Our CSA kick off party has been rescheduled twice due to unusual amounts of spring thunderstorms. Tonight is the night, and as it's a pot luck I should be making blueberry banana muffins to bring along. But I grated my pointer finger last night while zesting some lemons and shredding garlic cloves, and anything to do with dishes/baking/mixing is pretty much annoying.
You know what else is annoying? When a garbage truck nearly runs me over while I'm biking to the gym.
Another thing that is annoying? When I start a new blog with high hopes of working on a new project, and then the wind in my sails just sputters out to a pitiful stream of box fan in the window breeze. And when there is a box fan in the window, well, I'd rather be napping on my down comforter than typing up thoughtful posts.
On the life front, school is all wrapped up and ready to go and our summer travel plans are nailed down - one trip down, two to go. Oh, right! I still need to post about that one trip down... oops. I did 70 miles on my bike last week, and I'm excited about C25K again. The library continues to bless me with heaps of new and interesting books, most recently a crazy one called "The Information" that's blowing my mind (non-fiction).
Honestly the scanning in my diaries project is going a bit slow because I'm reading through them to figure out what I care to keep and what is just toe curling embarrassing. Inevitably there are chapters of stomach wrenching sadness, or sheets of anger, or a forgotten story somewhere between 15 and 18 that gives me a jolt. I mean, I suppose that's why we keep diaries- to remember. I haven't come across it yet, but I distinctly recall writing an entry sometime around the 6th grade, right after I had read "Anne Frank". I was a bit paranoid that I was going to die and my family, desperate to connect with me, would begin to peruse my diaries. Alternatively, I imagined that they would somehow be found decades after my death, and be published as some sort of "normal life of a pre-teen in the early 90's" compilation. Really. It's ok, you can laugh at my self centered pre-teen fears. I am. What's incredibly strange to me, as the author of these random little books, is that I feel as though *I* am snooping into that other Cortney's life. Sometimes when I'm thumbing through what was my beloved Lisa Frank diary (4th-5th grade), I get a tingling of guilt on the back of my neck. I feel so very different from the child who wrote those words that it's as though I'm intruding on her- my- privacy. Isn't that strange? Even as I sit here at the dining room table, I can glance over the scanner and see a variety of different books, all heavy laden with my own thoughts, from as recently as 2008 to as far away as 1991. They have... a presence. They're literally holding my life in them. Some of the pages were ripped out and shredded. Others were edited out. Oh, before you go protesting my revision of history, please understand- these are not things I want others to ever read about me. These are personal, often painful, and brutally honest things that were tormenting my mind, that I had to get. out. of. my. head. They needed to be hunted down, and trapped, and then drawn out and pinned to the paper. But they don't really, not at all, need to be read again. Not by me, and certainly not by anyone else. I remember one of my Dad's friends saying she had two diaries. One was her record keeping diary. Something her children could have when she died, to look back on, and read about her life and the things she did and the memories she saved. The other? That one was to be burned upon her death. No one was to read it. I knew, as soon as she said it, that I had a lot of "burn upon my death" entries. I was only 12, but I knew intrinsically that there are some thoughts that must get out, but they also must be kept to oneself. And so my diaries and I worked our way through my life. I know writing in them has kept me sane, has calmed me down, and has helped me work through struggles and fears, anger and depression. In the end, some of the sharper edges, and finer points, and murky darkness around that process can be torn out, shredded, edited. I can keep enough to still tell the story, without feeling so vulnerable. In the end, I don't need a piece of paper with my crooked writing on it to remind me of those thoughts- if they were sacred and scary enough to be torn from a diary, trust me, the words are etched pretty deeply inside of me.
I hope to have the diary project wrapped up and put to rest by the end of June. I think I'll make it, since I've been spending all of May reading into my past, scanning these pages like retroactive tea leaves. We're halfway through June, so I should be able to finish the processing stage and head on to the drudgery of the whizz hum grumble of the old scanner.
But for now I need to make those muffins.
Showing posts with label Life is Funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life is Funny. Show all posts
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Return of the Mack
I was peepin' these fine ladies at the Denver capitol. Mmmmm, high waisted pants. So. Hot.
