Friday, June 04, 2004
If I were a long-tailed rodent …
Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Broad-ening the love
When having a hillbilly ride is NOT hot
That would be when you're driving in front of the development director of a municipality who you 1) just met, 2) think is damn hot and 3) notice is NOT wearing a wedding ring.
But see, had he continued following me, I would've gotten him back to the Cline Avenue exit, which he was NOT going to get to from the street on which he turned. So see? I at least have my lay of the land knowledge going for me. His loss, I tell you.
But see, had he continued following me, I would've gotten him back to the Cline Avenue exit, which he was NOT going to get to from the street on which he turned. So see? I at least have my lay of the land knowledge going for me. His loss, I tell you.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
The drive behind my delinquency
As a high school teacher, Dad was always much more lenient than Mother ever was, although I'm sure most Gestapo were more lenient than she was when I was a teen. Because of that, there was never a unified front in our house, and mostly, it was Dad acquiescing to Mother's insane demands -- not the best of situations for a kid to grow up in, but no worse than 100 million other peoples', I'm sure. At any rate, that didn't stop Dad from conspiring to keep me under the radar, if only just to spite her. Like, when I was in lurve with my 21 year-old boyfriend, he covered for me, even though it was clearly not the wisest choice.
Especially cool was that Dad was the type of person you could tell anything to after the fact, and as long as you weren't hurt or hurt anyone else, he wouldn't get all apeshit on you -- like when I was 19 and dating my college boyfriend, who Mother HATED because she found out I was nailing him.
Especially cool was that Dad was the type of person you could tell anything to after the fact, and as long as you weren't hurt or hurt anyone else, he wouldn't get all apeshit on you -- like when I was 19 and dating my college boyfriend, who Mother HATED because she found out I was nailing him.
My name’s Darlene. Wanna see my butt?
You know, why couldn't the guy have hit me up front, where I have little teeny rust spots from when I drove to Chicago every damn day? At least then I could've gotten a new hood out of it.
Fuckety fuck fuck fuck … (whimper)
There's this widely held theory that people are most likely to have car accidents when they're within two miles of their home. But do they have anything for RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR HOUSE!?!?!?
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Reading was fundamental
Being a composition teacher, Dad liked to pick quotes off signs and post them up on the board for his students to ponder. They could be anywhere, of course, but a lot of times, they came off church signs. Not that he was particularly religious; in fact, one time, I was downstairs in his bathroom looking in his underneath the sink for things to read (that's where he stashed his stuff), and there was a book by L. Ron Hubbard. That shocked the hell out of me, thinking Dad could possibly buy into Scientology, especially since he was so fascinated by the Hyles Baptist people and what a fucked-up deal THAT is.
He never censored anything I read, really. I was reading Steven King novels by the time I was in sixth grade -- hell, I asked him for his copy of The Exorcist, and he gave it to me without complaint. And the John Powers trilogy -- The Last Catholic in America, Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up? and The Unoriginal Sinner and the Ice Cream God? Required reading. In later years, though, he got all up into those Jean Auel books, a passion which I didn't get.
There were SOME limits to what he wanted me reading; after all, he DID throw away the porn novel I stashed under the love seat in the living room (as well as my next-door neighbor's porn novel she let me borrow). Never said a word about it, but once the carpet was cleaned? Gone.
He never censored anything I read, really. I was reading Steven King novels by the time I was in sixth grade -- hell, I asked him for his copy of The Exorcist, and he gave it to me without complaint. And the John Powers trilogy -- The Last Catholic in America, Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Up? and The Unoriginal Sinner and the Ice Cream God? Required reading. In later years, though, he got all up into those Jean Auel books, a passion which I didn't get.
There were SOME limits to what he wanted me reading; after all, he DID throw away the porn novel I stashed under the love seat in the living room (as well as my next-door neighbor's porn novel she let me borrow). Never said a word about it, but once the carpet was cleaned? Gone.
Because it’s important what the receptionist thinks
Me: You know, it really pisses me off when you make comments about me reaching for the candy in front of people we don't know.
Mother: What? Who was there?
Me: Um, well ... the receptionist, for one.
Mother: Oh, she don't care.
[Bangs head on steering wheel]
Mother: What? Who was there?
Me: Um, well ... the receptionist, for one.
Mother: Oh, she don't care.
[Bangs head on steering wheel]
I feel a draft coming on, take 2
Here's why I shouldn't post stuff at 2 a.m.: That thing on the draft? Included links to the Home School Legal Defense Fund, which in and of itself is fine, but if you go to its Web site, the group clearly opposes same-sex marriage, and I ain't down with that. So, I've erased that entry and instead found the guvmint link to this draft thing: Lookit
At first glance, I thought this might not be such a bad idea -- I mean, giving students an option, especially if they don't have any plans after high school can't be wrong, right? But you know what? No matter how many alleged terrorist attacks there are on the United States, WE'RE STILL NOT ISRAEL. Canada and Mexico aren't gunning for us at every turn because we're American, so this is pointless.
