Carving Out Pumpkins
There is a place called the pumpkin diner. Here the pumpkins go and sit at the counter or in booths and order oven-roasted pumpkin or pumpkin pie, or pumpkin ice cream topped with pumpkin seeds.
They can't eat it but most enjoy it nevertheless. There are a few saddened that their friends and neighbors have been made into such delicious treats but they come to the diner anyway. They believe that this is the compensation for life.
There are other options, such as staying home, but many cannot fathom this and insist on dining at the pumpkin diner. The ones who do stay home are ostracized, called disloyal and traitorous, unpumpkinlike. There have been known smashings, but no one claims the guilt or heroism.
When it's time to leave, the pumpkins on the stools roll off and inevitably chip pieces of themselves on the hard floor. Some have managed to break into smithereens and gush soggy pulp, the tiny seeds clinging in terror to the strands holding them together, inches from the green linoleum, where the hulls lay, lifeless. All the other pumpkins turn away.
When all the pumpkins have left and are heading for home, the broken rinds and flesh and pulp are cleaned up and mixed with cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg and eggs and milk. Turning these casualties into something all-American, something appetizing, something sweet.
-Me.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Like Sands Through The Hourglass...
Living at our new place for almost a year now and we have neighbors, though not as exciting as "the whore and her sister" and "the cougar who lives below us" from our previous abode. Here we have "the douche bag" or "DB" for short, the old lady and her son, and the lonely, old woman who pushes her dog in a pink baby carriage.
DB is a man who has a hairy chest, (and we know because he likes to wear open shirts) a lovely fake tan, receding hairline and just tries to emanate a "cool" persona but fails and only succeeds to exude "douche bag".
The lady and her son live across the hall and he is maybe 50, has down syndrome, and runs away from me whenever he sees me. She is a sweet, southerner who often parks her car crookedly.
The pink-carriaged dog lady lives below us. She once tapped on the ceiling at midnight when we were banging on the bed. We were literally banging on the bed because we just bought it from IKEA and had to assemble it with hammers and nails. Rich and she never got along well after that. Although, she's very pleasant to me. Her dog likes to jump on my leg whenever it's not secure in it's carriage.
More newcomers, haven't really met them all and saving my opinions and vignettes for another day.
Me.
Living at our new place for almost a year now and we have neighbors, though not as exciting as "the whore and her sister" and "the cougar who lives below us" from our previous abode. Here we have "the douche bag" or "DB" for short, the old lady and her son, and the lonely, old woman who pushes her dog in a pink baby carriage.
DB is a man who has a hairy chest, (and we know because he likes to wear open shirts) a lovely fake tan, receding hairline and just tries to emanate a "cool" persona but fails and only succeeds to exude "douche bag".
The lady and her son live across the hall and he is maybe 50, has down syndrome, and runs away from me whenever he sees me. She is a sweet, southerner who often parks her car crookedly.
The pink-carriaged dog lady lives below us. She once tapped on the ceiling at midnight when we were banging on the bed. We were literally banging on the bed because we just bought it from IKEA and had to assemble it with hammers and nails. Rich and she never got along well after that. Although, she's very pleasant to me. Her dog likes to jump on my leg whenever it's not secure in it's carriage.
More newcomers, haven't really met them all and saving my opinions and vignettes for another day.
Me.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Kink-os
We have a wireless printer that is sitting up in my little "office" area. For a long time I thought that it only printed on random occassions, whenever it felt good enough to print. I found out, after careful study, that it prints only in months that are numerically divisible by two, contain no "u" in their names and have more than 30 days. Also, it will only print the amount of sheets to correspond to the day and date. For example, it is Wednesday the 10th, which is then converted to:
Wednesday = 4 (counting aloud from week's beginning, Sunday being "1")
Second week of the month = 2 (which becomes the exponent, also known as "to the power of")
10th day of the month of September which is 9 = 10 *9
The formula is then seen as:
10 x 9 / 4*2
Written as: 90/16
And quite literally it will print up only 5.625 pages, no matter that you only wanted 2 pages or that you have 8 pages.
Of course, this would never work out because it is September which does not fit two of the three conditions, aforementioned.
To Staples!
Me.
We have a wireless printer that is sitting up in my little "office" area. For a long time I thought that it only printed on random occassions, whenever it felt good enough to print. I found out, after careful study, that it prints only in months that are numerically divisible by two, contain no "u" in their names and have more than 30 days. Also, it will only print the amount of sheets to correspond to the day and date. For example, it is Wednesday the 10th, which is then converted to:
Wednesday = 4 (counting aloud from week's beginning, Sunday being "1")
Second week of the month = 2 (which becomes the exponent, also known as "to the power of")
10th day of the month of September which is 9 = 10 *9
The formula is then seen as:
10 x 9 / 4*2
Written as: 90/16
And quite literally it will print up only 5.625 pages, no matter that you only wanted 2 pages or that you have 8 pages.
