here today

 

signs

what does it take to be here. today?

Those people.  The sign-wavers.  They always make me cry.  Today it was parents in yellow rain jackets.  Their signs read "Save Our Schools".  They are waving about the election on Tuesday.  I already voted so I rolled down my window and gave them the thumbs-up in case that would help keep them out there in the rain, looking so happy, together in a group.  And I thought, sure, I voted but that's all I do.  Just enough to claim that I'm part of the political process.  Just enough so that I can put my thumb out the window and not feel like an asshole.

Last week the signs were about the war.  One said "Bring my son home" and when I read that I had to pull over by the side of the road I was bawling so hard.  This mom, this mom whose son is over in Iraq fighting for nobody knows what anymore, this mom is out on a street corner reminding everyone about what matters.  Because it's easy to forget, tune it out, turn the radio to another station and just think about the rain, the commute, the day ahead.  Politics is getting so loud that it's become an even steady roar that we can all turn away from, exhausted, bored, done.  I already voted, stop talking to me! 

But then out of the corner of my eye, I see a sign.

Posted by: 120pages at 08:21 | link | comments |

a hundred legs

why does a bug need a hundred legs? According to the two thousand sites I've visited so far this morning, it's so they can run quickly across the ceiling and hide in a dark corner until I'm asleep and then crawl into the bed and bite me with venomous fangs.

The house centipede, unlike most other centipedes that normally live outdoors, can live indoors especially in damp, moist basements, cellars, bathrooms, crawlspaces or unexcavated areas under the house. They are sometimes seen running rapidly across the floor with great speed, stopping suddenly to remain motionless and then resuming fast movements, occasionally directly toward the homeowner in an attempt to conceal themselves in their clothing. They have a "fearful" appearance but cause no damage to the structure, household possessions or foods. Some can bite when handled carelessly, resulting in a slight swelling or pain no worse than a mild bee sting.

We found a centipede in the closet this morning. A centipede looks like a cockroach but scarier, if you can imagine. It moves very fast and it is long and slippery looking and has venomous fangs. Venomous Fangs. (The first pair of legs is modified into poisonous jaws located below the mouth.)

So, this morning. 5am. I trapped the centipede on the wall of the closet under a very large jar. First I tried a medium jar but IT WASN'T BIG ENOUGH TO CONTAIN THE ANTENNAE (and the fangs). I climbed up on the ladder and trapped it under the jar and then realized I was stuck. And that the thing was really big. So I did what any sane person would do. Yelled hysterically for Ben, who was sleeping ten feet away.

Brave Ben. Wonderful Ben.

Carried the creature across the street to the park. In his boxers. Still asleep, I think. Set it out on the fence and then watched it crawl away. I love Ben.

I have since learned a few terrifying facts:

1. This is a house centipede. Made to live in a house. It will probably turn around, cross the street, keeping it's enormous antennae out to save it from getting smushed by a car, and come right back inside. Probably straight to the bed this time.

2. They travel in pairs. They have mates. There is at least one more centipede in my house somewhere. Probably in the bed.

3. They live for six years. Six Years. In other words, if I don't hunt down the mate, I won't sleep until 2010.

4. They hunt at night.

Here are subject lines from a few of the emails I've sent to Ben so far today:

it's a venomous creature!!! and it lays eggs!! we should check the basement.

they sting! they have venomous jaws!!

Reading this post, you may think that I am a pansy-ass. I am not. To prove it, here is a list of things I have either killed or seen killed or disposed of after some other animal has killed:

1. Cockroaches (I lived in New York)

2. Ants, spiders, general bugs

3. Mice (killed by cat and brought inside)

4. Bird (again, killed by cat and brought inside)

5. Rat (found dead in the schoolyard where I was teaching)

6. Squirrel (dog killed it in the park)

7. Fox (Ben ran over it in his car. By accident)

8. Rattlesnake (found dead in desert outside L.A.)*

* my sister once killed a rattlesnake with a shovel. my sister weighs about a hundred pounds but don't get on her bad side.

Posted by: 120pages at 12:07 | link | comments (2) |

out of the frying pan

when last I wrote, dear motime peeps, I had a migraine and the end of my post kind of drizzled off into the happy calm space of my head drugs. whee. And I thought that I'd jump back in with a really funny wacky post to make you laugh.

But now, the flu has hit and Ben went out without me last night to a cool new log cabin bar on Burnside called Doug Fir with MY friends while I took TheraFlu and moped. And the brakes went out in grandma's hand-me-down buick and also something called the Front Bearing which is vastly more expensive and must be replaced IMMEDIATELY. And my younger sister just got her MA while my days get eaten up by the insurance agency. And Lucy needs a rabies shot but I can't afford to do it until my next paycheck. And Bush has an 8 point lead in most polls.

