As I take in the negativity
I wonder if I have the strength in me
To help those who have yet to decide
If they're willing to embark on the long ride
To a place where their troubles no longer have control
A place where the bad doesn't have hold
A place where excuses are no longer a crutch
A place where they can count on themselves in a clutch.
I wonder if I have the fortitude
To see past the tough guy attitude
To tap into their inner vulnerability
To show them that they matter to me.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Art Therapy 101
Have you ever lost yourself in creating something? Perhaps you're upset and you bake cookies, become absorbed in creating delectable goodies, and the experience is cathartic. Maybe you enjoy crafts, and you lose yourself in scrapbooking, or candle making, or Christmas gift creating. Maybe you enjoy drawing, or painting, or writing, and you're aware of little else while absorbed in accomplishing an artistic product. Maybe you listen to music, and are carried away to another conscious level by a melody, or lyrics. Quite possibly you write poetry or journal and find that this form of expression is soothing.
This simple idea, finding catharsis in artistic expression is one aspect of art therapy.
Does a piece of artwork ever speak to you? Does the image say something that words cannot? Have you ever viewed art that transcends words and becomes another form of communication?
This idea, that an art creation may become another form of communication, one beyond words, is another aspect of art therapy.
Within an art therapy context, creating an image utilizing art materials and metaphor is a way for individuals to make a problem external, and easier to solve, conquer, or manage.
Also, art creation can, on occasion, reach into the unconscious, tap into thoughts, emotions, and feelings that are under the surface; things that haven't emerged, but are causing turmoil within.
I am just skimming the surface here folks. This field is multi-faceted. It is complicated. It is amazing. It is underestimated and underappreciated.
Art therapists work with a HUGE variety of populations. There is group work and individual work. Some facilities use art therapy with patients on an extremely short term basis (gotta love managed health care). Yet some art therapists are fortunate enough to work with clients over an extended period of time.
Generally, and art directive is given (I'll give specific examples in another post) the client creates art work, and then the therapist and client discuss the piece, or what the client thought about while creating the piece, or what emotions were invoked while creating...and a myriad of other topics.
Ahhh...but that's not all! My degree will be a Bachelor's in Creative Arts in Therapy with a Visual Arts concentration. My school has 4 concentrations. The others are; Dance/Movement, Music, and Theatre. Each one is pretty amazing, but I won't drag this post out any longer with details on each one.
I needed to write this post tonight because I had an awful night at work. I needed to remind myself that I won't be a god-damned waitress forever, and that I really, really believe in this field. I needed to give myself the reassurance that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that all of the choices I've made so far have not been wrong.
If you're intrigued and would like further info on art therapy please check the following link, because, like I said, I haven't even skimmed the surface on this stuff and it's incredible.
American Art Therapy Association
Oh, and there are internship details to follow as well as more entertaining writing, I graduate in December. Then, LOOK OUT! I'll have time to blog once again.
This simple idea, finding catharsis in artistic expression is one aspect of art therapy.
Does a piece of artwork ever speak to you? Does the image say something that words cannot? Have you ever viewed art that transcends words and becomes another form of communication?
This idea, that an art creation may become another form of communication, one beyond words, is another aspect of art therapy.
Within an art therapy context, creating an image utilizing art materials and metaphor is a way for individuals to make a problem external, and easier to solve, conquer, or manage.
Also, art creation can, on occasion, reach into the unconscious, tap into thoughts, emotions, and feelings that are under the surface; things that haven't emerged, but are causing turmoil within.
I am just skimming the surface here folks. This field is multi-faceted. It is complicated. It is amazing. It is underestimated and underappreciated.
Art therapists work with a HUGE variety of populations. There is group work and individual work. Some facilities use art therapy with patients on an extremely short term basis (gotta love managed health care). Yet some art therapists are fortunate enough to work with clients over an extended period of time.
Generally, and art directive is given (I'll give specific examples in another post) the client creates art work, and then the therapist and client discuss the piece, or what the client thought about while creating the piece, or what emotions were invoked while creating...and a myriad of other topics.
Ahhh...but that's not all! My degree will be a Bachelor's in Creative Arts in Therapy with a Visual Arts concentration. My school has 4 concentrations. The others are; Dance/Movement, Music, and Theatre. Each one is pretty amazing, but I won't drag this post out any longer with details on each one.
I needed to write this post tonight because I had an awful night at work. I needed to remind myself that I won't be a god-damned waitress forever, and that I really, really believe in this field. I needed to give myself the reassurance that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that all of the choices I've made so far have not been wrong.
If you're intrigued and would like further info on art therapy please check the following link, because, like I said, I haven't even skimmed the surface on this stuff and it's incredible.
American Art Therapy Association
Oh, and there are internship details to follow as well as more entertaining writing, I graduate in December. Then, LOOK OUT! I'll have time to blog once again.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
I'm not Alexander Today*
Do you ever have a day when your senses seem to function on a higher level?
A day when the autumn colors are more vibrant and intense, and you're dazzled by their beauty?
A day when you notice a lone Blue Jay soaring through the treetops as you're driving down the highway at 70 miles an hour?
A day when that upbeat song on the radio seems to put you in an even better mood than usual?
A day when you drive by the diner where you had those savory waffles and you can taste the strawberries and whip cream once again?
A day when you see a woman smoking a cigarette, dressed in a puffy down jacket, driving her mini-van out of a gas station; and imagine that she is hurried to drop off her children at the sitters in order to make it to work on time?
A day when you imagine that young guy walking down the road, clad in Dockers, a dress shirt, and a neck tie is someone who has finally decided that going out with his friends and getting drunk on the weekends isn't as enjoyable as it used to be, and he's decided that he's ready to settle down?
A day when you can sit down, break out the watercolors, and not worry at all if the final project will be a masterpiece?
A day when you seem impervious to the minor annoyances that occasionally make you tense and anxious?
A day when the sky seems bluer than usual?
A day when you're inspired to take the time to compose a blog post, and don't care in the least if it's full of run-on sentences?
Today I'm having one of those days.
*I'm referring to the children's book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. If you don't have a copy of this book, you should get one.
**And the sketch is mine...a totally random selection.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Addendum:
2x4 is making vegetarian crab cakes, and we're drinking organic red wine.
*sigh*
This is such a good day...
Monday, October 09, 2006
Returning to School as an Adult 101
I promised a post about my internship, but I think this requires a little background information. If I've mentioned all of this before, I apologize, I don't want to be redundant, simply efficient, but I can't remember if I've said all of this before.
Anyhoo...
After my divorce I decided that I needed some major life changes. I didn't like the general direction in which my life was headed (working in miserable dead-end retail jobs for crappy pay and barely making ends meet while residing in the town where I grew up and never, ever escaping...get the picture?) So, I did what people do when this is their dilemma, I decided to go back to school. Except, I still had NO idea what I wanted to be when I grew up and had NO idea where to start. I got through step 1: Choose to make a change, but I needed some help with step 2: Choose a path and run with it.
The career counselor at the local community college where I earned my Associate's Degree in liberal arts was my savior. I took this test-sorta-thing called a Strong Interest Inventory. It weighs your interests against those of professionals in a variety of careers and determines with whom you share the most 'interests'
My top three:
Photography
Fine Arts
Social Work
Great. THAT'S helpful. You know how lucrative the fine arts are (incase you don't, they're not for like 95% of the world's artists). I live in a small town with about 5 professional photography studios, yeah, that market's been tapped. Everyone I spoke with told me that social work is awful and thankless.
I posed the following question to the career counselor, "Is there such a thing as 'Art Therapy'?
He said yes, found me a college within commuting distance that had a program and I began step two...BOY did I run with it! I ran with it in a totally irresponsible way. I didn't check the job market, I didn't research what the hell art therapy was, and I didn't punch numbers to figure out how ON EARTH I was going to make ends meet for the duration of my schooling. I wanted a direction, I didn't want to plan it all out (for once in my life), I wanted to go crazy and chase a dream (how's that for cheesy? It's true though!)
As I've mentioned recently, I'll graduate at the end of this semester. I have studied art therapy for 2 and a half years. I believe in it, I'm passionate about it, and I'm thrilled that I've had this educational experience.
However...the problem is...well, I didn't check the job market. And...there are.no.jobs.
I think I have options...I think. I won't really know until I officially graduate and start pounding the pavement, but I'm panicking right about now about what on earth I'll be doing 6 months from now...I don't have a plan, and that's REALLY not how I've done things for the last 29 years.
Well...where am I going with this? To my inspiring, wonderful, exciting, informative, and helpful internship...which I have to go to in the morning. Right now it's eleven o'clock, and I'm kinda awfully tired.
So...my next post will be: What the heck is art therapy 101. I know people will ask this question, I've been trying to figure out how to answer that question in 10 words or less for two years. It's impossible. It will require an entire post, which I will of course offer to you, my faithful readers, who I'm certain are on the edge of your seats!
Anyhoo...
After my divorce I decided that I needed some major life changes. I didn't like the general direction in which my life was headed (working in miserable dead-end retail jobs for crappy pay and barely making ends meet while residing in the town where I grew up and never, ever escaping...get the picture?) So, I did what people do when this is their dilemma, I decided to go back to school. Except, I still had NO idea what I wanted to be when I grew up and had NO idea where to start. I got through step 1: Choose to make a change, but I needed some help with step 2: Choose a path and run with it.
The career counselor at the local community college where I earned my Associate's Degree in liberal arts was my savior. I took this test-sorta-thing called a Strong Interest Inventory. It weighs your interests against those of professionals in a variety of careers and determines with whom you share the most 'interests'
My top three:
Photography
Fine Arts
Social Work
Great. THAT'S helpful. You know how lucrative the fine arts are (incase you don't, they're not for like 95% of the world's artists). I live in a small town with about 5 professional photography studios, yeah, that market's been tapped. Everyone I spoke with told me that social work is awful and thankless.
I posed the following question to the career counselor, "Is there such a thing as 'Art Therapy'?
He said yes, found me a college within commuting distance that had a program and I began step two...BOY did I run with it! I ran with it in a totally irresponsible way. I didn't check the job market, I didn't research what the hell art therapy was, and I didn't punch numbers to figure out how ON EARTH I was going to make ends meet for the duration of my schooling. I wanted a direction, I didn't want to plan it all out (for once in my life), I wanted to go crazy and chase a dream (how's that for cheesy? It's true though!)
As I've mentioned recently, I'll graduate at the end of this semester. I have studied art therapy for 2 and a half years. I believe in it, I'm passionate about it, and I'm thrilled that I've had this educational experience.
However...the problem is...well, I didn't check the job market. And...there are.no.jobs.
I think I have options...I think. I won't really know until I officially graduate and start pounding the pavement, but I'm panicking right about now about what on earth I'll be doing 6 months from now...I don't have a plan, and that's REALLY not how I've done things for the last 29 years.
Well...where am I going with this? To my inspiring, wonderful, exciting, informative, and helpful internship...which I have to go to in the morning. Right now it's eleven o'clock, and I'm kinda awfully tired.
So...my next post will be: What the heck is art therapy 101. I know people will ask this question, I've been trying to figure out how to answer that question in 10 words or less for two years. It's impossible. It will require an entire post, which I will of course offer to you, my faithful readers, who I'm certain are on the edge of your seats!
Friday, October 06, 2006
I'm Still Here!
I realize that I have been awful lately when it comes to posting. Rest assured, my blog has not been the sole victim of my malaise. I've been procrastinating with papers, art projects, housework, work, and just about anything that requires motivation.
I don't seem to have any.
It's not that I'm unhappy, I'm not. I'm still happy overall, I'm still madly in love, intending to get married, finishing up school and all that jazz. I think I'm suffering from extreme burn out. I dislike my job, I'm tired of school...how much text book reading, research, paper writing, test taking, graded art projects, and commuting can one person do in 2 and a half years? Well, whatever the quantity, I fear I have reached my limit.
I think this is one of the reasons I've been 'obsessing' (2x4's word) about changing my blog skin. I need to eke out inspiration from wherever I can.
So...I bring you the new look.
It's a little plain and simple, but hey, so am I!
See that blank margin on the right? I wanna put some of my artwork and such over there. Eventually I'll figure out this damn html stuff enough to do just that. For now, I'll try to be inspired by the subtle turquoise margins.
I have to jet off to my humbling job right now, but I intend to do a post within the next day or two about my internship, so please come back. I know I've been neglecting my limited faithful readers.
Oh, and this blog skin change thing only happened because of the advice I got from commenters. I seriously had no idea where to begin. I found this skin on Blogskins.com. They have LOTS of stuff. Thanks, shpprgrl! (she recommended them).
I don't seem to have any.
It's not that I'm unhappy, I'm not. I'm still happy overall, I'm still madly in love, intending to get married, finishing up school and all that jazz. I think I'm suffering from extreme burn out. I dislike my job, I'm tired of school...how much text book reading, research, paper writing, test taking, graded art projects, and commuting can one person do in 2 and a half years? Well, whatever the quantity, I fear I have reached my limit.
I think this is one of the reasons I've been 'obsessing' (2x4's word) about changing my blog skin. I need to eke out inspiration from wherever I can.
So...I bring you the new look.
It's a little plain and simple, but hey, so am I!
See that blank margin on the right? I wanna put some of my artwork and such over there. Eventually I'll figure out this damn html stuff enough to do just that. For now, I'll try to be inspired by the subtle turquoise margins.
I have to jet off to my humbling job right now, but I intend to do a post within the next day or two about my internship, so please come back. I know I've been neglecting my limited faithful readers.
Oh, and this blog skin change thing only happened because of the advice I got from commenters. I seriously had no idea where to begin. I found this skin on Blogskins.com. They have LOTS of stuff. Thanks, shpprgrl! (she recommended them).
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Anger Management
I realize that it's been a while since I last posted (as ThursdayNext pointed out in the comments section!). I apologize to my faithful readers, but I've been both unmotivated and had too many time restraints since school began. I'm interning with an art therapist this semester, and although the experience is wonderful, it is also draining and time consuming.
I'll get into internship details another time, as it is an inspiring experience worthy of multiple blog posts. Today, I'm going to rant a little. I am on campus as I type this amazing literary accomplishment. Why am I on campus typing a blog post, you ask? Well, I'm killing time waiting for a phone call from the Dean's secretary. She is currently researching to whom I need to direct my extreme dismay and incredulity that I must PAY a $50 fee in order to apply to graduate.
So, you're telling me that a tuition of between $25,000 and $30,000 a year, additional applied art fees for every class I take, completion of 70 credit hours, and a 4.0 GPA isn't enough? Must you SMACK me in the face with a fee to graduate? Am I not poverty stricken enough? Seriously? FIFTY dollars?
So, here's my question, what if I don't have $50? Does that mean I can't graduate? Because, seriously, I don't have fifty dollars. I don't have $5. I don't have enough money to pay rent which is due in 3 days. I'm crossing my fingers, hoping that the tipping Gods smile upon me this weekend so that I can pay my rent on Sunday. Graduation applications (and their ridiculous FEES) are due by tomorrow!
Now what?
The secretary has just called and informed me who I need to speak with, but she added the caveat "I want to tell you, all colleges have this fee, so don't get your hopes too high."
Should I deflate my spirit's belief that I'm going to graduate after working my ASS of for the last 2 plus years?
Oh, and another funny thing, my wonderful state of residence says that since I make over $10,000 a year, they won't give me any aid. Can you imagine surviving on $10,000 a year?
No wonder my parents were so poor for their entire lives.
Our system is set up for the rich to keep having little rich babies who get ahead, while the rest of us schmucks try and fail to get ahead.
Aaaargh!
When I started, I swear, I didn't mean for this post to sound so negative. I guess today was "use your blog to bitch" day.
More upbeat entry promised next time around. I'm off to fight with the director of student services. Wish me luck!
***Update***
Mr. Director of Student Services was unreachable, not in his office, didn't answer the phone. I was told next to email him. Here's Our email correspondence:
Mr. Director of Student Services ,
I would like to discuss with you the graduation application fee. I anticipate graduating in December. However, I simply cannot afford the fifty dollar fee.
I'm curious what I should do at this point. The application (as I'm sure you know) is due by October 1st, and I have no way of paying the fee. Does this mean that I can't graduate?
I've been informed that you are the person with whom I should speak regarding this matter. Please advise me on what my course of action should be. Should we discuss this in person, on the phone, via email? I commute an hour, and am not on campus tomorrow, but I could make a special trip if that is the best course of action at this point.
I thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.
WiP
His response:
WiP,
The diplomas fee cannot be waived. Do you need an extension of time? If so, that is not a problem but we would have to agree upon a date.
Mr. Director of Student Services
So, there you go. I put the stupid fee on my charge card (while crossing my fingers that it wouldn't be declined). Apparently Mr. DoSS has no desire to communicate further about the fee and its relevance. What I find interesting is that the application states that you must pay this fee every time you APPLY. But he calls it a 'Diploma' fee. It should say, 'Fee must be paid for every DIPLOMA received', right? Can we opt for cheaper diplomas? I want the bargain basement one, it's just a friggin' piece of paper! It's not even a Master's degree! We're talking Bachelor's!
I want to email him back and tell him I'm thinking June 15th of 2020. Can we agree on that date Mr. DoSS?
I'll get into internship details another time, as it is an inspiring experience worthy of multiple blog posts. Today, I'm going to rant a little. I am on campus as I type this amazing literary accomplishment. Why am I on campus typing a blog post, you ask? Well, I'm killing time waiting for a phone call from the Dean's secretary. She is currently researching to whom I need to direct my extreme dismay and incredulity that I must PAY a $50 fee in order to apply to graduate.
So, you're telling me that a tuition of between $25,000 and $30,000 a year, additional applied art fees for every class I take, completion of 70 credit hours, and a 4.0 GPA isn't enough? Must you SMACK me in the face with a fee to graduate? Am I not poverty stricken enough? Seriously? FIFTY dollars?
So, here's my question, what if I don't have $50? Does that mean I can't graduate? Because, seriously, I don't have fifty dollars. I don't have $5. I don't have enough money to pay rent which is due in 3 days. I'm crossing my fingers, hoping that the tipping Gods smile upon me this weekend so that I can pay my rent on Sunday. Graduation applications (and their ridiculous FEES) are due by tomorrow!
Now what?
The secretary has just called and informed me who I need to speak with, but she added the caveat "I want to tell you, all colleges have this fee, so don't get your hopes too high."
Should I deflate my spirit's belief that I'm going to graduate after working my ASS of for the last 2 plus years?
Oh, and another funny thing, my wonderful state of residence says that since I make over $10,000 a year, they won't give me any aid. Can you imagine surviving on $10,000 a year?
No wonder my parents were so poor for their entire lives.
Our system is set up for the rich to keep having little rich babies who get ahead, while the rest of us schmucks try and fail to get ahead.
Aaaargh!
When I started, I swear, I didn't mean for this post to sound so negative. I guess today was "use your blog to bitch" day.
More upbeat entry promised next time around. I'm off to fight with the director of student services. Wish me luck!
***Update***
Mr. Director of Student Services was unreachable, not in his office, didn't answer the phone. I was told next to email him. Here's Our email correspondence:
Mr. Director of Student Services ,
I would like to discuss with you the graduation application fee. I anticipate graduating in December. However, I simply cannot afford the fifty dollar fee.
I'm curious what I should do at this point. The application (as I'm sure you know) is due by October 1st, and I have no way of paying the fee. Does this mean that I can't graduate?
I've been informed that you are the person with whom I should speak regarding this matter. Please advise me on what my course of action should be. Should we discuss this in person, on the phone, via email? I commute an hour, and am not on campus tomorrow, but I could make a special trip if that is the best course of action at this point.
I thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.
WiP
His response:
WiP,
The diplomas fee cannot be waived. Do you need an extension of time? If so, that is not a problem but we would have to agree upon a date.
Mr. Director of Student Services
So, there you go. I put the stupid fee on my charge card (while crossing my fingers that it wouldn't be declined). Apparently Mr. DoSS has no desire to communicate further about the fee and its relevance. What I find interesting is that the application states that you must pay this fee every time you APPLY. But he calls it a 'Diploma' fee. It should say, 'Fee must be paid for every DIPLOMA received', right? Can we opt for cheaper diplomas? I want the bargain basement one, it's just a friggin' piece of paper! It's not even a Master's degree! We're talking Bachelor's!
I want to email him back and tell him I'm thinking June 15th of 2020. Can we agree on that date Mr. DoSS?
Friday, September 15, 2006
Anyone?
Do you have to be a computer genious to customize your blog skin?
I'm bored with mine, and with all the other cookie cutter skins. I want to use my creative nature and make mine more mine. But, well, what the hell is the html code for: I want a better look? And what exactly is html? How do I do this? Where do I begin?
Suggestions please.
I'm bored with mine, and with all the other cookie cutter skins. I want to use my creative nature and make mine more mine. But, well, what the hell is the html code for: I want a better look? And what exactly is html? How do I do this? Where do I begin?
Suggestions please.
Monday, September 11, 2006
How Proud am I?
It's been a busy weekend. It's too late, and I'm too tired to offer up details, but we threw a surprise birthday/slumber party for The Girl this weekend and I've been too busy to blog. This post will be another short one, but I have to share because I had a proud parent moment the other day.
The four of us were in the car and Frank Sinatra came on the radio singing a song I've never heard. From the back seat of the car 2x4's (7 year old) boy pipes up, "This is Frank Sinatra, right?"
How many seven year olds do you know that can recognize Mr. Sinatra's crooning? I was so proud! I looked at him and said, "YEAH! You 'da MAN!"
Ok, so, the kid's cool, and I'm a little lame.
The four of us were in the car and Frank Sinatra came on the radio singing a song I've never heard. From the back seat of the car 2x4's (7 year old) boy pipes up, "This is Frank Sinatra, right?"
How many seven year olds do you know that can recognize Mr. Sinatra's crooning? I was so proud! I looked at him and said, "YEAH! You 'da MAN!"
Ok, so, the kid's cool, and I'm a little lame.
Friday, September 08, 2006
A Short Funny
The other day 2x4 and I were having a conversation with a friend/coworker. The subject came around somehow to my art work. This friend posed the following question of me:
"Have you ever hung your work in a gallery for sale or anything? I could use some cheap artwork."
*Pause*
"Wait, that didn't come out right."
"Have you ever hung your work in a gallery for sale or anything? I could use some cheap artwork."
*Pause*
"Wait, that didn't come out right."
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
LUNATIC!
You know how sometimes reality is more amusing than fiction? Let me share with you some of my reality this evening. It's another waitressing tale, and if you're tired of these, I'm sorry. But this one is just too good to keep to myself.
Towards the end of the evening tonight a guy came in alone and ordered a glass of wine and dinner. He looked normal enough. Yeah, well, so do lots of crazy people. Sadly, when they look normal you have no idea what's coming.
The guy was in the restaurant for MAYBE an hour. He talked my ear off every chance he got and even asked if I wanted to sit and join him (he offered to buy me a meal). HELLO! Maybe you didn't notice, usually the fact that I bring you your food and drink, and the outfit and the neck tie are dead give aways that I'M WORKING HERE.
Here's the story of Mr Crazy as told by none other than: Mr. Crazy.
Mr. Crazy travels ALL over the world. He watched the first plane hit the trade center. He was in England when all the hubub was taking place over liquid bombing materials. He was in Madrid 5 days after the subway bombings. When he travels for 'work' he goes to locations that require bodyguards to meet him and his traveling companions on the jet and escort them in bullet proof cars to their destinations. Next week he's going to China. China isn't bad unless you get lost because nobody speaks English.
He lives in a yacht in New York harbor and drives to Harlem to park his car in the morning where they think he's a school teacher so they only charge him $7 to park (he informed me that parking for a day in a garage in NYC normally costs $50). Anyhoo...Mr. Crazy then takes the C train (I think, maybe he said the A train, does it really matter) to work where he works in a big office building (yeah, he seriously said that he works in a big office building).
Mr. Crazy also has a large farm in Connecticut that is on over 700 acres. He has herds of dear in his yard. He has at least 500 'Posted' signs to keep hunters out and he employs a couple Vietnam Veteran Snipers to keep hunters from trespassing. His sons kill some of the dear. Some of the bucks his kids shoot have holes in their hind quartes deep enough for Mr. Crazy to stick his whole index finger into. (He held up his finger and said "This deep") Yup, he even told me how these holes arrive in buck butts, though he didn't mention why he's sticking his finger into them. They're from other big buck's antlers. (Little nature lesson from Mr. Insane that I'm sharing with you all).
Mr Crazy has lots of really great cars at his Connecticut 'farm'. He has several Shelby Cobras and a Ferrari. Most original Cobras are gone because they're so fast that people died in them (according to Mr. Crazy of course). Well, Mr Insanity drives his so fast that the local police have been trying to catch him for a long time. They've even resorted to using helicopters but Mr. Crazy paid a lawyer $10,000 to keep the local coppers off his back. (When he used the SHOCKING number of $10,000 he even raised his eyebrows several times in quick succession to indicate that I should show enthusiasm. I didn't).
Mr Lunatic also has a daughter who attends NYU. He has her and her friend all set up with armed body guards 'cause she's a rich American girl and sickos kidnap rich American children.
Mr. Crazy is considering buying a farm up in my neck of the woods but it has to be at least 1,000 acres so that he can have a landing strip.
Mr. Freakin' Out of His Mind vacations with the fam in the Bahamas where the water is dangerous. The coral reefs protrude from the water and the HUGE Sting Rays (you know, like the one that killed the crocodile hunter) are all over. He pays a local guy $3,000 at the beginning of their week vacation to take him and his family around and make sure they're safe.
Crazy huh? I swear I'm not making any of this up. Not a bit of it. As a matter of fact I'm even leaving some out.
His bill came to $30.
My tip: $10. Not a bad tip if you're NORMAL and I don't have to endure the pain of listening to your PREPOSTEROUS stories about your wealth and feign interest with head nods and the occasional "Wow".
Rich guy my ass.
I have to admit he freaked me out a bit and I asked the bartender walk me to my car tonight. This guy was NUTS.
This is my reality. Fun huh?
Towards the end of the evening tonight a guy came in alone and ordered a glass of wine and dinner. He looked normal enough. Yeah, well, so do lots of crazy people. Sadly, when they look normal you have no idea what's coming.
The guy was in the restaurant for MAYBE an hour. He talked my ear off every chance he got and even asked if I wanted to sit and join him (he offered to buy me a meal). HELLO! Maybe you didn't notice, usually the fact that I bring you your food and drink, and the outfit and the neck tie are dead give aways that I'M WORKING HERE.
Here's the story of Mr Crazy as told by none other than: Mr. Crazy.
Mr. Crazy travels ALL over the world. He watched the first plane hit the trade center. He was in England when all the hubub was taking place over liquid bombing materials. He was in Madrid 5 days after the subway bombings. When he travels for 'work' he goes to locations that require bodyguards to meet him and his traveling companions on the jet and escort them in bullet proof cars to their destinations. Next week he's going to China. China isn't bad unless you get lost because nobody speaks English.
He lives in a yacht in New York harbor and drives to Harlem to park his car in the morning where they think he's a school teacher so they only charge him $7 to park (he informed me that parking for a day in a garage in NYC normally costs $50). Anyhoo...Mr. Crazy then takes the C train (I think, maybe he said the A train, does it really matter) to work where he works in a big office building (yeah, he seriously said that he works in a big office building).
Mr. Crazy also has a large farm in Connecticut that is on over 700 acres. He has herds of dear in his yard. He has at least 500 'Posted' signs to keep hunters out and he employs a couple Vietnam Veteran Snipers to keep hunters from trespassing. His sons kill some of the dear. Some of the bucks his kids shoot have holes in their hind quartes deep enough for Mr. Crazy to stick his whole index finger into. (He held up his finger and said "This deep") Yup, he even told me how these holes arrive in buck butts, though he didn't mention why he's sticking his finger into them. They're from other big buck's antlers. (Little nature lesson from Mr. Insane that I'm sharing with you all).
Mr Crazy has lots of really great cars at his Connecticut 'farm'. He has several Shelby Cobras and a Ferrari. Most original Cobras are gone because they're so fast that people died in them (according to Mr. Crazy of course). Well, Mr Insanity drives his so fast that the local police have been trying to catch him for a long time. They've even resorted to using helicopters but Mr. Crazy paid a lawyer $10,000 to keep the local coppers off his back. (When he used the SHOCKING number of $10,000 he even raised his eyebrows several times in quick succession to indicate that I should show enthusiasm. I didn't).
Mr Lunatic also has a daughter who attends NYU. He has her and her friend all set up with armed body guards 'cause she's a rich American girl and sickos kidnap rich American children.
Mr. Crazy is considering buying a farm up in my neck of the woods but it has to be at least 1,000 acres so that he can have a landing strip.
Mr. Freakin' Out of His Mind vacations with the fam in the Bahamas where the water is dangerous. The coral reefs protrude from the water and the HUGE Sting Rays (you know, like the one that killed the crocodile hunter) are all over. He pays a local guy $3,000 at the beginning of their week vacation to take him and his family around and make sure they're safe.
Crazy huh? I swear I'm not making any of this up. Not a bit of it. As a matter of fact I'm even leaving some out.
His bill came to $30.
My tip: $10. Not a bad tip if you're NORMAL and I don't have to endure the pain of listening to your PREPOSTEROUS stories about your wealth and feign interest with head nods and the occasional "Wow".
Rich guy my ass.
I have to admit he freaked me out a bit and I asked the bartender walk me to my car tonight. This guy was NUTS.
This is my reality. Fun huh?
Monday, September 04, 2006
#%^&*#!!!!
My heart is heavy tonight.
I work with this busser, she's fifteen years old, about four foot tall, and like greased lightning when she works. I've never seen a kid her age work harder. I like her a lot, she's a good kid.
I guess I'll just call her Sydney.
Sydney got her boyfriend a job as a busser. He sucks. He's slow, he's incompetent, and he's inept. He uses his shift to follow Sydney around. He's sixteen years of age. He has rubbed me the wrong way from day one. You know that woman's intuition thing? Yeah, well, my intuition meter says the guy's bad news. Up until tonight it hasn't mattered. What am I supposed to do? Tell Sydney her boyfriend emits a bad vibe and I'm pretty tuned in to these things? Yeah, that'd go over big. I have a tendency to get involved in shit that's none of my business so I tried to stay out of it.
Until tonight. F*^K!
Sydney's beau, I'll call him DW (I know it's harsh but DW as in 'Dick Wad'. Sometimes I get a little juvenile, so sue me!) freaked out on her tonight because she was helping the MALE dishwasher to WASH DISHES. Yup, he accused her of flirting because she had some extra time and was helping the dishwasher dig himself out of dirty dish hell. Then he acted as if he wasn't going to give her a ride home (his mom was supposed to pick them both up).
So, I stepped in. I told Sydney I'd give her a ride home, and I did just that.
Through speaking with Sydney this evening I now know that she has an awful relationship with her mom, her parents have told her that they are staying together only until she's in college, then divorcing, she used to be a cutter, she sees a therapist and doesn't feel like it helps anything, she avoids sleeping because she has nightmares every night, she did two grades of high school in one year so that she and DW would be in the same grade, she has money saved up so that she can get a nose-job, she has a couple of friends in a local psychiatric hospital, she lives in a really nice house, and she lost her virginity to DW less than a week ago.
Ugh.
CLEARLY the girl's got self esteem issues (so does DW I'd say). She's like a battered woman in the making. Her boyfriend is like a wife beater in the making. I know as a reader this probably sounds extreme, but these things start somewhere, and if you could have witnessed what did tonight you'd get it. The kitchen staff had witnessed what happened and were trying to convince her that her boyfriend was out of line as she was saying things like, "yeah, but it's partly my fault because...."
I tried to offer advice. I tried to be non-judgmental. I tried to offer some of the wisdom I've acquired over the years (yeah, I've got some!). I tried to be a new support system, something untherapist and unparent like.
I feel like I said all the wrong things.
I told her that she is beautiful even though she doesn't see it. I told her that she can come to me to talk any time. I told her that a romantic relationship shouldn't involve ridiculous unsubstantiated accusations from the person you love. I told her that feeling love at fifteen is no different or less powerful than feeling love at 30. I told her that I was in no way telling her what to do, just offering a new perspective. I said a bunch of other things but they all seem so lame and irrelevant that I can't even recall them.
She thanked me profusely before getting out of my car. She told me I gave her a lot to think about, and I told her she could come to me any time.
Ugh.
Now I'm emotionally attached. I'm invested. I care and I'm involved. I want to help, but I'm pretty sure that this is out of my jurisdiction as I have no idea what to offer a fifteen year old girl that I hardly know. I'm really not mentor material.
What the hell do I do now?
I'm going to be an awful therapist.
Yeah, my heart is really heavy tonight.
I work with this busser, she's fifteen years old, about four foot tall, and like greased lightning when she works. I've never seen a kid her age work harder. I like her a lot, she's a good kid.
I guess I'll just call her Sydney.
Sydney got her boyfriend a job as a busser. He sucks. He's slow, he's incompetent, and he's inept. He uses his shift to follow Sydney around. He's sixteen years of age. He has rubbed me the wrong way from day one. You know that woman's intuition thing? Yeah, well, my intuition meter says the guy's bad news. Up until tonight it hasn't mattered. What am I supposed to do? Tell Sydney her boyfriend emits a bad vibe and I'm pretty tuned in to these things? Yeah, that'd go over big. I have a tendency to get involved in shit that's none of my business so I tried to stay out of it.
Until tonight. F*^K!
Sydney's beau, I'll call him DW (I know it's harsh but DW as in 'Dick Wad'. Sometimes I get a little juvenile, so sue me!) freaked out on her tonight because she was helping the MALE dishwasher to WASH DISHES. Yup, he accused her of flirting because she had some extra time and was helping the dishwasher dig himself out of dirty dish hell. Then he acted as if he wasn't going to give her a ride home (his mom was supposed to pick them both up).
So, I stepped in. I told Sydney I'd give her a ride home, and I did just that.
Through speaking with Sydney this evening I now know that she has an awful relationship with her mom, her parents have told her that they are staying together only until she's in college, then divorcing, she used to be a cutter, she sees a therapist and doesn't feel like it helps anything, she avoids sleeping because she has nightmares every night, she did two grades of high school in one year so that she and DW would be in the same grade, she has money saved up so that she can get a nose-job, she has a couple of friends in a local psychiatric hospital, she lives in a really nice house, and she lost her virginity to DW less than a week ago.
Ugh.
CLEARLY the girl's got self esteem issues (so does DW I'd say). She's like a battered woman in the making. Her boyfriend is like a wife beater in the making. I know as a reader this probably sounds extreme, but these things start somewhere, and if you could have witnessed what did tonight you'd get it. The kitchen staff had witnessed what happened and were trying to convince her that her boyfriend was out of line as she was saying things like, "yeah, but it's partly my fault because...."
I tried to offer advice. I tried to be non-judgmental. I tried to offer some of the wisdom I've acquired over the years (yeah, I've got some!). I tried to be a new support system, something untherapist and unparent like.
I feel like I said all the wrong things.
I told her that she is beautiful even though she doesn't see it. I told her that she can come to me to talk any time. I told her that a romantic relationship shouldn't involve ridiculous unsubstantiated accusations from the person you love. I told her that feeling love at fifteen is no different or less powerful than feeling love at 30. I told her that I was in no way telling her what to do, just offering a new perspective. I said a bunch of other things but they all seem so lame and irrelevant that I can't even recall them.
She thanked me profusely before getting out of my car. She told me I gave her a lot to think about, and I told her she could come to me any time.
Ugh.
Now I'm emotionally attached. I'm invested. I care and I'm involved. I want to help, but I'm pretty sure that this is out of my jurisdiction as I have no idea what to offer a fifteen year old girl that I hardly know. I'm really not mentor material.
What the hell do I do now?
I'm going to be an awful therapist.
Yeah, my heart is really heavy tonight.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Waitress Rant
It's no surprise to my readers that I loathe my job. I've certainly beaten a dead horse on the subject, but I have to rant this evening. Etiquette and common sense seem to be MIA in a wide array of people, and I need to write an open list of faux pas to potential diners out there. If you're offended, too bad. I'm not sorry.
1. If you take your kid out to a restaurant, and he/she needs a portable video game to keep him/her occupied or behaved, you're a lousy parent. It's not only rude, but pathetic. A family dinner should not need to involve electronics. Try interacting with your kids, like in the olden days.
2. Ok, my job is to bring you food and beverages. When I come to your table and say "Good evening folks!" Don't look at me in silence like I have three heads. This is formality. I'm being polite, and, just to give you a heads-up; the next question will be, "Can I start you off with some drinks this evening?" So, think ahead. I'm pretty damn demanding what with all the questions and everything.
3. If you're sitting near a baby who happens to be vocal, suck it up. Babies make noise. I'm not talking gut wrenching screaching (that is NOT okay, take the baby OUTSIDE) I'm talking loud giggles and the occasional happy squeel. Babies are allowed out in public too. Enjoy them, stop whining because they're too loud. Dominoes delivers pizza every night, stay home and enjoy the silence if babies bother you, loser.
4. When I pose the question, "How are you folks tonight?" an acknowledgment would be DANDY. A response of silence fills me with disdain. Remember, I have the power to spit in your food. Just be nice, that's all I ask.
5. If you are the last party in the restaurant, I can't go home until you leave. AND, when you leave, my work is not done. I still have to pick up after you and put up all of the chairs in the dining room. If you're going to linger, that's fine, just tip accordingly. My time is valuable, just like yours. I have a family, and a life, and bills to pay. Waiting for you is what I have to do, but keep in mind that I work for tips. I work my ASS off for tips. By the end of the night, I'm beat. Sticking around an extra hour for one table and 8 bucks is simply aggravating. I'll remember you. And I still have the power to spit in your food.
6. When you walk in the front door, and the hostess is not there, she's seating someone and she'll be back shortly. Approaching the first person you see, (like a waitress with a tray full of food over her shoulder who is walking rather quickly like she has somewhere TO BE) and telling her that you have two for dinner isn't going to get you anything, she's busy, and that's not her job. Patience people, patience.
7. It's okay to leave more than twenty percent when your bill comes to $15 and you occupied a table for two hours. I'm just sayin, don't feel obligated to keep the tip below three dollars, it's okay to bump it up to a 5 spot, I won't get upset.
8. See this big thing called a tray that I'm carrying? It's covered with hot food and heavy plates. Please keep your child from running between my legs. I'm klutzy enough contending with my own two feet, your kid's feet aren't helping me any, do you really want your kid to be burned with a cracked skull? No? I didn't think so.
9. Verbal tips don't pay my bills. I appreciate you telling me that the service was excellent and the food very good, and that you'll be back, really, I do. But when I open the book and see that you've left me 10 percent, I can't go to my landlord and say, "Here's half the rent, but table 93 said that I gave them excellent service!"
10. I'm human. I make mistakes, and I forget things. When I do, I will apologize profusely, and I will do my best to make it right. When I screw up and it effects my tip, I get that. Fair enough. But, don't be a jerk. That won't get either of us anywhere. Like you've never screwed up? PLLLLLease!
For the record, I have never spit in food. It never occurs to me to do so, I guess I'm just too nice. I will say that I have waited on a variety of people who not only deserve it, but are begging for a nice loogy in their dinner, however, I haven't gone that far. Yet. Just remember that when you dine out, the person bringing your food is a human being, not your slave. He or she may be on the verge of a breakdown and they are in control of items which are entering your digestive track. Be nice. Is that so hard, really? It goes a long way. Almost as far as a good tip.
FYI, I'm too tired and lazy to spell check this evening, so I apologize for any gramatical errors that you may unearth.
Well then, I feel a little better. Too bad I have to do it all over again tomorrow. Four more months, I graduate in four. more. months....
1. If you take your kid out to a restaurant, and he/she needs a portable video game to keep him/her occupied or behaved, you're a lousy parent. It's not only rude, but pathetic. A family dinner should not need to involve electronics. Try interacting with your kids, like in the olden days.
2. Ok, my job is to bring you food and beverages. When I come to your table and say "Good evening folks!" Don't look at me in silence like I have three heads. This is formality. I'm being polite, and, just to give you a heads-up; the next question will be, "Can I start you off with some drinks this evening?" So, think ahead. I'm pretty damn demanding what with all the questions and everything.
3. If you're sitting near a baby who happens to be vocal, suck it up. Babies make noise. I'm not talking gut wrenching screaching (that is NOT okay, take the baby OUTSIDE) I'm talking loud giggles and the occasional happy squeel. Babies are allowed out in public too. Enjoy them, stop whining because they're too loud. Dominoes delivers pizza every night, stay home and enjoy the silence if babies bother you, loser.
4. When I pose the question, "How are you folks tonight?" an acknowledgment would be DANDY. A response of silence fills me with disdain. Remember, I have the power to spit in your food. Just be nice, that's all I ask.
5. If you are the last party in the restaurant, I can't go home until you leave. AND, when you leave, my work is not done. I still have to pick up after you and put up all of the chairs in the dining room. If you're going to linger, that's fine, just tip accordingly. My time is valuable, just like yours. I have a family, and a life, and bills to pay. Waiting for you is what I have to do, but keep in mind that I work for tips. I work my ASS off for tips. By the end of the night, I'm beat. Sticking around an extra hour for one table and 8 bucks is simply aggravating. I'll remember you. And I still have the power to spit in your food.
6. When you walk in the front door, and the hostess is not there, she's seating someone and she'll be back shortly. Approaching the first person you see, (like a waitress with a tray full of food over her shoulder who is walking rather quickly like she has somewhere TO BE) and telling her that you have two for dinner isn't going to get you anything, she's busy, and that's not her job. Patience people, patience.
7. It's okay to leave more than twenty percent when your bill comes to $15 and you occupied a table for two hours. I'm just sayin, don't feel obligated to keep the tip below three dollars, it's okay to bump it up to a 5 spot, I won't get upset.
8. See this big thing called a tray that I'm carrying? It's covered with hot food and heavy plates. Please keep your child from running between my legs. I'm klutzy enough contending with my own two feet, your kid's feet aren't helping me any, do you really want your kid to be burned with a cracked skull? No? I didn't think so.
9. Verbal tips don't pay my bills. I appreciate you telling me that the service was excellent and the food very good, and that you'll be back, really, I do. But when I open the book and see that you've left me 10 percent, I can't go to my landlord and say, "Here's half the rent, but table 93 said that I gave them excellent service!"
10. I'm human. I make mistakes, and I forget things. When I do, I will apologize profusely, and I will do my best to make it right. When I screw up and it effects my tip, I get that. Fair enough. But, don't be a jerk. That won't get either of us anywhere. Like you've never screwed up? PLLLLLease!
For the record, I have never spit in food. It never occurs to me to do so, I guess I'm just too nice. I will say that I have waited on a variety of people who not only deserve it, but are begging for a nice loogy in their dinner, however, I haven't gone that far. Yet. Just remember that when you dine out, the person bringing your food is a human being, not your slave. He or she may be on the verge of a breakdown and they are in control of items which are entering your digestive track. Be nice. Is that so hard, really? It goes a long way. Almost as far as a good tip.
FYI, I'm too tired and lazy to spell check this evening, so I apologize for any gramatical errors that you may unearth.
Well then, I feel a little better. Too bad I have to do it all over again tomorrow. Four more months, I graduate in four. more. months....
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Strangers in a Coffee House
I noticed him before he came inside. The coffee shop is located on the corner of a busy intersection. It has large windows that allow patrons to see the comings and goings on the street as they relax over espressos and other assorted beverages. He was bundled in a Mexican blanket; he had a full beard of salt and pepper. His hair was straggly but didn't appear to be grimy. On his feet he wore sandals with socks that couldn't possibly have warded off the bitter cold in the air. He clearly wasn't a local and he gave off the distinct aura of someone who had nowhere specific to go. I watched him come into the coffee shop but stopped watching him as he approached the counter. I didn't want to stare, and I feared that my companion would notice that she did not have my undivided attention.
The next time I saw him he was taking residence at the table adjacent to ours. In his hand he carried an espresso mug. I marveled at the sight. Something about a man who appeared to be near destitute sipping an espresso instead of an old fashioned cup of Joe struck me as humorous. At the same time he sparked an interest in me. He carried no belongings save the worn blanket that appeared to have been colorful earlier in its life.
After a couple of minutes he politely interrupted our conversation and inquired as to where he may purchase tobacco. We directed him to the nearest location and he thanked us profusely. I watched as he attempted to engage others in polite banter only to be rewarded with indifferent shrugs and hurried, mumbled responses.
I was mesmerized by his presence even as he fell asleep; his chin tucked into his chest, his breathing slowed, and his face set with a placid expression. I couldn't help but wish I had my camera. I knew that I was missing out on an amazing photographic opportunity. The photo would have been incredible. At the same time, I was cognizant of a sadness he invoked in me. He was passing through town on his way from somewhere else, to who-knows where. He was clearly a man with a story.
When he awoke he once again thanked us for the directions, left the shop, and has haunted my memory ever since. This was months ago, but I still picture him sitting there, bundled in his blanket, enjoying the warmth, and resting for a spell.
The next time I saw him he was taking residence at the table adjacent to ours. In his hand he carried an espresso mug. I marveled at the sight. Something about a man who appeared to be near destitute sipping an espresso instead of an old fashioned cup of Joe struck me as humorous. At the same time he sparked an interest in me. He carried no belongings save the worn blanket that appeared to have been colorful earlier in its life.
After a couple of minutes he politely interrupted our conversation and inquired as to where he may purchase tobacco. We directed him to the nearest location and he thanked us profusely. I watched as he attempted to engage others in polite banter only to be rewarded with indifferent shrugs and hurried, mumbled responses.
I was mesmerized by his presence even as he fell asleep; his chin tucked into his chest, his breathing slowed, and his face set with a placid expression. I couldn't help but wish I had my camera. I knew that I was missing out on an amazing photographic opportunity. The photo would have been incredible. At the same time, I was cognizant of a sadness he invoked in me. He was passing through town on his way from somewhere else, to who-knows where. He was clearly a man with a story.
When he awoke he once again thanked us for the directions, left the shop, and has haunted my memory ever since. This was months ago, but I still picture him sitting there, bundled in his blanket, enjoying the warmth, and resting for a spell.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Kerplunk
I was involved in an incident today which left my sister hysterically laughing in a bathroom stall. In order for everyone to understand the level of hysteria she reached, I must give you a little background story.
The Good Guy (henceforth to be referred to as '2x4' because typing 'The Good Guy' has gotten REALLY old) generally takes his cell phone into the bathroom with him when he showers. If you want to know why you'll have to ask him, I'm not sure. One morning whilst 2x4 was showering I had to use the facilities. As I passed the vanity my arm brushed his phone (which was precariously placed on the edge of the vanity closest to the toilet) and it fell into the toilet. The kerplunk sound was quickly followed by my emitting "CRAP!" and reaching in after it. As I pulled it out of the water its lights went off, and it never fully recuperated. I will never live this down. The cell phone/toilet incident has lived on in infamy.
Today my sister and I needed to use the facilities in the mall prior to shopping. I decided that today wasn't a hovering day so I grabbed one of those tissue paper seat cover things and was placing it on the seat when KERPLUNK! Before my eyes my sunglasses dislodged themselves from their resting place hooked to my shirt and fell INTO THE TOILET! AAAAARGH!
Ok, I'll admit that for a split second I considered going in after them. A microsecond. Then I just yelled a profanity and stared in shock at my sunglasses resting in the bottom of the stupid dirty public toilet. DAMN IT!
My sister (who was in the next stall over) was laughing so hard that she couldn't speak. She came out of her stall all red and gulping for air. She made several comments about how it wouldn't be nearly as funny if I hadn't been involved in the cell phone incident.
Whatever.
Then, more people came into the bathroom. We barely contained our laughter as we washed our hands while watching them do that thing where you open several stalls in order to determine which is the cleanest. Each person stopped with a quizzical look at the stall I had abandoned with the toilet seat tissue and sunglasses still in place.
So, I text messaged 2x4. I told him that I need new sunglasses because I dropped mine in the J.C.Penny's toilet.
His response: Loser. Stop dropping things in toilets.
I now must accept the fact that this is one of those stories that will haunt me forever, like the time I misspelled my own name.
The Good Guy (henceforth to be referred to as '2x4' because typing 'The Good Guy' has gotten REALLY old) generally takes his cell phone into the bathroom with him when he showers. If you want to know why you'll have to ask him, I'm not sure. One morning whilst 2x4 was showering I had to use the facilities. As I passed the vanity my arm brushed his phone (which was precariously placed on the edge of the vanity closest to the toilet) and it fell into the toilet. The kerplunk sound was quickly followed by my emitting "CRAP!" and reaching in after it. As I pulled it out of the water its lights went off, and it never fully recuperated. I will never live this down. The cell phone/toilet incident has lived on in infamy.
Today my sister and I needed to use the facilities in the mall prior to shopping. I decided that today wasn't a hovering day so I grabbed one of those tissue paper seat cover things and was placing it on the seat when KERPLUNK! Before my eyes my sunglasses dislodged themselves from their resting place hooked to my shirt and fell INTO THE TOILET! AAAAARGH!
Ok, I'll admit that for a split second I considered going in after them. A microsecond. Then I just yelled a profanity and stared in shock at my sunglasses resting in the bottom of the stupid dirty public toilet. DAMN IT!
My sister (who was in the next stall over) was laughing so hard that she couldn't speak. She came out of her stall all red and gulping for air. She made several comments about how it wouldn't be nearly as funny if I hadn't been involved in the cell phone incident.
Whatever.
Then, more people came into the bathroom. We barely contained our laughter as we washed our hands while watching them do that thing where you open several stalls in order to determine which is the cleanest. Each person stopped with a quizzical look at the stall I had abandoned with the toilet seat tissue and sunglasses still in place.
So, I text messaged 2x4. I told him that I need new sunglasses because I dropped mine in the J.C.Penny's toilet.
His response: Loser. Stop dropping things in toilets.
I now must accept the fact that this is one of those stories that will haunt me forever, like the time I misspelled my own name.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
50 More by Popular Demand
I got three votes (and one challenge) for the next fifty. Enjoy.
51. I think that urine and freshly popped popcorn smell curiously similar. Same goes for raw onions and body odor.
52. I am AWFUL with geography. I skipped that day.
53. I frequently borrow intellectual and informative books from the library then exchange them for chick-lit. Unread.
54. I have a hard time clipping my toe nails. I can't seem to find a comfortable position.
55. I think that if I had received training early in life I would have made a hell of a dancer.
56. I tried out for cheerleading once in high school. That shit's hard.
57. I didn't believe that I was beautiful until The Good Guy convinced me. Now I believe that I'm a Goddess.
58. I've done a great deal of research on Witchcraft. If I were ever to subscribe to a religion, that's the path I'd choose. Not Wicca, Witchcraft. Nature worship. The earth would be my church. I guess it already is.
59. I always feel inferior in academic circles.
60. My favorite movie of all time is 'The Philadelphia Story'.
61. I love Cary Grant. He was dreamy.
62. I wish men still dressed like they did in Frank Sinatra's day.
63. I'm over Brad Pitt. Angelina made him weird.
64. Angelina Jolie is sexy. No doubt about it.
65. The Good Guy loves to correct grammar (whether you ask him to or not). It used to piss. me. off. Now I look to him for proof-reading.
66. I've figured out why my parents made so many mistakes, this parenting stuff is tricky.
67. I could spend hours in a craft store.
68. Chocolate makes my clothes shrink. (I saw this on a sign today-made me laugh out loud in the middle of the store) It's true.
69. Baby shoes are some of the cutest things on earth. They're right up there with kittens and puppies.
70. I once saved a dog from choking on a Milkbone by smacking him really hard on the back of the head. It flew out of his mouth and he proceeded to continue eating.
71. I rock out to Sean Paul in my car when nobody is watching. I belt out muddled non-word grunts instead of the lyrics because I have NO idea what the hell he is saying.
72. I wish kids were more innocent and lived to play ball on the local field instead of playing the latest shoot 'em up video game.
73. I'm an emotional woman. Remember those damn AT&T commercials? I cried EVERY time.
74. I'd rather be emotional than numb.
75. In high school a classmate spread a rumor that J and I were lesbian lovers because we turned him in for cheating.
76. I was voted 'Most Opinionated' in my senior yearbook. I refused to accept the title so they changed it to 'Most Tenacious".
77. In high school, Most Opinionated =Biggest Bitch.
78. I have a hard time with poetry. Most of it is too ambiguos for my simple mind.
79. Someday I want a loft apartment downtown in a bustling city.
80. I very much enjoy the smell of lavender and lilacs.
81. If I had to pick my four favorite flowers they would be tulips, sunflowers, gerber daisies, and roses. OH! and hydrangeas!
82. I once snuck into a movie without paying. A good friend chastized me and I felt horribly guilty.
83. I think some newborn babies are ugly.
84. I have a tattoo. I'm not telling you where ;-)
85. 'Taming of the Shrew' is my favorite Shakespeare play.
86. My first dog was a Chow. When she almost bit my face my parents sent her to a farm. No really, that's what they told me! It has to be true.
87. Buffet=All you can eat germ infested food.
88. I never once in my life ate my boogers. Not once.
89. I think naming your child after yourself is vain. I'm sorry, but I do.
90. I almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
91. My dad once removed rust from my bicycle using Pepsi. I stopped drinking soda for years thereafter.
92. I am scared to DEATH of driving in NYC. No way would I do it. Montreal was bad enough. I think I ran three red lights.
93. I can't parallel park. The last time I did was during my driving test.
94. I am a horrible speller.
95. Oh my goodness! One of the kids just ripped a HUGE fart in their sleep! LOL!
96. Farts are funny.
97. I used to own a Dalmation who smiled. She was the best dog ever. I miss her.
98. I have SUPER pale skin. People feel the need to point this out to me. Thanks. I never noticed.
99. Aloe is great for a sunburn.
100. I am in love with the most incredible man in the whole world. He loves me back, just as much. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him. I'm a hopeless romantic. I believe in happy ever after. I believe in soul mates. I've found mine.
There you have it folks! I hope you weren't too bored.
51. I think that urine and freshly popped popcorn smell curiously similar. Same goes for raw onions and body odor.
52. I am AWFUL with geography. I skipped that day.
53. I frequently borrow intellectual and informative books from the library then exchange them for chick-lit. Unread.
54. I have a hard time clipping my toe nails. I can't seem to find a comfortable position.
55. I think that if I had received training early in life I would have made a hell of a dancer.
56. I tried out for cheerleading once in high school. That shit's hard.
57. I didn't believe that I was beautiful until The Good Guy convinced me. Now I believe that I'm a Goddess.
58. I've done a great deal of research on Witchcraft. If I were ever to subscribe to a religion, that's the path I'd choose. Not Wicca, Witchcraft. Nature worship. The earth would be my church. I guess it already is.
59. I always feel inferior in academic circles.
60. My favorite movie of all time is 'The Philadelphia Story'.
61. I love Cary Grant. He was dreamy.
62. I wish men still dressed like they did in Frank Sinatra's day.
63. I'm over Brad Pitt. Angelina made him weird.
64. Angelina Jolie is sexy. No doubt about it.
65. The Good Guy loves to correct grammar (whether you ask him to or not). It used to piss. me. off. Now I look to him for proof-reading.
66. I've figured out why my parents made so many mistakes, this parenting stuff is tricky.
67. I could spend hours in a craft store.
68. Chocolate makes my clothes shrink. (I saw this on a sign today-made me laugh out loud in the middle of the store) It's true.
69. Baby shoes are some of the cutest things on earth. They're right up there with kittens and puppies.
70. I once saved a dog from choking on a Milkbone by smacking him really hard on the back of the head. It flew out of his mouth and he proceeded to continue eating.
71. I rock out to Sean Paul in my car when nobody is watching. I belt out muddled non-word grunts instead of the lyrics because I have NO idea what the hell he is saying.
72. I wish kids were more innocent and lived to play ball on the local field instead of playing the latest shoot 'em up video game.
73. I'm an emotional woman. Remember those damn AT&T commercials? I cried EVERY time.
74. I'd rather be emotional than numb.
75. In high school a classmate spread a rumor that J and I were lesbian lovers because we turned him in for cheating.
76. I was voted 'Most Opinionated' in my senior yearbook. I refused to accept the title so they changed it to 'Most Tenacious".
77. In high school, Most Opinionated =Biggest Bitch.
78. I have a hard time with poetry. Most of it is too ambiguos for my simple mind.
79. Someday I want a loft apartment downtown in a bustling city.
80. I very much enjoy the smell of lavender and lilacs.
81. If I had to pick my four favorite flowers they would be tulips, sunflowers, gerber daisies, and roses. OH! and hydrangeas!
82. I once snuck into a movie without paying. A good friend chastized me and I felt horribly guilty.
83. I think some newborn babies are ugly.
84. I have a tattoo. I'm not telling you where ;-)
85. 'Taming of the Shrew' is my favorite Shakespeare play.
86. My first dog was a Chow. When she almost bit my face my parents sent her to a farm. No really, that's what they told me! It has to be true.
87. Buffet=All you can eat germ infested food.
88. I never once in my life ate my boogers. Not once.
89. I think naming your child after yourself is vain. I'm sorry, but I do.
90. I almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
91. My dad once removed rust from my bicycle using Pepsi. I stopped drinking soda for years thereafter.
92. I am scared to DEATH of driving in NYC. No way would I do it. Montreal was bad enough. I think I ran three red lights.
93. I can't parallel park. The last time I did was during my driving test.
94. I am a horrible speller.
95. Oh my goodness! One of the kids just ripped a HUGE fart in their sleep! LOL!
96. Farts are funny.
97. I used to own a Dalmation who smiled. She was the best dog ever. I miss her.
98. I have SUPER pale skin. People feel the need to point this out to me. Thanks. I never noticed.
99. Aloe is great for a sunburn.
100. I am in love with the most incredible man in the whole world. He loves me back, just as much. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him. I'm a hopeless romantic. I believe in happy ever after. I believe in soul mates. I've found mine.
There you have it folks! I hope you weren't too bored.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
50 Things About Me
Ok, so I stole this idea from David who stole it from Thursday. It is also featured on Marty's blog. It's a shameless copy of someone else's idea, but it seemed like fun and I really want to be part of their club. They went with 100 but I'm not really that interesting. So, here you go, 50 pointless factoids about sheltered little ole me:
1. As a kid I was the finickiest eater in all the land. I wouldn't touch a vegetable. I lived on mayonnaise sandwiches, pb&j (grape jelly only) and hot dogs with the ends cut off (because they look like bellybuttons). My mom thinks it's hysterical that I'm now a health conscious vegetarian.
2. I have a tendency to ramble on and on.
3. I grew up in a house where I wasn't permitted to be loud. Children were to be seen and not heard. I now speak REALLY loudly if I'm not careful.
4. Chocolate is a food group in and of itself.
5. I enjoy the sound of horse hooves galloping and the sound gravel makes when tires drive accross it.
6. My dad's house, which I loved more than any home I've ever lived in, was razed many years ago to become a parking lot for a Moose Lodge. I've never driven by because I think I'd get too emotional.
7. I love dogs. I want a Weimereiner someday.
8. I didn't vote in a presidential election until a few years ago because I never felt informed enough to make such a huge decision.
9. Sometimes I think that the sound leaves make when blowing in the wind is the same sound rain makes when it falls on the roof.
10. I used books to escape my reality during childhood. I still do it to this day.
11. One of my guilty pleasures is Dirty Dancing (the movie!)
12. I've never actually danced dirty.
13. I smoked pot once. I got all paranoid and actually started to worry about Homeland Security-no joke. Won't ever touch the stuff again.
14. When I eat cooked eggs the whites and the yokes have to be mixed together. Otherwise they're just disgusting. And who the hell was the first person to smell a hard boiled egg and say mmmm...smells good lets EAT that!
15. I've hated churches since I first stepped foot into one. Even as a child I felt oppressed and wanted nothing more than to get the heck out of there A.S.A.P.
16. One of my biggest fears is getting fat.
17. Soy dogs aren't as bad as I thought.
18. I don't have any wisdom teeth. They were cut out of my head.
19. Red Wine Only.
20. I once puked the brussell sprouts that my mom was making me eat back onto my plate. She didn't make me eat them again. HA!
21. I became environmentally concsious when I took 8th grade Earth Science. From then on I became somewhat of a radical recycler.
22. I loved hiking when I was a kid. My dad bought me the coolest pair of pink hiking boots ever!
23. I used to love watching my grandparents get sloppy drunk on Saturday nights (Martini nights at their house).
24. I used to sneak into my sister's room at night because I was afraid the boogy man would get me, and I figured I'd use her as a sheild.
25. My family used to gather in the bathroom and wave goodbye to my sister's poo while she was potty training. Otherwise she wouldn't go.
26. I resented the fact that my sister broke my whole Black Beauty play set.
27. I once worked in a restaurant where I had to wear a t-shirt that said "Former Contortionist"
28. I have a black thumb. I kill plants.
29. One of my toes faces the wrong direction.
30. Sangria, guacamole, and chimichangas are all proof that Mexicans make damn fine cuisine.
31. I get sad every time I see road kill.
32. One Thanksgiving I drove my car into a ditch full of cow manure in order to avoid hitting a cat. That was fun.
33. One day I want people to look at me and think, "That's a classy lady."
34. I always have a problem with the word dearth. I think it means an overabundance.
35. The first movie I ever saw on a VCR was 'Ferris Beuller's Day Off'. My dad rented both the player and the movie.
36. I also saw 'Amadeus' on that player and was so scared I couldn't sleep. Check the opening scene. It's awful.
37. I used to watch 'Friends' all the time. I liked it. I thought it was funny. I refuse to be ashamed. Same goes for Will and Grace.
38. I could never choose a favorite song, artist, or book. I simply like too many to choose.
39. I love photographs. My apartment has pictures of friends and family all over the place.
40. My first camera was a Fisher Price camera with disposable flash cubes. Remember those?
41. I LOVE the smell of basil. If good pesto wasn't so expensive I'd eat it all the time.
42. Crossword puzzles are stupid.
43. I don't have cable television because I have no will power and would spend too large a portion of my life planted in front of the boob tube.
44. My dad used to call the television a boob tube. Cracked me up every time.
45. Eating ice cream makes my stomach hurt. That doesn't stop me.
46. I am my own worst critic, and I'm a control freak.
47. I procrastinate more than anyone I know.
48. Some guy in a grocery store parking lot once asked me if I would give him a $20 bill for 20 dollars in food stamps. He was holding a case of beer.
49. On my first day of work in a grocery store a guy came through my register with 2 cases of beer and an economy size box of condoms. He was gross. I seriously considered asking him what his plans were for the evening.
50. I was annoyed when my mom made me start wearing bras at 13 years of age.
There you go. If anyone has a burning desire to read 50 more factoids about me, let me know and I'll consider expanding my list to its intended length. If not, I totally understand. That's a lot of useless info.
1. As a kid I was the finickiest eater in all the land. I wouldn't touch a vegetable. I lived on mayonnaise sandwiches, pb&j (grape jelly only) and hot dogs with the ends cut off (because they look like bellybuttons). My mom thinks it's hysterical that I'm now a health conscious vegetarian.
2. I have a tendency to ramble on and on.
3. I grew up in a house where I wasn't permitted to be loud. Children were to be seen and not heard. I now speak REALLY loudly if I'm not careful.
4. Chocolate is a food group in and of itself.
5. I enjoy the sound of horse hooves galloping and the sound gravel makes when tires drive accross it.
6. My dad's house, which I loved more than any home I've ever lived in, was razed many years ago to become a parking lot for a Moose Lodge. I've never driven by because I think I'd get too emotional.
7. I love dogs. I want a Weimereiner someday.
8. I didn't vote in a presidential election until a few years ago because I never felt informed enough to make such a huge decision.
9. Sometimes I think that the sound leaves make when blowing in the wind is the same sound rain makes when it falls on the roof.
10. I used books to escape my reality during childhood. I still do it to this day.
11. One of my guilty pleasures is Dirty Dancing (the movie!)
12. I've never actually danced dirty.
13. I smoked pot once. I got all paranoid and actually started to worry about Homeland Security-no joke. Won't ever touch the stuff again.
14. When I eat cooked eggs the whites and the yokes have to be mixed together. Otherwise they're just disgusting. And who the hell was the first person to smell a hard boiled egg and say mmmm...smells good lets EAT that!
15. I've hated churches since I first stepped foot into one. Even as a child I felt oppressed and wanted nothing more than to get the heck out of there A.S.A.P.
16. One of my biggest fears is getting fat.
17. Soy dogs aren't as bad as I thought.
18. I don't have any wisdom teeth. They were cut out of my head.
19. Red Wine Only.
20. I once puked the brussell sprouts that my mom was making me eat back onto my plate. She didn't make me eat them again. HA!
21. I became environmentally concsious when I took 8th grade Earth Science. From then on I became somewhat of a radical recycler.
22. I loved hiking when I was a kid. My dad bought me the coolest pair of pink hiking boots ever!
23. I used to love watching my grandparents get sloppy drunk on Saturday nights (Martini nights at their house).
24. I used to sneak into my sister's room at night because I was afraid the boogy man would get me, and I figured I'd use her as a sheild.
25. My family used to gather in the bathroom and wave goodbye to my sister's poo while she was potty training. Otherwise she wouldn't go.
26. I resented the fact that my sister broke my whole Black Beauty play set.
27. I once worked in a restaurant where I had to wear a t-shirt that said "Former Contortionist"
28. I have a black thumb. I kill plants.
29. One of my toes faces the wrong direction.
30. Sangria, guacamole, and chimichangas are all proof that Mexicans make damn fine cuisine.
31. I get sad every time I see road kill.
32. One Thanksgiving I drove my car into a ditch full of cow manure in order to avoid hitting a cat. That was fun.
33. One day I want people to look at me and think, "That's a classy lady."
34. I always have a problem with the word dearth. I think it means an overabundance.
35. The first movie I ever saw on a VCR was 'Ferris Beuller's Day Off'. My dad rented both the player and the movie.
36. I also saw 'Amadeus' on that player and was so scared I couldn't sleep. Check the opening scene. It's awful.
37. I used to watch 'Friends' all the time. I liked it. I thought it was funny. I refuse to be ashamed. Same goes for Will and Grace.
38. I could never choose a favorite song, artist, or book. I simply like too many to choose.
39. I love photographs. My apartment has pictures of friends and family all over the place.
40. My first camera was a Fisher Price camera with disposable flash cubes. Remember those?
41. I LOVE the smell of basil. If good pesto wasn't so expensive I'd eat it all the time.
42. Crossword puzzles are stupid.
43. I don't have cable television because I have no will power and would spend too large a portion of my life planted in front of the boob tube.
44. My dad used to call the television a boob tube. Cracked me up every time.
45. Eating ice cream makes my stomach hurt. That doesn't stop me.
46. I am my own worst critic, and I'm a control freak.
47. I procrastinate more than anyone I know.
48. Some guy in a grocery store parking lot once asked me if I would give him a $20 bill for 20 dollars in food stamps. He was holding a case of beer.
49. On my first day of work in a grocery store a guy came through my register with 2 cases of beer and an economy size box of condoms. He was gross. I seriously considered asking him what his plans were for the evening.
50. I was annoyed when my mom made me start wearing bras at 13 years of age.
There you go. If anyone has a burning desire to read 50 more factoids about me, let me know and I'll consider expanding my list to its intended length. If not, I totally understand. That's a lot of useless info.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Remember When?
Do you ever just want to bottle up a moment so that you can take it out later and enjoy it again?
Last night The Good Guy and I ventured out into the yard of apartment complex after dinner to take an evening walk. We conversed with some of the local kids who were patrolling for hornet nests and killing bees with a baseball bat. We talked to some young girls whose faces were covered in paint applied in elaborate butterfly patterns about their scooters and who has the best one. A neighbor blessed The Good Guy when he sneezed before informing him that it is hay-feaver season.
The weather was perfect. There was a comfortable breeze and the humidity was the lowest it had been for several days. The Black-eyed Susans were in full bloom all around the complex. We held hands as we strolled and enjoyed conversation on a variety of topics. The sun was setting and we paused for a while to watch the clouds morph and change their pink and gray hues as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. As we watched the sky-line I could hear a woman inside of one of the apartments yelling to her daughter in Spanish. We joked about whether or not the heart-shaped cloud was placed in the sky just for us, we talked about the green flash, Venus' belt, evenings spent watching sunsets, mornings spent watching sun-rises, and considered the view of the sunset that other people were having at that very moment to the west of us.
It was peaceful, tranquil, and wonderful. We all know that time moves forward, and that you can't go back. I guess the next best thing is to write these moments down so that we can re-live them in memory.
Last night The Good Guy and I ventured out into the yard of apartment complex after dinner to take an evening walk. We conversed with some of the local kids who were patrolling for hornet nests and killing bees with a baseball bat. We talked to some young girls whose faces were covered in paint applied in elaborate butterfly patterns about their scooters and who has the best one. A neighbor blessed The Good Guy when he sneezed before informing him that it is hay-feaver season.
The weather was perfect. There was a comfortable breeze and the humidity was the lowest it had been for several days. The Black-eyed Susans were in full bloom all around the complex. We held hands as we strolled and enjoyed conversation on a variety of topics. The sun was setting and we paused for a while to watch the clouds morph and change their pink and gray hues as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. As we watched the sky-line I could hear a woman inside of one of the apartments yelling to her daughter in Spanish. We joked about whether or not the heart-shaped cloud was placed in the sky just for us, we talked about the green flash, Venus' belt, evenings spent watching sunsets, mornings spent watching sun-rises, and considered the view of the sunset that other people were having at that very moment to the west of us.
It was peaceful, tranquil, and wonderful. We all know that time moves forward, and that you can't go back. I guess the next best thing is to write these moments down so that we can re-live them in memory.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Demons
We watched 'Walk the Line' the other night. If you haven't seen this movie, go out and rent it. It was excellent.
It got me to thinking. Books and movies frequently do that. I can't turn off the T.V. or close a book and be done; they stay fresh in my mind for days as I mull them over, chew on them, and try hard to make more sense of them. Mr. Cash had some serious demons. He was a man who was full to the brim with hurt. His hurt manifested itself in a variety of ways, some good, and some bad. He became an amazing song writer and performer. He also became a man his family couldn't depend on, who abused his body with drug and drink.
I find that the older I get, the more the world is comprised of gray areas. When I was in my early teenage years, and knew everything, there was a whole lot more black and white. The answers were crystal clear.
Now, not so much. I've tried to make it harder and harder for myself to make blanket judgments of others. I've tried to inundate myself with information and alternative view points that allow me to consider the other side of the story, or to see the human behind the awful actions.
I read a book a while back titled, 'Last Chance in Texas, The Redemption of Criminal Youth' by John Hubner. Read it. You can't possibly read this book without gaining a new perspective on teenage criminals.
I also watched 'The Woodsman'. Watch it. It doesn't make excuses for a man who molests little girls, but it makes it clear that the man struggles day in and day out. He's a human being who has a problem. But he's a human none-the-less.
I remember being in a class and having a debate about what society should do with child predators and murderers. I took the position that they are humans, and we should do everything we can to not cast them aside and forget about them. When I took this position, I did it primarily because everyone else simply seemed to be in a lynching state of mind. Everyone in the class was on the same page. I hated that. It just seemed like the easy route to thrust criminals into a cell, consider them demon spawn, and think about it no more. I felt like someone should offer up an alternative. So, unsure as to whether I believed what I was saying or not, I began defending criminals who had committed heinous acts. I was of course not defending the crime, but the human hidden somewhere behind the ugly. I found myself taking the position that it is human society's JOB to eke out whatever is left of a criminal's humanity. I think we should try to shine a light on the part of a person's soul that is not damaged. I'm not saying that an intact portion exists in every criminal, (since I'm not entirely sure) but I am saying we should try and find out if one is still thriving.
I guess the long and short of this whole deal is that I'm still unsure exactly where I stand. I've written and re-written this post several times, and am still unhappy with the result. The point I'm trying to make, I suppose, is that it's really easy to cast aspersions. It's not difficult to saddle someone who did a bad thing with the reputation that he or she is a bad person. I think it's a challenge to try and look beyond someone's actions (regardless of severity) and try to understand what is going on underneath the surface.
Does this post make any sense at all?! Sometimes articulation is not my specialty. Grrrr...
It got me to thinking. Books and movies frequently do that. I can't turn off the T.V. or close a book and be done; they stay fresh in my mind for days as I mull them over, chew on them, and try hard to make more sense of them. Mr. Cash had some serious demons. He was a man who was full to the brim with hurt. His hurt manifested itself in a variety of ways, some good, and some bad. He became an amazing song writer and performer. He also became a man his family couldn't depend on, who abused his body with drug and drink.
I find that the older I get, the more the world is comprised of gray areas. When I was in my early teenage years, and knew everything, there was a whole lot more black and white. The answers were crystal clear.
Now, not so much. I've tried to make it harder and harder for myself to make blanket judgments of others. I've tried to inundate myself with information and alternative view points that allow me to consider the other side of the story, or to see the human behind the awful actions.
I read a book a while back titled, 'Last Chance in Texas, The Redemption of Criminal Youth' by John Hubner. Read it. You can't possibly read this book without gaining a new perspective on teenage criminals.
I also watched 'The Woodsman'. Watch it. It doesn't make excuses for a man who molests little girls, but it makes it clear that the man struggles day in and day out. He's a human being who has a problem. But he's a human none-the-less.
I remember being in a class and having a debate about what society should do with child predators and murderers. I took the position that they are humans, and we should do everything we can to not cast them aside and forget about them. When I took this position, I did it primarily because everyone else simply seemed to be in a lynching state of mind. Everyone in the class was on the same page. I hated that. It just seemed like the easy route to thrust criminals into a cell, consider them demon spawn, and think about it no more. I felt like someone should offer up an alternative. So, unsure as to whether I believed what I was saying or not, I began defending criminals who had committed heinous acts. I was of course not defending the crime, but the human hidden somewhere behind the ugly. I found myself taking the position that it is human society's JOB to eke out whatever is left of a criminal's humanity. I think we should try to shine a light on the part of a person's soul that is not damaged. I'm not saying that an intact portion exists in every criminal, (since I'm not entirely sure) but I am saying we should try and find out if one is still thriving.
I guess the long and short of this whole deal is that I'm still unsure exactly where I stand. I've written and re-written this post several times, and am still unhappy with the result. The point I'm trying to make, I suppose, is that it's really easy to cast aspersions. It's not difficult to saddle someone who did a bad thing with the reputation that he or she is a bad person. I think it's a challenge to try and look beyond someone's actions (regardless of severity) and try to understand what is going on underneath the surface.
Does this post make any sense at all?! Sometimes articulation is not my specialty. Grrrr...
Friday, July 28, 2006
My Sister
I have only one sibling who shares my blood. We have different fathers, but were for the most part raised in the same household by our mother and her second husband (my sister's father). I think, for the purpose of this post, that I will nickname my sister, Spaz. Spaz is about six years my junior and completely, totally, entirely different than I. After spending the day with her last week, I decided that I must devote a blog post to comparing and contrasting the two of us.
Spaz truly enjoys a good smoke now and again (or all the time). I mean both the legal and the illegal.
I have never tried the legal. Tried the illegal once. It was awful; I hated the whole damn experience, will never do it again.
Spaz can't go a day without discussing her bowel movements (in HORRIFIC detail) to anyone she happens to be around.
I don't discuss bowel movements. I close the door when I go in, I come out when I'm done. End of story.
Spaz is petite. She's like, a size 1. She walks like a damn HORSE!
I have struggled with my weight for my entire life. I have ranged between sizes 6 and 12. I do NOT walk like a horse.
Spaz (apparently) has a farting position. She shared this with me last week. Sometimes the gas needs assistance in getting out, so (for those of you interested) you should get on all fours, put your head and shoulders down, and stick your butt in the air. This gives the gas a clear path out through your back-end. I kid you not. She showed me the position.
I, if anything, have a hard time keeping the gas from coming out at embarrassing times.
Spaz will get out of the pool, drop trow in mom's back yard, squat, and relieve herself.
I will towel off and walk the ten feet to the house in order to use the restroom.
Spaz will order extra whipped cream on any dessert, ask for even more when it arrives, and proceed to shovel it into her mouth with a trowel. Half of it will end up hanging out of the corners of her mouth.
I generally go with the pre-determined amount of whipped topping, and take civilized bites.
Spaz will dip EVERYTHING in ranch dressing.
I don't really like ranch dressing.
Spaz knows a lot about wine and will spend fair amounts of money on good wine.
I know that inexpensive wines are frequently as good as the expensive stuff and stick to the cheap stuff unless Spaz is buying.
Spaz adds so much cream and sugar to her coffee that she ultimately drinks coffee flavored syrup.
I like cream and sugar in moderation, and will occasionally drink my java black.
Spaz will come into my home and plop down on my carpeted living room floor with every intention of trimming her toe nails.
I will yell at her for being gross and banish her to the bathroom, and when she emerges ask, "Did you clean up your mess?!" I will not trim my nails in someone else's home.
Spaz likes her men stocky with no necks.
I like my men trim, fit, and sexy in Levi's jeans.
Spaz likes Pugs.
I think if you're going to have a dog, it should be bigger than a cat.
Spaz is perfectly happy being a waitress. She makes good money, and enjoys her co-workers (several of them anyway).
I HATE waiting tables. I need the money. The hours are right. My co-workers are primarily a bunch of whine-asses with a lack of work-ethic. I'm counting down the days to when I no longer have to bring strangers their food.
Spaz can screw up even the most simple of art projects. Seriously, I didn't believe it until I saw it. It's unreal.
I live to be creative.
Spaz sowed her wild oats when she should have-during and right after high school.
I jumped into a committed relationship, got married, and divorced all before the age of 26-Wild oats still unsowed.
Spaz is perfectly content to go out into the world unshowered and run errands, visit, go out to eat or whatever else, all while being unbathed. (She's not a scum-bag or anything, she does shower)
I can't leave the house until I'm showered. I feel all icky and smelly.
Spaz would do anything in the world for me.
I would do the same for her.
Spaz loves me very much.
I feel the same about her.
I guess we're not entirely different.
Spaz truly enjoys a good smoke now and again (or all the time). I mean both the legal and the illegal.
I have never tried the legal. Tried the illegal once. It was awful; I hated the whole damn experience, will never do it again.
Spaz can't go a day without discussing her bowel movements (in HORRIFIC detail) to anyone she happens to be around.
I don't discuss bowel movements. I close the door when I go in, I come out when I'm done. End of story.
Spaz is petite. She's like, a size 1. She walks like a damn HORSE!
I have struggled with my weight for my entire life. I have ranged between sizes 6 and 12. I do NOT walk like a horse.
Spaz (apparently) has a farting position. She shared this with me last week. Sometimes the gas needs assistance in getting out, so (for those of you interested) you should get on all fours, put your head and shoulders down, and stick your butt in the air. This gives the gas a clear path out through your back-end. I kid you not. She showed me the position.
I, if anything, have a hard time keeping the gas from coming out at embarrassing times.
Spaz will get out of the pool, drop trow in mom's back yard, squat, and relieve herself.
I will towel off and walk the ten feet to the house in order to use the restroom.
Spaz will order extra whipped cream on any dessert, ask for even more when it arrives, and proceed to shovel it into her mouth with a trowel. Half of it will end up hanging out of the corners of her mouth.
I generally go with the pre-determined amount of whipped topping, and take civilized bites.
Spaz will dip EVERYTHING in ranch dressing.
I don't really like ranch dressing.
Spaz knows a lot about wine and will spend fair amounts of money on good wine.
I know that inexpensive wines are frequently as good as the expensive stuff and stick to the cheap stuff unless Spaz is buying.
Spaz adds so much cream and sugar to her coffee that she ultimately drinks coffee flavored syrup.
I like cream and sugar in moderation, and will occasionally drink my java black.
Spaz will come into my home and plop down on my carpeted living room floor with every intention of trimming her toe nails.
I will yell at her for being gross and banish her to the bathroom, and when she emerges ask, "Did you clean up your mess?!" I will not trim my nails in someone else's home.
Spaz likes her men stocky with no necks.
I like my men trim, fit, and sexy in Levi's jeans.
Spaz likes Pugs.
I think if you're going to have a dog, it should be bigger than a cat.
Spaz is perfectly happy being a waitress. She makes good money, and enjoys her co-workers (several of them anyway).
I HATE waiting tables. I need the money. The hours are right. My co-workers are primarily a bunch of whine-asses with a lack of work-ethic. I'm counting down the days to when I no longer have to bring strangers their food.
Spaz can screw up even the most simple of art projects. Seriously, I didn't believe it until I saw it. It's unreal.
