Retracting a previous statement

Hey, you know those last two posts? Yeah, I wrote them ahead of time and set them to post in the future. Anyway, remember when I said camping was simplistic? Well, I take it back. While you guys were responding to my posted-from-the-future entries, Jason, Shorty & I were camping in the wilderness, where Mother Nature was being told by yours truly to suck it, as it started raining the precise moment we started to set up our tent, and it stopped for only one day before capping off our much-looked-forward-to-for-MONTHS camping trip by pouring as we took down everything.

There’s nothing like damp sleeping bags, jeans soaked so thoroughly you have to use one hand to hold them up while you stuff sopping heaps of canvas into bags, sitting on a towel on the drive home (while suffering from an out-of-nowhere sinus infection), and having to set up your tent again at home to dry that makes you want to kill everyone in the universe.

But, in trying to see the silver lining (in the miserable, constant rain clouds), we took total advantage of the 24 hours of sunshine to go on plenty of hikes, enjoy a walk into town for ice cream (while Shorty hovered behind us as people walked by, ever the scaredy-dog), and even eat dinner at our favorite outdoor eatery. (They didn’t allow pets, but we ordered our food to go and ate our burgers around the corner on a park bench, while Shorty sniffed our cheese curds cautiously but behaved marvelously well by not begging or mauling us as we half-expected.)

In fact, the highlight of the weekend was Shorty. He is the quintessential camping dog. He hardly barked, only whined if we were out of his sight, and generally experienced doggie heaven for 3 days. (Sunshine! Squirrels to chase! Outdoors! Walks! Sleeping with the humans!) We brought along a portable crate for him to sleep in, but he was being so cute we let him up on our air mattress with us, where he promptly curled up at our feet in a tight ball and resumed snoring. He didn’t move at all during the night and so, the next evening as soon as we got into the tent, we let him clamber up to the head of the mattress, where he tucked himself into another impossibly teeny ball of toasted-just-right-like-a-marshmallow-colored-fur between our two pillows and was asleep, instantly. 

Welcome to Carjackistan

 

Welcome to Carjackistan ... or "Happy Anniversary, Baby, I Got You On My Mind."

Today is my wedding anniversary. Le divorce isn't final for a few more months, so I am still officially married. Coincidentally, I am officially going to be quite soused in exactly 8.25 hours.

Today is also the anniversary of my Jeep's grand adventure with a convicted felon, a period of my life fondly known as "My car got jacked, taken on a high speed chase in Hollywood, and all I got was this stupid police report!"

Yes, it is true. Last year my beloved red Jeep was stolen ON MY WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. The first wedding anniversary that I celebrated sans husband, as Mr. X had left me and the cats just a month before. I left work that day, morose and schlumpy, caught the red line home to Studio City, walked out to the parking lot and ... nothing. The entire Jeep had disappeared. And it was dark. And scary. AND MY WHOLE CAR WAS MISSING.

A prison parolee stole my Jeep, and then he participated in a high-speed chase in Hollywood IN MY VEHICLE. ON MY ANNIVERSARY. Just two days after all this excitement, I got a hand-delivered letter from my landlord letting me know the condo was being sold and I would have to move.

Ya'll. It was not a good week.

In fact, I was a total zombie. I cried A LOT. I often burst into wailing tears at inappropriate times... like, for example, during staff meetings. And when putting on my socks. My husband and my condo and my beloved Jeep had abandoned me. All seemed lost.

But I think the famous writer William Shakespeare said it best:

    If you love something, set it free.

    If it doesn't come back to you, then it's probably a piece of selfish, insensitive, cheating, lying CRAP and you're better off without it.

    If it comes back to you, it's your true love forever.

(I may be paraphrasing a bit, and also it may not be William Shakespeare.)

I am here to tell you that this ancient proverb is quite true. My heart was broken. My life was in pieces. I was without transportation. I was soon to be without lodging. I was wearing stripes with plaid. I had visible panty lines.

But my beloved came back to me.
My true love returned.

I love, you, Jeep. Happy Anniversary, baby! Thanks for coming back to me! We make a wonderful couple, you and me. Amen.

 

The mystery ... the intrigue ... the poop.

With their rigorous sleeping schedule, I'm perplexed how the cats manage to poop all day long, 24 hours a day.

The only possible explanation is that they have divided the workday into shifts. Each cat puts in six hours of pooping, with one hour off for napping. They probably rotate box duty during nap times. I must observe them more carefully to determine who has the graveyard shift, because that particular cat is REALLY NOT KIDDING with the pooping.

