In lieu of yesterday

a poem from last wednesday...

A Book...
An empty ice-filled glass.
Ink bleeding thru the page,
Further thought,
A filled vacancy.

Some ambient rhythm,
ignored.
A frustrated build
in threes.
Cracked night,
Tight shoulders
An expolated sigh
And voices rise.

Not FREAKISHLY INTELLIGENT

Sadly, alas- I did not get into Mensa. A blow tempered by the knowledge of its unattainability. But while for a brief moment I believed I belonged, it was beautiful music. In retropspect it's good to not be in the top rungs of intelligence, as it decreases their ability to cope with reality, but if it weren't for the math I might've gotten in. I do believe that was my downfall or perhaps bcs i only got to question 35 in the problem solving category. And further Mensa doesn't tell you where you placed. Cruel. I might feel justified if I had barely gotten in, like in highschool when my guidance counselor said a 3.5 average wasn't good enough. For what? There may be other tests but for now I'll let my mediocre and deplorable spelling abilities rest in the assured fact of their non-eschiloned status. And now I must also turn from my dreams of meeting the man of my dreams by the kitchen table of the Mensa mixer, or not being able to live up to the crushing pressure of abnormality, and coolness. We can't all be physics teachers before we're 25. I blame my upbringing.
MEA CULPA

Archers Revisited

  
 

It was as good a time as last time...except now i need my own bow and arrows- and a plan. One must always have a plan.

Now this is what I call tasty-fuck.

I think we're starting to scare all of our friends by the fact that we not only own a hutch, but also a 12-piece china set to fill it. So I want to come clean. I paid $99 for the whole thing. I bought it because we're hosting Thanksgiving this year, and we needed at least 10 plates that all matched and didn't look too tacky. After hauling the ginormous box home from Bed, Bath & Beyond yesterday, I have little confidence that I have acheived the latter. I'm trying to convince myself that a) they look "vintage," not tacky and b) who cares. It's plates. Who cares about plates.

Anyway, I don't regret the purchase, at all, I really don't. But I would like to tweak the ad copy provided by the Bed Bath & Beyond website and circular:

Trio T.F. Platinum Band 67-Piece Service Set
This "vintage-like" service for 12 (except for the coffee cups--one will come broken, which you figure will be fine, since you're not allowed to drink caffeine now anyway) set has everything you need to entertain in ghetto-fabulous style. Manufactured by a company called "Compton" (that's not a joke), each piece is made of not dainty-delicate but delicate in a cheap way, yet durable (except for that coffee cup), sorta-mostly white if you squint at it in poor lighting porcelain and is accented with three "beautiful" platinum-esque bands that come, for your convenience and peace of mind, pre-chipped. Now you don't have to worry about being the first one to accidentally put a chip in the bands, like with that "classy, high-priced" china--the work is done for you, and on every single piece! Set will go great with any decor and all occasions--well, maybe just one occasion. And maybe you should have considered paper or plastic--why pose? The food will be good, so who cares. But if you must, consider that this 67-piece set consists of 12 each of the 10 1/2" dinner plate, 7 1/2" salad plate, 8" soup bowl, 8-ounce cup and 6" saucer--that's one freaking huge box of mighty fine china . Also includes one each of the 12" oval platter--no, that's not near big enough for your turkey, but maybe one day when you cook up a game hen, 9" round vegetable bowl, covered sugar bowl, creamer and covered teapot. Hand wash. Because if you don't, those bands will melt clean off, leaving your oh-so-gorgeous china bald.

Chestnut & Front Street Disease

Due to general safety issues with the parking deck behind the library, two blocks away, and also as a special privilege due to the fact that I'm beginning to waddle, I have recently been assigned a new parking spot in the deck on Water Street. One can drive directly into this deck by traversing the corner of Chestnut and Front streets. But look out--the effect is amazing. A sudden onset of retardation seems to inflict nearly every driver crossing this intersection.

