Scraps & Bits

2006-07-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

I've caved to the Wordpress once more... Come visit me from now until I change my mind again at http://www.mema13.wordpress.com I promise I will make it worth your while...

2006-07-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

I don't always know what I'm talking about. I talk out of my ass sometimes. These words escape my lips and then I'll reconsider and wonder why I even said what I said. Have you ever lost your train of thought while in the middle of a sentence? I do it often. Like right now when I just wrote that I thought about the silent 't' in the word, "often". Then within that thought I thought, Dad never could pronounce the word the way it's pronounced. He never ackowledged the silent 't'. That thought was followed with another one: Phonetically, how is that written? How does it look in Webster's Dictionary? (pron. off-en) And then, isn't the pronunciation which includes the hard 't' sound still acceptable in the English language? You see? I just can't help myself. I was designed to go on multi-layered tangents. It seems like an inherited trait from my Dad. We used to have a sort of joke amongst ourselves (immediate family only) that my Dad could start a story, be completely distracted from it, only to finish it off, like, an HOUR later. Seriously. I'm not even kidding about that. So if that were an inherited trait, think of all the other meaningless and benign traits I managed to inherit...yet another tangent. I'm so multi-layered. Sticking out my tongue when working on something hard - I've asked my mom about this and apparently, my grandfather, her Dad, does this too. I've tried to catch myself doing it, but have never really noticed it much. Now that I'm aware, though, I probably will. Holding a mug - Yup, my Dad. He holds a mug in the weirdest way: The thumb gets placed entirely over the lip of the mug while his other fingers grasp the handle. I know. Annoying, isn't it? My Face Says It All - My mom is notorious for wearing what she really thinks about those fishnet stockings and hot-pink pants. You can't escape the look. Ever. Sometimes I wish I weren't so transparent, but I am. I can't even help it. Raised Eyebrow- Dad again. We familials always lovingly called it, "The Fisheye". Dad probably got it from hearing criminals tell tall tales. See that? Alliteration. Changing my tone and manner of speech to match the person I'm talking to - Mom has this uncanny ability to have total strangers trust her within seconds of meeting her. It's all in mom's first impressions. She, without effort, simply adopts their mannerisms, their manner of speaking, and their movements. It isn't calculated, pretentious or insulting. She unconsciously adopts these to make the person she's addressing feel comfortable. Well, those are the only ones I can think of at the moment. I'm sure some other ones will come up as I'm doing ordinary things like sweeping the hallway or washing dishes. Sometimes when doing the menial tasks of the day-to-day my mind is relaxed enough to notice these things. Sets my mind to wandering. Why did I name this post "Courage and Faith..."? Well, before I pounded off a 5-step life affirming entry about human traits that I've inherited, I was really pondering the quote from "A Room With A View". But since I'm a true threader, I took off with the list first. But imagine this, ok? Life made up the two opposing sides: Courage which sets aside fears to achieve or succeed at something you hold dear, and Faith which allows the higher power to maneuvre every aspect of your waking life. The latter, of course, leaves nothing to chance or a turn of fate. No sir. It is either a pre-determined existence or we have the free will to make independent decisions within the confines of what this higher power sets in our path. For the most part, I like the concept that it sometimes takes Courage to have Faith and vice versa. I like that little interweaving of two ideas. But let's just look at this closely in the Mema-verse, since everything is ALWAYS ABOUT ME. Right. In my world, I am faithful to a lot of things. I believe in a higher power. Call it God or Buddha or Shiva or an alien named, Fred. It doesn't matter because this entity in my eyes is incorruptible, omnipotent, and the guardian of all things. I don't always look to my Roman Catholic historical past to get to that conclusion. I look at things that I've personally experienced, seen, or felt to arrive to this conclusion. That being said, I do not believe that this Being is infallible. I'd like to believe that a Creator would have made human beings to be most like him or her. Or both or none, for that matter. Something familiar. Something pleasing. Something fashioned just like themselves. Think about it. Would you want to associate with a bunch of strangers that don't speak or look like you? I don't think so. I sense, or I feel the presence of something greater than I am all the time. Something inside of me knows it's there. Something also knows that something else had to have made me. Something limits my memory until I'm old enough to understand them. How come no one can remember birth canal trips and baby-crib mobiles? We aren't meant to understand those experiences of infant life, so we just learn, absorb and grow until we can actually remember. Do this as an experiment: trace your life as far back as you can go. You'll scarcely be able to remember your life before the age of say, two. Even though the most impressionable years occur before then, they're not enough to retain in your memory because these are shared conscious experiences. Everyone was burped as a baby, fed, bathed. At least children who were cared for properly. So those "experiences" get removed from memory because, hell. Do you really want to maintain a record of all that baby crap? Exactly. Now for the courage. I had to inherit the courage to say what I needed to say when I needed to say it. This one is often a learned response. If we receive negative stimuli from an early age, we feel less inclined to bravery. If we receive positive feedback early in our stages of development, we feel more confident about expressing ourselves. Take little Mema. I gained courage as I stumbled on the road of life. There were times I wanted to throw in the towel for various problems and life-affecting issues. Some I overcame and some I didn't. One can be faithful without being courageous. But can one be satisfied to the fullest extent of what life has to offer? I don't think so. At least not in America. Without courage, we wimp out and suffer for our own inability to come out with the truthfulness of our lives. If we aren't truthful with ourselves, then how fulfilled can we truly be? I don't know about you, but if I am on my way to the Pearly Gates, I don't want to show my face unless one or two or both of these ideals are met. I hope that when I'm being judged, I'm good enough to meet the necessary requirements. Guess all I need is in that one line: "Courage and Faith, Miss Honeychurch. Courage and Faith."

2006-07-13T16:58:00.000-07:00

Bayonne vs. Jersey City: Part Deux: Announcer - Welcome back, folks. Boy are you missing a heck of a fight between Bayonne and Jersey--whoa! And another right hook by "The Brawler"...looks like JC better dance for his life 'cause Bayonne's packing a wallop! But what's this? Looks like both men are just holding in the ring. This match was originally scheduled for 9 rounds, but it looks as though both men are tired and there's still no real winner. Let's turn to longtime boxer, Rocky Montana, with his official scorecard tally...take it away... Rocky - This was a battle that was in the making ever since these two towns were born. I'm telling ya that there is nothing like skin on skin to see who will win! Announcer - That's right, Rocky. Now, Rock, how are you judging this match? Rocky - Well, it's a hard thing to judge because both men are determined to win. Announcer (interrupting) - Of course-- Rocky - I'd say that right now, I show the fight as 110 and 110 an even fight. Both men are exhibiting heart, skill, speed and raw drive. Anyone watching could see that everytime that JC throws a punch, it is quickly answered by Bayonne. But it's no secret that both of these men are professionals and it's looking--at least to me--to be a strong tie. Announcer - Did you hear that folks? I can't believe it! What started as a war of worlds, appears to have become a war of words! Let's get a mike in the ring... Bayonne - Brother, you don't know how long I've held my tongue... Jersey City - Can you give the people what they want? Huh? Bayonne - What have you got to boast? Your nasty town is littered and filthy. Jersey City - ...And yours is full of white collar crime and political corruption... Bayonne - That's not what your momma told me last night. Jersey City - Well at least my mom cleaned up after herself. That's more than I can say for your mom... Bayonne - Hey, oh! You don't know her like dat...sorry, ma. Jersey City - Did you hear him momma Bayonne? Your son finally admitted that he's "sorry". It's about time. Announcer - The referree has been speaking to the ringside judges and he's getting ready to make an announcement...let's listen... Referree - Ladies and gentlemen, this fight is a DRAW! *The crowd boos* Announcer - Well, there you have it. The crowd is none too happy. It seems that this issue won't be resolved today. Apparently both towns have shown that they can withstand the trial: they came, they saw, they both came out even-steven. Thanks for watching...Good Night.

2006-07-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Battle for a state of Independence...

