Mondays in Oregon

Today was a day of unfortunate realizations. First was the realization that my absolute favorite, absolute only, Modest Mouse shirt had a hole in it. Next came the realization that my favorite jeans (too expensive to replace) also had a hole in them…near the butt.

Both realizations occurred in a 15-minute period at the Tugboat Brewery in Portland (my favorite brewery there, by the way). Even sadder (more sad?) was the fact the Tugboat was out of Chernobyl Stout (my favorite beer there) that might have eased the mortification of having my near-butt hang out of my favorite jeans.

So. I satisfied myself with a Triple Bock instead. Bocks are my favorite type of beer, but they don’t seem to exist outside of Oregon. Much like how decent lattes don’t seem to exist outside of Oregon (with slight apologies to Washington state’s delusions).

It has been a day of unfortunate realizations and exposures of near-butts. And as my beerglass is backlit by candle (with live music in the background), I realize that the patterns left on my glass from the foam look like a strange language. I’ve tried for years, but I still can’t decipher it.

Moral of today’s story: check your tires when you rent a car. Otherwise, you might find yourself with a leak, many miles from home-base, on a Sunday afternoon. Then you’ll need to rely on the kindness of a strange fellow who repairs ATV’s to patch your tire illegally, since there is no tread left on it. Adventures!

An Erinku:
candelight
on
onion rings
sexy and tasty!

Wisdom of the Cheetah

Sometimes you have life-altering dreams. Sometimes fate speaks to you through a random sunset. Sometimes you'll have an important epiphany. And sometimes the back of the Cheeto's GIANT White Cheddar Jingle Balls will point out what you needed to hear: You've waited for your whole life in a big cheese-flavored ball.

Below that is a little picture of Chester Cheetah either holding up a big cheese-flavored ball or, as I like to see it, he is escaping that big cheese-flavored ball since he's waited for his whole life in it. Marketing words are really never meant to be closely read, it turns out.

After pondering the metaphor of waiting for your whole life in a big cheese-flavored ball, we did what comes naturally. We wondered aloud about the flammability of Cheeto's GIANT White Cheddar Jingle Balls. They burn, oh yes, they burn brightly!!

An Erinku:
coffee water cooking
it's raining
in Oregon

To the woman at my job with incredible thighs:

I know you work out, you have to. Because the effort required to hover over the toilet seat the whole time you are peeing will strain anyone’s thighs. What I hate is the dribbles you leave behind. I know that, to you, it’s a “public” bathroom and is therefore ucky. But. It’s also the one bathroom I have access to eight hours a day, five days a week. Your pee on the seat will be your downfall. I’m going to find you. I’ll watch under the stall for someone who seems a bit precariously balanced. I hope you repeatedly step in dog poo this week. Happy ho ho ho.

An Erinku:
tower of
evil goodness
toffee done four ways
danger, danger!!

Because I'm a Dork

I just sang this song to my little French Press (using the song in parenthese [I like writing the singular of parentheses, even if I use two of them])

Coffee, coffee, coffee (Rolling, rolling, rolling)
Get that coffee brewing (Keep them doggies rolling)
Coffee, coffee, coffee (Rolling, rolling, rolling)
YUMMY! (Rawhide!)

I think I heard a snicker from the neighboring office after my song. I think my bad singing is louder than I think.

An Erinku:
imagine
a day
without
thermal undies

On Chickens and Games

Sometimes it is pointed out that there was a day, way back when, when getting a bucket of chicken involved someone getting stuck with chicken wings. Nobody ever wanted the wings because they were the lamest part of the chicken. Now, with massive strides in marketing, chicken wings are all some people will eat.

I was thinking of this yesterday when discussing the game Monopoly. I hate Monopoly. It’s a stupid, stupid, boring game. However, with massive strides in marketing, some people think it’s awesome. There’s Denver Monopoly! There’s Star Wars Monopoly! There’s Sponge Bob Monopoly! Well guess what? Monopoly still sucks no matter what pictures you put on the board. You zoom around the board hour after hour and you hope in your secret heart of hearts that there was a community chest card stating, “You drank a cyanide concoction. You are free to leave the game.” Or, even better, “You have died of dysentery” (a little nod there to Oregon Trail, a very FUN game that Monopoly should emulate).

It’s been many years since I was forced to play Monopoly (I so hate that game) and I think it’s because my coping strategy has been passed along: I only play Monopoly if I get to be the banker. And I’m a dishonest, true-blooded American banker. I steal Monopoly money and stash it under my side of the board throughout the endless hours. Then, at the very end, when it’s down to me and whoever, and just when it looks like I’m going bankrupt, I pull the stash from my “Swiss Bank Account,” scatter all the little motels like tornado, declare I win, and run out of the room. Stupid Monopoly.

An Erinku:
like Mr. Rogers
I swap shoes and
sing while
sweatering

Rocking Out in the Suburbs

It was a dark and snowy night. Ahead, beer signs glowed in the dim-ness. One of my favorite bars that closed many months ago had been reborn...as itself. Even my tippy chair by the pool tables was the same. It was creepy. It's almost like a time-traveling Dr. Who story, or like the time that one of my favorite bars had been bought by a regular and reopened as itself. Anyway, brrr. Colorado is so cold that expletives don't cover it.

A Frozen Erinku:
green stocking hat
pom-pom
top hanging
down

Kinda Like Clark Kent

In one of my various social circles, there is a someone I call NG. They are very, very nice and completely incompetent. This incompetency carries over to their work life and the poor cow-orkers (I play with hyphen miss-placement in my spare time) of NG have permanent, slightly furrowed brows. The complaints that flow!

I have often been using NG as a good example of many a silly thing and it occurred to me fairly recently that NG isn’t incompetent: NG is finishing up their post-doctoral research on just how much dumb folks will put up with if dumb is really, really nice. Whenever I interact with NG now, even though the odds are stratospherically against this, I just repeat to myself, “It’s all part of NG’s research. The thesis that comes from this research will shatter cow-orker expectations for decades to come. I, by being nice, might end up as a blip in the end notes.”

An Erinku:
coffee, displaced from cup
seeks shelter
in my stack of papers
dammit!

Oasis

When I was in late high school, 17 or 18 or so, I had the worst nightmare I've ever had. It wasn't sinister. It didn't involved being chased. In my dream, I was standing in my kitchen alone when I realized that the past six years of my life had been a complete delusion. And that the world I thought was real was vastly, fundamentally different from the real world. Some of my closest family and friends had died in the "real" world and I wasn't able to cope, so I'd created a fantasy world I'd been living in.

When I woke up from that dream, I was horrified and instantly set about finding these folks who had been dead while I dreamed. Insidious dream-logic can pervade the real world and I was completely freaked out. It turned out everyone was alive and well. It was, after all, a dream.

Now I'm in my 30's and have been getting my ass kicked daily by life. This past week was very rough and, again, I realized that the life I thought I'd been living for the last six or so years was an illusion. Much like walking in the heat and seeing the oasis of an ice cream stand on the horizon, my ice cream stand has melted. It sounded awfully familiar, so, I've tested and I do seem to currently be in real life. Disillusionment sucks but is theoretically good in the long-term.

Today, I was angry. This has been a very welcome change of pace from the dreadful apathy I'd been feeling for days. Unfortunately, anger doesn't fix my cello scales. But ice cream sure sounds like a great antidote.

An Erinku (like a bobsled, but with words):
plastic bag
huddled on floor
containing
no candy

Adventures in Mental-Land

Due to school and life I’ve been stressy stress-ball of stress that has also been sleep-deprived and blah blah blah. This morning while I was driving myself and my cello into school/work, I was starting to drink coffee during the routine traffic jam. After my first sip, I noticed the license plate on the car in front of me had backwards letters and numbers. I thought, “huh, that’s wierd.”

I looked to the left and that car, too, had backwards letters on the license plate. My next thought, obviously, was “ohmygod, I’ve had a stroke and it’s affecting how I read. It must have been in the language potion of my brain.”

Then my next thought was “well if I can still use logic like this, then instead of a stroke, I must still be asleep, because I’m not very good at reading in my dreams.”

My final thought about this experience was “Oh wait. That’s not a backwards “E” on those two license plates; they are the number “3.” I’m just tired.”

I reached down to switch the radio station from commercials over to 80’s music. That song “Sweet Dreams” was playing and the line came on “Everybody’s looking for something” and my first thought was, “they are probably looking for tic-tacs.”

I have got to finish my coffee NOW!

An Erinku:
dairy order
delivered
I remembered
two days late

Adventures of a weekend

A few months ago, my grandma died unexpectedly. Fast-forward to funeral, fast-forward to a memorial service this past weekend. As I stood at her gravesite all weepy and sniffly, I noticed other headstones had the names of children/grandchildren carved in the back. As we were leaving, I decided to see what was engraved in my grandparents' stone. I saw me, my brother, my cousins, the names of my uncles and aunt and then I saw... something that made my head tip to the side and made my mouth utter, "Who the fuck is Susan?"

My companions stopped, walked back, and tipped their heads in confusion. Nothing like a Scooby-Doo mystery to dispel grief! Away we scampered to the library to see if, in fact, there was a typo on the headstone. After many adventures with microfiche (a good band name, by the way), I saw in an obituary from 2007 that Susan was, in fact, not a typo. Or, if she was, she was a very persistent typo. Drama!

Coming home today, I managed to just miss the bus from airport to suburb. I had an hour to kill. Since I am a good west-coast girl, I know what to do when you have an hour after the coffee shops close. Two stouts later, I rode the wild bus to the local bus station. However, I managed to arrive after all the local buses stopped running. I started my two-mile walk with the confidence two stouts inspire. A mile in, my bladder was protesting with the weight of carrying those two stouts.

Being a proper young lady, I never, never, never pee in bushes or dark areas on the side of the road. Unless I have a very good excuse. As I was finishing up being a proper young lady, I heard a rustling from a nearby bush. The rustling got louder. I, powered by two stouts, started mentally running through all the horror story plots I'd ever read. Into the warm glow of street light walked...a skunk. I squeaked. It squeaked. We stared. He started to turn ass-first towards me. I shrieked "askunk, askunk, ohmygod, askunk, askunk, ohmygod" and ran, zipper flapping (like a proper young lady) until I was out of skunk radius...approximately three minutes of running.

