sembri dieci anni piu' giovane
from the italian for YOU LOOK TEN YEARS' YOUNGER!
thats what it says on the brown sugar packet to my right. i like how "YEARS'" is in the possessive form, if you hadn't noticed. looks like a poor attempt at engrish, or somebody at the sugar packet printing factory is just really stupid.
i'm babysitting again, just like on tuesday. a full day affair, from late afternoon to late at night. they say 10:30, but i'm thinking they'll come home at 11.
there were lots of slugs on the sidewalk during my monday night walk, when before we had pretended to ponder life beneath the street light, sitting on the bench, with the sea behind us.
the sporadic mumblings and noises that make sense only to him glide out of his room with full force and permeate the creaky old house with the inane thoughts of an infant. i keep thinking he's going to break out of his prison-esque bed, some might call it a crib. it's possible, his legs are always sticking out. and i can't help but notice today how big his head looks. and his ears.
"dubba dubba daa... aaahmm!" he sounds like a flinstone the way he blabbers on, and then he shrieks at some unheard of pitch at a striking decibel level. and then he's not so cute anymore. but the blue shirt he's wearing today brings out the lovely pastel-stormy blue of his eyes.
i went to check on him, but he didn't want to leave his confines, perfectly content to converse with the birds outside his window. so i stole away to the studio-- my favorite room in the house, because it has the best light. the rest of the place is gloomy. sure they've got windows, but the windows have got shutters, the kind that go on in the inside and are a pain to open and a pain to close and generally just get in the way of everything and cause a big ruckus so one might not as well even bother to attempt to do anything with the inside window shutters. and sure they've got lamps, but they're about as much use as one of those beeswax candles that i made in 2nd grade when it was a colonial themed parade event and i wore a bonnet, and my picture was taken and the next thursday i saw myself sitting next to erin mckie, our smiling faces really just a bunch of different colored dots arranged to look like ourselves. but my mother cut it out, caption included, and stowed it away in some picture album or shoebox so that it could sit in the basement for years until i decided to spelunk just to see how cute (or atrocious) i looked in a bonnet.
there's kitty litter on the floor. it's been there for at least a good week. or a bad week. i wonder if they care? even more so, i wonder if the cat will pee on it. i find that cats like me, but only when im babysitting. never at a friends house. the cat here, i dont even know its name or gender, but late at night it always finds me. it paws at my stomach, deciding that i am a good resting place, and sits on me. i dont mind that the end result is that i'm hairy, or that sometimes if i try to pet it i disagrees, its just nice to have the company with whom i don't have to keep spewing out words without meaning just to create an atmosphere that isn't completely awkward. with a cat, i dont even have to talk at all.
i took him out of the crib. the first thing he did with his freedom was put things away, only then to knock things off his table. i guess he's one for equilibrium. they told me to make him scrambled eggs for dinner. they left me a pot. scrambled eggs? in a pot? no way. i found a pan instead. after the last meal of the day, he trudges over to the living room: the central spot of all his quote unquote (oh how pretentious of me) playthings. so he sits there on the floor, his white diaper cushioning him at least an inch off the ground. he commences self-amusement via a toy steering wheel complete with horn, blinkers, and miscellaneous buttons that spit out songs and emulate three different kinds of sirens. with his other hand he's playing with an equally annoying pretend phone. only one and a half years old and already he's starting habits that personify dangerous drivers, threats to society. "ah, today's youth!" the elders say with a smirk, and the only thing they do about it is shake their heads and sigh. maybe today's youth is so stupid because of yesterday's youth. ahem.
for my own dinner they left me brownies, cookies, chips, and a sampling of assorted fruit. sounds like a healthy, nutritious dinner! so i call my mother and she offers to bring me some food that will actually provide some sort of sustenance. mom's always save the day. will i be a save-the-day kind of mom? hope so. as for now i think i'm kind of a crummy babysitter -- its hard enough finding something to entertain myself, let alone a couple of other underaged human beings. but i guess i'm doing something right as there are two kids on my old street who are crazy about me. not in the passionate way, of course, im not michael jackson. but in the "hey ive known you all my life and if my parents are gone then you are my first choice of someone to supervise me!" kind of way. everybody has a job these days. jobs are overrated. im just fine with my randomly scheduled tax-free babysitting, thank you very much. but i suppose an actual job wouldnt be so bad either. i did have one for a while.
