I remembered the taste of an icicle, out of the blue, I remembered the taste . . . like the smell of cold on the wind . . . I haven’t tasted it; I haven’t smelled it for such a long time. Icicles and cold- cold cold enough to smell, they don’t come to this area often. And if they do, it’s hard to trust a city icicle . . .besides they are never big enough around here. And the smell, it was even so rare in the north. I don’t remember when I last smelled that smell, and I thought I had forgotten.
But it came to me in the middle of the day, in a tall building, under florescent lights. I was washing my hands and I tasted it . . . the very icicle that my brother and I broke of the eves of my grandparents’ house. The one that was nearly as big as I was. The one next to the one that fell when we were jiggling it. It fell and ripped my coat, a parka with a faux fur hood lining. It seems like a dream now.
Oh, I hated the snow and the ice, but I had to go out side for so many reasons. And I liked the creaks and cracks that the new, thin ice made when I walked across it. I liked the squeak of the coldest snow under my boots, and the collection on my soles that gained me up to three inches in the sticky snow. And I would watch the bubbles move under the ice before it was solid. And I liked to walk on the crusted over snow seeing how long I could stay on the surface then hearing the breaking glass sounds when I fell through. And I liked to look at a clean white expanse, and to walk across that expanse, my foot prints alone evidencing that I was the only person who had ever walked that space.
I liked those things, I haven’t thought of them for a long, long time. Or thought of the frost that painted its self across the window pane, and I would wipe it away, and I would lend it my breath, hot on cold, creating new intricate patterns unique and beautiful, and I would scratch them off again with my fingernail so I could see what the new snow again.
November 22, 2003: 78 degrees, Arlington, TX.
Saturday, November 22, 2003
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
I heard a song today that made me smile. It was called, and I will quote, "What Would Willie Do?" "Willie loves all people, Willie loves all races, he even made a hit country song with Julio Iglasis, and that's not easy" It was a tribute song of all the greatness of Willie Nelson. It told of his adventures and misadventures, about the time his wife, whom he beat when he was drunk, how she one day had had enough so when he passed out, she sewed him up in a sheet and beat him with a broom stick. It talked about how he handled it when the IRS took all his stuff, his house, his golf course, all his cars. All he had left in the world was his tour bus, his four semis full of equipment and his crew of 40 people. But he bounced right back.
Indeed, Willie is an icon.
Another thing that made me smile today was the Asian man I saw crossing the road. I don't always smile at Asian men crossing the road, but this one was wearing high water pants that would have kept him dry for day in the time of Noah's flood. He had on white socks and black shoes. Very cute.
Just before that I had been sitting at a stop light listening to CCR when I suddenly realized that I was way into a shoulder dance. Blessed are the tinted windows.
Indeed, Willie is an icon.
Another thing that made me smile today was the Asian man I saw crossing the road. I don't always smile at Asian men crossing the road, but this one was wearing high water pants that would have kept him dry for day in the time of Noah's flood. He had on white socks and black shoes. Very cute.
Just before that I had been sitting at a stop light listening to CCR when I suddenly realized that I was way into a shoulder dance. Blessed are the tinted windows.
Sunday, October 19, 2003
I had a Morman Jesus sighting. I was at 1/2 price books. I walked into the Christian section and there was this guy talking to this woman. He was holding a paper and explaining some point of theology to her. She kind of sounded like she didn't really want to know, but was indulging a stranger. I didn't pay much attention to them as I was hunting a book. But when I turned around and looked at them, the guy was Morman Jesus! He has shoulder length wavy blond hair, a full beard and blue eyes. He was shorter than I had imagined Morman Jesus. All the same, I felt like following him when he walked away, just to see where he was going. Maybe that was how James and John felt too.
maybe why I'm skeptical:
I was the youngest grandchild. That left me open to being picked on by not just my older brothers, buy by my cousins too. One time when I was a little kid, maybe 5, they showed me a piece of candy and said, "This is a pill."
I said, "No it' isn't." It looked like candy to me.
They insisted it was a pill and I had to take it. They said "Don't bite it, swollow it with water."
They gave it to me, I put it in my mouth and bit it. Just as I had suspected, a red hot.
