Filed under: stories
At Devin’s wedding in September Barb stepped on my toe during the bouquet toss. Why I, a soon-to-be-married woman was standing at the bouquet toss, is still unknown. Maybe because I was not yet married. Maybe there were not enough girls. Either way, I was there. Barb was standing on my left. She had big shoes on.
So the DJ starts the music and Tawnya is all ready to toss her thing of flowers and things start getting a little rowdy down in the Mosh Pit of Singleness and Barb steps on my toe. I push her off and yell “FUCKING A!” but because of the volume of the music no one hears me, and because of the general rowdiness she thinks nothing of me pushing her. Maybe that’s just the way I dance, how should she know.
I do not lean down to inspect the toe because I can still move it and see it from my position 5 feet three inches above it and hey, it looks like it’s still attached. So the music is getting louder and there is some minor dancing and some more major foot crushing action from Barb’s big shoes. So now I’m standing there looking all fancy in my pretty dress with a bloody stump of a foot. I drag my torn up self to the open bar and then demand Jason look at my toe and feel sorry for me because it is BLEEDING, my big toe is bleeding. She caught me at the cuticle, where the toe meets the nail and I thought for sure I would have no toenail and it would be very gross and I would never be able to look myself in the foot again.
But the nail did not fall off. The injury I sustained was relatively minor in comparison to all of the freaking out I did due to the sheer amount of pain it caused me.
I tell you this story now because the bruise that had formed inside of my nail and has been growing steadily for the past five months is so close to being off of my toenail that I can’t stand it, and I will probably forget to post when that day of victory is finally upon us, on the day my feet are no longer marred by that hideous purple bruise-thing that has been residing in my toe.
Filed under: stories
I don’t know if the carpet in our apartment is old. I do know that it’s the law to have the carpet changed every 5 years; I wonder if we’re at the tail end of that cycle because there’s no way we’ve gotten the carpets this dirty in the year that we’ve been here.
In my mind, the stain just appeared one day. In reality, it probably formed over a long period of time. It’s not exactly a stain, per se, more of a constant dinginess in two particular areas in our living room. I have tried Woolite Carpet Cleaning them out, I have tried Resovling them out, I have tried praying to Jesus. Nothing works. Over the past few weeks, the stains have picked at me and today I decided to do something about it.
I went to Safeway and rented a Rug Doctor. It was my last hope. After a good fifteen minutes waiting for the customer service person to finish up a money order, and another ten minutes waiting for her to fill out the required paperwork needed in order for me to rent a steam cleaner (just in case I tried to take said steam cleaner across the border and clean all of the carpets in Canada), I hoisted the red machine into my trunk and went on my merry way.
The directions were pretty straightforward. Pour some water and some cleaner into a bucket, pour that mixture into the machine, and go to town. Except I didn’t have a bucket. I tried to use the little disconnecting nozzle on the sink to fill it up, but the hose wasn’t long enough, so I resorted to red plastic cups to do my bidding. Cup after cup of water/solution into the machine.
I did half the living room until the sucker (get it? Because it sucks the dirt?) ran out of clean water, and I felt a little gyped. On the other hand, I had been very thorough and very, shall we say, slow because the Rug Doctor was much heavier than I had originally thought, what with 8 million red plastic cups full of water in it. I dumped out the dirty water (so dirty! Like sewage without the floaties!) and started the whole process over again.
Once I was finished and the carpet was mostly clean, I rinsed out the dirty water and saw a little notice on the Doc. “Machine is full when water reaches halfway to the top of the screen.” Well shit. That would explain why I was only able to clean 3 square feet of carpet before refilling it.
Lesson of the day: if you’d like a great workout, clean carpets, and a thrilling slip to your impending doom because you were an idiot who decided to steam clean the carpets barefoot and then walk through the linoleum kitchen, rent a Rug Doctor.
I have such good dinner intentions. I’ll start planning our dinner at work – chicken with corn on the cob, maybe some spaghetti—and by the time I get home I’m reaching for the Eggos, because if it’s part of a balanced breakfast it can be part of a balanced dinner.
To get a jump start on our dinner preparations, I started last night. It went something like this.
“Jace, we’re having pot roast for dinner tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“Yep.”
