Dotty Parker

hot dog yesterday, shivering dog today

Sprocket doesn't like thunder. She doesn't like it when she's alone, I presume, and there's nothing I can do to calm her. She's a bit frustrating, really. When I had my feet up on the couch, she was under my knees hiding. When I was sitting doing computer stuff, she sat behind me, leaning more and more against me the louder the thunder got.

She's a charmer, that little dog. And she sheds a lot, too. I made a scale model of her out of left over hair. It doesn't shiver, though.

destry rides again

Jimmy Stewart, one of my favorite favorites, is Destry in the movie Destry Rides Again. I like the movie. it's not perfect, but it's pretty darned good. And Jimmy Stewart is in it. And he has a marvelous couple of lines:

Kent: I'll start by telling you a have a...a very peculiar hobby.
Destry: Uh-huh. So have I...Mine's, uh, carving napkin rings. What's yours?

Kent's wasn't nearly as peculiar. He liked to be a bully.

The Bartender: Prunes everyday for breakfast, I don't mind. Torn sheets, I've got used to. But pants, I cannot swallow.

Somebody took his pants. What an odd way to say it.

Destry: What are my pants doing on your legs?
Boris: These are the legs of a Stavrogin of Bardicheff. Let your pants remain on them and earn their gratitude. Refuse, and take their curse.
Destry: I think I'll take both the curse and the pants.

Boris was the one who stole the bartender's pants.

Frenchy: I warned you
Destry: I still have the rabbit's foot
Frenchy: You're going to need it.
Destry: Is it a big, strong rabbit?

So of course she saves the day.

Gyp: Cheese. Cheese. Cheese for breakfast! Cheese for lunch! Tell my brother to stop sending me cheese! I ain't no mouse.
Boris: I tell him.

Boris is wonderful and so wants to make people happy. His English isn't perfect, though. He is also a silly man. And has many silly things to say.

Boris: Yes, mon commandant. I am a courier! Fast as a bolt of lightning! Silent as the night itself!

Boris: I am a mummy; I'm a sphinx. I don't answer questions.

Frenchy: Thirty bucks against your pants
Boris: My pants? Oh, no. Thirty bucks, huh? My pants. Thirty bucks...
Frenchy: Come on, maybe you've got me beat.
Boris: Aha! I've been waiting for you to tell me I've got you beat so I would think I have not got you beat, but I personally know I have got you beat with my two kinds against your lonely ace. Haven't I, Frency?
Frenchy: Thirty bucks against your pants.
Boris: Oh, what to do, what to do...
An entire scene goes by and Boris still hasn't decided.
Boris: Frenchy, have I got you beat?
Frenchy: Why don't you call me and find out.
Boris: I'll call. I'll bet my pants.
she has two aces
Boris: I was right! Why didn't I listen to myself?

Boris: Observe my brain in action! Now, where would I go if I were a dead body? Would I stay out in the open? No. No privacy....That's right. Would I go under the ground? No, there's no future in it!

hot dogs

I took the dogs for a walk today. I was actually taking myself for a walk today and thought that the dogs might like to come along.

It's hot. The mid 80s and a million percent humidity. It feels hotter than mid 80s. It did, anyway. It felt that way. Now the weather.com website says it's 77. That's still warm, but it's very sleepable. The humidity is 64%, though. So I won't need a blanket--I'll feel all covered up already!

So the dogs...I walked them along a path that was fairly shady, but to get to the path, we had to walk along the sunny pavement for maybe two blocks.

Spring and Sprocket were panting a bit, which they often do, as they're dogs, still I was a little surprised that, once I let them off their leashes, they didn't go racing along with their ears flapping in the breeze. They kind of loped along until I decided they were too pokey to go any farther. So we turned around. I think they were too hot to have fun.

Sprocket came right along, although quite slowly. Spring trekked ahead, unwilling to stop and wait once we reached the road. She just wanted to go home.

After Sprocket caught up with me and got Spring roped up, we started for home. Sprocket's energy level was dipping toward empty. Still, I thought, "Hey, we're all troupers! Let's make it home!'

