Sunday, June 30, 2002
Amelie is Moved In.
And her old house? Clean as a whistle. Before 10 PM, can you believe it.
The brother sanded down the ruined door the door scratched at by Seamas the dog for 3.5 years. The friends showed up en force, so Amelie treated them to lunch. The boys moved all the heavy stuff yesterday while Amelie was in LA miserable because she watched a lot of work go down the tubes. Unbelievable. A statewide coalition busted apart in front of my face, and it was not pretty (the coalition bust; the face is just fine thanks).
So we are in. And the bro also set up the computer. And I am happily on it again, although I did get on for an hour on Friday night with my new buddies from San Diego who introduced me to loads of gay porn at the all night internet cafe on Normandie and Wilshire. I had to laugh, plain old silliness.
I am home. The only one missing is my dog. Poor dog dog!
I have a funny thing to record. My cats were collected when I got home on Saturday after 10 PM. I got Wingnut, Shabazz, and even grabbed Todd the Cat Who Bites. But I couldn't find the baby, Churchill. I looked for a few hours. I decided to wake up extra early for him. I went to bed after introducing the kitties to the house. They crawled around in the dark. I heard a little whimper, so I went outside thinking Todd was upset and lonely. He was fine. I went back to bed. Heard something again. I stared at my wardrobe. The big wardrobe that my brother and his friends had moved earlier that day and then stacked boxes of books in front of. I decided to open it.
Churchill was on the second shelf looking very dazed and confused. He'd been stuck in a shelf the size of a shoebox, in a portable closet the size of a fridge. He was so scared, poor thing! But I couldn't help but think how he was the first kitty in the new house after I'd spent hours looking for him at the old house. Wacky.
glad to be in and I am sooo damn tired.
~Google Reference for a Search That Really Makes Me Wonder What I Wrote
Still moving. Probably be back Monday. If I don't fall into a coma.
~Amelie La Bonne
Wednesday, June 26, 2002
All I can say about moving is that is sucks ass.
I slept on the floor last night at my new house. It's hot there.
I still have tons of crap to move, and I do mean crap and I do mean a ton or two.
Ran into the new owner's real estate agent yesterday. I complained a LOT about my old landlord, made a few disparaging comments, and then when he really thought I was a bitch, I calmed down. Then he said "so, it will be ready for a walk through tomorrow?" I just looked at him. "Um, it'll be ready on SUNDAY. okay? SUNDAY. If people do a walkthrough now, it's at their own risk.
Friday I leave for LA. 36 hours in Los Angeles doing business-ish stuff. Boring crap. Voting on bylaws for a new state advisory coalition. Tracking health legislation and codes. bleck.
And then I come back to move some more.
Know what I need?
A vacation. Preferably where it rains or has snow. Maybe Iceland. I could have a good time around the arctic circle right now. It's miserable hot in these here parts.
Tuesday, June 25, 2002
I am the worst feminist ever. It struck me today that I'd forgotten to chronicle something very important. And that's after hanging out with Maryanne on Saturday. This is great:
Sacramento's chapter of NOW (I'd link the site, but it pretty much is blank right now) went in front of the city government with a power point presentation showing digital and scanned photos of the abortion protesters harrassing women leaving a local clinic. Not only were they preaching, but they were opening car doors and reaching into open windows, falling in front of cars to block them from going in, you name it. They are loony. I like to go watch them (once, I was called a Viper from Hellfire, which both embarrassed and exhilarated me at the same time,) and I have personally seen Jane exorcised twice.
See, I am the adorable feminist who will flirt with the men leaving The Promise Keepers Promise Conferences; I smile, grab my left breast and yell "Promise THIS (ya bastards)!" Kidding. I do flirt though. Why, I've been called all kinds of nice things by pimply faced wishful catholic and baptist boys.
Anyway, The Abortion Protesters. They are nuts. One time, a guy with a camera took my picture and said something like "You should move out of the target range. Wouldn't want YOU to get hurt." Well, Harrumph! I was shocked. Was that considered a death threat? Nice, right to lifer.
Okay, So The ABORTION protesters...
well, the clinic used to have an injunction that kept them 20 feet from the entrance. If the clinic hadn't moved locations, they'd still have the anti abortioners in the street. Jumping up and down furiously amongst cars. But they DID move unfortunately, and therefore, the abortion protesters cannot cross the asphault demarcation in the parking lot, like any unwanted person who's been 86'd but that's the only thing. They can get close to you when you exit and enter. They also not supposed to block the driveway. Fat chance keeping them from doing that. They bring their kids and line them up. Lovely. "no mommy, I want to watch cartoons!!! It's SATURDAY! Please mom, don't make me carry that sign again.. aw, mom! crap. I'm staying in my pajamas then."
Okay, so NOW. Maryanne went up in front of the city council. Powerpoint in hand. They freaked out at the pictures of the Right To Lifers opening car doors. That really got them. "My, how inVAsive!" Why, yes, my dears, they are truly wicked and horrible and invasive. It is scary. Imagine if you had to go there for a routine visit and someone crawled into your car. Now, pretend you just made the decision to stay in school and not have a baby. And some freakish stranger jumps into your car. Screaming at you. In LA, they call that "carjacking", dig? And no one in the neighborhood appreciates the protesters that camp out there ever stinking Saturday. Can you BELIEVE it? I mean, such colorful ART. How could they not enjoy the looped tape of a baby crying across a parking lot??? Hmmm? (And my other beef is, for all their baby lovin', they sure let the kid on the tape cry for a long time before someone finally fed it.)
So, Maryanne asked them not just for an "injunction", NNOOOOO, she based her argument on something BETTER. She said "Um, other cities protect ALL their clinics, with an ordinance. We want one here. So that all may be protected from protesters."
And they did it.
They granted it. The protesters have to go stand in traffic or be hauled off to jail. Hurrah!
~Amelie La Flirty Feminista
Monday, June 24, 2002
So, there are piles of things around me ready to be picked up dragged off and moved. No one chronicles the exhaustion of a move. Except me. I hate that I have so much crap to move. I really hate it.
