The dogs are in Austin with Andy till tomorrow so it’s quiet and solitary. Much of my stuff’s in boxes which are stacked up in corners and taped neatly. There are bare nails in the walls and dust on the floors from all the things pulled out of long packed places. My usually tidy hobbit hole is in disarray. Things are just strewn about waiting to be boxed out of sight. I always think, in this stage of moving, of what it will be like when somebody else does this to my house someday and they don’t understand how the twist ties are treasures, the quilt still under the comforter on the bed to be hand carried later reminds me of sharing the couch with my sister on cold Saturday mornings, and that it’s perfectly normal to store your double sided tape with your cookbooks.
Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category
It’s kind of creepy here.
December 2, 2008Mortification Underpants
November 1, 2008Good name for a rock band?
I’m getting married. This seems to necessitate the purchase of something called Spanx. This is underpants that comes up to your armpits. My friend Cathy got me liquored up and took me to try the things on. This was the most compassionate thing anyone has ever done for me. I’ll admit they make me look really smooth and slimmer than normal, but there’s this silly little butt shaking dance I have to do to get into the things.
There’s also some sort of plunging neckline bra thingy that we’re calling “A boob job in a box.” Also does great things by way of foundation undergarments. Also mortifying.
I just put on both of these things and tried on bits of my wedding dress, which will be very pretty when finished. For now though, I’m thinking about what kind of songs my new band will play.
Live from Austin Texas, it’s MORTIFICATION UNDERPANTS!
What shall I cleave…
October 22, 2008with my brand new Global cleaver?? Chicken? Duck? Winter Squash? I thirst for culinary violence!!
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Wedding plans
October 5, 2008I just got back from a trip to Vermont with Andy to make some wedding plans, visit new family, and set him off on a motorcyle trip back home. Here’s a few pics. Unfortunatly some really great ones were spoiled by my ability to pull a face. The rest are available here: http://flickr.com/photos/aggiezoe/
Ragweed Pollen
September 30, 2008It’s of the devil. The only thing worse is probably cedar season or millions of paper cuts and a boil at the same time.
Hot Toddy:
Equal parts bourbon, water, and fresh lemon juice. Cinnamon and lemon zest for flavor. Maple syrup to sweeten. Hold it under your nose till it clears up a little.
So Very Hair!
September 23, 2008Do they train women to say that at face waxing school?
Jeez!
Potsdam NY
August 4, 2008Ox and Chuck Norris rock the frat house.
I’m afraid of my can-opener
July 9, 2008My mom bought me one of those can-openers that sits on the can itself and walks its way around the rim of the can. This leaves you with your hands free and a can that’s not sharp enough to cut you. For some reason though, the opener doesn’t stop once it gets around the can. It just keeps walking and walking and eventually I have to grab it and forcefully punch the button several times to make it stop, then pry the top of the can off it. It’s giving me stress.
I have another can-opener, but I somehow feel that using it would be disloyal to my mom. I keep forcing myself to use the new gizmo, even though it seriously limits my enjoyment of a can of beans.
I may need help.
Perfect summer nights
July 2, 2008I love summer. Love the desperation of it and the way that heat can be something you get molded into. Love watching my skin turn into the olive and brown it has adapted to through six or so generations in the swelter. Love the feeling of grit on the back of my neck and a the shock of knowing that my body can’t tolerate this indefinitely. Love realizing that I must have water.
More than that, I love a cool summer night after a muggy, blastedly hot day and eventual rain. Love the clean smell of it and the momentary respite, sitting in a wooden swing. It reminds me that in about three months I’ll smell something crisp and feel the first tiny breeze of fall just before the summer kicks up into its last, bitchiest wave.
Older Dog
June 24, 2008Olive is about six years old now. There’s a little eyebrow of white in the brown smudge over her right eye. While I read and swing in the back yard, she usually lies prone in a patch of sunlight instead of dashing around crazy after her arch enemy the squirrel. She’s slower to jump in and out of the car, and there’s some new sort of dignity that beams out of her on the rare occasion that she makes eye contact.
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Olive at 7.
Every so often though, she’ll be hit by something and turn back to her silly young self. Olive has the least decorous run of any dog you’ll ever see. I call her The Dorkhound, when she does this. She’s a little swaybacked, her head bobs up and down from the shoulders, and her ears flap while she goes. This is all capped off with an open mouth that seems to grin. Finally she’ll get so excited that she’ll spin in a galloping circle and eventually fall over herself with glee. It’s rare, but she still does it, and when she does there’s no trace of the burgeoning old lady.
I’ve noticed that with Jeffrey around, Olive takes on a few more personalties. She’s at first Stodgy Olive, annoyed by the rambunctious whipper-snapper of a puppy. Next she’s forgotten herself and started playing wildly, this is Young at Heart Olive. She spins, lunges, runs, and whirls. After a bit she tires out and tries to call time, but Jeffrey (Jeff Vader as I’ve nicknamed him) doesn’t get that. It takes Big Strong Olive to get her point across. That version never lasts long, and is a pretty difficult character for her to adopt.
Its both wonderful and sad to see her interact with a young dog. She’s much more vigorous when Jeffrey’s around, and seems like more of a dog somehow instead of a person. They roll around all over each other and vie for more attention.
He highlights her age though. Jeffrey’s getting stronger and more powerful by the day. Soon Big Strong Olive will be unrecognizable next to him. I’m guessing that as time goes by, she’ll sit beside me and watch him play, and join in less and less. I know I’m anthropomorphizing, but I somehow think she’ll feel older and more fragile.
