my soapbox

McCain's America: Day Sixteen

2008-12-10T19:12:00.000-08:00

This was, by far, my best day in McCain’s America so far.

This morning, I helped Jenna finish preparing gift bags for her client luncheon. It’s always a good day when I can pretend to be crafty before noon.

Jenna left around 11:00 and Jackson and I had the whole afternoon to play. We played vampires/ghosts/zombies, blew bubbles, arrested some bad guys, took some (imaginary) coffee and donut breaks, and killed each other many times over.

We finally broke for lunch around 2:30 and watched a show called (I believe) Fairly Goodparents. I declare it far superior to Sponge Bob, which I can barely stomach.

Jenna came home and while she and Jackson napped, I had a chance to catch up on some work.

When Shawn came home, he told me that Jackson had said he had the BEST time with me today. Grin.

Tonight we got to talking about leaving Santa cookies and milk and how Jackson needed to make a list for Santa. Jackson said that if he didn’t make a list, Santa might bring him ashes. Shawn and I jumped in on it and started naming things Santa might bring, along the lines of 1. A can of green beans 2. One sock 3. A dead plant 4. A couple of rocks. It quickly degenerated into 1. A lunchbox full of moldy food 2. A pair of used underwear 3. A Kleenex that someone had already blown their nose in. We decided to declare Jackson a winner when he came up with “A dog that has four paws but only three legs.” Who could top that?

After Jackson and Shawn had gone to bed Jenna and I roundaboutly googled onto this interview with the “Mouth of the South” Jimmy Hart: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqEap-HT2Wo Apparently, he’s some wrestling (or wrastling as he calls it) promoter. He rambles on and on and goes nowhere. At one point, he compares his upstart wrastling circuit with the WWF by saying “they’re that big ol outback steakhouse. We’re that lil ol bitty waffle house. But just remember the waffle house is open 24 hours a day!” WTF?

The best comment though is not by Jimmy Hart, but the interviewer Dameon Nelson. Jimmy waxes nostalgic on Andy Kaufman saying “he loved wrastling, and he loved talking about Elvis Presley.” And Dameon goes “uhonhuh.” (His interpretation of Elvis) Ok, it doesn’t really translate when I’m typing it. But click on the clip and scroll to 4:30 and you’ll see what I mean. We replayed it about ten times and doubled over laughing each time. Maybe it was late or maybe we just have a bizarro sense of humor, but we thought it hysterical. A fantabulous ending to a fantabulous day.

p.s. I can’t believe I almost forgot the best part. My sister’s lost about 30 pounds so all her clothes are super loose. Tonight she was walking into the kitchen and her pants fell down! I am still laughing.

McCain's America: Day Thirty-One

2008-12-25T19:30:00.000-08:00

Yes, technically, the posts should stop at day 30, but my vacation didn't so I must press on.

Too tired to go into the annual Holloway Holiday Drama. Photos must suffice (although they don't really tell the story...).

McCain's America: Day Twenty-Two

2008-12-16T19:27:00.000-08:00

Today, Jackson and his classmates had a little Mommy (or Daddy) and Me time decorating gingerbread houses (which turned out to be graham crackers cleverly glued to wee milk cartons). Being an old pro, I pitched in to help.

Afterwards, we took Jackson to a much-hyped visit to "The Real Santa." Supposedly, the place has been operating for something like 35 years. When we pulled up in the parking lot it occurred to me that they've been using the same sad DIY props (possibly hand-painted by prisoners) the whole time. Perhaps I'm spoiled having seen one too many Christmas Villages at hoity toity malls. But I digress.

How it supposedly works ********spoiler alert*********** is that the parent slips away to a secret booth and feeds pertinent info (kid's name, what they're getting from santa, etc.) to an intermediary who then passes this on to Santa who is wearing an earpiece. Thus, Santa KNOWS YOUR NAME (emphasis courtesy of Jenna).

Well, it was a pretty good idea in theory. But anyone who’s ever played the game “Telephone” will likely guess how this turned out.

Jackson and I are waiting our turn at the bottom of the steps as a couple of annoyingly skeptical kids try and trip Santa up. He seems to hold his own and eventually they leave. And then..."Jackson?" Santa calls. Jackson beams as we make our way up the steps. And then…

Jenna: Tell Jackson Santa gave him his DVD player early so he’ll have it when he goes to Pa Paw’s house.

Intermediary: He’s going to get a DVD player when he goes to his grandpa’s house.

Jenna: Pa Paw’s house! And Santa already gave him the DVD player.

Intermediary: Santa gave him the DVD player at his grandpa’s house.

Santa: There’s a DVD player at grandpa’s house.

Jackson: Stunned silence.

Then they try it again:

Jenna: Ask him about his cats, Tigger and Pooh.

Intermediary: Ask him about his cats, Tigger and Two.

Jenna: Pooh! Tigger and Pooh!

Intermediary: Tigger and Pooh.

Santa: I’m bringing cats to Grandpa’s house. Tigger and Two.

Jackson: Stunned silence.

I got the distinct impression Santa might be drunk. And not to judge on appearances, but he did look sorta creepy. I also did not find him particularly jolly.

I hurriedly snapped a few pictures, feeling fairly certain they would not end up on Jenna’s Christmas card (and I was right). As a parting gift, Jackson got an armadillo Beanie Baby. I have to admit that beats the candy cane I used to get back in the day.

McCain's America: Day Twenty-One

2008-12-15T19:25:00.000-08:00

I’ve always loved my nephew Jackson, but I must admit that I love him more than ever now that he’s four and capable of carrying on an actual conversation. I warned Jenna before birth that I don’t talk to babies on the phone. However, since my mom adored listening to the googlings of a six month old, Jenna figured I should, too. Sigh.

These days, I love chatting with him and playing imaginary games. I love that he’s a fireman one minute, a cop the next, and a lion five seconds later. I had forgotten how easy it is to be whoever, whatever you want to be when you’re four.

Today I played “Mom” to his “Dad.” We have a five-year-old boy named “Buddy” and a new girl baby called (conveniently enough) “Baby.” We played (imaginary) basketball while Buddy cheered us on from the stands. If you’ve never heard a four year old imitating a five year old, it’s particularly hilarious.

He’s declared his bedroom the “Junk” room and likes to take me in there and show me all the toys he and I used to play with “when we were kids.”

By the time 3 o’clock “quiet time” comes, I am seriously ready for a nap.

Tonight he was less adorable while trying to decide what to have for dinner. Jenna ran through the options for him about ten times, interspersed with him running off to the bedroom to cry. But once he finally settled on a Kid’s Cuisine, he was back to normal again.

He popped into my room to chat with me at around 11:30 p.m. Not sure how he’ll manage to drag himself up in the morning to go to “school,” but at least he might get a decent nap tomorrow.

McCain's America: Day Twenty

2008-12-14T19:23:00.000-08:00

Went to the mega-church again today. I was highly amused when I noticed this sign as the tram pulled up to the entrance.

Oddly, my sister does not think it strange to ride a tram to church. I asked if she didn’t find it just a little absurd and she got offended thinking I was mocking her church.

