Doh.

Being poor sucks.

That's what happens when you miss yet another week of work for a migraine though.

Crap.

Also, I just realized that the Nation's at Jack London Square is directly across the street from the Coroner's Bureau. I wonder if that's why the all-beef (yeah, right) patties taste so good.

Hello, soilent green.

Uh huh, exactly. I'm not going to go back there for a while.

Also, why does the Coroner's Bureau have a neon sign on display? Until the paramedics showed up I was hopefully thinking it was a funky bar or something.

The Postcard - (Peanut Butter and Jelly)

I want to send one.

I've been thinking a lot, about what it would say, about what it would mean, and about what my most important secret, or memory, or darkest moment is.

It surprised me when I realized it. Normally my family laughs about this incident, but it's not funny. That's what Echols' do though - we're like the Cohen's, I guess. If it sucks, you laugh. If it makes you want to cry, laugh even harder.

My father calls me the glue that holds our family together, but I've always thought that was bullshit on account of his blinding adoration for his firstborn daughter. However, this particular memory jolted an awareness in me that maybe he's right, at least during times of crisis.

I had to practically slap my own mother to keep her focused, while driving in rush hour on 680-80 and I barely knew how to drive. Aren't your parents supposed to calm you down when there's a family emergency? Well, I mean, not my parents, but YOUR parents did, didn't they?

Or did they? Maybe I'm wrong about this perception of parents and I can actually stop raising my kids as soon as they can make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and mac-n-cheese.

Speaking of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, here's a funny tidbit about my sister. When Pappy used to yell at us, sometimes it lasted for a _really_ long time. And either you got bored, or you cried. And we hated to cry in front of him. So, Ughty, rather than cry in front of him, would say "PeanutButterandJellyPeanutButterandJelly" over and over in her head to stay focused and remain unaffected by his momentary tyrade.

I think she did that because my mom force fed us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day for like 12 years. Laura Scudder's peanut butter, all natural, and Knott's Berry Farm Boysenberry Jam.

As it turns out, we were poor.

I need to rename this entry peanut butter and jelly, I think.

Job Hunting

is exhausting.

And excruciating. It's taking up nearly all of my time during the week. I'm cancelling fun plans, excercise plans, time "just for me" plans.

All my focus and energy is going into this right now.

Fingers crossed. Within the next six months everything could be different. Everything will be, one way or another.

George Lucas Snuggles with Mass Amounts of Pillows Too!

This morning around 5:00, I woke up to that wonderful dull throbbing that is Klaus.

I made a nest in my mutlitude of pillows and carefully covered my head, preventing all light and sound from penetrating. I could hear only the slight whoosh-whoosh of my breathing.

I giggled a bit inside my head because I was reminded of a particular scene in a Star Wars movie. (I'll let Evan clue you all in as to which one)

I buried my head a little deeper in my nest and hunkered down to get more precious shut-eye, but the breathing continued, "Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh."

Suddenly James Earl Jones literally invaded my head and his magnificient god-like voice was reverberating where my brain should have been, "Luke, (whoosh-whoosh) I am your father," (whoosh-whoosh).

And that's when I knew. George Lucas obviously sleeps with a lot of pillows and sometimes he hides under them and nests too. That's totally how he got the idea to have Darth Vader use a breathing apparatus that made that noise.

George, you should call me sometime. We have a lot to discuss, besides American Graffiti, I think. Which I've actually never seen, but if you call me I promise I will watch it so we can talk about it.

Dante's Inferno

Brody had to remind me there were 9 levels.

Here are my results:

Second Level of Hell

You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate.


Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level Who are sent there? Score

Purgatory Repenting Believers Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo Virtuous Non-Believers Moderate
Level 2 Lustful Very High
Level 3 Gluttonous Low
Level 4 Prodigal and Avaricious Very Low
Level 5 Wrathful and Gloomy Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis Heretics High
Level 7 Violent High



How do you measure up?

Day of Indulgence

Otherwise known as: personal grooming errands.

Today I got a pedicure which felt so good it made me wonder why a) everyone doesn't get them all the time, and b) why they are so fricken cheap.

I mean seriously, for the low price of $15 (and a tip, leave a tip - those women have to play with FEET all day) you get your toenails clipped, filed, and buffed. Your cuticles get trimmed, and if the lady is good it doesn't even hurt. Your feet get pumice scrubbed, with lotion, by someone else, which is akin to getting you back exfoliated by someone else in the shower with a rich, salt or sugar scrub. Amazing. Electrifying. Like a million tiny fingernails going to town on your dead, dull skin. Woah. Also, you get to soak your tired soles in a foot bath for a good solid 40 minutes (sometimes longer) and you get to sit in a chair that massages your back. Plus, you get a foot rub and a leg rub. Who could possibly say no to this kind of treatment?

Boys, you can choose clear as a color if you are worried about coming out with pink tootsies. Try it at least twice because the first time you are so freaked out by the pointy-sharp tools it's difficult to relax.