I'm feeling good enough, after yesterday's testing debacle, to make stupid jokes. I guess that's a sign I'm on the upswing. I randomly woke up at 6:20 this morning, so I took a long bath while reading a book, uploaded pictures to FB from our Peru trip (oh man, I still have to put those on here too...), and did some scattershot internet surfing/news reading. I told myself I would fully, unequivocally embrace a lazy Sunday without guilt, but I still managed to pick up the house, do the dishes, and run an errand. But, I did skip yoga, and instead of drinking my usual smoothie for breakfast I had an egg croissant + tater tots and a Coke at Sonic this morning with Bobby. We ate in the car, laughing and being silly, communicating in a kind of shorthand to reference various inside jokes that I'm sure only we would find funny. And the carhop was roller skating, a fact that contributed perfectly to the Sonic-breakfast-at-10:30 a.m. ambiance.
I'm going to try to stop asking poor Bobby, over and over and over, "Do you think I passed the test????". Because I don't get the results until April 25th, and that's a long time to pester someone with flatly unanswerable questions (oh, unanswerable questions you say! kind of like everything on the exam....). WAIT, no, I'm trying to be positive! So here's some positive- in two weeks from tomorrow my friend Arielle flies in from New York, and then we're road tripping to Texas, where I'll spend two weeks bouncing around between Dallas/Austin/Brownwood/San Antonio/Padre Island, hitting up two birthdays and a wedding. Now that's some positive.
Let's go, summer. Even if, thanks to the cruelty of poorly written and pointless exams, you include two summer school classes crammed into one month so that I can start grad school in August. Yes, even if.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I Don't Like Hearing My Neighbor Pee While He Screams...
Our move up here to Colorado was the definition of flying by the seat of your pants, since Bobby found out about the job offer about two weeks before he started. Bobby came up a month before I did, to get an apartment and start work. He did the drive in one day, arriving in our new town at 2 a.m. and crashing on a friend's couch. The next day he searched for apartments, and that afternoon signed a lease. As far as apartments go, it was/is perfect. It met/meets all of our requirements- two bedrooms, so we could have a study/guest room, washer and dryer, and preferably on the second floor. Plus, a rare treat in Colorado, it had a pool (less rare is the hot tub that we have been wearing out all winter). I have to say again, it's been a great place.
But the neighbors... oh, dear lord, the neighbors. First of all, the walls in our apartment are paper thin. Before you go saying "um, yeah, it's an apartment, par for the course" and all that, let me just say I have never before been able to hear, with crystal clarity, the conversations my next door neighbors have in the bathroom/dining room. It's like our medicine cabinet is some sort of tin can on a string game, or a speaker at the bank. I'm standing there, brushing my teeth, and random stranger lady screaming at her kids next door may as well be shouting in a megaphone in my ear. Oh, and speaking of random stranger lady screaming at her kids next door- yeah, you can bet I had to call the cops on her one night, when in the middle of our dinner we began to hear her screaming the most obscene, hateful, profanity laden things to her young son. Gross.
But the real winner in the weird game is our upstairs neighbor. Actually, let me just back up and offer a caveat that should have been offered straight out the gate- I am not uptight about noise. I understand we're in an apartment building, and I'm going to randomly hear T.V.'s, children frolicking, loud music, sometimes, in awkward moments, loud sex- it's cool, we're all people, living our lives in identical boxes right next to each other. But this guy? It's almost like a joke. It's as if he gets up and says "what kind of totally crazy, ridiculous things can I do today that would maximize my noise level?". He will randomly burst into running, and stomp from one side of the apartment to the other, slamming things, opening drawers, hitting walls. Sometimes I'll hear an explosive outburst of expletives, screamed at the top of his lungs. Sometimes, out of nowhere, there will be a huge crash, as though he has arranged all the furniture in his home into a tower to amuse himself by watching it fall over. Other times he'll laugh, loudly, for several minutes- it doesn't sound like he's on the phone, or watching a T.V. It sounds like he's sitting alone in an apartment, laughing maniacally like an evil genius as he plans his next noise making session. When he goes to bed, he jumps on it- no, really, like a kid, it's right above our bedroom. Perhaps the worst though is that I ALWAYS know when he's going to urinate. Why do I know when my upstairs, stranger neighbor is going to urinate? Because it ALWAYS goes like this- he will suddenly scream an unintelligible stream of profanities, and then run, stomping, through the apartment, banging walls, slamming doors, etc. The bathroom door will fling open, the toilet lid will slam up, and then he urinates furiously into the toilet, spouting more curse words- it's purposeful pee, like, jet propulsion into the water. Afterward, he flushes, doesn't wash his hands, and then runs back through the house, yelling more profanities at the top of his lungs. At first, I just thought "oh, some older, differently abled gentleman with some mental issues, lives above us. No big deal". But no, I saw him- a sharply dressed businessman, who drives a really nice car and lives alone. I wonder if he has any idea how much of his peculiar at home habits I can hear...
