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2007-03-02 - 8:22 p.m.

Feeling Like a Toddler with a Ball of String

Can you believe it's after 8 pm and I've been up since 4:30 am WITHOUT A NAP ALL DAY? Simply amazing.

I have been busy all day doing lots of fun stuff.

After this morning's second pot of coffee, mom and I decided to go ahead and run our errands instead of waiting till the afternoon. The intial plan was to get a copy of mom's insurance card for her car registration renewal (by mail), then pick up our Rx's, and a bag of dog food at Wal-Mart.

Mom started putting on her make-up at the table while I futzed around online. She showed me her new(ish) waterproof mascara (complete with white primer) and I said I wanted to try it. Now, I hardly ever wear make-up anymore. I wore TONS of it in high school and I think I'm still trying to get over the embarrassment. And I'll never get all the time back that I spent in the bathroom slathering it on and spackling it up.

Anyhoo. I decided I wanted my eyes to pop, so I said "Keep the mascara and mirror out. I'm gonna WHORE IT UP for Wal-Mart."

Mom laughed and told me to be quiet so she didn't poke her eyeball out.

A few minutes later, that god-awful Pepto Bismol ad came on, the one where the weirdo new wave/punk (??) band shouts the song "Nau-SEA! Heart-BURN! DIAR-RHEA!!!"

Like I'm gonna pass that one up.

"Mom, how much would you pay me to yell 'I hope they've got something for DIAR-RHEA!' in the middle of the Wal-Mart pharmacy?"

Her mascara wand was shaking she was laughing so hard.

"Honey," she said, still giggling, "if you did that, I'd walk off and claim I didn't know you."

"Too late for that mommykins. Bop, bop. DIAR-RHEA!"

"Go get ready, weirdo girl."

"Alright, mother. I just hope I don't have a raging case of...DIAR-RHEA!"

Is it any wonder I haven't had a date in ages?

[Note to potential menfolk: I don't normal yell the D word. Nor do I normally even speak of the concept. Let's pretend it does not exist. And if you're with me, please don't blurt out your condition when you come back from the restroom. Whether we're at a fine Tex-Mex dining establishment, a sports bar, on a roadtrip, or especially if you're at my place. Because, you know, good lord.

If the condition that does not exist is part of a larger problem requiring emergency care, then you may refer to it as...oh, dare I say this? "Number 3."

But, when I'm around mom, I'm a total nut and I will do anything to make her crack up. Especially when she's putting on mascara.

You know what? You're not even in my life yet, so fuck off and gross out your latest girlfriend (slut bitch whore!).]

Where was I? Right, that word. La la la. I jaunted back downstairs, jokingly fussed at mom for forgetting to leave out the mascara ("Woman, I told you I wanted to WHORE UP for Wal-Mart!") then she proceeded to give me pointers on my application technique.

"You're not getting the tips! Get the tips!"

"I will! I HAVE A FUZZ ON MY EYELASH. Leave me be!"

She sighed and sat down. I continued onwards.

"Honey...you're not getting the ends." She stood up and hovered over me, as if I were performing brain surgery. On myself.

"Mother, I am not a retard. And you're hovering. CEASE!"

"Let me show you how I do it..." she implored.

"Mom. I am well-versed in whoring myself up, thank you very much."

"Are you saying this mascara makes me look like a whore?"

"No, silly. Me, we're talking about ME here. I'm gonna goop it on. After all, we are going to Wal-Mart. And it's waterproof in case the truckers make me cry again."

HA!

So...after giggling and being silly, we finally made it out of the house and decided to tack on some fun shopping.

1) Petsmart (a.k.a. Human Dumb): Dog food, dog toys.

2) Barnes & Noble: The first book in Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas series (she bought us both copies of Forever Odd for Christmas, which was the 2nd in the series), Elizabeth Berg's Talk Before Sleep (I swear I gave her a copy to read once years ago, but maybe she gave it back to me without reading it), and other stuff.

Once we got to B&N, and located the books we needed, I queried a friendly clerk about a non-fiction book about dead people.

"It's got a one word title. Morgue. Or Morbid. I can't recall, but it was a bestseller."

"Gee, are you talking about blah-blah's mystery series?" (Sex and Scapels or some shit)

"No, no. It's non-fiction. She's a freelance writer. It's a very blunt title. She visited morgues and stuff and describes dead people. But it's funny too. She wrote another book as well. Both recent. God, I cannot remember the title."

"Well," she said with curious intrigue as if I'd handed her a puzzle with half the pieces missing, "I'm gonna figure this out if it takes me all day!"

"Don't knock yourself out or anything..."

"I'll figure it out, I know I will."

By all means, go for it. I love that kind of fire in people. Since I'd worked in a bookstore myself, I knew exactly how she was trying to put all her resources together (visual memories from stocking books, computer searches, snatches of overheard conversations, etc).

Mom and I browsed more, picking up this and that as we went along.

Challenge lovin' clerk was still searching.

"Give me some more clues, words..."

"Ummm, try 'Cold.' No...wait..lemme think...what are some other words for dead people?? Oh, how 'bout 'Slab'?"

I knew I was getting close, but not quite...and suddenly a light went off in her head.

"Hold on!" She scurried off and scurried back with Stiff by Mary Roach.

"YES! That's IT!" I exclaimed. She was beaming.

"I knew I would find it for you eventually!"

"Where was it located?"

