The 10 Stages Of Me Seeing A Snake At Work

There I was....sitting on the ground enjoying the sunshine....

- "SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAM! OH FUCKING GROSS! SCREAM!" (out loud)

- *Scrambling backward while attempting to stand up, basically crab walking while having a bobblehead, trying to unsee what I just saw*

- "Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ewwwwwww" (out loud with eyes closed quickly walking away)

- 'HOW did this happen on the very last garden day of the summer?' (inner dialogue)

- 'Do I even WANT a garden next year? I mean, this is bullshit' (inner dialogue)

- 'What kind of snake WAS that? Was it an adult or a baby? Why was it so shiny?' (inner dialogue)

- *Looks at hands and feet to check that no other snakes, bugs, amphibians attached themselves to me. Burst in door of kitchen*

- "YOU GUYS I JUST SAW A SNAKE OUTSIDE *tear drips down face* AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO GO TAKE CARE OF IT!" (Said out loud, received with laughter from co-workers)

-  'I hate all of these jerks. I bet they would have pissed themselves a little bit too.' (inner dialogue)

- *Looks down one more time to MAKE SURE no other snakes made it in the door with me some how, shivers*

Dual Cassette Deck?! Luxury!!!

I remember my very first cognizant experience with anger not paying off.

I was living in the farm house on 90th avenue and I had the entire upstairs to myself. (I ended up having many introductory adulthood lessons in this room, including the loss of my virginity, but that's not what this story is about.) I had a really big bedroom with tons of space and 2 beds and in the corner was my favorite thing I owned: a sweet, by 90's teenager standards, stereo with remote control.

This was long before I found pleasure in shopping for endless amounts of clothing, shoes, make up and accessories I didn't need. I really didn't have a lot of use for many material things, I was totally involved in other pursuits. (so much smarter back then). The stereo was a gift, in fact, I didn't even ask for it. I got it because I would leave whatever previous radio I had on all night and my dad didn't like that so he looked for one with a remote that I could time and turn off. I loved it. I loved it so hard. This stereo made mix tapes like nobody's biz and played Prince and Boyz II Men or Open House Party with John Garabedian at decibels offensive to most human ears while I perfected "spiral curls" on many an occasion. Anyway...

One day, and the best part is that I don't remember what it was even about, I got so angry that I snatched the remote off the table holding the stereo and fast pitched that mofo into the wall so hard it exploded. It was one of those moments in life you read about where I didn't even know what I was doing until it was over. I basically blacked out with madness. And this used to happen to me quite often. My temper was such that I would seriously physically lash out and act a fool. I slapped people, threw glasses, kicked people out of cars in the middle of nowhere; I was like a Real Housewife of New Jersey before they knew what table flipping was! When my breathing slowed slightly and consciousness slid back into my brain, I looked down at the remote shrapnel and realized I had only hurt myself in that situation. Nobody was there to witness the display, nobody else used that remote, I didn't teach anyone a lesson with this act. Not even myself at the time.

I'd go on to have several more spectacular outburst in the future before finally getting choked out by my best friend and learning my lesson, but I really never forgot sitting on my floor picking up pieces of plastic and rubber buttons and gluing it all back together. I felt idiotic. And regretful. And I decided breaking my own shit was not the best way to express myself. Slapping people was still an option, but my stuff? Nope.

It has been literally at least 2 decades since this happened and I can remember it like yesterday. Now, when my fingers curl around a champagne flute in rage or I can feel my shoulders start to tense and my breathing start to rise and the blood vessels in my cheeks filling up with warmth from the incredibly stupid things that happen around me, I remember how I almost had to actually get out of bed to turn of Boyz II Men and I shut that shit down. I can't remember the last time I had "an incident" even though sometimes I get cute-crooked-smiled-at after a particularly infuriating comment in anticipation of just such an event. Way to be, me!

(I also sprayed perfume on my cat in this room and thought I almost killed him with it, but he went on to lead a really long life. Way to be, Mr. Cat!)

"You Guys Were Really Good With Boxes...I Mean REALLY Good."

Last night I had a dream that all the plumbing techs at my business were moving my mom from one house to another. She was refusing to participate because she was busy resurrecting a relationship with one of her old boyfriends. I got all pissed off and yelled at her and told her she needed to help because we didn't know where she wanted her things. (I also added in that I hated his goatee, but that is about as irrelevant as this entire blog)

This was an intensely weird start to a dream. But not nearly as weird as the part where we all had to sleep in the same room for some reason and I was in a bed between 2 of them trying my absolute hardest not to touch either.

