C'est beau!

It's time for another list of what I learned on my vacation. This time, Little Cayman. British West Indies. (I love saying that.)




1. Sea cucumbers inspire one to invent the word "blobinous".

2. Boyfriend knows much about Avon's Skin So Soft. Perhaps too much.

3. I'm not sure how much I trust Dutch Peter, the maverick Dive Master.

4. Never defy Gladys. She'll hit you with a brochure.

5. Pink fish heralds the coming of the octopi.

6. Beware falling lizards.

7. Flip flops and lava rock don't mix.

8. Hermit crabs climb trees.

9. Two ladders tied together does not a lighthouse make.

10. When snorkeling above a shark, don't stop to think about how alone you are or how the boat is nowhere nearby.

11. Ubercrab owns the pier.

12. Driving on the left side of the road is fairly easy when the road circles the whole island and has no stop signs. Turning, however, is a bitch.

13. Oh boys, news flash. Drinking Baileys straight does not make it any more manly.

14. When the conch is booking it, make sure there are witnesses.

15. Burgess Meredith dwelt amongst the boobies and frigates.

Um, did I say scuba?

Update of the scuba diving class.

I hate scuba diving. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Could not possibly hate it more. Would rather have a root canal.

I was doing pretty well. We were in a training pool with a 4 foot ledge and the rest was 10 feet deep. Got through day one, but had some issues with one of the tests. That was taking the mask off underwater, putting it back on, and blowing through your nose to clear the water out of it. Had trouble with that.

Came home with a heavy feeling of dread. Couldn't eat dinner. Couldn 't sleep. Hated the idea of going into the water again. I'll say it. Scared. Very very scared of drowning.

Day two, Boyfriend went with me. We were being "buddies" and we were doing this exercise where he was suppposed to swim up to me, pretend to out of air, and I was supposed to give him my regulator (that's the part in your mouth that you breath through) and I was supposed to grab my secondary regulator and put it in my mouth.

What really happened was I took my regulator out of my mouth, gave it to him, couldn't find my second regulator, got a noseful of water, panicked, headed for the surface, Boyfriend be damned. Instructor tried to stop me. I hit him.

That was it for me. More than two hours later I still have water dripping from my sinuses. So, it looks like Little Cayman is going to be lot of beachcombing, reading and hammock time for me.

Hate it. Really really hate it. Snorkeling is cool though.

You were right, Braids.

Blog on Demand

My beautiful and dear friend, Braids, has tagged me to blog. Can't you see I'm busy, busy, busy. Finals are sneaking up. I'm going on vacation in a few weeks. The holidays. But just for you, my little redheaded bunny, I will blog but I won't play tag. Sorry, nothing personal, I just hate those chain letter sort of things.


She said she wanted 5 somethings "weird and random" about me.


When driving down an aisle in a parking lot, I have to park to the left. Just feels better.

Scottish men or any other man using a Scottish accent, especially Boyfriend, ranting about anything makes me laugh hysterically.

When I was young, I enjoyed banana and mayonnaise sandwiches. Now I'm allergic to bananas.

I'm scared of sloths.

I can't say "contiguous".



There. Now here's something not so random.


I snorkeled in the bathtub the other night. Here is why it is not so random. I'm going scuba diving in 15 days. Actually, that's a lie. I'm going scuba diving tomorrow but that's going to be in a swimming pool and that doesn't count.


Let me back up. About two months ago, Boyfriend walked into my office and said "We are going to the Cayman Islands to go diving for a week." I said, "Okay, sure, whatever." Why did I say this? Because Boyfriend is always telling me we are going somewhere and we rarely go. But then a few days later he walked into my office to tell me the tickets were purchased. Imagine Pollywog's look of surprise. Yep, looks like we are leaving on a jet plane. We are spending a week at a dive resort in Little Cayman, the smallest of the three Cayman Islands. 10 miles long, one mile wide, population 60.



















Anyway, I have to get certified to scuba dive. I just finished reading the manual and my theory and pool classes are tomorrow and Sunday. I will do my four open water dives for full certification at the island. But I did want to test my new mask and snorkel so I snorkeled in the bathtub. Turns out all these little intsy bintsy bubbles stick to the walls of the tub underwater and you can write your name in 'em.


So there it is. One random and one not so random thing. Now I must go to sleep and rest up for the big pool diving so I can get ready for this......

It's so true.

I know I haven't blogged in a while. Ever go through a period where everything you have to blog about is negative and whiny? I was waiting for something good.

My father used to say that the most important communication in any relationship always occurred in the kitchen. It's so true. Parties always end up with people packed in my kitchen which is the smallest room in my house.

Some nights, for no particular reason, Boyfriend and I will spend an entire evening in the kitchen. Last night, I got home from work and he was already in the kitchen making beef stroganoff. I made guacamole. Two great tastes that taste great together. So, we went into the dining room and ate dinner but after cleaning up, (and this has happened several other times) we end up staying in the kitchen with a bottle of wine and "70's Soft Pop" playing on the radio. We come up with a topic for conversation and laugh and laugh and laugh. Absurd statements are made such as "Wilcox? The question is when is he 'Won'tcox'?" and "Whereas I'm the mayor, I hereby declare this My Wife Dresses Up Like a Catholic School Girl and Blows Me Day" and my favorite quote of the evening, "The horns are still phat in Carpenterland. Andy GibbLand, not so much."
Occasionally, we run out of conversation which is good because it leaves time for stupid dancing. I've searched and cannot find but think of Joan Cusack dancing in the neck brace in Sixteen Candles. It's much like that. And it's usually to some fine piece of musical history like Another Saturday Night by Cat Stevens.
My point is I live for these evenings. Sometimes I get soooooooo focused on the crap I don't realize how much I need to let it go just for a night. There is never any warning that these evenings are coming, so it's such a gift when they appear.
Sometimes I think all I'll ever need is bad 70's tunes, a good bottle of wine and my favorite boy in the smallest room in my house.

