The third installment from Children of Wax:
(I am not making this up.)
I know what you are thinking -- OH MAN this is a great book. The young people could learn something from this book!
Well, yes, the young people could probably learn something from this book. But mostly the rich and fat people could learn something from this story!
So a bunch of rich and fat people live in abundance in a town with bountiful grain and they are all happy. They think this is a great place to live, where their grain silo regularly overflows and they are fat and happy.
You know who else thinks this is a great place to live?
The birds! The birds think this is a great place for birds to live, and they build little bird condos in the trees and help themselves to grain from the silo.
The rich and fat people are not happy about their new bird neighbors, who are eating all the grain. They realize that if this situation continues, they will become poor and skinny. They attempt to get rid of the birds with arrows, but the arrows are either very slow or the birds are very clever, or both, and it does not work.
So the people think and think and think and eventually they realize that they are not very smart, and one poor sod is like "you know who would know what to do... that old man we ran out of town because of his witchery."
And a hush falls over the crowd, because everyone was thinking it but no one wanted to say it. But eventually they concur, yes, we need to go ask the old man for help, le sigh.
The leader of the rich and fat people travels not too far away, to a bush where the old man has been living and is very skinny and is eating leaves to stay alive. And he's like, heyyyyy... and the old man is like, piss off, and the leader begs him to return and help them deal with the pesky, crafty birds, and the old man finally gives in and gathers some magic arrow formula and returns to the village.
The next morning the birds are literally singing and strutting and taunting the rich and fat people and the old man tells the people to dip their arrows into his magic arrow formula, and viola--arrows now go into the birds. Any birds that don't immediately die make for the hills.
And the rich and happy people celebrate and make the old man their leader, and bring him cows and beer to his heart's delight, and he governs justly and all is good. UNTIL some nitwit is like, hey--did you see how that old man used magic to kill those birds? He could probably do the same thing to us. We should probably run him out of town.
And this sentiment spreads throughout the town until eventually the old man is, once again, run out of town (are you paying attention, Texas Board of Education, are you seeing how history repeats itself and why you should not monkey with the social studies curriculum?) and all the while the birds have been quietly watching and waiting for this moment, and what do you suppose happens once the old man is run out of town?
Alfred Hitchcock happens.
The four highest ranking men run after the old man, and beg him to return and help them again, and the old man looks carefully at his bush, with its scarcity of leaves and hard ground to sleep on, and its absence of stupid people, and he says: No.
-------------
Ed. Note: I started rewriting this story in May of 2010, and never finished, but decided it is a story that deserves to be told, even though I couldn't find the life connect at the time. Not least because the title and the beginning of the story remind me of my dad, and I started retelling it for him-- so here you go Dad, a few months belated.
-------------
And what lessons can we draw from the old man who saved the ungrateful people?
Well, first of all, I'm not sure I can't sympathize with the ungrateful people. It is good to be rich and fat. And, birds are super annoying. And, people who insist on using magic: weird. Also, grain, yum.
But, let's suppose the old man is a hard decision, but something that is good for you, and one that you keep making, time after time. And then you get attacked by birds. And sooner or later, you might be living on leaves. And you are stupid, you know this, but you run the old man out, and you try to remember what he taught you, and you try to shoot straight, and get rid of the birds. You might not be as rich or as fat, over time, but you'll be more wily, and God willing, you'll get smarter. You might wind up in a bush. This might take some time.
And let's say the old man is in the right--and it is hard to argue that he is not--let's say you are the only sane person in the village. You could show up again and again to argue your case. You could go insane in the arguing. Or you could learn to live in the beauty of the bush. You could learn to like leaves. You could make your own magic.
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label favorites. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Sunday, June 13, 2010
You Say Tomato...
M: I need you to get on board with me on something.
J: Ok, what's that?
M: The leftover onion... is in the tomato holder. It looks like a tomato, but it is an onion.
J: No.
M: What?
J: 1. It needs to be refrigerated, and 2. it will ruin the plastic and smell like onion forever.
M: Well, GEEZ, ok.
J: It's in there now?
M: I'm MOVING it. I thought I was making a funny, but apparantly I am causing a vegetable disaster.
J: You should put it in an onion holder.
M: I don't have an onion holder. I have a tomato holder. That was holding an onion. That is now going in a plastic bag.