In fact, it got the weirdest when I came in this morning, saw all of the techs gathered to receive their paperwork and decided to actually tell them about said dream. I pulled a Louie and swapped out "we all had to bed down together like animals" for "you ended up having to camp in my back yard". This didn't make it any less awkward that I was telling a group of grown men I had a dream they were all in. I do not look nor do I sound a thing like Judy Garland, so it wasn't even a little bit endearing.

Finally, after a long pause following my story, one of them spoke up with "Um...is this the part where you tell us we have to move your mom?" and another asked "Wait, is your mom even moving?...or are YOU moving?" which lead to several of them asking questions about what this dream meant, how it would affect them, and if there was incentive-based pay involved.

Moral of the story here is: if you expose the sicko depths of  your subconscious to your field staff, you will inevitably end up in a conversation about Obamacare and new power tools.

I'm sure this is relatable to EVERYONE.

Why Can't I Dream About Flying Or Winning A Chili Cook-Off?

Saturday night I had a dream about cats again. This time, there were only 2 cats; one yellow and one calico. They were both overweight, cuddly and they had zero interest in running away from me. They were adorable with smooshed in faces and kept meowing and pawing at me for my attention. When I'd pick them up, they'd just go totally limp with the relief of cuddling. I also had the good sense to have a carrier for them this time, which they happily hopped into whenever asked.

I woke up yesterday not thinking much about this. I was in autumn happiness mode and focused on what was happening around me, getting dinner plans in order, begging for a tomato sauce recipe, sipping a pumpkin latte, eating candied pecans, deciding if I want seasonally scented candles or the usual spa-like smells, watching football and fretting about how I was going to slot one billion hours of Breaking Bad in to catch up in time for the series finale. You know, important stuff.

Last night, when I woke up to a call at an inhumane hour, I gave little attention to the chat as I was only half conscious. Upon hanging up I realized, out loud, "The cats don't represent kids! They're adults!" and then fell back asleep. A peaceful, dreamless, cuddly sleep.

When I remembered my breakthrough this morning, I analyzed it for a hot minute while shaking my head and smiling. There is one prominent fact here: whether cute and cuddly or manic and escape-driven, even when they're as sweet and happy as one can possibly be, cats are still cats. They are still barf machines who shed on your favorite slacks...... and shit in a box.

What Is Your Soup Du Jour?? That Sounds Good. I'll Have That.

THE SEVERAL REASONS I'M OLD. THIS IS ROCK SOLID PROOF, PEOPLE

1.  What the fuck is "the Cloud"? It seems made up. Isn't it just a website? Don't make it sound like it's a literal cloud! I'm learning, but reluctantly. I thought I was big shit for downloading music after every other 11 year old on the planet.

2.  I don't know the difference between The Wanted and One Direction. I can't name their songs, I don't know the members' names, and I don't think any of them are remotely attractive. Related note: NSYNC reuniting was the best thing I can remember happening to me in the last 5 years.

3.  I DO think Ben Affleck is the most handsome man on the planet. Because... you know, he seems like a good dad and a super cool husband and his career is shaping up nicely.

4.  I do not know the difference between: Victoria Justice, Miranda Cosgrove, Either brunette girl on Modern Family or Ariana Grande. The only reason I know Selena Gomez's identity is because of her ridiculous relationship with Bieber. Who seems awful.

5.  Staying up until 3am and driving home at 5am from Detroit is no big deal anymore because old people rarely sleep for fear of death happening from slowed breathing.

6.  I am finally ok with separate sides of the bed with no touching after falling asleep. It alllll makes sense now! Snuggles are for when you're awake and can easily regulate your body temperature.

7.  I love soup. I fucking love it.

8.  Candy seems like revolting chemicals smashed together in jewel shapes.

9.  I can not resist a great turtleneck sweater. Or a pair of loafers. I get really excited about a great pair of slacks and I go ape shit for tweed.

10. Loud unexplained noises infuriate me. I seriously turn red when there's a beeping anywhere.

11. I'm all about IFC movies. Every single one of them looks interesting.

12. The little mini jingle that comes on before an HBO show is very comforting to me.

13. I prefer blouses to t-shirts. That finally happened.

14. Any color eye shadow not found in nature is pretty much out of the question.

15. I take a small mirror and tweezers to stand in a window and eliminate facial hairs and I can remember my grandmother doing the EXACT same thing. I just do it with an iPhone on speaker. (I just figured out how to do that.)

Deja Vu Like A Mofo.

