I Don’t Want to Write Today

It’s 11:46 AM. I’m already running late. I usually start writing early in the morning so that I’m free for the rest of the day. This morning, I had the worst kind of hangover in the entire world- the Benadryl grog. If I hadn’t needed such a good night’s sleep last night, I wouldn’t have bothered with it. But as you can imagine, I’ve got so much going on in my brain that it usually takes a sleeping pill to get it to stop. The negative part is that when I woke up, it was like swimming in hospital Jell-o.

I just realized I haven’t had any caffeine today. Let me start the coffee pot, and I’ll be right back. Hold please.

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Ok, so the coffee is brewing, so I know I will feel much better in about 15 minutes. This morning, I’m drinking a blend I made to save money, and it’s working out really well. I bought a pound of Three Regions blend at Starbucks, then I emptied it into a half-full bucket of Folger’s Black Pearl (incidentally, this is, in my opinion, the greatest cheap coffee ever made. OF COURSE if I pay $15/lb I’m going to get great coffee. But it is seriously amazing when you can get good coffee at 2lbs for about $12. And, as you can see, it fits in with other coffees just fine.

That’s one of my big cooking things- buy cheap, serve expensive. See, if it can’t be expensive coffee, at least make sure it’s the best brand you like for the price you’re going to pay. Think of how cheap dishes like coq au vin can be if you buy cheap wine, cheap chicken pieces, and just let them simmer for HOURS. If you can tell that I didn’t pay top dollar for every ingredient, I would be shocked. The most amazing thing about cooking is not filet mignon. It is taking something someone would write off and making it beautiful.

God, I still don’t want to write today.

Shirley and I should be hauling ass toward the Columbia River Gorge with a journal and a pencil. Today is certainly the day for it. I might be tempted to want to write, then. But today, I’m tapped out. I got nothin’. You’re just going to have to fumble the ball with me until I manage to throw a Hail Mary pass into the end zone and win one for the Gipper.

I went to the Dollar Store recently, and usually at the checkout they offer to give a toy to a kid in need if you’ll donate one. So, I’m standing in the checkout line, and the checker says, “woriboiewep?” I’m paraphrasing. She didn’t say that, it’s just what I heard. I automatically said yes, because I thought it was the toy thing. Turned out, she wanted to know if I wanted to buy a dancing sunflower. Dana put it on the coffee table in front of the sliding glass door, and the cats are watching it as if it were Breaking Bad. Apparently, it is appointment television with them. I don’t get cats. But whatever.

Technically, the cats have two TVs. The sunflower, and my goldfish tank. I love my goldfish tank. It is one of my prized possessions. The reason I keep goldfish is that they’re completely fucking nasty fish. They create a lot of waste and you have to clean the tank constantly. But at the same time, they don’t require a water heater, they eat next to nothing, and they’re happy pretty much all the time as long as the bubble pad is plugged in. The fish have the classic “Finding Nemo” personalities. They like to swim toward the bottom of the pad and just ride up, like it’s a Bubblevator.

Yesterday, Dana was in a funk so we decided to get outside and get some air. We’d taken Shirley’s battery out so that we could charge it, so first order of business was to get Shirley squared away and purring. When that was accomplished, we decided to go for a drive to make sure everything was humming smoothly.

We passed a graveyard, and looked at each other. We love graveyards due to the funny things that have happened to us in them, like the time we went to find Dana’s ancestors at Beth Israel so we could take pictures and the sky opened up and dumped snow on us up to our knees. I’ll take credit for that one. It was slightly snowing at our house, so I thought it would be cool if we went to the cemetery because we’d get pictures of the head stones “lightly dusted with snow.” Apparently, I haven’t lived in Portland long enough to realize what a stupid idea it was to begin with. We live on the SE side of Portland. Beth Israel is on the west side. If you live here, you’re starting to get the picture. If you don’t live here, SW Portland is at a much, much, much higher elevation.

#dumbassattack

So, anyway, yesterday it was nice and sunny while we were driving, and we passed an old cemetery. Dana said, “OH! That one is pretty old.” I asked her if we should turn around, and she debated in her head. When she gave me the okay, we turned around and drove into the cemetery itself, parking in the sunshine so that the car would stay warm inside while we looked around. The reason we did this is that in Portland, there’s really no warning that it’s about to get cold. Basically, as soon as the sun goes down, it will either stay nice, or it will drop 30 degrees in the same day. It was late afternoon, and we didn’t know how the weather was going to go. We’ve never seen Sybill.

We actually went to the cemetery on purpose, because our friends Greg & Alexis lost their twin girls about two weeks after they were born, due to a rare genetic disease. Since the cemetery itself was pretty close to their house, we thought it was plausible that the girls were buried there and we could go pay our respects. We looked for about two hours before coming to the conclusion that we were in the wrong place. We decided that we would message Greg when we got home so that next time, we’d be in the right place along with our hearts.

That being said, this cemetery was awful. The old headstones from the 1800s were cool, and we sat in front of them for a long time. But something strange is afoot at the Circle K when it comes to modern headstones. We actually saw a child’s grave with a photo of him airbrushed on the front. It even said “Old Navy” on his hoodie. We also saw airbrushes that were really fucking creepy because the airbrush was in color and the art wasn’t very good. Seriously, folks, if you find yourself in need of an airbrushed headstone, HOLD IN THE URGE. Again, it’s creepy and the airbrush doesn’t look so much like a portrait, it kind of looks like a portrait tattoo, with about that much talent.

I told Dana that when I die, I want to be cremated and put into the earth, which is about as legal a “green funeral” as you’re going to get. However, I still want a headstone so that people have a place to come and see me if they so desire. I think it would be cool if after I’m dead, you’d drop by to say hello. By then I’m sure there will be some kind of electronic device inside so that I can say hello, I can wave my arms at you, and yell, “I’m TRAPPED! LET ME OUT!” I am just that kind of evil/awesome. Or how ’bout a digital photo frame? That’d be really cool. You can sit at my headstone and cry, even though I won’t be there, because there I am, larger than life, letting you remember what an angel/douchebag I was.

I know I’m a douchebag, and I’m not offended by that. I call myself that a lot, because getting caught in deep snow isn’t the first dumbass attack I’ve ever had. In fact, I think it comes in at about four million.

Like today.

God, I didn’t want to write today.