People keep calling the office, bothering me for money. It's not my money they're after, it's the money they're owed by the company I am working for temporarily.
Well, I tell them, everyone is out of the office all week. No, I can't help you. You'll just have to leave a voice mail. I cut them off and switch them over to voice mail before they can say goodbye, or thank you, or I have another question. And then I am back to my reading People Magazine online. What?? Lindsay Lohan wore that dress AGAIN??
It's incredibly liberating to work as a temp. No sense of ownership. No need to be too nice, because I'm out of here next week anyway. Hey, I'm not invested in this company. Call me passive-aggressive, but I'm happy to give these pushy showbiz types a little bristle. Not everyone's going to be subservient to you, and certainly not me. I used to care too much about every job I had, but as I've matured, I realize it doesn't pay to care.
It's starting not to bother me so much anymore, this not following my dreams business. I mean, the life of a successful entertainer would be a nightmare, right? You can't go anywhere without being recognized; you have to do all that PR stuff, and what a drag THAT would be! Sure, I'd love to have the means to travel all over the world and stuff like that, and I did enjoy performing...but I'm already too old to try my hand at Hollywood anyway. And even if I got some kind of work, would that really make me happy? At least not following my dreams, I am in total control of my feelings of not being fulfilled.
It's kind of nice, knowing what the next couple of years are going to be like: I will work temp jobs where I can surf the internet, read about the celebrities, and thank my lucky stars that I never ended up like any of those messed up broads. Then I will go home, heat up my leftovers, watch my shows, walk my dog, and go to bed. It's nice. I got too constipated on the road. My system doesn't agree with all the flying around and the travelling hither and yon. No, I'll stay right here. I didn't like this town when we moved here, but after six years here, it's really starting to grow on me.
My artist friends look dissapointed when I tell them that no, I haven't been acting or drawing or writing or singing...but what do they know? They're all stressed out, sleep deprived, money and fame hungry, neurotic basket cases. That's not for me. No, it's a blessing to be ordinary. It's the human condition to be a little bit unhappy.
Just because I may have had a little bit of talent doesn't mean I'm sinning against anyone not to be pursuing it, right? In a way, I'm one of the fortunate ones! Most of those stars, they work so hard to get their careers going, only to wake up one day addicted to painkillers, three husbands and a suicidal child later, and realize that they were looking for something in their lives that they thought they could get from the adoration of a crowd! I have had that epiphany, without any of the success tied to it! And without any of the marriages or children. I got to that place all by myself, and still nobody knows my name. See, it's all worked out quite well for me, really.
Damn, another phone call. Eh, I'll just put them on hold.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Monday, July 25, 2005
secret garden
Should you do something just because you can? Should all beautiful people take a shot at modelling? Should all funny people become comedians? Should you try to go to M.I.T. if you are very smart?
I have a strawberry garden. When I look at the young strawberries, still white at their tips and already bug-ravaged (and therefore dead to me), I feel a pang of sadness for it's young life, never given a chance to mature and become it's full self. But the bug is living, and it's doing it's thing in the great scheme of things.
Old enough to not die young, if I died tomorrow, and yet young enough to see the darkened perfection of life in front of me, I see the old berry, the one that lies limply rotting into itself, and a chill runs through me. The wasted life! The future I dread, yet cannot imagine otherwise.
I have a strawberry garden. When I look at the young strawberries, still white at their tips and already bug-ravaged (and therefore dead to me), I feel a pang of sadness for it's young life, never given a chance to mature and become it's full self. But the bug is living, and it's doing it's thing in the great scheme of things.
Old enough to not die young, if I died tomorrow, and yet young enough to see the darkened perfection of life in front of me, I see the old berry, the one that lies limply rotting into itself, and a chill runs through me. The wasted life! The future I dread, yet cannot imagine otherwise.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
the deal with commitment
It's easier to miss somebody forever than it is to spend the day with them, every day for 20 years
world without end (Americana)
There are cops wearing white gloves directing traffic at McDonald's at lunchtime. Are they paid in hamburgers?
It's so easy to do nothing all the time.
