Thursday, November 10, 2011

On Sweatpants and the Grocery Mart

When I was living in a small town, there were stores the normal people went to and the store the meth-headed-making-babies-for-the-state-check people went to. We shall not name names. I joked I wasn't qualified to go there because I never had proof of copulation. Really. People went in their semen smear pajamas and 3 day old beards with baby guts hanging over their sweatpants. I could never bring myself to dress appropriately.
To this day I firmly believe it is not okay to wear sweatpants outside of the house after the age of 24 or giving birth. Or if you're a man who doesn't plan to live in your mom's basement all your life. NO SWEATPANTS IN PUBLIC.

Truth? I wear sweatpants outside the house. 

Readers, I have my reasons. 
  • I leave for work at 5:30 AM
  • The first thing I do at work is take a shower for biosecurity purposes.
  • The last thing I do at work is take a shower.
  • 50% of the time I'm headed to my other job where I will change into my uniform. 
  • 40% of the time I'm headed home to get dressed in pretty clothes to go out or to change into "studio clothes to work on a project that is messy.
The problem is in the other 10% of the time when I might run an errand after work.

So I have rules.

The rules for sweatpants outside the house are as follows.
  1. Sweatpants must be black.
  2. Sweatpants must be clean.
  3. Track pants and basketball shorts are not sweatpants and should never be worn in public. Even if you're a pimp or multi-platinum rap artist or professional basketball player off the court.
  4. Active pants (yoga pants) fall into the same category as sweatparnts.
  5. Sweatpants must have a flat hem. No elastic or cutoff or walked off bottoms.
  6. Sweatpants must be accompanied by appropriate footwear. No flip-flops in winter or house slippers.
  7. Sweatpants must be worn with an appropriate sized top. No oversized sweatshirts or undersized tank tops.
  8. All mid-riff skin must be concealed, even when bending over to fetch the super size of cat litter or less popular flavors of Ben & Jerry's.
  9. No whale tail's. EVER.
  10. No panty lines
  11. No camel toes.
  12. You hair must be neat and presentable, not look like you just rolled out of bed. 
  13. The only, only, ONLY exception to these rules is if you just busted your ass at the gym. If you're sweaty & disheveled because you just hit the gym and hit it hard, go ahead, walk around tall and proud in your nasty stinky sweats and show all the meth-headed-making-babies-for-the-state-check people what sweatpants were made for.
Lazy is never an excuse to wear sweatpants in public.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

I am a hack.

Or at least I feel that way. Tonight I sat next to an art teacher. Someone who is paid to doooooooooo art. I, I am not paid to do art. I make it up as I go. Tonight I got funny looks as I thinned the $hit out of my acrylic paints to lay down a base layer. When asked about what I was doing I tried to explain as patiently as possible I was building a base layer, and this is just how I work, sometimes. Sometimes I slather it on with a trowel. But this one I'm trying to be careful (kinda) because I have a buyer for this painting. He saw a picture I took and asked for it as a painting. So I'm giving it a shot. Where do I show? For this event I'm showing at the bar on the boardwalk. Otherwise, I don't. I actually had to be talked into participating. Local art competitions? I swore off them earlier this summer. You're interested in having me paint your restaurant? Um, here is my card, I'm going to be up here this weekend, or tomorrow & I'll get some photos & work up some sketches. (side note: I still need to get sketches to 2 Shy Brew in Roseburg. I'm aware they are 8 months overdue. I'm not Catholic, but I a familiar with guilt. Don't worry Paul, I feel it!) (Sidenote #2: How much do I charge for that? $50/ square foot? Because I'm an unknown? Up the price $5/sq ft for every painting I sell? Ryan, the painting you want is $350) Return: I never expected to be serious about this artist gig. It is currently part of what fills my spare time. Along with friends, family & horrible bad habits. I got rid of the boyfriend, I have few obligations outside of work, so if I wanted too I could commit a lot more time to this. And tonight, after the feedback? I want to. I want to eat, sleep, breathe & the other two basic bodily functions that define animals this art/painting/photography/block printing/ figure drawing gig. Thank you to all of you with negative feedback who held your tongues. The kids who came & watched with jaws on their chests? They were the best! Also I'm pretty thrilled with what I got done tonight so as soon as I finish this beer (artists get to drink in bars by themselves, no questions asked) I'll go home & continue the painting I started tonight some more. Finally, I'm really grateful to my best friend for coming to sit in the cold with me.

