Wondering if that boi you like likes you? Well, wonder no more. Cher has the answer.
Happy Friday-eve.
A general, choppy, update on life:
Violet has a ton of work stuff going on, my job has been slammed with real work to do and Violet’s parents are coming into town this weekend. So, I have been spending my time doing actual work stuff (instead of blogging), helping Violet with some of her work stuff, and preparing the house for parents, which we all know means hiding some things and digging out other things to put on display as if they are always there.
Spring is very springy and I am ready for summer.
I haven’t seen Marcus and am assuming it’s because he is a healthy raccoon with hurt feelings and has a grudge against our lack of edible garbage (we compost almost everything worth scavenging. He’s smart enough, he’ll catch on eventually.)
Fraidy is the raddest fish that has ever lived and we have developed a cool little routine that goes:
I go out to see him as soon as I get home every evening. I scoop out the never ending fallen cherry blossoms with a net. He gets all flippy-floppy trying to dodge the net, inevitably working up an appetite. I sprinkle in some fish food flakes in the same place every time, wiggle my finger in the water where the food is, which is his food-cue that he quickly caught on to. He dives to the bottom and acts all coy (yes, bad pun, and he is actually just a remarkably beautiful goldfish). At first he is very methodical, like a hungry shark, attacking one piece of food and then diving back to the bottom. Eventually, he starts swimming around more furiously, striking at several pieces in a row until he just starts striking at anything and everything. Every once in a while he gets a cherry blossom or a little piece of moss and then shoots it back out with force and with this grumpy fish face like I tricked him or something. I watch, laugh, and then go inside to recount the whole scene to Violet.
She’s not terribly willing to have long conversations about our goldfish but she is sweet about it and listens.
I will up my blogness frequency again soon. But for today, that’s the news from lake Woebegone… or Washington, I guess… where the women are strong, the raccoons are good looking, and the fish are above average.
Also, as we all know, Thursday is Cherday. If you have any great Cher-ness, do cher. You can send anything and everything Cher to jessejamesblog@gmail.com
Thanks.
jj
The other day, while I ditched work to go walking in the sun, only to stumble upon those fabulous pictures of cap’n who n’ da’ crew I forgot to mention the sparkly, fabulous music in my ears, acting as my soundtrack. It is one of my very favorite Cher songs (even though it’s a cover). My dear Sinclair put this song on a mix for me a few years ago and just now, sent me the link to the video, which I hadn’t seen.
Hot. Sexy. Yum. Love. Wonderful. Fabulous. Aaaah.
Thanks Sin.
Happy Friday-eve, all. Happy Cherday.
This is Fraidy. Fraidy Phat the Fish. It’s not the clearest picture but that’s because when the sun is out he is cruising all over his pond at warp speed, making a clear fish shot hard to catch.
A few Saturday’s ago, while Violet was gone, I set up camp right next to the pond with a book, some coffee, and nothing to do but sit in the sun with my fish. I hadn’t seen much of Fraidy until then. I thought he was just really shy and afraid of being seen (hence the name). But as it should turn out he’s cold blooded, just like all of the other fish in the world, and so during the winter season all he’s really doing is hanging out at the bottom of the pond, freezing his little fish balls off, trying to stay… not frozen.
But now that spring has sprung, Fraidy is a fire-fast, fat and happy, flippy little fish. A cute little red head, as you can see, with a ring of red around his lips as well (I’ll do what i can to get a picture of that). I have grown to love him rather quickly and pretty seriously. And now that he actually does stuff you can count on regular fish updates- meaning, if the fish, the raccoon, the girlfriend, and/or Cher bore you, you will most likely lose interest in my life.
Last night Violet came home quite a few hours after me. I was already in pj’s, curled up on the couch watching old episodes of Roseanne when the front door opened. She tossed her bags, smothered me in kisses, sat down next to me and asked, “Hey love, did you get me bobby pins today by any chance?”
me: You know I did. I called you from the bobby-pin-hair-stuff aisle of the store to see what color you wanted… while you were at a store too, might I add.
Violet: Ooooh, thanks baby! My hair is everywhere. Where are they?
me: In my bag. What’s the deal with you always wanting me to pick up bobby pins… even when you’ll be at a store too, like today?
Violet: I told you, it’s very romantic.
me: Oh right. Romantic.
