Well, I don’t have one yet, but what if this was how we met?
It’s nearly six o’clock on a blustery evening in the gray-colored month of March. The wind is blowing; the trees are rustling all around. A lonely bluebird warbles mournfully, high atop a power line. I am sitting in my living room with the blinds open so I can watch for the pizza guy… I hate it when they catch me off guard. My cash is sitting on the ledge by the door, ready to give to the (probably pimply-faced high-schooler) delivery man who soon will arrive.
My tummy rumbles… it’s been so long since I’ve had a pizza with the works. I can almost taste it now.
A silver 4-Runner pulls into my driveway, and a tall, dark-haired man steps out. He’s holding that huge red bag that keeps the pizzas warm in his left hand, and with his right gives his door a nudge to shut it. He strides purposefully up to my front door, and rings the doorbell with a rakish flair.
I open the door.
I stare for awhile (he is a handsome man).
“Pizza’s here,” he points out.
I come back to earth with a start. “Sorry. How much was it?” I ask.
“It’s on me,” he says.
I stare a little while longer. I think maybe I haven’t heard correctly, so I double-check: “What did you say?”
He says softly, “It’s on me. I paid for it already… you don’t need to pay.”
Light is beginning to dawn. “But why?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”
He clears his throat. “Well, I live on the other end of the street, and I’ve seen you and your sister walking around the neighborhood now and then. I noticed that you always wear pajama pants and baggy sweatshirts, and usually it looks like you haven’t showered in awhile. Your hair sticks up in some places and is plastered to your head in others, like you just woke up and all you did was run your fingers through it. And I thought to myself, ‘any woman who can walk around in public looking like that without seeming to care seems like an interesting woman to know.’ But I didn’t know how to meet you without seeming like a stalker, so I got a second job at Papa John’s and waited until I saw your address pop up on the delivery screen. I volunteered to take this delivery, and now here I am.”
I gently told him, “Some people might think getting a job at a pizza place in the hopes that you might be able to deliver to my house someday involves a little more in-depth stalking than just walking up to my door and introducing yourself.”
He looked a little crestfallen. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to creep you out.” He turned away.
“Wait,” I stammer, “You don’t have to go. I’m not creeped out. But before we talk any more, I do need to make a couple requests. First, what’s your name?”
“Jack Jones,” he replies, “What’s your second request?”
I pause. I’m not sure how to say this. I give it a whirl: “Can we eat this pizza while we talk? I’m starving!”
Filed under: I Am A Geek, I Spend Way Too Much Time on teh Internet Toobz, I'm a Big Dork, Of Course I'm Aware That This Is Inane
Introducing my new band,
Universal Measuring Machine.
We proudly present our new album,
“Remains And Is Immortal.”
Filed under: I Am A Rat of the Packiest Variety, I'm a Big Dork, LaBloShoeMo
Day five of LaBloShoeMo.
I bring you… (drumroll please) Salt Water Sandals, official choice of children everywhere. And me.
Mine happen to be navy blue, and I just discovered tonight that one of the straps has come unsewn in the front of the left shoe. That is sad news indeed, and makes me wonder what my shoes are about in my shoe bucket that a sturdily sewn sandal could pop a strap, but I believe that somehow, I shall survive.
This is actually the second pair of Salt Waters I have owned, and they are exactly the same as my first pair. It’s a pretty funny story…
I went rafting down the Rogue River with my youth group one summer (long time ago… I was probably 16 or 17), and somehow had gotten in my head that because Salt Waters were called “Salt Waters” that they would probably be good shoes to wear in the water. I was mistaken of course… they were heavy and annoying. And when we got out of the water to jump off of this really tall rock into the river, I slipped and slid all over the place, because, let’s face it: Salt Waters have the least amount of traction out of any shoe on this green earth. I would rather hike in high heels, because at least they have a pointy part you can use for grip. So anyway… I made it to the top without killing myself, by the grace of God, so I jumped off.
