Punto

Yesterday was the day that the fourth grade girls at my school found out from their trusted teachers that they will one day begin to bleed from their vaginas, and they will spend about a quarter of the rest of their lives in that condition. Yes, they got the changing-bodies-and-periods talk. After school, I saw the fourth grade girls walking around all dazed, with big-eyed shock all over their faces. They probably felt duped. Who can blame them?

In other health news, I can't seem to get a good stretch in my hamstrings. I don't know what it is. But those who know me well may know that my basic life philosophy is that the key to happiness is well-stretched hamstrings. So I guess I don't need to spell out my emotional state these days. That's part of why I haven't been writing. I also haven't been writing because of poor internet availabiltiy in the home, and because of grand adventures, etc., keeping me too busy. And my period.

scary post

Why do I get so mad when I get home and someone is parked in my space? The person might not know it's my space. But I know, and it pisses me off but good. I guess I just feel like, I don't have a washer/dryer; I don't have a place to sit outside; I don't have any windows in my kitchen; but goddammit, I have a conveniently located assigned parking spot!

So tonight, like other nights, I wrote a note and stuck it under the car's windshield wipers. A note along the lines of, "Hey, this is my space." Nothing crazy. But tonight, unlike other nights since I've lived here and found someone in my space, it's nice weather (the air right now is cool, but in an edge-of-warm way). And I want to open my bedroom window when I go to bed. I've been doing that, and feel just a little uneasy because I'm on the first floor, and the windows are low, and the parking lot is right there. And if I make the parking space stealer angry, he may enter my home through this window, right? It would be very simple to do.

So I just went out and removed the note!

This is how freaked out I am lately. I didn't realize how strong a psychological grip these low windows would have on me. I'm not usually one to freak myself out about living alone kinds of things. I'm only keeping the one window open while I sleep (cramping my fresh-air style), but still, I'm waking up to any sound with a start. I dreamed last night that someone came in. It is not helping that I'm reading A Strange Piece of Paradise, in which the author recounts being attacked while camping and hacked up by an ax.

Maybe I should pick out another book.

Also, I think I should get a piece of wood to wedge in the top of my window so it can't be opened wider from the outside. Or at least sprinkle some shards of glass on the outer sill.

P.S. I was going to put a picture of an ax on this post, but I started looking for one and got scared. I am not going to look for pictures of axes anymore. One picture that came up was of the Virginia Tech guy. That reminded me that I had a dream that I was supposed to meet him for coffee, but I didn't want to go. I was scared of him, and also I was afraid for people to see me with him, because I knew they'd all recognize him. But then again, I was afraid to not go, because now I knew how violent he was, and I knew he would come find me.

I'm not going to look at anything on the internet, read books, or stay up late anymore.

Open letter to inanimate objects everywhere

Dear inanimate object;

Should you find your way into my hands, consider yourself warned. I will drop you. I will not be able to sustain a grip, and you will clatter to the floor. Be you fork, phone, roll of tape, or apple, you are not safe with me, inanimate object. That's just the way it is these days.

xxx ooo merrichan

reading today

I am reading Ma Jian's "Stick Out Your Tongue." A few years ago, I read his memoir, "Red Dust," which I loved. In Red Dust, he writes about his time spent wandering, hiding from government censors in the remotest parts of China and walking, walking, walking. It was all very romantic, and I found Ma Jian to be very hot in a renegade artist kind of way. Today I started "Stick Out Your Tongue," which if I understand correctly was the reason he was running from the censors. The book consists of stories that all take place in Tibet, and they show a side of Tibet much different than the Hollywood Buddhist/prayer-flag version. Ma Jian writes about some horrible, horrible things in these stories. Think lots of maiming, rape, and congealed yak blood. It's a very slim book, and I just now lay in a patch of sun and read about half of it, but I need a break from the desolation. He is such a good writer, and I know he spent time in Tibet, so it makes me wonder how much is based on real events. Anyway, the Chinese government didn't like his take on Tibet, and so he was banned from ever publishing in China. Which I guess I don't really understand - the Chinese government isn't exactly pro-Tibet, so why was he banned over this? I think they just like to harrass artists and writers.

Now he lives in London. I tried reading his novel The Noodle Maker earlier this year but couldn't get into it. Maybe i'll give it another try.

I love reading about China and reading Chinese literature. I'd like to study Chinese, and I'd go there in a second. I'm a little worried about the bathroom sitch, though. That's the only thing.

Inexplicable shame in paper or plastic

Will Ferrell is staying across the street from me at the fancy hotel. He's been eating at the bar that would maybe be my local if I wasn't afraid of seeing school people there whilst drinking too much.

Recently, I'm just kind of ugh. You know?

I got the new Trader Joe's catalogue in the mail today. I do love Trader Joe's, although a lot of the stuff I won't eat because I'm a snob who doesn't understand the logic behind "deconstructed burrito bowls." I don't really like pre-prepared stuff, I guess. See? I'm a food snob. It's just that it takes less than 10 minutes to make a real, fresh burrito, you know? So you just end up left with a plastic container to get rid of.

But there are some things there that I love. Like mango black tea!

Today I was there to get some mango black tea, it so happens, and Friendly Guy was all like, "Hey, welcome back! Great to see you! How have you BEEN?" Does he actually remember me from weeks ago, or is that just Friendly Guy's work survival schtick? He touched me on the arm, oh so comfortingly and supportively, and said, "See you again soon!"

Much different from Mean Guy, who forgot to read the section of the Trader Joe's employee manual about over-the-top friendliness. Recently, this cash register conversation transpired shortly after M won a bag of fancy stuff from her local Trader Joe's from the monthly contest you get to enter when you bring your own bags:

Me, holding out my brought-from-home bags: "My friend got a bag of fancy stuff for bringing her own bags - do you do that contest at this Trader Joe's, too?"
Mean Guy: "We don't just GIVE you that for bringing in your bags. You have to enter and win."
Me: "Oh, I know. Can I enter?"
Mean guy, huffily: "Lots of people enter, you know. Just because you enter doesn't mean you'll win. Some people enter every month and never win."

Yes, I do get the basic idea of contests, Mean Guy. Thanks for the inexplicable shame.