A whole new world

Oh, boy, this is going to sound stupid. But that has never stopped me before! So I beat on, a boat against the current borne ceaselessly into my own dorkness.

Juliness of Fresh and Sassy (aka Sfrontato) wrote a comment on my last post that blew my mind.

I think it's wonderful that he was even comfortable enough to speak to you at all. Which tells me you are doing something very right.

It made me make the Scooby Doo noise (example below).


Reading that comment was akin to having the scales fall from my eyes. It was a real revelation.

I honestly just never, ever thought of the idea of being comfortable enough to speak to people or not. I mean, I know that there are autistic or mentally ill people who have a hard time communicating with others, but the idea of one adult being uncomfortable with approaching another just isn't in my genetic make up, and if it ever was, becoming a journalist drove it out completely.

A good 50 percent of the skill of being a journalist is the ability to walk up to anyone and start talking. But I pretty much do that anyway. My dad does it. My sisters do it. It just seems...normal...to me.

But this clears up a lot for me! Some people aren't comfortable talking to others! Wow! So when I start rambling to random strangers and they shoot me looks, it isn't necessarily that they are dicks or have rotten personalities. It is that they are UNCOMFORTABLE!

I swear I am not being sarcastic. This is a major breakthrough. I am just amazed. I feel like "Why didn't anyone tell me this before??"

Right thing at the right time

Goldie and I got the idea to go for a beach walk last night. She said it was depressing her to hang out at home with me and watch me write sad blog posts.

When we got out of the car, Goldie went into full tractor mode, dragging me forward (SO not like a Dog Whisperer show), because she knew what awaited.

The Bushes of Scurrying Rodents. There is this strip of landscaping that is full of little animals (I prefer not to think of them as rats). Goldie LOVES to hunt for squeaky little animals.

So as I wrangled the flexi-leash, trying to avoid tangles, she ran from bush to bush, jamming her head inside, seeking prey. I am sure we looked like maniacs, this leaping dog and this chunky woman jumping after her.

After 20 minutes or so, I called her off and her tongue was hanging to the ground. We headed for our usual second stop,this fountain where the water alternately squirts about 6 inches high, then gets higher, then goes away altogether.

The dog has it all figured out. When it is on low, she bites the water. When it is on high, she stands next to it and lets it splash her. And when it goes away, she flops down in the puddle, cooling off her tummy.

Most people ignore this. It is something that would make me laugh, but most passers-by act as if they don't even see it. But last night, there was a guy who LOVED Goldie's fountain show. He laughed and laughed and said "That's great."

"Thank you," he said. "I really needed that."

I felt so happy to be able part of cheering him up. I don't know why he needed it or what was going on, but his happiness made me happy, too. Sometimes - maybe always? - we are in the right place at the right time.

Still? Still.

Oh the Joys made me cry with her post about her grandmother's death and how angry it has made her. She was feeling bad about being angry at her grandma for leaving her so suddenly and horribly.

I haven't gotten angry at my sister for dying - no, not at her. Mad at the universe, yeah, of course - I mean, what a crap deal, taking away my best pal AND my sister and leaving me here in the soup for what, another 30 years?

I took that longevity test and it said I would live to 95. To which my response was: "Shit. I hope not."

I get through everything ok until it comes to Friday night.

During the week, there's work and all that other stuff that I feel like I HAVE to keep doing. On Saturday, I get busy right away with the gym and Farmer's Market and all the errands and activities of the weekend that take me right thru til Sunday night.

But Friday night seems to fall through the cracks. I am just tired enough and uninspired enough for the little wobbly fence I have built around my emotions to tumble down into a pile of sticks.

Most days I don't cry anymore. But I really, really miss my sis. I am so damn glad she doesn't have to live in a body where she was so trapped, and I know I will see her again. It just seems so far away, these dark Friday nights.

The Rules of NaBloPoMo

(My rules, anyway, inspired by the Fight Club rules. I don't know what Mrs. Kennedy's rules are).