And since I just found out the Air Force is slowly packing and piling up Regina's crap at her house, I have to wait to move in. I am thinking "what goes first? Books, or clothes?"
While I'm debating I am online (of course) reading Ms. Star's blog. She rocks. I love this unflinchingly non pc and naughty girl.
Everytime I fall asleep I wake up coughing. Miserable. Although I did eat a lot of dust today. And tomorrow is Day Uno de la MOVE. ugh. Just drank some theraflu as I am totally out of cough medicine and cannot stomach anymore alcohol this weekend.
Crasharama was fun though. I took a lot of pictures. I forgot how fun my regular 35mm camera was. I'm so used to digital (and since they don't want to download I've even been avoiding them for awhile) I haven't taken any pictures. Well, what the hell do I own a big scanner for if not to scan pictures? Hmmm???
Here's more from another earlier crasharama. I feel deceitful as the Troublemakers didn't play. SLA played. I was indifferent. I found out it WAS the last one, though. At least at the site where it was held as the guy who does it is a retired stuntman who lost the property to big developers. Just between you and me, there's tons of land south on Bradshaw road that would be perfect for crasharamas of the future.
Sunday, June 23, 2002
What's a flâneur? Webster defines it simply as "an idle man-about-town," one of those fin de siècle dandies who ambled through the crowds of European cities in search of bustle, gossip, and beauty. And what is Flâneur? It's a magazine dedicated to the celebration of urban life, the sanctification of the stroll.
It's also a year old. Maybe if you read their stuff, they will update their zine. I liked it.
I am thinking about participating in this as I'm online all the time anyway. I have a few friends who are good candidates as well.
Today is the "last" crash-o-rama. What is a crash-o-rama you might ask? Well, my race car crashing friend Jane took me to my first one. And it got rained out, so we drove around stupidly looking for something else to do that day and ended up getting yelled at by my wacky mom. The following year, I missed it only because I was out of town.
There is a guy who likes to wreak havoc and create mayhem dukes of hazard style on his property here in town. It's funny because the property is on a dead end by the light rail tracks, so potentially anyone could see this thing happening, but it is a mainly word of mouth event. He collects cars, and then when he thinks he has enough to play with, he lines them up. and tries to jump over them. In another beat up car. Hence, crash-o-rama. Here are some pix I found online, scroll for the troublemakers. I can't totally describe what I have yet to see, but suffice it to say this appeals to me on many silliness levels. Supposedly bands are playing. Really, why wouldn't the wackiest bands be playing at this event? If they weren't planning on it, they shoulda been. As others have done before them.
okay, drama at the raceway. Beyond the Salt Of The Earth Regulars and their Necessarily Bad Hair. As soon as Maryanne gets her photos developed I'll scan them and show you JUST HOW MANY AMBULANCES and tow trucks it took to get Jane, the passengers, and the other driver out of their cars. The other driver one of only three woman drivers, and she got plowed into and hit the wall hard, wedging Jane into the wall as well. It took about 30 minutes to clear the track. One of the passengers exited wearing a neck brace, flat on a stretcher. It was great.
Not that I like people getting hurt, but come on, you take that risk especially when you say "take me take me", and plus, it's fun to watch the cars crash or at least spin out.
We all met later after the race by Jane and Ken's car, the rear right rim had wall smooshed into it. Cement wall. Smooshed and smashed. She must've hit harder than it looked on the tape. She took the wall off and it STAYED. And the hood had popped off. Somewhere. But luckily no one in the x86 car got hurt, though Jane stripped to show us her bruises. While she was off retrieving something else for some reason, and Erica, Maryanne and I were stuffing our faces withbeer, sodas, and leftover bbq (because hey, it's bbq, and I never say no to bbq), a guy walked up to us and said "Hey, you guys are JANE'S friends, aren't you?" I said "Yeah." without looking at him. And he just stood there staring at us. He said "Figures. You all fit the type." We're looking at each other, 'type'?? One of his companions said "good one dan. Really smooth". I couldn't figure out what the hell he was trying to imply. I was waiting for the requisite misogyny and homophobic commentary. But no. He walked back up to me, in my sweater, black jeans and fishing cap, looked at Maryanne in her tank top and shortalls, and then addressed Erica. "It's all good. I used to tear it up in Sacramento. I used to be a Punk Rocker too. And then I graduated. To a skinhead." He nodded matter of factly and very proudly. We all nodded back. Ah, now he's making sense. I grabbed Erica by her deadbolt jacket toggles and patted her on her black punk rock hair and said "Hiya Jane's Friend!" She said, "Heya Skinhead!"
Then Jane gave us a ride out to our car. We all sat on the tail, wedged our asses where the window would have been. We did a lap on the track, waving to anyone who'd wave back, and then we made it out to the parking lot intact. I drank too much cheap beer, ate a horrible pretzel and watched my friend crash her racecar. All in all, a good night.
Tomorrow, Crash O Rama, a Sacramento INSTITUTION. We also have the Thanksgiving Appetite Enhancement Ride (where you ride your fat tired ancient schwinn bike through the grid flat streets of Sacramento and proceed to get drunker and drunker on freshly brewed cider kegged and biked along with you, ride up/fill up style). Oh yeah, and the Peep Off which I just found out about recently but unfortunately, that's only during Easter time. And people say this is a cow town.
~Amelie, Une Vache ou Une Amie De Jane? La meme chose?
Saturday, June 22, 2002
Going to the raceway tonight. One of my very dearest friends co-owns a bomber class stock car and she races it half time. One of these days, I'm going to say "take me take me!" when she offers a ride in it during a race. Speediness scares me, but what the hell. I can crawl through the window with the best of them, and I've already caught on fire once with no lasting scars. I ain't worried. Much. She came in with the 3rd highest racing time in her class clocked at the track the last time she raced, and beat her ex boyfriend's best time by at least 2 seconds. I love it. Go Jane. go!! And work on your site, damn it.
