YAY vacation!!!!! I don't have to go back to work until January 2nd. Tra la la........I'm so happeh.
I am not at all in a Christmas mood though. Christmas has taken a different shape for me. It all started last year. I was watching someone I love more than life suffer from a debilitating depression and suddenly the joy of Christmas seemed odd and it became just another day. As the season approached this year I was filled with memory and sadness. My heart was starting to break as it did a year ago. But you know what? The person that was suffering from the depression is now happy and alive with joy and laughter and undying love for me. So, why stay in that funk? Once I realized what was actually going on, I thought to myself, "I can make Christmas anything I want it to be."
It doesn't have to be about going in debt, people. What is THAT all about??? That's just craziness. It's really just another day. The only difference is that you don't have to go to your stupid job. Oh, and you get free shit. Here comes the corny part. Cover your eyes. So Christmas is now just a day. Nothing more. Nothing less. But I will make it a day that I look around me and I smile because I have so much. I have an honest loving wonderful partner, I have family and friends who love me unconditionally. I have a house and clothes. Really cute clothes. I have a great sense of humor and I am one healthy mother fucker. Inside and out.
But this is not just for December 25th. This is my life. Every day. And I couldn't be more grateful. Ok, you can open your eyes now. The eeeeemmmm is over.
Now go make your days special. Don't get all angry and freaky with people on the road or in stores or anywhere. Be kind and generous, fuckwads!!
Pedro: How old are you?
Me: I'm 38.
Pedro: What? You don't look 38. You look 19!
Me: Awwww! Will you marry me?
Pedro: NOOOOOO! (strange squeal, red face, etc.)
Pedro: One time a teacher asked me to marry her.
Ignacio: (10 year-old bro of Pedro) She was just kidding.
Pedro: No she wasn't, I could see it in her eyes.
I've been having super vivid dreams lately. The bad part is that I wake up often during the night. I'm not sure the two are related but I think perhaps they are. This is my professional opinion.
Anyway, I remember most of the dreams. I'll try to recall one that I was telling a friend yesterday on instant messenger. Can I just say first that I suck at instant messenger. I can't type fast enough. I have extreme spelling errors from trying to type faster. It's just down right annoying. But I try and most of my AIM pals are sweet to ignore my misspellings and they wait patiently for me to type my next thought. I appreciate that.
I was supposed to be telling you about one of my dreams, right? Ok. So I was hanging out with Ian and Shelley (a choreographer I used to dance for.) She was asking me to be one of the dancers for a commercial she was choreographing. I was touched by the offer and although it's been two years since I performed, I said yes. The next part of the dream was like a rehearsal montage. Straight out of Staying Alive. The preparation for the big event montage. Anyway, the next part of the dream, Ian and I were in a diner. We were watching TV and my commercial came on. I was like the star and shit. It was so freakn' weird. At one point my hair spun out of it's bun and it hung down past my knees just like Crystal Gayle.
The weird part is that I remember the choreography from the dream. It's not anything I ever did before. It was really good. A combination of gymnastics and modern dance. Kind of like ESPN College Cheerleading competitions. Only minus the manic dancing and the crazy smiles and the..........ok, so not at all like that. Use your imagination. Do I have to do everything?
Last night I dreamt that I was late finishing my final term paper. I was at home and there wasn't a computer anywhere. I had all the information in my head and I was going to get myself to school early and type it up before class. When I got to school, it was time for the class and the Professor was collecting the papers. I sat in my chair and wept.
So when my alarm went off this morning, I thought to myself, "I'm too tired to get up. Fuck it. I'm calling in sick. Oh shit! I can't. I have a paper to turn in." Then I snapped into reality. Reality is that I'm not even in school anymore. There is no paper. What the hell was my mind doing to me? How rude. I got up and went to Yoga and now I'm at work. No stress. No pressure. No god damned final term paper.
Wait! I just remembered another dream I had last night. There was this guy who it seems was my boss or some type of authoritarian figure and he kept trying to get me alone. It was super uncomfortable. Then suddenly we were in his house and he had his arms around me and I was struggling. Not the sexy hit hit kiss from old movies struggle. Really struggling to get away. That's all I remember. Strange.
I'm driving to work this morning in stop and go traffic. I often look around at my fellow commuters to see what they are doing with this idle time. Are they in a panic? Are they performing a Mariah Carey song for themselves to enjoy? Are they picking their nose?
Some people are just pissed off and they punch the gas and slam on their brakes. Like that helps. If anyone is in the car with that driver, they are most likely on the verge of puking or a nervous breakdown.
For me, being stuck in traffic on my way to work is a piece of cake. Who cares? I'm just going to a place I'd rather not go to anyway. It's being stuck in traffic while trying to get home. THAT makes me sad. I just want to be home already, ya know? Still I drive in a civil manner, unlike the ragers around me.
This morning I saw a first. I looked to my left and the woman in the car was applying mascara. Now, I've seen people putting on lipstick before. Mascara is a whole different concentration. You have to tightly close the eye that is not being coated with the mascara and stare into the mirror with the other eye while carefully brushing the eyelashes. Stop and go traffic mind you. One second of not looking ahead could mean a multiple car collision. How she did it? I don't know. I won't ever try this. I surely don't encourage it.
I know that wasn't very interesting. I don't really give a shit. I'm in a crappy mood anyway. Christmas is coming and I am in full Bah HUMBUG mode.
I'm dressed all nice today because I'm going to a Christmas party after work. A coworker, who says shit that she thinks is funny but it borders on mean said, "Are you going to a Halloween party?" I was just not in the mood and when I said that it wasn't funny, we got into a stupid discussion. It made it clear to me that she doesn't get it and it's not worth trying. Just make nice and ignore the stupid shit. Then be stuck in traffic for a half hour and go home. Ahhh, home........
So, I'm going for coffee with a work mate and it went a little something like this.
Me: So, how are you?
Work Mate: I feel like a clenched fist.
Me: Wow, sorry. (stifling back a giggle because i LOVED the image of the clenched fist and could totally relate.)
Work Mate: Yeah, I've been going through some new hormonal changes and it's freaking me out. But I talked to a friend who told me that this is just a thing that happens in your late 40's. She told me that when she started going through the same changes that she started taking Prozac. Now she doesn't give a fuck. Maybe that's what I should do. EVERYONE's on Prozac, though. It's the denial of the 2000's.
Me: hahahahahaha.
That's all. Funny shit, yo. However, the opinions expressed by my work mate are not necessarily the opinions of this blog writer.
I read Kris’s blog this AM and it reminded me of a story. Wrote a song about it. Like ta hear it. Here it go…………
Not really a song, but I’ll try to write a story about it.
I had an English Professor at UNO who was so OVER teaching the morons that took his class. He was surly and condescending and sometimes he was just flat out insulting. We were talking about an assignment one day when a girl from the back of the class raised her hand and asked a simple question, but she used a word that she was sure was right and my Professor proceeded to shame her.
Student: So, what pacific topic should we write about?
Professor: (almost wringing his hands with pouncing pleasure) What exactly do you mean? I don’t understand?
Student: (indignantly) The PACIFIC topic? (like……..duh?)
Professor: (enjoying himself too much) I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
During this time, I’m wincing and shifting in my seat and apparently I must also have had a really pissed off look on my face because this is what happened next.
Professor: (looking at me) I’m sorry, but do you have a problem?
Me: Yes! You KNOW what she means! You KNOW what word she meant to say.
Professor: (with the most innocent and concerned sarcastic grin) NO, I don’t know. What word did she mean to use, Tracy?
Me: SPECIFIC!!!! She meant to say what specific topic should we write about!
Here’s where it gets weird. I’m sure the Professor was loving this part. So, I’m taking up for this girl and when I did she fucking turns on me.
Student: That’s what I said. I said specific.
Me: (aghast at the turn of events. I lashed out) NO YOU DIDN’T. You said PACIFIC!!!
Student: NO I didn’t.
Ashamed for her and her ignorance and ashamed for my rudeness and self-righteous indignation, I turned away and sighed.
I've been so busy at work lately. I've been working from the time I get to work till I leave. I imagine it will continue this way till the end of January. In my job there are busy times and not so busy times. When it's all laid back, I take advantage of that time and I forget or am in denial that it will get busy.
When it does get busy, I'm taken by surprise. I become disoriented and confused. Huh? Work? What the fuck is wrong with you people. I just come to work and write my blog and instant message with my friends all day. And you have the brass balls to march in here and ask me to do WORK? In my best Scarlet O'Hara swoon I shout, "What shall I do?" Totally pathetic!
I snap out of it when I remember that I have a sweet job with my own office. An office with a window that opens into a beautiful courtyard. An office with a door that I can close and be protected from the nosy glances of passers by. Sweet, right? Ahhhhhh, yes.
In the past I worked in cubicle farms where you had absolutely no privacy. That sucked piles of horse shit. I was always getting the life scared out of me when anyone would approach my cubicle. This doesn't happen in my office. I can see people coming. I like that.
So, I'll stop my bitching and work my ass off. I'll work till the work slows down and it gets laid back again. Then I'll forget that the "busy" is right around the corner. Oh sweet denial, come to mama.
I was out the other night and I overheard one side of a conversation that I thought was strange. But mostly hysterical. I here this woman saying stuff like:
"I'm really active in church now. I went the other night to practice with my praise team. I'm working on a praise dance."
