The Path of Decay

I've been reading lots of great blogs lately, and it's intimidating me. Plus, I'm worried that I'll subconsciously plagiarize one a few months down the road, when I think a good idea has miraculously come to me in my sleep! I need to not read other blogs.

Anyway, David's 50th birthday is a few days away, and he's in somewhat of a funk about it. He's kicking and screaming in protest as he marches down the path of decay. I, on the other hand, am going to make an awesome old person, and here are 12 reasons why:

1. I  frequently get up at dawn. I like mornings. (If I have coffee. Preferably coconut.)
2. I think restaurants should start serving lunch at 10:30 a.m. (Unless it's a pizza place, in which case they should be open all night. WHY aren't pizza places open for breakfast?!)
3. I'm so lazy that I can't wait to have my very own motorized scooter/ chair.
4. I see nothing wrong with dinner at 4:30.
5. I laugh hysterically at shows like "Golden Girls" and "Hot in Cleveland." In addition, I clap and yell "Good answer!" when watching Family Feud (unless their answer sucks, at which point I tell them they're stupid), and I'm great at solving the puzzles on "Wheel of Fortune"
6. I already cut my meat up into really small pieces; when I'm old it will be easier to chew.
7. I have no problem asking for directions if I get lost.
8. I already pee a little if I laugh too hard. Or cough. Or sneeze.
9. I'm all set for when I go deaf, because I like having the closed captioning on when I watch TV.
10. I have 4 cats.
11. Gravity and I have already come to terms with each other.
12. And best of all, I have a huge bank of wild memories for when I go senile and live in the past.
    
    

I just want my coffee

There is something wrong with my house elves.

Myths abound of magical little beings that come out at night to clean people's houses and complete any unfinished work. I'm living in opposite land. My elves have run amuck.

I can go to bed at night with a sparkling counter and an empty sink, but when I stagger to the kitchen at 6 am to feed the cats, and make coffee, something has happened overnight. Crumbs all over the counter. Dirty glasses and food encrusted dishes piled precariously in the sink. Half full water bottles scattered randomly about the kitchen. An empty Triscuit box. The  "pull here" top of a tortilla bag. The quesadilla maker left out on the table.

I've inherited the elves from Animal House.

I fully accept the fact that I'm the one who does most of the cleaning. I tell myself that some day, I will clean my counters, and they will stay clean, and I'll miss the chaos. But at 6 am, all I want is to shut the cats up, and have a cup of coffee, not bulldoze a path to the faucet.

Dear frat house elves, there is a dishwasher right over there-->. Put the dishes in it. There are paper towels right under the sink. Wipe the counter down if you make a mess. The trash can might be little harder to find...it's shut in the closet so that it's animal proof. If you'd like, I'll make a big sign with an arrow so that you can find it easier.

Forget Cinderella.

I'm living in an episode of "Fractured Fairy Tales".

I just want my coffee.

My dirty little secret

I hate taking a shower. Before you go, "Ewwwww!", let me state that I DO shower. I'm sitting here right now, all squeaky clean, with still damp hair.  I just hate the THOUGHT of showering. I love water. I love swimming. I love when I'm IN the shower. I just hate the thought of  getting in.

I'm not sure why. It only takes 5 to 10 minutes out of my day. Lord knows I waste that in the blink of  an eye on Facebook. Then again, unloading the dishwasher only takes 5 minutes, and I hate doing that, too. (A real 5 minutes, not my version of, "Maybe we should paint the living room- it will only take 5 minutes!")

I know two other people who are the same way about showering. Maybe it's more common than people admit. Maybe it's a female thing, since the men I know seem to want to shower at the drop of a hat. (Insert your own little thought here __ about men spending too much time washing one particular area) Maybe it's inherently human- the reason why little kids resist bath time, even though once in, they don't want to get out.

I'll just have to trust Mark Twain: "Water, taken in moderation, cannot hurt anybody."

Oops!

Just remembered I haven't blogged yet today! Made it in with 15 minutes to spare!

Went to Hartford with David today to see "Bride Flight". Not sure why, but I love subtitles.(It was Dutch)  I even put the close captioning on regular TV half the time. Must have to do with my reading obsession. "Look, I can watch a movie AND read!"

Tonight Kaite came over at 11 PM to get more financial aid documents for SMC. I thought I was making it easier on myself this year, by having her do her own FAFSA filing. NOT! Next year, I'm doing it for her, so that it's over and done with!

I know it when I see it

I don't know much about photography, but, while watching a recent episode of "The Fabulous Beekman Boys", I was struck by the work of Paulette Tavormina. I love what she does with light... her photos remind me of certain paintings I used to stare at, while wandering through the Museum of Fine Arts at the Quadrangle. (I'm as ignorant of art as I am of photography, so I couldn't tell you the period or artists; I just know it when I see it.) Unfortunately, until she is mainstream enough for them to sell her work on posters.com, her prints are out of my budget, and all I can do is gaze longingly at them on Google Images.