You know how when you jump off the side of a pool, you take a quick breath and hold it? I did that, except I started running out of air, and I hadn’t hit the water yet. I had time to take 3 or 4 breaths before I finally hit… that’s how tall this rock was. I hit the water with a bang, and immediately started shooting back up, because I was chicken and wore my gay orange lifejacket. As I started getting sucked back to the surface, my right sandal was ripped from my foot. I tried to save it, but I was being pulled too fast to the surface. I came up and gasped for air, and tried to look around for my shoe, but the water was too muddy. I thought that maybe if I waited for awhile, it would show up, but I thought wrong. Did you know that Salt Waters sink to the bottom of a river faster than a lead factory would to the bottom of a puddle? Neither did I. I sat around wondering when my sandal was going to show up, and a slow puddle of dread formed in my gut. I took off the other sandal and did a test float… sunk like an anchor. I knew then that I would never see that right sandal again.
For some reason, I kept the left shoe for a long time… like a couple years. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I was waiting for someone to show up on my doorstep, Prince Charming-like, with the right one in hand, and say, “Excuse me, miss, but did you lose this on the Rogue last summer?” Then I would say, “Why, yes, I did… and here’s the other one!” And maybe then he would say, “I love your shoes… let’s get married,” or something equally ridiculous. And I would live happily ever after with both of my Salt Waters, and my Handsome Prince. Or maybe I thought that an amputee woman would have a garage sale one day, and I would happen to be there, and she would just happen to have one shoe that she didn’t need, and it would be a size 8 navy blue Salt Water sandal, the right one. And I would buy it for fifty cents, and THEN wouldn’t I be glad I’d hung on to the other one all these years?
Eventually I realized that I was the dumbest person on the planet, and that I was never going to come across just one sandal that would happen to be the correct size, color or style (not to mention that it had to be the RIGHT sandal), and that the space in my closet could be better devoted to other things.
A couple years ago, I was in Goodwill, checkin’ out the shoe section, and came across a pair of size 8, navy blue Salt Waters for somewhere around $4, so I snatched them up and hustled them home as fast as I could, where I proceeded to never wear them again (hardly ever).
Thanks to Smalls for her cute little face. You’re beautiful, sis.
Filed under: I'm a Big Dork, Of Course I'm Aware That This Is Inane, This Is My Family
Oh My Stinkin Heck requires faces today… I shall oblige in order to (possibly) win some free jewelry.
Picture #1 I willingly snapped of myself, because we all know that faces you make on purpose are always more flattering than faces someone else catches you in the middle of, right?
Picture #2 is a photo that Smalls took of me yesterday, mid-cough. We were laughing, and since I’ve been sick, laughing makes me cough (wah, wah… poor me). So she managed to catch this “precious moment,” and I’m sure I’ll never live it down. She wouldn’t let me delete it, so what do I go and do? Share it with my precious Internets. I am a moron.
But anything for free stuff, right? So here you are… and try not to hit your head on the desk when you fall down from laughing so hard.
I didn’t actually get tagged for this, but I’m a sucker for everything that gets passed around the tubes of teh Internets, so here goes
The Rules:1. Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT
(this is in capital letters, so it is very serious. No hiding your showtunes, folks!)
After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!
IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY?
Edit– Regina Spektor
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Travelin’ Band– Creedence Clearwater Revival
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Have Your Way– Charlie Hines
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
I Need You– The Waiting
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Better Things– The Kinks
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us!– Sufjan Stevens
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Carry You– The Fire Theft
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Flotsam and Jetsam– Disney Orchestra & Choir (yes, I have the Little Mermaid soundtrack)
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Autumn Almanac– The Kinks
WHAT IS 2+2?
Breathe You In– Addison Road
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Smoke Without Fire– Bright Eyes
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
I Want You Back– The Waiting (Not so much…)
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
This Side of the Blue– Joanna Newsom
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Slow Nerve Action– The Flaming Lips
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Fallen Embers– Enya
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Keep the Customer Satisfied– Simon & Garfunkel
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Chewin the Apple of Your Eye– The Flaming Lips
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Strange Apparition– Beck
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth– Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (yo, weird hobby.)
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
From My Own True Love (Lost At Sea)– The Decemberists
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Stay in the Shade– Jose Gonzalez
Filed under: I'm a Big Dork, LaBloShoeMo, Stop The Parentheses For The Love of All That is Holy
Pros:
*They are COOL. Come on, people.
*They are comfortable.
*You can get them dirty or draw on them, and they still look hip.
*No matter what color they are, they’re like a neutral: They go with everything.
Cons:
*They make my feet cold (I have no idea why).
*They lack arch support.