She goes on to tell me that her mother-in-law was offended by the fact that mega-church has a coffee bar. Especially when someone sitting near them got up in the middle of service for a refill.

Like I said, I’m glad my sister loves her church. It’s just not for me. I’m sure she would enjoy mocking the hideous décor of my church. Everybody does.

After church, Jackson got to play in the “Adventureland” playroom. I must say I would have LURVED to happen upon a place like that when I was four. Lots of stuff to climb on, etc. Think of McDonald’s playland on steroids. Jenna went inside to chat with her friend Tricia while Jackson played. I had to stay a fair distance away. I can’t tolerate too many children in public. Every time I think I might want to have a kid, I go to the mall and am immediately cured.

We had lunch with one of Jenna’s friends and then set off to deliver Christmas gifts for the family Jenna’s small group had adopted. We stopped to pick up Shawn from work so he could help Jenna’s friend Melanie navigate. After turning around about three or four times, we finally found the place.

We hauled a huge pile of presents in, met the mother and one of the kids, and after another false turn or two headed home.

At dinner Jenna brings up the fact that the family’s flat-screen was bigger than theirs, which eventually evolved into a conversation about income taxes. Shawn and I were saying that a lot of times it seems that people treat their income tax return as though it were free money. Jenna said she’d rather pay too much in and get a big return than end up with a bill in April. Shawn and I tried to explain the lunacy of giving an interest-free loan to the government, but she stuck to her guns. We had to call the argument a draw.
Though Shawn and I agree that we are right.

McCain's America: Day Eighteen

2008-12-12T19:19:00.000-08:00

80's party.
Yes, I karaoked.

p.s. I got my entire outfit at goodwill for less than $25. Whee!

McCain's America: Day Seventeen

2008-12-11T19:17:00.000-08:00

Had a project due by noon today (technically 2 p.m. since the time change gives me an automatic extension) so I figured I’d get an early start. About 10 minutes into the ad, Jackson shows up at the door wearing a pair of jeans over his new overalls. By way of explanation, he says that he has to have the jeans because the overalls don’t have a place to hold his tools. (His imaginary tools, I might add.)

He tells me he’s building a “goat run” for his goat named Giddy. (Also imaginary) We talk briefly about his various construction projects and he darts off to get me my very own hardhat (or makeshift hardhat. It’s actually a fireman’s hat from his Halloween costume).

I’m torn by my need to work and my desire to look at life from the perspective of a four year old. But Jenna beckons him for the long-awaited decorating of the Christmas tree and my work ethic once again kicks in.

Later, when Jenna and I are eating lunch (or some semblance thereof), we watch in horror as the Christmas tree makes a somewhat graceful descent to the floor. (I should note that her cat Tigger makes himself scarce, seeing as he accidentally knocked her tree over one year and has yet to live it down…)

She starts freaking out, especially when she notices that Jackson’s first ornament is broken. I do my best to calm her down and we commence to undecorating the tree and vacuuming pine needles with the shop vac since her oreck is on the blink.

Jackson emerged from his nap in a most foul mood. He and Jenna were in the living room and the conversation went something like this: Jenna: “Hand me that Target receipt. I need it.” Jackson: “I’m throwing this away. You don’t need it. I’m throwing it away. I’m throwing it away. You don’t need it.” Jenna: no response. Jackson: “I’m throwing this away. You don’t need it.” Jenna: no response. After about five minutes, I go in and try to lighten the mood by threatening to shoot him. A look of amusement crosses his face, but he decides he wants to stay grumpy and proceeds to hit me with the lid of the garbage can. Jenna sends him to time out.

Every few minutes he sneaks back in the room, but when Jenna tells him he has to apologize to me, he hightails it back to his room again. At some point he starts crying, very dramatically. If there was ever any doubt, which there wasn’t, he is absolutely my sister’s son. He hasn’t yet started crying more loudly every five minutes till somebody comes to fetch him, but I’m sure he will…

Tonight we started watching Law and Order at around 6:30 and finally made it to the end of the episode around 10:15. Sigh.

McCain's America: Day Thirteen

2008-12-07T19:15:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday and I have galloping consumption (ok, a bad cold).

Stayed in my PJs and helped Jackson build his "gingerman" house.

I think it turned out ok, despite the unruly frosting.

McCain's America: Day Six

2008-11-30T19:10:00.000-08:00

Went to bed fairly early last night seeing as I had to get up at the crack of dawn (ok, 7:30) to leave for church by 9:00. In case you are unaware, people in Memphis love their churches, the bigger the better. Seriously, the city features the biggest bunch of big churches you'll ever see in one place. There's one with so many bells and whistles that my sister's husband calls it "Six Flags Over Jesus." However, after visiting their church, I note that they really don't have room to talk. First stop, the parking lot. There are parking directors (embarrasingly named "coneheads," don't ask me why) and trams. Yes, I said TRAMS. When we got on, I asked my nephew which ride he wanted to go on first.

The tram drops us off at the door and we walk about half a mile to Jackson's classroom. It is one of I don't even know how many 4-5 year olds classrooms. Then we start the trek to the new sanctuary. The new multi-million dollar sanctuary. We pass a lobby worthy of a fancy hotel. There are information booths. Coffee bars. A soup station. And then there's the sanctuary. I'll just say this: I've never seen a sanctuary with nose-bleed seats before. I have also never seen a church with its own map before, so I, of course, felt the need to include it.

As we're getting settled, I put my water bottle in some sort of complicated cupholder. Cupholder! And then we stand for the music, which I admit is impressive. Having grown up in the baptist church, I am always impressed when churches feature musicians besides organists and pianists. The saxaphone was an added bonus.

My sister loves her church, and I'm glad she does. But I just have a fondness for my smallish church which doesn't even own a building, much less a multi-million dollar one. I enjoy the thrill of making my own parking space each week and then walking a few steps to the door. There's the Pepto Bismol pink bathroom tile, the puke yellow carpet, the seventies-era artwork, and the crazy ass tracts of the Seventh Day Adventists whose building we lease on Sundays. It's homey, not to mention homely. But when I'm thousands of miles from my family, homey is good.

Something about the South makes me extremely nappish. After a bit of shut eye, I walked down to the "lake" in my sister's subdivision and did a few laps around it. Got my fix of "This American Life," and tried to avoid the "mean ducks" (aka geese). I was doing fine till the fourth lap when a couple of the geese hissed at me as I went by. I decided I was cold and wet enough as it was, so I headed back to Jenna's.

I played with Jackson a bit and then got in a few crosswords (yes, I realize I'm nerdy. my sister informed me years ago.). Jenna made Greek food for dinner. It was yummy. Best part was: it didn't involve turkey. Yay!!

McCain's America: Day Five

2008-11-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

My sister and family met some friends for breakfast, and I slept in. My ulterior motive was to do some yoga in peace. I never imagined myself as someone who would be jonesing for the opportunity to do some yoga, but there it is.

