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I haven't blogged in a while because there hasn't been much worth blogging about. I seem to have fallen into a rut this week. I had a failed job interview on Wednesday morning, and on Tuesday morning, Sable shit all over the floor. I cleaned it up, and to combat the lingering smell, I threw open all our windows and that night, I sauteed an onion for dinner. (I actually made some more of Marlene's stuffing; it's still delicious, especially with lots of butter. Dammit, now I'm hungry.)
On Thursday, I drove to Texas to see my sassy Jewish grandfather in a play. Why is it that after almost nine years of being a licensed driver, I still get nervous when I have to merge onto the interstate? (Probably because I don't drive on the interstate that much.) The trip to Texas was especially nerve-wracking because I'd never taken my new car on the interstate before and didn't know what to expect. But the trip went smoothly, even though the car doesn't seem to get as good gas mileage as the truck. The sunset over the trees was really beautiful.
On Tuesday night, there was a new episode of NCIS, but I never got around to posting my review on it, so here it is now. It was a kinda blah episode that matched my mood.
But I was off from work yesterday and actually got some stuff accomplished. I finally made an appointment to get another asthma prescription (after going to the hospital, I couldn't put it off anymore) and I went swinging in the park with a friend from work. The park swingset was nowhere near as good as the one CJ & Company have. Josh asked me if I'd gotten a ticker counting down to the Season 8 premiere of NCIS. I hadn't at the time, but of course, I've since remedied that.
I also... took the first real step to changing my name! I drove to the Louisiana Law Library downtown and picked up the paperwork. Next Step: Getting the papers "drawn up" by someone who's "privvy to how the legal system works" (the receptionist's words), notarized, and brought to the clerk of court's office.
I have to haul my butt out of bed early tomorrow to get to the doctor's. I've realized that the problem with my asthma prescriptions is that I don't need to use them often enough to use up all my refills before the script expires.
Rebecca had a great two days off. On Monday night, Adam, Eva, and I saw Toy Story 3. It was Pixar, so of course it was good, but I was surprised by how many reviews I've read saying that everyone in audience cried. I was certainly moved and touched by it, but I came nowhere close to crying. But then, Rebecca has a heart of stone. We dropped Eva off at her house, and Uncle John gave us some milk that was supposedly hand-milked straight out of a cow. It didn't really taste any different.
Yesterday, Mom, Adam, and I actually made it into Texas. I went swimming in the Gulf of Mexico, something I hadn't done since 2003, so I'd forgotten how fun and exhausting it is. There was a very strong eastern current, so swimming in any other direction was really hard, even with an inner tube. Mine got blown away at one point and I went swimming after it yelling, "Wilson! Wilso-on!" I also got another sunburn. It wasn't the worst one ever (you can see that here) but it's more noticeable because I didn't wear a hat or sunglasses this time, so it hit me right in the face. ("Not in the face! That's how I make my livin'!") Today one of my mangers told me I looked like a crawfish. Haha.
After that, we took the ferry to Galveston and drove through it to Kemah. The wind was so strong on the ferry, and Adam's hair looked very scary. It was blowing straight out from his head like it was trying to rip itself out. The architecture in the older part of Galveston was stunning. I can't believe I never noticed it all the times I've been there before. I saw a Catholic church and cemetery that made my jaw drop. Kemah was okay. There was a boardwalk, some carnival rides, and cool little shops. I went into a candy shop, and on a bag-your-own bin of sour gummi worms (the one candy Rebecca has a spiritual connection to!) was a warning label that read, and I swear I'm not making this up, "May Have a Laxative Effect." I should've taken a picture of that. Yeah, no shit, warning label. Rebecca's already learned that lesson well. But hey, if it happens enough for them to stick a warning label on it, at least it's not just me.
Today it was back to the salt mines, and boy, were they salty. I was supposed to be at work at 11:00, but I overslept until ... (*drumroll*) 10:48. I got ready in such a hurry that I put my contacts in inside out and spent the first half-hour at work blinking and rubbing my eyes until I was finally able to get to the bathroom and put them in right. Boss Man was a jerk, but I'm more pissed at the alarm in my phone for randomly not working.
