I've been indulging in what I thought was a string of bad luck. I've been whining and complaining about this and that. But after taking a step back to look at it all with a little perspective, I've come to realize it's possibly all for the better.
Two weeks ago, I put in my notice and bought myself a plane ticket home. I had decided I wasn't cut out for the live-in gigs, and was thinking that my time as a nanny has come to an end altogether. (The making and breaking of attatchments can be very hard on all involved.) So I started contemplating my new college-career choice - nothing serious or full-time, just something to get me through the next couple of years. I decided I'd like to work with retired old farts. As long as the potential job was something simple and with no regard for medical concerns, my resume would apply and someone out there would, in theory, trustfully hire me to work in their home. Cooking, cleaning, keeping someone company, listening to old war stories, etc... It all sounds like a wonderful way to make an easy living to me!
So I filed through the ads in Craigslist and found a position with potential. I would have to commute across the city, but the remaining details sounded promising. My interview was scheduled and my hopes were high.
However, I got a phone call from my mother yesterday, telling me some teenager had plowed through my parked car, leaving it more-or-less worthless. Its looking like his insurance company will give me $1500, but of course this won't buy me reliable transportation, not like my lovely Chevy Caprice... (sigh) And so I wallowed in my misery and whined about coming home to a cut-throat job hunt without a car to get me going.
Today, I decided I was an overly self-indulgent little twit and needed to think on the bright side. I realized the $1500 will wipe out the remainder of my debt, making half of my need for a job completely disappear. The other main financial concern is paying for school, but I'll be able to soak up financial aid just as soon as I turn 24.
Could it be, that for the first time since I was 15, I don't really need a job???
Suddenly, my positive thoughts are interrupted by a phone call. A woman tells me she lives in my subdivision, just down the street, and is looking for someone to sit with her father on a regular basis. He suffers from mild dementia (gets the kitchen and bedroom switched around occasionally), has poor eyesight, and a broken heart (just lost his wife of 70 years...) and needs someone to hang out with him. The schedule is flexible, potentially part-time or full-time (whichever works best for me), and there's a car in the garage not being used! (She dropeed a mild hint there...)
Picture it: A month from now, I could be debt free, have no concern for gas prices, be able to take a healthy stroll to work, and be able to afford the necessities that come my way. My credit is so good, and only getting better. So if I absolutely need a car in the future, I could get one! Piece of cake.
Now I just have to talk my mother into letting me borrow her car once or twice a week for the social concerns, and then I'm covered!
Life is suddenly spoiling me again. The stars have alligned and the signs have all been in my favor.
Thank God. Or whoever's responsible...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
All Expenses Paid Vacation to the French Countryside...
Bright and early this Thursday morning, a car will be sent for me. It will take me to the non-commercial Teterboro Airport in New Jersey where I will board a small charter plane, Passport in tow. I will then depart for an eight hour flight to France where I will spend four days in the countryside with six new friends. All meals will be prepared for me without the snap button of my wallet ever making a sound and I might even get to look out the windows once in a while.
See, I'll be letting French grad students conduct a clinical research study on my body, testing the effects of an FDA approved drug on jetlag. I'll be restricted to stay between the white walls of their facility, but considering I'll look like an alien with wires attached to every available surface of my body, that's fine by me. I don't think I'd be able to find a handsome French sugar daddy with sensors glued to my cheek bones. Ah... cest la vi...
I'll be debt free by December.
:)
See, I'll be letting French grad students conduct a clinical research study on my body, testing the effects of an FDA approved drug on jetlag. I'll be restricted to stay between the white walls of their facility, but considering I'll look like an alien with wires attached to every available surface of my body, that's fine by me. I don't think I'd be able to find a handsome French sugar daddy with sensors glued to my cheek bones. Ah... cest la vi...
I'll be debt free by December.
:)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Published
It finally happened. I finally got published. It's nothing fancy, nothing to write home about, but its a start. Come Novemeber 1st, I'll have an author's page on a modest online short story publication. It'll include a head shot, a short bio, and my story Holy Ghosts.
I changed up the story up a bit. I was channeling Mark Twain's style and it evolved into more of a fictional story than before. Hope you like it!
Holy Ghosts
Lots of changes have been happening around here lately. I got all sorts of new rules I gotta follow, like taking vitamins in the mornings and counting to a hundred when I brush my teeth. Oh, and instead of watching cartoons on Sunday mornings, I gotta go to church in prissy dresses and ruffle socks with stuffy paten leather shoes. All this started when Dad married Patricia. Grandmother Edna doesn’t seem to like it all that much either. I heard her scolding my dad, telling him that if I’m gonna start attending church now, I should be going to the Pentecostal church with her. She says Patricia’s got no right to be messing with a long family line of faith in the Gospel, whatever that means. Anyway, I guess she got real pushy about it ‘cus my dad finally gave in. He told her she could have me for Saturday night services just as long as I got a good night’s sleep for Patricia’s church the next morning. He told her to leave the spiritual hangovers for when I had a mind of my own. But sure enough, I got caught drooping my head last Sunday morning when the choir was singing and Patricia spanked my leg. It wasn’t like I could help it though. Grandmother Edna and I, we’d had ourselves a long night.
I never knew there was more than one kind of church to go to, but Grandmother Edna said her church was different from Patricia’s church ‘cus of all the dancing. She told me, "Your daddy is really a member of the Pentecostal church, y’know. He got the Holy Ghost when he was just about your age." She got quiet for a minute and then, as if a light bulb went off behind those reading glasses of hers, she perked up. "Did you know her church won’t allow dancing? Those Southern Baptist folks call it a sin. Can you believe that? Dancing - a sin?"