I've shared the link below.

Paulette Tavormina

The itsy bitsy spider....

Last night, as David and I were watching a movie, I discovered there was a spider on the living room ceiling. Naturally, I couldn't hit the pause button fast enough, much to my husband's annoyance. "There's a spider on the ceiling." "Why did you even look up there? We're watching a movie." "I don't know, but there is a spider on the ceiling. You need to kill it." He hauls himself out of the recliner, grabs a paper towel,  and disgruntledly starts to wander around looking for something to stand on. At this point, my spider-related neurosis kicks in. "Stand on this. You're taking too long. It's going to get away." Dirty look shot my way. "Be careful, don't drop it. Make sure it's dead. Is it dead? Did you drop it?" He steps down, crumpled paper and spider in hand. "Did you get it? Don't throw it in the trash! Flush it down the toilet!" (In Alanna land, spiders can magically resurrect unless squished AND drowned.) I get another dirty look, "It's under control. I GOT it. I'm GOING to flush it. " At this point I'm trying not to hyperventilate, because as he stands there pontificating, HE IS STILL HOLDING THE SQUISHED SPIDER! I take on a note of mild hysteria. "Flush it! Flush it! Why do you have to be so difficult?! You KNOW how I am about spiders!" "I know and I'm going to flush it." He is still standing there talking. It's probably been ten minutes (OK, thirty seconds). The spider is IN HIS HAND and he is just standing there! He finally flushes it, and we glare at it each other as the movie restarts.

Let me stress that this happens pretty much the same way EVERY time he has to kill a spider for me. In my head, there is a specific spider killing ritual that needs to be followed, without deviation, every single time. I don't know why he can't just stick to the rules! There aren't that many things I am this anal about (spider killing, the handling of raw chicken, his dirty briefcase on the kitchen table, and the way the dishwasher is loaded) (Shut up- that's not many.) On his part, he figures if it's dead, it's dead, regardless of the disposal method, and he gets irritated with what he sees as the "much ado about nothing" that each arachnidian encounter brings. (I know that's not a word, but I'm using it anyway)

I'm hoping by the time we're 70, he has the ritual down pat. No doubt, he's hoping by the time we're 70, I'm too blind to see any damn spiders.

These dreams

So, here I was wondering if I would have enough to write about, and then woke up so eager to post this morning, that the time it took to start the coffee brewing seemed interminable.

This morning I was dreaming that David and I had a condo, and that we had moved in so quickly that we had stuffed everything into the drawers and shelves of a multitude of bookcases and bureaus that lined the walls of the living room and kitchen. Unfortunately, this included a myriad of embarrassing personal items as well, shoved in willy-nilly with the household goods. My entire family had come over to visit unexpectedly, and I walked out of my bedroom to find people looking through the drawers, not maliciously, but because they needed this item or that. ("Oh, where would the tablecloths be? Can you find the coasters? Gee, look at all the books they have!") The topper on the cake was that three people were smoking, yes, SMOKING, in MY house! I ran about frantically shutting drawers, stuffing away incriminating items, and yelling, "Smoking? Really? In my house? With my lungs?" (I get asthmatic bronchitis) The dream took a much less paranoid turn at that point, and I decided that with my awesome new condo, I could host the next family picnic, which I promptly scheduled for the following day. (All the while planning that, in the next eighteen hours, I would sort through every drawer, in between grocery shopping and cleaning. And I wonder why having company stresses me out?)

Hmm. OK, so that dream wasn't as interesting typed out, as it was when it was happening. Well, there WAS a dream once about Mikhail Baryshnikov...

Time flies?

Gee, it's only taken me almost two years to make a second post. I've been reading "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin, and one of the suggestions in the book was to start a blog. Hmm, think I have one of those somewhere... oh yes, here it is. Granted, it started off as a place to log my corny poems (see Post 1), but it will do.

Not sure where I'm going to find enough fodder for my daily musings, but hopefully the creativity fairies will smile on me, and the words will flow.

One of the other writing subjects mentioned was the "Write a novel in 30 Days" or something like that. You write a 50,000 word novel by doing around 1666 words a night. Mentioned to David tonight that I thought it would be fun for the two of us to give it a try. He didn't seem as enthusiastic as I had hoped he would be...not a trumpet fanfare to be heard... but maybe he'll warm up to the idea.

So, in my typical all or nothing fashion, I expect to go from not writing at all, to a blog AND a novel? Oh what the heck, it's better than blowing up balls on Zuma Blitz.