I can't explain my compulsion to anthropomorphize every object I own. I just know that I name nearly every piece of tchatchki that comes into my life the way a pet owner might her beloved litter of puppies. Don't dare refer to my reading chair as "that dingy thing you got for half price at Pier One". That's Chairy. And she can hear you when you talk about her that way. And that battery powered chewing-action kimono lizard we acquired during our toy-buying dot com days? Well, that's Karl. And he would greatly appreciate it if you didn't pick him up by his meaty rubber tail like that.
If there was ever a reason to want to be monitored by the CIA, I've got as good a reason as any. Between the weird alien language that CLH and I have cultivated to talk cute to one another in, and my drooling idiot names for common household objects, I'd say I'd be able to give any code cracker a good run for his money.
This habit is so out of control that I've actually got my friends calling my possessions by the inane names I've given them. The roomies now call the 100 pounds of acrylic and wool I crocheted for CLH one Christmas "Blankie". Our 24 inch long oversized wooden ladle? Well, that's non other than "Brunhilda". And then there's our longtime favorite, Sugar Chicken.
Sugar Chicken is a re-purposed jelly bean bowl that now houses our sugar. She came to me from a friend who'd received it as a gift from her grandma. It was on its way to Goodwill when I spotted it in my friend's donation box. I took one look at her smoky lime green glass, her chipped midsection, her hollowed out middle still harboring a jelly bean or two, and I decided she would make the perfect sugar bowl. I took her home (my friend incredulous that I would take such googly-eyed delight in the worst America had to offer in home decor) and filled her up.
Something happened with Sugar Chicken that didn't happen with all the other stuff I've assigned names to. Sugar Chicken compelled me to sing a song when I used her. Specifically, I started singing "Sugar Sugar" from the Archies. Only, instead of singing "Sugar Sugar", I sang "Sugar Chicken....dunh dunh DUNH dunh dunh-dunh.... Oh, honey honey... You are my sugar BO-O-O-O-WL, and you've got me wanting y-o-u-u-u-u-u".
And somehow, this tradition of singing the sugar bowl open became unwritten law in our house. No one, not even guests, could use the sugar bowl without first singing the first lines of "Sugar Sugar". Of course, I was more than happy to get them started.... and once they saw the deranged pleasure I took in singing to a glass bowl, they were free to spoon the sugar into their coffees (and make a mental note to bring their own sweetener to the next brunch I hosted.)
The institutionalization of this custom became very real in our house just a few weeks ago when our friend Jodi and her 5 year old son, Sage, came to spend the night. The night they arrived, we sat around drinking coffee, sweetened, naturally, by Sugar Chicken. CLH informed Sage, in a mock serious tone, that we never EVER open up Sugar Chicken without first singing the Sugar Chicken song. We all then commenced singing the Sugar Chicken song. Sage took in the scene of five grown adults gathered around a chicken-shaped bowl singing a 1960s pop song and I imagine he stored it in the part of his brain labeled "Cult Experiences I Had As A Child That Now Prevent Me From Eating Chicken And Sugar".
The next morning, Josh came downstairs and found Sage hard at work herding all the slugs in our front yard into a new "home" constructed of leaves and twigs. Sage had been up for a while before any of the other adults were out of bed. He came in to the kitchen to chat with Josh while Josh prepared breakfast. As Josh was getting the coffee going, Sage stopped him and said, with deadly seriousness in his voice, "Um, you don't need to sing the Sugar Chicken song this morning because I already did".
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the legacy I will be leaving to our youth.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Hallelujah, He Is RAWKING HARD!
Is it sacrilege to be thinking about the writing material a hymnal offers while you're attending a Jewish ceremony for a friend inside a Christian church? Because, if it's not, then I at least broke the commandment that states, "Thou shalt not find humor in the song title 'Eternal Christ, You Rule'".
The roomies invited me to their synagogue tonight to celebrate the recent conversion of our good friend. (Congrats, Josh!) And while I was able to follow the Hebrew along for most of the ceremony (the phonetic pronunciations were mercifully printed below the Hebrew letters in the booklet), my mind started to wander there at the end of the ceremony when I lost track of what page we were supposed to be on. Instead of nudging CLH and asking where we were, I picked up a hymnal tucked into the back of the pew in front of us and started thumbing through it. And, lo, there came upon me the most incredible hymn titles I had ever seen in print.
I was raised Catholic, in a very small church. I would not say I was raised in a church. I was raised by my Catholic parents who felt it was their duty to drag their four unwilling children away from their Sunday morning Abbot-&-Costello-on-public-television-routines to go to church, probably so they could be imbued by the priest with some sense of right and wrong (umm.... sorry that backfired so horribly, mom and dad). I can probably count on one hand the number of hymns I can remember being sung in church. And I say "being sung" because if there was anything worse than being dragged to an eerily lit, cold, cavernous building on Sunday when all you wanted to do was eat scrambled eggs and stay in your pajamas till three in the afternoon, it was having to sing in that eerily lit, cold, cavernous building. Singing was for the single old ladies at the back of the church... and Vicki's mom, whose singing God could probably hear from Heaven, it was that loud.
The hymns I remember were the ones we had to memorize for First Holy Communion... hymns like "Here I Am, Lord", and also the ones we sang during the mass like "Let There Be Peace On Earth". Stuff that sounded like, when accompanied by the slow pipe organ about a mile above us in the balcony, mules in their death throes.
The one that always made my heart catch in my throat, even as a young kid, was "Ave Maria". Maybe it was that I'd made the connection between the organ-led drudgery that was our church's version and the final chapter of Disney's "Fantasia"... when I understood, for the first time in my life, how songs can have multiple interpretations... or maybe it was that my mother's eyes glazed over and she smiled a little every time she heard it, and it was the only time in my life I ever really saw her in a state of silent reverence... or maybe it was that, after mindlessly following along in the hymnal for so many years, at age 15 (having passed Latin I in high school) I could finally understand that "Ave Maria" meant "praise for Mary" and not "Maria Street"... but that song always brought me to tears. Of course, most of the other hymns brought me to tears too, but that was because I was so bored at church, crying seemed like a good alternative to crushing my feet for fun in the hinge of the kneeler.
The hymns I found in the hymnal tonight were actual songs of praise. They seemed like something someone might sing when excited about their god. Definitely not the obligatory "wearecatholicandwesingbecausethisisthepartofthemasswherewesiiii-iiiiing" songs. The titles of these things were amazing. At one point, I mistook the words "eternal splendor" for "eternal spider" and I almost asked out loud, "WHERE HAVE THESE SONGS BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?"
There were so many songs from different countries, too! Spanish songs, and South African songs, and one from Japan, titled "Ah What Shame I Have To Bear".
After I'd cleared out of my head the image of a giant arachnid seated at the Right Hand of The Father, I stumbled upon my favorite: "Behold The Host All Robed In Light". I don't want to admit just how spiritually bankrupt I am, but I think the fact that I thought of, first, a dinner party I throw where I am wearing nothing but light, and secondly, a parasite making its victim all glow-y, might indicate that I have lost my religion entirely.
When I really think about it, I guess still believe in the basic tenets of Catholicism. I didn't really know I still believed in them until just recently when I had the opportunity to really compare them to the belief systems of other types of Christianity; but the guiding principals of my life (do unto others as you would have done unto you, love thy neighbor as thyself) are still actively guiding my adult decisions. What the Catholic church is going through right now with the sex scandals is horrific and understandably devastating. But, I never (thank Flying Spaghetti Monster) had any inappropriate experiences with priests... nor do I really identify with the guilt that most folks associate with Catholicism, nor was I taught to snub any of the other religions out there. My Catholicism was pretty kind, and humble, and considerate, above all, of others.
I don't go to church, and I don't do much else on Christian holidays but eat candy, but I am thankful for the groundwork my parents laid for me. I have to believe that all those years of having to endure Vicki's mom belting out "Hallelujah" into the stratosphere, and missing the Sunday Early Movie left me with some moral fiber. Just not the kind that considers snickering at hymnal titles in church a sin.
The roomies invited me to their synagogue tonight to celebrate the recent conversion of our good friend. (Congrats, Josh!) And while I was able to follow the Hebrew along for most of the ceremony (the phonetic pronunciations were mercifully printed below the Hebrew letters in the booklet), my mind started to wander there at the end of the ceremony when I lost track of what page we were supposed to be on. Instead of nudging CLH and asking where we were, I picked up a hymnal tucked into the back of the pew in front of us and started thumbing through it. And, lo, there came upon me the most incredible hymn titles I had ever seen in print.