*If I wear them for a long time, they’re not comfortable anymore.
*I can’t wear them with skirts like I’d like to, otherwise I look like I have cankles.
Day 4 of LaBloShoeMo: My Converse Chuck Taylors. The second most expensive pair of shoes I own (only my walking shoes cost more) (I believe I may have mentioned once or twice my lack of class in the shoe department)(Actually, that’s not right. I’m lying. I own a high-top pair of Cons that cost more than these). Shown here (in the top photo)(my, I’m overusing the parentheses this evening) with The Croodler’s muddy high tops which happen to be the same color (he wasn’t wearing them at the time (which is obvious))(what did I tell you about the parentheses? (I am hilarious (I think))).
Oh my. If anyone reads this, I am sorry. Not very, but a little bit.
Also, if anyone reads this, I love you. Please don’t unsubscribe, because that makes me stay up all night wondering what I said to make you leave. FeedBurner is the new crack. No joke.
We’re having Greek food tonight! I made hummus, tabouleh and tzatziki yesterday, and Smalls is makin’ piping hot pitas as I type. Must go help. And then feed. Woot!
Day Three of LaBloShoeMo 2007.
My trusty flipflops earn the spot today. These guys cost $10 at Target (I believe I’ve mentioned how classy my shoe collection is a couple times before), and are the most comfortable flipflops I’ve worn to date, except for a pair of Reefs that one of my friends used to own. My budget doesn’t include Reefs, though, so I content myself with the Target version.
If you’ll take a quick look at the bottom picture, you’ll notice that the toe of my right shoe is a little chewed up. In honor of my poor injured flipflops, and in order to pay homage to the injuries I myself received, I bring you the story of an incident that occurred earlier this year (September 11, to be exact) which involves pain and humiliation, and me being laughed at for WEEKS by my sister (who I’ve just now decided shall be named Smalls instead of Pippy) every time she remembered the incident. Without further ado:
So, I’ve been going to Curves lately to get some exercise. I didn’t feel like going today, so I said to Smalls, “Do you want to go on a walk with me?” and she said, “Sure.” So we walked around the block that’s kitty-corner from our house, then we walked around the block that our house is actually on. If this doesn’t make sense, don’t fret, don’t fret… this isn’t the funny part.
So we were walking, and kicking rocks, and when we were right about where our house was, only on the next street over, she started kicking her rock further than mine. Well, I wasn’t about to be outdone by a twelve-year-old, so I ran and kicked my rock. Only, rather than actually making contact with the rock and kicking it past hers, thereby winning, I proceeded to trip myself over my own feet. Yep. So I took a few crazy tilting steps, fell on my knee and skinned it, fell on my hands and got a nice case of road rash, and then, because I had so much forward momentum going on, fell the rest of the way down. I didn’t hit my face, thank the Lord, but really, I should have. Smalls started laughing, and so did I… because, let’s face it… falling is funny.
She asked if I was ok, and I said that I thought so. So I stood up and looked myself over, and noticed that my flip-flop is all chewed up at the toe, and hey, so is my own toe. I had a huge flap of skin flopping around on my big toe and bleeding into my sandal.
Smalls and I started walking home… and every few steps she cracked up again. She was making me laugh too, which was probably a good thing, because I was really shaky and all my shoulder muscles hurt, sort of like I gave myself whiplash from falling down so fast.
When we got home I made her get me a drink of water and some wet paper towels so I could clean myself off and my little nail scissors so I could cut the flap of skin off, because it had dirt stuck in it. And while I was tending to my wounds, Smalls started reading her book, but every few seconds she would lose it all over again. She had just recovered after one such laughing fit when I realized that the back of my hand hurt… I looked at it and it was all scraped up. I said, “How did I scrape the back of my hand? I fell on my palms!” Smalls just laughed at me, and I bandaged it up too.
All of a sudden, Smalls started laughing so hard that she was pretty much crying… I said, “What the heck is so funny?” She said, “I was just remembering… you looked so funny… your shoes were all over!” Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I fell down so hard that both of my shoes fell off. How does that even happen?
So anyway… that’s my funny story for the week.
Laugh it up, clowns.
And I know it isn’t much, but they are my wounds. I got them, and they hurt. So now I’m gonna show them off. If you don’t want to see them, don’t look. :)
This is the back of my hand…
This is my knee, and…
This is my poor little toe.