Ummm........what? Praise team? What are the try-outs like for this team? Do you have to be the best at prayer? What if you suck at prayer, do you get picked last? Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? Oh, and the praise dance! Don't get me started......don't EVEN get me started.
"I just love God, he's so sweet!"
Sounds like she's talking about her new boyfriend, not the creator of the universe. (if you believe that shit!) Pure comedy. The ass kicker? The people she was talking to didn't seem to be at all phased by this. Where are the men in white coats when you need them?
I really need to read a book. I'm feeling my brain mass breaking off and flushing out my nose. Must. Read. Something. Ok, so perhaps as soon as Kris returns Infinite Jest, I will tackle that. I've only heard good things about this book, so.........
Plus, if I open my life to the written word, maybe I'll be more interesting. Like I won't always have to write about Yoga, dreams or stupid annoying people. Although I do have to report that the girl next to me in class this morning was yoga-farting. Luckily it didn't leave an aroma. She was all red in the face though. I pretended like I didn't hear it. Poor thing.
But the most important thing is that this is a super short week. Our office closes at noon on Wednesday. Two and a half days of work. Then Thanksgiving and then Ian and I are off with our new favorite couple friends to South Lake Tahoe. We are going to stay in a groovy condo. And the highlight is that we're going to the Kathy Griffin concert. She is the funniest redhead alive.......next to me and Shannon of course. Shannon is one half of the excellent new couple we will be hanging with. So, redheads unite! Me, Shannon and Kathy Griffin. Woo Hoo!!!
So, we're having dinner with a friend last night and a couple of things happened. I will put them under the heading of Stupid Human Tricks.
There was a very drunk guy sitting at the bar. We noticed that he was grabbing at the hostess and just being generally a bad drunk. At one point our friend went to the lavatory which left Ian and I kind of facing the drunk guy. Ian looked over at me and said, "I'm trying not to make eye contact." Then we look up and he's standing at the table leaning down to talk to us.
Drunk: Can I ask you a question? (looking at Ian.)
Ian: Okay.
Drunk: (slurring every word in a thick Australian accent.) What do you think of her? (pointing at the hostess) Is she hot or not?
Ian: I have no comment.
Drunk: (angry and really slurred.) That is so fucking British!
He just walked away and quietly left the bar.
Before we left the restaurant, I went to the lavatory. The door was locked to the room labeled, "Ladies." I waited about five minutes when a man walks out. I looked at him and then glanced up at the sign. Only because I thought I'd been waiting at the wrong door. Not because I was being sassy. He gave me a dirty look and said, "What? You got a problem?" I was all, "................." Yeah, I know, I'm a badass! I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door.
I have a new favorite band. The Soundtrack Of Our Lives. Ian and I saw them at Bimbo's last night. They were so rock-n-roll. The kind of stage presence that you long for at a live show. At first I was hanging on the side of the crowd and not really feeling the power of the music. As soon as I moved to the front of the stage I got high off the energy that radiated from these musicians. They weren't just great performers, they were great musicians. The music is pure and solid and full of emotion. I'm not a music expert. All I know is what I see and how it makes me feel and this band made me feel alive.
Here's a funny conversation that Ian and I had last night. It will be funniest to those of you who are music experts or are big fans of SOOL.
Ian: I've known every song so far.
Me: Whoa, that's so cool. I recognize a few.
Ian: I think they've played everything from Behind the Music.
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Ian: haha. That's the name of the album! (I thought he meant the VH-1 show. He knew it, that's how well we know each other.)
Me: (smile leaves, embarrassment sets in.) oh.
Ian: (grabs me and hugs me.)
Ian and Me: hahahaha.
A wonderful night. I'm still high from it. I can still see the happy Ian face when I close my eyes.
I know all I ever talk about these days is yoga. It’s just that every time I go to class something funny or interesting occurs.
Today we were sitting on our mat at the beginning of class with our eyes closed and our instructor started going on and on about the perineum, AGAIN. I mean, I love this area just as much as the next guy but jeez…..can we talk about something else? Well apparently we can. Today he spoke of the “pubic area.” He said, “Draw the breath directly from the place where the pubics are.” Oh Lord, he talks funny. And mine doesn’t actually breathe. Is it broken?
He said, “Now breathe into the four corners of the perineum. The diamond. Lift it up through your body and into your spine.” Ok, I really tried to do this. I swear. I was squinting my eyes and holding my breath and focusing on my diamond. Then I realized something. Since this is an abstract instruction, I could just sit there all smug and pretend that my perineum was resting on my spine. Who would know the difference? No one, that’s who. In fact MY perineum was actually all the way up to my throat. That’s how focused and yogariffic I am. Ppppbbbbbttttttttt!
Oh, and he kept saying feets. “Plant your feets firmly on your mat.” Feets. Yoga plural is funny.
Will I ever learn? Just because I open the door for someone and smile at them doesn't give me the right to get mad when they walk past like royalty. Not a word. No acknowledgment. It does however add to my dislike for the oblivious humans that surround me. Granted, opening the door for someone is a selfless act, so I should be able to feel good inside when doing this girl scoutish deed. But instead I'm thinking, "Umm..........YOU'RE WELCOME, asshole."
I could just not ever hold the door open for anyone ever again. But there are those times when you look back over your shoulder and you can see that the next human will be crushed by the door if you don't grab it and hold it open. They're in another world. It is these people who somehow feel privileged to not open their own door. Were they raised by someone who scurried about opening every door for them? I think from now on, I am going to just see what happens if I don't open the door. Will they smash into the door? Only then can they understand the magnitude of the kindness I'm providing them. And perhaps they can step out of their oblivion long enough to say, "Thank you."
Or maybe I can get a life and stop obsessing about stupid shit like this. Hmmmm, now there's an idea.
I'm with Kris. Who cares anyway? posted by The Closet Shopper at 9:13 AM
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
Last night we went to Bimbo's to see Neko Case and I would like to buy a vowel, because........O my god! She is flawless. And funny. And angelic. When she opens her mouth and throws back her head, a sound comes out that is unreal. Her voice is smooth and rich. She sounds like Patsy Cline and Brenda Lee combined. I could have listened to her for the rest of my life. She gave a super long encore which was fantastic. I found myself fighting back tears for most of the night. I actually did cry during one song. But you would have too, if you were there. And I laughed when she spoke of masturbating to nun music. She said, "This song is creepy, kind of like when you find yourself masturbating to nun music, you think, this is creepy but you can't stop doing it." So, I guess it was kind of like CATS. I laughed, I cried.........
When Ian and I are at shows, we usually squeeze our way to an open spot in the crowd, and then Ian stands behind me with his arms wrapped tightly around me. This is truly one of my most favorite things. I love it. Last night we were standing like this and a little tubby guy standing next to us was totally checking me out. There were a couple of things that made this strange. A) That I was standing so close to Ian being held so tight by him that I could have passed through him to the other side. So, I'm not available. And 2) The staring little man was with a gorgeous hottie of immense proportions. So, wtf? Maybe my ego is too big. Maybe he was just thinking, "How is it that he is holding her so tight and she hasn't morphed into his body?" But, I think he was checking me out cuz Ian said so, and guys know these things.
My girlfriends and I say that we are girls' girls at clubs. That is to say if a guy is clearly with a girl and he is shamelessly checking us out, we glare at him. You know, for the girl he's with. To show solidarity. Us fellow chicks got to stick together. Hail chickhood.
Oh blissful three day weekend. I was the only one I know who got to stay home yesterday. Besides the other people I work with, of course. I slept till 9:30 then I stayed in bed and watched TV. I then dragged myself out of bed to meet Ian and all his cool work mates for lunch. That was totally fun.
Then off for a bit of shopping. I found the coolest leopard coat. The ass kicker? Hot pink lining. OH, and it was wicked cheap. I took my friend there and she called it the hoochie store. She said, "Oh, you have to have a hoochie store. I have one in San Leandro, but this one is way closer. I'm so excited." See, you can always find at least one really cool item at the "hoochie store." The not so hoochie item. It's grand.
Then I was off to have a massage. A brutal yet wonderful massage. It's the kind of massage that leaves you somewhat pain free for a couple of weeks, but is extremely painful in the process. Luckily the masseuse is a friend so I can curse and call her names when it really hurts. Yesterday I told her that if she pushed on that spot on my arm again I was going to reach over and pinch her vagina clean off. We both laughed uproariously. Good times.
But sadly, I am back at work today. Just like the rest of you's. Two days off for Thanksgiving though. Wheeee!
I was getting my hair colored and cut last night. I overheard a conversation that I found strange, fascinating, dumb, and funny. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
I was sitting under the heat helmet chair thing and this girl was sitting next to me. One of the stylists walks by and says to this client:
Stylist: Hey bitch, how are you?
Client: (evil look…….no response)
So here I thought, whoa it’s on now. But then strangely, no fight broke out, just more strange conversation.
Stylist: Happy birthday, girl. Like, how old are you today?
Client: 33
Stylist: That’s cool.
Client: Yeah.
Stylist: What are you gonna do tonight? Cuz I’m a DJ at this bar and I’m spinning tonight. You should come down, here’s my card.
Client: That’s cool. I’m so down.
Stylist: We’re naming Tuesday nights at this club Tight Club.
Client: Tight. Oh that’s cool. I’m down with that.
Stylist: Yeah, like Fight Club. You know how they said the first rule of Fight Club is don’t talk about Fight Club? Well we’re putting on the flyers, the first rule of Tight Club is to totally talk about it, you know to get people to come out.
