A Cape May address, your new one I guess.

I felt the earth move under my feet. I felt the sky tumbling down. As Rayanne Graff would have said, it was a time. And incidentally, it all started with a haircut.



We snaked through the flats of Oyster Creek at a drift lest our wake finish off what the earthquake started. Dilapidated shacks perched lopsided on stilts atop the still water, rendered more lopsided still not an hour before. His first impulse when it all happened was to head for the open water, and eagerly we followed, until we found ourselves invading this foreign country, cowering under the angry glare of the seagulls keeping sentinel. On the bay the wind was fierce but here the air was disturbed only by the wings of a thousand greenheads; every inch we gained cost another painful welt on arms, legs, neck. All for nothing.

Back on the bay the engine stalled out and we were left adrift....



Home again and there was much and more to clean up, to sweep up and shore up and make up. And that right there is the meat of my adult life; whether physical or intangible, I've been a worker bee buzzing about my hive, tending to my colony and buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, waiting in line at the grocery store to buy the last loaf of bread in the city, searching in vain for a lantern by which to play Yahtzee, tying and severing knots. And when the storm came all was quiet but for the steady drip drip drip of rain drops in my living room.



Sunday morning I awoke to the sounds of trumpets and tubas and trombones, my stomach in knots, my hair matted and tangled from the 50-mph winds.The sun was bright and the leaves were shaking in their trees, and I was positively crushed by the weight of it all.



A week later and I still can't get my hair to lay right.

Well, don’t look at me! My hair’s straight! Straight! Straight! Straight!

My hair is straight. When it's down it looks like this:



But it's usually up since it get's in my way when it's down. Then it looks like this:



I feel exactly like myself in both scenarios and I end up just frustrated whenever I stray from these styles. Happy:



Sad:


What's happening with my hair in that picture? Well, I'm trying to grow it out to my normal, comfortable length. Because every few years my mother convinces me to chop my hair off because "it's so cute" short:



And I suppose it is cute. Twenty minutes after it's been cut by a professional and hasn't been swept off my face yet.



See I can't handle it in my peripheral vision, swooping about. So I have to pull it out of my face. And then I look dumb. And not like I how I feel I should look as myself. So every time I chop my hair off I regret it and spend 3 years growing it out again. This last cut though, was super crappy. I've never had a problem growing out these cute short cuts until now. My hair is probably the longest it has ever been... in front. The back half of my hair is a whole different length by about 5 inches. I keep thinking it will get to the point where I'll have it trimmed to all match but I keep being scared of losing the length all together. And then when I think about it this much I start to hate myself cause ew, I'm not someone who cares about my hair. It's straight, it cares about itself.

Listen, I'm not here to tell you about Jesus. You already know about Jesus. Either he lives in your heart or he doesn't.

When I woke up this morning my glasses were not on my nightstand, which was very, very bizarre because when I wake up in the morning my glasses are ALWAYS on my nightstand. See, because every single night I fall asleep reading and then every single night Scout kicks me in the kidneys when she's sneaking under the covers and so every single night I wake up and take off my glasses and put them on my nightstand. It happens on occasion that I don't wake up at all in the night and so sometimes my glasses stay on my face and sometimes they fall off on my pillow. But always they're there beside me. Every morning.

Well, this morning, I looked all up in the bed and around the bed and under the bed. I even turned my duvet inside out because last week I found my car keys in the dishwasher which proves that my house sometimes eats my things. But no, my glasses were not in my duvet.

So I tracked down my spare glasses and for reasons inexplicable I figured I'd go ahead and fix the wobbly arm with some super glue. It was 5:00 a.m., by the way. My eyes were open like the way a newborn kitten's eyes are open. But I got out the super glue anyway and repaired my spare glasses without a hitch. JUST KIDDING! I GLUED MY GLASSES TO MY HAND!

The Internet had some suggestions, so I whipped up some glue-loosening potion and settled back into bed with my iPad to finish season one of Mad Men while my hand soaked itself free. Only, Peggy Olson shocked me so hard that I dropped my iPad onto my face and it busted open my lip. So my lip was bleeding and Scout was trying to poison herself with the glue-loosening potion and I was swearing to beat the band, and apparently writhing all over the place as well because between my cry of "balls! balls! balls!" I heard CRACK! and guess what it was? Yep: My lost glasses.

