Are Bizarre Things Happening Because October is Coming?

I'm starting to think that fate {definition-an event (or a course of events) that will inevitably happen in the future} truly rules the course of my actions. Perhaps it's my surroundings contributing daily to these happenings. Possibly, I'm genetically inclined to such behavior (though past has proven this isn't probably the case). But bizarre happenings are occurring.

I live in Eugene, OR. [yes, that is weird, but a topic for another day]

I'm starting to think that, after immersing myself in the culture that is Eugene, it may be impossible to resist conforming to a certain extent. Granted, never in this lifetime will you find me wearing patchouli. I wont be caught with my toes enjoying soggy surroundings in Birkenstocks & wool socks. I will not be found driving a Volkswagen van (though I'm still fond of the old-school square-back VW's). I wont be attending either the Country Fair or the Eugene Celebration.

I'm talking about something that is more offensive than I care to admit. I've spent years swearing I wouldn't. I fought teachers in my freshman year of high school, and the battle has never ended. I will not be me. I will not cross that line. I will not become one of them.

Last night I found myself, yet again compromising... conforming. The waffle iron has won. I donned my Nikes, slipped into the cool darkness, turned up my iPod and started running.

It's true. And this isn't the first. I'm starting to feel like I need a daily fix, to feel the light breeze in my face. I need the adrenaline rush that comes from dodging cars that almost hit me.

After all, I live in "Track Town USA".

I may never help carry that title with grace (please don't laugh when I run by, stumbling!). I may not even carry it long-term, or hold my own in any marathons. But living here, in the spirit of all the title embodies, I can't help but partake. And I can't help but think that maybe all of us should join in, bringing our own unique style to the fun.

So, if our eyes meet in the dim light, our feet moving faster than a walk, I promise to not laugh. After all, I'll be the one wearing the bright red cape.

To my former friend... now my enemy.

You used to thrill me with your coming. I'd wait in anticpation for the moment of your arrival. I'd try to tune my ears, listening intently to discern the engine in your vehicle from the others passing by. I'd restlessly wait by the window. Your very coming, if but for a passing moment was always enough for me. It was a gift, as you never arrived with your hands empty.

But now I wait and watch. I watch and I wait. You never call. My emails are never responded to. I've seen you drive past and wondered why you wont stop here. I wait to greet you warmly, but the cold rumble of your truck is all I now know, as it quickly flies past me.

I can't help but think that you're doing this intentionally, trying to avoid me. Trying to ruin the days leading up to my birthday, to ruin the gift of the day. Trying to appear casual as if we never met. As if you never cared enought to bring delight to my doorstep in the past.

So I wait. And hope. And can't help but feel that there is no hope, but that it's lost. All that we had has been lost. You may never return, and I may never ask you to again.

UPS, didn't you know? Didn't you know there are others more reliable? FedEx. DHL. Goodness, even the United States Postal System.

*note to my missing shoes- "Please come home. My feet long to wear you."

Today....

Every day brings with it a new task for cleaning. I don't deny that this is the majority of my work in the day. My first goal is always to love my boys and keep them alive. A good day would be finished without requiring staples, band-aids or ?? The next goal, which is also a little hard to attain, is that of a somewhat sanitary existence. I'm not saying I want my house sterile, the kind of home where it looks like no one has ever walked into. I'd just like to survive walking across the living room or using the bathroom without getting toothpaste all over my hands...

Each day truly has its own challenges.

Milk in the carpet. That was yesterday.
Marker on the walls was two days ago (thank God for "goof-off").
Random bug parts... hourly.
Broken toilets. Clogged sinks. Stained clothes. Muddy floors. Spills in the fridge. Spills under the fridge. Broken glass. More broken glass. Still more broken glass. Broken glass from a lava lamp.

