Lucy's Spleen

Simple X

Tonight after work my boyfriend went to the store for us while I got leisurely for a minute after my hectic day. Then he mixed us each a Sazerac cocktail* and we cooked together: tiny, perfect marinated grilled lamb chops; red and yellow beets with balsamic and mint; a simple salad and mashed new potatoes. We tidied up together and took an almost psychedelically beautiful night walk on the farm. I nuzzled and petted the gentle new lambs;** we remarked on how high the water in the creek was and talked about the changes in the weather and what is to come with the evolving season. We checked in on the Canada Goose we've had our eye on as she patiently waits on her eggs, then visited the "dinosaur colony," as we've taken to calling the little creek beach and sandbar that have become home of late to so many velociraptors geese it's like walking into a doll-house-sized seventy million years ago. (Recently we were thrilled to discover the first family of tiny, green puffball goslings there in one of the more thrilling, unusual wildlife viewing episodes I've experienced.)  We stood on the bank, holding hands and squinting into the darkness, counting aloud and pointing, trying to distinguish the white breasts of upwards of forty geese from light on the water. Walking on past the wetlands we heard our first frog call*** of the season, along with many tiny rustlings that may or may not have been lady frogs closing in on his alluring lover's ballad. We came upon a tiny wild white rabbit, then a slinking black kitten- one of the many cats I see regularly on the farm- who walked a long way with us, weaving between our legs and across our path to incite us to pause and stoop for frequent urgent petting. As we walked the rainclouds blew off, revealing perfect clear oceans of dark sky and the moonlit tops of our nearby glorious Wasatch mountains and we talked about how happy we've been in this house by the farm, how lucky we are to be able to spend significant amounts of time there, observing the changes through each season. We talked (about how we're essentially Victorian naturalists and) about how great the farm is for kids- how spectacular it will be for our kids to be able to come and visit their grandma here, and how spectacular it will be for us to enjoy it with them.

Now, back in the house, we are listening to Andrew Bird, with the good smells from dinner still lingering. Stan is on the couch behind me, trying to read, and I am trying to write this, but in truth neither one of us is getting much done because we keep stopping to talk and laugh with each other. In a minute we'll make our way upstairs to tuck in to the middle third of our gigantic aircraft carrier bed where we will fall asleep, intertwined, in joy.

 

* Sazeracs and madeira= drinks of the moment! Get on the bandwagon while the season is young!

** Remember those chops we just ate? Mmm.

*** We can't see the suckers, so I have no idea what kind of frog (or toad) it is, but it sounds a lot like this.

Big News

Allow me to fascinate you with news of my exciting life!

For example, I'm wearing these really uncomfortable socks today! I have a stye! I tried my first homemade marshmallow! It was tasty, yet somewhat texturally reminiscent of swallowing semen! (No I don't think I will have another piece, thank you! No no, save my piece for someone else to try- SERIOUSLY.) I accidentally wore my shirt inside-out for almost the entire day yesterday! I'm moving to California in less than three weeks!

Oh, sorry- had I forgotten to mention that last thing before?

I've been wanting to make the announcement for a while, but haven't been able to figure out quite what the method of delivery should be. Finally I decided to just, well, you know- say so. So there it is!

I am moving to California to live with the man who, on our first date last January, prepared for me the rarest steak I've ever eaten. On this site he has been called "Date Guy," but now and henceforth I'm giving him a better name which will be "Eazy!" Can you even keep up? I don't know what I'm going to do for work! Or where we will live! Our new life will be great! We're way less strangers than we used to be! The second time Eazy and I cooked together ever was on my visit there two weeks ago! Somehow I feel sane and confident about doing this! Whoa!

The self-help book titles for my two main reasons for moving would be:

Long-Distance Relationships Just Don't Work

and,

U Have Got 2 GET A LIFE!

