On Bad Drinks

Some of the worst drinks I've ever had have been at Chinese restaurants. In fact, my worst birthday margarita was at one. Tonight was no exception. I tried the "Plum Paradise" which sounded intriging (Plum wine with some vodka). The first sip was just fine. I like plum wine. Sadly, the second sip tasted exactly like grape cough syrup. This flavor lasted all the way through my little glass. Being a college graduate, I've learned that when life gives you shitty drinks, take big big long sips through the sippy straw.

By the end of my little glass, I was enjoying many things near me. I liked how they always bring rice when you order a noodle plate. I liked how the guy at the next table was trying to find the balance between being a serious doctor-type from California (impressive, yet dorky) and being a cool oboeist in a rock band (impressively dorky).

I liked how the people behind me were cold and assumed their food suffered the same fate. They were trying to convey (in bastardized Chinese-English) that their food was cold, not hot..but not hot like spicy hot...hot like not cold...oh wait, cold like not hot...but not really cold, just kinda warm. I then enjoyed when the word "Microwave" arrived in the exchange and how the people only wanted their food heated up by microwave if it wasn't a type of microwave that would lessen the flavor in the food. Brilliant!

My walk home was marred only by my own buzzed logic. Wondering if it was icy out, slipping on the sidewalk as an answer, and then realizing that since the high today was around 25 or so that OF COURSE IT'S ICY YOU DUMB ASS! Luckily, I managed to keep hold of my noodle and rice leftovers. Ah, the joys of being home...

An Erinku:
cheese puffs
glowing
tempting with their
false cheese gods.

On Joy

While I'm visiting my mom, I've discovered a new joy in my life: brussel sprouts. Apparently, my mom hated them growing up, but has learned how to cook them into yummy delicious goodness that I was introduced to two days ago. I am in the midst of a brussel sprout orgy. Mmmmmmm.....

An Erinku:
air in can
water in bottle
nothing I say
will be profound.

On Airports

I'm packing to go away for Christmas and my carpool ride needs to be at the airport about two hours before I do. I'm not worried because airports are good places to pace. And by pace, I mean walk from end to end to the other end and back. It's usually a few miles and makes me realize that I'm in a building that is miles long. Which is creepy as my apartment (the Hobbit Hole) is exactly 20' wide by 20' long. It's a garage and pacing doesn't work in the Hobbit Hole.

I'm also morally obligated to buy at least one trashy magazine per vacation due to a binding day job agreement. And I'll definitely want some coffee. And I'm thinking now is a good time to brush my teeth, since I'm heading out very soon and I've been up for about fifteen minutes...

Moral of today's story: I shouldn't be allowed to type/write/do dishes until I've been awake for at least an hour.

An Erinku:
oh holidays
like a train wreck
we see you coming
but we just can't stop

On Violence

At Naropa, I took the worst class in the world. It was called "20th Century Literature." While I've got two of the best quotes from random people in that class, one story about getting my ass kicked verbally (and almost physically), one event of betrayal and reading two great new-to-me-authors, some of the literature I read there has scarred me for life.

Violence seemed to be the theme for the works we read and perhaps all books written after 1950. What was awful about the books we read was that the violence was so vivid, so appalling and so pointless. By midterms, I was pretty grouchy and by finals I was ready to commit some senseless violence of my own.

The moral of today's story: my brother does NOT look like a plastic toy figurine. I just forgot to take a picture of him at Thanksgiving and needed a substitute.

An Erinku:
piles of
blankets
keep the
floor warm

On Impostors

Last night was the company holiday party. As usual, it was awesome and, as usual, I intimidated people enough that I won a gift card. As that party ended, we walked down the street to another party-to-be with Adam. Everything was grand until Adam took off and wouldn't talk to us about half an hour later. I then realized that he wasn't Adam, but some friendly guy in a knit hat that looked a LOT like Adam. I think we just randomly picked him up outside the restaurant. I spent the rest of the night wondering just where Adam had gone. Perhaps he got mixed up with the other guy's group and had many exciting adventures. Perhaps he's still at the restaurant waiting for us to come back from the bathroom. Perhaps he's pining because he didn't win a gift certificate...

An Erinku:
old fax machine
in bag on floor
to be recycled
some day

On My Magic Fingers

Yesterday, after an hour of waiting in the sub-freezing snow for a bus, big bus-like lights appeared in the distance. I made sure I had my little pass and started bopping up and down so the driver would notice something (me) that looked like a weeble-people bopping around. The bus driver failed to notice me and drove right by. Instantly, of its own accord, my mittened middle finger flew up and at the back of the bus. (or maybe gloved. I confuse the two...whichever one is funnier.) Instantly the bus stopped. Impressed by my magic middle finger, I bopped over to the bus and rode around happily all the way home.

Tonight, after bussing home, I walked from the station to home (instead of waiting for an hour for the next bus). At a busy street, I stopped and waited for the little green guy to appear on the light for me to cross. Looking both ways, I stepped into the crosswalk and was nearly flattened by a big, red truck. As my mittened magic finger was busy holding onto a big bag of presents, I started waving my bag at the guy. I was also saying "No no no, don't mind me HERE IN THE CROSSWALK!" Halfway across the street, I realized how funny that must have looked to have a weeble-people shaking a bag at a big oblivious truck. I only look like a weeble-people in winter. I blame my coat.

An Erinku:
I am down to mustard
and brown rice
for dinner.
Ug. Shopping.

On Names

One thing I've been hating lately is people who spell their name in a clever way. Like "Thom." No, your name is Tom and you need to get over it. Or "Xeri" for Sherry. I usually dig when names are spelled differently, but when I hear on the phone "I'm Sam Smith and I want to order" and I'm rudely told, "No, NOT Sam Smith! It's Shyam Smyphth!" like I'm the fucktard, I get annoyed. (Sorry to any Shyam Smyphths out there). Of course, it could be worse. They could spell Sam Smith "P-e-t-e-r-W-i-l-s-o-n."

On an unrelated note, my printer is having another panic attack and isn't sure it can print a page. Lovely how technology can replace just about anything in life.

An Erinku:
cellophane
shiny
from distance
like the sun

On Privacy

The other day, I did a cookie dance. The other day Chris recorded a cookie dance. Chris is a punk ass who puts things on-line, such as cookie dances. Chris thinks "on-line" is one word. I think that Chris can suck my butt. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSC6VZVN8YA

An Erinku:
Snow
four inches
delays
adventures.