At first, her house smells like fried chicken and vanilla but then all the cat hair makes my nose extra stuffy and I can’t smell anymore. But sometimes I think she uses too much hair spray ‘cus I can smell it on her shoulder pads when she gives me hugs, no matter how stuffy I get. I guess that’s how her hair stays so still. Anyway, she didn’t have any cable cartoons, so I was watching a tape full of Wheel of Fortune recordings when she cooked dinner, and I was sitting real still, just like she told me to, but that show gets boring real quick. So I went to the kitchen, looking for something better to do, I guess, and Grandmother was trying to dodge the grease poppers that get ya after flippin’ a pork chop. I must have laughed louder than I meant to ‘cus she started talking without even turning around to see me standing there. “I got you a beautiful dress from JC Penny’s,” she told me. “It’s upstairs on the guest bed. I had to guess your size, but I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.” She sized me up and kept on flippin’ chops. “After dinner, we’ll get you ready for church. Brother Wallace will absolutely adore you. They’ll all adore you.”
“How come your church is at night time?”
“That’s just our way. Saturday and Sunday nights. I’d like to have you over for both, but your stepmother insists you go to her church on Sundays.” I could tell from that look on her face that she doesn't like Dad's new wife just as much as me. “Your daddy’ll be here early in the morning to pick you up.”
“There any kids in your church?”
“ ’Course. Sister Sandra has a girl about your age. I’ve already called to make sure she can sit with us during the sermon. Her name’s Nicolette.”
“So does that mean Nicolette is my cousin or something?”
“Well not like you think. Sister Sandra isn’t my blood sister. She’s my sister under God. Everyone in the church is family, so that makes Nicolette your sister under God, not your cousin.”
“Can I bring a coloring book?”
“Heavens no. That would be rude.” Grandmother pounded a fist into her big hips and made a funny face at me. “Do they let you do that in Patricia’s church?”
“No ma’am,” I lied.
“Anyway, we do lots of dancing in my church. You’ll see. I’m just glad you’re on the road to salvation. Maybe you’ll get yourself the Holy Ghost tonight. You wanna go to heaven when you die, right?”
Now I’ve been hearing a lot about this heaven place lately and it sure sounds nice. So, of course I told her I wanted to go. I just didn’t understand why you gotta die first...
She smiled at me and asked if I had my bath yet. Before I could answer, she grabbed hold of my arms and pulled my sleeves up to get a good look at my fingernails. “We’ll have to re-wet your hair and put curlers in before dinner,” she said.
Man! She sure likes to tease my hair a lot. She roughed it up ‘till I looked like Orphan Annie. It hurt real bad and I couldn’t think of anything other than the pain. But as she rat my hair in a fluff, I got to thinking about this Holy Ghost guy. I figured he was like Santa and Jesus all rolled up into one or something, but I couldn’t be sure, so I asked. Grandmother let out a gasp, full of hot smoker’s breath that whipped its way around to my nose. “You’ve never heard of the Holy Ghost?” For a split second, she stopped pulling out my red hair by the chunk with her plastic comb and I took the opportunity to reach up for a quick scratch at my scalp. “Well, I suppose your daddy needs a lot of prayer, bless his heart. He should've known better than to raise a child in the dark. But you’re here now, baby girl. The Good Lord has put you here for a reason.”
As she wound my hair up in pink sponge curlers, she said something like, “You know the Good Lord loves you, and he wants to make sure you get in to Heaven. Once you get yourself cleansed by the Holy Spirit, Brother Wallace can baptize you in the church. Then you’ll be saved, baby girl. You’ll be a member of the church just like your daddy and me.”
“Get cleansed?” I asked her. “But I’m cleaner than ever. Patricia makes me take a bath every night.”
She told me Brother Wallace would be there to understand the spirit as it starts to speak through me. She said I gotta talk in some foreign language called Tongues, which sounds like a lot of slobber talk to me and of course I don’t know any foreign languages. I tried scratching between the curlers again, but she swatted my hand away. I told her how I was having a hard enough time with English, that my third grade vocabulary tests weren’t always A’s and B’s, but she just giggled. “You’ll do just fine, baby girl,” she said. I don’t know why she keeps calling me that. I looked in the mirror and sure enough, I was just as big as any nine-year-old. “Now let’s get this dress on. We’re running late.”
The dress made me feel like a real wuss, but Sister Sandra’s daughter, Nicolette, had one on just like it. And there weren’t really any other kids to worry about seeing me in all those ruffles. It was mostly old people. Anyway, Nicolette sat next to me just like Grandmother said. She was good about minding her manners, which is fine and all, but I thought we’d get to play a game or something while the adults listened to the big bald man up front. Instead, she just sat there messing with the tip of her long blonde braid. Once in a while, the bald guy would get all wiggly in that white suit of his, and he’d get so loud that I couldn’t help but stare. Of course I know it’s not polite to stare, but it probably just looked like I was paying attention or something ‘cus my Grandmother didn’t scold me about it. Anyway, Nicolette seemed pretty used to it. She just reached in her sparkly purse to grab a bag full of candy and since she’s my sister now, I figured she should probably share. So, I held my hand out. She passed me a green one. As I started to open up the plastic wrapper, one of the women yelled real loud, like she saw a ghost or something. “Hallelujah!” I looked around for floating fog bubbles. Then another one said, “Amen! Praise Jesus!” I just couldn’t believe how rude they were, shouting out like that while the big bald man was making his speech, and I didn’t see any ghosts to be screaming about. But Brother Wallace kept going like it was nothing. He just got louder and louder until I thought he was gonna have a heart attack. He seemed real mad, but not at the old ladies who tried to interrupt him. I couldn’t tell who he was mad at. People started standing up from the benches and waving their hands in the air, whining and hollering some sort of jibber jabber. They seemed upset too. I looked up at Grandmother and she just kept nodding her head up and down, looking serious as ever.
“The Good Lord is here tonight, Allison,” Grandmother told me. She leaned over me and looked at Nicolette. “You wanna take my granddaughter up to the front?”
Nicolette said “Yes ma’am,” and took my hand.
Suddenly, I got real scared. I looked around for the Good Lord, but I just saw some people getting up to sit behind a bunch of music instruments at the bottom of the stage. Seemed like everyone thought that was a good time to start walking around, even though Brother Wallace was still making his speech. I stood up and followed Nicolette. As we walked in the aisle, a chubby lady jumped in front of us and started crying like a big baby. She threw her arms up in the air and hopped up and down. Then another lady with a long braid like Nicolette’s reached out for the crying woman and helped her walk up to the front.
