Eugene, Oregon

I go through patterns of activity and laziness. Last week was the week of activity. I went to the gym Sunday through Thursday and ate ridiculously well. On Saturday, we ate a brewery (grilled cheese on artisan bread, lots of beers, more lots of beers) and ever since then I have been in an activity slump. Some of my days this week have consisted of staying inside until 4pm and maybe going for a walk in the park, but nothing too strenuous. My eating has been average, but I have not been as careful as I was last week.

I hate when I get like this.

I start watching odd television late at night (documentaries on serial killers, for instance). During day time hours, I watch cheesy movies on Lifetime and other cable channels.

Fourth of July was fun, but it also featured a lack of activity. I ate so much to the point where I had stomach camps; whenever stomach cramps arise from eating, it truly is a low-in-life moment. We all definitely had a fun time, but when I looked at the photos from yesterday, I was disappointed. In full body view, I look heavy. My legs look like they struggle with carrying the rest of my weight. My face has always been round, but now it is even rounder, thus making my eyes look like small, crinkly orbs.

I often wonder if my days of laziness are connected to where I live. I know plenty of people who hike and do "nature things" in NJ, but those types of activities do not immediately come to my mind when I think of New Jersey. Instead, I think of shopping malls. I yearn to move out of NJ. It's expensive, it's crowded, and every time I look around it seems like more land is being plowed over and replaced with unnecessary condos and stripmalls. Today, I Googled Eugene, Oregon. Eugene's nicknames include "Emerald City" and "Emerald Valley." The city's motto is "A Great City for the Art and Outdoors."

I often wonder what I would be like if I lived somewhere that encouraged activity and community involvement. Would I be biking around town with my canvas tote bag and locally grown fruits and veggies? I know that image is so ridiculously stereotypical, but I wouldn't mind epitomizing that image.

As I have often said before, I am "okay" being in NJ for now but eventually... I need to go somewhere else. I should be cautious with my usage of "eventually." If I keep saying "eventually" and do not take any initiative, I might be stuck here. 

Crafting fucktard

I assume that I could do a search within this blog and find out the exact number, but I feel like I use the word "fucktard" pretty often. It's basically like saying "retard," but since "retard" is non-PC, "fucktard" seems acceptable. It's strange that a word which has the French --> English translation of "late" would be less acceptable than a word that features a curse word in the first syllable.

Tomorrow is July 4th and I am attending a friend's "White Trash BBQ." This is an event that I've attended two times before; attending this year will make it a true tradition. I feel like if you do something 3 consecutive years that it automatically equates to an official tradition.

I realize "white trash" is an offensive term and I don't ever really use it to refer to people. "Trashy," which is less offensive because it basically leaves race out of the phrase, is a term I use more often. Why should trashiness be limited to Caucasians?

When people hear the term "white trash," similar images probably come to mind: trailer parks in a state of disarray, trucker hats, bad hair, cleavage (inappropriate for a teen because of age, but inappropriate for an older woman because of general sag), sleeveless flannels, cut-off shorts, Southern rock, Confederate flags, teen pregnancy, and so on. If you do a Google image search for "white trash," that party theme is actually quite common.

Toni's WT4J BBQ, as it has been coined, takes place at her Mom's house in the Poconos. There's beer pong,  flip cup, barbecued meats, a hot dog cart, drunken watermelon, and... a shooting gallery. Across the street from the house is basically woods. Toni's mom takes shitty garage finds and hangs them in the trees; then, we spastically shoot at the items. One year, someone was shooting at an owl lamp and I ran across the street to save it. The owl lamp is OLD, heavy as anything, and features eyeless owls. I lugged it home, but it has been in my closet for 2 years. It's time to bring the damn thing out and actually have people shoot at it.

I generally am a crafting fucktard. In other words, I tend to have crafting ideas and get so far as buying the supplies. In fact, I go gung-ho with getting the supplies. Case in point: a few years ago, I wanted to do crafting with bottle caps. I got bottle caps from friends and from strangers on Freecycle. Currently, I have about 3,000 bottle caps--and that's probably an underestimation. Have I ever actually crafted with them? Nope.