After they got back, there was a brief ruckus over Jackson's missing Tigers t-shirt, but it was eventually located. Then Shawn and Jackson headed out for the Tigers game. (I'm not exactly sure what sport the Tigers play. Given the time of year, I suspect it's football.)

They brought me back a pumpkin muffin, which was super-yummy. Of course, the best part was the cream cheese icing. And, yes, I realize that the presence of cream cheese icing made it less of a muffin and more of a cupcake...

After Jenna had time to rest up from her breakfast, we decided to give Target another go. Thankfully, there was no line snaking around the store. However, there was also no Chi flat-iron or stand mixer that we'd come for. (I'd noticed that my sister had a flat iron on her vanity, and I asked her if it was a Chi. She said, "No, it's a cheeeee-ap.")

We did manage to load up on toys for Jackson. I opted for Play-Doh stuff since most of his current stash is an amalgam of a whole mess of colors. I realize the new stuff will probably look the same a few days after Christmas, but figured it was worth a shot anyhow.

Jenna got him a big box of Crayons, so the evening's activities included a coloring contest. Ok, it wasn't actually a contest, but I consider myself the winner anyhow. My Eeyore rocked!

More turkey for dinner. I am seriously beginning to understand my sister's distaste for the bird. I mean, I do like turkey, but it starts to get old after three days. Not to mention pretty dried out.

McCain's America: Day Four

2008-11-28T19:06:00.000-08:00

At 3:00 a.m. my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze a couple of times before reluctantly dragging my ass out of bed. I throw on some clothes, brush the teeth, and put the hair in ponytails. Call me ready to go.

We pull into the Kohl's parking lot at about 5 til 4:00. Half of Memphis has arrived before us. The line snakes half-way around the building. There are Kohl's employees outside helping shoppers plan their strategies, i.e. Shopper: "Where are the mp3 players?" Kohl rep: "Go straight to the back of the store." Shopper: "Where are those down throws?" Kohl rep: "Turn left and they're about half-way back in the bedding area." Seriously.

Jenna and I split up immediately. She's racing to the mp3 players. I'm looking for cheap cashmere. Priorities.

I am dissapointed to note that the "cashmere blend" socks are 5% cashmere. But, hey, they're soft and 5 bucks for two, so I get them anyway. Next stop, cashmere sweaters. I snag three cardigans (black, purple, and aqua) for $34.99 each. Whee!! I grab some taupe suede ballet flats ($15), which I ultimately reject after carting them around the store for a while. Then I swoop in on the cute pink purse I saw in the flyer, and I'm done. I run into Jenna who is dragging around a very large Kohl's mesh bag filled with mp3 players, a portable DVD player, games, clothes, and who knows what all. Eventually, we make it to the back of the line, which is conveniently at the very back of the store. There are two lines actually. Each is equally long. We note the time: 5:05. Jenna continues to shop as I kick her bag forward while trying to balance my various purchases. Whenever she returns to the line for a few moments, she commences to chat with the folks around us. (Need I say these are women folks?) She's like our mom that way. She'll strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. Me, I zone out. I should add that she sits at any given opportunity. Her favorite part of the line was when we were in the bedding department.

If this is sounding pretty boring, that's because it was. I believe this is the longest line I've ever waited in that didn't have a ride at the end. As we were edging toward the front of the store, someone passed a box of doughnuts forward. Sadly, they were not Krispy Kreme, so I passed. Though I did appreciate the gesture. Even in Seattle, people are unlikely to hand out free doughnuts to strangers. Ah, the humanity. I should also add that this was the first time I had ever seen a whole mess of Southern women sans makeup. This just doesn't happen. However, I was even more floored by the fact that some women were in FULL makeup (and hair) at 4:00 a.m. Scary.

We finally made it out of Kohl's around 6:30. (Yep, that's an hour and a half in line.) So we promptly headed over to Target. We were due home at 8:00 so Jenna's husband could go to work. After Jenna almost ran over people angling for a parking space, we went in only to discover that Target also had a mega line. We followed the line around the store trying to gauge whether or not we could make it out in time. We made it to the back of the store and kept going and going (like the energizer bunny) but we never did see the end of the line. Needless to say, we bailed.

I can't recall too much of the rest of the day. It involved several naps. And leftovers. Lots of leftovers.

McCain's America: Day Three

2008-11-27T19:04:00.000-08:00

Turkey Day arrives. Although if my sister had had her druthers, it would be Non-turkey Day. She called me several times before I left home saying things like, "Do we HAVE to have a turkey?" (um, yes.) and "What if we just had a turkey breast?" (um, no.) and "Kroger has bone-in turkey breasts. What if I got two of those? Does anybody eat dark meat anyway?" (no and no, but still...) My sister doesn't like turkey. She's more fond of the pig. But only when it's doctored up with honey, brown sugar, and coke. (Another half-dessert that I forgot to mention.) This year, she used orange juice in lieu of the coke. The ham was decidedly citrus-y. Thankfully, her mother-in-law brought over a bird.

Due to the prep work the night before, we were done with the cooking in record time. I actually had time to sit down and watch the parade. Thankfully, I'd recorded it, so it only took about 20 minutes to see the whole thing (fast forwarding through all the marching bands, high school musical-type acts, singing, commentary, etc.). In short, I watched the balloons, a handful of floats, and Santa. I now realize why I haven't watched the parade in years. It's one big commercial, which I find extremely annoying. I'm watching the Smurf balloon, (Smurf!!) and the commentators start rattling on about how there's going to be a Smurf movie. Another float promotes the return of Hair to Broadway, etc. etc. The highlight of the whole thing was the Fred Hill Briefcase Drill Team. Hi-larious.

Jenna's mother-in-law arrived around 1:00 with the ubiquitous crudité. This year it involved purple cauliflower, but sadly there was no dip. When Shawn asked where the dip was, his mom said, "We don't need that. It's bad for us." While this is undoubtedly true, it seemed rather a moot point seeing as our spread included 1. candied ham 2. sweet potato "casserole" 3. cranberry "salad" 4. cornbread dressing with duck 5. candied green beans with bacon 6. rolls with butter. suffice it to say, not a lot of purple cauliflower was eaten.

after the feast, pretty much everybody lapsed into a food coma.

a few hours later, we reconvened and started going through the sales flyers in the paper. every year, my sister and I swear we're not going to go shopping on Black Friday. And, yes, we're fighting the crowds every single year. so as we're perusing the flyers, my sister says, "These kind of make me want to get up and go shopping." (I should note, that while we do usually end up at the mall every year, we have long since given up the early-bird specials.)

Long story short, my sister asks, "If I went to Kohl's at 4 a.m., would you go with me?" Me: "Why not?" We retire early, hoping for some semblance of rest...

McCain's America: Day Two

2008-11-26T18:59:00.000-08:00

My first morning in McCain's America starts with a migraine. Fitting. After a quick hit on the Imitrex pipe, I was feeling somewhat human by around 10:00. Human enough to recommence my newfound yoga routine, even.

