she knew she had to change her plans

The book, the page, the line, the word, the letter. September 29, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 4:10 pm

The title of this post is from (at least one of) my favorite Jack White lines of all times. If I ever had the money, I would totally buy his old house. It would be like Jack Kerouac buying Charlie Parker’s house. Jack White lived on Seminole Street even. That’s just too perfect.

Charlie Parker looked like Buddha
Charlie Parker, who recently died
Laughing at a juggler on the TV
After weeks of strain and sickness,
Was called the Perfect Musician.
And his expression on his face
Was as calm, beautiful, and profound

As the image of the Buddha
Represented in the East, the lidded eyes
The expression that says “All Is Well”
This was what Charlie Parker
Said when he played, All is Well.
You had the feeling of early-in-the-morning
Like a hermit’s joy, or
Like the perfect cry of some wild gang
At a jam session,
“Wail, Wop”
Charlie burst his lungs to reach the speed
Of what the speedsters wanted
And what they wanted
Was his eternal Slowdown.
Jack Kerouac reading “Charlie Parker”

But at the rate I’m going, I won’t have enough money to buy a cup of coffee. I’ve discovered that my life is on the “B” list of writing. I have included an excerpt from an email to Laura to explain:

Okay, so all of our assignments were sent to the professor in the “dropbox” section of the class website. It’s like an AIM screen so you can send a message and then attach the Word document file to the message. It’s different than the email section and everything you get in your class email gets automatically sent to your home email address. All right. Well, I just finished writing the anthology and sent it in, mind you he never said when it was due, but since the class is over tomorrow, I just did it today and sent it in.
So, I’m looking at the stuff I had sent in the list and it says in my inbox I had messages. Never noticed that before and never realized he was sending us messages that way. Well, for my story, the rough draft that I sent last week, he gave me a freaking 80%! He said that the story “fell flat and needed to be longer.” Okay, first of all, yeah, it wasn’t great, but he kept saying that the word count wasn’t something to concern yourself with. So I responded and said, “Well, I hope the revision was better for you, thanks.” The stories were only suppose to be like 1500 words max and I always went over anyway. The final draft that he wanted three days after the freaking rough draft was done, ended up being 4000+ words. I told Fran that if he gives me a B for the class I’m going to be pissed. I really want to know how he can give me a B for doing a better job than these other fruit cakes in this stupid class. Fran said, “Yeah, if he likes that other shit and gives them an A, that would really suck.” What the hell? I have no idea where these people come from. The guy never put any of our grades up except for the notebook assignments that were like 5 points each and I always got all of my points for that stuff. Now it says my Grade to Date is 170 out of 190 points, bringing my average down to an 89.57%. Ugh. If he gives me a B on these last two things I’ll get a B and be pissed off. :-/
Man, that makes me mad…

But I’m going out tonight and having dinner with Fran before hand. I have a new gray skirt I want to wear but I don’t know if it’ll end up being right for the occasion. We were talking about this yesterday, how if you can’t get your look to be exactly the way you want it, then you don’t bother dressing up at all. I hate when I go out because I always have this idea in my head about how iI want to look but it never comes across as exact or perfect so I’m never happy with what I have on or what I look like when I go out.
Maybe that’s why I’m a “B” quality writer; because I can’t make things turn out the way I imagine them. Sigh…
Now I’m looking through the clothes that I’ve strategically piled on the laundry room floor, trying to find something decent to wear tonight. You know, when I went out all the time before, I had a specific collection of stuff that I kept in easy reach. I never was happy with the outfits back then either, but at least I knew what I had to pick and choose from. Now since I go out every once in a while, I’ve tossed the dress up stuff in places that aren’t visible to the naked eye. I have to search for it, spray some wrinkle remover on it, hang it up and know damn well that I’m going to hate it once I’m running late at 9 o’clock, wishing I had prepared a little better.
I have a few options: the black and white polka dot dress with a black t-shirt underneath, the red jumper with a white t-shirt, the gray skirt with a red, black and silver t-shirt or the black on with the buttons that I will most likely opt for but I think it’s too big and long like a tunic and it won’t work with a poofy, flowy skirt. It’s so hard to be a girl sometimes. It’s especially hard when you try to look nice, get there, realize you don’t look great, see girls with better dresses and better shoes and better hair and better makeup. The worst is realizing that probably no guy in that place gives a shit either way.
And, P.S., WordPress, no, I am not going to buy into your new upgrade this time. Not until I know for damn sure everything is locked, sealed, saved and safe. Until then, I’ll deal with the old just fine.