And we did make it home. Spring gulped down water and then paced around and around looking up at me and wanting me to pet her. Sprocket had to wait her turn for the water, but then she gulped and slurped and lapped and drank water water water. Then she flopped down on the floor and her bug-eyes bugged out even more buggily than usual.

I felt bad for making them too hot. I apologized lots and lots although they didn't seem angry with me. Spring just needed to pace. I tried to get them to eat ice cubes, but they weren't interested.

I thought, perhaps for the first time in my life really meaning this though, that sweating is a lucky thing. Kind of gross, damp, and highly scented, but it works a lot faster than panting, and it doesn't make your eyes bug out so much.

robin hood!

I'm watching The Adventures of Robin Hood tonight. It's the one from 1938. There's Errol Flynn, Basil Rathbone, Claude Rains, and Olivia de Havilland. An all star cast!

The acting isn't so bad. Errol Flynn's hearty chuckle grows a bit tiresome, but he's still a fun guy. And if you've got to pick bad guys, the bad guys that Robin Hood battles might be the ones you want.

A guard is stopped by having water thrown in his face. Some of the baddies seem to fall down before they're even hurt. The good guys get to climb trees and listen to the minstrel sing. Robin Hood can drop from a rope, his two little feetsies about two meters up off the ground, and get up and go forward as if his knees don't hurt at all. He can ride a horse and the horse knows what he wants! He can get off the horse and tell it to ride somewhere and it will!

And the guards give up so easily. And the major weapon the big baddies have is outrage. So far, anyway. Perhaps they're keeping the big guns for later. I might do that, if I were them, just to keep those Hoodies guessing.

Free association: Robin Hood lives in Sherwood Forest. The Keebler Elves live in a forest. Robin Hood seems to always have enough food in his forest...do you think the Keebler Elves make food for him? Or are the Keebler Elves rich? And if so, does he rob them and give E. L. Fudge cookies to the poor?

Hm?

I must watch closely for the rest of this film. The Elves can surely not stay hidden forever! Mmmm, tasty cookies...

Maybe they just eat the Elves.

sleeptastic

I haven't been able to sleep very well in a few days, so I've been very tired. Tonight I got home after a tasty dinner and some intense conversation and flopped on the bed feeling teary and unhappy.

I woke up to the phone ringing. I looked at the clock. It said 8:14. I wondered why the hell anyone would be calling me so damned early in the day.

It took me quite some time to figure out that it was the same day I had gotten into bed and that it wasn't early at all.

Sleep like that can be a beautiful thing. It's disconcerting, but it feels very appropriate and very necessary. There's no guilt in sleep like that. There's no room. The bed's already full of me.

stub-yer-toe-a-licious

BellyRub called tonight just as I was putting away my sewing project. It had totally frustrated me and I was too angry to work on it and then, ***brrrrrrrrrrrrring!*** there was the phone.

It took us a few minutes to work up to our usual witty repartee. He was watching baseball and commenting on it. The comments were, of course, interjected without a warning. I'm also notoriously bad at understanding mumbles on the phone and in real life so I was getting frustrated. Until he said, "Coco Crisp."

I understand Cocoa Crisp.

I thought he was talking about the cereal, Cocoa Crisp, but no. He was talking about the center fielder for the Cleveland Indians.

Then he said, "If I said C.C. Sabathia, would you think it was a man or a disease?"

I thought it sounded like a dance. "Would you like to si si sabathia?"

So there was that: my baseball knowledge exhausted once I'd said, "It sounds like a dance, to me."

And the other story, from one mistake to another, from my eponymous dance interpretation (rather than interpretive dance) to a misdialed phone call BellyRub received at work. The number for his workplace is similar to one for a computer printer cartridge return and another for an airline. Sometimes he gets people trying to return their ink cartridges. Sometimes people want to book a flight for London. BellyRub can't do a thing about that. That isn't what his company does.

I'm betting that you understand what I'm saying. When you call a person, if you have the wrong number you can't have the same conversation you would have had with the person you meant to call, could you? You want a pizza, but you call your veterinarian instead. You're not going to get a pizza, and the vet will think you're annoying and cuckoo. No, of course you can't have the same conversation with a different person. It would be frustrating for all involved and that's not satisfactory.