I said, "It's candy."
They said, "It's a pill, now swallow it this time." And they gave me another one.
I bit it, and said, "It's candy."
They said, "NO! it's a pill! SWALLOW it!" and they gave me another one.
Now, even at the tender age of 5 I knew that this was a game all to my advantage: I figured if I went along with the story and swollowed the "pill", they would probably stop giving me candy, but if my skepticism remained, I could probably get all the candy I wanted.
I've been feeling pretty skeptical lately, where's my candy?
I was the youngest grandchild. That left me open to being picked on by not just my older brothers, buy by my cousins too. One time when I was a little kid, maybe 5, they showed me a piece of candy and said, "This is a pill."
I said, "No it' isn't." It looked like candy to me.
They insisted it was a pill and I had to take it. They said "Don't bite it, swollow it with water."
They gave it to me, I put it in my mouth and bit it. Just as I had suspected, a red hot.
I said, "It's candy."
They said, "It's a pill, now swallow it this time." And they gave me another one.
I bit it, and said, "It's candy."
They said, "NO! it's a pill! SWALLOW it!" and they gave me another one.
Now, even at the tender age of 5 I knew that this was a game all to my advantage: I figured if I went along with the story and swollowed the "pill", they would probably stop giving me candy, but if my skepticism remained, I could probably get all the candy I wanted.
I've been feeling pretty skeptical lately, where's my candy?
Saturday, October 11, 2003
I dreamed of French Creek last night. A smallish river that runs through the town I grew up in, French Creek was locally famed because George Washington (so the story goes) threw a silver dollar into it. I don't think I ever knew why he threw it in.
I think I'll try to find out.
He probably did a lot of things in and around French Creek. He probably crossed it several times, (but the Delaware gets all the glory for that.) I expect he peed in it too (French Creek and the Delaware) but nobody really wants to talk about where the first President of the United States of America urinated.
I digress, but I think I will continueto digress: I never went swimming in French Creek myself, (although it is possible that President Washington did.) My brother and I would go down to the river sometimes, throw rocks and sticks, spit off the bridge, look for turtles on the banks, but we never got in, due to a healthy fear of the undercurrents instilled in us by our grandmother.
When my grandmother was a child, she and her little brother used to go swimming in French Creek. One day when he was about 10 and she was about 12, they were swimming. She said the last time she saw him he was laying on one of the cement support structures of the bridge. The next time she looked, he was gone. His body was found the next day. No one can say what happened. He was a strong swimmer. Maybe he hit his head, maybe he passed out, maybe he was sucked down by the under current. My brother and I never went swimming in French Creek.
My dream . . . I was standing near the bank when I decided to fly over the river (because you can do that in a dream) to get a better look. I was using some sort of small hang -gliding contraption. While I was over the river I notice how low the water was. I thought to myself that I had never seen the river so low, but I knew that it was still dangerous to get into the water.
As I was coming back across the river in my hang glider, I looked down and saw a large piece of debris floating down the center. It was shaped like a Star of David. I was wondering what it could be from when I lost control of my glider and plunged into the water. I was afraid, but I grabbed hold of the Star of David and I knew I would be okay until I could get out of the water.
So . . . should I become a Jew?
Should I avoid hang gliders?
Should I learn the history of French Creek?
I don't know.
I do know this: French Creek joins the Allegheny River in Franklin, PA . The Allegheny River joins the Monogahala River to form the Ohio River in Pittsburgh, PA. The Ohio River joins the Mississippi River in Cairo, IL. The Mississippi River empties into the Gulf of Mexico in New Orleans, LA.
Thank you Mrs. Zeigler 7th grade geography.
I think I'll try to find out.
He probably did a lot of things in and around French Creek. He probably crossed it several times, (but the Delaware gets all the glory for that.) I expect he peed in it too (French Creek and the Delaware) but nobody really wants to talk about where the first President of the United States of America urinated.
I digress, but I think I will continueto digress: I never went swimming in French Creek myself, (although it is possible that President Washington did.) My brother and I would go down to the river sometimes, throw rocks and sticks, spit off the bridge, look for turtles on the banks, but we never got in, due to a healthy fear of the undercurrents instilled in us by our grandmother.
