It’s Moving Day!!

Much as I am fond of this site, and drunk as I am right now with regret and gin, and friendly and harmless as giraffes are, and more aggressive than gorillas as chimpanzees are, and cannibalistic as surprising numbers of the animal kingdom are, and afraid as my older son is of being eaten by Venus Flytraps, it is now my duty to inform you, loyal reader gang, that this blog is taking up a new residence! Yes.  New residence.  I am going to keep this blog here so I can look back and fondle my memories but all the new kerfuffle will go down over at the new site.  Am I going to tell you what it is? Well yes! First I am going to tell you about the new website.  It will have, eventually, hopefully next week or month, a front page.  From the front page you can click on the blog, the gallery, and some other stuff that you may or may not care about.  The idea is that it will have additional things for the crafty set in addition to this nonsectarian blog.  That Tom Collins is sure making me thirsty.  I can’t remember right now if I like quinine or not.  I know, it’s not supposed to have tonic water.  Relax, reader!

New site:  http://www.thecuckoobee.com/

That’s it!  Peace out. I don’t know what that means.  Do you? It seems to involve peace so that would be fine.  Bye reader!  Oh one last thing before I go over there and meet you, and there is already an excruciatingly exciting blog waiting there for you, but hold on one second.  The guy who I like to have cut my hair here in Hoboken, and who I can’t have cut it for a variety of political salon reasons, is named Mike.  The first time I went to see him he sent me a thank you note on a postcard.  At the end it was written in cursive something that looked like “Chanks, Mike.”  So I spent a smoldering and frenzied afternoon wondering if this was some new slang.  Mike was pretty hip.  I adopted “Chanks” into my vocabulary, where it still sits on top of my medulla. When my husband came home that evening I showed the note to him and said, in an offhand way, so as not to color his judgement one way or the other, “I wonder why he wrote ‘Chanks’ instead of ‘Thanks?’”  Husband looked at it and said, “It says ‘Thanks.’”  Then I looked at it and it did say Thanks.  It was just that he had written the T to look kind of like a C.  But to this moment I still am constantly, either in my head or out loud, saying to people, Chanks for the membilies.  So, reader, chanks.

A Play in One Scene

My Melody:  Hi honey!

Chococat:  Hi.  How was your day?

My Melody:  Fine.  What’s for dinner?

Chococat:  I don’t know.

My Melody:  How about Pez?

Chococat:  I’m thinking of changing careers.  I don’t want to be a Pez dispenser anymore.

My Melody:  Oh?

Chococat:  I want to be an airline pilot.

My Melody:  All right.

Chococat:  No one likes Pez.

My Melody:  That giant child does.

Chococat:  Which giant child?

Chococat:  Oh.

My Melody:  Ah, good times.

Chococat:  I still want to be an airline pilot.

Zzzz

It’s either desertification or being turned into foie gras around here.  After last week’s tsunami of socializing I am now more like bleached bones on a craggy rock in the middle of the Pacific.  My seven layer Texas taco dip has turned into an unsalted tortilla chip.  The thousands of feral barn cats have turned into a fat ancient house cat that sleeps all day.  A feeding frenzy of hammerhead sharks is a filet of orange roughy.   Cans of live bait have become a red and white plastic bobber.  Crowds of drunk freshman at Spring Fling have turned into an empty sidewalk next to a trashcan.

I have started that weird thing again where I wake myself up at night laughing at funny things you readers say to me in my sleep–that’s how starved for entertainment I am.  Last time it was a reader telling me that she has 1,200 jellyfish in her house.  I thought that was so hilarious in my dream that I started laughing, but when you are asleep it doesn’t sound the same and my husband thought I was groaning, I guess.  So then he woke me up.   Although I have nothing at all going on during the day I have plenty of other fun things that happen in my dreams, but unfortunately I can only remember them again when I am sleeping.  I do have a plan though:  I am going to make a salad.  I am thinking parsley.  Maybe some salt.  I don’t want to overstimulate myself again.