It started out a bit awkwardly and quickly went downhill from there. My sister's DVD situation is a bit dicey at the moment, so I popped the dvd into my laptop and positioned it on the coffee table. So far, so good. As soon as I press play and get settled cross-legged on the floor, two things happen: 1. my sister commences to mock me and 2. she also turns up the volume on the TV. (I should mention that the base level of any TV my sister watches is LOUD. She turned it up to Almost Earsplitting.)

I'm following along best I can without the benefit of the soothing yogi's instructions (or the mellowing soundtrack), when my adorable four-year-old nephew joins in the routine. Apparently, four year olds don't have the best balance; he fell over a lot. But he put forth a valiant effort. Much more than my sister who was watching Intervention on the couch, eating pita chips and what I thought was cream cheese, but later found out was swiss cheese. Tomato, tomahto.

Oh, and whenever I attempted to lie on my back, my sister's cat, Tigger, amused himself by eating my hair. This is nothing new from Tigger. He always eats my hair. I'm just not usually attempting yoga at the time.

Halfway through my stretching routine, the cable guy shows up. I take a break and start unpacking. The bookshelves in my sister's guest bedroom are hopelessly cluttered with a vast array of picture frames and candles (about a third of which were given to her by yours truly, so I suppose I've little right to complain. However, I won't let that stop me.) My stuff is perched precariously on any inch of open space I can find, such that trying to locate any particular item is like playing Where's Waldo. While blindfolded.

The day was rather uneventful from there. I worked a few hours, watched Sponge Bob with Jackson (um, not recommended), had dinner, blah blah yadda.

So then I'm in the kitchen doing prep for tomorrow's feast when my sister starts watching Law and Order. I sit down when she's about half-way through the episode I've been half-way listening to from the kitchen. She says, "You can rewind it; I haven't been paying attention." (She is presently in the grip of an insidious Facebook addiction.) So I rewind it and get about half-way through when she says, "Do you mind rewinding it? I haven't been paying attention." Do I mind? Yes. Do I rewind it anyway? Yes. Right about the time I'm learning brand new plot points, Jenna's husband walks in. Graciously, he does not ask me to rewind it...

Later, my sister's in the kitchen attempting to put the top layer on her not-exactly-congealed cranberry salad. (As she pointed out, I'm not sure something can actually be called a salad if it contains cool whip, not to mention cream cheese and jello.) She's having quite a time trying to get the somewhat thick cream cheese/cool whip amalgamation spread across the liquidy jello bottom layer. I point out the various mountains, valleys, craters, and faults which comprise the topography of this particular side dish. Yes, I said side dish. Only in the South do you find desserts as a side dish, in lieu of vegetables. On Thanksgiving, we feature two and a half desserts as side dishes: The aforementioned cranberry "salad," the sweet potato "casserole," and the green bean bundles. Yes, green beans are technically a vegetable...until you douse them in bacon, butter, and brown sugar.

Until tomorrow...

Thirty Days in McCains America: Day One

2008-11-25T18:57:00.000-08:00

At approximately 8:00 a.m. today, I left the comfort of my blue state and embarked on the social experiment I've dubbed "30 days in McCain's America." It's not exactly a Morgan Spurlock adventure, seeing as I grew up in McCain's America. Of course, back in the day it was Nixon/Ford's America. But I digress...

I figured the only way to embark on a journey to McCain's America was to go first class (seeing as how I haven't a Lear jet at my disposal.) I suppose I should mention that I lucked into said first class ticket by booking with a frequent flyer back in July.

Before I even boarded the plane, my attitude shifted. I caught myself thinking, "Isn't there a FIRST CLASS security line? I have to wait here with all these COACH people?" But it wasn't until I sunk into my big, plush leather seat–with more leg room than short people like me could ever need–that I thought, "As God is my witness, I will never fly coach again."

And then there was the food. Apparently it's still free in first class. Hot food even. How long has it been since I've seen that? I'm sad to say I had to pass on the food seeing as I'd gone with my coach instincts and bought a pre-flight muffin at Tully's.

Did I mention that my seat was stocked with 1. a pillow 2. a blanket 3. headphones 4. a wee bottle of water and 5. a masseuse? Ok, no masseuse, but there's an idea to pass along to Delta. How about some vibrating chair action? I mean it IS supposed to be first class!

In first class, one is trusted with actual glassware. You wouldn't think a plain old glass could be a perk (it wasn't even cute). But when you've suffered with plastic all these years and then are offered actual glass, Hoo Boy!

It may have been my imagination, but I believe there were two attendants assigned to first class. That 7:1 ratio sure beats the 582:1 in the seats behind the curtain.

Not to belabor the point (but I suppose it's too late), the lavatories had hardwood floors. Probably fake hardwood, but still. Which lead me to think, "What is that ruffian from COACH doing in the FIRST CLASS lavatory?" And yes, I actually thought "lavatory."

The nadir of the experience was realizing that first class luggage is delivered at the same baggage claim (and in the same slow-ass manner) as everyone else's. Although in the end I was delighted to discover that I'd made it through Atlanta without losing luggage. Another incredible first!

All this falls into my theory that you never quite understand how bad something is until something far better comes along. Don't get me wrong. I am well aware that coach sucks and manages to get worse every time I fly. But now that I've tasted the free margarita (in glass glass!), something tells me I will never again be excited by the windfall WHOLE CAN of coke again. Sigh.

p.s. Holy crap! I forgot to mention the hot towel service before the meal. Seriously.

p.s. #2: I apologize to readers who are already familiar with all the comforts of first class. You know, those of you who were wondering, "What is that girl in the stained Uggs doing up here with US?"

Caught with pants down redux.

2008-02-02T17:32:00.000-08:00

for years, my sister has been making her own spanx by using an upsized pair of control top pantyhose with the legs cut off. (suddenly, i'm recalling that as a child my sister-in-law's sister – does that make us related? – used to wear her mom's old cut off pantyhose as sort of a sleeveless body suit. there is photographic evidence of this, but i'm reluctant to produce it as the photo also depicts me in a blond dolly parton wig wearing a KFC t-shirt with the chest stuffed with a beach towel or something.)

anyhow, my sister is in a store checking out the spanx display, wondering if it's time to upgrade. next thing she knows, her homemade spanx and her elastic waist pants have something of the reverse magnet effect and her pants end up around her ankles. she quickly a: looks around to see if anyone has noticed and b: pulls her pants back up. probably in that order. then she goes right back to looking at the spanx as if nothing had ever happened. (she claims she was too stunned to think of anything else to do.) me, i'd have hightailed it out of the store and might never have come back. (i'm picturing the staff replaying the security tapes over and over again, or worse: youtube …)

but i guess now that mom is gone, somebody has to keep up the tradition.

p.s. she did buy the spanx.

navel gazing

2007-08-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

So I'm at Nordstrom tonight trying to pass the time as I wait for my takeout order from the café when I come across an intriguing book called "The Proust Questionnaire." You must understand that I am facinated with 1. Literary Stuff and 2. Any Kind of Quiz. So...bonanza!

The premise behind the book is that back in the day answering questionnaires was a popular pastime at social gatherings. And someone had the foresight to keep the questionnaires that Marcel Proust answered, first when he was 13 and again at 20.

