Momomama
I have that sad feeling inside that only one thing can cure. Shopping. Spending. Buying. Luckily I have H&M nearby, so that I can fulfill this desire and still be able to eat in late September. What blessings the Swedes bestow upon us. Now I can have a new outfit for the first day of school.
Of course, it's not my first day of school tomorrow, but rather the first day for the class of 2007. This kids (and yes, since they are ten years my junior, I think they qualify as kids) were born in 1985. Which means they didn't even hear Madonna the first time around. She's probably IRONIC to them. Damn. For them Pro-wrestling is the Rock, not Jimmy Superfly Snooka and Rowdy Roddy Piper. Jesse Venture is just a governor. Alyssa Milano is that girl from Charmed, not Samantha. Who is John Hughes? It totally blows my mind, because, you see, I am not old! It's not like any of these things are ancient history. When I went to College, ten years ago, I was listening to Aimee Mann's Nevermind, and Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville. at least Liz and Aimee are in the cd collections of the younguns. But do they have Blind Melon? Can they understand the fun of singing along to No Rain and drinking cheap beer in the back of your friend's K Car a week before leaving for College? Probably not. But then again, is that such a bad thing?
PS and here's a shocking confession. My first day of college: I wore a Phish tshirt, birks, and jean shorts. Yes I did.
Overheard at Trader Joe's:
"Look, mom! Yogurt!"
"They sure have a lot of kinds...which do you want to try?"
"what's that?"
"Greek Yogurt and Honey."
"From greek cows! and greek......ummmmm......what's the word, mom?"
"Bees?"
"No....where they live....ummmmmmmmmmm....beehives! Beehives, beehive, beehivessss!"
Damn, kids are cute.
When did my life turn the corner from stimulating and happy into a constant rotation between boredon, woe is me, and anxiety? It's like nothing ever happens, but I still need to put in the effort required to make the non-happening happenings happen. That there is faith and hope, I guess. It's been a hard summer, I think. I feel like I have spent it treading water in the deep end of the pool on a cloudy day and now I am wondering why I feel like I haven't been swimming at all. I did have a phone interview today, but I don't feel like it went that well, because I am both under and over qualified for the job. Plus the guy interviewing me had a name that should belong to an old fashioned football player from the 50s. That threw me off my game, I guess.
We have a vociferously annoying person working in our office this summer. One afternoon I listened to her swear up and down she would never ever ever have a 9 - 5 job. She's 19. Yesterday she was putting labels on postcards and loudly making fun of the names...."Salty? SALTY!?! Who would name their kid SALTY! OHMIGOD!" About ten minutes later I passed by and heard her say, "I love the name Rain. I am going to name my first daughter that." I had to hold my tongue to not say "Rain? Rain!?! Who (besides the Phoenx family) names their kid RAIN?" I have no tolerance for this person whatsoever. And I feel bad about it, but that does not stop the eye rolling.
This weekend, my mom bought me a petticoat. A PETTICOAT, people! How many people can say they own their own? (Well, probably almost anyone who ever wore a fluffy skirted dress without a built in petticoat, I suppose...but still!) Of course I flounced around in it all afternoon. Wouldn't you?
This is, by far, the creepiest help wanted add ever:
"Wanted female live in trailer maid cook clean, take care of trailer in exchange for room, board, phone, food, cable, auto. Plus allowance. 574-7555"
Must not mind mild bondage, calling me Daddy and wearing french maid outfit. I dare one of you to call! (area code 518...)
I imagine that person would be a better interviewer than I am. While I am great as an interviewee and job seeker, I totally suck in aking the questions. Because I don't ask questions, I just want to chat. With today's prospect I discussed doggies, the police department, wedding planning and my job search (oh yes I did. I can't believe it either.) I only asked one real question, which was not "What do you see yourself doing in five year?" At least I have that. I did ask someone else that once. But only because I was really interested. I am sure today's interviewee went home thinking "That is one LOOOOOOOOONELY lady...."
I woke up this morning with this song in my head...
"Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies,
Don't fence me in.
Let me ride through the wide open country that I love,
Don't fence me in.
Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze
And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees
Send me off forever but I ask you please,
Don't fence me in"
I think my songs in my head are having a delayed reaction, because the last time I heard this song was more than three weeks ago. It was the same day as my dad and I saw the Carbon County Rodeo parade. We had been scanning through all the radio stations, hitting nothing but a talk show about the fair in Riverton (including what each of the entries into the 4H fashion show were) and a staticy top 40 country station, when we heard Western yodelling. We turned up the volume on this station that was like something out of my best dreams. The dj was playing Don Walser, the Derailers, Patsy Cline, and all those Western music olde-time greats whom I can never identify. Right after "Don't Fence Me In" there was a long long pause before the dj came on the air. "This is Dennis and you are listening to the Cowboy Show on KWRR, the Voice of the Wind River Reservation." Then he played the Derailer's version of Raspberry Beret.
