Pilgram's hard lesson(s)

If you feel like you've become a crazy person, then it's probably a good time to calm down.

I've been thinking about love and expression and ways to see joy in your life. The cold hard facts are that you can only teach these things by example. And hope that your punks have a little of it in them already.

But how can you do that when you're beating yourself about the basics? You can't. You've got to get those basics nailed down. I guess that's the "routine" I keep hearing parenting types talk about. Never thought I needed one. I suppose the hard lesson learned is that family needs an underlying structure on which to shine. Otherwise all that passionate energy just gets scattered on the clutter mucking up your life. And that, my friend, is what is making me crazy.

When you think about it, it's these realizations that make us sane. Maybe my poem yesterday
should have been called "be a Mom"...

Also, in case you were wondering, a shotgun shack is a house in which a bullet, having been shot through the front door, would travel unobstructed through the house, right on out the back door. Unobstructed, of course, except for any occupants, who would all be killed by that single bullet.

Makes you wonder how such expressions get started.


And now I've burned my coffee.

ok ok, alright already

Any parent out there can probably relate to that feeling of being taken over by a world and a persona that we never imagined for ourselves. That desperate helpless feeling as we realize our reality consists of pressures we never bargained for. Or maybe it's the desperate helpless feeling as we realize the percentage of who we are can accurately be described as "raving lunatic" or some closely related descriptive.

Well, I have these moments anyway.

I don't like worrying about the nasty look on the face of Punkette's teacher when she arrives late. But at the same time I expect that she should get out of bed in the morning instead of lying there for 20 minutes. Then the clothing battles. These things are making me crazy. And the core of the problem is none of these things justifies going crazy.

On the upside, kids with crazy parents must learn so much.

I'll just keep telling myself that.

have fan, who's throwing sh*t?

I realized today, while getting to know someone
Over coffee, in the bookstore cafe
That I like the experience of enduring something
It gives me joy, the experience of uncertainty
The threat of disaster, even passing through it

I realized this when describing some of the things I've done
How they sounded very haphazard to the ears
It wasn't something I'd thought much about before
Until saying these stories, about small adventures
And the trill of unsure situations

Running out of gas on a empty prairie highway
Lost in the rain or sliding through an icy mountain pass
Sailing into the storm or buying at the peak of the market
Tutor a blind girl in chemistry lab
Or throw your heart out to someone just because you have a haunch
It's right

And seeing her eyes light up with the same excitement
Mud pits and wet socks, flat tires and vomit and ice storms
She laughed with me and concurred with the joy
That getting through it is the best part of life.
I think I like this woman.

I had to go and open my big mouth

We got together will all the families of Punkette's first grade class last night. It was a casual gathering organized to meet each other. We arrived with a tin of Nestle' chocolate chip cookies I had baked (secret family recipe) and sat down for a few slices of pizza and chit-chat.

These kind of gatherings drive both Punkone and M absolutely out of their heads, so they quietly excused themselves shortly thereafter, leaving me in peace to chit and chat.

The conversation was facinating. There is no parking at the school, or bus service, so pick up and drop off is an absolute nightmare (we live 2 blocks away and walk... apparently most parents do not). The other children come home starving because the food that the cafeteria serves is horrible (I have to instruct my punks NO SECONDS!... I'm not sure what this says about my home cooking). And oh no... the English teacher is taking a two month vacation.

Well, again, this doesn't rank among my top concerns at the school. And then I casually say, "Maybe I should offer to fill in."

Well, the thing is, I have offered to help out with both my punks' classes when it came to the English curriculum. The school is always in desperate need of mother tounge English teachers, but they've always turned me down because I'm a parent. I bring in books and games for them to use, but I always figured there was some policy against any further involvement.

Well, these parents are determined to prove otherwise. They are uniting, and organizing, all to get me in the classroom. And I'm worried that it will work.

We'll see. I'm also excited at the chance. It could be something fun to do for a few weeks.

Can you tell I'm scared?

RTT: Maybe they don't liking the human being

My Italian teacher presented another verb tense today. The "simple conditional" form. What the hell? I think they're making this up just to scare away foreigners. Seriously. As far as I can tell, it's an excuse to tack a lot of extra vowels and double constants onto the end of verbs. Now I have to train my tongue to undulate around words like sembrerebbe, chiuderebbe, vorrebbe, dispiacerebbe, prenderemmo, aprirebbero...


Mars Attacks! The perfect family holiday movie:


Liberals. Intellectuals. Peacemongers. Idiots!

