Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Ain't No Stradamus

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): So the other day, I'm test-driving a mountain bike from a store, a new pastime, which is just as fun as snacking on the samples at Costco, but better, because it doesn't involve Costco or the weird snack food.  Anyway, the salesman suggests that I spend a few hours and try two or three bikes, so I'm sort of instantly his fan, because it's the middle of the work day and all.

I pull out my phone to see if I have time, and he gets all, "Sheesh, I hate cell phones.  I only have an old one and I leave it off, and I only check my e-mail once a week."  He went on a huge tear about the ONLY way he wants to be contacted is on the phone.

It reminded me that everyone's gotten so freakin' particular about their means of communication.  I only text.  I never text.  I hate the phone, please e-mail.  I only FB message, please don't call.  And so on.  Everyone is so righteous, sure that their way as the Only Way, which seems a little familiar, doesn't it?  Anyway, this week, my dear Aries, just communicate.  Do your best, use whatever you like - semaphore code, whispering, whatever.  Say it with flowers, in fact.  Yes, flowers.  With everyone except for my mother having caller ID, flowers remain  the only way to sneak up on someone, communication-wise, in a good way.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  How do you feel about the fact that you can google all of the possible symptoms, real and imagined, that you and everyone you know has?  Reassuring, or anxiety-producing?  Let's all just put away google for a few minutes, and just enjoy the relative health we have.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): This is that time of year when everyone marvels at how late it stays light.  Lots of conversations include, "Wow, last night, after dinner, I went for a walk and it was still light!"  this happens every year, and yet, each spring we act amazed, demonstrating the length of our memories, or perhaps the lack of anything else to talk about.  You don't hear us saying, "wow, I went outside after lunch and it was still light out!"  Because most of us can remember that from yesterday.  But back to your horoscope.  There are many ordinary things to marvel at this week.  Do that, and find the charm in our short memories.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  If you can go on vacation this week, why not go to Death Valley to see the wildflowers?  According to my source, you can stay at Motel 6, 7, or 8 for a pretty fair price.  The time is now.  Bring chains, though, because there might be snow.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  So, you're sitting in a bar, and someone you vaguely know starts talking about astrology, and you say, 'uh, I can't get behind that.  Astronomy, yes.  Astrology, not so much.'  Anyway, he goes into a long thing about Vedic Astrology, which is better than the regular kind, causing this phony astrologer to sit up and take notice.  (As in, wait, never heard of that.  Uh oh.  Awkward.  Like selling cars and not knowing what a clutch is.)  So I look it up, and spend, and I'm not exaggerating, an hour on various free websites entering times, latitudes, dates, and so on, I end up with the answer:  9.   Which seemed really good until I plugged in today's information.  Today, my friends, your panchanga is 14!!!  Lemme know how that works out.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Don't feel bad if today isn't a 14.  Seriously.  There are worse problems, like having a bunched up thing in your sock, or having to watch coverage of Michael Jackson's funeral for three days straight.  Besides, we don't even know what the scale is -- 14 out of what?  Or it could be one of those things like golf (speaking of worse problems) where a low number is better.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  How do you feel about the pre-clovis point people in Texas?  I'm actually pretty excited about that, but let's get on with your horoscope, shall we?  Yes, there are some really primitive people out there!  Celebrate that anyway, against your better judgment.  And carry a clovis point around as an offering, just in case.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): So I just learned of something called the No No for hair removal, which operates much like a match, if you can imagine how a match works:  you light it, hold it close, and the hair burns.  But they say it uses 'thermodynamic pulses of heat'.  There is that strong smell of hair burning, which, well, call it aerodynamic pulses of aroma, or perhaps we'll call a war a Kinetic Military Activity (which isn't defined in the Urban Dictionary yet -- Challenge!!) but we all know that smell.  This week, Scorpios, call it as it is. 

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  You know that thing when someone leaves $10 in your shoe? Don't ask a lot of questions, just enjoy. And must I remind you, please spend it in ways that are legal.  Please don't be textin' your mama sayin' you bought a dime bag.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): There's a website devoted to the concept of "if you watch it backwards...", which has things like, "If you watch an intervention backwards, it’s about friends and family forcing someone to become dangerously addicted to drugs and alcohol." Many of the stories are happier backwards than forwards, and your week will be just like that.  Phew!

