Rich kids doing drugs. Ugh. Actually, my view of this book was kind of distorted by this man I used to work with at this coffee shop. He was a huge fanRich kids doing drugs. Ugh. Actually, my view of this book was kind of distorted by this man I used to work with at this coffee shop. He was a huge fan if this author. And he was also a writer himself (published in Hustler!). He was in his 40's and still trying to break out. He had a son that was autistic and had tons of medical bills but because he still wanted to be a struggling artist his family had to suffer. So, he gives me the manuscript of one of his books (that was rejected by several publishers because, as he stated, "It was too cutting edge"). It was is a super bad version of less that zero but really really raunchy and dirty and goobity gobbledy goo.
He was also always quoting Dante's Inferno, but he only knew one line about all ye who enter here or whatever. And he would always come into work an hour early and work off the clock so he could have everything already done before his shift started. It pissed me off so I started to make sure everything was done before he got there so he had nothing to do for an hour before his shift began. Sure, it created extra work for me but the satisfaction was worth it. That showed him. Once, I was taking out the trash and he comes up and grabs it out of my hands and I was infuriated. I know he was just trying to be a gentleman or some shit but I ran after him and snatched it back out of his hands and snarled "I can take my own damn trash out!" He would also refer to all our cups in Starbuck's sizes (tall, grande, and something else) and that pissed me off because we didnt work at Starbucks! He also thought this chick that we worked with was "deep" because she said she liked some classic author. And the girl was a fucking moron. Trust me, if anyone was fucking deep in that coffee shop it was ME. And that is not saying a whole lot. She would talk in this cartoon voice all day long and I wanted to stab her. There is nothing worse that having to spend an 8 hour shift with another adult that talks in a baby voice on purpose. I think she even believed in "God". And he also bragged that his daughter memorized the letter from Hannibal Lector wrote to Clarice in 'Silence of the Lambs'. or whatever. We also had a chat about how everyone has an little OCD. His was coming to work an hour early and many other things. And I was all like "I never do anything regularly, I hate repetition." And he was all like, "That's your OCD, you are obsessed with irregularity!" (true, but not when it comes to bowel movements) And he kind of convinced me that everyone in Hudson, Ohio is on drugs and screwing one another (fact).
So of course, I read his book thing aloud to the rest of our co-workers and we had a good hearty laugh, the kind that makes your face turn red and your upper lip sweat.
I really regret not making a copy of that manuscript.
P.S. I know it doesnt need to be said, but Robert Downey Jr. was really hot in that movie. I also kind of had a thing for James Spader. But not now, because he's kinda fat. (Who am I kidding? I would still hit that.)
P.P.S. You know what, Im not really sure I even read this book, or if I just think I did. Memory is deceiving....more
I went to my psychologist appointment yesterday. And while I was in the middle of crying about being ugly and weird,You're wish is my command, Laurel.
I went to my psychologist appointment yesterday. And while I was in the middle of crying about being ugly and weird, my lady doctor says "And who does that remind you of, hmmm?" And I say "Uhhh, I dont know?" And she says, "Sounds like your mother to me."
I know my relationship with my parents is kind of bizarre, but my psychologist made me realize something that I can't stop thinking about. 90% of the time mother does not acknowledge my presence. I do the same to her (learned behavior?). Just today I came home this afternoon after being gone all day and my mom is sitting on the couch. I walk into the room and she doesn't even look my way. I am actually sitting in the same room with her as I write this and we haven't said a word to each other. Is this normal? Probably not.
Last summer I stopped by my mom's house (I now live here, last summer I did not) and she was standing in the kitchen talking to some repairman. (About something lame, I'm sure) My mom can be super weird and manic and waaaay over enthusiastic sometimes. So, I walk into the kitchen and my mom says to the repair man,(imagine someone smiling all crazy and speaking with frantic excitment)
"This loooovely lady right here is my daughter, and she is veeeerrrry close to graduating from college!!! Aren't you? She is sooo smart, she has a photographic memory!"
My eyes bugged out, humiliation ran down my face and I said "Mom, I have 12 credits at community college and I haven't attended school in almost 5 years."
And her face falls and she says "Oh."
The moral of the story: My mother has not paid attention to me for a large portion of my life.
Oh and as far as the photgraphic memory goes, that is false information as well. Where does she get this information???
I first read this book, Silver, when I around 11. I re-read it every few years. I loved it because it was about a girl like me living the life I wanted. Sarabether Silver lives in a trailerpark with her mom and cats. Her mom is a maid for some rich folks and they have trouble making ends meet. Even though money is tight, they make it work. Mom has a nice guy boyfriend named Leo and a best friend that lives a few trailers away. Then Sarabeth is sent to begin juniorhigh at a school where all the rich kids go. Drama ensues, lessons are learned. yadda yadda You can just imagine the rest. Or read it. Whatever.
So in my little head, that was who I wanted to be. But the only thing me and the main character had in common was living in a trailerpark. I always imagined Sarabeth as thin and pretty in that delicate pretty way. I wanted Leo to be my step-dad and I wanted my actual step-dad , who was crackhead that sold all of our stuff and screamed and screamed and screamed and told me I was a bitch, would disappear. I wanted my mom to be normal and have friends and not lie in bed on the weekends and use food and teenybopper magazines as a substitute for the love she was not capable of providing.
I am still totally amazed when I go to someones house and everyone sits down and eats dinner together and has conversations.