Isn’t that awesome? Who does that? My only consolation is that we weren’t on our own street when it happened, so at least the neighbors shall remain ignorant (hopefully) of my complete geekdom.
But you shall not! Behold, my robot statistics:
Stuff
I keep being late to church lately… it’s really lame. I hate being late for things, but it’s a disease that’s crept up on me in the last few years, and now I find myself hard pressed to be anywhere on time. I used to be the one who was always five or ten minutes early to something (thanks to my Dad’s training), but I think I got tired of being the one to have to wait around by myself or something and retrained myself to be right on time or a couple minutes late. The problem is, I think I’ve slowly yet steadily increased the number of minutes late I am, and now I’m late everywhere. Thank goodness I work at home, or I’d be sunk. I know, because I worked at a coffee shop until May of this year, and I can pretty much tell you I was between one and five minutes late every shift I worked. Which is horrible, because I’m a good worker, and I have a good work ethic, and it killed me to be late, but I just couldn’t get myself out the door on time! I don’t know what my problem is.
LaBloShoeMo
I guess the official National Blogging Shoe Month is in November, but Lara decided to do her own, starting last year, entitled “Lara’s Blogging Shoe Month.” I missed the November one, since I just started this puppy, but I thought it would be fun.
So, I am going to post pictures of one pair of shoes each day for the month of December, if I even have that many, and if I remember. I started this a day late (notice a theme here, anyone?)… which means I owe you two pairs of shoes in this post.
Without further ado:
Pair Number One: My handy-dandy slippers, purchased at Payless Shoe Source (only the classiest for me) for less than $15. They are fuzzy on the inside, corduroy on the outside, and give my feet a horrendous stench. But, they are easy to slip on and (especially) off, and they’re comfortable, so I keep ‘em. Plus, the color pleases me. Observe (also make sure to notice my super cute reversible polka-dot/paisley duvet-which-I-do-not-use-as-a-duvet-but-rather-as-(and in lieu of)-a-sheet):
Pair Number Two: The Ever-Thrifty Hand-Me-Downs from my cousin, who lived with us for a year and decided when she moved back to Indiana that she didn’t have room for these. I have never actually worn them anywhere (she moved back almost two years ago), but I hang onto them because I’m an idiot. I had fun with the colors on this one… if it hurts your eyes, whoops. As you can tell, I just threw them on to take the picture. Like I said, I’ve never actually worn them anywhere. I’m pretty sure they’re originally from Payless too. :)
Filed under: I Like to Flap My Gums, I'm a Big Dork, Of Course I'm Aware That This Is Inane
We just finished putting up our Christmas decorations for this season. Our tree is probably, by some peoples’ standards, rather overdressed, but what can I say? We have a lot of ornaments. We have lots of antique hand-blown, hand-painted glass balls that my Dad’s mom gave my parents when they first were married. They are cool. We also have the same kind of thing most families have… you know, of the popsicle-stick craft persuasion. And we have a bunch of just really random ornaments. We have this one that is Santa & Mrs. Claus in their trailer… Santa’s just sittin’ there watchin’ TV. I think it’s cute. And then there’s the gift tags… my dad has this strange compulsion to save gift tags that are cool looking, punch a hole in them and stick ‘em on the tree. Which, though I think it’s sort of weird, I have to admit is kind of cool. At least it’s unique… I can honestly say that no other Christmas tree I’ve ever seen has had even one gift-tag-cum-tree-decoration, let alone multiples.
My sister just dropped by the computer and tried to put my underwear on my head. “They fell out of the basket!” O…kay… So here I sit, typing my blog post, with a pair of underwear in my lap. It’s sort of hard to be any kind of serious when, in the back of your mind, you are aware that there’s a pair of stripey underwear hangin’ out in your lap.
So, I bought a bag of Hershey’s Kisses, ’cause I had me a powerful craving (I really am not a hillbilly… I just type like I am) to get me some chocolate. And I ate a few, and then I noticed that instead of just saying “Hershey’s Kisses” on the little paper tag thingie, these ones have random phrases. Phrases like “Kiss Someone” and “You Rock.” Why? is my question. What right does a turdpile-shaped piece of chocolate have to instruct me to bestow smooches on another person? What makes Hershey’s think I need affirmation from a substance which, while wonderful (don’t get me wrong– I love Kisses), will most definitely make me Not Rock if I eat too many? On the other hand, I just ate four in a row that didn’t have the paper at all. I don’t know why, but I hate the paperless ones, even if it means I don’t have to analyze some pithy axiom. I’m just saying.
