poopy mouth

Seattle.

Cold. Wet.

Raining.

Don't know what I was expecting. Color me unsurprised.

Something happens between each visit to my Mom, some inflationary childhood trauma that spies a moment of weakness, slithers into the opening, and promptly starts to expand. Seattle trips are never as bad as I think they will be -- there is inevitably some vexation, maybe, but it is relatively rare; the reality is far more mundane and mellow than I ever imagine possible when cowering in my California home, two states away. My mother really does have more than her fair share of charm. It's easy to forget that when she's being reproachful at me over the phone. In person, she has more delicate ways of manipulating me to do her every bidding, and it's easy to submit to that gentle nudging when she delivers it through the medium of body language, an instrument that is not available to her over the harsher perspective of audio-only.

Anyway, I'm home with Mom, and it's been fine.

In an attempt to try and win a little independence from Mom's one-car schedule, we actually rented a car this time. This may become a new tradition for us, although a not entirely unexpected side-effect has been that Mom's errand list has been split in two, one half for her, one half for us. The end result has been, not increased freedom for us, but a different kind of indentured servitude. At least we get to drive at our interpretation of the speed limit, which is something.

An e-mail from my sister...

hello friends, family, and others i for some reason associate with,

i've been in yosemite for for over three months and only two of you non-san franciscans have come out to visit. lame. i'm here until mid october so i had better see at least a few of you.

out here, where the pace of life is a bit slower, every little event that happens excites and stimulates your personal growth. i think i've built enough character to last me a lifetime.

this one might be up there in terms of grossness with the time i doused myself with my own urine...

some of you may remember when i subjected myself to two root canals and crowns down in the dental capital, el salvador, last november. it just so happens that although el salvadoran dental work is by far fairer on the pocket book, it doesn't seem to withstand the test of time.

last week i was eating a delicous supper with a few friends -obviously not cooked by me- consisting of spaghetti with tomato sauce and wine... mmm...wine... halfway through dinner, i realized that my back molar had gone awol. after i realized what i had done, i rushed to the bathroom to make myself hurl. since tomato sauce and wine tend to be quite acidic, it got into my nasal passages and started to make me tear up. after ten minutes of yakking up stomach acid doused noodles and chunky vege-tomato sauce, i finally quit and faced the fact that i was going to have to wait for the dam thing to pass. bummer.

when i got that shatty feeling the next day, i was super excited to see if my tooth had passed! big wall style, i pooped into a plastic bag and explored the contents of the evening before. after ten minutes of being duped by undigested peanut bits and corn, i concluded that it had not yet made it through my mile of small intestines. i was forced to wait even longer.

more than forty hours had passed before i was able to retrieve my crown! i figure another trip to a central or south american dentist would be justified after what my poor little tooth had to go through. anyone want to go on a trip with me?

still estranged from the others, i figure that this would be an excellent story to tell on a first date if i weren't interested in the other party.

i sprained my ankle too...fortunately, that was not bowel related.

here's a 2 minute poem i just submitted online in order to receive a 50$ gift certificate. i titled it potty mouth.

last week i swallowd my tooth
i tried to yack but couldn't
i waited and waited
twelve, twenty four, thirty six hours...
time was passing but my bowels were not
forty hours and excited
out came my porcelin crown
not as white as once was
but securely resting with its friends

such prose. i've brought myself to tears.

love,
sako

A reply to Sako's e-mail from one of her friends...

Haiku for you;

O my pearly crown,

How good to see you in your

Autumn coat of brown.

On Thursday, the Guy and I went to SeaTac airport to pick up Sako, who had timed her own visit to overlap ours. The Guy circled around the terminal in our rental car -- a PT Cruiser, which proved a nice ride but only averaged 20 miles/gallon -- while I wandered into the baggage claim and collected a much-browned sister, cast, crutches, and all.

The story of her sprained ankle requires some explanation. My sister, as you all might recall, works as a volunteer ranger in Yosemite. She gets paid for Search and Rescue, and for four days was on two different searches. At the end of the fourth day, she stepped on a rock and twisted her ankle. She subsequently hiked seven miles out of the wilderness to find help, where she had an X-Ray, was diagnosed with a severe sprain, and put on crutches.

This was not, however, how she told us about her sprained ankle when she first called me. Her version of events started with: "Oh my God, Yuhri. I just met the hottest male nurse."

I admit that I don't really understand my sister's priorities.

Later that day, we were standing outside Costco waiting for the Guy to bring the car around, and she suddenly remarked, "I had to think about that for a second."

"What?"

"That we were in a city. I had to go to the bathroom."

"I think there's one inside..."

"No, I mean, I had to go to the bathroom, so I was thinking, 'I'll just step around these bushes there,' except I had to remember that this was a city so I couldn't just do that."

"Ew."

So there you go. Forest living changes a woman. And I have now successfully written an entire entry in which my sister's sole contribution was an obsession with, well, poop.

You're welcome.