Tuesday, May 30, 2006
As good as it gets
This past weekend, I shot one of my most important assignments ever. Then I had a party and mixed various groups of friends with family with great success. Fred made a guest appearance and was a pretty big hit in his humiliating-for-him but convenient-for-me kitty belly pack. My dog played nicely with a 3-year-old who caught imaginary puppies (two black and white, two tan and one brown) with a butterfly net for me and my friends from high school. The net also came in handy when a soccer ball got kicked onto an inaccessible spot on the cover of my landlords' empty-since-the-80s swimming pool. I learned HDL can open beer bottles with her teeth. I officially live in sin with a boy who came up with the fantastic idea to carve a watermelon jack-o-lantern. And I got to see one of the best damn Mets games in a long time. :)
Saturday, May 27, 2006
My cat's head smells like terrorists.
I'm writing this from, um, Pest Woint. I'm here for commencement. Bush is the keynote speaker, ergo the security for this is higher than usual, and I all but had to give up a DNA sample to get credntialed. Seriously, my boss could open a charge card in my name with all the info he had to get from me to give the service that is secret. They SO totally checked my FBI file. They had to. Which means they know all about me getting arrested for the self-defense keychain in Heathrow Airport. Hell, they probably saw pictures of it in its evidence bag from the U.S. Embassy.
As I went through everything but a full body cavity search this past week, I couldn't help but think that if that little incident would ever come back to bite me in the ass, it would be now. So.
5:00 a.m. Slap alarm clock snooze button.
5:03 a.m. Snap alarm on cell phone shut.
5:09 a.m. Snooze.
5:11 a.m. Second cell phone alarm.
5:12 a.m. Give up, get out of bed.
5:14 a.m. Catch self sleepily staring into space in bathroom.
5:15 a.m. Catch self staring at tile.
5:16 a.m. Shower.
5:21 a.m. Hop around in towel, trying to find which of three alarms is emitting Piercing Beep of Death and Hate.
5:22 a.m. Hop, shake covers, slap phone.
5:30 a.m. Leave house with all articles of clothing on self correctly.
5:37 a.m. McDonald's drive-thru. Bah-da dut dut dah. I'm lovin' it.
5:38 a.m. Well, I will be lovin' it.
5:40 a.m. Am only car in lane.
5:41 a.m. Surely will take order soon.
5:42 a.m. Success!
5:43 a.m. Waiting for food.
5:45 a.m. Waiting.
5:46 a.m. Need to be at security gate 50 miles away in 74 minutes.
5:47 a.m. Watching drive-thru employees refill sugar packets. Will just wait a moment before catching attention.
5:48 a.m. Will wait 'til 5:50 before saying something. Yes.
5:50 a.m. Chirp: "You know I'm here, right?" Meaning: "Give me my damn coffee before I try to snort any remaining caffeine out of that sticky puddle in the ashtray from yesterday's spill!... Please."
5:51 a.m. Have food! Am getting on highway! Happy!
5:52 a.m. Bah-da-dut- dammit! Sous chef at McDonald's has not included frightening but familar pink meat frisbee in Egg McMuffin that took 10 minutes to make. McMuffin is gooey egg discus with two dry sponges around it.
5:53 a.m. MMmm...Hash brown...
6:00 a.m. Foggy driving.
6:17 a.m. Foggy bridge.
6:35 a.m. Driving.
6:42 a.m. First security gate.
6:44 a.m. Second security gate.
6:45 a.m. Trunk check.
6:46 a.m. Media parking.
6:47 a.m. Credential check.
6:48 a.m. Media shuttle bus! Hurrah!
6:53 a.m. Metal detector. Hop on the "faster" line just for media.
6:55 a.m. In line.
6:56 a.m. Gear taken from me for inspection. Feel as though dropping child off at heavily armed kindergarten for first time. Watch $20,000 taken out of my control.
6:57 a.m. Agent drops a lens belonging to another photographer. (Lens costs more than my car.)
7:00 a.m. German- I mean, Liberty- Shepherd sniffs bag. Could be worse. Could be a Freedom Poodle.