I was raised Catholic, in a very small church. I would not say I was raised in a church. I was raised by my Catholic parents who felt it was their duty to drag their four unwilling children away from their Sunday morning Abbot-&-Costello-on-public-television-routines to go to church, probably so they could be imbued by the priest with some sense of right and wrong (umm.... sorry that backfired so horribly, mom and dad). I can probably count on one hand the number of hymns I can remember being sung in church. And I say "being sung" because if there was anything worse than being dragged to an eerily lit, cold, cavernous building on Sunday when all you wanted to do was eat scrambled eggs and stay in your pajamas till three in the afternoon, it was having to sing in that eerily lit, cold, cavernous building. Singing was for the single old ladies at the back of the church... and Vicki's mom, whose singing God could probably hear from Heaven, it was that loud.
The hymns I remember were the ones we had to memorize for First Holy Communion... hymns like "Here I Am, Lord", and also the ones we sang during the mass like "Let There Be Peace On Earth". Stuff that sounded like, when accompanied by the slow pipe organ about a mile above us in the balcony, mules in their death throes.
The one that always made my heart catch in my throat, even as a young kid, was "Ave Maria". Maybe it was that I'd made the connection between the organ-led drudgery that was our church's version and the final chapter of Disney's "Fantasia"... when I understood, for the first time in my life, how songs can have multiple interpretations... or maybe it was that my mother's eyes glazed over and she smiled a little every time she heard it, and it was the only time in my life I ever really saw her in a state of silent reverence... or maybe it was that, after mindlessly following along in the hymnal for so many years, at age 15 (having passed Latin I in high school) I could finally understand that "Ave Maria" meant "praise for Mary" and not "Maria Street"... but that song always brought me to tears. Of course, most of the other hymns brought me to tears too, but that was because I was so bored at church, crying seemed like a good alternative to crushing my feet for fun in the hinge of the kneeler.
The hymns I found in the hymnal tonight were actual songs of praise. They seemed like something someone might sing when excited about their god. Definitely not the obligatory "wearecatholicandwesingbecausethisisthepartofthemasswherewesiiii-iiiiing" songs. The titles of these things were amazing. At one point, I mistook the words "eternal splendor" for "eternal spider" and I almost asked out loud, "WHERE HAVE THESE SONGS BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?"
There were so many songs from different countries, too! Spanish songs, and South African songs, and one from Japan, titled "Ah What Shame I Have To Bear".
After I'd cleared out of my head the image of a giant arachnid seated at the Right Hand of The Father, I stumbled upon my favorite: "Behold The Host All Robed In Light". I don't want to admit just how spiritually bankrupt I am, but I think the fact that I thought of, first, a dinner party I throw where I am wearing nothing but light, and secondly, a parasite making its victim all glow-y, might indicate that I have lost my religion entirely.
When I really think about it, I guess still believe in the basic tenets of Catholicism. I didn't really know I still believed in them until just recently when I had the opportunity to really compare them to the belief systems of other types of Christianity; but the guiding principals of my life (do unto others as you would have done unto you, love thy neighbor as thyself) are still actively guiding my adult decisions. What the Catholic church is going through right now with the sex scandals is horrific and understandably devastating. But, I never (thank Flying Spaghetti Monster) had any inappropriate experiences with priests... nor do I really identify with the guilt that most folks associate with Catholicism, nor was I taught to snub any of the other religions out there. My Catholicism was pretty kind, and humble, and considerate, above all, of others.
I don't go to church, and I don't do much else on Christian holidays but eat candy, but I am thankful for the groundwork my parents laid for me. I have to believe that all those years of having to endure Vicki's mom belting out "Hallelujah" into the stratosphere, and missing the Sunday Early Movie left me with some moral fiber. Just not the kind that considers snickering at hymnal titles in church a sin.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Artful Bitching and How To Realize When Your Body Is Telling You Something
Internet, I've been away, and I apologize. Typing has been extremely painful these last few days, so I have been resting my hands. I have a finger injury. Okay, it's more like a fingernail injury. I can't actually tell what it is because (if you're squeamish, now would be a good time to just skip to paragraph two) every time I try to trim back the cuticle around the middle finger of my right hand, blood and pus come oozing out, blocking my view of the wound site. CLH thought it might be a splinter, but I argued that a splinter should not make your finger ooze, nor should it make it numb. Plus, I should be able to see a splinter. And all I can see at this point is layer upon layer of ragged skin around my nail where I have been tearing away with my manicurist's tools for the past few days. That, and some dried blood. This is now the third or so mystery injury that I've sustained on the right side of my body. And if you think I take these kinds of things lightly, well then you have me mistaken for someone who is not ultra sensitive to every little thing and not just a little bit woo-woo.
The past few days have been odd and great.
I made an appointment to see a cranio-sacral therapist to help out with my ear stuff. CLH has been hounding me about making an appointment with this therapist for probably more than a year now, but I have been resisting. I didn't want anymore turtle-shell rattle-waving in my general direction from another "alternative therapist" before I went to a western MD and had my head x-ray'd for this ear issue. You'd think I would be a little more open to the turtle-shell rattle folks, being practically married to someone who does alternative healing for a living. But, I can't help but have a bad taste in my mouth. After my original cranio sacral therapist all but kicked me to the curb two years ago, giving me the excuse that she just didn't think we should work together anymore... and after the naturopath I saw dismissed me after five minutes of consultation, I didn't want anything but a big, deadly machine to tell me what was wrong with my ears. Unfortunately, the stress of trying to rent this house has really exacerbated this ear thing lately, so, I decided to give in and see this illustrious Dr. Pat CLH has been raving about.
And, man alive, am I glad I did. She is everything CLH said she would be.
A little background: cranio sacral therapy is a healing modality in which the therapist, by subtly manipulating the plates of the skull, allows for the movement of cerebrospinal fluid within the head and spine. The general effect is that the patient feels relaxed, relieved, and maybe a little lightheaded. That's my scientific understanding of it, anyway. I'm sure a quick Google search will reveal that lots of people think it's pure quackery. To me, though, all medicine is just Dumbo's magic feather in a labcoat. And I say, whatever modality gets you feeling like you're at your optimum, go for it. I do things like accupuncture and craniosacral because I can physically feel the results, and the results are generally awesome. I am fully willing to admit that it might just be me convincing myself that it's working, but who cares? I'm of the belief that a little bit of positive thinking never hurt a healing process. Anywho, I could actually FEEL the effects of Dr. Pat's work. Not only could I feel the intended movement in my head, which left me feeling slightly nauseous but happy that SOMEthing was unsticking itself up there, I had some intense visualizations that were deeply moving.
Now, as if giving a woman $70 to gently rock my head back and forth doesn't sound desperate-for-relief and turtle shell rattle-y enough, my visualizations were pretty damned outta-this-world, too. My visualizations during my therapy sessions are always revealing in this profound sort of way, and what I saw while I was laying on Dr. Pat's table was nothing short of THE GREATEST METAPHOR IN MY LIFE EVER. I saw with my mind's eye that the inside of the left side of my head was all pink and plump and juicy- it looked kind of like what a healthy intestinal tract might look like, or maybe a healthy brain- all squiggly and bunched together, teeming with blood vessels and shiny with some deep-inside-the-body lubricant. The right side (the side where my throbbing, aching ear lives) looked like something out of a Hollywood set. It was a old tin box, irregularly shaped, and lining its insides was fuzzy grey mold. I had the sensation of old age, and neglect, and a little bit of Boo Radley's house. Then I had the feeling that Dr. Pat was reaching in there- I could see hands gently scooping out that mold. And I was grateful- grateful that someone wasn't grossed out by the state of my head, and grateful that she was brave enough to get in there and clean some of the crap out.
And that was all at 10 am that day.
Later on that same day, I had a great talk with my friend Tracy about writing. She's an aspiring writer, and she works part time for a non-profit that I do the books for. She's such an inspiration to me. She just up and decided one day that she'd had enough of her own excuse making, so she applied to a graduate program for creative writing, and now, two years and a degree later, she's got a mostly finished manuscript for a play she's written that's ready for production. She's been trying to talk me into signing up for this same program for some time now. Always curious about her process, and excited about her nearing graduation, I asked her to tell me the greatest lesson she's learned about her writing. And she told me that, prior to her program, she never made time for her writing. Even when she finally learned to schedule time to do it daily, she would double and triple book herself with appointments so she could avoid the computer. Now that she's gone through the program, she's learned that she needs to treat writing like the daily exercise/job it is. I cannot thank her enough for sharing that little nugget of wisdom. While she was talking, I thought about how much I needed to learn about making regular time for my writing. I shared the image of the musty tin box on my right side with her... and suddenly my brain made a synaptic jump. The right side of my body... the side that scientists say is the impetuous, artsy, feeling side... is starting to mold from disuse. The left side, the one that does math and science, the one that balances my checkbook, and the checkbooks of my clients, is alive and well. The mysterious bug bite that has taken a chunk out of my right leg... the fingernail injury... the ear.... all on my right side. All right side, right brain, art brain functionality experiencing a major breakdown. It was like my right side was just screaming at me to DO SOMETHING already. I'm a FREAKING BOX OF MOLD, FOR GOD'S SAKE. It was saying that I needed to replace that box with something vibrant, something pulsating with life and creativity! Something worthy of the right side of my brain, the side that writes and dreams and drifts off into plot lines all day long.
