Archive for February, 2007

summer cramps

Published
by
alison
on February 28, 2007
in bluishorange, childhood, lists and roadtrip
. Closed

i’m getting that feeling again, the one i had last summer. you remember the one. it was the “why should i write if i don’t have anything to say?” feeling. which i bet you actually don’t remember, because i didn’t write about it! if you remember things i didn’t say, you are stalking me.

don’t think i can’t see you watching me from the other side of that fence, there.

what am i doing instead of writing?

1. selling my collections of vintage shoes and fabric on ebay. selling my jewelry at ridiculously low prices. rusty probably doesn’t remember this, but he told me to do it. “sell everything you own and go on your trip!” he said. so i am. except for the brown 60’s spectator pumps. those are too awesome for anyone else to own. take that, rusty!

2. breaking my printer. it screeched at me, ate some paper, spewed ink everywhere, and then died. remember that south park episode where cartman says everyone craps their pants when they die? it was kind of like that, except with ink instead of crap.

3. reading the world according to garp. i get most of my books from half-price, and this copy of garp is no exception. it’s fraught with the usual typos you find in stuff from half-price: “is is” instead of “it is,” “there” instead of “their,” characters’ names misspelled. i often notice these typos, and it’s usually easy to ignore them and move on. but i folded down the corner of the page on which the phrase “summer cramps” was used in place of “summer camps.” summer cramps! how awesome is that?

it made me think of my own summer camp experiences. they were crampy in their own way, i suppose. central texas summers made everyone sweat so much that even three showers a day didn’t help; the sweat came back as soon as you turned the water off. we were tired and hot and dirty all the time, and no matter how clean or cool or well-rested i was (and i never was), none of the boys ever liked me. it was probably the braces, or the acne, or the fact that my hair was held in place with so much gel it didn’t even move in the nonexistent breeze. i think one summer i used up an entire bottle in the course of a week.

when it was time to leave, all the other girls would cry, and promise to write, and make out with their boyfriends behind a tree. i might have cried, too, but my tear ducts were clogged with sweat and makeup and hair gel. those were some crampy summers, all right. john irving may not have known what he was typing about, but i sure do.

4. googling minor celebrities, witty online forum posters, and astros baseball players to find out if they’re single. i have no business dating anyone right now (or possibly ever), and it’s unlikely i’ll meet these people or even like them if i do. but still, i google.

and i’ll tell you why. i’m at the age (28) where everyone i know is getting married. i don’t necessarily want to be married anytime soon (or possibly ever), but when everyone i know is forming tiny armies of two, it leaves me a bit lonely. that’s not a very strange feeling to have, but this might be: what if everyone in my approximate age range pairs up and i’m the only person left? it’ll be like in school where nobody ever picked me for anything, so i had to work with the teacher. except there’s no teacher in this scenario, and if there is, he’s forty-five and creepy and i definitely don’t want to marry him.

i probably don’t want to marry any of the celebrities, baseball players, or forum posters i’ve googled, either.

5. finding this. the person who has that blog is not me. she’s so much not me that she’s the opposite of me. it’s funny; last september i signed up for myspace to download some pictures a friend had posted. when i tried to use bluishorange as my username, i was told it was already taken. i thought maybe i’d signed up and forgotten, but i never received a response to the forgot-password request i sent. and now i know why:my name’s being used by a seventeen-year-old!

but…what?

Published
by
alison
on February 27, 2007
in bluishorange
. Closed

if i had the time and resources, i’d start a campaign to abolish the phrase “no offense, but…”  nobody says it without following it up with something patently offensive.  nobody says it for any other reason than to make themselves feel better about being rude.

what a bitch

Published
by
alison
on February 21, 2007
in bluishorange and maude
. Closed

this morning i took maude to the vet to get her teeth cleaned.  her breath is terrible.  if you’ve ever met maude and stood within smelling distance of her face, then you know.  sometimes when i need to remove my nail polish i just hold my hand up to her face and the fumes peel it right off.  but i’ve gotten used to maude’s breath over the past few years, and am even a bit defensive when others bring it up.  people say “ooh, her breath stinks,” and i think to myself, yeah, yours would too if you grew up in a cage and your owners neglected your dental care for the first four years of your life.  i almost never say that out loud.

when they clean a dog’s teeth, they have to use general anesthesia.  if they didn’t, there would be a lot of vets out there with missing fingers.  so when i took her to the vet, they told me i could pick her up that evening.  i thought about her all day at work — she’s probably getting her teeth cleaned now.  ooh, i bet she’s awake now.  i wonder if she’s okay.  i kept checking my phone to see if the vet had called.  they didn’t call, though, so i figured everything was fine.

and it was fine.  when i got there after work and said i was there to get maude, the lady at the counter said, “oh!  our little sweetie.”  i didn’t tell her that maude’s docile demeanor in these situations isn’t sweet so much as her own personal demonstration of abject terror.

i watched a pug playfully beat up a doberman while they got my invoice ready.  “okay,” the lady said when she came back to the counter, “they did bloodwork and clipped her nails and did her vaccinations, and of course, the dental.  there were ten extractions, but they only charged you for half of them because she’s so sweet.”

