BaddMinton

So… The toilet paper at work never runs out. This is a good thing on one level, for obvious reasons… but I can’t help wondering what happens to the almost-empty rolls. Do they throw them away? That would be mighty wasteful. Or do the janitors take them home to their families? Are there a bunch of cute little Latino kids using scratchy office toilet paper that is never fuller than 1/8 of a roll? I wonder these things.

I tried to confirm my theory by peeking into the janitor’s cart when I walked by just now, but I saw no evidence of auxiliary TP stashed in any sort of “take home” pile.

Your theories are welcome.

When you find yourself wearing one white sock with lace around the ankle and one multicolored Curious George sock, it is time to do laundry.

Last night at one a.m. I awoke with a jolt. Sat up straight in bed with a sudden inhalation of breath. There was some sort of loud noise and sense of movement, and I thought someone had broken into my house and was right outside my room. I remember thinking, “Should I scream? Would that help anything?” All this flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second, and then I noticed the chair near my bed was shaking. Ah! An earthquake. (It’s good to know that if there were someone on the way to hack me to pieces I’d just sit there frozen and confused — “huuh? Oh, you’re going to kill me? Ohhh, ok…)

I usually sleep through earthquakes, but I had only been asleep about 20 minutes, so I guess I woke more easily. The two others I have felt were just one quick jolt, but this one was just like the movies, where stuff goes on shaking for a while. Mind you, in my sleepy fog it seemed like forever, but I’m sure it was only a few seconds.

I was thinking about it today, and this, I realize, is completely backwards and a terrible way to think… but… I kind of wished I could live through a real natural disaster just so I could relax about some things. Does that make sense? You always hear people talking about their near-death experiences, and they say the whole thing has made them focus on what’s important, and suddenly the things that used to stress them out don’t seem like such a big deal anymore. They’re just so happy and thankful to be alive, they just want to enjoy their family and friends, and now they wake up every day with a smile on their face.

I think in general I maintain a pretty firm grasp on the big picture. I know I’m incredibly blessed in so many ways, and overall my life is amazing. And I also know that a big part of life and happiness is having goals to work toward — it’s the way humans are designed. So I know that no matter what I achieve, I will always want something more. It’s good, but it can also be exhausting.

In conclusion, God, if you read my blog, I am not asking for a natural disaster to smite me or my loved ones — especially not my loved ones! I’m just maybe going to try to pretend I’ve been through one. Yeah, I’m going to try that. I’m going to try to get up every morning and just be glad I’m here, breathing in and out.

I have a feeling it will be good.

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.

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

Appendix B: In which Chocolate Chip becomes temporarily blind

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

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.

Yesterday I impulsively put down a deposit for my bike! eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I’m already second-guessing myself, because this weekend I also found the keyboard I wanted, and I had decided to get it and wait on the bike. But then I saw someone with the bike, and he went on and on about how it’s the best bike he’s ever ridden, and it’s so fast and great and wonderful. So I went to the store where he got it, just thinking I’d see how much it was, and it was less than I thought it would be, but still kind of a lot, but also the guy in the shop was kind of cute, so what was I supposed to do, not get the bike? But now I really need the keyboard for a project I’m involved in, so now I’m like, oh man, do I just get it, too? Is that crazy? Should I be practical? When I’m retiring and have no savings and have to live in a cardboard box instead of my idealistic retirement home, my future self is going to shake my fist at my present, careless self, and will be like, “Why, why, young Marcy, did you get that expensive bicycle instead of marching down to the bank and investing that money? You are soooo stuuuuupid.” But I mean, the bike is so awesome that I’ll probably still have it when I’m old, so at least I’ll be a homeless crazy old lady on a badass bike… right? eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.

P.S. I tried four different spellings of bicycle, including bycicle, bicicle, and biciclye, before I gave up and looked it up. Thanks a lot, Fun With Phonics.

Oh, Did You Know? I’m a Genius.

I’ve got the post-it certificate to prove it (see exhibit A) (and thank you, Rebecca) and lots of other hard evidence… but most importantly, while driving home from work yesterday at breakneck speed, a flash of inspiration hit me like an enemy bogey. I decided that from that very moment onward, I am going to always answer my phone by saying, “Talk to me, Goose.”