On Secret Santa

Every year at work we have secret santa and every single year I get people that I don't know very well / or don't know what to get them. I will often get the new person who's been there for two weeks and is wanting something wonderful for $15 or less. This year I've gotten someone awkward and have been pacing trying to figure out what to get. My ideas are dumb and this is especially a problem as I trust myself. I'm thinking a gift card, which seems like a last resort, but I've been thinking about it for two weeks and only have a few days left and still can't think of anything. Ducky suggested lotto tickets. But if they are winning tickets, I'll feel obligated to break the Santa confidentiality pact and insist that the recipient share...which would make me a bad santa. Meh, I'm trying to catch a cold too. Maybe I can get them a cold as my present and buy them $15 worth of cold-beating stuff! Gift card it is, then.

An Erinku:
a record
player
arrived today
bliss

On Too Late

There are too many cliches when it comes to customer service. The whole "customer is always right" is as wrong as cheese on cereal is wrong. Tonight, at Job 2, I had screamers leave messages about not getting holiday tickets. Apparently, job 2 stopped selling tickets on-line as of yesterday. Considering my pre-recorded messages are long enough and offer several ticket purchasing options, I was cranky about having to call the screamers back. They didn't want my other options. Bastards. Just because someone is on the other end of the phone doesn't make them less human.

An Erinku:
Up late
Another concert
Oh, yeah
I forgot!!

On Dancing

I used to take dance classes when I was little. I then grew older and very clumsy and dance just wasn't working out anymore. I will sometimes spontaneously burst into dance (much like spontaneous songs and spontaneous poetry). I did a dance this evening while eating a cookie. I seem to be overly fond of cookies currently. I even sang a little cookie song while dancing about a cookie...it's harder than it looks. I'm waiting for the next adventure to begin...I was ordered by Dana to wait for her..... ... .. and I wait.

An Erinku:
advent calendar
melted chocolate
waiting for cool nights.

On Anger

My family members have anger issues. There's always stories about how they're pissed off at someone for some such thing and on and on and blah and blah.
I've always like to think that:
1. I'm not as angry as my family
2. When I am, it's for a great reason.

Tonight, at rehearsal, I realized I'm as pissy as my next of kin. I was getting mad because the cello section sucked antelope ass. It was completely horrid. I've practiced a LOT while only having the music for two weeks. The other people in the group have played the same music each December for years and still manage to suck herbivore ass in a big way. While driving home, I started to self-doubt and played my part for Chris when I landed at home. His honest critique was that he could hear my shifts but it sounded good and in tune. Thus, he helped perpetuate my belief system and I spent time venting about how I was pissed about such and such and blah and blah. The whole hereditary thing can suck my mammalian ass.

An Erinku:
Cookie crisp
Cookie warm
Perfection in circles.

On Fraud

I got a call from my bank today explaining why my little debit card was acting wierd yesterday: they put a hold on it due to some funky spending that was out of character. Not only is it tacky enough to have someone steal your card number, but to be a big enough fucktard to try and buy $106.23 worth of cheap plastic shit at a Walmart in New York is pretty amazing.

Considering I've been boycotting Walmart for years and years, I'm glad my bank card declined there due to funky charges. I hope the asshole was embarassed enough that the cashier was unwilling to accept another payment. I hope that asshole will never be recognized by automatic doors for the rest of his/her life (considering I think of identity theives as younger than 75, they've got at least a good 20 years of not getting into grocery stores, airports, movie theatres, etc. ahead of them). I hope they suffer many canker sores, that they become allergic to all eight of the common food allergies, that they develop a morbid fear of cows, that they get ticketed EVERY time they speed, that their meters always run out faster than expected and that they get their identity stolen. Fucktards.

An Erinku:
Oh beer,
while good
you don't fill my
tummy like dinner should.

On Tests

I'm thinking of taking the GRE and going back to school (again, I'm a school junkie). As I've gone to little, private schools I've not needed the GRE before...so I'm reading up about all the math that has leaked away from my brain in the last few years.

As I'm thinking about tests, I was reminded of a difficult test adventure I had when I was little. Little enough to enjoy recess and little enough that I blindly followed authority figures (oh the things that change and the things that stay the same...) in elementary school.

We were having a standardized test in the afternoon one day right after lunch. I like taking tests, so I was excited with my little pencils all lined up. Things were fine until I had to pee. I was the age where I was too old to be wetting myself but still young enough that I sometimes didn't have lots of "I NEED TO PEE" warning. An awkard age, really. In the middle of the multiple choice section, I went up to the teacher's desk and said "I need to go to the bathroom." She said something along the lines of "I told you this morning, you can't leave once the test started. You'll need to wait until your done with the test."

Abashed, I went back to my seat and filled out more bubbles. I moved onto shapes or numbers or something and kept filling away with my lucky No. 2 pencil. After a while, I REALLY had to go. I went back to the teacher and asked in more urgent tones about going to the bathroom. Again, I was chastised for not peeing during lunch (though I didn't have to pee then).

It was halfway through the sciencey section I think when my bladder took over and, annoyed with my management, solved the problem warmly and damply. I felt much better. I finished my test, tied my sweater around my waist and went up to the teacher. In a very matter-of-fact tone I said something along the lines of "Here's my test. I wet myself. Can I go home?" The poor teacher was mortified at what happens when you repeatedly refuse a pee break and abashedly sent me home for the rest of the day. And thus began a lifetime of telling authority figures to fuck off if they don't like my pee schedule.

An Erinku:
Pumpkin seeds
roasting in kitchen
be done be done
be done be done

On Maturity

Today, I finally did something very grown-up. I brought home some take-out Chinese food. It's never occurred to me before to do that and I now have a little menu living on my fridge. It seems very grown-up because people on t.v. are always bringing home Chinese food (apparently that's all peole on t.v. live on). I guess maturity means you are completely interchangeable with about a billion other people.

An Erinku (in tiredness):
a kite
packaged
waiting
for release.

On Salads

Oh, the evil of salads. I think to myself that I'll just make a wee salad and all will be well, but NO!! There's tomatoes and feta involved. I suck at making salads. I once had friends who could only make one type of pizza. I am the friend who only makes one type of salad.

I start out by freaking out. I get way too many green things (think lettuce and whatnot). I chop a tomato. My creativity ends. I scrounge around the fridge until I find feta and then toss the tomato and feta on top of the salad. Voila! Salad! Anyone who has invited me to bring salad recognizes this three-color masterpiece of green, red and white.

I made my salad tonight and found that Jeni had brought the makings of many salad toppings. She had things like cherry tomatoes, tofu and sunflower seeds. Amazing!

An Erinku in honor of better-salad-makers-than-me:
Dalmatian, so spotty
So familiar, so inbred.

