1. Brutally murder someone.
2. Own a pet snake (they eat cute things).
3. Become a lawyer.
4. Go Skydiving.
5. Do illegal recreational drugs.
6. A woman.
7. Sleep with a friend's lover.
8. Like asparagus.
9. Pierce my nose.
10. Own a cow.
11. Program in C++.
12. Name my child "Bertha," or "Jim Bob."
13. Mock someone for being gay.
14. Knowingly eat bull penis.
15. Become a famous singer.
16. Perform on Broadway, for that matter.
17. Dislike Saved!
18. Enjoy wearing heals.
19. Donate a kidney.
20. Become a carpenter.
21. Become a professional athlete.
22. Kill and eat my dog.
23. Have the last name, "Smith."
24. Run a marathon.
25. Get breast implants.
26. Own a $10+ million dollar home.
27. Watch "The Human Centipede."
28. Own a closet of cashmere sweaters.
29. Enjoy country music.
30. Make a rubber band.
31. Star in a porno.
32. Own a ferrari.
33. Meet Heath Ledger.
34. Compose something as great as Shakespeare.
35. Weigh 300lbs.
36. Have a sex change.
37. Be a member of the KKK.
38. Become a vegan by choice.
39. Pose as someone else for their job.
40. Rebuild a telephone from scratch.
41. Dye my hair gray.
42. Piece my nipples.
43. Write a book in another language.
44. Like The 5th Element.
45. Take a calculus class.
46. Be comfortable eating red peppers.
47. Become a chemist.
48. Enjoy running.
49. Call in a Hit for my spouse, whether past or present.
50. Play the tuba.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
To Mrs. Powell
It has been about 13 years since I last saw you, when I left your 5th grade class and made my way to middle school. Please note that I did not preface this letter with "dear" as one commonly would. I didn't think it suitable as the term suggests endearment in some way.
I'm writing to you at the age of 23 (shy of 24 by just a few weeks) to notify you of the fact that while I am still around as you might have expected, I'm not in prison, working as a stripper, a parent with a baby-daddy, or any other stereotype you likely envisioned while you had unexplained distaste for me at the age of 10. I am actually doing fairly well; I graduated high school with highest honors, attended university and achieved a degree in English, and have been working administrative executive jobs since my graduation.
While I don't really desire to go into much more detail than the basics, I at least wanted to ensure you of the fact that a) I am NOT a pathological liar as you described me to my own mother, b) I was a perfectly happy, normal, intelligent 10 year old when you knew me, and your class was essentially the only one where I ever "got into trouble." I never once received detention in middle school, kept a 3.0 in college, never drank or did drugs and have since kept my nose clean as an adult. I have never even been pulled over once by the police or received a traffic ticket (just a parking ticket once).
In short, I WAS A GOOD KID, and everything else was made up in your head about whatever it was you thought I was doing, conspiring to, or otherwise being devilish in some way. When you told everyone to write you a letter as to a good reason as to why we wanted to change our seats (because you were just too damn lazy to come up with another seating chart for the rest of the year), I was being 100% legitimate when I said I wanted to move to the middle table so I could be closer to the board and actually hear what you had to say, rather than your explanation of me wanting to sit closer to my best friend (why the HELL wouldn't you just move ALL of us then?!). Oh, and thanks to you, I still and forever will dislike math and question my ability in it. The 0% homework assignments you gave me for attempting each problem but making the same mistake on each one I also found quite unacceptable, as was the practice of not allowing me to retry them, saying "only one copy per student."
Here's hopes that you have found your calling in perhaps another field, where you don't taint others, especially children (or their parents) into believing they are psychopathic monsters when you are actually just a very lazy teacher who would rather blame a child's failure on their own "inability" rather then your own lack of solid teaching.
Thanks again for making 5th grade a nightmare!
