It's been over two years since I posted. New goal, make this a diary of my crazy daily occurrences in the world of theatre, life, love and the pursuit of a day off.
Well, now I HAVE to do it! I made a promise to the zero people who ever read my blog!
E
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
onward
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I leave new York in five days. I have been feeling angry and disappointed and consumed by a racing mind for months now. In five days I get to climb. Six months ago I was sitting ontop of dinner rock, the last time I climbed before I drove east the morning after. My muscles were trobbing and my heart was racing. I smiled big smiles and thought about the life I was about to start. I wonder now, if I will find some resolution on the rock this time. Will the pain in my body help me to cope with the pain in my mind? Will I mourn a new life that did not work out the way I planned, or will I find some peace in my heart? I hope that the nightmares will subside inside my tent, and that the blood on my hands will help me realize the flowing worthiness inside my body. 5 day to crush.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The Wedding is Cancelled
My Day Off In Wal-Mart
Today I set off to Wal-Mart in Cedar City, Utah. Now, the last time I went to a Wal-Mart was to perform an exorcism on the cash registers. No, I'm not kidding. Check out Reverend Billy and The Church of Stop Shopping…you might learn something.
Pulling into the parking lot I was feeling very hypocritical as my Pontiac with the bumper sticker that reads "Wal-Mart, Low wages, Low morals, Always" pulled into the parking spot.
But, remember I was on a mission. If you are confused, please read my previous posting called "I'm Getting Married in Wal-Mart". I had a list. Now I certainly did not plan to actually buy anything…clearly I would not give any of my hard earned cash to those fuckers...but I digress. The list: Toilet paper, socks, condoms, and guns. In one of those aisles would be the man of my dreams.
As I entered and tried desperately not to make eye contact with anyone in a blue vest or with a smiley face pin, my dyslexia freaked out a little bit and I slowly became very lost. After wandering though many aisles of crap, I found the toilet paper aisle…and there he was. He was tall, dressed in flannel and wore a cowboy hat that made his head look like a pea. I excused myself as I reached seductively in front of him and he says "Be careful, that one leaves extra lint in your butt".
Thanks for the tip. Moving along.
The sock aisle was lame. A woman with the Utah claw bangs chased around her twelve screaming kids. My head hurts. Moving along.
Now off to protect myself. Where are the condoms…wander…wander…holy shit there's a lot of crap in this store…wander…okay I'm gonna have to talk to a blue vested boob.
"Excuse me where are the condoms?"
The portly girl in the vest turned green and stuttered something that sounded like "uuuh smuhh dat vey mmmbuh". This is going well. Ah, behind a counter lie the condoms because Mormons must be kept far away from birth control. But, the boy behind the counter is mildly cute. Here we go.
"Hi. How are you? I'm gonna need some condoms. Um…some really big ones…and maybe some small ones too…cause you never really know. You know what I mean?" *wink.
Silence. Eye contact lost. Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts, the Mormon is going down.
More silence. Mmmkay. "The girl in the sock aisle needs them." Silence. No condoms. No boy of my dreams. Moving along.
Guns. Yeah baby. I will surely find a hottie in the gun section. Indeed there was a sea of wedding ringed men checking out guns and gun paraphernalia. I must have looked out of place because the man behind the counter said "Can I help you find something for your husband or your son?"
I look over my shoulder. Nothing. Try the other shoulder. Nope. Umm…is he talking to me? Yep. I explain that I don't have a husband or a son. The he asks HOW OLD I AM because I seem a little OLD to be single. As my jaw hits the floor, he invites me to a WARD event.
OH MY ACHING HEAD. I am starting to sweat. I have avoided lint in my ass, freaked out some undersexed locals, and ended my day by being called an Old Maid.
"That's so nice of you. My lesbian lover will be really excited to make some new friends. See you Saturday".
I took off running. I ran all the way through the maze to my car. I screeched out of the parking lot, past the Starbucks, and across town where I sit in my favorite local coffee shop.