On Fine Lines

Today, it occurred to me that there is a very fine line between being frugal and being cheap. I was peripherally involved in a topic that evolved into someone crossing that line. Today's example was boring. A funnier example happened last week when I was on a boat. A co-traveller with our group stepped on a spiny sea creature. I think an urchin of sorts. This urchin was understandably pissed for being squashed and left some spiny presents in our friend's toe.

Luckily, our ship had an emergency medical person/hospital/pharmacy and in other countries an emergency situation is cheaper than here. Our friend's toe visited this hospital and saw that for 100 Euros, she could lose the spines. While she was waiting for her turn, she saw further down the list of choices that it only cost 80 Euros to amputate a toe. She thought about how important saving 20 Euros was to her. She decided to splurge.

An Erinku:
Past time
creepy
old photos
appear.

On Evil Post Offices

Imagine you want six postcard stamps. Imagine you work two blocks away from the Boulder Valmont Post Office. Imagine the line to see a teller extends out the building. Imagine the line to use the automated postage machine intertwines with the line extending out the building. You want six little postcard stamps to buy with your little fistful of quarters.

You march past the lined-up masses because you have cash and only need six little stamps. You need a stamp vending machine! You walk to where they live only to find a little note posted: "Sorry! We no longer have vending machines! If you'd like to purchase stamps, please see a teller during business hours or use our automated postage machine to your right!"

If you have an exclamation point after the word "SORRY!" then you aren't.

The line to see a teller is a 45 minute wait. You choose the automated postage machine. Twenty minutes later you discover two pleasant little facts:
1. the machine of evil does not accept cash...not even quarters.
2. the unholy machine of corruption does not sell postcard stamps.

Teeth grinding, you pull out your bank card, purchase a whole book of $0.41 stamps and get a happy little receipt asking for your opinion at their website.

An Erinku:
seeds of evil look
innocently like postcard stamps.

On My D

Alas, my D is flat. It is flat every time. My fingers are tired and my D is still flat. Perhaps I will blame Bach again. He is good to blame as he is dead and can't complain.

Moral of today's story: when you've lost your library card, check your friend's pockets.

An Erinku:
Scooby
Doo
is my friend
too.

On British Folk

I was in London for a bit of time this past week (think a ten-hour layover and than a five-hour layover). I enjoyed very much the British people talking. I didn't enjoy so much having to walk on the left side of corridors (walking on the right is swimming upstream). I absolutely thought their coffee disgusting. I think they never got over our little tea party a while back and make shitty coffee in retribution.

The one coffee exception was at a little kiosk that was selling "Froffee." It was a coffee milkshake. Even though it was awesome, I felt like an ass ordering a froffee. Go on, say it out loud "I'd like a froffee, please." Don't you feel dumb, too?

During my various layovers, I was thinking a lot of British habits/culture/what-have-you are there to make me feel dumb: their left side of the walkways/driving, their froffee, their accents, their ordering chips (fries) at the bar but not tipping the waiter, their putting beer in a wine glass and their absolutely shitty coffee on the flights. Plus they are way funnier and have royalty bopping about town. Lovely.

The moral of today's story: if you wake and dress at 5:00 a.m. due to jet lag, you'll notice at 10:20 a.m. that your shirt is on inside-out.

An Erinku:
Clean
Fridge bins
drying on
table.

On Home

After hours on buses, planes and cars, we're home. I've wontonly flushed tissue down the toilet, had a big glass of water and took another shower (water-wasting American that I am). I've a massive pile of laundry that needs done and am in my pajamas even though it's still single digit time.

An Erinku in tiredness:
I will not
see singers
for two months.
ah.

On Sleep

In the past few days, I've slept about ten hours. I've boarded many planes, buses and a boat (as of tomorrow). I can't keep anything straight and the fact that it's almost bedtime here while it's 11:00 a.m. back home is throwing me into massive confusion. I've learned many things in the last two (?) days. One of them is that many of my favorite phrases seem to come from Britain, though I've never been and the people I stole the phrases from haven't been either. "Brilliant" and "wicked" are two of my favorites and they are apparently popular in England as well. Humph.

I've also learned that people in Greece don't flush toilet paper, they throw it away. Getting past the intense grossness of this is difficult. I end up wrapping my tissue in more tissue. Like a little tissue present. When I get back, I'm going to flush toilet paper down the drain for fun.

Then there was a whole big bathtub drama, which I can't even think about right now. Traveling is odd and I have funky tan lines on my toes.

The moral of today's story: if the world is as blue as you think, you're right.

An Erinku, in tiredness:
Little
puffy
feet move
upstairs.

On Travelling

We leave for Greece tomorrow. I have a big list of things to do. I don't think I'll finish my list. Buying Euros is odd. I had it all planned out with my little pile of cash. I stood in line, avoided buying stuff I didn't need and somehow left the bank with a fistful of Euros, a fistful of British Pounds and a third fistful of U.S. dollars. I don't think I did it right. So be it. Now I can be a multi-cultural American and throw different types of money at people until they're happy. Swell.

At one point today, instead of working on my list o' things, I thought about how bangs are contagious. More so than the flu. It starts with someone, bored, in front of a mirror with scissors. Other people see it, think "Wow! Short hair in front! It's like a cool mini-mullet!" and thus the bangs spread.

An Erinku:
I'm forgetting
to not
forget....
something

On Hard Wood Floors

Hard wood floors are pretty. Hard wood floors are hard. These are the only two benefits of hard wood floors. The downsides are many. One that just came to mind is the fact that they do not muffle any type of sound in any way. I thought that because someone just clumped up some hard wood stairs. I am several doors away, with a bit of carpet and some rugs in between. It was still loud.

Having grown up with a single hard wood floor, I know that you need to refinish hard wood floors. You also ask that people remove shoes, thus having nice floors, but a funky odor in your place. You can't drink anything other than water when near a hard wood floor. Your cello won't stay put on a hard wood floor and when you use your end pin to drill a nice hole for yourself in the floor, people get overly cranky....because they'll need to refinish the hard wood floor and start the whole terrible business all over again.

The moral of today's story is: if you are allergic to peanut butter, don't eat my cookie.

An Erinku:
tissue
(rescuer of my nose)
soft
yet firm.

On Packing

We're off to Greece in four days and I'm starting to pack today. Packing sucks ass. You wash every piece of clothing you own, clean out the fridge, wash some towels and blankets, and pack. The day you leave, you realize all the clothes you wanted to bring with are all dirty so you start the cycle again.

