take a picture, it'll last longer

Behold: a (temporarily, virtually) hairless, dirtless floor.

The (Average) 5: by M

1. I use words that I can't define, but most always use them accurately. For instance on this camping trip I was mercilessly questioned on two words: untoward exuberance and intrepid explorer... in my head i must know what they mean, but when it comes to saying, well it means... i draw a blank space... it's like trying to explain what the and and means... or I... somewhat obvious yet ethereal. So I came home like the elephant I am and looked them up just to validate my ego. Naturally.

2 . I may have talked about this one before but I drop H's at the beginnings of words like "human" and "herb" and i guuuueeessss a few others... I 'ad no idea until June of 2004. I was on a plane bound for NewYork from Istanbul and Peki glances over at me and says- "Say the word "human" again. 'uman. Following 2 years later, my merciless friends Joanna, Danica and Steve feel they can mock me whenever they want about it... though i'm usually quite oblivious, only until after when they all laugh about it. Perhaps I'm english at 'eart. Though bcs I'm an obsessive self-analyzer I think it would be cool to go to a speech historian or something and figure out where i got all my wild colloquialisms. H's or not.

3. I have size 13 feet. I'm sure I've complained about it before and how much it sucks and how I can't find shoes my size unless they're made for drag queens or wisped giants who need no arch support... yes, it indeed blows.

4. I need to own the books I read. I am still scarred by not being able to locate or remember or possess books that I remember from when I was in Junior High... certain fragments and images and nothing to fix them. It's horrible. I look at titles on my shelves and I smile or ponder each one... and it makes me happy to know they're mine and that I can look at them anytime i want.

5. Also I'm bossy and a bit of a whiner, but besides that my most famous reoccuring dreams usually involved alligator enclosures and it is dark and murky and i do not know where they are and the walls are very high and there does not seem to be a way out. . . thank god i haven't had that one in a while... lately it involves escaping a mansion that's on fire and escaping over a maze of hedges bcs someone is chasing me....

i love talking about me... mmm. kurt, q? could you? tag... you're... it? oh and danica... if you're up for it. (mwah.) and sarah and kara.

M OUT~

Five (Obviously Weird) Facts About Pen

Thanks, megs, for the tag. So here goes:

1. I used to get really inspired ideas for writing in the shower. Now whenever I take a shower, all I can think about is how much I hate our shower caddy for rusting, and how I hate shower caddies in general. Metal rusts; plastic mildews. It seems there is no good solution for shower product storage. And it's such an eyesore. The last time I purchased a shower caddy, I actually applied white rustoleum to the rod prior to installation, which worked--but I failed to spray the baskets. I'm wondering if I could keep up with mildew, and/or if a plastic caddy would be aesthetically pleasing enough? Or maybe I should just buy yet another (though final??) metal caddy, rustoleum the whole thing five times over, and call it a day.

2. Whenever I pull down the attic door, I get really scared and kind of wince because I'm afraid it's going to hit me in the face a la Chevy Chase in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Even though attic doors typically aren't on rollers like Clark's in the movie. Ours isn't. (I can't, by the way, remember if I've blogged about this before, but there it is.)

3. When I cut things with scissors, my jaw opens and closes in time to the cutting. I didn't realize this until last night when J.Lo kindly mocked me for it. So I tried to cut with my jaw sealed shut, and it was really hard. I wonder if this is similar to the Mouth Open While Applying Mascara phenomena, as detailed by Bridget Jones.

4. I mispronounce words on a regular basis, which only compounds my Fear of Talking. Most often, it's a word that I've previously pronounced correctly, but there's some sort of synapse misfiring that happens (which I watch in my brain like an unstoppable traffic accident), and it just comes out all wrong. Sometimes it's a word I've read but have never spoken, or heard spoken out loud, so I give it a whirl and fall right on my verbal ass. It's particularly embarassing considering that my degrees relate to language. Also, this is something that has been on my List of Things to Blog About for over a week now, so coming soon: Vocab Lessons by Pen. It will be a treat.