~Amelie La Vite!!!!
Friday, June 21, 2002
Okay, I watch way too many movies. My dad has picked The Minority Report to celebrate belated Dad Day tonight. I am not a Tom Cruise fan, but hey, my dad is a sci fi freak. We are going. Shut it.
Also, I have to stop calling him Dada. Mainly because he is a busy trauma surgeon, and other people answer his cell phone when it rings.
I yell "DADA!!!!" and they say, "no, it's Richard. I'm answering the phone for your Dada. His hands are in someone's bullet wound right now. May I take a message?"
Complained to Regina about my sore throat and how very "viral" the doctor said it looked. Regina says to me, "Well, it can't be worse than when you had dysentery." As in, "That was f*cking disgusting and we could barely stand to visit you, it was so gross."
I forget other people knew me when I had that. It was not pretty. At all.
I came home early again. Everyone is avoiding me at work now anyway. And I'm out of cough syrup. So I'm drinking leftover sangria.
oh, funny thing just happened. My dog and my kitten just collided while leaping into midair; a head to head bone cracking sound. They were both after the same fly.
I was riveted. 1st movie I've really fallen for Matt Damon in.
He was yummy. I was riveted.
Your standard spy fare, but intensely fun and good. Franka Potente, who I LOVE, was in it as well. She was looking very juliette binoche-ish (who I also adore) here. I loved the whole thing.
Except the big weird guy who wore loose shorts and sat right next to me. As if the theater didn't have any open seats. He kept yelling "Huzzah" which I felt was completely inappropriate and I had to force myself to tune out both that, and his odd, parameter-jumping odor that wafted sporadically and invasively, and wasn't quite foul, but wasn't exactly pleasant either. I may have to see it again. As I feel I was distracted away from Matt Damon, in the only role I have ever felt even slightly aroused by him.
I am probably way behind everyone else, but have you seen these shockwave animations? Ally turned me on to them. She rocks ass. She used to work at Shockwave and knew the artist. I died laughing and came back, and laughed even more.
I thought they were so funny. They may take awhile to download, but are worth it.
Wednesday, June 19, 2002
So, kitty has a virus. And is doing better already. I love my vet, he is a traveling vet in a winnebago.
But I decided to stay home and take care of my cat, as I am sick of my job.
Crudeness to follow.
And then Ally and I decide to walk my dog. And somehow, in my brain, I remembered to "grab a baggie" because of the "just in case", as in "what if Seamas takes a dump?" I hate it when people leave their dogpoos all over. And my dog doesn't normally go. But it's a hot day, I'm sure people fed my doggie some snacks last night, I'm sure he needed the exercise.
Luckily, I had one, cuz he went. As Ally said, "Damn, that's bigger than HIM!"
So, I quickly wrapped it up, Erica style, and trashed it in the nearest receptacle. And then I couldn't find my keys. They WERE in my pocket. With the baggie. Fear washed over me as I thought "I am going diving for the poo bag". Oh My God.
And Ally said, before I took a deep breath....
"Maybe they are still in your door?"
~Amelie, who leaves the keys in the door. Thank God.
Shabazz is really sick. He couldn't walk this morning. I took him into the bathroom with me when I showered and he just sprawled out using his leg to hold his head up. He's so weak.
I am meeting my vet in 20 minutes.
The one thing I hate about having pets is that they get sick and can't tell you what's wrong. If it was a kid with a cold, I'd know it and give 'em tylenol cold medicine. or something. But a cat? They just look at you sadly meowing, and you think they are just wanting a cuddle, until you realize they have diarrhea, peed all over your floor, and collapsed under their own weight. My poor kitty.
Housecolding parties are lovely.
Beautiful people walked up, drove in, and biked out to come to my little get together that was held, absurdly enough, on a tuesday evening. And my house was clean, my dog was well behaved, and my guests brought snacks and/or themselves. Erica brought me a housecolding gift, packing tape with a big purple bow. Someone else promised me boxes. See what I mean? Good people. After a long day of fighting with WEAVE and back to back meetings in the afternoon on "what people who are poor and sick and beligerent need."
Melanie made a cake that said "brrr...goodbye house." with a little house drawn on it. My boss showed up with guinness. My other friends came bearing wine, cheese, fruit, and gifts. Everyone got to say goodbye to Regina and wish her much much luck. I will cry a lot when she leaves. Things like that get to me. Every time she moves back, my life gets a little bit better.
Why, I must say, I just looked around my house, and a tear came to my eye. No one could possibly understand how much it will pain me to move. The ickiness of packing, the tediousness of cleaning, that's all the normal stuff. This house, this one where I live, stays relatively cool in the summer. I feel good about walking around in the dark here. I can stay here alone and I'm not afraid of bogiemen. I sometimes fall asleep with the door unlocked. I like most of my neighbors. I have a friendly ghost (oh, I didn't tell you that? I do. Sort of. It didn't used to like me, but now I think it does. No, I'm not crazy. shut up.) I just feel comfortable. Like I was destined to live here. And now, I have to go away.
Luckily, it's to a cute little cottage in a nicer part of town near fun people and old friends, and a bigger badder park. Gina's inlaws own it and she is moving out the day I move in. I can walk to work, it's the same distance, or catch a bus. Doesn't matter. It's a nice place. But it's not HERE. ugh.
And my cat Shabazz is really acting sick. I am now very awake, and very worried. I'm checking online vet sites because Erica went home and I can't call her to ask what a normal cat temperature is. Poor kitty. He' s hot. He came home from gallavanting all night covered in mud this morning, and now he's really sick and acting dizzy and he peed on my bathroom floor. I know he's sick, that ain't normal. so.
More drama to contend with, possibly another sick leave day tomorrow to deal with sick cat issues.
~amelie, who must clean up the kitchen and take a feline's rectal temperature before she finally sleeps
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
I went to a luau awards dinner for the Sacramento Discovery Museum last night. Our agency's program for volunteers got awarded for it's specialness. It is special, good job Melanie and Tammie. You rock ass (they organized a river rock creek clean up and underbrush clearing for the museum).