I often manage to forget a major clothing group each time I go on a trip. Often it's socks. I've also forgotten pants, shirts, p.j.'s and a swimsuit. Forgetting each type is awkward in it's own unique way. Imagine going to Seattle for your friend's wedding and forgetting pajamas. Awkward. Which reminds me that I've forgotten to pack p.j.'s....which is ironic as I'm having a pajama day. And I'm burning my rice. Humph. Every damn time I cook rice it burns.

An Erinku:
pile of old clothes
looking for new home.

On Pure Evil

I've worked too long in the retail industry. Even though I'm the buyer at my day job, I still get to deal with customers. We have a customer who I think is pure evil. She has people pay her to answer questions about our products. Yet she still asks stupid questions, interrupts, expect things for free, etc. for the sake of being evil. If she's getting paid to be stupid, people really will pay for anything.

I got a call today at 5:20 from someone frantically trying to get to the store before we closed for the weekend. The most awful act anyone can do is expect a business to stay open late because your lazy ass couldn't make it in during business hours. I absolutely refused to promise someone would stay late for her.

She drove up at 5:23 and I realized it was K.L. and I know she will not move along. She started walking the aisles asking inane questions. She grabbed two different products (imagine a box of Captain Crunch and a box of Preparation H) off the shelf and asked what the difference was. I said, "Well, they're made by different companies, have different ingredients and are different prices."

You can tell I'm at the end of a very long week when I start using basic logic at people. I left a brave co-worker handling K.L. and describing the differences between products that K.L. gets paid to know. K.L. may you always be third in line at the grocery store!!!!!!!

An Erinku:
spider sharing my shower
don't drop on
my head.

On Tea

Some things are overrated. Things like Titanic (the movie), doughnut holes, chicken wings, and of course: tea. Tea is nasty. Anyone who says differently is lying to themselves and trying to make you join in their magic fantasy land. Imagine picking some dirty root, maybe rinse it, dry it, grind it up, put it in a little woven bag, pour hot water on it and letting it sit there, smoldering (moldering, too) and then put some bee puke (honey) in with it. Pretty gross. Now coffee is a whole different thing...you pick the bean.

I used to be ambivalent towards tea. I knew tea drinkers and they tend to be good people (with bad taste). Then the stereotypes started in. I apparently look like a person who would drink tea. And enjoy it. That is a stereotype and you need to watch out when you stereotype! I now am very decidedly anti-tea.

An Erinku:
Typing in the dark
too warm. Oh, breeze
come soon.

On Littering

I'm fond of riding the bus. I can sleep, read, write, think and theoretically meditate on the bus while someone else deals with rush hour. Part of my fondness for public transportation is that I can park my car at their parking lot and ride the bus. Thus the not-clever name "Park & Ride." When I'm away from my car for hours a day in the warmth of the Colorado summer (spring/summer), I crack my windows a wee bit.

I suffered a dramatic shopping-basket-instant-bruising incident today which pretty much ruled out my three mile walk after work. Chris came to the rescue by picking me up at work #1 and taking me to the car I conveniently left at the so-called "Park & Ride." The many cars there all had flier (flyers?) tucked lovingly under windshield wipers or on the driver's side door. Except mine. Some bastard took the time to wiggle their litter through my wee crack. I now have been officially invited to meet hot, local singles on-line. Well, wup-de-fucking-doo. Way to kill a tree and stuff it through my crack!

Anyway, I'm holding onto my annoyance and will pop a little snarky message over to them in the next few days. It's an invasion of privacy to force unwanted things through my car.

An Erinku:
Oh..no more cake or chicken or
champagne left-overs...bleh.

On June 18

Having survived yet another wedding, one fish passing away (we'll miss you "Not Bubbles"!), and a mild hangover after the wedding, I'm happy to have made it Monday, June 18th. It was a day that would live forever in my mind as a completely normal day. Nothing exciting happened.

Chris has commandeered some video games and has started to play without me. I have music to practice and I think I'm going to slack off and video game for a bit.

An Erinku:
Not Bubbles
in passing
your void
filled with water.

On Coaster

We just got some very cool coasters. Usually when people say this, they are living a terribly boring life where absorbent stone is the coolest thing they've seen in weeks. These coasters, however, are very cool. Someone found tons of old records, cut out the label from the middle (complete with the hole in the middle for the turn-table) made sure it was round, put a little protectant seal on it and voila! coasters! We have Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and other hip record coasters. Brilliant!!

I'm very fond of the coasters (though they've been in the house for about 36 hours, tops) and am only willing to part with them for extraordinary situations. Since Dana and Joe are getting married tomorrow, we gave them the Beatles record coasters. They deserve it.

In the midst of crazy last-minute wedding preparations, I am on a break and am waiting for the next assignment to be handed down from the bride-on-high...who has run off to do some things. So be it.

An Erinku:
Green, ceramic cow
guarding speaker
life passes you by.

On My Mind

I'm thinking about making some big life changes. Or big life-like changes. Either way, as I fell asleep last night I was halfway through a thought. A short seven hours later, I woke up and finished my thought. It was a bit creepy that either my mind:
1. waited seven hours to finish half a non-sentence or
2. was cycling the same non-sentence over and over and over and I just happened to wake up at the correct time in the cycle.

You'd think I'd have something else to think about at night.

Because of this, I've spent all day thinking about how brains work and why it was important to finish my thought instead of spending the day thinking about my upcoming changes. So be it.

An Erinku:
My favorite
fortune cookie
will one day
come true.

On Mindfulness

At Naropa, people used the word mindfulness (or any variation thereof, such as: mindful, mindfully, mindfullicious, etc.) as a code word for what they were really thinking: fuck off.

Today, as I was re-cleaning a display that had once again been knocked over by someone's butt, I realized I was thinking at them: Be mindful of your ass. I suspect that is a useful mantra for every-day life. Be mindful of your ass. Right now, my buttocks are cushioned comfortably on an office chair. I am mindful of my ass. I don't put my ass through a display and knock bottles over with it. I am mindful of my ass. My ass is a cushion, not a battle weapon. I am mindful of my ass.

An Erinku:
New blue skirt
so light
so blue
so girly.

On Little, White Butterflies

Everywhere I go, there are little white butterflies. Statistically I know there's more than one type of butterfly. I just never see them. Much like how there are only blue wildflowers. I know this for a fact because I planted many wildflower seed once and all colors came up. Lovely. The next year, all the flowers were blue.

It's like nature has it's own version of Walmart & Starbucks that is slowly absorbing all competition. White butterflies, blue wildflowers and robins (the only bird I see). It's a bit odd. Since that's all I see, I wonder what type of blinders I have on that make me ignore the other flowers, butterflies and birds. Unless I'm actually the first person to notice all the other species have gone extinct. That could also just be the Hornsby's talking. Again, only one type of hard cider...hmm.