I have traveled far and back, picked up a new aunt, and outran a skunk butt: a successful weekend.

An Erinku:
too late
to practice,
hungry fish
instead

Words of Wisdom

Look, the oven is either heated or not. Pre-heat is the same as cold. That's all I'm saying.

An Erinku:
my beer
is over
there
get it for me.

Facepalm Worthy

Yesterday, I was advised to "Stop being a good girl and start being yourself." I wanted to scream with temper. This is such an on-going topic that I can't come up with anything new to say on the subject: I'm not a good girl and I don't like tea. I'm going to trademark that and wear it on my chest. I might even put it on a t-shirt first.

While I was thinking of slogans today, I came up with my second self-slogan: Erin, standing up for herself since mid-2009! I stood up for myself AGAIN today. While I know this is an important skill, I'm thoroughly sick of the myriad of stand-up-for-myself-opportunities I've been receiving. Today, I had to very clearly articulate what I do and do not want in a scary-to-me scenario. Hmm. I can tell the boxed wine has kicked in as my vocabulary gets nicely large when I drink. "Nicely large" is not a good example of my engorged verbage.

Anyway, I'm a woman who has tamed her fierce inner critic, who is standing up for herself, who is contemplating various slogans, and who is drinking very bad cheap boxed wine. If I were to run into myself, I would not fuck with me. The good girl vibe is a complete facade: be disillusioned at your own risk.

An Erinku (fierce, like bear!):
boring pants
folded
into
boring shapes

Yep.

In addition to certain states that really annoy me, one of the most annoying things in the world is having a fax machine keep calling your phone. I answer with my pleasant, chirpy “Blah, blah, blaaaah, blah, blah, Erin!” only to get an urgent MEEEEEEEEP! MEEP MEEEEEEEEEEEP! of a fax machine trying to do its job. This happened all day today. The last time I answered, I just let the fax talk to the phone for a good several minutes before hanging up. I suspect I will have at least 10 voice mails from this same fax machine tonight.

And yes, not all states are created equally. It has recently come to my attention that there are, in fact, at least five annoying states. I’ve not been to these states, but recently new representatives from these places have barged in on my life and have affected my view of places never been. The Midwest and East Coast have some explaining to do.

I meant to be more creative today, butMEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! MEEEEEP MEEEEEP MEEEEEEEEEP!!!

Moral of today’s story: snow day tomorrow. Please. That’s all I really want right now, right after work on this Tuesday.

An Erinku:
ring, ring
meeeeeeep
meep
meeeeeep

Where Cookies Meet Religion

I am relentlessly amused by the dumbest things and sometimes those dumb things come out of my mouth/brain/junction where my mouth and brain meet (a.k.a. nose, I’m guessing?). For the last few months, I’ve been posing as a Born-Again Cookie Evangelist on various chat rooms. Whenever I feel it’s appropriate, I type things like: “I am a cookie evangelist and I preach the truth! Cookies are awesome!” And, today, “That's how the cookie crusades started: saying the love of cookies can only belong to one group of folks. And we don't speak of the horror of the raisin wars.”

When I’m confronted with skepticism, I quickly reply with, “Are you a cookie agnostic? Trust your faith. Cookies are perfection. Have you heard the good word about cookies? I think Buddha ate them.” My smart-assery at the very least amuses myself.

I’ve yet to score an official convert to the Born-Again Cookie Evangelist cause. If you would like to make a donation, I like chocolate chips. I don’t like raisins. Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are perfection in cookie form.

Moral of today’s story: If you eat cookie dough ice cream and then sit in the sun on a really hot day, do you think your tummy could be warm enough to cook the cookie dough? I think so.

An Erinku:
tummy
full of
hot cocoa / coffee
content


(both meanings of content are appropriate)

Short Bit of Dullness

Today's epiphany involved me realizing two things: the first is that I had an epiphany yesterday that is important (I can't live an bizarrely wierd lifestyle if I only have traditional rolemodels) and the second is that I have become THAT girl. Everyone knows one. THAT girl is the girl who gives you shit for not knowing the song on the radio. Or who the Weakerthans are. Or who Dohnanyi is. My snobbery knows no genre bounds. I'm also the girl who boycotts various companies and organizations...enough so that it's a bit of an ass-pain to go shopping with me.

My second epiphany today is that while I'm typing and listening to the Weakerthans and drinking coffee with some Butterscotch schnapps in it, I've still managed to avoid cleaning the bathroom. I hate cleaning the bathroom. Perhaps it's time to practice instead...

An Erinku (unlike a smurf in all but name, color, and cartoonness):
butterschnapps
in coffee
pretty
tasty

It is the sound...of beeping

In spite of being a beer (and coffee) snob, or connoisseur as one person put it, I will sometimes buy these things from a store. Coffee from the store is fine, but here in Colorado only bad beer is sold in the grocery stores (3.2% or less). The other day, I and my purchases made our way to the check-out. I picked the slowest moving lane in the hopes that irony would come to my aid and make it the fastest lane ever. Ironically enough, it was a slow lane.

When it was my turn for the ringing up, silence ensued. Occasional beeps happened as the checker very deliberately scanned each item. When he got to my bad beer, he asked for my i.d. since, “You look 21, but I need to make sure you’re 22.” So. He looked and more silence ensued.

Onion. Beep. Taquitos. Beep. Bananananas. Beep. He looked up and said, “Did you know you were born on a Saturday?” Beep. I replied, “Uh. No. Huh. I didn’t know that.” Beep. English muffins. Beep. Tomato. Beep. “The next time your birthday will be on a Saturday is in 2017. It would have been in 2012, except it’s a leap year.” Beep. “Any stamps or ice today?”

Moral of today’s story: I am sometimes freaked out/amazed by going to the grocery store.

An Erinku:
still covered in
Dylan’s fur
eight weeks
after the move

Questionable

I received an invitation a short while ago from my writing group and writing friends to take a "Writing Erotica" class with them. I was mildly interested because it's not a genre I've written in before. Sadly, I've not been able to take this class with my ucky schedule so far this fall, but I've already started writing my first sex scene. It goes like this: His manly pointy bit was aimed at her girly bit. Wiggling commenced.

I'm going to be famous. Get your autograph while I still talk to mere mortals.

An Erinku:
cold toes
fuzzy blanket
where's
MY BREAKFAST???

Loose Change

A few days ago, I celebrated my half-birthday. There was no party; I just took a while to think back on how completely different I am now than I was two years ago when I started this whirlwind of life change. A few days before the half-birthday, I jokingly said that 90% of everything has changed for me, especially in the last 18 months. Upon reflection, I’d like to up that number to about 93%. I still play cello, drink Hornsby’s, and have much love for Birkenstocks/Modest Mouse/Jane Austen. I still have Bubbles the fish (who is now nine years old…just how long do $3 fish live, anyway??) and I still crochet like a mad woman.

Right around two years ago, I made a conscious decision to make no decisions until after I turned 30. I was freaking out big time about that birthday and was feeling like a colossal failure. I didn’t want to choose a life course based on freak-out-fear, so I gave myself a good six month bubble of non-decision time. I’d just joined an orchestra (after an eight-year orchestra break). I had my long hair and had lost about 25 lbs. at that point, so I was dressed in slightly-baggy, mis-matched clothes (this would of course become more and more weight lost and much more baggier clothes before the great make-over happened). I had been stuck in a small rut for three years at that point and a rather large rut for about seven years.

So. Big changes have came along and if I were to see life snapshots from then and now, I wouldn’t believe I’d been in either life; the gap is that large. For all those who’ve helped me adjust to my constant state of death and angst, watched me cry in my beer, or who have chased off god-talk people when I was freaking out: thank you. May you always get the lollipop flavor you desire! For all those who’ve made the transition harder: don’t worry. You’ll just keep having an inclination to cut lemons right after you get paper cuts….for the rest of your life. No big deal.

And now 32 looms ahead. The Daily Adventure Force remains undimmed (and has been in constant use since I was, oh, 12 or 13 I think?). I feel like I’ve finished with the spring cleaning of my life. And I also feel I should be practicing. And I should be, yikes!

An Erinku (stolen from my “Death & Angst” book from years ago):
I’ve had that
philodendron for
twelve years.
It’s not dead.

Blurry Introspection

This morning, I realized I have a disturbing new habit: double-fisting coffee. I had two separate to-go mugs of coffee that I was drinking from, right after having a regular cup of coffee. The most disturbing part of this story is that not only am I jittery/bouncy from this, I am also still incredibly tired. As I think back over the past few weeks of hell that have been my life, I realize that I’ve lived almost solely on coffee and taquitos. Since I’m tired, this actually doesn’t seem like a bad thing. In fact, I could go for some taquitos right now. O taquitos / your perfect shape / fits my tummy / happily.

But this trend will change soon, because I’ve passed (most) of my school entrance requirements. While this sounds boring, it means that my routine of studying non-stop for the past month? six weeks? is ending. Which means I will have more than the 12-minutes-needed-for-cooking-taquitos to make a real meal now and then, and that I probably really don’t need multiple liters of coffee to fuel me. Probably.

Gah, this is a dumb topic but nothing supremely funny has come my way in the past few days…but I could be wrong. I’m in the sleep-deprived stage right before where everything is super funny. Which means that if I can pull off yet another day of late-night rehearsals backed up right next to super-early-morning rehearsals, everything should start being funny at about 10:14 tomorrow morning.

Until then, I’m continuing my “Where’s Waldo” tendencies of leaving behind various objects at each place I visit. Every morning I’m thankful that my pant legs are sewn together. Every morning I’m sad that my socks are not co-dependent. Every morning starts with me analyzing the personalities of my clothes, apparently.

Moral of today’s story: sock is to banana, what tired girl is to word associations.

An Erinku (in tiredness):
eyes closed
in thought!
Really!
Truly!

