randomness cuz it's been a while

First, please read this piece on white privilege. Thanks to Angela for posting it to Facebook.

Amy been stressed.
Amy trying to do too much.
Amy no like.

S. and I went apple-picking on Friday afternoon and I've sworn we'll never go back on a Saturday again. Last year when we went there were 8 million--seriously--people with their 4 million children and you could barely move inside the store with all the cute little autumnal doo-dads. This year, no problem. Apples, cider, blueberry pie. Yummers.

The girls got new collars yesterday because their old ones were all faded and stinky. Wrigley got a new version of her old one because it suits her, and Belly got one with flowers on it. Because she's so femme.

Last night when the bases were loaded and Jason Marquis stepped up to bat, I said to S., he could totally hit a grand slam right now. And he did. And I am officially psychic.

I planned a bowling outing for my group of friends this past weekend and then had to call in sick because of a sore throat and a horrible headache. No fair.

I feel disconnected.

I'm overwhelmed very easily these days.

I'm still here

Remember the days when my going more than two days without blogging made me nervous? Like I had so much to report that I'd never get through it?

Them's were the days.

Now I go almost two weeks and I still wonder if I have anything to say.

Perhaps I've become more of an internal processer. I process things before I get a chance to sit and blog them, so by the time I have a chance to blog, there's nothing left to say.

My blog for the year 2008 will probably be summarized as: I'm still here. Not dead yet.

I completely missed the anniversary of my adopting Annabelle on May 30. Six years. But that was because S. and I were on our way to North Carolina for his dad's memorial service. S. gave a beautiful eulogy, lots of people got up and talked about what a terrific person Gerry was, and the service ended with Gerry & Janet's 14-year-old grandson singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Not a dry eye in the house. I was tempted to get up there and say something because I really did love S.'s dad and I actually feel sad to have only known him for a year and a half. But I knew I wouldn't be able to be even mildly coherent.

I've been watching the Cubs faithfully and boy, that takes up a lot of time. So I haven't been reading much, but on the drive back to Illinois, S. and I listened to the audio version of David Sheff's Beautiful Boy about his son's meth addiction. Fascinating stuff. It just blows my mind the stuff that meth'll do to a person, and I want to know more. I can see that easily becoming a mild obsession...I've already ordered a copy of Nic Sheff's Tweak.

S. and I installed a vinyl tile floor this weekend, with grout and everything. It looks fantastic. We're gonna do it in the kitchen, too, but we wanted to try a small space first: basement hallway, where if it turned out badly, nobody'd really notice.

And I'm writing. Some days it's torture, but I'm somehow getting through it.

random-osity

S. and I were like old people last night. Sitting home in the dark, hoping nobody would ring our doorbell and make Belly start barking. One downside to having and loving this big black beast: we don't get to see the little ghosts and goblins in their costumes.

Got up early yesterday to write. And I got 4 pages of an essay written. Happy about that.

Two more weeks until we get a whole week off.

Game night here on Saturday night. Please don't let Scully fart. Please don't let Scully fart. Pleeeeease. She can clear a room in 5 seconds flat.

boo!

S. and I have recently made a pact to stop spending money on stupid shit that only clutters up the house. But when we went to Target the other day and spent a few minutes in the Halloween aisle (always a bad idea, what with all that chocolate), and we got a glimpse of Trick or Tater, we could not resist. I shelled out the $5 for him happily. Here he is dressed up in one of his outfits, my favorite:

What can I say? I have a soft spot in my heart for any toys whose butt open up for storage. In his butt now are the parts to his other outfit: his pointy green ears, his red nose, his little trick or tater pumpkin bag. If you look real hard at this photo, you'll see that he's got his scary fang teeth on under that costume of his. And his eyes glow in the dark. He currently sits in our bay window, facing out, scaring all the children in the neighborhood. Schmoozin tells me that there's a store in Syracuse, A.C. Moore, that sells individual Potato Head parts. Oh, the fun we could have....

what I bought at Target today

That's Tar-jay, thank you.

1. Halloween oreos with the orange creme in the middle. There's more creme than in regular oreos--almost like double stuff.

2. New pillowcases for the 14,000 pillows S. sleeps with. He's covered in them when he sleeps, and the pillowcases he has on there now are as thin as parchment. Pretty new wine colored ones. Much better. Now he can suffocate in style.

3. New eye shadow--a whole bunch. I realized today as I was doing my make-up that I'd had my eye shadow compacts for oh, I don't know, 14 years.

4. Fun Halloween flashing buttons to wear just because. One's Frankie and one's a jack-o-lantern. Both have blinking red eyes. I told S. he could choose which he wanted and he didn't care, so I chose Frankie.

5. Tootsie rolls. Because they were right next to the blinking Halloween buttons.

6. Stride brand fruit flavored gum. It's like Fruit Stripe for grown-ups.

See? I told you I had nothing to write about. *sigh*

8 things you never knew about me

Nels tagged me, and I shall comply because I have nothing else to blog about, but I'm not following the rules. Why? Because it requires that you tag 8 people, and as Nels is already one of my four blog friends, I don't want to look too pathetic. So there will be no tagging from here. Sowwy.

