any of you normal people that follow this blog, you might not appreciate today’s snippet.
but for all you roller derby girls, ex-junkies and psych ward patients, well i think you’ll get what i’m sayin’ here.
it’s been a long week already. i have a schedule at work that goes: Long Week, Short Week, Medium Week, then starts over again. this is the long one i’ve just finished, and ended it last night with an altercation. so today i’m lounging around in my pajamas (yoga pants, whatever) and just breathing, you know?
suddenly there is this harsh pounding on my door, and i’m like CRAP! WHAT?! I’M ABOUT TO WATCH SOME TWILIGHT ZONES, LEMME ALONE!
but i answer the door. the mailman (and you’ll hear more about him another time) was actually concerned that someone in the house might be hurt. we’ve let our mail pile up all week because of my schedule and my sister’s, who is pulling double shifts. and most of it is catalogues and junk mail adds, so who’s going to run out at midnight to worry about cleaning out the box? not me!
but he had noticed we hadn’t picked it up, and he was like “everything OK here?” which is soooo sweet! and i brushed him off, “oh yeah, it’s fine, sorry!!”
i pull all the mail out and smile at him. “sorry!”
then later i happen to look in the mirror and see
wonky hair in all directions, ex mascara smeared all over my face and basic overall grumpiness. plus i’m in my kookoo pants and a sleeveless comic book hero tee shirt.
yep; nothing wrong with anybody here!
I love my city.
I grew up in Southern California, which I know sounds wonderful. Sunshine. Blue skies. Beaches and palm trees and movie stars. Pretty much. But also there’s wall to wall cars, smog so thick it makes your nose bleed, and crazies, whinos and weirdos up the wazoo. It’s a sprawling universe of people who are busy and harried much of the time. People who smile and say “have your people call my people”. And you wonder if they even remember your name, though you could swear you stood in their wedding two years ago. Southern Cal is beautiful, and fun, and exciting, and memorable; but it can be hard on the soul if you don’t have your center. So many people. So much chaos. It makes me feel small and insignificant.
Parks with water sprinklers for kids to play in, swings and sandboxes. Malls, shopping centers, and independent retail shops. There are comic book shops, libraries, art galleries, and tattoo parlours. Oh, and weed sellers. That’s an official and legal business now, so we have a billion little shops that have sprung up like well, weeds, all over the town. We have two roller derby teams, a baseball team, a football team, several city and farmer’s markets, a skateboard park and a place where you can rent kayaks by the hour. We have several colleges and universities, law schools and business schools. Also a fabulous art show every summer and an independent film festival.
Oh, and outdoor movies in an artsy part of town. As well as live theatre on the streets, musicians that play while you eat out on patios, tons of thrift shops and antique stores, and horse drawn carriages at various times.
Yes, the weather is questionable. It’s too cold. It’s too hot. It’s humid or freezing or blustery. The roads don’t get plowed in time, or fixed of their pot holes, or they are being fixed but it’s taking too long. There’s too much unemployment and not enough Lotto winners. But sometimes it’s just perfect and beautiful; exactly what it should be. Bright sunny skies, crisp fall mornings, friendly people in a store you’ve never visited. It’s a good town, with enough seedy elements to make it interesting and enough artistic bend to make it quirky. So though I’m not originally from here, and I may not always live here, it’s a good place to call home right now.
i’m wearing my fun socks today, but it doesn’t seem to be making its impact. if any of you have watched the TV series BONES, you know that FBI agent Sealy Booth wears funky socks as his way of being unique and special in a world of hum-drumminess. his way of ‘sticking it to the man’, i guess. or his way of declaring his individualism. and if you watch Storage Wars, you know that Barry (I LOVE YOU BARRY!) wears his ‘lucky’ socks, hopefully to have blessings from the picking gods.
but for me, the magical, stripey, Monster High socks that i am wearing are not bringing me the anticipated magical stripey day. despite their cuteness, and their roller-derbiness, my customers are still yelling at me, demanding, and pushy. i’ve heard bad news today, like about the girl that has been missing for 8 days, or the man that was dead for 2 years without anyone noticing.
tomorrow i’m coming in barefoot.
