LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your love life is sparkling today — even if it feels old or dull. You just need to see things — or people — in a new way, and that’s your specialty. It’s a great time to be the object of your affections.
Laura’s Log:
It’s hard to stay on board when it feels like the ship is sinking. Okay, maybe it’s not sinking. But my brain says it’s sinking. Perception is reality. Really, I’ve got a sinking feeling that there is nothing substantial keeping my relationship with Gabriel afloat. One final nautical reference: How do I turn the tide after getting that idea in my head?
Did it really all start with “Star Trek”? I sent Gabriel home last night before sex. Crazy, perhaps. Why give up the best part? But I want to see if we’ve got something more than just sex.
It might help if I shared my thoughts with Gabriel. Maybe we could figure out together what other things bind us. But last time I shared a concern with Gabriel—his female roommate—he was ready to end things. It just proves that there isn’t enough established yet to ground our relationship. He can get second thoughts when I bring up the roommate; I start questioning things when he reveals his inner sci-fi geek.
For tonight, we’re going for dinner. Can’t believe I’ve never been to Raincity Grill. I’m hoping I can pin down some common interests without coming across as an interviewer. I don’t even know what to ask. Only know what not to ask: favorite color, favorite ice cream flavor, reason for having a female roommate.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
HAD A POWER OUTAGE IN MY BLDG SO I OVERSLEPT & MISSED THE OPP TO WALK MY NIECE & NEPHEWS TO SCHOOL AGAIN. MADE UP FOR IT BY “WALKING” THEM HOME. WHY IS IT THAT KIDS WALK TO SCHOOL BUT SKIP HOME? (NOT A REAL QUESTION, IS IT?)
I SHOWED UP @ SARA’S W/LUNCH FROM TERRA BAKERY. FIGURED SHE COULD USE A TREAT. SHE WAS TIGHT-LIPPED ABOUT THE WEEKEND & JERRY—A CLEAR SIGN NOTHING HAD BEEN DISCUSSED. I SWITCHED TO ASKING ABOUT THE APPTMENT W/THE SCH COUNSELOR. “SHE SAYS WE’VE GOT TO PULL TRAVIS AWAY FROM HIS FRIENDS. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT?” I NOTED SHE SAID I NOT WE. YEP, JERRY’S NOT IN ON IT.
“WHO ARE HIS FRIENDS?” I ASKED.
“THAT’S PROBLEM NUMBER 1. I DON’T EVEN KNOW THAT. HE SHARES NOTHING W/ME ANYMORE. AND WHAT DO I DO? BAN HIM FROM ALL SOCIAL INTERACTION? I JUST GOT THE BATHRM BACK AFTER HIS OBSESSIVE MASTURBATION PHASE.”
“OVERUSED BATHRM OR DRUG-ABUSED SON. ISN’T THE CHOICE OBVIOUS?”
“YEAH, I KNOW. BUT IT’S NOT LIKE IT’S AN ACTUAL CHOICE B/W THE 2.”
“WANT ME TO BUY HIM SOME PLAYBOYS? PENTHOUSE? SOMETHING RAUNCHIER?”
“I’LL LET YOU KNOW IF IT COMES TO THAT. THANKS.”
TRUTH IS, I DON’T KNOW ANY MORE THAN SHE DOES HOW TO GET TRAV BACK. CRACK, XTASY, WHATEVER ELSE @ 13?! SHOULD HE BE GROUNDED & GIVEN A WEEKLY WEED ALLOWANCE AS A COMPROMISE? PARENTING IS STRESSING ME OUT. AND I’M JUST THE UNCLE.
Showing posts with label Terra Breads. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Terra Breads. Show all posts
Monday, March 29, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
GRILLED & DRILLED
February 27, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to be ready to answer questions all day today, whether you are at work or at home. People look to you for guidance and that basic info they need to get by, and you don't disappoint!
Laura’s Log:
When you’re unemployed, you get to entertain thoughts about radical career switches. That said, I can unequivocally state I never want to be a marriage counselor. Mom showed up at my apartment at 8:15 this morning, demanding I buzz her in.