Saturday, September 17, 2011


Couple weeks ago I was minding my own business traversing the stairs as I do, half asleep, craving more sleep without a cat sitting on my bladder. Coming down the stairs I tripped & faceplanted, my head making impact with the floor, traveling a vertical distance of like 9 ft within milliseconds. Not being injured, I went back to bed and went to work where i relayed I was grateful for an easy night/help and told the story. The following Monday some weenie called in with sunburn. I was horrified that was an excuse as I had come in after faceplanting. This sent my bosses into an uncontrollable giggle fit. Apparently I can bring a smile to my brother in law's (who is my boss) by reminding him of my trip down the stairs.

Sooooooooo yesterday after a hard week I had promised to bring in homemade pie if my newest teammate reminded me to wake up today & bake it. She did text to wake me up, at 1 PM which is early considering it was a 12 hour night for both of us. Thinking it would be wise to wear pants while baking I put some pj's on & tried to climb the stairs to the kitchen. My pants are ill fitting and caused me to trip going up the stairs, faceplanting into the wall. Relaying this to my boss made the pie that much more delicious for my boss.
Do you feel the love?

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Bang Bang Bang

I think it is safe to say most educated adults find trophy hunting reprehensible. Not the type where you join community rec leagues & try to beat other aging youths for a plastic cup on a faux marble base. I'm talking about going out with a big gun you've never held before and having someone lead you to a large animal and taking aim  and shooting an animal for no other purpose than to pose with the dead carcass. Because the meat isn't edible and it is illegal to possess the body part. i.e. rhino horn. 

This isn't something we come across in the course of our day to day lives, it is something I should think about more, with my degree being in zoology. But I don't, so when I came face to face with this in my world far removed from zoos and safaris and in my life that consists of WORK and FINDING A SCHOOL and MONEY and BEER and DIET and PAINTING and all my wonky priorities it smacked me & smacked me hard.


I've been crying over this for 2 days.  Because it happened. It is still happening. And I was reminded in the harshest way possible. Some of the tears shed were probably in disappointment that I had forgotten. 

This is happening across the world, but worse yet, in the United States. A supposed first world nation allows men (and woman) to pay a large fee to hunt exotic species. Don't believe me? 
Or Google search "exotic trophy hunt texas" yourself. Most of these animals are not listed as endangered species, but are unfortunate to be easily bred exotics.  When I worked at an AZA accredited animal park we had more eland, barbary sheep, and zebra born every year than our open range park could accommodate. But sometimes these trophy outfits get lucky and non-accredited "zoos" have going out of business sales and charismatic mega fauna (i.e. rhinoceros, giraffe, elephants, lions) are auctioned off. Don't believe me?

This link will take you to a page telling about Boom Boom, a male white rhino with a story with a happy ending.  At the time I was working at a park that received Jack, the other male rhino from the Catskills Game Farm auction, courtesy of Marc Ecko. 

Are you wondering about what it would cost to shoot an rhino? According to this man it was $35,000. Another site states "These hunts are not cheap, as Thormählen is pricing them upwards of $250,000." in reference to Thromalen & Cochran Safaris.

I'm at a loss. I can't act on the images I encountered. I've asked to never be sent to the site again, but I'm feeling helpless to stop this. I know as a nation a trade and travel embargo against nations that allow for hunting of endangered species is far fetched and there are many human rights issues that are going to take priority. So I feel first we need to ban trophy hunting at home.


To be continued...

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Talking Shit

There has been a lot of dealing with shit in my life. Literally. Not figuratively.