Then, I went and visited Moni Rose and finally met Lola the newbie. Such a cutie. She suckled (drooled?) on my shoulder and I loved it. So damn cute, that baby. A perfect blend of her parents. Moni brought me back to my roots and I am suddenly devastatingly smart-looking what with being a brunette again and having smarty specs. Reminiscent of Lisa Loeb.

Also went to Berkeley Bowl and was in and out in 25 minutes! (They were closing so I got kicked out) And I got the oil changed.

I am Wonder Woman.

Now I'm eating for the first time all day today - unless you count a grape Tootsie Pop, which I don't. I'm having Brie, a baguette, and some Nebbiolo wine from AJB vineyard. Quite tasty for my only meal. If I don't overdose on cheese I might even run the lake later.

The Tea Kettle

I often forget how good my tea kettle is at making me a nice spot of Hot Cocoa!!!

With marshmallows!

Dee. Lish. Us.

Also, to those of you who've been following my neato networking thingymabopop lately: had a smidge of a thingy today. Went rather well. I'm happy about it. Cautiously optimistic let's say.

Life is exceedingly simple right now.

Perhaps it's that my new smarty specs bring everything into focus in a way that didn't happen before? Perhaps it's the high that always comes with missing a week of work due to a migraine? Who knows.

What I do know is that life is simple.

I own a 10 pound (okay, maybe it's less, but really!) wedding dress that I've no intention of using and probably should sell.

I *just* hung up shelves in a place I've been living in since February.

There are things you can't stand to keep but can't bear to toss away, like Lemur. Lemur has no purpose; Lemur has no function. In that regard Lemur and I clash in such a manner that he was this >< close to getting chucked into a bag for Salvation Army to offer some child happiness, when suddenly he hugged onto my torch lamp with such ferocity I laughed and couldn't send him.

All the plants survived this time, but they had trouble. I think I was better at remembering to water them than I have been, but they lost an awful lot of leaves and didn't see much growth.

Dimitry didn't have a car wash in nearly seven months - I think I still had crusted latte from our last real big fight involving 880 and pumpkin spice lattes all over the interior of the car. Someone had to force me to clean it. By force I mean drive me to the carwash and demand I clean the thing.

And I admit to being messy, no doubt about it. In fact, I'm thinking of *buying* a coffee table to move the paper trail from my kitchen table. A coffee table with drawers, duh, so I can toss random paperwork and bills in the drawers when company comes over. Supposing company does come over again sometime, and honestly, I hope you do.

I've seen rougher times, but that doesn't mean this was easy. And nothing solidifies that than the following two quotes:

"Well you've got the dress, now where's the husband?" - Pappy
"That sure would have been tough to take home on BART, wouldn't it?" - Mom

Sometimes though, holding onto that which you can't stand to let go of, helps you hold on to the relationship in some ways too. Until you are ready to accept it's failure, and ultimately your own failure.

What I need from life is simple.

I need some new art for my apartment.
I need more recent photos.
I need more furniture and probably a better TV.
I need end tables and a coffee table.


Furniture me up. Let's commit to this new life and do it. :)

My Fat Maniacal Squirrels

My fat happy squirrels are up and playing around. Lately they've been trying to get inside some of the ducts on the roof of my apartment. I think these might be some of the smartest squirrels ever because there are times, in the middle of the night, when they wake me up, pinging and banging and rattling, and basically trying to unscrew and unhinge and pull things apart. I believe, that with their bold determination they will eventually succeed and I will wake up face-to-face with a squirrel.

Which really isn't so bad considering the alternatives.

It's when they are silent, and on the roof, (which I know because I can see the little fokkers get up on there from my cozy bed) that I start to worry. I'm sure they aren't sleeping or something innocuous.

No, they are planning they're next move, and like I said, these squirrels, they are smart.

Saturday Morning and a Haircut

Normally I'd be sleeping, but someone roused me from my not so restful slumber because they couldn't sleep and who better to call on a lazy Saturday when you can't sleep? Everyone knows that it's a safe bet I'm home and in bed. Now, I'm eating waffles and reading Real Simple and blogging and scheduling pretty girly things like pedicures and haircuts. It's nice to have Sundays on Saturdays for a change.

Of course, I should mention that technically I'm already late to get ready for a BBQ in S. San Francisco. Technically I should be done with breakfast and in the shower figuring out what cute, but layered outfit, will thwart the weird overcast-and-then-not weather we are having here in the Bay. It's cool, but not super cold. Too chilly for girly outfits and none of my sweaters have been dryeled for months - plus they all smell like dirty armpits - I checked last week for a different BBQ party.

I think it's June but it's acting like October - and it rained last night.

What makes a house a home?

A friend of mind keeps posing this question of me as he keeps referring to my apartment as my home and I keep defensively arguing with him, calling it a holding tank for my things. I thought that might change after the windows opened and the shower drained and the pictures and shelves were hung. But no.

While it feels much more homey, it still isn't my home.

I suppose everyone's idea of home is different, but for me, a home is a place my family and I will craft a life together. Where my husband and children will come together and create a life, solve our problems, laugh together, and ultimately just be a family together.

It's impossible to be a family when you are but one person.

