BaddMinton

I went back into the bathroom after typing that blentry and didn’t see a single spider. Woke up in the morning, no suspicious bites anywhere. Phew! I thought I was home free. Until last night, when I’d just gotten out of the shower and was leaning over with my hair upside down while I dried off, and saw a baby spider dangling off my hair. Yes, repelling down his web, which was attached to my hair.

The saga continues.

How many spiders do you reckon come in a litter? A litter? Is that the correct term? or a batch, maybe? Like, if a mommy spider lays eggs, how many baby spiders generally do you think will be in that batch?

I ask because, well, I was about to wash my face just now and I happened to look up and see a teeny, tiny adorable spider dangling from the ceiling. And look, there was another one, hanging beside it! How cute! I thought. They’re dangling together and it looks like they’re about to kiss each other. Isn’t that sweet? Boy, are they tiny. Oh, look… there’s another one on the wall… and two more up higher… and three or four more on the ceiling… Wait a minute…

I don’t usually kill spiders, even when they’re in my room, unless they’re all chunky and gross and all up in my grill & stuff. We kind of have a live and let live policy, spiders and me. I like them because they kill other bugs, and I don’t really feel threatened by them unless they’re like huge with colorful patterns on their backs or something. Sometimes I put them outside — The daddy longlegs I used to just grab by a leg and hang them out the window until they latched onto the window box or a tree, but then one time I accidentally pulled off the leg and felt bad. If they’re really in my way (like in my shower when I’m about to get in), I try to get them to crawl onto a piece of paper, then put them outside. If they’re not in my way, we both just give each other a respectful nod and go about our business.

However: Sorry dudes, but I can’t have an entire army legion of spiders living in my bathroom. While I hold nothing against them, I can’t say I relish the idea of having four or five of them trapezing over my head while I brush my teeth.

So this is why I killed as many as I could reach just now, and this is why I probably should figure out how many more I will likely have to contend with. OK, here goes nothing:

***

OK! So… bad news! After Googling “How many spiders in a litter” and “How many spiders in a batch,” and coming up empty, I tried the simple and straightforward “spider eggs,” and found out from Britannica.com that “Female spiders produce either one egg sac containing several to a thousand eggs or several egg sacs each with successively fewer eggs.” I’m sorry. Did you guys see the word “thousand,” because I’m pretty sure I just read something that said there could be A THOUSAND BABY SPIDERS LIVING IN MY BATHROOM. I’m so scared to go back in there right now and see swarms of tiny spiders gallavanting around, using up all the toilet paper, taking long showers, using my toothbrush, and generally acting like they own the place. Y’all, what am I going to do? First of all, how am I going to wash my face tonight, and secondly, what if I go to sleep and they run out and attack me in the night? Now I’m feeling all itchy and am pretty sure they’re biting me right now as I’m typing this!

Aaaaahhhhhh!

To be continued… if I live through the night!

It’s dusk in Sayulita

Night one of our adventure

The air is warm, the ocean warmer

Sun sets on one side, Full moon rises on the other

and we are in between

Reflections on the water like yellow glass

Dinner has settled

Drinks have gone to our heads

We smile and spin, drowning in the romance

and holy mother shit, are those dogs humping our stuff?

Those dogs are humping our stuff!

Oh, disgusting!

Get away! Shoo! Go!

Yeah, that’s right.
Sheesh.

Back in the water. Ahhhhh.

Lean head back and go under

Moonlight glimmers overhead

Reflections so bright we’re floating in mirrors

We drift away into nothing and everything

Warm breeze blows

So calm we can taste it

And mother fucker, they are at it again!

Fuck this shit, I’m going inside.

Remember the mystery of the never-empty office toilet paper? I walked by the janitor’s cart just now and saw a pile of take-home rolls, as pretty as you please! Oh, sweet relief! They’re not throwing away the toilet paper. Finally, for the first time since Tuesday, August 14th, 2007, I can get a good night’s sleep!

