Sunday, December 23, 2007

Snow, Back Home & Good To Go

I'm sitting at the most charming little Dunn Bros ever. The one up on 3rd & Washington, the two story one with all the brick. The snow is falling outside, the classical strains of violin play in the background, there are people in hats, in scarves, in snow boots, myself included. I'm just glad to be home. I'm glad it's snowing, I'm glad it's Christmas, and I'm glad I'm in a place I love again. Minneapolis.

I can't imagine my life, as the person I am now, back in Los Angeles, not even for one more day. I would love to say that the people I love are all here. But most of them have moved away. And even though there are still plenty of people I love in this town, I have never felt more alone. Maybe it's the holidays. Maybe it's the resonance of family drama still echoing in my soul, trying to convince me I'm not who I really am. Maybe it's the fact that I really am all alone. My MN family is all down in Iowa, seeing their family, forgetting to ask me to come see Grandpa's farm. Close friends have either all moved away or are traveling, and no one I know is around anymore. The friends I have who are here still forget about the single girl when the obligations of family/married life at the holidays come calling. (In all honesty, I can think of one friend, who is probably alone these few days, but at least he has Netflix & a few kids to keep him company.)

In even better news, the guy I'm crazy about (the UCE) is close but so far away. He's here in the cities, doing family stuff, but so busy with all that, that I do believe he has forgotten me, or maybe he's just ignoring me after the massive ass chewing I gave him recently when I found out he lied to me about something. I deserve his silence, I think. But if he keeps it up, he won't get his Christmas gift, and really, it's not every year some girl who thinks you're wonderful bakes you a giant cookie inside an ashtray shaped like a pistol (never used of course!)

I guess, today it's just me and the snow, and you know what? That's ok. I kind of like the snow. It tickles my face and is beautiful and white and when you're in it, it's completely silent. Yeah, I think I kind of like the snow, it has everything a man should be.

This may all sound like one huge complaint, but I swear, it's not. I'm past complaining about being alone. There are times, like today, when I can do whatever I want, and live life according my own schedule, that I rather like it. In all actuality, what sounds like a big complaint, is actually something of a Godsend right now. And what better season to be grateful for all things?

You want a complaint out of me? How about this? I got rear-ended yesterday, at the lightrail tracks on 42nd & Hiawatha, and was pushed onto the tracks. Talk about a scary experience. I'm feeling ok today, but I was exhausted, both mentally and physically last night. I was coming back from the park & ride, where I had left my car and decided to detour onto Hiawatha, in order to return some Redbox movies. And asI approached the light at H55 & 42nd, I noticed that the little white light that signals an approaching train was flashing, and I could hear the train coming closer in the distance. What I didn't notice, however, was the fact that the light itself was still green, and so I stopped, right there, at the green light. Soon, I saw another car approaching behind me, and as I watched in the rearview mirror, I saw that it was not stopping. I must have been in a fog, because I had no reactionary skills at that moment. Suddenly, Boom, the car slammed/plowed right into the back of me, pushing me out onto the tracks, where my little car stalled. In a panic, I looked up and saw that the signal was green, so I drove to the opposite corner of the intersection, where the car followed me. My already cracked bumper is now non-existant. I took his information, but really, am I going to call this guy's insurance over my little bumper? More than anything, I was scared out of my wits!! Welcome home Trinette.

Am I some sort of freaking drama magnet? Because at the moment, I felt like one!!! I know some people seem to think so, but honestly, I don't ask for this kind of stuff to happen. It just does!

Well, hopefully, today will be a thoroughly drama free day, as I do some housecleaning, wrap presents, watch a movie or two, and hit the hay early, in preparation for what a lovely Christmas Eve tomorrow will be. I can only hope it's still snowing. Because as I type this, my fingers moving, as my eyes focus on the falling white flakes outside, nothing would make me happier than my hometown being covered in snow, and experiencing a true White Christmas.

Merry Christmas everyone! In the words of one of my favorite old-timey Christmas songs "Love & Joy come to you, and a Merry Christmas too, and God bless you & send you a Happy New Year. May God send you a Happy New Year!"

Friday, December 07, 2007

A New Poll!