Anyway, point made. My neighbors are loud, profanity filled people with anger issues and one of them abuses her children. But, the neighbors across from us are awesome people, and we made friends with Jenny at the hot tub here, so we've certainly also had a lot of luck here. However, when the lease renewal came and we found out that rent was increasing by almost $100 a month, we decided that our apartment complex was thinking a little too highly of itself- it's two years old, and bids itself as kind of a luxury/upscale place, but cone on now, an apartment is an apartment. After a week of researching and seeing new complexes, we found a new place that is far cheaper than here, with an extra bathroom for guests and a fireplace for winter. It's on acres and acres of land, our favorite bike trail runs right through it, there is an 18 hole frisbee golf course, a pool, a hot tub, racquetball, and tennis courts. So sorry, current apartments. But when we're surrounded by explosive, noisy anger and stomping/slamming/throwing/urinating, you can't go raising rent on us. Don't doubt our frugality, because we will deuce out on you faster than you can say "rent increase". Or "furious upstairs urination". Or "vile mommy next door".
But the neighbors... oh, dear lord, the neighbors. First of all, the walls in our apartment are paper thin. Before you go saying "um, yeah, it's an apartment, par for the course" and all that, let me just say I have never before been able to hear, with crystal clarity, the conversations my next door neighbors have in the bathroom/dining room. It's like our medicine cabinet is some sort of tin can on a string game, or a speaker at the bank. I'm standing there, brushing my teeth, and random stranger lady screaming at her kids next door may as well be shouting in a megaphone in my ear. Oh, and speaking of random stranger lady screaming at her kids next door- yeah, you can bet I had to call the cops on her one night, when in the middle of our dinner we began to hear her screaming the most obscene, hateful, profanity laden things to her young son. Gross.
But the real winner in the weird game is our upstairs neighbor. Actually, let me just back up and offer a caveat that should have been offered straight out the gate- I am not uptight about noise. I understand we're in an apartment building, and I'm going to randomly hear T.V.'s, children frolicking, loud music, sometimes, in awkward moments, loud sex- it's cool, we're all people, living our lives in identical boxes right next to each other. But this guy? It's almost like a joke. It's as if he gets up and says "what kind of totally crazy, ridiculous things can I do today that would maximize my noise level?". He will randomly burst into running, and stomp from one side of the apartment to the other, slamming things, opening drawers, hitting walls. Sometimes I'll hear an explosive outburst of expletives, screamed at the top of his lungs. Sometimes, out of nowhere, there will be a huge crash, as though he has arranged all the furniture in his home into a tower to amuse himself by watching it fall over. Other times he'll laugh, loudly, for several minutes- it doesn't sound like he's on the phone, or watching a T.V. It sounds like he's sitting alone in an apartment, laughing maniacally like an evil genius as he plans his next noise making session. When he goes to bed, he jumps on it- no, really, like a kid, it's right above our bedroom. Perhaps the worst though is that I ALWAYS know when he's going to urinate. Why do I know when my upstairs, stranger neighbor is going to urinate? Because it ALWAYS goes like this- he will suddenly scream an unintelligible stream of profanities, and then run, stomping, through the apartment, banging walls, slamming doors, etc. The bathroom door will fling open, the toilet lid will slam up, and then he urinates furiously into the toilet, spouting more curse words- it's purposeful pee, like, jet propulsion into the water. Afterward, he flushes, doesn't wash his hands, and then runs back through the house, yelling more profanities at the top of his lungs. At first, I just thought "oh, some older, differently abled gentleman with some mental issues, lives above us. No big deal". But no, I saw him- a sharply dressed businessman, who drives a really nice car and lives alone. I wonder if he has any idea how much of his peculiar at home habits I can hear...