Wow, days off in this town have officially atrophied my brain. I guess I am not getting married in Wal-Mart. Ho Hum.
Today I set off to Wal-Mart in Cedar City, Utah. Now, the last time I went to a Wal-Mart was to perform an exorcism on the cash registers. No, I'm not kidding. Check out Reverend Billy and The Church of Stop Shopping…you might learn something.
Pulling into the parking lot I was feeling very hypocritical as my Pontiac with the bumper sticker that reads "Wal-Mart, Low wages, Low morals, Always" pulled into the parking spot.
But, remember I was on a mission. If you are confused, please read my previous posting called "I'm Getting Married in Wal-Mart". I had a list. Now I certainly did not plan to actually buy anything…clearly I would not give any of my hard earned cash to those fuckers...but I digress. The list: Toilet paper, socks, condoms, and guns. In one of those aisles would be the man of my dreams.
As I entered and tried desperately not to make eye contact with anyone in a blue vest or with a smiley face pin, my dyslexia freaked out a little bit and I slowly became very lost. After wandering though many aisles of crap, I found the toilet paper aisle…and there he was. He was tall, dressed in flannel and wore a cowboy hat that made his head look like a pea. I excused myself as I reached seductively in front of him and he says "Be careful, that one leaves extra lint in your butt".
Thanks for the tip. Moving along.
The sock aisle was lame. A woman with the Utah claw bangs chased around her twelve screaming kids. My head hurts. Moving along.
Now off to protect myself. Where are the condoms…wander…wander…holy shit there's a lot of crap in this store…wander…okay I'm gonna have to talk to a blue vested boob.
"Excuse me where are the condoms?"
The portly girl in the vest turned green and stuttered something that sounded like "uuuh smuhh dat vey mmmbuh". This is going well. Ah, behind a counter lie the condoms because Mormons must be kept far away from birth control. But, the boy behind the counter is mildly cute. Here we go.
"Hi. How are you? I'm gonna need some condoms. Um…some really big ones…and maybe some small ones too…cause you never really know. You know what I mean?" *wink.
Silence. Eye contact lost. Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts, the Mormon is going down.
More silence. Mmmkay. "The girl in the sock aisle needs them." Silence. No condoms. No boy of my dreams. Moving along.
Guns. Yeah baby. I will surely find a hottie in the gun section. Indeed there was a sea of wedding ringed men checking out guns and gun paraphernalia. I must have looked out of place because the man behind the counter said "Can I help you find something for your husband or your son?"
I look over my shoulder. Nothing. Try the other shoulder. Nope. Umm…is he talking to me? Yep. I explain that I don't have a husband or a son. The he asks HOW OLD I AM because I seem a little OLD to be single. As my jaw hits the floor, he invites me to a WARD event.
OH MY ACHING HEAD. I am starting to sweat. I have avoided lint in my ass, freaked out some undersexed locals, and ended my day by being called an Old Maid.
"That's so nice of you. My lesbian lover will be really excited to make some new friends. See you Saturday".
I took off running. I ran all the way through the maze to my car. I screeched out of the parking lot, past the Starbucks, and across town where I sit in my favorite local coffee shop.
Wow, days off in this town have officially atrophied my brain. I guess I am not getting married in Wal-Mart. Ho Hum.
I'm getting married in Wal-Mart
The following article is from the St Petersburg Times in Tampa Bay Florida. It tells the Compelling story of a couple who got MARRIED in WAL-MART. It's a sweet story really...they met at Wal-Mart, work together at Wal-Mart, and of course there could be no better place to pledge their endless love than in the SOCK ISLE at fucking Wal-Mart.
Others have done it too. A couple once met in the toilet paper aisle and held their ceremony there.
Instead of my initial reaction of ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE DEFEND US WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD?????...I choose instead to further explore the theory of sparked love in the Wal-Mart aisles.
What if your eyes crossed with a hottie in the condom aisle? Well then...there is nothing to do but drop pants on the linoleum and test out some Trojans!