The story that BellyRub told me, though, that was satisfactory.

A man called, my brother answered the phone with his company's name. The man said, "I want to know where I'm supposed to send my used ink cartridge."

"I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number."

"I dialed the number on the box. All I need is the address."

"As I said, sir, this isn't the number that you need to dial. I don't have that address."

"But if you'd just listen to me! I don't want you to do anything for me! I just need you to give me the address to send this thing back!"

"But sir, I don't have the address. This isn't the number to call to get that address. We aren't the same company. I think you'll want to check that phone number and try it again..."

"I dialed the right number! It's right here on the box! I dialed the right number! I need the address!"

"No, really, just try calling the number again..."

"I dialed the right number. All I want is the address!"

Then BellyRub took a stand.

"All right, sir. This is what I'm going to do. I'm going to hang up the phone. Then you dial the number on the box again real slow, and if I'm the one who picks up the phone, I'll have that address."

Yes. Just typing them made me laugh because I can hear BellyRub saying, "real slow" very slowly, indeed.

And then he made a new word for me: stubyertoealicious. That's the kind of walkway we have at our parents' house. Dr.Dad says, "Pick up your feet."

So practical.

bleep bloop bing bing bip blink

Went to a staff meeting tonight. There were a lot of corporate phrases going around. And a lot of corporatey interactions happening, too.

I don't like it.

I'm not a saleswoman. I figure if things are going to happen, they'll happen. Some things need coaxing. Buying stuff isn't in my book of things to be coerced about. I don't want it to go into my book.

Do you know that a salesperson is supposed to sell stuff to someone anyway because the buyer just needs to be asked to buy it? The buyer can say no a bunch of times, but until the buyer leaves the store, the asking asking asking is meant to continue.

A person is supposed to say, "just one more thing" and "let's do this". A step to a sale is to overcome objections.

I probably don't need to be outraged. This is how the world works. But I am outraged. I don't want to be spoken to as if I don't know what I want. When I don't know what I want I'll let the people know.

I'm embarrassed to be so close to this kind of thing. It makes me feel contaminated by a part of the world I try to avoid.

Perhaps it's a vaccination. That's probably the best way to look at it. A cootie shot.

your chariot awaits

I was driving down the road today and drove past something fascinating. Fascinating to me, anyway. I did not have my camera with me. I have a camera phone, but I haven't spent the time to figure out the gadgetry that would send such photos to a useable space. So there's my excuse.

What I saw, next to the garbage cans (it was garbage day) was a toy limousine. It was Barbie size, or maybe smaller. It was white with a pink interior. It had no glass in the windows. I think it was removed in a drive-by shooting.

The car was on the side of the road. Parked there, really. In front of apartment houses, a lone, toy car, waiting for no one, but hoping that, if things changed, its very own chauffer and its very own passengers would come to sit within it and keep it safe from the racing traffic. Poor little limo.

But a big limo? I've little pity for old limousines that seem to be spinning their wheels in the direction of decrepitude. Is this snobbishness? Possibly. But then again, should an item purchased for the purpose of being luxurious and extravagant be expected to age well? Not really. An extravagant home remains extravagant, but only continues to look that way when it is updated and maintained and altered. A car can't be altered--not easily. It will look like what it is, no matter what you do. It might look new and different, but you'll always be able to tell, "Hey, that was a limo under there!"

In college, one of our professors invited us to go to church with her. It was a big church and it was fancy because it was a Baptist church and almost all of the people who went there were (don't tell) black people. They dress up for events such as these. And take the fancy car, I guess.

At any rate, she picked up some of the class in her limo. And I'm a shrew. I thought, "But it's an old one. Why would you keep an old one? Just get a Lincoln Town Car or something. You look silly in an old limousine."

Happily, I don't have to worry about that. As has been pointed out to me by ChillyLily, this lack of being firmly planted in one kind of life affords many opportunities that will be exciting. And, even better, I won't be stuck with an old limousine.

what will that day be like?