And I had wine. It was considered work. So I stayed home for the morning. Why is it tat when I am staying away from work, that's when the shit hits the fan? Why can't it happen when I'm bored and sitting at my computer reading about hardening bubbles and BBQ chicken on a can?
So, my boss calls me and says "Battered woman, HIV+, what can you do?" I called the agency that was working on the case. I talked to the woman in question. Want to hear a story that will curl your socks off your curled toes? Read on!
Woman, homeless, HIV+, with other mental issues and seizure disorder, is placed in a room and board by a service that helps people manage their money and their medication. She is 10 months clean from alcohol and other drugs. She is miserable at the transitional room and board, gets attacked by her roommate, and has reported abuse from the staff there. This woman is cranky and has issues, but remember, she has also spent most of her life on the streets and is a mentally ill survivor of rapes, beatings, horrible things.
She ended up at the ER late last night, but wasn't seen. She made her way across town to her doctor's office, where they immediately called the police and took XRays. She was bloodied up, had swollen hands, and her face had basically been beaten in.
Her story? She was making a call to her social workers to complain about the transitional living program. She says the house manager ripped the phone out of the wall, beat her about the head with the phone ear/mouthpiece, and then strangled her with his hands. She has marks in these areas. The police interviewed him at the scene this morning and determined that she was crazy, and that he hadn't done it. They left.
She has nowhere to go. The agency that placed her there washed their hands of her. They are supposed to make sure she gets her medication, but if she's homeless she will die from AIDS. She is close already. The AIDS housing here is not equipped for mental illness. The program she's working with refuses to try anymore. They won't place her anywhere because she has a "mouth" and provokes abuse somehow. I called Women Escaping A Violent Environment. They said they would only take her if she was a woman escaping a violent environment caused by her lover. I said, "How is she not appropriate for your shelter? Can you not make an exception? This guy had ALL THE POWER. He STRANGLED her, for pete's sake. She is alone and scared to death." They said their funding excluded them from taking a client with her issue, so basically she will likely die in the street because we have no appropriate shelters. To make a long story short, I am fuming and angry and this woman has a broken hand and rope like bruises on her neck. Her eyes are blood filled and she has spreading bruises coming from her scalp down to her browbone. She has a split lip and a cut nose. She has seizures, AIDS, and dementia. It happened YESTERDAY EVENING. And she is a big mess. And no one will take her in.
Nice, Sacramento Social Services. Good one. No charges were ultimately pressed. They said she did it to herself. I hate it that I am only and advocate and have no way to force people to do what is right.
Monday, June 17, 2002
"Only you can hurt you, and when I say you I mean me. And not the universal male. I don't mean to be sollipsistic."
(Phil, on why self criticism is much worse than what other people can think about you.) "At the same time, the rest of the world is not robots set to torment you. That's when you take the sollipsism too far."
He has been performing at the Nobody Show. He wasn't acting, he's telling me now. He created a character the Press Secretary for the Midtown Hipsters Association, the mission it to promote and grow the anti-establishment scene, and to set the parameters on said antiestablishmentarianism to garner the uniform 'Scene'. i.e., they will determine the type of bike and tattoos you can have, car you can drive, music you can listen to, and restaurants you visit.
This guy always makes me laugh my ass off. I am still blown away by the fact that he used "sollipsism" in quips at least twice in one day, much less one conversation. Not even in philosphy classes.
what I do instead of work....
Walk to store for juice with Melanie, who is still sick because I took Zicam and she didn't. 3 people at my work are now sick with my sore throat. Nice, I am the Typhoid Mary of the non profit crew.
So we were walking.
Melanie is reading a book called Into The Buzzsaw. She gave me the rundown on it, and now I want to read it. The clinch: "So, this American journalist who is too controversial to get anything published here did a story for the BBC on Floridian felon vote registry. The BBC aired it, and ABC, the sister affiliate here in the US, had the option to pick it up for broadcast. They opted out."
Melanie: "The representatives called the journalist and said the information didn't pass fact check. Apparently, they told him 'we called Jeb Bush's office and they denied it.' "
Sunday, June 16, 2002
So, it wasn't so bad. It was actually pretty fun. Shooting guns, that is. Actually, I can now see the appeal. I was really nervous at first and didn't want to take the gun at all. I let Erica shoot first. When it didn't misfire, I decided to try it. It was a .22, which is a very small bullet. Not like a .45 or a 9mm, those were really big and scary looking. The scariest were the bullets loaded into the clip for the big black rifle thingamajig. No, scratch that, the SCARIEST part was the speed freak next to us who had pulled out his minivan seats and he, his friend, and their two sons, were shooting yellow pigeons with what looked like .22 rifles and a revolver. Anyway, we drove out to the middle of nowhere (dustville, apparently) and pulled off the road and right there was the range. It didn't look like much, just 4 piles of dirt. We set up in front of the closest one.
And then we got our gun lesson, our teachers (who were surprisingly patient, calm, and adorable) were very safety conscious. We learned how to hold, load, cock, and where the safety was on each gun. This is exactly what I wanted to do this for. So, each gun loads pretty much the same except the shotgun (which hurts to fire, by the way, I could only stand to fire the two rounds in it.) But the .22 is nice, it doesn't kick, and it wasn't too spooky. The Glock, however, and the .45 with the 'better sights' were awful. Both of them tore up my hand a bit, and I kept shutting my eyes right when I pulled the trigger. I just couldn't relax, they are apparently pretty powerful guns. We also got a lecture on keeping fingers off the trigger, which I kept learning, and told that the difference between the bullets had a lot to do with their casing and whether they were center fire (hammer hits middle impact site) or rim fire (hammer can hit anywhere on the back of the bullet, like the .22s, which are also small). More than you needed to know, right? Well, I was with experts, who have a lot of guns. And they love them.