I must say that this book is way overpriced and not worth buying since more than half of it is the blank questionnaire printed on page after page. Sure, the book is all pretty and stuff, but c'mon, i'm much more likely to email the questionnaire to my friends as opposed to collecting their responses in a book. Seriously.

And, of course, I felt compelled to answer the questions myself, so here goes: (p.s. if you're interested in Proust's answers just consult with mr. google.)

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
To be unloved, unlovable, and unloving.

Where would you like to live?
I'd like spend a year or so living in various European cities, and should I suddenly become wealthy, I might enjoy living in New York City. But for now I am happy living in Seattle.

What is your idea of earthly happiness?
To spend time each day doing something creative and to stay in close contact with those I love.

To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
Laziness, sweet-toothedness.

Who are your favorite heroes of fiction?
Darl Bundren (As I Lay Dying), Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye), John Ames (Gilead), Ignatius Reilly (Confederacy of Dunces), Max Morden (The Sea). It seems i prefer mostly anti-heroes.

Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
Rosasharn. At the end of Grapes of Wrath, she performs the most heroic act I can imagine.

Who are your favorite characters in history?
Dorothy Parker, Sylvia Plath, King Solomon. (I suppose I relate to depressive personalities.)

Who are your heroes/heroines in real life?
Suffragettes, 9/11 firefighters and volunteers, civil rights workers, teachers.

Your favorite painter?
Monet, Renoir.

Your favorite musician?
Geoff. (and then bob dylan)

The quality you most admire in a man?
Confidence, integrity, forthrightness, generosity.

The quality you most admire in a woman?
Confidence, integrity, forthrightness, generosity.

Your favorite virtue?
Honesty.

Your favorite occupation?
Reading, writing, listening to music, good conversation.

Who would you have liked to be?
Dorothy Parker, only sober.

Your most marked characteristic?
Spontaneity.

What do you most value in your friends?
Willingness to celebrate my successes, mourn my losses, and make me laugh my ass off.

What is your principle defect?
Impatience.

What to your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes?
To end up regretting not having children.

What would you like to be?
Disciplined, patient, nonjudgmental, more well-traveled and well-read. And, yes, a successful author.

What is your favorite color?
Purple.

What is your favorite flower?
Hydrangeas.

What is your favorite bird?
Are there any that don't squawk?

Who are your favorite prose writers?
Flannery O'Connor, Ellen Gilchrist, John Steinbeck, John Banville, Javier Marias, David Sedaris.

Who are your favorite poets?
Edna St. Vincent Millay, Theodore Roethke, Lucille Clifton, W.D. Snodgrass, Yeats, Shakespeare, Anne Sexton.

What are your favorite names?
The kind that have some sort of personal meaning and don't come from a baby name book.

What is it you most dislike?
Injustice, dishonesty.

What historical figures do you most despise?
Hitler.

What event in military history do you most admire?
The ending of any war.

What reform do you most admire?
The first amendment.

What natural gift would you most like to possess?
Singing ability, musical talent, artistic talent, fast metabolism.

How would you like to die?
Suddenly, before I become infirm or senile, and (selfishly) before my sister.

What is your present state of mind?
Optimistic, yet still burdened with a sense of despair due to my mother's recent death.

What is your motto?
From Shakespeare: "To thine own self be true."

And also (taken from Sally from Peanuts): "Whatever, who cares, and how should I know?"

finding my voice

2007-03-02T17:17:00.000-08:00

my sister calls me up one day and says, "do you know what a totesum is?"

i say, "of course, it's a place like 7-11."

"well," she says, "i mentioned a totesum to shawn and he had no idea what it is."

mississippi strikes again.

now i've never had a very pronounced southern accent. in fact, most folks who aren't from the south couldn't guess i am. mainly, i think, because the rest of the world thinks all southerners go around saying things like "i ain't never done nothin' tew y'all, why'd yeeeew go and do somethin' laaaak that fer?" i can't blame them really. they only know the south from tv, movies, and books, most of which depict all southerners like backwoods hicks. and granted, there are a heckuva lot of backwoods hicks in Mississippi. i just happen not to be one of them.

but my Dixie starts showing around midnight. that's when i'm just far too tired (tarred) to add a "g" to the end of every word. Also, if i have too much to drink, i start drawling all over the place. i also get extremely outgoing and friendly. there are reasons i don't drink anymore (does bailey's in hot cocoa count?). I'm not a friend of bill w's or anything. i just decided to stop because of my migraines (though i must say, it hasn't made any real difference. in fact, i'm having more headaches than ever now, so perhaps i should jump off the wagon. and then again…)

oh, and, of course, i am totally a Dixie chick when i'm on the phone with anyone from back home. people in the room with me can always tell the difference between local and long-distance phone calls.

anyhow, like i said, i'm not normally drawly, so it came as a surprise when my boyfriend called me on my extremely random pronunciation. he says, "say i-n-s-u-r-a-n-c-e."

after i take a few seconds to figure out what the heck he wants me to say (i can hardly ever spell things aloud, which is why i have a hard time around small children), i say, "INsurance." he says, "it's pronounced 'inSURANCE." we argue this for as long as it takes for him to pull up some pronunciation tutorial on the internet and prove me wrong. (although i still think i am right)

and now that he's on a roll, he gets me to say stuff like HALLoween, TEEv, THANKSgiving, and JUly (technically JEWly). He says, "you're always moving the emphasis to the first syllable.

i had never noticed that people around me here in seattle were all pronouncing things in some freakish way, so i called on my southern folks to tell me how THEY pronounce these words. To a person, they all put the emphasis on the first syllable. even a friend of mine who speaks in the most eloquent non-accent, says, "Yes, people always know i'm southern when they hear me say JEWly." so i wasn't wrong. everybody in the south talks this way. just listen to kyra sedgewick on 'the closer."

my boyfriend is also confused when i say things like, "i'm trying to turn on the eye on the stove and it won't work!!!" he's like, "what the hell are you talking about?" "the EYE on the top of the stove…where you put the frying pan!" i say. and he goes, "You mean the BURNER?" "It's not a BURNER; it's the EYE!" i say, as i rush to confirm, via my southern friends, what that thing the frying pan sits on is called. (if al gore hadn't invented the internet, we'd have a tough time proving our points. or at least we wouldn't prove them so quickly.)

anyhow, my boyfriend and i have to agree to disagree on matters such as this since we intend to be together and bickering gets tedious.

BUT my Dixie is rubbing off on him in small ways. see, we have this very demanding cat who always whines for food, even though he's fed at least FIVE times a day. but every time we're in the kitchen or near the kitchen or are in a house that HAS a kitchen, he will holler at us until we relent and give him food. we both agree that he is spoiled. but then i say, "he's not just spoiled; he's RURNT." "he's what?" "RURNT. It's the past tense of ruin when something has absolutely no hope. it's like ruined to the power of 100 or 1000."

