Sunday, February 27, 2011

People still do this? Really???

I happened to take a quick scroll through Facebookland tonight, and noticed all the posts from people about other people I have never heard of before, and how they were dressed, how their hair was done, how many times they changed clothes, who made out with who, etc., etc., ad-nauseum. Just what was this bizarre phenomenon? I hadn't a clue.

It took me a few minutes to figure out what was going on, and I realized they were posting about the Academy Awards. You know? I don't think I have ever watched this. Ever. I don't really understand awards shows, and find them pretty boring. That's not to say I think people who watch them are boring, stupid, or otherwise touched in the head. In fact, most of the people I saw posting about this tonight were people I admire greatly, consider good friends, and look up to. Really, It's all about preference, and this one has just never been mine. I personally don't get it.

As I realized I had no idea who they were posting about, I also realized it's been a couple years since I knew what was playing in the sit-down, big-screen cinema. At all. I think the last movie I went to see that was... just a movie for the sake of going to a movie, showed in 2008. No lie. I'm not much of a movie buff, and it can take me up to 20 years or more to finally sit down and watch something. And then, I usually do it if I have absolutely nothing better to do, the kids are asleep, and I'm alone. At home. In my damn slippers. On my laptop. Because it keeps my lap warm.

Movies are not what I would consider a good social practice. And yet, I rarely see people going to a movie alone. It's a little like the cafeteria in high school. You do NOT want to be seen alone there, either. I get that, and yet, if I had to do it all over again, I probably would have taken a newspaper with me, and just sat by myself. It's really not that bad. Nope. In fact, there are times when all I want to do is read the New York Times with a cup of coffee... away from my house. That is pure luxury. That's what that is.

But when you are going to sit in front of a giant screen filled with people you have likely never met, viewing a story you are likely unfamiliar with, talking is frowned upon, it's dark, and the only time you are likely to be seen by yourself (gasp!) would be on the way in or out, what is the big deal?

Digressing now, because the real issue for me is time, and well? I guess these people may have more time than I do.

And from the social standpoint, why take 2 or 3 hours to sit there and watch something when you could take the same amount of time and talk to someone; find out more about them, and enjoy their company without a ridiculously large, noisy, distraction? I usually only get about that much free time at a clip, and so if I were to do this regularly, it would go a little something like this: "Hey! Let's meet at the cinema at 3."


"Well, that was... either really great, or really terrible."


"K. Well, see ya!"

"See ya!"

Awesomely fulfilling, am I right? No.

I am sure there is some great, worthwhile cinema out there, but I guess I just have better things to do right now. No offense to those who do enjoy... but I... just don't get it.


Friday, February 25, 2011

How to confuse the hell out of me:

Today, I was having my morning coffee, minding my business in my living room, when I heard a "Picka-piiiing-pop-snap!" from out of nowhere. I looked in the direction of the surprise sound, and saw the tooth that my 8 year old daughter extracted from her mouth by herself, (that I had set atop the fireplace mantle last night for the tooth fairy,) suddenly on the floor. The fireplace is not currently in working order, so we have blocked the opening with a large, painted plywood board to keep the heat from escaping through the chimney. It was built in 1911 along with the rest of the house, and hasn't had a damn thing done to it since. No Flue. No Cap. Fire bricks cracked, and therefore considered a fire hazard.

Yeah. We don't use it.

I walked over to the (apparently) leaping tooth, and tried to pick it up. I found this difficult because the thing was no longer in one piece. No. It had broken. I searched for a few moments for the other piece of the tooth, and did not find it until I stood up, happened to glance over at the top of the fireplace mantle, and noticed the other half, still sitting in the spot I had placed it last night.

Muh wha? Buh, fuhhuh? Gluh? In English, this time: What the heck in the world???

