Saturday, October 16, 2004
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Ben: In a few minutes we can do an inventory run and make the new addendums.
Jamie: Why the wait?
Ben: (points towards the bathroom) I have to go to my office for a few minutes. People are waiting on me.
Jamie: Ah, you have to drop the kids off at the pool?
Ben: Yeah, and poop.
Jamie: Why the wait?
Ben: (points towards the bathroom) I have to go to my office for a few minutes. People are waiting on me.
Jamie: Ah, you have to drop the kids off at the pool?
Ben: Yeah, and poop.
Monday, October 11, 2004
I've recently encountered a period in which people from my past are contacting me out of the blue. One of whom I last spoke to over 5 years ago. Some are welcome contacts, some are not; some forgave and have been forgiven, some have not.
Part of me wants to scream, "What the fuck?!" at the top of my lungs from the highest and windiest building.
These men are tearing away at my imagination. Much like children whose fathers have left them, I've concocted wild stories about their whereabouts: "He became a physicist and moved to Russia on a top secret mission."
"He became handsome, grew a set, and married a supermodel."
All my stories are very flattering, I assure you. I'm not the kind of person who gets off on: "He's homeless and living in an alley with a strangely long beard."
Maybe it's because I'm not vengeful. Maybe it's because I'm currently under the influence and don't know what is or is not good for me at this particular moment. (Regardless of my inebriation, I do possess impeccable grammar skills.)
Their real stories are much sadder than what I've made up for them. Several are graduated from college and living at home. One still pines for me with the same intensity that he did the one night in my life I've spent with him. One is unemployed, just out of rehab.
They should have just let me be so I could continue with, "He works on Wall Street and has both a car and a driver," not "Rehab was bitchin."
Introspectively, is my life any better? Sure I'm financially independent and don't live in the same city as my parents, live in a lovely apartment with the best roommate I could have wished for BUT I hate my job a little more every hour I spend there; I don't think I have a "true" girlfriend and my dog might hate me.
But, in the end, I'll live... somehow I always do... and I'm confident in that fact. So, in the meantime, I'll just continue thinking you're an astronaut on a space mission making an important discovery... if that's alright with you.
Part of me wants to scream, "What the fuck?!" at the top of my lungs from the highest and windiest building.
These men are tearing away at my imagination. Much like children whose fathers have left them, I've concocted wild stories about their whereabouts: "He became a physicist and moved to Russia on a top secret mission."
"He became handsome, grew a set, and married a supermodel."
All my stories are very flattering, I assure you. I'm not the kind of person who gets off on: "He's homeless and living in an alley with a strangely long beard."
Maybe it's because I'm not vengeful. Maybe it's because I'm currently under the influence and don't know what is or is not good for me at this particular moment. (Regardless of my inebriation, I do possess impeccable grammar skills.)
Their real stories are much sadder than what I've made up for them. Several are graduated from college and living at home. One still pines for me with the same intensity that he did the one night in my life I've spent with him. One is unemployed, just out of rehab.
They should have just let me be so I could continue with, "He works on Wall Street and has both a car and a driver," not "Rehab was bitchin."
Introspectively, is my life any better? Sure I'm financially independent and don't live in the same city as my parents, live in a lovely apartment with the best roommate I could have wished for BUT I hate my job a little more every hour I spend there; I don't think I have a "true" girlfriend and my dog might hate me.
But, in the end, I'll live... somehow I always do... and I'm confident in that fact. So, in the meantime, I'll just continue thinking you're an astronaut on a space mission making an important discovery... if that's alright with you.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Saturday, October 02, 2004
No doubting a good night
Rock stars, such as Craig and me, had to get another taste of fame and admiration before we hit the bars.
Friday night at Wild Wings- the bar is packed: a football game on some TVs, a baseball game on some others, and a 10' by 10' wooden stage with a microphone and a karaoke screen.
Craig is the first person to sing. I custom chose his song. A few bars into it the bar explodes in cheers, claps, and whistles. I look to one set of TVs: commercial. I look at the other set: time-out. They're cheering for Craig! Good song choice, Jamie!
During his song I truly understand the bar is full. I don't think I have ever sang in front of a group this large before and I almost psyched myself out.
It's my turn next and I head to the stage. I should point out that I was dressed in a short skirt paired with a "club" shirt. I never dress this trendy and I felt like I didn't even look like me.
I received cheers when I walked to the stage. I picked up my mic and and guy walks to the stage and wishes me good luck. The music starts and I again hear cheers. I look at the tvs: commercials and between play stats. I begin to sing but I hear in the background cat calls playing on the song lyrics (No Doubt - Don't Speak):
The life of Rock Stars....
Friday night at Wild Wings- the bar is packed: a football game on some TVs, a baseball game on some others, and a 10' by 10' wooden stage with a microphone and a karaoke screen.
Craig is the first person to sing. I custom chose his song. A few bars into it the bar explodes in cheers, claps, and whistles. I look to one set of TVs: commercial. I look at the other set: time-out. They're cheering for Craig! Good song choice, Jamie!
During his song I truly understand the bar is full. I don't think I have ever sang in front of a group this large before and I almost psyched myself out.
It's my turn next and I head to the stage. I should point out that I was dressed in a short skirt paired with a "club" shirt. I never dress this trendy and I felt like I didn't even look like me.
I received cheers when I walked to the stage. I picked up my mic and and guy walks to the stage and wishes me good luck. The music starts and I again hear cheers. I look at the tvs: commercials and between play stats. I begin to sing but I hear in the background cat calls playing on the song lyrics (No Doubt - Don't Speak):
I should have been offended...but I found it hilarious! To Craig's defense, someone did scream "I love you!" when he sang on Tuesday, and it wasn't anyone we knew.I want to be together with you!
I'll make you not speak!
Push this, Darling!
The life of Rock Stars....
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Inspired by Zach Braff and my recent bout at Wild Wings, I sang Alanis Morrisette's "Ironic" at karoake and thus have redeemed myself at the bar from last week's bad song choice.
Last week: You know, Jamie, I have to hand it to you: you sing every week, you get up on stage every week, and I really respect that about you.
-- anonymous girl who obviously attends every week
Tonight: Man, that was really good!
Good song choice!
Awesome job!
-- a collection of new raving fans of mine
I have achieved Rock Star status... no autographs please.
Last week: You know, Jamie, I have to hand it to you: you sing every week, you get up on stage every week, and I really respect that about you.
-- anonymous girl who obviously attends every week
Tonight: Man, that was really good!
Good song choice!
Awesome job!
-- a collection of new raving fans of mine
I have achieved Rock Star status... no autographs please.
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