Look out, I found my new love at the Shedd yesterday. The warty frogfish. I don't even know if it's male or female. It's so disgusting I can't look away... I just couldn't stay away from it. I will call it "he", Warty Wesley. There were 3 of these in the Reef exhibit. Very active the first two times I went through, if you can call slowly moving a coupla inches active. The next three times I visited he lay still, his useless floppy lips engaged in a dumb expression gaping at the surface light. Fin/arm things grasping the rocks and me wishing he would just take me into those floppy fishy arms... HA!
Friday, June 29, 2007
My love is true
Look out, I found my new love at the Shedd yesterday. The warty frogfish. I don't even know if it's male or female. It's so disgusting I can't look away... I just couldn't stay away from it. I will call it "he", Warty Wesley. There were 3 of these in the Reef exhibit. Very active the first two times I went through, if you can call slowly moving a coupla inches active. The next three times I visited he lay still, his useless floppy lips engaged in a dumb expression gaping at the surface light. Fin/arm things grasping the rocks and me wishing he would just take me into those floppy fishy arms... HA!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Moldy Oldies
I love going on vacation. And I love old things. We stayed at a great place right on Lake of the Ozarks in Osage Beach. Ben had such great memories of going there with his grandparents as a kid and I can see why. But there's some mystery to the older areas, like the Bagnell Dam Strip. It was like walking onto an old movie set... arcade games, bumper cars, wax museum, mini golf, and old time tourist boats... operable, but not updated, just collecting dust.
There isn't even any advertising for it. Awesome, and I mean awesome old neon signs were everywhere! Some of the coolest things we did: a cave tour lit by lanterns we held, Tom Sawyer paddle boat ride, and some amazing hikes in Ha Ha Tonka state park.
We also found the Swinging Bridges. The first one is a little rusted out corregated metal thing suspended by cables. The second one is much larger and rickety. Some of the planks had big gaps between them!
The Strip is bizarre because there are so many abandoned businesses sitting there rotting, with no graffiti present, and no real safety measures in place. An abandoned carousel sits at the edge of the sidewalk. Giant catfish await us under an old dock's refreshment stand. We asked a few shop owners and waitresses what was happening but we didn't get anywhere with them. The next day, though, the dock was boarded up and my photo opps were gone.
The Indian Burial Cave he remembered is boarded up. It used to be privately owned. Who wouldn't want to own a cave???!!!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Too much early morning time...
My mother always tells me that she can't believe my eyelashes didn't got darker as I got older.
One bad thing about having ghostly eyelashes is that it takes 3 coats of mascara to see any difference. And even then they just become blobby spears.
One great thing is that when they get wet I have my own personal kaleidescope to look through. When light refracts on them I get to look through a bunch of little rainbows shaped like bubbles. Weird!
One bad thing about having ghostly eyelashes is that it takes 3 coats of mascara to see any difference. And even then they just become blobby spears.
One great thing is that when they get wet I have my own personal kaleidescope to look through. When light refracts on them I get to look through a bunch of little rainbows shaped like bubbles. Weird!
Friday, June 15, 2007
More experimental sports...
Tot gymnastics was not so bad. Enrolling my child in this is part of my attempt to suck it up and expose her to as many experiences as possible. If I don't let her pursue these things, what good am I as a mom? Gymnastics is a big step... soccer, going to the public pool, and sitting in a the sun long enough to make a redhead squirm - the things I do for this cuddly lump of love!
Apparently gymnastics originated with the Greeks, though I always associated it as part of the Hitler Youth indoctrination training, from those old war films in high school history class. A few moms were as creepy as expected. I did meet one nice one.
Apparently gymnastics originated with the Greeks, though I always associated it as part of the Hitler Youth indoctrination training, from those old war films in high school history class. A few moms were as creepy as expected. I did meet one nice one.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Day 11/30
Yesterday I got to see a good friend of mine from high school. I don't have many friends from high school - I was kind of a recluse even then (go figure) and I suppose a little off-putting with the black nail polish and whatnot. We took her friend's kid and my own to Pirate's Cove and then went back to her parents' place for lunch. It was fabulous to see her. We fell out of touch for nearly 8 years while we explored different paths, but somehow things are the same... in a really good, refreshing way that makes me thankful for the growing experiences I've had.
I was even lucky enough to see her fabulously cynical, bratty younger sister and also her mom and dad. It's so interesting how stories arise around a good meal. We all sat around the table chatting, just as we did as teenagers, and I couldn't help noticing that though it's been nearly 20 years since high school, we all looked about the same and carried similar attitudes into our semi-adulthood. We are all activists in our own ways. We still have similar concerns about the world and state of the nation. I am so fortunate to have these lifelong friends.
And now it's time for the 168-hour break we Americans are allotted... vacation!
