GrigioGirl

It is not uncommon for people to legally change their name. They can do it when they marry (in traditional marriages the female takes the male’s surname, very rarely the other way around); when they adopt; when they enter a witness protection program; or, one can “simply” make a legal request to change their name.

I know several people who have changed both their first and last name, just their first name or just their last name. For the most part, none of these requests are disputed or denied.

There was the woman in Sweden who wanted to change her name to ‘Dark Knight,’ denied. Then there was the case in New Zealand in which the parents lost custody of their nine-year-old, ‘Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii,’ until they renamed her. Other names that have caught the attention of the courts: Midnight Chardonnay, Number 16 Bus Shelter, Fish and Chips, Yeah Detroit, and Sex Fruit.

I knew a guy called “David” who, at the age of 36, changed his name to “Brayden.” Whenever we would get in disagreements, instead of resorting to old fashioned name calling, I would just call him “David.”

With all of that in mind, I wondered today if one could legally change their date of birth. I mean a name is a pretty big deal – a major part of your identity – and you can change that. So, why not your date of birth?

Depending on which direction you go, older or younger, you could really benefit. For example, if you make yourself old enough, you could retire, benefit from senior discounts and qualify for Medicare. If you went the other way, you could relive your youth. It’s never too late to have a happy childhood, right? In addition, when people quip, “Were you born yesterday?” you can proudly reply, “As a matter of fact, I was born yesterday, and I’ve got the court documents to prove it.”

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Today marks the third day I have been to the library in the past four days. I am so in love with that place! Alice was chatting with me on the phone as I was making my way in and suggested I might meet a man there. I took a quick peek inside and told her my chances were slim today. Only available man in the library was Dewey. Dewey Decimal. And, to be honest, he’s not that trustworthy. I’ve been anxiously looking for Glastonbury Jukebox and Dinner for Five, relying on Dewey’s ways, and have been completely unsuccessful. It is a bit of a downer, but I’m still in love.

Once I got home I delved into my library treasures. Nothing beats a quiet evening at home with your foster dog in the kennel because he keeps pooping in the house, The Darjeeling Limited on the tv, Richard Cheese playing faintly in the background and coffee table books instructing one How to be a Cowboy. Not one to be selfish with anything, I thought I might share a little bit of somethin’ somethin’ from each of these treasures (No Action Jaxon excluded):

‘Whatever happens in the end,’ she said, ‘I don’t lose you as my friend.’ He looked into her eyes, ‘I promise I will never be your friend. No matter what. Ever.’

In the summer of 1984, a friend gave me a cassette of an album called Gumboots Accordian Jive Hits, Volume II. But I Digress.

Never sit on a barbwire fence naked.

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This morning I woke up, induced by my alarm, to several inches of snow. This made me happy because I got to wear a really cute sweater I just bought – which I didn’t think I would get to wear until next year. Woot!

Snow days are always a good day for my favorite mocha ever. Being that I was scheduled to be in meetings all day, I had even more justification (not that I need it) for this fabulous concoction.

I pulled up to order my poison, ivory mocha, and started rolling down my window. Unfortunately, for my barista, I didn’t clear all of the snow off my window. In my attempt to guard the snow from falling in my car I ended up “throwing” snow all over Taylor the Latte Boy (plug for a great song). Luckily he was forgiving – I think. My mocha didn’t taste salty or too creamy and he stamped my card (with a few extra stamps for good measure), so, all is good.

A bit later in the day I was chatting with We Could Have Been when I was reminded of a “Vow of Celibacy Contract” that I created and signed about fifteen years ago. So many years back, when I didn’t need an alarm to wake me because my internal alarm was blaring at me to get up and out of the room before the naked body next to me woke. We Could Have Been vividly remembers me sharing my contract with him. Nothing says “no” like a celibacy contract. Ah, the good ol’ days. The days when instead of a frequent sipper card I had a frequent dipper card.

Ironically, tonight Fru Fru Pants and I were watching the same documentary, and communicating about it via text messages, when one of the interviewees began to discuss celibacy. I sent Fru Fru Pants a text advising her of the coincidence, my contract, and the fact that I was blogging about it. She replied, “Are you still doing that?” I quipped, ” Celibacy, not by choice. Blog, by choice.”

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First day of training for the 5K Mud Run. Everyone knows breakfast is the most important meal of the day, 5K or not, so I started the day with a cup of Sweet Italian Creme with a dash of coffee and thin mint cookies.

ROFL stopped by and we discussed my training regimen. I advised him I had been on a bit of a workout hiatus. His facial expression told me further explaining was needed and I told him I actually gave up working out for Lent this year. 

A bit later I heard from Fru Fru Pants. Last night we had both committed to working out today. Today, we both backed out of our commitment, which was OK, because we had good intentions, a plan of sorts. And a plan is important, as is eating healthy, according to a  little link I found on 5K training. Most important, however, is showing up on race day.

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Yesterday I discovered a pleasurable place, one I’ve been to before, but it has been a really, really long time: the public library.

The public library is such an incredible gift to taxpayers and homeless people. I was with Fru Fru Pants and we were actually working a Health Fair. Once we got a whiff of the paperbacks – which took a while after the strong whiff of the GPC, medications seeping out of pores, body-odored peeps with us on the elevator – we couldn’t not sneak away to peruse the shelves.

Perusing was a great idea because Fru Fru Pants had been in a bit of a mood. She told me she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I encouraged her to trade sides with Blaze later – maybe waking up on the other side will help with her mood.

