tiny dancer

Today, the strap of my tank top slipped off my shoulder. Naturally, I reached across myself to put it back into place, and the palm of my hand brushed my naked shoulder - it scared me. Well, it didn't so much as scare me, it just surprised me? Then I started counting on my fingers and trying to remember the last time someone touched me.

And then I remembered: it was after my accident, so a week and a bit. In fact, 3 people touched me that day! The ambulance attendant put his hand on my shoulder and told me things would be okay, an older woman who I still do not know put her arm around me while I tried not to cry, and then a girl I work with hugged me, because she didn't know what else she could do for me. That hug was the first and only hug I have received since the mini-trip home, and it will probably be the only hug for another 11 days. This occurred to me just now, and I felt really sad.

And so, I hugged myself, because no one else will.

It was really good, too! I sat in bed and I hugged myself for 5 whole minutes. And I cried on my own shoulder, too, for the loss of such precious human connection. I never really realized how important hugs are, among other things, to everyday life.

But being sad about things you can't really control doesn't make much sense, so I stopped crying. It's kind of like crying over a dead celebrity - even if you felt like you knew them, you never really did, so why cry? I can't cry over the death of hugs I have never received. Maybe this is why people seek each other out, like men and women, I mean. That way, they will always have someone to hug, even when their friends have gone away. And maybe this is why people divorce each other, and why people cheat on each other, because they have forgotten to take the time to just hold one another. Is love not stated to be a basic human need?

And so I say:

J.Jenks., I will always hug you.

P.S. Ikea 2010 catalogue is coming out soon! Ikea 2010 catalogue is coming out soon!

float on

H'okay, so:

Here are your hump day updates!

1. My hair looks like someone put a bowl on my head and cut around it with safety scissors. This is okay, because I am a good friend and let Kristi cut my hair for practice, even though I am horrified every time I look in the mirror. So, I guess the good thing I get out of this is that I made a friend and that hair grows. I may look like Stuart off a MAD TV sketch for a few months, but at least I can pin it back.

2. I won't be seeing the mombalt's sweet face until next Wednesday, so I'll be hoofin' it everywhere until then. This is slightly problematic for my work situation, but hey...at least I'm getting some good exercise. The only other thing that's got me down about not having wheels is that I can't do any sort of grocery shopping and believe me when I say that I have no food in my house. I found myself eating crackers with peanut butter and jam slathered on them last night in front of the tube. I realized where I was and I started sobbing - not out of sadness, but just out of boredom. I'll grab some basic groceries tomorrow after work and walk them home with me - fast, too, to prevent spoilage. I'm speed racer's cousin.

3. On another sad mombalt note, she's got $2600 worth of boo-boos. This makes me very sad, because my insurance deductible is $1000, which makes me go into a cold sweat. I've had to ask my pops for more cheddar, and it's lucky for me that he's got more G's in the bank than Scrooge McDuck. Now, on top of that, my insurance is going to reach the sky like Kanye and I've lost the sweet little discount I've accumulated over the years, thanks to my impeccable driving habits. Sweet, sweet sorrow. I'm getting over it, though, slowly but surely. Did I ever mention how clever penguins are? One told me that money can always be made more of, but I cannot. This has given me little smiles for every time I think about it. Isn't that nice?

4. I feel like Hurricane Blonde, with every little thing getting on my nerves and stressing me out. My mother explains to me that this is natural after having something traumatic occur. It's funny, it didn't even occur to me that my little incident was traumatic, but it really was. This is on top of the other shenanigans that have been making me feel a little less Doris and a little more Morticia lately, and I'm a big, overly sensitive train wreck. It's like, not only do I kind of wish I could just poof! and be back "home" and stop missing my luvah-luvah and my nieces and my fambly, but I'm also rethinking my decision to move here, and my major in school and every other little thing I could possibly doubt. I have been told, though, that doubt is about as useful as a fire escape when you're trying to dodge a tidal wave, so I'm just going to keep pressing on and get this year over with.

And then it's marital bliss, which keeps me ever optimistic and happy! Whee!