News on the radio, Happy Birthday September 28, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 3:31 pm

Oddly, I wasn’t going to use the Hourly Radio picture for my birthday post but when I found the Concrete Blonde lyrics, it fit, so the post format stays.
I’m 31. It’s not that big of a deal. It just sucks because every guy that I think is cute is still in his 20s. At least when they get to their 30s they decide to settle down. But the cute ones get taken the minute they’re available. So I guess I’ll have to sit around and wait for some 20 year old to turn 30 and then jump on his while he’s vulnerable. Yeah, I’m sure that plan will pan out for me. Sigh.
Anyway, so I’m going to dinner with my parents in a few, having cake, getting presents, maybe going to Fran’s Dad’s with her later on to visit. All in all just another rainy day but it’s like my own personal New Year’s so it’s special in that regard.
So, my media news goes like this:
The Hourly Radio is coming to Orlando at the Social on November, 9th. For $12, a Friday night and at The Social; I’m there. Too bad the club sucks on Friday night. I am so done with Fridays. If they’ve made it somewhat interesting there for a change, please let me know. I remember the time when Friday night was all of our sit around and bullshit night. What the hell happened to that? Oh yeah, right, we all stopped talking to each other. Sigh…
VNV Nation & The Gothic Cruise just kills me. I didn’t even know this was even possible, let alone annual. I wonder how many weddings are performed on the Gothic Cruise each year.


Girls are like
apples on trees. The best
ones are at the top of the tree.
The boys don’t want to reach for
the good ones because they are afraid
of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they
just get the rotten apples from the ground
that aren’t as good, but easy. So the apples
at the top think something is wrong with
them, when in reality, they’re amazing.
They just have to wait for the right
boy to come along, the one
who’s brave enough
to climb
all the way
to the top
of the tree.

I don’t think there are any men out there who afraid that I will hurt them. Generally it’s the rotten ones who lure me down.
And I don’t think I’m exceptional because I’m not easy. I know men use girls. Hell, they’ve all used me when it came to that conquest. It makes no difference if I am easy or not, they just split after a few months. That’s all I can ever expect out of the ones I pick. I have a collection of rotten boys that I keep on a shelf. I don’t think it’s so much them, that’s just the way they are, just what they do. I’m way too much for a guy who is just normal. You know, normal, like no history of alcoholism, no profound drug use, no mommy issues, no tendency to be a compulsive liar, no anger management class, no leading girls on so that they fall into a massive pit at the end of the long line of words that have no meaning. It has nothing to do with being picky or needing a list of requirements or over analyzing or anything, it just is what it is.
Speaking of rotten boys, today is the birthday of my first and most rotten apple on the shelf.
But that’s too much drama for one morning. I’m trying to put this blog post together, wait for the maintenance guy to stop by and paint the hole he had to make in the wall yesterday. I got woken up at 10:30 or so yesterday morning with two workers at my door saying that the chick living downstairs had a small black stain on her ceiling. I had no water on the rug or noticed any water anywhere so I had no idea there was any kind of leak. Turns out it was the pipe inside the tub. So they stayed, luckily for only an hour, pulled out all the pipes under the tub (cleaned my drain out for me, thankfully. I just cannot have my hair this long, it’s a mess and a pain in the ass to have it falling out so much) and sealed up the leaky pipe. The whole time the cat sat there watching them intently, as if they had come to visit him or something. Here I thought he would be totally anti social now since his worst case scenario trip to the vet’s when he was young. He started hissing and being scared of other people after that. Maybe he’s over it by now. {shrug}
I found out that the really cool keyboard at Staples that I wanted but was $64 (I contemplated buying it anyway) really is the one that I had already won on Ebay for $36. Now, I pray that it’s in perfect working order without a broken key or anything. The guy said it was like new so here’s hoping.
I wonder when my camera is coming too. At Staples last night I got a camera zippy pouch case thing (black) and the LCD screen protectors. I have the SD card all ready so now I’m ready to run around town and take pictures of random things with my new camera. I hope it is as cool as it seems.