“How about we go for a walk and grab a coffee?” I suggested, as I quickly surveyed my apartment. It’s amazing how quickly I can go back to feeling thirteen again, that disappointing girl who wrote fan mail to Kirk Cameron (ick) and Jason Priestley (still mildly yummy) instead of cleaning her room.
“Just let me in. It’s pouring rain.”
I had to make a quick decision: listen to a ten-minute rant now about how my poor housekeeping skills were the reason for my path to spinsterhood or make Mom wait outside for five minutes and hear her spend the next month blaming me for a case of the sniffles. I let her in and immediately regretted the decision.
“My God! Have you been robbed?! They’ve completing ransacked the place?”
“It’s cleaning day, Mom. I just haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“I’ll never understand how you let it get in such a state. I’ll tell you what you should do while you’re unemployed. Get a job with Molly’s Maid Service. Teach you some skills.” Oh, my gawd. She was serious. And why is it that when she says unemployed it comes off as “one who is utterly irresponsible and lacking in direction”? Clearly, it was too early in the morning to have to face bigger mother-daughter issues.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
“Hmmph. I come to visit my daughter and I’m treated like I’m some sort of intrusion.”
I stared blankly, folding my arms. Cancel that guilt trip and demand a full refund.
“Oh, all right,” she said, realizing she’d have to be direct for a change. “Your father announced this morning that he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins.”
I waited for more, but that was it. I responded with what I thought was the obvious. “So?”
“So?! So?! I’ve only been baking homemade cranberry oatmeal muffins for your father every Saturday for the last eight years. Maybe ten. And now, all of a sudden, he not only tells me he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins but—You need to be sitting down for this, dear. I mean it. Sit down—he has NEVER liked my cranberry oatmeal muffins. Never! Can you imagine how hurtful that is? Do you realize that I have wasted the last four hundred, maybe five hundred Saturdays baking your father cranberry oat—?”
“So now you’re free. He likes cereal. Cheerios. No fruit on top. Just Cheerios. Why try to change that?”
“Don’t you see? We have a communication problem. Why did it take him eight, maybe ten, years to tell me he doesn’t like my cranberry oatmeal muffins? What else doesn’t he like? The new lube I made him try last week? The purse I picked up at the garage sale? Oh, my goodness. What if he doesn’t like my spaghetti sauce? What if—?”
Did my mother just mention lube?! Could I just pretend that had to do with an oil change? She was rattling on but I’d tuned her out. She'd already crossed the too-much-information barrier. I let her go on as I cleared the empty frozen yogurt container and wine bottle from the coffee table. (It had been a trying week, after all.) Mom followed me in the kitchen, grabbed a sponge and started wiping down things without missing a beat in her rant about Dad. In fact, fighting with the sauce stains on the stovetop wound her up even more.
By the time I’d sent Mom on her way, she felt better—well enough to say she was stopping by Terra Breads to pick up a green olive loaf “in spite of the fact your father hates olives”—and at least my kitchen had a shine to it. I took two Tylenol and collapsed on the sofa, trying to reassure Tupper with a tummy rub. Yes, the crazy lady has gone. It’s okay now. Everything’s going to be all right.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
LOGGED ON THIS MORNING TO FIND I HAD A NEW MESSAGE FROM “MKWLADY” ON THE PLENTY OF FISH WEBSITE. TOOK HER LONG ENUF BUT I SUPPOSE PEOPLE STILL PLAY GAMES ABOUT HOW SOON TO REPLY AND ALL. SHE SAID NOTHING ABOUT HERSELF. INSTEAD, SHE HAD PASTED A QUESTIONNAIRE WITH 43 ITEMS ON IT. QUESTIONS LIKE WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? AND TULIPS OR DAISIES?
I, IN TURN, HAD ONLY ONE QUESTION FOR HER: SERIOUSLY?!
