Oh shit I am married!

Holy shit I am married! Scott and I are killing time in the Westin LAX before our flight to Fiji, so I blog.

Here are photos of the bachelorette party.

A Day in the Office, Part Deux

The video looks a lot cleaner on my little digicam. I do not actually have a huge pixel head in real life. And despite appearances, I'm not on chemo, I just hafta wear a do-rag to keep the twigs off my head and spiders and ticks out of my hair. I clean up real nice, I swear!

This was shot in the Obenchain Mountains near Medford, OR, where I worked 80.75 hours last week. Here are some nice shots of the area:








The manzanita up there is so gorgeous!

I drove home after a full day yesterday, and am happy to have my regular life back for two days before I go back out for 6 more days.

Dang but it is hot.

On the drive home from work the bank by my house said it was 104 degrees out. I got home and drank some tequila, then moved on to vodka. I watered the garden, and sprayed myself a bunch. It felt so good! It felt so good, in fact, that I ordered Scott to put on "Feel So Good" by Chuck Mangione (yes, I own that record) and we rocked it while we played in the sprinkler. It feel so good!

The birthday party last week was hell of fun. yay, I'm 30! My girlhood dreams have come to fruition. Houxy made it up from LA, and the party was lively and such. The karaoke machine rental paid for itself, a $150 value! Not a whole lot of people sang, but the few karaoke whores I know (Patrick, Houx, Danno and myself) made it a worthwhile endeavor. Even painfully shy Joe sang a few! Yes, Joe, I'm talking about you on my blog! You are shy, yet you sang!

Scott gave me a sweet digicam for my brthday. Here is a pic of me at Germanytown (the Rheinlander) on my birthday proper:


Update 7/28/06: it took me over a week to figure out why I couldn't upload my pictures, and during said heatwave I literally couldn't stand being not-in-the-basement. Now it is lovely out, and I am back.

I bought some new CDs today: Muse - Black Holes and Revelations; Deltron - 3030; Girl Talk - Night Ripper; Blackalicious - Nia; and J. Zone - Experienced. The last one is some guy who mixes beats for some folks and has a thing, but he made a Hendrix tribute album that is decent. Muse is the new Thom Yorke-cum-Emerson, Lake and Palmer and is hell of good. Deltron is, of course, Del the Funky Homo Sapien all rapping about some sci-fi and such. The Blackalicious is old (2000), but shit, I'm driving to Medford tomorrow and need some tunes. Same goes for Girl Talk, which miraculously and seamlessly mixes Rush, James Taylor, Paula Abdul and 2 Live Crew (among myriad others) into their own flow. Good stuff.

Tonight I'm making rock fish fillets with pink prawns and mango-habanero salsa, grilled polenta and wilted spinach.

Some more pictures for posterity:


Me and Scott at Germanytown. East SIDE (Scott messed up but it's okay)!

Patrick is warming up the mic.

My dad bought a fucking Harley with the money he made from selling his house.

Greta is painfully shy, but is no match for the Houx. We tried varied mustards that night.

Adventures in Klamath Falls

OMG I had so much fun tonight. I ate at a sketchy Vietnamese place that was located on the highway, the only Vietnamese joint in town. They had like 175 kinds of beer proudly displayed in the fridge case immediately at the entrance, and you just grab one and they open it for you and put it on your tab. The decor was like bad Jamaican-tropical (think fake palm trees draped in plastic flowers) with Bruce Lee posters and these tapestries that could only be construed as Japanese Patrick Nagel - graphically hot chicks with neck-to-ass Yakuza tats all demurely looking over their shoulders and shit. Their menu was dauntingly large, so I just asked for the waitress to bring me whatever it is her favorite thing to eat. I ended up with a seafood combo that was pretty decent. Then I went and pranced around in front of Klamath Falls' web cam for fifteen minutes.

Later I went to the trucker bar Mollie's and instead of karaoke they had an okay blues band. Then all of a sudden the most awesome old timer came into the bar. He was 85 if he was a day. He was wearing the cowboy shirt with the embroidered flowers on the breast, huge-ass belt buckle, suspenders and a dark blue kerchief tied smartly at the neck, the greased-up pompadour and little black loafers with white socks (a fashion don't, but give the guy a fucking break. He's like 85!). Be still my beating heart!

As soon as he walked in and sidled up to the bar, I ran over and told the bartender that his drink was on me. (His beer is delivered in his own fucking personal stein that the bar keeps for him - this crusty old dude is hell of punk rock!) After receiving such information from the bartender, he looks around the place all confused. A burly dude to his right points me out, and Bob comes over and asks, "Do I know you?" I said, "No, but I thought you looked like a guy who should have a drink bought for him." He shrugs his shoulders and goes to his table where a woman probably in her 60s gives him a "you got some splainin' to do" look.

After awhile of wondering if I could ask to have my picture taken with this Johnny Cash's dad, Bob all of a sudden comes up and asks me to dance. Dude's still got it! How could I say no? So I go up and dance with him, gettin' a little freaky when his back is turned, and finally the song is over after what seems like a million years.



He then has the elephantine stones to ask me "Who're you here with?" I point to Greta and say "my coworker". He asks if there's a man, and I just thrust the bling in his face. "Oh, you're engaged." I gave him a hug, thanked him for the dance, and returned to my table.

Then he returns to the table after a few songs and asks Greta if she'd like to dance. She politely refuses, but he won't take no for an answer. She admits that she's not the dancing type and so he offers to teach her. This dude is so hardcore that he should be teaching classes on how to be a badass ladies' man.

And that was my awesomely fun night.

Nerdcore Hiphop Will Reign Supreme

I haven't talked about anything lately except work or getting married. But I still gotta be me! Through it all, I have been hell of rocking some nerdcore hiphop. This is another one of those things that I talk about too late after I've been into it, but oh well.

Nerdcore includes, but is not limited to, MC Frontalot (as mixed and remixed by BadddSpellah), MC Hawking, and MC Chris. And while goofing off trying to find links to these guys I discovered other delights! Such as Optimus Rhyme. And did you know (I'm sure you did, but whatevs) that Del the Funky Homo Sapien does this Deltron 3030 thing? I already liked him (and, embarrassingly, I just figured out that he's in Gorillaz. Color my face red) !

