When I was at the theater yesterday this silver Volvo pulls up in front of the ticket booth and parks in the red zone so a lady can buy some advance tickets. This probably bothers me more than it should but what if everybody thought they were too important to use a parking space and had to park in the red zone? It's not like it's red for no reason.

So I got in line behind her, silently judging. Some buckethead is sitting in the front seat of the Volvo text messaging -- he's an adult. Couldn't he drop her off then park or was it going to be too brutal for her to walk 50 feet back to the car? Not like it was raining or the parking lot was full.

She's wearing a leather coat and carrying an expensive purse. Meanwhile, there's a couple of kids and mom/guardian type person standing by the ticket window looking at the choices and trying to figure out what to see. Volvo lady is waiting for her card to go through and she turns to one of the kids and holds out a tissue and says, "Don't worry I didn't use it."

The kid takes the tissue and stands there looking at her.

"So you can pick up your gum," she says.

There's a fresh hunk of chewed gum on the sidewalk by his feet.

She's not bitchy about it, more like she's saving from him from humiliation. "I wouldn't hand you a used tissue," she says as she puts her card and tickets in her purse.

The kid picks up the gum and stands there. Volvo lady and her expensive purse stride back to the car.

The mom/guardian says, "Well, throw it away."

I'm thinking of the lady in the Volvo: you are okay after all.

And here's what I got:

I'm going to do a Dooce here and write a post that's way too much information and totally inappropriate.

I did something today that I don't think I've ever done in my life: I had to buy a tampon from a machine in a public bathroom. Previously I have been pathologically prepared for this situation however now that I'm doing this public transporation thing and have to carry everything with me, I have minimized to the bare essentials and I stupidly removed my little bag where I keep things like tampons, hairbands, breath mints and extra lip balm.

First of all: the tampon cost $1. Now it's been brought to my attention quite a bit lately, that I'm frugal (thrifty, cheap, whatever) but still: I can buy 40 of those for $5. Who can do math? Isn't that like a 500% mark-up? That shouldn't even be legal. I guess that's how the theater makes money.

Second of all: it comes out of the machine and seriously, it is the smallest tampon I've ever seen in my life. It's a Barbie tampon. It's not like I'm plugging the Grand Canyon, but seriously, this shouldn't have even been called a tampon. It was like a Q-Tip. I paid a dollar for a Q-Tip.

It saved me for the 2 hours I spent watching Fever Pitch which had cute moments but overall wasn't that great and we all know that was really just an excuse to get to the theater and buy my 9:30am May 19 Revenge of the Sith tickets.

Recent top 10 list for searches ending up at my page:

ozzy   
soaked
bad plastic surgery pictures  
cranberries   
george cousins
hemp  
orcas-books olympia   
agoura chargers       
agoura hills dance    
baby racoon crying

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Any guesses to what "baby racoon crying" was looking for?

I have my last dvd from ANGEL and tonight I watched the series finale, which I have already seen (actually 2x) and I STILL shed a few tears when [key character] died. And if you know the show, you know that most likely everybody died at the end (and if not, sorry for the spoilers but why have you waited this long to watch it?). So how many times are you allowed to shed tears for one show?

You know I get nervous in front of groups. Even just telling a joke to more than 2 people makes me nervous, and leading yoga class, even in front of people I know, is an excruciating experience.

I have this memory of being in band (no, not that "this one time, at band camp") and we had testing . . . at least a couple times a year and you had to play by yourself in front of the whole class and this was pure torture for me. Dread beyond measure.

And I remember that feeling. The same one after your boyfriend dumped you, which I also became quite acquainted with, where you woke up in the morning and you felt okay for about 3 seconds and then you remembered, something was wrong. And then it hit you like a far flung 2x4 to the forehead: omigod, we have band testing today (OR, omigod, my boyfriend totally ditched my ass, what's wrong with me?).

This was the feeling I had after the Angel episode where Angel became human after this demon blood touched him and he and Buffy got to have moments of real human bliss but then Angel had to be changed back into a vampire and only he would remember his day of bliss with Buffy and he had to tell Buffy that she wouldn't remember and she insisted tearfully that she would remember but then she didn't.

It was so tragic and even the next day I was depressed about it.

