PlazaJen: Passion Knit

I'm trying to imagine my aged self, recollectin' and chillin' and throwing lines like "Ay yi yi, it's the motherfucking D-R-E, Dr. Dre, motherfucker!" when I'm sitting in the social room with my other knittin' bizatches. It sounds strange, but I can see it.

I'm on a HUGE learning curve this week. I won't sugar-coat it, if I don't think I'm going to use a particular knowledge, my brain doesn't bother. I've got so many ideas & craziness floating around in there, it doesn't need anything else. But obviously, I need to learn the car stuff. So I've been doing that. Then, my work peep gives me a nice lesson in iTunes & how I can listen to other people's music at the office, and so I'm sitting her rockin' out to Dr. Dre (motherfucker) Chronic 2001, courtesy of one of my homies. I have two awesome stand-out memories with this album, and I hope they stay with me until I die, because when I listen to the music & see those moments, it's like turning a light on inside & I smile, and feel great affection for my friends and amusement at the situation. (Part of the amusement is that I'm listening to Dr. Dre in hte first place.) The first memory is JWo and I listening to it in my old apartment on the plaza, and playing dominoes. Good, good times. The second is when Liz, Ashley & I rolled out to the company picnic with it cranked, and we all had bad attitudes and it was just so funny & fitting and SO not the personality of that agency/the owner/most of the employees. Mmmmm or really three white gals from the Midwest, but please. Disagree & I bust a cap in yo ass.

Speaking of fitting in, it's a funny thing, isn't it? We get such pressure and influence to be a part of something, and yet we reward & laud independence and creativity and standing out from the crowd. Being different can be the most demonized and also the most lauded characteristic in a human being. Most of the people I hang out with and adore are not cookie-cutter type folks - and I'm getting in a minivan with five of them tomorrow morning! :) I hope they'll let me play some rap music on our drive.....

If my driving in the new car is any indication, I'm entering my twilight years. I think I finally started to relax the last five minutes of my drive home tonight. It's not that the Murano is THAT much bigger than the Civic? It's the combination of about ten things: I feel like a rock star in it (an 80-year-old rock star), I think everyone should be looking at my car because it IS so pretty, I can't tell where the front of my car actually ends, I am still getting the rythym of the acceleration and braking, the car does not even require I put a key INTO it, which is very discombobulating, and sometimes I think the car could be smarter than me.
Nah. I will never yield to the machines!

But I have been a gingerly-ginger driver & I look forward to getting more comfortable in it. It's beautiful. I promise, I'll get some pictures, but I've had deadlines, people.

Which brings us to Manic. Hm. Yes, tonight had something of "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" quality to it, as I realized it was going to rain. So I told the Wo I was going to pull the dog crates that had been in my dad's truck into the garage. And I went into the garage and started to clear room. Once that was started, it only made sense to make enough room for the new car, too. Shesus. JWo thought I was upstairs crafting and he finally came looking for me & discovered me, filthy & sweaty, going a million miles an hour. So we got everything in the garage, after dinner I did some decluttering & cleaning, and then I finished the umpteen yards of pompom trim sewing, did the iron-ons, filled up bags with goodies, and multi-tasked like crazy.
And now I'm as tired as a 92-year old woman and I best be off to bed. I promise, pictures of crafting & the car are coming. We leave bright & early Friday morning to head to the Quad Cities & I've still got to pack. And maybe find some music. And swing by the dealership to drop off one last piece of paperwork. And who knows what else I need to do. I need to squeeze some Wo snuggling in there, too.

Sounds like I need a list! I love lists. And sleeping! And taking my teeth out & putting them in my dog's mouth!
HAHAHA just kidding. Kinda.

Well, I've been up since 5 a.m. today. Not to go for a bracing constitution in the cool morning air, or even a brisk walk on the treadmill in the basement, no, not even to really clean, but to expel all my nervous energy in the general direction of South SouthCraft. Which can obviously be found south of Due West Knitting. Because I can go crazy for crafting, and nothing inspires me like a road trip with all my homies! We're caravaning (in a minivan!) to the Quad Cities to help our dear Kristin celebrate her wedding.

