Mortification

In the past two weeks, I've had multiple fashion interventions. This weekend alone has contained several. I am to a point of amazement that anyone, ever, has consented to be seen in public with me. I am now in posession of one super sexy black dress (!!), various pants that actually fit, and some tight shirts that show off my exercise efforts from the past while. It has been completely mortifying.

Through it all, I have insisting on wearing my Birkenstocks. And adding little hippie touches to these outfits when I don't get caught. And running away from the totally hip salespeople offering help. Hmm. Vacations.

An Erinku:
dodging shoe
questions
sandals
as peace

No Wait...

I'm waiting for Chris to get home, to head to the airport to wait for a plane. I suspect people spend 1/3 of their lives waiting. If you add the 1/3 of your life you spend sleeping, that leaves just a little time left over to work, play, party and suntan.

I started a journal entry a few weeks ago called "An Entry of a Wait." It was the breakdown of an hour while I waited for the concert hall to be unlocked where I (and others) were performing there one afternoon. I was the first person to show up. At a mere 15 minutes before the concert started, the doors were unlocked and another musician showed up. We were a group of 60 musicians or so and many, many audience members arrived before the performers did. It was embarrassing. I got there an hour before the doors opened and wrote about things that happened in that awesome parking lot while I paced.

And now a mere 30 minutes before I need to check in at the airport (keeping in mind that the drive there takes 45 minutes), I'm going to try calling Chris again. I am anal about getting places on time, because I've missed flights before. Nothing like a vacation to create the need for a vacation.

Moral of today's story: tornadoes are scary. They come to Colorado sometimes and take out small towns. They tear up my friends' yards. Tornadoes are scary.

An Erinku:
sunlight
overly yellow
swirly clouds
in the north

Reflections (deep...like bear)

Today, while zooming on my lunchtime walk, I saw a reflection of myself and was saddened. It really is unfortunate that I have to dress myself. I seem to have been striving for super-dork today.

This was even before I put on my lunch-time-walking hat. Co-worker Dribbles makes remarks on my hat. Remarks like, "Oh, going fishing down by the dock today?" Mostly dock remarks. Apparently it looks like a dock hat. Pair that with a super-super-baggy t-shirt and some terribly awkward shorts with my little pedometer and...you get the idea.

And since I dress myself, my little iPod is neccesary so that I don't hear any well-meant comments from passers-by. It could be that no one says anything, but I'll keep walking to Devotchka anyway. When I hit it big, I'm hiring people to pick outfits for me. And when I have a few extra dollars I'm going to go buy clothes that fit and are, hopefully, more fashionable than my inner six-year-old.

An Erinku:
pink post-it
marking
a not mark
a not ryan

Uninspired

I have moments (days) of vast immaturity. Turning 30 has changed things. I'm still immature, but I'm aware at the time that I'm being immature instead of being obliviously immature. Ah, the good old days. That being said, a heavy metal band has asked me to come play cello with them. I'm in squeally glee about this. Perhaps this is immature. Or perhaps it's fucking awesome!!! It has been a long week for a cranky me and I've been playing the pie game to make time pass:
http://www.microprizes.com/mp32.htm

I once made it in 15 bites. This is what I do with my daily 10 minutes of free time. I'm not being deep today. I'm drinking bad wine today.

An Erinku:
scratches
crissing
crossing
cat reminders

Grrrr

Today I'm a woman on a cranky mission. Or, perhaps, a cranky woman on a mission. I've been insulted by singers, I have other insane singers who I WILL smack with a rolled-up newspaper, and my cello lesson went sucky (I blame the singers). Days like this, I stay isolated so the toxic words spewing forth won't infect virgin ears.

I have a massive Choir To-Do list that grows like Chia Pet fur grows. Now, as the printer is suffering from an electric seizure (great band name, by the way), I'm feeling the underwhelming urge to repeatedly smack little, yellow notepads against the wall. I'm not checking any more work email. I'm not checking the phone messages. I'm cranky, like bear. *snort* he is big...like bear *heh* Perhaps a little bit of Christopher Moore will help. He did come up with the term "fucktard." Some day I hope to be half as brilliant as he.

An Erinku in crankiness:
tipping
hydrangea
I forget to
water

Mysterious Fridges

One thing that freaks me out about eating at other people's homes is the amount of food people have in storage. Enough so, that if you, say, want some milk/cream/etc. for coffee, there is a specific gap in the fridge for that milk/cream/etc. It's creepy. Or people have super-full freezers. Or amazingly stuffed shelves. Even when I go on a ginormous grocery trip, our midget fridge is still vaguely empty, the freezer still has room for more ice cream and I still forgot to buy popcorn for the popcorn jug.

