Frog Blog

on the max yesterday:

thug wannabe one: “dude, are you ghetto?”

thug wannabe two: “huh?”

thug wannabe one: “dude, are you GHETTO?”

thug wannabe two: “no, man, i’m from miami.”

said to me by a rangy looking guy as he passed me on the sidewalk: “hey pretty, wanna fuck?” (me: why, yes, now that you mention it, what a great idea, let’s hurry on back to my place, chop chop now, hurry it along)

from girl 4th in line at the clothing exchange waiting to sell clothes: “can we leave our clothes here and shop? i’m not used to this whole ‘waiting in line’ thing.”

it’s hot out, and hot inside, and my legs are sticking to the phone book i’m sitting on so i can reach the keys without getting a backache, and i’m annoyed. i’m annoyed it’s hot out, and annoyed it’s hot inside, annoyed about the phonebook and annoyed they didn’t buy any of my clothes at the lame-ass clothing exchange after i walked down there in this heat. they didn’t buy the leather pants i inherited from my friend which, unfortunately, don’t fit. and it’s annoying because the cool clothing exchange i was sure would buy the pants was closed today which forced me to go to the lame-ass one instead that never buys anything (and yet is strangely filled with all kinds of lame-ass, annoying clothes i’d never buy). i’m annoyed because the apartment is a mess in addition to being hot. and i fucked up and booked the wrong train ticket online an hour ago, something that’s annoying on two parts: one, that i’m booking anything online in advance as it goes against who i am as a traveler; and two, because i fucked up and booked the wrong ticket after all. it’s not that big of a deal; i booked the non-tgv instead of the tgv, which means C and i will get there in 3.5 hours instead of 2.5, but the difference was only $12 and now we don’t have reserved seats and i’m annoyed because i fucked up because i wasn’t paying attention to the details, which is typical. and i’m pissed because it cost $150 and i just paid $200 to that credit card and that’s fucking annoying. and i’m annoyed because i have this amy winehouse song stuck in my head and when i went to go listen to it on imeem.com, i found out that all amy winehouse songs are restricted to 30 seconds each because itunes wants you to buy the songs. and fuck that, really, FUCK THAT, because on imeem you can just listen to songs, you can’t download them, and apple doesn’t need any of my money.

last night, on a whim, i went looking for my passport. i keep it in the same place and am pretty anal about putting it back in that same spot. the last time i took it out was for the trip up north in april when my brother was out; we all thought we’d go up to canada but never made it. anyway, last night, i went to the place where i keep my passport and it wasn’t there. gone. couldn’t find it. ahhhh!

i’m pretty convinced there’s a little gnome who lives in the space between my walls and likes to come out at night and take my coolest, more important stuff and either keep it for himself or use it a while and stash it elsewhere. i swear i’ve misplaced more things in this apartment than any other place or time in my life. it’s rare that i misplace anything. i’m not the type to lose my keys or forget my debit card at the grocery store or leave my wallet in someone’s front seat. but i have gone hunting for countless things in this apartment. eventually i find them, but never in sensical places.

i panicked when i couldn’t find the passport. i went through every drawer, through all the closets, in between books and in nooks and crannies where a passport wouldn’t even fit, let alone be. i told B, i can’t find my passport. will you help me find it? and my tone was such that he knew i was serious and starting to freak out. together we nearly turned the place inside out: no passport. all the while i was thinking, shit, i have TOO MUCH STUFF, i’m such a packrat, i’m too sentimental and nostalgic, i’ve got to get rid of all this crap, i’m so disorganized, shit, this is going to cost me a boatload to get a new passport expedited to me before france. and i’m quite attached to that old passport, what with its snazzy french visa and work permit. it’s got an old-school photo of me looking so young and grim and unsmiling and 21.

and then … passport found. in a bag of winter clothes and knee-high socks, in a closet i rarely visit. why? why the hell was it in there? who put my passport in there? mr. gnome, are you listening??

woke up at 7:30

met my father for breakfast at a fancy-pants hotel restaurant

went to my grandmother’s funeral

had drinks and lunch with the family afterwards

picked up B

took him to the eye doc to get new frames and an eye exam

went to uncle D’s house for beers (he has a kegerator, for reals)

bought a california king bed

tried to find sheets and a mattress pad at the mall

stewed on the fact that cal king linens are difficult to find and expensive

went to the grocery store

cooked and ate dinner

came home, hemmed pants

searched for my passport

went to bed at 11:30

laid awake until 2 am

woke up to rain

i bought this skirt at the store for less money than online and it was in my size:

mostly i’m posting this as a test to see if i’m adept at posting photos. fingers crossed…

(eureka!)