Normally, I'm a glass half full kind of girl. I'd even say that I'm a glass half full and there's a nearby pitcher waiting kind of girl. But today, just today, I'm a little bit defeated. Today, I can't find the glass and even if I did, what I really want is tea, and bed, and a better job, and a car that runs.

sigh.

Okay, but here's the funny thing that I just remembered that's making me smile. Jon Stewart said, of our president, when he insisted even after hearing that there were no WMDs in Iraq that he had made the right decision about invading - JS said "Some people look at a glass and see it as half full, others look at it and see .....(pause) A Dragon".

Posted by: 120pages at 10:52 | link | comments (1) |

getting drugs.

It's amazing how often it helps to be white and well-educated and certain of your rights.

Case in point:  My encounter just now with a pharmacist, a phone and The System.

It all started with a migraine.  Possibly brought on by watching Our President talk about Armies of Compassion and "paygo" last night.  Or perhaps because my coworker is on vacation and for three days I'm in charge of underwriting.  What does that mean? you ask.  So far, it means cripplingly boring phone conversations with stupid unhelpful people.  And lots of paperwork.  And it requires attention to detail.  I am not good at attention to detail.  I am good at witty banter.  I also make a decent stirfry.  Making sure that the right piece of paper goes to the right person in the right way...? not my strong suit.

So, migraine.  Head hurt bad.  And, of course, I was out of my pills.  Out of them because I always think, optimistically, that I won't get another migraine ever and so I don't refill my prescription until I'm driving to the pharmacy with one eye closed clutching the steering wheel in pain.  Which is what I did about an hour ago.

Upon arrival, the pharmacist tells me that it will be $180 to refill my prescription.  Even with the pain, I know that's not right.  I work for an insurance agency.  One of the only good things about this job is that I have prescription drug coverage.  I tell her to check again and she comes back with the information that the system is saying I'm over my limit.  But, of course, this is impossible.  I am Not Over My Limit.

At this point, if I were someone other than a white girl who is used to getting what she wants, and who spends her days navigating The System, I would have given up.  My head was throbbing, I didn't have $180, the computer is always right and the pharmacist looked official (and slightly pitying) in her white coat.  But I am a white girl.  With a cell phone.  And an ivy league degree in something that mattered to me ten years ago.  So, I called lots of people.  Until I got someone who would help.  And she explained that the pharacist was an idiot who was entering information incorrectly and that the solution was simple.  I walked back inside Walgreens brandishing my phone, got my drugs and am currently stoned, happy and no longer in pain.

Apologies if this is a confused rant.  My brain has been hijacked by Maxalt.  hooray.

Posted by: 120pages at 15:25 | link | comments (1) |

sneaky sneak

I hate being chastised.  I mean, I spent my whole childhood sneaking around in order to avoid that moment when they say they're Disappointed.  Such a horrible word.  My sister would yell "fuck you" and slam the front door on her way out for the night but I would open a window in the basement, wait until everyone was asleep, and then sneak.  I was such a sneaky little sneaker.  I'm not proud of it.  It's not how I would do things now.  The door slam looks a lot more fun from here.  But back then, it was really tremendously important to me that I have my crazy mother's goodwill.  That she not be disappointed.  She liked to say that I was the one she didn't have to think about.  Slam!

Here at the insurance agency, they are very careful about supply ordering.  I just got the chastising "could you try to plan your ink supply needs a little better?" email.  And it took me right back to being 17 and wanting to make out with my boyfriend and how it turned out hiding him in my closet when I heard the van in the driveway wasn't such a good idea.  My mom found him on the floor, behind the sliding mirrored door, looking sheepish.  My mom could make anyone look sheepish.  It's her specialty.

She was Disappointed in both of us.  I sat on the couch, mortified, next to my cool boyfriend who made LSD in his closet and whose parents let us have sex in his room while they were home.  He had a pet rat, and earrings and wrote Poetry.  My parents made me go to Sunday School and I had to be home by ten even on the weekends. 

If I had an office. With a door.  I swear I'd slam it.

Posted by: 120pages at 15:03 | link | comments (1) |

loud talker

One of my co-workers is a loud talker. Actually, everything he does with his mouth is loud. Eating, for example. Is Loud. Eating and talking happen at the same time, too, which is doubly disturbing for anyone sharing the breakroom with him. I try to time my lunches so as to avoid this display of sound and spittle.  Alas, today I got caught in the crossfire. I read the paper and tried not to look at him. I hate the paper. It's local and it's stupid. There's a daily column about cats. There's a weekly column about someone who is in shape and wants to talk about their exercise and diet regime. Both columns have photos and the photos are always out of focus or shot from below to make the in shape people look fat.

