Thanksgiving Giblets

I know. Giblets are disgusting. But it sounds cuter than “disjointed moments from yesterday.”

Roll out of bed. Slowly.

Nordic Boy goes to the hippy dippy granola cafe down the street to get us some bagels. The place is notorious for the slowest service around (the staff are all hanging loose, dude) but the baked goods are tasty. Nordic Boy comes back after an entire hour of waiting in the slowest line known to man.
Nordic Boy: The service is so bad in there. No one seems to know what they’re doing. But, it’s Thanksgiving, so I just kept saying to myself, over and over: I’m thankful to the hippies for teaching me patience, I’m thankful for the hippies for teaching me patience.
Me: I’m am so digging that, dude.
Nordic Boy: Yeah, it was far out.
Me: Live in The Now, you know?
Nordic Boy: Totally.

Me: I’m going to take a shower and then figure out what to wear.
Nordic Boy: Wear something comfortable. For all the eating.
Me: You mean, it’s not going to be Spanx-giving for me today?

Hardy har. I makee the jokee.

We set the table and then I decide to make placecards from a Martha Stewart article I found online. Then I notice that the directions say the process will take me three hours. Who the hell is making three-hour placecards? I ditched Martha and made my own design. Piss off, Martha.

Neighbor J, B, and H arrive as does Delium and Jennifer. Wine is uncorked and ceremoniously poured into water glasses. I have no interest whatsoever in owning wine glasses, so our guests have to swill from tumblers. Classy.

Jennifer (to Nordic Boy as he whips up the gravy): So, are you the cook in this house?
Nordic Boy: Oh no. It’s 50-50, pretty much. Evenly split. Yeah, LG helps out all the time.

Total. Bald-faced. Lie.

Little Hannah makes her cute, happy, creaky door noises and thoroughly entertains us all.

Topics of conversation cover everyone’s interests. Neighbor J tells us about fonts and how everyone has a font that is “so them.” She reveals that Nordic Boy and I are “so Futura.” Of course, then everyone wants their font-fortune told. Neighbor B tells us about voice command software developing and we all do our best impressions of voice command robot voices, while saying totally inappropriate things that voice command robots would never say. Delium tells us about zombie movies and the best way to avoid getting one’s brain eaten, which will totally come in handy for some of us some day. Nordic Boy tells us about U-values, and as usual, psyches everyone up to do home improving. I swear if there was such a career as “home improvement motivational speaker,” Nordic Boy would make a hundred jillion dollars at it. When he preaches the gospel of energy efficiency, people start to say amen and get out of their seats to start home improving.

This story is revisited and everyone’s gut is busted all over again.

Pie and ice cream is consumed, games are played, stories are told, love is felt.

Back to bed as frost sparkles on the windows, my throat aching from the belly laughs. The full, full belly laughs.

I’m out,
Librarian Girl

A Gratitude Attitude

I am going to start off today by saying something totally nauseating. Ready?

I avoid making, writing, or saying out loud any sort of “I am thankful for” lists, not because I am a grumpypants who is dead inside and can’t come up with anything to say, and not because it is kind of a sappy thing to do, but because I have so much to be thankful for, from the really, really big stuff to the day-to-day minutae, that a list seems so inadequate that I just don’t even start.

Are you barfing now? Just a little? More than a little? I’ll wait until you’re done. Go ahead. Hold your hair back and let thy cookies tosseth.

Despite the barfy nature of what I just said, I decided that today, I am going to attempt such a list. I’m not going to think about it, I am just going to start typing and let the thankfulness flow, no matter how disorganized and jumbled it all comes out and no matter what kind of goofy things I may reveal about my thanky feelings. I’m just going to blah blah blah and then click publish. Ok, so this is normally what I do anyway so maybe it’s not so different except for the gratidudinal nature of the blah blah blah. You got me. But I’m still doing it. Here goes.

I’m thankful for heat. Heat in my house, heat in buildings, hot water heaters. What the hell did people do before heated houses? I don’t want any part of that shit. Heat. Yes. Hallelujah.