Well, damn. That little revelation was well worth $70.
That night, feeling still slightly queasy from my session with Dr. Pat, I decided to take a nap before heading out to see Lindsay perform her burlesque routine (which was AWESOME!). I couldn't sleep, though, because aside from the general grunting and laughing noise that was coming from the backyard full of CLH's friends through the windows, it sounded like someone was hammering on the pipes DIRECTLY underneath my bedroom floor. You see, we've found someone to live in and pay rent for the basement. It's a small step to getting this place full of money paying renters. She's been moving in for the past few weeks and it has suddenly been made very clear to me that there is NO NOISE BARRIER between the basement and the two rooms in the house I spend the most time in. I can hear EVERYthing from below. So, in a rage at not being able to get one moment's peace in my own home, I took off for the show early. And I drove to the coffeehouse that sells my favorite coffee and I hunkered down with a book and an americano for an hour before the show.
Of course, it never fails. Whenever I am by myself in public, I attract all sorts. An older man sat down next to my table and asked me what time the place closed. Now, I've heard ALL kinds of come-on lines... everything from "I like your hair" to "Do you know of a good place to dance around this city? 'Cause I was thinking you could show me some time..." This guy, though, wasn't trying to guess my sign. He was actually interested in the time. And when I told him, he followed up by asking if this coffee shop had always been a coffee shop. I closed my book, turned to him and the dog eared stack of papers he was holding in his lap and settled in a for a long conversation with another member of the I-Am-Weird-So-I-Will-Talk-To-YOU-Pretty-Accommodating-Lady club.
Thing is, though, he wasn't weird. On the contrary. He was one of the most interesting strangers I have ever met. He was a screenplay writer. That rumpled stack of paper in his lap that looked like it was covered in Klingon was actually a work in progress. Some of his screenplays had been turned into movies that were being shown at Seattle's International Film Festival! And he seemed genuinely interested in my writing when I said I was experimenting with this blog. He wanted to know what my message was. What it was I saying in my blog. And because "contemplative musings about mostly nothing" or "artful bitching" seemed a little too vague, I said I wasn't quite sure yet. That I was still trying to figure it out. Mostly my writing is exactly what a blog was designed for: diary entries about my chronic ear and intestinal blockages and also a place to moan about how much it sucks to shop at the health food store. And since that sounded incredibly self indulgent and not just a little lame as hell, I decided I would spend more time thinking about it over the next few days.
I haven't quite reached any decisions yet about anything. I am just so grateful for this new awareness in my life. so I am going to sit with it for a few days while my finger heals.
So, Thank you, Tracy, for teaching me that it's okay to hang a sock on the door when I'm busy writing. Thank you, Lindsay, for showing me that you still need to practice your craft even when you don't think it's perfect. Thank you, strange dude at coffee shop, for forcing me to dig down deep for my message. And thank you, Dr. Pat, for revealing to me the rusty insides of my creative machinery... and for the hand in clearing out all that space to make room for more writing.
The past few days have been odd and great.
I made an appointment to see a cranio-sacral therapist to help out with my ear stuff. CLH has been hounding me about making an appointment with this therapist for probably more than a year now, but I have been resisting. I didn't want anymore turtle-shell rattle-waving in my general direction from another "alternative therapist" before I went to a western MD and had my head x-ray'd for this ear issue. You'd think I would be a little more open to the turtle-shell rattle folks, being practically married to someone who does alternative healing for a living. But, I can't help but have a bad taste in my mouth. After my original cranio sacral therapist all but kicked me to the curb two years ago, giving me the excuse that she just didn't think we should work together anymore... and after the naturopath I saw dismissed me after five minutes of consultation, I didn't want anything but a big, deadly machine to tell me what was wrong with my ears. Unfortunately, the stress of trying to rent this house has really exacerbated this ear thing lately, so, I decided to give in and see this illustrious Dr. Pat CLH has been raving about.
And, man alive, am I glad I did. She is everything CLH said she would be.
A little background: cranio sacral therapy is a healing modality in which the therapist, by subtly manipulating the plates of the skull, allows for the movement of cerebrospinal fluid within the head and spine. The general effect is that the patient feels relaxed, relieved, and maybe a little lightheaded. That's my scientific understanding of it, anyway. I'm sure a quick Google search will reveal that lots of people think it's pure quackery. To me, though, all medicine is just Dumbo's magic feather in a labcoat. And I say, whatever modality gets you feeling like you're at your optimum, go for it. I do things like accupuncture and craniosacral because I can physically feel the results, and the results are generally awesome. I am fully willing to admit that it might just be me convincing myself that it's working, but who cares? I'm of the belief that a little bit of positive thinking never hurt a healing process. Anywho, I could actually FEEL the effects of Dr. Pat's work. Not only could I feel the intended movement in my head, which left me feeling slightly nauseous but happy that SOMEthing was unsticking itself up there, I had some intense visualizations that were deeply moving.
Now, as if giving a woman $70 to gently rock my head back and forth doesn't sound desperate-for-relief and turtle shell rattle-y enough, my visualizations were pretty damned outta-this-world, too. My visualizations during my therapy sessions are always revealing in this profound sort of way, and what I saw while I was laying on Dr. Pat's table was nothing short of THE GREATEST METAPHOR IN MY LIFE EVER. I saw with my mind's eye that the inside of the left side of my head was all pink and plump and juicy- it looked kind of like what a healthy intestinal tract might look like, or maybe a healthy brain- all squiggly and bunched together, teeming with blood vessels and shiny with some deep-inside-the-body lubricant. The right side (the side where my throbbing, aching ear lives) looked like something out of a Hollywood set. It was a old tin box, irregularly shaped, and lining its insides was fuzzy grey mold. I had the sensation of old age, and neglect, and a little bit of Boo Radley's house. Then I had the feeling that Dr. Pat was reaching in there- I could see hands gently scooping out that mold. And I was grateful- grateful that someone wasn't grossed out by the state of my head, and grateful that she was brave enough to get in there and clean some of the crap out.
And that was all at 10 am that day.
Later on that same day, I had a great talk with my friend Tracy about writing. She's an aspiring writer, and she works part time for a non-profit that I do the books for. She's such an inspiration to me. She just up and decided one day that she'd had enough of her own excuse making, so she applied to a graduate program for creative writing, and now, two years and a degree later, she's got a mostly finished manuscript for a play she's written that's ready for production. She's been trying to talk me into signing up for this same program for some time now. Always curious about her process, and excited about her nearing graduation, I asked her to tell me the greatest lesson she's learned about her writing. And she told me that, prior to her program, she never made time for her writing. Even when she finally learned to schedule time to do it daily, she would double and triple book herself with appointments so she could avoid the computer. Now that she's gone through the program, she's learned that she needs to treat writing like the daily exercise/job it is. I cannot thank her enough for sharing that little nugget of wisdom. While she was talking, I thought about how much I needed to learn about making regular time for my writing. I shared the image of the musty tin box on my right side with her... and suddenly my brain made a synaptic jump. The right side of my body... the side that scientists say is the impetuous, artsy, feeling side... is starting to mold from disuse. The left side, the one that does math and science, the one that balances my checkbook, and the checkbooks of my clients, is alive and well. The mysterious bug bite that has taken a chunk out of my right leg... the fingernail injury... the ear.... all on my right side. All right side, right brain, art brain functionality experiencing a major breakdown. It was like my right side was just screaming at me to DO SOMETHING already. I'm a FREAKING BOX OF MOLD, FOR GOD'S SAKE. It was saying that I needed to replace that box with something vibrant, something pulsating with life and creativity! Something worthy of the right side of my brain, the side that writes and dreams and drifts off into plot lines all day long.
Well, damn. That little revelation was well worth $70.
That night, feeling still slightly queasy from my session with Dr. Pat, I decided to take a nap before heading out to see Lindsay perform her burlesque routine (which was AWESOME!). I couldn't sleep, though, because aside from the general grunting and laughing noise that was coming from the backyard full of CLH's friends through the windows, it sounded like someone was hammering on the pipes DIRECTLY underneath my bedroom floor. You see, we've found someone to live in and pay rent for the basement. It's a small step to getting this place full of money paying renters. She's been moving in for the past few weeks and it has suddenly been made very clear to me that there is NO NOISE BARRIER between the basement and the two rooms in the house I spend the most time in. I can hear EVERYthing from below. So, in a rage at not being able to get one moment's peace in my own home, I took off for the show early. And I drove to the coffeehouse that sells my favorite coffee and I hunkered down with a book and an americano for an hour before the show.