METHINKS MKWLADY IS IN GRADE SIX & SIMPLY COPIED A PIC OF HER MOM OR HER TEACHER. I CAN JUST IMAGINE HER FRIENDS AND HER GATHERING AROUND THE COMPUTER AND HOOTING OVER HOW MANY DESPERATE MEN ACTUALLY RESPOND. I MAY BE DESPERATE, BUT I KNOW WHEN TO DELETE. SO CREEPY!
DECIDED I NEEDED TO GET OUT & WORK OFF THE HEEBIE JEEBIES. CALLED MY OLD SQUASH BUD, WILL, & BOOKED A COURT. GOT WHOOPED & REMEMBERED WHY I HADN’T PHONED WILL IN AGES. AS WE PLAYED, HE CLDN’T STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS. “HOW’D YOU PUT ON SO MUCH WEIGHT? IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO SLEEP ON YOUR STOMACH ANYMORE? HAVE YOU TRIED RICE CAKES? SOME OF THE FLAVORED ONES AREN’T THAT BAD. ARE YOU WATCHING “THE BIGGEST LOSER”? IT’S INSPIRING, YOU KNOW.”
HE WASN’T TRYING TO THROW ME OFF MY GAME. HE WASN’T TAUNTING ME. WILL JUST HAS NO TACT. THERE IS NO LINE W/WILL. HE’S THE ONE GUY I CAN BET WILL ALWAYS BE SINGLE. HE DENIES IT, BUT I BET HE’S STILL A VIRGIN.
MAYBE I SHLD SET HIM UP W/MKWLADY.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to be ready to answer questions all day today, whether you are at work or at home. People look to you for guidance and that basic info they need to get by, and you don't disappoint!
Laura’s Log:
When you’re unemployed, you get to entertain thoughts about radical career switches. That said, I can unequivocally state I never want to be a marriage counselor. Mom showed up at my apartment at 8:15 this morning, demanding I buzz her in.
“How about we go for a walk and grab a coffee?” I suggested, as I quickly surveyed my apartment. It’s amazing how quickly I can go back to feeling thirteen again, that disappointing girl who wrote fan mail to Kirk Cameron (ick) and Jason Priestley (still mildly yummy) instead of cleaning her room.
“Just let me in. It’s pouring rain.”
I had to make a quick decision: listen to a ten-minute rant now about how my poor housekeeping skills were the reason for my path to spinsterhood or make Mom wait outside for five minutes and hear her spend the next month blaming me for a case of the sniffles. I let her in and immediately regretted the decision.
“My God! Have you been robbed?! They’ve completing ransacked the place?”
“It’s cleaning day, Mom. I just haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“I’ll never understand how you let it get in such a state. I’ll tell you what you should do while you’re unemployed. Get a job with Molly’s Maid Service. Teach you some skills.” Oh, my gawd. She was serious. And why is it that when she says unemployed it comes off as “one who is utterly irresponsible and lacking in direction”? Clearly, it was too early in the morning to have to face bigger mother-daughter issues.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
“Hmmph. I come to visit my daughter and I’m treated like I’m some sort of intrusion.”
I stared blankly, folding my arms. Cancel that guilt trip and demand a full refund.
“Oh, all right,” she said, realizing she’d have to be direct for a change. “Your father announced this morning that he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins.”
I waited for more, but that was it. I responded with what I thought was the obvious. “So?”
“So?! So?! I’ve only been baking homemade cranberry oatmeal muffins for your father every Saturday for the last eight years. Maybe ten. And now, all of a sudden, he not only tells me he doesn’t like cranberry oatmeal muffins but—You need to be sitting down for this, dear. I mean it. Sit down—he has NEVER liked my cranberry oatmeal muffins. Never! Can you imagine how hurtful that is? Do you realize that I have wasted the last four hundred, maybe five hundred Saturdays baking your father cranberry oat—?”
“So now you’re free. He likes cereal. Cheerios. No fruit on top. Just Cheerios. Why try to change that?”