There is so much going on at once.
a mechanic changes the oil in someone's Honda
a thirteen year old has a birthday party at their favorite pizza place
a man gets found guilty of murder
people wait in an opthamologist's office with seashore theme
someone auditions for a breakfast cereal commercial
biology lecture runs late
dog gets flea dip-has allergic reaction
people sit in traffic because of road construction
a 100 year old woman dies in nursing home. No family to notify
a 49 year old lady buys silver thread at JoAnn's fabrics for her daughter's prom dress
Oprah gets her make up done
two guys and a girl take a run around a city park
the waiter is late to work again, and will be fired after his shift is over
a police officer gets yelled at by his girlfriend
someone is working on their novel which will, in time, be a huge success
a young woman breaks a promise to herself and calls her ex
three friends share a joint after work in grocery store
a redheaded baby boy is born two weeks early
7th grader practices clarinet in living room after snack
laundry sits wet in broken machine while owner of clothes talks on cell phone outside
the girl at the mall kiosk who sells fake hair just found out she has chlamydia
choreography rehearsal of music video starts in five minutes
man drinks malt liquor and goes through garbage for scraps of food with poop in his pants
a bride-to-be leafs through a glossy magazine while she gets her toenails painted light pink
It's so easy to do nothing all the time.
There is so much going on at once.
a mechanic changes the oil in someone's Honda
a thirteen year old has a birthday party at their favorite pizza place
a man gets found guilty of murder
people wait in an opthamologist's office with seashore theme
someone auditions for a breakfast cereal commercial
biology lecture runs late
dog gets flea dip-has allergic reaction
people sit in traffic because of road construction
a 100 year old woman dies in nursing home. No family to notify
a 49 year old lady buys silver thread at JoAnn's fabrics for her daughter's prom dress
Oprah gets her make up done
two guys and a girl take a run around a city park
the waiter is late to work again, and will be fired after his shift is over
a police officer gets yelled at by his girlfriend
someone is working on their novel which will, in time, be a huge success
a young woman breaks a promise to herself and calls her ex
three friends share a joint after work in grocery store
a redheaded baby boy is born two weeks early
7th grader practices clarinet in living room after snack
laundry sits wet in broken machine while owner of clothes talks on cell phone outside
the girl at the mall kiosk who sells fake hair just found out she has chlamydia
choreography rehearsal of music video starts in five minutes
man drinks malt liquor and goes through garbage for scraps of food with poop in his pants
a bride-to-be leafs through a glossy magazine while she gets her toenails painted light pink
teenager mirror
you have a bad face
and acne prone oily skin
maybe you should die
and acne prone oily skin
maybe you should die
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
one little one big
The first death that affected my heart was that of John Belushi.
I was in my yellow bedroom, listening to the only rock n' roll radio station in town, when I heard the news. I'd never been west of West Virginia, but there was something about Hollywood and heroin that resonated deep within me.
My mother and I had to make a late night trip to Safeway so I could run in and get her some maxi pads. Once in the car, she was quiet and I was quiet. She was always quiet, ever since her breakup with my kung fu instructor, but I think she was quiet in a sort of sympathetic way on that night. She lived her life by the code of remorse and regret, so she was able to appreciate my pain at being born too late to ever have a relationship with John Belushi.
Two broken hearts, chugging down the main street of a one horse town in a small yellow Honda.
I was in my yellow bedroom, listening to the only rock n' roll radio station in town, when I heard the news. I'd never been west of West Virginia, but there was something about Hollywood and heroin that resonated deep within me.
My mother and I had to make a late night trip to Safeway so I could run in and get her some maxi pads. Once in the car, she was quiet and I was quiet. She was always quiet, ever since her breakup with my kung fu instructor, but I think she was quiet in a sort of sympathetic way on that night. She lived her life by the code of remorse and regret, so she was able to appreciate my pain at being born too late to ever have a relationship with John Belushi.
Two broken hearts, chugging down the main street of a one horse town in a small yellow Honda.