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): What do you think, is this cool or creepy?  I know!  That's exactly how your week will be.  That strange balance, where if you look at it one way, it seems really cool, but you lose your focus for a sec and it's creepy.  Don't lose your focus, that's all I'm saying.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Ok, Pisces, I've looked high and low for your horoscope, and I am not kidding.  I even found this website for you, which contains two listings for Duvall.  One, that old UFO thing that happened in 2002, where I think one guy, up at 4:30, saw a light.  Not The Light, I guess, but just a light.  But the second one was about the cemetary:  "witnesses report noises, stange feelings, and being frightened." Yep.  Strange doings, just like your week.  Don't be frightened, though.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Blah blah coffin blah blah dog blah blah mermaid

I sat down next to E. at our big “all hands” meeting, which is the sort of thing that happens every few years when management has something ominous but vague to report.  In this case, the message was, “50 percent of you will be laid off sometime between two weeks and five years from now, and we can’t really be more specific, but we thought it would be helpful if you had that information for your career planning purposes.”

There’s that ‘talk amongst yourselves’ part before the meeting starts, and E. is telling me something, but I notice Vest Lady, several feet ahead of us, starts talking, so I shush E.

“Huh?”

I give him the look that I hope says, “There’s material for the blog every single time she opens her mouth,” without saying anything.

E. gets it, and we strain to hear, and even in the few short seconds, we hear the words, “dog”, “coffin”, “cemetery”, and something about her parents.  I know.  I should have sat by her.

The meeting starts about then, and I make a note to track down the dog-coffin-cemetery story. E. seems to read my mind, and asks if I get a press badge or anything for having a blog.

The presentation is predictable, in that way of a totally opaque bureaucracy pretending to be transparent because someone said sharing information is a good idea, but they’re so unused to it that its like someone with no teeth trying to eat a carrot. Anyway, people asked long-winded questions, and Da Man responded with long silences followed by long-winded chatter that danced sort of near the question.  Like, if the question were in the center of the dance floor, the answer would be out in the parking lot smoking a joint.  

My favorite question, well, to be honest, I wasn’t really listening, but I tuned in when I heard someone saying, “so, will we be leaving two by two like Noah’s Ark?  I don’t think so.” 

In all of this, what most of us hear is blah blah blah improve customer service blah blah blah layoffs blah blah blah streamlining.

We had already heard the rumor about the 50 more people getting laid off, so it wasn’t news. In fact, when B. and I went to get coffee today, B. said we really need to start thinking out of the box about our next jobs.

“Like what?”

“Well, I’m thinking I’ll either be a phlebotomist, which you can learn to do pretty easily, or a mermaid.  You could do that too.”

“Mermaid?  Is the mermaid biz hiring lots of unemployed 40 something year old men these days?”

“Well, I guess I’d be a merman.  But you see what I mean.  We don’t have to be stuck with the same old lack of choices.”

All the blah blah blah at the meeting gave me lots of time to think about another meeting I went to earlier this week.

It was a pre-application meeting; these are often pretty sketchy, because they're for people who built stuff without permits and got caught, and now they have to get a permit.  But sometimes, what they did is something  they can never get a permit for, so for a while we pretend we’re gonna make them take whatever it is down, and then we never do.  During this initial meeting, though, that part hasn’t happened yet, so there is usually some combination of tears and rage because people think their choices are pretty grim.

Anyway, I tried to do a little background reading before the meeting, but the comments in the computer quickly devolved into something that felt sort of like tuning in to the tv show Lost in Season 6.

There was remodeling without permits, and a tragic death that could have been murder/suicide/accident, and, of course, what I was called in about, re-decking a bridge across a salmon stream. 

The story goes that a woman tripped on this bridge, fell about six feet into a tiny stream, and drowned.  Her boyfriend, who was at the meeting, didn’t report her missing for ten days, which, I dunno, that gives laid back a whole new reference point.  She apparently was lying facedown in the stream, about 50 feet from a neighbor’s house, and practically in the driveway of bf’s house.  For 10 days. Like, la la la, I’m walking down the driveway to the mailbox, ho hum, I won’t look down into the stream and notice my gf who I haven’t heard from for ten days down there….

