Archive for July, 2010

big spoon little spoon

Pants and the Original have started a blog to chronicle their long-distance road together to matrimony over the next five months. Check it out!

This isn’t the official artwork for the blog, just my take on it.

It is a unanimously agreed-upon fact that the Pants and Original really ARE so cute it’s a little disgusting. For example, the name of their blog. I’m pretty sure their biggest disagreement is quibbling each night over who gets to be in front while they spoon to sleep. The coveted, cuddled position of “little spoon.”

When the speaker is really sleepy, I understand sometimes spoon gets replaced by nonsense words. Like bear. Or fish.

“Roll over… I’ll be the big… the big… fish. Zzzzzzzz…”

you can’t say that in a TCBY

Last instructions before going out for ice cream.

Hot Lunch: Now what did I just say?
Joaquin: Not to say butthole in the restaurant.

we’re going camping, bitches!

That title is thanks to the Pants. Thanks, Pants.

Yes, it’s true I am CAMPING for the first time in my adult life, not counting that time I went to youth camp and it turned out to be an actual campground not some cushy scout lodge, but I have blocked out the majority of memories from that experience so it doesn’t count. Plus we had flush toilets – mostly backed up and unusable – and outdoor showers whose walls were teeming with colonies of burrowing bugs. Beyond that memory is only darkness. And lots of sulking and refusing to partake in the crafts.

But I am an ADULT now! I have conquered (mostly) my germophobia! I am ready to NOT SHOWER. To sleep on hard, bumpy ground! To share my most intimate moments with insect life! (I was peeing in a pit toilet on a Ridge to Rivers trail just the other day and I SWEAR I saw one of the mob of flies fly UP MY BUTT. Maybe it’s still in there and now I can relax knowing I never have to be alone again.)

So Hot Lunch loaned me an ass-load of his camp gear for this trip, including a box of cookware. As I put the clanking box in my trunk, a cloud of garage dust and cobwebs flew out of it.

Hot Lunch: “You got the box? Good. It’s mostly full of…”
me: “Spiders?”
Hot Lunch: “Uh… Yeah. Mostly.”

There’s no time to run the pans through my high-temp sani-rinse dishwasher with one of my Seventh Generation detergent pacs. We’ll have to rinse it with drinking water before we start cooking. I’m not even packed yet and the dirty has already started.

bad Mochi

The other day I was at Cupcake’s and spied her deliciously grapefruit-scented organic spray cleaner sitting on the counter, so I spritzed the air and inhaled deeply. It smelled like feet. I noticed the label had been written over in Cupcake’s handwriting. The words BAD MOCHI! in garish silver paint pen told me that i had just sprayed vinegar water in my own face.

How could I forget you, Mochi? Here, little guy. You’re back in the picture. Here’s hoping you get through today without eating any chapstick or panties because that stinky foot spray in the face is no fun.

gotta pee

Working the public desk. Putting the final touches on a girl’s request form while she waits. You become aware of another child hovering nearby awaiting his turn to ask a question.

What’s remarkable about this situation is THE CHILD IS VIBRATING INTENSELY. Something between a convulsion and maybe some kind of high-speed version of the Humpty Hump is going on in this child’s body. You look up to make eye contact or at least rule out seizure and are greeted by this face:

You: “Do you have a question?”
Child: “W-w-where’s your b-bathroom?”

This is when you leap up so fast you almost knock over your chair and you run him to the bathroom. It’s been 92 days since you had to get out the SuperSorb and you’ll make it to 93 even if it’s over the mown-down bodies of innocent bystanders.

Kids. Using their powers of courtesy for evil.

morning, stinky.

Man, my neighbor is so stinky it’s unbelievable. It is not to be believed. Beautiful cool morning outside and I have my patio door closed because I’m tired of smelling my neighbor’s stinky ass apartment. Take a bath, Smells.

Speaking of neighbors, I’m happy to report that Yells (though AWESOMELY entertaining) moved out and was replaced by Silent Brooding Porch Smoker (less entertaining, but less annoying). Also the Thursday Night Partiers moved out, leaving a vacancy and a possible arsonist? If the next mysterious fire reaches my apartment, I’ll let you know. It would have to make it through Smells’ defenses first, though, and I have a feeling that dense wall of odors could choke out an inferno. It’s like a superpower.

I wonder what names my neighbors have for me? Thunder-from-Above? Naughty Nightie Streaker?

life’s hard, especially if you’re made of synthetic materials

I entitle all my storytimes for quick reference purposes later. Last week’s storytime was “Extraordinary Poultry.” There were chickens saving lives and ducks wearing underwear and we danced the Chicken Dance and it was extraordinary.

I tidied up my work space today FINALLY, sifting through a pile of papers and junk while Motormouth laughed and snapped candids and Facebooked them for the world or at least my network to see my shame. I found a lot of things including not my dignity but at least my storytime puppet that went missing last week (wearing a smooshed look between a stack of reports and craft supplies) and a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which I’d finally given up and paid for a month ago.

I also ran across a storytime plan from April 2nd. It was entitled “i just broke up ha!” Wow. I’d forgotten that morning after Hot Lunch and I broke up was really something. I brandished the piece of paper at Motormouth and described what it had been like:

I remember I’d just kept thinking, How am I doing this? How am I going around like my life didn’t just end last night, smiling and storytiming and singing SHAKE YOUR FUCKIN SILLIES OUT!?!

Whew. Life is much better now. In fact, I’m doing pretty good on the loving myself front. I took myself on my first date, just the one of us, a couple of Fridays ago. For my first try, there were only a few slight hitches.

I got embroiled in a one-sided conversation with my waiter that I didn’t know how to extricate myself from without wolfing down my meal and escaping. Which I did. While in line for my ticket I got a phone call from my mom who, when I boasted about what I was doing, responded thusly:

me: “I’m going to see Toy Story 3 by MYSELF!” 😀
Mom: “Oh I’m SO SORRY! What happened? Where is everyone?”
me: “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I wanted to go by MYSELF!”
Mom: “Well I’m so sorry I’m not in town, I could have gone with you! We’ll take a rain check, ok?”
me: “It’s ok, Mom. I’m here on purpose. By myself. It’s FUN!”
Mom: “Ok then, take care of yourself, ok? And I’ll go to a movie with you when I get back.”

Toy Story 3 turned out to be a bad choice given the conditions. Long story short, if you were the family seated near the strange lone woman mopping tears from behind her 3D glasses, I am sorry for creeping your kids out. Blame those sadists at Pixar.