This person at work was telling me about how there is a black market out there for baby crows. People will find a nest, scramble up the tree, and while their cohorts wait in the car, they grab the babies while the mama crows are all cawing and pecking at them, menacingly circling their heads. (Doesn’t your job suddenly seem a little better?)
I kind of didn’t get it, but thought that may be because I am a bird hater. But I mean, of all the birds, crows are my favorite. I think I can just relate to them; they like shiny things, sound somewhat coarse, and mimic people. I read that when you sit there going “Hello! Hello!” the crow will eventually repeat it; then you move on to a new word, and soon you can have this verbal crow. Their life span is between 3 and 5 years; so it’s like a cooler version of the parrot (I mean, really—crow can kick parrot’s ass) without the serious commitment. You don’t have to worry about how your grandkids will feel about the crow. Also, you can get a bunch and call it a murder. Apparently scientifically they do call it a flock and it is more just poetic to call it a murder. But that doesn’t make it wrong!
So now I have this plan of getting a murder of crows, and having them do my bidding. I can sit home and be like “crow, get my slippers!” and send the crow into my room. I bet with their intelligence and sharp beaks, they can even open my beer. Or, I can be out somewhere and just yell, “Bring me home, my pretties!” and my murder will all swoop down and grab hold of me, lifting me into the sky and to home. Hopefully their talons won’t just tear my clothes off and I go falling naked from the sky. But my crows wouldn’t let that happen.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
A mother's love...
So I was on the phone with my mother the other day. The very woman who gave me birth. And she says to me, “I pray for you ever day because you are going to hell.” So I pause for a moment and then ask, “Why?”
“You don’t go to church. So you are going to hell.”
Me: “So your God is a forgiving God, eh?”
“If you don’t go to church, you go to hell. Do you even believe in Christ?”
Me: “I believe that Christ makes a good story...”
“WHAT?”
Me: “I mean, I can’t believe in the bible, I think it was made up by a bunch of men. Stories to teach.”
“Have you ever even READ the bible?”
Me: “I took a course in bible studies in college. So I read parts.”
“Well, you are still going to hell.”
Me: “What about everybody else?”
“You and Cara are going to hell. Your other sisters go to church.”
Me: “But they don’t believe in it. They just go because they think they are supposed to, and feel like they have to bring their kids.”
“Well, they still go. When Jesus returns, he won’t bring your soul up to heaven.”
Me: “And is he going to take a plane here?”
“NO, he is going to come on a cloud.”
Me: “I studied clouds. They are just dust particles surrounded by water. You can’t float on that.”
“Jesus can.”
Me: “Then why wouldn’t Jesus use something faster? More efficient?”
“Maybe he will just show up. You know, appear.”
Me: “Like Star Trek?”
“I never saw Star Trek.”
Me: “Me neither, but they do that. They ‘beam’ places.”
“Then maybe, yes.”
Me: “Well, I guess I’ll just be in hell then. Thanks for the call.”
“You don’t go to church. So you are going to hell.”
Me: “So your God is a forgiving God, eh?”
“If you don’t go to church, you go to hell. Do you even believe in Christ?”
Me: “I believe that Christ makes a good story...”
“WHAT?”
Me: “I mean, I can’t believe in the bible, I think it was made up by a bunch of men. Stories to teach.”
“Have you ever even READ the bible?”
Me: “I took a course in bible studies in college. So I read parts.”
“Well, you are still going to hell.”
Me: “What about everybody else?”
“You and Cara are going to hell. Your other sisters go to church.”
Me: “But they don’t believe in it. They just go because they think they are supposed to, and feel like they have to bring their kids.”
“Well, they still go. When Jesus returns, he won’t bring your soul up to heaven.”
Me: “And is he going to take a plane here?”
“NO, he is going to come on a cloud.”
Me: “I studied clouds. They are just dust particles surrounded by water. You can’t float on that.”
“Jesus can.”
Me: “Then why wouldn’t Jesus use something faster? More efficient?”
“Maybe he will just show up. You know, appear.”
Me: “Like Star Trek?”
“I never saw Star Trek.”
Me: “Me neither, but they do that. They ‘beam’ places.”
“Then maybe, yes.”
Me: “Well, I guess I’ll just be in hell then. Thanks for the call.”
Moving truck horror
Right before I left for college my parents were selling the house in White Plains. They had nowhere to go, so most everything we owned was being put in storage. Now, the house wasn’t a mansion, by any means. But it was pretty roomy. There are 5 of us, and we all had our own room. There were even 2 apartments in the basement, and an attic full of crap. So we are talking a lot of stuff.
