Consumables #52

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Thanksgiving 2011

Remember when I said I was going to do NaBloPoMo? And then I didn't post for two weeks? Ha ha, wasn't that a good one? I love that story.

Well, since then, Thanksgiving has come and gone. Food was eaten, movies were watched, asses were expanded. Pretty much what one might expect.

More than any other holiday, Thanksgiving makes me think about family. What family means and who in my life is in the circle. Lucky for me, I have quite a crowded circle. I am a loyal sort of person and so once you're in the circle, I am not leaving you no matter what. Ok, maybe not no matter what. If you turn into a jerk or leave me first, I let you go. But that's pretty much the only two reasons that I will stop paying attention to you. Otherwise you are in love lockdown, buster. And not in a Kanye way, in a good way, so don't be frightened. Unfortunately there have been many people that have succumbed to those two reasons, which is super sad. But there are many who haven't, year after year, through so many nutty times. They continue to love me, and be there for me, and stay present, and not let the lack of time, or the size of distance, or the changing of circumstance get in the way. Considering the craziness of all of our lives, that is quite a feat. And it's those people I think about and feel so full of thankful for on thanksfullness day. Some of these folks are related to me by blood, and most of them are not, but they are all my family.

Because everyone is so far-flung in my life, many of my peeps are not in enough proximity for us to stuff our faces while in the same room. Kind of sucks. On the bright side, I do have some most-favorite of peeps right here in the vicinity and we did get together for a full meal throwdown. At our little table this year, my relationships with these three folks adds up to 53 years of love and commitment. Come on. That's amazing.

I really have amazing people in my life. I aspire to be as awesome as they are, to not turn into a jerk, and to not leave anyone behind. With peeps like I got, they make the first one hard but the last two easy.

Sparkles

I've somehow found myself at a party wearing a tiara that says zero on the front all night. Because my Sunday nights make total sense.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Jack Frost Nosing at Your Nip

I have a feeling that it's going to be a cold winter. I have no facts to base this on, and I don't even have some sort of ache or pain that can forecast weather, as apparently some people do. What is with those weather-related aches and pains? "My goiter is telling me it's going to hail tomorrow!" The Weather Channel should totally have some sort of mascot related to this idea. Like a puppet hip-bone with googly eyes on it that says "I'm aching, so get hip to the fact that we'll have rain tonight, homies!" You know, to relate to today's youth.


I am a font of dumb ideas, you guys. That is just the tip of the iceberg, you have no idea. Or should I say the hip of the iceberg? Haaaaaa.

In other wintery news, this week we pretty much only ate squash. Our CSA box is trying to turn us squashitarian I am pretty sure. I am not complaining though, because it has been tasty times. We have had butternut squash soup, and roasted delicata, and Indian Sweet Meat (dirty!) squash curry. This could get old pretty soon but so far I am loving it. We have also been having a Martha Stewart versus Deborah Madison smackdown each night, since they are our two go-to recipe people these days. So far, Deborah is winning, but Martha is scrappy. She may take over at any moment.

I am not a person who prefers the winter, never have been. This was most unfortunate when I was growing up in Michigan. There is nothing, I am sure, quite like the whine of a child whose parents came from the sunniest awesomeness on earth and ended up in the frozen midwest. Although I am now living in a much milder climate than the one in which I was raised, I am still not a huge fan of the winter months. To combat this, I shall try and list some sweet things that have happened this week that were made all the better because it is butt cold out.

1. Did I mention the squash? Let's start with the squash.
2. I met my friend Crafty Jenny for tea and warm cookies the other night. Mmmm.
3. The moon was full this week and looked so icy and silvery. Beauteous!
4. Our new furnace is rocking my SOCKS, you guys. Apparently our old one was made of ass, because it is so much nicer in our house now.
5. Our new insulated cork bedroom floors are nice and toasty. Makes it so much easier to get up in the morning.

That's all I got for now. But five is a good start right?

Wise Words

I one hundred percent stoled this from my friend over at Pixel and Post. I love it.

Found at YeeHaw on Etsy.

Extreme Not-a-makeover Home Edition

First of all, a couple of people called me out on naming anything that is required in the urban Seattle area "winter boots" in my last post. And yes, we seldom need snow gear to tromp around the puddles here, it is true. Maybe I should have called them rain boots. Consider me correcting this, lest you all think that Nordic Boy was sporting a pair of full on mukluks or what have you.
Now that we have gotten that out of the way, let's talk about two things that are basically the same but yet somehow I manage to love one of them and have a strong dislike for the other. The two things? Makeovers and "Before and After" photos.

For some reason, I am not a fan of calling something a makeover. I have no idea why. I must have had a really, really bad makeover in a past life or something. Like, maybe I was me in ancient Egypt and some ancient Egyptian spa person redid my whole look and gave me those Egyptian straight-across bangs and I was all "my forehead is too short for bangs, yo!" Because my forehead really is too short for those kind of bangs. And I assume that forehead dimensions are something that one carries from life to life. If I do really terribly in this life and come back as a dung beetle or something next time around, I assume my beetle cranium will still be equipped with a threehead.