When my grandmother was a child, she and her little brother used to go swimming in French Creek. One day when he was about 10 and she was about 12, they were swimming. She said the last time she saw him he was laying on one of the cement support structures of the bridge. The next time she looked, he was gone. His body was found the next day. No one can say what happened. He was a strong swimmer. Maybe he hit his head, maybe he passed out, maybe he was sucked down by the under current. My brother and I never went swimming in French Creek.
My dream . . . I was standing near the bank when I decided to fly over the river (because you can do that in a dream) to get a better look. I was using some sort of small hang -gliding contraption. While I was over the river I notice how low the water was. I thought to myself that I had never seen the river so low, but I knew that it was still dangerous to get into the water.
As I was coming back across the river in my hang glider, I looked down and saw a large piece of debris floating down the center. It was shaped like a Star of David. I was wondering what it could be from when I lost control of my glider and plunged into the water. I was afraid, but I grabbed hold of the Star of David and I knew I would be okay until I could get out of the water.
So . . . should I become a Jew?
Should I avoid hang gliders?
Should I learn the history of French Creek?
I don't know.
I do know this: French Creek joins the Allegheny River in Franklin, PA . The Allegheny River joins the Monogahala River to form the Ohio River in Pittsburgh, PA. The Ohio River joins the Mississippi River in Cairo, IL. The Mississippi River empties into the Gulf of Mexico in New Orleans, LA.
Thank you Mrs. Zeigler 7th grade geography.
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
9. Apply it correctly. Surratt advises this method: Line and fill in lips with liner. Apply lipstick from the tube or using a lip brush (which eases color into tiny lip lines) over the liner. Blot once with a tissue, and lightly dust with face powder. Apply one more coat of lipstick, and you're set.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
I went to inform the leasing office of my aptartment complex that there was a crack in my tub. My room mate had pointed it out, I would have never seen it.
The leasing agent wrote "Tub cra" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crac" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crak" and for a third time scratched it out. She wrote "Tub cr." She asked me, "How long has it been cracked?" I said I didn't know.
She gave me a look like I was the biggest idiot on the planet.
I'm thinking a woman who doesn't know how to spell "cracked" has no right to give such looks. I told her I wear glasses, but I take them off to shower so I can't see the crack, my room mate mentioned it to me.
She laughed at me as an adult might laugh at a child who is telling a story with too many details and said, "that doesn't matter."
I wanted to flick her forhead.
She asked me what my apartment number was. I was thinking I'd help her out by making it very simple. I said, "Four Zero Two."
She began to write as she spoke, "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said, "Zero Two, Four Zero Two. FOUR ZERO TWO!"
She looked at me and asked with raising intonation "Oh two? four-oh-two?"
I said "Yes, four-oh-two." I guess that whole zero bit threw her off. I should have known when she couldn't spell cracked.
They must try hard to find the biggest dummies alive for that job. The first leasing agent I talked to wanted to be sure I made at least "ten hundred" dollars a month before I moved in.
The leasing agent wrote "Tub cra" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crac" and scratched it out. She wrote "Tub crak" and for a third time scratched it out. She wrote "Tub cr." She asked me, "How long has it been cracked?" I said I didn't know.
She gave me a look like I was the biggest idiot on the planet.
I'm thinking a woman who doesn't know how to spell "cracked" has no right to give such looks. I told her I wear glasses, but I take them off to shower so I can't see the crack, my room mate mentioned it to me.
She laughed at me as an adult might laugh at a child who is telling a story with too many details and said, "that doesn't matter."
I wanted to flick her forhead.
She asked me what my apartment number was. I was thinking I'd help her out by making it very simple. I said, "Four Zero Two."
She began to write as she spoke, "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said "Zero Two."
She said "4 . . . "
I said, "Zero Two, Four Zero Two. FOUR ZERO TWO!"
She looked at me and asked with raising intonation "Oh two? four-oh-two?"
I said "Yes, four-oh-two." I guess that whole zero bit threw her off. I should have known when she couldn't spell cracked.