Bayonne vs. Jersey City: Annoncer - Welcome everyone to the battle for the title of King of the Garden State. Well this post has been a long time coming. A resident of the latter and now writing to you from the former, it is going to be a rough and tumble fight for the right to Paaaarrrtttaaayyyyyy!!!! *ding, ding* Announcer - In this corner, wearing red trunks and weighing in at an astounding 225 pounds: the home of The Brawler, the Captain of the Cons, the Maven of the Mafia...Bayonne, NEW JERSEY!!!!!!!!! *crowd cheers* Announcer - And in this corner, the underdog in this fight, sporting the blue trunks and weighing in at just over 170 pounds soaking-wet: the Streetwise Soprano, the Deadly Dukes of Danger, a trip down Nathan Lane's memory...Jersey City, NEW JERSEY!!!!!!!! *crowd cheers again* *ding, ding* Now, everyone give a Jersey welcome (hold your spit, please) to Referree, Skip Stone!!!! *everyone boos* Skip - Now, I want a good clean fight. Any excessive holding or hitting below the belt is cause for disqualification. I want you to heed my instructions at all times. Gentleman, tap gloves and good luck! *Bayonne & JC tap politely* *ding, ding, ding* Announcer - Two heavyweights in the tough inner-city, I'll tell ya. It's important to note that these two towns are like brothers from two different mothers. Close in proximity but--oh, nelly!--are they different in their ways of life! What better day than today, while the nation celebrates their Independence than to brawl for it all? Now it's been said that Jersey City is the bastard child and that Bayonne is full of itself, but only one champion will come out alive. Who will win? Who will suffer defeat and cry all the way home to mother?! Let's watch...

*ding, ding*

Announcer - And it begins, folks...Why just the other day I was speaking to JC and here's what he said about this fight...

*clip begins*

Announcer (interviewing) - You and your brother have always had a friendly war of words for years. Why take the sibling rivalry so far?

JC - Because I always felt like I was my brother's keeper. I don't feel dat way no more. All our lives, we had disagreements about manners and such. But etiquette was never my forte. Normally, I got into the ring and did my thing, y'know what I mean? Now, it's like I gotta teach my kid brutha a lesson...one he'll never forget.

Announcer - So what was it about Independence Day? JC - I don't mean to brag, but I always felt that it was betta to burn fireworks on the 4th of July than to get drunk at a barbecue. It's just like my brutha ta misunderstan' da nature o' the day, y'know? *end of clip* Announcer - There you have it, folks. A bitter feud that maybe started in utero. But I also had the opportunity to speak to Bayonne, who oddly enough didn't have much to say... *clip begins* Announcer - Your brother had a lot to say about this fight. Is there anything that you would like to tell him? Bayonne - No. Announcer - JC said that he felt as though he were, and I quote: "my brother's keeper". Do you have anything to say about that? Bayonne (looking annoyed) - No. Announcer - Is there anything you would like to say to the public now that you've agreed to meet your brother this July 4th in the "Battle for Independence"? *Bayonne pauses* *silence* Announcer - ...A man of few words. Bayonne (shooting up in his chair) - I don't need no words. I'm all action. See ya in da ring, bro. *clip ends* Announcer - And it looks as though our fighters are ready to duke it out and settle the score. Bayonne has been cocky all week, snubbing all reporters and avoiding any type of publicity while Jersey City has made it on every sport's cover all month long. It's time to find out whether it was all worth it. Oh, both fighters appear to be dancing around the ring but it's Bayonne who throws the first punch...a light right jab and...oh, what a quick left by JC, but Bayonne is stable. JC is a fighter who's light on his feet and has been known to dance around his opponents before...oh! Another left hook from JC but Bayonne isn't shaken. He appears to be determined to ruin his brother and...what's this? The post has grown long?! Well, folks. Find out next time who comes out with fists blazing. They're about to pull the--

2006-07-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

THE artiFACTS of LIFE:

Sometimes, when you're rummaging through your old drawers and memory boxes, you come across the stupidest things that are on the one hand are completely ridiculous, but on the other, they're so much fun. Being the Queen of nostalgia, I seldom like to throw little notes and gems like the example you see to my left here...

Yes, this one was created in high school when me and an old art buddy drudged up a sheet of white copy paper and had at the principal. The more we stared at the artist's rendition, the more creative we got, which seems odd since we weren't really all that creative in class. So it goes to show you that talent and ingenuity are truly the siblings of boredom which seems to have been (judging from the other little things I found) a lot.

There's just something to be said about keeping memories. The more that time lags on, it seems that events get lost; recalled only when you least expect it. Perhaps there is an old view that constantly gets tossed around and becomes the subject of many a debate in later years, like say, who won a race or who did what during a sport tournament. When you save a souvenir, you encapsulize that moment forever. If you're lucky, it can spin itself into a tradition that can linger way longer than the actual memory. It can morph into "legend" status; the stuff that is discussed and remininsced about long after you've gone. That's what endures and that's what's so great about history. Think I'm wrong? Well, don't people still celebrate The Civil War by dressing up in Union and Confederate regalia to host mock reenactments? Of course they do. Collectors love this stuff because it gives them an opportunity to put a price tag on something that would have normally gone the way of the Dodo, the forgotten annals of societies that pre-date history and into extinction. People love the stuff because it helps them take pride in their pasts marveling at how far we've come while dismissing other advancements.

If you've ever said any of the following, then I'm sorry to say, you are a nostalgist (like me~yea!):

"They just don't make 'em like they used to."
"They used to be cheaper."
"I remember when..."
"Doctors used to make house calls."
"When I was your age..."

These are just a few that I could think of off the top of my head. So go ahead and rummage through your attics, raid your storage spaces, and look through your yearbooks. I'm sure that you can find a few surprises in there that will put a smile on your face or make you laugh out loud ~ in spite of yourself. Eh, Tootie?

2006-06-24T12:11:00.000-07:00

Okay, do you wanna know the strangest dream I had? A while ago, I was doing this experimental Freudian thing where I would jot down a dream I'd just had using a scratch-pad beside my bed. Freud believed that dreams were best captured when they were the most vivid so the idea was to desribe the dream immediately after I'd awaken from it, before it dissipated into some subconscious part of the brain where all unmemorable dreams go and cannot be retrieved. Well, I had a dream a long time ago and scrawled it on three slips of white paper in the dark. I've just re-discovered it while I was cleaning my room and voila! The Strangest Dream. Here's what I wrote: "It's been mine since I was a lad," the Adventurer tells me, while opening a very small crawlspace in the desert. 'How'd you find that,' I think but a voiceover tells me that he's known this place all his life. The Adventurer grew up there. There's water and a plug to open. Suddenly, there's a studio audience and a dance floor and Tom Cruise with a turkey up his ass is there. There's a nice man whom I meet amid the crowd surrounding Cruise. Everyone seems to be chanting, "He's gay! He's gay!" at Cruise and I'm embarrassed for him. The nice man I met now begins to dance with me only the dance floor is more like a gymnasium now. We're dancing really well and just then, we're gonna go through a tunnel--" That's it. I really like the Tom Cruise turkey scenario. Very entertaining. But I have no idea what any of this means. Was the Freudian experiment successful or should I stop finding stupid slips of paper in my room? You decide.