When I say “stream”, this is the kind of feature that people argue with is about all the time, because it’s so small.  “There couldn’t possibly be fish in there,” is what we hear, because it’s about 18 inches wide and 6 inches deep.

So the gist of it is that the deceased woman’s sister turned this guy in for the bridge in disrepair, and while she was at it, brought up the point of how there had been an apartment created on the property without permits.   Thirty years ago.  And that apartment is occupied by, of all people, the deceased person’s brother, who happens to be a convicted felon, and sister of the person reporting the crime. Got that?  

If my sister, who, incidentally, just started reading this blog, were missing for five minutes, I'd call the FBI.  I wouldn't really think too hard about the permitting history of her boyfriend's rental unit, but that's just me. 

So there’s no hatch, and there’s no creepy guy saying “Destiny is such a fickle bitch,” but you can see why I was expecting someone to show up all breathless saying, “Gotta (pant) come with (pant) me right h-away.   The Others…”

Yeah, anyway, KCC 21A.24 does allow the resurfacing of the bridge, in case you were concerned.

But back to the story, which, in case you’ve forgotten, is – what about Vest Lady and the coffin? Well, here’s what happened. Her dog died back in this episode of the blog.  [Oddly enough, a blog does its own foreshadowing.  Lazy writer rejoices!]  So what she was recounting today is the tale of how she put Barky in a small coffin, crept into the cemetary at night, dug a shallow grave, and buried him in the family plot between her parents. 

 Thanks for sticking it out for that tiny, semi-macabre story.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Oh, today we'll merry merry be...

Yesterday, I gave our boss a pep talk, because we all agreed that he seems to be off on the grassy knoll, developing theories, like perhaps our jobs are about to be eliminated. Which is totally possible, some might even say plausible, but at this point, he’s just making stuff up, and we’re not for it.

When I enter his office, I find him with his head resting in his hands.  He’s not really the ‘head resting in the hands’ type, and it takes him a while to notice me, so I finally say, “Uh, Baron?  Is everything okay?”

“Oh, I just need another job.  And this one too.”

His look is that of someone who has promised a big chunk of money to the mob, and then the other horse won or something, and Guido will be along shortly.  But actually, what caused his morose posture is that he just learned his son got into college.  Do you see what I mean?

“What do you need, Betsy?”

“Oh, actually, I just came in to give you a pep talk.”

“Perfect timing! Bring it on. “

I begin….”imagine, if you will, that we’re out to sea on some little boat, and who knows, it may sink, or we may get tossed overboard, but then again, it may go somewhere good. You really can’t tell yet, because the horizon is way out there.  So what’s the downside to imagining…”

He cuts me off. “This doesn’t even rhyme.”

“Fer crissakes, this is a pep talk, not a poem.”

“Oh.  So there won’t be rhyming?” 

At about this point, B. comes in.  He’s been particularly irritable since he quit both skoal and carbs.  I had threatened to give him a little pep talk earlier, but he claimed he was all good, although he’s been on a solid kick of talking about how life consists of a miserable, meaningless existence followed by death, usually alone after great suffering.

“I have nothing to look forward to at all,” is his refrain these days. 

But he came in to espouse his new plan, which is something about gorillas, I’m not sure I was really listening.  I guess the adult males are called Silverbacks, and he thinks there are way to many silver-haired people above him on the seniority list, so he’s going to wait with a spear, ready to stab the first silverback that falters. 

The baron pointed out that perhaps B. should re-dye his hair before he fully implements this plan. I for sure stopped listening about then because I was trying to think of a rhyming pep talk, which never quite came to me, and also re-living a tiny embarrassing moment.  Do you have that, where when the conversation gets boring, something really awkward pops up?

What popped up is this thing where I had just walked in to a bathroom in a public building, and I thought my pen fell out of my pocket, onto the floor, which happens pretty often because I was just carrying it in a front pocket of these pants that don’t really fit very well.  So a pen drops, and is just inside an occupied stall.  I bend down and grab it as a hand from inside the stall also reaches towards it, but I retrieve it first.  

