Showing posts with label disjointed thinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disjointed thinking. Show all posts

Saturday, April 13, 2013

pirate-y career schemes.

I've spent some time over my Spring Break unwinding, genuflecting (occasionally reflecting, but mostly genuflecting), and attempting to be proactive about writing. I am reading a book about starting a career as a freelance writer. I am back to writing (most-ish) every day. I have almost finished a short story. I really wish I could find a way to end that thing--I started it last Saturday, worked a lot on it on Monday, and attempted to put it to rest on Tuesday afternoon. It's really going nowhere, and I'm not sure I'll ever finish it. Right now the ending sentence goes like this: I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO END THIS STUPID FRICKIN' THING!!!!!!

I'm sure this is exactly what drives literary magazine editors to publish stories: Awesome ending sentences utlizing the phrase "stupid frickin'." Everything ALL CAPS.

However, never fear. I have discovered a new and possibly exciting career opportunity still staying within the storytelling frame, but kind of way more awesome. A couple of years ago, I did a group blog initiated by my friend Patresa called COFFEE. There were about 8 or 9 of us, and we all picked projects to complete that scared the holy living poop out of us. Patresa wanted to sing in front of real people, Holly wanted to complete the Artist's Way, Stephany was learning to live life on her own terms, Katie was working on getting her entire life re-focused, Tawni was going to be an award-winning writer, etc and so forth. Mine, of course, was Grocery Shopping. (Because I'm dangerous like that.) Had I stumbled upon what I stumbled upon this week, however, my COFFEE project would have been: Oscar Winning Movie Extra! (dunh dunh duuuunh!)

Because hello! Movie Stardom without ever getting recognized or harassed by paparazzi? That's just a win-win situation, sweet friends. It pays a lot less than regular Movie Stardom, but I hear if you get a Screen Actors Guild card and they hire you to be an extra at some long distance location, they have to buy you a first class plane ticket to get there because SAG says so (further proof unions are NOT evil). Also, did you know Atlanta is like #5 on the list of New Hollywoods of the South (according to Access Atlanta)? It's true! They film TV shows about zombies and vampires here. And shows about real housewives buying wedding dresses and bras. Because down South we're all about classy. They also film a lot of movies here, too--Tyler Perry being the person who seems to use Atlanta the most (possibly because he has a production company/movie studio here and, like, 500 mansions).

THE HUNGER GAMES sequel was just filmed here, THE BLIND SIDE, and REMEMBER THE TITANS (do you? remember them?). Tyler Perry makes me nervous, but I could so have drinks with Denzel Washington (who also just made another movie here, some airplane movie called FLIGHT--I bet Denzel is completely familiar with Atlanta at this point and even knows his way around Spaghetti Junction like a boss) (fyi--we do this a lot in Atlanta. We name things based on other things and only Atlantans really know what the heck anyone is talking about--Spaghetti Junction is the I-285 interchange that looks like a big old mess of spaghetti from the air. Spaghetti Junction also serves as our official tool of segregration by dividing Atlantans into those who are cool, hip Inside the Perimeter (ITP) residents and the uncool, unhip Outside the Perimeter (OTP) people. Then there's Murder Kroger, because it's right next to a police station and there was a rash of unfortunate homicides in its parking lot..and Disco Kroger, a former gay nightclub turned grocery store. The South: cute, classy, and quirky, without a slight trace of irony.)

But most important? Please consider the following as evidence for my natural inclination toward Movie/TV extra acting stardom:

1) As a child, all I ever did in my spare time was perform Broadway musicals (alone, in my bedroom, surrounded by stuffed animals). My repertoire was wide and varied: Wizard of Oz, Annie, Funny Girl, Westside Story...AND I did my own choreography. At 8 years old, I'm pretty sure that indicates serious tv/movie extra prodigy potential.

2) One long summer between 3rd and 4th grade, some neighborhood friends and I wrote, directed, produced, costume-designed, and marketed a very disjointed outdoor off off off off off off off Broadway theater production based on a conglomeration of STAR WARS, BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, and HELLO, DOLLY!. (That last bit was mine--the neighborhood friends were all boys, and I really felt we needed some girly songs throughout, just to break up the monotony of aliens getting their heads blown off). We sold tickets around the neighborhood for 25 cents, then quickly marked them down to 5 cents because mothers complained we were price gouging.

3) I don't want to make anyone feel even more insecure now that you know about my Bedroom Broadway and successful off Broadway Outdoor Theater past, but I WAS also cast once in a high school drama during my junior year--I played an uptight school marm (foreshadowing!) and had three incredibly important lines.

4) I read a lot of trashy celebrity magazines. I mean A LOT. Like, did you know Khloe Kardashian is now the hottest Kardashian, since Kim got pregnant? If you didn't pick up the latest issue of US WEEKLY and read it over a bowl of Kix cereal, sorry--you're clearly not in the entertainment biz insider loop.

5) But more important than all of that,  I have recently learned (as in, breaking news last night during a late night, not-stalkery-at-all-just-casually-interested-in-him Google search): Jason Isaacs may be coming to Atlanta to shoot a new TV series called SURGEON GENERAL. Jason Isaacs, I hear you thinking, Who the heck is Jason Isaacs?  Remember when I wrote about him in my last post? He's like Less Famous Clive Owen. Just as talented and British, but people don't recognize him in grocery stores which I hear tell he's totally fine with. So if I run into him in Kroger if/when he's here, I'll play it cool by saying, "Argh, matey. Can ye hand me over that dozen of bosun eggs? Aye, but ye're blockin' me way."

Heh, because see: he once played Capt Hook in a movie. So you probably just read my imaginary grocery store exchange with Jason Isaacs like, What the....Is she drunk?? and really had no idea why I just did that, but Jason Isaacs would totally know why I was talking to him in pirate, and I'm convinced he'd invite me out for drinks after giving me my bosun eggs.

He's also played Lucius Malfoy in the HARRY POTTER movies and the evil British colonel out to destroy Mel Gibson in THE PATRIOT. But his stint as Capt. Hook in the failed 2003 version of PETER PAN is really just a true, deep travesty of justice because, to date, Jason Isaac's Capt. Hook is the only pirate anybody should really ever even consider inviting to a dinner party. No! Not even Capt. Jack Sparrow! Seriously, I mean it. If Capt. Jack Sparrow even tries to show up, Capt. Hook and I are out of there!

He does seem to play an awful lot of villains, but I think Jason also kind of looks like Jesus here, and Jesus was a good guy. Off camera, Jason's Jewish, and guess what? So was Jesus! (I think he should make a movie in which he plays a swashbuckling Jesus who talks like Capt. Hook, is what I'm saying. Just in case his agent reads this.)

The only slight, kind of tiny little hiccup to my whole Movie Star Extra/Meet Jason Isaacs Plan? I hate hate hate being: photographed, tagged in photographs, videotaped, tagged in videos, and generally being exposed to the world in a full body shot kind of way. So I'm hoping Jason Isaacs and his new TV series crew are looking for extras they can shoot just from the neck up. I'm in big trouble if they tell me NO on that and if so I may have to figure out a better ending sentence (no use of "frickin'", no ALL CAPS) to my untitled really bad Work in Progress I pounded out in a mere three days this week.

Oooh! Wait! Coffee girl! I wonder if the movie/tv crews coming to Atlanta need coffee/sandwich go getters for them? I would be so expert at that--my off off off off off off off Broadway years totally prepared me. Off to Google it!

Sunday, November 25, 2012

midwestern people, writing, schedules, proof of heaven, with an abrupt ending.

C, Melissa, and I just returned from a Thanksgiving Day/week visit to see his father, sisters, and other relatives in St. Louis, MO. I like St. Louis, MO for a few reasons:

1a) Midwestern people, or at least those residing in the Kirkwood-ish area of St. Louis, do not seem to be in total control of their cars. At least 3 times I or Melissa were almost run down in a store parking lot; C claims he was able to escape this potential fate because he's just naturally more "specialer" than us and people not in control of their cars manage to steer clear of him in a magical way.

1b) In spite of this (or maybe because of it), Midwestern people are decent, down to earth, friendly folks. Here in the metro Atlanta area, I sometimes feel like I'm more of New Yorker than a Southerner. People cut you off in traffic, stand in front of you in the steak section of the supermarket utterly oblivious to the fact other people actually exist in the world around them and may need to gain access to your area of the steak section so freaking move OKAY??, and just generally get in the way and don't seem one bit apologetic about it. Just like pre-schoolers in Toys R Us.

However, whenever I am in the Midwest--be it Oklahoma or Illinois or Missouri (really the only 3 Midwestern places I've been that I have any real knowledge about, so I don't know...maybe this opinion just reflects those Midwestern locations and the rest of the people in the Midwest are complete nincompoops) (no! no, they are not--I am kidding: I know wonderful people from Kansas and Iowa, and they are lovely). Where was I? Oh yes, Midwestern people are lovely and polite. They say "Excuse me," and "I'm sorry," when they have to pass in front of you in a store or realize they're in the way...and they often realize they are in the way, because they are not under the impression they're the only ones on planet Earth. Midwestern people are lovely, friendly, sweet, and just NICE.

2) We stay at a Marriott-run hotel when we go, the same one each time. It is near the airport, and very nice. We found it several years ago when we needed to stay in a hotel because C's dad's house had too many people in it...he sent us to a Super 8 motel nearby, which was just fine...there is absolutely nothing wrong with hotels that are clean and useful for their purposes: sleeping and showering. ....Unless there is a night of shooting/homicide in their parking lot. That's when we decided maybe not all Midwesterners are lovely, and we needed a place that was slightly more secure. So we went down the road a little and found a hotel pilots and airline attendants like to stay at, which is this place.

They just remodeled their lobby and so now when you walk in, you feel like you're walking into a really swank hotel any D-list celebrity would stay in (we won't discuss the conditions of the rooms' tubs and the fact that rich people no longer need cord phones in bathrooms to make important business calls...do important business people often make important business phone calls while sitting on the toilet? I wonder). So you feel very swank and important until night falls and you look outside your room's window and see the Hustler Hollywood Emporium across the street, all lit up like a sleazy all-year-round Christmas tree. It really puts vanity into perspective, and I love that.

3) St. Louis just feels less ostentatious than Atlanta and, I suspect, it's easier to maneuver. The Monday before we left, Anne Lamotte came to town to give a free book reading/talk about her new book. I love Anne Lamotte, and fervently wish we at least lived in the same town and went to the same church. She is funny and honest and really real. However, I had schoolwork to do so I wouldn't have to think about it when we got back, and I had to make a decision--drive 40 miles in freaky Atlanta traffic to hear one of my writing heroes speak? Or do some lesson plans and pull some other school stuff together? My priorities won this time, but only because of freaky Atlanta traffic. I'm sure if I lived in St. Louis this would not have been an issue.

So, anyway. St. Louis is nice. And it also kept me off the internet (mostly) for several days. What a nice break--do you ever think the internet, facebook, pinterest, etc. are time suckers eating our brains? Honestly, they're starting to make just quietly watching TV (TV, the 20th century time sucker/brain eater) feel like completing a Harvard course in the History of Medieval Law.

What I discovered while not consumed with mindless, brain eating internet tom foolery: I can finish reading a 400+ page book AND still be a semi-competent mother, wrote at least once in my journal (and I NEVER write in that thing--years of dust fell off it when I opened it and it gave a delighted yet shocked squeal of delight when it realized it was getting written in), and Melissa had my fullest attention ever--she was no less hyper, but far more entertaining than usual. My patience (which is never very big) grew in gigantic proportions, in mere days.

Which is why I've concluded the internet is eating my brain (yet here I am, writing on a blog....I know. But I'm writing! And writing is something I have let fallen on the wayside for far too long, so any writing--even rambling, incoherent blog writing--is healthy).

I've decided I need to get myself a schedule. I am a person who needs lists--otherwise, I can't remember who or what I am. And my child, I can tell, will also be a person who needs lists and schedules...we are both easily distracted people who prefer mindless, wasted activities to productive, creative ones. So schedule and lists it is.

On a sad note, Tasha died before we got her to the vet to put her to sleep. Several important things about this, that my soul did take note of:

*I asked God to take that decision off my plate. Because God isn't on my schedule, and doesn't act as fast as I think God should, I assumed God wasn't listening to me at all (never, ever assume God isn't listening) and so I said fine, that's how You want it? I'll go ahead and make the damn decision. I went ahead with my decision.
*I began talking to Tasha about my decision, that I was reluctant to help her move on but that she was incredibly sick and old and there was little we could do to help her get better, but that it was okay for her to let go herself. I told her I didn't think whatever is waiting for us after this is scary at all, and that she would be young and happy again, but that we would miss her so much over here on this side of the veil.
*Tasha began letting go. I noticed in small ways, but assumed (because God never listens to me) that we'd still take her to the vet on Saturday as planned.
*Melissa got sick on a Wednesday, and I stayed home on a Thursday to take care of her. Tasha started going rapidly downhill that night--so much so that I woke up C to ask if we should go ahead and take her to the vet the next morning, though I really didn't think she'd even make it through the night.
*The next day, instead of just taking care of sick Melissa, I helped sick Tasha die.
*Tasha died at 10:15 am on Thursday, November 15, 2012. 

I think events like these are spiritual mile markers; events the Universe puts us through to shake us up and make us see what matters. God did take the decision making off my plate. But God also let me see why we should always be careful about what we ask for--watching Tasha go through her dying process was terrible, for her and for me. However, she has gone onto be part of God's peace, and I am left with wrenching memories of watching her die and incredible guilt that I didn't help her go over sooner so she didn't have to go through that...I won't do that again with another aging animal. Lesson learned, the hard way (as I usually like to learn all my hardest lessons, which I suppose God is already quite aware about me). But God also made sure I was there to be with her when she died, and I am thankful to him for that. And she did die at home, with someone petting her head telling her it was okay to go, just let go, until she finally did. I just wish it had been much more quietly, in her sleep (I think that's what I was thinking/hoping it would be...it was the opposite).

I miss her deeply--people who don't get attached to animals will not understand this. If I were a witch (and I am not, no matter how many times Melissa insists that I am), Tasha would have been my familiar, and my most important, best spells would all be broken now. There are signs of her everywhere still in our house--I'll find pieces of fur every now and then, and the Friday after she died I found one of her whiskers by her favorite window spot. It's always sad to come home and know she won't come downstairs to lay on the sofa next to me, or on a chair. But I think some part of her is still here; I feel her presence everywhere. I hope she understands, in whatever form she's in now. I talk to her every day, just in case she's still here.

I've started reading a book called PROOF OF HEAVEN by Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurosurgeon who once thought the brain was solely responsible for Near Death Experiences of people claiming to have been to Heaven when they died. He claims he has evidence that dying is not necessarily a brain thing, and this also makes me want to raise my fist in a victory salute (remember in my last blog entry, how I was all: "Curses on YOU, party pooper brain scientists!"? Dr. Eben Alexander is officially off my Party Pooper Brain Scientist list). It's a comforting book...if you're a party pooper brain scientist, I'm sure you'll find a lot in it to do your party pooper arguing about. Party poopers usually do; it's why they're on my party pooper/not invited list. And if you're very fundamentally Christian, you may not like reading Dr. Alexander insisting on referring to God as "Om" and you might feel slighted because Dr. Alexander never ran into Jesus or Paul or anyone while he was over there. But I think there's still a lot of common ground people of different faiths can high five about, and when we do, we can all stare at the party poopers with looks of giant disapproval. Highly recommended, for both soul peace and world peace against all party pooping.

I'm going to abruptly end this blog post there and go make up a schedule for myself. Winter is knocking and I am at my laziest, least focused during Winter.

Friday, November 25, 2011

shopping confessions for a black friday

Confession #1: I have embarrassingly crude thoughts about fellow shoppers at grocery stores. I have yet to find a grocery store to shop at that has aisles big enough. Big enough for what, you ask? Big enough for everything, I say. I think mostly it's that I just don't get why, in a world consisting of a billion people, 999 million of them don't seem to understand that (1) when parking a cart in an aisle to make food purchase decisions, a cart should (a) not be parked smack dab in the middle of the aisle or (b) parked horizontally at the end of an aisle, as both choices not only completely trap one's fellow shoppers in an aisle, both choices also cause an elevation in blood pressure of certain fellow shoppers (ie, me), causing her to imagine taking a cart blocking her way and slamming it repeatedly into, say, some egg cartons, thereby officially losing her mind and possibly getting arrested. Most definitely getting strange, horrified stares. At the grocery store. Usually in the cereal and canned foods aisles, but often in the dairy section. Because her fellow grocery store shoppers seem to be completely unaware of the fact they are not the only ones who are trying to buy food and exist in the world.

The other grocery store pissed off confession I have is having to wait for a fellow shopper standing, sometimes for a full 10 minutes, in front of the very area I also need to grab something from, and having to wait for them to make a decision and watching them do so in a most oblivious manner. If I had to think hard for 10 minutes, or even had 10 minutes just to stand and wait patiently for their thinking processes to reach conclusion, this would only be a minor irritation. But this is not the case. I want to grab their shoulders, shake them, and scream into their faces: "YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE!! YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE!!"  And then run away, leaving them shocked, confused, and (most likely) still oblivious. Most often in the produce section, but sometimes in the frozen food area.

Confession #2: About 6 weeks ago, I totally lost my mind at my local Target. I've been shopping at this Target for going on a decade now, with nary a single emotionally crazy peep. But 6 weeks ago, I'd had a really frickin' long day at work, was dealing with an outrageous amount of hormones, and on top of all that was generally in a big hurry. I'd plopped Melissa in the back of the cart (not properly seat belted and not in the proper front seat not like the properly behaved angel the Target employee I'm about to tell you about apparently demands all strange children who are none of her business be) and was swinging through (in a general, hormonal hurry) to get what I needed from the office product section.

Target Employee with a Terrific Need to Condemn and Control sees us, and says in a haughty tone of voice: "You better put that baby in the front seat like you're supposed to. She needs to be sitting down." I looked at her long and hard and said, "Excuse me?" And she repeated what she'd said again, this time in (what was clearly) a nastier tone of voice. And so I looked at her even longer and harder and then said slowly (because I was so enraged I couldn't even see straight and was convinced if a brick happened to be nearby I would throw it at her head), "Ooookaaaay. Well. She's not a baby and I think I can manage my own child." And then I stomped off. Target didn't have what I needed anyway. What kind of a stupid Target was this?? With their rude, control-y employees and not having what a person needs anyway.

So I was furious and in a bad mood for the rest of my time in Target. And at check out, I think I scared the quiet, sweet cashier wearing a headscarf when I abruptly asked to speak to a manager. And when the manager came, I told her what had happened, apologized by saying I never do stuff like huffily demand to speak to managers, but I'd had a really long day and what was said and the tone it was said in was an incredibly inappropriate way to speak to a customer and I'd like to know that the manager was going to let the employee know that. And then before she could even lay out her action plan for me, I burst into tears and left.

Here's the confession part: I avoided going back to that Target for 4 weeks straight and when I did go back (on a Wednesday, around 5 pm-ish), and ran into both the nasty employee and the manager I'd had a psychotic melt down on? I glared at both of those chicks in a very "You think you want a piece of this?? Bring it." kind of way. And now I only go to that Target if it's the weekend and/or before 4 pm. And every time Melissa is with me now, I put her in the front seat and tell her she has to sit there in case we run into the "mean lady" again. Which means now I'm passing on my hormonal imbalance-y thinking to my daughter, and when she's in talk therapy years later as an adult, she'll spend so much time working out her strange, irrational fear and belief that female Target employees are all "mean ladies."

But mostly, every time I sit her in the front seat and buckle her in, I feel like I'm letting the mean Target lady win. And this is Christmastime, when mean Target ladies should not be allowed to win.

Which is precisely why I've decided the next time I have to go to that Target, I'll go (a) at 5 pm on a weekday and (b) let Melissa ride in the back of the cart, standing up, possibly holding a sign that says "You think you want a piece of this?? Bring it."

Confession #3: I've also started frequenting (please make sure you're sitting down before continuing)........................... Wal-Mart. Anyone who knows me well should be sitting with a really stunned look on their face after reading that, because historically I'm very anti-Wal-Mart. I'm not convinced they treat all of their employees fairly, and also the aisles are too narrow (see confession #1). And the other customers freak me out occasionally. I will note, though, I haven't run into one inappropriately condescending employee. And they have an organic section. Who knew?!

Confession #4: This has nothing to do with shopping, and I tagged it on at the end in the hopes you'd get bored and stop reading before hitting Confession #4. Confession #4 is that not only have I read all of the Twilight books, I have consistently taken myself (alone, in secret, hidden in the dark recesses of my skeletons' closet) to see each Twilight movie as they come out.

I read the first book while on bed rest and pregnant. It was horribly written, but I could tell: if I was a teenage girl with angst and social acceptance issues (ie, if I were 14 all over again), I would be on these sparkly vampire people who don't hurt people like white on rice. And then I read the 2nd book, which was written even worse than the 1st. But I couldn't stop. I had to know what happened next! Each book, in succession, was plotted, conceived, and written worse than the last.

But that's not the worst part of it all. Liking poorly written, gushy romance novels about vampires is one thing. Liking poorly written, gushy vampire romance novels involving helpless heroines is something else. I feel about myself like I feel about my child loving pink and Disney princesses: Oh, Amy. No no no. Where did I fail you?? (Bella, the female protagonist, spends every book pining for a boy and begging for rescue). I feel like someone who accidentally changed the tv channel and landed on a perverse reality show (that is so obviously scripted and simply put there to control and then destroy the very soul of America) but after 15 minutes has to keep watching because now I've invested 15 minutes of my time and have to see what happens at the end. Even if the end is sort of like, "That's it?"

Confession #5: I go see the movies because (a) the quality is always questionable, but (b) I still really want to see the books put into action, and (c) I'm on Team Edward. Because he has really red lips and nice amber eyes (after slurping down deer blood, of course) and sparkly skin and when he's not in the Twilight movies he has a British accent and I love those. I was a high school freshman when the actor who plays Edward was born and so it's just incredibly inappropriate but not really, since Edward is technically 110 years old or something. Imagination and reality get blurry for me when Twilight is involved.

Not to mention very weird, since I'll be a 40 year old woman on my next birthday with a lot on her plate to worry about right now: a new job, maintaining a household, raising an independent girl who hopefully will trend toward Harry Potter rather than glittery vampires...which may be precisely why I'm drawn toward being rescued by the undead. As long as they sparkle and won't munch on me (at least not in ways I don't like), it's a release from the day to day reality of crazy.

I think a lot of the people in the audience with me on Tuesday morning I went to see Breaking Dawn are in this for similar reasons. There were 10 other people in the theater with me and the audience make up looked like this: 4 ladies in their 40-50's, 4 teenagers, 1 lone man who looked like he was in his 70's, and a couple (I suspect the husband was dragged there) in their 60's. And me. Dressed head to toe in black, like I was channeling a stealth ninja. A stealth ninja weakened by an irrational love for imaginary spangly vampires to rescue her, completely forgetting that, yo, she's a frickin' ninja. A stealth ninja.

Confession #6 (another non-shopping confession): I think only about 6 people regularly read this blog (hi Michele, hi Mom!), so I'm feeling fairly good about this Twilight secret staying securely in the back of my closet. (I also think it's pretty telling that I'm more comfortable with many in the general public knowing about my irrational rage thoughts toward other shoppers in grocery stores and outlandish emotional breakdowns in Target than admitting--out loud--that I'm on, you know, Team Edward.) (Although Team Jacob can be fairly stunning in his shirtless moments.) (No no! I can't, mustn't, betray Edward!)

I'll be so glad when they release Breaking Dawn part 2 and I can shove this Twilight nonsense into my basement, right next to my Hello Kitty collection.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

public dysfunction, cat gut, and surviving the apocalypse.










I like conversations. I like the conversations I have with other people, and I love eavesdropping on dysfunctional conversations around me that are absolutely none of my beeswax.


I think I just like wondering about how these people got to where they are right now, and I enjoy filling in the gaps of the story I don't have, and then deciding which side I'd be on if I were a referee in those people's Dysfunctional Life contest. And I feel perfectly okay doing this, because these people are having their dysfunctional conversations in public locations, and they are having them in REALLY LOUD VOICES EVERYONE AROUND THEM CAN HEAR.


(I would like note: I am perfectly okay with other people judging my dysfunctional public conversations as well. {I have exactly 5 of these per year.})


CONVERSATION #1: Filling in the Gaps of Family Feud Dilemmas.


As I type this, I am drinking an iced tea at a McDonald's, and I'm listening to the man in the booth behind me talk on his cellphone. He's very upset, and this is the one-sided conversation I'm currently unable to ignore because it's being conducted IN A REALLY LOUD VOICE EVERYONE WITHIN 40 FEET OF IT CAN HEAR:


**********************************************

MAN: I think that boy is losing his mind. He's mistaking me for someone who actually gives a damn about him.


Well, he needs to check himself into a mental hospital.


Wait! Who was that girl? The one that spit in your mom's face? Yeah, she needs to (long string of expletives).


(here, I want to cover the ears of the 2 small children standing by their mom right now at the drink machine across from this man's booth)(no! wait! i think they only speak Spanish, so they might be okay. phew!)


Oh yeah. He definitely needs his ass beat more than her.


No. I like my mom a lot better when she's drunk, she kind of gets back into her old self.


No way! I'd be right there at the alter with a...a...MATCH. Woosh! Yeah I know. Because the other day she told me she wants to make her status: "I'm so glad my husband doesn't play video games all damn day." Yeah, you should go check out her crazy statuses.


No. He deleted his facebook because he got tired of her putting the family drama online for everyone to see.


