This post could also be titled: Worms, it's what's for dinner.
Note to all of you: I'm feeling sorry for myself this week.
I recently bought some shelving for my dining room, and the other night I decided to hang them. To do this, it required I insert some drywall screws into the wall. The screws that came with the shelves were not the greatest quality and to get them started into the wall I drilled a starter hole. But when I was drilling, I only seemed to get through the drywall. Perplexed I wondered if I had hit a stud--I don't own a stud-finder, maybe why I'm still single, [bah-dum-bump].
It was around this time that the marinara jar dropped by to finally bring me back my house key and other assorted relationship remnants. As he was leaving, I mentioned that I was having issues hanging my shelf and he came back in to give it a try. He had the same issue, couldn't get farther than the drywall with the drill bit. He looked at the drill, gave the trigger a little pull, shook his head and then laughed at me. Then he gave me a look, a look I never wanted to get from him, he gave me a look of pity.
"You've got the drill set in the wrong direction."
I laughed, because of course that would be it. But after he left I just wanted to cry. I so wanted to be all, "see, I don't need anyone, especially you. Look what I can do myself. And I'm totally fine." And I was so not that way. And his look confirmed it.
I admit it. Later I did cry (and I like to blame PMS). I cried because I need to renovate my kitchen, and there's the renaissance girl in me that wants to do it all myself just to prove that I can, but I can't even drill a damn hole. I cried because what am I doing with my life? I cried because I'm lonely. I cried because did I even really want to hang those shelves in the first place. I cried because he looked at me like I was a helpless child. I cried because after I adjusted the drill to go the right way, the screw jacked up my wall. I cried because I have dear friends who are suffering worse pains than me and my silly little drill. I cried because I was tired. I cried just because.
I think I still have a little bit of a hangover from that party today, two days later.
11.28.2007
11.25.2007
Inconvenient and true
A few posts ago I admitted to seven little known facts about me. Well, I thought of another one today. Truth be told, I have no idea why I feel the need to share this. Maybe it's the Catholic in me hoping that if I give my confession this "sin" will be forgiven.
I like showers. Actually, I love showers. And I hate baths. Baths bore me. But showers, showers are the cat's pajamas. I could honestly stand in the shower, doing nothing, for a very very long time. And sometimes, I do. Cringe. I just like to stand there--after I've done all the duties in the shower like hair washing and conditioning, shaving, body washing--just standing there. And when my body gets used to the temperature, I make it hotter, and just stand there some more. A little voice inside my head says, "water is a precious resource and YOU ARE WASTING IT!" But the thought of getting out of the shower makes me want to cry, so defiantly I keep standing in the shower; take that little voice! And I try to justify it by saying that I typically only shower every other day, but that's not always true.
Some days, it seems as if it will take nothing less than Al Gore and his green cronies standing in my bathroom lecturing me on my wastefulness in his nasally drawl to finally turn the water off. Ooh, now the thought of that really makes me want to cry.
So I'm stuck in my shower and need to figure out why I love it so much and how I can maybe get that gratification somewhere else (like by doing my dishes... yeah, right), so I'm not such an eco-selfish-water-waster (did you just hear Al Gore's voice calling me that because I did).
PS--When I say "very very long time," we're only talking 10 minutes or so, however that's a good 7 minutes of standing around under the water.
Note to self: Admitting you have a problem is the first step in solving it...
I like showers. Actually, I love showers. And I hate baths. Baths bore me. But showers, showers are the cat's pajamas. I could honestly stand in the shower, doing nothing, for a very very long time. And sometimes, I do. Cringe. I just like to stand there--after I've done all the duties in the shower like hair washing and conditioning, shaving, body washing--just standing there. And when my body gets used to the temperature, I make it hotter, and just stand there some more. A little voice inside my head says, "water is a precious resource and YOU ARE WASTING IT!" But the thought of getting out of the shower makes me want to cry, so defiantly I keep standing in the shower; take that little voice! And I try to justify it by saying that I typically only shower every other day, but that's not always true.
Some days, it seems as if it will take nothing less than Al Gore and his green cronies standing in my bathroom lecturing me on my wastefulness in his nasally drawl to finally turn the water off. Ooh, now the thought of that really makes me want to cry.
So I'm stuck in my shower and need to figure out why I love it so much and how I can maybe get that gratification somewhere else (like by doing my dishes... yeah, right), so I'm not such an eco-selfish-water-waster (did you just hear Al Gore's voice calling me that because I did).
PS--When I say "very very long time," we're only talking 10 minutes or so, however that's a good 7 minutes of standing around under the water.
