Filed under: The VIM
I can cook. I just prefer not to.
Even if I DID cook, the meals would tend toward the bland, heavy, comforting food that I grew up with.
The VIM, he cooks. He likes to putter around the kitchen, likes to grow his own veggies, likes to experiment with different flavors and textures. It’s a match made in heaven. He cooks, we eat, I clean up.
This year he grew peppers. Some green, some jalapeno, some habanero. Although I’ve never been fond of spicy or hot food, I’ve been willing to try and eat everything he’s made. Why the heck not? I mean, it’s not going to KILL me or anything…
The other night it was pepper harvest time. The VIM asked me to cut up the jalapenos and habaneros into little slices so he could freeze them for later use (he probably would have made some kind of meal with them, but it’s also tomato harvest time, so he’s been busy perfecting his spaghetti sauce…)
Anyhow. I’ve heard about the evil habanero. That it’s the hottest pepper. The VIM warned me – after I cut them, don’t touch my face until after I wash my hands. No problem.
I didn’t realize that even after 24 hours, 2 showers, and approximately 645 handwashes that I’d STILL feel the heat on my hands. I ALSO didn’t realize that trying to take my contacts out several hours after cutting the peppers would feel like walking head-first into a nail gun.
Call me a rube – I underestimated the power of the evil habanero.
And now, to drown my habanero sorrows, I’m taking off on vacation. The beach.
Be jealous. Be veeeeeeeerrrrrrrry jealous.
Filed under: My People
Not my people.
How many ways can we separate ourselves from others? How many labels can we give ourselves and how many groups can we group ourselves with to define ourselves? How long will it take to keep redefining “us” and “them” until there IS no “us”?
Filed under: Body
I’m going on vacation next week. The beach. I used to go to the beach every year when I was younger. I loved it. What’s better for an 8 year old girl than a week and a half in the sun, in the water, in the sand?
Then somewhere along the line my skin mutated, and now I’m very pale. If I even walk by a window on a bright sunny day my skin turns red. So many many people (especially those people who have witnessed my eyes puffing up like tomatoes after a few sunscreenless rainy hours in Key Largo) have advised me many MANY times to not forget the sunscreen. And I won’t. I won’t forget the SPF 4572 Extra-Sensitive Formula for Albino Babies so my face doesn’t break out, and I won’t forget the regular SPF 425 for the rest of my blindingly white skin.
ANYHOW. I was asked to work at a Golf Outing yesterday. Sweet Monday work if you can find it. The plan was that I’d work until 11am, change into shorts and sneakers, slather on the sunscreen, and head out.
Unfortunately, I had a meeting in the morning which ran very late. As I rushed around getting dressed for the golf thing, I forgot the sunscreen.
After the 3 hours in the sun I went back to work. The first person I encountered took one look at my chest, grabbed her face, and sucked in her breath. Not a good sign.
Note to anyone who might be reading this who was with me in Key Largo: I wore sunglasses this time. See??? I’m not TOTALLY stoooopid. Just mostly.
Ouch
Ouch
Ouch
Filed under: Daily
Joe Strummer… you’ve been through the cleansing
fire of punk, only to pick up a few venerial
diseases along the way. You’re more of an
optimist when it comes to fucked-up genius.
But you can write wicked-deadly riffs and lycs.
Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I had to post this one because of my unnatural love of Joe Strummer. Before Joe Stummer, I was a casual music listener. I liked the Clash – you know, Rock the Casbah and Train in Vain. As a casual music listener, I didn’t know a lot about artists, didn’t know their history or the gossip.
The first time I visited the VIM, we watched a Clash rockumentary. I immediately and irretrievably fell in love with Joe Strummer. He was more intelligent that I had imagined. Had more heart.
Since the Clash, the VIM and I have watched more music movies, biographies and dvd concerts than you can shake a stick at. Seriously. From “Gimme Shelter” to “Austin City Limits” rereleases, I’ve seen a ton. And I’ve been consistenly surprised at the real-person-ness of musicians. There’s a down-to-earthiness, if you prefer. But Joe Strummer was the first. My reminder that more often than not, people (whether in my real face to face life, my blogging life, or the celebrity stratosphere) are so much more than I can “see”.
Filed under: Happiness is...
I was in a funk last night. No particular reason. Just a shitty week at work. And allergies. And it was raining. And I Was Just In A Freakin’ Funk, Ok?