so i wrote a story. it just kind of came out of me. let me read it to myself a couple more times until i can decide what degree of crappiness it attained. then again i do have a bias (which is to think that everything i make is crap, so who really knows? plus i hate having other people read what i write, because while i kind of really want feedback, im desperately afraid of what they'll think, how they'll judge me. besides, whenever you ask someone for their opinion they always feed you bullshit anyway, so you cant really trust people to tell you anything, which is just a good a reason not to let anyone read things you write.)
i wonder why kiwis are hairy. do you think that if i lived down under that i'd know? so the bottom of the paper bag, it was white and probably not made from recycled materials, read "Lucinda Santos" but in all capital letters. who is lucinda santos? there must be one somewhere in the world! the first thing that sprang to my mind was that it was some kind of mafia ploy, in which they printed on the bottom of white paper bags the names of people they wanted to be, oh how do you say, murdered. like a hit list.. conspiracy theory anyone? and now im drinking seltzer water and i kind of hate seltzer water but it always looks so appealing, and they lure you in with flavors like "raspberry lime" and "mandarin orange."
the second brightest room in the house used to be a closet. it has now been transmutated into a bathroom. i find that somewhat charming, in an odd closet-gone-bathroom kind of way. theres a window inside this ex-closet, and its ground level, so if you were in there and someone walked past, you could see their knees and hear their voices as if they were in there with you. thats just creepy. besides, that bathroom couldnt even fit more than one person. well-- you'd have to squish and it would just be uncomfortably close. unless you were the kind of people that wanted to be uncomfortably close. in which case i suppose it would be perfectly alright.
what disappoints me about the studio is that i dont see any cool artist's tools. yeah there are paintbrushes in the corner, and an easel with a canvas right next to me.. but.. theres something seriously lacking. especially since she paints abstract. if you met her in person you wouldnt think she's an artist. and if you knew she was an artist you wouldnt think abstract. she seems kind of stoic. kind of bland. kind of too organized for an abstract artist. but i suppose thats just me throwing out stereotypes! i know, i know, people can by artsy and neat, just look at your sister, lisa. but my sister paints in the "i want this to be beautiful and it will because im doing something that i love" kind of way. not to say that this abstract paintress doesnt. who knows. her studio just lacks that charm.. that avant garde (not that i even know what that means), messy charm that you can find at the acorn, or in mr. pierce's classroom. NOT mrs beaulieu's, thats for sure.
ive always wanted a (nice smelling) cigar box to put my really cool meaningless-to-everyone-but-myself objects. thing is, i dont know anyone who smokes cigars. but i want a cool looking cigar box, not a stupid plain one. i like cigar boxes because a) its a box.. and i like boxes and other kinds of storage devices b) they look kind of vintage and i like vintage looking things. like posters. oh speaking of vintage posters, they have these frenchy vintage poster themed set of coasters. and may i say that one is kind of risque. well it is!
my parents always say things like "im proud of you" and "i miss you" coupled with "i havent seen you all day." which makes me feel pangs of guilt that collide with the cozy feeling of being loved by somebody. which just reminds me of this quote from the movie "Love Actually" which i've abridged slightly from what i found at imdb.
Daniel: So what's the problem, Sammy-o? Maybe... school - are you being bullied? Or is it something worse? Can you give me any clues at all?
Sam: You really want to know?
Daniel: I really want to know.
Sam: Even though you won't be able to do anything to help?
Daniel: Even if that's the case, yeah.
Sam: OK. The truth is actually... I'm in love.
Daniel: Sorry? Aren't you a bit young to be in love?
Sam: No.
Daniel: Oh, OK, right. Well, I'm a little relieved.
Sam: Why?
Daniel: Well, you know - I thought it might be something worse.
Sam: [incredulous] Worse than the total agony of being in love?
