Too much stuff.
Okay, let's start with now and go backward. I'm pulling a Tarantino. Right now, I'm eating a plum listening to Frank Turner. Or, rather just ate a plum and am still listening to Frank Turner. My nails are too long, but they're pretty for the first time ever, so I'll cut them when they start to break. My skin color is darker than it's ever been. I lost my temper today. Some bastard guy from Montana asked me, after asking me what nationality I was, if I ever felt the need to apologize for the North Koreans behavior. I just lost it. I might have seemed calm on the outside, but I'm really good at obliterating people without yelling. It's still pretty scary, though, I've been told. I got a big tip from him after the tour. Damn right, motherfucker.
I also got some results from the doctor about a scan last week. I have a nodule in my chest. It's too small to test or scan, though, to find out if it's malignant or not. "We'll wait a while and then see," he said, "if it grows or stays the same." Okay. I can't think about that right now.
Vacation was glorious. I'm still picking sand from under my fingernails and out of my bellybutton and shoes. Irritating, but with pleasant memories. So, not irritating for long. Oh! And funny thing--I met some random awesomely hippie girl (yes, I just used hippie as a verb, deal) who worked in a store called Loose Lucy's and sold me some hemp bracelets. She said, "Can I give you a random compliment?" I said something in the affirmative. "You're like really pretty." So, I instantly flashed into a Mean Girls moment-"You're like really pretty." "Thank you." "So, you agree? You think you're really pretty?" I mean, what other reaction was I supposed to have, really? I started laughing and imagining a hippie Regina George. I love that movie, by the way. She looked surprised. I just said "I was comparing you to Regina. Sorry. Thank you, dear." I found that to be really amusing for some reason. Maybe that's just me.
I got a new bowler hat with a bow on it and a venus fly trap. Some little wooden carved animals from Africa became mine too. Their names are Midget (zebra, which I now say zeh-bra because Sara said that's how the South Africans said it and it sounds neat) and Rooney (giraffe). I added them to the collection on my dresser. I have a little carved elephant from Sara's trip to Mamelodi. His name is Loris. They, along with Penny Matheson the pony, Monroe the painted metal giraffe and Karen the glow in the dark alien with a bow (and a disco ball--aliens like disco balls, right?) are watching Shimmy and Ted the ninjas face off. My need to name everything should bother me. I named all the turtles I saw around the boardwalk while shopping at Barefoot Landing. Ken, Timmy, Nolin, Lokey and Shari. I also named every individual heads on my venus fly trap. They all end in y. Tommy, Benny, Terry, Kary, Suzy, Laramy and Deady. Deady is already black and crunchy.
I noticed some ladies doing yoga on the beach during one of my morning runs, and decided it would be better than doing it on my balcony alone. I like to do yoga with other people. So, I joined the 'Over 40 Divorcee Yoga Group" for a week, and met with them three mornings while I was there. They were all super nice and really bendy.
Someone else who was super nice was Frank Turner. I got to see him open for Sum 41 at the House of Blues. It was wonderful. I think I was the only one in the whole room who knew the words to his songs, but most people were respectful of the British with an acoustic guitar. He drank straight whisky the whole set. He hugged me and wished me and Jason well. I also gave him $40 for a cd and his vinyl of The First Three Years instead of $35. Every little bit helps, right? I didn't really have much to spare, but he seemed to be a genuinely a good person. And he's good-looking...and has a British accent. We left after the first couple Sum 41 songs. We weren't really there for them anyway. Some other little hooligans took our spot at the barrier when we vacated our spots.
I needed this vacation. Badly. And when I got home, my mom wasn't crying or sleeping or yelling. She was mixing mashed potatoes. Dad was frying porkchops beside her. They were listening to The Oakridge Boys and laughing. It's been like that since I got back. I didn't ask. Mom is acting like she used to. A long time ago. Maybe they just needed a week without me. It hurts, but I'm kind of a weird person to deal with, I guess. I named a little plastic ninja guy Shimmy. I just want her to be okay. I got hugs, and THEY made food for ME, and Mom did my laundry for me today. Without taking anything she didn't like out. And without intentionally messing any of them up.
I'm singing tomorrow. I think Frank Turner's songs will be the ones of choice. I've actually got some audio of me practicing today with his cd. Michael was recording and I didn't know. I think it sounds hideous. But, someone asked me a long time ago to sing "Long Live the Queen" in honor of one of her friends that died from leukemia. (It's fucking everywhere these days. I've lost too much to CA, and it's not getting another fucking thing from me. I've decided. We'll see how it goes). So, I think if Michael can work out "Jet Lag" on his guitar, I'll work on that one too. I'd like to do "Thatcher Fucked the Kids," but I'm afraid no one will understand it. And "Heartless Bastard Motherfucker" might offend some. I have morals sometimes.
I've got tons of pictures to sort through. I just uploaded them all to Photobucket. I might put some at the end of this, if I'm not too tired.
I realized this week, that I like having Jason around all the time. Even if I was at the pool and he was walking down to the pier, I still knew I'd see him in an hour or so and we'd talk and laugh and kiss and eat something. I cooked for us. I felt totally domestic. I liked falling asleep naked with him and waking up with him still there. It was wonderful. We had sex in a lifeguard chair again. Just to keep up with tradition, you know. I smoked vanilla cigarillos with him. We drank wine with dinner. I drank strawberry daquiris in the room and on the beach and mixed drinks at restaurants and didn't get drunk once. Didn't want to. Didn't need to. I had him there.
I think I'm over being afraid. This feeling is waaaay better than being afraid.
And I came back to my ampersand necklace and "Domestication Kills" magnet in the mail. And a letter and card from Bre. That was just icing on the cake. Buttercream icing on the cake of wonderful happiness good times and feelings. Hear that, Bre? I think I just called you buttercream icing. I'm tired. But, I can do some pictures, I think.
And that is all for tonight. More pictures later.
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