They must try hard to find the biggest dummies alive for that job. The first leasing agent I talked to wanted to be sure I made at least "ten hundred" dollars a month before I moved in.
Monday, September 22, 2003
I don't know which one I like more, "Love, love the Jews" to the tune of "Love, Love me Do," or "Baa, Baa We're Lambs" to the tune of "Bar-Barbara Ann." I got a tape from my friend of Christian parodies of popular secular songs . . . I can only hope they were intended to be funny, because that they are.
The degeneration of a conversation:
Flossie and I were admiring our new "associate appriciation" t-shirts and I tried to say that I was going to alter mine, but the words got jumbled up and some strange made up lanugage came out instead. She matched my made up language with her made up language, and I responded in an Asian sounding made up langauge and a bow. She said, "It looks like you're praying to your t-shirt." At which time she got down on her knees and began to worship my t-shirt.
The I thought, "Good Lord! This conversation was so normal less than a minute ago! How does this happen?!" It's not like it was an isolated incidence either. This is why people ask if we've been huffing gas from the lab.
Flossie and I were admiring our new "associate appriciation" t-shirts and I tried to say that I was going to alter mine, but the words got jumbled up and some strange made up lanugage came out instead. She matched my made up language with her made up language, and I responded in an Asian sounding made up langauge and a bow. She said, "It looks like you're praying to your t-shirt." At which time she got down on her knees and began to worship my t-shirt.
The I thought, "Good Lord! This conversation was so normal less than a minute ago! How does this happen?!" It's not like it was an isolated incidence either. This is why people ask if we've been huffing gas from the lab.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
I bought a dvd player. When I turned it on for the firs time it said, "WAIT . . . LORD"
Well, that caught me off guard. I wasn't sure how I felt about my new audio visiual equipment addressing me as "LORD" when I realized that it had really said "LOAD."
Which makes me wonder 1. why I can't read and 2. why I often assume the oddest things when I misunderstand a word or situation.
One time I was riding with my friend when I saw a sign that said, "10% DISC NT" So I said, "Hey did you see that? It said 10% disco night!" (It was a Ci Ci's pizza place) "What does it mean? Is it 10% off if you dress like a disco person? or do they play disco music and you get 10% off?"
My friend looked at me and said, "Are you kidding? That says '10% DISCOUNT' the "U" fell out!"
Oh. I still thought Disco night would be more fun.
Not only can I not read, I can't speak either! The other day I was making fun of my co-worker for saying "elbow tennis" in stead of tennis elbow and I was all. "Oh no, I have tellbow ennis! . . . ah wait . . . I mean elbow tennis . . . I mean tennis elbow . . . dang it!"
Those brain cells are going fast.
Well, that caught me off guard. I wasn't sure how I felt about my new audio visiual equipment addressing me as "LORD" when I realized that it had really said "LOAD."
Which makes me wonder 1. why I can't read and 2. why I often assume the oddest things when I misunderstand a word or situation.
One time I was riding with my friend when I saw a sign that said, "10% DISC NT" So I said, "Hey did you see that? It said 10% disco night!" (It was a Ci Ci's pizza place) "What does it mean? Is it 10% off if you dress like a disco person? or do they play disco music and you get 10% off?"
My friend looked at me and said, "Are you kidding? That says '10% DISCOUNT' the "U" fell out!"
Oh. I still thought Disco night would be more fun.
Not only can I not read, I can't speak either! The other day I was making fun of my co-worker for saying "elbow tennis" in stead of tennis elbow and I was all. "Oh no, I have tellbow ennis! . . . ah wait . . . I mean elbow tennis . . . I mean tennis elbow . . . dang it!"
Those brain cells are going fast.
http://msn.match.com/msn/article.aspx?articleid=1274&trackingid=516311&bannerid=542128
What is your flirting style quiz:
my score: Your flirting form is like that perfect martini — a great balance of style and smoothness. Your twist? Your natural curiosity about people leaves them feeling like they made a real connection. How's that for a perfect 10?
See, even the non social type can do it right if we really try!
What is your flirting style quiz:
my score: Your flirting form is like that perfect martini — a great balance of style and smoothness. Your twist? Your natural curiosity about people leaves them feeling like they made a real connection. How's that for a perfect 10?