Is that the most brilliant thing you’ve ever heard, or what? And if you’ve been living alone in a cave since 1986, eating nuts and berries and bathing in a nearby stream and don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to go to the store right this very minute and get a copy of Top Gun, which btw is the absolute best movie ever (for evidence of this fact, see exhibit B), and watch it over and over and over. And even on the seventy billionth time you watch it, just try not to cry when Goose dies. Just try. I dare you.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Very good reasons why Top Gun is the best movie ever

1. Tom Cruise in his absolute heyday. Yes, he is now a stark raving lunatic and has always been the size of a common household elf, but in that movie, he is just Maverick, the smokin’ hot, sexy, misunderstood bad-boy fighter pilot with a smile that will make the pants of any woman nearby spontaneously fall off. mmmm hmmmm.

2. The volleyball scene. ‘Nuff said.

3. A kick-ass soundtrack full of songs that inspire immediate action. “Danger Zone” makes me want to drive fast and punch things. “Take my breath away” makes me want to do naughty things with boys outside of marriage. And naturally, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” gives me the overwhelming urge to sing off-key to strangers with the expectation that they will fall in love with me.

4. This timeless line: “I feel the need… the need for speed!” — an appropriate thing to shout in nearly any situation — a stuffy dinner party, debutante ball, or political debate, for example.

5. Meg Ryan pre-scary plastic surgery

I could go on all day. Give me a call and we can talk some more about it. Yes… call me on the phone, and talk. to me … (goose).

My roommate Matthew is moving out, and we’re supposed to find a new roommate to replace him (not that anyone could replace you, Matthew) (not that you read my blog anyway) by July 1. And we have not. Mind you, we have interviewed several people and have offered the room to four of them, and all four have turned it down for various and sundry reasons. This leaves me befuddled, because we have never had this kind of problem in the past. Usually people are begging to move into our adorable house. This time it has been like pulling teeth, though, and as the clock ticks by, offers we would never have considered in the past are now starting to seem more and more attractive. You have a dog? Sure! A snake? Well… come over and we’ll meet you. A snake that roams free in the house and likes to cuddle on the couch and watch TV? Uh… I mean, I’ll try anything once…

The best of these, though, is the twins. Please enjoy their email and photo below (ALL IN CAPS! THEY ARE TWINS AND MUST SHOUT AT ALL TIMES!):

HI MY NAME IS J***. MY TWIN BROTHER J**** AND I ARE LOOKING FOR A ROOM THAT WE CAN SHARE. YOUR PLACE SOUNDS GREAT SO I THOUGHT I’D ASK IF THE TWO OF US COULD SHARE THE ROOM.

WE ARE BOTH 21. WE GO TO SCHOOL,WORK, WRITE AND WORKOUT. WE DON’T DRINK OR SMOKE. WE ARE VERY SOCIAL,OUTGING AND VERY CHILL GUYS. HOPEFULLY WE CAN HAVE THE CHANCE TO GET THIS PLACE. PLEASE CONTACT US IF YOU CAN, I’D LOVE TO TELL YOU MORE ABOUT US.

TWINCERLY, J*** L******

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. He signed the email “Twincerely.” Could this possibly get any better?

A series of haikus that all go together to form a haiku voltron of sorts

Sticky snails are much
cuter than their east-coast friends
the slugs. UGH! gross slugs.

When it rains they play
on the steps outside the house
then they get stranded

Hey, Joe! Help me, please
we need to rescue these snails
before they dry out.

They’re startled at first
plus they’re dehydrated and
can’t think too clearly

but once they see that
we are helping them survive
they relax and smile

Snails love Joe and me
because we take care of them
Let’s all hold hands now.

My back and neck are so painfully tight, and I have such an unrelenting tension headache, that if a bum walked up to me with visible scabies and offered me a massage, I would take it.

Sunday night I went to a party with my friend Brennan. I should have known this would be an eventful night, because the last time I went to a party with him we ended up chauffering a group of dressy young adults we didn’t know up to a castle on top of a mountain, where the valet yelled at us. Then at the party Brennan spent most of his time gone to get ice and trying to find a parking spot once he got back. Then when he finally did, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if that ice wasn’t melted anyway, the police came and the host got mad and started yelling at everyone, and it was raining and I kept slippy-sliding down the hill on our way back to the car. But that is neither here nor there.

At this particular party, the one on Sunday, we walked up, all unsuspecting and innocent (read: dummies who never learn), and were greeted by a crowd of people out in the yard all listening to a band. As we approached and I was able to see this band, my first instinct was, “awwww,” because it was one kid that was probably about ten or eleven, and one kid that couldn’t have been more than six. The ten-year-old was lead singing and guitar playing (The little one was kind of doing nothing, although you may get away with calling him “backup vocals”), and starts in on “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” except instead of Heaven’s door he was knocking on Satan’s door, and throughout the song he was swearing up a storm, to the point that any sailor in the audience may very well have blushed.

