Monday, November 27, 2006

two hours ago

I slapped my burrito and my general conference issue of the Ensign on the counter of Qdoba, and started taking off my jacket, when the man sitting to my left asked me what kind of a magazine is named after a flag. We talked the entire time we ate, and he even walked me back to my office. Before parting, I held out the magazine and asked him if he’d like to keep it. “No, thanks,” he said, “I’m good with what I got.” I told him I wasn’t trying to convert him, but since he took such an interest in different faiths perhaps he might enjoy reading about what I believe. He accepted the gift and thanked me.

Jeff is an engineer and studies shiatsu. He has family who were Quakers, Native American, and Catholic. He believes he has healing powers through working with his hands. He was interesting and engaging, and I liked hearing about his family history and his travels. But this wasn’t about making Jeff Mormon. This was about having an interesting conversation with a fellow human being, comparing our common experiences and sharing little life discoveries as we go. It was also a chance for me to share what I love, what has given me the most lasting happiness I’ve ever felt, and offer someone a chance to learn more about it if they wanted. That’s all it was, and that’s all it was supposed to be.

Also, on Friday I broke a filling eating Julie’s KAR-muhl popcorn. So sad.


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

it's just so haaarrrrd!

It’s time to get off the Diet Coke. It just is. And I’m not saying completely. I’m saying Diet Coke can no longer be my only beverage every waking hour.

I suppose it could be construed as a blessing, but the fact is my stomach hates me with an ardent passion. About three days ago, I actually started having sharp pains in my abdomen. Lately, every time I finish a glass, I feel ill. These are not good signs. Not good. This is impacting my enjoyment of the Diet Coke. It makes me feel a little wistful, I have to say. Gone are the days when I could drink a 40-ouncer and not feel a thing. I am way too young to be talking like this.

It is a known fact that my family carries an addict gene. I think most of my siblings dodged it; I did not. I have an addict gene that lives inside me, and she’s a nasty little thing. I’m not sure which of my ancestral lines I should thank for this: The Irish One, with their unhealthy passion for pints; the Scottish One, for their scandalous abuse of single malt whiskey; or the German One for their weakness in abstaining from totalitarian leadership - - also, copious amounts of beer.
Personally, Diet Coke is not the only substance I’ve allowed myself to become unhealthily attached to, and I say with shame it likely will not be the last. I know it won’t be, because there is still the matter of the Chocolate. I haven’t even begun to look into the depth of dysfunction embedded within that little habit. I can’t bring myself to go there just yet. Come on, people, it’s chocolate. Everybody’s doing it. Leave me alone. Chocolate was there when no one else was, so back it off cowboy.

But back to the Diet Coke. I imagine what I’ll need to do is abstain completely for the next week or so. Cleanse the innards. Then, at an appropriate time, I shall introduce the nectar of intestinal death slowly back into my beverage regime, careful not to imbibe more than 12 ounces per day. I shall place the Diet Coke on a diet. Small portions, moderate, controlled. Yes. I can do that. This way, maybe I’ll have a little stomach lining left for when the kids start hanging out with the potheads at school and telling me they need money for their next body piercing.

It’s easier than saying I can’t ever have it again. A little slack, please.


Wednesday, November 15, 2006

oh. oh my.

Mocking the mentally unbalanced, in my view, secures admittance into some or other circle of hell. It’s low, it’s mean, and it’s totally, and utterly, NOT what I am about to do. I relay facts as I see them unfold, then I make a few neutral, if not benign, personal observations thereof.

I’m sorry, but I have just never seen anything like this in my life, and you need to hear about it.

Today on Tremont street, I noticed a man hugging a lamppost with his arms. Also, feet. He was wrapped around this post as if he were about scale up the thing like a Polynesian on a palm tree. Aaand…as if that were not enough. He was kissing the lamp post. He was kissing the lamppost. Kissing. The lamppost.

