While reading the inspirational prose of Wayne Dyer this morning, I was pulled from my chair by the symphonic chortles of the birds outside. The chaotic din made me wonder if something was wrong, or if this meant that all was right. A variety of airborne creatures from blue birds to cardinals, mocking birds to doves and black birds to monk parakeets were all vying from someone’s attention if not mine. The cacophony was almost deafening outside, but beautiful at the same time. I looked for a hawk or eagle to be the cause of this raucous, but the sky was only filled with less predatory fowl.
No birds attacked me or even seemed to be aware I was spying on them. The event was actually calming even though it was so loud and discombobulated in tone, my only fear being that I would get drawn deeper into it and miss the window to take a proper shower for work.
Anyway, after about 5 minutes it quieted down and I returned to my morning routine feeling a bit more blessed by this concert.
I still ponder what caused them to be so excited.
Showing posts with label observations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label observations. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Truth IS Stranger Than Fiction
What I left out about the garage sale this weekend was the assortment of characters we encountered. I love characters; in novels, on TV and especially in person. The fun didn’t start until we were about an hour into it.
A nice old hippy guy rode up on his bicycle and perused my stash. He asked about the Rolling Stone magazines, the books and records, then was inspired to speak about the Republicans. Now, I am very left leaning, but I try to not discuss politics with strangers since I can never be sure just how strange they get and it is never nice to be the victim of friendly fire. This man went on about how the GOP should just come out and say they hate N-word and (this is where I froze and Paul looked at me for the reaction) that they should just admit to being racists. I calmed a bit. His rant continued as he spelled out his solution for the wars we are in “re-instate the draft and bring it home like they did Vietnam.” Then a rant about reality TV and the reason he rides a bike is because he refuses to pay for gas. And on it went as I moved away and helped other customers. He didn’t buy anything.
On the opposite end of the political spectrum were the recent transplants from Alaska. These folks spouted off immediately that the only reason people don’t like Sarah Palin is because she is a woman (I could give about a dozen of just my own reasons) and that no one will admit they voted for Obama now. I kept my mouth shut. They kept it up and I concluded that the older couple that was also inspecting my past were in agreement since they kept shaking their heads up and down. The Alaska people bought what they wanted (and spent the most) and were on their way, when the retirees shared that they were Obama supports and that they had a bunch of reasons to dislike the former governor.
During the day we had a couple of hard-living ladies stumble up, one shared that she had a broken hip and her eyes revealed that she was wasted, probably on pain meds. I had a feeling she could handle pain since she was tatted up something fierce on ever part of her revealed body. I didn’t want to stare, but I couldn’t make out many of the tats, though they did beg to be stared at as they crept up from the top of her low-cut shirt. While her friend meandered through my leftover things, she explained that they were going to a concert that evening. I, being the practical and sometimes dull person I am, asked if she would be OK at a concert since she was in so much pain. She laid my concerns to rest by shaking her ass and turning for a wink. I couldn’t help but laugh with her, even if they didn’t buy anything.
There was also a lady who wanted something for nothing, and I refused her. A guy who wanted only knives and guns (sorry, clean out), the VET who was so stoned he could barely walk and only wanted a coke and a flirt. Then came my rude neighbor. He comes over whenever I have a sale and it is his time to be as pretentious as possible. It is annoying, but also entertaining since I no longer have to speak to him often. D is the kind of guy who is the gay version of a kept woman. His ex-boyfriend pays for his house, pays his bills and probably sets up other guys to pay some of the costs as well. D has never worked as long as he’s lived there (which is about 5 years) and yet bitches about not having money. He refuses to get a job since to work is beneath him (his words, not mine). I have a feeling he doesn’t work because no one likes him enough to hire him.
On this occasion, D came by and checked out my record collection asking, “Is there anything good in there?” “It’s all good.” I snarkily answered. He went on in his pretentious tone that vinyl is a flawed format and that he only plays records for his friends (men he picks up on the internet) for their novelty value (I take that to be the men and the records.) Later, when we were cleaning up he came by and asked if I still had any Beatle records and I told him I sold the whole lot. It was a lie, but I just couldn’t be in his presence for another moment. He is the epitome of asshole.