I'm determined to craft for WT4J. I am making a fringy top. I found a tutorial from another white trash-themed party attendee:
http://bargainbecky.blogspot.com/2012/08/how-to-make-white-trash-shirt-with-pony.html

Right now, the shirt has been puffy painted; hello, flashback to 1988! As soon as it dries, I'll do the whole fringe/pony beads process and then.... completion of a crafting task:)

Curmudgeon

Facebook and other social networking sites get me down more often than they lift me up. Still though, I log onto Facebook 5-7x a day. The screen refreshes and suddenly updated "news" is in my feed. I'd say that 80% of the time, the "news" is related to "good news"-- pictures of family vacations, postings about job promotions and other celebratory events, positive comments about one's outlook on life... The other percentage of the time, the newsfeed contains complaints and generally negative utterances. Someone the other day posted about needed $100 battery for her car, blah, blah, blah.

Reading other people's complaints is annoying and I feel like hurling a virtual "Go fuck yourself" across the Internet. Reading people's self-promotion posts is also annoying, as it makes me feel like a lazy fuck who achieves nothing.

I tend to post observational comments. I never self-promote and I try not to complain.

Deep down though, I am certainly a curmudgeon.

I am going to use this post to rant and complain---to hurl that negativity out into the world.

1. I'm not impressed that you got your Master's at NYU or that you went to Oxford; your family is rich and accessible income can make many people's "dreams come true."

2. We used to be friends, but now you are too much of a hipster and I am too fat and the fact that our friendship has ended infinitely sucks.

3. I don't care about your new Subzero fridge or your clean shed; your husband is gigantic and I often wonder how you two had sex long enough for you to get pregnant.

4. Your grammar is so horrible and no one comments on it because of politeness, but you're a fucking idiot....but you probably make more money than me anyway.

5. I don't care that your child makes adorable comments at the dinner table.

6. Kudos on doing your extreme exercise regimen for 3 days, posting about it constantly, and then completely quitting.

Sometimes I think of the following quotation when I am poking around on Facebook:
"The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else's highlight reel." - Steve Furtick

I feel like a loser because I don't consider myself to have the "highlight reel" that others have...but I guess that's my problem and I have to try to sort it out.

Making them fit

The human memory is fascinating. Years will pass and you might not think of a specific moment. Then, out of nowhere, that memory comes back into existence. 

At the library today a patron took out a chick lit novel. The book cover featured a woman lying on a bed and trying to make her jeans budge over her upper thighs. I suppose it was meant to be an image that us "average" women could relate to, however the woman on the cover was fairly thin. I wondered why she would have to struggle to make her pants slide over her upper thighs; her upper thighs were not that fleshy anyway. 

Instantly, I flashbacked to an image from my childhood. A spring green and bright yellow floral comforter covers a bed. The headboard and base of the bed is white wicker. Above the headboard hang two wicker beach-themed pieces. A wedding photo of my mother and father is on the side wall, as is a marriage certificate. The room is always cold and smells like mothballs. 

It is my mother's master bedroom. After my dad passed away, my mother refused to sleep in the bed. For years, she slept on the couch in the living room. The master bedroom was reserved for "getting ready" for work and for doing the "pants maneuver." 

The pants maneuver occurred whenever my mother had a pair of jeans which no longer fit. She would lie flat on the bed, jeans at her ankles, squirming and squirming in order to get the pants over her stomach. When she grew desperate, she would take the waistband of the jeans and make a vertical cut on the right and left sides, thus giving herself more "space" to get into. 

I watched her to do this pants maneuver countless times in life. At one point, she just gave up and began wearing complete elastic-waisted pants. 

I've never done the pants maneuver myself, despite having jeans for which I have grown too big. Those jeans still remain in my dresser: the size 8 Limited jeans that I have not worn since college, the intentionally-tight-as-anything stretch jeans that my sister gave me, the size 13 juniors' denim shorts that I promised I would "lose weight for" and not have to wear again (now they don't fit), and others. 

My mother's pants maneuver had an effect on me: when jeans don't fit, I face reality and buy a new pair with a higher size. Many more women could use a dose of reality. 

Keep your nasty toes out of profile pics

It's Memorial Day weekend which, across NJ--both "down the shore" and up in North Jersey---is seen as a symbol of the start of summer. Today's weather was in the low 70s with photo-worthy blue skies, fleeting white clouds, and an occasional refreshing breeze. It truly was a "picture perfect day."