An Erinku (in fastness):
Trumpet,
loud, insisting;
my burrito
cooks slowly.

On Cleaning

I hate to clean bathrooms. I am always super-clean in my own so I don't have to clean it so often. The problem is living with someone else. What's worse is having to clean them at your job. I refuse to work anywhere that wants me to clean bathrooms.

When I worked as a bartender/waitress at the world's shittiest Italian restaurant (conveniently located in Louisville, CO) I got promoted to assistant manager. Along with that promotion came the responsibility of making sure the bathrooms were clean. Two minutes into my first managerial shift, I proposed to put up the following sign: "POOP AT HOME." The owner didn't think it was a good idea. I didn't think it was a good idea to clean up another person's poop. Especially in the men's room.

The moral of today's story: edible body paint that's on the clearance rack will stain your body blue. Especially your nose.

An Erinku:
Ant up-climbing
exploring
my honey.

On Hugs

On one of my little workout tapes, they end with hugs all around. Something just seems wrong when sweaty people feel obligated to hug one another. When I'm all sweaty and gross, the last thing I want to do is hug someone and get their sweaty grossness all over me. Bleh.

The same holds true on hot summer nights. The blankets are off, the fan is on and I'm still too warm to be comfortable. I don't care if you're Chris or a cat or a polar bear; unless you are at 50 degrees or cooler, don't touch me.

I tried hot yoga a few months ago. Bikram's, it's called. I got up at 5:00 a.m., drank some water, got dressed in traditional yoga clothes (I hadn't done yoga in years before this adventure), drank water, peed, drank more water and went off with Dana for a 90 minute adventure. Since it was winter, I enjoyed the warm room...for about 5 minutes. By the end of the next 85 minutes of being a sweaty bump on a log, my main concern was not throwing up on Dana. Although if I had, it would have:
a) been all water, which was
b) cooler than the room.

Though I didn't throw up, it wasn't until well after noon before I next peed. That's with drinking 80+ ounces of water. Disturbing. I'm whimpy in any extreme weather. As my life is ironic, I live in Colorado.

An Erinku:
One sandal
empty,
waiting for
fullfillment.

On Frustration

As of today, I'm fed up. My helping muscle is broken. I'm tired of being pecked to death with questions. I like to equate questions with chickens.

I'm off to Greece in a few short weeks with a group of choir folk. My history with choirs is patchy at best. Instrumentalists seem amazingly cranky to choir folk. Choir folk seems amazingly cheesy to instrumentalists. I tend to avoid tours in general, with the exception of touring with band-mates (they're just fun).

I've been put in charge of rounding up these choir folk and tossing them on a plane. The tour company takes over once we land (vacation time for me!). I am pulling out hair because of inane questions. I like the word inane since it sounds nicer than stupid. The issues that come up are astounding! I have so little sympathy for pointless dramas that I can't bring myself to email the group when I have answers for their questions. UG. I've been dealing with this for the last year and as the tour gets closer, the more resistance I have about communicating. Inane. What a great word.

An Erinku:
Chocolate chip cookie picture;
my tummy grumbles.

On Trees

I walked over five miles today. Some of my walk was along nice little trails in Boulder. Boulder has lots of beautiful trees. Some of these are cottonwood trees. These trees are currently pollinating up my nose. I'm allergic to cottonwood pollinations, especially up my nose.

My walk ended with me sitting down at a Chinese restaurant. I had blown through my stash of tissues and had swollen nose-holes and eyelids. They served me very quickly. Perhaps to ease my pain. I'm at the choir office currently and have had several people be concerned about how I'm doing. I should come up with an amazing tale involving something distressing (but not too) and involving a bottle of organic capers. Considering that choir folk are terrible (or awesome, depending) gossips, it wouldn't take long for such a story to get circulated and much embellished.

In truth, I'm a bit unhappy. I usually LOVE to sneeze, but this past week has really taken the fun out of it. Soon, the massive pollinations will end and I'll be back to sneezing with joy.

An Erinku:
Christopher Moore
Your books: amazing, amazing

On "It's Me!"

I got a cell phone for Christmas. As cliché and cheesy as getting a cell phone sounds, getting the phone was a direct result of scary events involving the massive blizzard that hit Colorado and left Chris wondering where I was for eight hours. I and the rest of the bus were rescued by
1. the National Guard and then by
2. Broomfield police.

Dramatic, scary, cold, odd and I learned that in an emergency situation, I still will not sleep in a public restroom (unlike some others on my bus).

My cell phone number was not virgin. As in: it belonged to someone before me. Not long after getting my first little cell phone, I got a call that went like this:
Erin: "Hello?"
?: "Hi! It's me."
Erin: "Me, who?"
?: "It's me."
Erin: "Me, who?" (I had to reply in italics to match his)
?: "ME!"
Erin: "There are a billion me's in the world. Which me are you?"
?: "Dude, it's me!"
Erin: "This is Erin Christensen. Who the hell are you?"
?: "Oh...I've got the wrong number."
Erin: "Yeah, you do."
? hangs up.

Yeah, I hate the "It's ME!" game. Chris pointed out that it hints at a terribly co-dependant relationship which assumes you and your partner only speak to one another and therefore it could only be you calling. Sad.

An Erinku:
Sweet
potato fries
are way
overrated.

On Hobbies

Today at work (yes I know, another Sunday) Ducky brought her mom in to shop. Ducky's mom is overly fond of quilting. Ducky and mom will be shopping all day tomorrow in various quilting stores. Tuesday, Ducky's mom and Ducky's aunt will visit all 19 quilting stores between Boulder and Colorado Springs. In one day. I was quilted out just listening to the story.

Hobbies are scary things. They're fun until you become a bit obsessive about them. Like classical musicians who've never heard of the Doors. Or Pink Floyd. It's unhealthy when your hobby sucks all the interesting things out of your life. My current favorite hobby is sleeping and drinking coffee. Not at the same time though.

An Erinku:
Cupcake of goodness
weighty,
proud.

On AAA

My Saturday morning ritual involves waking slowly, eating breakfast and going to a local coffee shop. In the town where I live, there is only one independent coffee shop. A few miles away.

Come time for caffeine, we pop into the car to go. The car won't start. It's not the battery and the sounds it's not making suggest the starter to me. I frown because this is the "good" car and it should go. I know it wants an oil change (which is scheduled soon in the future). We get out of the "good" car and get in the "older" car. (It's only recently that we became a two-car family).

