When I Write Blog Posts at Work I can Technically say I got Paid to Write Them

Nana gave me a hug this morning. It was right before I woke up, the last thing that happened before I opened my eyes. I think it might have happened because in the book I'm reading there is a character who is old and small and dying of cancer. Or maybe she just wanted to say hi.

She was wearing a long sundress. I must have pulled that from an old picture or a blurry memory because it doesn't seem to fit her personality as I really remember her. It was a floral-printed sundress that swept her toes, kind of teacherly, more like something my mom would have worn ten years ago--buttons in a line up the front, fluttery sleeves. Also, she was wearing transition lens glasses; for the life of me I can't remember whether she ever actually had those.

She hugged me with her tiny, bony body, and she was warm. I don't, in real life, remember thinking she looked bad, unhealthy. She'd always been petite, wiry. Short, fluffy hair and a very distinct way of speaking. Not like a regional thing, just her own way of pronouncing certain words: Er-eek. My brother's name, Erik: Er-eek.

When I was in third grade, my mom and Nana and Grandpa took my brother and me to Disneyland. We stayed in Coos Bay for a few days before leaving for California. I was, at the time, fully engulfed in the throes of a passionate obsession with Tigger, of Winny the Pooh fame. Tigger was a force, an embarrassingly prominent presence in my life, and he was just on the cusp of age-appropriateness. I had a small, silver Tigger necklace that I would hold in my mouth and chew gently until one evening at the movie theater Tigger's head broke off from his body inside my mouth. I was not crying but I was feeling upset, very I've-lost-something-that-cannot-be-replaced, as my mom asked on the drive home "what did you think was going to happen if you kept biting it like that?"

In Coos Bay, Nana had bought new polyester comforters for me and Erik, for our little twin beds in the basement where we stayed on visits. Mine was blue and featured bouncing, frolicking Tiggers in all their bright orange glory. I saw it and flipped, really had a fit and I demanded how she knew about my mania. "I just knew," she said, smiling. I was utterly dumbstruck, which is so funny to think now, as I'm sure my mom easily mentioned it over the phone to her and so she knew quite clearly who I'd like to see on my blanket. But then at the time I was blown away. My brother's blanket was decorated with the main character from a Bug's Life (an ant whose name escapes me), towards whom he was indifferent.

But I'm feeling fuzzy-brained now, and the more I think, the more I wonder if perhaps the obsession instead came on more immediately prior to our departure for Oregon by way of California. Maybe the blanket and the subsequent trip to the Happiest Place on Earth were, in fact, the beginnings of my passion, something that was just beginning to show itself. And then I still wonder, not sure of anything, really: how did she know? 

Wagon Wheel

I had wanted to write about the evolution of my feelings on the song Wagon Wheel by the Old Crow Medicine Show:

A. Erin and I live in Eugene, Oregon and we have "invested" our money in a 1996 Mazda Protege. Its glowing green-blue color won us over immediately, and we drove it around the block for an test drive with the emergency brake on. The Protege has a CD player and our friend Mallory has made us a mixed CD featuring the mellow music that is popular in her world (as well as a few mid-nineties throwbacks) and one of the songs, which we play shamelessly on repeat, sometimes on lazy, aimless drives through town or to the coast, is called Wagon Wheel. It is a sexy comfort and calls attention to our misspent youth. We love that song and wail along and feel quite rustic, although we are happy to be in our own vehicle and not hitchhiking like the free spirit in the song. I am pretty sure I have missed out on ever having anything like this singer's life because I have a Gameboy and shop at the Gap, but I can create moments that get me close enough.

B. Without really meaning to, I have stumbled into a lifestyle not entirely dissimilar to the Wagon Wheel singer's. Or at least I have a front-row seat to it. I am working for my dad on his fishing boat and eating slices of warm cheese for lunch and technically living in a "village" and the meaning of "rural" and "community" has coagulated in a pile of discordant political views and alcohol. It is approximately three years since I first heard the Wagon Wheel song and it's hard to even really hear it anymore when I do. It sounds like the noise of an oil painting. So to hear it one night at a  bonfire, coming from humans whose names I know, who are playing guitars, is abrasive and decidedly overwrought. But that's all it takes, and suddenly real people with real dirt on their chins are spilling their beers and stagger-dancing to it. I feel cynicism bubbling under my skin, but I'm just drunk enough to declare I love this song.

C. Wagon Wheel has been covered by a popular country group, and as a result it is popping up in shopping malls and on the radio when my boyfriend's mom has control of the dial. I have so few feelings about it that this new incarnation barely registers, but I still hum along out of some vague sense of duty to the myth of the trail-worn traveler who is just looking to have a good time.

The Landlord

More to come, maybe. Thoughts about these people as I leave them behind forever:

Scott was our landlord. He was the one I met when I showed up for a walk-through of the one-bedroom duplex, and he reminded me of a lot of all the other men I had met who had a goatee and a rotating collection of stained basketball shorts. He noticed the area code of my cell phone and mentioned that he used to live in Alaska, in Eagle River. “But I’ve lived all over,” which also included his favorite, California. His email address included the phrase Blues Bum. He told me he was a good judge of character. 

