Hot Cranky People

My dear Arlo couldn’t bear to look at this poor, plain blog anymore and made me a pretty new banner and stuff. Hooray!

Click
Clack
Crack
Pop
Grind
Snap
Crunch

I’m moving to California.

I’m leaving everything and everyone I know here and taking almost nothing with me.

A fresh start. That’s what I need. But I look at all the stuff I’ve collected over the 16 years I’ve spent here, and I’m a bit troubled by how easy it seems to part with it all.

Today I bought packing boxes so I can start sifting through everything into a category: To be packed and shipped, to be trashed, to be sold.

Enter the impending garage sale. I can’t imagine I’ll get more than a few hundred dollars for everything. A quarter for an opening-night-flowers vase, or the picture frame Chuck and Tony used to hold my birthday road trip gift certificate that year. A buck or two for the purple light-up Halloween cat I’ve put up in the window for the last few years, or the little drop-leaf table I painted blue for my first apartment for my senior year of college. Everything I pick up has a story, a history. My boyfriend thinks I’m crazy to invest the time and energy a garage sale will inevitably suck from me, but I can’t just toss the evidence of the years I’ve spent here in the trash, as if my whole adult life isn’t worth anything.

Oh well. I can’t get very far with my new boxes today because I forgot to buy tape.

I had a craving for oatmeal cookies and decided to bake some.

And then I made oatmeal instead.

I am having a rough day, and I’m crabby.

“Crabby” makes me think of the delicious spanner crab my sister ate last year in Florida.

Mmmm. Now I wish I had that crab.

Crap. Now I’m even crabbier.

In December of 2001, I underwent metal on metal hip resurfacing surgery. It was a life changing experience for me.

About a week ago, I went for a follow up exam. Look at my bones!

I probably shouldn’t have worn pants with so many zippers, although I do think it makes the x-rays extra fancy.

Texture is important. This is why I can’t eat sushi.

Christine Lavin describes eating sushi as “chewing on your own cheek”. She is a wise, wise woman.

Sushi, oysters, plumped raisins… it’s a short but powerful list.

Sightly stale licorice is a different story. Chewy goodness.

Ooh, and good bread. The kind where you have to really rip it off with your teeth.

These are good things.

Sushi, not so much.

One night during my recent Atlanta visit, my mom, my boyfriend, and I were driving home from dinner at about 10pm. As we turned onto my tiny quiet street, we saw a big snake lying directly in front of us, right in the middle of our lane.

My boyfriend was driving, and he swerved to avoid it. We decided we needed to go check it out, so we turned around and went back. At this point we were right next to the snake, in the other lane. This thing must have had a deathwish, because it seemed completely unconcerned about the cars going by. I grabbed Arlo’s camera and prepared to snap some photos out the window, but just then a car appeared coming towards us, saw us, slowed a bit…and drove over the snake.

Oops.

Neighbor: “What’re we lookin’ at?”

Arlo: Well, there’s a big snake in the road, just under your car.

Neighbor: Oh, let me take a look

The guys prepared to back up.

Sarcastic Arlo: Um, yeah, that’s good. Take another pass over it.

So the guy backed up, rolling over the snake again, took a look and said “Looks poisonous.” Then he put the car in drive and drove off…over the snake. Again.

Anyway, the snake, with a now slightly squished section, slithered over to the gutter, and I got a couple of pics.

We thought copperhead, probably. I thought the head looked triangle shaped, but we couldn’t get a great view in the dark, and the head isn’t visible in the pictures. Well that, and I don’t know anything about snakes. I asked some snake lovin’ online pals and they agreed that it was a copperhead. Fancy! I’ve seen lots of snakes over the years near my parents’ house but that was a new one for me.

I wish he hadn’t gotten squished though.

Not only do I need to spend a chunk of time today backing up my own shiny new Powerbook so I can send it back to Apple to fix some problems (which probably deserve an entry of their own), but I spent the afternoon on the phone with my parents providing family tech support. Sigh.

Arlo and I spent a good part of our vacation last week installing a new drive into their machine and getting it all set up. Well, I got a frantic call this morning from Mom, telling me it won’t start up without freezing.

Assuming that there’s an issue with the new drive, I got a whole list ready of stuff to walk her through. Luckily, we hadn’t gotten too far when it occured to me to ask her if there was a chance the mouse had come unplugged…

Yep, you guessed it.

