Men of the Cloth

Who is it that decided exactly what "Fresh Cotton" smells like?

I imagine a group of scientists at the preliminary stages of their research, sitting around a room with a cornucopia of cotton products; specifically with 'fresh' cotton right off the plant. They spend hours upon hours in that room sniffing that cotton, eyes closed, all other senses disengaged, letting that smell be absorbed through every pore into every cell in their bodies.

Then they go into the lab and mix up a bunch of chemicals and sniff that too, until they believe they have it matched. One of them will think they have it, and he'll call over the other guys and have them check it out. Then they'll argue. "No, no, no," one of them will say. "That's not 'Fresh Cotton', that's 'Mountain Breeze'. Not even close."

Soon someone will come up with a scent that's close, but they won't be able to agree on whether they should keep searching. They'll stand around the Erlenmeyer flask, freshly removed from the hotplate (using HotHands or tongs of course- these are professionals and they know that old mantra "Hot glass looks like cool glass" all too well), and debate the qualities of the odor which wafts around them. "I think it's perfect." "I like it, I'd like my clothes to smell like this, but to call it 'Fresh Cotton'... it's too earthy." "I think it's a bit sweet." "Well, personally I think it stinks." "It's just a little too flat, too... oh, I don't know. Too uninteresting, uptight." "Gentlemen, I'm hungry." "Me too." "Shall we take a vote?" "I still think it's perfect."

They will end up compromising on this scent, and agree that it can be released upon society as "Clean Linen". Then they will take an extended lunch break, possibly have a midday cocktail or two, and a few hours later reconvene and continue their quest in capturing that which is so close, yet so far away.

It must be done properly. It must be done thoroughly. It must be done with precise attention to detail. It is, after all, the fabric of our lives.

the philosophy of me.

I flip over the tag to see what my instructions are: "Dry Clean Only" says the manufacturer, with the frank confidence of a much more infinite fabric wisdom than I could possibly know. Holding it in front of me, I take one more look at the dress I just paid six dollars for at the local Goodwill store, shrug, and toss it into the washing machine to join the rest of my lowly Machine Wash/Tumble Dry class of clothing. If this dress had consciousness, it would surely be aghast at such poor upbringing and distasteful behavior and would just not believe she could ever be mistaken for one of those. Then I close the lid and walk away thinking "Well, if it can't survive this little bit of agitation, then I don't want it anyway.".

None in particular.

Yesterday I went to Pier 1 Imports because I had a gift card my grandmother sent me for Christmas. I haven't been in one of those stores since I was little, and when I was little house stuff was BORING. Same with shoe stores. Ha, now I go in and my brain is constantly going "Ooo! Pretty! Shiny!" and then it goes "Oooo... expensive. Don't break that." Anyway, I used the card to get some candles'n'shit. And a wine rack that'll hold 12 bottles. Now I need some wine.

The only place in my house I can get reliable internet is on my couch. Specifically, with the laptop propped on the back of the couch next to the window. (Oh, thanks to whoever is supplying me with the open wireless network... Cheers). While sitting here over the past few days, I've noticed that one type of flower growing directly outside the window has attracted visits from some local hummingbirds. You know what? They're really cute. I want to get a feeder and stick it out there so they come back more often. Today I got a bonus- a 4-inch-long praying mantis is hanging out on the same flower the hummingbird went for.

God, I love Goodwill. People get rid of perfectly good, cute clothes (ones that I'd probably try to sell before just getting rid of) and then I get to go buy them for $5. I need to find out when they put out fresh inventory. Way better than Cillie's downtown (for general stuff anyway- you can get lucky at Cillie's sometimes though).

Yesterday, in honor of Patriot's Day, or whatever the hell holiday was made up to commemmorate 9/11, Matt and I grilled out some t-bones. I wish we'd have thought ahead and gotten some fireworks, if only to see how many overly serious people we could piss off.
(Disclaimer: I am by no means downplaying the significance of the events of 9/11/01. It was a very sad day, and just like most everyone else who watched it unfold on TV- in my classroom no less- I did in fact mourn for those people and the impact such an event would have on their families and this country.
I just think it may be time for the TV specials and 'inside stories' and conspiracy theories and overall governmental hype to fade away. It happened, it sucked, it's part of our history now. And now we have the Patriot Act and Homeland Security and The War On Terror (Tare!) and an FBI terrorist watch list that is projected to have over 1 million names on it as of this past July. Let Freedom Ring.)
Anyway, the steaks were tasty. And my grill is too small for two steaks and also a packet of potatoes.