On the other hand, I adore a set of two photos with the title "Before and After" to describe them. Same concept right? You take a picture, you change something up, you take another one. LOVE IT. I love a before and after in fashion, in interior design, in construction, in anything. I love those articles where they show you a photo of how a street looked a hundred years ago and then put the current same street view beside it. It doesn't have to be a before and after of improvement. I just like to see change over time, or circumstance, or effort. I am sure my feelings about the word makeover have something to do with commercialism, in that Charlie-Brown-Christmas sort of way. And the fact that people who do makeovers, especially on tv, seem like condescending buttholes a lot of the time. But let's not get into that, because it's tiresome.

Ever since we moved into our house, I have been in Before and After hog heaven. Nordic Boy is not the greatest at documenting his efforts, so it fell to me, and omg I LOVE IT. I have reams of photos of things that no earthly person besides me and him would ever care to see. Before the new wiring! After the new wiring! Before the caulking! After the caulking! I am not kidding. It is ba-nuts.

I take these photos, and then download them, and sometimes he and I look at them, especially when we look at our list of things still left to do and feel overwhelmed (that's mostly me, not him). It helps to look back and see, wow, actually a lot has happened already.

I feel, about these photos, like I would never subject them to other people. No one cares about our new light fixtures, I think. But then, I see how hard I salivate over other people's befores and afters, and it makes me think: maybe some of these might be fun to share? Ok, not the caulking ones (ha ha, I love saying "caulking"), but some of the other ones?

All this is to preface (SHUT UP AND SHOW THE PHOTOS ALREADY) that I might start putting some befores and afters on the bloggy. Shall I? Yes, I shall.

Let's start with a big one. When we bought our house, let's just say that we had to have a lot of Vision. It had good bones (ha ha, caulking and bones) but the other stuff was super janky. Nordic Boy knew this was our house the moment he laid eyes on it, but me? I sort of knew it, but really, I had to trust Nordic Boy's Vision. I can be Vision-impaired on things like this, especially when there is disrepair and disgusting cat pee carpet and smoke-stained yellow walls and a Jumanji yard.

One of the things that I hated about our house was the fireplace. At that point in time, we had much bigger fish to fry but I complained about that fireplace until Nordic Boy wanted to pitch a fit I am sure. Finally, he asked me what I would like the fireplace to look like. I replied that I didn't think it possible that I could EVER love that thing, no matter what happened. Nordic Boy took serious umbrage to that statement and dropped what he was doing and spent a weekend putting the fireplace problem right. Usually he will draw a picture/plan of what he is thinking so I can see it (due to my lack of Vision) but this time he didn't, and that was ok because I trust his aesthetic, and I trust that he knows mine, and actually those two things have a lot of overlap. Can I just tell you that I can't imagine being with someone who didn't understand my aesthetic? Like, if he all of a sudden wanted all white wicker furniture or something? That would be grounds for dismissal.

Please do not hate me, white wicker lovers. It is just not my thing, but it's ok that it is yours. Go forth and wicker yourself to your heart's content, by all means.

Anyway. Here's what it looked like when we moved in. It was a Pa Ingalls hot mess.

Here it is today.

That is my first before and after. More to come? I think? Maybe next time I shall show you some damn fine caulk.

After the boots of summer have gone

Monday. Blah. Here's my list of what's in my brain today.


1. I kind of want to do NaBloPoMoBloJoHo (I just like to add that last part on there because I am juvenile), and started to do it last week, but that didn't last very long. I guess I am still trying, if it even makes sense to do that. Just set your expectations way way low on that one though. Dial it all the way down.

2. The weather has turned. The best we can hope for is some blue sky every once in a while, but we know those days are numbered as well. This weekend, Nordic Boy started wearing his winter work boots while doing up his carpentry rigamarole in his shop. "The days for summer boots are gone," he said. Then we sang the chorus of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" with the words "boots of summer" inserted, because that's how we do around here.

3. I have a new phone. I now need a new phone holder thing. I am having trouble finding one that meets my own personal design specifications. I came back from a shopping trip and Nordic Boy asked me if I found a phone case, and I said I didn't see any that I liked, and he said "I think we're starting up another pencil cup situation here." Because I spent three years looking for a pencil cup that met my aesthetic needs. And I never found one. So I just decided that I didn't need a pencil cup. And Nordic Boy never once said to me "IT IS JUST A PENCIL CUP GET OVER IT." Because he knows a battle that can't be won, plus he is nice to me like, all the time. Anyway, maybe I can just be really careful with my new phone?

