Electrolicious

Bush.

Drat.

Woke up this morning at 9:30, felt quite ill–that “low grade” cold my bedmate had creeped over and nabbed me in the night. Had porridge for breakfast (thanks, dad, for cursing me with a deep love of hot cereal on cold mornngs) and promptly fell back asleep on the couch for three hours.

Had wave after wave of dreams…one about being a political rally where Hillary Clinton was accidently introduced as “Hillary Reagan,” but she didn’t seem to mind, and went on to sing a song. Wouldn’t that be cool if politiicians sang?

Obviously election day has oozed into my psyche. Irritating, too, since I voted by absentee ballot last week. For all of you who are curious, I voted for Gore. As a brilliant Salon columnist said “I support Nader absolutely, I’m just not voting for him.” Amen, Bruvva. I, however, am convinced that Bush will win, and quite honestly, I’m horrified.

In other news, I’m dropping the boy off at the Airport in a few hours. He’s flying to LA to visit Dot–they’ll have a great time together! I’m excited for him.

Today, strangely enough, I worked out for a total of (are you sitting down?) THREE HOURS!
Can you imagine such a thing? Ariel, the inert stoner “why move when you can diddle online” girl has joined a gym and is working out regularly! (although not typically three hours a day–more like 5 hours a week).

I did an hour of just plain working out, then did my volunteer shift at the coop, then headed back to Take Shape for my kickboxing class and then yoga immediately afterward.

How very unlike me. Am I becoming a jock or something?

In other news, Andreas FIXED OUR CAR! Yes, my own little sissy-boy got under the hood and replaced our oil gasket seal thinger. sob! I’m so proud!

Andreas and I adopted two rescued lab rats last winter, Demetrius and Hephestus (I believe that little animals deserve large names). Strangely, we grew to love the rodents dearly, and when Demetrius died a couple months ago, we were both miserable. Hephestus seemed to be quite lonely and despondent, until we recently brought his cage upstairs and have let him become a feral rat. Well, feral inside. He’s much happier, and it’s really fun to watch him careen around the room.

Fact: a rat’s tail does NOT drag when they run around. It’s solid muscle, and they hold it up as they run.

Just had to do the unthinkable: send an email to collegues begging for work this winter.

Wince.

This is the one true disadvantage of living in Olympia: there is a huge dearth of editing/writing jobs here. After learning that Lotus will only be paying half as much a month for the Reader’s Write issue, and that Amazon won’t have nearly as much work for me either, I find myself quite nervous.

I’ve hooked many of my friends up with jobs in both Seattle and SF, and now I guess I just have to trust that that will come back to me. Soon. Before I have to stop eating. So, out went the email to friends at Amazon, Real, Creative Assets, The Write Stuff, begging for work. I hate begging. Hate it. But if it means I can pay rent, I’ll do it.

And as much as I hate begging, at least it’s better than working a job I hate.

….er, I think. At least a job I hated would pay regularly.

Office drone tip: sit on one of these when you’re in front of the computer. The 75 or 85 cm sizes will keep you from slumping, keep your lower back enganged, and will be super fun to play with on those coffee breaks.

I love how, even though I work at home, on a very nonMon-Fri, 9-5 schedule, Sunday’s are still totally lazy.

Sundays for Dre and I include “The Breakfast Club,” a group of us who all get together Sunday morning (well, 11:30am) and cook eachother breakfast. Typically, brunch involves mimosas and green toast, so the meal toddles into the afternoon, and looks around confusedly when it starts to get dark out. Today’s afternoon? Watching “Time Bandits,” which scared the shit out of me when I was a child. Watching it today, I remembered why.

Second only to “Fanny & Alexander” in terms of childhood terror. Ingmar Bergman is not for children.

Was a victim to advertising, and bought a Pizza Hut “Insider” double decker pizza tonight. I haven’t had pizza since the cleanse, and was having a mean craving after the paltry non-buffet at the co-op shindiggy thinger.

So, I got the pizza. It’s like a pizza quesadilla, with two crusts and a layer of cheese in-between them. I’m not sure how I felt about it. I ate two slices, then felt sort of nasty, in that clogged-artery sort of way. As the website says “The Insider pizza is for all consumers who think cheese — and lots of it — makes everything taste better. Cheese fans, especially Echo Boomers ages 16-23, will be drawn to the “ooey, gooey” taste of The Insider pizza.” Ooey Gooey describes how my bowels feel right now…They should have called it the “Inside Her.”

In other news, a poem. Here’s a weird thing: I haven’t written poetry in years. I think in paragraph structure, not prose. But, when I moved down to Olympia, and into this amazing home in the woods, where I can look out my window and watch cedar needles drift down, where I can laugh at squirrels fighting in the trees as I’m navigating a conference call to LA…suddenly poems started popping up.

Here was the first one, written in July.

Soil of the Future

My mother
Found herself
In the woods

My Self
Found Herself
Exhausted.

Lots of errands to run today, and then the Olympia Food Co-op Working Member Appreciation party. See, I volunteer as a cashier at the local co-op, and once a year they throw this thank you party. Since I’ve only lived in Olympia since April, this was my first WMA party. Andreas was disappointed by the lack of vegan food, and I kept thinking that more food would be brought out. Where were the entrees? Where was the dessert? The appreciation was limited to nibbly food like bits of bagels, dips, veggies, fruits, and drinks. Regardless, I still appreciated the community aspect…

Growing up, my parents were involved with the tiny Co-op on Bainbridge Island. I used to tag along with my mom as she helped stock the shelves. At a certain point I decided that the food co-op sucked. Maybe it was because my mom tried to use carob instead of chocolate. Maybe it was because I watched too much TV, and decided that food had to be heavily packaged, brightly colored, and artificially flavored to be desirable. Whatever happened, I decided the co-op and the food it carried sucked.

So, I ate Pac Man cereal with my mouth open, begged my grandmother to sneak me chocolate when she came to visit, and, despite my parents’ vegetarianism, started eating meat in college.

Slowly, slowly, I’ve come to realize that, sigh, they were right. There’s something great about shopping at the co-op, and something even better about working there. Food is such a basic necessity, it’s nice to do it with a little intent.

However, that being said, I still want to know why the Working Member Appreciation party had so little food.

The bluegrass band wasn’t a bluegrass band after all, it was a Phish-esque jam band. It was strange, transitioning from my usual 4/4 house beat dancing, back to the noodley, free-form hippy dancing. I remember going the other way when I first starting going to raves, after years as a Phish fan (here is a photo of me at a show in Vancouver, BC, circa ‘95). It’s like I’m stepping back in my own history.

The party was sort of funny…and amazing house (perhaps even cooler than our hand-built loft-filled hippy shack), dear sweet people, and huge amounts of beer. I watched Andreas (my 24 yo returning student boyfriend) get completely sorted on a combination of beer and Southern Comfort, and at one point he slurred to me “Thish feelsh jusht like collesh!”

“You *are* in college, remember?” I reminded him, as a drunk 19 year-old stumbled by.

Strange to be back in a hippy college scene…I graduated from the University of Washington two and a half years ago, and yet here I am, back at keggers, patting my boy’s back as he barfs into a hedge…*sigh* At almost 26, am I too old to be doing this? I was a hippy college student when *I* was 20, and I’m endlessly amazed to see people doing the exact same things I did, thinking (as I did) “Wow, my life is unlike any other.” There are parallels to our experiences that we cannot deny.