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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.)
Spending the week by myself, it was oh so wonderful to stumble upon this web page http://popwatch.ew.com/popwatch/2008/04/cher-west-side.html for a few reasons:
1. It is always nice to be reminded that I am not alone in my deeply rooted and creative affection for the Goddess of all things sparkly and fabulous.
2. It is Thursday. It is Cherday. And I feel like this is a fine example of her range, diversity and incredible ability.
3. Cher doing every character of West Side Story? Yes.
4. Cher in drag? Oh yes.
5. As far as Cher’s ability to cover anything – I’ve been saying this same thing for years! I whole heartedly agree that she would rock “Paradise City”. And ‘m sure she go easily into some Axl Rose-tight jeans, bandanna around her head, swaying that Axl-sway to do it too. I also think she should give “Straight Up” by Paula Abdul and “Joline” by Dolly Parton a whirl. Man, could she do those right and damn, if she wouldn’t just be so… fabulous.
Happy Friday-eve. Enjoy.
Violet is out of town visiting family and doing business stuff on the east coast for the week. This means I’m home alone for 9 days. This means I am partaking in all of the things that don’t fly when Violet is home. My favorites: leaving not just my boxers, but all of my clothes on the bathroom floor. On the fourth day alone the pile grew tall enough that I now have to hop over the mound to get to the toilet, which makes me smile every time.
Dinners have consisted of prepackaged and/or frozen goodness that require a maximum of 5 minutes to prepare. A few favorites: mac n’ cheese (obviously), frozen potato perogies (boil, fry, eat), and frosted mini wheats.
*just to note: I have had at least one salad a day. For some reason, I know this makes Violet less anxious about my eating mac n’ cheese right out of the pan, over the sink, a few dinners in a row.)
I have been staying up too late, for no good reason, watching old episodes of the Golden Girls, but this is nothing new.
Oh, and last night I learned something important. Something I feel obligated to share in hopes of potentially saving others.
Lesson of the week: Do not spend thousands of dollars over the internet while high.
Last night, I spent over a thousand dollars on the internet while I was high. This was not a good idea. I don’t regret the purchase; it’s just that I purchased my purchase wrong.
My 86 year old godmother, Ruth, and I are taking a trip together in Nova Scotia this summer. I’ve already booked the tour and so last night I spent some time looking for plane tickets. All of a sudden this great deal appeared on my screen and I realized I better just buy them right that very second! I got out my credit card and started entering the needed information.
I entered in all of my info with ease because it is my name and address and so I know it well, even when I’m a little stoned.
Next, I entered Ruth’s name and address, again, with ease because even when a little stoned, I have known her for 31 years, and so, I know her name and address as well as I know my own.
I entered in all of my credit card info and clicked ‘accept’.
A second later a confirmation email was sent to my inbox for my review.
I reviewed.
Looked fine… except, wait… I jerked forward, squinted at the screen and looked it over very, very closely.
Passenger 1: (first name) jesse (last name) james
Passenger 2: (first name) Ruth (last name) Hanson
Wait a second. Uh oh. Hanson? That’s not her name! Ah! Did I seriously put her maiden name instead of the only last name she’s ever had since 1943? Yes. Yes I did.
To keep the boring part of weaving my way through the customer’s-have-no-rights-bureaucracy of airline companies and entities like CheapTicket (who has the shittiest policies and customer service ever!) as painless for the reader as possible, all I’ll say is that 3 hours, 8 phone calls, 11 robot operators, and 9 painful hold-music songs later, a real human at Continental calmly listened to my panicked ramble and changed Ruth’s last name from Hanson, which it is not, to Mori, which will now match her passport.
- 2 tickets to Halifax: $1300
- 1 typo on Cheaptickets: $9 and 3 hours on the phone
- Recognizing, through the haze of my stoned, one man, nine day bachelor party, that I would much rather pick up my dirty clothes off the bathroom floor, spend three hours cooking real food, and get nagged to stop watching the Golden Girls and come to bed at a reasonable hour any time over all of this glorious freedom: Priceless.
More than not, it’s the off guard, unpredictably random, who-woulda-ever… can’t-make-this-up moments that fling me flat on my face, 117 million feet into the ground, inlove, than last time… again.
At the kitchen table this morning:
me: “Hey, what are you drinking?”
Violet: “Cherry juice. Want some?”
me: “Don’t you mean cranberry juice?”
Violet: “No, cherry juice. Do you want me to pour you a glass?”
me: “When did you get cherry juice?”
Violet: “When I got all of that cranberry juice.”
In unison: “They were on sale!”
Violet: “Oh, you remember?!? You’re sweet.”
The important question is finally asked, “[Cher] why don’t you run for president?”
I don’t know why. I don’t know what happened. I don’t understand what changed. And I will never ask for an explanation… ever.
Saturday, while I was out with my out-of-town friend Violet called. I excused myself, answered the phone and she said, “Hey, do you have a second?” I said, “of course”, of course. Violet said, “Today at my gardening class i had a revelation.” I said, “mm hmm, and what was it?” Violet said, “We should get a dog. How about in June? Lets get a dog together in June.”
I had nothing to say because:
1. I was in the bathroom peeing and someone walked in, which is awkward and 2. Oh.My.Gawd.
So, now the conversation has moved from: “Can we please get a dog? Please! Pleeeeeease? Pleeeeeeeease!!!”
-to-
“What kind of dog should we look into getting?”
We have both agreed that a mutt is the only option, but Violet would prefer one mixed with Australian Shepherd and i would prefer one mixed with Boxer. The only reason i mention this is because of the uncanny resemblance that we each have with our prefered breed. Vain or good taste?… Probably a mix of the two.
One of my very favorite friends flew into town this weekend because her aunt passed away unexpectedly. It was not the happiest reason to see each other but it was wonderful to spend my Saturday and most of Sunday with her. As we said goodbye, locked in a bear hug at the rental car portion of the airport parking lot she said, “Seriously, I really love you.”
I laughed a little, still locked in a hug and replied: “Ya, ok, good. No more bullshit, i love you too… now. I mean, I used to just say that, but now i’m serious.”
Jup: “For years I just said it, totally full of shit, but you know, it was just to make things work, to get by.”
me: “So many years of being totally indifferent about you- no feelings what so ever. But you were just so damn cute i thought why not. But now, I mean, i really do.”
Jup: “Exactly. That’s exactly how it went for me too. Glad it’s out there. Ok, gotta go. I love you… for real this time.”
I kissed her cheek goodbye… again. She drove off and away to her aunt’s family house for a long week of mourning and a funeral next Saturday.
A sense of humor- I’ll tell you what: What.
I would love to compete in a Cher-off! I do a damn good Cher, let me tell you.
Happy friday eve. Enjoy.
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