Which is why as much as I like my apartment with its Georges* and the shelves and windows that open and the shower that drains, it cannot ever be considered home for me. It's merely a vessel for my things. A space between the next space that holds my things. Until I find that person that I can build a home with and start a family with.

Anyway, this is why I always tell you that my house is not my home, nor will it ever be. And yes, of course, I have it picked out in my head, and not in that maple cabinet kind of way, but in that full-of-laughter and love way.

My home will be full of love.



*All my plants are named George and all are beautiful, healthy, and lustrous.

Smarty Specs!

I got some new glasses finally.

From Costco.

And if I do say so myself, I look mightily impressively smart and clever. My specs are barely even worth having, as the prescription is a +.50 in my left eye and nothing at all in my right eye, however I figure with the migraines being above my left eye it most certainly can't hurt.

They are sort of two toned blue and brown - very chic, but also very conservative at the same time. I'm a fan. So far my eyes are liking them too.

Also, today is a major migraine day so this works out well for me.

That's about it for me today.

New glasses.

Oh yeah, and I saw Cinderella Man and it was fantastic. So very good!!

Bobby Flay

Seriously just said, "That's the money shot," about sea bass. This is something I've only ever heard in reference to, well, porn.

Go, go, Bobby Flay!

**addendum**

If you are unaware as to who Bobby Flay is, you do not watch enough of Food Network TV and should no longer consider yourself in the upper echelon of my of inner-most circle of high consul.

RIP Columbus the Silverfish

This is a very sad, very gross story and not for the faint of heart.

Over the futon hangs my favorite abstract print. I bought it from Target several months ago - in February, incidentally the same day I bought my tires.

I've been having an off week, and I was sitting in my apartment, facing the futon, and I noticed a small white blob on my favorite print, which has a black matte around it. Disturbed, I peered closer.

The white blob had six legs. And two very long antennae.

Gross. A Silverfish.

When I was six, my father lied to me and told me that a Silverfish was an Earwig. Then, he told me that they could crawl into your ears and lay eggs in your brain that eventually hatched and crawled out in all different directions. I'm pretty sure this was actually some kind of Twilight Zone episode, but when you are six and you worship Pappy it matters not. You remain scarred for life.

I tapped my favorite abstract print. Tap.Tap.Tap.

The Silverfish twitched, his six legs scuttled furiously, yet his body did not move at all. My internal freak-out-o-meter moved from slightly disturbed to extremely anxious.

I removed my favorite abstract print from the wall and inspected it carefully - I figured there was a way to make all involved in this scenario happy without much hassle. I could open the print and let the little bugger out and we could both go our separate our ways.

Nope. The print had a paper backing that was glued down all the way around the entire freaking back of the print. Everywhere!

Now I'm starting to wonder. How long has this Silverfish been living in my favorite abstract print? Was he factory sealed? Did I pay more for 'live' art?

The more I agonized over this horrible situation, the more I couldn't decide who to feel more sorry for - me, for having a disgusting fucking bug in my favorite piece of art, or the bug, for being trapped permanently inside a two dimensional space. Sudeenly, it occurred to me that the bug's world was flat and I dubbed him Columbus.

It also morbidly occurred to me that Columbus was going to die a slow and horrible death if I didn't get him out of there, and judging from the looks of things, pretty darn quick.

I banged on my picture and tried to shake Columbus around, but to no avail. He was well on his way to Buggy-Squishdom. I tapped the picture on the ground loud enough to get back at those below me who listen to their loud movies and bizarre Indian music.

I started to rip off the paper backing to see if I could save him that way and found ANOTHER layer of matte underneath the paper backing and realized I couldn't get him out without totally ruining my picture. It is conceivable that he was an egg that was laid there some time ago as it can take up to two months for a Silverfish egg to hatch. Unlikely, but possible.

And then, something horrendous happened. In trying to free him and playing with the backing of the picture, there was this horrible moment when Columbus's body suddenly got twice as large and kind of arched and spasmed in this really strange and grotesque way.

At first I wasn't even sure what had happened.

Then, to be certain, I tapped the glass a few times.

His legs no longer moved.

His antennae no longer twitched.

Columbus had died no less than ten minutes after I had discovered his world was flat.

I felt wretched and sick to my stomach.

Now I have a dead bug in my favorite abstract print. A bug that will, as someone aptly pointed out, dry up and fall to the bottom of said painting within a few months.

But there will always be a bug-juice stain where Columbus met his end on my black matte.

What I want to know is how that bug got inside my picture?

More importantly, what was he eating?

After careful research it turns out, he was probably eating my fricken piece of art!!

Foods preferred: Silverfish and firebrats will eat any of the foods humans eat and also starch, glue, paste, sizing in fabrics...

Augh.

Let's Go Oakland

1) ClapClap! ClapClapClap! ClapClapClapClap! Clap Clap!

2) Where the hell is Maren when you need her? Oh yeah, sunny fricken Hawaii. Jeezo.

P.S. Sorry for not calling you back this weekend - I've been busy networking and stuff like that. I will try and call you tonight if my appointment and hopeful date around the lake doesn't run too late.

Otherwise, will surely call tomorrow.