See, even the non social type can do it right if we really try!
Thursday, September 18, 2003
I went to get my hair cut on my birthday. I hadn’t had it done in a while, because well, I hate paying to get it cut. I mean, it’s not like I have a “do” so I don’t have to worry about it growing out. My general pattern is to get it cut to my shoulders and let it grow for a few years. When it’s too heavy, and it gives me a head ache, I get it cut again.
So off to the Vietnamase school of cosmetology I go, for an experience and a $5.00 hair cut.
I walk in, and immediately get the sensation of being foreign. I’ve entered a strange new land. I am the only white person in the room and a foot taller than anyone in the salon.
I am greated: “Hello! You wan’ hair cut?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You sign paper.”
The paper is to remind me that I am getting my hair cut at a reduced rate because it will be done by an advanced student of cosmetology. The school is not responsible for my satisfaction.
Fine, I live on the edge, I sign the paper.
Then I am asked, “How you wan’ hair?”
“I want three inches off the back, long layers in the front, and bangs.”
“Ah, okay, okay, no problem, you follow her to shampoo room.”
So I picked up my purse and when I turned to “follow her.” I couldn’t tell which one she was! Dash it! They are all small Asian women with black hair! So I wandered around until I found a room with a very large black man sitting on a very small chair. He was getting a pedicure. It seemed Alice-in-Wonderlandishly out of place. I said, “I’m looking for the shampoo room.” I was told to come in.
While my hair was shampooed I was told several times “How Fine, how good,” my hair was. “Your hair very fine! So much! Very nice!” I figured by “Fine” she meant “good,” and by good she probably meant full or healthy or thick, or some adjective that goes with “nice” for hair, but I suppressed the English teacher inside of me and didn’t correct her with a lesson on what “fine” means in connection with hair.
So my little Vietnamese student of cosmetology started cutting my hair. I could tell she was a little nervous, I think she even measured my hair to be sure she got three inches exactly. She was a little shaky and she asked, “You in hurry?” “No? Okay, I go slow, be very careful.”
So, an hour and a half later, after several consultations with other students and teachers, after every student there gathered around what turned out to be that day’s lesson plan (me and my long layers) the teacher/owner of the school finished off my $5.00 hair cut with a razor comb and a flourish. There was applause and someone spoke from the crowd to announce “He is a master with scissors!”
I half expected the scene to go hazy and an ancient blind master to appear saying, “Grasshopper, you must not let the scissors master you--- you must be the master--- of the scissors!”
So off to the Vietnamase school of cosmetology I go, for an experience and a $5.00 hair cut.
I walk in, and immediately get the sensation of being foreign. I’ve entered a strange new land. I am the only white person in the room and a foot taller than anyone in the salon.
I am greated: “Hello! You wan’ hair cut?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You sign paper.”
The paper is to remind me that I am getting my hair cut at a reduced rate because it will be done by an advanced student of cosmetology. The school is not responsible for my satisfaction.
Fine, I live on the edge, I sign the paper.
Then I am asked, “How you wan’ hair?”
“I want three inches off the back, long layers in the front, and bangs.”
“Ah, okay, okay, no problem, you follow her to shampoo room.”
So I picked up my purse and when I turned to “follow her.” I couldn’t tell which one she was! Dash it! They are all small Asian women with black hair! So I wandered around until I found a room with a very large black man sitting on a very small chair. He was getting a pedicure. It seemed Alice-in-Wonderlandishly out of place. I said, “I’m looking for the shampoo room.” I was told to come in.
While my hair was shampooed I was told several times “How Fine, how good,” my hair was. “Your hair very fine! So much! Very nice!” I figured by “Fine” she meant “good,” and by good she probably meant full or healthy or thick, or some adjective that goes with “nice” for hair, but I suppressed the English teacher inside of me and didn’t correct her with a lesson on what “fine” means in connection with hair.
So my little Vietnamese student of cosmetology started cutting my hair. I could tell she was a little nervous, I think she even measured my hair to be sure she got three inches exactly. She was a little shaky and she asked, “You in hurry?” “No? Okay, I go slow, be very careful.”
