The Ship that Launched a Thousand Faces
Actually, it was more than a thousand faces, but like the Minnesotans say, “We have more than 10,000 lakes (as depicted on their license plates), but it says 10,000 because that’s where we just stopped counting”. Well, there you have it. Before I go on about ship travel more on Minnesota. The “Twin Cities” in Minnesota, don’t look anything alike. They aren’t the same shape and the Great Mississippi does not separate them as one city is on both sides- I can’t remember which. An amateur hypothesizer*, suggested they were called that because “they are next to each other”. Huh? Aren’t ALL cities next to other cities? Even East L.A. must have something to the right of it.
If you are an amateur hypothesizer who wonders a lot about what else I’m wondering, another is why more men seem to like Miracle Whip, and more women prefer mayonnaise. Seems weird since people were probably brought up with one or the other, leading to an adult preference, but certainly there are both boys and girls, or men and women in households where people grow up, so why the split? I have not documented any of my findings, and they are probably based on too many cocktails and a wandering mind, but I have asked a significant (if not statistically) amount of people which they prefer and the hands down winners, with an insignificant variation, is men=Miracle Whip, women=mayonnaise; for what it’s worth.
I love Minnesota and it’s winter. A vacation there seemed silly so I didn't even suggest it. I must hand it to the state of MN; however, for they KNOW it will snow every year and never act surprised about it (Nords are notorious for not really seeming surprised about anything, but still…) My point is, that unlike the entire Mid-Atlantic (or the 4 states I’ve lived in that qualify for that title), Minnesotans know it will snow, so they PLAN for it and act accordingly. If anyone at the Department of Transportation (DOT) is reading this, please tell me, before I add it to my mayonnaise/Twin Cities quandaries: Why do you wait until it has well started to snow before treating the roads? We know it’s coming. It’s been grossly sensationalized and over-exaggerated in the media for a week; we’ve been scared half out of our wits; we’ve started filling tubs with water, filling snow blowers with gasoline (or whatever liquid makes them run), and we’ve brought wool sweaters, snow pants, boots and warm coats to the front of the closet. We have long forgotten in which drawer we keep our bathing suits (bottom left). We are not surprised! We’ve been buying bread, chips and toilet paper for a week in anticipation of not being able to leave our homes because we know full well that the DOT is not going to plow until they damn well feel like it, and throwing down some salt or gravel BEFORE the roads get dangerous is unheard of. Where’s the sport in that? I think DOT invests in companies that buy ad spots during the 4-hour weather reports we’re forced to watch (unless someone famous dies, in which case, they’ll say, “It’s snowing; the roads are crap. Now, onto how many pills were found in Brindyessica’s* stomach!”)? I smell a conspiracy that has not reached areas involving many lakes, great or not yet great. I was a Girl Scout. I’ve been prepared (neurotically, contingently-aware) since the age of five. Are Richard Lewis, Larry David, Wanda Sykes and Woody Allen and I the only three people in the world who think, “What if?”
Back to the vacation (you thought I completely lost my train of thought didn’t you?) Don’t you love trains? You can see things go by that you would never see, like the backs of tire warehouses and real estate that has to be free, or sold exclusively to the hard of hearing, and the grafitti! How delightfully insightive of the artists to entertain us with random mispelled words while we zoom along!
Okay, I’m serious this time. After having just returned from a 9-day cruise, I can honestly say that 1) there are too many free cookies on boats, 2) Boyfriend and I CAN share a 4’ square space and not be tempted to throw the other one overboard, yet we can’t manage this at home, which is okay because we live in a ranch-style house, so it wouldn’t be a big fall 3) the term “butler” is underused in my house, and used liberally on a cruise ship, and 4) I am not a sailor- and I have a new appreciation for the joke Never Again Volunteer Yourself (NAVY). However, if I have to stay dizzy and completely off balance for 9 days to have butlers taking care of my every whim, then maybe it’s not so bad. Eventually I would get used to the feeling of having taken a large handful of blood pressure medication; correct? Who needs to think (or walk) straight or gaily forward? It’s overrated, and there are people telling you what you can do, all of which is optional and there are banisters everywhere. Of course you shouldn’t touch the banisters because thousands of people who have weird diseases, have just picked their nose, or wiped their butt have touched those same banisters moments before you.
Now the cruise ship (oddly unaffiliated with the Department of Transportation), has THOUGHT of this! You can’t swing a dead mouse on that ship without getting accosted by a person whose job it is (!) to stand there with hand sanitizer and squirt unsuspecting recipients, much like those obnoxious people in department stores, who I can only guess must have failed 3rd grade, making them the optimum choice for that profession. Of course you can recognize the nose pickers as the ones who don’t partake in this particular assault of their manual dryness. Me? I could have performed surgery during most of the trip for all the hand sanitizer I used. I voluntarily walked up to these people and stuck out my hands over and over, throughout the day and night. You can’t SEE germs- therefore they may be there, or they may not. I’m not a big risk taker when it comes to the communicable. There are people from countries I’ve never heard of before (and I've heard of a lot of countries), and like the mongoose in Hawaii, their particular set of germs are not indigenous to my body. My motto is, cleanliness is next to hygiene- in the thesaurus.
The cruise began with 3 days at sea, which is apparently about 30 days less than it takes to get used to being on something that constantly moves under your feet. I have recently ruled out space travel, and anything else that involves weightlessness, other than, of course, Weight Watchers; which is good. Cruising is not a bad way to travel from the standpoint of cookies and butlers, but wouldn’t you think a floating 14 story hotel would stand a better chance of warding off some little 4’ waves? It’s doesn’t. It rocked like the rock of ages (note to self, ask Carrie Fisher to ask Paul Simon what that meant). Ironically, the 1,000 or so folks who likely were on too much blood pressure medication, thanks to new diagnoses such as “pre-hypertension” (allowing pharmaceutical companies to interfere with your biosystem in advance of actual indication), seemed fine. Maybe it was the hovercrafts (“We’ll work with Medicare to make sure you never have to exercise again!”), or the oxygen tanks that kept them moving faster and more lithely than moi, but regardless, I was a head-floating mess and not a butler on board could fix the problem. C’est la vie, or la sea, or le mer, which doesn’t rhyme at all.
Wouldn't it be more useful and clean, if those hovercraft things also vacuumed while people rolled around?
If you are using this as an actual travel article (and, seriously, why would you), I’ll recap the highlights so there is some usable data. From Baltimore, MD, you are on this ship for 3 days and then you dock in Miami. Miami is okay, but it’s big, so you need to find something to see or do and go do it. You cannot just wander around Miami and see stuff that is interesting like you can do in smaller cities or cities where “culture” means “museums” or “opera” and not “Cuban” or “pink and green”. We headed to South Beach since none of us had been there, and let’s face it; my “magnetic north” leads straight to South Beach, Dupont Circle and Poodle Beach. South Beach is a reasonably sized area with expensive, Euro-type stores that eventually lead to a beach. So far, so good, and the people in the South Beach area are relatively good-looking, which is always nice. It might be the antithesis of the DMV (in any city), where it seems that the unattractive gather. That’s another quandary. I know almost everyone drives, yet I have never walked into the DMV to find anyone other than the unkempt and underdressed. Next time you go, please wear eveningwear and don a little makeup or whatever it takes to make you better looking. And for god’s sake, don’t wait until the 30th to get your tags done! I think this could lead to World Peace. I’m not certain, but it wouldn’t hurt.
So, after an espresso bar that I thought was going to tell me what I owed in Euros, a trip to the beach, and a nice outdoor lunch, we were back on the boat (SHIP!) and headed to Key West (compass was happy). Now, I’ve been there, but there was a hurricane called Irene, so I didn’t get a chance to see everything on account of the brown outs, torrential rain and winds, and the fact that they kept telling us to evacuate. What they didn’t tell us, was how to evacuate when we arrived by plane. I’ve seen flight delays that stemmed from far fewer deadly causes than flying a little tiny airplane over the ocean during a hurricane, so I imagine that wouldn’t have been an option even if we could get a water taxi down Duval and over to the airport. This time we had great weather.
With limited time, we decided on a trolley tour so we could see as much of the island in the shortest period of time and learn something useful along the way. Hemingway drank! Our Terry Bradshaw-look-alike driver was funny, if a little droll and we actually did learn things- though none come to mind immediately because I keep picturing free roaming chickens and polydactyl cats. I also confirmed some personal things. Normal people do not move to Key West. It’s small, and the industry is completely dependent on tourism. Completely. This means that if you’re not in the service industry or an alcoholic writer FedExing* stuff to your publisher regularly, you ain’t going to make it there. However, it makes for a great visit and Sloppy Joe’s really does make really good Sloppy Joes! Apparently, they invented the sandwich. It was a good lunch and only 90 miles from Cuba; so there you go!
