nudle

Just a day.

Today is one of those days I wouldn't write about if I weren't committed to writing every day. It was just a day. It was important to me because I like my days, especially my weekend days, and today was the day after our first adoption class so I felt like it was somehow going to be monumental. As it was, it was just a day.

I ran eight miles (long for me) this morning, so I was tired and my left knee hurt. I had to take a nap.

We had a babysitter, so we went to see Juno tonight at a movie theater downtown that serves popcorn, candy and drinks. Drink-drinks. Funny that we should see a movie about a teenager who gets pregnant and decides to give the baby up for adoption when we're thinking about adopting. I recommend the movie.

I wish I had more to write. When I was changing into my pajamas I thought about writing about all of my body parts I don't like, but that seemed boring. I thought about writing about how I used to be afraid (when I was a child) that my parents were going to put me up for adoption, but since I had no good reason for thinking that, it seemed boring.

I could write that I'm drinking a Pyramid Amber Weizen right now and thinking of going up to bed, since the haunted dishwasher is moaning me to sleep.

My today will never be important to the world, but it could prove to be monumental. You never know.

Slumber parties gone bad.

So today, another list! I got up early since I lazily fell asleep with Iona when I put her to bed around nine last night. I was feeling my deadlines this morning, so in an effort to write the scene for my story, due tomorrow, I made this list. These are the things that I remember from the slumber parties of my youth.

1. Puking. Ejecting deep red stomach contents (spaghetti? pickled beets?) in the hallway outside the bathroom on the white carpet and going to bed without alerting anyone. Because I'm actually still fourteen deep down, I feel compelled to point out that it was not I who perpetrated this crime, but one of my slumber party attendees. My mother was righteously, royally, and highly hacked.

2. Truth or dare. I actually don't remember a bad session of truth or dare, but I'm sure, by the very nature of the game, there was one and I'm suppressing it. Oh yeah, now I remember one. This was an especially awful slumber party I went to, one where the girls were fast and the night was long. Let's just say I stayed in my corner and was (thankfullly) forgotten, and there was a lot of make-out practice, and there were no boys present.

3. Night terrors. Scary movies during which everyone falls alseep and you're the last one left awake. I had a friend who used to turn on The Night Stalker every time I stayed over, and she would fall asleep, abandoning me to the shadows of her dark basement. I was always terrified. Why did I continue to sleep over at her house? Why?

4. War. Young hostess, pandering to The Popular Girls and spurning her own, best, loyal friends, yells at one said true friend for touching her mother's sheer curtains, which she (irritatingly) calls "The Sheers." Party is immediately split into two warring factions. Yelled-at-friend makes indignant, impassioned speech entitled, "Who are your real friends, sellout?"

5. Someone goes home. I don't think I was ever at a party during which one of the girls went home, because this would mark you for life. I have no idea why, but I remember what that knowledge felt like, and it was truth. James Lileks has a great description of a similar child phenomenon here, at the top of this post.

6. Homesickness: fear that parents would burn to death in their beds without me home to save them. I was a weird kid.

7. Forgetting that twins have the same birthday. I once brought a gift to a birthday slumber party for the twin who invited me, and forgot to bring a gift for the other twin. I was old enough to feel properly humiliated.

8. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Like truth or dare, I don't remember a spirit visiting from the afterlife, but this is in the same category as the Ouji Board and staring into the bathroom mirror, trying to invoke the devil. All these games ended up being vaguely disappointing, like Sea Monkeys.

9. Why is it that when I think of slumber parties I think of tufted naugehyde wet bars and pool tables? I guess it's because, at least in the sixties and seventies, basements were designed to be getaway havens for fathers. Is that a sexist thing to write? Probably. But also true, probably.

10. Sneaking out. I think my group of friends snuck out once, to toilet paper Rick Conger's house. I had a small crush on Rick Conger, and I was hoping he would catch us. Of course, he didn't. I remember having fun that night, so not all slumber parties go bad, I guess.

Ten random things on my mind lately.

