Blanking like I've never blanked before

I feel two ways about this saying:

I hate that saying when it is used to say that you're going to to do something more intensely than you've ever done it before. "I will kiss you like I've never kissed you before!" bodes that you're gonna get one hell of a kissin', son. But it's just so overused! I'd prefer hearing "I will kiss you like we are in a porn movie" or "I will kiss you and it will be thunder and lightning on your lips." Those are free, internet. Use them the next time you proclaim your intention to smooch.

I really really love it when it is used to say exactly what it means but in a different way. "I will kiss you like I've never kissed you before!" suddenly becomes, "I HAVE kissed before, but I will kiss you like it is the first time I've kissed anyone." This means you are probably in for sloppy times. Sloppy times that will remind you of your first kiss and how nervous you were and how the air smelled while you were standing on the porch, and you will probably marry whoever says and does this to you.

It's a proclamation of vulnerability. "I will dance like I've never danced before!" Sure, you know how to dance, maybe you're even really good at being a sexy smooth dancer. But for now, you're going to forget how, and just do whatever you would do if you'd never danced before. Maybe you'd try out moves from Darrin's Dance Grooves because you and a friend tried it at a sleepover once. Maybe you'd emulate Beyonce, just to try it. Maybe it's good to forget what you know, at least for a little while.

What would you do like you'd never done it before? Ever?

Who ever thought I might get paid for doing what I like? NOT THIS CHICK.

About a month ago or so, around the start of NaBloPoMo, I realized that I had inadvertently stopped doing all of the things that make life (at least my life) worthwhile. Whenever I moved my body to do anything at all I couldn't help but think, "What is the damn point?" It wasn't really an existentialist dilemma, but I suddenly found my daily life sickening. Wake up, work, force myself to go to the gym, drink, repeat. It was a dark place for me to be in. I spend way too much time thinking about all of the things I'm not doing as it is.

I had been putting importance on a lot of things that were essentially important but that I just couldn't care all that much about. When I came home too tired to cook a fully local and organic meal, I would feel guilty. When I couldn't bring myself to go to the gym and run on a treadmill because WTF? You're not even GOING ANYWHERE, I felt guilty. And all of these feelings of guilt on top of the feelings of blahhhhhhhhhhhhgh were not making me happy. And even when I did accomplish a week of steady gym attendance and cooking, I didn't feel any happier. I felt accomplished, but accomplished in what? In running nowhere and eating food that I found no joy in cooking OR eating.

When NaBloPoMo started, I stopped. I stopped forcing myself to do things I wasn't interested in doing. I cooked when I felt like it and used ingredients I felt good about putting in my body and left it at that. I stopped going to the gym because exercising just felt so negative and like more of a punishment than anything else. I started knitting more, and above all I started writing more. Short short stories, impressions and (of course) blogs. I made time for it and was happier for it. I was manufacturing the happy that I needed and the space and flexibility I was craving came with letting go of things that just didn't do it for me. The funny thing is that by letting them go, I was able to actually do those things and enjoy them.

I guess forcing myself to write paid off. Yesterday, on a whim, I sent some writing samples to an online magazine who was looking for freelance writers. I got an interview.

Wish me luck.

Day OH CRAP. I missed two days.

I was sick, but whatever. No excuses! This is pain country!

We bought Flight of the Conchords on DVD yesterday and have been watching it pretty much non-stop today. As such, we've been making up songs about things. Everything.

Me: Could you get two bowls?
Mike (singing): I got two bowls, got two bowls.
He pauses to think.
Mike: I got two bowls, got two balls, got two bowls got my balls in the bowls.
Me: I think that's enough.
Mike: Balls in the bowls!

Day 21: I made another pie

Pecan pie for tomorrow with bittersweet chocolate:



It doesn't look like a typical pecan pie because the filling goes on top of the pecans, which have mostly been pushed into a layer of dark chocolate at the bottom. Any pecans knocked loose while pouring the filling in have peeked through to the top. I think it's pretty. And look! I made leaves for the crust because I am no good at crimping so fuck crimping and yay leaves.

I'm feeling better but not 100%. Hopefully a good night's sleep will take care of that and also refresh my mind because these posts are just not cutting it.

Day 20: I do not want to do this right now

Still sick! Crap.

