the theme of the day must be bugs

Unfortunately, I've already moved all of my plants outside, I've taken everything off the counter where the gnats like to hang out, cleaned that area thoroughly, cleaned the toaster oven as well as under it (and all I have to say about that is EW), sprayed bug spray in all the little crevices between the wall and the counter (what is the deal with apartments and the lack of proper fits?) and cleaned out my drains pretty damn well. The last option, which might seem a little obvious, is the leak under my kitchen sink that has left the whole underside of that cabinet damp. I called the apartment office and told them about it, so let's hope it gets fixed in the next couple of days and that's the end of the GODDAMN GNATS. If not? Flypaper baby. It's come down to class vs. aggravation. Aggravation is winning.

And if I start reporting weird symptoms like a fever, rash, third arm? I was so annoyed this morning by the number of gnats hanging out on my coffee canister (which is sealed - there are no gnats IN the coffee. Trust me, I checked.) that I spritzed the canister with bug spray. I'll let y'all know if anything major changes, like the number of eyes sprouting from my face.

Soon, like in the next couple of weeks, I need to start cleaning out my house - getting rid of clothes, plastic crap, paper paper paper that accumulates - all that shit? Gotta go. Because sometime in the next month or two, I'm gonna have two full-sized boys living in my apartment. While I'm thrilled shitless that Jef will be here full time soon, I'm a little worried that the 5* of us in this aparment for too long will lead me to completely lose my shit.

*5, yes 5. I know, this isn't really a footnote, bite me. For the last couple of months, we've had one of kiddo's friends staying with us. She's a good kid and her family is....I don't know. There are difficulties logistical, financial and teenagerial going on. So she's here for a while. I always have extra kids during the summer**, so that's not a big deal. But I've let it be known that this can't continue next school year.

Anyhoodles, for a while, there may be 5. That's me, two teenage girls and two full-grown men. And 6 cats. In a fairly packed slightly less than 1,000 square foot apartment. It should be interesting.

Of course, Jef thinks everything will go swimmingly. I have my doubts, because I am, to put it bluntly, a righteous pain in the ass when I don't have a sufficient amount of alone time. But y'know...we'll see. Maybe I'll exceed my own expectations and act like a human being instead of a spoiled grumpy hermit.

Anybody want to come help me clean out my house? I pay in home cooking, cat hair and wine. C'mooooon, it builds character.



**Ok, this is a footnote. I don't know if y'all did this or if the teenagers in your area do this, and I think it's more pronounced with girls than boys. In the summer, groups of teenage girls turn into giggly, tan locusts. The come to a house, invade the pool, eat all the food, use all the toilet paper and then leave, only to move on to another hapless victim. After a few days, enough time for the host adult to restock, they come back and repeat the cycle. On the one hand, I don't mind having a group of teenagers in my house because it can be kind of fun. On the other hand, after about 4 days and not getting to eat any of the cheese? I'm ready to pack them in a big twitchy box and ship them off to Aruba.

yes, I talk about my boobs

For Jane

I'm finishing this entry the next day. Work with me here.

For some strange reason, the Maxim Hot 100 is on my TV right now. It's really motivating. Whether it's motivating me to get up and run in the morning or just give the fuck up and make sloth a true profession rather than a hobby is a whole other question. I just need somebody to tell me that Beyonce has stress breakouts, Megan Fox has an IQ of 52 and Jessica Simpson wears a girdle. I'm feeling Mean Girls right now, somebody help me out.

Somebody also help me remember to mail back my damn Netflix. The whole reason I signed up with them was because the no late fee thing, but I think I might be stretching that just a bit at this point. There's probably somebody out there waiting for Bill Hicks to come back in and I just don't need that kind of stress right now.*

I'd also like somebody to come over and help me get rid of the gnats in my house. Yes, I leave my house open when it's not stupid hot outside, but I've never had a problem with these damn gnats. I clean my kitchen every night, I take out my trash regularly, I'm a clutterbug but I'm not a nasty slob, yet I have this cloud of gnats. Please, help before I resort to hanging those little fly strips all over my house like some kind of Goddamn white trash Christmas garland.

While we're on the subject of me, me, me, could somebody please help me figure out a way to remember all my shit in the morning? I could put a big dry-erase board on the back of my door, but unless I update it every night (rather than leaving a standing list on it) I will eventually start ignoring it. I can hear you say "well, dumbass, update it every night." Trust me, I'd do it for about 2 weeks and then? Start forgetting. Honestly, I fully expect Jef to get a phone call one day, "Mr. Sexy? Yes, we have your wife down here at the police station. Well, sir...it appears she forgot to wear pants."

I forgot my laptop this morning. My laptop - my WORK machine. Bah. Stupid brain.

And finally, I need someone to give me a way to make my boobs stop itching. I have to wear an underwire bra, otherwise I'd have a giant monoboob and Jane would stop talking to me altogether. And I don't know if y'all know this, but in Texas? In the summer? It gets hot. Motherfuckin' hot. Underwire bra + 100 degree heat = gross sweaty underboob, which then translates into itchiness. I've tried baby powder - that seems to make it worse. I've tried lotion - eh. I wear cotton as much as possible, but when you're dealing with the giant tits, you take what you can get. "Oh, burlap..and it's the only one in my size. Well okey-dokey then."