Worm update.....

So two of the three tobacco hornworms have gone underground to pupate. So I thought I was left with one who has been eating and eating and eating. Going underground any minute now. Remember, though, that these worms came from a coworker and with the worm, she brought a large Rubbermaid bin of tomato plant cuttings which have been the worm's source of food for the past two weeks. I've been pulling wilted cuttings out of the worm tank and putting fresh ones in. What I didn't know was that the fresh ones apparently had eggs on them. That's right. I've got two new baby worms. Damn. Did I mention I hate caterpillars?

Anyway, the one who is about to pupate looks like this....

The baby looks like this........

So, you can see I will need a few more leaves. Damn.

Houston, we have pupation!

So, someone at work who grows tomatoes thought it would be great if she brought me some Tobacco Hornworms to raise into moths. The kids at the library would just love it. Unfortunately, the kids do love it, oh so much and in the meantime, I'm busting my ass trying to keep these damn things alive. I've already lost one to, get this, "black death" which is apparently like the bubonic plague to caterpillars. I have three left but they need fresh leaves everyday. Fresh tomato leaves. Where the hell does one get fresh tomato leaves in October?

Anyway, the get big and fat and then they burrow under the ground and pupate and come out as hawk moths. Some of you know them as hummingbird moths for the get nectar from flowers and tend to hover. But the trick is you have to watch them carefully and get them to dirt when they are ready to pupate or it's curtains for 'em. How do we know they are ready? I'm glad you asked. First, they stop eating. Second, they leave the host plant and seem restless. Third, their heart appears. Their little hearts are really nothing but an aorta and it runs up their backs. When they are ready to pupate, you can see the dark line running up their backs and pulsating. Ewwww.

So here it is, the weekend and who's going to keep an eye on the damn worms. Me. That's who. I took them home with me. (I told them they had won a weekend at a luxury hotel. Boy, were they surprised.) Co-workers scoffed at me saying they would be fine for the weekend if I left them at the library. Well, I realized on Saturday, one of them was not eating. Didn't eat all day. Just kind of sat there upside down on a branch, but I notices he wasn't holding on with all feet. By bedtime, I went to take one last look and he was only hanging on by two sets of feet so I picked him up and turned him over. His back was a dark pulsating line. Ewwww. So I transferred him to a jar with some dirt in it, added some leaves and went to bed.

I woke up this morning just in time to see his little caterpillar butt disappear under the soil. I'll be damned if the stupid little thing isn't pupating. Cool, right? Wrong. Now I have to keep him in my fridge for the winter, making sure to take him out for light occasionally and keeping the soil moist.

Did I mention, with the unpupating ones, I have to clean their poop up twice a day or it will make them sick? I hate caterpillars.

"It's not nice to hate...."

I need to explain something to all my adoring fans who do not know the real me...

I LOVE TRASHY STUPID B-RATED HORROR MOVIES. I MEAN LOVE. LIKE "TINGLE IN MY SPECIAL PLACES" LOVE. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. IS THIS CLEAR ENOUGH? LOVE.

So, last Friday night, I realized I had no reason to get up early on Saturday. None. Seriously rare occurence in my life. Therefore, I decided to stay up late and watch bad television. Always a treat. I surfed, flipped, watched two episodes of "What Not to Wear" (little in love with Clinton) and some interview with Michael Buble who is actually really funny. Then, about midnight, I stubbled upon something. Black and white...good. Lon Chaney Jr....good. Grown women in little girl clothing...good. Spiders...good. Imbecile man kept in small confined areas...good. I think to myself, "Ooooo, Pollywog, you've happened upon a good'un." I got all settled in my recliner, pulled a blanket over me, fixed my pillow behind my head and prepared to enjoy a crappy old film. Then I promptly fell asleep. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Long story long but not quite as long as it could be, I found out the next morning I was watching a film called Spider Baby. It's also known as The Maddest Story Ever Told. It's also known as Attack of the Liver Eaters. It's also known as Cannibal Orgy. I knew then and there I must own it. I jumped on Amazon and ordered it. It arrived yesterday and I watched it in its entirety last night. Oh...my...God. I beyond loved it. I want to marry this movie. I'm thinking of watching it again tonight. It is the first appearance of Sid Haig who you might have seen in a Rob Zombie movie (which explains why it was on TMC. They have a program called Underground which is hosted by Rob Zombie.)

My point is if you can get your hands on this movie, please watch it. It is soooooo fucked up in the most glorious way. Would make for great October entertainment.

I'm such a follower.

A few of my blogging reads have been making lists lately so I took it as a sign to make my own.
Here it is, ten thing you don't know about me.

1. I rub my feet together to go to sleep.
2. I don't mind cockroaches until they fly and then I'm paralyzed with fear.
3. When I was a child and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I replied ballerina/real estate agent. I truly wanted to be both at the same time.
4. I'm watching the whole series of 21 Jump Street on DVD and by God, enjoying them.
5. I can't remember my ex-husband's birthday which doesn't sound bad except for the fact that I couldn't remember it the entire time we were dating and married. There is absolutely no reason for it. I remember family's and Boyfriend's birthday just fine, but after 13 years of relationship, his just wouldn't stick. Weird.
6. I have a space heater at work that I keep on year round. Doesn't matter if it's 90 degrees outside. I'm cold.
7. I didn't know Jimi Hendrix was black until I was 18 years old. Never saw a picture. How was I to know?
8. I don't call my mother enough.
9. I hate Henry David Thoreau. Who the hell does he think he is? Poe, on the other hand, he's hot. I'd do him.
10. I put salt in my orange juice (and everything else, for that matter).

