Well that was weird

As if a waxing appointment wasn't awkward enough, I had one the other day that has prompted a post so I can stop thinking about it! I didn't go to my regular location so I didn't see the woman who usually leaves me bare and smooth and I don't think I'll do that again. I hope my lady never leaves and she'll one day wax my 80 year old legs.

Before I ever had my legs waxed I thought it would be horrifying to lie there half naked, hairy legs exposed, and twisted into unnatural positions while someone else rips my hair out. I can deal with the pain, but I thought I would eventually run out of places to go because how could I face the same person again after she's seen me like THAT? Well, the unexpected thing is that this vulnerability makes me want only one person to help me out. I started feeling protective of myself and now I don't want just anyone seeing me in my undies.

The whole thing was awkward and clunky. I rode my bike there from work and since it was a hot day I was wearing my skorts, which is an awful name by the way. As I waited at lights standing with my bike I could imagine the bicyclists behind me STARING at my man legs wondering why that dude was wearing a pink top and a skort. I could feel the breeze whipping those little long hairs around catching the sun and reflecting them like tinsel. I felt like I took the tassels from my handle bars and stuck them on my legs.

You would think that I'd feel comfortable sitting in the waiting area of a waxing salon among my people, but it turns out most women hide behind pants until their legs are ready to come out in public again. Not me! I sit there with nowhere to hide willing my time to hurry up while trying to cool off and dry my sweat. At last, hurray! Here she comes to bring me back. Oh wait. Did I get the new girl? Awww hell.

I turn into a dork in new situations. I just can't play it cool and look like I know what I'm doing. There at the new location with different decor and a different layout with a different esthetician, there's a different routine. She was soft spoken and timid and as I stood up to greet her she said something, turned, and disappeared down the hallway into the room. Did she ask me to give her a minute? Should I just stand here with my tinsel legs and wait for her to come back? Is she waiting for me in the room wondering where I am? When will she come back for me? Why am I just STANDING here? Maybe she asked me to come on back. Just a minute. Come on back. They don't even have the same number of syllables. What did she SAY? Why would she come out for me if she wasn't ready, right? OK I'm going back and I hope I don't walk in one someone naked.

It turns out she wasn't ready and I startled her when she turned around. It became an Eddie Izzard moment, "Oh, I....sorry, should I.....oh, I'll just....ok." Somehow she was also communicating it was ok, go ahead and put the bag down and hop up on this table. And because I just HAD to explain myself I tried to tell her what was going through my head in the waiting area, but sometimes it's just better to smile and move on. I forget that just because I surround myself with people who GET me, who are all a little bit out of the ordinary, the normal unsuspecting stranger isn't necessarily going to think it's as funny as I do. Yeah.

I don't understand the practice of leaving the room for privacy while I take off my stupid skort when in just a couple of minutes she'll see me in my underwear anyway. I quickly wiggled out of my bike stuff, sat on the table, and oh no not THIS AGAIN! Which way should I have my legs? OK that way - there's where the wax pot is. But wait, should I be on my back or my stomach? Why doesn't this lady speak up and give me some instruction? Well, I'll just sit here with this ridiculous tea towel covering half my lap. After forever has passed she finally came back in looking confused that I wasn't in The Position. And it never got better.

After she started doing her thing, I couldn't hear what she was mumbling so I'm not sure if she was making conversation or giving me instructions. Eventually I stopped saying, "what?!" and decided to just smile. And when she would suddenly move my leg I'd startle and stiffen in surprise and she'd be wrestling with my locked leg trying to maneuver me into a pose. It must have looked funny. I think we fed off each others awkwardness and I never relaxed like I do with the woman I usually see. Thankfully I was not there for a Brazilian and I'm used to this kind of torture because she hadn't quite mastered a technique. It was more painful than usual.

In the end it was worth it. The cool breeze soothed my legs on the ride home and I didn't even mind standing at the lights. I had hoped I'd impress the other bikers with my smooth legs, but that appointment took so long that I was the lone bicyclist on the normally crowded spandex highway. At least now I can continue to wear my skort even if I do get that weird summer tan line.

Egg Kabunza!

