It’s Day 16 of captivity. I’m finding ways to amuse myself.
For example, I created a pandemic playlist. Y’all know I love a good playlist, and there’s something for everyone here.
I watched Tiger King, along with most of America, it seems.
Yes, it’s really the batshit crazy train wreck everyone says it is.
Someone posted a genius Bingo card for it.
This is what my card looked like after 30 minutes into JUST ONE EPISODE.
I had a virtual happy hour with Goat Yoga Lisa. And 36-hour Tina has planned one for Wednesday. During our chat, Lisa mentioned that her photos from St. Patrick’s Day 2019 showed up in her Facebook feed.
Lisa: There I was, in crowds! Standing close to people! Drinking other peoples drinks! Me: Those halcyon days.
The family has laughed plenty playing board games.
I wish I could remember what the answer was for this Sensosketch.
I’ve done my spring (and summer and fall) cleaning plus all the laundry. I’ve been cooking nonstop. I even made egg salad — something I don’t often make because I hate peeling eggs.
The pollen has given me a headache and sore throat, but I’m still obsessively taking my temperature just to be sure.
You and I clearly are kindred spirits. My friend Nick mentioned your Museum of Curiosities as a place to check out the next time I was in London. In fact, he specifically said this:
It looks like how I imagine the inside of your head looks.
Well, he’s not wrong.
My head is filled with flotsam and jetsam, much like your museum.
In fact, your website celebrates the lack of categorization as part of the mission.
This museum will merely display everything that has glittered & caught the eye of it’s founder.
I just want to take a moment to recognize your genius. Where else can a jar of Amy Winehouse’s poop live alongside some terrible taxidermy?
As I was able to visit recently, here are some visual aids for readers who think I’m kidding:
This is pretty bad, even as bad taxidermy goes.
And part of Amy outside her music lives on.
BFs 4EVA!
It must be weird to be a celebrity whose detritus is museum worthy.
There is plenty going on in this case. Almost too much for intake.
Id like to copy edit the museum mission statement, but I won’t. Here it is with all its charm intact:
The Museum has no overreaching aim beyond the theft of it’s visitors time and the hope that it will provide amusement by return & hopes to fill the vacuum between what the establishment elite believes is worthy of worship & what exists in the world.
Good news: It did ABSOLUTELY provide amusement. This is exactly the sort of place that provides a perfect afternoon for me.
Thanks for hanging out with me at the AEW event Wednesday night. I know it won’t be long before the last thing you want to do is hang out with your mom.
To be honest, though, not many of the moms we know would want to watch professional wrestling. Er, RASSLIN’ (as it is known in the South).
(You know, if I knocked out some of my teeth, this and the taxidermy would give me the redneck trifecta. You would never know I had a doctoral degree. Yes, I know I’m stereotyping.)
But you and I have watched AEW since it started last year. We HAD to see it live.
Luckily, we like the same characters.
Jungle Boy (i.e., Luke Perry’s kid), Luchasaurus and Marko Stunt (Jurassic Express)? Yes.
Sammy Guevara, who always has his tongue out? Hell no.
Our seats were decent, and we got to sit in a group of folks who were ALL IN for Moxley and Hangman Page, whose beer-grabbing is killing us (in a good way).
When they chanted, “This is AWESOME,” we did too.
When they chanted “Asshole” as Wardlow appeared for the cage match against Cody Rhodes (oh the cage match), we didn’t. You’re 13.
When one dude behind us shouted to Rhodes getting his butt whooped in the cage match,” Do less of that!,” we laughed.
We both marveled at Rhodes’ epic finish.
It was a great night watching men in panties fight each other.
I’m so glad we spent it together.
I’ll meet you on the couch for AEW Wednesday night, unless you have baseball practice.
Love,
Mama
At the Marta station, we spotted the lucky fan who scored the shirt Cody Rhodes ripped off his body.
Warning: This post contains graphic images of a dead animal.
Dear Eddie, Dominic and Gideon,
Thank you so much for giving me the best Christmas gift ever: a taxidermy class at Rainy Day Revival down the street. It is the gift that keeps on giving, as I learned two things:
I really like practicing the art of taxidermy and not just admiring it.
It appears I’m good at it.
You know I’ve been trying to take a taxidermy class for years — since before we moved to Atlanta. The ones at Graveface kept getting cancelled as they didn’t fill up.
Not so with the RDR one: It sold out quickly.
Revell, the man in charge of my hair, and I have similar interests. His boyfriend bought him a seat in the class for Christmas too!
We practically rushed into the room as soon as it opened. Revell chose a fluffy black bunny, so I picked the one across for convenience.
The instructor, Nina, had us start with painting or staining our plaques. Then we had to massage our still-partially frozen yet “ethically sourced” rabbit. (No, I don’t know what that means. Various websites say various things. I didn’t ask. Ignorance is bliss.)
Here’s my rabbit, Roger (of course), lying in state — massaged and thawed.
Next we had to turn our rabbits inside out to remove the skull.
You would think this would be gross, but all the Borax we put on them helped dry things out. Plus, you know I watch plenty of medical and forensic reality shows.
Nina came by to check on progress and gave me props for not popping the eyes and keeping my lids intact.