“Don’t you see? We have a communication problem. Why did it take him eight, maybe ten, years to tell me he doesn’t like my cranberry oatmeal muffins? What else doesn’t he like? The new lube I made him try last week? The purse I picked up at the garage sale? Oh, my goodness. What if he doesn’t like my spaghetti sauce? What if—?”
Did my mother just mention lube?! Could I just pretend that had to do with an oil change? She was rattling on but I’d tuned her out. She'd already crossed the too-much-information barrier. I let her go on as I cleared the empty frozen yogurt container and wine bottle from the coffee table. (It had been a trying week, after all.) Mom followed me in the kitchen, grabbed a sponge and started wiping down things without missing a beat in her rant about Dad. In fact, fighting with the sauce stains on the stovetop wound her up even more.
By the time I’d sent Mom on her way, she felt better—well enough to say she was stopping by Terra Breads to pick up a green olive loaf “in spite of the fact your father hates olives”—and at least my kitchen had a shine to it. I took two Tylenol and collapsed on the sofa, trying to reassure Tupper with a tummy rub. Yes, the crazy lady has gone. It’s okay now. Everything’s going to be all right.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
LOGGED ON THIS MORNING TO FIND I HAD A NEW MESSAGE FROM “MKWLADY” ON THE PLENTY OF FISH WEBSITE. TOOK HER LONG ENUF BUT I SUPPOSE PEOPLE STILL PLAY GAMES ABOUT HOW SOON TO REPLY AND ALL. SHE SAID NOTHING ABOUT HERSELF. INSTEAD, SHE HAD PASTED A QUESTIONNAIRE WITH 43 ITEMS ON IT. QUESTIONS LIKE WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR? AND TULIPS OR DAISIES?
I, IN TURN, HAD ONLY ONE QUESTION FOR HER: SERIOUSLY?!
METHINKS MKWLADY IS IN GRADE SIX & SIMPLY COPIED A PIC OF HER MOM OR HER TEACHER. I CAN JUST IMAGINE HER FRIENDS AND HER GATHERING AROUND THE COMPUTER AND HOOTING OVER HOW MANY DESPERATE MEN ACTUALLY RESPOND. I MAY BE DESPERATE, BUT I KNOW WHEN TO DELETE. SO CREEPY!
DECIDED I NEEDED TO GET OUT & WORK OFF THE HEEBIE JEEBIES. CALLED MY OLD SQUASH BUD, WILL, & BOOKED A COURT. GOT WHOOPED & REMEMBERED WHY I HADN’T PHONED WILL IN AGES. AS WE PLAYED, HE CLDN’T STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS. “HOW’D YOU PUT ON SO MUCH WEIGHT? IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO SLEEP ON YOUR STOMACH ANYMORE? HAVE YOU TRIED RICE CAKES? SOME OF THE FLAVORED ONES AREN’T THAT BAD. ARE YOU WATCHING “THE BIGGEST LOSER”? IT’S INSPIRING, YOU KNOW.”
HE WASN’T TRYING TO THROW ME OFF MY GAME. HE WASN’T TAUNTING ME. WILL JUST HAS NO TACT. THERE IS NO LINE W/WILL. HE’S THE ONE GUY I CAN BET WILL ALWAYS BE SINGLE. HE DENIES IT, BUT I BET HE’S STILL A VIRGIN.
MAYBE I SHLD SET HIM UP W/MKWLADY.
Friday, February 5, 2010
JENNY FROM THE BOG / THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARIBETH
February 5, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with a financial issue that feels like a speed bump -- but could actually become a major obstacle! Once you see the depth of it, you should know exactly what to do. It takes time, though.
Laura’s Log:
Good to be home. Catching up with Jenny was wonderful, but I missed my flushing toilet. And my own space. Why is it that I always feel like I’m suffocating after only one night sharing the same space? Maybe I’m more like Marella than I realize. We’ll be two spinsters who move into my parents’ house and all the neighborhood kids will say, in hushed tones, that we’re witches. Marella would love that. Buy a black cat for good measure.