Daniel: Oh. No, you're right. Yeah, total agony.
so leaving you with those *cheery* thoughts (cant you feel the sarcasm dripping from my voice? er.. online text? ah fuck it), i leave you in order to go explore the mundane aspects of the internet. im surprised you've made it this far, i've written something the length of a short story, and only because i was bored. not to be productive or anything. go away already! shoo.
love, lisa (ps, the face that accompanies the preset mood listing of "amused" looks really stupid and thats not at all the facial expression i have on. not even on the inside! especially since that illustration doesnt even have pupils. really, come on)
thats what it says on the brown sugar packet to my right. i like how "YEARS'" is in the possessive form, if you hadn't noticed. looks like a poor attempt at engrish, or somebody at the sugar packet printing factory is just really stupid.
i'm babysitting again, just like on tuesday. a full day affair, from late afternoon to late at night. they say 10:30, but i'm thinking they'll come home at 11.
there were lots of slugs on the sidewalk during my monday night walk, when before we had pretended to ponder life beneath the street light, sitting on the bench, with the sea behind us.
the sporadic mumblings and noises that make sense only to him glide out of his room with full force and permeate the creaky old house with the inane thoughts of an infant. i keep thinking he's going to break out of his prison-esque bed, some might call it a crib. it's possible, his legs are always sticking out. and i can't help but notice today how big his head looks. and his ears.
"dubba dubba daa... aaahmm!" he sounds like a flinstone the way he blabbers on, and then he shrieks at some unheard of pitch at a striking decibel level. and then he's not so cute anymore. but the blue shirt he's wearing today brings out the lovely pastel-stormy blue of his eyes.
i went to check on him, but he didn't want to leave his confines, perfectly content to converse with the birds outside his window. so i stole away to the studio-- my favorite room in the house, because it has the best light. the rest of the place is gloomy. sure they've got windows, but the windows have got shutters, the kind that go on in the inside and are a pain to open and a pain to close and generally just get in the way of everything and cause a big ruckus so one might not as well even bother to attempt to do anything with the inside window shutters. and sure they've got lamps, but they're about as much use as one of those beeswax candles that i made in 2nd grade when it was a colonial themed parade event and i wore a bonnet, and my picture was taken and the next thursday i saw myself sitting next to erin mckie, our smiling faces really just a bunch of different colored dots arranged to look like ourselves. but my mother cut it out, caption included, and stowed it away in some picture album or shoebox so that it could sit in the basement for years until i decided to spelunk just to see how cute (or atrocious) i looked in a bonnet.
there's kitty litter on the floor. it's been there for at least a good week. or a bad week. i wonder if they care? even more so, i wonder if the cat will pee on it. i find that cats like me, but only when im babysitting. never at a friends house. the cat here, i dont even know its name or gender, but late at night it always finds me. it paws at my stomach, deciding that i am a good resting place, and sits on me. i dont mind that the end result is that i'm hairy, or that sometimes if i try to pet it i disagrees, its just nice to have the company with whom i don't have to keep spewing out words without meaning just to create an atmosphere that isn't completely awkward. with a cat, i dont even have to talk at all.
i took him out of the crib. the first thing he did with his freedom was put things away, only then to knock things off his table. i guess he's one for equilibrium. they told me to make him scrambled eggs for dinner. they left me a pot. scrambled eggs? in a pot? no way. i found a pan instead. after the last meal of the day, he trudges over to the living room: the central spot of all his quote unquote (oh how pretentious of me) playthings. so he sits there on the floor, his white diaper cushioning him at least an inch off the ground. he commences self-amusement via a toy steering wheel complete with horn, blinkers, and miscellaneous buttons that spit out songs and emulate three different kinds of sirens. with his other hand he's playing with an equally annoying pretend phone. only one and a half years old and already he's starting habits that personify dangerous drivers, threats to society. "ah, today's youth!" the elders say with a smirk, and the only thing they do about it is shake their heads and sigh. maybe today's youth is so stupid because of yesterday's youth. ahem.
for my own dinner they left me brownies, cookies, chips, and a sampling of assorted fruit. sounds like a healthy, nutritious dinner! so i call my mother and she offers to bring me some food that will actually provide some sort of sustenance. mom's always save the day. will i be a save-the-day kind of mom? hope so. as for now i think i'm kind of a crummy babysitter -- its hard enough finding something to entertain myself, let alone a couple of other underaged human beings. but i guess i'm doing something right as there are two kids on my old street who are crazy about me. not in the passionate way, of course, im not michael jackson. but in the "hey ive known you all my life and if my parents are gone then you are my first choice of someone to supervise me!" kind of way. everybody has a job these days. jobs are overrated. im just fine with my randomly scheduled tax-free babysitting, thank you very much. but i suppose an actual job wouldnt be so bad either. i did have one for a while.