Monday, April 04, 2005
I was about to call it a day and find a cool doorway to sit in when someone finally pulled over for me. The trucker was redhaired this time. The stocky, dirty bitten fingernail variety redhead. His hat was dark green and white, and had the logo of some farm equipment company. He looked about 26 I guess, but you can't ever tell about someone's age. People live in all kinds of strange ways that usually either age them quickly or preserve some feature in a tricky way.
I used to take rides from anybody who'd pull over, but then my friend Marie got killed by some guy driving a rented Jaguar, so I only take rides from truckers now, and I always pretend to call my fiance Brett when I get in the truck and give him the license plate and the name of the road we're on. I stay on for ten minutes at a time, having fake conversations with him, fake fights. I sometimes even act like Brett wants to talk to the driver, saying "no honey, this driver has to keep his concentration on the road. OK. I'll tell him....my fiance says that if anything happens to me he'll kill you....He's VERY overprotective. He's a State Trooper. He's so mad at me for hitchhiking!!"
But I don't bother to do that anymore. By my appearance it is plain to see that there is no state trooper fiance worried about me. Not now.
The trucker was quiet and mean. I could tell he was mean the minute he opened the door for me. Even though sometimes people are seemingly doing nice things, they can still be mean. And sometimes, people can do very bad things, and still be nice people. This I learned a long time ago.
I used to take rides from anybody who'd pull over, but then my friend Marie got killed by some guy driving a rented Jaguar, so I only take rides from truckers now, and I always pretend to call my fiance Brett when I get in the truck and give him the license plate and the name of the road we're on. I stay on for ten minutes at a time, having fake conversations with him, fake fights. I sometimes even act like Brett wants to talk to the driver, saying "no honey, this driver has to keep his concentration on the road. OK. I'll tell him....my fiance says that if anything happens to me he'll kill you....He's VERY overprotective. He's a State Trooper. He's so mad at me for hitchhiking!!"
But I don't bother to do that anymore. By my appearance it is plain to see that there is no state trooper fiance worried about me. Not now.
The trucker was quiet and mean. I could tell he was mean the minute he opened the door for me. Even though sometimes people are seemingly doing nice things, they can still be mean. And sometimes, people can do very bad things, and still be nice people. This I learned a long time ago.
truck story haiku
old men together
cigarettes flick back and forth
as they tell their lies
cigarettes flick back and forth
as they tell their lies
Friday, April 01, 2005
Popular Culture gives me Itchy Rash
When you've got Katie Couric and Al Roker saying "bling bling", you know you're in trouble. Now everybody's hard, everybody's a gangster. Everybody's a pimp, a playa. We're all living in one giant moldy container of macaroni salad.
Ashlee Simpson is a big punk rocker? Avril Lavigne is an anarchist skateboarder?
Heroin addicted rockers now have throngs of healthy whitebread teenagers imitating their haircuts and fashion sense, but without any of the self destruction, dammit. Paris Hilton didn't invent the phrase "that's hot". That one was coined by the gays, and it's been around for a l o n g t i m e.
I blame the stylists of the world for all this. They are the links btwn the everyday culture of the street and the insulated world of rich and famous people who don't have a fucking clue about "what's hot". It's the same way that inner city loft living became so popular for Yuppies...the same people who drove out all the starving artists in SF...they watched their TV and saw a really cool looking place on that raspberry flavored instant coffee commercial and decided they wanted to live in a place like that. But once they bought the building they realized that there was a damn club across the street, and that just didn't work for them because they have to get up at 6am to commute to their high paying corporate job. So they petitioned and had the club closed down. "There, that's better! Now I can live in my inner city loft without all the noise and ugliness of downtown living!"
I used to be good at anticipating what would be next for pop culture. Now I don't know, and I don't care.
Ashlee Simpson is a big punk rocker? Avril Lavigne is an anarchist skateboarder?
Heroin addicted rockers now have throngs of healthy whitebread teenagers imitating their haircuts and fashion sense, but without any of the self destruction, dammit. Paris Hilton didn't invent the phrase "that's hot". That one was coined by the gays, and it's been around for a l o n g t i m e.