We get to the coffee shop and talk about how the "older" car has an oil change appointment on Monday and how we can swap cars for the appointment and how we'll call AAA to tow our car there, etc. After enjoying my "I SOY SNICKERS" (I love how they write on the cups there! I should change it to: YO SOY SNICKERS), we pop in the "older" car. It won't start. It's not the battery and from the sounds it's not making, I suspect the starter. I frown and say words that rhyme with each other. Something about a duck and a well and an armpit.

Apparently the older car is possessive of its oil change appointment and doesn't want the good car to have it. A little bit of sibling rivalry. But now we're stranded and our upstairs neighbors made a point this morning of saying they'd be in Boulder all day long. They can't rescue us. Perhaps they had something to do with this?

AAA was called (I love AAA! They are a must if you have a car that's older than six months), a cab was called, our barista gave us sage words of wisdom about how old our car is (we know), and a car was rented for the next 24 hours as tomorrow is a big gotta-get-here-then-gotta-get-there day. The odds of two cars breaking down within an hour of each other with the same problem is small. If the rental car doesn't start tomorrow, I'm buying a lotto ticket.

An Erinku:
Saturday interrupted
trapped bee
released; wait
a yellowjacket.

On Grocery Stores

It occurred to me months and months ago that ranting is like turning on a garden hose. Imagine water in a hose is like creativity busting out and spraying all over your neighbor. There's the nasty stagnant water that gets blown out first. That would be a rant. Even on my non-creative days, I still manage a rant about some obscure annoyance. Or not so obscure.

Today (like every day) I hate the self-check-out line in the grocery store. Someone once said "I'll use them if they give me a discount. They're saving on labor, but I'm not getting anything out of it." A good point that I cling to desperately. I will wait in line for an actual person to check me and my little pile of groceries out. The few times I've had to use the self-check-out (I shop late sometimes and apparently only the machines are up as late as me), I quickly escalate into foul-mouthed hollering at the things.

Those lanes piss me off so much that I can't even talk about them in the store. Today, in line with some eggs and whatnot, a helpful managerial type pointed out that there was no line at the self-check-out. I hissed at her. She backed up and went on to the next person in line behind me.

An Erinku:
Oh, latte
iced and
frothy and
carmelly...oh.

On Postal Vendettas

Worse than the postal person not picking up my happy Netflix envelope is writing a lovely little story and then having Myspace screw it all up before losing it. My rice is burning.

A cranky Erinku:
Contract typed
centered
Wrist hurts but
not covered.

On Wimpy Fingers

Bach makes my fingers tired. Having tired fingers makes me whiny. I whine about how I can't play Bach without getting tired. I sometimes like circular thinking. It resembles water going down a drain.

I'm planning on marinating strawberries in balsamic vinegar. It sounds scary. It probably is scary, but everyone who has ever 1) tried it or 2) talked about trying it love, love, loves vinegar marinated strawberries. I think I will need real sugar. We use hippy sugar here in the homestead and sometimes hippy sugar doesn't cut it. Or sweeten it. Or whatever. I've misplaced the telephone....hmm.

An Erinku (in honor of Kids in the Hall):
I've lost my phone,
My obvious phone
I've lost my obvious phone.
I'll find my phone
My ringing phone
I'll find my ringing phone
(look up, stupid!)

On Hostels

I'm back from several days out of town. To be efficient, we stayed at a local hostel. It was my second hostel experience. My first was better.

By better, I mean that the room was clean (no sour milk in a carton peacefully decomposing in the trash can), the bathrooms were private (no semi-closing sliding door hiding the toilet) and the other guests were friendly (no crazy lady hopped up on acid or whatever following me to my room to ask if we were on the big trick everyone was playing on her).

All in all: that second hostel was super-scary.

After my encounter with the crazy lady, I pretended I was a person wearing blinders. I did not look at anyone there; I did not talk to anyone there. Whenever the bathroom guard came out (she popped out of her room anytime she heard someone walk into/out of the bathroom) I scurried up the stairs or out of the common area. There were a few young people there, but they also had the look of uneasy fight or flight response. The majority of people (crazy) that I ran into (literally) were burned-out older hippie types. Looking for a captive audience. Who were couch surfing at a hostel. Honestly. They're super-scary and no, I'm not involved in the major conspiracy the whole hostel is perpetrating against you. You might take less acid next time, scary lady.

An Erinku:
Early start,
flooded freeway
hail storm
blues.

On Odors Most Foul

My upstairs neighbors had a total of six dogs last night (three were visiting). My upstairs neighbors have a compost pile in the backyard. Dog like stinky things. The scent of six dogs that have eaten, played in and rolled in compost was enough to ruin my bar-be-que buzz. Dogs in compost are gross.

An Erinku:
Car is packed
Chris waits
while I finish
my type.

On Small Print

The other day it occurred to me that most actions contain some sort of small print. A good example is kissing. If you look closely, many kisses contain small print about expectations, warranties and disclaimers.

I have a headache, a rare occurrence for me. The small print suggests not enough caffeine, but I'm intimidated by my new french press. It involves hot water and screens and some sort of pump and other movable parts. I feel justified in my intimidation. The french press is making me submit.

As today seems like a disjointed type of day, so too are my paragraphs. I need to start packing for the weekend adventure-to-be. We're awaying to Glenwood Springs to visit hot springs and vapor caves and hike. It will be lovely, but I need to pack first. But I have a wee headache. But I've submitted to my french press. I bet Dana knows how to work it....

An Erinku (like a haiku...only not)
To sleep in
clean sheets
with fan on
bliss

On Thin Walls

As I'm sitting here, minding my own events, the board meeting next door is spilling over into my ears. Sometimes they complain of people I know and sometimes they talk of such dull things, I'm tempted to turn on some crazy loud music to perk them up. The office here has thin walls. And lots of board meetings.

It occurred to me recently that I will never be a politician. Board meetings are not quite the bane of my existence...we'll say it's the pain of my existence. I doodle a lot and think about other things I'd rather be doing (an exercise in counting). It occurred to me that politicians are in board meetings......all....day......long. That's why one should be suspicious of someone who wants to be a politician. They've got to be hiding something.

Ack! They're discussing their budget! I can't breathe... must... do... something... fun... bleh.

An Erinku:
Ice cream, slopped from cup
melts slowly
in street.

On Pressing Questions

Every time I wander down a certain local trail, I think of gazebos. More importantly, I wonder if gazebos are pretentious. This is a pressing question with a conditional answer: gazebos are only pretentious if they are on display.