It's so nice that the Droppin' Science movement of yore is experiencing a much-deserved comeback. But if metal is more your speed, try a little Minibosses. Their rendition of the theme from Super Mario 2 is sure to please. And you can listen to any number of songs by the NESkimos here.

I guess that's all. Please comment if I've forgotten anyone. Oh, and props to Chris Onstad (Achewood creator) for his awesome art above that begs to be a t-shirt.

A Day in the Office

More Adventures East of the Cascades

On Highway 19, near Kimberly. This was outside our study area, but was still worth a quick stop.



This is the White River, where I ate lunch on Tuesday. We bought groceries before we left Portland, so we were able to have baguette and brie with sopressata (I know, I know - Italian salami with French cheese? I'm just a little CrAzY!!).



West side niggaz represent. (Okay, this is a really bad picture of me, since it was the third day on the road and I'd been in the car for like 9 hours that day. And the sun was in my eyes. And I had bug bites and a sunburn.)




We stopped and snooped around about a dozen old abandoned houses. They'd all been since colonized by barn swallows and owls, and had rusty empty cans in the basements. I kept wondering what goes wrong in a person's life where they just pick up and leave a house behind to fade in the desert sun and get shot up by bored rednecks. /shrug

Rednecks and My Menses

Two great tastes that do NOT taste great together. Fortunately, I was already home before I really started bleeding, or there'd be a coupla dead rednecks in Roseburg.

Last week was what it was, but at least I came away from the adventure with four cow skulls, and I only got called "bitch" about a dozen times. Here's the thing: unlike me, Coworker grew up in a stable, loving household with people with whom she is very close and enjoys spending time. Ergo, she finds rednecks fascinating and sexy, whereas I'm happy I don't still have to live with them or let them raise me. Fucking ig'nunt boys from Roseburg is her adorable version of "slumming". Anyway, while we were down there we hung out with one of her friends-with-bennies, Jerry (can you believe his name is Jerry? That is SO on the nose!), who is the fag-hatin'est, Bush-votin'est, hard-working-'cuz-his-alcoholic-daddy-may-have-beat-him-
but-taught-him-the-value-of-a-dollarest good ol' boy you could imagine. For hating fags so much, he was actually one of the biggest divas I've ever met - the man would not stop talking about himself and his awesomeness.

Anyway, yeah we (and the other two rednecks he brought with him) got into it a bit about "where we came from" (yes, THAT old debate). Coworker, the mediator, kept trying to change the subject, but dudes like him are so much like my dad that it was like taking candy from a fucking baby. I've had this argument so many times that I could do it in my sleep. However, I did let them get the best of me when, in my shock at their audacity/stupidity, finally shouted "You are so fucking ignorant!" That, in my honest opinion, was when I lost that fight. They don't know that they're stupid, and certainly can't help it. It was a fool's battle indeed, and besides, one must never engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed man. Besides, I already knew I was the victor when I had them hiding in their hats at the bar after I told my litany of filthy pedophilia jokes (Q: What's the best thing about getting a hand job from a five year-old? A: Your dick looks huge in the Polaroids). Anyhoo, I did win a loogie-hocking contest with Jerry, and that really skeeved him good. And I was told (complimented?) that I belch like a man. I am woman, hear me roar.

Oh, and my cooter is still bleeding, after like ten days or something. The thing is, I don't menstruate. It's one of the delights of being on birth control: I have a wee bit of spotting every three months, when my shot's due. But never an actual period. Every once in awhile, though, my uterus, having evidently stored up years' worth of periods, decides to just open the fucking floodgates. "Wheee!" my uterus says. "How ya like me now?" I'm cruising through tampons every three hours. Today I had to take a dump and squished my tampon out by accident whilst attempting to nudge the poo along. It did not make me feel in alignment with the tides and the moon.

Next week it's back to Dufur and Mt. Vernon to finish up the plant surveys, then I'm home for a day (enough time to get my fucking birth control shot and stop this nonsense), then I'm off to Klamath Falls to start 6 straight days of hacking through brush in search of the elusive desert wetland. Yay (psyche).

Big Sky Country

Here are a couple of photographs of where I was doing field work last week. Jealous much?


This is near the City of Dufur, Oregon, where I surveyed for Astragalus tyghensis (a cream-colored member of the pea family) and Ranunculus reconditus (a tiny buttercup). A thunderstorm flushed us out, and we had to drive through it on our way to Umatilla, another two hours' drive away. 50 mph winds and intense rain made for a very sketchy drive, particularly since we were driving on a flat tire unawares, going 80 to try to get out of the storm as quickly as possible, and I was fishtailing all over the fucking lane. Very scary indeed.



Here's the site in Umatilla where we conducted wetland delineations. "Wetlands in the desert?" you ask. The site was peppered with ephemeral, seasonal wetlands that were actually pretty easy to delineate. However, in 90+ degree heat I can't say it was a lot of fun. But first time doing fieldwork in a bikini, and I didn't get a single tick on me!

In the distance you can see the Mighty Columbia. I picked a lot of sage that day. Greta walked around GPSing the ditch that bisects the property until she started seeing stars. She got three ticks on her that day, but luckily found each of them as they were crawling around and didn't get the Lyme Disease.

Tomorrow I'm off to Roseburg to chip away at the hard clay soils and try to finish delineating the future quarry that I haven't been to since March, when there was actually hydrology. At least there's a McMenamin's down there.

Nigga You Are My Cornbread

So I have Sitemeter to see from where people have found my blog. That way I can add a stratum of vanity to this whole blogging thing, and it's more reliable than just obsessively checking to see if I have comments. What I particularly enjoy is seeing the random and fucked-up shit that people have Googled to have been accidentally directed to my site. The following is a list of some of the more hilarious search engine entries that brought you to me (and the order in which I was listed):

• "nigga you are my cornbread" (3rd) This is the funniest, yet most "whaaaa.....?" thing I have ever heard, and I am going to start saying it ALL THE TIME.
  