I started a mitten last night though to keep my mind off of the terrible achy pain. It's from Charmed Knits: Projects for Fans of Harry Potter. They're the mittens that Hermione wears on a trip to Hogsmeade in The Prisoner of Azkaban. And they have bobbles! I had never made a bobble before last night. I was really proud and stuff. I don't have a picture because fuck that I'm not getting up.

So... yeah. It is time for soup and a movie because I don't want to subject you to anymore of this rambling pap. Also? I don't want to write anymore of this rambling pap. Leading experts claim that being sick makes me really grumpy. The research and development team at Johns Hopkins University would like to inform you that if you don't want me to lash out at you, you should jog on. Pbbbfttt.

Day 19: Every time I get sick I think I'm dying

I am sick! Sick like a dog! Some of you may not know this, but a symptom / thing that comes with having acute panic disorder is hypochondria. And, of course, yesterday I heard about the new KILLER COLD AD14 RARRR PANIC PANIC PANIC. I don't think I have it, but that's only because my rationality engine is still intact. Give it a couple days and I will be screaming Ad14! and SARS! from the proverbial rooftops of this blog.

Do you guys remember SARS? I remember it fondly. I was in high school during the whole scare and everything was all about the SARS. I, being my perpetually worried self, was freaked right the hell out. Most days went like this:

Me: Hey, can I borrow a pen?
Classmate: Yeah. I chewed on the end a little but it's ok.
Me: MURDERER! BIOLOGICAL TERRORIST!

Or this (which I remember vividly):

Me: I'm thirsty
Close friend: Do you want a sip of my drink?
Me (eyeing it like I would eye a pissed off snake): Do you have the SARS?
Close friend: No, but I could be pregnant. Watch out, you might catch my baby.

Had I known about hand sanitizer I would have carried it in my bag, right next to my tub of Knotty Boy Dread Wax. Oh, you didn't know I had dreadlocks in ninth grade? Now you do. You'll have to trust me because I'm pretty sure I burned all the pictures. Carrying hand sanitizer around in my oh so stylin' hippie patchwork cotton and corduroy messenger bag would not have pushed me down the social ladder any further. BUT I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT HAND SANITIZER. I was a mess for a while.

And then this frigging bird flu thing started up last year which was the same year that I went to Scotland by myself to visit a friend. When I got there I found out that the park 200 yards down the street from his house had seen the first confirmed case of bird flu in Europe. Fucking diabolical swan.

Then there was Mexico and the threat of malaria so I went to the travel clinic to get a prescription for the pills. Except the pills gave me dreams about killing my parents and made me nauseous so... yeah. I stopped taking them when I got there because I was overwhelmed enough by the trip without gory family maiming dreams. I never got malaria but I did get dysentery and eaten by bed bugs. GO FIGURE.

The funny thing is that the one time my town really did have any kind of epidemic (meningitis in elementary school), my parents did the worrying. I just got a shot and went back outside to play and share drinks with my friends and do the thing where you spit in your hand and then shake hands with someone else and...

...

You know, I was heading toward a kind of "ignorance is bliss" statement with that? But after writing it I'm just glad I'm not as disgusting as I used to be. Could you pass the hand sanitizer? Yeah, just rip the dispenser off the wall. Mmm. Much better.

Day 18: Quick update because I am so effing tired

Reading: Anna Karenina. It is good so far but man. Russian names are terribly hard to keep straight.

Knitting: Another Fetching. Everyone is getting these for Christmas. Even you.

Watching: X-Files season one on DVD. SO GOOD. I can't watch them while eating though. Ew.

Cooking: Pies! All kinds of pies. Next up is apple and dried cranberry.

Contemplating: Immigration. People are people, yes? And we are all the children of nomads.

Pursuing: 135lbs. I'll let you know when I get there.

Listening to: Me Without You - Brothers and Sisters. Such a great album for any mood I'm in. I have a lot of moods.

Loving: RAVELRY. Sign up, get invited, be my friend.

Day 17: Movie day

Today, I think, is a good day to watch movies. What movies did I pick, you ask? I will tell you!

