the flower shop post will be back after these messages

please hold..

a green glass fruit bowl

So. I went to the unemployment office today. Finally.

Funny. I've worried my entire life about being laid off.

Almost as though worrying would buffer me against the future.

Almost as a form of payment.

Like paying a toll. Or praying. Like some kind of unspoken agreement had been made between me and fate - long ago.

I put in the time:

Victoria worried about fifteen hours this week..

ding!

[absolved]

I used worrying as currency. The way others might use information, flattery - even, bootleg levis.

No. Going to the unemployment office was no big deal.

I don't know why it gets such a bad rap.

Being laid off = bad

Getting some help from the government = yay

And I enjoyed the building's clear promise via its design.

Straight forward and clean. Brick. Wood paneling. Nice, neat overhead lighting.

This was a late 1970's comment on making the "whole thing" more pleasant. With authority; with familiarity.

Make it useful. Make it simple. Make it clean.

I should note that people, if they bathe just once a day, will smell better (actually, like nothing). And that it's only fair to bathe just once a day.

Buried hostility might rear it's head in the form of non-bathing. But, incredibly, never in the form of expensive jeans, leather jackets or any way-ward Doritos.

All and all, I give it an 8.

And, then, a mere two and a half hours later, I was on my way back home.

This is when I bought a $7.00 fruit bowl.

Odd. I've bought nothing in over a year. But, now that I'm jobless, apparently, I buy things like fruit bowls.

It all happened so fast:

I was walking through this resale shop that I go to sometimes, as it is on my way home.

And, I was about to leave when I spotted this fruit bowl.

At first I looked away.

Yes, it was green glass. And it was oval. And it was somewhat irregular - all good, good points.

And it stood on four legs, for no reason other than to elevate itself. And that's the kind of detail that makes me go crazy (over things like fruit bowls).

And, if it's possible, it seemed (as a bowl) to be both unassuming - as well as a little bit in love with itself.

But, I had other things on my mind. Things other than fruit bowls.

Then, all of a sudden, the sun came out, which flooded the windows with light. Which caused the fruit bowl to cast sparkling prisms all around the room.

I didn't know it could do that.

And, since it was that kind of blustery day - sunny, then cloudy, then sunny, then cloudy - this happened not once, not twice, but probably seven or eight times.

Any twinkly sound effect that I heard was probably all in my head. Truth be told, I'm sure it all happened very quietly. And no one else seemed to notice, when it did.

I was transfixed.

Now - the whole thing (the sensuous shape of the fruit bowl, the glittering green glass, the usefulness of it's function as juxtaposed with it's charm and near magical properties) had become so paramount in my mind, that I was afraid I would not make it over to the fruit bowl in time.

That is, before somebody else did.

Quickly (expertly) I climbed over a stack of old TVs and shimmied through a bunch of couches. The fruit bowl was, by then, just out of reach, so I dragged a couch (that I had become caught on) with me for the remaining 18 inches, or so.

The fruit bowl. It was mine.

And heavier than I imagined.

And whatever it lacked in practicality, it made up for in history.

It's from the late 1960's. I could almost still see the plastic grapes that once certainly spilled out of it.

I swear, I had no idea that any of this would happen.

Originally, I went in to this resale shop to look for bad art. It's been a while since this resale shop has had any really good bad art.

Still, one keeps hoping.

Then I saw it. The fruit bowl.

I don't remember buying it at all. Just that suddenly they were wrapping it up in newspaper and helping me put it into my back pack.

That's when they said, Thank you, come again!

That's when I went home. Straight home.

phones

Why is my old phone still doing things like blinking and occasionally ringing?

Not that my new phone doesn't work. It does. But sometimes my old phone over-rides my new phone.

I have two phones.

I guess it's like job sharing. One phone takes a break to go get some fresh air (perspective), so the other one reports for duty.

It's between them. The phones. They've worked it all out.

It's really none of my business.

I'll just take both phones (and the landline) with me wherever I go.

So convenient.

Email?

Forget it. I have several telephones!

who am I, and what have I done with me?

I've only been unemployed for forty-eight hours and already I've forgotten how to spell, cook and bathe.

I need a salad. I need to take a vitamin.

I need to locate my keys and my backpack.

I need to do laundry and go file for unemployment.

And since Monday - I've noticed subtle shifts in my relationships.

Like, today. The way my boyfriend brought the mail up from the vestibule. As though I'm infirm or housebound.