When my eyes first skimmed over the scene, I thought maybe he was an electrician working on a phone pole. It was only after the double-take did I realize a) it’s not a phone pole; b) he’s not an electrician; and c) there is no practical or professional justification for kissing a lamppost anyway. Either the guy is on camera about to make some dough in exchange for human dignity, or he is really, really, confused.

Then, and I think this is the funniest part, he dismounts, takes one last look at his post, pauses, then without a word turns and walks away like nothing. Just continues on his way.

I stinkin’ love this town.


Monday, November 13, 2006

you shouldn't really

It's getting a little ridiculous now. This morning, my boss sent me these from Winston's. The President of the College had asked her to supervise an on-campus event. My boss was too busy to do it, so she handed it to me. "Overseeing" this event meant one meeting, about 12 phone calls with the event specialist we have in-house, a few emails, and then attending the actual event. In essence, I did virtually nothing. And yet, these lovely posies are now sitting handsomely on my desk. Who gets bosses like this?! I ask you!!


Wednesday, November 08, 2006 more photo

I stole this from my friend Julie's blog. I'm so happy there is one photograph that captures the total costume! I've got my hat, my Lawrence Welk album, and my feather duster. I'm talking with a "good Mormon housewife", Crystal. She's on baby 13. Crystal later busted some serious moves on the dance floor. I was almost afraid we'd have an accident. But everything turned out okay.

sucking the marrow with two straws

I really miss having good writing ideas. It would seem I’m trying to save it all for the play, which has yet to find its real direction. I got nothin' left for the blog. It isn’t like I’ve stopped thinking about stuff, or that comical life experiences have ceased to be. I just don’t seem to have the time to write them out the way I want to.

I can tell you I did find a very good deal on a plane ticket home for Christmas. Yay me.

This week’s practice is to, whenever possible, not answer my phone, not make plans, not write my play, not do my laundry. Wow…I really need to do laundry. When the freak am I going to do laundry? I shoulda done it last night.

Last night, I had this whole plan: Bake the second pan of chicken enchiladas I made over the weekend for dinners during the week; laundry; write; read the assigned play; crochet; go to bed. Here is what actually went down: found leftover KFC in the fridge; ate some of that; drank a liter of Diet Coke; laid on the couch for an infinity watching “Meet Joe Black” on AMC (I’d never seen it, and no one told me I’d pass my birth date before it was over); went to bed. So, some minor modifications to the original plan. I am thoroughly disgusted with myself.

Oh, and I ate like three of my pumpkin pecan chocolate chunk cookies (aka “P²C³ cookies”). I need to bake more. I’m down to about six.

Why does that girl in Meet Joe Black look like she’s ingesting teargas at every moment?

I’ve started taking a daily multivitamin. Today I took it with my chocolate peanut butter cookie breakfast, and washed it down with cocoa.

Caramel. This is a word used often at this time of year. Let’s review the correct pronunciation, shall we? It’s KAR-muhl. Not KERRA-mell. KAR-muhl. Say it with me. KAR-muhl. One more time, by yourselves. (Pause to listen.) That’s right, very good.

Finally, this next paragraph is for females only (who am I kidding here?): My uterus and I need to sit down and have a chat pronto. This whole situation is getting entirely out of hand. Uterus can pick whatever day of the month it chooses, but once that day is chosen…STICK WITH IT! That’s the deal. I don’t care what stress or other factors may cause delays, I have a life to live here. And I can’t constantly be worrying about the uterus and when I get my fun surprise. You feel me?

I think that’s it for now.


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

halloween in salem

Meet my posse. We went to Salem, MA for All Hallow's Eve this year. Mighty memorable.

We called our costumes The Walker Texas Ranger Television Series (There were 4 seasons in total.)

As you can see by this photograph, I was Season 3.

Here's us scoping out a mighty dangerous lookin' dumpster...

No Chuck Norris western t.v. series, as personified by four women wearing fake moustaches, would be complete without their token Boy Wonder. Meet Richard!

The original idea was that Richard would keep us safe from thugs throughout the evening. It took 15 minutes of being there to realize we'd be the ones protecting Richard for the duration of our stay in Salem.


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