There you have it. All you need to know about the ol' Pollywog.

Silo and Roy are my heroes.

Here in the library, Banned Book Week approaches. We love BBW. And why do we love BBW? Because it gives us a chance to push literature that ignorant backward galoots try to tell us to censor in the name of religion or race or creed or whatever. Oooooo, that makes them so mad. I've been dealing with this a lot lately.

Recently someone asked us to remove a book called You're Different and That's Super by Carson Kressley because it promoted homosexuality. Well, yeah, granted it's written by one of the Queer Guys but it's really about being different in any sort of way. Hell, it's about a unicorn in a world of horses.

And then it was a formal complaint on Whale Talk by Chris Crutcher. Yes, it's a tough book to get through, lots of naughty words, lots of painful situations, lots of character you loathe but so so so good. And what was our patrons main complaint? Ready? That the main character is black and the author is white and therefore cannot authentically speak to the situation. My response was "Does she know J.K. Rowling is not a 17 year old wizard?" I ended up writing a two page response to that one backed up with 25 pages of Crutcher support from the internet. Mr. Crutcher has been through this several times. Saw him speak once. Seems to be a helluva guy.

So I attacked Banned Book Week this year with vim and vigor. Put a display prominently in the teen area with books that have been challenged because of sex, drugs and rock & roll generally. Put another display right beside check out where people will have to see these books. Just saw a father reading The Stupids Die to his 2 year old while waiting in line. But in my research, I found this gem of a book that had slipped past me. It was the most challenged book of 2006 and I had it here in my library and didn't even know. Here it's is, the most hated book of last year......

Yes, people, hold onto your hats. It's And Tango Makes Three and it's about, dare I say it, GAY PENGUINS. That's right, homosexual chinstrap penguins. A blight on society. And furthermore, they hatch, raise and love an unwanted baby penguin. My God! What's next? What if this spreads to humans and unwanted children are successfully adopted, nutured and loved by, gulp, same sex couples? We must put a stop to this. Before you know it, this world could be full of acceptance and peace. DOWN WITH GAY PENGUINS!

For y'all who might be interested, it is a true story of a couple of same sex penguins at the Central Park Zoo who became a couple and hatched an egg that was laid by a female who laid two eggs. The female can only care for one so the zookeeper gave Silo and Roy the unwanted egg and they hatched it and raised a little girl named Tango! All three are still there at the zoo being a family. How freakin' cute is that? I mist up just thinking about it.

For more info on Banned Book Week, go here. ALA Banned Book Week You'd be surprised what has been banned!

Happy (and scandalous) reading!

Vegas and Ghostly Warnings

Time for a multi-subject blog. I know, I know, I know. I don't blog and I don't blog and then suddenly I throw a bunch of crap at you. Sorry.

Anyway, first subject. Vegas, baby! I just spent a quick spontaneous 24 hours in Las Vegas with my siblings and a cousin and her husband. It was not nearly long enough. My god, I love Vegas. I mean, love like if I could have sexual congress with it, I would. (Come to think of it, I think you can have sexual congress with Vegas for a price.) Anyway, I was sitting around trying to figure out why oh why do I love Vegas (besides the free drinks). I think I've got it. Nothing is real there. Nothing. It's all make believe. It's soooooo good when you've had a healthy dose of reality and you're ready for something else. Nothing but good and crazy things have happened to me in Vegas. Actually, I once had severe, I mean severe, strep throat in Vegas with a fever of about 103. I was 14. My best friend and I were walking around Circus Circus while my parents were off gambling and I remember all the sounds and sights being distorted and blurry. It was so Alice in Wonderland. I still find, in perfect health, that everything is distorted and blurry. So good.

Okay, next subject. Ghostly warnings. As mentioned before, I saw my cousin in Vegas. Her name is Cathy and she's very spiritual, not in a God way, but in a "I will explore every religion and take bits and pieces of each to fit my needs" sort of way. She's a shaman. I don't know what it takes to be a shaman but she did it. Some sort of training with a vision quest, I don't know. Now I wouldn't say she really believes in ghosts, per se, but she definitely talks a lot about feeling the energy of those who have passed around her at certain times. My sister is the same. She will often stop in the middle of what she is doing and say "Grampa is here." The closest I've ever come to this phenomenon is smell. I will sometimes walk into a room or be sitting there and I will smell one of my grandmothers. And there is never a reason the smell should be there. For example, part of Grandma's smell is coffee. It's not the whole smell but it's part of the mix. So I'll be standing in the living room and the smell will show up and stay a few minutes then go and there is no coffee anywhere. I like to think it's my loved ones stopping by to check up on me.

So, I was at a buffet in Vegas listening to Cathy talk about how she felt the energy of her father when she was at a convenience store counter and looking at a scratch ticket. So she bought it. She put it in her purse and went to dinner with her husband but in the middle of dinner, she felt her father again so she got out the ticket and scratched it and won $200. My sister went on to tell stories of feeling our father around her. I was jealous for I haven't felt a thing.

Here comes the warning part. I dreamt last night I was walking through the library and my father was sitting there in a wheelchair. In the dream, I knew he was dead and shouldn't be sitting there but I was so so so happy because I could see him in such great detail. I could picture him perfectly and in real life, I'm having a harder and harder time bringing his face to mind. So I was standing there being thrilled I could see him and I walked forward, knelt beside the chair and put my hand on his leg (the same spot I was touching when he died). He looked up at me and laughed, the sort of snort that comes before you say something ironic, and said these exact words "Everyone I see here, I know. Don't you be one of them."

