This morning we opened the front door to find a notice from the Department of Agriculture notifying us that they put traps in our trees in order to expedite their search for "harmful exotic invasive insects." WHAT?! Yeah, I'll totally be able to sleep now. It says they will be coming weekly to check the traps. I wonder if the traps attract spiders? Or balls? Or stray mangy cats that give off bad vibes? I suspect they just want fruit flies but little do they know, if they want want harmful exotic invasive anything, they have really come to the right place. I wonder if they saw our lemons. Or did they see the lemons and that is what brought them here? Either way, bugs + traps+ white men in suits. I'm outta here.
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This week life is going to change for the online Call of Duty
community. They are about to lose their most dedicated player. And a
physical therapist is about to have a few more hours to fill. And the
visits to Dr. Adorable will end (That part is sad. He was really cute
and the exam rooms look like Zen Ikea). And I may get to go back to
eating food out of boxes while standing in my kitchen and call it
dinner. This week --after almost EIGHT MONTHS of recovery-- my husband
is leaving the nest and is going back to work. Well, not really goingto work but some light work and looking for work. He's going back to what
Grips do when they go back to work after having their fallen off
shoulders reattached. A new adventure is about to begin! I hope it will be good.
Does anyone have a man-sized plastic bubble I can borrow? One that
travels well and repels germs and injury but doesn't look dorky?
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I've been craving fried chicken for about a decade. I keep not getting
it because I fear dying of a heart attack while I eat it. A couple
weeks ago, I could not take it any longer and Dustin and I went out to
KFC for dinner. Oh man, it was good! I only got the 2-piece deal so I
managed to stay alive.
Last weekend when Pam and Sara were here, Sara did a show in Hollywood.
We sat near the front and two men were sitting diagonally in front of
us to the right (and directly in front of Sara). A few songs into
Sara's set, a lady walked right up to these men with a big plate of
smoking hot FRIED CHICKEN. It smelled so good. The men dug right in and
the smell of delicious fried chicken permeated the room. I have no idea
how Sara kept singing because it was hard for me to focus on anything
but the chicken I was not eating. Isn't it a law that you don't bring
fried chicken to a concert unless you have enough for everyone? The
two-piece meal deal is sounding pretty good again. Is fried chicken appearing in unusual places a sign that I should eat more or a sign that I live in Twin Peaks?
Of course I had to take a photo.
*It's a bad and blurry photo but trust me, Sara looked adorable and she sounded amazing.
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I have a lot of stories to tell about life in the last week. The flip side to having a week filled with stories is that it means I have to cram a week of work into 2 days to meet a deadline. It's worth it but most stories will have to wait. One story that Pam and I told together is on canvas. It's a story about freedom and represents things in both of our lives that we've experienced in the last few years (or maybe in the last 40 years). It's a true collaboration from the concept to the painting and the gluing. Both of our hands and our lives were all over this piece. We did this for fun. There was no deadline attached to it. There were no rules, requirements, or the need to please anyone but ourselves. And I wanted to do this because I decided I wanted to be over my thing of not ever doing art for the joy of it simply because I was tired of making art all the time. I'd been saying no to the fun stuff more often than yes. Or maybe it stopped being fun because it was work. I'm still thinking on it. Pam was just the right artist and friend for this Freedom mission and I am so glad we had the chance to create (and express, and laugh, and story-tell) together. I keep looking at the art on my wall, smiling, and thinking Oh my Buddha, we totally made that together and it's on my wall! It's so great to have a souvenir of our friendship and our story, even though the details of our stories are different, the struggle and the goals are the same.
This was SO FUN! And, there were frosted sugar cookies with sprinkles, too. Actually, the cookie part was required.
*I think it would be only fair if I now go to Toronto and we make another piece together for Pam's wall. I think it's the Law Of Collaborations.
