If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you probably have the impression that I am a hard-assed, super aggressive, hyper judgmental, argumentative person who is pretty much a pitbull to deal with anytime someone does something to irritate or disagree with me, and that really isn’t true. In fact, there aren’t all that many circumstances where I get ballistic. Most of the arguments I have with other people are had in my head after the true confrontation occurs, because there are so few situations where arguing actually benefits me. This blog (and others) has long been an outlet for me to let loose about all the things I hold inside when I stand there and take it from someone I wish I didn’t have to take it from. Being that I’m a nobody at work, and a nobody in my family, and a nobody in society, I take a lot from a lot of people who I’d really rather go off on, and that is why I have written blogs for so long. It keeps me from getting fired, kicked out of other people’s homes, arrested, or beat up by people stronger or too smelly for me to fight back.
You don’t believe me, I’m guessing. You’re thinking that my sarcastic and scathing words here cannot stay in my head without being unleashed occasionally, and it’s true, occasionally I do go off in a way that is more brutal than some of the meanest people I know can handle. That’s just because I save it up for so long and have fights with people in my head so many times before I actually speak up for myself.
It’s not just about confrontations. I’m pretty spineless in most situations. Ann likens this to having brave days and not-so brave days. That sounds much better than the spinelessness I attribute to myself on so many occasions.
For instance, I can relate some recent examples as proof.
Ann and I planned this big shopping trip to the Milwaukee Public Market a couple months ago. It was a big trip and we planned it weeks in advance, researching, saving money, etc. I pictured a true farmers market event in an indoor building, which thrilled me to no end because I’m a lover of farmers markets, but pushing through crowds in the blinding sun of a summer afternoon is something I despise. This indoor market sounded awesome.
We drove all the way up to Milwaukee, only to find that the free parking lot was full, so we had to drive around, getting a little bit turned-around and lost on the one-way streets, until we found street parking with parking meters. Ann and I fed the meter all our quarters, giving us 2 hours inside the market, and we actually thought we’d run out of time and have to return to feed the meter more. Unfortunately, this was not to be true. Instead, we found the market to be an upscale, yuppified collection of frou-frou food vendors, with only one solitary produce stand that had the exact same food that I can get at the local grocery store, complete with the same brand names on the packages. However, it was all very nearly twice the grocery store cost. Still, I bought a bundle of asparagus, some green beans, a bunch of bananas and a quart of strawberries for over $20. Then I bought a small, 8-inch coffee cake for another $9. On the way out, we bought lunch. I had a very small vegan sandwich with mozzarella cheese, tomatoes and a pesto sauce, and a root beer for another $10. Ann got a baked potato and a bottled water for $8. We left and felt a bit ripped off, particularly when we realized we’d only used up 20 minutes inside.
Here we were, in Milwaukee, a half-tank of gas gone, $40 out of my pocket for a ridiculously small amount of food, and an hour and forty minutes left on the meter for us to play. We went back to the car to drop off our bag (bag, singular: $40 for one bag of stuff I could’ve gotten at Jewel for under $25), and while we were sitting in the car, we looked up and down the streets to see if there were stores nearby in which we could at least window shop. While we were gazing in all directions, looking for somewhere else to go, I noticed someone in a truck had pulled up next to and behind my car, clearly waiting for our spot, assuming we were leaving.
I said disappointedly to Ann, “Uh-oh, someone’s waiting for our spot.”
She responded, reading my mind, “I guess we have to go.”
I concurred, “I guess so,” and without a second thought, I pulled the car out and left, allowing some stranger to take my spot, though I wasn’t done with it, and use up the hour and forty minutes of free parking we left behind. For some reason, it didn’t occur to us that we were entitled to stay.
Later we laughed about it, particularly because we had no idea what to do in Milwaukee after that and simply drove home. How pathetic is that?! All the way to Milwaukee to blow way too much money, vacate our parking spot before we were ready to leave, all in 20 minutes, and go straight home. We might as well have gone to the riverboat and gambled most of our money away, only to hand our winnings off to the next person waiting to gamble because we thought we had to.