One Track Mind

Exactly three and half hours ago, something wonderful happened: a very large box of frozen taquitos made its way into my life. I had to go directly to a meeting (which, luckily, had a big freezer where I could store my newly acquired deliciousness). Throughout the board meeting, I took notes. I smiled and chatted and commented on things. But, I will not lie: the entire time I was thinking about my taquitos and how I was going to eat taquitos when I got home.

In fact, interspersed with real meeting notes (and some snarky ones I wrote to make myself laugh), I would write things like, "Taquitos" and "Go home. Eat taquitos." So. I'm home. They are cooking and I have about eight minutes left to sing praises of taquitos. I love them so. I want to eat them. Taquitos are delicious. I love them so... You get the idea. In addition to a Shar Music gift certificates, taquitos make good gifts to the cello players in your life. I'm just saying. Christmas is a few months away and I've been told I'm hard to shop for (I also really like book stores and grocery stores that sell taquitos!).

Dammit. Four minutes left. I smell the smell of cooking taquitos. I want the taste of them in my tummy! Taquito power activate!! Perhaps, well...perhaps I've not been getting as much sleep as I should and yes, I've worked overtime this week (and this upcoming weekend), but to deny the wonderousness of taquitos...that I will never do.

Cheesey goodness melted in a corn tortilla with bits of other things added for my yummy consumption. And, just to be clear, I don't like to share my taquitos. I'm an oldest child after all, and that means I was an only child for a while. Think of all the taquitos that I should have had. Two minutes left.

Oh taquito
my favorite
bad snack
HUNGRY NOW!!!

Moral of today's story: taquito.

An Erinku (not to be confused with taquito):
words
repeated enough
start to sound
like taquito.

That thing where I don't match again...

For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing the stay-up-late/get-up-early routine where I’m zombie-like for a few hours each morning. I take my zombie shower, I eat my zombie breakfast, and do the zombie commute. Today, I drove the zombie car. Actually, it was the zoomie car.

So. I was going a bit fast down the freeway, around 80ish, and a car from the next lane over darts in front of me. Hmm. “Darts” is actually misleading. More like: went from a completely stopped lane of traffic to maybe 15 as he pulled in front of me. I am very lucky that my instincts apparently aren’t affected by my zombie status.

I’m also lucky that in same instant my foot was squishing the brake pedal to the floor, my hand was squishing the horn through the steering column. My tupperware of cookies soared through the air, arced nicely, smacked the glove compartment and landed upside down. The motorcycle behind me had to slam on his brakes as well but, luckily, nothing of his went flying. Captain Oblivious seemed uncertain from whence this loud horn came from…so I kept my honk on. I got to work about an hour early, completely awake without the benefit of several cups of coffee. I only hope my cookies suffered no permanent damage; if they did, I’ll have to put them out of their misery.

An Erinku:
purple jacket
YES! with my
brown pants
orange socks

Speaking of Pink Floyd and Oz (or not)

Lately I've been thinking about the various types of love that exist. Since love is the base of all life (according to my internal thought processes), when two people come together (be it parents, friends, significant others, a fish, etc.) there is always the unasked question, "Love?" and the answer is always, "Yes!" But. This is where things get tricky. It's akin to asking, "Lollipop?" and the answer being "Yes!"

There are many flavors and sometimes it happens that while you may have been expecting blueberry, you got grape instead. They have the same blue wrapper, after all. And then you can either sit around and bitch about the bleh-ness of grape-flavored lollipops (I've actually already covered this in another blog detailing a real, honestly yucky grape-flavored lollipop), or you can say, "Hmm. Lollipop!" And sometimes it happens, you think "Strawberry," eye the red wrapper and unwrap the yay-ness of strawberry. Lollipops are awesome. Even the grape ones, I suppose.

So I think about this and have experimented by asking the great sea otter in the sky for different flavors since I'm rattling about the Hobbit Hole by myself and need a large circle of folk to amuse me. Over the summer months, I've run the gammit from grape to orange to blueberry and around again. I'm enjoying my adventure into the wild terrains of lollipop land. Next stop: faux watermelon! (much better than real watermelon)

Moral of today's story: I'm going to the mountains this weekend to watch leaves fall. Again, my moral is more of a fact.

An Erinku:
fan
blowing coolness
over
maroon sheets

To Dream...

Lately, I've been having "Dreams for Dummies." That is, any important lessons/meanings/decisions in my dreams have been made with absolute minimal use of symbolism. In fact, characters are directly facing me and straight up saying things like, "Hey, you know how you are tired this week? Instead of fighting it, why don't you just go to bed earlier and sleep extra long?" Notice the complete lack of fuzzy confusion about what I should take from this sort of dream?

This morning, my dream involved me and Stan (a very old pal) sitting in the woods talking about what I want to do with my life. As I've had this conversation at least eighteen thousand times in real life, I wasn't surprised to have it again. (I have the motivation of a helium balloon on its third day of helium use...bobbing about with the breeze, resting on the lawn for a bit before wandering off somewhere.)

So. His suggestion was clever and surprising and I'll be thinking about it this weekend. My reply (in my dream) was "Hmm. I'm always surprised by what I like." Then I woke up and thought about that. And I realized that OF COURSE you should be surprised by what you like! Liking things involves more than just your brain. Your body needs to like it, too. Like ice cream...it's not purely a mental enjoyment. Ideally your emotions would approve as well. Since this is the first time I'm living in this magnificently clumsy body, I have no idea what things will trigger the likings of it. Emotions are sometimes easier to guess, because I think that emotions are the fuzzy line where brain meets body, so both have input.

As I came to this conclusion, I rolled over and fell back asleep thinking about how this would maybe be blog material...later. Stan was there in the woods again and said "Huh. How much Beethoven would we know if he never got off his ass and wrote down what was in his head? Wake up." Stupid non-symbolic dreams.

An Erinku:
rusted school bus
in woods
pine trees
grow through

Dirty Secrets

There are times in life when you realize that you just can't take any more. It doesn't matter what people will think of you or how they will react. I finally got to that point tonight when, on the drive home from the local tavern, it happened again: the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on the radio. My big, dark, dirty secret is that I think the Red Hot Chili Peppers are:

1) played WAY too much on the radio and
2) are just a tiny little bit overrated (don't hit me!)

I usually grunt and change the radio station. However. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were also playing on my "secondary" radio station. I grunted (a bit louder this time, to honor my caveperson ancestors) and switched to the tertiary (third) radio station. "Under the Bridge" was playing there. Alas. Thank god I had a short drive home. I really wouldn't be surprised to hear them on my fourth-tier radio station. Or to hear a classical cover of one of their songs done by a symphony (she wrote with a shudder). I am now counteracting this by listening to AC/DC on iTunes. Technology, while super amazing creepy at times, is AWESOME! You shook me aaaaaaaaaall niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight long!!!!

Moral of today's story: there is a way, somehow...I will learn soon, how to hide that little bar at the bottom of your computer screen. Technology is creepy. For those about to rock, we salute you!

An Erinku:
computer on floor
a desk
I'll buy
tomorrow.

Answers from a 31 Year Old.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most? Stupid, stupid phone bills. There's the land line. There's long distance. There's the cell phone. Blah. I've tried repeatedly to get them to just send one bill...but no!

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner? It was evening, it came from a can, meowing was involved. Wait. That was Dylan's last romantic dinner: last night was chopped meat from a can night.

3. What do you really want to be doing right now? Not to sound like a total junkie, but practicing cello across the street at the music building!!

4. How many colleges did you attend? 1.2.3.4.5..I'm in my fifth one right now working on my second master's degree. Again with sounding like a junkie...

5. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now? Because I dress in Business-Sarcastic-Casual. All business casual on top with snarky shirts underneath.

6. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? NOOOOOOOOO!!! SNOOZE BUTTON!!!

7. Last thought before going to sleep last night? I was being read the dairy order for the next few weeks by Chris and I think my last words were "sharp cheddar..."

8. Do you miss being a child? Hmm. Yes and no. I still tip over farily easily (like a child) but I have a larger vocabulary (like a not-child).

9. What errand/chore do you despise? Laundry. That's a guy's job.

10. Get up early or sleep in? SLEEP IN!!!!

11. Have you found real love yet? Yes: it was evening, it came from a can, meowing was involved. Dammit. I seem to be channeling the cat today!

12. Favorite lunch meat? Hmm. I'm swinging back over to the vegetarian camp lately. I'm digging feta cheese on salads with dried cranberries. Alas. None of that is meat.

13. What do you get every time you go into Wal-Mart? HAHAHAHA! I've boycotted Walmart for about eight years now. I do, however, boo loudly whenever I go by one. I recently was at a festival and saw their little marketing folk riding around on segways asking passers-by "Why do YOU love Walmart?!" I yelled out, as I passed, about fair trade and human rights, which both pleased and highly embarrassed my companion at the time.

14. What famous person would you like to have dinner with? Orlando Bloom. He is one hot elf.

15. Have you ever crashed your vehicle? Yes. Stupid islands in the middle of the road jumping out in front of me.

16. Ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose? Not me, but I've been around when others have used them. As I'm absolutely no use in an emergency, I think I'm fine going through life not being called on to actually use one.

17. Ring tone? Something that came with the phone. Wow. This question just really bored me.

18. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? In a little bathroom with two roommates brushing at the same time. We all looked at each other in the mirror and started laughing because it's wierd to be crammed together all brushing at the same tempo.

19. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go? LA. I know people who live there. I hear Orlando Bloom is a hot elf and he probably lives there, too.

20. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship? Umm. Hmm. I'm starting music school in five weeks (eeek!!!). I suspect that counts as a career change? Maybe?

21. How old are you? 31.416

22. Do you have a go-to person? I have a go-to triad. I've done this for many years, though the members of the triad change over time with moves and life adventures.

23. Are you where you want to be in life? Depends on my interpretation of the day. Living in the Hobbit Hole (a garage), starting music school (where I'm getting my butt kicked), driving a green car (instead of the bus more often), and drinking coffee (that is sometimes crappy) can either be positive or paranthetical, depending.