P.S. If you haven't already (and I hope they don't mind me posting this) be sure to congratulate my friends ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
snuffy_chan and morningloryblue. They are now a homeowner and a mother-to-be, respectively. Rebecca, meanwhile, is still writing fanfiction.
What a hot summer day it is. Some would say it's too hot to drop your truck off for an oil change and ride home on your bike, which I just did. But I've had hotter. I also went by the bank: I love you, tax refund check! Most of it is going towards a second car, but I told Sara I wanted to take us out to dinner. Sara: "Really? Where?" Me: "Um, Cici's?" Sara: "Ooh, big spender!" Me: "It's not about the amount of money spent on the meal, but the amount of joy taken from it."
This morning I overslept till 9:30 woke up early to attend this free watercoloring class at the library. I haven't taken an art class since the fifth grade -- which was about, oh, fourteen years ago -- so everything was very strange and new to me. But the lady who taught it was very nice. She gave us each a copy of watercolor she'd painted of three magnolia blossoms, and went through step by step how to paint our own version of it. (FYI: Magnolia blossoms are not solid white; look closer, and you'll see various different shades of off-white, pink, yellow, and blue.) I enjoyed it, and even though I didn't get to finish my painting, it may have come out better than I expected. The instructor seemed genuinely impressed -- although that was probably just a charade she puts on for everyone who takes her class -- asked if I took art lessons, and held my painting up to show everyone else in class. Everyone in class, by the way? That's right, all old ladies. But that's usually the case with events I go to at the library.
I've been meaning to post these for a while. Pictures!
The worst sunburn ever? - You tell me:
Check me out, representing with my lobster leg! This is what it looked like immediately after the canoe trip, when the sunburn was at its worst. I love how you can see exactly where my capris ended. Somebody get me an ice-pack!
Check me out wearing shorts! This is the next day, at my aunt's house. My arms got sunburnt too (not as badly as my legs), even though you can't really see it here. My face is so pale in comparison.
My watercolor. Be honest - can you tell it's supposed to be a magnolia? It looks better when not viewed so close-up. I plan to finish it eventually, just as soon as I find a paintbrush.
I love it when I actually manage to do things besides watch NCIS on my weekends off. On Friday night, I went to the Cancer Relay for Life with Grandma and Aunt Carla. I ran some laps, bought some food (there was a ton of different stuff for sale), bumped into an old friend from high school, and had fun. The only bad part was when they played "Amazing Grace," of all things, during the candlelight ceremony. That song is such manipulative overkill when played at events like that, and it wasn't even a good version. The one on my iPod is much better, but then, that's probably the best cover of the song ever.
A nice thunderstorm started around 2 a.m. on Saturday morning, just as I was going to bed, and I was so excited that I pried my window open to watch the rain fall. (I'm pretty sure this was the last time we had any rain.) It kept up for most of the day, but there was still enough dry time for me to go bike riding and pick more blackberries. I accidentally rode into the bush and cut my foot.
On Saturday, I watched Nine with Sara. She watched it for Daniel Day-Lewis; I watched it for Marion Cotillard. That woman is incredible, and her voice is just as beautiful as she is. She did two amazing musical numbers that I kept rewinding and watching over and over again and eventually added to my iPod. (One of them, "My Husaband Makes Movies," has already been played fifteen times, according to my iTunes library. Her other song is titled "Take It All." I'll take anything you have to give me, Marion!) It's unbelievable how much raw power she can put into her voice while singing in her second language without a hint of an accent.
Today I went to the library, went shopping, puttered around, and did some writing. Had lunch at Cici's by myself, which I hate -- when I worked at Mr. Gatti's (God, it's crazy how long ago that feels now; I'm so damn old) the people who ate buffets always seemed very pathetic and sad to me -- but I had the worst craving and couldn't find anyone to go with me.
But the best part of the day was standing out the check-out counter, and seeing Gibbs, Tony, and McGee on the cover of TV Guide, and knowing that a new episode was waiting for me at home that evening. That's what the poets call "how exquisite, what perfect bliss." Even though tonight's episode could've been better, I'm so psyched for the countdown to the season finale! I don't know how I'll make it to May 25. The show seems to have gotten very Gibbs-centric lately, and while I love Gibbs, I love the rest of the team too, and Ducky. (Need I remind anyone that God loves a duck, and God loves Ducky! Heh, "God loves a duck" is like my new "Freedom, little seal." Hmm, I think Sara is the only person who's going to understand that sentence.)