My employment history is littered with experience cleaning restrooms. First it was working in the busiest day use state parks in Vermont & Michigan. The saying was guests left their brains at the gate when they entered. For the record, Vermont was cleaner. Take that Holland tourists!
Next came caring for animals, first as a zoo intern, then as a ranger at a drive through safari park. In the 2 years I spent cleaning up after animals I saw almost every type of excrement a land mammal could produce. I would consider tigers and hippopotamuses generally cleaner in their restroom habits than the general  human population. There are days I would really prefer to be knee deep in rhino shit again.
Having had over 20 roommates and driven cross country a couple times I was pretty familiar with the whole spectrum of conditions in which one can find a restroom in before I took my current job, and then I started cleaning schools. Oh my goodness. You people can not let your kids get away with this at home. And if you do, we are not friends.

What has me reminiscing on all the restrooms in my life is last night's foray into a building of educated professionals. These particular professionals were in the education business, the people who determine curricula and teaching methods and all that stuff. So you would think they would be capable of keeping their restrooms in better conditions than those of the public library. Not so. They were one instance of bodily fluid graffiti away from a homeless hangout. These are the people who are shaping your children eight hours a day. So cleaning tonight I thought why not go over the rules for proper restroom etiquette somewhere no one will see it? Maybe they can use this, and create a section in the health curriculum that features some of these tips. Heaven knows there are some schools in southwest Michigan that need some help. (E-mail me & I'll name names and you can avoid sending your kids to them.)

  1. You should never spit in a restroom. Never. You are indoors. We, as a society, do not spit indoors. This applies to snot rockets also. If you feel the need to expel fluid from your facial orifices, use a tissue and dispose of it in the proper receptacle.
  2. If you drop it pick it up. This applies to toilet paper, hairpins, trousers, paper towels. You don't scatter office paper throughout your neighbors' cubicles or leave a trail of candy wrappers down the street, nor should you discard the extra toilet paper on the floor in the stall. If you drop it grab a extra bit of paper, pick it up and dispose of it properly. Every second your cleaning person spends picking up toilet paper is a second they don't spend sanitizing the toilet seat. 
  3. If you need to instigate the use of a new roll of toilet paper, put the wrapper in the trash. Some way, some how put it in the trash. Not on the floor. Same for the cardboard tubes. And the little scraps of paper that start the roll. Rest the tube & wrapper on the dispenser while you pull of your pants, then take them out of the stall & dump them. No one will look at you funny. They actually be very impressed by your consideration for the people following you.
  4. Wash your hands. This should be obvious, but you will not believe the disparity between hand towel usage between men's rooms and women's rooms. There are reminders on almost every stall door, stuck to every mirror, and posted beside exits. Yet I watch you walk out without washing your hands all the time. 
  5. Don't turn on the tap full blast when you wash your hands. The water pressure is not what kills the germs, soap is. Oh, right. Use soap. Turn on the water with one hand while using the other to get soap. Push once to dispense, wait until the soap is finished flowing out, then move your hands to the sink, proceed to lather, rinse, turn off the water. Take a moment to reflect as your hands drip dry before reaching for the hand towel. Don't shake like a wet dog. Dry your hands, grab a extra towel & wipe the area around the basin & the tap. The person following you will thank you.
  6. Unless you are using the special stall because you have special needs, under no circumstance should you touch the stall wall, door, or divider between the urinals. You're not the first to touch it, nor will you be the last. Eww. I don't understand your need to brace yourself for the event, but if you do have that need, you should probably see a doctor. Along the same lines, it is not okay to wipe or spray anything on the walls. Please don't make me elaborate upon this. 
  7. Woman: Put the applicator back in the wrapper, then toss. Better yet, use O.B. The planet will thank you. Wrap IT in toilet paper, then toss. In the special box. Not on the floor. 
  8. Men: Stand closer & wait to finish before you start shaking. I've never been involved in potty training a male of the species, but I think this is something you were supposed to learn, like, before pre-school, alongside tying your shoes. You are so proud of your snow art but you can't control it in the restroom. WHY? Are you drunk &/or lazy at work? 
  9. Before you exit the stall look around. Have you contributed to the mess in any way that would not allow you to look the next person in the eye? Discretely grab some TP and take care of it. You're going to wash your hands so it is okay. 
These are just some simple starting points. They seem like no brainers but you know...