Perhaps you meet your perfect redneck at the gun aisle…or in the camping section. Well, you must live a while in the tester tents to see if your love will really last.
Maybe you meet your soul mate over some herpes medication in the Pharmacy. You really cannot leave the store until you find out if those pesky breakouts re-occur.
This article has taught me that I have been living my life all wrong! Here I am thinking that I am a responsible citizen who recognizes that Wal-Mart is EVIL and is ruining local business, continuing abusive trade practices, and employing people in deplorable conditions here in America and abroad. Well, HOLD UP…tomorrow I am going to find some toilet paper, socks, condoms, and guns (I'll skip the herpes meds thank you) and there….yes friends….THERE in WAL-MART I will find the Man of my Dreams.
I will let you know how it turns out.
FUCK.
***************
Wal-Mart wedding
They met at Wal-Mart, married at Wal-Mart, even bought their rings at Wal-Mart. So, where will they honeymoon? The Bahamas.
[Times photos: Carrie Pratt]
Store employees Debra and Mark Champagne kiss after exchanging vows Friday at a Palm Harbor Wal-Mart. Customer service representative and notary Carol Case, far right, performed the ceremony and shouts "W-A-L-M-A-R-T." Maid of honor Jennifer Nichols, left, works in accounting.
By JULIE CHURCH, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published May 18, 2002
PALM HARBOR -- Wal-Mart shoppers hoping to take advantage of the three-pack sock deal in menswear Friday afternoon were out of luck.
A white wedding arch straddled the aisle between the men's Farah socks (three for $5) and the Wrangler denim shorts ($12.93).
A crowd gathered in front of the flowered ladies' pajamas and the Kathie Lee Gifford sportswear collection to witness the marriage of Mark Champagne and Debra Bechtel.
The couple met at the Wal-Mart on the corner of Alderman Road and U.S. 19 in North Pinellas. They work together at the store and chose to exchange vows there.
Mark and Debra slip away in a streamer-covered car filled with balloons. "I noticed her and thought she was cute," he says.
Mark Champagne, 44, first laid eyes on Debra Bechtel, 37, two years ago when he was visiting from Maine and shopped at the store. She has worked as a customer service manager for five years.
"I noticed her and thought she was cute," he said.
But it wasn't until he moved to the area last year and got a job in the garden department that they started dating.
Champagne popped the question last October on Pier 60 in Clearwater.
Then the planning began.
They were having difficulty finding a hall that wasn't booked when store manager Mark Telfer had an idea.
"My boss brought it up actually," Mrs. Champagne said. "He said, 'You guys met here, why don't you get married here?' "
Having the ceremony at Wal-Mart also allowed the couple to include everyone on their guest list.
"I starting making my list and it included just about everyone in the store. I thought it would be different and it would be fun," Mrs. Champagne said.
"Everyone works here," she said. "The guy walking me down the aisle, the woman performing the ceremony, the maid of honor and the best man, everyone."
Music from Mad about Classics, a CD the store sells, was piped through the store using equipment from the electronics department. The silk peace lilies and stone pedestals resembling swans were from the garden center and the crafts department.
Judy Smith, a former crafts department employee, made the bride's dress. The princess-cut diamond engagement ring and the gold wedding bands were bought at Wal-Mart.
"We get everything we can from Wal-Mart," Mr. Champagne said. "With three kids and a mortgage payment, we need the discount."
It was the second marriage for both. Mrs. Champagne's three children from her first marriage, Tabitha, 16, Tiffany, 14, and Jimmy Bowens, 13, stood up for their mom at the ceremony.
Carol Case, who works in customer service, is a licensed notary public for her other job -- working for a divorce attorney.
She has performed 14 or 15 weddings for Wal-Mart associates or their children. She shed her blue Wal-Mart vest Friday for a gold, floor-length gown.
"I love doing these weddings," she said. "It's a great excuse to get a new dress."