On a related note, I am thankful for leggings that can be used in place of long unnerwears. It’s just more attractive. And warm. So far I only seem to be thankful for heat-related objects but I promise to diversify from this topic now. Just know that I am also grateful for sunlight and hot chocolate and steam and gloves and warm beach sand and slippers and blankets. Heat is good.

I’m thankful for thank yous. When you’re in my line of work, the thankful phrase, the look of gratitude, the sigh of relief that you’ve helped someone out and treated them with respect can lift me right off the ground.

I’m thankful for phones, email, video-conferencing, snail mail, and texting. I know lots of people think that we’re overburdened by this stuff, and I totally get that, but I live far away from many of my loved ones and all of these things make us all seem so much closer. Now if we could just invent that transporter…

I’m thankful for Tivo. Shut up. I just am.

I’m thankful that I live in a city that still has recognizable seasons but is not buried in snow for 6 months out of the year. Oh shit, I veered right back into being thankful for heat-related topics again. Sorry. Heat is a big factor in my life.

I am thankful for my pals Allison and Map, who almost kill me with laughter every time I see them and have loved me unconditionally for my whole entire life, even through my Bananarama outfits, blue mascara, and every embarrassing crush I have ever had.

I am thankful to be kissed awake every morning.

I am thankful for colors. Aren’t colors awesome? They’re so goddamn colorful.

I am thankful for parents who modeled so many great things for me, including laughing hard and listening well.

I am grateful for the movie Xanadu.

I am grateful for this innate ability I have, which I don’t quite know how I got, to get the hell away from draining, exhausting people. I just slice them right out, and I am so glad I know how.

I’m thankful for Biology Girl, who I can say anything to, from my shopping lists to my nonsensical musings on imaginary people to any secret that I have in my stash to big, heavy, teary talks and she is always interested. That girl will talk to me about paint drying if I wanted to.

I’m thankful that I never had really big, tall 80s bangs.

I’m thankful that I know what it’s like to be poor, lonely and sad. I’m even more thankful that I’m no longer any of these things.

I’m thankful I can speak the language my ancestors spoke.

I’m thankful that my years as a dancer didn’t leave me with ugly feet.

I’m thankful for Nordic Boy, a stand-up guy, all salt of the earth and stuff, who has never been mad at me for one second or even slightly perturbed by me no matter what kind of shit I pull and who cracks me up and dances with me and cooks me up dinners and is so frickin’ consistent about everything it’s crazy and who is by far the smartest person I know and who looks at me all moony and also is totally sultry. I know. He sounds too good to be true. But he is. So, so true.

I am thankful for kind people, in all situations and places.

I am thankful for the word succubus.

I am thankful that places like Ace Hardware and Ikea play cheesy oldies so that I can relive my youth. Where else would I hear “Don’t wanna lose you now” by Gloria Estefan, which is a song we had to sing in choir back in the day?

I am thankful for my pal Neighbor J, who writes bad poetry with me that makes us cry with laughing and is the only person I know who can keep up with me in clothes-shopping and who feels like a family member in the best possible way.

I’m thankful I have nice hair that covers the fact that I have a small head under it all.

I told you this list would go on and on if I started. I feel like I am just getting warmed up but I will spare your having to hear any more since I already made you feel barfy once and no blog post should have multiple pukey points.

So, to wrap this all up, I am thankful that I am me. I like that I know who I am and that I don’t quite fit in with anyone but in that misfittery I manage to fit in with everyone, and that I have a super genial disposition wherein I don’t get mad a lot and that I’m from where I’m from and I know who I know and that I take care of my body and myself first before I take care of anyone else and I don’t ever feel guilty about that and that I write people snail mail letters and cards and that I always make room in my life for the people that I like and that I rock the librarian gig on the daily and that I don’t have any room in my heart for bitterness which makes my life sweet sweet sweet.

And also? I’m thankful for you guys. I love reading what you have to say and you’re all so ridiculously kind in your emails and comments. Blog friends are real friends, one of you said to me a while ago. Thanks for that.

Now let’s stop all this gratitude and go do what this holiday is really all about. Eating until we pop out of our pants.

Happy Thanksgiving, homies.