4. I spent part of my weekend browsing some stores for wintery clothes. I have trouble with wintery clothes, mainly because I am not a fan of bulk, but I am also not a fan of being cold. My solution to this problem has been to just wear summer/spring/fall clothes which solves the bulk issue but doesn't solve the being cold issue. Between this and the pencil cup thing and the phone case thing I really find myself unbearable sometimes. It does save me money though, since impulse buying is sort of out.

5. Biogirl and I had a full on therapy session over the weekend about the remakes of Dirty Dancing and Footloose. In the conversation the following phrase was said: "YOU SIR, are no Kevin Bacon!" I think we can all adopt that phrase in a multitude of situations.

6. Biogirl, who has been coveting the Norm-in-Cheers status of "regular" for many years, finally got her wish at the brunch joint we frequent. We go there almost weekly, so it's about bloody time they recognize us. They knew her name! And what she wanted to order! It was a grand day in her life. I was glad to be there to witness.

7. We had dinner with our friends HVDM and her husband J. Afterward, we came over to my house and played Outburst. I was seriously off my game and this was evidenced by the following. I could not name all ten Robert Redford movies on the dang card, and I couldn't name off ten Shakespeare plays. What the eff, me? I might as well have forgotten the alphabet as far as I am concerned.

8. I finally signed up for pinterest. Let me know if you're on it too and I'll follow you.

9. It was Alli's birthday yesterday. There are a few things that make me feel melancholy around this time of year, and not being there for Alli's birthday is always one of them. We always did birthday shenanigans when we were kids! How dare she grow up and move away! Wait, that was me that moved away. I hate it when I have to blame myself for my own whining.

10. YOU SIR are no Kevin Bacon! I just wanted to say that again.

The Ultimate Reminder

I was sitting at my desk at work, juggling too many things. Too many windows open on my desk top, too many lists going on at once. An IM pops up on my screen. As I chat with my co-worker, I realize I have forgotten to do something for her that I said I would do.


"Poop!" I think to myself.

I turn to write down, on my to-do list, this thing that I should do for my co-worker. I write it down, only I don't write down what the task is. Instead I write down what I had said to myself in my head. Which was, let us reiterate: "Poop!"

I wrote Poop on my to-do list.

A few minutes later, I looked at my to-do list and realized what I did. It totally looks as though I had to make a note to myself to remind myself to do a deuce.

The classiness just blows you away, don't it?

Merce-y Me

Last week, Nordic Boy and I went to see the Merce Cunningham Legacy Tour. How to describe Merce Cunningham to non-dancey folks? That's a tough one. Let's just say that he was super prolific, his work was super brilliant, and to probably most people out there, his stuff is very, very deeply weird.


If you know something about ballet, and modern, and how they started to mush all together in the mid-twentieth centrury, Merce is totally fascinating. Where he took ideas about collaboration and autonomy of form and musicality (or lack thereof) can boggle a mind for sure. I happen to enjoy his work on its face, but I also enjoy it almost more for the ideas he's executing. I feel, when I watch his work, the same way that I feel reading a really dense piece of literature. It makes my brain hurt with everything that is going on- so many levels, it's just OUCH. I want a rewind button so I can go over parts of it again and again to figure it out, much like re-reading a passage in a book because the first time it's just WUT. In a good way.

I have a thing I do when I see dance in person, on tv, wherever. If I am engaged in what's happening, I sit on the edge of my seat, literally. I lean forward and stare. It's annoying I am quite sure. But I don't think there is anything on earth that makes me pay more attention than watching a kick ass dance. And Merce has me in that state.

That said, if you don't know what you're looking at, or even if you do, his shit is wacko looking. I would fully expect people to watch it and roll their eyes and giggle. I don't blame you, really. It looks strange. The music is strange. If I didn't know what I know, I would think it was coo coo for cocoa puffs.

When we were at the show last week, there were these two ladies that were sitting behind us, and I don't know what they thought they were there to see, but clearly they weren't expecting the nutty cha cha that was in process in front of their faces. After each piece, there would be a short pause, maybe of about 5 minutes. During this five minutes, these two ladies, who were apparently raised in the school of If You Can't Say Something Nice Don't Say a Goddamn Thing, tried to find something nice to say. The first pause went like this.

Lady #1: Well.
Lady #2: Yes. Well.
Lady #1: I, um. That was interesting.
Lady #2: Yes. Yes it was.
Lady #1: I thought the costumes were cute.
Lady #2: Me too! Definitely.

The costumes, let me point out, were plain off-white unitards. That is it. Pause #2?

Lady #1: Wow, that was just... great.
Lady #2: Sure. It really was.
Lady #1: They really must have to train a lot, huh?
Lady #2: I'm sure they do. Did you see their calves?

Calves. And costumes. You could just hear the strain in their voices. They wanted to yell out WHAT THE EFF AM I LOOKING AT, THESE PEOPLE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE HAVING FITS, but they were too refined for that. It was adorbs. I sort of loved those ladies.