My mood is also not helped by the fact that I am counting down to the days when I see my special someone, my vagina is about to open the flood gates and I have an annoying habit of letting things that are out of my control get to me.

But other than that, I'd have to say I'm doing alright. These are all things that are just things that take time to sort out, and I've just got to be patient.

And it's okay to cry.

laughing out loud

So, it's been a week. And by "it's been a week", I mean "shitsruff".

-The mombalt was attacked by a cyclist, so I haven't got a car right now.
-Mr. Employer didn't lay down all the requested vacation de niro.
-The public library wants 15 bones outta me. Late charges? What!?
-I pulled the hand towel ring off the bathroom wall and can't for the life of me re-attach it. It's like a tedious game of Operation every time I attempt.

I'd speak more on issue #1, but at this point, I'm done talking. The day you have a 30-year-old man become a dashboard decoration, we'll see how much you like talking about it. Chrrrrrrrrist. The good thing about telling the grandiose tale en masse is that now it's become not my story, but just a story. It sort of has that "it happened to a friend of a friend of mine" sort of feel to it, and that's sort of helped with the whole shock minimization. However, financially, this couldn't come at a worse time for me, seeing as I have less money than MC Hammer in 1993. It's alright, though: I am to my parents as a laid-off factory worker is to food stamps. See: acquisition without reciprocation. What a drag.

So, in an effort to not be a complete and total downer, boyfriend will arrive in 18 short days! Not to get into all the mushy details, but kisses shall be abound. I'm looking forward to rubbing semi-shaved noggin and being told that slap chop is pro. Love-love-love-love. Also, this Tuesday, I'm gettin' my mop chopped for free. Try not to overflow with adoration/jealousy, but this bitch be a hair model. I know, right? So glam. Cristal? Yes, please. I'm attempting to turn my negatives into positives, which is the exact opposite of what I like to do with AIDS. Lolcats help. As do underwear shopping, buttermilk blueberry muffins and cleaning my bathroom.

Oh!

Victorian mission: I'm in the market for some red cowboy boots. If I'm going to end up in Alberta, I may as well look the part. Diggin' it, akshually. Maybe I can adventure for that tomorrow. While I'm at it, I could really go for some friggin' yam fries. Chipotle mayo and I are platonic soul mates. I wish I was joking.

P.S. When written, tacking on an extra question mark always makes things look more confusing/unbelievable. Tack on too many, however, and you become a cartoon character or a fourteen year old girl on msn. Sometimes those are one in the same.

Example:

You put it where?
-vs-
You put it where??
-vs-
You put it where??????

If I were an Oscar Meyer weiner..

Here is a blog that is not about work. Calm yourself down; I know this is a rarity. I'm sick about talking about survival. I'm surviving, if surviving means rolling outta bed at 10 and eating PB&J. Shitsruff. I seem to have lost my magic touch to blog about anything other than hustlin' coffee and groaning about growing pains. Onward...

I threw some clothes in a bag and hit the road in the MomBalt last week, homeward bound for boyfriend surprising and baby welcoming. What a swell ol' time. Guppy is no longer an unknown mound under a maternity shirt; her name is Scarlet and she's basically amazing.

NBD.

I spent a portion of our nation's birthday curled into a lactose hating ball, listening to a Calgary Stampeder's game in an adjacent room. Advice to live by: not asking for double cheese on your sub when you're lactose intolerant will not only prevent explosive stomach pains, but will save you forty cents! Knowledge is power. The other portion of Canada day was spent making googly eyes at my swoon worthy better half under a night sky filled with fireworks. Romance is not dead: Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and the uh-may-zing Billy Mays are.

Other highlights of the mini-vacation include being beat into submission at mini golf, bed linen intensive conversations, birthday cake, and getting laid - a lot.

I'm enjoying Neko Case and putting honey mustard on everything, lately. I'm going to actually cook myself a real dinner again one of these nights, and it's going to be the most explosive, orgasmic food experience ever felt by a human being. Eating caramel rice cakes in front of a re-run of CSI: does not constitute as a proper meal, I am told.

That makes no sense at all to me, because I am clearly a nutritionist.

Oh, and a happy United States day to you, my yankee friend.