• "shellacked bones" (2nd)
• "cat shit on carpet" (two hits - 1st and 2nd. I'm #1, bitches! I'm #1 of cat shit on carpet! FACE!)
• "stare hard retard" (1st and 2nd)
• "fwumpus" (2nd and 4th. I seriously thought I made this word up, but I guess it's catchy)
• "ancient bulgarian tattoos" (3rd)
• "you can have my husband but please don't mess with my man" (1st)
• "castlevania curse of darkness pumpkin" (1st; probably not helpful to who I assume was some kid who wanted to find a cheat for the game, but I did write a review of it for f13.net)
  

There were a surprising number of referrals from France (I have a friend there, but she already knows my url) and a couple from England. I am hell of cosmopolitan.

Anyhoo, other news: mason bees have decided to set up camp in our bamboo windchimes. They are such cute and industrious little fuckers that I just let 'em. The interesting thing is that they've created egg galleries in only three of the six chimes, alternating with one empty chime in between a nested chime. I'm no apiarist, so I haven't a clue why they'd do that (even though I know what an apiarist is, and that it is the mason bee that creates a hive in a narrow tube).

Spent two days in Umatilla doing field work this week. I like to call it "OOM-uh-TEE-uh" so it sounds like an exotic Latin-American locale instead of just a shitty, phoenetically-spelled desert town in NE Oregon. Didn't see any snakes or bones, leading me to ask myself "what the fuck" several times. Our GPS unit crapped out on us, so Greta and I couldn't finish delineating our site and had to leave. The shittiest part is that we would've finished two days early and come home anyway if the GPS hadn't crashed, but now we have an additional 8-hour round trip for three or four hours' work. Pretty drive, though.

The "luxury" hotel we stayed in was jank. And the 'Desert River' sounded so lovely, too. The food was like something you'd send back if you lived in an old folks' home. I suppose if you live in the adjacent trailer park that place qualifies as the fucking Ritz, but I guess I'm just a high-falutin' city slicker that thinks marinara is not supposed to be fizzy. And the waiter kept telling all the customers (all four of them) that the "soup de jour" (sic) was gazpacho. When obligatorally asked "what's that?" he would tell them that gazpacho is a Mexican tomato soup, which made my blood boil. When he got to our table I gently corrected his mistake (that it is from Spain, not Mexico, and that yes, even though Mexicans speak Spanish, Spain and Mexico are in fact two very different places). Get this: he says "how do you know?" Well, there are a lot of Latinos in Umatilla, so touche, I guess. Touche, kid.

Tomorrow is another fun 12-hour day in Willamette Valley agricultural wetland mosaic hell, but I might actually finish two sites and have only, uh.... the rest of the summer to dread.

I Am So Fucking Exhausted - a preemptive strike at my summer.

It's only mid April, and the field season is already destroying me. It's too early to be this sunburned, this blackberry-scratched, this near-attacked-by-a-skunk, and this tired. But I guess my job sorta rocks. Call me a masochist, but I wear my scars with the pride of someone who knows that Scott's coworkers are jealous when they hear what I do for a living, even though I make only a fraction of what they do. People go into my field for the love, not the money.

I've been conducting wetland delineations on a landfill for the last week. Landfills are always hell of sketchy, especially pre-1987 (Section 404 of the Clean Water Act) landfills. This one has a DEQ Solid Waste Permit dating from the 1970s, which pretty much means thay have license to dump leachate directly into a tributary to the South Yamhill River. It's already kinda icky getting your hands muddy, but when you know there's every sort of biological and chemical contaminant in the water and soil, it renders the works downright frightening. Heavy metal is supposed to be an ironic musical genre, not something I have to worry about accidentally ingesting while having a cigarette.

So today I was hacking through blackberry thickets to flag the ordinary high water level on the aforementioned trib to the South Yamhill River and I hear this quiet hissing noise. My mind scans through the various possibilities: Rattlesnake? Naw, too far west and too early for those. Small rodent? Maybe a little too loud, and usually rodents aren't that brazen. I actually thought for a moment it might be some Madagascan hissing cockroaches - I was at the landfill, after all. I decide to ignore the hisses and keep working. They get louder, and are accompanied by some rustling in the reed canarygrass thatch that is ubiquitous in wetland areas in the Pacific Northwest. I decide to try to flush the little fucker out, so I huck a stick in the direction of the noise. More hissing. I yell at the thing, and up pops this little black and white head. It took a few milliseconds for me to process "oh how cute what is that thing a weasel or a mink or something oh holy shit a fucking skunk!" and I fucking ran like a bat out of hell, grabbing my shovel along the way for good measure. I stopped running when I was about 50 feet away (I figure a skunk wasn't gonna chase an animal 20 times its body weight to spray), and just stopped and laughed for a minute. That's the closest brush with wildlife that could potentially ruin my day that I've ever had, and it was invigorating, even if it was just a cute lil' skunk.

My summer will not likely be filled with such friendly wildlife. I'll be working on a pipeline project that spans 4 counties - big ones, too. From Coos County at the coast to Klamath-git-off-mah-propertah-County (cue sound of shotgun cocking) at the California border in central Oregon, I'll be trudging my way through the back country, surveying for wetlands, wildlife habitat and potential rare plant populations. We're talking no roads. We're talking 100 degrees. Lyme disease. Poison oak. Blackberry thorns. Rattlesnakes. Slopes of greater than 50%. We're only expected to cover 1.5 miles a day, if we're really kicking ass. No Nintendo, Tivo, or Scott, no front porch cocktails and garden, no 5 minute walks to sushi. A corridor 150 miles long and 400 feet wide will be walked and surveyed, hacking through brush along the way, and I'll be in dispose from May until the week before my wedding.

On the plus side, I won't have to diet or tan before the wedding, but on the down side, my dress will not look cute on a girl with bloody gashes all over her arms and bruises all over her legs.

Wedding Part Deux

Okay, so check out how awesome it is that I still live in the city I grew up in. I know where everything is, and can make phone calls and such. We ARE getting a croquembouche, and it IS from Pix Patisserie! Hooray! And I got in touch with Sarracenia Northwest, who is growing my bouquet and centerpieces. I will be holding a bouquet of Sarracenia leucophylla, as pictured below (these are carnivorous plants, for you novices):

I am going to be the most awesome bride EVER.