If it weren’t for the loud music playing, I think everyone in that building would have heard my heart thumping like it’s never thumped before.
Nicolette and I kept on moving towards the front, following right behind the two ladies, and my Grandmother followed too. I figured we’d do some dancing or something, but the ladies kept walking straight up to Brother Wallace. He kept wiggling in that white suit of his, hoopin’ and hollarin’ as loud as he could, but I guess he sensed people looking up at him. He turned to the cry-baby lady and grabbed the top of her head. He started shaking her bun loose! Her hair was getting all messed up, but she didn’t seem to care all that much. She was too busy making a fuss. She was crying so hard that I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. I guessed it was more jibber jabber, but then I realized she was speaking in tongues, like Grandmother was telling me about. Of course I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but it seemed like she was begging Brother Wallace for something. I thought about how Grandmother said he’s supposed to be the only one who understands this stuff, so I wondered why he didn’t just give the lady what she was asking for. A big blob of sweat dropped from that big bald head of his and landed smack dab on the lady’s arm. I don’t know if she could feel it or not, but he didn’t even try to apologize. I looked at Nicolette, hoping she still had her purse with her. I thought the lady could use one of those Jolly Ranchers right about now, but Nicolette looked a little busy. She had her eyes closed tight and she was dancing around a little bit. I guessed she was enjoying the music or something, so I didn’t want to interrupt.
All of a sudden, everyone was standing around us, patting shoulders and singing, hopping around, and some were crying just like the fussy lady. Some of the men were crying too, but they kept to one side of the church while the woman stood on the other.
Nicolette opened her eyes and smiled at me. She grabbed my hand again and asked, “Are you going to get the Holy Ghost tonight?”
“Well I’d try, but I can’t see him,” I told her.
“No silly. You can’t see it. You feel it. Once you step up to Brother Wallace to get prayed for, he’ll lay his hands on you and then you’ll start feelin’ the Holy Ghost. Watch me. I’ll show you.”
The fussy lady must’ve fallen to the floor while I was looking around. She had a bunch of other ladies circled around her, whipping her face with tissues and holding her arms up in the air. Nicolette stepped up to where the fussy lady had been, right under Brother Wallace. She held her arms up and he started shaking her head. Before I could blink, she was going through the same fussy business; crying, jibber-jabber, wiggling all over the place – the works! I looked back at Grandmother. She was crying too. All these big babies were starting to give me a head ache!
Grandmother put her arm around me. She took a few steps forward, dragging me along, and suddenly, there I was, right in front of the head shaker himself! I looked up to see two giant man-paws coming down on me. I was done for. If I wanted to get this over with, I was gonna have to start speakin’ the jibber jabber pretty quick, and I thought maybe I should turn on the water works just be extra sure. So, I raised my arms and out of nowhere, six different pairs of hands were landed on my back. Some were stretching my arms up even higher. I closed my eyes and started thinking about my old puppy Max who died last year. I figured that’d make me cry, but it wasn’t working.
A voice from behind me screamed in my ear something like, “Talk to Him, Sister Maggie! Shuckanamakulotista! Yes, praise Jesus, baby. Talk to Him. Tell him you love him. Hallelujia!” And then another one leaned into my other ear and said, “Let it out, child! Shout to Jesus!” I wasn’t sure if it was their nasty cry-baby breath that did the trick, or if it was all the yelling in my ears, but either way, I just couldn’t help it! All that shaking on my head and all the hollarin’ just about made my heart jump up in my throat and suddenly, I was dropping fat tears out of my eyes like rain from the sky. The second it all started rolling down my cheeks, Brother Wallace went on yelling even louder than before.
“This young soul will be saved tonight!” he said. “Let that mighty river of the Holy Ghost wash over you, sweet child. Yes! Speak the word of the spirit through this young person tonight, God. Let her be a servant unto you. Yes! The Good Lord is here tonight, child. Hallelujah!”
With the floor shaking like it was, I thought maybe the church was starting to break in half. So I had to take a peek around me. I opened one eye, just a bit, and took a look around. I saw Nicolette had fallen to the floor just like that other lady did. She was kicking and waving her arms above her head. She made fists with her hands like she wanted to throw a few punches or something and she kept screaming that slobber talk. When I went back to closing both eyes, I thought about all this Heaven talk I’ve been hearing about. I figured if I went on babbling made-up words real fast, I’d get to see the place with pearly gates and golden floors. Or was it golden gates and pearly floors..? I can’t remember, but I didn’t wanna miss out on all the fun. And I thought maybe this Holy Ghost guy would leave presents under my tree if I put on a big fuss for him. It seemed awful funny, Santa having a ghost for a sidekick... It was kinda like mixing Christmas with Halloween. But I didn’t care, just as long as I’d get to see the North Pole while I’m up there.
Brother Wallace kept on yelling even though it sounded like he needed to clear his throat and the ladies kept huddling around me like a bunch of squawking penguins, screaming in my ears. It wasn’t all that hard to keep crying. I mean, just between us, I was kind of scared. My stomach sure was churning up some butterflies, but I started yelling right along with everybody else. As soon as I told Jesus I loved him, real loud-like, everyone started pulling on my arms even harder, breathing in my ears even faster, getting louder, and Brother Wallace nearly shook the freckles off my face.
Back at school, I’ve got this friend Veronica. She’s from Mexico. She taught me how to roll my tongue real fast so that I could make a funny whistle sound. So, since I didn’t really know what to say to Brother Wallace, I just started rolling my tongue real fast. And I was blubbering like a baby too. A lady started talking that jibber jabber in my ear and so I kind of said some stuff she said, mixed in with my own stuff. “Shalakala Balamana Blah!” I said. I looked around with one eye again, just real quick. I wanted to see if I could find any foggy stuff flying around, but no luck. The folks around me seemed to like my slobber talk just fine. They squealed like a bunch of hyenas when I did it, so I gave them some more. “Shalaka jamania m’biki shiquira bamana!” Then I rolled my tongue again. With all that hoopin’ and hollerin’, you’d think I just kissed a boy or something! I looked around one more time, but still, no foggy ghost guy. I figured maybe he’d come along if I fell to the floor like Nicolette did, like if I flopped around like a fried egg on a skillet or something, and man! All those people in the church loved it! They clapped their hands and hopped up and down real hard. I could feel the floor thumping under me. When I opened both eyes, I saw twenty different faces all grinning at me. My Grandmother was right there too. She was crying even harder now, but she was smiling all the same.