“there were what now?” i said.  i figured they’d have to remove some teeth, but i didn’t think it’d be that many.

“they had to take out ten of her teeth.”

“wow,” i said.  “does she have any left?”

she must have assumed it was a rhetorical question, because she didn’t answer it.  “here are some antibiotics for her, so that her mouth doesn’t get infected.  don’t feed her or give her any antibiotics tonight, because she’s probably still nauseous from the anesthesia, but you should start them tomorrow.”

another lady came over, carrying maude with her.  “here you go,” she said, handing her to me.  “she was fast asleep.”  maude felt limp in my arms; her eyes were narrow and glassy, her tongue stuck out just a little.  i put my face up to hers, but she didn’t lick my nose like she usually does.

“she’s mad at me for leaving her here all day,” i said.

when i put maude in the passenger seat of my car, she didn’t stand up or sniff my purse for treats like she usually does.  she stayed seated exactly where i put her, her head hanging.  i hadn’t seen her look so despondent since the first day i brought her home.  for a second i thought that maybe i should have asked if i could keep her teeth.  but what would i do with them?  do people usually keep their pets’ teeth?  would the vet have thought i was weird if i’d asked?  i decided against going back inside.

i stopped for gas on the way home.  when i go to the gas station and maude’s with me, she usually moves to the driver’s seat while i’m outside the car, i think because the seat is warm and it gives her a better view of me.  she likes to make sure i’m not going away, i guess.  after i set the gas pump to fill the tank, i looked through the open driver’s side window to check on her.  i was surprised to see that she’d gotten up and moved to the driver’s seat as usual.  i was even more surprised to see that she was peeing.

“maude!” i said, as if this would make her stop.  of course it didn’t; she kept on peeing, but i’d called her name, so now she was peeing and staring at me.  “dammit!” i said, and went to look for paper towels.  the rows of gas pumps closest to me featured empty paper towel racks, so i had to walk over to the farthest one before i found any.  as i walked back to the car, wad of towels in hand, i saw maude’s little head peeking out over the passenger-side window.

i sopped up the dog pee from my seat while maude stared blankly at me.  she has the most inscrutable stare i’ve ever seen on a dog.  my sister says it’s a worried look, and maybe she’s right, but maude didn’t look worried this time.  she looked relieved.

the vet had given me maude’s medicine in a plastic bag.  i ripped the bag in half, spread it out over the driver’s seat, and sat down gingerly for the ride home.  maude slept the entire way.

later i thought about why she had chosen the driver’s seat to pee in.  people use crates to housetrain their pets because animals don’t urinate or defecate where they sleep or eat.  if you put a dog in a crate, she won’t pee while she’s in it.  this training method didn’t really work for maude — she never peed in her crate, but as soon as you let her out she’d pee right there on the carpet.  to train her i had to take her out often and use lots of treats.

when we go places in the car, maude’s always in the passenger seat, and she usually sleeps most of the way.  so naturally she didn’t pee in the passenger seat.  she peed in the driver’s seat!  where i sit!  if she were human, this would make her incredibly selfish.  but she’s a dog, so i’ll give her a pass, and another pass because she’d just had surgery, and a third pass because i should have let her pee before we got in the car.

the best thing i’ve heard anyone say in at least a week: “your friends are your friends, right?  you love them, and everything else is secondary.”

rental car confessional

Published
by
alison
on February 19, 2007
in bluishorange and roadtrip
. Closed

this morning i took my car to the shop for an oil change and a pre-roadtrip once-over.  the mechanic told me it might take a day or two depending on how much they needed to fix, so i had them call a rental car place to come pick me up.  the lady who came to get me was quite late, so the small talk didn’t commence until after the apologies.

“i’m so sorry i’m late,” she said.  “they didn’t tell me i was supposed to come here until i was already doing something else, and then they said, ‘aren’t you going to the car place?’ and i said ‘you didn’t tell me i was supposed to go to the car place!’  i’m really sorry.”

“it’s okay,” i said.

“so what’s wrong with your car?” she asked as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“nothing, really,” i said.  “well, i’m getting an oil change, and i’m going on a road trip soon, so i wanted to make sure the car’s in good shape before i leave.  i’d rather not be in the middle of montana when i find out that something’s wrong with it.”

“montana, huh?  you have friends in montana?”

“oh,” i said, “i’m not just going to montana.  i mean, i’ll be going through montana, but i’m pretty much driving all over the u.s.”

“you going with your family?”

“no,” i said, “i’m going by myself.”

“by YOURSELF?” she said.  “why you going by yourself?”

who would go with me?  who do i know that i could stand to be with for two straight months?  “i like being alone,” i said, “and i’m going to try to do some writing.”

“do you have a cell phone?”

i laughed.  “yes, i have a cell phone.  and triple-a.”

“oh, listen to me,” she said.  “don’t i sound like a mom?  i say that to my son all the time.  he’s in college and i still say, ‘do you have your phone?’  he says, ‘mom, please.  i’m twenty years old.’  how long you going to be gone?”

“two months.”

“two MONTHS?”