At first glance, I thought this might not be such a bad idea -- I mean, giving students an option, especially if they don't have any plans after high school can't be wrong, right? But you know what? No matter how many alleged terrorist attacks there are on the United States, WE'RE STILL NOT ISRAEL. Canada and Mexico aren't gunning for us at every turn because we're American, so this is pointless.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Dad: The straight dope
I suppose if we're going to talk about him for a whole month, I should introduce you to him, right? Let's start off with the basics:
Snickers Ice cream bars and York Peppermint Patties don’t mix
Here's this morning's dream: What I remember starts out with me, Mother and Dad living in an apartment, and Mother being freaked out about what Dad was doing when he was supposed to be teaching -- not as in him having an affair, but him doing something illegal, and she goes looking for him. There were people in the parking lot of the apartment complex, and they were waiting for him, but I don't think it was for illegal purposes. So he comes home, and the next thing I remember, I'm judging a high school speech meet, and I'm in a little office crammed to the gills with teacher stuff, and I'm talking to two participants and asking them what they want to do with their lives, etc. But the participants? Are dudes I competed against waaaaaay back in the day, one of who I KNOW went on to Northwestern and got married relatively young.
?
?
Monday, May 31, 2004
But Julie Cooper likes that old time rock n’ roll
There are myriad reasons why I like only maybe two Bob Seeger songs, but one of them really makes me itch more than the rest: In the song "Rock n' Roll Never Forgets," Bob sings the line, "You used to shake 'em down/but now you're more concerned about your dignity/And now Sweet 16's turned 31 ..."
Wait, WHAT!?!?! 30-fucking-1!?!? When did 31 become a time of worrying about dignity, fer chrissakes!?!? I don't recall anything like that when I was 31. Most broads in their 30s, if they're not buying into the whole marriage/family thing, are having quite a lot of fun; they're still their looks, and they have the whole experience thing on their side, having gone through the "Terrible 20s" and all that.
Fifty-one, I could've bought, but 31? No way.
Wait, WHAT!?!?! 30-fucking-1!?!? When did 31 become a time of worrying about dignity, fer chrissakes!?!? I don't recall anything like that when I was 31. Most broads in their 30s, if they're not buying into the whole marriage/family thing, are having quite a lot of fun; they're still their looks, and they have the whole experience thing on their side, having gone through the "Terrible 20s" and all that.
Fifty-one, I could've bought, but 31? No way.
We interrupt the full-tilt bitching starting tomorrow …
Today being Memorial Day and all, I thought talking about my dad, he being a veteran and all (AAAAAAIIIIIIRRRR-Borne! Woo! Go 101st!), would be cool, except he never saw combat. And sure I know that doesn't matter, but I had a better idea: With Dad's birthday, Father's Day and wedding anniversary in June, I decided June would be the perfect month to write an entry a day devoted to nothing but him. Good memories, bad memories, indifferent memories, only entry of the day, whatever, will be coming at you, and me.
In other business, the Memorial Day tribute I covered this morning? Why did they allow "Taps" to be played by one good trumpeteer, only to have him mirrored by someone who couldn't carry a tune to save his damn life!?! Good Christ, there's nothing that'll ruin an event quicker for me than someone who can't sing-play their instrument.
In other business, the Memorial Day tribute I covered this morning? Why did they allow "Taps" to be played by one good trumpeteer, only to have him mirrored by someone who couldn't carry a tune to save his damn life!?! Good Christ, there's nothing that'll ruin an event quicker for me than someone who can't sing-play their instrument.
It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.
100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.
Give it to me, baby.
Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...
The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:
100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.
Give it to me, baby.
Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...
The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:
Big Mistake
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Wanna make a bunch of money doing what you're doing right now?
Hey Webmasters! - Make $$$
The AllPosters.com Affiliates Program is a great way to make money with your website. All you have to do is place links on your site to AllPosters.com. When your site visitors click on your links and make purchases at AllPosters.com, you earn 25%-30% of the sale. Sign up today!
Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving? The frigging church. My church and my mom’s… ...[go].
Wholovesya? said: By the by, I’m not the only one I know. I have friends who work at soup kitchens because they’re… ...[go].
Wholovesya? said: As you know, I was a voyeur to the beginning of this, and I was loving your comment! I have… ...[go].
DixonHill said: Thanks for the “King of the Hill” reference, otherwise I’d have had NO idea who these guys were. Doesn’t mean… ...[go].
Broad said: I don’t know. I think it might translate better on, say, Adult Swim or something. Give it the Seth Green… ...[go].
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emtwo
powered by
EE Core
script assistance by
scriptygoddess
hosted by
wiredhub
This explains that large bit of type at the top.
Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.
<< chicago blogs >>
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
online