Humble pie

{good medicine}

Something different

Cats are a lot like royalty.  They’re all about protocol.  If anything deviates from said protocol you’re in trouble.  Today served a fine example…

After spending some quality time in dressing rooms over the weekend, I decided there’s a slight possibility exercising twice a week isn’t quite cutting it.  So I hauled my poor, pitiful self out of bed this morning to exercise.  My cats ambled into the room, took one look, and froze in their tracks.  Now I understand that I’m not exactly the picture of grace when I work out, but this – this was pure and utter terror.  Their eyes were as big as saucers; their ears were back.  They were crouched and ready to bolt at the first sign of attack.  I am, after all, the girl who sits on her butt all day in front of the computer; if I am exercising WHO KNOWS WHAT COULD HAPPEN NEXT!!!

I tried to explain.  “I’m exercising – people do it all the time … ”  It did nothing to squelch their fears.  As a matter of fact, they appeared all the more concerned.  Teenie eyed me all the more suspiciously; Mr. Bean jumped up and sprinted down the hall.

I haven’t seen him since.

Something tells me this may be a bad sign…

Errands schmerrands

circus

There are weeks when it seems all I get done is running this way and that.  This was one such week.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s been a good week – ever so productive.  It’s just been a bit crazy.  Here are a few of the places you could have spotted me this week …

Strength training.  We started Palates this week for strength training.  Now I have a hard time balancing on my own two feet – and they’re wanting me to balance atop a large rubber ball.  Needless to say, I was the only one in the class who could not – for the life of me – alight.  I did, however, get a good calf-workout from the tippy-toe action I had goin’ on.  I’ll keep practicing; after all, it’s always good to add skills.  That way, if my writing gig doesn’t pan out, I can always join the circus.

Car dealership.  Took my car to the dealership for an oil change.  Thankfully they did not ask what happened to my bumper.  No matter how you explain it, it always manages to come out like, “Dude!  I totally drove through a fence … it was AWESOME!”  Of course, I fully intended to take advantage of the time waiting for my car by editing.  I sat to the back of the waiting area … away from the door and the television … pulled out my hard copy, my pen, my highlighter, my wee sticky notes and began mumbling quietly to myself.  It didn’t work.  First, I had to worry about the little fellow who wobbled back to my area and struggled to get up on a chair … all while his father laughed from afar.  Seriously.  The floor was slate; and he was precarious at best.  Luckily, he got bored and moved on.  Mr. Banker Man took his place.  Mr. Banker Man decided to make an all-important-phone call – but he didn’t want to disrupt the group of men watching ESPN, so he casual strolled back and hovered right next to me.  I will never – in a million years – bank where he works.  Not that I’m bitter …

Walgreens.  With Easter being Sunday, I ventured to Walgreens for chocolate and cellophane.  Found the chocolate – could not find the cellophane.  Finally broke down and asked the clerk.  She rolled her eyes and pointed.  There it was,  wedged between the DVDs and cameras.  Oh, right… that’s all I got out before she smirked and said, “Yeah, I’m like Whatever …it’s right there!”  Right, whatever, because I was only looking down the Easter and wrapping isles – places that ACTUALLY MADE SENSE!!!  Aaah, feel that Easter love …

Albertsons.  Coupons in hand, I headed to Albertsons to buy a few groceries.  I had just grabbed a box of kleenex and was heading for the milk, when I heard a cart coming.  Instead of inching out into the isle, or glaring at the person walking in front of me, I decided I would just pretend to be looking at an item to purchase.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed it was a guy who works at Albertsons … see him quite frequently, actually.  It was about that same time I truly paid attention to what I was intently starting at.  I don’t even have to say it, do I?  That’s right.  Trojans.  Pleasure pack or ecstasy?  It’s so hard to choose …

Starbucks.  Met my friend at Starbucks this morning.  We were just getting ready to leave when she exclaims, “Winston!”  Winston, you see, attended High School with us.  Now you must understand, the same pitiful syndrome that assails me when I meet a cute guy, hits me when I see someone from High School.  If you’ve ever seen me in action, you understand this is a grave, grave situation.  So there I sat, concentrating all my energy on my invisibility superpowers.  It would have worked too, had my friend not said, “And here’s Amy!  You remember Amy!”  [whimper]  He shook my hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”  I laughed – that airy laugh reserved for moments of sheer and utter panic.  And it went downhill from there.  Seriously.  I was a mess.  He asked what I was up to and I mumbled, “Writing.”  “What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” “I write … I’m a writer … I’m boring.”  No, my friends, I did not make that up.  I said it.  Out loud.  Twice actually, because he tried again before he left.  It’s like I have this overwhelming need to confirm the worst they could possibly think of me.

