Maybe it’s just the time of year that has me all sappy, or maybe it’s the fact that I’ll be sharing part of my story with a room of people this evening; but I’ve given some thought to people and things that have influenced me along the way. Public speaking terrifies me and perhaps it is my intent to give credit to these individuals in case I make a fool out of myself this evening and I opt to never come out of my apartment again unless it’s to open the door for Chinese food, pizza delivery, or my Lola organic tampons.
If you don’t find yourself on this list it’s because you don’t mean enough to me yet; keep trying. I’ll also be randomizing this list of events/people. I have to keep you jerks on your toes and performing at peak. I also have anxiety attacks just thinking about the phone calls from my mom that I’ll get as to why she isn’t 1st place.
Jim S: I’d like to publicly acknowledge you [wherever you are] for cleaning up after my first drunken puke parade. That’s a special kind of person for sure. As I recall, our friendship was still fledgling at that point and I fucking power puked Jack Daniels over the target garbage can. Subsequently afterwards I curled up in what must have been the most angelic sleep ever while you scrubbed the carpet of my stomach contents before your Dad got home. Forever my brother, even if you are a complete asshole.
Carrie K: You taught me how to roll a nice joint. I don’t do it anymore, but it’s earned me my seat at the big kids table many times over and for that I am grateful. It also helped cut down on costs. I had no idea how much I was wasting by rolling shitty, loose joints. There is an art to licking them closed without looking trashy or making it too wet; you were a master.
Homeless Dude #43: I was 17 at the time and withdrawing money from the ATM when I saw you. You had a sign that said you were a veteran of war and needed help. You were sitting in a wheelchair. I gave you $20, which for a 17 yr. old is a lot of hair dye at Hot Topic, and you asked if you could hug me. Being a good hippie, I said yes. You licked the side of my face. Let me first say: FUCK YOU! Next I’d like to thank you for the life lesson. I can’t leap into every situation with my cape in attempts to save everyone; especially when the cape obscures my sight to potential threats. hasn’t stopped me from doing so almost every opportunity I’m presented with though; I’m really slow to learn
Mom: For the record: she is cursing me right now wondering what took me so damn long. Where do I start with so many lessons on how to live and so many more on how not to live? tells herself to keep it light-hearted and not get all weepy and shit Mom always told me that “if you look good, you’ll feel good.” That’s complete horseshit. I’d be sick as fuck and putting on makeup and no one ever understood why. It’s just one of those things I do. I still do it. Thanks Mom. It’s not that I feel any better physically, but maybe…just maybe I feel prettier than I did with toilet paper hanging out of my nose and that has to count for something. She’d also ask me “What do we do when someone is down?” The normal person would surmise that we help them back up; lend them a hand. In our family the correct answer is “Kick them in the stomach.” I can feel and hear the audible gasp. I know that you guys are making judgements and castings stones. That’s cool, you can do that shit. We’ll still be standing. The point is, it taught me about self-preservation in a backwards humorous way. Think about it. If you still don’t like it, you’re not funny and go fuck yourself.
Dad: Remember that time you attempted to teach me how to throw a punch? We squared off and you told me to check you in the chin. You pointed to the spot and after showing me proper form, said “ok, hit me”. Yeah, I remember too. Good times. First and only lesson; I aced that shit.
Greyhound Bus Driver: I feel for this dude. I really would like to find out where he is and send him a tin of Christmas cookies or a sausage or something. I made a 12 hr. bus ride from Southern CA to Northern CA when I was getting sober. When I say ‘getting sober’ I mean to say I was still fucked up when I got on his ride. I was a sight for sure. I actually wasn’t let on the first bus because I was still too drunk. So that should paint a picture for you. I’m pretty sure I had a concussion, I had a gash on my chin from gently kissing my face with the concrete curb a couple of days prior and I was told that I had urinated in my friends vehicle before being dropped off. I cannot confirm nor deny the last part of that. In any event, I was looking [and smelling] pretty rough. Every pit stop we made, I would steal a can of beer [or whatever] to stall the DT’s and on we would go. That bus driver talked to me most of the way when I wasn’t asleep. I realize now that he was just making sure I was still alive, but it was real human of him none-the-less. Probably wouldn’t have looked very good with a dead white girl on his bus, but I have to believe he cared a little.
K.A: For fencing, the art of the re-write, Psycho Donuts, editor duties on shitty Mac computers, and for reminding me that my words were never in the bottom of a bottle somewhere or anywhere!