I was even lucky enough to see her fabulously cynical, bratty younger sister and also her mom and dad. It's so interesting how stories arise around a good meal. We all sat around the table chatting, just as we did as teenagers, and I couldn't help noticing that though it's been nearly 20 years since high school, we all looked about the same and carried similar attitudes into our semi-adulthood. We are all activists in our own ways. We still have similar concerns about the world and state of the nation. I am so fortunate to have these lifelong friends.
And now it's time for the 168-hour break we Americans are allotted... vacation!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Suicidal tendencies
Well, it's probably not what you think, especially since he is in nonstop MBA/work mode. This one's a downer. A neighbor a few doors down killed himself last week. Whenever I see or hear about a nearby tragedy I have this tendency to count the number of walls between me and it. It's a bad neurotic habit. Maybe I'm trying to reinforce the idea that I'm pretty fortunate (or maybe it's just luck) and I wonder how I get to live this way while others do not.
In 2003 my neighbor killed herself by jumping ( or is it falling?) out of her 22nd floor window onto the parking lot below. I didn't know her well, but well enough to know her name and be intrigued by her. She was always kind to me when others were not. She dressed to the nines though she just worked at the pet shop on Western Avenue. She sometimes covertly acted as a foster parent for small dogs. We never spent much time together and never crossed the thresholds of each others' homes, but it felt good knowing she was just beyond my door, across the dingey hall carpeting, and beyond her own door. Whenever she entered her unit she'd wave, smile in her demure manner, and I'd see the sky blue walls and African mask collection disappear behind her door. I know that her daughter is a prominent professor of women's studies. She boasted about her often. I Googled her.
The night of her death I was alone with the baby, sleeping with earplugs. An hour before the police came I heard a terrible noise loud enough to wake me. Later, the news chilled me to the bone. For the next two months I would wait for Ben to come home before going up that elevator and looking at the coronor's order taped to the door across the hall. One night I waited for him almost two hours. Another night I crept out into the hallway while everyone slept, listened at her door, smoothed down the edge of the coroner's sticker, and put my eye to her peephole. I could hear the cold December air whistle softly through the door jamb.
On yet another evening I saw her daughter arrive to put the unit on the market. She was tall, confident looking. Just as a successful young professor should look. What separated me from her mother? Two doors, one three-foot hallway, and one open window.
What separates this older gentleman from me? A basement, three doorways, a flight of stairs, a 20-foot span of pavement, a neighbors house, and my front door. He's lucky the first shot took, for most people it takes more. I didn't hear the gun fire.
In 2003 my neighbor killed herself by jumping ( or is it falling?) out of her 22nd floor window onto the parking lot below. I didn't know her well, but well enough to know her name and be intrigued by her. She was always kind to me when others were not. She dressed to the nines though she just worked at the pet shop on Western Avenue. She sometimes covertly acted as a foster parent for small dogs. We never spent much time together and never crossed the thresholds of each others' homes, but it felt good knowing she was just beyond my door, across the dingey hall carpeting, and beyond her own door. Whenever she entered her unit she'd wave, smile in her demure manner, and I'd see the sky blue walls and African mask collection disappear behind her door. I know that her daughter is a prominent professor of women's studies. She boasted about her often. I Googled her.
The night of her death I was alone with the baby, sleeping with earplugs. An hour before the police came I heard a terrible noise loud enough to wake me. Later, the news chilled me to the bone. For the next two months I would wait for Ben to come home before going up that elevator and looking at the coronor's order taped to the door across the hall. One night I waited for him almost two hours. Another night I crept out into the hallway while everyone slept, listened at her door, smoothed down the edge of the coroner's sticker, and put my eye to her peephole. I could hear the cold December air whistle softly through the door jamb.
On yet another evening I saw her daughter arrive to put the unit on the market. She was tall, confident looking. Just as a successful young professor should look. What separated me from her mother? Two doors, one three-foot hallway, and one open window.
What separates this older gentleman from me? A basement, three doorways, a flight of stairs, a 20-foot span of pavement, a neighbors house, and my front door. He's lucky the first shot took, for most people it takes more. I didn't hear the gun fire.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Day 7/30: Wriding Practess
Rode bike again today to gym and for errands. They have Ben's deodorant on sale for $1.99 so I bought 3. I'm sure the woman working there hoped it was for me. You can tell she just doesn't get the bike helmet thing with the way she looks at me. But then, look at her - a face full of acne and access to discount Clearasil!
Why should I take off my helmet if I'm just gonna be in a store for 10 minutes? It's just one more thing to carry. And I hate carrying things. Camels have it good. I wish I had a built-in compartment on my back that I could just pop stuff into.
Put on your helmet, non sequiturs approaching...