Of course, it never fails. Whenever I am by myself in public, I attract all sorts. An older man sat down next to my table and asked me what time the place closed. Now, I've heard ALL kinds of come-on lines... everything from "I like your hair" to "Do you know of a good place to dance around this city? 'Cause I was thinking you could show me some time..." This guy, though, wasn't trying to guess my sign. He was actually interested in the time. And when I told him, he followed up by asking if this coffee shop had always been a coffee shop. I closed my book, turned to him and the dog eared stack of papers he was holding in his lap and settled in a for a long conversation with another member of the I-Am-Weird-So-I-Will-Talk-To-YOU-Pretty-Accommodating-Lady club.
Thing is, though, he wasn't weird. On the contrary. He was one of the most interesting strangers I have ever met. He was a screenplay writer. That rumpled stack of paper in his lap that looked like it was covered in Klingon was actually a work in progress. Some of his screenplays had been turned into movies that were being shown at Seattle's International Film Festival! And he seemed genuinely interested in my writing when I said I was experimenting with this blog. He wanted to know what my message was. What it was I saying in my blog. And because "contemplative musings about mostly nothing" or "artful bitching" seemed a little too vague, I said I wasn't quite sure yet. That I was still trying to figure it out. Mostly my writing is exactly what a blog was designed for: diary entries about my chronic ear and intestinal blockages and also a place to moan about how much it sucks to shop at the health food store. And since that sounded incredibly self indulgent and not just a little lame as hell, I decided I would spend more time thinking about it over the next few days.
I haven't quite reached any decisions yet about anything. I am just so grateful for this new awareness in my life. so I am going to sit with it for a few days while my finger heals.
So, Thank you, Tracy, for teaching me that it's okay to hang a sock on the door when I'm busy writing. Thank you, Lindsay, for showing me that you still need to practice your craft even when you don't think it's perfect. Thank you, strange dude at coffee shop, for forcing me to dig down deep for my message. And thank you, Dr. Pat, for revealing to me the rusty insides of my creative machinery... and for the hand in clearing out all that space to make room for more writing.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Updates on Mostly Nothing
I've decided to take a break from responding to the morons who have inundated my inbox with requests to pay me rent via third party out of state checks to bring you this breaking news:
WAMU is now CHASE! (Cue the Darth Vader walking music...) Look at that evil octagonal corporate blue eyeball looking down on you. Doesn't it give you the willies? I think Chase got off easy - taking over a bank with a mostly blue logo. They certainly won't have to spend much on remodeling....which kinda makes me feel better about having a international behemoth take over my neighborhood bank; at least they have their priorities in order. They knew better than to take over a green colored bank, for instance. They've already done the math on the retrofitting costs! Step one to success! Outfitting hundreds of banks with ugly, color coordinated, itchy wool furniture costs MONEY, people. Money the good people at Chase have opted to SAVE by taking over a blue colored bank. Geniuses. All of them. Not like the brainiacs at WAMU. Sure, they got themselves all tangled up in the sub prime mortgage crisis. But we all know the REAL reason WAMU tanked. It was that stupid "Whoo Hoo!" ad campaign. That'll teach ALL the banks a thing or two about advertising. Take a hint, Capitol One. One more fucking ad involving Vikings and what's in my wallet, and you're toast.
In other news, insomnia amongst people who sleep in my bed is on the rise, our house isn't rented yet, and in sports, my right ear is still aching. I called the doctor this morning, explained that I still can't sleep comfortably on my left side because the eardrum of my right ear feels like it might sear a hole right through my brain and come out through my left nostril, it hurts that bad. I have an appointment in two weeks. I can't seem to convince anyone in the medical world that this pain should be taken seriously. I've learned that unless you are bleeding from your eyes, or threatening to kill yourself or others when you get inside a doctor's office, you get thrown into a metaphorical rubber room and told to wait out whatever's ailing you. Because the pain I've had wasn't affecting my ability to go to work or make an egg salad sandwich, I was pretty much dismissed by every doctor I saw. I was told, in effect, that there was nothing wrong with me. I was given prescriptions like "Don't eat dairy", and "brush your neck with this a stiff bristled brush to stimulate your lymphatic system." I am normally ALL ABOUT alternative methods of coping with illness. But I was feeling like this was something more than a dairy allergy. I was so miffed that, at one point, in a subsequent visit to yet another doctor, I actually had her draw a diagram of what she saw on my eardrum through her otoscope on a piece of paper so we could both see that I wasn't imagining the pain. (By the way, if you ever want to scare the hell out of yourself and/or marvel at how far we've come [or not come] since the Dark Ages, Google "medical instruments to look in ears". There's a tool called a "bayonet". I'm not even joking. It looks like it would fit on the tip of a very small rifle. And doctors use this tool, today, in 2009, to perform surgery on ears. Unreal.) Anywho, I have an appointment in two weeks with another doctor who is going to give me another audiogram to determine, for the second time in two years, that I can't hear so well out of my right ear. If nothing else, that first round of tests two years ago taught me that I need to be a little more demanding when I get to the doctor's office. This time, I'm going to try to get someone to x-ray the right side of my head. If they don't find the piece of lead I am sure is sitting on my cochlear nerve, or the 6 inch piece of the Rosetta Stone I'm sure is clogging my Eustachian tubes, I'll eat my hat.
And now for this week's weather. Forecast calls for a big middle finger being waved in my face from the North, indicating I am an idiot for thinking that it would actually be warm in May. There is a put-your-sundresses-away-until-August advisory in effect. Vitamin D levels are nearing precipitously low levels. Moodiness gaining strength on the western front.
Please, Internets. Send me some renters. Please keep the craigslist meth addicts from bargaining me down from $15 to $10 on a cheap wooden TV stand, and, for god's sake, send me some sun.
WAMU is now CHASE! (Cue the Darth Vader walking music...) Look at that evil octagonal corporate blue eyeball looking down on you. Doesn't it give you the willies? I think Chase got off easy - taking over a bank with a mostly blue logo. They certainly won't have to spend much on remodeling....which kinda makes me feel better about having a international behemoth take over my neighborhood bank; at least they have their priorities in order. They knew better than to take over a green colored bank, for instance. They've already done the math on the retrofitting costs! Step one to success! Outfitting hundreds of banks with ugly, color coordinated, itchy wool furniture costs MONEY, people. Money the good people at Chase have opted to SAVE by taking over a blue colored bank. Geniuses. All of them. Not like the brainiacs at WAMU. Sure, they got themselves all tangled up in the sub prime mortgage crisis. But we all know the REAL reason WAMU tanked. It was that stupid "Whoo Hoo!" ad campaign. That'll teach ALL the banks a thing or two about advertising. Take a hint, Capitol One. One more fucking ad involving Vikings and what's in my wallet, and you're toast.In other news, insomnia amongst people who sleep in my bed is on the rise, our house isn't rented yet, and in sports, my right ear is still aching. I called the doctor this morning, explained that I still can't sleep comfortably on my left side because the eardrum of my right ear feels like it might sear a hole right through my brain and come out through my left nostril, it hurts that bad. I have an appointment in two weeks. I can't seem to convince anyone in the medical world that this pain should be taken seriously. I've learned that unless you are bleeding from your eyes, or threatening to kill yourself or others when you get inside a doctor's office, you get thrown into a metaphorical rubber room and told to wait out whatever's ailing you. Because the pain I've had wasn't affecting my ability to go to work or make an egg salad sandwich, I was pretty much dismissed by every doctor I saw. I was told, in effect, that there was nothing wrong with me. I was given prescriptions like "Don't eat dairy", and "brush your neck with this a stiff bristled brush to stimulate your lymphatic system." I am normally ALL ABOUT alternative methods of coping with illness. But I was feeling like this was something more than a dairy allergy. I was so miffed that, at one point, in a subsequent visit to yet another doctor, I actually had her draw a diagram of what she saw on my eardrum through her otoscope on a piece of paper so we could both see that I wasn't imagining the pain. (By the way, if you ever want to scare the hell out of yourself and/or marvel at how far we've come [or not come] since the Dark Ages, Google "medical instruments to look in ears". There's a tool called a "bayonet". I'm not even joking. It looks like it would fit on the tip of a very small rifle. And doctors use this tool, today, in 2009, to perform surgery on ears. Unreal.) Anywho, I have an appointment in two weeks with another doctor who is going to give me another audiogram to determine, for the second time in two years, that I can't hear so well out of my right ear. If nothing else, that first round of tests two years ago taught me that I need to be a little more demanding when I get to the doctor's office. This time, I'm going to try to get someone to x-ray the right side of my head. If they don't find the piece of lead I am sure is sitting on my cochlear nerve, or the 6 inch piece of the Rosetta Stone I'm sure is clogging my Eustachian tubes, I'll eat my hat.
