My Inanimate Object Pals

Chris has pointed out that everyone has just one joke. It's a big, broad joke (not a specific "knock, knock"). Part of my joke is talking to/yelling at inanimate objects. There is a new photocopier in my life at job 2. Today, it decided to be quirky. Today, I decided to growl at it like an alpha male dog hoping to make it submit. This was after calling it many nasty names, loudly, in a closed office...in a church.

Since my little iPod was living in my ears at the time, my colorful phrases probably reverberated throughout those hallowed halls and right into the church board meeting. I like to think that people learn new and fun things by being near me. Perhaps those church folk now know what exactly I would do to the copier if it were a grilled cheese sandwich near the ass of a donkey. Perhaps they'll think twice whenever they see a steam roller driven by a man in a lime-green hard hat. Perhaps they'll pause, wonderingly, every time a balloon floats by on a gentle breeze. My curses are colorful and varying.

Moral of today's story: socks are not as cool as I pretend.

An Erinku:
plate of
crumbs
of dinner
past

Oh, the Smell of Success

There is a bar in Boulder that has live music. This is not special. The special part is that this bar smells. Bad. The closest I’ve been able to describe it is that it smells like skunk poo that has soaked in stagnant sea water for a week. That is the type of smell that doesn’t fade even after hours of mouth breathing.

I rarely watch shows here as I don’t enjoy smelling like skunk rectum bits. But I’ve managed to see two good bands at this venue in the last 48 hours. I’ve decided that I will spend my 30th year by going to at least one concert per week. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while now (we’ll say a good 30 years worth of while). As such, I may be going to strange, new, divey-type places throughout Boulder and Denver. This will be an adventure. This will be smelly.

An Erinku:
alligator pen
protector of
speaker of
pen cup.

Observations

Today is my birthday. I was born 30 years ago. I have spent the last year freaking out about today. I got an iPod. It was worth it.

An Erinku:
little sunburn
little freckled
summertime
or spring

Life Lessons

I have been to the top of the mountain, I have crossed over rickety bridges, and I have walked through stripes of possible pee in the pool. There is no better pre-birthday present than an evening and day at a hot springs in the mountains. There is no better idea than taking a five day break from two life-sucking jobs.

I have learned many things in this long birthday weekend: one of which is that if you watch parts of the "Ten Commandments" movie, your weekend will go from a few short days off to the longest possible decade in your life. I kept yelling at Moses to drop the tablets, dye his beard and run off with the sinning women already, but it never happened.

I have learned that no matter how you sit, the waiter will not bring you the free samples guaranteed on the bar menu. And neither, the next morning, will the waitress willingly refill your coffee cup more than once.

I learned there is a t.v. show called Sex Talk that is filled with many amazing questions and answers and that I now know far more about various bits of anatomy than I ever wanted to know (something about butt orgasms...).

I have learned that when the hot springs place sells beer at the poolside bar, you’re going to have a LOT of frisky folk in the water...and people too lazy to pee in the bathroom. There is nothing quite like many bits of humanity in a large, mildly warm, with warmer spots, puddle. Evolution in action.

An Erinku:
two hours
until
rehearsal
I balk

Splurges

I like that the word "urge" is hidden in "splurge." As I was savoring pancakes while Chris was away playing Easter music, I was happy to have real maple syrup. Even in college (poor, so very, very poor) I had to had real maple syrup. After tasting the real thing, imitation syrup is yucky beyond all description and just ruins whatever it touches...much like raisins.

Luckily, or unluckily, Chris hates pancakes/waffles. Abhorrs them. Is disgusted by them. Since it’s just me eating them, my syrup has officially become MY syrup and a bottle lasts forever. Mmmm. Pancakes.

We are awaying for a day to the mountains to visit some hot springs. I’m happy to be a short drive away in most directions from one hot spring or another. Since I live in a Hobbit Hole, it’s too small for a tub (sigh) and I very much look forward to soaking/floating in warm water this evening. And Dylan is eating my butter...he’s going to think his name is "Damnit Dylan Don’t!" because that’s all I ever say to him.

An Erinku:
C battery
unabashedly
waiting
for use

The Downside of NPR

My problem with NPR is not the news, or the programs, or the excessive talky-talk, my problem with NPR is their timing. I’ve worked with a LOT of people who listen to NPR first thing in the morning, get all upset and come into work like a grumpy panda who sat on a pissed off cat. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that people often listen to NPR in their car and that road rage seems to be increasing.

I find that no matter what news you watch/listen to, it is upsetting and that people, in general, are too pissy (since I’m often pissy, I can easily see it in others). I’m also a bit stupid in the morning and I like the radio to play me music, not talk to me before I’ve had breakfast and coffee. Same thing with driving home, I’m a bit stupid from working all day and would prefer some soothing, chill music instead of angry, yelling people (who I often deal with on the phone anyway).