Anyway, point made. My neighbors are loud, profanity filled people with anger issues and one of them abuses her children. But, the neighbors across from us are awesome people, and we made friends with Jenny at the hot tub here, so we've certainly also had a lot of luck here. However, when the lease renewal came and we found out that rent was increasing by almost $100 a month, we decided that our apartment complex was thinking a little too highly of itself- it's two years old, and bids itself as kind of a luxury/upscale place, but cone on now, an apartment is an apartment. After a week of researching and seeing new complexes, we found a new place that is far cheaper than here, with an extra bathroom for guests and a fireplace for winter. It's on acres and acres of land, our favorite bike trail runs right through it, there is an 18 hole frisbee golf course, a pool, a hot tub, racquetball, and tennis courts. So sorry, current apartments. But when we're surrounded by explosive, noisy anger and stomping/slamming/throwing/urinating, you can't go raising rent on us. Don't doubt our frugality, because we will deuce out on you faster than you can say "rent increase". Or "furious upstairs urination". Or "vile mommy next door".
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Hipster Convention
Last weekend Bobby and I went to a Cupcake Cookoff. It was donation based and held in my favorite bookstore downtown- it's all volunteer run, sells second hand books, and has a coffee shop. It has an eco-focus, and promotes biking, sustainable living, local news/politics, and local artists/authors. Plus, all the entrants in the cookoff were local non-profits, so the donations went right back into our local community. It was probably the highest scoring entertainment event one could attend based on every single local advocate/green consumer/conscious citizen parameter. We were also sure that any space with that many cupcakes per square inch was also most assuredly bound to have a very concentrated percentage of hipsters. So, we started referring to it, jokingly, as the "Hipster Convention". When we showed up, we both just started laughing and shaking our heads. It was literally as though it was a costume party, and the theme was "dress like an uber hipster- no, really, like, totally over the top". The place was packed, and we were probably two out of five people not wearing vintage from head to toe, sporting super skinny jeans, feathers, clove cigarettes tucked behind our ears, horrendous dresses piled in layers over loud tights, ironic mullets, and epic handlebar mustaches, wax gleaming slickly in the light. Oh, and I can't forget- lots and lots of no-medical-necessity glasses- "nerd glasses". Kittens, I want to assure you all right here and now that we weren't making fun of these people, we were just making fun of how absurd it all was. I mean, we're in a local, independent, volunteer run bookstore/coffee shop, at a Cupcake Cookoff, and virtually every. single. person. was sporting the most stereotypical examples of the ironic/self conscious/over the top hipster fashion...it was like a stereotype inside a stereotype sold at Anthropologie wrapped in thrift store gift paper. I dunno, maybe it was just funny to us because it almost felt as though the universe had heard our references to a Hipster Convention, and then triple upped us when it came to the reality of it all. And don't get me wrong, I have my share of thrift store dresses and ugly tights...but I digress. Now that I've set the scene via words, here are some pictures- washed out, flash using pictures, I will warn you, because unfortunately it was quite dim in that small, packed space.
Downtown was all Christmas'd out with twinkle lights in the branches and wrapped around the trees.
Bulletin board in the bookstore when you first enter- I love the way they spell out community.
After we paid our donation we were given hand stamps of tools- the event was put on by a group called "Hammer-Time Co-op" so it was only fitting.
They gave us tickets to write our votes on, and detailed, colorfully written instructions on how to vote. This was when we were scoping out the place and just laughing at how absurd life can be sometimes.
And then we were off! This was the first cupcake of the night. At this point, we had not idea that there were TWENTY PLUS booths awaiting us. We each had 1/4 of this one, and it was delicious.
Truth be told, this was one awesome as well. In fact, I didn't have one bad cupcake that night. This one was one of my favorites.
This nice young gentleman- and I have to say, everyone was *so nice*- was with a group that gives books to prisoners. Here he is modeling his wares- vegan chocolate cupcakes with chocolate ganache.
This was my favorite booth. It's from the local sewing shop "Mama Said Sew". Awww, cute, right?
These were from another local coffee shop- please note requisite hipster vintage hootie owl. At this point, we were sampling our 5th cupcake. Most had been broken into halves and fourths, but even so we had both eaten a little over two complete cupcakes all told. We then looked to our left and saw that he line continued all the way to the stairs. There was also a bottleneck forming, so there was no more picture taking at booths. We tried to be more judicious in our sampling, but we still ended up with at least 4 quarter sized pieces of cupcakes each. We decided to head up to the loft area to take tiny bites of each piece so we didn't get sick.
