paper scraps

Saw a small capital 'F' on the floor of the bus last night, on the way back from watching Fantastic Mr. Fox (almost as fantastic as i wanted it to be). It was formed from a many-trodden scrap of one of those little strips of paper that live between the rings of a binder and the perforation of the sheet of paper itself; that little forgotten strip that usually stays forever in binders across the world unless the binder belongs to someone OCD enough to rip the fucker out. i guess i got lucky.

In other news, i used to chew on paper while riding the bus. Not sure how or why this got started, but i do remember it happening during a brief period while i was in high school. Quite possible a stand-in for a cigarette, since i was never brave or stupid enough to smoke where i wasn't supposed to. But you do get a lot of stares, regardless, with little wet bits of pulp clinging to your sweater. This is a fact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And in Reasons I Love My Boyfriend news:

On the walk home from the bus stop, we had a tiny adventure.

Can we please hotwire this thing and ride it to Candyland? i asked, as we came upon a butterscotch-colored Camaro sitting proudly in the cold parking lot.

Man, i just want to go buy a butterscotch pudding-pack and put one right on the car...! Nat replied, ending what was possibly the best sentence ever uttered by man.

We ruminated on this (genius) idea for about twenty seconds, then realized that it simply had to be done. Across the parking lot and off to Von's we went, where, true to my form, i had to also purchase two frozen Indian dinners along with our fated Snack Pack; i can never leave a grocery store without something extra. Really. It drives him quite insane.

On the way back, i kept an eye on the guys who were doing some late-night power-washing in the courtyard to our left, when out of nowhere comes a homeless guy, asking for change for something to eat. Since this particular form of pudding is not exactly "food", we gave him a dollar instead. He looked at us for a moment and then said how wonderful it was to be young. (The guy thought we were 23, but still: he was on to something there.)

We bade him good night, then sidled over to The Car. Nat had popped one of the little containers out and was ready for action. Where do i put it?! he hissed. Quickly we decided that right on the hood, near the driver-side door, was the best place for the person to see it. i began to turn around in case the alarm went off and we had to book it.

Seconds later, and with no alarm ringing in my ears, Nat's step met mine. We got away with it! i only wish i'd gotten a photo of it, for evidence, but you will just have to trust me on this.

i sincerely hope that the driver of that Bitchin' Camaro has a sense of humor. And that they had butterscotch pudding for dessert that night, as Nat and i surely will tonight. C'mere, Yellows 5 and 6.

[ nope. i got nothing. ]

You know that Seinfeld episode where Jerry asks Elaine, "So, what'd you do today?" and she's all, "nothin'." and he gets all huffy and goes, "'Nothing'? You mean you just sat there? Didn't do anything?" and she's all, defiantly, "yeah, i just sat there, and stared at a wall– nothin'!"

Well, that's kinda how my day went, too.

If they had the Waste-A-Day Olympics, i would be crown fucking champion. Honestly, if you asked me one thing that i did today i would stare off and go, "duhhhhhh" in perpetuity. . . drool might even fall, after the first few hours of struggling, chugging thought.

Aren't you glad we're sharing? Are you enjoying this exchange? i at least hope that my complete massacre of a day has made you feel just the teensiest bit better about your own.

Dudes, don't waste your life. Trust me on this one. Get out of the house. That's step one. If i had just made it out to the hallway, things could have been salvaged. As it is, i surfed the internet, ate leftovers, and avoided doing laundry. Is there anything more pathetic?

i'm not sure.

Wait– there IS! Posting about it on your blog. ::yawn::

G'night.

(Merpanda is the lovely brainchild of Natalie Dee, who obviously does things with her days.)

absurd ablutions.

So last night i did something i rarely do: i took a bath.

Working so many days in a row combined with my bike being in the shop has lead to some sort of ferocious charley horse in my right calf. i was hoping the hot water would relax whatever kink was all worked up in there.

i had a small candle handy, so i thought i'd light it, bathside. You know, for extra 'relaxation'? (okay, i am making myself want to puke at this point. just bear with me.) It was a bright red deal: "Holiday Apple Spice", given to me by my best friend over x-mas. Problem was, the wick was too short. Flame wouldn't do much more than sputter out a tiny, feeble blue glow, so i decided to pour some of the wax off.

Now, does anyone remember doing this when they were kids? You take a candle, pour the hot wax into a basin of water (or the tub, or the sink, or a cup), and whatever shape the wax makes, that's what your profession is going to be? (example: broom = janitor.) This is how we did it; i'm sure there are other variations.

So, there i was in a tub full of water. i went ahead and poured a little wax right on in.

Now, you might not know this, but: bright red candle wax does not look exactly. . . pleasant in your bathwater. i found myself alarmed at the drips and drops now swirling around me. And the flame was still not high enough, so i threw caution to the wind and dumped it all in.

