Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Let's Add it All Up!

On Christmas, I received:

2 "Screwpull" bar-ware devices (fancy schmancy)
1 chocolate cookbook
1 pair of to-die-for Frye Cow-boy boots
1 "Everyone Love a Minnesota Girl" T-shirt
3 pairs of pajamas
5 pairs of underwear
1 non-anti-perspirant containing deordorizer
1 pair of slippers
2 gift cards
1 apron (from the spaz dog-nephew and the whoreish girl dog niece)
21 Christmas cards
26 text messages
1 Christmas phone call (from Matt Boyce)
Fluffy white snow!!!!!!!!!

I diveyed out:

-various "Lush" bath products
2 Spinner yard ornaments
eye shadows
1 Caribou hot chocolate gift set
1 Star War's t-hirt
4 Grain Belt Premium Beer glasses
1 foodie book
15 Christmas cards
30 text messages (whilst drunk at about 4pm or so)
2 microwaveable corn-bags
2 gift cards
4 lip glosses
$40 in cold hard cash
2 phone calls to aunties and one second cousin

I "slaved": The past 16 days at the temp job and/or old massage job and/or cooking for family the old Christmas goose (turkey) and delicious side dishes and keeping the cocktails flowing.


Now, I love Jesus. I live by the whole Jesus philosophy. Loving people. Failing, forgiving, apathy, fervor, honesty. You name it if it is good. Jesus loves it and I embrace it. I think about him when I get fraustrated when I get excited when I am drunk when I am waking up when I am on a bad date when I need answers when I have questions when I want peace when I need peace when I long for love or PATIENCE or grace or guidelines to live as a christian. But I am done pretending every December 25th that he is born. And celebrating it with a smile and a purchased item from a mall.

That's not true. Next year. I'll be there buying shit for people in his name. But my heart is not in it. Already, I know that.

When I was younger my grandparents lived in the apartment I live in now. And from their bedroom window we looked out and saw a red light blinking from a warehouse about 5 blocks away. It was Rudolph's nose, "So eat your darn lutefisk and lefse and don't scream your head off during dinner or sing carrols," and then you'll get presents. That was fun. I remember it as fun. But fun stops. The tradition takes an awkward turn. The amount of text messages either depresses or impresses you and Jesus is there all along telling you he loves you. LOVES YOU!!!! You! Asshole!

But the formality wins out, 'cause he'll be loving you (asshole) tomorrow and the next day and the next. Whether or not you remember to get him something from the GAP or not.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Apparently, If you don't celebrate Christmas You're an Asshole

Educated people sometimes bewilder me even more than uneducated people.

It takes about 20 years of school and rigorous tests of one's cognitive abilities to be your common everyday pharmacist. My father is one, as of late I work with about 20, and I've known a few through the years. I usually like them. They get TMI'ed all day long and it doesn't even phase them...until today...

One pharmacist I work with is clearly Muslim. She is also the best pharmacist, if you ask me. Professional, sweet, patient, knows everything...just what you'd be looking for in a druggist. The only thing she doesn't embark on is the chocolate frenzy all the other pharmacists seem to get off over. And one pahrmacist in particular, needs to be put down.

The Muslim pharmacist was minding her own business when someone brought some awesome fudge into work and started to pass it around. When it got to her she declined it politely. Then she gets asked, by her pharmacist co-worker, "So you wouldn't have a little chocolate to celebrate Christmas with us?" Followed up with, "What are you going to do on Christmas?"

I've never celebrated anything other than Christmas. I have wished that I could've participated in Hanukkah forever (I am a closet Jewish person), but only ever Christmas. I know that there is more...out there, but this time of year has always been about me and Jesus and a little something from JCrew. But to non-celebraters I am sure it is as if it doesn't even exist. Just another day.

But this bitch asked her these questions in all seriousness. And I've been pissed off ever since. Some people need to think.

It's like pengins or The Northface with me. I know they exist. I find them nonessential. I do know that people enjoy them but I can live my life without and be fulfilled. (Let's include butterflies, too) I do not need people creeping up to me with a penguin along or to wear Northface and be eager to point out butterflies and then subsequently my aversion and/or apathy to them. That's just plain rude.

