Hooker Street

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Business trips

Friday, April 20th, 2012

A few days ago, I took Toad on a walk around the block (as far as she can go). It’s good for her to have the illusion of adventure.

On this particular stroll, she stopped to do her business; Becca calls these walks her “business trips.”  And because I am a responsible pet-owner, I had a plastic bag on hand. I scooped up the mess, tied the bag, and carried it home.

As we rounded the final corner, we came upon three stray cats – a dime a dozen in our neighborhood, unfortunately. Two of them scattered, but the biggest one, a giant black Tom, arched its back and hissed at Toad. Toad was like, oh no you di-in’t, and lunged.

The cat didn’t flinch. In fact, it got even angrier, growled that feral cat-growl, and shot out its claws like Wolverine. I stomped and yelled, hoping the cat would run – but it came even closer, fangs bared and hair on edge. Toad was about to get destroyed.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I swung the only weapon that I had.

And pardon the expression, but that cat learned a whole new meaning of the term “shit-faced.”

Which is Spanish for “Fluffy”

Friday, March 30th, 2012

We live in a predominantly Hispanic area, and I love the kids who live a few doors down from us.  They’re always outside running around in the yard, yelling to each other in Spanish – yet effortlessly switch to English when I walk past.

The other day, I was passing by with the dogs when three little boys ran up to me.  They were basically the human versions of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.

“Can we pet your dogs?” Alvin asked.

“Sure,” I answered.  “They’re nice – and look, this one only has three legs.”

“WHOA.”  Simon was particularly amazed.

Noticing the two small dogs in their fenced yard, I asked, “What are your dogs’ names?”

Little Theodore answered.

“That one is Peanut, and that one is Luis.  I MEAN, FLUFFY.”

It was kind of the cutest thing that happened all week.

Hooker House #2

Monday, February 6th, 2012

Waaaaay back in July, I gave you a glimpse of our home with Hooker House #1.  Then I never showed you anything else.

We have less than three months left in our lease, and due to several less-than-ideal situations, April 30 cannot come soon enough.  We will move to a place with a fenced-in yard, and zero skunk dens, and no one living/stomping/screaming above us.

But just because, here’s one angle of my bedroom.  I opened the curtains for the picture, but you should know that I generally live in darkness – a Fortress of Solitude.

Runaway train/bus/thoughts

Friday, February 3rd, 2012

These days, life is like a runaway train.  It’s like that movie “Unstoppable,” except – spoiler alert! – that train actually stopped.  It’s not still barreling out of control through Pennsylvania.  Not that I’m barreling out of control through Pennsylvania, either, but…

Okay.  Analogy over.

All I’m saying is that life has been busy and full, and it doesn’t show signs of slowing down anytime soon.  So maybe it’s less like “Unstoppable,” and more like the bus in “Speed.”  And I’m Sandra Bullock, somehow, so far, successfully navigating my way through a complicated network of roads, and thinking that I ran over a baby, but it wound up just being a baby carriage full of pop cans, and for the moment, we’re all just catching our breath.

First of all, I have news.  The Hooker House has a new addition: Becca and I have a new roommate.  She has moved into the room that used to be my home office, and if you’ve known the Parsons for any length of time, then there’s a chance you know her, too.

Her name is Hannah, and here she is as a child.

I know.  Things are about to get really good.

In other news, I’ve barely been sleeping in my own bed.  After six days at Sundance in Utah, I spent the first half of this week in Minneapolis for work.  This morning, I was supposed to fly to Seattle for a dear friend’s wedding, but Denver’s heavy blanket of snow canceled the flight.  I was rescheduled for an afternoon flight, but just got the call that they canceled that, too.

I’m not going to Seattle.  Frowny face.

My bedroom looks like a dirty bomb exploded.

I’ve switched to cash envelopes.  Dave Ramsey is really proud of me right now.  (Sidenote: I talk about Dave Ramsey like he’s a real person.  Yes, I KNOW that he’s a real person – but he doesn’t know who I am.  I talk about him like we have a personal relationship, and I imagine his reaction to all of my financial choices, sort of like when I was a kid and I imagined the various reactions to everything that I did by all seven members of the Baby-Sitters Club.  Mark my words: one day, when I’m debt free, Dave Ramsey will know who I am.  Oh yes.  He will know.)

I’m sure you’ve seen this video.  But I just have to make a point of saying that I have watched it over and over, and think it’s the greatest ever.  Dang, I miss “Veronica Mars.”

Tomorrow is my half-birthday, which means, yes, I have 6 months and 1 day left in my 20s.  I can’t wait to be in my 30s.  I’ve waited my whole life for my 30s.  People in your 30s, it’s the greatest, isn’t it?  Tell me that it’s the greatest.

And now, it’s time to figure out what my Friday is going to look like.  If it’s not going to include a trip to Seattle, then I’m sure it will consist of exciting things like “going to the gym” and “cleaning the kitchen” and “swinging by the dry cleaners.”  A little bit of snow has never scared Subaruthless.

No stranger to this

Wednesday, November 16th, 2011

I thought that having the Honda stolen twice was more than my fair share, but apparently not.

I WILL say that I’m laughing pretty hard about this, though.  I mean, come on.

Spatula tricks

Thursday, October 13th, 2011

So there I was, minding my own business, when I heard a ruckus.  I walked out of the office to find Gabe darting from the kitchen to the living room – never a good sign.

I walked into the kitchen and found… this:

Oh, how’s that? you ask?  Here, let me give you a better angle.

How this dog does it, I’ll never know.  But I am legitimately flabbergasted on a near-daily basis.