All over Facebook, people have been posting photos of themselves either poolside or oceanside. Most of these photos have been painfully similar. The focal point is a lovely beach or pool scene, however, in the foreground of these photos exists a pair of feet...sometimes the pair of feet extends upward and the viewer gets a little bit of leg. Either way, these photos are annoying and incredibly unattractive.

Case 1: The photographer's feet (these photos do tend to also be "selfies") featured bright pink nail polish, faded off on some nails and prominent on others. Gross.

Case 2: Paley McPalerton. The photographer's feet were pasty as anything. The legs were long and bird-like. I wondered if an ostrich had somehow grown human feet and was enjoying a poolside drink and sunning session.

Case 3: Eww. Someone posted photos of a beautiful, postcard beach scene...but her feet were incredibly nasty. The toes were not painted and, for that matter, were not even filed down to a normal length. The toe nails' lengths were uneven and reminded me of a monster from one of of those Pixar movies.

I don't know why girls tend to post these feet and beach/pool pics. My guess is that the photos are supposed to be whimsical and cute, but they are just the opposite to me. Unless you just got a pedicure and have an ultra cute design on your adorable little toes, simply give me the beautiful beach/pool scenery---- minus the inclusion of your nasty feet...or...in some case, what looks to be hooves. 

House Party

During high school, I am certain that there were tons of house parties.  I assume that these were generally at homes of football players and other athletes, but I'm sure that the band kids let loose when their parents were out of town too.

I never went to a house party during my high school years.

Last night, at age 32,  I went to my first house party. I am using house party in the traditional way: a party hosted when one's parents are out of town. Our house party hostess was 30.

I know a staggering amount of people my age who live at home.  There's nothing essentially wrong with living at home, but I wouldn't ever be able to do it because 1] my mother would drive me to madness and 2] I am extremely concerned with my privacy. It's enough that I can hear my neighbor bring his dog outside to "Go potty" and hear the Saturday morning noise of lawnmowers; I wouldn't be able to stand dating/being intimate with someone in my parent's home.

We got into some downer conversations last night. Serious topics arose: student loans, mortgages that people own, the bullshit of "American dream," the bullshit of "American dream" achievement in NJ, and so on.

With the movie Gatsby coming out, the term "lost generation" has been prominent in my mind. Nowadays, with people my age either living at home, being jobless, or just postponing other elements of their adulthood, the term lost generation comes to mind. I recognize that post WWI 20 somethings versus 20 somethings in 2013 are people with two entirely different situations. I still feel that people my age are lost. We can go to college and seemingly do all of the "right things" to get our life in line, but then things just go unexpectedly---not able to afford rent, tons of student loans, having a college degree but ending up with a job that might not even require one...

At this point though, I don't think that things are going unexpectedly anymore...they're going expectedly. It's a fucking downer though. 

Six word memoirs

Inbox emails are incessant. My work email currently has 232 emails; I managed to delete 43 emails during the past hour. Most of the emails were article links that I texted to myself or poem-of-the day emails that I had not yet read. One of the emails had a link to a book called Things Don't Have to Be Complicated. The book was a project by Larry Smith in which he asked people to send him illustrations, complete with six words to epitomize the person's life. Smith published the illustrations and six word memoirs; respondents included 8 year olds all the way through 30-somethings.

I got to thinking about my own word word memoirs(s.) Obviously, encapsulating one's life into six words is challenging---duh. When you really earnestly try to choose those six words though, it is incredibly challenging.

Here are some of my ideas:

Kind, but I sting eternally too.

I am my own worst enemy.

Sensitive to sounds; struggle with touch.

Acne or obesity? I'd take obesity.

Shards and kaleidoscope are favorite words.

Green traffic lights make me beautiful.

Weight loss goals include prominent clavicle.

Co-workers think babies are life's purpose.

Here's the link for the article about the book:
http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/01/09/six-word-memoirs-students/

Good deed done

I don't know if a person can claim that a good deed is completed if the "good deed" is related to a family member.

I just got off the phone with my mother; we were on the phone for an hour. The last time we spoke was around Christmas. Since then, she has called me twice and I have not bothered to listen to the voicemails. I assume they would go something like this: "It's your mother...haven't talked to you in awhile... I'm good here...Spice [the cat] is good too..I'm reading a lot...you got me addicted to books!...call me sometime."

She is so phenomenally predictable.