Client: That’s so funny. I’m so down with that.
I just kept waiting for the joke. Like, waiting for them to both start laughing or for one of them to say, “And…….scene.” None of which happened. I say, bring it on. It gives me something to write about. People are funny especially when they think they’re cool.
1. Did he actually say, "See how your stomach pushes out? Like a beer belly. Now just press your toes together and turn your heels slightly away from each other and get rid of "beerbellyasana". Beerbellyasana? You mean you can just add the suffix asana to anything and it's yoga language? How cool is that? I'm going to do it all day.
Soon I have to go to a classasana. I hate work classes, cause they're filled with retardasanas. Hee Hee. This is fun. We should all do this today. Are you with me?
2. We were getting ready to do handstands and the teacher said, "If you're having your menstrual cycle, just sit on your mat." What? And let all the other kids make fun of the bleeding girl? The freak with the bloody vagina? Hearing them say, "Look at the freaky bleeder sitting on her mat while we have fun standing on our hands." Oh no you don't. I'm not falling for that one. Nice tryasana.
To recap: Suck in your beerbellyasana, ya fat pig! And, if you're a bleeder, we will put you in the middle of the room while we point and laugh and stand on our hands.
Sometimes I sing little songs that I've made up. It's more of a chant really. Here's one. "I hate everything. I hate everything. I hate everything, except for you." Does this make me crazy? Or does the crazy make me crazy? I ponder this question often. Does that make me crazy?
Anyway, I have nothing to say. I've had nothing to say for days. I guess I should be grateful for things like, at least I don't live with my parents. Do you know that my family holds hands and prays before dining? Even at restaurants? Oh yes they do. The most embarrassing thing EVER. When I visit them I am reduced to that embarrassed teenager during these times. I roll my eyes and laugh and "pray" that people don't think I'm with this family. So, it's good that I live in California and they live in Texas. This reduces my restaurant embarrassment time with them.
Last night I dreamt that my right leg had been amputated. Not the whole leg, just from the mid-calf. I was in a house talking to people about finding a leg to replace the missing one when this guy walks in carrying a leg. He said he just found it lying on the street. I sort of screwed it on to my leg and commented that it looked exactly like my other leg. It was perfect. It even had exactly ten freckles on the ankle which was the exact number of freckles on my missing leg.
Everyone in the room oohed and ahhed about the perfect new leg. We all admired it. I asked questions like, “When can I walk on it?” and “When can I run and play?” Everyone thought it would be as good as new in a few days. I put a plastic bag over the foot and hopped away.
Welcome back, strange and wonderful dream state. Just in time for Halloween.
So, I was at the gym and I noticed a couple of things that really stuck in my craw.
1. You have a towel. Use it. It’s not a scarf or a fancy whip. Do us all a favor and wipe your ass juice off the seat of the machine you leaked your foul juices on. Please? Huh? Will ya? I mean, it’s just too gross. Ewww and also, ewww.
2. You ladies that swim. Why is it that you don’t dry off before traipsing about in the locker room? I notice that you have a towel in your hand. Why not use it? Instead you make a path of feet puddles, and then you stop at your locker where you then dispense a very large body puddle. But do you wipe up this huge body puddle? Oh NOOOOOOOO. No, you do not. You walk away making another path of feet puddles. The result of your complete obliviousness is that people getting changed accidentally step in your puddles with their clean DRY socks. And then they go, “DAMMIT! Damn the swimming ladies and their hatred for the land people.”
Ok, that is all. It seems a lesson could be learned from this blog entry today. If you are at the gym, or anywhere for that matter and you are dripping liquid from your person, wipe that shit up with the towel that you are carrying right there in your little hand. That’s what it’s there for. Towels, the quicker picker upper.
Here are the pictures from my reunion, as promised. The first one is my name tag with my actual high school year book picture. Just click on the small picture to view the larger picture.
Here is my wonderful friend Cheryl from the class of 1981:
And here is the tiny ass shack where my family lived.
Okay. There you have it. All the pictures that you get to see. Sorry there is so many and that I'm in every freak'n shot.
So, I’m sitting in my office and my favorite co-worker comes in and sits down. I said, “I’m dealing with something but don’t leave.” She nods in compliance and starts to play with stuff on my desk. I’m not paying much attention to her until she starts to giggle.
I look over and she is playing with my koosh. My most favorite thing in my office. She really starts to laugh and she stands up and to my horror, starts to put it in her pants to simulate a penis bulge.
Me: What the hell are you doing? Don’t put that in your pants!
Co-worker: What? It’s okay. (giggle and places it in her pants firmly against her private place.)
Me: No, it’s not…..don’t…..AHHHH! You put it on your coochie. It’s yours now. I don’t want it anymore. EWWWW!
CW: Are you serious? Why?
Me: Because it was on your vagina. I don’t want it.
CW: (shrugs shoulders) okay. I’ll buy you a new one.
Me: You’re damn straight. (whining) That was my favorite thing in my office.
Okay, I know how pathetic that sounds. But I loved that koosh. “Maybe we can boil it,” she said. Cute. She says she won in this deal. She got a good laugh AND a really cool koosh. Dammit! Coochie Koosh. (mumble mumble)
Here is a list of things that make me happy. This is my attempt to push myself out of this sluggish sad feeling. So, here goes.
1. Ian , cause he is so wonderful and is such a great husband.
2. The thing of the Giants . Baby J was with them last night. Let’s do it again, tonight boys.
3. There is going to be a remake of the Stepford Wives . Hweeeeee! Only they’re going to make it all campy. The first one ended up being unintentionally camp. Nicole Kidman will play the part of the new wife on the block who doesn't know how to be a "good little wife." Pure fun. It’ll be a laugh riot. Me likey.
4. My wonderful friends. The ones that laugh at all my stupid jokes. You know who you are. The ones that make me throw my head back with gut wrenching laughter. Keep it coming. I need the laughing. Laughter is good food.
Not exciting things for all of you, but I'm already happier. Maybe if I read it over and over again, I'll perk right up and be all better. ahhhh.
So, Saturday night we were at Kristen’s b-day party and we were having a wonderful time. Around 11PM, I started feeling eye rubbing tired. You know the type. And my throat was feeling a bit sore which I attributed to the cigarette smoke in the club. We left soon after. I was a bit worried that I was getting sick because Ian had been sick all week, but I blew it off. I mean, I’ve already been sick this year. Really sick. Pukey, fever, icky sick.
Dismissing the sickness didn’t make it go away. Saturday night, I couldn’t sleep because every time I tried to swallow it felt like I was trying to pass tree bark through my esophagus. Finally at 5AM Sunday morning I got up to gargle salt water and take some Advil. What? What do I know? It’s a home remedy that my Mom used to use. It’s all I could think of. I would have gargled glass, if I thought that would help.
All day Sunday I was in bed. Couldn’t move. It’s not as relaxing as it sounds. My body started to feel bruised from the mattress. No matter how I tossed and turned, I couldn’t get comfortable. I ached all over. Stayed home Monday to try to heal. Slept till noon. Felt like shit all day. I’m back at work now, but feel irritable and depressed. Very sad and depressed.
So, I’m ready to feel like my perky wonderful self again, baby jesus. Do your magic! Can’t do this for much longer.
I’m so happy that our Giants made it to the World Series. But here is my basic baseball question and I would like to say it as I think Seinfeld might. Have you ever noticed how baseball players are always spitting? What’s up with that?
But really, what is up with that? Do they have a never-ending supply of saliva? Do they take special non-dehydration pills for that? Or do they just constantly drink water to build up the constant spitting frenzy? Maybe it’s the sunflower seeds. What’s the story behind the seeds? Is there one? They put handfuls of seeds in their mouths and then spit out the shells throughout the game. Every close up of every player is topped off with a special spittle appearance. We just accept it. They all do it.
Yeah but, does it stop on the playing field or do they all have special spit absorbent carpeting in their homes? Can you imagine? The smell alone……………….yuck.
This will not stop me from being glued to my TV for the whole series. Spit away, boys. Just, please baby jesus, let the Giants win!
Number one: (clearing throat) How is it that humans who have used toilets all their lives, miss the target? Hmmm? And women in particular. We only sit down, so there is no reason to aim and shoot. Stop with the hovering. If you think it’s so gross, then don’t add to it. Put down the paper thingy and SIT down.
Number Two: (haha) Smeared crap on the toilet seat? Come on, ladies. How in the hell does this happen? Do you wipe from the front or from the back. If you wipe from the front, then the only thing that should be smeared with your defecation is your own vagina. Am I right? Perhaps you wipe from behind, the more sanitary approach. But when YOU do it, you examine it first and then when you plunk it into the toilet, you accidentally smear the seat. Is that what happens? Okay, if that is the case, you would notice it, right? Why then would you not clean it off? Ewwwwwww! So so disgusting.
There was this guy at the reunion that clearly came with a purpose. He was there to give all of us a big IN YOUR FACE. It backfired, sadly. Or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know what reaction he was looking for. If he was looking for the, “Holy shit, who is that? What’s wrong with him? Oh, the humanity!” well, then he wins.
This guy walks into the ballroom dressed in really expensive, pressed Armani. His hair was bleached and spiked. His skin color, purplish blue/red. I’m crappin’ you negative. He must have been in a tanning booth for twenty-four hours before getting dressed and coming to dinner. It looked like someone had put a rubber band around his neck and his head was carrying the blood from his entire body. Freakish. Maybe he was preparing to audition for the Blue Man Group and didn’t realize it’s just makeup, not their real skin color.