I’ve gotten another deflating phone message today and am feeling low. Bleh. Chris is brooming around the cat and the cat toys. Dylan likes the broom.

An Erinku:
grapes
are good.

The Hell that is E-Town

While I am a hippie, I really hate NPR and NPR-like programs. I do, however, love DeVotchka (the band that is vying for the position of my favorite band). DeVotchka was playing on E-Town this evening and the recording session, in Boulder Theatre, had ticket sales several days ago. I bought a ticket, even though I routinely, consciously, change radio stations whenever E-Town is on (I’ve lived near Boulder for eight years and although E-Town is recorded here, you can’t listen to it without being instantly bored into a coma).

Luckily for me, the secondary band that played, while o.k., was repeatedly announced to contain the daughter of the E-Town creators. I have often been on the happy end of nepotism, but to be the band whose sole claims are 1). playing on Grey’s Anatomy and 2). having a member who is the daughter of E-Town’s creators is a bit weak. I sincerely believe it would have been better if the E-Town crew hadn’t repeatedly brought up the fact that their daughter was in the band...I could have done without that.

I also could have done without the huge posters of the corporate sponsors. The entire time DeVotchka was playing, it looked like the lead singer was in the loving embrace of the Horizon Dairy cow. Disturbing. I did manage to note which sponsors had the huge billboards behind the band and will boycott them in the future for blatant, annoying, consumeristic brainwashing. When the last song of the evening played, and the E-Town crew started talking over it, I walked out, having had more than enough. It is (or should be) well known that to talk with a microphone over a playing song is a mortal sin and you shall be damned forever, with a very specific, very nasty eternal punishment involving a flaming pitchfork and polenta (KVOD Classical Radio Station, please take note).

DeVotchka is a beautiful band with amazing melodies and the ability to have a string quartet play with them without freaking out (a very rare quality). The other band, while interesting, was maybe forced by way dorky parental figures to submit (it happens occasionally). I will continue to ignore E-Town, though it is recorded in Boulder and will dodge NPR in good faith that I am missing nothing exciting.

An Erinku:
pink glass
red wine
white fish
full tummy

Fashion Sense, the First

I’ve never thought of myself as fashionable. I have an inner dork that manages to come out when I’m:

1. shopping for clothes
2. getting dressed
3. going outside my home

This leads to many situations where my outfit doesn’t fit in. An example: on Saturday, after playing an orchestra concert, I went to a local college bar in my concert clothes. Not a lot of people were wearing floor-length black, except some guy who either also just finished a classical music concert or who just got off of work at an Italian restaurant. If only I had concert black ass pants and tummy shirts.

While walking today in my nice top, nice skirt, tennis shoes and accidentally mis-matched green/yellow socks, I realized that my inner dork is probably a 6-year-old version of me...that happens to be holding my fashionable side hostage. I recently discovered the beauty of buying solid color clothing (I had a bad phase of mis-matched prints, sigh..). I then promptly went through a phase that was politely described as "dressing like a kidergarten teacher." It looked like a finger-painting template gone awry with purple shirts, red shoes, blue pants and screaming pink socks.

My inner 6-year-old is not fooled by tan, brown, black or white either. I will start off all right and then end up, somehow, with bright rainbow striped tights under my boring gray skirt. I don’t know where these clothes keep coming from. I have a lovely orangey-red poncho that abruptly lands on my shoulders only when I’m wearing a white shirt with tan pants. I have a hideously ugly necklace that can’t be found unless I’m wearing a pastel blue top with nice black pants.

I have a pair of sparkly star sunglasses that appeared in my life a few years ago. They land on my face with some mysterious regularity. I’m still trying to find the trigger, but no patterns have emerged just yet. And now, I need to go to rehearsal with one mildly green sock and one mostly yellow sock in my red shoes. I can’t believe they matched this morning...

An Erinku:
burial in post-its
little, sticky
papercuts
waiting to happen

Compliments and Salutations

In spite of the fact that I am easily annoyed (or perhaps because of it), I make a point of calling and complimenting companies/employees/bus drivers every few weeks. I know from years of serving the kindly public, that it is rare indeed that someone calls up with compliments. If I can give a fellow customer-service-type a quick little boost with my thank you, I think it’s a beautiful cycle. I’ve repeatedly blessed good bus drivers (imagine the things they have to put up with daily), I’ve praised waiters, pizza delivery folks and people who take my orders over the phone.

