Monday, February 24, 2003

burning down the house





WOO! We hit BOTH Kmart closing sales this weekend. When we got home today, it seems I'd left the stove on while we went to Sandusky. My chicken soup is burned to the bottom of the pot, which probably isn't non-stick anymore. Whoops. Anyway, I got Tristan some cute clothes. Plus, "Jenny From the Block" came on the radio just as we got back into town. It was thrilling.

Friday, February 21, 2003

Oh. My. God. And. What. The. Fuck.



I. Woke. Up. To. Pee. This. Morning. And. There. Was. A. Dead. Mouse. IN! MY! TOILET!!!!!!!!



I don't think I can ever sleep again. Apparently, one of these three things happened between 4:30 am (when I peed, and there was no mouse) and 8:30 am, when I made my gruesome and horrific discovery...



My Theory: The mouse somehow backed up into the toilet..... yeah, right.



John's Theory: The mouse was out looking for his nightly drink, when BAM!! Fell into a sea of my unflushed pee-pee.



Third Scenario: One of our 3 Ferocious Kitty Cats attacked and killed Little Mousey (possible), then dropped him off into the potty for mother and dad to behold upon their wake (improbable).



Here are the two damndest things about this whole.....damned.....thing.



1. I can't remember if the toilet lid was up or down when I went into the bathroom. I almost *always* put it down after I'm done, and it *seems* like it was closed when I went in there... I couldn't even see straight this morning, so the details of the toilet were definitely not at the forefront of my mind. In fact, I didn't have my glasses on when I stumbled in there, so at first I just thought it was a weird turd floating around. I was all, "Oh, John left a turd, weird..." Then I thought, "Wait a minute, I'm the last one who used the bathroom, I'm almost positive... this turd must have backed up into the toilet." And then finally, "ACK! THIS TURD HAS A TAIL!!! BAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"



2. On Wednesday night, John and I went and de-activated all the mousetraps he put in the attic two months ago because they were empty so we thus determined that we DID NOT HAVE A MOUSE. The bastid. He must have been waiting until we let our guard down.



So I of course didn't get a picture of the scene before we flushed Sir Mousey away, but for your delicious viewing pleasure, I have commissioned an artist's rendition from the wonderful Fuzzy Cootie, also known as .....me:







So I'm headed off to the doctor now to get a much-needed refill on my Prozac. Then I think I'm going to the mall. Nothing relieves the "OHMYGOD THERE'S A MOUSE IN MY TOILET"s like a trip to Baby Gap, right? If you need me later, you should be able to IM, because heaven knows I won't ever ever be sleeping ever, ever again.

Thursday, February 20, 2003

my nervous habits





1. I bite the skin on my fingers. Constantly. You could be sitting there in the parlor, trying to have a civilized conversation with me, and I'm going at my pointer like it's corn-on-the-cob. And I don't just nibble. There are calluses where my cuticles should be. It's gross.



2. I scratch at my head. This is gross, too. Especially right now, because it's winter and my scalp is dry and crusty. All day I catch myself knuckle-deep in ponytail, digging like hell at some imagined itch or bump or scale or flake or demon. I even smell my fingers afterward. How else will I know when it's time to shampoo?



3. I bite my lip. Once again, obsessively. I chaw and chew until there are gaping gashes in my soft kissy-flesh. My lips get so dry and crusty that my Lip Smackers run and hide.



4. I tap my feet/ bounce my legs/ wiggle my toes. More than one at the same time, even. I do this when I'm sitting at the computer, watching television, laying in bed, anywhere. I try not to do it at job interviews, though. Although they usually turn me away when they see my fingers anyway.



5. I click my teeth together so that they play a song. This one really bothers me, because if I do it very much I end up with a headache. I'll be sitting here typing away when all of the sudden I realize I'm playing Seven Mary Three with my incisors.



6. I rub my eyebrows backwards. You know, kind of like when you pet a dog the wrong way so his hair stands up on end. I *used* to groom both eyebrows simultaneously - imagine you're pulling your hair behind your ears, but do it with your brows instead - so I actually consider this an improvement. I only pet one brow at a time.



7. I pull my hair into an upsweep, then let it fall again. This might sound kind of minor, but watch someone do it 300 times in a row and THEN tell me how you feel about it.