Moving day comes, and for some reason me and my closest sister are the only ones around to deal with the moving men. They load up this gigantic truck, and it was packed to the brim. They had this one really skinny guy in there at the end, cramming things all over. I think they couldn’t have fit another couch cushion in that thing. So we are supposed to head over to the storage place, meet them there, and then watch them unload everything. On the way, we realize that we need to buy a padlock, so we stop off for a few minutes to get one. As we are 1 block away from the storage place, we see the movers standing around on the side of the road. As my sister is saying, “What the hell are they all just doing standing there?” I look down to the right (I was in the passenger side) and go, “oh. Ohhhh.”
The moving truck had apparently not been able to make it up the hill and the brakes went out (personal opinion? They overloaded it) and when the truck started to roll backwards, all the guys jumped out of the cab and the truck slid back, then turned and lodged itself sideways in this tiny ditch. It was a perfect fit. The cab was sticking up, but the box part was practically made for this ditch. And it is the ONLY ditch on the entirety of 9A that I know of.
So we go over, park the car, and run down there, then call my dad on a pay phone (ahh, the simpler times before cell phones were everywhere) and tell him about it. He just got all quiet, then said, “...is there a fire?” And when I said no, he kind of relaxed. So there was nothing else we could do and we ended up heading home.
Basically, people from the area ended up getting lawn chairs and sitting on the side of 9A to watch this whole fiasco. (Really, why??) They got one of those construction vehicles to come and try to pry the box out of the ditch. But the truck was so heavy, so every time the back of the backhoe thing (backhoe? Is that right?) would lift up from the weight, and then it would drop the truck. So it was repeatedly slamming the truck, and all of our belongings, up and down in the ditch.
They put chains around the truck to try and lift it out, and the chains were rubbing and causing sparks. So they had to get the fire department there, and they were waiting with their hoses for the whole thing to just burst into flames. Luckily, that never happened.
Finally, it got to the point that they decided to just cut a hole in the side of the truck and slowly lift things out of it until there was enough weight gone to lift the truck out. At this point, my parents decided to just go out to dinner. (I was too young to realize it was much more about the wine than the dinner, but I’m betting that was the important part.)
My friend Leigh came with us out to dinner, and on her way home had to drive by the incident. Even though it sounds weird in the retelling, the whole thing was extremely dramatic; she sees the flashing lights, firemen, hoses, police officers, trashy people on lawn chairs, and calls me hysterically crying. “Diane!! I JUST SAW YOUR TV ON 9A!! IT IS JUST SITTING THERE IN THE RIGHT LANE! OH GOD! IT’S AWFUL!”
Eventually they got the truck out and as they turned it over, glass and mirror just came pouring out of the hole. The good side here was that my parents had this hideous, awful, nasty mirrored wall unit thing in the living room, which was completely destroyed. Heh.
So all of our stuff went into storage, but we had to get 2 storage rooms—1 was for the stuff that seemed to be ok, and 1 was for everything that was completely broken so that the insurance company could come and look at it and go “oh yeah. Broken.” And determine how much money our broken crap was worth.
So anyway. I have yet to hear of anybody else who has had a worse moving experience.
Moving day comes, and for some reason me and my closest sister are the only ones around to deal with the moving men. They load up this gigantic truck, and it was packed to the brim. They had this one really skinny guy in there at the end, cramming things all over. I think they couldn’t have fit another couch cushion in that thing. So we are supposed to head over to the storage place, meet them there, and then watch them unload everything. On the way, we realize that we need to buy a padlock, so we stop off for a few minutes to get one. As we are 1 block away from the storage place, we see the movers standing around on the side of the road. As my sister is saying, “What the hell are they all just doing standing there?” I look down to the right (I was in the passenger side) and go, “oh. Ohhhh.”
The moving truck had apparently not been able to make it up the hill and the brakes went out (personal opinion? They overloaded it) and when the truck started to roll backwards, all the guys jumped out of the cab and the truck slid back, then turned and lodged itself sideways in this tiny ditch. It was a perfect fit. The cab was sticking up, but the box part was practically made for this ditch. And it is the ONLY ditch on the entirety of 9A that I know of.
So we go over, park the car, and run down there, then call my dad on a pay phone (ahh, the simpler times before cell phones were everywhere) and tell him about it. He just got all quiet, then said, “...is there a fire?” And when I said no, he kind of relaxed. So there was nothing else we could do and we ended up heading home.