I knew that I wouldn’t want to cook when I got home, what with it being Friday and all, and since we’re going out to lunch tomorrow with Jason’s mom going out tonight was out of the question. This morning I broke out the crock pot (that we have used one time since we got it in December), poured in a can of cream of mushroom soup, a packet of onion soup mix, and a soup can full of water. I stuck the pot roast in there, put seasoning on two sides of it, stuck the lid on, and went to take a shower. When it was time to leave for work the thing had been in the pot for an hour and was just starting to smell. Jason said it smelled delicious (as he is wont to do, for he is such a sweetheart when it comes to things I cook. He’ll eat anything and say it’s great when it really tastes like a diaper) and while I was less enthusiastic about the deliciousness of the smell , I could sense its potential (get it? Sense? Because smell is a sense? Never mind).
Going back to my “Jason eats anything with great aplomb” statement: it’s true. The guy will eat whatever I cook for dinner, smiling and congratulating me on a job well done, but if I fold his laundry the wrong way I hear about it the minute he opens his closet. Conversely, I won’t eat more than a bite of anything if it’s crap but don’t care how you fold my clothes as long as their folded. That’s really all I wanted to say on the subject but couldn’t think of a way to working it into parenthesis without said parenthesis being 3 yards away from each other.
On my way into the apartment, I started smelling something delicious when I stepped onto the sidewalk. Could it be? I walked closer to the door and the smell got stronger & better & my mouth started watering. I opened the door and hit the Wall of Good Smell – I hadn’t failed! It smelled good! It tasted good! And the house hadn’t burned down!
P.S. Have you ever read whoorl.com? Am I the last one to discover things? I read it at work on Friday. Like, almost all of it (should’ve been working, yes. But reading blogs make the time go by faster). It’s hilarious and good and if you like The Dooce, you will like Whoorl.
Edit: Jason has informed me that if he didn’t like something I cooked, he would let me know. I thought I would throw that out there. I try to present you with the most accurate information.
Filed under: stories
We were walking from Ground Zero to Battery Park, on our way to see a teeny version of the Statue of Liberty (you can’t inside the statue anymore so what’s the point, really, of going all the way over there?) because Ashley, who has never been to NYC before, wanted to see it. It was a nice day, the perfect day for walking around the city. It wasn’t scorching hot – there was a nice breeze – and it wasn’t too crowded.
Kelly, Brian, Ashley & I were on the sidewalk, walking and talking and enjoying the scenery when this man on a bicycle stops us. To specify, this wasn’t some crazy man on a bicycle. He appeared legitimate. He had no facial hair, his hair was trimmed. Respectable. Maybe foreign. I couldn’t understand him as he spoke with Brian; I heard only “the cops have been called” and “we’ll make him stop.” Brian politely declined, saying he didn’t want to get involved. I had no idea what he didn’t want to get involved in because Ashley & I were about five steps behind him.
We continued walking along the shrub lined fence towards the park when I spot a man lying on the sidewalk. I think, “Is he bleeding? Is he dead? I’ve never seen a dead guy before!” No. No. He’s not dead and he’s not bleeding.
He looks to be about middle aged, dark hair, dirty black shirt, dirty blue jeans. There is no expression on his face; his eyes are cold and are focused on something far away. In his hands is his penis. What he was doing, my friends, was masturbating. Not even the maybe less offensive kind, where everything’s covered by clothes and uncomfortable hand angles. It was out and flopping around as he treated that particular sidewalk like his personal bedroom. And it probably was.
It was like a car wreck or a burn victim or something. You know it’s rude to stare, but at the same you think, “Hm. I’ve never seen that before” only my inner monologue was more along the lines of “HOLY SHIT THERE’S A GUY WHACKING IT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AFTERNOON (would the time of day made the situation less shocking? No, probably not) ON THE SIDEWALK OF NEW YORK FUCKING CITY!” I’m not going to be coy and say I didn’t look. I totally did. I didn’t stop and video tape it (much to the chagrin of everyone I tell this story to), and sometimes, when I go to sleep at night, that vision haunts my dreams. It’s awful.
Everyone has a story in their arsenal of personal anecdotes. Sometimes these stories are funny, some are sad and poignant, some make one’s heart swell with pride. But do any of them include seeing a homeless man masturbate on the streets of New York City? Someone’s probably does.
