More thoughts on the robot I will have someday

When my robot isn’t vacuuming for me, it will have spider legs, and it will move from room to room like a creepy spider, or even better, it will perfect the upside down crawl done by Linda Blair  in the remastered version of “The Exorcist”.   It will never stop scaring the crap out of me, but then again I am easily startled.  The upside of this is that I will never be bored.

Easter

Christyne and I, along with our friend Linda, had Easter tea together today at Christyne’s house. She made a lemon bundt cake which was crazy delicious, and of course she laid out a gorgeous spread of food. We ate until we couldn’t move and then broke out the tripod, camera and the timer, which we treated like a photo booth. It was a ridiculously beautiful day out, and I hope it was like that for everyone.

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My Belmont Shores, my Tuscan Sun

I made a fresh tomato sauce yesterday with just the basics: tomatoes, basil, garlic, olive, salt and pepper. It was delicious, and filled my kitchen with wonderful aromas while I chopped up the ingredients and prepared the pasta. This, this was what I had in mind in getting this place, and this was what made me swoon at the sight of the roomy, sunny kitchen it held. On Sunday I made crepes for breakfast, and later on I made Eggs Benedict for Christyne and I. Later still, I baked a cake, because I just couldn’t stop. Today after work I lazed out and watched a cooking show online where they ice fished and drank vodka, while I drifted in and out of sleep, looking like I’d lost consciousness while in the middle of a fistfight with my pillows. I’m having a lazy afternoon.

Despite the fact that the cat is shedding, I am enjoying the place so much. We take leisurely naps with the sunlight streaming onto the bed in the afternoons, and did I mention all the cooking? Tomorrow evening I’m going to walk to a neighborhood bar that a friend of mine works at, and meet up with another couple of friends, and take in the warm seaside air on the way there and back. I don’t have to worry about how I’ll get back if I decide to have a cocktail. There’s also a rollerblading path along the ocean for the next time I have energy, and of course there’s a Starbucks within walking distance, but that’s not uncommon in North America.

Who’s who

I was talking to Christyne the other day and I was telling her that I had just talked to Angela on the phone for while. Christyne and I have been friends for about twelve years, and have spent the night together, shopped together, worked together, and done many many things that all involve countless hours of talking. She goes, “Who’s Angela?”

Me: “Angela’s the one I always refer to as my best friend. We’ve been friends since we were seven.”

Christyne: “Oh. Did she live above the tea shop?

Me: “No, that’s Yvonne.”

Christyne: “Ohhh… okay. Oh wait, she’s the one you work with sometimes, right?”

Me: “No, that’s Stephanie. We’ve been friends since we were 14.”

Christyne: “Oh, okay. Does Angela have a kid?”

Me: “Yeah, she has a 14-year old daughter.”

Christyne: “Oh YEAH. Okay, yeah, now I remember.”

Dude there wasn’t anyone left. I mean, she knows Janae and Sandra. Asia and Lisa are my sisters. And I haven’t told her any stories about Aimee, at least I don’t think. And all of my other girlfriends are people we’ve both worked with. I think I am going to draw a colorful little diagram of who’s who in my life, and bring it out when I talk to Christyne about my friends. The men in my life, now that’s easy to keep track of. There are NONE, except my guy friends, and for some reason she always knows exactly who’s who and what the back story is. Because she’s a great friend like that.

Anyway, happy birthday Ang! You are in my thoughts, and we’ll all be rooting for your husband while he’s in Iraq. I’m sorry your birthday is on a weekday. Let’s go to the beach soon. In the meantime, here’s a drawing of us celebrating your birthday. It’ll have to do for now:
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I forgot to drink beer while I was doing that

I try so hard to get my place customized and put up shelves, and yet I get so little actually done. I spent hours today working on my big cutting block/countertop, sanding it, and barely made a difference. I did succeed in covering my kitchen floor in sawdust. I guess these are just the things that help you bond with your home. I didn’t remember sanding being this difficult. I should just take everything I need to cut/sand and go out to my parents’ house and make all the noise/sawdust I want in their backyard, instead of here where I can’t shake the feeling that somebody somewhere around me is probably trying to take a nap, and I’m in my kitchen using power tools and singing along with Johnny Cash at the top of my lungs. But I just don’t know any other way to live.

Bringing out the dead

Everybody around me is sick. I don’t understand why I haven’t gotten it, considering how often I used to get sick. And everybody is not only sick, they’ve got this boomerang illness that goes away and just comes right back, worse than before. I think Christyne was flirting with the grim reaper this past week, and some of my co-workers as well. Oh yeah, and AJ. Everyone is dying. This is like that one stomach flu 3 years ago where everybody got sick at new years and Christmas. I don’t understand how I can get fully and repeatedly exposed, and not get it. I am by no means the model of health and immunity. I will have to learn how to keep myself company in this world full of half dead people. I should be doing some nursing, I guess, but I’m afraid of exposing myself to the plague. I stopped in on Christyne yesterday, it was going on 1:00, and she was in her bed on day 6 of dying. Poor kid. She needed to lose weight though, since she weighed a whopping 117 pounds a week ago and is only 5’10”. The good news is I can now carry her when we go places.

Anyway, so I’m getting to know Long Beach. There’s more than one nice part. There’s one more. It’s over by the Latin Museum of Art. I checked it out last week, and found an Albertson’s the size of a mall.

I never found it that easy to write when I’m happy. Historically, my journals fill up during my darker periods, and there is no writing being done at all when I’m happy. I guess I’m doing things that you just can’t write about, like going out and dancing. What do you say about that? We left the club sweating and walking funny, and I had no idea how much I’d enjoy remixed hip-hop, what with it having already been remixed. All this dancing, by the way, is without alcohol, and yet the next morning I feel very much hungover. I haven’t done any exercising in quite some time. I will go out and dance for hours, with friends that are well or are in between phase one and phase two of the plague, so I guess I’m getting a hell of a workout from that.

If you are planning on visiting my anytime soon, please be aware that I am in the eye of a cootie storm that I and only I am unaffected by. Don’t let the healthy exterior fool you. I am probably carrying more germs than a 17th century stowaway rat (yeah I wiki’d it). My apologies if you were at my house innocently having dinner on Friday night. Write your eulogy and practice your deathbed speeches. You’re goin down.

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I’m not kidding about my beloved Christyne. She’s disappearing.