character study

March 19, 2015 § Leave a comment

movie titles to provide to guests for when you are a wealthy, conservative, (very) Christian bed and breakfast owner, in order of least to most in character:

  • 48 Hours
  • Splash
  • Liar Liar
  • The Mask of Zorro
  • Fried Green Tomatoes
  • Pleasantville
  • Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
  • Man in the Iron Mask
  • Tie: Titanic and Terms of Endearment
  • Sling Blade
  • Bill Durham
  • Secondhand Lions (two copies)
  • Rain Main
  • Dear God
  • The Patriot
  • The Ultimate Gift
  • The Journey (21 min. from Open Heart Ministries)
  • The Passion of the Christ
  • Turner and Hooch
Advertisements

welp-gate

January 22, 2015 § Leave a comment

Saw a man in a kilt in the suburbs. The suburbs!

Today I was in a park and I wondered if it had wi-fi. I was so ashamed. Also I never even got out of my car. I’m making a fitness tape called “These are My Exercise Socks — I Wear Them to Bed.”

Nothing so hopeless as lusting after a character. Sigh, modern love on the phone in the park parking lot. I don’t even mean a particular actor — I mean a fic-fucking-ticious character. Why don’t you go hump a vapor?

Your deflated hot cocoa.

No one could have predicted that “deflate” would be all over the news. It’s such a pleasant surprise — thrills me that a deeply embarrassing word like that is in the front of everyone’s mind.

I think it is one of the most embarrassing words out there.

My argument

Think of the most embarrassing, cringy word you know.

You think it’s “moist”? You’re wrong.

“Moist” is for plebes.

No, what I’m talking about (spins chair around, stands up suddenly) is the kind of word that has levels to it — bonus emotions like guilt, depression, dysfunction, the creaky disrepair of old age and the creeping stench of death. It’s coming! Plus the word has to be slightly, grossly sex-related, so that when you hear it and think of something sexual, you get mad at yourself. You have to get mad at yourself.

Side argument

I also, on opposite side, like “pique” as a sexy word. It has a lot of layers (peak, peek, pick, piquant, tang, saliva)  and when you say it, you could be doing fake French, very nearly as sexy as Real French. vooujz a vlu jzean le damme?

Back

to my list of truly embarrassing words. My top pick (my pique ha ha help) is

  • bowl
  • grasp
  • waddle
  • plebe
  • poncho
  • slop
  • wallop
  • patchy
  • bulbous
  • gulp

yesterday to a colleague I said, “Welp, See ya later!” and I don’t think she knew what it meant. I got in my car and said, “This is why you’re not professional, the next time you ask me.” Then I drove to my bank and slept in the parking lot. Then I drove to the park.

domestic update

January 13, 2015 § Leave a comment

Sometimes when I’m standing around eating old Christmas candy, saying, It’s going to be different!  I think about my cat, who likes to dig and scratch at her litterbox after she poops. Doesn’t she realize it’s a hard plastic tub? She isn’t digging anything — no progress at all.

If you’re wondering, it’s the Sisyphean behavior that seems similar. This story wasn’t about how the old Christmas candy is like cat turds.

I have an unhealthy relationship with Max, the feature-creature on Netflix that tries to make recommendations to me. He’s never succeeded. And now when I bring him up he gets defensive and critical, and honestly it’s like I have a second boyfriend who is manipulative. I just ignore him now — that’s the closest I can get to dumping his fucking ass — but a friend came over and wanted to see him, and so I fired him up.

Right away, he flung some shit about how long it’s been since I last saw him. Then he asked me if I trusted him. Well isn’t this a little test! Drama and games. The truth is I don’t trust him, but I said yes, just like if we were having a fight in front of friends. So he just started a movie, right then, no questions asked. It was “Inventing the Abbotts,” which maybe I’ll want to see one day in 2023 when I’ve run out of everything else on my list.

I felt so bad stopping the movie. But then I realized he was a software program. I still want to read “The Gift of Fear.”