The Greatest Hits
For the record, here's what I crooned--more like belted out--to the pre-Thanksgiving revellers at the Sawmill Saloon:
1. Anyway you want it--Journey (classic, gotta get it started with some Journey... that's the way you need it...)
2. Livin' on a prayer--Bon Jovi (as my mom would say, "Bon Jovi is HHHHHHHHOT!)
3. Sweet Caroline--Neil Diamond (did you know that song is about Caroline Kennedy? I read that last week)
4. Total eclipse of the heart--Bonnie Tyler (my voice was nice and raspy for this one)
5. Oh no! I don't even remember. You had to request two songs at a time, and I can't recall what I sang here, I just remember wanting to sing my last song so this one was a filler. But I bet you I killed!
6. Like a prayer--Madonna (my swan song)
When I finally do meet the man of my dreams, I sure do hope he appreciates the finer things in life like karaoke, dive bars, and the 80s!
1. Anyway you want it--Journey (classic, gotta get it started with some Journey... that's the way you need it...)
2. Livin' on a prayer--Bon Jovi (as my mom would say, "Bon Jovi is HHHHHHHHOT!)
3. Sweet Caroline--Neil Diamond (did you know that song is about Caroline Kennedy? I read that last week)
4. Total eclipse of the heart--Bonnie Tyler (my voice was nice and raspy for this one)
5. Oh no! I don't even remember. You had to request two songs at a time, and I can't recall what I sang here, I just remember wanting to sing my last song so this one was a filler. But I bet you I killed!
6. Like a prayer--Madonna (my swan song)
When I finally do meet the man of my dreams, I sure do hope he appreciates the finer things in life like karaoke, dive bars, and the 80s!
11.21.2007
Setlist
I'm in a small town. Last year was the first time (since I was a toddler) that I've spent my Thanksgiving here. More on burgeoning traditions later, right now I've got another thing on my mind.
It turns out that the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the "biggest party day of the year" here. Seriously, ask anyone on the street and they will utter that phrase word for word. Gotta love Wisconsin.
Last year, along with my parents, brother and sister-in-law, and handful of aunts, uncles, and cousins (we have a HUGE family), we hit up the bars on Main Street--who knew that the first one we visited would be the only one. Why, you ask? One word: karaoke.
I'm what some may call a karaoke fiend. And it's not so much that I can sing all that well. Sure, I can carry a tune, but I can sing loudly and I have absolutely no qualms about making a complete fool of myself in front of the crowd.
In the course of a couple of hours last year, I developed a nice little lounge act, complete with 10 songs, plugs for local businesses, and crowd participation activities. I made a name for myself, certainly my proclamation of "My name is Little Ms. Notetaker and I flew all the way from Seattle to sing for you!" helped. I was caught up in the moment... put a mic in my hand and who knows what you're going to get.
So it's one year later and time for my repeat performance. A few hours to go and I'm stuck thinking about what I'll sing and if I can use some of the same schtick from last year.
Note to self: You can't over-engineer the karaoke experience. You know this. Just let it flow.
Gotta go find me some lemon drops to suck on. These pipes need to be in tip-top shape.
Happy Thanksgiving!
It turns out that the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the "biggest party day of the year" here. Seriously, ask anyone on the street and they will utter that phrase word for word. Gotta love Wisconsin.
Last year, along with my parents, brother and sister-in-law, and handful of aunts, uncles, and cousins (we have a HUGE family), we hit up the bars on Main Street--who knew that the first one we visited would be the only one. Why, you ask? One word: karaoke.
I'm what some may call a karaoke fiend. And it's not so much that I can sing all that well. Sure, I can carry a tune, but I can sing loudly and I have absolutely no qualms about making a complete fool of myself in front of the crowd.
In the course of a couple of hours last year, I developed a nice little lounge act, complete with 10 songs, plugs for local businesses, and crowd participation activities. I made a name for myself, certainly my proclamation of "My name is Little Ms. Notetaker and I flew all the way from Seattle to sing for you!" helped. I was caught up in the moment... put a mic in my hand and who knows what you're going to get.
So it's one year later and time for my repeat performance. A few hours to go and I'm stuck thinking about what I'll sing and if I can use some of the same schtick from last year.
Note to self: You can't over-engineer the karaoke experience. You know this. Just let it flow.
Gotta go find me some lemon drops to suck on. These pipes need to be in tip-top shape.
Happy Thanksgiving!
11.20.2007
Now boarding
Flying stresses me out. Flying during the busiest week makes me bite taste buds off my tongue.