A large part of the point being that, while coffee shops and bakeries are fun gigs for a time, I'm thirty years old now,* and I want to do something worthwhile with myself. I want to do something that satisfies my interests, something that uses skills even beyond my special talent of Eating Many Pastry Items. I totally don't know what this thing is going to be, but I have a few ideas. Hopefully, and if I'm lucky, it will involve writing, event planning, perhaps a bit of fund-raising and perhaps a lot of schmoozing people. I want to do something that scares me a little, something that presents a challenge. And if you happen to know anybody who wants to write a letter of recommendation saying how up to the challenge I am, any and all submissions are welcome!

In other news...

There was a beautiful patch of sun(set)light on the wall of my apartment! I took these photos of our
silhouettes! See?   

"Tired of that piece of crap you're driving?"

Ira and Lucy.

"Are Poised to double?"

Just Ira.

"You will love this exciting game."

Lucy and me.

"Well well well Sir Emma, 150 types of pharmoze"

Just me. I really like this one.

* Not actually 30

Hazardous and Changing Conditions May Exist

My last post has been up for so long that Teaspoon has it memorized. Ask her what she did today and she'll tell you, "I punched, wept, napped and flinched!" Ask me what I've been doing for the past month and I'll tell you the same. I have danced, cringed, flailed and wondered. I have hurt, helped, loved, lost and mangled. I've given and taken and welcomed and worried and fucked and fucked up and for fucking up I've been forgiven. I've apologized and I've forgiven others and I've meant it with all of my heart. And man, have I drunk. We've drunk a lot. We've worked and wept and shouted and shut off, and we've all been confessing and professing things to one another like a band of Russian grandfathers and it's been beautiful and hard and I haven't felt like I could blog any of it, but it's time to stop by, here, and announce that I'M HAPPY. I feel so limitlessly ridiculously happy- like I have everything to offer and nothing to lose.

It's fall in Salt Lake City and the air is bright and fragranced with excitement and when I look out my west window I have a view of the mountains to the east.
See?

Some other illustrations:    

The picture my brother drew on my arm and said, "It's a cannon!" *

Bruise on my other wrist from punching a wall.

Interpol last Monday made me literally lose my mind.
Did you see that girl getting the aitch rocked out of her up on the front row? That was me, and that was just what I needed. **

Who left these mysterious Soviet political poster magnets balanced on our doorknobs?
Teaspoon sez she is the Angry Headscarfed Shushing Librarian and I am the Welcoming Blonde in the Window. Really lately I've felt much more like the Blindfolded Precipice Stumbler, but that and the target guy were left on Leaux and Nunya's doorknob and either way we're still stumped.

But rilly, who did this? We find anonymous bequeathers of astute pictorial messages to be clever and intriguing! Thanks for the gift! ***

Where I go!

 

*  Can you see it? It's a cock.
** Gar documented our view, I ganked this pic from him.
*** Tessa, was it you?

Three Things Asberger Used to Tell Me I Smelled Like, Which, for Whatever Reason, I Thought of When I Saw Him Again Yesterday

The sunset.

Deep-fried roses.

A million bucks!

Quatorze Juillet

Okay, catching up- quick!

My birthday! July 14th! Also Bastille Day! Which came first- me, or La Première République? See if the following clues lead you to the answer.

Here was birthday lunch with the goyls:

I love this picture because of our hands. Those are Teaspoon's down there on the bottom, creating order as they do; and that's mine up there pouring the dranks, of course. And with such purpose! Check out my index finger! So firm and steadying!

Speaking of the dranks, have you tried Tortoise Creek's Rosé D'Une Nuit? Check out the label: evidently those are little tortoises, but what with the beret and goatee and lipstick and glass of pink wine, don't you think they should really be frogs?

Okay, moving on. Dig Leaux's birthday pompadour:

I had a lovely afternoon, spent with my favorite people, them gals and them dogs. We ate and drank and took a little snooze and went swimmin'; so relaxing! Here are Nina and the angibals demonstrating how relaxed we were:

(P.S. the light through the window! Celestial! Did I forget to mention that Jebus stopped by to be all like, happy birthday yo? This picture proves it.)