24. Growing up, what were your favorite cartoons? Oh my. I still watch Saturday morning cartoons. It's a soothing way to drink coffee instead of watching the news and getting all stressy. I don't remember too many from growing up, but there were Gummy Bears (?), Duck Tales, Animaniacs, Smurfs, Thundercats, She-Ra, Rainbow Bright (am I making this up?), Jem?, the Flintstones (which is a HIGHLY sexist show when you watch it with grown-up eyeballs), and onward. These are dredged up from the murky back-waters of memory.

25. What about you do you think has changed the most? Um. Hmm. I'm about 1000% better at standing up for myself. My improved vocabulary might having something to do with that. I'm much more likely to tell someone off when I don't have to use only G-rated language.

26. Looking back at high school were they the best years of your life? Yeah, not so much. College was better. Grad school #1 was better. We'll see what grad school #2 is like.

27. Are there times you still feel like a kid? Yeah. I still laugh at dumb jokes (Q: what is brown and sticky? A: a stick!!!)

28. Where was the hang out spot when you were a teenager? Cars. Preferably zooming about town looking for adventures.

29. Were you the type of kid you would want your children to hang out with? I've been accused multiple times over the years that I'm a bad influence. So yes. Yes.

30. Who do you think impacted your life the most? Bobby McFerrin. Hmm. As that is completely random and untrue, I suspect I am still channelling Dylan.

31. Do you tell stories that start with “when I was your age”? No, but I read one that said "To the next generation: when I was your age, if I wanted to steal music, I had to get off my ass and go down to the cd store!" It was BRILLIANT!

-----
An Erinku:
green list of
to-doings
I'm not doing
I'm not doing

Monday

This morning, as I poured my creamer into my coffee, I took the time to enjoy the swirls it made. I have had several people look at me today, hesitate, and say I look tired. I suspect I must look like something else, but politeness dictates that “tired” is socially acceptable. There are many things that probably would be more correct, but I just replied that I’d had a very long weekend and that coffee should straighten it all out. My story today (and for the last few months, actually) isn’t very interesting. But cream does make beautiful swirls in a big cup of hot coffee. Today the sun is shining and the clouds make beautiful swirls in a big summer sky.

An Erinku:
maps
unfolded
await
my folding free time

Strangers

The other day, as I was going into the grocery store, a stranger stopped me and demanded that I look at the sky. The sun was setting and the clouds were all manner of beautiful. We stood there for a minute together looking at it. Sometimes I’m glad to be bossed by strangers.

I was thinking about this as I walked this morning and how sometimes strangers are useful things. I have all manner of events coming up this weekend and the idea of just sitting down and watching the sky with a stranger sounds nice. I’m tired of having to re-evaluate my life every single day. I’m tired of re-hashing my life story over and over. I’m tired of being maudlin when I have a glass a wine: I act worse than a 15-year-old emo boy!

At this point in my maudlin, emo walk, my little earphones randomly decided I needed some upbeat bouncy songs. I’ve decided I’m taking Sunday off altogether to be a hermit who sits outside to watch clouds. No wine.

An Erinku:
tomato
on my desk
lopsided
yet tasty

Saturday Adventures

This morning, I went grocery shopping while cooking hashbrowns (the hashbrowns were on the stove on low and I was in the car trusting Chris and Dylan to watch things). On my way home, I frantically remembered that I'd forgotten _______ (I love MadLibs!!). So. I zipped around and went right back to my local grocery store. I zoomed out of my car, went directly to the ______ section, looked at the options, picked up a new version of _________, strode over to the self-check out and paid for my great big ______. I didn't need a bag and I realized that with my pre-shower toussled look, that my ardent mission for _______ was really pretty shocking, if one didn't know the back-story (that I'd forgotten it in the first place).

I'm enjoying a fairly chill Saturday despite my shopping adventures. And in spite of trying to break my right foot by dropping heavy tape decks on it. I'm covered in dust and need a beer. The end.

An Erinku:
variegated string
left behind
from kitty adventures
on monitor

Green, like a frog, but not.

So. There, in my circle of aquaintence, is a someone of whom I am jealous. His/her artistic-lifestyle-successful-blah-blah world makes me, in turn, envious and want to throw up in my mouth just a little, while at the same time wanting to punch them in the head and/or kick them in their shin. As I hear the stories, read the emails, and sit around with them, my jealousy grows. I was very surprised by this when it first happened, but I am a big fan of knowing that the heart and the brain have little control of each other. So. After my fabulous, wonderful, awesome-o vacation in Reno, I came back and had to read the emailed exploits of my L.east F.avorite P.erson (of LFP for short).

Grumpy with reading of LFP's fabulous, wonderous being, I laid down on my bed and had an epiphany: serverely-out-of-proportion ankles. I imagined them having serverely-out-of-proportion ankles. I imagined them having an amazingly difficult time shopping for socks. This brought a grin to my face. After grinning about socks, I imagined how odd they would look wearing shorts or even short-pants that highlighted their imagined ginormous ankles. I smiled. Then...I smiled even bigger. I even started to snicker (though, let it be noted that as a very proper young lady, I don't snicker...much).

I then envisioned said imaginary ankles TWICE as large and laughed twice as much. So. In my world, it turns out that my sarcastic, overly-bitter, little imagination can take out that crabby little green-like-a-frog-but-not envious feeling that settles over me from now to then. Stupid so-and-so: I really hope with all my atoms that they do have a hard time shopping for socks!

An erinku (sometimes she's a bit bitter on Sundays):
Dylan
clawed-open screens
full access to the
wild suburbs

Horrifications

Since January, there has been an almost non-stop series of horrifying realizations. After seven or so months of this, I’m very much done. They have ranged from the horrifying realization that the person across the bus aisle was actually clipping their nails on my morning commute, to the horrifying realization that someone will always pick loudly-crappy music to play on a jukebox. Then there was the horrifying realization that I peed a little on my sandal when in the wild and the horrifying realization the staff coffee really doesn’t get any better, though I try it every day.

This small sample size doesn’t even begin to convey the depths of horror I’ve dealt with for the past while. Though, to be fair, the horror is often interspersed with mortification, which is a nice change of pace. One of my more recent horrifications (is that a word? It should be) is that my lovely, lovely sandals (which suffered from my peeing in the wild adventure referenced earlier) need repaired. They are worn out with much walking. I can’t seem to part with them long enough to get repaired because I love them so very much. And so they wear out more. It’s a worse cycle than Dylan being saddened that I won’t play with toys he’s dropped in the toilet...

And my current horrification is that the Popeye coffee I’m drinking (it’s really that strong) is either highly expanding my consciousness to the point where all random topics are connected by funny paths of logic or the coffee is about to make me super-jittery. Since I’m post-breakfast and pre-lunch, I’m thinking there will soon be a whole lot of shaking going on...

An Erinku:
ankles crossed
lovingly
over my favorite
feet

Random Synapses

As I’m on the extreme butt-end of Generation X (technically, I’m a Twixter), I communicate roughly 97% of the time with sarcasm. I’ve gotten pretty good at it and have lately been working on “Ultimate Sarcasm.” It’s so subtle, that you really need to listen for it in the silences between words. My greatest sense of accomplishment is that people are starting to think I’m being overly sincere about things.

I was actually worried about this when I started to work at the University. As I was bleary-eyed, cranky, and huddled around my coffee, people would pop in and say in a chipper way, “Good Morning! How are you?!” And I would answer with not-so-subtle sarcasm, “Oh, just fabulous!” They would then sincerely answer “That’s great!” I worried about this until my co-worker pointed out that everyone there was pre-coffee and that ears don’t hear sarcasm until caffeinated. But this morning, I figured out that perhaps, just maybe, the “That’s great!” was being said with ULTIMATE SARCASM. And that I missed it completely every time. And as I pondered this while walking, instead of feeling bad about missing a possible sarcastic mentor for myself, I decided to reiterate my long-held feeling that morning people should be illegal.

This also got me to thinking about string porn. There is no connection between the topics, other than both were topics I’ve thought about before. String porn, to be clear, is a catalog that arrives by mail. It is full of violins, cellos, violas, and basses. It is full of music stands, rosin, strings, cleaning rags, and sheet music. It is from Shar Music company and all string players lust after things from this catalog. (Coincidentally, gift certificates to Shar make very nice HOLIDAY GIFTS to the string player(s) in your life.) Whenever my string porn arrives, I wonder if it’s been pawed at by my neighbor violinist. That maybe my catalog arrived a few days earlier but was borrowed and then returned to the mailbox. String porn makes me paranoid.

Just as I came to the realization that string porn makes me paranoid, I felt I was being watched. It turned out I was being stared at by a fuzzy, cute, little squirrel. I was not deceived. I hollered at it, “Minion of Evil, BEGONE!” It turns out I speak biblically to squirrels. It turns out I holler loudly. It turns out I was also being stared at by a groundskeeper. It turns out I walk quickly away from situations like that.

An Erinku:
my skirt missing button
right at crotch level
fabulous!

Hot, Hot, Hot!

The other day, Dylan was being taunted by a big, manly kitty outside his favorite window. Dylan was making clicking sounds, which progressed to other grumpy sounds until I got up and turned on the light. (By "the other day" I actually meant "at 3:00 a.m. a few nights ago). The bad kitty fled once the light was on and Dylan then released an onslaught of hissing and growling now that he had "won."

This got me to thinking about being territorial...since I have lots of time to think about random things in the middle of the night. It occured to me that I've been running into that a lot lately with people, with the neighbor's dogs, and with my spoiled, only-child of a cat. I'm not sure exactly how the planets aligned to give me so many examples of this, but it especially is funny in people.

I've noticed that, in spite of our very big brains, we're not that far removed from the cat and dog method of handling this. I've seen fabulous examples of territorial behavior that range from the highly subtle to the just-short-of-peeing-on-somthing-to-show-this-is-mine action. Since I'm presented with all of these examples of rational, enlightened behavior, I'm starting to wonder if/when/how I'm doing this, too. So I am now sometimes watching myself with the same fascination and finding I do it too, only without the peeing on things as a sign of ownership (too much).