Bike love continues in the decor flanking the staircase.
I love how they use Scrabble pieces to denote the different sections (and ouch, that garish flash is taunting me).
Here's the view from the top, which gives you a good idea of the crowd and the line of cupcakes we went through.
I was only able to taste two more tiny, tiny pieces before I folded. My sugar limit had been reached, exceeded, and then left behind many bites before. We both decided to vote and head out for dinner.
We headed to our favorite sushi place. They make the most amazingly complex vegetable rolls. So many places wrap rice around a piece of cucumber and expect vegetarians to grovel in gratitude. This place has about 10 different veggie rolls, and they're all great (and cheap!)
Here's my favorite- Buddha's feast. On the inside you have cucumber, avocado, tempura sweet potato, and carrot. It's all wrapped in a thin slice of lightly fried tofu, then topped with lemony guacamole and black sesame seeds. A perfect balance to cut through all the sugar we had.
This is me, as I was saying "I feel insane from all this sugar. I have a sugar coma. I think it's serious".
Downtown was all Christmas'd out with twinkle lights in the branches and wrapped around the trees.
Bulletin board in the bookstore when you first enter- I love the way they spell out community.
After we paid our donation we were given hand stamps of tools- the event was put on by a group called "Hammer-Time Co-op" so it was only fitting.
They gave us tickets to write our votes on, and detailed, colorfully written instructions on how to vote. This was when we were scoping out the place and just laughing at how absurd life can be sometimes.
And then we were off! This was the first cupcake of the night. At this point, we had not idea that there were TWENTY PLUS booths awaiting us. We each had 1/4 of this one, and it was delicious.
Truth be told, this was one awesome as well. In fact, I didn't have one bad cupcake that night. This one was one of my favorites.
This nice young gentleman- and I have to say, everyone was *so nice*- was with a group that gives books to prisoners. Here he is modeling his wares- vegan chocolate cupcakes with chocolate ganache.
This was my favorite booth. It's from the local sewing shop "Mama Said Sew". Awww, cute, right?
These were from another local coffee shop- please note requisite hipster vintage hootie owl. At this point, we were sampling our 5th cupcake. Most had been broken into halves and fourths, but even so we had both eaten a little over two complete cupcakes all told. We then looked to our left and saw that he line continued all the way to the stairs. There was also a bottleneck forming, so there was no more picture taking at booths. We tried to be more judicious in our sampling, but we still ended up with at least 4 quarter sized pieces of cupcakes each. We decided to head up to the loft area to take tiny bites of each piece so we didn't get sick.
Bike love continues in the decor flanking the staircase.
I love how they use Scrabble pieces to denote the different sections (and ouch, that garish flash is taunting me).
Here's the view from the top, which gives you a good idea of the crowd and the line of cupcakes we went through.
I was only able to taste two more tiny, tiny pieces before I folded. My sugar limit had been reached, exceeded, and then left behind many bites before. We both decided to vote and head out for dinner.
We headed to our favorite sushi place. They make the most amazingly complex vegetable rolls. So many places wrap rice around a piece of cucumber and expect vegetarians to grovel in gratitude. This place has about 10 different veggie rolls, and they're all great (and cheap!)
Here's my favorite- Buddha's feast. On the inside you have cucumber, avocado, tempura sweet potato, and carrot. It's all wrapped in a thin slice of lightly fried tofu, then topped with lemony guacamole and black sesame seeds. A perfect balance to cut through all the sugar we had.
This is me, as I was saying "I feel insane from all this sugar. I have a sugar coma. I think it's serious".
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Moneychangers
Yesterday Bobby and I spent almost 8 hours working a craft fair for the organization I intern with. We were in a Sunday School room at a church, along with three other booths. There were many more lining the hallways, and filling other rooms. Everyone was selling their wares, there was a bake sale, and the cafeteria was selling lunch. After about two hours in, Bobby turned me and said "Jesus would totally flip our tables over", referencing that story in the Bible where Jesus goes berserk on the moneychangers at the temple. I laughed and said "no, no, no, it's ok because we're selling silk scarves from Cambodia, not doves in cages". Anyway, it was much more funny in person because for one we were exhausted and for two we were bored.
