Category Archives: Leisure Time
O’Bonkers for Obama and some junk
Okay, maybe not O’BONKERS, but I am going to be at the rally at Le Key Arena tomorrow with Strudel in tow (ditching school, ooooh). I have to go and see. Say hi if you see me, I am 3’4″ with a goiter the size of an uglifruit. Thas right.
Also, what is up with having Dem rally at 11 in the a.m. on a Friday? Democrats gotta work, biatch. No matter. I will provide a baby to be kissed. KISS MY BABY, I’M GOING TO THE CAUCUS.
Did you know that in Washington State, the primary doesn’t “count” for Democrats? YUP. You gotta caucus. You should still vote though. I don’t know, wtf ever.
Find your caucus location via this informational pamphlet and/or video.
Liz just sent me Kan Yee’s blob, and now I can die happy. That is all.
Heart Hearts, Heart Pie, Yeah, We Open
Friends, lovers, people from Sheboygan, your mom, assmittens, I greet you. Last night, inspired by my recent viewing of Sweeney Todd, I took one look in the fridge and decided to make a meat pie. I’m certain no one will miss the letter carrier that package of lamb. I threw in a giant bag of matsutakes, a carrot, some onion, and bam, my dope-smoking spirit animal sang to me in my sleep. Twas pie. Even Nietzsche partooketh. She likes her some pie.
This pie LOOOOVES you. I love February today. Usually February brings insanity and bizarre fits of cleaning, plans for an ill-conceived novel (which now has been worked into my schedule once a month) and threats to run away from home. But I am hanging in there. Ask me again in three days.
Because in three days I may be trapped under the landslide of the auction, which is quickly approaching in April. I read with great interest recently what Badgerbag had to say about fundraisers, and how much they BLOW and I totally am feeling it. At this point, I just want to pay more tuition and be left alone. And when I come to people with my sad Bambi eyes and I’m like “OH PLZ will you run desserts” and they look at me like I am about to sit them down in front of a slide show of aborted fetuses, I think something is not working. Badger’s point about how this should be PAID WORK if it’s so damn critical to the operation and continued existence of the school. Community building, volunteerism, bliddy bladdy, I am not buying it anymore. I have attended many a parent night and pot luck, and I get to know parents just as well that way.
HOWEVER, I think I wrangled a good deal by having tuition comped, at least. This is as it should be. It’s kind of sad that I have scored such a deal just by creating a job for myself and getting some kind of compensation. It would be fantastic if there was a paycheck on top of this, but the system is not working that way. And so, auction will be run, auction will be fabulous, etc, and then I shall take my bow and get a damn job that pays me to show up.
I love what she said in the same post linked above:
What the hell people. Just pay your taxes! And go vote for higher school taxes if that’s what it takes, and if you’ve got a wad of money extra then give it to the district so they can spread it out fairly, or donate it to the Teachers’ Union to help the teachers get some decent pay. Instead of dicking around endlessly organizing your Box Tops and your toy drives. It drives me crazy… Go get a job. Instead by volunteering you are enabling a classist system that means schools that serve wealthy populations get decent funding, and schools where there aren’t a bunch of housewife-role-filling parents don’t. Plus, women pressured to systematically disempower themselves by doing unpaid political and fundraising work. That is bogus! I respect organizations like the PTA, and the women who do the difficult politics of them, and YET… again… how about making those jobs into REAL PAID JOBS. You’re doing work, ladies. Demand a paycheck for it. What are you teaching your sons and daughters in this meta message? That you… that mothers… that women’s work is invisible and unworthy of being considered “real” work.
That is awesome.
Excuse me, miss, I forgot your name, thank you, God bless you, good night, I came.
In Which We Encounter: Poor Jane, Minky’s Progress, and Imelda. Call Me Princess.
Joe has ambitions. He wants to go to college and do things. He’s getting out of this small town, which is too close-minded to contain him. MAN. But Jane. Jane now, Jane baby, she’s his thing. It’s cool. She’s less of a girlfriend, maybe, and more of a receptacle. Joe talks, and Jane listens. She’s really great. Jane nods at all the right parts. Jane doesn’t want anything for herself, because she’s as dumb as a fucking post.
Thanks a lot, ninety-nine cent coloring book. Have we learned nothing from the diaper stalker? Women can be astronauts ALSO. Jesus, I am taking this crayon with me everywhere from now on.
Weekend Away
In two hours, I am about to get on a plane. If I can stop staring at my butt, anyway. Today it is mesmerizing me. I seem to have fed it just the right amount of triple cream, or maybe the skirt is just my friend. I will cut it off til June now. ANYWAY, I am reading in San Francisco tonight at Three Dollar Bill Cafe. DAVID LEE ROTH HIGH KICK. I can’t wait to meet new people and see old people. I am reading from this book, Can I Sit with You? I will sign your book, boob, or moob. If you have no moobs but instead beefy arm, you will be dismissed.