Vanity Fair starring Reese Witherspoon is first up. I don't really like her or her pointy chin, but I do like period films and it was either that or Elizabeth and I don't know how much violence Elizabeth has in it. I did not want to find out by seeing someone get stabbed. I also hear that it's a good movie and who wouldn't want to look at all that crazy cleavage? I wish I had cleavage.

Next will be Seven Years in Tibet because umm... have you SEEN the cover of that movie? Brad Pitt's face is all "I have never seen tinier pores than yours and also I think your hair looks really nice like that.Take me home and watch me. Watch me all night long." Will do.

Finally we have Meet the Robinsons because I hear tell that there's a t-rex in it that talks and maybe dances. That is worth $4.75.

Day 16: Friday 250

We collapsed into the snow out of breath and pulsing from the fight. I moved so that my back was against yours, me facing into the sun and you facing into your own shadow. I had taken off my coat. You were wiping the blood from your lip with your mitten.

"You know," you started, and your voice was shaking, "Mom really does love you more." I didn't say anything. What could I have said? "She tells you everything," you continued. "She doesn't tell me anything. She loves you more."

I wondered if it was love that made mom tell me that dad loved naked women on the computer more than he loved her. I wondered if it was love that made her tell me that thirty eight was too young to be stuck in a family, that she never wanted a second daughter, and that I was an accident.

"I don't want her to tell me everything," I said, but I knew you wouldn't understand. I turned and hugged you around your neck. Your ear was so cold on my cheek. "It doesn't matter, Josie," I said. "I love you more than they ever could."

It was then that the knife slipped and cut the tip of mom's finger off while she was chopping vegetables in the kitchen and dad, who was cutting wood in the shed just to do something with his hands, felt his heart palpitate, shudder, and double its pace. He coughed and it was over.

Day 15: Today is a good day to be a crab

I am crabby today. Usually I feel like I can do anything, but right now I feel like punching puppies in their stupid puppy faces. I had a panic attack yesterday and that probably isn't helping, but I thought I drowned it in enough gin so that it wouldn't bother me today.

OH WAIT. That won't work.

In other news, my cat is insane and annoying. She will not shut up.

-Meow
-What?
-Meooow.
-Dude. Cut it out. I fed you.
-Meow?
-Do you want to play?

At which point she has no interest in her toys.

-Meow.
-Stella, I tried to play, you want nothing to do with me.
-MEOOOOOW.
-UGH! Stoppit!
-Meowwoow
-You know I don't understand you.
-Mow?
-MEOW MEOW MEOW I'M STELLA MEOOOOOW. Go find a box and sleep in it.
-Meow.

I feel like I'm making real progress with her. Lord I hope I never have kids. I will probably just make fun of them and tell them to go sleep in a box.

Day 14: See? Food.

This is what we ate tonight:



Acorn squash stuffed with wild rice, onions, hazelnuts, and cranberries.

...

JEALOUS? Yeah. I thought you would be. It will probably be our Thanksgiving dinner as well, since we are the only vegetarians who will be in attendance. The texture and tastes are so interesting: creamy from the squash, crunchy from the toasted hazelnuts, and the cranberries bite through the sage so well. Yummmm. Reminds me of my mom's stuffing without the murder. Simple to make too, and it can be made in advance and then assembled when you need it. It's fancy enough to make for a dinner party (anything stuffed in its own shell is fancy) but casual enough to throw together on a cold night.

Recipe can be found at Epicurious here. Let me know what you think!

I promise a more engaging post tomorrow. Right now I have to shower and go to karaoke. It is my destiny.

Day 13: Internet oddity and a high school note

Apparently the NaBloPoMo randomizer decided to randomly link people to my Myspace blog even though I never gave out that url anywhere. How strange! Well, if you got here because you clicked the link that I just put up, thanks for taking that extra step. Welcome to hell.

I kept every note ever written to me from anyone in high school. Weird, I know. But high school wasn't too terrible for me (mostly) and I have all these notes that will never see the light of day. So today I will pick a random one from the box and put it here. This isn't too insult anyone or make fun of anything. I keep them because I'm fond of them and some of these are just really great. I know, Internet. Your excitement is palpable even from all the way over here. I CAN SMELL IT. Here we go! The whole thing is [sic].