Adam and I drove out to Iowa yesterday for the Rabbit Festival. I enjoyed the atmosphere and looking around at the booths, but I mostly just went for the carnival food. I love carnival food! (Carnival rides make me sick now, which makes me feel about as old as Grandma!) With the incredibly strong smells of boiled crawfish -- which, like coffee, I love the smell but not the taste of -- and onion rings bombarding my nose from every direction, it was really hard to limit my choices to nachos, funnel cakes, and fried oreos. Adam had a sno-cone and cotton candy. Would you believe he's curious as to what raw onions taste like, but wouldn't try a bite of delicious funnel cake? We also visited Celeste & Co. while there and met their dog Bo, who is so sweet that he reminded me of Dug from Up. Within a few minutes of meeting me, he was throwing himself in my lap and gazing up at me adoringly. The most amazing thing is that I could pull myself away from NCIS and leave the house at all that day.
The weather was nice enough while we were out yesterday, but last night was almost scary. It didn't rain much, but the wind was strong that I thought I was back in Villers-Cotterets. It practically shook the apartment building at some points, and I could hear it whooshing up and down the streets like it was alive. And angry.
Today I did my laundry at Grandma's, flipped through her TV Guide, and made a list of every NCIS episode coming on from Monday to Thursday. I put it up on our refrigerator, although I considered taping it to the corner of the TV screen. I'm so excited: tomorrow is "Judgment Day," the one where Jenny dies!!! I've been looking for that episode on YouTube since for weeks, but I've only found parts of it, so I never got the whole story on how she died. As much as I liked her and didn't want her to die, this is going to be awesome.
Tomorrow, it's back to the salt mines. There has been a lot of drama at work lately because one of my managers claims she's being disrespected. I think she's just taking her anger over her skunk-striped dye job out on us. Sara has said I'm "the definition of passive-aggressive" -- which is something I've seriously been trying to change -- but I'm nothing compared to some of my co-workers. They're having worse problems with Skunkhair than I am, because they tend to cry in the corner, roll their eyes, make sarcastic comments under their breath, and/or bitch to me when she pisses them off. I am working at honestly telling her when she pisses me off, and why.
I've also been trying to figure out how I got to be so passive-agressive in the first place. It sounds so whiny for anyone to still blame their problems on their mom when they're an adult, but I do think my mom's part of it. She's not a cruel person, but when she gets mad, she can say and do incredibly hurtful things. I don't remember ever trying to talk to her about this -- or about anything -- because it was always a given to me that she wouldn't apologize, wouldn't admit she'd done anything wrong, wouldn't change. I remembered recently that when I was a little kid, if I was doing I shouldn't, if someone said to me, even in a perfectly nice way, "Please don't do that," I would feel devastated and think they were angry with me. Is that normal? But then, is anyone? Think I'll go watch Matilda now.
We keep a big pad of paper in our pen department at work, so customers can test out the pens that are sold individually. Yesterday night someone wrote on it in huge letters, "What happens in Vegas... gets spread all over Heaven on Judgement Day!" Emily ripped the page off and showed it to me, and I showed it to Moe, and soon everyone in the store had seen it, and we all found it hilarious.
I was off today, so I rode my bike to Contraband Days. There were the usual carnival rides and foods that you see every year, but there was also a genuine freak show. The signs advertised the world's smallest woman, world's fattest man, and a two-headed calf, among other things. I bought a plate of funnel cakes and ate them on the lake front while listening to a Cajun band play "Jolie Blonde." Then a fat woman in a golf cart told me No Bikes Allowed and I headed home. It was probably a bad idea to eat a plateful of sugary funnel cakes so late in the day, since I have to be at work early tomorrow morning.
Mom and Adam are supposed to be arriving today, but I haven't heard from them yet. They probably won't get in until late.
So I was off this weekend (hooray!) and yesterday I finally got around to something I've been meaning to do. In my otherwise lovely neighborhood, on my block, right outside my door, there's this stretch of sidewalk that's fallen into a serious state of neglect. It's covered with bricks and bottles, and weeds have sprouted up through cracks in the pavement and grown as high as my knee in some places. It's impossible to walk on it, which has always annoyed me, because Sable and I have to walk in the street. Ever since we moved in, I've been meaning to take pictures of it and send them in to the local paper as the "outrage of the week," in hopes that Somebody would Do Something about it.