The World Cup started this week, which is always enjoyable. My sister (I’ll call her Bodie on here, one of my nicknames for her) and I always love to watch sports. We love to get involved in the game, and cheer our voices gone, and jump up and down if we get so excited, or curse like sailors when our people suck and mess up the whole thing. We aren’t terribly picky about what we watch, though we certainly have favorites.
Over the years we’ve watched more football than anything, my favorite sport and one of her favorites. But we enjoy watching all sorts of games: the XGames is a definite favorite, beach volleyball, soccer, tennis. I almost had a meltdown when I discovered rugby – my other favorite sport – because not only are the outfits adorable, the men are supersized, with big meaty thighs, burly physiques, and round juicy bottoms. These men are warriors out on the field, sporting bloody facial expressions within minutes of play. Rugby is a sport a horny girl can get into. But I also enjoy curling. And watching billiards. And water polo, the Olympics, motocross, and martial arts competitions.
I don’t know for sure what it is about sports that we both love so much. When we got Dish Network, the guy installing it told us we had too much testosterone. He was telling us about all the cool channels we would be getting, now that we had the Dish, and I said, “Yeah, but we get Football Network, right?” The channel was brand new at the time, and he didn’t seem to understand why we weren’t as excited about the Home Shopping Network.
I think my sister and I have always been this way. At eight or nine, I watched football at home by myself, or on Sundays with my uncle, who taught me the game. I knew early on to hate the Cowboys for the sheer principle of it (my uncle’s conviction, and we DID live in Los Angeles), to honor the Steelers and cheer the Rams, and on my own I selected the Chicago Bears and the Saints as early favorites, whom I am still loyal to today. Although I’ve also added the Seahawks, Ravens and several other teams to my roster of favorites. I also watched roller derby as a kid, and had a yellow legal pad full of the names of my team’s players, and their arch rivals. I sat in front of the television set every Saturday morning and berated the opposing team, calling them doodie pants and weenie heads.
And while I started off with a healthy interest in sports, my appreciation may have increased when I finally started dating some athletes. There is something about athletes….
I’ve dated artists and musicians, architects and money moguls, mechanics, fire fighters, gamblers and sommeliers. And I don’t think I’ve dated any professional athletes, at least they weren’t at the time I dated them, but I have gone out with basketball players, football players, tennis players, baseball players, swimmers, and I had a great chance to date a foreign exchange water polo player, from France, I think, and I completely blew that one. Oh well. That wouldn’t have lasted long anyway, because I was virginal at the time, or thought I was, so was maintaining a strict “No Go” philosophy on all things sex.
Still, with all my appreciation of the sport and the sporter, I’m always surprised that when I do find someone to date, I am often the one that is more interested in competition. Maybe I didn’t realize early enough that I was into athletes, and spent all that time dithering away on the architects and poets and dramatic thinky types. Maybe when I have dated athletically minded men, I haven’t been in a place where I’m paying much attention to anything, and didn’t notice them cheering on a good tennis match, or placing bets on a football game. (oh, wait a minute, that sounds familiar)
I do remember lots of nights spent with my fabulous sister, on the couch screaming, cheering, and getting drunk. I do remember fun nights out at the pub with my sis, wearing colored wigs, gaudy ‘mardi gras’ necklaces, face tattoos and getting drunk. Attending games with my sis, where we stand in the bleachers, asses in pain because those seats are so uncomfortable, cursing at the coach, or the team, or the lousy season ahead, and getting drunk.
So World Cup is another bonding time with my sis. One of these days I hope to find a man I can love for my very own, who also happens to like sports. I’m hoping he will go to some roller derby games with me, and stop at a park and watch random games of softball and soccer, even if we don’t know anyone on the teams. This is something I enjoyed doing when I lived on my own, and had nothing better to do on a random day. I’m hoping I’ll find a guy who will play volleyball with me, or maybe try to get me to take up golf, which I can’t really imagine liking, unless my job is just driving the cute cart and getting us more beers. And I will probably always be watching sports with my sis…but I’m also hoping I’ll find a guy that can finally see the light. A unique man that will finally appreciate all the things that I love, like pizza and beer and sex and sports. A man that won’t constantly nag me to clean the house or take out the cat litter. A man that can sit down and play video games with me once in a while, or sit on the porch and smoke my hookah with me. A man who will finally see the truth that no other man has ever grasped; I am the perfect woman.