This week's Collective topic is: Worst haircut story. And you know what? I don't have one. Because I never remember to get my hair cut.

After reading the preceding paragraphs, I think you'll agree it's the least of my worries.

You've got red on you.

I love scaring myself. I used to go to haunted houses/trails/hayrides every Halloween-season and I will watch scary movies, in the dark, at night, even when I'm home all alone because I'M A SICK SICK PERSON. It's probably because I started reading Stephen King when I was 12 (IT). That would do it.

My most favorite scary movies aren't even that gory, aside from zombie movies, of course, which are just a bad idea to watch ever but least of all late at night and yet when do I watch zombie movies? Late at night. And then I walk Max through our quiet neighborhood, squinting at shadows and plotting my escape should a pack of braineaters come running straight at me. Thank you, zombie movies and The Walking Dead, for fueling my waking nightmares.

When I was but a wee child, I was terrified of gremlins of any kind, whether they were supposed to be funny or crawled into your room through your wall at night to steal your breath or escaped from hell from a hole in your backyard. I was convinced that they lived under my bed and would jump out and attack me as soon as I fell asleep, or that they'd grab my feet should I step on the floor too close to the bed.

So I've traded gremlins for zombies which seems like a more realistic fear because I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS, zombies could happen, rage or otherwise.

I can remember the specific times I first saw my most memorable scary movies. Where I was. Who was with me. Etcetera etcetera. 

1. Scream

This came out when I was in high school, I think, and my friend Erica (daughter of my dad's BFF) and I used to watch it over and over whenever my parents would take us to visit her parents. Her brother Joe would then dress up in his Scream costume and terrify my sister. One time she called 911 but I think it was unrelated.

2. Shaun of the Dead

OK, so this one isn't scary but it's my favorite zombie movie. I watched this at my parents' house while house-sitting one weekend, right after watching Open Water, and that night I had dreams about zombie sharks.

3. The Mothman Prophecies

I watched this alone, at night, in my parents' basement with all of the lights turned off. I haven't seen it since but I remember it filling me with an overwhelming sense of unease so I turned all the lights on halfway through the movie.

4. 28 Days Later

I watched this in college with some friends, all of us crammed into our small apartment's living room. It was a cool spring evening and the only reason I mention the weather is because, since it was so nice out, we had our screen door open. A good ways into the movie, after all of us shrieking and jumping at several points, one of my roommates returned home, bursting through the screen door and causing all of us to pee our pants because we thought maybe she was a zombie. 

5. The Strangers

I think I've documented this before but Heidi and I went to see this movie primarily so we could partake in the movie theater's legendary 123Go boxes, which were glorified happy meals (you got a small popcorn, candy, and an icee for like five dollars! It doesn't exist anymore). THIS IS THE MOST TERRIFYING MOVIE EVER. Heidi spent most of it watching it through her fingers or hiding her face but I was too afraid to take my eyes off the screen because WHAT IF THEY JUMPED INTO THE THEATER AND KILLED US.

6. Zodiac

You guys. This entire case scares the shit out of me because it's still unresolved. I watched this with Joe and didn't sleep all night, sure that the Zodiac killer was going to burst into the apartment and kill us both. You know what else I don't recommend? Reading the book right before bed.

7. Let the Right One In

I watched this with Joe, at night obviously, and am now scared of small children because WHAT IF THEY'RE VAMPIRES. Spoilers.

8. Pet Sematary

I watched this for the first time with my friend Erica (see Scream above) at her parents' house, which was a big house out in the country, and I was convinced that a zombie cat or child could crawl out of the woods at any moment. Also, WTF was up with Zelda? She gave me nightmares. See THIS for further reading.

9. The Mist

I saw this with Heidi in the cheap theater. I spent most of the movie crawling out of my skin and wanting to punch Marsha Gay Harden's character in the face and then the end came and I wanted to kill myself.

10. The Shining

Jesus. I watched this one in my parents' basement, alone, AGAIN with the lights turned off, and when I finished watching it, I went upstairs to find a bunch of weird bugs crawling all over the foyer floor.


Stephen King should really get his own category and it should probably be called: Why Jennie Is Like This.