So, now that you know way too much about the origin of my psychological development, I will leave you with something I wrote last year about me and my mom:
One summer afternoon with my mom we went to a roadside stand and bought corn and peaches. We went home and sat with our legs dangling over the edge of the open backdoor to our trailer. The backdoor we didn't use because it had no steps. And we ate our peaches. Imagine eating the best tasting peach you ever had. Just imagine sitting next to your mother, both of your legs dangling out the backdoor with no stairwell. Imagine eating your perfect tasting peach on a perfect summer early evening. Then imagine seeing a rainbow that was meant just for you and your mom. (There really was a rainbow that day.) Imagine looking at your mother. Your beautiful mother with her perfect delicate lady-like hands holding the best tasting peach she will ever eat. She looks at you and you both know this is as good as it will ever get. And you want to eat another peach and then another. Because years from now, when you are all grown, your mother will say "Remember that time when we sat out in the backdoor of the trailer and ate those peaches?" And you'll say "Yeah, those were the best."
And you remember eating them whole, leaving only the hard, brain-like pit behind.
I read this book around 1991. It will forever be one of my childhood favorites. My bff, Stephanie, and I would roleplay being Anne and Diana. I was aI read this book around 1991. It will forever be one of my childhood favorites. My bff, Stephanie, and I would roleplay being Anne and Diana. I was a bitch and controlling friend to boot, so I always got to be Anne. I dont know what the heck we said to one another during our roleplaying maybe something along the lines of "Do you think Gilbert Blythe is cute?" "No, he's a jerk" "Well, I think he likes you" "Oh, Diana, shut your mouth. Im gonna tell your mother your a drunk" "Oh, Anne, you are so sassy with your red hair and fiery temper" "If he does like me, he will have to wait until I am 18 and can wear puffed sleeved dresses" or whatever.
We had an Anne of Green Gables weekend once and attempted to make raspberry cordial by mixing raspberry syrup concentrate and water together. It was awful and we didnt understand why they thought it was so delicious in the book (I still dont know why we thought that was a proper recipe for raspberry cordial but children are stupid, you know). That same weekend I learned that I have a very low tolerance for being around friends for long periods of time. Maybe it has something to do with being an only child but I couldnt wait for the AGG weekend to be over and done with.
I remember crying very hard (possibly wailing) when I read the part when Matthew Cuthbert dies (sorry if I spoiled that for anyone). It was really traumatic for me.
Stephanie went on to read the rest of the series because she is smarter than me and has a better attention span. I just pretended to read the rest of the series. I still think she thinks I read them all to this day. (Thank god Steph went on to become successful in life and doesnt have time to be reading my stupid book reviews on goodreads!) Secretly, I read trashy V.C Andrews novels instead.
I think Anne was also the reason I wanted to dye my hair red. (My Tori Amos obsession came a few years later) I loved Anne because she broke a chalk board thingie over stupid Gilbert Blythes head. I just wish she had hooked up with Diana instead and become TRUE bosom friend (wink wink) instead of marrying the turd later on.
Anne was just a a crazy little rebel. And it was comforting to a chunky, nerdy 10 year old girl like me to think that someday Id come out on top. Mind you, I havent come out on top. I'm 28 and I really have nothing to show for it (except when I remind my parents "at least I didnt get knocked up or addicted to drugs"). But maybe I should have chilled out on reading all those fucked up V.C. Andrews novels and let something more wholesome sink into my psyche. Things coulda been different, you know....more
I discovered Charles Bukowski while in Las Vegas, in December 2000. My dad thought it was a good idea to take his 19 year old daughter to Vegas. BecausI discovered Charles Bukowski while in Las Vegas, in December 2000. My dad thought it was a good idea to take his 19 year old daughter to Vegas. Because I LOVE watching everyone else gamble and drink while I can't participate! To be fair, we saw some really good shows (Blue Man Group and Mystere). And the buffets were exciting (Paris was wonderful). And ! I did get screamed at by a lady on the bus that goes up and down the strip. She looked like Mimi from the Drew Carey show. Well, she dropped her purse and I, being the gentleman that I am, went to pick it up for her because she was obviously too large to bend over herself. And I didnt want her roly poly, blue eyeshadow wearing self to roll down the aisle causing an accident. (To be fair, she probably wouldnt have rolled, just gotten stuck.) So this ass starts screaming at me "Don't touch my purse, don't steal my purse!" So embarassing...
So later that day.... I bought a really sweet corset and some cute underoos at the Victorias Secret in Vegas. At 19, I was at my most attractive. Everything has gone downhill since then. The ban on ephedra didn't help either. I swear, a few people die and they go and freakin' ban it. People die from cars and alcohol all the time but they dont go banning those. Whatever, man. (I miss you Xenedrine! Call me! **please email me if you have any black market ephedra, will pay in books**). But the point is, I could wear a corset back then and look mildly attractive in the right lighting. If you squinted your eyes. I do remember trying that get up on in my hotel room and thinking "Ooooh sexy lady, oh yeah. You soooo fine!"
That was also the last year I considered myself a female.
That was the first and last time I have ever shopped at Victoria's Secret. My friend , Erika, has to remind to me wear bras to this day.
(I also bought 2 pieces of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and brought them back to my hotel and devoured them both)
So back to the main subject matter here... our last day in Vegas, we were in some store and there was this book called "Drinking , Smoking and Screwing". "Yes, yes and yes", I thought to myself. Didn't even read the description, I just immediately bought it. Lucky for me it was a collections of short stories from awesome writers about the title subjects. And an exerpt of Charles Bukowski's "Women" was one of them.
He stood out to me because he writes like he speaks. In plain, no frills english. Some call him misogynistic but I disagree. I never felt like he was exploiting or demeaning women (in any of his books). Most of the bitches in his books deserved to be treated like shit. Or wanted to be treated like shit. Because that's how women are sometimes. And that is why I no longer can relate to that gender amoung many other reasons.
I guess my connection with Buk lies in heartbreak. That's what he reminds me of. That bittersweet feeling of your heart being torn out but still continuing to beat....more