5:30 on a Stormy Sunday Morning

This is my favorite time of the day. Everyone is asleep, and the house is quiet. I’ve cleaned the kitchen and I’m waiting for the first drops of caffeine to issue from Mr. Coffee. Last nights pizza has dehydrated me, so I’m on my third glass of water. I’m sitting at the kitchen table surveying all the baby crap the family has purchased in the last 72 hours; my vision blurs… As I sit entranced in a thousand-yard stare, the teddy bear speaks using Denis Leary’s voice…

Teddy Bear: “Hey.”
eSquared: “Huh, who said that?”
TB: “Me silly, the bear… I’m not coming any closer.”
E2: “Aaahhh… A TALKING BEAR!”
TB: “Calm down, this is your imagination. You know, you’ll have to reach to touch me sooner or later… I’m not coming any closer.”
E2: “What are you talking about? I don’t want you any closer… I need coffee.”
TB: “I’m soft, and cute…. I also play a little tune.”
E2: “So…”
TB: “Go ahead, touch me.”
E2: “Is this really happening? Why do you want me to touch you so badly?”
TB: “I’m figurative… symbolic. I don’t need you to touch me, you need to reach out and embrace me.”
E2: “Why?”
TB: “I’m your life now, that’s why. Stuffed animals, little pink clothes, teletubbies, puke on your shoulder…
E2: “STOP.” “You’re freakin me out.”
TB: “Too bad. Get used to it…this is your life. You don’t have to hug me now, but you will eventually.”
E2: [heavy sigh] “Yeah, I know. How about when we get home? I’ll spend a little time with you. I think it’ll be a little weird here at grandma’s house.
TB: Whatever.

A Crafty Crow

The clothes washer and dryer happen to be in our part of the house. As a student, and then as a post-student (read unemployed) I was home frequently and didn’t have a set schedule. We have had an agreement with OC that she won’t enter our living space without our permission. Well… this is an agreement only in the fact she acknowledges it, and then completely ignores it when we’re not home.

In the first year we lived there, we thought it was a nuisance, but something we would overlook. In the second year, I would confront her regularly (in the spirit of direct communication) and she would nod eagerly, apologize and then completely disregard everything I said. The third year I have threatened. I have printed articles off the tenants’ rights website, and even threatened to charge her $100 for each violation.

Up until I got this job, she would ask me weekly what my schedule was and if she could ‘run a load of rugs.” She was visible elated when I told her I got a job and would be gone all day. Not because I got a job, not because she’s happy for me and my family… because I’ll be out of the house.

Immediately, things started to change… chairs would be moved, rugs would be moved. Even the garbage would be emptied. Just to mess with her, I would move things back. I’d leave little traps for her. I’d prey on her OCD and leave stuff I knew she couldn’t resist. Once, OC left a message on our phone asking us not to put clothes on the backs of her chairs because it wears varnish off. Can you believe that?!?

It’s like she thinks we don’t notice. I think that’s what pisses me off the most. So on Wednesday, I couldn’t bear it any more… I called her and asked if she had some time, I went up there and mustered all the tact and diplomacy I could. Once again, she nodded and agreed with me.

Here’s the weird part of the conversation. She asked me if Mrs. eSquared was pregnant. We specifically hid all the books, pamphlets and baby paraphernalia to keep it from her. The old crow snooped her boney ass through our house and found our stuff!

She also told me that Magpie was moving. She is looking for someone to replace her (as if she can be replaced) but only someone who will be gone all day because she wants the house all to herself. Maybe she can find someone to pay her for not living there.

The Same ol Stuff

It's Thanksgiving week... again!

This is the time of year that I always can’t believe is here. I never catch myself saying, "WOW! Groundhog Day again!" Even birthdays don’t seem to phase me. This concept was beyond me as a kid. Why would someone not care about their birthday? People give you stuff... I get anything I want for dinner (which was usually macaroni & cheese) and all the sugar a hyper kid can eat, or the parents can tolerate.
Only the holidays freak me out. Then I write the wrong date on everything for three months… and I’m good. Until another Halloween.

Commercialism: Macaroni and Cheese or Macaroni & Cheese.

Mrs. E2 and I are packing the cat in the car and heading south for the weekend for some time with the Fam. Wylie is generally good with the trip… he gets good drugs. In ways, I envy him.

Here’s a question for you. Take a moment and post an answer, one word will do.
If you could be an artist of some sort, (writer, musician, painter, etc.) and you knew you would be successful (whatever that means to you) what type of artist would you be?

Extra credit question: What would that scenario look like?

I’ll post my answer tomorrow, or the next day.

Six-Word Story Sunday

A while ago – I don’t remember exactly how long, I stumbled across a blogger that discussed six-word stories. One of the stories he mentioned has stayed with me. It has finally worn me down with its persistent nagging about wanting other little stories to play with, and to be set free from the confines between my ears.

As I write this I am struck by the ominous irony that Hemmingway’s six-word story has… for me… at this time. It’s all clear now. Hemmingway asserted that this was his best work. I don’t know if it is or not… all I know is: I can’t get it out of my mind.

I started this post with the intention of coming up with a few of my own… to keep this one company (as I mentioned a few lines ago). Now… I don’t want to detract from this moment. I will do many more six-word-story Sundays… just not today.

“For sale: baby shoes, never used.”

It may be late...

... but it's news to me

• School bus driver fired for obscene gesture to Bush wants job back

Go Seattle!

• Plastic trash vortex menaces Pacific sealife: study

Talk among yourselves

Magpie...

It was brought to my attention that I never really explained Magpie. And so without further adieu, Magpie bullets.

• She lives here during the week
• She has a house in Bellingham, but works here
• Old crow owns this house. She lives upstairs we rent out the downstairs.
• One of those houses that have a half-staircase going up, and half-staircase gong down from the front door.
• Magpie lives up there with Old Crow, she rents a room.
• Magpie is a hard, loud woman
• I saw her in Fred Meyer the other day... we completely ignored each other.
• Both OC and Magpie are long divorced, and their distain for things male (or just me) is evident.
• Magpie has a habit of heel-toe stomping about the house that drives me to distraction.
• It sounds like she is goose-stepping… with jackboots on
• Perhaps it's because old crow is deaf as a doorknob, but Magpie does not possess an 'indoor' voice.
• Every syllable shoots from her mouth like she is cheering at a football game
• I’m sure she is the nicest lady… just not to me.
• It is funny (for a short while) to listen to them watch something funny on TV
• OC: hee hee hee hee
• Magpie: HAA HAA HAA HAA

Added Features!!

Because I am sensitive to the needs of my readers - who are leading increasingly frenetic lives; I am changing the format of this blog.

I am doing away with the connective and transitioning elements of writing. Also, I am limiting my use of articles. In short, I am striving to write clear, concise points of information that you - dear reader, may glean the substance of my thoughts without unnecessary words and the time wasted reading (and writing) them.

For the immediate future, I shall write (and you shall read)...

Bulletpoints.