Loud Talker sits all alone in a cube in the back because everyone else has moved away. Due to the talking. He even talks to himself when he's not on the phone but he's always on the phone.

Loud Talker - "Hey honey, have you looked in the diaper bag yet?" pause "Well, look in the diaper bag." pause "In the back pocket" pause "Because I love you." pause "No, I love you more" pause "Okay, I'll call later"

and he does. Every hour, he calls his wife and they talk like that. Or he picks up the phone and just pretends to call her. I have my theories.

Loud Talker wants to be my friend because we are both writers. He is working on a screenplay and a novel. He has been to film school in Canada. He loves to talk about movies but doesn't actually  go out to see them so we end up arguing about a movie that he's only read about.

Loud Talker "what'd you think about Eternal Sunshine..." (note the cool way he abbreviates the title)

Me "Loved it"

Loud Talker "I heard it was overrated"

Me "It wasn't"

Loud Talker "I heard that Jim Carrey did a lousy job"

Me (getting sucked in now - happens every time dammit) "But it's his best performance. Except for the scene where he's crying on the beach and the camera is shooting him from above. But I'll give him a few minutes of overacting because he made me cry. And he made me care. And he made me fall in love again with movies"

Loud Talker "I don't think I'll see it"

aeei.

Posted by: 120pages at 14:36 | link | comments |

last thursday

In the chic, upscale, trendy part of town, there is First Thursday. On the first Thursday of every month, shiny cars compete for parking spaces. People with large, swingy coats stroll from gallery to gallery, sipping wine and considering purchasing something for over the sofa.

In my neighborhood, we do Last Thursday. It's dirty and there are dogs everywhere. People dance in the street. The art is bad and you can buy tamales and cheap lingerie in the same store. There is absolutely nothing for over the sofa that I couldn't make in ten minutes with duct tape and some paint.

I wish there were a place in between. A mid-thursday. That would be my spot. Serious Art, Fun Art, Good Art, Happy People, Dogs in the Street, Large swingy coats, Lingerie and Tamales.

Last night, while hanging out at the show my friends were putting on at one of the scrappy little galleries with bad lighting and pale green walls where someone was smoking (smoking! at a gallery!), I got cornered. Ambushed. Waylayed by the Queen of Real Estate aka freaky Ex-Obsessed Friend. Aeei. This is a friendship that I ended and it did not end well. We have not spoken since May. We have not spoken because she is crazy and because I was so worn out and worn down by the friendship that I was mean when I broke up with her. I'm too permeable to spend much time with the space-grabbers. They whittle away at me until I don't recognize myself anymore. And the Queen of Real Estate is the biggest space grabber of them all. She leans in and talks and pushes with her words.

So, last night. Life is good, she told me, over and over. Life is great, in fact (leaning in to say this). She is in love with a furniture maker who all her friends think is so hot (he is 10 years younger and not terribly bright) and they are moving in together and real estate is going so well she doesn't know what to do with all the money she's making. (I am poor, and she knows this) She is so happy and did she mention that she is in love? And they went to Ireland and life is so good. (I wish I had the money to travel) They laugh together and they are seeing the same couples therapist that Ben & I went to when we first moved in together (that is just weird) only they are doing it the right way. They are doing it Before Things Get Bad (I think that meant that Ben & I did it wrong - we did it after we had been yelling at each other for a few months and slamming the one door in our apartment that would make any noise). Because things are great. GREAT. And she is glad to hear that I am good, too. (only I don't remember saying that because I don't think I talked at all except to encourage her to let me know how good life is without me).

Her final words, as she leaned all the way into me for a hug that I didn't want to give, were "I miss you".

Me - "It was good to see you, too. Take care".

And then I breathed in for the first time in twenty minutes or what felt like three hours. I breathed in and remembered who I was and looked around at my friends who don't need me to replace the family they never had and who ask real questions about my life and who want happiness for me as well as themselves. I don't miss her. It was good to see her. It was good to hear that without me there, she's still okay. Without me talking to her on the phone ten times a day, she is still the Queen of Real Estate, going forward into other peoples lives and taking what they let her have.

So, I gave her a little bit last night. I gave her space to preen and prance and parade. I listened and congratulated. I smiled and let her go off into the night, both of us feeling better. She got to do the thing we all want to do after any kind of break up - show the other person you don't need them. And I got to see that it's true she doesn't need me, and this gave me room to smile, and say good-bye again, this time in a gentler way.

I wish her well. And, to be completely honest, I also wish her in a different neighborhood.

Posted by: 120pages at 09:12 | link | comments |