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
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
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
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
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, March 9, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
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
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
Monday, March 2, 2009
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
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
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