Friday, February 27, 2009
Do something nice today
Do it for the
Welcome Home Barnyard, the animal rescue/sanctuary where I volunteered (and the only good thing about Corpus Christi) is in trouble. The woman who owns/runs the sanctuary was laid off of her job in September - like a responsible grown up, she had 6 months of expenses saved up, but here we are 6 months out, she still hasn't found another job, and she's facing eviction because she's behind on the rent.
If she can't make up the past rent, the owner of the land is ready to put her and over 100 animals, including goats, sheep, pigs, chickens and even a buffalo, out on the streets. It absolutely breaks my heart, especially since I'm a billion miles away and I can't even be there to help.
I know most people think of farm animals as... well, farm animals, but they're actually every bit as cool as dogs and cats. Every animal at the farm has a name, a story and a personality, every one is better off for living there (most of them would be tacos if not for Mary).
She lives sparsely, 99% of her money goes towards food, veterinary care, food and more food for the animals and 99% of everything she does day in and day out is for the animals. She is one of the most unselfish people on the planet. She doesn't drive a nice car, she doesn't live in a nice house, she doesn't take vacations or buy herself new clothes. She does not deserve the treatment she's getting from the land owner.
I don't ask for a lot... well, that's a lie, I ask for validation, I ask for attention, I ask for tolerance, but this means more than anything.
Everyone is hurting in this economy, everyone is having to tighten their belts, but if you, or anyone you know could help out in any way, shape or form - be it donating $5, or sponsoring an animal for a couple months, or offering the owner a job, or volunteering time, or donating 100 acres of land or getting some much needed publicity for this - karma will repay you.
The farm's (rarely updated because they don't have a webmaster) website is http://welcomehomebarn.com and you can donate there, or you can pass the link along to everyone you know and save the farm.
Please help and/or pass it along. Arnold would appreciate it -
Need more pics of who needs help? http://www.flickr.com/photos/68403903@N00/sets/72157604835943899/
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Dear Portly Old Religious Guys Who Knocked At My Door,
Firstly, let me explain my outfit, I'd been yoga-ing* in that tank top and yoga pants and I wasn't expeccting company - I do apologize for the excessive decolletage (although I didn't appreciate your staring).Secondly, I apologize for the "oh, I'm in the middle of........ a phone call" (followed by pointing to my tv???) excuse when you asked if, with all the problems in the world, I wanted to talk about whether or not there really was a God**. I wasn't expecting missionaries on my doorstep or I would have come up with a better, or at least slightly more believable excuse.
Lastly, I'm ever so sorry if you heard my exclamation of "for Christ's sake!" right after I shut my front door on you. It's been quite a while since I've had to deal with religion on my doorstep.
I'll try to be more prepared (and dressed) next time you stop by.
See you soon!
me
*yes, yoga-ing, I DO live in California now
** I'm guessing yor answer would have been a big old yes.
Labels: letter to
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Today's lesson from NSR* University
If a product is called microwave popcorn, it is designed to be used in the microwave. Not the stove top.backstory: we are currently without a microwave. Our microwave saga is as follows - when we moved from Phoenix to Savannah, we had brought our relatively new microwave with us. As it turned out, the house we moved in to also had a relatively new microwave, so we stuck our microwave into the storage closet at that house and used that microwave.
When we moved from Savannah to
When we moved from Savannah here to the left side of the country, we'd never actually been inside this house and when our new landlord had told us that the house came with "all appliances", we assumed that this included a microwave. We assumed wrong. So we've been nearly two weeks without a microwave and, as odd as it may seem, it really hasn't affected life much. Until last night when my husband decided that he would die without some microwave popcorn.
"Let's just cook it on the stove," my brilliant child brilliantly suggests.
I immediately recognize this as a terrible idea, but the husband and child refuse to admit this and insist upon trying to do it.
Guess what? The popcorn came out burnt, chewy and gross.
Alternate lesson of the day? I know my shit in the kitchen, don't question it.
* No Shit Really University
Labels: suzy fucking homemaker
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
still unpacking...
Dear Packer Guys -First, writing "Books and ETC" on the side of a box wasn't a really great help.
Secondly, I know I have a pretty significant shoe collection, so I get that you had to split it up between three boxes, but the fact that there was not one single matching pair together in the same box is kind of ass-y.
Finally, I finally opened one of the three boxes marked "Cassette Tapes" to find the CDs I've been looking for. Really? "Cassette Tapes"? Do you know how much longer it took you to write that than "CDs"?
I almost admire the blatant jackassininity of your work.
Almost.
Friday, February 13, 2009
New city, new state, new time zone, social awkwardness remains the same
So, my landlord is this gregarious guy from Bulgaria, he's friendly, helpful and seems like a great guy*. And I see him every day because he's building a house right next to the one we're living in (it's a pretty big parcel of land).If you know me at all, you know that the whole seeing him every day thing will eventually turn into an issue for me because soon I'll probably take to sneaking out of the house trying to avoid conversation, because I'm just kind of weird around people.