1. My first illegal job, held at age 14, was washing dishes at a restaurant in the mall. I absolutely hated it. Everytime a rack full of really disgusting pots would roll back into the kitchen, I'd look around to see if anyone was watching and I'd throw away one or two of the worst ones. That job didn't last long--Hillary and I quit one night. We simply up and left because there was a party we wanted to go to and the dirty pots wouldn't quit.
2. I weighed 10 pounds, 14 ounces when I was born and my heart was beating way too fast. They had to move me from Holyoke, MA, to a hospital in Hartford, CT. I was on a drug for the heart for my first year of life.
3. I have the world's most refined parking karma. It rarely fails. It endlessly blows Wonka's mind.
4. I grew up in a house with cats and was afraid of dogs for most of my life, especially German Shepherds. The dog who turned me around lived in my landlord's house--I lived in the attic of a private home while I went to UMass Boston, and the sweet sweet Portuguese Waterdog came up to visit often. She brought me over to her side.
5. I have recurring nightmares of my teeth falling out.
6. When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a writer. Okay, not a writer but an author. I remember a middle-school teacher hearing this and telling me just how difficult such a thing would be.
7. I have a really hard time with clutter. You probably already knew this about me. I like things simple, clean, and in their place.
8. When I go shopping, I have two major weaknesses: earrings and sheets. I love new sheets. I don't buy the really really expensive ones, so that way I can have more variety. Thus, my linen closet is always cluttered. In this way, I am my mother.

welcome to the 20th century, Amy

Holy shit, my iPod is going to change my life. Took me a while to get here, but holy shitters batman. I bought one of those fancy little things that allows you to play the iPod in the car and have I mentioned that this is going to change my life? No more stupid commercials in the car! Only songs that I like! And how on god's green earth does that little teeny tuner thing work? It's like there's little aliens inside that are transferring the iPod songs to the car stereo.

Why has nobody told me about how easy this all is? I'm getting rid of a bunch of my CDs once I download them because so many of them have only one or two songs that I like. Buh-bye.

We all know how much I love to get rid of stuff. Poyhaps I'll even sell them. Yippee!

seatbelt saga

For at least a couple years now, the driver's seatbelt in my beloved 95 Geo Prizm has been tempermental, showing its sticky side most often in the summer months. I'll get into the car, reach for the belt, it'll stick, I'll swear, tug, tug, tug, it'll finally give, and I'll be on my way. This week it got real bad. I mean real. bad. On Monday I stopped by the car fix-it place and asked if I could borrow a man with really big muscles to tug on it for me. He came out, tugged and tugged and tugged, and finally got it.

"You're my hero."

"You're gonna need a new seatbelt."

"Yeah, but for now I'm in denial." I drive off, and struggle with the damn thing every time I get in the car. It gets so bad that if I've been successful in getting the seatbelt to work, when I get OUT of the car, I buckle it so that I'll be assured some give when I get back in the car. It didn't always work.

Two days later I stopped by said fix-it place again to make an appointment to have the seatbelt replaced. Estimate: $300. Sounds worse spelled out. Ahem. Three. hundred. dollars. For a seatbelt. Why? Because it's a 95 car, for one, they can't use used parts, two, and they only make so many of these for older cars. Supply and demand, as it were. The seatbelt itself was $217.50. Jeebus. Labor, about $55.

Last night, I had friends over and I'm telling this story.

Me: So I reasoned that if I got pulled over for not wearing the seatbelt, it'd probably be $100 ticket, so I may as well just bite the bullet and pay for it.

Sarah: Not to mention that you might be DEAD.

Me: I've told that story to many people and you're the first to say that. Huh. Three hundred dollars.....my life (here I'm doing the scale balancing gesture with my hands).

Later that night Sarah takes a photo of me from the side--a profile shot, as it were. NOT. PRETTY. She shows it to me and I beg her to delete it.

Me: That picture's enough to make me want to go get my money back for the seatbelt. I'll take my chances.

if you're happy and you're busy, clap your hands

Busy. Busy. Busy. With little things that take up too much time. Meetings and such, smack in the middle of the day.

S. and I went to a Pampered Chef party last night at his friends' house, and the thing I'm happiest about purchasing is a little mini-whipper, which cost me all of $3.00. We bought a couple other things--a big ol' pizza stone, for one--but I'm most excited about having a frothy coffee drink with my $3.00 kitchen gadget.

Oh, and goodbye to February. Shortest month, my ass. Snow, sleet, freezing rain, some more snow, and one or two doggie emergencies made this a verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry long month. Buh-bye.

I don't like the ends

of tomatoes

of bananas

of sliced bread

of sweet potatoes

of jars of sauce

of toes

But I DO like the ends of frosted cakes. Yummers.

kiss me, darling

This year is the 100th anniversary of the Hershey kiss. Dee-licious.

The post office is issuing a stamp in its honor. Sealed with a kiss, as it were.

Right after we graduated college, Keita and I set off on a three-week cross-country drive and our first stop was Hershey, PA, where the lampposts are shaped like kisses, alternating between wrapped and unwrapped.

And then when I was in my mid-twenties, I taught at the Milton Hershey school in Hershey, PA. Interesting story behind that school, info. on which can be found here. The best part of that job was, of course, the loads of free chocolate. But then there was the smell of chocolate in the air each morning as I set off on my daily walk. Driving by the Reese's factory, however, was not such a pleasant olfactory experience.

Ah, the good ol' days....

oh. my.

From January's Harper's Index:

Amount a Rhode Island man recieved in a settlement last year over his faulty penile implant: $400,000

Number of years he has had an erection: 10

here's one I've never heard before

The guy at the video store last night told me that I look like Toni Collette.

coworker: Oh, I love her. She's such a great actress.

me, to the original guy: I, on the other hand, am not.

coworker, looking at me: Yeah, I can totally see it.

Flattered, indeed. Not convinced, but flattered nonetheless.