Next on the itinerary was Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas. I was unaware that there was more than one Bahama*, and I’m still not sure how many there are but Nassau is, well… sad. We went to the dock/shopping area and it was as any tourist trap would be. There’s junk for sale to anyone who wants to buy things like shells and you don’t have to ask twice for the hair braiding opportunities, which were plentiful. This baffled me because even those who have only laid eyes on me for 2 seconds can tell that braiding my hair into cornrows would not solve any of my hair problems. Though my hair does lean toward the African American side of texture, unlike most of my Black friends, I have given up completely and take no pride in spending time or money on trying to tame, lengthen, straighten or cover my hair with wigs. The thought of extensions particularly cracks me up- more frizzy hair for a couple of hundred dollars? No, thank you. So, we all passed on this endeavor.
After Tourism Street from hell, we headed to Cabbage Beach, where we were very efficiently accosted by a Bahamian willing to sell us temporary chairs, weird cocktails in real coconuts that I’m not sure they wash between uses, and lies. Yes, they sold lies. We confirmed later that a) 16 is NOT the legal drinking age in the Bahamas, b) “it is [not] better to get hammered with your parents than with strangers” and c) we suspect that the islands we saw off of Nassau were maybe NOT where they filmed Gilligan’s Island and Blue Lagoon. We suspect there were Hollywood sets involved in the latter, but we don’t have the energy to confirm these stories, probably due to the coconut-tourist-germy alcoholic beverages that we had. This can remain a mystery, but the mayonnaise thing still stymies me.
Back on the ship for more vertigo-inducing travel with nice scenery, cookies and butlers. We’re off to Coco Cay (pronounced Coco Key). This is a private island owned by the ship, so it’s swank and the food is brought in by the ship staff and therefore inclusive. Inclusive is my new favorite word, but it comes with a lot of asterisks. This island is beautiful and they have limited the tee-shirt/shell selling natives to a select few who were actually fun. Best part for the family? The snorkeling- they loved it. I chickened out knowing that I have a bad gag reflex (no jokes), and honestly I was perfectly happy on solid land a couple of inches above sea level in a non-rented beach chair with a native island cat I called Sandy. I named it after petting it half bald (I missed our cats terribly). Sandy was very friendly and seems happy on the island. I am NOT going to worry about what the cat eats, where it gets fresh water, what it does in a monsoon, or what keeps it company when I’m not there. There was a chicken roaming around; presumably they are friends. Sandy was a lovely cat and if I wasn’t worried about having to quarantine it for 6 months in the US, I would have smuggled it in. Note to Customs- I would have easily gotten away with this cat-jack. I think we were profiled. They didn’t ask what we bought or ask for the card I painstakingly filled out with minutia the evening before. The ship told me to fill out the card, and if nothing else, I’m a rule-follower. It saves worry, and I have enough of that (see mayonnaise references).
On board life (for those who still insist on using this as a gauge for future travel plans) - Well, there is the feeling of just having smoked a lot of dope, but without the benefit of everything being funnier. You are definitely hungrier, which I believe is a direct correlation to the price, proximity and availability of food (inclusive, everywhere and abundant, respectively). There were gobs of things to do, but balance was required for many of them. I worked my core everyday by getting from place to place without falling down. The spa packages offered no help for green gills, though the warm stones for the massage may have been helpful if I had put them in my pockets to weigh me down.
Can I just break for a minute to tell you I’m eating the leftover baked sweet potato I got last night at a place called Logan’s Roadhouse (where cleanliness is next to peanut shells all over the floor and two of the many neon signs on the wall that are next to each other (like Minneapolis and St. Paul, or Odenton and Dundalk) read, “High Balls” and “Restrooms”. This was the best mistake or clever placement of landmarks I have seen since I realized that Mother Seton Catholic Church is on Father Hurley Blvd. So, in essence, many people (or 4 families consisting of 85 people each) can include in the directions to the blessed wedding, “Right- Mother Seaton’s on Father Hurley”. Who edits these ideas? I’m thinking the DOT, since we KNOW they have a sense of fun!
Ramble out-
Suki
* Don’t use these words in sentences
Copyright Suki Eastman 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
At the Risk of Sounding Like Richard Lewis
Why am I making sure to get 1 tsp of cinnamon a day? I can't remember. Clearly not to enhance memory. Calcium, Vitamins D, C and B-12, baby aspirin, niacin- I know most of these, but I can't remember why I snarf the cinnamon. I really can't imagine who's paying for pre-snarfed capsules of the stuff, but there they are, between 5-7 brands of cinnamon tablets available, even at the grocery store, where you can buy real cinnamon, garlic and maybe even an acai berry (though I suspect there is no such thing).
In the land of information overload, it's become impossible to tell if we saw something in a Yahoo pop-up ad, or on CNN. It's also increasingly difficult to tell which of these may be a more reputable source for information. Paid advertising and media-hype has lead to a plethora of what used to be sortable information. If I saw it in Good Housekeeping and it was a recipe, it may have credence, if I saw it in Esquire and it was a recipe, it probably involved whipped cream and nipples as two of the ingredients. What if it was in the Lancet? Reputable publication, but do they know from cream cheese or neufchatel? Yeah, I don't either.
Is Attention Deficit Disorder a measurable neurological dysfunction, or the state of mind one enters when looking up "homes for rent" on the Internet and winding up downloading Mahjongg while simultaneously defragging their computer with a load of whites in? Someone, somewhere is going to say, "So, what did you do today?" and you'd damn well better have a really long answer and some questionably retrieved facts to back up your whereabouts!
Today, I did four loads of laundry, picked up a few things that weren't in the right place and righted them, read a few chapters in a book due to self-imposed deadlines for reading lots of books, defragged my computer 3 times because I wanted to keep doing it after I decided to delete things so it was "fresh", wrote 3 blog articles that people may or may not read, but I consider myself published, (regardless of lack of monetary compensation or fame), drank a pot of coffee, watched what I ate (it's weigh in night), let the dog and cats in and out and threw dog balls (balls for dog, not balls attached to dog) 100 times (dog requirement for peeing), and I feel bad that I haven't put the clean sheets on the bed or gotten out of my pajamas. I haven't showered yet and it's stressing me out. If I shower and dress, then I will feel like I didn't finish this blog. It's an endless circle of how much can I get done today and feel good about myself afterward?
When writing, I like to look up words- the thesaurus being my favorite tool. This also takes time and often leads to looking up other words that I don't need a synonym for, but am suddenly curious about. Then a word will remind me it's someone birthday, so I sign into email to compose a birthday message, but wait, there are 14 new emails... this won't take long, I'll just read them really quickly and then write the birthday email. Oops, one involves cutting and pasting and putting down what color socks I have on where the previous person supplied her answer, but that's fun, right? It'll just take a minute. Ahh, my bank statement is available; I'd better open a new window and make sure there aren't any problems with that. Oh! I have a charge bill from the mail yesterday, I'll go ahead and schedule that payment while I'm in the bank website... and so on and so on and so on. Hours later (and I've long since forgotten to say happy birthday to someone I consider a friend, but who should consider me inconsiderate) I am putting the sheets on the bed, which will remind me that I should set the coffee up for tomorrow. Then I'll feel bad that I haven't done that yet, which makes me feel rushed as no one should feel while still unshowered and jammied. I have done 25 "things" but since they weren't on my mental list, they don't count. Now I'm angry with myself and feel like a procrastinator.
Now, I know that in my case some of this is faulty wiring. I know this because doctors will not let me out of their office without prescription medication to try to calm me down, make me concentrate and quell my desire to call all utility company employees and political candidate volunteers in the middle of the night and ask them to give me some money or change their mind on an issue they feel passionately about. The good news is, on the rare occasion I do answer the phone, I am usually so gracefully (not.) adept at insisting they remove the number from their list, that they generally do not call back. Not because it's illegal to do so, which it is, but because they have now written "Mad Bitch" next to our phone number. Like SPAM, I assume that if I keep doing this, one day I will achieve an uninterrupted state, at least by others. Meanwhile, my mind will continue to think of 60 simultaneous things that I should, could or would be doing if I wasn't doing the current thing, whatever it may be. What's worse, is that whatever I'm doing must be procrastinating because it's not on the list! There are no meds, not even the neat ones with the raised seal of "controlled medicine" I get, that will quell information overload.
