Here we are in the middle of the 21st Century. We have come a long way in advances in technology. In five minutes, you can check your e-mail, view your bank statement, order shoes from Amazon, see what Adam Sandler is Tweeting about, and look up the latest news. All at the touch of a button and a click of the mouse. Amazing.
Call me old-fashioned, but I am a bit scared, intimidated, and resistant to technology. Funny, as I work for an IT company. I usually stick with the technology I have until I am forced to upgrade. It's not like I don't have ANY electronic devices in my home, I just don't have the latest and greatest. I have a flat screen HDTV, a DVD player that can play Blu-Ray (I think), a stereo that can accommodate an iPod, a DVR (best gift ever! My dear brother decided it would make a great Xmas gift. Now that I have it, I couldn't agree more. How else am I supposed to pause Glee, record Modern Family, and rewind a show? Especially with a 2 year old!), a laptop, and a Blackberry. I have an iPod, courtesy of my technology savvy brother, and I don't even know how to load songs on it. He does it for me! I still purchase CDs and DVDs. I worked hard on my VHS collection, which had to be upgraded to a DVD collection, which will someday be forced to be a Blu-ray collection.
I guess I just don't like the rapidness of the times. Technology seems to open "Pandora's Box" for some. They expect instant results and have to have the most advanced, current, and latest in gadgets. Some can barely go to the bathroom without tweeting from their iPhone. There are even advances in technology where you can control the lights and power in your home from your phone or laptop. Crazy!
These advances also seem to cause a lack of human interaction. Most things are done via e-mail and the internet. What did they do back in the 1940s or 1960s? They ran their businesses accurately, but perhaps at a slower pace. How did they communicate? Over the phone, mail, or in person. They didn't hide behind their desks and email all day. There was a human connection. The same goes for a lot of industries. You can rent/watch a movie online, check your bank statement, buy stamps and transfer funds from an ATM, or buy an entire spring wardrobe without leaving your house. A lot of businesses suffer from these advances.
I'm not saying I want to go back to the dinosaur days, when the huge 1980s Apple computers first came out, and the graphics on Oregon Trail were considered advanced, but it would be nice to own an electronic device and know it won't be upgraded/outdated in 3 months. My laptop is 5 years old, my car is 9, my microwave is well over 15. They work, I use them! I can't afford to update my appliances that often. There's also the issue of the learning curve on how to use these new smart appliances. I am quite impatient and thrive on instant gratification, so forget reading a 48 page manual on how to work my cable box or new phone; I learn by DOING! There are too many things to remember on a new device. I am not really in need of the latest and greatest. I am content with the bare minimum with a few luxuries here and there. In my home, I really just use my cell phone and laptop to keep in touch with people, blog, and Facebook! The internet is a great thing. The world wide web. I remember when it "came out" into the world and became the norm. I also remember when I was little, my dad worked for a copier company, and I thought my family was advanced because we had a computer, a fax machine, a copying machine, and cordless phones! And, my dad had an actual phone with a cord in his car. We were so cool! And now I wonder, what would we do without mobile technology and the internet? We couldn't function. The internet can be scary as well. Every one's information can be found, accounts can be hacked, children can be lured by an anonymous predator. Who knows what comes after the internet. Microchips implanted at birth?
I'm certainly not against technology, but sometimes I wish it would slow down. Yet, there are advances in medical technology that are curing diseases and diagnosing illness much more accurately. But at times, that same technology can advance diseases as well. It's a catch 22.
I am thankful for light bulbs, phones, TVs, laptops, and the like. I just don't really see a need in a machine that lives my life for me. Have you ever read "A Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley? I highly recommend it.
And with that, I am going to enjoy shows on my semi-outdated TV, type on my ancient laptop, and set my alarm clock, not my phone, to wake up tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Tales from the jury box
Now that the trial is over, I can talk about it. Admonition has been lifted. Good, I have so many things to say!
In the middle of January, I received it. It stared at me while I sorted through my mail. There IT was...a JURY SUMMONS. Well, shit. I just served on a jury 2.5 years before. Was my name seriously drawn again? I put a note on my white board and pinned the summons (summons...that word makes me shudder) to my cork board. And there it sat.
I didn't know if I would have to report until 4 PM the night prior. I sat at work, anxiously watching the clock approach 4. I dialed. Hoping I wouldn't get picked, I listened to the recording. The second group she listed was mine. 1502. Yep. Well, great. Looks like I was headed to downtown Phoenix in the morning.