J: Well, you should get an onion holder.
M: YOU should get an onion holder.
J: Ok, what's that?
M: The leftover onion... is in the tomato holder. It looks like a tomato, but it is an onion.
J: No.
M: What?
J: 1. It needs to be refrigerated, and 2. it will ruin the plastic and smell like onion forever.
M: Well, GEEZ, ok.
J: It's in there now?
M: I'm MOVING it. I thought I was making a funny, but apparantly I am causing a vegetable disaster.
J: You should put it in an onion holder.
M: I don't have an onion holder. I have a tomato holder. That was holding an onion. That is now going in a plastic bag.
J: Well, you should get an onion holder.
M: YOU should get an onion holder.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Don't show your neck around here anymore
Subject: Dress Code
From: Les to bob, Lynn, mark, me
9:03 PM (21 minutes ago)
"Bob please inform gail of Ross s surname who played at quinns last night as I gave him his first warning for not wearing a collared shirt."
-------------------------------
OHHHHHHHHH SNAP.
(file under misdirected e-mails)
From: Les to bob, Lynn, mark, me
9:03 PM (21 minutes ago)
"Bob please inform gail of Ross s surname who played at quinns last night as I gave him his first warning for not wearing a collared shirt."
-------------------------------
OHHHHHHHHH SNAP.
(file under misdirected e-mails)
Saturday, May 08, 2010
The Wife Who Could Not Work
The next installment of bedtime stories from Children of Wax: African Folk Tales concerns marital relations and division of labor.
So a rich man goes adventuring and in one village, he spots the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is a serious catch. He approaches her father to ask for her hand in marriage and her father says he can marry her for 50 cows (a lot of cattle, in this story). The rich man agrees to pay her father 50 cows and they shake on it, after which the father says, oh, by the way, you should know--a girl as beautiful as this one is not able to work. She is too delicate. And the rich man says, no problem.
The man takes his new wife back to his village where everybody ooohs and aaaahs over her beauty. Since he travels often, he installs new wife in his house and she sits in the shade every day. After a time, the other women in the village grow weary of this and they think, seriously, there is lots of work to do: she needs to pitch in. They wait until a time when the husband is out of town and then approach her about helping with an easy task: fetch water in a jug from the river. And she's like, sure! The beautiful woman takes the jug to the river, fills it with water, and on the way back she is caught in quicksand, weighed down by her cargo, and sinks below the surface.
After they realize she is missing, the other women in the village FREAK OUT and make up a lie about how she was eaten by a lion. But the husband, upon his return, is not deceived by this story, and he goes to the local wise man to figure out how to find his wife. The wise man tells him to go to the riverbank and get a fat woman (I am not making this up) to jump up and down in the sand. Husband does this, and slowly but surely the wife emerges from the sand and everyone apologizes and promises to never make her work again.
Moral of the story? Well, that's a weighted question, now, isn't it?
If you ask me, beautiful people should surely be revered and consulted with and not forced to toil, as we have this unfortunate habit of stepping into quicksand.
On the other hand, combine a beautiful person with a control freak and she's like, "I'm cool!" even as she's sinking.
Perhaps we are all the beautiful wife, and perhaps we are all the rich man, and the fat woman. We are all too delicate for this world, and we work anyway, and we guard our possessions, and we strive for social justice.
And if we have any sense at all, when we find ourselves in quicksand we drop the jug of water and fight for our lives to get out.
So a rich man goes adventuring and in one village, he spots the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is a serious catch. He approaches her father to ask for her hand in marriage and her father says he can marry her for 50 cows (a lot of cattle, in this story). The rich man agrees to pay her father 50 cows and they shake on it, after which the father says, oh, by the way, you should know--a girl as beautiful as this one is not able to work. She is too delicate. And the rich man says, no problem.
The man takes his new wife back to his village where everybody ooohs and aaaahs over her beauty. Since he travels often, he installs new wife in his house and she sits in the shade every day. After a time, the other women in the village grow weary of this and they think, seriously, there is lots of work to do: she needs to pitch in. They wait until a time when the husband is out of town and then approach her about helping with an easy task: fetch water in a jug from the river. And she's like, sure! The beautiful woman takes the jug to the river, fills it with water, and on the way back she is caught in quicksand, weighed down by her cargo, and sinks below the surface.
