Random things (There are not 25, and this is not the meme you are looking for *waves hand*)

I don't spend all my time ranting about politics and god, but there's been a lack of personal shit happening, and it's been really slow at work. Which I suppose I should be happy about. Here's a short list of what's been going on.

1. I bought S. a copy of A Separate Peace, which he hadn't read, and of course he loved it. Which makes me want to buy people more books, and also makes me want to reread A Separate Peace...which is in general not a good idea. Don't ask me what inspired me to buy one of the saddest books ever for S., but I was at the used bookstore, and there were all these copies because its required reading for the three biggest private schools in the area, and they all looked like they needed a home. There are certain books that do that to me, every time I see a copy I have to buy it. Watership Down, Jane Eyre, The Handmaids Tale, The Phantom Tollbooth, World According To Garp. They deserve good homes, surrounded by Norton Anthologies and old sociology books. I'm totally going to be one of "those" aunts. Also, you would think I would know how to spell separate by now, but spellcheck always tells.

2. I already mentioned this on Facebook, but let's try and decipher it. This morning I was cleaning receipts out of my clutch (so much better to say than purse, it's NOT a purse after all) when I ran across a note I had scribbled on the back of one. First, the receipt in question is from North Midway Travel Plaza (Marjorie was my cashier), and I'm pretty sure this note was written on the way back from Baltimore with S. It says:

"Squirrel Hill Tunnel
The ghost of Judy Blume is giving me head
Connor O is the new Eagles
Devachka"

According to Wiki, Squirrel Hill tunnel is in Pittsburgh, and contrary to Wiki, it is not possible to hear FM radio all thru the tunnel, so Carnegie Mellon students suck. I remember we took this detour through Pittsburgh because S. was trying to hide the fact he was kidnapping me to West Virginia. And we hooked up with the local NPR station, which was doing a New Years countdown of their top forty albums of the year.

While that explains the Connor O comment, which by the way is TOTALLY TRUE, it doesn't explain the Judy Blume bon mot. And unfortunately, I can't either. I remember S. said it and it was the funniest thing ever, and then we went in the tunnel.

And that last one is actually spelled Devochka (so I did pretty well guessing the spelling off the radio) and its a band, some sort of world music I heard on the countdown and really liked.

3. I found another receipt that said this on the back: I don't know what to make of it either...

"8 oz white wine
4 oz Castor sugar
1/4 pineapple sliced
2 oranges zested and juiced"

4. I'm calling it now, Stefan is totally going to win Top Chef.

5. My hair is excruciatingly long right now. If you've only known me in the last six years, this is probably the longest you've ever seen it. This is because a)I should get my cat's teeth cleaned before I get a haircut and b)I've been really unhappy with my last few haircuts even though they were almost exactly the same as the way I used to get it cut. So I'm trying to figure out what to do next, and it's rolling around in my brain, which I figure is a good place for it because it's so close to the subject.

5. I went to a wake last night for a friend's mother who I didn't know, but you know, you go for your friend. And then this morning I heard the news about another friend's mother who just died. Two things I think about this: I should really go pick up that shirt my mom bought me that she's been pestering me to come get for a month now, and it's uncomfortable to be an atheist at a wake. Not that it isn't already uncomfortable to be at a wake, I mean, that's the role of the not very close friend. You come to the wake and you deal with uncomfortable, because it makes your friend more comfortable.

I just think I'm too weird of a person to do right at these functions. Because the other side effect is that I get wistful looking at all the people who know the deceased and all the awesome super cute beautiful photos of their life and how much their kids look like them, and I wish I could have met the person. Or watched a movie of their life. Maybe that's the true intent of a wake, but you still feel everyone looking at your dry eyes, wondering why you're here.

Anyway, it makes me feel like a cold-hearted person, because I think about observations like these too much, and I don't feel enough sadness. I don't get sad around death, not nearly the way I think I should, and I wonder where that comes from. I know I've talked about this before here, so I won't go into it more. But doesn't it make me a weird person that in a detached way, I am really curious about how I'll react when one of my parents die, or a sibling? I love them, I want nothing to happen to them. But none of us are living forever, and I just wonder if maybe I never really loved Peter that much and that's why I was okay when he died, or if it runs deeper than that. I guess we'll find out someday.