Pull the Curtain

Whereas usually I end up nodding off to the soothing sound of wookie discourse in the next room (as my father habitually watches Star Wars to lull him to sleep), last night it was I who needed some late night telly to numb my mind. And, since Dad has since moved out of my house and back into his, I had full reign over tv subject matter. I love Star Wars as much as the next girl, but flipping through channels seemed more adventurous at 2am.

I landed on a cheaply recorded, vaguely familiar film and realized that one of the actors was an old flame. Quickly I flashback to five years earlier when Driscol asked me to join him in acting in a dramatic suspense picture written by one of his friends from art school. I reluctantly agreed. Now I suddenly realized that I soon might see myself on screen.

Sure enough, several excruciating minutes later, I watched myself lying in bed with Driscol, smoking a cigarette, naked from the waist up. I looked around my living room to make sure my dad wasn't sitting next to me.

"Come over here, my darling hippopotamus."

"You know I don't like to be called that."

I seemed to be repeating playfully how I didn't want to be referred to as a hippo and simultaneously figuring out Discol's character's complex secret arrangements to kill me, all the while my breasts bare and my figure looking highly hippo-ish. I dramatically scribbled some wavy lines symbolizing important information into a notebook using a giant sharpie marker.

I couldn't bare to watch any more, especially since I remembered that this was my only scene.

Although my acting was impeccable, I'm not sure my dad would be proud of his little girl for a job well done. I hope Chewbacca never fails him.

How to make friends, Part II

It occurred to me today that I will soon need to wear a bathing suit again, namely the one with the peacock feather across the front. I don't want to pop out of my peacock, so I decided to do some toning at the gym. I bore myself with this toning nonsense and tried to make a toning friend. I picked a lovely, tall, woman with dark brown hair. She was putting her round weights back on the stand; an ideal time to assault her with verbage. It seemed as though she was having some difficulty: "Hello. Its hard to get them in the hole, sometimes. THATS WHAT SHE SAID." Some people just don't understand this joke. She must have been one of those people.

I focused next on the birds. Peacocks are birds. If birds like me, the peacock will look just marvelous draping my flab. Unfortunately, a few days prior, I destroyed a small dove's nest that some peace-loving douchebag constructed inside of my expensive hanging flower pot. I desperately needed forgiveness, and figured food is the best way to a bird's heart. I placed some bird seed outside in one of those little houses that hang from things, sat down, and waited. Two squirrels climbed the trellis, knocked all the seed out of that little house, and selectively ate the sunflower seeds. Not trying to befriend the squirrels, I sent Simon outside to chase them away. He ate one of them, I think.

I visited the extensive interweb for bathing suit dilemma-fixing data. The perfect solution: the sarong. To quote Dion, "ain't nothin' sarong with dat."

Update on My Progress.

My new year's resolution, not to punch anyone in 2009, has been thus far a success.

Windsday

Simon really loves windy days. Whenever it is windy, I take him out to fly planes and occasionally sail ships. On National Windsday he helped me build a turbine. However, we couldn't get it to work. On the other hand, I am generally not a fan of wind or drafts of any kind. I believe my dislike stems from an 8 year old's bitterness.

In fourth grade, we had a teacher named Mr. Zeilant. He was the sort of teacher who would breed competitiveness in his students. For example, he ritualistically walked around the room with his stamp grading scale, giving each person the appropriate number of stamps to signify how pretty their spelling homework appeared. Everyone silently and nervously counted his hand motions as he systematically marked the marble notebooks, student by student. I loved to hate homework in Mr. Zeilant's class. One of my classmates, Jennifer, claimed indifference to the glory of stampage and said she valued her play time at home more than beautifying her pages. One day Jennifer raised her hand in class; follows is the gist of the question and response that might irritate me to this day.

"If you're standing next to a building so that you're in the shade, doesn't it mean that if the wind is blowing in the same direction as the sun, you won't feel it? So as long as you're in the shade you are protected by the wall?"

"Yes Jennifer! You are a super genius! I am so proud of you! Fifty million stamps to you!"

Now, granted, as maybe this is true, I've thought about it for decades and fail to see the brilliance of this logic. Since when do light particles and wind follow the same rules of physics? Keep in mind that I almost couldn't get into medical school due to my horrid scores on the physics section of the MCAT. In a world of magic and whimsy, I don't need physics. Perhaps this explains our turbine problems.

Dieting: Fail

How To Make Friends, Part I

Tempt your victim with carrots, oats, and/or cheese. This will bring her closer to the house and out of the bushes. You will probably have to place the temptations on a bed of lettuce, or in the front garden on top of that flower that looks like lettuce. After a few days the victim will begin to trust her surroundings. The next step involves subtly presenting yourself into the environment. I would suggest dressing up like any friendly herbivore. Do not forget the tail. In the meantime practice your sprints. If speed is a problem, build a zipline. Evidently my dad could make friends with his bare hands, but I've been using a friend-net. Simon seems to be knocking out his victims with his fists of friend-zy. I've made three friends so far and they have been quite delicious.

Flames on the sides of my face

My mom calls me a lot. I've been trying to teach her the benefits of email, but with little headway. Sometimes my mother calls on the phone wanting to spell out a website URL so I can write it down, look it up, and give her some sort of feedback. A call such as this could assault me while I'm driving, changing a diaper, or watching my stories. My mom's ineffectual internet-phone-phone-internet-phone debacle drives me batty, so much so that I decided to make a list of other such things that bother me more than they should.

10. Creationism
9. Dion's ex-girlfriends, concept of;
8. Spiders, existance of
7. That sound Steph makes when she's trying to clear out her ears
6. People who like Nickelback
5. ~can't stand when a bitch all in my side~
4. Slurping
3. Reading a your/you're or they're/their/there mistake
2. Cleaning up satyr droppings in the back yard
1. "Oversize load" signs, because I believe they need a "d" in there