After they realize she is missing, the other women in the village FREAK OUT and make up a lie about how she was eaten by a lion. But the husband, upon his return, is not deceived by this story, and he goes to the local wise man to figure out how to find his wife. The wise man tells him to go to the riverbank and get a fat woman (I am not making this up) to jump up and down in the sand. Husband does this, and slowly but surely the wife emerges from the sand and everyone apologizes and promises to never make her work again.
Moral of the story? Well, that's a weighted question, now, isn't it?
If you ask me, beautiful people should surely be revered and consulted with and not forced to toil, as we have this unfortunate habit of stepping into quicksand.
On the other hand, combine a beautiful person with a control freak and she's like, "I'm cool!" even as she's sinking.
Perhaps we are all the beautiful wife, and perhaps we are all the rich man, and the fat woman. We are all too delicate for this world, and we work anyway, and we guard our possessions, and we strive for social justice.
And if we have any sense at all, when we find ourselves in quicksand we drop the jug of water and fight for our lives to get out.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The Elephant in the Room
No one is reading this blog anymore, and I guess that is ok.
So yesterday Jason read me this folk tale from Children of Wax: African Folk Tales
"Do you want to hear the introduction to a Tom Robbins novel, or the Pumpkin story?" he asked.
You already know how we feel about Tom Robbins.
So I picked the pumpkin story.
To paraphrase: Elephants move into a family's community, they start eating all the pumpkins, the sole source of food and nutrition, the family determines they must move, do something, or starve. But they can't fend off the elephants in a normal fashion because they are huge and very strong.
So the oldest boy gets a brilliant idea: let's hollow out the biggest pumpkin we can find, cover the youngest boy in fat and squeeze him instead, lure an elephant into EATING the pumpkin, boy stabs elephant's heart from inside the body, all the other elephants witness this and freak out and leave.
Turns out the youngest boy is not so much invested in this plan. But, since all his brothers think it is a great idea, youngest boy is talked into going along it. The winning line? All the other boys say, "There is nothing that can go wrong with this plan."
And, not to be a plot spoiler, but it works. Youngest boy hangs out in the pumpkin until he is eaten, cuts his way out of the pumpkin and kills the elephant, cuts his way out of the elephant and his family cleans him up and celebrates his success, elephants freak out and go away, and all is well with the world again.
There is nothing that can go wrong with this plan!
I can't find this story anywhere else on the internet. Aren't you glad you're still reading my blog?
So yesterday Jason read me this folk tale from Children of Wax: African Folk Tales
"Do you want to hear the introduction to a Tom Robbins novel, or the Pumpkin story?" he asked.
You already know how we feel about Tom Robbins.
So I picked the pumpkin story.
To paraphrase: Elephants move into a family's community, they start eating all the pumpkins, the sole source of food and nutrition, the family determines they must move, do something, or starve. But they can't fend off the elephants in a normal fashion because they are huge and very strong.
So the oldest boy gets a brilliant idea: let's hollow out the biggest pumpkin we can find, cover the youngest boy in fat and squeeze him instead, lure an elephant into EATING the pumpkin, boy stabs elephant's heart from inside the body, all the other elephants witness this and freak out and leave.
Turns out the youngest boy is not so much invested in this plan. But, since all his brothers think it is a great idea, youngest boy is talked into going along it. The winning line? All the other boys say, "There is nothing that can go wrong with this plan."
And, not to be a plot spoiler, but it works. Youngest boy hangs out in the pumpkin until he is eaten, cuts his way out of the pumpkin and kills the elephant, cuts his way out of the elephant and his family cleans him up and celebrates his success, elephants freak out and go away, and all is well with the world again.
There is nothing that can go wrong with this plan!
I can't find this story anywhere else on the internet. Aren't you glad you're still reading my blog?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
This Explains So Much.
The setting: an empty classroom, re-arranging desks. The desks look like this:
The staff are dragging the desks back to their appropriate positions and it is making a noise that makes me start twitching involuntarily.
"Do you want to see the Ms. D----- method of moving desks?" I ask my co-worker.
Sure, she says.
So I demonstrate the procedure, one that was executed religiously in my classroom, always with one student modeling and the rest following row by row, noiselessly, punctuated with lots of praise from the teacher.
