L. V.

Heavy Petting

I get it.

Domestic pets never grow larger than you. Children do. You’ll remember siblings or family friends as small and sweet, and then find yourself shocked by their increase in size and angst. Cats and dogs, they stay small enough to lay their head on your lap and sleep. You feel their tiny hearts beating and know that without you, they’re helpless.

I always assumed the pet thing was all about the “cute & cuddly” factor, but it’s more than that. It’s about feeling like a Protector. Feeling large. Feeling that you are a necessary part of another being’s existence.

So, to the crazy cat ladies of the world and the animal hoarders and the kids who always need just one more animal in the house: I get it. Hold on as long as you can.

PTI

My lit professor interrupted his lecture to step down from his podium to tie his shoe. While taking a seat on the floor of the small stage at which he stands throughout class, he quickly explained himself. “I have to toe my shoe. I don’t think I’ve ever had to tie my shoe while teaching a class.”

One of the girls in the front row, never timid about blurting something out, shouted, “That’s what TAs are for!”

He thought that was really funny. The TA did not.

He then went on to tell a story about when he saw a man’s guitar string break during a performance. The man re-strung the guitar, but never stopped singing. He said it was amazing.

Ugly People

I went to go see Funny People last night with my lady.

“Two for Funny People, please.”

Thoroughly enjoyable film. BUT THEN…

A few hours later, while out for drinks with some friends, I pull the ticket stubs out of my pocket. I did not purchase two tickets for Funny People, but rather two tickets for that piece of trash, The Ugly Truth. Mindfuck!

No big deal, right? I got to see the movie I wanted. However, now, the assholes who made The Ugly Truth will now think that they scored at least two more viewers. So, thanks to the box office mistake of the fool at Lively Cinema 10,  I may very well have been the reason for the upcoming release of The Uglier Truth, the inevitably terrible sequel!

Maybe the guy in the box office is related to Katherine Heigl and feels bad for that crazy bitch. Whatevz.

Also, I can’t stop thinking about the similarities I noticed between Funny People and the Great Gatsby. Kudos, Judd.

It’s FOREIGN the afternoon.

So I’m sitting in the laundry room, minding my own biznazz, watching the Mtv Movie Awards on my laptop (you know, because I need to assess the members of my generation’s cultural perspectives), and this guy, this feckin’ guy, comes in with his laptop and sits directly across from me. Directly across. We’re playing laptop battleship here. I think he’s gonna do his thing and check up on e-mails, maybe also watch the Movie Awards.

He slaps on some headphones and starts talking to his laptop in a funny accent. My best guess is Russian. Anyway, it seems he’s talking to someone via VIDEO CHAT. Awesome. And I’m sure it’s someone in his native land! More awesome. Anyway, this is how I think the conversation is going..

Vlad: Hey baby, I’m in the laundry room.

Katinka: Baby I miss you.

Vlad: I know but I gotta be in America. I’m makin that bread. Resort maintenance aint gonna do itself. They need me.

Katinka: Damn, you are such a strong man.

Vlad: I know, girl. You look nice in your ushanka. It makes your boobies look big.

Katinka: Your headphones look pretty fly.

Vlad: Thanks, they’re RCA.

Katinka: Do you miss me?

Vlad: So much baby. I’m here for you though. Workin’ hard. I’m gonna come back and buy you a diamond ring.

Katinka: Oh, Vladdy! You the shit!

Vlad: You are.

(Other foreigner walks in to laundry room. Signals to Vlad to say “Hello” to Katinka.”

Vlad: Oh, baby, Boris says, “what up, bitch.”

Katinka: That mu-fucka crazy. Tell him I said, “Hey.”

Vlad (to Boris): She says, “Hey.”

The rest gets really complicated. They start talking about communism and swine flu, and then the rise and fall of MC Hammer. You know, Russian stuff.

Anyway. Back to my Awards show. Bruno just put his balls on Eminem’s chin. This is high quality stuff.

Spittin’ that nerd game.

 The AV tech guy came up to the front desk my first week of work. He lingered for a while. We had no tech issues we needed adressed. It was just me and the young Brazilian girl who works here behind the desk. His eyes were on the Brazilian. He shook out his long, tech-guy hair, casually rested his elbows on the desk, displayed a few facial tics, and went for it.

He decided the way to her heart was to tell her about Fark.com. Good site, makes fun of news with funny headlines. Still, the front desk Brazilian is not up on her internet sites. Not that kind of gal. But the tech guy persisted. Explained the whole thing to her. “You see there are different levels of labels for headlines, like ‘crazy,’ ‘funny,’ ‘absurd,’ or even ‘asinine.’”

Her awkardly forced smiles and sighs of recognition were followed by strange faces of confusion. I think she thought he was explaining something important, pertaining to the resort. He was just trying to impress her with his knowledge of internet humor sites. Nice try, tech guy. Also, she has a boyfriend.

The Brazilian works in housekeeping now. I see the tech guy come through the lobby all the time. I catch his tics every now and then too. I do not, however, see them cross paths at all. Maybe in a different world, in a different life, it could have worked. Maybe not.

Rough-and-tumble-dry

Two little kids fighting over a computer in the leasing office of the employee housing for Sandestin Resort. They’re non-white, as they say. Mexican I guess, with no racist/xenophobic undertones. I genuinely think they’re Mexican. They’re wearing their school uniforms: baggy, khaki cargo shorts and gray polos with their school’s emblem on the chest. The way they fight, though, is not how little kids fight. These kids fight with real anger in their eyes. They fight like they’ve seen their daddy fight the same way. They fight like they don’t have anyone to tell them they shouldn’t. 5 o’clock in a laundry room/leasing office for employee housing. The property manager has to tell them its time to go. That makes me wonder how long they’ll be home alone. I see them running up and down the stairs in my building sometimes. They carry big books and I wonder if they actually read them. I wonder if when they do read them, there’s anyone who gives a fuck. I’m sure they have a hardworking mother who, with the last bit of energy she has, every day, kisses them goodnight. I’m sure there father is around. Somewhere. If anyone can punch their brother with so much hatred as a little kid, imagine how much it’ll escalate.

The younger one reminds me of my little brother.

My laundry should be dry soon.

‘Ella.

I think talking to my Dad on the phone today made it rain in Destin.

Thanks for nothing, Pops.

Moving and Shaking

Recent events have led me to doubt my future as a writer. Small stupid events, but still, they have occured. Anyhow. I figure when the certainty for the future is rocked a little, you should fill in the cracks of that foundation with a little cement, which, in this case, I like to call dreams. Big ones. So, maybe I’m not impressed with myself as a writer right now. Not everyone’s a literary master as an undergaduate student. But, I am determined to be a success. A huge success. So, I’m looking up graduate schools at work. Of course, they’re all really, really exclusive and expensive. But I will get in. Right now, it’s looking like either Boston, Austin, or Chicago. So, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be somewhere in the vicinity of those three cities by around this time next year. And the girlfriend will be joining me. Lucky for her, they all have plenty of fancy hotels for her to work for. AND lucky for me, I can work at one of those fancy hotels too, because of my current employment at a fancy resort with the girlfriend. So, we’re pretty much set. Me, a bigtime writer/eventual professor, and her, fancy hotel lady. Dream big, right?