My favorite was the rifle called an FAL. Okay, insomniac girl found the website. It's big, and lots of people were watching us use it. One guy even begged to fire a few rounds, so I guess it's rare to see. Lots of other people had rifles. Okay, this gun was really big, It gave everyone bruises except me because I was smart and brought a towel for my shoulder. Anyway, I liked it because it was comfortable to shoot, only it's heavy so I'd have to lift weights. Unfortunately, no one is going to try and attack me with an FAL, which was the reason why I wanted to learn handgun safety/usage in the first place. But the handguns were really hard to use. I guess it takes practice. Scarily, I liked shooting guns. I feel like some charlton heston fanatic now.
we blew up two squashes, a bunch of extra yellow pigeons, I blew the HECK out of a nonfunctioning microwave, my Mac Classic II did not survive Erica, and various and sundry fruits, sodas, bottles and whatnot, basically bit it. Neat.
The one thing that I learned from this is that all the gunfights you see on TV and movies are ridiculous. There is no way you can just pick up a gun and use it without having any clue about it. You actually have to aim to hit something. Well, unless you are really really close, I guess. And I will stop saying "shoot the tires", like it's easy or something.
Today is gun shooting day.
That's not some weird American holiday, oh you people reading from overseas, no...it means that I am going to learn how to handle a variety of weapons safely today. Holding, loading, aiming, firing.
Why would I want to do that?
Well, I just do. One is a rifle, one is a shotgun, one is a semiautomatic, one is a .45 and one is a .38....Nope, I have no clue what these things mean. I will tell you all after I'm through. Especially if I haven't shot anyone in the foot.
Friday, June 14, 2002 True, and Typical... Don'ts are rampant...
So, I am still having the housecolding party (and yes, I still am a bit sick, but I am thinking it is allergies. I mean, I even went in to work today with all my days I could take off. Throat is killing me, but I don't feel sick-sick.)
Housecolding: adv. "Moving out of a warm, happy vibrant, alive house, and making it colder by your absence."
I have discovered that if you send out an email freaking about the Klez virus that is infesting your computer and that is sent to you DAILY (at least 20 times per day) into your inbox, and you get fed up and find articles about JUST HOW HORRIBLE the worm is, and then to make your point to the administration, send it out to ALL the PEOPLE in your OFFICE, with a message that if the subject is something silly, cute and utterly ridiculous, "Don't open it, it's not me."
do not expect that the next day, when you send out an email invite to your housecolding party called "Come To My Housecolding Party"....
That anyone in your workplace will RSVP, much less open your email.
don't eat the Lay's bistro gourmet applewood and smoked cheddar bbq chips. They are incredibly, evilly addictive. They will cause you to want to be sick, but no, you cannot let go of their yumminess, causing the inevitable fat belly syndrome. And gas. Plus, if you have a sore throat, you'll just make it worse.
~Amelie la bleck.
Had a retreat today. At the zoo. I was the Gopher. Gofer.
The woman who ran the meeting? Militant and big eyed. She was funny.
Know what? Vanilla coke, the Coca cola version (I know I know, coke is the devil), tastes not good.
In fact, it tastes plain bad. It tastes viscous and caramel-like. I like my own version, with a drop of extract. And vodka when necessary.
Thursday, June 13, 2002 Guys, I am SOOOO making this for my dessert party....screw the bread and brie, let them eat cupcake.
"I've posted this before, but I'll say it again because it's just that damn good. I got the idea from the Cake Doctor thread.
1 box white cake mix (you could try chocolate for an extra boost)
1 pint Ben and Jerry's Phish Food
It comes out like magical Phish Food cake. Soooo good.
I make it as cupcakes, but instead of using cupcake cups, I use ice cream cones - the kind with flat bottoms. This is especially good for Phish Food cake, because Phish Food has little chocolate fishies swimming around in it and they sink to the bottom. That makes one revolting mess in cupcake cups."
ugh. I am looking at my possessions. I think I have way too much crap. If I was a true virgo, it would all be organized already. But I was 2 weeks late, so technically, I am a leo, right? And they are messy packrats, dammit. I mean, there has to be a reason beyond I am a nutball. Moving, just the idea of it, sucks ass.
I am home again today. I woke up with a detached far away scrabbly voice, somewhere in the back of my head, and another really sore throat. I am pouring coffee down it now. I still think it could be allergies. I called Kaiser, the Advice Nurse said "If you feel sick, stay home. Drink plenty of fluids, avoid aspirin." oh, gee, thanks. You are supposed to tell me to come in for a biopsy to rule out cancer once and for all. Oh, and I am avoiding aspirin already. I am terrified of Reyes Syndrome. I only take aspirin when I am healthy.
Things I want to do this weekend:
1) use my bullets up. I am collecting junk that I want to shoot at. We are going to a shooting range where you set up your own targets. I knew there was something I could do with the microwave on my porch, the mac classic II that is only worth 9.99 on ebay, and the spaghetti squash that has been around so long it's got me wondering...the last one I had this long had sprouted seeds inside.
2) finally break down and buy a bananas album. Preferably an early one. They apparently played last night and I was sick. Or I am confused. I am checking websites now. They are from here, and at least one posts on the snobby indie message board site I read daily.
3) sort out my clothes. I have more clothes than I know what to do with. Funny thing is, I only wear a few pieces. Same thing with the shoes. I have got to do something about my shoe collection. I pulled a box out of my closet and found a bunch of pairs I didn't remember I owned. ugh. that's horrible!