While I was up-growing (must avoid the dangling participle) my grandparents had a gazebo. In the very back of the backyard, hidden from view by some freakishly giant strain of lilacs (huge). I liked that gazebo. Specifically, I liked underneath the gazebo. The truth is that gazebos are boring. There's a floor, some rails, a couple of stairs and sometimes a roof. Underneath the gazebo is an exciting and very off-limit world. Off-limit enough that you get in trouble every time you go underneath. I've always noticed the bottoms of gazebos and how easy (or not) it would be to get underneath should the need arise.

On the local trail, there is a very pretentious, un-subtle gazebo overlooking the trail. Nothing is as pointless as an un-used, pretentious gazebo overlooking the local trail.

An Erinku:
I walk while waiting
Chris needs
a nap.

On Friday Morning Epiphanies

Today on my way into work, I finally proved reincarnation. Over the thousands, millions, bazillions years we've been around, the actual amount of time where one can get an iced, soy, caramel latte is actually only a few decades. Since I sincerely loved my iced, soy, caramel latte, I was most pleased to believe that I reincarnated enough (or not enough) to be a human, drinking a lovely drink on a Friday summery morning. Of course, it could also be a coincidence. Maybe I didn't really prove anything other than I like soy caramel lattes, iced in May.

Recently, my tummy has been singing my praises. Maybe I've not been eating the food it wants. All I know is that for the last few days, my tummy has been happy for hours after a meal. Tonight I had gnocchi. It's warm potato-y goodness with garlic and cheesy goodness. That was hours ago and my tummy is still humming with pleasure. It's almost like sharing a body with a happy creature. Possibly one that reincarnated from a squirrel. Or not.

An Erinku:
My button is missing
from an old pair of shorts.

On Red Rocks Concerts

Last night, I saw Bjork at Red Rocks. It was pretty darn cool. There's something neat about watching a concert outdoors, in the mountains, with Denver's lights as a back drop. It's also fun to have no oxygen reach your brain (due to the altitude; not for lack of breathing) and about 400 stairs to traverse in a mildly intoxicated state looking for a place to pee. Repetedly. I think I lost half my ass climbing those stairs. It's tragic. Someone could trip on half an ass on a dark stairway. I'm a public nuisance now.

The opening was pretty neat, too. She kept squeaking like a fire alarm going off. Mildly annoying but all in all: good.

Tonight I'm using all the delay tactics available to me to avoid working on the choir's tour budget. Something is amiss and the accountant (not me) said something is amiss. That something would be on my end and I have to go through with a calculator and figure out what the hell I was thinking. I hate that. I've checked email and my phone messages and filled out paperwork and even translated a brochure of Sprouting Jar directions from German into English. All these things are inspiring, but they are not accounting. Blah. I can't put it off much longer.

An Erinku:
On tires, little boxes reverse,
go forward fast
but never sideways.

On Sore Tummies

I tried PiYo on Sunday morning. It's a combination of Pilates and Yoga. It goes for an hour and a half (really an hour and fifteen minutes, but then there's the mandatory Erin-Coffee-Run that's 15 minutes long). Ducky has done yoga since grasshoppers learned to sing. She's flexible. I'm not. PiYo asked that we lay on our backs and casually toss our feet up over our heads. I laughed a lot at how my body is obviously not that of a yogi. Instead of folding in half, I folded in about 1/3. There are mysterious tools involved in PiYo, like a strap, a mat and a wee little foam block that Ducky put near my mat. We didn't use that little foam block, but I stared at it the whole lesson wondering how in the hell it would be incorporated into the class. I had a lot of fun.

The moral of today's story: don't trust Ducky with foam blocks. She uses them for intimidation purposes only.

An Erinku:
My feet on ground; in air
my feet won't meet
my face today.

On Pictures

I was talking with people today about pictures. I had Chris take a nice picture of me for the local choir's program (I played cello for them a bit this past year). Since I didn't want to look like my usual sloppy self, I put on a bit of make-up, tossed on some concert black and hung a maroon sheet on the kitchen door as a back-drop (lovely though my door is). All year long, I've had people comment on my Glamour Shot and how they did a good job with my hair and make-up. I've been offended all year long.

My impression of Glamour Shots stems from the 80's when people I knew all had wind-swept pictures of themselves. This was done by a fan blowing their hair gently over their shoulder. I hated how the artificial breeze was captured forever in portrait form. I also hated the massive amounts of turquoise eye shadow, the hideously neon dresses and the not-so-subtle screaming red blush slopped on their cheeks. Gotta love the 80's!

My impression is now 20 years out of date. To remedy this fear of fake wind, which seems to be an unresolved issue, my next publicity picture will be taken with me doing my own make-up (again) possibly wearing black (again), hanging up another sheet (but not the Scooby-Doo ones, fun though they are) and having a fan set on high, massively blowing my hair (and small birds) over my shoulder. Bleh.

An Erinku:
Hair billowing
(though wind-less)
If Fabio can do it
so can I.

On Fridays Off

Ah, a day off. The occasional Friday off is healthy and makes for a happy weekend. Whenever I have a Friday off, I tend to run many, many errands. And drink lots of coffee. Mm. Coffee. My current coffee hasn't been recognized by my body yet. Shortly though, I should be up and about...considering it's afternoon.

I missed most of the Saturday morning cartoons as I stayed up late. Chris had a movie premiere in Denver last night (he played all the music in an independent film) and we ended up going from one place to another to another, etc. In honor of the event, I wore high heels...a dangerous idea at any time.

One thing I really hate is strangers touching me. This has always been an issue (my mom talks about how, as a baby, as soon as I could lift my arms, I would push people away from me and my space.) It's one thing if I know the person and they're a friend, but I don't like waitresses touching my arm, strange guys hugging me, or another strange guy breathing on me. The place wasn't crowded enough to justify breathing on me! EW!

I think that's why I'm enjoying jogging. Strangers have to be quick to touch a passing jogger. I think that's why I also enjoy tae bo. If strangers reach for me, the passing jogger, I can now double-time kick at them (I've got tae bo cardio, where they talk about double-time kicking and whatnot). I also lift weights, so if my awe-inspiring crappy kick doesn't do the job, I can pick up something heavy nearby (rock, garbage can, small child) and throw it, impressively, at the odd "let's touch the jogger" person.

I think the coffee is working now. My rant-rate has increased. Excellent. As I need a coffee refill (can't let good rant-time go to waste; I've got writing group to impress!)

I'll leave with an Erinku awesome enough to cover yesterday and today:
However loud,
barking dogs
don't own
the sidewalk.

On Eggs

I love, love, love learning new things. In between going to school (it seems to be an on-going process) I use the internet to learn new things. Today, I learned about eggs.