Tonight, she repeated lines from a previous conversation two times. Repeating one's self seems normal enough, but if you barely talk to someone on the phone and she is repeating herself, then that's an issue. My mother talked about WalMarK...one of the most annoying words that she says. She also continues the k-for-a-t pattern when she says KMarK. She calls my sister-in-law Ray-leen, when the name is Raelen. Mispronunciations are her strong point.

She also repeated something from our last conversation. Basically, she since makes NO income, she gets lot of deductions on her bills and get free things such as cell phone minutes. Each month, she gets 4 hours of free cell phone minutes and for a mere $5.00, she could get three more hours. In my mother's words, "Sometimes it pays to be poor."

She is such an irritating and selfish individual whose utterly predictable behavior induces me to have an instant headache.

So...I did my good deed for the week...spoke to her for over an hour and did not once scoff, breathe heavily and irritatedly, or say a short, sarcrastic response to her. Now, I'll just wait another three months until I once again talk to "Whiting" (she's identified in my phone by the name of the town where she lives).

The devil and the angel

Recently, work has been stressful. Even more emphasis is being placed on the standardized tests and I find myself using timers all the time, saying statements like, "You'll have 45 minutes for this task when you take the NJASK." We have a new teacher evaluation model in place and I feel like no matter what I do, I am destined for a 3 ("average") or even a 2 (needs improvement).

At a recent team meeting, a few of us were discussing how we know others in different occupations who make more or = what we make, plus they have the added bonus of less stress-inducing factors (parents, state tests, administration, etc). The topic of bartending came up.  One of my co-workers said she feels like calling a resort in the Caribbean, inquiring about hiring opportunities, and flying down to that location over spring break.

My sister is a bartender in Florida and I definitely see the allure of the job. She lives about five blocks from the beach, works outside in the later afternoon/ evening hours, and gets to have fun. I doubt that it is entirely an "easy" job; you do have to deal with alcoholics and people drowning sorrows with liquor. As a temporary gig though, it could be fun.

My sister is tall and tan with sun-kissed blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She can walk into any bar and get hired instantly.

I am shorter and pale with mousy brown hair and bright blue eyes. 25% of me matches her. I would not be able to walk into a bar and instantly get hired.

I did, however, come up with a "occupation plan." By myself, I may not have much allure, but when you combine two sisters together, people are instantly fascinated. I imagine us bartending on the beach, with some nickname related to our sibling status and opposite personalities. I could see my sister working the bar with a small top, short red leather skirt, devil horns, and strategically placed tail. I could wear a white tank top, longER skirt, and a halo headband. Angel and devil are so cliched and overplayed, but I bet we'd be talked about bartenders for awhile. It's so cheesy that it could actually work. 

Does anyone like this place?

I've been in an anti-Jersey mood lately, even moreso than usual. I just wonder how many people out there actually "love" this state versus the amount of people who are here because of closeness to family members or closeness to abundant salaries.

NJ souvenirs include the ubiquitous "Jersey girls don't pump gas" tees.  Honestly, the fact that I don't have to pump gas is an added bonus in the cold winter months, but I'd survive if I had to  pump my own. There's always the Jersey shirts that declare messages about being a tough, badass person. I don't think of tough, badass people when I think of NJ. Instead, I think of fast-talking, self-involved people who simply like to put on an act of being tough.

I just can't imagine what people love about this state. We're known for having the highest population density. We're also known for being a shopping mall mecca. Also, Nj has a higher incidence rate for both cancer and deaths from cancer.

When I think of this state, I think of the word "wasteland." I haven't read TS Eliot's work of the same name (I'm assuming that he, in fact, "invented" that word) since college, but I feel the sudden need to go back and read it.

The people who "love" this state are the ones who have their beach houses and exclusive memberships to small tracts of land on which they can golf, ride horses, or do other activities for which other states have tons of space.

I can't imagine being here for my entire life. 

Best personification of the week

I'm always aware of creative language, but during the school year my awareness of it increases exponentially.

Tonight, I gave in and purchased a new Ipod. My previous Ipod started intermittently dysfunctioning, as of last Sunday. I tried a "diagnostic test" for broken sectors, but to no avail. I tried putting the Ipod in the freezer (recommended by someone on Apple forums). The Ipod worked for 3 consecutive songs and then zonked out again. I'd like a 160GB Ipod, but don't feel like buying it now. That led me to this evening's quest: go to where the devil lives (Walmart) and buy an Ipod Shuffle.

