In which I move

We barely made it from LA to the Grand Canyon, mostly because of this car, which had the nerve to go the speed limit:

We were racing to get there before the sunset and made it with just minutes to spare.

Tomorrow: more Grand Canyoning, then off to Albuquerque.

In which I give you too much information

I want you to know that I thought about this before I posted it.  It is incredibly embarrassing and a little gross, but ultimately I feel like it is too funny to pass up.  So I offer up myself and my flaws to you so that you may laugh.  

You're very welcome.  

I sold my couch finally on Sunday to a woman named Nancy.  When Nancy saw the couch in person for the first time, she proclaimed her undying love for its scarlet beauty.  She told me that she was buying it for her office and that the girls* she worked with loved the photo and that they would be excited to have a couch to sit on.  I have to say, it is oddly comforting to know that someone who is buying something that belonged to you loves it as much as you did.   Anyhoo, buy it she did and she and the guy she brought to help her carried the couch out my front door and down to their truck.   About 10 minutes after they left she called me to ask if she could come back up and use my bathroom.  Of course I said she could - far be it for me to withhold the ability to use a bathroom from someone else.  That's just mean.

I showed her where the bathroom was, she used it, politely said thanks and then left.   A little bit later I had to go, too, so I went into the bathroom.  That is when I discovered what I had done:

Yeah.  Pretty damn embarrassing.  Feel free to laugh, though.  Ok, that's enough.  I SAID, THAT'S ENOUGH.  Ok, fine.  I'll wait.

Finished?  Good.

Do you suppose Nancy and her girls* are laughing about this?  I have to admit, I would be if I were them.  I'd be calling me the "hemorrhoid girl" or the couch the "hemorrhoid couch".  Maybe the "H.C." for short.  I'd sit on it and then pretend my behind itched and then run away screaming "HEMORRHOID COUCH!! HEMORRHOID COUCH!!" or something equally ridiculous.  Of course, I do have a weird sense of humor.  And a bit of a wicked streak, too.  

I guess I can bear the embarrassment, though.  My hemorrhoids and I just deposited a nice chunk of cash money, courtesy of Nancy and her girls.*

* Do you suppose that Nancy runs an, er, escort service or something?  Just who are these girls?

In which I introduce my new bedfellows

I'm so excited about moving back to New York that I dug out my old subway map.  I have unfolded it and looked at all the different neighborhoods at least seventy jillion times.  And now I want it nearby all the time, like some kid who drags around an old magazine because it has one pretty picture in it.  I just keep opening it and going, maybe I could live there, or maybe I could live there!  It is all very thrilling until I remember that I am not rich and will most likely end up living in a box on the banks of the East River.

The blue things are wrist guards that are supposed to help with my carpal tunnel syndrome (that I also have in my feet, but whatever).  I thought they would be really uncomfortable to sleep in, but they're not that bad.  They have a bean bag under the palm to keep your hand stable, so it ends up feeling pretty comfy.  

There are really only a couple of problems with the wrist guards.  First of all, when I am in bed, I can't read a book because I can't hold it, much less turn the pages.  And I can't change the channels on the TV because I can't manage the remote.  I have to click the remote with my thumb, so I inevitably press the wrong button and accidentally land on some shopping channel and then can't get back to The Daily Show.  Or I end up turning the volume up really loud, which I'm sure my neighbor appreciates.

The other thing is that the wrist guards have velcro closures.  When I am sleeping, they tend to come apart and, because I sleep in a fetal position, they end up getting attached to each other.   And then I wake up at 4 am with my arms stuck together, which is an...odd feeling.  You know how it is when you wake up in the middle of the night and don't really know where you are or what's going on?  Add your limbs stuck together and see how freaked out you get.  

The wrist guards usually get peeled off about 6 am when I have to get up to pee.  Then I inevitably go back to sleep without putting them back on, and I wake up with numb hands.  And late for work.

Oh well.

In which all my hard decorating work is undone

I'm selling all my furniture in preparation for moving to New York, so my apartment is looking a little bare.  I've sold my bed, my kitchen table and chairs and my coffee table.  My apartment, which just last week was very warm and inviting -

now looks like a crack den. 
Although, maybe they don't fold their blankets in crack dens.  Or have sheets on their mattresses.  Fortunately, I wouldn't know.

Luckily, it is only ten more days.  

In which we all get a new accessory

What an unbelievable day.  What a momentous occasion.  The very first day...

that I got to wear my brand new ring!!!   Gorgeous, no?  (Banana Republic, not on sale, but the sales associate gave me a discount anyway.  Why?  Because I am adorable.)

Oh, and this, too:

Sigh.  

