Archive for July 25, 2007

One, please.

July 25, 2007

Where can I purchase a baby? I haven’t been to Target in a couple years; do they sell them there? How much will a top-of-the-line baby set me back? Fifty bucks? A hundred? I’m out of touch. Should I check Consumer Reports?

***

Something spooky is happening to me. Perhaps my female peers can relate. It started when I turned 26, then let up for a while, and has now snuck back up and has smacked me upside the head. My body wants a baby. That sounds weird, but it’s true. I don’t want one in my mind, logically, because I’ve got goals and whatnot… but… this is disturbing, but true: I’m admitting something kind of embarrassing here, so just… just… don’t…. whatever. I’m going to tell you, Internet. I recently glanced at match.com, simply because my friend was doing it and I wanted to just see what kind of gentlemen are actually on it. And I’m not saying I’m embarrassed because it’s something one should be embarrassed about, because by all means, it’s hard to meet people, especially in big cities, so by all means, you know, knock yourself out. But the embarrassing part is coming. First you must know that on match.com you can browse other people’s profiles for free and don’t have to sign up unless you want to contact one of them. So I was freely browsing, and I came upon this one profile with this one picture… and the picture was of a guy who looked very cute in this particular picture, holding in a very cute way the cutest damn baby the internet has seen (not including any of you who read this and have babies, because of course your baby is the cutest). And I must specify that the baby is the dude’s neice, not his daughter. But I mean, the combination of the cute boy and the cute baby made my ovaries shriek and jump up and down with excitement, like 13-year-olds at a slumber party. I very nearly joined match.com just to contact this boy with this baby, but then logic took over and I realized he doesn’t come with the baby; I believe she is sold separately. Boy, did he know what he was doing when he set up his profile. If ever there were a way to catch the interest of a girl in her mid-late 20s, that’s how. For girls our age, the baby trumps the puppy as girl-magnet material any day, as long as the baby doesn’t actually belong to the boy.

In any case, can I get a set of those? The boy and the baby? It’s not even that I logically want one; I’m very happy being single and frankly have no time whatsoever for dating anyway, much less raising an actual tiny human, but if I could just maybe order a set online, just to appease the ovaries, I could maybe focus on more urgent and pressing matters, like you know, my career and reading Harry Potter 7.

Shady Business

July 16, 2007

I need some window coverings, STAT, you guys. I’ve recently moved into a new bedroom, and whilst before I liked to complain that my room was a cave, now I long for its cool shadyness (See photo of my then-underappreciated shady room below in Appendix A). My new room has four windows arranged in such a way that there is at all times of the day direct sunlight on my bed. Naps must be taken squinched up in the crack between the bed and wall, as that is the only shady section. I have to get up butt-ass early even on weekends now because the temperature shoots up 15 degrees at 9:00 and keeps rising as the sun ascends. At night it’s not much better, because there’s a streetlight outside that shines directly in my eyes unless I build my blankets into a sort of shield between it and my face and hold very still until I fall asleep, so as not to disturb the shield.

You may think I’m making too a big deal out of this, but alas, I am not the only victim of this cruel fate. Please refer to Appendix B and note how the sun is burning the retinas of my little bear friend Chocolate Chip. The only way she can express herself is through her eyes — I mean, cha, of course she can’t talk, you guys, she is a bear, and bears do not speak to humans. But now her retinas have been temporarily burned out, and she is blind and can no longer communicate to me with her eyes. Also, she has a tail that squeaks to express both joy and outrage, usually when someone squishes her with his elbow, ahem. However, C.Chip is old in stuffed bear years. I adopted her when I was 2, and she was probably born in the factory before that, so she really is no spring chicken. Lately, due to age, her tail squeaker has taken to getting lost up in her body and I have to squeeze her and squeeze her to work it back down into her tail, and right now it’s up in her polyester fiberfill somewhere and she has no way to get any kind of point across, which must be very frustrating for her.

This is a long way of telling you that people, I need some curtains. I know, I know, I should just get some, but when do y’all have time for all this stuff?? Seriously, what do you guys do with your time? I work 40 hours a week, have classes, practices, and meetings, try to play instruments, see my friends once in a while, do the occasional load of laundry, get some exercise, and that leaves time for very little else. The answer here is clear: I obviously need to book a sweet acting gig so I’ll only have one job and not a thousand. Or if anyone knows of a fun part-time job that will pay me a lot, by all means, give me a shout.

Chocolate Chip and I will both give you hugs to thank you. (You’ll actually have to be the one to hug her; her stubby arms make it a little difficult to initiate, and plus, she won’t be able to see where you are).