A couple weeks later, Ann and I were dining at a Culver’s, and, as usual, we sat in the restaurant for three hours after eating, talking and shooting the bull. Eventually we got hungry again and discussed placing another order, getting some ice cream before they closed, but Ann suggested we go to Coldstone Creamery, which she preferred. We hopped in the car and drove a few blocks to Coldstone. By then it was 9:30 at night and the folks inside Coldstone looked like they were cleaning up and ready to go home. The sign on the door said they were open until 10, but Ann and I were hesitant to go inside.
She said, “Look at them. They’re all cleaned up and it looks like they are just waiting to go home. We can come back another time. I don’t want to bother them.”
I very nearly agreed with her because I was thinking the exact same thing, and then I remembered the Milwaukee experience.
I sternly said, “Wait a minute! We gave up our parking spot before we were ready to leave just because someone else wanted to use it!”
She started to giggle. She knew where I was going.
I continued, “Coldstone is open until 10:00, and we still have a half-hour to get ice cream, whether they want to go home or not! We’re getting ice cream!”
And we did. And it was good. And the boys inside were not angry with us for wanting ice cream.
This is something we were relating to Christi and Marina tonight, because often we do not have brave days. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve eaten food at a restaurant that I never ordered, forcing it down and paying for it, despite the fact that I ordered something completely different and someone got it totally wrong. I do not complain. I do not send food back. I eat what I’m given.
Then Christi told a story, and Ann and I decided we need a little Christi on our shoulders, whispering in our ears, to empower us when we’re having not-so brave days.
Christi and her boyfriend recently went to Wendy’s, and Christi, who is a recovering vegetarian, ordered a single-stack hamburger, but instead received a double-stack. This was way too much meat for a recently-vegan girl to take and she reacted. Strongly.
Barely able to form words, she began the high-pitched squealing, slamming her fists, yelling about wanting a single-stack, getting a double-stack, and the idiots who gave her way too much meat. Hair was flying, fury was growing, and our sweet Miss Christi pulled the extra hamburger patty off of her sandwich and violently wadded it up in a ball with her bare hands, all the while yelling about getting the wrong hamburger. She looked at her boyfriend and warned him not to laugh or she would lose it, and I contested that she already had lost it. But what she did next was the best part. She took the wadded up patty of greasy meat and flung it out the window of the car on her boyfriend’s side. Only, his window wasn’t open as she thought, and the burger slapped against the window and dripped down the glass in a large smear of grease.
Christi’s boyfriend said, “Wow. All that for a hamburger?” and then the humor of her extreme reaction became realized.
I think I need to start flinging hamburgers at windows, too. Maybe I wouldn’t need to blog, then.
Showing posts with label Kool Kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kool Kids. Show all posts
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
ThunderCrafts!
For the past few months, Marina and I have been making jewelry to keep ourselves busy and we have gotten to a point where we have spent so much money on supplies, and made so many items that it's time to part with much of them. Personally, I have made over 200 pairs of earrings, and with only two ears on my own body, it just doesn't make sense to continue making myself more earrings. My unfortunate friends have been the recipients of countless pairs of earrings for all occasions and I fear that they too have reached a point where my gifts start to seem like I'm unloading more of my excessive wares on them. So, before Marina reaches the desperate point I'm at, she had a brilliant idea: she was going to sell hers on Etsy.
Marina's Etsy shop is called ThunderCrafts, and it's 100% Thor approved. (Go ahead and try to prove that it isn't.)
She makes chainmaille earrings with and without beads, as well as some matching necklaces, like the ones below.



They're really cute and the prices are far cheaper than they should be, because, like I said, we're both in need of unloading.
