Monday, January 28, 2013

Reasonable Explanation

Yesterday Emma, my 11 year old, and I were running errands and a guy on a bicycle drifted in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes and did some modified cursing, which I do when the kids are around.
"You! You! - you cupcake eater you! What is WRONG with you!"
"He can't ride on the sidewalk, Mom," Emma explained.
"Well, he can't ride in front of me. Not if he wants to live."
She frowned at me. "Are you going to kill him?"
"Not on purpose."
I sighed, eased back in my seat, and watched him, the old man drifting in and out of my lane and the one to the left, making it impossible for me to pass him. I couldn't even put my foot on he accelator. I would have honked, but my turn was coming up anyway. I decided that if he was turning right as well I'd let him have it with the horn. And then he'd know. He'd know that he was wrong to pull out in front of me and then go slow because I'd let with one good, smug honk.
But he didn't turn, and I felt a little disappointed because I enjoy honking in indignation, so I vented instead.
"Why??" I asked, making it over-the-top-dramatic by taking a hand off the steering wheel to shake a fist at heaven. "Why was he in my way?"
"I told you because he couldn't ride on the sidewalk," Emma said.
"Yes but why here, why now? Why has fate chosen to wheel him out in front of MY car? In MY path? Why me, Emma, WHY??"
Emma reflected on this. Then she said, "Because God doesn't like the 'r' in your last name."
"This is why He punishes me with an old man on a bike?"
"Yes."
"....I like your theological reasoning."
"Thanks."

And this is me and Emma's relationship.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Do You Have a Flag?

The other night I walked onto the turf of the indoor playfield and I didn't know what to say to anyone because I didn't know anyone there. But I didn't need to say anything. Someone just threw me a football. Before I tell you where I was and why, I just thought I'd point out how much easier it would be for me to walk into social situations if someone threw me a ball instead of telling me hi and asking what I do for a living. Last night was my first time at this indoor sports place called Playmakers and I've joined their Monday Game Night, where men and women get together and play whatever game they vote on for the evening. What I like best about these people so far is that no one asked how old I am, my marital status, or my profession. They just wanted to know my name and if I could catch a ball. I proved successful on both counts so I was in! I didn't even have to know the rules of the games we played!

"None of us know all the rules," one guy said after I told him that I didn't know how to play flag football. "We improvise."

And we did. There was one guy on my team who seemed to know what he was doing so we let him tell us where to stand and where to run. Ok, not everyone did. Me, another girl and this other guy who looked completely lost. The guy, who I'll call Johnny, said, "Gen! Run that way."
He pointed to a general direction down the field.
"Ok," I said, quickly because the play was about to start. "And why am I doing that?"
"So you can-"
AND THEY HIKED THE BALL AND I WAS OFF LIKE A SHOT IN THAT GENERAL DIRECTION! WHY? I DIDN'T KNOW! BUT DAMN I WAS FAST! AND THEN THE PLAY WAS OVER AND I WAS WAAAAAY DOWN THE FIELD AWAY FROM ALL OF THE OTHER PEOPLE! Like Forrest Gump only without the ball.

I'm sure there was some reason why he told me to run down there. He gave me other instructions that made sense. Like when he told me to rush the quarterback.
"Ok, Gen," Johnny said, all serious. "I want you to just run over there and grab her flag before she passes the ball."
"Um, well, ok. But that seems mean."
He smiled at me. "You don't have to."
I scowled. "No. I'll do it. That flag is toast."
AAAAAAAAND THE BALL WAS SNAPPED AND I RUSHED AT THE QUARTERBACK! I WAS SO FAST SHE DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE ME CHARGING HER! SHE TUCKED THE BALL BY HER HEAD READY TO FIRE, AND I BENT DOWN AND GRASPED THE YELLOW FLAG AT HER WAIST AAAAAAAAAAND didn't pull it off in time, she passed the ball one second before I took the flag. And so I don't go pro just yet.

After a half hour of that we switched to soccer.  And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm happy that I've started jogging again because if I hadn't had regular cardio lately I never would have survived the next 45 minutes. When we first started playing my goal was to remember all of the rules from when I played before and play well. If possible, impress people. After fifteen minutes of near-constant running up and down the field, my goal switched from playing well to not throwing up. And after ten more minutes I was just trying not to pass out. Throwing up, though unattractive, was atleast something I could recover from within a few minutes. Maybe someone would even bring me water and let me watch the end of the game. But passing out completely doesn't leave me with many options. I would have been out cold and at the mercy of strangers, both of which was unappealing.

I guess I could have stopped playing, that would have been the safest alternative. But I was having too much fun. I can't really explain to you why it is that I've never grown out of the joy of running around and giggling. But I get the greatest rush of running to the point of exhaustion, hopping over obstacles, chasing someone with a ball, falling face down on turf and popping right back up. And that's the whole reason I decided to join their team. I wanted to play.

And I was delighted when at the end of the night a couple of the guys asked me if I was interested in joining other teams.
"There's a flagfootball league in City Park," Johnny said. "You should play with us."
"And we play ultimate frisbee on  Saturday," another guy said.
"Uhhhh...that sounds like fun," I said and I thought, "None of you have children, do you?"

I don't know how old any of these people are, or if they have families. The women look to be in about their twenties and so do most the men but honestly I can't tell how old people are anymore. I'm pretty certain that this one guy who, by the way, looks JUST like a short version of Robert Pattison, is about 20 years old - tops. But that could be because he looks like Robert Pattison. He's even pale and scowls like Edward from Twilight. But other than him, the rest of them could be 25 or they could be 36. I really can't tell.

But I know that they can throw a ball, and that's all I really need to know.

So with all this talk of flagfootball, dear readers, my question for you, for you is this - Do you have a flag?