Since we did a lot of turning our desks around to face one wall or the other, I taught my students that they stand next to the desk, lift the whole thing up, and shuffle their feet until the desk faces the desired wall, then place it back on the ground. In other words....
"LiiiIFT! Aaaaandddd pivot."
I totally stole this procedure from Friends when they are trying to get the couch up a narrow staircase and Ross is yelling fruitlessly "pivot! pivot! pivot!"
So I am lifting and pivoting and Elena says "Gosh, Mary, you're like a 65 year-old ballet teacher. 'Pivot, children!'"
And I am thinking yes, yes I was a 22-year-old 65-year-old ballet teacher, for better or for worse, that is basically how I approached my work and why it felt so weird/awesome/fleeting.
The staff are dragging the desks back to their appropriate positions and it is making a noise that makes me start twitching involuntarily.
"Do you want to see the Ms. D----- method of moving desks?" I ask my co-worker.
Sure, she says.
So I demonstrate the procedure, one that was executed religiously in my classroom, always with one student modeling and the rest following row by row, noiselessly, punctuated with lots of praise from the teacher.
Since we did a lot of turning our desks around to face one wall or the other, I taught my students that they stand next to the desk, lift the whole thing up, and shuffle their feet until the desk faces the desired wall, then place it back on the ground. In other words....
"LiiiIFT! Aaaaandddd pivot."
I totally stole this procedure from Friends when they are trying to get the couch up a narrow staircase and Ross is yelling fruitlessly "pivot! pivot! pivot!"
So I am lifting and pivoting and Elena says "Gosh, Mary, you're like a 65 year-old ballet teacher. 'Pivot, children!'"
And I am thinking yes, yes I was a 22-year-old 65-year-old ballet teacher, for better or for worse, that is basically how I approached my work and why it felt so weird/awesome/fleeting.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Remember when "plain" was a difficult order?
Girl in front of me at Wendy's wants Sprite: large, not medium; no mustard on her sandwich; must be in seperate bag. She is communicating this to her man friend by pulling on his elbow as he orders. He grits his teeth and asks for a small bag, please. She takes her large Sprite back to the counter and asks for a new one, no ice.
Staff are exceedingly patient.
Staff are exceedingly patient.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Reinventing the Internet
As has become embarrassingly clear over the past year, I'm not at all sure what to do with this space anymore. This is not an uncommon phenomena, in fact, my blogger mentors have all been through one or more mid-blog crisis: Alison slowed down, Ryan shut down and then reinvented his site.
Other things have happened, too, since 2003. Flickr happened. Facebook happened. All my friends moved away, and I stopped teaching. My life got a lot less interesting, or at least less blogable. (The ethics of blogging while teaching are debatable, too, and I don't care to debate it.)
Things got really private for awhile. Blogger deleted all my posts from 2003-2004, and I was crushed, and then I got over it. Tumblr happened and I couldn't get into it. LinkedIn happened, and that was good for my professional career. Facebook expanded to older (than me) generations, and suddenly Moms were friending me. The iPhone happened, and I was connected ALL THE TIME. Twitter happened and I was like NONONONONO and then, finally, ok.
Other people in my immediate circle are still successful at blogging. I enjoy Mindy's updates about her life and about her daughter, and I imagine what an amazing baby book it will make. Babies across the globe will one day have access to their early years in detail that is mind boggling to me.
For the most part, my family members either do not understand or are justifiably concerned about our (our = the world's) growing internet presence. I share their hesitation and try to stay private/censored/professional as much as I can, while staying true to myself and enjoying the ease of connectivity and a public outlet for creative ideas.
I am not the first one to question the merits of staying connected to people I would otherwise grow apart from, and I have on many an occasion cut contacts ruthlessly and without remorse. Would I go out of my way to say hello to you in a crowded space? No? Then I wish you well, and you do not need to have access to my personal profile. Do we have any past interactions that make regular updates feel "a little weird"? Goodbye, friend, and go in peace.
The point is -- and after all these characters, I do have a point -- you see, Twitter would have cut me off LONG AGO because, like Mr. Moore my 9th grade English teacher, it is all: Get to the beach! -- the point is that ponycrusher will stay, until blogger decides to cruelly and unusually erase everything I have written over the last five years. The point is, I'm stretched in more internet directions, and that is ok. It is good to be concise. It is good to let the picture speak for itself. And it is good to, every now and then, post the diatribe that ties several ideas together. It is good to document. And good to know when to let it all go.