Missed the torch relay in Roberts Creek. Mid-morning Jenny decided it would be fun to walk in the woods, collect leaves and weave natural placemats—a set for her and a set for me. “That way we’ll be connected even though a ferry stands between us.” (I’m assuming she meant ferry, not faerie, but with Jenny I really can’t be sure.) We gathered reeds while Tupper lifted his leg with wild abandon, christening trees, logs, rocks and once, in a moment of delirium, my leg. (Fortunately, he was all peed out by then, doing the lifts just for show.) After forty-five minutes, we headed home and Jenny said, “We really should let them dry out overnight. How about staying longer?”
Awkward.
And so we wove reeds that weren’t ready to weave. I cut my fingers twice. (Paper cuts are nothing!) “Oh, that’s good for you,” Jenny informed. “Very medicinal.”
After three hours, Jenny had four placemats and I had something that looked like a warped coaster. “You can take mine with you. I can always make more.” All I could think was that Jenny would never be able to visit my apartment again because the first thing she’d ask would be, “Where are those placemats I wove?” and our friendship would die when I told her I turfed them at the ferry terminal. No way was I going to bring home a set of nests harboring aphids and invisible insects.
Of course, with no clocks in the cottage, it wasn’t until I peeked at my cell phone that we realized the Roberts Creek festivities were done. Frankly, my entire Sunshine Coast celebration felt done and I just wanted to catch the ferry, but Jenny rushed us into her VW Bug and we glimpsed the torch in Gibsons. Have to admit I got caught up in the moment. Got closer to the flame than I imagined possible and tried to snap a decent photo, but I mostly got a lot of shots of people’s arms raising their digital cameras over their heads. It’s a safe bet that my new career will not involve photography.
Shouldn’t really indulge myself with a latté this morning, but I need a little pampering after my visit with Jenny from the Bog. Must face reality today and check my bank balance. Have a feeling I have to make the (temporary?) switch from Terra Breads to Wonder bread and from Starbucks to, gasp, Folgers.
Maybe I could’ve sold those damn placemats.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
LESSON: A PHOTO CAN BE SO DECEIVING. THAT PICTURE OF MARIBETH SHE POSTED ONLINE THAT I SAID MADE HER LOOK 28, NOT 40? WELL, IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN TAKEN, OH, 20 YRS AGO. TURNS OUT SHE RUNS A TANNING BED BUSINESS. LET’S JUST SAY SHE SHOULDN’T BE IN ANY OF THE ADVERTISING. WASN’T THERE A FREAKISHLY TANNED OLDER LADY IN “THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY”? I KEPT WANTING TO ASK, “WAS THAT YOU?” RIGHT NOW I AM SO TURNED OFF OF LEATHER. MAY HAVE TO DONATE MY SOFA TO GOODWILL.
TO BE HONEST, I DON’T THINK SHE WAS ANY MORE IMPRESSED W/ME. I WAS BUMMED BY THE CANUCKS LOSING TO THE SENATORS—AND BY THE FACT I LOST $500 ON A BET W/MY COUSIN BLAKE IN OTTAWA—AND I THOUGHT SHE COULD COMMISERATE AS A FAN. NO. SHE KEPT GOING ON ABOUT SOME DEAD ACTRESS NAMED BRITTANY SOMEBODY. NOT SPEARS, I LEARNED AS SHE LAUGHED IN MY FACE. SO I’M NOT THAT UP ON ENTERTAINMENT NEWS?! ONLY EVER WATCHED “ET” TO CHECK OUT MARY HART’S LEGS AND NOW THAT SHE’S, WHAT,…70?, IT’S A LITTLE CREEPY TO STILL SNEAK A PEEK.
SAFE TO SAY THERE WASN’T A LOVE CONNECTION B/W US. IT’S ONLY THE 1ST ONLINE ATTEMPT. LIKE THE SITE SAYS, THERE’S PLENTY OF FISH, RIGHT?
WHAT IS THEY’RE ALL CATFISH?
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