Oh, my stars and garters!

Relative

Jesus, what a nice day. It was dry and cool (ok, it hit 94 by late afternoon, but that's a hell of a lot better than 102). My dad drove down from Plano for lunch and then came over to see the new house and hang out for a while. Then my sister and I went shopping, drank a few beers on the porch, and hung some pictures in my bedroom. After she left, I went to Dan's to watch Project Runway with a bunch of my snide, funny friends. I drove home with the windows down. Also, our previous landlord agreed to give us some of our deposit back, and I got to sleep in an hour late.

Nothing too fancy, but please compare this to my day yesterday, which was filled with a hundred minor irritations that, cumulatively, made me feel like someone had been shaving my skin off with a cheese grater all day long. Wednesday, August 30, 2006, you're all right.

Should have driven

Oh, man, I had a sad trip to the store tonight.

First we thought we saw Wallace in a driveway several houses down from ours. The fake Wallace had uncannily similar markings, but once I got closer, it just wasn't him. Not-Wallace's fine, sharp features and gravelly meow confirmed it. Wallace is a little squashier looking than the imposter, I must admit, but he also has a sweet, elaborate, almost baroque meow. Thanks for nothing, stupid faker Tom Waits Wallace.

Then, as we left the store, I realized some pigfucker had stolen my bike light. GOD. I know I should have taken it off the handlebars when I parked it, but I really didn't think anyone would be so  pathetic as to steal my little light. I guess you really do have to tie down every damn thing to make sure people don't help themselves. And the best part is that I can only assume that another bike rider stole it. Thanks a lot, asshat. If I'm riding my bike at night and get run over by a truck between now and the time I get around to replacing my light, I am holding you solely responsible.

Watch me turn into an old lady before your very eyes!

I put up a hummingbird feeder last weekend. It was more out of a desire to add a little color to our very-pale-aqua porch with matching very-pale-aqua trim than any altruistic bird-loving impulse. But goddamn if they didn't show up.

At first there was just one little hummingbird who would feed at length and leisure. He or she was so fearless that Thursday morning it hovered right in front of me at eye level, so close that I held my breath for several seconds and then blew gently in its face. I was afraid it might land on my head or go for my eyes, that's how calm and close it was. It was sweet and kind of exciting.

Then, this weekend, a few more hummingbirds moved in.

At first I was glad, but now nobody's really eating. They're mostly just dive-bombing the feeder and pecking each other and breaking away while twittering angrily at each other. It's kind of funny and kind of terrible.

I read up on it and learned that hummingbirds are very territorial. Also they starve to death easily because they expend so much energy just trying to get their food. What if they starve to death while fighting over the feeder that I ostensibly put up for their benefit?

It turns out I'm probably going to have to buy, fill, and install a new one. What has started out as an innocent attempt to add a splash of color and a few cute little birdies to my porch has become a grave responsibility: to keep them from either dropping dead of exhaustion or killing each other in a hummingbird sugar-water death match. So what I want to know is how does every little thing get so goddamn complicated?

Underwater

I finally got some pictures developed from a couple of cheapy waterproof cameras I've had rattling around in my swim bag for a while.

This was funny at the time, but now it seems a little depressing.  The buoy is supposed to designate the outer boundary of the swim area on Lake Travis. I don't think it's rained since I took this over a month ago.

But this, I like. Things look so much better underwater. I'm pretty sure this isn't the picture I intended to take, either. It's kind of hard to frame a shot when both you and your subject are buoyant.

I put a few more up on flickr if you want to see them. 

Typography lesson

My job is kind of interestingly dumb sometimes. I spent nearly an hour this afternoon trying to determine if, in this one document, it was ok that the letters 'f' and 'i' formed a weird-looking ligature every time they appeared together in Courier font. 

See, it looked really dumb (or "vulgar," as the graphics guy put it) because Courier is monospaced, which means that each letter has the same width and spacing and as such cannot be jammed together all higgelty pigglety.

I didn't actually know any of this until I talked to the graphics guy; we just knew the letter combinations looked squishy. (The font this post is in is Trebuchet MS, which is not monospaced but proportional; see how the 'l' is slender and the 'Q' is big and fat? Learning, everybody! I'm learning!)

It was decided that the ligatures were totally not okay, and then there was some debate about best way to fix this problem, but I won't even summarize that part because I love you and would never intentionally hurt you in any way. I'll just say the graphics guy is a prince among men and leave it at that.

I've mentioned this before, but I don't blog about my job much for a number of reasons, one of which is that it's really not that interesting to talk about. So the fact that I thought this was notable enough to devote four paragraphs to should really tell you something.

You so do not care about my day today

I worked. That was boring. I swam. That was delightful. Eric grilled hamburgers and melted bleu cheese on them. Those were delicious. Now I'm looking up West Texas stuff for next month. Suggestions? Everyone who's been there have really strong opinions. We're definitely staying at Balmorhea--I think it's time I learned to snorkel--and saving Big Bend for a trip all its own. And Chinati and a star party at McDonald Observatory. And actually, that should be plenty for the first trip. But if I'm totally fucking up by leaving something out, let me know.

