u s e y o u r h a n d s

I enjoy New Year’s because it’s one of the few times of year that I get to drink champagne and not look like a decadent floozy. But, like my birthday, it’s a time for reflection and planning. Like every other blog in the world today, I post my New Year’s Resolutions:

1. Lose the other 40 lbs. By the end of May. I’ve done it once, now it’s time to finish the job.

2. Learn how to run so I can do triathlons.

3. Keep up the reading regimen.

4. Keep writing. Complete something.

5. Find job. Like job.

6. Acquire friends.

7. Win lottery.

8. Soothe the carpal tunnel beast living in my wrist.

9. Pay off debt.

10. Get “Groove is in the Heart” out of my head. Now, many people get songs stuck in their head for a day or week, but I get them lodged for years. I finallly got over the Will Smith version of “Just the Two of Us” only to have it replaced with the Dee-Lite song. The line “My succotash wish” haunts me greatly. The Song even forced me to progam that line to flash when I activate my cell phone. It’s a sickness. Help.

Reading: A cookbook. I’m cooking dinner tonight.

Eating and Drinking: Everything.

The Peedger and I celebrated one year together on Saturday. I think both of us are none too suprised that we’ve managed to stay together for a whole year, especially living in the same house for most of that time. It’s astonishing to me. And although there’s been a lot of unhappy times, we are planning to try for another year. He’s a quality product, the Phineas. I have no idea why any of the women in Chicago never recognized that.

There’s a magnet in me that’s constantly attracted to the entity Depression. I always feel a pull towards unhappiness and it takes so much effort to resist. I had a moment this weekend when I just gave in to being unhappy, but only let myself wallow for a half-hour or so. Then I went outside. Everything was much better.

Today’s the last day of my contract with a division of United Airlines. The search for jobbity resumes. I would really like to have a job by the end of March. That will make a year in Chicago, and I’d really like to start my second year here not hating this city. I need money in order to make friends. That’s how it works. You get a job, you get money. The money allows you to go out, do neat stuff. That’s when you make friends. So, job, money, friends.

Reading: I went to the library this weekend and got three more Barbara Pyms. Currently reading an early book with a really goofy title I can’t remember.

Eating: This morning, I’ve had a nanner and a couple xmas cookies. Last night, I took a hot bath with a bunch of ginger in it. You should try it. You sweat a lot. I look wonderful!

Drinking: Woodchuck hard apple cider. Yum! There’s nothing better to drink in the bathtub. Also, we bought a good bottle of champ and a cheap bottle of champ for our anniversary. The cheapie turned out to be wonderfully pearry and sweet. Go, Ballatore.

We are back from Colorado. Let me tell you all about it.

I nearly didn’t go. My panic attack started at our departure gate. With six vicoprofen in my system, I started sobbing and begging Phineas not to make me fly. This continued during the flight. At some point, I yelped, much to the chagrin of other passengers and flight attendants. Phineas claims that I tried to bite him.

Phineas has a nice family. They bought me gifts, including a bottle of hand cream with a distinctive odor we’re sure is “Old Lady Soul,” though listed only as “fragrance” in the ingredient list. I got to stay in the girliest room on the planet. Mauve walls, tons of dried flowers, dolls, and decorative hats. ! Arranged on a bureau was a tableau of lace-edged handkerchief, pearls, and black opera gloves. Nobody got really drunk and then screamed at how ungrateful I was. Wow! Nobody ridiculed my gifts. They actually seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

We borrowed the car and Phineas drove us to Boulder where we took a tour of the Celestial Seasonings Tea Factory. He was forced to wear a hairnet on his head and his beard. This made me laugh. Our experience inside the infamous Mint Room was interesting. To duplicate the experience of being in a room stocked with mint, get a bucket of Vapo-Rub and stick your head it it. There. It’s like that.