So I spent the morning doing some furrowed-brow sewing and laboring over different feet for the sewing machine, because I don't know about you, but I don't do a lot of pom-pom trim sewing, and yet here I am, sewing yards and yards of pompom trim and the standard presser foot says, "Hello, crazy lady who never gets up this early! I shall bunch the pom poms under my black sproingy thing and you shall furrow your brow and stick yourself with the pearl-topped pins in frustration!" So I gave up with the sewing and decided to take the factory-approach, and just start pinning and deal with the sewing later. Oh, and let's just note for the record that I'm not sewing with regular thread. No. Metallic polyester and that took several go-rounds to thread 'er up. But it's strong! And shiny! And we love shiny.

Then I spent my lunch making another crafty item. I brought tools and supplies from home and I think I scared my boss who dared to come in to my office over lunch and ask me to get him tickets to a concert. Frankly, I don't mind getting him tickets, but the requests do make me laugh. It's like people think we get tickets to EVERYthing and if we don't, we just bend over and print them out our ass. But that's dessert talk. Anyhoo, I got most everything done, at least for those who are travelling, and I promise, I'll put up pictures of ALL of this once they've been gifted, because it's kind of a surprise, even though all of my travelling companions read my blog. HI! Start drawing straws RIGHT NOW for the privilege to sit next to ME for 6 hours each way!

Speaking of shiny objects, why the nervous energy? Oh I guess it's because we bought a NEW CAR!!!! Come on DOWN! Last night the Wo and I drove and haggled and sat for a long time and then signed a whole bunch of papers, and we pick it up tonight, and yes, it's a 2006 Nissan Murano, dark blue, tan interior (and amusingly I wrote to someone "leather interior, as opposed to that leather exterior", because nothing says luxury like a burnished leather car.) I am a little agog, a little nervous, a lot excited, and now I have to clean out the garage again.

CIRCLE OF LIFE people. It always leads back to the goddamn garage.

In the quiet, in the dark
When the sadness rushes in
No distractions or obligations
To push it away.

"Time" they say, knowingly.
And I know that They Know.
Time will heal you.
It takes time.
Time is your best friend.

Time time time time time time time time time time time

Don't they see?
All I have
Is this time, only time,
And with each passing day
Makes the point where you stopped
So much further away.

My truth is a prison
Walled in by sharp rock
That only cuts me
When I try to break out.

All these lessons,
All these truths.
All my tears,
All this time.

I hope they are right.

The women who handle the ActionLine for Kansas City.

Can I just say, every time I've called them? They have rocked my world and been very helpful. (Now, one time I got sent on to Sewer and they said I needed to talk to Water, who shipped me back to Sewer, and it took several months to attend to a water pipeline leak on a major street, but I blame those departments, not ActionLine.) They talk to you like you are a sister. SISTER. One of them. And that is, right there, reason to call them every day. Helpful is just the beginning of how they answer the phone. They laugh, they tell you about their dogs, they sympathize and they give it to you straight.

To date though, it's my friend Beth who got the best response, in regards to the witches on her street (and I say witches, I mean yes, they cast spells and have a hulking "familiar") who rummage through everyone's recycling and make a mess: "Girl. She CRAZY."

I have a feeling if the ActionLine ladies were running the city, we'd get a lot more done.....

My spirits are a little better today, despite my continued fishbowl-state with Le Grande HeadColde. It's like when you were little, and you were really, super-duper puking-up sick, and then by the third day, you could sit up and watch TV (if you had one, which I didn't, so I just played with a stick and a rag and read 800 books) and you got to eat a little sherbet and people were cheerful and not so worried about you and talked about when you would be ready to go back to school? That's what today's like for me. And I've discovered that when people call me? I BRAY AT THEM. Like a mule. Cheerfully braying, with my excessively nasal voice and gasping because I still sorta have to breathe through my mouth, which is UBER sexy. I've had my two least-favorite reps call me today, I've dealt with car dealers, and everything's been handled at a very high volume with an undercurrent of "wheeze". Interestingly, I'm more inclined to talk to those who annoy when I'm sick, mostly because I seem to have lost my filter, and I say whatever in hell I want.