2006-06-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Today's Topic is TRUST: (Also See "Abuse of") Ok, kiddies, it's time to open your books to page 101, because everyone could use a little insight these days when it comes to the "T" word. Is T**st a Curseword?: No. However, people and their manipulative ways can't seem to gather up the good these days. Usually the world-wide skepticism has a lot to do with being burned. Take it from the "Burn Queen" (hi! that's me!), it is a place that hits way too close to home. But the optimist in me just can't seem to get away from believing that there still is enough good out there to wipe out the grossness of this world and kill 'em all with kindness. But what do you do when you feel that you've been betrayed by say, a restaurant? I mean, it's not a person that you can zero in on and wish horrible things to. Nope, it's this intangible thing. This entity if you will. What to do then? I'm A Hypocrite: I'm the first to speak to people about standing up for themselves. But for some reason, when it comes to me, I get all loosey-goosey. I don't want to make waves or cause a fuss or draw any attention. So, I get screwed. This time it had to do with an establishment that I've been going to since the dawn of time. Any local yokel knows exactly the place I'm speaking of because of it's generally good-naturedness and overall Cheers-like attitude: remember, everybody knows your name? Well, this place has seen its share of woe and legal troubles but has always gotten the community vote thanks to some local politicians and well-to-do customers. I used to love going there because hey, it felt like family. Well, I should've known that no one can screw you over better than family. No one. So I went to have a simple sandwich. If you must know, it was a turkey club. Sometimes I get all nostagic for the old classics and it began as a hunger, then a hankering, then a "I-must-have-it-or die!" lunchtime obsession that I'm prone to every now and again. So I moseyed (sp?) on down there and lo and behold, the whole gang was there as before. Oh sure, the place is physically the same, but the faces are more painted than I remember and the hair's new and improved. Whatever, I just wanted my sandwich. I was greeted with a "Hello, Mema! Long time no see..." attitude which sometimes makes me feel like the celebrity I wish I was. Ah, Ms. Lohan, lemme show you to the best seat in the house... The one waitress even hands me a copy of the New York Post to read while I waited. Nice touch. Within a few short miraculous minutes, I was once again eating what I love. I relished in the taste that reminded me of lunches at college when all I could afford was the cheapest things in life. Yeah, cheap. But just as I finished the last remaining morsels, the waitress conveniently slipped the check underneath my plate. It was, as usual, a flawless performance -- so subtle a move as could be missed. But when I turned the slip of paper over, I couldn't help but notice the unbelievable price of what I'd just eaten: $8! Now, I know that somewhere this amount is not a staggering blow. Someplace where the turkey is home-grown and bred just to be the Thanksgiving feast or the prized upscale meal at a decadent eatery in Midtown. I could expect the price of such delectable meals. You get what you pay for, after all. But if you saw this meager portion of a sandwich which had all of the telltale signs of a fast-food meal, you'd understand my complete discontent. Then, I realized what I was really paying for. A few years back, I was a regular customer. I was probably a lot more self-absorbed and eager to spread my earnings, proud to be an American girl who could eat meals all by herself alone in a restaurant. I was single. I was young. Money was simpler and I was just happy to spend whatever I made on all sorts of frivolous things like nailpolish and various shades of lipstick. But a few years afterwards, I fell out of favor with the waitresses because they'd stop seeing me as frequently. Then there was an unfortunate incident involving my new boyfriend and his dissatisfaction with platter which *gasp* they were asked to take back and re-do. Now in all the years I'd gone there, I barely muttered any unpleasant words and never challenged them when they got my order wrong or came with a plate of food that was not so hot. I'd been taught not to behave "rudely" which meant keeping my mouth shut even when I was unhappy about service or displeased with attitudes. I accepted and even sprinkled a little sugar on it to make it sweet, even when it wasn't. Then. here comes Carlos in all his wonderful brutal honesty. He taught me that you don't have to always reach for what you're given. You can return it and complain and the customer is always right...even at the risk of having people spit in your food. So I believe with all my being that this one instance was the turning point, because since then, I don't like going to that restaurant. Not only have the prices changed, but the overall mood just isn't the way it used to be. Or, maybe it is still the way it used to be and I just never noticed it before. Trust Your Instincts: It is a tired cliche, but people do change and I've learned that my instincts could never steer me wrong. That's why I wrote this post. I think that if you listen to that little voice inside, you can't go wrong. Don't just eat it, serve it back...with relish.

2006-06-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

Let It Go, Rearrange, and Never Burn Bridges: Well, it's that time of year when everyone is having their yard sales, throwing away old junk and basically cleaning house. So I figured...WHY NOT JOIN 'EM?! That's right. I'm having a yard sale on Saturday and it's gonna be great! Now if only I could just stop Carlos from bringing more stuff...

2006-06-09T18:44:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I awoke with a fright staring at clock that read 8:15am when really it was 7:15am. I had forgotten that the night before, the lights in my apartment went out--thanks to Carlos insisting that I run the air conditioner with full-on bronchitis. Ugh! Like a fool, I made it to the train station with more than enough time to spare as Carlos pointed to the car clock that told me I freaked out for nothing. So now I was pissed because I was on the train way too early and this would mean that I would have too much time before work. What's a gal to do? I thought about reading some more of the book I'm into at the moment, "A Bit On the Side" by William Trevor. That book just makes me all peevish afterwards and it would be hard to juggle it and the cup of large coffee that I had already bought because me without coffee in the morn turns me into, The Incredible Hulk: "Don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry." Then I go into what Shakespeare would term an "aside" having an internal debate with myself. Well guess what happened today, my kiddies. That's right. The scenario became a full on reality this morning when half in dream, half awake, I made my way in and out. The alarm clock sounded so distant that I chose to ignore it. Then as I turned, listening to the sounds of summer and birds chirping, I looked up to the alarm clock--which has become my foe--and noticed that the time was 9:05am. Nine O' FIVE! Incredulously, I rubbed my eyes and looked at the other more reliable clock only to have my worry confirmed. It was indeed NINE OH MY GOODNESS! I'd better call my Boss. He took it in stride, though. He even chuckled and told me "don't go crazy" which of course, I was while Carlos scarcely moved mumbling, "Relax, you're just late..." Thanks, hon: Stater of the OBVIOUS. By the time I moseyed in it was already 10:30am. No sweat because I'd stayed up late last night doing a homework assignment my Boss had asked everyone to do and I managed it relatively quickly. Yippee for me! (Score one for the hard-working nerdy insomniacs) Yeah!

2006-06-04T13:48:00.000-07:00

Munching on penicillin and antibiotics: So here it is, Sunday and I'm half-drowsy and feeling a tad (mind you, a tad) better. I will definitely go into work tomorrow, having missed a whole week last week. My mind is still fishing through the remnants of the day to re-discover the cast of characters and have them fully realized to occupy the space in my work, "Cutting Board". I'm planning a Yard Sale next weekend, and I'm steeped into a few side-projects just to refresh myself and push my poetry ever closer to a complete work. You see, I like most of my ilk, can never complete anything because I'm so full of ideas. I keep writing about pinning those down, man, but it is beyond hard to do. I picture visuals as well as the written word. I respect them both equally, so sometimes I get full of one and then the other and override my inspiration at every turn. Like today, I went to the park for a walk with Carlos and the dogs and I stopped because of this perfectly picturesque scene of Canadian geese on the water with their two babies. I was so overwhelmed in my own visual, that it seemed as though I were suddenly brought back to reality thanks to the fruit flies and mosquitoes. So you can imagine how frustrating to an artist true life sometimes is. Gotta capture a moment in a pin-cushion and try to keep it steady and spread out for a lifetime. Therein lies the problem. Maybe my own pessimism also darkens the view and maybe my inability to fully enjoy the elusive moment sort of affects my overall mood. I dunno. I just know that if I get frustrated enough with the direction something's going in, I try to adjust the lens and review it from another angle. That, or I give up. But I'm sincerely trying to gather these lovely little stretches of time, molding them into prolonged pleasant, useful creative events without seeming static. Well, I'd better go...don't wanna miss The Sopranos...haha!

2006-06-02T19:30:00.000-07:00

hello, i miss you but i'll never back down. hello, i love you but i won't back down. i'm tired and i'm sure you're tired too. i see you're just as stubborn as i am. but you won't win this one because i know that it'll hurt more if we stayed friends. you seem to have forgotten me. you play pretend and look away. you blow up at everyone because they're there. and damn, you need to feel something come alive; anything. but they don't understand you. they'll smile and say all the stuff you've heard before, because they are not me. i know. believe me, i know. does it feel satisfying, having said your piece without listening? does it feel better to cut those you care about out of your mind to replace them with half-hearted admirers and lovers of misery...like you?! maybe it was all a lie and you were busy acting like someone i knew. maybe you couldn't bear the truth: that we'd never fit, not even with glue. so i wrote you this letter, but you'll never read it. i took a picture, but you'll never see it. i talked to a dial tone today because i know what you'll say and it won't be pretty. there's just some things i collected in my travels that i wanted to share. some choices i made, but you didn't care. there's some advice someone gave which i didn't heed. and neither did you. so i'm done with the deed. i know. it's hard. but, not as hard as losing. send me a postcard from "somewhere" someday. send it so i'll know you're alive. wish you were here and you guessed it: order it return receipt requested.