She's trying to talk me into opening an Etsy shop, but now that I've returned from my vacation I'm going to be working on my travel blog and tabblo pages to get my pictures up. Perhaps I'll do the Etsy shop in a week or two. Until then, go check out Marina's shop and enjoy the handiwork of an artisan who's been blessed by the God of Thunder himself!
Marina's Etsy shop is called ThunderCrafts, and it's 100% Thor approved. (Go ahead and try to prove that it isn't.)

She makes chainmaille earrings with and without beads, as well as some matching necklaces, like the ones below.



They're really cute and the prices are far cheaper than they should be, because, like I said, we're both in need of unloading.
She's trying to talk me into opening an Etsy shop, but now that I've returned from my vacation I'm going to be working on my travel blog and tabblo pages to get my pictures up. Perhaps I'll do the Etsy shop in a week or two. Until then, go check out Marina's shop and enjoy the handiwork of an artisan who's been blessed by the God of Thunder himself!

Thursday, September 11, 2008
When I Am Old, I'll Still Have Blue Hair
When did I turn 80 years old? I don’t remember turning 36, but suddenly I’m a decrepit woman who is looking back on her youth with vague recollection and a sense of something lost.
Marina and I were talking the other day about the fact that we’re both coupon-clippers and go to craft fairs.
Honorary elderly.
On top of that, we prefer making stuff to buying stuff. Clothes, food, jewelry, anything. From scratch. By hand. With aprons.
How is it possible we’re this old already?
We made plans for this weekend with Ann, but we have to get moving early so we can be home early, because we get tired.
I jokingly suggested that we should get to bed early Saturday after our shopping spree so we can go to bingo on Sunday.
Marina said, “Oh! I like bingo!”
Someone put us in a home. Take away our drivers licenses and put some diapers on us. Bathe us in Ben-gay and give us housedresses to wear so our fragile, un-elastic skin doesn’t chafe. We shall never wear shoes again – it’s strictly soft slip-ons so we don’t have to bend over. Zippers are a thing of the past. As are tampons, makeup, and thongs.
You know, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.
Marina and I were talking the other day about the fact that we’re both coupon-clippers and go to craft fairs.
Honorary elderly.
On top of that, we prefer making stuff to buying stuff. Clothes, food, jewelry, anything. From scratch. By hand. With aprons.
How is it possible we’re this old already?
We made plans for this weekend with Ann, but we have to get moving early so we can be home early, because we get tired.
I jokingly suggested that we should get to bed early Saturday after our shopping spree so we can go to bingo on Sunday.
Marina said, “Oh! I like bingo!”
Someone put us in a home. Take away our drivers licenses and put some diapers on us. Bathe us in Ben-gay and give us housedresses to wear so our fragile, un-elastic skin doesn’t chafe. We shall never wear shoes again – it’s strictly soft slip-ons so we don’t have to bend over. Zippers are a thing of the past. As are tampons, makeup, and thongs.
You know, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Justice
Christi and I had a conversation about children recently that bears repeating.
Me: Don’t you think you’ve had enough experience with poo that when you have kids, they’ll be born without colons or something, so they produce absolutely no poo?
Christi: Yeah, you’d think I was owed that, right?
Me: Or maybe you can even out the justice in the universe by taking your kids to the local library to poo on the carpet there.
Christi: Oh yeah! 'Mahhhh-ahhhm, I gotta go pahhhhh-teeeeee.' “Okay, everybody in the car. We’re going to the library! Okay, go ahead, honey. Take a crap right there. I’ll cover you. Go!”
Me (laughing): “And no wiping! This is a library, after all!”
Christi: “No, just wipe yourself on the floor. That’s what it’s there for.”
Me: “Got dingleberries? Just scrape them on the shelf over there.”
Christi: Yup, someone left me crap on a shelf on my first day of work. I should have known that was a bad omen.
Me: That shit was going to follow you everywhere after that?
Christi: Uh-huh. And it has.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t appropriate conversation in a crowded Olive Garden, but I laughed so hard it hurt.