ANYONE HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT THAT MIGHT MEAN?

I mean, even if it's not my father's spirit coming to tell me something, it's definitely my own subconscious telling me something. It'd be nice to know what. Theories are most welcome.

I hate truth in art.

The Radiance

I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such rush?
We sense that there is some sort of spirit
that loves birds and animals and the ants.
Perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in your
mother's womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely orphaned
now?

The truth is you turned away yourself,
And decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten what
you once knew,
and that's why everything you do has some weird failure in it.

-Kabir

Translated from the Hindi by Robert Bly

Ouch.

-Pollywog

I thought we were past this, people.

Like the swallows to Capistrano, the teens have returned to the library. We don't see them during the summer months, but during the school year, parents will not allow their teens to be home alone in the afternoons. Can't see why, they are such angels. So, what do they do? Send them to the library where we can babysit.
But let's not go there. It's a rant for another day.
So, to do my best not to offend anyone for I'm the good guy here, you know how you sometimes know the second someone walks into a room that they are gay? It's just something about the way they walk and talk and so on. Well, there is this kid. I'd say he's about 14. Very effeminate. Always has designer jeans to die for. God, I sound very un-PC but the point is the young man is gay. We will call him boy 1.
This afternoon, I'm standing at the desk and I hear someone we will call boy 2 (not effeminate but stinky and ungroomed as young men often are) say to him "Hey, you talk like a gay guy." Boy 1, God bless him, looks up with such blank look. The look says he's battle-weary. He's heard this before. Boy 2 says "Hey, I just wanted to let you know what everyone was saying." Boy 1 gathers his things and walks away, head high. A victory in my eyes. Didn't give Boy 2 the satisfaction of a reaction.
Pollywog, on the other hand, had a reaction. Actually, I was very good. I went over and had a very stern conversation with Boy 2 involving the words policy and zero-tolerance for disrespectful conduct and consequences, blah, blah, blah. My inside voice was in the middle of some disrespectful conduct though, let me tell ya.
Point of story: I didn't know kids were anti-gay anymore. I really didn't. I thought we were over it.
Remember when tattoos and piercings and rainbow colored mohawks were frowned upon? Tell me, when will it finally be cool to not be exactly like everyone else? When?

Daddy.

Warning: Serious blog coming. Hey, isn't this blogging thing supposed to be cathartic?

Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of my father's death. One year ago tonight, I was sleeping quite nicely when the phone rang at 3:20-something. It was my sister telling me Daddy was in the emergency room and wouldn't make it through the day. I was up. Sister was on her way to get me for the two hour drive to my parent's town. I made one quick call to Boyfriend who, God bless him, was standing in front of me about 6 minutes later. I had an overnight bag on my bed and I have no idea what I was putting in it.

Sister was there about 15 minutes later. I climbed into the car with my overnight bag and bag Boyfriend packed. (Cold prime rib, stale Girl Scout cookies and a thermos of coffee. So cute.) Sister took my hand and we drove.

As we approached town, we learned via cell phone that Mother had gone home to get some things and we should pick her up and bring her with us to the hospital. We did and I drove like a bat out of hell to the hospital. I dropped Mother and Sister off at the front doors for there was no place to park. I then circled and circled up the top of the parking garage, parked, opened the door and ran. No time for elevator, down, down, down the stairs and through the doors.

I ran through the hall looking frantically at each sign. A kindly female janitor asked what room I was looking for and ran with me to the correct stairwell. She, forever, has my gratitude. I ran down the stairs and into my father's room.

It was like slamming into a wall. The run had been noisy, my shoes on the floor, my pulse in my ears, the people and hospital noises and then, silence. The room was dark and silent. My family gathered around my suddenly small frail father.

Forget the rest. Nothing to tell. He died. We watched. The duty of every child. The only moment in my 34 years that I definitively knew that I would never get to be okay again.

One year. Gets easier, right? But he is still the person I want to tell everything to. Every experience, every triumph, every failure, every day, my brain still cries "Tell Daddy." Seek his approval, beg for his laugh, search his eyes for a glimmer of pride. Push yourself, break yourself, beat yourself for the chance to hear a "How good is that." I knew he loved me always and completely. He never was unkind or cold. He was loving and supportive and smart and funny and we always wanted more, more, more. He was a drug. He was my true north.

All hope of living to please him is gone and there is definitely a hole. I've turned to my poor brother, his spitting image. I search his eyes for approval and pride but he gives it too easily. There is no challenge. Daddy was his drug too and he thinks we, the girls, his sisters will be okay if he gives what we sought. Doesn't work that way.

My God. My life is a Tennessee Williams play.

Goodnight. I'm turning the phone off.

What I learned on my vacation.

1. Colorado doesn't believe in guardrails. Apparently, an average of one car a year plunging thousands of feet off a snowy, icy deer-ridden road does not warrant an investment.

2. When they say that very painful multi-mile uphill hike will be worth it when you get to the lake that is an unnatural but brilliant beautiful blue, they are so right.

3. When you stay in a bed and breakfast, you turn into one of those bed and breakfast people who get excited by deer (even though you have those at home) and must ask everyone else staying there where they are from and what they do. You can't help it.

4. When you ask a bartender how many cops there are in town and he answers by naming them all because he's on a first name basis with all five of them, the town is too damn small.

5. At a nudist hot spring, the novelty of everyone being naked wears off really damn quick and suddenly, small talk with a stranger whose Mr. Fireman is right there for all the world to see is surprisingly less awkward than you suppose.

6. It takes about 32 hours into the vacation for the grumpiness that comes with overextending yourself on a daily basis to completely slough off.