2006-06-02T14:07:00.000-07:00

Being Sic Sux: In my bed since Memorial Day and sick as a dog. I spent life since Tuesday in the confines of my apartment sweating and drinking liquids feeling hot and cold then cold and hot. The wonder of my bed was my only comfort since from it I can talk myself into believing that I'm sailing away on a pleasure cruise, it's so soft. But now I'm going just about stir crazy and ready to launch myself outdoors even though it probably isn't such a good idea since my throat is still horrifically sore. But, bygones. What's Wrong With America? Maury Povich: Completely horrified but moronically glued to the television, I watch as girl after girl seeks her baby's Daddy. What the heck is going on with America?! After about the third story you just can't fathom why a young girl would be so promiscuous but then, she opens her mouth and you understand. The girls are less-than-stellar in the intelligence department and come from broken homes hoping to rectify their bad past experiences with newer (yet older) mistakes. Didn't these girls watch those PSA's I did in the 80s? Didn't they watch the "One to Grow On" commercials and afterschool specials? Where the heck are the parents? And if the parents are around working their butts off, then why are these girls making such poor choices? Who watches these kids when they're drinking and fornicating? Some just have no excuse like the 19 and 20 year olds who should know better but claim to be victims of circumstance. Really, they're just victims of stupidity or were overindulged kids who never learned anything when they were younger. Instant gratification. Modern-day Pacifiers. Oral fixations and poor judgement. Ugh! Still, it's addictive to watch the scenario: girl says she cheated on boyfriend or husband and wants to know if he is the biological father of her baby. Some of the children are as old as four or five! I mean, you wait FIVE YEARS to tell the person you claim to love that he isn't the Dad? Puh-lease. And then therein lies the mystery. Could he or couldn't he be the baby's Daddy? Finally, the paternity test is revealed and whether true or not, all hell breaks loose. I ponder my fascination with such shows. Why do I enjoy watching the women cower in a backstage corner when the man tested was not the father? Why do I watch each painful nuance of a young girl sometimes noticeably shaken and frightened tell her significant other about her doubts over paternity? Why do I hoot inside when I see the men brazenly deny their responsibility or sometimes belligerently reject the test after the results are announced? Maybe I'm just a morbid voyeur or maybe I secretly enjoy watching other people admit their large flaws. Sometimes, I wonder why a person would come clean to a man who has been supporting her children regardless of paternity. Why risk shaming your family on national television and ruining your current relationship in order to be noble? If the lie can ultimately affect everything you hold dear, why risk it? Is such brutal honesty worth it? I mean, what determines a good father: the one-night-stand who'll call you terrible names and deny your child or the guy who happens to believe that the child is his own? Just thinking aloud. If you're going to be honest and truthful, you should do it from the door. Not after inviting someone in making him comfortable, marrying him then hitting him with the mystery baby. C'mon, people! It's common sense! Guilty Pleasure # 2: The next type of show I watch when I'm bed-ridden is The Courtroom Drama! I love the Judge Mathis/Judy/Alex/Joe Brown and of course I love Divorce Court! Whooeeeeeeeeeeeee Doggie! I can't believe how wonderfully stupid some of the defenses are. It just cracks me up. It's a Divine Comedy I can watch and point and laugh and mock all the livelong day! Yippee!!!! *ahem* Well, I guess that's about it. Now it's your time to share. What do you like to watch when you can? Huh?! Huh?!

2006-05-31T14:19:00.001-07:00

What I Know For Sure: It's so much easier to be on defense, than on offense. It's so much easier to hate than to love. It's always easier to be judgemental than open-minded; exclusive rather than inclusive. It's so much easier for family to ruin you because they know you best. It's easier to harbor resentment than truth. It's easier to point out someone else's flaws rather than your own. It's easier to be far away than nearby. It's easier to lie, but when consequences follow, it's easier to lay blame. It's easier to be a rival than a friend. It's easier to face your troubles alone than ask for help. It's easier to be alone than to invite others in. It's easier to write an email than to call. It's easier to stay busy doing things you hate than getting up the courage to do the things you love. It's easier to have no time rather than to make time. It's easier to dismiss the elderly or infirm rather than sitting with them and listening to their life-stories over and over again. It's easier to go to great lengths to try to stay young than to grow old gracefully. It's easier to throw difficult people away than to learn how to deal with them. It's easier to turn away than to do something. It's easier to ask for money than to earn it yourself. It's easier to con than to care. It's easier to disengage, disconnect, distance oneself. It's easy to project your feelings onto someone else. These are the things I know for sure. On Dad: Sometimes it's alright to be a little crazy. Dad, while arguing in the car with my mom raised up the car radio to full blast. Inappropriate? Sure. Immatture? You bet. But that's what I loved most about my parents. When mom said no, Dad said maybe. When mom said yes, Dad said over my dead rotting corpse! They were two young Puerto Ricans trying their best to learn while raising two kids. And sure, Dad always wished I'd grow up to be a policeman just like him, but I couldn't hang in that department. I wasn't sporty or physical enough. But the things that Daddy taught made me made me brave and strong (even though I didn't understand his methods). It was unorthodox the way we grew up: guns in the house, teaching me how to aim and shoot it at the age of eight, learning stealth methods with baby powder on pieces of paper. But it has always stayed with me. My favorite memory is when I got my first job at a department store. Having never really experienced racism, I had no idea what I was in for. After being trained for two days, I was put in the hats section and learned quickly that I was not fit for the job. The woman who managed me was white and said a lot of racist comments when I failed to show up for one of her scheduled days. I explained that I had not been scheduled and that someone must have changed my hours the following day. When the woman called me lazy and other things, I threw my name badge at her and told her to shove her job where the sun doesn't shine. Frantic and disappointed, I called my Dad and told him word-for-word what had transpired. Without a hitch, he said, "I'm on my way..." and in record time, he arrived like a supreme hero. The coolest thing occured while on the ride home when he said, "You don't need that job! F**k 'em!" This memory for me is the ultimate example of how my Dad taught me that he'd always have my back, no matter what the situation. Years later, I thanked Dad for giving me the confidence that I could figure things out for myself rather than expecting someone else to solve my problems for me. I love you, Dad. On Mom: Despite my mom's current thinking that I've always sought my father's love more than hers, I am primarily my mother's child. We share the same Chinese horoscope symbol: the ox. We like the same movies, television programs, have the same taste in clothes and decor, and most of all enjoy our solitude. My interest in keepsakes, tracking my family's history and scrapbooking are all thanks to my mom. Her impeccable record-keeping and patience are inherent in everything I do. These were skills that have helped develop and shape my career. My favorite memory of my mom involves her running up and down the aisle at PS #8 to capture me receiving the honor roll with an instant camera that in those days didn't have auto-focus. She would attend almost every honor and credit roll session, made it to my nerve-wracking spelling bees, survived torturous assemblies, and made it to my horrific performance of The Charleston dance. Every time I saw her in the audience, I felt as though I were walking on a cloud. While most kids didn't have the luck of seeing their parents EVERY TIME, my mom made it a point to always be there cheering me on. She did it for my sister too, no matter how tight the scheduling. I love you, too, mom. But for some reason, as time rolls on, people change. I now know that my parents weren't infallible. They weren't superheros, just people. I learned that it's easy to see their shortcomings and failures despite their major accomplishment in raising two pretty decent kids. I learned that being overprotective also helped me avoid major hardships early on. And even though I fought them tooth and nail over staying at a local college rather than going away, I now know that I was nowhere near ready to make such a leap. Parents know best...sometimes. D-I-V-O-R-C-E: Some kids have it rough and have to experience this when their too young to understand it. It was great that my parents held out as long as they did. We had some great moments. That's what it's all about, after all. I received from both of these wonderful people the best that each could offer. Like Dad always sang (from the Rolling Stones) You can't always get what you want...and I learned to understand that he was right. But divorce is never easy. I can't think of the marriage as a failure either. Like Dickens wrote: "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." But now I see that all of the carrying on, the power-plays, the doubts, the triumphs, the disappointments are what molds us. It is how we learn about life and its struggles. We learn to cope and to come to ourselves and face the facts. Hey, sometimes we grow out of love or we come to all there is to know about another person. Like a caterpillar, we morph and change into a butterfly to newer lessons and a broader view of the world. After my parents divorced, my mom learned to drive. My father came to religion, after fighting my mom about it for many years. Both were relieved of their stifling duty and forced obligations. They learned to live again outward, onward, forward. Memory Lingers Longer than Bitterness: Life marches on, flanked by happy memories. Experiences that I will always cherish. Our blessings in a spring rain, our family trips to Canada and Florida, playing matre d' to celebrate my parent's anniversary, dancing and singing around the house. These are the best memories. And memories, unlike love, never die.

