My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Assholes


I’m looking for comfort these days, things that remove me – if only a little bit, for a little while – from reality. Even Dusty’s feeling it: “I’m tired of doing the same old thing, every day.”

Me? I crave routine. I need it. I’m not a very spontaneous person and need my general schedule, my framework, or I kind of freak out a little. Throwing a spanner in my works...doesn’t work for me.

So, while last week I took a day off to work on my novel (and I got a lot done), this week I’ve been resting, in a way. I’ve been reading in the library at lunchtime, instead of writing. I’ve been watching movies (Napoleon Dynamite*) and television.

And wasn’t last night’s Project Runway episode totally awesome? Man – now THAT’S a great idea, bringing in the contestant’s mothers and sisters for models. And, the fact that the designers had to pick someone else’s mom. And poor Angela’s mom got Jeffrey who is such an asshole. I mean it’s one thing to suck around the other designers but to be so disrespectful to someone else’s mother? Good lord, how immature can you be? But, it was fun to watch that train wreck even though I cringed watching Jeffrey’s mom (gee, way to go with parenting that guy!) comfort Angela’s mom. Embarrassing for her, I would imagine. How do you defend a kid who sucks that much? I told my husband that the girls could end up all different ways: radical lesbians, tatooed circus ladies, biker chicks; but I never want them to be assholes to people. I doubt that will happen but you never know.

I’m also looking forward to the return of Survivor in a few weeks. Apparently, this cast will be much more ethnically diverse (finally!) than before and the tribes will be divided by race (oooh, I don’t know…) at first. I just love that show. I just love all these shows that take people out of their known world, their comfort zones, and force them to work with other people – many of whom suck worse than them. I love to sit back and watch the sparks fly. And, what I find really interesting is that fact that they don’t check themselves, knowing they are being filmed, knowing that what they say and what they do will be seen by family, friends, co-workers, etc. And, yet, they can’t keep from just being exaggerated versions of themselves, living under stressful conditions. While I would never, ever make it on Survivor, if I was on the show, I think I’d be eliminated pretty quickly just like past “loners” have been. What was that guy’s name? Frank? The guy who really didn’t talk much, was a super introvert, and wasn’t really interested in making friends with anyone? Nobody liked the fact that he’d go off by himself every morning to walk. And I totally understand that – the need to refuel by being alone for a little bit. And all the extroverts found that behavior threatening. People intrigue me. Especially the ones I don’t like.

I’ve also been thinking about how what I really want is a room of my own, an office, a space that’s just mine. Perhaps if I was a musician like my husband I could demand a physical space like he has? For all my stuff? Why do writers – who really only need a place to put the computer – often get short-shrifted in this way? Why can’t I have a place that’s all mine and nobody else’s? I’m mulling over this. Perhaps I can solve this problem eventually.

Anyway, this is all just wasted babbling more to remove yesterday’s entry than anything else.

Can anyone recommend a good – funny – movie to see? I need escapism.

* Oh, and how weird is this? While I was in the movie rental store (I did mention before that I still do everything old school?), I heard a very familiar voice singing and talking quietly. I looked up at the tv monitors and who should I see? David Bowie. In Labyrinth. Singing, "Dance Magic Dance". Bowie, he follows me everywhere. He's like my talisman.


9:43 a.m. ::
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