Day 1: the selection
I hate driving downtown. It's perpetually under construction, there's a lot of traffic and one way streets. Google maps sent me in the wrong direction. I looked at the clock. Holy Hell, I'm going to be late. I drive around and try to find the parking garage. Dammit. I'm so late! I had to be there at 8:30 and it was already 9. So, I gave up and parked in a metered spot. $1.50 for 2 hours. I walked to the court house in my heels. Clickity clak, I hauled ass down the street. Great, long line at the security scanners. I walk through. Beep. Sorry, turn around, spread your legs, lift your pant legs. Ok, you're good to go. Run to the the jury room. I hand the lady my summons and tell her I parked in a metered spot and I didn't know where the parking garage was. She laughed...it happens a lot apparently. She gave me a map and told me where to go. I ran back to my car and relocate it. I wait for the shuttle to the court house. It pulls up. The little old man promptly introduces himself as Walt, and asks "what says you, beautiful?" To the court house! I'm so late! He takes me there and says goodbye in a Donald Duck voice. I like this guy.
And again, through security. Beep. Sorry, turn around, spread your legs, lift your pant legs. Ok, you're good to go. Run to the the jury room. Get my juror form and fill it out...and wait. And wait. Drink the NASTY hot tea they had. Finally, the bailiff arrives and starts calling out names. Then, I hear mine. Fuck. I honestly dropped the F-bomb out loud. #33. Awesome. Finally, we are directed to the elevators like cattle and were instructed to go to floor 11. It took 20 minutes alone to get on an elevator. Arrive on the floor. No seats available, so I sit on the cold, hard floor. Wait some more. Finally, the bailiff arrives and gives us instructions. We file into the court room. What a crowd. Fat, skinny, white, black, yellow, hairy, beautiful, ugly, smelly, young, old. The judge mentions the details of the case. Some people have issues and some won't/can't serve. The case is about a man that had sexually molested sisters when they were 14 years old (5 years apart). The charges are read, and they are graphic. The jurors answer questions and are weeded out. Lunch break! Time to go pay $9 for a crappy salad in the cafeteria. Go back to floor 11. Wait some more.
The herd had been thinned by about 20 people. More questions. More answers. Afternoon break. Wait, and wait some more. Finally, around 4, we get called in again. Good thing I told my boss I'd be out all day. They have chosen their 14 people. They start calling numbers. Listening, listening....trying not to hack. At this time, I had an awful barking cough. And there it was. NUMBER 33?? You're juror #9. Why do they keep picking me! The jury had been selected. The odd thing was that it was a sexual abuse case, and the jury was 13 women, 1 man. The defendant was black, yet the jury was primarily white. I'm still not sure why they chose who they did. Both sides get a say. Ok, off for Friday and the weekend. I report on Monday. Valentine's day...how appropriate.
Day 2: the trial begins
It was sort of nice to sleep in a bit. I didn't have to be to court until 10:45. Sweet! I took my leisurely time getting myself and the kid ready. We even watched some cartoons together! Then, I take her to her dad's place. Time to jump into traffic and get lost in downtown Phoenix. I found the parking garage, got on the shuttle with a few jury members I remembered, and headed to court.
Ah, yes, security time. Walk through. Beep! Raise your arms, spread your legs, lift up your pant legs. Ok, you're good. WAIT! Is this your lunch bag? Yes, why? Is that Tupperware glass? Yes? Oh, no glass allowed. You need to run to the cafeteria and get a plastic container and then give us the glass. Seriously?? So, I run to the cafeteria and ask for a plastic container. He takes his time. I steal 3 packs of butter. That's right! I did make banana bread for the jury, so I think I'm entitled to 3 packs of butter. I get the container, transfer my salad, and run back to security. Same deal. Beep! Ok, you're good. I hop on the elevator with some interesting people up to the 11th floor. 13 our of 14 are there...we call the bailiff to let us into the juror room. We file into what is our home for the next few days.
Finally, the trial begins. The girls (victims) are the first to take the stand. They are beautiful. They start to testify. Homeless for most of their lives. Their oldest sister finally moved out on her own, pregnant, and met the defendant. They both break down and say he sexually molested them at age 14. They cry. I almost cried, but I am supposed to be unbiased. I listen. I put my head down. I let them cry. I can only imagine what's going on in their heads and hearts. It's hard to keep a straight face. But a juror is supposed to be emotionless. We go to lunch. I get offered a job on a sticky note. That was pretty funny, and very legitimate. We go back to finish the testimonies. Day two is over.