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Letter To The Folks I Filled In For Tonight:

Dear Co-Workers, 
It would be really cute that you think this high school & that passing notes about the boring details of your white trashy lives is acceptable if you actually did the job you are being paid to do. Filling in for you is such a joy when the trash is overflowing in some areas and in other areas it is clearly evident a mop has not graced the floor in eons. Don't get me started on dusting and desk wipes. This factory is actually a pretty nice one as far as steel forming goes. The people are clean & pleasant, the facility well maintained, leaving me to believe the conditions are a result of you failing to give a shit.
Leaving the notes containing citations of how much you hate the factory you are working in would be precious if you didn't leave them in plain sight for the maintenance people to see. If I were a real bitch I would have left the papers you scribbled on on the contact's desk with a note, feigning having mistaken them for something a factory employee might have lost. But that would have taken time I did not have, as I spent too much time there as it was, having to change the mop water after nearly every room. 
Finally, please consider taking some G.E.D. classes as your spelling and grammar are atrocious. That means really bad. As though it isn't bad enough that you waste your time writing about your children calling their teachers bitches, your spelling might convey that the company you work for will hire any asshole off the street. Most of us are high school graduates and quite a few have even gone to college. Turns out there are standards, which is why they won't hire your felony toting boyfriend. (Which is really not something you should share with your co-workers.)
The Woman The Factory Workers Said Did A Better Job (Don't worry, they weren't the same ones that said you were outside smoking pot that one day I couldn't find you.)

Thursday, August 18, 2011

A Post All About Michael Buble

At some point during the night it got into my head that my drive back from Big Rapids would be infinitely better if I streamed a Pandora station featuring Michael Buble. Now that I've admitted to being soothed by the sweet crooning of those handsome lips you can go ahead and unfollow me on Twitter here: SlowSoul.

Now that is off my chest let us discuss the lightning strike that sent sparks into the sky (quite a distance) ahead of me as I was driving tonight. Throughout the hour long drive there was multiple lightning strikes. That looked like short lived FLAMES floating midair. But this one struck a tree? Then when I passed Exit 120 flames in the woods caught my eye. People, there was a chance I witnessed lightning causing a forest fire. Go back in the archives two years and you'll see there is a recurring theme starting After I called the emergency dispatch and reported the possibility of a fire resulting from a lightning strike at a specific location I had to change to the Pandora station featuring Eddie Vedder. (Have you heard Ukulele Songs? YOU SHOULD!) Eddie Vedder is so much more appropriate for forest fires. With the station changed my mind wandered to forest fires and shooting stars and men with beards. When I think of forest fires and men I think of Edward Abbey and Jack Kerouac in their respective fire towers. Then I become insanely jealous. And grateful. Then I start to miss Jeff. And Sheri. But mostly Jeff because it was his porch I spent my free evenings on when the fire cut off access to town. It was Jeff's fridge I kept my beer in. It was Jeff garage I shot pool in. All things a hermit living far from town would spend their nights doing.

 It was Jeff who lead me to the job that had me living 60 miles from town in a one room cabin with access to town cut off when I painted this:

Jeff rescued this painting from an tragic fate when I absentmindedly (surprise!) left it on the top of the car, where it was drying. The painting made it about a mile down the road before it blew off to be found by one of Jeff's crew mates, then it showed up at their morning safety meetings, and Jeff's brave soul claimed it and returned it to me to be completed.

Jeff is also the standard to which I hold men I date, who I might date, who I might possibly be willing to consider living with.  (Disclaimer: To the best of my knowledge I have never been romantically involved with Jeff, or with anybody named Jeff.)  Jeff keeps a clean house, dresses snazzy, cooks really well, and smells good. My standards are pretty high. So someday when I'm an old spinster living on the woods you will know how it started.

P.S. August and September of 2009 I checked this sight a lot. Because I am a nerd. At the time I was living at Toketee, and there was a blaze to the west, along the North Umpqua Highway, and two to the south, the Boze & the Rainbow. I was also really nervous that if I had to evacuate Jenna would be out somewhere I couldn't find her and I would have to leave without her. That did not happen. But we did have to make the 2 hour trip to Medford to see a vet about having a bot-fly larva removed. (Do not open the last link if you have a weak stomach. Dude has a hairy back.)