See! I’m a natural!
Nina then announced this, which is something I never thought I’d hear:
Once you take your face off, stop: We’re going to take a break.
So we took a break.
Revell and I had fun with our gross puppets.
After the break, we made a new skull out of the kind of foam stuff that goes in the bottom of funeral arrangements. Apropos, no?
Roger starts to look more like himself again.
But see how his nose is a little mushed in? I got the bright idea to plump it up with some clay. Nina’s mom, who helps with the classes, was skeptical. Then she saw the end result.
Oh! You were totally right! That looks much better.
I’m an artist, I tell you.
Once we were done, we lingered in the shop waiting for Nina to mount them on our plaques. (Power tools + expertise = much quicker to get through all 30)
I had plenty of time to admire the wares — and dream of bigger projects.
Finally, Roger and I were reunited.
It will be two weeks until he “cures” completely and his bandages come off.
And you three will be forced to look at enjoy him in a place of pride at home.
So thank you for this gift. I had a great time, and I’m proud of myself.
I still haven’t gotten a response to my May 2019 plea. I didn’t really expect one, but I DID hope.
Here’s the thing: What I really want are not material things.
Instead, I want experiences.
Like a blogger friend of mine (edyjournal), I’m not so concerned with status symbols. In fact, sometimes they come with more baggage than they are worth.
For example, I drove a BMW convertible for a while. I bought it used for $4K under the Blue Book value because the seller had already ordered a brand-new one for his kid as a replacement (!).
It was in great shape, and I take care of cars. That’s how my current car (a 2008 VW Eos) has managed to last and still look good.
Anyway, I got so sick of comments like this:
A BMW? Insert name of employer at the time must be paying you well!
[Eye roll]
It was a fantastic car, but I didn’t seek another BMW after it was totaled when I was broadsided at an intersection.
I feel myself growing apart from another friend whose job working with the 1 percent has her chasing the same Richie Rich tokens of success to keep up.
Edit: Having brunch and getting my hooves shaved down with a long-time friend.
When I travel nowadays, I tend not to come home with tokens. (I Marie Kondo-ed my life since moving to Atlanta.) I come home with consumables: snacks for the kids, chicken hoops for me (when I can find them), random condiments, etc.
I don’t add to my physical footprint (not even in weight as I’m still maintaining).
So I’m asking again, Lottery God: Please smile upon me. These experiences aren’t free.
One of the best things about my job is meeting new people and finding cool opportunities for students. As a result, I’m getting to know my hometown of Atlanta and its residents even better.
There is a big difference in terminology in the higher education world versus the professional world. I go back and forth between the two, so I hear plenty of jargon in both.
I went to a presentation about Atlanta’s workforce last week. Plenty of discussion of past, present and future.
While it was interesting and productive in general, I heard a ridiculous amount of lingo.
Here’s a taste:
“We have to incent someone to learn new skills.” Please. No. Can we just provide an incentive? Or encourage someone?
“I talked to someone offline.” Good LORD. Can you just talk to someone? Let’s leave “offline” for tech.
“We wanted to internship these students.” Internship is a noun, not a verb.
“Pre-skilling,” “re-skilling,” “up-skilling” and “out-skilling.” Oh. My. God. Can we just say “training” instead?
“Workstream.” I’m OK with “workforce” (barely) but not “workstream.”
“Internal ecosystem.” Really? This is unnecessarily complex. Company culture is slightly better.
In fact, one of my dissertation advisors yelled at me for not “elevating my language” like standard scholarly journal writing. I replied that the “elevated language” is why most people don’t like to read these journals. Especially professionals in the industry of interest.
Put up with less than I need/deserve/worked for, etc. I am not a “Welcome!” mat.
Save money. Yeah, I know I should, but let’s be honest: I won’t.
Stay home. I want to say “absof–kinlutely” to adventures near and far. Dream scenario: I get paid to write about it.
Continue procrastinating on my book. This is the year I finish it, write the proposal, and find an agent. If E.L. James can become rich and famous off her trashTwilight fan fictionwork, so can I.
Lose more than just five more pounds. I’m calling that my “wine cushion.”
Stay in this place with the small kitchen. When it’s a pain to make things as fairly easy as Scotch eggs, it’s time to upgrade.
Ignore show suggestions from certain like-minded people. I resisted watching “Killing Eve.” I was stupid.
Let people try to make me feel even slightly embarrassed about my love of bad taxidermy. Those uptight people can shove it. My obsession is Hando approved.
Vote for Trump. Duh.
Stop writing blog posts at least twice a week. I’ve been keeping this pace since April, so I’m pretty proud of myself.
What are your anti-resolutions? Tell me in the comments.
Though you didn’t come through with anything on my previous list (in fact, my eye is worse), you worked through my family to ensure I had a great Christmas.
Just look:
I coveted this shirt. Eddie has one from his pals at CrossFit Steadfast in Savannah. I donate to Goat Yoga Lisa‘s fundraising campaign every year. Now I have a shirt of my own!
This is the gift that will keep on giving. Not only am I excited about learning how to do this art at the February class, but I can write about it. I’m going with Revell, the guy who cuts my hair. So that should be a hoot.
