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.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
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!)
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!)
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
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.
An Erinku:
Car is packed
Chris waits
while I finish
my type.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
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
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
Monday, May 21, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 18, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 14, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
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
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
Monday, May 7, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
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
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
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