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Good Stuff There Maynard

If I took drugs, or medications of any sort on a daily basis, which I don't, today would have been a day where they were working, working exceptionally well. If they did exist I would call my dealer/doctor and let him know: "Good Stuff There Maynard, can I get some more?"
Hello productivity.
It could be the pressure that I put on myself because I'll be 30 in less than a week, or it could be because I went on a date last Friday, and I felt like I didn't measure up.

  • I still live with my parents.
  • I have a degree, that I'm not using.
  • I'm not as fit as I would like to be.
  • I don't make a whole lot of money.
  • AND I don't produce in the studio at a rate I am satisfied with.
The list could go on, but those are the big things I would like to change in the next year, and I kick myself every time I miss an opportunity because I was too busy playing catch up.  Like this:

Landlord does not check email. PLEASE CALL!!! Cute loft apartment on acerage with a lake. 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom. Renter responsible for utilities. Please call ***-***-**** or ***-***-**** 435.00 per month

The apartment is in the picture below. It is in the far right part of the house shown with the patio

  • Location: Fennville
  • it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
image 2image 3

Really, that's my price range here people. 

But truthfully I like living in the basement minus the ability to waltz around the house in the buff all the time, or not being able to blast the stereo as loud as I would like at 3AM. On second thought that is an attached rental, so it may not be so perfect after all. Gonna keep riding the free train a bit longer.

But, no really, I was productive. I spoke with admissions counselors at two schools today. Oh yes, that is the plan, more schooling. Because having dropped out of college three years ago wasn't enough. This time if I go, I'm committing to all 2 years of the program. Oh, you know it... huge commitment. 

It's crazy 2 years feels like an unfathomably long time, but considering I think of 6 months as a long term relationship and haven't held the same position at wherever I'm employed for more than 16 months in I can't remember how long ( I go up, I go down, I go sideways, but I am never content with the status quo) 2 years is a really long time, and the sooner I can blast through classes the better. The last 18 months I spent with my parents is the longest I've had the same address since I graduated high school.

But I'm going back to school. I can swing the costs, and it is time to *sigh* grow up. To get a 9 to fiver and join my friends in the world of responsible adults. 

Not only am I going back to school I'm also applying for a part time job, that could turn into a full time job, that would mean working  in my current degree field. Are you confused yet? 
I have a degree circa 2003. In zoology, zoo & aquarium science specifically with a specialization in ethics.
I went back for a second degree  in Studio Art from 2006-2008 then dropped that to go the autodictadic route.
Now I want to go back to school again for a job where I can actually draw some bank. I would graduate in 2014, at the decrepit old age of 32. 

But yes, I am now at a point where I am looking at working 2 jobs (and substitute teaching, maybe? So three jobs? Which, if the conditions are right, I'll be dropping my current job and possibly the substitute teaching) and going to school full time and I'll still be pressuring myself to increase my output of paintings and printing, and and and I just found a way to keep working with alternative photography processing. So if you want to come organize all this for me, or to yell at me to just keep going, let me know. 

I have a chance to breath again in 2014. I might as well plan on cancelling my gym membership in 2012. 

Sunday, July 31, 2011

A Particular Breed of Crazy

Disclaimer: This is the post where I may or may not discuss my personal experiences as a less than reputable patron of drinking establishments. This is also the post where, without naming names, I tell you sordid stories about people who were once my friends until I realized they were toad licking* crazy. What is described is a fictional scenario, with my opinion of what went wrong dispersed throughout.

To begin with, the inspiration for this story: A couple weeks ago I had a twitversation with a gentleman as he was being "hit on" while at a bar. Tweeting whilst being hit on would have been an odd thing to do if he had not been less than flattered by the attention.
You see ladies, men say they like it if the woman makes the first move, but when you make a "first move" on every man in the establishment, you are no longer charming in your confidence. You become the crazy desperate broad who will go home with anyone in order to bolster her self esteem for a couple moments. You are the one night stand who is expecting a breakfast in bed accompanied by a marriage proposal in the morning.