Basically, people from the area ended up getting lawn chairs and sitting on the side of 9A to watch this whole fiasco. (Really, why??) They got one of those construction vehicles to come and try to pry the box out of the ditch. But the truck was so heavy, so every time the back of the backhoe thing (backhoe? Is that right?) would lift up from the weight, and then it would drop the truck. So it was repeatedly slamming the truck, and all of our belongings, up and down in the ditch.
They put chains around the truck to try and lift it out, and the chains were rubbing and causing sparks. So they had to get the fire department there, and they were waiting with their hoses for the whole thing to just burst into flames. Luckily, that never happened.
Finally, it got to the point that they decided to just cut a hole in the side of the truck and slowly lift things out of it until there was enough weight gone to lift the truck out. At this point, my parents decided to just go out to dinner. (I was too young to realize it was much more about the wine than the dinner, but I’m betting that was the important part.)
My friend Leigh came with us out to dinner, and on her way home had to drive by the incident. Even though it sounds weird in the retelling, the whole thing was extremely dramatic; she sees the flashing lights, firemen, hoses, police officers, trashy people on lawn chairs, and calls me hysterically crying. “Diane!! I JUST SAW YOUR TV ON 9A!! IT IS JUST SITTING THERE IN THE RIGHT LANE! OH GOD! IT’S AWFUL!”
Eventually they got the truck out and as they turned it over, glass and mirror just came pouring out of the hole. The good side here was that my parents had this hideous, awful, nasty mirrored wall unit thing in the living room, which was completely destroyed. Heh.
So all of our stuff went into storage, but we had to get 2 storage rooms—1 was for the stuff that seemed to be ok, and 1 was for everything that was completely broken so that the insurance company could come and look at it and go “oh yeah. Broken.” And determine how much money our broken crap was worth.
So anyway. I have yet to hear of anybody else who has had a worse moving experience.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Seinfeld
I had to share my favorite quote from Seinfeld:
"Ah, you're crazy."
"Am I? Or am I so sane that you just blew your mind?"
"It's impossible!"
"Is it? Or is it so possible that your head is spinning like a top?!"
"It can't be!"
"Can’t it? Or is your entire world just crashing down all around you?"
"Alright, that's enough."
I like to say this to people.
"Ah, you're crazy."
"Am I? Or am I so sane that you just blew your mind?"
"It's impossible!"
"Is it? Or is it so possible that your head is spinning like a top?!"
"It can't be!"
"Can’t it? Or is your entire world just crashing down all around you?"
"Alright, that's enough."
I like to say this to people.
Entrails
Nobody else ever seems to have the kind of problems that I do. I was driving down 684 one evening, going to meet 2 friends at Playland. It is a fast-paced road; I was probably going about 80 mph and there were a number of other cars. So by the time I notice the giant deer carcass in the middle of the lane coming up, it is too late for me to switch. There were cars on both sides, so I just had to smash right over it. I thought everything seemed ok. My car was still working, I didn’t skid over it and smash or anything. So as I am driving, I realize that there are these nasty bloody bits of fur splattered all over the windshield. “Gross!” I thought, then parked at Playland and went to meet my friends.
We spend a few hours there and when we are coming back, I was telling the story about the deer and how nasty it was that it splattered onto my window. So one friend looks and goes “dude, look down there.” On the front bumper, in that little space are entrails. Deer entrails. That somehow, by driving over them, wrapped themselves around in that little space and were dragging all over. So while I was driving, I just had these flapping entrails with me.
“Ugh!” we 3 said in unison. Then tried using a stick to get them off. But from the drive, they had also bonded themselves there and were not budging. I had to go to my friend’s house and they used a hose, sticks, gardening tools, and anything else possible to pry them off of my car.
As far as I have heard, this situation was still pretty much unique to me. Especially as someone who lives in the Bronx.
We spend a few hours there and when we are coming back, I was telling the story about the deer and how nasty it was that it splattered onto my window. So one friend looks and goes “dude, look down there.” On the front bumper, in that little space are entrails. Deer entrails. That somehow, by driving over them, wrapped themselves around in that little space and were dragging all over. So while I was driving, I just had these flapping entrails with me.
“Ugh!” we 3 said in unison. Then tried using a stick to get them off. But from the drive, they had also bonded themselves there and were not budging. I had to go to my friend’s house and they used a hose, sticks, gardening tools, and anything else possible to pry them off of my car.
As far as I have heard, this situation was still pretty much unique to me. Especially as someone who lives in the Bronx.