I don't like it when people think out loud.

Friday, December 14, 2007


Some call it "the long way home" or "crusing along" or as the title mentioned "joy-riding," but I call it therapy.

The kind of therapy that allows one to light up a Camel Light and Lucious, sip a seriously disgusting Vanilla Cap-u-chino, tally up the hours until a Scrubs re-run is on, and make decisions regarding the betterment of your personality. Lately, the long-way home takes me from the outer skirts of SE Minneapolis to and through the West side of St. Paul "home of the St. Paul Saints" and place to get some decent ice cream and then back into Minneapplesauce (southside) through the ghetto and on to the deeper ghetto where I live.

This route saves me about 15 minutes in grid-lock traffic from the hell carved out of push-pin, Dr. Grip pen loving, colored tabs for the manuals and "hey everyboy it's been 15 minutes since the last time we walked the 10 yards to the lunch room to get tea and it took us no less than 48 minutes to do it" splendor but the route makes me traverse about 5 extra miles through warehouse nothingness. It also probably costs me about an extra $42.30 a week in gas but why should I care? It makes me happy and a little more sane.

This position I took was designed for a person to be described as a "workhorse." I was like "I like to work" and "horsies are cute," so why not take the job? huh? It seriously takes me about 2 hours to do what took the previous woman 80. I don't think that I am well-liked there and that is fine. No one has eaten lunch with me and/or recruited me to join them at Chili's after-hours. Totally fine. I lost the contest that is done every other week in which everyone's name gets put in a hat and one name is drawn. That person has to man the phones for the entire organization (200+ people) while everyone else gets to enjoy a company provided lunch. That person also has to provide their own lunch. When my name was drawn (my first week there) imagine a quiet meadow becoming exponentially quieter. My response was "k."

I've never cared less.

People have been shitty to me lately. Let me vent.
1. Person training me in insisted that I do not write in my own manual. Yelled at me about it.
2. Many sales people at Macy's refused to wait on me for some reason. They were "tired."
3. Told my friend a secret on Tuesday night and he loudly repeated it 2 seconds later to the entire table.
4. Big Bowl put an obscene amount of spice into my Kung Pao.
5. Woman at Mall of America who sells lotions in a kiosk told me my nails were "ugly" and "not feminine"
6. Pressure from people to go on a blind-date
7. Church changed up the service time and didn't fucking tell anyone or at least me
8. The good people who keep the time going on the cell phone at Verizon Wireless like to mess with me and race the time on me...especially overnight.
9. My really awesome friend sends me copious text/picture messages. Each cost me $2. My cell-phone bill was outrageous. But what do you say to someone who has had a rough year?
10. JCrew doesn't make size 6's like they used to.

I haven't resorted to crying yet. Strength is special. For now.

But me thinks a nice pair of Frye Harness boots in brown might make for something a lot little special. We'll see.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

To Clear things up...

...yesterday I was high. The guy was NOT cute, so I didn't bother to learn his name (eventhough it would be a good idea since I might be stationed at this job for a month or so).

Also I * somethings in the Christmas letter I shared with you all. And this stays here:

The mother had an obvious extramarital affair. You have to see the picture to believe it. All the other kids look mildly Asian except the one. She has flaming red hair. I guess a neighbor in the same cul-de-sac had the same freakish, crimson hair as this girl. It is obscenely red. THink Cheez-It box.

Well, besides the godddamn Marine son of hers (she parathesized her granddaughter's name...I like parentheses but to your granddaughter. Don't get me wrong, I think grandchildren are good for nothing but gardening and rubbage removal, but show them SOME consideration) the love child got all the glory. Like "yay, she can train a fucking dog." I've done that about 4 times in my life.

And it is so shameless how apparent this girl is not a part of the family. It like a picture of dark-haired parents (both a touch Asian) four semi-Asian kids and then WHAM!!! Strawberry Shortcake just smiling complacently as if she doesn't even know the joke her parents are cringing over.

I would've adopted her if I was a tad bit older. Just to spare her some weirdness.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Lust? Or Love?

