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.