The new soap in the bathroom at work smells like bad piña coladas, like the kind made with malibu rum and a pre-made mix. Incidentally, I’ve often thought bad piña coladas taste like soap.

Coincidence?

I think so.

Ugh, I am so horrible at updating my blog! There was a time when I had free time. That time is past. When I started this blog almost three years ago, it was my only creative outlet, and I needed it to stay sane. The good news is, I’m doing lots of creative things that make me happy, and my sanity no longer depends on this blog. The bad news is, my new creative things are taking up so much time that blogging (and laundry and bill-paying) is now whistling happily away on the back burner. I know there will be a point when I need to come back to it, though, so I’m thankful that it’s still here for me.

That said, it’s high time for a blentry, and I always find that an easy way to start back after a long hiatus is always a Loving and Hating. So here goes!

I am loving:

Spring! It’s always my favorite, and that will never change. On Monday I was suuuper sleepy, and at lunch I walked to a nearby park, spread out my straw beach mat, and fell immediately into a deep sleep. Within seconds I was twitching, and a half hour later I woke up with a start, cheek in a puddle of drool (you’re welcome), the blazing sun cooking me like a tender rotisserie chicken. Ohhhh, I will never stop appreciating sunshine and warm weather.

I am hating:

That some jackball scratched my Blubaru and didn’t leave a note. My “new” car now has 3 dings, a huge dent, and a scrape. Ahhh, L.A.

Loving:

That I did my taxes early(ish) this year. I’m so proud of myself! I got someone to do them for me, and we itemized! New fun for me. This is in sharp contrast to last year, the year before, and every year before that, when I have waited until the very last possible minute.

Hating:

My short attention span. What gives? I can’t seem to sit through a movie or do any one thing for more than an hour. I have this constant frenetic energy while somehow also being perpetually exhausted. Have I always been like this?

Loving:

My current set of roommates. I miss Danielle a lot, but my old friend Lauren moved in, and we found a great guy on Craigslist named Robb, and he’s going to be bringing his dog in a couple months. I’ll have a furry friend at home that I don’t have to take care of! Lucky me!

Also Loving:

My bike! I love riding around to run errands. I also love looking at it, because it is stunningly beautiful.

Also Loving:

The neighborhood I live in. Walking on the long streets with big trees never fails to restore balance for me. I love how if you stand on the sidewalk and look in one direction or the other, the sidewalk stretches like a long, long triangle until it reaches a point and you can’t see it anymore. There’s something about that view that speaks directly to my soul, and I know that if I ever leave this place, it’s an image I’ll have forever (and not just because I’ve photographed it a million times).

Finally, loving:

Pudding! Oh, I love pudding so much!

OK, y’all, riddle me this:

We got a bunch of these paper plates at work, and I looked at them and for a second was like, “Oh, good — recycled!”

Then I took a closer look…

Those little rats! Right? They’re trying to fool old people and people who don’t read things carefully by pretending to be environmentally friendly! #1, They call themselves “Green Label,” using a term traditionally used for earth-friendly merchandise. And even more ridiculous is this piece of BS: “Made from 100% paper; a renewable natural resource.” Well, what the hell else would paper plates be made of? Kittens?? And do they think we’re so dumb that we think trees are just totally renewable; that we can just chop them down willy nilly and re-plant them and immediatly have an insta-forest?

Those deceitful little rascals! Who are they trying to kid with this thing?! Me, obviously. Well, nice try, buttheads. I’m hip to your jive.

