New house. Stocked kitchen. Job. Potential therapy dog, the third member of The First Wives' Club. Student loans and stimulus check on the way. Internet I can scam. Camel Filters. Eddie Izzard. School: an acceptable excuse for skipping social events. The Sleep Machine I've built on the floor. Falling asleep to Eddie Izzard, Eugene Mirman, Bill Hicks and/or Patton Oswalt. Questionable Content. Having a yard. Diet Coke. Vitamins. Vitamin Water. Showering. Shaving my legs. Clean unmentionables. And clean socks. "Ghostbusters II." The stack of vintage suitcases in the corner. Piles of books. Surrounding myself with piles of books. Storage space. Knowing that a Wii is in my near future. Also knowing that my N64 will soon be back in business, and with it, "Zelda: Ocarina of Time." Being over the bullshit. Being above the bullshit. Being part of a three-typewriter-two-record-player household. Having a bazillion wine glasses. Doing dishes. Writing, near constantly, be it in Microsoft Word or the yellow legal pad I've been toting around (even if I'm not posting any of it online). The ideas. Finding my muse. Rain. An August that isn't like being trapped in a smokehouse. The Beach. "Oh! You Pretty Things" on repeat. Spray paint. Dancing like an idiot to ABBA. Potential. Not being a freshman. Distance. Perspective. Hindsight. Old postcards, letters and souvenirs. Those memories that make me laugh out loud, smile to myself. Late night Walmart trips (even if Walmart sucks.) Vinyl. Yes, of course, singing in the shower. Singing all the time. Tips. Q=tips are nice, too. Coffee in the morning. Light breeze. Sleeping under a half dozen blankets. Sleeping in. Waking up happy. Not being stressed out. Smit. The Olympics. Things getting better, just like I've been saying they would. Getting inked on Sunday. Giraffes. Wayfarers. Kissing and handcuffs. Not doing jack-shit, and feeling ok about it. Painting. Not being addled by substances. Did I mention the dog?
Life is absurd, but totally worth it.
8.23.2008
Five by Five.
8.08.2008
Chaos In Action.
A few years ago, my mom's family established a new tradition: when the last weekend of July rolls around, every Cranford (or nee Cranford descendant) within an 800-mile radius treks to Tongue River, WY for a family reunion-type event masquerading as a "fun-filled weekend chock-full of water sports, near-death experiences and BBQs."
This is all well and good. Except there are a shit-load--and I do mean a shit-load-- of Cranfords within said radius. And I understand the "The More, The Merrier" philosophy that everyone I'm related to seems to buy into, but it's all just a little... well... ridiculous.
To put things in perspective, I present:
An itemized list of persons and equipment present this year.
[Note: My youngest brother, my grandmother, my grandfather and his wife, my aunt and her husband, 7 of my cousins, and my first cousin once removed were in absentia, so it wasn't as crowded as it could have been.]
I'm not even going to try and list the number of bags of chips, hot dogs or Diet Cokes consumed. Or the number of sunglasses and shoes lost, shirts ripped, or bruises acquired. Or the number of fights over whose turn it was to ride the Sea-Doo. Or the number of times I had to steal a Sea-Doo or the four-wheeler to sneak away to smoke. Or the number of times I screamed "SON OF A BITCH!" in response to being bitten by a fucking horse fly. Or how many times I had to explain my tattoos. Or the number of Nurofen I threw back in an attempt to make the experience tolerable (I will say this for my mom though: she goes to Australia and brings me back Nurofen, which is an over-the-counter/non-prescription drug there, as a souvenir. Who else can say their mom brings them codeine as a present? Who?).
When all's said and done though, the trip served its purpose. I went because I was burned out on Missoula and needed a break. But after three days with my entire family, I'm not only happy to be back in Missoula: I am fucking excited.
This is all well and good. Except there are a shit-load--and I do mean a shit-load-- of Cranfords within said radius. And I understand the "The More, The Merrier" philosophy that everyone I'm related to seems to buy into, but it's all just a little... well... ridiculous.
To put things in perspective, I present:
An itemized list of persons and equipment present this year.
[Note: My youngest brother, my grandmother, my grandfather and his wife, my aunt and her husband, 7 of my cousins, and my first cousin once removed were in absentia, so it wasn't as crowded as it could have been.]
I'm not even going to try and list the number of bags of chips, hot dogs or Diet Cokes consumed. Or the number of sunglasses and shoes lost, shirts ripped, or bruises acquired. Or the number of fights over whose turn it was to ride the Sea-Doo. Or the number of times I had to steal a Sea-Doo or the four-wheeler to sneak away to smoke. Or the number of times I screamed "SON OF A BITCH!" in response to being bitten by a fucking horse fly. Or how many times I had to explain my tattoos. Or the number of Nurofen I threw back in an attempt to make the experience tolerable (I will say this for my mom though: she goes to Australia and brings me back Nurofen, which is an over-the-counter/non-prescription drug there, as a souvenir. Who else can say their mom brings them codeine as a present? Who?).
When all's said and done though, the trip served its purpose. I went because I was burned out on Missoula and needed a break. But after three days with my entire family, I'm not only happy to be back in Missoula: I am fucking excited.
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