We got our registry done, our invitations are being printed as we speak, and now all I hafta do is wait for Holly to finish the dress (later this month) so we can add accoutrement in the form of shards of lace and strips of feathers. I will NOT, mind you, be a parody of a Vegas showgirl or anything crazy like that, but think more like this (except with a red head and no nekked hot guy in the hay):

...except instead of sleeves, I'll be wearing an feathered armband to hide my tattoo. The skirt will be all lacy and shreddy. And instead of a veil (not pictured), my headpiece will be a clip with exotic pheasant and rooster feathers trailing behind the back of my head. I'm still on the lookout for a vintage fox stole to drape over my shoulders for the reception. A tricky find, particularly since I'm insistant on wearing one with the head attached.

Again, I will be a rad bride.

Wedding Wedding Wedding

Plans are still under way - we've hired a photographer and are looking at places to have our invitations printed, taking baby steps in picking registries, etc. "I WANT lime-green Le Creuset mini-casseroles, but don't want to seem greedy. Wusthoff or Henckel? That tacky china pattern is HOW MUCH??!!?" These are typical thoughts running through my head.

I looked at JaCiva's website and was pretty unimpressed (particularly because I spotted a glaring punctuation error on the "icings" section and that kind of thing just makes my skin crawl). Maybe I'll see if we can afford Pix. HA! Unlikely.

I really like the idea of a croquembouche, but that might just be crazy talk in this town. The thought of flowery fondant with a bride n' groom cake topper makes me want to blow my brains out, so any good baker that isn't trying to squeeze more blood from the stone that is the wedding racket would be appreciated. Scott's mom is making a black forest groom's cake (bless her fucking heart!), but I want something atypical, slightly show-stopping, yet somewhat minimalist for the main dessert. What's a Francophilic food snob to do?

The dress is gonna be amazing. Holly from Seaplane is a fucking genius. I'll be creeping out of the forest like some ethereal silver bird on My Special Day. Haven't decided if I want to walk to Polegnala e Todora (an ancient Bulgarian love song that makes me cry my eyes out every time I hear it, even after the nearly ten years it's been in my musical repertoire) tenderly rendered by the Bulgarian Women's Choir or the cinematic score from Wong Kar Wei's In the Mood for Love. Scott and I like the idea of having the theme from Ico play during the pre-Heather-on-the-catwalk part (precessional?). I can think of only about one guest who would get the reference, and it'd be kinda funny to hear Pete giggling "No way!!" while Scott waits at the altar.

The word 'altar' kinda freaks me out. Isn't that where animal and/or human sacrifices are made?

Anyway, as details get ironed out I'll be more mellow about it, but the date is actually approaching. I'm so excited!

My Bedazzled DS!

You can have my husband...

...but please don't mess with my man.

Today was my first day at the new job. It's good; I hit the ground running, and didn't feel like I had any catching up to do after six months off. My new supervisor plays World of Warcraft, and it gladdens my heart to no longer be the sole geek of the office. But the day got better: when I got home there were stargazer lilies and peche lambic waiting for me. That's because I have the best man in the world.

Christmas was a delight. Scott's mom stayed with us for a few days, most of which were spent in a debaucherous state of intoxication. One night we got home from the bar at 1:30, and I thought it'd be fun to listen to some Desmond Dekker and dance while the buzz was on. Linda (the mom-in-law) danced right along with me and then we moved the party to the front porch where we chain-smoked and consumed an additional three bottles of wine and I funked my ass off 'til four in the morning in front of god and everybody. I love that lady. Her son is rad.

I'm not a huge fan of the top 40-type hits

So why can't I stop listening to Gold Digger? Would Kanye West have even been on my radar if he hadn't made the most important political statement of the 21st century? Probably not. But he did, and in doing so earned a permanent soft spot in my heart. And his album is very good. Yes, this is a past-due assertion, but its truancy is not for lack of truth. The album is good.

Birds are so crazy!

Today when I was standing on the porch having a smoke I almost got beaned in the head by a ruby-throated hummingbird! Birds are so crazy!

Man I am in such a good mood today!

Last night I dreamt that I was roller skating in the children's section of the library and Scott had a little black kitten wearing one of those hats that French-Canadian lumberjacks wear sitting in his breast pocket. It was awesome. I giggled in my sleep so loud that I woke myself up!

Last night I made us a bunch of delicious ginger-pear vodka martinis. Scott is so cute when he's a little buzzed. Since we had two of 'em before we even ate dinner, we were both a little shwilly and got all snuggly on the couch and watched Primer after dinner. Films like Primer make me feel a little stupid, but I guess "the thinking man's art film" has confused quite a few people, so I don't really feel that bad.

It's a wonderful, sunny day, and it's Friday. I feel very happy today. Maybe tonight Scott and I will go on a dinner-and-a-movie date. That'd be fun.

Road Trip

Unfortunately, not the fun kind. Tomorrow Scott and I will be driving to Eureka, CA at breakneck speed to attend the memorial service of my Aunt Tammy (my mom's younger sister). We have to leave at around 5am to make it to the 1pm service.

She got diagnosed with leukemia about two weeks after my mom died. They found a tumor on her spine, and upon operation found a couple more embedded in the spinal cord. The first surgery left her paralyzed from the waist down, so they gave her radiation to kill the other two. But she went into kidney failure last Thursday and didn't make it. I can't imagine what my grandparents must be going through, having lost two daughters within six months.

She was only in her early 40s.

Finally!

That little cunt Jayla got eliminated last night. Hooray! Her gums were too big. Porn star in t-minus 10 seconds.

