If they deal you down and dirty in a way you don't deserve

The tropical storm has pretty much passed. Those that got hit by the tornado are in some kind of shape but East Nashville is pretty much nothing but damp. Lucky me got to be awake for much of it what with Mr Man's fear of storms and how it's much easier to deal with them in an awake state. Then Mummy rang at 6:30 to make sure I hadn't been swept into the River and that was the last I saw of sleep. Almost fell asleep during Dick Van Dyke but couldn't because every now and then something amusing was said and awake I was.
School started today. If you're feeling technical school started yesterday but I don't have class on Mondays-so school started today. Was fuckin' soggy-I was drenched clear to my underwear by the time I got to class. Course, my stupid body is rebelling and clothes that fit Friday are too tight today which makes a girl feel miserable and I couldn't wear anything but loose fitting skirts (tho I did contemplate sweat pants-I felt that bad. Yesterday I did not have this problem. It's awful and makes me miserable and leaves me wearing long skirts on days of flooding. I digress.)
My first class is the one that I think will be the most interesting. There's only 7 people in the course and a diverse bunch we are. It's a music appreciation sort of shindig it could easily become esoteric. Let a moment in the class sum it up for you.
Guy: Then there are those songs that just rip at you-like "Patches"
Class: Oh God! "Patches! Or "Ole Shep!"
Me: OH! And that one (snaps fingers) OH!
Prof: "Teddy Bear!"
Me: That's it!

Or my rant about Alanis Morisette's crime against humanity: Jagged Little Pill Acoustic. I got diplomatic immunity to describe the most notable verse of the song "is she perverted like me are you thinking of me when you fuck her?") Then I sang a few bars. This is going to be an interesting class. OH ! But I must explain 'diplomatic immunity' you see it was noted that it is not appropriate to use the vernacular when discussing vernacular music. Now, I dunno if y'all know this about me-but I have a dirty dirty mouth. I can't write a grocery list without swearing. (What can I say, sometimes celery just pisses me off. Damn celery.) This I mentioned and E agreed that I am prone to swearing quite a lot-so, I think mostly as a way of picking on me-she said once per class if it is within the confines of the conversation I am welcome to say something that might be construed as inappropriate. So, I took the opportunity to make a reference to oral sex in theatres. Next week I hope to top this classy moment. Tho I don't know how that could be possible-since that was a shining moment in intellectual history. I bring shame to my family on a regular basis, and it's fun.

My second class of the day might be less fun. I want to enjoy it. I know that it will be valuable, but I fear it's not really my forte and thus will take a HUGE amount of effort on my part to be engaged in. I'm being very diplomatic here, honestly-this class is going to make me hate life for the next few months and I'm just hoping I am able to take it like a man. The syllabus put me into a vegatative state I can only imagine what the actual readings will be like. Lord have mercy on me. It'll be very beneficial. Very useful and based in reality. I will learn bunches. I will not spend all my time sobbing into my pillow and threatening to drop out.
I will play this song many times over the course of the semester:
If they deal you down and dirty in a way you don't deserve
You'll feel better if you take it like a man
If you let 'em drive you crazy, boy, they'll shut your business down
Shake it off and get your licks in when you can
'Cause the heart is all that matters in the end

-Kris Kristofferson "Heart"

and you might-in the same spirit by the same man want to think of this at some point when you see I'm going crazy more good advice from the poet:
Don't turn away there - hey - goddamn you, you used to love her
Turn on your father, sister, mother, mister
She was your friend.
Don't you condemn her, leave it to strangers
You ought to know her, give her a hand, if you can
But at least for Jesus Christ's sake, understand her.

Can you guess whose works I was enjoying on my long car ride today? I bet you can.
Peace and love

Make me a mix tape

No one was crazy enough to try to come up with all of the songs that are the titles to my entries-so here-let me entertain you:
(huh, not all titles are from songs-I disappoint me)

Time After Time-Cyndi Lauper
Chelsea Hotel-Leonard Cohen
Long, Long Day-Paul Simon
45 Miles-Todd Snider
The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight-REM
Life During Wartime-Talking Heads (2 entries)
I Almost Had A Weakness-Elvis Costello
Rockin' the Bronx-B 47
LA Freeway-Jerry Jeff Walker
I Spoke as a Child-Todd
Can't Complain-Todd
Theme from the Jeffersons
That Was Me-Todd
Hey Jack Kerouac-10,000 Maniacs
Don't Ask me Why-Billy Joel
And She Was-Talking Heads (2 entries)
I've Loved These Days-Billy Joel
Circle-Harry Chapin
Less Than Zero-Elvis Costello
Who Killed Bobby Fuller?-B 47
Vertigo-U2
Hungry Heart-Bruce Springsteen
Friends-Elton John
American Wake-B 47
Take This Job and Shove It-Johnny Paycheck
Running with the Devil-Van Halen
30,000 Pounds of Bananas-Harry Chapin
Heart of Gold-Neil Young
In My Life-the Beatles
Things we Said Today-the Beatles

Not even kind of schizophrenic musically.

Things we said today

Today I finished my tenured as a coffee whore. For the second time. This time is probably the last time. Would certainly hope so. Too educated to serve coffee-I can see thru the ruse. There's plenty of people with the same problem, but they haven't done it for 5 years so it's not quite so painful. 5 years (over the course of 4/5 of a decade) wearing a green apron and pushing pound cakes on people that already need 2 seats on the bus. What a relief to not do that anymore.
School started today. Or, we had our wee meeting of the minds today. FUN FACT: the only people (so it seems) w/out the good grant money are: me, the woman with severe vision impairment and the woman with 5 kids. I think there's a little bit of discimination there. But that's alright, ma, I'm only bleeding. Probably a dozen or so people are starting the program this fall. My guess. My guess is that half of them will be around come T-giving. MAYBE. Course, they all have assistantships. It's the people that don't that don't make it. I'm the only one to return-clarify-the only one to return that doesn't have a decent full time job that pays the bills. I must have a very high tolerance for pain.
F-lorists have potluck suppers. Like Pentecostals-only with more alcohol. Lots more alcohol. My God-who can blame us-we're in debt for fairy tales and food traditions. Drinking is the only POSSIBLE reaction. That or maybe running our heads into the wall until we enter a coma that causes us to forget we decided to get a degree in the lore of the folk.
SO-between the oh so exciting morning meeting and the oh so fascinating get together I had 5 hours to kill. And I wasn't lucky-I didn't have any pot. AUGH!! Bad-and yet I told this joke more than once. What was I thinking. Mummy was helpful-she told me to get a platter-buy some hummus, some grapes and some bagel chips and it would be a hit. I was nervous because this clearly was not my own cooking creation. But I went to Wal-Mart bought a fifty cent tray and what I was suggested and grabbed a spoon from the deli. I put the set up together in the parking lot and just sat it on the table. When there was food to eat (salads and sushi and BBQ and all that) no one touched my tray and I was embarrassed. This is why I don't bring trays because I don't know what people want. SO-I wander off and have a discussion about heavy metal in Akron, OH (in Akron, OH people really like heavy metal-approx 30 people and the editor of JAF, I probably know all of these people). Went back into the kitcken and the hummus tray looks like it was attacked by hungry wolves. AH HA! It's nosh food to be eaten whilst conversating. Mummy is a genius.
Speaking of wolves, I saw the Brothers Grimm today. It was quite brilliant. Tho I spent much time trying to figure which tale was being referenced at the time-because I'm paying to know this shit. That took away from some of the charm. But that won't bother most people. Most people aren't as misguided as am I. Lovely imagery and Heath Ledger-yeh, I find him to be quite pleasant. Hell, I even thought Matt Damon was likable and skilled and he is forever tainted by his association with that tool Ben Affleck. (Why is Ben Affleck still allowed to make movies? Everything he touches is such shite. Makes one wonder if there is in fact a diety.)
The funniest moments of the evening-in nutshells...
Talking to a girl about-something-liquor stores I guess tho I don't know why.
Girl: "I'm still trying to figure out the drive thru liquor store."
Me: "Oh, how I miss the drive thru. We don't have them in Nsahville. It's one of the greatest injustices of all time."
Prof: "And hello M______"
Me: "Hello"
Prof: "That seemed like the best time to chime in." she had that look of familiarity that is amusing if you see if but I guess it's fairly easy to imagine.
Me: "Well, having to get out of my car to buy beer is terribly unfair."
Prof: "Of course." She's either comraderous (a new word I just invented probably) or condescending.
Then we talked about a book I'd loaned her one million years ago when the earth was still molten lava and an event I will regrettably miss in order to garner new and exciting swag.
Other fun moment:
Me: "That was one of the books I remember reading when I was first allowed over to the adult book section in the library."
Prof (another prof not the same one from the other convo): "The funny thing is I can see you sneaking over to the contraband section of the library to get a book on folklore."
Me: "I was a very cynical 10 year old. I rocked."
Was good to see the people from last year and to be a "second year" which is kind of like being a senior in high school. Yeh-obviously-but you know what I mean don't you? From the kewl POV.
One funny moment (the last one I promise-it really wasn't a party high in hilarity-it was a social) was when someone walked by and said something about not being good at mingling. I was standing by the drinks nursing a beer talking to B about music.
"I wouldn't know about mingling. I'm talking to B____, just the same way I was doing this time last year."
"Yeh, that's pretty much it." he said.
No one's mingling. You go thru an ackward time when you get to know people. Then after that 20 minutes you know who you can talk to and for the rest of the time you're in a situation when you might see those people you know who is safe and with whom you have nothing in common.