“You did it, baby girl! You got the Holy Ghost!” she told me.
"That's it?!" I whispered.
. . . Looking back, I’m pretty sure there weren’t any ghosts or spirits jumping inside of me, but I was feeling kind of funny that night. Grandmother says I was drunk in the spirit. I asked her if I’d have a hangover in the morning like dad said, but she just kissed my forehead and looked back up at Brother Wallace. He was a little quieter after we all went back to our seats, which was nice. And Nicolette gave me another Jolly Rancher. This time, it was red – my favorite!
I changed up the story up a bit. I was channeling Mark Twain's style and it evolved into more of a fictional story than before. Hope you like it!
Holy Ghosts
Lots of changes have been happening around here lately. I got all sorts of new rules I gotta follow, like taking vitamins in the mornings and counting to a hundred when I brush my teeth. Oh, and instead of watching cartoons on Sunday mornings, I gotta go to church in prissy dresses and ruffle socks with stuffy paten leather shoes. All this started when Dad married Patricia. Grandmother Edna doesn’t seem to like it all that much either. I heard her scolding my dad, telling him that if I’m gonna start attending church now, I should be going to the Pentecostal church with her. She says Patricia’s got no right to be messing with a long family line of faith in the Gospel, whatever that means. Anyway, I guess she got real pushy about it ‘cus my dad finally gave in. He told her she could have me for Saturday night services just as long as I got a good night’s sleep for Patricia’s church the next morning. He told her to leave the spiritual hangovers for when I had a mind of my own. But sure enough, I got caught drooping my head last Sunday morning when the choir was singing and Patricia spanked my leg. It wasn’t like I could help it though. Grandmother Edna and I, we’d had ourselves a long night.
I never knew there was more than one kind of church to go to, but Grandmother Edna said her church was different from Patricia’s church ‘cus of all the dancing. She told me, "Your daddy is really a member of the Pentecostal church, y’know. He got the Holy Ghost when he was just about your age." She got quiet for a minute and then, as if a light bulb went off behind those reading glasses of hers, she perked up. "Did you know her church won’t allow dancing? Those Southern Baptist folks call it a sin. Can you believe that? Dancing - a sin?"
At first, her house smells like fried chicken and vanilla but then all the cat hair makes my nose extra stuffy and I can’t smell anymore. But sometimes I think she uses too much hair spray ‘cus I can smell it on her shoulder pads when she gives me hugs, no matter how stuffy I get. I guess that’s how her hair stays so still. Anyway, she didn’t have any cable cartoons, so I was watching a tape full of Wheel of Fortune recordings when she cooked dinner, and I was sitting real still, just like she told me to, but that show gets boring real quick. So I went to the kitchen, looking for something better to do, I guess, and Grandmother was trying to dodge the grease poppers that get ya after flippin’ a pork chop. I must have laughed louder than I meant to ‘cus she started talking without even turning around to see me standing there. “I got you a beautiful dress from JC Penny’s,” she told me. “It’s upstairs on the guest bed. I had to guess your size, but I’m sure it’ll fit just fine.” She sized me up and kept on flippin’ chops. “After dinner, we’ll get you ready for church. Brother Wallace will absolutely adore you. They’ll all adore you.”
“How come your church is at night time?”
“That’s just our way. Saturday and Sunday nights. I’d like to have you over for both, but your stepmother insists you go to her church on Sundays.” I could tell from that look on her face that she doesn't like Dad's new wife just as much as me. “Your daddy’ll be here early in the morning to pick you up.”
“There any kids in your church?”
“ ’Course. Sister Sandra has a girl about your age. I’ve already called to make sure she can sit with us during the sermon. Her name’s Nicolette.”
“So does that mean Nicolette is my cousin or something?”
“Well not like you think. Sister Sandra isn’t my blood sister. She’s my sister under God. Everyone in the church is family, so that makes Nicolette your sister under God, not your cousin.”
“Can I bring a coloring book?”
“Heavens no. That would be rude.” Grandmother pounded a fist into her big hips and made a funny face at me. “Do they let you do that in Patricia’s church?”
“No ma’am,” I lied.
“Anyway, we do lots of dancing in my church. You’ll see. I’m just glad you’re on the road to salvation. Maybe you’ll get yourself the Holy Ghost tonight. You wanna go to heaven when you die, right?”
Now I’ve been hearing a lot about this heaven place lately and it sure sounds nice. So, of course I told her I wanted to go. I just didn’t understand why you gotta die first...
She smiled at me and asked if I had my bath yet. Before I could answer, she grabbed hold of my arms and pulled my sleeves up to get a good look at my fingernails. “We’ll have to re-wet your hair and put curlers in before dinner,” she said.
Man! She sure likes to tease my hair a lot. She roughed it up ‘till I looked like Orphan Annie. It hurt real bad and I couldn’t think of anything other than the pain. But as she rat my hair in a fluff, I got to thinking about this Holy Ghost guy. I figured he was like Santa and Jesus all rolled up into one or something, but I couldn’t be sure, so I asked. Grandmother let out a gasp, full of hot smoker’s breath that whipped its way around to my nose. “You’ve never heard of the Holy Ghost?” For a split second, she stopped pulling out my red hair by the chunk with her plastic comb and I took the opportunity to reach up for a quick scratch at my scalp. “Well, I suppose your daddy needs a lot of prayer, bless his heart. He should've known better than to raise a child in the dark. But you’re here now, baby girl. The Good Lord has put you here for a reason.”
