A Room of One's Own

Thank you, David Sedaris

I am late to David Sedaris. Why? Oh, because I live under a rock. I am just now finishing Me Talk Pretty One Day. As Deanna commented earlier, I am a slow reader. Not because I'm stupid, mind you, but because I am easily distracted by random things, shiney or not. I also read six books at a time. ADD? Yeah, thanks! I'll have some!

So, there I am on the couch, peacefully reading along when I get to the chapter "Remember My Childhood on the Continent of Africa." The whole chapter seems incredibly familiar as if I've experienced it before. Then I realize. Oh. My. God. I have! The chapter is all about his boyfriend, Hugh, whose dad was in the State Department and they lived for a while in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Yeah. My ex-husband's dad was in the State Department and he lived for a while in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Of course, he knew Hugh. As a matter of fact, my former sister-in-law, Chris, and Hugh were BFF.

So, it occurs to me that David Sedaris may also be in possession of a box of ugly. I am wondering if all State Department families who choose to live in places like Ethiopia, Bolivia, Nigeria, Pakistan, Nepal and Peru all have a collection of "global junk" as my dad referred to it. You know, the native item that is as ugly as homemade sin but, god damn it, it came from FILL IN THE BLANK MAD-LIB STYLE WITH THE NAME OF A RANDOM FOREIGN COUNTRY. No one else will ever appreciate the item as no one knows what the hell it is as they'll never travel to said country.

I wonder if David Sedaris has had the same thoughts I have had as he stares at a 12'x12' Alpaca rug that was really necessary in Ethiopia as Hugh had concrete floors in his house as well, I'm sure but seems just a tad odd anywhere else. And, frankly, it stinks like shit, is 30 years old and stained. But, by god, do you know how much Alpaca rugs cost these days? Has Hugh's family come to their house and insisted that they hang over the fireplace the big huge Bolivian tapestry that looks like a 3rd grader drew a stick figure dragon with a big red?

I loved the fact that he saw Hugh's childhood the exact same way I saw my ex-huband's. Totally fascinating that he couldn't get home some nights because they had bombed the road or how they had three large Ethiopian body guards walk them to school every day. That and having nothing to comtribute to the family gathering discussions because you have no idea what it's like to puke your guts out from eating green meat while hiking the Himalayas. So, thank you, David. I don't feel remotely alone anymore. I feel you brother. And tell Hugh that Chris says hi...

My phone asks tough questions

I had resolved myself into taking a big step. I'm trying very hard to close the chapter. Not the book. The chapter. The book is staying open. Scrolling through my phonebook isn't lending itself very easy to trying to do this when I have to scroll past his name almost every time I go to call someone. So, I thought I'd just delete it. I'm trying to get used to the idea that he won't be calling. I certainly won't be calling for obvious reasons. So why do I need to keep the number in there? Seems reasonable, no?

So I grab the phone and I'm feeling very resolved. I find his name and click options. I scroll down to "delete contact." Then my son of a bitch phone goes and throws me for a loop. I was not expecting what for it to do what it did. It popped up with a very simple question.

"Delete all details?"

Then it showed his full name underneath the question.

Well, shit. That's not fair. I wasn't ready for THAT much resolution. Thanks for fuckin' nothin' Nokia. So, needless to say I couldn't bring myself to do it. It seems I only have one option at this point. I am going to have to change his name in my phone...

I can't even taste my words to eat them

A while back I was saying that there are times when I wish I would come down with a good cold because only then would I be able to lay in bed all day, watch chick flicks and sleep and not feel an ounce of guilt. I mean, I would HAVE to rest. I would have to drink tea and eat tomato soup or something. Right?

Yeah, I think I hate that I said that. I didn't mean it. I take it back. That was crazy talk. I still can't decide if I am coming down with a cold or if I have some kind of gnarly allergies. Either way, I am sneezing like I've inhaled 18 pounds of pepper and it would require a double nasal bypass in order to get me to the point when I could breathe like a human again.

