Fahrenheit wha?

Sigh. Rest is over. Back to the grind. But first, what would Her Crankiness do without letting out a little rant?

We step back to a week ago as I made my way through the LBB airport. All I wanted to do was get out of Dodge the simplest way possible and in one piece. This means I packed light--one carry on, no laptop, flip flops for an easy toss into the xray bin. I figured I'd be through the line in a jiffy, ready to head for the mesas. Wrong.

A husky woman and her little henchwoman stopped me with the flip of a blue latexed hand (two by two, hands of blue). Husky says, "Do you have books in there?" Stunned, I say, "Um, yes." She motions to Igora to start the ransack process.

"How many?"
"I'm sorry, wha..."
"How many books?" She's impatient at this point, adjusting her belt and sucking in her gut.

"Um, 2"
"Really? 2?" She looks at Igora who laughs a sort of half whimper--meheheh, meheheh
"Yeah, 2."
Husky cocks one eyebrow up and looks at me with the reprimanding teacher look.
"Well, I mean, I've got a writing journal and a notebook, too, bu..."
"Aha!"
[I'm thinking Aha what?]

So they flip through my books and begin questioning me about them. The conversation on my end goes something like this: Lolita, you know, Nabokov? Humbert Humbert steals a girl's soul? yeah, ok, well suffice it to say it's a classic. and the other? oh yeah, it's Reading Lolita in Tehran. It's written by a professor who teaches a group of students in her home...you know, really, they're just books, you know? I mean, can I have my books back?

I don't think I was much more eloquent than that. Perhaps I was, but as I recall, I was just in an absolute stupor, and every ounce of my mental reserves went to restraining myself from calling them both dumbasses and telling them to get their azure hands off my fucking books.

I'm still pretty miffed about this. What's ironic about the whole thing, however, is that as I got on the plane and opened up Reading Lolita, I read a passage about how her books were confiscated at the airport in Tehran.

Anyway, it's over, but it still puts me in the foulest mood. I cannot believe I am living in this place. I feel like Cincinnatus C stuck in a prison with a paper moon, a plastic spider and a jailer who wants to dance with me, defend me, and execute me simultaneously. Fucking ridiculous this place is.

The Q

Got back from NM a few hours ago. Lovely trip for the most part. It actually felt like a vacation, which is probably because it wasn't tied into a conference of some sort. I walked for hours, visited galleries, took photos of anything that spoke to my heart, and ate green chiles with every meal. And I re-read Nabokov novels all week whilst drinking mass quantities of coffee and watching the sun either rise or set on my balcony or at some little patio cafe.

I also had the epiphany that I absolutely love being in a hotel and in an unfamiliar city alone.

The only downside was my little jaunt to Santa Fe, a city (I've learned) that I find offensive in its pretentiousness and overabundance of linen and straw hats. It is rugged and beautiful, but unlike Georgia O'Keefe, it is not "my city." That led me to realize that I'm not sure I've found my city yet. It might actually be in Chicago. I certainly did find myself while living there. Just not sure if it's home forever, though. Home forever, I think, would need to have mountains.

Ok, I'm exhausted. Going to indulge myself with a bubble bath and a pinot noir. There were a few humorous little anecdotes to share, but I'll write more tomorrow.

Side note: G, November can't come soon enough. craving Kimday and beaujolais nouveau.

Random thoughts

Today is the CPs bday. He's joined the league of thirtysomethings. I didn't bother offering to take him out. I did, however, buy him a card with a Vulcan on it. I forgot it at home.

Yesterday at the AcDec event, a kid was wearing a poncho--you know, the Clint Eastwood Good Bad and Ugly kind of serape poncho. I didn't see him at first until my friend leans over and sings in my ear [insert Ennio Morricone]. I choked on my own saliva laughing.

Training now for a new sporting event. It's the Avon 2 day 39 mile walk. A full marathon the first day and a half the second. We camp overnight. I'm a little anxious about walking for 39 miles. Running 26 was a long enough time on my feet. Still, it sounds like a challenge, and it raises money for breast cancer. They won't let us run because they can't close the streets for 2 full days, obviously. It's a safety issue.

At the same time, I'm training to run the Baylor Bearathon in March and the San Antonio Marathon in November. Neither of these is for charity.

Upcoming trips--Vegas in March, Lubbock and Chicago in April, and hopefully the northeast or colorado sometime in the summer.

Met a woman yesterday named Meg Swan. This was fuel for many chuckles throughout the day, especially since I was drinking Starbucks and working on my laptop.

Days off

Today is a day off for me. It's my Memorial Day, since my normal day off is Monday. The good thing is that it is a much nicer day than it was on Monday, but I'm bored. Really, I should be getting my Tech apps in the mail today, but instead I'm writing this post and then will head out to do some shopping. Tonight will be a tiny 20 min run followed by getting my ass packed for a weekend of Texas style camping. At some point tonight, you should all send me texts to make sure that I get my ass in gear and get those apps done. For some reason, I'm finding it easier to find the umph to run than to write my life's mission statement on family studies. Perhaps it is because I have no real mission statement. I dunno.

So tomorrow is my 1 year anniversary at my current job, wahoo. there will be much rejoicing, and then I'm headed somewhere for tubing and camping and then it's off to nola. And yes, I will be doing my 5 miles remotely at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday, I promise. This running thing is actually good for me because my first thought, after a 'stimulating' discussion with the cp [the c now standing for chicken or confused], was to head out to Catbirds and wish Glinda, Darth, or Praxis were here. But the thought of running tonight on a 6 pack of Vault and the Catbirds' sting sounded too unbearable.

In other news, Prax and I have a new character for a comic book--FenceRider, the superhero who can't come to a decision about anything. I picture him as the fool on the hill, pondering the 24 steps it would take to actually do something [and the risks involved in each step] instead of jumping off of his fucking fence and doing it. His power? He's a mastermind at making you believe that he's made a decision and an expert debater. Prax, I hope to see a preliminary sketch of the character by June 5. ;)