In which we visit the Vet, who Pokes Dogs With Sharp Things.
Bindu had a 10:30 appointment at the vet clinic this morning, where they poked her with sharp things.
That’s what they do at the vet, you see: poke poor, innocent dogs with sharp things.
Of course, I’ve seen this dog smack herself in the head – say, on a brick building or something – with such force that she should have a concussion, and not even notice, so I don’t know why a little 23-gauge needle would cause her to pant and shiver like her very life force is being sucked out, but I digress.
The doc and I discussed her general health – Is she eating well? (Yup.) any sudden, massive intake of water? (Nope.) problems with stairs or moving around? (Nope.) – and then he gave her a general look-over. She’s in great shape for an old dog. He took a look at her lump, then did a fine-needle biopsy and ran away to view the results under a microscope.
Good news! It’s just a fatty deposit. Not cancer. YAY!
Then he gave her a rabies booster – her last one was in 2003 – so now I can register her and pay the $10 licensing fee and she’ll be a totally legit town dog!
The whole shebang cost a hundred bucks. And on the way home I bought dog food, so now I have five dollars to last me until Friday. But at least I know my dog is healthy and doesn’t have a cyst that will explode and poison her to death.
For a creature who is effectively 65 years old, it’s really impressive that she can jump three times her own damn height.
In which I might be complaining juuuust a little bit.
Look what I did at work today:
Why can’t I get paid for this instead?
In which my Saturday is lovely.
I took Raybo out last night. The woman raises three kids – and keeps a man – so she deserves the occasional late night out with the girls. Got home late. Really late. Like, three-thirty in the morning late.
Last night after (finally) folding all of my clean laundry, I took out my whites – the clothes I wear when seeing Amma every year – so that I’ll remember to wash and iron them soon.
And today, for fun, I wrapped one of my saris on over my jammies – sloppily – and took a picture for you. You, my babies!
Then I read Plainsong for awhile.
I wanted French food but I can’t afford to eat at Petit Paris so I went to the grocery store instead. I spent $18 on bread, brie, butter, milk, lettuce, tomatoes, and an avocado. And some POM tea.
Speaking of grocery stores, EconoFoods is going out of business, which leaves our little town of just-barely-ten-thousand with only two shopping choices: the giant chain, Hy-Vee, or the little chain, Everybody’s. (AmmZon started doing more shopping at Everybody’s recently and the household food bill was over six hundred bucks last month!) I work part-time; I went to Hy-Vee.
I know I’m supposed to, but honestly I don’t care about organic produce… not in my tax bracket. (I saw a blogger friend recently refer to Whole Foods as “Whole Paycheck.” Hah! Sing it, girl.) Now, I grok how food should be raised – I’m not stupid – and I admire the people who are doing it… But. Ultimately, as a consumer living well below the poverty line, I don’t give a shit if there’s a few chemicals in my lettuce. I absorb chemicals every time I bathe in city water or slather my skin with product. Not to mention that the majority of organic foods are overpriced and less attractive, and as any kid who has ever had a garden knows, forcing produce – by milk-feeding pumpkins, for instance – is not always a horrible thing.
When I returned home, I made a lovely creamy veggie chowder (potatoes, peas, corn, and carrots) and a brie sandwich. Yes, the bread is Italian, but what do you expect? You think I can just go out and buy French bread whenever I want? I live in BFE, people!
Which causes me to wonder, why Egypt? I realize the scansion requires a two-syllable place name – after all, “Bum Fuck Katmandu” wouldn’t roll off the tongue satisfactorily – but Egypt isn’t particularly obscure. Everyone’s heard of Egypt. Why not someplace truly off the map, like, oh, I don’t know… someplace I’ve never heard of? (I have high expectations of military slang ever since FUBAR and SNAFU, don’t you know.)
Later I went to the bar with my roommates to visit with two old friends from out of town. AmmZon had spent the afternoon working in the garden over at her aunt’s house, and suddenly came down with heat exhaustion. I boxed up the food she’d ordered and drove her home, where she immediately passed out on the couch under a blanket.
Truck came home an hour later. They nagged at each other; they do that. It drives me batshit, even though they’re always apologizing for it. Eventually they went upstairs to bed. When she came down later, I finished making the cup of tea she’d started. She wanted some Gatorade, which I said I’d run for, but now I think she’s asleep and the closest gas station is closed by now.
It’s Saturday night, it’s late, and I’m poor. And besides, no need to go out when I have 400 Mb (and counting – I’m still downloading!) of new music – Ben Folds Five, Sneaker Pimps, Amon Tobin, Les Claypool, Tower Of Power, Groove Armada – from my brother! I think I’ll head to bed myself and listen to my iPod. Yum.
In which there’s a little northern Indian food festival in the kitchen!
Last night, I cooked.
A lot.
Rajma masala, cumin rice, and curried spinach to be exact!
I’d never made rajma before, so I googled a few recipes, read them carefully, and then went ahead and cooked. The outcome was stunning, if I do say so myself! I think I’ve made my peace with eastern spicing; if I’ve eaten a dish once I can replicate it later.
