Ordinary Extraordinary

Comic Relief

Lately I've had a hard time finding topics about which to write. Well... that's not exactly true. I have plenty of topics, but they're all equally introspective and depressing and unless you are Sylvia Plath or Morrissey, your angst-ridden words aren't terribly interesting to anyone but yourself. Since I am neither of those people, I've been quiet. With both the Faboo Roomie and I being in dire financial straights at the moment, life has been pretty bleak.

Yesterday, there was a bright spot. There were long moments wherein the Faboo Roomie and I found ourselves laughing hysterically, frightening the cats with our shrieks.

That's right: our U.S. Census survey arrived in the mail. For the second time. Apparently we got one three weeks ago but The Faboo Roomie discounted it as junk mail and threw it in the trash. This one, therefore, was delivered in an envelope that announced You are required by law to respond to this survey. The front page of the booklet further warned that our participation in this survey is "so important" that government officials may try to contact (us) by phone or personal visit if (our) survey is not received.

Immediately I had visions of Census officers in SS uniforms breaking down my door at 3am, jerking me out of bed, and shining a flashlight in my eyes while pelting me hard and fast with questions about how many children live in the home and whether we have a gas heater or an electric one. Not wanting to risk that late night visit, we set to filling out the survey immediately.

If you've never filled out a Census survey before, let me make a few suggestions:

* Get a cup of coffee. Better yet, make a pot. Or two.
* Find a comfortable place to sit; you'll be there for awhile.
* Read each question carefully before answering.
* Scan the booklet and answer the easy ones first. If you have time at the end, go back and work on the harder questions.
* You get 200 points just for printing your name correctly.
* Take frequent breaks to use the restroom and stretch your legs.

First, there are several pages devoted to describing all of the people who live in your residence. Age. Gender. Ethnicity. Income. Favorite Color. Preferred Sexual Position. Brand of Toothpaste.

Then, there are pages and pages of questions about your residence that read like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Do you own this residence, or rent? If you own, turn to page 32 to answer lots of questions about your mortgage. If you rent, skip ahead to page 42.

The questions start out normally enough but then get increasingly bizarre. How much annual income does this residence gain from agriculture on the property? Does this residence have full plumbing facilities: hot and cold running water, a sink or shower, and a toilet? Is this residence a permanently placed mobile home? What is the capital of Burundi? Who convinced Donald Trump that the dramatic comb-over was a good idea?

For a split second, I want to screw with the Census Bureau. I want to convince them that I am an Eskimo living in a permanent motor home without plumbing in the middle of Los Angeles and making my living growing corn. But visions of the aforementioned "personal visits" stay my hand and convince me to answer the questions as best I can. Sadly, I have no idea how many units are in my building, how long ago it was built, or how many rooms (not including hallways, bathrooms, or partial rooms of course) there are total in all of the units.

I do know, however, that the capital of Burundi is Bujumbura.

After the "general" questions, there are two additional pages that each individual at the residence has to fill out... even more in-depth questions than the first section broken down by age. Answer this question if you are above the age of 7. Answer the next three questions if you are above the age of 13. If you are in your thirties but still behave like a 13-year-old, please skip to the last section.

At the end of the booklet there are several pages intentionally left blank - I can only assume those are for the extra credit essay question.

Thankfully, we no longer need to worry about Census takers pounding on our door in the middle of the night; The Faboo Roomie mailed it off this morning.

Good thing the survey came with a postage-paid return envelope, though - I don't think we could have afforded to mail a book to Washington.

Dave Barry is my hero

I heart Dave Barry. I can only hope that someday my writing will be as thoughtful, as insightful, and as fall-down funny as his.

Recently I came across a column that he wrote for the Miami Herald in March: Confessions of a closet carb fiend.

A brief excerpt:

But for sheer insanity, the wildest thing we did was -- prepare to be shocked -- we deliberately ingested carbohydrates.

I know, I know. It was wrong. But we were young and foolish, and there was a lot of peer pressure. You'd be at a party, and there would be a lava lamp blooping away, and a Jimi Hendrix record playing (a ''record'' was a primitive compact disc that operated by static electricity). And then, when the mood was right, somebody would say: ''You wanna do some 'drates?'' And the next thing you know, there'd be a bowl of pretzels going around, or crackers, or even potato chips, and we'd put these things into our mouths and just ... EAT them.

And this is why I love Dave Barry.

