Thanks, Genetics! August 27, 2007

I found out last night that I may have inherited my father’s, and grandmother’s, piss poor knee joints. I was playing in a pool, getting chased by one of my friends in a rousing game of Sharks and Minnows, when something in my knee popped. I heard it, but didn’t feel any discomfort, due to the No Impact of a swimming pool. I (barely) made it through two hours of work today, and had to return home, to lie on the couch and ice my knee for the next eight hours. The totally bizarre thing is, it doesn’t hurt to walk on…it will bear weight fine. It’s just the bending that’s exquisite agony. Unfortunately, that’s kinda the purpose of a knee. It is swollen and vaguely bruised-looking, and I fear as with all injuries of this sort, the second day will be the worst. Stupid knee, like I can afford a doctor, or to miss another days worth of work. I suppose I’ll have to see how stiff it is when I wake up, and then decide if I want to go to the Brick Oven Paint Deck and do hard physical labor for eight hours. I’m inclined to guess that answer is no, but I might surprise myself. Gah. Of course, I’m terrified that it could be something that would require surgery to fix, but I have my hopes pinned on a ‘twisted’ or ’strained’ diagnosis. The real Catch 22 here is that I can’t afford to go to a doctor until I get paid (hopefully by the end of the week) and until then, I could feasibly take a financial hit of 1K in lost wages. I have cussed enough today to fill a swear jar.

On the upside, I caught up on some Popeye, a cartoon I haven’t seen in about a decade. I still don’t like them that much. Olive Oyl is such a simpering pansy, and Popeye and Bluto both are chauvinists, at best. I remember recognizing as a child that Olive Oyl was a dumb twit. I was right.

Summertime, And The Livin’s Easy August 22, 2007

The first paint job has officially concluded, with the soft goods having been sealed, cut, folded and shipped. It turned out fairly well, considering we did all of the painting in one week and two days, and we were working without a reference picture, and none of us had painted a forest before. I’d say we did pretty well.

Since we finished a day earlier than originally supposed, me and Lovely had the day off (she has asked that she be referred to as Jing Jang Jane, or JJJ, heretofore…we finally found her pirate name, so I ought to use it). Since Jing Jang Jane had lived in NC for four years, and had never visited the zoo once, we decided to go today. Aside from being ridiculously, almost unbearably hot, we had a good time. The zoo is a great daytime date; it’s not an everyday activity, and everyone, animal rights activists excluded, seems to get excited about wild animals in close proximity. We were closer to a polar bear today than I’ve ever been—there was 2 inch glass between us, but still. He looked so bored, and so fluffy and cuddly and cute with his gigantic bear-feet, that I wanted to hop in and play with him…I bet he would have enjoyed me more than the milk crate he was tossing around. Other notable highlights include the sea lions (always a fave!), the baboon wrestling match between four younguns, and the parrot that asked me what I was doing, when I went to take his picture. We also saw the most incredible pigeons ever, with a giant silver crest on it’s head, kind of like a peacock tail, only smaller, and monochrome. If only North American pigeons looked like that, I wouldn’t feel the strange compulsion to kick them. These Crested Pigeons were about the size of a wild turkey, and two of them walked right up to me, as I was sitting on a bench, waiting to see birds. We decided to take the gamble and go on the $3 ‘ride’ the zoo is now offering. Some 4D Wild World Adventure thingy…see the world through the animals eyes and whatnot. We were the only people in the Ride Trailer for this particular viewing, and we were having a great time, getting tossed around in big black leather chairs, as if we were a tiger chasing gazelles, or a bumble bee trying to escape the great big bear paws swiping at it’s hive. I was cackling and getting vaguely queasy (we were also wearing 3D glasses), when the power went out. The kid operating the ride said, Uh Oh That Can’t Be Good, and then rushed over to make sure we could unbuckle our seat belts. I wanted to immediately have a panic attack with the thought of being stuck in that hot, black trailer, but my belt popped out fine. The problem now was that the power was off in the entire zoo, meaning no air conditioned buildings, no buying water from the vending machines, no Dippin’ Dots, no lights in the bathroom (had to do it, it was scary). I had secret Jurassic Park fantasies of the gorillas and baboons somehow knowing that the electric fences were down, and chasing us through the park with gnashing teeth, but it was much more mundane than that. It was just hot. Still fun, and totally worth it, but I did want to kill the woman who barked at us, “This store’s closed!”, when we walked up to the cafe to get some water. Give me a water for free then, bitch…I’m dying, here. Right as we left, a thunderstorm rolled in, and it rained (finally!) for the whole hour we were driving back…totally refreshing.