Redundant job description? "2nd shift CNC Boring Mill Operator. 3 years CNC mill exp. Setup, programming exp. is a plus. Good Benefits/Great Company" Yawn.. How dull.
It drives me crazy when women write "Chic" when they mean "chick." Men, are dumb, and should not be expected to know the difference between a word that means stylish and in fashion and a slang name for the ladies. But ladies. COME ON! Did you not wear the Chic jeans in the 80's with the rest of us?
Perhaps the answer to all my troubles lately is that I am not making anything. I only have one ongoing craft project, which is the damn fish I have been needlepointing for Bill since the February blizzard. Which was one of the best days ever, by the way, what with the tea and the relaxing and all. Anyway, I have decided I need a new project (other than following the exploits of the Dollanganger children...and fuck you for not telling me the good parts are all in Part II!) And this project is going to involve quilting. And I have just the scrap bag to dig into. Six years ago, right after we graduated College, a friend of mine and I spent the weekend at our other friends new apartment in Queens. We had no money, and no set plan, so we just continued to attack Manahattan in the same way we attacked it in College - by wandering aimlessly. I think we had two actual destination - Cafe Yaffa and somewhere else. In our meanderings we bumped into a classmate of ours (someone who I later ended up dating) and we wandered into a benefit tag sale at a theatre company. We ended up each buying a giant garbar bag filled with fabric scraps - mostly fake fur. We lugged these bags back to Queens on our backs, our sweat getting caught between shirt and plastic bag. That summer I made a few things from my scraps...a pillow for Zoe, a fake fur scarf for myself (as if I would need one in Texas). And then the scraps disappeared, gone when my mother moved. When I started quilting I found myself pining for them, and Lisa, the friend in Queens, must have heard. I was went to her place for dinner (not the same apartment but still in Queens) and she presented me with a bag, smaller than a garbage sack, but still filled with scraps. I think it is their time.
Where's a blackout when you need one? All I want to do is go home, lie down, read Flowers in the Attic (which is every bit as good, and bad, as you remember) and drink (or is it eat?) that yummy gazpacho I made yesterday. Did I mention I am reading Flowers in the Attic? And that I had to buy it? When I first read it, I was borrowing a classmates copy. Her grandmother had given into the begging and bought it for her, but her mother found out and forbade the VC Andrews in the house. So we all took turns "baby-sitting" the book. By the time I got it, the "good parts" were all dog eared. Now, I am halfway through and have yet to stumble upon a "good" part. Maybe my definition of a good part has changed, but I didn't remember this book being so....talky. So much exposition, so little time. Also, the dialogue...no 12 year old talks like a 1950's housewife, and her seven year old twin siblings certainly shouldn't talk like adults either, but they do, with the one exception being the use of "don't" for "doesn't" by the youngest characters.
Today I could quite possibly be the grumpiest lady that ever lived. Or not. But I am pretty grumpy! Pinche Bill will be gone for three more weeks, and this news led to the inevitable downward spiral of anger, resentment, obsession, and fears. Do normal people extrapolate something as simple as three more weeks in Alaska into the crisis of the century? Do they turn "I got a job doing a few more trips" into "I don't love you and I don't miss you and you are a big fat chump hahaha"? Well, even if they normally wouldn't, I am willing to bet that they would if their loved one followed this with not calling the next day. Wouldn't they? Yeah. I know. But I am a delicate flower, with sensitive feelings! Geez. As if he can't realize that with the hysterical crying? I try to be calm and reasonable, I really do. But I just can't. So, poop. There. POOP!
BLACKOUT! WOOO! Nothing brings neighbors together like a blackout, a giant bucket of beers, a can of bug spray and three dogs. After I got home yesterday, I took a walk through town. It was like Sesame Street - everyone sitting outside their stores, talking to one another and greeting passersby. All the people from the stores I frequent admired Momo and told him her could stop by anytime. When we got home, we settled into the courtyard with some of the little old ladies. Once dark arriveed the little old ladies head in and a group of people I have never seen before came out. Mike and John from A6A brought beers, Susan in C1E brought a giant radio and her boyfriend brought firecrackers (which eventually brought the police, which brought on a set of lies told by some very respectable building residents, which sent the police away to seek out firebugs elsewhere) Lisa and Diane brought their dogs, Mo brought his maturity, the party broke up at 10:30, so I went back in and took a lukewarm shower. While I was brushing my teeth, I saw a flash of light in the window, and the sound of my fan running, but when I went to the other room to check it out, I realized it was just a helicopter circling the area with a big searchlight. I fell asleep to the sound of the chopper.