8. I pick at zits and scabs. I realize that this, too, is utterly disgusting. But I just can't stop. If there is anything on my body that shouldn't be there, I must eradicate it at any cost. Except, of course, for my bearlike leg hair. That doesn't bother me in the least.



9. I play with my jewelry. Diamonds ARE a girl's best friend, after all. Who doesn't like to watch them sparkle, right? Okay, so that isn't so bad.... but I'm just getting you warmed up for the worst one:



10. I rub my genital area with the back of my thumb. Yes, that's right. Laugh all you want, I'm a compulsive masturbator. Well, not REALLY, but when I'm sitting here in my computer chair, my hand falls delicately into my lap. I don't even mean for it to happen, but it's kind of like being three years old and rocking back and forth on the floor while you're watching the Flintstones... it just feels right.



So there you go. Ten reasons why none of you will ever, ever speak to me again.

Tuesday, February 18, 2003

hoarding



When I was a teenager and my brother was about 8 years old, I discovered that he had been stealing little things from everyone in the family (and probably kids at school, too) and hiding them under his pillow. He was always a little thief and a pyro - he stole cigarettes from my grandpa, and smoked them, when he was 7, and we always had to keep lighters hidden far away from the time he was a toddler on. Under his pillow I found rocks, matches, rubber bands, paper clips, toy cars, hi-bounce balls, money, keyrings, and a little pocket knife. But this post isn't about my poor, neglected, whacked-out baby brother. Oh no. This one's about Tristan.



Tristan's had a fascination with hiding things since before he could walk. He'd scoot across the floor with a cookie in his hand and toss it in the clean laundry basket for tomorrow (or, you know, two months from now). At every diaper change he would bring a toy along and gleefully drop it behind the dresser. So it was no surprise that when he started walking, he found a super-cool spot to drop things. Next to our entertainment center (a stately monstrosity of cherry-finish particle board that is the nicest piece of furniture we will probably ever own, courtesy of the in-laws), there is a stack of boxes that contains our still-unpacked collection of CDs. Behind that is a few inches of space , a floor lamp, and the wall. Tristan is obsessed with tossing anything and everything behind those boxes. Every night I have to engage in a massive recovery effort if I ever want to see his shoes again, or load up the dishwasher. Until recently, the boxes of CDs were taped shut. Then, John decided to make a CD DATABASE! containing a list of all the albums we own, what year they were released, who produced them and on what record label they were pressed. (Why? Because he's a boy. And he's been out of work for five months. Even Metroid Prime can't hold someone's interest for THAT long.) Anyway.



Tonight, Lisa asked me to recommend some good girl pop. I happily obliged, and asked John to fetch a few albums by that dog, The Cardigans, and Go Sailor (among others**) so I could pick the very best songs off each of them. Upon opening the C-thru-H box, he immediately beckoned me to the living room, so that I might have a look at this:



Look at all this stuff!




In this box we have, in no particular order:



2002 Ohio Candidate Requirements Pamphlet, flyer announcing a Breast-Feeding trailer at the county fair (yes, you DID read that correctly, a mobile home you could enter to whip out your tit), and a card reading "Stick With John! Re-Elect John Elmlinger Huron County Advisor" which used to contain a "stick" of gum.... these were all taken from a bag of junk I brought home from the county fair last summer, and handed Tristan in an act of desperation last week



Two pacifiers



Two cylindrical shape-sorter blocks



One toy tiger



A little toy sailor man



Water Squirting Duck and his pal, Water Squirting Frog



Red plastic ball



Dropper bottle of baby Tylenol



5-ounce baby bottle, half full of water - this has been missing since last Thursday. I assumed he had eaten it, like he did with all his socks.



Oh, and a Fugazi CD I took away from him about a month ago and dropped in there. Hey, at least he has good taste.



So apparently, this hoarding instinct runs in the family. Lucky, lucky me. Time to hide the matches.