He was super fit, like a world renowned body builder. Nobody knew who he was till they looked at his high school photo nametag, if they dared to get that close to him. Ok, so he was this mulleted stoner with a permanent smirk back then. Maybe he knew then that he would appear as an overgrown muscled Smurf at his 20-year high school reunion.
Here’s what he told people when asked what he does for a living. “My wife works and I stay home, take care of the kids and snort coke all day.” Well, woo hoo! That sounds like a sweet job to me.
He just kept going to the bar, ordering two long-neck beers at a time. Holding one in each had and alternately guzzling them. At the end of the night he had his shirt unbuttoned all the way and untucked. He was daring anyone to talk to him. He was ready to beef! We thought he’d been tossed at one point, but the next thing I knew, he was ordering another couple beers.
We arrived in Cincinnati on Thursday evening. The air was thick with humidity, the skies overcast. Just how I remembered it. Not really. To be honest, I didn’t remember anything about this area, it turns out. All I could remember was that people are really nice. Evidenced by our first encounter, the airplane staff. We were in the first row. Ahhhhh, the exit row. Much room to spare and then some. The staff was hanging out with us, talking trash about some of the other passengers. So funny.
Then we were off to get the rental car where we were again given spectacular customer service. Oh, and everywhere we went? No lines. No waiting. That was kind of cool. Not enough to make me pack my bags and move, but a nice change of pace.
Then we drove into Middletown, Ohio to our hotel. The hotel reeked of cigarette smoke. Like a pool hall. Disgusting. It’s strange to see people smoking in public buildings since it’s against the law here in California. I left the windows of our hotel room wide open to air out the smell but it didn’t work. The smell was in the very foundation and walls and soul of this hotel.
We ventured out that first night to find vegetarian food. We found a place called Dragon Express where we were delighted to find tofu on the menu. We then went to a grocery store where we found soymilk. Miracle of miracles. Then back to the smoke-infested hotel.
Friday morning, I called my friend who was in the class of 1981, one year ahead of me. She and I have kept in touch regularly these past twenty years. She came over and we went to the Olive Garden for lunch. We felt like family. She was the exact same in appearance and everything. Just as sweet as she could be. She has three children and is living near our old high school. It was great catching up with her and getting the scoop about people still living in the area. Like an old boyfriend who had gone bald and paunchy. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Friday night was the homecoming parade and football game. This is when I started getting nervous. I was about to see people from the class of 1982. The class that, if the Preacher Man hadn’t drug me to Texas, I would have graduated with. I still wasn’t sure if I would be remembered. However, my fears did not come true. Everyone remembered me. Even the people that I didn’t remember. I started feeling super comfortable and so happy to see them. It was like we’d never been apart.
There was a strange phenomenon in age appearances, though. We were all 38, but ranged in appearance from ages 25-55. If you’re reading this you were in the 25-30 appearance group. I wondered if that was genes, good living, bad living, or what?
The parade was sad and small. Nothing like when we were there. We made our own floats, the marching band was huge and decorated with awards and acclaim. Sadly, they had no floats and the band was tiny and quite frankly, sucked. The football team also sucked, as did the cheerleaders. When I was a cheerleader, we were athletic and sharp. These girls were just sloppy. I couldn’t even hear them. Aren’t you supposed to hear the cheerleaders? How else can they lead cheers, for cryn’ out loud.
Then we were off to the smoky sports bar where everyone proceeded to get drunk. But it was a happy, tolerable drunk. I had some great conversations with people and did a lot more catching up. One of these conversations was with a girl that I thought hated me in school. I always thought she was the coolest chick. She was kind of mean but super tough. I wanted to be her.
I went up to her and gave her a big hug and she was so cool and nice to me. I told her that she was a fuckn’ bad ass back then! She looked confused and said, “Is that why nobody liked me?” I was blown away by the revelation that the coolest girl in school had thought that nobody liked her. Whoa.
I recognized almost all of the women but only a few of the men. Most of the women looked the same, at least their faces. But the men looked WAY different.
Ian and I don’t have children, so it was strange to be surrounded by people our age that had two to four children. Most of them on the four end of that range. We live in the bay area and people just don’t have more than two children. Its called overpopulation. Look into it.
Saturday during the day I asked Cheryl, my class of ’81 friend, to come to lunch with us. After lunch we drove by my old house. It was exactly as I had remembered. Tiny and green. Gross and shack-like. I was filled with disgust and sadness. But also happy to be who I am now. And to be where I am now.
Saturday night was the big event at our smoky hotel. We thought we were going to be early, but when we got there tons of people were already there. We had nametags with our high school year book picture so that people would know who we were. Oh my god, my picture was hideous. The big feathered hair. Luckily my picture was the same as everyone else. We all had a big laugh about that. Actually some women hadn’t changed a bit. Hair included. Scary. If you’re reading this, I’m not talking about you.
I shared with a few people that I was clean and sober. The ones that partied with me were relieved and happy for me. I enjoyed sharing myself with them. I was overtaken with emotion remembering how special they had been to me. How they helped me feel loved and happy oh so many years ago.
So, we laughed and visited and laughed. I had such a great time. Ian was running around taking pictures and just being the BEST partner ever. Not to mention the best looking fella in the room. Yowsah! I was all proud and stuff.
We left on Sunday and I have been overwhelmed with emotion. I wish I were closer to a few of these folks. To be able to experience our friendship on an in-person daily basis. If you’re reading this, I’m talking about you. I love you all very much and miss you terribly. Please keep in touch. I know that I will make every effort to do so.
There was a lot more that happened but this was already way too long. I will be posting pictures, once I learn how. Ian said he would teach me. So, soon.
The Giants won last night. Benito is my hero. I have a date with Ian tonight at 5PM to cuddle and watch the game. My two most favorite things to do.
I finished The Corrections on the plane. Phew! It's all yours, Shannon.
I'll go through all the reunion pics tonight and see if I like any of them. I will try to collect my thoughts and feelings about the weekend and somehow put that in writing. Until then. Enjoy your Monday.
Well, Ian and I leave tomorrow for my 20-year high school reunion. I have mixed feelings stirring up inside of me.
I’m afraid that people won’t want me there. Or think I don’t belong. See I didn’t graduate from this school, but I was there for my sophomore and junior years and then the whole summer leading up to senior year. I went to cheerleading camp that summer and was all ready to enjoy my senior year with all my friends and then graduate with this class. I have so many wonderful and fond memories of these people. I felt like I belonged there. Never before or after did I feel such a strong sense of belonging. I mean in those formative years. Of course getting clean and sober and going through a lot of psychoanalysis has helped me in this area as an adult. Yes, psychoanalysis. Psycho! Anyway, I’ve always wanted to go back there and celebrate with them.
My Preacher Man Dad moved us right before the beginning of my senior year. We moved to Texas and I attended high school in the town where I had attended fourth and fifth grade. So, I knew some of these folks. It was strange, but good. Except for living down the humiliation of being Christmas Queen in the fourth grade. Oh and having to face the girl that I punched in the gut every day in the fifth grade, until one day she passed out. I was so scared that I never did it again. When I saw her senior year, I just went right up to her and told her how sorry I was for being such a stupid tomboy. She was really quite sweet about it, thankfully.
Then the Preacher Man got another calling from God halfway through that year and he shipped us off to North Texas and I attended the rattiest school. The school from hell, if you will. It was a run down stinky hole of a school. There were 20 people in my graduating class. They all wore wrangler jeans and shit kicker cowboy boots. Some of them actually smelled like a big ‘ol cow pie.
For fun and recreation, we drove down 7th avenue drinking the alcohol we had to buy miles away because we lived in a dry county. What about the 21st amendment, you ask? I said this was Texas. Repressive Texas. Anyway, then we would stop in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot and drink till everyone’s cousin, Sheriff Ricky, would make us all go away. Then we would do it all over again, ad infinitum.
This senior class had all been together since kindergarten. So, I had to work extra hard to fit in. I was always able to make friends, but I never felt happy or comfortable. So I drank. A lot. I was the typical PK (preachers’ kid.) WILD! Wooooo, MD 20/20.
Needless to say, I wouldn’t even want to go to a reunion where I actually graduated. I’ve never heard from anyone in this class, I doubt they even have reunions. I don’t even know if the school is still standing. It should have been condemned by now.
So, back to the reunion that I will be attending this weekend. I’ve been trying to think of how to explain my job in a concise way. Maybe I’ll make something up. Like, I’ll tell everyone that I invented post-its. Or that I’m a hit man. Maybe bringing business cards would be easier. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
I’ll write all about my adventure upon my return with a full pictorial. Thanks in advance to Ian for his wonderful photography. And what a special man to encourage me to go and to actually tag along. Is it possible to fall in love with your husband over and over again? I guess so, since I do daily. Okay, you can all throw up now. Jealous!
So I found out yesterday that a friend of ours was at Mr. Show on Saturday. Apparently he caught a glimpse of us and decided he would come find us after the show but we shot out of there so fast after the night we had. Well, it pains me to say this but he was going to offer us tickets to the Giants game the next day. UGH!!! Why oh why are we being punished? And to add insult to injury, the whole cast of Mr. Show was at the Giants game on Sunday sitting right in front of this friend who had tickets for us. They got to talk to them and everything. So, we missed an incredible Giants game AND didn't get to hang with Mr. Show. (Heavy sigh with an extra helping of woe is me.)