And now, I am heading out to a friend’s house to fix his network… for the third time. He and his partner are such dear people and I don’t mind helping them, but my entire day has now been swallowed up by computer crap.

I mean, I had more important things to do today. Like eating french fries, or watching TV.

Herbert is home after a week of staying with the vet.

I think they’ve given me the wrong cat. I assumed that after putting him in cat jail for a week, I would be bringing home Crabby Angry Resentful Hide-in-the-Closet Mopey Bert, but I seem to have ended up with Snuggly Adventurous Hanging-Out-Downstairs Perky Bert.

I don’t what they did to him, but he’s a new man. Well, a new manatee.

It’s official.

Last night my friend EER from New Jersey stayed with me to visit after a week of business meetings in Chicago. He’s a delightful fellow, and he agreed that the Angry Rake in my backyard is indeed the most frightening gardening tool ever.

We went out for beer and Chicago stuffed pizza.

He crashed in my guest room, and this morning before he left for the airport I offered to make him some coffee. Now, I don’t make a lot of coffee at home, but when I do it’s strong. Very strong. My friend Queenbee refuses to drink it.

So I went a little easier this time. Well, it was bad. It wasn’t even the right color. I asked him if he wanted some sugar, and he said no, he takes it black. I had to explain that “black” wasn’t actually an option, but he could take it sort of light brownish and kind of clear.

He was kind, and after tasting it assured me it was fine. Just before his cab arrived to take him to the airport, he ‘fessed up.

“This is the world’s worst cup of coffee.”

I think I should get a plaque or something.

Airport signage:

I think this will be the name of my second fictitious band: Dangerous Goods Kiosk. Perhaps they can open for Hot Cranky People.

Turns out I’m on the plane with the Blue Ridge Mountain Cloggers. They are a jovial group of 11-12 year olds and their families. They are jovial for a reason: They are returning from the AAU Junior Olympics, where they won three gold metals in clogging. Maybe I’m behind the times, but I was unaware that clogging was considered a sport these days. But what do I know? More power to you, kids. Clog on.

In poking around to find the links above, I came across this gem from the Des Moines Register.

Teen says eating corn not factor in crash

Apparently a 17 year old driver had a car accident. While eating an ear of corn.

“Police Officer Robert Cornwell thought the corn snacking was important enough to mention in his report. He wrote, “Witness said (Quach) was distracted because she was eating corn on the cob while driving.’”

Hee hee. “Corn snacking.”

I took a cab to the airport very early this morning. The cabbie was chatty. Sometimes this can be pleasant or entertaining. Today, I was tired and wanted none of it.

He started in with the regular cabbie banter.

Chatty Cabbie: Oh! Good morning! Going to the airport? What a great day to travel!

Me: Hi, how are you? Are you at the beginning or the end of your work day?

See, if they’ve been driving all night, they are less likely to chat. But alas, it was not to be. He was fresh.

CC: Oh! I am just beginning! You are my first customer!

Me: Well, it’s a beautiful day for driving.

I’m not sure why I said that, actually. I’ve never quite understood the “great day for a drive” idea. I mean, if it’s so beautiful out, why would you want to be in a car? Go to the park, for pete’s sake.

CC: Yes! And it is made even more beautiful by a beautiful passenger! Beautiful! Where are you going today?

Sigh. I knew I was in for it. I should have pulled out a magazine or my phone or something immediately upon entering the cab, but I missed my window. So started putting on makeup, thinking it would make me look busy.

CC: Oh! Have you had any coffee this morning? Would you like to stop to get some? We could stop to get some morning coffee!

While I appreciated this kind gesture, nothing frightened me more than the thought of this man on more caffeine.

Me: No thanks, I’ll get some at the airport.

The regular routine continued. Where are you going, who are you seeing, where were you born, what kind of work do you do, blah blah blah. He seemed to perk up even more to learn I was a singer.

CC: Oh! You will give me your card. I will come see you perform in the nightclub.

Hmmm.

Me: Umm…do you have an email address? I can add you to my mailing list.

CC: Oh! No! You will write down your number!

Um, no. I nodded vaguely and kept troweling on the undereye concealer in a fruitless effort to cover up the dark circles and look too busy to talk.

CC: Yes! You will write down your phone number and your address.

Are you kidding me? I pulled out some eyeliner.

