A Night Out with a Bunch of Writers

Tonight I decided to join my mother and the rest of her MFA classmates in dinner and a movie. We had a lot of fun and I connected with a lot of her friends/peers. I felt at home, considering I’m aspiring to be a writer too. Minus the majority of them drinking, we laughed, joked, and laughed some more about writing and college experiences. We met at one of their houses, and my mom parked in a ditch. Afterwards, we met up again at a Mexican restaurant for dinner (the poets went to this sushi place right next to where the fiction writers were dining at the Mexican restaurant). It was a small place, but we’d heard it was the best. We walked in (all fifteen of us) and two waiters passed by with an almost horrific look on their faces. It was cramped and they were trying to figure out where to put all of us. Another waiter (the manager I think) came by (with the same look on his face) and said (in a thick accent) he’d go put a table together for us. Five minutes later, we’re still waiting and wondered if he literally meant he was going to put a table together. He arrived shortly after that and seated us near the kitchen with about seven small tables pushed together. They were all of different heights, but they worked. The food however, was another story. I actually am not fond of Mexican food (only Taco Bell which is awesome, but not really Mexican food.) but I decided to give it another try. There was a lot to choose from, but I ordered a chicken enchilada and a side order of nacho chips with nacho cheese. The waiter who took our orders had an even thicker accent and spoke broken English; he understood even less English. I remembered to use my hands when speaking but that didn’t really get me anywhere. The enchilada did not taste like an enchilada (as my mother put it, “Yucky.”), and the nacho cheese I was looking forward to since I hadn’t had it in a long time (I love nacho cheese); but what I got was not nacho cheese. I could tell before he placed my plate on the table. It was much lighter – almost white, and thicker. Before I tasted it I knew they had melted a couple slices of white American cheese and put it over the nachos.

I got the waiter’s attention and asked for a saucer (I was animated while doing this) of nacho cheese. I said it three times (the first time, he pointed at my plate and nodded) until finally he said, “No nacho cheese.” and left. I was disappointed and defeated. He came back though about two minutes later with a saucer of the same cheese, but melted completely so that it was clearly a liquid substance.

I accepted with a “Thank you” and shook my head laughing. Figures.
After we left, we all kind of hung out in the parking lot laughing and joking some more and thinking of a way to get out of seeing the mandatory movie at the university. While we were hanging around, an older, beat up, discolored car rolled past us with rap music blasting out of the rolled down windows. We burst out laughing when we saw a elderly white couple driving in the car.
We then headed to the university, dragging our feet all the way up to the third floor where the theater was. We thought of one more excuse to get out of watching the movie: we got stuck in the elevator. But we showed up anyway right on time. The poets showed up a little later, just when the movie was starting. From the beginning to the end, we held WTF? expressions on our faces as we sat through Beasts of the Southern Wild; a film that is apparently nominated for an Oscar. My mom described our thoughts perfectly: “The people that nominated this film were on crack.”
As soon as the credits rolled we jumped out of our seats and exited the theater.

My mom and I arrived back at our hotel thirty minutes later and reunited with our four pets. I was welcomed home by one cat who showed her love to me by stealing my seat on the couch.

I’m pretty exhausted, so I’ll write my review of that God-awful movie tomorrow. My mom said she’ll probably have weird nightmares; probably.

Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.
– Scott Adams

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No, I Don’t Care To Elaborate

I carry this notepad around with me as well as a fancy pen now. It’s more effective than relying on my own memory. It’s also helpful because I love documenting everything.

I should probably be talking about this on my other blog, but I’ll just say that I’ve been really busy in the movie department. It’ll be easier to just link you to my IMDb watchlist and mention watching The Aviator tonight. My mom has been helpful finding older, good movies for me. My mother was born in 1973 but she grew up with premium television so some older movies replayed from time to time. I was born in 1993, and I must say I’m not too proud of my generation; it’s almost embarrassing. But there are a lot of good, non-crazy people from my generation so we’re not all bad.
My other obsessive hobby – reading – has slowed down a bit to make room for movies. I’m currently reading Don’t Sleep with Your Drummer by Jen Sincero. I’m eager to start the following, but I’m forcing myself to finish the one I’m currently reading before I start another:

  • Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan
  • The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
  • Does the Noise in my Head Bother You? by Steven Tyler

I named all those by heart. They sit on my nightstand and I stare at them every night in bed. Books and movies make me happy. Speaking of which, I’ve still been getting asked a million times my plans for college. How many times can I say I’M WORKING ON IT PEOPLE!!! My current interest is Film School for Film Criticism and/or Screenwriting. I’ll start sometime next year; maybe in January. I don’t know so please stop bothering me about it. My grandmother calls and tells me ever-so-casually that all my cousins are moving on in life and are attending college and blah blah blah; that’s great, it really is. Good for them, now what’s your point? She’s a bit tricky when it comes to conversation though so I usually just don’t say anything; I find that it’s easier that way.