As she wound my hair up in pink sponge curlers, she said something like, “You know the Good Lord loves you, and he wants to make sure you get in to Heaven. Once you get yourself cleansed by the Holy Spirit, Brother Wallace can baptize you in the church. Then you’ll be saved, baby girl. You’ll be a member of the church just like your daddy and me.”
“Get cleansed?” I asked her. “But I’m cleaner than ever. Patricia makes me take a bath every night.”
She told me Brother Wallace would be there to understand the spirit as it starts to speak through me. She said I gotta talk in some foreign language called Tongues, which sounds like a lot of slobber talk to me and of course I don’t know any foreign languages. I tried scratching between the curlers again, but she swatted my hand away. I told her how I was having a hard enough time with English, that my third grade vocabulary tests weren’t always A’s and B’s, but she just giggled. “You’ll do just fine, baby girl,” she said. I don’t know why she keeps calling me that. I looked in the mirror and sure enough, I was just as big as any nine-year-old. “Now let’s get this dress on. We’re running late.”
The dress made me feel like a real wuss, but Sister Sandra’s daughter, Nicolette, had one on just like it. And there weren’t really any other kids to worry about seeing me in all those ruffles. It was mostly old people. Anyway, Nicolette sat next to me just like Grandmother said. She was good about minding her manners, which is fine and all, but I thought we’d get to play a game or something while the adults listened to the big bald man up front. Instead, she just sat there messing with the tip of her long blonde braid. Once in a while, the bald guy would get all wiggly in that white suit of his, and he’d get so loud that I couldn’t help but stare. Of course I know it’s not polite to stare, but it probably just looked like I was paying attention or something ‘cus my Grandmother didn’t scold me about it. Anyway, Nicolette seemed pretty used to it. She just reached in her sparkly purse to grab a bag full of candy and since she’s my sister now, I figured she should probably share. So, I held my hand out. She passed me a green one. As I started to open up the plastic wrapper, one of the women yelled real loud, like she saw a ghost or something. “Hallelujah!” I looked around for floating fog bubbles. Then another one said, “Amen! Praise Jesus!” I just couldn’t believe how rude they were, shouting out like that while the big bald man was making his speech, and I didn’t see any ghosts to be screaming about. But Brother Wallace kept going like it was nothing. He just got louder and louder until I thought he was gonna have a heart attack. He seemed real mad, but not at the old ladies who tried to interrupt him. I couldn’t tell who he was mad at. People started standing up from the benches and waving their hands in the air, whining and hollering some sort of jibber jabber. They seemed upset too. I looked up at Grandmother and she just kept nodding her head up and down, looking serious as ever.
“The Good Lord is here tonight, Allison,” Grandmother told me. She leaned over me and looked at Nicolette. “You wanna take my granddaughter up to the front?”
Nicolette said “Yes ma’am,” and took my hand.
Suddenly, I got real scared. I looked around for the Good Lord, but I just saw some people getting up to sit behind a bunch of music instruments at the bottom of the stage. Seemed like everyone thought that was a good time to start walking around, even though Brother Wallace was still making his speech. I stood up and followed Nicolette. As we walked in the aisle, a chubby lady jumped in front of us and started crying like a big baby. She threw her arms up in the air and hopped up and down. Then another lady with a long braid like Nicolette’s reached out for the crying woman and helped her walk up to the front.
If it weren’t for the loud music playing, I think everyone in that building would have heard my heart thumping like it’s never thumped before.
Nicolette and I kept on moving towards the front, following right behind the two ladies, and my Grandmother followed too. I figured we’d do some dancing or something, but the ladies kept walking straight up to Brother Wallace. He kept wiggling in that white suit of his, hoopin’ and hollarin’ as loud as he could, but I guess he sensed people looking up at him. He turned to the cry-baby lady and grabbed the top of her head. He started shaking her bun loose! Her hair was getting all messed up, but she didn’t seem to care all that much. She was too busy making a fuss. She was crying so hard that I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. I guessed it was more jibber jabber, but then I realized she was speaking in tongues, like Grandmother was telling me about. Of course I couldn’t understand what she was saying, but it seemed like she was begging Brother Wallace for something. I thought about how Grandmother said he’s supposed to be the only one who understands this stuff, so I wondered why he didn’t just give the lady what she was asking for. A big blob of sweat dropped from that big bald head of his and landed smack dab on the lady’s arm. I don’t know if she could feel it or not, but he didn’t even try to apologize. I looked at Nicolette, hoping she still had her purse with her. I thought the lady could use one of those Jolly Ranchers right about now, but Nicolette looked a little busy. She had her eyes closed tight and she was dancing around a little bit. I guessed she was enjoying the music or something, so I didn’t want to interrupt.
All of a sudden, everyone was standing around us, patting shoulders and singing, hopping around, and some were crying just like the fussy lady. Some of the men were crying too, but they kept to one side of the church while the woman stood on the other.
Nicolette opened her eyes and smiled at me. She grabbed my hand again and asked, “Are you going to get the Holy Ghost tonight?”
“Well I’d try, but I can’t see him,” I told her.
“No silly. You can’t see it. You feel it. Once you step up to Brother Wallace to get prayed for, he’ll lay his hands on you and then you’ll start feelin’ the Holy Ghost. Watch me. I’ll show you.”
The fussy lady must’ve fallen to the floor while I was looking around. She had a bunch of other ladies circled around her, whipping her face with tissues and holding her arms up in the air. Nicolette stepped up to where the fussy lady had been, right under Brother Wallace. She held her arms up and he started shaking her head. Before I could blink, she was going through the same fussy business; crying, jibber-jabber, wiggling all over the place – the works! I looked back at Grandmother. She was crying too. All these big babies were starting to give me a head ache!
Grandmother put her arm around me. She took a few steps forward, dragging me along, and suddenly, there I was, right in front of the head shaker himself! I looked up to see two giant man-paws coming down on me. I was done for. If I wanted to get this over with, I was gonna have to start speakin’ the jibber jabber pretty quick, and I thought maybe I should turn on the water works just be extra sure. So, I raised my arms and out of nowhere, six different pairs of hands were landed on my back. Some were stretching my arms up even higher. I closed my eyes and started thinking about my old puppy Max who died last year. I figured that’d make me cry, but it wasn’t working.