Saturday night, Ian and I went to San Francisco to see Mr. Show at 11PM. We arrived at 10:05 and found a sweet parking space with a sign that read, “No Parking from 9AM till 10PM.” Perfect timing, so I pulled into the spot. This guy with a walkie-talkie approaches the car and starts yelling at me, “No Parking! You can’t park here.” I rolled down my window, pointing to the sign and said, “The sign says till 10PM, it’s 10:05.” He then puts his face in the window inches from my face and continues yelling at me. Ian started yelling back at him and I rolled up the window almost crushing his head in the process.
I asked Ian to go ask that policeman parked nearby if it was okay for us to park here. He did, the policeman came over and had words with the gentleman. The guy said he worked for the Warfield, which is where we were going, and they told him to make sure no one parked there. The police told him that they couldn’t do that. It was perfectly legal for us to park there and then they waved us off.
We walked away and I overheard the yelling guy smarting off to the cops saying he was going to tow our car and the police were saying that he had better not because we were legally parked. I got a weird feeling in my stomach.
We walked to the end of the block when I told Ian I had a bad feeling about this and wanted to go move our car. Ian agreed because he didn’t want me to be stressed and not enjoy the show. Great idea, we walk back to the car and the yelling guy is looking all suspicious. Ian says, “Great. He slashed our fucking tire.” You could hear the hissing sound of the air quickly escaping the tire. He must have just done the deed because the tire was still full but went flat as we stood there.
Ian said, “You slashed our fucking tire you dirty fucker!” At the same time Ian was pulling out his phone and calling the police. He said, “ Well, I told you not to park there.” He started to walk away, so Ian walked after him still on the phone with the police.
While this was happening, a group of loud drunken people were gathering around our car. This girl starts to sit her very large self on the car and I said, “Please don’t sit on my car.” I was so preoccupied with keeping my eye on Ian that I didn’t have time to be afraid of this woman. She said, “My car’s more expensive than your car. Don’t tell me not to sit on your car, bitch!” I just zoned her out. Too much going on. Right then the cops from earlier drove by and Ian flagged them down. The crowd cleared out. Suddenly it was just us, yelling guy and the cops.
We’re lucky it was the same guys because they were so kind to us and they knew this guy must have done it. The yelling guy just kept mouthing off which only hurt him. The bottom line is that no one would step up as a witness, so even though they found the weapon he used and matched it up with the slice in the tire, they couldn’t arrest him.
But they had his boss come down and explained the situation. His boss was pissed and started asking him, “If you didn’t do it, then who did?” He just shrugged indifferently. His boss then said, “Well, I’m paying you to stand here and watch this space, so how is it that you didn’t see who did it? Because YOU did it, that’s why. Give me your radio and your badge. You’re fired.”
While Ian was putting the tiny spare tire on our car, the police put a call in to see if this guy had any outstanding warrants. As luck would have it, he DID so they cuffed him and took him in. Book him Danno! So, justice was kind of served. We were inconvenienced and so was he.
We moved the car to a parking lot, and made it to the show right before 11PM. We had to sit in the very back row, but the show was AWESOME. Bob Odenkirk and David Cross are funny motherfuckers.
Yesterday we went to Sears and spent $75 on a new tire because of that “dirty fucker.” Nice, Ian. But seriously, I would like to thank Ian for being so calm, cool and level-headed. You are my hero now and forever!!
Last night I dreamt that I was at my high school reunion, which is coming up next weekend so I’m sure I’ll be having lots of worrisome dreams up to and including the night before I leave.
I was in a gym with a bunch of girls. It was clearly the reunion but we weren’t 38 year-olds, we were just younger. Don’t really know the age. Anyway, we were doing handstands and other various gymnastics tricks. I was able to easily do everything because I was a gymnast but these other girls were struggling. They were getting irritated with me and calling out harder and harder tricks which I would easily perform. Then they would critique each trick and declare that I had done them wrong. I would just smile and say, “I see. Well, I’ll try it your way. How’s that?” This just went on and on till the dream ended.
Okay, so this either means that I’m confident and strong and will be very comfortable at my reunion no matter what the more critical people think. OR…everyone will hate me and think I suck. In any case, I really want to go. Maybe I will have a nightmare that will change my mind, but until then, I am going to my high school reunion, dammit!
I was listening to some crappy radio station while working out at lunch on Tuesday. Whoa, that was a crazy run-on sentence. Anyway, a listener called in and requested "My Sacrifice" by the Dave Matthews band. Well, the DJ got all indignant and said, "Hey, if you're going to request a song, get the artist right. It's Creed not Dave Matthews. They sound nothing alike. For the rest of the listeners out there, if you call in to make a request, can you please extend the courtesy of getting the band name right. Jeez!!!"
Ok, first of all, Dave Matthews and Creed? Like...........who cares??? They're both in the same genre. The SUCKS ASS genre. And they DO sound the same to people who listen to good music. They both sound like ass. That is all I have to say on that subject. (Stepping off soapbox.)
Went to yoga class this morning and I have a few things I would like to mention about this experience.
First of all, I would like to say…Smelly Feet!! I would like to say this because that’s all I think about while in yoga class. Well, that and OUCH! The room smells like feet. The mats smell like feet. And you have to put your face on these smelly feet mats. If I am to continue the yoga practice, I will have to purchase my own mat that will eventually smell like feet. But the offending odor will be MY feet, not 100 strangers smelly toe cheese feet. And as we all know, our own feet smell like roses.
And another thing. The yoga instructor said, “Firm the perineum, and spread the groins wide for warrior pose.” Is it immature to have to stifle a giggle when hearing this sentence? Well then paint me immature. Sometimes I think I’m just too goofy for yoga. Everyone is so serious. I really try to erase the silly thoughts in my head, but they just won’t go away.
Like when we were going into a center split pose and I was going really low but then very ungracefully plopped back onto my butt. I made an audible sigh and then giggled at myself. I looked around to see if anyone had seen my fall and this one happy soul was smiling at me. Phew. I’m not the only one that has a bit of the silly.
All in all, I am getting such a great workout in this class. It kicks my ass. Literally. More than any weight lifting or aerobic exercise I’ve ever done. I think I will just accept my goofy silly immature self and have fun while twisting my body into unthinkable positions. Maybe then I will be able to focus on the serenity and lightness concept. And I will be able to firm my perineum and spread my groins wide. Good times.
I had either one very scattered dream last night or several dreams fused into one. Here are the scattered images:
I was in an auditorium full of people. I was on stage, but I didn’t know why. The audience was cheering and laughing. There was a small girl on stage. Maybe five years old? She had a book in her precious little hands and she was trying to speak into the microphone. I walked out to her, took the microphone from the stand, sat down on the stage and held the microphone for her. She was reading from a book of jokes and she was so funny. She was wearing a red turtleneck and had long curly auburn hair. She was surprised by the laughter and seemed a bit frightened so I told her it was okay and she kept reading and by then she too was laughing.
Then I got up and just started doing a comedy routine. It came out of nowhere. I was watching people double over with laughter. What a rush.
Then the scene changed to a bar and Greg Behrendt was performing. Ian and my parents were there with me. We were sitting in bleachers and Greg was sitting at the bar. It looked like the sound stage of Cheers. He was talking about a driving situation and he was trying to describe it but needed a prop. He took a chair and he was strapping it onto a bench. He kept getting in the chair and testing it to see if it wiggled and then getting down and adjusting it, the whole time asking for the audience’s patience.
While Greg was busy setting up the joke, my Dad said, “Look at this floor. The wood hasn’t been buffed or varnished.” I looked and it was a new wood floor, but my Dad was right. I said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I looked at Ian and rolled my eyes and we laughed. The End.
The next dream started with me sneaking around campus to get to work. I was really late and I was trying to sneak in unnoticed. I went to the elevator and then felt a rush of panic because my boss might see me so I shot up the stairs. The End.
So it turns out that perhaps I have been suffering from a stomach flu instead of food poisoning. I was about to leave the office yesterday when Ian called me saying he felt awful and was going home. When I got home, I crawled over to the bed and touched Ian and he was on FIRE!!!. Not literally. It was pure comedy with me (Sick as a dog) trying to take care of Ian (Sicker than this dog). He had similar symptoms to mine minus the violent puking. Poor pughie bear. I was able to take care of him for a bit and then I passed out till around 5pm. When I woke up, I took care of him some more. His fever broke at about 9pm. Phew.
What a weird night. That is all for now. Ya'll have a nice day now, ya hear.
Thank you all for your concern. Sorry for the gross-out from the photo. My tooth is fine. The gum is fine, for now. Will check in 3 months to see if the surgery is necessary. Just brushed too hard. Me? Big drama queen. I may or may not tell you the funny thing that happened while I was at the Periodontist.
I got food poisoned on Saturday night by a slice of cheese pizza. Late at night in San Francisco waiting to see our friend Greg Behrendt’s comedy show. Starving, so bought the slice from a vendor in an alley. Must have been sitting there for over a year. I was too hungry to know that I was eating poison.
Greg was hysterical as usual. Afterward, we were rapping and laughing with Greg, when suddenly I started to feel like I had just drank too much alcohol. That no turning back point. I don’t drink anymore, but I remember that feeling. So, I told Ian that I wasn’t feeling well and we left. From 4AM on through the rest of Sunday I got “sick” over and over again. I haven’t gotten “sick” since I drank, over 16 years ago, so it was surreal. Also, I had a fever with a temperature of 101.7. That’s wicked high, yo.
