In my neighborhood, there is a house with an immaculate yard, and nearly perfect front lawn. Lush and green, it looks like carpet. Within this house, lives an older couple, I’m guessing mid to late 70’s. They keep things neat and clean around there. Sometimes, on nice days, they open the garage door and move some lawn chairs right up to the edge. Not actually out on the driveway, but still inside the garage, they sit and watch the traffic go by. Recently, they’ve added a new feature to their shag carpet lawn, which I call Placemat Platitudes.

It started out with what looked like a golf club stuck in the ground, with a piece of cardboard attached. On the cardboard was pasted an 11×17 piece of paper, with a platitude printed on it in red and green. It looked like a placemat from an Italian restaurant. As I was driving by, it looked to me that the whole thing, the cardboard and the placemat, had been wrapped in plastic to protect it from the elements. A couple of weeks went by, the platitudes would change every couple of days. Soon the stick in the ground was upgraded for a small easel. I meant to blog about it at the time, but something more interesting always came up.

But then, the Placemat Platitudes went away, and I was sad. I’d lost my chance to share them with you. I remember some of the quotes and sentiments that were displayed. My faovrite was a quote from Abraham Lincoln.

“The ballot is stronger than the bullet.”

I found it ironic. You know… considering his death. There were others, something about Fate choosing your Family, but YOU chose your Friends. I wish I had written them down. Well good news!! They are back! Maybe by popular request, I do not know. And this one is a doozy of brilliance!

“I learn from my misteaks.”

Get it? mis-steaks! Cuz, you see, it’s spelled wrong and… oh, nevermind.

Pardon my silence. Things got a bit busy towards the end of my vacation there. And yesterday i was just exhausted. When I got home from work, I basically slept, woke up a for a bit, slept, woke up for even less of a bit and slept through the night until 4 am.

My punk rock friend Kam was in town this weekend. On Friday night we went to see Turbonegro at the Showbox. I’m going to be honest with you, I had no idea who the were. But this was one of the main reasons for Kam’s visit, although she tends to drop by for a weekend at least once a year.

Whatever opening acts they had, we missed. The place was crowded and we were standing towards the back. Finally they band came out. Turbonegro wears cute little outfits, alá The Village People. There was a sailor, a man in a top hat and tux jacket, a man with a hard hat, another with what appeared to be a German army officer hat and coat, the lead singer was dressed like a hippy, and the drummer was a gang banger. I stayed and watched about three songs. Then the lead singer said we all needed to be taught a lesson about death punk and the wearing of denim as a second skin. Wearing denim is of some significance to fans of Turbonegro I guess. But the thing is, I really don’t think I need to learn any more about death punk. I know about as much as I care to know. And I’ve been wearing denim all my life. So I went to hang out in the Green Room, drink cokes with cherries and read The Stranger.

But Kam enjoyed it. And that’s what’s important. I only wish I had the chance to practice my limited Norwegian on someone.

Hi!

I’ve taken this week off from work. I’ve also taken it off from getting dressed, replying to emails, blogging, brushing my hair, getting up before noon, answering the telephone and generally acknowledging any kind of responsibilities. I’ve been very busy. Doing things like sleeping in, buying a vacuum, hanging out with my little brother, hooking myself up with wireless internet connection, watching movies, playing the sims, reading comics and other important things. And today I will bother to get dressed. Because tonight we’ll be having birthday pie!

I am quite sure that I woke up with some extra maturity and wisdom this morning. I just don’t think it’s kicked in yet.

The next time I choose style over comfort, shoot me. In the leg, of course, I don’t want you to kill me. Just render me unable to even chose to wear high heels. Either that, or make me start practicing, standing in them for hours, weeks ahead of time.

Well that was one of your better weddings. The bride, my cousin, looked beautiful, the flower girl was appropriately precious, the groom had funny in his vows, the food was good, we all held our breaths during the F.O.T.B.’s toast and, lo and behold, he did not say anything embarrassing! Well done, our side of the family! I got to see some family I don’t get to see very often, which was fun. And everyone kept telling me nice I looked. Which is both pleasant and embarrassing. I wish I had a really great faux pas to share, but the evening was a success. Sad, isn’t it? I did hear that the F.O.T.B, my uncle, almost tripped when walking down the aisle. But I didn’t see it, and almost only counts in horseshoes.

There is, however, a picture somewhere of me with bubble gum all over my face. A nice man had bubble gum in his pocket for all the kids. I knocked one of those kids down and snatched the gum, lickety split. I was sitting with the bride, blowing bubbles, I had a good one going and the photographer, who is another uncle of mine, caught the tail end of it. I tried to keep that bubble up as long as possible, but it popped, and the picture is of me with gum all over my face. There were disposable, pink, cameras on all the tables, and I took it upon myself to take pictures with ours. No serious smiles, only goofy faces. And two pictures of my shoes. A picture of the ladies’ room door, a picture of my aunt’s feet peeking out from underneath the stall, and another one of the sign over the toilet instructing you to hold the handle down a little longer than normal. I bet my uncle didn’t take any pictures of the ladies room. It’s ok, tho… I got it covered.

Ok… back to cleaning the kitchen. Meh.

I have a wedding to go on Friday. I bought some new fancy pants for it. They are quite long, and require heels to look good. So yesterday, I went to Nordstrom and bought these shoes. Black suede pumps, three inch stiletto heels. This is about twice the heel I am used to wearing. The last few years I have enjoyed the fashion of platform shoes with chunky heels. Significantly safer for a girl like me.

Those who know me in RL know that I am not the most graceful of girls. There is great potential for injury and humiliation in these shoes. In their defense, they have a rubber sole with a bit of tread on it, so they don’t slip or slide as much as regular pumps. That shouldn’t stop me. Since I am wearing pants, I really should consider wearing ankle braces. Yesterday, when I got home, I spent the rest of the evening in my new shoes. Walking around, breaking them in. Oh, sure, part of the evening was spent wearing them while sitting on my ass in the Purple Chair. But that still counts.

There is a new spider, I call her Doris, she has quite the round, rotund body and is trying to move in to my mail box. She’s about half the size of Petrov. It occurred to me that maybe I should leave the various spider condos up until the end of the month. They are kinda Halloweeny.

The housing restrictions I have imposed upon the spiders living in my yard has been violated repeatedly. They seem to have no respect for The Broom. Overnight, the biggest spider of them all, I call him Petrov, rebuilt his web. He likes the spot right in front of the flood light, right hand corner, in front of the garage. His web stretches from the eaves of the roof, to the ground. It’s that ginormous. I tried to take a picture of him, but it was dusk, and it didn’t turn out well.

I was feeling fairly benevolent, leaving him and his brethren alone, as I had just finished reading Anansi Boys, by Neil Gaiman. I wouldn’t say that I had gone soft on the spider issue. But perhaps I was feeling momentarily kind towards them. That was until I had to sweep webs away just to open the garage door. [It opens by hand, not remote. Half my stuff, more than half, is stored in the garage, so I sometimes go out trolling for lost items.] The next time Petrov, and his spider buddies, leave their colossal webbed structures, I’m bringing out The Broom. And we are going to repeat this process until they quit populating the entrances and exits to building structures, i.e.: the garage, the front door, the back door.

Sad news, kids… The Fun Hole has closed for the season. No more Fun Hole fun until next spring.