this and that

I don't really have internet anymore. I could surf at work but I don't really have time and would get in trouble anyway. I can piggyback off my neighbors illegally, but I still can't connect on my Dell, just Honey's. So I haven't been able to visit my "online communities" as often I did as a grade student who worked strange hours and read too much and was too often all up in her head. It's been rather freeing. Yet there has been some writing bubbling up for a while.

Having a house of all wood floors, I have to sweep a lot. I got one of those Swiffer WetJets and that works fairly well, except the pads come in 12 packs and cost $5. I need four to do the whole house. So I was thinking as I did it the old fashioned way (mop + floor spray), Swiffers are for lazy people anyway. Then I started thinking about how and why and when we realized we needed such a product, as handy as it is. In the olden days there weren't even floors, be they wood or carpet or what have you. I suppose at some point the introduction of the broom was somewhat radical, and many a back was saved--I know from reading Victorian literature that prior to this point it was hands, knees, and grumbling. Like in Cinderella. So after that,the dustpan was a godsend when you got tired of sweeping the home hearth's dirty all the way to your crewdly-hewn door. THEN after the grime of the Industrial Revolution had settled, we went through a few wars and cars got really big and awful track housing suburbian hell popped up like idential kernals of gabled, picket-fenced corn. Rugs crawled out to the corners and walls and became carpet. Now our workspaces as "traditional females" (where the production of food happened and the cleaning of shared spaces occurred) became more defined and borered. Enter the Swiffer, ideal for cleaning the faux-wood finish of your Americana decor kitchen. You don't have to bend over or strain of anything.

In any case, Titanic is on. Not to be confused with the "original." That's right, before Kate Winslet sweat all over a prepubescent Leo DiCaprio (who wins my respect and possibly my undies with his acting in The Departed years later--What's Eating Gilbert Grape was also great but affected me in a very different way), there was another Titanic. The ending? Same. I'm watching it now, and decided to do a little research. There were actually over a dozen versions made since 1912.

A conversation with Adam while he was up in Chicago visiting David:
"HELLO?!" he screams over a loud racket of drunk people.

"WHAT'RE YOUUUUU DOING??" I yell back, as it seemed like the thing to do.

"DAVID JUST LEFT ME ON A BUS!!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON A BUS??"

"NO, I'M IN A BAR, DAVID LEFT ON A BUS!! HE LEFT ME ON A BUS!!"

"WHY DID HE LEAVE ON A BUS??"

"WE WERE JUST WALKIN...AND...UH..HE SAID LETS GET ON THAT BUS AND STARTED RUNNING, AND I SAID, HE'S NOT GOING TO GET ON THAT BUS, AND...ow!...ALL OF A SUDDEN HE'S BANGING ON THE WINDOWS OF THE BUS AT ME AS IT GOES BY, AND I COULDN'T...I COULDN'T GET ON THAT BUS SO I'M IN A BAR!!"

I tried not to laugh. It was 5:30 in Chicago.

"WHAT BAR?"

"I DON'T KNOW!!"

"CALL HIM!!

"HE WON'T ANSWER THE PHONE!!"

"DUDE!!"

"WHAT??"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU AND MY THROAT IS GETTING SORE FROM YELLING, GOOD LUCK!"

In junior league with the devil

Call me stupid--I didn't know what Junior League was til fairly recently. Same goes for Ladies' Auxiliary. Such concepts are lost on a neo-girly tomboy from a small town in the midwest where the richest folks have just multiple cars and newer houses. I still shave my legs and everything, I even enjoy an occasional pedicure or pretty skirt, but this is just out of my realm. In case you're as ignorant as me, such organizations function as a sort of social group hiding behind ridiculous boots and empty wine bottles and talking about how much they do for the community for the real-life well-off white wives from the next town over from Stepford. Maybe that's unfair--just my take.

A few nights ago, I had 2 hours to kill between work and the staff meeting and was planning on spending birthday money on a coat at Kohls (since I lost all of mine in Austin--that's another blog). My boss's wife begged me to go to the Holiday Happening, sponsored by the Junior League of Lubbock. Oh yeah, I said--I remember when that girl came in at work and gave me the tickets to give to you and gave me the poster to put up advertising for said Happening. I deliberately threw that poster behind a desk in the corner. I didn't want to go, but it was my boss's wife, so I did. She lured me with the promise of good food and promised to not be "one of them." The HH has the same basic concept as First Thursday in Austin. It manages to be completely different. For one thing, I have never in my life seen so many things made of pink fuzzy material. Secondly, I do not understand the purpose of live models--in this case, perfectly still women standing on top of big cubes wearing ridiculous and ugly clothing. We know they're not mannequins. The whole concept makes me uncomfortable, and I had to fight off the urge to mess with them. Sidle up and talk about something itchy. Rip an inappropriate noise in close proximity. Something to break up the monotony.

The food was good, I'll give them that. There was a Greek stand, an Italian, Mexican, German, Chinese, and good ole snotty rich people American food. The only people of color I saw at the shindig were those working these stands. Everyone else (mostly women plus a few married shmucks whose ball-lessness led to their being dragged to the function) was deliberate to the point of pain. Deliberate hair, deliberate makeup, jewelry, outfits, boots, manicures, everything. I felt uncomfortable. I felt like I had not spent enouh time attempting perfection. It was a like a huge and indiscriminate sorority for those who were too old for such nonsense. I'm not saying these women aren't nice--I'm saying it's hard to tell under the fakery.

A few days later, a phone confirmed the irony of me being at such an event. Tiffany or some such name said some numbers had been transposed on the silent auction (which was kinda cool--mischief at the Holiday Happening?), and had I bid on a tea kettle? A quilting session? A gift card for Chili's? Clearly, madam, you don't know me.

I did end up winning a 3 month membership to Premier Fitness, but didn't claim my prize, as I didn't have enough money after going out for drinks last night.