Anyway, onto real topic for this post….
I can’t stand when people won’t fess up to listening to dorky stuff when they were little kids and claim that they had an opinion about what they heard. Nah, a ten year old kid listens to what their friends listen to, what’s on the radio, what is in front of them. I listened to Tiffany and Whitney Huston and Kylie Minogue. I had their singles on little records that I kept in a white patent leather carrying case. (I’ll betcha that is still hanging around somewhere at my parents’ house.) I listened to Top 40 shit. There was no opinion about it. I hung out with my friend Lisa who use to sing along with the neon pink tapes I made off of the radio. I didn’t listen to New Kids on the Block because no one was that into them when I first moved to Florida. I listened to metal and hip hop back then (an interesting combination I must say which has transformed to my indie rock and ebm fascination.) No one taught me anything. I had no siblings and no friends who were into anything remotely hip.
When I got to high school and I saw the older kids though, that’s when I became aware. It was a very Almost Famous experience; it expanded my mind. I saw the boys I had the crushes on in their Lollapalooza shirts and Converse and I thought, “That’s what I want.” I found R.E.M. I found Nirvana (honestly, I hated them at first), I found 120 Minutes and I remember my friend saying that she thought Siouxie’s voice was “ugly”.) I found Morrissey (yes, I eventually figured out who The Smiths were), I liked Depeche Mode when I heard “I Feel You,” I liked U2 when I heard “One.” There was no “Music for the Masses” and no “Joshua Tree.” I hadn’t a clue but I was more with it than my friends were.
When I found Smashing Pumpkins I was done. Threw in the towel and became the “little grunge girl.” I had seen “I Am One” on 120 Minutes before “Cherub Rock” came out but I thought they were weird. When I saw Billy Corgan standing on that cliff with his short hair and polyester shirt for the first time though, I was sold. I remember when I first saw this video and the VJ said, “Billy Corgan has gotten a little chubbier in his face. It must be all of that home cooking he has now that he’s married.”
But nonetheless, I was in love with guitar rock and anything that lead up to the grunge / alternative movement that my high school years were privileged to have after this moment. After that it was Hole, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Nine Inch Nails, Skinny Puppy, Front 242, Stone Temple Pilots, The Cure, Tori Amos, Bjork, Ministry, The Breeders (I didn’t know anything about The Pixies until I was over the age of twenty, by the way and all of these older bands I picked up with their current album in the 90s.) I had posters of “weird” people on my walls. I had friends who wore black shirts and combat boots. I was the tom boy grunge girl sister of the troop. I wore my black beanie In my red car, platoon boots, knee highs, pleated skirt, Cure t-shirt, silver metal box purse, smoking cloves and cranking up “Rocket” on my way home from school. I was the shit.
And that’s the way it’s been ever since then. I didn’t become my own normal person until that moment in 1992, sitting in my car, listening to “Cherub Rock” on the radio, going, “Okay, I like this.” I didn’t buy anything that I just liked even though no one else liked it until I walked in the mall to the only shitty music store we had and bought Siamese Dream on cassette tape. I made all of my friends listen to it. They scoffed at my obsession, but they all ended up buying the album or playing “Disarm” on the guitar at some point after that. When I met my ex rotten apple, he played a few songs, songs none of the local boys could play, on the guitar for me. I found someone who was just as obsessive and arrogant about their music taste as I was.
So today, now 15 years later, two days after my birthday and the birthday of my ex rotten apple, I dedicate this post to him. He was always such an ass, but, man, did he teach me how to listen to the music. I had never spliced up the guitar and bass lines before or concentrated on the drum beats or understood the importance of a good riff as he did.
I have never, ever, heard music the same way again and I don’t go with the typical flow as everyone else does. I picked what everything because of its unique quality. There has to be substance and talent. There has to be a shock and awe effect. And no matter how much I love everything at is current in my CD collection, nothing will ever be as good as it was. Just look at this following list. I am so grateful that I was just the right age and just the right time to appreciate this point on the musical time line. The music made me, me. This was when I became aware and in that one single year when I became myself, before I was tainted by some rotten apple of a boy, I started becoming who I am today. My consciousness grew and I became an actual self sufficient human being with an identifiable soul. I was a fucking cool girl who listened to really fucking cool music.
1992 was a pivotal year in the development of music. The most pivotal moment in musical development in 1992 was Nirvana’s Nevermind going to #1 on the CD charts. This marked the point where Grunge began to overtake the Glam metal style of the 1980s.

I still to this day have never bought anything Green Day. I don’t know why, they’re fine and all, but I was just never that into them. But they made their mark this year as well. The first time I saw the “Longview” video is forever impressed upon my memory as well. Hellogoodbye to 1992.
Huh, even my post is number 31.


I was walking with a ghost September 21, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 4:22 pm

This week’s writing assignment was to pick a story from our book and write a letter to the author about any problems you had with their work:
Hey Jack Kerouac:
I chose to write to you because I’ve always held you up on the highest shelves in my library. But I’m not sure if it’s your writing or who you were that makes me fall into everything you read. I think it’s because I can hear you scatting the words out for me. I love that I can hear the jazz in the lines. But I don’t think it’s fair. We have to adhere to impeccable grammar and strict linguistic rhetoric. You can write lines without paragraphs, moments without purpose, just images of life that get all balled up into one big, “Huh?” What are you getting at, Jack?
But I love it. I love that you see yourself traveling and wondering “Why didn’t I stay home.” I love that you write about being a Buddhist and then say, “I’m not a beatnik. I’m a Catholic.” I love that you’re the Yankee transfer living in houses all around my part of the country. I love that you have years of experience under your skin but seemed so shy on television.
So, your story, Jack, “Passing Through Tangiers” is good, but I had to stop myself and go back. It’s the merchant marine talk that I can’t stand. I get into the personal invocation and then you mess it all up when you start with the “This was a huge tempest that whacked at our C-4 from the North, from the Januaries and Pleniaries of Iceland and Baffin Bay.” All of a sudden I feel like I’m watching an old black and white war movie. I’m thrown into the “boyness” of Cowboys and Indians. I can’t relate so I skim until you break your sporadic train of thought and tell me, “I feel I didn’t explain that right, but it’s too late, the moving finger crossed the storm and that’s the storm.” Then I love how you write all over again.
I can’t offer any revision because I’m a girl trying to read into a boy’s mind. It’s like trying to read though “silk stockings full of mud.” Even though you tell me “somebody else write it, I don’t know how,” I don’t think you’d want a girl to take over this ship for you, Jack. A girl would clean up the moments and throw emotion in for action. This is truly something only you can do.
I use to travel all over and followed your trail looking for the pictures you described to me. You said that “I actually got up and packed to go back to America and find a home.” It’s too bad too. We would have been neighbors, Jack, if you hadn’t left twenty years too early.
Love always,