So, I guess this means I'm getting a cat. I don't really like cats much. But I like mice even less. Here are my thoughts on the cat thing:

Things I'm not looking forward to:
Cat hair on my clothes & furniture
Being categorized as a cat lover, a huge misconception
Cleaning the kitty litter box

Things that might be good about this cat:
It will keep the mice away, hopefully
It might keep the squirrels/rats/racoons/neighbors away
If I happen to need some affection, it might crawl up on my lap and let me love it.

Notice all the good things about the cat are "maybe"s. Like maybe it will do this, maybe it will do that. That's the crap thing about cats, in the end, they do what they want. And often times that's exactly what you don't want them to do. Cats are much like teenagers or rich women that way.

In any case, I posted a new poll, called "What Should I Name The Stinking Cat?" A friend recently entertained getting a cat, for his daughters, and was going to name it after someone who hates cats vehemently. So, unfortunately that name is out, though it wouldn't be one I'd choose anyways. All my names are kind of fun, and have meaning. I've listed said meanings below, so make sure y'all vote now!

Watson - A faithful companion. To Sherlock Holmes. This name reeks of irony, because I don't hold out much hope that my cat will either be faithful, or a companion. Cats - they're tricksy that way.

Grendel - A male ogre, from the old English poem about Beowulf (which happens to be a movie out right now, no connection I swear!). The ogre was slain. Nice. Maybe my cat will do some slaying instead. Also, Grendel was the puppy from the 80's show, "Thirtysomething", which is now my current age. OMG, I'm "thirtysomething". Oooh, I remember I used to watch that show and think how old they all were. That was back in high school of course, but still. Anways, I digress.

Burt - Since my cat is black, who better to name it for but my favorite Chimney Sweep (from Mary Poppins!)

Nigel - "Were only making plans for Nigel. We only want whats best for him". Remember that song? If I'm going to have a cat, I can pretend he's Brittish, and dignified, and imagine that he's going to talk to me in a Brittish accent. I can! And anyways, Nigel literally means "Black Haired One", and wasn't one of the members of Duran Duran named Nigel??

Brutus - Because this cat is bound to betray me, and my original intent in getting it. He's a cat, it's as inevitable as the sun rising tomorrow. So, shouldn't I name him after one of history's most famous betrayers? Judas just didn't have the same ring to it.

Samson - Yep, I want this cat to be strong, fierce, a killer of Philistines, I mean mice. A strongman who received his strength from, yes appropriate to a cat, his hair. If it's going to be on everything I own, why not ascribe it some strength?

So, those are my name choices. Check out the picture of the new cat, and let me know what y'all think. I really do listen to the poll results - my new car is now named Sean Preston, the clear leader in my last poll, called "Name My Car". The name has turned out to be so fitting too, I mean if something is going to be slightly beat up and chock full of junk food, it might as well be named Sean Preston right??

A New Pest Problem!

So, can anyone guess what’s worse than the kid who sings the song about wanting a Hippo for Christmas? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Mice. Mice are worse than that kid. Because that kid is slightly intangible. I’ve never met him. I never want to. I will never have to. But mice, mice I met last night. During dinner. And White Christmas. On my living room floor.

Yeah, after work, to avoid traffic, I headed to the mall to get a little Christmas shopping done. After not finding what I needed, I grabbed some cheap Chinese food and headed home.

Tired and weary, I threw on my VS flannell pj’s, the red ones with the hearts and flowers all over them, and grabbed some Sricha sauce to douse my chicken & rice in, and cozily sank into my sofa. I had already popped in a movie (White Christmas), and so, as my day wound down, I began to eat my dinner, and sing along to the movie (not at the same time obviously). Right about the time that the Haynes sisters & Wallace & Davis were singing “Snow, snow, snow snow” on a train, a little brown field mouse scampered out from behind my TV/Entertainment center, and made it about a foot and half before I shrieked in terror and shoved the coffee table at it. It then quickly scurried back behind the TV, disappearing into the radiator hole in the floor, as I hyperventilated on the sofa, chanting “oh no, oh no, oh no!”.

