Momomama
I know I am a fast reader. Maybe unnaturally fast. But. I was looking at a review of a book on Amazon and someone said this:
"I found it by accident looking for another book and I read the entire book in under a week"
Well good for you there, mister. It's only 256 pages. And I bet at least 20 of those pages are index and appendices.
Why am I such a snob?
When I was a wee tot I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe, just as I am obsessed with the Virgin Mary now. The first book I ever read about Marilyn was Norman Mailer's
Marilyn: A Biography. In the fifth grade. Who reads Norman Mailer in the fifth grade? Not kids today, that's for sure. And so began my obsession.
Well, Maybe I shoudl start with how I came to read the Mailer in the first place. I was percocious, I know that now. I had already read the entire Little House Series about a million times, and a book called the Gumbye Girl, which had a few racey parts, a billion times. I was bored with the young adult selections at my branch of the library. So I ventured into the adults section. I know other kids had to get permission to move up, but all of the librarians knew my grandmother, who was, like, the most famous librarian in town. So I started in on the grwon up books, with non-fiction first. I would sit on the floor at the back of the stacks, flipping through the oversized coffeetable books, especially the ones about the 40s and 50s. For the fashion, of course. (I also watched a lot of American Movie Classics, back when they only played black and white movies.) And one day I found this book. Marilyn. And that's where it started.
I started collecting books about her (Gloria Steinem's is the best), tapes of her movies (I love Bus Stop), and posters. I'd buy glossy publicity stills from the poster shop in the beach town where we vacationed. It all came to a climax when I chose Marilyn as the subject of my biography project for the gifted and talented program (big surprise there, of course I was that kind of kid!) My friend Robin Watson posed as an interviewer, and I waited, dressed in blue, with a pair of my mom's heels and too much blue eye shadow, IN THE CLOSET, while she introduced me as Marilyn. I awaited the applause of the other nerds, and when it came, I swept into the room and sat beside Robin. She asked me about my marriages, my movies, my family life, and why I killed myself (I blamed Sinatra, Kennedy and the mob). I flirted, and laughed breathlessly. I posed and winked. And I was completely unselfconscious. I was Marilyn.
Which was why, today, I felt a little bit funny as I wrote the address of one of her husband's on an envelope and sent him an invitation to join our 50th class at Reunion. "Arthur," I thought, "I think she liked you best anyway."
I am starting in on the wedding planning, jumping in feet first, after a long time of procrastinating and dreaming. At first, I had no interest in the honeymoon, planning or otherwise, but Bill and I finally decided that we want to go to Maine, and save our money for a house. (Save our money! Ha! More like spend money we don't have on a house rather than on a honeymoon...)
I wanted to stay at the same place my mom and dad and grandma and grandpa stayed on their honeymoon at Pemaquid, but in all my internet searching I could not find the Ed Lewis Guest House and Cottages. So I did what any sleuth would do, and randomly emailed someone whose address was on the lighthouse site. Turns out I had emailed the lighthouse keeper, who not only found out the truth about the Ed Lewis Guest House and Cottages (closed, alas, and now private) but offered Bill and me a private tour of the lighthouse. Now THAT is romantic. Thank you Lighthouse Keeper (who also happened to go to the same college as my mom!)
I asked and I received! No more bra ads!
Mom? Why did you make us put bread bags on our feet when we wore boots as little kids?
I am feeling such incredible anxiety about my second interview. I was told that I will be making a presentation, adn that they will send me information about this. The more I think about it, the more my chest constricts and I start to feel ill. I have no problem with public speaking, it's just that I really need this job, and so I am feeling incredible pressure and anxiety.
I am fascinated by the ever changing adds up there, courtesy of blogger. It's so clever how they relate to my posts. For a long time it was all about fishing, and now, BRAS! So I just want Blogger to know that I bought one, darnit, so quit your damn nagging! One is enough for me right now, okay? Let's not overdue it. I mean, I want to please you blogger, but I gotta be me, you know? So lay off. Start posting links to things I really need, like one million dollars or the perfect five dollar shoes, mkay?
My new new year's resolution is to be more of a linker.
Martha's (Stewart) Big Day at
the Morning News.
If loving
you is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
That's the lesson I learned at the Smithsonian Natural History museum on Saturday.
My interview was great (called back for a second round!), my trip to DC for my Dad's wedding even greater.
I got to play tour guide to Bill, who had never been to DC.
I got to eat yummy bbq.
I got to see my cousins and aunt and uncle.