Sincerely,
Jenny
I'm writing to you at the age of 23 (shy of 24 by just a few weeks) to notify you of the fact that while I am still around as you might have expected, I'm not in prison, working as a stripper, a parent with a baby-daddy, or any other stereotype you likely envisioned while you had unexplained distaste for me at the age of 10. I am actually doing fairly well; I graduated high school with highest honors, attended university and achieved a degree in English, and have been working administrative executive jobs since my graduation.
While I don't really desire to go into much more detail than the basics, I at least wanted to ensure you of the fact that a) I am NOT a pathological liar as you described me to my own mother, b) I was a perfectly happy, normal, intelligent 10 year old when you knew me, and your class was essentially the only one where I ever "got into trouble." I never once received detention in middle school, kept a 3.0 in college, never drank or did drugs and have since kept my nose clean as an adult. I have never even been pulled over once by the police or received a traffic ticket (just a parking ticket once).
In short, I WAS A GOOD KID, and everything else was made up in your head about whatever it was you thought I was doing, conspiring to, or otherwise being devilish in some way. When you told everyone to write you a letter as to a good reason as to why we wanted to change our seats (because you were just too damn lazy to come up with another seating chart for the rest of the year), I was being 100% legitimate when I said I wanted to move to the middle table so I could be closer to the board and actually hear what you had to say, rather than your explanation of me wanting to sit closer to my best friend (why the HELL wouldn't you just move ALL of us then?!). Oh, and thanks to you, I still and forever will dislike math and question my ability in it. The 0% homework assignments you gave me for attempting each problem but making the same mistake on each one I also found quite unacceptable, as was the practice of not allowing me to retry them, saying "only one copy per student."
Here's hopes that you have found your calling in perhaps another field, where you don't taint others, especially children (or their parents) into believing they are psychopathic monsters when you are actually just a very lazy teacher who would rather blame a child's failure on their own "inability" rather then your own lack of solid teaching.
Thanks again for making 5th grade a nightmare!
Sincerely,
Jenny
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Truth
Seattle had always been one of my favorite places to visit due to the fantastic scenery, complete with mountaintops and ocean views. But along with the picturesque city comes the penalty of very wet weather. It was on one of these damp summer evenings that I took shelter from the rain at the Vessel bar in downtown in hopes of warming up with a slight buzz running through my veins.
The bar had recently been re-done I was told, and had a very modern feel to it. The walls were painted a bright, hip red and black, and the decorations were of a modern taste, accented with metal sheet backdrops and steel-looking bar stools. I took my seat upon one of these, the cool sensation going right through my jeans and giving me a chill. I was promptly greeted by a waiter wearing a fancy black dress-shirt and silver buttoned vest and black tie.
"What can I get you?" He smiled politely. His demeanor was quite proper and made me feel as if I were under-dressed, but I then noticed he didn't have many other patrons to attend to.
"I'll have a Woodchuck, thanks." I flashed him my ID and he nodded before retrieving my drink. He went back to wiping down the counter in an arbitrary manner as if trying to look busy.
I took another look around the near-empty place and decided it probably doesn't fill up until after ten, realizing now that it was only just after 8pm. In fact, I saw only one man a few stools down with short blond hair wearing a striped suit and light blue tie. He also made me feel drastically out of place with my jeans and black Pearl Jam T-shirt, but I figured I'd not be staying long to taint the atmosphere for a prolonged period.
I sipped my cider trying to appear invisible when my presence was compromised by the blond well-dressed man.
"Melanie McCready. Great shirt. It must be you."
I quickly looked around to see who else he might be addressing. "I'm sorry?"
"You look great. So much older than the last time I saw you. I think you were knee-high."
The man scooted closer and slouched to the stool right next to mine. I instantly felt that if he weren't wearing a suit, I'd assume he was homeless, the way he carried himself. "You've certainly got his eyes, that's for sure."
As I returned his gaze, I noticed that his eyes were a piercing blue that almost identically matched his tie, and also were damp with obvious drunkenness. I quickly realized he thought I was someone else and politely tried to explain.