Ten minutes later, as the “oh no, oh no, oh no”’s were winding down, I gathered the courage to untuck my legs from out from under me, and run (literally) to the kitchen to grab my cell phone out of my purse. Scenes from The Parent Trap ran through my head, as I banged the two remote controls against each other along the way, making enough noise to irritate my easily irritated neighbors, in hopes of keeping the mouse from making any more surprise appearances. My biggest fear was that it would decide to run out, just as I was running to the kitchen, and somehow our feet would meet. It’s little clawed, gnarled feet running across my soft, clumsy ones.

I dashed back to the sofa, out of breath more from fear than running. I immediately called my mom, and as soon as she picked up I reverted back to the 6th grade whining that often earned her backhand. I got absolutely no sympathy. So, I called the BFF. She didn’t pick up. So I text messaged the UCE, got no response, till about 1:00 am when he texted me back “Maybe you should get a cat. Hahaha!”.

The fourth person I called was my friend Kelly, who for two weeks has been trying to convince me to take her cat, Elvis and keep him and love him forever. So far my response has been “yeah, because I want kitty litter crumbs traipsed across the bathroom floor and hair over every inch of clothing that I own”. Last night I changed my mind and my new response immediately became “he’s a natural mouser, right?”

OMG. I don’t really want a cat. But I don’t want mice either. Or squirrels in my attic. Or the potential for other fearsome creatures that live downtown. And I definitely don’t want a cat named Elvis. Can I think of a better name before tomorrow morning?? We’ll see.

In the meantime, I pray that I get a good night’s sleep tonight, because I sure didn’t last night. The threat of mice crawling up my cute jammie pants in my sleep kept me up for quite a while. Will the sound of an erratic, nocturnal cat pouncing around all night long be any better? I guess I’ll find out soon. Could be worse, though. I could be the mother of that poor “I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas” kid. That kind of critter problem can’t be solved with just a housecat. You’d need a lion to shut that kid up!

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Three Things About Christmas I Can't Stomach

1. That god awful I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas song. And that obnoxious little kid that sings it. If I were that kid, as soon as I grew up and realized how lame I sounded, I would shoot myself!

2. The Dead Barefoot mom song. Aka The Christmas Shoes song. I cried like a baby the first time. Now I just want to send the kid home with a good scolding, saying "If your mom is dying, why are you out shopping, you little whiner??"

3. Grandma, and her reindeer hoofs on her chest. Or some white trash, half drunk old grampy singing about how he let his wife out of his sight long enough for her to be mauled. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. But I can even take that, more so than the damn Hippopotamus kid.


Wednesday, December 05, 2007

The One About The Skirt

Ok, the votes are in, and the skirt is OUT! OMG! In case I didn’t feel self conscious enough about this stupid skirt I’m wearing today, I have had three people comment on it, both positively and negatively in the last hour.

The first one was rather humorous. I was walking past CTB’s (the new acronym for Cute Tech Boy) desk earlier, when I heard him call out “Hey, the gypsy camp called. They want their skirt back”. Ok, now. This is actually funny, since it’s a foray from his usual “Hey, the Senior Home called, some old lady wants her coat back”, which I get every single time I wear my cute Nordstrom coat with the fur on the collar & cuffs.

Secondly, I got up from my desk to get something and I noticed that there is a trail of tiny silver sequins along the path from the copier to where I sit. It’s like a tiny little fashion Hansel & Gretel have been here. Except it’s my skirt. As I was picking them up off the floor, lest anyone else see them and further humiliating comments ensue, the guy who sits across from me said “Yeah, I noticed those earlier. Yeah, your skirt is really, umm, girly”. Good night! When did girly ever get you anywhere in the workplace? Then again when did blogging all day long either?

Third, and lastly. As I was picking up said sequins from in front of the printer, one of the rare nice people from Account Services happened to walk by, and she said “Hey, I like your skirt. I meant to tell you earlier”. Of course, since I’m a “let it all hang out there” kinda person, I replied with “Really? You don’t think I look like I’m channeling Stevie Nicks?” to which she replied (thus causing me to hate my attire & cringe with horror) “Oh, but that’s what I like about it!”