I left home today for a Thanksgiving trip to the Midwest. Instead of begging a friend for a ride, I decided to be the conscientious little urbanite that I am and I took the bus. Since I moved away from home (the hermetically sealed WASPy suburbs), I've learned that public transportation is actually not that bad. Depending upon the bus you ride you can meet some interesting characters, but work subsidises an annual pass, so I figure why not go for free.
Although I have discussed at length my knack for procrastinating and living a just-in-time lifestyle, when it comes to getting to the airport, that is something I WILL NOT tolerate. I am always there so ridiculously early, but it makes me feel better sitting and waiting at the gate for an hour than staring at my watch counting each and every second in the security line hoping that by the time I make it to the gate, they'll still be boarding.
I left my house for a bus with plenty of time to spare (over 2.5 hours until flight time). I hopped on my local bus into downtown to catch the express to the airport. When the express pulled up 10 minutes late and overflowing with standing room only of holiday travelers, I panicked. Note to self: As trusty as public transportation can be, maybe, for my sanity, it shouldn't be a variable in the equation on the busiest travel days of the year.
The driver wouldn't let another woman and me on because he was over capacity. We contemplated sharing a cab, when another bus bound for the airport pulled up. However, this bus was not the express so it would take up to an hour to get there as opposed to the 20 minutes of the express (or even taxi). But it was free. But I would likely only be at the airport with just about an hour to spare. But it was free. Hmmm. Decisions.
The woman and I decided to try our luck with the bus. Therein began my neurotic commute to the airport. I immediately became "worst-case scenario girl," and called my aunt and my mom to let them know I probably wasn't going to make it back for Thanksgiving. Yes, I did make that call. And yes, it was a smidgen dramatic. But my logic was that if the airport bus was that packed, then the security line would be worse than the line for the Matterhorn during Disney's peak summer season--only there'd be fewer people snapping pictures and likely no french women with unshaven armpits bumping their sweaty bodies up against mine. The likelihood of me getting through that line in time was slim to none, and if I missed my flight (the last one on that airline for the day), there would be no way I could get on a flight tomorrow, I'm sure all of the flights are overbooked. So have a happy Thanksgiving and eat my share of grandma's mashed potatoes, I'm likely just going to cry my way back home. I was in such a frenetic state (calm and composed on the outside... but freaking out inside my head), that by the time we pulled up at the airport I was sweating and my heart was racing.
I full on sprinted into and through the terminal and when I summited the escalators to ticketing and security, there was nobody in the airport. Okay, gross exaggeration, but there was hardly anyone there. Where did all those people on the bus go?
I walked around the corner to security, and to my surprise, there was not a single person in line. Ou sont les dames francais? On one of the busiest travel days of the year, I walked right up to a TSA rep, in fact I had my choice of three. And, get this, I was there in enough time, that I hopped on an earlier flight--because it had several empty seats. And I even got a window seat.
Needless to say, I'll be eating my own share of grandma's mashed potatoes.
I left home today for a Thanksgiving trip to the Midwest. Instead of begging a friend for a ride, I decided to be the conscientious little urbanite that I am and I took the bus. Since I moved away from home (the hermetically sealed WASPy suburbs), I've learned that public transportation is actually not that bad. Depending upon the bus you ride you can meet some interesting characters, but work subsidises an annual pass, so I figure why not go for free.
Although I have discussed at length my knack for procrastinating and living a just-in-time lifestyle, when it comes to getting to the airport, that is something I WILL NOT tolerate. I am always there so ridiculously early, but it makes me feel better sitting and waiting at the gate for an hour than staring at my watch counting each and every second in the security line hoping that by the time I make it to the gate, they'll still be boarding.
I left my house for a bus with plenty of time to spare (over 2.5 hours until flight time). I hopped on my local bus into downtown to catch the express to the airport. When the express pulled up 10 minutes late and overflowing with standing room only of holiday travelers, I panicked. Note to self: As trusty as public transportation can be, maybe, for my sanity, it shouldn't be a variable in the equation on the busiest travel days of the year.
The driver wouldn't let another woman and me on because he was over capacity. We contemplated sharing a cab, when another bus bound for the airport pulled up. However, this bus was not the express so it would take up to an hour to get there as opposed to the 20 minutes of the express (or even taxi). But it was free. But I would likely only be at the airport with just about an hour to spare. But it was free. Hmmm. Decisions.