5. Even though I'm socially retarded and parties and hosting make me super-anxious, I love throwing them (parties), anyway. I've already started decorating for K.Lo's birthday bashes later this week, and it's totally off the hook. Out of control. It's like we're living day to day in a kid's birthday party, and I love it. It is a madness I embrace. Everyone's birthday, regardless of age, should be a week-long celebration.

Back to hosting, though--I love the prep, I love planning and list-making. I love shopping for all the food and putting it out in bowls and on little plates. And I love seeing people have a good time, it's like I'm giving a gift on a mass scale. The downside and nervousness creeps in, though, because as always it's a risk: they may not like it. And then it's like you're a Party Pariah. But it's worth it all, I think.

bonus!

Once you start thinking about personal facts and weirdnesses, it's difficult to stop.

6. Yesterday I found a DVD 2-pack of Chasing Liberty and Raise Your Voice for $9.49 at Costco, and squealed at the sight of it. I feel no guilt (monetary) or embarassment (dork factor) whatsoever that I made the purchase. It was a true bargain and I intensely love most movies starring Mandy Moore and Hilary Duff.

7. I am not a Phone Person. Have I blogged about this before? Probably. I have exactly 2 phone friends that I will regularly pick up for, and I do speak with J.Lo just about every day. I also talk to my dad once a week on Sundays, for between 5 and 10 minutes, because he's not a Phone Person either. It's quite genetic. Everyone else, it's so not that I don't love you. But I will screen all calls and if I'm feeling at all awkward, grumpy, busy, or unorginal, I won't pick up. I only feel slightly remorseful--a touch more if I am unable, within approximately 2 days, to shed said awkwardness, grumpiness, business, or unoriginality and muster up the nerve to call you back. I'm an emailer. I like email. Email me.

8. I could eat pasta every day of the week and be more than okay with that.

9. I've been trying to cut out extraneous snacking lately, and through a ginormous show of inner strength, have not purchased new chocolate for the house in a few weeks. I'm worried, however, because there is currently only 1 chocolate peanut butter Hershey's kiss left, and I don't know what I'll do tomorrow after I eat it and still feel like I haven't met my Chocolate Quota for the day. I have a Chocolate Quota, and physically cannot make it if I do not have at least a few pieces within a 24-hour period. I think I should probably go out and buy some more, and just try not to devour it by the giant handful. For society's sake.

10. I watch shows on Noggin, or as it's called after 8 PM, The N, and I'm sad that no one else seems to. I watch Degrassi: The Next Generation and Beyond the Break, and sometimes they make me cry.

flip the page

hey i'm back from joshua tree... i know you missed me.

things gained: striped hoodie thing from outlet mall for $10.
things thought: i have unique friends... and mostly, they're pretty funny.
things got: sunburned cheeks, scuffed up wrist.
things dreamed: a really nasty mean baby pig kept trying to get into my tent. so not cool.
things observed: stars, but i couldn't say for sure which direction i was headed.
things climbed: rocks, crev'aces, paths, sand, conversation
things tempered: 11 degrees, 28 degrees, 60 degrees...

+
a really friendly bunny, quail (a pack of them), 1 coyote, 2 hot dogs, 0 tacos : ( , 5 poloroids, 2 120's, too much complaining, 1 bossy boss, 1 tea nazi, a mom, and a couple... 1 lizard, 4 crows, and a gaggle of photographers standing constantly around, and northanger abby ch.1-12.

++
1 sunrise, 1 frost, 1 starbucks, 1 last piece of log... and lots of chatter.

photos to come...
~M

the sound of... whatever's on mtv

"Until more research is done about the effects of TV on very young children, the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) does not recommend television for children age 2 or younger."

For more on this, and other reasons to feel bad about yourself, please see here.

