November 29, 2005
Fourteen exactly, perished upon I-81, 501south, and I-64.
I wonder what drew them there in the first place, probably reasons not to unlike my own.
Finding food, drink, a solace from hunters chasing them.
I have driven so much it all looks the same. Even though I've travelled these roads before; the places look new to me. I don't feel like the girl that left Norfolk on a drizzly November day is the same girl returning again to her Mountainy home.
I jog even though the cold air steals the breath from my lungs. Oddly enough I never had asthma til I moved to the Ocean.
I remember old times gone by with people left behind by progress, or others, or the years bitter grasp.
I eat dinner with my new family and wonder why no ones talking and then I realize that it is not one family but four strangers and the only one being thankful for the turkey is the house cat.
My brother calls from oceans away I'm reminded why I'm thankful. He sends pictures of beauty despite being in one of the most disastrous places on earth. And reminds me that you don't have to be in paradise to find YOURSELF. Which believe it or not, I've been missing me for a long time now.
I go to watch a movie I've already seen with my mother and feel incredibly proud there are people that use and believe in the power of imagination and that my mom has lost none of hers even in her older age.
Even though I've only been gone for 4 days from HOME - its just as I left it and for now it's where I'm meant to be.
well there and mi Hogar*.
November 23, 2005
Seeing as how I'm leaving for the holidays and CA so graciously extended the invite without further adieu....
Here's the Leslie Rama Thanksgiving Addition:
1. I love Harry Potter. Not sure what that says about me but there it is. My confession. I want Hermione to end up with Harry not Ron. Just thought I'd share with the world.
2. Someone get me away from myspace. It's a huge waste of time but I get hypnotized by the side scrolling picture tributes and suddenly feel I have to collect as many friends as possible. It's not real, but wait...I have to go comment. Now....
3. Rental Cars - it's frustrating. They never charge appropriately and I always come out looking like the girl that dropped the soap at Camp Cupcake.
4. Snow-I'm starting to forget what it looks like. I miss it.
5. Photoshop editing I'm addicted to it. I can't stop playing with filters and layers and crap. Something about halftone patterns is hypnotic.
At any rate those are my spastic thoughts for Nov. 23, 2005. Hope you all have a great Holiday at Crapplebees, Mongolian Barbeque, or wherever you maybe eating.
1. Lloyd Dobler. Specifically, his speech at Ione Skye's dinner table about what he wants to do with his life:
"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."That's sort of how I'm feeling lately, which I'm sure is not uncommon amongst our peers, but STILL! The five-year old child that would represent my overall career-goal satisfaction has totally thrown itself on the floor, unconsolably kicking and screaming right now. I need direction!
2. I am totally tired of seeing Madonna doing the Ed Grimley dance in her leotard. Permission to go back to being 87 years old, Madge.
3. I totally quit my job at Pier 1. I lasted 18.2 hours. And the money I earned from those 18.2 hours? Totally spent it on myself. Yeah? What? I'm right here if you wanna say something.
4. The recent Laguna Beach finale prompted my high school friend Nicole to gather the gang up for a reunion of sorts (on Thanksgiving Even, no less, how ACTUALLY standard!). OEF's can more than likely expect drunken progress reports throughout the night. You've been warned.
5. Crapplebees. I understand that I'm not the first wise one to refer to Applebees as Crapplebees, but at Leslie's insistence (and graphical help, here), I will assert that I just don't like the place. It used to be acceptable after-the-mall, before-heading-back-down-the-parkway-on-the-way-home sort of grub, but somewhere around January 2000 (am guestimating) my brain threw down the gauntlet. My problem with Crapplebees is that it tries to be all things to all people. They've got Italian, Mexican, Asian, and General American foods on the menu. They're like the Walmart of casual dining establishments. Just because you can fit all that stuff in your store, don't mean I should buy it from you. Plus? There's a Chili's right across the street from the Crapplebees in my 'hood, and uh, Chili's Big Mouth Burgers always win.
Now, wasn't that fun? Your guyz's turn. And Hench, I know you're not friends with graphicsy programs, so if you wanna send me a list I'd do my best!
November 21, 2005
Okay so the fevers officially hit now. 3 day week at work and I'm thinking about leaves. I know that sounds really contrite but my favorite thing about returning back to Covington besides seeing the maternal entity is the fall foliage. I'll have to take some pics from the road and show it to you's guys. A helpful hint about leave piles though. Poke around the leaf pile before you jump in. Cats and dogs use those things as rest areas. GACK!
Covington is super boring but pretty to look at. I go home now and it just feels like lots of ghosts. Since I left permanently about '97 lots of folks have died; some old, some young, several unexpectantly. Businesses have closed with no new things opening to take its place. The interstates been widened although I'm not sure why. Not as many of the people that left come home anymore. Either because life has taken them too far away or because the recognize town death when they see it and would rather not be left there to disappear with it.