So I am officially in something. With somebody. And he's hot!

I am just thankful that I am a temp. That I'm not actually his co-worker. That I work not with but amongst an insanely goodlooking man. I have before but this is different. Because.

I wonder what he thinks about. At all times.

I just met him today.

This feeling is totally a little special because I know it is silly and unrealistic but it has been a long, long time since I have had a crush on a person. Except for the guy who biked to work and wore saggy pants and worked across the street, I haven't loved or lusted after someone so quickly and completely.

I think he's the one. Tomorrow...I'm going to figure out his goddamn name.

To continue on the Christmas Card madness, the following is another one the family received a couple of days ago:

Just a short note to fill those of you that we don't see very often (if ever anymore) :) in on some of the changes in our family.

BJ (23): Entered the US Army in July 2006. He was accepted to Airborne school and earned his wings. He also got married in 2006 {are we a year behind?!?}. BJ and his wife Summer moved to North Carolina where he was stationed in the 82nd Airborne Division. BJ was deployed to Iraq in June of 2007 and Summer moved back to live with her parents in Oakdale, MN. BJ and Summer had a baby girl (Trisha) in July. BJ was able to come home on leave in October and saw his baby daughter for the first time. He is now back in Iraq due back to North Carolina in June the Lord willing. BJ has had quite a few changes in his life in the past year.

Sara(19): is enrolled at Minnesota School of Business in their Physical Science program. She is doing well and has been on the Dean's list every quarter so far. She is also working part-time at Garson's Pharmacy as a Pharmacy Technician.

Jason (16): Is {why does J's 'Is" capitalized but not Sara's?!?} working part-time at Keyes Cafe and finding out what working for a living is all about {Yeah! Because part-time jobs teach you that?!} His favorite thing to do is BMX biking. Between his trick biking and driving with him for his permit hours I (mom*) have really gone grey {and fucking boring if you ask me}.

Gabi* (13); Talked most of her family into letting her get a dog. She rescued a Siberian Husky from the Humane Society and named her Taya. She has been taking obedience classes with her and is doing so well the isntructor said she could "show her" at comepetitions and also said that Gabi could help the instructor with classes. Gabi also has two guinea pigs, a hamster, and two love birds. (Dan and I have determined we will not have any animals once our children are out of the house).

Cindi (10): Is the typical youngest {slut} child. She gets picked on and bossed around. She is way too involved with electronics. {and shafted in the Christmas letter...and just a little word to Cindi, electronics don't love you back}

Let's say I had some children and wanted to write a Christmas letter. Here's how it would go:

As you all know, I fell in love with my goodlooking husband many years ago on the day I met him. And in our union, which was blessed by God and Anthony Bourdain, we produced three lovely children. All of which I gave birth to standing up and collectively in a half hours time.

Those three children are the loves of our life's and here's what they've been up to.

Jose is now the Pope. He creates holy documents, speaks holy words, and traverses the globe spreading news of peace. He will be canonized a saint upon his death.

Johnnie is a tobacco tycoon. He is clever and funny. And rich. We are so proud of him and truly hope his spirit and engenuity extend to all the children he houses in the 12 orphanages he operates around the world.

Jack is a carpenter. He is deliciously skilled in crafting roll-top desks and whittling his grandmother chubby Buddha dolls out of mahoghany. We love him so.

We hope that you life and especially your holidays turn out to be as fulfilling as just one day of our life.

Merry Christmas Bitches!

Sam, her hot husband (name tba later), and the three wisemen!

Monday, December 3, 2007

Somewhere Out There

At least one other person is watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas." Right now.

That person, is a little special.

And I can only hope that it's a he. And that he's as cute as Linus. (In a grown up kind of way)

Sunday, December 2, 2007

Where did the year go?

This is the ever present rhetorical question posed at the beginning of each and every holiday letter you will receive this year. I am going to share with you the very first Christmas letter my family received. And for confidentiality purposes names have NOT been changed because it is possible that these trailblazers have little to do with internet technology.

Enjoy! My interjections are within parentheses.