I still have no idea what could have caused that to happen. Both pieces of the tooth looked pristine, white, and pure on the inside. It had to have cracked after it was extracted from her mouth, because there was no evidence whatsoever of any contaminant on the inside of this tooth. I watch enough CopDrama to understand how these things work. Oh yeah, I took biology, too.

We do have a couple of windows above the fireplace mantle, and the sun shines through there pretty intensely when it's not obscured by our default, perma-gray skies. Today was no exception. Things were quite bright this morning.

Or... could it have been something supernatural? Someone suggested that the house may not have liked my offering. I suppose setting something atop a fireplace mantle could be a little like placing something on an altar... I... suppose. And there are times when I do wonder if this 100 year old house is haunted. For instance, my closet occasionally smells farty. I have no idea what that's about. No idea at all, since most of the time, no one would have been upstairs for hours. Still though... on occasion, I will go in there, and... damn. And not just any farts, but... corn dog farts. Maybe this is the ghost of someone who stroked out after the fair? Eh, who can tell?

I don't really know much about ghosts. I'm sure you're getting that from this story.

I'm sure though, that the ghosts living here wouldn't be that interesting. With my luck, they are probably just Reed students who OD'd on something, and are stuck here. I hope whoever it is had more interesting last words than: "Corn nuts!"

Hm. Yeah, I'd haunt people, too. Oh, well...


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Murder... he drove.

Recently, our schedule seemed to shift a bit. I used to be all about getting up early and having plenty of time to leave and get everyone to where they needed to be on time. I'm realizing that I should probably go back to that, since my kid is about 10 minutes late to class every morning as a result. But damn it, it's cold, and my bed is all kinds of soft, warm, and wonderful. It can be difficult to leave it. I love my foam mattress, soft sheets, cotton PJ's, wool socks, and 7 layers of blankets.

There is one in the mix I could probably do without though. Todd affectionately refers to it as "The Green Boy", and I'm sure he would cry if I got rid of it. This blanket has been through hell, and it shows. It is Ortega Chili green, and not in a good way. No. It's not the "Hi there! I'm the new chili-green, from the year 2002."

This is the: "Hi... (cough, cough.) I'm the old crappy 1978 chili-green blanket from hell that your husband had long before he met you. God only knows what I'm made of. I'm all balled up, and at one point in time, probably had a satin border sewn to me, but that's long been ripped off.

"There is evidence that I had been an electric blanket, but if you try to use me now, I won't work, and at the time I did work, you would have been lucky if I didn't burn you to death and set your house on fire.

"Right now, all that remains from that time, is an out-plug that I like to stab you with in the night. Now, take me back to the Goodwill store, from whence I came, so I can keep another college student warm. Even I think you are cheap. Do NOT tell me that you are being sentimental. We all know you are full of crap."

Yeah, OK... OK. Maybe the thing has a point. Or... maybe I imagined the whole thing. Who can tell, since I'm really just sitting here alone, looking at a pile of things that need to go to the Goodwill store?

Digressing here, but once again, even with that gross blanket in the mix, it is difficult for me to get out of bed at times. And besides... in the order of my blankets, I think it's somewhere around layer 3... of 7. But in real world... reality, I should probably keep in mind that there is a certain time that I like to avoid leaving the house, and that falls right around 8:15. Unfortunately, today, we left the house at 8:15.

This usually means we end up driving down Hawthorne BLVD next to Murder Truck(TM). Today was no exception. This truck may be gross and scary, but the driver is downright punctual.


I haven't seen anything like this in a while. It has the remains of a green curtain in the back, which has a tear in the top, and one on the side. The front bumper makes me not want to drive in front of it... because if you pass it, you will see that Murder Truck(TM) drove into a pole at one point in time. You can see into the back of Murder Truck(TM), and... well... yes. I think I may have seen a human ear, attached to some skin and hair hanging from an interior wall.

