Wednesday, June 30, 2010

my husband is a goober

Mitch is getting a motorcycle. So he tells me. He has gone through the trouble of getting his temp (which took him two tries...mwahahaha), taking a 3-day long class (which he scheduled for when I would be stoned on Vicodin), and getting his official operator's license.

What he failed to consider was the fact that we don't have a driveway. Nor do we have a smooth entrance into the backyard. Nor do we live in what one might call a desirable neighborhood. So here begins the scramble to decide where he should keep the motorized bicycle. He has considered tearing up part of our front yard and pouring a cement ramp next to our stairs. No thank you. He has petitioned several friends with driveways and garages, until I told him it was inappropriate. Now his new plan is to punch a hole in our backyard fence and ask our neighbor if he can use his driveway as entrance to the parking platform he plans to build over my sunflower bed (okay, I haven't planted them yet, but I was going to plant them right where he wants to park it). All this, and he hasn't hung my bat house, put up my clothes line, or mowed the lawn in two weeks. I bet anyone $5 the parking platform gets built first.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I'm not a bad person, really

So, I have a couple wine-o friends who are having a baby, and I had heard that you can buy wine that peaks when the child turns 21, so you can share a great bottle of wine with your now-of-age child. I was like, that's PERFECT for these two. So what do I do? I google "wine for babies." And what results do I get? Various links to why drinking while one is pregnant is a bad idea, something about those red birthmarks, an argument stating that babies actually like red wine (in particular), and something about Michael Jackson I couldn't stomach. I feel like knowing how to search for things on google is a skill in and of itself (tell that to a 15-year-old me who unknowingly googled a lamp company named "Red Light District," blech).

Thursday, June 17, 2010

One Week to Go

My best friend just started dating this guy who's like, really spiritual and a massage therapist and a yogi and raw foodist and pacifist and all this other stuff that's superior to my own existence on this planet, and they crashed my party tonight. So when he saw me writing on the Magna Doodle and properly absorbed my vow of silence, his response was not, "oh that must be really tough," or "is Mitch enjoying the World Cup?" No, he said, "wow, that must be a really spiritual experience for you." Yes friend, that's it.

I realized, though, that people pay big money for this. Women's retreats and silent yoga spa mud retreats and meditation classes. I'm just paying the surgeon and the anesthesiologist instead of the Zen Master. And while I feel a little cynical about the whole experience, the neuroses has calmed a bit, and contentment has set in. I have to be selective about what I choose to write on the 'Doodle, and I don't get to talk to my dogs about whatever, and I have a mandated inner monologue (whereas before it was pretty much all outer monologue). So, as the new beau put it, "it'll change your brain chemistry and stuff." Let's hope it's for the better.

Monday, June 14, 2010

bottomless pit

I get to eat solid food again! Here's a list of things I've eaten today:
  • an egg with the shell on
  • a Double Down from KFC
  • A Q-tip
  • part of a houseplant
  • a tissue
  • a pinecone
  • a pair of chopsticks
  • an incense cone
  • Vicodin
  • A Snickers bar with the wrapper
  • a picture of your mom
  • a puka shell necklace
  • a votive candle from Pier One

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Fly on the Wall

You know how in a Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge gets to see what everyone's lives are like when he's not around? That's kind of what my life is like right now. Being unable to participate fully in any social situation I enter (I can't write fast enough on the Magna Doodle to keep up), I'm just a fly on the wall. And it seems as though in most social situations, I must have been doing most of the talking. Tonight we had dinner in virtual silence at my folks' house. I don't know what that says about me, or other people.

Today's jeni's ice cream flavor is Rhubarb Rose' (like the wine). I misread the container and thought that it was like the flower, and expected it to taste like a Sweet Lassi. It does not. It's light and sweet, not winey at all, with a celery aftertaste. I would eat it as a palate cleanser, but not as dessert.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Solitary Confinement

Being stuck in my own head is truly maddening. It's only been a day, and I'm already starting to go crazy. I simply can't write fast enough on this damn Magna Doodle to get all my thoughts out. And apparently my brain is totally overrun by neuroses, and I just have never had to keep it all to myself. Sort of suffocating. Maybe that's why I've been posting so many blog entries. And it's waaaaaaaaaaay more difficult to micromanage Mitch and all the errands for which he is now responsible. And by the way, the above image really does exist on the Internet. I did not take the picture. Pretty awesome, no?

Anyway, the jeni's flavor of the day is Savannah Buttermint. Do you know those pillowy little dessert mints that you find at old-timey Amish country stores off the highway in Pennsylvania? That's it; except better, and soaked in heavy cream with chunks of white chocolate. It's rich, so you don't need that much. I've been finding that's true with most jeni's flavors. You can only eat so much before you feel like your tongue is coated in a layer of fat. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm just saying sometimes it's better to eat real food and eat less of it. Regardless, this one's a keeper.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

A Day in the Life

I feel the need to recap my experience in the hospital before my Vicodin kicks in. Let's just say I have a new appreciation for post-op nurses.