So, an hour and a half later, after several consultations with other students and teachers, after every student there gathered around what turned out to be that day’s lesson plan (me and my long layers) the teacher/owner of the school finished off my $5.00 hair cut with a razor comb and a flourish. There was applause and someone spoke from the crowd to announce “He is a master with scissors!”
I half expected the scene to go hazy and an ancient blind master to appear saying, “Grasshopper, you must not let the scissors master you--- you must be the master--- of the scissors!”
The paomnnehil pweor of the hmuan mnid.
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht
the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total
mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the
huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a
wlohe.
Amzanig huh?
Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in
waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht
the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total
mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the
huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a
wlohe.
Amzanig huh?
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
It's good to be a ledgend somewhere, to be that person someone's mother says "why can't you be more like . . . ." about. Yes, someday when I've disappeared without a forwarding address, you'll be sitting around saying, "Yes, I know Shannon would do that." (or would never do that which you will have done) "I wonder what she's doing now . . . she's probably in Mongolia, acting as the saviour to a goat set for sacrifice, a goat long ago spray painted pink and decorated with tinsle in anticiplation of a feast."
Yes, and most likely that will be exactly what I'll be doing.
Yes, and most likely that will be exactly what I'll be doing.
Friday, August 15, 2003
I was listening to the oldies station at work the other day, “Sugar-Pie, Honey-Bunch- you know I love you . . .” “My brown eyed girl . . .” “Join us for Oldies Fest with Earth Wind and Fire . . . “
“Saudi Arabia is a modern nation which as always enjoyed good relations with the United States. . .”
Uh – Wait, are they really talking about Saudi?! I halt my work to listen to what they are saying, it sounds like someone is reading an Encyclopedia Britannica entry about Saudi.
“Saudi is a country rich in resources and hospitality. The Saudi people are family oriented and have a strong faith network..”
I don’t understand why the oldies station finds it important to give me this information in the middle of the afternoon. I’m boggled.
“In Saudi, we have a very good education system, and the most modern medical facilities.”
“This message was brought you to by the people of Saudi Arabia.”
Wow. I’m not sure what to think.
They totally just played a “Love me, love me—I’m a good Saudi” commercial on the oldies station. Has it really come to that? Do we have “Love me, love me” commercials in Saudi?
What would they say?
“Here in America, we aren’t as bad as you think. We aren’t all slut-whores and perverts. We aren’t all welfare-crack head-unwed mothers hoping to get enough money together for another abortion. No, some of us are church people who wouldn’t touch a dirty whore in need with a ten foot pole. (We’re sure that’s what Jesus would do, or more to the point Wouldn’t do.) We are a prosperous nation, everyone likes us, because if the don’t like us, we beat them up and take away our toys and leave, until we can find another reason to come back and beat them up again. We’re good people and pretty too, I mean look at Hollywood, it’s fabulous. They aren’t all Jews you know. Some of them are New Agers for sure. Sure, our education system is going down the crapper, and we can’t even keep the lights on in New York City, but that doesn’t matter because WE’RE THE BEST!”
“Saudi Arabia is a modern nation which as always enjoyed good relations with the United States. . .”
Uh – Wait, are they really talking about Saudi?! I halt my work to listen to what they are saying, it sounds like someone is reading an Encyclopedia Britannica entry about Saudi.
“Saudi is a country rich in resources and hospitality. The Saudi people are family oriented and have a strong faith network..”
I don’t understand why the oldies station finds it important to give me this information in the middle of the afternoon. I’m boggled.
“In Saudi, we have a very good education system, and the most modern medical facilities.”
“This message was brought you to by the people of Saudi Arabia.”
Wow. I’m not sure what to think.
They totally just played a “Love me, love me—I’m a good Saudi” commercial on the oldies station. Has it really come to that? Do we have “Love me, love me” commercials in Saudi?
What would they say?