The woman and I decided to try our luck with the bus. Therein began my neurotic commute to the airport. I immediately became "worst-case scenario girl," and called my aunt and my mom to let them know I probably wasn't going to make it back for Thanksgiving. Yes, I did make that call. And yes, it was a smidgen dramatic. But my logic was that if the airport bus was that packed, then the security line would be worse than the line for the Matterhorn during Disney's peak summer season--only there'd be fewer people snapping pictures and likely no french women with unshaven armpits bumping their sweaty bodies up against mine. The likelihood of me getting through that line in time was slim to none, and if I missed my flight (the last one on that airline for the day), there would be no way I could get on a flight tomorrow, I'm sure all of the flights are overbooked. So have a happy Thanksgiving and eat my share of grandma's mashed potatoes, I'm likely just going to cry my way back home. I was in such a frenetic state (calm and composed on the outside... but freaking out inside my head), that by the time we pulled up at the airport I was sweating and my heart was racing.
I full on sprinted into and through the terminal and when I summited the escalators to ticketing and security, there was nobody in the airport. Okay, gross exaggeration, but there was hardly anyone there. Where did all those people on the bus go?
I walked around the corner to security, and to my surprise, there was not a single person in line. Ou sont les dames francais? On one of the busiest travel days of the year, I walked right up to a TSA rep, in fact I had my choice of three. And, get this, I was there in enough time, that I hopped on an earlier flight--because it had several empty seats. And I even got a window seat.
Needless to say, I'll be eating my own share of grandma's mashed potatoes.
11.19.2007
I think I just got dumber...
Guess what? It's the night before a trip and I haven't packed yet. And instead of hopping right on that (or on the assorted other things on my "to-do-before-you-leave" list), I have cracked a beer and plopped in front of the TV. But lucky for you I have my laptop in hand and will give you the play-by-play.
I am an infrequent TV watcher. In fact, I really only watch a couple shows regularly. I'd estimate TV viewing is less than 2 hours total each week. On principle, I don't have cable. So when I do watch TV, it's with rabbit ears--yes, Virginia, they do still make those. In this day and age of HD, LCD, and scenes so crystal clear, so crystal clear that I can't even come up with a good simile, I watch fuzzy TV with little squiggly lines that travel around the screen.
Despite the snow, and the lines, and the fact that it jumps from color to grey scale, does not stop me from getting completely sucked in. And if I happen to be somewhere where there is normal TV, or even dare I say it HDTV, boy howdy am I a goner (I'd like to give a shout out to my friends who recently got Direct TV, and the fact that it seems that I'm coming over more often for "dinner" is not at all related to exponential television viewing opportunities that have opened up before me). I will seriously watch anything, mouth agape, brain operating on negative mach speed, completely immersed.
Tonight it was the tail end of Inside Edition (Heather Mills was having a public breakdown), Final Jeopardy (What is smoking gun?), and How I Met Your Mother (okay, that's a guilty pleasure).
And now I'm at the end of my TV viewing/drooling while my brain goes numb time. Time to pack.
Note to self: Seriously, turn the TV off... wipe up the drool and close your mouth while you're at it.
I am an infrequent TV watcher. In fact, I really only watch a couple shows regularly. I'd estimate TV viewing is less than 2 hours total each week. On principle, I don't have cable. So when I do watch TV, it's with rabbit ears--yes, Virginia, they do still make those. In this day and age of HD, LCD, and scenes so crystal clear, so crystal clear that I can't even come up with a good simile, I watch fuzzy TV with little squiggly lines that travel around the screen.
Despite the snow, and the lines, and the fact that it jumps from color to grey scale, does not stop me from getting completely sucked in. And if I happen to be somewhere where there is normal TV, or even dare I say it HDTV, boy howdy am I a goner (I'd like to give a shout out to my friends who recently got Direct TV, and the fact that it seems that I'm coming over more often for "dinner" is not at all related to exponential television viewing opportunities that have opened up before me). I will seriously watch anything, mouth agape, brain operating on negative mach speed, completely immersed.
Tonight it was the tail end of Inside Edition (Heather Mills was having a public breakdown), Final Jeopardy (What is smoking gun?), and How I Met Your Mother (okay, that's a guilty pleasure).
And now I'm at the end of my TV viewing/drooling while my brain goes numb time. Time to pack.
Note to self: Seriously, turn the TV off... wipe up the drool and close your mouth while you're at it.
11.16.2007
Crud. I have to succumb.
Note to self: When in Rome...
So I know that there's this game of blog tag out there, and I've been officially tagged (secretly, I wanted to be tagged a good year before I started blogging. Oh, I'm such a nerd).
