Sunday, September 30, 2012

And then there was one (living human)

So, the Roommate left her key and garage door opener on the dresser in her room, along with a note of thanks and half of October's utilities, because she felt bad that the Landlord (aka Mom) didn't charge her a cleaning fee or anything.

Umm, dude, are you coming to get the rest of your shit?  There's like, a whole carload of stuff at least.  Turkish coffee sets, a box of pharmaceuticals, your entire filing cabinet, acres of canvases and frames, a sword, all your baking foofaraw, all your DVDs...  I don't think she realized how much stuff she had accumulated.  She moved into a teeny tiny little place waaaaaaaay out in the boonies, and I'm sure it's stuffed to the gunwales.

I have a lot of space now.  Two whole bedrooms, the other half of the garage, and the majority of my kitchen are now empty.  I'm not in a hurry to find another roommate.  The only reason I had one in the first place is because Roommate needed a place to stay, and asked me if it could be here.  Who was I to say no, with a 3 bedroom house all to myself?  I will probably keep the bedrooms pretty much empty, except for the furniture that lives in there.  I suppose I have a guest room, now.  I am embarking upon a fairly ambitious sewing project, I will probably sequester it in the other bedroom while it's in process, just to keep the animals off of the fabric.

I'm shuffling all my shit into the garage, though.  I'm practically drunk on the idea of it.  Oh lord, everything will have a place?  >swooooon<  For the first time in almost two years, there is NOTHING on top of the dryer or the chest freezer, and nothing on the garage floor.

I am now the only living human in this house.  The dog, the cat, two rats, and at least two intermittent ghosts are now my only company.

I have begun the Pants Off Dance Off, not as a celebration, but as a matter of principle.

The dog, having no pants to abandon, is in mourning for the departure of her favorite friend.  I'll have to make sure she has lots of extracurricular activity.

The cat could give a shit.

I'm not sure the rats noticed.

The ghosts are staying silent.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Sometimes, I forget.

Most of the time, I feel very much like a normal person.  I tootle along, doing my thing, and life is cool.  I think my thoughts, I behave my behaviors, I eat my foods, I say my words, and I brush my teeth twice a day.  I feel very normal.  I think this is an average life.

And then, occasionally, I am suddenly made hyper-aware of how far outside the realm of "normal" I am generally operating.  The realization hits me like a wave, and I am left shaken and confused.

Some of my coworkers didn't know what "pragmatic" meant.  That was today's sudden Weird Awareness Wave.

Doesn't seem like enough to set off an existential crisis, does it?  But it is.  I find the idea of an adult not knowing the meaning of the word "pragmatic" to be utterly, completely incomprehensible.

What do you MEAN you don't know what it means?  It's not that strange of a word!  It's relatively common!  It's used in general discourse!  I don't expect you to be able to give me the OED definition, but you can at least use the word correctly in a sentence, right?

We're teachers, for heaven's sake.  TEACHERS.


I called my parents to ask them questions about an unrelated event.  I asked them both to define "pragmatic."  Mom went with "practical."  Dad went with "realistic."  I felt less alone.

My brother is a smart guy, but is admittedly not a language freak.  He's an engineer.  He likes numbers and variables.  I had to help him with English papers quite frequently when we were in high school.

I called my brother and left him a message- I have a weird question for you, please call me back.

"Hey, you called, what's up?"

I need you to tell me what "pragmatic" means.

"What the hell?  Why are you asking me?"

I need to know that you know the definition of "pragmatic."

>uncomfortable, on-the-spot noises<

I don't need the official definition, just use it in a sentence.

"This is the pragmatic solution."

Sigh of relief.

"I guess it means... logical?  Reasonable? Why are YOU asking ME?"

I related the story.

"Dude, there's no way they've gotten through adulthood without having heard that word.  You'd think they could at least use deductive reasoning to puzzle out what it meant."

The fact that you just used the phrase "deductive reasoning" makes me believe that our whole family might be outliers in this situation.

"I guarantee that almost none of my coworkers could use 'deductive reasoning' or 'pragmatic' in a sentence.  The world is dumber than you think it is."

And the Waves of Otherness continue to wash over me.

What other words do I use casually that are incomprehensible to the general public?  I mean, I know I like words more than the average person.  I get a kick out of etymology.  If see or hear a word that I cannot immediately define, I will Google it.  Nuance is important.  I want my words to accurately describe my thoughts, and I will pick and choose words carefully to assure that I am conveying the message I intend to convey.