After yesterday's rain and high temperatures (57 degrees), today took a 180 degree turn. The skies were that wintry gray color. When skies are like that, I call them "indecisive skies"--the kind of skies that look like they could start blowing snowflakes around.....or..... the type of skies that are just miserable-looking, but that are simply "bluffing." The temperatures dropped down to 26 degrees and I could once again see my breaths in the air.

As I walked into Walmart, there was a cart-pusher standing on the sidewalk, taking a break. Cart-pusher is such an odd word, but I Googled it and could not find an alternative. I could clearly sense that the "cart-pusher on break" was slow and had some kind of developmental issue.

He said to me, "It's cold outside today." Normally, I hate those obvious kind of statements, but with this man, I knew that a kind reply would make his day. I replied, "Yeah, it was even snowing a tiny bit before."

Then, he responded with words that were simultaneously child-like and lovely: "Mother Nature gave me a cold kiss today."

Immediately, my mind thought That's the best personification I've heard all week. The comment also made me smile. When most of us comment with words like, "This weather sucks" or "It's so fucking cold," this guy came up with a lovely image.

Telling it like it is

Nowadays, we shroud the reality of situations in kinder, gentler words. If somebody can't pay attention, whether due to being overly active or being in a daze, we have a name for it. If someone is overweight, "obese" seems like a kinder word; afterall, it is an epidemic. If someone loses all sense of calmness in a situation, she may be anxious, or actually have a full-blown anxiety order. Words like fat and crazy never come into play as they are seen as "inappropriate."

Flashback to 1863. It was post Civil War and, amidst the abolition of slavery, William Banting, a previously overweight white man, desired to tell the world how he lost weight. He wrote Letter on Corpulence: Addressed to the Public. Banting detailed how he got rid of sugars and simple carbs, replacing those foods with meats, vegetables, fruits, and even the occasional glass of wine. Basically, Banting should be convulsing at his gravesite due to multi-million (billion?) dollar industry is the low-carb craze. Since he was an undertaker and coffin maker by trade, he's probably rolling back and forth in a pretty luxurious coffin.

Low-carb talk aside, I do simply love the word corpulence. It makes me think of Rubens' paintings of full-figured women, Lane Bryant models of the 1630s--- pendulous breasts, sturdy legs, and protruding bellies. Corpulent makes me think of the gopher from Caddyshack. Corpulent makes me think of a mound of mashed potatoes, covered with peas, carrots, squares of subpar ham, and small shreds of cheese. It makes me think of Everything Fried, the short-lived eatery in the Livingston Mall whose goal was to put basically anything in batter and then fry it in large amounts of oil. You'd walk right by Victoria's Secret and then suddenly have the scent of funnel cakes entering your nostrils.

Corpulence is such as "bad" word, but it kicks the ass of "thin," "healthy," or "slender" on any day of the week. 

The jeans whisperer

For me, buying jeans is not an amusing task. Generally, the waist is too tight, so I have to go up one size, but then the increased size makes my backside look flat and there are extra pieces of fabric around my upper legs. I can't wear junior sizes because of my "shapely hips," but jeans for adult females are never really cute and/or sexy. I don't have the patience to try on tons of sizes, washes, and fits. Buying a pair of jeans should not be complicated. We're talking about a fashion item that was created in the late 1800s and popularized in the 1950s. Finding the right pair should not be this challenging.

A few months ago, I succumbed to a pair of Faded Glory jeans from Walmart. The shade of blue has already begun to fade and I'm sure that the jeans will face the same fate as my previous pair from Walmart: riveted button on the waist will eventually pop off (at an inconvenient time--as if there is ever a convenient time for a button fly to detach itself from your jeans) and bottom of jeans will be completely frayed. I'm just not up for the challenge of the jeans scavenger hunt.

Finding jeans for myself is frustrating and irritating; the concept of someone else buying them for me, without me trying them on, seems like a impossible task. Somehow John surmounted the impossible.

On Christmas morning, he bestowed a Gap bag upon me... the man never wraps gifts! Inside of the bag was a pair of size 14 "curvy" jeans. These jeans are amazing and fit perfectly. The denim is a dark wash and the bottoms lightly flare out. It doesn't seem like a big accomplishment, but this man has attained the holy grail of husbandly tasks. The whole situation makes me think of a Walt Disney quote (no, I do not walk around with tons of quotes in my head, but I saw this in a Hallmark store today and I have heard this quote a few times before): "It's kind of fun to do the impossible." 

