A Lame Version of "Heart of Darkness"

Today, I went directly into the heart of yuppy-dom (or preppy-dom). I had a gift card that I wanted to use, and the nearest version of the store was smack in the middle of Cherry Creek. Sigh. I resisted valet parking (which is a whole other rant, by the way, since malls don't need valet!) and I avoided being hit by a variety of expensive brands of cars. Just because you still drive a Hummer, doesn't mean you don't need to look before pulling out into traffic!

Right. I had a mental shopping list for my trip. I needed more coffee things for my new espresso machine and I needed a good-size, single-serve, spaghetti making pot because my usual one has been leaking Teflon and the word on the street is that's bad.

I bypassed an entire floor of red underwear (Valentine's day is coming up, it seems) and made it safely to the kitchenware section. After 20 minutes of looking, it seems that only crazy people want a single pot. The way to go is to buy a $400 12-piece set. I could feel the pent-up angst I've had building for a few days reach the point where I physically had to walk away from the section with my hands covering my mouth to stop me from ranting aloud.

I'm glad none of the helper monkeys there asked if I was looking for something, because I would have been terribly clear about what I was looking for: "Say you are a girl living alone. Say you want to make spaghetti. What would you use? Maybe something called a pot? Say you have pans and cookie sheets and don't want to spend $400 on yet more pans and cookie sheets. Say you are in this particular store right now looking for a single spaghetti pot. Oh store helper monkey, tell me: WHERE ARE YOUR POTS?!"

Like I said, I've had some crankiness building for a little bit. So that was my internal rant, physically held in by my hands over my mouth. I wandered over to the coffee section and was happy to see everything I was looking for. I filled my little basket with much coffee happiness, purchased my purchases and left as fast as I could. Yuppiness is contagious and my immune system is overloaded. If I come down with a case of Abercrombie & Fitch, I'll need someone to slap me until I submit. Wuf. Creepy.

An Erinku:
bowl chair of tipping
I'll sit here
watching chick flicks
until I feel better

One step back, two to the front

Lately, I've been dealing with the whole resentment thing. I won't forget and am struggling with forgiving. It's still too much fun to imagine several series of bizarre, increasingly humiliating events happening, like a hungry T-Rex parachuting in on some random Wednesday or the wild daydream of hiring ninjas to steal cookies while smacking heads around. So I imagine evil scenes and I write in my "anger" journal, which will be used as kindling the next time I go camping. I know who the most selfish people in the world are, and I will not be making them cookies any time soon. Pbbbt.

Right. Enough of the emo. I am Erin, I am starting to stare down the beginning of my 33rd year, and I am the maker of a variety of awesome foods this weekend. I sometimes kick ass at cello and am routinely found in my bathtub reading Jane Austen while listening to indie rock when I should be listening to some high-brow classical stuff. I drink too many espresso shots and have a monstrous crush on David Boreanaz. I sometimes enjoy sneezing and always enjoy short sentences.

Moral of today's story: piss me off and you won't get any cookies.

An Erinku:
I have
five glow-in-the-dark
bracelets.
I just need a reason...

Hyperbole, because all the cool kids are doing it.

One portion of my classes this quarter meets on Saturday mornings. This portion consists of approximately 75-1200 little children running around with miniature cellos, violins, and violas. There is usually a point where all 1500 children (and parents) gather and watch a music recital. At any given time, there is someone falling down the stairs, two meltdowns in progress, and 423 whispered conversations.

This is all a bit creepy to me for a variety of reasons. I also don't have children of my own, and considering most of the kids are under 10, I could take any one of them and pass them off as my own child very feasibly. Yesterday's creepiness had to do with a lack of seating for the 5000 or so people in the room.

So. I propped myself up against a table covered with other grad students (I prefer to travel in grad-student-clumps in case the miniature people get restless). I choose to lean against the table because wondering aloud how many grad students can one table support just sounds like the beginning of a disappointing joke.

Right. I leaned. And I suddenly felt a repeated butt tapping. I looked over and some little, little girl was climbing up on the table too. She was excited her teacher was on the table and wanted to sit by her. So I watched the recital, had my butt tapped, and was enjoying my leaning as much as I could without having any more coffee.

And then the little, little girl sneezed. Many visions went through my head. All of them involving the airspeed velocity of contagious children. Luckily, her dad took her outside to wipe her nose (ew!).

I don't have (and never had) any interest in being a teacher for small children. If I want strange children sneezing on me, I would have my own. If I had a time machine, I would go back to Disneyland and wrap that little boy who sneezed in my face in a HazMat suit and turn him over to the government, because I'm convinced he passed along most of the world's diseases to me with that single, disgusting sneeze.

I've also considered the possibility that he wasn't an actual little boy, but was merely a construction of cardboard and plastic used by his mad scientist father to pass along interesting concoctions of illnesses to those who walked by. I'm concerned that I've slept 15 hours in a row and feel a touch feverish, which is how I spent a lot of December. Possible relapses make for interesting conspiracy theories.

An Erinku (in a waking up haze):
my eyelid twitches
I assume it's
Morse Code for:
Stop. Coffee Time.

My laptop is wily but still can't connect to L.A. airport's internet. Alas.