So, what to do? Kill the Internet? Would I wind up next to Hinckley because of the six degrees of separation thing? Hinckley shot Regan, Al Gore invented the Internet, therefore anyone who wants to kill the Internet should bunk with Hinckley? Maybe he gets better stuff than I get. We could share.
The question is posed and not answered. How, in this world, with gadgets (Black Berry), programs (Facebook), chores (sheets), jobs (got two), kids (share 3 with other people), pets (don't ask, don't tell- 8?) and sheets on the bed (still balled up in the middle), do we control our thought process and slow ourselves down long enough to be happy for what we've accomplished?
My answer? Retrospective lists. I'm going to write down everything I did today, then cross it off my list. Ahhhhhhhh. I may even nix the Klonopin/Valerian Root/Vodka salad before bedtime. I have achieved the achievable today!
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
In the land of information overload, it's become impossible to tell if we saw something in a Yahoo pop-up ad, or on CNN. It's also increasingly difficult to tell which of these may be a more reputable source for information. Paid advertising and media-hype has lead to a plethora of what used to be sortable information. If I saw it in Good Housekeeping and it was a recipe, it may have credence, if I saw it in Esquire and it was a recipe, it probably involved whipped cream and nipples as two of the ingredients. What if it was in the Lancet? Reputable publication, but do they know from cream cheese or neufchatel? Yeah, I don't either.
Is Attention Deficit Disorder a measurable neurological dysfunction, or the state of mind one enters when looking up "homes for rent" on the Internet and winding up downloading Mahjongg while simultaneously defragging their computer with a load of whites in? Someone, somewhere is going to say, "So, what did you do today?" and you'd damn well better have a really long answer and some questionably retrieved facts to back up your whereabouts!
Today, I did four loads of laundry, picked up a few things that weren't in the right place and righted them, read a few chapters in a book due to self-imposed deadlines for reading lots of books, defragged my computer 3 times because I wanted to keep doing it after I decided to delete things so it was "fresh", wrote 3 blog articles that people may or may not read, but I consider myself published, (regardless of lack of monetary compensation or fame), drank a pot of coffee, watched what I ate (it's weigh in night), let the dog and cats in and out and threw dog balls (balls for dog, not balls attached to dog) 100 times (dog requirement for peeing), and I feel bad that I haven't put the clean sheets on the bed or gotten out of my pajamas. I haven't showered yet and it's stressing me out. If I shower and dress, then I will feel like I didn't finish this blog. It's an endless circle of how much can I get done today and feel good about myself afterward?
When writing, I like to look up words- the thesaurus being my favorite tool. This also takes time and often leads to looking up other words that I don't need a synonym for, but am suddenly curious about. Then a word will remind me it's someone birthday, so I sign into email to compose a birthday message, but wait, there are 14 new emails... this won't take long, I'll just read them really quickly and then write the birthday email. Oops, one involves cutting and pasting and putting down what color socks I have on where the previous person supplied her answer, but that's fun, right? It'll just take a minute. Ahh, my bank statement is available; I'd better open a new window and make sure there aren't any problems with that. Oh! I have a charge bill from the mail yesterday, I'll go ahead and schedule that payment while I'm in the bank website... and so on and so on and so on. Hours later (and I've long since forgotten to say happy birthday to someone I consider a friend, but who should consider me inconsiderate) I am putting the sheets on the bed, which will remind me that I should set the coffee up for tomorrow. Then I'll feel bad that I haven't done that yet, which makes me feel rushed as no one should feel while still unshowered and jammied. I have done 25 "things" but since they weren't on my mental list, they don't count. Now I'm angry with myself and feel like a procrastinator.
Now, I know that in my case some of this is faulty wiring. I know this because doctors will not let me out of their office without prescription medication to try to calm me down, make me concentrate and quell my desire to call all utility company employees and political candidate volunteers in the middle of the night and ask them to give me some money or change their mind on an issue they feel passionately about. The good news is, on the rare occasion I do answer the phone, I am usually so gracefully (not.) adept at insisting they remove the number from their list, that they generally do not call back. Not because it's illegal to do so, which it is, but because they have now written "Mad Bitch" next to our phone number. Like SPAM, I assume that if I keep doing this, one day I will achieve an uninterrupted state, at least by others. Meanwhile, my mind will continue to think of 60 simultaneous things that I should, could or would be doing if I wasn't doing the current thing, whatever it may be. What's worse, is that whatever I'm doing must be procrastinating because it's not on the list! There are no meds, not even the neat ones with the raised seal of "controlled medicine" I get, that will quell information overload.
So, what to do? Kill the Internet? Would I wind up next to Hinckley because of the six degrees of separation thing? Hinckley shot Regan, Al Gore invented the Internet, therefore anyone who wants to kill the Internet should bunk with Hinckley? Maybe he gets better stuff than I get. We could share.
The question is posed and not answered. How, in this world, with gadgets (Black Berry), programs (Facebook), chores (sheets), jobs (got two), kids (share 3 with other people), pets (don't ask, don't tell- 8?) and sheets on the bed (still balled up in the middle), do we control our thought process and slow ourselves down long enough to be happy for what we've accomplished?
My answer? Retrospective lists. I'm going to write down everything I did today, then cross it off my list. Ahhhhhhhh. I may even nix the Klonopin/Valerian Root/Vodka salad before bedtime. I have achieved the achievable today!
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Alpaca Penis and the Stick
All I'm saying is that when it happens on I Love Lucy, it's funny. In real life, it takes at least a week to say to yourself, "What do Weight Watchers, teen drivers, hospitals, alpaca penises, sticks and Jagermeister have in common?" The answer is Friday.
Aggriterra, WV is known for it's niceness. I can't say it's the Mensa capital but people still write thank you notes and help out one another. There are outliers, as everywhere, but for the most part, these folks are friendly. Knowing this, I wasn't frightened to go to the post office Friday because I knew that they wouldn't yell at me, call me an idiot, or make me regret not having brought the OED to peruse while I waiting to be waited on (large-city flashback). True to form, and even with all those thank you notes in circulation, I was in and out and had a brief and pleasant conversation WITH A POSTAL EMPLOYEE! They are not the nuts you see on the news. Let me dispel that rumor while I continue to try to change public opinion with no funding from outside sources.
Post office done, I went into the bank next door just to thank them for the thank you call they made to show their appreciation because I put a small amount of money in a savings account for a tenant deposit. Big City People- I am not making this up! They called me to say "thank you"!
Off to the gas station- where a conversation about "the new road" took several minutes and included some movie suggestions. This is how they roll out here! Real conversations, that are polite AND thank you notes AND thank you calls! Phone solicitors are genuinely perplexed when I yell "TAKE US OFF YOUR LIST" before they have a chance to sell me an upgrade for a utility or convert me to a republican. This happened during this writing and the solicitor apologized twice for bothering me. Damn skippy. I still think phone solicitation is an invasion of privacy, or at the very least, an annoying interruption.
As usual, I'm off the beaten path, if the path is "an actual subject". I humbly apologize to English teachers everywhere.
It's Friday and I'm at home getting ready to go to training to become a Weight Watchers leader. I am walking out the door when the phone rings. Number one son of Boyfriend has been in a car accident during his driving test with the DMV. Note to all DMV driving testers- kids take things literally, and "make a left" translates in the teen brain to: "If I make a left, I am following the directions. DMV testers are passionate about directions. I'd better follow the directions". Another car was coming when the passionate direction came. Everyone went to the hospital, but luckily, all were released and okay. Even the driver who was hit due to NO FAULT of her own, was nice- I'm telling you, this ain't the big city. No one sued, no files were charged (I'm guessing because the DMV tester (state employee) would have gone down like a bag of bull dogs in shallow water and the police officer (state employee) would have been razzed for taking down a colleague, but whatever. No charges, all good. The car (Mother's) was no longer to be, but she's pretty laid back about material items as most normal mothers would be when seeing their kid strapped to a gurney at several axes.
Relieved, and no longer shaking from the ordeal (that would be me because as a former fire department volunteer there were a lot of scenarios running through my mind as I drove to the hospital), I arrived home with everyone else in other various vehicles to arrive shortly. When what to my wondering eyes do appear, but several alpacas wandering outside of their confined space- vast, but supposedly confined, nonetheless. So, one set of alpacas is seemingly "visiting" the other set of alpacas who remain in their designated (read: confined) area. Logic tells me, open the gate and let them in, so they are ALL RE-CONFINED. Great idea city girl! And they walked right in! Easy peasy!