But Van Gogh didn't go to school...

Last night, we were walking around Barnes and Noble. Truly, that store is one of the only bookstores still in our area. I feel like NJ is turning into empty buildings and unoccupied asphalt lots. Still though, we keep building more condos and shopping plazas. We bulldoze buildings, leaving behind towering piles of broken bricks, only to rebuild another shopping center. 

While walking around Barnes and Noble, I overheard an interesting conversation between a boy and his mother. He was high school age and was talking about how his art teacher wants him to take four years worth of art classes. In order to make his course schedule work, he would have to be moved into honors math, although his math teacher thinks he should stay in "regular" math. The boy went on to talk about how he loves drawing: "Mom, if you look on the backs of my tests, it is all drawing and doodling...I have so many ideas and I sketch them everywhere." 

As he continued talking enthusiastically, she began speaking in a foreign language (some form of Hindi, Tamil, or Punjabi based on visual context clues. She spoke emphatically and I quickly sensed that she was not pleased with her son's artistic aspirations, even if they would oddly "force" him into an accelerated math course. He started talking about how he could still draw on his own and how Van Gogh didn't go to art school. 

After the Van Gogh comment, I just tuned out the conversation. The fact of the matter is that this boy will have a rigorous course load; perhaps he will still be in "regular" math, but there is no way that he will be studying art for four years. We'll be taking electives such as economics, accounting, or advanced placement literature. 

Years from now, he'll probably be sitting at some business meeting, bored, uninspired, and restless. He'll start doodling on a sheet of paper and will quickly stop.... because adults don't imagine or "play"--they do what they're "supposed" to do and that's the end of that. 

Cccccccold, but simple

As of yesterday, at 3pm, our power has been restored. Somehow, I thought that the surge of electricity would make me more motivated. I imagined myself rushing around the house, cleaning and organizing. No such thing happened.

As the hours went by, I noticed that the temperature in the house had not changed. The heating system's fan was only blowing cool air. We took all of the common sense steps (resetting fuse box, resetting on/off button for furnace, etc), but to no avail. The heating sytem is most definitely broken.

Now we're sitting in an electricity-filled house, but with the absence of heat. I'll call the heating technician today and get it fixed, further making it apparent that homes are simply money pits. Once one thing is fixed, something else breaks. I miss the days of living in an apartment. When something broke, all I had to do was write a letter to maintenance and, within a day or two, the problem was fixed.

We're thankful for the electricity being back though. Lights! I have never been so thankful for lights!

I was telling John that I hope Hurricane Sandy and the loss of power for consecutive days will make people less likely to take "the little things" for granted. He asked what I meant and it was hard to explain. I feel that we already live simply. Part of the simplicity is due to financial issues, but part of the simplicity is just the desire to not be people who are obsessed with acquiring new objects. I guess for people who are object-driven, living more simple would be challenging. Things are probably best summed up from a quotation that I heard years ago: "Live simply so that others may simply live." 

Something from Faulkner

In college (over a decade ago!), I recall reading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. In short, the book details a family making a cross country pilgrimage for the purpose of burying the deceased matriarch (or at least that is what I recall).

Seven years ago, when my sister, mother, and I drove to Ohio for my grandmother’s funeral, I remember having a Faulkner moment. I was trying to drive as fast as possible, while simultaneously trying to block out the sounds of my mother talking. At some points, my sister and mother argued with one another and I tried blocking out those shrill noises. It was a Faulkner moment, otherwise known as a crazy family moment.

Amidst the power outage (still!), I am experiencing another Faulkneresque moment. We’re still staying at John’s parents’ house, but the situation has become more complex. There’s John and me. Then there’s his sister, a dependent 26-year old who has no qualms about still calling her parents “Mommy” and “Daddy.” There’s my mother-in-law, who resents that she works full time while my father-in-law is retired. There’s Flash, our former cat who now belongs to John’s parents; they were able to put up with his annoying habits (scratching at doors to have access to every part of the house, tapping on windows so that you will open them even in the middle of winter). Flash just had surgery, so he is convalescing (shaved fur, stitches, prescriptions for special cat food). There’s also Santo, John’s schizophrenic and bipolar uncle. He was in the hospital last week for an infection and is also convalescing at John’s parents’ house. Lastly, we created further chaos by bringing out cat, Lola, to the house. Last night, she growled often, snuck bites of Flash’s food, and stole his toys.