During the show, there were a couple of points where I too reached my limit of weird. I can sustain a lot of weird, but Merce got me twice. Here's how.

First of all, there was a soprano who accompanied the first piece, and she was singing some crazy shit. It was like free jazz, only more free. No melody, no words. There was high, low, gutteral, and everything in between. She even had sound effects with her- she held up a jack in the box to her microphone at one point, and honked a horn at another point. It was kooky, but I was into the dance, it didn't matter. Go crazy, kooky lady, I can handle this. Until a really weird sound came over the mic, and I was like oh no she isn't, and I looked over and people! She was straight up GARGLING into the microphone. Holding a cup of water, head tipped back, holding a gargly note.

My weirdometer broke on that one. To paraphrase Meatloaf: I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR DANCE, BUT I CAN'T DO THAT.

I could not go with the gargling.

The second time my concentration was breached was during a point where a bunch of dancers were out on stage, jumping in a disjointed manner, all separate and deceptively random. The music was also dissonant and random, with sounds that included car horns and doorbells. Nordic Boy leaned up to me, in all my seated-at-the-edge-of-my-chair seriousness, and whispered: "Oh we are so doing this dance when we get home." Dudes, it was FUNNY. It was like when Jerry Seinfeld put his Pez dispenser on his knee at the piano show and Elaine got the giggles. I was Elaine. I am sure all the fancy dance people were appalled.

Anyway, despite these things, I loved the show. RIP, Merce. Thanks for the intellectually, artistically challenging wackness.

Consumables #51

I have never really understood it when people have told me that they lose touch with someone close to them, and then they just keep putting off and putting off calling them or sending them an email because it's been so long that they feel all this pressure to explain where they have been and to catch them up on every last thing that has happened in the interim, which will take a long time, and so then they put it off some more, and on and on. So much pressure we put on ourselves, people! There is enough pressure out there. Don't pile more on. Just get in touch with that person and say hey, what's up? I miss you. Also, lots of stuff has happened, but we'll get to that eventually. How are you?

 

If you promise to work on that one, I promise to work on one of my neuroses. Like how I sometimes think I talk too much. (Let's not all point to this bloggy as evidence that my powers of motor-mouthing might not be an unwarranted fear).

 

All of that is to say that I feel like I haven't done a Consumable in a while (like a whole month, egads) and rather than try to do a laundry list of all of the totality of the sum of everything for the past month, I'll just give you some greatest hits.

 

Bookth!

 

Nanjing Requiem, by Ha Jin

Hey, want to know what a horrifying time and place is? Nanjing, China in 1937, that's when. Ha Jin tells the fictionalized story of the for-real person named Minnie Vautrin, an American woman who worked as the dean of a college in Nanjing who ends up running a refugee shelter for more than 10,000 women and children during the town's invasion and afterwards. Jin's writing is his usual spare, straightforward language- no stylizing it up. To some this might seem like he's treating the subject too clinically- showing us what happened, period. To others, this style may hit the right chord of documentary-like candor. I felt both ways about it, which is so typical and tiresome of me, I know.

 

Hark! A Vagrant!, by Kate Beaton

Kate Beaton rocks it with her comics, for sure. She does funny commentary on everything from Jane Austen to Disraeli to Wonder Woman. She does make me feel terribly guilty that I don't understand the comics that have to do with Canadian politics. How is it that I know so little about Canadian politics? I feel like I know about politics. I even feel like I know about world politics. But yet, I realize with the Canucks, I have been remiss. I know NOTHING, it seems. I am that horrible neighbor who doesn't know what is going on right next door. So my reading her book went like this: ha ha! Funny! What does that one mean GUILT GUILT. Ha ha! Good one! Is that a Canadian politician? I have no idea who that is GUILT GUILT. So you should totally read it, just don't be like me, meaning (a) don't be a dumbass about Canada, and (b) if you are, don't sit there and feel bad about it the whole time.

 

In the TeeVee!

 

The Walking Dead

I really want the storyline to move faster. Too slow, zombies! I think I would enjoy this more if I waited for them on Netflix or whatever and just watched them all in a row.

 

Movies!

The Sorceror's Apprentice was on tv the other day, and I didn't even watch it but it brought me joy as any reference to this movie always does, because it reminds me of the time that Alli's husband Chris called it "The Wizard's Intern." Hee!

Fuel

Documentary about energy production, and hey, it ain't depressing. I know this deviates from my usual diet of depressing documentaries, but everyone's got to break out of the mold sometimes.

 

The Thin Man

I watched this one again and it's still awesome. Nick was such a boozehound, wasn't he? And Nora with her ridiculously fancy dressing gowns. And the repartee, so loverly.

 

Could that really be it for anything that I want to say about my month? I guess so.

 

Laters, my pretties!