And now for this week's weather. Forecast calls for a big middle finger being waved in my face from the North, indicating I am an idiot for thinking that it would actually be warm in May. There is a put-your-sundresses-away-until-August advisory in effect. Vitamin D levels are nearing precipitously low levels. Moodiness gaining strength on the western front.
Please, Internets. Send me some renters. Please keep the craigslist meth addicts from bargaining me down from $15 to $10 on a cheap wooden TV stand, and, for god's sake, send me some sun.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
She REALLY wants to live here....
Hi There,
I got your mail. Thanks for geting back to me so quick and I am extremely interested in ur room since you said you are not expecting it to be too long and i don't want you to rent it out to any other person...... I will inform company client I worked in the states for before I quit to arrnage for my last payment to you so that you can deduct the payment of the room out of it. You seem to be a very good and nice person. I want you to know that i'm a very straight forward and honest person. I contacted the person who i worked for when i was in the states. The man is owing me and he is ready to pay me with acheck. I will be paying ahead my arrival for a month, which is very important and that will secure the Place for me, and as soon as I arrive others important things will be taken care of before moving in the Place. I want you t o know that the first month payment will be made in full via Certified Bank Cashier's Check or Money Order and that will stand as commitment ahead my arrival. So i will inform him to issue out the check to you, so that the check can stand as the payment of the room. All you got to do now is to send me your full name name, contact address and phone number so that i can forward it to my client who will issue the check out to you... As soon as i get these info i requested for, i will forward them to my client immediately. As soon as you recieve the check you will deduct the frist month out of it you will now help me forward the remaning balance to my traveling manager so that i can use it to book for my flight back to the states. I just want to make sure i get the room before i get back to the state.. I will like stay there for a year even more that till when i will have my own personal place but I will prefer month to month lease.
More About me: ABOUT ME:
Name: Rose Michaels
E yes: Black
Age: 26yrs
Height: 5' 6' (167cm)
Weight: 122 pounds (55.0 kg)
Body Style: Athletic/Fit Activity
Level: Active
Smoking: No
Drinking: Socially
Marital Status: Single
Children: I have no kids
Sign: Virgo
Languages I speak: English & Spanish
Ethnicity: Spanish
Religion:Catholic/Christianity
Education: MCSA/MCSE
Occupation: Fashion Designer
My favorites are;
My favorite cuisines: Barbecue, Chinese/Dim Sum, Deli, Eastern-European, Fast Food/Pizza, French, Greek,Indian, Italian, Japanese/Sushi, Mexican, Seafood,
Soul Food, Thai, Vietnamese
My favorite music: Dance/Electronica, Disco, Easy Listening, Pop/Top 40, Rap/Hip Hop, Soul/R&B and Soundtracks.
My favorite physical activities: Basketball, Working Out, Dancing, Swiming and Hiking/Walking I love travelling, sporting and enjoy meeting people. I don't smoke or drink but i do not mind people who do being around me. Am cool headed and easy go ing person with no criminal record and i like to have a roommmate or neighabour who is very responsible and understanding,someone i can really get a long. As soon as you get this mail pls get back to me with the info i requested for so that every thing can be done fast. Take care and I will be looking forward to hear from you soon.
Thanks and have a good time..
Warmest Regards,
Rose
My response:
Dear Rose,
I'm going to do away with the niceties and cut right to the chase. The rooms are all but yours. You won me over with a single line in your response: Your body type. Now, I know most landlords wouldn't care about this sort of thing (and I'm pretty sure it's illegal to sell someone housing based on their physical fitness) but, well, it's important to me. You see, Rose, I need your body. I can't afford to rent to just any fat ass. No, Rose. What I need in my house is a lean mean muscle machine... what we in America call "a hard body". Can you be a hard body for me, Rose? I'll tell you why this is so important, Rose. It's the yard. The yard is a shambles. It needs a LOT of work. Work that only those possessing the body type "athletic/fit activity" are going to be able to handle.
You see, Rose, when we moved into this place, we had high hopes of making that yard the new Garden of Eden. We were going to prune the fruit trees and tame the lawn and really get those vegetable patches producing. But, you know how it goes, Rose. Sometimes life just gets in the way. And sometimes you have less time for big projects than you thought. So, I need to have my yard maintained, Rose, and it's going to be the responsibility of the renter to keep it looking good. I wouldn't want the (racist) neighbors to get any ideas about letting their lawns go because mine has gone to seed! Anyway, Rose, this yard, it needs help. It needs your athleticism and it needs it now.
Do you have experience pushing a lawnmower, Rose? The kind that neither plugs in nor uses gas? Because we only have the old fashioned kind. And the yard is nearly a quarter of an acre. On a slope. So, every two weeks, Rose, you're going to have to put on your Wellies and get out there and mow. It should only take about half the day. That will leave you the other half of the day for the other yard work. There are the rose bushes that need pruning, the ornamentals that will need thinning, the blackberries that will need trimming... and that's just the front yard! Oh, I almost forgot! I hope you're not afraid of coyotes, rats, rabbits, or raccoons, Rose. Your ability to run a mile without getting winded will really come in handy when you encounter our charming neighborhood friend, "Bandit", going through the compost pile!
Anywho, Rose, I'm sure your company client's accounting department is familiar with the procedure for illegal Internet scams, so you just have them wire me one million US dollars right away. That will cover your first week. Once you've learned to operate the WeedWacker, we can lower the rent to something more reasonable... say, something in the hundreds of thousands.
Your Pal With A Green Thumb (in your eye),
GoFuckYourself
I got your mail. Thanks for geting back to me so quick and I am extremely interested in ur room since you said you are not expecting it to be too long and i don't want you to rent it out to any other person...... I will inform company client I worked in the states for before I quit to arrnage for my last payment to you so that you can deduct the payment of the room out of it. You seem to be a very good and nice person. I want you to know that i'm a very straight forward and honest person. I contacted the person who i worked for when i was in the states. The man is owing me and he is ready to pay me with acheck. I will be paying ahead my arrival for a month, which is very important and that will secure the Place for me, and as soon as I arrive others important things will be taken care of before moving in the Place. I want you t o know that the first month payment will be made in full via Certified Bank Cashier's Check or Money Order and that will stand as commitment ahead my arrival. So i will inform him to issue out the check to you, so that the check can stand as the payment of the room. All you got to do now is to send me your full name name, contact address and phone number so that i can forward it to my client who will issue the check out to you... As soon as i get these info i requested for, i will forward them to my client immediately. As soon as you recieve the check you will deduct the frist month out of it you will now help me forward the remaning balance to my traveling manager so that i can use it to book for my flight back to the states. I just want to make sure i get the room before i get back to the state.. I will like stay there for a year even more that till when i will have my own personal place but I will prefer month to month lease.
More About me: ABOUT ME:
Name: Rose Michaels
E yes: Black
Age: 26yrs
Height: 5' 6' (167cm)
Weight: 122 pounds (55.0 kg)
Body Style: Athletic/Fit Activity
Level: Active
Smoking: No
Drinking: Socially
Marital Status: Single
Children: I have no kids
Sign: Virgo
Languages I speak: English & Spanish
Ethnicity: Spanish
Religion:Catholic/Christianity
Education: MCSA/MCSE
Occupation: Fashion Designer
My favorites are;
My favorite cuisines: Barbecue, Chinese/Dim Sum, Deli, Eastern-European, Fast Food/Pizza, French, Greek,Indian, Italian, Japanese/Sushi, Mexican, Seafood,
Soul Food, Thai, Vietnamese
My favorite music: Dance/Electronica, Disco, Easy Listening, Pop/Top 40, Rap/Hip Hop, Soul/R&B and Soundtracks.
My favorite physical activities: Basketball, Working Out, Dancing, Swiming and Hiking/Walking I love travelling, sporting and enjoy meeting people. I don't smoke or drink but i do not mind people who do being around me. Am cool headed and easy go ing person with no criminal record and i like to have a roommmate or neighabour who is very responsible and understanding,someone i can really get a long. As soon as you get this mail pls get back to me with the info i requested for so that every thing can be done fast. Take care and I will be looking forward to hear from you soon.
Thanks and have a good time..
Warmest Regards,
Rose
My response:
Dear Rose,
I'm going to do away with the niceties and cut right to the chase. The rooms are all but yours. You won me over with a single line in your response: Your body type. Now, I know most landlords wouldn't care about this sort of thing (and I'm pretty sure it's illegal to sell someone housing based on their physical fitness) but, well, it's important to me. You see, Rose, I need your body. I can't afford to rent to just any fat ass. No, Rose. What I need in my house is a lean mean muscle machine... what we in America call "a hard body". Can you be a hard body for me, Rose? I'll tell you why this is so important, Rose. It's the yard. The yard is a shambles. It needs a LOT of work. Work that only those possessing the body type "athletic/fit activity" are going to be able to handle.