I was brushing my teeth and I started thinking (always a bad sign). What kind of teeth would I have if I lived 150 or 200 years ago? Thinking of all the stuff they've done to my teeth, I'd probably have really weird teeth. I'd have a bit of an overbite. Some of my teeth are still baby teeth--there are no adult teeth up in my skull. And I've had cavities in my back teeth. I'd be buck-toothed and gap-toothed and have very stinky breath. Probably breath like Spring's. She's got really bad breath these days. She needs to stop eating those bagels with everything on them.

Then I started wondering about things like antibiotics. I've taken antibiotics. I had strep throat and whatever else people get and have to take antibiotics for. What if there weren't any of those? Would I be dead? Have lost a limb? Be toting along a wagon full of foul smelling items to keep the disease away?

And then there's behavior...I don't really want to think about those implications.

150 to 200 years ago, what would it have been like? When I was in high school, my neighbor during the summer was a huge historical romance fan. She said she'd like to go back to those days. Sigh, romance, hulking men with flowing hair, helpless but determined maidens...bleh. I suggested that it might not be all that great. I cited toiletries as inventions that are a great improvement over the past. Then there's toilet paper. And running water. Moving further up the body, how about food? Spoiled food has never been my cup of tea. I suppose spoiled tea wouldn't be my cup of tea either. But gross.

So 150 to 200 years ago...although it's possibly romantic to think of horseback riding and long dresses and being secretly educated in the ways of sneaking out of the house by the scullery maid, I think I'll stick with shampoo and showers inside and a refrigerator with tasty foods inside of it. Yum. Oh yeah...and I'll have some teeth, too.

sad little existential crisis

Some days feel a little sad for no particular reason. Today's been a little sad.

I couldn't sleep last night, so that might have something to do with it. Sleepiness can make a person cranky or punchy. I'd prefer punchy, but I got the slow version of cranky and just felt sad.

I had a class to teach this morning. I had two students come. The first was ten minutes early and didn't want to stay. I did a brief demo of what we'd do in class and she left after fifteen minutes. The other student was ten minutes late and had the wrong version of the software--everything is in a different place, the options are different, some options don't exist...I like to think that these things don't bother me. I like to think that I'm flexible and easy to work with. I appear to have a limit to my flexibility, however, and when that limit is reached, I'm significantly less easy to work with.

My student said to me that she recognized me, but when she saw me last I was much fatter. Then she told me I had a baby. She was thinking of someone else and it's kind of funny that people confuse me with BoPeep. Under thirty with long dark hair...we're all the same!

Ah whine whine. I could whine some more, there's always more, but I don't feel like it's accomplishing anything. There is no huge weight lifted from my shoulders. I feel no dark constraint removed from my heart. In fact, the more I think of writing this at all, the more I get closer to an existential quandary concerning the meaningfulness of any solitary activity whose results are intended to make an impact on others.

So at that point, I think of Sprocket snoring and gurgling. I think of Spring lying on her back with her paws flopped down. I think of the poison ivy that is once again trying to get me. Existential crisis averted with absurdity and itching.

Write that solution down for later. Absurdity and itching.

trashy at the kwikee mart

I was at the gas station putting fuel into my mobile air conditioning unit. Um, car. I had just taken the gas cap off when I heard a woman say to someone in her car, "I will kick your fucking ass." I couldn't tell if she meant it or not. I turned to look. There was a dog in the back seat, I thought she might be addressing it, but she was talking to a little girl. Little enough to still be in a car seat or booster seat or whatever it is. Yes, she was past toddler stage, but not past the stage where she had to remain strapped into the chair! She's not in a prime position to defend herself.

The lady then said, "Who are you to throw shit out of a car? We're at a gas station. You don't throw shit out of the car in a gas station!" Yes, that will teach the little lady some manners. No shit throwing at the gas station. Then she reached in and grabbed the kid's nose and said something that sounded to me like she realized she might have taken things too far but was unwilling to apologize...so she just pinched the kid's nose and kind of wiggled it around and then the kid started to cry.