“Sorry,” I say, because it seemed a little invasive to be reaching into someone else’s stall.

Silence from the occupant.  A few hours later, I retrieve that very pen from my pocket, and notice it’s a really fancy graphic artist sort of pen, the kind you’d buy at Daniel Smiths for $7.00.  I know.  So basically, I stole a pen from a person sitting on a toilet, and apologized while I was stealing it.  

I, for one, am looking forward to the super moon this evening, which is supposed to be 30 percent brighter and 14 percent larger than the regular moon. 

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Advice: Fur Slugs

Dear Khortnee,
 

I am writing to ask you some business and marketing advice. I think I've discovered a new animal and wish to profit from my discovery. I looked in my hot tub – one that has been moist and dirty, but not filled, for at least six months. I saw a small creature with beautiful white fluffy fur – about an inch long. I flipped it over to find that it had the body of a slug! 

As you can imagine I'm overjoyed with my discovery of fur slugs growing in my own hot tub enclosure!  I am including a photograph.  Unfortunately, this specimen is deceased and the fur got wet when I attempted to remove it. Still, you can imagine how pretty the fur was when it was dry.

What I would like to know from you is:

1) is it legal to patent an animal?
2) do you think this fur best suited for use in knitting or for making fur coats for dolls?
3) how much money should I charge?

I am concerned about poachers so I will just sign,

slug-wrangler*


Dear Slug--Wrangler,

Oh, it took me a while to reply because I was stuck on the bit about the hot tub being moist and dirty but not used.  Why is it that there are only two kinds of people, the kind who long for a hot tub, and the kind who have them, but they remain moist, dirty, and unused?  Huh?  Slug Wrangler, can you explain?

I was also wondering how large these things are.  Like, in that picture, would the Eiffel Tower or a penny be better used for scale? 

But I guess the advice column biz is a one-way  street:  you ask, I answer. That's why I'm Courtney and you're Slug Wrangler, so let's get on with it:

On patenting animals, it depends, and I'm not just saying that because I have ties to the government, and that's a standard government answer.  It actually does depend.  You can't patent an oyster, because the kind that someone wanted to patent was too obvious of an oyster.  Yes, I said too obvious.  The kind they wanted to patent is sterile, and thus edible all year long because it doesn't devote body fat to reproduction.  What makes that more obvious than the Harvard Mouse, which has been patented, is something you'd have to write back about at a later date.  (Or, you could fill the freakin' hot tub, pour me a glass of wine, and we could discuss.)

About the fiber, I once knit a hat made from all kinds of naturally occurring fibers; my mistake was to include hair from an Alaskan husky.  Picture how a dog smells when it's wet.  That's just a hint; I really have no knowledge of this fiber.  

About money, people like to pay $52.35 for things.  It's high enough to seem like you must have something pretty good, but low enough to seem like a good deal.  I hope you get a lot of business.

Regards,

N'3lvra, the three, as usual, is silent.

P.S.  I can imagine how beautiful it was before it got all wet.  Yes I can.

Monday, March 14, 2011

You gotta believe in something....

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  So today B., who's experiencing his first full week back from vacation, gets all testy with the boss, and goes on this big tear about how lame everything is, and the boss does that shifting from one foot to the other thing that means he's uncomfortable but isn't about to do a thing except shift back to the other foot eventually.  It's kind of dramatic when he does it, because he's so tall that even a minor shift, well, when you project that out, it's actually like a skyscraper swaying. 

I was laughing pretty hard, because B's tirade was actually quite hilarious, and totally fair, but not very helpful, so I try to coax him back from the edge:

"B, look at the good things, you've got a job, some autonomy, good relationships with your co-workers."  [At this point, J., who believes he's been tossed under the bus by B., gets a squirmy look, but that's a whole 'nother horoscope.]

And B. goes on this rampage,"No, Betsy, I'm having none of it.  That's like saying I should stay in an abusive relationship because they don't hit me that often, or they usually don't stab me in the back."

"Okay," I say, "go break up with the boss.  I dare ya.  Go.  Just do it."  And he gets all, "wait, I should totally get the kids and the job.  He should move out."