And here's me demonstrating- well, something... I figure this picture was taken after we were pretty well into that pink wine. Maybe I'm trying to form a numeral with my tongue- three for 30, since that's what age I decided to turn. Chronologically I'm twenty-seven, but I figure I'll just start saying I'm thirty now, and keep on saying it for the next ten years or so. Economical, don't you think? And easy to remember! Anybody asks you how old I am, the answer's thirty. Thanks.

Here was the highlight of my day. Will you just look? Wow!

I know I posted that other (less blurry) image of these fleurs already, but I'm telling you, when Nina walked in the door with this arrangement from Date Guy I just burst into tears. It was the size of  our sofa, and look how glorious it was in our dining room! These flowers are the single reason Tiny and I decided we love our pink walls after all; saving me days of laborious painting! Thanks, Date Guy!

To summarize: good day, great friends, very hot, slightly drunk, beautiful flowers, turned thirty.

Not twenty-seven, it's THIRTY. Got it?

J-e-r-e happens to spell, "hurray."

Wherein I Start to Tell About My Trip to California and Then Discover It's a Bigger Effort than I Expected and Kind of Run Out of Steam and Leave Off After Recounting Only as Far as the Middle of the Second Day

I will tell you about my trip to visit Date Guy!

• I flew to California on Thursday with our (Date Guy's first, now mine, too) friend Sparky, who makes the trip all the time and whisked me through the airport without my having to so much as glance at a gate number. No matter how many times I fly, it's still novel and a bit overwhelming to me, but I couldn't believe how many people on our plane seemed like routine commuter-flier types. Just hop a quick flight! So easy! So breezy! One way in the morning, then head back in the night!
• We got off the plane and immediately went shopping! I'm not a big shopper, but it's a fun game to play with Sparky and Date Guy; they're fast and impulsive and whiz through the store calling out glib appraisal of this and that. Lame items receive no recognition; they are not merely dismissed, but looked over entirely as though they weren't there at all. Fabulous things are awarded varying degrees of homosexuality, as in "That linen shirt is pretty gay, I mean it looks good on you, but if you're only going to go with one thing in this store the tobacco pinstripe suit is just QUEER." This was when I got my first clue that this would be a Consumer Vacation.
• Sparky drove on the trip from the airport (via Nordstrom Rack) so Date Guy and I could sit in the back and hold hands. I kept noticing what I always notice when I go to California: the state IS it's own stereotype. California is so very Californian, which I find both hilarious and charming.
• We got into town and went directly to dine at this really nice wine bar. Our server was knowledgeable and gracious and actually loved her job, the owner was chatting up folks from behind the bar, Date Guy and Sparky were well-acquainted with the place (and it with them) and with barely perceptible nods and pinky waves they and the server would murmur a quick word of accord and delights of food and drink would appear before us; charcuterie and scallops and salmon and gnocchi and I had the duck and fava beans. As to the wines, all I can remember is mmm. There was a pink and a white and a red and another red and I have no idea what any of them were, though I may have known at some point before I started in on my third glass and quit trying to remember things. The meal and the service (and the architecture, while we're at it) and the subtle classy way my two dates attended to everything for me were all amazing, and what's more, the vine art high on the wall looked as though it spelled TITS! Spectacular! I was so romanced I didn't think I could get Date Guy home fast enough, but, suffice it to say, we managed.
• On Friday he and I went to the ocean. The (cold!) water was full of people and we watched the surfers, walked along the shore where I got to check out some of these (you can learn more about them here, but I like Stewf's photo best, and it's the way I witnessed them) and appreciated the water safety signs exclaiming, "can badly injure you!" and some strange graffiti scrawled on the rock face including a message of hope and guidance that is going on the front of one homemade t-shirt immediately that read: WE ARE ALL ONE MAURICE.
• We visited the tiny surf museum located right at the break and learned more than I ever knew I wanted to know about the history of surfing in California. While we were there a couple of older touristy-looking men came in and, watching a black and white circa-1950 film of wetsuitless pioneer surfers riding the famous break below, began saying things like, "Oh there's Ricky on the new board we had just made," and, "That's me dropping in late on that wave." Fully gnarly, bro.
• All this was interspersed with much kissing on the part of me and Date Guy and looking into each other's eyes and so forth and it was sunny and gusty and beautiful and I (exclaiming, "California, it's so- Californian!") felt very happy.
• Later on Date Guy and Sparky did a little surfing themselves and I watched from the clifftop and learned a bit of quirky local history from an old man with a brown sweater and long hair and a telescope. I had been intimidated by the size of the break we'd been watching earlier and opted out of getting wet myself, but after seeing that we'd be dealing with the kiddie end of the pool (and learning that wetsuits make you float! Who knew?) I thought "I will totally do this next time," and you can hold me to it because I WILL.

