I am breaking up with 2008.

Goodbye. You've been a real bastard and I will not be looking back. Don't let the door hit you and all that. There will be no booty calling, no drunk dialing, and no rose-colored reminiscing.

Kiss my ass,
love,
Kristin

Looking for Mr. Tumnus...

As we are still being bombarded with endless snow and snow warnings and more snow predicted and there is a freaking FOOT of snow in my backyard, I begin to wonder. Always Winter, never Christmas?

If I could find the damned White Witch, I'd kick that biotch's ass RIGHT NOW, I tell you.

Stoopid Nature, stoopid sparkly pretty snow, covering the city with beautifulness and holiday charm, making it look all clean and pretty. Meanwhile, getting all up in mah grill, messin' wit mah plans.

Le sigh.

I am supposed to be whisked away on a romantic getaway RIGHT NOW. Drinking wine and gazing at the ocean right outside my oceanside cabin window, lolling around in my nightie.

But nooooooooooooooooo.

Instead, here I sit. And my friend sits, across town, snowed in in his own house.

PLUS! The special secret surprise I worked out for my daughter sits on the other side of Lake Washington, and I can't get to it. What if I can't get to it before Christmas Eve?! It's a really really great surprise, and really, the main event of the holiday. I am so screwed.

On the upside, my house is cleaner than it's been , probably since I moved in.

Grrrrrrr.

In Today's Episode of Karmic Retribution,

I totally wiped out on the way to teach my knitting classes.

On the city sidewalk. I tripped over the sidewalk, people. Dig it. I blame the trees. The trees and Phyllis.

The trees had grown roots, the roots pushed up the edge of the sidewalk, and Phyllis drive by. Gazing at her and wondering whether I could flag her down and bum a ride, I hit the edge of the sidewalk with my toe, and I bit the dust. Since I had already called in late, I was hurrying and therefore hit the pavement with both hands and both knees, full force. Well, my right knee took quite a bit more of the full force than the rest, but you get it.

My immediate concern, of course, was to not look like a fool in front of the many (MANY!) passersby, so I leapt up instantly and pretended to be fine. Which was kind of hard to do, what with the spurting blood and inability to walk.

That's what I get for laughing whenever someone falls down.

So I hobbled to the nearest restaurant, 20 feet away, which was closed. As was the next one, and the hair salon. Stupid pretend-Village-in the-middle-of-the-big-City and its stupid quaint closed-on-Mondays affection.

But the bar! The blessed bar was open.I hobbled in trying to hold my skirt out away from my legs so as to not smear the blood further (read:impossible), yet not up high enough for anyone to be able to see my doughy, unshaven, bloody legs (read: pipe dream). Ah, the dignity.

Y'all, I wished I had a camera so bad. Not just to record the gore, either. I don't know if there are words to describe the filthy, horrifying "First Aid Kit" that came out of the back of that bar. Seriously? When I dug around and pulled out the neosporin? Some kind of brown mystery liquid DRIPPED OFF IT AND LANDED IN MY WOUND.

I may die. I wiped everything I could get my hands on down with sterile wipes, called in sick to class, and ordered a drink.

5 Things

I moved to Madison, Wisconsin, in January of 1998. Two weeks before the Packers won the Superbowl. Which is not germane to this post.

While I was there I did a workshop called The Artist's Way, based on the book by Julia Cameron, bless her all to pieces. Anyway during this time I got into the habit of coming with every day with 5 things I am grateful for.

Here is today's list:

the thingamajig that turns off my coffeemaker when I forget about it and leave the house, which is every day. I also have that function on my iron, curling iron, and flatiron, none of which I ever use. Still, they all make me feel slightly more assured that when I get home from work, home will still be there.

flush toilets. (I mark this one nearly every time. Imagine a world without flush toilets! Gross!)

my parents, who are there for me all the time, and in ways I probably don't even realize. They are watching my daughter for me today so I can work. Gawd I love my parents.

nectarine season.

stick-on back pain relief pads. I keep them in my wallet, the console of my car, my cubby at work, and in my backpack. The salonpas ones are the best, and the least expensive. Such a rare combo.

Random, I know. I could go on and on today, I'm feeling pretty grateful. I find that when I do this I feel more content all around.

R.I.P. George

I'm sitting here, at 11:47 on a Sunday night, having a drink. The death of George Carlin is so very sad to me. He was 71, yeah, but man, he was always there. He's been in my world for my whole life. I learned a lot of swear words from George, back in the days when I had to sneak back downstairs after my mom went to sleep, and watch Showtime with the sound turned way down low.

I've called a few friends, but no one is up this late, and so here I sit, honoring George by myself with a Mike's hard lime, watching him on Youtube. (Seriously? May Joe Pesci bless YouTube, for more reasons than just this. But I'll get to those later. Or maybe I won't. Who am I kidding? I'm barely a blogger.)

George Carlin still seemed so young to me, even as I was saying, "Damn, he looks so old..." He's only three years older than my mom. When did we all get so old?

***

On a lighter note, tomorrow I'll be participating in Monday Crafternoon, where I intend to create a loverly pair of Max-from-Where-the-Wild-Things-Are shrinky dink earrings. I am slightly obsessed lately with shrinky dinks. I made a Harold-from Harold-and-the Purple-Crayon necklace and a Wolverine (X-men! Duh!) Pendant.

But I wonder if I can't draw or google up a drawing of George Carlin. Hm.

brb.

But don't hold your breath.

edited to add:

OMG! Found it!

Holy Camoly!

this!

http://www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/archives/2008/05/20/in_which_rachel_h_and_i_hatch_a_plan.html

Is how I want to celebrate my birthday! My favorite blogger, who shares my birthday, AND Franklin?! Holy God. That would be so cool. Maybe I could ship my self UPS to Toronto. I bet I can fit into one of those big dog carriers.

All our bathtub water are brown.

:(

Looks like weak tea in there. So here I sit, flummoxed. It's not stinky, it's not coming out of the kitchen sink faucet. I called the landlord. Here I sit, stinky, with bedhead and morning face. I need to take the darling child to school. My back hurts. Oh, yeah, I got my period, too.

I suppose it's only a matter of time before I become so disgusting that the brown water is cleaner than I am.

Here I sit, waiting for that moment.

UPDATE! This just in, from the landlord. Apparently, someone called "they" must have just "stirred the mains." Huh. Which ultimately means that we should not run anything like the dishwasher or washing machines until we can get the water to run clean in the tub. So, after (over)watering all the plants, I am pouring gallons of water down the drain, looking for the clean. Yeesh.

p.s. still stinky.