Yeah, anyway, I don't think this is a good time of year to venture so close to the caldera.  Stay back.  There are times of year to do that, and times not to, which is exactly what I told B., causing him to go to the gym.  Again.   There's a horoscope in here somewhere, I just know it...

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Do you ever have a good friend and you call him JackJack, even though it's not exactly his name, but one time you were reading a story by Miranda July aloud to him, and there was a character named Jackjack, and you started to call him that and it stuck?  And now, you call someone else with a name close to that Jackjack (and I'm not going to say what the actual name is, but here's a clue:  take JackJack, and divide it in half.), and that person, well, you hardly know him, and he always looks Very Uncomfortable, but you can't stop calling him that?  Yeah, me too!  Anyway, this week, watch that movie, Me, You, and Everyone We Know.  Or read aloud to someone who least expects it.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): We're all tired, and it is getting lighter, but still so rainy, and the light just makes it all the more difficult, because now After Dinner is one more time of day that you can see the rain really clearly.  But soon, gardening season will be fully on us.  This week, make stuff.  Just go nuts making things:  food, art, friends.  Report back, please.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21):  Does it seem a little sketchy when the chief cabinet secretary in Japan said, about the nuclear reactor, "It cannot necessarily be called a stable situation..."  He said that tomorrow, in fact.  I know!  (That's the weird thing about news from Japan -- it already happened!) Um, right, I think we've got it.  It's not a stable situation.  But, dear Cancers, life itself isn't a stable situation, so take that, and do something awesome with whatever you've got left.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  It is possible that you should get a service dog.  Seriously, it could wear a little jacket and go around everywhere with you.  But lemme tell you something weird: my sister went on a date with a guy to a textile museum, and he brought a phony service dog.  That's wrong, correct?  First off, the dog was a great pyranees, which, well, no one has ever had one of those as a service dog.  Ever.  I know Great Pyranees, and they're no Jack Kennedy Russell.  Oh, didn't you love that that show, Wishbone?  When I think of that show, I think there might be a god after all.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  So a few of us were standing around at work, typical government slackers, chatting about t.v., of all things, and J, aka "I've Never Been Trained in That" asked if anyone had seen the Big Bang Theory.  N.'s comment?  "I don't like that show.  I don't like how those two guys dress."  I bet you didn't see that coming.  This week, don't be that bad dresser person.  Dress like you mean it.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  It is totally possible that we're living in a cosmic hologram, and our world is merely the shadow of natural laws painted on a distant cosmic surface.  But so what?  So what if it turns out you are just a character in someone else's dream.  Make it a good one. 

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): Can anyone explain to me why there are two and a half bullet holes in the ceiling of my laundry room?  I asked R., who said he was trying to shoot up in his room, but ended up shooting down, but I'm not buying it.  (Mostly because his toughest weapon is a yo-yo.)  Anyway, look up once in a while.  You might see something interesting.  Or maybe, you'll see something coming at you.  Win win, I say.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): So, the other day I wake up and there are all of these shoes in my house.  I text R., who says, "And there are lots of feet too!"  Yes.  Don't ignore the obvious this week.  Lots of shoes, of course, assume lots of feet.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The point of all this living, as Rhett says, is the dying left to come.  So celebrate more, and don't think too hard about belly fat or taxes. 

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): With Mercury and Jupiter passing each other this week, conditions are right for getting a new pet.  I know, that's the last thing you want, but when the biggest planet passes the littlest one, it creates a pretty big wake, and stuff happens. 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20)
If you go around sort of optimistically, assuming the best, giving people the benefit of the doubt, smiling when it’s not fake, and so on, your life certainly will be better.

The cumulative affect of that, day after day, of looking on the bright side, cutting people slack, forgiving people when you can, and trying really hard when you can't, helping when it’s actually helpful, being generous with your time, money, and talents, adds up to a much better life than doing the reverse.

But there are other big forces at work here, like gravity and energy and inertia and pollution and fatigue and the tides, not to mention PMS.  Measurable stuff that has huge influences on what happens, stuff that doesn’t really care what you're thinking or doing.  As Dar Williams said, “I thought the ocean, the ocean thought nothing.”  