7. Waterfalls make everything better.

8. Unless the waterfall is coming over the edge of the toilet. When water is at the rim, plunge first, then flush. Plunge then flush. Got it?

9. If the town doesn't have a ghost story, make one up and then charge tourists $3 to hear it.

10. And finally, when you are a 11 years old boy and there is a 6 foot tall oil painting of a naked woman in front of you, it is virtually impossible to look away no matter how hard you may try.

Kill me, kill me now.

I just turned in my last paper for my summer course. Ethics of Librarian Professionals. Egads.

My question is this...what the $@#* was I thinking going back to school? Do y'all remember school? Grades, people, grades. I'm being graded!

The pressure is incredible. How did I do this before? How is it that I have an undergraduate degree? Did I just not care? Granted, I wasn't working full time last time. Granted, I was young and stupid. Granted, there were dorms and beer and crazy antics. That may have helped. (There is still beer. I'm sitting in a bar right now.)

So I just wanted to inform my blogging pals.... you know that scene from Real Genius where the kid is studying and stands up and screams then screams some more and then screams again and runs from the room and everyone else briefly looks up and someone takes his seat? I feel like that 24/7.

2 more days until vacation. Breath.

Really? This is your guru, Pollywog?

Boyfriend was just pointing something out to me about our friend and hero, Bill Shatner, (known as The Shat around here). It's fairly political and I hate political but it's good cause so here's a link if'n you're interested.

http://www.williamshatner.com/Article286.phtml

But that's not why I'm blogging. I'm blogging because it's quite dismaying to find that one of the most inspirational phrases that gets you through a day comes from the Star Trek guy.

I don't know how many of you have heard the Henry Rollins/Bill Shatner tune "I Can't Get Behind That". It's poetry, people, pure poetry. Couldn't find a link to the song itself, but here's the lyrics. Anway, at the end, Rollins seems to check how that recording of the song turned out and asks "Yeah, Bill, can you turn around and do one more?" And Bill replies.....

ALWAYS CAN DO ONE MORE.

Well, jeez-o-pete, if Bill can do one more, I can certainly do one more. It applies to everything. One more day of work. One more paper for school. One more smile at a parent who's bitching and moaning about something or other. One more credit card bill. Bill meets them all with a can-do attitude. Works the other way, too. "Have one more beer, Pollywog?" "Always can do one more." See? It's friggin' brilliant. Dr. Phil ain't got shit on you, Billy.

Yes, it's true. When I find myself in times of trouble, William Shatner comes to me speaking words of wisdom.....Always can do one more.

Thank you, thank you, Mr. Shatner. I will not fail you.

Why, Oh Why, was I not informed of this?

I was helping a kid find a book at the library yesterday when there, like a gift from the book gods, was this....

Yep, that's right. Your eyes do not deceive you. They're vampires. They're pirates. And what does Pollywog love in this world? Yep, vampires and pirates. How did this get on the shelf without my knowledge? What sort of sick twisted world do we live in where I was not presented with this book post-haste?

I've only read a chapter or two. Not all that bad for young adult lit.

And, to further supplement my joy, it's a series!!!!

Vampirates....mmmmmm.

Back by popular demand...

I have been commanded to blog. The problem is this. NOTHING TO BLOG ABOUT.
My life has been very very dull as of late. Um, let's see. A list of all the nothing going on...

1. I turned in a midterm yesterday that was very hard because it was about ethics and I kept thinking myself in circles.

2. The thermocoupler on the water heater has gone kaput so we are showering this weekend with a combo of solar camp shower and water heated on the stove.

3. It has rained the last two days.

4. There is a spider on the ceiling and the cats are going crazy over it.

5. Boyfriend is making banana bread with walnuts in it so I can't eat it because I'm allergic to walnuts.

6. No fireworks for the Fourth. (There were some in the neighboring town but they stopped after three because they set the forest on fire.) We had a barbecue with my sis and her family. There were mojitos.

I swear, Braids, there is nothing going on worth blogging about. I will blog enthusiastically when there is, hand to God.

Serendipitious sex shop visits....(That got your attention.)

Pretty! Pretty, pretty, pretty.

My god, I love shoes.

Note the 2 inch platform 8 inch stiletto heel whore shoes near the bottom behind the cowboy boots. Shoes I had to own just to look at occassionally. I went into the local sex shop and the owner asked my shoe size. When in a sex shop, one must careful how one answers that question. But it turns out she had someone order these shoes in 6 and that turned out to be wishful thinking. Hey, I'm a size 6. So she gave them to me 40% off. Mmmmm, whore shoes.

I got so excited talking about them, I had to photograph them alone. I also have some 4 inch heel pirate boots, but that's a blog for another day. Now I must go have some alone time with my shoes.

I'm too old to giggle and run at the same time.

Wednesday, evening there was a knock at the door of Chez Me and Boyfriend and there stood our good friend, Matt. I've mentioned Matt before as singer/author/nicest guy ever. No really. Our little town voted him nicest guy in our yearly poll of "Best of" for our local entertainment magazine. It's in print.
Anyway, he shows up to tell us that on Thursday, he would be celebrating his 42 birthday and he would like us to join him in celebrating by playing tag. Yep, you heard me. Tag. Being as this was just the kind of crazy thing Matt would do, we signed on.
On the longest day of the year, several fully grown adults and a few kids gathered in the park to play tag. But not just any tag. Let me see if I can explain it. You stand there with your hands on your hips looking like a teapot with two handles. (More of a sugarbowl, I guess.) Someone links their arm through one of yours. The twist is only two people can be linked at anytime so if a person being chased runs up and links onto your partners other arm, you are knocked off and have to go find another free arm to link with. If you find another arm without being tagged, then the person on your link's other arm is knocked off. If your tagged while running for an arm, you are it and the person who tagged you must run for an open arm.
IT WAS SO MUCH FUN. I don't remember the last time I just stood there and giggled. And it was very social because you linked up with people you didn't know and got to talking while watching the game. I spent many times linked up with a fella that I only knew by his first name, but later found out he was somewhat of a town celebrity. If a town had a artist laureate, it would be him. He has some national acclaim too. I've always loved his work. but had never met him. Now I've played tag with him. God, I love this town.
I'm off now to take a really hot shower for my legs hurts so bad, I can't cross them of my own accord. But, if you ever get the chance to gather some friends and go play tag, I highly recommend it. Happy Birthday, Matt!