Violet: (while raiding her hair with a handful of new bobby pins, destined to eventually be lost and found all over our bed) Jesse, it just is. It’s a very romantic gesture and I love you for it… (still mindlessly pinning her hair) You know, this is the kind of stuff you should be blogging about.
This morning was an especially rude Monday. I was having an absolutely wonderful weekend, fell asleep Sunday night and the next thing I knew I was wearing a collared shirt and sitting at a desk in downtown Seattle.
I was chatting with Jup on the beloved gmail this morning, as she also woke up on the wrong day, and was going through old, old… old emails of ours instead of letting this Monday thing happen. I forgot so much of what I use to write about, how I use to write. I was telling her my (not so much anymore) secret fear that college ruined my ability to write. I think I’m too structured now, inside and out, to think that openly. I can’t say I miss feeling so all over the place but I do miss writing that way.
One of my old favorites was to take the world out of context and quote it at the end of every email. It was a different quote every email, which isn’t very hard if you spend more than ten minutes a day even slightly aware. Anyway, here are a few I ran into while stealing Jup’s idea of reading old emails instead of doing anything I should/need to be doing:
“I don’t care what anyone says dude, that’s sex with robots.” (an old friend, 2003)
“Growing up, every one said I should have a dream. I had to find out on my own that if I say this dream out loud it could kill me.” (a woman on a bus on Martin Luther King Day, 2002)
“It’s real easy to follow an avalanche. Tricky part is when you change your mind and your direction. Lotta pushin’, that’s how I got here anyway” (an old guy on the bus, Jack, he liked my hair, we started talking, 2002)
Is it just me, or does Cher’s laugh make you feel like world peace isn’t nearly as complicated as we’d like to think it is?
Happy Friday-eve. Happy Cherday. Enjoy.
At my job, for the most part, I do good things. But, for the most part, I sit at a desk and stare at a computer, which is why I have a blog. Which is what a blog is for.
So when it’s not pouring rain and I’ve already posted something I do what i can to get out of the office for a little while. Today’s excuse was a stack of mail that needed to be somewhere immediately! At 3:45 I stood up and very quietly mentioned to one person that i was going to the post office. I left the building, turned the corner, turned on my ipod and starting walking on any street that had sun shining.
I spent the first 4 blocks walking along the waterfront, eventually turning up towards 1st. This is when I walked by the first one. I saw the photo paper out of the corner of my eye. It was upside down and so completely uninteresting. I kept walking. A few steps later I saw another photo, also upside down, in the middle of the sidewalk. This time I couldn’t resist. I pulled my sweater over my hands and reached for what was most likely going to be totally pointless and sticky-gross with gawd-knows-what, but instead, to my utter delight, it was this:
I gasped aloud and stuffed it into my pocket like I had just found money on the ground. I then looked around to see if anyone had seen my physical reaction to my internal dialogue of “Why me? Why am I so lucky!?!” and immediatly turned around to go get the other one.
This was just. too. good. In a world of digital cameras, I was not only lucky enough to have stumbled upon an incredibly strange and fascinating paper photo, but two incredibly strange and fascinating paper photos!
The second one was just as fulfilling:
They all look a little more prepared for this shot. And who is that woman? And WHO IS THE LITTLE GUY IN THE PIRATE STRIPED SHIRT AND CAP’NS HAT!?! I’m assuming his name is Oliver and that he is a Leo, but we might never know.
Oh, just in case you are waiting or wondering, there is no point to this post. No witty ending, no story, no conclusion or deep question for your soul to suck on. This is just life that happened and still life that i just happened to stumble upon while ditching work- and that’s it. But really, how great are these shots?
(p.s. if you know who these people are PLEASE let me know)
Saturday: I lazily lounged around the back yard watching Fraidy swim around and around… and around. I kept my eye out, hoping Marcus might come marching through the yard like he owns the place, like he does- no luck. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks and the last time I saw him he looked terrible. He usually made his appearances on Sundays, but at this point I wasn’t holding my breath.
Sunday evening: I had just gotten back from the grocery store. More excited about making something to eat than putting the groceries away, I left the bags in front of the fridge and began to chop up vegetables. As the onions began to cook I opened both the front and back door for some air. The phone rang. It was my mom. We started talking while I chopped vegetables. With the phone tucked under my shoulder, I picked up the cutting board and turned around to throw the garlic in the pan when, to my utter surprise and fleeting disbelief, I nearly tripped over a very large, tailless, raccoon.