I drove my metaphorical car of life into the figurative ocean of ecstasy

In the excitement of last week my head ended up exploding.  It was all too much, as I knew in advance it would be.  I’m not used to having that much fun so maybe you can take pity on me and help me find the pieces of my head, dear reader.

The unbearable happiness of interacting with other humans has caused me to latch onto technology for companionship, namely Corel Sketch Pad.  I love my new friend the Corel Sketch Pad with a seething ardor. Fortunately it seethes less than the ardor my human friends inspire and so doesn’t make my head detach.  Hopefully I will become accustomed to humans again and then can maintain all my  appendages as a routine thing.  Sigh.  Apparently today is nonsensical rambling day again but you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? Sigh.

Sustain me with apples and comfort me with raisins, tree.

Calm down, self

I’m so excited.  I am in a tizzy.  I suppose leading the secluded life I do makes it easy to overstimulate my brain or endocrine system.  I think that’s the right system, but I can’t stop now to find out.  Let’s investigate the sources of the tizzifying.

1.  I saw Star Trek yesterday at the Imax theater at Lincoln Center.  It was loud, exciting, and occasionally frightening.  At the end of the movie I was barely able to sit in my seat, plus I was very worked up over the issues of time travel involved in the plotline–I think I will agree with Captain Janeway when she says that she wants to avoid the whole headache and paradox of time travel.  Oh–is that dorky?

2.  I am in the process of putting together a new website.  The process is killing me with anticipation, involving as it does the completion of thousands of tiny craft projects into one compendium of cuteness, I mean I hope it’s cute.  Usually the achievement of cuteness is painful but comes in smaller chunks.  This is destroying my corpuscles.

3.  We are having a lot of visitors this week.  One, two, three, four.  That’s a lot of booze and conversation.  Tizzy.

4.  My husband took the day off work yesterday and we got the kids their passports.  The prospect of traveling with them overseas is making my heart race.

5.  After the passport-getting, husband and self went to New York and had some drinks and did other things.  In my advanced age alcohol has the effect of making me not sleep all night, even though I drank it at lunch and in moderate quantities, sigh.

6.  In addition to putting together the website, I also have the following projects that I need, desperately need, reader, to finish/start:

a.  Large hairy cat doll

b.  Grocery truck

c.  Mopey tattooed panda bear!!! Damn why can’t I finish the mopey panda bear!

7.  There is also a list of eighty other projects I want to make.

8.  Was I in the process of writing a novel?

9.  I missed the parent-teacher meeting I was supposed to go to Monday morning so I have to try to not forget it next time, whenever that is.

10.  I still have a lot of tv shows to catch up on.  This is too much for a body to handle, reader!

Finally, I will share with you a story.  A few years ago I went to Home Depot with my dad.  Were you there too, reader, or have I told you this story so many times that I am only imagining you were in it?  Anyway, we were waiting in line to check out, and the person in front of us was taking forever.  There is not that much to look at while standing behind someone in the checkout line at Home Depot, and Dad was in a reverie staring at inter-dimensional space, as was his wont.  So I spent the minutes also staring and eventually realized that I was looking at a big red push button.  There was a pole reaching from floor to ceiling next to me and sticking out of it was a red button of the kind that you would use to launch an atomic bomb, eject yourself from a fighter jet, or open a trapdoor into a pit.  There was no label or anything at all written around it–just a bare pole with that big red button.  So I pushed it.  A light began flashing blue and white way up by the ceiling and a siren started wailing BONK–BONK–BONK.  It was very surprising for a sensitive person like myself and I almost fainted with mortification, although I was also indignant that there was nothing saying “Customers, don’t push this button” etc.  So the checkout lady ambled over with a kind of suppressed groan and switched the siren and light off, and ambled back to her job of fussing interminably with the cash register.