Three of the alpacas are not "fixed/gelded/castrated/emasculated/eunuchized/neutered/
spayed/sterilized/unmaned" (I LOVE Thesaurus.com) and one is female and with original parts (unfortunately, not sold separately). So, up onto the female goes the alpha 'paca, or the horniest- whatever. And there I stand thinking, "ut oh, this is not going to make Boyfriend happy as we had not planned this parenthood". I promptly look around for ways to prevent this union from being consummated (or finished) and I find a nearby stick. Like any free thinking relatively well educated CITY GIRL (this is important to reiterate as it denotes that I have no idea what I'm doing at this point) would do, I tried waving the stick between the alpaca genitalia known in the electrical world as male and female.
I was waving the stick between the 6 out of 8 involved legs when Boyfriend arrived home and went, to quote Georgia Nicholson (Louise Rennison's awesome young adult series), ballisticissimus. Why had I put them together instead of letting them just roam until he got home? Ummmm, cause a smushed alpaca would cause a traffic problem on the somewhat busy road we live on? Err, cause seeing a 200 lb animal skyrocket across the hood of a Ford pickup truck would be sad? Ahhh, cause they don't just come when you call them? Or, maybe, just maybe, because I'M FROM THE GODDAMN CITY AND WE DON'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS! Give me a flute, and I'll round you up a bunch of rats, but this? I'm no maven, okay?
Now, remember, I was on my way to learn to be a nice Weight Watchers leader that day. It's like being an Avon Lady, or something else that requires being neat, clean and reasonably sane. I had undone neat, clean and sane in the matter of 2.5 hours. I had managed to call and say I was on the way to the hospital due to kid-in-accident, but I had also said I would show up late barring anything serious and at that point I didn't know what the day was going to bring.
Boy-child fine; me not so much. Now I have started my beautifully polite day and ended it with a trip to the ER and being called an idiot for mismanaging an alpaca coup. Hint, unless you work for the post office in a major city, where I am completely intimidated for some reason, you may not refer to me as an idiot. Idiots are not neurotic and neurotics are not idiots. We are chronic thinkers, and although what we think about is not always considered important to others, it is, indeed, thinking.
On with my day- Screw learning something new, potentially making money, and most of all, trying to return to neat, clean and reasonably sane- it ain't gonna happen. I promptly went to the closest bar, where I make hash marks on the wall when I've been driven to go there due to Boyfriend acting like an ass hat. I had a Jagermeister. This was hash mark number two on that wall. There would be more, but I'm anti-drinking and driving, for obvious reasons (I'm not a state employee and therefore not immune to being charged, and I would feel terrible if I was drunk and hit an errant alpaca or other livestock).
Wandering livestock is more prevalent than you would think unless you're from here, in which case you probably know better than to call 9-1-1 to tell them there is a (live) cow on the road*. So, the long and the short of it is, (there is never a "short of it" with me), there are only 2 hash marks at that particular bar, where they encourage you to write on the walls, making for some interesting reading, but there are other hash marks in my head and I am keeping track.
And that, children, is the story of the alpaca penis and the stick.
*True story- this happened and the 9-1-1 dispatcher said, "Ma'am, can you tell me what the cow looks like?" Suki- "Um. Out of place? Large?" I mean, the cow was brown, or black, or spotted or something- I forget, but seriously, if I say brown and you roll up on a spotted one, there's STILL a problem! This free-range thing has gone too far! My apologies to PETA for the Bull dog, alpaca-Ford and cow references. Another true story- I hit the breaks last week as a mouse crossed the road. Seriously. That's how much I love animals, though Boyfriend and other country folk out here, suggest this behavior of "breaking for animals" will be my demise.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Aggriterra, WV is known for it's niceness. I can't say it's the Mensa capital but people still write thank you notes and help out one another. There are outliers, as everywhere, but for the most part, these folks are friendly. Knowing this, I wasn't frightened to go to the post office Friday because I knew that they wouldn't yell at me, call me an idiot, or make me regret not having brought the OED to peruse while I waiting to be waited on (large-city flashback). True to form, and even with all those thank you notes in circulation, I was in and out and had a brief and pleasant conversation WITH A POSTAL EMPLOYEE! They are not the nuts you see on the news. Let me dispel that rumor while I continue to try to change public opinion with no funding from outside sources.
Post office done, I went into the bank next door just to thank them for the thank you call they made to show their appreciation because I put a small amount of money in a savings account for a tenant deposit. Big City People- I am not making this up! They called me to say "thank you"!
Off to the gas station- where a conversation about "the new road" took several minutes and included some movie suggestions. This is how they roll out here! Real conversations, that are polite AND thank you notes AND thank you calls! Phone solicitors are genuinely perplexed when I yell "TAKE US OFF YOUR LIST" before they have a chance to sell me an upgrade for a utility or convert me to a republican. This happened during this writing and the solicitor apologized twice for bothering me. Damn skippy. I still think phone solicitation is an invasion of privacy, or at the very least, an annoying interruption.
As usual, I'm off the beaten path, if the path is "an actual subject". I humbly apologize to English teachers everywhere.
It's Friday and I'm at home getting ready to go to training to become a Weight Watchers leader. I am walking out the door when the phone rings. Number one son of Boyfriend has been in a car accident during his driving test with the DMV. Note to all DMV driving testers- kids take things literally, and "make a left" translates in the teen brain to: "If I make a left, I am following the directions. DMV testers are passionate about directions. I'd better follow the directions". Another car was coming when the passionate direction came. Everyone went to the hospital, but luckily, all were released and okay. Even the driver who was hit due to NO FAULT of her own, was nice- I'm telling you, this ain't the big city. No one sued, no files were charged (I'm guessing because the DMV tester (state employee) would have gone down like a bag of bull dogs in shallow water and the police officer (state employee) would have been razzed for taking down a colleague, but whatever. No charges, all good. The car (Mother's) was no longer to be, but she's pretty laid back about material items as most normal mothers would be when seeing their kid strapped to a gurney at several axes.
Relieved, and no longer shaking from the ordeal (that would be me because as a former fire department volunteer there were a lot of scenarios running through my mind as I drove to the hospital), I arrived home with everyone else in other various vehicles to arrive shortly. When what to my wondering eyes do appear, but several alpacas wandering outside of their confined space- vast, but supposedly confined, nonetheless. So, one set of alpacas is seemingly "visiting" the other set of alpacas who remain in their designated (read: confined) area. Logic tells me, open the gate and let them in, so they are ALL RE-CONFINED. Great idea city girl! And they walked right in! Easy peasy!
Three of the alpacas are not "fixed/gelded/castrated/emasculated/eunuchized/neutered/
spayed/sterilized/unmaned" (I LOVE Thesaurus.com) and one is female and with original parts (unfortunately, not sold separately). So, up onto the female goes the alpha 'paca, or the horniest- whatever. And there I stand thinking, "ut oh, this is not going to make Boyfriend happy as we had not planned this parenthood". I promptly look around for ways to prevent this union from being consummated (or finished) and I find a nearby stick. Like any free thinking relatively well educated CITY GIRL (this is important to reiterate as it denotes that I have no idea what I'm doing at this point) would do, I tried waving the stick between the alpaca genitalia known in the electrical world as male and female.
I was waving the stick between the 6 out of 8 involved legs when Boyfriend arrived home and went, to quote Georgia Nicholson (Louise Rennison's awesome young adult series), ballisticissimus. Why had I put them together instead of letting them just roam until he got home? Ummmm, cause a smushed alpaca would cause a traffic problem on the somewhat busy road we live on? Err, cause seeing a 200 lb animal skyrocket across the hood of a Ford pickup truck would be sad? Ahhh, cause they don't just come when you call them? Or, maybe, just maybe, because I'M FROM THE GODDAMN CITY AND WE DON'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS! Give me a flute, and I'll round you up a bunch of rats, but this? I'm no maven, okay?
Now, remember, I was on my way to learn to be a nice Weight Watchers leader that day. It's like being an Avon Lady, or something else that requires being neat, clean and reasonably sane. I had undone neat, clean and sane in the matter of 2.5 hours. I had managed to call and say I was on the way to the hospital due to kid-in-accident, but I had also said I would show up late barring anything serious and at that point I didn't know what the day was going to bring.