Anyway, if you have any scary movie suggestions, I would love to hear them in case I feel like not sleeping some night. 

some are reaching few are there

When I was a kid, I wasn't allowed to watch TV. Most of the time this seemed fine enough because I'd been fooled that TV was not unlike a hot stove. But, like a kid, I wanted to touch the stove and I wanted to see what was on the TV. So one day when I was supposed to be napping, I snuck down to the TV and turned it on.

What I saw must have been a made-for-TV movie based in some sort of rapey plot, Lifetime-style. Because there was a woman's body, in the woods, and her earring had been ripped through her ear. The scary music playing swelled; she must have just been murdered. I immediately turned the TV off.

But I always remembered with total recall the dozen seconds I had seen. It was seared into my brain and it became the scariest thing in the world. The fear wasn't rooted in story--I didn't worry I would be in the woods--it was fear itself. If I was feeling sad, or angry, or vulnerable in any way I would see that earring and feel terrified. It hovered the edges of my conscious waiting to cripple me. Eventually as I grew older I started to fight back. When the image would appear, I would talk myself down from the fear. I would pretend it was just a regular image in my mind, no big deal. I would think about something else as hard as I could. So it started coming into my dreams and I would dream that I knew her or I would dream it was me.

As an adult I feel like I can stare it down and be smarter than it. But it's still there. I can still see it. It just doesn't own me anymore. Only now, 20 years later, can I rub my ear without instantly shuddering.

So, no, I don't like scary movies.

Or, as I like to call them, Rape Fables

When I was a little girl my family was always sending me downstairs at my grandparents’ house to fetch stuff, which seemed kind of cruel on account of I was the only person in the whole house who was scared of the basement. But I’d trudge down there anyway, with my grandma’s dog Toby in tow. He’d stay right beside me the whole time because I think he was afraid of being swallowed up by the water heater too.

Yesterday at our end of summer cookout, my grandpa asked me to go to the basement to get something, but when he looked at my face, he chuckled and said, “I’ll come with you.” On the way back upstairs, he said, “You’re not still afraid of the dark, are you, kid?” And I was like, “Psh. No. I was never afraid of the dark.”

But I was. And guess what else? I still am. In fact, I am more scared of more things than anyone I have ever met in my life.

I don’t like scary movies or scary TV shows or scary commercials. (Or blood and guts in any of those things either.) And by “scary” I mean, like, you know those commercials for home alarm systems where someone busts up into the house, but the family is saved in the nick of time by the panic button? That’s too scary for me.

But it does remind me of one of my favorite Sarah Haskins Target Women videos.

If I were a crayon, I'd be green with envy because DID YOU READ KAT'S POST YESTERDAY? I can't compete with that. So here's this intead.

 

"What are you eating?"

"Crayons."

"Why?"

"Hungry."

"What's this one taste like?"

"Purple Heart? Tastes like grape soda."

"Interesting. And this one?"

"Hmm, Neon Carrot. Doesn't taste like carrots, if that's what you were wondering. Tastes more like an orange."

"That's boring."

"YOU'RE boring."

"Anyway. How about this one? Salmon?"

"Ech, tastes like salmon. Raw salmon."

"How do you know what raw salmon tastes like?"

"Oh, once I pretended to be a bear."

"Sure."

"What about Cerulean?"

"Tastes like a gentle breeze."

"Brick red?"

"Chili."

"Piggy Pink?"

"Bacon."

"Midnight Blue?"

"The ocean. At night."

"Beaver?"

"Heh."

"Never mind. What about Fuzzy Wuzzy?"

"Vomit. It tastes like vomit. I'm gonna be sick."

"Ooh, a rainbow!"

Wild Blue Yonder (#A2ADD0)

I remember watching you dance on the sand, the Pacific blue (#1CA9C9) and placid stretching across the horizon while your shadow (#8A795D) grew longer and longer with the setting sun. In that light your black (#000000) hair looked brown (#B4674D), your white (#FFFFFF) skin tan (#FAA76C) and glistening. Later that night we found ourselves a bar and I watched you dance there, too, while I leaned against the antique brass (#CD9575) rail and sipped my cocktail. You were a wonder.

I remember how you liked to read me trivia from the bottom of your Snapple caps; "the pink flamingo (#FC74FD) isn't born pink," you'd tell me eagerly while I laced up my sneakers. "Fascinating," I'd reply. "Salmon (#FF9BAA) mate for life," you'd tell me, just to see if I was paying attention. "And then they die," I'd reply.



