Have you seen these?
A Year in Books - 2009-12-27
Skip Tracer, Loan Detective - 2009-11-22
New Job - 2009-11-03
The coleslaw got served. - 2009-10-21
Probably a new job. But maybe not. - 2009-10-08

Ana and the Ngettes, World Tour
2001-04-25 1:13 p.m.

Hmm. Lotsa stuff on my mind, but none of it is very amusing. Tell you what. Why don't you imagine that I'm singing this whole entry. Anything is funnier if you sing it, especially lounge singer style. Trust me on this one.

Ahem. Mimimimimimiiiii.

I bought a skirt yesterday. It is black and short and flouncy and practically perfect. The only trouble is, I bought it at the thrift store (Backup singers, The Ngettes, snapping their fingers: Four dollars! Four dollars!!) and it smells kinda musty but it's silk so I can't wash it. Right now it's airing out on the porch. I hope that helps. Or maybe I'll try Febreeze (The Ngettes: If you go to Formal, try not to look too obvious about it when you bend down to smell Ana's skirt, shadoobie doo waah!)

Seriously, though, I can't say enough good things about the Cowtown thrift store. (Thrifty! She's so very thrifty! Sha doobie doobie) I found the slightly musty skirt, AND a pair of jeans in my size. (She's so tall, and her legs are so long, it's always hard to find good jeans, doobie doobie doobie) I couldn't believe it. I was totally out of jeans, too. Every single pair I owned developed holey knees in, I shit you not, maybe a month's timespan. I hate holey jeans. I tried to salvage one pair by covering up the hole with a patch, but then the other knee went out too. Am I five years old here? What the hell? I am far too old to be walking around in jeans with patches on both knees. (Secretly, she blames the cat, shadoobie doobie)

After finding the skirt, I went back to the laundromat. I'd left after putting my stuff in the dryer, because someone I recognized as a regular from Kristina's was there. He started telling me all about how his daughter died of cancer two weeks ago. She went in the hospital the Monday before Easter, and was out Good Friday. The following Tuesday, someone stopped by to check on her, and found her dead on the floor. They tried to tell him she must have died that morning, but he noticed that she didn't go out to get Monday's mail. He thinks she was dead since Sunday, and no one knew.

OK, I felt bad for him. I really did. But I simply had no idea what to say. I was racking my brain trying to remember if this was the guy who liked his eggs over easy or scrambled. Does he drink regular or decaf? How bad would it be if I interrupted him right now, to ask him? And that made it even worse, that he was telling me all this. I just kept thinking, I don't know you, buddy. I wish I could be there for you right now, and I really desperately hope I'm not the only person you think you can tell all this to, but I really don't have a clue how to help you right now. (She hates the Laundromat, oh yeah yeah. Everytime she goes there lately, something fucked up happens. Shadoobie doo--what? Don't look at us like that. We're just the backup.)

Uh, maybe having them sing there was a little hardcore. Take five, ladies.

I hate stuff like that. I swear, I have no social skills at all. As soon as I desperately need to say the right thing, my brain just shuts down. Should I have hugged him? I don't even know his name. But he was baring his soul to me, and I felt like ten different kinds of shit, for not knowing how to respond. I listened. I know it wasn't enough, but it was the best I could do.

As soon as possible, I put my stuff in the dryer, and got the hell out. I went to K-Mart, and saw absolutely no black skirts. I figured I'd have similar problems anywhere I went. It's spring. The stores are all about pastels. So, I decided to peek in the thrift store, and found the skirt of my dreams. Or, maybe a musty version of the skirt of my dreams.

I went back to the laundromat. The guy was gone, and I was relieved, but then I felt shitty again, for being so glad he was gone. No matter. I had achieved Skirt. All I needed now was Shoes.

.

.

.

I said, "All I needed now was Shoes."

.

.

.

Ahem. Um, Ladies?

(What? You told us to stop with the singing.)

Yeah, but you can come back now.

(We're on break.)

Can't I get a real quick "Shoe doobie doobie" or something?

(Do it yourself. We've got a union, you know.)

Jeez. What kind of a world is it, when I have to make my own bad puns? Sha-shoebie shoebie.

I dropped the laundry at home, and drove to Zenith. I had actually seen shoes that were decent at K-Mart, but I wanted to be sure I got the best shoes possible. I started way down at the Shopko end of the strip, and prepared to work my way down. Shopko, nothing. (Nothing!) Payless, nothing. (Nothing!) Target, nothing. (Nothing! Shadoobie doobie.) "Screw this," I thought. I'm going to peek in Rogan's real quick, then go back and buy the damn shoes from K-mart.

My car would not start. No sounds of the engine turning over, or anything. (There was also a religious tract under the windshield wiper, shadoobie doobie. Probably just a coincidence, doo wah!)

I considered my options. My parents would be closest, but they wouldn't be home from work for two hours. I could call D., but he couldn't do anything to help me. I had the car, and he couldn't have driven anyway. I ended up calling DiabloLand. Bob was the only one home. He drove to Zenith, and jumpstarted me. The "Check Engine" light stayed on all the way home.

Today, it's finally out. I'm trying to convince myself that this is just like my old car. The Check Engine light used to just randomly come on for no apparent reason, then shut itself off. Eventually, I decided this was just some sort of drill the car put itself through. Yup...I've got an engine. Carry on.

Crap, though. D seems to be working full time again for a while, but it'll take me at least two months to get the money put aside to get this looked at. And that's not counting all the other stuff I know is wrong with it too. Dammit, car. Why are you so hard to love?

That was yesterday. Today, I cleaned my house. I could so totally get used to this two days off a week. I got so much done. And, Nick has told me not to worry about the weekend at all, he'll take care of it. I don't know what I'll do with myself. (Silly Rabbit. You'll drink. A lot. Shadoobie doobie!)

Shadoobie doobie, indeed, girls. Shadoobie doobie, indeed.

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