Other things have happened, too, since 2003. Flickr happened. Facebook happened. All my friends moved away, and I stopped teaching. My life got a lot less interesting, or at least less blogable. (The ethics of blogging while teaching are debatable, too, and I don't care to debate it.)
Things got really private for awhile. Blogger deleted all my posts from 2003-2004, and I was crushed, and then I got over it. Tumblr happened and I couldn't get into it. LinkedIn happened, and that was good for my professional career. Facebook expanded to older (than me) generations, and suddenly Moms were friending me. The iPhone happened, and I was connected ALL THE TIME. Twitter happened and I was like NONONONONO and then, finally, ok.
Other people in my immediate circle are still successful at blogging. I enjoy Mindy's updates about her life and about her daughter, and I imagine what an amazing baby book it will make. Babies across the globe will one day have access to their early years in detail that is mind boggling to me.
For the most part, my family members either do not understand or are justifiably concerned about our (our = the world's) growing internet presence. I share their hesitation and try to stay private/censored/professional as much as I can, while staying true to myself and enjoying the ease of connectivity and a public outlet for creative ideas.
I am not the first one to question the merits of staying connected to people I would otherwise grow apart from, and I have on many an occasion cut contacts ruthlessly and without remorse. Would I go out of my way to say hello to you in a crowded space? No? Then I wish you well, and you do not need to have access to my personal profile. Do we have any past interactions that make regular updates feel "a little weird"? Goodbye, friend, and go in peace.
The point is -- and after all these characters, I do have a point -- you see, Twitter would have cut me off LONG AGO because, like Mr. Moore my 9th grade English teacher, it is all: Get to the beach! -- the point is that ponycrusher will stay, until blogger decides to cruelly and unusually erase everything I have written over the last five years. The point is, I'm stretched in more internet directions, and that is ok. It is good to be concise. It is good to let the picture speak for itself. And it is good to, every now and then, post the diatribe that ties several ideas together. It is good to document. And good to know when to let it all go.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Pent Up, No Good, Long Time Coming Blog
I've got a lot on my mind.
First, let's talk about quitting:
YES, you internet jerks! I quit smoking. I have not had a cigarette for 15 days and even though the world is like, "oh yeah? here are some stressful things to test you with," I have not even really been tempted to smoke a cigarette. Maybe I will be tempted tomorrow but if I can go from almost losing half a million dollars today due to a clerical error, to getting it back in a teary, embarrassing, hands-and-knees episode, and not smoke after that, then I really feel like I am in the clear.
And it is so strange because I know I have "tried" before -- certainly it is documented and I remember in my head when I said I would stop -- but I did not and I don't believe I ever stood a chance. In 2007 I wrote:
One time, during a quitting spell, I went to the Stop and Go across the street and the store clerk mentioned that he hadn't seen me in awhile. "That's because I quit!" I beamed, purchasing my Starbucks drink. A week later, before the Pride Parade, I went with a friend and we bought cigarettes. "I thought you quit?" he asked. "Special occasion!" In all the resulting trips since then, he's said nothing and instead reached automatically for the pack of preferred brand. He has not ever said: "Hey, lady, WTF is wrong with you? Don't you have any willpower at all? I'm not going to sell these to you. Here's some gum on the house."
No one trying to sell you cigarettes is ever going to say that.
And yet when it finally happened I wasn't really even trying. I just stopped. Yes, I downloaded a hypnosis thingy. Certainly, it played a role. But I'm convinced that the greater impetus was that you hit a certain point where you realize: I am too old for this bullshit.
So here is what has happened amid the stressy not smoking: instead of smoking in the car on the way home from work, I really, really, REALLY, look forward to having a drink. Obviously this is a situation to monitor, and I am, but I am not overly concerned and here is why: 1) having a drink no longer makes me want to smoke; 2) having a drink does not lead to having multiple drinks.
And perhaps #2 is because I'm working so late that I don't have time for multiple drinks, I barely have time for 1 before I want to be in bed and asleep because that alarm is going off at 5am rested or not.
Still, monitoring.