And what's worse is that I am staring smack into the weekend here. If I'm sick, there will be rest. There will be the chasing of a three year old. My parents just went back up to their cabins so I can't even make my mommy come over. You're seeing how pathetic I am when I don't feel well? It's compunded when I am inconveniently sick. If I am going to be sick, I would like to be sick on a Tuesday when I have a heinous meeting I don't want to go to and when my child is at her dad's. At this point, should this turn out to be a cold, it will hit its pinnacle on Sunday when I am supposed to go watch football all day with the girls. That would most certianly bite.

It's totally my fault for taking being well for granted. Curses! This is just like me. Every single time I get sick, which is VERY rare (and the world sighs a collective sigh of deep relief) I inevitably lay in bed and say to myself, "As soon as I can breathe again, I am taking up yoga just so I can make sure that I realize how happy I am for everyday that I can actual use my nostrils for their intended purpose instead of a storage area for reserve Kleenex." Or something like that.

Jesus ain't gettin' my money

Not that he doesn't deserve it. Jesus is a good guy. But, I have always had a huge problem with the whole tithing thing. It's why I stopped going to church. I just can't stomach it. Every church I went to ended up in the same pile of pleas for cash. Every so often someone gets up and says how we should tith and how much better their life was after they made a financial commitment to the Lord. Um, no.

See, it's this way - I don't think Jesus needs a roof. The man was a carpenter. If he needed a roof, he would have built one. Man had a mount. Mounts don't carry mortgages. Jesus never went to anyone and said, "Look dude. I have a marketing plan for this new concept and I'm gonna need a few bucks to get it up and going. Whadaya say?" At least, not that I know of. I am damn certain that none of the disciples were mortgage brokers that could get him a good rate if he, say put 10% down. I'd put money on that. So why does he need a roof now? And why does he church down the street need a movie theatre?

It's where logic starts taking over. Mind you, if you really want to know how insane my mind is, THIS is the crap that I think of when I can't sleep. Why do people build churches? It's to spread the word of the Lord, right? It's to teach the word of the Lord and to follow in HIs footsteps and act accordingly, right? Correct me if I'm missing something here. Now, I get that. I get the teachings. And, watch me bring it back to tithing, I understand giving back. I'm just not giving up the dough.

Actually I am, just not to a church. I will never so do. But, I will give as much money to my community as I possibly can. I wish I made more money so I could give more of it away. Sounds odd and kind of fake in an ass kissy kind of way but I am dead serious. I would write big ol' checks if I had more money. When I do my home budget each year, charitable giving is an actual line item. For now, I just write little checks. I give my time because I don't have the money.

I thought about it tonight as I got home at 9pm after four hours working for two different non-profits. This is normal for me. I put in at least 10 hours a week of volunteer time. All of it is spent, in some way, giving back to my community. How is that not the same, if not better, than tithing? Is that not following the path of the righteous? I think Jesus would be proud of me in the same way that I think God thinks it's okay that my idea of church on Sunday in hanging out in my kitchen listening to Mahalia Jackson.

Bright shiney new toy!

Have I ever mentioned that I have the technological savvy of a primate? Oh, it's true. When it comes to anything related to this here new fangled computer thang, I'm a friggin' idiot. And it's not just my computer. It took me three days to figure out why my Treo wasn't ringing. Um, yeah, it wasn't ON. Go ahead, laugh.

So I have this great new shiney toy! It's called Blog Rush! I have to be honest. I have no idea how it works, or what it does, or why. No idea! But it's pretty! I'm certain it is there to feed my addiction and to kill all boredom by helping me find really cool other blogs by snarky people. If you look to the left, which is this way <---------------, you'll see a widget. I like to say widget. It's fun. Just say it out loud right now. I'll wait. See? Fun.

I'm certain the idea of Blog Rush is to help people find other people who write the contents of our heads. Or maybe find people who actually write something of worth. Who knows? All I know is that I like it and it has charts and graphs! I don't know what they mean but they look nice.

So, go check it out here. Find interesting stuff. Report back. And, if you can tell me more about my shiney new toy, I'll send you a dollar. I promise.

And, no, before you ask, I've not been drinking. I am slap happy. It's been a loooooooong day. But I think I will have a beer now.

