So, I've got a co-worker who's been with us for about five years (and considering the place I work at, that's quite a feat), and every so often, we'll have these odd talks after work.  Just for fun, I'm going to try and remember a few of them.  (Plus, I can't think of anything new and original to put up here!)

 

One day, we were talking about how I wanted to become a writer.  He said that I might have a tough time making money off that, and I said that was true, but if I happened to become, say, the next J.K.Rowling, I would be in the mad money.  I said something like, "J.K. Rowling is the wealthiest woman in Great Britain.  She makes more money than the Queen does.  Wouldn't it be cool if you were the queen?"

 

He said, "The Queen's not rich.  All she's got is a bunch of jewels she can't sell, and some real estate that she also can't sell, and a fancy title.  What she does have is being able to get free stuff.  She'll walk into a store and point to a dress and say, 'I want that' and the manager will go, 'Well, of course you can have it, you're the queen!'  And she could do that all day long.  If someone didn't recognize her and go, 'No, you can't have that,' she'd go, 'Off with your head!' and then they'll be all like, 'Oh wait!  You're the Queen!  Go ahead and take it!'  So if you were the queen, you wouldn't have a lot of money, you'd just be able to get a lot of free stuff, which would still rock."

 

Another day, another subject:

 

Me: "Do you know what the creators of horror movies have always ignored?  Killer hippos.  That would be an awesome movie!"

 

M:  "That would be awesome!  Hippos are like the serial killers of Africa.  They kill more people every year than lions.  They've got those jaws and they can bite crocodiles right in half.  They don't even eat them, they just chomp down and spit them out.  They are really fast and you don't even see them tillit's too late.  They just go around every day, like, 'Ok, I think today I'll eat some marsh grass, go wallow in the mud, nap a while in the swamp, and then I'll kill a lion if it tries to @!*& with me.'"

 

Odd stuff like that.  Not edifying, but entertaining.  In unrelated news, I've begun what could become my first novel.  All I can say at this point is that it's coming along nicely.    

 

 

Forgetting to Remember

 

How can you end like this, no protest, no final goodbye

as you slip from us?  Why didn’t you know us, your flesh

and blood?  I won’t forget how you ran to the door

whenever company rang: “Come in, come in, come in!”,

the Mr. Coffee that brewed a hundred thousand cups.

I won’t forget the way you taught me to sew, one patch

onto the other, growing stitch by stitch, the alphabet quilt

you made me before I was born, before you could know me,

that I still have now that you’ve forgotten me.  I wish

cloth could speak, your quilts would sing, patches

of your daughters’ dresses, green and pink and blue,

your sons’ cords, every scrap more precious than gold

because they touched you, a multicolored choir

full of the light of past days, when you knew yourself,

knew me and your six children and God only knows

how many grandchildren, and did you know you had

a great-great grandchild, Randy Sterling? 

If I had one question you could answer, it’s this:

Where did you go in those ten years? Do you know me now,

or did someone else take those memories? Give me back

my Grandma, those lost years, every visit where

you didn’t know me, the lady who is now a memory

more distant every day.  Give me back her music:

Alleycat, Kitten on the Keys, and Dizzy Fingers. 

Give me back the smiling silver-haired lady,

not this thing she’s become, so I won’t forget how she was,

and those pieces of her can become me.

Well, not a whole lot has happened since my last entry, other than I survived the first month of classes.  I think my stomach's getting stronger from all the drilling.  The instructor said that by next week, we'll have all the poses of a traditional sequence learned and spend the rest of the semester perfecting them.  My favorites are the Bicycle, Scissors, Jackknife and Rolling Like a Ball.

 

There's a cowboy my mother met on the River City Roundup trail ride that she wants me to meet.  She showed him my picture and he really wants to meet me.  According to her, he made a big point of getting our phone number.  She said something about getting him out to our place for a ride.

 

One of my partners-in-crime, I mean, co-workers, left last week to go to college in Chicago.  I'm gonna miss that kid.  He made it fun to go to work.  Don't get the wrong idea, either, Nay or Tsukari, he was more like a brother than a crush.

 

The third person in recent times has told me that I look like Emily Browning.  She's the actress who plays Violet Baudalaire on "A Series of Unfortunate Events."  I agree, but my hair's redder, and her lips are fuller.  I'll try and get a picture of her up and y'all can vote on it.

 

Bad news: I got the stomach flu on Saturday.  I won't gross you out with a lot of details except to say, I didn't know it was possible to throw up Pepto-Bismol.  I had to call in sick and I felt really bad about it, b/c we're shorthanded and I'm one of the few competents we have.  Wouldn't have been so bad, but I was scheduled for a split shift, one at noon and one in the evening.

 

Wrote four poems for class.  My teacher really liked the second one.  He said it was everything a good elegy should be.  If I'm feeling angsty, I'll inflict them on you.