Attempting to recapture the elusive.

So, Boyfriend and I have a new wifi connection and it's all speedy-speedy. What is the first thing I do with a fasty connection? Well, first I found a YouTube of Christopher Walken reading The Raven but shortly after that, I watched a video of Morrissey's There is a Light that Never Goes Out. Every time I hear this song or anything by the Smiths or the Cure, I think of this feeling I had when I was a teenager. I'm not experiencing the feeling, mind you, just remembering it. Couldn't begin to tell you what the feeling was. A tingling, a hum, an energy. A state of being. An awareness of the vastness of the universe. Maybe, just maybe, and it fucking kills me to say this, maybe it was only the feeling of potential. The idea that maybe I would be killed by a ten-ton truck and maybe I would feel privileged to die next to a particular someone. Maybe my life would be tragic and heroic and memorable and...big.
All I know is that I can't get the feeling now and when I try, I feel borders, edges, walls. A definite sense of confined space.
I never thought I'd be one of these women, but oh how I mourn the loss of my youth.

Day from hell that sucked big time plus two!

Let me give you some highlights.
1. Cats unrolling entire roll of toilet paper because they think it's fun to spin.
2. Children running to the desk to tell me someone had hurled all over the library floor.
3. Cat shitting on the floor because I took the litter box outside to clean. Couldn't wait two goddamn minutes.
4. Pinching my fingers in a cupboard and when I jerked my hand away, ramming my elbow into a different cupboard.
5. Seeing a friend who I know is suffering from severe depression and knowing there is not a damn thing I can do.
6. Having a loved one call me crying because people are saying mean things about her and having to tell her the mean things are true because, well, they are true and the people are trying to help.

And those are just the highlights. I didn't mention the small shit that happened.
That's it. I'm in a hot bath as we speak and I'm about to watch Blue Lagoon. Yep, you heard me. Blue Lagoon. Why? Because Christopher Atkins in a loincloth is hot and I still want long wavy hair that will cover my boobs so I don't have to wear a top. So there. Deal with it.

How the #%@& am I supposed to know?

For those of you who don't know, the old Pollywog is working strenously on her Master's degree in Library Science. (Stop snickering, it is a science.) And what fine class did she decide to cram into the summer? That's right. Ethics. So now here it is, almost midnight, and I just finished a paper on, essentially, whether I would give a book about how to build a backyard artillery device that shoots full beer cans 300 yards or more using gasoline and compressed oxygen to a minor? Real book, by the way. Turns out I would indeed give the kid the book and point him to the nearest hardware/liquor store. Why? Because, God Damnit, to not give him the book would be censorship and futhermore, where the hell are his parents anyway? It is their job to say "Jimmy, don't shoot full beer cans at the neighbor. Drink 'em first and shoot the empties". It takes a village, my ass. It takes a few dedicated individuals like myself to say "It's probably not a good idea to climb the bookshelves" while Mom is busy talking on her cell phone in the middle of the library while instant messaging on the library computer to the person who she's talking to on the cell phone! Whoops, slipped into a rant there.
Point is, any discussion on Ethics frustrates and annoys me. Would I kill one hundred people if I knew it would save a thousand? I don't freakin' know, will there be pie afterwards? Ethics conversations are pointless because there IS NO ANSWER. Can I please go to bed now?

The ends of my hair hurts...

...along with every other inch of my body. Moving bites! It was a hectic weekend of Boyfriend and I trying to move with the just the short and weak two of us and a truck. Did I mention that my old apartment is on the second floor? Stairs , couch, my trembling biceps. Not a magic combination.

But, it's all worth it for this deck and this back yard. I know it doesn't look like much but in my little town, it's living high on the hog.

Dishwasher, baby!

I ate what?

Snails. I ate snails. Boyfriend took me to a fancy schmancy dinner that cost a quarter of my rent to celebrate my new job. And nothing screams congratulations like dead mollusks.

I ate two. One shows you're doing it just to do it. Two shows commitment. Snails are very chewy which gives you that much more time to realize you have a snail in your mouth.

The rest of the meal was excellent. The bottle of wine cost the same as my car payment and when I mentioned this to my mother, she asked "And was it really any better?" Damn straight, woman! It was so good it made me steal Boyfriend's camera and take several pictures of my feet. Sure sign of good wine.

For those of you keeping score at home...

I did indeed get the dream job I've waited ten years for. (Yes, I know my participle is dangling. That's just the kind of rebel I am.) My first day was Monday and I don't think I've stopped yet. But I firmly believe everyone should have a job where you are stressed out, frazzled, overworked, underpaid and at the end of the day, you flop onto the couch and think "That was fun. I hope I get to do it again tomorrow."

Despite the fear of sounding too Ethel Mermany, everything's coming up roses!

Run for the Roses a bust....

You know when you are around someone who enjoys something or is so passionate about something that it becomes infectious? And you know how when you see them do this over and over you start to think it's your thing, that you enjoy it just as much? But when they are gone you realize it was never your thing to begin with?