"rurnt," he says, "yeah, he's definitely rurnt."

and now he takes great pleasure in calling things "rurnt." And i swear i have heard him say TEEv at least once.

if the shoe were on the other foot

2006-09-05T17:15:00.000-07:00

the other day i am walking across that skybridge that connects nordstrom with pacific place and i see something that stops me in my tracks: a shoe. it's a man's shoe, off-white with woven leather, something between a sandal and a slip on. i've scoured men's shoe sites and can't find anything that bears more than a vague resemblance to it. (which doesn't bode well for the guy who lost the shoe.) unfortunately, i didn't think to use my camera phone. and that was a prime camera phone moment. what was i thinking?

anyhow, it's a new-looking shoe, so i'm wondering what the heck it's doing in the vestibule of a mall (or pseudo-mall, as the case may be).i mean, every once in a while, you run across a kid's shoe in the grocery store or wherever, and it's understandable. kid's lose shoes. but how does a grown man lose a shoe and not notice? ok, maybe it didn't fall right off his foot. but that begs the question: why was he carrying this shoe around with him at the mall in the first place? and why would he not notice that it had gone missing? when that vestibule is empty, it has quite the echo factor, so he'd surely hear it drop if he was alone in there. and if there were a lot of people around so that the noise was muffled, surely one of his fellow shoppers would have rushed to return the shoe to the guy. c'mon, this is seattle.

i've been baffled by this lone stray shoe phenomenon for as long as i can remember. i most often see them abandoned on roads. however, i finally did get an explanation for those that sort of makes sense. or amuses me, at least.

years ago, my ex-boyfriend was involved in a road rage situation. i forget what started it or how it escalated. anyhow, the then-boyfriend does some final-straw move like flip the other driver off or something and a representative from the other car THROWS A BOOT AT HIM! A BOOT! i thought it was hi-larious! of course, i wasn't in the car when it happened. if i had been, i would've been mortified and would've long before been telling him not to act like such a moron that it got to that point, but since he did, i thought it was a hoot that somebody actually launched a boot at him. they missed his car, thankfully. i don't think i would have been laughing so much if they'd caused damage. anyhow, i told him, i always wondered where those lone shoes on the road come from. now i know.

so if you see a proliferation of abandoned shoes on the road, blame it on road rage.

i am still not quite certain about all the socks that make it onto the roads and sidewalks. however, my theory is that these are the socks that have escaped from the dryers and are heading to florida to retire. that is how far they make it until they just give up. i have to say, some of them go a respectable distance.

long lost cousin

2006-09-02T17:14:00.000-07:00

so a couple of years ago, my mom tells me that i have a cousin who's going to be on some show called "lost." i say, there's no such show as "lost." (my first reaction is always to tell my mother she has no idea what she's talking about. often, i am right, but just as often, i am wrong.) she's adamant that she's got the correct name of the show, so i google it and sure enough i find said cousin's name listed among the cast members. so then i google him: josh holloway. and he is HOT. well, i reckon, most people know this by now, but i was just finding it out.

so my mom says that my cousin used to be a model and was on the cover of esquire and had now landed this gig on this new tv show. and then it dawned on me: this was the model/actor/wannabe cousin my dad had told me about when i lived in LA. the one he was always trying to get me to call and hook up with because we are related and were both living in the same sprawling metropolis. (parent logic, you know.). i always thought, a. why do i want to hang out with some stupid cousin? and b. right, like somebody in OUR family was actually on the cover of esquire (this is still unconfirmed). needless to say, i never called.

well, the as the months went by, even someone as out of touch with the entertainment world as i am knew that "lost" had become a hit tv show. so then i figured that if i'd called my cousin back when i was living in la, maybe i'd be two degrees from george clooney by now or something. but, of course, the time has passed. i can't call him up now on the premise that we should hang out because i'm his cousin. a. because neither one of us lives in LA anymore and b. because how lame is that? so basically, i've got this cousin who's semi-famous, but i've never met him. to tell the truth, i've never actually watched the show either. and i haven't given him more than a passing thought other than to tell this story a few times.

my sister, on the other hand, is unnaturally obsessed with the idea that josh holloway is our cousin. it's weird. first off, she watches the show religiously. not that that is any tip-off. plenty of people do that. heck, even my parents do, although my mom threatened to stop watching it when she thought josh's character was going to get killed off. i think he lived because she is still watching it.

but one of the reasons i think she's unduly obsessed is that she tells EVERYBODY she runs across that josh holloway is her cousin. (i suppose she might be lamenting that she took her husband's name as she now doesn't have quite so obvious a connection.) i think she neglects to mention that she's never actually met her cousin. that he doesn't know her from adam. and that he's her second cousin. (but at least he's not the once-removed kind.)

she seriously would like to get my dad to ask his brother for a signed photo for her. i think she would also like to get his phone number, but that might be asking too much. she and and one of her friends are thinking they should go out to california and meet him. i'm not sure how serious she is about this. i hope not too much. especially since she hasn't yet made it out to seattle to see me. (which is a whole other can of worms i'm not going to open right now.) and also because, as i have recently learned from an astute blog reader (my boyfriend), j.h. actually lives in hawaii where his show is filmed. anyhow, her husband and i both agree that her level of interest in this particular cousin is unnatural. but at least she's not trying to date him or something, even though we are from mississippi.

nice people give me road rage

2006-09-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

well, i guess i am finally turning into a seattleite. tonight, i actually stopped in the street and let a pedestrian cross. ack! i sort of felt obligated since he was already halfway across the street when i showed up. i figured it was best not to let him stand out there and get hit. so i let him cross. normally, i wouldn't do this. unless, of course, it was an actual intersection. or one of those annoying marked crosswalks. it's not that i mind stopping to let pedestrians pass (except when i'm in a hurry, which is actually most of the time), it's that here in seattle pedestrians EXPECT you to stop and let them pass because EVERYBODY ELSE DOES. so you get pedestrians darting out into traffic all the time, figuring people will naturally stop, and i'll admit, i'm not the most observant of drivers, so i don't always notice when stray people wander into the street. I'm sometimes on autopilot, and because i'm not expecting people to be in the road, i'm not conscious of them. until they're RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. and then i'm screeching on my brakes. and do they scurry? no, they continue in a leisurely pace as if they haven't just narrowly escaped death. it's unfathomable.

alternately, it bugs me as a pedestrian, as well, that people stop in the middle of the road for you. i am perfectly content to wait for a break in traffic to make a dash across the street. but no, a person stops for you and you're obliged to step out into traffic, but then there may be a car coming from the other direction that won't stop, so you're stuck there holding things up. it's much better if drivers just leave pedestrians to fend for themselves. but, no, in seattle everyone wants to be "nice." heck, i've had cars stop for me when i was just standing on the sidewalk with no intention of crossing the street. it's that crazy! oh, but the flipside of the "nice" drivers, is how rude pedestrians get if you don't stop for them. they're so used to people stopping, that i reckon they think that's the law or something. that drivers are required to stop anytime they feel the need to jaywalk. um, no. as far as i know, i'm not allowed to actually run over them, but i don't have to stop and let them walk out in front of me just because they feel like it either. even if i do have a seattle driver's license.