I thought about this today as someone called up at job 1 to complain how they bought the wrong product. It was apparently my fault as I didn’t make sure their products matched their list while ringing them up. The situation is akin to going into a grocery store, asking for the Pepsi aisle, buying Coke and blaming the cashier once you get home.

I got an email a while ago asserting that I was so helpful and glowing about the fact that I was the pinnacle of customer service. Ironically, it wasn’t an ironic email. The customer was just passing along her joy at having me help her. If I were to get validation like that every now and then, it would be much more plesant than dealing with people who refuse to take even a tinsy little bit of responsiblity for their actions. I think I’ll try the Pepsi/Coke thing at my local grocery store and see just how little personal responsibility I can accept. What a way to live...

An Erinku:
Devotchka
I love you
and will see
you Thursday.

Mixed Messages

During Saturday morning cartoons, there are various ads for anything from peeing puppy toys (ew, ew, ew!) to resisting peer pressure. The peer pressure ones are the best because they are so over the top. The whole idea of someone smoking enough pot to be in a coma, while terrifying for a commercial, is pretty absurd in real life. It would be more realistic to show someone eating themselves into an ice cream coma after smoking pot. But I digress. My favorite today was the usual "Peer Pressure is bad. Dump your friends" commercial which was immediately followed by a Scholastic book commercial, whose slogan is (quote) "Reading. Everyone is doing it."

So peer pressure is good when it’s reading but bad if it’s drugs. O.k. that seems straight-forward. But what about fast food commercials, showing that everyone is doing it; followed by the "Get off your ass and play outside" commercials complete with famous football star berating a little kid for watching Saturday morning cartoons (hmm. a little bit of a conflict here, you can’t see the commercial unless you’re watching cartoons).

While I think too much sometimes, I wish that others would think a bit more. I suppose it would be ideal to have kids that read, don’t do drugs and exercise after eating at McDonald’s, but then that would be a generation that was programmed solely by television commercials. While I like the idea of technology taking over the world someday (a.k.a. Terminator), this way is a bit too sneaky for my liking.

An Erinku:
jittery coffee nerves
combined with
sugar for lunch
everyone is doing it

Future of Forking

When faced with a problem, a situation, a whatever, I can only envision two options. I think of the consequences of each option and will start getting passionate about one or the other and just as the tension builds, option three or four intrudes on me in a very real way. I know I do this over and over and over and I’m thinking about it now as I’ve got (what I think) two roads forking ahead. God, that sounds just as rude as can be. Brilliant! So these two roads were forking in public the other day...

Anyway, the forks are equal in my esteem, each with some good and some dimmer qualities. I’m giving the great birthday gods until April 1st to light my path (o baby, you light my path), which will probably end up being a gully running alongside one of the forks and is filled with quicksand. Oh my, I seem to have an overly metaphor-laden day. And I need to scamper off to another dress rehearsal (I’d have more time to create metaphors if I played less music...)

An Erinku:
blue hat
of kindness
of coolness
of warmth

Being Nice

As I watched someone toss a temper tantrum at the local bank while the poor teller had to try and appease the cranky pants, I got to thinking about foolish choices. If that teller decides to use her powers for evil (going to the dark side and all), she’s got Cranky Pants’ address, phone number, bank account, social security number and access to all their other credit card information.

After Cranky Pants made what I’m sure was a fabulous stress-releiving tantrum, and my turn came to the counter, I apologized for my fellow humans’ inability to understand that there are actual people on the other side of the counter. Just to be safe...she had my information as well. And on a side-note, while tempted, I’ve yet to pay cash for a "gift" subscription to any manner of shocking magazines to one of my more pleasant customers...yet. Again, when you are screaming at the person behind the counter, keep in mind what information of yours they can access...and just be nice forgodsakes.

An Erinku:
radio station
though I like you
more commercials
than music

Flaws

I have a terrible addiction to word games. I’m also terrible at them, so the addiction really never moves in a useful direction. For instance: boggle. I love it and I can find small words all day long, like "disco" and "over." People kick my ass by finding the longer words, like "discover." The same goes for crossword puzzles, word finds, word scrambles and freerice.com. The free rice site just shows me that my vocabulary level is low and that I should be spending my free time with the dictionary. I also have a terrible addiction to the dictionary. Mine is large and blue and I love it very much indeed.

Things have been boring today and I’m in a boring mindset. I’m also upset that I suck at "Scramble" which is basically Boggle that is played on Facebook. I am deflated this week per the time change....yawn.