“yup.”

“aren’t you scared?”

“i’m terrified,” i said.  it was the first time i’d said it out loud.

“you are?”

“yeah.”

“well, just make sure you don’t stay in any sketchy hotels.”

“oh, i won’t.  i’m staying with friends in a lot of the cities.”

“well, that’s good.  you know, i guess i usually travel by myself, too.  if i’m going somewhere in texas, i drive, and if i’m going out of texas, i fly.  bad things could happen to you on a plane, too.  you could get hijacked or something.”

“yeah,” i said.

“but we don’t have to get into that.”

“that’s just it, though,” i said.  “bad things can happen to you even in your house.  if you don’t do things because something bad could happen, you’d never do anything.”

“you’re right,” she said as we arrived at the rental place.  “i guess that’s why i travel, too.”

you heard it first, rental car lady.  i am absolutely scared to death.

the bag says vauxhall on it

Published
by
alison
on February 18, 2007
in bluishorange and roadtrip
. Closed

how much can one write about a weekend spent sewing a messenger bag?  not very much, it turns out.  but trust me, the bag i made is awesome.  when my sister came over today, i showed her the bag and demonstrated all of its glorious features (the zipper pockets! the patch pockets! the pencil pockets!).  when you live alone and the dog doesn’t care whether you make a bag or sleep all damn day, you’ll show off your creations to anyone with opposable thumbs.  my sister was both impressed at my skills and annoyed that i haven’t used them to finish making her curtains.

a generous reader gave me his old laptop for my roadtrip, and it didn’t fit in the bag i already had.  since i didn’t want to spend a lot of money on a new computer bag, i decided to make one myself.  the thing about sewing, though, is that by the time you buy the fabric and supplies and then waste half the fabric and supplies on trial and error, you end up spending almost as much as it would cost to buy a new bag at the store.  but would that bag from the store have all the features you wanted?  would it be made out of a canvas map of london?  would you be able to walk around with it and say to yourself, “i made this bag!”  i think not.

on the other hand, you’d have your weekend back.

i wear the cheese

Published
by
alison
on February 12, 2007
in bluishorange, roadtrip and television
. Closed

i think i’m going to leave the contribution link at the top for a bit longer.  as you can see, it’ll be a little while yet before i reach my goal.  have i told you how awesome the postcards are going to be?  they’re going to be the best!  i’m having them printed from some of my favorite flickr photos, and i’m going to write bizarre things all over the back, about pie and cars and songs on my ipod, and about how oh my god i think that guy at the next table has a glass eye.  i guarantee you’ll be entertained.  at the very least you’ll be baffled, and i don’t know anyone who doesn’t enjoy a good baffling now and then.

most weekends i go out with my friends dusty and sharlee and mando.  mando and i watch all the same television shows.  we know our favorite shows well, and can quote them verbatim.  often one of us will finish a joke with a contextually appropriate line from buffy or arrested development, and the two of us will laugh and laugh, while dusty and sharlee look at us like we’re insane.

“should we be watching more television?” dusty said once.

“not necessarily,” i said.

i used to date a guy who could match me pretty well when it came to quoting early simpsons episodes.  many have attempted this, and many have failed, but this guy came pretty close.  one day we were having coffee and he said, “i think i’m going to stop quoting things.”

this surprised me.  weren’t we having fun quoting things?  “oh?” i said.  “how come?”

“it’s crippling my wit.”

i don’t always remember exactly what people say.  when i want to write about something someone said to me, i try to recall as many of their exact words as i can, and then i just sort of reverse-engineer the rest based on what i know about the person and what they would have said at the time.  but i remember the things that affect me, and “it’s crippling my wit” was exactly what he said.

“yeah?” i said.

“yeah,” he said.  “it’s like i’m making other people’s jokes instead of my own.”

“i see what you mean,” i said, not sure how else to respond.  it made me feel kind of lame.  did he think the quoting was crippling my wit, too?  did he want me to stop quoting things?  i may as well have; quoting the simpsons to him after that was like quoting it to a jug of milk and expecting a laugh.

while i understand his point about making your own jokes instead of someone else’s, i don’t agree that it’s always a negative thing.  a lot of humor comes from shared experiences.  person A makes a joke about something that happened to her, person B laughs because the same thing happened to him and he knows exactly what she’s talking about.  if the same television show or movie “happened” to you and another person, it becomes a valid shared experience on which to build a joke, even if that joke belongs to someone else.  quoted jokes require timing and context like any other.  if i walk up to mando and the first thing i say is, “i wear the cheese, it does not wear me,” he would probably laugh a little because it’s from a show we both like.  but if i say it when we’re talking about bizarre dreams or fashion or cheese, then it’s contextually appropriate and therefore a lot more funny.

while i don’t feel like quoting television cripples my wit, i do feel like watching it cripples my writing ability.  i’ve done some of my best writing during times when i wasn’t watching much television at all, mostly during college or on trips out of town.  today i told mando that i’m not going to worry about any of my favorite shows during my roadtrip.  why would i watch tv when i could be sitting in a coffee shop at a table next to a guy with a glass eye?