Where did the time go again? (again?) Our family is doing really good so far (there is a whole 31 days for that to change). Jay & Trish have done some work to their home and it looks really nice. They had the outside painted and added a hot tub to the back yard. The kids are getting big (Thank God! They shrunk last year). Remy turned 12 in August and Daryq (who I heard questioned the grammatics of his name) 13 the end of November. They live here in Brainerd. (Thanks for clearing that up...the whole where "here" is)

Misty & her family live in Fargo and they are doing good too. Helen is 13 and (as luck would have it) will be 14 in February. Jason was 2 in May, he is such a stinker. (We are supposed to take this as a nonverbal way to say he is not potty-trained).

Roy & I had a good year. We went on 2 vacations. The first one was in February, we went to Hawaii and loved it. (I was beginning to be suspicious of their humanness). We flew to Honolulu and got on a cruise ship and sailed around to the other islands for 7 days, then we spent another 5 days in Honolulu and did lots of sight seeing. It was great! (Finally a great in lieu of good)

Our second trip was in October. We went on a National Park vacation (this is my dream honeymoon...driving the land and road-house loving...let's see Roy & Rita's take on it). We went on an 11 day trip, from here we went to Livingston, Montana, through part of Yellowstone Park, Mammoth Hot Springs. (did someone say Hot? and Mommoth? In the same sentence...sounds like my honeymoon come true) We got married there 30 years ago so we had our picture taken at the same place. From there we went to Idaho (yeah, that's what she said), to Utah, to Arizona, and back to Utah (because why not?), Colorado, Wyoming and through South Dakota and home. There are some beautiful National Parks in Utah, we liked the parks there better than the Grand Canyon (didn't I mention they were trailblazers) even though that (re: Grand Canyon) was nice (WTF?) too. We also visited Roy's uncle in Salt Lake City (and his copious underaged wives), we had a really nice visit. Oh there is so much to see in Utah. (I couldn't imagine these insights) Everybody always said, what do you see in Utah? There is a lot. (They don't know a lot of people)

And we are both lucky that both of our Dads are still with us and doing pretty good for their age.

We want to wish everybody a healthy and happy new year.

Merry Christmas

I am such an asshole, but the good thing about God is that he forgives. Especially, if you are super sorry.

The following is my Holiday letter. I hope you enjoy it.

Hey Everybody! It feels just like it was 365 days ago when I sat down to write about what happened to me in 2006. Boy, does time fly at the same exact rate it does every year.

Enough of making perfect sense and being adorable and more about what I did. Or, let's face it, who I didn't do. Haha...sorry Mom.

I rang in 2007 with 5 gay naked neighbors jumping off my balcony, but things didn't start to get interesting until the end of May in which I embarked on my first one-night stand. Everything was perfect until he called, so i guess you could say it was a one-night stand and a phone call. Well, can't do everything right.

One day in June I got drunk under a bridge. On another evening I took 15 Jello Shots. I caught a glimpse of my future husband and how he deals with pain and suffering. And in July my little brother got married to a person from Wisconsin.

I moved back to the great state of Minnesota in October and miss my Chicago brethren terribly, however, find the move was worth it to end up serving the public in a nonprofit setting and getting a bad, BBBAAAADDD haircut. To top it all off, those Chicago people never really loved me. they just liked all the free lap-dances. Hey, a girl has got to eat.

As I reflect on the past I regret not eating more cheese and giving up cigarettes. Afterall, that save-the-Earth-granola-eating bike messenger from the North-side wasn't worth it in the end.

I am thankful for you; the recipients of this letter. I hope you can forgive me for its candidness, but I am sure it is for my candidness that you love me.

I will leave you with the normal cliched pleasentries of "Have a Happy Holiday Season" and one of Al Pacino's; "Where's the booze? It's flowing like mud around here!"

All my love,


Saturday, December 1, 2007

College Basketball, the Madness has begun

I think that sports are just a little special. College sports, however, are freakishly emotional and just a ton special. I'm sort of a fan. Don't get me wrong, I don't know what's going on half the time, but I guess the whole idea of being a student and an athlete really just make me want to cry tears of happiness.