I’m out,
Librarian Girl

I. Diddy

Things I didded today. A list, yo.

1. Got up at 7am even though it was my day off because I am apparently all geriatric like that.

2. Showed up at Anthropologie a few minutes before they even opened their doors this morning, because I like to scare the staff there with how I stand outside and fog up the windows with my ardently felt desire.

3. Ate two halves of a cupcake, shared with Neighbor J, one chocolate with vanilla frosting and the other vanilla with chocolate frosting. I hummed “Ebony and Ivory” to myself in my head as I did so.

4. Held sweet Baby Neighbor H on my lap and listened to her make cute baby creaky-door sounds and watched her smile all afternoon. Sweeter than the cupcakes, that was.

5. Came home to find Nordic Boy home from his business trip and tried to ballroom dance our hellos to each other, which even though a valiant effort was made, it turned into him sort of dragging me around the room. Isn’t that really what ballroom dance is, though? I believe they call this “leading.”

6. Won a caption contest over at Berg with Fries. I get a prize and everything. If you go over there (I’m too tired to add the link in but it is over there in my sidebar) you’ll see I mostly won because I had the biggest mouth. If only I could win other things for talking horseshit, I would be set for life.

7. Wrote a hastily crafted blog post so as to fulfill my duties to NaBloPoMo and crashed into bed by 10:30. I am only half cognizant of what I am typing right now and the proof of that is that I just used the word “cognizant.”

Must sleep. Granny is so tired.

I’m out,
Librarian Girl

Lonesome Librarian

I’m going to let you guys in on a little secret. I’ve been feeling lonely lately. I am not a wallowing, sad sack type by nature, so when I get to feeling this way, it kind of throws me for a loop. When the lonliness sets in, where do you put it?

I know that I am inundated with social happenings, so it seems a weird thing to feel lonesome. It’s not a lack of people around me that I am feeling, it’s the lack of specific people that I miss so much. Usually, I am a career long-distance champion. I grew up with most of my extended family living on an island in the South Pacific without ready access to telephones and getting to see them only once every two or three years. I have lived my entire adult life across the country from my beloved mom and dad. I know how to manage having people far away, as my phone bill and snail mail tendencies will illustrate. I am a five-star keeper-in-touch lady. If you are important to me, we’ll talk often, and lovey feelings will remain in tact. This is totally second nature to me 99% of the time. But when that last 1% hits, it hits kind of hard. It gets blown all up out of proportion and starts to feel a little ridiculous, but not any less real. I miss my peeps, you guys. My parents. My pals Alli and Map, who I wish lived down the street from me like they used to when we were kids, instead of ten billion states away. Biology Girl and Neighbor J, my two best friends who are far away and each busy nurturing a newborn PhD thesis and a newborn baby, respectively (sorry Bio-Girl, but the baby is way cuter than that thesis of yours). Nordic Boy being away on business each week. I am good at being alone, but sometimes, the aloneness can feel…palpable.

Wow, see what you get when I have to post every day? You don’t know what you’re going to get- I usually wait until I am my usual chipper funny girl mood to post. But now, I just have to run with what I am thinking about for the day. There is not one lick of pop culture fun in me this morning, unless you want me to talk about my thoughts on how Kris Jenner on Keeping Up with the Kardashians looks like Cruella DeVille? Anyone? Anyone? I didn’t think so.

The good news is that, for whatever reason, my genetic makeup seems to be that I am unable to feel bad about shit for more than like, a couple of hours. It’s like I get sick of the whining in my own head and I tell myself to shut the hell up and get on with things. I’m a glass half full kind of person, despite the fact that “glass half full” is sort of an annoying expression. I’ll feel the lonely for a little bit, then I start to tell myself that hey, at least I have these people in my life who love me, even if they are not in the exact geographic location that I would prefer them to be. In fact, I am hearing that voice in my head right now. Shut up. Get on with things. You’re right. Totally right.

Oops, I think I just let the cat out of the bag that I hear voices in my head and I talk back to them. Well. Now you know that.

Anyway, one thing I don’t miss? You guys! Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean is, blog friends are awesome.

