Changes...

So, I have nothing of note to say except that I am in the process of transferring the www.rileynoehren.com domain to another service, which I am warned will potentially take a long time and be fraught with glitches. In the event that happens, you will be able to access this blog the old-fashioned way at www.rileynoehren.blogspot.com. I know, I know--what's the point if I'm not posting anything? I will let you decide.

A docudrama a day keeps the shrink away

Thank you, substandard reality television programming, for once again putting my problems into perspective. I've got a lot on my plate, but tonight I'm just grateful that I'm not a compulsive hoarder. Suddenly life seems very doable.

I can't help but note that my cable bill, while excessive, is cheaper than formal therapy and more conducive to my crazy schedule. It also comes with great internet service. I'm not familiar with any therapists offering an internet package, but maybe I'm just not in the know.

Dear guy who washed my windshield at the gas station even though I did not ask or want you to do so:

Yesterday was a sorta bad day. Not a horrible day, just one where I was out of sorts. The night before I cut my bangs really short. I had already cut them pretty short on a whim (all bang-cutting for me is done on a whim) last Friday in preparation for my concert-going shenanigans on Saturday--this despite the fact that a birth defect (cowlick + widow's peak) suggests I have no business wearing bangs. Oh well, I decided that I could defeat the cowlick by brushing them forward, as is the look these days, rather than sweeping them to the side, as has been the look the past little while. For the most part, this assumption proved true and gave me such bang-wearing confidence that, when I was at the concert and noticed most of San Francisco's hipster girls were wearing even shorter bangs, I decided to try my luck again on Tuesday night. This time, I watched a couple of Youtube videos on how to cut them like I want. (I think hair and makeup instruction from real people is the number one public service provided by Youtube. No seriously, you should try it.)

When I woke up Wednesday morning, I didn't recognize myself. Who knew that a half inch of fringe could make such a difference? I haven't decided one way or another whether I actually like the short bangs, and I'm not particularly worried as my hair grows super fast. However, it was disconcerting to catch reflections of myself here and there and not realize who I was looking at. Hence, the out-of-sortness.

On the way to work my gas light went on. This was unexpected as I have a childhood paranoia of running out of gas and I almost always refill before the light goes on. I also have a deep hatred of the skanky gas station downtown that charges 30 cents more per gallon for the opportunity to wait in line 20 minutes and associate with a variety of surly characters while the bicycle cops totally ignore you. It's also one of those gas stations that plays loud cable news programs while you're pumping. You can never tell if a crazy derelict has just snuck up behind you and started yelling or if the news program just got louder. I have had it play out both ways. Anyhow, I noted the night before that I needed to get gas at my local station before getting on the freeway the next morning, but for the first time ever, I completely forgot.

So I made it to work and there were several annoying but not critical incidents at the pesky day job which I won't go into here as I don't blog about work, but suffice it to say I got asked on more than one occasion if I was "feeling okay." I suppose I was feeling okay. Was I feeling snazzy? No. Was I feeling banged-up, so to speak? Bad pun, but yes.

After work I had no choice but to head to my least favorite gas station for a refill. I started the pump and then hopped back in my car, locked the doors for safety and pretended to read the internet on my iPhone. By the way, pretending to read email is so much easier than pretending to have a fake cell phone conversation. Have I mentioned how much I love my iPhone?

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Ugh. I knew it before I looked up. You were there, and you had started to clean my windshield. You were even doing a half-decent job at it.

I looked into my purse. I had a $1 bill and a $20 bill. Sorry, but I never even considered giving you the $20. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. You were making sure that windshield was VERY clean. I scooped my hand into the bottom of my purse and came up with a load of change. I didn't even look through it to take the quarters out and save them for laundry. I thought I heard the pump click, so I got out of my car.

"How are you doing today, ma'am?" you asked, calling me ma'am even though you had about 30 years on me. I noticed for the first time that, although not nicely dressed, you certainly weren't homeless and you didn't smell like anything (a real compliment downtown).

"Fine sir, but you must stop doing that," I said as you went around and started cleaning the rear window. I dumped the single bill and change into your hand. "This is all the cash I have," I lied.

"That's okay," you said, pocketing the pittance. "I would have done it even if you had no money." Looking at my filthy car, you commented in a low voice, "Looks like you need the all-around."