You see, Rose, when we moved into this place, we had high hopes of making that yard the new Garden of Eden. We were going to prune the fruit trees and tame the lawn and really get those vegetable patches producing. But, you know how it goes, Rose. Sometimes life just gets in the way. And sometimes you have less time for big projects than you thought. So, I need to have my yard maintained, Rose, and it's going to be the responsibility of the renter to keep it looking good. I wouldn't want the (racist) neighbors to get any ideas about letting their lawns go because mine has gone to seed! Anyway, Rose, this yard, it needs help. It needs your athleticism and it needs it now.
Do you have experience pushing a lawnmower, Rose? The kind that neither plugs in nor uses gas? Because we only have the old fashioned kind. And the yard is nearly a quarter of an acre. On a slope. So, every two weeks, Rose, you're going to have to put on your Wellies and get out there and mow. It should only take about half the day. That will leave you the other half of the day for the other yard work. There are the rose bushes that need pruning, the ornamentals that will need thinning, the blackberries that will need trimming... and that's just the front yard! Oh, I almost forgot! I hope you're not afraid of coyotes, rats, rabbits, or raccoons, Rose. Your ability to run a mile without getting winded will really come in handy when you encounter our charming neighborhood friend, "Bandit", going through the compost pile!
Anywho, Rose, I'm sure your company client's accounting department is familiar with the procedure for illegal Internet scams, so you just have them wire me one million US dollars right away. That will cover your first week. Once you've learned to operate the WeedWacker, we can lower the rent to something more reasonable... say, something in the hundreds of thousands.
Your Pal With A Green Thumb (in your eye),
GoFuckYourself
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sleepless In Just-South-Of-Seattle
Oh, Internet. I can't sleep. Not with CLH rhythmically kicking me in the shin with his icy toes like that. I'm going to ask him tomorrow morning if he beat Lance Armstrong on the uphill because he's CLEARLY trying to out-pedal SOMETHING right now.
Things I am thinking about instead of sleeping:
1. I need to rent this house out. NEED TO. This whole living in limbo thing is getting REALLY OLD really fast.
2. I finally caved in and joined (wincing) Facebook. If, in ten years, economists are wondering about the precipitous drop in American productivity right around this time period, I think they'll know who to blame. EVERYONE has welcomed me into the fold with a variation on this sentence: "Welcome to the greatest time suck ever known to man". I've already found half my grammar school class (not hard since there were a whopping 25 of us in the graduating class)... and it's odd to see my childhood playmates... with boobs. And bald spots. I know I'm not a) delivering a social commentary that hasn't already been delivered about this cultural phenomenon or b) saying anything profound or unique, but, seriously. Boobs and bald spots. On my childhood friends.
3. I am really tickled by how many FAKE FUCKING EMAILS I am receiving from scam artists about this house rental. Just wait till I show you the latest round. I could have a full time job just responding to them.
4. On some days (like today) I feel like throwing out all my possessions out and starting over. I've already begun the process of photographing and listing all the stuff I think will sell on Craigslist before we move so that we don't have to move with it. I cannot WAIT to be rid of it all. Something about austere living has really got me in its clutches right now. Of course, I know that as soon as the weather gets better and the garage sales start happening in my neighborhood, I'm going to want to make the inside of my house look like a Bennigan's turned up to 11... so I'm holding on to this feeling of wanting renewal while it lasts.
Things I am thinking about instead of sleeping:
1. I need to rent this house out. NEED TO. This whole living in limbo thing is getting REALLY OLD really fast.
2. I finally caved in and joined (wincing) Facebook. If, in ten years, economists are wondering about the precipitous drop in American productivity right around this time period, I think they'll know who to blame. EVERYONE has welcomed me into the fold with a variation on this sentence: "Welcome to the greatest time suck ever known to man". I've already found half my grammar school class (not hard since there were a whopping 25 of us in the graduating class)... and it's odd to see my childhood playmates... with boobs. And bald spots. I know I'm not a) delivering a social commentary that hasn't already been delivered about this cultural phenomenon or b) saying anything profound or unique, but, seriously. Boobs and bald spots. On my childhood friends.
3. I am really tickled by how many FAKE FUCKING EMAILS I am receiving from scam artists about this house rental. Just wait till I show you the latest round. I could have a full time job just responding to them.
4. On some days (like today) I feel like throwing out all my possessions out and starting over. I've already begun the process of photographing and listing all the stuff I think will sell on Craigslist before we move so that we don't have to move with it. I cannot WAIT to be rid of it all. Something about austere living has really got me in its clutches right now. Of course, I know that as soon as the weather gets better and the garage sales start happening in my neighborhood, I'm going to want to make the inside of my house look like a Bennigan's turned up to 11... so I'm holding on to this feeling of wanting renewal while it lasts.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Response to Potential Renter #2
Received a few days ago (and again this evening. Error number one, morons. Don't send the same scam email twice.)
"Hi There, How re you doing? I hope all is well. I'm Rose Michaels, am 26 yrs old and Am originally from Barcelona, Spain . Graduate of Huelva University on the Costa de la Luz, I have a master degree in interior fashion and I work as a professional fashion designer. I moved to Phoenix , AZ two year ago for work and that's where am living. I'm am not in the states right now, i am presently in West africa . I am currently working on contract for a company call (African Family Home Fashions) here in West Africa ( Nigeria) which the contract will be ending soon. I will be returning to states in two weeks time and I don't want to go back to my where am living in Phoenix because my house rent has expired there. I enjoy traveling, It is very interesting to get more knowledge about the new countries, new people and traditions. It's great to have such a possibility.
As i was searching through the web i saw the advert of your room. I would like to know maybe it's still available becasue i'm extremely interested in it. Here are the questions i would like to know about the room before planing to move in to the following questions below:
A}I will like to know the major intersection nearest your neighbourhood.like shopping mall,Churches,bus line e.t.c
B}I will like to know the total cost for the my initial move as in first month rent and if you accept deposit.
C}I will like to know if there is any garage or parking space cos I will have my own car come over.
D}I will like to have the rent fee per month plus the utilities.
E}I will like to have the description of the room, size, and the equipments in there.
F}I will also like to know Your payment mode.
G}I will like to know if I can make an advance payment ahead my arrival that will be stand as a kind of commitment that I am truely coming over and for you to hold the room down for me. I will be very glad to have all this questions answered with out leaving a stone unturned... Now a little about myself;I am from Barcelona, Spain : that means i am Spanish and had all my education in Spain . I am 26yrs old and very much single,the only child of my only parent,my mother alive, i lost my father and my only brother years ago while i was still a kid in an auto accident.I am currently living with my mom who's a catholic volunteer worker,but also manages her antique business. She is a volunteer at the sister's of the eucharistic heart of jesus convent,here in Barcelona , Spain . I have been wanted to relocated to the US longtime ago even while i was a little girl growing up and my mom is in support.It' been a long dreamed come true for me when i finnally settled in the US now. I have chosen your city for me to live when i arrive. I am easy to get along with and well mannered. I do not use people's items without permission and consideration.
Kindly get back to me ASAP with the your monthly rent and the deposit i need to pay to enable you turn down other interested parties and keep the place for me until i arrive,because i will like to pay for the deposit before my arrival and i will like to know the total amount the rent for a whole year would be,as i am more interested in a long term lease,but still open to any form of lease you want. But i will like to pay the deposit first of all before i arrive to show my seriousness and so that you can hold the place for me until i arrive.I am single as i said and i am not attached to anyone at the moment. I do part time modeling; i call myself an amateur though,LOL,just something i take as a hobby and also i have a masters degree in interior fashion which i bagged from the Huelva University on the Costa de la Luz in Spain . I will be looking to pick up Fashion Designer jobs once i arrive in ur city, Fashion Designer is my life and i love it. I am new living all alone as i have lived with my mom alone in the past but i have no doubs in my mind about my ability to live peacefully with as i was raised to be a lover of peace. A friend just introduced me to this thing and i really wish that i am able to find the good cultured kind of Place i am looking for here. I hope i am doing it right anyways.LOL. Well,i think we will get along well because am a easy going person who respects ones privacy,like i said i dont do drugs or smoke but i drink only occasionally,i strongly believe there will be any problems living with me as i was raised by strong catholic Christain parents and have inbibed such good qualities from childhood. I will love to see your pics and those of the place as well.I'll be so glad if you can reserve the room for me and remove all your the adverts abt the place as i'll love to rent the place.
Get back to me ASAP
Thanks and have a good time,and you can give me a buzz cos i am presently online on my IM ( rosesmich0101 ).