So, to recap.
1. If you’re a loved one of mine and you’re out there reading this, I miss you.
2. Mrs. Jenner probably wears puppy coats.
3. I feel bad sometimes, but not too bad, because that’s a waste of time.
4. Blog friends rock the hizzy.
5. Lastly, I hear voices.

Tell me, what do you do to cheer yourself up?

I’m out,
Librarian Girl

P.S. Hey Library Guy, if you’re reading this, you commented last week that you are doing NaBloPoMo, but I don’t have your link. Email it to me or comment it, wouldja? I want to read you.

Too Tired For Paragraphs

1. I’m not ignoring you. Really. My week is totally kicking my hiney right now. So much so, that I am saying the word “hiney.” I am also listening to a phonograph while sitting here in my pinafore.

2. I am so tired right now that I am doing that thing where, instead of blinking, I am just periodically closing my eyes for a second or two, and hoping no one notices.

3. I am tired because, for the past two days, my eyes have been popping open at 5:30 am. Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! I have no explanation as to why this is happening. I fear it is because I am getting to be one of those old people that barely sleeps at night, naps throughout the day, and eats dinner at 3 in the afternoon. If I start to complain about those rotten kids, please help me.

4. I heard someone say the other day that they were laughing so hard that they were afraid that they needed “Depends” because they were going to pee their pants. Depends! Isn’t that funny? It’s DEPEND. As in, you can depend on it. Not depends, as in: will it keep you dry? Maybe, it depends.

5. The fact that I took the energy to think through whether adult diapers should be correctly identified as Depend or Depends is being added to the mounting evidence that I am turning into a ripe old granny.

6. I said mounting! Hee! Ok, I’m back to juvenile behavior again. Whew.

7. I have been having so much funny, entertaining library moments this week, it’s ridiculous. I can’t tell you about any of them though, lest I get dooced. But trust me, it can be the funnest, funniest place to work, ever.

8. I swore that I was going to get through the final Harry Potter book before my San Francisco trip. So not going to happen. However, I have perfected the two ways that exist to say Harry Potter with an English accent. You can either say it like he’s your best friend: “Harry Pottah!” or you can say it all evil style like Draco, like you’re spitting it out: “Harry Pottah.” Go ahead. Try it. You’ll see exactly what I mean.

9. God I’m tired.

10. Neighbor J dug up some photo from a “behind the scenes” thing about the Little House on the Prairie tv show. How freaky is this?


What’s Harriet doing to Laura??? I am never sleeping again.

I will write a post that makes some kind of half-baked sense soon. Really.

Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl

I’m Totally Burying the Lead

This is the type of post that has no rhyme nor reason but is just a post about the last few days in my life so if you’re looking for things like continuity and sequiturs and so forth you should brace yourself for disappointment.

First of all I have discovered that I have lost the ability to feed myself. Not in the sense that I cannot lift fork and knife and guide it into my face. It’s more that I am unable to figure out what to eat and prepare the decided upon entree. This is because Nordic Boy is the cook in my household, and although I help with the food preparation, he is the one who decides what we are eating. When I come home, he will have shopped and started preparing whatever meal it is, and so the part of my brain that has to come up with a dinner idea ALL ON ITS OWN has atrophied to the point where I have become one of those sitcom husbands that needs to have a frozen casserole left in the freezer for him when wifey goes to visit mother. Last week, Nordic Boy went on an overnight business trip. When dinner time rolled around, I was completely engulfed in dinner-decision-inertia. I had to call Bio-Girl, TWO STATES AWAY, to help me. She suggested I go get some take-out and not mess around with trying to come up with something to cook. She gives it to me straight, that girl does. Do NOT try and cook! Back away from the kitchen! Proceed directly to take out joint! Which I did. And when I got to my favorite Indian restaurant, the proprietors CALLED ME OUT. They smiled with surprise and said, “Oh! YOU’re coming in to pick up your order?” To which I said, meekly, “yes.” To which they replied “Your partner usually comes in to do that.” All surprised. Like THEY KNOW that I don’t know how to get my own damn dinner any more. Did I defend myself? Did I take back my dinner-getting power? No. I looked down, said “he’s out of town,” and slunk out the door. SHAMED.

