I Heart The Internets

Some might say I have an addiction. Others might chalk it up to misanthropic tendencies. Either way, I'd much rather shop online than visit a retail venue in the flesh. Lines, people, lines, rude salespeople, dumb salespeople who try to sell me a lacy stringy wimpy bra made for a thirteen-year-old girl when I am clearly sporting nothing short of a bodacious support-needing D cup, bumper cars with shopping carts, not finding what I want, getting home and realizing I've forgotten the one thing I actually went shopping for in the first place - the list, it could go on and on. One thing I loathe particularly, beside the pushy gay man in Victoria's Secret and his dental floss bra, is going to the the grocery store, especially going to the grocery store on a week night. Until now, I've hesitatingly made the trek when absolutely necessary only to come home flustered and irritable and missing the Ibuprofen I meant to buy that would combat my headache. I've always been tempted to do the grocery delivery thing, but felt that it would be a little too yuppie. Shopping for clothes and gifts online, that's one thing. Groceries, though, that's another. And I have to admit, I still feel a little embarassed admitting this, although I'm not sure why now, but I've just placed my second order for groceries at Peapod.com. I'm not one hundred percent sure yet, but I may be in love.

Melon Heads

Mama used to keep her watermelon on the floor in the kitchen, just beneath the air conditioner vent, which was peculiarly low to the ground. This system guaranteed that the watermelon would stay very cool and free up space in her refrigerator, a space that always housed a wide supply of leftovers that could be heated up in a matter of minutes for a hearty homecooked meal. Mama loves watermelon in the summer, and when summertime rolls around, I can't help but recall all those hot afternoons taking a break at Mama's kitchen table (the one that had a white top with golden specks) and enjoying a huge slice alongside her. She had an old black metal fan blowing to cool off the room and the light from the window highlighted an open page in her copy of "The Upper Room". Sometimes Mama would sprinkle salt on her slice, and often I would follow suit. She was much better at spitting out the seeds than I was, my method employed more of a pick and flick style with the fork. Whenever I declared I was finished, Mama nonchalantly picked up my rind and gnawed the last remaining bit of fruit away. She never wastes anything. Every now and then Papa would breeze by with his daily crossword in tow. He keeps them on a clipboard, has for years. He needs me to help him with one word. It's an easy one he's left knowing that I will be able to come up with the answer. He claps and laughs heartily when I get it and pats me on the shoulder and kisses my forehead. He calls me "Lauren Pooh." Sometimes Mama and I would have Canteloupe. I wasn't allowed to have it at home, my mother hated everything about the orange-meated melon. She hated mostly the way it smelled, and for that reason, I had to enjoy the fruit elsewhere. I liked that though. Because it was something that Mama and I shared alone, like we were exiled into our own little world, just me and her, slurping on our favorite summer fruit, smiling at our secret delight, and spitting out seeds.

In Your Face Lance

OK, so not really, but I did ride my bike to work and back yesterday. Yep, I actually participated in Bike to Work Week (except for me it was just the one day, I drove my gas guzzling SUV the rest of the week). The journey was about 14 miles total, 45 minutes each way. I managed to complete the mission with relative ease. Although I failed to consider the extent of sweating that would occur whilst pedaling down the Lake Shore path. I didn't really even notice it until I was almost to work and raindrops of sweat began to drop from my forehead into my eyes. Then I tugged the back of my shirt down -- an uh-oh on two levels: One, I'm pretty sure my electric blue panties had been showing the entire time and two, the back of my shirt was completely soaked. When I arrived at work and dismantled my backpack and bike helmet I realized that it would've been a really good idea to bring an ENTIRE change of clothes. After gulping down about a liter of cold water and a good half hour of standing under the AC vent I finally cooled down.

The ride home was pretty nice and I was feeling more comfortable on the bike (I failed to mention above that I haven't ridden in more than three years). But the best part was when I arrived at home and was greeted by an assortment of beautiful lavender and peach colored roses. Thanks sweets! I took a bath (after a frightening run in with the resident bathroom spider) and then ate some delicious Yaki Udon, had a glass of wine, had some chocolate followed by a mugful of green tea ice cream. After that I managed to read one story in "Naked" and then I proceeded to pass out around 9:30pm.

All in all, it was a rather good day, and I am pretty damn proud of myself. I think I will try the riding to work again next week, of course with a change of clothes in tow.

Why I treated myself to a $10 salad for lunch

Run down of this morning: Slept late, smashed hand, lost one of my favorite earrings, stepped outside to jog (even though running late because weather forecasted rain later and I really needed to get in a good run), realized my Mp3 battery was dead, returned inside and proceeded to try every available double A in the apartment only to find they were all dead, ran half of usual distance due to lack of musical motivation (and have been really pissed off all day because now I have to exercise more when I get home), stupidly determined a belt was not necessary with the final outfit chosen to wear (out of about 3-4 choices), have been pulling up falling pants all day, couldn't get into a parking spot that was big enough to fit two of my cars, scowled angrily at an innocent man holding up a carwash sign, etc.

The salad was delicious, enough for two meals, chock full of avocado, sprouts, baby tomatoes, spinach, arugala, romaine, cabbage, sunflower seeds, green pepper, red pepper, jack cheese, sprouts, red onions, topped with yogurt ranch dressing and sided with homemade cornbread and butter.

Furniture Fairies Send Us a Bookshelf!

It's not like we needed any more books to add to our growing mountain of literature in the corner, but of course, we did need them. Especially when we had cash to spend and the average price ranged from $1 to $5 per book and there were thousands and thousands of them gleaming before our greedy little eyes. Ah, the Printer's Row Book Fair. Mike blew all of his cash on, naturally, another copy of Infinite Jest. But this one was a first edition. A solid addition to the beginnings of a legitimate collection. Maybe if the collection grows big enough I can dissuade Mike of his desire to name our first born David Foster Wallace Innocenzi. Not having any kind of bizarre crush on any one particular author enough to warrant purchasing a first edition, although I must admit the idea of posessing a first edition of, for instance, Franny and Zooey, did seem quite enticing at the time, I decided to stock up on some summer reading because I am hoping to spend ample time on my ass at the beach. I procured the following: Naked by David Sedaris, The 2004 Best American "Mystery" series, and Eudora Welty's first collection of short stories. And for the non-existent book shelf we will add a $4 hardcover edition of Song of Solomon, Ulysses, which I will make it through godammit, and some collection of 60's writers thoughts on politics or something (it cost $1 and the cover looked cool). Fun times. Definitely. Now I better get to reading.

Today is Thursday

I'm still recovering from the big weekend. So for now, I'm going to post a pic of Lula before she came to live with me that we recently found while cleaning up some computer files at the office. I like to call it "Christmas Cheer."