You can tell this is not your typical box truck. It has a tall, menacing, wide box on the back, that looks like it could fall off if the thing went around a corner too fast. Yes. This thing was quite obviously pieced together. It is all white, but may have been painted with Killz, rather than automotive paint... perhaps in a very half-assed attempt to cover graffiti, or maybe just to make it white. I can't tell. All I know is that I hate being next to the thing, and I try to use my powers telekinesis to make the cars in front of me move on out of my way when I happen to be there.

I have never successfully peered over to see the driver, but I would not be surprised if he or she wasn't dressed as a clown. I was, however, surprised this morning, when I chose to take a gander at the tags, and they were not expired.

I will say though, that I am very tempted to find Murder Truck(TM) in the night and spray paint "Free Candy" on one side, and "I make sausage" on the other.

The owner of Murder Truck(TM) is lucky that I am too busy to do things like this. Very lucky, indeed.


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Laziness, Zen, Inner Peace? Eh, Who can tell?

Things have been happy in the land of Hedro lately. That's a good thing for sure. Life sometimes rocks. Sometimes, it sucks, and sometimes it's well? Pfeh. And then other times it's kinda meh, beh, buh, muh, guh... ga. I'm going to call the latter category right now.

I won't say I'm bored. There is a lot of stuff for me to be focusing on, and I'm doing that. It's good stuff, albeit kinda private, and I have a few different paths to choose; irons in a few different fires; other cliches to cite; etc., etc., ad nauseum.

That said, I've been more than calm lately, and that's a nice change... I think.

Yeah. I... think.

Sometimes I wonder though, if anxiety has its place, and a certain amount of it is necessary to push us forward? Don't get me wrong. I am really enjoying having so much less of it in my life, thanks to some amino acid therapy, but... hardly any? Yeah. I don't know what to do with that.

I suppose clarity is also good, and not having anxiety in the way is helpful. Amazingly helpful. I love being able to do just about anything without that stupid crap-bitch I call doubt getting in the way.

Without Ms. Doubt, I'm pretty brave now... bold even. Hm. Maybe I just need an adjustment period to all of this. I am pretty sure that most of my 35 years on this planet have been pretty anxiety filled, so why not give myself time to get used to it?

Holy shit! Am I asking for drama? What the hell? Really?

Yeah... no. I don't want drama. I want a muse. Like a classic muse in a white gown, with long, flowing, soft red curls. She could give me ideas and make me laugh. She could go shopping with me and braid my hair. We could give each other the Cosmo Quiz of the month! We could ride our bicycles though a meadow together. We could paint each others' toenails, and sing Patrick Swayze songs!

Yes! This would be so swell!

Or... I could just pay closer attention to the little things again. The things that I find in everyday life that make me crack up like a 12 year old boy. Because after all, if I say it, that will be... what she said, right?

Why, yes, Hedro! In fact... every time!

K. I call laziness. Best get crackin'!


Monday, February 7, 2011

Ooh bop do do do do do do do do fa fa fa fa fashion...

Oh lord. I don't even know what to think of what the hell is going on in retail these days. Kinda makes me want to put on a pair of yoga pants, and just sit back and laugh.

This morning, I discovered that people hadn't been making typos, and that jeggings are, in fact, a real thing. And they aren't just for kids, or wee women. No. They come in every damn size imaginable.

For those who are behind me by about 8 hours, and don't know what the hell I'm referring to, jeggings are... an example of what is and what should never be. They are a combination of legging and 5-pocket jean, made from ridiculously stretchy material. The kind that shows every little bump, bulge, and imperfection. *They are like linoleum tile. For your ass.

These are fitting for a person training to be a before photo... or just look like one.

That is, unless you are the type who can wear a skinny jean and get away with it. I am not in that category, and I don't know a whole lot of people who are. In fact I would say that really only about 7% of the population can pull this off. So hey, don't feel bad. Just know that... well? Just because it's made in your size doesn't mean you should wear it.

Seriously though. I pored over a catalog with models who are of a size the fashion industry considers boomby, but in reality are normal-sized. Unfortunately this style just made them look... boomby.