Katherine Tomaski and Etta Gannon attended in shorts and stood behind a cart full of paper towels and other household items. Friends of the bride who visit the store several times a week, they decided to get in a little shopping while waiting for the ceremony to begin.
"This is my favorite Wal-Mart," Tomaski said. "People are like family here."
A collective "oohhhh" came from the crowd of about 100 people as Mrs. Champagne rounded the corner near the cash registers in a white satin gown trimmed in lace and beads. A few people cried as she moved down the aisle.
Little did they know she almost tripped.
"My dress got caught on a (display) and I nearly lost it," she said after the 15-minute ceremony.
After a reception at the Palm Harbor Senior Activity Center, the couple is off to the Bahamas for their honeymoon.
Because the couple is registered on the Wal-Mart Web site, they expect a majority of their gifts to come from Wal-Mart as well.
While the idea of marrying in a Wal-Mart is novel, it certainly isn't unheard of, said corporate spokeswoman Sharon Weber.
She's aware of several weddings, including an 83-year-old greeter who met and married her husband at a Wal-Mart.
"They first laid eyes on each other across a shopping cart," Weber said.
She said two customers once met in the toilet paper aisle and held their ceremony in that same aisle.
As Mr. and Mrs. Mark Champagne faced the crowd for the first time as husband and wife Friday, the crowd recited the Wal-Mart cheer.
"W-A-L-M-A-R-T!" they yelled. "Who's No. 1 today? Debbie and Mark!"
Then they walked arm-in-arm from the store, and the employees returned to their stations, while shoppers returned to their carts in search of a bargain.
Others have done it too. A couple once met in the toilet paper aisle and held their ceremony there.
Instead of my initial reaction of ANGELS AND MINISTERS OF GRACE DEFEND US WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD?????...I choose instead to further explore the theory of sparked love in the Wal-Mart aisles.
What if your eyes crossed with a hottie in the condom aisle? Well then...there is nothing to do but drop pants on the linoleum and test out some Trojans!
Perhaps you meet your perfect redneck at the gun aisle…or in the camping section. Well, you must live a while in the tester tents to see if your love will really last.
Maybe you meet your soul mate over some herpes medication in the Pharmacy. You really cannot leave the store until you find out if those pesky breakouts re-occur.
This article has taught me that I have been living my life all wrong! Here I am thinking that I am a responsible citizen who recognizes that Wal-Mart is EVIL and is ruining local business, continuing abusive trade practices, and employing people in deplorable conditions here in America and abroad. Well, HOLD UP…tomorrow I am going to find some toilet paper, socks, condoms, and guns (I'll skip the herpes meds thank you) and there….yes friends….THERE in WAL-MART I will find the Man of my Dreams.
I will let you know how it turns out.
FUCK.
***************
Wal-Mart wedding
They met at Wal-Mart, married at Wal-Mart, even bought their rings at Wal-Mart. So, where will they honeymoon? The Bahamas.
[Times photos: Carrie Pratt]
Store employees Debra and Mark Champagne kiss after exchanging vows Friday at a Palm Harbor Wal-Mart. Customer service representative and notary Carol Case, far right, performed the ceremony and shouts "W-A-L-M-A-R-T." Maid of honor Jennifer Nichols, left, works in accounting.
By JULIE CHURCH, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published May 18, 2002
PALM HARBOR -- Wal-Mart shoppers hoping to take advantage of the three-pack sock deal in menswear Friday afternoon were out of luck.
A white wedding arch straddled the aisle between the men's Farah socks (three for $5) and the Wrangler denim shorts ($12.93).
A crowd gathered in front of the flowered ladies' pajamas and the Kathie Lee Gifford sportswear collection to witness the marriage of Mark Champagne and Debra Bechtel.
The couple met at the Wal-Mart on the corner of Alderman Road and U.S. 19 in North Pinellas. They work together at the store and chose to exchange vows there.