Or, yesterday, they way he offered me toast and a kiss.

What the hell?

And, I should mention that as recently as this morning, I've had cheetos.

(all classic signs and will be analyzed over the course of the next week)

On a more responsible note, I've discovered the top keywords for this blog:

gortex snowpants

knee pain algorithm

my mom only uses an algorithm

stain monsters

how to build a gingerbread house

40 years ago i sold my body

horseradish

raggedy ann sticker

unreasonable fear of clowns

japanese snack cakes

earwax smells like mildew

But, it does. The cafe, I mean. You know, Earwax, the cafe?

Ring a bell?

It's in my neighborhood.

And it has always smelled like mildew at Earwax (even when it was located somewhere else).

That's what I meant.

What did they mean?

That is, why would anyone (other than me) ever type "earwax smells like mildew"?

And why have so many typed it?

Because that phrase is at the very top of the list. And, since we're talking about it, has ALWAYS been at the top of the list.

Unless they, too, the people googling that phrase, mean the cafe. But, I seriously doubt it.

In fact, sometimes, I have to wonder if anyone else even notices that Earwax smells like mildew.

Because, I've brought it up with a few people - and all they do is nod. And start talking about something else.

if you're reading this my computer is already dead

Oh, computer, please start working again.

Please.

Let's start at the beginning.

On Monday I was laid off from my job.

Today is already Wednesday.

But Monday feels like it happened just a few hours ago.

Because ever since that lovely, surprise, kleenex-free moment (where kleenex was very much needed - but not to be found) on Monday, where I was simply to file for unemployment and look for work - I have had nothing but stupid set backs.

Yesterday: my phone died.

It did. It died. Out of nowhere. Right on time.

So I went to the phone store to get a new phone. And I did - after an hour of being activated - get a new (pink) phone.

But when I got home I realized that I was missing the manual and companion disk - for my new pink phone.

I could have probably gotten by without it.

But, just as I was thinking that I could get by without it - my old phone rang.

The girl from the phone store was calling to let me know I had left my manual and disk at the phone store.

I could barely understand her. It was the old, dead phone after all.

So I went back out (into the tundra) to the phone store (on foot).

No problem.

But I did not "forget" anything. It was because she was unorganized that I didn't get those things (with the new phone - in the box, where they belonged).

It was because she kept trying to work within this tiny amount of space - on her counter. But everything (my old phone, the box with the new phone, her keyboard, her pen, her banana, her sandwich) didn't fit onto that counter.

I kept thinking, move your lunch elsewhere, move the keyboard back where it belongs.. (there was a space for it lower on the desk).

Just, clear off that space.

She acted as though the whole thing - her lack of space - was a brand new problem.

An "all a sudden", on the spot inconvenience.

As though she hadn't dealt with it ever before (because - really, she hadn't).

And she seemed very concerned with her new pink manicure.

Very concerned.

I mean, I'm happy for her and her manicure - but what good do such perfectly pink fingernails (with a finish like justice) have to do with anything - if the woman behind the perfect pink manicure can't get it together enough to get me what goes in the box with my new phone (when I leave)?

Or, for that matter, activate my phone?

Because my new pink phone had not been activated. That is why my old red phone rang when she called me.

It really seemed like the new phone had been activated.

It really did.

It was forty minutes. Lots of waiting and boiling to death in my heavy coat.

I don't know. I am out of a job. I can't afford any phone right now. And I guess I have all the time in the world - but at this point all I could think was, get your shit together, dumbass.

Not that I said this. No. It didn't show.

What did show was that I was exhausted. That I had been crying. That I couldn't stand how hot it was in there.

But, forty minutes later, this time with her boss right at her side (and obviously pissed off at her) it got reactivated. My phone.

Her boss was so aggrevated that I kept apologizing.

It was crazy.

If he (her boss) was mad at her - couldn't he have kept that between them?

Now I found them both to be totally unprofessional - and, as much as she was clueless - I felt for her.

And you know, it's not my problem "to feel for her".

So I left. Finally. My new phone activated. At last.

But it wasn't activated.

I went home. I plugged in some numbers - then I went to return a phone call from eight hours earlier. You know, trying to be professional.

And I got an outgoing message: your phone has not been activated..

I called customer service on my landline.

There was no record that my new phone had ever been activated.

That girl had done NOTHING.

Ok.

I got it all straightened out.

Then I went to bed.

I mean right to bed. I wanted to make this day and the one before it just go away.