An Erinku (like a haiku, but with spicy Erin added):
confetti paper
lurking
under desk for
birthdays

Lies, Lies, and Offers

There is something wierd about Colorado and getting/giving car rides. For example: a few years ago in grad school, as I was offered a ride back to my suburb, I stayed out with people until after the bars closed and buses stopped running. I was then driven to my local suburban Safeway and dropped off. Safeway was (and still is) a good four or five miles from where I lived at the time. And in the middle of the night, it wasn't ideally where I wanted my ride home to end. Luckily, my housemates were up and rescued me.

A good rule is "if you aren't going to go all the way, don't offer." True for so many things, including rides home.

Ducky was recently surprised that I pick up AND drop off people at the airport who come to visit. She'll pick them up, but they have to find their own way back (a variation on the Colorado ride theme). She may take them to the bus station, but usually she shows the phone and gives them the number for the taxi or shuttle.

To complicate matters, I have recently had the other problem: I've offered people rides home, which they accept. They will then insist on getting out and walking the last few blocks instead of me finishing their ride home. Last week's example was a lady who had been in a car wreck earlier that day (and seemed a bit confused about many things, including where she lived...which was worrisome). Mind, this is walking a few blocks at night while they are carrying cellos, which weigh enough to make you walk in a tilted fashion.

I was thinking maybe they didn't like my driving. Maybe they felt bad that my cello was living in the trunk while theirs took up the back seat. Maybe they are so into working out that any excuse will do. Today I realized that they, too, had probably been offered many rides home which ended much sooner than they wanted and now they'd gotten into the habit of pre-emptively exiting the car before the ride was over. The sacred trust between driver and passenger will never be the same...

An Erinku:
oh sandals,
I've waited
so
long

Sacrifices

Last summer my absolutely favorite band came to town to play at Red Rocks. I anxiously wet myself (gently) for the chance to buy tickets. I was deeply saddened that I could not attend because I had a dress rehearsal that night. It got me thinking about all the good things in life I've missed because of playing music. I started a mental list:

1. "Spryo the Dragon" video games (love, love, love them!). I have TWO games in my front room that I haven't even opened yet. Plus I think there are several newer ones out now. If I played less music, I could play more video games.

2. Cookies. I bake them, but it's overly difficult while practicing.

3. Swimming. I sink like a stone, have a shockingly bad doggie paddle, and yet managed to get certified as a scuba diver. Maybe someday I'll deserve it.

4. Other things like parties, like going to bed early, like living a life not centered on caffeine in the morning, like being able to dance like a real person and onward.

My band is coming back to Red Rocks this summer (unfortunately with a BIG BIG name band, so tickets might be difficult) and I am canceling all conflicts as of now. Speaking of conflicts, the board meeting is starting.....

An Erinku:
phone call of
disapointment
a "no" is better
than a nothing.

Last to Know

I am mortified by dancing. More specifically, I'm mortified by my own dancing. It's bad enough that I avoid well-lit places when dancing. The only time I felt o.k. about it was at a very dark club full of black lights...until I realized that my white bra was glowing through my top and that all anyone in the club could see was this lumincent bra bobbing in almost-time to the beat. Tragic really. I could have totally had a career in off-beat bobbing. Or in marketing lumincent bras.

I've nothing more to add today. Partly because I've been ranting in my head (and in my car) all week long and partly because I've just sucked down another huge latte and the caffeine is short-circuiting any creativity into jittery limbs.

An Erinku:
tree
shamelessly
naked
on my lawn

Invisible Crosswalks

While Boulder is full of invisible crosswalks, there are many pedestrians who seem to know where they are. Either that or there's a bunch of assholes who randomly will walk into traffic. Oddly enough, depending on which car I'm driving, I'm either more sympathetic to random traffic crossing (in the older car that lets me walk more when it breaks down) or I get more pissy (in my newer nice car that doesn't want hippie splattered on the front bumper thank-you-very-much). I drove the nice car today and was unmoved by the plight of pedestrians too lazy to walk another 20 feet to the lighted crosswalk.

And as I've been a towering inferno of politeness (it's really too bad sarcasm doesn't work in typing), I beep my horn at said ass-monkeys. I beep my horn when people go way, way too slow, I beep my horn when they cut me off, I beep often because it's a way of publicly judging a stranger loudly. I visited Panama once upon a time and was routinely startled by all manner of random beeping. They beep to say "HI!", they beep to let you merge, they beep to say they are going to pass you, they beep to warn everyone they're turning, they beep when you are being stupid, etc. Since then, my beeper-hand has fondled the horn fondly (I love the phrase "fondled it fondly" oh, wait, that's from one of my poems. Please allow me to quote myself).

I'm hungry and mightily distracted. And I've got a rehearsal tonight. I'm going to go fondle some dinner fondly.

An Erinku:
cupcake sprinkles
magic
perfection
on frosting