…is surely this piece of crap that Tom is making me sit through tonight. It’s called, “Evil Breed: The Legend of Sam Hain.”
I can’t stop laughing, it’s so horrendous, and I’m trying to ignore it. But it had absolutely THE best line in it, which was this:
“Inbred motherfuckers.”
It was said with no irony or humor at ALL.
I just realized that my 30th HIGH SCHOOL REUNION IS THIS YEAR! Holy crap! That means I’ve only got a few months to get all my extensive plastic surgery done.
Really, I’ve never been to one of my reunions. I attended a high school with the largest percentage of overachievers in the history of public education, so while they were finishing up medical internships and law school, I was living in a trailer in Arkansas. I got fat after my dad died, and felt crappy for quite a while, so I didn’t go to my twentieth, and now, shit…I’ll have to come up with something.
I’d like to do like “Romi and Michelle’s High School Reunion,” and just go back and tell everyone I invented the adhesive on the back of post-it notes.
One of my favorite books is “The Color of Water.”
Two of my favorite writers are Flannery O’Connor and Raymond Carver.
Three of my favorite movies are “Born Yesterday,” “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” and “Raging Bull.”
Four of my favorite artists are Van Gogh, Kandinsky, Chagall and Howard Finster.
Five musicky people I’ve been listening to this week are David Bowie, Talking Heads, Sigur Ros, Mozart and the soundtrack to “Rushmore.”
Six flowers I want in the imaginary bouquet I will be sent by my secret admirer: shasta daisies, roses, cala lilies, tulips, fuchsia orchids, and baby’s breath.
Seven denominations of money I hope my anonymous benefactor will soon be sending me. Fifties, hundreds, five hundreds, thousands, ten thousands, hundred thousands, and a few million dollar bills, which don’t exist, but I can pretend.
Eight cookies I’d like to eat are Danish Wedding Cookies, Thin Mints, Lemon Coolers, Milanos, chocolate chip, oatmeal, sugar, and peanut butter. The last four must be homemade and served with milk.
Nine places I’d like to visit, if I didn’t have to fly: Italy, Greece, Scotland, Egypt, Australia, Spain, New Zealand, England and Arkansas (to see my kidlings).
Ten items I like in salad: romaine lettuce, mushrooms, black olives, green olives, cranberries, pecan-crusted chicken, blue cheese crumbles, sunflower seeds, croutons, homemade blue cheese dressing. Not the creamy kind– that yummy oily kind.
I’m putting myself to sleep.
I have been in such a crappy mood. I just don’t understand it. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from anything that’s really going on, it’s just happening. Very weird. I tend to get pretty withdrawn when I’m like this. This keeps me from harming boyfriends and small animals.
Actually, I think I’m depressed. Wendy once made a reference to daytime and nighttime pajamas being an indicator of depression, and I’ve actually been doing that.
Today, I did get dressed, and we went for a drive for about an hour and a half. Normally, a drive is fine, but today I felt seriously grouchy. I didn’t want to pointlessly ride around in a truck. I did get to listen to “This American Life,” which was good, but watching people out having a good time just isn’t my idea of a good time. And we’re really too poor to do anything else right now. I looked out of the window, listened to the radio, closed my eyes and meditated for a while, but I didn’t feel like making conversation. This is all unlike me.
Hmmm…let me think of something happy to remark on. A friend from Columbus called today. She’s such a sweetheart. I’m not kidding– she’s so remarkably sparkly and kind that it’s inspirational. She never lets things get her down for long, and in turn, misfortune almost always turns out to her advantage. It was great to hear from her.
I’m going to apply for disability.
Got my essay completed and sent out! I hope they use it. The word “fuck” is featured prominently in the article. But I’m really pleased with it.
For some reason, I’m having a hard time keeping up with my blog stuff. It’s not that I have that much to do, besides write. It’s just that I’m so freaking out about the future, that I’m having a hard time concentrating.
I’ve been working on an essay, revising and printing off some of my other writing to send off, polishing up my resume and researching paying markets. I’ve got to get more stuff out on eBay to sell. All of this is really freaking me out. I’ve gone into panic mode.
I don’t wanna go back to work! I’m not kidding, my body’s killing me, and just the thought of having to work a regular job is filling me with fear and dread. I can honestly say though, that I never slack when I’m at home. I work on writing for at least eight hours a day– usually ten or more. Some of that’s blog writing, but it’s still writing, and some of it is marketable (I think). I was hoping I could come up with enough creative ways to pay my way in the world, but it’s going to take more time than I have.
Sorry for such a depressing post. It’s just that I’m feeling really, um…depressed right now.
Joan Harvest wrote a hilarious post about a pervy Amish farmer that she encountered years ago. This got me thinking about pervs from the past.
When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was a sleazeball magnet. I attribute this to the fact that A: I was cute, and B: I was so nice. Too nice. I think lecherous men instinctively knew that they could suggest all kinds of creative forms of togetherness to me. Although I’d always politely decline, they somehow knew I’d never scream or kick them in the balls.