Places I Remember

Tomorrow's the last day I ever wear a green apron. Oh that reminds me-just a moment I have to take my aprons out of the washer....hmmm, I'm thinking there might be a drainage problem to contend with at some point. Those were some damn effin' wet aprons. Oh well-I'll just leave them hanging on a hook if they're not dry by the time I leave *$ tomorrow. I am SO not stressing about it.
RIGHT-so tomorrow is my last day as a coffee whore. That's fun, is it not. Yeh, I'm all a flutter. It is such a non-event. I'm not leaving on any exciting note or anything fascinating like that. I've always left jobs with such flair and crushing finality and here I am leaving with class. How very unlike me. God, I've really fallen from grace this last year haven't I. Something dangerous and frightening needs to happen soon to fix that dilemma.
Still, there is a certain aspect of my existance that would like to remain in contact with my coffee pals. We are going out for sushi on Sat. That's kewl. If I can break every previous trend of my personality I will see them upon occassion.
Sat. also finds me "driving a bunch of drinks to a fundraiser." I am the first person to choose as a designated driver. I am the soberest person you've ever met. Assuming you are a bartender a a pub 10 feet from the least guarded entrance to a rehab clinic, then I am the most sober person you havev ever met. I pity you then.
Today I was at the "office" doing my thing-which at that point was pretty much just putzing around on the internet. Some people I didn't know showed up and they wanted champagne. Now, this is about at 9am. I have only had champagne maybe 2x in my life. Once was at my cousin's wedding and the second time was when the fam went out on IBM's bill to celebrate Daddy's 25 years with the corporate monstrosity. It has never came into my mind that it should be had at 9am. But, you know, it's a different world...So, course-T had some champagne and he opened it and everyone was drinking. At 9am. And I thought-ah, what the hell. And had me a couple of nips-or two glasses whatever-before going to work. What the fuck anyway-I'm gone from there tomorrow. What're they going to do-fire me?
Going to work tipsy is a bad thing. It feels unpleasant. Acting normal is harder than I care to admit-I had this urge to laugh a lot. And yet, it is kind of funny. Being tipsy before the Tony Danza Show is funny-or maybe the word is sad. I keep getting those 2 mixed up.
And work was dull and uneventful. That's to be expected. Tomorrow I have to be up really fuckin early for the last time. And then school starts. Sorta. The getting to know you, pot luck bullshit starts. School doesn't start until Tuesday.
Oh shite. School starts on Tuesday.
Feck.
Now I have to dedicate a bunch of my energies to be happy about that. Yea, education. Yippee skippee.

Keeps me searchin' for a heart of gold

Pink Floyd music reminds me of parties where the entire crowd of atendees are waiting for the foreshadowed excitement. It's not that the party is bad-but it just seems the whole time that something more interesting should be happening. Classic rock satellite radio is madly in love with Pink Floyd. Some punk kids at a recent show had Sex Pistols patches on their satchels next to Pink Floyd stickers-this struck me as being somewhat incongrous. But who am I to say? I deemed myself too old to battle the crowds to see the band they were all clamoring to see. Maybe next year, maybe...if I get more sleep that weekend.

This week Neil Young was recording a film to go along with his new album. Maybe a DVD, maybe a theatrical release. I am not entirely sure. At any rate-there was a bunch of buzz about it. He had control of the Ryman from Monday on to Friday or Saturday and people were talking about all of the people who were supposed to be at the taping. Everyone from Oprah to Chris Rock were rumored. I dunno if that ever panned out. I know I was in the audience, however. I am not a celebrity-but I am willing to play one on TV.
Thursday night was the first night of the two night stand. I didn't even TRY to get into that-maybe I should've, but I had to work WAY too early on Fri. But the lawyer said that he thought I could get into the show if I was in the right place at the right time. Well...what do you get if you don't try? I'd taken care of a couple of dogs-of the crazy terrier types and almost forgotten about the show. I was almost home when I did a U-turn on Main St. and headed downtown to the Ryman. When I got there it did not look good. It looked quite bad-as there were many people that were doing what I was doing--bargaining that there might be a couple of tickets. Money couldn't buy these things-they were strictly something to be won or acquired by luck. The hottest ticket in town no one could get.
T was standing outside, he already had his ticket. He pointed me to a bald chap with a stack of tickets. This hairless gentleman was somewhat hesitant to give me a ticket-I didn't exactly look like the sort of person that they might be bargaining for in the audience. For example, I was having an unfortunate hair day. And I'd been up since 3am. But I got in. Amazing as that is. Half the capacity of the Ryman is a little over a thousand people. I would say that the building was at about 1/3 what with the floor being off limits. There weren't a lot of tickets available. My mind is still a bit blown.
Due to some streak of events I ended up in the 6th row from the front-about halfway back in the balcony-right in the middle. this would've been the perfect seat had not there been a TERRIBLY ENTHUSIASTIC trucker cap wearing tight short shorted dude directly in front of me. Now, don't misunderstand-I am all for excitement. And this was exciting-I was excited-it was wild wacky stuff-but I am not for standing on the pews of the Ryman and jumping up and down on same and yelling WOO!!!! in between of every other smegging song. In fact, I am opposed on moral grounds to this. I am also not in support of people that dance in a manner completely lacking rhythm or awareness of the song being played-once or twice a night this is fine-at a show with an area set aside for dancing-where dancing is encouraged or at the very least reasonable help yourself have a ball and expect to see me in the non-obtrusive dance area-BUT in a situation wherein dancing may result in discomfort or intense annoyance to those in yr general vicinity-esp if yr getting down to every feckin song don't be a jerk dammit. I think this should be illegal-possibly punishable by stoning performed by the offended audience members.
That guy being the exception I had a wonderful evening. The first part of the night was the new CD "Prairie Wind" played all the way through. Then after a intermission of 15 minutes he came back and played a bunch of the classics like "Heart of Gold" and "Harvest Moon" and etc. He had some great musicians playing with him-the Fisk Jubilee Singers, the Nashville String Machine, his wife Pegi and Miss Emmylou Harris. Yeh, Emmylou was singing back up much of the night. That was really rather groovy.
Looking forward to the release of the DVD or movie or whatever it was that was being recorded.
On Saturday I had lunch at some bar and grill and chatted with a couple of Australians. They were interesting. Then I went grocery shopping. Today I worked at *$ and left a note stating in no uncertain terms that I would not be whoring around there anymore following next Friday (or at the VERY VERY latest) the Friday after that-but only on the understanding that my availability changes to the point that it really is more like UN-availability. I fully expect that Her Pregnant Self will be bordering on unbearable to be near tomorrow and for the rest of my tenure in coffee world. Such is life-c'est pas de moi probleme.
Time to do something with that chicken I've been thawing and watch large quantities of SVU.