A voice from behind me screamed in my ear something like, “Talk to Him, Sister Maggie! Shuckanamakulotista! Yes, praise Jesus, baby. Talk to Him. Tell him you love him. Hallelujia!” And then another one leaned into my other ear and said, “Let it out, child! Shout to Jesus!” I wasn’t sure if it was their nasty cry-baby breath that did the trick, or if it was all the yelling in my ears, but either way, I just couldn’t help it! All that shaking on my head and all the hollarin’ just about made my heart jump up in my throat and suddenly, I was dropping fat tears out of my eyes like rain from the sky. The second it all started rolling down my cheeks, Brother Wallace went on yelling even louder than before.
“This young soul will be saved tonight!” he said. “Let that mighty river of the Holy Ghost wash over you, sweet child. Yes! Speak the word of the spirit through this young person tonight, God. Let her be a servant unto you. Yes! The Good Lord is here tonight, child. Hallelujah!”
With the floor shaking like it was, I thought maybe the church was starting to break in half. So I had to take a peek around me. I opened one eye, just a bit, and took a look around. I saw Nicolette had fallen to the floor just like that other lady did. She was kicking and waving her arms above her head. She made fists with her hands like she wanted to throw a few punches or something and she kept screaming that slobber talk. When I went back to closing both eyes, I thought about all this Heaven talk I’ve been hearing about. I figured if I went on babbling made-up words real fast, I’d get to see the place with pearly gates and golden floors. Or was it golden gates and pearly floors..? I can’t remember, but I didn’t wanna miss out on all the fun. And I thought maybe this Holy Ghost guy would leave presents under my tree if I put on a big fuss for him. It seemed awful funny, Santa having a ghost for a sidekick... It was kinda like mixing Christmas with Halloween. But I didn’t care, just as long as I’d get to see the North Pole while I’m up there.
Brother Wallace kept on yelling even though it sounded like he needed to clear his throat and the ladies kept huddling around me like a bunch of squawking penguins, screaming in my ears. It wasn’t all that hard to keep crying. I mean, just between us, I was kind of scared. My stomach sure was churning up some butterflies, but I started yelling right along with everybody else. As soon as I told Jesus I loved him, real loud-like, everyone started pulling on my arms even harder, breathing in my ears even faster, getting louder, and Brother Wallace nearly shook the freckles off my face.
Back at school, I’ve got this friend Veronica. She’s from Mexico. She taught me how to roll my tongue real fast so that I could make a funny whistle sound. So, since I didn’t really know what to say to Brother Wallace, I just started rolling my tongue real fast. And I was blubbering like a baby too. A lady started talking that jibber jabber in my ear and so I kind of said some stuff she said, mixed in with my own stuff. “Shalakala Balamana Blah!” I said. I looked around with one eye again, just real quick. I wanted to see if I could find any foggy stuff flying around, but no luck. The folks around me seemed to like my slobber talk just fine. They squealed like a bunch of hyenas when I did it, so I gave them some more. “Shalaka jamania m’biki shiquira bamana!” Then I rolled my tongue again. With all that hoopin’ and hollerin’, you’d think I just kissed a boy or something! I looked around one more time, but still, no foggy ghost guy. I figured maybe he’d come along if I fell to the floor like Nicolette did, like if I flopped around like a fried egg on a skillet or something, and man! All those people in the church loved it! They clapped their hands and hopped up and down real hard. I could feel the floor thumping under me. When I opened both eyes, I saw twenty different faces all grinning at me. My Grandmother was right there too. She was crying even harder now, but she was smiling all the same.
“You did it, baby girl! You got the Holy Ghost!” she told me.
"That's it?!" I whispered.
. . . Looking back, I’m pretty sure there weren’t any ghosts or spirits jumping inside of me, but I was feeling kind of funny that night. Grandmother says I was drunk in the spirit. I asked her if I’d have a hangover in the morning like dad said, but she just kissed my forehead and looked back up at Brother Wallace. He was a little quieter after we all went back to our seats, which was nice. And Nicolette gave me another Jolly Rancher. This time, it was red – my favorite!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Neither Here Nor There...
The way I see it, we don't have a recent history of politically conscious intellectuals taking the majority at the polls. The majority seem to consist of "Joe Six-Packs" and "Hockey Moms" (i.e. people voting for the down-to-earth, less articulate candidates). Perhaps the majority find it more crutial to identify with the runner, as opposed to make a note of the runners education, experience, relative knowledge, etc. Fair enough. But with this Palin business, I'm more worried than ever. As we have all speculated, she’s only a "heart beat away" and all that jazz. However, Karl Rove (whoever that is? - I'll admit, I'm no more educated than Palin...) projects 273 electoral votes for Obama, says Yahoo.com. As far as I understand, the politically educated are behind these electoral votes, assuming we voted in the right Reps... So that leads me to believe our electoral college might just save us from impending doom this time around. It would blow my mind if any of them felt McCain and Palin were worth the risk.
With that said, I have started praying again for the first time in ten years...
On another note, New York is showing promise of a beautiful season. I'm looking forward to my first fall in the Northeast. Once a week, I fall in love with this city for a day, leaving mild resentment and homesickness, dreams of the Pacific Northwest, toleration, and/or boredom for the remaining six days. Today is my day to fall in love again. It has been nothing more than a day spent with myself, consisting of laundry, toiletry shopping, and preparation for next weeks workshop while lounging in a coffee house. Nevertheless, I have decided for today, I'm happy here. On the other six days a week, I contemplate moving home come mid-December and going back to school. On the rare occasion much like today when I am pink in the cheeks and all smiles, I contemplate online courses and another six months here with the nanny family.
It's all up in the air; politics and personal plans alike. It will be an interesting season indeed!
With that said, I have started praying again for the first time in ten years...
