The True and Outstanding Adventues of the Hunt Sisters

This weekend I finished rereading The True and Outstanding Adventues of the Hunt Sisters by Elisabeth Robinson.  I had read this awhile ago and when I pulled it off my bookshelf I didn’t remember too much of the story.  It was an amazing treat to read again. This story follows Olivia Hunt, a Hollywood film producer in the midst of life turmoil, and her sister Maggie who is diagnosed with cancer.  Robinson has the ability to make you laugh and cry, which is a remarkable talent, and the story is filled with both loss and hope.  It’s not kid’s lit., but it’s a great read for adults.

Waiting in line is the true test of a person’s personality

This Friday Ian and I headed down to the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica for some food and window shopping.  At some point we needed to use the restroom and happened to be in front of a Starbucks.  We went in and discovered that the Starbucks bureaucracy required you to buy something to get access to the door code to open the restroom door.  Considering we were a little thirsty and the nearest free restroom was a few blocks away, we decided to purchase a beverage.  We got in line behind the two slowest customers in the world – one told the barista her life story and then asked about his and the other customer carefully studied each of the sixteen different tea flavors before selecting one.  This was annoying since we still had to use the restroom, but manageable.  At last we were able to purchase our drink and get the door code.  And then…the bathroom was out of toilet paper.  Argh.

We then went back to the sales line to ask the cashier for some toilet paper. We followed the cashier to the bathroom and a very large, very obnoxious lady cut us off and slipped in the door.  This royally bugged me, because she would not have been able to actually use the facilities if not for Ian and me securing the crucial t.p.  Then she proceeded to take then minutes in there.  Ten!  I don’t care what you need to do in there, but in a public restroom you need to be in and out, especially when there is a line forming.  Obviously this was very frustrating, as Ian and I still needed to go.

As we waited, a very large, very obnoxious man came and planted himself by the restroom door.  “Someone’s in there,” Ian said, as a way of claiming our spot in line.

“I know, she’s my wife” he said, with full-on jerk scowl.  Another man came and stood behind Ian and I and asked us, “Is someone in there?”  Very large, very obnoxious man (VLVOM) turned and said snidely, “Yes.  She’ll be coming right out.”

Oh, I didn’t know that he was her personal mind reader and could predict his wife’s every movement.  I was unimpressed.  After five minutes (which is a long time of waiting when you really, really have to go), the man behind us started shuffling his feet.  He stomped and stamped and bent his knees and started breathing heavy.  His dance resembled that of a two year old, and he obviously needed to go very badly.  “Um, are you sure someone is in there?” he asked.

VLVOM turned around again and said, “Yes.  She’s coming out right now.”  Once again, he said it very condescendingly.  Five minutes later the door cracked and the woman came out.  And then VLVOM cut us off and went into the restroom!  Holy cow was I steamed.  The old guy behind us was pacing now, bouncing up and down and looking pale.

“You can go ahead of us,” Ian said.

“Really?”  He looked like we had just told him he won the lottery.

“Sure.”

“Okay, great.  I promise I’ll be quick.  I won’t even wash my hands.”

I am a giant germaphobe, so I started panicking.  “Oh no, that’s okay.  Wash your hands.”

“Nah,” he said.  “It’s not like I’m touching anything but myself.”

Ick.  Way too much information.  I suppressed a frown, Ian suppressed a laugh.  VLVOM exited the restroom with a grunt.  Nervous, jumpy man entered.

Ian and I waited.  Eventually the jumpy man walked out, wiping his hands on his pants (shudder) and we were able to use the restroom.  All’s well that end’s well, but I now have a new personality test for people – how you react when waiting in line is the new gauge of a person’s character.

Happy Friday

I like days when you can drive with the windows down and the sun warming your face.  Days when you feel like time is endless because tomorrow is the weekend and you can sleep in.  I hope you have days like these too.

Resource Thursdays

I’ll admit to being a total-blog stalker at times.  After all, what’s a better way to enjoy your morning cereal than over the freshest, tastiest new reading material?  I’ve decided to update my blogroll on a regular basis and give you a little spotlight on some different websites.  The sites I visit range from author pages to agent blogs and all of them are filled with fun and information.  Check back next Thursday for the first weekly Resource Thursday spotlight.

Fashion risks not to take

Say it with me now: “I will not abuse the sensibilities of unwilling viewers by wearing a blue-gray wildebeast cape sack with faux-suede knee-high pochahantas boots and a pink minidress over a crochet grandma sweater.  I will not wear this even though my cape sack has such pretty faux rhinestones and is way sparkly underneath the matted fur, and even though my boots totally lace up the front.  I understand this outfit may be both unsettling and potentially scarring.”

Just remember, sometimes when you think people are staring at you, they are.

Spring Break Reading List Suggestions?

When I was talking to my accountant the other day he reminded me that the California state sales tax is going up by another few points this coming April.  It’s going to be nearly 10%!  Holy cow – that totally puts a damper on buying things.  I’ve decided that in honor of the end of the quarter, I’ll put some of my tax refund into some new spring break reading books, and I’ll buy them before this darn new tax hits.

So, dear readers, let me know if you’ve read anything good lately.  Leave some suggestions in the comments and I’ll get back to you with my reviews.  Thank you!

Daylight Savings: A Poem

Yesterday I went to have my taxes done (joy of joys) and though Ian, the receptionist, and I were there on time, my accountant was an hour late, thanks to the time change.  So in honor of daylight savings, a poem:

You are on tequila

and I am on love.