Today I rang the treat bag to see where my cat was. Sometimes I get these panics about her. I know I’ll be one of those moms that checks to see if the baby’s breathing every minute or so. I didn’t hear anything so I ramped it up and started shaking the bag really hard. Then I heard her frantically scratching her litter box in the basement.

I felt terrible, making her rush like that. No one likes to rush when they’re on the pot. I gave her three treats out of guilt.

My new line:

September 22, 2014 § Leave a comment

“My husband’s Jag–I drove it into a ditch. Can you fix it?”

(I don’t have an old line)

bunghole

August 31, 2014 § Leave a comment

i just looked up Dr. SBAITSO online so I could tell him he’s a bunghole and see if he recognizes it as an insult. My dad insists bunghole is not an insult and is a perfectly good word — but maybe that was a decade-long piece of performance art.

As you know I have a tendency to think things are performance art.

My dad also insists dillweed is not an insult. Now that I am grown up and once screamed, “WHERE IS THE DILLWEED?” while cooking, I see he has a point.

other herbs that are fun to yell about:

WHERE IS THE –ARE THE CHIVES? ARE THEY PLURAL?

PAPRIKA!??

WHERE IS THE THYME?

MACE!?? YOU KNOW AIN’T NOTHIN CHANGED BUT MY LIMP.

invention idea

June 13, 2014 § Leave a comment

A bad idea for an invention would be a phone or app or something that automatically reads out loud your texts as you receive them–so you’re sitting there at a dinner party and I text you something awful about one of the dinner guests and in the middle of the dinner you hear a robotic voice coming from your purse say something bitter and cruel and not very funny. If it’s the movies it gets real quiet and everyone hovers their forks full of asparagus in mid air. If it’s real life there’s no dinner party at all and we’re on the toilet reading.

the whirl (parataxis)

April 9, 2014 § Leave a comment

exercise written in parataxis, where sentences do not connect to each other coherently.

I ended up walking alone again. The sun seems closer than normal. Why do my underarms smell like old shoes? I have never understood that smell. I will have to buy a new shirt again. A car honks again. I keep walking straight, pretending I am being tested for a DUI. The honk sounded aggressive and cruel. I should pretend to talk on my phone. I pat the outside of my purse. I don’t even like this purse. There’s something stuck in my tooth. I see a car coming the opposite way, dark dark blue with a mismatched door. I have always admired the courage of those who can go on with a mismatched door. Someday I will go out with two different socks. The smell comes back to remind me that it is there and that I should not forget it. I am not feeling sorry for myself. The smell is my only friend on this trip. I thought I could never get used to being alone. Overall I was correct. Sometimes I turn my head as if someone just said something that I missed. I need to ask someone about this bra. I can’t ask the smell about it. I feel warm. I think I could enjoy living here. There are times when it’s too sad. Everything gets more and more beautiful. Everything gets sadder. People insist upon the beauty here. I can go anywhere and buy a t-shirt or an ashtray reminding me. It seems ridiculous that anyone would forget. I temporarily forgot where I’m walking. My second grade teacher told me if I could make my handwriting as good as my walk then I would stop getting C’s. It might’ve been the other way around. I see three dead lizards on the sidewalk. They look like they were gunned down after escaping a jail. The 7-11 ascends like a temple. I hear the ding on the door, in my head, before I get there. I push on the door. The real life DING is exactly as I imagined it. I have never been happier. The air conditioning travels directly up my shorts. The man behind the counter looks like my high school chemistry teacher. His name was Mr. Dirvish. He smiles at me. Maybe it is him. I try not to look at him. In 7-11 there are always multiple beverage wall cases. I decide to go towards the water wall cases. I press my palm up against the glass. It makes a tiny microscopic splintering sound that can only be heard with a stethoscope. Sideways I watch Mr. Dirvish. He is watching me. 7-11 men do a lot of watching. He may not be the real Mr. Dirvish. I’m trying not to be racist here.