Another woman in the front seat, who I suppose to be the child's mother (I've decided that the offending nose pincher is the grandmother) said, "Now don't you even start fake crying now. Don't you even start."

The grandmother said, "Oh, it's because I just pinched her nose."

The little girl was in the back doing the child's whiny-wail, which I would have done, too, "Leave me alone, ahhhhhhhhh!"

Holy cow. I was on the little girl's side. I felt a bit like one of those PTA moms who make faces when they don't approve of something. The PTA mom sees another mother, non-PTA of course, doing something she doesn't approve of, like giving the kid soda instead of juice or candy instead of fruit, and she makes a face like, "Well, I wouldn't do that. You're hurting your child. I wish you understood what you're doing."

I'm not sure my face had all those things written on it, but certainly some of those expressions were betrayed by my version of looking without looking like I'm looking. I turned my head away knowing that I would become more distressed. I looked at the other pumpers of petroleum and they seemed unconcerned. I'm concerned. I'm very, very concerned. And I'm so helpless when it comes to fixing things like that. And fixing isn't exactly the right word...

And they drove away. Mom, grandmom, dog, and kid. Grandmom was driving. She was opening a pack of menthol cigarettes.

It's not right! Not only does she offend my sensibilities when it comes to treating children and humans and dogs in a certain way, she robs the romance of cigarettes. Right there in the gas station. Who does she think she is, robbing tobacco romance in a gas station?! In truth, there isn't any romance about cigarettes sitting next to you or me. They smell bad and they make a person's nerves respond in unusual ways. But, there is something to be said for the sexy smokers in movies. I'm sure they smelled like ashtrays in real life, but on the screen, it's that hazy softness that takes the edge from reality, oh yes. That is good.

So there we could be, in a movie or in the cinematic version of our lives, with the filmy, sheer smoke curtain separating dreams from reality. There we might imagine ourselves on a clear night with only a sliver of moon, the smoke curling from our fingertips to the tips of the tree branches. The curls expand and relax and tangle until they escape to melt and disappear into a sky both welcoming and forgiving.

If I describe the world as cold, then there is a metaphorical advantage to having a lit cigarette. It might be an ember waiting to rekindle a lost love's fire. It might be the spark that will bring passion or invention or innovation. It might be a beacon, calling out quietly but persistently that someone is looking for you.

If I describe the world as the incoherent stream of information that I believe it is, then cigarettes are bad for you and they stink and allusions to metaphorical devices are intended to divert you from making a logical choice based on the authoritative and scientific studies that have been proven correct over and over again.

And what's the point of this? Well, it's that she takes it all away from me. There is no romance, no calm, pensive moments. She's driving around with a kid in the back smoking with the windows down and telling her that she'll kick the fucking shit out of her. And it's bad.

In a house I have carefully constructed using smoke as the walls between ideas, this woman has managed to break down the doors. She ignores the smoking lounge I created, full of black and white movie stars, glittering with lights from gems and knives, containing art deco ash trays that arch from the ground. She ignores the no smoking sign in the rest of the house. She even avoids the little alcove created for use in "I really need a cigarette" emergencies.

Nope. She smokes where she wants to and doesn't care that there are ways that make it okay for her to smoke, rooms for those times when it's okay, and then she's mean to a little girl...I need to put locks on my house. Maybe that's the answer to how to not feel helpless. Locks and not letting anyone smoke unless the world's in black and white.

not guilty!!!

Yeah, so Michael Jackson isn't guilty. How do you like that?!

If you go to the MSNBC news site, they have pictures of what he wore to each day of the trial. You can try this link. I don't know how long it will work...possibly fifteen minutes or so.

wacky jacky and his jackets and vests

I usually avoid news unless it's on the radio. When it's on tv or the web, I find that I like seeing the weird stuff. Do I read about the ongoing civil rights violations in Liberia? Nope. I look at Michael Jackson's nose as the years go by. And it does get smaller. It starts really early, though. Before "Thriller", even!