Mark and Debra slip away in a streamer-covered car filled with balloons. "I noticed her and thought she was cute," he says.
Mark Champagne, 44, first laid eyes on Debra Bechtel, 37, two years ago when he was visiting from Maine and shopped at the store. She has worked as a customer service manager for five years.
"I noticed her and thought she was cute," he said.
But it wasn't until he moved to the area last year and got a job in the garden department that they started dating.
Champagne popped the question last October on Pier 60 in Clearwater.
Then the planning began.
They were having difficulty finding a hall that wasn't booked when store manager Mark Telfer had an idea.
"My boss brought it up actually," Mrs. Champagne said. "He said, 'You guys met here, why don't you get married here?' "
Having the ceremony at Wal-Mart also allowed the couple to include everyone on their guest list.
"I starting making my list and it included just about everyone in the store. I thought it would be different and it would be fun," Mrs. Champagne said.
"Everyone works here," she said. "The guy walking me down the aisle, the woman performing the ceremony, the maid of honor and the best man, everyone."
Music from Mad about Classics, a CD the store sells, was piped through the store using equipment from the electronics department. The silk peace lilies and stone pedestals resembling swans were from the garden center and the crafts department.
Judy Smith, a former crafts department employee, made the bride's dress. The princess-cut diamond engagement ring and the gold wedding bands were bought at Wal-Mart.
"We get everything we can from Wal-Mart," Mr. Champagne said. "With three kids and a mortgage payment, we need the discount."
It was the second marriage for both. Mrs. Champagne's three children from her first marriage, Tabitha, 16, Tiffany, 14, and Jimmy Bowens, 13, stood up for their mom at the ceremony.
Carol Case, who works in customer service, is a licensed notary public for her other job -- working for a divorce attorney.
She has performed 14 or 15 weddings for Wal-Mart associates or their children. She shed her blue Wal-Mart vest Friday for a gold, floor-length gown.
"I love doing these weddings," she said. "It's a great excuse to get a new dress."
Katherine Tomaski and Etta Gannon attended in shorts and stood behind a cart full of paper towels and other household items. Friends of the bride who visit the store several times a week, they decided to get in a little shopping while waiting for the ceremony to begin.
"This is my favorite Wal-Mart," Tomaski said. "People are like family here."
A collective "oohhhh" came from the crowd of about 100 people as Mrs. Champagne rounded the corner near the cash registers in a white satin gown trimmed in lace and beads. A few people cried as she moved down the aisle.
Little did they know she almost tripped.
"My dress got caught on a (display) and I nearly lost it," she said after the 15-minute ceremony.
After a reception at the Palm Harbor Senior Activity Center, the couple is off to the Bahamas for their honeymoon.
Because the couple is registered on the Wal-Mart Web site, they expect a majority of their gifts to come from Wal-Mart as well.
While the idea of marrying in a Wal-Mart is novel, it certainly isn't unheard of, said corporate spokeswoman Sharon Weber.
She's aware of several weddings, including an 83-year-old greeter who met and married her husband at a Wal-Mart.
"They first laid eyes on each other across a shopping cart," Weber said.
She said two customers once met in the toilet paper aisle and held their ceremony in that same aisle.
As Mr. and Mrs. Mark Champagne faced the crowd for the first time as husband and wife Friday, the crowd recited the Wal-Mart cheer.
"W-A-L-M-A-R-T!" they yelled. "Who's No. 1 today? Debbie and Mark!"
Then they walked arm-in-arm from the store, and the employees returned to their stations, while shoppers returned to their carts in search of a bargain.
Taking the Edge Off
Okay, it has been a long while since the routine installments of the *What the Fuck is Going on With the World* blogs. And it is indeed time to renew the tradition.
It has gotten really cold in hell…I mean in Cedar City, Utah. By cold, I mean that last night's lovely weather required me to wear a winter coat, scarf, and hat. There is no heat in my apartment. There is a mechanism of air ducts and a thermostat through which one would assume warmth would be released, but alas, no heat. So, yesterday I called Company Management.