Boy-child fine; me not so much. Now I have started my beautifully polite day and ended it with a trip to the ER and being called an idiot for mismanaging an alpaca coup. Hint, unless you work for the post office in a major city, where I am completely intimidated for some reason, you may not refer to me as an idiot. Idiots are not neurotic and neurotics are not idiots. We are chronic thinkers, and although what we think about is not always considered important to others, it is, indeed, thinking.
On with my day- Screw learning something new, potentially making money, and most of all, trying to return to neat, clean and reasonably sane- it ain't gonna happen. I promptly went to the closest bar, where I make hash marks on the wall when I've been driven to go there due to Boyfriend acting like an ass hat. I had a Jagermeister. This was hash mark number two on that wall. There would be more, but I'm anti-drinking and driving, for obvious reasons (I'm not a state employee and therefore not immune to being charged, and I would feel terrible if I was drunk and hit an errant alpaca or other livestock).
Wandering livestock is more prevalent than you would think unless you're from here, in which case you probably know better than to call 9-1-1 to tell them there is a (live) cow on the road*. So, the long and the short of it is, (there is never a "short of it" with me), there are only 2 hash marks at that particular bar, where they encourage you to write on the walls, making for some interesting reading, but there are other hash marks in my head and I am keeping track.
And that, children, is the story of the alpaca penis and the stick.
*True story- this happened and the 9-1-1 dispatcher said, "Ma'am, can you tell me what the cow looks like?" Suki- "Um. Out of place? Large?" I mean, the cow was brown, or black, or spotted or something- I forget, but seriously, if I say brown and you roll up on a spotted one, there's STILL a problem! This free-range thing has gone too far! My apologies to PETA for the Bull dog, alpaca-Ford and cow references. Another true story- I hit the breaks last week as a mouse crossed the road. Seriously. That's how much I love animals, though Boyfriend and other country folk out here, suggest this behavior of "breaking for animals" will be my demise.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Two Snakes, A Cherokee, and Four Mexicans
Hang on, this is a long one.
The week before Memorial day the car suddenly overheats... at my shrinks office- exactly where you want to be when you're freaking out about what is wrong with your car. He dared to ask me if my neuroses was under control. HA! Well, Doc, my car just overheated on the way here and may have ceased to be in your parking lot. So, if you're hiring, that would at least give me a way to make money for the rest of the day cause getting back to work is looking impracticable. He knows a mechanic across the street (I guess I wasn't hired). Buckets of water later I'm back on the road.
Silly me, I think it's fixed. HA HA! So days later I go to my favorite garage. They are not my favorite just because the owner buys me a beer when we run into him at our favorite sports bar- side note- said sports bar will NOT for any money or cajoling, consider putting the Lifetime channel on any of the big screens, or even the little ones; I've asked.
The whole car-fixy place family (not the Mob, but the actual family), goes to this sports bar and they are honest, if not cheap. $440 later I get my car fixed. HA HA HA!
We're planning a road trip to Ohio to see my father. We'll call him "Dad". So I take the day off to get ready for the trip and to take the dog and the cat to the vet. Very big hint: Don't take a Labrador and a panicked mixed-race (grey) cat to the vet at the same time. There were body fluids, hysteria and sniffing beyond any control I had over these matters. Nonetheless, I survive, cat and dog survive, the cat carrier is probably trash on account of the multi-orifice body fluids that wound up in there, but everyone is alive- sometimes you have to count your blessings. HA HA HA HA!
I deserve a nap. Middle kid is home from school at this point and volunteers to mow the lawn as middle kids are wont to do (I'm serious, look it up- middle kids are the pleasers and that makes them auto-faves). A few minutes into a nice Golden Girls rerun (God rest 3/4 of them), I'm getting ready to doze and I hear the unmistakable sound of large teenage feet and long hair swishing down the steps. I'm sure there will be blood. He comes around the corner; no visible blood; good. But instead, he's telling me there is a snake outside, and it's big. Any snake is big as far as I'm concerned. He says we can see it out the window in my bedroom. We look out and indeed there is a ZOO-SIZED snake climbing (climbing?) up the bush by my bedroom window while a bird goes crazy pecking at it. Apparently it was after the eggs or the baby birds. Well, that's it. I am decidedly not all about the circle of life and I certainly don't want to see it in action. If Neanderthals can run British Petroleum, then there isn't much chance that we, as humans, have really climbed that high up the food chain. Look around, I'll bet you can find an example of this without having to move. Especially if you're on the highway, at the DMV, or in anything ending in "mart" or "co".
We go out to manage the snake problem or at least make sure it's not trying to get in the house. "We" do this because I am the grown up (?) We find snakey snake snake, which is hard to miss. I decide to call Animal Control, who advise me that they "only do dogs". I advise them that on a 6-acre farm, what would I care if I had a yard full of dogs? We already have a yard full of everything else, what's a few dogs? Unless they are all Pit Bulls frolicking with Michael Vick, I'm okay with a yard full of dogs. A few treats, some butt sniffing and life goes on.
Middle child says "Should I get a shovel?" Sure, why not? So he gets a shovel while I'm talking to Pest Control (they "do" snakes for $150/snake), I might be petrified, but I'm still certainly not going to pay retail. While talking them down, middle child is beating the poop out of the snake with various farm implements which I cannot name. First he cuts off the tail (back to anatomy Dude- wrong end!) The snake people (they stay on the phone with you like 911), assure me that if the snake is not alive they will take it away for free! Yay! Free snake removal! So I'm standing on the porch negotiating prices and middle child says, "Don't freak out, but there's another one by your foot". I thought this HAD to be a bad joke. Nope. Snake coming out of bottom of house next to porch- 6" from my foot (maybe 12"). Now I'm screaming at the pest control people and offering them my retirement savings to come get all snakes to a new zip code.
Middle child beheads Zoo-Sized snake. This is ironic, because I was reading a book about Henry VIII. I can now see some of his reasoning. Other snake is still at large. So snake-man comes and takes definitively dead snake (both pieces-4.5 feet!) Here's an interesting tidbit for the snake novice- the body will continue to move until about midnight regardless of the estimated time of death (ETD), then its muscles relax- some sort of neurological thing. So, a beheaded snake is writhing around my driveway. It's scary, but I can't help thinking, "Well this one is free cause it was DOA and they only charge for AOA snakes". Cool, so now I'm looking at $150 if he catches the other snake. Well, with no snake treats and no Snake-Be-Gone (real product name), on hand we still have a snake at-large in the vicinity. Since we also have stink bugs of Biblical proportions, earwigs, in New Testament proportions, and wildlife of Encyclopedic proportions in the yard and house , I'm only concerned about the snake. I could be worried about toads, rabbits, deer, bear, gophers, hedgehogs, chipmunks, and spiders (the size of kittens) or other wildlife, but I'm pretty focused on the remaining snake, and wondering if it has kin in the area.
Friday of Memorial weekend, we're off to the mid-west with new radiator, new thermostat $440 less in my checking account, and a snake somewhere; but at least I didn't have to pay the snake guy, you know? HA HA HA HA HA! Six hour trip due west and all's well- even the bathrooms are clean as we stop through various other agrestic towns. Life can't be better.
Saturday trip and within about 20-30 minutes, the Cherokee overheats BADLY. So, to gas station, fill with water (bone dry despite new radiator). A hole in a hose that is apparently important, so boyfriend fixes hose. We're off again. No we're not.
Car overheats again before we get out of the parking lot. Now off to (recommended by girl at Starbucks), mechanic. The car overheating all the way, boyfriend is driving over potholes on the shoulder of the road, hazard lights on and running red lights to get car to mechanic. We get there; barely.
They tell us the thermostat must have been faulty and the radiator wasn't flushed right. That'll be $168- not priceless, remember last week's $440). We're not out of parking lot and lots of fluid is under the car and of course, it's overheating. They look at it again and say it's either a cracked head gasket (are these important?) or water pump (sounds cheap), both of which they could fix in about 7 hours (at $64/hr) on TUESDAY (remember this is Saturday and we're 6 hours away minimum from where we both work, not to mention the wildlife that needs to be fed). Uncool.
We get the car to an auto parts store for no other reason than it had a parking lot and the car was going to die any second. A for sale sign is purchased (no point in getting new air freshener at this point), and $1K OBO sign w/phone number. An hour later it was also on Craigslist. "As is" I don't want to hear about it.
