The Desert Mermaid

So a couple weeks ago, my family and I went to Grand Teton National Park. And, this being Modern Times, we all brought cameras. So now, you lucky dogs you, you get to see my vacation slides!



Coming at you, Jackson--and I am all ready for Nature Science. In the back pocket of that vest (damn I love that vest*) are about eight more little pamphlets on identifying plants, animals, rocks, etc..

That hat, by the way, is one I bought earlier this summer. It came with a veritable NOVEL of helpful instructions and other ephemera. Thing deserves its own entry, frankly.

Hey, who's that down in my pocket? Is that Mini Addy? Do you suppose she had adventures of her own in the Tetons? FORESHADOWING!)



Wilderness disco party! WOO!

( More under here! WOO! )

While my family was having adventures, Mini Addy had a few of her own. I'll put those together in the next few days!


*Dad was not sure about it because of the size issue: I was getting it from the men's section, which did not take into account some aspects of my topography. It's tough to find a women's vest with even five thousand pockets, though. For all that, I am really pleased with how it fits!

I think I’m getting better at New Super Mario Bros. Wii! I feel a lot better now. After eighteen years playing Super Mario World, I can pretty much beat the whole thing with my eyes closed, so I take it for granted that I am a Mario whiz. It was a bit of a blow to the ego to play another Mario game and SUCK at it. But now that is behind me.

I'm chucking the next helpless Toad into boiling lava, though. Little bastards need to use their own legs. Their blue- and yellow-spotted pals can do it! Why can't they?

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Got a battlefield promotion on Sunday, following the executive decision of the one coworker who showed up to work. Sundays are ridiculous at the library, and one person handling everything going on in circulation is Unacceptable.

Which is why, when I came in just as we opened, she informed me that I was now qualified to work circulation.

So I wound up leaving the books to sit on their carts in favor of answering patron questions. Given that this is October, the questions were mostly along the lines of “DO YOU HAVE CHUCKY?” and “DO YOU HAVE FREDDY KRUEGER?”,* although I did get to bond with one patron over how awesome Star Trek TNG is. Still, I am afraid to work circulation at Christmas time. (“DO YOU HAVE SANTA?”)

My manager is hinting that this will look even better when they promote me, which she thinks will happen as soon as the Liberry acquires some money. I am not holding my breath, but it was fun to learn some of the new system.

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Went to The Mall today. You know you’re turning into a grownup when the acquisition of bras, underpants, and pajamas is almost as exciting as acquiring Super Mario Galaxy 2.

The bra ladies sure thought it was. Apparently, there’s not much happening in Braland down in the depths of the department store, so when somebody comes in and purchases their new bright red bra that somehow makes you aware of breast cancer,** it is an event. “She bought the red one!” the ladies kept saying to each other. “I have sold my first red bra!”

I bought it largely because it holds my boobs up, something that my current bras are not doing, but I admit it was also red, which is fun. Who doesn’t like festive underwear?

And who doesn’t like new jammies and Super Mario? I am going to wear the first while playing the second. It is a good night.


*Answer: No. For some reason, people always steal the slasher movies. I checked for Child’s Play, Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, and every other horror movie they could think of. We theoretically have several copies of each, but given that not one copy of any of them had a due date past 2009, I’m thinking these folks’ll have to get some Netflix.

**I don’t know, perhaps it is a scare tactic: you wear it with a white shirt and people see it and think “MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER BREASTS UNDER THERE? They look like they’re about to explode! Could it be … CANCER?”

Dear Facebook ads,

Gosh, it’s nice that you’re looking out for me, but I assure you that my boobs are quite big enough already. Furthermore, there is NO WAY I would let the creepy-looking “doctor” in your ad anywhere near my person, no matter the reason.

So can we please get back to the ads that trawl my interest list? They are much easier to ignore than the creepy doctor. I would very much appreciate it.

-Amelia

I need to invent a new martial art.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love me some tae kwon do. The concentration on leg movements is right up my alley, and I still get a good arm workout. And I figure I can at least damage an attacker a little bit in a fight, which is always handy.

But as I was running through forms yesterday, I kept realizing that there’s just one thing that makes it a bit awkward.

Okay, two things.