Of course, this would never work out because it is September which does not fit two of the three conditions, aforementioned.
To Staples!
Me.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
We've come closest to a hurricane yet. Tropical storm Fay has hurled insults at our windows and thrashed against our walls. We endured days of howling winds and slashing rains. At dusk she would repent and let us see a glimmer of leaky sun, a poached egg on grey toast.
There is a black and white cat that lives around our building. It's tail is half lopped off. For weeks I brought water and food, tempting it to scurry warily from beneath the shade of a car. Then I began to notice that there were other bowls placed by tires, beneath the scraggly trees, pushed into bushes.
One day, before the storm, I met a fellow tenant who had a bowl of kibble in hand and a yowling cat following. She told me that "they" had named it Louie. I preferred Louise.
While the winds sneaked through cracks and moaned in desperation, I worried about the stray cat who has deemed our building a refuge. Today, I braved the gusts and set out to bring food and water.
I saw I was not the only one with the same idea.
On the soaked grass were strewn about several dishes and bowls brimming with water and debris. A wet homage to our building's demigod.
There is a black and white cat that lives around our building. It's tail is half lopped off. For weeks I brought water and food, tempting it to scurry warily from beneath the shade of a car. Then I began to notice that there were other bowls placed by tires, beneath the scraggly trees, pushed into bushes.
One day, before the storm, I met a fellow tenant who had a bowl of kibble in hand and a yowling cat following. She told me that "they" had named it Louie. I preferred Louise.
While the winds sneaked through cracks and moaned in desperation, I worried about the stray cat who has deemed our building a refuge. Today, I braved the gusts and set out to bring food and water.
I saw I was not the only one with the same idea.
On the soaked grass were strewn about several dishes and bowls brimming with water and debris. A wet homage to our building's demigod.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
So in two months and 11 days I will be 28 and still I am baby-less. Gah. We haven't been trying because we're still in phase "so how do we pay for the medical bills?" We have come up with a plan but now we're at "so is this economy gonna get any better in the near future?". What looms in my head is the idea that what if we go through all this only to find out we can't have kids anyway. How should I look at that? As a learning experience? As a sign from God? As just another block and move forward to plan "let's adopt!"? I always figured that we would eventually adopt children once we had a few of our own, but if we couldn't we'd just move through to the next step.
I worry alot about not being able to get pregnant and I worry a tad about being pregnant and feeling the symptoms. I only had two people who told me that it didn't hurt one bit, one was mom (she said I popped out no prob.) and the other was a co-worker who loved every minute of it. I have had about 30 or so people tell me that it was beyond painful "but worth it". I know I'm pretty above average in a lot of ways but I'm thinking that I may just be average when it comes to pain. Although, I think I may have a higher pain tolerance than most people. I do have my teeth drilled at the dentist with no novacaine or any other anesthetics.
Well, gotta make kids first before the pain. Besides, doesn't the pain make you feel alive?
Me.
I worry alot about not being able to get pregnant and I worry a tad about being pregnant and feeling the symptoms. I only had two people who told me that it didn't hurt one bit, one was mom (she said I popped out no prob.) and the other was a co-worker who loved every minute of it. I have had about 30 or so people tell me that it was beyond painful "but worth it". I know I'm pretty above average in a lot of ways but I'm thinking that I may just be average when it comes to pain. Although, I think I may have a higher pain tolerance than most people. I do have my teeth drilled at the dentist with no novacaine or any other anesthetics.
Well, gotta make kids first before the pain. Besides, doesn't the pain make you feel alive?
Me.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Sorry, I know you're tired of looking at Hyde's picture whenever you come to my blog. Here's something a little different. Ahem...
Once, just a few years back, there was a man. Where he grew up and if he had a family does not concern me. About his past and what he ate has nothing to do with this story. The intriguing thing is that one day, on a walk about his neighborhood he gave of himself. It was to a woman, she carried sacks of groceries. He waited to the point where it would have toppled over the sidewalk and everyone would have had to steer out of the way, then he gave her a hand. She accepted it gratefully. When she asked if he wanted it back he declined and went home.
He was surprised at how light he felt.
The next day he gave away his leg and the hair off his head. The day after that he passed over his eyes to a man who needed them, his mouth to someone who wasn't heard. On Saturday he gave his ears to a husband who wouldn't listen. He gave away his nose, after taking in one last sniff, and gave a woman his chin.
At night, on the days he gave pieces of himself away, he would lay in bed and with his left hand, feel what he had left to give. He had a shoulder, a thigh, one bellybutton, a head and a torso, and of course, his left hand.