Y’all, this is so trippy. I’m pretty sure my future self accidentally called my present self from a plane at LAX. I got this voicemail — the kind where someone’s phone accidentally dials you so there’s just muffled talking for a minute or two, and I swear to you I hear myself talking to someone… but it couldn’t be present or recent past-self me, because they’re (I’m) clearly in an airplane, and I hear the person (MYSELF) say something about LAX, and I haven’t flown since December. It’s so so trippy, you guys. I figure it must be someone I know if their phone accidentally called me, but my only friend who’s flown recently is my roommate, who sounds nothing like me, and plus I don’t recognize the number. This girl (ME) has my exact voice and a slight, subtle North Carolina accent, JUST LIKE ME. Obviously there are only two logical conclusions here:

1. I called myself from the future.

2. I called myself from an alternate universe in which I am a fabulous jetsetter.

If only I had picked up that call and could have gotten my attention! I would have asked myself so many questions about the future (provided conclusion 1 is the one we’re going with). For example, I could have asked myself if I’ve met the man of my dreams, if I’ve achieved a fulfilling career, and most importantly if I’ve managed to get rid of the adult acne on my forehead.

Anyway, guys, this one has me stumped. The only thing we really know for sure is that phones in the future are freaking awesome. I mean, the iPhone has a lot of functions, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t dial back in time.

I just did the dumbest thing. I was pulling into the parking garage at work and putting my window down so I could scan my keycard, and I was concentrating on the window, because there’s a blob of bird doodoo on the top part, and I didn’t want to put it all the way down and get the doodoo all over the window and between the door panels, which I already did once, and as I was being super careful about that, I forgot that the car was also moving forward, and BAM! I hit the thing on the side of the thing where I was pulling in, and put a big fat dent in the front of my new car. I feel like such an idiot. I’m glad this happened today and not tomorrow, because I can chalk it up to being part of 2007, and I’m moving on to a much smarter 2008, a year in which I will not run my car into anything out of sheer stupidity.

I went to North Carolina for Christmas, and the minute I got there I was immediately slapped in the face with the most intense culture shock I’ve experienced in my entire life. My mom, grandma, and my mom’s elderly friend all came to Charlotte to pick me up, and the friend drove no faster than 55mph for the entire 2-hour ride home. Then the minute we arrived in my home town, we stopped at the J&S Cafeteria for dinner (because that’s what old people there do), and I could not believe my eyes and ears. Between the strangers all talking to each other and us, the Christmas sweatshirts, and the John Deere pocketbook of the girl in front of us in line, I felt like an alien in another universe. I couldn’t help but think, what if a very large giant took that J&S Cafeteria and lifted it up and plopped it down in LA? How different would the scene look? Everyone would be facing forward, not speaking to anyone else, the food would cost ten times more, and the jeans and flannel shirts would be replaced with Ugs and Juicy sweats. Maybe it would even become a kitchy, trendy place where hipsters would eat “ironically.”

Last night I flew back to LA, and for the first time felt disgruntled with the lack of friendliness of folks here. I was on the shuttle coming from the airport wearing my seat belt (buckle up for safety!) and a woman couldn’t get to the seat behind me, and instead of saying, “Excuse me, can you move your seat belt please?” she just stood there all hunched over and pinch-faced, kind of staring/glaring at me. When I noticed, I was clearly still in NC mode and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” and instead of saying, “Oh, that’s okay!” and then striking up a conversation about Christmas, traveling, and her uncle’s homegrown honey, like any respectable Carolinian would have, she didn’t say a cotton-pickin’ word! Not one word. I’ve been here for five years and have suddenly just realized that people in Los Angeles are unfriendly.

On the upside, my sister gave me a t-shirt that says, “You mess with this Carolina girl, you will be messin’ with the whole trailer park!”

I now consider them warned.

You all know the Christmas Newsletter. Some people love them, some hate them. Personally, I like receiving them because I like to know what my friends are up to, and I’ll be the first to agree that it’s easier to share news with everyone all at once rather than one at a time (see also: this blog). Frankly I’d rather receive the news than not receive it, and if it comes in the form of a newsletter, so be it. Have you ever noticed, though, that the news is decidedly one-sided? It’s only the good news, which is why some people call it a “brag letter.” It makes sense, because nobody wants to send out a Debbie Downer Christmas letter full of depressing news, but still… I’ve decided that when I snag myself a husband and a coupla kids, and a newsletter seems the appropriate thing to do, I am going to make it as candid as possible. I’ll give the bad news right up there with the good. Just for funsies.