Sleep.

It would give me strength. Peace. I would wake up a better person.

And maybe, who knows - maybe all of this was just a dream?

I got up this morning, remembered that I was unemployed, and attempted to sign on to AOL.

I needed to do a couple of things:

I needed to file for unemployment and I wanted to check craigslist for jobs.

Oh, and check my email. I gleaned from the few messages that I did get (on my new phone) that some leads were being sent to to me.

But I could barely get on line.

And when I did - it was ten minutes before I could download anything.

It was choppy and freezy and stupid.

It dropped me and signed me out - without notice.

I kept rebooting.

I kept going into my security to try to restore things. To clean things. To compress things. To get things back to normal.

I went online for live help.

But it was impossible. I kept timing out (per all the things I just described).

So I called AOL on the phone. My new phone.

I was on hold forever. My call got dropped twice. Because my new phone royally sucks.

Finally, when I did get through, they said they would connect me to the right department (which I thought I had already gotten through to) and I got an out going message with a number.

I wrote down the number. Hung up and placed the call.

the number rang and a woman in a breathy voice informed me that I need to be eighteen to continue this call.

I pressed "yes". It was a sex chat line.

I tried again.

Yep, sex chat.

I got through to another tech support person after waiting fifty-five minutes.

I got through and she wanted to help me.

But I was so busy telling her about the wait times and the sex chat line - that, she too, dropped me - quite by "mistake".

I was certainly about to be blacklisted.

Certainly.

Eventually I got someone who helped me restore whatever had happened to my connection.

I was so grateful. By then.

To get what I've payed for. so grateful.

(I hardly brought up the sex chat thing at all)

Ten hours.

That is how long it took to get back on line.

Yes.

I'm going to go to bed.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe..

whatevs

Thank goodness the whole black hole thing cleared itself up (here in my apartment).

I was really worried.

Weird how no one from the world of science (or that of the FBI) appealed to my plea.

It's like they said (the honest people at Hadron): such black holes should be small and should evaporate quickly, of their own accord.

awesome!

And, if it were otherwise, I guess I'd have a real problem right about now. The kind I might not be able to deal with very effectively here, at frankenmonsterblog.

But historically (say 300 years from now) it would at least (frankenmonsterblog would at least) be relevant as part of a whole "time line" that would certainly reveal itself. Later.

History always revealing itself - eventually.

What I'm worried about now are those pesky stragglers.

Stragglers can instantly turn the entire planet into a "dead lump" (scientists say).

Here, in this apartment, that remains to be seen.

Stay tuned.

Anyway..

The 24th of this month marks the fortieth anniversary of the first ever astronautical view of the earth as seen from the moon.

Where the earth was described for the first time ever as "fragile and small".

Just another little planet with not much more than a "common little star" for a sun.

Though blue. Though thriving. Though clearly alive.

Wow. I love that.

All I recall is that Snoopy was decked out as an astronaut more often than not.

One world. One planet. The evidence was in. At least according to Snoopy. And moon boots. And moon cereal..

Must have been such a heady time. What with Christmas and the moon and everything.

Merry Christmas!

mybad

I have a problem.

Wow it feels good to just state it like that. I have a problem. Ok.

It all started about three weeks ago - when, one day, I became bored.

[boredom: the delusion that one's laziness is caused by something outside of oneself]

So, after a few attempts at playing chess against my computer - then adopting the pretense of "cleaning up this mess" - I just started smashing protons together.

I know. That's bad.

That's why it's so good.

I knew it was stupid - even as I was doing it. But I couldn't stop.

Protons are endlessly smashable (turns out).

Endlessly. Like play-doh. Or cookie dough.
Either way.

And smashing protons is way better than, say, filing bills or cleaning desks.

Actually, I wanted to distract myself from the very bills that would reveal themselves at the bottom of the stack (on my desk).

So, after smashing protons together for about fifteen minutes I guess I lost interest and went to make a sandwich.

Nothing fancy. Just a PB and J.

Though I did toast the bread. And I used a little butter. That is, an omega3 infused "buttery spread".

Albeit, redundantly - it turns out the peanut butter was already infused with omega3!

So crazy.

But healthy - crazy but healthy. That's my motto.

So the sandwich was great.

And I forgot all about the earlier protons. And got on with the process of "hanging out", as they say.

That is, I did nothing for the rest of the day.

It was probably six or seven hours before I happened to walk past my office again.