At that point, I pulled the pump out of the car. The only problem was, it was still going and in the locked position. In the ensuing melee, I got gasoline all over my car, myself and even on you. Now both of us smelt horribly of something, not to mention the fact that we were highly flammable. I apologized profusely, swearing up and down that I had never done that before, but you just smiled and went to the center console and got me some of those rough brown paper towels. I wiped myself off, wiped the car off, went to throw the paper towels away, and the whole time left you standing right next to the unlocked front door where my open purse was sitting in full view on the seat, but of course you did nothing. Then you finished the back window and wished me well on my way.

Anyhow, I suppose you are having a string of out-of-sorts days as well due to things far more complicated than really short bangs, but you hid it better than me. I should have given you the $20 or more. Sorry that I didn't.


P.S. I got my car washed today.

Everyday I write the book

As a kid, I periodically attempted to keep a diary or a journal because I had been told by many people on many occasions that it was a good idea. They were wrong, by the way, as reading old entries only serves to greatly embarass me, particularly the one dedicated entirely to how much I loved the movie Goonies, including a synopsis of each of the characters and their relationships. Even then, I was apparently living in some sort of world not entirely connected to the real one, complete with pirate treasures. Fortunately for my fragile self esteem, I was not a very good journal keeper. In fact, almost each one of the roughly 20 journal entries I penned in my youth begins with a lengthy apology for failing to keep a journal, follows with a brief summary of a six-month period of my life and concludes with a similarly lengthy promise about how, effective immediately, I was going to journal every single day. Repeat as necessary.

This blog is beginning to read like my journal, only with less Goonies references. In an effort to avoid any such comparisons, I will no longer blog about how I'm going to start blogging more. And I will no longer apologize for being a bad blogger. But for what it's worth, here is a brief summary of the last little bit of my life:

• I spent a lot of time at my pesky day job and even more time complaining about it.
  
• I did not buy a pink scooter.
  
• I installed a new rear rack and white basket on the Vespa. I attempted to sew a white vinyl seat cover with red piping, but failed miserably. In turn, I was going to send the seat off for professional reupholstery but have not yet done that either. However, I'm loving the extra carrying capacity provided by the basket. I think I'm calling this project done for now.
  
• I sewed some dresses. They are crazy. I have a hard time sewing non-crazy dresses. As a result, I only wear them when I'm feeling particularly gutsy.
  
• I saw Elvis Costello at the Greek Theater. I love Elvis Costello, and have seen him play live before (also saw him play live at the taping of the last episode of 3rd Rock from the Sun; did not journal about it), but this was a different experience because he was backed by the Sugarcanes, a bluegrass band, and did bluegrass renditions of his classics. Fabulous.
  
• I attended the first book club convened to discuss my book, Gravity vs. the Girl. Even though the club consisted mostly of my friends, I was super nervous as I did not necessarily write it with the vision that they would all read it. However, their discussion was marvelous and it was humbling to hear them talk about the characters I created. I don't think I added much to the conversation, but was happy to participate in it nonetheless.
  
• I got a lot of work done on my next "writing" project, which is a snarky children's book that is not for children. As the writing of it only took a day, the bulk of the work has been on the illustration end. Some days I like the illustrations and other days I despise them. However, a return to my first love-hate relationship (the visual arts) after a very lengthy hiatus has been great fun. Other than that little preview, I am keeping mum about this project for now.
  
• Speaking of visual arts, I "invested in" (re: "splurged on") a Yudu screen printing machine and the requisite accoutrements. I've had a lifelong interest in screen printing and printmaking and even tried a little in my youth but the process was too pricey and complicated for me then. I haven't had a chance to set up my print shop just yet but am looking forward to it and am hoping nobody minds getting DIY t-shirts for their next 12 birthdays. I'm a pretty crafty person, but this is new to me. If anyone has Yudu tips, let me know.
  
• I resolved not to "invest in" anything other than food and shelter for the rest of the year. (Hence, the decision to hold off on the new Vespa seat.)
  
• Two weekends ago, I went to Vegas for work. I survived.
  
• Last weekend, I went to San Francisco again to see Her Space Holiday and Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band. This show was double fabulous!! I may not have expressed my appreciation for both bands' amazing performances as well as the large yet emotional guy three people away from me, who was singing/swaying along to every song with exuberant hand gestures and is-he-simply-ecstatic-or-is-he-having-a-seizure facial expressions, but I swear I enjoyed them as much as he did. Maybe more because, unlike him, I wasn't crying the whole time.
  
• This week I am watching my city burn to the ground.
  
• Next weekend: Phoenix. In September. I'm sure that will be refreshing.