Simple Letter of Request

Dear Powers That Be,

Could you please makes sure that Chad Johnson catches three very long touchdown passes today? I would also like it if you could have Kellen Winslow perform in the same manner. I am currently behind 28 points in Fantasy Football and could really use a little help until Tony Romo plays tonight. This would cushion the blow given to me earlier when you decided to make Hines Ward invisible. That wasn't funny. This is football, not Harry Potter.

Could you extend the sale Origins is having today because I don't think that I'm going to be able to make it. I'd really like a super sample of whatever it is that they make that is supposed to make those fine lines and wrinkles as non-existent as Hines Ward's yardage. Sorry to slip that one in there but really...

Could you please send that Dave guy back this way? I know it's totally age 19 to ask that but I really do miss him. If he could magically show up at my house today, that would be good. If he could act overwhelmingly and genuinely sorry when you send him that would be even better. If he could come with a six pack of beer, as well, that would be truly fantastic and much appreciated.

Could you please place an Excel spreadsheet on my hard drive that lists all of the realtors in the area? If you highlighted ones that would actually buy the Junior League cookbook I'm currently pimping out to anyone who stand still for 14 seconds, I sure wouldn't mind.

Thank you in advance for your consideration of my requests. I don't think they're too much to ask. I'm a good person. I don't kick puppies. I swear.

Sincerely,

Vanessa

If it wasn't Friday...

I would end up taking a hostage today.

I'm heading up north to my parents' cabin this afternoon. I had to get my daughter all packed up and ready to go since her Papa is taking her up this morning and coming by my house before I leave for work to pick her up. This no easy feat. Think herding cats.

I, of course, have to get myself ready for work and pack myself up so I can leave from work. This includes doing a load of laundry at 6:15. Good times. I pull this off remarkably and think I'm in the home stretch. My dad shows up. Chat chat chat. I'm in the front yard and my kid is all buckled up in Papa's cool convertible, top down, big Dora the Explorer buckled in next to her. They're going to stop at the Rock Springs Cafe for breakfast. I want to be my kid so bad right now.

I go back inside and go to put the dog food outside as my ex-husband will be taking the dog for the weekend. It's then I realize... Where's my dog? Where the fuck is my dog? Into the car I go, driving around, windows down yelling "Chaaaaaaaarlie!" like an idiot. I find the dumbass three streets over all happy like, "Hey! What are you doing mom? Isn't it a lovely day?" Then he won't get in the car. I have to LIFT a 108 pound yellow lab into the car. I'm wearing a dark brown top. It's now fuzzy.

Get the dog in the house, get the bag loaded in the car. Off I go. It's 8:07. My dad calls. "Honey? I hate to do this. I'm losing my mind. I think I left the garage door open." This man has the worst case of swiss cheese brain I have ever seen. I tell him, "Yeah, that's okay, dad, I'm just at Scottsdale Road. I'll turn around." I get to the house. The damn door is closed. I knew it would be closed. I head to work again. It's 8:25.

I call the office to let them know I will be late and they let me know there is a man waiting for me. The guy who used to drive a catering truck in the community. He's been there since the office opened. And he's crying. What fresh hell is that? I get my assistant on the phone and she and I are trying to figure out the damn situation. I'd like to hide in my parents' closed garage at this point.

As I'm driving it occurs to me I never took off the ballet flats I randomly threw on to go get my kid in my dad's car. So I've got on the chocolate brown, fuzzy top on with black ballet flats. Pretty. It's then that I also realize that all the other shirts I packed for the weekend are light colored and I didn't pack a second bra. I only have the one I'm wearing, which is black. Good times.

All this before my first cup of coffee and I've not had breakfast...

It's not my fault! And I love cake!

Okay, a note about the picture of the biscuits and gravy... I don't own a digital camera. I rarely take pictures. I should get a digital camera as my child grows as though I breast fed her with Miracle Gro when she was a baby. Sidebar: could that actually happen if a breast feeding mother had an implant burst while breast feeding? I mean, silicone and Miracle Gro are the same thing, right?