Harry....it s***s

First news first-I have yet another cold. So that makes for one happy hippie. I've ingested large quantities of nasty tasting shit but I can't say it's doing me much good. Tussin-both Robi and otherwise is so nasty tasting there's no way that I'm sick enough to take it just yet. Tomorrow maybe-but not just yet. If I partake of the giant fuckin' Q I might not wake up for work tomorrow. But then again, it might be worth the risk. Breathing kind of rocks you know-it's easy to forget that until it's less of an option.
Random side note-Hillary Duff makes me quesy. What the hell "wake up on a Saturday night?" (the commercial has no cohesive narrative, so I presume it's just advertising the product that is formerly LIzzie McGuire) so now she's such a party girl she doesn't reach consciousness until after dark on Saturday? Geez, even Lindsay Lohan is probably aware of her surroundings by mid-afternoon.
SO ANYHOW-was doin' the law thing today. If you can call it that. What I do has little if anything to do with the law. I just hang around with lawyers. The first few hours weren't much to speak of, due to the bastard cold and the tunnel effect of being inside my brain.
More reader's notes: This whole story line with Jason and Sam and the Sam doppleganger and dancing on General Hospital is so grasping at straws that the stockroom at Wendy's is cowering in terror. And it's really badly acted. Also, I'm a bit peeved that there was no Friday afternoon slo-mo when Reese admitted she was Charlotte. SoapNet may very well ruin my life before Samhain. I'll keep y'all posted.
Regularly scheduled programming:
We went to lunch and then we went back and I'd really not had much to do for awhile---other than some stuff I really don't know how to do yet but I'll learn. I'm relatively clever in my way.
I had to introduce R. Kelly's musical masterpiece "Trapped in the Closet" to my fellows and we couldn't do anything but laugh our balls off. I think I got smacked a few times-and we all have our favorite lines. I'm sticking to "I pull out my baretta" because it reminds me of me.
Oh-wait the Daily Show is on....So I"m not going to go into how Harry Chapin popped up in conversation or all the conversations about drugs (the kind the dr wants you to take) or eating disorders and disorder in general and I'd hate to go into how much I would like to see Neil Young this week. (A real lot bunches mostly in short) But I'll describe that another time-I have Jon Stewart to amuse and inform me.
peace

I've been watching you waltz all night

It took less than 24 hours for me to realize that TV is evil. Deliciously evil. Say I could be visiting with family and friends-reading James Joyce or maybe developing my fine art skills but there's a Night Court Marathon on TVLand and I can't remember what happened between Harry and Christine-although I think nothing I could be wrong and if I don't watch as much of this marathon as possible I may never know.
Course, I had to get the biggest package-since my landlady is paying half the bill and the "only channel she watches" is on the Top 7trillion package-including 15 channels of programming devoting entirely to the cultural conservation of small Iowan farm towns. The up(down)side is that I have SoapNet and now will be able to watch my stories obsessively and repeatedly. I'd actually kind of tried to avoid that-but, it was meant to be.
Have I stated recently how much I do not want to go back to school? I really really really to the power of infinity do not want to go back to school. Either it's that this summer has been so full of non-stop fun (?) or maybe I just can't believe there's any chance to ever get a job in this bad idea I chose as a field and it's hard to muster up excitement about spending the next 9 months suffering through learning a bunch of information that in no way going to do anything but maybe (big motherfuckin' maybe there too gentle reader) maybe will come in handy when I'm watching Jeopardy someday. But, in the time honored tradition of the ease of having nothing left to lose, I bet it'll be a lot easier this year since I don't really care that much. The program isn't giving me shit-so I don't give a shit for the program. (NOTE-this opinion could change based on my particular mood on any given day or determinate on phases of the moon.)
Meanwhile-in little on Nashvegas it was a weekend of visiting and stuff. My floppy hat came in handy last night and a small child tried to steal my spectacles. Crazy small children and their thievery. Certain non-present factors last night made my evening-I was very relieved to not have to deal with that and was thus just able to enjoy the show-even make a buck (literally $1---I think I deserved the whole take---wouldn't have been any take atall without me after all) drink a few bad beers and dance badly without that naseating reminder of all that. Course, I was reminded anyway, but in a manner I was more willing to put up with-friendly ribbing is acceptable as long as it remains-y'know, friendly. Also any night featuring "Cocaine Blues" is a good night in my book.
Otherwise-notice has been put in at the $s. Hopefully that notice will just be 2 weeks. Now that I know I'm getting out I'd like to get out sooner rather than later. And besides, there's the neverending happy funtimes of the semester to brace myself for (is there any kind of bracing that would actually brace me for what I'm lucky enough to be able to partake? If yes please send it my way.)
Well-have to watch more TV-I'm paying for it-I'm gonna watch it!

Runnin' With the Devil

So just how hard could it possibly be to flee the country?
That couple from Nashvegas that got caught in Columbus trying to get away from the law hired a CAB??
Call me crazy but wouldn't it be a lot easier to just get in yr car, drive to a Wal-Mart over in Switch Holler or some equally charming burb, switch plates with some unsuspecting schmo's Ford Taurus and carefully follow the speed limit until you've succesfully claimed you're on yr way to Canada for some "fishing and sightseeing."
How effin' hard is that?
Sure, you'll have to stop for gas once or twice on the way-here's a hint fleeing from the law people-don't act suspicious. Buy a Coke and a candy bar and wish the cashier a nice day. Don't spend yr whole time glancing around trying to find the security camera don't wear a trenchcoat in August don't be stupid.
Of course, if you weren't stupid you probably wouldn't be on the run from the law in the first place, would you?
Nevertheless, I bet if I was trying to flee the country I'd be able to get out without anyone getting suspiscious. Hell, I bet I could board a plane and head of England without anyone questioning it. Course, I don't plan to break any laws in order to try this out. I just plan to live with the theory that fugitives from justice are rarely as clever as Dr.Richard Kimble.

