That word, spontaneity, looks like it’s spelled wrong.


ONE: I am going to take a road trip right after the wedding is over, helping to move a good friend to Indiana.  I KNOW.  I told my boss-boss that I was heading to Indianapolis, and he said, “What was SECOND prize?” Ha!  But I am SUPER excited, because I’ve never been on a road trip, and this is my first chance, ever!  THRILLING! (Hopefully I’ll still be full of joy and enthusiasm after three+ days on the open road tries to beat that shit out of me.)

TWO: I am buying a blackberry after school today.  I’ve wanted one for a long time.  Except I just realized that, uh, if I’ve wanted one for a long time it’s not an instance of spontaneity.

ONE instance of spontaneity!




Last night, I had a difficult dream.

I was driving a grey van, but it wasn’t traditional driving – it was more like pulling myself along the highway by my hands.  It was difficult and toilsome and backbreaking work to get the van up the road (for at some points, the road was truly vertical) and I continued to encounter roadblocks and detours and frickin’ angry CATS and, at one point, a fence made of chicken wire.

And then I pulled up alongside a girl doing the same thing I was.  I had my head to the ground though, and I had lost all pretext of ‘driving’ – it was just plain climbing – and she had to ask me twice for directions before I noticed she was right next to me, doing the same thing I was.

The weather changed, and instead of digging my hands into the cracks in the concrete, I was pulling on big flowers and blinking against the bright sunlight.

I hope this means I’ma get a girlfriend.


Good lord, it’s 6pm.

On Friday.

The 25th of July.

I have no idea where my summer’s gone.  Though it gives me hope for the fall, and the coming spring, and summer and fall again until I’m done with this degree.  At least there’s that.  Oh shit I need to check on my books – where ARE they?

Anyhow, we have a giant project coming to a head this weekend, and a bunch of real professionals coming to take a look at the little University gallery.  Oh, I hope we acquit ourselves well.  I’ve never been so involved with mounting an exhibition, and it’ll feel personal if there’s an unfavorable reaction.

Anyhow, I had a long long day, with no real lunch break, that started at 7am and ended at 5:20.  I just got home a few minutes ago, having decided to go to Kinko’s tomorrow morning before the farmer’s market (again, both errands for work – what?) and, first thing, made a truly productive choice.

Corona with lime.


Dear All Y’alls,

I’ve had a hella busy weekend. I helped to host a bridal shower, I worked worked worked, wrote some essays in a flighty, ridiculous eleventh-hour style (as I do), and I helped to organize an amateur recording session.

Did you know that being a Maid of Honor is a ridiculously time-consuming job? It really is. A JOB, in addition to the actual jobs that I do. (One-and-a-half, plus a graduate degree, by the way, in case you were wondering.) There’s planning and coordinating and booking and contacting and accompanying and calming and listing and inviting and all of that plus more other things and IT’S NOT EVEN LEGAL FOR ME TO GET MARRIED not that there’s anyone who wants to marry me anyway, *sob*.


No, wedding-related duties are truly a pain in the butt, especially when bridesmaids don’t get back to me about their wishes, hopes, dreams and desires.  It’s really difficult to book our tarot reader when we’re just not sure how many readees we’ll have, or how many massages I have to book.

Hard life, huh?

Well, it is.  We’re all saving our money to do these things with and for one another, and for this bride.  We love her, and she’ll probably (hopefully!) only have the one wedding — so we want to do this right.  That means pulling out almost all of the stops.  Expensive dresses, but they’re beautiful.  Tarot readings, massages and pedicures.  Undergarmenture and jewelry, and a gift for the bride who so rudely planned her wedding very near to her birthday so now I have to double-gift her, DAMNIT.

The point is, it’s not like I’ve just got all of this extra cash floating around.  I work hard for the money (so you’d better treat me right) at both jobs, making sure everybody is faking it to the very best of their abilities.  But honestly – I save, I buy appropriate things (car repair) and eschew things I won’t personally use (iPod) and make certain I have enough left over to do the things I want (push-up bra, vacation to Oregon) without sacrificing the things I need (health insurance, gas for vehicle, tuition).