So whether they bought something or not, I definitely scored big when it came to the crowd that visited my driveway. I will miss them, but I can live with that.
A nice old hippy guy rode up on his bicycle and perused my stash. He asked about the Rolling Stone magazines, the books and records, then was inspired to speak about the Republicans. Now, I am very left leaning, but I try to not discuss politics with strangers since I can never be sure just how strange they get and it is never nice to be the victim of friendly fire. This man went on about how the GOP should just come out and say they hate N-word and (this is where I froze and Paul looked at me for the reaction) that they should just admit to being racists. I calmed a bit. His rant continued as he spelled out his solution for the wars we are in “re-instate the draft and bring it home like they did Vietnam.” Then a rant about reality TV and the reason he rides a bike is because he refuses to pay for gas. And on it went as I moved away and helped other customers. He didn’t buy anything.
On the opposite end of the political spectrum were the recent transplants from Alaska. These folks spouted off immediately that the only reason people don’t like Sarah Palin is because she is a woman (I could give about a dozen of just my own reasons) and that no one will admit they voted for Obama now. I kept my mouth shut. They kept it up and I concluded that the older couple that was also inspecting my past were in agreement since they kept shaking their heads up and down. The Alaska people bought what they wanted (and spent the most) and were on their way, when the retirees shared that they were Obama supports and that they had a bunch of reasons to dislike the former governor.
During the day we had a couple of hard-living ladies stumble up, one shared that she had a broken hip and her eyes revealed that she was wasted, probably on pain meds. I had a feeling she could handle pain since she was tatted up something fierce on ever part of her revealed body. I didn’t want to stare, but I couldn’t make out many of the tats, though they did beg to be stared at as they crept up from the top of her low-cut shirt. While her friend meandered through my leftover things, she explained that they were going to a concert that evening. I, being the practical and sometimes dull person I am, asked if she would be OK at a concert since she was in so much pain. She laid my concerns to rest by shaking her ass and turning for a wink. I couldn’t help but laugh with her, even if they didn’t buy anything.
There was also a lady who wanted something for nothing, and I refused her. A guy who wanted only knives and guns (sorry, clean out), the VET who was so stoned he could barely walk and only wanted a coke and a flirt. Then came my rude neighbor. He comes over whenever I have a sale and it is his time to be as pretentious as possible. It is annoying, but also entertaining since I no longer have to speak to him often. D is the kind of guy who is the gay version of a kept woman. His ex-boyfriend pays for his house, pays his bills and probably sets up other guys to pay some of the costs as well. D has never worked as long as he’s lived there (which is about 5 years) and yet bitches about not having money. He refuses to get a job since to work is beneath him (his words, not mine). I have a feeling he doesn’t work because no one likes him enough to hire him.
On this occasion, D came by and checked out my record collection asking, “Is there anything good in there?” “It’s all good.” I snarkily answered. He went on in his pretentious tone that vinyl is a flawed format and that he only plays records for his friends (men he picks up on the internet) for their novelty value (I take that to be the men and the records.) Later, when we were cleaning up he came by and asked if I still had any Beatle records and I told him I sold the whole lot. It was a lie, but I just couldn’t be in his presence for another moment. He is the epitome of asshole.
So whether they bought something or not, I definitely scored big when it came to the crowd that visited my driveway. I will miss them, but I can live with that.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
I Give Good Phone
I spent most of Friday on the phone interviewing people for one of the many articles on my plate. I usually hate getting started with the whole conversing thing, but lately I have come to appreciate it more and find that for an introvert I can be quite social on the phone. The topics are usually dry, things like education, the stimulus package, different programs so when me and my cohort start or end the interview we usually end up talking about something mundane like the weather or the previous call they had from a crazy or irate customer. I usually listen and make a comment or two so they know I am hearing them. It’s like they are just lonely and want someone to just listen for a moment. I get that a lot at work – people come to me often to vent.