Brennan and I stood there for a minute trying to process this incongruous situation, and then we just looked at each other like, “ummmmmmmmmmm… ” I kept glancing around expecting the kid’s mom to march up and stick a bar of soap in his mouth.

At one point? He started singing about things he would do to a woman that are, um, very sexual in nature and involve, you know, um, a mouth and a, um, a… hoo-hoo, if you will. And I’m like, holy mother of pearl, where are this kid’s parents?! And here’s the part where I start to sound like your granddad who says when he was your age a bottle of Coca-Cola was a nickel… but when I was this kid’s age I had no idea what any of that “sex” stuff was, and if you were a fly on the wall, you may have even overheard me saying, “I don’t get why kissing lying down is so much worse than kissing standing up! Like, why does my dad always stand in front of the TV when people start kissing in bed? I don’t get it.” In fact, when my friend and I were twelve and discovered her uncle’s collection of cheesy romance novels and I read something about oral sex, I was completely traumatized. “He put his tongue WHERE????”

I mean, maybe I had an unusually wholesome upbringing, but Brennan was equally as shocked… although I do have to hand it to the kid… he was totally badass. He could shred that guitar, and later in the night he actually shot a bottle of red bull, like how you’d shoot a beer by puncturing the side of it. As though he were practicing for the real thing. I have to admit that although I did get caught in the crossfire and sprinkled with red bull, I was a little bit impressed.

As we journeyed through the house and encountered various characters, we found that the rest of the party was no less strange than the beginning. I had brought a bottle of wine, being the classy broad that I am, and as we unsuccessfully searched around for a corkscrew, someone who had opened his own wine with a knife knocked over a glass (red plastic cup) of it on my shoe. Simultaneously, an awkward dude came around asking everyone for money, because apparently someone had stolen someone’s computer, and this guy was taking donations for, “you know, first of all, to like show appreciation for the party, and also for like, you know, Kevin’s computer.” Although we’d probably been there for a total of twenty minutes, we felt this was as good a time as any to get the H outta there, and we sidled our way to freedom and went up to Birds, which felt a lot more normal.

Normalcy is something I enjoy, although I’ve got to say, experiences like these are what makes the world go ’round — or at least, they make for fun “Remember that time… ” stories. Ahh, life. (shaking my head and giving you a knowing look).

Here are a couple thumbnails (I’ve just decided I hate the word “thumbnails”) of the more normal part of the evening when we went to Birds and met Eric.

I think in the second picture I was trying to make Brennan look at the camera, which he will not do without force, because he thinks he’s picture kryptonite.

But I covet nonetheless. There are two expensive things I want. Scratch that… there are lots of expensive things I want, but two right now I am close to buying, and while the purchase of these things might make me feel guilty, because I know I should take that money and invest it or save it for the inevitable car down payment that looms ever closer as trips to the mechanic become more and more frequent, look at this bike!!!!!

I want it so badly! It looks so Italian! I could only ride it wearing a flowy skirt and white blouse, and with a bell on the front and a basket on the back that perpetually contains a loaf of French bread. Think of all the gas I would save! And how cute I would look on it! THE BIKE. IT MUST BE MINE.

Secondly, I really want a keyboard or synthesizer or digital piano, or electronical piano as I like to say. It has been far too long since I have been able to play the piano on a regular basis, and it is high time I found a way to do so. I’ve been browsing around on the interweb, and I’ve found a very affordable one that has gotten excellent reviews, and I’m this close to buying it online. Would it be dumb to buy a piano I have never actually played? Would it be dumber to let this amazing deal pass me by? I don’t know! I do not know. But I know I am about to drop some cash on one or both of these things, and I am very, very excited.

P.S. After posting this and mooning over the picture of the bike some more, I feel compelled to point out that it matches my blog, people. The colors of the bike match the colors of this very blog (and also my bedroom, actually). If that is not a sign, I don’t know what is.

Rebecca has gotten a new job, and while I am thrilled for her, I am sad for myself, because now she no longer works with me. When I arrived at work on Monday, I was greeted by her hard-partying patriotic kangaroo and koala, who were partying it up on my desk.

It made me a little sad, although I’m glad they’ve joined me at my workstation, and it’s good that they brought beverages, because from the look of him clinging for dear life onto that paper tray, I think my own patriotic kangaroo could use a drink. Poor fella.

Office stress will get to you if you’re not careful.

When I wrote this blentry, I could not, in my wildest dreams most terrifying nightmares, have imagined this:

I have no words, because the tackiness has caused my brain to explode. Now I am dead. Goodbye.