A Room of One's Own

Yurt place or mine

If someone wanted to make a sitcom of my life, it would be similar to Dharma and Greg, only the network would take cruelty a step further and give Dharma Greg’s parents and vice versa. My mom and dad routinely call my in-laws weird. I have spent the last five years of my life defending them. That has all ended. I have changed my mind. They are freakin’ loony. They are buying a YURT.

My husband told me this and I had no idea what it was. His description was that it is some kind of home that is mobile that can be semi-easily erected in various locations. Basically, if a tee pee and a tent had about ten too many drinks and did the nasty you would have, yes people, a YURT. I am dying over the mere though and call my best friend, Shari, to inform her of their plan. She has no idea what a yurt is either but the word is cracking us up. Mind you I have no idea where they plan on putting the yurt. And remember, I still don’t know what one looks like. But, I’m 2 minutes from home and I can Google this.

Ladies and gentleman, if you’ve never seen a yurt before in your life, let me introduce you to my in-laws future abode:

Purdy ain’t she. Oh, and they come in colors. I can imagine a whole bunch of the blue ones in a row, with lots of little people in white hats living in them. Except for the old grouchy guy with the cat. Really, though, to get the full scope of just how fruity this whole thing is, you must got to the website where they are thinking of purchasing said yurt. http://www.coloradoyurt.com/. Click where it says “YURTS” and learn al about the glorious history of the yurt and the pastoral people of Central Asia who live in rhythm with the land.

I call my in-law because I am convinced they are just trying to freak me out. My father-in-law would do this. He’s sick that way. Nope. They’re dead serious and I have now offended my mother-in-law by laughing very loudly during the entire phone conversation. My father-in-law is now threatening to bring it to my house and erect it in the park next door. Or my 2-car garage. I’m thinking that I’m totally screwed. So, if you’re in the Phoenix area, please stop by the Yurt of Spite. I’m sure my mother-in-law will share her smoke with you.

Two great tastes that taste great together.

Finally, something good has come out of my reluctance to clean out the pantry. I hate cleaning the damn pantry with a passion. So, I don’t do it. My life is simple like this.

I’m not having the greatest of evenings. My daughter has chosen this very week to enter into the terrible twos. And, let me tell you, they are that terrible. If anyone tries to convince you of otherwise they’ve hired a full time nanny, flat out lying or they were too high on crack to notice the terrible twos.

I finally get her screaming little body into bed and asleep and am needing something to sooth me. Now, I have a good friend named Jim that I like to call upon in times like this. He’s real popular and good friends with another guy named Jack. I’m still a little edgy so I think I need something sweet so I go to the pantry. EUREEKA! That is when I find the most beautiful thing a wife, whose husband is at work, who has already had a little bourbon, who has a crazy toddler could ever find. One completely unopened, untouched box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. Yes, they keep very well over a period of months. Very well.

So I’m going to go and enjoy the rest of my evening with my Thin Mints and my whiskey. Really, a disgusting combination but I do not give a rat’s ass. I am happy. And I’m not sharing.

Vanessa, the Amazing Bubble Girl

I have a bubble and I’m quite happy with it. I do not like to travel outside of my bubble. Period. Today, I was forced way out of my bubble and I am still not very pleased. My bubble extends to two freeways. If there is something east of the I-10 and south of the 202, I don’t care to know about it*. I don’t want to go there and I don’t want to know people who live there.

Now, people who live in this area are not bad people. The houses are just fine and the stores are nice. This is from what I’ve seen. Let me tell you that I have lived in Phoenix for 27 years and have traveled to this part of our metropolis about 15 times in my life. That said, I have gone there TWICE in the last week. I had to go today to pick out granite slabs for our new house. Way outside the bubble. Let’s just say I got lost on the way there. Here’s the sad part. On the way home, I got even more lost. I should have known I was in trouble when I turn left out of the parking lot and immediately notice the big blue IKEA building.

I had no idea where what freeway went. I’m great with directions, usually. My problem is that I have spent a good portion of my life just ignoring the fact that this whole part of town exists. All I knew was that I was supposed to end up in Scottsdale and ended up staring at downtown. I even knew that I was heading in the wrong direction but had no desire to exit the freeway. Eventually the freeway will tell me where I’m going and it did.

I have no idea what I have against the whole Mesa, Gilbert, Chandler, Awatuhkee area but I just don’t like them. And no one can make me. My new house is, oddly, as far away from there as I can get. It is completely and safely in my bubble.

*The exception to this is Sun Devil Stadium, which is right on the border of the bubble. There must be some safety zone around ASU that makes me happy.

23 acres of obnoxiousness

I did something really stupid yesterday. I decided, on holiday weekend, to go to IKEA with my best friend, her 12-year-old daughter and my 19-month-old daughter. Let me just say that while normal this combination of people adds up to a whole boatload of fun, yesterday it could have meant certain death of someone.

IKEA is a 23-acre maze of confusion and cheap items. Why am I here? I must be seriously freakin’ hard up for cheap storage containers. If we are not drunk, Shari and I are not crowd people. Simple as that. I am sensing that this is going to be like shopping at a 23-acre Costco. There are screaming children running all over the store and screaming parents chasing after them. Apparently, these people missed the big play area for kids so this situation could be avoided. We are not amused. We do not think these kids are cute and charming. Figure in the fact that these aisles are so tiny and the traffic flow is so heavy that you cannot stop for 30 seconds to look at an item without someone crashing into you. Sound fun?

We go back downstairs where the kitchen items are. This is where we actually plan to spend money. I need those damn cheap storage containers! We also need food. They have $.50 hot dogs. Really. So while I am getting cash at the ATM (I don’t even carry $.50) I ask Shari to kindly grab a cart. 10 minutes later she returns. I do not know what happened in the pursuit of the cart and I do not want to know. But that woman came back with a look on her look on her face that would scare the hell out of anyone. I call it the Cold Stare of Death. I am sure there was a shopper without a head somewhere.

We eat, grab armloads of cheap storage and the most hideous mirror ever, and head to checkout. Oh. Dear. Lord. This was worse than Costco and there were no nice old ladies pushing samples of Teriyaki chicken at you. No, no. There were people in lines with enormous boxes of furniture they have to put together. I almost went Rain Man on these people. We waited in that line for what seemed an eternity. All the cashiers were chatty and I hate that. Shut the hell up and scan my container. I was surprised we got out alive and without a body count.
If you’re going, let me offer this advice: Go the minute it opens, on a Wednesday, wear padding and bring something that you can joust with. Stab anyone that comes within 2 feet of you. And don’t get the chips at the hot dogs place. They’re just plain weird.