I remember being simple. I had one black dress, 2 pair of dickies, a pair of jeans, a swimsuit, a pair of shorts, 5 hanes tee shirts, the requisite number of undergarments and socks, 2 pair of converse and a pair of doc martens before the company was purchased by a Nordstom's vendor. I wore no makeup, didn't wax my eyebrows, owned a chapstick and soap. I had flannel pajamas and a really pretty nightgown my mom got me. I had a futon, 4 pillows, and a down comforter. I had a mac classic II and a printer. I had a kitten. I had a bookshelf full of feminist literature, non fiction, and textbooks. I collected bendy wooden pully toys from south america, I only had 3 and they weren't exactly an ostentatious collection. I had houseplants and a strawberry garden. I had a watercolor print of koi that I have never been able to replace. I didn't know how to cook meat. I worked at a battered women's shelter at night, was a nanny by day, a latte maker at a cafe on my nights off, and in my down time I saw odd and mysterious bands come through our local venues and was a community radio programmer, vinyl girl only had 2 boxes of 7" and a crate of LPs. I rarely went to the beach unless the grunnion were running or there had been a storm. I didn't have a car, I walked everywhere. I even used to cut my own hair, for pete's sake. That was it. My life was small and full. Then I moved to Sacramento. Where my life was still a bit smallish, but somehow I found more collectibles. And bought clothes. ugh. And now I am old, with too much stuff.
What the hell happened?
speaking of haircuts, I got mine chopped off all short. It reminds me of when I used to cut it myself. don't be scared, I like it.
Wednesday, June 12, 2002
how can I be sick?
I handled a snotty nosed little kid on Sunday. He was cute, but must've been germy. Melanie went with me. We scared each other all day with reports of the same symptoms. Both of us thought it was allergies. Until I sent an email to her that said "Ugh, I can't turn my head, my neck is hurting". and she said basically "ugh, ditto". So we are infected. I wonder how many people we made sick in the course of 3 days of harbouring festering germ reproduction?
There is an awful woman I am supposed to negotiate with regularly. Not only is she mean, but she is ugly and has scabs. Scabs! All the time! On her arms and her face! She obviously nervously PICKS at her skin. So beyond that creepiness... She has the most hideous wardrobe (Worse than SWEATS!!!) it's grey and blah. braless and drab, she has a grey dandruffy mullet and big thick glasses. Her lips are thin and pursed and she has small unfriendly pig eyes. Like the pig ghost in Amityville Horror. This all would be fine is she was just a nerdy, badly dressed, sexually frustrated woman, but she is MEAN. I mean, SPITEFULLY SO. And the worst part? She runs an entire social service department. She is surly. I am sad.
I am hosting a housecolding party. What is that, you may ask?
why, it is when you are moving out. why, I made it up. It is a chance to be both martha stewartish, and to host a dessert judging contest where I can give away some of the knick-knacks people gave me when I moved in, so I don't have to move them out.
Just kidding. It's just chance to be martha stewartish.
And I am moving out. My best friend is moving away as well. I figured the best thing to do would be to have the dessert party I've been wanting to have since February. Only we won't play board games, as I've been getting replies that say "I can come at 9". I figure that means fluctuating crowds. I figure that means "fluctuating players". So we will just be getting drunk and eating cake.
I figure, I will make mojitos and sangria and open up my last two bottles of good wine, my favorite brie and crusty bread, I'll get some ice cream cranking in my new ice cream maker, and make a banana pudding dip with lady fingers. That should start it off. I am hoping other folks will bring cheese and wine and beer and sodas. I know they will. I have faith.
In the wake of the move, we breathe in the summer heat, and let go of all our fears. Tuesday.
If I wasn't so afraid of needles, I think I would invent a way to mainline caffeine. I mean, without coffee, what's the point of anything?
I had another nice weekend, had brunch with my very good amigas, saw Ya Ya Sisterhood w/ally. Ellen Burstyn is NOT Gena Rowlands; Rowlands was the mom in ANOTHER Bullock movie. Anyway, I am one of those people who gets everyone mixed up. Names of shows, actors, whatnot. So, EB is not GR. I found out. Although, EB and NOT GR was in a great bunch of movies. Like Resurrection and the drug one. I am blanking on the name (see above explanation as to why).
I also went to a wedding where ally and I met the nicest woman. She used to be in a cult (i.e., Church Of Christ. The Church Of Christer's were always trying to get me to join them when I lived in SB. I'm just not swayed.) but now she is a Fallaway (one of the best names I've thought for a band in years). A fall away is someone who has become distant from the church. She realized they were not who she wanted to be, and she left the weirdo church (examples of weirdness: if you date, you can only date once or twice a month on a double date, AND, if you are interested in dating someone exclusively, the church has to determine his or her eligibility to date you---and yes, they have to be in the church). She determined that she was 30 years old and hadn't gone out much. We said "We can remedy THAT!!!" We took her to Tapa the World because when the wedding ended, the galleries were closing down and it was close by. We tried to hunt down some friends of mine who were out that night, but they were not answering phones anywhere. Anyway, this nice woman would probably cause us to be a trio instead of out little duo. Ally says she wanted to hang out with us because we had "great hair". I am blushing even now.
Sunday was a baby shower and a series of naps. I thought I'd caught up on all my sleep.
And then I woke up today tired. Maybe it's just the idea of working that is getting me down??
Question(s) of the day:
Tipping: do you do it? How do you determine the tip? Is it based solely on the waitstaff's waiting on you or is it based on the entire experience (i.e., whether you like the food)? Just curious. There was some discomfort over tipping this weekend and I wanted to know if I was in a minority. you can email me at: email@example.com
Friday, June 07, 2002
I'm staying home again today. I figured it out, and at the rate I use up sick leave, I'll have over 100 hours leftover if I stay till my funding ends, and then I won't get paid for it. so there is incentive to suddenly have a very sick summer. Plus, it gives me time to do laundry, read, walk my dog, plan my move (oh, I am moving. I forgot to write it down.) I am moving across town end of June. Smaller house, but 3 bedrooms in a nicer part of the city. It was just too good a deal to pass up.
Anyway, I need time to get my head straight. I run into work and help everyone fix everything. And then I go home, and my house is a shambles and there are too many things to do in a day. Plus, I finished classes at city college (the ones I used to defer loans) with 2 Bs. That's with over 3 weeks where I just spaced and did not show up to classes. That's also with the most MINIMAL effort, it scares me. I think I turned in 2 assignments in Spanish and took every single test late. My other class was a bit strict with the points, but I talked her into extra credit. Why I didn't take these things pass/no pass is beyond me, but I saw it as a challenge to keep a 3.0 with no effort. I have accomplished my mission, and this should scare you away from community college. Although I learned quite a bit of Spanish.