I just used the Burt's Bees soap sample and it is delightful (96.8% natural - I like honesty). I make an effort to buy things not tested on animals. Cosmetics have been around forever, why test them on bunnies? I also try to watch the packaging. I don't buy stuff that's in ridiculous or non-recyclable packaging. The worst things I have are: the daily newspaper and dishwashing detergent. And I try not to use my dishwasher often. The newspaper is Ben's doing. That's what you get when you marry a republican. When we were dating he had this joke... he'd throw a gum wrapper on the street and say, "Look! I'm a republican!" Not that I am down on any specific political party. I can't stand politicians in general. I do like what Al Gore is doing in terms of awareness of this brand new "global threat" some people are actually in denial of. Why is it brand new all of a sudden? In 1976 when I was in first grade we celebrated earth day, picked up trash, and were given a general awareness of how to make the world a cleaner, healthier place. I wish I had gotten a degree in environmental engineering like my distant cousin is doing. Then I could make my solar powered lawn mower. I mean, you only mow when it's sunny out.
I don't understand what happens to politicians after they're out of office. Do they just die because they were so old to begin with? If they REALLY believed all the crap they say they do in order to get into office, shouldn't they all STILL be doing something about it?
Back to the soap... this stuff is "garden tomato" scented. And thanks to Dan Quayle, I can no longer spell tomato. Does the singular have an "e" at the end, or no? I used to be an excellent speller, but the motherhood hormones have really done me in.
And speaking of tomatoes... according to UrbanDictionary.com
Tomatoe
1. someone who engages in promiscuous sexual realtion useually for money
2. someone who prosents themselves as a skank
3. someone who wears revealing clothing
(The proofreaders must've been out to lunch when they published this!)
Isn't there a reference to this in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I think words like this should be revived. Better than "skank". Wouldn't it be nice for children to hear you degrade celebrities in this way: Oh that Britney, she's one sorry tomatoe! Instead of, "What a whore!" Because the next thing you know you're hearing it on the playground... "give me back my care bear you (insert 'whore' or 'tomato')!"... whichever you prefer.
Back to spelling... I was a great speller. Ben thinks he's better, and sometimes he is, but he just doesn't have the vocabulary I have. Heh heh. He is certainly better at saying words backwards (maybe it's the republican in him).
Why should I take off my helmet if I'm just gonna be in a store for 10 minutes? It's just one more thing to carry. And I hate carrying things. Camels have it good. I wish I had a built-in compartment on my back that I could just pop stuff into.
Put on your helmet, non sequiturs approaching...
I just used the Burt's Bees soap sample and it is delightful (96.8% natural - I like honesty). I make an effort to buy things not tested on animals. Cosmetics have been around forever, why test them on bunnies? I also try to watch the packaging. I don't buy stuff that's in ridiculous or non-recyclable packaging. The worst things I have are: the daily newspaper and dishwashing detergent. And I try not to use my dishwasher often. The newspaper is Ben's doing. That's what you get when you marry a republican. When we were dating he had this joke... he'd throw a gum wrapper on the street and say, "Look! I'm a republican!" Not that I am down on any specific political party. I can't stand politicians in general. I do like what Al Gore is doing in terms of awareness of this brand new "global threat" some people are actually in denial of. Why is it brand new all of a sudden? In 1976 when I was in first grade we celebrated earth day, picked up trash, and were given a general awareness of how to make the world a cleaner, healthier place. I wish I had gotten a degree in environmental engineering like my distant cousin is doing. Then I could make my solar powered lawn mower. I mean, you only mow when it's sunny out.
I don't understand what happens to politicians after they're out of office. Do they just die because they were so old to begin with? If they REALLY believed all the crap they say they do in order to get into office, shouldn't they all STILL be doing something about it?
Back to the soap... this stuff is "garden tomato" scented. And thanks to Dan Quayle, I can no longer spell tomato. Does the singular have an "e" at the end, or no? I used to be an excellent speller, but the motherhood hormones have really done me in.
And speaking of tomatoes... according to UrbanDictionary.com
Tomatoe
1. someone who engages in promiscuous sexual realtion useually for money
2. someone who prosents themselves as a skank
3. someone who wears revealing clothing
(The proofreaders must've been out to lunch when they published this!)
Isn't there a reference to this in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I think words like this should be revived. Better than "skank". Wouldn't it be nice for children to hear you degrade celebrities in this way: Oh that Britney, she's one sorry tomatoe! Instead of, "What a whore!" Because the next thing you know you're hearing it on the playground... "give me back my care bear you (insert 'whore' or 'tomato')!"
Back to spelling... I was a great speller. Ben thinks he's better, and sometimes he is, but he just doesn't have the vocabulary I have. Heh heh. He is certainly better at saying words backwards (maybe it's the republican in him).