It all starts out innocently. It's Friday night, you put in your 40 & you are ready to let loose, to go out and have fun with the girls, just like those fiercely independent ladies on the reruns of Sex in the City you watch while packing away a pint of Ben & Jerry's the other four nights a week. (I'm exaggerating, I know). You shower, do your hair, use the expensive perfume & wiggle into the strapless bra to wear with the halter top you picked up last Saturday morning. You make a round of phone calls as you pick over leftover pizza (you need something in your stomach to help process the alcohol) trying to rally the troops for a night out. You find some friends willing to hit the town & you nail down one as the designated driver. You are ready to go.

In reality,your hair is not cooperating because of the humidity, the perfume is Sensual Amber body lotion from Victoria's Secret and that top is not the right cut for your figure, the color is all wrong. 

Your friends show up dressed much more casually, and damnitall, they look better than you with a lot less effort. Nevertheless, you are going out and you are going to have fun!

#1 This is the first step to the crazy: You're conscientiously competing with, comparing yourself to, your friends. 

You get to the bar, giggle as the bouncer asks for your I.D. and find a table near the dance floor. (Good grief, I don't even like where this story is going.)

Take 2:  You get to the bar & pile into a booth or sit around a table. The waitress takes your order and while your friends start chatting you scan the room for good looking single looking men, oblivious to the conversation around you. You spot one & nudge your closest friend to ask her opinion to see what she thinks. She checks him out as he happens to look over to your table, at the same time she is casually smiling at something being said by someone else at the booth while still looking his way. Shitshitshit now he's thinking she's interested in him, when you had just called dibs.

#2 Hooking up/meeting/dating is not a team sport. If he looks good, take a chance & worry about your friends' opinions after the 2nd date.

#3 It's not your friend's fault she's the one who is smiling & you're fretting over whether or not some guy  whose name you don't even know likes you based on a glance across the bar.

Well, just because you struck out with the first guy doesn't mean the night is a bust. There are more men. You square your shoulders, grab a friend, and head to the restroom in order to get a better look at the other prospects.  Once in the restroom you jabber away, bad mouthing your first friend who is now enjoying a beer beside the first guy you picked out and asking your companion's opinion of the other men present.

#4 Keep it positive & lighthearted, as you never know who is in the stall next to you. It could be the tall stud two booths over's best gal pal! You don't want to make a pass at him to find out she already told him you're a Negative Nancy with a wagging tongue.

You exit the restroom & instead of joining the rest of the group you proceed to attempt to strike up a conversation with any man you think will give you the time of day. After each failed attempt you return to your dwindling group, wondering each time when so & so left (and who they left with, gasp, that slut!) taking shot of liquid courage and foraging out for another go round. You continue this until you have one friend left, patiently waiting for you to finish living it up for the night. She stays out of a sense of obligation, knowing you're not going to make it home responsibly on your own. Unfortunately this will also make her shoulders the ones you cry on before you pass out alone. 

#5 You drank too much. 

#6 No one is going home with you after you've been shot down with every other man in the bar.

#7 You shouldn't be trying to meet men in the bar. Duh.

Screw this bar! Their drinks are weak and overpriced. You convince your semi-sober friend (she can't watch you without crying while being completely straight laced) to go to different bar. (Don't worry, you're walking there.) When you get there you find that's it's an off night for that bar, it's fairly empty & the pickings are slim. You recognize a man you tried to hit on earlier in the night & you head off to make a second go at it while your friend sidles up the the bar and is promptly bought a drink by a good looking guy who was in the restroom when you walked in. 

#8 You went back for sloppy seconds on rejections when you are clearly plastered.

Your "date" leaves and you head to the bar. You interrupt the friendly conversation in progress to bend your last remaining friend's ear about how nobody loves you. You expound on how you are going to die alone. You are generous in sharing your disapproval of the bartender for not serving you, because you are not drunk, this is your personality, bitch. You let everyone know you do not need to change in order to get a man, if he is right for you he will recognize you for your inner strength and beauty, for the rivers of passion that run through your veins. 