"Daniel,
Thanks for letting me borrow the Type-O-Negative CD. I followed your instructions but I didn't fall asleep. I listened to the whole CD twice and nothing happened. Before you let me borrow the CD, I was talking to Cory and he said that when he's depressed, he listens to that or some other CD. It's no wonder that he's depressed all the time. The music's great but it is so depressing.

Any way, what movie do you want to see this weekend? I have no idea what's playing so I can't say. Any things fine with me, I'm not really picky when it comes to movies, because I almost never go.

Are you going to the home coming dance? If so you want to go w/ me? If you don't want to just say so, I'll understand. Well, bye for now!

Ray"

I love how he just threw that in there at the end. WANNA GO TO THE DANCE KBYE. Classic tenth grade boy. Yes, I listened to Type-O-Negative. I hear Peter Steel got all frumpy though. Sad. He played his upright base with a wine bottle. It was so cool.

And in case you're wondering, I said yes. It was awesome.

Day 12: Short stories

- My mother and her friend have dressed up in over-sized pillowcases, drawn cartoonish faces on them and put clothes low on their legs to appear as if they were really short people with huge heads. They're dancing around for my 6th birthday party and my friends love it. I think about how I'd never seen any of their parents have as much fun.

- I'm looking out my parents' bedroom window and crying for some reason, a washcloth clenched in my hand to stifle any noise I might make. I'm around 8 or 9 years old, but I know that whatever happened shouldn't have been heard by my ears.

- It's the first time I ever got that feeling from a boy - where they touch you and you shake because it's so electric and so delicious. It eventually becomes a warning sign, that when anything has that much voltage it has to be dangerous.

- The door shuts behind me and I can see him crying through the window. I pick up my two garbage bags of clothes and throw them into my car with the rest of my stuff. It isn't until I'm on the highway that I remember to breathe and I let out a sob so loud that I scare myself and almost hit a pole. By 4am I'm three states away.

Day 11: I made some stuff! And here is how I screwed up.

A fetching! Hey. Didn't I tell you guys (yesterday) that I was making one from that Plymouth Tweed that I bought (also yesterday)? HOLY CRAP these take no time at all. What bugs me about this pattern is that it calls for a picot bind-off which is actually a really cute and stretchy way to finish something, but it makes it a little TOO stretchy. It could have been the yarn I used but I found that though it fits and looks cute, my personal taste is to have the part around the fingers tighter so the wind doesn't get in. I think next time I'll just bind off a little looser than normal but use the standard method.

Next project!



Pie pie pie. I bought some apples at a farmer's market yesterday. I likes me a good raw apple as much as anyone but that guy gave me about five million apples. I figured instead of eating them all raw and getting sick to death of apples I would bake a little sumpin sumpin. I didn't really use a recipe because I kind of remembered how my mom did it? Maybe? The crust was fine (check out the dinosaurs! Hell yes dinosaurs) but when I cut into it... apple soup pie. So much liquid. Still delicious but not nearly what I was going for and impossible toserve. I drained some out (what? So I dumped my pie juice out into the sink. Want to fight about it?) and after it cooled it wasn't so bad. Here is what I put in it/did to it:

6 fresh Macoun apples
3/4 cup organic cane sugar
1 tsp organic cinnamon
2 tblsp butter
dash of salt

I baked it at 450 for 20 minutes, then turned it down to 350 for another twenty.

Do you know what I did wrong? I'll bet you do. Don't keep it to yourself. Let me in on it.

In conclusion: I am ambitious without caution? Sure!

Day 10: Stuff for the stash and Stella

I went shopping for yarn to be used on Giftmas Fetchings for mostly everyone. Can I just ask though why NOTHING in that yarn store has a price on it? Are you supposed to cross your fingers and hope that when you get rung up you don't have to pull the "Oh-wait-that's-more-than-I-thought-let-me-put-it-back" move, aka the "hey-everyone-look-I'm-poor" move. I might need to find a new yarn store. Please do not use my shame as a sales ploy.


Plymouth Tweed


Adrienne Vittadini - Lisa

Yay! I will be casting on tonight. While I do that, here is Stella playing catch the mouse from her new favorite place on top of the PS2 inside the entertainment center. Also on this video is me making weird noises. Why do I make these noises? Scientists claim it is due to hyper secretion of hormones from the goon gland. 100% of boyfriends surveyed agree.