A few days later, Nordic Boy and I showed up there for dinner with our friends H and R (not H&R Block, although wouldn’t that be cool if we knew them?) so I got over my shame fast. Nothing will make me get over myself like an order of killer alloo mutter.

On Friday night I went to my first bbq party of the summer, which was a lovely cap to my day and much needed, as I had to deal with doggie diaherria at work that day. And oh how I wish doggie diaherria was a euphemism for something. So a party is just what I needed. Who cares if it’s June and 55 degrees in Seattle? We are going to pretend it’s summer goddamnit and I don’t care if I have to drink hot chocolate while we grill something. Who’s with me?

On Saturday I spent the entire day with Nordic Boy, as we have both been so busy lately that, as I crawled into bed after the bbq on Friday, we looked at each other with a look that could easily be interpreted as something along the lines of “and you are?” We capped off the night by going to see Ocean’s Thirteen, which was good but was Ellen Barkin supposed to be scary or sexy in that? Because I was scared.

The following evening I went over to my brother’s house for dinner and to celebrate my nephew’s 5th birthday. My nephew is a little social dude-about-town, with lots of stories to tell me about his friends at swimming lessons and his friends on the block and his friends at school. I asked him out of all his friends who his best friend was and he didn’t even hesitate before saying “I have two best friends: Mommy and Daddy.” I just about went into sugar shock and fell to pieces with how cute that is. I gave him a conductor’s whistle as part of his birthday present and it was a huge hit. I think his parents might just want to kill me after hearing that whistle for oh, about the 347th time that night. Happy Birthday to all of you!

Oh, and um, you guys? My dear friend Neighbor J is currently, as-we-speak, right now, at the present time, now o’clock, HAVING HER BABY. Labor started yesterday. When I told Nordic Boy that it was go-time for her, his response was: “Hi-yabba!” That about sums it up.


Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl

Baby Love

I didn’t write a post for Mother’s Day, as I was spending it in the Midwest sans innernets, sniffing hospital fumes. So, although it’s a bit late, I would like to say a little something that is semi-related to Momma’s Day and to Pappa’s Day, because my dear, dear friends Neighbor J and Neighbor B are about to beget a littlin’. Any day now, our family will be welcoming a new juvenile into its bosom. (And Neighbor J, I will refrain from making any comments about bosoms, as in your bosoms. Except to say. Wow). And my dear dear friends will become Mom and Dad. As in, their KID will call them Mom and Dad. Not me. Because that would be weird.

In honor of this blessed event, I would like to write a note to Baby Neighbor, the newest Neighbor in our loving familia.

Dear Baby Neighbor,

Hey girlie. It’s your Auntie Librarian Girl here. I know you are going to have lots and lots of Aunties and Uncles in your life, as your mom and dad are well-loved, so it may be a little confusing at first. You can just remember me like this: I’m your cool Auntie that is somewhat immature. Everyone has to have one. Ben Gellar had Monica. Darlene Conner had Jackie. Go rent Auntie Mame when you’re old enough and you’ll get what I’m talking about. I’ll be the Aunt that will slip you a twenty and not laugh at you when you’re feeling oh. so. dramatic. And, I will laugh at poop and fart jokes. Then again, so will your parents so I guess you’re covered there. I will keep you dressed in fabulous outfits, should that be your wish, and I will listen to as many boy stories as you can dish out (or girl stories, should that be your preference).

You’ll be meeting Uncle Nordic Boy soon too. He’s the one that looks like he’s deep in thought all the time and who always has paint stains on his hip clothes. I know you’ll love him. Not just because I think he’s cool, but because, in little kid circles, he’s a complete rock star. I don’t know what it is about him, but the kiddies think he is the BOMB. I have seen crowds of little children jump up and down and CHEER when he walks into a room. “YAYYYYYY!” they all say. I don’t know what the mystique is. Maybe it’s all the cool tools he always has on his person and the way he’s always fixing stuff. At any rate, when you’re old enough to wield your first hammer, he’s the man to show you how to hold it.