Neither of us saw the other until we were just too close to not totally freak out. As far as Marcus could tell there was a wide open door leading to a bag full of glistening beet tops, kale and rainbow chard. Makes sense now, but at that moment he scared the shit out of me.
“AaahaAAhahHhHHahHHAHAHAHAHHHH!” I gasped.
“What is it!?!” my mom asked.
“There’s (gasp) a (gasp)….”
He froze. I froze.
“Get ooooooouuuuuut of here, Marcus!” I eventually shouted while backing away.
He looked totally surprised and rejected by my yelling. His head and shoulders slumped down and he gave me this talk-to-the-hand gesture as he turned away to leave. I was caught so off guard that I reacted quite dramatically but the simple fact was, there was a raccoon in my kitchen. I did notice how much better he looked. I hadn’t realized just how big he was until he was standing at my feet… in my kitchen- Big. Raccoon.
“Who the hell is Marcus, honey? Get out of your house! Call the police!” my mom ordered.
I flew out the back door barefoot and explained to my mom that this Marcus guy was just my raccoon. My concern was that I didn’t know for sure if he had found his way out or if he was hiding somewhere in the house, shocked and insulted, trying to gather himself before he had to face the world again. I got off the phone, grabbed my neighbor and a big stick and we scoped the place out together. As far as we could tell, Marcus had left.
As the neighbor and I were discussing what to do about my overly cordial, tailess guy the phone rang. Violet was calling from the airport in Baltimore, about to catch her flight home. She asked what I was up to and I told her that I had just had an unexpected guest stop by but that I kicked him out and that I felt kind of bad about it.
She said, “Oh no. Who? Why?”
I said, “Because I only made enough pasta for one, really, and I’m assuming Marcus is not allowed inside, yes?”
As the usual routine commute home goes: I get a seat in the back of the bus and spend the bus ride staring out the window. As I watch all of the bustling of the city streets begin to fly by me I imagine that my eyes are the camera for a scene in a movie. The song playing on my ipod dictates the entire placement and reason for the scene. If it’s a mushy, slow love song then the scene my eyes are filming is the end of the movie, where, for whatever reason I have invented at that moment, the camera is either filming the broken hearted lover returning or leaving – forever.
If it’s a happier, folky guitar song then sometimes it’s the beginning of the movie, opening credits rolling, and we don’t know why she’s on the bus yet. Sometimes it’s the pivotal point in the middle of the movie, where the character has been liberated somehow and a dramatic life change is happening as we watch the world fly by her. The camera stays so still that the audience feels this urge to look back, but that’s the point, the character doesn’t and doesn’t need to.
But yesterday I forgot my ipod and so I was soundtrackless. This made my observations about the world around me far more grounded in what was actually going on. Boring.
But then, all of a sudden, one stop away from my stop a truly beautiful and romantic scene really happened. No soundtrack. No script. No actors. Just a spring evening on a north Seattle street covered in cherry blossoms with two strangers waiting at a bus stop.
And their story went: Young happy guy talking to young giggly girl at bus stop. Their body language made it obvious that they were strangers and that he was flirting. Our bus pulled up. He took so long to finish what ever he was saying to her that there was an uncomfortable exchange between guy and driver when he finally stepped on. He was standing up as the bus pulled away. She was staring at the ground smiling, obviously trying not to look up. He was staring at her for as long as he could, obviously trying to get one last exchange. I pulled the tab, the next stop was mine. Four blocks later the bus stops. I get off the bus and realize that the guy who had just gotten on at the last stop also got off. At first, he walked away calmly, like this was his stop too, but the driver and I both knew it wasn’t. His stride was confident and excited and he was wearing a huge grin. I turned left at the corner while he kept walking back down the street where he had just come from four blocks earlier. I hoped that I had realized what was going on, or at least what my romantic movie mind was guessing and so I walked back and snuck a peak around the corner to see what he was up to.
This is where it got end-of-the-movie-perfect:
At this point he was walking down the street so quickly he was practically jogging. And then I caught the moment where, now only three blocks away, she saw him coming back, stood up, arms folded, frozen. He crossed another street with a skip and now, only two blocks away he hollered down the street, “Hey!… I forgot to ask you something!” I couldn’t see her face, but that’s the point, I didn’t need to.
(Yes, I could have made this up – but I didn’t.)
Recent Comments