I had an unsuccessful search for the Valentine's PantyRose.
I learned some new jokes.
I danced with my Dad, my brother and Bill.
I learned that my mocking of the fruity martinis, sour apple in particular, was more evidence of my judgemental nature. And I let that be a lesson unto me and enjoyed the yummy drink.
I hatched a plan, with help of cousin Shelley, to become a beekeeper.
I got to share the special day with my Dad and Susie.
Not necessarily in that order.
I can always count on
Alana to cheer me up. Today we discovered a new game, where in one person reads movie descriptions from the TV Guide, and the other tries to name the movie. So fun. This rivals the "Here are the obscure lyrics, now name the song" game, also soooooooo much fun.
try it...
A murdered New York banker returns to protect his girlfriend, with help from a psychic.
A comet “the size of New York City” threatens to destroy Earth
********* dirigió esta historia sobre un joven con tijeras en vez de manos, que vive totalmente aislado hasta que un ama de casa amable lo descubre y se lo lleva a vivir a su casa.
Ever get so angry that you think your head just might start spinning and steam will shoot out of your ears? That's me right now. Yeah. The HR person at the agency I am interviewing with messed up when rescheduling my interview so instead of changing it to tomorrow at 3, she left it at this morning at 8:30. I found out last night at six. Apparently she's not sure they can reschedule. Great. And I am sure I come out looking like a flake who missed her interview. For the job she wanted more than anything, and has been so excited about all week. My head has not yet spun, but there are definitely tears shooting out of mine eyes, which is kind of like steam.
****This just in, I am rescheduled for Friday, which means I have a 9 hour drive to DC post interview. But I don't care.****
Now I like Howie Dean as much as the next guy, but someone, get the poor man a
lozenge!
I'm cheap. Not just thrifty, but cheap. Evidence of my reluctance to part with a dime can be found on the lingerie shelf in my linen closet. (The fact that I have a lingerie shelf in my linen closet is evidence in itself, as I have been too cheap to buy even a flimsy bureau from IKEA or Target and for three and a half years have been struggling with falling shirts, socks and undies when I open the linen closet door.) On this shelf you will find some bras. The newest are more than two years old, purchased for me by Bill, who was getting mighty sick of the sports bra uni-boob (which had been the norm for two years before that, ever since Victoria's Secret had a three for ten dollar seamless sports bra sale back in '00.) One white, one black. I wear the black one nearly every day. To the point that the once pretty cups no longer have any shape to them, and the only things holding my bosom are two bent pieces of underwire and half a strap (the elastic in one is totally shot, and the other is about to go.) The white one is worn on days that the black is too damp from handwashing to wear. I still have the three seamless bars, but their elastic is gone too, the straps stretched as thin as dental floss. My other bras are: two that were hand-me-downs from my first college roommate (age: 9 years), one gift from College boyfriend (age: neary eleven years), and the strapless that my pal Earlene at Saks in Austin manhandled me into ("Now, you must lift the breast and place it INTO the cup, like so...") a mere four years ago this Valentine's Day.
So why then, last night, did I get struck with the terror of parting with money in line at H&M with a pair of $2 earrings and two $12 bras in my hand? How did the wallet holding part of my mind manage to convince my bra holding hand (and my breasts) that I didn't really need new bras, and that the length of the line was a message from God Almighty that I should just flee the store, tossing my carefully selected bras and earrings onto a display of stretchy pink and black polka dotted t-shirts? I somehow convinced myself, in true Yankee fashion, that I could probably just MAKE bras anyway, out of a wire clothes hanger and two coffee filters.
(looks like I should move to
Cleveland...)
On Saturday night, Bill and I acted out a few scene from our own personal episode of a quirky small town show, part Gilmore Girls, part Northern Exposure, part Ed. We drove up to Lake Placid to see Big Fish (which is Awesome, with a capital A.) The Lake Placid movie theatre, is right on Main Street (which is the main street), and has an old fashioned marquee, and posters in the windows. There are four theatres, no air conditioning, and all the movies start at the same time. And they don't pre-sell tickets, which means that everyone stands in line together waiting for the longest of the four movies to let out before buying tickets five minutes before show time. We got to the Village forty five minutes before the movie started, forgetting, of course, that you can't buy tickets early anyway. So we wondered down the street to Ben and Jerry's, where we bought hot chocolate. Then we sat on the deck that overlooks Mirror Lake, which was covered with the tracks of the dog sleds that crisscross the lake all winter, giving rides to tourists.