We scuttled around Denver’s famous 16th Street outdoor mall gathering xmas gifts. Denver’s paucity of crazy buskers is disturbing. No psychic cats, no silver-painted breakdancer. Instead of getting down with me at this dance club, Phineas lured me to a brew pub in Ft. Collins called Cooper Smith’s to meet his best friend Anne.

We spent an inordinate amount of time watching movies and flipping through channels trying to find the Yule Log. A channel had advertised “Two hours of commercial-free Yule Log.” Basically, they were going to broadcast an image of a burning log with xmas carols in the background. How bitchingly tacky is that? But they welched, because we couldn’t find it.

What else? Oh, yes. I had to work from afar for the dumb United affiliate. The computer I was provided with has a bum modem and they couldn’t rustle up a wireless jobber for me. This is their Internet division and they couldn’t score me a wireless card. Suckaz. I did ok, though.

On the way home, I abstained from the vicoprofen and did a lot better on the flight. No tears at all and minimal panicking. The flight was terribly smooth and we got to watch Blue Crush! The Karate Kid of chick surfing movies! It is not a good movie!

Reading: Nearly done with A Wild Sheep Chase by Haruki Murakami. Damn, that man is a good writer.

Working out: We didn’t work out at all when we were in Colorado, so we’re hitting the gym hard now.

Contemplating: My New Year’s Resolution.

I chose this title to allude to my air adventure later today, but what it really made me think of was the song “Up, Up, and Away.” As a severe sufferer of what is termed “pee-shyness,” I used to sing this song to myself in potties across the land. Like porn, I had to retire that song, hoping it will be used later with greater effectiveness.

Anyhoo, Missed Connections! As always, these MCs are taken from the Chicago Reader. The stories growing out from or beyond the MC appears in blockquotes. Enjoy, suckaz.

YOUR AD #46303 appeared May, 2002. You stated in your ad that you resemble Juliette Binoche. What caught my eye though is the fact that we both like the movie North by Northwest.

Wait, back the fucking train up, buddy. People like North by Northwest? No fucking shit, man. It’s, like, a fucking classic. When I was just renting movies to assholes like you and penning my brilliant screenplays for movies such as “True Romance” and “Pulp Fiction,” never once did anybody come in and ask for…what did you say it was called? North by Northwest? Jesus. It’s only a fucking classic. Wow, guy. You must be some genius for recognizing the brilliance of Alfred fucking Hitchcock.

SNEAKER PIMPS. I was there with two friends, you were there with your boyfriend. You saw me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night. Would love to talk to you.

There’s something very Red Bull-with-Vodka about trying to pick up a person with a boyfriend at a trip hop show, but Andrew really wanted to go talk to the girl with the tousled black hair. During “6 Underground,” her boyfriend walked away from her, and he nearly made his move, but sort of felt like an asshole. It’s way too sleazy and way too obvious.

THANKSGIVING EVENING, BUTCH McGuire’s. You: U of C doctorate student. Me: friend of woman with unfortunate shoe incident. Regretting not asking for your number.

Oh, shit. I remember this girl. Me and a couple of my friends were talking to her and her cute friend. We bought a round and then they offered to buy a round. The friend went to the bar to collect the drinks, and on her way back, the heel of these ridiculous stiletto boots she was wearing caught in a crack in the floor and she totally ate it. She fell down and her tray of drinks, which sort of hovered in mid-air for a moment, crashed down on her back. Man, that was funny.

Worrying: About flying. My throat, additionally, hurts. Oh, I have to get my car smogged.

Packing: Everything.

Oh, crap! Last night, I experimented with the Vicoprofen I scored from an unnamed source for tomorrow’s flight and it made me really sick! Shit. I’ve puked three times this morning, forfeiting a pint of OJ and a banana nut muffin. I think I’ve finally reached the other side of the tall mountain of Nausea, but who knows?

Oh, sorry to that parking lot off Cumberland. It had to be done, the vomiting.