There is just more at stake. Scholarships, futures, bar revenues, team sport apparel manufacturers businesses, etc. So much conflict on the shoulders of boys and girls barely old enough to vote, much less drink.

Today, I went to the Gophers vs. U of California Riverside basketball game and I fell in love with a certain player by the name of Jamal Abu-Shamala. He was like a one-man cyclone of capability and undeniable hooptastic talent. Tubby had him up and down that court for the greater part of the 40 minute match. And eventhough the event was unevenly matched it was fantastic to see someone rise to the challenge and/or burden of winning and thus perpetuating millions of Minnesotans happiness just a day further.

He also perfected the "I've just been fouled" arms above the head butt slide so many ballers perform. You've seen it. Someone very slightly bumps into them and they throw themselves backward onto the floor with their arms above their heads and slide about 2-4 feet on their ass and display a look of innocent bewilderment.

Pro-Athletes I think should always win. If you are getting paid to play, you should win. End of discussion.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Getting Asked Out

When you are a lady and a gentleman asks you to go out on a date with him romantically, regardless of what actually goes down, it is pretty huge. It involves an invitation, a small amount of bravery, and maybe, hope.

I haven't been asked out on a date since June (and I was so deeply honored and excited and it eventually sucked...big time, but I am sure he is a nice guy but just not for me). But today broke the whole almost 6 month recession when a client at the job took the time to remove the sucker from his mouth to say "Go out with me."

Normally, I would've said "Sure." But not today. I felt very on the spot and kind of told more than asked. And word to the wise, I rarely get told what to do. Today, I said the old stand-by, "I've got a boyfriend." And he replied, "That old guy." And then I got very self-conscious like racking my brain to remember "WHAT OLD GUY?!?!?" I can not remember me and an old guy doing squat in like forever. And then I remembered I work with an old guy and it all made sense. In a way. So I just nodded.

But it is always special to get invited to anything. Recently, I was sent an Evite to attend some holiday soiree and I looked at the Evite no less than about 100 times I am sure of it. And the host called me up and was like "Why do you keep looking at the Evite? Are you monitoring it or something?" And first off FUCK YOU EVITE for putting some sort of notifyer on Evites and secondly NO I was not monitoring anything. I was just so happy to get invited! Period! Getting included makes me happy. I'm a second child. 'nough said.

Which is why I am inviting all of you...(and that probably just includes Shaun which is enough for me...my BFF) to come watch me read a personal, prose essay called "My Brain." It is this Friday, November 30th at the Riverview Wine Bar at 7:30 in Minneapplesauce. The piece is about my brain or what it does actually. I will read it and other writers in the Twin Cities will read stories and essays as well. It is possible I might get drunk, again.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Pete Wentz' Sex Tape

Which isn't really a sex tape, is a little special.

He's all tatted up and there's music and there's a shitty editing job and she slaps him across the face.

Until I saw this, I thought you physically owned a somethig or other called "sex tape." No really, I did. And I was like, "Something I don't have. Where can I get me some?" But now I know and they seem to be rather problematic once you have one and then you have to defend it to not get excommunicated and/or piss off you girlfriend or boyfriend. And then think of the KIDS!!

My three little boy's that will someday spring forth from my body (or so says the fortune teller) do not need a mother who has a sex tape in her cedar chest. Instead little Alvin, Simon, and Theodore are going to have a mother that just admires sex tapes from afar.

But his is the best because he is kind of hot. Even if it isn't real. Check it out.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Honestly, I dig honesty. And I'm gonna be honest and say how sorry I am for my disjointed and ill-edited blogging. I'm truly an idiot and to be honest, perfectly, not that sorry.

BUT today, at the job, a woman calls and says, "They giving out gas cards today?" To which I responed, "I can not answer that question." "Well," she says, "It's about 2:30. General Hospital is over at three...I'll be over after three." So she sits home watching soap operas, comes into this nonprofit to collect free shit, and out of her pocket falls a pack of Salem cigs. And I'm like amazed.

And appeased that her unabashed way of stealing from the taxpayers and other more deserving needy people is sooooo honest. It's like she doesn't give a damn. She doesn't work, her kids go to daycare which gets paid for by the government, she gets free gas, internet, and food AND all she has to do is pretend to be looking for a job. PRETEND.