Power was back on when I woke up so I came into work, only to find out that we are closed for the day. Oh well, everybody else is here, so even more incentive to go home. We have no email anyway.
As part of the retreat at Ring Lake, my dad introduced us all to the magic of Sufi mystic, Hafiz. I liked him so much I wook over the daily reading of the Hafiz poems...I think you all should have one too!
Even after
all these years,
the Sun never says
to the earth
"You owe me."
Look what happens -
with a love like that,
it lights the whole sky.
Finally! Sunshine and a blue sky. I was getting serious mildew. But sometime in the last foggy week and a half, the sunshine took on that autumnal light. I love fall, but this year, I am just not looking forward to it. Probably because I was not expecting to still be here at work now. I was sure I would be escaping to the North right around now, and it sucks to be waiting and waiting.
Holy cow, giant clap of thunder! You made me jump three inches! And you also set of a bunch of car alarms! Well done, giant clap of thunder!
Long distance sucks, man. I have not seen Bill in three and a half weeks, and wasn't planning on seeing him for another week and and a half. Now I find out I am supposed to work the Sunday of the weekend that I was going to see him. At an event outside of Boston. Woe is me. Unless I suck it up and drive like a mad woman all weekend, I won't see him until the next weekend, or possibly the weekend after. Am I having a pity party? Hell yes!
Thanks to Alana for figuring out the trouble!
Of course you can't actually comment on what's wrong, now can you?
Well, I changed the look and lost the comments. And Haloscan won't share my password with me...anyone know what code I am missing?
It was time for a change.
Egg Packing Plant needs PACKERS. Day time hours, no shift work, competitive wages plus benefits inluding health & 401K. Apply in person.
Giroux's Poultry Farm,
Chazy, NY 846-7300
Was this not an I Love Lucy episode?
It's been raining forty days and forty nights, and everywhere I turn there are mushrooms. In my mind I confuse mushrooms with animal, like slugs and snails. It takes me a minute, upon seeing one, to realize that it can not start crawling towards me. But even after I realize this I can look at a mushroom and watch it breathe.
This weekend was like a pop-quiz of Wilmington, NY knowledge, and I think I passed. I was able to explain to my mom who all the goth kids at the breakfast place were (Mona's six children), what Jim is (a band. And the lead singer, Sven, is the sometimes boyfriend of Scott's roommate's sister), and why Scott has New Jersey plates on his truck (he lives there in the winter.) I also explained how the bartender at Steinhoff's is related to the former owners of pancake haven; how Laura, Bill'scleaning lady, is married to the guy who runs the dump as well as being building inspector; and how some of the Bowen's are related to others. At one point I realized that I knew the names of the people who live in half the houses in town. And I don't even live there yet. Where is the mystery? Nowhere in a town with a population of 1200, I guess.
I work with one of the cutest girls ever. She just graduated and she is soooooooo rock and roll. No, really. This morning she stuck her head in my office to ask me a question. She has this mane of black hair, with orangy blonde highlights. She wears studded belts, and black jelly bracelets, and tight jeans. She has the best collection of black concert tee-shirts. Today she is wearing black eyeliner and silver eyeshadow. She is basically everything I wanted to be in the 6th grade, only she was in kindergarten then. She loves the hair bands of the eighties. Last summer, she and her rock and roll friend went to their first poison concert in the beginning of July, and got pulled from the audience to go backstage. For the rest of the summer, she and the friend spent weekends drving all over New England and the mid-atlantic, seeing Poison every chance they got, and always scoring free tickets for the next show along with their backstage passes. This summer they've seen Poison once, and Skid Row twice. I can't say I am jealous, but I do live my Tawny Kitaen dreams vicariously through them. But then, every once in while, I think - I hope they aren't putting themselves in danger - going backstage and hanging out with the roadies on the bus after the show and going up to the bass players hotel room! I worry. If I worry this much about two 21 years old I hardly know, how am I going to take being a mom? I'll be sleepless all night!
In today's Plattsburgh classifieds, my only option is....
Person to set up & repair farm equipment machinery
Apply in person:
Bechard Farm Equipment
593 Rapids Rd., Champlain
Why oh why did I not become a truck driver, nurse or teacher? Probably because I hate blood (ruling out 2 and 3) and like to sleep ruling out 1 and 2 and possibly 3).
I am really into things being fair, and so when I think about the California recall thing I get a little concerned. Am I right in thinking that you only get to pick a choice for new governor if you vote yes on recall? You can't put in a No recall, but if it happens I want so-and-so vote? Can any Californians confirm or deny?