But these callers remind me of a job I applied for about 10 years ago, as a phone actress. That’s the PC term for it and I originally became interested in the field when one of my classmates told me how she made good money and had plenty of time to study as she listened to men talk about their problems. “More than 80 percent of the time they just want someone to listen to them. Their wives and girlfriends don’t listen or they probably don’t even know how to talk to a girl face-to-face so they call me.”
I wasn’t sure about listening to some guy talk about his problems all day as I filed my nails or read a book, but I knew I could do the other 20 percent since I had received many a compliment from a boyfriend or two.
So I did the phone interview and was told I had a wonderful voice for the position. They sent me a packet of forms to fill out and all the logistics of the job like having my own cell phone and a home phone. That I would be on-call at home and the men would call to the main hub, which was in Texas somewhere, and then they would be directed to me. The hub would monitor how much time I was engaged in “conversation” and pay me by the minute. The first and last minute didn’t count and the wages would come to only about 8 bucks an hour.
Doing the math I realized the money was in hosting the business and not participating. At $4.99 a minute these johns were getting screwed in more ways than one and the screwers weren’t the girls faking it on the other end of the line. I threw the information packet in the trash and decided to do something else instead to make ends meet. But to this day, I wonder what it would have been like.
But these callers remind me of a job I applied for about 10 years ago, as a phone actress. That’s the PC term for it and I originally became interested in the field when one of my classmates told me how she made good money and had plenty of time to study as she listened to men talk about their problems. “More than 80 percent of the time they just want someone to listen to them. Their wives and girlfriends don’t listen or they probably don’t even know how to talk to a girl face-to-face so they call me.”
I wasn’t sure about listening to some guy talk about his problems all day as I filed my nails or read a book, but I knew I could do the other 20 percent since I had received many a compliment from a boyfriend or two.
So I did the phone interview and was told I had a wonderful voice for the position. They sent me a packet of forms to fill out and all the logistics of the job like having my own cell phone and a home phone. That I would be on-call at home and the men would call to the main hub, which was in Texas somewhere, and then they would be directed to me. The hub would monitor how much time I was engaged in “conversation” and pay me by the minute. The first and last minute didn’t count and the wages would come to only about 8 bucks an hour.
Doing the math I realized the money was in hosting the business and not participating. At $4.99 a minute these johns were getting screwed in more ways than one and the screwers weren’t the girls faking it on the other end of the line. I threw the information packet in the trash and decided to do something else instead to make ends meet. But to this day, I wonder what it would have been like.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Who Killed John Lennon?
I saw this van on the way home from work today. You never know what you'll see in St. Pete. I checked out the Web site and it is advertising for a book about how Stephen King killed John Lennon.
Stephen King is the Walrus - I knew it.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
It’s raining, it’s pouring, I wish I was snoring
The drought has been waylaid for a little bit at least. We have had rain since last Wednesday and it is much appreciated. However, on a side note – it did storm last Wednesday night during the season finale of LOST and my TV went out twice, which wasn’t too bad in itself, but the fricken’ cable box took for fricken’ ever to reboot and I had to call Renee to find out what was going on. And the upside is that there is always HULU.
We needed the rain really bad. Our water restrictions have been down to a day and only for certain hours. I gave up on my yard keeping my attentions on my vegetables and herbies. But now I am wishing for a little sunshine. The gray sky and din of the raindrops makes me very sleepy. Life goes on and I drag myself to and from work and hope for the best when I get home.
The weatherman says to expect five more days of rain and cooler temps which means I can also save some dough on the AC plus make use of all that soup I have in the freezer to warm me up. Thank God for the rain and may be all lift a toast to that.
We needed the rain really bad. Our water restrictions have been down to a day and only for certain hours. I gave up on my yard keeping my attentions on my vegetables and herbies. But now I am wishing for a little sunshine. The gray sky and din of the raindrops makes me very sleepy. Life goes on and I drag myself to and from work and hope for the best when I get home.