I blame the stylists of the world for all this. They are the links btwn the everyday culture of the street and the insulated world of rich and famous people who don't have a fucking clue about "what's hot". It's the same way that inner city loft living became so popular for Yuppies...the same people who drove out all the starving artists in SF...they watched their TV and saw a really cool looking place on that raspberry flavored instant coffee commercial and decided they wanted to live in a place like that. But once they bought the building they realized that there was a damn club across the street, and that just didn't work for them because they have to get up at 6am to commute to their high paying corporate job. So they petitioned and had the club closed down. "There, that's better! Now I can live in my inner city loft without all the noise and ugliness of downtown living!"
I used to be good at anticipating what would be next for pop culture. Now I don't know, and I don't care.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
I am a Winter
My babies are the most important things to me in the world. I don't remember who I was before I had them. That person doesn't even matter anymore. Now that I am a mother I have this whole new lease on life. It's like, don't mess with my kids or I will kill you. That's why I am so glad that there are so many options of SUV's to choose from! Because if I don't feel protected on the road, my kids are in danger. And if I feel like my kids are in danger, the terrorists will have won.
I urge all mothers out there to arm themselves with an SUV. You can't beat the feeling of security that it provides! And of course, you need to live in a gated community. That is a really great feeling when you hear that gate closing behind you when you scoot your SUV into the cul de sac. You just know you're safe, you're among like-minded people. And that is so important to me, to be around people who think like I do. Every house in my development has a big beautiful American flag flying out front. Not a rainbow flag, or a Nazi flag, or a Pirate flag. An American flag. That's just how people are here in the Davenport Columns Community.
I really feel "at home" in my Davenport Designer Home. There are five models to choose from, and you get to pick the colors in the Great Room. You also get to pick the colors of your countertops in both the kitchen and master bathroom. Of course, if you just can't decide, they will hire a color specialist to choose for you. She will look through your wardrobe and figure out what will match your style the best. Even if you think you know what you want, you might want to hire her anyway....I was going to pick a mauve counter for my master bathroom because I just LOVE mauve, but when she saw my skin tone and the bathrobe I usually wear, she steered me right away from mauve, saying that it would cause my skin to look sallow and possibly injure my self esteem, so we went with a gray and teal flecked counter top instead. I never thought I liked teal, but you know I've never looked so good to myself in the mirror, so I think she's right!!
When the kids are a little older I'm going to get their colors done, too. You don't want a child starting out their day looking into a mirror that makes them look washed out when you could've just changed the colors of the walls. What is that going to do to their self esteem? I would just never forgive myself for that. Sure it may cost a little bit of money, but the children are our future!!! They are worth everything!
I urge all mothers out there to arm themselves with an SUV. You can't beat the feeling of security that it provides! And of course, you need to live in a gated community. That is a really great feeling when you hear that gate closing behind you when you scoot your SUV into the cul de sac. You just know you're safe, you're among like-minded people. And that is so important to me, to be around people who think like I do. Every house in my development has a big beautiful American flag flying out front. Not a rainbow flag, or a Nazi flag, or a Pirate flag. An American flag. That's just how people are here in the Davenport Columns Community.
I really feel "at home" in my Davenport Designer Home. There are five models to choose from, and you get to pick the colors in the Great Room. You also get to pick the colors of your countertops in both the kitchen and master bathroom. Of course, if you just can't decide, they will hire a color specialist to choose for you. She will look through your wardrobe and figure out what will match your style the best. Even if you think you know what you want, you might want to hire her anyway....I was going to pick a mauve counter for my master bathroom because I just LOVE mauve, but when she saw my skin tone and the bathrobe I usually wear, she steered me right away from mauve, saying that it would cause my skin to look sallow and possibly injure my self esteem, so we went with a gray and teal flecked counter top instead. I never thought I liked teal, but you know I've never looked so good to myself in the mirror, so I think she's right!!
When the kids are a little older I'm going to get their colors done, too. You don't want a child starting out their day looking into a mirror that makes them look washed out when you could've just changed the colors of the walls. What is that going to do to their self esteem? I would just never forgive myself for that. Sure it may cost a little bit of money, but the children are our future!!! They are worth everything!