"Oh, I...I'm not..."
"He's a great musician, your dad. Not many people have the talent to both play and recognize good punk rock."
I smiled to be polite, but I still had no idea who he thought he was talking to. 'McCready?' I thought. 'Did he mean the Pearl Jam musician? My shirt must have triggered a memory or something...'
Than man gulped down more of his beer, some of the foam spilling down his chin. While he seemed kind of gruff and matter-a-fact in his speech, he also had an odd delicateness to him that seemed specific, but completely unfitting and unrecognizable in the outfit he was wearing.
"You need be careful with the mainstream music can bring. If you let it, it can eat away your soul, take away your life, fucking bullshit. It's contagious with people who know it and perform it." He smiled and laughed a little in a cynical way. "Or maybe that's just the drugs."
"How do you mean?" I answer, still trying to be polite and uncertain of whether I want to burst his bubble or not about my boring, run-of-the-mill identity. I fidget with the water droplets forming on the outside of my bottle.
"They eat you alive." His blue eyes look right into mine with an expression of sincerity that leaves me speechless. "Sometimes, you go to extreme measures to overcome it. I thought rehab would help, but that wrapped up the media more. And there is no rehab for a love of performing music if that shit is involved. So sometimes, people do even worse things."
I stared as I watched the man ramble, while also feeling like rambling was not a natural state of his. The rest of his body language, while kind of sloppy at the moment, had a reserved feeling to it as he kept his arms tucked in and his coat tightly buttoned. He seemed to recognize this abnormal state of himself and went quiet, staring straight ahead as he took down more of his beer. I wonder how many of them he had today?
"Worse things?" He genuinely had my interest, being so peculiar and obviously so out of himself. It made me feel quite certain he was not normally a drinker. Today must be a special occasion.
He nodded and glanced over at me, as if feeling uncomfortable to say much else. Feeling like he no longer wanted to talk, I pulled my cellphone out from my purse and checked the time, and date: August 18th. 'Huh. I wonder what must be special about that?' I also started to pull out my wallet when the man made an audible smacking noise on my bill that the waiter had brought me when I'd not been looking. My eyes followed the sound to see he'd placed a $5 on my check.
"This is on me. I was never able to buy my little girl one, and never will. I could have been like your old man and kept it together even through the worst shit. Instead I ran away, taking the easy way out. Easier than anyone else could have imagined, invented, or conspired. No one knows. I thought I could go back to the way it was before it started..." He took one last gulp of his drink before wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing up. "...But something's in the way."
As I watched him leave, there was a tragic aura about him that made it clear that wherever he was before, even here at this bar, he was never coming back.
The bar had recently been re-done I was told, and had a very modern feel to it. The walls were painted a bright, hip red and black, and the decorations were of a modern taste, accented with metal sheet backdrops and steel-looking bar stools. I took my seat upon one of these, the cool sensation going right through my jeans and giving me a chill. I was promptly greeted by a waiter wearing a fancy black dress-shirt and silver buttoned vest and black tie.
"What can I get you?" He smiled politely. His demeanor was quite proper and made me feel as if I were under-dressed, but I then noticed he didn't have many other patrons to attend to.
"I'll have a Woodchuck, thanks." I flashed him my ID and he nodded before retrieving my drink. He went back to wiping down the counter in an arbitrary manner as if trying to look busy.
I took another look around the near-empty place and decided it probably doesn't fill up until after ten, realizing now that it was only just after 8pm. In fact, I saw only one man a few stools down with short blond hair wearing a striped suit and light blue tie. He also made me feel drastically out of place with my jeans and black Pearl Jam T-shirt, but I figured I'd not be staying long to taint the atmosphere for a prolonged period.
I sipped my cider trying to appear invisible when my presence was compromised by the blond well-dressed man.
"Melanie McCready. Great shirt. It must be you."