CC: Yes! You will give me the name and number of the nightclub. I will bring many people to see you and I will tell all my customers to come too.

Oh. The NIGHTCLUB. Yes, sure, fine. Somehow I got him off the subject and he launched into a story that was actually sort of interesting. I opened my mascara and listened.

Apparently he worked in a candy store in New York for ten years.

CC: Have you heard of the Puff Daddy?

Back in the days before Puffy hit it big and was still struggling, he used to go into Chatty Cabbie’s store and read magazines. He never bought any, just read them there in the store. Chatty Cabbie got to know him, and said he was a nice kid. Cut to several years later. Chatty Cabbie hasn’t seen Puffy since he became, well Puffy, and who pulls up to the candy store in a Mercedes and Jaguar, but Puff Daddy, Jennifer Lopez, and their entourage. Puffy went into the store and said hi to Chatty, asking if he remembered him. (“Of course!”) Apparently he always appreciated that Chatty was a pal to let him read the magazines without buying them, and he gave him two t-shirts (“Brand new!”) and an envelope with $200 dollars in it.

I asked him if Jennifer Lopez was nice, and he sort of shrugged. He said, “She has the nice, you know, figure…” as he made the international hand gesture for a shapely hourglass woman “but, eh. That’s about it.”

While the Puff Daddy story was entertaining, at this point I had had enough. Unfortunately, I couldn’t put any more makeup on. I was long past Cindy Crawford and was hurtling toward Tammy Faye. So I pulled out the cell phone, called my mother, and said cryptic things to her until she figured out that I was stuck in a taxi with Chatty Cabbie and that I needed her to talk to me for the entire ride.

I realize this guy was just trying to be polite, and he was a perfectly nice gentleman. But I really only wanted a ride to the airport.

I’m heading out to the airport soon. Yesterday was so draining. I’m exhausted. I can’t wait to get on the plane just so I can get back to sleep.

The vet visit with Bert went ok…He was a good boy, and he’s still holding strong at 32 pounds. He was proud of himself and didn’t want to get out of the scale.

“I weigh how much??”

Leaving him there was awful. I just keep seeing his little face as they carried him away. I realized when I walked in my door at home that I’ve never been in my house without him. Ever. It’s so quiet and weird here.

I miss you, Bert.

Time to catch a plane. Ugh. Well, at least my sweetie will be on the other end of this journey.

This is Herbert.

He is my hero.

But he is sick. He’s been battling bouts of colitis on and off for the last few years, and it flared up again yesterday.

I’m taking him in to see the vet today, and because I am going out of town tomorrow, I am going to board him at the vet while I’m gone. It’s just too much for my friend who normally catsits to have to deal with giving him pills and stuff. I’m pretty much freaking out. I know Bert will be miserable and scared. I also know it will be great to have him under the vet’s supervision for a while, so they can finally find out what’s going on with his tummy. But I’m still freaking out.

I keep telling him he is going on a vacation. I’m not sure he is buying it.

It’s going to be a long week. For both of us.

I’m going to visit my parents this weekend in Atlanta, where I grew up. This got me thinking about the old days at the Snack N’ Shop.<

The Snack N' Shop was a local delicatessan, about a mile or two from our house. It was in the same shopping center as the dance studio where I took lessons up until I was about 14. They had great matzoh ball soup, great corned beef sandwiches, great bagels, etc.

But really, it was all about the potato salad.

Seriously, this stuff was good. Crazy good. I can't imagine what they put in it to make it so good. Nobody knew. It was legendary. I always suspected there might be sour cream involved, but looking back, I'm thinking it was most likely crack.

Mom would bring home a big container of it for a party or bbq or something and stash it in the fridge with explicit instructions to me, my sister, and our dad to LEAVE IT ALONE. Sometimes she would even use the phrase "Under penalty of death".

It was always the same. Throughout the day, my sister and my dad and I would each sneak in and steal a spoonful of it. A few times. Each. We never talked about it, but we all knew we were all doing it. Occasionally I'd come tiptoe-ing into the kitchen just as my father was putting the spoon he had just used and then washed and then dried back in the drawer. (You couldn't just leave a spoon in the sink, or even the drainer. She would know.) Our eyes would meet briefly, a flickering with understanding would pass between us, then he would sneak back out nonchalantly into the den to watch tennis on TV and I’d get my own spoonful.