Is this really such a strange trait?

If this is strange, what the fuck is normal?


I'm sure that I will have returned to a feeling of normalcy by morning.  And I will tootle along again, oblivious to the actual state of normalcy, and I will continue to use clarifying words that only serve to obscure my meaning, and I will forget again.

But at this moment?

I feel like I just found out that the world is actually flat.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Paint paint paint.

California poppies.

How do you paint something that is all one shade of obnoxious orange?

Yeah, I'm not exactly thrilled with the flowers, but fuckit, I'm tired of painting this thing.

At least they're loud.

Quail plumage is more interesting.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Back to Aloneness

Welp, my roommate has found her dream place up in the canyon, with studio space and chickens and whatnot, so as of the beginning of October, I'll be the only human living in this house.

Truth be told, I'm kind of excited about the idea of having space to organize shit properly (never got done, and right now it's like one of those sliding-tile puzzles in here), but I'll have to keep my tendency towards utter chaos under control.  It's easier to attempt to keep things somewhat orderly when there's someone else to consider.  Of course, I'll also have nobody else to work around, and double the kitchen cabinet space, but still.

The dog will miss her terribly.  The dog is very needy.

Walkin-around-nekkid-time will increase exponentially, though.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

It's too hot in this house.

Hi ho, fellow Internet denizens.  It's gorram hot in Southern California, and I am quite over it.  If I start decorating my house for Halloween, it will make the temperature drop, right?  That's how nature works?

In other news...

I started working on the quail kiosk panel again.
I hate doing lettering.

I took the dog to the beach and forgot to put on sunscreen.
That's ridiculous.  And it's peeling.

I cleaned the rat cage a few times.
Ingrid's head, Leena's butt.

I spent a shitload of money at Bath and Body Works.

And I lost all faith in humanity.
I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

So, how was your week?

Saturday, September 1, 2012

September Theme: Someone Special

It would seem that most of the people who participated in Sophistique Noir's September theme posted about their significant others.  I find this heartwarming, because I like to see weirdos (come on, you've thought of yourself as a weirdo at some point, if you were normal you wouldn't be reading this blog, I think weirdos are the very best sort of people) who have found each other.  

However, I'm single.  This weirdo has yet to find another weirdo to love.  And my friends are special and weird, but really, there is only one person to whom I should devote this post-

My Mother.

The Grand Weirdo.

Her Weirdness taught me about the outdoors.  I spent time in the bushes as a child, and at the beach, and in the mountains, and in the desert.  We still enjoy dirt together.

Tidepooling in Dana Point a few years ago.

Her Weirdness taught me to love animals, and that pets are for better or for worse.  Inconvenience is not a factor. 
Mom and her granddog, Trixie, looking purdy for Christmas.
She recently became an Oma, to my brother's kids.  One does not mess with Oma.  Although, one does apparently cover Oma's house in red lipstick and gel candle goo.  Oma still loves her little boys.  She shall perpetuate the weird with another generation.  Incidentally, these two little dudes are the reason I'm "Tante."
Oma meets her Bug, 2010 
Oma's Bug got bigger, 2011
Oma gains a Hopper, 2012

Her Weirdness is a skilled Maker Of Things, and is probably where I inherited it from.  Dad's clever, too, but his process is different.
Hardanger ring pillow for a friend's wedding, 2008
Pony swing, 2007?  We had one just like it when we were kids.
She does not shy away from public foolishness, and thoroughly enjoys wearing ridiculous, costumey things.  From her, I learned that there is no such thing as "too much," only "not enough."
I am responsible for the eyelashes, the head thing, and the shitty photograph.  No snappy snaps while you're drinking, Tante.  They don't end up flattering to anyone.
Halloween is important.  Her Weirdness as Frida Kahlo, and the Heir Apparent as a witch.  This, my friends, is why we don't let the short people take our pictures.  It's not a cute angle.
My mother is my landlord, my therapist, my voice of reason, my partner in many crimes, my ride to Pageant, my dog's babysitter, and my cat washing assistant.  I look like my father, my essential habits and personality traits are my father's, but when push comes to shove, I am my mother's child.

Magnificent hat by Her Weirdness.  Devil Eyes courtesy of the Heir Apparent.