Inherited

Tuesday, September 6th, 2011

Next week, my mom is moving to Kansas City.  While this is definitely a good decision for her, selfishly, it’s hard on my heart.  I moved to Colorado to be closer to my parents, and starting next week, neither of them will live here anymore.  This brings up all sorts of questions and emotions for me, but I’ve learned enough to know that none of these need to be discussed in a public forum.

Sorry, voyeurs.

Instead, let’s talk about the things that I have inherited from her house in the move.

The most important thing is Kodi the 3-legged dog.  Yes, our little raisin-eyed tripod, the Toad, now lives with Becca and Greebs and me on Hooker Street.  My days of zero responsibility are now a thing of the past, as Becca and I are constantly shuffling dog duties (not to be confused with dog doodies – although, yes, sad to say that those are being shuffled, too).

She is adorable as always, though – and even though I’m now much more tethered to home, and even though she doesn’t really fit into my active lifestyle (she can walk about a quarter of a mile before she’s spent), it’s nice to have someone who’s always happy to see me.

We’ve also laid claim to some killer patio furniture.  Last week, I told my friend Kelli that it was made of cast iron.  “You mean wrought iron,” she stated more than asked.  I was like, “Yeah.”

Now, we don’t exactly live on a picturesque block.  We have a dirty weed yard, and some local dogs peed on my basil and mint plants until they were dead.  The next-door neighbor’s mutt killed a skunk in their front yard, and the carcass rotted in the hot sun for two weeks.  I’m not sure if mere patio furniture is going to, I don’t know, redeem the neighborhood – but it’s sure as hell going to try.

Come over.  I’ll mix you a ghetto cocktail.

Finally, all of the things that have hidden in Mom’s pantry?  For years?  And years?  Mine.

If you know me at all, you know that I cannot waste food.  I just can’t do it.  If food dies, I die.  It’s this deep, fundamental part of my soul.  You think I’m kidding – but I assure you, I kid thee not.  I’m the girl who packs a food box in her suitcase on long trips, just sick at the thought of leaving food behind to rot in the fridge – a waste of my money, a waste of someone’s labor, a waste of, I don’t know, a cow.

I will avenge your death, cow.

Anyway, I now have more canned goods, spices, and non-perishables than I know what to do with.  Apple butter?  Kidney beans?  Chicken stock?  Red chile marmalade?  Canned meat?  Jars of chutney?  Two gigantic canisters of Pam?  If you have ideas for how I can put this stuff to good use, do tell.

Damn, girl.

Monday, July 18th, 2011

Before you hear this little story, there are two things you should know.

1) My sister Becca is definitely a looker: funky and darling and adorable.  She has a heart-shaped face and a great figure and awesome hair.  It’s never a surprise when a dude finds her attractive.

2) Sloan’s Lake, our new neighborhood, is… colorful.  Interesting.  Slightly ghetto.

Got those two facts?  Okay.  Here’s what happened on Saturday.

Becca was walking around the lake, and when a certain man passed her, he looked her up and down and said, “Damn, girl – you look beautiful!”

And despite Becca’s aforementioned beauty, when she relayed this story to me, we both laughed until we cried.

Because this is what she was wearing:

Damn, girl, indeed.

(I’m still laughing.)

Hooker House #1

Wednesday, July 6th, 2011

I’ve had a number of requests (okay, fine – just two – heyyyy, Greta and Julie!) for pictures of the Hooker House.

I’m one who likes to have things settled just so before a grand reveal.  And because of my persnickety nature and tight budget, it’s going to take awhile before I’m ready to explode our new home onto the World Wide Web.

However, with some help last night from one Jonathan Dalby (who, as I informed him last night, was once called “unfortunately good looking” – congrats, Dalbs), the living room is finally looking pretty complete.  Here’s a glimpse.

I know.  A FIREPLACE.  How picturesque is the Hooker House??

I mean, you know.  For being a garden-level apartment and all.

My new roommates

Tuesday, July 5th, 2011

As you learned in last Friday’s video, I now live with my sister Becca in the Hooker House.  Get used to it – I have a feeling that Life on Hooker Street will become a popular subject on this blog.

Aside from time time spent under our parent’s roof, this is the first time that Becca and I have lived together.  She is 3 1/2 years younger, half my weight* and twice my sarcasm.

Becca has a dog, and she’s pretty much obsessed with him.  His name is Gabe, but “The Greebs” is the moniker that’s stuck.  So obviously, I now live with the Greebs, too.

Are you curious about these two new roommates of mine?  Here.  I’ll show you.

Becca and Gabe

And in case you forgot, here is me.

So, yes.  This could be interesting.  ACKNOWLEDGED.

But so far, it’s been fun.

I’m teaching Becca things like “you have to rinse your plastic soup container before you put it in the recycling bin.”  And she’s teaching me things like “this isn’t Auschwitz.”

For all he sheds, and despite the fact that he ate one of my books, the Greebs is kind of becoming my best bud.  On hot days, I walk him the half-mile to Sloan’s Lake where he can swim.  And on the days when I work from home, he never leaves my side.  I talk to him in my voice reserved for dogs (admit it: you have a “dog voice,” too), and when I grab his leash and say, “You wanna go?” he jumps in the air like a kangaroo.

In the midst of so much upheaval and transition in our family, I am thankful for a sister to share a home with.  And despite our differences (which are many), there is a comfort in knowing that at the end of the day, I’m not alone.

Even if it means that my couch – and floor – and car – and clothes – are covered in dog hair.

*Not really.  But basically.