I’ve also been playing The Sims FreePlay which is so much fun and awesome it’s just amazing and also makes me happy. I really care about my sims though a lot of times their needs are overwhelming and annoying. They’re so real. I love them.

I’ve been working on my novel lately and am happy with the results so far; well, sort of. Please, please don’t ask me what it’s about because it’s a bit complicated and embarrassing and nowhere near finished. It’s currently leaning towards a Romance genre but I really don’t what it there. I’d like to write about a little romance in mental hospital; a sort of quirky book in the Fiction genre. I’m working on it.

My cat has become really crazy lately. Jade pees on the dog’s stuff more frequently and now glares at me every time we make eye contact. I don’t know what the hell is the matter with her but she certainly has changed. That was confirmed the other night when it was time for them to go to bed (they have their own little houses – that lock – to sleep in, because we have four pets and can’t just let them all run around unattended), I put Cleopatra (our other cat) up and Jade knew she was next, so she ran from me into her cube thing. I tried gently pulling her out as she screamed “meownooooo! Noooooooo!” and I almost got her before she hissed at me. I jumped back, surprised. She has never ever hissed at me ever. I was so shocked.
Symba (our bird) has been a handful as well. He screams his little head off unless symphony-classic-like music is playing and he has Fruit Loops. They’re all so spoiled. Caity (our dog) has so many cute beds to sleep in that it’s ridiculous. But they’re so cute! That’s what gets me.

I’ve recently taken up watching TV with my mom on Thursday nights. She got me into watching Braxton Family Values and L.A. Hair. It’s so hilarious. I don’t like reality TV, but this is seriously funny and real.

I’ve got a huge stack of Entertainment Weekly magazines (among others) that I’m trying to get through. It doesn’t help that I renewed my yearly subscription a few months ago, so there’s plenty more to come. It’s overwhelming, but I really want to read them all.

Wow, I think this is the first post where I haven’t mentioned Johnny Depp! Oh, whoops…

“As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

We All Have Problems

Let me introduce you to my pets (if I haven’t already):

Symba bird: Cockatiel (age: 15)
His current spot is in a parrot cage on top of my mom’s dresser. Nobody can walk past him without him pitching a fit. He squeaks, he squawks, and he’s weird. Ever since I was three, he’s always hated my hair. Even when I don’t have bedhead, he yells at me. But he loves it when I share my cereal with him. Right now he’s munching on Fruit Loops. He actually prefers cereal instead of his regular bird food. He makes a mess on the floor; I noticed lately that it’s deliberate. He’s very particular and picky about what is put into his cage. So there really aren’t any toys; just mirrors; lots of mirrors. Everyday he tells his reflection how pretty he is, and then he gives it a few licks. I don’t enjoy cleaning his mirrors, but if I don’t clean them, he’ll scream because he can’t see himself clearly. It’s difficult because I’m 5’ft 4’in tall, and my mom’s dresser is much taller, so I can’t quite reach him. If he wouldn’t lick his mirrors in the first place, then we wouldn’t be having these problems. But of course he must lick it.

Caity dog: Jack Russell Terrier (age: 11)
She’s calmed down quite a bit since her actual puppy years, but only a little. She still gets into the trash when she’s upset with us being away for too long as well as her other unknown reasons. She sits in a cat’s window seat all day long, barking as people walk past our apartment. She’s very particular about her “enemies”. The top of her shit list (so to speak) are kids around the age of 2-12 depending on the level of their rowdiness. Next up are fellow dogs that come into her view, cats, and occasionally a moving inanimate object (a shopping bag). It’s extremely difficult to try and have a phone conversation because she always finds something to bark at. I’m startled every time, but my mom is always calm unless she’s on the phone. Caity always gets what she wants. If you saw how she tilted her head to the side with that cute face, you’d give her everything too. Trust me. And don’t even think about trying to outsmart her. She makes me look like an idiot. She also steals my candy every Halloween, but I love her dearly.
She has an early bedtime, and if the light is still on in her place of comfort, she will then give you a “look” and leave in search of a dark and quiet place to sleep. The problem is, she has an early bedtime. I have too many things to do to go to bed at 8pm or whatever; same with my mom. Caity starts out in my mom’s bed, and then later in the night she will come and visit me. She splits her time between the two of us which is sweet, but extremely uncomfortable in my twin-size bed; especially when she insists on sleeping stretched out under the covers in the middle of the bed.