Four days later and begging the auto shop people everyday not to tow it, a guy comes to buy it at full asking price. Dad brings title, proof of my insurance, registration, all his girlfriend's Notary accessories and probably some bottled water and a large container of hand lotion (they do not travel lightly). Everything is in their possession when they arrive... except the key. So, we lose that sale and Dad goes home with guilty divorced dad syndrome, which I thought was dormant.
I had told interested people to be there at 7, so he rolls back down to meet the one person who showed up. Well, 4 people showed up, but they were related to one another. Possibly they crossed the border at the same time... from Mexico... recently. They even had Mexican drivers licenses to prove it! How delightfully diverse!
They tell me they only have $600. I said then go to an ATM because I won't take less than $700 (ballsy for a girl with one prospective buyer). HA HA HA HA HA HA!We spent more than this on repairs in the last week and a rental car to get from Agrestic to Agriterra. Whatever, we're home, life is good and we seem to have picked up an extra cat in Agriterra.
Home sweet home where out front there is a beehive under one chair, a spider (large) living under another chair, one cushion that is usually damp from the rain and one without a cushion that dries faster but is in such a position that you can't throw the ball to the dog without her running through a rose bush, which she will because it's a ball and she's a Lab. We're down to one acceptable chair out front and this is not acceptable in WV it's important to have many chairs out front as possible for waving at people who go by, watching the grass grow, monitoring child labor or looking for snakes.
I almost forgot about the mutant moth! I've never seen one so big (approximately the size of a chipmunk)- or one that came in black and white speckles like an albino cheetah. I assume it drinks our well water, which would cause the phenomena.
I now pay a nice man to deliver large bottles of water that fit on a nice cooler that gives you hot or cold water depending on your preference. Even the pets are no longer allowed (by me) to drink the well water. It stinks and it's harder than a bunch of gay guys at an Adam Lambert concert. Considering our proximity to power lines, I'm not wasting my luck on well water that smells.
To sum up ha ha! I have a Camry now that I bought hastily from boyfriend's dad. So far, so good. I like it and it's much faster and better on gas that the Cherokee. Of course the Cherokee was very good on gas as we coasted into the auto parts store on it's last leg anywhere.
Next time you ask me how things are, consider the possibilities of what you may get back.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
The week before Memorial day the car suddenly overheats... at my shrinks office- exactly where you want to be when you're freaking out about what is wrong with your car. He dared to ask me if my neuroses was under control. HA! Well, Doc, my car just overheated on the way here and may have ceased to be in your parking lot. So, if you're hiring, that would at least give me a way to make money for the rest of the day cause getting back to work is looking impracticable. He knows a mechanic across the street (I guess I wasn't hired). Buckets of water later I'm back on the road.
Silly me, I think it's fixed. HA HA! So days later I go to my favorite garage. They are not my favorite just because the owner buys me a beer when we run into him at our favorite sports bar- side note- said sports bar will NOT for any money or cajoling, consider putting the Lifetime channel on any of the big screens, or even the little ones; I've asked.
The whole car-fixy place family (not the Mob, but the actual family), goes to this sports bar and they are honest, if not cheap. $440 later I get my car fixed. HA HA HA!
We're planning a road trip to Ohio to see my father. We'll call him "Dad". So I take the day off to get ready for the trip and to take the dog and the cat to the vet. Very big hint: Don't take a Labrador and a panicked mixed-race (grey) cat to the vet at the same time. There were body fluids, hysteria and sniffing beyond any control I had over these matters. Nonetheless, I survive, cat and dog survive, the cat carrier is probably trash on account of the multi-orifice body fluids that wound up in there, but everyone is alive- sometimes you have to count your blessings. HA HA HA HA!
I deserve a nap. Middle kid is home from school at this point and volunteers to mow the lawn as middle kids are wont to do (I'm serious, look it up- middle kids are the pleasers and that makes them auto-faves). A few minutes into a nice Golden Girls rerun (God rest 3/4 of them), I'm getting ready to doze and I hear the unmistakable sound of large teenage feet and long hair swishing down the steps. I'm sure there will be blood. He comes around the corner; no visible blood; good. But instead, he's telling me there is a snake outside, and it's big. Any snake is big as far as I'm concerned. He says we can see it out the window in my bedroom. We look out and indeed there is a ZOO-SIZED snake climbing (climbing?) up the bush by my bedroom window while a bird goes crazy pecking at it. Apparently it was after the eggs or the baby birds. Well, that's it. I am decidedly not all about the circle of life and I certainly don't want to see it in action. If Neanderthals can run British Petroleum, then there isn't much chance that we, as humans, have really climbed that high up the food chain. Look around, I'll bet you can find an example of this without having to move. Especially if you're on the highway, at the DMV, or in anything ending in "mart" or "co".
We go out to manage the snake problem or at least make sure it's not trying to get in the house. "We" do this because I am the grown up (?) We find snakey snake snake, which is hard to miss. I decide to call Animal Control, who advise me that they "only do dogs". I advise them that on a 6-acre farm, what would I care if I had a yard full of dogs? We already have a yard full of everything else, what's a few dogs? Unless they are all Pit Bulls frolicking with Michael Vick, I'm okay with a yard full of dogs. A few treats, some butt sniffing and life goes on.
Middle child says "Should I get a shovel?" Sure, why not? So he gets a shovel while I'm talking to Pest Control (they "do" snakes for $150/snake), I might be petrified, but I'm still certainly not going to pay retail. While talking them down, middle child is beating the poop out of the snake with various farm implements which I cannot name. First he cuts off the tail (back to anatomy Dude- wrong end!) The snake people (they stay on the phone with you like 911), assure me that if the snake is not alive they will take it away for free! Yay! Free snake removal! So I'm standing on the porch negotiating prices and middle child says, "Don't freak out, but there's another one by your foot". I thought this HAD to be a bad joke. Nope. Snake coming out of bottom of house next to porch- 6" from my foot (maybe 12"). Now I'm screaming at the pest control people and offering them my retirement savings to come get all snakes to a new zip code.
Middle child beheads Zoo-Sized snake. This is ironic, because I was reading a book about Henry VIII. I can now see some of his reasoning. Other snake is still at large. So snake-man comes and takes definitively dead snake (both pieces-4.5 feet!) Here's an interesting tidbit for the snake novice- the body will continue to move until about midnight regardless of the estimated time of death (ETD), then its muscles relax- some sort of neurological thing. So, a beheaded snake is writhing around my driveway. It's scary, but I can't help thinking, "Well this one is free cause it was DOA and they only charge for AOA snakes". Cool, so now I'm looking at $150 if he catches the other snake. Well, with no snake treats and no Snake-Be-Gone (real product name), on hand we still have a snake at-large in the vicinity. Since we also have stink bugs of Biblical proportions, earwigs, in New Testament proportions, and wildlife of Encyclopedic proportions in the yard and house , I'm only concerned about the snake. I could be worried about toads, rabbits, deer, bear, gophers, hedgehogs, chipmunks, and spiders (the size of kittens) or other wildlife, but I'm pretty focused on the remaining snake, and wondering if it has kin in the area.
Friday of Memorial weekend, we're off to the mid-west with new radiator, new thermostat $440 less in my checking account, and a snake somewhere; but at least I didn't have to pay the snake guy, you know? HA HA HA HA HA! Six hour trip due west and all's well- even the bathrooms are clean as we stop through various other agrestic towns. Life can't be better.
Saturday trip and within about 20-30 minutes, the Cherokee overheats BADLY. So, to gas station, fill with water (bone dry despite new radiator). A hole in a hose that is apparently important, so boyfriend fixes hose. We're off again. No we're not.
Car overheats again before we get out of the parking lot. Now off to (recommended by girl at Starbucks), mechanic. The car overheating all the way, boyfriend is driving over potholes on the shoulder of the road, hazard lights on and running red lights to get car to mechanic. We get there; barely.
They tell us the thermostat must have been faulty and the radiator wasn't flushed right. That'll be $168- not priceless, remember last week's $440). We're not out of parking lot and lots of fluid is under the car and of course, it's overheating. They look at it again and say it's either a cracked head gasket (are these important?) or water pump (sounds cheap), both of which they could fix in about 7 hours (at $64/hr) on TUESDAY (remember this is Saturday and we're 6 hours away minimum from where we both work, not to mention the wildlife that needs to be fed). Uncool.
We get the car to an auto parts store for no other reason than it had a parking lot and the car was going to die any second. A for sale sign is purchased (no point in getting new air freshener at this point), and $1K OBO sign w/phone number. An hour later it was also on Craigslist. "As is" I don't want to hear about it.