Waaaahhhh! Waaaaahhhh! (In a whiny, crying voice) I look like a circa-80’s Stevie Nicks, but more colorful!!!! Actually, you could say I look like a circa-70’s-80’s-90’s-Present Day Stevie Nicks, because Dear Lord, she hasn’t changed her skirt or hairdo in thirty years!!! This skirt was really fashionable when I bought it!! Two years ago!! Oh no! It’s so going in the Hand-Me-Down bag tonight, although I really don’t have the heart to pass its tragic unfashionableness along to Michelle, because I love her. I couldn’t lead her astray down the path of tackiness that seems to follow this garment like a cloud or a shadow. Maybe I’ll give it to L.S., since its right up her alley (which, without meaning to be, is kind of an insult. Sorry L.S.!)

Anyways, that’s the one about the skirt. I know it’s vapid, shallow, slightly insensitive to L.S., but I had to write it. I had to share my skirt woe. Sigh…..I do digress.

Not Sure What To Title This, So This Will Have To Do.

A thought occurred to me this morning. A horrific, fear inspiring, terrible thought. Something that shook me up with insecurity for probably the rest of the day. Today, I could be mistaken for a homeschooler. OMG! The fear. The terror. The shaaaame!!!

So, what made me come to this terribly painful possibility. Well, today, I caught myself singing to myself, profusely singing to myself. Humming, singing, and Christmas songs nonetheless. That and I’m wearing a skirt, turtleneck and tall boots today, which could either be construed as fashionably warm or plain old Mormon based on the fact that I’m not showing an ounce of skin (yes, I have been watching too much Big Love).

Anyways, I used to know someone who did this very thing. No, not be fashionably warm - sing to herself. All the time. She would hum, or sing, quietly, under her breath, no matter what she was doing. She was just happy. So am I. But she was homeschooled, and though she was a raving liberal, she had the tragic foundation of freaky geekiness that only homeschoolers could fail to hide. Perchance, could I be mistaken for this kind of weird today?

I can’t help it that I hum and sing to myself. It’s freakin’ Christmas time people! The best time of the year! I have family I love so very much. I have a cute little apartment. I’m getting a cat. I have the joy of the Lord for goodness sake, and can I help it if it manifests itself in tone-deaf renditions of “Melikelikimaka” as I do my work? Or “We Three Kings” or “O Come Emmanuel” or “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. I just love to sing. I love Christmas. I love to sing songs about Christmas.

So, as I was walking through the office, singing quietly to myself, wondering if my outfit really was a step too far on the path of “I’m starting to look my age”, that’s when it hit me. I look like a home schooler (well, not really, I have a hairstyle, and wear makeup). I sing like a homeschooler (I could throw some Kanye in there for good measure). I could be mistaken for this bane of coolness. The antithesis of all things me. Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrggghhhhhh!!

Now, I must admit, not all homeschoolers are freaks of nature. Just 99.98% of them. And I say this with just a tad of caution, since one of my best friends has fallen for a homeschooler (Why, oh why? When I thought you were so wonderfully smart???) I don’t want to offend anyone (Wow, was that ever a lie!). I’m sure there are some exceptions to the rule out there, as in any major group of people who attempt (but sadly fail) to defy classification & stereotype. But, the fact remains, there just is something uniquely “off” about them as a group. And frankly, I want to make a good impression on the Cute Tech Boy at work (who, I caught looking in my direction as I was walking back from the copy machine). And he’s just cool enough to fall into the category called “Common Sense” that recognizes that most of this blissfully ignorant, deprived community (the homeschoolers) are total dorks without a smidge of social aptitude.

I don’t want him to think that about me. At all. Why, why did I wear this skirt today? It’s so last season! Older than that even. It’s two years old. It looks like something I should’ve handed down already. And black tights with brown boots? Thinking no one would notice? Yes, shut up, I am this shallow.

I wonder if I can head up to the mall at work and get brown tights from Target. At least that might assuage some of my (probably unnoticed and unfounded) fears. Ok, this is good, all this unnecessary worrying about my skirt being mistaken as “Made In Utah” has caused me to stop singing. Progress. Progress indeed.

In the meantime, mull over this, one of the songs so ironically stuck in my head this morning: A favorite carol (and a movie with both George Clooney and Mark Wahlburg), “We Three Kings”. Note the references to Easter towards the end. That’s kind of why I like it. It’s more than just “He was born a babe”, it’s the full lifespan in one song.

We Three Kings

We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar.
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light.