(here, I feel really guilty because of course I'm putting his family drama on my blog.) But then he says THIS little nugget:


That's why I'm filling out an application to work here.


*****************************************************


Filling in the gaps:


From what I can tell, there are many mentally unbalanced people this man knows but two of them are extremely pissing him off right now.He's an artist in the use of the expletives, and doesn't look around to make sure youngsters aren't in the area before unleashing his art. He prefers his mom drunk and there appears to be someone in his family who enjoys having dysfunctional family feuds on facebook. And also, (possibly) he'd like to work at McDonald's because of all of this.


I'm not sure who's side to take, because I think there are may be about 30 people involved in this Dysfunction Family Feud and that's making my brain hurt. And also, I think I'd need to see the drunk mom in action first and also hear from the girl who spit in the mom's face before taking sides.


Also, I hope he gets a job here and tells that girl to stop spitting in moms' faces.


CONVERSATION #2: Cat Gut Talk.


I need to make a vet appointment for my cat. She's quite old (15 or 16), she's lost a lot of weight, and she's been throwing up--no place in my house is safe, or sacred, from the contents of Tasha's cat gut. I suspect feline renal failure, and so I've kind of been putting a vet visit off for awhile. First because of our money situation while C was still job hunting, and now...I just don't want to know? I guess? But I should know. I should know so I can feel better if that's not what's going on...or so I can make some hard decisions.


C once told me he thinks there should be a limit on how much an animal's life is worth. For a cat, he figures about $500. (I've since come to believe he falls just as much in love with animals as me, and just says these things to freak me out so I'll have public dysfunctional conversations with him.) (for the record, C grew up with dogs, reptiles, birds, fish, and--confirmed by his mother--a pony.)


Recently, while riding around town discussing Tasha's situation, we had this conversation:


ME: I really need to get Tasha to a vet. But I don't want to.


C: Why not?

ME: Because I think I'm afraid to know. I know I need to know, but I don't think I want to know.


C: You should find out.


ME: I should find out.



C: But if they say anything crazy, like she needs major surgery to have a kidney removed or something, I don't think you should do that.


ME: No, no. If it's that bad, I guess I just want an idea of how much longer she has to live a comfortable life, and then we'll have to start saying good-byes.


C: I agree. Because you know. I'm not big on kidney removal.


CONVERSATION #3: Don't Pick Me for Your Apocalypse Team.



A couple of weeks ago, we had a crazy night. Melissa had a nasty case of diaper rash and kept pooping diahrrea everywhere but then wouldn't let us change her because she knew it would hurt which was just making her skin even more raw, a nasty tropical depression decided to move through our area knocking out power for 8 hours, and, due to bizarre circumstances involving one family dinner out followed by a lack of house keys, we were locked out of our house for 3 hours until C was able to break in.


Then, the following day, I drove him to the airport for his annual fishing trip and we were besieged with roads closed due to flooding and big traffic jams but not offered any alternate routes to the airport and just had to follow drivers in front of us hoping they, too, needed to catch a plane, and I had exactly 30 minutes to drop him off and then get to work which was 60 minutes away.


I do not do well under these types of stressful situations. My innards twist into knots and my brain feels like it will explode. This makes me snappy and when I get snappy, I alienate everyone around me.


In other words, I am the last (the very last) person you want on your team during an Apocalypse (but I'm the first person you want on the other team during an episode of SURVIVOR: CANNIBAL ISLAND).


This was our airport ride conversation:


C: Would you calm down? There’s nothing anyone can do about this right now, so just stop.


ME: Look, it’s just…it’s just I can’t help it. I would be terrible in an Apocalypse. I’m so sorry you got me as your Apocalypse side kick, honey.


C: Huh??


ME: You know how I am. Look at how I'm acting right now. I just don’t do well in these kinds of situations. I get tense, and when I’m tense you know I get really snappy, and when I get snappy I just lose my mind and alienate everyone around me. I’m pretty sure I’ll lose my mind in the Apocalypse and get ejected from the group of surviving humans.


C: Look, can you be weird AFTER I get on the plane?


ME: Remember last night? When the storms came through and our electricity went out and I forgot to bring a house key with us and we couldn’t get in the house and Melissa had the poop in her diaper with the diaper rash and she wouldn’t let me change her diaper and I was tense because I knew the poop was eating into her already rashy skin? And remember how I was so snappy with everyone?


I swear to God, last night I was THISCLOSE to losing my mind last night. I bet I’d be a trillion times worse during an Apocalypse. Nobody wants that.