But yesterday it occured to me that that's the only way that sidewalk will ever improve: Somebody has to Do Something. And I realized that I probably used that sidewalk more than anybody, and that I had the next day off. And I know it sounds stupid, but it made me think about Obama, and how he says that change will never come if we wait for Somebody to make the change for us. We have to make the change.
So this afternoon, after it stopped raining, I went out with two pruning sheers, gloves, trash bags, a broom, my iPod, sunglasses, and a water bottle. I don't know how long it took me, but I hacked back branches, ripped out weeds, swept away dust, and finally managed to clean the entire stretch of sidewalk. It was hard work, especially since there's virtually no muscle on my puny arms, but it gave me a great sense of fulfillment. A surprising number of the weeds turned out to be wild onions. I even pulled out a few tiny, marble-sized onions that had been growing in a large crack in the pavement, and the smell of them was so strong that it took me straight back to the lycee kitchen and Marlene chopping onions and crying.
The difference in the sidewalk is seriously amazing. Bear in mind that it was so bad that nobody had been able to walk on it for at least a decade, and I know because I've lived in this neighborhood for most of my life. But so you can see the difference for yourself, I took before and after pictures. When I look at these, I can't believe how much I accomplished.
I swear this is the same sidewalk.
( More After Pictures )
And guess what else I did today? Made two YouTube videos!
Rebecca sold a $20 protection plan today!
Feb. 5th, 2009 08:46 pmI was off on Tuesday, but rather than sleep in, I woke up early to attend a local history program at the geneology library. With most events at that library, I'm the youngest person in the room by a huge margin. But on Tuesday morning there was actually one other person my age, a girl I used to be friends with in middle and elementary schools but hadn't seen in a long time. So that was a little weird. The presentation was very interesting. I learned a good deal about the history of my city, and the power point presentations and people taking notes made me feel like I was back in school, in a good way. The librarian who gave the lecture isn't from the United States, and I went crazy trying to place her accent -- sometimes it sounded French, sometimes it didn't -- until she happened to mention that she was from Belgium.
One of my co-workers has a lot of pirated DVDs, and sometimes he brings them to work and plays them on the TV in the break room. The weird thing is that I can only catch them during my breaks, and so far I've seen about ten minutes each of Gran Torino, Benjamin Button, and Taken. Gran Torino looked really bad. I imagine that if some really old mean bulldog could talk, it would have Clint Eastwood's voice. Benjamin Button made me want to see more (I got to see the scenes with Elle Fanning).
Things I Will Never Like: The dogs that live next-door to my grandma's house. My dad used to call them the "concentration camp guard dogs," which is exactly what they are. And I'm a dog person, so you know they have to really be monsters for me to hate them. Owning dogs that are very big, very vicious, and keeping them behind one puny chain-link fence in a residential neighborhood should be against the law. It's only a matter of time before the beasts break through that fence and kill us all.
I have set a goal for myself for tomorrow.
I had to work on Christmas Eve, which sucked, and I didn't get to spend much time at Grandma's house. (The title of this journal was what I wanted to say to our last few customers.) After I got off I took a batch of muffins to Teresa and spent the evening reading this amazing book called The Hunger Games. I literally have not been able to put it down since I started it, and if I finish it before the end of the year, which I'm sure I will, it's got a good shot at Best Overall in my Book Awards. (Although really, I haven't read a lot this year, and my Book Awards are going to be pretty shabby. I'm a bad English major.) It's very dark and disturbing, and it reminds me a bit of Shirley Jackson's The Lottery. Both made me wonder how the author ever imagined a society that was so barbaric, where humanity had become so completely inhumane. I've taken several creative writing courses, and I think of myself as a creative writer sometimes, but I could never think up something so dark.