WWE pipe dreams (but without the opium)
I have this great plan about when I become a professional wrestler. Right before they announce me in the arena, they will turn all the lights down. Then from behind a white curtain you will kind of see my silhouette as the announcer says, “Tonight, the forecast calls for partly cloudy with 100% chance of...” [at this point he reaches a frenzied level of screaming] “...D-STORM!!!”
And then there will be the crashing sound of thunder, and while the lights flicker on and off, I can bust through the curtain. I still have to work on my outfit. Because in my mind, I am wearing a rain cloud that basically ends up looking like a tutu. But I have a golden lightning bolt across my chest. And for some reason, those shoes with wings on them like that little girl had in Adventures in Babysitting. Maybe I need to confer with a costume designer in the WWE.
And then there will be the crashing sound of thunder, and while the lights flicker on and off, I can bust through the curtain. I still have to work on my outfit. Because in my mind, I am wearing a rain cloud that basically ends up looking like a tutu. But I have a golden lightning bolt across my chest. And for some reason, those shoes with wings on them like that little girl had in Adventures in Babysitting. Maybe I need to confer with a costume designer in the WWE.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The 2-door Saturn
This story is never as funny in the retelling, but when I try to talk about it, or even just think about it, I laugh so hard I cry.
My friend Do had her car for probably at least 5 years at the point in time in which this story takes place. We were hanging out one night; some of us were drinking. I am always one who is up for drinking, but on this particular night, I wasn’t that drunk. Do was driving her boyfriend and me back to his house for sleeping. He had gotten tired earlier in the night and went to her car to nap. So when Do and I got out there, he was in the driver’s seat passed out. Do went over to try and get him to wake up enough just to move to the passenger seat, and I went to the passenger side to get in. So while she is standing over him, gently going “you gotta move, ok? Hey, can you move? Psstt?” I am standing on the other side, growing confused. He decides that he can just scoot over from the driver to the passenger side without getting out of the car. He is mumbling all sorts of sleepy words, but they aren’t all that coherent. Do is standing there going, “I don’t know, I think maybe you need to just get out and walk around. Uhm, are you sure this will work? Ok, can you please just get out and not shove over?”
I, meanwhile, am standing at the passenger side and am trying desperately to shove the front seat down. For some reason, it just isn’t folding. I was really confused, and starting to get angry when Do looked up and saw me struggling with the seat. So while her boyfriend has one leg on each side and is straddling the gear shift, I am going “wait, I need to get in first! Don’t move over yet!” She finally goes “WHAT are you DOING?” and I say (like she is totally daft), “I am trying to GET IN THE BACK! The seat won’t fold!” So she stares at me for a minute and then says, “I HAVE a FOUR-DOOR CAR!”
At this point I think both of us were laughing too hard to do anything but stand there clutching our stomachs. And poor boyfriend missed it all, because he was passed out on the console.
My friend Do had her car for probably at least 5 years at the point in time in which this story takes place. We were hanging out one night; some of us were drinking. I am always one who is up for drinking, but on this particular night, I wasn’t that drunk. Do was driving her boyfriend and me back to his house for sleeping. He had gotten tired earlier in the night and went to her car to nap. So when Do and I got out there, he was in the driver’s seat passed out. Do went over to try and get him to wake up enough just to move to the passenger seat, and I went to the passenger side to get in. So while she is standing over him, gently going “you gotta move, ok? Hey, can you move? Psstt?” I am standing on the other side, growing confused. He decides that he can just scoot over from the driver to the passenger side without getting out of the car. He is mumbling all sorts of sleepy words, but they aren’t all that coherent. Do is standing there going, “I don’t know, I think maybe you need to just get out and walk around. Uhm, are you sure this will work? Ok, can you please just get out and not shove over?”
I, meanwhile, am standing at the passenger side and am trying desperately to shove the front seat down. For some reason, it just isn’t folding. I was really confused, and starting to get angry when Do looked up and saw me struggling with the seat. So while her boyfriend has one leg on each side and is straddling the gear shift, I am going “wait, I need to get in first! Don’t move over yet!” She finally goes “WHAT are you DOING?” and I say (like she is totally daft), “I am trying to GET IN THE BACK! The seat won’t fold!” So she stares at me for a minute and then says, “I HAVE a FOUR-DOOR CAR!”
At this point I think both of us were laughing too hard to do anything but stand there clutching our stomachs. And poor boyfriend missed it all, because he was passed out on the console.
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