At one point, I even expounded on the remarkable ability of football players because not only do they have to memorize all their plays/maneuvers? They get knocked down and hurt and STILL come back and remember where they're supposed to run. I'm not saying they should get Nobel Peace Prizes or nothin', but I know if someone clotheslined me in the parking garage, I sure as hell wouldn't remember where I was going, let alone what the F-12 running play involved. That and I have to have "offsides kick" re-defined for me every season. Sigh. I wish I could blame the cold, but it's just plain empty-headedness. I do have the hand signal for HOLDING down pat though.

So, I'm a-brayin' and feeling a bit more cheerful. Tired as a mule (don't even call me an ass) and for god's sake, don't ever call me Jenny.

I stopped at Target this morning on my way to work, to procure a new lamp (because working in the Heart of Darkness has gotten depressing), and purchase every cold remedy and medicine that promises to eradicate my snuffles sooner. I was unable to purchase the kinds of medicine you take the little hard plastic card to the pharmacy, because the pharmacy was closed. I was also very disappointed that they did not have a wide selection of Theraflu.

I settled on Airborne, two types of Cold-Eeze lozenges (clinically proven to end your cold sooner!), Tylenol Severe Cold Daytime, and Theraflu Severe Cold Nighttime. I probably have enough zinc in me right now to pop pennies out my nose. (Did you know the copper penny is made primarily of zinc? There you have it. Dazzle your friends with exceptionally useful trivia.)

One of these items apparently triggered the checkout girl to ask for my I.D. However, before I could even react, she said, "Ah, no. Never mind, don't worry about it." (When I have a cold, I feel like I'm in an underwater tank and the rest of the world is moving at high-speed.) I asked her why, and she said that she didn't understand why someone needing medicine was supposed to be carded, and that she was supposed to check for ID if you looked (something) 40 years old. Now, even in my fog, my curiousity gets piqued, and I said, "Over or under 40?" (wondering, have they profiled the meth-cooker? What is the demographic breakdown? All the mug shots I've seen of meth-related criminals on the TV illustrate that meth ages you RAPIDLY. It is not kind to the skin, first of all, and you might be 25 but hooked on meth, you look like a 50-year-old battling cancer.) She replied, "Under 40, I'm supposed to card." She went on to be dismissive of the rule and sympathetic to my cold.

Huh.

I have some choices here. Either I look well over 40? Or I don't fit the meth-addict-cooker profile. Or I had a really apathetic (or sensible) cashier. I think I'll take any explanations except the first one.

Oh, yes, it's Talk Like A Pirate Day. Someday we'll finally get that Swear Like A Sailor Day approved, and I can have one day of shoutin' ye ol' FUCKS and ASSWIPES and PIGFUCKERS about without fear of offendin'. Meanwhile, I continue to swear heartily with a swipe of discretion and sometimes I just have to yell "Sorry!"

Let's see. Is it possible to eat too much sushi? I think not. We dined at a restaurant yesterday with reps, and it was not-so-good sushi. Not as in, AHOY! These rolls have washed ashore ripe and not fer eatin'! But as in, I have had so much better, and these are a disappointment. Iffin' you want perspective, I had some grocery store sushi today - eel and California roll - and it was better than what we had yesterday. Ah yes, the horizon just fell into place for you there, didn't it?