And now you all think I'm an asshole. But I am not.

A lady walked in. Didn't speak English. Wanted to sign her kids up for Toys for Tots, but we had locked the doors and I didn't have a key. I got into my car and as I drove to my house I see her walking, in the cold, past a bus stop. And I cried the rest of the way home. Or to the liquor store, actually. And the Liquor Master (it's what I called the cashiers at the liquor store) thought I was coked out from the look of my red puffy eyes.

I should've hunted her down, given her a ride, bought toys instead of merlot. And while it is my job as a christian to do so, it is not my job to be the little semblance of justice in her life when behind her back government is handing stuff out to people that just don't make sense.

HONESTY is a little special. I guess.

Monday, November 19, 2007

The World We Know is OVER

Today, I solved computer issues for not one, not two, not three, BUT four motherfuckers.

It just goes to show, that you can do anything if you put your mind to it.

And it also means haste, makes waste.

And possibly you must conquer your fear or you fear will conquer you.

I dated a guy who would roll his eyes everytime I came at him with a mixed metaphor, or proverb, or Bible passage, or personal anecdote, or actually, I'm going to be honest, any formation of words that one might string together in the form of a sentence. He really hated when I talked. Upon meeting his best friend he told me, "Mind your p's and q's. I want you on your best behavior." Which meant, I wasn't allowed to talk too much.

But why do expressions exist if they aren't to be used? Why do people shun them?

Back to being a computer IT mambo Sambo. I work at a non-profit employment counseling service with a resource center and people come in to use computers and sometimes have snaffus. Part of my job, surprisingly, is to remedy those snaffus. If you were to ask previously mentioned bf if he believes I'd ever end up in this situation, he'd probably manifest disbelief in the form of crapping his pants.

BUT I find that I round out these computer counseling sessions with some sort of malapropism or syntactic blend and people respond by looking at me with a hint of pity.

Situation #1: Man can not upload his resume to a company website and he enlists my help. I come over and notice that he has the proposed file for uploadment open. A major Widows "no-no" and with a click here and a click there, his resume is attached and he is now a candidate to accurately saw concrete. He says to me, "Thanks Sam. I wish I knew computer tricks like that." To which I responded, "If wishes were horses, we'd be knee deep in shit."

Situation #2: Girl can not get keyboard to type anything. I tap on the keys a little and smell something quite Dr. Peppery. I ask her, "Did you pour some of that pop on the keys?" "Guilty," she says, "I'm so sorry." And I said, "A guilty conscience never feels secure."

Situation #3: A woman calls me over because everytime she hits delete within a word or sentence and starts to type it 'overtypes' on words she "meant to stay damn put." I noticed she had "OVERTYPE" and fixed it as I knealt beside her. "You going to injure your knees sitting like that," she said to me. I replied, "You're probably right. My Achilles ankle has always been my knees."

Situation #4: Myspace.com isn't able to display pictures of some girl's baby and it's a "real cute fat picture." (I also have another story to share about MySpace) And I taught this individual how to right click on something and perhaps display a picture. And then I kicked her off of MySpace because computers are for job searching and not recreational uses. "But I'm just looking at a baby's picture," she said to me, and I said "Sharpen your pencil." Which was something my father always said to me that meant shape up and stop fucking around.

***Other Myspace story. MySpace apparently has spyware attached to it. And nothing is more entertaining than to watch two people over 50 debate about what exactly spyware is. I was sober and it was about 2 o'clock. And neither admitted to actually knowing.***

Anyways, figures of speech are cool. A lot of people won't know what you are talking about. But I think they are a little special and I try to work it about 10 or so a day. For no other reason than it helps me talk a little bit longer and maybe cements whatever it is I was talking about in the first place into that person's head.

Next topic, anything titled "Mom's ..."

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Accurate Concrete Sawing and supporting storylines

This evening I was watching "Pretty Woman" for about the twenty-thousandth time. And I was particularly riveted by a scene involving Lewis Enterprises. An associate calls Edward (Richard Gere) and says that the company he is intending on purchasing and selling off the pieces has secured a "contract to build Navy destroyers," and then Edward says he will "bury that contract in the Senate's appropriations committee."

