The Lengths I Will Go

I bought my first package of recycled toilet paper yesterday. I gag a little whenever I think of the phrase "recycled toilet paper". It's just gross. I, like most women, am a total toilet paper snob. So, while I will buy recycled paper towels (the 365 brand at Whole Foods is the best because it comes in half-sheets with little hearts embossed on it, so what's not to love), and biodegradable detergents and non-chlorine non-bleach, organic soaps and shampoo, I can only take my ecological efforts so far. Thus far, that has not included "feminine" supplies (nor will it), or recycled TP. Until I stood in the aisle staring at the $2.99 double-roll 4-pack of environmentally conscientious bathroom tissue.

I stared at it for a long time. I looked at the options. Seventh Generation's was a whopping $4.69. Hell, if I'm going to spend that kind of money, I might as well get Charmin or Northern...stuff that hasn't been used before. No. That was quickly ruled out. The 365 brand was also $2.99, but had a lesser sheet count (yeah, I really do look at that stuff....eight months of unemployment will change a woman) than the brand (whose name I can't even recall, outside of "environmentally sound packaging") I ended up getting...but only after I squeezed it to see if I could gain a sense of its softness.

I couldn't.

But, I bought it anyway. Why? Because I was too fucking lazy to walk two stores down to CVS and get real toilet paper, that's why. Really. Can you fucking believe that one, people? No. Neither can I.

Let me further articulate the situation. My Whole Foods is in a semi-gentrified mini-mall. It houses (from South to North) a laundromat, the aforementioned Whole Foods, a 99¢ Store and a CVS. Now, my Whole Foods is the size of the Super Dome, so it's quite a walk over to the CVS. And that CVS is tiny, and still kind of grungy, but has the basics, including real toilet paper.

So, I stood there in the Whole Foods aisle of all things recycled, including things that really shouldn't be, and weighed my options: Dump my groceries in the car and walk over to CVS and get the super ultra Northern at nearly $1.25 per roll, or save myself a few steps and two bucks and buy the recycled crap.

How lazy am I?!?

Well, to my credit, I got up at 7:30, had my shower, sorted laundry, took it over to the 'mat (not the one by WF, because that one still kind of skeeves me out...all laundromats do, but I would rather get three loads done in one hour, so I suck it up and pretend I'm not really there) and got petrol for the week. So, by the time I got to Whole Foods, it was just after ten, and I had my whole day ahead of me. I just wanted to get home to my French press of French roast and the chocolate croissant I splurged on (because my uterus wanted it and she tends to get want she wants...it just makes life much easier not to argue with her, trust me).

Recycled toilet paper seemed like a cheap price to pay for that.

(I'll let you know how it goes. I'm making my half-roll of the really good stuff last as long as possible. Why do I do this to myself? Really. I would love some insight here.)

**********

And so, I should probably explain my four-month absence from the blog, especially since I promised so much and it is its last year, and to just toss a good third of it away kind of deserves an explanation.

I don't have one.

Sorry. But just being burnt out doesn't seem to hold water. Being busy with a job rather than doing the work I want doesn't really breed fodder for this forum. Spending every weekend writing for someone else's project leaves little left over for myself. Ideas whir about in my head, then evaporate before I can log in here.

There's a lot I want to say, but can't right now. There's a lot on the line and a lot on hold and I desperately want to share, but I'm afraid it would make it all go away. I know. Could I be more vague? I'm sure I could, but how annoying would that be? Or annoying-er. Whatever. There is more to say here. Really, there is. I just need to free myself from a few more strings, and then I can really let it all fly.

xo

A Snag in the Silk

My friends are dangerous, dangerous people. Seriously. They are great and fabulous, too, but totally dangerous. Why, you ask? They plant little seed bombs in my ear that breed paranoia and force me to change or give up things I love. And that's just mean.

First, let me start by saying that none of this would have happened if flipping Starbucks didn't change their soy milk from Silk to something that tastes like ass. Yeah, you, Starbucks. The company I've been loyal to for thirteen years. The venti-soy-no-foam-lattes that I made a dedication to in my book. You think that thing wrote itself? No. I was high on Starbucks the whole time. Why? Because writing is really draining, though somehow burns no calories and actually slows your metabolism, which is such a ripoff. And soy lattes made with Silk taste like heaven. Now, they taste like monkey butt. Thanks, Starbucks.

Anyway, I was in the car with a friend bitching, obviously, about the soy ass latte I was trying to gag down when she said to me, "You know, you shouldn't be having soy in the first place. It brings on early menopause."

WTF?!?

What kind of a friend tells you that at like nine in the morning? Well, she's a good friend, actually. One of my favorites. But, totally effing dangerous. Granted, she wasn't the first friend to tell me that. I have a lot of friends who are way into holistic, alchemical shizzel that are always harping on me to give up something. I have so few vices. Really. Booze and soy and chocolate. I get antioxidants with my booze (hello, pomegranate martini), and my chocolate is 85% cocoa. Healthy. Anyway, I was stubborn about the soy. Until my friend opened her mouth.

I couldn't even finish the latte. Not only because it was vomitous but because every time I brought it up to my lips "early menopause early menopause" echoed in my ears. Farg.

Now, remember that I have super powers, and the problem with my super powers is that once something is in my head, it usually happens. Jeebus. So, I have to put the brakes and the kibosh on this. I've given up all my soy. And as a ficaken (which is a lazy vegan who occasionally eats fish or cake), soy is a huge part of my diet. This removal complicates my already complicated, inconvenient diet even more. Sigh. Okay, I still let myself have soy cheese nachos, but those are medicinal for my friend dealing with It as a show of support. That's her favorite, and since she can't have them, I do when she has chemo for some extra mojo. For her, I'll risk it. But, for the rest of the time, I've got to find a way to fall in love with almond milk or the like. Effing Starbucks.

