I googled Casper V and now feel like a stalker. It occurred to me that I don’t know if that had been his Camaro or possibly his father’s since he was a Jr (Just like Esteban, actually’ gah, mofo Jr’s making the world complicated). I still don’t know, but I do know that he was one of the ten last area Marine reservists to come back from Iraq a few weeks ago. Does that make him more or less likely to overcompensate with a snazzy plastic car? And does that make me a psuedo Glenn Close?
Kymm’s updating again! That makes me happy. Because 23 days without Kymm’ very long indeed.
Have you ever thought about what the most important thing is in your living room and den? Once upon a time, I might have thought it was the furniture, or good lighting. Or maybe a fireplace and a good sound system piping lovely Sarah Vaughn through some hidden speakers somewhere.
Wrong. All wrong.
The most important thing in our living room is the little door that holds the batteries in the remote control.
Or more specifically, that there be a little door there. Apparently, someone in our house likes to play with the little fipple that holds the door in place. Someone who shall remain nameless but is neither a man nor a cat. Ahem.
So now the little door thingy doesn’t stay on the remote control, and without the door, the he AA’s fall out and go rolling across our lovely new wooden floor. Sometimes under the sofa. Sometimes maddeningly just out of reach. Sometimes on my foot.
So pick up the remote? Thunk thunk. Flip over to MTV? Thunk thunk.
It is so irritating. It’s not even our remote, it comes with the digital cable box, so I can’t even just go out and buy a new one. I’ve even contemplated duct taping the thing, but there is something so inherently trash about duct tape that I simply cannot bring myself to do it, to introduce such a symbol to something that is so intimate with my daily affairs. I mean, I’d be touching duct tape. Every day, touching duct tape. The idea offends me beyond reason.
I think Esteban is going to take back the cable box and remote to the cable company and get a new one. But the whole thing is so ridiculous. Two capable adults left completely at the mercy of a hunk of plastic on the back of a convenience device. I’m pretty sure this is proof that civilization is going to hell. Right there.
Yesterday was simply grand. I woke up early, put on my dirty washed jeans and the striped cotton button down that matches just so, paired them with an end-of-season clearance pair of brown square toed leather boot shoe things ($57 marked down to $11′. Who loves ya, baby.) that were SUPER CUTE with my outfit. I had even polished my fingernails Abbey Rose to match (although, thinking about it afterward, I decided I need to go more into the champagnes for the true retro ensemble) and had perfect hair. Lovely. I buzzed through Sbux and picked up my first iced mocha in a week or so. Unsurly Girl was there. ‘Hi Weetabix!’ she greeted me cheerily. I have begun to have unreasonably loving feelings for Unsurly Girl. She’s one of my favorite people that I see all day. And she gives me caffeine. It’s really the perfect relationship, right there.
And even though I was crampy and a bit growly, I was feeling good. The air was crisp, wanting to be fall, as though Mother Nature took one look at the word September on the calendar and started pulling in her summer loving. There were school buses zipping around and children excited about a new school year. The sun was just coming up and there was a curly mist on the river and Coldplay’s ‘Clocks’ on my CD player. And I was feeling good, dressed like a rock star. And right then, I decided that this wasn’t a drive to work. This was a music video. And I think I was the Bee Girl. Only cuter.
I walked into work with my iced mocha and my little tote bag full of my sliced melon breakfast, and as I caught my reflection in the glass doors, I thought ‘Dayam, girl, this outfit is AWESOME!’. And so it was. The heels on the shoes combined with the pants and the striped shirt’ I looked like the After picture for the Operation Hottie promotional materials. And just then, one of my coworkers walked in as well and said ‘Damn Weet’ you are just melting away.’ I scoffed and gave credit to the outfit, which was true, because it is apparently a wonder outfit, but seriously, how much better can a morning get?
Work’ well, sucked, but then again, I looked SO good. I wandered over to Carissa’s desk to chat with her about golfing and express again how bummed I was that I had missed her incredible 75 yard hit directly into the hole, and she took one look at me, up and down and said ‘Mmmmmmhmmmmm look at YOU!’ and could at that moment understand every bit of the Lesbian Catnip that I try to hide from the world. So then it was official. When I die, I shall be buried in this outfit.
And then I drove home. The air was a cool 64 degrees and when I came down off the escarpment, the setting sun washed that warm autumnal gold over my face, lighting up the entire west bank, the stadium casting shadow puppets over the city and there it was again… the rock video. And somewhere, someone was cutting grass and somewhere else there were cicadas strumming away and somewhere else there were kids eating Jell-o, and for a second, it was all I could do to remain on the road, thinking about how lovely it all was and how lucky I am to get to live it. And then the end credits and fade to black.
I just spent an hour looking for an entry where I mentioned buying those leather boot shoe thingies for such a great deal (apparently I never mentioned it), but I did find that I mentioned last fall that I wanted to organize my linen closet and pantry. Which I finally did this year. How sad is THAT?!? Actually, I might have been talking about my other linen closet, which I might have actually done. It needs it again though.