On another note, New York is showing promise of a beautiful season. I'm looking forward to my first fall in the Northeast. Once a week, I fall in love with this city for a day, leaving mild resentment and homesickness, dreams of the Pacific Northwest, toleration, and/or boredom for the remaining six days. Today is my day to fall in love again. It has been nothing more than a day spent with myself, consisting of laundry, toiletry shopping, and preparation for next weeks workshop while lounging in a coffee house. Nevertheless, I have decided for today, I'm happy here. On the other six days a week, I contemplate moving home come mid-December and going back to school. On the rare occasion much like today when I am pink in the cheeks and all smiles, I contemplate online courses and another six months here with the nanny family.
It's all up in the air; politics and personal plans alike. It will be an interesting season indeed!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Privileged
Privileged is a new show on basic cable about a quirky redhead named Megan. She's a writer who moves in with the rich to tutor two girls.
Seriously.
Seriously.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Writing Workshop (...with wine!)
I truly meant to make the six copies of my short story during the weekend. I had every intention of being prepared two days in advance. Regardless, my efforts began shortly before 5:30pm leaving me ninety minutes before the workshop begins with or without me. I scrambled to find my old flash drive, loaded it with the essential, hopped on my bike, and darted for Staples. Two blocks later, I crossed a busy avenue during rush hour and it seems sensible to travel via sidewalk. Unfortunately, an older woman with two bag fulls of groceries got in my way. Damn pedestrians and their sidewalks. Didn't their mommas teach them to share? And what about watching for traffic? I distinctly remember screaming WATCH OUT before running over her with my 10-speed. Consequentially, I flew over my handlebars. The momentum sent me to the pavement and two somersaults later, I'm lying there worried about a skinned elbow - moaning and groaning like the big baby that I am. I heard the woman scramble to my side and ask if I was alright. Considering I have just busted every single one of her fresh eggs, I'm thinking she's a saint for even showing me the slightest bit of concern. Damn pedestiran . . . Now she's gone and made me feel guilty. I leapt to my feet and apologized sincerely three times, maybe four, lunged for the over-turned sack of groceries, and returned the question. "Are you ok?!" Damn pedestrian . . . She hugged me.
With a mild burning sensation coming from my left knee, I stood in line at Staples. Two heads in front of me, a heavy Brooklyn accent scolded the clerk I so desperately needed to see and with the large clock on the wall, I was all too aware of time. 5:47! Sure, the subway directory webiste said it would only take thirty-six minutes to get there, but that doesn't include the time it will take me to recover from getting lost! And I still haven't even made the copies of my story, thanks to the lady in large gold hoop earrings and her loud accent.
At 5:57, I shoved the stapled manuscripts into an unagreeable heap at the bottom of my purse, hopped back on the barely-functioning bicycle, and pedaled hard for the train station.
Having never been to Cobble Hill before, I knew it would happen. As I wound in and out of neighborhoods, I patted myself on the back for leaving extra early. I was lost, as anticipated. Nevertheless, I was the first to arrive - fifteen minutes early. The conductor, Rachel, sat near the front window amoung five empty chairs and greeted me as I came in. I found her to be surprisingly young and attractive, which may have been a contributing factor to our quick ability to get lost in conversation. As a twenty-something young female, she was relatable, which was easy to appreciate.
Three more females showed up - all in their twenties. But don't worry. The lack of diversity turned out to be a good thing as we found ourselves very comfortable with each other in no time at all. At the end, after two glasses of wine each, one of the writers suggested continuing the night with a slumber party, which sent us all into giggles.
Rachel had us do two writing exercises. The first exercise was to spend 20 minutes writing about two every-day people (any people) sharing a meal together (a life changing meal). Where are they? What's the discussion? What are they eating? And what's the risk? All questions needed to be answered.
This is what poured out of me:
The two-top seemed an unlikely setting for Thurston to meet his father. It was placed on a small patio along a barron city sidewalk with nothing more than a ketchup bottle and one salt shaker to offer the guests. No pepper. Perhaps the beads of sweat on his furrowed brow would have been less noticable if there were more pedestrians crowding the atmosphere, customers dining at dusk, or pesky servers pushing for an order in hopes of moving their mundane workshift along. Alas, ("Alas"??? I'm not sure what I was thinking with that word) the burger joint was slow causing Thurstron's resentment to boil. How could he be late? How can a man go through such great lengths to contact his son, a son left to the wolves as a defensless infant, only to leave him high and dry yet again?
A drop of water fell from the awning where rain had gathered only hours before and landed on Thurston's fidgetting hand. A voice reeking of emphazima growled from behind the young man, "Hello." Thurston turned to face the surprisingly short man.
"Hi. I almost ordered for you," Thurston quickly began, "but the waiter hasn't been around. They've got good burgers here. I figure everyone likes a good burger, yeah? They've got one with feta cheese that's alright, if you like feta."
Thurston's obvious nervous babble placed a warm smile on his estranged father's face, "I'm not all that hungry." He lit a cigarette, took a seat in front of Thurston, and continued to smile as he looked into his child's eyes for the first time in twenty-six years.
"So how come you wanna do this? Why now?"
"Good. I'm not looking to shoot the shit either, small-talk and all that... I'll go ahead and spell it out for you, my boy--"
"My boy?"
"My name, as you know, is Lou. It sure is nice to finally meet you. You see, I'm not looking for money, but I'm not no dying rich man looking to send an inheritance your way either. I'm not looking to say I'm sorry. I don't really feel all that guilty. If you wanna hate someone, hate your momma. I'm not looking for a young buddy, to feed off your youth... See now, I'm just a big fan! And I hear you and your Sonic Youth buddies are looking for a drummer. And it just so happens I've got a kit back home in the garage."
One girl wrote about a woman leaving her husband after twenty-some-odd years of marriage, another wrote about a clingy mother and her sympathtic boy, and the third wrote about a woman and her teenaged daughter at the clinic awaiting the results from a pregnancy test. The last line revealed the mother's name was Sarah Palin. We all rolled with laughter.
Our next exercise was to express an emotion using one of the characters from the previous exercise using a beach as the setting. The catch was... we weren't allowed to use the word or any of its synonyms. We were each handed a word in private and after reading our paragraphs allowed, the others would try to guess the emotion we attempted to express.