Anyway, here are two sleazy Moonbeam memories.
Memory One: When I was in my early thirties, I was a single mom with two children, newly out on my own. We lived in a small apartment, and I was making very little money. One month, I was behind on my rent, and went to my landlord to try to get an extension.
He listened, and then suggested a way that we could “work something out.” He explained that this would involve helping him with his hobby, which was making adult films. I would be the star.
I responded by inwardly flipping out, and outwardly, saying, “Gee, that’s nice of you, but no thanks.”
I realized that this weirdo had a key to my apartment. I went to see a lawyer about breaking my lease. I told him the story, and he said, “Move. Forget the rent, forget the lease. Move.”
So I did.
I look back on this sadly. Had I taken the landlord up on his suggestion, I could be retired from a lucrative film career right now. I’m sure I would have been the Shirley Temple of the porn industry, and created a whole new genre– the ungodly naive and stupid girl genre. I’d be a millionaire right now. I’d have a mansion with a heart-shaped bed and a puppy and implants. I look upon this as a lost opportunity. Oh well.
Memory Two: I was in my late thirties this time, and one day I had a horrible migraine. I called my chiropractor to see if he could work me in for an adjustment. He was this family man whose wife ran the front office, and whose daughter was also a chiropractor there.
The doctor told me that the office was closed, and that he was just there doing some paperwork. But he said that he’d see me if I came there within the hour. I was so grateful, and rushed right over.
Let me just say that this guy tried a new technique on me. He actually told me it was a new technique, and it involved a part of my anatomy that is nowhere near my head. For about three seconds, I actually believed him, but then I heard his breathing. I sat up and said, “Wow! That’s amazing! I’m fine now!” I left and never came back. I still had my headache, and I was so gullible that when I got home, I actually looked on the Internet to see if such a headache remedy existed. Sadly, it didn’t. I was a little disappointed, because honestly, if that were a cure, I could do it myself.
Do you have any perv stories?
I couldn’t sleep last night. I woke up at 3:00 a.m. and just could not get back to sleep.
This morning, I found out that an old friend of mine’s mother (she used to be my adopted mom) died at 2:00 this morning (3:00 my time), after a long illness. Coincidence? I think not.
My daughter had the ultrasound on her potato cake and she’s just fine. Also, she found copies of my resume!
I got an extension on a deadline for a cover story idea that I just hate. My body’s been messing up, and it’s been hard to get out and do interviews. But the editor was so sweet, and he said no problem.
What’s been playing on my Seeqpod: The Magnetic Fields and Sigur Ros.
That last post was just an attempt to get caught up on my blog a day posts. I’m very behind, but I think I like this one much better. We’ll see.
Here’s some stuff that’s been going on:
I’m trying to get a resume together. I switched computers a few months ago, and apparently, it was lost in the shuffle, because it no longer seems to exist. This is a pain, because I have a horrible memory for dates. I’ll get it done though.
Last night, I watched, “A Patch of Blue.” This was one of my favorite movies when I was a kid, and it was great seeing it again from an adult perspective. I’ve truly become a geek though. It’s official. My new habit is to sit and watch movies with my laptop, and I look up facts about them as I’m viewing. So, I learned the history of “A Patch of Blue” and its cast. I also got to read an excerpt from the book. God bless Wikipedia, and IMDB for feeding my hyperactive mind, and my useless-trivia-seeking soul.
I started out being sad about Amy Winehouse today, but now I’m sad about Heath Ledger. He was so young and beautiful. I was on the phone with my brother this afternoon, sort of playing around on the computer at the same time. We were in the middle of a conversation, when suddenly I yelped, “Oh my God! Heath Ledger died!” What a weird, instant information world.
I also spoke to my precious, angelly daughter about him. We reminisced about how he was her first movie star crush, and how adorable he was in “10 Things I Hate About You.” It was the first time we’d seen him, and she loved the movie so much that I bought it for her.
Sigh…I really miss my daughter. I miss her personality. She’s adorable, creative and as sparkly as the sun. She was drawing a self-portrait when I called, and we talked as she sketched.
Tomorrow, she has to have an ultrasound on her potato pancake. Potato pancake is code for “breast,” so that when she talks about it with her friends, no one will know what they’re discussing. But she found a small lump, the size of the pad of her thumb, and it hasn’t gone away. Tomorrow will actually be a relief, just to know that she got it checked out. But please throw some loving thoughts her way. She’s been through an awful lot of health issues for someone so young. I’m proud of her for doing self-exams.
I’ve been writing an essay about mean people for a magazine. Little Miss has got me thinking about this lately, and it fits with the subject matter for their next issue. I’ve been working on it all day, and I keep losing focus, but I’m sort of reigning it in.
Um, I’m going to go eat chocolate cake now.