Today I met another internet friend, my second-longest internet friend. Pam and I met through livejournal a way long time ago (I graduated in ’03, and I started blogging in ’99, so I’m going to go ahead and say I’ve known her since 2001, which means we’ve been friends for SEVEN YEARS!) and the Oregon Trail shirt that I used to have came directly from her. It (the shirt) has been quite the conversation starter, and I can thank Pam for my status as “that Oregon Trail girl” in many of my college classes.
I met her fiancé Eric, who was really nice and knew lots about computer and gaming stuff, which was kind of lost on me and I kind of followed. They each had a BLTA and potato soup, and I had a Whiskey River BBQ wrap with French fries and a melon, none of which I ate (the melon, I mean). I was ten minutes late getting back to work but it was worth it because those kids didn’t suck at all, proving once and for all that Klamath Falls doesn’t just produce crap.
This weekend consisted of lying around and watching “It’s Always Sunny.” I also read a book, When to Walk, which was good but very English (English here meaning from England) and might’ve been better had I a deeper understanding of British humor and writing styles. I picked up Barrel Fever as well but can’t make it past page three. I’m trying again tonight. If I still can’t do it, I’m taking it back. That’s kind of sad because I love David Sedaris, but there’s something about the first three pages that make me go “Uh…no.”
That’s it. I have to pick out flowers, and if anyone has any working knowledge of bouquets, we need to talk.
I was fine this morning. I mean, I had a headache last night so I took some medicine that did absolutely no good, but I slept.
This morning the headache was still there but I went to work because I had stuff to do. It only got worse. My shoulders and neck started hurting and I began coughing a lot and at 12:30 I went home. I promptly passed out on the couch for two hours. I woke up due to the upstairs neighbors being loud (were they bowling? In high heels? Because that’s what it sounded like) which I didn’t mind much because they’re so nice. I went into the bedroom and didn’t wake up until 5:45. The coughing has subsided but I’ve never wished for spontaneous head implosion more in my life.
My mom called me yesterday to ask me how the invitation hunt was going. Let me fill you in: I am sick of looking at invitations. I can’t something that I like, which causes me to search more thoroughly and when I come up empty handed I figured I would just write everyone a postcard letting them know hey, I’m getting married and you can totally come. But she said she went to WalMart and was just looking around and found some invitation card stock stuff, picked up a pack, and decided to see how it worked. I’ve never heard her more excited in my life.
“It’s beautiful! I’m sending you one that I printed. Well, I have to print another one because I spelled your middle name wrong. I was just so excited! They look so great! What kind of font do you want? How do you want it worded? It looks so great!” She’s also sending me pictures of this gazebo that’s on the property, because even though I’ve been there quite a few times I don’t remember ever seeing this alleged gazebo. I must be the only one who has no recollection of this structure because I told Kelly & Danielle where I was getting married and they both mentioned this gazebo.
We’ve spent a good portion of our time together watching the first and second and third season of Lost. We started the first season, I don’t know, three weeks ago and now we’re on the second disc of season three. Have you seen Lost? You should go rent Lost. Start from the beginning though or the chances are high you’ll be confused. Chances are also high that you’ll see Josh Holloway and not care how confused you are. But he’s in the first episode as well, so you might as well go rent it. Or you can buy them all in a week like we did because we are oh-so-awesome and instead of spending time talking and deepening our relationship, we discuss theories and previous episodes of the series. Premarital counseling? No thanks, they found another hatch.
There are things one doesn’t think about when buying a new TV. The fact that a new TV requires new cable is considered and often acted upon: what good is a new TV if you’re stuck watching the same fuzzy cable? Not only that, but now the fuzziness is crystal clear! Thanks, HDTV, for making me aware of the crappy quality of basic cable. The old cable looked just fine on the 19-inch, regular square TV from the days of yore that we used to own, but on 37 inches of bright, high-definition magnificence, regular cable just wouldn’t do. So we upgraded.
I’m not a very technologically savvy girl (although I was the one who figured out why the sound from the DVD player wasn’t working). I don’t know much about car engines or the mechanics of computers or anything about televisions because I simply don’t care. I don’t care about cars or computers because I have a fiancé who does care. Not only does he care, he actually takes time and READS about stuff like that! Why should I learn it when he knows it already? I realize that he won’t be around forever, but by the time he kicks it there will be robots to fix the dishwasher so whatever, I’ll just hop in my hovercraft and be on my way.