Wow, three days into the month of blogging every day and I've run out of writing material. Luckily, Eden (the woman behind Nanoblomplobmomo), gave us Nanoblomopomoers a prompt for when this happens. The prompt is: lists. My list for today is "Random Things on My Mind Lately."

1. Toast. I miss it. I'm trying not to eat it, especially the buttered kind. I am failing in this endeavor. Luckily my sister introduced me to sprouted wheat bread, and though I have no inkling if sprouted wheat bread has health benefits, I feel less guilty eating it.

2. Electrolysis. I don't mind writing that I am pretty hairy for a woman. I finally started getting electrolysis on my face, so now I'm less hairy, at least on the day I get the electrolysis. By the next day I'm back to my old hairy self.

3. My childhood friend Polly. I'm using my very old memories of her as inspiration for my current short story, due Thursday. I have yet to get back in touch with her. She scares me.

4. Slumber parties. I need to write a scene for my story about a sixth grade slumber party gone bad. I've been to my share, but if you're reading this, even if you came here by mistake, I'd love to get some details, so leave me a comment. Remember, my story is DUE THURSDAY.

5. Poetry slams for the younger set. I'm working for free, which is my favorite kind of work these days. I'm designing a flyer and a poster for Iona's school for a poetry gig they're hosting in April.

6. Adoption. We are adopting, but we don't yet know whom. Much of the time I think we're crazy, then I have a dream about a little boy who is or will be waiting for us and the crazy feeling goes away and it's all okay. We're going to our first adoption class Friday.

7. The Wire. Even when I don't let myself watch it because I have a story due Thursday, I think about it. What's that rascal McNulty up to while I toil away in front of the computer? Actually, please don't tell me; I'm only on Season One.

8. Violin. Iona can almost play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Her Suzuki instructor is rather serious about the whole thing, about form and practice. And our lesson is tomorrow. Right now, this second, it's time to wrangle a nearly-six-year-old girl and a stringed instrument.

9. Okay, I couldn't walk away from the screen without adding Barack Obama. He's on my mind because he's also on the minds of approximately six billion people. But I caucused for him, so there.

10. I couldn't stand it. I had to make it an even ten. There is probably medication for that. My tenth thing is running. My sister has talked me into doing the Whidbey Island half marathon, so now I have no excuses left. I must go outside and run. Like running in the rain and the snow, when there's nowhere to go, and you're feelin' like a part of you is dyin'. And you're looking for the answer in her eyes. But she's the one who's makin' you do it, and she's the older sister, and she really is the boss of yoooouuu

Back from Turkey.

Maybe this blog should be called I SHOULD BE DOING SOMETHING ELSE because usually, when I am compelled to write here, I should. I should be making dinner because I have to take Iona to swimming lessons and there's no time afterward. I should be doing my writing homework, which is to write a scene between two characters in which one is trying to make the other do something they don't want to do. I should be taking Iona's pink Nintendo DS away. She's getting good at Super Princess Peach. I try not to let her play for more than fifteen minutes a day because the literature that came with that machine had eye injury warnings all over it. At least it's raining, because if it wasn't another should is weeding. I saw a three-foot dandelion today that looked like it wanted to hurt me.

Kat expressed surprise in a comment on my last post, and this made me think about why I didn't blog about our trip before we left, and that made me think for the thousandth time about how strange blogging is, that we all have our own personal rules. I'm willing to write about my body parts, my fears, my failures, my daughter, and use our real names, and I'm okay with musing about my flaws, and I've had friends ask, "Is Ewan okay with what you wrote?" when I expound on my doubts about monogamy, but I didn't want to blog ahead of time that we would be out of town for a week. Why? I don't think any of my twelve readers would come and burgle us, and if any of you did I'm afraid you would be sorely disappointed. If I'm wrong about that though, and you're a thief, my advice to you is don't miss my OED Compact in the shelves in the living room. You might just go for that and leave the rest. Be careful though; it's pretty heavy. I kept the original box which is in the garage; please take the extra time to put it away so it's protected when you make your getaway. Don't forget the magnifying glass.