I spent the day listening to and watching all of my library finds. I was in heaven! Just as I was getting ready to watch The Diary of a Nobody, a British film about a man’s journal, a vlog of sorts, Fru Fru Pants invited me to stop by her house for a glass of wine and hot tubbing. Can’t pass up that offer! Be nice if Jesus could work his magic on the hot tub and then I’d just pack my swimsuit and a straw!

Just as I was leaving to Fru Fru Pants’ house I got a call from CounterCat. Apparently she signed us up for a mud run (5K) in two weeks and we are going to be zombies, both in the run and in a wedding movie. I’ve done mud facials and have had runs in my nylons, however, mud and run together is not a combo I have yet experienced. I’ve also never been a zombie, but I’ve seen Zombieland. Maybe I should watch a movie about 5Ks, so I’ll be ready for that beast. Running really doesn’t make much sense to me. I mean, if you’re not being chased, why run?

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Karaoke was no joke-e last night. Area Man and I were pleased to be in the company of so many fine singers and, as always, we closed the place down.

Not wanting the night to end so soon, we made our way back to my place where we chatted with Oper about some of her recent physical activities. She was experiencing a bit of karaoke elbow (caused by actions similar to Guido’s fist pumpin’ at a house club) and her body was a bit achy from three hours of hula-hooping.

When I asked why she hula-hooped for so many hours she told me she was at circus practice. I was intrigued. Oper is going to be in the circus. She is casted as a space alien cowboy and is in charge of fire safety while her main man, Danger, performs his acts: fire breathing and fire dancing. Oper asked if I would like to go to circus practice with her next Saturday. Silly question…..I’m so excited!

Speaking of circus acts, Quagmire was telling me his little trick (jumping over the broomstick) has resulted in an awful lot of noise coming from his internal organs; something he cannot control or easily hide.

I suggested he move his mouth in rhythm with the “noise,” to throw people  off. “So I should make a farting sound with my mouth,” he asked. No, no. That would just be silly. I advised him to simply move his mouth, sans acutal verbal output, in concert with the sounds exiting his body. He replied, “That would make me a farting ventriloquist.” Well, we all have our lots in life.

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This morning I tested my patience and joke skills during a conversation with Quagmire. Swiffer commercials are defintely causing him some PTSD right now. The upthebuttdates have been rather interesting. Speaking with him reminded me I had some cleaning to do.

After cleaning for most of the afternoon, I got the privilege of dining with That’s Not Chinese and MyFace (friend formerly know as V). MyFace was telling That’s Not Chinese her job is to take care of me. That’s Not Chinese told MyFace my job was to help her remember. MyFace appreciates this and advised That’s Not Chinese that we had a very reciprocal relationship. Funny thing is, I’m too busy remembering MyFace’s stuff to remember mine.

While reviewing the menu we noticed they no longer offer the pork tenderloin. This was devastating to all of us. We had brought our own wine and they had opened it for us for a mere cork fee. So, we thought maybe they would consider just charging us a pork fee if we brought our own pork next time. Probably not going to happen.

After dinner I had Boarding Pass Shiraz with Just Drew and Area Man, while being mesmerized by the fact that it took the entire bible belt to save John Cougar Mellencamp’s soul and Rick Springfield never got Jesse’s girl.

I told them I needed to blog before I had too much to drink and Just Drew suggested I start vlogging. That sounds very David Hasselhoff. As I chatted with Area Man about great nicknames he told me “Broseph” is so two thousand and late. I told him I quite liked that response and he replied, “I’m full of awesome.” He also told me to not call him Stan, no matter what I do, because that’s not his name.

We then headed to karaoke. I really want to sing a Wilson Phillips song. Area Man wants to sing Fuck Her Gently. Very Quagmire.

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I’m having a hard time accepting my mini vacation is over. Now that I’m back to working 4/10s, I’ve decided we’ve got the concept wrong. Instead of working four ten-hour days, perhaps we should consider working four times a day for ten minutes. This is what most people do anyway, so making it standard practice seems like the logical thing to do.

Today was definitely one of those days that I wished I worked in a sleep study clinic or as a bedside reporter. No Action Jaxon decided to wake at four in the morning (sounds like That’s Not Chinese….maybe I should see if she wants a foster dog) and, after I let him out into the snow – yes, snow, I crawled back into my bed and attempted to fall back to sleep.

Just as I was entering dreamland my alarm went off. This got me thinking about “More than a feeling” and induced labor.

I thought about the Boston song because I have taken up listening to it on a daily basis and the first part of the song was spot on for me this morning: I looked out this morning and the sun was gone. Turned on some music to start my day. I lost myself in a familiar song. I closed my eyes and I slipped away. Unfortunately, when I closed my eyes I did not slip away and what I had was clearly more than a feeling – I believe I had a good old-fashioned hangover.

I thought about induced labor because I was in the fetal position, in my incredibly comfy and warm bed. I was just like a little fetus! And what keeps the little fetus warm? Amniotic fluid (also known as chapstick – see blog entry: http://grigiogirl.com/2010/02/thats-not-chapstick/). My bed is my amniotic fluid, keeping me warm in the comfort of my bedwomb.

There are a variety of reasons for inducing labor, two of which are being past the due date and the baby being sideways. As ahead of the times as I am, I’m not always on time and, let’s face it, I’ve been sideways my entire life. Hence my need for a labor inducer, aka alarm clock. I’m not too keen on this concept. Sure, it will help me arrive on time to work and avoid meconium, but it just seems so unnatural.

I mean, I’m GreenGo Girl. Going green means reduction, not induction (unless, of course, you’re talking about the Hall of Fame, then I’m all for induction). Nonetheless, I pushed my way through the amniotic fluid, exited the bedwomb, got showered and went to work. I am officially an induced laborer.

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