Inevitably, we would hear Mom’s voice from the kitchen at about 6:00pm.

“Who ate the potato salad?? There’s a good third of it missing!!”

Yes, Mom. It was a good third. A really, really good third.

It occurred to me today that we can’t have been the only people in Atlanta who felt this way about the crack salad. So I Googled.

A letter to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution

I enjoyed your article on potato salad and look forward to trying some of your suggested places. It’s too bad that the best place for potato salad closed. The Snack ‘n Shop at West Paces Ferry and Northside Parkway closed several years ago, and its potato salad was legendary. Atlanta women were known to take their serving bowl into the Snack ‘n Shop and have it filled with their potato salad to take somewhere! I hope you’ve been in Atlanta long enough to remember the Snack ‘n Shop. The potato salad wasn’t cheap — but it was worth every penny!

I got so excited. She knew! She understood! I Googled onward, with images of recipes floating about my head.

No dice. No recipe. I am crushed.

The Snack N’ Shop closed in 1996. When I’m in town, we often go to the Houston’s restaurant, which is across the parking lot from where the Snack N’ Shop was. Inevitably, the talk turns to the good old days of the Snack N’ Shop potato salad. Now Mom laughs with us when we talk about how we would steal bites.

I can’t remember what’s there in its place now. I’ll have to take notice when I’m there this weekend. I think it might be a pet supply place.

Whatever it is now, they don’t sell crack potato salad.

It seems these days everything I touch turns to crap. Or a pile of dust. Or a mound of splinters. Or melts. Or just plain stops working.

Let’s take look at a list of all the things in my life that are broken, shall we? Yes, we shall.

1. My roof - It leaks. I need a new one.

2. My ceiling - Serious water damage. See #1 above.

3. My car - Oh, where do I begin? The A/C doesn’t work. And it’s August. Not a good combo. It’s also making an odd clicking/popping noise that doesn’t bode well at all. There are many, many other things too but just making this list is starting to stress me out so I’m just going to move on before I break out in hives.

4. My computer - Sigh. My darling Powerbook is in sad, sad shape. 2 broken hinges, a cracked case, and it seems to be emitting some sort of low level electrical current which I only knew about because my boyfriend touched my face while I was holding the laptop and realized I was buzzing like a bee. Eek. (This one actually has a happy ending. Scroll down. Or wait…just keep reading,you’ll get there eventually. Come back! I’m not done!)

5. My cat - Herbert the manatee/cat has not seemed well lately. He is having some litterbox issues and his arthritis seems to be bothering him more and more. This saddens me. The vet is going to try giving him a new nSAID (non steroidal anti-inflammatory drug) and I am hopeful that will help. Bring on the kitty Celebrex.

6. My bathroom window - Granted, this has been broken for 5 years but I thought I would throw it in. It’s become more of an issue lately because I am preparing to sell my house so it’s time to suck it up and get it fixed. Well that, and scary bugs are starting to creep in through the crack and chew on me in my sleep.

6b. My dining room window - One of the panes has a small crack. Hardly worth mentioning, but since I am finally going to be getting the bathroom window replaced I will be fixing this as well.

8. My camera phone. Well, it still works but it has been exhibiting odd behavior. Hmmm.

9. My joints - Ok, ok, so they’re not actually broken but they sure feel like it sometimes. My knees are in sad shape these days. I’m getting my (artificial) hip checked next week and I’m secretly frightened they will tell me it’s ruined and I’ll need a new one. I’m trying not to dwell on it, but it has felt pretty crappy for a while now. Cross your fingers please.

10. My basement - It leaks. Between it and my roof, I’m living in a mold sandwich.

There are more things. Broken things. But that’s all for now. I reserve the right to add them as they come to me.

EDIT: Ooh! I thought of more.

11. My cordless phones - The display is busted on one of them so I can’t see the Caller ID. Like I’m really going to answer the phone now.

12. My screen door - I don’t know what the actual problem is here other than it is broken and won’t close properly.

I am confident that numbers 2, 6, and 12 will be fixed by Fred the Handyman. Fred, don’t fail me know. Or maybe his name is Henry. I got his name from my friend Andrea and wrote it on some scrap of paper somewhere. Sigh.

Oh! You have scrolled down here looking for the happy ending regarding Broken Thing #4. I got a new Powerbook! I can’t afford it. It’s very shiny. I haven’t named it yet. Any suggestions?