A little sad Larry's not here to scrape the sugary topping of the sweet potato caserole. I'm trying to think about favorite Thanksgiving moments but none are coming. Just years of eating until nearing a bursting point and then passing out on the couch. Followed by field trips to various family members where the cycle repeats then I fall out on their couch. Mom always spills turkey juice on her feet every year. I'm hoping by eating dinner at relatives house we'll avoid this issue this year, unless mom just adamently feels like putting her feet in turkey basting.
November 15, 2005
In other news, I attempted to play basketball again with the boys at the Y. Result was potential cranial and internal bleeding.
Note to self - next time sign up for badminton. Less physical contact.
November 14, 2005
So today as you read our blog "statement" consider how you got HERE. And ponder your job relevance if you did not/could not use a computer. Think of me hammering football rivets into a retirement book for Wendells 30th year.
November 13, 2005
I've totally been electronically dissing, huh? I started a part-time/holiday-time job at Pier 1 last week, and I've been hard at work building the perfect Access database at for my real job; which I may not even get to use because I have JURY DUTY this week. Boo. So yeah, that's where I've been.
I don't have too many thoughts about my re-entrance into the world of retail, if you can call my time served in the beach shop at the waterpark as retail. Cause like, the candle section alone at Pier 1 is bigger than the whole damn beach shop. But, one interesting side-effect of my first week at P1 is that I have a newfound appreciation for my real job at the radio station. I have an office where I can more-or-less control the temperature, choose my own music (and not play one CD of really lame covers of actually good songs on loop), and a closeable door to tell the world to fuck right off whenever I want. Oh yes, and a cushy chair to sit in. Despite all the cushy chairs sprinkled throughout the P1, sitting in any of them while on duty is frowned upon. Double boo.
I've also discovered my inner class/workforcism. It dawned on me this week that people choose to work in retail. Like, as their job job. Whenever I'm at the mall, or even P1, I assume that the people working there are only working part time because they're in school, or are married and just working for pin money. And whenever they give me guff, I always attribute their crappy customer service to the fact that this isn't their bread and butter so they don't care. But there really are people who take retail seriously. The other night it was getting late at the P1, and a shift manager (I think, I haven't quite nailed down the P1 org chart just yet) was going for some kind of re-stocking record, wheeling out a jam-packed cart of crap to re-shelve when we normally are starting to clean up and prepare to close. So we were trying to get everything out on the floor as fast as possible to get to leave faster; and when I hesitated for a second when thinking about where a certain craptacular christmas-themed votive holder went, the shift manager said, with a straight face, "Oh, I believe those go up front in the jingle-bell statement." Jingle bell statement! I guess every industry and/or business has it's own gay little terms & lingo. Just typing this entry reminded me of a radio term; "P1", which refers to your most loyal listeners.
Maybe the reason I haven't succeeded in any field, be it professional or retail is because I can't speak the secret language without chuckling? Oh well, in the meantime, you're all getting crap from Pier 1 for christmas, so whip out your catalouges and consider what kind of statements you'd like to open this year.
Also, I'm totally referring to everything as a statement from now on. If Dieter from Laguna Beach can refer things that in no way could ever be considered "standard" as "standard", then I can just slap "statement" on the end of just about anything.
As my closing statement, I have rambled on enough.
November 7, 2005
I haven't wrote anything substantial in the past few blogs. My entries have been something akin to a Dawson's Creek episode where they preview "a major change" and you think, "hey Dawson and Joey are really gonna DO IT." In fact all that happens is Dawson's cat dies or some shit. I digress. Boring Elvis. Boring Dictionary. Boring Diet.
Meanwhile, "Happy is the Ugly/Yuppie Word", at least according to Switchfoot who I went to see in concert. I'd been on this kick where I refused to write/talk about anything Happy or good happening to me out of fear I'd somehow jinx it. Then they played that song and for a few minutes, I didn't feel like I was the only on the planet that thought that way. See cept- it sounded like he said happy is the UGLY WORD. When in fact, the lyrics say happy is the Yuppie word. The Korn fan in me silently ran into a corner and threw up. But hey, I think I saw Brian "Head" Welch standing next to me for a minute didn't I? It was nice and not "outright" Christian music (not that there is anything wrong with Christian Music). It's just creepy to hold hands with strangers and swoon when I can't see anything that holy about a lanky blonde guy with some snazzy lights behind him. It's hard to feel really religious after an appletini and three coronas. Whatev. It was a good show. They had nice optimistic lyrics - heavy on the feel good uplift factor, low on the teen angst. Except maybe "On Fire" which is the kinda song you'd like to have your significant other around to dance with. The opening group Eisley wasn't too bad either, I like the vocals. The lyrics had a bit too many cuddly kittens, moonbeams, and pretty cars references for my tastes. I just remembering wanting to run home and braid my hair suddenly or at least hold the camera out and take a picture of the top of my head for myspace.