Other highlights of the day included the coconut almond latte I had for breakfast, and the picture organizing I was able to do since I brought my laptop- multitasking win! Oh, and the old lady at the booth next to us earnestly telling an old man that "Canadians sneak over the border to have their babies in the US so they'll have US citizenship". Then a woman said "I'm Canadian and we DON'T do that!" and the old woman just pursed her lips, gravely shook her head and said "Yes, yes you do. It happens all the time over the border".
What the hell? As if Canada is some terrible 3rd world country that people are begging to escape. The Canadian woman just walked off, muttering under her breath about the old lady. Later, the old lady at the booth dropped another awkward bomb. A woman in a Crazy Horse sweater walked up to old lady's booth, and old lady inquired as to how the statue was coming along. Crazy Horse sweater lady- who looked to be Native American herself- said it was coming along great. Then old lady at the booth shook her head, pursed her lips, and spat out "I guess that's the next group we'll have to be giving land back to!". Crazy Horse sweater lady just kind of stood there for a moment, and then walked away shortly after. There were more verbal gems after that, but you get the drift.
At first, I just thought old lady at the booth was a bit out of it- but then I realized, no, she's just kind of a jerk. Furthermore, if one is selling things, it's usually a good idea not to make divisive and potentially inflammatory political statements to would-be customers who may hold different views. But maybe that's just me. I do know that Bobby and I made sure to surreptitiously whisper our moneychanger joke when no one was in the room, instead of, say, dressing up like Jesus and running down the hall flipping over tables screaming out the scriptural reference for our outburst. Tact, people, it's about tact.
After the craft fair we loaded up, unloaded at the teahouse, and then headed to Denver- about an hour's drive from us. We had a fine time at a Moroccan restaurant with good friends, and I do have to thank old lady at the booth for giving me some comedic fodder for dinner conversation *tips hat to old lady at the booth*.
And now for random pictures of the belly dancer at said Moroccan restaurant. She acted like she was a bit drunk. But she was a hell of a lot nicer than old lady at the booth, and she was funny, so we forgave her potential drunkenness and just chalked it up to her being "sassy".
Some of those dollar bills are from my friend, Mandy. The belly dancer admonished her with "Two hands! Use two hands!" when Mandy tried to slip the money in. With a skirt that tight, there was no slipping. The belly dancer gave good advice- Mandy had to pull the waistband away, and then slide in the money. All to the soundtrack of hand bells ringing and "two hands!" being repeated. Then Bill gave her more money, and got up and danced with her. I told you she was sassy (and or drunk).
After the belly dancer and dinner we hit up an awesome bar in downtown Denver called "Double Daughters". It looks like Tim Burton designed the inside. I never drink, so of course I drove home, but I was exhausted and it was touch and go there for a while as I fought sleep like a toddler- complete with whining about how tired I was. We slept in this morning, Bobby made biscuits and veggie sausage, and writing this blog post is about the most productive thing I've done all day.
Off to eat pizza for dinner. A cherry Coke will be involved. Life is good.
Other highlights of the day included the coconut almond latte I had for breakfast, and the picture organizing I was able to do since I brought my laptop- multitasking win! Oh, and the old lady at the booth next to us earnestly telling an old man that "Canadians sneak over the border to have their babies in the US so they'll have US citizenship". Then a woman said "I'm Canadian and we DON'T do that!" and the old woman just pursed her lips, gravely shook her head and said "Yes, yes you do. It happens all the time over the border".
What the hell? As if Canada is some terrible 3rd world country that people are begging to escape. The Canadian woman just walked off, muttering under her breath about the old lady. Later, the old lady at the booth dropped another awkward bomb. A woman in a Crazy Horse sweater walked up to old lady's booth, and old lady inquired as to how the statue was coming along. Crazy Horse sweater lady- who looked to be Native American herself- said it was coming along great. Then old lady at the booth shook her head, pursed her lips, and spat out "I guess that's the next group we'll have to be giving land back to!". Crazy Horse sweater lady just kind of stood there for a moment, and then walked away shortly after. There were more verbal gems after that, but you get the drift.
At first, I just thought old lady at the booth was a bit out of it- but then I realized, no, she's just kind of a jerk. Furthermore, if one is selling things, it's usually a good idea not to make divisive and potentially inflammatory political statements to would-be customers who may hold different views. But maybe that's just me. I do know that Bobby and I made sure to surreptitiously whisper our moneychanger joke when no one was in the room, instead of, say, dressing up like Jesus and running down the hall flipping over tables screaming out the scriptural reference for our outburst. Tact, people, it's about tact.