The new office is on the 18th floor. We've only been there 2 months and already people have come to wash the windows inside and out. I don't know if it was the same people.

I have a little vertigo problem with heights. Nothing that prevents me from enjoying my office but when the guys were hanging off the side of the building washing the windows, I couldn't even look at them without feeling like I had to throw up.

Also, I'm not sure they washed anything. They were out there and back and forth but the window looks every bit as dirty as it did the first day I looked out of it. I know I said I couldn't watch, but wouldn't I have heard a squeegee or that squeaky sound windows make when you rub them with a damp towel?

I came in one morning and all my toys were moved on the window sill. I thought maybe I did something wrong and toys against the window were some sort of security problem or might compromise the integrity of the glass. When I mentioned later that my toys had been moved, I was informed that people came in to do the windows.

The next time I was in the lunch room I saw a memo taped to the door that announced the inside windows were going to be cleaned and I was sad to realize that I'm now one of those people who doesn't even bother reading the memo.

The view I have is down Second.



Almost every day I see an emergency vehicle stopped on second with its light flashing. Almost every day. I think it's a government building. In fact, I know it's a government building because one day a bunch of protesters set up shop right there in the middle of the street.

We could see the protest from the window and watch the helicopters circle and then load up the "live feed" on the Internet and watch the footage. How meta is that?

Sometimes when I'm writing a memo for work, it's hard not to inject my editorial comments. If it's in-house, I might occasionally sneak something in, or at least in the first draft, but given the general situation, it's easier to stick with the facts.

Last week I wrote a memo summarizing the State Department's new passport requirement which they are calling: the Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative.

I know. Come on.

And you know they probably had to form a committee and fly people across the country half a dozen times and schedule some retreats, all on tax payer dollars, to come up with that name.

I bet somewhere, there's a disgruntled employee, like a Second Assistant Transitions and Speculations Analyst Specialist, Level 4 (DON'T forget the level 4, or you'll get a phone call ... ), who's sulking because his title: the Pan-Global Special Documentation Directive, didn't make the cut.

Bob sent me the URL today for Darth Vader's Blog. I groaned when I saw it because all these pretend blogs and spoof blogs are old news and usually stupid. Of course I laughed when I finally peeked. An excerpt:

Tonight I have excused myself from the technical debrief of yesterday's assault on Dantooine, opting instead to remain on the bridge meditating on the stars. The force brings to me every whisper of the officers as they wonder at my state. Can any of them know what it is like?

They could never know what it is like to find out you still have a son, a stranger to you, lost amid the squalid systems of the outer rim and counted as a hero by your enemies.

Tomorrow I may strangle General Veers.

Not long ago, when this particular issue was all over the news, I told Bob that under no circumstances was I ever to be kept alive in a vegetative state. If there is anything meaningful in my eyes, it's because I'm saying: "Teleport me off this rock." If I can't eat chocolate chip cookies and guzzle a $10 bottle of Pinot Noir (probably not at the same time), and I can't handle the remote control or enjoy the sunset, I'm not sure I need to stay in the physical body.

I'm not going to explain my belief system here but I'm certain that what awaits beyond this life is a lot better than a feeding tube and a breathing machine.

That said, I also informed Bob that should anything tragic happen to me before May 19 that he was to keep me alive no matter what, wheel whatever is left of me into the theater, tape my eyes open and once the credits have finished rolling, THEN he may pull the plug.

I went to get a bang trim (this sounds sort of nasty so to clarify: it refers to getting my bangs cut shorter) today and the salon is across the street from the theater where I will be at 9:30am on May 19 to see my movie for the first time and I was so involved thinking about that moment that I almost missed the turn and had to swerve real quick.

Man, netflix burped.

I have a Wonderfalls disc (super fantastic show that only aired 4 episodes. It's hilarious and worth your time and effort), a Buffy disc which includes one of the best episodes ever, Hush which includes Joss commentary track. The very last Angel disc which is concurrently tragic and a relief. Gotta get on with my life.

Then we have household hero Almodovar film Bad Education which we've been sitting on. Tonight we finished Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. So basically every single disc in the house is something for me to watch.