I'm sure most people have had a version of this delicious egg and toast breakfast. This was one of the few things my dad could make that would always turn out great.

We had a special orange tupperware cookie cutter that made the perfect size hole in the bread. After making the hole (you can also use a cup!) you crack an egg into the bread while it's on the skillet. Fry the egg and flip the whole thing. You can then use the punched out hole to mop up the yolk.

I'm curious what other people call this. In our house it was called Egg Kabunza. I didn't realize until later that this was a name my dad made up and no wonder no one else ever knew what I was talking about when I asked if they wanted an Egg Kabunza for breakfast.

That One Time I Moo'd

I look forward to my bike ride to work. For me it's a half hour to fully wake up and start feeling alive. I don't know if I'm a morning person or not. I enjoy the quietness, color of the sky, and the crisp undisturbed air. But I can't carry on a conversation and I get grumpy if I try. Years ago, I quickly found out that the 5 a.m. barista shift was not for me. A grumpy morning talker trying to serve espresso to grumpy people pre-caffeine? I'm surprised I wasn't fired. If I had my way, customers would have written their orders on scrap paper and if they didn't make eye contact with me I might make their drink. It would depend on if they had brushed their teeth.

For the sake of this story, I'll say I'm a morning person unless there are other people involved. Something happened last week. The sun was warm, the sky was clear and blue, birds were chirping, and the flowers looked just right in the morning light. What's this feeling? Happy in the morning? My usual scowl must have softened and the prickly warning I emit cautioning others not to even bother nodding a hello turned fluffy. I passed another bicyclist while walking through the Ballard Locks and I found myself turning my head to look at him, smiling, and saying hello. WHAT? And then I matched his pace for an exchange about the weather? And can you believe I didn't even want to push him over the fence into the duck-filled water below?

After I passed him and turned the corner I came across an oncoming bicyclist. I was still in shock over my pleasant morning encounter and was running the conversation over in my head. My shackles had not yet raised back up and while I was still showing signs of pleasantry, this second bicyclist nodded and said hello. Because of the activity in my head and being somewhat surprised, my greeting didn't come out as planned. My brain tried to say hi, g'morning, and good day all at the same time but it came out as "guhrmooooooooo....."

And I didn't even look around to see who else might have seen me walking by myself, mooing, and laughing out loud. It was the kind of good morning that makes the rest of my day.

Happy Five Years!

Happy Anniversary to us! On May 25 we'll celebrate five years together, and what a wonderful time we've had. This was taken outside of Buffalo, NY on our elopement/honeymoon/vacation trip in October 2008. It was the perfect wedding. Just our style.

Burpless Muncher!

A few weeks ago my neighbor and I planted a garden! There was some existing space and because the sun is just so great at the south end of the yard, he dug up some more space. We now have over 500 square feet of garden space.

It turns out, the garden was a major selling point for both of us to move into the side-by-side duplex. He and his roomie moved in a month before me and my husband. Fortunately we all like each other because we share one big backyard and a deck that runs along the back of the house. No fences for us.

Neighbor-J knows a lot about gardening. His parents live on a farm so he's putting his knowledge to good use, and I am getting experience learning from a master. I've been going outside every day to check on the seedlings, but thanks to some freak SNOW on April 1, it hasn't been warm enough for anything to come up.

We'll have a full crop of strawberries, rhubarb, peas, beans, tomatoes, salad greens, beets, and a few sunflowers and poppies. My favorite thing we planted though? It HAS to be the burpless muncher cucumbers, not so much for the actual fruit (fruit right? it has seeds...) but for the name.

"What are you eating? That looks delicious!"
"Oh, it's just a salad I made from my burpless munchers! Bite?"

Bored, Frustrated, and Blue

I just posted a tweet: "Can I have the after-holiday blues when I wasn't even looking forward to xmas? I'm crabby there's nothing to look forward to being over."

I need more room to elaborate because I still don't feel better after getting that out. I don't want to do anything and nothing sounds good. I have chores that I don't want to do, even when most of the time I can tolerate them. This time it's even things I enjoy - painting the walls, picking up fallen apples, organizing the closet, making the bed. I know if I don't do them I'll feel even worse tomorrow when I'm back to work after 4 days off. I'll be wishing I could be home doing house work.