I watch the pinstripes of your sheets

crumple and twist

as we lay

with a relentless sun

pushing through the cracks

of the blinds

to join us.

An extra hour

and I am trying to listen to you breathe,

but the stupid clock

that I bought you

is ticking just loudly enough

to remind me

that I am on borrowed time.

Questionable antics

Last night I came home and my upstairs neighbor had his garbage disposal going from four thirty pm to about nine at night.  I’m not sure what he was grinding up there, but it couldn’t be good.

Printer repair man, March 4th

My office is big and empty at lunch time, and it’s just me and the printer repair man.  He stands across the room, tall with a kind, unworn face.  “So they left you all alone?” he says.

“Yep.”  I answer.  “But everyone’s sick anyway, so I’d rather not be with them.”  Also, they are loud, and I’d rather have a moment of silence.

He ducks his head.  “Yeah.  It’s like, ‘go on, get out.’”

“Exactly.”

He fiddles with something technical looking, the printer’s plastic entrails spooled across the table.  “You know, I heard this whole thing about herbs being able to fix the common cold.  Some guy’s on the radio trying to sell his natural herbs.”  He cocks his head to the side.  “You know it really makes sense.  I mean, people are made of herbs and stuff.  Well, not herbs.  But, you know.  We’re natural.  So it makes sense that it’s not the chemicals that are going to make us better.”

“I agree,” I say.

“But you know what it is?  It’s the pharmaceutical companies.  They’re trying to make money, so they don’t want us to know if there’s something as simple as herbs that will make us better.”

“That’s true,” I say.  “I heard that they found a cure for cancer, or close to it.  But it was so easy that they couldn’t make a profit, so no one knows about it.”  I don’t actually know if this is true.  But I did hear it.

“Yeah.  That’s why I don’t trust them. Like, if my grandmother is sick she’ll go to the doctors and come back with a prescription.  Only they never take her off it.  It’s just for the head.  So you feel okay mentally.  But it doesn’t do anything but make them money.  I trust the animals.  You know, in the tsunami, or whatever…”

“The animals knew before the people did.”

“Exactly.  And I mean, you go out on a perfectly clear day to a field of cows.  Sunny day around twelve o’clock.  And then, even if it’s not going to rain for two hours, they are already heading for a grove of trees for cover.”  He has taken something apart, lifted a whole panel of the printer.  He uses a yellow rag to wipe grease from the surfaces, and he does this expertly but he never takes his eyes off me.  “That’s why I like dogs too.  Because if a dog is sick, it eats grass.  Back to the herbs.”

“Yep.  And think about how little dogs are sick.  Not much.  It’s because they’re not eating all those chemicals.  That’s why I try to eat things in as close to their natural state as I can.”

“Me too,” he says.  “Growing up, my grandmother had a whole garden, and we’d eat from it.  We’d have green beans and black-eyed peas.  She’d steam the beans and them can them.  And it was just like what you get in the grocery store, only without all the chemicals.  She – my grandparents – raised five of us, and I can tell you, between the kids and the garden it’s a lot of work.  Like, I don’t know if you and your husband – if you’re married, do that.”  Somehow, when it comes to men, they seem to like to find out your marital status real quick.  It always comes to that, but I don’t feel like this guy cares either way.

“Yes.  My husband and I are trying to grow some foods we can eat.  We’ve got tomatoes and peppers and basil.  I even have a little lemon tree.  It’s just a little container garden. We’ll see if it grows though.”

“Yeah.  I wish I had space to grow something.  Even a little thing.  But I don’t right now.”

“Mmm.”

My coworker comes in then, to work on a project we’ve planned.  He sits next to me, and then the printer repair man comes to fiddle with the printer that’s even closer to me.

“Do you know,” he asks, as my coworker lays out our data, “my grandmother’s garden was huge.  As big as your whole shop area.  And we’d have six rows of corn as long as your parking lot.”  The parking lot at my work is actually a city street.  It’s very long.

“That’s awesome,” I say and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says, and looks really wistful.  “Yeah.”

My coworker starts talking then, so I turn back to my work.  I like that people like to talk to me.  I would rather talk than do headachy projects.  Later, as he leaves, the repair man interrupts again to say, “Goodbye dear.”

And then, quietly, regretfully, he’s gone.

If at first you don’t succeed

I was out and about at Fry’s this weekend, buying a new laptop case for my fancy new writing machine, when a woman standing behind me in line decided to comment on my t-shirt.  My t-shirt, from when I worked at a summer camp, bore the classy piece of advice, “If at first you don’t succeed…cheat.”  It was an inside joke from a staff orientation exercise – nothing I personally believe in.  I normally only wear this shirt to bed.

“Oh, well isn’t that interesting,” the old woman said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“I certainly hope you don’t believe that.”

“No,” I said.  “This is from when I worked at a summer camp.”

“Oh,” she said, in an offended tone.  “I hope you didn’t wear that around the children.”

“No,” I said, getting rather annoyed.  “It was just for the counselors.”

“Good, because that’s not the message you should be sending.”

“Certainly not,” I said, and walked away.

It is absolutely amazing how much meaning our clothing carries, whether or not it has words.  Though I don’t personally agree with the message on the shirt, my wearing it made the woman automatically associate the deviance with my person.  Argh.

What I thought was funny, though, is that the counselors didn’t wear their shirts around the campers, but they did something more even questionable.  Each section of campers was taught a call and response song, which was supposed to help get their attention and quiet them down.  Our call and response? “If at first you don’t succeed,” the counselors cried.

And the campers responded, “Cheat!”

I’m not sure which genius supervisor approved that one.