"Under Medical History, if you can believe that."

"Guess that makes sense. Oh, this is perfect. Thank you, thank you!"

We chatted a few more minutes about other books, I told her I used to work in a bookstore and how I was very visual with covers/titles (she said she was the same way), then I had her look up a few more titles from my rapid train of thought. I wound up picking up another medical book about a doctor's first years in residency that got great reviews (Hot Lights, Cold Steel) and mom bought a copy of The House of God that was referenced in reviews from the previous book.

It didn't even occur to me until the (most wonderfulliest) clerk (in the whole wide world) made a comment about "makes you never want to go to a hospital," that we'd just been to a
hospital with dad.

"Oh gosh, as a matter of fact..."

I mean, DUH.

Anyhoo, mom and I branched off for more browsing and I found her looking at craft books awhile later.

"Didn't you say you wanted to learn how to knit while you were here?" she asked.

"Oh yeah! I almost forgot!"

We pawed through book after book for beginners (she knows how to knit, but hasn't done it for 20 or so years and needed a refresher), and we finally settled on a few titles (we decided to check out Half Price Books later to save money).

I got a book on knitting basic scarves, and she picked up a neato How To book.

Then we headed to Hobby Lobby for yarn and knitting needles. I was about to buy up everything I could and she kept saying "You don't need that. And you don't need that. Just get some basic needles and yarn. And I've got knitting needles at home too."

"But I want my own," I pouted.

"You can have mine," she replied.

"But..but..but...what if you don't have the sizes I want? And they're OLD. I want new ones. That one book said I should try a variety of needles to see what I like best and you only have those metal ones. I want to try bamboo. And these, and these!"

"It's your money, honey." She shrugged.

She finally talked me down off the ledge and we compromised. I found some needles on clearance, then I ran across a cheap ($9.99) kit with a book, measuring gauge, 2 pairs of needles, and various other goofy doo-dads. I picked up 5 or so skiens of yarns, some plain and basic (ivory, light mossy green, deep maroon) and several variagated shades (light baby pastels, and dark blue, green and red).

We started knitting as soon as we could once we got back home and were settled in. We found her old knitting needles and she whipped out a bright yellow pair. I used a pair from my kit. She was glancing at one book and I was glancing at another. Took us forever to figure out the basic slipknot and casting on (but mom started to pick up quickly and had to keep stopping to help me).

My mossy green scarf is a bit too wide for the needles and I fucked up some stitches (mom was able to correct a few), but I'm on my fourth row! And let me tell you people:

Knitting.

Is.

Tedious.

I thought it was supposed to be relaxing. That I could sit there and knit without thinking about it, watching "The Waltons" or some crap. (That Mary Ellen! Oh lordy!) Or sitting in my rocking chair, drinking lemonade with my grown-up kids, listening to the grandchildren bash their skulls into the cement. (Back in my day, we didn't have sidewalks! We had sod. And Michael Jackson didn't molest children. Did I tell you about the time he set his hair on fire? For an advertisement of all things. For Pepsi. Jesus wept. Do you remember ads? Do you remember Pepsi? Tasted like sour rat piss. Did I tell you about the time I was in a Turkish prison for trying to sell oregano to a Swedish tourist? Sit back. Let grand-momo tell ya the story...)

No. Knitting requires THINKING. Look, I've only done 4 rows, so what the fuck do I know? But CHRIST. Knit, purl, back, forward, change the long chopsticks willy nilly, don't drop a stitch, you only bought one skein in that color with NO DYE LOT, are you insane? (per the book), how wide is that scarf gonna be anyway? (per mom), blah blah. But I do like it. I love mastering something new. No matter how half-assed.

Mom makes fun of me because I overdramatize every knitting move.

"Just take the other needle and loop it under. In front...and then behind. Hold down the yarn from the skein with the other finger. Keep it tight. Catch the knot and pull it over. DOWN. Not up. Geez. What are you DOING? You don't have to make a big production about it."

Then she tries to grab my sticks.

"No! No! I got it. I think. Look, I'm just remembering the other stitch thing from before. It's all backwards again. Don't hassle me. I'm creative. I need flair."

I am so saucy.

"Ok, whatever. You're not finishing some of your stitches though."

"I AM! I looped it over and everything. But I don't know what I did here. It's all gibby-wibbed."

Then she fixes my booboos. Cuz that's what mommas DO.

But you know what? She said she was proud of me. *beaming*

"Why comes?" I asked.

"Because you're doing really well...."

"And I'm learning a lost art, right?

"Yes, exactly. I can't even believe you wanted to learn how to knit in the first place..."

"Heh. I am full of surprises." I smirked while fucking up another stitch.

"Here, let me."

"Ok!"

I done gave up for the evening. I needed to get back to my normal life. Online. Posting an entry. Complete with HTML flourishes. Which is as foreign to mom as me making two sticks and yarn to create winterwear.

I have three new goals before I leave Houston:

1) Finish knitting my (barf) scarf.

2) Get mom to write a few sentences in my blog with HTML tags.

3) Buy another copy of Return to Castle Wolfenstein (my previous install and disc is hurling chunks at me), and get mom to kill some Nazis.

Hell, I convinced her to upgrade to a TV with a DVD player since I've been here. One of these days, that woman WILL get a computer.

World: You have been warned.

P.S. Don't forget I'll be running around with pointy knitting needles.

Have bitch, will travel.