I've wondered if it is generational. Since we can see the dark, barren emptiness inherent in the fridge, people around my age (especially in college) have spotless kitchens. I had a friend once who embarassedly asked if I could feed her. She had a jar of mustard and the very last dregs in a box of wine. I had another friend who adored working at a food place because, at one point, he had half an onion. Not half an onion piled on top of a bag of onions on the bottom shelf in the pantry, next to boxed poultry and corkscrew noodles. He had half an onion. The Grandma-type generation always seem to have way more food stored compactly on shelves, in stacks and even in extra freezers out back.

Is this full pantry a sign of waving off starvation? A way of being ready for a spontaneous block party? A way to fuel a plastic grocery bag addiction? I hope to never know. What I do know is that when a blizzard dumps three feet of snow in less than a day, when you do finally make it out of the house to the grocery store, they will be out of bread, milk, eggs, batteries and beer. Life's essentials.

Moral of today's story: my ideas are NOT stupid. If you don't like them, Ms. Bossy Pants, you can just BLEH.

An Erinku:
Chris is
having tequilla
he had
a big day

The Talk

I first got The Talk when I was probably around eight. Some might think it's early, some might think it's late. I had hoped to put it off for as long as I could. I most recently got The Talk about a week ago. While reclining and having strangers put things in my mouth. I get The Talk about twice a year: the one about how brushing just isn't enough and that I need to be flossing more. Ideally three times per day and every time I think about eating popcorn.

I hate that talk. It's always the same, whether I've flossed daily or every other day or whatever. I'm convinced that it doesn't matter what you do, you get the talk anyway. It's usually brought about by a mildly clumsy person with pokey tools. They make holes in your gums (instead of trying to not poke holes in you), notice that you bleed (as I would if you poke holes in my arm or my leg or ear) and then give you the talk while your mouth is full. They wait until you can't comment because they would get a talk about how not to poke repeated holes in my gums.

I have flossed diligently. I deserve some coffee and I will eat popcorn in the forseeable future.

The moral of today's story: sadly, pillows don't always turn out well after a washer/dryer ride.

An Erinku:
laundry, clean
overflowing bin
patient for
folding

Fun With Singers

There are certain events in life that bring out the good, pure, kind instincts in people. Unfortunately, potlucks are not one of those events. In the chaos that ensued at this evening's choir potluck, people were randomly lining up, randomly weaving in and out and around the food table, and randomly leaning against walls.

Two separate people complained to me about how no one was following the rules and that I should do something about it. I said, "I am. I'm waiting patiently." Those two separate people decided to cut in front of everyone else who was waiting. Brilliant!

Eventually all the choir was fed, wined (or beered), and desserted and the passive-agressive egos soothed. I mildly enjoy these annual potluck meetings, though each year I enjoy it less than the previous year. Perhaps it's because passive-agressive is only funny for so long. Perhaps it's because I'm tired of being expected to solve other people's problems. Perhaps it's because I wanted to chuck fried chicken at the foreheads of the people who complained and then cut in line. I really hate inconsistency and would prefer to fling poultry.

An Erinku:
Marfnahar
your passing
marked with
watery grave

Save The Date

I will often say really stupid things out loud. Like the time I was idly wondering aloud whether some people I've met could be deemed suicidal because they wanted so badly to move onto the afterlife, as the neighbor (who is very excited about meeting god) was walking up the driveway behind me. Times like that make me wonder about the end of the world.

Some people I know are concerned about 2012. That is the year the Mayan calender runs out. I could find myself getting mildly worried, but then I remember the whole Y2K drama. And the whole Cold we-are-so-dead War. And the time before that, and the time before that. As a species, we seem to have a fascination with the end of the world. Which makes me wonder if, as a species, we could be deemed suicidal.

I've also been idly hoping that, if the world were to end, any invading aliens would be made of toilet paper with plastic bag armor and they'd be brandishing feather sticks. Because if they were the harbringers of the end of the world, my cat would be vastly content to be on the front lines. As for me, I think after making calendars for the next 4000+ years, the Mayans just got tired of it. I need coffee.

Moral of today's story: fruity pebbles will turn your milk pink.

An Erinku:
pen cup
fallen down
cat tail
flicks past