                But also, Kim was there when we moved in. Not exactly, but she was “around” and so were the puppies, dainty little Yorkie mixes that smelled and looked more like downy, floppy hamsters. Kim adored the puppies as well as the older, far uglier dog that had birthed them. She had a sweet face and a good recipe for coffee cake. She seemed to love Scott and doubt him in equal measure. 

Three Untitled Poems

The label on the can of Easy Cheese says that
you don't need to refrigerate it

He read it out loud and frowned

But it's still cheese...isn't it?

Later I noticed he had put it in the fridge

That doesn't tell you everything you need to know about him
but it's a good place to start

_________________________________________________________


We live here, inside our heads

And when I would repeat what she said
I would add the gesture
of tapping my index finger to my temple

And we hold onto people so tightly
out of fear
less afraid to upset them than to watch them walk away

I agreed, yes, that was the case

__________________________________________________________


My second cousins on my dad's side are all adult men

They look like cartoon goober thugs
like disgruntled suburban toys
on the brink of figuring out how little they stand to lose

One of them has a mustache
sweatsocks
and a highly ambigious chin/neck situation

He brought with him an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen
which we all ate at the table
at 3 p.m.
in Bismarck, North Dakota

After we had finished he turned to me

You look like you want to have another piece

And I promised to take care of myself
and to never be alone in a room with him

Secretarying isn't for Everyone: Wherein I Test the Definition of a "Blog Entry"

Highlights of Life, Lately (And Lowlights for Balance, Body, and Dimension)

This is the most blog-y thing I've posted so far but whatever.

1. Alaska Trip
Highlights: Saw Fairbanks, Denali (SO COOL) and Kenai/Homer/Kasilof. Saw moose, caribou, pika, sheep, huge mountains, ocean. Went river fishing. Got drunk in the airport.
Lowlight: I want to go back. There's nothing beautiful here.

2. It's definitely summer
Highlights: The weather is aaaawwwesome. I'm never cold. I want to go swimming. I want to be outside all the time. The sun makes me feel like my life is golden.
Lowlight: I live with someone who cannot handle the heat. Who cannot, in 75+ temperatures, do much but sit directly underneath the ceiling fan and drink iced water. So I lay outside in the grass by myself a lot.

3. My mom is in town
Highlights: This must be sort of what it feels like to have a friend.
Lowlight: She left yesterday.

4. Legal weed stores
Highlights: This is totally historic stuff. The shop that's closer to my house, New Vansterdam, is really really cool. The people who work there are so kind and hip. The tables and display cases are very classy.
Lowlight(s): The product is expensive and stoner-y activities lately have been leaving me anxious, paranoid, and adrift in a confusing haze of intense self-loathing. Plus the whole federal/state disharmony is a little troublesome.

5. I'm back on Twitter
Highlights: Majorly improved quality of life.
Lowlight: My productivity at work is at an all-time low.

6. I've been at my current place of work for one year
Highlights: It went fast. I wouldn't feel bad quitting now.
Lowlights: I still don't know how to do anything and I probably won't find work anywhere else

7. 1.5 months until Labor Day
Highlights: I'M GOING TO VISIT JUNEAU I CAN'T WAIT I CAN'T WAIT.
Lowlight: The time between now and then is going to drag.

8. Mildly improved budgeting skills
Highlights: Slightly more money.
Lowlight: It's really really un-fun. I want like, five new bathing suits just because I told myself I can't buy them. I also want more ice cream.  

My life in a blog post: plans & changes

Wow. Wow. Wow. Where do I begin? I’ve moved to another city. So much has changed. Sometimes I don’t recognize that girl in the mirror anymore. I bought Folgers to economize?????? Sometimes I drink beer instead of a fruity cocktail, and furthermore, I've gained more than a few (still look mostly the same, but that could be a bit of the recognition/mirror issue?) (Is that because of the beer?). I’ve met some amazing people who have changed my life, one of which was featured in its own post “They met online.” If you haven’t read it yet, you should really consider checking that out. It’s a whirlwind of emotions, so don’t forget that Kleenex. 

Not everything has panned out the way I planned. I originally planned on shouting, "Take me to the jazz!!!”  to a driver upon my airport arrival; but, things didn’t really work out the way I’d planned. Instead, the shouting was directed towards an older couple as I argued about the amount of luggage I’d packed. Didn’t they know I was moving??????!!!

They did not offer me a ride. 

I didn’t give up on the jazz though and have been to a few concert so far, one of which I haggled an 80 year old board member of a jazz club for his business card in order to email him my qualifications to be the club secretary. Simultaneously, I was also staring uncomfortably intently at one of the band members. The stare was made worse as I was also sitting uncomfortably close to him. 

I have not heard back about this position.

In other news: I just unzipped my high-waisted pants because I consumed too much butter.

Well guys, the rest of your life starts NOW, so go start livin it!!!!!

La vida loca.

I’m outy.