I quickly looked around to see who else he might be addressing. "I'm sorry?"
"You look great. So much older than the last time I saw you. I think you were knee-high."
The man scooted closer and slouched to the stool right next to mine. I instantly felt that if he weren't wearing a suit, I'd assume he was homeless, the way he carried himself. "You've certainly got his eyes, that's for sure."
As I returned his gaze, I noticed that his eyes were a piercing blue that almost identically matched his tie, and also were damp with obvious drunkenness. I quickly realized he thought I was someone else and politely tried to explain.
"Oh, I...I'm not..."
"He's a great musician, your dad. Not many people have the talent to both play and recognize good punk rock."
I smiled to be polite, but I still had no idea who he thought he was talking to. 'McCready?' I thought. 'Did he mean the Pearl Jam musician? My shirt must have triggered a memory or something...'
Than man gulped down more of his beer, some of the foam spilling down his chin. While he seemed kind of gruff and matter-a-fact in his speech, he also had an odd delicateness to him that seemed specific, but completely unfitting and unrecognizable in the outfit he was wearing.
"You need be careful with the mainstream music can bring. If you let it, it can eat away your soul, take away your life, fucking bullshit. It's contagious with people who know it and perform it." He smiled and laughed a little in a cynical way. "Or maybe that's just the drugs."
"How do you mean?" I answer, still trying to be polite and uncertain of whether I want to burst his bubble or not about my boring, run-of-the-mill identity. I fidget with the water droplets forming on the outside of my bottle.
"They eat you alive." His blue eyes look right into mine with an expression of sincerity that leaves me speechless. "Sometimes, you go to extreme measures to overcome it. I thought rehab would help, but that wrapped up the media more. And there is no rehab for a love of performing music if that shit is involved. So sometimes, people do even worse things."
I stared as I watched the man ramble, while also feeling like rambling was not a natural state of his. The rest of his body language, while kind of sloppy at the moment, had a reserved feeling to it as he kept his arms tucked in and his coat tightly buttoned. He seemed to recognize this abnormal state of himself and went quiet, staring straight ahead as he took down more of his beer. I wonder how many of them he had today?
"Worse things?" He genuinely had my interest, being so peculiar and obviously so out of himself. It made me feel quite certain he was not normally a drinker. Today must be a special occasion.
He nodded and glanced over at me, as if feeling uncomfortable to say much else. Feeling like he no longer wanted to talk, I pulled my cellphone out from my purse and checked the time, and date: August 18th. 'Huh. I wonder what must be special about that?' I also started to pull out my wallet when the man made an audible smacking noise on my bill that the waiter had brought me when I'd not been looking. My eyes followed the sound to see he'd placed a $5 on my check.
"This is on me. I was never able to buy my little girl one, and never will. I could have been like your old man and kept it together even through the worst shit. Instead I ran away, taking the easy way out. Easier than anyone else could have imagined, invented, or conspired. No one knows. I thought I could go back to the way it was before it started..." He took one last gulp of his drink before wiping his face with the back of his hand and standing up. "...But something's in the way."
As I watched him leave, there was a tragic aura about him that made it clear that wherever he was before, even here at this bar, he was never coming back.
Friday, July 12, 2013
The Mechanics of a Rainy Day
From the family room, we hear a tapping, steady and recognizable, yet almost unfamiliar. We open up the blinds next to the couch and peer out the window to identify its source. The dark gray clouds in the distance blocking the sun's rays and the small droplets of water confirm out suspicions: it was indeed raining, and hard too. The crystal clear turquoise pool below in the courtyard looks alive with movement, its surface being prattled upon by the fat, insisting beads.
I feel his hand rest over mine, still clenching the blind's drawstring, that gives a little squeeze.
"Let's go listen." He says, a gentle smile warming across his face. I oblige him and take his hand in mine as we make our way to our bedroom just a few yards away.