Warmest Regards,
Rose"
And, here's my response:
Dear Rose,
Perhaps you might know my friend, Make Mike Jason Smith! He, too, is a fashion designer living abroad or in the states (depending on which line in the email you believe), and he too needs an apartment! I have to tell you, Rose, that I am really intrigued at the DIRECT corollary between earners-of-masters-in-fashion-design and the sudden homelessness pandemic amongst you all. You ALL seem to be searching for apartments at exactly the same time! No worries, though. I'm sure there's room for all of you here in our fair city.
I love that you "bagged" your degree. You must be incredibly smart. And totally hip to be using a word like "bagged" when referring to a degree in a HIGHLY competitive field. I'm confused, though, Rose. Why would someone as smart as yourself want to know about the bus lines AND want to know about a parking garage on the premises? Is it because you are driving a bus? That would be WAY cool, Rose. And probably a nice way to supplement your fashion designer income! As for churches, I can't say. I'm not a church goer, Rose. But, whatever your parents gave you to drink as a kid that immediately made you full of Christian values, I would love to try it. I've never tried chugging Christian values myself, but, hey. I'm not one to turn away God if he comes in a convenient 12 ounce size.
I am concerned about your pursuit of the fashion world here in our small corner of the world, Rose. Really concerned. I don't know how they do it over there in Nigeria, but here in the Northwest, high fashion is considered not wearing socks with your Teva sandals. Also, if your fleece Harry Potter hat matches your ski boot bindings. I hate to disappoint you, Rose, because, believe me, I know what it's like to be disappointed by something that is masquerading as something it's not, but this place does not take kindly to fashion. And I know that, with your degree in fashion and all, you're going to want to be inspired by your environment. But this place inspires only smelly ultimate Frisbee players and Bigfoot with its fashion sense. You'd be better servedscamming looking in some other major city for housing.
I, too, strongly believe there will be any (and all) problems with you living here. So here's what I suggest: give Make Mike Jason Smith a buzz. I'll even give you is email! It's: make_smith2005@yahoo.com. He's looking for a place, you're looking for a place. Why don't you guys room together? That way, when the police come and arrest you for email baiting, they only have to make one stop.
With Warmest Apologies for Your Horrible Spelling,
GoFuckYourself
"Hi There, How re you doing? I hope all is well. I'm Rose Michaels, am 26 yrs old and Am originally from Barcelona, Spain . Graduate of Huelva University on the Costa de la Luz, I have a master degree in interior fashion and I work as a professional fashion designer. I moved to Phoenix , AZ two year ago for work and that's where am living. I'm am not in the states right now, i am presently in West africa . I am currently working on contract for a company call (African Family Home Fashions) here in West Africa ( Nigeria) which the contract will be ending soon. I will be returning to states in two weeks time and I don't want to go back to my where am living in Phoenix because my house rent has expired there. I enjoy traveling, It is very interesting to get more knowledge about the new countries, new people and traditions. It's great to have such a possibility.
As i was searching through the web i saw the advert of your room. I would like to know maybe it's still available becasue i'm extremely interested in it. Here are the questions i would like to know about the room before planing to move in to the following questions below:
A}I will like to know the major intersection nearest your neighbourhood.like shopping mall,Churches,bus line e.t.c
B}I will like to know the total cost for the my initial move as in first month rent and if you accept deposit.
C}I will like to know if there is any garage or parking space cos I will have my own car come over.
D}I will like to have the rent fee per month plus the utilities.
E}I will like to have the description of the room, size, and the equipments in there.
F}I will also like to know Your payment mode.
G}I will like to know if I can make an advance payment ahead my arrival that will be stand as a kind of commitment that I am truely coming over and for you to hold the room down for me. I will be very glad to have all this questions answered with out leaving a stone unturned... Now a little about myself;I am from Barcelona, Spain : that means i am Spanish and had all my education in Spain . I am 26yrs old and very much single,the only child of my only parent,my mother alive, i lost my father and my only brother years ago while i was still a kid in an auto accident.I am currently living with my mom who's a catholic volunteer worker,but also manages her antique business. She is a volunteer at the sister's of the eucharistic heart of jesus convent,here in Barcelona , Spain . I have been wanted to relocated to the US longtime ago even while i was a little girl growing up and my mom is in support.It' been a long dreamed come true for me when i finnally settled in the US now. I have chosen your city for me to live when i arrive. I am easy to get along with and well mannered. I do not use people's items without permission and consideration.
Kindly get back to me ASAP with the your monthly rent and the deposit i need to pay to enable you turn down other interested parties and keep the place for me until i arrive,because i will like to pay for the deposit before my arrival and i will like to know the total amount the rent for a whole year would be,as i am more interested in a long term lease,but still open to any form of lease you want. But i will like to pay the deposit first of all before i arrive to show my seriousness and so that you can hold the place for me until i arrive.I am single as i said and i am not attached to anyone at the moment. I do part time modeling; i call myself an amateur though,LOL,just something i take as a hobby and also i have a masters degree in interior fashion which i bagged from the Huelva University on the Costa de la Luz in Spain . I will be looking to pick up Fashion Designer jobs once i arrive in ur city, Fashion Designer is my life and i love it. I am new living all alone as i have lived with my mom alone in the past but i have no doubs in my mind about my ability to live peacefully with as i was raised to be a lover of peace. A friend just introduced me to this thing and i really wish that i am able to find the good cultured kind of Place i am looking for here. I hope i am doing it right anyways.LOL. Well,i think we will get along well because am a easy going person who respects ones privacy,like i said i dont do drugs or smoke but i drink only occasionally,i strongly believe there will be any problems living with me as i was raised by strong catholic Christain parents and have inbibed such good qualities from childhood. I will love to see your pics and those of the place as well.I'll be so glad if you can reserve the room for me and remove all your the adverts abt the place as i'll love to rent the place.
Get back to me ASAP
Thanks and have a good time,and you can give me a buzz cos i am presently online on my IM ( rosesmich0101 ).
Warmest Regards,
Rose"
And, here's my response:
Dear Rose,
Perhaps you might know my friend, Make Mike Jason Smith! He, too, is a fashion designer living abroad or in the states (depending on which line in the email you believe), and he too needs an apartment! I have to tell you, Rose, that I am really intrigued at the DIRECT corollary between earners-of-masters-in-fashion-design and the sudden homelessness pandemic amongst you all. You ALL seem to be searching for apartments at exactly the same time! No worries, though. I'm sure there's room for all of you here in our fair city.
I love that you "bagged" your degree. You must be incredibly smart. And totally hip to be using a word like "bagged" when referring to a degree in a HIGHLY competitive field. I'm confused, though, Rose. Why would someone as smart as yourself want to know about the bus lines AND want to know about a parking garage on the premises? Is it because you are driving a bus? That would be WAY cool, Rose. And probably a nice way to supplement your fashion designer income! As for churches, I can't say. I'm not a church goer, Rose. But, whatever your parents gave you to drink as a kid that immediately made you full of Christian values, I would love to try it. I've never tried chugging Christian values myself, but, hey. I'm not one to turn away God if he comes in a convenient 12 ounce size.
I am concerned about your pursuit of the fashion world here in our small corner of the world, Rose. Really concerned. I don't know how they do it over there in Nigeria, but here in the Northwest, high fashion is considered not wearing socks with your Teva sandals. Also, if your fleece Harry Potter hat matches your ski boot bindings. I hate to disappoint you, Rose, because, believe me, I know what it's like to be disappointed by something that is masquerading as something it's not, but this place does not take kindly to fashion. And I know that, with your degree in fashion and all, you're going to want to be inspired by your environment. But this place inspires only smelly ultimate Frisbee players and Bigfoot with its fashion sense. You'd be better served
I, too, strongly believe there will be any (and all) problems with you living here. So here's what I suggest: give Make Mike Jason Smith a buzz. I'll even give you is email! It's: make_smith2005@yahoo.com. He's looking for a place, you're looking for a place. Why don't you guys room together? That way, when the police come and arrest you for email baiting, they only have to make one stop.
With Warmest Apologies for Your Horrible Spelling,
GoFuckYourself
Sunday, May 10, 2009
What To Do With That Damned Catchy Song
Okay, so we all know that I have been obsessing about a particular little pop song. Apparently, I'm not the only one who's been fixating on it. (The friends CLH and I went out drinking with last night ALSO think it's catchy). And this morning, as I watched the video for said song UH-GAIN, something came to me.
I have an idea for the inmates at Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center.
Wait. You don't know about the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center? Go to YouTube right now and search for "prison" and "Thriller" (and try not to think of the implications of searching for an actual thriller in an actual prison.) Now watch the video of the reenactment of the Thriller video....by 100 or so prisoners in orange jumpsuits. ISN'T THAT AMAZING? And while you're at it, check out the OTHER half dozen or so songs they have choreographed. I mean, have you ever seen such discipline, such attention to detail, from a bunch of, well... prisoners? I'm beginning to think their only crime was loving the dance too much...