My VBFF from the second grade, the Iris Girl, got me. So here are seven little known facts about me:
1. My favorite smell is an old school hardware store. An Ace or True Value, you know the ones in smaller towns that also sell cards and random items. There's something about the smell in there (I usually am completely in it around the screws and nails section) that I just love.
2. When I was about 10 years old, I went in tears to my aunt and mother letting them know I had said the "c" word. Both of them were amazed that I knew what that word was. Clearly, they were thinking something else, because as I sobbed to them that I had said c-r-a-p to my brother they just laughed (the quote that is often recited back to me is, "I try so hard to be good--deep hyperventilating breath--but he just makes it so hard, mama."). My mom knew then and there that, she was very lucky to have such an innocent child.
3. It is practically impossible for me to leave my house in the morning without my bed made. I usually make it the second I hop out of it... accent pillows and all.
4. Before moving to Seattle, I had only slept in a tent two times in my life... and both times were in the backyard, and neither time did I make it through the night. I've become a little bit tougher and outdoorsy in my more advanced age.
5. When I'm stressed out, I bite taste buds off my tongue. I know this is gross. And I'm not sure why I do this, but have been doing it since I can remember. And I don't know if anyone knows this about me.
6. When I was younger I had imaginary friends. They were brother and sister and their names were C00koo and Baba. They were stick figures and they were fantastic. I could draw you pictures of what they looked like. When I started going to school (it was preschool at a farm, so cool!), and started to make real friends, I realized I didn't need them anymore. As a four-year old one day, I walked to the front door, opened it and closed it. My mom asked what I was doing and I told her that Cookoo and Baba had to go home. She said something to the effect that they would be back tomorrow, and I told her no. They had to go home for good. Their mom needed them there. Isn't the mind of little kids fascinating?
7. I have a secret desire to be on stage. Deep down, my secret career fantasy would be to be famous on Saturday Night Live (I so want to be Tina Fey). And in the spirit of seizing the day and not delaying life... there are some fun future posts that point this way.
So now I'm supposed to tag other people to participate in this share-o-rama. But I don't know that I know that many bloggers. So, if you blog, and you are reading this, and you have not yet been tagged, consider it done. Tell us seven interesting facts about yourself.
So I know that there's this game of blog tag out there, and I've been officially tagged (secretly, I wanted to be tagged a good year before I started blogging. Oh, I'm such a nerd).
My VBFF from the second grade, the Iris Girl, got me. So here are seven little known facts about me:
1. My favorite smell is an old school hardware store. An Ace or True Value, you know the ones in smaller towns that also sell cards and random items. There's something about the smell in there (I usually am completely in it around the screws and nails section) that I just love.
2. When I was about 10 years old, I went in tears to my aunt and mother letting them know I had said the "c" word. Both of them were amazed that I knew what that word was. Clearly, they were thinking something else, because as I sobbed to them that I had said c-r-a-p to my brother they just laughed (the quote that is often recited back to me is, "I try so hard to be good--deep hyperventilating breath--but he just makes it so hard, mama."). My mom knew then and there that, she was very lucky to have such an innocent child.
3. It is practically impossible for me to leave my house in the morning without my bed made. I usually make it the second I hop out of it... accent pillows and all.
4. Before moving to Seattle, I had only slept in a tent two times in my life... and both times were in the backyard, and neither time did I make it through the night. I've become a little bit tougher and outdoorsy in my more advanced age.
5. When I'm stressed out, I bite taste buds off my tongue. I know this is gross. And I'm not sure why I do this, but have been doing it since I can remember. And I don't know if anyone knows this about me.
6. When I was younger I had imaginary friends. They were brother and sister and their names were C00koo and Baba. They were stick figures and they were fantastic. I could draw you pictures of what they looked like. When I started going to school (it was preschool at a farm, so cool!), and started to make real friends, I realized I didn't need them anymore. As a four-year old one day, I walked to the front door, opened it and closed it. My mom asked what I was doing and I told her that Cookoo and Baba had to go home. She said something to the effect that they would be back tomorrow, and I told her no. They had to go home for good. Their mom needed them there. Isn't the mind of little kids fascinating?
7. I have a secret desire to be on stage. Deep down, my secret career fantasy would be to be famous on Saturday Night Live (I so want to be Tina Fey). And in the spirit of seizing the day and not delaying life... there are some fun future posts that point this way.
So now I'm supposed to tag other people to participate in this share-o-rama. But I don't know that I know that many bloggers. So, if you blog, and you are reading this, and you have not yet been tagged, consider it done. Tell us seven interesting facts about yourself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)