ANYWAY, I still need a break.
sick leave. Yay. Reading, drinking iced tea on the porch, laziness, dog walking and biking around town on a cherry hunt=Amelie's plan for the day!
Have a nice one yourself,
And then I watched MTV with Ally and Hen...I want Kelly Osbourne to be my daughter.
She Rocks SERIOUS Ass. Papa Don't Preach sounds even better when you are 17, slightly nervous but getting into it, pink haired and heading straight to stardom.
I loved her. I adored her. Yay. White Stripes weren't that interesting though. I think it was all the gap dancers; too distracting.
Also, is it just me, or was Moulin Rouge just bloody AWFUL??!! Could I be in the minority here? Ugh. Bleck. As the girl as said, "it's not like it's the oscars". but for goodness sake, they won a bunch those too. doesn't anyone know it sucked?
Thursday, June 06, 2002
There is a little midget mexican boy standing on his mom's lap singing folksongs on Univision.
He has Emmanuel Lewis syndrome. I have no idea how old he is. His ears poke out. Oh my god I love him.
Somehow, this is so cute, it makes me have a little energy for all the chores I have to do.
I am staying home today and watching bad TV. But this is so bad it's good. Ally is right. You can have both at once.
I want a little mexican "little guy" doll. He is so cute, it's disarming. I want one. I want a golden egg, daddy, and I want it now.
Are you special enough? Know anyone who is?
I am. I'm buying Francesca. cuz She is our beautiful blonde Friend with blue eyes. I think she looks a bit like me. Oddly.
Bill Clinton is naming his new puppy Seamas. Pronounced Shay-muss.
What the hell? What kind of a name for a dog is that? What happened to Buddy? What's it mean? Who DOES that? I mean, Bill's name should be Shame Us.
Why do I care?
Um...That's what I named MY dogdog.
Wednesday, June 05, 2002
Ah. Home. I'm listening to Bill Withers.
Went to the mall. Again. I think it's been about 5 times this month. The reason why it's notable is that I rarely go to the mall. I am not a shopper, not really. HOWEVER, today I was on a mission. Wedding present and baby shower gift. Naturally, I also bought an ice cream maker. And a fun noodle for the pool.
I hit the Sanrio store with a vengeance. I bought a bunch of stuff I wanted for myself, so that I could give it to an 8 year old girl. As Melanie and I were shopping the Hello Kitty store, a song came on. An offensive song. And not eminem offensive. And not just because it's BAD. It was a kid's store. The song was not on the radio. As soon as I realized how many times I'd just heard F*CK this F*CK that, I started laughing. i couldn't help it, it was surreal. I was in a kids store, and not just ANY kid's store, it was HELLO KITTY, okay? HELLO KITTY. And the clerky girls just stood around looking annoyed that there were customers. I looked at Mel who hadn't caught on. I basically was laughing and red and having a little motherly embarrassment. I turned a chococat wallet around so I didn't have to look it in the face. The chorus came on again. Finally, I noticed a clerk rush to the back room and the music was cut. It was a CD they'd PUT IN themSELVES! Suffice it to say I could barely get out the words "What was that?" (Limp Bizkit and some rapper) I'm sure they thought I would report it. But really, just wanted to record the event in my blog cuz I'm insane.
And then we hit Sephora. And a clerk there said she thought my age was 37. When I started laughing, she said "I dunno...I'm bad with ages. 42?" I almost peed my pants. I thought Is she for real??? Or is she just one of those women who is totally meanspirited and is mean while she employs sweetness and nice tones? I tried the "Actually, I'm 30." She said "Well, I was not THAT far off...I mean, only by about 10 years. You look older." I still couldn't tell...was she a bitch? So I tested...she asked how old I thought she was. I said "39" without missing a beat. She grinned and said "I'm 52, okay I have to go help someone else now".
I got news for you lady, you look WAY older than 52, because I actually AM nice and would never want to crush your fragile self esteem. But I'm never going into a Sephora ever again. I bought nothing. Bite me.
We decided to get the baby gift. And everything was on sale. We were thrilled unitl I thought "maybe she'll want to return some of this stuff..." And the clerk said "oh, it's too late for a gift receipt, you shoulda TOLD me." Um, how did you miss "she'd LOVE this...and oh, these gifts are so CUTE." So, JC Penney's is out. They also have dumb clerks.
We went to Macy's. Remember, Macy's is probably going out of business. Macy's sucks.
Well, Tracy, the Benefit counter manager, DID NOT SUCK. She ROCKED ASS. And I got all embarrassed cuz both Mel and I guessed her age as over what she was. I don't know why, it was the game of the night I guess "Guess how old I am...WRONG!!" We do that, women. And we are always guessing less than we think because we want to be nice. Except for that BITCH at Sephora. Horrible person. E-Vil.
On a happier note, Mel got made up by Tracy and looked spectacular, even got her eyebrows done! And I had great lemonade from the hotdog place. Yum. AND I bought a shirt. My two big purchases (excluding all the sanrio crap) were a shirt and an ice cream maker. And then I came home to my house, 86 degrees. I am not going to sleep tonight either, am I?
Basically, I've had it with the mall. though it was air conditioned.
~Amelie qui a treinte ans. Fermez la bouche, bete!
For what it's worth...
these are called "Catchabubble" in the UK. I think because if you say it fast in the US, it sounds like ketchup bubble. And that's not pretty. Touchabubbles is not much better, but I can't think of anything theoretically unpleasant about it.
However, they are super fun.
I think the main ingredient is glue. Regardless, I played with them for about 20 minutes uninterrupted. I think my coworkers get a kick out of bringing odd toys to work because they know I turn into a 3 year old if they are even slightly fun.