I wrote:
Lou stabbed one bare ingrown toe into the loose sand and crossed his meaty arms. His basset hound cheeks were sagging even more than usual following the underturned corners of his mouth. As his beer belly grew tense from the fit of nerves inside, a bit of flatulence escaped from the sagging Levi's and floated up to his slumped shoulders. The Budweiser mixed with his churning gut created a moist scent even he turned his nose up at, but the ocean breeze quickly swept it away, leaving Lou alone with the bitter taste of rejection between his grinding teeth.
(I'll tell you the word I was given at the end of this post.)
We handed each other the copies of our short stories, the stories we all hope will evolve into published pieces shortly after the conclusion of this workshop. Over the next week, we'll read each story and include our thoughts in red ink along the way. Next week, we'll share. We finished our last sips of wine and walked with each other to the train. Upon saying our goodbyes, I hustled home to relieve my employers for a date night while thinking fondly of my first experience with a New York writing workshop. However, I watched closely for the little old ladies.
(My word: distraught)
With a mild burning sensation coming from my left knee, I stood in line at Staples. Two heads in front of me, a heavy Brooklyn accent scolded the clerk I so desperately needed to see and with the large clock on the wall, I was all too aware of time. 5:47! Sure, the subway directory webiste said it would only take thirty-six minutes to get there, but that doesn't include the time it will take me to recover from getting lost! And I still haven't even made the copies of my story, thanks to the lady in large gold hoop earrings and her loud accent.
At 5:57, I shoved the stapled manuscripts into an unagreeable heap at the bottom of my purse, hopped back on the barely-functioning bicycle, and pedaled hard for the train station.
Having never been to Cobble Hill before, I knew it would happen. As I wound in and out of neighborhoods, I patted myself on the back for leaving extra early. I was lost, as anticipated. Nevertheless, I was the first to arrive - fifteen minutes early. The conductor, Rachel, sat near the front window amoung five empty chairs and greeted me as I came in. I found her to be surprisingly young and attractive, which may have been a contributing factor to our quick ability to get lost in conversation. As a twenty-something young female, she was relatable, which was easy to appreciate.
Three more females showed up - all in their twenties. But don't worry. The lack of diversity turned out to be a good thing as we found ourselves very comfortable with each other in no time at all. At the end, after two glasses of wine each, one of the writers suggested continuing the night with a slumber party, which sent us all into giggles.
Rachel had us do two writing exercises. The first exercise was to spend 20 minutes writing about two every-day people (any people) sharing a meal together (a life changing meal). Where are they? What's the discussion? What are they eating? And what's the risk? All questions needed to be answered.
This is what poured out of me:
The two-top seemed an unlikely setting for Thurston to meet his father. It was placed on a small patio along a barron city sidewalk with nothing more than a ketchup bottle and one salt shaker to offer the guests. No pepper. Perhaps the beads of sweat on his furrowed brow would have been less noticable if there were more pedestrians crowding the atmosphere, customers dining at dusk, or pesky servers pushing for an order in hopes of moving their mundane workshift along. Alas, ("Alas"??? I'm not sure what I was thinking with that word) the burger joint was slow causing Thurstron's resentment to boil. How could he be late? How can a man go through such great lengths to contact his son, a son left to the wolves as a defensless infant, only to leave him high and dry yet again?
A drop of water fell from the awning where rain had gathered only hours before and landed on Thurston's fidgetting hand. A voice reeking of emphazima growled from behind the young man, "Hello." Thurston turned to face the surprisingly short man.
"Hi. I almost ordered for you," Thurston quickly began, "but the waiter hasn't been around. They've got good burgers here. I figure everyone likes a good burger, yeah? They've got one with feta cheese that's alright, if you like feta."
Thurston's obvious nervous babble placed a warm smile on his estranged father's face, "I'm not all that hungry." He lit a cigarette, took a seat in front of Thurston, and continued to smile as he looked into his child's eyes for the first time in twenty-six years.
"So how come you wanna do this? Why now?"
"Good. I'm not looking to shoot the shit either, small-talk and all that... I'll go ahead and spell it out for you, my boy--"
"My boy?"
"My name, as you know, is Lou. It sure is nice to finally meet you. You see, I'm not looking for money, but I'm not no dying rich man looking to send an inheritance your way either. I'm not looking to say I'm sorry. I don't really feel all that guilty. If you wanna hate someone, hate your momma. I'm not looking for a young buddy, to feed off your youth... See now, I'm just a big fan! And I hear you and your Sonic Youth buddies are looking for a drummer. And it just so happens I've got a kit back home in the garage."
One girl wrote about a woman leaving her husband after twenty-some-odd years of marriage, another wrote about a clingy mother and her sympathtic boy, and the third wrote about a woman and her teenaged daughter at the clinic awaiting the results from a pregnancy test. The last line revealed the mother's name was Sarah Palin. We all rolled with laughter.
Our next exercise was to express an emotion using one of the characters from the previous exercise using a beach as the setting. The catch was... we weren't allowed to use the word or any of its synonyms. We were each handed a word in private and after reading our paragraphs allowed, the others would try to guess the emotion we attempted to express.
I wrote:
Lou stabbed one bare ingrown toe into the loose sand and crossed his meaty arms. His basset hound cheeks were sagging even more than usual following the underturned corners of his mouth. As his beer belly grew tense from the fit of nerves inside, a bit of flatulence escaped from the sagging Levi's and floated up to his slumped shoulders. The Budweiser mixed with his churning gut created a moist scent even he turned his nose up at, but the ocean breeze quickly swept it away, leaving Lou alone with the bitter taste of rejection between his grinding teeth.
(I'll tell you the word I was given at the end of this post.)
We handed each other the copies of our short stories, the stories we all hope will evolve into published pieces shortly after the conclusion of this workshop. Over the next week, we'll read each story and include our thoughts in red ink along the way. Next week, we'll share. We finished our last sips of wine and walked with each other to the train. Upon saying our goodbyes, I hustled home to relieve my employers for a date night while thinking fondly of my first experience with a New York writing workshop. However, I watched closely for the little old ladies.
(My word: distraught)
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