The weatherman says to expect five more days of rain and cooler temps which means I can also save some dough on the AC plus make use of all that soup I have in the freezer to warm me up. Thank God for the rain and may be all lift a toast to that.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Farewell to Marilyn
I was a fan of Marilyn Chambers the porn star. There I said it. Not because of her sucking and fucking everything in sight or because she was once the Ivory Snow girl. I adored her for her fame at a time when that was all she got (instead of money) and her willingness to go on. The story behind the infamous Behind The Green Door was better than the movie itself. Slow and dull, this was done at a time when porn films only used dialogue for filler and expelled anything that was real writing. Like Linda Lovelace and Georgina Spelvin, Chambers reconciled her demons and took a giant leap into the seedy world of adult film, only to be made a legend.
Found in a mobile home in southern California, she died as many right-wingers will say, as she lived; worthless and weak. Of course they won’t bring up that most of those idiots who toss dollars their way are most stupid and inane. It was a sad day and we still don’t know the whole story.
I was interest in Chambers when I was in my 20s. Not much of a porn freak and without the Internet, I discovered her through the old tabloids and in reference to Lovelace who was the mega star until she quit and then went on Donahue to tell her story. Chambers still remained an anomaly choosing to continue in the film business and even making guest appearances in “regular” shows and films. In the late 90s, the brothers Sheen and Estevez made a movie about the brothers that made the original film. Rated X was so much better than the film that made the brothers big names – well not so big, but made Chambers both a household name and a national scorn.
When I saw the original, I actually fell asleep with how slow it moved and how neo-artistic they were trying to be. Later I saw her in Insatiable, a film from 1980 which showed that even though the young ones were out in full force this 30-year old could give them a run for their money. It also has John Holmes in it, which once again made for greater subject matter in Wonderland, than he did in any of his porn roles.
The wife of Chuck Traynor, Lovelace’s ex and the man she said pimped her out and made her do those naughty films, Chambers never acted the victim. She may have been , but we will probably never know. For now, she can rest in peace.
Found in a mobile home in southern California, she died as many right-wingers will say, as she lived; worthless and weak. Of course they won’t bring up that most of those idiots who toss dollars their way are most stupid and inane. It was a sad day and we still don’t know the whole story.
I was interest in Chambers when I was in my 20s. Not much of a porn freak and without the Internet, I discovered her through the old tabloids and in reference to Lovelace who was the mega star until she quit and then went on Donahue to tell her story. Chambers still remained an anomaly choosing to continue in the film business and even making guest appearances in “regular” shows and films. In the late 90s, the brothers Sheen and Estevez made a movie about the brothers that made the original film. Rated X was so much better than the film that made the brothers big names – well not so big, but made Chambers both a household name and a national scorn.
When I saw the original, I actually fell asleep with how slow it moved and how neo-artistic they were trying to be. Later I saw her in Insatiable, a film from 1980 which showed that even though the young ones were out in full force this 30-year old could give them a run for their money. It also has John Holmes in it, which once again made for greater subject matter in Wonderland, than he did in any of his porn roles.
The wife of Chuck Traynor, Lovelace’s ex and the man she said pimped her out and made her do those naughty films, Chambers never acted the victim. She may have been , but we will probably never know. For now, she can rest in peace.
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Problem with Cougars
I was recently came face to face with Cougar Barbie. In her tanned and bikini-clad glory she strutted her stuff around the clothed patrons grabbing attention from every angle and begging for more with a swan song of “I am so drunk.” Never since my college days, have those words echoed so much desperation that I felt pity for their speaker and her plight. I realized the 12 times I changed to find a decent outfit, the time pondering shoes and eye shadow and the pep talk to make me even go were signs of only slight craziness compared to this desperate creature.
Now I am the first person to dress up in blue hair and cleavage, but when it is appropriate like a fashion show or a Halloween party or even downtown on a Saturday. But at a family party with kids and others it just seemed to be a scream for meaning.
An observation like this spurred on my mind as I noticed the bikinied one’s half sister (figuratively) at the Home Depot. Black skinny jeans with strategically placed slits along the front and back from hem to belt loop (very strategic as you could tell she was going commando and I only glanced for a couple seconds.) her bleached-blond mane with frizzy ends and her “Barely Legal” t-shirt gave it away that she was far from barely and had been legal for some time. Maybe it was her daughter or granddaughter’s shirt.