“Here in America, we aren’t as bad as you think. We aren’t all slut-whores and perverts. We aren’t all welfare-crack head-unwed mothers hoping to get enough money together for another abortion. No, some of us are church people who wouldn’t touch a dirty whore in need with a ten foot pole. (We’re sure that’s what Jesus would do, or more to the point Wouldn’t do.) We are a prosperous nation, everyone likes us, because if the don’t like us, we beat them up and take away our toys and leave, until we can find another reason to come back and beat them up again. We’re good people and pretty too, I mean look at Hollywood, it’s fabulous. They aren’t all Jews you know. Some of them are New Agers for sure. Sure, our education system is going down the crapper, and we can’t even keep the lights on in New York City, but that doesn’t matter because WE’RE THE BEST!”
Thursday, August 14, 2003
The other night Daniel was talking to his mother on the phone obviously trying to get her off the phone "No Mother, I won't be out all night. Yes Mother I know, it's irresponsible. No, Mother, I'm not sure when it will be. Yes, she's here." (It's never a good sign when she asks about me) When I hear him say, "Do you want to talk to her?" I'm sitting on the other side of the table shaking my head no in a not-so-subtle fashion.
He hands me the phone and I say "Hello." We chit-chat for a second when she gets to her point, "Shannon, what is your philosophy on staying out all night long?"
I say, "Ummm, well, I think you should only stay out all night when you can sleep in all day." (sounded like a good answer to me.) She sighed and said in a disappointed tone, "Oh, that's what Daniel thinks too." (I tried not to laugh. )
She said, "Well, I encourage you, as I encouraged him to not stay out all night." I said, "Okay." I was thinking, "I'm not going to stay out all night, my mom taught me better than that, I'm going home, and your son is coming home with me."
I didn't say it. No, no I think my very exsistance in the life of her precious fisrt born is almost enough to send her over the edge. I'm sure she prays for me every night. The very idea of hinting at faulty mothering would be going TOO FAR!
He hands me the phone and I say "Hello." We chit-chat for a second when she gets to her point, "Shannon, what is your philosophy on staying out all night long?"
I say, "Ummm, well, I think you should only stay out all night when you can sleep in all day." (sounded like a good answer to me.) She sighed and said in a disappointed tone, "Oh, that's what Daniel thinks too." (I tried not to laugh. )
She said, "Well, I encourage you, as I encouraged him to not stay out all night." I said, "Okay." I was thinking, "I'm not going to stay out all night, my mom taught me better than that, I'm going home, and your son is coming home with me."
I didn't say it. No, no I think my very exsistance in the life of her precious fisrt born is almost enough to send her over the edge. I'm sure she prays for me every night. The very idea of hinting at faulty mothering would be going TOO FAR!
So I was at Taco Cabana a few weeks ago (I feel so behind on my blogging duties) it was 2 am and we are eating our burritos and such when this guy starts yelling.
At first we take no notice, but then he says the magic phrase that makes us want to hear more: "Come on! Yeah, I'll call immigration on your bitch ass!" An immigration threat, now that's serious, and he kept repeating himself, some times adding even more colorful language, "You stupid bitch-ass-wet-back-red-neck-hick! I'm gonna call immigration on you!"
From what I could tell the young man speaking was of latio origin himself, and since the guy he was yelling at never said anything back to him I can either assume that he was a) smart enough to keep quiet and not cause even more of a scene, b) he didn't speak English or c) he was afraid that immigration really would take his "stupid bitch-as-wet-bak-red-neck-hick" self way. Whatever the case was, he handled it well. He looked like a good guy, white hat and all.
The police came and hauled every one away. I wonder if immigration ever got his bitch ass.
At first we take no notice, but then he says the magic phrase that makes us want to hear more: "Come on! Yeah, I'll call immigration on your bitch ass!" An immigration threat, now that's serious, and he kept repeating himself, some times adding even more colorful language, "You stupid bitch-ass-wet-back-red-neck-hick! I'm gonna call immigration on you!"
From what I could tell the young man speaking was of latio origin himself, and since the guy he was yelling at never said anything back to him I can either assume that he was a) smart enough to keep quiet and not cause even more of a scene, b) he didn't speak English or c) he was afraid that immigration really would take his "stupid bitch-as-wet-bak-red-neck-hick" self way. Whatever the case was, he handled it well. He looked like a good guy, white hat and all.
The police came and hauled every one away. I wonder if immigration ever got his bitch ass.
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