That Michael (do you think people call him Mike?), he's really hard to understand. When I was growing up, I thought a bunch of his lyrics were something other than what they were meant to be. Like in "Billie Jean" he sang, "Maybe I am the one, but the kid is not my son." At least I think that's what he sings. I didn't know what wasn't his son, though, since he sang, "khihid is not my son." Hm. What would one of those be? It sounds like a variety of yak, doesn't it? Or a baby goat from India.

but i'm a cheerleader

I watched But I'm a Cheerleader with BrilliantEditor tonight. It's very entertaining and possibly a movie you might like to see. It is not, however, a good movie.

It has Richard Moll, the guy named Bull from "Night Court", it has the chief of police from "CHiPs", there's the woman who plays Patty Lopresti in Analyze That, and RuPaul--they're all in it. They're all funny. But the movie, well, it's entertaining, but not good.

One truly delightful thing about it, though, is that it makes me remember, yet again, how happy I am to not be in school anymore. No more! The substitute teaching has made it clear, as well, but when the movie makes me feel like I want to fast forward over the typical adult/teenager interacting parts, I know know know that I don't want to be back in school.

No sir. No ma'am.

Am I going to feel like that about this time now when I'm fifty? Am I going to look back at my twenties and say, "No way I'd do that again"? You don't hear many people saying that. Nope. You surely don't. At least I don't. I'll start listening, though. Maybe I simply haven't been hearing them.

plenty a' nuttin! and nuttin's plenty for me.

This is entry number 501, since I've been using Movable Type. (Movable Type is the schmancy interface that lets me stick all my thoughts and nonsense up here.) Which means I've entered 500 other thoughts besides this one. And before I used Movable Type, I used Blogger. Blogger has many entries as well. I don't know how many. They currently live in limbo with the unbaptised children who are "without grievous personal sin, and are excluded from the beatific vision on account of original sin alone."

Those ideas were not, alas, baptised by Movable Type.

My point, however, and I do have one, is that I shock myself with my ability to be such a creative genius and write so much Pulitzer prize nominated material. Wow! Go me! Yeehaw! And I often think that I don't have anything to say.

So if I've got nothing to say, then nothing is p-lenty for me.

mommy needs fun, too!

I went out to dinner with BoPeep tonight. We laughed so hard and spend about two hours in the restaurant. How fancy is that?!

BoPeep's daughter is a month or two old. She's loud and she cries a lot. But BoPeep and Candoo love her so much that everything she does is funny and sweet to them. Even not funny and not sweet things.

Apparently the baby, tentatively named Swoopy, had times when she screams a lot and "flips out". That's how BoPeep describes it. In the story I heard, Candoo was holding her when she was having her extraordinary screaming session and looked down into her contorted, unhappy face and smiled, saying this:

Look at this angry baby! Oh, what an angry baby! Why are you so angry? Why? Oh, little angry baby. Who's an angry baby?

Then he cuddled her up and walked her around until she wasn't quite such an angry baby. BoPeep laughs now, too.

Still, she needs some time for herself. And she got some Dotty time. Who wouldn't want more of that?! (don't answer that, please)

She was telling me about a parenting magazine she was reading that talked about making sure that moms get some time away, some private mommy time. There were lots of examples of people slipping away for a few hours when no one was looking. Then there was an example of a woman who took a week's vacation from work, but didn't tell her husband. Every day she'd get up and get ready for work. Every day she wouldn't go to work, but would do something fun, insstead.

As interesting as that story is, I can't help thinking that there are going to be some other problems that will arise in that relationship. "Oh, I didn't tell you that I was actually going to the beach and reading? How did I forget? I was sure I told you...and did you pick up the parallel bars from the gym? I'm hoping to get my career as a gymnast going soon..."

Not necessarily a good thing. But definitely interesting.

And so, I was thrilled to be going to dinner with BoPeep and having some sanctioned mommy time all to myself while she got some Dotty time in exchange. Yes. A good night.

miss parker! miss parker!

I was a substitute teacher in the morning for high school students and in the afternoon for second grade students. As you might guess, these are two very different (v. v. different!) groups. The high school students were reasonably cooperative and did what they needed to do with only a small amount of prodding. The second graders were very sweet and kind and did what they were supposed to do, too.