Maybe I'm upset about life getting back to normal, even though I've hated this past month. Work will slow down and I'll get caught up again, and that's good right? But it's the same thing as always. The week of snow we had is over and that means no more working from home, away from the ringing phone and whiny customers. Life is going back to just plain ol' life. There are no more distractions keeping me from focusing on the things I don't like and need to change.

I got a Christmas card from a family whose little girl I took care of as a nanny. I watched her until she was 6 months old and now she's 7. I did that job so I could get away from the office and figure out what I wanted to do. Now I'm back in the office, still trying to figure out what I want to do and now that it's 7 years later I still have nothing to show for it. Personally, I'm where I want to be. I've found and married my best match and feel like I won the lottery. My personal life is the most important thing in keeping me happy and I know it's not the only thing I need. Where am I professionally? Creatively? Seven years later, I'm working in customer service. I have a college degree and editing skills that I would love to put to good use. Customer Service. Nothing like writing that out for an ego boost. I never wanted to be the 30-something lady with no direction, working in a job meant for college students, with a younger, more driven boss. That's why he's the boss.

There are parts of the job I like, yet there are more parts I don't like. Where can I find the job where I can write instructions, do research, find answers, put two and two together to fill in the missing information, be an expert in my field, be respected, and never be yelled at by the general public? And General Public, it's ok to be frustrated and upset, however never take that out on someone trying to do their job, probably not liking it, and wishing they could tell you exactly what they think of you. I don't have much faith in you, General Public.

So here I sit with a shortening day and that same long list of chores and bigger things looming. Can I sleep a long restful sleep to wake up and find it's all been taken care of? Why do you only get three impossible wishes in fairy tales and not in real life?

Bloggy Bloggerings

Now I have a blog and I don’t know what to say. A weblog. Captain’s Log. I shall join the ranks of captains all over with my blog. I’ve kept a diary since I was about 7. Rather, I started my first diary at 7ish. I would write every day but then I could only keep that up for a few months and after I’d skip a day, then a week I would just give it up because catching up with everything that happened since the last entry was too big a chore. Chores equals no fun, and who wants writing to be a chore? Not someone who enjoys it.

So here’s my blog. Do I just write and never correct grammar and spelling? Just let it out sounding the same as I speak? Being the grammar nerd I am, you KNOW I have to go back and fix it. Sometimes even before the sentence is over, I can’t go on without fixing that THING! That GLARING thing that’s wrong.

Interesting that I say “you know” as if I’m writing to someone. Who is this you? This invisible audience. Look at me assuming someone might stumble upon this and be interested in what I have to say. Isn’t that part of my secret dream? Other people do it – why can’t I? This may very well be something to use to keep in touch with family scattered all over the US. Hi Everybody! I miss you, hugs and kisses! It’s odd that I would even want my words out there in the internets for all to see, because I’ve always hated it when people read my words. I get embarrassed and squirmy and expect a critique I don’t want to hear although they might be right. Even writing in my childhood diaries and then adolescent journals, I would wonder if anyone would stumble upon them and turn my life into a book or a movie, like Anne Frank. It’s just an example, of course. Settle down.

So what am I doing with a blog? A world wide screen into my thoughts? Here’s where I get squirmy. It’s a need to write as expression and art. Maybe it’s practice for something I can do for a living. Maybe it’s because I’ve been told since I was in grade school that I’m weird and I’ve always taken it as a compliment. I do think some odd thoughts, and sometimes there’s just no one around to say them to. I would hate to waste it! And because I call this art I feel like I’m not good enough, I don’t express myself very well, I don’t have anything to say, there’s nothing creative about it. Suddenly that cripples me and I don’t even start since I’m scared I’ll fail. I can’t be an artist in theory so here’s where I’ll practice and grow and make note of my observations. Here’s where I shake my fist at those who say I can’t, even if all those people are versions of my own voices. This is me right now listening to my future self who said I had to start somewhere. I’m not yet there creatively and professionally and I know just doing something will start the chain of events that get me somewhere. Here’s where I start. Hello, internet.