Now, calling Company Management is like sitting at a craps table that is run by an autistic dealer with bouts of turrets (sp?)syndrome. You really never know what will happen.
A lovely young man answered the phone and directed me to call the manager of the building. We'll call him Bob. The manager has the same last name as the facilities manager who I deal with on a regular basis. We will call him Joe.
I say: Do you mean Joe?
No, I mean his brother Bob.
I say: Oh that's so funny.
What's so funny about it? I'm Bob's son and Joe is my uncle.
I say. Does your sister run concessions?
Silence.
Okay, thanks! I'll call Bob. I hate Utah.
Bob gives me the following information. The heat is not going to work until it gets cold. The fact that it is currently cold is meaningless because it will get warm again before it ACTUALLY gets cold. But, I should be assured that he checks the weather reports often and the boilers will be turned on once the cold is here to stay.
Great…so BOB what am I supposed to do right now during the FAKE cold front that is causing icicles to form on my nose while I sleep? There are polar bears trying to mate with my cat BOB!
He tells me to check my linen closet because there should be a space heater in there for just such an emergency. That should "take the edge off". Hollywood!
I run to the closet looking for one of those awesome radiators on wheels that you plug into the wall and Wamo! Hot air!
Instead there is a small box…no it is not larger than a breadbox…in fact it is smaller than a toaster. It is a tiny little white box with a short cord that will CLEARLY provide heat to an entire three-bedroom apartment. Not to mention the fact that it emits a noise that makes you wonder if it is about to sprout wings and fly around the apartment. I should work on that…at least the heat would spread.
Pajamas make me crazy. I hate pajamas. You cannot swish in pajamas. You know…swish…when you flail around to get comfortable under the covers. Pajamas get all fucked up when you swish. Suddenly you are a badly wrapped buritto with fabric turned all around on you…your pants are twirled around your legs, your t-shirt is pulled over your head…okay maybe I sleep strangely, but nonetheless…I HATE pajamas. Last night I slept in a tank top, long sleeve shirt, hooded fleece lined sweatshirt, pants and socks. SOCKS people! And the little white box of doom did not take the EDGE OFF.
Today is 76 degrees. Bob was right. It did get warm today. Thank god that was just fake cold. Perhaps Company Management will send out a memo so I know when I am actually allowed to feel cold…maybe then I will get a good night sleep.
Grr Hiss Boo.
It has gotten really cold in hell…I mean in Cedar City, Utah. By cold, I mean that last night's lovely weather required me to wear a winter coat, scarf, and hat. There is no heat in my apartment. There is a mechanism of air ducts and a thermostat through which one would assume warmth would be released, but alas, no heat. So, yesterday I called Company Management.
Now, calling Company Management is like sitting at a craps table that is run by an autistic dealer with bouts of turrets (sp?)syndrome. You really never know what will happen.
A lovely young man answered the phone and directed me to call the manager of the building. We'll call him Bob. The manager has the same last name as the facilities manager who I deal with on a regular basis. We will call him Joe.
I say: Do you mean Joe?
No, I mean his brother Bob.
I say: Oh that's so funny.
What's so funny about it? I'm Bob's son and Joe is my uncle.
I say. Does your sister run concessions?
Silence.
Okay, thanks! I'll call Bob. I hate Utah.
Bob gives me the following information. The heat is not going to work until it gets cold. The fact that it is currently cold is meaningless because it will get warm again before it ACTUALLY gets cold. But, I should be assured that he checks the weather reports often and the boilers will be turned on once the cold is here to stay.
Great…so BOB what am I supposed to do right now during the FAKE cold front that is causing icicles to form on my nose while I sleep? There are polar bears trying to mate with my cat BOB!
He tells me to check my linen closet because there should be a space heater in there for just such an emergency. That should "take the edge off". Hollywood!
I run to the closet looking for one of those awesome radiators on wheels that you plug into the wall and Wamo! Hot air!
