TV Tuner

I’ve been pretty busy dealing with life and I haven’t much felt like writing. But today I came home to a nice surprise: my USB TV Tuner arrived in the mail.

So, after coming home to my newly cleaned and decorated apartment (it looks really nice—I’ll take some pictures), I was able to set up my computer to be my second TV in about 5 minutes. It was really that easy.

Now, I’ve had dinner, cleaned up my dishes, and as I’m writing this I’m listening/watching Game 7 of the Spurs and Mavericks series. This is really cool! And since I’ve got a DVD burner in my office computer, I can even set this software to record a show that I want to watch or just keep for prosperity.

The only question left is what in the world am I going to do with all my VHS tapes? I no longer have a VCR since my old TV/VCR combo died…and I have really no interest in buying one. Ebay, I suppose…but does anyone even want VHS tapes anymore?

On another note, there was one thing that happened today to remind me that there is still some sort of curse stalking me: my cat, once again, puked on my fucking bed! My nice clean bed spread has cat puke on it again, and this time I fear that it is stained because she puked up Meow Mix, which always stains the carpet no matter how much I scrub. *sigh*

I’ll keep working on it, but Jesus H. Christ, Violet, gimme a fuckin’ break and puke on the damn brown carpet!!!! Or the whole big floor of tile in the kitchen…but no, she wants to puke on the nice clean pretty light purple bedspread, which is the only one that I have now.

I don’t know what her deal is with my bed all of the sudden, but it’s starting to tick me off.

Oh well, but hey, I’ve got TV in my office! And that’s nice because I like to keep it on even if I’m not watching it because it keeps me company, and I’m still trying to get used to living alone.

The Spirit Room

My apartment is totally trashed after the Great American Lesbian Boot-out. Ugh. But, the good news is that I somehow found the strength this weekend to clean up my spare room. And when I say clean, I mean clean it ‘til it’s brand-spank-me-mama-new. (I’ll post some pictures later).

So, now there is a lot of room to move around. Pictures are up on the walls, everything is squared-away (the Navy would be so proud), and there isn’t one piece of trash anywhere to be seen. You should have seen this place before I got to it—totally and utterly ridiculous.

It’s also the only room with a TV, and it is tiny, so today I purchased a cheap TV tuner from my computer in the office. I’ve got a beautiful 19” LCD monitor in there with a digital connection, as well as a DVD burner. So, now I can work on my computer and watch TV, and even use my PlayStation if I feel like it. Now, I just need to invest in a comfy office chair one of these days. I’ll keep my eyes open for deals, but it’s not a priority—the cushy pillow I’m using to pad my bum is working…for now.

Anyway, so now I’ve got my spare room back, and I spent all evening in it yesterday. I’ve decided to call it the Spirit Room in honor of the Michelle Branch album that I just re-purchased (it was stolen several years ago from my ugly truck). Just as the album is a somewhat eclectic mix of rock and pop, with lots of groovy dubs and riffs courtesy Mr. John Shanks (Melissa Etheridge’s long-time producer), my room is eclectically decorated with youthful and fun-loving theme—from the boogie board, the wetsuit, the fishing net, beach ball, and electric guitar mounted on the wall you can see the things I hold up as bright from my California past…which oftentimes feels like a completely different lifetime; thus, The Spirit Room.

And just as I am glad to have my whole apartment back (despite its current state), I’m also glad to have this album back in my collection. Something about Michelle Branch’s music makes me feel young and carefree, just as my extra room does…and that’s exactly what I need right now.

Drop in the Ocean
By Michelle Branch

Love took me by the hand
Love took me by surprise
Love led me to you
And love opened up my eyes

And I was drifting away like a drop in the ocean
And now I realize that nothing has been as beautiful
As when I saw heaven's skies

In your eyes
In your eyes

And every time I drift away
I lose myself in you
And now I see I can be me
In everything I do

'Cause I was feeling as small as a drop in the ocean
And now I realize that nothing has been as beautiful
As when I saw heaven's skies

In your eyes
In your eyes

Love took me by the hand
Love took me by surprise
And I was drifting away like a drop in the ocean
And now I've realized that nothing has been as beautiful
As when I saw heaven's skies

In your eyes
In your eyes

Fin

This is the last time I will write about Mel. I guess you could say I’m closing out this chapter of my life. In reality, the last goodbye will happen will little fanfare, but in the recesses of my soul, I’m already starting to celebrate my awakening from this episode that just began to feel like a nightmare from which I could not stir.

It’s felt like that for a while now; so, I guess you could say that I’m celebrating my freedom, too.

Last night I celebrated by taking all of her clothes that were *still* in my dresser and closet, and tossing them onto the bed of the spare room where the rest of her shit is. I should probably take a picture of the state of this room—as a reminder as to what disrespect and gall looks like.

