. One! Walking. Two! Art of all kinds. You know what New York is all about? Walking and art of all kinds. Nordic Boy has this same list of loves, but also has a third thing, and that is buildings, parks, bridges. Man made structures, if you will. We were in hog heaven. I get annoyed with the New Yorkers who are all "nothing but nothing is better than New York and anyplace else might as well be a festering boil on a donkey's ass" but goddamn it. It's got things I love so much it hurts. So FINE.

Relatedly, I always find it a little annoying when New Yorkers brag about the quality of their bagels. Yes, YES, you have better bagels than everywhere else, we HEAR YOU. Yet what was the first thing we did when we woke up that first morning? Get our asses to Absolute Bagels. And stood in a long line. Because oh my god. Bagel bliss.

You know how, in tv shows that are set in New York, people are always somehow running into people they know everywhere? Like in Seinfeld, or Sex in the City, or Friends (and yes I can make a reference that is less than 5 years old but just not right now)? I always feel sort of skeptical about that. In all of those masses of people, like you are really going to keep running into crazy Joe Davola everywhere? What EVS. Biogirl and I used to work together when we were in college, and we had this cuckoo boss. Let's call her Rowena. After we both quit that job, we always wondered what would happen on the day that we run into Rowena somewhere. It's sort of bound to happen, right? We dreaded the awkwardness that would ensue. We had the same social circle as Rowena at one time, and we frequent the same sorts of places, and Seattle ain't that big. This was over 10 years ago, and we have never run into Rowena. Ever. So in New York? People are running into each other everywhere? Well, as it turns out, I found that they do. First of all, Nordic Boy and I kept running into my friend Linda everywhere we went. Linda was in town from Seattle to attend Book Expo (as was I), but we saw her everywhere. We were walking in Central Park- hey Linda! And walking near Madison Square Garden- there's Linda! It was buh-nay-nuts. Also, the first day I went to Book Expo (which was attended by about 20,000 people, no lie), I looked up and who was walking by me but E. Lockhart. Ms. Lockhart is the fine author of one of my all-time favorite teen books, and I got the chance to eat dinner with her a couple of months ago when she came to my liberry. So although I don't know her, I sort of know her. Anyway, I chatted with her and she was awesome because she remembered me (or she was awesome because she pretended really well to remember me; I will accept either one as a testament to awesomeness). Then! As I was walking around the joint, I stopped at the Minnesota University Press booth to snag a free copy of the new Ellen Willis book. The rep at the booth and I had a 10 minute conversation about the book, and Ellen, and suchlike. The whole time, I was thinking: do I know you, booth guy? I think I know you. I had a name tag the size of a saucer on a lanyard around my neck (so stylish) stating my full name and where I was from, so I figured if I knew this dude, he could clearly see my name and hence recognize me. He had no such name billboard on his person. I walked away from that conversation and later it clicked. Biogirl's friend from when she lived in California, who I am now friends with too, in a Facebook sort of way: that was that lady's husband. Who I met many times when visiting Biogirl in California, and hung out with, and got into hijinks with. I wanted to be mad that he didn't remember me, but I didn't remember him really either so I guess that wouldn't be fair.

THE POINT IS. I ran into people I knew among the throngs of people in New York. So maybe it makes sense that Carrie keeps running into Big and Aidan everywhere.

Nordic Boy and I also felt super proud of ourselves for accidentally showing up at Moma during their free-admission night. Ha ha! Saving money! We then promptly went to their cafe and ordered a lemonade and an apple cider and didn't look at the prices and paid $20 for that. Rookie mistake.

Trump Tower is gaudy, y'all. I know, this is shocking news.

There were some celebrity sightings, which are totally boring, but let me just tell you one. Ok, two. I saw Mrs. Brady. And that lady is so short and tiny, you guys. And her head is really big. That is not a nice thing to say, but I just have to. Also, Mike Holmes. The only reason that one is interesting (if you even know who he is at all, which likely you may not) is that he was walking down a Manhattan street totally dressed in his get-up- the one he wears on his show. I always wonder with people who wear the same thing on their show all the time: do they dress like that every day? Like, did Captian Kangaroo wear that red jacket to go to the Olive Garden or Kmart or anything? Well, Mike Holmes is committed to his outfit. I just want you to know that.

Speaking of Kmart, Nordic Boy was totally fascinated with the entrance to Kmart in the subway. Like, in an out-of-proportional way. Leave it to a midwest kid to be that impressed with a Kmart.

We saw The Motherfucker with the Hat, which was good, except for the Motherfucker with the unsilent cell phone sitting right behind us. THREE TIMES. The cell phone rang three separate times.

When we saw How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, there was a row of teen girls behind us that were having the straight up vapors over Daniel Radcliffe. Like I thought there might be fainting. And whenever there was cause to clap at the end of a song, these girls screamed so loud that it blew our hair forward. I didn't know that humans could make sounds that loud. Turns out, the powerful mix of Harry Potter and teen girl hormones is a magical amplification system.

Best New York moment: a sunny day, in front of a beautiful little cafe. Tables are set up on the sidewalk, people are eating. Things are happy. An old woman wearing a bedazzled headwrap and Sophia Loren sunglasses walks by and loudly says, to no one in particular: "I don't know WHY we have to always have this kind of SHIT right on the sidewalk. GAWD."

Saw the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I wanted to lick the clothes.

Also wandered in to the Cooper Hewitt design museum, which was showing an exhibit of Van Cleef and Arpels gigantic brooches and other ridiculous jewels. The crowd in the museum was even better to look at than the exhibit. It was like me and Nordic Boy were lost in a sea of Mrs. Howells.

Going to New York can kind of wig me out a little bit, seeing as how I spent the first 20 years of my life basically being told I was going to end up living there by all of my mentors. Then I did live there for dance school for a while, and when I left, it was only for a breif period- at least that's what I thought at the time. It was like my adulthood was geographically a given in my mind until I was about 20 years old. I never thought to picture myself anywhere else. The vision of my future adulthood that I always had in my head as a kid was me living my life in New York. No one questioned that around me, and the adults in my world actively steered me in this direction, so I didn't question it either. So when I go there now, it can feel strange. To be so far from what I was literally trained to be. I don't have regrets about where my life has ended up- I am happy with who I am now and how I've chosen to do something totally different. But being there, especially in certain specific spots (Lincoln Center is particularly ouchie, for example), it's not regret I feel, but it's something equally uncomfortable. A queasy feeling in my stomach, and sometimes a little mist in my eyeball area. Who was that kid that I used to be? Where did that all go? Whatever the answer, there is no going back. And that can be hard to process for me. I don't think I have ever reconciled that for myself. I don't think I'm supposed to.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled Seattle-ness.