What is the point of bringing this up?

If you really watch this movie you know it is more than entertaining. It is extrordinarily well written. The supporting storyline appropriately blends in with the main conflict which we all know is; can love transcend the fact that Julia, while beautiful and extremely witty for a whore, was in fact a whore? Literally. She was a whore.

The Lewis Enterprise is on-goings perpetuate the film that we all know and love. And yet we only remember the parts where Julia gets to shop and when they go to the opera and she cries or the part when she gets slapped by George Constanza.

Concrete sawing is something that I never imagined in my lifetime existed. But now that I know it is a profession and someone can be accurate at it if they might need to be a whole world of realization reality has entered my consciousness.

I can recall a man who was delicately sandblasting gum off a city street. Another person polished acid graffiti off a storefront. And still another person powerwashes windows that no one would ever see in from the outside, and another tuck-points, others assemble, create, build, breaks down, cleans, drives, arranges, audits, drafts, bids, polishes, teaches, arrests, collects, calls, and so on and there-fore that I think I have met one of everyone. I guess what I am saying is that what we do, the supporting storyline of our lives, is a little special.

While to some what we do is who they are, and that's cool. It just means that whatever that is IS a LOT special.

Something has touched my life as of late. It is confusion of what life has dealt some people. That what you pursue academically and/or professionally is and will determine who are your friends are, what things you will need to survive, and maybe what you might buy at a grocery store. And maybe that is o.k. But I had a client once that was a mildly autistic trucker. Never would I have chosen for him to be in my life. But I really liked talking to him. Learning about trucking. And I decided that trucking is probably the best industry for functional autistics. If you think about it.

But I digress. I guess I am just saying that there is a lot to learn from a lot of people out there.

Edward learned what his heart truly desired from the hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold, Vivian. And she helped him, coincidentally with his business ventures.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Mark(c) Cohn vs the drunken b-log

Bla-iz-zog. I ran into my friend Matty at the old Riverview Wine Bar and his repeated use of the term "cell block" has fueled by creativeness.

Marc Cohn...he walked upon Memphis. He saddled something. Got stung in an undercover illegal operaion, Out ran the cops.s Got in some sort of ill-conceived litigations and still...to this day, the popularity of one overtly (I thought long and hard bout that word choice) popular pop song couldn't drag him out of despair?!?

Memphis, I hear, is the shiz. The place to have iced tea and think. The place to see porches and bees and angular lumbar...in live action. The place actually feels music.

It's the latter, I don't buy.

I feel music...here. Darren Jackson. PRINCE!! Bob Dylan. Marc Cohn was mis-informed. And I hate incredulousness.

Any many will say...you poor dear piece of mis-informed tra-iz-ash. Marc Cohn doesn't have dick to say about shit. But WHY? WHY is what I say?

'Cause I was walking in Memphis? I was walkin with my feet ten feet off of Beale. Wah-alking in Memphis. But do you really feel the way I feel?

TOO MANY QUESTIONS MARC!!!! Too many questions about a place that is landlocked and is humid.

And, let me bring the wikipedia into play...he was Jewish (it is like the 5th word in the description of this man). I have never wanted to be anything BUT Jewish. My whole life, I have aspired to be Jewish. And I thought being Jewish meant you had to wax your arms (thanks Barb when I was in 2nd grade...U R the best!!!). But fer reals...are we to believe that he resided in residential or urban or industrial or rural Memphis anything and anytime? With a talent like his????? I am thinking,,,,nah uhh.

Marc Cohn performs here in the twin cities twice a year. And we are thankful and reciprocate in selling out his concert venues. But do these people sit there for a whole 3 minutes? And enjoy the one song that energizes this man's career? Thank you Clear Channel for perpetuation of one man's blind ambitions.

ANd the next "just a little something special" reflection will be,,,the Twin Cities Company: Accurate Concrete Sawing. It exists. Get serious about it!

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Wallet Chains & Back Pocket Hankies

Hurmmmmm....in poetry.