Four days later and begging the auto shop people everyday not to tow it, a guy comes to buy it at full asking price. Dad brings title, proof of my insurance, registration, all his girlfriend's Notary accessories and probably some bottled water and a large container of hand lotion (they do not travel lightly). Everything is in their possession when they arrive... except the key. So, we lose that sale and Dad goes home with guilty divorced dad syndrome, which I thought was dormant.
I had told interested people to be there at 7, so he rolls back down to meet the one person who showed up. Well, 4 people showed up, but they were related to one another. Possibly they crossed the border at the same time... from Mexico... recently. They even had Mexican drivers licenses to prove it! How delightfully diverse!
They tell me they only have $600. I said then go to an ATM because I won't take less than $700 (ballsy for a girl with one prospective buyer). HA HA HA HA HA HA!We spent more than this on repairs in the last week and a rental car to get from Agrestic to Agriterra. Whatever, we're home, life is good and we seem to have picked up an extra cat in Agriterra.
Home sweet home where out front there is a beehive under one chair, a spider (large) living under another chair, one cushion that is usually damp from the rain and one without a cushion that dries faster but is in such a position that you can't throw the ball to the dog without her running through a rose bush, which she will because it's a ball and she's a Lab. We're down to one acceptable chair out front and this is not acceptable in WV it's important to have many chairs out front as possible for waving at people who go by, watching the grass grow, monitoring child labor or looking for snakes.
I almost forgot about the mutant moth! I've never seen one so big (approximately the size of a chipmunk)- or one that came in black and white speckles like an albino cheetah. I assume it drinks our well water, which would cause the phenomena.
I now pay a nice man to deliver large bottles of water that fit on a nice cooler that gives you hot or cold water depending on your preference. Even the pets are no longer allowed (by me) to drink the well water. It stinks and it's harder than a bunch of gay guys at an Adam Lambert concert. Considering our proximity to power lines, I'm not wasting my luck on well water that smells.
To sum up ha ha! I have a Camry now that I bought hastily from boyfriend's dad. So far, so good. I like it and it's much faster and better on gas that the Cherokee. Of course the Cherokee was very good on gas as we coasted into the auto parts store on it's last leg anywhere.
Next time you ask me how things are, consider the possibilities of what you may get back.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
The (Cell-Phone) Man
I would be shocked, even dismayed to find out that other, maybe even all other writers (authors implies salary), have not written about mobile phones. Okay, maybe not all of them, but certainly all of them who are over 40… or 45… or definitely 46 for sure.
It was a beautiful day in April. I’m in the middle of Agriterra, WV, obviously writing. Never put a manic in front of a typewriter (whoops, dating myself, that is not to say that I'm mastrubating, but I mean typewriters aren't in fashion anymore). This is a translation for people who are either slow on the uptake, or from Agriterra, WV. For the record, I am not from there, but instead from a town where there is real theater, damn near domestic squirrels and designer dogs. There were no deer where I lived. None, zip, zero, get the idea out of your head. We had squirrels, rats (squirrels with sucky PR agents), and designer dogs. That's it.
This essay is about a technological dichotomy, much like my dichotomous life. From city (we have an airport and everything there!) to a farm in a matter of an afternoon. We have the occassional squirrel, no designer dogs and animals that are designated "farm animals". This includes any type of animal that requires feeding, some kind of shelter, and generally has 4 legs. I understand that some people make money from the stuff that comes out of, or off of these animals. We are not in that particular circle. So, anyway, I’m now stuck in a black hole between major technology and tractors that share the same birth year as me.
Note of interest for city dwellers; roosters crow all day, not just at dawn. But that’s a separate story all together. I just thought it was an interesting farm fact that many may not know. I'm not sure how they don't get laryngitis.
Regardless, I was on the computer in the basement where I write. It was nighttime, so I’m speculating on the details of the aforementioned beautiful day, however; it was beautiful not necessarily in the traditional sense of sunshine and a warm breeze, but because I happened upon the website of my cell phone carrier (Verizon) to see exactly what day/hour/minute I could upgrade to a new phone for a HUGE discount (their words, not mine). I’ve been carrying around a 4+-year-old cell phone, for well, 4+ years. Where I was born, this would be considered "ghetto" as it only made phone calls, took pictures and I managed to set the alarm for different times during the week and the weekend days, which I thought was pretty snappy.
Two years ago I was eligible for one of those free or HUGELY discounted upgrades, and I decided to partake (who wouldn’t)? Don't pay retail- it’s a myth. I was in retail for years in another life and I know that they (The-Retail-Man) can make plenty of money while still selling me items at "HUGE" discounts. I also have the patience of a saint when it comes to finding a good deal. If it’s a good enough deal, it doesn’t even have to be something I need. Shoes come to mind. I probably have over 60 pairs of shoes- most are black so they go with virtually everything, including each other. If you are a man, refrain from looking up this phenomenon on Urban Dictionary. I doubt it's there, and you wouldn't understand anyway, unless you're gay. In which case you are probably reading this because you know me. I rationalized every single pair, but I never, I repeat, never, paid full price for any of them. So you get the point. I like a deal.
Now, back to the phone- Two years ago, the new phone I chose was one of the latest and greatest. It played music- preventing me having to carry around my 2 oz Nano, (a huge burden). I think it had a calendar and a camera too. Ah, but there was a catch. It wasn’t compatible with Itunes! Though this music feature was why I was supposed to want this particular new phone. In reality, I wanted it because it was the most expensive one I could get for free. But subscribe to another program and purchase more music? I don't think so.
In my life, I’ve switched from albums (colored people), to 8-tracks (people of color), to cassettes (Black), to CDs (Afro Americans), to uploadable MP3s (African Americans), and now MP3-DVDs (back to Black). I have hundreds of CDs and MP3 and MP3-DVDs. I have car-compatible devices so I can hear 7-8 days worth of music without hearing the same thing twice. I also have a lot of friends who are Black, so forgive my obvious comfort in discussing things that panic people for a moment until they realize they are watching the Wayans.
Again, back to technology-- I confess, I do not have the ear to hear the subtle differences in any of these modes of melody, however, I am considered Victorian if I don’t upgrade, and then eventually, I can’t find all the previous choices anyway. Clearly this is a plot by the Large-Company-Man to make me buy the same list of songs by Janice Joplin more than 10 times in my lifetime; maybe more. So far, I believe I’ve replaced that “album” 5 times. She is, after all, an icon.
I digress (frequently)- we were talking about phones. I mean cameras, I mean PDAs, I mean a portable video machine with access to my calendar, email, and 250 contacts, many of whom I never call. I admit, I feel comfortable with the fact that I have these 250+ numbers and couldn't get rid of any of them. If they liked me enough to give me their number, certainly they will come help me if I get a flat tire or am chased by a villain within 3-4 miles of their home (20-30 miles in Agriterra, WV, because that's the minimum number of miles required to get anywhere- at all- seriously).
I realize that I feel comfortable having video capability; though I have no idea how to use it. In the event that the Incredible-News-Making-Man does something insane, I can catch it on video, and then go home, read the manual and figure out how to view said video again at some future date. I will then sell it to the NBC. I would never sell it to Fox, who would edit it, and somehow turn it against the Obama administration even if it was just kittens up a tree.
Two years ago, this major new technology of the multi-tasking (played music) phone baffled me within minutes. I was butt-dialing, losing calls, and most importantly losing touch, on account of I couldn’t figure out how to call my best friend, or my parents. If I had a flat, or was being chased by a villain, I would have been no more protected than if I had gone the old-fashioned route of running wildly and yelling, or asking a kindly stranger for help, if these options still exist. Calling AAA from a payphone is not even an option anymore. What's a payphone Daddy?
After a few days I reconnected the old phone; now already two-years-old, if you’re keeping up; but functional nonetheless. Meanwhile, I dreamed of an affordable Blackberry. Imagine! Getting my email! Having my calendar accessible without having to write things down on 16 different calendars and hoping they sync themselves so I’m not at the dentist when I’m supposed to be, say, picking up the kids from a Siberian school field trip! Disaster could ensue if there was mis-synchronization, and if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s predicting, realistically or not, potential disaster.