Day 9: An excerpt from a short story I'm working on

Through one town, into another, south and south, intrepidly south. South to the end of the road where the water tries to swallow the shore and gnashes its foamy teeth on the jetty. I had to park the car as the road had turned into sand and then water. But I left it running.

"I'm not going to kill you, you know," I said.

"Well, after all these year I still don't know what you're about." We smiled at out joke, but I know you still, after these many more years, don't know what I'm about. I forgive you for that and for not knowing how to break me. It's your only flaw.

"Come on," I urged, and took your hand.

"Out there?" You looked scared. It was the only time I've seen that look in your eyes. Was it the water? The black sky against black waves? The rocks making those odd jagged shadows?

"Don't worry," I laughed. "I'll protect you from the fish."

The spotlight on the dock shining between the masts of the fishing boats slid back and forth across your face as the mast obscured it, then let it through. Now I see you, now I don't. Where are you? There you are. I held your hand tighter and pulled you onto the jetty, stumbling over the cracks between the stones. We moved when the light allowed us, jumping the larger cracks, performing a treacherous dance.

"Slow down!" you shouted at me, but the wind pulled it out of your mouth and your panic was all around us. Then you slipped. I felt you pull at my hand as you fell and let go to save myself. I recovered my balance and turned around. You were bleeding and your pants were ripped. I almost vomited.

"Are you ok?" I asked, after the nausea passed.

"I'm fine. Are you ok? You're as white as a ghost."

"I just don't like seeing you hurt," I said, and I meant I can't believe I let you go.

"Don't freak out. This is far enough," you said with such finality that I knew, of course, it was.

"This is far enough."

Day 8: 150 words

-Do you remember that date we went on? At the river?
-Yeah...
-You wouldn't jump from the rock you were on to the rock I was on.
-The water was high. I didn't want to die.
-I know. I think that's actually what you said.
-"I don't want to die"?
-Yeah. At the time I thought it was silly but now I think I know what you meant when you said it.
-Oh?
-What you meant to say was, "I don't want to fall and risk you not being there to catch me."
-No, what I meant to say was, "Why do I have to jump over rivers in order to reach you?"
-It doesn't matter anyway.
-Why not?
-Well, I don't see any water here, and you're still too far away for me to touch you.
-Just reach.
-Just jump.
-I don't want to get my feet wet.

Day 7: This is no time to panic. But I'm gonna.

About a month ago I went shopping at H&M for some new duds. I recently lost weight, and let me tell you. I was feeling fine. I was looking for something to commemorate the occasion that would make me feel cute and impish. I found a great dress, black with white letters all over it. They didn't spell anything but they were in this awesome font and I am kind of a font junkie. I grabbed a 10 and an 8 off the wall to try on because I figured I'd fall somewhere in between. The 10 was way too big. The 8 was good, maybe a little loose, but it was the smallest size in that style. I figured it would shrink in the wash and put it in the "definitely gonna buy it" pile and left the fitting room.

While browsing through some cardigans I saw it. The perfect dress was hanging on the wall - a little plaid number with an empire waist, A-line skirt and little cap sleeves. It was adorable and it had pockets, for Pete's sake. Love. I grabbed the one in front off the wall and it was a 2. There's no way I'm going to get my butt into a size 2. So I pulled all of the dresses down and found the largest size. It was a size 6. I was doubtful but I had fit into the 8 and it was a little too big. I was feeling skinny. Hell, I thought. I'm feeling size effing 6 skinny. I actually shook my head up and down with a smirk on my face. This was going to fit me.

I took it into the fitting room and undressed, removing my bra. I am not really well endowed on top so I have this kind of push uppy bra but this dress would not require its assistance. I unzipped the little nothing zipper, the kind that doesn't go all the way up or down the side of the dress but just kind of makes a hole in it, and put it over my head.

I got one arm in and the little sleeve was awfully tight. No big deal, I thought. It will be fine once I get it on. So I stuck my other arm in the arm hole and tried to pull it over my braless boobs.