 

That's really all I can think of.  Till next time, Gentle Readers!

Well, I survived the first full week of classes.  I have a headache.  I worked all weekend long, with split shifts on Friday & Saturday.  I can't tell yet whether this will be an easy semester or not.  I'll know by midterm, definitely.

 

Mondays I have Literature: Form & Theory, and yes, it is as boring as it sounds.  But the teacher is rather entertaining, given to reminicses about drug use and the occasional burst of profanity.  Tuesdays at 2 I have a Pilates Matwork class and that instructer should consider a career as a drill sergeant.  Then at 6, I have Basic Fiction Studio at Millard South campus, for some reason.  My bro's in that one as well.  Wednesday at 1 I have Basic Poetry Studio.  The teacher is completely new to Uno, so we'll see how he handles it.  Then, finally, Thursday at 2 is another Pilates Matwork. 

 

I knew I was in trouble this semester when I was sitting in my very first class and hoping the teacher wouldn't show up.  And I have a stress breakout on the left side of my face.  Very hideous.  Maybe I should consider a career as a movie monster?

 

Speaking of which, I saw Snakes on a Plane.  Yes, it's stupid.  Yes, it's unrealistic.   But also, yes, it's frikkin hilarious.  Bad soundtrack, but funny.  You take a chance with B-movies, you know?  With a blockbuster, you're almost guaranteed to find something you like in it, whether it's great special effects, or your favorite actor/actress, or making fun of Kate Bosworth.  (Love ya, Nay!)  But a B-movie, that's Russian Roulette.  You run the risk of walking out of the movie theater absolutely disgusted or bubbling with praise.  Not many I've seen are in-between.  I hated Cabin Fever.  By the last third of that movie, I was begging for it to be over.  Thank the Lord we saw the director mangled by his own dog, that's all I've got to say there.  But The Descent, that actually scared me.  And I liked it, despite its buckets of blood and gross kills.  I can't really say why, either.  I just did.  I will never go spelunking, thanks to them.  Not without an AK-47 and many sharp knives, at least.

 

Here's to next week, and the College Student's Mantra: It only gets harder from here. 

 

Cara Mia

            “When are we going to Italy?” Blair asked.

            “Next week, I promise,” replied Danny.  He didn’t take his eyes from the books in front of him.  He had an essay due, and he needed serious library time.

            ‘No, seriously, when are we going?”  The tone of her voice was enough to make Danny look up from his homework and look at her.  She didn’t look like she was joking.

            “Can’t we go?” she asked, a pleading note in her voice, “Just like we’ve been planning, only we’ll really go this time.  We won’t even tell our parents, we could just leave.  Wouldn’t you like to see Rome and Venice?” 

            Danny wasn’t sure just how to answer her.  His best friend looked like death warmed over.  Deep dark circles were under her bloodshot eyes.  She wore a knee brace where she had been injured in her car wreck, and a line of stitches was above her right eye like a second grisly eyebrow.

            “I’d go anywhere with you, Golden Girl, but we can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “For one, we’re both minors.  We’d need parental permission.”

            “We could get fake IDs,” she countered.

            “And passports and birth certificates, too?  Plus, we have no money.”

            “Not true.  I have college money saved up.  Almost $4,000.”

            “Really?” He considered it for a moment, then shook his head, “Besides that, we don’t know the language.”

            “Caro amore, divino, bello . . .”

            “Bella carissima!” he finished, kissing his fingertips, “Much as it kills me to be the practical one, I still have to say no.”  A librarian walking by gave both of them a dirty look.  Blair frowned right back at her and turned back to her math homework. 

            Danny studied her for a few minutes.  Even with her injuries, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.  Tall, with coltish arms and legs, curly blonde hair, and eyes that looked either gold or green, depending on the light.  Cat’s eyes.  True, she hadn’t been looking well since her crash, but that had happened almost three weeks ago.  She hadn’t been able to drive at night, but she had seemed fine.

            Right up until this morning, actually.  She had come out to say hello like she usually did, but she had looked shaky and exhausted.  She didn’t look much better now; pale, jumping at every sound, eyes huge and startled.  She kept tapping her pencil on the table, but Danny didn’t think she knew she was doing that.

            “Why?” he asked her.

            “Why what?” she said, looking up from her quadratic equations.

            “Why do you want to go now?” he clarified.

            “Oh.  Um,” she stammered, uttering a strange, short laugh, “It’s nicer over there.  Better scenery, more history.  Hotter guys.  Just forget it, OK?”

            “OK, whatever.”  Danny turned back to his books, but kept watching Blair from the corner of his eye.

**** **** ****

            Danny Boy, there’s some things I won’t tell even you.  Blair watched him from beneath her long eyelashes.  Her mind was spinning, making it impossible to concentrate.  Last night . . .  Quit thinking about it, she ordered herself.  For a while she wouldn’t, but her mind kept sliding back to it.