Anyway...yes, it's gross. But I can't spend another summer covertly clawing at the underside of my boobs. Help a sister out.

So yeah, that's it. I have NEEDS, people.

*Next morning and the Netflix are still on my coffee table, safely sealed up in their jaunty red envelopes.

Never-ending birthday

Back on the 9th, I had a co-worker ask me what The Boy was getting me for my birthday. Whent I answered "Uh....I don't know...he's gotta work and I'm staying in Austin this weekend...??" she looked kind of shocked, as if he was supposed to fling himself down I-35 and toss diamonds at me, regardless of things like jobs, bank accounts and the time-space continuum.

But now, I can give her an answer. I got an incredibly cool hard-side Samsonite suitcase in dark blue (I love that damn stuff), I got a tune-up on my car and I got drunk. And later? I'm getting laid.

So y'know? My birthday just doesn't fucking end. By the way, I'm typing this one-eyed from Jef's computer in Dallas. Gotta go. Y'all behave.

anywhere but here

I had a really great birthday yesterday. (Yes, it was my birthday. Hi! Why thank you, yes, it was wonderful.) I got the first part of my amazon loot (purchased with a $100 gift certificate from the grandmother) and I got taken out to lunch by WorkBuddy and another co-worker brought me a little pot of red gerberas (my favorite! How did you know? No, really.) and then WorkBuddy and I went out for Mexican martinis after work. I finished the night with a slice of leftover strawberry shortcake. Quite nice.

Since my birthday is in May, I use it as a kind of mid-year review. New Year's, I sit back and wonder, "dude, what the fuck did I DO this year?" In May, I tend to think of it more as, "wow, another year older...have I learned anything at all?"

The answer this year seems to be no.

Oh, I'm sure I've picked up some sort of wisdom just from walking through the world for another 365 (366? this was a leap year, right?) days, things like hey, don't walk across the liquor store parking lot on your from the bus stop on Monday morning, because there will be puke. And things like stop, just stop buying string cheese if you have teenagers in your house, because you will never get to eat any of it. Resistance is futile.

But I haven't learned anything useful. I haven't picked up any new skills, I haven't learned any languages or even how to cook anything new and nifty. Well, OK, that last part isn't entirely true, because I finally got around to making that cream of chicken/soup/rice casserole that every mom makes. Add a little onion, worchestire and garlic, top with cheese? Good shit, man.

I haven't written a book. (Well, Laura, do you WANT to write a book? Shut up.) I haven't finished any knitting projects, I haven't lost weight, I haven't even taken any pictures of anything. I have just sort of drifted from age 36 to 37 and I fucking hate it.

Ok, Ok...I...um. I planted some tomato plants!! And I actually have one, little teeny green tomato growing now.

I started taking the bus, which means I've done a lot more reading; I finally read To Kill a Mockingbird. My, what a lovely book.*

The bus has been really great. Obviously, I'm not having to (as frequently) feed my car the liquid gold that has obviously replaced the boring old dinosaur juice that gas stations used to sell. Also, in the morning and in the afternoon I get an uninterrupted hour of reading time - in the morning I have a nice little 20 minute walk with multiple coffee opportunities between my stop and work. I've been getting to work in a good mood every day (um, no guarantees on the quality of my mood once I've been here for an hour) and in the afternoon, I don't get home exhausted and in need of a fishbowl of wine and a nap before I can consider cooking dinner. Just a regular glass will do.

Which leads me to wonder a couple of things. 1)If this is what Austin traffic does to a person, what are people like in cities with truly disgusting traffic, like Dallas and L.A. and Congestionville, USA? Ick. And 2)it's just Austin traffic, which as I just said is not really that bad, comparatively speaking. So...am I just a big goddamn weinie. Nevermind, don't answer that.

Some random things that I found on the internet today, between various work-related tasks that, no matter how many I do, never seem to make a dent in my list. Perhaps because I spend the time between tasks looking for random tidbits instead of doing another task. Anyway:

From Esquire's list of 75 things every man should know how to do:

58. Avoid boredom. You have enough to eat. You can move. This must be acknowledged as a kind of freedom. You don't always have to buy things, put things in your mouth, or be delighted.

72. Stock an emergency bag for the car.
Blanket. Heavy flashlight. Hand warmers. Six bottles of water. Six packs of beef jerky. Atlas. Reflectors. Gloves. Socks. Bandages. Neosporin. Inhaler. Benadryl. Motrin. Hard candy. Telescoping magnet. Screwdriver. Channel-locks. Crescent wrench. Ski hat. Bandanna.

From Mighty Girls archives:

manque--unfulfilled or frustrated in the realization of one's ambitions or capabilities

somatize--to express psychological conflict through bodily symptoms

The more interest you take in your wardrobe, the more you’ll realize that caring too much about what people think can be the kiss of death.

On that last note, I think I'm going to stop at DSW on the way home (park and ride, baby, park and ride) and look for that pair of red converse low tops that for the past two weeks have seemed like the perfect thing to go with half of my wardrobe and still get me to work comfortably.

Ta.


*Obviously, the subject matter is not all that lovely, but it's beautifully written, so nyah.