I mean, I have a sports bra, but even when crushed, the great uniboob is still there, complicating things. How in the hell am I supposed to do snap middle-blocks when my elbow keeps rebounding off my chest? How can I do that special move in one of my forms where the hands come together, arms straight, and point them at the floor? They either wind up resting on the top and pointing at an angle, or I have to just squeeze the boobs between my biceps, and either way it looks ridiculous.

And I’m afraid to spar because chest kicks have always presented something of a pain issue.

I’m hoping exercise brings them down to manageable portions, but until then I need another martial art. So I propose that women with this particular attribute start our own school,* the school of tae kwon boob do. We would learn moves that could be done around our enormous chests, we could figure out how to block attacks to that area, and during warm-ups there would be no shame in the Run-And-Clutch or the Jumping Jacks With Arms Folded.** Along with belts our symbols of achievement will be colored bras. And we would kick everyone’s ass.

Come on, you just know this would catch on. Who’s with me?


*With blackjack! And hookers!

**And don’t try to tell me that the Run-And-Clutch is made unnecessary with the proper support. I have gotten the proper support. I also have stretch marks.

I think this new sports bra I’ve got is working. As evidence, I present to you the following conversation I had with a ten-year-old boy at the tae kwon do academy yesterday:

KID: *puzzled stare at unfamiliar person*
AMELIA: Hi! I am checking this school out to see if it suits my purposes. My name’s Amelia. What’s yours?
KID: I’m—wait, you have a GIRL’S name!
AMELIA: … Yes. I have wondered about that too. Then I realized it’s probably because I am a girl.
KID: *disbelief and embarrassment*
AMELIA: But I just got my hair cut, so it’s hard to tell.

Which I suppose it is,* if the Princess Peach T-shirt with some telltale bumps underneath doesn’t give me away.

That was also an issue of some concern to the masters at the school—I do’t have quite the right uniform. Mom threw out (and rightly so) most of our old uniforms, except for one rather important exception.

INSTRUCTOR: (on the phone setting up my first time at the school) I don’t suppose you have a uniform for the first day?
AMELIA: I have my Formal Black Belt uniform. It is black.
INSTRUCTOR: Ah, yes, we have the very same black belt uniform! It is white.
AMELIA: That does not actually sound like the same uniform at all.
INSTRUCTOR: Of course it does! There is a black v-neck collar on this uniform.
AMELIA: … No, you do not understand. My black belt uniform is BLACK.
INSTRUCTOR: Black?
AMELIA: Like a raven on a moonless night. Like the finest obsidian blade. Like deepest infinity. When I wear it, I am the night.
INSTRUCTOR: Right. Okay, I guess the offer of a free uniform with first month’s tuition stands.

Which is probably good, since I showed up in the pants from that outfit and a black T-shirt with Princess Peach on it—the full uniform is too hot to actually do much in. I looked like the Evil Ninja on casual Friday.

I told the master I was rusty, and he observed that it’s not like riding a bicycle. But once I started the kicking drills, I had to disagree. I remember how to kick just fine. It’s just a question of trying to get my body to do them again with its less-than-in-shape form. At this point everything I do looks like a mutant roundhouse kick, but then it always has.

And man, did it feel good to do some kicks. I didn’t realize I’d missed it so much. I think I’m going to keep missing the camaraderie of my old school—this new one does not seem the type where we can heckle quite so much—but then, I didn’t expect it to be quite the same anyway.

The only drawback is that this place is off in Way The Hell Over Thereistan, so it’s a bit of a commute. But hey—I rather enjoy the drive, once I know how to get there. It may be an issue in the winter, though.

I suppose I could wear my black uniform then. It’d keep me warm on the drive, anyway.


*Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I marched into this new hairdresser’s salon and said, “I am looking for a hairdresser who agrees that I would look good with a hairstyle from the men’s sections of these hair magazines!” I have never seen a man outside of a magazine or movie actually sport those styles, anyway—they should me marketed as “slightly less girly.”

If you go on a game safari with a crowd of students, I have two recommendations for you:

1. Pack a lunch.
2. If you are female and have any excess tissue in the Female Inexplicable Excess Tissue Region, wear a sports bra.

I did not wear a sports bra, or in fact have one handy, because our academic directors told us to pack light, so for the second time I was living out of a tiny bag. "You'll get your bags in Malindi," they told us. "But first, we'll be sleeping in tents tonight!"

I had no idea that these ADs had mastered the art of lying and telling the truth at the same time.

( Thundering herds of safari vans were moving majestically across the landscape ... )