Speaking of perspective, it truly was one of my least favorite assignments in my art classes back in ye old day, when I was a spry pirate and didn't care that a studio art major meant NOTHING to the outside world, wherein the outside world equals a real paycheck. I just saw nothing enjoyable about using a RULER for "drawing". I didn't do badly at it, but I didn't put my best hook forward, as it were, and I would have some criticism from my prof for the third-street-over not quite matching up to the horizon point. And my other pet peeve is when people spell it "prospective". NO! You are whacked on the knuckles. Or worse - the terrifying scene from that Jack London book where Cookie gets dragged behind the ship & a shark eats his foot.

This may explain today's ramblings: I believe I have the makings of a cold, which is lovely, to be the Snuffling Pirate today. I may go home a smidge early and have a lie-down. Can you imagine how hard it would be to blow your nose with a hook for a hand? Hello, nose piercings.

OK, I think we've covered enough terrain in my crazy brain for you to move on to the next blog safely. Enjoy. ARRRRRRRRR.

I was not aware I-70 took you straight to Lawrence, KS. (How long have I lived here?) I have only EVER gone there via K-10, which, if you're leaving my home on the south siiiiide, makes sense. So. Imagine my surprise when I noticed on my li'l Mapquest map after I got to Lawrence that I-70 came swooping down and seemed to kiss it on the forehead. Huh. Would have probably cut about 20 minutes off my drive, because I was Up North, which amuses me to capitalize it, because living in Minneapolis meant there was a universal term, "Up North", which meant going to one of the million lakes and most likely a cabin. The term was so universal, they sell sweatshirts with "Up North" on 'em.

I was, as I was saying, Up North, and so I decided I should get on I-35 and take that to I-435 to catch K-10. (This is so fucking fascinating for all of you who don't live here, isn't it?) ANYway, I'm just recapping my weekend, and basically I spent a lot of time driving on Saturday - up to see my friend Roger, we had lunch, I then headed off to Lawrence for a baby shower (my dear friend Ashley) and then back home again, home again, ladybug. I believe I was gone for a total of seven hours. The wind was beastly, and the sensation of being in the car, along with the buffeting of the wind, was still in my body when I went to sleep. Again, I realize: FASCINATING.

This is the glamorous life. Today? Spent mostly in pj's, crying in my beer as the Chiefs lost in overtime, stomping my feet outside Einstein's for closing early (motherfuckers)(I had gotten dressed though), and knitting a pair of socks for my stepmom. There is no car news (woe, woe is me. I weep, I gnash my teeth, I even bore myself now, the routine is so familiar...) There are no big exciting meetings this week (thankfully). I shall have to take pictures of my socks (and their conversations) for the blog this week, because other than that, there's not loads of anything exciting and new...... except it's premiere week & my poor DVR is going to be smokin', as I preview some of the new shows and decide whether I should watch them long-term - and whether they are going to have enough of an audience to warrant buying them for my clients. We watched the Amazing Race premiere tonight, and if you watched - and didn't tear up at Sarah climbing that wall with her prosthetic leg? - than you are hard-core and probably won't like reading this blog and you, my friend, should drive to Lawrence on horseback.

There's probably a trail. For my Amish friends. And it's still probably faster than my route. SHEESH.

...why I married him.....

(running narration from the Wo who was driving home today)

"Get out of the WAY you motherfucking crippled bastard! Jesus! He's got 8 car lengths, (splutter) GO! OH my god he's got a fucking KNOB on his steering wheel."

Ahhhhh, road rage. We're such a matched set.

I think it's a perfect metaphor for this week - I came in to work this morning and discovered someone had snapped my lamps from the post. SWELL.
Photgraphic Evidence of the Crime, CSI-style:


Oddly enough, all I've done is shake my head and shrug my shoulders. I think I'm all full-up on getting mad and being upset. I did send an email out that we would be investigating the crime, and nobody should leave town. However, it's much easier to just blame the cleaning people - everyone's favorite patsy, right? The last place I worked, they stole a lot of fruit from my neighbor.