7:01 a.m. Shepherd smells laptop bag and SITS. This is bad. It is bad for any kind of drug-sniffing, bomb-detecting, mold-finding, terrorist-catching animal to sit near your belongings while working. Sitting is its way of telling the nice man with the gun, "I smell pot! Or TNT! Or Al-Quaida! Or TOXIC MOLD! Come here! Come here! Here I sit! Here!
7:02 a.m. Probably a coincidence. Small talk with reporter colleague.
7:03 a.m. Talky Talk.
7:06 a.m. I can see my pink wallet getting the most thorough exam imaginable. I hope the agent bought it dinner first, at least.
7:07 a.m. The agents start pulling individual items from my camera bag. The agent puts on rubber gloves before touching my bottle of hand sanitizer. The irony. My heart is starting to pound, because this is starting to feel like Heathrow Airport. It is 1999, and I am scared, and alone, but thin.
7:08 a.m. Deep breathe. Am not in England. Breathing.
7:09 a.m. The Shepherd sits next to my laptop bag. Again. And one more time. Doom. DOOM!
7:09 and one-fourth of a second a.m.:
Agent- WILL THE INDIVIDUAL WHO BROUGHT THESE ITEMS STEP FORWARD?
Me: "That would be me," I say, smiling my most benign, least terrorist-y smile.
7:11 a.m. A second Shepherd is brought out. And.. he sniffs the now completely empty laptop bag.
7:12 a.m. And.... He sits.
Secret Service Agent: Ma'am, do you own animals?
Me: Yes, I do. My cat sleeps on the laptop bag. See... all the white cat hairs on the Velcro? He likes to rub his head against the velcro.
TV anchor from local affiliate: (takes her lipstick back from different agent) That's hilarious.
Secret Service Agent: (to me) You may reclaim all your belongings, ma'am. The media room is the first door on the right.
So the cat made the bag smell like bombs? I thought he was clever when he accidentally called Microsoft in the middle of the night. Twice. This is totally a new skill set for him. Hail to My Weird Little Cat.
As I went through everything but a full body cavity search this past week, I couldn't help but think that if that little incident would ever come back to bite me in the ass, it would be now. So.
5:00 a.m. Slap alarm clock snooze button.
5:03 a.m. Snap alarm on cell phone shut.
5:09 a.m. Snooze.
5:11 a.m. Second cell phone alarm.
5:12 a.m. Give up, get out of bed.
5:14 a.m. Catch self sleepily staring into space in bathroom.
5:15 a.m. Catch self staring at tile.
5:16 a.m. Shower.
5:21 a.m. Hop around in towel, trying to find which of three alarms is emitting Piercing Beep of Death and Hate.
5:22 a.m. Hop, shake covers, slap phone.
5:30 a.m. Leave house with all articles of clothing on self correctly.
5:37 a.m. McDonald's drive-thru. Bah-da dut dut dah. I'm lovin' it.
5:38 a.m. Well, I will be lovin' it.
5:40 a.m. Am only car in lane.
5:41 a.m. Surely will take order soon.
5:42 a.m. Success!
5:43 a.m. Waiting for food.
5:45 a.m. Waiting.
5:46 a.m. Need to be at security gate 50 miles away in 74 minutes.
5:47 a.m. Watching drive-thru employees refill sugar packets. Will just wait a moment before catching attention.
5:48 a.m. Will wait 'til 5:50 before saying something. Yes.
5:50 a.m. Chirp: "You know I'm here, right?" Meaning: "Give me my damn coffee before I try to snort any remaining caffeine out of that sticky puddle in the ashtray from yesterday's spill!... Please."
5:51 a.m. Have food! Am getting on highway! Happy!
5:52 a.m. Bah-da-dut- dammit! Sous chef at McDonald's has not included frightening but familar pink meat frisbee in Egg McMuffin that took 10 minutes to make. McMuffin is gooey egg discus with two dry sponges around it.
5:53 a.m. MMmm...Hash brown...
6:00 a.m. Foggy driving.