He's so dreamy.  

All nonsense aside, what a great thing to see today.  And every time they showed some middle aged African-American man crying, I cried, too.  I couldn't help thinking how those who grew up being told they were less because of the color of their skin must have felt today.  How proud they must have been!  How satisfied!  Finally, finally all the years of suffering, all the years of fighting have paid off.  All the misery is rising out of the ashes to become hope.  Hope for us all.

 

In which I am outwitted by a German shiny thing

Yesterday was day one of a three to five day migraine headache.  This is bad enough to deal with, but at the same time, I needed to find and change the brake light bulbs in my car.  My neighbor offered her husband's help, but he sort of shrugged and told me that if I went to Auto Zone they would help me find the bulbs and then he would install them.  Off to Auto Zone I went, and one of the whopping two salespeople in a busy store gave me the wrong bulbs.  And how was I supposed to know?  I am a girl and I don't know anything about light bulbs, let alone cars.   

Now, I am a modern woman.  I take care of myself and I don't depend on anyone else.  Yes, I make mistakes and I do stuff wrong and I am a poor money manager, but I do pay my rent and buy my own meals and make my own bad financial decisions.  And a lot of the time I don't really mind being without a man that much.  But there are some things that make me hate being alone.  I don't like being sick and having to go to the pharmacy for medicine or the grocery store for soup myself.  I also absolutely cannot stand having to deal with car stuff. EVER.

Also, the spiders.  

I guess this week I am lucky, because Leopold is apparently long gone, so I just have to deal with feeling bad and stupid car nonsense all by myself.  So I bought the proffered bulbs, not knowing they weren't the right ones, and waited for my neighbor's husband to stop by and offer to install them.  Only he didn't stop by.  And here's where I get all confused, being a modern woman and all.  Do I go over and ask him to do it?  It can't be that hard, certainly I could do it myself if I wanted to, which, make no mistake, I DO NOT.  But he didn't really seem like he wanted to do it.  After all, his wife just volunteered him without asking him or anything.  He looked like a deer caught in headlights.  And I should be able to take care of myself.  What am I supposed to do?

Do you see my dilemma?  No wonder I have a damn headache.

So I waited, thinking he might come by.  He did not.  I was putting all my furniture for sale on craigslist so it was late when I gave up on him.  When I finally got around to changing the stupid bulbs, it was midnight and that's when I realized they were the wrong bulbs.  FABULOUS.  So last night I went back to Auto Zone, got what I thought were the right bulbs, because clearly I can't trust the guy at the store, got them home and then figured out that they were STILL THE WRONG BULBS.  Back to Auto Zone, where I finally got the right bulbs.  I came home, put them in, but still can't be certain that they work.  Who knows?  Turns out there are two different kinds of light bulbs in four different sockets on each side, and I don't know what goes where. The manual isn't very clear, because it is for several different models of the same car and this is the brake bulb for the M class, but I don't have the M class and which one is my brake bulb because all those panels are red and I am confuuuuuuuuuused!  Now it looks like maybe one brake light is working but not the other one.  I can't tell, AND I DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND TO STAND BEHIND THE CAR WHILE I PRESS ON THE BRAKE PEDAL AND TELL ME "THEY WORK" OR "NO DICE" AND MY HEAD HURTS!

In the meantime, whatever I did do in there changed the turn signals, because they used to go "click, click, click, click" all nice and steady, but now when I want to change lanes they are all "clikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclikclik" like they are jacked up on methamphetamines.  I don't know what I did in there, but it sure got them riled up.

Whatever. I guess it is a trip back to Auto Zone this weekend to get more lights. 

 And then maybe I should put a post on craigslist for someone to come install them for me.  "Wanted: male to come deal with changing my brake lights and also that door handle that kind of sticks.  No shirt necessary."  

What can I say?  I am a modern woman.  

In which I am busy

I would love to blog tonight, but I can't because I am busy working.  

See?

Ok, fine, yes.  There is a wine glass there on the table, but it was red wine, ok?  It is good for your heart.  Helps clean out the arteries and such.  And that is really beneficial for me on account of all the Fritos. 

In addition to the work, I am trying to sell everything I own on craigslist, so I have been juggling the work and the emails asking about the furniture.  Who knew you could get people to be interested in your old junk?  My only question is, do you think I can get someone to buy all those plastic grocery bags I have in my kitchen drawers?

In which you shoulda put a ring on it

I can't seem to get this song out of my head. 

You're welcome.

In which blughucky. Ugh. Part II

OH.  CRAP.  Where did you go, icky creepy spider?   Where are you?  