Take this job-and-What exactly?---> Waiting for the Cable Guy

It's Thursday night as I write this. The cable guy won't be showing up until Sat am but I am that excited about the whole getting of cable thing that I really don't have anything else to think about. If there is a reasonable force in the universe I should be able to listen to Sirius radio by noon and if at all possible I will also be able to catch up on all those episodes of Rescue Me I've missed.
Life is very exciting here on the wrong side of the Cumberland River. I believe it should be completely possible to concal the XM radio if I can come up with a way to record music off the TV-there is surely a way the MD can pull that off. That and it would seem to me that even with the split cost that I'll be paying (a very reasonable price for TV when the price is half) I don't really have the $$ for both. Plus, despite my excitement it remains true that I really don't watch that much television. I watch some television-but I really think I'm getting cable for approx 3 shows (Rescue Me, the Daily show and reruns of L&O/SVU from the early seasons I missed) but I will admit that at times when insomnia sets in it will be pretty nice to be able to watch Cheers instead of infomercials. TV provides my quiet existance with much needed noise. Mostly, I'm just happy to get the Sirius radio. Because one satellite radio provider is not enough-also the world music channel on Sirius is better than on XM and the Folk station rocks or folks or something.
On the job front-
Went back to *$ today and everybody was all "OH! Welcome back! We missed you! Hey girl! So glad to see you!" and they made it really hard to put in the 2 weeks I was planning on putting in. I cannot physically work both jobs when school starts. Feck-I can barely do both jobs now-what with both running on business hours (I can do it-but it requires me working harder than my lazy ass would prefer). I'm working up this speech I want to explain I wouldn't be quitting if I hadn't come into this really good job that was exactly in the field I want to be in that I wouldn't have transferred if my intent had been to do anything but to stay with the company for a good length of time. I've never actually quit a job I didn't detest before I don't know how to do it. It makes me sort of queasy just thinking about it. Not that I think that there's going to be any extended communication with the people that work at the store (because that's how it goes, not because I/they don't want to) but I would rather that no one was angry at me for leaving them. Or maybe I have delusions of grandeur. I'm just another trained monkey more capable than most of crafting delightful lattes of the perfect weight. It's something to be proud of, but it really doesn't say much for all of the years I've spent in school. That and the law office has a completely stocked bar and I can watch cable TV while working and there's a free gym downstairs that I'm welcome to use. *$ may offer health insurance, but they've never asked me what my favorite type of alcohol is and stocked it at the office bar simply for my drinking enjoyment. Lest I forget-I've never been asked by *$ to employ my excellent Private Eye skills. And no one has ever described working at*$ as "fun"-moments can be fun, people can be fun, but the job, less than painful yes, but "fun" no.
How do you quit a job that you don't necessarily dislike but you've outgrown?
And how did I end up having TOO MANY jobs?
Otherwise. I am a fat fat fatty moo cow. I hate me. I am roly poly and pitiful. I realize I am still only of average build-probably below average if you're getting technical but I feel huge. And I hate me. I can't stand to be in the same room with me. It's depressing. I think I might try some of those rapid weightloss drugs at the drugstore. Or maybe hope I get my period really soon since I'm about 2 weeks late and that's making me somewhat crankier by the millisecond. (That's not a possibility-so stop thinking it. I wish it was-well, I mean I don't but you know what I mean. It's not. Augh-I'm assuming I'm under some sort of stress. Two weeks with my family and trying to quit a job gracefully---what kind of stress could I possibly be under?)
Babble babble babble.
Sad the way my life goes from adventure and intrigue to nothing worth speaking of.

No one could ever forget you-Rockin' the MidWest Part 3

I really wish that blogger would let me easily (by which I mean using no effort at all except maybe dragging and dropping) change the order of these posts so the events occurred in order.

I don't remember what I did between Waffle House and the Irish Fest. Maybe something terribly useful, although I suspect I dedicated most of the time to trying to recover from the godawful hangover that was battling for control of my body.
The last show, the last few pints of mediocre American beer posing as Irish ale the last sweat soaked jigs and reels the last rallying of unity. After the show I fell asleep in front of the traditional stage for close to half an hour then stumbled back to the hotel (nothing interesting happening there) made a phone call, and contemplated making another.
EXPLANATION: After the show I related how I had lost my copy of a certain book when I'd loaned it to someone who than became quite enchanted by me and I was unable for some reason (because, probably I was dealing with a very likable and sincere person that lived in the same county as me, thus rendering her completely not my type as either being located far away or emanating danger- preferably both -is necessary for me to find a person attractive. And I suppose there's the fact that I am talking about a woman, and I am still not sure exactly where I fall in that whole mess of humanity-somewhere in that hazy shade of gray area I think firmly playing for whatever team is most attractive at the moment. It made me nervous thinking that I may find myself firmly aligned with one proclivity or another by accepting the offers I was receiving.) I related this story to all the gang and to the singer. "So," I said, "I don't know if I can bring myself to call her after that and I'll probably never see the book again."
"OH, I dunno," he said, "I suspect there'll be a way. Any kind of relationship is good."
"Easy for you to say, when was the last time you had a male paramour?"
He smiled, "Don't you remember Danny Boy?" he said. And that was that.
She stayed in my mind-I knew I had to call her, but when exactly would be a good time to do that? She solved it for me, she called when I was 2 hours from Nashville, out of the blue to see how I was doing and invite me to a going away party for our mutual friend. Dammit boy, how did you know? Or is it not him that knew, maybe it was me--we had a good chat that would've lasted longer had my phone not died. It's true tho, we may not be a couple but we're quite a pair anyway. I really think I might need to send an email describing this-since it is so very random and really quite lovely.
AHH, but we're discussing Sunday. And there was not much at the hotel bar so I went to Tim Horton's for soup and bagel for dinner. I re-read my singed copy of Killing Yourself to Live and decided if when I went back after the course of one pint nothing worthwhile was going on I would just check into a hotel cost be damned and call it a night.
Of course you know what happened...
I saw the couple that had become my grand friends over the course of the weekend and we sat down and talked music and travel and shite. Then the bar began to fill and everyone you would expect turned up there. We all downed pints and told tales. A couple from CT that I bore memories of but couldn't remember exactly how much time we'd spent together or when (after all, it was on a drinking tour and I gotta say it might be that all parties were not present at that time tho quickly we became old friends) was to my right and we shared laughs and drinks and raised our glasses.
"I had to laugh when you posted about anyone that remembered you, as if anyone could FORGET you." The first night Mik had said, "You know them all?"
"Yeh," I said, "I do. I can't believe they know me tho."
"As if anyone could ever forget you."
At one point I got it into my head that what the bar needed was some honky tonk music and that was when I programmed "You Never Even Called me by my Name", "Whisky River" and "Travellin' Band" (as either a joke or an homage to the Big Lebowski I'm not sure) into the jukebox. This would've been really funny if anyone could hear the songs being played but the voices grew loud and riotous and the laughter drowned out my choice of tunes. And me trying to bring the mood to rabble rousing mode. There wasn't any Billy Joel or I would've played the whole album just to piss of the wrong side of the argument from the night before. Besides, how many times can a person hear Achtung Baby in one night? Yes, U2 is one of the great bands of all time. Yes, they're Irish. No, I do not need to have their worst album on constant replay just because it is semi-appropriate for the occassion-my God, at least put in How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb.
There was so much craic, and I know at times my laugh rang out above the crowd loud and pure. I felt so alive and at home with these people and I remembered how important that sense of community is and how stupid it is to let some little moment of foolishness distract one from that feeling of belonging. I want it back now, I don't have the money to go to the Labor Day weekend, but I might be able to get to a show during Fall Break-knock wood there might be one. I can't be away like that-I can't give it up again. This world, this unreality it's so real to me. Somewhere outside of the dole line and the stress and feeling of constantly being sick and tired there's this little relief this world inside a world a culture inside a culture a beautiful self formed folk idea that is purely ours. But you're welcome to join us if you don't mind not fully understanding the whole mess. We're fun, and we've never been known to run out of beer. God, the craic was mighty and I don't think I bought a single drink-does it get better than that.
Late into the night we drank and laughed and some musicians played trad music in the hall. It was 1 or 2 when I realized my promised sleeping space was gone---all of them---so I went off to the car and curled up in the back seat for 7 hours of sleep punctuated by drunken laughter from people remaining in the smoke pit and refusing to go to sleep (this area otherwise known as the far entrance of the hotel).In the morning I crawled into the front seat, drove to a nearby gas station and got cleaned up-until someone announced that it was time to clean the bathroom to the gas station. So I went back to that Tim Horton's read the same book after changing clothes and washing up in the bathroom. It was all so wild and unreasonable-I assume I still reeked of bars and beers but who would tell me that.
I drowned the smell of cigarettes in the car (I never smoked in the car) with coffee and met my parents and my dog and my new truck at the Giant Eagle.
We drank coffee and shared stifled and strange conversation outside on the patio-going home is easy, it's the saying goodbye that hurts. Even in short months we'll be apart we'll get older and then what.
Who will we be then and what will we be not saying to each other the next time we see each other?
Baxter hated the truck and much of the drive was dominated by his nervousness. I listed to a lot of talk radio and fought my exhaustion for 8 hours until I got home.
Back in East Nashville, I rolled down the windows and felt the heat and humidity as I drove the last couple of miles back to my apartment.
It's been a day of telling everyone that might care that I am safely back and tomorrow I begin the careful return to my existance as I have grown to know it.
And that, my dears, is the story so far....
peace.
m.