Even me--I won't claim to be immune. The first time I drove through there, I had a last-minute blank out on which side of the parking deck it would be appropriate to use, and chose the left. Wrong. Bad idea! Stupid! In America, we keep to the right.

For the rest of the week, I've managed to fight the crippling effects of this disease. But I've witnessed the downfall of others. Most people slow to a 5-mile an hour crawl, for no apparent reason. Others, in more advanced stages, wind down to a full-on halt at the green light. Yes--most tragic--the green light. Even bikers and pedestrians fall victim: a man on his bike lazily creeping into head-on traffic, apparently oblivious. A business man flinging open his car door and stepping out without a single glance at the car careening down this very same path.

Granted, Wilmington seems to cultivate its own special breed of this traffic syndrome, in various forms and degrees, over most of its city streets. However, Chestnut & Front Street Disease seems distinct in its seriousness, its fearsomeness. Medical community, take note!

Do You Know What Lurks Beneath the Surface?

I recommend using a plastic knife or, in a pinch, a coffee stirrer, to find out, because if you don't, you may sorely regret it.

Can I just say, I HATE lemon-filled donuts. I'm hot on bavarian creme donuts, and the two look very much alike. So I'm always very careful. Because on top of getting stuck with a donut I simply can't eat due to its inherent vileness, I can't help taking it as some sort of omen, whether it is or not: This is how my day is going to be. It looked liked a bavarian creme, but it turned out to be a LEMON. The symbolism does not escape me.

happy monkey

hmmm, what to blog, what to blog. i'm way too content today. no drama. i'm
eating chicken with gravy, my outfit is presentable, i slept for hours and
hours last night... it was nice. what more to say?

Morning Carnage

I went to start the car this morning and bits of blood and feather chunks were plastered all over my window. I thought, was it a cat? Was it some sort of macabre prankster? As I did a u-turn i was hoping that all the chunk would blow away and I glanced up into the tree, wondering if maybe it was a crow- but whattya know it was a hawk? or a falcon? I can't really remember what the differentions are. But "peregine falcon" is my fathers guess. eh. whatever. predator. messy morning meal rained down upon my window. the cycle of nature continues. he just stared at me, viewing me perhaps as a curious minimal threat, and wondered what the fascination was, as feathers continued to waft downward.

Live, from the Wilmington Target

...it's Tuesday Morning!

So I only bought a few things this time, because I'm running very low on cash. This time, the money predicament is my fault, entirely, because over the last few weeks I bought a few too many things on ebay, and the amazing deals just added up--books for the baby, a mobile for the crib, etc. Also, I can't seem to stop buying maternity pants, despite my pact to just live with what I have for a few more months. But I still have to use two giant safety pins in order to wear my corduroys from Old Navy, and my jeans from Target give me Saggy Butt, and that looks retarded. I look like a Special Person, like I think elastic pants are Really Cool. Buying new pants was a moral imperative.

This morning I bought Drano for the perpetually-clogged shower, BAM Easy Off for the perpetually could-use-a-little- scrubbing shower (also my fault, I admit), one can of hearty chicken noodle soup for lunch--and on that subject, why does no one make baked potato soup in a can? And if they do, why isn't it sold at Target? I also bought instant mashed potatoes and gravy in a jar to go with tonight's slow-cooker chicken, which this morning I basted with olive oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, and apple sauce. (I LOOOOVE apple sauce.) It will be a low-maintenance meal, to be eaten before watching Gilmore Girls tonight.

It was a remarkably quick journey to the checkout line where, at the early hour, only one lane was open. Odd, though, for Target. The line was about five customers deep, and the roaming cashiers were beginning to notice. The cross-eyed guy with the big scar on his head flipped on his aisle light and blinked over at our long line a few times to indicate that he, too, was now open for business. I had just arrived at the line, but paused a moment in order to give the elderly lady in front of me the opportunity to jump over first. Because you wouldn't shove your grandma out of the way just to be first in line, would you? Also, I was assessing the situation. I knew from prior experience that the cross-eyed guy with the big scar on his head was not the sharpest spoon in the Target drawer. Was it worth it to give up my spot in Aisle 5?