Most of all I remember your eyes, gray (#95918C) and sometimes green (#1CAC78) and always watching me until I'd blush (#DE5D83) with embarrassment or guilt or whatever it was I felt for you then. You thought you had it figured out but now I think we both know how wrong you were, and looking back I can pinpoint the exact moment I found my canary (#FFFF99) in the coal mine. I once pointed out an inchworm (#B2EC5D) steadily making its way up a tree and you looked right through me, like I was the vast emptiness of outer space (#414A4C), like I barely existed at all. That's when I knew.

The memories are bittersweet (#FD7C6E). "I thought you were an orchid (#E6A8D7)," you'd said the very last time we spoke; "I thought you were this rare exotic thing. But really you're just a dandelion (#FDDB6D) after all. Common. Plain old yellow (#FCE883)."

Nope. I'm not. I've every color in the god-damned box.

I can't color enough, I would color all day every day If I had my way, I would use every crayon in my box.

Despite my heavy supply of crayons as a child--my mom was an art teacher and we had gallon ziploc bags FULL of crayon nubbins--I was always disappointed that I couldn't create real scenes in my amateur drawings because the colors were too primary. They were for kids. I wanted real colors.

Well I just found out from the Wackopedia entry that they came out with some real colors in 2007!!

In 2007, Crayola released the True to Life crayons. The tri-color tips are intended to "bring scenes to life." Each crayon is extra-long and contained within a plastic casing similar to that of Crayola Twistables crayons. On the table, the background represents the predominant color, and the text represents the supporting colors:

Um, awesome. I think it's time to draw some landscapes.

But if I were a color?

Despite my penchant for green or scarlet and gold, I'd have to go with good old gray.



It's the color of my eyes and the color of my favorite clothes. It's both the insides and outsides of me. And it doesn't feel boring at all.

clockwork orange

This week's Collective topic is: If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

Before I tell you mine, though, check out these cool things:

1) The Wackopedia entry for crayon colors. There's even a chart with all the hex codes!

2) The colourlovers.com chart + awesome fun facts!

3) And everyone's favorite How Crayons Are Made video!

If I were a crayon, I'd be good ol' Yellow Orange. From the original Box of 16. Kind of like the color that sends that girl into her daze. Or maybe she was just stoned out of her mind. If they'd left the camera rolling, she'd probs have eaten that crayon.

What's not to like? Custard, GOOD, jam, GOOD, meat, GOOOOD!

I've tried Heather's best ever sandwich and want to try Abigail's best ever sandwich and I would choke someone to try Kat's best ever sandwich RIGHT THE HELL NOW because my favorite sandwiches are sandwiches with chips on them. Not only British chips but potato chips. When I was little, I watched my mom put potato chips on her sandwich and it was like a whole new world had opened in front of me. So now, when the opportunity presents itself, I put potato chips on my sandwich. I put them on turkey sandwiches. I put them on my PB&J. Sandwiches and chips go together like peas and carrots except way better because, gross, Forrest Gump, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. Yeah, I'm referencing Forrest Gump in 2011, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT? You wanna know why I'm so angry? Because I haven't had a sandwich with chips on it in FOREVER and by forever, I mean like two months.

We ate a lot of delicious food when we were at the beach this past summer, seafood and otherwise, but my favorite meal was at a dive bar where we drank Yuengling out of cans and threw peanut shells on the floor, because they served cheeseburgers with DORITOS on them. I mean, COME ON.

I'm not very fancy. I scraped the foie gras off of my steak one night at dinner when we on our honeymoon, and not just because I was drunk and it was making me gag a little (CLASSY!) but because GROSS. Anyway, it turns out all I need to be happy (food-wise) is a cheeseburger topped with jalapenos, guacamole, and Doritos. And all I need to make the perfect sandwich is a bag of chips. Preferably BBQ.

Ever wondered what makes special sauce so special? Yo.

So here's the thing. I really love sandwiches. They're so good. BLTs, clubs, PB&Js, really, all the sandwiches. And this one will blow your mind:



Behold the chip butty! (I apologize for the poor photo quality but London pubs aren't exactly well lit.) And what is a chip butty? Well, it's french fries smooshed between two slices of buttered white bread. And it is DELICIOUS.