The phenomenom of the the internet stalker fascinates me. I'm active in a couple of different forums and it seems almost monthly someone posts something like "SuzieQ1952! It's your mother! I know you are posting about me!" or "Hello Forum members! I know MrToodles in real life and he is a liar! You lie, MrToodles and I have your bunny in my hot little hands right nooooooooooooooooooooooowww!" Then there are the blog stalkers...now even Alana has one...ALANA! Like THAT's a challenge - she has her name and picture all over her website! C'mon.... No one ever stalks me. The closest I have ever come to having a stalker was the creepy email exchange I had with the guy I went to high school with that ended in him asking for my picture and sharing his old art class fantasies with me. The only ther even close to stalkery thing was when another person from my highschool saw pictures of me on Alana's site and then ran into her on the T and talked to her about it. But again, that too is more like Alana being stalked. I guess it is hard to find me here, if you already know me, as my name is not attached to this blog and there are no pictures. So the only potential stalkers are complete strangers, friends I have told about my blog and my parents. And what fun is that? I want an anonymous yet not unknown to me stalker! You know, the kind that says, "I know who you are, momomama! And I'll see you on Friday!" Then I can puzzle over it for a few hours, have some intrigue, but also not be totally freaked out when I realize that my favorite NY Thruway Toll Collector is reading this. So c'mon out, lurking-and-already-known-to-me people! Scary stalkers need not voice their obsessions, I prefer that you guys read in silence.
The reviews are in!
"Your spirit and attitude were truly invigorating!"
God, I love interviewing people for the opening in our office. Now if only some one in the Great White North would give me a chance to kiss his or her ass in the way mine is currently being kissed. Please, let me share the love.
In other news I woke up at 6 in the morning to the muffled sound of thunder and the taste of fur. 50 pound Momo has learned to cope with thunder storms...by lying on my head. Bless his heart.
Note to job seekers: when sending a cover letter, do not write it in the THIRD PERSON.
After we finished at Ring Lake, my Dad and I drove back south to Denver, by way of Encampment, Wyoming, where we had to drop off our new friend Julie (Note to Dad: Write Thank You Note. I already did mine, on MONOGRAMMED stationary!). Between Ring Lake and Encampment is the city of Rawlins, Wyoming. Population 9000. We stopped there for lunch. The restaurant is in an old Victorian on Main Street. Across the street is the Army Surplus Store, which has a camouflage painted portico. Our waitress was a skinny eighteen year old with a long blond ponytail and blue eyeshadow. She and the other two waitresses kept slipping out the front door of the house. My dad and I guess that they were sharing a cigarette on the front porch. It wasn't until the police car rolled by the window at five miles an hour that we understood why they kept foresaking us....they were waiting for the
Carbon County Rodeo parade. We went outside with them and watch the floats go by: a 9-11 Memorial, the Mormons, the 4H Club. We watched last year's Miss Carbon County Rodeo and her sequined cowgirl-shirted court ride by on their horses. For years, Rawlins was the home of the Wyoming Pen, so it was no surprise that there was a prison float. The banner along the side of the crepe paper prison read "The Old Pen: A Family Tradition." Obviously right up there with Rodeo queens and the 4H. Behind the old Pen float were the mock prisoners: three teenaged boys, in stripes, chained to together shuffled down the street, one of them the only black person in the parade. It would have been a short parade (Only one marching band and no majorettes) but for the Demolition Derby Cars. There must have been fifty of them, all with young men with cowboy hats and unfortunate facial hair behind the wheel. While no Mexicans were represented in the float portion of the parade, they were present in the Demolition Derby section, with cars that had "Cancun Club", "Pride of Aztlan" and "Su Casa" painted on the sides. Most of the cars had some sort of sponsorship and this was advertised with business names spray painted on the doors and hoods. Every once in a while, one of the drivers would toss and handful of candy into the crowd and children would rush into the street to pick it up. But even when throwing sweets, the demo drivers all had this look of graveness on their faces. They left the smiling and waving to the Rodeo Queen. Once the parade was over, we got in the car for the last sixty or so miles to Encampment. On the way out of town, I pulled up next to the pick up truck that carried the 4Hers in the Parade. Fewer girls were sitting on the bales of hay in the bed now, but the four that remained all looked down on me and smiled.
I am tan, but lithe goes out the window when you have three helpings of dinner every night. I did manage to lose two pounds in one day, but that was just due to the copious amounts off sweat pouring off of my body at
Hot Sulphur Springs. Many kinds of wildlife were viewed, including moose, antelope, elk, sandhill cranes, bald eagles, big horn sheep, and rattle snakes. Only two books were read, neither of them on my list. Fish were caught, and thrown back. So really, the best vacation ever spent with my Dad. Thanks Dad! Now if only I weren't completely exhausted.
