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2 for 2

28 Mar

They come in packs of two.

Spanks, or the knock off brand. Whatever. We all know what I’m talking about. The belly crushing underwear that makes your ass look amazingly artificial and your intestines constrict.

One fun consequence: they will make you poop your pants. Just saying. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow- but soon. And it’s something you may remember for the rest of your life.

Let me paint you a picture. Set the scene if you will. So here I am, just moved back to town, broke, tired, starting school again and working a new job. I go out on this date- a first date. We go to this brewery with awesome southern food and everything is going well. Kinda. Mid fried okra I start to get the rumble. You know. The rumble. And as the rumble sets in the date launches off on this intense story that he’s all into and pantomiming and I’m attempting to discretely back away and try to politely excuse myself to the bathroom.

He won’t just SHUT UP!!

I’m like starting to sweat. I don’t want to be rude, but these tummy tuckers are seriously about to make me shit myself. I back away attempting to excuse myself and he just leans in closer to give his story more intensity.

Then the situation gets real. I tell him I’ll be right back, run to the restroom, drop some mad heat, and wish I didn’t exist. Underwear in the trash, I return, tail between my legs so to speak.

Funny, he actually asked me out on a second date after that. QUESTIONABLE.

What’s worse is I didn’t even learn my lesson. Because they come in packs of twos. And I still had another pair. Months go by and my memory fades and… I wore the fuckers again. And again, it crushed all of my organs into a tiny little ball and again, I pooped my pants. Well, sundress the second time.

Moral of the story?

Don’t wear underwear.

Alone Down There

11 Jun

Can one lose love? Like, truly lose it. I know not everyone is capable of love in the first place. That was an unfortunate realization, when it came. But the ability to share it, create it, express it, spread it… can one lose that?

Have I lost it? Am I so salty now that cynicism and pragmatism are all that is left?

That seems so stark.

But realistic.

I loved too severely and enduringly and now I’ve exhausted my cache, maybe. I’ve just run out?

I think I caught a disease, y’all, the one where you get incapable of hope. I may have to resign my optimism because yes, everyone I know will one day die, we will all hurt and our hearts will break and our bodies tear up and give out and the sparkles fade from our smiles. It is all downhill. And then your dreams begin to fade and shift and there is no and sweeping solution. There is none at all.

One more time around might do it. 

Perhaps it would be better without the expectation of love? Because life without it isn’t necessarily awful. I can love Mr. Frank and fireflies and open water. And anything else is a bonus. Maybe love can be lost, and I don’t know if I’ll find it again. Life can feel loveless in a raw way, and perhaps I’ll just settle with that fact. I’m tired, after all.

But c’est la vie. I told you me alone with my thoughts is frightening.

There’s Just No Helping Some People

30 Apr

Saturday mornings may be my new favorite. Today started with an excellent yard sale which resulted in a beautiful, old, wool Hudson Bay blanket.

I was going down to Astro Zombies to tell them I’d be away for a while (last time they thought maybe I was dead or something) and in walking down Silver I passed a tiny street fair selling doner kabobs. Naturally, I went to investigate… and came across a DOGGY COSTUME CONTEST AND DOG THEMED FAIR. A Canadian woman was selling little camper shaped dog houses and they were giving out homemade dog biscuits and the dogs were all adorable.

Frank would’ve been the absolute cutest dog there. I would’ve dressed him up as a turkey. Or a pineapple. Or a gummy bear.

And then Astro Zombies was having a pre-sale and I got a ton of awesome books for half off. What a Saturday!

Enter noon. Driving downtown I came across a tiny little doggie wearing a collar running through the streets. He seemed so calm but clearly confused. I parked and followed him down the sidewalk for a bit but he kept shaking my trail. I got back in the car and just as I was about to force myself to forget all about the tiny dog, he ran across my path and down a street I probably wouldn’t otherwise be walking down. I called out and he stopped, started wagging is tail, and waited as I slowly approached him. The street was rather busy with cars (another car had stopped across the street to help him and the passengers watched in curiosity) and as I was pretty close to the shanty town some vagrants wandered around closer than I’d have liked.

As I got closer the tiny dog yapped a little but still wagged his tail and even took a playful step forward. Suddenly, he turned into a scary demon death monster showing me a mouth full of sharp scary teeth as large as his tiny body. While I was screaming “OH SWEET LORD”, he charged my toes and backed me down the whole street. A homeless man with very few teeth laughed and told me I should watch out for the little ones. I was white when I got back to the car because I was positive I had, in fact, seen a ghost.

But hey at least I had Saturday morning.

Kung Fu Furballs

29 Mar

So I’ve been on a super budget lately while saving up for the summer, but even poor people get bored and want to go see a movie. I really want to see Batman v Superman, but I can wait a bit if it saves me $15. So the date and I went to the dollar theater and saw Kung Fu Panda 3 (which is adorable, btw). I call it the sticky foot theater because, well, your feet stick to all the grime and spilled soda on the floor.

We sat, eating popcorn and giggling, till near the end of the movie. I ate a handful of popcorn, thought something felt wrong, and pulled a hair out of my mouth.