After re-cooperating in the AC for a couple of hours, we did what we normally do on nights when there’s nothing else to do but watch TV: we criminally trespassed in someone’s pool. We’ve been hopping all over town, testing out pools in various ‘upscale’ apartment complexes, searching for the Golden Pool. It’s out there, I know it. Big, secluded, well-maintained, with a diving board, hot tub, easy access, and a bathroom on site. There’s something a bit exhilarating in knowing that since I’m climbing a fence, bypassing locked gates to gain entry, I could be arrested, feasibly, if someone was in a bad enough mood about being called out of bed to chase me off. I’ve never been arrested in all my years of Pool Jacking (knock on wood). Nonetheless, the threat isn’t enough to keep me out. I’m glad I have friends that aren’t scared away by a fence. Night swimming isn’t much fun when you’re alone.

Be Still, My Heart August 21, 2007

Love her.

Sharks and Minnows August 18, 2007

Phew. A long week has ended, finally, and I can hang out in the air conditioning for a couple of days and get my internal core temperature back to normal. Yesterday was maybe as hot as I’ve ever been (while doing hard physical labor, because of doing physical labor?). As such, I had to get mildly intoxicated tonight, and go jump in a pool for a while. It felt great…four of us went ninja-style into some high end apartment complex and borrowed their pool for an hour. We played a Marco Polo-esque game, and I felt like I was twelve again. I did not get caught by the Shark; I was a successful Minnow, twice.

But I have to back-track…mild intoxication leaves me prone to tangents and segues. Before we went swimming, my ladyfriend and Anchors and myself went over to J and C’s house (they are couple one of two, of My Straight Friends in Winston-Salem). J/C just moved into a sweet house a couple of blocks away from me, where they have a big screen TV, and Guitar Hero. C and I have been battling the Fearsome Frets section on expert for about a month and a half now (that’s one bracket away from beating the game, FYI). I go play maybe once a week, we have a great time, they’re rambunctious and playful and generous Good Times, with reputations as Serious Party-ers. Maybe the reputation is deserved; I don’t see them party more than anyone else, but I’m not there all the time, so who knows. I like them.

I realized tonight that Guitar Hero is the first video game that has ever encouraged me to put down the controller and actually get a new hobby. I’m seriously in love with the harmonica–sure, it sounds like shit right now, and I only have three very simple songs memorized, but for the first time, I’m really enjoying an instrument, and I find practicing a joy instead of a chore. I look forward to it. I honestly believe that I wouldn’t have attempted to begin the process of learning an instrument, without the aid of Guitar Hero. Aside from being a great game, I found I had the rhythm, and the hand control and coordination to play that cheap plastic guitar very well. I have a strong feeling that playing the plastic guitar and playing a real guitar are not very similar to one another, but my confidence was bolstered, nonetheless. And, voila! A new hobby.

The downside of Guitar Hero is that it’s not great on the eyes (and probably the wrists…), so after about an hour of five of us trading off, I needed to head outside for some air. J took us on a tour of the new backyard, and we’re standing out there in the dark, talking about how to construct the perfect Slip N Slide run in his back yard; the yard is screaming for it. My ladyfriend asked J if the new house was haunted…he said No, he’d never lived in a haunted house. Anchors commented that she hadn’t either. Me and Ole Blue Eyes looked at each other, and giggled uncomfortably; we’ve both lived in a few, and I know how crazy it might sound to someone who’s never experienced it, firsthand. Right at that moment, out of the dark brush bordering J’s backyard comes a distinct man-sound. To be more precise, it sounded like the Living Dead was trying to communicate it’s need for brains to us. We all froze, looked at each other to confirm we hadn’t been hearing things, and then we bolted. It was a casual bolt, no outright running, but we were all clearly in a hurry to get inside. I will forever after be convinced that their next door neighbors are keeping a zombie in their shed. Or something. It was creepy, but in that exhilirating kind of way. I appreciate a moment that makes me doubt everything I know to be true. It’s good to stay on your toes. I mean, how often in life do you think to yourself, “The dead have risen, I need to go inside”. It’s frightening, sure, but it’s fairly unique. Variety is the spice of life, right?

