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06.10.2002 - 8:08 p.m.
Monday
Well, Saturday JB left for another
business trip. A weeklong whirlwind tour of different manufacturing
facilities, in Japan and China. This is the first trip that I
haven't clung to his pantlegs as he walks out the door, whimpering
about how bored I will be and does he really have to go whine
whine whine?
No sir. Because NOW WE HAVE
A HOUSE. I can't explain it. It's just so much better now. Boredom
does not exist, and if it does, it is cloaked in something cute
from Restoration Hardware, ok? Plus I now actually have
a job - something to DO during the day, unlike the unending stretch
of white noise that used to be my 9-5.
This weekend I found a store
called Half Price Books, which really should be called Fucking
Rad! A Used Bookstore Nearby!. I bought:
Microserfs, Douglas Coupland. This is one of my
all time favorite books, and I loaned my old copy to my very
good friend Feng. Who NEVER READ IT. Nor returned it,
the dorkoramus. So now I bought a new copy so he can always live
with the physical manifestation of his shame. It haunts you,
Feng!
Horse Heaven, Jane Smiley. I was on a big Jane Smiley
kick a while back, and I hadn't caught up to this book. Her writing
is so wonderful, somehow soothing and disturbing at the same
time.
The Everlasting Story of
Nory, Nicholson Baker.
Baker is a phenomenal writer, and I am not just saying that because
the page edges of my copy of Vox are dog eared from….passionate
perusals. His writing gift stretches far beyond erotica; I'm
really looking forward to this book.
The Lottery and Other Stories, Shirley Jackson. A whim. For some
reason I haven't read much of her stuff. And so I tore through
this collection in about an hour, completely engrossed. Really,
really great. Must. Read. More. Shirley. Jackson.
Pink, Gus Van Sant. Well, I'm kind of a Gus Van Sant
movie fan. Sort of. I loved Drugstore Cowboys. My Own Private
Idaho. Pink looks like a mishmash of acid-fueled coolness, at
least that's what I'm hoping for. Plus, Katherine Dunn gave him
a cool cover blurb.
Fierce Invalids Home From
Hot Climates, Tom Robbins.
It's the only book of his I haven't read. If you don't know why
he's awesome, shame on you.
Ok, so after I loaded up on
things to keep me sedentary, I headed over to a nearby nursery
to buy some plants. We have a lot of room in our yard to go hog
wild, which is precisely what I plan to do. I want shrubs, ground
cover, flowers, flowering shrubs, flowering ground cover, grounding
flower shrubs - everyfuckingthing. I've gone too long without
a garden, dammit.
On Sunday, the weather got all
beautiful and sunny, and I tied my hair into pigtails (the new
haircut allows for this, I'm all entranced with the Catholic
school girl look laately) and headed out to master nature. Confidently,
I plunged my shovel into the earth to hit - titanium.
It felt that way, anyway. What
I hadn't taken into consideration is the complicated and pervasive
root system from the nearby trees. Digging into the ground means
painful chopping and sweat-popping jumping-on-the-shovel action.
It sucks. JB will be appointed Dig Boy from now on.
I also mowed the lawn, which
made me feel quite burly and capable of performing such actions
as opening tightly screwed-on jar lids and scratching my (um,
nonexistent) balls.
And so today was Monday, and
work was goofy. I had decided that enough was enough with our
front lobby being a complete pigsty, so I emailed everyone saying
"Hey, pick up your shit, or I'm gonna stash it away, ok?".
And one guy got so inexplicably riled up, he came flying out
of his office and freaking cleaned the entire building.
Just went ballistic, storming around throwing boxes everywhere,
dustclouds roiling around him like PigPen. He was like a pissed
off Martha Stewart having an ADD moment. I'm not sure what nerve
I hit, but the result was a tidy workplace - score.
Right now I'm doing laundry,
listening to the shoosh and woosh of the washing machine. Sipping
a glass of Chardonnay. Walking out the patio door every few minutes
to see my new plants. The cat is slinking around outside getting
sand kicked in her face by squirrels. It's all good, baby.
go back :::
forward
06.06.2002 - Bangs
are not my hair's destiny.
06.04.2002 - "We need a fish Lassie.
Lassie, save Oscar! Go get help!"
06.02.2002 - Anal
Sundry seems the type that might wield a leather whip in her
offtime, or something.
0
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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