Thanksgiving redux

Yeah, so it's been a few days and the story has well-nigh rendered itself obsolete, but Thanksgiving was a far more depressing ordeal than imagined in my wildest dreams. You know how I thought it was gonna be awkward with my grandpa and dad in the same room, since they're all of a sudden estranged from one another? Well this is even better! My grandpa called my sister-in-law at the last minute and told her to tell me he wouldn't be coming. She asks him if he wants my number to tell me himself, and he says "no" and hangs up. I was actually relieved to hear this, since I don't really care for the old coot. I was just trying to make up for the fact that I never go visit him, even though he only lives about a mile away from me. An atheist can only so take so much sermon from an old man (particularly one who evidently thinks you're retarded and needs to explain everything he says) before an atheist wants to peel the skin off her face. So yay, no preachy old grandpa.

"How could Thankgiving have been worse, then, and not better?" you might be asking yourself. Well it could, and here's how: Remember how my mom died last April? Well this is the first (non-Hallmark-invented) holiday since her death, and my dad looked like he wanted to fucking blow his brains out. He felt like a fifth wheel (unsurprising, since it was Scott and me with my bro and his wife). I tried to distract him from his misery by asking how the job search is going. Yeah, he has no job. After the meal he just sat on the couch, his head hanging very low over his cup of coffee. After he left I talked to Jeremy and Sandy about things, and it doesn't sound so good.

After my mom died I knew my dad would be completely fucked, not just because he lost the only person in this universe who would tolerate him, but because theirs was a household absolutely dependent on two incomes. My family's broke, pretty much always has been. A month after mom died, the Blazer or Bronco or whatever got repossessed because he missed some payments. I ended up paying for her funeral and everything so he wouldn't hafta worry about it, but I knew he needed more help than that.

So I pressured Jeremy and Sandy into moving in with him. The house is plenty big enough, I figured, and the baby would lift his spirits a little bit. They'd pay a little less than what they were paying in rent for their apartment, and everyone wins, right? Not so much. My dad ended up quitting his job a couple of months ago and according to Jeremy he sleeps in 'til noon every day, drinks coffee for about three hours, goes out for awhile returning with a stack of DVDs that no one can figure out how he's affording, and hasn't been following up on job leads. He's not getting unemployment (since he quit), and even though I made him a resume and Jeremy faxes them off for him, he's not really trying to find a job. It sounds like he's just given up on life, and I'm worried that he's gonna end up homeless or something. The man is an island, and no one can seem to reach him. He needs to finish mourning so he can begin his life again, but he's just so miserable. Jeremy and Sandy are getting fed up with him jumping in on their arguments (they've only been married a year), and they don't have much privacy.

Anyway, after everyone left on Thursday Scott and I cleaned up, while I went through my usual mental broken record-loop, "what can I do to fix this? what can I do to fix this?" I know that I can't save my dad from himself. I just don't know how to make this better. I can't help feeling like I should take the situation into my own hands, because frankly, no one else will. But it's not my job to keep bailing my dad out, he's an adult. On the other hand, he's also a motherless child who's never not had a woman to tend to him. And at 53 years old, he just needs to grow up. I just hope things don't have to get any worse for him before he realizes that.

Dinner was good though. White bean turkey chili last night was even better.

Castlevania - Curse of Darkness

My review can be read here. A very fun game indeed.

Yay! Two days 'til Thanksgiving. I'm already getting my prep started: I have cranberries in tripel sec on the stove and stock fixings roasting in the oven.

This year will be interesting, as I've been informed that my father and grandpa aren't speaking to each other. Unfortunately, I'd invited my grandpa over weeks before the altercation. What happened is evidently my grandpa accused my dad of being "too angry." What next, is he gonna accuse the sky of being blue? Sheesh, old people. Nothing pisses off a dude with anger management issues worse than being told to calm down, so things have escalated much further than they should've. Oh well.

What'll probably happen is I'll stay busy in the kitchen to remain as oblivious to the rift as possible, while Scott insists on helping so he can stay the hell out of there too. My dad and grandpa will be silent to each other during the meal and then my grandpa will announce that it's time to go home 5 minutes after eating. I'll secretly wish that my dad would leave too, but will be a polite hostess. My dad will stay and rant about his father until he decides he's due for a bong hit, says he's "got to go take his pain medication" and wants to leave. Then Scott and I will breathe a sigh of relief, pour ourselves a couple of stiff ones, and sit on the porch chainsmoking while we decompress.

I'm gonna be such an awesome mother

I'm clacking away at the keys, when I smell something. It's that familiar smell that something terrible has happened. It's so strong that I check the floors, assuming it's coming from the room I'm sitting in. Nothing. I go to the living room and the stench could peel the fucking paint off the walls. There, on the freshly shampooed area rug, is a steaming pile of cat shit. But this time, unlike as it's been for the last week or so, it's not just a mound of cute little tootsie-rolls. This time it comes with gravy.

"Awesome!" I think to myself. Today, instead of merely sopping up vomit from the rug, as is my seemingly daily chore, or waiting for shit to cool down from that 105-degree cat-intestine temperature, I have the joy of both plucking turds and trying to blot special sauce from the carpet. I go to the under-the-kitchen-sink cabinet where cleaning products are kept, and discover that we are out of Kids 'n Pets. Awesome. I dump half a bottle of Resolve carpet cleaner on the mess, spray the entire house with orange spray and return to the computer.

I just know that I'll be an awesome mother because I, with a saint's restraint, calmly resisted the urge to grab the crow bar from the coat closet and bludgeon Caesar to a bloody pulp. I mean, that's just good parenting. Besides, if you think diarrhea is hard to get out of a carpet, well, you've never eviscerated a cat in your living room.

(Edit: it should be noted that I did clean up the shit before dumping carpet cleaner on the spot. I didn't just pour a bunch of cleaner on top of a pile of shit and wish it well.)

More adventures in my nether regions

I'm hungry. But it's not my stomach that's growling, it's my right ovary. Huh.

It's already November?

What the fuck? Time flies when you're having fun (or are an unemployed board whore that plays too many video games). This year we're doing Thanksgiving at our house again. What with my mom being in an ash can and my new sister-in-law being inept in the kitchen, how else will my dad get to eat turkey? I really want to do a southwest-themed dinner, but sadly, my dad has the palate of a five-year old. If I were gonna do it, this is what I'd make:

Roasted turkey with sweet orange-tequila glaze
Cornbread-jalapeno stuffing
Chipotle-sweet potato souffle, topped with sharp cheddar
Roasted corn and red bell pepper risotto
Warm carrot and red onion salad with escabeche chiffonade for kick
Mole negro with roasted pumpkin seeds (instead of gravy)
Fluffy, soft flour tortillas (instead of dinner rolls or brioche)
Espresso flan with Dagoba Xocolatl ganache for dessert

Sigh. It would be so good! And I've been saving my cornbread scraps in the freezer for months! Oh, well. I'll just make this stuff for a dinner party sometime.