It's so insane what your head and your heart choose to remember or forget. I mean, not insane, but its pretty wild. The things you can talk yourself into or out of are endless. The capabilities of our emotions and our senses to help them along, its all so fascinating.

One day you can think you feel one way, and the next day, you've completely turned a corner. You find yourself heading under the same bridges and streetlights, the same streets with different leaves blowing down them one year later. It's almost like you don't remember the course of actions that got you back there. You're smelling the same perfume and the same soap smell mix together and even the textures of a floor on your feet or a counter top on your fingertips is a memory, but it's right under you in real time.

You slip into conversations and behaviors and there's an actual point where you think "Wait, did no time at all pass? Did I just imagine all of that other stuff?", but you know time passed and you know things were real in between then and now. You let yourself just sort of drift right back to that skin and that face. You find yourself slipped beneath that big, fluffy white comforter watching a movie, laughing and talking, arguing about people you know and hockey for hours on end.

A lot of "experts" would say this isn't healthy. They'd label it "dangerous territory". But where is the danger, really? In letting yourself feel feelings at the risk of being let down? Because, let me save you the trouble of that fear; people will let you down. Hard. A lot of the time, when you least expect it, that's when it happens. Just like that happiness that snuck up on you and exposed all the confusing old feelings. We don't save ourselves from pain. Unless you call being numb safe, but that's really just starving ourselves of the happiness too. Emotions will happen to us no matter what we fucking tell ourselves. People will let us down, we'll let people down and we'll let ourselves down. Its never going to stop happening.

I kept denying myself the opportunity to feel a connection again because I thought it was bad news. But this morning, when I was on my way home and it was still dark, this HUGE yellow moon still hung in the sky soooooo beautiful and I was so incredibly glad I didn't cheat myself out of that sight and a day of happiness. I don't know if it will repeat itself or not, I have no idea what's in my future, that's the nature of life and it's certainly the nature of my life in particular.

But isn't that what makes it great? The pain and the love swirling all together? Because you really can't have one without the other.

Science Is Failing Us As Parents And Pet Owners.

I had a dream last night that I had 3 cats. A fat yellow one, a semi-fat black and white one and a little, thinner tabby. They were fucking really cute, but they were all over the place and I was constantly saving them from danger. I remember being on a tour bus and the next thing I knew, my cats had run off of it and were just roaming a parking lot and I had to search for them.

Then, the tabby (because all tabby cats look fairly similar) was lost and I accidentally picked up a different small tabby and had to turn around and go find the one that belonged to me. THEN the yellow one barfed up tuna and my friend cleaned it up. Thennnnnn one of them pooped on the floor. I remember thinking in my dream "Are these cats even worth this mess?".

I'm not sure if this dream represented my fear of having children or my fear of becoming a crazy cat lady, but either way, the real question here is this: can't science give us cats and babies that don't shit and barf everywhere??? is that SO hard, scientists?? Jeez!

How Could You Ever Forget?

I talk about it every year. I always think I won't, I think I'm over it, but then I do. Because how can you ever be over it?

It was just so sunny. That's what I remember. It was SO early and SO sunny when my boyfriend called me at 6am. At first he tried to calmly tell me to go get all of my money out of the bank and start driving, but when I questioned this extremely unorthodox request, he yelled "We're under attack! Turn on the TV!". I ran to the living room and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was the perfect outline of a plane in the side of one of the towers of the World Trade Center. What was worse, is that about 10-15 seconds later, I watched the second plane hit the other tower.

It was surreal. It seemed like a movie. The whole 4 minutes of this phone call, I just felt were a nightmare. I wanted to just stay calm, but he was adamant I needed to get OUT of Los Angeles immediately, this isn't an accident, it's an attack on the country. When I hung up, it was playing again on TV and the people on CNN and the LA news had no idea what was going on. My boyfriend was super into politics, I wondered if maybe he was just overreacting. It was hard to keep composed. I felt like I may have been witnessing the next Pearl Harbor. I called my producer to tell her she needed to get in the office right away. We had actually been working with people in New York so I knew people were already in our building starting their day even though we were 3 hours behind them. She didn't know what was going on. I called Adam to beg him to leave the city with me, but he refused. Always has to be the hero, that one. By the time I hung up with him and called my mom, the plane had hit the Pentagon and I was officially in panic mode. I grabbed 2 pictures of my family, my baby blanket and left. I literally didn't know at that point if I would be going back there ever again. That's how scary it all felt. Was this war? Had WW3 just started?