Not that long ago, Christi and her boyfriend signed a lease and they’ll be moving in together. This is a move that makes her a little nervous, and one day her boyfriend was a upset and wounded that she didn’t seem to be as excited about the upcoming cohabitation as he was. I giggled and suggested she should take her enthusiasm and crank it up to 110%, only she should start raving and gushing about how excited she is to have her own place finally, and how long she’s waited to decorate the entire thing in pink, with glitter, unicorns and rainbows everywhere. I told her to really crank up the cheese factor and juvenile dreams of pastels and gumdrops all over so that he’d panic and wish for her to be a little less enthusiastic. It could work!
Recently, she did just this. They were searching for home décor items and walked into a Target, where Christi promptly started squealing and giggling, and then skipped around in place, wanting to know where the glitter department was. Her boyfriend quickly asked her what the hell she was talking about and she explained that she really wanted to put glitter on all the walls and decorate with big, pretty unicorns. He started freaking out. She pushed it more and began searching for glitter paint and the unicorn aisle in Target, really taking it to the next level and talking about where she wanted what unicorn, and where the big rainbow would go. He was horrified. HORRIFIED!
Christi is vindicated.
She may get stuck with an unfair amount of poo in this world, but occasionally she comes out of a struggle on top. It’s true she is the recipient of much shit, but when she dishes it out, it’s almost beautiful.
Me: Don’t you think you’ve had enough experience with poo that when you have kids, they’ll be born without colons or something, so they produce absolutely no poo?
Christi: Yeah, you’d think I was owed that, right?
Me: Or maybe you can even out the justice in the universe by taking your kids to the local library to poo on the carpet there.
Christi: Oh yeah! 'Mahhhh-ahhhm, I gotta go pahhhhh-teeeeee.' “Okay, everybody in the car. We’re going to the library! Okay, go ahead, honey. Take a crap right there. I’ll cover you. Go!”
Me (laughing): “And no wiping! This is a library, after all!”
Christi: “No, just wipe yourself on the floor. That’s what it’s there for.”
Me: “Got dingleberries? Just scrape them on the shelf over there.”
Christi: Yup, someone left me crap on a shelf on my first day of work. I should have known that was a bad omen.
Me: That shit was going to follow you everywhere after that?
Christi: Uh-huh. And it has.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t appropriate conversation in a crowded Olive Garden, but I laughed so hard it hurt.
Not that long ago, Christi and her boyfriend signed a lease and they’ll be moving in together. This is a move that makes her a little nervous, and one day her boyfriend was a upset and wounded that she didn’t seem to be as excited about the upcoming cohabitation as he was. I giggled and suggested she should take her enthusiasm and crank it up to 110%, only she should start raving and gushing about how excited she is to have her own place finally, and how long she’s waited to decorate the entire thing in pink, with glitter, unicorns and rainbows everywhere. I told her to really crank up the cheese factor and juvenile dreams of pastels and gumdrops all over so that he’d panic and wish for her to be a little less enthusiastic. It could work!
Recently, she did just this. They were searching for home décor items and walked into a Target, where Christi promptly started squealing and giggling, and then skipped around in place, wanting to know where the glitter department was. Her boyfriend quickly asked her what the hell she was talking about and she explained that she really wanted to put glitter on all the walls and decorate with big, pretty unicorns. He started freaking out. She pushed it more and began searching for glitter paint and the unicorn aisle in Target, really taking it to the next level and talking about where she wanted what unicorn, and where the big rainbow would go. He was horrified. HORRIFIED!
Christi is vindicated.
She may get stuck with an unfair amount of poo in this world, but occasionally she comes out of a struggle on top. It’s true she is the recipient of much shit, but when she dishes it out, it’s almost beautiful.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
What's Your Theme?
Not all that long ago, a portion of the Kool Kids were out, enjoying one another’s company and dining on restaurant food, which is quite a common scene for us.