Related to this is watching active passive-aggressiveness in action. There are two crabby female-types that orbit very, very periphally in my Colorado circle who are masters at the hot passive-aggressive action. I find that when I need to/am forced to interact with them, it's fun to thwart them with overly-kind emails that don't answer their questions. And by showing up to thier events at least 30 minutes late. And by letting my inner-passive-aggressive self free to express itself with them. It's an exercise in passive-aggressive evolution!

And as I think about these things, I'm also reminded that I am stuck smack dab in the middle of using distractions (such as typing up a boring story like this) instead of practicing. D'oh!

An Erinku:
empty string cheese
wrapper
resisting the
garbage can, twice.

Hot Pursuit

If I am lucky enough to be walking when the street lights come on, I have a favorite corner to wander past because the light is entangled with a tree and the shadows are awesome. I was thinking of shadows today as Dylan is spazing about the Hobbit Hole chasing a moth. I suspect this same sort of spastic action is what caused him to lose a big tooth last week...thus giving him a funny, toothless look and a whole set of new nicknames.

Since moths are suicidal little critters that are always going towards the light, the shadows are way more intimidating than the actual size. I have thought before that moths actually only exist when a cat is really bored and asks the higher things-that-be to create amusement. By this same logic, I also figured that the peacocks wandering around zoos are there to amuse the tigers and lions. But I repeat myself every so often and am enjoying Dylan's mighty hunting prowess that somehow managed to 1. have him run full-force into a wall and 2. get stuck on the top level of the book shelf. His crying now for assistance only reminds of Inigo Montoya in the Princess Bride, when he pleads with Fezzik for help because the six-fingered dude is getting away.

It turns out that I'm still on nocturnal-friendly Pacific time and such things as watching the cat smack into the wall in hot pursuit of Mothra entertain me. Perhaps I should go to be before the next set of single-digit time.

An Erinku:
airplane above clouds
or
submarine upside-down
under ice

Unacceptable

While I am housebroken, I don’t consider myself fully tame. I thought of this again after seeing a movie this weekend. I’m very sensitive to movies/books/etc. that promote giving up your dreams/goals and accepting mediocrity as an acceptable substitute. There is this unspoken pressure that since other people didn’t get to live out their dreams of being a fill-in-the-blank, it’s pointless for anyone else to try anything other than the usual 2312.5 lifestyle. That is: 9-5 (or 925) times the 2.5 kids. To this, I say or, more correctly, growl, “GRRR!”

Every now and then, I need to look at my motivations for life and make sure that I’ve not been contaminated by Mediocre Envy…which would be a good band name. And sure enough, I’d been slightly contaminated. I worry far more about mediocrity than Swine Flu, E Coli, and pregnancy* combined. (*It’s a little known fact that pregnancy is contagious: a whole fleet of my friends have come down with it over the last year or so) And as I stare down mediocrity, I come up with alternate life plans. Some of these plans involve fabulously fake names. Some of them involve me learning unusual life skills (like fire-breathing). And some of these plans involve my life looking pretty much the same, but without the need to justify myself.

Since many people seem to start big life adventures when they turn 32, I’m looking forward to preparing for the next ten months. And as more and more advice/encouragement/pressure to have an averagely predictable existence comes my way, I’ll make sure to flatten my ears donkey-style and bite these folks. I’m not fully tame.

An Erinku:
French Press
as my signature
professional wrestling move
life plans

ACK!!

While there are beautiful moments in life you wish you could re-live over and over, there are sometimes those moments you wish you could unexist. I had one of those moments today when a squirrel peed on me. I squealed loudly, hopped around, and started cursing said squirrel. I tried wiping my arm off on someone’s lawn while being completely grossed out. I smelled of squirrel pee.

I smelled of squirrel pee on the bus. I smelled of squirrel pee on the light rail. I smelled of squirrel pee as I walked across the University. I washed my arm thoroughly with soap and water at school while looking at the flu-fear signs telling us to wash with soap and water after using the bathroom. Squirrel pee probably causes swine flu. Be afraid.

Moral of today’s lesson: squirrels pee from trees.

An Erinku:
green french press
…
stupid computer
trying to capitalize words
it shouldn’t.

Freak Out!!

All right. I know that sneezing in someone’s face is not considered cool. I know that licking someone else’s spoon before handing it to them is also not considered cool. I also know that people are way too freaked out about the flu. Yes, people die. But people die all the time. Sometimes they even die after getting hit by an ice cream truck…yet I will still flag down the ice cream man on hot summer evenings. I like to live on the edge.

Since I seem to enjoy drama, I am currently surrounded by people in the midst of a Grade-A-Flu-Freakout. Emails are being sent about the proper way to cover your mouth when coughing (hint: don’t cough or sneeze directly into someone’s face) and signs are going up reminding us to wash our hands after using the bathroom. As someone pointed out (please, remind me who you are, it was brilliant!): Just because I pee on my hands doesn’t mean I have swine flu. Ah, logic in the face of freak-out.

Today, there was much left-over pizza that I put out in the kitchen so everyone could inhale some. This, due to swine flu freak out, was immediately a dramatically huge no-no. So. I moved the pizza out into the lobby, where the swine flu virus is apparently impotent. So, it should follow that on the list of ways of avoiding the flu, we should include a little footnote about how our lobby is a wonderful virus-killing space. Bah, logic.

An Erinku (not a type of flu):
motorcycle
revving up
outside my window
scares the squirrels….good.

The Next Big Thing

I often come up with clever inventions of things that should be. There are many times when I’m not aware I’m coming up with something new. They’ll seem like an obvious thing that should exist at my local big box store and then after hours of frustrated wandering, I’ll ask and the bewildered look I get in return suggests I’m asking for something that doesn’t exist.

This is all well and good, but my best invention so far has the potential to go far: dehydrated water. It will come in pouches, or even in little water bottles. It can be marketed as purified dehydrated water straight from the purest source of dehydrated water. The instructions will be as follows: Dehydrated Water® is your source for premium filtered and highly purified dehydrated water. Dehydrated Water® is easy to use! Simply open pouch (or lid), add cool fresh water, and enjoy!

I’ve sometimes been told that my ideas are silly. But I just saw an ad for strapless suspenders and it makes me wonder…

An Erinku:
coffee cup
two and three
empty
used as paperweights

Old Haunts

While they haunt my everyday life, it has been a while since I pondered the multiple evils that are encompassed by my nemesises (nemesi? nemesissies?). My enemies I suppose. They are bouncy, hyper little things that I never saw until college, thus ending a wonderful 18 year run of being squirrel-free. I have a squirrel outside my window at the day job who is slowly digging a squirrel-shaped tunnel towards my office while gazing malevolently at me. I suspect it is part of a huge evil plan. Today, as he industriously flung dirt while alternately standing on his tip-toes to watch my reaction, I opened my window and yelled, “I see you squirrel! What are you doing? I SEE YOU!!”

It turns out that when I’m pre-coffee, my yells are louder than I think. It’s all part of their evil little plan.

An Erinku:
yellow postcard
advertising something
printed side
down

Unappreciated Talents (pre-coffee)

Last night, I was wandering about giving post-margarita tours of the university to people who worked in another part of the university. I decided to be like a real tour guide and walk backwards while talking. This story has a predictable ending. What I did discover is that while you can swerve around a telephone pole, there are sometimes cables attached to it that will catch your ankles.
This made me appreciate those folks who can talk about surroundings while walking backwards up stairs, across streets, and around corners. I started to wonder how many random skills there are that go unappreciated. I've so far come up with three while being pre-second-cup-of-coffee.

1. Tight rope walkers. I don't know how someone discovers they have this talent. I can recall all zero times in my life where I've needed to walk across anything on a piece of rope.

2. Fire breathers/sword swallowers. Again, I don't know how they discovered this talent. Or exactly how one would decide to practice such things. Yet, there are people who do this.

3. Taxes. Seriously. I can actually feel my blood pressure rise just sitting down with the stupid booklet. Pulling out the calculator makes it that much worse. Speaking of which, I'd better find a stamp and get that stuff mailed out.
My coffee cup is empty and yet I feel no smarter. Perhaps I can't find wisdom from a cup of ground-up, burnt beans soaked in water...but I try anyways.

An Erinku! (More like a Haiku instead of Sodoku):
spoon
resting on floor
I'll take you
to your home.

Reflections

I recently made a horrifying discovery that I’m not quite over yet. While thinking of myself in the abstract, I wondered what Jane Austen heroine I most closely resembled. This was not a Facebook quiz, nor was it prompted by Cosmo. I just read a lot and tend to identify with various characters. I was mildly hoping to think I was like Elizabeth Bennet with a snappy answer to snide remarks. I might resemble a Margaret Dashwood running away from cranky strangers. I could even maybe see myself as a highly repressed Lydia Bennet, waiting for my trampy side to come out for a year-long spin. But I figured out who I most closely resemble: Fanny Price. I shrieked after this realization, knowing full well that Fanny doesn’t shriek. It didn’t help.

It suddenly made sense why I always wanted to kick her ass. Her weak way of dealing with bossy people, her reluctance to change her routine, her weepy attachments to stupid things all are a reflection of me. I’d like to say that at least I can talk with strangers without breaking down…most of the time. To assuage this trauma, I reminded myself that 31 is my year of standing up for myself. I resolved not to read Mansfield Park for at least twelve months and I shrieked again for good measure. Mrs. Norris just better watch out, I’m on an adventure.

An Erinku:
stapler
tipped sideways
does not
work as well.