the weird thing is that while i'm driving, i encounter a lot of people who jaywalk, even though seattle has this reputation for being a city that's tough on jaywalkers. i do think there are a lot of people who are paranoid about this, however. When you're waiting for the walk signal at an intersection downtown, there are always a couple of people who are checking to see if the street is clear and crossing against the light. the rest wait on the corner till they get the go ahead to "walk." i am always among the band of evil jaywalkers. i can't help it. i have no patience for standing around and waiting to do what i'm told. never have, never will.

as a total tangent, i tried to preserve the straight hair one day too long. today, i do not feel cosmopolitan. i feel kind of grungy. can't wait to wash my hair in the morning.

playing it straight

2006-08-29T17:11:00.000-07:00

i am not myself today. today, i am that cosmopolitan girl who shows up for a couple of days once every three months or so–right after i leave the gene juarez salon. yes, when I walk in there, i am a somewhat scattered, curly-haired girl, but when i leave the place, i’m as sophisticated as a girl can be with my silky smooth straight hair. ok, maybe it’s not so eliza dolittle, but it is a transformation. ask anyone who knows me.

once, i had an off day creatively when i had straight hair and the client i was working for at the time blamed it on the hair. after that, any time i showed up at the office with straight hair, he called me “the evil kim” and told me to go home and get my curly-haired sister and send her to work.

i can, of course, still work when i have straight hair. But i do get distracted by my hair. i can’t stop touching it. it’s so soft. i love to run my fingers through it. and, no, I am not some kind of freak or fetishist. you’ve got to understand: when I was young, i desperately wanted silky, straight hair. like my sister had. hers was blonde, to boot. mine was brown and usually frizzy. can you see why I’d want to trade? so one day a few years back, a hairdresser asked if i wanted my hair blown out straight. i had no idea this was an option. so i said, sure. and when she did, it was unbelievable. i mean, i figured they could get it straight, but i had NO IDEA my hair would be silky. wow! (i am touching it again just to make sure. still silky.)

now don’t get me wrong, i love my curly hair. i wouldn’t trade it for anything. now that i’ve come to terms with it, that is. we’ve gone through a lot of rough spots, my hair and i. i can remember trying to “feather” it. word to the wise: curls don’t feather. then there was the unfortunate close-cropped style which elicited refrains of the monchhichi song whenever I came near my friends. delightful. and i probably shouldn’t mention the time i highlighted it with stripes. yeah, I didn’t think so.

now that I’ve decided to leave my hair alone and pretty much let it do what it wants to do, we get along fine. even better now that i got one of those ionic hair dryers. i may be one of the last people in america to jump on this bandwagon. i mean, i called my sister to tell her about it and she said she’d had one for three years. anyhow, if there’s anyone out there with curly hair who hasn’t tried the ionic hair dryer, i highly recommend it. i’m not sure what the science is on the thing, and my boyfriend is dubious, but he does agree that it makes my hair much less frizzy and more curly. but what he noted about it was that it shortened the drying time. which is sometimes important when you live in a house with only one bathroom.

no, your other left...

2006-08-18T17:09:00.000-07:00

ok, it has long been established that i have no sense of direction. one of my boyfriend's favorite things to do is ask me, which way is east? and take in my extremely confused expression as i try to decide which direction to point. when we are in the house, i can usually point the right way (now that he's told me which direction is which), but once we leave home, all bets are off.

I also know whether i'm headed toward vancouver or portland when i'm on the 5 or 99, but take me off the road and spin me around a few times and i couldn't tell you anything.

of course, my boyfriend has all these complicated methods involving putting a stick in the ground and observing the shadows and whatnot. or watching the sun at a certain point in the day and all such as that. not really very helpful when someone's directions tell you to go "east" and you have no idea which way east is and have no time for a scientific experiment.

why on earth do people who are giving directions tell you to go east or west? what is wrong with right or left? not that i am any better at those either, but still. oh, yes, i'm one of those people. i will tell my boyfriend to turn right when i mean to turn left. or i will turn left when he tells me to turn right. drives him crazy. (can't imagine why!)

so anyhow, my sister and i are in new york a couple of weeks ago and we go out to dinner at this restaurant that I thought was pretty close to the hotel. we're at the marriott marquis so we're at 6th and 45th. we start walking and we're looking for a place that's between 8th and 9th. so i get my sister to ask the cops which direction we should be going. she does and we start going that way. but one extremely long block later (what's the deal with the long blocks in new york?) i see that we've hit 5th. I say, we're going the wrong way! she says, you said it's between 4th and 5th! i said, no i didn't; i said it was between 8th and 9th! this goes back and forth more than i care to say as we make our way back down the extremely long block. peppered with, we're taking a cab back! from my sister. and me saying, it's only a few blocks! and further commentary from both of us about how the blocks are really long. (i should probably interject that by this point i had walked all over the natural history museum, the metropolitian musuem of art, and many other long new york blocks and had developed some nasty blisters. i wasn't just cranky; my feet hurt!)

so we finally get to "between 8th and 9th," and we're looking for the address where the restaurant is supposed to be, but...no restaurant. what the hell? my sister asks to see the listing that i have thoughtfully pulled out of the zagat's guide and brought along. she says, this is on 46th street!!! oops. so we walk another three blocks and finally get to the restaurant. i want to look at the menu before we go in, but jenna won't let me. if she's walked this far, she's eating at this restaurant. period. well, when she sees the menu, she wishes she'd let me look. i know she does, but she doesn't let on. it's an italian place, but there's not a pasta dish in sight. I've since learned that northern italian basically means "meat only. oh and the waiter asks would we like sparkling or still bottled water and jenna says "still" before i can say "neither." Apparently, she didn't understand that "neither" was one of the choices and that by not answering that, we got to share a $7 bottle of water. yum! well, it all worked out though. turns out the special was some three kinds of pasta deal which was ok. so after dinner we walk back to the hotel, which in case you haven't been plotting this on a map, is only a block and a half away from the restaurant. my sister says, if we'd only had to walk this far to the restaurant, i would have let you look at the menu and we could've gone somewhere else...

so fast forward to this week when i am back home and hungry for some chow-dah. i decide to go to duke's in greenlake. i was swayed because the website said they had a parking lot. what it neglected to mention was that the lot only has room for about five cars. so i have to drive around and around looking for a spot. by the time i finally find one, i've lost track of where i am in relation to duke's. i know the general direction of the street duke's is on, so i head that way. I make it to that street and indeed, duke's is one block down. I figured, two and a half blocks...not great parking, but could've been worse... well, then i get to duke's and see that the street running alongside it is the street i'm parked on. i make a mental note to walk up that street when i leave. well, i get my take-out and walk up that street about half a block and, yep, there's my car. I should have known. I don't want to jinx myself, but i have really good parking karma. i was thinking two and a half blocks seemed a little off for me...the worst part was, when i got back in the car, i thought to myself, i can SEE duke's from here! only i thought it was some other restaurant....well, i'd never been there before and there wasn't a sign in the BACK. still, i felt like a moron. such a stupid navigational faux pas in my own town.

and i can't even talk about how bad it is in when i go back to la. after living there 8 years, somehow i still manage to get on 10 east when i want to go west...

caught with pants down...

