Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Insert Cackling Here

Today there was an interesting email at work (the library job that is).

The message?

"Please don't nuke the books."

Apparently a man had been microwaving his books in order to "sterilize" them.

Well, guess what our library is doing right now? We're RFID tagging.

Sounds like somebody got a nasty little surprise.

Insert cackling here.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Perfect Dance Partners

At the library the other day I was pushing a cart of books to the stacks when a lady asked for help. I abandoned the cart and helped her. As I returned to the cart I noticed an 80 something year old lady thumbing through the books. I waited patiently, but after a second she noticed me and said, "Oh you need to shelve these." Before I could tell her, "no problem," she reached out and patted my butt and told me to get back to work.


Yesterday I had training at another library, and as I approached the building a mentally challenged (but only in some ways - I despise our characterizations of special individuals) young man (about my age) started singing "pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl," and as he sang it was apparent that he initially said what came to mind, but as the two words slipped from his mouth he realized how much fun they were to say. His caregiver looked towards the ground with a red face, but I grew inside. I understand those feelings. To want to blurt a sudden thought, and to taste a word more than once, but unlike this man, I am usually imprisoned by fear of embarrassment. I smiled at him before entering the building, and wondered why I hadn't said thank you.

Later I realized I didn't want to interrupt him.

In a few days there will be something very special on Waldo the Line Tamer , but because it is so special to me, I am going to claim it first.

With His Stability and Her Agility, They Were Perfect Dance Partners:

Why does this mean so much to me? Because it describes Robert and I so perfectly.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Drip. . .

At my nonprofit job I work in a large building composed of many little businesses. On each floor is a john with three stalls (the men’s bathrooms are different I’m sure). After much research I figured out which stall sees the least amount of action. This is where the tired argument concerning other people doing the same research and therefore all clamoring for the same potty comes in, and yes if all of us researchers are using the same toilet then the research is rendered slightly invalid, BUT (no pun intended), and there is a but, even if the toilet is seeing more tushes, I’d like to think that these tushes are using the seat covers, or in the very least, because they’re the type to do the research, are slightly cleaner than the rest.

Today my research was tested. Upon my first visit to the restroom I discovered quite a bit of water on the seat. Dismayed, I used the toilet ranking second on my list of toilets that see the least amount of action. Every preferred toilet has its bad moments and disrespectful users. I didn’t think very much of it until the second time I used the restroom and discovered a different array of splashes on the seat of the preferred toilet. Shocked, I begin questioning not only the carefully compiled data, but all the other facts and figures in my head. Suddenly all the graphs and numbers of my life were before me, turning into squiggles and mocking faces. If this toilet was the wrong one, what else had I miscalculated? Was my preferred parking spot at the library suddenly going to produce a tree teeming with birds ready to drop their bowels?

As I stood in the once preferred stall, with the door open and my hands raised in desolation, a tiny drop of water pinged my face. Horrified, I looked up. There, above the stall, was a tiny water stain. For a moment the self doubting eased, and relief set in. But once I regained composure I suddenly became aware that I was on the first floor, and that it was likely that there were other bathrooms on top of the one I was standing in, and that the water that just fell on my face. . .

Friday, September 2, 2011

Since we last talked. . .

Robert and I have begun the process of relocating our kitchen to the back of the house. The current kitchen is just too small, and its location is rather sucky.

I am still working at the library. And the non-profit – we educate people (mostly young folks) about organ donation, in addition to mentoring people (transplant families, recipients, people on the waiting list). I have been looking for a full time position at the library. It’s no secret, and it has been a long but interesting and educational process. Yes, Robert and I are still completely devoted to the idea of working on the road and traveling full time. We have been applying for jobs in that area as well. So why relocate the kitchen? Because it needs to be done. And we’re going to keep living while we’re stuck here in the great toilet of Kansas City.

Mostly we’ve been doing a lot of dreaming and waiting, which provides plenty of room to dream. I know that no matter where I am as long as there is a library I am home.

And probably the most exciting, amazing thing that has happened to me since we’ve last talked is. . . MEETING MY BROTHER JASON!!!!!!! I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. And we finally met in July.

He is an amazing individual. A gentle, goofy brilliant soul. And also he has the cutest dog on the planet (sorry Rose and Ella).

Saturday, March 19, 2011

waking up

I have been sick for the past month. Seriously.

I had a sinus infection followed by a sprained hand, and then two weeks ago I had a sudden crushing case of vertigo that turned out to be an ear virus. So for the past two weeks I have been a dizzy, nauseous mess. I haven't been able to drive or read or even watch tv!

