What takes up brain space now, in pie chart formation.

And on that note...

Auf Wiedersehen.

Don't stumble on the way out, deary.

The Great Schlep.

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Makes me yearn for some retired grandparents in FLA. Oh well. I'll have to be content with the wary California voting pair that I do have. I don't think they really want to vote or Obama, but they will. So you don't have to worry about Cali. Phew!

What Kind Of Special Bus Rider Are You? Vote!

Thanks to Bex for this one. I am essentially too lazy to email five friends, so instead I'll post here, for my five friends to see for themselves.

Of course my five friends are truly the chorus to which I am preaching as I know y'all are already registered and ready to go, chomping at the bit to cast your ballot. Let's hope it counts.

V. Important.

Thanks to Bex for this one. I think it's important enough to repeat here. Why aren't we seeing these clips, these images of Iraq in mainstream media? I have no doubt it would make a difference in the polls.

F.

Shout Out To Scout (And Other Random Pet News).

A shout out to Scout. Scout Bakken, that is.

After being sick in bed for five days, I finally went out for a brief spell this morning, to have breakfast with Joosh at an establishment we've taken lots of visitors to, mostly because it's cheap and has giant plates of goodness, but also because their motto (printed right on the menu) is "You Eat Here Because We LET You" and I like a little sass with my fast-breaking.

As we left our neighborhood, I thought how nice it would be to take a walk again, recalling that my last walk was a super one with a darling darling dog named Scout, a Norwegian Elk Hound (who knew?) with a terrific personality.

If you know me, you know I'm not a dog person, but I am partial to this sweet one and did indeed find myself wishing that Scout was available for some walkies (as Joosh and I call it when we take a stroll around the 'hood - and yes, we say it in sort of a sing-song pre-school voice: "Walk-eeeees" because that is how we behave when not in mixed company, I am both proud and mortified to admit to you here). If I can get Scout's parentals to pass over a photo, I will post it here, because she's truly a darling and unusual creature, often getting stopped and admired by strangers everywhere she trots. I was glad to have the chance to hang out with her while Moms and Pops were at a Wilco concert in Bend last weekend.

* * *

In other animal news, my stepsister friended me on Facebook yesterday. We've not spoken nor had any real words since her brief reply to my "Happy Birthday" email of last December, where she basically said thanks, and told me that I should write to my father as he'd probably like to know that I was all right. Ugh. Since when does she care about my dad? She despises the man (though she says he's good for her mom - which I have no opinion on either way). So she and I have never talked about last summer, she's never asked to hear my side of the whole fiasco, and she's still fairly dependent on the folks for support while she's finishing school in England, so I don't expect she'll ever broach it. Plus she pretty well freaked out last time I revealed a story that didn't match up to the official version she was given, and couldn't handle that her mother had conceivably lied to her, and started to short circuit in a very unpretty way. Subject was quickly dropped before new meds had to be ordered.

ANYWAY, my point here: She told me, in our Facebook chat, that my folks in Mexico have adopted two little sister kittens and named them "Fanny" and "Mae."

Which at first I thought was completely adorable and Jew-y and sweet. Then my sister typed: "Get it?" Oooh. Reallllllly. Huh.

I imagined them in their brand new 3000 sq foot slave-labor-built, staff-serviced fiefdom looking down over the ex-pat dominated and newly yuppified old town of San Miguel while people all over the US are losing their homes from the shitty decisions that resulted in things like the Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac meltdown and how the worst is likely still to come and how they moved South to exploit the cheaper services and healthcare available on the backs of the indigenous in Mexico rather than fight for something better here (and they had it just fine, here, by the way) and man, I just wanted to voo-doo dollhouse their new crib down the side of a mountain.

Saving the kittens, of course, because excepting the insensitive reference, little sister kitties named Mae and Fanny would be nothing short of idiot-smiles and awwwwww-worthy adorable.

Whats I Beens Doin?

Since December, when last I typed a peep*, this is what I've been up to (in general order of life appearance):

1) Heard this on the radio and cried for an hour in my car.