I finish up telling about it here.

Inner Space: Mon Travail

I don't usually post about my job- my main job, for the non-profit- as it operates under the umbrella of "government" and is therefore a screaming bureaucracy in which those on high may not look fondly on the outfit being mentioned in proximity to such drunken cum-soaked Barn Sluts as are featured on this website.

However, tonight I want to mention here how maximally un-pynchy some of the fine folks I work with are. The only reason I have stayed in this job for the past six years is that I get to work with some of the cum-soakedest barn sluts around. Tonight I was reminded how truly cum-soaked they are, as we worked together to settle an event with a group from Singapore who had made our lives rather hard over the past week, and were finally loading out. It was almost midnight, all of us had already worked a loooong day (hey! mine started at the bakery at 6:30 this morning! It is now almost 1:00 a.m.! I just got home! From work!) and were a bit bleary-eyed, but still righteous as we closed out with the client. He said he had never before worked on a location with so many women in management, and that we were great, as if that weren't obvious in innumerable other ways besides just the one where we guided his ass through that settlement.

It was good to be reminded why, though I often resent having to go there, actually I don't hate my job. Isn't that miraculous?

Then I started shouting "Al-right wim-MIN!" lit fire to a torch of rags and pitch and ran cum-soakedly through the stairwells hollering a battle cry.

Amen.

Outer Space: Plainte Retirée

Roger!

I take it all back! Cleaning out the closet just now I noticed that in addition to all that other crap I complained about, you also left me your comfy scrubs pants I like to wear so much! Did you do that on purpose? I bet not, but I'm still happy about it! Thanks!

The closet is clean and so are the dishes! I like our apartment! This is day two here by myself! Partly grey and partly sunny! That's the sky and that's my status! Have fun hanging out with my roommate!

Love, Em

P.S. As you can see I am stealing pictures off your computer to post on my website! Also I had Tiny Teaspoon take all your shoes to your sister's house! It was good talking to you on the phone the other day! You must get a website and start posting pictures of your new Argentinian life!

Space Exploration

After a couple of weeks of semi-transience, it is SO nice to feel like I have a home again. With the interruptions of work, love life, and liquor it has taken me an awfully long time to get my new place ready for me to live in; so long that it had begun to seem as though I was never going to actually RESIDE there, but just liked stopping by to shower and sleep on the couch from time to time. So it seemed especially sweet when I finished laying my new delightful Smokin' Deal White carpet Tuesday morning and the room was finally ready to receive furnishings! Roommate Teaspoon and I were so happy about the completion of the project that we got into a sort of homemaking delirium and ran around and around the empty room in circles crying out "YAY! YAAAY!" and rolled giddily on the carpet a bit before we gathered our wits about us and at last hauled in the bed.