Monday, March 28, 2005
cafeteria guy haiku
cross and swastika
in pale blue ink on your arm
tell me you were jailed
in pale blue ink on your arm
tell me you were jailed
Market Street
Old bloated hippie in pink oversized dancing bear shirt and tie dyed leggings pushing a shopping cart.
Strange fat faced bug-eyed woman trying to jimmy a parking meter with a piece of wire hanger. Unsuccessful in getting any change but maybe successful in communicating with the aliens living inside, she licks the meter when she leaves, licks it and bites it's corner, as if it's a big bone or chocolate bar that she will leave her mark on and come back to later.
A group of business travellers; two innocent looking middle aged men and a young woman working hard to maintain their good attitude on a crowded street full of family dissapointments.
A posse of young people dressed in baggy black clothes. They sell weed hidden in their sneakers to disturbed looking men walking too fast- gay speed freaks, dealing with their paranoia by smoking pot. They live in Market Street weekly rate apartments or Tenderloin studios. Watching TV, reading science fiction, working.
Working? Do they work? Can they work? Mayabe they see a doctor every couple months and act crazy, verifying their continued need for care and financial support, receiving only the money, and not too much of it.
I roam with my walkman on, listening to my mix tape. These people and their problems are beautiful to me with this music as their background.
Strange fat faced bug-eyed woman trying to jimmy a parking meter with a piece of wire hanger. Unsuccessful in getting any change but maybe successful in communicating with the aliens living inside, she licks the meter when she leaves, licks it and bites it's corner, as if it's a big bone or chocolate bar that she will leave her mark on and come back to later.
A group of business travellers; two innocent looking middle aged men and a young woman working hard to maintain their good attitude on a crowded street full of family dissapointments.
A posse of young people dressed in baggy black clothes. They sell weed hidden in their sneakers to disturbed looking men walking too fast- gay speed freaks, dealing with their paranoia by smoking pot. They live in Market Street weekly rate apartments or Tenderloin studios. Watching TV, reading science fiction, working.
Working? Do they work? Can they work? Mayabe they see a doctor every couple months and act crazy, verifying their continued need for care and financial support, receiving only the money, and not too much of it.
I roam with my walkman on, listening to my mix tape. These people and their problems are beautiful to me with this music as their background.
Haiku 01
high heeled mules in taupe
ruined by dog poop in yard
now they're in the trash
ruined by dog poop in yard
now they're in the trash
LOST ANGEL
I've got to get out of this place It's killing me. If someone had told me twenty years ago that this would be my life, I would've told them to just shoot me dead right there. This is BS!! I can't believe I hitchhiked across America to live in Los Angeles and ended up here, a dental hygenist in this shithole shopping center in the San Fernando Valley.
I know I used to complain back when I was a waitress at McFrackle's, but it was a cakewalk compared to this!! At least there I could call in sick when I didn't feel like coming in to work, and I got free cheesecake. Here all I get is lectures on flossing from the cadaver that passes for a dentist. The only thing I liked about him was that he is a classical music fan and so my background as an opera singer impressed him, but thanks to the little bitches at the front desk, we have to listen to that horrible pop music with those no-talent bimbos who pass for singers. They don't know anything about music. They've never even been to San Francisco, let alone Vienna.
My only solace is Steve, my angel. Being able to go home and lay in his arms while I bitch to him about how much life sucks almost makes it all worthwhile. His job as a billboard installer ain't all peaches and cream either. He has to spend all day pasting up faces of the assholes he went to Hollywood High with. Right now he's doing the campaign for the new smash comedy "Your Mama's So Fat...", and it's really messing with him because he and that bald guy who stars in the movie used to be friends when they were little, but as they got older that guy started making fun of Steve's lisp. We never watch his show. Well, I sometimes do, but only when Steven is in the shower.
Our apartment is tiny and too bright and there is a family of 56 Mexicans living above us. We can't afford to move anywhere else because I've lived in this place for 18 years so my rent is really cheap. I've tried to get the Mexicans kicked out, but they're doing cheap work under the table for the landlord. I've thought of turning the landlord in, but I then I would be out on my ass so I grin and bear it.
I still sing once a week, but it's a stupid chorale made up of retirees and green college students who are doing it for credit. No one's heart is really in it. I sometimes wonder why I even bother.