Hallowon't

Here is what I have decided about Halloween. I love it when I can make decisions on things.


What I have decided is that I love costumes. Love them. On other people. I feel like I want to love them for me, but I really actually don't love them for me though, which for a long time now I have been fighting with myself about. Costumes bring together many things that I love in my life: art, creativity, humor, spooky aesthetics! I should, in theory, be all over this holiday. But yet, every year I find myself doing something lame like wearing a regular everyday 60s-ish wrap-dress, slapping on a fake nametag and calling it a flight attendant costume. I go to costume parties dressed pretty much like myself but trying to call it something else. I am so that person. I don't know why, but coming up with a costume idea is torture for me, let alone dedicating time to getting something together.

My friends go all out for Halloween, and throw the type of parties that are not costume-optional. You wear a costume, mandatory. Bossy friends I have, I know, but thems the breaks. So this year, you know what I did? I stayed home. It was kind of sad that I missed the fun (omg can you believe I just tried to pull that? To make you feel sorry for me on that stupid crap?), but I just couldn't be Half-Ass Halloweener this year. Throw in the fact that getting Nordic Boy into a costume can only be described as an annual "being a good sport but honestly could so totally do without this shit" situation and really. What is the point.

So, this Saturday we eschewed all invites (and the count on Halloween parties was really high this year so we felt extra Scroogey) and stayed home and watched movies. GOD WE ARE OLD FOGEYS.

Other fun activities this weekend included attending a Diwali party, hanging out with Delium, helping our friend A move her furniture to her new digs, and spending lots of cozy time (it is getting to be a tit bit nippley outside, dudes, winter is coming) under a blanket on the couch with my dude.

Oh, and the highlight of it all was going to the Nordic Heritage Museum to see their Nordic Fashion Exhibit. I have many things I could say about this exhibit but I shall limit to three things. One: the clothes were awesome. Go Nordics! Two: there are other exhibits that are also awesome, having to do with Nordic immigration to this country. However, those exhibits had lots of mannequins in sort of diorama-type situations (is it still called a diorama if it is life-size?) which made me really really glad that I did not have to spend the night inside the museum Ben Stiller style because those dioramas coming to life? GAH. Creepfest. Three: we got there and the ticket lady told us we were more than welcome to take photos which made me grumpy that I hadn't brought my camera to play with, so here are some phone camera shots instead.

Unbirthday

This weekend, I went to a super fun dinner party where we ate soup and told scary stories and played a rousing game of Celebrity (which our team, named Syphilitic Spam because apparently we are disgusting people, totes won). I have been a little out of the party loop lately (my policy of saying "yes" to invitations was getting sloppy, I admit it, but I have a new furnace and my house is co-zizzy these days) but the upside of hibernating for a short while is to show up at something and remember all over again how awesome my pals are. Look at that! Cool people! If only I remember to leave my house! My say yes policy has been refreshed. Plus I got to do a Bruce Lee in charades whereby I kicked my leg up and maybe showed the party goers my bloomers. So that's always fun.

On Saturday and Sunday I was treated to not one but two brunches by different friends. I also spent Saturday having a full hangout day with Biogirl, which is one of my most favorite things evah. We browsed DSW and went for gelato and looked at purses and jewelries and got stuck in traffic (yes, even the traffic part was fun) and then joined Nordic Boy for dinner where he told us a long involved story about bad home improvement that had us in stitches. That dude is funny, you guys. Sunday Nordic Boy and I hung out with our dear Delium. Delium is delightful and I shall provide an example. He told me that he had been at our house the day before, eating lunch with Nordic Boy. During the lunch, he said that he had, along with his sandwich, a dill pickle EVENT. The event was that we didn't have his favorite brand of dill pickles. We had some other brand. And our brand? Was totally acceptable! I am totally delighted by the fact that this story was (a) drawn out into an actual story and (b) was labeled an EVENT. He is not one to shy away from making! everything! exciting! I love it.

I had sort of let go of the idea of birthdayness this year, happily so. There were too many other more important things going on that needed attention, and cheerleading for my own birthday has gotten a little tiresome in the past few years (I try not to be annoyed by my own self, but it's hard). But even without me pushing the idea of overt birthdayness, it was a good month. Biogirl went all out for me, which was delightful, but she always goes all out for me. Overall, nothing was a big departure from non-birthday months, but that is totally the beauty of it. I felt loved this month, the same as I do other months. I'll stick with that plan over the long haul, if I'm lucky.

Reunited

We can Peaches and Herb it, y'all! My camera and I were REUNITED on Thursday evening! It was at a restaurant I had been at a few days before. I still feel like a fecking eejit about it so let's just pretend it never happened, ok? That would be wunderbar.

Let's looky at some photos of the day that Alli, Map, Biogirl and I went to Whidbey Island. We saw sand, and dang it was windy, and there was pie, and we came upon a group of crazy-serious older gents who were way into their remote control toy sailboats. Oh my it was eventful.