I have to confess a sense of disappointment because I had big plans for the two of us.  I was going to name you Leopold and blog about you and we were going to be such friends.  Why did you have to let me down so?

Hmm. 

(shudder)

Dear Leopold,

Please don't be in my bed.

Love,

Liz

In which blughucky. Ugh.

Don't get too comfortable, icky creepy spider.  You have a date with destiny.

In which I digest the indigestibles

See what happens when I try to eat healthy?  I was about done with my salad today when I noticed that the second tine of my fork was broken.  And then my stomach hurt, so I naturally assumed I had swallowed the broken tine.  Surely I would have noticed it, right?

It reminds me of the time I dreamed that I was eating mini-marshmallows and woke up to find one of my earplugs missing.  It was rather distressing to think that I might have swallowed it in my sleep.  And I was really thirsty when I woke up, but I was afraid to drink anything in case the earplug soaked up all the liquid and expanded in my stomach and then I'd have to go to the hospital.  Luckily, after about twenty minutes' worth of worry, I found the earplug in my bedclothes.  No hospital stay necessary, thanks.

If I did swallow that broken plastic, I wonder what kind of damage it could do.  Of course, I have watched enough doctor shows on TV to make some assumptions.  Like it could get embedded in my stomach, or perforate my intestine, or...  hey!  I think there was a House episode about that.  So if I come down with some mysterious disease, make sure you tell the doctor about the broken fork.

In which I want to eat my lunch all by myself

The other day for lunch we went to Century City mall, where they have not a food court, but a dining terrace.  They have tons of great restaurants in there, but none of the classic food court stuff like McDonald's or Taco Bell.  There are also a few full service restaurants in the mall, so we decided to go to one.  We chose Houston's, which has been one of my favorites since I lived in Houston and ate there.  

I used to go with one of my friends who always got the same thing - filet mignon and a salad. She loved that salad, but she always wanted me to eat half of it. She was incredibly bossy.  So bossy, in fact, that I had to break up friends with her.  Sad, because I know that she was good hearted, but she used to not take no for an answer.  Literally.  If she wanted to do something and I said I didn't want to or couldn't afford it, she would call and call and call and bug me living daylights out of me until I would give in.  And I got tired of giving in.  But she was right about that salad this is what I was craving the other day.

We had several different servers, so when one came to take our order, I got the soup and salad.  They brought my yummy, yummy soup first and then my coworkers' food, and then some other girl walked towards us with my salad.  She didn't know I was watching her.  I saw her hand move from the top of my salad back under the plate.  When she set it down in front of me, I could see there was something brown in her hand.  It had to be either bacon or a crouton.  I watched her as she walked away and saw her hand go to her mouth and her jaw start working.

She was eating my salad.  My salad that she took from my plate, right in front of me!  MY SALAD.

I stared at my plate, and then told my coworkers that she had taken something from my plate and eaten it.  One of the servers came by and asked if everything was ok.  I told him what had happened and he was appropriately horrified.  He immediately took my salad away and said he'd get me a new one.  Then another of the servers came over and asked what happened.  When I told her, she laughed, and then apologized for the laughing and the snacking.  I laughed too and told her that when I waited tables, we only occasionally picked fries off of people's plates, and only in the kitchen, NEVER in front of the customer.  Then the server who delivered my food came over and told me she didn't eat any of my salad.  "I saw you put your hand in my food," I said.  "I didn't," she replied.  "I didn't eat your food."  But she apologized anyway.  

They did bring me a new salad, with LOTS of stuff on it and I was finally able to enjoy my whole salad without anyone's help.

In which I plot my return

I've been having these really weird dreams lately.  They're not frightening, just incredibly vivid.  And I mean VIVID.  The dreams are crazy complicated - there are plots and subplots, costumes, an enormous cast of characters, multiple locations, special effects, and in one instance, molasses cookies.  I think there might even be a foley.  

Most of these dreams lately have been about traveling - packing up, trying to get to the airport, missing my flight, taking a later flight, missing that flight, getting scheduled for another one, etc.  In last night's dream, I think I was packing everything up into a few boxes and putting them and the tin of molasses cookies (delicious) into a little red wagon.  

The airport dream must have been about waiting to hear if I could move back to New York.  I asked many months ago and have been waiting, waiting, waiting to hear if I would have a job there.  The flight delay makes sense.  The waiting has been hard.

I just heard on New Year's Eve that I can move back on February 1st.  There is so much to do I am overwhelmed to the point of inaction.  The only thing I have been able to do so far is buy a coat and snow boots on Overstock.com.  

Do you suppose I could get a little red wagon there? And also some molasses cookies?  Those were tasty.