So carry on, do your best, but don't hold the whole world up on your tiny little shoulders.  Atlas shrugged for a reason.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Karma

I was honored to be mentioned in this very generous and encouraging post at a nearby blog. Thank you!   It made me wish I could summon a worthy post, but this is the best I can do this rainy evening.


***
This morning, on my way to the Path to Bliss, which, well, full disclosure, I can’t always see it clearly from here, that path.  It’s like a star from a distant planet that I occasionally get a glimpse of, but I’m not even sure I really saw it, or if I did, if it’s real, or if it’s one of those things that burned out 6 million years ago but a bit of light remains, flickering occasionally. 

But I could see Joey, who was hitchhiking in the middle of the road, the way he does.  It was 9:30 in the morning and pouring rain.  It’s been a while since I’ve given him a ride, maybe a month or two, so I was sort of relieved to see that he’s okay, but I was also enjoying listening to music and staying in my own head -- I wasn’t in the mood to pick him up.  But I have The Rules, and one of them involves picking him up, and it seems especially important to follow The Rules if you’re trying to be on the path to bliss.  I added that rule after I found him apparently dead on the side of the road.

The Path to Bliss, by the way, is a series of yoga/Buddhist meditation classes that just concluded today.  I’m not convinced I’m more blissful, but maybe that’s because a) I have trouble really believing in anything un-provable, and almost every spiritual path eventually gets to that point, and b) the world seems to be in such a bad way right now that it would almost be wrong to find bliss amongst all of the suffering. After the class where we did a lot of visualizing of the Central Channel, who's name is Uma, I texted one of my regular awesome yoga teachers.  “Is there really a central channel?  I had no idea.”  “For you,” she responded kindly, “it’s probably a metaphor.”

There was a brief bit when Joey was in time out, meaning I drove by him twice without stopping, after he got a little touchy in the car, not in a super-creepy way, but all the same… I doubt he even noticed the time out.   Hitchhikers, you should have rules too: never touch the driver.

The first time I picked him up after his time out, he was so drunk that he didn’t recognize me, even though I’ve probably given him 50 rides by now.  That time, he just climbed in the car and stared straight ahead silently, but kept fussing with the seat belts – unclipping mine, then his. I’d re-fasten mine, and he’d do it again, and so on.  This went on for about 7 miles, all the way to his house.

The bliss class today involved some talking about Karma that didn’t really work for me.  The point is that everything that happens is the result of seeds we’ve sown, based on our actions, either in this life or a previous one.  People interpret this in different ways, and I guess the particular way this was being discussed just felt a little judgmental, but maybe I didn’t understand it.  I tend to think that there are many many forces at work in the world, not just my own thoughts and actions, and maybe karma is really about how we respond in the face of adversity.  Maybe everything bad isn't completely our fault, but maybe if we try to learn the lessons and make the best of the hand we're dealt, and not succumb, well, that's good. I have a lot of trouble thinking that someones thoughts or actions caused entire villages in Japan to float away over the weekend, for example.

The time Joe was so drunk, I was afraid he was going to throw up in my car, but he didn’t, which, well, did I sow the seeds of that?  Did I sow the seeds of Joey not throwing up in my car in a past life?  Or is it more like I sowed the seeds of him unclipping the seat belt?

When we got to his driveway, he just sat in the car, staring and swaying the way really drunk people do just before they pass out, and made no motion to get out.  I had to go around and open his door, and do a little coaxing.  Which… well, hitchhikers, if you have rules, could you add something about this too?

At any rate, he was sober this morning, and said the usual stuff about how his mama raised him twice, and now he’s giving back to her by letting her sleep in (I couldn’t quite figure that out, because it was only 9:30 and I suppose she’s up with the grandchildren already), and the line about how if I’m ever down on my luck, I can go to the food bank and tell them he sent me, and they’ll give me a ham, right then and there.  

But this time there was more, about how he was married once, “because he’s not a man-whore”, which seemed like a really strange thing to say.  He talked about how he married her because he knew her from high school, and knew a bit about her, so he knew she was “from a good line.” He talked about how his own father was a man-whore, whatever that is, and his mother discovered his father in bed with his aunt, and kicked him out.  This was too much information for my journey to bliss.