2) As a form of recovery from the above song-listening and crying, spent WAY too much time on this site, laughing hardest over the following in particular: Bacon, Emo (because it reminds me of a certain singing friend from the nineties), Balloon, and Devil Cat. I must admit that I am not laughing nearly as hard now as I was in December when looking at these initially, but Bacon still gets me every time. Also, someone told me that the bible is being translated into this language, the LOLCATS speak, so to speak. I didn't believe them. I was wrong.

3) Missed family at the holidays, but enjoyed a nice quiet time here in Portland. Kicked it with the Watsons. It was cool. Literally:



4) Tried to keep Christmas shenanigans to a minimum, and almost managed to succeed, until Joosh went out and spoiled the bejesus out of me with this:

(It's a giant Timbuk2 bag, the size and beautiful colors of which you likely are not able to discern from this hideous photo. It is big enough for all my schoolbooks, a laptop and most of my torso and shoulders, should I ever need to haul those around in a satchel).

And this:

(A keen-eyed rememberer of clothing named Jojo might be able to place the fabric from the quilt patch on the sewing machine. The flowery stuff. It was a hippie skirt. There may have been two tinkly bells on the tie at the waist, which I am not willing to admit to just now. It was a senior year thrift store find. I loved it long time. The black stuff is from a silk robe purchased in Chinatown, in college. Good times.)

So, me, I was very much spoiled. And I, in turn, got him a box full of foreign beers and a hand-made Shop Class metal arts type project craftily using wedding favor candy tins and rolls of self-adhesive cut-out magnet material (please. don't. ask). And pajamas, whoopee. So someone needs to get a real job and give someone else a nice Christmas in July, or something redeeming like that. Yeah.

5) Received several lovely items from AC, to whom I have still not sent my thank you note. Three items were for Joosh, and I have taken over all but one.

6) Started seeing an Acupuncturist, to discover that I suffer from "Dampness." Ooookay, then. At least it's not called "Moistness" since, as some of you know, I despise that word (yes, even when describing cake). Actually, the treatments, herbs and diet adjustments have been pretty miracle-working. I'm okay with not eating sugar (most of the time) but the bread, booze and fried stuff was not so easy to give up. When I partake of the above, however, I am So. Pissed. afterward. My traitorous belly punishes me severely, and I re-learn the lesson anew every time. Goddammit.

***Updated to say that Chinese Medicine is good for people and puppies, too. (Warning to women of childbearing age: clicking this link may cause spontaneous ovulation and/or immaculate conception from the cuteness of the wee child leading the post. The cheeks, holy, god, the CHEEKS. And the eyes. And the faces. And and and... Obviously I am completely smitten). But back to the canine family member in the Lalaland household: Best wishes for a speedy recovery to Lulu the super dog.***

7) Spent lots of time with these folks:


8) Had some excellent times (chats, fun, laughs, near-peeing-self-on-couch-misses, meals and entire host of other things we miss by living far apart from each other) with this gal.

9) Enrolled in two writing classes at this school. Began writing A LOT.

10) Waited impatiently for this little lady to arrive:


11) Attempted to try out for this but was foiled at the pre-tryout clinic by my Britney Spears Sketcher Skates (Damn you, Britney! Why you gotta put a weenie back stopper on your stupid skates?) and when offered a pair of replacements from a Breakneck Bettie (which smelled really bad, but were otherwise awesome - the skates, not the Bettie), I totally bailed out waiting for the second run of a sprint thing that involved running five steps on the toestops (front ones, BritBrit, duh) then full tilt boogie skating supa fast, then spinning and stopping short, again on the toe stops. Notice my words here: I bailed WAITING for the second run. I kicked ass on the first run. Then, while waiting in line for the second run, I totally toppled over just standing there, not even moving. Bottom line, I totally f'ed up my ankle on the Saturday before try-outs and was hobbling around like a dweeb with an ace bandage for days.