            Blair thought of her mother, how she hadn’t even gotten out of bed this morning.  When Blair had tried to wake her, she had rolled over and pulled the covers above her head.  She thought of the aching bruise on her right arm, between her shoulder and elbow.  She thought about the black eye her father most likely had, after . . . I will not think about it.  I will do my homework and not think about it anymore.

            She thought about how surprised Danny would be to learn how messed up her family was.  He knew they weren’t normal, but he didn’t know how twisted they could be.  Up until last night, Blair hadn’t known either, or she was ignoring it.  She had got along by telling herself it would be better once she moved out and got some space between her family and her.  She only had four months till she turned eighteen, but now, she didn’t think she could wait that long.

            I wouldn’t miss them, or this damn town.  None of it.  She looked to her right, where Danny was frowning over his essay.  Well, maybe I’d miss a redheaded neighbor boy with arms like tree trunks.

**** **** ****

            “OK, let’s go,” Danny said.  Blair looked up at him.

            “What, you’re done already?”

            “No, let’s go to Italy.” Danny wished for a camera right then. “You talked me into it.  Let’s go.”

            “What happened to Mr. Practical?”

            “I killed him and ate him.”  Blair laughed, and this time it sounded genuine.

            “OK, who’s buying?”

            “I thought you were, Big Mama Funbucks.”

            “My money’s not going to cover that.  I still need to keep some for college.  Anyway, I get airsick.”

            “So there’s no chance of us joining the Mile High Club?”  Her smile disappeared.  She jumped up, nearly falling over before grabbing her crutches.  She started cramming her books back into her bag.

            “That’s not funny.”  Astonished, Danny just sat there till she had put her jacket on and was walking out.  Grabbing his things, he trotted after her.

            “Wait!”

**** **** ****

            Blair walked out of the library.  She made it to the sidewalk before Danny caught up with her.

            “Blair, wait.  I’m sorry.  What’d I say?”  He really did look sorry.  Suddenly, she felt like the world’s biggest bitch.

            “Danny, it’s not you, it’s—”  She stopped herself.

            “Then what is it?”  Blair shook her head, unable to talk. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad.”

            She nodded vigorously.

            “Is it really that bad?”  Blair pressed her lips together, but couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.  She nodded again.  Danny wrapped his arms around her and she leaned her full weight into him, dropping her crutches.  She felt safe, if only for a moment.  This was Danny, her best friend, the boy who knew almost all her secrets, the boy she’d almost lost her virginity to.  She said something then, but her voice was muffled by his jacket.  He held her away from him.

            “What?”

            She drew in a hitching breath, “He hits me and he hurts me.  When he’s drinking, he comes after me.” 

            “Your dad?"

            “Who else?”

            “What about your mom?”

            Blair laughed humorlessly, “Mom doesn’t do anything anymore.  She’s depressed or something.  She just sleeps all the time.  Last night—” She stopped.  She leaned into Danny.  If I don’t say it, it didn’t happen, it was probably a nightmare, your dad wouldn’t do anything like that, and

            “Blair?  Last night what?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.  Let’s just go,” she said, pulling away from him, bending down to get her crutches.  He grabbed her wrist.

            “No, something’s wrong.  Tell me, Golden Girl."

            Can you, Blair?  He’ll think you’re disgusting, he’ll never want to see you again.  “Last night, Dad was drinking.” She gulped, fighting back a sob.  “He came into my room, and . . .” Even now she couldn’t say it.  Danny was silent for a long minute.        “That sonofabitch.”  She looked at his face.  He looked mad enough to kill.  “Did he . . . you know?”

            “No, he tried, but I got out of there.  When I told my mom, she didn’t believe me.  She just said I was trying to ruin the family.”  She leaned against him again.  Later, she would have to go to the police, she knew, or social services or something, but for right now, there was her friend, her dearest friend.  “Take me to Italy?” He kissed her on the forehead.

            “Anytime, cara.  Anytime.”

 

Here it is, at long last, CAPTION CONTEST THREE!  I have created the funniest line since, well, ever, but if you think you can do better, send it in!

 

 

(Picture is from Pitch Black, woman's name is Carolyn, man's name is[duh] Riddick)

(Funny story that happened to me on Friday: This kid I work with, think he's fifteen, he's got a bit of a crush on me that he expresses by teasing me.  Friday, he kept asking me about my fellow waitresses, "Kelly's pretty hot, isn't she?"  I'd go along with it and say "Yeah, sure."  He would then go up to the girl and say, "Hey, Kelly, _____ wants to make out with you."  I laughed it off, then said, "Vin Diesel is hotter than her, though."  Kid doesn't miss a beat.  He goes, "You want to make out with Vin Diesel?  That is so gay.")