Walking Home

This evening after Mike went off to his bachelor party I walked to the pharmacy to get him some allergy medicine. The whole way back I was jumpy and uneasy.

I'm sure that part of the unease was from the fact that I'd been watching "Forensic Files" and "Law & Order: SVU" all evening. Crime shows always make me antsy.

Part of the unease was from the fact that while I was waiting in line there was a big guy behind me chattering nonstop. A few glances told me that he was probably homeless and that he wasn't talking to a cell phone, he was talking to himself. Plus he didn't really understand personal space...when he coughed I could feel his breath on me. Once I paid I moved quickly down the street and around the corner before he could leave the store.

But a big part of the unease was just that it felt so lonely to be walking. I was close enough to Brady Street to see the street festival going on there, but there was nobody on the side streets. It was deserted.

I do think that seasonal affective disorder exists, but I don't think that I have it even though I get pretty down by the middle of winter. I think it's more that places like Wisconsin that get a really harsh winter feel so isolated. In the summer my neighborhood was jumping - every night there would be people on their porches chatting, you'd hear music coming out of open windows, and the restaurants would have tables set out crowding the sidewalk. You'd hear shouts and laughter until well after midnight.

However, tonight was the first really chilly evening, and with the exception of the street festival everyone else was bundled up indoors. That's the way it is in winter...everyone is huddled behind parkas, scarves, and boots. People hustle from the warmth of their car to the warmth of their house instead of lingering outside. It seems like everyone is rushing into their own little spaces instead of sharing the world outside.

I already miss the summertime.

Friday Five

I never know where people get these little Friday Five surveys from. I just steal them from others, such as fooltoworry.

1. If you could pick your own theme song, what would it be? It changes all the time. Right now it’s a song called “Big Weekend” by Tom Petty. There’s a line in there that says, “You can look back babe, but it’s best not to stare,” and I like that.

If you don’t already have “Highway Companion,” the CD that song is from, I highly recommend it.

2. Now be honest...if others had to pick a song that described you, what would they choose? That’s a tough one, because I don’t know what songs other people know.

3. What song would be/was the first dance at your wedding? That’s still being settled. I’d like “Crawling Back to You” by Tom Petty but Mike insists that it’s a breakup song. And, listening to the lyrics I suppose it is. But it has a flute! And the line, “It was me and my sidekick/He was drunk and I was sick.” How can you not love that?

4. What song gets stuck in your head most often? It varies a lot. The last song to really get horribly stuck in my head was “Gasolina” by Daddy Yankee.

5. What song would you want played at your funeral? “Na na na na…na na na na…hey, hey, hey…gooooodbyyye!” No, just kidding. If I was going to have a sportsy song I’d have “Rock & Roll Part II” by Gary Glitter. I actually really like this church hymn called “Seek Ye First.” At my church we only ever sing the first two verses over and over, and I think it’s just beautiful.

Do not defame the name of Petty!

Seriously, this is just another post about Liz. Just skip it, I only write about it because I can't vent to her.

She's been texting lately about her father, who apparently has lung cancer. I'm not sure if it's true. I felt very paranoid thinking that it was just a bid for my attention, that she would lie about such a serious thing. But now, I dunno. She seems to have started grasping at straws to get me irritated.

I’m so glad I grew up in my morality sympathetic Holland. Sex was never worse than being untrue to others or yourself, liberal didn’t mean wrong.

Tom Petty cant sign worth shit.

Rock may take rock, but it takes good vocals too. Petty sucks @ vocals

Petty can't sign worth shit, and Liz can't spell worth a fuck. Heh.

And before I even get into anything else, Tom Petty does not have the worst vocals in music, and vocals are not everything. I can think of a guy who you may have heard of...Bob Dylan? Ring any bells? A completely awesome musician whose vocal technique leaves something to be desired? Yeah.

Anyway, I guess this bothers me because it's just an attempt to bother me, nothing else. It's mean, it's pointless, it can't possibly be anything other than an attempt to cause me bother.

I think this might be too mild of harrassment for me to get any help from the cops or anybody else. Maybe the longevity of it, the fact that it's been going on for months, can help me out.

Fricking Holland. She talks about it so much, she should just move there.

Dialect

Man, my dialect is so boring.

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

20% Yankee

10% Upper Midwestern

0% Dixie

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Ink Envy

The other day I saw my cousin Katie for the first time in, literally, years. She and I seemed to alternate missing family functions, so it was neat to see her even though we aren't close.

One of the biggest changes in Katie was her tattoo. A purple flower and a butterfly on her ankle, and a fairy sitting on another purple flower on her thigh. Now, I suffer greatly from ink envy so I asked her how tough it was and she assured me that it wasn't unbearable. This did not help me put my desire out of my mind.

My most recent desire is to have a foot tattoo, which is perplexing to Mike. Mike rails against foot tattoos, saying how painful and impractical they are. And I know it's doubly impractical to me since I'm determined to wear the shoes I like despite how much they cut up and scar my feet. I imagine that the scars I have plus the scars I'll undoubtedly get in the future would make a tattoo on my foot wear quickly.

But damn, I want one. I'd love a stalk of gladiolus that started with its leaves around my ankle, then curved around so that the last bud on top ended right under my big toe. Admit it, it would be cool.

Someday they'll figure out how to do painless tattoos. And it will be a triumphant day for me.

Hyperbole

Mike is the master of hyperbole. Today we woke up and he sat up and said groggily, "Rusty and Edison were curled up next to each other, and they were touching."

"Yeah," I said, "but probably not for long."

"For five hours," Mike replied, flopping back onto the pillows. "For forever, stretching across eternity."

"Right," I said, laughing. "And how do you know this."

"I have a mental picture," he said, turning over and mumbling into the sheets. "I can look at it whenever I want to think about them touching, and it keeps me warm."

I just laughed and started to get dressed for church. I love starting the day on a random note.