There may come a time, when you get close to your teen years, when you start to have conflicts with your parents. I honestly don’t know what those conflicts may be, as you are blessed with Extremely Cool Parents. The only fights I can imagine at this point would be some kind of argument over the typeface that you’ve chosen to use on a
party invite or something. Because kiddo? Your mom is crazy-talented when it comes to graphic design, and her knowledge and aesthetic of fonts and typography are a wee bit scary. So here’s a piece of advice for you. Your first ever Auntie advice from Auntie Librarian Girl! A momentous occassion, to be sure. Here it is: do not, for the love of all that is holy, ever use Comic Sans. EVER. Just don’t. She may
ground you, just for that. While you’re at it, stay away from Jokerman too.

Here’s something else. Talking on the phone. Your mom and I like to do this. A lot. We talk on the phone like our lives depend on it. So, if you get to an age where you are talking on the phone a lot, and your mom gets mad at you for doing so, you can use this ammunition to argue your need to be on the phone. Remind her of the hours she has spent talking to HER friend, and how much she relies on that. (Sorry Neighbor J, to give you up like this. I have Cool Auntie duties now, though. It’s, like, my job).

Now let me give some advice on your dad. First off, you are going to be the coolest kid around, because your dad is going to rig up some cool ass technology gadgets for you. Forget ipods. You will probably have some sort of music device that pipes music directly into the side of your sunglasses or something. Your friends will be dying of envy. But here’s the downside. I’m going to give it to you straight. Do
not let him build you a robot playmate. Oh, he might try. He might tell you it will rock. But don’t let him. The kids at school will think it’s weird, and you’ll be known as Robo-Girl. So cool gadgetry, yes. Creepy robot people to play with, not so much.

So, little girlie, I will save up any further advice for you until you’ve moved out of your mom’s belly. I just thought it was time we get acquainted. I am over the moon excited to meet you, and I’ll be cheering you on in whatever you do and I’ll be there for you in whatever way you need me. I know you’ve got two parents that love you to pieces, but you can add me to the list of folks that love you unconditionally. I will always listen to what you have to say, and I’ll do anything for you. Those are the Auntie vows I pledge to you.

Oh, and let me know when you need that twenty.

Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl

She’s Mighty Convincing

It’s a birthday post for Biology Girl! What kind of embarrassing story do I choose to share on this, my sister-friend’s birthday? There are a lot of things I can say about Biology Girl, that’s for sure. She’s loving (for my 29th birthday she bought me twenty nine presents), she’s stylish (although one time she almost answered the door to a dinner party that she was throwing with the back hem of her skirt tucked firmly into her undies), and when she and I go shopping together, people tend to give us free items. Who wouldn’t love a girl like that? She is endlessly lovable. Ask anyone.

However, if any of you out there ever meet up with Biology Girl, I feel it is my duty to tell you something about her, and it is this. If she, at any time, becomes ardently hardheaded about a debatable position, you can bet that what she is telling you is the exact opposite of factual. Really, I know it will be difficult, when the moment comes. This girl, who is normally so sociable and easygoing, will at some point become obstinate, uncompromising, and downright single-minded on some point of contention, and it will seem almost impossible to refute what she is saying. You’ll think to yourself “she sounds so SURE. She must know what she’s talking about.” Nope. Just remember what I’m telling you. There is an inverse relationship between the stridency of her arguments and the chances that what she is saying is true. The more she believes that she is right, the more wrong she most likely is. Got it?

Exhibit A:
The first documented case of this quality came some years ago, when Biology Girl was in college and rooming with Jenny. A song was playing on the radio. Jenny entered the room. Upon hearing the song, Jenny made a statement to Biology Girl: “Oh! The Cowboy Junkies!” To which Biology Girl, her voice dripping with disdain, responded: “DOUBT IT.” The tone that accompanied these two words was so strong, so confident, that Jenny immediately thought “oops, guess it’s not the Cowboy Junkies. How could I have been so wrong?” Of course, we all came to find out later that it was indeed the Cowboy Junkies. Given some distance from the situation, Biology Girl had to concede the point. But in the moment, there was no question. Anyone would have believed her. That’s how strong it comes across. In just two words– “DOUBT IT”–Jenny yielded knowledge of one of her favorite bands. See what I mean?