Against better judgment, I jumped. I was first in line, and waited patiently while the cross-eyed, scar-headed guy, David, opened up his register. I had my Cingular Rebate card out and ready to load into the credit card machine as soon as it was ready. Meanwhile, the line was filling up to four deep. David punched in his code on the register. And then punched his code again. And then one more time. Then he starts getting all shifty-eyed and muttering, "Oh nooo," all the while still punching. This couldn't have been good. He was starting to act like Will Forte as the Panicked Customer Service guy, one of my all-time favorite skits, just because I happen to feel the same way pretty much all the time when I have to deal with people at my job.

"Ohhh nooooo." David keeps saying, barely audible. Everyone's starting to look annoyed while David continues to punch in the wrong pin number. Is there a manager around here? Should David, I don't know, ask for help? Maybe?

On the other hand, I'm thinking that if I lose my cool and say something snappy or, more true to my form, grab my basket and huffily relocate back to the other aisle, I will have sealed my fate today in a) doing something extremely retarded at work today, above and beyond typical levels of retardation and b) really annoy a customer in doing so. Or, someone will randomly call me up and start screaming at me, just because. Which inevitably makes me cry. So I keep waiting, silently rooting for David. This is Customer Service Karma we're dealing with here, a very serious business.

Meanwhile, all the people behind me are starting to jump the line again. Another cashier opened up a new aisle. The lady two people back gathers up all her items from the conveyer belt and leaves. The guy behind me clucks his tongue and moves, too. The people behind them are long gone. Which leaves me, solitary as an oyster, die-hard loyal customer to David, King of the Target cash registers.

Finally, finally, he tells the cashier next to him that he's having issues, and she comes over to reset his pin number. We're in business. And just as though nothing had ever happened, as though I had not been standing there for several minutes, very much witness to and part of the scene, David blinks slowly and plunges in with his script: "How are you today? Would you like to apply for a Target Card, saving ten percent on all of your purchases?"

I'm great, I'm fabulous, and yes, David, I really really would, that'd be super.

The Roving Archers.

Despite the fact that you might think this is some sort of musical showtunes group ala "Men in Tights", it IS in fact a society of actual Archers. Some of them the hunting kind... and the olympic hopeful kind.

And every saturday, yes EVERY saturday they donate their time and teach people archery. For free. Yes, for free. You show up, have a free muffin, get your free equipment and take your free lesson. Man, how awesome is that. For FREE.

You bring a friend or two and it's EVEN better. You get to tell Monty Python jokes to make them mess up their shots and then you go to brunch afterwards. The friend to my left was the teachers pet ; ) and the friend on my right found a dance partner in our instructor AND courted the favor of all the lefties on the range. They even both won the balloon popping contest and came home a $1 richer for their time. My only success was that I brought them there and that my grouping was decent. I'll take it.

We arrived at 830am in order to get equipment so we didn't have to share... and i was giddy with excitement. The volunteers we ran into were "dad" types. Funny, a little stern, dry sense of humor- it was so so so refreshing as I have been surrounded of late by people my own age, in my own industry... and I can't tell you how really awesome it was to just hang out with a community of random people who wanted to learn archery. BREATH-OF-FRESH-AIR.

Our instructor gave us his business card- do you know what he does? He builds telescopes?! His actual business title is "Magellan Project Mechanical Engineer"! WHAT! Sweeeet. How f'in cool is that. Not actor, artist, nor director... but engineer. Hey, maybe I'll find my hot mensa guy here.

This whole experience made me want to start seeking out niche groups all over LA. They're there. I want to be in them- Is this my Rushmore?