At some point, a truly terrible song from the 80s started blaring from the bar area, and Ann began swaying and singing along. I shook my head in mock disbelief, as if horrified by her taste in music, and then she asked if any of us had a theme song.
Nope. None of us did. Long ago I did, but nothing in recent years.
This was when she gave us an assignment to find our personal theme song.
I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I’ve completely moved on from my old theme song, which was “Better Man” by Pearl Jam. I had identified so strongly with that song long ago, not with that abusive undertone of the subject, but just because I so often found myself in relationships that were not right, trying to convince myself it was love because I was more afraid to be alone than with the wrong guy. It was a dark period and I had to bottom out without an ounce of self-esteem left before I would move on and find that loneliness was often more devastating when you’re with someone you don’t love than when you’re actually alone. The song hit home, and even after I found my Schwee, it was still a reminder of who I once was, and made me appreciate him all the more. Before “Better Man” there was “Rescue Me” by Y&T, but those were my weird, teen years. But I still love Dave Meniketti!
However, that was a lifetime ago. And I needed a new theme song.
It could be fairly obvious that my favorite band is Shinedown and my favorite album of all time is Operation: Mindcrime, by Queensryche, but none of their songs have spoken to me as a theme song.
As more and more stressors and tragedies seem to be heaped upon me, with chronic suffering, death, dying and suicide being things constantly on my mind, I did discover not too long ago that one of my favorite songs was written for a brother who killed himself. Though it’s steeped in darkness, there is such hope to the song that I feel empowered by it. Thus, I have decided that the current theme song of my life is “Rise Above This” by Seether.
Does anyone else have a theme song? It doesn’t matter how corny, how depressing, how popular, how obscure or how unlikely it might seem if it speaks your thoughts and emotions. If you have a theme song, or if you think about it and decide to declare one for yourself, please share it in the comments. I’d love to know.
At some point, a truly terrible song from the 80s started blaring from the bar area, and Ann began swaying and singing along. I shook my head in mock disbelief, as if horrified by her taste in music, and then she asked if any of us had a theme song.
Nope. None of us did. Long ago I did, but nothing in recent years.
This was when she gave us an assignment to find our personal theme song.
I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I’ve completely moved on from my old theme song, which was “Better Man” by Pearl Jam. I had identified so strongly with that song long ago, not with that abusive undertone of the subject, but just because I so often found myself in relationships that were not right, trying to convince myself it was love because I was more afraid to be alone than with the wrong guy. It was a dark period and I had to bottom out without an ounce of self-esteem left before I would move on and find that loneliness was often more devastating when you’re with someone you don’t love than when you’re actually alone. The song hit home, and even after I found my Schwee, it was still a reminder of who I once was, and made me appreciate him all the more. Before “Better Man” there was “Rescue Me” by Y&T, but those were my weird, teen years. But I still love Dave Meniketti!
However, that was a lifetime ago. And I needed a new theme song.
It could be fairly obvious that my favorite band is Shinedown and my favorite album of all time is Operation: Mindcrime, by Queensryche, but none of their songs have spoken to me as a theme song.
As more and more stressors and tragedies seem to be heaped upon me, with chronic suffering, death, dying and suicide being things constantly on my mind, I did discover not too long ago that one of my favorite songs was written for a brother who killed himself. Though it’s steeped in darkness, there is such hope to the song that I feel empowered by it. Thus, I have decided that the current theme song of my life is “Rise Above This” by Seether.
Does anyone else have a theme song? It doesn’t matter how corny, how depressing, how popular, how obscure or how unlikely it might seem if it speaks your thoughts and emotions. If you have a theme song, or if you think about it and decide to declare one for yourself, please share it in the comments. I’d love to know.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Kool Kids Rock, As Always
Last night, half of the Kool Kids got together to assuage some of our stress.