I’m a star, though. I puked three - no, four - times and didn’t get a spot on my white shirt. Kiss my grits! Unfortunately, it’s not the best thing in the world to blow your nose and have a walnut chunk come out of it. That’ll wake your shit up in the AM, I tell you what.

I think I’m still going to dope up on tomorrow’s flight, just with a big greasy meal in the tum for buffering purposes. !

Eating: Just finished a bag of micro. popcorn. It settled the mighty tum.

Reading: Finishing B. Pym today, staring a collection of Haruki Murakami stories.

Wearing: My new wrist braces to stem the carpal tunnel syndrome tide. Thanks for the early gift, Peedger!

I had the strangest dream this morning and then in the car later, a strange flashback.

Phineas “the Body” Jones left to go to the gym at like 7 and I asked him to turn on the “talking box” before he left. (Sidebar: Early in the morning, I can’t see, have poor locomotion, and can’t think of accurate nouns.)

Subsequently, I had a dream about a family being plagued by spiders. In my dream, they had a last name like “Benton” or something and at one point, I actually watched this husband and wife trap one of these spiders in a glass jar, slide a CD under the jar, flip it, and pour alcohol in the jar to kill the spider.

In addition to actually seeing images, I also “read” this account in what seemed to be a book. It’s hard to describe. One of those multi-media dreams.

Fast-forward to an hour and a half later. In my car, driving to work, I turned on NPR right in the middle of a story about a Kansas family plagued by spiders. They described exactly how the family killed the spiders (jar, CD, alcohol). The family’s name was what it was in my dream.

I shouldn’t listen to NPR and sleep. I incorporate the radio into lots of dreams, much to my chagrin.

In other happenings, I ordered a real coaty-Mc-Coat-Coat from Land’s End the other day, after returning the lady coat I purchased from them because the arms were several inches too short. The coat arrived at Phineas’ office this morning. Note our AIM exchange:

The Jesus Pants: Hola, Abejita. I have a coat for you.
Minvervah: Try it on.
The Jesus Pants: You want me to open it?
Minvervah: Yes. I want to make sure it’s long enough in the armal region.
The Jesus Pants: Ok. Of course you know, opening it and trying it on will just collapse its waveform. Right now the arms are too short *and* too long. It’s Schroedinger’s coat!
Minvervah: Don’t be cheeky.
Minvervah: BTW, I’m putting that exchange on my webbity.
The Jesus Pants: Thanks.

What a punk that Phineas is!

Overhearing: This guy across the way from my cubicle is having the worst problems refinancing his house. Seems his bank (Wash Mutual) doesn’t want to give him scrillah because he’s on a 1099. He’s annoying.

Baking: Made two dozen gingersnaps for the neighbors and a basket of muffins for Coz, who gave me “flight aids.”

I’m going to fly this Friday and I’m really not happy about it.

My intense flight anxiety started out of the blue about two years ago. Nothing happened during that flight to Houston, but I had a terrible panic attack. I hyperventilated, cried, and clawed at anything I could get my hands on. It really scared the Japanese man next to me. I searched the airport for alcohol, ordered a Tequila Sunrise with my breakfast and was told, “Honey, this is the South and it’s Easter Sunday.” No booze for me.

Ever since, I’ve had bad flights. Once, I took five or six Xanax and didn’t really get any relief, so intense and base is my fear. I really think it has to do with my intense fear of death, failure, and lack of control. Put all these things in a pot and stir. Watch the panic attack grow!

I’ve been doing research and all the Web sites I’ve looked at say to meditate, be logical, pray, etc. I’ve tried those things. I understand that it’s totally irrational fear, but I think it’s just something I’ll have to grow out of. In the meantime, I’ve scored lots of Vicoprofen. Hopefully, I’ll drug myself into oblivion and Phineas will have to drag me off the plane.

Reading: More Barbara Pym

Eating: I’ve started this thing where I eat oranges every morning. It’s pretty neat. And my hands smell yums!

Doing: Finding the perfect gingersnaps recipe, thinking about gifts, packing.

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