On this recent beautiful day/night (now another 2 years later, and me, obviously two years older) while on the cell phone site, I realized I was indeed eligible for a Blackberry, and now it would be FREE! Well, free except for the applications I might want to add, and the $30 a month I pay to connect to things like my calendar, email, and now Facebook (which, shockingly, I “get” in spite of my age). Wow, what a bonus. But wait! There are now Droids! They do even more and you don’t have to go through the terrific calorie expenditure of pushing buttons! You slide your fingers around and things happen! Without lubricant! I get this terrific discount, plus wonderful things like instant weather for too those unfortunate enough to be nowhere near a window; and directions for people who can't read street signs, yet were allowed to get a license (eek)! It was a little less than free, but hey! I could have it all! This thing would do everything but vacuum the house!
This "phone" lasted 2 days. I felt like someone just dropped me off in Reykjavík and told me to hold a seminar on the cultural expectations of Icelandic dinner parties. Shake hands or bow? Which forks do they use for salad? Do they use forks or some kind of ice sticks? Do they speak English? I have no idea. I’m not big on “North”, finding anything further north than Manhattan
Today I have a Blackberry. I don’t "get" it either. I can make a phone call, and I get some texts- do I get all of them? I don’t know. I think I’ve synced my Yahoo calendar, but I don’t trust it to use the right tone to tell me the difference between all of these never-ending alerts. Do I need to be reminded by a bong-gong-dong that someone I haven’t talked to in years is having a birthday? Well, maybe, just in case I get chased by a villain or need to find a bargain in their neighborhood- but I do not need this information “live” and during a meeting with my boss. Further, do I need to hear ding-dong-ping while I’m in said meeting with my boss, telling me I am 5 minutes late for the meeting that I’m already in? I think not.
I’m scheduled for another meeting (lesson) with the Phone-Carrier-Man-Boy. I have perused the booklet in both English and Spanish. By page 4 (section 4a.XVii) I had 6 new applications that are hardly useful on a daily basis, but I kept getting distracted by the possibilities and I figured I’d better do it now that the book was open and the instructions were in front of me, God forbid I have to crack open the book again, which I will surely misplace before my next birthday- or the day after the return policy expires, whichever comes first.
Advice from Suki- The Jones’ are just another version of The Man. Don’t try to keep up with them. They are an unstable group of people with too much time on their hands, spending upwards of 8 days learning to save 5 minutes a day, which means they would have to save 2,304 minutes before there was no more deficit of time spent learning. Go ahead and use your fancy microwave, buy your American Idol songs off the web and then try to access them on a computer that is no longer “registered” although it’s the same computer you’ve always had, but has been wiped 4 times for various Computer-Man problems. But don’t come crying to me when you can’t figure out how to slide your finger to the application that tells you what cross streets you’re on when you could simply look out the big glass thing in the front of your car and figure it out yourself. The sun rises in the east; sets in the west, streets still have signs, even out here in Agriterra, WV. If you’re clothes are wet, it’s probably raining, if you’re hot, don’t wear a jacket, if you want music go to a bar or the mall, learn to play an instrument, or stay home and play one of those dusty CDs you spent $20 for because you had to have it at that very moment (or the cover matched your outfit).
Ill tlk 2 u l8r whn I figure oUt how my BB wrks.
Suki
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Kooks with Degrees
It’s gorgeous out; an unseasonable 70+ degrees (F). I walked into the psychiatrist’s office a few minutes early. Being neurotic, arriving anything other than a few minutes early would be a contradiction. I always feel a sort of elation walking into a new psychiatrist’s office. New staff, who talk to you nicely because they haven’t yet determined how crazy you are; they always start their conversations in the way that people in customer service should, but rarely do. They are probably more nervous than me. After all, I have a) been in many such offices, and b) have a full grasp on how crazy I am. We can deduce that they have been in at least one psychiatry office, and b) have no idea how crazy, or what kind of crazy I am. Daunting.
There is also the other theory that they work there, where as I am a patient there, so possibly this diversion of dynamics is simply because they don’t think about these things at all- they could be….normal. Also daunting. People who don’t worry make me nervous. What dangers could come to their life, or mine if in the right proximity to theirs, if they are not thinking about all the dangerous possibilities; preferably concurrently, and really, really fast?
I look around, as one will do in a new venue. Basic office, sparse furniture, the only art I can recall was a painting of some bears. They were not in a hunting situation; there was no redneck in camouflage lurking in the corner with a rifle. Check and good (so far). The picture was instead, one big bear, presumably the mother, with 2-3 (maybe 2.2) smaller bears behind her. This is also good. It implies nurturing. Motherhood. Or, does it imply issues with mothers, and this is the way I’m supposed to start focusing on those issues so we can get right down to it when I see the doctor? Or, did the doctor merely pick bears for their lack of being donkeys or elephants, which definitely have political affiliations? It’s hard to tell. Bears are relatively neutral in that even in the super neurotic population that enters the office, probably few, if any people would break out into even a psychosomatic allergic reaction to bears. I’ve known people who are seemingly allergic to everything, but bear seems to be a non-issue with most. Naturally, they do cause a reaction, but more people are worried on a daily basis about wheezing or throats swelling from the evil peanut or wheat product than they are the dangers of bears. There just aren’t that many of them (bear-allerics), so even the greatest hypochondriac would find few situations where it would be appropriate to bring attention to themselves by loudly announcing, “I’m allergic to bears!” Disparaging; but will save me one eye roll episode because I hate being upstaged by dramatic bear-allergics.
The doctor comes out in a Polo shirt from 1986. No; Polo shirts haven’t really changed since 1986, but that many washes will alter the integrity of even the venerable Mr. Ralph Lauren. I know for a fact that the first thing on a medical history, specifically in this particular arena, is “general appearance”. What they mean, of course, is; are you sitting in front of a patient who is, say, naked? Or are they wearing a winter coat in Boca in August? Sporting a tube top with no discernable boobs to hold it up? Mismatched shoes, particularly when one might be a high heeled stiletto and the other a penny loafer? These are what doctors look at when you enter- it’s part of your chart, so never hesitate to take a few minutes to make sure your shoes match before you pay your co-pay.
I had been thinking a lot about this because we’re currently in the season where you need a decent coat on your body and a car heater in good working order first thing in the morning; but, by quitting time, you need a tank top and air conditioning. As my appointment was in the afternoon on such a day, I still had my leather coat (because it’s nice and I didn’t want it stolen out of my car), and it was about 75F outside. I needed the tank top, and was wearing one under another shirt, but if I had only that on, my bra straps would show, thus creating another psychologically notable fashion dilemma. So, I kept coat with me and sweater over tank. Screw it. If I wasn’t nuts, I wouldn’t be there, right? Let them write!
The inner office where we were to have our session was a larger room that looked like it could accommodate “group therapy”. A frightening term where people get together and with the egging on of a kook-with-a-degree (a KWD if you will), get to tell each other what they think of each other’s problems, OR be quiet, listen and think, ‘there but for the grace of God….’ I’ll pass on both of those luxuries, thank you.
The most notable thing in the room was the entire theme. Old, with a dichotomous combination of sturdy anchor pieces, and Allen wrenched sub pieces. Chairs and sofas make of and weighing as much as, a California Redwood, with cushions covered in the fabric that they were chosen for about 25 years ago or more. All along side random bookcases that came in a flat box that an MG Midget (now defunct AND politically incorrect) could have “hauled” home 10 of in one trip without rolling down the windows or letting the top down. In 1976, I’m guessing this may have been how this went down, right around this time.
Now, the old shirt and the “décor”, I quickly realized, was a ruse, a distraction, a sign that the doctor had a good time in 1976 and didn’t want to let it go. There was, however, a neon sign that I thought had to be a test of my either my tact or my sanity… it was in the form of a dark brown toupee jauntily placed upon the head of a man who was almost entirely gray from the ears down. Brown on top, then BANG(!)- A loud conversion to gray. You could hear it like the cannons in the 1812 Overture, you could taste it like a bad piece of meat in a Taco Bell taco, you could feel it like the wind; it touched you, but you weren’t touching it (eww).
This person, who I am to trust with mind-altering medications, cannot see the forest through the trees. I know he owns a mirror because I used the bathroom (how do you rate YOUR doctors’ offices?) and there was one in there. Mystery not solved. He mentioned a wife who is sometimes jealous, (I learned more about him than he about me in this first session). Is she, perhaps blind? I did not see a dog, but now I’m starting to think that this doesn’t mean I can take for granted that there wasn’t one there. If he couldn’t see this follicle faux pas, then it’s certainly plausible that I couldn’t see a guide dog. What else in life have I been missing? I vowed to go home and scrutinize my hair in the mirror. After a couple of prescription mood altering pills of course.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
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