Being Clever

Using ONLY SONG TITLES from ONE artist, cleverly answer these questions:

Pick a band/artist: Modest Mouse

1. Are you a male or female: Blame It on the Tetons

2. Describe yourself: People As Places As People

3. How do you feel about yourself: So Much Beauty In Dirt

4. Describe your ex: Ocean Breathes Salty

5. Describe your current love situation: Never-Ending Math Equation

6. Describe your current location: Parting of the Sensory

7. Describe where you want to be: Steam Engenius

8. Your best friends are: The World At Large

9. Your favorite color is: Invisible

10. You know that: [We've Already] Missed the Boat

11. What’s the weather like: Fly Trapped in a Jar

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called? Float On

13. What is life to you: Little Motel

14. What is the best advice you have to give: We've Got Everything

15. If you could change your name what would you change it to: Education

An Erinku:
gently sniffing
stinky toes
kitty licks
stinky toes

Emmulations

As I go through weeks, days, and months of life, I still manage to learn new and exciting things. Since the “Great Bang Cut of January 2009” I’ve had to deal with having bangs that drive me (and everyone in a four-foot radius) crazy. However, I have managed to find an old-school headband which I think has been with me since 1987 or so. I wear it whenever I see it and while I’ve been told it makes me look like Axl Rose, I enjoy having a bang-free time.

Yesterday I decided to be clever and shower at night, thinking I had an early day today. I put on my Axl attire afterwards and curled up in my little blanket and slept. This morning when I woke, I remembered I had a go-late-to-work day and I had a good many hours for myself and coffee. As time progressed and I finished my morning routine, I saw that my bangs stood absolutely up on end. I blinked at the mirror a few times, hoping this horror would pass. It didn’t.

Since I’ve recently lost my inner critic, I had to mutter aloud “Stupid, stupid hair! That’s why I shower in the mornings!” I splashed water on my head, yanked a brush through it, watered more and repeated. My bangs are now at half-mast. I have a whole day planned and I haven’t seen my headband. I think I know why Axl had so many.

An Erinku:
dishwashers
exist somewhere
not here
not here

Shyness

Today I almost ran into someone in the bathroom. She popped out of the first stall like someone popping out of a cake and she did a fancy swirly action around me while still moving quickly. I, not really wanting my story of the day to be about an odd encounter in the bathroom, scooted around her to another stall.

But. She went to the sinks and was there for a long time. Quiet. Not washing her hands. This made me uneasy. I realized I didn't want to pee with a wierdo in the bathroom. Eternity stretched out. I changed my mind about the whole event and she...she started to wash her hands.

I left the stall, still uneasy. She finished washing her hands and was still standing there at the sinks. I washed my hands. I dried my hands. She was still standing there at the sinks when I left. I assume she's still there. If she is, I'll sneak into the boy's bathroom because there is a time and place for wierdos and bathrooms first thing in the morning are not it.

An Erinku:
blue phone
blue cup
green box
of Kleenex.

Immature Injury

Today, I rolled my eyes hard enough I think I pulled an eyeball muscle. This is akin to the time I flipped someone off dramatically enough that I sort-of sprained my finger. These are not injuries that a nice, mature person should have. That is why my birthday is still several weeks away. I find the weeks before my birthday are full of stupid injuries…like how I bonked my head on the ceiling a little bit when I was jumping on the bed a few days ago.

But today’s injury was not my fault. I was the victim of hearing the world’s longest, more boring conversation right outside my work door. I was trapped while two people proceeded to talk about topics soooooooo boring that I don’t. have. the. energy. to. describe.

Imagine the most boring possible conversation; then double the boredom; times that by three and that is the conversation forced upon my eardrums. I worry about things like this. Say I get run over by an airplane late tonight. My last day on this lovely, blue-green planet would have a huge chunk of it spent listening to boring blah-blah.

Luckily, Guns & Roses came on my little internet radio. It was, once again, something about being a sweet child of Axl Rose’s. I kept inching the volume up and eventually the boring folk moved down the hall in front of someone else’s office (who I assume was listening to something boring…like vocal jazz). Who knew Axl Rose would be my hero? “WHOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAA SWEEEEEEEEEET CHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD OOOOOOOOOO MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINEEEEE....EEEE!”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-AYAv0IoWI

An Erinku:
Scrabble tile “G”
with a little 2
G-squared?
I’ve never played Scrabble.

Early Morning Workout

Today, due to worrying about the time change, I got up extra early. Instead of being cranky about this, I figured I'd get up and do some PBS yoga. Living in the wilds of suburbia, I get two different PBS stations and each has stretchy people on it first thing in the morning.

I am freaked out by the one PBS lady who does yoga on a little rock in the middle of the ocean and then has to overdub her talking since she's competing with the ocean's waves. It freaks me out. So I switched to the other PBS station and tried my best to be bendy.

I remembered why yoga is hard and felt awfully clumsy and not flexible. After a half hour of sort of fitting into the poses, feeling a bit out of breath, and feeling slightly smug for doing yoga, the credits came on. It turns out I'd been working out to "Staying Flexible: Stretches for Senior Citizens" or some such title. It turns out I'm going to sleep in tomorrow.

An Erinku:
Dylan
I'm covered in
your fuzzy love
I'm furry from you.

Angst-Filled Commercials

I am a woman fond of the bunny ears. I was sad when I saw all the ads saying I would lose access to the three channels I get if I didn't get one of those magic boxes. So I sent in a request for a coupon for a magic box. Since the coupon was for $40, the magic box makers made sure that the cost of said magic box was more than $40. I called them "fuckers" at the store when I saw the price.

After many, many dramas involving bunny ears and magic boxes, everything is installed. I sat down to multiple new channels that repeatedly freeze into little squares. I certainly didn't get that with bunny ears; hooray!

My main annoyance (after being charged $59.76 for a $40 magic box, thank you SO MUCH you fuckers!) is that I can now watch eight different channels. Actually, since I'm fond of being specific with language, I can now watch commercials on eight different channels. And I noticed tonight that only women clean houses on commercials.

After a glass of hornsby's magic cider (which is awesome and is sold at the correct price, not $19.76 over what should be charged, you fuckers), I started to be highly bothered by this. After two hornsby's magic ciders, I started to proof-read a paper about sexism. After three hornsby's magic ciders, I got angst-ridden and started typing.

We, as a species, seem to be stuck in about 1358. It apparently was a very good year and we have not really moved forward. Yes, computers. Yes, Irish pubs. But still with the wenches and the manly men! We now have ads to show us just how we should be living (unless said ads decide to freeze into many, pretty little boxes).

I should be perky, blond and loving my swiffer so much I want to dry-hump it. Such is not the case. When Dylan broke not one, but two, pottery-based items yesterday, my response was not glee on pulling out the old-school broom and crappy dustpan. I don't do laundry (that's a boy's job) nor do I groan with pleasure at a pile of dirty dishes when it's my turn to wash. Just because I have boobs does not make a miracle in the kitchen and I don't like commercials or other people who think I should be.

In addition to this, I've been cranky the last few weeks and my long walk today was to pin-point exactly what is going on. After being told that there would be lay-offs at the day job, I was told that we should all be anxious since we live in an environment of fear. Honestly, this has bothered me for two very valid reasons:

1. Don't tell me what to do. If you know me at all, you know this is my super-number-one pet peeve and I lose respect (and harshly mock) those who do this.

2. I've lived my life fear-based for long enough. If you want to lay me off, do it. I'm not going to be afraid any more of what may or may not come to pass. It's a bloody waste of time and to motivate your employees that way is disrespectful of them as people.

So as I've been crabby with the fear thing, the bunny ears thing, the stereotype of happy-woman-humping-swiffer-thing, I come to the conclusion that since we are stuck in 1358, give me some roast pig, grog and pipe music and don't call me a wench.

An Erinku:
frozen little boxes
colorful, stuck
t.v. I want to see
your cartoons

Acceptance

As long as I've had a nose, I've often worried about fitting in when I go to various places. As I've been haunting the University lately and mingling with other musician types, I've wondered if I was cool enough to fit in. It's been yes...then no...then maybe...and then "what was I thinking?"

Tonight, during a small group rehearsal, a violinist was talking about how she grew up with a spiral staircase and how awesome it was to slide down the banister. It was extra awesome because when her younger sister tried to do it, she ended up falling down the entire length of staircase (luckily not breaking anything). It turns out that when you fall down an entire spiral staircase, your body decides somersaults is the most efficient way to travel. The image of a seven-year-old falling down a whole staircase in this fashion has been making me snicker all night long.

The violinist then went on to say that building spiral staircases are now illegal. I, being genuinely impressed, said "well! who knew?" And she said, "I did." After pondering the silence for a moment, I said when I felt rebellious, building spiral staircases was my little way of sticking it to the man. She sprayed iced tea from her mouth AND nose all other the practice room. I think I'll fit in just fine.

An Erinku:
home-brewed cider
not from my home
E.T.
home-brewed cider

Jittery Rant

Yesterday, I took a half-day off from work so I could practice for my audition. Afterwards, I read my homework and came across an interview about how one guy dealt with pre-audition nerves. He said he just went about his day as a regular person, because he noticed he would say things like, "No, I can't have a beer the night before. I've got an audition." And that would start a long list of things he couldn't do until he had gotten to the point where he stayed inside all day long freaking out about the event. It wasn't helpful for him, so he just went about his day-to-day activities. This was awesome to read because I'd been starting my own list of "do-nots" and I was hungry and really wanted to have a beer. So I did.

I went to bar across the street from the University. Let me stress this again, I went to the BAR across the street. They serve some bar food, too, so it answered all my needs. It's the type of place that, before the Clean Air laws, would have been a smoky bar. (Don't even get me started on the stupidity of the Clean Air law fad; smokers are still people and you know if a place is smoky within the first few seconds; don't like it? don't stay and don't work there! But I digress...)

Right, it would have been a smoky bar. They still are a bar, there were many drunk college kids, there is a pool table, there are sports on the t.v.s. It's a bar. So. When I realized that as time progressed, families were coming in and seemed to think it was o.k. to have their many small children running around, I started getting freaked out. I don't go to Chuck E. Cheese's to drink and be beligerant...that's what a bar is for. Bars are not daycare with running, screaming small children.

Bars do not serve family food! When you have to ask the bartender if they have milk and he's not sure, this is not a place to take your kids for dinner. Seriously. What are they going to eat? Hell-fire chicken wings? A basket of fries? Chips and salsa? I'm a grown-up and I know these are tasty-not-good-nutrition foods. So when the bartender asked if I wanted another drink, I said, "No because I'm freaked out that it's bring your kids to the bar nght. I'll just take my check." It's a bar.