**see also: Veruca Salt, Sam Phillips, Lisa Loeb, Velocity Girl, Lush, bis, Belly, and Luscious Jackson.

like those cards on the table at wendy's



I got a comment thingy like all the other hepcats on my block. I hope you'll leave me a few.

cat ass and cat breath



I just wanted to add that I think John is burning some cat ass or cat breath scented candles. It stinks in here.

dead stores



I have a really strange, creepy fascination with stores that have gone out of business. I love it all. I'll beat down to any closing sale I can find - the last few days are like a wake for the utterly useless and ugly products that nobody wanted. (Except, of course, for me - I've scored some excellent iron-on transfers, ugly shoes, 80s pop cassettes, and old makeup in my day.) If we walk past an empty storefront, I feel it's my duty to peer inside and see if maybe an empty clothes rack, an old cash register, or a paper cup of half-consumed coffee were left behind. For some reason, I feel compelled to spend hours online, finding any information I can on shuttered stores and why they folded. Was it poor management? Employee theft?? Bad marketing decisions??? Zayre's. Ames. Hills. National Record Mart. Gold Circle. Montgomery Ward. Nobody cares about them anymore but me.... and this guy.



I found this "club" completely by accident, and I can't believe I didn't think of it first. It's so spookily delicious - pages of pictures of DEAD MALLS!! And what's more, they're even in my "neck of the woods", so to speak - good old Ohesia. It's beautiful. Look at all the empty stores!! I can't believe there's another weirdo out there who likes to look at closed stuff. In related news, there are *two* K-Mart stores going out of business within 30 miles of my house.... if anyone needs some Backstreet Boys folders or t-shirt puff paint, just let me know....

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

i need more ram



Yesterday we were walking past Radio Shack when John jokingly asked, "Hey, wanna go buy a new computer?" and I replied "Tsch! Yeah! I need more RAM."

He laughed like a seventh grader.


the CD tower



Over the weekend, my husband graciously purchased a darling little 20-disc CD tower to help me corral the ungodly, Pisa-esque stacks of CDs that cover my entire desk. It even matches the black faux-wrought-iron stuff that the desk and its matching bookshelf are made of. In order from top to bottom, this is the list of albums in it - it should be noted that John is the one who stocked it. I would NEVER put them in order, but that's just the kind of guy that he is.



System of a Down Toxicity

Ash 1977

Neutral Milk Hotel In the Aeroplane Over The Sea

The Promise Ring Nothing Feels Good

The Promise Ring Very Emergency

The Strokes Is This It

Yaz Upstairs at Eric's

The White Stripes White Blood Cells

The White Stripes Self-Titled

The White Stripes De Stijl

Treble Charger Maybe It's Me

Depeche Mode The Singles 81-85

Hum You'd Prefer An Astronaut

Hum Downward is Heavenward

Jimmy Eat World Bleed American

Ben Kweller Sha Sha

Stephen Malkmus Self-Titled

Home Town Hero Self-Titled

More Than Electric yesterdaytodayandforever (This is our friend's Christian Rock band. I supposedly "won" their T-shirt design contest back in, like, June. WHERE'S MY SHIRT TOMMY?!?!)

Glifted Under and In

Denali Self-Titled

a CD-R that is just labeled "HUM" - I have no idea what this is as we already own every Hum album

For Squirrels Baypath Road

The case from For Squirrels Example, quite possibly the best album of all time, which I still have not replaced - it was in my portable CD player when it was stolen from my car in November. :(

An envelope with my friend Becky's address on it, which I am always losing

A scrap of paper with a bunch of addresses I don't need anymore, and Zach Slate's email

A free sample package of ThermaCare Heat Wraps, those patch things that heat up and you wear them for "cramps"



I'm definitely not bragging. Where's the My Bloody Valentine? The SDRE? I don't even like some of these discs. And as you can plainly see, I can't even keep the clutter away for a day. Shame, shame on me.

Sunday, February 09, 2003

sleepy musings and random song lyrics



Gwen says I should blog again. I've personally never even spoken to Gwen, but I know many others who hold her in high regard. Plus, she's adorable.

I hear words and quips and phrases
I think sick like ginger ale
my stomach turns and I exhale


I really prefer serif fonts. I wonder why I don't use one here?

It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do


(I am in complete awe that those are the actual lyrics to "Africa". I always thought they were something more..... poetic.)

I can't live without Prozac. Isn't that a bitch?

bop bop ba da da da da da da da da
doo doo doodoo doo doo doo doo and you


I buy Tristan new socks every two weeks. There are never any of Tristan's socks in the wash. I am convinced that Tristan is eating his socks.

thoity doity boids
sittin on the coib
choipin and boipin and eatin doity oithwoims


I can't think of anything else I would like to say. I need to go to sleep.