Once we got inside the house, I had a laughing fit that Anchors perpetuated–she’s always good for that. Plus, I haven’t been that high since I was a fifteen year old smoking out of Coke can. (Is it taboo to admit smoking pot on the Internets? Probably.) Ole Blue Eyes was ready to go swimming, but I knew enough not to drive right then. “Um, I just ran in the house because I thought a zombie wanted to eat my brain. I think I should chill for a few minutes”.

You had better believe I had my Zombie Killing Weapon picked out in my brain, just in case. The big glass jar, sitting beside the big screen TV, holding the fake sunflower. I could fuck a zombie up with that.

Foliage As Far As The Eye Can See August 16, 2007

We are nearing the end of the paint job…glory, hallelujah. As much as I enjoy what I do, it’s physically taxing. Today was hotter than the devil’s dick in a wool condom. I mean, for reals. When we got back from lunch break, the thermometer in the shop was reading 95 degrees…factor in the humidity, and it was sweltering and kinda hazy…we all started getting loopy by three, unable to work for longer than 30 minute stretches without having to break. I drank 5 entire liters of water today, and I only peed once (!!!!)…and I dripped sweat off my nose for the entire day. Not even moving much, sweat just rolled down my damn nose, into my eyes, stinging and irritating me. Days like today feel good, once they’re over. Physically exhausted, my muscles twitching a little as they cool down…I imagine if my body could make sounds, I would sound like a hot car ticking, once it’s parked. You know that sound. But I digress. We have fairly effectively created a Whimsical Wood for the ballet, Alice In Wonderland to take place. Lots of color…almost a rainbow, truly. I would hazard to guess that we have stamped no less than 20,000 leaves on ten different soft goods. It makes the head swim to stare across the paint deck…green, green everywhere, and damn, I need a drink.

The good news is: we get a three day weekend, which is much appreciated, and much needed after this week. It’s only been four days of painting so far, and my body says it’s been two weeks. But then, my muscles always take a week or so to acclimate back to the rigors of the paint deck…my back, shoulders, and arms have fallen out of practice these past two months, and muscle memory seems to have forgotten what it feels like to balance a brush on the end of a five foot bamboo. It’s coming back, slowly but surely. It hurts right now.

I have been playing the harmonica for at least thirty minutes, every day. I can’t seem to get a clear draw through the seven note on either the C or the E Flat, but I will…I will. I think that the harmonica will be my Quit Smoking Aid. I am going to try to stop by the time school starts, since I have to be quit by the time I get The Surgery in December. I need to have nicotine out of my system for a hot sec before I give up food, too. Liquid diet for three whole months, post-op. I’m kinda scared, I won’t lie. I love food, and more importantly, I love cooking, and I am scared this surgery will take the joy of cooking out of my life. I guess I will just have to cook for other’s enjoyment, which is a huge part of the pleasure for me, anyway. I mean, I will still be able to eat, but I can only eat 2 oz. at a time…I suppose I will have to get acquainted with the finer points of freezing foods. It all seems worth it, in the long run. Painting is hard work, and it hurts my joints after six or seven hours. Plus, I want to feel good in a bathing suit. I have never known that feeling.

Stoked August 15, 2007

I just found the harmonica tab for Such Great Heights, by the Postal Service. It made my effing day. I have the loveliest image of walking down a street in dying daylight, with my baby at my side, a warm-ish breeze ruffling our hair; I pull my harmonica out of my pocket, and play the song (perfectly, on the first try!) watching the pink highlights in the clouds reflect in her eyes, as the sharp twang of the harp splits the evening air.