However, despite the considerably darker environment, I have had more positive things outweighing everything else - before I even got to my office, my boss pulled me in to pass along a client compliment - without overindulging and going on and on, the client basically wanted to know why Kristin & I didn't work more on his business and that we were very creative and very smart. Yay! And I adored him before I knew it was mutual, isn't it great when it works out like that? And, second, yesterday I sent faxes to two Nissan dealerships, because the car guy I was working with didn't call me AGAIN (and listen, if you tell me you're going to call me? And don't? Then I have to take a page from the pop culture book "He's Just Not That Into You", and assume I'm not important. Nor is my checkbook.) And one dealership has already responded with a phone call, and an email. Not pushy, just friendly and indicating that he's working on a list of cars. Hey! Novel. Service. Such a simple word.

I must get back to working by candlelight and scraping the wax off my mouse. (Oh, dear, that sounds ..... provocative?)

I've had one of those rock-m, sock-m headaches today that Just! Won't! Quit! with a frickin' vengeance. The Headache Gnome has been ignored long enough and now he's riding a dirt bike around the inside of my cranium, much like the stunt riders at the circus ride their dirt bikes inside a large metal cage.
So that really only leaves me one choice: Hit Gnome. A sordid, mysterious sort of gnome, who smokes unfiltered cigarettes, drinks thimbles of whiskey, and refuses to wear the pointy hat but instead dons a red do-rag. He is a Renegade. One one bicep there's a mushroom tatoo, on the other the requisite "Gnome Free or Die" with the national Gnome masonic symbol. His ride is, of course, a Harley DavidGnome. All the better to catch up with the mo-fo Headache Gnome, I say. Tear it up, buddy.

Apparently, the Imagination Gnome is hard at work today. That's good. Somebody oughta work hard, and it's not really turning out to be ME.

UPDATE (3:40 p.m.): The headache is nearly gone, and it seemed to dissipate during a meeting with the Blandest Rep Ever. Seriously, his personality was as substantive as wet tissue. I thought Kristin was going to leap on the table and flash her boobs, just to see if he would blink. (she didn't. I bet he would've.)

But I'll tell ya that the vehicle I want to buy is a 2005 or 2006 Nissan Murano:


(this is a fancy new one.)

A person I work with has one & I tested out hers - it's a pretty sweet ride. Very comfy, way roomy and I dig the elevated view without being "way up high" like you get in some SUVs. This is more of a crossover between an SUV and a sedan. But apparently, adjustable pedals are a little harder to come by. Scorpy, thanks for the compliment that I'd look good in a Mini Cooper - I think they're wonderful cars! I just think the Wo and I would look like two very large groundhogs smashed into it for road tripping. ;) And we'd have to put the dogs on the roof! LOL! So, I'm hoping something comes through on the car front soon - I'm ready to get things wrapped up!

I'm not having a great week. Or month, really. It's gotten to the point that my jaw feels like it's wired shut & I'm fighting it subconsciously. The crazy-ass neighbor across the street has decided, after 3 years, to start screaming at me about our dogs out of fear her precious feral cats she feeds (but does not take inside, collar, or immunize) might get hurt when Polly bolts to chase one of her devil cats. It's like Harriet, v.2.0. I can't drive by her house now without subtley flipping her off. (At least I'm not leaning out the window & screaming.)

Then, I'm in the limbo place, as I wait for my car dealer dude to find me exactly the vehicle I want. (I have the model picked out, I just want low miles, adjustable pedals, uh, leather, ok, fine, my list of needs & wants are not short - are you surprised?) However, even though it has been only two weeks, I am ever impatient and just want to get the deal DONE. I want to sell my dad's truck, get my new-ish car, and my dealer-dude doesn't call to update me, instead I have to call him. Of course, a more relaxed, laid-back individual would take this as an indication that it's taking some time and to just CHILL THE FUCK OUT. Well, I drove behind an individual like that yesterday, and I gave her bitch-ass the hairy eyeball when I finally passed her 20 mph ass. I don't work in that laid-back way and I need to have my base touched. TOUCH MY BASE. Don't take it naughty. I just mean that even if there's no information, telling me that? Tells me "you're working on it", not "ignoring it until your bitch ass calls me again".