Let’s all say it together … good times …

Don’t panic!

I decided to do my part to aid the ailing economy today.  I was chauffeuring my mom to church this morning – happy in my own little world – when I heard her say, “Are you going to stop?!”  This, of course, brought me back down to reality.  But instead of breaking, like a rational human being, I panicked and gunned it.  Right through a fence.

Really, if you think about it, it was rather impressive the efficiency with which I accomplished it all.  In a matter of seconds I managed to fly through the air, over a barrier, through a wooden fence, reverse, pull back into the parking spot, shut off my car, and start crying.

Of course, I had to explain my plight to my friends.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: Who drives their car through a fence? Besides, you know, really old people.

Mom: You.

Kristi: Don’t feel bad, I’m sure a lot of people drive through fences – Francine, you’ve driven through a fence before, right?

Francine: [deer-in-the-headlights-look]

Mom: We’ll take that as a no.

Kristi: Well, it wasn’t your fault, there should be barriers of some sort.

Mom: There is.

Jen: She ran over the barrier.

Kristi:  You did?

Me:  Flew right over the top.

*sigh*

So now a family gets a new portion of fence; a friend will earn some business; the church will get some free writing; and some point down the road the auto body shop will have a new customer (they make cars so cheap nowadays – I mean really, you can’t even even drive through an old rickety fence?! C’MON!).  It’s a win-win really.

But here’s the thing that gets me.  Just this morning I was perusing the paper when I caught sight of a headline regarding a car being driven into a storefront.  I didn’t even read the article; I just thought, “What an idiot!”  Yeah, well who’s the idiot now, my friend? Who’s the idiot now …

I’m a writer

Every Thursday morning, at 7:00 AM, a friend and I meet for coffee.  We’ve become something of regulars, meaning we often hobnob with other regulars. Yesterday, one such regular made a beeline for me.

“Before I leave, there’s just something I’ve got to get off my chest,” he said.

A bit alarming, but okay…

The week before, you see, he mentioned my friend could grace the cover of a magazine. He said nothing of the sort to me. Apparently, the comment haunted him all week; he simply had to make sure he had not crushed my spirit.

Here’s the thing, my friend is always, always, prepared to stand-in for a cover shoot, should the need arise. The week before she had a large red flower in her hair . . . to meet a friend for coffee . . . at 7:00 AM.  She did look as though she could grace the cover of a magazine. I, my friends, did not. Needless to say, the poor gentleman was all a-fret for naught. All the same, my friend decided to help.

Here’s how it went down . . .

Friend: Here’s what you need to know about Amy . . . Amy is a writer.

Me: {nodding solemnly} Yes, I’m practically expected to be frumpy.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: But if only you could read her words . . . her words are beautiful!

Me: My beauty, is my words.

Me & Gentleman: {chuckling amongst ourselves}

Friend: And here’s what you need to know about me: I was raised by two hair dressers; I’ve been in performance my whole life; I understand the importance of aesthetics.

Me & Gentleman: {awkward silence}

But oh the gift this conversation has given me, and every other writer, for that matter. Just think of the possibilities: caught in public without makeup; bad hair day; that weak moment wherein you think you’ll sneak out to get gas in your sweats, only to happen upon the man of your dreams.  No longer do we have to slink off in silence. Oh no, my friends. We can stand up tall, look ’em in the eye and say, I’m a writer . . . and all will be well.

A promise

My mom and I were chatting about horrible movies–specifically the embarrassment of having someone catch you emerging from the theatre of a horrible movie–when she mentioned her blood clot.  Apparently, when we were at the theatre watching Twilight she had this weird pain in her leg.  Being the medical professional that she is, a blood clot came to mind. 

Of course, it wasn’t the idea of having a blood clot or throwing said blood clot that terrified her.  It was the thought of dying in the theatre of Twilight.  People would know.  Not only the people in the theatre, but countless others would see as they carried her lifeless body from the theatre.  Good heavens!  She might even make the news!  And she would be dead!  She couldn’t explain that yes, she was old enough to know better–but she was being a good mother.  Her daughter (who, she might add, is also old enough to know better) insisted they give the movie a go!!! 

The mere thought was the more than she could bare.   

She made me promise, right then and there, if she ever dies, in public, while watching a questionable movie, that I refrain from sobbing, screaming, or otherwise-drawing-attention to myself until I have at least dragged her corpse into in the theatre of a decent movie. 

I promised.  As long as she promised not to do such a wretched thing.  I mean really–a bad movie is traumatizing enough!