It wouldn't go. But I am not a quitter. I was determined to get into this dress. I pulled it down and settled it in place over my shoulders and it instantly felt like they were encased in cement. I could not move my arms more than two inches in any direction. And then I realized that the empire waist would not fit over my boobs. Not in one million years. Oh well, I said to myself. I guess I'm not a size six. It was time to give up the dream.

I grabbed the left sleeve with my right hand, as one does to remove one's arm from a frock. Only then did I realize that there was absolutely NO ROOM to maneuver my arm and navigate my elbow out of this thing. The fabric had no give. It was like a straight jacket. No big deal, said my brain. You're a broad shouldered gal and you've been in this situation before. Just pull it straight up over your head. Ok brain. You know what's best. I grabbed the hem of the skirt and tried to pull it up and off my head. If you've ever taken your clothes off this way, you know that at one point your arms are crossed over your head. The fabric was so unforgiving and the sleeves so tight that I couldn't get to that point.

Ok. Ok. I am stuck in this dress. No big deal. Maybe I can wiggle out.

Wiggle wiggle. Nope. Now I was starting to get upset. Maybe even a little panicky.

I am going to have to call someone in here to get me out and oh my gosh they are going to see my boobs and these old lady underwears with the hole on the butt cheek. Oh my gosh oh my gosh. What the hell am I going to do.

Wiggle wiggle. Stretch bend stretch.

Shit. Shit shit shit I am really stuck.

I started to sweat. This dress had a satiny smooth lining. Do you know what happens to satiny smooth fabric when you sweat? It STICKS. The situation went from dire to catastrophic.

I am going to have to rip myself out of this dress and pay for it and explain the whole thing and tell them that I thought I wasn't a FAT ASS and could fit my crazy shoulders into this delicate frock and I HATE YOU YOU STUPID DRESS COME OFF OF ME.

I actually started to whimper. I was in ULTRA PANIC MODE. Thirty minutes had passed. I called The Boy.

"Mike! I'm stuck in a dress at H&M!"
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"I'm really really stuck!"
"So what? Call someone in. I'm sure they've had to pry people out of clothes before."
"No! They'll see my boobs and - STOP LAUGHING."

I don't know what happened next. I sat down in order to regain my composure and stop sweating and I think some kind of primal escape mechanism kicked in. Suddenly I didn't care. I didn't care if I ripped it or if I barged into the store half naked screaming GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE. That thing was coming off. I took a deep breath in and yanked the hell out of it. I was almost hoping for it to rip or for my shoulder to dislocate, whichever happened first. Either way I'd be free.

All of the sudden, it came off. It hit the wall opposite me and slid to the floor in a rumpled heap. I stood there, staring at it, for five minutes. I didn't believe I was out of it. I was sure it was in ribbons. How else could I have escaped? I picked it up and couldn't believe it. The dress was FINE. No rip, no tear. No stitch out of place. That diabolical frock just decided to let me go. I put it back on the hanger and boogied out of that dressing room.

I caught sight of myself in one of the full length mirrors. I had been in the dressing room for 45 minutes and had come out with my face red and my hair all messed up, clothes all wrinkled. Every person was staring at me. I pretended like my phone was ringing and pretend answered it, talking to a pretend person on the other end as I hastily made my way to the cashier with the dress that didn't try to eat me, paid for my purchase and left.

This situation was so ridiculous that in recalling it here I have brought those feelings of panic and humiliation back to the surface and now I need a shower and a beer, maybe at the same time.

Day 6: Knitting update

Work in progress: Jewel-Tone Wrap from Exquisite Little Knits

Obviously this is not jewel-tone. I bought this Peruvian Tweed because I was in the yarn store and it was just so cuddly. I hugged it for a lot of minutes. A lot of minutes that were uncomfortable for everyone in there.

This is the most complicated pattern I've done so far and it's only a four row repeat. I kind of feel like a stoop for being so excited about it but it just looks so delicious and wintery and heavens to Betsy it is WARM.

I got my Ravelry invite today and pretty much hyperventilated. I love it so frigging much. If you'd like, my screen name is stegosaurusrex. Be my friend?

Day 5: Cutting it close

See, under normal circumstances I wouldn't be posting at ten minutes to eleven at night. Under normal circumstances I would have a lovely post for you about this lace scarf I'm knitting. Under normal circumstances I can count and don't have to FROG HALF OF IT BEFORE I EVEN GET A PICTURE. Luckily I was able to insert a needle at the destination row and only rip out the last two hours of work. I'm telling you that because it's the first time I've done such a thing and I didn't entirely screw it up. Effing yo's. Effing skkp's. I hate counting. I was doing so well.