Someone ATE the only good thing going on in my life

At my bar, they make me something that isn't on the menu (which: being treated special is my crack) and it's pretty much the exact food I want at any given time in any given place in the world. It goes like this:

-white bread
-sliced cucumbers
-cream cheese
-cranberry sauce

Yum. Oh, and it comes with a side of fries.

#fact

Hey, bacon and marmalade on pumpernickel prune, I'm really happy for you and I'mma let you finish, but grilled cheese is the best sandwich of all time.

"Thanks to Toby I have a very strong prejudice against Human Resources. I believe that the department is a breeding ground for monsters. What I failed to consider though, is that not all monsters are bad. Like ET."

Before I started my new job, I found out that my new boss had found my blog. YOU GUYS. I freaked out. Words I'd written, all the ridiculous ridiculous words, flew through my head and, as I thought of all those times I'd talked about poop or drinking or all those inappropriate jokes I'd made, I started to hyperventilate a little. OK, not really but YOU GUYS HOLY CRAP.

But you know what? It didn't even matter. You know why? Because now I work in THE THEATAH (sort of, I mean, I'm not onstage or anything). BUT WHATEVER, no one gives a shit that I write stupid crap on the internet.

Tomorrow I wrap up my first week at my new job and I keep waiting for this giddy feeling to go away. From the moment I walk into my office until I force myself to leave, I'm pretty sure I wander around with a stupid grin on my face ALL DAY LONG. I'm sure that, in time, that newness will fade and there will obviously be hard days but this week I learned that my job doesn't have to make me miserable all the time. I'M ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY AT WORK. WHAT.

I also learned that they play showtunes in the parking garage ALL THE TIME. And that the in-house restaurant makes the best tomato bisque I've ever had. And that no one cares if you wear your Chuck Taylors to work. And that I need a map of the buildings or something or I'm going to get lost in the (haunted) basement one of these days.

The season rubs me wrong.

I killed my Italian parsley last week, which is something new I learned I guess, that and how toilet flappers work and how you're not supposed to use your energy-efficient CFLs in conjunction with a dimmer switch lest you want to shorten the bulb's life and thereby contribute to its demise like some sort of cancer, which is what we are, really, a cancer on this Earth. Last night I learned a spiffy new way to peel asparagus, not that I generally peel my asparagus--the green stuff anyway--but it was good to learn in case an asparagus-peeling emergency ever pops up. I like to be prepared for such things. I also learned that Susan will let me steal her cocktails. That one I'll definitely file away for future use.



July was mostly unbearable with a sprinkling of brightness patterned throughout, shining stars like beacons in the gloam. Dinner here, trivia there, a couple of plays and a night urban camping glimmer on the the calendar; connect the dots and a picture emerges of, well, Something Awesome. Mostly I've learned to be satisfied with that, with the little lessons and scant hours lost in the moment, in friends and wine and Robespierre. Because when in doubt, you should always go with Robespierre.



It's hard to believe it's August; with the heat the days seem blended together as one, each passing in a damp haze, a succession of sun rises and sets with no relief but from the light. Maybe because of that my thoughts have gone no deeper than critiquing old episodes of Jem, wondering if I turned out the way I did from watching all those Clarissa episodes, and remembering that Patty Mayonnaise was a pretty awesome chick. My boss had us sorted into our Hogwarts houses and a co-worker made a face when mine came up Ravenclaw. I tried to blame the weather on my recent absentmindedness but perhaps I'm really not as smart as I used to suspect I was.

I suspect I'm not a lot of things I used to be.

Oh well.

will you grab me a crueller?

In the last month, I've had: four bracelets, x-rays, an MRI, a CT scan, ten different prescriptions, and the most boringest blandest diet ever.

I've lost countless things: drinks in Vegas, meetings with certain TV stars, weeks of work, at least one pants size, and my cookies on several occasions.

But what have I learned?
-If your doctor is being an asshole, then get a new one.
-Write everything down.
-There is nothing more rewarding then actually vomiting in the ER to prove your point.
-Homemade turkey sandwiches are actually pretty good (even though I still hate making them).
-Never to take ibuprofen for granted again.

Oh, and what's wrong with me? Hard to say. There is some low back pain. A complex cyst on my ovary. Something very wrong with my stomach. And a general terribleness. Me and my awesome doctor are hoping the CT scan results shed some light. Meanwhile it's all turkey sandwiches and quiet nights in around here.