Today, I spent most of my day working on organizing stuff, determined to get rid of at least some of the cardboard boxes, and I didn't see him at all... until I was walking down the street to pick up my kid from school.
I'm going one way and he's coming from the other way with a group of people, I kind of figure I can get out of it with just a wave, but no - he crosses the street to come see me... and kind of makes a move to hug me, which I instinctively thwart by kind of flinching and turning away.
It's not that this guy's creepy or anything, he doesn't give off any kind of skeevy vibe at all, and I'm sure the friendliness has to do with him being European**, but I'm American... and weird around people. I feel bad, because I should be thrilled to have a nice landlord, Hell, after living in the unfriendliest city on the planet for two years, I should be thrilled not to be openly shunned, but I worry that my weirdness might be too deeply ingrained in my personality for me to be able to get past this. Or I'll try to overcompensate for it by going out of my way to be friendly and try to hug him or something and he'll think I'm hitting on him.
Whatever.
Nowhere near on topic, but one thing that's different about California is that you can buy hard liquor in the grocery store - I know you can't do that in Washington, I don't think you can in Georgia (or at least Savannah) and you can't in Texas (or at least Corpus Christi) and I don't remember if you can in Arizona or not. It's just strange to see full liquor sections in grocery stores. Today, when I was grocery shopping, I bought a bottle of vodka just because I could***.
*when my husband and child came out here to look for a house, he actually drove them around the neighborhood, took them to play basketball with him and his son and then took them to a farmers market up in San Luis Obispo.
** I'm seriously amused every time he references "the old country" without a hint of irony, it's so quaint.
*** and because I'm going to experiment with making my own vanilla extract, which consists of vanilla beans and vodka. And if it doesn't turn out to make good extract, I'll be having some vanilla-y vodka.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Dear Media -
If you will stop rewarding people for making ridiculous/lame/stupid/dangerous life choices (like, oh... I don't know, when an unemployed plastic-surgery addict has 8 babies even though she can't even take care of the 6 children she already has) by giving them television shows and paid endorsements for shit, perhaps people will stop taking these chances with their lives/the lives of a truckload of kids/taxpayer money. Maybe if you stop encouraging people to turn their lives into freak shows, people will stop turning their lives into freak shows.Just a thought.
Labels: letter to
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
You know that lady you see at the grocery store?
The one with no makeup, ratty hair up in a ponytail, dirty jeans and a somewhat pathetic, lost look? The one that makes you think "awww, she's completely given up, how sad"?That lady was me yesterday. Wandering around Albertson's, balking at the price of everything and looking like the dog's breakfast*. It's so weird to have to try to restock an entire house so you can live in it (especially when you have no idea if you'll be able to find your silverware or spatulas).
But we're in the house, we have the internet and cable and our insane Bulgarian landlord is one of the friendliest people ever**, which is probably good because he's building a house next door to this house and he's there/here all the time.
Also, the people who did the packing can chow down on an industrial-sized bag of dicks for the following reasons:
1) Completely lame and/or nonexistent labeling of stuff - I can't tell you how many boxes labeled "Nik-Naks?"*** I had to open to find my damn Wii. And writing "Glass" on the side of a giant box doesn't really help me all that much, especially when it contains my spices and spatulas. And the brown-paper wrapped parcel marked "patio/shoe", wtf is that supposed to be?
2) Blatant disregard of the environment and/or a desire to pad their bill - I have not found one single thing that hasn't been wrapped in AT LEAST 2 sheets of the heavy-duty packing paper - I'm talking about plastic hairbrushes and my husband's ridiculous collection of hotel shampoos**** bundled up like they're fucking Faberge eggs. (Because of their overuse of packaging materials, we've had to call in someone to unpack, which means that it's costing my husband's company even more money, because otherwise, it would take me about 9 weeks of trash to be able to get rid of it all.)
3) Packing everything that was in the dresser and bedside tables (INCLUDING MY UNDERWEAR) and not labeling it well enough for me to find it immediately.
*which is kind of a weird phrase, since I don't feed my dogs breakfast, but I guess if I did, it wouldn't look a whole lot different than their dinner, which generally looks like crap.
** he halfway hugged me when he first met me and I'm pretty sure I recoiled (because I'm not really a huggy person) and now he probably thinks I'm weird.
*** spelled just like that, and including the question mark
**** dude, seriously, I'll buy you a freaking bottle of shampoo, stop stealing every single bottle of hotel shampoo you can get your hands on!
Monday, February 09, 2009
Oh, California, you bring the lulz.
So it's pretty much been raining since we crossed the state line into California and from the news coverage, you would think that it was bits of Jesus himself falling from the sky. I lived in Southern California for the first 21 or so years of my life, so I can say with confidence that it HAS actually rained here before.Also, I learned to drive in Southern California, but I'm not afraid to admit that the freeways here scare the shit out of me, especially during rush hour. And add that mysterious water falling from the sky to the mixture and it's scary times a kajillion. By the time we arrived in Santa Maria, my hands hurt from clutching the steering wheel so hard.