If I could do anything, I think I'd return to my hometown in Tennessee. Steven and I could get out of this stupid, empty ratrace. No more traffic, no more porn stars butting in front of you in line at Trader Joe's. I could just till a garden and work at some quiet little po-dunk library or something, and Steven could work on his model airplanes and sell them at craft bazaars. It would be heaven.
ANYTHING is better than this.
I know I used to complain back when I was a waitress at McFrackle's, but it was a cakewalk compared to this!! At least there I could call in sick when I didn't feel like coming in to work, and I got free cheesecake. Here all I get is lectures on flossing from the cadaver that passes for a dentist. The only thing I liked about him was that he is a classical music fan and so my background as an opera singer impressed him, but thanks to the little bitches at the front desk, we have to listen to that horrible pop music with those no-talent bimbos who pass for singers. They don't know anything about music. They've never even been to San Francisco, let alone Vienna.
My only solace is Steve, my angel. Being able to go home and lay in his arms while I bitch to him about how much life sucks almost makes it all worthwhile. His job as a billboard installer ain't all peaches and cream either. He has to spend all day pasting up faces of the assholes he went to Hollywood High with. Right now he's doing the campaign for the new smash comedy "Your Mama's So Fat...", and it's really messing with him because he and that bald guy who stars in the movie used to be friends when they were little, but as they got older that guy started making fun of Steve's lisp. We never watch his show. Well, I sometimes do, but only when Steven is in the shower.
Our apartment is tiny and too bright and there is a family of 56 Mexicans living above us. We can't afford to move anywhere else because I've lived in this place for 18 years so my rent is really cheap. I've tried to get the Mexicans kicked out, but they're doing cheap work under the table for the landlord. I've thought of turning the landlord in, but I then I would be out on my ass so I grin and bear it.
I still sing once a week, but it's a stupid chorale made up of retirees and green college students who are doing it for credit. No one's heart is really in it. I sometimes wonder why I even bother.
If I could do anything, I think I'd return to my hometown in Tennessee. Steven and I could get out of this stupid, empty ratrace. No more traffic, no more porn stars butting in front of you in line at Trader Joe's. I could just till a garden and work at some quiet little po-dunk library or something, and Steven could work on his model airplanes and sell them at craft bazaars. It would be heaven.
ANYTHING is better than this.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
In Search Of...
Highly insecure single female seeks confident man to groom and define her.
Please be in shape, generous, and above all, wealthy.
Your success makes you sexy.
My beauty is your merit badge.
No smokers.
Please be in shape, generous, and above all, wealthy.
Your success makes you sexy.
My beauty is your merit badge.
No smokers.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Tots
Dani had three kids by the time she was 30.
I am 34 and I don't have even one kid. Sometimes I wish I had two kids-twins. Sometimes I wish I was still a kid and could do my whole teenage years over again. I never would've lost my virginity to Thomas Rousse, that's for sure. He turned out to be such a DORK. Plus I got pregnant the second time we had sex. I mean, I would have a 20 year old kid right now if my parents hadn't made me get an abortion. Maybe those would've been my twins. We could be swapping clothes and going out to bars next together. I'd be the hottest mom of any college junior around, HANDS DOWN!
Coulda Shoulda Woulda
Instead I got "the operation" and then went back to school the next day with a note from my mom excusing me from gym for the week, thinking that life would return to normal. WRONG. My reputation completely changed after the whole ordeal...I had been pretty popular, and once I got pregnant all those girls ditched me. Then, after the abortion, they got really really mean, and would do disgusting things with their lunch food, like with cherry Jell-o and corned beef hash.
The whole experience was a jerky whirlwind, like a bad carnival ride that's over before you've even figured out how to put your seatbelt on.
There was some dorky fat girl in our grade whose name I don't even remember, but that awful first day back, when the popular girls were at their meanest and I was at my weakest, the fat dork gave me her tater tots, which in retrospect was a really sweet thing to do. I of course didn't eat them, but I appreciate the gesture now.
I've grown up a lot since then.