Cleopatra cat: Tabby (age: 2)
She can best be described as a pain in the ass. She throws up usually everyday not because she’s sick (not really), but because she inhales her food and eats non-edible things she finds off the floor. She’s sort of big in a funny way, but not as bad as Garfield. She spends her time chasing her sister and obsessing over a home-made toy. She chases her sister because her sister is an idiot. She waits until her sister is finished improperly using the litter box before she pounces on her and starts..well, beating her up. When it comes to the litter box, I have no sympathy for her sister.
I got tired of purchasing cat toys for them to play with, so I thought of a great idea (at the time): I tied one of their toy mice to a shoestring. Simple, yet Cleopatra fell in love with it. It’s commonly referred to as Mousie. It’s an inexpensive and very effective (too effective) toy, but it’s all she ever thinks about. I keep Mousie in a drawer because otherwise it will just end up in a litter box (if one of my socks isn’t already in there) in an attempt to cover her sister’s poop. It’s frustrating; and now she meows every day, and it’s all about Mousie. Her sister craves food, she craves Mousie. She wants infinite playtime with Mousie. I play with her a few times a day, but when I go to put Mousie up, she follows me meowing the whole way in what sounds like “Noooo! Nooo. No!” after I tell her “Mousie time is over”. I regret my “great idea”. Now I would prefer to shell out a bunch of money on cat toys instead of the existence of Mousie.

Jade cat: Tabby (age: 2)
She’s best described as “slow”. Her favorite hobby is sitting on top of the sofa and staring at the wall in pure fascination. She always has this sort of dazed expression on her face. She caters to me, so whenever I get into bed, she’s quick to join me at my side. The frustrating part is the way she enters my bed. The only way she will get into bed, is if she leaps onto my chest, and then settles herself at my side. It’s actually quite painful, and startling like a sudden attack. She has this sweet, yet annoying whine of a meow. I talk and she responds, I call her and she comes (eventually), but she doesn’t understand much of anything else it seems. She doesn’t understand the importance of covering up her mess after she’s done in the litter box like most cats do. We have three litter boxes (we heard it’s better that way), and she uses all three: she’ll go into one, careful not to let the litter touch her paws, wipe her paws (before even using the litter box) on the edge, then balance herself so that she can squat inside the litter box without actually being in the litter box. Usually the first time she will have urinated, so when she’s finished, she turns around and wipes her paws on the edge, smells where she has just urinated, then wipes her paws some more. She will go to the next littler box and do the same, but doing more than just urinating. It’s a strange and unnecessary process that nobody understands. I’ve tried to show her how to cover up her mess, but she doesn’t get it. Her sister takes matters into her own paws by waiting until she’s finished using the litter box to pounce on her in frustration, and continue to beat her up by getting on top of her and biting her until her sister screams or until I squirt them with a water bottle. I asked her sister what good was violence, and that the last thing she needed was to get hit (or slapped actually) in the head. So far, violence has solved nothing but satisfy Cleopatra. The problem still remains. She’s ran into a wall twice this year, which really doesn’t help her case. She also continues to use the furniture as a scratch pad even after all the different scratch pads we have bought. I really don’t understand her. And if it’s not Caity getting into the trash, then it’s Jade getting on top of the counters in the kitchen at night and stealing/eating whatever has been forgotten. I must say she’s the strangest of them all.

Looks can be deceiving..

Funny Joke

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook:

Herman and Martha were happily married for nearly forty years. The only friction in their marriage was caused by the husband’s habit of breaking wind nearly every morning as he awoke. The noise would always wake up Martha and the smell would cause her eyes to water as she would choke and gasp for air. Nearly every morning she would plead with him to stop ripping one in the morning. Herman told her that he couldn’t help it.
She begged him to visit a doctor to see if anything could be done, but the husband wouldn’t hear of it. He told her that it was just a natural bodily function, and then he would laugh in her face as she tried to wave the fumes away with her hands. She told him that there was nothing natural about it and if he didn’t stop, he was one day going to “fart his guts out.”
The years went by and Martha continued to suffer and Herman continued to ignore her warnings about “farting his guts out” until one Christmas morning.
Before dawn, Martha went downstairs to prepare the family feast. She fixed Christmas pudding, mashed potatoes, gravy and of course a turkey. While she was taking out the turkeys innards, a thought occurred to the wife as to how she might solve her husband’s problem.
With a devilish grin on her face, she placed the turkey guts into a bowl and quietly walked upstairs hours before her flatulent husband would awake. While he was still soundly asleep, she pulled back the covers and then gently pulled back her husband’s jockey shorts. She then placed all of the turkey guts into her husband’s underwear, pulled them up, replaced the covers and tiptoed back downstairs to finish preparing the family meal.
Several hours later she heard Herman awake with his normal loud ass trumpeting. This was soon followed by a blood curdling scream and the sound of frantic footsteps as her husband ran to the upstairs bathroom. Martha could not control herself and her eyes began to tear up as she rolled on the floor laughing. After years of putting up with him she had finally gotten even.
About twenty minutes later, Herman came downstairs in his blood stained underpants with a look of horror in his eyes. She bit her lip to keep from laughing and she asked him what was the matter.
“Honey,” he said. “You were right – all those years you warned me and I didn’t listen to you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Martha.
“Well, you always told me that I would end up farting my guts out one of these days and today it finally happened. But by the grace of God and these two fingers, I think I got them all back in.

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