My Profile
Older
E-mail
D*Land
Diary Rings

Can we just jump to January please? - 2014-11-14
A (don't kick the) Bucket List - 2014-10-28
Put THIS in your pipe and DON'T smoke it! - 2014-10-23
Max, Wolf, and the goats - 2014-10-15
Maloney for Congress - 2014-10-08

Join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
email:
Powered by NotifyList.com

12:16 a.m. - 2011-02-06
Not to be trusted at the mo'.

It's odd, the snow is drifted waist-deep in places, there's ice dropping from the sky as we speak, yet spring is in the air. Winter's back is broken. Beneath the crusty white I can feel the ground waking up. There's a smell too. A moistness, a fecund scent of life. Yesterday we set off to do errands well after 5:00pm and it was still light out. I need to change the thing on the front door but instead of replacing the snowman with the Valentine's foil heart I feel like putting up the forsythia wreath. Forget about the heart, the forsythia wreath usually doesn't go up until after the St Patrick's Day shamrock dealie has had its turn too. But I'm all jumpy and twitchy and spring-y and feeling forsythia-like.

Anyone else feeling like spring is almost near enough to touch? Or is it just me?

Perhaps I'm just het up because I'm sleeping well and out of nowhere the Good Words have begun to flow again. Last night poor Mick was trapped and forced to listen to me nattering on and on about wordcraft and cadence and the nuts and bolts of what makes something readable and tone and voice and…oy.

So I got fitted for new glasses last night. Finally. Two pair so radically different from each other it made me laugh. But why else have multiple pairs of glasses if not to have the widest variety of style? Be dumb if I bought two pair which were basically the same except for some minute color difference. Though speaking of colors while the optometrist dinked around with my frames I realized that since my first pair of glasses back in 1975 (a pair of round John Denver specs, thankyouverymuch) that ALL of my glasses have been black, silver, or pink. No tortoise shells, no gold, no red. And my new ones are no different. One pair is black skinny wire frames with round-ish lenses and the other is a huge goofy plastic framed pair in…you guessed it…pink. A very pale pink to be sure, sort of swirled with clear, but pink nonetheless. In a rut much?

Mick was urging me to get a new pair of sunglasses too. I need them, but am not quite ready to give up my current shades. I've had them since, oh jeeze, Wolf was in kindergarten. Fortunately my long vision hasn't deteriorated much. I'd no sooner drive with bad eyesight than I would drive drunk, but I know the new scrip wouldn't be a radical change, more of a tweak. I don't know, does anyone get their prescription sunglasses with bifocal lenses? Seems like overkill. I don't drag my pasty white carcass outside to read poolside much. Heh. This being the only scenario I can imagine truly needing to have bifocal sunglasses. It's not like I can't see the speedometer or anything. Anyhoodle, one of the new pairs, the black wire rims, has transition lenses. A first for me. See how they work first before I give up my beloved shades with the big round frames and the amber polarized lenses that make all the colors so pretty.

Got slammed this afternoon with a bad case of the weepy-irkies. In which everything either made me cry or irked the ever lovin' shit out of me. What can I say? I'm still my ovaries' bitch.

Gadzooks, 37 years now of being jerked around by my reproductive organs. Shit's gotta stop some time. We can only hope.

So in the morning we're off for our adventure at the gigantic ugly mall. How one place can be glitzy, industrial ugly, a shrine to wretched consumer excess, yet aside from sushi, bras and Legos offer so little that I want- all at the same time is a mystery, but there it is. Four floors, a 16 screen movie house, 217 stores, one ferris wheel, 3 arcades and the place is still a shit-hole.

On our second date Mick and I had an early lunch at a nice bistro. We got to know each other better, and while I wasn't completely smitten yet he'd apparently made up his mind that I was The One even before we finished our seafood bisque. With the afternoon ahead of us and no plans, after we ate Mick offered to take me to the gigantic ugly mall. Classy elegant babe that I am, I squinched up my face and spat, "Why the fuck would I want to go there???" Mick was rather taken aback. Not by my language, I blew that illusion on our first date, but that I didn't want to go shopping. And not only didn't I want to shop, I'd just turned down an offer to go to what is considered The Mall of Malls. At least in this time zone. The apotheosis of all the joy a Visa card can bring. Girl Mecca. And I turned it down with a sneer and a curse? Ye gods, what manner of unnatural female had he stumbled upon?

I explained I did like to shop, but the gigantic ugly mall was trite. Stuffed to the gills with the same crap you can get any and everywhere, and full of people with more money than imagination.

Instead on that long, long date we went to a plant nursery. A glass foundry that makes gorgeous jewelry and fabulous Christmas ornaments. Several antique and junque stores where we got some great stories from the owners about how and when and where they got their stuff. We went to a truck stop and bought butterscotch discs. We went to a few art galleries and this one place that specializes in wonderful limited edition lithographs of historic maps.

There's shopping and then there's shopping, you know?

But my guys want Legos and I need bras and we all like conveyor belt sushi, so the gigantic ugly mall it is. At least for tomorrow. Soon enough spring will be here and with the spring comes farmer's and flea markets, tag sales, and roadside vendors who sell everything from roses to paintings of Fat Elvis on black velvet.


Love you bunches, ~LA

6 Wanna talk about it!

previous // next