And that’s how I know I’m an adult.

It sucks.

More on that tomorrow.


No oars, either.

July 21, 2008

It is raining in my office and I don’t have a boat.


Naomi Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.


July 20, 2008

I have about seven of them – drafts of posts I intend to make, but then I have too many things to do.  Life intrude and I don’t have the time to make certain I’m satisfied.  Damn you, perfectionist tendencies!

But I don’t even want to talk about those things.  Eventually, you can have them – updates on the school thing; on a classy dress fitting I had; on dogsitting for a malamute.  At this moment I have one thing on my mind.

Something happened last week – we’ve been calling it an adventure, but now I think it was more of a mishap.  I am not the catalyst for drama, ever, so it was out of character for me to pursue this adventure.  Truthfully, I didn’t want to pursue it.  What I recall was a pretty adamant objection to it, in fact – though, since honesty is the name of the game, I did enjoy myself during the adventure itself.  Mishap.

But now there have been unexpected consequences. No, damnit, that’s another lie. There have been plain old consequences of a hugely predictable nature.  Of course nothing good could come of the adventure-mishap.  And we knew it.  But we did it anyway.

So.  Why do people do stupid shit?  Why do we chase after the elusive adventure-experience, only to find that it’s – of course – nothing but a mess?  Why do we look at an impending clusterfuck and say “No way that’ll be a clusterfuck!”

Stupid.  You need to learn to listen to yourself, Yvanka.  You already knew the score.



July 10, 2008

On the fourth of July, my grandmother and her pseudo-partner – were talking about an upcoming lesbian wedding.  My grandmother’s bff (and, effectively, domestic partner for over twenty years) has a lovely daughter who is taking the opportunity to marry the love of her life.  Thank you, California!

So, after I finished a large gin-and-tonic, I came out to them.

Gma laughed a little, said that she thought – perhaps – that was the case.  My lack of boyfriends tipped her off a little.  They gave me hugs, told me that I was remarkable, and said that they loved me so very much.

It’s a hard life, said Gma’s best friend – one she wouldn’t choose for anyone.  It’s difficult to realize that there are people in the world who will dislike you for some unknown, unquantifiable reason.  But we are all God’s creation, and we should be proud of who we are.

Happy Pride, everyone.


I managed an A in business law, bitches!

I managed an A in business law, bitches!

Pending litigation!

July 2, 2008

As I twittered earlier today:

For the first time in my life, I’ve been threatened with litigation – and I am delighted, because the party doing the threatening can KISS MY LEGALLY-INFORMED ASS!


Dear Sir Unpleasantpants Jerkaroo,

Thank you for sharing your opinion.  I must inform you, however, that as it turns out, for  ‘defamation of character’ to be a viable legal claim, the defamation in question must be rooted in the publication of falsehood.  Interestingly, as it is, I have spoken only truth. You are unkind, frightening, often drunk, and – at times – even cruel. Based on reasonable standards of social interaction, your behavior is appalling.

Thanks for trying, though.

And by the way: Fuck off.

In utter revulsion,
Ms. Yvanka Marmalade


It’s also very unlikely that this man is going anything beyond blowing hot air.
If you ain’t got a lawyer, take your broke! ass! home!


I put a batch of bridal shower invitations in the mail yesterday at 4:30pm. I just found out that they’ve ALREADY reached their destinations. Or, um, pretty close.

I just got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, and the woman on the other end forewent all formalities. As follows:

Me: Hello?


Me: …um! Yes! This is she?

Her: You don’t know me and I don’t know you!

Me: …

Her: But I have a bridal shower invitation with your name and phone number on it!

Me: Oh! Okay, great!

Her: Not so much! You see, it’s come to me by mistake. It’s my address on the envelope, but not my name. Perhaps your one looks like a seven? It’s sort of smashed into this zero.

Me: Oh. Alright, thank you for calling!



… so, yeah. I think that was the very best possible way I could have discovered that the invitations have reached their destinations. Or their pseudo-destinations.