I have now slept in my new room a whole twice and man I sure enjoy the place. It's bright and it's charming and Teaspoon and I just keep looking at each other wondering HOW DID WE GET SO LUCKY? A quiet, pretty apartment that we love with nice light and good neighbors and a super convenient location and ALSO IT LETS DOGS?! Go ahead and pinch me! I didn't know this existed!

I'm going to get a chance to get really used to it real quick here, though. All three of my primary gals will be out of town starting this weekend, and then it's just going to be me, the apartment, and the doggies, settling in and getting to know each other for ONE WHOLE WEEK of quietude. This means I'll be hauling many more Geo Prizmfulls of crap from my moms', setting to my laundry list of house-tasks (plant patio garden! set up kitchen! unclog drains! light closet! rig up hammock! and so on...) and at the same time braving the project of facing myself for hours and hours of terrifying introspection.

I've been so busy for a while that I haven't had (made) time to stop and do a good self stock-taking. Now I'm a little frightened about what I'm going to find when I go probing around in the old head-space. There are some big changes going down in my world, and I haven't yet examined how I feel about it all, or the way "It All" affects how I feel about myself. Anyway I'm sure you you'll be reading all about it, because if the picture gets to looking bleak in there behind my eyelids my survival mantra will be "Run to the Internets! The Internets will back you!" My safety tether will be a DSL cable; I'll be posting oftener, probably, and summuv ye who were expecting replies to emails sent me long long ago (hi Poo!) will finally be receiving them, cause I'm fair weather like that, or rather I'm Friend-in-Needy. Get ready for me.

Transparency

The thing about keeping a weblog wherein you like to write about your relationships is how much you CAN'T write about your relationships (namely, the grueling breakup you went through last week that left you with no energy to post for so long). It can be a pretty painful loss of material, especially when the subjects of your posts are regular readers of your posts. On the other hand, it's also a handy covert communication tool.

Like for example imagine if until recently you had been dating me, and now we weren't speaking because we agreed after trying it that texting and talking to each other post-breakup turned out to be hurtful and confusing, not to mention that it threatened to lure us back into a game one or both of us no longer wanted to play. And imagine you could remember how many days it took us to finally commit to breaking up (what with the sleeping together and all) and to get on the same page and agree that THIS WAS REALLY THE END THIS TIME and that the way to facilitate progress and recovery would be to not be in contact with one another for a while. Then imagine that I was the first one to break our deal and assume you would actually want to hear from me anyway and text you several times saying as much. Imagine how unhelpful that would have been and perhaps even pissed you off quite a bit. And say then I was very sorry for it all and wanted to show my respect for you by proving that a) I totally meant it when I said I wanted to break up, and b) I totally meant it when I said I cared deeply about you and that I wanted to strive for the method that would best enable us to know each other in the future and I was willing to follow whatever steps you dictated to ensure such an outcome. If, suppose, you told me that not being in contact for a while would be the most straightforward and effectual way of proceeding, then I would take you at your word, and agree. And it would be on my shoulders to demonstrate that I had in fact heard and agreed by honoring that agreement; even if doing so sucked and was hard. So if after that you called and texted me a number of times leaving a variety of messages, some entirely earnest and some perhaps designed to test my sincerity and my will (though all being open to my questionable abilities to interpret them and therefore potentially subject to misrepresentation on the Internet- sorry); if I failed to respond to these messages, you could infer that it was not because I was not thinking of you, it was not because I did not want to hear from you, but that I was trying to stick to my word. You could then (hypothetically, of course) read my website and freely interpret what I wrote there. And if you knew me well- which you would because in our months together you'd have learned that if we were anything we were kindred, and that breaking up with you was like breaking up with myself, in other words NOT POSSIBLE "DATE GUY" WE ARE GOING TO KNOW EACH OTHER FOREVER!- you would read in the (supremely discreet and subtle) subtext of my weblog, that by not writing to you directly, as I promised I wouldn't, I was trying to give you some of the best of myself; my sympathy, integrity and will, in a way I hadn't been able to offer you before; and I could only hope that you would know that I MEANT IT.