I ordered us DirecTV a week after the new TV took up residence in our apartment, and I was looking forward to being able to watch TLC again. What I hadn’t counted on, what hadn’t even crossed my mind, was the fact that the new cable would need our internet cable to work. When the installer told me this, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back as far as DirecTV was concerned. They had already told us that since we live in an apartment complex we would need a certain kind of eighty dollar clamp to mount the receiver onto the roof. I had been perfectly clear about the fact that we lived on the bottom floor of the complex and that our front door faced east, so why was the installer all shocked and surprised by that piece of information? The clamp that he needed to stick the thing on the roof was at the shop, so he had to go back to the shop and retrieve it, delaying our TV watching time by a good half hour. When he came back he dropped the bomb about the internet and I decided I needed some air, so Jason stayed at home while Kelly, Garrett, and I went to Red Robin. When we came home, TV was waiting.
Since we didn’t have the internet for such a long period of time (not exactly 40 days in the desert, but close enough), we’ve really logged some time on the couch. We watched seasons 1 – 3 of House, Band of Brothers, Planet Earth, and one night spent two hours watching LA Ink. We started Lost on Monday. We’re six episodes in and I’m completely engrossed. I count the hours until I can start watching it again and sometimes it’s all I can do to put the show on pause to relieve my achingly full bladder. So many questions! So much suspense! I would be completely done with the DVD releases if work didn’t get in the way. Jason likes it too, but because we watch it together I have to do something else this weekend while he’s in Seattle.
Wedding stuff is coming along. The dress is hanging in my closet and I was so excited when I brought it home that I made Jason look at it.
“Wait. I’m not supposed to see the dress before the wedding.”
“First of all, you’re not supposed to see ME in the dress before the wedding. Second of all, if the longevity of our marriage is contingent upon whether or not you see me in the dress, maybe we shouldn’t be getting married after all. Plus it’s so pretty!”
He agreed that it was pretty. Then he walked out of the room because he’s a guy and guy’s don’t much care about a dress on a hanger, even if it’s the prettiest dress in the world. Today Meg & I are doing wedding things, such as finding some stinking dresses for the bridesmaids to wear and maybe picking out flowers. My mission, though, is to get the bridesmaids dresses squared away. I had some picked out before I bought my dress and they had white in them, but then I went and bought a dress that was ivory instead of white and effed up the whole ordeal. But it’s fine. Once you see it the brilliant display of seamstress-ship, you will understand why I revamped my entire wedding due to a dress: it’s perfect.
Filed under: stories
For some reason I’m up and dressed before 7:30, meaning I have a good 15 minutes to kill before leaving for work.
Christmas was excellent, with only a few minor setbacks triggered by the differences between his families’ Christmas and mine. The Neals, we never eat Christmas dinner. My mom’s mom decided she was tired of her children not spending sufficient time with her because they were rushing from one Christmas dinner to another, so she created Christmas breakfast: crazy eggs, hasbrowns, different breads, croissants, biscuits and gravy… I’ve never in my life eaten a Christmas dinner and honestly, I can’t say I’m too impressed with the concept. It’s basically Thanksgiving all over again. Without the pilgrims. I’m not knocking family traditions or anything because I’m well aware that Christmas dinner isa big part of many social gatherings, but to someone who’s never experienced it before it is kind of like “Hey. Didn’t we just eat this stuff? Because I seem to remember that about a month ago…”
The weather was perfect. It was cold and snowy and the nights were clear-skied. I got to hang out with Randi and Scott and Ellie, which was what I was most looking forward to doing. I got to experience a fire that got turned on by a light switch, snowball fights, waking up to snow falling, almost slipping and dying twice, and eating massive quantities of peanut-butter balls.
How was YOUR Christmas? Get anything good?
Filed under: conversations, jason, personal favorites, relationships, stories
They decided to exchange presents a week early because taking the presents to Bend just to bring them back again is ridiculous, and also because she likes to give presents the minute she buys them and his have been sitting under the tree for three whole days, which is about two days, twenty three hours, and forty minutes too long in her opinion.
He opens his first: a wok, an Asian cookbook, and a huge book about World War II. He loves World War II, and would get up early on the weekends to watch documentaries about it. He spends a long time thumbing through the book; too long. He chatters about this picture and that map and she senses a nervousness about him she hasn’t felt before.
“Your turn,” he says. “Sit on the couch.”
She obliges.
“Close your eyes.”
