Snowman's Sleepy Hollow

It's a little eerie how sometimes things intersect in my life.

A few days ago, I watched Sleepy Hollow (with the delicious Johnny Depp and delightful Christina Ricci). A few days after that, I went for a long overdue walk in the neighborhood. I passed a few snowmen and enjoyed them immensely (we had around 5 - 6 inches of snow fall last weekend - not since I was a wee young one, during the last freak snow storm of my life, have I been around this much snow). I went for a walk again today after work. I forgot about the snowmen until I came across them again.

This time, they had no heads.

The first one, I came up on it and saw the headlessness. It was sort of funny in a "oh, that isn't a real human being so I can laugh" sort of way, in a "kids are going to cry when they see it but I'm an adult and I think its funny-looking and therefore funny" sort of way. Then, as I continued to pass it, I noticed something disconcerting. This wasn't just a head having melted off with warmer tempatures - the head was laying on the ground at the feet of the snowman, which led me to suspect foul play.

You may think I'm crazy. Any number of things could have happened. It could have melted a little and rolled off. It could have, but I submit this to you:

There was another snowman, a few houses down, missing its head. That head, too, was on the ground at its feet.

Obviously, we have a serial snowman slayer in our neighborhood.

Consider the facts:

The heads are off.

The heads are both on the ground.

Clincher - the heads are both on the right side of the snowman.

Even if both heads melted and rolled off, would they really both hit the ground at the same trajectory?

Is trajectory the right word? Did I spell that right?

I really need the sexy one from Criminal Minds - no, not that one, the one with the longish, curly-ish hair and photographic memory, brown eyes - to come do an "unsub" profile, but I'll try to do my best.

Unsub is a young male or group of young males living in the neighborhood. Unsub is comfortable with his surroundings and has potentially even been in the houses of the victims or come over to their yards to play. Unsub fears no retribution as his victim is a snowman and not a real person. Also and however, unsub is a future psychopath who may move on to human victims soon. Unsub has a mean streak, may not get along with siblings very well - may, for example, pinch or hit them during church. Unsub makes bad grades in school except for when teachers get tired of him and pass him on. Unsub had tantrums as a child and often a vein sticks out of his neck or forehead when he gets mad, which is often. Unsub has an evil laugh, if you notice it. Unsub's teeth did not come in straight. Unsub picks on fat kids and is generally a bully. Unsub wears a brown coat in the winters and short sleeves in the summer. Unsub has sandy brown hair but is otherwise non-descript.

Please be on the look-out.

Open Letter to Our Humans

To Whom it May Concern:

I am speaking on behalf of myself and my colleagues, from this point forward referred to as "we," "us," "our," and/or "the Cats."

We would like to submit a formal protest to the use of the upstairs bath tub for human body cleansing. It is most clearly a secondary litter box.

To wit, we would require that Our Humans cease and desist the allowance of any water into the tub as we do not like to get our feet wet.

We would also like to state that filling the tub with litter is not necessary - we graciously acknowledge that there are three or four other litter boxes that our humans keep filled, and in these hard economic times we recognize the burden that filling an entire bath with litter might become. Besides, we are obviously fine to use the tub as is. The tilt of the tub creates a draining system that is quite sufficient; we only request that our humans remove solid waste promptly and keep the tub as clean and welcoming as possible.

For example, when one of our humans spent approximately twenty minutes yesterday scrubing out the tub with a mild bleach abrasive and a scrub pad, that created the perfect environment for those of us with higher standards to use the tub for its intended purpose, i.e. a litter box, at some point during the night or early this morning while our humans were asleep. We would very much like for this standard to be maintained.

We also would like to claim our right to continue to make use of the carpet at whim.

Sincerely,

Guess Who Shit in the Tub

She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy

God bless you, Kenny Chesney. God bless you. For you have made one of the greatest songs in human history, as I was reminded today on my way to the doctor.

Also, at one point, I was driving through one of those extended zones where two radio stations battle back and forth, along with a little static. It was Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A." versus unknown old man singing a hymn. It was like Jesus was beating down Miley Cyrus. It was blissfully perfect.

At the doctor's office, they have this odd little procedure where you are moved from one waiting room to another when it gets closer to the time when you will actually get called in to see the doctor. Today I was a little miffed because I thought I had left the waiting room with the Reader's Digest for the waiting room with the shit magazines like "Economics Today," but I found one I could enjoy, I forget what it was. In any case, I hadn't been bold/brave enough to transport the Reader's Digest with me into the next level waiting room. I would also like to say that the next-level waiting room procedure makes the waiting a lot easier - it breaks up the monotany and frustration of waiting; it gives you hope.

On the way back - which went much easier this time because I followed the directions I got from MapQuest instead of disputing them, substituting my own better judgement and common sense, which got me two hours lost - when I got very close to home, my stomach decided that it wanted to empty itself. Immediately. Apparently, this is what happens to me at the end of a travel of more than 10 miles now. It happened last week on the way back from L's baby shower.

Again, this time, I found myself thinking: This is it. This is really it. I've come close so many times before, but this is the time, the real time, that I doodie on myself in the car.