3 Miles out to Sea in a Hotel Bar-Rockin' the MidWest Part 2

It was Saturday night in Ohio. Another great show down, the crowd around the rock tent pushing in or out depending on what band they were there to see. I had sweat pouring down my back, the wife-beater t-shirt I was wearing was stuck to my body, even my skirt felt damp with sweat. I was hot and dehydrated and on fire
Again at the merch table I saw the usual suspects. I related my tale of woe and there was much laughter to be had. Nothing's funnier than distress in retrospect. Decided I needed another t-shirt. I only have 3 after all, and that's not enough. I bought the groovy new shirt with the capped sleeves. Thus providing me with another shirt that makes me look like my main goal in life is kicking some major ass. This look is perfect for me.
Behind the merch table was the person I was most specifically avoiding all the time I was avoiding the band. I had sorta hoped we would not see each other-but I also knew that was a complete impossibility. Now you're probably asking yourself why and tho I would love to tell you I'm going to leave the details up to you. Feel free to fill in what you think the story is that was severe enough humiliation that I would disconnect myself from an entire folk group. Alright...now that we have that out of the way and you have a narrative to put in here I'll resume.
When he saw me he smiled and took my hand. "Hi," he said as we leaned in to a hello kiss on the cheek.
"How ya doin babe?"
"Still alive."
"Same here, God only knows how that happened, it wasn't part of the plan."
"Yeh, well, someone's watching out for ya."
"I suppose."
"Come back to the hotel."
"When?"
"Now!"
"Can I sign your breast?" said he who loves to state how they've signed EVERYTHING-I suppose because they've asked to sign everything.
"Sure," I said as I pulled down to expose most of my insignificant rack, "Might take both tits tho, to get your whole name in, you don't have much to work with there." He managed to get everything in on one breast.
I agreed this was indeed my plan and turned to say something to someone. That something probably involved asking where the hell that hotel that I had just promised to go to was at.
"You're coming back right?" this question from the bespectacled redhead.
"Yeh, if I can figure out where the hell it is."
He asked a kilted gentleman to give me directions. He told me it was a mere 45 minute walk across a bridge past a major intersection and then at some point I think I had to bargain with a billy goat it sounded very far away. Then he gave me a drink from his flask and I began to follow his directions. I had began the walk when I realized at some point I would have to locate the car and sooner seemed like a better time than later. I hopped on a shuttle and was dropped off at the New Zealand parking lot. In the daylight this was not a confusing place-but at night it turned into a labyrinth of identical rows of cars surrounding identical square and non-descript buildings. I roamed up and down the lots for a seemingly endless space of time before beginning to wonder if I hadn't somehow been dropped off in another parking area than the one I had started the day in.
Having given up all hope of locating my car on foot I decided to tempt fate and ask someone to drive me around and help me look for my car. I saw a couple in a pick-up truck dropping off a few people that had been riding in the bed.
"This is going to sound crazy and dangerous but I can't find my car and I was wondering if you could help me find it."
They laughed, "Not too crazy, those people we just dropped off couldn't find their car either and we walked around for almost an hour and were ready to call the police because we thought the truck had been stolen. Hop in the back."
Even in a moving vehicle it took quite awhile to find the car. Do you have any idea how many green Honda Civics there are in any given parking lot? Now take that number and multiply it by 4 because we were less than 30 miles from the Honda manufacturing plant then consider that these were very poorly lit parking lots we were driving thru. It was fun for the ages. I finally became convinced that I would never find the car-but I did see the hotel. So I asked the very nice couple to drop me off since I could easily get to the hotel from where we were and that was better than nohting anyway.
They stopped the truck, "There's a green Honda Civic," said the guy who had been driving me around.
I looked to my left, "Bloody hell! That's my car! Finally!" We had a good laugh and they refused my offer of a couple of bucks for gas.
I waved goodbye and went across the streeet to the hotel
Standing at the counter in the lobby the first familiar face I saw was the bass player. Actually, in the lobby he was the only familiar face.
We saw each other and the familiar hello was exchanged. He reached his hand out, I thought a handshake was a strange greeting but then we did that talk show host hello---->hand clasp--->hug--->peck. I was beginning to feel like this was some sort of strange talk show come to think of it. Or a weird re-vamping of the Real World.
NOTE: Since I'm not creative enough to come up with pseudonyms I'm just going with initials. These initials do not necessarily relate in any way to these people's real names.
Back to the story....