2006-05-23T16:57:00.000-07:00

Farce: God has got to have a sense of humor. In two days, I've had firsthand examples of how the Lord giveth and taketh away... It started on the train in to work. I accidentally spilled some coffee on the floor and I was desperate to clean it up. I call out to everybody: "Does anybody have a newspaper handy?" Blank stares from everyone in my car, but luckily (or so I thought), a random guy passed me carrying a newspaper. I was kind and asked him if he could please give me a section of his newspaper that he doesn't read. I barely looked at the guy in the face when all of a sudden he handed me what appeared to be like a one-sheet insert advertisement. Incredulous at the man's candor, nay BALLS to hand me something so meager and pathetic, I just looked into his bright blue eyes when he added the kicker: "Well," he said, "I bought it to read it." (Aside: Note the snide italicized words to express the intent to make me feel like a tool) This is where the traditional me came in: I had nothing to offer but a meek 'thank you' as he walked away in true peacock fashion. I was mortified. But see, I'm just not clever enough to retort upon impact. Instead, I just shyly went about nervously rummaging through my purse to find some more sheets of scrap paper to cover the spill. I'm sure I looked like a frantic mess, but that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that still two days later, I'm imagining all of the things I could've said. You see, God not only blessed us with memory, but total recall. By that I mean that I just couldn't get the scenario out of my head! I pictured every second from every angle possible. Torturing myself over and over. Divine Comedy (Story Extracted from actual Journal Entry): This morning the alarm clock that woke me up, were the dogs. Lady (the fluffy white cloud) clicking her tiny paws on the tiled floor and Bear (the St. Bernard mix) in tow. For some reason, it's always the little dogs, with their Napoleonic complexes, which make the most noise barking. After struggling a bit with leashing them both, we made it outside. The air was brisk with a hint of summer (though the days were not hot enough to be considered the season). Bear took his usual lead, leaving behind his whining and eagerly replacing it with pulling and tugging. It is always harder to control Bear for that reason, since one's arms feel on the verge of dislocating. Lady, on the other hand went at a much slower snail-like pace. They meandered around Bear's favorite corner, parallel to the railroad that was now defunct, and past the window factory. As we turned the block back onto the Boulevard, we passed the house with the overgrown tree branches; the leaves now a deep shade of red. As I bent to avoid getting smacked in the face, I caught sight of a lonely dollar bill waving at me from between the bushes in the front lawn. I never think twice about these things. I immiediately swooped down, retrieved the bill and kept on walking. Serendipity is what educated people call luck. It is a favorite among scholars and I know because I was one. But I also know about karma which has a way of biting a chunk out of Serendipity every chance it gets. I had decided on eggs for breakfast, so I grabbed a carton out of the fridge and laid it haphazardly on the edge of the kitchen counter. Just as I reached for the half gallon of milk, BAM!, the whole egg carton fell. I salvaged what I could saying aloud, "I guess we're having scrambled..." You see, I like God, also have a sense of humor. It wasn't the best breakfast I ever had, but I understood at that moment, that I was lucky (serendipitous) enough to be eating breakfast at all. See?!

2006-05-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

A Little Less Conversation and a Little More Action, Please: Okay, okay. I don't usually watch Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher, but I caught the end of the season finale and I had to agree. Our "lame duck" President GW, better take a few more vacations and forget all about the public office he's holding. Thankfully, his reign of terror will soon be over, but not soon enough for our troops out in the Middle East. What I fail to understand is the reasons why everyone hasn't impeached this guy. I mean, we were ready to tar and feather our last Prez because he got a hummer (not the car). But this one oval idiot has managed to ruin our economy, jack up gas prices, steal precious oil, forgive countries their debts, and oh yeah, declare himself a President with a minority of the votes. Let's not forget there are no "weapons of mass destruction" but there are potential terrorists among us. There's also more than a little confusion over which immigrants are acceptable: Mexicans or Iraqi terrorists. Am I missing something?! Let's delve a little more into the lie that is America: National Guard Spread Thin - GW thought it important to send our National Guard to help with the War in Iraq. So he sent some. Then, just this week, he's asked National Guard to help relieve undermanned Mexican border patrol. Then, there was the Massachusetts flooding in which the state declared a state-of-emergency, so good ole GW is requesting to send more National Guard members over there. Whew! Let's also keep in mind that GW served on the National Guard and received less-than-stellar marks due to his poor conduct. Shh...I'm trying to hear! - I wonder if the Secret Service told our government: Oh, that? Oh, well, uh...that's just a mini-recorder to...uh, can I have a glass of water? *ahem* I , well, that is...the President, uh, Mr. Bush asked us to kinda sorta listen...(clearing throat)...excuse me...that is, to record some very suspicious conversations and we kinda listened to 'em together and made fun of stuff, Sir. Puhlease. Isn't this totally like against the law? Lemme get this straight now, nobody is allowed to record anyone without their knowledge or consent with only one exception: IF YOU ARE THE US GOVERNMENT. Ah, I got it now. That's Not Oil, That's Just Really Black Coffee - So what if GW's Dad had an old agreement with Saddam Hussein over oil? Who cares that GW has an oil business he co-runs with his Dad? That's just a coincidence. That's not the real reason why our troops are in Iraq...NO! "Honey, it's for you...It's God Calling (Collect)" - Everybody should have seen a red-flag waving when early in his Presidency, Bush crazily admitted that he talked to God personally. A mighty wind blew and God, in the voice of Charlton Heston or James Earl Jones said, "George W Bush, why are you the President of the United States?" and GW shrugs like a fool. "Because, I voted for you...and so did Jesus." And rather than having GW taken away to the looney bin, we award him four more years. Yeah, that makes sense. "Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?"- This little beaut was from an actual speech Bush made in Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000. Anybody who can put Dan Quayle's words to shame, has to be an idiot with a capital "E"...get it? The Most Vacationist President EVER - 'Nuff said. I'm sure there's stuff I missed, but I wonder why the American public and Congress have missed these. The nation that invented such things as protests, activism and boycotts cannot seem to gain enough momentum to oust this guy. All it can do is concede, check chads on voting cards, and run polls showing the President's sliding approval rating. GW declared himself President before every vote was counted the first time. The second time, the Electoral votes counted in his brother's state guaranteed him a win. Unfortunately, the only people losing in the deal are the American people. And that's just sad. So do us all a favor, lame duck. Stay on vacation. For the remainder of your Presidency. Pretty please. I am MeMa, and I approve this entry.

2006-05-15T18:38:00.000-07:00

Step lively, step quickly

My feet in the sea

The currents, the currents

Will carry me

Why am I so unnerved by my feelings? The time and the tide that keep turning, pique my yearning. Gotta give the gods credit for influencing the creative spirit, making the world my Muse. Seems all I am right now is filled with ideas and thoughts and aspirations. Now, all I have to do is zero in on them. Focus. Hopefully, I won't be overrun by my imagination, drowning in those bitter little frustrating muddled up crumpled pieces of paper! Writers often have too much or too little. Never "just enough" to gain a clearer understanding of what to do first. That would prove too simple. So right now it is the insomnia, the details, details, details and the half-mad rants at three in the morning over characters which interrupt my sleep! It's pure bliss and delicious torture. I secretly admire the romance of figuring scenes out, analyzing the plot from every angle. I let those damned voices speak to me until the me that I know is cast away from myself to let the other players have their say. ..and boy, can they talk! For now, it's just Jane in her Candie's high-heels and blood red toenails. She loves to steal every scene, and if it weren't for Ruth, the Sheriff, and Cy, she'd get her wish alright. The mighty Aphrodite of my murder mystery.

Indio smokes his tobacco from his tightly wound cigar but hides from me when I turn the lights back on. I find him there, atop the refrigerator. A minitiaturized version of the being that lived; with handmade beads wound 'round his base. It is he whom I spot, every now and then, moving from his stationary post. He squats, he sits. He raises his hand to shade his brow. But when I turn, he is back in the same place as he was before. I know that he was given to me to serve as a guardian, protecting me from harm. I know too that this relic houses a spirit that will one day be my final guide. It will be his face I see: noble, stoic and unyielding; on the other side. When that day comes, I will turn to him and say, "You've served me well, old friend." And perhaps, he will finally show me a smile. And perhaps, God will let me in the front door.