It's always a weird time of year, the transition between seasons. We're in the 60's one morning, but headed for 90 by the end of the week, and then it will drop off again and we'll have a frost threat before we know it. What's the right clothing combination, what shoes, will I be sweaty at lunch, will I have to run the air in my car, how fucked up will construction be AGAIN. Work ebbs and flows and I'm reminded of how the highs in this business are balanced out by the lows. My craft room is still a mess, and I have things that need to be sewn. People who don't want to be my friend should just stop pretending. My mother's birthday is coming and I want to ignore her, except the high road always beckons, and I begrudgingly trudge it. I'm trying to eat less but sometimes I get so cranky I want to take a cheesecake and lie down in the street. Yes, the street in front of my office that takes a miracle, act of God or Mother Teresa to allow me to merge at night because the fucking Bob Mahal construction has made it painfully difficult to navigate, and add to it this week's joy: road repaving. I keep meaning to exercise and all I do is think about doing it. I feel like I have a million mosquito bites and they all want to be scratched, torn at, and yet I know that bathing in calamine lotion and letting them heal is the only right solution. I guess you could call this "cranky". That's Captain Cranky to you, you whack bitch who loves parrots and can't drive. I got yer parrot right HERE.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Miss Kristin & her fiance Justin welcomed their newest family member into their home over the weekend - meet Miss Gracie Lou, the sweetest golden retriever puppy ever, and she's just a baby. Ten weeks and the world is a giant ball of discovery, waiting just for her. I smooshed her and kissed her nose and smelled her puppy breath and I have to go back for more.
Welcome, lover pup. You've got a good home & good doggie parents.

That pretty much sums up my thoughts & feelings on today's anniversary. I don't necessarily feel safer, but I know I'm a bit sadder than I was 5 years ago. I called my dad that morning, and he didn't have any more answers than anyone else. Now, he's gone; we're still fighting a war we can't extricate ourselves from, people are coming up with crazier & crazier ways to attempt to blow up planes, and in the end, we just have to keep on living. With our memories, with our sadness, with the joy that comes from unconditional love. Love. Love trumps Crazy every time.

Today is just one snarl after the other, most of which are coming through my curled sneer of an upper lip. ROWR!

Traffic around these parts is fucked up. There is no sugar-coating it. The goddamn circus people screwed up the Plaza (and didn't even deliver on shooting people out of cannons, according to my sources), the goddamn art fair in Westport blocked off a very busy section of town, sending cars through the parking lot of a local overpriced grocery store, and over quite possibly the largest speedbump in the Midwest. Seriously. I was going 3 mph and thought I might pull a Duke Boys on the downside of that bad mo-fo. I looked to see if a bassett hound had snuck into the front seat. Then, I heard from another scout that my commute home will be royally jacked up because President Bush is in town for some $1,000 a plate fundraiser at some swanky mansion and security will be high. High as a motherfuckin' KITE and won't that be fun, given that all the road through there is TORN UP for repaving. At least I got the heads-up on that one and will take a different road home.

Spending 40 minutes to get Vietnamese take-out while some ass clown from Kansas tries to talk on the phone and read all the street signs on the Plaza while traveling between 15mph and 40 mph, and erratically changing lanes in front of me might be YOUR idea of a good time? You might deduce from all the salty language I was NOT a happy camper. Add to that I've hit my limit with rudeness and with being patient, and I think it's probably safe to say the whole world should be glad it's Friday. I've got some fun things planned for this weekend, the skunk smell is abating, and the Chiefs play on Sunday. Stay safe, and stay away from Ward Parkway & 55th tonight!

Perhaps the idea of the helmet was not so funny to you yesterday?

It still is funny here.