Tonight, after my workout, I’m going to walk down to the local pizza/sandwich shop and buy myself a sub of some sort and a beer. Then I’ll come home, back up her files onto a CD-ROM, and then delete her user and email accounts from my desktop computer. If her laptop is still hanging around, then I’ll deauthorize her laptop from playing my iTunes, remove the wireless access (including the card), change the administrator password to “password” (so she can manage to remember it—[hackers, have a field day!]), and then delete my account from that.

Once she is completely gone from my apartment (should be tomorrow), I’ll have the lock re-keyed, change my mailbox back to just “Cook”, change the voicemail on my home phone, delete her from my cell phone, and give her cell phone number to *anyone* (and I mean anyone) who calls for her. I’ll collect her mail for a week, and then whatever comes for her will be returned to the sender.

Say what you want about me, but don’t ever accuse me of being wishy-washy. I might wobble while I'm making my decision, but once it is made I don’t fuck around. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean…I always have and I always will.

…So, this may be my last blog entry until next week. I’ve got a 3-bedroom apartment that’s mine all mine to sanitize. Thankfully, my landlord is lending me her vacuum and steam clearer, so I’ll be steamin’ away this weekend, thinking about my next chapter which will begin with the following:

11:35 – June 16, 2006 – Chicago, IL

The steam rose from beneath the passenger car as I stepped off the train. I reached back for my bag from the red-cap, and as the heels of my loafers clicked on the cement walkway littered with gum and cigarettes, I checked the buttons of my jacket: the smallest sign of my lingering anxiety. The suit had weathered the trip better than I had.

I reached for my phone, pressing the first speed dial.

“I’m here,” I said when she answered, stepping through the sliding glass doors onto the slick tile of Union Station. “Where are you?”

The connection broke up for a moment. I scanned the busy crowed of unfamiliar faces, more frantic than I would wish to be.

“I’m right here,” she said with a nervous laugh.

I turned as a voice I knew fell onto my other ear. My hand fell away. I saw her and finally I smiled: it was going to be a good day.

fin

Cutting the String

*snip*snip*

Do you hear that sound? Do you know what it signifies?

It means that today when I get home, I will handing the key I have to Mel’s truck over and telling her that she was 30 days to vacate my apartment.

I don’t have the energy to dictate what occurred to get me to this point. If you’ve been reading this blog, then I’m sure you can guess…but after a 10:00 p.m. phone call, a question of if I was alone, and an explanation that it was her right to ask that question and know the answer because her vehicle and belongings are on the premises, my cup of tolerance and generosity spilled over and shattered.

I had a moment of revelation yesterday, though, that started it all off. I was talking to ChicagoLady and she referred to the said vehicle as a string. With that one little word I envisioned myself as a puppet, being played and manipulated to my puppetmaster’s every melodramatic, passive-aggressive whim.

And then Mel said she had a right to know if I was having company (presumably female, and presumably in my bed) because of said vehicle. Ah-ha!! Ding! Light-bulb!

While I still don’t understand that train of thought—and highly doubt that I ever will—I was able to put both of those ideas together and realized that ChicagoLady was EXACTLY right: it’s the last string.

So, I’m cutting the final string tonight and lancing this malign boil once and for all. Fineto.

*snip*snip*

Cinco De Mayo

I grew up in the valley of Southern California. All of my best friends were Chicana. There are things about the Mexican culture that I don’t like, mostly the machismo, but there is more that I love.

Don’t change the channel because I’m really not getting political, just philosophical, but during the Immigration rallies that I watched on C-SPAN I just felt the need to turn to my cat and say, “We love Mexicans, don’t we Vi?” (Yes, I talk to my cat all the time)

I said that because these people are simply amazing to me. Nothing stops them. And what has always amazed me is that even when faced with such adversity, they never stop smiling. My Spanish is poor, but that didn’t keep me from understanding what was being said. It was all perfectly clear to me in their tones, chants, and smiling faces. I personally thought their huge, but peaceful protests were a beautiful sight. No matter what you feel about this issues (and I have mixed opinions, too), you can’t deny that the passion of these people is admirable.

Average Americans would do well to try looking up to these people instead of down on them. They work longer hours than us with less pay and they still found the energy to stand up for their principles in massive numbers.

Being broke as I am, I won’t being do much for Cinco De Mayo this year. Last year I had a party at my house with authentic food and margaritas; I even made homemade tortillas…about 50 of them! By the way, my secret margarita recipe is the best you’ve ever had; trust me. I call them EastLos Chiquitas…meaning just a little will kick your ass, and look and taste good while doing it. ;)

Anyway, at the very least I’ll make some tostadas and a small pitcher of my famous margaritas. And I’ll raise my glass in honor of all my old girlfriends and their illegal parents, who were kind enough to let this freckled face white girl with the letterman’s jacket into their circle. Graciela, Aura, and Jennifer—I’ll never forget you, chicas.

Adios!