I live to be creative.
Spaz sowed her wild oats when she should have-during and right after high school.
I jumped into a committed relationship, got married, and divorced all before the age of 26-Wild oats still unsowed.
Spaz is perfectly content to go out into the world unshowered and run errands, visit, go out to eat or whatever else, all while being unbathed. (She's not a scum-bag or anything, she does shower)
I can't leave the house until I'm showered. I feel all icky and smelly.
Spaz would do anything in the world for me.
I would do the same for her.
Spaz loves me very much.
I feel the same about her.
I guess we're not entirely different.
Monday, July 24, 2006
'Vacation' Rant
The Good Guy received news the other day that his uncle had passed away. It wasn't entirely unexpected but was a shock none-the-less. In the interests of offering family solidarity, we made hurried plans and traveled to Baltimore in order to give our love and support to his grieving relatives. Unfortunately I never met the man, and will never have the pleasure of doing so.
This was my first time meeting the extended paternal family, and it was indeed an experience. In general they were a very comfortable people. Strangely, many of his relatives seemed familiar to me. It was as if his family reminded me of people I knew, though no specific individuals came to mind. After a while I decided it was the openness they offered that made me feel comfortable and them familiar.
We accomplished a great deal in a very short period of time. I am going to share a specific incident. It is certainly NOT indicative of The Good Guy's family interactions with me, and in no way reflects the overall tone of the trip. The trip was very enjoyable (despite the reason for the journey). I am only offering this story as a source of entertainment because this is just the sort of thing that happens to me.
A little foreshadowing...I meet my fiance's extended family for the first time and get into an altercation with a drunken twenty-something. Only ME.
The story follows:
Background...We didn't attend the services because we simply couldn't plan, pay for, and execute our journey quickly enough to do so. Instead we joined the family the day after the funeral for a get-together at the abode of a family member. There was swimming, cajoling, eating, reminiscing, drinking, drinking, and more drinking. I didn't drink. I was in a new place with new people, the kids were there, and beer (for whatever reason) was totally unappealing to me that day. In hind-sight it's a damn good thing because I lose some of my ability to reason rationally with alcohol cruising through my system (weird-I KNOW).
The setting...The host of the get-together was another uncle (brother to The Good Guy's father, and brother to the uncle who passed away). Several people were sitting on the outside patio as the evening was winding down. The Good Guy was in the basement with his kids enjoying re-runs of The Pink Panther cartoon. I felt it was important for at least one of us to mingle at any given time, so I was hanging out on the patio with his parents, our host, our host's wife, a neighbor, and the future son-in-law of the host.
The Players...I'll call the future son-in-law L.C. (for Loose Cannon) as he is the villain in my story. He's one of those people that give you a bad-vibe from the get-go. I pride myself on my women's intuition. My intution told me he was an insincere poser, but, quite frankly I didn't think twice about it . To be totally honest, I simply dismissed him as someone who is irrelevant to me in almost every way, as I will probably never see him again, and if I do it will be brief and inconsequential. However, later, my intuition proved to be right-on, and any guilt I felt about judging a complete stranger dissipated.
The INCIDENT...As we were sitting around talking I noticed The Good Guy's swimming trunks laying on the ground in front of L.C. (who was seated next to me). The last I knew they had been draped over the chair on the other side of L.C. in order to dry.
Sidebar...I'm kind of anal-retentive. I need cabinet doors to be closed just-right, I need towels to be folded the correct way, I need curtains to be symmetrical, and I need the discard pile to be organized when playing cards. Otherwise it's like there's a buzzing mosquito flying around my ear. It's like this thing is annoying me and must be fixed in order for me to have peace. So, I didn't know how they got there, and I didn't care. Swim trunks should NOT be on the ground...they must.be.picked.up.
The INCIDENT, cont...Upon noticing the trunks on the ground I got up from my seat and bent over to pick them up and place them back on the chair. As I picked them up, without saying a word, L.C. violently grabbed them out of my hand and chucked them behind me and across the patio.
now, had I been drinking alcohol, the story may have gone as follows, "I then kicked him in the shin, LOUDLY called him a rotten bastard, and punched him in the face"
however...I had NOT been drinking, so, this is what happened:
I looked behind me (in the direction of said trunks), turned back (with eyes BULGING) gave L.C. the scariest stare I could muster, and in a voice that was raised but not yet screaming said,
"YOU are going to go pick those up, because they are MINE and that was RUDE!" Keep in mind that this was a watered down version of what I truly wanted to say (several expletives came to mind) since I was in the presence of strangers and my future parents-in-law.
Thankfully, I think my tone and the 'stare-o-DEATH' knocked some sense into the drunken L.C. because he looked at me for a moment (deer-in-the-headlights-like) and said, "I'll pick them up, ok?"
I then turned around, saw my future mother-in-law smile and wink at me and I said, "I can handle a drunk" as I sat back down. I was EXTREMELY grateful that she was communicating a distinct lack of anger at what I had done. It was one of those moments when I needed some form of back-up and she offered it to me in the best manner she could. She was silent, but I heard her loud and clear. "Good for you". She knew she didn't have to do a thing, I had it covered.
Then the host picked up the trunks and attempted to hand them to me when L.C. stopped him, took them, handed them to me and said, "I'm very sorry"
I responded "Apology accepted" You Jack-Ass.
Then the porch cleared out, I felt like a lepper, and our host made excuses about the boy being young and really upset about the death of his fiance's uncle.
Whatever. This guy's gonna marry your daughter, dude. You might wanna think about this. He apologized, which is great, and not always easy to do, so...I'll give him that.
Shortly thereafter The Good Guy appeared (totally unaware of what had taken place) and we did goodbyes, thank-yous, nice-to-meet-yous, sorry about your loss, etc.
As we walked to the car I told him what had happened and he expressed that he was proud of me and the manner in which I handled the situation. I needed to hear that, I was REALLY uncomfortable and had begun second-guessing my response to the situation.
I am a woman who can hold my own. I am also a woman with a temper. I must say, I'm proud of the decorum I used. I guess I am growing up!
*walks away to ice shoulder which now hurts from patting self on back*
Next Step to Self Improvement Goal: Work on Forgiving and Forgetting. (I think I've made this goal before-it's a hard one)
More about trip to Baltimore to come...the rest of the trip was wonderful. We stayed in a really nice hotel, the weather was great, and a whole lot of writing material was born from the experience. Stay Tuned.
This was my first time meeting the extended paternal family, and it was indeed an experience. In general they were a very comfortable people. Strangely, many of his relatives seemed familiar to me. It was as if his family reminded me of people I knew, though no specific individuals came to mind. After a while I decided it was the openness they offered that made me feel comfortable and them familiar.
We accomplished a great deal in a very short period of time. I am going to share a specific incident. It is certainly NOT indicative of The Good Guy's family interactions with me, and in no way reflects the overall tone of the trip. The trip was very enjoyable (despite the reason for the journey). I am only offering this story as a source of entertainment because this is just the sort of thing that happens to me.
A little foreshadowing...I meet my fiance's extended family for the first time and get into an altercation with a drunken twenty-something. Only ME.
The story follows:
Background...We didn't attend the services because we simply couldn't plan, pay for, and execute our journey quickly enough to do so. Instead we joined the family the day after the funeral for a get-together at the abode of a family member. There was swimming, cajoling, eating, reminiscing, drinking, drinking, and more drinking. I didn't drink. I was in a new place with new people, the kids were there, and beer (for whatever reason) was totally unappealing to me that day. In hind-sight it's a damn good thing because I lose some of my ability to reason rationally with alcohol cruising through my system (weird-I KNOW).
The setting...The host of the get-together was another uncle (brother to The Good Guy's father, and brother to the uncle who passed away). Several people were sitting on the outside patio as the evening was winding down. The Good Guy was in the basement with his kids enjoying re-runs of The Pink Panther cartoon. I felt it was important for at least one of us to mingle at any given time, so I was hanging out on the patio with his parents, our host, our host's wife, a neighbor, and the future son-in-law of the host.
The Players...I'll call the future son-in-law L.C. (for Loose Cannon) as he is the villain in my story. He's one of those people that give you a bad-vibe from the get-go. I pride myself on my women's intuition. My intution told me he was an insincere poser, but, quite frankly I didn't think twice about it . To be totally honest, I simply dismissed him as someone who is irrelevant to me in almost every way, as I will probably never see him again, and if I do it will be brief and inconsequential. However, later, my intuition proved to be right-on, and any guilt I felt about judging a complete stranger dissipated.
The INCIDENT...As we were sitting around talking I noticed The Good Guy's swimming trunks laying on the ground in front of L.C. (who was seated next to me). The last I knew they had been draped over the chair on the other side of L.C. in order to dry.
Sidebar...I'm kind of anal-retentive. I need cabinet doors to be closed just-right, I need towels to be folded the correct way, I need curtains to be symmetrical, and I need the discard pile to be organized when playing cards. Otherwise it's like there's a buzzing mosquito flying around my ear. It's like this thing is annoying me and must be fixed in order for me to have peace. So, I didn't know how they got there, and I didn't care. Swim trunks should NOT be on the ground...they must.be.picked.up.
The INCIDENT, cont...Upon noticing the trunks on the ground I got up from my seat and bent over to pick them up and place them back on the chair. As I picked them up, without saying a word, L.C. violently grabbed them out of my hand and chucked them behind me and across the patio.
now, had I been drinking alcohol, the story may have gone as follows, "I then kicked him in the shin, LOUDLY called him a rotten bastard, and punched him in the face"
however...I had NOT been drinking, so, this is what happened:
I looked behind me (in the direction of said trunks), turned back (with eyes BULGING) gave L.C. the scariest stare I could muster, and in a voice that was raised but not yet screaming said,
"YOU are going to go pick those up, because they are MINE and that was RUDE!" Keep in mind that this was a watered down version of what I truly wanted to say (several expletives came to mind) since I was in the presence of strangers and my future parents-in-law.
Thankfully, I think my tone and the 'stare-o-DEATH' knocked some sense into the drunken L.C. because he looked at me for a moment (deer-in-the-headlights-like) and said, "I'll pick them up, ok?"
I then turned around, saw my future mother-in-law smile and wink at me and I said, "I can handle a drunk" as I sat back down. I was EXTREMELY grateful that she was communicating a distinct lack of anger at what I had done. It was one of those moments when I needed some form of back-up and she offered it to me in the best manner she could. She was silent, but I heard her loud and clear. "Good for you". She knew she didn't have to do a thing, I had it covered.
Then the host picked up the trunks and attempted to hand them to me when L.C. stopped him, took them, handed them to me and said, "I'm very sorry"
I responded "Apology accepted" You Jack-Ass.
Then the porch cleared out, I felt like a lepper, and our host made excuses about the boy being young and really upset about the death of his fiance's uncle.
Whatever. This guy's gonna marry your daughter, dude. You might wanna think about this. He apologized, which is great, and not always easy to do, so...I'll give him that.
Shortly thereafter The Good Guy appeared (totally unaware of what had taken place) and we did goodbyes, thank-yous, nice-to-meet-yous, sorry about your loss, etc.
As we walked to the car I told him what had happened and he expressed that he was proud of me and the manner in which I handled the situation. I needed to hear that, I was REALLY uncomfortable and had begun second-guessing my response to the situation.
I am a woman who can hold my own. I am also a woman with a temper. I must say, I'm proud of the decorum I used. I guess I am growing up!
*walks away to ice shoulder which now hurts from patting self on back*
Next Step to Self Improvement Goal: Work on Forgiving and Forgetting. (I think I've made this goal before-it's a hard one)
More about trip to Baltimore to come...the rest of the trip was wonderful. We stayed in a really nice hotel, the weather was great, and a whole lot of writing material was born from the experience. Stay Tuned.
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