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The most important thing I ever learned in school was how to escape a
room of 30 people without anyone noticing. It's a skill that has served
me well over the years. I knew the night of my nursery school
graduation, and probably long before that, that school just wasn't the
game for me. I attended nursery school with our younger brother, Tod,
at a Methodist church that smelled like urine and moldy embossed tin
lunchboxes. One day, as three year-old's often do when provoked, Tod
bit another child during play time when a brat kicked him off the
monkey bars. The teacher (blind to the kid who kicked Tod) grabbed Tod
by the neck, dragging him to the bathroom. She forced a thick bar of
green soap into his mouth to teach him a lesson. I stood there
helpless and in shock while the original bully continued to play on
the bars. What a great teaching moment!
My graduation from nursery school
lockup was shortly after the soap incident. Our parents were going through a divorce and graduation landed
on Dad's night to get us. Of course, he came late and by the time we
got to graduation, everyone was leaving. I missed my own graduation.
Soap teacher saw me in the back of the empty room and came over to
scold me for being late. I kept my mouth tightly shut and my neck to
the wall. She shoved my diploma and a Tootsie Pop at me and walked away.
Dad rushed us back to the car and I sat in the back seat with my
diploma on my lap. I decided right there that I'd learn as fast as I
could and get out as fast as I could. The next time I'd miss my own
graduation it would be my choice.
And I always chose not to graduate or not go to the ceremony.
Unless you are the one graduating or you are the parent of the student
graduating, graduation ceremonies are the most boring things ever.
Every speech is the same. The world is your oyster. The bread of life
is yours. Your time is now. Go do great things. Blah, blah, blah. And
no student is listening whether they are high school or college
graduates. There are just sitting there thinking about getting drunk or
are drunk. They are so done listening to anyone tell them anything.
That's the point of graduating.
Last week I attended a graduation ceremony and I was the only one listening.
*Part Two is coming soon.
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I don't quite remember how it came up, but during a conversation with
Bella (The Happy Hooker) she mentioned making an Ambrosia salad. Oh how we love Ambrosia salad! But only the kind our Nana used to make, not the
kind with maraschino cherries and fruit cocktail. Nana's recipe was
simple- canned pineapple chunks, canned mandarin oranges, coconut
flakes, sour cream, and the colored mini-marshmallows. She always used
the colored marshmallows because they were prettier. On special
occasions, she'd replace the sour cream with cool whip and we'd think
we died and went to heaven. For days, Bella and I drooled over thoughts
of Ambrosia salad. And then I went to Palm Springs where Nana used to
always make that salad for us and being in Palm Springs without my Nana
and without the salad was too much to take. I had to make that salad.
So, I went shopping for the ingredients in this Beige town I live in and
couldn't find the colored marshmallows anywhere. That just figures! I
had to make a white Ambrosia salad. I also couldn't find Go Girl
anywhere on the shelves, and while this has nothing to do with the
story, if you are shopping at Albertson's on The Old Road, they now
keep the Go Girl in the PRODUCE SECTION. Waiting for the salad to chill
was just like waiting for a doctor who took too long-- I kept opening
the fridge door to see what was going on. Each time, I took a bite to
see if it was chilled enough. I think I even heard my Nana shaking her
head in despair (in heaven) each time I did that. And it was so, so,
so good.
But then I got to thinking about the ingredients. Somebody
totally high on drugs in the midst of the worst PMS cramps and migraine
had to have invented this salad. Who else would think marshmallows and
sour cream would be a good match? Someone who needs chocolate at 3 AM
and doesn't have any, that's who. Those are ingredients you toss
together because it's what you have and you are desperate and all the
stores are closed.
It turns out that Ambrosia salad is now what you make when you have the worst ever migraine and no drugs. It is the drug.
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The other night when I was out of town, I attended a dinner party for
writers the first night we were there. It was all types of writers~
poets, novelists, songwriters, and screenwriters. I didn't really know
who most of them were other than some names were familiar to me and
some I'd met before at the same event two years ago when I took photos of
them. Actually, even after days photographing these people, I know
their stories well but I still don't know their names. I only know the
names I gave them.