After the craft fair we loaded up, unloaded at the teahouse, and then headed to Denver- about an hour's drive from us. We had a fine time at a Moroccan restaurant with good friends, and I do have to thank old lady at the booth for giving me some comedic fodder for dinner conversation *tips hat to old lady at the booth*.
And now for random pictures of the belly dancer at said Moroccan restaurant. She acted like she was a bit drunk. But she was a hell of a lot nicer than old lady at the booth, and she was funny, so we forgave her potential drunkenness and just chalked it up to her being "sassy".
Some of those dollar bills are from my friend, Mandy. The belly dancer admonished her with "Two hands! Use two hands!" when Mandy tried to slip the money in. With a skirt that tight, there was no slipping. The belly dancer gave good advice- Mandy had to pull the waistband away, and then slide in the money. All to the soundtrack of hand bells ringing and "two hands!" being repeated. Then Bill gave her more money, and got up and danced with her. I told you she was sassy (and or drunk).
After the belly dancer and dinner we hit up an awesome bar in downtown Denver called "Double Daughters". It looks like Tim Burton designed the inside. I never drink, so of course I drove home, but I was exhausted and it was touch and go there for a while as I fought sleep like a toddler- complete with whining about how tired I was. We slept in this morning, Bobby made biscuits and veggie sausage, and writing this blog post is about the most productive thing I've done all day.
Off to eat pizza for dinner. A cherry Coke will be involved. Life is good.
Monday, April 26, 2010
I Got 99 Problems and They're All My Teeth
So, in preparation for the big move I hit up my gyno and a dentist to get checked from head to toe while I still had insurance. I went to the gyno for a full inspection, I peed in a cup, they drew my blood, and then refilled my Retin-A and birth control. I'm perfectly healthy and I now have my prescriptions for the next year. The next and final stop was a dentist. Now, I had 4 cavities filled and 6 sealed back in July, and ever since then I have religiously flossed TWICE daily, so this was more of a "I need to get my teeth cleaned" kind of thing. So, I just went to the place down the street from me, the guy that cleaned Puppy Bob's teeth. Nice dentist, nice office, nice dental assistants.
So, I go in for a teeth cleaning, smugly expecting congratulations on my perfectly flossed awesome teeth... and instead I'm told I have EIGHT cavities. WHAT. THE. HELL. He tells me they were probably already starting last July, after I tell him I've lost all faith in flossing upon hearing that with the exception of one they are all in between my teeth. Anyway, he says "we can do it all today" so my tooth cleaning turns into a 3 hour marathon of dentistry. I leave, go home, and sleep all day.
That was over two weeks ago, and my teeth have been killing me. Bringing me to tears when I eat. Feeling like I'm chewing cold rocks when I'm eating room temperature soft bread. It was awful. I went back in last Wednesday to have my bite adjusted- aka to have my fillings sanded down- but this last weekend two separate meals brought me to tears. So, I went in *again* today, had my bite re-adjusted, and he re-did two fillings. My dentist was super nice about the whole thing, and the two followup visits I didn't have to pay anything, even though this last one- this morning, in fact- one of the fillings he re-did wasn't even one he did in the first place. So, I'm thinking positive thoughts and popping lots of ibuprofen. In the meantime, I'm starving. But I'm not quite ready to chance eating yet, so instead I think I'll take a nap.
Other than my teeth, everything has been awesome. I've been hanging out with friends and family, sorting through my apartment, and tomorrow I start my 4 day training for the Census job. It gets to come with me to Colorado, so I'm excited I have a job before I even get there. I'm also interested to meet the other people at training. After my experience with the test and the interview let's just say I'm expecting some interesting people.
Ok, goodnight. My teeth are starting to wake up from the shots and I want to be asleep when they do.
So, I go in for a teeth cleaning, smugly expecting congratulations on my perfectly flossed awesome teeth... and instead I'm told I have EIGHT cavities. WHAT. THE. HELL. He tells me they were probably already starting last July, after I tell him I've lost all faith in flossing upon hearing that with the exception of one they are all in between my teeth. Anyway, he says "we can do it all today" so my tooth cleaning turns into a 3 hour marathon of dentistry. I leave, go home, and sleep all day.
