summer classes

I've decided to take a summer class. Maybe a couple. Maybe a triple. Depends on how much they want from my coin bucket.

The french class is asking a reasonable $110 for 13 sessions, but it's only level 1 and I'm pretty sure I'd be wasting my time/laundry money on avoir, etre, aimer conjugations.

The cost of beginning piano is ridic and for the most part I think I can teach myself the basics. After all, I taught myself saxophone in two weeks when I realized you can't do marching band with an oboe. Wow, nerd sentence.

There are other classes that I cannot fathom like Nightclub Dancing Basics, Bath Bombs & Fairy Dust, and The Many Ways of a Salad. Can you imagine? Dear Mom and Dad, How are you? I'm great, you know I still don't have a job, but I am taking a class through UNM called The Many Ways of a Salad. Please don't worry about me. I assure you the majority of my peers have disappointed their parents in ways not measured by any other generation. Love, your pride and joy.

Yuck, bad taste in my mouth. I'm gonna go print out my resume again.

last night was...

Not totally horrible. Certainly one of the worst nights this year, but I like to believe in making positives out of negatives. Learning experiences out of mistakes. Lemondrops out of lemons.

When Revlis expected $5 to listen to experimental post-folk, renaissance techno band, Yoda House, in a dark art gallery we declined and saved $20 among ourselves.

When we stepped in a ten gallon piss puddle in Bum Piss Tunnel, it reminded me to go shopping for soap.

When a man from Tennessee relayed his personal tragedy to us for the twentieth time, we remembered the world does not revolve around us.

When I called a familiar acquaintance an immature prick after calling him out on eavesdropping, it reminded me that I am also an immature prick. We are all immature pricks. Zen Ohmmmmmm.

And when Jay kept me up until 4:30 this morning talking ad nauseam about the Gaza Strip, it reminded me that I have friends who willingly stay up until 4:30am and that comforts me.

Not the best night, not totally unforgettable, but at least I got to converse and stomp the sidewalks with my friends. And one immature prick.

heat wave oh-ten

The heatwave of 2010 (or as Marc says "oh-ten") is here and making Albuquerque feel like a foil-wrapped sweet potato on a grill. A chile relleno in a fryer. A rainbow trout sizzling in a pan. And we are those fried fat globs that come with the disgusting Long John Silvers' dump fish. That reminds me... Marc and I were so wretchedly hot last night we couldn't sleep so we read aloud from my urban legends book. The story we picked, called Dunkin' Dumps, was about a man who ate tainted mussels donuts at a hotel, had diarrhea in their kiddie pool while people were in it and sued the hotel. Afterward, we both agreed to sell the book at Jay's next yard sale.

102 degrees yesterday, 100 today and 100 on Tuesday. Damn.

Goodbyes at Gecko's.

Hot doggies at Gold and whatever.

Weekend night at Imbibe. The girl to guy ratio was seriously weird.

Carl-oooooohs at Monte Vista hot plate.

Sweltering hot Sunday:

Sweating balls.

Sir Chomps!!!

Curly tail!

We waited until oven house cooled off before we went back in and realized the really pretty sunset out front.

It felt like our reward for putting up with the heatwave :)

So pretty we forgot to close the door before the swarms of cockroaches ran inside. Lovely.

oven house

Did you grow up with air conditioning? Swamp cooler? Ceiling fans?

I didn't.

I assumed every kid out there wrapped icy washcloths around their neck during mid-afternoon. We'd spray our arms and legs with water from the hose and sit in front of an oscillating fan. Eat popsicles all day and freeze kool-aid to make a fruit slush. So when our swamp cooler broke earlier this year, I knew we could go most of the summer without it. I'd cover the windows from the sunlight in the morning and open up the house in the evening to empty the heat that would eventually get caught within the walls. The cats and I could sit under the lush spring tree blossoms when the house became an oven. Extra bonus, it would be good for the environment to not constantly run a cooler eco-friendly green bla ba. Annnnnnnnnnd......

This plan did not work. I used all of my old tricks. Drinking ice water all day. Keeping a bag of ice in the freezer to cool off my head. Wearing very light clothes. I setup a wet mat in the bathroom in case the kitties needed extreme cooling. Plus, the drunken and lame argument earlier this week about how people take too many showers made me extra stubborn about not taking a shower more than once a week and my sweat stink did not make for a pleasant environment. Although, it did remind me how stubborn I can be. Refreshing. The stubbornness of girls, I think, can make for excellent qualities in women leaders of politics, science, environmental rights, human rights, etc. Anything that requires pushiness despite it all :)

So my stubbornness to not use a cooler lost and we called the landlord to fix it right in time for 100 degree weather tomorrow. The cats thank me for sure.

P.S. I still haven't taken a shower despite my really incoherent argument of constantly repeating "water waste" yikes. Sorry. I may have to take one soon though. I realized I had been scratching at my greasy head for over five minutes yesterday. TMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!

P.P.S. I searched for "hot and sweaty" in image search and found these related/unrelated pics:

This picture was called "crotch calisthenics."

Ok, I feel like even if you are a musician then you should come to your work dressed correctly or look somewhat in control of your audience and even if your look is disgusting grunge trash heap, then you should at least be the most grungy and the most trashy and not look like the sweaty guy selling $10 water bottles. And maybe if your music is so wonderful, not likely, but if it is then maybe you can wear Everybody Loves Raymonds outfits on stage, but more than likely Johnny Depp is a mediocre musician so he can't. Probably. I like JD. I don't like copy cats. Also, I don't like when people make fashion rules. So fuck it. Whatever. Forget everything I wrote.

Still don't understand the appeal.

That computer has tuberculosis?!

This is roughly what my skin looks like after four days of no showers.

Did I ever tell you that some crazy lady berated me for wearing ripped tights one night at Burt's. As if the overall aroma of fecal matter and douche bag cologne required my most upstanding ballgown and pristine pantyhose. Weird... and boring. Sorry :(

THIS PICTURE CAME UP IN THE KID-SAFE SEARCH??! Le ew!

This pic came from a geocities webpage. THEY STILL EXIST.

If you do a "hot and sweaty" search yourself, I highly recommend to turn on the safe search controls. If you don't, the sheer amount of bleached ass hairs that come up may freak you out a little.