This is just the sort of gripping, edge-of-your-seat action happening every day here at Chez Spinster, all conveyed to you in REAL TIME through the magic of the Internets.

Before I run off and start the drankin' and the cake eating ... or, rather, before I run off and go to WORK and do some WORKING on a day I had requested off months and months ago (notice how I slip the bitterness in real quicklike) I wanted to share something. It's kind of a poem, but not really. It's more of a song. That way it's more acceptable to my limited intellectual palate.

Because ya'll don't tell anybody, but ... I sort of hate poetry.

I know you're supposed to respect and also appreciate poetry and feel connected to it on both a soulful and cerebral level. I know this. I do. But I don't like poetry and I can't help it.

This is because I am country.

Country people like to tell stories, and all these stories involve what you wore, what the other party wore, what ya'll ate, who said what to whom, who is related to whom, and also did you have the recipe for that potato salad made by so-and-so, too?

Poetry, on the other hand, never fully addresses these valuable questions. BOOOOOOOO-ring.

In college, I took plenty of literature classes (or litterchure, since I went to school in Tennessee) and can appreciate good Octavio Paz and William Carlos Williams. Yes. But mostly I like funny poems (which I learned in college are called "limericks" and it's not considered educated to like limericks). Also, I love rhyming, and I like really dorky haiku, which does not amuse poetry lovers. They think I'm making fun of poetry. I'm not! Mostly I just want to know what shoes the main character was wearing, dammit.

So no. I don't really appreciate poetry properly.

But songs? LOVE YOU SONGS! And this particular song, the first time I heard it, I knew it was poetry. The good kind. And I put this song on a mixed tape waybackwhen for a certain soon-to-be-ex-husband. I listened to it for years and years, and then... stopped. Just a few weeks ago I heard it again and lo and behold, it had a whole different meaning to me. About living out loud and honest. 

   
   At this point in my life by Tracy Chapman
   
   At this point in my life, I've done so many things wrong I don't know if I can do right.
   If you put your trust in me, I hope I won't let you down.
   If you give me a chance, I'll try.
   
   You see it's been a hard road, the road I'm traveling on, and if I take your hand I might lead you down the path to ruin.
   I've had a hard life
   I'm just saying so you'll understand that right now,
   right now
   I'm doing the best I can.
   
   At this point in my life, although I've mostly walked in the shadows,
   I'm still searching for light.
   Won't you put your faith in me?
   We both know that's what matters.
   If you give me a chance, I'll try.
   
   You see, I've been climbing stairs,
   but mostly stumbling down.
   I've been reaching high,
   but mostly losing ground.
   
   You see I've conquered hills ... but I still have mountains to climb
   And right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can (at this point in my life).
   
   Before we take a step, before we walk down that path, before I make any promises, before you have regrets, before we talk commitment, let me tell you of my past - all I've seen and all I've done, the things I'd like to forget ...
   
   At this point in my life, I'd like to live as if only love mattered, as if redemption was in sight, as if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs, no matter if you find it.
   
   You see when I've touched the sky,
   the earth's gravity has pulled me down.
   But now I've reconciled that in this world,
   birds and angels get the wings to fly.
   
   If you can believe in this heart of mine, if you can give it a try, then I'll reach inside and find and give you all the sweetness that I have.

And because it's my birthday, I had every intention of giving the song to you as a gift (totally illegally of course) for download, but then a wise friend cautioned me that really, with my history, do I need to bring trouble upon myself when I stumble into it so well on my own? Good call, there, Jennifer.

Now, go eat cake! Or go off and work, or poop, or whatever floats your boat on this beautiful sunny Los Angeles day in which we all cross our fingers that nothing near me catches on fire or gets arrested. Heh.

I suggest paying attention to these blogs. These are the blogs of my friends and comrades. Marta, Wholewriter, Aplusco

 

I prefer virgin heroines in historicals

I love reading about their gradual awakening and loss of innocence.

This one of the reasons I sometimes tend to gravitate towards historicals and paranormals. It seems that virgin heroines are not very popular in contemps, though I wish they were!

I like reading about virgin heroes, also, especially when they used to be “ugly ducklings!”

BTW your book sounds like exactly the type of book I enjoy, I look forward to trying your novels. You have definitely whetted my appetite!

Be more green

I’m actually starting to think of myself as becoming more green and getting an ebook reader. How that would be a big step for me–and how many paper books I’d not buy and donate.

I really really want the Kindle. But it’s $400. Excuse me while I bend over and grab ankles. Some day. Some day, my friend.