Monday, July 27, 2009


Brandon felt a little guilty on Saturday when he got his Arizona driver's license and license plate. Especially since he tells me every chance he gets that he HATES them because they are so ugly.
I really don't think they are bad at all, but like I said before, I am partial to Arizona sunsets. If it wasn't 108 today, I'd be toying with the idea of taking a post-dinner walk to look at the setting sun right now. Instead, I'm going to stay inside and watch the season finale of The Bachelorette.

But, I understand where Brandon is coming from. One of the reasons we work so well together is that we are both very loyal to the people, places, and things that we love. That is why I haven't actually thrown out any of Brandon's old shirts (despite my threats) and Brandon patiently waits while I make a way too complicated Cooks Illustrated recipe (even though he quietly thinks that I could just use a mix). We understand that the deep attachment to our idiosyncrasies is part of the fabric of our personality. Forcing a change on the other would cause intense discomfort and probably a little resentment that just isn't worth it. That's how we work it, see?

So the license plate. It was as if we officially turned our backs on Colorado, I suppose. Luckily, things are going well enough here for us that we might feel the same way about switching out our Arizona plates if we ever have to move from here. Brandon is enjoying his residency and frequently gives thanks that he isn't standing behind a counter like many of his peers. I am still jobless but don't yet mind the ample time I have to swim laps in the middle of the day and read novels on a freshly made bed with daylight streaming through the window. XOX

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

This is What My Life Has Come To

And I'm not complaining. But seriously, why I am writing limericks? And then sharing them with the world wide Internets? Maybe so that the entry about our kitty cat won't be at the top. Update on that one: Brandon says the kitty cat is named Professor Cornelius. Lame right? I told him that and then told him that I changed the cat's name from Delilah to Delilah Garrity which is kind of a tribute to our favorite show, Friday Night Lights. Brandon kind of paused at that one, because the real Lila Garrity is awful purty but then decided to just be stubborn and stick with Professor Cornelius.

Anyways, limericks. They are unexplainable, but I wrote these today. Just for you.

Ode to the Washer

There once was a girl who liked her clean clothes
But she didn’t have a washer which gave her some woes
Then she moved from her city
And she don’t want your pity
Cause now she washes at home; its so fun dontcha know?

This is Probably Why I’m Writing Limericks

Alison’s in Tucson looking for a job
But she don't want one that'll make her sob
Just pay her the big bucks
And don't tell her it sucks
Or she’ll stay on the couch like an ol’ blob

Yup Tucson is Hot

They say that Tucson is hot in the summer
Everyone and their dog thinks it's such a bummer
But actually you lay by the pool
Sipping drinks that are so cool
Now tell me what else could even be funner?

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Kitty Kat

No we don't have one. I'm allergic to 99% of cats and Brandon keeps reminding me that in this stage of life, he is only willing to commit to 15% of the overall maintenance of having a pet. How would you even quantify that anyway? Do all pet tasks hold the same weight? I'm not pushing for definitions because I don't really want a pet either, but still, what does 15% actually mean?

However, there is this little kitty cat begging to be adopted. We frequently see it sleeping outside our apartment door, sleeping on the steps leading up to our apartment, circling the trash can in the parking lot near our cars. We see this little kitty cat so much that Brandon and I have started fighting over whose cat it is. Example:

(Upon pulling up to our apartment)
"Oh look, there's my cat."
"That's not your cat, that's my cat."
"Na-uh, I already named it Delilah."
"Delilah? You cannot name my cat Delilah."
"Yes-huh, after the radio show. We both love that show and you know it. Perfect name for a cat. Perfect name for my cat, I mean."
"Whatever. It is my cat and its name is not Delilah."

And so the conversations go.

Lately though, this little kitty cat no longer dashes away when it sees us. It still won't let me pet it or get too close, but it now just backs up a few steps and stares at me. The other morning when I left for my walk in the 95 degree misery, it even followed me for a bit! Also, I think it even pooped on our doorstep. A secret: I haven't cleaned it up yet. Yeah, there is a little turd drying up in our arid climate, gathering dust from the occasional monsoon winds. That's kind of embarrassing, but I don't really want to touch it or get cat poop on our dust pan, plus it would be rude if I kicked it off our balcony onto our downstairs neighbor's stoop. I'm stuck, see.

So, what do we do? This cat could be struggling in the tough Tucson conditions and one day we might find it dead on our doorstep from dehydration and starvation. I could never forgive myself.

What happens if we feed it though? You know, if you give a mouse a cookie it will ask for glass a milk so does that mean if you give a cat some food it will start demanding command of the remote control and want the whole top shelf of our refrigerator for dead mice and catnip? What if I have to tell it: "No kitty cat/Delilah. Snack Pack Puddings and Sprite Zeros go on the top shelf, not dead mice." Will it kill me in my sleep?

I'm going to stew about this for another week or so and if I still see my cat around, then maybe I'll put a bowl of water out there to see what happens and...then we'll just go from there.

Maybe the little kitty cat is this kind of cat:

That wouldn't be so bad would it?

Thursday, July 9, 2009


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Bathroom Stalls

So I'm still unemployed which means that I have endless time to watch the Michael Jackson funeral coverage and rearrange our bookshelves to my heart's content.

This morning as I was doing both of these tasks, I randomly remembered something I saw on one of the many pit stops that we made on our drive from Denver to Tucson.

I need to preface this by saying that I love tacky roadside stops. The more souvenirs the better, even though there is a high likelihood that I saw the same souvenirs at the last stop. I can endlessly wander through the aisles and look at the cheap turquoise jewelry, the Native American blankets, magnets in the shape of states, postcards with silly sayings on them about cowboys and hunters, lollipops with scorpions in them, t-shirts with the American flag or wolves ... Don't you just want to be there right now? Can't you just smell the old hot dogs basking under the hot lamp, see the pork rinds neatly clipped onto the corner of the snack aisle, and hear the swamp cooler humming in the background??

Anyways, so at this particular stop, I got out of my hot sticky car and pranced into the gas station so I could quickly do my business and have optimal time to browse through the junk before Brandon finished gassing up the truck and going potty. He's not so much into the souvenirs. He's more into the "Let's see how quickly we can get in and out of here" approach to roadside stops.

This stop actually caught me off guard because for once, there was actually something in the women's bathroom that totally caught my attention. Now, I know most of us can't help but notice the lovely scrawls people carve into bathroom stalls. These are usually very strong declarations people are compelled to immortalize on the dirty walls of No Where USA with names, dates, insults, crass sayings you pretend not to notice, and words of advice or philosophy.

This particular stall had the best phrase ever: "Toy Story 2 Was OK."

If there was ever a strong declaration that needed to be immortalized, that was it! I'm a little confused by the timing of the message, however. Toy Story 2 came out in 1999 and those particular bathroom stalls had clearly been repainted within the past few years. I've developed several ideas as to why someone between 2005-present would want the whole world to know that Toy Story 2 is mediocre at best but I will spare you my speculations and let you come up with your own.

Anyways, I chuckled all the way through my potty break. As I washed my hands, I thought "I need to tell Brandon!" Unfortunately, I was instantly distracted by the $7.99 eagle t-shirt rack and promptly forgot. Several hours later, however, at our next stop, the bathroom stalls actually had butcher paper on the walls so people could write their words of wisdom in an Easy Clean format. So guess what I wrote? "Toy Story 2 Was OK."

Wednesday, July 1, 2009