I worked with a guy, he was tall
With a peacockish gait and Vans in all styles
He wore silly hats advertising Welders,
and he wore both a wallet chain and a back pocket hankie

I hate poetry.

So yeah, until I met this guy (his name was Josh and he looked like a Who from Whoville only a seven foot tall Who and he repeatedly touched my left shoulder and threw his trash in the bin behind my chair) I was all for wallet chains or back pocket hankies. They are very purposeful and serve a purpose and might be purposed as an adornment or purposely worn as some sort of gang symbolism. I don't know, but they are indeed "a little special." To me at any rate!

I was given a reading by a psychic years ago and he said I would bear 3 male children and I immediately went to Gander Mountain and saw these wallets attached to chains that one can secure onto a belt and then never be pickpocketed ever again and I thought to myself, "I better buy three of these bad boys," because then I would put identification cards and warning labels in the wallets and sew them into my son's trousers and then I could buy a leash (or mountaineering paraphenalia) and lasso my children together and never lose them and they would always be calmed by their mother's voice because I'd be near them. See, I'd be a good mother, I'm already looking out for the little fuckers right now. I know public schools ban wallet chains which is why I'd home-school and we'd pledge allegiance and maybe throw in an Our Father.

And then one Spring I was sent to purchase my Grandfather hankies and I couldn't find them anywhere (hello!?! Minnesota, home of the homer hankie) and I was pissed because it takes a very special person to purge themselves of mucus through their nose onto something purposed for such an act only to be washed and reused. Used and reused. It's full of snot and then it's not...you know you love me.

At any rate, why are they only a little special? Because not everybody recognizes their nuanced place in this world. Just like not everybody will be able to recognize the contributions this blogs next subject hath made to humanity; Marc Cohn.

But that's another time. Josh kind of double dipped and wore both with made me furious at times and I once purposed his hankie as something to dust the Whoville "Where the fuck is Christmas" expression right off his face. And I was like "Blow...give Mommy a good blow." But he politely took it back, folded it in a triangle and stuffed it back into his pocket jiggling and jangling all along with that wallet chain of his.

Yesterday, I saw a man finesse his wallet out of his saggy back pocket and it slipped almost acrobatically out of his hand but did not land upon the floor. No...it dangled about 6 inches above his ankles and he pulled the chain to retrieve the wallet instead of bending a little to actually grab the wallet. It was lyrical.

I'm babbling. Get ready for next time.

Monday, October 22, 2007

What This All Means

I have heard that it doesn't pay to be just a little special. But I disagree.

Things that have come and gone in my life that I consider "a little special" probably made people millions of dollars and/or caused people revelry or heartache. And maybe these things, places, or people are still out there...doing it (i.e. being a little special) and we (you and I) don't pay attention until some Japanese artist silkscreens it (the little bit of specialness) on a t-shirt or purse. And so I start with one of the little special things that has already reared its head three times in this paragraph.

The parentheses.

A creative writing teacher (a poet) once told me that parenthetical clauses or phrases are now only to attribute information to an outside source. I was so pissed off. Those little guys can make a sentence run-on to a beautiful infinity, to an indecisive continuum, to something else that doesn't make too much sense. You don't see them all that often, but I think they are nice.

Whoever made this decision to forsake the parentheses in such an analytical way sucks? Just look at the following magic:

Billy didn't mean to say what was always on his mind (he did however), and this troubled (and often got him into trouble) him mostly when he had to talk about his preferences (for he had many) and if anyone really knows a middle child, they know a middle child can't think for themselves (or they do think for themselves too much) and therefore have no preferences (when in fact Billy really did) along the lines of favorite season, beverage, type of song, morning or night, pencil or pen.

*You could use commas but commas clutter. You could do without the parenthetical information, but it is sparkly, huh? I like sparkliness.

I am just saying that parentheses are a little special to me. Ultra valuable in mathematics and emoticons. Give them a little more glory. Elevate to a bunch special. They deserve it.

For next time: Wallet Chains and/or back pocket hankie

I will also take suggestions on things you think are "a little special" and reflect on them. Please feel free to indulge me.