Okay, so now that we know these guys can do the "Soulja Boy" moves like nobody's business, I think it's time we bumped it up a notch. I mean, they are clearly capable of dancing in formation, so it's only natural that they take on the next great dance routine of our time. It's the song on every one's lips. It's fun, it's infectious, and even Andy Samberg has danced to it on national television. I think we all know where I'm going with this. That's right. Those guys in the orange jumpsuits should roll up their pant legs, get themselves some ridiculously high heels, and re-enact the Single Ladies video.
Come on, fellas. Whaddya say? Put your hands up?
I have an idea for the inmates at Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center.
Wait. You don't know about the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center? Go to YouTube right now and search for "prison" and "Thriller" (and try not to think of the implications of searching for an actual thriller in an actual prison.) Now watch the video of the reenactment of the Thriller video....by 100 or so prisoners in orange jumpsuits. ISN'T THAT AMAZING? And while you're at it, check out the OTHER half dozen or so songs they have choreographed. I mean, have you ever seen such discipline, such attention to detail, from a bunch of, well... prisoners? I'm beginning to think their only crime was loving the dance too much...
Okay, so now that we know these guys can do the "Soulja Boy" moves like nobody's business, I think it's time we bumped it up a notch. I mean, they are clearly capable of dancing in formation, so it's only natural that they take on the next great dance routine of our time. It's the song on every one's lips. It's fun, it's infectious, and even Andy Samberg has danced to it on national television. I think we all know where I'm going with this. That's right. Those guys in the orange jumpsuits should roll up their pant legs, get themselves some ridiculously high heels, and re-enact the Single Ladies video.
Come on, fellas. Whaddya say? Put your hands up?
Friday, May 08, 2009
My Response to a Potential Renter
Here's the email I received this evening, after posting my ad on Craigslist, from one "Make Jason" (that's his email return address name).
Hello ,
I saw your advert on craigslist .com ,I'm interested in renting the room . My name is Smith Mike (27 years) ,I am a young male,I am a fashion designer , i'm friendly professional male looking for housing in the USA area in hopes of moving closer to my Job , i am a fashion designer . I would like to shear 1 bedroom and a private/ share bathroom with male or female gender, I prefer to have straight male or female as a roommates. I'd like to sign 1 year lease and planning to move as soon as possible meanig that i will be staying for a minimum of 12 months. My budget is at the range of $500-$1800 per month including the utilities .
Please kindly get ack to me with the total movein for the first month?
A little bit about me: I currently live and work in ,San Diego California, working with 005 WAREHOUSE WHOLESALE CLOTHING & APPAREL our Head office is in melbourne in Australia . I'm not a huge partier either. I enjoy the performing arts, I don't smoke but have no problem with people who do, I'm pretty neat but not a clean freak.More i don't have pets but i will get to like it if you have I'm pretty low-key,independent, considerate and very friendly! I'm not a partier, drinker, drug-abuser, or smoker by ANY means. I'm not a super clean freak, but I will certainly contribute to the cleaning of the common areas of the house. I'm pretty quiet and won't have > a lot of guests
over… I'll rarely have overnight guests. Please email me if you feel I'd be a good fit for your next roomie!
N.b
Incase there is needs for me to attach my pictures please feel free to ask ,Please
kindly get back to me with the total rent for the first month and deposite if included.
Smith Mike
And here's my response:
Hello, Mike, Make, Jason, Smith, or whatever else you call yourself (all seem suspicious to me).
Thank you kindly for your interest in my house! Your first month's rent, should you choose to accept the terms of our contract, will be 1 million US dollars. I know that seems high Mike Make Jason Smith, but it is for a good reason. You see, we have to keep the first month's rent that high because, Mike Make Jason Smith, there are many dishonest people in the world, and we need to charge a high price to protect ourselves from those dishonest people. Let me explain what they do, Mike Make Jason Smith. Those dishonest people often pretend to be living abroad, looking for housing in the USA, and they write to people like me asking for my bank account number so they can "pay" me for rent on the room-share I have advertised for on the Internet. But, Mike Make Jason Smith, they do not use that information to pay people like me anything. In fact, those people (we call them "scam artists") try to TAKE money from those accounts. Do you know what a scam is, Mike Make Jason Smith? You would never try to scam me, would you, Mike Make Jason Smith? It would be very unfortunate if you did, because, you see, we in the USA have ways of dealing with people like you, and it's not very pleasant. Have you heard of a little nation called "Iraq"? Full of scammers.
Anyway, Mike Make Jason Smith, I know your intentions are sound, and I know you are WAY hip because you are into the performing arts and fashion design and that you are super laid back about pets and smoking. And it sounds like you're going to be a great match for our cleaning schedule and overnight prostitute policy... so, why don't you go ahead and get that check ready (we don't give out banking information over the Internet, you silly goose!). I'll give you my mailing address just as soon as you send me your bank information, your address, your phone number, your mother's maiden name, your government identification number, your driver's license number, your blood type, and your health insurance policy group number. Oh, and a picture would be nice, too.
Yours in domesticity,
GoFuckYourself
(In case you want to send Mike Make Jason Smith an small note reminding him that it's not nice to bait people on the Internet... here's his email: make_smith2005@yahoo.com.)
Hello ,
I saw your advert on craigslist .com ,I'm interested in renting the room . My name is Smith Mike (27 years) ,I am a young male,I am a fashion designer , i'm friendly professional male looking for housing in the USA area in hopes of moving closer to my Job , i am a fashion designer . I would like to shear 1 bedroom and a private/ share bathroom with male or female gender, I prefer to have straight male or female as a roommates. I'd like to sign 1 year lease and planning to move as soon as possible meanig that i will be staying for a minimum of 12 months. My budget is at the range of $500-$1800 per month including the utilities .
Please kindly get ack to me with the total movein for the first month?
A little bit about me: I currently live and work in ,San Diego California, working with 005 WAREHOUSE WHOLESALE CLOTHING & APPAREL our Head office is in melbourne in Australia . I'm not a huge partier either. I enjoy the performing arts, I don't smoke but have no problem with people who do, I'm pretty neat but not a clean freak.More i don't have pets but i will get to like it if you have I'm pretty low-key,independent, considerate and very friendly! I'm not a partier, drinker, drug-abuser, or smoker by ANY means. I'm not a super clean freak, but I will certainly contribute to the cleaning of the common areas of the house. I'm pretty quiet and won't have > a lot of guests
over… I'll rarely have overnight guests. Please email me if you feel I'd be a good fit for your next roomie!
N.b
Incase there is needs for me to attach my pictures please feel free to ask ,Please
kindly get back to me with the total rent for the first month and deposite if included.
Smith Mike
And here's my response:
Hello, Mike, Make, Jason, Smith, or whatever else you call yourself (all seem suspicious to me).
Thank you kindly for your interest in my house! Your first month's rent, should you choose to accept the terms of our contract, will be 1 million US dollars. I know that seems high Mike Make Jason Smith, but it is for a good reason. You see, we have to keep the first month's rent that high because, Mike Make Jason Smith, there are many dishonest people in the world, and we need to charge a high price to protect ourselves from those dishonest people. Let me explain what they do, Mike Make Jason Smith. Those dishonest people often pretend to be living abroad, looking for housing in the USA, and they write to people like me asking for my bank account number so they can "pay" me for rent on the room-share I have advertised for on the Internet. But, Mike Make Jason Smith, they do not use that information to pay people like me anything. In fact, those people (we call them "scam artists") try to TAKE money from those accounts. Do you know what a scam is, Mike Make Jason Smith? You would never try to scam me, would you, Mike Make Jason Smith? It would be very unfortunate if you did, because, you see, we in the USA have ways of dealing with people like you, and it's not very pleasant. Have you heard of a little nation called "Iraq"? Full of scammers.
Anyway, Mike Make Jason Smith, I know your intentions are sound, and I know you are WAY hip because you are into the performing arts and fashion design and that you are super laid back about pets and smoking. And it sounds like you're going to be a great match for our cleaning schedule and overnight prostitute policy... so, why don't you go ahead and get that check ready (we don't give out banking information over the Internet, you silly goose!). I'll give you my mailing address just as soon as you send me your bank information, your address, your phone number, your mother's maiden name, your government identification number, your driver's license number, your blood type, and your health insurance policy group number. Oh, and a picture would be nice, too.
Yours in domesticity,
GoFuckYourself
(In case you want to send Mike Make Jason Smith an small note reminding him that it's not nice to bait people on the Internet... here's his email: make_smith2005@yahoo.com.)
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