I am 34 and I don't have even one kid. Sometimes I wish I had two kids-twins. Sometimes I wish I was still a kid and could do my whole teenage years over again. I never would've lost my virginity to Thomas Rousse, that's for sure. He turned out to be such a DORK. Plus I got pregnant the second time we had sex. I mean, I would have a 20 year old kid right now if my parents hadn't made me get an abortion. Maybe those would've been my twins. We could be swapping clothes and going out to bars next together. I'd be the hottest mom of any college junior around, HANDS DOWN!
Coulda Shoulda Woulda
Instead I got "the operation" and then went back to school the next day with a note from my mom excusing me from gym for the week, thinking that life would return to normal. WRONG. My reputation completely changed after the whole ordeal...I had been pretty popular, and once I got pregnant all those girls ditched me. Then, after the abortion, they got really really mean, and would do disgusting things with their lunch food, like with cherry Jell-o and corned beef hash.
The whole experience was a jerky whirlwind, like a bad carnival ride that's over before you've even figured out how to put your seatbelt on.
There was some dorky fat girl in our grade whose name I don't even remember, but that awful first day back, when the popular girls were at their meanest and I was at my weakest, the fat dork gave me her tater tots, which in retrospect was a really sweet thing to do. I of course didn't eat them, but I appreciate the gesture now.
I've grown up a lot since then.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
R.I.P.
I enjoy reading obituaries. I always wonder, would I have liked this person? Do I only think I like them now because they are dead? Obituaries always leave me wanting more, because they are never written by the person you really want to hear from.
I once had a good friend who died. He died young, too young. His death was an accident, but he must've sensed it coming, because just a few weeks before he died he told me that if he died before I did, that I shouldn't allow his mother to give him a religious funeral.
"Sure" I said, "No problemo. That would totally suck".
But then he really died, in a terrible accident, and what was I going to do- tell his mother that she couldn't bury her youngest child in a way that gave her comfort? She wouldn't have listened anyway. She's pretty intimidating.
I felt like such an ass at the funeral... I was the only one in the whole place who knew that he would literally be rolling over in his newly dug grave from embarrassment if he could see the precious, unreal service; the little cards with his photo and various Bible quotes that were given out like party favors. I was one of his older friends; the friend he had before he got sober; the no-good burnout from high school. I wasn't asked to speak about him at the funeral though I had known him for thirteen years. That was left to people his mother thought would reflect the more shiny, new, "positive Robert"- people who had known him less than a year. There was his manager at the electronics shop where he had worked for four months, who spoke glowingly of his stellar customer service skills. There was his NA sponser, an ex-junkie Army colonel who gave Robert the tough love his missing father had never supplied. He was kind of cool, but he obviously had so many "issues" of his own that it was kinda distracting-like he had this nervous twitch and he said the word "sobriety" one too many a time for my liking. I don't know, it's like, to someone just passing by, they would have gotten this totally skewed view of who Robert was, like he was just this boring jackass who took pride in his bullshit $8 and hour job and drank bad coffee with a bunch of losers at Waffle House while he talked about where he went wrong.
I miss him.
My mom's bugging me to cut the grass so I have to get off the computer now.
Later.
I once had a good friend who died. He died young, too young. His death was an accident, but he must've sensed it coming, because just a few weeks before he died he told me that if he died before I did, that I shouldn't allow his mother to give him a religious funeral.
"Sure" I said, "No problemo. That would totally suck".
But then he really died, in a terrible accident, and what was I going to do- tell his mother that she couldn't bury her youngest child in a way that gave her comfort? She wouldn't have listened anyway. She's pretty intimidating.
I felt like such an ass at the funeral... I was the only one in the whole place who knew that he would literally be rolling over in his newly dug grave from embarrassment if he could see the precious, unreal service; the little cards with his photo and various Bible quotes that were given out like party favors. I was one of his older friends; the friend he had before he got sober; the no-good burnout from high school. I wasn't asked to speak about him at the funeral though I had known him for thirteen years. That was left to people his mother thought would reflect the more shiny, new, "positive Robert"- people who had known him less than a year. There was his manager at the electronics shop where he had worked for four months, who spoke glowingly of his stellar customer service skills. There was his NA sponser, an ex-junkie Army colonel who gave Robert the tough love his missing father had never supplied. He was kind of cool, but he obviously had so many "issues" of his own that it was kinda distracting-like he had this nervous twitch and he said the word "sobriety" one too many a time for my liking. I don't know, it's like, to someone just passing by, they would have gotten this totally skewed view of who Robert was, like he was just this boring jackass who took pride in his bullshit $8 and hour job and drank bad coffee with a bunch of losers at Waffle House while he talked about where he went wrong.