Download file

well, isn’t that interesting… (that’s what i saw when i first set foot on the aran islands in ireland.)

nothing on the ipod is good and i’m slumping in the chair and not feeling like doing much of anything, including writing. i’ve taken to starching my clothes while ironing; not everything but many of my blouses and pant cuffs. hemming pants the other night was strangely satisfying in a very calm, quiet, focused way. i get the same satisfaction while ironing. we don’t have a proper laundry or utility room (the coin-op laundry machines are downstairs in the shared basement, as a matter of fact), so the ironing board has taken permanent residence in the dining room next to the table. last week i bleached a load of whites— first time i’ve ever done a bleached load of anything— and gave them a nice starch spray and iron after they were dry. this is wild to write! me, finding joy in domestic activities. lately, though, i’m finding joy in the little things. like good toothpaste (colgate total) and fresh linens on a bed and opening a new deodorant or mascara. like a crisp shirt that i didn’t have to pick up from the drycleaners. i love opening up the cabinet below the bathroom sink and seeing 12 perfect rolls of toilet paper, all stocked and stacked up neatly. i find comfort in stashes and piles and abundance. i’m a stasher, a cacher, a pack rat. it’s a crutch, really, but such a nice crutch. i’m sure my attachment to things has deep roots to my soul and my upbringing. but what’s shit is when my stuff, my piles, my abundance does nothing for my unsettled, unsatisfied mood. i’m surrounded by objects that don’t talk back or offer anything except looking nice.

right about the time i was thinking, i wish i had business-sized cards that said “please shut up because you’re annoying”; or, “you are definitely part of the problem, not part of the solution”; or, “really, you don’t need to talk so loud on your phone”; cards that i could hand out to people on the train after work, right about that time, the woman next to me closed her book, turned to me and asked, “are you having a good day?” and this was stunning and annoying and profound, all at the same time (wouldn’t that be good on a business-sized card). because there i was, all tired and zonked out from an afternoon of too much paper copying and too many file assembly, there i was all living in my head and getting annoyed at people i don’t even know, thinking about how someone should shush that baby crying already, and am i going to be able to get out of this train without bumping into everyone, and here was this woman totally in the moment, completely sincere, asking me such a simple, true question. and it was so real and nice. and i thought about my answer: “yeah. i’m glad it’s over. at least the work part” and asked her about her day and so on and so forth. and she recommended the book she was reading (called “captivating”) and then she disappeared off the train. i thought maybe i’d imagined her but then i saw her again at the crosswalk. she went north, i went east.

i’m slowly learning about this blog and its settings.

i lost my favorite ring. my mother gave it to me about 5 years ago and i was honored that she gave me something so beautiful and unique. it’s an antique cocktail spinnel ring with two tiny diamonds on the side. spinnel is a semi-precious stone that comes in loads of colors; it was often used as faux ruby or emerald. my spinnel was a gorgeous aqua shade that changed colors depending on what type of day it was: cloudy days it looked more like the ocean in malibu; sunny days it turned a baby blue.

the stone was rather big so i always took off the ring before washing my hands, otherwise soap and water would get stuck between the stone and my finger, creating soap scum buildup on its underside. i’m sure that yesterday i took it off to wash my hands in the bathroom or kitchen at work and, preoccupied, walked out without it.

so mostly i’m just mad at myself for not being more careful. (and i’m mad at that gnome who keeps taking my stuff.) i know there’s nothing i can do about it now but i’m sick over it. i realized it was gone at 5:30 yesterday after i’d already left work. i rushed back and searched everywhere: the bathroom, its garbage can, under the sink, in the kitchen, all around my desk. i put up a bunch of signs and asked the parking lot attendant if anyone had turned it in. no one had and he told me not to worry, it’d turn up, there are a lot of honest people in my building, once he dropped a wad of cash from his parking till and someone returned it to him, cash!, intact.

i called my father and he suggested that if i ever take off a ring to wash my hands i should put it in my mouth, that way i’d know where it is (uh, thanks, dad). i called my mother and she was more sympathetic and sorry. she reminded me that it’s just a ring, to which i said: yeah, but why that ring—- the only one i have that’s worth anything, that has meaning and style, why not a throw-away who cares ring? and she said, at least you have your health, and haven’t you and i been talking about how we need to hoe out our loads of stuff? out with the old, in with the new? (or in with the more zen-like nothing at all?) it made me feel better. a little bit.

the gnome has left the building. someone found my ring in the women’s room last friday night. seeing that everyone had gone home for the weekend, she put it in an envelope and stashed it in her desk until this morning. i couldn’t be more ecstatic or grateful. phew!