M (who is me BTW):"Can you tell me where's the bar?"
He pointed down hallway to the right t, A: "Go that way for about a quarter of a mile. You might want to pack a sandwich and call your family you'll be gone for awhile." I should've taken this advice.
Upon entry to the bar I saw a few familiar faces and an empty barstool at the end of the bar. I sat down.
M:"Do you have any idea how many damn green Honda Civics there are in that parking lot across the street?" I said in lieu of hello.
Q:"A fuckin' lot?"
M:"More than that. I had to bum a ride from a stranger in the back of a pick up truck in order to find my car and even then we only found it accidentally."
L:"Where was it you were really drunk and your car was acting up and you were sure you were going to die?"
M:"Boston!" I exclaimed. "The brakes went out! I was sure that was the end of me."
L:"And I just gave you a hug and a pat on the back and sent you on yr way."
M:"Was better than nothing. It's a good story."
L: "What're ya havin' darlin.?" he said through a smile.
M:"Anything at this point."
L:"Could you be more specific?"
M:"Killians?"
L:"You can do better than that."
M:"Alright, I'll take a Harp."
He signalled the bartender and got me a pint.
M:"Thank you good sir," and I raised the plastic cup in a toast.
I sat at the bar drinking my beer talking to Q-asking where his life was (pretty much where it was the last time I saw him) what was new (an air conditioner) and at one point getting a bit riled up during a friendly disagreement about Billy Joel's musical merit. Shortly thereafter a shot of Jameson's appeared before me. This was not magic but an act of ordering 3 shots for the 3 involved in the above conversation. The first shot poured down my throat tasted like honey on a spoon. I had forgetten the unmistakable wonder of good whiskey drank with good friends.
A pair of siblings and a child rapidly approaching her tween years walked into the bar. The next thing I know I find myself participating in the attempt to corrupt a minor.
"What is that?" asked her mother.
"Jameson's"
"Oh good," she said, "I thought it was tequila. She's not allowed to have tequila."
Despite our repeated efforts we were unable to convince the kid that she would be well survived traipsing down this particular road to ruin. Even after the promise was made that she could drink out of my glass so as to avoid risking getting the cooties that were probably being carried by the boy offering her a shot. I do believe a picture was taken of all the nearby arms offering her beverages of the adult variety. There are almost as many pictures of this sort as there are pictures of me pretending to be passed out in various parts of the world. Another of that series was taken this past weekend. We wouldn't want to break tradition.
I had given away the last of the cigarettes that I had garnered for my brief but whole hearted retun to nicotine use during what may well be one of the last remaining songs being performed that inspires smoking even among those that would never do such a thing on a normal occassion. So I managed to bum one and stepped outside for my first of many journeys outside to get a breath of polluted heavy August air. On the second journey I was not lucky enough to have a cigarette and I figured it was worth the try to ask the nearest person to be so kind as to share. "You don't have an extra do you?" I asked the back of a nearby head.
"No, I bummed this..." he turned and looked at me. He said my name like a memory dredged from somewhere in the recesses of his memory. We hugged and I planted a happy kiss on his cheek. I've never hugged or been hugged by so many in my life. No wedding I have attended has ever been so affectionate. The catching up was good. Telling about being in Nashville and all of that.
K: "You've been keeping your head down, working hard that's good."
M: "Maybe workin' too hard. Staying too busy."
K: " You're back now, tho. Where're you staying? Here?"
M: "No, I'm somewhere across town tonight and I don't know where tomorrow."
K: "You can stay with_____ He wouldn't mind."
M: "I'm not so sure about that."
K: "He never stopped wondering what had become of you."
M: "And he never tried to get ahold of me either."
K: "He wouldn't mind."
We went inside and later when I was sitting at a back table he handed me a Corona that mayhaps he'd manifested from the air-it clearly wasn't purchased since it still had the top on. I tried to redneck it off against the table without success-then I passed it down the table and A managed that key trick that I was unable to pull off in my state.
When I found my way back to the barstool on the corner I found myself next to the last of the gang I hadn't met up with yet.
J: "Look who it is. Been away awhile, what's the word?"
M: "Thunderbird."
J: "Bought time someone caught on to that," we might've exchanged high fives at our hilarity.
The crowd thinned out, or at least I decided to run off to the party upstairs. The whole time I spent there I wasn't able to determine if everyone there knew everyone else or if it was simply that people were hearing music from the i-pod speakers and deciding that was where the party was at. Personally, my guess is the latter.
I was horribly wasted and unashamed. Most obviuosly illustrated by the fact that at one point I traded my skirt for a pair of shorts. I can only surmise that there are pictures of this and that one day they will come back to haunt me. At least I own that I did happily and willingly participate in this riciculous behavior-very likely in front of maybe 4 to maybe 20 people. I'm trying to rememeber who was in the room at the time. At one point close to half of the band was in the room as were those people that may or may not have been invited to the get together. I wonder how many people saw my underwear. I'm wondering, but not sweating it much. What the hell, it is, after all, rock'n'roll.
During the room portion of the evening the whole disappearance got hashed out.
Q: "In all that time you never thought to call me or PM me?"
M: "No, I didn't know what I would say. I figured I'd either hurt you or pissed you off and I figured it was easier to say nothing than to deal with it. I'm an asshole."
Q: "You're not an asshole. I'm an asshole, I would know."
M: "You actually care about me in some way don't you?" I asked through my tears that he wiped away.
Q: "I always did."
We made up and then decided that somewhere in the hotel there was probably a BETTER party and we were the people to go find it. So off down the hall we went causing trouble and waking the sleeping and possibly the dead with out antics. Like those other nights, most notably that one in that little town in the Southeast of Eire. It was maybe 3:30-I didn't have my phone with me or I would've heard it ring and I would've answered it.
M: "I have to go back to the hotel." So we ordered a cab. But when it arrived we were told it would cost $25 each way. "So, I'll drive back. I have to get back my sister will be worried."
Q: "You're not going to drive. I can't let you."
M: "Well, then what do you suppose I do?"
C: (who has been present for this whole time but hasn't chimed into my strange consciousness in a few minutes) "Why are you yelling at him, he's trying to help you!"
M: "I'm not yelling at him. Yelling maybe, but not at him."
Q: "Go to bed, if you're still drunk in the morning I'll drive you back to your hotel." He handed me his key.
M: "What do you mean?"
Q: "I mean, I'm giving you my room key and I want you to sleep it off and go back to your hotel in the morning." So that's what I did. I took the key and went back to the room and fell asleep in about .002 seconds.
He must've come in shortly thereafter. I don't know when he got back-I have a cloudy memory of someone saying something about me having cheese on my face. I don't remember getting cheese on my face. So maybe I fell asleep on a snack tray, or maybe lacking a Sharpie to write "Pussy" on my forehead and draw a Hitler moustache on someone had sprayed me with canned cheese since I fell asleep before the party was over. I've decided I don't want to know how I got covered in dairy products. It's better to not know.
At 6:30 my phone began to ring and on the other end was a my pissed off rightfully sister. I told her I would be back to the room right away wait for me. I kissed the sleeping one goodbye and hightailed it back to our room.
"I should be pissed," she said.
"Yes, you should."
"I'm not, but I should be."
What's to say to that.
She took a last hit off her one hitter and packed it away. "I have to go, tho. I have to get on the road. Glad you're okay."
At her truck I hugged her goodbye and told her I loved her and I was sorry her last encounter with me involved such idiocy.
"Girl, if you weren't acting the fool I wouldn't know what to do with you." She was being nice.
She said goodbye again and got into her truck and drove into her future.
I went upstairs and downed a rum and diet and got into the shower. The first of 4 showers I would take before checking out at the very last possible moment before I got charged with another day's stay. I wished I had a cigarette. I laid down naked and still drunk and slept intermittently thru Addam's Family Values and some movie I didn't recognize. Then I went off to Waffle House for the one meal I would get that morning-an egg and 3 pieces of bacon with grits and toast.
One more chapter of this story-I know you're on the edge of your seats. Hold on, I need some chips and salsa then I'll continue.