He goes to the spare bedroom that they’ve turned into a little office.
“Are they closed?”
She takes a quick peek. He’s still in the room.
“Yep.”
He walks out of the office. She can hear him walking towards her and suddenly can feel him on her right side. He’s not on the couch, but crouched beside her.
“Here.”
He hands her a small red package with a yellow bow on top. She opens it hesitantly, knowing and not knowing what’s inside.
A box. A small box. The small box gives way to another, smaller box. It’s navy blue.
She opens it. Shocked and thrilled and so many things, she doesn’t know what to say so she defaults to her manners and says “Thanks.”
“So…?” All of the words that he’d saved for this occasion leave him suddenly. He didn’t think he’d be so nervous, but there he is. Nervous and speechless.
“So what?”
“Will you marry me?”
She looks at him. Looks at the ring.
She leans over and kisses him, breathing “Yes” before their lips meet.
She doesn’t know the appropriate amount of time to wait before calling her friends, and she sits next to her new fiancee for a solid three minutes before jumping up and calling Kelly. She’s talking so fast that he’s laughing, happy that she’s happy, excited that she’s excited. She crams more phrases into five minutes than she has in her entire life, including “I don’t know where we’re going to have the wedding, but will you be my maid of honor?” She’s delighted when Kelly says “Of course!” It would be no other way.
She walks outside to call Jackie and she can hear him inside on the phone with his mom.
She wants to call her own mother and tell her, and goes from happy to sad in point-three seconds. She wants to see her mom. Talk to her mom. It’s midnight in Florida and her parents have been asleep for a good two hours. She talks to Jason’s mom, her soon-to-be mother-in-law. They are both very excited.
“Did you know when he was going to ask?”
“I had an idea. I figured it was either going to be Christmas or New Year’s.”
“I’m glad he did it sooner rather than later. I already bought you a card that said ‘daughter-in-law’ and I didn’t want to have to get a new one.”
She plays with her ring as she talks. It feels weird on her finger. Weird in the best way possible.
Later, as they lay in bed, he turns to her.
“There was a lot I didn’t say because I was so nervous. I had this whole thing planned out because this is a big deal and then… I love you. I can’t imagine spending my life alone or with anyone else but you. I want you to be there. I want us to be there for each other. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you be my wife?”
She’s crying now, tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks and making the pillow soggy.
“I already said yes once.”
“Will you be my wife?”
“Yes.”
A few minutes pass as they lay there in a small cocoon of happiness, her head on his chest and her arm around her waist. He kisses her forehead, she kisses his cheeks.
“You can go blog about this if you want to.”
It was then she knew she made the right decision.
Every year I get my parents the same thing for Christmas: my dad gets ties, and my mom gets an Ann Geddes calendar. Sometimes I get them other things as well, but the center of their Gifts from Denise are those two items.
Jason & I did some shopping online last weekend, and earlier last week we headed to the mall to pick up my parents’ presents. We walked into Macy’s, past the women’s department, past the teeny little clothes for teeny little children, and into the men’s section. The ties happened to be right near the cologne, like usual. I expected that. What I didn’t expect was being able to pull out one distinct smell from the mish-mash of perfumes and colognes.
When I was younger and my parents would go out for the evening, their bathroom smelled like heaven on earth. My mom’s perfume and the lingering smell of her foundation, my dad’s hairspray, cologne, and a tinge of cigarette smoke because back then, they smoked in the house. I would stand in their bathroom for a few minutes taking it all in, breathing the concoction of my parents into my lungs. Deep breath after deep breath, smell after smell. I loved it.
After picking up the ties (one is light green, the other a dark blue with blue patterns), we walked past the cologne section again. I spied a bottle of the amber-colored Obsession for Men on my direct left. I don’t know what possessed me to pick up and smell it; I know what it smells like. I know the memories associated with that smell. I picked it up, held it to my nose, deep breath after deep breathe. I promptly began crying.
I had braced myself for Christmas away from my family this year; I knew I wouldn’t be spending a humid winter in Florida. I wouldn’t be eating any crazy eggs or getting presents doled out from my Santa Claus hat-wearing aunt. There would be no mimosas sipped by the older relatives, no fighting over the last crescent roll. This year would be different and I knew that; moving three thousand miles from home sort of secures your spot on the “absent from Florida Christmas” list. What I wasn’t prepared for was the gut-wrenching feeling that overtook my senses when I walked by the men’s cologne department.
