Last week, right before school started and my nerves were fraught and frayed, and on a night when my kids had woken me up a bit (not used to that anymore), and so on, I had a weird middle of the night phone call. I think it came at 4 am. Then an odd text from the same number "Sorry, my sister f---ed up".
Ok, so whoever called me accidentally
1) has my phone number saved
OR
2) has a friend with a number very similar to mine and mis-dialed
AND
has a sister.
Sorry to have put you through my initial deductive work unnecessarily but I looked at the number and wanted to smack myself. You know, you can delete a number but that doesn't mean that person will delete yours! I guess it seems like when stuff ends badly that's a given, but apparently it's not.
So, yeah. Got another mystery call last night/this morning. It's 3 am and I am in a happy place, right? And I get a call I ignore. They leave a voicemail I am unaware of until 7 am. They call back 5 min after the first call and I pick up on autopilot (BTW me on sleepy autopilot is about as funny and stupid as it gets) and he proceeds to identify himself as the friend of the owner of the recognizable phone number. A friend I was acquainted with 10 years ago.
AND THEY TRY TO MAKE PLANS WITH ME. FOR RIGHT THEN.
"Uh, I have class in Tampa, IN THE MORNING. I think maybe you have the wrong number?"
Ok, the next person who wants to call me and disturb my R.E.M. OH BOY I am going to have words with you.
And I thought B had been kinda pushing it when he called at 11 last night...
Showing posts with label elvish magic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label elvish magic. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
it's too early for this kind of nonsense
BUT I AM SEARCHING HIGH AND LOW for the stupid title to the stupid broken down Saturn. Because I get to sell it today for 200 stupid dollars. And, get this, I have been searching since before 5 am.
Ha, that's funny, my alarm just went off on my phone, and I've already listened to 4 albums while searching and cleaning and going through random crap.
Tell me, WHY the F--- don't I know where this stupid little piece of paper is??? Argh!!!!!!
I'm so cranky about this. I hate being disorganized, and I was actually getting quite on top of things until two small brunette whirlwinds tore through my room the other day and upended a few boxes of stuff I had salvaged from the Saturn all over the floor... and the title was in there. And now, it is NOWHERE. :(
I want a sugar fix. I want this to all go away.
When do I ever wake up at 5 am??
I'll tell you when, that's an easy one: When I have a plane to catch, or someone I love has a plane to catch, or when Brian convinces me it's a good idea to wake up at 5 to go ride 30 freakin miles by bike (in the cold).
Ha, that's funny, my alarm just went off on my phone, and I've already listened to 4 albums while searching and cleaning and going through random crap.
Tell me, WHY the F--- don't I know where this stupid little piece of paper is??? Argh!!!!!!
I'm so cranky about this. I hate being disorganized, and I was actually getting quite on top of things until two small brunette whirlwinds tore through my room the other day and upended a few boxes of stuff I had salvaged from the Saturn all over the floor... and the title was in there. And now, it is NOWHERE. :(
I want a sugar fix. I want this to all go away.
Friday, January 9, 2009
I don't know how to explain this
Something is going on with me.
If this is what happens when someone you love f--k's you over big time, then bring it on. My perspective on this isn't just seeing the silver lining in the situation... I really know things are better this way! Woo!
I've had The Golden Touch in the kitchen for the past two weeks- nothing ruined, burnt, dropped, or chipped. Pretty amazing considering how clumsy I can be sometimes.
My house is clean. Well, the downstairs is, anyways.
I've COMPLETED two knitting projects in three weeks.
My intuition feels really strong right now. And my sense of smell is out of this world.
I've written more pages in my novel (apparently I'm writing a novel) this week than I have all year.
Oh, and I'm making a modern art mobile, just because I HAVE to. Helen asked me about my inspiration, and I literally had no answer, it was just something I needed to do.
Plus, it's been nearly a week since I did my nails and I haven't chipped any of the polish.
If this is what happens when someone you love f--k's you over big time, then bring it on. My perspective on this isn't just seeing the silver lining in the situation... I really know things are better this way! Woo!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Nostalgia bit me on the behind, over at Memarie Lane
My friend, Memarie, did some digging in a box of high school memorabilia and her findings made me think about those days of yore.
It really wasn't all that long ago that I was a teenager; we had internet access in some of our savvier teachers' classrooms, low rise jeans, cell phones, spinal meningitis scares, and Columbine. Can you spot me in this sea of faces?
But it was long enough ago to feel like I could forget it all, if I'm not careful. Sort of like the answers to questions about how old your child was when they did x, y, or z. I really don't remember how old Conner was the first time he held a toy or slept through the night. Too much else has been jumbled into the too small mental storage space I have to work with. Insignificant facts from high school seem to have been lost in the fog, as well.
Why do some things stand out in my mind, like it was yesterday? Is it the emotional quotient?
Anyways, I feel inspired to regale you with a tale of mortification!
I was 17. This was a time of complete wierdness for me; I wore "wierd" cropped pants (capri pants enter as a fad, just a year later) and wrote some decent poetry with metaphors that I actually appreciated more when I re-read my work a few years later. I was very "esoteric" and reading way too much. Besides, my choice of literature was, er, different.
Ginsburg, Carlos Castaneda, Timothy Leary, Albert Camus, Kafka, Jim Morrison, James Joyce, Leo Tolstoy, and Anais Nin topped my library bill.