Exhibit B:
One day, Nordic Boy, Neighbor J, Biology Girl and I were driving somewhere. Neighbor J was telling us a story about a trip she had taken to Mount Saint Helens and the Visitor Center, where she had learned about the people who had died there during the eruption in 1980.

Biology Girl: So sad that President Harry Truman died there.
The Rest of Us: What?
Biology Girl: President Harry Truman. He died on Mount Saint Helens.
Neighbor J: I don’t think so.
Nordic Boy: I’d never heard that.
Me: I don’t think Harry Truman was still alive in 1980.
Biology Girl: Yes, he was. He died on Mount Saint Helens. I remember reading that, and I saw his name listed among the dead at the Visitor Center that Neighbor J is talking about.
Neighbor J: I didn’t see that. His name was listed there?
Biology Girl: Yes. I saw it.
Me: Maybe it was someone named Harry Truman, but not the President Harry Truman.
Biology Girl: No, really, it was the President.
Neighbor J: But, if he really did die there, don’t you think there would be a whole exhibit about him at the Visitor Center? It doesn’t seem right to just list his name. He was a former President, after all. You’d think they’d make a big deal out of that.
Biology Girl: Maybe there’s an exhibit somewhere else. I just know that he died there.
Me: But why was he even at Mount Saint Helens and why didn’t he evacuate?
Biology Girl: I think he might have lived there. You know, like retired there.
Nordic Boy: He lived on Mount Saint Helens? Really?

You see what’s happening? What started out as an obviously absurd statement, where three out of the four people in the car were SURE that President Truman did not die on Mount Saint Helens, becomes completely plausible because of the surety with which this girl can speak. There was no hesitation. Any sort of “are you sure?” questions were met with a clear, unblinking “of course.” Within minutes, we were all questioning ourselves. How could we have not known about President Harry Truman retiring in a little cabin in the woods on Mount Saint Helens? I mean, duh. Obviously everyone knew this but us. Look at Biology Girl, teaching us something new. Thanks, Biology Girl! And once again, she was shown to be wrong about this. And when we all found out she was wrong, I think we were more surprised than she was. She’s that convincing.

Exhibit C:
Ok, this one is great because I don’t think this one was ever resolved. Ask her and she may still argue this one until she’s blue in the face. There’s no way to prove this one because all we have to go on is what we saw with our own eyes but what we witnessed for ourselves is not enough. Biology Girl is still confident that she is right. It has had to be put up on a shelf called “agreeing to disagree.” It went like this. We were on a vacation in Whistler, Canada, where we had rented a cabin on a lake. Jenny and I were reading our books on one of the couches in the living room. Biology Girl was lying down on the couch opposite us. As we read our books silently, Biology Girl became very relaxed. She sank down into the couch in such a way as to look dead. She stayed in this position for over a half hour, unmoving. Jenny and I giggled at her quietly and kept reading our books. As Biology Girl sprawled, she made cute sleeping noises. She breathed slowly and evenly, and mmmm’d and did all of the sleepy sounding things that people do when they are, um, sleeping. Her sleepy sounds were so funny, in fact, that Jenny and I giggled at her a little bit louder, which roused her from sleepyland.

Her: What’s so funny?
Jenny: You were making noises in your sleep.
Her: I was not!
Jenny: You were, while you were napping.
Her: I do not NAP.
Me: What?
Her: I don’t nap! Never have. I’m not a napper.
Me: I’m sorry, Biology Girl, but you were napping. Even if you haven’t napped ever in your life before, you were, just now, napping. Asleep.
Her: I was not! I do not nap!

I know what you’re thinking. Why, of all things, is this the time to take a stand? It’s not like we accused her of pooping on the patio or something. We weren’t accusing her of anything. But that’s just the thing. It’s always something inconsequential. Cowboy Junkies, Harry Truman, naps. Not things that you expect someone to have a strong opinion about. But she is adamant. She does not nap! How dare we insinuate that she was napping? We had to let this one drop. How do you prove to someone that they were, indeed, napping? And really, what would you gain even if you could prove it?