Poor Ann has been suffering from Man Woes, and she wrote me an email complaining about something awful her ex had done, and she used the F-word. I was aghast! Of course, she didn’t actually utter the word, but putting it into an email was still far beyond anything I’d ever experienced with her, so I made plans to get together with her, because she clearly was distraught.
As news of my Mom Woes got out, Marina emailed me and wanted to see me for hugs, so I mentioned that I was meeting Ann late that night and invited her along. But I warned her that The New Ann was going, and she had a potty mouth.
Marina immediately shot back that this was not OUR Ann, but a pod person, and Marina insisted on accompanying us because I was surely in need of backup dealing with this impostor.
It’s always good to have friends who know how to make me laugh when I’m putting my mom in an asylum.
So we three went to Applebee’s for a late meal before they closed.
After unloading our Woes, both Man and Mom, Ann announced that she was doing a storytime about ice cream, to the tune of “On Top of Old Smokey.”
To show us how the song would go, she sang the substituted lyrics to us.
And before she got the entire line out of her mouth, Marina’s head turned into a beet and began to shake. She was laughing so hard that she actually turned redder than when she sunburned herself into a lobster.
Dude, the only thing funnier than Ann dropping the F-bomb, is Ann singing about losing her cherry.
Of course, she threw something at Marina and insisted that this program was for little kids, so there would be no laughing and snickering at her lyrics, but I reminded her that parents would be in the room too, and I wished her luck not putting them into vomiting laughter.
She suggested that maybe she’d change “cherry” to “sprinkle”.
Uh-huh. Maybe that’s a good idea.
Hopefully Ann didn’t walk away feeling worse after we made fun of her. I sure hope not. Because, seriously, the only reason we laughed is because she’s our golden child and it was completely insane to imagine her doing these things.
Perhaps the only thing that might have cheered me up after my mom tried to kill herself with 76 Xanax was exactly what happened last night, and for that I’m forever grateful to Ann and Marina.
Poor Ann has been suffering from Man Woes, and she wrote me an email complaining about something awful her ex had done, and she used the F-word. I was aghast! Of course, she didn’t actually utter the word, but putting it into an email was still far beyond anything I’d ever experienced with her, so I made plans to get together with her, because she clearly was distraught.
As news of my Mom Woes got out, Marina emailed me and wanted to see me for hugs, so I mentioned that I was meeting Ann late that night and invited her along. But I warned her that The New Ann was going, and she had a potty mouth.
Marina immediately shot back that this was not OUR Ann, but a pod person, and Marina insisted on accompanying us because I was surely in need of backup dealing with this impostor.
It’s always good to have friends who know how to make me laugh when I’m putting my mom in an asylum.
So we three went to Applebee’s for a late meal before they closed.
After unloading our Woes, both Man and Mom, Ann announced that she was doing a storytime about ice cream, to the tune of “On Top of Old Smokey.”
To show us how the song would go, she sang the substituted lyrics to us.
- ♫ On top of my ice cream,
All covered with fudge,
I lost my first cherry-- ♫
And before she got the entire line out of her mouth, Marina’s head turned into a beet and began to shake. She was laughing so hard that she actually turned redder than when she sunburned herself into a lobster.
Dude, the only thing funnier than Ann dropping the F-bomb, is Ann singing about losing her cherry.
Of course, she threw something at Marina and insisted that this program was for little kids, so there would be no laughing and snickering at her lyrics, but I reminded her that parents would be in the room too, and I wished her luck not putting them into vomiting laughter.
She suggested that maybe she’d change “cherry” to “sprinkle”.
Uh-huh. Maybe that’s a good idea.
Hopefully Ann didn’t walk away feeling worse after we made fun of her. I sure hope not. Because, seriously, the only reason we laughed is because she’s our golden child and it was completely insane to imagine her doing these things.
Perhaps the only thing that might have cheered me up after my mom tried to kill herself with 76 Xanax was exactly what happened last night, and for that I’m forever grateful to Ann and Marina.
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