We got back from Istanbul last night. Ewan's firm treated him and a hundred other new partners and their partners to this trip (vacation/professional program, with emphasis on vacation) to reward us for seven years of sweat and tears in our endeavor to make partner. And don't be fooled, it is a joint effort even though he definitely did the heavy lifting (fourteen-hour days of Excel, PowerPoint and conference calls, flying away Mondays and coming back Thursdays or Fridays, working weekends, meeting upon meeting). So we got Turkey for seven days, and Iona stayed with my family. It was a long time to be away from her, maybe too long, though she had a great time while we were away.

The Firm (yes, they capitalize it) treated us well. We were wined and dined and massaged and hot-air-ballooned over Cappadocia, which used to be known for its beautiful horses but is now known for its "fairy chimney" rock formations, underground cities and whole villages carved into the soft volcanic deposits. I couldn't quite stomach the underground city tour which goes down eight stories of  tiny passageways that had people bent double. (Shudder.) The Cappadocian (or Kapadokyan) Christians built miles and miles of these cities to escape the Romans. I will post more photos, but that seems like an insurmountable task right now. I'm not sure I'll make it to nine tonight. I feel like I have the flu but I know it's jet lag. And did I mention I need to be doing a few other things? Off I go, to create an ascetic detox dinner of salmon with brown rice, and then off to swimming, and then, I'm guessing, I'll crash. Homework tomorrow.

Up with strong women.

As a woman who has a daughter, two sisters and two nieces, I have thought a lot about societal norms (myths) about female beauty. So I really liked this post by Bitch Ph.D. about Courtney Paris and this article in the New York Times: "Athletes Embrace Size, Rejecting Stereotypes."

The funniest man on the internet.

Years ago I was sitting at my desk at work, feeling bad. This was in spite of the fact that said desk was in an architecturally significant floor of a landmark building where Al Capone once had his speakeasy. My desk was in front of a window. The job was one I had wanted for years. My lover worked there too so I could see him every day and use his secret parking place in the basement lot (in the middle of downtown Chicago, and if you live in a big city and are not sleeping with someone who has a parking place I suggest you start now). I was feeling bad because everyone in the firm was also miserable, because we were tanking. Financials were at an all-time low and many of us were helpless to do anything about it. Layoffs were imminent. The work was interesting and even exhilarating at times, but the day I was sitting at my desk feeling bad there wasn't enough work to keep us busy. So what was I doing? Surfing the Web. (Back then you still surfed, and you capitalized web.)

It was that day I first discovered James Lileks' blog. This was before the word blog even existed, but James Lileks didn't care. He was doing it anyway. Lileks is the funniest man on the internet and if you want to name someone funnier, then I just have to say to you NO. JAMES LILEKS IS THE FUNNIEST MAN ON THE INTERNET.

Sitting there at my sad desk I giggled uncontrollably for a while, then I hissed at my next-door-neighbor, Stef. The office was open-concept, no partitions, which made for better co-lab-or-a-shun (when we had work to collaborate on). It also made it easy to share online shopping advice and other non-work frivolity, like James Lileks. Word of Lileks spread quickly through the office. Emails with links to Lileks' site flew from sad desk to sad desk. Pretty soon the entire office was snorting with laughter in a place where only moments before the air was blue with sadness. I was moved to email Mr Lileks and tell him how he had brightened an entire office, and he immediately responded, thanking us for reading. Though that was the only correspondence we ever shared, I continue to consider him my internet boyfriend.

My actual, real-life lover eventually left the firm, and I lost the parking place. I soon followed him out and I haven't really worked since. The company is still in business and thriving now. My lover became my husband and we recently attended a swanky cocktail party hosted by our old employer in a fancy hotel. Getting together with those people was like getting together with family members who are charming and lovable and drink very heavily. I ordered two hundred-dollar bottles of champagne, and the firm paid for them as we guzzled the bubbles. It almost made up for the parking spot loss and those sad, sad days.

To ward off depression without medication, I recommend you look at James Lileks daily. Here's today's Bleat. But before you go there, go here. Immediately. Read it and weep (from laughter).

No more trifling.

Angry Black Bitch posted a good one yesterday against those who trifle. Also excellent is that she used the expression the shit in paragraph eighteen.