Don't die of shock now, but on Christmas Eve night, Rebecca ... went to a Midnight Mass! I'm still surprised the cathedral didn't collapse when I walked in. Athena went with me; she's Mormon and hasn't attended a Mass for at least ten years, while I hadn't been to an English-language one since my Senior Farewell Mass in high schoool, back in 2003. This one was a little different and longer than a regular Mass, but I was surprised by how much came back to me. The cathedral was, as it always has been, intimidatingly beautiful, the smell of incense was intoxicating, and the music was outstanding. I heard a new song called "Noe, Noe" that I really loved.
Best of all, at the Mass there was a French bishop visiting from Paris! He said a blessing in French at the very end, and afterwards I had a short conversation with him in French. I was so nervous! I know that my French has rusted rapidly since I left the country, and talking with a native speaker on short notice was very scary. But he seemed impressed, told me my French was very good.
Today Sara and I slept in late, opened our presents, and ate a big brunch. I good quite a lot of good gifts this year; Sara gave three movies (Corrina, Corrina, The Secret Garden, and A Little Princess -- the 1995 version with Liesel Matthews, I already own the 1939 version with Shirley Temple, Teresa), two Barack Obama magnets, and a really nice 365-day calendar of France. One of my gifts for her was the exact same brand and style of calendar, only of Ireland instead of France, so that was a cool surprise.
We also invited Athena over for a big brunch of cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, and chocolate milk. We all ate until we were stuffed and have spent the rest of the day loafing around and being lazy. I'm going to try to convince Sara to watch one of the movies she gave me tonight, although I don't think she really wants to see them.
Apologies for my long absence, but I've barely had time to read the book lately, much less make entries in this journal. On Wednesday, I drove over the Mississippi to Port Allen right after work to attend the opening of a museum exhibit on Oskar Schindler. I heard an amazing, inspirational testimony from a Holocaust survivor named Sigmund Boraks, who had been imprisoned at Auschwitz, came to America after the war, and now lives in New Orleans and still bears a number on his arm. I cannot even describe how his speech made me feel. Persecuted, beaten, starved, shot at, even forced to dig his own grave, but he survived it all, and sixty years later, I hear him tell his story. There are no words to describe how it made me feel.
On Thursday night, Sara and I attended a production of Peter Pan at the Baton Rouge Little Theater. For the most part, I enjoyed it, despite some dreary performances (some of the actors were only in high school and had weak singing voices) and a gross misinterpretation of the story by the director. Judging from what she wrote in the program, she has probably never read the book in her life. Of course, it could not compare to the Cathy Rigby production that I saw in Houston last May, but fittingly, I did arrive at the Baton Rouge show late, as I had done for the Rigby show.
I had another Potter-related dream this week. I can't remember it well, but it involved the Order of the Phoenix at their new headquarters (and I still haven't found out where that is), and one of the male members had no shirt on. I hope it wasn't Albus or Snape or Remus or Moody or Mr. Weasley. Yuck.
I spent most of Friday packing and preparing for the trip here to Lake Charles. Since I didn't have time to read Chapter 6, "Draco's Detour," on Thursday, Sara read it to me in the truck during the drive. Not the best idea, considering how hard I stomped on the gas pedal when I heard Narcissa Malfoy's comment about Sirius. That means I'm one chapter behind my goal of a chapter a day. Perhaps I'll make it up by reading two chapters today. Sara has bet me I won't be able to stop reading after Chapter 7, "The Slug Club." She also said that Draco has a very dramatic scene later on, and she doubts that Tom Felton, the actor who plays Draco in the movies, will be able to handle it.
Sara is going to drive me crazy soon. I have asked her repeatedly not to tell me what happens later in the book, but she just won't shut up. She hasn't told me that Albus is going to die, but she may as well have. Yesterday when she was reading to me, she read the line, "Dumbledore isn't always going to be around to protect you, you know," and then she gave me this long sideways look. She is always dropping annoying little hints like that. I am so mad that I could murder her. I asked her to stop it, and she started mocking me: "What are you gonna do if I tell you who dies? What are you gonna do? Huh, huh? If I want to tell you, you can't stop me! What do you think of that? Huh, huh?" And guess what I was doing while she was being such a bitch? I was driving her across the state from Baton Rouge to Lake Charles, and I had to drive the entire way because Sara is twenty-two and still doesn't have a license (only a learner's permit, which she has conveniently "lost"). My back is still sore from all of it, but she doesn't care. I hope my next entry doesn't find me in prison convicted of murdering her.