For the cumin rice I followed a recipe, but was out of butter by then so I used oil instead. It worked fine. (I keep forgetting to buy ghee.)
The curried spinach was simple and I made it up on the spot: skillet, oil, diced onions, minced garlic. Some garam masala, some cumin, some tumeric, a bit of curry powder. Salt. Tossed in a bag of frozen spinach and sauteed until hot through.
I made a massive amount of food, wholly intending to take some to work with me today for lunch. But when I got up this morning, there was only a little rice left.
So there is a downside to being a great cook: no leftovers!
In other news, BGhead is in town and smitten with the On Relationships series. He threatens to post, even! If any of you are feeling at all drawn to the idea, please do join in. The two posts we’ve had so far were wonderful; I know you’re out there.
In which goblinbox hosts a SECOND guest post! Please welcome Kristie as she speaks of marriage.
I have been married for 13 years to a man I’ve loved for over 16. By today’s standards, I was a child bride, marrying him 2 weeks after I graduated college as I did, though we dated from October of my freshman year. If I’d been smart I would’ve married him at Christmas instead of in May, and saved the 5 months double rent. But when you’re 22 you don’t know anything, and with romance in your heart, stars in your eyes, and your mother’s morality wagging its finger in the back of your mind, you don’t really think of a marriage as a financial arrangement that could be managed for maximum return. Well, the 22-year-old me didn’t. Perhaps some of you were wiser and more worldly than I. Then again, there’s a lot to be said for innocence. But that’s another post.
I truly believe that if anyone tried to tell us what marriage truly meant, even good marriages, we would think they were lying. And if we believed them, no one would ever get married. So it’s probably best no one tries. Though I often think that if we were spoon-fed a more realistic view of what human beings can expect of each other in partnership, we’d be happier, and less hard on ourselves and those we love than we are when the fairytale comes crashing down about us.
Sometimes when I look at this man I live with, and wonder how it is possible that after all these years living with him, knowing him better than anyone else on earth, he is still very much a mystery. I wonder if I’m as mystifying to him. He likes to tell me that every time I ask, “What the fuck are you doing?†he is obviously successful in keeping the mystery alive.
All that said, I’d do it all again. I know I’m with the right man, and while we don’t always like each other every minute of every day, love is the bedrock we reach when we’re scraping bottom. And even when we’re pissed at each other, we still like each other better than anyone else in the world, and we’re cognizant of that. When we’re not pissed at each other, life is pretty grand. He makes me laugh, and he takes good care of me, and he lets me buy all the guitars I want. I make him laugh, I take good care of him, and I have a killer rack. So we keep coming home to each other. Marriage vows are made over and over; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I have no delusions that we are impervious to the cracks and strains that break other marriages. We do the best we can, like anyone else, and hope our luck holds.
I think there are advantages to marrying young, in that you grow up together, and forge a life that always includes the two of you; it’s built that way. When you marry young, you don’t have to argue over whose stuff stays and whose doesn’t when you move in together; you don’t have any stuff. My friends who have married later in life, when they are more established as individuals, have, to my perception, found it more difficult to merge two lives into one, agonizing over decisions to share names and checking accounts just for starters. And I know that if my life changed, and I was starting over tomorrow, I am not the pliable girl I was at 22. I’d probably avoid marriage entirely, and keep a ready harem of handsome and available men to meet my womanly needs when I wanted them to, and stay out of my hair otherwise.
In many ways, our life together is exactly what I dreamed of, hoped for, and expected out of married life. However, if someone had foretold for me all the events that would befall us (or we would rush headlong into) in our marriage, I would’ve told them to put down the crack pipe. Still, we are still here, together. And that’s something.
Wedding Vows
A marriage is
a thousand tiny heartbreaks:
the heartbreaks of change, of crushed hope
and forgotten dreams;
the heartbreaks of empty hours, empty conversation
and empty pockets;
the heartbreaks of misinterpreted messages, misaligned priorities
and mismatched flatware;
the heartbreaks of vicious truths, vicious accusations
and vicious circles;
the heartbreak of begging for recognition, being unable to offer any,
and lonely, silent minutes of our aching need;
the heartbreaks of tired arms, tired lives
and tired excuses.
I had no idea how we’d maim each other,
aiming with deadly accuracy honed over years.
I had no idea of our capacity for forgiveness.
I had no idea that to carry the heartbreak, and to be standing still,
together,
is love, too.
20 Aug 2002
In which I’m checking in.
First, if you feel at all interested, you should ask me for a login and write a relationship post. Come on, it’ll be awesome!
Second, for lunch today I made myself the best sandwich ever: pesto, avocado, baby spinach, tomatoes, red onion, mozzarella, and mayo, on peasant bread from the local crunchy whole foods-ish store. It was so good I felt compelled to mention it to you!