For the second night in a row, though, I'm more on edge than usual. Closing doors bother me. Footsteps bother me. The stupid cars with the stupid stereos that make all that stupid noise...they bother me, too.

This is the second day in a row that I've had elementary school children in my day. I wonder if it has to do with them. I heard my last name used more times today and yesterday than I have in YEARS. "Miss Parker? Miss Parker? Miss Parker? Can I Miss Parker? Do you Miss Parker?"

And it isn't a thing like, "I need to go to the bathroom, Miss Parker." It's more like, "Miss Parker! Miss Parker! I saw a cartoon yesterday! And it was really funny! And it had an animal in it! And it did this thing!"

Perhaps being a child is like being an exclamation point all the time. Everything is so very important and it has to happen right away. But there must also be a question mark, too. "Miss Parker! Do you have kids? Are you married? Do you have brothers and sisters? Where do you live? Where did you grow up? How old are you? Where else do you teach? Are you new around here? What are your brothers' names?"

It's very cute, actually. I think it might wear down my ability to deal with random noises and annoyances, though.

Oh! And two kids got heat stroke! One nearly passed out in the hallway. The nurse said she's seen him in worse shape. One kid got sympathetic heat stroke and got to go to the nurse. About four more were also sympathetic heat stroke victims, but not quite as good at acting. Then about half of them had mysterious ailments that they wanted to have take them to the nurse. "My throat hurts really bad! (Cough cough cough) I've got the worst headache I've ever had--right here and here. My ankles hurt. I don't know what's wrong with them. It's been happening for three weeks. (developing a limp) I have to go to the nurse right now! I got rug burn three days ago and it stings! My band aid fell off and it hurt."

I'm a bit puzzled by most of these phenomena. I guess I'm mostly mystified that we all have to go through these stages of growing up in order to get grown up enough to not understand what it was like to be that way. And how is it that problems seemed so huge and yet the nurse was able to make it all better with an ice pack?

My roommate in college, TheGirlWithTheHair, had "two sizes fit all" advice from her mother:
1. Take a nap.
2. Let it soak.

If we add "3. Get an ice pack from the nurse" we should be in good shape.

This chicky is going to go let it soak and then take a nap. And maybe check in with the nurse and get some ice cubes, just to make it all okay.

All will be sweetness and light in the morning.

rage rage

Fourth graders are monsters. When I was substituting at an elementary school today, I had fourth graders. I had to get official teachers TWICE to come in and tell them to behave. I yelled at them so loudly at one point that they jumped and put their hands over their ears. I thank BellyRub for giving me the practice in screeching like a banshee. Otherwise I wouldn't be any good at it at all.

The principal called me to his office to apologize for their behavior. (The last time I was called to the principal's office was in third grade when I threw a piece of my sandwich. Our punishment was for the members of the food fight brigade to eat in the principal's conference room. I liked it in there. It didn't smell weird and it had nice chairs.)

Staff meetings bring monsters. I had a meeting tonight.One woman behaves like a fourth grader. "Oh! You mean like this?" or "Oh, this one time we had a customer who..." I wasn't as angry then as I am now, but she was annoying, even then.

I went to McDonald's to get an ice cream sundae. They make me happy. The woman who put the ice cream in the cup didn't know how to do it so there were big, huge gaps where there was no ice cream. I almost asked for more ice cream and less air, but I decided that I'd have sounded snippy. Maybe I should have asked. I thought that it probably wasn't worth it.

When I got home, I couldn't see the stairs. The ankle that I'd turned just about a week ago was re-injured when I couldn't see the last stair and I smooshed it in the dark.

These are all somewhat small things. Children who are impossible...I should expect that. A staff meeting that isn't full of geniuses...yes, I should know that, too. McDonald's food being less than perfect? Not really a shock. Not being able to see in the dark? Yep, I knew that, too.

Nevertheless, I have a scream welling up inside of me that would likely break windows and ear drums. I would like to be so in control of my emotions that I would never get angry like this. Nevertheless, adding these shenanigans together makes one big, ugly, messy macaroni salad of tomfoolery.

Bah.

oh. yeah. um, sorry.