It will be a hard Christmas. It will be a fun and exciting and new Christmas, but it will be hard.
8:15 A.M.
I’m eating my morning bagel and drinking my yummy coffee while typing a blog. This is the life. Pretty soon I’ll have to do some real, actual work but until invoices find their way into my queue I have bubkus to do.
This morning’s frost escapade was a lot easier to deal with than the one last Wednesday; I was prepared this time and properly warmed up the car, went back inside to tell Jason goodbye, and then came back outside to a defrosted rear window and a fog-free windshield.. Magic, I tell you. And good planning.
My weekend was wonderful, thanks for asking. Last night Jay, Megan, Josh, and his lady friend Justine came over for dinner. I made tacos and they were delicious. After dinner we went back to their house because Jay & Meg recently got a new computer and Jason, being the whiz that he is, de-kinked it while the rest of us watched Family Guy.
Christmas is upon us and I am so very excited. I blasted holiday music the whole way to work this morning and now I’m in a cheery and jolly mood. I have a meeting in an hour so I’m sure my mood will dissipate soon after, but until then I’ll enjoy it.
1:21 P.M.
Today has gone by rather quickly. We had a meeting from 9:30 to ten, I scanned invoices from eleven to twelve, and then went to lunch with Jason & Josh from twelve to one. I emailed Lauren and that ate up a good twenty minutes so far, and that brings you up to speed on the happenings of my work day. I also scheduled a doctor’s appointment for next Tuesday. Next Tuesday is the fourth, people. The FOURTH OF DECEMBER. At least twice a month I lament that the time is flying by and what happened to my youth? and this time I’ll try to contain my disbelief that it’s almost freaking DECEMBER but it’ll be difficult, believe you me.
4:16 P.M.
Someone’s phone is dying and rather than turn it off and spare us all from hearing the Beep of Death every five minutes, they’ve opted to keep it on because they are just that important. I have no way of knowing who it is short of standing at each cubicle waiting for the telltale noise so I suppose I’ll have to grin & bear it. Or at least bear it. Forty minutes to go.
I walked by my manager’s office and she was looking at clothes online, which strikes me as unfair because I can’t access anything online except Wikipedia, Dooce, Violent Acres, and my bank account. I can’t even look at at WebMD to self-diagnose any symptom that may befall me while at work. It’s a good thing I work near a lot of mothers.
Mothers seem to know everything. I need to figure out of this is some weird sort of maternal instinct or there’s some sort of class a mother in which a mother must enroll in order to be able to discern random ailments. I’ll do some research.
9:50 A.M.
I’m at work right now. Of the 17 people in our department, 12 are here today. That’s probably seven more people than need to be here. Nothing is in Prokey, the task that is usually a fall-back “do this when bored” thing; my statements are done, my queue is empty and life as I know it is dragging by. We do get to wear jeans today, an attempt at making this boring day a little more festive. I don’t understand why we can’t wear jeans on a daily basis–it’s not like we’re directly interacting with customer so anything. If it weren’t for being forced to wear business attire all the time, jean day would be meaningless. I suppose it still is. I’ll take what I can get, though.
Today Jason is at home getting paid to sit around in sweatpants. Instead of taking Veteran’s day off, his employer opted to give them the day after Thanksgiving off. I guess I should write about something other than Jason, but seeing as how he blogs never it can’t hurt to keep everyone posted about the goings on of his life. Here’s the latest, and it starts with a story. Back in the day, books used to be on cassette tapes (remember those?). All of those books that are on cassette need to be transferred into CDs and MP3s, and he got elected to help with that task. It’s pretty amazing, actually, because the extra money will be nice. He also gets to work at home, meaning I get to see him when he comes out to get a beer or go to the bathroom. Tomorrow is his birthday. Go over and say hey to him.
Last night after the Thanksgiving festivities we went to see No Country for Old Men (which was great, by the way) and I ate most of the popcorn (which was great first and now is not so great because my tummy feels very weird). I love going to the movies.
Speaking of movies, we’re going to his mom’s house some time this week to watch The Christmas Story. I didn’t grow up watching that movie; I watched The Santa Clause and Home Alone, so those are the things I like watching around holiday time. I saw The Christmas Story for the first time a few years ago and enjoyed it enough, but I don’t feel predominantly sentimental about viewing it every year before Christmas. It doesn’t kick start my holiday season. You know what kick starts my holiday season? Being ten minutes late for work because my car is covered in frost.