When I was in my late teens, I was with Grandma Jam in a casino. While waiting in line to pee, the lady in front of us was saying things like, "Fuck this and fuck that la la la" (she used more nouns that I gave her credit for). There was a lady behind us in line with a 2-year-old who said to lady 1, "Can you please watch your language? There is a small child present." Lady 1 said, "Hey, it's a fucking casino, not a daycare center." Just as you don't move into a nudist colony and complain about people always being naked, and just as you don't move into a house next to an airport and start complaining about noise, if you choose to go somewhere with your kids that isn't kid-friendly, you need to take responsibility.

Anyway, after this highly disturbing evening, I had the most efficient anxiety dream, ever. My anxiety dreams usually involve some long, drawn out feeling of mysterious unsettlement. Last night I had just fallen asleep and the dream was about five seconds straight of me screaming in panic. Nice.

An Erinku:
heater on
growling heat
if portable
I'd carry you around.

Tequillianations on Ruminations

Dear higher self,
Thank you for the lessons you've sent my way this past week. While I DID need to know about my lack of being a complete human, the lessons are awfully rough this time around...although I do thank you for sending my favorite cheesey 80's music as an accompanant; it helps!

Another helpful thing (you can work on this, you know) is to channel my two-margarita-self-honesty without the help of two margaritas. It's been done too often for it to be a novel educational experience. And please let that spot dry very soon where I dribbled margarita in my lap; it looks like I peed myself, just a little bit.

Higher self, which some call god but I call "Myself two Tuesdays from now," I eat too much out of stress lately. If I'm to lose my jobby-job from layoffs, let it be quick, with ease, and with something even more kick-ass to come. May the echo of my life I hear inside come to pass with full volume. And that last sentence, taken out of context, is completely schizophrenic. Fabulous. Ramen noodles (a.k.a. R-Amen).

An Erinku:
Note to self-
whacking self against doorway
doesn't counteract
two margaritas!

The Home Stetch

I am five days away from my big grad-school audition. I've had little to no social life for the past two months. Everyone in the Hobbit Hole has heard my practicing over and over again. Dylan does his impersonation of an eye-roll when I start unpacking my cello and he hops to the top of the closet to nap on my clothes. I'm sadly boring and mightily relieved I'm on the home stretch. None of this explains why I'm drinking a shit-beer though. Mysteries.

An Erinku:
pillow
de-fluffed
slipping
out of case

Oh Wait, No, Don't!

Today, while waiting for a bus ride home, I started thinking about being told not to do things and then doing them. I had an elementary teacher talk about how if you stood while locking your knees, it would cut off the blood flow to your head and you would pass out. She then hastily added, don't try it, you'll whack your head on something.

My elementary school class then proceeded to pass out one by one over the next week or so. Except me. I have a very active imagination and I could imagine passing out, cracking my head on a radiator, waking up in 2009 to the knowledge of having massive doctor's bills (having been in a coma for a good 15 years) and knowledge of having missed recess (and thus having missed playing four-square).

The teacher was pretty pissed off that week as her students were tipping over in hallways one by one. It was pretty cool, because you never knew who'd go next. It could be the person next to you in line for the library! This moral/factoid that "locking your knees makes you pass out" runs through my mind when I'm standing for long periods of time. So while waiting for the bus, and in order to avoid cracking my head against a garbage can and waking up in 2024, I did a little knee woggle to make sure they weren't locked. What an exciting day.

An Erinku:
When Tim Curry
sings about going
home, I sing along
instead of Erinkuing.

Whiny Tuesday

Today I was followed by a car with very small headlights. This, for some reason, really annoyed me. Especially since this car of small headlights seems to live two houses down from me and kept following me with its small headlights. They looked like two tiny little suns that were as bright as two small headlights. (I'm still going through the phase of comparing things to themselves when I make analogies. I find it really funny.)

What is not funny are small headlights. And having to wear nylons while drinking decaf coffee. And having people put salt on your margarita when you specifically said "no salt" while you still can't solve a SUPER-DUPER-EXTRA-EASY crossword you've been working on all day. I think this pretty much sums up my week. Seriously, what is a four letter word (ending in R) for "bakery worker?" I finally got the three-letter word for acquire (GET) and 19 across was CELLO (for musical instrument) and that made me feel pretty smart.

It's too bad the title of my crossword book is in bright flashy colors and all caps (superduperextraeasy!) because I take an ego hit each time I pull it out. Since there is vanity sizing in clothes, they really should do vanity titles for crossword puzzles, like "EXTRA SUPER HARD YOU GENIUS YOU! CROSSWORDS" or "YOU TOTALLY NAP DURING THE SUNDAY CROSSWORDS BECAUSE YOU ROCK EVER SO HARD CROSSWORDS!" and onward. AHA! 38 across is KOALA (Australian "bear"). The little quotes in the clue don't make me feel smart. In fact, they annoy me as much a tiny little headlights do. Grr dammit.

An Erinku (or two, since I've slacked):
photocopy
of picture
creepy guy
on paper

------------
distant coughing
makes me
feel thirsty..

O, beer!
-------
A third Erinku because that second one was me quoting myself and my O Poems:

sock
against carpet
as cat is
to fridge
--------
A fourth Erinku because the previous one was another self-refence to when I wrote analogy/test poems:

Dylan with
repeatedly dropped mouse
waiting for me to
play fetch.

OK Bye.

Lazy (or completely psycho-busy) Erin, Part 2

Welcome to the new 2009 edition of getting to know your friends.

1. What is your occupation right now?
Currently I'm the Fetch-Tossing-Human for the cat. It's a full-time position but I try to narrow it down to an hour a day or less. The pay is little toy mice dropped at my feet over and over...sometimes after they've been dunked in the toilet and fished out by the cat. I don't play with toilet mice.

2. What color are your socks right now?
naked toes!

3. What are you listening to right now?
The creaky floorboards under my neighbor's very pregnant feet. Actually, it's her belly that's pregnant, yet she still walks with her feet.

4. What was the last thing that you ate?
I inhaled a sandwich from Deli Zone on the way to my lesson. Ordering from Deli Zone is always exciting because they are over-compensating for not being in New York.

5. Can you drive a stick shift?
Yes, but I'm pretty crappy at starting on hills. Except when I'm pointed downhill, then I'm absolutely fine.

6. Last person you spoke to
Dylan. Does a cat count as a person? Before that I was cursing out the printer with flowery language. Does a printer count as a person? Before that I was listening to a choir-type talk. Does listening count as speaking to someone? Even more importantly, does a choir-type count as a person?

7. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Well duh, it's Squeaky!

8. How old are you today?
30. It's been much better than 29.

9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?
Lacrosse! Men dressing up like SpongeBob to whack each other with sticks! What's not to like?

10.What is your favorite drink?
Large iced soy caffe creme caramel (a.k.a. Diabetes in a bottle). Sadly, Java Java coffee shop is closed. *sniff, sniff*

11.Have you ever dyed your hair?
Why yes, even with Kool-aid (to get that real berry red color that washes right out).

12.Favorite food?
Cottage cheese or potatoes or sushi. I think I could live solely on these three foods.

13.What is the last movie you watched?
Kung Fu Panda. "Legend tells of a legendary warrior whose Kung Fu skills were the stuff of legend."

14.Favorite day of the year?
My BIRTHDAY!

15.How do you vent anger?
To a person: frown so as not to cry. To an inanimate thing: swear under my breath and curse all its little bits.

16.What was your favorite toy as a child?
Well, I really liked My Little Ponies, I remember liking Strawberry Shortcake dolls, and I thought the toy piano was cool. I also liked roller skates before I realized I have a problem with falling over.

17.What is your favorite season?
It rotates: whatever season is six months away. Right now summer sounds pretty nice as currently the wind is dropping the temperature to a billion degrees below zero.

18.Cherries or Blueberries?
Blueberries.

19.Do you want your friends to e-mail you back?
Alas no. Not right now. I'm a good six weeks behind already and every email adds a little more pressure to the hermit/technophobe side of my personality. I have an audition in four weeks. I will need a beer afterwards. Talk to me then...

20.Who is the most likely to respond?
Respond to what? A beer invite? Clark. A frantic last-minute "I need a lesson" call? Cassye. A hollering about where I put my glasses? Chris. An actually emergency? Paramedics.

21.Who is least likely to respond?
Again, lest likely to respond to what? A solo dance performance audition? Thad. If I very fakely said "Can you lift that for me because I'm a weak little girl?" Cyndi. Me continually whining about having cold toes while not wearing socks? Mom. An actual injury resulting from tripping on the stairs in a train and cutting your pinky on plastic polyester and really, really needing a band-aid? the train conductor guy

22.Living arrangements?
I live in Dana's garage. Also known as "the Hobbit Hole."

23.When was the last time you cried?
Last Monday. I had food poisoning and absolutely needed to drive into Denver. I was stuck in a huge traffic jam and I realized I was almost completely out of gas and that I needed to puke. My stress resistance was non-existent at that point. Everything eventually worked out, but it was a weepy little while there.

24.What is on the floor of your closet?
Cat fur (it's actually coating the entirity of my world I think). SCSI cable parts. Fuzzy slippers. Dresses that fell off the hanger and I've not noticed yet.

25.Who is the friend you have had the longest that you are sending to?
Well, I'm just posting this as opposed to obnoxiously sending it directly to people's inboxes. I'll say mom, since I've known her for over 30 years.

26.What did you do last night?
The short version: practiced cello, rode the bus home, watched Buffy while crocheting a blanket, slept like I'd been up for 20 hours.

27.What are you most afraid of?
Black holes. *shudder*

28.Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers?
I'm swinging back towards veggie again. Cheese is good.

29.Favorite dog breed?
Cat-dog. I've got one and it's great. It's a dog, but in a cat body. No barking. No poo walks. Alas, there is still the chasing-cats thing, though.

30.Favorite day of the week?
Saturday. I've been insistent about it being a complete day off for me; I don't even socialize on those days.

31.How many states / countries have you lived in?
Five states, one country. I'm boring that way.