I love that the suggestions for labels that Blogger provides are “e.g. scooters, vacation, fall.” I don’t think I would ever have occasion to label a post “scooters,” but maybe that’s just me. I just think it’s deliciously random. I mean, really, how many people blog about scooters?
I love Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie by Joanna Newsom. I have no idea what anything in that song means, but the tune is simple, pure, melancholy and beautiful. “And some machines are dropped from great heights lovingly… and some great bellies ache with many bumblebees.” I don’t get it, but I don’t really care, because it’s such a pretty song. (Confession: sometimes, when no one else is home, I play this song and sing along really loudly in my dining/living room, because we just put in laminate flooring and it echoes beautifully.) This would be a good sing-in-the-shower song, if I did that (I have no idea why I don’t… I sing everywhere else, which embarrasses Pippy to no end when we’re out in public, but if I’m in the shower, I am endeavoring with everything in my power to make no noise whatsoever. What is that?), but I don’t. Though I think it has more to do with my paranoia of people watching/listening to me when I have no idea… it’s one of those weird things. But I think if I had my own house, I might sing in the shower. So… yeah. Anyway.
I just (yesterday or the day before, don’t remember which) joined a group called 20-Something Bloggers… I’m curious to see what happens. I have 4 subscribers now, instead of two, but I really don’t know how to analyze my Feed Burner thingie to figure out if anyone’s actually reading this besides The Croodler and Pippy. We’ll see how things go.
Here is a strange addiction I have: I am amazingly obsessed with wrapping presents.
No kidding. I wrapped a whole bunch of Christmas presents (we’re doing Christmas buddies this year, so they all go to the same person) way back in October (yep, I said October), using a red/black/white-with-green-leaves-and-red-berries sort of a theme. Then I found cooler paper than the red paper I had been using… it’s like a sort of an Asparagus-with-Olive Drab-stripes. So I unwrapped all the presents that had been wrapped in red, and rewrapped them with the new green stripey stuff.
Behold:
Yep. I love it. There’s something satisfying about folding each corner perfectly, and tying ribbon around it and making a present more than just what’s inside. I love thinking of unique ideas (like, ahem, the fake leaf/berry garnish) and making the recipient feel loved even before they find out what’s inside. And you know what else is nice about wrapping presents? If something turns out to look terrible, you can always unwrap it (who doesn’t like unwrapping presents, even if they’re not for you, right?) and start over. Nothing is hopeless… unless you run out of wrapping paper or something… but even then you can use a page from a calendar, the funnies, or do like my dad does and print out images from the internet. There’s always something you can do to fix your mistake, and I think that’s part of what I love about it. In life we rarely have an “undo” button or a “do-over.” In most situations you can’t just say, “Oh, that one was just practice… let’s try again.” Nope. You just have to live your life, and that’s that. Sometimes that’s hard, especially if you’re an anal-retentive perfectionist like me. I constantly find myself going over things I’ve said or done and fretted that I should have said this or that, or I should’ve worn different clothing, or I shouldn’t have opened my mouth that day that I blew up at so-and-so. The thing is, there’s nothing I can do about any of those situations! “Doesn’t matter! It’s in de past!” There’s nothing wrong with examining my behavior, attitude and character and working on the things that need improvement, but it does me no good to dwell on them. And that’s so often what I do. I dwell on what a dork I looked like, or how now everyone will think I’m a jerk, but I don’t alter my attitude or my behavior, so I keep doing the same stupid things.
18 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. 19 I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.
Romans 7:18-19
But there is hope.
6 And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
Philippians 1:6
He who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it. He won’t leave me raw, splintery and rough. He will scrape and sand, and it’ll hurt like the dickens, but he will complete this project. He will be able to finally present me to Himself, a spotless bride, radiant with His glory. And that gives me the will to carry on, one more day at a time.
Whoo… you thought you were getting a light post about wrapping paper… All I have to say is, “So did I, brotha… so did I.”
Peace out, cub scouts. I’m off to bed… but not before I put my new dress away! I love new clothes. :)