6:17 a.m. Foggy bridge.
6:35 a.m. Driving.
6:42 a.m. First security gate.
6:44 a.m. Second security gate.
6:45 a.m. Trunk check.
6:46 a.m. Media parking.
6:47 a.m. Credential check.
6:48 a.m. Media shuttle bus! Hurrah!
6:53 a.m. Metal detector. Hop on the "faster" line just for media.
6:55 a.m. In line.
6:56 a.m. Gear taken from me for inspection. Feel as though dropping child off at heavily armed kindergarten for first time. Watch $20,000 taken out of my control.
6:57 a.m. Agent drops a lens belonging to another photographer. (Lens costs more than my car.)
7:00 a.m. German- I mean, Liberty- Shepherd sniffs bag. Could be worse. Could be a Freedom Poodle.
7:01 a.m. Shepherd smells laptop bag and SITS. This is bad. It is bad for any kind of drug-sniffing, bomb-detecting, mold-finding, terrorist-catching animal to sit near your belongings while working. Sitting is its way of telling the nice man with the gun, "I smell pot! Or TNT! Or Al-Quaida! Or TOXIC MOLD! Come here! Come here! Here I sit! Here!
7:02 a.m. Probably a coincidence. Small talk with reporter colleague.
7:03 a.m. Talky Talk.
7:06 a.m. I can see my pink wallet getting the most thorough exam imaginable. I hope the agent bought it dinner first, at least.
7:07 a.m. The agents start pulling individual items from my camera bag. The agent puts on rubber gloves before touching my bottle of hand sanitizer. The irony. My heart is starting to pound, because this is starting to feel like Heathrow Airport. It is 1999, and I am scared, and alone, but thin.
7:08 a.m. Deep breathe. Am not in England. Breathing.
7:09 a.m. The Shepherd sits next to my laptop bag. Again. And one more time. Doom. DOOM!
7:09 and one-fourth of a second a.m.:
Agent- WILL THE INDIVIDUAL WHO BROUGHT THESE ITEMS STEP FORWARD?
Me: "That would be me," I say, smiling my most benign, least terrorist-y smile.
7:11 a.m. A second Shepherd is brought out. And.. he sniffs the now completely empty laptop bag.
7:12 a.m. And.... He sits.
Secret Service Agent: Ma'am, do you own animals?
Me: Yes, I do. My cat sleeps on the laptop bag. See... all the white cat hairs on the Velcro? He likes to rub his head against the velcro.
TV anchor from local affiliate: (takes her lipstick back from different agent) That's hilarious.
Secret Service Agent: (to me) You may reclaim all your belongings, ma'am. The media room is the first door on the right.
So the cat made the bag smell like bombs? I thought he was clever when he accidentally called Microsoft in the middle of the night. Twice. This is totally a new skill set for him. Hail to My Weird Little Cat.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Recurring Nightmare Themes
I've always had very vivid dreams and rather creepy, detailed nightmares. Way back in the day, when I first started blogging (cue Conan O'Brien: "in the year 2000..."- actually, I started in 2001, but whatever), we had a group blog of our dreams and nightmares. It was so interesting.
Incidentally, all of Alissa's closest friends are total bitches in her nightmares. It's true. She has, on occasion, dreamed that I, like, screamed at her to hurry up while she was trying to simultaneously change a tire on the side of road and resusitate a kitten or something. I'm making that particular dream scenario up, but we are so *mean* in her subconscious. I'm just saying.
Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. My weird dreams. I dream ALL THE TIME about injured animals. I have this recurring dream where I forget I was supposed to feed, like, an entire barn full of dogs whelping litters of puppies. I remember, like, three days after I was supposed to start caring for them, and I run in and find a bunch of hungry, miserable dogs with newborn puppies in failing health, and IT IS ALL MY FAULT. In every dream, it's almost always just about too late to fix it, but not quite. In last night's dream, there was only one dog, and it gave birth to gerbils. When I didn't show up for two days, the dog hid the baby gerbils in different stalls in the barn, and I could only find two. And of course, the gerbils were in failing health when I got there. I wake up right before I find it if it's okay or not.