I didn’t come to work on Monday. I fell in and out of what felt like drug-induced sleep. That feeling of going under anesthesia when you have to count to ten but you only make it to thr… and I would awaken from that sleep all groggy and spaced out.
The only good thing that came out of the poisoning was the instant weight loss. And perfect timing since I’m going to my 20-year high school reunion in three weeks. The only trick will be keeping it off. Oh, and I know how sick that sounded, and I only said out loud what all of you think when you get sick and lose weight as a result. So don’t you sit there and judge me.
I’m back at work today. I still feel feverish and awful but need to get a bit of work done and then I’ll go home.
Oh, by the way. My friend, Tracy, came over Sunday night to take care of me and we watched, the. Worst. Movie. Ever. The Smokers. It was like a soft-core porn movie, without all that…what you call….sex. Bad dialogue, bad direction, bad soundtrack, bad EVERYTHING. At one point this girl gets mad a her date for trying to pick off the sticker from her kamagachi and she says, “What is it with men….they just pick and pick at women.” Hurrr? That was the tasteful intelligent part of the movie. Horrid. It made me sicker. I chanted, “Please baby Jesus ,make it stop.” So the baby Jesus turned off the DVD player. Ahhhhh.
How am I, you ask? Oh, I’m fine. Just a small matter of my TOOTH IS FALLING OUT! Other than that, I’m fine. Tooth is defined as one of the hard bony appendages that are borne on the jaws. Well this hard bony appendage is trying to escape my jaw.
See I’ve been noticing that my gum was receding a bit from one of my big front teeth or technically the upper front central incisor, and I could feel the tooth. Not pain, but I was aware of its presence. Like a slight pressure on the tooth. This morning as I was rigorously brushing my teeth I must have pushed the gum back even further. As I was running my tongue across my smooth clean teeth, I tasted blood. I gently pulled back my lip and to my horror, I see a tiny hole above the tooth. Not a hole in the tooth, a hole in the gum that has receded above the tooth.
As soon as I got to work I called my Periodontist to make an appointment. I’m just so sad. I’ve already had two gum surgeries a few years back and it SUCKED!!! It’s called a gingival graft. They cut skin off the roof of your mouth and sew that skin onto the gum to cover where it’s receding. The skin grows together and voila, you have a new healthy non-receding gum. The skin on the roof of the mouth just grows back lickity split. It’s a freakn’ miracle of the body. The roof of the mouth skin is like the lizard tail that just grows back. I’m an idiot.
The surgery isn’t painful. The shots are a bitch, though. It’s just that you have to have your mouth open for like THREE hours. And although quite fascinating, you can see what the doctor is doing because he’s wearing glasses, so it’s like a mirror. But that gets old and really gross. If you have a strong stomach, here is a picture of the procedure.
Anyway, I made an appointment for Monday morning and then they will surely make an appointment for surgery. Ho Hum. What a drag.
My dreams have been escaping me again. I wake up during a dream and I think that I'll remember it. Then I don't. Some have been pretty weird, too. I remember bits and pieces. Like, sitting on a cushion and saying, "I can read the serial number with my butt. No, really the number is.... " and so on. Just random nonsensical stuff like that. I guess that’s what dreams are though, random nonsensical stuff. But then sometimes they are powerful and meaningful and soothsayeresque. Anyway, I will work harder at remembering my dreams cuz they are WAY more interesting than my day to day BS.
Case in point, my yoga class this morning. Boring, right? Except that my competitive gymnast side came out. It isn’t that I’m competitive with the folks around me, it’s that part of the gymnast in me that pushes myself to perfection. It’s so counter-productive. I haven’t been to yoga in over a year, but I think that I should be able to do every pose perfectly and balance without a problem. I’m pretty sure that yoga is a nurturing practice. I must figure out how to be gentler.
When the instructor tells us to breathe into the pose and tell ourselves how strong and happy we are, my head is saying, “Jesus, why can’t I hold this freakn’ pose. I use to be a gymnast for chrissake. There. There it is. It’s about time, loser.” Yeah, I think I’m going about this all wrong. Ya think?
I will continue to try to nama-stay in class without being so effing hard on myself. Maybe then I will get the true rewards of the yoga practice. Yes, grasshopper, you will.
I am new to ebay. I bid on things and if I win, I’m stoked. If I don’t win, I just blow it off. Don’t really need the stuff, just want it. But as I said, if I win, I am happy and purchase accordingly. On Friday I received an email from the seller of the scarf that I did not win. I repeat did NOT win. At first I thought she was being nice but it quickly turned ugly. Here is what happened.
you were outbid on the Tommy scarf I had on auction.
I have another scarf if you are interested.......
Let me know!!
LaRissa
Can I see a picture? Thanks for letting me know.
Tracy
This is my auction that you bid on............
NWT TOMMY HILFIGER RAINBOW WINTER SCARF OSFA
LaRissa
oh, you mean you have another identical one. thanks for the heads up, but i will go ahead and pass. you are so sweet to think of me.
tracy
I said that I'll sell to you for your bid......... that was two cents over the starting bid...........
Let me know
LaRissa
Actually what you said is,
"you were outbid on the Tommy scarf I had on auction. I have another scarf if you are interested......."
Saying you have "another scarf" led me to believe that you had more than one of the same scarf you had on auction. Sorry for the confusion. I am going to decline your offer. Thank you again for thinking of me.
Tracy
I do have another of the same scarf............
You bid on it............ I assumed you would want it.........for your bid......
Why bid on something if you don't 'really' want it??
LKM
I've tried to be gracious. I don't want the scarf. What and how much I bid on is none of your concern.
Thanks,
Tracy
Please don't waste my time......... & yours...........by bidding on my auctions! It's not a good way to start eBay........
I was being generous by offering you a bargain........ & allowing you to purchase without having to bid......
Good luck finding what you're looking for.......look hard & long......
LKM
Ok, wtf????? Is it just me or was she being…………..vague. And then she was being……………………a bitch. The use of the dots is just so annoying. I wonder if she speaks that way. With huge pauses where they shouldn’t be. Like, “Hi………………………………how are you…………………..and stuff?” THEN, she blocked me from bidding on any of her auctions. I am just so blown away by this freak. I think it’s so interesting that she thought she was clear with her intentions from the beginning. She should be a politician.
First of all, Happy Friday the 13th to all, but especially to Victor Miller. He created Jason and he is also, as luck would have it, my father-in-law. Yay, Victor!
Secondly, I was driving to work this morning and the voices coming from my radio were going on and on about Goat Day, a big celebration that is going on in Millington, Tennessee right now. I just blew it off thinking it was a big morning radio joke. They’ll think of anything to keep me entertained on my drive to work. Oh, my side.
I arrived at work and just out of curiosity went on-line to see if this was a true story. Well, sure enough. Check this shit out. One of the events is “pill flippin.” What is this you ask? Well they take the excrement from the goat, paint it perty colors, and then see who can flip them the furthest. Yee Haw!! By golly, that sounds like FUN!!! Of course I’m kidding. What a bunch of silly southern idiots. I am just appalled at this blatant animal abuse as you can see if you browse the site. And also, this increases my fear of this type of southern folk. I am part southerner, so I’m allowed to make fun. Get a REAL hobby.
Bless their little ‘ol pea pickn’ hearts. That’s southern for, “Holy shit! These people have lost their minds!”
I just went to get help with a project I’m working on. The women in this department flocked around me when I got there. Apparently, they all LOVED my shoes. I have a tattoo on my ankle, so then the discussion went from shoes to, “Oh my! What is that? Did it hurt?” I love that question, did it hurt. No, it felt wonderful! I love that feeling of my flesh being burned and ripped apart. What a dumb question. When I finally got them to focus on the task at hand, we had a funny conversation. We were dealing with a new computer system problem.
Me: This has really been a pain in the (pause) “behind” for me.
Smiling Processor Lady: Girl, I know what word you wanted to say.
Me: So did the Lord.
All: Laugh Laugh.
My father is a preacher and he used to say that all the time. We would say, “gosh darn” and dad would say that the Lord could hear what we really wanted to say. For your reference, god damn was what we REALLY wanted to say. And here I thought we should at LEAST get credit for the inner-edit effort. God dammit!!
So then I went on to inform them of my PK status. For those of you lucky enough not to be anywhere near churches growing up, PK stands for preacher's kid. And let me tell you, we had one hell of a reputation. I'm happy to say that I lived up to it, proudly. These ladies understood the PK reference and they guffawed heartily. So now the tattoo made sense. Clearly I'm a rebel in their eyes now. They became intrigued and asked many questions.
It’s a miracle that we got any work done. I was the entertainment of the day. The freak, you could say. They even thanked me for making them laugh and brightening up the office. A girl could get a big head from hearing this. Luckily, mine is at maximum capacity. On my way out, the Smiling Processor Lady hugged me and said, “I feel like we’ve made a new friend.” Awwww! So sweet. NOW, can I go home?
I went to my happiest of places on Saturday. The Nail Shop. Not only do they pamper me, but for only a fraction of the cost of a fancy salon. Super cheap but really great results. End of commercial.
I was sitting on the pedicure throne when I noticed that it was very likely that I was giving a full on crotch shot to the woman giving me the pedicure. I was wearing one of those jean skirts that have a slit up the front. My crotch was eye-level for her and I thought that I should cover it up. I placed my hands over the top of the skirt slit to reduce the chances of offending her.