Overheard

Me: This wine...
Faboo Roomie: ... is not wine.
Me: It really wants to be wine when it grows up.
Faboo Roomie: For sure.
Me: Right now it's just... insolent grape juice.

What I've done for love

Where my friends & family are concerned, I am apt to throw both reason and logic out the window when they are in need. Consequently, I have found myself in some very unusual situations on their behalf.

During the last Winter Olympics, I found myself watching the apartment (and paying the bills) of someone I'd only known a few months - full access to his checking account and everything.

On more than one night many years ago, I found myself eating cheerios and honey in my kitchen at 3am with someone who needed comfort.

A few years ago, I found myself parked precariously next to a freeway onramp at midnight, moving a girlfriend out of her house while her former boyfriend chucked stereo equipment and stuffed animals at us.

While in college, I found myself punching a fraternity brother who was antagonizing a drunk friend of mine as I was trying to help him back to his dorm room.

Once, I found myself dressed in full zombie make-up crashing through an old barn with five or ten other friends (who were also in full zombie make-up) to help a friend complete his first film.

Several months ago, I found myself practically inside Boy 2's refrigerator as I attempted to scrub it clean of the years of muck that his new roommate had let accumulate.

While dating one of my serious boyfriends, I found myself driving my jetta up the Grapevine during a snowstorm in order to help him through his first funeral.

Two years ago, I flew and then drove to the middle of Vermont to attend the wedding of two of my dearest friends.

I have often found myself gaining permanent guardianship of animals that I was watching "for just a bit".

Today, I find myself trying to bake a roulette wheel cake for the casino-themed baby shower that I am attending tomorrow.

Of course.

Before I die

There's a meme going around Livejournal that lists 235 things you may or may not have done. The idea is to note which things you've done or want to do and then see what your friends have done or want to do.

Though that meme is very long and very random ("Laid on an Etruscan tomb" and "Recently slept with a stuffed animal" are, oddly, both on the list), it did get me thinking about things that I'd like to accomplish in the next 50 years or so.

Before I die, I will...
...Get. Out. Of. Debt. Permanently.
...fall head-over-heels in love and stay there.
...get married. Once.
...live and work in Europe, at least for awhile.
...buy my parents a house in Santa Barbara and on Iona
...attend the premiere of a movie I've written.
...own my home
...visit all 50 states and all 7 continents
...raise a child.
...speak three or more languages fluently.
...set up a trust for the New York City Ballet in my parents' name.
...dance with someone, in the middle of a public place, just because the mood struck us.
...learn to balance work with the rest of my life.

Fanciful? Some of it... but why dream if you're not going to dream big?

What's on your list?

Hand Me My Umbrella

Overheard in my apartment this morning: I've reached the bottom of my barrel, can I start digging in yours?

I am poor. Not just poor, broke. BROKE. Due to a debt that has yet to be repayed and a giant paycheck snafu that has yet to be solved, there is very little money in the amandarin bank account at the moment. This morning I had to sell off some CDs and old clothes to insure that I can put gas in my car and food in the cats' bowls.

Fortunately The Roomie is also broke so we're having fun comparing pawn-shop-and-Buffalo-Exchange stories. We're also entertaining ourselves by trying to create filling meals from the mustard, parmesan cheese, and half-drunk bottle of wine in our refrigerator. Ultimately we decided that it we just finished the wine we wouldn't care about the lack of food.

The storm has broken and my windows are open.

I got a phone call on Saturday from The Boss letting me know that there would be very little work for me until November. Not because of my performance (on the contrary, he said that I am one of the most valuable members of the department), just because there aren't a lot of things scheduled for the next few months. The good news is that The Boss called us individually to warn us, and that he is letting us all keep our positions and benefits at least until the end of the fall.

Excuse me, amandarin? This is the Fates. We've been trying to hint to you for months that it's time to leave The Company. You are not so good with subtlety, so now we are applying our thoughts with a 2 x 4. TAKE THE HINT.

Right. Got it.

At the moment none of my other jobs (and there are three of them) are in a position to offer me enough work to make up the difference so I am in a seriously desperate situation. I spent today scouring want ads and making phone calls in an attempt to drum up some work for myself immediately. I'm hoping that since the Fates were kind enough to whack me with that 2 x 4, they'll be kind enough to use it like a crickett bat and hit a job over in my direction.

At this point, I have no choice but to network my butt off and trust that there is a rainbow on the other side of this squall.

In the mean time, would someone hand me my umbrella? It's getting awfully cold and damp over here.