I listened to Strudel scream this morning after I made Companion put her through the shower. I shall not look back.
“Do you see now, why it’s so hard for me to give up these precious moments with her?”
“UGH,” he said over her as she screamed about skirts.
“It’s all worth it, though, when she says she loves you, isn’t it?”
“UGH,” Companion said.
“NO PANTS NOOOOOOO PANTS I WANT TO WEAR A TURT!” Strudel interjected.
“I think it’s important for children to have daddy time too. I have to force myself not to hog her.”
“I see that,” he said.
After days of unholy struggle, Franny’s loft bed has finally gone together. Between the wood being warped and it being an unwieldy son-of-a-bitch, it took more time than it should have. But now Franny is in her aerie, and the gimpy Taibas Jones reminds me that at one time in her youth she was an ace ladder-climber. Those were spindly little rungs that went straight up and down, and these have a lean and are much flatter. But it still impresses me, considering that half the time she is limping around on her little centipede legs.
In conclusion, last night I dreamt that IKEA directions were in COLOR, and I was THRILLED.
Today I am also superblab about some feminist hobbledyhoy over on Blogher.
Man, Fuck The Permit, I Know Where Ima Park Tonight
1. I was pushing eggshells into the maw of the sink when I remembered: I had the most horrifying dream about my teeth last night. I was wandering around one of those doctor’s office complexes that are like rambling warrens.
Why do they do that? Why do they want patients to feel lost and overwhelmed? Is it sneaky psychological intimidation or dissatisfied architects who wish they were designing museums instead of medical-dental? Do doctors think they are giant bunnies?
ANYWAY. For some reason I stuck whitening strips on my teeth while I wandered around looking for my babydaddy, who was there somewhere in a room. Then a timer dinged and it was time to take the strips off. I pulled and pulled, but they were a little stuck.
My teeth started crumbling apart like some kind of fragile candy. It felt like the butt end of candy canes when you suck them down to slivers and they just snap off. I started spitting teeth out into my hand to see if any could be salvaged. There was a whole one with a root, but mostly they were brown and crumbling.
I looked into a mirror at my brown crackly nubs. “Have I always been this ugly?” I wondered to myself. I kept licking them, worried I was going to cut my tongue. I pushed a door open and walked outside and the light was blue, like the light is in the spring sometimes.
My ex drove by in his boat of a car. “Have you seen Franny?” I clapped my hand over my mouth, closed my fingers over my tooth fragments with my other hand, and shook my head. He chit-chatted with me for a few more minutes and then drove on.
Then, of course, I started to worry about where Franny was. I dropped my teeth and said, “Oh, well, I will deal with this later.” I began looking for her and I woke up.
The Long and the Short
Forecast
This weekend was kind of discombobulating. It snowed here on Friday night, which always throws the Seattle world off its axis. We went out on that night, and for some reason I decided to wear open-toed heels. I think I was in denial or something. But I did pretty well, and didn’t fall down any holes. One nice thing about patent leather and tights is that they dry when you get where you’re going really quickly.
I am convinced that I am getting dumber now as I get older. Ten years ago I was in bed by nine most nights and did sensible things like staying out of the sun. My apex was probably about twenty-three. Goodbye, brain! I’ll miss you as I limp towards this grave.
Human Interest
We went to this sushi restaurant I had never heard of though it is blocks from my house, and we were feeling indecisive about what to order at first. Companion just ordered miso and the waitress chastised us as she walked off: “Bo-ring.” Her devil-may-care attitude toward customer service did not make the monkfish liver less delicious later.
Then on Saturday we were at the hoity-toity natural foods grocery store, where my feral dwarf was demanding a corn dog. Most of the time we shop at Plebe Ranch, where she can get a chicken corndog (NOW WITH 17% MORE BEEF ANUSES) or some jo-jos while we shop.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey, this place is too healthy to have corndogs,” I said.
“It’s not really about healthy,” the barista behind the counter snotted. “It’s more like, things like corndogs have preservatives and nitrates, and we tend not to carry things like that.”
ORLY? Processed dog product has preservatives and nitrates? You could have knocked me over with a feather, etc. So you’re saying that they’re UNHEALTHY, then?
I wanted to free his coworker, who looked very tolerant of him as he smarmed at her regarding his serious learnings about the failings of the Catholic church.
I am one of the least religious people I know, but sometimes I get really tired of all the smug atheism around this joint. Which is weird, because I was raised surrounded by smug Christians. I guess what I want now is ironical smugness.