Dad woke up out of his reverie and looked at me.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said.  “What red-blooded American girl wouldn’t have pushed that button?”

That is all for now.

It’s sin time

I am feeling unusually good in the sense of virtuous today.  As a general matter I wake up with several or all of the seven deadly sins dancing through my body but today that wasn’t so noticeable.  Delicious wrath, sloth, envy, lust, greed, pride, gluttony.  That is the order I usually have them although it’s a close competition.  Anyway today I feel less enslaved than usual.  Huh.

Here is Princess Flower Bunny that I made with my special reader visitor from Gurando in mind.  See that, readers?  If you come visit me I will make you something too.  The complexity of the project is proportional to how far away you travel from.  Other rules and restrictions apply.

I just finished reading The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow.  I had never read anything by Saul Bellow prior to this book, and I really can’t imagine why we never read anything by him in school.  It seems like a very schooly book although I suppose they can’t make you read everything–still I feel someone is responsible for the lacuna that existed in my reading experience until recently here.  I will assign blame when I am feeling more mortally sinful again.

In other news

I have decided to stop thinking about things, because it’s all pretty pointless isn’t it?  Sure whatever I am thinking about could be discussed (by me with myself) endlessly but on the other hand I could just stare out the window or go swimming, or imagine I am swimming.  I could do a lot of other things too.   So there, brain.

Look at the bus.

Here it comes! Hello, bus!

Goodbye, bus.

Pithy Words of Mighty Import

Don’t you think that is a perfect new title for this blog?  I’m getting ready for a website change sometime in the next five years so stay alert.  On the other hand, I may never change, so don’t be too alert.  In related news, I think I may have located the source of the empty feeling.  This morning I was thinking that if the international police hunted my husband to the ends of the earth (Guatemala came to mind) and cornered him in a rocky mountain cave (for all I know there are mountains there) (and caves) and shot him, I would go along and be killed too.  This is theoretical, reader, so don’t get a lot of ideas.  Then I was telling him this fantasy, as it is one of the less shrewy and imperious thoughts I have had regarding our domestic life, and as we discussed being killed in a Guatemalan cave I was like, to myself, Hey! That kind of sounds exciting.  In theory.  And that gave me a nice feeling.  So there we are, emptiness solved.

This weekend I am trying to finish:

1.  Bus

2.  Bunny for a distant reader who is coming to visit me soon

3.  Mopey Panda with tattoos.

Photos will be forthcoming in the event that any of those things is accomplished, so Remember, reader! Be alert!

I am restraining myself here

I am not posting any more pictures of the snail shells until there is a complete snail.  The snail shells are giving me trouble, reader, but you are not going to be part of the suffering more than you are already right now.  Also giving me trouble:  my younger son and his egg-eating habit.  When I hand him a hard-boiled egg, which he loves, he puts the entire thing in his mouth.  He is two years old and his mouth is big but only relative to his size, so he can’t close his mouth around the egg but he crams it in there nevertheless and it doesn’t come out again–very much the way a python eats an ostrich egg or calf.  He doesn’t eat calfs and he doesn’ t like hamburgers either.  Tonight for dinner they both wanted cream of wheat so that is what they got and I ate both their hamburgers.  Now isn’t this an ordinary blog entry?  Just blabbing about what I did and et today, and not all this other kooky thing.  Speaking of which, what is that emptiness I feel?  Is it old age?  Or does old age not make you feel empty?  Is it some new obsession that has not been discovered and is waiting to make its appearance?  I hope it doesn’t relate to snail shells.  Maybe I can take up smoking.   I think it is the absence of hope for the future-that is what I used to mainly live on, and now I don’t care about my future that much.  Cheerio, reader!

Shocking News

I was just reading the side of the Pepperidge Farm Orange Milano cookie bag, and the news is not good.  Apparently the primary ingredient in the cookies is a baker’s soul.  I thought I should spread the word and you can act as you feel is appropriate–either eat more or less, or watch out if you are a baker.