The sound of the rain pangs even louder on the windows as we enter, as if warning us to keep our distance. We ignore this, of course, but are at least convinced to not go outside or open the sliding glass. The walls, painted a deep blue, correspond with our black accented furniture to reciprocate the mood the weather seems to emulate. The quilt, a bright aqua color with a white Hawaiian flower pattern, appears to resemble the pool we saw out the window and is in contrast to the rest of the dreary scene. Its' skirt is neatly tucked in with white Egyptian cotton sheets. Unlike the pool though, it remains unfettered until I climb on it, creating ripples and waves in the previously calm ocean of flowers. I strip myself of my jeans, drag myself up to the pillow, and use my hand to tear away the fabric aqua pool and bury myself underneath its' now imperfect waves.
He stands in front of the window for a while, tracing the drops with his fingers as they mold into each other and create new, smaller droplets in their wake. His hair, normally a vibrant red looks a dark burgundy in the shallow light emitted by the cloudy sky. He turns around to find me watching him with sleepy eyes and returns my gaze with another soft smile as he sits, lifts the covers, and then stretches out next to me on his back. He lifts up his arm, inviting me to scoot closer and lay my head on his shoulder, to which I immediately take his cue. An audible sigh escapes me as I feel my muscles relax at his warm touch and the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. Likewise, the rain outside quiets and becomes more steady, a combined rhythm that has me in a lull within just a minute or two as my head falls up and down with his chest.
Sometime later, I'm awakened by a hand stroking my hair, and the sound of my name being spoken over and over. I groggily open my eyes to find his looking back at me.
"I'm sorry, I just..." He begins, a half smile comes and goes on his face as he searches for the words. The rain outside still beats, but ever so softly, and the room seems much brighter than it was before, which makes me squint.
"I just wanted to say...I love you."
I smile back at him, lean in to kiss him and close my eyes again.
"I do too."
I feel his hand rest over mine, still clenching the blind's drawstring, that gives a little squeeze.
"Let's go listen." He says, a gentle smile warming across his face. I oblige him and take his hand in mine as we make our way to our bedroom just a few yards away.
The sound of the rain pangs even louder on the windows as we enter, as if warning us to keep our distance. We ignore this, of course, but are at least convinced to not go outside or open the sliding glass. The walls, painted a deep blue, correspond with our black accented furniture to reciprocate the mood the weather seems to emulate. The quilt, a bright aqua color with a white Hawaiian flower pattern, appears to resemble the pool we saw out the window and is in contrast to the rest of the dreary scene. Its' skirt is neatly tucked in with white Egyptian cotton sheets. Unlike the pool though, it remains unfettered until I climb on it, creating ripples and waves in the previously calm ocean of flowers. I strip myself of my jeans, drag myself up to the pillow, and use my hand to tear away the fabric aqua pool and bury myself underneath its' now imperfect waves.
He stands in front of the window for a while, tracing the drops with his fingers as they mold into each other and create new, smaller droplets in their wake. His hair, normally a vibrant red looks a dark burgundy in the shallow light emitted by the cloudy sky. He turns around to find me watching him with sleepy eyes and returns my gaze with another soft smile as he sits, lifts the covers, and then stretches out next to me on his back. He lifts up his arm, inviting me to scoot closer and lay my head on his shoulder, to which I immediately take his cue. An audible sigh escapes me as I feel my muscles relax at his warm touch and the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. Likewise, the rain outside quiets and becomes more steady, a combined rhythm that has me in a lull within just a minute or two as my head falls up and down with his chest.
Sometime later, I'm awakened by a hand stroking my hair, and the sound of my name being spoken over and over. I groggily open my eyes to find his looking back at me.
"I'm sorry, I just..." He begins, a half smile comes and goes on his face as he searches for the words. The rain outside still beats, but ever so softly, and the room seems much brighter than it was before, which makes me squint.
"I just wanted to say...I love you."
I smile back at him, lean in to kiss him and close my eyes again.
"I do too."
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