Self-portrait with Ski Helmet, 2006
(Shaking from laughing, thus the extra blur)

This one I like to call, "All The Cool Kids Are Doing It."

Work Conversation:

Me (to co-worker, J): "What would it take for you to wear that helmet all day?" (motioning to a ski helmet sitting on a desk.

J: "I'll tell you what it'd take. Dunkin Donuts coffee."

Me (perking up): "Really? That's it?"

J (immediately sensing he has set the bar too low): "I mean, a fresh, hot cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, in a Dunkin Donuts cup, and a pound of beans."

Me: "Try it on. Let's make sure it fits."

After faintly protesting it will mess up his hair, J tries on helmet. Perfect fit. Looks extremely.....special.

Me (doubled over laughing): "I am SO GLAD I found your price. And that it's so low!"

Oh yes. We'll be driving to Lawrence, KS one morning for a cup o' Dunkin Donuts coffee & some beans. Even I will get up early for that one. Because I'll be bringing my CAMERA as well. Nobody can say, even in the worst of it, that we don't have a good group of people who love to laugh......

...that prompted me to call PetSmart at the last minute before leaving the office. Lo-and-behold, they carry this:


I'd already done the math, and buying 10 packages of Massengil (or Summer's Eve, you know, I'm not brand loyal) would have been over $40 - this stuff was $10. The part I liked was that you leave it on the dog to dry & keep odor-busting. I'm still waiting on the odor-bustin', as she just strolled up and when I scratched her head, it still smells a bit like someone across the way hit a skunk. Eeesh.

So, sorry, no pics of the Wo and I wielding douche bottles two-handed, littering the backyard with a visual worthy of Flickr front page ......
Instead, here's a Warhol-esque composite - feel free to make 'er poster size.


But in all my searching, I did discover the Sound of an Angry Skunk, and we plan to play it repeatedly at high volumes while shouting "NO! BAD! NO!" over and over while shining a light in Suzy's eyes.
From a distance.

Well, hubby came home from hunting/scouting yesterday - and they (primarily Suzy) had gotten poofed by a skunk no bigger'n a kitten. LURVELY. I found a recipe online that used hydrogen peroxide, baking soda & soap, but it hasn't eliminated the odor.
Now, I'm left to the last resort - feminine douche. I did some more research today & this is what people are swearing by! Most sites dismissed tomato juice, interestingly enough.

So, that should be fun at Target tonight, I can just imagine the eyebrow raise of the cashier when I roll through with fifteen boxes of extra-strength whatever - and it's not like you can quickly explain, "It's for my dogs..." Poor Suzy. She wants lovin' but she stinks too much - and then Polly laid on her bed, so she picked up the smell, too. Basically, it's just good times and Douche Night at the NuWo residence....

Let's roll back, back to the days of Widow Creek, when the Wo & I lived in a lovely two-bedroom apartment in a complex that doubled as God's Waiting Room for many of Kansas City's aged, one of whom was our neighbor and we were never lucky enough for HER to die, Good O'l Harriet. That Christmas, my dad asked me what James would like for his present, and I told him: A Bunn Coffeemaker. James has a great love of the Bunn, its speed for brewing, how it always has a reserve of hot water at the ready, it's truly the perfect coffeemaker for the Duck Hunting Home (where coffee is made at 2:30 a.m.). So, not surprisingly, we were gifted with a very nice Bunn coffeemaker, and it served us well after we moved into our home, just fitting under the kitchen cabinet. Then, I decided to subscribe to the magazine versio of Consumer Reports, in addition to the online subscription I had. (Seriously, I support Ralph Nader in so many ways, except for that whole "Let's Only Own One Pair Of Boots" thing. I have four pairs of Crocs, for chrissake.)
DUM dum DUUUUM! In either the first or second issue, I see "RECALL! BUNN COFFEE!" and shortly thereafter, ascertain that we own one of the models prone to bursting into flames. (A small percentage, of course, but all the same. FLAMES.) We were given the option to either send it in for repair, or we could purchase a brand-new coffeemaker for half-price. After looking at the options, we decided to upgrade, and buy the coffe brewer that came with a thermal carafe, and that would eliminate the nearly-daily question of "Did you turn the coffeepot off?" Bueno. Great. New coffee maker, no die in a fire.