Instead there is a small box…no it is not larger than a breadbox…in fact it is smaller than a toaster. It is a tiny little white box with a short cord that will CLEARLY provide heat to an entire three-bedroom apartment. Not to mention the fact that it emits a noise that makes you wonder if it is about to sprout wings and fly around the apartment. I should work on that…at least the heat would spread.
Pajamas make me crazy. I hate pajamas. You cannot swish in pajamas. You know…swish…when you flail around to get comfortable under the covers. Pajamas get all fucked up when you swish. Suddenly you are a badly wrapped buritto with fabric turned all around on you…your pants are twirled around your legs, your t-shirt is pulled over your head…okay maybe I sleep strangely, but nonetheless…I HATE pajamas. Last night I slept in a tank top, long sleeve shirt, hooded fleece lined sweatshirt, pants and socks. SOCKS people! And the little white box of doom did not take the EDGE OFF.
Today is 76 degrees. Bob was right. It did get warm today. Thank god that was just fake cold. Perhaps Company Management will send out a memo so I know when I am actually allowed to feel cold…maybe then I will get a good night sleep.
Grr Hiss Boo.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Travel and Pooping
Shit Happens. To everyone every day. It is a necessary part of life. Now, where is it most comfortable to poop? In your own bathroom of course. It is clean…or if not, at least you know who the germs belong to. The act of pooping is different every time. Sometimes it is taken care of quickly…like that beautiful morning post cup of coffee and cigarette poop. Done and Done. Let's start a good day! Other times, shit happens where you don't want it to.
Example: On an airplane. You sit in your seat wedged between fat strangers and think "No problem, just a little gas, readjust the position of the bootie and all will be fine". Then, you start to sweat a little bit. You look down many rows of coach and see hords of disgruntled people with their scowls and their germy hands and even germy-er other parts. As they wait on line for the metal hole called a bathroom, you refuse to admit that you have to poop. A few minutes later…still sweating…still adjusting the boot-hey ...adding in a little butt squeeze…there is no denying it.
Now, you start doing math. That's right. Math. How long have I been on this flight? How much longer till we land? What time zone am I in? Ok, so if I got on the plane at x:00 and it's now x:00 and with a three hour time difference, that means that I have: FUCK I HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH LONGER I HAVE TO BE ON THIS FLYING DEATH TANK AND I HAVE TO SHIT!
So, the voyage begins. Seat into an upright position. Tray up. Fwack. OW. Tray up. Fwack. OW. What? Do I look like fucking MacGeyver? Hold on, let me get my duct tape and my swiss army knife and I'll fix that broken tray. OH WAIT I CAN'T because my swiss army knife was taken at the airport because CLEARLY my Irish ass looks like a terrorist. I digress…I still have to poop.
So, you crawl over the broken tray and say excuse me to the fat lady seated on your left and the push the drooling Chinese man off your right shoulder (Apparently during the math debacle, Mr. Choo decided I looked like a pillow).
And now the long walk through coach. The dregs of society fly coach. I am in coach. I am a dreg. Did they only let large, drooling, handicapped people on this plane with me? Is this a joke? Walk faster and DON'T SHART!
Okay made it to the sliding accordion door of doom. Occupied. No problem, I can wait. Yep, it's all good. I am not panicking and I am not sharting. Nope, I am just standing in the aisle like a lady. A sweaty lady with a pooping emergency. HURRY UP YOU BASTARD! Wait…I hear voices. I hear two voices. A woman and…and a tiny voice. Now look…I LOVE children. I WANT children (tick tock). But, really, lady…do you have to educate your child on what happens to the ca ca as it spins down the metal hole while the big plane is flying? NO YOU DON"T! There are good people of the world who have to poop….UNfat, NON-drooling, good people of the world. GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM!
FINALLY! OK, don't touch the door handle. Paper, where is the paper? Okay, door closed. Work the button fly, girl! Come on. Now…..HOVER. Hovering in heels is not easy. Why am I traveling in heels? Maybe I am handicapped.