Finally, I am getting over ear virus and am feeling better.

Not to jinx myself.

What have I learned? Where is the positivity? Well, I've had a cold every single month since last October. I think that was what finally morphed into the sinus infection. And seriously I think the colds were caused by stress. The sprained hand was a little devastating, but for about a week it taught me that I can live without tennis. And the biggest lesson has been from this ear virus. Even when I am sitting still I feel like I need to be productive. The ear virus really taught me how to be still. I think I still have a lot to learn about the art of being still, but I am on my way. And the ear virus really took my control away. I think that was a huge thing for me. It's definitely something I need to work on.

I am also tackling stress.

We'll see how it goes.

I'll leave you with a piece of the Sun. This piece really touched me.

Click to enlarge.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

A Leap

There are songs I listen to so many times that they become my movements. They climb inside my pulsing skin and nestle in the crooks and crannies, slowly creeping with each breath to the very lining of my guts, of my spirit. There are days when I can feel a song with me, and when I reach to turn it up, I touch nothing. I become a vehicle for the song, my body absorbing an invisible need for physical life.

Lately I have become these songs.

To me this song is furious. It is throwing its beats at me, and I can feel the freckles of movement and rage, and I want to run against the anger, to be that wall that it needs to reflect against. Like in the Truman Show when Jim Carrey finds out that his reality is fictitious. The fists are the drum beats, and I am the wall. I am too real unless I run fast enough to create that wall, to create the fiction that life is.


If you see a woman sitting in her car, waving her arms in the space in front of her, it is me, listening to this piece. This piece is Hermit’s Holler and I am trying to catch it, to apologize, to express gratitude, to take the memories of home and put them somewhere beneath the strength of my bones.


I want to be a part of this song, to crawl inside the joy and voices.


Most of the time I look for songs that harmonize with me, that compliment me but are not perfectly synchronized. I feel like songs that are in the same key as myself are a little frightening. Like I am suddenly turned inside out. I listen with an intensity to hear myself, and forget that I already know what I sound like. I sound like this, and I sound like Joan Baez singing Kumbaya, and A Whiter Shade of Pale and Every Minute by Sara Groves. Please take note of 1:15. There is a moment of my life that that time belongs to, and it was a leap.


I like the approach of this song, a little bit of uncertainty mixed with brazen sexiness. Like a stealthy mythical beast sneaking up on her lover, a praying mantis falling in love or a piece of dark chocolate infused with boozy red wine. I listen to this song and it winds me up for the day. It is suddenly sexy to be pear shaped and quirky and bookish all at once with little legs taking great strides. This song is my sexy underwear. And I feel every bit like the brick shit house that I am.


While driving with Robert one day I played him a little bit of Lorn and told him that listening to it felt like I was bringing out the noise inside of me and listening to it from the outside. He said that he needed to make me more tea. What he failed to realize is that I exist because of that noise, that all the whirring and stirring inside is music to me. I am never alone. I will always be in the company of noise. I’ve tried to describe the noise, the wonderful cacophony of voices and syllables inside, how I somehow capture other people and hang onto their words and music, but it’s not supposed to be touched. Your emotions sound like techno music to me. That’s as close as I care to get. And for the most part I enjoy it, but negativity and too much of it gets to me when I’m trying to sleep at night. So when you hear this song you are listening to the sound of emotions stirred up like oatmeal and honey.


Hans Zimmer’s music always touches me in a place most songs cannot get to. I have quite a few that are tucked into my spine like little wings ready to burst. If I am having a bad day it is absolutely necessary to find my car and crawl inside it and this song like a womb.


On an entirely different note, I have been busy and sick and have fallen a little behind on my dad's blog. Robert and I are creating a system with the scanning, and have figured out how to scan the colored drawings properly. Please be patient while we get the system up and going. Thanks.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

aliens and poltergeists

I am too young to be wise, but every once in awhile I have an experience that gives me such great wisdom that I have no other choice but to pass it along.

Please do not eat edamame in bed.