They met online

She’s married to an executive chef at an athletic club. They met online. 

She doesn’t understand what all the fuss is over the Kardashians. They’re only famous because of a sex tape…. and you know what?? She’s decided that O.J. Simpson was definitely guilty. Robin Thicke is so cute but it’s a shame he cheated on his wife because she's so beautiful. She’s half black, which is maybe why it seems like he’s always trying to be black? She’s not sure what she meant by that.

She’s married to a chef. They’re vacationing soon to make up for lost time. They’ve only been married 11 years. They met online.

We click through the images of Bette Midler’s billion dollar apartment in Manhattan and ooh and aah at each sofa and light fixture. 

I ask her if she’s here all day. "Are you kidding?!” She’s got a mani and pedi scheduled at two. She’s out of here at one. She’ll be cabbing back home just as she arrived. When she gets home she’ll be making a tortilla with mozzarella and tomatoes. Another woman and I express jealousy. "Well ladies, it’s not hard!!!!” she reassures us. 

Her husband is a chef and he spoils her with his cooking. They met online. 

Everyone that passes by is a sweetheart and a doll, however, the man in the IT department is none other than a real dick. 

Pardon her language. 

We won't be working together again so as one o’clock hits she says “WELL THIS IS DEPRESSING!!!” We leave and she pulls a yellow post it out of pocket that reads “COFFEE” in large print. 

She’s off to Starbucks. 

Health and Et Cetera

I don't know much about bodies and health and exercise. Currently when I go to the gym (the community center) I lift some things, push some things, eavsedrop with my headphones in, and read Better Homes and Gardens on the elliptical. I'm pleased to notice that I'm way less obsessive about what I do there (in terms of frequency and difficulty) than I was this winter, and that has been really nice, because winter was a dark hole of sweat and frustration and heaven help you if you decided you were going to pick my favorite stationary bike to use. I threw around the stink eye like it was going out of style. Yes, you, 80-year-old in the "cancer survivor" t-shirt. What the fuck are you looking at? I also wasn't eating enough. I know that for sure. Being hungry made me feel angry and I liked feeling angry at work. Despite all my rage, etc.

Anyhow, the sun is back now and I'm happier in general and I'm just as content to equate taking a walk while eating a cookie with a trip to the gym as my daily exercise. They are both movement-based activities that make me feel good. Or yoga, or riding my bike, or doing a couple situps and then watching Curb your Enthusiasm for four hours. Blah blah blah, activities and health bullshit, you get the idea. Do what makes you feel good. I'm drinking more (a good thing?!?!?!?), eating more, moving at a more reasonable pace, and feeling a whole lot better. Plus my ass is looking a little less concave. Sexxxy.

So this guy: and I'm not going to begrudge him his intentions; I assume he's motivated to some degree by an investment in community wellness as most employees at the center are (I guess). And really he got off to a bad start by actually telling me about his day when I asked how he was doing ("I didn't ask for your life story, nosehair" -Karen Walker). BUT here's the story:

Short-ish, bald-ish, guy; probably younger than he looks but he still looks kind of old. Mid/late thirties maybe, skinny but "in good shape" or whatever the fuck. As I'm leaving, he asks "so how'd it go?" (how'd what go?? My "workout" I guess?)

"Oh, good, yeah."

"Yeah? So are you like, training for something?"

"Uhhhh nope. I mean I guess I'd like to do a 5k this summer or something but I don't know."

"Oh yeah? Well I'm a runner so if you want any help or tips come ask me! You know it's all about building on your strength and adding difficulty and challenging yourself."

"Yeah okay thanks."

Now that I've typed out the transcript it doesn't seem like that big of a deal, but here were my takeaways:

• When I exercise, I should have a goal in mind. Because otherwise what's the point
• I don't know what I'm doing when I exercise; I need assistance

Okay now I'm kind of thinking that I'm just way overreacting. He was annoying and I'll just leave it at that. Mostly I just don't like being talked to. And damnit Joelle had a gym experience that was a trillion times more entertaining than this. But I think if he tries to chat again I'll be sharp and shut him down with a good old-fashioned stink eye. And maybe rub some of my back sweat on him.

You know now that I think of it there's also that time the old guy asked if I want to UW because of the shorts I was wearing; I said no and then started to say something else but he cut me off and goes "OH NOT THAT I WAS STARING AT YOUR BUTT OR ANYTHING HAHAHAHAHAH" and walks away. That was magic.

Troy

Troy has a question for you:

That's not a link or anything because fuck that guy. Sorry. But not?

Hi guys, it's Thursday. What if you were watching this moderately budgeted three-part series on Netflix about two families who hate each other and it's just after the Civil War (capitalised?? Did it actually happen??) and you keep making comments about how lame all the women characters are. What if.

What if you started keeping track of everyone in the office who didn't try to engage you in conversation about the Dilbert strip on the fridge and making mental notes to like them better.

What if you bought yourself new shoes at TJ MAXX to make yourself feel better about being the kind of person who buys herself shoes at TJ MAXX to feel better.

What if your only Facebook status updates were regarding foods.