It was then that I saw the black hole for the first time.

I was shocked.

The black hole was everything I had imagined it would be:

It was black. It was a hole.

It was floating three inches above from my stapler, just to the left of the lamp.

I noticed today that its dimensions have increased. It's at least three times the size it was yesterday.

I've checked around the apartment and nothing seems to be missing.

But still, how annoying?

..stupid black hole that never goes away..!

does this whole page look magnified to you?

Has it looked that way to you for a while?

Note: it was never supposed to look that way.

I really am all out of ideas. I've checked everything out.

How long this has been going on?

Has it been years? (My god!)

I have it all spelled out in my template - my original template (four years old) that I have been tweaking the entire time.

I realize per my research today - that blogs look different depending on the browser one is using.

But this is crazy.

Advice..?

please disregard previous post

The thing I wrote about the letters was nice and everything. But it was merely an exercise in avoiding the reality of the situation.

In all truth:

I need to file.

I need to FILE badly.

That's how the thing with the letters started in the first place (how typical that I instead sat back and enjoyed reading the letters).

I feel, here (with the shredder sitting not a foot away) that it's probably a good idea to simply purge all files right now, and begin again.

Not the letters (or cards), but the all the rest that has piled up as a result of the letters (and cards), so to speak.

"Letters (and cards)" being a sort of umbrella - meant to describe a myriad of things that have come my way since my dad died.

Things that require special focus. And any lack of special focus meant a stack of such proportions would grow in my office. Not like a weed, but like a database.

I let my files go - for too long.

Now I see a stack of recipes, bills and various diary entries (all written on random pieces of paper - all without any dates to lend any context) and tears from magazines for a million different purposes - all mixed together in one neat 4' high 8.5 x 11 stack.

It's a stack with sharp edges that is placed at a right angle to the room, and points East, if that matters.

For whatever reason the kittens have not disturbed it, and for that I'm very glad.

And - I can only hope that it's just receipts, recipes, etc.

Really, I have no idea.

Rather than a shredder, what I need is an incinerator. As the idea of using my shredder for so many hours makes me cringe. How loud of me?

Because we recently upgraded to a better one.

Better meaning louder.

Better not being extraordinary.

extraordinary = quieter

quieter = $ + extrodinary

This, too, applies to vacuum cleaners. An upgrade will only be louder. It's only when one begins loitering in the "investment" tier of vacuum buying - that the vacuums begin being quieter.

Much, much quieter.


Victoria lives in Chicago and occasionally writes in her blog..

hard copies, indeed

I've been going through some old cards and letters that I "inherited" from my dad.

This was actually a much worse pile - a few years ago. I remember an entire garbage bag filled with what seemed like every greeting card in the world.

So, I pared that down. Chose quickly what looked like actual letters, then sifted through the greeting cards for what appealed to me visually - trying to take note of any meaningful /family connections.

The greeting cards were fun for me. The truly tacky, colorful vintage designs appeal to me the most.

And if those were from friends or family, all the better.

Because it's not about cards. ..It's about people.

See. That will be my tagline. For my card company.

Anyway, either way, it had to be pared down. A process I began just a few days ago.

I know. It's been three years. But that's how long it took for me to get this rolling.

Besides, I wanted to address these things thoughtfully. Not hurriedly. And I'm glad that I waited until I was ready.

What I discovered were millions of letters written to my mom and dad from a hand full of people - that, when organized, tell a fascinating story that reads very much like a book.

These letters are a real slice of life that I would have otherwise been ignorant of.

Fact: my parents were people. With lives. Though I knew this intellectually - the proof is so enlightening.

These letters are mostly from the early part of the 1960's. Vernacular was surprisingly not all that different. Colloquialism, however, obviously has changed.

Each persons reluctance to spell out swear words, for instance, yet allude to them anyway (in various ways) is charming.

Funny. That people wrote at all. I know they had telephones. I mean these were letters. Three, four pages, typed and handwritten.

Making even the mundane events reported sparkle - as people seemed to not only really care about things, but have personal writing styles that held a readers attention (even me, forty-five years later, totally uninvolved - could not put these letters down).

I was disappointed when I came to the bottom of the stack.

I began to be able to identify who had written what - per the person's style of writing.

And I really started to care, for instance, whether Kay would ever finally, really - for once and for all agree to marry Gunnar.

..then what happened?

Exactly.

What the hell has happened to us?

I mean, what in the hxxx (rhymes with bell) has happend to us?