Both of these instances seemed so out of place while a large woman covered in only blue paint and a blue G-string at Madonnaween a few years back received more cheers than jeers and the thong-clad biker chick on the back of her boy’s hot rod got looks, but with only exclamations like “Damn” (and a “Ronn please pay attention, you missed our turn while you were ogling the tanned ass of the Ho” from me.)
I fear that I will one day become desperate like these ladies who probably had it all together at one time and yet, now seem to be falling apart for all the world to see. Married or single at that ripe age, I wonder if I will fall prey to youth and grab it from the hands of its rightful owners begging for a couple good years left.
Now I am the first person to dress up in blue hair and cleavage, but when it is appropriate like a fashion show or a Halloween party or even downtown on a Saturday. But at a family party with kids and others it just seemed to be a scream for meaning.
An observation like this spurred on my mind as I noticed the bikinied one’s half sister (figuratively) at the Home Depot. Black skinny jeans with strategically placed slits along the front and back from hem to belt loop (very strategic as you could tell she was going commando and I only glanced for a couple seconds.) her bleached-blond mane with frizzy ends and her “Barely Legal” t-shirt gave it away that she was far from barely and had been legal for some time. Maybe it was her daughter or granddaughter’s shirt.
Both of these instances seemed so out of place while a large woman covered in only blue paint and a blue G-string at Madonnaween a few years back received more cheers than jeers and the thong-clad biker chick on the back of her boy’s hot rod got looks, but with only exclamations like “Damn” (and a “Ronn please pay attention, you missed our turn while you were ogling the tanned ass of the Ho” from me.)
I fear that I will one day become desperate like these ladies who probably had it all together at one time and yet, now seem to be falling apart for all the world to see. Married or single at that ripe age, I wonder if I will fall prey to youth and grab it from the hands of its rightful owners begging for a couple good years left.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Sell Sell Sell
The day started early for us as Guy, Ronn and I forced ourselves from slumber at around 6 a.m. so we could get the plethora of crap (treasures) assembled for the masses. We hung signs and clothes, organized knick-knacks and drank coffee to keep us warm.
It started out slow, but picked up immediately, I think that may have been do to the signs we made and hung in the gayborhood next door. It was a blessing is disguise since the Manhattan from the night before was still making my brain damp. That soon cleared and I was ready to wheel and deal for a few hours.
We stayed open a little later than we planned, but it was worth it. Most of my stuff is now in other people’s hands and I say “Good riddance.” My pockets, though not bulging with money, hang low do to the weight of all the quarters I collected (I may be able to fill up my coin jar with this adventure.)
Afterward we cleaned up and feeling a bit tired and weak (that was from the hard-core Body Sculpt class I took yesterday) I started collecting more things from the house to sell for the next time. I had a pretty big chip on my shoulder sustained by my success with this sale, but I just count my blessings and see how lucky I am.
I think this may be a new hobby for me. I really enjoyed the characters that came to my sale from the Asian man who wanted everything for $2 that was priced $10, to the couple of ladies who came in their pajamas and bickered about who was a bigger pack rat, to the cool goth mom who enjoyed all my Death stuff and lace gloves.
I enjoyed every second except for the set up and sign making. Guy was in a mood and I just couldn’t deal with it. He was bored and isn’t really the garage selling kind of guy since he doesn’t interact with the customers and wants to make a profit on everything. The reason behind garage sales is to get rid of your junk and make some cash, not making a profit.
In any case, it went well. I was so tired by the end that I put it all away, asked my neighbor for some whiskey and relaxed the rest of the evening.
It started out slow, but picked up immediately, I think that may have been do to the signs we made and hung in the gayborhood next door. It was a blessing is disguise since the Manhattan from the night before was still making my brain damp. That soon cleared and I was ready to wheel and deal for a few hours.
We stayed open a little later than we planned, but it was worth it. Most of my stuff is now in other people’s hands and I say “Good riddance.” My pockets, though not bulging with money, hang low do to the weight of all the quarters I collected (I may be able to fill up my coin jar with this adventure.)