OH SWEET JESUS! Life is good again.
*staring into the hole* "I wonder where the poop goes."
BANG BANG!
"Hey lady, there's people waitin out here!"
oh, right. Hmmm.
Example: On an airplane. You sit in your seat wedged between fat strangers and think "No problem, just a little gas, readjust the position of the bootie and all will be fine". Then, you start to sweat a little bit. You look down many rows of coach and see hords of disgruntled people with their scowls and their germy hands and even germy-er other parts. As they wait on line for the metal hole called a bathroom, you refuse to admit that you have to poop. A few minutes later…still sweating…still adjusting the boot-hey ...adding in a little butt squeeze…there is no denying it.
Now, you start doing math. That's right. Math. How long have I been on this flight? How much longer till we land? What time zone am I in? Ok, so if I got on the plane at x:00 and it's now x:00 and with a three hour time difference, that means that I have: FUCK I HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH LONGER I HAVE TO BE ON THIS FLYING DEATH TANK AND I HAVE TO SHIT!
So, the voyage begins. Seat into an upright position. Tray up. Fwack. OW. Tray up. Fwack. OW. What? Do I look like fucking MacGeyver? Hold on, let me get my duct tape and my swiss army knife and I'll fix that broken tray. OH WAIT I CAN'T because my swiss army knife was taken at the airport because CLEARLY my Irish ass looks like a terrorist. I digress…I still have to poop.
So, you crawl over the broken tray and say excuse me to the fat lady seated on your left and the push the drooling Chinese man off your right shoulder (Apparently during the math debacle, Mr. Choo decided I looked like a pillow).
And now the long walk through coach. The dregs of society fly coach. I am in coach. I am a dreg. Did they only let large, drooling, handicapped people on this plane with me? Is this a joke? Walk faster and DON'T SHART!
Okay made it to the sliding accordion door of doom. Occupied. No problem, I can wait. Yep, it's all good. I am not panicking and I am not sharting. Nope, I am just standing in the aisle like a lady. A sweaty lady with a pooping emergency. HURRY UP YOU BASTARD! Wait…I hear voices. I hear two voices. A woman and…and a tiny voice. Now look…I LOVE children. I WANT children (tick tock). But, really, lady…do you have to educate your child on what happens to the ca ca as it spins down the metal hole while the big plane is flying? NO YOU DON"T! There are good people of the world who have to poop….UNfat, NON-drooling, good people of the world. GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM!
FINALLY! OK, don't touch the door handle. Paper, where is the paper? Okay, door closed. Work the button fly, girl! Come on. Now…..HOVER. Hovering in heels is not easy. Why am I traveling in heels? Maybe I am handicapped.
OH SWEET JESUS! Life is good again.
*staring into the hole* "I wonder where the poop goes."
BANG BANG!
"Hey lady, there's people waitin out here!"
oh, right. Hmmm.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
poop
When I was a smoker, my morning had a routine. I know, I know-a stage manager with a routine, unbelievable! Yes, I also structure my personal life. But moving on. Wake up, march to the coffee machine, stare angrily at the coffee machine until it is finished, pour coffee. Smoke cigarette while drinking coffee. Stare at the news and wonder why the fuck I was up so early-the world is going to shit anyway so why not just sleep through it, pour more coffee. Open the New York Times, read for a few minutes. Smoke cigarette number two with coffee and TADA! It was time to poop!
So, if you read this blog, you know that I have quit smoking. And pooping for that matter. Now, many of you know that I think poop is a very funny thing. What is NOT funny is NOT POOPING. Today I POOPED! With no coffee and no cigarettes, I woke up and pooped! Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way!
So, if you read this blog, you know that I have quit smoking. And pooping for that matter. Now, many of you know that I think poop is a very funny thing. What is NOT funny is NOT POOPING. Today I POOPED! With no coffee and no cigarettes, I woke up and pooped! Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way!
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