And I'm boomby. And I don't want to look as bad as these models who are about... well, a few sizes smaller than I am in reality... in these clothes.

I say no!

I say "good day!" to the jegging. Also, being boomby, I feel that I can freely use the term. Doesn't necessarily mean you get to though. So watch it!

I suppose it didn't help that these models were wearing these ridiculous tunics that had a rounded bottom edge and flared out at least 10 inches on either side of where the line of their thighs ended, in... white! But well... I guess if looking like a disheveled Oompa Loompa is your goal, get those charge cards ready!

I. Would. Not. Be. Caught. Dead. In. These. Hideous. Clothes.

Another trend I have noticed recently is the Fidel Castro hat.


If I were to go out right now, make my observations, come back and jot down a manual on keeping up with the rest of the herd, it would go something like this:

How to be cool: Get a Fidel Castro hat and wear it. You'll look hotter than bacon. Trust me.

Ladies... really? You want to look like the 84-year old retired Prime-Minister of Cuba? Really? Really? Yeah, I think I'll pass.

I could see this one on an artsy-fartsy guy who likes his cigars, or even a sweet little pipe, but Castro has never struck me as remotely feminine. Maybe that's the point. And if it is, Hm. Maybe I'll think for a minute. Maybe. But then. Crap! It's a trend! I can't think too hard. Damn you, designers! See what you are doing to my brain???

Maybe this is like the combat boot trend of 1995. Sadly, I did hold onto mine, because I still have hope, man! One day, civilian women will wear combat boots again... even if they are clunky, impractical, and make it hard to get anywhere fast. And mine will be super cool because they are 16 years old, and... vintage!

Aw, crap. That makes me vintage too, doesn't it?

Hm. I think I may stick to being weird... unless I suddenly snap, buy jeggings, scary tent-like tunic, Fidel hat, and knit myself a wine cozy.

Hold me.


*Because when laying linoleum tile, you need a smooth surface. Even the tiniest bump will show through.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Oh, blessed assurance!

I love bees. Really, I do. I would love to keep bees, and am actually... really, and truly, looking into what goes into keeping a hive. I'm not even saying this to be a weirdo, or in the hopes that Fred Armisen will somehow magically have enough time to read this blog that gathers approximately 50 or so readers a day... and then somehow magically decide that I was weird hipster enough to at least be written into an episode of "Portlandia".

Nah, I just think it would be cool, and once it's all set up, cheap. Because... damn. I usually pay anywhere from $30 - $45 a gallon for the golden goo. Call me a freak all you want. I'll still give you honey if you are... mostly nice to me.

We have the yard for it, and I think as long as things were kept well under control, and the yard happened to be better secured than it is now, it's a possibility. Who doesn't love honey? And who wouldn't love honey made from the very pollen that grows right next to where you sleep?

Ooh ooh! Me, Mr. Kotter! Me! Me! Me!!!

That said, there was a mystery that I'd long pondered: The honey boxes at WinCo Foods. The ones with the spout, near the bulk section.

I finally decided to ask an attendant the other day whether or not there are actual bees in the honey boxes. There is bright red sign on the cover that reads: "Do not open lid. Bees will escape!"

She laughed, and told me that... alas, no. There are no bees. It's kind of a joke between the store owners and employees. The best part is that it plays upon the fears of most sane people who are deathly afeard of bees.

That did make me feel much better. I was worried, thinking that these poor bees were basically imprisoned, and were probably making honey under duress and possibly even shame. And what would they eat? Did they feed them some weird factory-made pollen through some invisible tube?

Those poor bees!!!


I had wondered if they were aware something was amiss in their surroundings, and if they did, were they pissed off? Were they making spite honey?

For years, I refused to buy honey there because of this. Who wants to eat spite honey? Not this girl.

So, there you go. There really are not any bees in the honey boxes at WinCo foods. I probably still won't buy it there, but at least I feel better about this... detail.