Afterward we cleaned up and feeling a bit tired and weak (that was from the hard-core Body Sculpt class I took yesterday) I started collecting more things from the house to sell for the next time. I had a pretty big chip on my shoulder sustained by my success with this sale, but I just count my blessings and see how lucky I am.
I think this may be a new hobby for me. I really enjoyed the characters that came to my sale from the Asian man who wanted everything for $2 that was priced $10, to the couple of ladies who came in their pajamas and bickered about who was a bigger pack rat, to the cool goth mom who enjoyed all my Death stuff and lace gloves.
I enjoyed every second except for the set up and sign making. Guy was in a mood and I just couldn’t deal with it. He was bored and isn’t really the garage selling kind of guy since he doesn’t interact with the customers and wants to make a profit on everything. The reason behind garage sales is to get rid of your junk and make some cash, not making a profit.
In any case, it went well. I was so tired by the end that I put it all away, asked my neighbor for some whiskey and relaxed the rest of the evening.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
And The Drunker They Are ... 28th Reason I Am Thankful
I love drunk people. In fact, I love drunk people more than I love drinking. They are so fun to watch as they express their undying love (I love you man), explain the higher concepts of creation (God is like wow) and share their most valued advice (Don’t ever get out of acting, look what happened to me).
I recently had back-to-back encounters with drunks and felt so blessed to be a part of their public appearances. See I like the happy, fun people who drink, may feel a bit sick the next day, but don’t really have a problem with the bottle -- just a minor flirtation. We have all been there whether we admit it or not, and selective memory is the perfect excuse for those situations we would rather forget.
The first lucky draw was at an awards banquet. I had my share of free margaritas and was dwelling on the buzz, but by no definition had I progressed yet to soused. However, when I went to the bathroom I was spared nothing of the performance from an up-and-coming actress and what she thought was her moment on the Tyra show. I learned a lot about this young lady as I selfishly stayed in the stall listening to her eloquent advice about why an 11-year-old actress should stay an actress.
“I was like you. I still am. I’m young and beautiful and talented like you and I threw it all away for three years. I was a model too and I’m 21, but I’ll be 22 on September 12 and you could be like me.” I imagined the mother’s face smiling in bitter horror as this washed-up starlet proceeded to dictate the destiny of her talented offspring. It continued for about 5 minutes with constant repeats about age and the horrors of drinking and smoking. “You should never smoke or drink like I do, but I am 21 and will be 22 on September 12, but I started smoking and even though I am gorgeous and talented like you I shouldn’t smoke or drink because it is ugly.” And so forth. I was grabbed from my lulling buzz to record these moments so I could document them here and to share with my partner in crime (who chooses to remain anonymous).
He later filled me in that the said drunk, but gorgeous and talented model was the trophy fiancée of an older (way older by the looks of him) producer who seemed to be on a roll during this low-level Oscars. The hint showcased that she had been a teen model who posed (very exposed) on the grounds of her now-partner’s beach-front home. They struck up a relationship, him being very wealthy and her being very sexy and young, that apparently was meant to last, for a year or two. By the look of the rock on her finger, she must have other talents that she didn’t share with the preteen wonder in the ladies’ room.
Shortly after that I had another drunk chick encounter on the other side of the spectrum. The setting was more rustic and the party girl was a tad bit older, by about 40 years I would guess, but they held the same attitude of being sexy, sassy and sauced. Now I make no judgments as I proceed on with years, but I know when to stop and who to trust when it comes to dropping shots down my gullet. Vodka can be evil to those who haven’t learned the tricks the Russians have known for years, it is an acquired talent and one to hold on to hard. Plus drink it straight as a sip, such as a martini, so you know the raw alcohol feel of this luscious elixir. It is really just a sign of mutual respect for all those involved.
This lady did not respect the clear liquid and it bit her in the ass, but not before she expressed her undying love for a homosexual friend, her grievance at his homosexuality and her eventual deep sadness for not being born a gay man. Her shared intellect brought to light that he was the smartest man she ever met, she was the nicest man she ever met and that she would rock his world, if only given the chance.