We got into line for the movie fifteen minutes before it started. Fifty or so people were crammed into the lobby. The last time we came to the movies, a very cute deaf man was in line in front of us, signing with his very cute friend. This time they were behind us. The teenaged girls behind them were flirting madly, and getting away with asking all sorts of questions that I would never ask. "How can you go to the movies if you can't HEAR????? That's weird!" Lip reading. "But what if there's like a voiceover or something?" That's why you bring a signing friend. "OOOOOOOOOOOOH. I wish I could sign. Teach me something." In front of us, was a gaggle of teenagers on dates, hanging on one another. One couple stood apart from the others and the girl was reading a book with her date's arm slung around her shoulders.
A line of twenty or so teenagers shuffled in the exit doors, and lined up along one of the walls. They were giggling, flirting, and teasing. There seemed to be a contest on...who could fit the most lift tickets on one zipper pull. Somewhere, at the back of the line, out of my line of sight, a few people were making a big ruckus. I could see that someone was trying to hold the door shut, while someone yanked from the otherside. I rolled my eyes at Bill. "This is why I could not be a teacher. I'd just lose it." Finally the group (a coed hockey team, it turns out) began to move through the doors to the the theater. As the end of the line drew closer, the ruckus drew louder, lots of laughing and loud whispering. As the tail of the line snaked through the doors, I could see two adults, a short man who could barely walk and a woman in a fur coat, pushing to kids in front of them. Everyone in the lobby noticed at once and one of the people neear to the doors told the usher. We all watched as moments later one of the hockey coaches, the popcorn guy, and a projectionist escorted the family of movie sneaker-inners out the doors. You would have thought it was the crime of the century.
When we came back outside after the movie was over, it was snowing. The streets were empty. The snow had settled softly onto a pair of pine trees at the door of the restaurant next to the teather. Red and white fairy lights flickered through the ice. Bill and I spun around in the street, opening our mouths to catch snowflakes.
I am so excited! The Plattsburgh Office of the Nationally Known Family Planning and Reproductive Rights organization is interviewing me to be their Director of PR and Marketing!!!! ME!
Bill is so totally getting famouser and famouser! Two of his flies are in
this book, and apparently one of them is a full page color photo...angler's porn.
And apparently, a picture of HIM will also be in
this book. Which is kind of odd, as the author did not photgraph him on a "great western river", but rather on the Ausable in New York. Apparently the Ausable will be playing the part of Oregon's Metolius River in this episode of "Great Western Rivers."
Even more than I am in love with Ellen, I am in love with Joss Stone. I wish she were my sister, because if she were, there's some chance that my singing voice would sound a little bit like hers. You hear her voice, and you would never guess that she's a little, blond, sixteen year old british girl who thanks her mum in her liner notes. If you do not yet know from the Joss Stone, check her out. Her cd was only 10.99 at Barnes and Noble.
I thibnk Joss Stone might be my new Ben Affleck.
A delayed opening meant I could stay in bed half an hour longer, clean the snow off my car with more care, fill up my washer fluid, eat three bowls of cereal, think about blow drying my hair and watch some Today show and some Ellen DeGeneres. God I love Ellen. I never thought she was all that funny before, even when my friend L. loved her in College and spent HOURS reading to us from the book in the kitchen when we should have been writing papers, or reading Tolstoy or drinking beer out on the lawn. Sure, I laughed then, but only because I was supposed to, because Ellen is gay and that was awesome and we all talked about it when she came out on her show. I didn't really think she was funny. But today, when I saw her hoot like an owl and then dance to Janet Jackson, I became an Ellen fan. For a few minutes, I thought about taping the Ellen show and watching it faithfully, like the world says we ladies are supposed to do with Oprah. Then Momo puked up the rock salt he'd licked off his paws and I decided I had better make a lunch instead of watching Ellen chat with Debra Messing about being preggers.
Bill is having hard time of it right now. Not only has the drain pipe frozen, but now a pipe behind the shower has burst. Now he has no water on top of a mini flood, and he needs water so the guys who are bringing the steam genny to tahw the pipe can make steam to thaw the pipe. Yesterday, he ran out of heating oil. This morning he was freaking out about not having any firewood. hye doesn't dare look at the thermomemeter, but the HIGH is forecast to be -15 there. I wish I could do something to help, but instead, I think I sound totally A.) unhelpful or, worse, B.) pollyanna-ish when he calls me to tell me about these disasters. (It all reminds me of the This American Life about fiascos, how one thing going wrong leads to another and it can all spiral out of control.) He's thinking about draining the pipes, packing his stuff, and going lobstering for two months. Starting today. I told him to give it a week and think about it until we get back from DC on the 26th. But really, what do I know? I can't help physically and I certainly can't help with money. I don't tell him that slapping a for sale sign on the place sounds pretty good to me right now, because really, he'd just lose money doing that at this point, as he has spent a ton on upgrades but not enough to sell the Bunkhouse for enough to make up for that. I'm headed up there for the weekend, and because I love him, I will shit in a bucket if I have to.