Today was the 133 running of the Kentucky Derby. This was my Dad's thing. He loved nothing more than to watch the horses run. Didn't even have to be the Derby. The local racetrack was good enough for him. But the Derby was a special day for the family. First off, Dad made mint juleps by the gallon. It was imperative that everyone had one in their hand at all times. Second, Mom made fried chicken. For those of you who don't know me, Mom and Dad were born and raised in Virginia in good ol' Southern families. You don't know heaven until you have Mom's fried chicken in one hand and Dad's mint juleps in the other.

Usually on this day, the family and some friends would gather from wherever and converge at the local racetrack with small bottles of mint julep hid in various places on our person to sneak in and Mom's fried chicken blatantly displayed. We'd spend the day drinking and eating and laughing and betting. I rarely remembered how the day ended. It was always one of my favorite days of the year.

So this year when the race approached, the first after Dad's death, I realized I couldn't let it go by without something. I called up the family to arrange for a racetrack pilgrimage. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law's grandfather had died (another lost to cancer) and so my brother and one of my sisters were off to the funeral that day. My other sister just couldn't do it. It was too soon. But Mom was up for it so she cooked up some fried chicken and I made mint juleps and Boyfriend consumed both happily. Then off to the racetrack with us.

It was beyond crowded. I had to drop Boyfriend and Mom off at the gate before I drove to a Walmart parking lot to find a space. We wandered around, placed some bets, fought through crowds, got a couple of beers. Barely raised an eyebrow at the Derby itself. No one was having any fun. Then we ran into a couple of friends of Dad's. His friend Vic was mentioning how he rarely played golf anymore. Said "It just doesn't feel right anymore."

That's when it hit me. This wasn't our thing. This was Dad's and he loved it and we loved watching him love it. I don't love it. I mean, sure, I still love the Derby and the excitement and the pageantry and the tradition but the racetrack and the crowd and the lines, no way. Maybe it would have been different with the siblings there but I doubt it. Dad was the glue. Dad made it the best day.

So, Dad, I raise a mint julep glass to you but next year, I believe I will come to Mom's house, sit in your recliner with a piece of Mom's chicken in my hand, watch the race on the tube and remember fondly those days on the racetrack lawn. Oh, who am I kidding? I only remember through the first two mint juleps.

The perfect weekend.

Ever have one of those perfect spring weekends? Well, I'm wrapping mine up right now.

I woke up early on Saturday and after walking over to work to take care of a few things, I strolled over to Boyfriend's house. We decided we would head downtown to the new creperie for breakfast. We were walking down the street past our friend, Con Man's house when he stuck his head at the window and said he'd be right down because like it or not, he was coming with us. But that's okay because we did like it.

The creperie was not open yet, damn them, so it was off to Martan's. Best spicy mexican hangover breakfast ever which was good for Con Man was indeed sporting a headache. We did a little shopping, I ran into Matt Hall, author/singer/cartoonist/nicest guy ever, and he handed me a bundle of freshly-picked beets from fellow singer, Chuck Cheeseman. Home to put the beets in the fridge and then the three of us went and laid in the grass in a park. This is where we lamented the fact we didn't have any white wine but wrote the poem entitled "In the park on Saturday drunk on white without our shoes."

Then I had to go to work but only for two hours and when I returned, Boyfriend and Con Man were in the same damn spot, sound asleep. I thought they had been there the whole time but they had actually gone to get a beer and come back. I rather pointedly stated that I was now indeed a beer behind. So off to the patio at FBC where we spent the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and philosophizing.

Evening. We all headed off to our respective abodes where we put on warmer clothing then back to the creperie for dinner. I was crazy and got a dessert crepe for dinner. It was just that sort of day. Then, and here is the part I consider the best, we went to the Orpheum to drink beer and watch the quintessential 80's movie, Caddyshack. Did I mention how much I love movie venues that have a bar? Boyfriend, Con Man and I commerated the event by standing on our chairs and doing the gopher dance to Kenny Loggins at the closing credits. There was applause for our efforts.

Perfect Saturday. Good beer buzz going most of the day. Good company. Good laughs. And the gopher dance. What more could I want for?

Then today, Sunday, was a great hike through Pumphouse Wash. Lot of butterflies, lizards and two really cool toads. A nap in the sun on a large chimney rock with a tree growing out of it. Warm weather, cool breeze.

And for upcoming dinner? Steak on the grill, potatoes, cucumber salad and of course, beets. Even better, Boyfriend is cooking this while I work on my final for my class (meaning it will be over soon) and drink a nice unfiltered apricot hefeweizen.

Sometimes you are at stress level 10 and ready to throw in the towel and a magic weekend like this comes along to make it all better. I am reborn, upcoming work week. Bring it.

I can hardly contain myself.

Most important news: I'M GOING TO HAVE A DISHWASHER!
Only slightly less important news: I'M MOVING IN WITH BOYFRIEND!

But let's get back to the first part though. Dishwasher, people. Boyfriend and I have found a place to rent together after literally months of searching. It is perfect. Three bedrooms, count 'em, three. Did I mention the dishwasher? I've never had a dishwasher. I'm going to spend the first whole week washing dishes. Even the clean ones.

It's a perfect location. Work, grocery store, the new creperie and the farmer's market in the summer are all within walking distance. It's got a small backyard with the perfect place for a hammock. It's got a garage. Yep, I feel like the Jeffersons cuz I'm movin' on up!

I am one excited cookie! Look for a housewarming party mid to late June.

Thank God Almighty, a creperie at last!!!!!