When she noticed what I was doing she said that she couldn’t see anything and that it was okay. She went on to say that if it was early in the morning and she saw a vagina, that it would be bad luck. Ok, so she didn’t actually say vagina she just made and obscene gesture with her hands and made a devilish sound that came from her toenails and it sounded something like, HOOOOHHHH. I did the only thing that I could think of or that I was capable of doing faced with this sort of comedy. I laughed. Really hard. This seemed to feed her to keep talking about it. I think she is the comedian among the women there because she is constantly cracking everyone up.
She went on to say that she has a friend who owns a different nail shop. The friend called her this morning to say that she had no business. She was sure that it was because she had seen her daughters HOOOHHH this morning. That put me over the edge. I thought I would never recover.
I wonder if she was telling me the truth or just fucking with the “round eye.” Either way, that was some funny shit.
The other night I dreamt that Ian and I were getting dressed for the evening when Ian passed by me wearing a skirt. The rest of his outfit was completely normal. T-shirt and a pair of black Converse all-stars. The skirt was mid-calf length. The color was cream and the texture was sort of like canvas.
Me: Honey? What are you wearing?
Ian: The man-skirt.
Me: The what? You're kidding, right? You aren't really going to wear that. Are you?
Ian: (indignant) Of course I'm going to wear it. It's the new style. Everyone's wearing the new man-skirt.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry. It looks great.
The dream just ended right there. I told Ian about the dream and he thought it was the funniest thing he ever heard and insisted that I write about it. The man-skirt, what will I think of next. My dreams are turning into lost Seinfeld episodes.
Just in case you were wondering? No, not cool. If your hair starts at the crown of your head, no matter how long you grow the back, you will never look cool. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but you look foolish. So stop swaggering around and flipping your hair like Cher. Shave that shit.
Yours truly,
A concened citizen
Ok, now on to………………………..BORING DRIVEL:
Of course I must talk about American Idol. Yay, Kelly! I’m so happy that Justin didn’t win. I can’t even begin to tell you. But what was with the whole Up With People show they all put on? It was so so bad that it was good and then went right back to bad. All it did was displayed again how awful they all were compared to Tamyra (you was robbed, girl) and Kelly.
Apparently they are going on tour with this crap. I can see it now………an auditorium full of stupid Christian families. That’s totally what I picture. A big ‘ol Billy Graham crowd.
But my most favorite part of all was at the end during the Miss America group hug. They were all weeping and Kelly couldn’t finish the song and then Nikki tries to help her and the show finishes with the most sour of all sour notes. Thank you, Nikki. You made my night. I laughed and laughed. Priceless.
I've been in a computer class for the past two days. I have to learn a new payroll system for my job. All I can say about the other people in my class is "Oh the humanity!" How do these people hold down jobs? I am by no means computer savvy, and yet I was way ahead of the class the whole time. I kept thinking that these poor fools were never going to be able to go back to their jobs and accurately apply this new information. And this is a payroll system that we were learning. So the implications are enormous.
At one point a group of ladies were talking about me and I overheard.
Me: Are you guys talking about me?
Big boob lady: Oh yes, we were just saying that you are so fast. It must be your age and if you were our age, you wouldn't be able to get this so quickly.
Me: Oh, haha.
I was thinking, "I’m only a few years younger than you, big boob lady. Jeez, it's called common sense. If you need to tell yourself that it's because I'm young and you're old then more power to ya. But we all know it's because you're an idiot." There, I said it. I know it's cruel, but please. Like I said, I'm no computer geek. But I am an impatient arrogant fuck, apparently.
It's always good to go to training classes. You learn so much about yourself.
Last night I had many dreams, but one really stands out. First I have to give some background information of why the dream occurred.
Yesterday I was having lunch with a friend. She looked down at her slime-green chopsticks and said, “This is my favorite color! What’s your favorite color?” I said that red and hot pink were my favorite colors but that in high school, purple was my favorite color. Which reminded of a story.
When I was a senior in high school, I was on the tennis team. This was in Texas right smack in the center of the Bible Belt. A friend from my class asked me why I always wore purple. I said, “Because I love purple, it’s my favorite!” He said, “I sure wished I was purple.”
The dream is way shorter than the back story, but be patient.
So earlier in the day this same friend was putting on a wicked cute jacket with faux fur collar. There was a rip where a patch used to be. I was at the mall last night and saw some patches and I was considering buying a patch to give to her as a gift. They were all too ugly though.
So, in my dream I found a slime-green patch in the shape of a star with a hot pink design in the center. I couldn’t believe that I found a patch in the exact same color of the chopsticks. How strange. So I bought the patch to give to my friend to cover the hole on her jacket. Then I thought that I could give it to her the next time we play tennis. That’s it. Told you it was a short dream. I forgot to mention that is was a boring dream. Sorry.
All I want to do is go to Kauai, Hawaii for Christmas and stay here!! Ian and I only have one week off work during Christmas. The rental companies will only book a minimum of two weeks. We could stay one week and pay them for two weeks. What a load of crap! Who's stupid enough to fall for that one? They take your money for two weeks and still put someone in there for the week you paid for but aren't there and take their money. And perhaps they are only there one week too and so on and so on. I guess if you're rich you can do this, but we are poor. We just really really really want to go to paradise for Christmas.
Maybe I should go on Ebay. Or Craigslist. I WILL make this happen. Don't tell *me* no. It only strengthens my resolve.
I received a wonderful email from my Tiny Friends Mom. I wrote about him here. I had to share this because it is so wonderful and funny. Below, with the permission of TF's Mom, I have copied the email in it's entirety. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. I've always wanted to say that. I'm so pleased with myself. Anyway here you go…………
*******
Scary story addendum:
The real estate agent who's selling the house we're currently living in called the other day to announce that she and the new buyers and the inspector were coming through the house to do an inspection on Tuesday afternoon at 2:30 p.m. I was kind of bummed because that's when Tiny Friend and his playmate take their naps, and didn't want them disturbed, but there was nothing I could do about it. I knew the inspector would have to be digging deep into the room where Tiny Friend usually sleeps because that's where the attic is, and they always check that. I was worried Tiny Friend might wake up and see all these strangers in the room and get freaked out. He has his routine, so sadly, there wasn't really any other room he could sleep in.
So, in the post-Tracy-scary-dream era, I had to explain to Tiny Friend that some people were going to be coming by while he was sleeping and that they would be wandering through his room. I didn't realize, until mid-conversation, just how bad an idea that was.
TF's Mom: Tiny Friend, when you're taking your nap tomorrow, some people are going to be coming by, and they might be walking through your room. I just wanted to let you know in case you wake up and they surprise you.
Tiny Friend: People are going to be walking through my room? Are they the same people that go to Tracy's room?
TF's Mom: No, they're just going to be doing an inspection of the house.
Tiny Friend: Why are people going to be standing in my room?
TF's Mom: They're not going to be standing in your room, they're just going to check the closet and leave.
Tiny Friend: They can't be the same as Tracy's people because they only come on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
TF's Mom: You're right, and it's Tuesday, so they're just going to do a quick inspection and leave. You don't have to worry about it...
Tiny Friend: Why are people going to be in my room while I'm sleeping?
And it went on like this for 15 minutes until I decided people would *not* be walking through his room while he was sleeping... and in fact, they didn't have to. We got him to take his nap earlier.
And, of course, it was a Tuesday, so they couldn't be all *that* scary!
*******
What a wonderful tale. I laughed till I cried. I hope you did too.
Thirty four years ago today, was the first day of Ians’ life on this earth. He was icky and gooey and just a big mess. Well, he’s cleaned up real good.
Sixteen years ago I met my best friend. Fifteen years ago, we became more than friends (wink). Twelve years ago I married my best friend. He remains my best friend, the funniest person I know, the smartest person I know, and my favorite person in the world.
On this special day, I would just like to wish you a very very happy birthday. I love you more than I or anyone could measure. You rock my world. Happy Happy Birthday, Ian. You are the love of my life.
Last night I dreamt that I was in a huge warehouse. The floor, walls, and ceiling were bright white. The room was wall-to-wall people. Suddenly everyone in the room started to dance. It was an arranged dance. I believe they were square dancing or swing dancing.
I was enjoying watching from the sidelines when I noticed that Ian was out there dancing. In real life Ian does NOT dance. He hates it. But he was the best one in the dream. He came over to me all excited. He explained how he had been secretly taking lessons to surprise me. He grabbed my arm and whisked me off my feet and onto the dance floor. We danced and laughed.
What a funny dream. It could happen. Not bloody likely.
Whoa, what happened to the singers on American Idol? Are they just tired? Is it going to get worse every week?
Last night Nikki was so bad. It was as if she had never sung before. She used to be good, right? Ian said she looked haggard, and I have to agree with him.
Justin gets more and more unbearable every week. What the hell was he doing with that Michael Jackson song last night? The boy can NOT dance. I was embarrassed for him. It was worse than Shania Twains’ legs far apart stance that she does during every song. I like to call it her twat shot. “Hey fans, look at my vagina!” But with Justin, he would move around a bit and then inexplicably plop into a plié in second position. Each time he did it, I gasped in horror. And he couldn’t even come close to singing that song. To quote Simon, “If he wins then they have failed.”