You will wake up in the middle of the night and assume that aliens have attached a probe to your leg, and you will spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom wondering how deep the probe is, and whether or not some unknown civilization is watching a movie of your life, calculating the success of impregnating you with their seed. You will think about Octavia Butler’s books, and touch the linoleum with your hands to make sure that it is human linoleum and that you are not in some cute replica of your bathroom. Finally you will tentatively touch the probe with a piece of toilet paper, and it will fall off. You will gasp, because you think that if it is a probe, why is it not sticking? And you will question their knowledge of adhesives, which really has nothing to do with the little green probe, but it’s 3 in the morning and you’re not really sure how a probe works, just that you know that you could make one stick if you had to. After a moment you will bend over and inspect the object, and after gathering some bravery you will poke it a little harder with the toilet paper and discover that is a leftover piece of edamame, and that if an alien ever does really stick you with a probe they will have this little memory to add to your life movie.

On another note, did I ever mention the fire at my gym? Well a couple years ago, after playing tennis one night I begrudgingly walked over to the gym, complaining in my head about lifting weights, the pure murder of it. As I plopped down on my first machine a man suddenly pushed me off, and started tugging me towards an exit. There’s a fire, he exclaimed, and sure enough, after looking up, I saw that the ceiling was slightly on fire.

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I got the h out of there (actually I went back to the locker room to get my stuff, which will hopefully help future aliens with any decisions concerning impregnation).

Unfortunately the gym was opened back up within the week.

So, I have this rule. If I’m tired, then fine I don’t have to run/lift weights. But if I’m tired the next day, then I better get my lazy ass on the treadmill. Even if I’m more tired than the day before. So I was too tired one day last week, but because I skipped the day before I knew I had to run. So I get the running part out of the way, plus an hour of tennis and I am seriously wiped, right? But the gal I was playing with still wanted to play, and we had the court reserved for an hour and a half, so I agreed but starting cussing out the world in my head. Just then the lights went out. I shit you not. And they didn’t come back on. In fact somebody came to usher us out of the building with a flashlight so we didn’t trip over the balls.

Hot damn, somebody can hear me. I think I have a poltergeist friend. Hopefully he will help me out when I find something attached to my leg that is not edamame.

Friday, January 7, 2011

beneath the burka

Before I tell you my latest dream I will give you a little context. First, the other day, while running at the gym I noticed a woman dancing in front of the racquetball courts. The courts were dark so she was able to use them as a mirror. She was wearing a burka and only dancing with the top half of her body. The dance she was doing was very intricate. I have never seen anyone use their arms in so many different ways. And because she was completely covered, even her face, she looked like some kind of magical flying creature. It was stunning.

Second, I started a new job as an administrative coordinator for a non-profit charity (I believe I’ve said all this correctly). I cannot tell you very much about it, because it is so unique, but it is a job that I want to do well at, and it’s for a cause that really touches me for personal reasons. The problem is that I am totally lost. There are only four people who work in this office, and the girl I am replacing is training me. I have been freaking out because I do not understand all of the job responsibilities plus I am struggling to learn a new database I have never seen before. I have been consumed with anxiety because this job is really important to me, and I really care about the people. I don’t want to let them down.

And third, I have been fighting another cold. So, I have been draining the Nyquil again. I should also note that every dream I have is pretty darn spectacular in some way or another, whether I’m stoned or not. I typically dream in wet paint. I am always in the process of drying in my dreams. And about 90% of the time I smear something on myself. The landscape is typically wet paint too, although there have been trees that have been real and outside of the painting. And while just about everything is wet paint there is often something that is perfectly real inside the painting. Mannequins visit my dreams periodically, as well as music. Music is always visual as well as auditory. If I can hear it then I can see it too. It usually takes on interesting roles such as houses, stairs, clothing. And there are always breasts and armpits in my dreams. I have always had a fascination with these body parts, and have drawn them many ways, so it makes sense that my dreams include them. All of this is when I do not chug the Nyquil. When I chug the Nyquil things get a bit more interesting, and a lot of the wet paint disappears which makes the parts that are wet even more fascinating and meaningful.

In a dream from last week I was in the office where I have been working. It was my first day working alone, without any help, and as I walked into my area I noticed everything was gone. The gal who had the job before me had taken not only her personal items, but also the printers, telephone, pencil holder etc. This made me incredibly frantic because I wasn’t sure how I was going to do the job. As I walked around the area it became obvious that the office was inside the racquetball court at the gym. When I looked out the glass doors I saw the lady dancing. She looked exactly the same as the other day, but unlike the other day, she was stripping down to her skivvies. And as all of her garb fell to the floor I could see that she was tattooed head to toe in the most wonderful fauvist landscape. She danced with just her arms and the movement caused the landscape on her body to change, kind of like tv. The whole time she looked straight at me, and as I woke up I knew that I was looking at myself.