Yes, it's true. Our quaint little town has become like Paris in the mountains. Boyfriend and I were strolling hand in hand through our historic downtown area in pursuit of lunch when we came across a sign, nay, a veritable heaven-sent beacon. It said "Old Town Creperie" and pointed down the alley. Now boyfriend and I tend to follow orders (much like the Jumping Frenchmen of Maine...look that one up. Well worth your time.) So down the alley we went and there, like Nirvana only with a griddle, was the creperie. Granted it is in an alley and faces the public restrooms where the junkies go for a fix but still, people, it's a creperie offering both sweet crepes and (dare I say it) savory. I had the "Lyon" and Boyfriend had the "Roast Chicken and Spinach". They were tres magnifique!

Boyfriend wrote a poem:
(Be sure to read aloud with bad french accent.)

Oh creperie. Oh creperie.
Your crepes are so thin and papery.
I could wear them just like drapery.

Fini.

(Feel free to applaud.)

I must go now and buy a beret.

Overheard Quote of the Day

My sister just called me to report the quote of the day. She was walking into a thrift store and there were two college-aged men walking out and one said into his cell phone:

"Dude, I just got the best deal. I found a huge Don Quixote picture for six bucks!"

My sister was calling to inquire as to whether or not this was a good deal. I informed her that anything quixotic for under a ten spot was indeed a gonga!

Night Terrors

Had a job interview yesterday that, to put a fine point on it, determined whether or not I wasted the last ten years of my life. That's how long I've been working part-time with no benefits waiting for my dream job to come up.

I have no idea how the interview went and won't for two more weeks but I will tell you this. When I went to sleep last night, I dreamt my phone rang and when I answered it, the woman who will reveal the outcome of the interview, Gail, was on the other end. She said "We regret to inform you...." so I hung up on her. I tried to walk out my door and there she was saying, "to inform you that you.."and I slammed the door. Then I raised the blinds on the window and there she was saying, "that you have unfortunately not..."and I lowered the blinds. Everywhere I went, there she was. In the microwave, in the refrigerator, in the closet. I woke up with my heart pounding.

Then I went back to sleep and when I got up in the morning, I couldn't move. Had pulled, from what I can tell from Gray's Anatomy, my Serratus Posterior Inferior muscle in my back. Don't know if it's the result of stress or if I was running in my sleep.

I will be soooooo glad when this is over. Stay tuned.

When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble...

I've developed a stress-induced tic. I have roughly about one zillion things going on right now. Job interviews, quitting the other job, the boy and I are house hunting, endless commitments at the library with looming deadlines. Did I mention finals coming up in a class that I couldn't even begin to tell you what it is about? Lots on the ol' plate, people. The pressure is almost unbearable. And now I find my right eyelid has been spasming for nigh on 3 weeks now.

There is, however, one thing that helps. It's storytime. Gather round, kids.

Many years ago, my life hit one of those delightful spots where everything goes to hell in a handbasket. Yes, I know, I brought it on myself but my life was in shambles and I had to do something. So I was standing in the yard of a downtrodden little house where I had resided. Near me was the U-haul that held all my earthly belongings for I was about to embark on a journey. It would take me far from all that I held dear but I was determined to go in a misguided attempt to make things right. I was terrified. I stood in the yard next to the grape hyacinth and yellow tulips that looked out of place in the run down yard and in my life. In front of me, (angelic music) stood my father. He had pulled me away from my friends and family who had come to see me off. I remember I was facing north and if the trees hadn't been in the way, the San Francisco Peaks would have been over his right shoulder. He said, in his heavy southern drawl, these words to me, "Go there and live for yourself. You are beholden to no one."

My first thought was "Is beholden really a word and did Daddy use it right?" My second thought was "What the hell is going on? Daddy doesn't talk like that." My third thought was "Holy %$*&. That was the most wonderful, comforting, freeing phrase I have ever heard in my whole life." Daddy was like a god in my eyes and to have him give me permission to be selfish for one second was like the weight of the world being lifted off my shoulders. Go ahead, try it, imagine yourself not owing anyone a damn thing. He made it look so easy. He made it look like it had been easy all along, if I had only known.

I lost Daddy to cancer last August. The intensity with which I miss him daily is astounding to me. But in times like this, and I know it's cliche, I can literally hear him saying that to me.

I'll be damned if it doesn't stop the tic every time. I am beholden to no one.

Pomeroy Blues

You will see many tales of hiking on this blog and that is because that's pretty much what my boyfriend and I do with our free time. (My boyfriend is Sweaterman on the Pygalgia blog. Take a look if you are in the mood for fantastic rants.)

This weekend's hike was short and sweet. Pomeroy Tanks to Sycamore Falls and back. About 2 miles round trip. What struck me was the lack of water in the tanks. Thank you, global warming. Usually, the tanks are full and the river runs down and tumbles over the falls which is a fine site to behold, but not this year. River wasn't even running. I know it's still early in the year but it should definitely be higher water. Sigh.

Animals sited: A few fish, one screaming frog, several lizards (two of which were very angry) and a weird but pretty beatle.

Items found: One pink arrowhead.

Threat of death: Mike being nearly trampled by 14 Europeans dressed as cowboys on horseback.

All right, fine, but I won't like it.

Fine, bloggers, you win. I'm here. I've been resisiting the blogging bug, but honestly I just got really sick of repeating stories.

And I'm beginning with this much-repeated story. Last Friday, quit one of my jobs. I'd just had it. Walked into my supervisor's office and quit. (Okay, I gave two weeks notice but that's because I'm horribly considerate.) Granted, I'm interviewing for a full time position at the library this week but it's not a done deal. Yep. Quit. My. Job. Followed it shortly by a two-hour attack of blinding panic and picking out what box I want to live in, but now I'm feeling pretty good about it. Amazing what quitting your job can do for your Monday morning outlook. I highly recommend it.