I weaved through traffic, accelerated through red lights, paused - briefly and barely - for the black man in the brown leather coat and trucker hat to cross the road (he was already half way across and his will was apparently much stronger than mine, though he didn't seem in a rush to doodie or anything like that), then turned onto the last two-mile stretch. I was driving rather recklessly (65 in a 45, a two-lane road), trying to decide whether or not I would really be able to say to the officer that I had been rushing home to doodie, realizing that I probably would have pooped on myself by the time he sauntered up to the side of the car.

Anyway, then I remembered that there is destruction construction going on at the point where I turn into my neighborhood, so the last 100 yards toward home I began to muster up the emotional detachment required to mow down a man with an orange vest and a stop sign.

I made it home.

Update: Later this afternoon I went over to get some of the canned cat food on sale at Petco and went to Red Lobster with M for lunch where I had chicken tenders and shrimp with a side of run-to-the-bathroom doodie.

Gilad

Okay, so maybe in his "Bodies in Motion" series he's wearing L.A. Gear sneakers (I'm pretty sure it was filmed in the '80's), and maybe he's a liar because he'll say "8 more" then he'll count up to 8 using halves and quarters (7 and a quarter....7 and a haaalf...7 and threeeee quarters), and maybe I do cuss at him in the middle of, say, a strenuous bun-lifting exercise, but

I LOVE Gilad!

Help me, but there's something mildly arousing about him when he looks directly into the camera with his big thick ethnic eyebrows and says "Yes." or "Just like that." or "Do it." or especially "You've got to really want these next 8." Whew. Am I wrong?

I'm about to (try to) graduate from "Bodies in Motion" to "Total Sculpt." Gilad looks a little older, but no worse for the wear. His muscles are even bigger, I think. Also, he has an updated outfit, which we all know is the most important thing.

Commence Random Weeping

After a few hours sleep, hopelessly awake at 5:30 am, I spent much of this morning under the effect of television paralysis, then went to take a shower for work. Somewhere in there I managed to clean up dried cat doodies and vomit from the floor.

I went to take a shower for work, that "you stupid, stupid girl" voice off and on. The ill feelings have gone from a generalized absence-of-God sort of feeling, as described in a recently previous post, to that clawing, agitated demon feeling.

I can't settle on anything - not a chore, not a song, not a thought, not a television station. I flip back and forth and all over the place.

I drove to work, arrived to a full parking lot with a stone in my gut. I was supposed to work a party today, along with another waitress, someone who has been there a while (longer than me) and that I trust to be of significant help for the event, so, I wasn't worried about it at all. When I came in, I found out that it was only supposed to be a "twelve top," which means, if you are an outsider to the profession and would have to guess, we were having twelve people (not a hard guess, is it?). My colleague - again, an experienced "server" (snooty name for "waitress" that we're supposed to use) - felt she could handle it herself (she could, in fact, and I probably could've as well - there was no need for the both of us) and was upset that she had to share it (and the tips), no offense to me (none taken).

I was so down in the dumps (what a ridiculous phrase for the mammoth beast), thinking things like how insane it is that people are going in to steakhouses and feeding their fat selves when there are people starving in the world (which is true, whether you are depressed or not; everyone should think about that now and then), and there was Christmas music playing and...I ended up in the office with another random weep.

The bartender came in at one point and told me that I looked the type to blow the place up and to let her know so she could leave before I did anything. I think she was just trying to cheer me up with some humor. It worked a little.

The manager came in and hugged me and told me to go home and to call my psychiatrist and then to call her later and let her know I'm okay, meaning not-dead, I think. I don't think she expects okay as in okay-okay.

So I came home and immediately felt like a fuck up for losing my shift.

It's not like I don't want to be at work - this isn't like teaching, I really do like my line of work. It suits me very well. I come home and bitch about stuff, but I like this so much better than teaching. We live in an area of high poverty, so tips aren't great; it should pay better, and I shouldn't have to work so many hours for so little money, but - the work, I like.

Fuck.

Last Rites

Too frail for this world,
long suffering be damned.

Now remains words, stone -
bring me no plastic flowers.

Put a lamb atop my marker,
let it wear down like knuckles, like bone.

A hundred years or more
and I'll be found, fine.

This pillow here is soft -
my scabs will fall off,
elbows, knees smooth as satin.

Name me a wife and mother,
frame a picture with roses.

Stop the clocks and cover the mirrors.

Make friends with death and kiss
your dear sister; she's done.





(photos taken in a very old cemetery in Rocky Mount, NC, with no personal significance to me other than that I saw the cemetery, visited it, and took the photos - oh, and got the idea for this poem)

Mood Waves

So yesterday was a depressed day, again, full on with Random Weeping. I had a double yesterday, which means I had two shifts; I was there for lunch then back again for dinner.

I arrived for my first shift only to find the front doors locked. Instead of going around to the back or even the side where I could surely go in, I went and sat on a bench in the cold and cried.

Returning for my dinner shift, I went to a long back room used for large parties and cried. That was a real weeping session.

The way I would have put it, if anyone had asked, was that it felt like God had gone behind a cloud.

And there were just suckish events yesterday which spurred me on in the direction of general life loathing, such as standing up and banging my head. Little things like that which you tally up when you're depressed.

Then today I popped up quite normal. Today has been just fine and I'm sure the new manager who inquired as to my state of mind yesterday might be a little confused as he continues to acclimate to his new staff, which includes me.