#9 I repeat, you interrupt the friendly conversation in progress. The dignified thing to do at this point is to sit your ass down, order a glass of water, sit quietly and wait to be escorted home by your friend who is a saint because she is going home with you instead of for coffee with the charming gentleman next to her. The charming gentleman who is enough of a gentlemen to offer to drive you both home, AND AND AND doesn't seem the type to proceed to try and force his way into your home and kill you both.

You become resentful of your friend because without even trying she hooked a man. You tell her so, in front of the man. The man who had a decent looking friend in a similar state as your own. A decent looking friend who is starting to notice you before you storm out of the bar to be chased by your friend and the man and his friend where you proceed to puke and cry on the curb. Because she has had enough, God bless her patient little heart, she bums a smoke from her new friend and continues her conversation while the drunk decent looking friend attempts to look after you by rubbing your back and telling you how pretty you are.

#10 If I have to tell you what is wrong at this point, you are and will always be the crazy broad at the bar.

Your friend's new friend takes you all home. Along the way you lean forward and "whisper" to your friend you think your friend's new friend's drunk friend is cute. You proceed to make out with the drunk friend in the back seat. Thoroughly embarassed at this point your friend has her new friend drop you off first and doesn't say anything to stop you from inviting in your new boyfriend to spend the night. Your friend and her new future fiance head to the all night coffee shop and get breakfast.  They are married eighteen months later and the drunken friend, who never called like he said he would, is the best man. You were the maid of honor, as you practically set them up. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Sigh.

#11 Really, you should have stopped reading at #7. 

And they lived happily ever after.

*I'm trying out toad licking, as I feel bats are getting a bad rap when we use the phrase "bat shit crazy."

Friday, July 22, 2011

It's Not The Heat, It's The Humidity.

I kind of, sort of, not really but really, missed last summer. Part of it was due to working 3rd shift. A couple trips to the beach & it was over. What I remember is the coolness of the basement, the construction on the street outside and the patio at the local brewery. My free time was spent etching glasses & constructing the ultimate poster frame seating guide for my sister's wedding reception.

This summer is already much fuller, with more trips to the beach, a greater variety of breweries, and the first camping trip in a couple years. The rest of summer is filling up quickly with kayaking, birthday parties and weekends that are intentionally free of obligations. The best part of being an adult? When all the kids are back in school, summer stretches on for the rest of us who have already paid our dues.

Because I 'missed' last summer I'm still becoming reacquainted with Michigan summers. Oh my goodness, it's as though I'm wearing layers of damp pond algae instead of clothes. It wasn't like this in Oregon & Colorado.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

One is...

I just gave myself the heebie-jeebies by thinking about how much time I spend alone. 2 out of 24 hours in a day are spent with other people. On a good day. Some days more. Some days less. I think that is okay? I think I'm okay.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Crazy Dreams

I currently work nights, with my first brother in law as my supervisor. Some people work at this job all their lives, and that's okay. For them. I was working the other night and I happened across another profession that could appeal to me. So I'm looking into it.
The first stop was asking my second brother in law the requirements to enter this other profession. Here's a hint as to what it is: My second brother in law is a lawyer.
The next step was to go online & research the programs available for this profession. Online is going to be the best option.
So, now I need to sort through the information that will be arriving in the mailbox & decide if this is even feasible. Do I have the money? time? skills? These are things I'm going to worry about as the information arrives.
Until then I'm going to get *stuff* done, celebrate a friends birthday, play a round of disc golf & hit the beach. Oh, and get some painting & carving in there too. Priorities my friends. I can't be building houses on the sand.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

That Woman

I met That Woman about 8 years ago. She was divorced with primary custody of her children, held down a full time job for low pay, had an hour commute, volunteered with the local art museum and various charities, still found time to pursue relationships and her own creative interests, AND go out for a beer on a Friday night because she knew I was lonely as I was new in town and my roommate was curmudgeonly.

I don't think that was the first time I met That Woman. Today may have been the first time I realized I ever met That Woman. Now that I realized That Woman exists, and I've met her, I see versions of her in others. Others I admire. Others I respect. I want to be my own version of That Woman.