But today I have a new dilemma I had never faced. My chocolate-brown microfiber chair, my sole piece of furniture that I like has been tainted. It received an extended visit from a school of goldfish. Granted, I think I could handle having the kind that actually swim. These were the kind that have oil and flour and more oil. And they left their marks....their little silhouettes...on my chair. So, today I ponder how to clean the chair, or if the fish and chocolate should remain paired. *sigh*

Repulsed By Another Hobo...(don't miss the fine-print)

Maybe it hasn't been stated before, or maybe it's been said too much. And living here in Eugene, where all life is valuable (unless it's a pre-born human), I will probably find myself in trouble for writing this. I truly find hobo's repulsive. I loathe them. Despise them. Hate them even. What brings this about? Lately, I've had several close encounters with them. They always seem to be shirking about in some random location, waiting to prey on some unsuspecting person. I feel that they are completely useless in this world.

Harsh? Hardly! Have you seen the wounds they've inflicted? Have you heard of the nightmares they've induced? And, as their presence is only increasing, people are starting to feel less secure both in and outside of their homes. I know I am. And it's justifiable for having such a fear. Today, as I was in my own back yard, enjoying the cooler weather with my boys, we were charged at by a single hobo. Here is where trouble may arise as I state the truth of what happened next; I hit it with a shovel. I felt we were threatened and there was justification in my actions. As we screamed in terror, I knew there was nothing else I could do but weild my shovel and deliver a deadly blow.

I can't say I mourn the loss of this nameless hobo. I doubt many will. There is no marker on the grave. There was no fine farewell or eulogy. Not a single tear shed. Goodbye, nameless hobo. May spider eternity treat you well.


(for more info on hobo spiders, please don't ask me as I may come at you with a shovel out of pure fear that in speaking the word 'hobo' another vicious spider may arise from the grave and attack)

Breakfast Renewed??

Every morning I try to sit down and read the paper, while drinking my coffee and eating a little breakfast. It sounds grown up, which I find depressing. After today, I may be combining some of these actions into a whole new breakfast routine.

What am I talking about? The new toaster capable of burning the news, images, whatever... straight onto your toast. Truly, this is the greatest breakfast invention since breakfast. Don't want to look up the weather? Your toaster will tell you. Mad at your spouse but don't want to talk about it? Your toaster will tell them for you! Birthday greetings, anniversaries, to-do lists... all on toast.

I actually think this is as 'green' as breakfast can get. Truly, how much less paper would we use? Unfortunately, this product isn't in mass-production yet, though I will count the days until.

Word of the Day

"Garr" an extremely useful term one interjects when vocabulary becomes useless.

Some days I just wanna say, "Garr!". Not so much in the pirate sense, but in the 'my-vocabulary-has-no-means-of-processing-my-frustration' type of garr.

I'm garr about not wanting to turn my blog into a gripe-fest (and yet, successfully doing so!).

I say garr to the notion that we care more about molar decay in our society than moral decay.

I garr with a roar and try to scare the smoke from the skies (even my jedi powers are failing me in trying to remove it).

My jedi powers are failing me, so now I say garr.

The lady at the store was really rude to my kids and myself and I wanted to declare garr to her face (I didn't).

My house is in need of help and yet I sit here avoiding my duties in life. I need to find a mirror and garr at my reflection.

So, might ye join me in some good ol' pirate-speak? It eases the agression, and it will get you into practice before the actual "Talk Like A Pirate Day" arrives on September 19, 2008.

Ah, a blog!

Yup. I became one of them today. A 'Blogger'. Well, technically, I've blogged for years, but in old-school fashion- with a pen and paper (in a secret book that's stored in a secret room in a secret house where my alter-ego resides). The glory in still keeping a journal, you ask?? (I've never had a diary in my life, I refuse to call it a diary!) Secrets still remain, you can vent without guilt, sob about...? and plain ol' chat about whatever the heck is on your mind that you can't talk about. My journal has been where I've placed my dreams, of things to be and of wishes of things that should have been (or NOT have been).

So, to sum it all up, welcome to this blasted blog. I hope you enjoy. I don't know if I'll share much, or if I'll share too much, but check back now and again and find out.