Animal Report
I forgot to tell you, a couple of weeks ago I brought home a hamster. I had been thinking about it for a couple of months, and decided to go for it. I know it’s nothing earth-shattering, but it’s pretty fun. I have declared him “my” hamster so there is minimal fighting. Franny decided on the name “Ragweed” for him out of a children’s book that we like by Avi.
He’s pretty normal, and will have a lot to live up to to top Monkeyhip’s legacy, but he does have one little quirk. I have him set up next to my computer in the kitchen, so he is very aware of food smells and cooking, moreso than any other hamster I have ever had. If I munch late at night while looking at ONTD, then he sits and stares raptly at me, like a dog. I had to fork over one almond and he munched it for a while until he was ready to get back to his hamster business, such as his investments and Fantasy Football scores. A couple of nights ago he held the bars and stared until I felt his beadly little eyes drilling tiny, ineffectual holes into the back of my head. I turned around and gave him a cilantro leaf and his eyes went all slitty. I think he was remembering his time in Mexico.
I, Hamster Slave.
Sunday is Mushroom Day. Poast Some Fucking Mushrooms!
Today we went to our secret mushroom spot that only half of Seattle knows about, based on the number of snapped stems we find lately.
I found a gigando Boletus, which I’m pretty sure is a Boletus flaviporus, because the pores did not go blue when I bruised them. They are edible, but are supposed to be only so-so, so I am saving them for my last mushroom class. It’s fun to oooh over the large ones people bring in. Notice how bright yellow the underside is. It has to be seen to be believed. It’s really fluorescent.
They don’t have gills, they have pores like honeycombs.
My friend said, “That looks SO poisonous!” She’s right, of course, but I am discovering that in some cases poison mushrooms look so benign and edibles can be really flamboyant. Case in point: chantarelles.
I found the biggest chanterelle EVAR in perfect condition. Shocker.
We lost our friends and resorted to cell phoning and howling to locate them like goombas. I have never gotten so separated from people in the woods before, because we usually have the children with us.
This park is not infinite and there are landmarks you can walk toward, like a creek or the freeway, so I wasn’t worried. It was kind of fun being alone for a while, though. It reminded me of when I was a kid and I used to wander off to the forest preserve behind my house. I kept my head down the whole time then and I did today, too. Now that I know that mushroom toxins won’t go through the skin on your hand, I touch everything. It’s fun.
I have been going since 2004 now, and I am going to try and add spring mushrooming into my plans with the society here. During my long sentence here I guess I should take advantage of the PNWed and all the moldy crap that grows on the moldy ground here. Mushrooms=mushroomade.
Oh Saint Dymphna Pray For Jerks; Plus-Two Stench Damage
You know what’s good for a case of the “mlehs?” Finishing some shit you’ve been putting off. I saw a recipe for making a vintage medicine cabinet into a jewelry cabinet with velvet lining and painted whichever way you want, which is fine, but everyone knows the best color to paint something is gold, like chicken planters, my bed, and my old living room with the red walls and gold trim.
I put it aside at the end of the summer because I borked some of the lining process and got all grumpity. But my friend was here yesterday with her knitting, and it inspired me to get it out. After hours of searching, my tired unorganized ass found my glue gun, and I fixed the lining and glued some Catholic religious medals that I scored at the Fremont Market to the front, around the mirror. Today we went down to Pike Place and I got about 50 milagros, and I glued those in the places where the religious medals weren’t. It is viva la Mexico ftw.
I even got a boobies milagro. I have never seen one of those.
“They are for warding off breast cancer, or for breast health,” the woman at the store said.
“Or maybe for fighting gravity,” I said.
I took pictures of the cabinet in progress all summer, and they are scattered through my photo folders. I want to take a picture of my finished cabinet, and make a gallery out of it. BUT, I have somehow lost my battery charger, so I am saving my last bit of juice for like when the aliens come. I will pick up a new charger soon.
You know what’s even better than hot glue gun burns? Do you? Freaking out and waving your hand around and having the glue dry on your burn. Now I have a blister under a glue glob. It’s like Science under Glass. Is my finger going to fall off? I hope not. It’s my special finger I reserve for choad poking.
Dear MF Diary: Beachy KEEN!
Figure 1
Hey! We went to the beach. It was pretty nice. We stayed in a cabin with a kitchen, which is good for containing naughty babies, and also for making pancakes in your pajamas. It was the Kite Festival on the Long Beach Peninsula, which is pretty fricking fun. No one at this house has a particular boner for kites; we just went because August is usually the most reliable time for a vacation. And I think it only rained two or three times, so SCORE.