I seriously did NOT just do that

Hey you guys, I figured out how to make my heart stop and my stomach feel barfy and horrible, just from stress! Want to hear about it?


I have many potential stressors in my life, as does everyone. Lucky for me, I don't have a stressy constitution, just naturally. The daily stuff like bad traffic or rude people or getting a bad night's sleep? Piece of cake. The things that cause me the most stress in my life are the Biggies. Like when I was pretty sure that I was going to get laid off last year. But the stress of that sort of thing was not a heart-pounding, barfy sort of stress. I think it was because that shit (waiting for the news) went on and on and on, for months. I just couldn't sustain barfy for that long. The stress was more an impending sense of doom in the back of my mind at all times. Still stressful and probably not healthy, but I never felt like I was going to pass out or anything. Same with family members going through Big Health stuff. Again, it goes on for months and sometimes years, so the stress gets stretched out.

So this morning I was getting ready for work, and all of a sudden I had this thought: where the mothereffer is my new camera? My gorgeous, lovely, brand new, super expensive very generous gift that I got not two weeks ago?

And I looked around, and didn't see it, and then the barfy feelings became SERIOUS, y'all. I mean, really. It was ACUTE PUKEY.

I asked Nordic Boy if he'd seen it. He said nope. Then we proceeded to tear our house apart. It was like a police raid up in there. I went outside in my pajamas and looked in the trunk of my car. We looked in every closet, every room, every shelf.

Here's the thing about my house. It's small. And we don't have very much stuff. Which means that it's kind of impossible to misplace things. If it's not pretty much immediately apparent, then it's just not there.

MY CAMERA IS JUST NOT THERE PEOPLE.

I retraced my steps. Tried to remember the last time I took it out. Tried not to think about the fact that Nordic Boy and my parents forked over a lot of scratch for something that I promptly lost in a matter of days.

Here is my recipe for panic: an extravagant item, bought by other people, for me, a bonafide cheapskate, and I misplace it. TORTURE.

I know I had it in my house on Saturday night. And I think I took it with me to a restaurant on Sunday. I'm calling the restaurant when it opens today and PLEASE BABY JEBUS make my camera be there. Because if I really truly lost that thing?

OY.

Big League Pals

They came, we laughed, they left. Here are some highlights.

1. Alli was on some sort of nostalgic gum kick all weekend. She emerged from my neighborhood convenience store with a bag of Big League Chew, which is sort of disgusting, you guys, despite our memories to the contrary. And then she bought us Fruit Stripe gum. I don't know what was up with all the kiddie gum, but shee-yoot. Certain childhood foods? Are FOUL.

2. We got into a whole thing about bad euphemisms that are used in romance novels for man junk, and I brought up the one that was discovered in a book at a beach house I rented once: "man root." The hilarity that ensued for Map about this term was boundless. It was all "man root" this, and "man root" that for the rest of the trip. I am so glad I brought that joy into her life.

3. Somehow, the question of what one would most like to bathe in, if one had to bathe in a food or beverage, came up. As it does. We pretty much agreed that chocolate pudding is what you want in that sort of a scenario. Feel free to steal that idea if the situation is ever presented to you. Our think tank has done all the brain work on that. You're welcome.

4. Map's birthday is in September, mine is in October, and Alli's is in November. We called up Alli's sister Steph and ordered us up one of Steph's much touted birthday songs. I have been hearing about these improvised birthday songs for a long time, but have never been given the gift. Oh. My. I wish I had audio to share with you. Steph did a sultry jazz number on speaker phone for us that consisted of the words "Happy Buhth-day, choo shoo choo" that almost made me puke laughing. It went on for a few minutes, and as soon as it was over, Steph's foreign exchange student apparently came into the room to ask if she was ok. You know a song is freaking awesome if people think you are injured while it's happening.

5. Nordic Boy and the three of us got our major dance on playing Just Dance on the Wii. If I had an exchange student I am fairly sure they would have skipped asking us if we were ok and just called 911.

6. In the morning when I heard Alli and Map were awake, I would slip out of my bed and go crawl into theirs, and we would talk ourselves awake. There are three people in the world I have done that with consistently in my life, and they were all in my house this weekend.

7. We took the ferry to Whidbey for an afternoon with Biogirl, and having my three favorite ladies all together made me really, really happy.

8. I dropped them both off at the airport on Monday and pretty much cried all the way home. I grew up with them five minutes away, and the fact that they are so far away now? I don't think I will ever, ever get used to that.

I'm Coming Over

I remember this night, when I was in high school, when I had a big paper due for English class the next day, and I hadn't even started it yet. This was totally and completely how I treated every assignment in high school so I don't know why I particularly remember this night. It was like 9 or 10pm, and my friend Map called me. I sat on my bedroom floor, looking at my notes as I talked to her. Let me try and recreate the very eloquent conversation we had.

