My Social Life and Veronica Mars

I'm taking the GREs on Saturday, and I have just discovered the TV show Veronica Mars.

These may be the two worst events to happen in the same month EVER, where "worst" is defined as, "you have now stayed up until 4:30 am watching Veronica Mars TWICE in the last two weeks, are in fact getting sick due to your wonky sleep schedule, haven't studied anywhere near enough, and are, in general, acting like you're back in school again already, when in fact this tendency is just more proof you should NOT be GOING back to school, you piss-poor excuse for an adult, you."

It's a long definition, but the Devil's Dictionary is like that. Long entries. (And they're in really tiny print in faded gray ink in an unnecessary ornate font.)

Um.

Fortunately my social life has apparently disappeared this week. No one has called, or is calling, which is sort of a blow to the self-esteem, but damn near perfect for my studying.

The problem is, instead of hanging out with people, am I studying?

Why would I do that?

It's a Miracle My Dog is Still Breathing

My jewel box of an apartment is many things--beautiful, perfectly situated, priced right. What it is NOT: large. Or possessing garden space.

This summer, though, as it's the best summer Seattle has had in three decades (NOT an exaggeration, for once) finally propelled me to seek out garden space where I could find it and attempt to grow something. And so I found a sunny spot by a garage wall, bought soil, and planted seeds. Everyone else in my family appears to be able to grow things; my dad has his dahlias, my grandmother has blueberries, apples, and pears, and my mother is really gifted with plants, coaxing tomatoes from nothing.

Apparently I don't have the gene. Results have been mixed: my arugula (so I can offer the Prez his favorite salad green if he comes over) is growing like crazy, and I have one--ONE--nasturtium bravely making an appearance, but everything else was apparently DOA. I pointed this out to my mother on a recent visit to my apartment.

"Hmmm," she said, peering over my little plot. "How often did you water in the geminating stages?"

"Uh...once a week?"

She stared at me. "Daughter! You have to water them EVERY DAY!"

Me: "WHAT? How is that possible? I only have to oil my bike chain once every other fill-up!"

Mom burst out laughing. "I think you chose wisely when you stuck with engineering," she said, still chuckling.

No wonder people left farming behind as soon as they could. That's just ridiculous. At least Titan can tell me when he's hungry. I strongly believe that plants should just...grow. Apparently they don't agree.

Realization Of The Day

When both your mother and your GRANDMOTHER approve of your underwear choices, you are doing something drastically wrong.

Excuse me while I throw everything out and restock. Thank you.

A Single Girl Calls an Old Friend, Now Much Married With Two Kids

Ring. Ring, ring, ring. Answering machine.

"Hi L, it's Aarwenn! I just wanted to call and say hi."

Stuck.

"Um, so! I've been following you on Facebook, like everyone else, and it seems like everything is going well. Life here is about the same. Work continues fine and boys flow in and out like normal."

I realize how ridiculous this sounds, not that it's untrue but that it's so far removed from what her life must be like. Back in the day she used to TRAIN me on how to structure one's life so that boys could flow in and out, and now she's married. We used to be attached at the hip. She was the reason my entire sophomore year was a blur. She was a controversial figure in the sorority, a tiny bouncy ball of energy propelled by curly hair and a huge appetite for life that I've never met in anyone before or since.

How do you TALK to someone who flew out from the West for your 21st birthday whom you haven't seen for two years?

Oh yes! Kids!

"I hope..."

Brief moment of terrifying panic that I will get their names wrong. More proof of what a terrible person I am, as I am actually an adopted aunt for Big Sister, and of course there's no way I can get these names wrong--I know them. I KNOW them. But I'm terrified I'm going to suddenly blurt out the wrong name at the moment of truth.

...Big Sister and Little Brother are well!" Whew.

Stuck.

"Um, oh yes, and Husband!"

Oh dear, Husband. The man who fathered the kids who have created this vast chasm between her and me, not that it's anything he shouldn't have done but I can't help blaming him anyway. Otherwise I'd have to blame her, and my emotional connection to her is way too strong to direct any negative emotion towards her. Anything I feel towards her, I feel towards myself. I can't judge, because that'd be judging me, and I can't shun. And I can't blame. So Husband gets the lion's share. Which he fully deserves.

The problem is a friendship can't always be conducted at that emotional level. A friendship forged in the crucible of an evolving sorority and falling grades and a discovery of drinking games and the bone-deep chill of a Pittsburgh winter and a bleak sun rising on yet another sleepless night looks a little odd in the calm midday sunshine of a steady job and a marriage. She can always call on me, and has, in times of great trouble. And in return, I call her occasionally, leaving bright chirpy messages on her answering machine.

"So, guess I'll talk to you later! Bye!"

Things I Like

Which has this song in it: http://www.last.fm/music/Squeak+E.+Clean/Remixes/Lollipop-o+(Squeak+E.+Clean+and+Desert+Eagels+remix)

A more traditional version of which is covered here:



Which led to this girl's gorgeous rendition of Hallelujah:



Hooray, weekend.

Moving On With Life

The five-year plan for my life is coming to an end in January.

In January, I will have worked here at The Office for five years. I've had several different jobs. I am making the kind of money that I planned on. And I have paid off my car. (Because it got totaled, but I didn't specify HOW I wanted to pay off my car.) And thanks to my five years of work, my pension--yes, The Office still has pensions--will be set.

What next?

Well, I'm applying to grad school. And riding the motorcycle a lot, and traveling a lot (not yet at the same time) and completely avoiding writing my novel, although that's obviously what I SHOULD be doing. It's an interesting time.

I Can't Write To Save My Life

So I'll just write a List Of Happenings.

ON the plus side, I have finally waited at work long enough that the wind has died down and I'll be happier riding home.

My life, in handy bulleted format, definitely not safe for delicates:

• Sunday morning I stepped in dog doo twice before 10:30 am.
• This is only deserved for waking up early enough to be out the door at 10:30 am. Only idiots do that on a regular basis.
• I just read some of Tucker Max's updates from his movie premiere tour. No, but no one, should ever do that.
• Now that you've done that, you'll need to douse your brain in bleach; I recommend taking it straight up the nose. I'll wait.
• My car got broken into.
• My car broke down.
• Midas charged me 63 dollars for some hand-holding.
• My mother gave me an iPod to replace the one that got stolen from my car.
• My car runs okay now.
• But I have basically stopped running.
• I have rearranged my apartment three times.
• In two weeks.
• On Friday, I made a sofa.
• I can't decide if staying at home and making things is more or less lame than parking next to the swingers boat at Seafair.
• That was weird.
• Both ends of the spectrum are weird.
  
• I went shooting two weeks ago.
  
• On Sunday, I made a jewelry chest.
• I went go-kart racing last week.
• I made arugula pesto with my homegrown arugula.
• I made basil pesto with my neighbor's homegrown basil.
• I spray-painted things.
• Poorly.
• I'm on a budget and it's made me weird.

THE END.