And he talked about how he used to be a drinker, back in high school, but not anymore, which made me wonder how long it's been since he quit drinking, because he still has that sort of vodka-ish smell to him.  And he talked about how he was born at Harborview, and then re-assembled there after the shooting, which is the origin of the "my mama raised me twice" bit, which lead into how he was breast fed, but, disappointingly, only the first time.   (Please add something about this on the list of rules too, hitchhikers).

I said I was going to the hardware store, which is right next to the path to bliss, and he said he was going there too, so he stayed in the car while I parked, and asked if I had 50 cents or a dollar for a cup of coffee. I hate to be too suspicious on my path to bliss, but I think when he says coffee, well . . .anyway, I gave him a buck, and he did his closing speech, the way he does, “If I ever see you on the side of the road, down on your luck, you can count on me for a ride.”

I'm really unclear about who gets the karma points here, if there are any to be dispensed.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

So I'll write another song about the darkness...

Ok, my commitment to you, faithful readers, is to NOT make this blog all about stupid things that happen at Starbucks.  But, I do have one more thing on my mind before I make good on that. Please bear with me.

This morning, I woke up and was barely able to get out of bed, probably because my boss advised that I take two hits of melatonin before going to sleep.  The reason we were even talking about it is because he was on a hilarious little rant about how he went to a sleep clinic that involved him sleeping in a hospital in pajamas with probes on his head, paying something like $3,000 (although insurance picked most of it up), and then being told to take melatonin if he can’t sleep.

I was commenting that I really don’t mind my insomnia, because I spend most of the night in and out of consciousness, listening to podcasts.  The night is like a refreshing cross between a vacation and college.

So I dragged myself out of bed and into the commuting chair, and decided that I should reward myself for all of this effort by stopping at Starbucks.  Why I continue to view this as a potential reward is one of the great mysteries, but I‘ve listened to a podcast about it, and would like to report that interest remains high when the subject never knows whether they’ll get the cheese or the shock.

So anyway, I haven’t stopped at this particular Starbucks since this went down. 

I pull into the gigantic empty parking lot, and am traveling across it at what I would consider to be a normal speed for the conditions:  not as slowly as I’d go if there were other souls about, walking and driving, but not quite freeway speed.  A car begins to tailgate me.

I pull into the one remaining parking spot in front of the coffee shop, and the tailgater pulls in really fast, right next to me, in a spot that’s marked with a picture of a wheelchair.  He actually does a shoddy parking job, and if I had drawn a picture last week, it would apply here too, because he crosses the line and is actually taking up two parking spots, both with the picture of the wheelchair.  There are about a thousand empty parking spots, but they’re at least 15 feet further from the store than the two that he’s claimed.

I’m irritated already, and it’s only 5:35 a.m.  I get out of my car, which is slightly closer to the store than his car, but he hurries out of his vehicle and jogs, yes, I said jogs, to get ahead of me. I’m well aware that people sometimes have disabilities that wouldn’t be obvious, and may need to park close for some reason that I wouldn’t know about by looking at the person.  I’m trying to keep this in mind, but the jogging makes it hard to believe.  Oh, and if you’re wondering about him, he looks to be in his late 50’s, in business casual type attire.

I pick up my own pace, and I arrive at the door about a second behind him.  This is the circumstance when a courteous human might offer to hold the door for the other person, and that other person, if also courteous, would either accept graciously, or accept and then let the other person still get in line ahead of them.  Instead, he releases the door in my face.  I open the door, and stand in line behind him.  The only other patrons at this time of day are a group of cops, and he goes over to schmooze with them while he’s waiting for his drink, which happens to be a caramel macchiato with non-fat milk and extra foam. 

I would like to think I get bonus points for not asking the cops, while he was standing there, what the rules are on the parking spots with the picture of the wheelchair.  I would also like bonus points again for drinking black drip coffee, but I realize there are limits to the bonus thing, and probably self-inflicted deprivation that makes no point to anyone doesn't really lead directly to point accrual.