I like cake!

My review of Hello Kitty Roller Rescue got published on f13.net. Here it is for your viewing plezh.

I also have an awesome head cold that has me pretty incapacitated. I'm gonna eat some baked beans and watch I Love the 80s 3D.

2, 4, 6, 8, 10!

Last night was so much fun! The Go! Team fucking rocked. I haven't shaken my ass that hard since I was like, 18.

Here I am looking retarded next to Ninja. I swear I'm not fat in real life.

The pictures with the guitarists didn't come out that great. Oh wells.

You may be asking yourself, "since when is Heather such a huge starfucker?" To which I'd reply: "One doesn't have many opportunities to be a rabid fangirl in Portland, so when one does, one must strike while the iron is hot." And I've learned that if you ask nicely, you can get almost anything you want. And I never forget to say thank you.

Today is the day after, and I'm not sore yet. That little delight is usually saved for the second day after. I think I may have overdone it in kickboxing last night. I know I overdid it at the show, jumping up and down like a 16 year old black cheerleader from the Bronx for two hours. My ankles hurt a little and my ears are still pretty fuzzy. What'll inevitably happen is I'll wake up for my job interview tomorrow and be completely fucking hobbled and they'll think they hafta hire me because they don't have any disabled people in the office.

Oh, if you haven't listened to the Go! Team yet, do. They sound like what little black girls are singing when they double-dutch.

Alton Brown Has a Very Hairy Chest

Noticeably so.

Scott and I met him yesterday at Wild About Game, a food event that included a wild game cookoff of which Mr. Brown was a judge. I kept asking people working the event, "when do we get to meet Alton Brown?" And since no one knew, I just followed a waiter to the judges' room and peeked in. There he was! He had a shitload of food to taste, so Scott and I took off for awhile and got back just when the last dish was being presented. We waited outside the room and when he stood up I ran over to the door and pounced on him! He was visibly startled by my sudden presence.

I nervously asked, "would it be totally inappropriate if I asked you to sign this?" and presented my old copy of On Food and Cooking, an early food science tome by Harold McGee. He looked at the book, looked at me, and said, "You want me to sign this? Are you sure?" He sort of oohed and aahed over it for a minute, and I joked he could sign it "McGee" if he wanted. He sat down and started writing:

Then he glanced at my tattoo and said he'd never seen a girl with DNA on her arm before. I was really nervous and shaky, which is strange because he seems pretty normal. I felt that I'd already bugged him enough so I didn't bother asking for a picture with him. Then I thanked him, shook his hand and giddily ran back to my table. Yay!

I wanted to send him another thank you, but it seems that people have been sending him rude things on his site, so he's disabled the contact part of his page. Oh, well.

Now I just have a figure out a way to meet Tony Bourdain....

Disaster averted!

This morning in pilates we were doing some move where you're on your back, kinda on your shoulders, and with your legs slightly spread and your arms on the floor, you lift your legs up so they're pointing up in the air. When I did this I sucked so much air into my vagina that I knew, I just *knew* I would have the hugest pussy-fart if I tried the rest of the move. I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom where I swear I queefed for like, 5 minutes.

Oh, don't look at me like that. You know you've been there.

I love on some buffalo wings, all dressed in delectable sauce.

Well said, Roast Beef. Well said.

A Letter to the Fiery Furnaces

Dear Fiery Furnaces,
How are you? You guys rocked last night. I appreciate the artistry and showmanship of playing your old stuff totally different. Eleanor seems to have lost some weight and now resembles a young Patti Smith with a cuter face. Love the haircut. Did you notice the dude in front? He looked like he learned to dance by playing DDR. Way to live up to white stereotypes, Acid Trip! And then that Ally McBeal girl who was doing the generic 80s thrash-the-shoulders-shake-the-head-back-and-forth dance threw a flower onstage, clearly wishing for validation from Eleanor. But Eleanor was enamored of Go-Go Boots, the hopeless fangirl who impressed the band with her knowledge of every song lyric (as evidenced by her singing along to every tune). She was to you what Houx is to Metric. Lucky girl got the playlist and props from Eleanor, but if Houx had been there, an onstage hug would surely have ensued.

Oh, hey, do you know who else was at your show last night? The fucking SHINS! That's who! Scott and I bumped into them outside, casually talking amongst themselves. Actually, Scott recognized them and I sauntered up and asked them if I could please have my picture taken with them. They said yes and I, embarassed that I had interrupted and possibly outed them, said thanks and strolled away quickly. Unfortunately, every time I try to post that picture I get an error message from blogger. Oh wells. I'll try again later.

So, in addition to seeing a stellar show in a venue small enough to accomodate my need to be 5 feet from the stage, I got to say "sup" to my favorite band. Yay.

Your friend,
Heather

Shadowgate Kicks So Much Ass

Remember that game? I was in 10th grade the first time I played it. Although it'd been out for awhile at that point, my parents finally got me that NES that I'd wanted since 6th grade for Christmas when I was in high school. By that time SNES was already out, so "a day late and a dollar short, Mom and Dad!" But it was all I had, and I was thankful, dammit!

Scott and I were extremely bored the other day, so we strolled on down the CD and Game Exchange down the street and for $50 we picked up Shadowgate (for the Gameboy; luckily the GBA is backwards-compatible), Banjo Kazooie, Paper Mario and Jet Force Gemini for the N64 and another copy of Eternal Darkness for the Cube. I've played them all many times over, but seeing as Scott has always primarily been a PC/PS guy, he hadn't ever really dicked around with the cool N64 games that Rare made in their glory days, and had only fiddled with Eternal Darkness once when we rented it before we moved in together. He has clearly been missing out, and thank goodness we can still find all that shit for 5 or 10 bucks each.