That was over two weeks ago, and my teeth have been killing me. Bringing me to tears when I eat. Feeling like I'm chewing cold rocks when I'm eating room temperature soft bread. It was awful. I went back in last Wednesday to have my bite adjusted- aka to have my fillings sanded down- but this last weekend two separate meals brought me to tears. So, I went in *again* today, had my bite re-adjusted, and he re-did two fillings. My dentist was super nice about the whole thing, and the two followup visits I didn't have to pay anything, even though this last one- this morning, in fact- one of the fillings he re-did wasn't even one he did in the first place. So, I'm thinking positive thoughts and popping lots of ibuprofen. In the meantime, I'm starving. But I'm not quite ready to chance eating yet, so instead I think I'll take a nap.
Other than my teeth, everything has been awesome. I've been hanging out with friends and family, sorting through my apartment, and tomorrow I start my 4 day training for the Census job. It gets to come with me to Colorado, so I'm excited I have a job before I even get there. I'm also interested to meet the other people at training. After my experience with the test and the interview let's just say I'm expecting some interesting people.
Ok, goodnight. My teeth are starting to wake up from the shots and I want to be asleep when they do.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
A Short Story about Seeking Government Employment
For the past 4 months or so I've been traveling everywhere, writing my thesis, and furiously job searching. Since I've landed back in Dallas however, I've found the pickin's to be mighty slim. As luck would have it though, the Constitution of a little place called the USA happens to call for a census to be taken. Apparently the US Marshalls used to take it, but that was eventually deemed a little intimidating, so they've been recruiting citizens ever since. That's how I found myself sitting in a rec center downtown-ish, applying to work for the government by going door to door and asking questions of the people answering said doors.
Let's just say it was... an interesting bunch. There were about 6 of us, and unfortunately a few couldn't read the map, which is arguably an important skill for traveling about unfamiliar neighborhoods. And then the actual process- the government is still using pens and papers and manila folders ya'll. I think we *might* save a little extra money by going digital, but hey, that's just me- I love technology, and unlike Timberlake, I am *not* tired of using it. So, the whole ordeal was weird, socially awkward, and we were seated in a side gym with huge poster board butterflies hanging from the ceiling above us, and a fake wood fire next to us. But in the end I aced the test, and hopefully that plus my supervisory experience plus my grad degree and the fact that I don't have a felony will earn me a spot on the team. It's actually a pretty decent job for a temporary, part-time hourly gig at $17-$19 an hour, so I'm hoping I can keep this up through the spring and pair it with a real full time job. I'd like to take this moment to give a shout out to having no debt, and only car/health insurance and a cell phone to pay for. It's awesome, and without it I'd probably be too stressed out/insane/wandering the streets crying to be able to spend time making thoughtful blog posts like this one :)
Moral of the story- government jobs pay well, but are sought after by strange people. Also you should strive to live debt free in case you are ever unemployed. Perhaps an addendum to the moral of the story is that rec centers make questionable decor choices.
Let's just say it was... an interesting bunch. There were about 6 of us, and unfortunately a few couldn't read the map, which is arguably an important skill for traveling about unfamiliar neighborhoods. And then the actual process- the government is still using pens and papers and manila folders ya'll. I think we *might* save a little extra money by going digital, but hey, that's just me- I love technology, and unlike Timberlake, I am *not* tired of using it. So, the whole ordeal was weird, socially awkward, and we were seated in a side gym with huge poster board butterflies hanging from the ceiling above us, and a fake wood fire next to us. But in the end I aced the test, and hopefully that plus my supervisory experience plus my grad degree and the fact that I don't have a felony will earn me a spot on the team. It's actually a pretty decent job for a temporary, part-time hourly gig at $17-$19 an hour, so I'm hoping I can keep this up through the spring and pair it with a real full time job. I'd like to take this moment to give a shout out to having no debt, and only car/health insurance and a cell phone to pay for. It's awesome, and without it I'd probably be too stressed out/insane/wandering the streets crying to be able to spend time making thoughtful blog posts like this one :)
Moral of the story- government jobs pay well, but are sought after by strange people. Also you should strive to live debt free in case you are ever unemployed. Perhaps an addendum to the moral of the story is that rec centers make questionable decor choices.
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