As mentioned in Mother Jones this month, in August GWB took his 950th day of vacation since being elected in 2000. 950 days. In 8 years. He's only 145 days short of a full 3-years worth of vacation days. The previous record for most vacation days taken was held by Ronald Reagan. Ride 'em, cowboy.

I can see why some women choose to be housewives rather than career seekers. While I'm lacking the requirement to be one, well two requirements really- I'm not a wife, and I don't have a breadwinner allowing me to stay home all day- I really haven't minded hanging around my house doing whatever for the past week. I really wouldn't want to be home taking care of babies and whatnot, but being able to do whatever crosses my fancy whenever it does so is great. I can go get coffee and read a book. I can go ride my bike. I can drive to the grocery store and get some milk. Or I can sit on my ass playing on the internet in pajamas. Whatever. It's awesome.

Am I a zombie? The messiah resurrected? Or just lazy?

Been a while, huh?

While my absence has been mostly due to lack of internet access, there is definitely a separate component in play- I simply lost interest for a while. Not to mention that things are mostly the same day-to-day. There are some new things and whatnot, but this will not be a full update as I just really don't feel like boring all 3 of you who may read this into a permanent comatose state.

I will, however, share with you my main inspiration for writing a new blog. The muse came to me in a series of visions- well, actually in a couple of good old MySpace advertisements on my homepage. Here is the first one:

Um... OK. Wonder what that's about. Doop-de-doop-de-doo fast forward to a few days later. I sign in and see this one:

Dude. Seriously. WTF? I'm no prude, but I do know that they like to try and 'target' their advertisements based on things on your page, and now I'm wondering what in the hell I've got on here that reports me as being some sort of S&M fetishist. I mean, I know that my current profile photo shows me holding a giant horse cock and all, but how in the world does that relate to choking or recovering sex addicts?

So after seeing these two ads in rotation for a week or so, finally this one shows up:

Ahhhh, now I get it. I suppose the first two were in support of the movie advertisement. I guess this is what happens when you don't watch TV or follow movie production/releases. Though I never did click the links on the first two to see what it was all about. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe once again the Mighty MySpace knows more about me than I do...



Here's a brief recap of the past couple months:
- Still unemployed. Need a job. Don't want to look for one. Because I'm lazy.
- School. Yes. Fun. See pics for proof. Starting clinical rotations in a few weeks. Nervous.
- Not working all day on my feet, and not riding my bike to said work everyday has had its effect on me. I've gained about 8 lbs. Bonus: My boobs are bigger. The downside is that so is everything else. Luckily it's not so bad that I need new clothes, I just feel a bit blobby. I am looking at some options that will MAKE me work out... running won't do it because I hate it. I need to take a class or something.
- Speaking of new clothes, I do need some. All my jeans are at least 2 years old if not more, and from riding a bike all the time in the past they have worn out in the crotchal region. I'm setting myself up for embarrassment (or a mighty good time) if I hold out much longer...
- Been spending a whole lot of time with a nice boy. We like a lot of the same things. And he cares about more than his bicycle (though he does like his bicycle, and so do I because it's a nice one and my bike is a little jealous of his). He actually LIKES to hang out with me. He has a college degree. He sometimes buys me dinner and takes me to movies. He will hold my hand in public. He introduced me to his friends and invited me to lunch with his family. He even let me drive his car once. He doesn't belittle me in front of our friends and he doesn't treat me like shit one moment and like gold ten minutes later. He doesn't send mixed signals. He has an idea of what he wants in life. And he's a year younger than me. Definitely an upgrade over my last model.
- Secondary to the introduction of the nice boy was a disappearance of everyone else. Contrary to popular belief, I don't spend ALL of my free time with said boy, and if it seems like it, it's because when I get no response from anyone else, I just end up hanging out with him. I have tried numerous times to spend time with the others in my life since things have for once worked out for me, but anymore I'm surprised when I get a call back, let alone have someone actually answer my call or, god forbid, call me. Even better is when I DO get contacted, but when I respond in the affirmative, I hear nothing back. Like they didn't mean to invite me. I have stopped trying because it's become clear that these people have no interest in me or my company anymore, and well, whatever. Maybe they never really did to begin with unless it was somehow benefiting to them. Who knows? Just shows exactly how fickle people really are, and what their relationships to others are really worth to them.
- It has taken 3 weeks for my left ribs to stop aching all the time after getting squished by a cow. There still is one spot that hurts when pressure is put on it, or when I twist/move too fast, but that is getting better too.

Hmmm.. I think that's about all I can muster right now. I don't doubt that's about all you can take as well.