Anyhow, I was in a funk and even the offer of a sprightly dance by the VIM couldn’t really cheer me up. He asked what would make it all better.
Although I didn’t answer out loud, I thought about it. What would make it all better?
Well, maybe a little furry kitten sitting on my lap, purring away while I petted it. That would make me feel better. Yeah, but with the way things are going this week, the furry little kitten probably wouldn’t sit on my lap. With MY luck the furry little kitten would scratch my legs as it tried desperately to get away from me, because even IT can sense what a worthless loser I am. Damn stupid little freakin’ cat.
I KNOW I’m in a funk when I’m upset that a hypothetical furry kitten refuses to sit on my lap.
I’m all better today. Thanks.
Filed under: Photos
My neighbors moved away at the beginning of the summer and left two old chairs on the front porch. No one has moved in to take care of the chairs – either to throw them away or to sit on them in the evenings after dinner, reading the newspaper and listening to the crickets and tree frogs.
The vines moved in fast.
Depending on my mood, I’m sometimes amazed and in awe of how beautiful and fast the vines grow, and sometimes there is just a little chord of unease struck right in the pit of my stomach. Are the vines just waiting for a chance to move in on me?
Filed under: General
I’m working on Small Talk. Egads, I hate small talk, but I’m working on it. Whether I like it or not, I find myself in groups of people that I don’t really know and I need to make nice. I’ve finally mastered wiping the terrified “deer in the headlights” look off my face, and now appear serene and content in most social situations. I’m making progress.
I had a setback the other night.
I was at a gathering, talking to a friend from high school. A guy from high school came up to talk to my friend. I was never really friends with this guy – no bad blood or anything…we just didn’t know each other.
So my friend and this gentleman talked for a few moments, and my friend said to him, “Do you remember Elle?”
He said, “Oh yeah. How could I forget a face like that?”
??? I blinked. Then I blinked again. Then I tilted my head to the side like the RCA dog and stared at him, trying to decipher what it was that he just said. Or meant. I still don’t know.
Someone please help me: exactly how is one supposed to respond to something like that?
Filed under: The VIM
The VIM drives me crazy with his timekeeping weirdness. Every clock in his house is set to keep perfect time. They all read the same time. Except the digital clock by the bed. The digital clock is on my side of the bed, and therefore it is my job to set and turn on the alarm. So far so good. I like to get up at 5am. Fine.
Everything is perfect and balanced in my world when I get up with the alarm and see that the clock on the coffeepot also reads 5am. Life is good.
Until the VIM changes the time on the digital alarm clock. Suddenly one morning I’ll get coffee and realize that it’s not actually 5am. It’s only 4:50am. Although I feel a little cheated, I adjust to the 5 minute difference (read:I’ll snooze as many times as it takes to get to the REAL 5am). Life goes on. Then maybe a month down the road, I go to get coffee and realize he’s changed the time again and my 5am is really 4:30am. Then a few months later, 4:42am. Then a couple weeks later, 4:51am.
It. Freaks. Me. Out. I waste precious brain energy trying to figure out what time I have to set the alarm for to actually get up at 5am. 5:20? 5:13? 5:07? Who the hell knows?
The VIM says he does it because it keeps him on his toes…he doesn’t like to get in the habit of snoozing, so he changes it often enough so that he never really knows what time it is, and just gets up.
I say he’s crazy. Everyone knows that you set the clock 9 minutes early, then snooze 3 times so you’re running 20 minutes late the rest of the day.
The VIM and I celebrated his birthday by eating pizza in a restaurant decorated with a lot of dead animals. As we were talking, my eyes kept drifting to the beady-eyed stuffed opossum on the shelf over his left shoulder. Beside the opossum was a head, well, a bust really, of some white animal that I spent WAY too much time trying to identify. Albino groundhog? Pale Prairie Dog? Marmot? It was kind of hard to tell without the rest of the body. There was a chandelier made of out antlers, and rattlesnake skin nailed to a board. The best part, though, was the big elk, all decked out in it’s life-like habitat enclosed diorama beside our table. Giant antlers, black nose, ever vigilant, looking toward the black bear in the diorama next to it.
Creepy coolness at its best.
Filed under: General
In a fit of deleting the 200 spam comments, I deleted the 10 or so most recent REAL comments.
Grrrrr.
You know, Bill, I think I need to lay off the iced tea altogether!