I don’t regard mystery writer Sue Grafton as a wondrous sage, but she has uttered words that do speak truly about family: “People talk about 'dysfunctional' families; I've never seen any other kind." While I think that John's family is wacky and while my own family is the epitome of dysfunction, dysfunction does appear to be the norm in our society. 

Post-Sandy

For two consecutive years, there has been catastrophic weather during the week of Halloween. Perhaps I will just leave the state altogether during Halloween of next year.

We had a mindfuck, post-Sandy. For four straight days, we have had partial power.Power power equates to all of the light fixtures being able to work, but being very dim. The stove works, but I have to wait significantly longer for things to boil or cook. The microwave does not have enough "juice" to work efficiently. The refrigerator keeps foods "good," but I would not exactly label them as "fresh." Cable and internet completely work.

Flash forward to last night. We had dinner at John's parents' house and then went to a birthday party. We came home late at night and, upon walking into the house, were in complete darkness. It turns out that while we out yesterday, the whole street lost partial power and has no power. The house is 45 degrees, the food is  rotting, and I am just utterly frustrated.

There was no devastation to our house, just tons of leaves and branches on the ground (which would have occurred anyway, at some point). This week has been depressing though. I don't know how I will have the energy to go into work on Tuesday (IF the power is restored to the schools by then), have a smile on my face, and be positive enough to teach. Again, my mindstate is negative, and we barely lost anything. I can't imagine how the people near the coast are feeling.

Four years ago, on this day, we were still in Hawaii on our honeymoon. We had moved on from Kaui to Maui. At one point, I recall that we thought, "Wouldn't it be great to just leave our house and 'junk' in NJ and move here?...just to move and start over with whatever possessions we currently have?"

I feel that same way now.

How NOT to act at a shiva

After a long battle with cancer, my aunt passed away this past Thursday. I'm not particularly close to that side of the family, but I wanted to pay my respects and attend the shiva. Despite my father's side being Jewish, I can't ever recall attending a shiva. I had no idea what to wear or what to bring with me (food?), so I texted two friends. One friend replied to my text as I was literally parking in front of the house for the shiva (no help, thanks a lot) and another friend was casual with her reply (John doesn't have to wear a suit, don't worry, I don't think you have to bring anything).

John and I, therefore, used our "best judgment." He wore dress pants, a dress shirt, and a blazer. I wore a skirt and a nice top. We didn't know what to bring and didn't have access to a Kosher bakery, so we just came with our condolences.

Unfortunately, my mother also attended the shiva with us. Since she doesn't drive, we had to pick her up, bring her to the shiva, bring her back home, and then drive back home ourselves. According to my calculations, we drove 52 miles OUT OF THE WAY to bring her to the shiva. I didn't mind all that much, until after the shiva, when her monumentally horrible behavior coaelesced.

While I did not think this was possible, my mother's behavior has warranted me to create a list of "Top 10 Things to NOT do at a shiva." Note: these requirements for how NOT to behave fall in no particular order.

1. While the prayers are being said and all attendees are solemnly standing outside, do NOT go back into the house, take off your shoes, and lounge in the comfy living room leather chair.

2. Do NOT continue walking around the house, which isn't yours, with your shoes off. Really?

3. Upon re-meeting a relative whose name you do not recall, do NOT start out the conversation with guessing aloud,  "Wait, wasn't your husband the one who died while crossing the sidewalk?" When the person with whom you are speaking quickly replies, "No," do not continue to guess the person's former husband's mode of death.

4. Do NOT hit on the recent widower by saying, "I LOVE men with gray hair. You know, I'm not too far from your wife's age."

5. Do NOT comment on how the shiva house hasn't changed in 25 years and how, with all the money the homeowners have, you'd think the interior decor would have changed.

6. Upon entering the house when you first arrive, do NOT start walking around the house, giving yourself a personal tour (while everyone else is congregating outside and getting ready to begin the shiva readings).

7. Since this occasion honors someone else's life, do NOT take the time to talk about how your own husband has been gone for 25 years, blah, blah, blah.