When they wheeled me in to the operating room, it felt like I was pulling into a pit stop at a Nascar race. People were taping things to my arms, putting stickers and attaching tubes to my chest, strapping circulation sleeves onto my legs, tying huge chunks of foam to my right arm (I still don't know why), and injecting drugs into my IV...all at the same time. It was hilariously comical, possibly because I was enjoying my IV already. I felt the need to remind them that I was only having surgery on my vocal cords, but they had already tied an oxygen mask to my face. The last thing I remember is the nurse/doctor/mechanic saying, "think of a happy dream..."

When I woke up, I was pretty lucid already. They hadn't given me any painkillers, and the anesthesia was minimal since it was only a 30-45 minute surgery. So I was doing okay, and as a result I got to listen to the entertainers that were my wardmates. The guy next to me was moaning and buzzing the nurse like, every two minutes. The nurse kept yelling at him for taking off his blood pressure cuff (which also signaled the nurse), and they finally, thankfully pumped him full of painkillers and he started snoring. But the guy across from me, oh...the guy across from me. I didn't know whether to laugh or say prayers for him.

When you come out of surgery, they ask you questions to make sure you're oriented to the proper time and place (I didn't have to answer these for obvious reasons). This poor guy had no idea he had even had surgery.

Guy: "My f***ing neck hurts!"
Nurse: "Yes sir, you just had back surgery."
Guy: unintelligible mumbling
Nurse: "No, you're not naked. See, you have a gown on. Do you know where you are?"
Guy: more mumbling
Nurse: "No, you're not in a gas station; you're in the hospital. You just had surgery."
Guy: "I'm in the gas station!"

Granted, he sounded crazy, but after my experience in the operating room, I can understand why the guy thought he was in a gas station. Or at least a car repair shop.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

A jeni's (mini)Marathon

I still have my tonsils, and I had been jealous as a child that I never got to miss a week of school and eat gallons of ice cream....UNTIL NOW! So for the next few days, while I'm on a frozen-confection-only diet, I will be sampling all the jeni's ice cream I can stomach (or afford). I got an early start by accident. Meyer Lemon Blueberry Yogurt (okay, not really ice cream). Holy crap! Tastes like Sara Pearce's homemade lemon tarts...a Christmas/Hanukkah staple around our house. I'm not a seasoned food critic, so I lack an adequate vocabulary to describe the deliciousness that I just experienced (the only words coming to mind are "yummers" and "delish"), but it kicked ass. Anyway, here in Cincinnati you can get it at Picnic and Pantry here in Northside.

On another note, my favorite story about getting tonsils removed is in Roald Dahl's book Boy. Totally convinced me it was not that cool to get one's tonsils removed. Read it.

Monday, June 7, 2010

The New Aliases

Because of my vocal cord surgery, I've had to cancel probably a dozen gigs that I had lined up. This pissed off many a bar/venue/booker (so compassionate, aren't they?). I'm thinking it might be best to make my comeback under a different name, like actually a band name, in the hopes that the bad parts of my reputation won't follow me. Liz (my drummer) does not like "Kate and the Smarmy Bananas," so I have to come up with something else. Thus follows this list:

  • The Polyps
  • Nacho Kitchen
  • Wire Hangers
  • Banning Jennifer
  • Too Good for Boxes
  • Drum Solo
  • The One Amp Show
  • Honey Dip
  • Sid's Magnum Opus
  • Transplants
  • Epicure
  • Bulls and Camels
  • Maybe's Nemesis
  • Blind Dogs
  • Napkin Blueprints
  • The Openers
  • Cup and Saucer
  • Mrs. Coleman
There will probably be more.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

I'm just trying to be flexible

I've been trying to think of ways to communicate when I can't talk for two weeks. Here are my thoughts:
  • Writing on a pad of paper or a white board (BORING)
  • Writing on a Magnadoodle (Somewhat boring)
  • Writing on an Etch-a-Sketch (more difficult, but still kind of boring)
  • Texting and IMing, even to people in the same room (not as boring, but possibly annoying)
  • Spelling out words using my whole body to shape the letters
  • Learning Tagalog
  • Getting a talkbox and attaching it to a keytar
  • Buying a parrot and teaching it key phrases (like "get me some ice cream")
  • Armpit farting Morse code
  • Wearing a t-shirt with the alphabet printed on it and pointing to letters to spell things
  • And of course, the fallback, charades

Tuesday, June 1, 2010


After going to my last open mic for a while last night (grammar?), I've decided that "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes is probably the worst open mic cover or karaoke song in existence, particularly when performed by a man. Particularly when performed by a man in hiking boots and cargo shorts and a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. If there is a worse open mic cover in existence, I would like to know, so that I may learn it.
Also, I would like to know where I can find this gem of a hat.