The other must-blog moment came yesterday on the road, when I found a recently-purchased, though long-neglected Ani DiFranco album and wound up playing this song over and over:
To understand why, we have to go back to last week in the middle of all this bureaucratic nonsense leading up to today's episode. It's Wednesday and I am exhausted, and my co-worker reminds me that we signed up for a "business etiquette dinner" because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I look terrible. Great, I say. Ok -- off we go.
And the presenter, who is a lovely and well-established Houston woman, and who tells us we should not EVER discuss politics or religion at a business event but then makes it pretty clear that she hangs with Republicans, anyway she tells us that the 30-something women she knows, they are concerned about looking old. "If you are developing a facial situation..." she tells us, "You need to do the Botox or whatever it takes. You must look friendly and well-groomed." And we are all laughing and later in the mirror I'm thinking, hmm, I've had these lines in my forehead since *5th grade* -- I have these deep set worry lines, in fact I even wrote a poem about them. I wonder how much Botox costs, anyway.
REALLY AND TRULY, these are my thoughts. I want so very much to get ahead in business or at least be successful.
So when Ani is singing to me and reminding me of a time not so long ago, but long enough, and she says "there's nothing wrong with your face," I can't stop laughing and I'm like, rewind, tell me again.
So that is how I listened to this song 26 times yesterday.
Thanks for reading. I feel a lot better now.
First, let's talk about quitting:
YES, you internet jerks! I quit smoking. I have not had a cigarette for 15 days and even though the world is like, "oh yeah? here are some stressful things to test you with," I have not even really been tempted to smoke a cigarette. Maybe I will be tempted tomorrow but if I can go from almost losing half a million dollars today due to a clerical error, to getting it back in a teary, embarrassing, hands-and-knees episode, and not smoke after that, then I really feel like I am in the clear.
And it is so strange because I know I have "tried" before -- certainly it is documented and I remember in my head when I said I would stop -- but I did not and I don't believe I ever stood a chance. In 2007 I wrote:
One time, during a quitting spell, I went to the Stop and Go across the street and the store clerk mentioned that he hadn't seen me in awhile. "That's because I quit!" I beamed, purchasing my Starbucks drink. A week later, before the Pride Parade, I went with a friend and we bought cigarettes. "I thought you quit?" he asked. "Special occasion!" In all the resulting trips since then, he's said nothing and instead reached automatically for the pack of preferred brand. He has not ever said: "Hey, lady, WTF is wrong with you? Don't you have any willpower at all? I'm not going to sell these to you. Here's some gum on the house."
No one trying to sell you cigarettes is ever going to say that.
And yet when it finally happened I wasn't really even trying. I just stopped. Yes, I downloaded a hypnosis thingy. Certainly, it played a role. But I'm convinced that the greater impetus was that you hit a certain point where you realize: I am too old for this bullshit.
So here is what has happened amid the stressy not smoking: instead of smoking in the car on the way home from work, I really, really, REALLY, look forward to having a drink. Obviously this is a situation to monitor, and I am, but I am not overly concerned and here is why: 1) having a drink no longer makes me want to smoke; 2) having a drink does not lead to having multiple drinks.
And perhaps #2 is because I'm working so late that I don't have time for multiple drinks, I barely have time for 1 before I want to be in bed and asleep because that alarm is going off at 5am rested or not.
Still, monitoring.
The other must-blog moment came yesterday on the road, when I found a recently-purchased, though long-neglected Ani DiFranco album and wound up playing this song over and over:
To understand why, we have to go back to last week in the middle of all this bureaucratic nonsense leading up to today's episode. It's Wednesday and I am exhausted, and my co-worker reminds me that we signed up for a "business etiquette dinner" because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I look terrible. Great, I say. Ok -- off we go.
And the presenter, who is a lovely and well-established Houston woman, and who tells us we should not EVER discuss politics or religion at a business event but then makes it pretty clear that she hangs with Republicans, anyway she tells us that the 30-something women she knows, they are concerned about looking old. "If you are developing a facial situation..." she tells us, "You need to do the Botox or whatever it takes. You must look friendly and well-groomed." And we are all laughing and later in the mirror I'm thinking, hmm, I've had these lines in my forehead since *5th grade* -- I have these deep set worry lines, in fact I even wrote a poem about them. I wonder how much Botox costs, anyway.
REALLY AND TRULY, these are my thoughts. I want so very much to get ahead in business or at least be successful.