Anyway, I forgot how complex Shadowgate was. The puzzles and adventure aspects of the game are still light years beyond what's coming out these days, despite that fact that the "adventure" takes place within a text box that is your DM's wet dream. I don't miss the shiny at all. It's just so much fun to fuck around with something so delightfully old school and not be able to use my years of adventure/puzzle gaming experience to fly through it. It's nice to revisit something and still get the same enjoyment out of it as I did when I was a kid, and it's even nicer to know that I haven't become jaded by the ocular masturbation that is modern gaming.

Now if I can just figure out what the fuck I'm s'post to do in that room after the gargoyles...

Rejected!

The intarweb community is not my friend. The admins at f13 (except schild, he's okay) are power-hungry little cockmunches who den (or delete) my threads whenever I disagree with them about the humor of any given subject (e.g., Napoleon Dynamite). And those PC fucks at urbandictionary.com chose not to publish my definition of "finnuh", which I list below for your reading pleasure.

finnuh (future tense verb, ebonic): "fixing to" or "going to"
"I finnuh kick yo ass."
"You ain't finnuh put me on no house arrest."

This is exactly how I submitted my definition, but evidently the editors haven't seen Diary of a Mad Black Woman. Hell, I haven't either, but how could they have missed the trailer?

Speaking of movies that won't be winning any accolades, I really wanna see Roll Bounce, the admission of which was met by a "you're joking, right?" look from my betrothed. Sometimes it's hard to have a lover with such a refined cinematic palate. But seriously, honey, how can you resist a 1978 rollerskating battle flick starring Lil' Bow Wow? How, I ask?

Fwumpus

I feel like crap today. Yesterday I used my certificate for a free session with a personal trainer at the martial arts studio where I take kickboxing and pilates. I allowed the trainer to stack more weight than I really should've (i.e., I ended up leg pressing 280lbs), and did all those insane one-legged squats and bench presses and reclining/hanging pull-ups (like an upside-down push-up). I did this for an hour and a half, after a ten-minute warmup on the treadmill. I can't remember the last time I was in this much pain. Everything except my abs are excrutiated. That is precisely why I, with a Marine-like tenacity, decided I should suck it up and go to pilates this morning. Well, yep, now my abs are sore too. Good job, Heather. I popped three extra strength tylenol and tried to sleep it off, but woke up when I stretched my legs out and felt like burning knives were piercing my quads. To make matters worse, I have somehow managed to put on three more pounds, despite working out for four hours a week for the past month and a half. I skipped lunch today in an attempt to burn something off, but I just feel grumpy and my head is killing me. I'm halfway through my second non-fat latte of the day, which is oddly not helping. I just want to eat a big bowl of pho and pass out. I hope Scott didn't have Vietnamese for lunch today. There's leftover buffalo and chantrelle shepherd's pie, but I feel too fwumpy to have gravy again for dinner.

Watched "Our Song" on IFC today. It felt like a failed attempt to do Mi Vida Loca in the style of Spike Lee, and fell far short of being what it really could've. Kerry Washington is a compelling young actress, though, and made it somewhat bearable.

Yay, new OC tonight.

Bittersweetness

So I'm engaged. I've never been happier, as this coming year is my preparation for the biggest adventure of my life, as well as my opportunity to throw the biggest party Scott and I'll ever undertake. I've been struggling with bouts of insomnia, visions of brown orchids, oakmoss, wild boar and expensive French lace running through my head like so many proverbial sugarplums.

But it's not all squee and breathlessness. As I read through the numerous bridal guides, planners and magazines, I have a recurring reminder that something very important will be missing from this occasion: my mother. She died suddenly of cancer in April, only 11 days after having been diagnosed.

Truth be told, if she were here, I'd very likely be shooting down her every idea and suggestion, insisting that this will be done my way, ignoring her raised eyebrows at such notions that praying mantises will be featured on our invitations. Much eye-rolling would ensue. But I miss her. And for the first time since she passed, I actually realize that I no longer have a mother.

I relate this story to anonymously comfort a dear friend of mine, who has been in a long process of bidding farewell to an ailing parent. I want to say this to him: It's okay to not feel like you're mourning, and it's okay to feel relieved that you won't have to deal with it anymore. There will be little moments throughout life when his absence is felt, and you may not respond in those moments by feeling a profound sense of loss. We don't have to feel guilty to be okay with the departure of our parents. You're in my thoughts and in my heart (and I selfishly hope I get to see you soon).

I'm engaged, bitches!

I said yes! Check the bling - and the stone's old so no dead Africans. Yay!

New Favorite Drink

I am currently loving my latest concoction, the Gayhound. It's like a Greyhound, but with ruby red grapefruit juice instead of regular.

*Gayhound*
1-2 oz. good vodka (we use Monopolova)
4 oz. pink grapefruit juice
coupla ice cubes
sprig of fresh rosemary

Stir together in a heavy tumbler. Sip. Curl toes.

The pink grapefruit juice makes it special, but the rosemary makes it magical.

Beachtastic fun

This weekend was Emily's bachelorette party at a condo at Cannon Beach. Here is a picture of me buzzed off my second Sex on the Beach Friday evening (cliche, yes, but it was a fucking bachelorette party), blissfully unaware of the hangover I would have the following day.

We spent Saturday at Short Sands so some of the girls could surf. I was too hungover to try and surf like the other girls (goddamned schnapps!!), so I laid out in the sun with a magazine on my face and clutching my jacket around me to keep the sand from blowing into my mouth, nose and ears. Check out the awesome sunburn I scored!

Unfortunately, it hadn't occurred to me to apply sunscreen to my legs or belly (in the narrow strip where my shirt rode up a little). I actually had come to the beach wearing pants and a long sleeve shirt. I mean, I grew up in Oregon and I know the coast weather pretty well. I was even wearing my boots, which I eventually took off so I could put my feet in the sand.

It hurts so bad that I can only take lukewarm showers, and the first ten minutes of my day are spent hobbling around as my burned skin stretches out to give beneath the muscles. I obviously can't shave, which is making matters worse, as I now have stubble poking its way out of my scorched follicles, and scratching the burn when my legs brush against each other.