So that will have to wait for tomorrow. Until then, here is a video of my friend's band. Visit them: Rooftop Suicide Club

Day 4: No box is safe

Stella Stegosaurus will take it over eventually.

She loves the Harry Potter. Especially the parts where McGonagall is a cat.

Trivial Pursuit? More like Trivial Purrrrrsuit. HA!

Im in ur box, sleepn off mah hangovr

If you have a pet, I'm sure you have names you call your pet besides their real name. We are no exception!

Real Name: Stella Stegosaurus
Other names: Stella Steg, Stella Bella, Ya Stoop, Fuzz Face, Fuzz Butt, Cut It Out.

She obviously runs this place.

Day 3: WHY IS THIS ALREADY WICKED HARD. GEEZ.

Honestly! I just sat here for probably 20 minutes writing two words of some kind of lame ass entry and then deleting it.

Certain kinds of people really annoy me. I do not want to be annoyed by these people and I understand that they are essentially good people, but still. I don't even know what about them annoys me, really. Loudness? Crassness? Candor? Here is a conversation that happened recently:

Me: Oh, I don't know. I think there's something to be said for organized religion. I don't know what it is, but there's something.
Friend: Yeah. I always feel like it's just a blinder, you know? A disguise for something much more sinister.
Me: Well maybe in the higher echelons of religion, but not in the followers.
Person that Annoys Me (PtAM): I'm a pagan! I jump over fires naked!
Friend: Oh. That's... something.
PtAM: HAHAHA! Sky clad! Catholics are shitty, huh?
Me: That's kind of judgmental...
PtAM: Hey where's that gay guy? Aren't gay guys awesome?
Me and friend: I have to go.

See? It's just awkward. She's expressing herself and her opinions but it just gets me all weired out and makes me avoid her. And I have to see her every day because I work with her. I think she called a guy I work with a sexy bitch. Loudly. So maybe it's just inappropriateness? I'm just trying to figure out why I am so annoyed. Any help you can offer in dealing with her, dear reader, would be appreciated.

Day 2: Pumpkins and LP's

In October I went to a conference in Portland, OR for work. Now, I don't know if you know this, but there's this show on TLC called Little People, Big World. And I am a fan. And unlike some people I could name but will not, I don't like the show because it shows little people driving tractors and launching pumpkins into the stratosphere with a trebuchet. I like it because it shows a family doing these things. Out of six Roloff family members, three are little people and lead a lifestyle that people without the condition know almost nothing about and they invite the world to see how they live in a world of big people and, unfortunately, big ignorance.

Anyway, the Roloffs have a pumpkin patch outside Portland and my hosts and I decided to pik pumpkins and visit. So we roll up (oh yes, we did roll up) and the place is PACKED. And I realize that I like them even MORE now because they didn't use their fame and money from this reality show to move to California and get a big ol' gross house and teacup poodles, but to gain exposure for their already existent pumpkin patch farm. Love love love. Plus umm... they have a freaking trebuchet.

So my friend Liz, who we went with, teaches history at a school in the area, a school that has a soccer team and plays Zach's (the son who's a LP) soccer team, and they had a game the following Tuesday. We are talking about this fact when we see Amy Roloff. Amy. Roloff. One of the coolest moms ever, and not just because she let us get a picture with her.




The trebuchet:



Liz and I in the pumpkin patch:



That was a good day. I kind of have a crush on Matt Roloff in a totally not creepy way. Really.

Day 1: What a way to begin

Today would be the birthday of John William "Billy" Toulin, were he still alive.

One time he decided that he wanted dreadlocks. My sister and I sat him down and put toothpaste in his hair to make them stick and to help dirty it up a bit. I was 15 I think? And she was 17. It didn't work. This other time he robbed my dad's house for money for heroin, a drug that would take his life. I don't remember feeling any anger when that happened, though. His heart was good and the heroin made him someone else.