So I went to the zoo on Friday. No, not Wal-mart silly, the Norfolk Zoo. With real animals and crap. It was awesome! Although I spent too long on the tigers and the geese and me and LJ wound up hightailing it back to the front entrance. We looked similiar to the ostrichs looking about and then suddenly sprinting for no apparent reason. I was sorta in awe that the tigers dig a hole in the ground to pee, just like domestic house cats. Can you imagine a litter box for that?
I got schooled on Friday. Kudos to all the parents out there. Babies are not like pets as some would have you to believe. Raising children IS A JOB with an immeasurable amount of self sacrifice. The stay at home mom is as noble as the best career woman out there.
Speaking of babies (and getting them here) CA just let me in on news flash. Jake Gyllenhaal does full frontal nudity in Jarhead. Ladies it's time to go to the movies. Has anyone seen Donnie Darko? Thoughts?
I want to see that movie Jarhead, but I can hardly watch news with Larry in Iraq. Much less watch young men get blowed up on the screen. Is that my bro? Could that be him?
He's in good spirits though. He's found a new adventure with new loves and things to be excited about. Sometimes having things to be excited about it all you need. Blah, time to do some stuff.
November 4, 2005
For those in the Hamptons Roads/Virginia Area: I was driving home from ODU today and on the radio it advertised this thing called "The Zone 106.1 Winter Meltdown". It's supposed to be a concert with Fall Out Boy, Gavin Degraw(?), Natasha Beddingfield and a few other people...but the best part is-the cast of Laguna Beach is supposed to be there. It's at the Ted in Norfolk on December 14th. Not that I'd actually pay to go see them (wonder if Alex and Talan are singing *gag*) but I'm pissed because schools on break by then. I won't be able to have any juicy stories about Kristen being a bitch to the other castmembers or LC giving Jason head in the bathroom of the Ted.
Who wants to go??!! Just kidding...sorta...
November 2, 2005
Yes, I display all sorts of geekery, both in electronic and tangible forms on a regular basis. But my latest project has me feeling extra geeky, and a little self-conscious. Rather than totally going into how I come from this small town, and we all hold hands & skip down the beach when we’re home, I will just say that through a certain course of events, I ended up creating a website for my graduating high school class. The whole process was kinda fun, ridiculously easy, and a little educational. It had been about 6 years since I’d actually BUILT a webpage not hosted by blogger or diaryland or whatever, so it was kind of interesting. As much fun as the whole project has been, when I step outside of myself, the whole thing seems totally gay. I feel like Melissa Joan Hart’s character in Can’t Hardly Wait that was running around the party trying to get every single senior to sign her yearbook.
The question is; can I be class-reunion svengaliette AND retain any modicum of indie cred I ever accumulated? Or should I just accept that I am going to be making the rice-crispy bars for the damn thing & start looking for deals on marshmallow fluff now?
This is totally not getting into the feelings of embarrassment & inadequacy that were dredged up after actually going back through my yearbook to scan pictures for the website. First of all, I read my personal memories section, and I’d be hard pressed to explain exactly what I was referring to with my clever 16 year old code words for alcohol, sex, or drugs half the time. Which makes me think either (1. I was a total vapid weirdo teenager (re: normal) or (2. High school isn’t worth remembering anyway.
Next, the yearbook dedication. I can’t really remember how it came to fruition, but I ended up writing the dedication, or I guess you could call it that. Basically, there is a page in my high school yearbook, penned by a 16-year old Carol Ann, that is so self-righteous and smarmy about how fantastic we all were, it would make Karl Rove blush (sorry Hench). And yes, I totally recognize the irony of me writing about how self-righteous I was as a teen on a blog in my twenties that is built on the assumption that my college friends and I are fucking fascinating, but we are ignoring that fact right now. The long and short of it is, I can deal with whatever I’ve written in this blog, but man, this yearbook dedication thing is totally embarrassing. It’s hard to have your geekery in print and collecting dust under at least a hundred people’s basement steps.
Lastly, there was one particular signature in my yearbook that totally bummed me out. Ms. Guevara, the rockingest English teacher in history, and THE teacher who taught me how to tease out a complete thought and express it on paper, wrote the following:
“Carol Ann, to one of the sharpest, brightest, most frustrating students I’ve ever had---a word of advice. Write. Whatever combination of magic and talent and the gifts of the muse are required to create a writer, you got it. Now use it, for god’s sakes. Never doubt your ability, and guard against the beast, sloth.”
I think this bothered me because lots of people in my life are always talking about what a great writer I am. My mom is always saying, “Oh, you should include this in a book someday”, when I tell her a story; but none of these people have ever read anything I spent time writing, except Ms. Guevara. Since I left high school I can count on my two hands the number of pieces, including papers for classes, which I have been proud enough of to show to another human being. And the whole thing just makes me feel like a jerk, cause I work in a radio station. What if I’ve just been watching TiVo the last few years while the Great American Novel (blech) has been slowly being pushed out of my brain to make room for Laguna Beach trivia?
I am totally having a mid-twenties crisis.