so i wrote a story. it just kind of came out of me. let me read it to myself a couple more times until i can decide what degree of crappiness it attained. then again i do have a bias (which is to think that everything i make is crap, so who really knows? plus i hate having other people read what i write, because while i kind of really want feedback, im desperately afraid of what they'll think, how they'll judge me. besides, whenever you ask someone for their opinion they always feed you bullshit anyway, so you cant really trust people to tell you anything, which is just a good a reason not to let anyone read things you write.)
i wonder why kiwis are hairy. do you think that if i lived down under that i'd know? so the bottom of the paper bag, it was white and probably not made from recycled materials, read "Lucinda Santos" but in all capital letters. who is lucinda santos? there must be one somewhere in the world! the first thing that sprang to my mind was that it was some kind of mafia ploy, in which they printed on the bottom of white paper bags the names of people they wanted to be, oh how do you say, murdered. like a hit list.. conspiracy theory anyone? and now im drinking seltzer water and i kind of hate seltzer water but it always looks so appealing, and they lure you in with flavors like "raspberry lime" and "mandarin orange."
the second brightest room in the house used to be a closet. it has now been transmutated into a bathroom. i find that somewhat charming, in an odd closet-gone-bathroom kind of way. theres a window inside this ex-closet, and its ground level, so if you were in there and someone walked past, you could see their knees and hear their voices as if they were in there with you. thats just creepy. besides, that bathroom couldnt even fit more than one person. well-- you'd have to squish and it would just be uncomfortably close. unless you were the kind of people that wanted to be uncomfortably close. in which case i suppose it would be perfectly alright.
what disappoints me about the studio is that i dont see any cool artist's tools. yeah there are paintbrushes in the corner, and an easel with a canvas right next to me.. but.. theres something seriously lacking. especially since she paints abstract. if you met her in person you wouldnt think she's an artist. and if you knew she was an artist you wouldnt think abstract. she seems kind of stoic. kind of bland. kind of too organized for an abstract artist. but i suppose thats just me throwing out stereotypes! i know, i know, people can by artsy and neat, just look at your sister, lisa. but my sister paints in the "i want this to be beautiful and it will because im doing something that i love" kind of way. not to say that this abstract paintress doesnt. who knows. her studio just lacks that charm.. that avant garde (not that i even know what that means), messy charm that you can find at the acorn, or in mr. pierce's classroom. NOT mrs beaulieu's, thats for sure.
ive always wanted a (nice smelling) cigar box to put my really cool meaningless-to-everyone-but-myself objects. thing is, i dont know anyone who smokes cigars. but i want a cool looking cigar box, not a stupid plain one. i like cigar boxes because a) its a box.. and i like boxes and other kinds of storage devices b) they look kind of vintage and i like vintage looking things. like posters. oh speaking of vintage posters, they have these frenchy vintage poster themed set of coasters. and may i say that one is kind of risque. well it is!
my parents always say things like "im proud of you" and "i miss you" coupled with "i havent seen you all day." which makes me feel pangs of guilt that collide with the cozy feeling of being loved by somebody. which just reminds me of this quote from the movie "Love Actually" which i've abridged slightly from what i found at imdb.
Daniel: So what's the problem, Sammy-o? Maybe... school - are you being bullied? Or is it something worse? Can you give me any clues at all?
Sam: You really want to know?
Daniel: I really want to know.
Sam: Even though you won't be able to do anything to help?
Daniel: Even if that's the case, yeah.
Sam: OK. The truth is actually... I'm in love.
Daniel: Sorry? Aren't you a bit young to be in love?
Sam: No.
Daniel: Oh, OK, right. Well, I'm a little relieved.
Sam: Why?
Daniel: Well, you know - I thought it might be something worse.
Sam: [incredulous] Worse than the total agony of being in love?
Daniel: Oh. No, you're right. Yeah, total agony.
so leaving you with those *cheery* thoughts (cant you feel the sarcasm dripping from my voice? er.. online text? ah fuck it), i leave you in order to go explore the mundane aspects of the internet. im surprised you've made it this far, i've written something the length of a short story, and only because i was bored. not to be productive or anything. go away already! shoo.
love, lisa (ps, the face that accompanies the preset mood listing of "amused" looks really stupid and thats not at all the facial expression i have on. not even on the inside! especially since that illustration doesnt even have pupils. really, come on)