Rockin' the MidWest-Part 1

These events depicted herein are true. Only the details have been made hazy so as to become less locatable via Google.

It didn't take long upon our arrival to the campgrounds where we had originally planned to spend out weekend for me to realize that I truly dislike camping. It was alright during the day-sitting outside in daylight is not necessarily an uncomfortable experience. The bad part was at night. I do not believe that the Creator meant us to sleep out of doors. Had this been the intention certainly there never would've been the invention of houses.
We were down in that town on the outskirts of Columbus that has the same name as the largest city in Ireland. The only possible reason to go to this town is because of the once yearly festival that celebrates the culture of the country from whence the name sprung. The town goes from a Kroger and a strip mall highlighted by a strip mall to a bustling metropolis of curly haired Irish dancing girls, exhausted traveling bands of several different formats and sweat soaked beer fueled Paddies in "Kiss me I'm Irish" t-shirts. I looked like a refugee from Bonaroo but what the hell, I just can't bring myself to wear an "Everybody Loves an Irish Girl" shirt-or even for that matter a band shirt to the concert I'm attending. I just keep thinking of that movie that came out about 10 years ago where the characters are getting ready to go to a concert and one of them intends to wear an old concert t-shirt for the same band and another character says "Don't be THAT GUY!" Since I base all of my actions on barely remembered movies from the mid-90s I have nev

er been one to be "That guy" even when doing so makes me more recognizable as part of the fan group for the band in question. Course, I didn't really have to worry much about that in this case-in this case I wasn't so much concerned with whether or not anyone would know I was there to support that rock band I'd been missing (the reason for the missing is referenced in an earlier entry although never discussed in depth-let's just say it involved sex-drugs-and rock'n'roll and ridiculously large quantities of alcohol almost all consumed by me. You've heard of drink and dial? Drink and type is worse it's still there in black and white in the morning-and for months and years to come for anyone to find) I was much more concerned I would be remembered-and not fondly. I was alternating between excited as hell and terrified that no one would speak to me.
SO-me and the sister got to the festival. Helped ourselves to beers and food and took to walking around and seeing all the expensive but quite lovely souvenirs to be had. The band was last to play that night and it was close to 10 before we pushed our way into the Celtic Rock tent. Mik got chairs right behind the standing crowd right in front of the stage. So we had all the view and none of the sweaty bodies pushing up against each other. Well, at first-by about the 5th song people were pushing for space and dancing like the rhythmless fools most of us our. It was great. Quickly I started to see familiar faces. My roommate from the infamous trip and a couple of NE Ohioans who had done me a solid once upon a time. None of them had blacklisted me-that's good to know. The show was amazing-the shouting the singing and dancing and the fists raised in the air. How had I managed to stay away from this for almost 2 years? I must have amazing inner strength I didn't know about.
After the show, Mik was ready to go back to the campsite. She was nice enough to let me hover about by the merch table and say hello to a few more people. And there were a few-from all over the damn place at that. Everyone smiling huge smiles and stretching their arm wide in hellos it was wonderful and warm and just the way one would hope a reunion would be.
I went over to the merch table and got in que to say hello to the singer. There were quite a few people ahead of me, getting t-shirts and books and whatever the hell else signed. When I got to the front he was talking to someone else and looking to the side. He turned his head toward me and a grand expression crossed his face, "I don't have anything that needs signed," I said.
"Oh my God, darlin' come here!" he put his arms around me and hugged me to his neck. "Where the hell have you been? It's been almost 2 years."
"Too long I know, too long. It won't happen again. But I'm here now and I'm ready to party!"
"You've earned it," he said.
"Why yes, I have fought for my right to party."
I went back to the gathering of peeps and said I would run the sister back to the campsite and be back to the hotel for the party at the bar within the hour. On the way back to the campsite we got miserably lost. Then we got lost again. At one point I began to have a panic attack and thought that we would neither find the campgrounds or the festival again. When we did get back I dropped her off and told her I would see her in the morning. I took off and proceeded to get lost in the campground-for half an hour. Then I got pulled over for speeding. Inside the park. This was not the way the night was supposed to go.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" asked the officer.
"I dunno, I'm lost and I've been driving around this park for half an hour in circles and I can't figure out how to get out of the park or where my campsite is and I've driven under the same bridge about 5 times and I'm so confused."
"I clocked you at 26 in a 10mph zone."
Internally, I thought to myself, "FUCK!" Out loud I said "I didn't know the speed limit was 10-I thought it was 25. I'm just so confused and if I'd known that was the speed limit you can bet I'd have been going 10. I've never been here before and I'm lost..."
"Can I have your license, registration and proof of insurance?"
"This isn't my car. I don't know where the registration is, I'm sorry. It's my dad's car."
He took my DL and disappeared to his cruiser. I laid my head on the steering wheel and cried. When he came back he told me he was terribly sorry but he'd have to write me a ticket. I was already crying and so I decided it was worth a shot going for the sympathy vote. I began rattling off the myriad of reasons why I couldn't get a ticket: grad student, no money, camping because I couldn't afford a hotel, don't live in the state---then I just started babbling.
"We don't ever give warnings in the park. If you get caught speeding you get a ticket."
Then I babbled more I'm not even sure I was speaking in sentences. He began to soften. Then he became downright apologetic. Then he tore up the ticket and sent me on my way back to the campsite. I decided not to go back to the bar.
That would've ruined the night but it got much worse when I realized that camping means being surrounded by wild and LOUD animals. I tried sleeping in the tent-I told myself the horrible chirping beasts weren't as loud as the trains and the traffic I live with all the time. But I have acclimated myself to the noise of the city-noise that sounds like a lullaby and a reminder that life goes on outside of my darkened room. The sounds of the state park are loud obnoxious and horrific. I felt like I was sleeping in a grocery sack in hell. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning and trying to pull the wad of clothes I was using as a pillow into my ear canal to drown out the noise I gave up the fight. I went to sleep in the Honda. Sadly, this was much more comfortable.
In the morning we decided to check out of the campsite and find a hotel. Mik said she had slept like a baby and that if done right camping is fun and delightful. She also said she likes camping because it allows her to be alone with her thoughts and her various favorite amusements. Amusements in which I do not participate. Had I known this was what made camping pleasant I might've given it a shot.
We spent most of the day lost. Driving the wrong way repeatedly down the same highway my tension level getting higher and higher until I was barely able to see straight. We were lost and turned around for hours by the time we got to the hotel I needed a drink and the sister needed to smoke. After two rum and diets on my part and a few minutes locked in the bathroom with the exhaust fan running on her part we were both a little better off emotionally. We went to the festival.
We took two cars. She got a really good parking space and I parked in New Zealand. By the time we met up we had barely half an hour before the planned stop at the Spoken Word tent and we'd missed most of Ashley MacIsaac's set. We located some alcohol and I briefly took up smoking again. It wasn't until the reading began and I was able to let the story take over my mind that I really relaxed.
The sister went back to the hotel at about 7. The band didn't start until 8. So I wandered around-continued my brief foray into nicotine consumption and tried to find people.
Stay tuned for the next part of this little tale. AKA the part wherein the debauchery occurs.

You Made Your Choice

(READER"S NOTE-all names of people not directly related to me and therefore by virtue of an accident of birth can't help but figure into my narrative have been changed to protect my own ass.)

Good we got that out of the way...