I asked Punkette what she was thankful for. She said "I'm thankful that you decided to have me born. And that you let me eat Nutella."
Life and Nutella... what more could you want?

Maybe some eggnog. In my coffee. That would be delish.
Nog, nog, nog, nog. Nog nog. (Hi Martians)

I finally bested M in an argument. Possibly the first time ever. He argued that baby teeth do not have roots. That they're just stuck in the gums! I think I'm right about this one. Please tell me that I'm right.

Apparently, Ginger in Italian is Gaia. Well, that's what they call the star chicken in the Italian dubbed version of Chicken Run.

Speaking of Italian dubbed versions... this is driving me insane. Count how many times you hear erebbero or erei:



I got four. But that's what I'll end up doing... pinging the words I know and scrambling to piece together the dialog. It's very hard to get into a movie when you're pinging and scrambling. And is it just me or do all the girls sound exactly the same? No. It's not me. And it's the same voice in every other film too. Ugh, I can't stand watching dubbed films. I'm just going to have to wait for the DVD.


Happy Tuesday everyone. Think random thoughts.

I ate a lot

This is one of M's favorite expressions. Not in the sense that he says it often, but in that he heard it once in his early days in the USA and it just struck him as funny. Some dude walking out of Ponderosa stamped his glutinous sigh of defeat onto my M's brain.
"I ate a lot."

Guess you had to be there.

We have so many of these. They're our classics... the inside jokes of our courtship. There's the "Let me get this straight, you want it with bacon," sarcastically said by the waitress in upstate New York after the guy ordering dropped the words "with bacon" at least 16 times while ordering his hamburger.

Or the simple yet equally entertaining, "RUN!!!!" screamed at the top of the lungs by a mother to her tender offspring as they sprinted one Minnesota winter day from their minivan parked in the Mall of America parking garage to the mall entrance some 15 yards away.

"We see the cooling tower of a nuclear reactor" was the response overheard on the radio that started us giggling as we sailed lake Ontario, having stared at this same damn tower for the better part of an entire day in our efforts to reach Oswego. The distressed people had left Canada to explore the Thousand Islands without navigation maps, gps or even a compass.

"We ain't callin 911" was on a sign hanging from a gun that was hanging above a cash register at a restaurant we stopped at in Oklahoma. We weren't going to rob the place, but I'm sure they thought about shooting us just for laughing so hard.

Anyway... I didn't really start off to tell you the intimate tickings of my marriage. I just meant to say "I ate a lot" which caused me to chuckle and I thought, well, it wouldn't be fair if I didn't let you in on what I was chuckling about. Yikes... bad day for tangents.

Point is, I ate a lot, AND I'm still cooking. Muffins. I found a recipe for muffins and I'm giving it a go. They smell SO DAMN GOOD. If this works out I may never have reason to return to the states again.

Except of course Minnesota winters and Oklahoma hospitality. Those are hard to come by. Oh, and Italy doesn't have any nuclear reactors either.

You know you might have a scary mamma if...

I stumbled upon a blog this week that really spoke to me. It's called Scary Mamma and is written by Jill. From her site:

What is a Scary Mommy, you ask? I believe a Scary Mommy is a mother who doesn’t leave the house wearing lipstick at all times. A Scary Mommy loves her kids to death, but will admit to feeling totally overwhelmed and exhausted by the gig. A Scary Mommy doesn’t really care what other people think, and a Scary Mommy thinks that all mothers win when we admit our weaknesses.

In other words, a mamma who is scary in the minds of all the perfect mothers. The good mothers who never make mistakes, who's children dress with coordinating socks and they eat precisely the food recommended by the FDA. They get all their shots and meet all their milestones, follow their schedules and sleep through the night.

So, to help the blissly ignorant children understand what all the hairy-eyeball looks are all about, I present:


You know you might have a scary mamma if...

you are dressed in clothes that pass "the smell test" about once a week.

she has no qualms about the three second rule, unless you're in the city.

you know plenty of curse words, but know darn well not to use them.

you nursed until the age of 4 and then got a bike in exchange for giving up the habit.

you know how to swim but you've never had lessons.

if there is a fruit or vegetable you like, you're welcome to eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

you have no idea what a crib is.

you've caught tadpoles and had pet crickets.

you know burnt food contains carcinogens and you should just scrape the black stuff off with your knife.

one in every 8 meals is SOOOOO GOOOD!

you know better than to say anything about the other 7.

once when you couldn't sleep in the middle of the night, mom and dad took you out for doughnuts.

you are 4 years old and your favorite music artists are The Clash and Cat Stevens.

when you ask her for a pet dog she replies "like I need something else to clean up after."

you have a working knowledge of sarcasm that your teachers find delightful.

there is dried finger paint on your dining room table.

you share a bedroom with a sibling of the opposite sex.

she dressed you in the same Halloween costume 2 years in a row and then used it for your little sister for another two years.

you've eaten pancakes for dinner.

you know you're responsible for the freakish shape of her belly button.

you had to wear your brother's t-shirt at the water park (to cover up your 6 year old breasts) because the people that work there are stupid.

there's a box by your front door full of rocks, leaves and chestnuts.

she's living proof that if you're having a bad day, you try not to take it out on your family and if you accidentally do, it's important to say you're sorry.

also that it's important to forgive each other, no matter what.


___________________

I love my punks.

Thanks for inspiring this post Scary Mamma... that was fun.

You've traveled half way around the world to see someplace new and amazing... not some sticky kid. Hey kid! Get out of the picture!

On the other side of this fountain, today, my punks and I settled down to eat a couple slices of pizza. The best pizza in fact that you can find in Trento, from Pizza da Andrea. All the other pizza is crap. I kid you not. Come to Trentino for strudel, cannederli, or mushrooms with polenta... not pizza. How does Pizza da Andrea pull it off? Well, he's from Naples. That's how. Yea, I have no qualms giving these guys a free plug. I know I'm a powerful influence over where travelers to northern Italy are going to spend their euros.

Anyhooo... I got a funny feeling that my punks and I had become a giant eye sore, sprawled out in front of this incredible fountain, topped off by Neptune himself (because, you know, Neptune, the king of the sea, has a lot to do with the mountainous region we live in).

While we routinely eat pizza from Pizza da Andrea on Wednesdays, we don't normally plop ourselves down at the fountain to do so... it's just that today, Pizza da Andrea was packed to the gills, and since it was nice and sunny outside, we decided the fountain was the better place to dine.

So we plop ourselves down and as napkins and coke cans, straws and a big greasy pizza box are being juggled about, I look up to see a couple dismounting their bikes and taking in the view.

It is at this point that I get the feeling that we might not be adding in a positive way to the scene. Maybe if my kids wore lederhosen and pointy woolen hats, but, no, that is not the case. This lovely couple arrives here, from across the world (I don't know how I can tell, but they are US Americans), making their bike tour of the sights of beautiful Trentino, only to be met with the sight of me and my punks, and their backpacks, and bikes sprawled all over the steps of what otherwise is a stunning fountain.

Well, I try to forgive myself and soothe my worries by cutting into a fresh slice of pizza, when I hear a sweet little voice addressing me. I look up and see that it's the woman from the biking couple. She timidly asks... "Dove' Pizzeria?"

Ah my dear... this is your lucky day!

beep beep beep

I have a cheapo alarm clock. I think I bought such a cheapo alarm clock because I really hate alarm clocks and just can't see investing any amount of money in one. Also I'm hoping it will break when it scatters across the floor and I can live a few days in peace. But the darn thing keeps on ticking.

My current on does this slowly accelerating "beep beep beep" pause "beep beep beep" pause. It goes faster and faster, louder and louder, before it just jumps into a continual "beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep ..."
God it's annoying.

I used to have a radio alarm clock which was nice. The only (major) drawback was that on more than one occasion it turned on right in the middle of the DJ yelling about something and would SCARE THE CRAP out of me. Nothing like a heart attack to wake you up in the morning. It's impossible to find an all music morning radio program. I'm sure they don't exist.

So I gave up and got clever and figured out how to make my cassette player turn on for my alarm wake up call. That was nice. Too nice. I'd rouse, smile at the sound of some favorite tunes, and fall right back to sleep.

I once saw this alarm clock that was a light instead of a sound. It would simulate the sun rising and slowly brighten your room. I liked this idea but I guess not enough to pluck down the cash to see if it would work.

So I had to settle on the beeps. Annoying just enough to wake me up without blowing any blood vessels.

Except all my dreams end with me getting backed over by a bus.

hello

"Greetings from planet Earth. This is what we look like. We are waving hello to you, and we are nude."
--This American Life description of the Pioneer 11 plaque



I found out about this plaque listening to This American Life, episode 289: Go Ask Your Father, aired June 12, 2009. It's a plaque that was sent off into space in the hopes that another life form might some day find it. To tell them about us, I suppose. The comment "we are waving hello to you, and we are nude" made me laugh. But really, it's a good basic message to send out I suppose. Would be nice if we said hello to other countries in this way. Maybe it would make for smoother international relations.

soup spoon

The transition from summer to fall has caused an upturn of the contents of my head. I've always been a soup of contradictions but usually manage to show only what rises to the top and let everything else just simmer. Not now. Things are turned up and it's hard to get through the hour without feeling like a crazy person.

I hate you. I love you. I can do this. I can't. Things are good. They're bad. I'm ready. I'm sick with worry. Say it five times fast.

If I've learned anything in 36 years it's that I can't chug down a pot of soup. Even a bowl will scald my mouth and spill half it's contents down the front of my shirt. But I am brilliant with a spoonful. That tiny little bit, just a small portion, carrying the flavor of the whole, but sipped and savored just for itself.

I need a spoon.

below decks

Toilets and sail boats don't go terribly well together. And why should they?!? You're in the middle of a giant body of water, just hang your ass over the edge and do your business where God intended it to be done. So much more hygienic than squatting below deck, in a slanted closet, trying to pee on a plastic box that turns out to not even be assembled properly.

The saga of the mini-porta potty from here on in dubbed the pee box.

I am sure I am slowly loosing my memory, because I KNOW I've used one of these things before but I had NO IDEA whatsoever as to how to operate this one. At the moment, all I really needed to do, desperately, was to pee.

Below decks, I wedge my six foot frame into the "bathroom" setting my ass into the sink as I'm trying to wiggle my pants off and open the pee box. It's latched shut.

Why? Because everything on a sail boat gets strapped, latched, locked and stowed. Nothing can wiggle. Except when I try to open the pee box, the entire box lifts up.

I should really fix this situation first, but man alive, I've got to go. So I figure out how to unlatch the lid, pray that M doesn't decide to be funny and tack or jibe, and do my business.

Now I've done it. I've filled the upper, open portion of the pee box and I have no idea how to get the pee into the lower part where it won't slosh out and baptize us all.

One convenience of being in a bathroom so small that you can brace your body on all four walls simply by exhaling is that you don't fall and hurt yourself as the wind and waves toss your little boat (and your pee) around.

Assessing what I've got to work with on this box: There's a plastic push thingy on the left and a twisty knob on the right. Well, being a PhD, I could grasp that the knob wasn't going to help me, but perhaps it made sense to pump on the push thingy?

(slosh slosh)

A couple of pumps are given, but the pee is not disappearing. The push thingy is not the flusher. Where the hell is the flusher?!?!

I try to get a look at other sides of the pee box and find the magic thing that will take this pee away. I lower the lid and latch it (like that's going to help) so I can lean in and look at the front. As I brace myself on the top edge of the now "closed" (hermetically sealed) pee box, I realize that it wasn't the whole pee box that lifted up earlier, but just the top section. This is not good. Not at all good.

Can you guess where the pee goes?

Anyway, the geniuses that designed sailboat bathrooms make the space for the pee box fit into a very shallow tub. So, now I have the pee box sitting in a pan filled with pee. As I am turning green from being below decks on high seas, I decide there is nothing more that can be done to help the situation and decide to let M deal with it later.

Me to M: I think the pee box leaks (playing the totally clueless woman... hey, sometimes it comes in handy)

M: Why do you think that?

Me: Because I see pee running out of it.

M: (cringe) Oh, well, I'll look at it later.




M doesn't have a stomach for these things, but being the captain of the ship and leaving the child wrangling to me, he later, valiantly, tackles the pee box problem. It was, as I suspected, not put together right and it took a manly man like M to right the situation.

M: (looking at the pee left in the tray) Who's pee is that?

Basically, M decided that the owner of the pee has to clean it up. There was no convincing him that this also fell under the category of Manly Men jobs even given the fact that the pee was in contact with an important key component of a beastly sail boat. And pretty darn close to the engine even.
____________________

Now that we have an assembled pee box (and understand it's complicated inner workings), we still want to keep it's usage to a minimum as M and I are keenly aware that we will have to properly empty it at the end of the weekend. So, We declare: only for extreme circumstances (ie. we'd rather you pee in the box than on the floor of the cabin) and keep true to it's title - PEE box.

Well, I don't want to get gross (it's not been gross up to now, has it?), but the contract was breached. The one about pee only. Yea, Punkette is apparently so comfortable with her bodily functions that she does not suffer in the least from travelers constipation. And when it came time to return the boat, M paid the 50 euros to NOT empty the something-other-than-just-Pee box. It's a good thing they didn't ask for 100.

sinusoidal

pop over muffins, without the pop (no strawberries)
were still a big hit
two loads of laundry and twice cleaning the kitchen
mom is getting restless for a walk
(growling as the three of them sit there on the couch)
(growling as I'm being told not to growl)
Papa complains that they are not dogs, ironic?
outside it's a drizzle, but we go go go anyway
and despite the pause we find hot dogs to snack on
a bookstore to relax in
not the walk to the river I wanted but a walk
a stroll just the same (let's not go insane)
homework and puzzles, seems everyone is calmer
(growling subsided)
I try to brainstorm for new ideas
(to make flexible solar cells better)
Punkette is strong as nails but still needs love, lots of it
me too and you and you and you (me too)
no more tears on the bed
she and I play a board game of Cats vs. Dogs.
She's cats, I'm dogs
dinner, TV, bedtime is a blur of Papa/punk craziness
I'm content to floss their teeth
still not in sync but still a good team
still good

road trip

The punks and I had our road trip and all went well. We drove along the Brenta River for a few hours, getting only moderately lost and incurring no traffic violations. I'd say it was a success. The Rolling Stones were playing on the radio (the DJ said that "compilation" was a bogus word Italians made up) and I even felt a wave of road trip bliss come over me.

Punkette had the camera in the back seat:

if only

My conversation with Punkette coming home from school...


P: Mom, I'm super tired. I didn't even sleep last night!
Me: Yea. I'm tired too.
P: I didn't even close my eyes for one second, and then it was morning!
Me: Sometimes it feels like that when you sleep. Maybe we could go to bed earlier tonight so that we're not tired again tomorrow.
P: No. We can tell the earth to stop moving so we can sleep!

sweet dreams

I had a weird dream a few nights ago about a close friend of mine. It's always a little awkward when you have dreams about friends, isn't it? Anyway, I was looking for this friend, I'll call him Mike, after Mike Rowe from Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs... because Mike Rowe is hot, it's my blog and my dream, so why the hell not.

So, I was looking for Mike Rowe and I was wandering through a place where Mike and I both work at, but since I've been in Italy for two years everything's changed and I'm very disoriented. Anyway, I finally send some newbie to go hunt down Mike Rowe for me and I sit down to rest my weary head.

When I look up, I see my good friend Mike heading toward me, but he has his shirt unbuttoned down to his waist. And it's wide open. I laugh at him. I say, "No wonder the women here have been throwing themselves at you." He's very embarrassed, buttons up. We hug hello, and everything is hunky (emphasis on the hunk) dory.

-----

Anyway, I relay this dream to my friend, Mike Rowe, and he wants details. How exactly was his shirt unbuttoned? He's thinking maybe the top was buttoned and he was going for some kinda gansta look. I guess he's thinking along the lines of Guillermo from the show Weeds. Nice, but no.

So I go looking on the web for an image that can accurately describe my dream to Mike. Now keep in mind that I've never seen Mike's chest (nor have I plans to), so I have no idea what it actually looks like.

I come up with this

Nice. This is close, but in my dream, Mike's shirt was tucked in. And he wasn't wearing chaps.

Then I found this:


Ok, what can I say? The shirt is unbuttoned, open, and tucked in. But what the hell is up with those pants? Is it just me, or is he pointing out how squished his balls are?

Then google pops this image up:


We're back in the garden with Mr. Roth. David, what are you doing? Come on, you really don't need to try so hard.

And there's another one of Andy:


He's doing that thing with his crotch again.

This is hopeless. I'm starting to notice that the whole shirt unbuttoned to your waist hasn't really been done since the late 70s/early 80s. What's up with that? Come on guys! Bring some sexy back!

Speaking of sexy, guess who was also in there:


mmmm... of course... you're not sick of him yet?



So Mike, I don't know what to tell you. Just imagine an unbuttoned crisp white shirt on this guy:


I'd like to go back to sleep now.

100 things, the end

You asked for it. Well, some of you did. If you didn't, please come back tomorrow for a real (and much shorter) post.

51. I played basketball in high school.
52. I wasn't very good.
53. In fact, I sucked (HA! bonus points for working the theme in).
54. Case in point... During a tournament the coach surprised me by starting me in the second half of the game. I thought, "here's my chance. Do something great!" Jump ball, I tipped it to a teammate. She passed it back to me. I was open, so I took off down the court. I was untouchable. The other team seemed stunned by my awesomeness. I could hear my team cheering wildly. As I approached the hoop, I was so focused, the rest of the world faded away. It was just me, the ball and that hoop. "Don't blow it, don't blow it," I prayed. I had to make that layup. I missed, but I didn't give up!!! Rebound, and BAMM! I scored! I actually scored! As I turned, shaking off my glory, my team was yelling. Wait... Coach was really yelling. I forgot that we switch goals at half-time.
55. I love Klimt but hate how they crop out all the sadness from his paintings.
56. I don't watch regular TV anymore because I can't stand the news or commercials... and most of the shows.
57. I have lived on a boat and would love to do it again.
58. I like backpacking and am looking forward to doing it with my family when the kids get bigger. You have the best conversations when you're backpacking.
59. I also like canoeing... Matteo and I canoed in Algonquin about 10 years ago and I would love to do that again, but going before the mosquitoes so we could get more portages in. It was a meditative experience... even swimming in the icy waters!
60. I used to climb at a 5.8/5.9 level. Rock climbing is another thing that has been on hold since I was pregnant with Punkone. They're just about ready for some top rope I think (I wonder if my paunch will get in the way ;)
61. I sing every single day.
62. I used to work at a chemical plant in college. The best part about that job was that we had to walk around with radios so we could talk to each other at any moment. One Friday morning, everyone was particularly groggy and I was bursting. I was struck by the inspiration to sing the line "the stars at night, are big and bright..." into my radio (my lil'bro was a big PeeWee Herman fan). To my joy and surprise I got the reply "deep in the heart of Texas" and a lot of cheering. My boss was in a meeting with a client and came out into the lab laughing, and asking if I had lost my mind. But I was bombarded with requests to sing in the radio again on Monday morning. Literally begging me, people. I struck a magical balance (between keeping my fans happy and not getting fired for inappropriate use of the radio) and created "the Friday morning wake-up call" and sang into the radio every Friday for the rest of the summer.
63. I know how to (safely) operate a fork lift and a cherry picker.
64. I try to say yes as often as possible. You only live once.
65. My grandfather was born in Italy but moved to the US when he was 6... same age Punkone was when we moved here.
66. Grandpa is 50 years older than me. Same difference in age as Punkone and his Grandpa.
67. Grandpa has 49 grand and great-grandkids (one more due this year). He sends every one of us a card on our birthdays.
68. My grad school group liked to go out for DimSum on special occasions. I once asked one of my friends to order her favorite dish for me. Something she would eat in China. She ordered me chicken feet. I chewed on a chicken claw for about 10 minutes and I still haven't figured out if she was messing with me.
69. I hope my kids are learning that you can still have fun even if you wind up somewhere you weren't planning to (cause Mom got us on the wrong bus, off at the wrong stop, at the wrong address, etc.)... what's that expression? "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." That a good one. Might be my motto.
70. What's a motto?
71. Nothin. What's a motta wid you?
72. I like corny jokes.
73. I drink mostly water. Exceptions are: Once a day, a cappucino. Once a week a soda when Punkone and I go out for lunch together. And a glass of wine on the weekend with dinner. Everything else is a rare occasion.
74. The water in Italy is SO good. Especially from the fountains (if you can't drink it, there will be a sign telling you so).
75. I've enjoyed every place I've lived. US, east coast, midwest, west coast, and now northern Italy. I won't move back to the midwest though because I'm allergic to it.
76. I have to wear a bunny suit at work.
77. My son knows how rainbows are formed.
78. He also understands how the body digests food. It's a favorite topic of conversation when he's doing his business.
79. The more I know about science, the more I believe in the miracle of our existence.
80. Books for a deserted island:
Inferno, Dante
The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
Dracula, Bram Stoker
The Second Sex, Simone De Beauvoir
Song of Solomon, Toni Morrison
Strange Pilgrim, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Baron in the Trees, Italo Calvino
The Blue Flowers, Raymond Queneau
Immortal Poems of the English Language, Oscar Williams (ed.)
Still Life With Woodpecker, Tom Robbins
81. Music for a deserted island:
Syd Barret
Beatles
Herbie Hancock
David Byrne
Gogol Bordello
Bright Eyes
Nina Simone
Bob Dylan
The soundtrack to "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert"
and ELO's "Mr. Blue Sky"

82. I'm usually the whitest chick on the beach.
83. The scariest movie I ever saw was "When a Stranger Calls" (1979)... a friend's mom let us watch it when I was there for a sleep over. That movie haunted me for years.
84. That girlfriend and I got in trouble for marching in front of her house, topless, waving signs at cars that said "no shirts for girls" and chanting "if boys don't wear shirts, why should girls!" I still think we had a valid point.
85. Despite my adult based issues with the message of mass, I enjoy the rhythm, the sounds, and the smells of it.
86. I keep my finger nails short and unpainted.
87. I don't wear makeup or wash my face with soap. Whenever I pay closer attention to my face by applying makeup or cleansing it, I break out. I've learned it's better to just leave it alone.
88. I have yet to figure out the point of g-string underwear. I think it's another one of those sick male inventions designed to torture women.
89. Like pointed toe shoes, body tape, and 4" heels.
90. I like my silver hair. It's really been coming in lately.
91. I'm not so crazy about wrinkles, but it's all part of the package of gaining wisdom, right? Right?!!? Tell me there is wisdom coming.
92. I miss my job in the US. The friends there most of all. Can't wait to dole out the hugs next time I see them.
93. Best bumper sticker ever: "If you lived in your car, you'd be home by now"
94. Last movie I watched: My Blueberry Nights... really great
95. Last book I read: Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro
96. Last song I listed to: You and I, by Ingrid Michaelson
97. Last thing I ate: a chocolate croissant
98. Wearing: (in addition to undergarments) brown leather knee high boots, jeans, black t-shirt, and the bunny suit.
99. Jewelry: None today... rushed this morning. Usually a couple of rings.
100. Feeling: Just fine.

almost 100

I've been debating about whether or not to post 100 things about me. I hit the 100th post mark tomorrow. On the one hand, I like to write with enough empty space left so that the reader can fill it in with pieces of their own stories. Take what I'm saying and see it in the light of their own lives. I feel like if I fill you in on who exactly I am, there's no empty space left. On the other hand, I've enjoyed reading these lists on your blogs. There are always at least one or two things that strike a chord with me and make me like you a bit more. Also, can I really be summed up in just 100 blips? Not even close... there will still be lots for us to learn.

I guess I'll hope for that.


I've been adding things to this list as they occur to me over the past few weeks, so it's a bit random. And I've only made it up to 63 so far. So, I'll post the first 50 today and finish up on my actual 100th post which is tomorrow.

Here goes...

1. I love the rain. I mean really, euphorically, love it.
2. When I run, especially if I'm running west, I imagine that I'm trying to stay on top of the world as it's spinning past under me. I can never keep up.
3. No, I don't do illegal drugs.
4. I once went streaking. I had a boyfriend at the time who had a habit of streaking parties. We'd be walking though town, see a party and he'd just randomly decide to make a detour... naked. My roommate and I decided to join him once. You know, change it up a little.
5. My eyes changed color when I was 34.
6. I once nursed both punks at the same time at a park when they were about 1 and 3 years old. And no one gave a rat's ass.
7. I am perhaps too empathetic.
8. I enjoyed going to the dentist until I went to one in Italy and they sandblasted my teeth. Seriously. It was the most painful thing that's ever happened inside my mouth.
9. I used to walk to my car with my finger on the trigger of my pepper spray. I now believe that you can be too careful.
10. I broke my left pinky finger playing basketball. I had surgery to reset the bones and they put a half cast on my hand... plaster on one side, but wrapped with a soft bandage. While it was healing, Punkette fell off the structure at the playground and I caught her. It hurt like HELL. When I went back to have it checked, one of the bones had been knocked out of place. The surgeon was pissed. So he put a full cast on me. The full cast made me crazy... full on panic attack. I couldn't close my eyes and had to watch movies all night to keep from hacking the thing off with a saw in our garage. The next morning I went back to the surgeon and begged him to take it off. And I really had to beg. Tears streaming, hyper-ventilating begging, because I was really worried he wouldn't do it. But he did.
11. Rather than claustrophobia, I have a fear of being trapped. For example, I found I could sleep in the coffin like berth on our sail boat, but only if I was closest to the exit (it was a double bed but you could only get in from one side). Apparently it also applies to casts. I am sure that if I am ever unfortunate enough to require a full body cast I will have to be sedated heavily for the entire 6-8 weeks. BAAAH! I can't even think about it.
12. My circulation is very slow and as a result my extremities often feel as if I am dead (as told by my hubby).
13. I don't like the blog world name "hubby" for my husband, but I've yet to come up with a better one. Maybe I'll just call him Matteo.
14. Gregory Harms (see side bar) is a dear friend of mine and nudged me toward the road to where I am today. He wrote a kick ass book designed to bring you quickly up to speed on the Palestine crisis. He also plays guitar. He has graciously entertained my repeated Daniel Ash requests (I love it when he sings Closer to You) and nick-named me "maw." I'll love him forever.
15. There's almost nothing better than a circle of friends playing guitar and singing around a bonfire.
16. I was sweet 16 and never been kissed.
17. I lost my faith in religion during a catholic alternative spring break.
18. I do believe in god.
19. The question "do you love me as much as I love you?" bugs (the hell out of) me.
20. Love some stale peeps.
21. I'm a lefty.
22. I don't mind getting my hands dirty. Actually, I enjoy it.
23. I like soup. All kinds.
24. Since I left the US, I really miss Thai, Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, Cuban, Indian, Afghan, and Ethiopian food.
25. I have a selective memory... bad goes out, good stays in.
26. I wonder about the threads of sanity that keep so many people driving on the proper side of the road.
27. My worst imaginable death would be being buried alive.
28. I used to look for four leaf clovers when my then boyfriend asked me what I was doing. I told him "looking for a four leaf clover" and he bent down and plucked me one.
29. I hate the BBC TV schedule... the wait for Doctor Who is killing me!
30. I like dog people but I don't ever want to be one.
31. My arm goes numb when I sleep flat on my back, but not if I sleep on top of it.
32. My joints crack loudly when I walk... people often look at me and wince.
33. My second toes are as long as my pinky fingers.
34. My uncles used to ask me if I could pitch a base ball with those toes.
35. Also if I had forgotten to take off my skis.
36. Or why I needed skis at all... you get the picture.
37. I love the scene in "Stranger Than Fiction" where he's playing guitar after dinner and singing really softly and she comes in watching him in awe, and he glances up at her as he is singing, and she jumps on him... there have been a few times I would have liked to throw myself on a guy playing guitar, but never have.
38. Now you know how to get me to swoon... play guitar and sing softly.
39. If my kids wake up in the middle of the night and can't sleep, we all go out for donuts at "The Donut Wheel".
40. I wouldn't mind being pregnant again but I don't want to have to take care of another infant. Maybe I'd be a good surrogate mom.
41. I was most affected by the movie "Female Perversions." I couldn't come up with a more accurate description of my psyche.
42. I also like the movie Orlando... another one starring Tilda Swinton... love her.
43. Punkone got his (real) name because I met two different Italian men with that name during my first trip to Italy. Both of them had a very genuine quality about them. Like you could just immediately get a sense of their core. Also, I went rock climbing with one and as we were hiking up to the pitch I slipped off the trail. I was literally hanging by a couple of bushes. He bent down and lifted me back up to the path. My hero.
44. I tend to relate more easily to men.
45. I was born in Fort Knox.
46. That means I'm solid gold, baby!
47. I don't shave my armpits when they don't show. For awhile, I didn't shave them at all, but I got tired of it being my defining feature.
48. I once had a pet gold fish that I bought out of a feeder tank when I was in college. I got him my freshman year. His name was Shirley. Shirley had some bowl mates that came and went, but I stopped buying them because I thought it made him sad that his friends kept dying. I got him a plant instead. Shirley lived in a bowl all during college. Every year I'd get him a slightly bigger bowl. Every summer I'd dump out half the water and put him in the back of my car and slosh on home with him. Every winter we'd slosh back to school. After I graduated, I drove across country with Shirley for a 4 month internship. When it was finished, Shirley and I drove back to the midwest, and then on to the East coast for grad school. In grad school, I had a month off for Christmas break, so I put the bowl on my desk and asked one of my lab mates if he could sprinkle food in the bowl once every day or so. He said "why don't you just flush it and buy a new one when you get back?" I flipped out. I'm sure he thought I was nuts.
49. Gross things make me laugh.
50. As do stressful situations.


to be continued...

Strange Pilgram tells all... or not.

Punkette explained to me yesterday the difference between her mind and her brain. Her brain just makes her do things... her mind is where she thinks about them.

The universe just turned white. Forget yogis, have a couple of kids for a daily dose of enlightenment.



So, although I like saying "brain" more, I guess the buzz in my head is really going on in my mind. You see I'm really excited about this list of prompts I've been collecting as blogging fodder for February. And since you all have signed up for NaBloPoMo (or at least to come here every day and taunt encourage me through it), I'll give you a preview of the seeds that are sprouting like wildfire in my mind... (get it out!!!)

"SUCK IT"




Sorry, I got lost on the tip of David Tennant's finger. I typed out the list, but then decided, on second thought, not to post it. I fear posting it will kill any curiosity you might have in my blog over the following month and I'll be left in an empty black padded room with only my own hair to pull out.

After all how interesting does "curtains" sound? Yea, that's on the list, and the story behind it will BLOW YOUR MIND!!! So suck it.

You see what too much thinking can do to you? Rude and not ginger.