Desolation Angels
Jack Kerouac @ Wikipedia

Today was a good day. Well, it was but as you’ll see at the bottom of the entry, something did manage to piss me off severely. Go figure.
Anyway, like a dum dum, I waited until today to post my class stuff. I knew I would do it. I knew that when I told Fran that I couldn’t go to her Dad’s for dinner last night that I wasn’t going to get anything done. I had the stupid story written on a legal pad and all I had to do was type it up. So I finally did…at noon today. And that would have been fine and all if I didn’t jump out of bed all flustered because I was late in my work and tried to wake myself up and drink coffee that wouldn’t stay hot in my skull mug because I was letting it sit out for too long while I wrote. It would have been fine if my new, kick ass keyboard didn’t decide to have a faulty space bar so it makes the most annoying CLANK every time I hit it. (And I type fast so here I am with thirty plus perfectly quiet little alpha keys making my life simple and then every word ending with a CLUNK…CLUNK…CLUNK. Oh my God, I was ready to throw it out the window if it wouldn’t have been more of a hassle to unplug it and pull out the computer and set up the old keyboard again.
Plus I was still freaking out about not having my insurance up again until next month but I need the allergy pills to keep me from feeling like I have a slight cold all the time. I had gotten new insurance cards saying that I had successfully changed plans to the cheaper HMO. The card said the effective date was August 1, 2007, but the paperwork I had received from work said it didn’t start until October. So I called my doctor’s office and the receptionist said just to call the insurance company and ask them because if I have a card and an effective date, then I should be able to come in for a visit to get my prescriptions renewed. I called, they said I was covered, I made an appointment for Monday afternoon at the doctor’s so I can get my prescriptions renewed again and I was glad. Now, as far as the pharmacy and the prescription plan coverage goes, I’m not sure but, eh, we’ll see.
Then, I was still irritated about my keyboard. (As I type this I still am.) I contacted the seller on Ebay where I got it “brand new” from and he said to call Microsoft and tell them about it. He said he sold it to be brand new and it should not have anything wrong with it (even something as menial as a clinky, clanky, clunky space bar…I’m still trying to find the appropriate word to describe it with) and Microsoft will replace it for free. I wasn’t sure if that was totally possible but when I called the number and pressed “1” then “2” as he told me in his email, sure enough, all I had to do was give the rep the product number on the bottom of the keyboard and they said they would ship a new one to me within two days. I already received an email saying it had been mailed out. So awesome. No wonder Microsoft is a monopoly. No one has customer service like that.
I calmed down, typed up my story, realized it sucked and my whole manipulated perception of the story I had written was absolute sentimental crap that I complain about all the time. It was too telling, too boo hoo, too girlie and too uninteresting to even fathom. I had this great extensive idea for the whole thing and I had worked on other scenes to develop further than the introduction I had originally hand written but when I looked back on it, I just fell flat with my ideas. I hate that. It’s the hardest thing to go from your head to your hand as far as creativity goes. If you can’t orchestrate all of the images and details that you see clearly in your head, it just will not work. And I’m horrible at explaining things verbally so trying to find the right words to show someone what’s going on in my thoughts is just impossible sometimes. It’s the worst feeling when someone gives you that blank look and says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Consequently, it’s the best feeling when someone says, “I get what you’re saying.” I apologize to everyone when I “finished” what I had and resented having to post anything that hideous as my workshop piece but, it was late as is so I sucked up my pride and posted it. If anyone in the class says they like it, then I’ll know they don’t have a clue what good writing really is.

Now, for the pisser part of the evening:
I don’t think anything made me more outraged than this article: Survey says women patronized by pink tech. It wasn’t the article itself, but the moronic slew of comments that I ended up responding to. And I didn’t even care about the damn article!
These were my comments on Blogsmith with the links to the discussions. Grr…Example:
John @ Sep 15th 2007 11:37PM
A color cannot by itself be patronizing…it’s the actions of people that are. Give a woman a pink dress, pink shoes, a pink credit card, and put a diamond on her finger and she’s all happy, but give her a pink phone and a diamond encrusted pink ipod and all of a sudden we’re having this stupid conversation. Women out there…..get a life !!!
Delores @ Sep 20th 2007 9:48PM
Your ignorant and misogynist statement is EXACTLY why women have these “stupid” conversations.

John @ Sep 16th 2007 12:04AM
(replying to another girl’s comment)
Pink is NEVER the primary feature that is used to market a product to be sold to women. Other things might be patronizing to women, such as saying “so simple, even my girlfriend could use it”, or something like that which would be stupidity. But as for phones, I have NEVER heard a phone commercial on tv saying, “come buy this phone ladies….it’s pink”. Usually, you don’t even know a specific phone is even available in pink until you get to the store and see it there. If using a color were a primary selling feature, that’s like saying even though I am a guy I would have a closet full of orange skirts simply because I like orange. Nonsense. Get the facts before you post.

Delores @ Sep 20th 2007 10:09PM
Yeah, because the RAZR commercial DIDN’T use the song using the lines, “Isn’t she pretty in pink” and started selling them for Valentine’s Day, nonetheless.
You are right on one thing though, “Nonsense. Get the facts before you post.”