As K.Lo becomes more aware, I have tried (I have) to cut back on my TV viewing. I've taken audiobooks out of the library, I've started listening to more music, I read. But I have to say... after weeks and months of this, I still feel like something's missing. It's like, too quiet around here. Even when I read, I kind of like the TV on in the background, just because. And the audiobook thing is cool and all, particularly when it comes to Harry Potter, and it's great for escaping into a story while accomplishing something. A craft, or cleaning, or whatever. But for the most part, if the TV's not in the background, even if I'm in another room, I kind of feel like... depressed.

This all started in college. I watched TV when growing up, sure. I watched The Cosby's and Seinfeld, and 90210, and way before all that I watched Electric Company, Sesame Street, and 3-2-1 Contact. I watched Pee-Wee's Playhouse and Saturday morning cartoons. (After these messages...We'll be right back.) Whenever I could get away with it, I watched Nickelodeon and the show with the slime--You Can't Do That On Television. But I also did lots of other things. I checked out stacks of books from the library and plowed through them all. I played kickball and pickle and caught frogs in the pond. I think I was your pretty average kid, and I don't feel like TV took away from the "enriching" experience that childhood is supposedly supposed to be. If anything, it added to it.

My first two years of college, I had about the weirdest fucking roommates I could have been paired with. The first girl owned tight Lee jeans in every color of the rainbow, called me THe Yankee, and changed her voicemail all the time to different versions of, "I'm out huntin' men." The second girl was a Bible Beater (I mean like, the bad kind) who sang opera and wore old lady perfume. It was lose-lose until I met my third roommate, who actually became a good friend and stayed as my roommate through senior year.

But I'd still get lonely. My college was huge, and I've always had trouble connecting with people, being socially retarded and all of that. That's just me. So the TV is like, there. I don't know why, just having it on kind of soothes that gnawing edge of silence, the edge that makes you think just a little too much. The part of silence that makes you feel sorry for yourself. When I lived in Chicago, I ate dinner every night with The Golden Girls. When I was in grad school, Felicity got me through, man.

At this point, keeping the TV on is just habit, but a habit that, quite frankly, makes me feel better. Better than I have been, listening to the sound of refrigerator hum. It makes me feel more like me, just doing how I do, which puts me in a better mood for, guess who? K.Lo.

I think it's whatever makes you happy, whatever's you. It's just, me being naturally inclined toward guilt, I tend to internalize nasty little warnings like those above, issued by the freaking AAP, for cripes sake, and they eat at me. Like my kid's going to turn into a zoned out, unthinking couch potato if this continues. Sorry, but no. I think she'll be quite well-rounded, thank you. With a little luck, anyway. Now if only she'd eat her green beans.

Coach Says, SWIM!

Place: Bed. Nestling into my new feather pillow and a still presistent voice chanted: swim, swim, swim. I gave a long side long glance at my gym bag. Really? Hmm. Swim.Swim.Swim.

I've been avoiding it for quite a few months. the gym i joined finally had their pool filled after what has to be like 2 years. i came back from my uh... hiatus ... of 2 months and saw the glimmering blue aqua and a exclamation mark binged over my head. i took it from over my head and folded it in my pocket- and over the ensuing last couple months i've gazed at the pool longingly like you would an icecream shop you couldn't go in bcs you were on a diet. and well the pool is also right there as you come in- so it's like, fishbowl meets hollywood fishbowl and suddenly it takes all the resilience you can muster to conceive of being on display. but i don't like being ruled by fear or mortification, which is why i still swim in the pacific ocean and pick hair out of the drain, so i opted to go in.

my first attempt was on a friday at 6am... walking late to the N.BS and i dismayed when i glanced down at my jeans and xray vision told me i'd completely neglected a few key things. so you know i have a problem brushing my teeth... and well the 6.25 precent of Bohemian i have in me goes full tilt european, especially during winter... which overall is better for my skin because i used to have a huge ingrown hair problem but TMI. right! right.