2006-06-17T17:08:00.000-07:00

ok, here's the latest from the "my mother is driving me crazy" files:

she calls me yesterday to tell me she was driving to her physical therapy appointment when she had a sudden, uncontrollable need to pee. she pulls over on the side of the highway, gets out and by this time is already peeing but goes around to the passenger side of the car and gets her pants down to finish the job. now i should mention here that my mother is 70 and has rhematoid arthritis, a bad back, and a bundle of other ailments besides the obvious incontinence issue.

well, once she's done, she can't for the life of her get back up again. her knees keep buckling under. the more she tries, the weaker she gets. then a truck pulls over and a man comes to help her up. he's having a struggle trying to get her up (not sure why, it's not like my mom is very heavy or anything...). meanwhile, she's trying to get her pants pulled up. finally they make it to the back seat on the passenger's side and the people in the truck are hollering "help is on the way!" the man asks, what were you doing down there? so my mom tells me, i wasn't going to say, well i just thought i'd sit around with my butt hanging out... so she says, i had to pee. next thing she knows, a fire truck shows up followed shortly by the police. a fireman takes her blood pressure and it was sky high. and he asks, what were you doing out here? and she says, i had to pee! and then she hears the cop ask the fireman, what was she doing out here? and the fireman says, she had to pee. the way word gets around, probably half of jackson, mississippi, knows my mother was peeing on the side of the road...

so she says, i don't know why this happened, i took my detrol this morning. and i say, maybe you need to increase your dosage. how many are you taking a day? she says, well, i take one whenever i'm going somewhere. i say, WHAT? they're not like aspirin. you can't just take them when you need them. you have to take them EVERY DAY. she says, well, they cost sixty dollars a month. i said, yeah, so. you have sixty dollars. but if you want to save sixty dollars, you can keep peeing in the street. well, i take them three or four days a week, she says. you have to take them EVERY DAY, i say. there's no point in taking them if you're not going to take them correctly. are you listening to me? i say. i hear you, she says. yes, but are you paying attention? i heard you, she says.

she heard me. and she has no intention of doing what i say. it drives me nuts because i know she will call again with another incontinence episode. and we'll have the same conversation over again. i don't know how to stop.

i guess i'm like a man in that i always want to solve her problems for her. maybe i need to distance myself and just give her sympathy when she calls. I mean, she's 70 years old. she's made it this far without my solving her problems. i guess she can manage well enough on her own.

love thy neighbor? um, no...

2006-06-16T17:07:00.001-07:00

ok, i'll admit to being naive. i figured when i moved into a house, i'd stop having to deal with annoying neighbors. you homeowners can all stop laughing now. i said i was naive.

now when we started out it was all swell. we had ruth on one side and walter and nancy on the other and the endless parade of people in the apartment building named villa boitano–which we promptly renamed "boytowno"–across the street.

our favorite boytowno-ite was "bandana boy" who was in deep infatuation with his car and had to walk around it admiringly every time he got home. he was also known for his spectacular steering wheel drum solos. sadly, he moved away about six months ago and it all went to pot shortly after.

next thing we knew, walter and nancy had bought a house and were moving. for the record, they were perfect neighbors: never heard a peep from them. worst that ever happened was walter hit my car once, but that was all handled nice and neighborly like through insurance.

well, once they moved out, the owner of their house showed up, puttering around, getting the place ready for rental, you know. So my boyfriend, being the friendly sort, goes over to say hello and promptly gets an earful about how our retaining wall is falling down and needs to be fixed. so much for being neighborly.

ok, so we figure the guy is crochety and decide to keep our distance. but then i go out one morning and see that the curbs beside his driveway are painted a suspicious shade of yellow (a quick perusal of the street tells me no other curbs have been painted). the guy has PAINTED HIS OWN CURBS! who does this?

well, i'm all up in arms about it because we've got a crappy parking situation as it is and these painted curbs are only going to make it worse. i can't even go into the parking situation while i'm on this rant. it's a whole other rant entirely.

anyhow, next thing we know crochety man has chopped branches off our huge maple tree.

then the new neighbors moved in. for some reason, they think it's ok to hammer at 1:30 in the morning. why did walter and nancy move? why? why?

oh, and did i mention the new boytowno-ite whose car alarm goes off every time a loud car drives down our street (and you guessed it, this happens quite frequently).

so today the thing that happened that prompted this blog entry after a notably long hiatus is that apparently some neighbors in the townhouses behind us have taken issue with one of our bushes and whacked it mercilessly and left the mess in our driveway. lovely.

i should remind anyone who may have arrived late to the party that i live in seattle where all the people are “nice.” right. they will stop in the middle of the street if they sense that a pedestrian might be considering walking across the road, but they drive that very same car home and take up two parking spaces in front of your house. (oops, i said i wasn't getting into my parking rant. sorry...)

yes, it’s all maddening. but it’s an easy frustration. a shallow one. the kind i have so i don’t have to worry about my deeper frustrations. but then maybe i’m meant to let these go easily as practice for letting go of those frustrations I cling to more tightly. who knows?

all I know is, they’re not driving me out of this house because I love living here, despite all the frustrations. and besides, from the sound of this post, i've gotten way too old and crochety for apartment living anyhow.

stella!!!!

2006-03-18T17:05:00.000-08:00

my mother is driving me crazy. i'm sure this is not news, but here is the latest in her campaign to send me to the nuthouse.
first, some background. years ago we rented this movie called stella starring bette midler. i honestly don't remember too much about it except that there was this one part where she was dressed in a brightly-colored flashy outfit and we said, she looks just like patsy (my sister-in-law's mother)! because she acted really flamboyant like patsy did, too. come to think of it, patsy would have fit in really well at a pride parade, if only she'd been a man. but i digress. anyhow, mom said she wanted to see that movie again, so i put it on their netflix queue.

well she calls me up saying she watched stella but it is not the same movie we watched before. i say, yes it is. it had bette midler in it, didn't it? she says, yes, but she only dressed up like patsy one time, and i remember when we watched it before she dressed that way all through the movie and she went swishing around on the boardwalk. (much emphasis on the word "swishing.") i say, i remember her being dressed up once, but i don't think she dressed like that all through the movie, and i don't recall anything about swishing around on a boardwalk. i think you have this mixed up in your mind with another movie.
she says, no! because the stella we watched last night was a movie i had never seen before. she says, maybe there are two movies named stella with bette midler and this was the wrong one. can you look it up?

i pull up imdb.com, all the while telling her that there are NOT two movies named stella starring bette midler. i get a list of all the movies named stella (suprisingly there are quite a few. popular name.) and go through eliminating them based on the years they were made (the ones before 1968: too early, the ones after 1999: too late, the one in 1982: east german). we were left with only one stella starring bette midler.

so my mom says, the name of the movie we watched must not have been stella. it must have been something else. i told her, when you think of whatever it is, let me know, and i will add it to netflix.

i am not holding my breath.