Ya see what I mean, girls? Thank God for the simple blessing I have in not even knowing a man in real life who is that fucking ignorant and unjustly condescending. I must close the tab before I scream…

I forgot to mention the other good thing from yesterday. Laura gave me an early birthday present yesterday: an Amazon gift certificate. I couldn’t have been more excited. Those are always the best gifts; something so simple that only someone who really knows you would give. Same goes for Fran and all the kick ass skull t-shirts and the “stupid little gift” she brought back when she went to Disney with her brother and his kids: a pin with Mickey Mouse ears cut out from the design of the British flag. I put it on my purse and have already received comments about it (of course it was just the guy at 7-11 but, hey, one can’t be too picky.)
She Wants Revenge “True Romance”
I’ve had this song in my head all day. I love the way he sings the chorus (like he’s pronouncing it like a Brit would). I like the drum/kick beat best of all though, of course. “I know know that you never loved me. I know that you never cared at all…” I hear it in my head constantly. Now I have, yet another reason to go out, so I can dance to this song. (My other reasons where that I could try to dance to Blaqk Audio “Stiff Kittens”
“Walking with a Ghost”
This was the other one that I had in my head yesterday. I still can’t decide if I love or hate this girl’s voice. But, dammit, I should not have looked this up because now I’ll have a remix of these two songs in my head now. Grr…
The White Stripes “Walking with a Ghost”
Okay, never mind. The White Stripes do it this way freaking better. Go figure. (I knew he had covered it, but didn’t know there was a “video”.) It’s not fabulous, but I’m betting this sound would be better live. I’m telling you, a man can be a good musician, and he doesn’t have to be a great singer, but if he pronounces stuff cool, then I’m all for it. (Just like Andre 3000 Benjamin, for example. I don’t think anyone could ever say the name “Caroline” any better.)
I got an email from Ticketmaster announcing that Morrissey will be at the King’s Center on November 7th. This just makes our much awaited night of finally seeing him all the less special. Damn.
I just found out that they’re doing a Family Guy Star Wars Episode on Sunday.
I kept thinking about Sue Monk Kidd when she said she bought a journal at the beginning of each year to write down what happened each day. I went as far as to order a couple of the large, daily Moleskine diaries, one for the rest of this year (because it was only $5 on clearance) and the red limited edition one for 2008.
Anyway, so tonight I have to write my class responses and that’s about it. I could clean up the apartment, vacuum, take out the trash, you know stuff that has been put off for weeks but, eh, maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Next week is the end of my class so I have two big projects to complete. I think for my final portfolio I’m going to totally revamp my crappy story and go with the other scenes I wrote a little better — the ones that were supposed to expand the introduction. The story doesn’t need to be that long, but, dammit, I’m not going to waste my time in these classes by not trying to make myself be a better writer. I never went into this program with any other real intent.
For my anthology I’m going with the women’s short fiction I’ve read lately. Since obviously everything I find cool has to do with boys somehow, I was thinking about doing something with this:
“No matter where my route may lie,

No matter whither I repair,
In brief — no matter how or why
Or when I go, the boys are there.
On lane and byways, street and square,
On alley, path and avenue,
They seem to spring up everywhere —
The men I am not married to.
I watch them as they pass me by;
At each in wonderment I stare,
And, ‘but for heaven’s grace,’ I cry,
‘There goes the guy whose name I’d wear!’
They represent no species rare,
They walk and talk as others do;
They’re fair to see — but only fair —
The men I am not married to.”
~Dorothy Parker “Men I’m Not Married To” (1922)


You have changed cause I still feel the same September 19, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 6:29 pm

So last night I ordered:
A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812 , Suite Francaise: A Novel , I Don’t Want To Be Crazy, This is Forever, and set up an account with Boca Java because of WinZip 11 and their stupid Trial Pay. Eh, whatever. At least I can look forward to having banana coffee and a pink travel mug in my mailbox now.
In my massive collection of new books that I’ve started cataloging on Shelfari, last night I picked up the book I wasn’t so sure I was going to be interested in. I started reading the introduction and felt compelled to pick up a pen and underline important passages. I do this often with my Russian non-fiction but never in a “girlie” book. I’ve accepted that I should be more open to reading “girlie” books and while I’m not into the moronic characters of chick lit, this book had an interesting title: The Dance of the Dissident Daughter: A Woman’s Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine . I always had women at school and at work telling me how they loved The Secret Life of Bees but it seemed overly sentimental and, in fact, girlie. Not for me. But this book is non-fiction and has a very interesting theme, hence the title, so I ordered it and last night realized how glad I am that I did pay the $6 to have it sent from Powell’s:
I parked in front of the drugstore where my daughter, Ann, fourteen, had an after-school job…
I spotted her right away, kneeling on the floor in the toothpaste section, stocking a bottom shelf. I was about to walk over and say hello when I noticed two middle-aged men walking along the aisle toward her. They looked like everybody’s father. They mad moussed hair, and they wore knit sportshirts the color of Easter eggs, the kind of shirts with tiny alligators sewn at the chest…
My daughter did not see them coming. Kneeling on the floor, she was intent on getting the boxes of Crest lined up evenly. The men stopped, peering down at her. On man nudged the other He said, “Now that’s how I like to see a woman — on her knees.”
The other man laughed.