Lick It

On Tuesday nights, I go to a Toso and chant with a group of fellow Buddhists. I know. You aren't supposed to be spiky or opinionated when you're a Buddhist, but I like shattering myths. Besides, it's my karma. And I've got a lot of it to work out. There are times I think I'm working off stuff from a future life along with the stuff I accrue by the minute. I know. What the hell do you care what my religion is, right? Seriously, do we all have to announce our religious and political affiliations all the time? (I'm a Democrat, by the way.) I usually only mention that I'm a Buddhist because of the bitter irony. (And, after two years of chanting, I'm still spiky and opinionated, but more aware of it.) Buddha rocks the humor, though. Like ninety-eight percent of his statues and other likenesses have him smiling/laughing. The rest, he's totally Zen.

Anyway, the Toso starts at seven and goes on to eight-thirty. If I'm not careful, I can easily miss the right time to have dinner, and then I'm left to grab grub way too late to be eating, especially when it comes out of a bag (because I'm so not going to cook at nine o'clock at night).

Theoretically, I'm on a diet. Usually, this means that I'm steaming up green veggies and eating tofu and brown rice. Right now, it means I'm having a green tea soy latte for breakfast, eating organic raisin bran cereal for lunch and having a Boca burger on Ezekiel bread for dinner. Not because I'm test driving an eating disorder or anything, I'm just really not in the mood to cook, I'm tired/lazy, and this menu gives me the illusion that I'm kind of being healthy. (Let me enjoy the denial/delusion at least until I catch up with work.) I am for sure getting my fiber, though.

Sadly, I had run out of cereal, and I'd had the Boca for lunch. Sigh. Going off to chant without dinner isn't fun. So I swung by a Starbucks for a half-calf soy latte to tide me over. Only problem was, they accidentally gave me real milk, which gave me a mild asthma attack about fifteen minutes into the Toso after only a couple of sips (and, yes, I did think to myself, Hmmm, this tastes a little off). Chanting while wheezing is totally good times. (I did go back to that 'Bucks and got a kindly refund, and a coupon for a freebie. See why I can't stay off the sauce?)

After leaving the chant and returning the tainted latte, I was starving and exhausted from trying to breathe. And so, I went to the Baja Fresh on the corner of Lincoln and Wilshire to get two shrimp tacos. Kind of lo-cal/healthy, right? (Go ahead, lie to me. When I'm on a diet, that's the only time I want to be lied to.)

As I was walking toward the entrance, I looked into the car making the corner and heading toward me, and saw this chick in the passenger seat licking the seat belt strap. I stopped in my tracks and took a closer look. Yep, she was licking it. She stopped when we made eye contact.

Can anyone tell me why someone over the age of three might do that? She was definitely over twenty and looked like a typical local collegiate. Seriously, WTF?

I lost my appetite for about five seconds, then recovered. It had been a long time since lunch. As I stood waiting for my tacos, I recalled another weird sighting I had a couple of years ago, and a reminder of why you really shouldn't look too closely into nearby cars when you are in L.A. (or Santa Monica, which I was technically in at the time). You never know what you might catch a glimpse of, and the EEEWWWW! factor it might bring.

Click here if you care to join me for a stroll down that memory lane.

Rats

I've got a mouse. Yes, you heard me, a mouse. There is a mouse and he's in my house. I don't know whether he's brought a lout or a louse, but I'd rather have geese, even a grouse. I'll have to set traps or invite him to joust. Do what it takes to get him out out out! I just can't believe it, but there is no doubt. There is a mouse and he's in my house. I'd like a strong drink, to get good and damned soused, for who can relax with a mouse in their house? Once he is gone I shan't cry or pout. But, at the moment, I'm ready to shout. Take a gallon of bleach and give my kitchen a douse. Clear out the cupboards, throw everything out. For I have a problem I wish to turn about: THERE IS A FUTHERMUCKING MOUSE IN MY GODDAMN HOUSE!

WTF?!?

Now, while I might give the dust bunnies free reign in my home from time to time, I take care of my kitchen. That and my bathroom are always tidy and sanitized. The dust may collect in the rest of my roost when I'm in a writing frenzy, but the kitchen and cozzy are cleaned up daily. So imagine my surprise when I saw Mr. Mouse dart across my kitchen floor this morning.

This happened once before about two years ago. I came home from a long day at work, walked into my kitchen and saw a little rodent shoot across my floor from my stove to under my sink. I didn't scream or curse, I simply turned around, went to the store and purchased rubber gloves (to replace the old ones I'd use), bleach (I only had that special fabric-safe kind and wasn't going to waste that), a mask (breathing in their waste can kill you), sponges and D-Con.

Save all your cruelty comments for someone without a mouse. I'm a Buddhist. I'll deal with my own karma, thank you.

I cleaned out every drawer and cupboard, threw out a bunch of dishtowels and table cloths (wouldn't really want those near my food even with several hot water washes and ample servings of Clorox), scrubbed it all down with bleach and hot water. Soaked all of my utensils in bleach and hot water...twice. I strategically placed the D-Con and then waited for the little bastard to be no more. It didn't take long. It was done in day. Quick and easy. That's the way I like it. When it comes to killing rodents, that is.

But now, another little bastard is back. Breading where I eat. I called my management office and could clearly hear the implied yawn. Someone will be by next week. NEXT WEEK?!? WTF again? So, now I'm off to buy more D-Con, new rubber gloves, a mask and sponges. It's going to be a long day. But, later, I'll throw a little goodbye party for Jerry. May he and his rest in peace. And may the rest of them have the foresight to stay the hell out of my house so they can be free to live a long a happy mousy life.