Appendix A: In which Chocolate Chip relaxes in my old room and does not get her retinas burned out
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Appendix B: In which Chocolate Chip becomes temporarily blind

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Appendix C: In which Chocolate Chip becomes blind from another angle

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Happy Birthday, Fourth of July!

July 5, 2007

I think it was my friend Missy who told me this story. 4th of July 2004, she was at a party on a boat, and there was a girl there who wasn’t from around these here parts and didn’t speak the best English and didn’t always quite get what was going on, but always pretended she did. At the pinnacle of the fireworks display, right at the big finale, in a fit of ecstatic love for her new country, she gleefully shouted, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FOURTH OF JULY!”

You gotta love that.

I celebrated America’s independence today by eating McDonald’s food and drinking a Coca-Cola. I was at work, and there were only two of us there, because who in their right mind wants to celebrate our independence from Britain by sending out press releases? (answer: Canadians). Point being, it was really slow and there were only two of us, and I was working a later shift but had eaten lunch really early, and I suddenly became starving. The cafe downstairs was closed for the holiday, and the next closest place was the Mickey-D’s across the street. And let me just tell you something right here and now. I have a pretty serious weakness for Chicken McNuggets. They are so, so good. And please don’t get me started on the sweet & sour sauce, because that sauce? is the nectar of the gods.

Now, I realize McDonald’s is an evil, wicked corporation who does terrible things to people, animals, insects, small businesses, the earth, your health, clowns, inanimate objects, and all that is good and right and holy in the world. But damn, those McNuggets are good. I don’t really know the extent of McD’s sins, and I’m kind of doing the thing where I close my eyes and hold my hands over my ears and hum so I don’t have to face facts, because I would probably be forced to boycot them if I knew. I have a bit of a boycotting problem as it is. I love a good boycot. I haven’t been to Target in over two years simply because they have an unfair return policy and surly store managers. And just today for the first time I tried this new organic deodorant because 1. aluminum is bad for you and 2. I try not to buy cosmetics that are tested on aminals (yes, please pronounce that a-mi-nals, just for fun. Just humor me). The deodorant worked for a good three hours while I sat still at my desk in my air-conditioned office, and frankly I was amazed and waaaay too optimistic about the whole thing. I kept smelling myself and thinking, “Wow, it’s actually working! I smell nothing but the intoxicating aroma of lemon and clary sage. Amazing!” but the minute I moved… like, turned my head to the side or stapled something, that was just too much to ask, and it gave out, and my armpits became gummy for the rest of the day, and I kept having to re-apply (yes, I brought it to work in anticipation of this very problem) until when I raised my arms they didn’t want to raise right at first because the deodorant was acting as a kind of glue, sticking my arms to my sides. (As a side note, tonight I went to a party, and the soap they had in the bathroom was the exact same thing as my new deodorant — Nature’s Gate organic lemon and clary sage. Too bad that as of today, I now associate that smell with that of failing deodorant. mmmm).

So anyway, my point is, I have to pick my battles, and if I’m willing to walk around with gummy armpits so as to avoid causing dead bunnies, then surely I can be excused from the occasional 10 pack of McNuggets. Just sayin’.

Tonight I left work at 8:30 and took freeways to the party. During the whole drive I was surrounded with fireworks in every direction. It made me laugh and smile and feel carefree, and well… patriotic. Whatever people’s reason for celebrating, they were — and it made me feel kind of… un-lonely, like I belonged, like there was this sense of unity — and it reminded me how lucky I am to live here. This country is home, and it’s a good place to be. At a time when I’m not proud of things America is doing, and in many circles patriotism is soooo uncool, I will say that I am proud of where we came from, what we’ve acheived, and most importantly, I’m proud to live in a place where I can be free to go out and celebrate the things I do love about America, and speak out about the things I don’t. In many countries, I wouldn’t even be allowed to have this blog without worrying about getting in trouble for things I say. (As it is, all I have to worry about is looking like a jackass and embarrassing myself). And in some countries I would have to have gotten married by now, and my old, gross husband, to whom my father would have sold me for a cow and a dozen eggs, would tell me to keep my mouth shut and know my place. Or I might not even know how to read or write because I wasn’t allowed to go to school. As a woman, and as a woman in my twenties who is able to be single and free and pursue my dreams, I am so thankful I was born here instead of so many places I could have been born. So thankful I could kiss the ground beneath my feet and give America a big, fat hug.

Happy Birthday indeed, Fourth of July. Happy Birthday indeed.