I had the exact same thing happen when I worked at the grocery store when I started college. We had this old man who worked as the daytime bagger / janitor / all around “nice” guy whom everyone loved and whom other old retired customers in the daytime hours would only allow to help them out with various needs. They would actually tell me that they didn’t want me or one of the other girls or the manager or whomever that they only wanted him to do something and to call him because we wouldn’t do it right.
One day, my friend, Kelly, a girl about 30 at the time, married with a little boy, was helping a customer clean up something that had fallen from the cart and shattered on the floor while they were in my line. She was bent down at my line, as I was hanging her paper towels to help her clean up the spill. The old man bagger said the exact thing to Kelly at that particular moment. In front of everyone at the store. Kelly, normally kick ass and brassy, a former security guard for crying out loud, looked up at me with her big blue yes even bigger, silently saying, “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” I don’t even remember what she said to him because she was so astonished that she couldn’t even come up with a proper, polite yet jabbing retort.
Sue Monk Kidd. I’ve only read a few pages so far but, yeah, you’re absolutely right to write this book. You are right to say, “We tell tell our stories for ourselves, of course. But there are also those thousand other women.” We have all seen this happen and I’m glad you spelled it out for us so well.
For some reason, I think I can almost hear a group of men laughing as they read this. Hhmm…
Anyway, so while I’m mentioning the journey of women, let me go into the infuriating story that Fran told me on Monday:
On Monday the teachers had their in-service classes and all the department have to get together from other schools to meet up and sit in a class for eight hours and do hands on crap and are taught by ex-teachers who think they are still experts in the trade or are elementary teachers who talk to other teachers like their are five years old. It’s an experience like no other and you cannot understand the magnitude of the situation unless you experience it for yourself. I was always the one in the back of the class, slumped back in my little desk, writing notes to my teacher friends who had come with me or chatted with my new friend next to me and felt above it all. You know, like I did when I was sixteen.
Anyway, so when Fran was with her teacher friend from her school, they started talking to a girl who said it was her second year at my old school. Fran said she asked the girl if she knew me and the girl rolled her eyes and said, “No comment.” Fran rolled her eyes back at her and said, “Whatever.”
Whatever is right. The girl ended up being one who I talked to fairly often and who came and ate lunch with us. I talked to her all the time and never had a problem with her. This just goes to show that the evil supervisor that I use to have not only has misrepresented me to my principal, assistant principal, students, parents of my students, the union, the school board, any potential employer I may have in the future who needs a reference and Lord knows who else…she has also spread lies and gossip to the girls I use to be friends with who still work at my school. Of course it’s obvious that most of these people kiss my old supervisor’s ass and look up to her like she’s the genius of middle school English (no rhyme intended). They always did. What pisses me off is that while I’ve gotten away from that situation as much as I possibly can, she is still spreading lies and making me look like some horrible person when I was totally victimized by that woman. I can’t even begin to explain how much the anger builds inside of me when I talk about that woman. Even Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada ended up being like-able in the end. At least her character was running a multi-million dollar business. This lady is a mole at a tiny school and once she’s gone the forty teachers that feel her wrath will dance a jig of glee.
I’ve never, ever given anyone a reason to be despised and treated so maliciously. That’s why the whole thing baffles me still. Why would anyone believe that I did anything to cause someone else enough reason to roll their eyes and make “no comment” and the mention of my name? Absolutely amazes me.
The ironic part about the whole thing is that last week I emailed my closest friend at the school just to ask her how her year was going and she said, “You know, everyone keeps asking me if I’ve heard from you. They’re wondering how you’re doing.” Those are the normal ones who would ask. The ones who were sincere and friendly and who had the sense to stay away from my evil supervisor so they didn’t listen to her bullshit gossip to know anything about everything that I was going through with her.
So, hence, my picture for this post. While I am not sitting in Maine in my little New England dream house that overlooks the bay, I am much better off sitting in my tiny Floridian apartment that overlooks the retention pond, being poor and bored instead of working and being torn to shreds at that job anymore. While those women are hauling their asses to school each day to complain about each other and their kids, I’m sitting here writing my blog posts, writing my stories, reading my books, wandering around town and not having anxiety. I use to get so upset each morning when I would get up that I would put off taking a shower as long as I could because the minute I did, I would start getting ready for work and think about all the things that that woman was going to say or do to me once I walked into the door. Just thinking about it now makes me heart start pounding. I was helpless every day but, by God, I stuck it out until the end. I never gave up the money I deserved just to make her smile as she squashed me completely. Every week she would spout some ridiculous complaint about me so I looked like the most ungrateful, incompetent, loathsome, idiotic, lazy, disrespectful and unprofessional piece of shit that ever walked the earth. She would go around talking about me to everyone else because she didn’t teach any classes and had nothing better to do but go around gossiping to everyone about everyone else. She gossiped about what a horrible piece of shit I was while I spent all of my time trying to teach 120 kids how to read and write when they didn’t even know what a syllable was. (I love them though; they were funny as hell.)
I worried every day that she would somehow find a way to take my summer pay away from me. I worried that she would take the bonus money I received from the school board. I worried that she would be the one to answer the phone when an interviewer called for a reference. I even worried that she would find out that I wrote about her in my blog and she would report me so I never talked about anything that was going on at work to anyone other than the people I knew I could trust. I emailed them from a separate account and even used pseudonyms. My heart would jump and my skin would crawl whenever I saw her. She wouldn’t even say hello to me in the hallways because she hated me so much. I could stand there with five other people and she would speak to all of them and exclude me, like we were the kids in this adolescent zoo. I mean, can you imagine being so harassed that you would sit there and cry in front of children because you were so afraid of one little old woman? Thank God that nightmare is over.
Incidentally, I asked the secretary before I left about references and she said the supervisor wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone who would call for a reference. I seriously doubt that old woman would adhere to any kind of rule like that though. What would stop her from talking to a voice from human resources about me? She use to talk smack about me to my kids. The best thing was though, at the last day of school she said something to one of my kids about me and he told her off in front of everyone in the office. It was the best thing. Ever.
Anyway, my new thing was going to be that I wasn’t going to dredge up old crap but this new story made me re-assess the monstrous hell I went through. It made me sort of look at it in an objective manner. The old woman supervisor is a miserable woman, hence, she has to make everyone else miserable. No one honestly likes her and she knows that so, all I can do is feel bad for her. I have hope for the future of being honestly liked for who I am and the knowledge that I don’t purposely try to get someone just to make myself feel superior. If there’s any consolation in any of it, that is at least what I have on my side.
I said, pointing to her, my finger shaking with anger. “You may like to see her and other women on their knees, but we don’t belong there. We don’t belong there!”
Well, it’s not just men, Mrs. Kidd. Women like to put other women in that place too. Their anger and gets so overwhelming that they shake the foundation of this sisterhood we are suppose to establish. Hence, Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye; the next book on my wishlist.
With that said, I’m going to start typing up my damn story that I have to submit to class tonight. I was going to start working on it Monday but I didn’t bother. Instead I ended up taking the old box full of CDs that were still at my parents’ house and started rumuging through them as they now sit on the back seat of my car. (Tori Amos, R.E.M., Peter Murphy, Catherine Wheel ((I’m hearing them all over XM now. I thought I was the only one who knew about them in the 90s)), Concrete Blonde, Hole, Smashing Pumpkins ((the best of the best of the best)), industrial mix CDs, 80s compilation CDs, and the list goes on.) After hearing that story I was sidetracked mentally for the rest of the day. At least I have the thing started and all I have to do is type up what I have. I’m not superior as a writer in any respect but, man, some of the stuff people submit each week baffles me. Just as an example, people are actually writing stories that include, “As I woke up, I realized it was all a dream…” Give me a flipping break. This is something that warrants an eye rolling. Of course I would never do it in front of their friend. But that’s just me and that whole polite, nice, classy, mature thing I can’t seem to shake. Sigh…no comment.