An example, for your reading pleasure:

Dear Friends and Family,

Happy Holidays! We hope the season brings you much joy.

We’ve been married now for 20-some-odd years, and frankly that’s 20-some-odd too many, if you ask us. This year has been very eventful for us. From January through March, Frank had yet another in a string of affairs with his co-workers. But don’t worry, he got his just desserts. He got fired, leaving the family in financial ruin. Marcy’s shopping addiction and refusal to get a job of her own hasn’t helped. But we’ll pull through; we always do. Whether that means going on welfare, declaring bankruptcy, or simply mooching off friends and loved ones, we always find a way. (We are enclosing a self-addressed, stamped envelope in case you’re feeling generous. Charity is always welcome this time of year and always).

Denise is fifteen now; can you believe it? My, how the years have flown. In May, she got knocked up by her 18-year-old boyfriend and is now living in a convent for teenage unwed mothers. She keeps in touch, though, with the occasional profanity-ridden phone call and/or request for money.

Speaking of money, Jack hit up another convenience store in August, and his parole officer was none-too happy. He’s back in prison for five to ten, but on the bright side, he’s become quite the little license plate maker.

With both kids out of the house, we’ve got a little bit of the empty nest sysndrome, as I’m sure many of you can sympathize. We stay busy, though, so there’s not much time to be gloomy — between Frank trying every miracle hair-growth “cure” on the market and Marcy trying in vain to control her chronic athlete’s foot, we really haven’t any time to complain!

Other than that, we’ve just been keeping busy overeating and chain smoking! So here’s to a joyous holiday season to you and yours, and a New Year as blessed as ours will surely be.

Love,

Frank, Marcy, Jack, Denise, Scruffy and Buttons

P.S. After we typed this letter, Scruffy died of mange and Buttons was hit by a car. Happy Holidays.

The Christmas Spirit has siezed me in a firm grip. I am nearly maniacal with love and cheer. Right now I’m at work, and it’s blissfully slow, and there are various treats from Harry & David set out on a table, and I got a big, fat pear and am waiting impatiently for it to ripen, because it smells so good I could simply die. As if that is not enough, they’re giving free chair massages in the health club downstairs, and I just got one, and if you know me at all you will know that I am a complete massage whore (for evidence please refer to this blentry) and will know how happy this makes me. This morning I received two photo Christmas cards and a newsletter from friends and family, and my co-worker is playing Christmas music. I, of course, have been listening to two Christmas CDs over and over in my car for the last two weeks. I can’t get enough! I am *this close* to hand-sewing an elf costume and setting up a nativity scene in the yard. Don’t ask me why it’s got me so much this year. Maybe it’s all the Christmas parties I’ve been attending; Maybe it’s that my white Christmas tree (pictured below) looks awesome for the first time thanks to some solid-red lights my mom sent; Maybe it’s because I’m going home to North Carolina for the first time in three Christmases. MaYbe it’s all of these things. I don’t know — but I’m not complaining.

Merry Christmas!

Wow! I beat myself at my own game. I wrote this when I was packing for Mexico (a.k.a. happier times) and never published it. Please somebody give me a (large monetary) prize for winning the championship of starting things and not finishing them:

***

If there’s one thing I do well; maybe better than anyone I know, it’s procrastinate. The very best time to blog is when I should be doing something else; and the very best thing to put off doing is packing for a vacation.

I’ve been asking around to find out how long it takes my friends to pack for the average 5-day trip, and the answers some people give me make my jaw hit the floor. 1 hour? 45 minutes? 30 minutes? 20 minutes??? It takes me hours! And now I think I may know why…

My packing tonight has gone as follows:

5:30 pm: return home from work. Decide to start packing immediately and get it out of the way. Go get a First Aid kit out of the linen closet and become highly fascinated with it, doing a thorough inventory of what’s inside and reading all of the instructions on how and when to use each item. Toss it in suitcase. Get distracted, amble around aimlessly, and chat with roommate about her date last night.