So when I came home from work on Thursday, weary from the repetitive motion of putting my angry eyes off and on all day, I espy with my angry eyes? A letter from our friends at Bunn. Oh yes. Apparently 16 of the half-million coffee makers they produced during such-and-such time for such-and-such models have melted and caught on fire. Please to be checking under your pot to see if yes indeed, you too could DIE IN A FIRE. Well of COURSE our model is under the recall. We have options, once more. We can send it in for repair? Or we can have a whole new one sent, free of charge.

Of course we chose the brand-new one, free of charge. We selected the "Open Flame Brewing Method With Extra Oxygen Tanks And Meltaway Plastic" model. It'll be great. I hope we get at least one pot of coffee out of it before it self-combusts.

I almost want to start a different blog, that's just for grieving. But it would mean dividing myself up more, trying to shield you from "the bad stuff".

It's just such a roller coaster, and I expect it won't always feel this lurchy, but then hell, I don't really know what to expect. I just know that millions of people before me have gone on after losing someone they love, gone on with their lives, have made the best life they can, have continued to feel all the emotions they are open to in their life, but it's all done with this extra "layer". I was so surprised last night, my inability to stop crying, how these tears slid out of my eyes, not hot, burning tears, I kept hearing the words "silky tears" as they smoothly welled up and over and down my cheeks, large full tears sliding and gliding and dropping off my face. They've reappeared multiple times today and I've done my best to just contain them. I had the afternoon off - last of the summer hours - and I picked some late summer tomatoes while the dogs rolled in the grass and lived in the moment. That's really what it all comes back to - and I won't deny or ignore or stuff my sadness and tears, or throw them into a vacuum-sealed separate blog. I love nothing more than entertaining people, making them laugh, being clever, pairing the right words together so they literally crunch in your mouth like a tart granny apple. I've never been this wounded before. I search for metaphors, that's how I live my life in my head, describing sensations and feelings through parallel pictures, and the first image I always get is that grief is like a deep, jagged wound - yet wounds heal. You see the scar for some time, and then ten years later you don't even notice it. This isn't like that. The best I can come up with is that it's like some cartoon auger bored a hole straight through me, smack in my chest, just a cross-section plug of Jennifer, through & through that can never be gotten back, it will never fill in. I have clothing over it, I have learned to train my eyes not to scrutinize the hole, to push or pull at it or hate it or deny it's there. Even though it's covered, and most of the time, you don't see it, sometimes the north wind screams out of the sky and rushes through that hole, freezing you to the core with its cold, cold pain and it feels like you're losing that piece of you all over again fresh, the phantom pain and the memory of what was, all blended with sadness.

I am going to enjoy my weekend. Even if big tears still slide out of my eyes once in a while. Shopping & sewing, cleaning & movie-watching, knitting & hanging out with friends, my life is as full and complete as it can be - even with my hole.

I shut my eyes last night and you were there.
Smiling at me, across the grass at the wedding party.
Sleeping in your big leather chair.
Face turned up to the cold January sky in our backyard.
And as if the earth opened up beneath my feet, the great yawn of sadness engulfed me.
It won't let go.
Did you know? Did you see me, looking at you?
I always looked to you for guidance, for wisdom.
Did you always know, even in our times of silence, distance, time that slipped by, did you know how boundless my love was for you?
Did your heart always feel me there?
Sometimes the time and silence and space now feels like one of those times gone by, until the start and realization hits that you aren't here anymore.
And knowing you won't be on the phone, or in my backyard, or will ever give me a crinkly-eyed smile again breaks my heart anew.
How can an experience feel two hundred years old and in reality be less than three months?