12) Was delighted by aforementioned ankle troubles when forced to miss out on actual trials, as I watched from the stands and subsequently understood them to involve thirty laps of fast skating BEFORE any of the timed trials, relays, etc. Had I not been hobbled, I would have killed at this, and then died, and then returned home after 3 hours completely deadxhausted, only to shower and turn around to head to the Watsons for Sarah's birth march. Okay, not a march, but it was in no way a fast experience. And there was some slow walking, almost a march, maybe sorta kinda a little. I kid: It was amazing. And I would have been suffering terribly and in no way able to provide any kind of support to Mama and Papa had I just been beaten down by all the bashing babes on blades. Er, skates.

13) Experienced the miracle of all miracles with Ms. Watson's birth. I swear I am STILL high from the whole thing. Jess was amazing, Mark was terrific, the baby is perfect. The entire event was totally mind-blowingly insane and scary and miraculous and great.

14) Continued to write lots more. Including a "please excuse my absence from class" paper about the fact that I was away giving birth. I'm sure that sounds bizarre, but we have to write these one page make-up papers about why we missed class, and they can't be true. So I borrowed heavily from what I had been witnessing whilst having to miss said class. My classmates responded well to the piece, though one gal felt the need to tell us all about how one thing "they" never tell you is that there is lots of poop involved in birth. (There was not in this birth, let me just clear that up right now). I told her, and thus the class full of people, that I had a lovely book, The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth (from the 90's, written by music producer Jimmy Iovine's sarcastic and not entirely unmean wife) which did indeed warn us all about the poop possibilities. The men in the room, with the exception of the one who wrote a fantastic "Dear John" letter to his masculinity** (I love him), were not super excited about our side conversation.

15) Decided to apply to this program at the above mentioned school (in spite of the fecal related feedback of my potential peers).

16) Did so, with the procurement of some very lovely last minute letters of recommendation and the crazy scramble to write/edit 30+ pages of material for submission (and an unquantifiable amount of constant patient support from my man - he's a saint or a masochist, I haven't decided). I don't know what he's doing in this photo.

So, yeah. Turned in app on 2/1/08.

Started to wait.

Am still waiting.

Will continue to wait.

17) Due to above decision, chose to skip a lovely Bay Area visit with the Davis girls in order to make a dent in the 30 pages, but did get to see this gal again briefly, which is always good.

18) Took this harder than I would have expected.

19) Fell suddenly and pretty hard for this guy. And this only added fuel to the fire (of my political support AND my wretched crush on young ScarJo, because I am a dirty old lady).

20) Got excited that my kid brother got himself a job (and tried not to think about the fact that he's starting at $4 an hour MORE than I was making as an emotional toilet bowl at my last job - not including commissions and non-existant bonuses, of course, BUT STILL). Congrats, moneybags.

And now, internets, I think we are relatively up to date. I have lots more to tell you about terribly unimportant things, but this will have to do for now.

Good luck to Grandma and her eye surgery tomorrow morning.

Happy Ash Wednesday to the rest of you. No sinning for 40 days (right? isn't that how it works?). Can you deal? No? Then come on over here and sit by me.

*The unforeseen stoppage in writage was due to the information that my mother has been alerted to this portal in the blogosphere by one or more of my careless brothers who left it in the browser of her computer "by mistake". Dork(s). It wasn't some big secret, just nothing I had planned to advertise until there was a delicious pile of baby or something equally splendid to advertise on these pages. Until then, I'd hoped not to think too much about the audience (future job offer prospects and the egos of people I still care about in life not withstanding). Oh well. Hi, Mom. Hope you got over that nasty flu by now.

**Oh my God, this guy is so funny. His piece was a total break up letter, to his masculinity, with the whole "it's not you, it's me" and "I hope we can still be friends" and it ended with "You know you're still my favorite to fart and shotgun beers with." So totally great. Unfortunately, as I was trying to give some feedback about the format, I said something to the effect of liking the whole "It's not me, it's you" bit, and how we could all relate to that and suddenly the class started laughing. It took me a minute to realize what I'd said. I started to correct myself, but then decided that, no, my slip was actually more apropos to any of my possible Dear Johns or many other interpersonal troubles: It's not me, it's you.