Birthday pics

I've added a few pictures of the birthday party that Danno took. The food pic I just stuck in The D and Me post below. Enjoy.



Scott and I are enjoying the music of Jean-Jacques Perrey, moog master.








Scott looks really sexy next to Angeline.









Our exotic friends: Angeline and Eloine (French) and Shinichi (Guess).









Satan loves you!

WORD.

This is a pic that Damon just sent me. It is my hero, Jables. Damon is an extra in the movie. Word.

Oh, btw, here's the link to the movie teaser.

The D and Me

OM fucking G. Today my friend Damon is working on the set of The Pick of Destiny. Ring a bell? Yes, that's right. That's the new Tenacious D movie. My friend is hanging with The D today. When prompted to ask a question for him to pass on, I was speechless. The best I could come up with is, "Have you ever rocked your own fucking socks off?" I'm such a fangirl it's sickening. I want to ask him to get an autographed cumrag for me, or some other keepsake, but he hasta be on his best behavior. He has far more discipline than I.

In other news, I had a fabulous birthday party on Saturday. I spent two days preparing $200 worth of tapas for only about ten people. I made:
* Crepe purses stuffed with smoked salmon, capers, cucumbers and creme fraiche, with a little lemon zest
* Different crepe purses stuffed with plums and peaches simmered in red wine and white peppercorns, mixed with chevre and fresh rosemary
* Organic heirloom tomato salad with 6-herb walnut pesto and balsamic syrup
* Canellini bean tapenade
* Kalamata olives marinated in the 6-herb walnut pesto
* Anchoiade
* Curried cauliflower crostini
* Tuna mousse
* Crudites and antipasti of salami, figs, almonds and roasted red peppers with brie and Huntsman (double Gloucester and Stilton)
* Mushrooms stuffed with a ragout of sausage, cream, arugula, walnuts and nutmeg
* Gorgonzola-walnut pate with honeyed figs
* Golden beet slices topped with the gorgonzola pate and drizzled with balsamic syrup
* Parmesan tuilles with pear slices
* Cocktail: a pitcher of cosmopolitans made with raspberry coulis and lemon balm from the garden, and hibiscus-cranberry juice.

The trick is to puree the raspberries, strain out as much of the seeds as possible, then freeze in ice cube trays (store cubes in a ziploc freezer bag). Use the cubes in your drinks. Then when the "ice" melts, the cocktail becomes more raspberrylicious instead of watered-down.


God, just looking at that list I can't believe I pulled it off. I also made a plum chutney with ginger, chili flakes and black cardamom (to top little toasted nan triangles), but there literally wasn't room on the table. I should go into catering or something. Luckily, among the vast leftovers (slowly being wittled away by a lazy Heather in too-hot-to-cook weather), there remains the majority of a bottle of cognac, a full-but-one-shot bottle of Maker's Mark and half a bottle of frosty Monopolova vodka.

My Little Friends

Here are some of the skulls I've collected in the field over the years.

The one on the right is a duck, and I think the one on the left is an owl. Unfortunately, since I'm a botanist, I never took any advanced anatomy/physiology courses in college.


I think the really clean one is a poodle or something. I found it near a residential area in Hood River. The other two are a muskrat and a lab rat. Behind the skulls is a large tortiose's carapace.


From left: muskrat, raccoon or possum, nutria, cat, another raccoon or possum. Behind/between the two rightmost skulls is a rat skull that I mounted in an antique wooden pastels box that I lined with handmade African paper.

This horse's skull was my greatest score. First, it was already nearly completely clean. Second, I almost never find both the skull and the jaw of anything. Third, it was found only about 10 feet from where I parked, so I didn't hafta lug it around with me all day.


These are windchimes that I made from the femur and humerus bones of roadkill (small furbears), with the scapula of a mule deer as the wind catcher. I shellacked the bones first to waterproof them and give them that rich amber color. The tubes are from a length of copper pipe that I cut and drilled myself. Small vertebrae cap the leg bones. I don't know shit about the tonality of copper tubing, and accidentally cut the pipe into lengths that emit a delightfully sinister series of sharp and flat notes when the wind blows. Just lucky, I guess.

I'll post pictures of my insect, fish and herpetofauna collections tomorrow when I can get photos in the daylight.

Oh, and sorry these pics are so tiny. I took them with my phone and don't know how to enlarge them without making gigantic pixels of distortion.

Vanity

I love my new camera. Phone. It's a phone. But now when I get bored I can put on way too much eyeliner and mascara and take Nico-esque self portraits which can be turned black and white using Photoshop. I haven't figured out how to turn pics sepia-toned, but whatevs.



Today I did a little bargain shopping and found two nice little accessories on sale. I bought a scarf that's all iridescent sequins and makes me feel pretty. Also, I bought a little pink corduroy purse with appliqued leather flowers. When I got home I noticed that someone had slipped a matching pink wallet inside, I assume with the intention of buying the purse and stealing the wallet. Sometimes purses come with wallets, but this one is real leather and had its own price tag on it. Whoooops! I needed a new wallet anyway, and after a lifetime of being earth tone girl, I've recenty discovered that pink makes me feel fabulous. So I guess I'll just keep it. I think I can convince my conscience to not eat itself over it.

Wow, this might be my most vapid post yet. I spent the morning watching a couple of those VH-1 "Why So'N So is So Rich and Fascinating" shows. I learned a new word today: celebutante. It was coined for Paris Hilton. That kinda explains it, I guess.

How To Draw Blank Stares From a Crowd of Vietnamese People

Go to a Vietnamese karaoke bar and do "The Humpty Dance". Give a shout out to your SE Asian peeps by throwing out a "Cám ón" at the end of your performance.

Sit at the only table of white people and have your buddy Danno do "America" by Neil Diamond.

Do your rendition of "Aqualung", Jack Black style. Be a female wearing a short skirt, and bust several running jump-kicks and a friction burn-inducing knee slide for your air guitar solo.

Tell the only chubby girl in the joint that she's got a great booty. While you're holding the microphone. And mean it.