32.Diamonds or pearls?
Neither because "If he loves you, he'll buy you platinum." This was an actual ad in a bridal magazine. I've always sarcastically enjoyed the idea that love=things because it really helps out consumerism if you think that way. I've been quoting that ad for years and often changing it to suit my purpose as in: "Kristen, if you love me, you'd buy me a hot cocoa" Ah, guilting people into buying things. Brilliant!

33.What is your favorite flower?
Peony. Living, not wilting.

25 Facts About A Lazy Erin

1. I'm related to Edgar Allen Poe and come from multiple long lines of strong matriarchs (think Amazon). I should probably be taller, better at archery, and much more fond of opium than I am.

2. I'm not convinced that the "Push Here to Cross Street" buttons actually do anything.

3. I compose while I walk. I can actually tell which days I've been exercising by looking back over my blogs.

4. I recently realized the beauty that the mind and the heart cannot control each other.

5. I crochet like a mad woman.

6. If you imagine a star (or pentacle, if that's your thing) with the five points: Dvorak, Birkenstocks, Hornsby, Jane Austen, and Modest Mouse; I am in the center because my love for all five is equal. If you don't know what one of these five points are, you really need to hang out with me more.

7. My fingers and toes are never warm enough...which is nice in the summer, I guess.

8. I'm pretty good at soldering.

9. I have a wide variety of friends and have managed to keep them through multiple political elections because I refuse to talk about politics.

10. I used to refuse to talk about religion, but as my day job is fond of the topic (and some folks have recently been making assumptions again, sigh): I am agnostic with athiest and Buddhist leanings...more or less depending on the day. I spent my life getting here; I'm not interested in changing; and I will not be attending your church/chapel/synagogue/se....rvice/what-have-you, thanks.

11. Hot tubs: I have lived with them and I hope to do so again.

12. I seriously suck at crosswords. I'm working my way through a "Super-Duper Easy Crosswords!!" book and I'm still having to look in the back.

13. I read freakishly fast and enjoy trashy magazines. There is probably some lesson in there about pearls and swine...me the pearl and (everyone knows) Angelina Jolie as swine.

14. I'm in the process of auditioning for graduate school in Music Performance. I already have one master's degree. I'm apparently a grad school junkie.

15. I realized a few years ago I made all decisions based on fear. I've been working on it and am now down to about 40%.

16. I am terrifyingly motivated by logic...see #15 for the other 40% of my motivation.

17. I like Facebook and MySpace because when I actually hang out with everyone I know, I get dreadfully burnt out since I end up double- or triple-booking parties daily. This way, I can keep tabs on folks without the overload. If only you people would show up when I have parties! Those who do show up, thank you! you helped my transition into 30.

18. Though I used to enjoy it, I now really hate doing laundry. I'm fine with dishes.

19. I am constantly driven insane by my hair. No matter what length it is, it's annoying. I will sometimes have a fantasy of chopping it all off. Alas, I have chipmunk cheeks...

20. One high-school boyfriend bought me a cassette tape of one of my favorite bands: Live. But. He said I had to fast-forward through one of the songs because they said "shit." People who know me should find that pretty funny considering my language is often not suitable for minors.

21. I try to be as honest as I can. When I don't feel like doing something, I make myself say "well, I don't feel like it" instead of coming up with lame lies like "Oh, I can't that night because I've...um...got to watch...t.v.?" It wierd how our culture expects white lies for things that don't matter. When I started down the path of polite lies, I felt like a phony in everything I did.

22. My first-grade boyfriend stole my artwork and put his name on it. I was very angry (even though his mom made wicked good cookies) and since then I've been paranoid about plagerism. "Little boys stealing art" would be an awesome cover-band name.

23. I seem to be immune to cayenne pepper. I can eat the "super-hell-fire" sauce at Chicken Joe Bob's without warming up at all (while others start to sweat). Sadly, I'm not immune to any other type of spicy and I get whiny pretty quickly.

24. Twice I've been told that I should not play music (by teachers after a first lesson) and twice I've been called a bad influence. I'm more proud of the latter.

25. I sing badly loud a lot. I make up the songs. Sometimes they're about the cat, or the dishes, or peeing, whatever is going on at the moment that is song-worthy. I've actually sung about peeing a disturbingly high number of times. Hmm.

The Pain of Polyester

While riding the train the other day, I managed to damage myself. It wasn't in a fascinating way. It was when I tripped and fell against a staircase and managed to slice away a bit of my pinky. As the blood gushed out, I turned to look for what on god's green train had cut off my pinky part. There was nothing but plastic encased polyester. Being used to freak accidents, I quickly grabbed a tissue and wrapped up my damanged bit.

Right by my seat was a plastic-encased first aid kit behind a locked plastic door. I started to wonder about all the plastic-encased parts of the train. It's as if they don't want the passengers to get hurt or something. When the train dude walked by checking tickets, I embarrassedly mumbled that I needed a band-aid because I hurt myself on the stairs. He stared at me and said, "what?" I explained again, pointed to the scene of the damage and he ran his hand over the plastic and polyester. He came away unscathed and completely confused.

I asserted that I did fall, I did lose a bit of pinky, I needed a band-aid and that I routinely suffered freak accidents. After figuring out that I probably wouldn't be suing (unless he didn't hustle his ass over to the band-aid station), he started the process of releasing my band-aid from it multiple plastic prisons.

The main lesson I got from this is that I would not survive as a caveman. Or cavewoman. I suspect that the human lifespan significantly increased due to the invention of band-aids. And fingernail clippers. Between these two inventions, I'd say that human life more than doubled.

Fingernail clippers actually might be more important than band-aid in the continuation of life. This is becuase when you have a hangnail, there is no other possible solution to dealing with it other than fingernail clippers...unless you have a band-aid. Imagine being a caveperson (it's probably the politically correct term) and having a hangnail for, say, 10 months. It snags on everything, even things across the cave you were only looking at. There would be no fixing it, just one snaggy day after the other. All day. It'd get caught on your favorite berry tree, snag on your rock pillow, and catch on your rock scrubby-thing-that-is-a-rock-pretending-to-be-not-a-rock. Seriously, with this quality of life who wouldn't "accidentally" trip in front of the saber-toothed tiger?

This event was very much akin to the day I got a paper cut on my hand from a maxi pad. The universe is a strange place that circles black holes (a.k.a. compressed wool sweaters) and I routinely quote myself.

An Erinku:
mysterious calculator
actually two
a world without a
lack of calculator

Ruminations on Vomitations

While I do enjoy new experiences and breaking out of a routine, the whole food poisoning adventure I can really do without. For yet another magical event, I spent many hours alternating between water, pepto bismol, and brushing my teeth. While Dylan was excited I was home all day, he became grumpy that my multiple trips through the Hobbit Hole were not to:
a. give him a kitty treat, or
b. give him a kitty treat.

He eventually became uber cranky and started biting my ankles any time I passed him. I also had to be vigilant about him jumping on my tummy--one of many, many things that wasn't pleasant that day.

This classy event marked the end of a long weekend that had been fairly pleasant. I was away to Glenwood Springs (by train) and sat in hot tubs and pondered why I suck so much at my new video game "Big Brain Academy" which is solely designed to make you feel stupid. I did not stay in the insane-aslyum-hostel I'd been in before, nor did I have random people on acid/cocaine appear in my room, nor was there any week-old milk decomposing in the garbage can. No, I did not stay in the hostel and no, I did not miss it.

Alas, my story is boring. I think I puked up the best part of it. Alas.

Moral of today's story (a.k.a. fact of the day): ankle bites from cats take a little while to heal.

An Erinku:
O pepto
I weep
with joy
for your pinkness

Clear Light of Morning

It starts off innocently enough. I'm practicing cello in front of a mirror (for technical reasons). I have a little glass of wine. Then I get distracted from playing because my hair looks stupid. I reach for the scissors and snip. Snip. Snip.

This same habit has been with me since I was little (the cutting of my hair, not the wine). Much like birds migrate annually, much like lemmings decide to see if they can bounce after a fall, I always managed to cut my hair right before school picture day. There are many pictures from growing up where I kinda tilted my head a little bit to the side to make my hair look straight.

So now I have some hair of varying lengths. And as I stared at myself in the mirror this morning, it crossed my mind that I should never have access to scissors, ever, because I keep doing stupid things like cutting my hair after a glass of wine. At least I've gotten better over the years cutting in a straight line. Sort of. If I kinda tip my head to the right a little. Sigh.

Moral of today's story: it's kinda self-evident, ERIN-DON'T CUT YOUR OWN HAIR!

An Erinku!
pink, plastic
kazoo
wrapped in
plastic

Etiquette 101

On Friday, the bus gods frowned upon my journey. In between one of four separate bus trips home, I saw someone drop and break an entire case of beer. The resulting "NO!!!!!!" of yelling echoed my internal cry of something equally important: nacho etiquette.

As beer poured forth over the curb, I thought of how people don't respect the "Super Chip." The "Super Chip" is, of course, that chip buried under much nacho goodness. It's the cheesy one, or the one soaked in sour cream, or salsa or whatever version of nirvana that is each person's nacho.

The real rules for nachos are:
1. eat from the side facing you. As the nachos empty out, you can start to encroach on other nacho "encampments."
2. the "Super Chip" should be the last chip to be eaten.
3. you CANNOT eat the "Super Chip" twice in row...it must rotate.
These rules are inherently true and can never be broken. It's an agreement you make to be born into a human body.

There are people who break these rules. For these folk, I wish massive dismay. These folk eat the super chip every time or they'll eat it right at the beginning. THIS IS WRONG! DO NOT ATTEMPT! You will lose friends over this.

I feel I always lecture about the super chip. I've even written angst-ridden poems about someone who always ate the super chip (grr). This etiquette came up recently as my out-of-town friend came and had nachos with me. She recited the three rules of and brought up different violations she'd seen. It's tragic, really. While many people can list a few of the ten commandments, so many people break the three nacho rules. I do my part by spouting off in pubs like your typical end-of-the-world/nachos-girl.

An Erinku:
smoke
drifting daintily
from kitchen to here
alarm: worryingly silent