What shape did it make, you might ask? (Others would ask, "what shape did you see?")

A fetus.

That's right, there i was in the bath, trying to relax and soothe away my achin' muscles, and what should i have sharing the water with me but a tiny, blood-red fetus, umbilical cord and all.

Huzzah.

rampant color.

One really should always have a camera on them, to catch things that you will never, ever see again.

Like yesterday, late afternoon: Nat and i are sitting in Starbuck's (shut up, you know you've been in one), drinking chocolatey drinks and talking about the math behind the Mandelbrot Set. A girl comes out of the Vons nearby, and i am pleased to see that she is carrying a rather large bunch of balloons, all in pastels. They were in three colors: yellow, green, and pink, but the amazing part was her shirt: a bright, deep teal. She was unlocking her bike, which was a pearly bubblegum pink, and i could have died at the sheer matchy-matchiness of it all. At one point her head was completely hidden behind the cloud of colorful latex bubbles and the effect was at once surreal and euphoric.

i watched for a few minutes as she struggled to tie the tangle of shining ribbons to her handlebars so that her vision would not become obscured. Finally, she climbed on and rode away into the sunset (i am not kidding), with the balloons bobbing and streaming behind her. It was weirdly mesmerizing and magical.

Either that or i was just really tired.

Anyway, about twenty minutes later, another burst of colorful shapes caught my eye. Walking out of another exit, two Indian women left the Vons store carrying a bunch of balloons, but this time the colors were all very different: all dark greens, purples, and bright reds and blues. They had on saris the color of peacocks, with red and gold accents all over. It was rather striking.

i wondered why i had seen more balloons in one afternoon than an entire year, and how different the occasions were: someone's birthday? Perhaps a new baby? Co-worker retiring? Or just. . . a party? For the fun of it? And do people even do that?

Earlier in the day, i'd been at work, where–surprise!–we have balloons. And i almost never blow them up. Maybe every other week or so. People don't seem to ask for them very often (and thank goodness, because i'm always afraid of one popping in my face while i inflate it). But it just so happens that it was The Slowest Work Day of My Entire Life. The Chargers were playing the Jets in a Superbowl playoff game, so everyone in town was indoors watching the game. A storm was brewing, so the wind was making everyone edgy and moody. i think i had two sales, and at one point i even scrubbed down the microwave, which i never really use. It was slow, to say the least. So at about 1:30, half an hour from quittin' time, i blew up. . . Chargers-colored balloons.

::cringe::

Yep. It's true. i chose four: a pearly white, a metallic dark blue, a regular blue, and a regular yellow. Blew 'em up, tied them with their same-colored ribbon. Somewhere around the 3rd balloon, i lost my bravery; they were floating, hidden, on the ceiling when my co-worker came in to relieve me at 2:15. When i left, i tied them to a post in front of the shop, and walked home among the first timid raindrops.



Super Secret Bonus Balloon Page!

He Was a Friend of Mine

His name was Urs.

He had curly hair, glasses, and an adorable Swiss German accent. On the shorter side of average height, and a pretty sharp (but understated!) dresser. A great conversationalist, and smart as a whip. Sweet and endearing, with his whole life ahead of him. A very bright young man who had quite a future in philosophy (or, most likely, any damn thing he put his mind to).

All of it changed when he decided to take matters into his own hands. He ended his life, by himself, of his own accord, two days ago. No one knows why. He left no note, and there were no outward indications (a break-up, an illness, a rejection letter, nothing) of anything "wrong". Seems we will never know why he left us here. In the last email he wrote how happy he was to be coming back to San Diego at the end of January, and to see Nat and i. Nat shouted to me in the other room with the news, he was so excited.

But Urs will never know about that conversation. He never saw our smiles or heard our mental gears whirring with possibilities of dinners, games, journeys.

The last time i saw Urs we went to dinner with him and his girlfriend. We had Indian food. The waiter brushed against his girlfriend's boobs. It was hilarious. (trust me.) We drove home listening to "An Elvis Christmas" and then played a few rounds of Boggle. Urs kept calling it "Boogle"; as a non-native English speaker, it was not his best game but he played it well anyway. We were listening to a playlist on my iPod and suddenly he stopped and looked up at me: what is this song?

It's 'Perfidia', from th–

–soundtrack to 2046, right?

Yes! Do you know this song, Urs?

Turns out he knew the song well. And loved it. And had never been able to find it anywhere. i explained how it took me a whole afternoon/evening of searching to get it, but that i was so happy i'd found it. He requested a copy of it, and late the next day i sent him the mp3 through our email.


Sometimes i wish i'd never sent him that damn song.