Solstice Song

Yesterday was the last day of summer. To celebrate (I like to do all of my celebrating belatedly), I went to see my friend, John Richards. He makes great summer music.
[time warp*]
A few years ago, I was way into John Mayer: rocking out in my college dorm, stalking him at the Quest, etc, etc. He has this song, "Comfortable". So relatable. I mean, I wear gray sweatpants, no make-up, so per-fect...our love was...comf'terbehhhl and so brokehhhn innn.
Ahem.
So as I'm loving this song and making up stories about our future together, I discover that it's not about me. It's not about anyone. I am wounded and ANGRY. A love song for no one in particular? That is careless misuse of melty sweet lyrics.
[time warp again]
I didn't want to risk disappointment again. I told Richards I had to know if Checkout Girl was about a real girl. And it is. Swoon. A girl he liked from afar, and years later from up close. Listen.

*More about time traveling later

Lost in Translation (and more bad stuff happening to animals)

Stafford is in Japan this year, blogging the hmmms he sees. This post inspired me.
I had a glorious few examples from my recent jaunt to Europa.
1. A t-shirt with the words "I'm Rockstar!"
2. A survey (click on the picture below because there are such mistakes that you wouldn't believe me if I typed them out for you).

3. The conversation with the Pasternaks (our host family in Wolfratzhausen):
Manfred P: We have much to do with ourself because we have become retired. We keep the gardening, and the rabbits.
Betty: Oh! Are they pets?
Manfred P: (confused look)
Betty: Do you eat them?
Me: (laughing) Betty! God! No, they don't eat them.
Manfred P: (still confused)
Betty: Are they food?
Manfred P: Oh! Yes.
Me: (horrified)

On the Further Mistreatment of Animals

I poke
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

This picture is from our trip to Munich (pronounced: Moonch-Moonchies), Land of the Lion. It's in Bavaria and the crest blahblahblah...There are about 8000 lions in the city and they are all painted to reflect blahblahblah... This one was far too decorative and I felt it warranted a poke in the glassy eyeball.

In Defense of Territory

We spent the better part of the afternoon setting traps and watching for chipmunks. They make this incredibly irritating noise, this gutteral chirp, and it maddens my father. It's the reason that he bought the trap.
He came out and showed me how to set it with a little peanut butter between two tortilla chips so it doesn't get the trap all gunky.
An hour later, there he was. Chip Munk.
We took Chip down the street to the park and dropped him off behind the hockey rink. The idea was to trick Chip into running directly into the abundant woods before him.
He veered right.
Right back toward our house.
"Not that way! Dammit."
Poppa turns to me: "Issat gonna make it into the blog?"
I nod.

Wanted: Enterprising Young People with Babies to Invest

Lord, have mercy. I'mabouttolosemymind. I've got a mouse that does not function properly. The rolling ball gets stuck. Here, I thought the problem was solved with a new mousepad. IT WAS NOT SOLVED.

For a little perspective, I did not trade any children for pogs. None of my own children, anyway.
I don't have my own children. I could borrow yours, right Anne? I mean, if you're not using him. And I'll get him back for you when pogs go out of style.
Which is never!
Mra ra ra. (I'm trying out a new laugh)

And since this post is a smorgasbord of crap, I'll give you my favorite me-ESL student exchange from today:

Me: You have to finish this worksheet.
Him: (sigh of exasperation)
Me: He's going for meanest teacher of the year award again.
Him: He never gets it!

Dum Dum Da--What? No!

I don't usually address comments directly in the following posts for a few reasons
1. I don't get many comments
2. Matt writes most of them
3. They don't usually inspire such fear in me
I especially don't respond to comments in my new posts when I have such a story to tell*
I have enough rumors with the neighborhood moms.
I am not getting married.
I would tell you. Wouldn't I tell you? Yes, I would.

*Jill got brained by a softball and Team Fun won the game. They were down by 10 in the...maybe the fourth inning...came back to win by two in a nailbiting seventh inning.
I was taking some action shots (right place, right time, wrong camera) to use for my (ahem) blog, and (I know that is so geeky, but I want to find something new and different every day and I can't just post about the Euro Mullet again, even if it is a big hit.) as I was lining up a shot, I saw out of the wee viewfinder, Jillian took a ball to the back of the head as she was running to third. And then she went down.
I planned to use the photos as evidence, but they are so completely fuzzed that I cannot put them up here. Perhaps I could Sharpie something for you.

Luke + Lorelei = True Love

Do you ever get so excited that you think you might throw up? I know what you're thinking and it's not after I've eaten a lot of food and feel fat and need to purge. (See yesterday's picture.) I'm talking about good old fashioned happyvomit. Like when you
1. hear from a long lost friend or you
2. make a joke over email and you laugh outloud AND harder than anyone else or
3. when your mom asks the ladies with the strange accents if they're from Russia and they get totally offended and then she asks if they're from up the street? And then she tells you not to blog that! "I feel bad! I didn't mean to be offensive! Anything I say will and might be used against me in a court of blog." Or
4. when it's the SEASON PREMIERE OF GILMORE GIRLS!
Oh, damn. Like my chest is tight with giggles and my throat is full of happy bile.
My coworker calls it Big Day Syndrome. When he was a little kid, he used to throw up before his family went to the fair because it was a favorite place.

Fatty Came Home

I bought a Rolodex. To keep me busy if I can't find another wheel to spin.
And to keep my contacts.
I don't have any contacts.
I have two chins.
And a home.
And some sleep to make up for the seven hour time difference.

Double Chin Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

I Bit My Lisp

This is a story about a girl who went away and decided it's ok to come home now.
It's been a little over a month. More than 30 days, anyway.
I've figured some shit out:
1. I love bags with ziplocking action.
2. I am always worried (about everything). Especially that I might have to pee on busrides.
3. I love waking up to natural light, I love morning, and would rather get up early than go out late and have fun.
4. I hate fun.
5. Matt and I fight about numbers 3 and 4.
6. I'll just have a sip of someone else's.
7. I learn some things the hard way.
For this, there is a example of the time we were packing to come home earlier today when suddenly I realize I'm out of clean underoos. Good planning. So I pop into a shop with a nice display and pick out a very happily cotton pair with screenprinted bows. Who doesn't like bows?
And then I see the price tag. I see it in plenty of time to say, "Could you please place those directly back on the hanger with the matching camisole that costs more than my plane ticket home? Because, you see, I am a very frugal young lady who does not require such niceties. I'll just turn some inside out."
But, and here's the rub, I don't know Spanish. Not even enough to say "I've changed my mind." I could have run out, but I was forced into that embarassing silence of cheapasses who want to say no, but don't.
And now, I will send Matt to return said item, knowing Spanish as he does, and being ashamed to go myself.
8. Some lessons are worth $35.
9. That doesn't mean you have to keep $35 panties.
10. Chocolate solves everything. See 2, 4-10.

Natural Disaster OF HAIR

Have you ever...
been away from home for a really long time and then something bad happens, like, for example, a hurricane that wipes out an entiremajormanycities and you think to yourself, I should probably say something about it, but what to say, where to begin and so instead you post a picture of yourself and your new EuroMullet?

No? Really?
Well, the bang was too intense, people. It was long and I was disgruntled.
Lucia, the sweet Spanish speaking also cosmetology student, cut my hair in her grandma's kitchen.
This is the before:

Pre- EuroMullet
Originally uploaded by Sriracha

This is the after:

Rockin the EuroMullet
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.