I feel like telling the whole story would be a little too hard for me. I feel like not telling any of it would cheat him. He liked attention and I think he'd want to be remembered in some way at some point. I don't remember the day he died so his birthday has served as an anniversary to remember his life and ultimately reflect on his death and what it meant to our town.

Tiverton is tiny. Most people who don't live there only know about it if they've passed through it on their way to Newport. It has three stop lights, two Dunkin' Donuts stores (which is low for New England towns), and an alpaca farm. It has four elementary schools but only one middle school and one high school (700 students) which means eventually every kid knows every other kid. We all knew Billy.

I knew him well because he dated my sister on and off for three years. I won't even get into the countless parties and shenanigans that they let me tag along for because it was always the same: drinking, smoking, suburban kids trying to forget something they didn't even know was there.

Billy was a trouble maker. He wasn't a bad kid, as far as kids go, but he got into trouble. He was from one of the wealthiest families in town and lived in one of the most expensive areas in one of the largest houses. The world was like a giant experiment to him and he was always trying to throw it off, to knock into it hard enough to make it fall off its track. He was frigging good at it too. There were a lot of stories about things he'd done, laws he'd broken, girls he'd loved and left. He was fascinating because he was untouchable and because nothing broke his heart. But he was so good. He'd always go out of his way for a friend and he was one of the people who showed up when you needed him. He was good to my sister (mostly) and good to me, and that was enough.

Eventually they broke up and lost touch. We'd run into him from time to time and we heard through the veins of gossip that keep towns like ours alive that he'd gotten into heroin and was going downhill. My sister contacted him and they became friends again while she tried to get him help. Then he robbed my dad's house.

This is getting painful because we're about at the end. Every time I hear anything about heroin I think about him.

The day he died, my mom called me. I was 18 and living with a boyfriend in another town and hadn't thought about Billy in a year or so.

"Hello?"
"Hey honey. I have some news."
"Who died?"
"...How did you know?"
"Your voice. Who died?"
"Billy. Overdose."
"...Oh. I can't say I'm surprised."
"Are you okay?"
"Let me get back to you on that."

I was numb. Numb numb numb. My boyfriend was no help.

"You haven't seen him in a year. Why are you upset?"

Because he was good, I thought. Because his heart isn't beating anymore and his brain doesn't work and I'll never see him again, and he'll never have a chance to get clean because he's dead. Because he was like a brother for so long. Because he let me tag along. Because he didn't think I was some stupid kid sister and he put up with me being around even though he didn't have to.

I said, "Oh, it's just sad is all."

I can't even think about the wake, funeral, and vigil. People were screaming and sobbing. Over the next few days the story came out about the hours leading to his death, and it was as terrible as any after school movie. Death by cliche.

This will be quick. Just write it.

He shot up too much. His friends noticed and became scared. They didn't want to bring him to the hospital because they were all high on something too and didn't want to get in trouble. They left him at the end of his driveway instead, where his mother found him dead when she went for a morning run.

I can't watch movies with scenes of heroin use. The first one I saw after he died actually made me vomit. I cried for two days.

It kills me that he died alone. I only hope he didn't know that he was dying.

I'll never understand the fear or thought process that made those other kids drive away. But when people in town found out who was in that car there was an unspoken hit put out on them. Billy had some loyal friends. I hear those kids skipped town and never came back. I'm glad for it.

Kids who were on it when Billy died got help and got clean. Awareness spread from his death, and parents started to notice what their children got up to at night and where they went and for once were not afraid to confront them about it. Now it's back to the way it was. None of the kids who are there now even know who Billy was. I hear the drug of choice in town now is crystal meth. Crystal fucking meth. I guess every generation needs its own personal tragedy because the tragedies that came before don't matter in five years. They'll learn from their sorrow.

A lot of kids I went to high school with have died. Nora was in a car accident (not her fault) Jared was too (but his was during a drag race). Thinking about them is a really disconnected feeling for me, like they never existed. I know they did but I didn't know them that well. Billy's death is a bruise the won't heal. You don't know it's there until you touch it and then it hurts like hell.

I don't really know what else to say. Maybe I've made him out to be better than he was. Maybe I didn't make him good enough. I know who he was though, and I'll never forget him.

What a way to kick off NaBloPoMo, no? I promise tomorrow will be less of a downer.