C: Stop that. You wouldn’t lose your mind.


ME: Yes I would. Because when we were all in bed and the power was still out, I was just lying there, and my mind was racing, thinking and thinking. Like I could hear every! single! sound! and that was so weird and kind of making me nuts, and what if they never got the power back on? How would I get ready for work tomorrow? What if the power NEVER CAME BACK ON?? And also, all our food in the refrigerator was going bad, and who would I call if nobody ever got the power back on? And you were gone on your fishing trip? Who would I call to fix that? It was going to be 95 degrees today, and what if we burned up in that? Because nobody got on our power back on and we had no a/c? And I simply do NOT have time to deal with that kind of crazy anyway, why do people think I even have that kind of time for that kind of crazy?


I didn’t even go to sleep until the power came back on and my whole world was back to normal. If there was an Apocalypse, I would totally not even know what to do without power. Being without electricity would be the first thing to send me over the edge. Don't you think that's a bad personality trait to have in an Apocalypse?


C: Amy, what do you think people in the 1800’s did? They were fine without electricity. You’d just go back to living with 1800’s technology and you’d be fine.


ME: No. No, I don’t think I would. I would miss the internet too much. And HBO. And microwaves. And cell phones for road emergencies. I would have made a terrible 1800’s person.


C: Come on! You wouldn’t have even known any better. You’d just be like, “Wow, I’m so glad we got the 6 hour candles. The Smiths down the street only have the 2 hour candles.”


ME: Do you promise we’ll get the 6 hour Apocalypse candles? Do you PROMISE? Like, where do you even get 6 hour candles for an Apocalypse?


C: I’m sure Home Depot or Lowe’s has some. And you know me. Do you think *I* would buy just 2 hour candles?


ME: Okay, thanks. I feel better. But I'm still pretty sure I’d lose my mind in an Apocalypse.


C: *sigh*

Thursday, June 2, 2011

19 coffee shop thoughts.


1. I tried weebly.com as a new blog host. I can't add pictures wherever I like to in my posts over there. This is personally vexing to me.

2. I have no idea why this should be personally vexing to me, as I never actually post much of anything. I am the world's best anti-blogger. I am an antidote to blogging.

3. I've also tried wordpress as a blog. It's okay. I think I'm just a blogger kind of gal.

4. A blogger kind of gal who hardly ever blogs.

5. I'm better about writing in the summer. I have more time, and there's more daylight.

6. I'm a blogger kind of gal who hardly ever blogs, who would fail miserably as a vampire.

7. Why are vampire shows/books so popular suddenly? (I've seen all the Twilight movies, and will see the next one. It's a Robert Pattinson thing, not a vampire thing.)

8. I'm way too old for Robert Pattinson and should stick to lusting after Javier Bardem.

9. Who is married, with a new baby. What is WRONG with me??

10. You know what really bugs me? Negative people. Forgive me for being negative about negativity for a second, but really. Why do you need to spew that into the general atmosphere? Can't you just do what I do and vent your spleen in a private journal? That's where negativity belongs, and also your spleen will thank you for it.

11. I bet your kidneys, heart, liver, and endocrine system will too.

12. The summer is stretching ahead of me, far, far ahead of me. This is SUCH a good, a delicious feeling.

13. But it's also kind of a discombobulated feeling--what if I don't get what I want to accomplish accomplished? I hate having a list of things to do and lots of time to do them and then at the end of that time I've only done half. Sometimes, I've done zero. That's a really crappy feeling.

14. I don't know why I blog. I wrote about this weirdness of mine at Sweet Little Crosspatch blog version #1, HERE.

15. This coffee shop is one of my favorite local places (eat organic, buy local), but man. They just don't have any kind of characters coming in. And now it's empty (except for myself and the 2 counter workers).

16. I should probably go get my odd character fix across town at the Super Wal*Mart. They usually have at least one or three oddly outfitted, strange-looking people for me to wonder about.

17. But before I go, I'm going to buy some of this coffee shop's ice cream. Because it's summer, and in the summer you're supposed to eat a lot of ice cream. That was commandment #11 on the first edition of the 10 Commandments (when they were 20 Commandments and then God realized how short people's attention spans really are and so he edited them down to 10) (people attention span continues to be a big problem for him, i do believe).

18. I wonder why God didn't make us with longer attention spans?

19. I need a better shampoo/conditioner combo. My hair feels dry.
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