So Kelly and Tamyra are the only ones left with any talent. Ian has predicted that Justin will win. And sadly, he is probably correct. Damn it all to hell!
It’s so fun to criticize people who have more talent in their little finger than I will EVER have. Ah, self-righteous indignation. I love you too also.
No sleep = No blog. posted by The Closet Shopper at 4:30 PM
Monday, August 19, 2002
So, episode one of the Anna-Nicole show was truly magical. The next two have sucked. It is just too hard to watch her berate her lawyer/house maid/best friend and her devoted purple haired assistant. Oldham, You Suck!!!
Ian and I were watching Invader Zim on Nickelodeon Sunday morning. Really wacky and funny and sometimes scary cartoon. It was the commercials that were freaking me out. No wonder there’s a weight problem in this country. The crazy foods that were advertised for our youth boggle the mind.
1. X-treme Jell-O gel-sticks Jell-O in a tube. Wtf???? For faster consumption? Why-O why put Jell-O in a tube?
2. Dannon Sprinkl'ins. In the commercial, it didn’t even say what type of food it was. Whether it was yogurt or ice cream or pudding or what. Just that it was a surprise what would be inside to mix with the yogurt or ice cream or mystery substance inside the little snack cup. It might be sprinkles or a swirly color. Random, I tell you. Random.
I think my real problem with these nasty snack foods is that if I were a kid today my parents wouldn’t have any of these fun foods in our house. Not because they’re health conscious, but because we were poor. Then I would lust after all of my friend’s fun snack foods. So really, I’m just jealous. If you have children, buy them these disgusting snacks so that they don’t have to steal them from the store. Thank you.
Today is the 25th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. I have a vivid memory of that day.
I was 13 years old. Our family was in Texas visiting my Mothers' parents. My grandparents. I was wearing a short sleeved Rugby shirt with yellow and blue stripes. We were watching TV. A breaking news story flashed on the screen. Elvis Presley died today. My mother fell onto the couch and sobbed.
My Mom was a big Elvis fan. Not the kind that gets tattoos of him and spends every dollar they have on memorabilia. She just silently loved him deeply. Silently until this day, 25 years ago, when she wailed loudly and was inconsolable. On that day my Mother became more than a one-dimensional person to me. She had a deep secret love for Elvis Presley and she was in pain. I watched in horror but also with a new found respect for the woman that until then only cooked and cleaned and took care of us. But now she was a woman of passion and sadness.
Great news! My bestest friend at work, Kris, got another job here on campus. YAY!! Now we don't have to say goodbye. I will still be able to see her. Sadly, for me, not as often. But for her, perhaps, a break from my incessant chatter.
So, Kris and I go to lunch today. Neither one of us were very hungry because we ate many mini baguettes and Swiss cheese during our staff meeting. We settled on Jamba Juice, or as Kris says, "Squishy fruit." I was behind Kris in line and I over heard her telling the girl behind the counter her name. She said, "Dallas, like the city." I was thinking how freakn' cool it was that she gave a fake name and I started to rack my brain for a clever fake name. I only had seconds to think of a name. The pressure was on. Mind you, I didn't break a sweat or let on that I was even thinking about this. Later Kris told me that she was dying with anticipation, hoping that I was going to use a fake name. Praying that I would. So, it was gratifying for Kris and totally intoxicating for me when I blurted out:
Me: Charisma
Kris: Like the city?
Me: Yes, like the city.
Me and Kris: Walk away from the counter. Look at each other with mutual glee and admiration.
The best part was when they called out our drinks, “Orange Smoothie….Dallas?” and “Protein Pizazz………..Charisma?”
Good times. And now, they will never end. Uno, Due, Giovanni.
I did it! I won my first auction on Ebay! Look at my beautiful Betsey Johnson dress!
Do you love it? I am officially addicted. posted by The Closet Shopper at 11:44 AM
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Addendum to yesterdays entry:
I have to tell you more of my fun conversations with our friends' 3 1/2 year-old son. The Tiny Friend that I talked about yesterday.
I saw him a couple of weeks ago when his favorite word to sound smart was "actually." He would put it before almost every sentence. So cute. But also, so smart. He is fascinated with dinosaurs and knows each and every name and all their characteristics. When asked if he was going to grow up to be a dinosaur doctor, he said, "Actually, I'm going to be a paleontologist." See? Wicked smart.
On Saturday his new favorite thing to say to sound smart was, "Do you know what's interesting?" We all took a late night walk through the neighborhood. I was holding my Tiny Friend's hand and we were falling behind the group. He was talking non-stop. I just love listening to him.
TF: Tracy, do you know what's interesting?
Me: What's interesting?
TF: I really like girls.
Me: Who wouldn't? We're made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Just like the Powerpuff Girls.
TF: You know that's not real, right? They're make believe. Just cartoons.
Amazing. Next thing you know we're gonna find out that there isn't a Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus is really your parents.
Saturday night we had two friends and their 3 1/2 year-old son over for dinner. This kid is a genius. He has an advanced brain, I tell ya. Both parents are wicked smart and they feed him knowledge by the spoons full. His new thing is that he loves to hear scary stories. He doesn't become frightened, just intrigued.
After dinner and dessert, we settled into the comfy cushiony chairs and couch in the living room. Our very tiny friend proceeds to go around the room asking a simple question, "(Name of person he's addressing), what scares you?" The stories were pretty scary but he wasn't phased. Then he got to me. "Tracy, what scares *you*?" I start to tell him of my recurring nightmare. I am asleep but it seems like I'm awake. There are people standing around in my room. Sometimes they try to touch me, but mostly they just stand over me and stare. I have to make myself scream to wake up.
Well, he was very curious about these people that hang out in my room. He began to ask many questions:
Tiny Friend: What are these people doing in your room?
Me: They just stand there. It isn't real. When I wake up, no one is there.
TF: Why do they try to touch you?
Me: I don't know.
TF: Where do they try to touch you?
Me: They usually try to touch my arm.
TF: Why are they in your room?
Me: I don't know.
TF's Mom: You see dead people.
Me: I KNOW!
TF: Why are they dead?
Me: Oh my. Next!
TF: Do they come every night?
Ian: They only come on Wednesday and Saturday. (He totally made that up.)
TF: So they are coming tonight. Are you afraid?
Me: (quiver in my voice.) No. Can we talk about someone else now?
Everyone except TF try to change the subject.
TF: Do you want me to stay here tonight and tell them to go away?
TF: When they come, what will they do?
The end result was that I couldn't sleep Saturday night. I was terrified. I'm sure our Tiny Friend slept without a problem. It was really funny at the time. It's just that I got to thinkn' and then my mind scared me. I hate it when my mind scares me and tells me that the evil standing in my room people are going to come and try to touch my arm or just stand there and stare at me.
I watched the Anna Nicole Smith Show on E! for the third time last night. Ian was watching it for the first time, so I enjoyed watching his astonishment and confusion. Much like what I went through watching this train wreck the first time.
She is sooooooo on drugs, right? I mean, she is, right? No one could possibly act like that without many narcotics in their blood stream. She was in a walking stupor the whole time. She can barely move her mouth to speak. And then when she speaks......Good Lord......what the hell is she saying? I'll tell you what. Stuff like, "Who's killing the Jews?" and about the suicide bombers, "Why would they do that, didn't they think it was gonna hurt?"
Her phone conversation with her kid when she asks him what he ordered for dinner is priceless. He says pizza and she says, "Pig snot!" He repeats the word pizza and then she gets it. But she didn't laugh or question that she heard him say Pig Snot. And her kid has to order his dinner? Where is the staff to cook for this kid? And how mortified is he that his mother is this HUGE mentally challenged sexpot?
Look, the bottom line is that I will be watching this till the bitter end. I'm not ashamed of that. This is pure comedy. AND, it makes me feel better about myself. Shallow? Yes. But holy shit, people. This is good television.
On the "Hey, you look like (fill in the blank with any red head on TV)" front. Yesterday I was getting a burrito and the guy behind the counter says, "Hey you look like that chick Nikki from American Idol." Now I'm being compared to the *almost* but not quite and maybe not ever famous? Jeez. I was stunned. And again, I look NOTHING like this girl except that I am white and have red hair. I think I forgot to mention the Julianne Moore comparison. I get that a lot. I personally think she is ugly, so I don't care for this comparison.
To recap:
A. Watch the Anna Nicole Smith Show and laugh your ass off or look away in horror.
2. I look like the not yet or maybe never famous Nikki McKibbin. The chick from American Idol. posted by The Closet Shopper at 11:16 AM
Thursday, August 08, 2002
I'm back. (Say this in the eerie Poltergeist way.)
So, I'm in the main office filling my water bottle and a gentleman walks in and says with a thick german accent, "I am looking for Tracy Miller."
Me: (Happy and energetic.) I'm Tracy Miller.
German guy: I am here to check in with you.
Me: And your name?
German guy: Peter Shneeter. We've been emailing. You helped me with my J-1 Visa.
Me: (Leaning forward as if I didn't hear this.) I'm sorry, what?
German guy: (louder) Peter Shneeter.........
Me: OH, I've been pronouncing it Peter Schnyder. You threw me.
Both of us: Laugh laugh.
I look over at Kris and she looks like she is about to explode with laughter. Later Kris emailed me. This is what it said:
peter schneeter!
BWAH HA HA HA!
I am really going to miss Kris. She makes my days so much happier. DON'T LEAVE!!!! Too desperate? Ok, then just don't forget to write.
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