Maybe these ruby shoes are a little cumbersome for you September 17, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 1:20 am

September 11, 2007
BREAKING: White Stripes Cancels Tour Due To Anxiety
Those of you who saw Jack and Meg at the Tower Records – whoops, we mean the Icky Thump Records in-store concert earlier this summer, you might be the only people in LA who will get to see the duo this year in the Southland.
According to an email that was just sent out by the band’s email team, the tour has been ixnayed.
The White Stripes announced today that they are canceling their forthcoming tour due to health issues. Meg White is suffering from acute anxiety and is unable to travel at this time.
The White Stripes sincerely apologize to their fans.”We hate to let people down and are very sorry.”
Fans can obtain refunds for their tickets at point of purchase.
Very sad to hear that this is happening. Especially since we can’t recall a concert at the Forum featuring just one guitarist and one drummer. It would have been history, instead it’s just history.
After the jump the entire dates that are affected…

  • 9/13/07 Albuquerque, NM @ Kiva Auditorium
  • 9/15/07 Austin, TX @ Austin City Limits Festival
  • 9/16/07 Austin, TX @ Stubbs Bar-B-Q9/18/07 San Diego, CA @ Coors Amphitheatre
  • 9/19/07 Inglewood, CA @ The Forum
  • 9/21/07 Berkeley, CA @ Greek Theatre
  • 9/24/07 Anchorage, AK @ George M. Sullivan Sports Arena
  • 9/26/07 Seattle, WA @ Paramount Ballroom
  • 9/27/07 Seattle, WA @ Paramount Ballroom
  • 9/28/07 Boise, ID @ Idaho Center Theater
  • 9/29/07 Salt Lake City, UT @ The E Center
  • 9/30/07 Jackson Hole, WY @ Snowking Center
  • 10/2/07 Rapid City, SC @ Rushmore Plaza Civic Center
  • 10/3/07 Fargo, ND @ Fargo Civic Auditorium
  • 10/4/07 Lincoln, NE @ Pershing Center Auditorium
  • 10/6/07 Chicago, IL @ Aragon Ballroom
  • 10/7/07 Chicago, IL @ Aragon Ballroom
  • 10/10/07 Honolulu, HI @ Neal S. Blaisdell Center

White Stripes Cancels Tour Due To Anxiety
The White Stripes cancel UK tour

Soap box transmission initiated.