It was Wednesday morning, cold and sunny and cloudless. We left the house together, which is unusual for us and happened to be lucky for me. Everything was blanketed with a thick layer of frozen condensation; it was beautiful and looked like a sea of diamonds. Then I approached my car and tried to dig my nail into the frost covering the windshield. It didn’t give at all. Jason went to his car to get the ice scraper (I need to invest in one of those the next time we go shopping) and proceeded to scrape all 6 windows while my car was defrosting because that’s the kind of guy he is. I got in my car to find frozen fog on the inside of my car. What. The. Hell. I scraped that off with my fingernails and wiped off the water with a towel, only to find it frozen two seconds later. It was, apparently, a Very Cold Day. It was also my first experience with a frostier than hell windshield and it was a very magical adventure for me. Probably not so much for Jason.
1:34 P.M.
Devin & I went to Howiee’s for lunch, and since Jason had the day off he joined us. The waitress, who thought Devin & I were dating (as I’m sure many people do because we eat lunch together frequently), heard the story of how Jason & I met on the internet & now we’re shacking up like heathens.
The day isn’t going by as slow anymore as I’m taking full advantage of this time to brush up my Wikipedia reading, and also talking to Lori about mortgages. I used company time to sign up for my health insurance as well, which isn’t as frowned upon as reading frivolous stuff (including but not limited to crop circles, marine biology, Lizzie Borden, deep space, and Elvis Presley). It marked the first time I signed up for and had my own insurance, and though saying I’m excited about it is an overstatement I’m certainly feeling a tad more grown up.
Can we talk about how amazing online banking is? I am in love with it. Bank of America, congratulations for making it really easy to pay my bills, check my cleared checks, and transfer funds. I feel like I’m in a commercial, but it’s really really great to be able to do all of that without having to go to the bank and stand in line for 4 years.
4:33 P.M.
Devin got the bright idea to insert a picture of Mount Ashland into the mountain’s Wikipedia page. That led to the screwing up of the page until he enlisted my help, and I honestly have no idea what I did but it’s all fixed now. If you click the bottom picture of the bowl you can see my keenly worded phrasing for the picture summary. Thank you, thank you. It’s the least I can do.
Tonight we (Devin, Tawyna, Matt, Crystal, Gabe, Lauren, Jason & I) are going to Oh’s Osaka for Lauren’s birthday. At nine. That’s entirely too late to be eating and getting all full of good food because have you ever tried to canoodle with a full stomach? But it’s Lauren’s birthday and who asked me anyway. Grin & bear it is my motto. I actually don’t have a motto, which I should probably work on.
Blogging at work has made the day go by fairly quickly, and why I didn’t think of this sooner I’ll never know. The important thing is that I’ve discovered it now, and while I can’t be expected to produce such a massive post each and every time I decide to slack off & blog from work, something is better than nothing.
When I’m going to leave the apartment and I know I won’t be back before it gets dark, I leave two kitchen lights on. Always.
After dinner last night we pulled up and there were no lights on inside.
“We can’t go in there.”
“Why not?”
“There aren’t any lights on.”
“So?”
“So I always leave lights on. And there aren’t any on.”
“You turned them off.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did! I watched you! You flipped them off on your way out.”
“I flipped off the living room light on the way out. The kitchen lights are on the other side of the room. I didn’t turn them out.”
“Yes you did.”
“If I did, then I went back and turned them on again. I never leave the house without leaving a few lights on.”
“I’m telling you, it’s fine.”
“And I’m telling you we need to call the cops because there are people inside waiting to kill us.”
Last night while we were at dinner, friends came over & festively decorated the house. We opened the door and the lights came on and everyone yelled SURPRISE! and immediately I called everyone a liar. Devin said he & Tawyna were busy tonight, and so did Jay & Megan and Barb, and Josh said he was working so the only people who didn’t lie to me were Matt & Crystal and Lauren & Nick. I understand their reasoning behind it, but still.
This evening I went to Kohl’s and got an area rug, a new throw for the couch, and two new pictures for the living room. It looks nice now. I just realized that no one in Internetville knows what my apartment looks like, but I promise that when it’s clean I’ll let you see it. On second thought, you should come visit and feel the amazing softness of the throw. You will never want to leave. You will rub it until your fingertips come off. That’s what she said.