I will say that the quality of the graffiti out here is much better than in Texas, the artists at least put some time into it.
Also, it's all kinds of gorgeous out here, it was just so weird to see the gravel and earth tones of the desert landscape give way to these postcard views of green carpeted hills and valleys. With all the vineyards and farms, it looks like someplace you'd spend the weekend once, then talk about moving there for a couple years.
Of course, as purdy as it is out here, it's always discombobulating to be in a new city, I don't know where anything is and I'm pretty sure that if I can find my way out of the neighborhood, I probably won't be able to find my way back in. I'm sure that once our stuff is here and we have the internet and I can make my own coffee, I'll feel a bit better about it all, but it's kind of weird right now.
cute new neighborhood story - my husband went out of his way to meet our neighbors* and, although they apparently don't speak much English, they sent him home with a packet of fresh tamales. How freaking nice is that?
*and if you know me, you know this is completely contradictory to my personality where I pride myself on not having known ANY of my neighbors anywhere I've lived.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
If I tell you that the cat took a dump in my car about an hour into this epic roadtrip, does that kind of set the mood for you? Because it should.And the second day, the same cat projectile vomited on me and the other cat.
Yesterday, day three, I dosed him up with half of a travel sickness pill and was rewarded with no biological materials. Yay. And We FINA-fucking-LY left the ridonkulously large state of Texas. And we sped through New Mexico fairly quickly, finally getting to Arizona. And I didn't really see much of the desert because I was busy texting* two of my favorite friends (both of whom happen to live in the desert) to try to coordinate plans for tacos.
And I got tacos and we hung out for a bit and I was reminded why these peeps are two of my favorite peeps. (And I got to hold the cutest redhaired bebe who belongs to one of those peeps)
Today, we will finally be getting to California. Tomorrow, we'll be arriving in Santa Maria (the actual destination) but the moving guys won't be getting our stuff there until Tuesday.
And my ankle is still swollen and sore and I'm sick of every cd in my vehicle and I'm sick of "continental" breakfasts and I want to make my own coffee and sleep in my own bed and unpack my underwear and have clean clothes and have some semblence of normalcy. Or I'd like some more tacos with my pals.
*an hour or so into texting, one of my pals informs me, via text, that texting while driving is illegal. Thanks for TEXTING that to me.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
one of the best benefits my husband's employer offers is packing service. It's kind of 1000% awesome to not have to worry about finding boxes and spending weeks boxing up stuff you probably won't need until after you're there (also, I'm a terrible labeler - I'll label the first few boxes "kitchen stuff", "linens", "books", but then after that, I just start labeling boxes "stuff" and "other stuff" - which is SO helpful when we get to the new place).The packers are here today and my house is now a sea of cardboard boxes - clean, uniform, well-labeled boxes - which is cool, But it's also kind of weird. For one thing, I feel guilty about sitting here typing away on my laptop with my grossly swollen leg propped up on the coffee table while these guys are working. For another thing, it's just weird to see strangers touching my stuff, like they're just throwing my books into boxes, as though they're just... stuff, not my books that I love. And for another thing, their truck is blocking my driveway, so I can't even go anywhere (yes, I could probably ask them to move, but they seem to be in a pretty good rhythm, and 200 times faster than the crappy ladies who packed out crap in Savannah) And for another thing, I really have to pee, but there's either guys in the bathroom, or right outside of it and I don't want them to have to hear me pee (neurotic much? Yeah, apparently).
~~~
On a not at all related note - today is noteworthy because it's nearly noon and I have no significant injuries to report - yay! (to recap: Monday, I sprained the hell out of my ankle and yesterday, I almost cut off the tip of my thumb)
Monday, February 02, 2009
all the colors of the rainbow
Okay, not ALL the colors, mainly just black, blue and purple. I sprained the hell out of my ankle this morning when I was walking (Yes, walking). It has puffed-up like a Ball Park Frank and bloomed into a this lovely bruiseyness you see blanketing my foot. And, yes, it's all kinds of painful.
(I was proudly showing my kid my injury and he points to my leg hair. "Shave once in a while, would you?" "I do," I responded. "Once in a while.")
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Sorry, Bruce
my kid and husband have been camped out in the master bedroom watching some football game today and the first time I've seem my kid in hours, he ambles into the living room looking a little bummed."Is the game over?"
He shakes his head. "Nah, it's half-time."
"I think they usually have half-time shows, don't they? They have bands play and stuff."
"Yeah, it's just boring bands I've never heard of."
"Like who?"
"I don't know, there's some guy... Jerry Springberg or something."
"Bruce Springsteen?"
"Oh, yeah, that's the guy."
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting