I have a reader! So today, I will cater to her. I wrote this piece years ago and it made her laugh out loud then, I hope it will when she reads it once again. This one is for you Cath, one of my most favourite people in the whole wide world.
I am at Taco Bell!
I am at Taco Bell and I am so excited!
I am the one dancing in line, all hopped up about a Grande Hard Taco and a large barrel of Pepsi.
I am at Taco Bell and I am going to make sure everyone knows how excited I am about it. Why? Because Taco Bell is the fast food restaurant of choice. My choice. And what should be everyone else's choice too!
Taco Bell is that place where North meets South and Tex meets Mex. Taco Bell is THE PLACE where one can go to experience the Alamo. A little slice of what it means to be Latin American, with that distinctly Mexican flare.
Dancing in the large aluminum 'people corral' I am suddenly sad. For a moment I am reminded of all the cows that stood in this very same format in order to give up their lives for the delectable tacos I am about to eat. I suppose the cows were a little less excited than me while they stood in line. I also suppose the conversation was less exciting for them as well. For whilest I dance and discuss my afternoon plans, my dearly departed bovine heros, Ed and Jeff, are probably cursing my ass and praying to Ganesh. Oh they will be back to hurt me, of that I am positively sure. Whether through soul transferance or heart disease, they will get their pound of flesh. So to speak.
But until then...I am going to order and eat some yummy Taco Bell and be happy!
As I approach the pimply faced 17 year old ready to take my order, I have a fleeting thought that perhaps the spice-and-seasoning-based-humidity is doing this young girl's complexion more harm than good. Is minimum wage worth the scaring that the noxious beef gases are doing to her face? The beat-up name tag shows me that this young lady is going by the name 'Amanda'. It may or may not really be her name. I don't know. But who wants to be asked their name from a person they hae been watching dance in the corral for the last last 15 minutes.
'Can I take your order?' she drawls in quiet rote.
'Why yes you can!' I proclaim emphatically. 'I would like a Grande Hard Taco and a barrel of Pepsi please!'.
And then it happened. The moment of I dread. The Taco Bell let-down. The moment that crushes my Central American spirit.
'We are out of hard taco shells. Do you want to order something else?'
No.
I do not want to order something else. I want my hard shelled taco and I want my barrel of Pepsi. I have been dancing my ass off, laughing at the poor animals that gave the ultimate sacrifice and even felt sorry for the acne-ridden Taco girl because I was getting what I wanted and I was willing, even happy, to be kind to the universe while I waited.
I wanted to reach inside my coat and pull out a semi-automatic, aim it at her dangly name tag, and force her to move her skinny ass to the back and find me some fucking hard shells. I wanted to pull a Michael Douglas in the movie 'Falling Down' and make sure that I, and all my other 'people corral' friends, were going to get what was on the damn sign in the beautiful way it was presented. And it was going ot happen right NOW.
'Uh, so can I get you something else?'
'No thank you', I dejectedly whisper and move out of line. I walk toward the door, and out to my car. No Taco Bell for me today. Today is not the day I get Taco Bell. In my sadness I drive around the city, tired, hungry and slightly pathological. And then it hits me. Today wasn't REALLY my day for Taco Bell. Oh no, I wasn't REALLY in the mood for some Tex Mex southern comfort. No, today is the day I that I need KFC.
Formerly known as Kentucky Fried Chicken, but now known under the blaringly ambiguous KFC moniker it is aslso true to it's animal counterpart; there are no 'people corrals' at KFC. Like the chickens that gave up their lives for the wonderous food I was about to eat, KFC just lets you wander around until you confusedly make your way to the counter.
Whatever. I don't care. 'Cause I got my snack pack AND a bigger area to dance. I am at KFC and I am SO excited!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
My puppy love
Charlie Tuna is the best puppy ever. He is funny and he is sweet. He has his own brand of humour. He is dumb. Lord is he dumb. But he is warm and fluffy and will always wake up to cuddle with me in the middle of the night if I've had a bad dream.
He is 7 whole years old and he still can't tie his shoes. Not that I put him in shoes. Well, not out in public. NO SERIOUSLY, I do not put shoes on my dog. I do put a coat on him in the winter though. And a rain coat in the summer. Trust me, there is nothing that smells weirder than a 14 pound wet Cock-a-poo.
He is my first 'lifer'. Never had a dog from puppy to adult, and I assume, on to the next phase of his journey in this universe. Man, I don't even want to think about that. So I will instead think about how ridiculous dogs eyes always look in pictures and how soft his hair is.
Okay, alright, I know sticking the paper crown on him probably didn't make him any happier, but his eyes just look so darned EVIL. Freaky eyes do not do Charlie Tuna any favours since his eyes already look a little demented without the glassy reflection going on.
Conversely, he can look like he has no eyes at all when he is over-grown and needs to go to the groomer. In fact, when I think about it, he gets more hair-do's during the year than I do. But that is because he gets his claws stuck in his hair when it's too long. Which got me to thinking about those people who knit sweaters from their dogs hair. Seriously, there are even books about it at: http://www.amazon.com/Knitting-Dog-Hair-Better-Sweater/dp/0312152906#
That is just creepy weird. I mean, think about it. Would you shave your partner down on a regular basis and use his or her hair to make a sweater? There is something seriously wrong with that line of conservation. Turn the heat down sure...but at least break a buck and buy the stuff that is SUPPOSED to be made into a sweater. Like a sheep or an alpaca. NOT the family Basset Hound.
Maybe I am being too harsh. Charlies' hair really is soft and fluffy like a lamb when it gets long. Maybe I should try it and make a sweater. Hmmmmm....a 14 pound dog that gets his hair shaved 3 times a year would mean I would have to save his wool for about 9 years.
Naw...I would rather just go raid the Internet for some lovely soft wools of non-puppy kind. I think Charlie would be happier with that decision too.
~tm
He is 7 whole years old and he still can't tie his shoes. Not that I put him in shoes. Well, not out in public. NO SERIOUSLY, I do not put shoes on my dog. I do put a coat on him in the winter though. And a rain coat in the summer. Trust me, there is nothing that smells weirder than a 14 pound wet Cock-a-poo.
He is my first 'lifer'. Never had a dog from puppy to adult, and I assume, on to the next phase of his journey in this universe. Man, I don't even want to think about that. So I will instead think about how ridiculous dogs eyes always look in pictures and how soft his hair is.
Okay, alright, I know sticking the paper crown on him probably didn't make him any happier, but his eyes just look so darned EVIL. Freaky eyes do not do Charlie Tuna any favours since his eyes already look a little demented without the glassy reflection going on.
Conversely, he can look like he has no eyes at all when he is over-grown and needs to go to the groomer. In fact, when I think about it, he gets more hair-do's during the year than I do. But that is because he gets his claws stuck in his hair when it's too long. Which got me to thinking about those people who knit sweaters from their dogs hair. Seriously, there are even books about it at: http://www.amazon.com/Knitting-Dog-Hair-Better-Sweater/dp/0312152906#
That is just creepy weird. I mean, think about it. Would you shave your partner down on a regular basis and use his or her hair to make a sweater? There is something seriously wrong with that line of conservation. Turn the heat down sure...but at least break a buck and buy the stuff that is SUPPOSED to be made into a sweater. Like a sheep or an alpaca. NOT the family Basset Hound.
Maybe I am being too harsh. Charlies' hair really is soft and fluffy like a lamb when it gets long. Maybe I should try it and make a sweater. Hmmmmm....a 14 pound dog that gets his hair shaved 3 times a year would mean I would have to save his wool for about 9 years.
Naw...I would rather just go raid the Internet for some lovely soft wools of non-puppy kind. I think Charlie would be happier with that decision too.
~tm
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
OCD's and the big earth-toned 'thing'
Yeah...so...knitting huh? Here is the dill-ee-oh about knitting for me. When I started knitting years ago, I made mittens. Lots of them. I was quite good at it. And the ones that turned out badly were ripped out half-way and re-worked into stick-shift cozies for our cars and trucks. But then I digressed to just making scarves, and then to the point of not knitting anything at all. I didn't care, I didn't want to pick up the sticks, I just wasn't interested.
Problem is that I become FOCUSED on something and it becomes all encompassing. It was knitting for a while, then rag rugs, then antiquing, then yoga, then wine, then wine, then wine, then weight loss (see aforementioned wine inserts), then knitting, then golf, then beading, and then...well you get the picture. I have to buy it, be it, do it, and think about nothing but it, whatever the 'it' may be.
After my Doctor rolled his eyes and reminded me that since I already have an OCD that manifests itself through my control issues (which reminds me to call my therapist for my annual 'mental physical') I realized that its should come as no surprise that when I get interested in something, I must OWN IT.
And through all the different interests and crafts and wonderfulness of things that constantly feed my spongy brain, I have found that the thing that I keep coming back to is knitting.
It's the tactileness (is that a word?) of knitting. The wonderfulness of the wool. The really cool way some lovely warm bamboo needles feel in my hands. And conversely, the way some shiny, heavy, steel needles feel cold and click really turns me on. There is something so tribal, natural, even seductive about some fabulous wool and the way a pattern slowly comes together.
Oh I could go on and on. But the whole POINT of this entry is the big earth-toned 'throw' I started. Did I tell you about it? Yes? No? Don't matter cause now it has turned into the big earth-toned THING that is overtaking my lap, my thoughts, and my life. It got too big for a throw, not big enough for a blanket...so I find myself just knitting and knitting it. My OCD is overtaking the meaning behind the thing in the first place. It is no longer a project, it is my own Mount Kilimanjaro, my white whale, my own personal kind of heroin I must kick. I have one more ball of yarn to go then I am done with this thing.
Or...am I? Can I let it go? Is it finished? 'Cause as I said, its not big enough for a blanket.
Hmmmmm...but if I add a couple more balls to it then it would be. Or something nice to toss on the leather couch for cold nights reading. Oh yeah, my thoughts are eloquent, but the project is getting on my fucking nerves. Will post a picture tonight. Will grow my hair back later.
~tm
Problem is that I become FOCUSED on something and it becomes all encompassing. It was knitting for a while, then rag rugs, then antiquing, then yoga, then wine, then wine, then wine, then weight loss (see aforementioned wine inserts), then knitting, then golf, then beading, and then...well you get the picture. I have to buy it, be it, do it, and think about nothing but it, whatever the 'it' may be.
After my Doctor rolled his eyes and reminded me that since I already have an OCD that manifests itself through my control issues (which reminds me to call my therapist for my annual 'mental physical') I realized that its should come as no surprise that when I get interested in something, I must OWN IT.
And through all the different interests and crafts and wonderfulness of things that constantly feed my spongy brain, I have found that the thing that I keep coming back to is knitting.
It's the tactileness (is that a word?) of knitting. The wonderfulness of the wool. The really cool way some lovely warm bamboo needles feel in my hands. And conversely, the way some shiny, heavy, steel needles feel cold and click really turns me on. There is something so tribal, natural, even seductive about some fabulous wool and the way a pattern slowly comes together.
Oh I could go on and on. But the whole POINT of this entry is the big earth-toned 'throw' I started. Did I tell you about it? Yes? No? Don't matter cause now it has turned into the big earth-toned THING that is overtaking my lap, my thoughts, and my life. It got too big for a throw, not big enough for a blanket...so I find myself just knitting and knitting it. My OCD is overtaking the meaning behind the thing in the first place. It is no longer a project, it is my own Mount Kilimanjaro, my white whale, my own personal kind of heroin I must kick. I have one more ball of yarn to go then I am done with this thing.
Or...am I? Can I let it go? Is it finished? 'Cause as I said, its not big enough for a blanket.
Hmmmmm...but if I add a couple more balls to it then it would be. Or something nice to toss on the leather couch for cold nights reading. Oh yeah, my thoughts are eloquent, but the project is getting on my fucking nerves. Will post a picture tonight. Will grow my hair back later.
~tm
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Knitting and Northern Exposure
My daughter and I have bonded over the most unusual thing, a television show. Yes I know that many parents have discovered that their children like a television show they watch. However, this show is old. In fact, it was one I watched while pregnant; Northern Exposure.
Selby watched it with me after work a few months back, and totally fell in love with the 'Ed' character. That makes sense. He is tall, gaunt, introspective, introverted, and sports a really bad hair-do. He is incredibly sweet, completely unassuming, and the shows required eternal optimist. I am quite worried to be honest, I was hoping Selby would end up with a cut-throat lawyer or a by-any-means-necessary investment banker. But no, Ed is simply shades of future relationships for my sweet kidling. But I digress, the reason for this post (which has not a lot really to do with knitting other than the fact that once written I shall once again return to my latest project) is because I wanted to write about MY favourite actor on the show Rob Morrow, aka Doctor Joel Fleishman.
It was a great character for Mr. Morrow. Apparently the show was not meant for a long run, nor was it meant to become as popular as it did. But we ended up hanging out with the varied and fascinating folks of Cicely, Alaska for about 5 years. I find that I am interested in all the characters, but my heart would understandably belong to the smarmy, snotty, self-infatuated Joel "Uncle-Manny-was-at-my-Bar-Mitzvah" Fleishman. Maybe it's because although he is SO completely Jewish, I am positive I saw him eat a shellfish chowder one episode. Flippin the bird to the food rules. Yep, it's all about being a bad boy.
Now those who know me well would be surprised that I would pick that character since, I am loathe to admit, I have dated more than one 'Chris Stevens' in my time. But, I can't go for flighty, no matter how existential they may be. Keep your Poe, your Voltaire, and your Chopra...I mean, sure I like intellectual, but what I really like is geeky! Geeks are my weakness. Especially the geeks that play chess with me.
On a final note, Joel's office manager Marilyn Whirlwind is often knitting in the office. That rocks cause we knitters are cool.
Poor Adam. He will need a map to see that he is actually being hugely complimented in this post. I love you honey. But, Northern Exposure is about to start, and my fingers are itching to get wrapped up in wool.
~
Selby watched it with me after work a few months back, and totally fell in love with the 'Ed' character. That makes sense. He is tall, gaunt, introspective, introverted, and sports a really bad hair-do. He is incredibly sweet, completely unassuming, and the shows required eternal optimist. I am quite worried to be honest, I was hoping Selby would end up with a cut-throat lawyer or a by-any-means-necessary investment banker. But no, Ed is simply shades of future relationships for my sweet kidling. But I digress, the reason for this post (which has not a lot really to do with knitting other than the fact that once written I shall once again return to my latest project) is because I wanted to write about MY favourite actor on the show Rob Morrow, aka Doctor Joel Fleishman. It was a great character for Mr. Morrow. Apparently the show was not meant for a long run, nor was it meant to become as popular as it did. But we ended up hanging out with the varied and fascinating folks of Cicely, Alaska for about 5 years. I find that I am interested in all the characters, but my heart would understandably belong to the smarmy, snotty, self-infatuated Joel "Uncle-Manny-was-at-my-Bar-Mitzvah" Fleishman. Maybe it's because although he is SO completely Jewish, I am positive I saw him eat a shellfish chowder one episode. Flippin the bird to the food rules. Yep, it's all about being a bad boy.
Now those who know me well would be surprised that I would pick that character since, I am loathe to admit, I have dated more than one 'Chris Stevens' in my time. But, I can't go for flighty, no matter how existential they may be. Keep your Poe, your Voltaire, and your Chopra...I mean, sure I like intellectual, but what I really like is geeky! Geeks are my weakness. Especially the geeks that play chess with me.
On a final note, Joel's office manager Marilyn Whirlwind is often knitting in the office. That rocks cause we knitters are cool.
Poor Adam. He will need a map to see that he is actually being hugely complimented in this post. I love you honey. But, Northern Exposure is about to start, and my fingers are itching to get wrapped up in wool.
~
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