I just went through the queue and fixed it so the next 6 movies are Bob things. I have to get caught up and I need to do other things. I ditched the last 2 episodes of Alias (no big loss there) but we've got season finales coming up next month and I don't want a bunch of discs piled up as well.

RE: Harold and Kumar

We watched about 30 minutes of this the other night and although we chuckled out loud a couple of times we were tempted to stick it back in the envelope. We finished watching it tonight and I have to say, it's really stupid, but it's really hilarious. Probably not for everyone, but seriously, after a long day and a couple glasses of refreshing adult beverages. You'll laugh out loud.

You know I'm trying to be a good sport about this public transportation thing and I keep telling myself I don't really hate it but it majorly sucks ass.

This morning I could see the train coming up as I pulled into the parking lot (this after some nightmare from hell clog getting on the freeway -- it took 20 minutes to just get on the freeway) so I flung away my dignity and ran up to the platform. And nothing makes a girl feel sexier than running to catch a train with a backpack filled with yoga clothes bouncing off her shoulder and a sack filled with plastic cartons holding lunch bumping off her knees.

I made it but only because I didn't validate my ticket. So at the next stop I looked for the ticket validator and didn't see it so I stayed on the train. At the next stop I got off, found the validator and by the time I was ready to get back on, doors closing. SOL. Sit there for 10 minutes.

It sucks. It's almost worth paying the $500+ for the annual pass just so I don't have to dick with the tickets. The reason I don't go for the monthly or annual pass is because with the 4-day work week, doesn't make $en$e.

Tomorrow I'm taking a writing workshop with goddess and personal heroine Lynda Barry at Lewis and Clark College. It starts at 9am and I did the homework on the Trimet website and looks like a holy mothereffer pain in the ass journey. Car to park-n-ride, train to downtown, bus #1 to whatever then get off and find other bus to L&C. And according to the schedule they come only like once, every other lifetime.

Public transportation makes me cranky.

This is a Yellow Line Train to City Center
I've been taking the light rail to work for almost 2 months now.

I thought I would get a better idea of the rhythm of the thing, but so far, not so much. Twice recently there was a train sitting there as I drove up which means there is no way I will make it. If I notice a lot of people on the platform as I drive up, that's my clue to hurry because there will probably be a train any moment. If the platform's empty then I take my time since I probably just missed one.

The platform has a digital sign and a recorded voice that says things like "yellow train to city center expected to arrive in 7 minutes." I've learned that this has little basis in reality and is almost never correct. Also sometimes when a train comes in it sets off an alarm that warns "You have violated a secure area. Leave immediately. Authorities have been called." I'm sure.

Once I'm on the train it's about 25 minutes. I use the time to read and found that magazines make the best material. I can get through The Week in one round trip. Novels are harder because of the stop and start and my not-optimal concentration. I just read House Made of Dawn and struggled with it a bit and ended up reading the cheat notes online because my comprehension wasn't all there.

The crowd on the train is commuters, lots of kids going to school and some sketchy types. Especially when I'm riding home later on yoga night. I've been fare checked twice, witnessed a scary domestic dispute, smelled more than a few folks that I would encourage to try out bathing and heard a lot of really inane 1-sided cellphone blather.

I don't hate it but I don't love it either. I have more to say but as usual, running late. Bye.

I was inspired by Marc's Museum of Hair so I've been saving Pam hair pictures hoping to put together my own bad hair on parade. I pulled together what I have for now and threw something together here. Obviously I need to fix it and attach stories plus I'm missing some primo bad hair like the Farrah type doo from 7th grade and I don't have many red hair pictures and I can't find even a black hair picture. Plenty more to come but at least a little entertainment for today.

Yesterday Bob and I went up to Evergreen to an art event at the Longhouse. The event wasn't actually at the Longhouse but at the Gallery and the card I got in the mail said that Lillian Pitt, Larry McNeil and Jim Jackson were going to be speaking plus other Indian art in the exhibit.

We drove up in the afternoon and when we got there we saw cousin Bari's (BG) art was part of the exhibit. BG had done an artist residency up at Evergreen last year and gave us one of her pieces on her way home. We have it hanging in our living room. We didn't even clue-in that this exhibit was including her work until we got there so we were pretty excited to see it. All the speakers were fantastic, too. Very talented, amazing artists. I left quite inspired.