He spent days finding people to give himself to and slowly. Piece by piece he did. Until, he had only one thing left to give, it was something that he had no name for. It floated somewhere between the ground and the sky, and wandered around and around, letting the air of people passing take it freely. He didn't know how to give it away and couldn't seem to get anyone's attention.
After a few weeks of this endless floating he decided that he would just have to give himself to everything. And so it happened. In trees and dirt, the shit on someone's shoe and the vapor that made clouds. He crumbled off of a muffin and passed through the gills of a fish. He was no longer and everything at once. He had given and was.
*Author's note:
That was a horrible ending but since it's time for my nap, deal with it. I'm not sure what influenced me to write this and I didn't mean it to be so transparent but it is what it is. I may have to rewrite sometime.
Once, just a few years back, there was a man. Where he grew up and if he had a family does not concern me. About his past and what he ate has nothing to do with this story. The intriguing thing is that one day, on a walk about his neighborhood he gave of himself. It was to a woman, she carried sacks of groceries. He waited to the point where it would have toppled over the sidewalk and everyone would have had to steer out of the way, then he gave her a hand. She accepted it gratefully. When she asked if he wanted it back he declined and went home.
He was surprised at how light he felt.
The next day he gave away his leg and the hair off his head. The day after that he passed over his eyes to a man who needed them, his mouth to someone who wasn't heard. On Saturday he gave his ears to a husband who wouldn't listen. He gave away his nose, after taking in one last sniff, and gave a woman his chin.
At night, on the days he gave pieces of himself away, he would lay in bed and with his left hand, feel what he had left to give. He had a shoulder, a thigh, one bellybutton, a head and a torso, and of course, his left hand.
He spent days finding people to give himself to and slowly. Piece by piece he did. Until, he had only one thing left to give, it was something that he had no name for. It floated somewhere between the ground and the sky, and wandered around and around, letting the air of people passing take it freely. He didn't know how to give it away and couldn't seem to get anyone's attention.
After a few weeks of this endless floating he decided that he would just have to give himself to everything. And so it happened. In trees and dirt, the shit on someone's shoe and the vapor that made clouds. He crumbled off of a muffin and passed through the gills of a fish. He was no longer and everything at once. He had given and was.
*Author's note:
That was a horrible ending but since it's time for my nap, deal with it. I'm not sure what influenced me to write this and I didn't mean it to be so transparent but it is what it is. I may have to rewrite sometime.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Hyde and Seek
Had a weird nightmare a few nights ago. Do you guys remember Hyde from "That 70's Show"?
Well, in this nightmare he was my gynecologist and he was "checking the goods" with this aparatus that reminded me of that mini hands-free vacuum that the dentist hooks into your mouth to suck up the spit, except that this had a cotton swab at the end, I guess to strain any big pieces. And I kept insisting that he couldn't do it because I was on my period. I couldn't move, and all I could do was say "no" and he still did it, and it hurt a little, and the aparatus would just suck up red, red blood.
Later that day I told Rich about it and he shrugged it off. But while I was telling him, it dawned on me that my scared mind had transposed a not so scary image over the truth!! Hyde doesn't scare me, in fact, I could probably take him down since he's mostly high anyway (I know he's just a character, bear with me as I descend into lunacy). So, what I realized, as Rich and I walked to our car, from the gym, was that, I had been abducted by aliens and they were retrieving the tiny baby that they had implanted me with so that they can raise a race of human-alien babies.
Seriously! Hyde, when I picture him, has a 'fro and sunglasses on. But what it really was, was a big head and large black eyes.
The next day I felt these tiny little twinges of pain in my uterus...
Had a weird nightmare a few nights ago. Do you guys remember Hyde from "That 70's Show"?
Well, in this nightmare he was my gynecologist and he was "checking the goods" with this aparatus that reminded me of that mini hands-free vacuum that the dentist hooks into your mouth to suck up the spit, except that this had a cotton swab at the end, I guess to strain any big pieces. And I kept insisting that he couldn't do it because I was on my period. I couldn't move, and all I could do was say "no" and he still did it, and it hurt a little, and the aparatus would just suck up red, red blood.
Later that day I told Rich about it and he shrugged it off. But while I was telling him, it dawned on me that my scared mind had transposed a not so scary image over the truth!! Hyde doesn't scare me, in fact, I could probably take him down since he's mostly high anyway (I know he's just a character, bear with me as I descend into lunacy). So, what I realized, as Rich and I walked to our car, from the gym, was that, I had been abducted by aliens and they were retrieving the tiny baby that they had implanted me with so that they can raise a race of human-alien babies.
Seriously! Hyde, when I picture him, has a 'fro and sunglasses on. But what it really was, was a big head and large black eyes.
The next day I felt these tiny little twinges of pain in my uterus...