At one point in the evening, seated sort of behind but next to me was a
writer wearing really old Chucks held together at the toe with an
equally old piece of duct tape that curled at the edges. I don't know
what he looked like because I couldn't take my eyes off his shoes. I
couldn't stop thinking of all the things that stuck to the turned up
corner of tape on his shoe that kept going from destination to
destination with him. And by things I mean whatever is on the floor of
a public bathroom. He crossed his foot over his knee and rested his
hand on his ankle, the tape dangerously close to his hand, and closer
to me.
He was engrossed in a serious conversation with a man whose hands were
all the way in the front pockets of his jeans. Was he afraid of the
tape, too? I couldn't see the rest of his outfit because I was afraid
to look away from THE TAPE.
Sticky: I've been selling a lot of guitars lately. Pockets: Oh? Sticky:Refurbishing guitars is how I make a living. Pockets: Sticky:I mean it's a hobby.
And
neither of them laughed. There wasn't even an awkward giggle or
clearing of the throat. There wasn't even a fun discussion of that
interesting Freudian slip. How sad.
I, of course, laughed so hard that I almost choked on my own tongue--
just as I would have if I had been the one who confused a living with a
hobby in a room full of people who might frown upon that type of thing.
I think I know what Sticky's next book will be about.
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I started an herb garden in our back yard because having cilantro
whenever I want it is like a fantasy to me. And it's just so much
cheaper than buying fresh herbs covered in chemicals at the grocery store every week. And when I was
reading about organic ways to kill all the bugs in our garden the
instructions were basically to pour good salad dressing and some soap
all over everything. Bugs don't like oil, fragrant herbs, and lemon.
Ever since I read about the organic bug killers, I have been craving
salads like crazy.
I know, bugs are essential in a garden. But I don't like them buzzing
on me in my meditation garden, killing my roses, or biting my face.
Also, they are just gross.
So, all our food is delicious with the fresh herbs and we're saving
money on that. Now I just need to find a way to save money on our
prescription medications. Does anyone have any non-generic Topamax or
Thyroid seedlings?
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It's almost impossible to pick up a magazine geared towards women
without reading about how important it is to get time for yourself. Get
time for yourself and get rid of clutter- we are bombarded with that
message. What we are not told is how to actually do those things
without having to having to lie about what we are doing. Suddenly sex
and drugs and rock 'n' roll aren't hidden secrets, wanting three hours
alone is the thing we have to hide. Telling a friend or relative who
doesn't get it that you'd rather spend a few hours at home with
your Neil Diamond CD at full blast with the windows open while you
check expiration dates on your mascara, organize your sock drawer, and
toss old magazines instead of attend their party never ever, ever goes
over well. People get really offended when what you really want to do is tend to your own life.
I have a running list in my head of things I want to do. I don't need
to write the list down because the list has become part of me-- get rid
of that stack of stuff on the table, dust that shelf between the first
and second floor, throw out the tubs of old glue on my desk, donate the
bags of old clothes in the garage, read Columbine, finally put photos
in the frames on the wall, the list goes on and on. Yet, in my daily
life there doesn't seem to be time to get to those things in addition
to all the other things I need to get done. I really want to do those
things. They nag at me like an annoying sitcom wife. I offended people left and right today and that's their problem. The stack of crap is off my table, the shelf between floors has been
dusted, my old magazines have been tossed, and my makeup drawer is
organized. And my Neil Diamond CD played all day on repeat.
This week I rearranged the art in my house and the art I want to put out in the world (again). I rearranged the way I want to think about things, and the way I want to react to things. I rearranged my hair so I wouldn't chop it off in a PMS rage before my hair appointment this week. I rearranged my schedule so I could fit in a BIG photo shoot in June. By Big, I mean Jane Smiley will be in front of my camera. So I seem like a really cool photographer instead of a stalker, I won't quote passages from her books during the laid back photo-shooting. After two days at a secret location, I will rush home and rearrange our house for the arrival of Pam and Sara. And then all hell will break loose! Music, art, funny women....let the good times roll!
So between now and June, there will be much more arranging and rearranging, even if only in my head.
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