I want to create this moment before the summer is over. Wrought iron benches and cobbled sidewalks may or may not be included. Or maybe the aviary at the zoo…that would be romantic…all steamy and lush, with big waxy leaves and bright birds everywhere. Lordy bee, I’m rambling. Maybe I’m just in love.

I had a long day today. It is Very Hot on the paint deck. The work is fun…good team, bright colors, and we’re painting foliage drops, which we haven’t really had a chance to paint previously. We’ve really hauled ass, and managed to get about half way through the job in 16 hours. 1 drop, 3 borders, 6 legs…all stamped to look like oaks and maples. It feels really good to be painting again. HowEVER, I don’t care for the heat, in the slightest. We’re pretty much painting in a 7000 sq. ft. oven. I’m loopy and exhausted after nine hours. I’m not complaining, though. Really.

Gay Is The New Black August 13, 2007

So, I just watched the season premiere of Weeds, and I have to say…it might be THE most brilliant piece of TV I’ve seen in years. Jenji Kohen is a writing goddess, who should be praised at every altar the entertainment industry has ever created. The writing coming out of Hollywood these days is (mostly) pure crap; as such, I find her to be a breath of fresh air, a relevant socio-political commentary disguised as the best thirty minute tragi-comedy television has ever seen. I haven’t even begun to digest the incredible acting…I am still so in awe and in love with Mary Louise Parker that I can’t articulate why right now. She gets more and more glorious ever time she performs.

The paint job started today, and I still have to scrub the paint out of my fingernails before I retire. Admittedly, I feel more at ease today than I have all summer…apparently the birthday weekend and the reappearance of my paint clothes are like a magic elixir to me. I love what I do. Next week, it’s glitter and silver leaf and oversized gumdrops and a giant jack n the box. Is this really my life? : )

Birthday Jamz August 12, 2007

I am half drunk on champagne, and will be brief, as drunk blogging is akin to drunk texting…a bad idea.

I had an awesome 29th…thanks to everyone who helped make that happen.

I had breakfast served to me in bed, which is a first, and it was fucking awesome. I had a delicious dinner with five friends, a feast of the best Indian in town. (We shared the chicken makhni, and a lamb jalfrazie…both wonderful) A group of us journyed to the hookah bar; memorable if nothing else—the belly dancing was poor, unfortunately, the hookah’s were expensive, and the place was not exactly geared for talking, so we sat and watched bad bellydancing, and people-watched, which this place is maybe perfect for…no cigarette smoking and no drinking in a packed bar on a Friday night at 11…it was a mixture of leather-clad straight edge punks and young adults sporting camp shirts with crosses everywhere.

We got up early(ish) today and went tubing, which is always a perfect good time. It was awesome! My friend A-Train surprised me from D.C. and went tubing…props to Nukka No. 1 for making that happen! Plus, I got to look at my hot girlfriend in her foxxxxxy bathing suit for six hours. Good times, people.

Damn champagne…I gotta go to bed.

Aw, geez, I’m almost 30 August 9, 2007

While my 29th birthday tomorrow holds no real feelings of anxiety for me, it’s still kinda…spooky. Now, when I think to myself, I’m almost 30, it’s because I really am almost 30. Not that 30 is a bad thing, either…it’s just feels so far away from 20, from 15…and some days I think I haven’t entirely caught up with myself. I still feel like I’m 24, maybe 25. But nope…I’m not just 27 thinking that 30 is right around the corner. Now I’m 29, and that’s as close to 30 as you can get. Truly, I look forward to My Thirties. My twenties have been an interesting mix of the best (after age 25) and the worst (the first five years of the decade), and I can only trust that the upward momentum will hold, as I think it will. I mean, I’ve got great family, great friends, a great education, solid talent, decent motivation and drive, and the world better watch out…if all goes well, of course. Only thirty more minutes of being 28…crazy, man. Crazy.

Tomorrow, I am going to go buy myself some new birthday clothes, in which to better doll myself up for the party at the hookah bar here in town. I’ve never been to this place, but I hear the food is awesome, and there will be belly dancers and live music. Sounds like fun to me. Saturday, a bunch of us are going lazy river tubing, because there are few things I enjoy in life more. And I always look forward to Birthday Sex. Everyone deserves birthday sex. It should be a law. I skipped The Golden Rule last year (thanks, all you straight girls…), so I’ve got to make up for some lost time this year.