Now I’ve been a little super stressed lately and my hair has been falling out because of it (I know, it is the plot of a horror movie in the making, and here I thought I was starring in a slapstick comedy) so I wasn’t sure if the hair was mine or someone else’s. I sat the popcorn on the floor.

My date leaned over and said, “Is there a lot of hair in that popcorn?”


I just looked at him like he was an idiot- because he is- and ground my teeth for the rest of the movie. It really is funny and cute. I liked Kate Hudson’s panda character.

Anyway so at the end of the movie I let loose with the “WTF? Why did’t you say something? Whats wrong with you?”

And he answers, “You know what’s really messed up? I kept eating it. I found like 4 or 5 hairs and didn’t think anything of it.”

…What do you say to that? I just stared, astounded.

I can fail at so many things…

20 Jul

This weekend was a great one. I went to Summerfest in Nob Hill Albuquerque for the first time in the many years I have lived here. That was…interesting. But while I was there a friend texted me and invited me along with him and his kickball friends to a float trip of the Rio Grande the next day. Sounds lovely, no?

So I woke up at the crack of dawn, made some sandwiches, crammed my kayak into my tiny tuna can of a car, picked up my friend and had a breakfast burrito, and proceeded up to Alameda. We parked the tuna can at the take out point and crammed into another friend’s car and proceeded on up to Bernalillo, where we were going to put in. The objective was to float the 12 miles down (around 4 hours) and then use my car as a shuttle back to the put in location. Easy peasy.

What a perfect day too. It was sunny, the water (yes, the Rio is pretty gross but one can’t be too picky out here) was cold and the wildlife was beautiful.

I did immediately find one floating turd that tried to follow me for a while, but I out paddled it and got along with my bird watching. The catfish were jumping and driving me crazy because I hadn’t brought my fishing rod (I don’t think my NM fishing license covers fishing on the reservations).

We giggled along, sometimes floating in groups and sometimes going solo and silent for stretches. I knew about half the folks present, and the new half were all just fantastic people. We all shared a watermelon as we came up on the ye old rope swing.

The water has been high this year. More than normal. The little bank that allowed scrambling access from the boats up to the swing was washed away. We floated on for a bit to find a bank to pull up the boats. We were sure there’d be a path from the next bank back to the swing. We found a bank, but no path, and the bush was thick and wild on the shoreline. The water moves fairly fast so my buddy Manny and I decided we couldn’t swim back up the river, that’d we have to bushwack it. So we did, about 70 yards through brush and brumble, thorns and poison sumac. By the time we got to the swing we were bruised and bloodied, and the others had figured out to park their boats on the other side of the river and simply swim across. They were already there waiting, laughing.

Now, true to Lindsay form, I fearlessly swung out over the river, high as a kite, flying across the beautiful NM sky.

And somehow the rope swing swung back, wrapped around my left ankle, tightened like a noose, and I dangled upside down in the river until the guys swam out to cut me down.

How can one fuck up going off a rope swing? I wish I knew. Freak accident.

So that’s be beginning of my summer. A severed muscle, giant ankle, a throbbing hematoma, and poison sumac. I greet far too many seasons with a limp. Le sigh.

BUT it was pretty fucking funny once the danger of drowning was passed.

I spent the rest of the river trip with my foot propped up on my kayak, an ice pack in tow, and sipping a delicious and cold Tecate. What a fun day.

All Grace and Poise

10 Mar

This morning I locked myself out of my house. Wearing only a towel.

Here’s the long and short of it. Yesterday I went shopping and got some new black shirts for work. I then went to dinner and forgot about them in a bag in the backseat of my car. This morning after my shower, when I thought about getting dressed, I remembered them there and thought “I’ll just go get them.”

I have this habit of turning the lock on the door handle whenever I leave. It’s the only way I remember to lock my door, and seeing as I live on a busy street in a bustling neighborhood, locking the door seems like a good idea. So my reflexes locked the damn door as I stepped out to get my clothes from the car, a mere 5 feet from my front stoop. I had no need to even shut the door, much less lock my dumb ass outside. Wearing only my big purple towel.

My windows are pretty sturdy and locked, as is the other door. The only other way in was the doggy door. Luckily for Frank, I have a fear of dog-nappers so there is a lock on the 6 foot high gate to enter his dog run. So I got to climb up and over that fence, in front of my busy street and bustling neighborhood. Wearing only a towel.

Once in the dog run I was able to shimmy my way in through the dog door (luckily that was not locked as well) and I lay on the floor dusty and dirty and panting for a bit.

Then I remembered my clothes were still in the car.

I’m all grace and poise over here, folks.

Dia de los Muertos

7 Nov

Some wonderful friends hosted a lovely Dia de los Muertos luncheon on Sunday. They invited me to mourn Floyd. It makes my heart ache with love that they didn’t trivialize my loss or my pain because she was not human.

So I went and on the ofrenda or alter Frank and I hung up her name next to the others. It felt good to remember the dead, to acknowledge their passing, and to be amongst friends. It gave me some closure. Because you can’t have a funeral for a cat (though I desperately wanted to and thought she deserved it), I definitely needed that.

What an amazing and necessary holiday.


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