I sped down to our offices and I just remember the sun. It was so, so, so sunny on a perfect summery fall day. And I remember how bright the sun had been on TV watching the planes crash into those buildings. I called my producer back to let her know this was real, something really bad was happening. She didn't answer. Every radio station on the way there was doing a terrible job of keeping anyone calm. They just kept saying there was no telling where the next plane would hit.  I knew we had crew members on flights from New York back to LA, I was desperate to remember the flight numbers and the times, but all I could do was stare up at the sky and look for planes. I remember running up the stairs of our building and telling everyone to turn on their TVs. There were stylists in the conference room and as soon as they saw the buildings, one ran out of the office and the other started furiously dialing the phone. They both had family in Manhattan.

I was just barely staying composed. One of our Executive Producers walked out of his office and said we would probably be next. This did not help. I said we needed to find out what flights our people were on, and which ones had crashed. At that exact moment, CNN announced another plane had went down in an unknown location. I was officially over it. I was leaving the city and heading to my boyfriend in Palm Springs. I ran into our production bay, grabbed the folder with flight information in it, wrote it down on a post it, thrust the folder into my producer's hands and left.

By this time, chaos was starting to take hold of LA and people were panicked. I took the quickest route down to the freeway which happened to pass by the federal building. There were police EVERYWHERE. They were trying to control traffic and they were trying to barricade the building from the passing vehicles. I remember a female police officer trying to stop me and the car in front of me and we didn't even think about it. She literally had her hands on my hood, making eye contact with me telling me to turn around and we both kept going, bumper to bumper, we were only about 4 blocks from the 10 and we certainly weren't heading back now. Getting on to the freeway was intense. I had never seen it move like that. Literally 5 lanes in unison at around 85-90 mph. Everyone had the same idea around the same time. And nobody held anyone else up. One of the assistants called me from the office, scared, asking if she could get a ride. I told her it was impossible now, I couldn't get off the freeway even if I wanted to.

The radio stations' news was still so ridiculous and borderline fear-inducing. In their defense, nobody really knew what was going on. It was all so confusing, I mean, nobody had even heard of Bin Laden or Al Qaeda back then. Timothy McVeigh was the only terrorist whose name I knew at that time. It still didn't seem real. They announced any and all flights in this country were being grounded at any available airport. Nobody wants to think they are greatly overreacting by fleeing their city, but nobody wants to be in a building when a plane crashes near it either. And I'll tell you, you never realize how weird it is to see zero airplanes in the sky until it happens. Nothing. Just blue as far as the eye could see. Not even a jet stream. And if you did see something, it was terrifying. You prayed it was just a bird.

I finally felt pretty safe once I was about 50 miles from the city. I mean, nobody crashes a plane into Ontario, CA, right? I was still so worried about Adam and everyone who stayed, but it seemed over now or like our military was taking action at least. The only good part of this drive is when I got the call that all the people we had flying back from New York were safe. Their planes had been grounded in other cities.

They had been on top of the towers the day before while sightseeing. The day before.

I Doubt Anderson Cooper Will Travel That Far South....

So. Ariel Castro apparently choked himself out in prison.

I have tried to imagine my thoughts on that if I were one of his victims. I think the natural reaction after being freed from the suffering those girls experienced would be to want your captor to know the same feeling. Then again, to delight in that brings you do his level, does it not? Does eye for an eye ever really work? Personally, I'm not one bent on revenge. I think everyone gets what they put out there sooner or later whether we witness them get it or not.

The prosecutor had some interesting words on the situation:
"These degenerate molesters are cowards," Timothy J. McGinty said. "... This man couldn't take, for even a month, a small portion of what he had dished out for more than a decade."

I think that's thought-provoking. Or could he have been murdered? He was under protection. Doesn't that mean there's a camera viewing his cell at all times? Is there no footage of what happened? Either way, meh. Doesn't change much.

If I were one of those girls after learning of his sentence, sure, I'd be happy knowing death wasn't coming for him quickly, that he'd have to sit in a cell without being able to feed many of his compulsions, until he grew old and eventually died. Every inmate in there would know his face and we all know that prisoners don't exactly take kindly to men who commit sexual crimes against women or children. If he were ever released into the general population, I'm sure he'd get a bit of the punishment he inflicted on others.

But on the other hand, he'd also be entitled to some basic rights and privileges that his victims were not. Regular meals, TV, education, exercise, visitors, friendships, use of the Internet, etc. And most of all, protection. Even though it failed him, (or killed him if you think he was murdered) he was treated as special and he was monitored and kept separate from other inmates.