See what I mean? A million thoughts. A million roads, a million different directions. Which brings me to the parallel notion: What if there were a back door in Heaven? What's a cat gotta do to get in?

I'm hoping Heaven has a back door, to let some sinners in

The battle for the soul, I hope, won't let the Devil win

If last is first and first is last and the meek shall inherit the Earth

Then I hope God lets the pauper get himself a fortune's worth

G'night.

2006-05-11T19:48:00.000-07:00

And now onto my favorite subject in the world...ME! ...because it's all about ME all the time. ...because my arm's too short to box with God, so let's just talk about...ME! ...because you give us the news and we'll give you...ME! ...because, Luke, I'm leaving you! ...because I think to myself what a wonderful world (with ME in it)! ...because you scream, I scream, we all scream for ME! ...because it still is ALL ABOUT ME! And so on. So let me start with the fact that I love my shoes. Shiny gold ballet slippers. I know, I know. Perfectly Yummy (if you're a girl) and "Why'd-you-decide-to-buy-those-things?" (if you're a boy). Ten more points if you're an adorable cutey of a boy. Minus ten if you're a jerk. So I'm happy and contentedly wearing these beauties to work (and I know that they can be considered a little loud for the workplace but I'm just a temp so...WHATEVER!) and the aforementioned jerk approaches. Let's watch. Jerk - (giggling) "Oh, what are those?" Me - "They're shoes." Jerk - "OK, Dorothy...there's no place like home, there's no place like home." Me - "Shut up!" Yeah, I know. Snappy comeback, huh? NOT! I can't think of 'em quick enough. But that one jerk managed to ruin a good portion of my day until... Cool Office Chick - "I loooove your shoes!" Me - "Really? Jerk just made me feel so bad before..." Cool Office Chick - (rolling her eyes) "Whatever! I really loooove those shoes." Me - "Thanks! You really made my day." *smiles all around (except in the dark cloudy area by Jerk)* Which brings me to my next thought: Why do I care what others say? The answer is...there is no answer! OK. Reality. My vain little heart really does get broken when people are all judgemental of me. I really hate to be odd man out. That's despite my wish to be all independent and "who-the-heck-cares" nonchalant about things. Truth is, I am extremely sensitive and most creative people who appear to have the thick skin of a rhinoceros still secretly feel inadequate and just plain weird. But when in doubt, GO ALL OUT! I mean, do whatcha wanna do badass! That's right I'm talking to you in your "Bert and Ernie"-striped shirt and bellbottoms. Go ahead and be who you be and never let The Man get you down. Gotta admire the differences. Otherwise we'd all be Stepford clones...or working for the US government. And who the heck wants to do that?! Later, Gators (and Playa Haters)!

2006-05-10T17:24:00.000-07:00

'Twas the harpy that seized me very soul. She led me to the cold, inviting water with her gaze. As I stood with spear in hand, she sang her sweet song of longing. She fixed her eyes upon the surface of the sea beckoning me to approach ever nearer and like a lovesick fool, I did. My vain attempts to avoid her stare only left me worried. The ship she rocked and I lurched forward to hold me steady. When I did, this clever creature swam up near me, close enough for me to gouge out 'er eyes. But lo, she was more keen than I. She called out to my very soul and I could not protect it. She bade me sit beside her on a wave as I slipped into the murky deep; never to be heard or seen again. Some say that she is destined to lure sailors and lovers to their deaths with her songs, shaming the sirens and Circe herself. Harpy, this I swear: if our paths should cross again, I will kill thee! Yar!

2006-05-09T09:44:00.000-07:00

From "Sara Smile" to "She's Gone": After nearly four solid years, the on-again/off-again relationship between Carlos, his daughter and I is finally over. Despite our best efforts, the girl was just not interested in repairing her life. It hurts in that we really worked hard to turn her around. Many a night was spent preaching and speeching and loving and worrying. We struggled but to no avail. She just wasn't listening. There was a metaphor which came from my Dad long ago when he had made a life-changing decision. He described the decision-making process as someone being warned about going down a dark alley. Most people, sensing the danger will turn back. But for some, the need to press on is instinctual. They go forward not because they know what's at the end, but despite it. Like Faust, they just want to see for themselves. Well, much to my chagrin. Where Do We Go From Here? I can't say for me, that she'll be totally missed. I was relieved that she was gone. I felt the energy shift the minute she walked out the door! Lest you think I'm being heartless, anyone's who's met her knows that she drives a negative energy that is so all-encompassing, it eats up any other focus. Her ability to play with your emotions, was draining. You spend so much time worrying about what she had or hadn't done that you scarce have any chance to live your life. There was no use in trying to instill your visions, life experiences, or advice either. So now, toughlove. The one who's really suffering though all of this is, Carlos. He's heartbroken over Sara's decision, but hopes that it will all be for the best.

2006-04-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

Akin to my little friend here, I have spent most of my current waking hours trying to fit in. I see the forest for the trees, the greener grass in my neighbor's yard, and I'm so apart from it that it is making me increasingly depressed. I'm even getting that weird feeling you get when you don't belong. That odd-man-out feeling. That new-kid-in-the-cafeteria feeling. The smallest opportunity that I am given to speak, say, when someone asks me a question, I begin the downward spiral of offering WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I even provide my very own thesis and dissertation before, as Shakespeare would say, "Thou didst request it." Ugh!So while I'm offering up those little nuggets of conversation that people are tripping over, I find that I am even annoying myself. It's time to gather up those treasures of Wisdom and shove 'em back in my mouth the minute they accidentally fall out. That way, I can save myself ten miles of misery. I also have to stop myself from staring awkwardly at those around me in an attempt to transfer brain signals. No one wants to Vulcan mind-meld anymore. It's time for me to store those and stop giving the appearance that I'm some lame-ass chick who talks to her herself for fear of sharing any thoughts with my human counterparts. I can't begin to tell you how much I'm starting to scare myself!Could I be so darn insecure or am I just bored? Well, it's true that I've been understimulated these past few weeks. I have already shared (ad nauseum) the unique and mundane aspects behind The Life of a Temp. There's nothing worse than sitting for hours daydreaming about public speaking engagements with Powerpoint presentations in filled-to-capacity Training Rooms; imaginary young temps eager to hear me share droplets of Experience. Must be the megalomaniac in me. Instead, this is what I get:Older Executive turns to subordinate who's training me on my job duties and says, "Can you please get her to copy these and start coding the mail that we got yesterday?" Like I'm not even there. Ugh-Ugh! Scenarios like the following are also not uncommon:"Can you...what was your name again?""Mema.""Whatever. Listen, can you photocopy these and can you," turning again to subordinate, "show her where the photocopy room is?""I know where it is."Incredulously, "You do?""Yes. Isn't it the room I pass every morning to get into the office?"Clearing throat, "Uh, yes. Yes it is. Good!"Then in full sweeping motion like a war general, complete with crest and banners flying, The Exec pivots and heads back to his office. He quietly locks the door behind him in secret fear of me. If I know where the copy room is on my second day there, who knows what else I may know? I may even threaten his job! So, like a true opponent, I brandish my colors with pride and honor. If I'm going to be labeled a traitor, then I'll go down in a blaze of glory. Glory, Halleluyah! Defiant to the last just like in kindergarten. The only saving grace is that he can't order me to do pushups or punish me with a timeout. Woo Hoo! I mean, Halleluyah, children. Halleluyah!

