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.
Thursday, October 31, 2002
