Category Archives: Two minute read

Jan 12 2012
6 Comments
Anecdotes, Two minute read

Walking on Feet in San Francisco

I walked almost 8.7 nautical miles (10 miles) today in my Sperry’s and skinny jeans (no prairie dress yet). I wore a black jacket and sometimes it was a little too warm in the sun, but I liked having it for when I was in the shade. I tied it around my waist when I wasn’t using it. As the day wore on I talked louder and more often to myself, to the point where it was nearly a constant conversation, but I feel like you can do that here in San Francisco, where people can be who they want to be. I want to be a wildly gesturing person on the street wearing a puffy black jacket tied around her waist.

San Francisco is easily one of the most beautiful and livable cities that I have ever been too. I’ve been to cities in Morocco or Colorado, for example, that are beautiful to visit and quaint to look at but would likely be quite suffocating to live in, like beautiful quaint hands slowly closing around my throat. But San Francisco’s hands are not suffocating. They wear funky, locally made jewelry and make funny gestures. I like San Francisco’s hands.

When I am in a new city, I love exploring it on foot, without a map or an agenda, and that’s what I did today. I had made a halfhearted plan to go see stuff but then ended up wandering my day away, which I believe is always a good decision. There’s nothing I like more than the feeling of complete freedom, being in a city in the world with no agenda and the ability to follow any whim I have, like to poke around the campus of University of San Francisco, or to hunt down a church spire I saw gleaming far away, or to turn onto a random street because the trees look really fluffy or because the sunlight  is hitting it just right at the golden hour in the late afternoon when everything is beautiful and I have to follow the beauty.

Walking in San Francisco is unlike walking in other cities. I would be walking on a street lined by those beautiful houses that remind me of whimsically decorated gingerbread men and all of the sudden in the distance, the street ended in a crest, over which I could see nothing. Did the world end? Was there a breathtaking view of azure bay water? Yet another park? The urge to climb these hills was impossible to fight, and climb I did, and sure enough, I would be rewarded with a lookout into the distance, either towards more hills covered in trees with bright buildings clustered around the bases or the bay with its islands and other bodies of land reaching into it. I didn’t want to leave the crests.

In San Francisco flowers bloom in the winter. I like it here.

Tagged , , , , , ,
Jan 11 2012
8 Comments
Travelling, Two minute read

California Prairie Dress Wearin’

It’s all come to this. The progression of time has brought me to the point where the plane ticket I bought to go to San Francisco is ready to be redeemed and I will sit next to someone hopefully not smelly for a few hours to LA and then someone equally pleasant smelling on the way to San Francisco, the land where dreams come true. Specifically, my dreams. This will be the land where  my dreams come true.

I’m going there for a week to visit some friends and do some future hunting, possibly accosting people on the street, grabbing their collars and saying “GIVE ME A JOB!” And then following them as they try to run away. I’ll be wearing a dress and boots so it’ll be difficult. But I digress.

I’ve never been to the West Coast, and most of my thoughts about it are informed by Hollywood and my conservative grandparents who are worried about the moral decay of America. I imagine it’s somewhere in between heathens roaming the street looking for souls to sway and a land of infinite possibility.  Perhaps the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Oh and I forgot about Full House. Most of what I know about San Francisco in particular comes from watching Full House.

There’s gold in them hills, or so they say, and now it’s my turn to go and get me some. If I don’t come back, it’s because I found my fortune out there. If I do, it’s because my fortune is not yet ripe for the plucking and I need money from my parents.

I even got a new dress for the journey. It was 5 dollars at goodwill. The brand is “California Girls.” It’s floor length and has shoulder pads and a high collar and a fetching print. I can’t wait to blend in on the sidewalks, just a regular prairie girl minglin’ with them city folk.

The next week or so of posts will likely describe a steep descent into culture shock and loss of moral bearings, followed by unlikely growths of hope and self awareness, ending with a reconfirmation of personal identity with added perspective on the entirety of reality. I hope I can deliver.

Tagged , , , , ,
Jan 09 2012
5 Comments
Stories, Two minute read

A Victim of Netflix Mania: Part One

(I watched a lot of TV and then my mind felt slow, inspiring this story.)

Scene: Doctor’s Office

Doctor (addressing Nurse prior to entering a patient’s room): Sir, hit me with the patient’s history.

Nurse: Sir, the patient’s family brought her in this morning. They had found her weeping while trying to hug the television. At the time, the TV was displaying the Netflix home screen. She is currently functioning at the mental capacity of a toddler. Her mother said that when they went to sleep last night, she was behaving normally. However, she had just discovered how to use the family’s Netflix account on their new television and was on her 3rd straight hour of comedy programming.

Doctor: And they just left her there?

Nurse: Yes, sir.

Doctor: Sir, what is this patient’s previous television viewing record?

Nurse: According to the family, the patient goes through bouts of extreme motivation, where she watches little to no television. However, during breaks from school or periods of emotional malaise, this motivation focuses on television and she consumes entire seasons of her favorite shows in days. She becomes inaccessible and irritable, insisting on complete solitude and/or demanding others watch with her. They told of one summer when she watched an entire season of True Blood in 3 days and would not “shut up” about it. They referred to it as “a scary time.”

Doctor: Television is not meant to be watched in this way. And what is her previous experience with Netflix, sir?

Nurse: Sir, she has never had access to unrestricted Netflix watching. The family thinks it may have caused her to lose her mind.