2006-04-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

The bloggiverse has had a long wait. Ok. I'm sorry. A lot's been rattling around in this brain and like the true nerd I am, I sit on my thoughts for a few days, scribbling in my journal (or whatever's available) and take extensive notes. Like I said, I'm a nerd that way. I have a bunch of stuff to tell you, so lemme get started.I've been living a shameful existence. One that I'm content to lead because it involves heavy meditation and contemplation and every "-ation" in the entire nation. Get it? I know. I'm tired. But here's the skinny:The temp assignment (where my questionable supervisor / Mgr / Boss was fired) is now over. Thank goodness. Let's give a healthy, almighty, "Hooray" and exchange knowing glances. Everyone knew that this wouldn't last. Seems that jobs these days are more confusing than ever. If you're lucky, you work for heavenly Bosses who understand the concept behind Happy Workers, Happy Work. If you're not so lucky (most of the known populace fall within this category) then you only have to suffer as long as you're willing to. Some see it as okay to hate their job. They can miraculously separate the ugliness from the rest of their lives. I am not of this ilk. I wish I could just clock my regular 9 to 5 shift without so much as an eye-flutter. I am one of the ones that wants to make a difference which usually means that I suffer prolonged agony if the work seems unfulfilling or unrewarding. I take work home with me because, hell, I CARE. I really do. I've tried to be the other way, believe me. It just doesn't work out.2) I've started a new temp job at yet another unsatisfyingly dull position. I don't anticipate staying long. Then again, I have to think realistically (something which I hate doing) and bow down to the Almighty Credit Card bill. Ugh. Its force is apparently mightier than I. The sucky part is that it is so dang convenient these days to whip out the card instead of the cash. Suze Orman (financial guru) would have my hide for this. And nobody wants to disappoint good ole Suze. So, I'm mending my ways, albeit begrudgingly.Finally, a little bad news from the home front which involves my sick Grandmother. Just keep her in your prayers before you lay down to sleep. I plan on visiting her real soon and hope to give more details in a later post. It's late and I really should get to bed. I didn't call this Part I for nothin'!

2006-04-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

So How Was Your Day At The Office? Tomorrow will be my official last day at my temporarily assigned position, but fear not kiddies because I've got oooh! "OFFICE GOSSIP". And since I have no loyalty to these poor schmoes anymore, I figure I'd share an experience that is commonplace for any office temp. Trust me, if it's one thing I'm good at, it's observation. So join me as I begin to unravel all of the nuances of being a temp, what that means for you (referred to endearingly as: The Poor Slob -- trust me, it could be worse), and how to avoid the obvious pitfalls of your status. Let's see, where do I begin? At the beginning. (Pardon the pun)

You Want Me To Do What?! - Some offices understand that it's your first day on assignment and try to gradually show you the ropes. Others want not only to show you, but blow a whistle to force you to climb it as far as you can in the shortest amount possible. My best advice is: Know Your Limits. Sure you could fax, copy, collate, color-code, alphabetize and sort. But do you also have to manage and formulate a project plan? No and...NO!
I'm Not Retarded, I Just Act That Way - Okay, so you are getting paid a heck of a lot more than minimum wage. That doesn't mean that you have to learn the company's dealings overnight. So you flub some simple tasks and cut corners...so what? You never give any employer your best work EVER because most of the time, they won't notice anyway. Just do what you can. You're only there on a temporary assignment which usually means that you're the peon picking up the slack on someone else's permanent job. Get the picture?
I Was Voted "Most Likely to Succeed" In My High School Yearbook! - Don't take it too personally if people treat you like the hired help, because basically, you are. So you can multi-task. Good for you! It doesn't give you permission to run things.
Observe, Grasshopper, The Delicate Balance of Life - Do your job efficiently (but not too quickly or too slowly). Smile but don't be overly friendly. Take yourself seriously, but don't neglect your personality. Be aware but not nosy. Remember that this job could be a stepping stone towards future offers. No one wants a wet dishmop to work with. Don't be as unapproachable as Sly Stallone in Cobra ("DTA, man, DTA...Don't Trust Anybody"). Just be friendly and courteous. Just imagine how you behave when hanging out with your friends and DO THE OPPOSITE OF THAT.
Sir, Step Away From The Calculator - Stop seeing the means to an end. Does one have to work to live? Sure! But you should love what you do, not just while away the hours staring at the clock on the "Start" toolbar. If you're too busy "calculating" how many hours it takes to pay the electric bill, then you're temping for the wrong reason.
Watson, I Think I've Got It! - Try to (*gasp*) learn something while you're temping. Whether it's getting some instruction and guidance from a co-worker or doing a little self-teaching to acquire some new skills, each lesson broadens your skillset. This will be important to market yourself when you go onto your next job.
I Don't Work At "The Gap", So Why Sell Myself Short? - If your agency treats you solely as a commodity and seems less than interested in your overall happiness in a position, it is crucial to point out the obvious. Multiple phone calls to complain in a cool, calm manner will do wonders. It may give your agency the head's up it needs to review their client. It also may be the head's up you need to review your agency. See how cyclical that is? What goes around really does come around...
Don't Worry, Be Happy - Ultimately, only you can give an accurate assessment of a company from how you feel. Do you go home after work only to complain to high heaven about Homer Simpson in Sector 7G? Well, maybe the nuclear plant isn't a good fit. Remember that your agency are not the ones being asked to spend 8 hours a day working for Mr. Burns...it's YOU. "Supplicants, indeed."

Those are just a few of the tips I learned while on the job. Temp if you will, temp if you must, but don't ever forget: It's Success or Bust!

2006-04-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Britney Spears, Congratulations, Britney on dropping your baby! You have managed to endanger your child's life for the second time in a row (not a small feat). Hold onto your hat because what I am about to offer you will BLOW YOU AWAY! Now that you have officially been reported to the authorities, wouldn't you love to have a keepsake that could mark this special occasion for you and your child, Sean Preston? This is not just some random letter from Child Protective Services or a useless internet song from your husband, K-Fed. This is an opportunity to record this moment for a lifetime. But just in case you aren't convinced, here's a testimonial from others just like you: Courtney Love: "I dealt with Kurt's death by throwing myself on a lawn for a photo-op. Little did I know that that vigil could've gone unnoticed, overlooked and forgotten forever! It was hard, y'know selling Kurt's music. It was also hard having to deal with the court over my own daughter, Francis Bean. I'm a good fucking mom. I am. So this was the best way to prove it to the judge and Dave Grohl and everybody that I care for my kid!" Michael Jackson: "Before all of those ignorant people had said all of those horrible things about me and Blanket, I decided that I needed to do something. After I received this in the mail, Little Prince loved it and told me so from behind his mask. I love my chil'run so much!" Yes, for a small fee, you could go ahead join the ranks of poor parenting! Britney, you may be wondering what gift could contain such a wonderfully precious moment? Well, look no further! Allow us to send you this lovely, finely painted cardboard cigar box. But wait! Your luck does not stop there. Because the cigar box is not filled with cigars. No. But before you decide, Britney, know that your baby will not have anything more sophisticated. No rhinestone-covered teething ring can compare to the classy, sleek bottle on Jack Daniels waiting inside! What could something like this cost, you may ask? Relax. You can afford it, Britney, even with the sliding sales of your husband's CD. Please tear off the bottom of this message and send a check for $200,000 to: "JD in A Case" c/o The Mema13 Fund. Remember, the box can be personalized and can come in two colors: pink and blue, of course! Don't let the chance of a lifetime pass you by. Please, just send it as soon as possible because...c'mon! (I could use the cash!)