1st RULE: You do not talk about NaBloPoMo.

2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about NaBloPoMo. I'm serious. After Nov. 1st, quit writing about it and just do it.

3rd RULE: No whining. If you whine, I will delete you from my Bloglines and Blogroll and crush your bones in my teeth. This isn't brain surgery. It is a blog post a day for a month, fer goodnesssake.

4th RULE: It doesn't have to be brilliant. Write a stupid post already. Literally a stupid post. It wouldn't be the first time somebody ever wrote a crap blog post. If you need reassurance, just read my archives. Do not be afraid. There are no NaBloPoMo referees.

5th RULE: Only one post a day, that's all you need. See Rule #3.

6th RULE: No recycling old posts. No one likes a cheater.

7th RULE: If you miss a day, bow out gracefully. Or keep going and don't mention it.

8th RULE: This was your idea. So just do it already. It's spozed to be FUN! GO!

Princess Dog

Conversation

"Goldie ate a whole can of food today," Mom told me this afternoon.
"Great," I said, because Goldie is as picky as a fussy toddler when it comes to food.
"I discovered something," said Mom.
"What?"
"She likes to eat out of your hand," Mom said.
Nasty, gooey, stank-ass dog food, out of the palm of her hand.
"Moooooooom! I am SO not doing that," I said. "And I wish you wouldn't, either."
-Pause-
"I am NOT spoiling her," Mom said.
Dad and I looked at each other and snorted.
"I'm NOT!" she said, petulantly.
Look. Snort.
"She just has that long nose and she doesn't like to get it down in her food," said Mom.
"I'm not doing it, Mom," I said. "She's a DOG!"
Mom clamped her lips shut.

Yes, people. I have a dog that rivals any of Paris Hilton's purse dogs on the spoiled scale, but she weighs 65 lbs instead of 3. Next stop: sweater vests. Big ones.

What I Was For Halloween

Kevins Party Sue Bob.jpg
Originally uploaded by sayruok1

My brilliant idea for a party where there were going to be a lot of bloggers was to be a troll.

I basically tried to look as stupid as possible, including the bolt through my head and the "W for President 04" t-shirt.

Then I walked around saying "I hate your blog. It's so stupid. Why do you write that thing anyway? I read it every day, and it's always stupid."

Photo by LA Daddy. All rights reserved.

Red Sox Did What?

DO NOT WANT!

Recovery Period

Late last night, I wrote a lovely, thoughtful and link-filled post that Blogger ate.

It was about the fabulous Halloween party that Kevin Charnas and Will threw.

By "fabulous" I don't mean that we had a lot of fun standing around a driveway and drinking beers while eating cheetos.

I mean Walt Disney fabulous. I mean creepy haunted 3-D technicolor fun fabulous. Just as a frinstance - Will MADE a life-sized funeral carriage, complete with haunted casket and skeletal driver.

Other pieces of fabulousness include seeing Kelly of West Coast Grrlie Blather who already feels like an old friend, and my favorite creative couple, LeahPeah and Joe.

The only not-fabulous thing was that I was so eager to get to the party that I forgot my camera. When photos start appearing on flickr, I will link up.

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My first duty this morning was to fry up a batch of chapulines for our Day of the Dead celebration at church. Believe me, nothing caps an evening of costumed drinking and dancing better than frying up a mess of grasshoppers at sunrise.



People at church were pretty brave. We had some real fans of the little hoppers because they were from Mexico, where they had eaten them all the time. Like they say, it's all what you grow up with. I finally broke down and tried one, abandoning my tried and true "But I'm a vegetarian" objection.

How do they taste? Like chile-lime potato chips, but with tiny legs. Hee hee.

One woman complained because I had prepared them with chiles and she can't eat spicy food. That is a complaint I truly never anticipated hearing - my grasshoppers were not to someone's liking. Ah well. Can't please everyone.

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I FINALLY posted something new over at my food blog, Snackish. It is slightly more appealing than chapulines: Swiss chard and tomato casserole.