I can't believe that I only came up with a list of seven things. I've probably pushed the other tactless acts out of my mind. I tried doing the "nice thing" by having my mother attend the shiva with us, despite the fact that everyone on my father's side of the family could care less about her attendance there (me included). What really angers me is the total lack of tact that she displayed. John and I were respectful and, overall, acted how a normal human should act. I feel like some of my relatives just lump me in with my mother in their minds. However, she and I are completely, utterly, exponentially different from one another.

Trampy Halloween Costumes II

I know I posted about this same topic a few Halloweens ago, but I have realized that the possibilities for trampy costumes are limitless.

At work, we're attempting to corral a bunch of people into doing an 80s Halloween theme. During the summer, I was pondering Halloween costumes and thought that being Mario could be fun. Now, my ideas have come "full circle," since Mario fits in well with the 80s theme. I am not that "into" the costume that i am willing to wear the unflattering, cotton jumper costume that is sold, complete with inflatable belly. Just having the hat, moustache, and a red shirt should suffice.

I started looking online at other 80s themed costumes and the sluttification-factor stunned me. I mean, ok, no one should be stunned that a company can take an "innocent" concept and turn it into something provocative, but some of the costumes were simply ridiculous. Examples include trampy Princess Peach (also from Super Mario), trampy Rubik's cube (yes, it exists!), and trampy Ghostbusters fighter. Miss Piggy's chubby cuteness has even been tarnished.

A trampy Slimer costume (also a character from Ghostbusters fame) does not yet exist. I guess there are some limits and boundaries. Basically, if the original character is obese and spews forth mucusy substances, then it cannot be sluttified. Good to know.

Venn diagram of a relationship

Today we held a garage sale. I made $20 in five hours, which makes my hourly "job" rate $4.00 an hour. Luckily, friends came over to help with the garage sale and it made the day more fun.

Last night, I was going through CDs to sell at the garage sale (no one ended up buying ANY). My friend, Jen, persisted, "Don't sell your CDs. What if you want to listen to them?" Even I, who have droned on and on about how I would never get rid of any of my CDs, recognize that it is 2012 and 1] most of my CD collection is on my Itunes list anyway and 2] I can always get digital copies of music or even go to the library. I ended up allowing myself to "attempt" to sell 40 CDs from my collection.

While going through the CDs, I noticed the duplicates that John and I have. Now, I had noticed this years ago when we used to have our CD collection meticulously displayed in alphabetical order. You'd get to certain parts of the alphabet and two identical CD spines would be resting, side by side.

It's interesting how amidst our combined 700+ CD collection, there are only about five duplicates. The fact that someone who listened to rap, David Bowie, and metal music & someone who listened to 80s music, goth, and pop music somehow own five identical CDs says something about the pop cultural value of those album titles:

1. REM's Automatic for the People--- REM is weird, odd, eccentric, ---say it however you want. I've never really listened to an entire album of theirs, despite the fact that they have many singles I like ("Orange Crush," "End of the World," etc). Automatic For the People is listenable and enjoyable.

2. Pearl Jam's Vs. --First of all, the album art is awesome---- a vicious dog trying to break through a caged area. Pearl Jam's album, Ten, has tons of hit singles on it and I was wondering why John and I didn't own that one too. I figured it out. Ten came out when we were 12 and 11, respectively. We probably were still listening to radio and not paying too close attention to certain bands. Vs. came out when we were 13 and 12. I don't think we bought it at those ages either. Later on, I think that that dog image really reeled us in. Vs. is okay and features my favorite song, "Glorified g."

3. Nirvana's Teen Spirit--I didn't buy this when it came out, but I vividly recall one of my childhood friends had the CD when it came out. We would've been 12. Once again, the album art reeled us in. This is one of those CDs that I would expect a majority of people my age to have owned at one point in their lives.

4. Door's Greatest Hits- Self-explanatory--Lots of teenagers go through Doors phases but, most times, it never gets past the "Oh they were kind of cool" point. You buy the greatest hits album to appease your curiosity and then the interest wanes.

5. Radiohead's The Bends- I have the album because I was not "into" Radiohead's more experimental stuff and liked the predictability of songs like "High and Dry." Also, "High and Dry" was in Clueless, a movie I loved. John hates this album because it's, by far, Radiohead's weakest--but he probably bought it because he wanted to complete his collection of their albums.

If someone ever needs to know albums that represent a generation, the above list would work for us Gen Xers...Yers... whatever I am classified as...