Jason is dealing poker this evening and has left me to my own devices. I’m going to explore the internet. I’ll let you know if I find anything particularly noteworthy.
When I was growing up we had a series of dogs. The first was Chevis, named after the scotch but spelled differently. He was my father’s beloved Doberman and he is in exactly one memory of mine. I don’t remember him dying, although I’m sure I got the Death Talk. We were a dogless family for a few years until my dad went to some hunting auction and came home with a teeny black lab I named Spigot for unknown reasons. He was an outside dog, roaming free (or as free as a dog can be within the confines of an electric fence) on 3 acres of land near the barn. He didn’t drink from his water bowl, preferring the spicket on the side of the barn (purely coincidental) and the occasional water hose.
When I was in high school we got a second lab, Bandit. He was a bad influence, to put it nicely. He was also trained to obey the electric fence beep & shock, although he seemed to think it was more of a suggestion than an actual rule. He quickly realized that if one ran through it the initial shock was over in a second, and he had the whole world at his disposal. He ran away a lot, taking Spigot with him. Spigot was not a bad dog and never had any problems with running away before, so I like to think he went against his better judgment to protect the New Dog, sort of like an older brother. We always found them quickly, thanks to their tags. They never stayed gone is what I mean.
After they ran away my father would chain them up in the barn. The chains were a good ten feet long and in separate stalls. Their food & water were with them, as well as the requisite rawhide bone. I let you know that because the phrase “chaining up a dog” sounds a little like animal cruelty and I can assure you it was not.
It was apparent that Bandit required more freedom than we let him have. It was coursing through his dog veins, that much is certain. He had a taste for it and would not relinquish that dream. He was chained up in a stall and decided to take a hop over the door, something he’d done before. He couldn’t abide the cramped quarters of the stall and needed the open air of the barn. What he could not have known, however, is that my dad is smarter than he is and shortened the length of chain to stop him from jumping because it’s not safe to jump over a door when you are chained to a wall on the other side. Bandit had no idea any of this had gone on, and when he tried to jump over the stall door he got caught. That is where my brother and father found him later. We were back to one dog.
Spigot lived a long time, twelve years or so, until he succumbed to a very terrible form of Dog Cancer. It gave him tumors in his tail and on his snout. He stopped eating and running and playing. The day before my parents were to take him to the vet to be put to sleep, he decided himself that it was time to go.
The problem with pets is that they always seem like a good idea. Yay! A dog! A dog that will fetch my newspaper and keep away strangers and be a nice addition to the family! It’s easy to forget the daily routine that has to be forged in order to take care of them. Who is going to go take the dog outside in the rain? Who wants to put on 18 layers of clothes at 6 in the morning when the dog has decided that he has to pee RIGHT THIS INSTANT and doesn’t care about the snow outside? No one ever thinks of that. And the cleaning of shit off the carpet and how to stop them from eating your shoes. Dogs don’t come trained, some assembly is required and that assembly is initially tiresome.
The other problem with pets is that they eventually die. The animal that you loved so much, that little companion who nuzzled your legs when you were sad and laid her head in your lap and looked up at you with those soulful eyes will kick the bucket and leave you a sobbing mess of a person for days afterwards. I’m not ready to deal with that at this point in my life. I quite like sleeping in on weekends and not having the house smell like crap.
Maybe I’ll get a fish first.
Filed under: stories
Rotting pumpkin smells awful.
Due to the severe lack of trick-or-treaters, we now have a big bowl full of Sweet Tart candies. Does nobody like Sweet Tarts anymore, and that’s why no one came? Word got out that we were giving away Sweet Tarts and those kids went somewhere else for their sugar comas. That’s fine, though. More for me.
Jay and Megan came over last night. We cooked pizza and drank beers and watched Poltergeist, which we bought at Wal-Mart. We also bought The Exorcist and I have no idea why because I will never watch it again in my life. Just knowing that it is sharing a house with me gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve seen the movie exactly once, when I was about 20 years old. Nothing has terrified me more. This new Version I’ve Never Seen allegedly has more scary things in it, like the backwards crawl down the stairs (which I only saw a PICTURE of and will never look at stairs the same away again) and more general demon possession. Were people not scared enough the first time they saw it? Is it really necessary to scare the world more?
Apparently.