6:26 pm: Decide I’m going to buckle down and pack and be done by 7:26 on the dot. Have several productive minutes of pouring face wash and moisturizer into smaller bottles. Get some sunscreen from beach bag and toss bottle on bathroom floor, thinking I should wipe the sand off. Remember I need a new camera battery. Store closes at 7, and it is now 6:40, so I go to the camera store and get a battery.

7:05-ish: Return home and make no effort whatsoever to pack. Test out camera battery, notice there are pictures I need to upload; upload pictures and look at all of them on computer. Start surfing web. Hit up MySpace.

7:20-ish: Decide now would be an ideal time to write a blentry.

And here we are.

***

I never finished this because I guess I eventually decided to finish packing. I did, after all, fill my suitcase with stuff and take it to Mexico and have a lovely vacation, so I must consider the evening at least a moderate success. And I can tell you with certainty that if you told me you had a plane ticket for me to go just about anywhere, I’d be home, packed, and back to the airport within the hour.

The other day for lunch, I walked over to the cafe at the building next door. Since it was a blustery 60 degrees outside, everyone who usually sits outside was sitting inside, and there weren’t too many available tables. I sat down at a 4-person table, propped up my little number on the edge of the table, and proceeded to wait for the dude to bring my soup. A minute later, a woman comes by and asks if she can sit down. Which I could completely understand if there were no other empty tables, but by then 2 more had been cleared, so I’m really not sure why she wanted to sit with me. She sat diagonal from me, and we exchanged an awkward glance/smile, then kind of both fidgeted around for a second trying to look occupied. I hadn’t brought a book, so I thought, OK, I’ll just write something in my moleskine. So I fished around in my purse for a pen… and fished… and fished… and no pen. So all I could do was hold my stone-age cell phone and poke at the buttons hoping it looked like I was doing something. It was soooooo awkward, you guys. And out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was having the exact same problem. I kid you not, she literally sat there and just read a company memo over and over, sometimes folding it in half and then unfolding it, and a couple times turning it over in case any additional text had appeared on the back.

Y’all.

So the waiter brings my soup, and it’s great, because we have something to talk about!

“That looks good.”

“Yes, it does. (sniff, sniff). It smells good, too.” (Why did I just smell it? I am such a dork). What did you order?”

“Pizza.”

“Oh,… that sounds good.”

…

(Then about a thousand minutes go by in silence while I shovel soup into my mouth as quickly as possible and she reads the memo again)

…

“Wow, your pizza is taking a long time. I hope they didn’t forget about you.”

“Yeah, I hope not.”

…

(A billion minutes of uncomfortable silence and slurpy soup sounds)
…

(Guy brings pizza)

…

“Oh, that looks good.”

“Oh, yeah.”

…

(silence)

…

“Do you work in this building?”

“No, that one.”

(pause)

(pause)

(pause)

“Do you?”

“Yes, I work in this one.”

(pause)

“The food over there is terrible.”

“Yes, I’m glad we’ve got this place downstairs here.”

“Yeah, the food is always good here.”

“yeah.”

(years of silence)
(finally done with soup)

“Enjoy your lunch!”

“OK.”

(I run for freedom and don’t look back)

It’s officially Autumn, and in LA it’s gloomy and cold (60 degrees), and overnight I went from riding my bike everywhere and wanting to hike every day to having one desire in life: to sit in the house in sweatpants eating carbohydrates. Why, as a human, and in Southern California, do I instinctively want to hibernate? Were my ancestors bears? Maybe this is why when I asked my grandmother where her side of the family had originated she said she didn’t know. And here I took my family’s ignorance of our heritage to mean we’d been in America for hundreds of years; I never once considered my great-great-great grandfather may have caught fish with his hands and gotten his head stuck in beehives. Well, you learn something new every day.