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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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bitter and better
It's almost over. It's almost over. It's almost over. The holiday season is almost over. It's almost over. How have I spent the last week? Well, Christmas was fine. Okay. Fine, really. My parents left town and I ended up having to take care of their overgrown, spoiled, untrained dogs. Which doesn't sound as though it'd have an upside, but my mom does have cable, so surprise! I got to watch a lot of bad television and eat a lot of bad food. My mother thinks that frozen foods are a food group unto themselves--which ultimately translates into entire meals of microwave taquitos and mini quiche. She called on Christmas Day, as I was heading grudgingly over to my grandmother's house for dinner and where I recieved as a gift a pair of slippers five sizes too small and a flannel nightgown. With flowers on it. And lace. And ribbons. (Thanks, grandma.) On the upside, I got to see my little cousin, FJr., who I haven't seen in a long time. He's such a sweet thing--kind of cynical and endearing. If I had a kid, I'd want one very nearly like him. He and Sel had both gotten scooters for christmas (I know, I know), and were eager to try them out on the street in front of my grandmother's house. (I used to rollerskate there when I was a child beneath the giant cottonwoods and so every inch of that road is permanently engraved on my heart.) Oh, and Malarka's car broke down on Monday and Max and I ended up driving her around (she was working--had to be at work at nine--and pet sitting--before and after work) for a couple of days. It wasn't all bad if only because it got Max (who is on vacation) out of bed before three or four in the afternoon, so we took the opportunity to visit various museums and do some shopping. There was an exhibit of art from the Ottoman empire at the art musuem which was amazing stuff. They had a few examples of calligraphy which made me want to quit school and devote myself to ink. And we went to the anthropology museum at the university. I bought some finger puppets in the gift shop that I've been eyeing for some time. We bought monkey that Max and I named "Mona La Mona," a lion, a girl in chongos, a turtle, and two (count 'em two) octopus puppets. I have dreams of an octopus romance story. I'd even built up a fantasy about a cigar box finger puppet theater (with a little purple velvet stage curtain on gold rings). The brilliant Sophistica was snowed in over christmas, but I did see her a few days before then. She came over around three on Friday (?) afternoon to quote drop off some cookies. When she left at eleven, we had demolished two pots of coffee, one of tea, half a plate of her heavenly brownies, biscochitos, and peanut butter cookies, and had gone to dinner at India Kitchen where we ate like queens (samosas, pakoras, chutneys, pickles and nan for appetizers, enormous shared dishes and finally a dessert platter with eight different kinds of sweets, including a ras malai that brought tears to my eyes). That girl can eat. She eats as much as I do, which is completely disconcerting as I often rise from the table with my belly button popped out and my eyeballs actually bulging from my head. But her grossly distentended appetite is just one more reason for me to love her so dearly. Oh, yes, and Oh, my God: Malarka talked me into seeing "[Horrible Movie starring Talentless Movie Star]" on Saturday. If it hadn't been at the low, low price of five dollars a ticket, Malarka would've been shlepping her ass all over town on the bus while her car was being repaired. I'm not a fan of Talentless Movie Star, despite (or perhaps because) of the fact that she seems so damn harmless so much of the time. Later, at Malarka's request, we "snuck" into "Man, Where's My Head?" or whatever for about twenty minutes. Malarka's response to the movie: "Oh, I've seen so many like it!" (Why I go to see movies with her is a mystery to even me.) What else? What else? Oh, yes. I went to the bookstore and purchased my textbooks for next semester. Two of my classes (molecular cell and organic chemistry) are continuing, in their second semesters, to use the same texts, which saved me around $220. I had to buy a new lab notebook ($12), a microbiology text ($104.00 at first, but $78 ultimately--more on that in a moment), my English notebook ($8.50), two lab manuals ($30 and $45), and a required paperback book of exercies for chemistry ($30). In a moment of weakness, I also purchased some new scarlet ink and a few new nibs for my pens ($8). The deal with the microbiology text was this: I saw the word "microbiology" on the spine of a text and grabbed it, not knowing that there are two classes offered. I had (sadly, mistakenly) purchased the text for the easier class, and, thumbing through it, could hardly contain my glee at how cake the class was going to have to be with a text like that. Cut to a shot of me checking my schedule and my face filling with bitter, bitter dissapointment. Then there was me, trudging back to the bookstore, in the snow, having to exchange the slim, colorful volume for one that weighed a full four-and-a-half pounds more. (Man behind the counter: "Bet you wish you could keep the other one, huh?" indicating the slim, colorful volume.) My consolation was getting a used copy of the right textbook, which meant that I saved $21. That's $21 more dollars of my grant money that I can spend on chocolate next semester. This is good, this savings, because after the hundreds I spent on textbooks, I feel as though I should be wearing a barrel with straps to hold it up. And the barrel should have a hole in it. And the straps should be worn. And I should be in sad clown makeup. That's as much as an update as I'm up to right at the moment. Max is making masur dal for dinner, and we'll have it with the leftover aloo gobi that he made for dinner last night. Thank goodness that one of us is an able cook. If it were up to me, we'd have died of scurvy years ago. That, or we'd be living on microwave taquitos and mini quiche. How was that, Weston? Better?
More lies:
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