That picture was taken with my phone. I thought it would be prettier and I had a comment on how ugly the picture was within 20 minutes of posting it. How could I then take it down? It would be as though I was ashamed of my biscuits. That almost sounds naughty. I can't treat my food that way! It's just sad that you didn't get to see how delightful my breakfast really was...

Speaking of pretty food... I came upon this website called Cream Puffs in Venice. I'll warn you. You'll want to lick your computer screen. I made the espresso walnut cake on Sunday. Yeah. M'kay. It was so easy and my house has never smelled so good. I actually caught a guy walking by my house smelling the air. People get embarrassed when you draw attention to such behavior, by the way.

I had some cake for dinner. What? I can do that if I want. Shut up. It was goooooooood. Very heavy. It weighed like 18 pounds. Hand to God. Okay, slight exaggeration. But, I took a little of my morning latte and put it in a saucer and plopped a piece of cake on there. Heh. Nice. I want to cook every single recipe off this woman's website. I will only stop when I reach 300 pounds.

I could share poignant observations

But not today. Today will be shameless.

Today, I got called "pretty hot" by a commenter on another blog I write. Of course, it was followed by a personal message letting me know that he is just playing and that he is happily married. I nearly broke something laughing.

Also, today, my friend Joey called me "a hot, sexy piece of ass." Granted, Joey is totally gay. I have a date with him and his boyfriend this weekend. I love when the gay men come rallying with their wagons.

What's the point? Girlfriend is taking all the compliments she can get from anyone she can get them from. I am NOT particular right now. If Miss Teen South Carolina told me I was brilliant at this point, she would be my new BFF. I do not care. I have NO shame. I have an all company breakfast tomorrow where I will get to see the President of my fan club, my best friend Shari. I think I may hand her a script detailing how wonderful and amazing I am and have her read it back to me. She would do that and not think anything of it. She would even do it in a funny accent. It's why I love her.

This little vacation from being impenetrable is kind of humbling. Worry not. I won't be staying here too long, but long enough. "I'm not saying I want to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely..."

This woman's work

Note to self: Search iTunes for Kate Bush. Anyway....

It's 8:20 and I've been working. I went to Ye Old Home Depot yesterday and got a bunch of flowers for the area below my snail vine. I planned ahead after last week when I had the choice of not planting or dragging my child to Home Depot at 7:30 and having her destroy the nursery department. It's been a very Pleasant Valley Sunday. As I planted, cappuccino 12 inches from me at all times, my kid rode her bike around, helped me and we chatted with neighbors. Then it occurs to me that I must look exactly like Britney in my cut offs, yellow tube top and hair all askew. Oh who cares, right?

I've moved on to breakfast. Biscuits with homemade sausage gravy. I have the laptop going. I have a good number of bring down the house gospel. Aretha singing The Lord's Prayer. John Cash singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. It's as close to church as I like to get. And let me share this tip with you: If you don't go download Beenie Man's Gospel Time right now, you'll regret it the rest of your life.

The house smells good. It has lead me to decide to benevolently share the sausage gravy recipe with you. Why? Because I love. And breakfast will taste and look pretty. See?

Grab a package of breakfast sausage. I like the Johnsonville patties because they crumble nice. Brown them up in your well seasoned cast iron skillet (not the porcelian ones, that's bad form.) If you don't have one of those, shame on you. Add that to your to do list. When it's browned pour the sausage into a bowl and set aside. Drain the fat so you can keep that aside too. Wipe out your skillet and put the biscuits in there and in the oven.

Take the sausage fat and a tablespoon and a half a tablespoon of butter (real butter, people, don't use margarine. I mean, it's one step from plastic). Heat that up and add two tablespoons of flour. You're kind of making a roux here. Mix this together stiring the whole time until it gets brown and yummy looking. Add the sausage and 2 cups of milk. I add a stupid amount of fresh cracked pepper and a pinch of thyme, tarragon, and sage. Just let that simmer until it gets good and thick and the bisucits are ready. Enjoy clogging your arteries!

Next up: Edith Piaf and housecleaning followed by football and baking. Don't you kinda wish you were here?