Well, first I find it odd that I just came upon this article tonight and they never sent a mass email out through their mailing list like they do for everything else.
Second of all, I’ll quote myself in my Digg comment: “Anxiety means she’s freaking stressed out. Only Xanax, therapy and a vacation can cure that. They’ve been on hiatus for a while since her ex-husband started making babies with some supermodel in front of her. That alone would be cause for a girl to be anxious.”

Third, I doubt it’s a coke habit, unless she’s hanging out with some dumbass like in D’arcy or Courtney Love or has some moron half-assed musician boyfriend in L.A. and got easily influenced. If this is some kind of drug problem, their freaking intergrity will be lost for good.
Fourth, I’m predicting that the band will break up. Or at least disband for a while. Icky Thump has a very “farewell” finale tone to it. As I said before, I think the whole album is about their personal relationship drama.
Fifth, I feel bad for the girl. I’m guess that she puts up with a lot of bullshit.
Sixth, they still hadn’t set any Florida dates so I’m guessing that I’m not going to get to see them live ever.
Seventh, I wonder if Meg just called Jack on the phone and said, “Fuck you, I’m not doing this anymore.”

Soap box transmission complete. For now.


Double cross the vacant and the bored September 15, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 4:15 pm

Notebook entry:
I finally did the workshop critiques for this week. Some of them were bloody awful. I just can’t get over the vast difference in quality of work between gender. Men can just write a freaking story and not try to make it overly sentimental or erotic or shocking or Lord know what else girls do. Again, Dorothy Parker was right, “Dear God, let me write like a man.” They’re just so much better at this stuff. I even went as far as to email the one guy in my class with my response and told him how good it was. He write like the boys at UCF did. I miss that push and competition and influence they had on me. Eh, but those days are over I guess. Maybe now that I’m older I’ll find the kind of influence I need that doesn’t involve the college bullshit. (The drinking, pot smoking, I’m going to start a band, bullshit.)
Anyway, Fran call to say we should have dinner and see Becoming Jane in town. I guess her husband is gone for the day. (Football watching at his brother’s house is my first guess.) I left her a message on her cell but haven’t heard back yet. I was suggesting five to eat if the movie is at seven or so.
I need to finish watching The Paper Chase, take a shower, and maybe post (this?) to my blog. It’s only about three now. I love those 70s movies. The stories were more personal and intelligent. I use to watch them on Encore when I was just out of high school. I’m still searching for a couple of movies on Blockbuster Direct that I liked back then:
Diary of a Mad Housewife (1970)
Looking for Mr. Goodbar (1977)
An Unmarried Woman (1978) (Which I finally found a few months ago and saw again.)
Both were originally novels and turned into movies that have a very disco based soundtrack and lots of big poofy hair. They’re very Feminine Mystique and New York City based. Very Woody Allen-esque without Woody Allen.
Side notes:
Weird younger version of George Costanza neighbor continues to stand along my railing outside of my patio at random times and usually it’s when I randomly decide to go outside and smoke. Can you think of anything more annoying can do, dude? So there I am, watering the plants with a yellow T.G. Lee jug (I kept it to water the plants because the expiration date is my birthday), Camel “Menthe” No. 9 in hand, hair in some funny makeshift bun on top of my head, white night shirt that leaves nothing to the unfortunate imagination, and jumping out of my skin when some short little balding guy comes out at precisely the same time to stand in the breezeway, two feet away from me, to look out at the pond. I’ve called the front office before on him but apparently he doesn’t care. Laura says he’s doing it on purpose to see me in my nightie. Ick. I never say anything to him out loud, just verbally chastise him as I have to stamp out my cigarette and go inside to get away from George. The cat talks to him though. I wish he’d stop encouraging him like that.
But how can I stay mad at him? He looks so freaking cute sleeping here in the cubby of my desk as I type. I was going to take his picture to add to the post but woke up and followed me when I got up to get the camera.


Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aps September 14, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — deloresdefacto @ 11:58 pm

Here’s a list of links I found interesting today:

I’m still trying to find a damn bloglinker thingamabob to list my lasted movies and the dates I saw them but, for now, I’m just going to have to use the plain “Blogroll” section in WordPress and it’s kind of lame. I hate how they changed the link options on the new version of WP. I even sent a request on the forums to bring back the old style where you could configure how the links were set up in each category and then arrange them in your theme according to your preferences. Why did they get rid of that? It was such a good way of having it set up.
And I sat here all day, watching TV, messing with my blog, eating (like a manic, panicked dumbass) and not working on my class. The professor said he’s only worried about being close to the deadline so I’ve decided not to give a shit and do it…soon. Soon works for me. Whenever the hell I feel like it works even better.
I had to close the patio door earlier so I wouldn’t have to listen to the drunkards next door singing Lord knows what. I swear, this place is sometimes like a dorm without the cool neighbors to make fun of the singing drunkards. (You know when, you yourself is not one of the singing drunkards at that time.)
While I have ten minutes until midnight I will post before the clock strikes twelve.