Returned

Remember when my scarf disappeared? And I was super pissed off at the universe? I am not kidding, I looked EVERYWHERE for that thing. I looked especially hard in my closet, because I figured that was the most likely place for it to be, unless it was purloined to construct a robot kitty army or similar (also fairly likely). I looked on the shelves, under my purses, in all the corners. I even crawled around with a flashlight in case it slipped down behind the shoes or under my possibly-too-large collection of coats. So you can imagine my surprise this morning when I found it folded on a shelf IN MY CLOSET, almost in plain sight. I took a picture of it in case the universe decides to yank my chain again and I need to put up flyers. Notice how the back and front are different? I love that about it because I can dial down the orange if I want. I tried to take a picture of myself wearing it so you know what it looks like on. You know, so if it disappears again and you see someone wearing it you can kick some scarf-stealing ass. Unfortunately, I am not very good at taking pictures of myself, apparently, as I made approximately eight thousand attempts and ended up with not one publishable photo for my trouble. So you will just have to use your imagination when you are trying to decide whether you should attack someone to get my scarf back for me.

Anyway, you might surmise that the scarf was in my closet all along and I just didn't see it, but you would be dead wrong. The scarf was not in the closet. It disappeared and then it came back. I don't know why, and I don't especially care. My friend Sarah thinks I earned some karma points after the poker chips yesterday and the spaghetti mess this morning. See, I dropped a giant steaming plate of pasta and sauce as I was heating up leftovers for breakfast. It landed all over the microwave, the stove, the floor and me. The clean-up was pretty daunting; I was thinking of just moving out. To a clothing-free community. So maybe she's right, because that WAS pretty bad and definitely deserving of some redistribution of spiritual wealth.

The scarf is back, and that's good, but I like to plan ahead a little. Just a little, mind you, mostly I'm a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. At least until my pants rip and I crash and burn in a bloody heap, but that almost never happens. Right now, though, I'm thinking I should stock up on scarves so I always have a couple of spares for the next time the universe gets all smart with me. This one came from Qatar, so if you know someone at The Deid that wants to go can tolerate scarf shopping for me, let me know!

And on an unrelated note, I have a minor correction and also a comment about yesterday's post. I have been informed that what I described as a hole to China in the lawn is actually a hole to Africa. Presumably it makes a sharp turn down there somewhere, perhaps around the Mohorovicic Discontinuity. And finally, I feel I was unfairly accused of whining in the comments, when in fact I was not whining at all, but merely stating facts.

That's all, my friends; catch you next week! If you have time, check out Doraville for some new entries from my mother's book. My beloved Helen has been working like crazy posting them; isn't she the best?!?!?!!? Of course, if you know Helen, you already know that. But a reminder doesn't hurt- love you, Helen!

Wanker List

Is 'wanker' my favorite word? One of my friends was speculating. I think it was sort of an insult, but what can you do, right? I can only say maybe, but only because it has to be. If there weren't so many dang wankers out there, my favorite word would be 'flowing rivers of cab with chocolate trees on the bank', now wouldn't it? That would be way better, believe you me. Do you think I LIKE having to call things 'wanker' all day? I DON'T. But some things just can't be helped, so here's my wanker list for today:

Edwards Air Force Base
State of Missouri
State of Louisiana (a perennial list-topper)
Target

I never thought Missouri would make the list, but there you have it. It has a lot going for it, what with that cool arch, and tons of my awesome friends live there, so it's pretty much a downer to have to put it on the list. And what of Target, you ask? How could our good old pal Target make the list? That red -spotted mecca I dreamed of from Osan while desperately searching the BX for some out of stock sundry? Surely I must have had too much wine, you say? Well, maybe, but no thanks to you, Target wanker! This afternoon I went in there to load up for a pizza party with the family, and carefully chose two bottles of Target's finest. My brother-in-law laughed himself silly when he heard I was trying to buy wine at Target, but they actually have a pretty nice selection.

When I went to the register, I was carded. And let me just say I have reached the legal drinking age. In fact, before too long I will have reached it twice. For identification, I presented my 'retired' status military ID card, which will not scan on their machines. I do this on purpose, because I am opposed to this ubiquitious scanning scam on privacy grounds. Today they want to scan your driver's license for personal information to be stored in their marketing database; tomorrow they're going to install a shunt in your spine so they can just start sucking you dry without even bothering with your debit card. You heard it here first. Didn't you guys ever see Tank Girl? We should all be very afraid. And I don't know why it only has 4.7 stars because it is the MOST FANTASTIC MOVIE EVER. Wankers.

Anyway, I was informed that because my ID wouldn't scan they require two clerks to verify my birth date. I waited patiently while the cashier called for assistance. I was quiet while she flipped her flashing light on. My tolerance started to wane, though, when she walked over to the customer service desk searching for an appropriate staff member to look at my birth date. I guess not all of them are qualifed to calculate my age because she passed about ten of those red shirt and khaki pant clad jokers. But when she asked me to wait while she rang up the person behind me, I couldn't stand it anymore and told her she could keep the wine. She probably needs it more than me anyway, especially when they come after her with the spine shunt. They always start with the employees. Take heed, people: this kind of thing NEVER happens at the thrift store.

Discombobulated

Wow, my head is spinning. I've been back here in the states for a whole month now and I thought I was doing pretty well. I am no longer shocked when I go to Safeway for milk and see that they have several organic varieties, in stock ALL THE TIME, and I haven't blown through a stop sign without slowing or looking for WEEKS. But today we paid our first visit to a stateside base, other than the ill-fated trips to the ER for boil treatment, that is, and can I just say, it was freakishly weird.

The BX was at the top of the order, and first of all, it is HUGE. I was never much of a BX-goer before we moved to Osan so I don't know if it's abnormally large or not, but I almost hyperventilated. I swear, you could put the Mustang Mall at Osan in there at least ten times. I feel bad going on about it, knowing some of you are probably reading this from Osan where you can hawk a loogie from one side of the BX to the other, and I still can't stop myself. Row after row of shoes! Aisle after aisle of toys! They had stacks of Yellow Tail wine for $2.99 a bottle, and even had a pinot noir, which I had never seen before. I started frantically calculating ration points and tossing cases into my cart until I remembered that now I can buy however much hooch I can drink, or however much I can afford anyway, and that if I go back next week, it will still be there. And the week after that, and even the week after that, until infinity. Every time I went around a corner, I looked up expectantly to see who was there, and I felt strangely deflated when everyone was totally unfamiliar. The Commissary was similar, enormous and full of people I didn't know. Bizarre.

After that, we drove by the thrift store, which is open FOUR days a week and chock-full of castoff goodness. I got there twenty minutes before it closed and I barely had time to briefly inspect the previously loved wares. But did I mention it's open four days a week? I can go back tomorrow! Just in time to hit the BX for another load of wine. God bless America, my friends. And the thrift store. And cheap Australian reds.