So when Ani is singing to me and reminding me of a time not so long ago, but long enough, and she says "there's nothing wrong with your face," I can't stop laughing and I'm like, rewind, tell me again.
So that is how I listened to this song 26 times yesterday.
Thanks for reading. I feel a lot better now.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Nerves of Bic
This pretty much sums up my life:
I have bitten off all my nails, and now I'm subconsiously drawing all over myself.
From what I can gather, my tool is not currently the sharpest in the shed. Maybe I need a vacation.
But my hair looks GREAT! (Because someone else cut it and all I had to do was sit there.)
So, internets!, how are YOU doing? Are you hanging in there? Are you eating well? I know that springing forward is a difficult transition, and the economy blows, but we will all get through it. Take a deep breath and put away the sharpie markers.
Love,
Mary
I have bitten off all my nails, and now I'm subconsiously drawing all over myself.
From what I can gather, my tool is not currently the sharpest in the shed. Maybe I need a vacation.
But my hair looks GREAT! (Because someone else cut it and all I had to do was sit there.)
So, internets!, how are YOU doing? Are you hanging in there? Are you eating well? I know that springing forward is a difficult transition, and the economy blows, but we will all get through it. Take a deep breath and put away the sharpie markers.
Love,
Mary
Monday, February 02, 2009
Ur Mah Cupcake
M: Is that cupcake for me?
J: What? No! You looked?
M: I mean... what's in the foil?
J: A cupcake. My mom made them for me.
M: And you brought one home for me?
J: No, I brought it home for me.
M: ...
J: What?
M: Can I have half? Can we share the cupcake?
J: No you can't have half.
M: You are sleeping on this couch tonight.
J: Me and my cupcake are sleeping on this couch tonight.
J: What? No! You looked?
M: I mean... what's in the foil?
J: A cupcake. My mom made them for me.
M: And you brought one home for me?
J: No, I brought it home for me.
M: ...
J: What?
M: Can I have half? Can we share the cupcake?
J: No you can't have half.
M: You are sleeping on this couch tonight.
J: Me and my cupcake are sleeping on this couch tonight.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Questionable Gifts for Your Formerly Vegetarian Friends and their Omnivore Children
Hubert the Pudge might be considered hilarious or it might get you off the xmas list permanently.
Let's find out!
People who loved Hubert also loved:
Benji Bean Sprout Doesn't Eat Meat
Herb, the Vegetarian Dragon
Let's find out!
People who loved Hubert also loved:
Benji Bean Sprout Doesn't Eat Meat
Herb, the Vegetarian Dragon
Monday, December 22, 2008
But Mom Lets Me Do It...
All year, the rule has been "bed is for humans and cats" and the dog has never argued, save for the first few days home after staying with a more lenient dogsitter.
Today, though... man.
Every time I turned around that dog was all "whoooooo dog on the bed!"
And I was like no, NO, no dogs on the bed!
And she was like: Come ON. I have put up with you people and your ridiculous "loveseat" for like a YEAR and it is cold and I miss my couch. Let a dog on the bed.
And I was like NO. The cat is going to claw your eyes out.
And the cat was like: Nah, I'm cool.
And I was like FINE but you CANNOT tell Jason -- and then we all took a nap. One huge calico Christmas vacation 3pm nap.
It was soooo good.
Today, though... man.
Every time I turned around that dog was all "whoooooo dog on the bed!"
And I was like no, NO, no dogs on the bed!
And she was like: Come ON. I have put up with you people and your ridiculous "loveseat" for like a YEAR and it is cold and I miss my couch. Let a dog on the bed.
And I was like NO. The cat is going to claw your eyes out.
And the cat was like: Nah, I'm cool.
And I was like FINE but you CANNOT tell Jason -- and then we all took a nap. One huge calico Christmas vacation 3pm nap.
It was soooo good.
Monday, December 15, 2008
VIPs
Earlier today, Jason--in a relentless attempt to make me function like a grown-up-- sorted a stack of Very Important Papers for me to go through and identify as 1) save; 2) shrederate; 3) WTF.
Category 3 is a pile I invented myself, for items that I don't know what I'm supposed to do with. Like -- address labels from the humane society with my address and kittens! Who throws that away? They probably spent a lot of money on the printing. I bet I could use these someday.
Anyway, the cat was like "SHREDERATE!" and I was like, hold on, I'm not done sorting yet.