Born a king on Bethlehem's plain,
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never
Over us all to reign.

Frankincense to offer have I.
Incense owns a Deity nigh.
Prayer and praising all men raising,
Worship Him, God on high.

Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breaths a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.

Glorious now behold Him arise,
King and God and Sacrifice.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Sounds through the earth and skies.

O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light

Monday, December 03, 2007

Merry Christmas Baby!!

So, I'm so excited! What a great weekend. In the words of a sweet friend, I totally owned it. Except for the part where I had to deal with a cranky neighbor looking for his dustpan (I returned it already, I swear), I did exactly everything I wanted to do. Including a nap, some Kill Bill, some cleaning, family Christmas decorating time, a game, and another nap (wow!).

On Friday, I went to a super-fun craft show (not your mama's craft show, actually, kind of my mama's craft show, but she smokes pot, so whatever!), and while I was there, I got sucked into the mass consumerism disguised as artsy eccentricity that somehow has a way of vacuuming me up like an old Hoover.

So, what did I get??? Only patterns for what are going to be the coolest tea towels known to man (Viva Las Vegas, I Love Sushi, Chinatown & Lucha Libre). And a super cool print for my kitchen. And while I was there, I stopped by the booth for a store up in NE that I've been meaning to get to - Crafty Planet. I found out they are way cooler than I could've expected, and I should've visited them a long time ago.

In any case, a good friend, the U.C.E. actually, (who is now someone I maybe have a crush on) went as a Mexican wrestler for Halloween last year, and so in honor of his dedication to new & exciting Halloween costumes, I am making him some tea towels for his apartment with none other than the "Lucha Libre" design on them. Check out the pattern I got to make them. I hope he likes them - I kind of do like him.

Also, at said craft show, another friend turned me on to the super cool art of Adam Turman. Being the comic geek that I am, how could I not love it? Skulls? Pin-ups? Landscapes of my beloved city? Super neat-o! So, this is the print I picked up, as it is a little more than appropriate to how I spent half my summer - bicycling this great city.

Anyways, that was my Friday. Saturday I discovered a new Menards, and as I walked up from my primo parking spot to the front doors flanked by brick columns, the cold winter air nipping at my legs and pushing me forward, it was like a scene from some sci-fi movie. I swear the Mother Ship was calling me home. I love my new Menards. The way people grandparents love their grandchildren, I love this Menards. The way I should love my grandmother - I love this new Menards. Ohhhh, shiver!!

And ironically, all this love amounted to me spending less than $6 there that day. All I really needed was anchors for my shelf. Yeah, I did good.

Did a whole bunch of other stuff this weekend, Came home, put up said shelf and watched in amazement and gratitude as it stayed up on the wall. Put a vase up on it. It still stayed. A picture frame, it stayed. Some candles, it stayed. I didn't push my luck any further.

Watched some TV. Did some dishes. Took a nap. Got up & went over to the Coulons, where they were in full Christmas decorating mode. Josiah and I ate raisins as he put all the ornaments in one spot on the tree. Then Leah & I went for a Chipotle run, and miraculously all of us managed to sit through Hairspray, till it was time to go home.

There was so much more that I did this weekend, I can't even begin to list it. Yesterday was a positive whirlwind of football & the Wheaties (what I call my body's unsavory reaction to too much Gluten).
But now, I have something else on my mind. I'm kind of deflated. I just found out that the UCE went and saw a movie we were supposed to see together, without me. The last time he came into town we hung out and were supposed to go see this one movie together. I was so looking forward to it, because of how wonderful artistic and auteristic it looked (not autistic, you dorks!). But then, that day, I had a super busy time helping out a friend with car troubles. And by the time I got home & started getting ready for what was essentially our date, I was running super late. So, we missed the movie. But he said we'd go see it next time he was down. Now, today, I read that he went to see it already, in his blog. I couldn't be more deflated. Urrrrrrr!

Hmmm, is he tea towel worthy, I'm starting to wonder? In any case, I am having fun embroidering them. And even if he's not completely tea-towel worthy (much different than sponge worthy, trust me!), I'm sure one day I will find someone who is, and hopefully, at that time, the Lucha Libre references will still make sense. After all, if I can't find someone with whom to share Stretchy Pants references, then what good is love at all?