I found out about eggs because I was looking for information about hair (mine seems to spontaneously grow inches overnight). By looking on-line, I was easily distracted from hair information and found out about eggs. Someone had asked which part of the egg shell is the strongest. I thought it might be the bottom. I was mostly right, but the top part is also pretty tough. Apparantly, the arc shape helps distribute any pressure evenly. The sides of the eggs are the weakest.
What made me extra happy was that chicks know the sides are the weakest. That's how they peck their way out of their little shell-y homes. It just shows that a newborn chick is smarter than a college-educated chick. Who knew?

Erinku du jour:
Hornby's-sponsored
Thursday night
open door breeze
cools my feet.

On Names

I cannot remember people's real names. I blame my gene pool. I give out permanent nicknames and am very confused when people refer to themselves as something else. Some nicknames that are floating out in the world (in random order): Squeaky, Pony, P.C., Gamacheley, Tree, Heffie, Mot, Ducky, Bob, Hoe, Donkey, Smatt and Binky. I also give nicknames to people who aren't friends: Smirkette, But Love, Fart'n'Dart, DinkButt, Ghost Ship Boy, The Borg, Peanut Butter Guy, Pencil Man, Butterball, and Ass Monkey (this one is fun for everyone!).

Conversely, I've been a hard person to nickname. With varying degrees of acceptance I've been called: Fishy, NPE (nearly perfect erin), Pinnacle, Humpy, and Trigger. On a completely different topic, it's beginning to rain and my windows are de-rolled. I must conform with society and up-roll my windows.

An Erin-ku in fastness:
My double-damning
the shift + enter
does not change it.

On Potlucks

I only bring desserts to potlucks. I am so stuck on this that more than once I've been to a dessert-only potluck (other must have issues similar to mine). I'm always amazed that people can bring an entree/salad/bread/something not dessert. I've tried, but about an hour before the party I start to freak out. What if there are vegans? Who only eat organic, raw food? But are allergic to broccoli, carrots and spinich? And whose food can only be washed in filtered water during a new moon in August? So I slap together bannana bread. Or is it bananna bread? Why can't I spell bananananana correctly?

At tonight's potluck, my bananana bread sat on the counter, delicately wrapped in plastic wrap. It was ignored while people scarfed cookies, cheesecake, strawberry rhubarb pie, and something that involved cabbage and vinegar which should NOT have been on the dessert table. Finally my bread was unwrapped. By the time I left, there was 3/4 of a loaf left. It's good bananana bread! I hope it finds a worthy home...but not mine, I ate a lot of bananana bread today. This is a sad fable of making banananana bread on a Tuesday.

The moral of today's story: goats like to hit things with their heads.

An Erinku:
Starlight fishes
swimming softly
through sky and water

On Oregon Trail II

I have a pooch. It magically stays the same whether I gain or lose weight. It stays the same through summer, winter and sit-ups. I have a pooch. It's always there. I accept it. Except when shopping for bridesmaid's dresses. I get cranky when shopping for bridesmaid's dresses.

When I'm cranky, I play Oregon Trail II. I loved, loved, loved playing Oregon Trail when I was little and I somehow got a copy of Oregon Trail II. There is something soothing about fictional characters dying in flamboyant ways. Last night in my party of six, two of the party died on the first day out of town. It was a balmy 70 degrees in June, but they were determined to freeze to death. Flamboyant and dramatic and nearly impossible at the same time!

My favorite game so far this week: I was almost to Oregon. SUDDENLY the banjo went off (signaling you have a problem or you need to make a decision). There was a person missing from the party!! Did I want to organize a search party? Why, yes! I can't have a party member dying in a mysterious way without my enjoying it! Unfortunately, the missing person wasn't found. The game continued, but in a very odd fashion. I couldn't make decisions. Food wasn't being eaten. A little notice keep popping up saying "Person near death." But since the rest of my party had died (a whole slew of snakebites in Kansas took them out), it would only be me, the captain, who was dying. The wagon train made it to Oregon! But I couldn't stake a land claim...because I was missing. The damn wagon train left me, their leader, behind! They searched for me, the missing person, for about two seconds before heading off to the Oregon promise land. Bastards!

I took revenge on the next game, but they fired me as captain after we went in many circles around the Snake River without food (or water, but I'm not sure how that happened: we were circling a river).

All in all, my pooch is now contented and I'm enjoying people dying of dysentery, cholera, and bear maulings.

An Erinku:
Pasta boiling
Blissful peanut butter
Soothes the
cranky Erin.

On Working Sundays

I worked today. Working on Sundays sucks. There are many, many insane people in Boulder and they all like to visit my job (especially on Sundays). One highlight today was a lady with a screaming baby, and she was screaming over the baby's screaming to "STOP SCREAMING!" Fun to watch, but painful to hear.

Then there's pencil man who has a mysterious girlfriend but "You wouldn't know her; she's from Canada." He seems very Jan Brady and stays in the store so looooooonnnnnnngggggg he almost qualifies for squatter's rights.

Now I'm at the second job and am trying to think of a non-snarky way to tell a singer that they cannot audition for the choir over email. I don't mean I'll send them an email saying they can't audition....they actually want to audition over email instead of in person. I'm trying to figure out how that would work.

Perhaps like this: la la la LA LA LA LA llllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaa (oops, I was sharp there!) la la la la LA!
Like I said, working on Sundays sucks.

A new Erinku:
Absent singer, yet singing
Absent dinner, yet whining
Two jobs, too often
suck ass.

On My Love for Ice Cream Sandwiches

On Saturdays, I watch cartoons. I drink coffee slowly and watch more cartoons. I like cartoons because you don't need to think too much. Today I've learned (from cartoons) that: A) If you dress like a super hero you better damn well not piss off the lady with the garlic-shaped head. B) If you don't have lots of friends who can save you from the battle of good & evil while you carry the disembodied soul of your previous reincarnation (who also happens to be related to you) then you are fucked. C) Ice cream sandwiches for dinner are awesome.
I didn't actually learn C from a cartoon. I learned that in elementary school.

I've been into Saturday morning cartoons for the past two years. I don't remember what started it. I think I was drinking coffee and was too tired to hear people bitch at each other on some news channel. I remember that my mom would get up early and drink coffee to a peaceful kid's show, so it might be hereditary. Or not.

This is a pointless little story, but in a way it's like the entries into the Random Acorn Journal (a smashing good journal...at least in some circles). In the same tradition, I will finish with an Erinku (it's like a haiku, only not):

As ice cream
drips slowly into tummy
I remember
black holes are not my problem