July 29-Woke at 4am worked 5 hours at *$ came home changed into street clothes loaded the station wagon with cooler clothes and dog and began the 500-ish mile drive to Akron at noon. Got home around 9, just in time for beers and burgers in the backyard with family and friends in the cool of a summer's night. I poured beers down my throat and stuffed coconut cookies into my mouth for a couple of hours and listened to the peace of suburbia and the laughter and voices of everyone I'd left behind.
July 30-Sale at the Old Schoolhouse the pull was big since the place hadn't been opened in almost 25 years-lots of people came just to see the inside of the building and bought something since there was plenty of neat crap to be had. A small but significant hot war erupted between two consistently warring factions of the family. How quick and easy one forgets that old pissing contests never end in the old hometown. We ate donuts and sat around much of the morning drinking beer. (t's the breakfast of champions.) The schoolhouse doesn't have any plumbing and at about 11 (or beer 2-if you're being technical---during this early Saturday morning in conservative America I was walking my redheaded hippie self barefoot around the building-a Miller Lite in my hand and not a care in the world-my aunt-suffering from some sort of propriety I haven't acquired yet politely took my beverage out of my hand and wrapped a paper towel around it-as if that fooled anybody but that's family for you) After 2 beers I had to go break the seal-so I borrowed the Civic and drove home to do so. On the way I heard Chuck Klosterman (who I am not related to but he is a public figure who writes self-reverential memoirs and thus by this fact has voided the change of name claus mentioned above) he was on Whaddya Know or possibly that show about the news-what the fuck is that show called anyway-the one where you can get Carl Cassell's name on yr answering machine--RIGHT he was on that one or WYK? Some Saturday morning NPR tradition that is not Car Talk. And by luck he was calling from a hotel in dear old Akron, OH where he was going to be reading from and signing his newest book. I took this as a sign that I could have a great deal of fun doing somehting that didn't involve sitting at a sale being politely bored. After all, I wasn't making any money in the deal. I was just there for the community aspect. Of which I pretty much found myself well over by the time I got back to the sale about 45 minutes later when I had been told and I am quoting "Well, you have gained at least 5 pounds since last I saw you and that's only been a month. You're pretty heavy don't you think-you should be at least 10 pounds lighter than that you know you should." This brought my mood up considerably and I was feeling unbelievably chipper---or perhaps that conversation was on Sunday. At any rate, I fell into a week long depression during which I angsted about my fat ass and how I bring shame and embarassment to my family by being as unforgivably huge as I am. This mood was not improved upon when I was measured for a bridesmaid dress for a wedding I don't even support the concept of and refuse to recognize as an inevitability and I was told that I was a size twice (I am not making this up-fucking twice) the size of every item of clothing in my "fat wardrobe." The bitch at the bridal shop is lucky I didn't kick her scrawny old lady ass when she told me that and then told me that I'd have to sign a release if I insisted on ordering a smaller size. I dont' even want the dress, I certainly don't want the dress in a size wherein after the wedding I can use it as a tent on camping excursions.
Speaking of which...there is a camping excursion in this tale...but not yet.
The day before the debacle at the bridal shop me, the sister and the cousins went to Cedar Point. Which, for those of you not from the middle of the country-or just not into having your brainstem rattled loose at 75 miles per hour whilst being tossed about in multiple directions on 8 inch round pieces of pipe--is one of the finest amusement parks in the land. And bloody well it should be for the price $44.95 a person.
Here is where I explain in vague terms why I don't want to be in the wedding I have agreed to be in. My cousin, she's 24, she's never lived a day in her life. She's afraid of everything. She never had a date before she met and became engaged to this guy-this relationship is a year old-they've been readying themselves for a wedding for over 6 months. I am not one to judge-we all know that I may toss about advice but I don't really know anything worthwhile about relationships and I certainly don't know what makes one work. But I can say that two people with no other friendship, that have never lived on their own, that have no social skills and are controlling and probably abusive in some form (this I think of the male in question-I know, I think that about most men, but he just LOOKS evil. Fat face, bad hair, squinty shifty eyes he looks like that person Mummy calls "the Scumbag" and his personality hasn't given anyone involved in this adventure any indication that that adjective doesn't apply to him as well) and a person who refuses to take her anti-anxiety medication and is prone to very public freak outs---
Such as the one she threw in line for the Millenium at Cedar Point when she began making angry bitter phone calls to her mother every 15 minutes talking about how "the princesses" (this term being applied, I presume to her sisters and not to me and my sis---tho of course she could've meant everyone but her) got off scot free and could do whatever they wanted and no one should bother to remember we'd come in HER car and she paid the car note and-and honestly I have no idea what she was talking about. My aunt took a hard lined stance that it would not be acceptable that those of us that were enjoying ourselves on the rides at the park should be left there to fend for ourselves as to how we were to get back to the house half an hour away. This annoyed by strange and probably unbalanced cousin to no end and she took to alternating calls between my aunt and her creepy fiance during the time the rest of us were on the roller coasters and yelling strange and ackward insults and clumsy epithets at her sisters. It would've been funny had it not been so uncomfortable. I stayed out of it. My only slung insults were at some of the bastard rides, Yes I'm talking about you Mean Streak, I still have bruises from your sumbitching 2 minutes of pain and terror that I would be the first registered death by beheading in the history of Cedar Point. That ride fuckin sucked, as did the Mantis. Good Lord, whose idea of fun was that.
So we survived Cedar Point in multiple pieces. Went back ate egg salad sandwiches and I fell asleep on the couch before it was very dark out. Was good to spend time with my wonderful aunt, my well meaning but hard to bear uncle and my two fully grown and charming cousins...And then there was there other you know...I feel really bad for her-by 24 even I'd come out of my shell makes you wonder if she ever will and what will happen when she marries this guy and he moves her 30 minutes from the only support group she's ever had. And how are they going to take care of themselves? But, it isn't my life.
Then there were several days of Mik running around trying to pull herself together for the move to LA and all of that entailed. As I do with most situations that I don't know how to cope with, I stayed well out of it. The day before her last day in Akron we went to the local and ate spaghetti dinner and drank Killian's and I fed money into the jukebox to play Van Morrison ("Gloria) Rod Stewart ("Stay with Me') Billy Joel ("Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)" and "Summer, Highland Falls") but there were dozens of songs before me and I can only assume that the late hangers on were left to be confused as to who the hell was playing less popular Van the Man songs in a bar full of people who think Jimmy Buffett wrote "Brown Eyed Girl" But that's THE bar. Da told a story about a white haired dude of the Norm type, always at his corner barstool who on the day of the Blackout made his first phone call (he I guess works in a job that in some way involves providing electricity to the Eastern half of the country) to the bar to tell the owner to put some beer on ice because it was going to be a long night. And I can tell you because I was there-it was, a very long and wild night at the local pub.
The day the sister left my parents house it stormed all night and Baxter made it his duty to keep the family awake by alternating which room he would freak out in and in what manner said freakout would manifest itself. We were all so glad he provided this service the next morning when we woke up to a power outage we were barely able to speak. So we sat in the dark and drank French Pressed coffee-thank goodness for gas stoves.
She loaded the last of her things into the truck and was off. We drove to Columbus.
Our story will continue in Columbus-or not really Columbus but a town very near there that is one of the more boring places in the state 362 days out of the year but for 3 days is the home of one of the grandest gatherings of people that ought to know better than to think that anyone looks good in kelly green that can be had anywhere that I've been.