2010 has been a year of...stuff and things. I've had a lot of adventures, starting with the great “I'll fly stand-by to get home from Oregon on New Year's” idea last January, which had me visiting all sorts of cities on the west coast before ending up in Reno where my mom bought me a ticket home. February's highlight was my epic face-plant while chasing after a bus, which is still funny to think about.

March was about my annual birthday festivities, which involved losing my phone for a week, unexpected snow days, spring break, and getting my wee laptop as a present, which has been my little buddy for over nines months now. April was about big drama at the day-job (phone-in threats), going to a grown-up parties and keggers, and getting comfortable with my deep love of plastic cheese.

May was all angsty as I was in the final stretch of school year and was very excited for what would turn out to be my summer “break.” Compounding the angsty-ness was the big move into my first apartment on my own. Good-bye Hobbit Hole, hello to The Vault! In June, I managed to save the day by an emergency American Cheese shopping trip for the all-school cook-out. June was also the month I continually went to a different small-town festivals and danced under tents to cheesy bands all while starting on my insane idea of taking three classes over the summer (in addition to weekly cello lessons).

July's highlight was Oswald the migrating avocado: an art installation on campus that weighed about 200 pounds and kept getting displayed in different areas, which had the unexpected result of startling me during my evening walks. This made him a very suspicious and ominous avocado of mysterious intent. I was also struggling with my incapacitating bath addiction and, while soaking in the tub, I would think about the many reasons why I should shower instead. I'm down to maybe two baths a week now, but am willing to take more when feeling sick, stressy, cranky, or on Thursdays.

August was overshadowed by finals and the horror that the school year would be officially starting again in a few short weeks, I was still taking summer cello lessons on top of my three other classes, and starting to cut crappy “friends” out of my life. The horror of the school year starting intensified throughout the month. I also chose to celebrate Bubbles' 10-year birthday with a little cupcake (which I ate) and a lit candle (which I blew out instead of dunking in his water) and by singing out-of-tune. I'll pretend the out-of-tune part was on purpose. I'm not the best singer.

September started off with a bang and my insane project of writing a short book over Labor Day weekend, which is still being revised and expanded. “'Patience is a virtue', says the bunny,” says my family. And then school started with a speed that made my eyes water and made me look like I had permanent bed-head. I started my cult classes, lost entire weekends, and developed a very definite opinion about music education over the course of the quarter. October was much the same with cult classes and lost weekends. However, I finally got my very own minion at the day-job and went to Halloween parties all over Colorado.

November had the flavor of panic about finals, my car having leprosy problems with losing bits and pieces when I touched them, round #2 of cutting crappy “friends” out of my life, and going to Disneyland for Thanksgiving! From November 26th to about December 20th, I was dealing with being seriously ill. Sleep was my #1 priority and sickness my #1 complaint. I lost many days of my life in fevers and sleeping, and was suspiciously zombie-like the rest of the time.

The rest of December has been FANTASTIC! I'm up and moving around, I've been playing a lot in Reno, and I've finally gotten better enough to practice cello regularly...much to my teacher's soon-to-be happiness and his to-be unhappiness that I'm not further along in my assignments. Also, I'm now officially halfway through my degree!

I sometimes like to have an overview of my year, since I live the day-to-day adventures and forget there are larger chunks of time I could look at. Overall, 2010 was all right. I've learned that:

1. When needed, I can take care of myself. I needed help with the whole “getting my own apartment for the very first time thing” (thanks again, Mom!) and I would have enjoyed a housemate to make soup and buy kleenex when I was sick, but then I'd have to share my bathtub rights, so it all works out.

2. While there is a mix of good and bad in everyone, sometimes the ratio is tilted too much for me to enjoy. Friends are people who care about each other, who are supportive and wonderful and don't judge your looks on an after-wine cry-fest. They don't gossip or back-stab and they DON'T enjoy causing you pain (but may make fun of you once you're feeling better). I am grateful for the friends I have. We are equally fine with doing self-invites for cookies/company with each other, boo-hooing over beer, or harassing each other to come to concerts or whatever event is going on. At least I think they are fine with all that. I'd better save karaoke night until I'm sure.

3. The people in row 18 thought it would be a good idea to bring a plastic truck on the plane for their kid to enjoy. During our ascent, the truck first rolled back to row 19, then to row 23, and finally again to 20 before stopping. Not all ideas are good ideas on take-off.

4. The world is more beautiful than I usually realize. Every now and I then I need to take a break and notice. And sometimes you notice a plastic truck slowly rolls by and bonks into the beverage cart.

5. The old, happy me is surfacing after a few years on sabbatical. And I have a minion now. Beware: world domination looms.

6. Kids on a leash are funny every time.

Dear 2011, I have a LOT of school to get through during the next 18 months. Please let the next 12 be fairly easy and full of good goodness! I know I've got at least two international trips planned, as well as attending one big party in Las Vegas. Bubbles will be 11 and Beethoven will still be dead, de-composing (har, har, har) unless the zombie apocalypse happens. If it does, then I'd like to ask for an IKEA to open up in Denver to distract Beethoven, because according to Christopher Moore, zombies like IKEA second only to eating brains. And on that random tangent, I consider 2010 to be done.

An Erinku:
A baby bottle from row 18
has been stopped
by my right foot
woo-hoo plane rides!