Her: What are you doing?
Me: I have to do that fucking paper for tomorrow.
Her: Have you started it?
Me: Nope.
Her: I'm coming over.

About a month or two ago, I was feeling lonesome. I couldn't really put my finger on what I was lonesome for, since I have friends and peeps and lovelies all around. I happened to put on my Facebook page that I was feeling that way, like an ambiguous lonesome Bat signal. You know what happened? Within an hour, Alli and Map, all the way from Chicago and suburban Detroit, responded by saying, essentially: "We're coming over."

By the end of that day, a date was set, plane tickets were bought, and that was that. Vague sense of lonliness: over and out. I love those two. Love, love, love them.

Last weekend, when Nordic Boy had to hop on a plane in a hurry, I called up Alli and Palindrome and told them: Nordic Boy will be landing at O'Hare. He might need you. Get ready if he needs to come over.

Then Biogirl came over and took me to Portland. When I got back, I sat in my house and worried about Nordic Boy. Delium called me up and said: I'm coming over. While he was here, my friend M showed up at my door with a box of fancy macaroons to cheer me up and wish me a happy birthday, totally unexpected.

Look at all that I'm Coming Over-ness. It's kind of amazing.

This got me thinking about the whole idea of telling someone you're coming over. Completely uninvited, but so confident in the mutual love that you know that the other person would like nothing more than your barging in. I have a few people in my life that I do that with, and I know that I'm lucky about that. I have a few more that I wish I could do that with, but I'm not confident about that mutual love thing, so I don't. Maybe I should be braver, but it's hard.

Anyway. I'm going to pick up Alli and Map at the airport today. If you get a minute, think about your "I'm coming over" people. Aren't they awesome?

In My Fashion

Many fabulous things happened on my birthday weekend. One, Nordic Boy and my parents chipped in to buy me a new, fancy (well, fancy to me) camera. I AM IN HOT SWEATY LOVE WITH IT.

Unfortunate downside is that I have become a person who only looks at other people or myself like this.

Thusly, now I will likely run off at the mouth AND at the lens at you. Aren't you so excited?

Another downside is that I may think it would be really fun to take America's Next Top Model style photo shoots where I practice my Kim Kardashian poses, and I may force you to play along with me. And then I may fuck up the whole thing by not yet understanding how to work the damn fancy camera.

All of the coerced posing and silly blue steel faces! For what? For a nice clear look at a table top surface. Clearly I am a photographic genius.

The second awesome thing about the weekend was that Biogirl swept me off my feet to Portland and we went to the final runway show of Portland Fashion Week. What's that you say? Do I have photos? Oh mais oui.

The whole thing was in a shipyard. I kept looking for Frank Sebotka everywhere.

If you haven't ever been to a runway show before, here's my advice. Before they open the doors to seating, try to position yourself somewhere where you can see the models practicing their walks. Catching a glimpse of designer's assistants (often nerdy looking dudes) coaching them a la Miss J is worth the price of admission.

My other advice is that there are basically two places you can be for the best view. One is the front row. You have to be a high roller for that though, or be some sort of celebrity, or both. At this show, the most fascinating character we spotted was this Sam-Elliot-in-The-Big-Lebowski guy sitting front row center. He was surrounded on both sides, as well as in the row behind him, by young fashionista ladies. They were fawning all over him. Who was that guy? 

Biogirl and I concocted a whole backstory about him. We'd like to think that he is a high end leather wholesaler and that he is close personal friends with Stella Who Loves Leathah from Project Runway.

The second best place to be is the cheap seats. I am totally not just saying that because that's where you will definitely find me. I am saying it because it's really the best place to see everything. The"cheap seats" will get you the privilege of standing behind the back row of chairs, smooshed in where there is hardly any room at all and you will have to watch yourself or you may just fall off the back of the riser upon which you are precariously standing. Whoever said fashion is not comfort was someone who was standing in the back row. But truly it is the best because you can see right over everyone's head.

Anyway, here are some shots.

The whole thing was just delicious, I can't even tell you. Biogirl: birthday saver. As well as a mean catwalker herself.

One more serious one and then I am done I swear

So after the sad events I wrote about yesterday, I've been thinking, and I have to tell you guys something. I have a fear about my blog and it is this: I am afraid that the way I seem to react to Bad Stuff happening will make people think I am a horrible person. Like, remember last year on my birthday when my dad had to go to the hospital, and there really wasn't anything I could do about it, so after I talked to my family and we all agreed on that much, I went ahead and attended my birthday party anyway? When I told you guys about that, I was afraid that I sounded callous. Who goes to a party and has fun when their dad is in the hospital? I do. And I worry that people will think less of me for it. I know I am doing what feels right to me. But that still doesn't allay my fear that other people won't get that. Still being able to see my pals, go to work, genuinely smile soon after some serious shit has gone down? Who does that? A crazy person? A terrible person? Hopefully not. Hopefully it's just a person who's trying to cope.

