Still works.

Is it so wrong? I'm only human!

Over the summer, I had a bad case of bronchitis which led to losing my sense of smell entirely. Most of the sense has returned and I went to a follow-up appointment today. Plus, I thought I was growing a sty. Little did I know, the lovely time I would have.

The doctor comes in and starts chatting with me about things. As he was writing, I couldn't help but stare at his petite feet in suede lace-ups. Then I looked at his face and it held such a prominent nose. Nothing of the attraction sort, just observations. I don't know that I've ever seen a man with dainty feet and a brick-breaker of a schnoz. After a bit, he directed me to sit up on the bed for a look around, you know, the eyes-ears-heart sort of thing. He was asking me about how I felt about going back to school, blablabla, and doing a fine job of concerned, interested, bedside manner. Then he looked at my chart for more info. That's when the tone completely changed.

About 8 years ago, I had half my thyroid removed. Along with a nasty little malignant vascular tumor. Apparently, he needed to check that.

He slid his sterile office temperature hands under my hair and gently wrapped them around my neck. My neck happens to be a spot that, if handled correctly, renders me defenseless. I could feel my air vibrate at the back of my throat as I attempted to restrict the speed. My breath was quickening, I could feel my chest heaving. I'm sure my pupils were dilating as he thumbed his way across the front of my neck. Then he stood behind me, thumbs at the base of my skull, fingertips softly moving over my clavicle. Oh lord! I'm sure he could feel my jugular swelling with hot, fast blood. I could feel the heat moving down from my throat, through my chest, into my organs. Just as it was about to move further south, and just before I felt a whimper come out, he let go.

Yes, I was turned on by princess-toed, soft-handed, average man. So what.

I made the snacks, b@#%hes!!!

All this and I still can't land a husband!!! Um, what?

I haven’t felt much like dicking around with this blog thing lately, but I was purging some files and came across a blog I wrote, on another site, awhile back. It was about seeing a band (one of my favorites) from Denver that scheduled a show in San Francisco.  I love strange, live music in small clubs.  Here it is:

Leading With My Shoulder

The place is freaking crowded. I need to get to get to the bar but people are clustering all the way. The greasy-haired cool guys leaning against the cigarette machine with their big feet in the walkway, the pretty girls having a conversation but never looking at eachother. So I lead with my shoulder. I wave my 20 and ah, a drink is in my hand.



The band is about to start. Not THE band, but the band before the band before THE band. San Francisco.  At home it’s 25 degrees, but here - here I am in a tanktop. It’s a good night, even if it does smell like tires in here. 

The first band has me for a while. I like the idea of an accordion as part of the four, but they’re a bit mopey. I’m going to go make eye-contact back at the bar. Saw a few handsome fellas earlier. Lead with my shoulder.

Second band up. The guitarist is wild. He’s playing a red Epiphone with a bow. Alright, kudos to you then. Do something wacky, but he does have soul. I think about my violin lessons and note to myself to take them up again.



I’m not leaving the front. The band is setting up. I like that I don’t see a bunch of pretend roadies setting up their gear for them...Rock and Roll, man. Carry that f-ing amp! That’s what I’d do. Maybe.



The band, yes THE band. 

I’m glad I drove this far to see them. They’re going to haunt me like bearded phantoms for a while. I will talk about how great the show was to everyone. I will replay the 1st song of the 1st set through my head over and over. Show’s over. All I can do is lead with my shoulder and wonder why I am not a rock star.



(France and

 I at the Munly and the Lee Lewis Harlots show at the Hemlock 11/09/06)

Nadji and I...heading to the KISS concert in Lake Tahoe. Oh my god, I can't believe I have lived this full of a life without ever seeing KISS. I was never much a KISS Army kindof gal, but 'Strutter' happens to be on my life soundtrack. Oh, and Love Gun.

Nadji and I were having a very serious conversation. Not about McCain or Obama, Pakistan or Afghanistan, or the impacts of globalization on the LDCs. We were concerned, that day, with WHAT TO WEAR, as a couple 30-somethings should. When she dropped it on me: We're painting our faces for the concert.

What?!?!

It took very little nudging, actually. I think I heard myself say, "that's a great idea" before actually considering whether it was or not. We made a plan. I'd get Detroit Rock City as my next home-delivered DVD and go over to her house to practice painting stars or kitties.

Here it is. My girly-version of 'the Starchild.' And yes, the concert turned out to be one of the best productions, ever. Say what you want about the arrogant assholes...they're worth it.