Doctor: They may be right, sir. She may be crazy. I feel we might be looking at another case of Netflix-induced mania. Shall we go in to see the patient? Do you have your rubber duckies and pipe cleaner handcuffs, just in case?

Nurse: Of course, sir. I am a nurse, sir, not an imbecile.

They enter the examination room, where the patient babbles, her mother hovering worriedly

Doctor (addressing the mother): Hi, thank you for waiting. I’m sure you’re quite concerned about your daughter. We’re going to do all we can to save her. As I once said: a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Mother (anxiously): Doctor, what’s wrong with my daughter? Can you help her?

Doctor (assertively): We’re going to get to the illness of this bottom. Oops! I meant bottom of this illness. (laughs heartily.) Don’t you hate it when that happens! Anyways, I’ve dealt with cases like this before and almost cured them. She’s in good hands. (shows her his hands). These hands.

Nurse: (holding up his hands) And these hands.

How do the symptoms represent? Will the patient be cured? Can this happen to you? Some or all of these questions might be answered tomorrow, when the saga continues.

Tagged , , , , , ,
Jan 06 2012
6 Comments
Fake advertisements, Fiction, Humorous, Two minute read

Shame Eat With Ease!

Hi! Thank you for purchasing 8 oz. of Lynette’s “Seriously Chocolate” Homemade Fudge: Shame Eating Edition.

Through market research, we have determined that it’s highly likely you’ve considered not sharing this purchase with anyone. Right after you bought this butter and sugar brick, you may have been thinking about how much your spouse, kids, co-workers, or roommates would enjoy savoring its creamy texture and delicious chocolate taste. Then you started thinking about how much you would enjoy these same things, and how much longer you could enjoy it if you didn’t share. Hey, we’re with you there! We also think it would be lovely to sit and gobble this diabetes trap furtively like a woodland creature, discarding it before anyone you know sees you.

Just when you thought Lynette’s fudge couldn’t get any better, we’ve made it easier for you to shame eat and dispose of the evidence quickly and simply. For that reason, we’ve included a little plastic spoon right here in the container at no extra charge! By using a spoon to shame eat fudge, you can still retain some dignity and avoid a big post-fudge mess. Lynette’s recommended shame eating method is to drive to the nearest parking lot, make sure you’re mostly alone, and inhale the fudge-y goodness as soon as you park the car. If the weather is appropriate, Lynette likes to go to a different part of town and shame eat her fudge in a park while enjoying nature. We’re sure you’ll love it  too!

Currently we are developing a car-friendly way to devour fudge embarrassingly fast that doesn’t involve grubbing it with your hands and risking a stain on your work clothes or getting fudge fingers. If you’re interested in being put on our newsletter list, we can keep you updated on all the tricks we have up our sleeve to help keep you eating behind the backs of your loved ones. Just email us at eat@shame.org and we’ll put your name on our list.

Here at Lynette’s, we have always believed that you deserve complete privacy as you put away the treats you deserve. Thank you supporting our mission and happy shame eating!

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Dec 28 2011
5 Comments
Best blog posts, Fiction, Humorous, Two minute read

The Shopper’s Eye: A Tale of Desperation

My sight grew numb. I didn’t even know that could happen.

An excerpt from the Drevets Log:

“Target: The Shopper’s Eye”

27 December 2011: 15:55

Very tired. Need coffee and Digestive Biscuit.

I wander a vast retail wasteland. Memories of my life before Target fade.  Numbers, letters blend together. Nothing has meaning.

Sister has developed discount psychosis. I fear for her safety. The damage may not be reversible.

Humanoids pace the aisles, eyes glazed, drool tracks on their cheeks. The management has used the color red to hypnotize its prey. Mutters emanate breathily from their mouths. They cannot understand they say nothing. Meaningless. All meaningless.

My humanity burns within me. I must leave this place. The cardigan I search for is not here. Long sleeve crew neck tees choke my being. Everything has a cost, and still the danger grows. We will not sacrifice our souls in order to fulfill our quest. My sister weakens. My own resolve becomes faint.

I have contracted the dreaded shopper’s eye. Items are indistinguishable from one another. I sense my thinking grow clouded. I clutch ill fitting shirts of garish colors. Perhaps I will wear them to parties where glasses will clink and muffled laughter will sound from the other room where a rabbit plays the piano.

I better try on just five, no six, no eight more. Eight more blouses. These jeans don’t look like the cardigan I need. I need to try them on.

Dressing room attendants, here’s a number thank you, walk left right left slam, fluorescent lights, mirror, action. I cannot recognize myself. This is the only reality. Everything is a box, beginning here in this box in the Target box in a boxy suburb, in the box city, in the universe box.

My cell phone goes off. “Mother” is calling. What is mother? Memories stir in the deep. I remember mountains, dancing, Christmas lights on snow.

ESCAPE!

I tear out of the dressing rooms. Sister stands, mesmerized by a promotion display, her consciousness wasting away. I slap her. “WAKE.” I say. “WHAT THE CRAP.” Says she. “RUN.” I say. I grab her hand. She’s irritated. I know this. She cannot understand I seek only her good. I will receive her thanks later.

We sprint up the aisles, burst into sunshine. Winter rays warm our mortal flesh.

“I need to pay for this, Emily,” sister says. She holds a pair of jeans.

“You were taking SO LONG.” I insist. “I have saved you.”

“No, Emily. You haven’t. Wait here. I’m going back inside.”

I watch her re-enter. She will thank me yet.

Tagged , , , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started