Saturday, January 19, 2013

I want to show you something

It's hard to think of what to write about when I really just want to show you something. I'd show you a picture of myself sitting in Cafe Luna, the coffee shop I'm at right now, which I think was an old house. Its got hard wood floors and high ceilings, and across from me is a fireplace with an iron door closing up where the wood or the coal would go. I wonder if this was someone's room, and if that person liked coffee. It's cold in here now without the heat from a fire or anything else, but the coffee's warm.

I've been on a vacation of sorts. The kids and the pets have been with my ex-husband for two weeks and I've been staying with a friend uptown until the new house is available next week. I haven't had anyone to take care of but myself. I can't tell you how long it's been since I had this kind of time, the kind that's quiet.

If I could I would show you a picture of myself on the fifth floor of an open parking garage this morning, and how I looked up unafraid the vastness of it, how I grinned up at it, not even afraid that the wind might sweep me up and drop me to the ground.

I would show you the runners in the park, and me weakening as I jogged along until I stepped off the blacktop-path and ran on the grass. Then I stopped struggling because then I was playing, hopping over tree roots and startling the ducks on the side of the pond.

I don't think that I'm only less stressed because I haven't had the kids. I think it's that I needed to stop commuting and I needed to be back in New Orleans. I don't know why but I can't write the same in Mandeville as I can in New Olreans. The rhythm is off. Somebody told me before that it didn't matter where she travelled to or where she lived, and she lived in a lot of places, because she was grounded inside of herself. I don't feel the same way, and maybe that's because I'm not grounded, but whatever the reason, I need to be close to where I feel a creative pulse.

And if I were to play something for you it would be this song because it's a little sad and more than a little beautiful and that's kind of how I feel right now.

****SUDDEN, UNEXPECTED TONE CHANGE!!!****

Ok, so now you've listened to it and if you're under 40 you've probably watched it and said, "Holy hell, how OLD is this woman? She's making me feel old AND sad." Well, first of all, I'm under 40...and that's all you need to know. Second, if you're not feeling that song exactly, I offer you a Strict Machine. I've been digging on Goldfrapp lately, with her sexy, confusing lyrics. "I'm in love with Strict Machine." What's that mean? I don't know but I like it.

And now off to write more. The first draft of my new book has exceeded it's self-imposed deadline by seven months. EEEEK! Barista! More coffee!

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

Scribbles

I'm not sure what to write so I'm just going to start scribbling and see what I get. Here, I drew this for you:



Nice, eh? I call it "Beginning Without End - a thing that looks like a unfinished thing." Hmm, I didn't write anything though. I just scribbled. Maybe I should give the scribble an adventure...

There once lived a line who looked like a unfolded paperclip. A bankrobber found him on the floor of his jail cell and said, "Hey! If I folded it back up I could use it as a paperclip to hold my coupons together."  His cellmate said, "Or we could NOT shape it back into a paperclip and instead use it as a pick to break the lock and bust out of here." The bankrobber considered this for a moment and said, "That's a sound argument, but if I have to look at that unoragnized stack of papers any longer I might kill someone." And so the undone paperclip loopy thingy became a paperclip once more, and it was always said of Cell 513 that it was the tidiest and that it was the place to go for your shopping and scribble-straightening needs. And they didn't even become anyone's bitches. The End.

Review? Ok, I'll bring in a couple of guys to do a review.
"Well, I like how the story evolved - a tale of one scribble's struggle for acceptance to a-"
"What in hell's name are you talking about, Franklin? There was no struggle, it was barely a story! A prisoner found a scribble on the ground, what was it doing on the ground, how did it get there? These things are never explained, we're just supposed to 'assume' it got there somehow and that a scribbly line can be picked up in the first place."
"Roger, a reader must suspend some disbelief in fiction."
"Well, I think this fiction asks for suspension that I can't quite handle."
"Oh, you can't handle anything! I had to talk you down after Because of Winn Dixie."
"A grocery store is not a place for animals!"
"Prison is an appropriate place for a scribble!"
"How?!"
(rips off shirt) "Because I have suspended my disbelief!!!"

Thank you, Franklin and Roger, always a literary delight.

On a completely unrelated note, I was listening to music on youtube, found this video, and realized that I dance JUST LIKE this. Only not as coornidated, and I mostly do the hip-shaky stuff alone in my kitchen. Also, if I could dress like Adam Ant in 1982 at my office, I would enjoy my job a whole lot more.

HEINOUS UPDATE:
Heather, kind reader, sent me this picture of Adam Ant taken in November 2012, which I would like to remind you all was only two months ago:
Belly's going to get you: Adam was sporting somewhat of a paunch

AAAIGH!!! For the full article go here:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2238761/Adam-Ant-squeezes-fuller-frame-highwayman-costume-takes-stage-tour.html

It is awesome that he's still singing at 30 years later and that he no longer wears makeup, but WOW he looks different.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Coffee Shop Closing

I'm at CC's Coffee House and they're going to close soon, which I wonder if they will still do if I explain to them that I haven't finished blogging yet.
"You haven't STARTED blogging yet," the barista tells me.
"Yes, I have. I'm blogging right now. That's why I'm typing while we talk, because I'm posting this conversation on the internet."
"....Go home."
"Oh come on! I haven't written anything about your enormous ear holes."
"Ear holes?"
"Yeah, your ears are big and I can almost see inside your head through your ear holes."
"Well, have you taken a look at your feet?"
"What about my feet?"
"They're like tennis rackets attached to your legs."
"Ear Hole!"
"Sasquatch!"
"...so can you stay open for twenty more minutes?"
"NO!"

And now they're closing and I have to go. But I will be back tomorrow to harass the barista some more, and perhaps get a blogpost out of it. Besides there's a lot to update you guys on. Yee!