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January 19, 2006
throgsneck
Note to weird guys in drug stores: when you are staring at toddlers in such a creepy fashion that the ordinarily completely disinterested sales clerk comes over and asks if he can help you find something, causing you to stammer out a reply while so obviously nervous that your comb-over is shaking and yet your beady eyes still cannot remove themselves from the adorable child the next aisle over, do not say you are looking for RUBBER GLOVES because that just makes you 10,000 times creepier! Mothers everywhere are wise to you, creepo.
One of the many differences between our old hometown and new is that, back in Seattle, when weather was happening it got a name: Windstorm 2005; Spring Snow Flurry X-treme; Cloud Clave No. 9. At the time, it was something we mocked. But now that we live in a place that actually has weather, I kind of miss the names. It gives "weather events" a sense of unfolding drama as well as a narrative arc that I can appreciate. Were it that this region named its weather, yesterday would have been Horizontal Rain/Wind PhreakPhest. It was so mighty that mid-conference call - KABLAMMO! Out goes the power.
With my typical emergency grace and smart thinking, I ran into my husband's office gibbering about batteries and weather clocks and power bars, none of which we had. I left him calmly reading a book about woodworking while I dashed to the aforementioned drug store to stock up on supplies, heart racing as I imagined fighting the hordes of people doing the same. But it was pretty much just the creepy guy and me. When I returned home, the power was back on already but dammit! We can listen to the weather channel now electricity, catchy names, or not.
I like how things sometimes catch us off guard here, such as last weekend while my husband was back in Seattle, it was so butt cold here that our car froze. I managed to get the Bean loaded into his car seat and open the driver's side door to start the engine, but the hatchback where the ice scraper was had completely frozen shut. I had no idea what to do, so I began kicking the car really hard, employing long-dormant pre-baby sidekick skills honed from months of K-force* with my hot hot trainer Cliff. With each kick I grew giddier, imagining our neighbors peering out the windows of their mansions and wondering just what the fuck the broke hillbillies from Seattle were doing now.
*K-force is sort of like karate-lite, albeit with no opponent. I tried to take Cliff's actual karate class at one point with the belts and the robes and the fighting etc., but alas, it also involved grappling. Grappling meant rolling around on the floor hugging and giggling with Cliff, and at one point he pinned me by placing his (ample) crotch on my throat. This felt too much like cheating on my husband. When someone's crotch comes that close to your face, you should at least have gone to the movies a couple of times first.
Posted by Max at January 19, 2006 08:12 AM