I’m making all of these new rules for myself, including stopping playing solitaire on the computer (no, that’s not a metaphor for anything, just the actual game), and writing more, and writing less about irritating people, so I hope to be posting a little more frequently than I have been recently.  I might even write a bit about Nicaragua, if I can remember back that far.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Path to Bliss*

I know, I’m just super irritated at everything these days, but sheesh, everyone is so irritating. It’s definitely not me. I’ve taken two out of four steps on my path to bliss, and, um, well… Anyway this all might just be the fallout of being lied to in a pretty diabolical way, but okay, people, how many fucking times have you ordered coffee before? 

I go for a little afternoon coffee break yesterday, which is a new bad habit that I’m trying not to form.  I pull into the parking lot and there aren’t any spots, only there is one spot, and it’s like this:
OK, where there should be a picture, there’s not, because I just spent 20 minutes downloading a little drawing program and then trying unsuccessfully to use it, but I’ll go back to what Patrick Hemingway says, a word is worth a thousand pictures. So anyway, the picture would show a full parking lot, and then the last space would be partly taken up by a lame parker who crossed the line, taking up a third of the last space.  That’s what the picture would show. 
Patrick Hemingway, I’m not saying it would have been easy to be him or anything, but True at First Light had to be one of THE most boring books I’ve read, and believe it or not, I have been a big Hemingway fan in my life, but sheesh, let Mary kill the lion and be done with it, shall we?

So I squeeze my tiny car into the  dregs of what should be a full parking space, and feel rather passive aggressive about it, like, ha, I’ll show you, and sadly, I don’t feel the tiniest bit guilty even though I’m trying to be all Tibetan heart about stuff these days.  Which I’m sure is obvious, my Tibetan heart.  The ridiculous thing is that the encroachment was on my driver’s side.  You know how that goes down, the consequences go directly to me, not to the lame driver who has tons of room to get in and out of her car, but will probably ding my car when he/she leaves this tight space.  I’m the one who has to crawl across the stick shift and squeeze myself out the passenger side.  Whatever.

So I go to get my coffee, which is obviously what I need.  Let’s get angry bitter person all jacked up on caffeine, shall we?

The woman ahead of me in line, and I am so not exaggerating, but she takes like, oh, 15 god damn minutes to place her order, which involves, and I am so not making this up, but there’s a bit about how she wants them to pull one shot, add 2 tablespoons of caramel, stir it, then add the other shot of coffee and some steamed milk that’s all fussy too, like “can it be more like 1.5%, so you use two thirds two percent, and one third non-fat?  And after all that’s added, drizzle two more tablespoons of caramel on top.”

I am so irritated with the fact that there are people on the planet who have an opinion about the order of when the sugary crap gets added to their coffee that I can hardly contain myself, but I do, and I wait while she does a lot of rummaging through a giant purse for her starbucks card, and that takes another 25 minutes or maybe it was a week to just manage to pay.  I’m convinced that she’s probably the one who parked poorly. Oh, did I mention that she wanted her pumpkin bread heated, but “please don’t put it in until the first shot is added to the drink.”

So just like the parking thing, I’m all bitter in a way that has the consequences come right back at me, and I don’t order the Americano that I long for, but instead, as an act of solidarity with the simple folk, I order drip coffee.  I don’t even ask them to leave room for cream, because suddenly, I’m just not willing to have any modifiers on my coffee. I’m gonna drink it black, just to prove that I don’t need any special treatment at all.  I know, this is not normal.

So I go back into the parking lot, and in a sick way, I’m kind of hoping the other driver is there to watch me climb in through the passengers side of the car, and she is there, and it’s not Complicated Order Woman, but someone else, and she approaches me all sweetly and says she needs help, and it turns out that she left her lights on and her stupid car needs a jump.  There’s a man standing there with cables, but he’s got a Prius and has no idea if you can even jump a car with a Prius for the obvious reason that it has a weak little battery, and I am so not like this, but he looks like a weak little man too. 

So I do, I climb in through the passenger side, and open the hood, and then climb out again through the passenger side to make sure it’s hooked up properly, because last time I trusted someone to hook it up, well, I looked up after being distracted by something else for a minute, and there was smoke and melting cables.

Anyway, she got her car started, and was all grateful, thanking me profusely, and ignoring the fact of me climbing in and out of the car on such the non-standard side, as if maybe I’m Just That Way.

That’s the news from the path to bliss.

I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...