I miss him.
My mom's bugging me to cut the grass so I have to get off the computer now.
Later.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
The Years Have Not Been Kind
My 30th high school reunion was last night. I wasn't there. I was working in the other ballroom, catering a wedding. I didn't even realize it was my high school class until I saw Kathleen Jervis and Rachel Simmons in the smoking lounge when I went in there to empty the ashtrays. Those bitches! I heard them before I saw them- it was a complete flashback to high school, when I'd walk into the ladies room and hear their high-pitched laughs as they made fun of everyone in our homeroom, chair by chair, except instead of making fun of David Bunson's glasses, they were talking about how fake Marie Blackledge's wig looked and how they would never leave the house wearing a wig that tacky, chemotherapy or not.
Friday, January 14, 2005
FOK U
I am completely freaked out about Brad and Jennifer getting seperated!! Who could've imagined that those two would split??? I just feel like, if people that beautiful and cool can get a divorced, than who's marriage is safe??
It makes me almost want to break off my engagement to Tim. I mean, it's like, Tim's not even all that hot.
WHAT IS UP WITH JENNIFER ANISTON????????????????
I'm not being serious...I am totally committed to Tim and to our wedding. At this point there is no turning back. I have already had 275 Tshirts printed up for the rehearsal dinner. They are so cute! Tim's party's shirts say "I GOT YOUR BACK, TIMBO!" and mine say "FOK U!!!!" Which means "Friends of Kari, Unite!!!" I was going to do a Britney and get Tim a shirt that says "PIMP", but there's the whole thing with his younger sister Janine running away and being a prostitute in Michigan after she had an affair with the neighbor who was like 45 and all that and I didn't want her to see the shirt and have a flashback and ruin my frigging rehearsal dinner or something!!! She has A LOT of problems. I wish she weren't coming to the wedding. Tim tells me all the time that I am the most judgemental person he has ever met, but that it makes him feel kind of lucky because he knows how picky I am.
It makes me almost want to break off my engagement to Tim. I mean, it's like, Tim's not even all that hot.
WHAT IS UP WITH JENNIFER ANISTON????????????????
I'm not being serious...I am totally committed to Tim and to our wedding. At this point there is no turning back. I have already had 275 Tshirts printed up for the rehearsal dinner. They are so cute! Tim's party's shirts say "I GOT YOUR BACK, TIMBO!" and mine say "FOK U!!!!" Which means "Friends of Kari, Unite!!!" I was going to do a Britney and get Tim a shirt that says "PIMP", but there's the whole thing with his younger sister Janine running away and being a prostitute in Michigan after she had an affair with the neighbor who was like 45 and all that and I didn't want her to see the shirt and have a flashback and ruin my frigging rehearsal dinner or something!!! She has A LOT of problems. I wish she weren't coming to the wedding. Tim tells me all the time that I am the most judgemental person he has ever met, but that it makes him feel kind of lucky because he knows how picky I am.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
To Do: 2005
NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS
1)Try Mexican food
2)Have fat around knee and groin area removed
3)Pick up excess dog doo in front yard,or hire a neighborhood child to do it
4)Rotate patriotic bumperstickers more often so they don't get all weather damaged, making me look cheap
5)Smile more!!!!! Why else did I spend all that money on clear braces?
Happy New Year.
1)Try Mexican food
2)Have fat around knee and groin area removed
3)Pick up excess dog doo in front yard,or hire a neighborhood child to do it
4)Rotate patriotic bumperstickers more often so they don't get all weather damaged, making me look cheap
5)Smile more!!!!! Why else did I spend all that money on clear braces?
Happy New Year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)