and to my lowered head, charlie brown posture, told me i was not brave enough to go the hollywood gym looking like helga from ancestories of yore. i was not going to be working out that day. but as it goes try once, try again- today was the day. everything was planned. the bag was stashed. shorts were worn. a towel was brought... and nothing throughout the day brought me as much joy as my head saying, swim, swim, swim... like it was too good to be true.

and quite anti-climactically all went really well. i sat in the hot spa, waited for the young couple to get out of my way like i was in fried green tomatos- i'd make a good kathy bates- and though i mocked my own form and made excuses to an imaginary person critiquing my preformance a good time was had by all, though i eyed everyone suspiciously and watched the time... and nothing is so good as my oh so heavy earthbound person will tell you- to feel the water rush over the skin.

Crying in the Aisles

we're doing a massive RPL at work- which means we're combing the sections for books to send to purgatory. a lot of the books i'm like, oh yah, that needed to go back where it came from, but some i'm like, aw i never got to read you. and then suddenly i'm sad that all the books are being sent away, and wonder where they go or if they're burned up in a conflagration. one in particular was a picture book called angelo. i stood there and read it unabashadly in the quiet of the morning, about a man and his care and nurturing of a pigeon and how he was this craftsman accomplishing his lifes work and by the end of the very short book i was crying, and thinking oh my god, what is WRONG with me, as i glanced around for any witnesses- i never used to act like such a girl... and lately a few friends and i have all had these peculiar girl moments... i ponder it like a disease that i've been stricken with- as i quickly mopped up the rivlets and sniffed and tried not to think how sad and beautiful angelo was. sniff, mop, mop. why is it i find myself crying? just put the book down and walk away. possibly i've become a healthier person, or at least that's what i used to tell myself... more expressive, vulnerable, compassionate... except for that overwhelming- I'M A FREAK- feeling... though i know we all do it. maybe? and why? but in general i'm against tender moments... sometimes i wonder why everyone feels the need to cry at funerals but i guess we all generally get caught up in a feeling sometimes- whatever those are.

today i read sisterhood of the tp.2. most all of it elicitly caught up and neglecting my work, but it stopped the internal monologue- which went something like, please i have to go. let me go. why can't i go. god? why can't i go? is my replacement here? this is what i will be telling my replacement... . i can best describe it as a storm in the summer- humid- hot in chicago. and the pressure is building and the thunder is cracking and you're just praying that it'll break and the rain will come with that wippet of fresh air as everything is getting drenched. but why won't it come? as everything just builds and builds... the context of all the tennesse williams plays become clear and i find myself in the deep south waiting for something better and possibly crying over all the cruel tender moments of life and death and time ticking by, and a book right then in there is like stepping out of the storm and into a quiet place, with just the hum of central air kicking in.

they make me happy, 2

Although grainy, here is a pic of K.Lo checking out The Office Valentines box. If you look closely, you may be able to make out Michael Scott holding a big red heart.

Also, why was I at Target again so early in the morning, and so soon after my last trip? Because clearly I have a problem, yes. But also because hello, the new SHINS CD, Wincing the Night Away, is out! And available for purchase this week at Target for $9.98. It's playing right now on my little stereo, and yes it's a good one.

Did anyone know, by the way, that Elyse from ANTM Cycle 1 dates Marty from The Shins? Huh.

happy, 3

Dear hopelessly tacky mini-lemon topiary that I purchased at Home Goods last week,

I like you. I like you a lot.

You're tacky, and everyone knows it. Even me. And I bought you anyway, because truly, you fit in perfect with my grand scheme. I felt tragically compelled in the New Year to decorate with a) bright yellow and b) fake fruit. And there you were on the shelf at the store, a veritable ball of sunshine, and for a price so cheap. You're fabulous. Don't let anyone give you shit.

Besides, you can't be any tackier than those cone-shaped topiary-thingies Martha Stewart was making last week with a hot glue gun and some mini candy bars.

Love,
Penelope, your biggest fan