In this holiday season of annual appeals (LOOK--I am sorry PBS, you are not getting any more money from me until someone answers my email about why the digital station won't work and NPR, you are not getting any money either: I want MORE talking and LESS classical and no I won't subscribe to your HD whatever) I think about people with lots of money and all the mail they must receive this time of year.
For them, I wish personal assistants to hang the holiday cards and pay the bills and give the money that needs to be given, and cats with sharp claws to turn the rest to confetti.
Category 3 is a pile I invented myself, for items that I don't know what I'm supposed to do with. Like -- address labels from the humane society with my address and kittens! Who throws that away? They probably spent a lot of money on the printing. I bet I could use these someday.
Anyway, the cat was like "SHREDERATE!" and I was like, hold on, I'm not done sorting yet.
In this holiday season of annual appeals (LOOK--I am sorry PBS, you are not getting any more money from me until someone answers my email about why the digital station won't work and NPR, you are not getting any money either: I want MORE talking and LESS classical and no I won't subscribe to your HD whatever) I think about people with lots of money and all the mail they must receive this time of year.
For them, I wish personal assistants to hang the holiday cards and pay the bills and give the money that needs to be given, and cats with sharp claws to turn the rest to confetti.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I Want...
-1 and one half bedrooms
-1 and one half bathrooms
People are notorious for starting projects and not finishing them.
Why is this so difficult to search for?
-1 and one half bathrooms
People are notorious for starting projects and not finishing them.
Why is this so difficult to search for?
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
UH HUH YES WE DID
We did cry. We thought we would probably cry and then we thought, no, we won't cry, it's too scripted, and then we cried and it didn't take any effort and it was beautiful.
So get to service, America.
p.s. Kimberly Ryan, you can come back. It's ok now.
So get to service, America.
p.s. Kimberly Ryan, you can come back. It's ok now.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
go vote it is easy!
If you live in Texas and early voted for the primary and stood in a long line with lots of backpatting and comments about how great democracy is and by proxy how great everyone here is and you are ready for another dose then I am sorry to tell you there is NO LINE if you go right now.
So go now!
So go now!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Look and Leave
Thanks to the Mayor of Galveston, "look and leave" is my new favorite phrase.
As in:
"Are you going to the high school reunion?"
"I'll probably do a look and leave."
Maybe because it reminds me of the "kiss and ride" area at the DC Metro -- an oddly named lane for passenger drop-off.
In exchange for this new addition to my lexicon, I am giving up "hunker down" and I never want to hear it again. Maybe next time we all do a "sit and stay."
As in:
"Are you going to the high school reunion?"
"I'll probably do a look and leave."
Maybe because it reminds me of the "kiss and ride" area at the DC Metro -- an oddly named lane for passenger drop-off.
In exchange for this new addition to my lexicon, I am giving up "hunker down" and I never want to hear it again. Maybe next time we all do a "sit and stay."
Monday, September 15, 2008
Getting to Know You, Neighbors
Because 75 percent of Houston is still without power there is a city-wide curfew, which is fitting as my high school reunion is this weekend and I just dyed my hair Angela Chase red and Jason is inexplicably jamming out to music from the mid-90s -- music that I might have listened too had I been a cooler kid, but instead I was listening to Enya. Mayor White says we should all stay home and talk amongst ourselves.
Earlier today, someone behind me in line at the convenience store asked the cashier, "Can you all cash lottery tickets? Yes? Sweet."
I turned around, incredulous, and asked: "You won the lottery this weekend?"
He won $50 from a scratch-off ticket. And was buying more scratch-off tickets. To scratch. In the dark. Because what else are you going to do?
Astounding.
Earlier today, someone behind me in line at the convenience store asked the cashier, "Can you all cash lottery tickets? Yes? Sweet."
I turned around, incredulous, and asked: "You won the lottery this weekend?"
He won $50 from a scratch-off ticket. And was buying more scratch-off tickets. To scratch. In the dark. Because what else are you going to do?
Astounding.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Networking
E: "So, basically, you're that person that nobody likes to talk to?"
M: "What are you talking about. People love to talk to me. I am delightful. I remember everything about their alma mater and occupation and children and then I hit them up for money."
M: "What are you talking about. People love to talk to me. I am delightful. I remember everything about their alma mater and occupation and children and then I hit them up for money."
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