Third, if you’re one of my daytime IM friends and are feeling ignored, it’s not that I don’t love you but that I’ve been encouraged not to IM while at work. So that’s why I don’t answer and/or am not logged in as much as usual. *sigh*
Fourth, I’m in checkbook balancing hell at work. Hell, I tell you. It’s the most tedious task ever, and it makes me feel stupid because it should be easy but it’s not: it’s a fucking pain in the ass! I started out doing May’s statement, and ended up having to go all the way back to March to re-reconcile it, even though March and April had balanced to the penny! Still, the May opening balance was wrong, so go back I did. Now my brain is mud. Gah!
Finally, I’ve been thinking about the Band That Never Gigs because there’s a practice tonight, and I just plain don’t wanna go. I mean, every time I think about it, I groan – that’s how much I don’t want to go. I think I might need to unpack that and see if what I really need to do is quit. (Truck and I have been thinking about offering ourselves to the JCGB for the summer just for the fun of playing some with an established band that gigs, and because we had so much fun sitting in with them at the divorce party.)
In other news, HOLY SHIT WILL YOU LOOK AT MY STATS?!?!
‘K, back to balancing now. *smooch*
In which there’s an open call for content.
You may have noticed that the last post was by a guest author. If you’d like to write a post here on goblinbox on the theme of relationships – want one, have one that rocks, have one that sucks, lost one, don’t want one, etc. – please email me with your email address and desired username and password and I’ll give you a login!
Random observations on the subject of relationships you might use as a springboard for a post:
* There’s a guy at work I call Bitchy Guy, because he’s been totally bitchy since I started working there. A week ago, he suddenly turned into a pussycat. Turns out his girlfriend has returned to town. You can do your own math, but I’m suspecting he’s mellow merely because he’s getting sex again. Is sex that important?
* I heard through the grapevine that two friends of mine broke up today. They’ve been married for over ten years and they have kids and everything. Does anything last forever?
* Rock ‘n’ roll tells us that love is a battlefield, love stinks, and that love is the answer.
* We only hurt the ones we love, or, Why am I nicer to total strangers than I am to my lover?
* There is/isn’t such a thing as true love or one person meant for each of us.
* Romantic love is not only a recent concept but a myth.
* Someday my prince will come.
So sound off, bitches!
C’mon, please?
In which goblinbox hosts a guest post! Please welcome Pavlov as he gets something off his chest.
So I lived in texas for about 2 years, I had 2 girlfriends in that time(I had 2 married girls I was supposed to fuck but 1 I blew off completely, the 2nd I got arrested due to a suspended license before I got to her house) My first girlfriend was Nina, I loved her as much as a 20 something year old man can. We met online, talked alot through IRC(Internet Relay Chat) before meeting then began seeing each other in real life. Things were going great but one day I got a call from her telling me that she got drunk with her cousin and tried cocaine. With me I have very few things that are considered dealbreakers, but drugs are one of them. Pot I can deal with, I dont do it but if I was dating someone who did I wouldnt break up with her due to it. But nina, she was done for before I hung up the phone with her that day. It was a bit unfair for her since I never told her what the dealbreakers were but anyone with a nyquil cup full of common sense knows that your significant other isnt going to put up with that shit unless they’re into it too. Well, I was able to finally track her down via myspace and we talked. I still to this day love her, she still cares for me and I guess foolishly I was looking for an opening to restart from where we left off. I had my common sense screaming at the top of its lungs in my head that she will not want that, and that she just misses her friend. It was true, she told me that while she still had feelings for me that she just wants someone to listen to her. She said that if we tried a relationship again we’d just veinly try to recreate what we had when we were younger, not to mention that we’re very different people and probably incompatable. So today I had to tell her that I respect her views but I cant simply make my feelings go away and that everytime we talked that I’d be working to win her back. So I did the only thing I could do, I told her I was going to block her on MSN and delete her from myspace and I wasnt going to talk to her again. Why is it so hard to find love, I’m a romantic in that I believe that there is love out there that makes you ache to be with a person all the time, that you can call them just to hear them talk even though its about nothing at all. I also am an adult and realize that love isnt always rainbows and butterflies, there are fights, there are bad times but I believe the good times make anything else trivial. Now, I’m 30, with a kid. I’m also in a loveless relationship, and I’m not getting younger. I cant keep delaying my search for someone that gave me the same feelings that nina did. I dont know….but for now, I’m a little happier getting this off my chest.
Edit: I unblocked her, Live in the moment right? Here’s to new beginnings.
In which I’m watching Doctor Who on PBS. Fuck, I love me some Doctor Who!
Isn’t it wonderful how committed those British Shakespearian actors are to their characters, even when they’re doing cheesy sci-fi on telly and are surrounded by a set constructed entirely of cardboard boxes covered in foil and filled with Christmas lights and that are intended with all sincerity to look like the interior of a spaceship?
There may be kitschy things flashing and whirring and beeping in the background, but the lieutenant is steely-eyed and so utterly natural in the delivery of his lines, the actor so cognizant of his character’s motivation that the cheesiness retreats and the story is paramount.
Three cheers for Shakespeare, indirectly because of whom disbelief can be suspended!
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4 random books from my Library!