I felt a bit of pity for her, while once again remembering all that transpired as I switched to water to cleanse my databanks for this documentation. I went to get her some water and when I returned I found that her and her “hopefully one day I can change you” lover were gone. In their absence it was explained to me that she had gone from the “I love you, mans” to the “My life is horrible, old, fat, ugly, yada yada yada.” I’m glad I missed that.
I don’t mean any disrespect with these observations, but feel thankful to not be either of these women. I like to drink, but not in anger or sadness, I am a happy drunk. I am thankful though that as a lesson, I was given the chance to see low self-esteem and alcohol paired up once again and the humor it can provide for those of us outside of the vomit projection range.
I recently had back-to-back encounters with drunks and felt so blessed to be a part of their public appearances. See I like the happy, fun people who drink, may feel a bit sick the next day, but don’t really have a problem with the bottle -- just a minor flirtation. We have all been there whether we admit it or not, and selective memory is the perfect excuse for those situations we would rather forget.
The first lucky draw was at an awards banquet. I had my share of free margaritas and was dwelling on the buzz, but by no definition had I progressed yet to soused. However, when I went to the bathroom I was spared nothing of the performance from an up-and-coming actress and what she thought was her moment on the Tyra show. I learned a lot about this young lady as I selfishly stayed in the stall listening to her eloquent advice about why an 11-year-old actress should stay an actress.
“I was like you. I still am. I’m young and beautiful and talented like you and I threw it all away for three years. I was a model too and I’m 21, but I’ll be 22 on September 12 and you could be like me.” I imagined the mother’s face smiling in bitter horror as this washed-up starlet proceeded to dictate the destiny of her talented offspring. It continued for about 5 minutes with constant repeats about age and the horrors of drinking and smoking. “You should never smoke or drink like I do, but I am 21 and will be 22 on September 12, but I started smoking and even though I am gorgeous and talented like you I shouldn’t smoke or drink because it is ugly.” And so forth. I was grabbed from my lulling buzz to record these moments so I could document them here and to share with my partner in crime (who chooses to remain anonymous).
He later filled me in that the said drunk, but gorgeous and talented model was the trophy fiancée of an older (way older by the looks of him) producer who seemed to be on a roll during this low-level Oscars. The hint showcased that she had been a teen model who posed (very exposed) on the grounds of her now-partner’s beach-front home. They struck up a relationship, him being very wealthy and her being very sexy and young, that apparently was meant to last, for a year or two. By the look of the rock on her finger, she must have other talents that she didn’t share with the preteen wonder in the ladies’ room.
Shortly after that I had another drunk chick encounter on the other side of the spectrum. The setting was more rustic and the party girl was a tad bit older, by about 40 years I would guess, but they held the same attitude of being sexy, sassy and sauced. Now I make no judgments as I proceed on with years, but I know when to stop and who to trust when it comes to dropping shots down my gullet. Vodka can be evil to those who haven’t learned the tricks the Russians have known for years, it is an acquired talent and one to hold on to hard. Plus drink it straight as a sip, such as a martini, so you know the raw alcohol feel of this luscious elixir. It is really just a sign of mutual respect for all those involved.
This lady did not respect the clear liquid and it bit her in the ass, but not before she expressed her undying love for a homosexual friend, her grievance at his homosexuality and her eventual deep sadness for not being born a gay man. Her shared intellect brought to light that he was the smartest man she ever met, she was the nicest man she ever met and that she would rock his world, if only given the chance.
I felt a bit of pity for her, while once again remembering all that transpired as I switched to water to cleanse my databanks for this documentation. I went to get her some water and when I returned I found that her and her “hopefully one day I can change you” lover were gone. In their absence it was explained to me that she had gone from the “I love you, mans” to the “My life is horrible, old, fat, ugly, yada yada yada.” I’m glad I missed that.
I don’t mean any disrespect with these observations, but feel thankful to not be either of these women. I like to drink, but not in anger or sadness, I am a happy drunk. I am thankful though that as a lesson, I was given the chance to see low self-esteem and alcohol paired up once again and the humor it can provide for those of us outside of the vomit projection range.
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