So, if any of you run in to Biology Girl this week, do three things:
1. Wish her a Happy Birthday.
2. Become incredibly skeptical if she becomes obstinate about a random point.
3. Tell her that I love her.

Never mind, I’ll do #3 myself. Love you, Biology Girl! And you do totally take naps.

Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl


Hey bloggie friends,

I’m currently in the middle of my state, amongst the sagebrush and the tumbleweeds, getting my conference on at a librarian conference (I have really never seen so many pairs of glasses in my life). I’ll be posting about my week soon enough, but to tide you over until then, it’s time to update those bookmarks. Neighbor J, artist extraordinaire, pop culture librarian superstar friend, and all around chic mama has her very own blog. Like her, it rocks. Check it while she wrecks it!

The Flying Pencil

Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl

Twins and Winds

Ok, I know what I said about telling you about my dreams and how I would try and stop myself from telling you all about ridiculous, uninteresting mind-burps like how it was snowing poker chips or how I was running through a field of post-it notes. But sometimes, I have these really crazy pop culture dreams that I think you may actually find interesting, and I then have to break my promise to you and tell you all about it. Because I am fickle and untrustworthy that way, ya’ll. Sorry. So like, last night? I had a dream with the Olsen twins in it. Except there weren’t just two of them. There were sets of two, at all different ages. So there was a set of them that were toddlers, and two of them that were the straight-to-home-video ten-year-olds. There was a set that were pre-teen, from the Two of a Kind days, and a set that were teenagers that starred in that show with that guy who played Gwillem on Hope and Gloria. Finally, there was the current Mary Kate and Ashley, with their garbage bag style dresses and ratty hair. They all lived together in a house, and I was a guest at this house, and there was barely enough room to contain all of the twinnage. In my dream, I remember cracking this joke: “wow, you guys really have a FULL HOUSE here, don’t you?” See, even when I am unconscious, I churn out the side-splitters.

Speaking of side splitters, Neighbor J sent me a photo the other day that cracked my shit UP. Let me set the scene for you. A few summers ago, a bunch of us rented a beach house on the Oregon coast to max and relax. We’ve done this a few times over the years, and it’s always the highlight of the year. One day, we all woke up and walked down to the beach, only to find that the winds had severely picked up. It was more than gusts– it was a consistent, constant wind of the sort that makes you have to lean into it to walk. I would say the wind was at least 30 miles an hour. I’m not kidding. You guys know how I feel about being cold. I am in a constant state of shivering me timbers if it’s anywhere under 68 degrees. Neighbor J is the same way. So the two of us? Not happy with the wind. But Jenny and Neighbor B were going windsurfing and we wanted to stay and watch. So we gathered up our beach towels and wrapped ourselves in them like two big beach burritos. It was not pretty, and for once in my life, I didn’t care one whit about how it looked. I was COLD. In the middle of this, Neighbor J snapped a photo of me, Nordic Boy, and Biology Girl. And this photo has gone down in history as one of the most mysterious images in both Neighbor J’s and my personal collections. Because Biology Girl and Nordic Boy? They look like they are standing in the middle of a perfectly mild, sunny day. Biology Girl even has a HAT on. How the HELL she managed to keep a hat on her head in the middle of that windstorm is a subject of speculation between Neighbor J and me to this day. Did she have a piece of duct tape on her head? And Nordic Boy. Sure, his hair is messed up, but other than that, he looks perfectly comfortable. He doesn’t look wind whipped. He’s downright BASKING. All of this makes what I am doing look even more insane. The caption of this photo may as well be “Joe, Mary, and crazy Aunt Harriet.” Because I look like I’ve been let free from the loony bin for the day. But HONESTLY. We were in a WINDSTORM. With my left hand, I was holding on to that empty folding chair so it wouldn’t fly down the beach. You believe me, right? Right????

wind whipped

Remember Jane and Blanche in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” Yeah, that’s me. Joan Crawford as Blanche, in hot blankets.

Kiss the rings, I’m out.
Librarian Girl