Why do I chew my tongue when I concentrate? Why can't I cook and eat chicken? Why can I eat chicken someone else has cooked? Why can't I remember to buy windshild wiper fluid?
Apparently, if it gets cold enough, the drain which carries all of you water out of your house and into the septic system can freeze, causing water to back up into your house.
And how DID the lady at Stew Leonards manage to get all those names on that cake on the first try? Freehand?
Things that make me worry, Part 4592:
A message from the person who has been watching the Bunkhouse while Bill's out of town asking me to tell Bill to call him because, "There's a little problem with the toilet, and it looks like Bill 's gonna have to do Number 2 in a ten gallon bucket unless he calls me." Yikes. Good thing Bill will be walking in the Bunkhouse door at any moment.
Last night, in my sleep, I came to several realizations. First, I need to learn to distinguish snakes from one another, so I'll know when to be scared and when not to be. Second, I need to make pot roast, ASAP!, so the crock pot eill be working overtime tomorrow. Third, it would be cool to have a car with the sterring wheel on the british side, but to still drive on the right. That way, I could more easily ask directions of a pedestrian, and not have to do the creep, "hey little girl" lean over to the passenger's side to chat out the window.
I can't guess what Mo was dreaming about last night, but it involved a whole lot of barking and twitching.
Last night all I wanted in life was a comfy sofa and a short wave radio. Instead, I hadto be satified with my squashy and pokey with springs in the butt polka dot chair and The OC, which by the way, featured a total shout out to me in the form of the Golden Girls theme song.
"...And if you threw a partaaaaaaaaaaaay and invited everyone you knew
You would see the biggest gift would be from me
And the card attached would say...
Thanks You for Being a Friend."
I've been thinking a lot about what I would be if I could be anything in the world - starting now...I am imagining librarian, or college teacher, or famous writer, or hermit. I want to work with words and books and thinking. And I want to have a PLACE where I work,a studio, or an office, but I don't want to have to be there 40 hours a week, if I don't want to. I don't want to have to be nice to people for a living, like I do now. I think if I didn't have to please folks and be social for work, I might be able open back up to being social in my life. Because right now, I am not. I have pared my social life down to the bare minimum of bestest friends and family, and even those folks (aside from Bill and my mom) I hardly ever see. I guess I can scratch hermit off my list, because I already am one.
Just the past few days, I have come to feellike my future is actaully going to happen, and that everything will work out okay. I guess until now, it has not felt completely real to me. At our office Holiday party I had a conversation with my boss' boss about telecommuting every other week from the Adirondacks, starting at the end of March. Yesterday, my boss told me that she would love that, so now my wheels are spinning - can I find a cheap room near here so I can give up my apartment and use the money to pay off debt? Will I be able to concentrate on working the weeks I am upstate? Should I say yes right now, even though I really really want the job in public relations? I told my boss I would tell her in two weeks.
The holidays were, as predicted, insane. Insane, but wonderful. I was able to see almost all the family I wanted to see, and got to eat all the things I love to eat, and, even though I did not get to sleep as much as I would have liked, I got to enjoy many hours of fun. I had lobster. Twice. Peruvian food. And too many wonderful gifts. And a long awaited pretty sparkelly. But I am so glad it's over. I need a little bit of a rest before the year starts to heat up...with weddings and moves and crazy plans. I have no resolutions this year, because I figure I have enough on my plate without giving up ice cream.
On Saturday, Bill and I took two ferries from his mom's and spent the day in Montauk. We both have memories there, and they came together when he turned down the road to his old friend's house and I realized we were about to pass Sepp's, where my mom used to take us to stay in the summers. We drove out to the point, and walked below the lighthouse, and saw dozens of seals on the rocks. We had a great lunch and drove over to Gossman's Dock, and I remembered walking on the dock after dinner with my mom and brother and being afraid of the fishing boats in the dark. Bill showed me what all the parts of the boats do and it wasn't scary anymore. I slept in the truck on the way home and I think it was a pretty good start to the year.
