Sunday, July 24, 2011

Amy Winehouse

Huge Amy fan, so this is just the pits.

If you haven't seen this AW Valerie video, it's one of my faves.

Sending good thoughts to you, Miss Winehouse.

You were a treasure.

Friday, July 8, 2011

I have been crying for two hours.
Don't even look at me. Seriously. I have had it.
Ticketmaster Customer Service, you have done the equivalent of bashing my brains in with a rusty hammer. I can't take it!
Well' it's obvious I'm having a very very bad day. :(
So I waited one afternoon to buy tickets online for Adele (sweet sweet Adele!) at the Tabernacle. While it sold out in 30 minutes, I got through! And thrilled the girlies. We were going to Adele! Very cool. But Adele got sick, and it was postponed.
I recieved an email. Adele has been moved to the Fox Theater! Online Presale Only, use this number (which is my previous order number). Cool, I thought. Sounds easy enough. I'll sit a half hour early, have everything ready, and get Fox tickets. Not cool. :(
It would not let me enter my presale number. So I've called over and over. Finally what it amounts to is this...They see that I had the original tickets, and tell me it shows I have not purchased tickets to the Fox show. But it also shows that someone used my presale number and bought three tickets already, and only one purchase per presale number can be used.
"Who bought those tickets? What address are they going to?"
"We cannot tell you that."
"But you can see I did not buy those tickets! That's my presale number! How can someone that doesn't match my previous order name use my presale number???"
"We can't answer that."


So they say, "Wait by the phone and someone should contact you within the next 24 hours (while the tickets are selling out) to maybe resolve this and perhaps give you a new presale number, but Ticketmaster cannot." I'm screwed. And now I'm just a slobbery mess, my nose running down my shirt and no relief in site. Where are those little finder angels when you need them?

A long time ago I'd read that there were finder angels who helped you, say you lost your keys, you could silently call upon, 'finder angel, I can't find my keys again...' and then of course they'd turn up. Maybe finder angels were only a nice though all along. And if not, really, finder angels, i'd like you to search for whoever typed in random numbers until one worked (mine) and bashed they're brains in with that same rusty hammer. But a real one.

Oh, that's terrible. God help me.

I think I need some pie. Blueberry or blackberry. A la mode. I know food is not a remedy for mental stress, and that's such a crap solution. Honestly, I have a twenty year class reunion coming up. Pie shouldn't even be an option, that last ten pounds seems so damned content. The last thing it needs is pie. But this situation is special.

Sometimes I think of my cousin Jack when I think of angels. I think of car rides with my mom driving the old catalina, the felt hanging low on their heads in front; me laying across the backseat, with my legs dangling out...feet in the wind. I think about laughing back then, because everything was funny. I think about how now when I see feet dangling out a car window it reminds me less of those times, and more of the idea that someone will lose toes to a mailbox or something. I wonder if I googled it if any toe loss from dangling feet would come up. And I wonder if Jack is still funny, wherever he is. I wonder if he hears me when I think my silent conversations up or out to him. I think of Joust on Atari and ramen noodles and silver aviator glasses. I think of cards. Crushing cans in the stairwell.

But Jack is gone. And I'm having a bad day, or I wouldn't even be going back to that.



Thursday, July 7, 2011


Stuff I observed this week..
The girls, talking in back while I was driving,
"Nationwide has it's own store? Wow! I didn't know that! Did you know that?"
"Cool! Progressive does too. I saw it the other day."
I don't know how people without kids do it, how they make it without those random funny kid moments. You think your too grown up for your britches, shopping the Coldwater Creek store, then the kids'll pop up behind you, "Did you see that sign? It said 'Irregular!!!'"
Irregular. I think they watch too many commercials. Funny.
Last week when we took my man to eat Indian, I watched a woman finger-comb a fat guy's long hair. While I was eating. And I was disturbed.
Probably just jealous nobody was finger-combing my hair while I ate my paneer.
And then at the bookstore, there was this lady. So whenever I find a book, I always back away from the shelf, so I'm not in the way. because I'm nice. And lately I've thought I'd like to learn to draw caricatures, you know, the kind you find in malls and amusement parks. So I stroll to the Art and Drawing section, and there SHE is. Stuck to the wall like a Chiquita banana sticker on a refrigerator. Like a bug on a windshield. Guarding the wall like one of those dumb birds that lays eggs in your yard. SPRAWLED out ON the wall. She was literally making love to the wall. And as I walked around her to try and view books, her beady bird eyes watched me, never straying from her coital positioning. And it was just really weird, I was obviously intruding. So I walked away. I went back later. Didn't find anything.
Anybody know Contrary Guy? That guy who has a contrary opinion to everything you say? I was thinking of the neighbor the other day and it reminded me of that. Cause he hates blueberries. But he may really hate them, i don't know.
I hate to go to the dentist now. Super Excited! Wish I could stay and hang out :).

Friday, July 1, 2011

To My Man on His Birthday

My moon, my man, so changable and such a lovable lamb to me.
Today is your birthday. Your birthday, and I have in my mind all the things that I want for you, the things I can't afford but give you as mental gifts. I want to give you the world!
I think back on our honeymoon and how Juliette wanted us to watch her Moorea house for the summer, and how the bartender and his sister wanted to teach us to spearfish. I had just bought a sofa, I said. A Sofa. And so we didn't. But you had that nasty giardia thing, so I guess it was nice to come home back then, and we don't look back in regret. (But if someone out there is reading this and can watch a house in Moorea, leave the couch.)
And you work long hours as a carpenter now supporting our little family, and then you come home and bust out the red wine and we watch travel shows and live vicariously through Anthony Bourdain and sometimes Samantha Brown and whoever is going anywhere at that moment, really. We unshelf our dreams for an hour, talk rampantly about what we'd do if we could do, and then I look over and your head has crashed on the couch, but not that couch, that one didn't last. but we did. :)
So today I'm giving you what I'd give you if I was giving you something, other than a trip to eat Indian and the used bookstore. What I would do. If I could do. And I feel that eventually we can.
I give you a restored El Camino, maybe painted red, or orange, or even a 'mysteriously black' black, as I know that you eye them often. (Okay, the kids won't fit in it, so for now it would have to be a weekend car, but it's only a mental gift, so go with it). The CD player works like clockwork, as does your Pandora connection, so well you really don't need the cd player that much.
We'd go here and there like a crazy gypsy family, three months here, a year there, and we'd learn a new language and wear comfortable shoes. Bake bread, but wait, you gave up gluten, so we'd make rice pudding. with rosewater, like the Indians do, but with little strawberries on top, and we'd sell it in a rolling cart, like foreign street vendors, and people would think we were uneducated, but really it was because our language skills were in need of more time. We'd run cobblestone streets and paint buildings and eat like starving dogs in foreign countries where the food is good. The girls would love it too. And we'd trade the camino for a boat, and sail back to Moorea where we started this travel adventure together, but with the kids and lots of unopened booze, not because we enjoy drunk boating with children, but because the people on the islands told us the tiny cool places habitants like to trade black pearls for whiskey, so we'll trade and eat fresh fish cooked on a little portable grill while the girls string pearls on the beaches in the evenings. We'll learn to spearfish after all, you leaping off the boat in polynesian clarity, me with a lifejacket, or two, or three...but you won't drink the water. And maybe I can't give you these things right now, but maybe it'll come, and if it doesn't... you are still my greatest adventure.
(four months til Barcelona!) Happy Birthday to my lunar love :)