P.S. I found my belts!

Chute!

Daniel, Saint Murse, and I drove three hours to Six Flags in Arlington this morning only to discover the park was closed.

I laughed in disbelief when I saw the sign, but it was really, horribly true. Their summer schedule ended yesterday.

We thought maybe we could salvage the day by visiting the museums in Fort Worth, but it was a Monday. No museums for us.

 

We ended up at the Fort Worth Stockyards, where we got really good steaks for lunch and little else. It was hot and full of kountry kitsch. We went to the candy store and looked at the railroad tracks and the cattle chutes. I stood outside the Cattlepen Maze and died laughing as the shrill, aggrieved voice of a little boy floated over the walls every thirty seconds or so: "This sucks!" "This is retarded!" "Are we done yet?"

 

We went to Billy Bob's, which was empty and impressively vast. I played pinball and did okay. I tried to take pictures of the mirrored disco saddle over the dance floor and failed completely.

 

Finally, we admitted defeat and drove home.

 

On the way back, we saw lots of cotton and a grass fire. If I'd been a little quicker with my camera, you'd see that the fire was burning right in front of a fireworks outlet. Yikes.

A disappointing day, but also kind of fun and funny. We made it home alive; that's the important thing.

Ream tore

I bet it did! Hee hee hee!

Tomorrow I'm going to Six Flags to ride the throw-up rides. I love throw-up rides.

Snakes on a Plane was beautiful. I laughed until my stomach hurt. And now I never need to see it again.

The (motherfuckin') end!

Magnet tight!

I needed new shampoo, so I dragged Eric over to the foofy shampoo aisle at HEB to pick one. That's when we saw this:

I guess you can't read the label. Oops. Anyway, it's magnetic energizing shampoo.

Yup. It contains magnetite, which the label assures me will infuse positive energy and repel negative charges. Well, everyone knows positive is good and negative is bad, right? So this stuff must be really badass. The label even referred to this badassery as the positron effect.*  Very scientific, this shampoo. We had a good laugh over that crock of bullshit and commenced smelling every single shampoo on the shelf.

I don't think guys really understand the importance of smelling all the shampoos before you pick one, but Eric was a good sport. He was actually surprisingly picky, screwing up his face when he didn't like one. "That one smells like floor polish," he'd say. "That one reminds me of bum vomit."

And on and on. Finally, we went back and smelled the magnet shampoo.

As it turned out, that was the only one he liked. And really, who can resist the alluring pull of magnets? So I bought it.

Despite my skepticism, I was amazed when I tried it. It really works!

See? I never dreamed my hair could be so shiny. Thanks, Giovanni Magnetic Hair Care!

*The word "positron" was red on the label, too. Pretty nifty, huh? Can't you just feel the positrontivity? And I don't totally claim to understand it, but as near as I can tell, the positron is basically antimatter. So your hair isn't just clean, it's antimatter clean.

Stream of something

It's hot. I liked the old house better but the air conditioner works much better in this one and that is no small thing right now. Wallace is gone forever, I think. I don't blame him. I had popcorn for dinner tonight. I watched the Strangers With Candy movie while doing so. The movie made me laugh a lot, but it wasn't as good as any given episode of the show. Eric and I went to feed my sister's cat tonight because she's out of town. Her cat ran away and hid while I was trying to play with it. We hung around my sister's house a little longer and then left because we felt stupid sitting in someone else's living room. We're very strongly considering a trip to West Texas next month. I can't think of any reason why we wouldn't or shouldn't go, so let's just say we're going. I can't find my glasses right now because I can't find my glasses.

Here is a picture of a pet carrier with a rubber naked mole rat in it for comic effect. I forgot to take a picture of the stuffed armadillo that was placed in a Havahart trap for the same purpose. That would have been a better picture, probably, but we all do what we can. Last week was bad. This week is better. I wish I could sleep a few more hours at night, but I can't, so I'm not too worried about it. I have never known anyone to look or feel her best this time of year in this part of the country. Eric and I plan to have bookshelves made soon, and a cabinet for art supplies. I could use some art right about now. I could use some books too. I'm going to smoke a cigarette. I smoke outside now. I don't really mind.

Hulk hands!

My friend and sometime massage therapist Linda found this excellent photo on the street and let me take it home to scan and post. Mostly I wanted to put it in the Hulk hands flickr pool, but I also think it's making my blog look really nice right now, don't you?

Really, there isn't much that can't be improved by a pair of Hulk hands or two. Rar!

Stupidest joke ever

Q: How did the depressed pig die?

A: Sooey-cide.

My weekend was almost as dumb as this joke, I'm sorry to say. This week will be better, I think.

Gripety

I am tired of thinking about the cats. You are probably tired of reading about it. I know that my friends, kind as they are, are tired of hearing about it.

One of the nice things about having cats is that they're relatively easy. You feed them, you pet them, you brush them, you call the vet if they start acting weird or passing worms. Maybe you clean their ears every once in a while. That's pretty much all you have to do to have a happy, meaningful relationship with your cat.