Lessons

Wednesday mornings, I work for a farmer out of Northern California, selling fruit. Today was an especially fine day. I learned a couple extra things:

1. Blenheim apricots: The way to pick them is to go for the ugliest ones. This idea can have so many other applications, but it is interesting when trying to sell the damn things. We are so convinced that the best must be perfect-looking (I'll keep it to fruit before I start waxing philosphic on life!), but really, the ones that are pushed aside are the most satisfying.

2. The difference between the old folks, the children, and the rest of us in-between: First, when the children, the ones where their eyes can just barely be seen over the table while they are up on tippie-toes, are standing in front of these big bins of fresh fruit, they are amazing. Their eyes are big, nearly glazed, and they seem as though this is the first time they've ever seen anything like this. They are silent, but their expressions seem to be squealing. When a mommy gives them one of their very own peaches, or cherries, or apricots, they eat it like it was birthday cake.

Secondly, the old folks. I hear the stories about how the stuff in the store isn't nearly as good and how they were raised with apricot trees and would pick them right off the tree themselves. But today was different. Today an old man came to the table. The farmer, who runs the fruit stand, took a piece of fruit, tore it in half and gave a piece to the man. After one bite, he lowered his head and said "I feel like I'm back in the 50s."

In that moment I cherished him. The nostalgia he was experiencing was overwhelming and I wanted a piece of that. I told him we aren't just a fruit stand, we are a time machine. We talked for a few more minutes - about life, and getting through it by laughing.

A bit later an old woman came up. Didn't tell the usual story I've heard, instead she leaned in (didn't have to lean too far, she was hankered down from osteoporosis) and gave the peaches a big sniff. She kept her eyes close and a slight smile appeared on her face. I wish I knew what she was thinking exactly. She opened her eyes, looked at me for a quick second, still holding that smile and said, "I'll take a pound."

I could tell she was not going to rush through any of it. She was going to hold each piece in her hand, roll it around gently to see every color and dent, smell it, and savor each and every bite.

Lastly, the in-betweeners: overall, not much to say. I told my co-fruit-seller-guy that I noticed how the old and the very young are most affected by the farmer's markets and the in-betweens don't have the same reaction. The in-betweens hurry through it, with a few conversations going on with a few people. The co-seller-guy said "maybe they are too busy living too much life." Well-put. Maybe they have too many worries and distractions that they've lost the glazed-eyes of childhood and haven't quite reached the point where a little nostalgia gives a quiet grin.

I need to remember this. I'm one of those in-betweeners and I want to be glazed and I want a simple smile to easily appear and I DON'T want to get good at multi-tasking. But I wonder, 50 years from now, will there be something that makes me say "oh, that takes me to the 80s" and dear god, what will it be.

Just keep 'em comin'

So I was doing the usual, a little internet dirty talk with a friend while on a break at work. Then something funny happened:

First let me explain something. The office I work in had a huge water leak that caused a flood about 1.5 years ago. It got nicely patched up and everybody went back to work as usual. A couple months ago, there was a leak again. One of the 'Buildings and Grounds' fellas came to investigate, to see if the leak had caused mold. Now, on with the rest of my story.

So there I was, a little hot from the messages I was sending/receiving. I internetally implied that I was about to have my way with myself and was feeling a little rambunctious. (You should probably know that I had been moved into a different office since the walls in the back, by my usual office, were wet.) Suddenly, I heard a man's voice in the reception area and he was asking the lady at the desk if anyone was "in there" - meaning the office I was sitting in. Since she is not used to me being in there, she said "nah, go on in."

I'm sure there's no need to explain why he should NOT have just gone on in, but when he did, he was surprised to see me sitting there (evidence concealed, haha!) and could only utter:

"I'm just looking for dampness."

Are you kidding me?!?!?! If he only knew, there was good chance of him finding it!

Just might be a true story.

Father's Day

It's been a strange weekend. Lots of rain and my aunt died Friday, this makes the third relative since August to die. So yes, another funeral.

I was out and about, and the displays of 'Father's Day' gifts and cards got the best of me. I had a moment, in that bright box-store, right there in the aisle next to the cards. For the first time, I have no one to give a father's day card, or phone call, to. The last time I spoke to my father was 2 years ago, Father's day.

But we've got nothing, him and I.

Grandfathers? Lost both of them within 6 months. Dead. That was a real hard-hitter. Father's Day, what a crock! I'll be heading to Northern California tomorrow. I'll see my uncle, the one who just lost his wife to cancer and his father to a ranch accident, who may need to be carried out of the bar...