2006-04-08T15:01:00.000-07:00

Yes, my sister came up with this wonderful little gem of comedic genius. Only, she said she'd heard it somewhere. But I like to call her a comedic genius because...well, El. Now she can officially hang signs in her cubicle that read, "Comedic Genius At Work". I rather like that concept. No, Brad Pitt is NOT a genius: What exactly consitutes a genius? So many people fling that word around that I've lost all sense of what the true meaning is. If you do something great that is a fluke can you still be called a genius? I mean does genius-ness have some sort of timetable? Maybe genius expires like milk products. Wouldn't that suck? If you were the genius yesterday and then all of a sudden you just stopped being a genius, stripped of all your genius-duties like...well...thinking and pondering. Isn't that what geniuses do? Or maybe geniuses are just regular people with no job and a lot of time on their hands. I mean, actors love to pat each other on the back and call each other geniuses all the time. But are they really? I mean, I can't act or anything but I hardly think that just because someone can do something that you can't doesn't make them a genius. It just makes them skilled at something that you're not skilled at. Perhaps if you go and practice a whole bunch and your Dad's an actor or a salesman, then perhaps you're more pre-disposed to acting. Or if your mom was a teacher who taught you the skills you needed for acting or singing or performing to come naturally. How can you then be called a genius? I thought geniuses were beyond smart. I thought geniuses had high IQ's and smoked pipes with dressing robes. No, wait. That's Hugh Hefner. Have We Learned Nothing from Doomsday movies? What the heck is wrong with the world? I was shocked, surprised, awed and confused by the mysterious snow which fell from our sky...in April. I'll admit that I hadn't heard the weather report, but what in the heck was that all about anyway? So my latest fears have turned to things that I can't control. Namely: post-9/11 laziness, global warming, and menstrual cramps. But not in that order. Or maybe...yeah. EXACTLY in that order. Huh.Fire Drill: OK, so the other day there was a fire drill at work. Prior to 9/11, this was an occurrence which wouldn't cause an employee to even bat an eyelash. Since 9/11, it is hard not to stir a reminiscent twinge or out-and-out worry. But why doesn't everyone bolt? Why are there still fools out there in the world that will second-guess the drill? Hello?! It went like this: Alarm goes off. Idiots walk to the elevators. Others remind The Idiots that they can't use the elevators in an Emergency. Some try to crack jokes like, "Save the Coffee!" to, I guess, worry me more. The Jerks begin to ask, "Oh, is this a drill? Does anyone know if this is a drill?" The Losers start to slow up their pace. I think: If this is a real emergency, I'm toast. Some of The Losers are wearing real inappropriate gear like high-heeled shoes. I think: If this were a real emergency, they should really take those off and bail.There's a retarted company policy that asks the employees to go down only 5 flights of stairs and someone's supposed to meet you there to give you the next set of instructions. I think: Are they kidding? Seeing that no one is there to give us further instruction, every smart employee makes a mad dash for the next flight of stairs. The Idiots, Jerks and Losers are still deciding what to do. I think: I'd mow them down and use their bodies as my personal sled to get me to the bottom faster. We go down to the 11th Floor from the 19th before the "false alarm" loudspeaker announcement. I think: Thanks a lot, Building Fire Warden...for NOTHING. Then it's a slow ascent. I guess people really don't value their lives. Maybe they didn't experience 9/11 but only saw it on tv. Maybe their just Idiots, Jerks and Losers. Yeah, that's it. Global Warming Doesn't Mean Grab The Suntan: If you were Homer Simpson you'd probably say something like, "Woo Hoo! Global Warming! Marge, break out the sunglasses and flip-flops!" But you already know that The Simpsons is just a satirical cartoon, right? Right?! Yeah. I'm worried about our ozone layer that's...well...diminishing with every farting cow. *burp* We also can thank The 80s for sparking the "big hair" trend that probably didn't help. Ah, Aquanet: Killing our ozone for decades. That should be their marketing angle for the 21st century. But, I digress...yet again. But seriously, aren't there things that we can do to help Mother Earth besides killing off cows and telling ladies with bouffant hairdo's to watch it with the hairspray? Well, I guess it helps to condition ourselves accordingly. The easiest way to start is by using less of what we think we need. Stop wasting gas. Use the backside of used sheets of paper. Don't buy new, buy used. Then, over time, we can graduate to the wonderful world of RECYCLING. I can't believe people still refuse to recycle their garbage, even though some communities are punishing the guilty with heavy fines. And no, those blue bins in the office aren't just for show. Please separate your paper from your plastics, your glass from your cardboard. The result may not be as dramatic, but every little bit helps. So we may not be able to prevent the next cataclysmic event. Maybe we can start small and work our way up or leave that problem solving to the geniuses. Last But Not Least: Lord, I know I'm a woman and all, but why must I suffer the horror that is menstruation? Why do all of the most horrific words begin with the word: men? Menopause? Menningitis? Mental Retardation? Why couldn't Eve just have forgotten all about that fruit? Why'd she have to be such a dumbass? Why does this monthly game always involve me having cravings for chocolate? Why must I be in such a pissy mood? If you cut me, do I not bleed? Why then must I bleed for 3 days to a week every month? Are irregular periods just some sick joke of Yours? Well, let me in on it then. I'm in a perfect state-of-mind to rip someone's head off. Might as well be You. Amen.

2006-03-20T16:00:00.000-08:00

What's A Nice Girl Like Me Doing In A Place Like This? Picture this: a cubeless arrangement of side-by-side desks flat as an open plain. Only there isn't any scenery to immerse myself in. There's just mounds of work and a wasteland of dull-eyed worker-monkeys pushing paper. I'd kinda hoped to make the best of things. But, no one talks to me and it is very noticeable that I am being grossly ignored. Un-blessed ennui and a pile which I putter through as the hours drag on. I try my very best to be sociable. I really, really do. But I guess senses of humor are hard to come by at least in such automaton locations. I miss my old Boss and my co-workers. I'm afraid that I'll never meet such a kind, professional bunch again. And hello...I've paid my dues. Why in the heck do I have to keep on paying?! American Idle: So what I understand is that going back to temping is kind of like having talons stuck in your side. You're treated as though you're not human and as if you don't have any feelings. Some people talk down to you as though you can't understand English. I knew this going in, so I have found ways to amuse myself. When the Boss isn't looking, I check my emails. I send notes to some old buddies and maintain a few contacts. I take a gazillion breaks and since there really is no place to go (except around in a circle) I have invented a creative game. My first break consists of either a trip to the cafeteria for water, tea, or a snack. I take the long way down a long, endless corridor that kills about 10-15 minutes if I walk really, really slow. My second break is usually after a rather tedious stretch of time where I do entries in a system that is riddled with duplicate invoices and errors. Since I am a temp I am not supposed to care, but somehow I do. I have already tried (in vain) holding mediocre conversations with various people but that doesn't seem to work since the people who I'm addressing appear to have never graduated high school. A conversation can easily go like this: Me - Wow, it's so cold out. Them - Yeah. Me - I hear that it won't go higher than 30 degrees today. Them - Umm Hmm. Me (after an uncomfortable silence) So...did you hear about the Isaac Hayes controversy? Them - The what? Me - Y'know...on South Park? Them - I don't watch South Park OR What's that? Me - A cartoon on Comedy Central? Them - Oh. I never watched that. Me (switching to current events) - What a horrible thing...Dana Reeve's death, huh? Them - Who? Me - Nevermind. Them - What? Me - Nothing. Them (giving me a weird look). Conversation over. My second break is usually to go to the bathroom. By now I have to go, having had that tea on my first break. Again, I take the long way there; smiling at passersby who appear to be confused by my high spirits. I guess "gloom-and-doom" face works better. Today though, I had the pleasure of overhearing a quote which was almost like an inside joke/gift to myself. The quote: "I be trying to act smart." Now you have been let in on the joke. Endless laughs forever...ok maybe not forever, but at least a good long while. Condescending Down A Spiral Staircase: So last week, I actually received a mini-conversation from my direct Supervisor (who is my Boss but hasn't yet earned the right to be titled such). You know why I have such an underlying disgust for this creature? Because he's condescending. Very. It reminds me of an old Dilbert cartoon where Dilbert's Boss says, "Come over here and let me pat your head in a condescending way..." I always laughed at that one, except is isn't so funny when one is actually living it. The man hasn't said two words to me for over two weeks and yet decided to engage me in conversation that didn't even deal with anything I'd learned or how I was doing. Nope. But first, let me give you a little background: the "Boss" is new. He loves to mention it to anyone within earshot. It usually comes in the form of phrases like, "I'm new" or "I've only been here a few months" or "I haven't been here very long". In other words, he's the new guy and that buys him a few more months of not having to learn anything. In addition to not knowing anything about his function, this guy goes on and on about, "THE BIG PICTURE!" No, really. I think he even used the words: "big picture". Because this guy is the worst of all--this guy is THE CONDESCENDING IDIOT. Quickly, to the Batmobile, Robin! What is a condescending idiot, you may ask? Well, at every job you'll have at least one. The person who thinks that whatever he/she's doing is way below him/her. There are "grander scale" issues and "larger tasks" at hand, like the character of Robin in the Batman comic book series. He's the guy that is really just Batman's sidekick, but still envies The Caped Crusader. That's right. Poor Robin would much rather achieve some kind of greatness by kicking (*POW!*) Batman out of the way and (*WHAM!*) stepping over his bloody corpse to become the defender of Gotham City. The rude condescension is just the icing on the cake. Just like The Joker, my "Boss" talks at me and not to me. He has a tendency to assume that I'm an idiot and speaks in small, annoying sentences as if he's teaching a child. Worse, I think he believes that he is the greatest, fairest guy in all the land. But, he's not. He's just rude and clown-like. *Cue Big Top Ringling Bros Circus music here* But it could've been worse. He could have been more like a diabolical con on the mission to take over the world a la Lex Luther. I guess I lucked out, after all.