Dogs require much more time and attention, yet I don't guess anyone ever spent a week on an empty porch shaking a treat can and generally acting like a happyface dipshit while trying to coax their goddamn dog into a crate, only to spend subesequent nights trying to get it to come out of the shelving unit of an overheated shed. Even generally stoic Stinky has required a good deal of reassurance and cajoling this week.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do it. I'm just not used to having to worry about them all the damn time. It seems counterintuitive. I feel like a Cat Lady. I don't want to be Cat Lady.

Enough about the cats. They'll be fine.

Other news? There isn't much. It's hot, the kind of hot where you just give up for a while and don't do much, aside from drinking a lot of beer and water. The house is pretty much functional, but there are still a ton of little things left to be done. We'll get to it this weekend. I truly believe beer is better for my morale right now than having a working air hockey table or art on the walls.

Help! I can't find my belts!

I'm sure I packed them, but I haven't seen them anywhere. Meanwhile, I've just been letting my pants sag while trying to hitch them up unobtrusively from time to time. Occasionally they slip way down, low-rise skank style, giving the world a glimpse of my not terribly exciting undies. The effect is not so much trashy/forbidden as mentally challenged/negligent. Sadly, I'm not really going for either of those looks

So. I've realized I'm going to have to do one of three things: invest in thongs, sew elastic into all my waistbands, or break down and buy some new belts. This sucks, especially since I'm going to have to drive out to the crappy flea market to replace the one with my name on it. Also, I don't know if I can replace Eric's sanitation engineer belt buckle. This is a dark day indeed.

We got Wallace!

And man, is he pissed.

Will he stick around? I don't know. But I think it's worth a shot.

Inventory

No cat yet, although we do now have weatherstripping and a cast-iron skillet.

He could have it so good

Ball-less Wallace the Asshole the Cat will not be caught. We've conducted a stakeout at the old house every night this week, baiting the trap with increasingly enticing combinations of things like tuna, catnip, kibble, fish-flavored treats, even pureed turkey baby food. We've created an impossibly fantastic kitty wonderland for him in there, like the feline equivalent of a room full of cocaine and high-class strippers (or rainbows and unicorns, if that's more your thing, you sick freak), but it doesn't matter. He's still too smart to get in the damn cage.

He seems happy to see us and still eats treats from my hand, but it seems he's not ready to commit any further than that. I was upset about this earlier this week, but now I'm just determined. I view this as my personal mission. I don't care how savvy he is; I will not lose a battle of wits to a creature whose main pleasures in life come down to smelling other cats' butts and crapping in the bushes.

There! Problem solved.

¡Cuidado! ¡Cloaca!/Caution! Cesspool!

I love CAUTION tape. We bought a roll of it yesterday and have been affixing it to all sorts of things: the cesspool, the not-very-visible spigot poking up in the front yard, my crotch. I think we should wrap the entire house with it. Maybe it'll help with the energy bills.

All those beauties gonna swallow you up

You know, it's not every house on the block that gets to have its very own cesspool in the front yard.

I bet the neighbors are all totally jealous of our suspiciously lush lawn and slimy, moldy front walk and our mosquito and bee infestation on the front steps. But you know what? Fuck them and their envy. If they want a cesspool they'll just have to get one the old fashioned way, by finding their own crappy rental house with a broken wastewater line in the front yard.

I can't help but wish I'd seen that particular feature before we signed the lease, but there was always a car parked in front of it before. At least it's not the toilet line, so it just smells like dishsoap and damp.

Anyway, the landlady says she's on the case, so maybe we'll get to have the entire yard trenched. Which means they'll use a backhoe. Oh, boy, backhoe! I must be the luckiest girl alive.

Vacant

Dear god

I could tell it was going to be a long day as soon as I heard Eric have this phone conversation with the new landlady:

Eric: Hi! The key isn't where you said it would be and the house is locked.

LL: Oh. Well. Uh. It's supposed to be there.

Eric: Well, it's not.

LL: Hmm. Ok. Well.... So you're moving today, huh?

This is supposed to be resolved by noon. I am skeptical.

P.S. Our landline is shut down and the internet could go away any minute. Call us on my cell phone if you need us in the next couple of days. See everyone else later!

Last night

Everything's pretty much packed for tomorrow. We've hauled out two truckloads of trash--the detritus of eight years and at least as many roommates passing through--and now the dumpster at Eric's work is perilously full. Also, I haven't showered in three days. But the packing and cleaning isn't the worst of it.

This is harder than I thought it would be. This place has felt like home in a way no other house I've lived in ever has. We've been so comfortable and had so much fun here, and it looks so stark and awful with everything bare and boxed up that my heart sinks a little more every time I move into another room.

The thing is, though, I've been ready to go for a while. I'm ready to leave my 20s behind for good, ready to set up a home with Eric, ready to have control over my environment. It's time, probably way past time. So I guess I just wasn't expecting to be so very sad.