The other night I had a really terrible nightmare about a creepy guy hanging around my apartment who hurt Bella. Once again, I showed up right in the nick of time. It was awful.
Overall, it's probably my brain's way of working out anxiety, maybe orrying about responsilibities..? Maybe it's a belated dream about the convict who was living downstairs? I don't know. He's gone now. A middle-aged couple lives there now. They fight a lot, but not loudly. That sounds strange, I know. Every time I'm doing laundry on the second floor- the machine is in a common area outside their door- I hear them fighting in Spanish. They aren't yelling, just speaking contemptuously to each other in above average voices, but seriously, it's every. single. time I'm doing laundry.
Go figure.
Incidentally, all of Alissa's closest friends are total bitches in her nightmares. It's true. She has, on occasion, dreamed that I, like, screamed at her to hurry up while she was trying to simultaneously change a tire on the side of road and resusitate a kitten or something. I'm making that particular dream scenario up, but we are so *mean* in her subconscious. I'm just saying.
Where was I going with this? Ah, yes. My weird dreams. I dream ALL THE TIME about injured animals. I have this recurring dream where I forget I was supposed to feed, like, an entire barn full of dogs whelping litters of puppies. I remember, like, three days after I was supposed to start caring for them, and I run in and find a bunch of hungry, miserable dogs with newborn puppies in failing health, and IT IS ALL MY FAULT. In every dream, it's almost always just about too late to fix it, but not quite. In last night's dream, there was only one dog, and it gave birth to gerbils. When I didn't show up for two days, the dog hid the baby gerbils in different stalls in the barn, and I could only find two. And of course, the gerbils were in failing health when I got there. I wake up right before I find it if it's okay or not.
The other night I had a really terrible nightmare about a creepy guy hanging around my apartment who hurt Bella. Once again, I showed up right in the nick of time. It was awful.
Overall, it's probably my brain's way of working out anxiety, maybe orrying about responsilibities..? Maybe it's a belated dream about the convict who was living downstairs? I don't know. He's gone now. A middle-aged couple lives there now. They fight a lot, but not loudly. That sounds strange, I know. Every time I'm doing laundry on the second floor- the machine is in a common area outside their door- I hear them fighting in Spanish. They aren't yelling, just speaking contemptuously to each other in above average voices, but seriously, it's every. single. time I'm doing laundry.
Go figure.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Gratitude
I have this somewhat disconcerting bad habit of thinking about embarrassing things that have happened to me years after they occur. This usually happens while I'm physically engaged in a boring, repetitive activity that doesn't involve much mental stimulation- like scrubbing the bathtub- but I often catch myself blushing deeply and swearing out loud when once of these embarrassing memories bubbles up. My college roommate Jo, though grateful I was cleaning and conquering the Shower Hairball That Ate Manhattan (If Only The Roads Weren't Drifted Shut With All This Damn Lake Effect Snow) used tease me about having Tourette's. Which I don't, at all, but thanks to all the nice comments, I'm feeling philosophical enough about the church incident to think that maybe it won't end up being a catalyst for one of my Retroactive Memory-Induced Outbursts.
So anyway, thank you, commenters, for letting me know you're out there. And... I know this isn't the Academy Awards, but one more thank-you...
I once got thanked in a public way for inspiring someone to take off his pants in front of a live audience, but I'm not sure I ever said, "You're welcome." Do check out comment #8 in the entry below. It made my day (especially when the angels say "douchebag" and God uses the word "Me-fearing.") I'm glad you're part of the conversation. So thank you. And you are welcome.
So anyway, thank you, commenters, for letting me know you're out there. And... I know this isn't the Academy Awards, but one more thank-you...
I once got thanked in a public way for inspiring someone to take off his pants in front of a live audience, but I'm not sure I ever said, "You're welcome." Do check out comment #8 in the entry below. It made my day (especially when the angels say "douchebag" and God uses the word "Me-fearing.") I'm glad you're part of the conversation. So thank you. And you are welcome.
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