Today I taught a sewing class. Only one person showed up. I like it when that happens because I actually get to interact with the person rather than just talking to a bunch of people who are hard to separate out into individual beings.

I was teaching this very sweet lady how to use her sewing machine and promising her that she couldn’t break it. She just couldn’t.

So I did it for her.

It’s always embarrassing when they find out that what I’d been saying to make them feel confident about their abilities (and it is really hard to break these machines) isn’t true. It is, indeed, very difficult to break the machine. If, however, you make a stupid mistake that you wouldn’t make at home because I wouldn’t be there to interrupt and confuse things, well, then you can break the machine.

All that really happened was that we stripped a screw. Is that what you call it? When you strip the part that accepts the screw? That’s the part we stripped. And it’s attached to the rest of the machine.

Ah well. By the end of the class, she was happy with me again. I’ll see her again next Monday. We’ll learn all kinds of glorious things. Oh! So glorious!

grrrrrrrr

I'm not sure why. No, I'm really not sure. But today I feel a little bit like this dog.

Perhaps it's the heat. I don't like dressing for warm weather. I like sweaters and long sleeves and long pants. Those don't match with warm weather, though.

I left home today to go to the grocery store. I wore clothes for the way it felt inside. By the time I got to the grocery store, though, I realized that it was a little bit too warm outside to wear the clothes that I'd chosen inside.

I went grocery shopping anyway, of course. I must have supplies so that I may spring into my spring-time/summer-time gear.

But it's hot, you know?

When I got home, I changed into a dress that's much cooler. Perhaps I will get more of those.

Oddly enough, though, I do like being warm. I like warm weather and I like sunshine. I need to change something, though. Maybe if I imagine that my sunglasses will cover me up the way sweaters do...yeah...my sweaterglasses...

making me laugh

I've rediscovered my ability to make myself laugh. Just from thinking about something silly from the past.

For example, I wrote here once about an email from BellyRub about how his dog Charly liked to play with socks that had meat in the toe. But BellyRub wrote something like, "Charly likes to play with socks that have treats in them. Especially meats."

For whatever reason, that he made meat plural still makes me laugh. So when I see the word "meats" it makes me smile and laugh to myself.

And then there's the story he told about the guy who was flirting with a woman on the bus. The fellow got up to leave and was trying to be cool, but the bus stopped suddenly so the guy ended up straddling the arm rest and feeling not as manly as he had before. The thing about this story is the way that BellyRub tells it. He shows it in slow motion and at the moment of impact he makes his lips flap in slow motion. The way Barney's on the Simpsons do when he belches. And that makes me laugh, too.

There was the time in chemistry class where the class switched its seating. There were five rows and we mirrored the seating chart so that the middle row stayed the same. When our teacher came in he said, "Andy, get back in your seat."

Andy looked innocently up at the teacher (and he was really good at that) and said, "But Tom's in my seat!"

The teacher said, "Tom..." pause pause, he was a slow thinker "what the hell..." pause pause and then an amused and exasperated, "get back in your seats!"

I think I like this one because I orchestrated it. And the way Andy said, "But Tom's in my seat!" Oh my. I'm laughing writing this. Happily, no one's listening...right?

virtuous toothbrush

I bought myself a new toothbrush a few days ago. I used it for the first time tonight.

Yow! Don't I feel good about myself?! Yes, I do. My dental hygiene is so vastly improved that I can hear my teeth singing, "Oh, Dotty! Such pretty teeth!"

Which reminds me...on Saturday I went to see my dad's family for a Memorial Day picnic. As they are wont to do, they started telling stories from their childhood. Their stories are usually pretty good and since all the siblings were together (we're usually missing one), we got some new ones.

My aunt was telling a story about how Grandma would go out to an event now and again. On such occasions, she'd wear lipstick. My aunt said, "I always thought she looked so pretty. Of course she had false teeth then, I guess this happened...so her teeth were kind of green. But I thought it looked so nice with her green teeth and her pretty red lips."

She laughed and I laughed and I thought, "Hey. Better get a toothbrush and some dental floss. And some red lipstick."