Did I mention I was also having problems with basic repsonsibility and remembering things from day to day? At 17, I was lucky if I remembered to GO to school, much less to return library books!
Right around the end of my senior year was when I "became a woman", so to speak and the experience had a huge impact on me. I was so happy that I had waited until then, feeling very in touch with my burgeoning adulthood.
Thankfully, memories from that specific time in my life don't evade me too much. But maybe it helps with the remembering that I ended up living in that same house, with the same man, smelling the same roses every day as I came and went. I recently unearthed a photo of my son, as an infant, wrapped in the same quilt that had been on the bed THAT day, years before, when I was almost 18, done being a child (and almost done with high school & with being so wierd and esoteric).
Well, enough setting the scene, and onto the embarrassing part:
I had a teacher, the grey and wizened Dr. E, whom I found really inspiring. He was controversial and wierd and well-read. He'd let us sit in the hall outside his class with thick volumes if we felt like reading instead of going to some nonsense-class.
One day I had (no doubt, distractedly) been journaling/poetry-writing on the back of a research paper outline I had to turn in to Dr. E. And what I had written was pretty licentious, albeit creative. Interestingly, his note on my paper advised me to continue to write- on my own time!
Ok, now the story is preserved for posterity. My work here is done.
It really wasn't all that long ago that I was a teenager; we had internet access in some of our savvier teachers' classrooms, low rise jeans, cell phones, spinal meningitis scares, and Columbine. Can you spot me in this sea of faces?But it was long enough ago to feel like I could forget it all, if I'm not careful. Sort of like the answers to questions about how old your child was when they did x, y, or z. I really don't remember how old Conner was the first time he held a toy or slept through the night. Too much else has been jumbled into the too small mental storage space I have to work with. Insignificant facts from high school seem to have been lost in the fog, as well.
Why do some things stand out in my mind, like it was yesterday? Is it the emotional quotient?
Anyways, I feel inspired to regale you with a tale of mortification!
I was 17. This was a time of complete wierdness for me; I wore "wierd" cropped pants (capri pants enter as a fad, just a year later) and wrote some decent poetry with metaphors that I actually appreciated more when I re-read my work a few years later. I was very "esoteric" and reading way too much. Besides, my choice of literature was, er, different.
Ginsburg, Carlos Castaneda, Timothy Leary, Albert Camus, Kafka, Jim Morrison, James Joyce, Leo Tolstoy, and Anais Nin topped my library bill.
Did I mention I was also having problems with basic repsonsibility and remembering things from day to day? At 17, I was lucky if I remembered to GO to school, much less to return library books!
Right around the end of my senior year was when I "became a woman", so to speak and the experience had a huge impact on me. I was so happy that I had waited until then, feeling very in touch with my burgeoning adulthood.
Thankfully, memories from that specific time in my life don't evade me too much. But maybe it helps with the remembering that I ended up living in that same house, with the same man, smelling the same roses every day as I came and went. I recently unearthed a photo of my son, as an infant, wrapped in the same quilt that had been on the bed THAT day, years before, when I was almost 18, done being a child (and almost done with high school & with being so wierd and esoteric).
Well, enough setting the scene, and onto the embarrassing part:
I had a teacher, the grey and wizened Dr. E, whom I found really inspiring. He was controversial and wierd and well-read. He'd let us sit in the hall outside his class with thick volumes if we felt like reading instead of going to some nonsense-class.
One day I had (no doubt, distractedly) been journaling/poetry-writing on the back of a research paper outline I had to turn in to Dr. E. And what I had written was pretty licentious, albeit creative. Interestingly, his note on my paper advised me to continue to write- on my own time!
Ok, now the story is preserved for posterity. My work here is done.
Monday, July 7, 2008
editorial note
Wow. That last post had no transition between topics at all.
Geez.
Today, work was pretty good, considering I LOCKED MY KEYS in my car. Thankfully, I was on delivery to my kids (who needed pizza, bc their dad has a sore throat). So, I sat inside with them and got some stuff sorted out regarding un-locking the car, and then H gave me a ride back to work, so I could help close up shop and cash out.
Helen is a true fairy-adopted-sister because she came out there, while I was at work and had AAA undo the mischief, and then I got a ride back over there with friends at the end of the night.
It did rain quite a bit today. Monsoon pizza day. Yes, driving like that is nerve wracking, but I am always up for hours spent listening to the radio.
And on Sundays, I tend to learn stuff.
Ok, go listen to Studio 360 now, go!
Run!
Geez.
Today, work was pretty good, considering I LOCKED MY KEYS in my car. Thankfully, I was on delivery to my kids (who needed pizza, bc their dad has a sore throat). So, I sat inside with them and got some stuff sorted out regarding un-locking the car, and then H gave me a ride back to work, so I could help close up shop and cash out.
Helen is a true fairy-adopted-sister because she came out there, while I was at work and had AAA undo the mischief, and then I got a ride back over there with friends at the end of the night.
It did rain quite a bit today. Monsoon pizza day. Yes, driving like that is nerve wracking, but I am always up for hours spent listening to the radio.
And on Sundays, I tend to learn stuff.
Ok, go listen to Studio 360 now, go!
Run!
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