I ate fried pickles for the first time today. They were surprisingly delicious. I am, Officially, a fan. I guess Southerners are genetically predisposed to liking any food group that comes fried, with a side of ranch, but still…they’re tasty, if you like pickles.

Hey La, Hey La… August 6, 2007

…my girlfriend’s back!

Finally, someone drove all night to get to me. There’s something so romantic in that notion that I’ve been waiting my whole life to be able to listen to Cyndi Lauper sing, “I drove all niii-i-i-i-ght to get to you…” and have a personal memory to attach to the song. So–bravo, HoCakes! Thanks. It was really lovely to wake up early this morning, to a cute and sleepy lady knocking on my door, warm from driving and full of smiles. We were too excited to see each other to go back to sleep immediately, so we crawled into my big ole bed and giggled for a couple of hours, until her eyes were rolling around in her head from sleep deprivation, and my need for a BoJangles bacon biscuit was too strong to ignore any longer. There are few things in life that are as sweet as snuggling with the one you love after an absence of more than a month…my skin was electrified, just to be next to her again, warm and cozy, with the AC blasting in this southern summer heat. It’s good to have her back at home. You ever have one of those days when things feel righted that you didn’t even know felt wrong?

So, I’ve been obsessively trying to learn to play the harmonica this past week. I think I am driving our subletter crazy, but that’s what she gets for leaving her vibrator all over the house, and bringing a string of strange and gross men back to my lovely house. So far, I have learned to play When The Saints Go Marching On, and Home on the Range. That might not sound like much for four days worth of obsessive harmonica playing, but that shit’s not as easy as I had first imagined. I mean, I’ve fucked around on harmonicas forever, but I’d never actually sat down and tried to figure out how to isolate one note at a time. Uh, it’s hard. Those holes are so tiny, making my mouth feel gigantic in comparison, and I have not even begun to figure out the elusive ‘tonguing’ that all the how-to websites I’ve referenced are so fond of…I’m a lesbian, I had imagined the ‘tonguing’ part would come easy. But no. Imagine trying to curl your tongue, placing it precisely over the 1/4 hole you’re aiming for, and then blowing smoothly, transitioning from one note to the next while keeping The Curl in place. I guess that technique takes longer than four days to master. Whatever the case may be, I’m having lots of fun with it, and I enjoy the supreme portability of the instrument. I think I will stick with this instrument, as I only have one year and five days to fulfill Number Three of my five year plan, set into motion on my 25th birthday.

Surprisingly enough, I think I will be very close to fulfilling all of the goals I set forth for myself, four years ago, by the time I turn 30. Since school has finally decided to offer Spanish language classes (previously, the only foreign languages taught were those that opera singers might need to know–French, Italian, and German), I can round out my four years of high school classes and hopefully begin to speak a bit more competently. As I’m graduating next May, I’ll have the degree I promised myself. And last, but certainly not least, the laproscopic bypass I’m getting in December will put me well on my way to achieving the goal of Losing A Substantial Amount of Weight. If this harmonica thing sticks, I’ll be proficient in the unnamed musical instrument I wanted to be able to play, upon reaching the landmark of Age 30. I suppose in my 25 year old brain, I figured if I had these four goals nailed down, I couldn’t possibly be sad about turning 30. I think I was right. The Thirties are looking better and better to me.

Here’s a little bit of TMI to brighten your day: For the first time ever, I shaved my hoo-ha bald. Never Again. The razor burn is unbelievably painful and the itch is driving me up a fucking wall. That’s what I get for caving to the Beauty Standard. There’s a good reason people have pubes, and I intend to honor that reason, prehistoric though it may be, from here on out. I don’t really grow much body hair anyway, due to the hypothyroidism…I ought to keep what little I do have. I haven’t had to shave my legs in seven, count them, seven years now. Maybe I’m out of practice with a razor, and that’s why I got such bad razor burn. Whatever the case may be, there’s a first time for everything…but this first was definitely a last.