Grilled cheese and sympathy.

Tonight my younger sister and I sat on my parents' deck and watched the last of the light leave the sky while listening to the silence of the suburbs, broken once by a loud car stereo and another time by the opening and closing of a manual overhead garage door. Then we came inside and spoke idly of the ghost, who used to crumple paper in the basement but now rattles its chains, as we grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen. Buttered bread and lots of tomato are key. Red wine is even more important. Then our parents came home from a benefit for the symphony and we had some more wine and talked about how they met Jeb, who is a very nice man, and who is best friends with my friend Scott.

Tomorrow we get up before dawn to watch my older sister do her second triathlon, then we're hoping to steal some time to go to Pike Place Market.

I've been experiencing uneven emotions this whole trip, but tonight we laughed and it was all so easy.

Just pray for her, dammit.

I've been clicking over to check on Liz at Granny Gets a Vibrator all day. She had a CT scan Monday and she just posted that the news is not good. She's a great writer and seems like a wonderful person and I'm so sad right now.

Excuses, excuses.

1. It's 97 dgrs in the shad hr in Chicago; it's too hot to writ.

2. I can't writ; I've bn too busy snding my saintd husband with Iona to not 1, but 2 childrn's birthday partis. 1 at a public bch whr thr was no parking for mils bcaus vry1 was at th bch (see #1). Saintd husband walkd to dlivr a gift and mak an apprnc and whn thy got there thy wr th only gsts and th family had food for 80 people so thy couldn't lve. Divin husband has probably rched Suprm Nlightnmnt of Buddhahood by now.

3. My e key kps falling off. If I punch th spac hard I can mak an e. This maks it impossibl to writ. Do you know how many words includ th ltter e? A lot. And Appl can't just snd anothr ky in the mail; I hav to tak my computr all th way to Michigan Avenu to th Gnius Bar to gt a nw e ky.

4. Thr is a fly in th hous which is distracting, and I must go chas it and catch it in a glass and slid a pce of stiff papr, prhaps the air conditioning bill, undr the glass, thn lt it go outsid becaus I cannot kill (xcpt for cockroachs and cntipds).

5. Mountains of cln, unfoldd laundry covr our furnitur making it difficult to find a plac to sit down and writ.

6. I joind an organic food co-op, which mns I hav to driv 1nc a wk to a rlly fabulous hom ml replacmnt plac calld Just Bakd to pick up a box of organic tubrs I cannot idntify. Whil at Just Bakd, I pick up dinnr. So I tak hom my thirty dollar bag of prpard food and my box of tubrs and put said tubrs in th rfrigrator nxt to last wk's produc. And I sit down with Buddha Husband and tst hommad pat, vnison sausag, frsh rolls, spicy slaw and th most unblievabl browni in the world by Christin Busby. So you see, all this driving to pick up organic produc, thn all this tstng of good food, it maks me too tird to writ.

7. Richard Linklatr is gtting in the way of my writing. I rnted Bfor Sunris, and vry much njoyed it, but it is hard to watch a movi and gt som writing don at th sam tim. Thn aftr th movi I hav to mus about how much more btiful Juli Dlpy is than Ithan Hawk. This taks tim away from my writing.

8. It is too hot not to drink a br or two, but lifting a bottl to my lips taks up one of my hands and typing with only my lft hand is slow. Spcially with a missing e ky.

9. Tim is passing too quickly, and how did it get to b Sunday night again bcaus wasn't it just Friday afternoon? So I hav to go hav an anxity attack about how fast time gos and how w'r all mortal and prtty soon I'll be 89 and th 1 taking down my flag at four-thirty in th aftrnoon and rolling up th carpt and having to dl with psky nghbors chcking to mak sur I'm okay in this ht and thn taking out my tth and putting thm in a glass and watching th vning nws and going to bd at 7. It's hard to writ whn you'r lying on th floor waiting for anxty to go away.

10. Why do all lists hav to nd in a nic round numbr lik 10? Mayb I'll go gt anothr nic cold br and think about this instd of writing.