Notes From Another Room

I have a fairly active but private life on Facebook.  It's where my writing skills take shape in one- or two-sentence spurts.  Tonight I went back to re-read some of my Facebook "Notes", a format which everyone seems to have abandoned.  Curious - it's not Superpoke! after all.  My last note was written in February 2010, a surprise in terms of time elapsed and a dramatically different climate from today's heat index of 104.  Not so surprising to me, though, in terms of how my social media use and general attitude changed dramatically less than a month later.  It's not that I suddenly had less to say or fewer people to whom to say it.  I think I had much more to share and a greater sense of urgency about it.  My status updates grew to paragraphs that had to be well-crafted in order to fit the space allowed as well as to communicate the message as immediately, carefully and truthfully as possible.

Some of the notes make little sense, especially if they refer to dreams.  Some just seem like they were written by a different person, someone who was trying too hard and saying too little.  Most were regurgitated chain letters or tiny but side-splitting conversations with my children.  I'm re-posting here, unedited, the four worthiest, which also happen to be among the most recent.  If nothing else, I'm documenting them in a more accessible place and casting them back out in the water for second nibbles.  Enjoy.

What is Wrong With Me? (Don't Answer That) 

Friday, February 5, 2010 at 9:10am

Last night I had an incredibly prolonged dream about a concert where the musicians, the seating arrangements and my friends were ever-changing. Two different acquaintances ended up being my seatmate/date (?) both of whom were so nice, but so meek and mild-mannered that I wanted to throttle them. Both kept trying to hold my hand.

The conductor got up and made all of us introduce ourselves with the microphone because everyone was mixed together; half of us were only there to watch and the other half had all switched instruments. There seemed to be a lot of empty seats.

The audience was constantly eating and talking so I kept turning around to give the evil eye. It didn't work. The music never started because the conductor (a huge, loud, crazy-haired woman) was too busy emceeing and trying to relax Richmond's society by telling jokes and running get-to-know-you games. Two people said they loved my dress, which was something I'd normally never purchase.

When it was over we filed out and had to sort our various drink cups into recycling bins manned by militant college students. Everyone was grumpy and dissatisfied.

I really must find that dress.

 

The Things That Will Make or Break Me Today 

Thursday, January 28, 2010 at 9:10am

1. I've gotten less then 6 hours sleep each of the last 3 nights.

2. I thought yesterday was Thursday.

3. My new Swiffer WetJet picked up a lot of dirt left behind by the sponge mop.

4. My vinyl floor still looks filthy.

5. The vinyl is supposed to look like gray-veined marble. So, yeah. I can see that.

6. I can no longer shut off my sink sprayer without completely dis-/re-assembling it mid-spray.

7. Every time.

8. My kids think I call them 'Children of the Corn' because it's their favorite veggie.

9. Three specialty lightbulbs have blown in the last two days, each after a trip to the store to buy the previous blower's replacement.

10. I have not had to wear a belt to keep my pants up all week.

 

 

Gastronomical Sin 

Friday, December 4, 2009 at 5:52pm

"Momma, did you spill tea in your cereal and eat it again?"

As if that's the most inexcusable thing I've ever eaten in her eyes. Not plain sugar by the multiple teacupful. Not homemade corn tortillas filled with Jell-O. Not whole jars of Nutella, buckets of cookie dough, bags of chocolate chips or M&M's by the pound. Not lemonade mix heaped on a spoon and drizzled with just enough water to make it slurp-worthy. Not Grand Finale's Death by Chocolate.

Not snails swimming in private garlic butter hot tubs. Not tangled and fried squid tentacles. Not Nova lox or the thick and salty 'real' stuff. Not venison medallions or their more portable cousin, deer stick. Not giant latkes from the East Cleveland Old World Festival, eaten right out of the hand and liberally slathered with sour cream and applesauce from communal squirt bottles. Not a first ravioli attempt with leftover turkey and raw garlic. Not sushi.

Loose, unbrewed tea accidentally spilled into my morning granola and eaten together so as not to be wasteful.

Repent, ye sinner.

 

 

Important New Information for Wednesday 

Wednesday, October 21, 2009 at 10:35am

1. When [my son] says that he already cleaned up the spilled soy milk, he means that he half-heartedly smeared a towel through a few drops on the floor. Not through the big puddle right in front of the fridge.

2. If someone has used the Christmas duets book for coloring practice by filling in all of the half-notes black, but only on the part that you play, this would be more correctly called 'sabotage' versus 'creativity.'

3. Heavy metal aglets on a hoodie seem really cool until you pull it off over your head.

4. When you make a mistake on a 200-stitch row, it will be found at stitch # 7.

5. It is possible to pull out poison ivy using a single dried leaf for protection.

6. When you hear someone expressing angst over their child's organizational skills and their ability to step back and let the child learn from mistakes, take a large measure of comfort from the fact that you are working on these same concerns while your child is in 4th grade rather than 7th.

7. Three slices of full-fat beef bologna and a teacup-full of vegan chocolate chips from Trader Joe's is neither a healthy snack nor a good idea if you plan to lie down immediately after consumption.

8. Accuracy and integrity are everything when it comes to database management, inventory control and accounting procedures. Convincing others of this same tenet is murder on your enamel.

9. explodingdog is the best comic website ever. EVER.

10. There is no good reason to make every list 10 items long, unless you suffer from late-onset OCD.