The one thing that sticks out to me about Ariel Castro is his personal statements in the courtroom. He truly didn't see himself as a monster. He's either an incredible actor, or a very sick sociopath to the nth degree. He placed blame on his victims, his upbringing, his ex-wife for her own death due to injuries she sustained by his hands, law enforcement for not finding his victims earlier, pretty much everyone besides himself. It was both disgusting and fascinating all at the same time.

So, the way I would reconcile all of this in my head if I were one of his victims is this: Ariel Castro was weaker than all three of us. He lasted only a month, in a protected cell, with plumbing and food and family visits knowing he could get a free education. Hell, he could even walk outside and feel the sun on his face. Probably once a day. But we lasted over a decade being starved, raped, beaten, traumatized and isolated, not knowing if we'd survive the next hour. We're free to live our lives as we choose and he's dead. He was so self-righteous in his courtroom speech, yet he was actually so broken, he didn't even possess the will to live. I can't imagine a worse punishment than being so mentally and emotionally damaged within your own self that you lose, one of if not the strongest human forces in existence. I'd shrug my shoulders and be relieved I wouldn't have to sit through future Dateline episodes watching him on CNN, talking about how we had "harmony". All the harmony I know exists in the thousands of tiny, white cotton fibers sewn together and wound around his neck to end his time on earth. And I seriously doubt they do interviews from hell.

Memory Lane Is Bumpy, Ya'll

1. I liked this guy once who was obsessed with the show LOST. Whenever he didn't ask and I wanted to hang out with him, I'd suggest we watch some LOST. Normally, we'd just end up making out. But he turned out to be a huge drunk who didn't have a checking account and kept his money in a pasta box in his cupboard like Hanna's mom on Pretty Little Liars. I also saw him kissing someone that was a rumored prostitute. I decided he probably wasn't a good idea after all.

2. Around 19 years old, I thought saltines with ketchup and mustard were a super good snack. And I wasn't even poor. No idea what was going on there.

3. When I first moved to LA, I called baklava "Jew cookies" in front of a Jew. Luckily, it was a nice Jew and she laughed before explaining to me I couldn't say things like that.

4. I was so obsessed with smelling Pine Sol that my friend once put some in a miniature bottle for me so I could take it anywhere. I'd go into a grocery store just to open it off a shelf and sniff it. I'd also pour some out of our bottle at home because "it smelled best when it wasn't brand new". People actually had to launch a Pine Sol intervention with me to get me to stop. I still miss it sometimes.

5. Every time I played with my baby dolls as a little girl, I pictured myself as a single mom and preferred it. High standards for my life,  man.

6. I'm still unsure if the story of Green Eyes from 6th Grade Camp is true or a lie. I swear we really saw a wolf with glowing eyes in the woods directly before my friend Eileen fell in some ditch and twisted her ankle. Now, whenever we booze cruise past Camp Eberhart, I'm honestly still a little freaked out. I know people said it was kids with green paper over flashlights, but.... shit seemed real.

7.  When I was 21, I was ridiculously obsessed with this soft ice from the Taco Bell on Westnedge in Kalamazoo that I'd go through the drive through every single day after class and order a large ice tea with extra ice and a large cup of just ice. I'd eat so much so fast that my mouth would go numb. I would also shower right when I got home so I'd have to pee in the shower almost every time because I couldn't wait.

8. I don't think I told my parents, but in my head, I was positive I lost the 3rd grade spelling bee because they didn't get me the puffy paint dress I wanted. In related news: I still tell people I won it. Some lies cannot be untold.

9. I got so fucking pissed that Jacob Robinson won the Young Authors competition at school because his mother did all of his illustrations and editing. That kid could barely spell. MY book was incredible. It was about a kid that was an orphan, but when he fell down some pothole, he was an underground king. I think it was called The Orphan King. And it was the motherfucking To Kill A Mockingbird of my 5th grade class. I told my mom to call the school and complain about Jacob. She told me to be happy with 3rd place. Fucking Jacob.

10. I was at my first boyfriend's house when I was about 17. It was time for me to go home, but he was out screwing around in his yard raking up leaves. My friend and I went out to find him and he jumped out of a tree right in front of us to scare us. Scare us, he did. I shit my pants. Like, a lot. I didn't say anything, went into his house, cleaned it up as best I could. I sat on a stack of magazines on the way home just in case anything was going to soak through on to his truck seat. I inched out backwards throwing a coat around my waste like no big ol deal and he never knew. Nobody did. I think I told the friend that was with me a few years ago. Or I just told her in this blog. Either way, I'm a pants-shitting ninja.