The girl who was a bit much... I think there is something terribly wrong with the feng shui in my bedroom. I changed it a little and now have my bed facing west. I think that is my problem.
I am a lagger and a lazy slug every morning these days. Really. I think it's something to do with which way my head is pointed during the recline. Gravity, earth's rotation, and such.
I mean, generally 5-6 hours a night is enough sleep for me. I woke up sluggish and drained with a headache this morning, AGAIN. This is not normal.
On another note, I just made myself laugh complaining about it. Anyone who reads this journal knows I am a total hypochondriac (although you all missed out on my foot chronicles because I panicked and realized there were a lot of them, and my foot got better, so I erased them because they were so embarrassing.) Yes, I am wondering if my headache means aneurysm. Yes, I know I am perfectly healthy and rarely get sick. This was also pointed out to me over the weekend. I sheepishly had to admit that I was very well aware I haven't had an allergy attack much less the flu this year. I know. I know, I am the picture of health. Pink, plump, bright eyed.
I could be having a stroke. It's theoretically possible.
When I do die from something utterly ridiculous and off-the-wall, you will all come to the memorial and say, "Well, she did whine a bit much."
Tuesday, June 04, 2002
I cannot believe how little I slept last night. I am still tired. I was recently told by two people very dear to me that my affliction, this sleepy waking up thing, is common. How sucky for all of you! I usually bounce out of bed, feed my cats and dog, make some coffee, read my email, take a shower and get dressed.
I hate feeling like a big slug who wants to crawl back under the covers.
Besides, it's too damn hot here.
It was sweltering in my home at 5 AM. Just awful.
~Amelie, la femme qui deteste un mardi trop chaud
Saw Insomnia tonight. I tried already, and I can't sleep. My brother is listening to Brother. I am waiting for the Spiderman soundtrack to switch on. New agey Bagpipes are not helping.
It's all a bit too staunchly literal and basically too much for me.
It could be all the horrible gummy bears I ate tonight. I thought it was just me, but someone else said "Why are these so oily? I'm throwing these away." And now I am awake. Horribly awake.
Monday, June 03, 2002 Reminisce with me.... My memories of Chuck E Cheese as a 9 year old:
Singing robots. Skee Ball tickets and cheap candy necklaces. Whack-a-Mole/Whack-Your-Sister's Hand, Ms. Pacman showdowns, Q-bert the pyramid conqueror and finally, Dirk, the 50 Cent game where you only got 3 guys with pageboys and had to rescue a blond girl from a tower and a dragon...Fun Fun Fun
My memories of Chuck E Cheese as a 30 year old:
Skee Ball Tickets and cheap plastic sunglasses, Fall Off The Fake Skateboard Race, Throw Your Quarters Down A Hole, and my personal favorite, Get Stuck in the Big Plastic Tube Attached To The Ceiling, You Big Dumb FatAssBlondeGirlWhatTheHELLwereyouTHINKING-The-WHOLE-Thing-Is-Rocking-And-The-Kids-Are-All-Crying-And-Seasick!!!!
Followed by a rain of puke and me, miserable, in a giant hamster habitrail trying not to move too much.
Chuck E Cheese, vomitty 2 year olds who wear hard shoes, and mean yelling parents....and Hell.
Sunday, June 02, 2002
What a nice weekend! Saturday....Watched dozens of little girls and boys ham it up and tap-tap-tap away the night with Ally, Joey, and Dopeynowhere. We even got to see lil' miss moe tap dance with her madre. They dressed like little old ladies and came out cranky and crotchety...and then they all started dancing. Moe did the wings. That's a pretty amazing step. So I dunno....TAPPY and cool. Little old lady goes to the birds. Very nice. We always have the nicest times together, I wish we lived even closer. Ally spent the night because we just plumb were tuckered out after watching the dancing and eating fatty foods too late at night...
And then today I drove me dad to his uncle's memorial service. It was weird. That part of our family is jewish, so we went to this great synagogue for the service. We didn't know them very well, but were told to sit with their family. So we did. And these people saved a space next to us. So, we sat down next to the open space. When the people they were saving it for came in, they said "Ahem, We're family." I said "Okay." and I moved my knees. The people just glared at us. Like we were in their spots. This old lady sat next to me and she kept turning to look at me. I finally turned to face her and she was curling her lip. I figure she's old, she's mean, and she smells bad. She must not be related to my grandma. Hey, I don't know them. I only knew my uncle my aunt and my cousins (Dad's cousins, really) and I always liked them. I'm sorry their dad had such awful people in his family, but whatever. It was a really great service. My cousin Susie made me cry when she described her last days with her dad. It made me think about losing my own dear dada, who I love and adore. He's such a character, such a good guy. She obviously felt the same way about her dad. It made me wish I'd known him better; he was apparently a big yacht racer. Kind of hoity-toity. Back at their home, I wandered around the study. They live up against a lagoon in the bay area and there was a big room dedicated to all his races and wins. There were pictures of his boats on yacht sailing magazines. Okay, I didn't know it was that big a deal, that there were actual magazines dedicated to the idea of racing big sailboats. It was really lovely and everyone seemed a little melancholy of course, but glad we had made the trip and we ate too much fruit and drank too much wine. I did. My dad just had his scotch and wandered around the backyard watching the kids on the paddleboats. It was a beautiful day for a memorial to someone I didn't know well. I think I will make a special attempt to get to know the older people in my family. They all seem nice (except the woman who sat next to me, sheesh.)
Saturday, June 01, 2002
Another vivid dream occurred last night. It was probably brought on by my massage therapy appointment followed by caramel corn and a nice chardonnay (the first I've enjoyed in a long long time).
so, the point of the dream is I thought it had happened. I was resigned to it. I was surprised when I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror.
Because last night, I must've dreamed I cut my top lip in half with a steak knife on accident. I remember someone asking, "What the hell happened to you???" Causing me to turn, and I looked in a mirror and saw my lip and said, "oh, a knife." That's it. I didn't say it was a LONG dream. I just said it was convincing. Have no clue about the meaning.