Also this week I started reading these books I was talking about. I started Hotel World by Ali Smith which I have wanted to read forever and almost bought more than once and geez, I didn't even make 10 pages. I swear I read multiple great reviews which said things like "luminous first novel." Well if that means: unreadable, okay. It's another one of those Lovely Bones, dead person telling you about something except in this case without benefit of the complete sentences and coherent thoughts that I prefer in my reading material. I can't believe we live in a world where Little Friday can barely get read and this book gets rave reviews.

My final whine of the evening will be about this article I read in The Week that talked about women CEOs and why more women aren't in top coporate/leadership/power positions and if there is any hope that this will change in the future. Turns out, a lot of women end up out of the work place because they're taking care of their families, as if this might be a bad thing. Why don't we read more articles about male CEOs who want to spend more time with their families?

I'm going to go eat that last piece of coconut cream pie.

(Yes loyal readers, I know. I barely posted anything for two weeks and now I post about 10 things in one day and change the dates so it looks like I'm keeping up on a regular basis. It's not you, it's me.)

This morning I caught up on my Neal Pollack. I would provide links to earlier mentions of him but that search item on the top bar of this blog is a fiction and I can't remember when I talked about him. He's the one that inspired me to take on the 50 book challenge. (If you haven't been keeping up, I'm reading book #15 now. I've been meaning to annotate my book list but can't seem to get that far.)

Neal writes:
It depresses me, as I've taken on this 50 Book Challenge for no good reason, to look at, say, Bookslut, who's on something like her 35th book, and most of those books are actually current and interesting and haven't been sitting in a pile by her desk since the winter of 2003. link

My general sentiment, except the books in my pile have been crammed on the shelves sometimes since winter of oh, 1997. I'm clearing out a lot of old stuff.

On Friday I sort of cheated and did a library run for some fresh stuff and checked out books that have been on my list since oh, 1997.

I like prunes. I buy them plain in big tubs or flavored in foil bags -- but not the cherry essence. Those taste like cough syrup. I like my prunes after dinner for something sweet.

Apparently, America isn't consuming enough prunes. Perhaps the youth of today thinks of this a food for old people who need to keep their digestive systems moving.

Recently they (you know, "they" in this case probably some Prune Association of America) decided to rename them "dried plums." Also if you look at the picture of the fruit on the bag, it shaped less round and more pear-like, but juicy fresh (because of course they can't put the dried prune looking picture on the bag.)

The other night I read the bag for some reason and looks like the expert marketing committee behind this great re-imaging of the prune has been working over time. These are actual quotes (and punctuation, but I'm too proud to recreate the bold, extra large fonts for you) from the bag:

"Way, way, way more nutritious! Using the Nutrition Density Index (NDX™) you can compare "apples to oranges", and Dried Plums to all other fruits. When you do, you'll find that compared to fresh fruit: Dried Plums Rule!"

"Dried Plums are so nutritious, people send us amazing testimonials! Read these remarkable accounts at Amazing Testimonials.com" [Hey, I checked the link and they're under construction. Not too late to send in your testimonials.]

"Tuck some in your purse, briefcase, lunch box, or even your pocket (try that with fresh fruit); [ ] Dried Plums won't ever bruise! Dried Plums are "the ultimate fruit" for today's on-the-go lifestyles."

Doesn't it sound like they're trying too hard?

I've read about this once in Cooks Illustrated and once in FoodDay in the Oregonian.

Both sources said that if you had leftover red wine that you wouldn't be drinking, you could put it in ice cube trays in your freezer and then transfer the cubes into a ziplock bag and these would be handy for flavoring when you made sauce or soups. (This isn't an April Fool's joke.)

I recently had some red wine that I didn't finish and thought I'd try this trick. I appropriated a couple of ice cube trays and left a big note on the freezer so Bob wouldn't freak out when he found them.

I had some stuff going on so I didn't get to them for a couple of days but when I finally got ready to transfer them I found that they were a wee bit slushy. Well, that's to be expected, right? Alcohol doesn't freeze like water.

As I transfered them to the bag they disintegrated further and now I have a ziplock bag filled with winey slush in my freezer.

My question is, what did I do wrong?