All of this is to say that after Nordic Boy left yesterday and a morning of me being weepy, I took a breath and went about my day, and it was a good day in my awesome life, and I still want to tell you about that. I went out to a lunch with Biogirl where we talked for two hours, and cried in the restaurant (sorry for freaking you out, waitstaff), and peed ourselves laughing too. And then I went into work last night and had an super sweet time watching hundreds of teenagers screaming for their favorite author, who we hosted, and come on, what could be more joyful than seeing teens go bonkers for reading? And today Biogirl and I are heading out of town for the weekend, to try to salvage birthdayness for me. What is happening with Nordic Boy and Joel is going to be in my mind the whole time, but I have developed, over a long time of working on it, a way to simultaneously feel joy too. Am I horrible for soldiering on with birthday nonsense when heartbreaking circumstances are occurring? When I get back on Monday and show you guys pictures and such of the awesome, are you all going to be like "hey wow, she was talking about someone dying on Friday and she's talking about this ridiculousness not two days later?"

I have a huge fear that you'll think that. And I guess I can't control it if you do. But even if you do, somewhere in your mind, even as you think it, please try to be generous with me as well. I'm not selfish and terrible, I promise you. I'm just trying to deal.

Showing Up

Nordic Boy knew this kid named Joel when he was little. The two of them are related- cousins of some sort, but in a distant sort of way. I wouldn't call what they had a friendship, exactly. They were acquaintances, who knew the same people. They went to the same school for a while, but weren't in the same grade. Nordic Boy's sister was closer in age and knew this kid better. Nordic Boy remembers Joel as a nutty little rugrat who made people laugh. He also remembers that when he got to high school, he turned into a quieter, more serious person. After high school, Joel joined the Navy and ended up as a cook on a submarine. In recent years, he moved back to Wisconsin, got married, and now is a dad to nutty rugrats of his own. Nordic Boy hasn't seen him in many, many years.

Last night, Nordic Boy's mom called us to tell us that Joel hasn't been feeling well lately. He went to the doctor and seven tumors were found throughout his body, including in his brain and pressing onto his spine. Within the last week, his body has begun to shut down. His speech is intermittent and he can no longer walk. The doctor has give him three weeks to live, tops. Just like that. He had just gotten a new job, and his insurance hasn't kicked in yet. Hi wife and his kids are with him while he's spending his last weeks in the hospital.

Nordic Boy got off the phone, and told what happened. We didn't need to say much. I immediately knew what Nordic Boy was thinking, because I know what sort of person my Nordic Boy is.

Within an hour, he had booked a flight, and early this morning, he was on a plane to see Joel, and to help  his family in any way that he can. My guy isn't a person who waits for a funeral to show up to honor someone.

Today is my birthday, and I couldn't feel better about the fact that my birthday plans are altered, and that I spent the morning rushing to the airport and saying goodbye to the person I would most like to spend the day with. I feel like my present is that I am reminded, yet again, of how amazing people can be. One person in particular.

Comeback Kid

It would be totally fair to say that I live in a cushy environment compared to the majority of the planet. I am not super wealthy, but I have all that a person needs. I have education, and am healthy, and get vacation time, and can buy Funyons whenever I want to, really. (When I was little, my parents didn't buy us junk food, unless it was like, our birthday or something. So I only got Funyons if I was throwing a party, which forever after makes me think of them as a Super Fancy Snack). I also have surrounded myself with hip friends and we all live our progressive lives with our do-gooder activities and our artistic pursuits and our sophisticated opinions. However, I just have to tell you this. Some racist shit happens to me on a daily basis. A DAILY BASIS. Not exaggerating. I know you probably know this stuff happens all the time to the melanin-blessed. But there is always a part of me that wonders if those who don't experience this really, really know this. Sometimes it is all I can do to not live my whole life starting conversations with the words: "You are not going to BELIEVE the shit that just went down five minutes ago!" And then regaling everyone with the details. Because I know that that is boring. And would get old fast.
But I just have to tell you this one. Because it's awful, but funny.

I was going down an escalator and the up escalator was directly adjacent. So as the people on the down escalator make their way down, they almost brush shoulders with the people who are going up. So on this trip down, this white dude is traveling towards me. And just as we pass each other, side by side, him facing up and me facing down, he turns his head toward my ear and whispers the following.

"Kamasutra, babeeeeeee."

And I keep heading down, not looking back, and he keeps heading up.

Come on, people. OUT OF BOUNDS.

Anyway, I told Biogirl about this, and she said: "You should have turned to him and whispered back: 'Pilgrim's Progress, babeeeeeee.'"

SERIOUSLY. I should have said that. That girl is a genius.