Day 3: the plot thickens
I get to sleep in again. Ahh, nice. I am liking this. I drop the kid off at daycare and get on my way. I'm a pro now! I don't get lost or anything. Park my car, get on the shuttle with Walt, head to the court house. I don't set the metal detector off, and I didn't bring my lunch this time. The guy behind me is trying to smuggle in 2 mini bottles of Jack Daniels. Really? Wow! Up to floor 11. We're all there, we go into our room. They are on time today. We are led into our box. Today, we hear the police officers and detectives, and a "blind" expert witness. It's a lot of information to take in. We break for lunch. A few of us go to a new sandwich shop. We order and enjoy the beautiful weather outside. We watch and listen to the protesters. A pigeon scares the ever loving crap out of me. Gotta love downtown! Time to go back. We continue to listen to testimonies. I'm drained and the lights are sucking the life out of me. The judge and deputy almost nod off. We finally get through the state's side. The day is over. I go pick up the kiddo and hug her endlessly.
Day 4: hearing the defendant's story
He's been sitting in the court room this entire time. Nicely dressed, nodding his head "no" through all of the testimonies. He's glad he gets to tell his "story" now. He takes the stand. His lawyer asks him questions, and he answers. I know it was a horrible case, but when he said "titties" on the stand...I almost laughed out loud. Who says that in a court room? He keeps answering questions, giving way too much detail. His lawyer is mad at him. He's digging himself deeper. He gets angry. He gets emotional. "They kill people that hurt children in prison, I'm scared for my life." But, he maintains his story. He only touched their breasts. He did not get them high. He did not "rape" them. They are lying. He only touched their breasts. We break for lunch. I try to lighten the mood. The prosecutor is cross-eyed. How can I not comment about that? I really didn't know who he was looking at. And he certainly gave new meaning to "cross-examination." Ha! I have them rolling. Sometimes, you have to laugh. We go back for the conclusion.
We listen to the closing arguments. Both sides really make valid points. The prosecutor doesn't get the girls' names right. I cringe. It seems he's just trying to get his payday. The defense argues and pokes a few holes in the prosecutor's statement. We are sent back to our room to wait. We are finally called back in. Time to pick the alternate jurors. There are 14 of us; they only need 12. I start to get flushed, and I gather my things. I already knew. They pick numbers out of a hat. Jurors 6 and 9. Yep, that's me. Juror #9. Somehow, I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. I put all of that time in and listened to this case. I took time from my job. I paid for over-priced food. I was invested. But, by the random hand of fate, I was excused. I didn't get to share my opinions. What a crap shoot. But, at the same time, I was relieved to not be responsible for this man's fate. What if I made the wrong choice?
The bailiff said she would call to let me know the verdict. I couldn't wait. I looked up his case details online. Curiosity kills! The verdict was posted. He had been found guilty of sexual misconduct/abuse with a minor. The only charges he was not convicted of were giving drugs to a minor, and kidnapping. I do agree with that. He was sentenced for 14/17 charges against him. I have to admit I felt a little bad, as he does have children of his own...but then again, who says this couldn't happen to his own children? I do not know how much time he was sentenced to yet.
I am very honored to live in a country that actually has a justice system. It may not always be as accurate as we'd like, but for the most part, people get punished for their crimes. I feel better that there's one less creep off the street. I know this trial will forever divide his family. It is very difficult to remain unbiased during a case. I'm human. I cry. I feel sympathy. I feel anger. Even though I wasn't a part of his final sentencing, I know my fellow jurors did the right thing. Being on a jury truly is a bonding experience. You are tasked with deciding some one's future. That's a heavy burden. What if you make the wrong decision?
Now that it is over, I am glad to have been a part of it. I have served my civil duty. Twice! I hope I'm not summoned again!
In the middle of January, I received it. It stared at me while I sorted through my mail. There IT was...a JURY SUMMONS. Well, shit. I just served on a jury 2.5 years before. Was my name seriously drawn again? I put a note on my white board and pinned the summons (summons...that word makes me shudder) to my cork board. And there it sat.
I didn't know if I would have to report until 4 PM the night prior. I sat at work, anxiously watching the clock approach 4. I dialed. Hoping I wouldn't get picked, I listened to the recording. The second group she listed was mine. 1502. Yep. Well, great. Looks like I was headed to downtown Phoenix in the morning.
Day 1: the selection
I hate driving downtown. It's perpetually under construction, there's a lot of traffic and one way streets. Google maps sent me in the wrong direction. I looked at the clock. Holy Hell, I'm going to be late. I drive around and try to find the parking garage. Dammit. I'm so late! I had to be there at 8:30 and it was already 9. So, I gave up and parked in a metered spot. $1.50 for 2 hours. I walked to the court house in my heels. Clickity clak, I hauled ass down the street. Great, long line at the security scanners. I walk through. Beep. Sorry, turn around, spread your legs, lift your pant legs. Ok, you're good to go. Run to the the jury room. I hand the lady my summons and tell her I parked in a metered spot and I didn't know where the parking garage was. She laughed...it happens a lot apparently. She gave me a map and told me where to go. I ran back to my car and relocate it. I wait for the shuttle to the court house. It pulls up. The little old man promptly introduces himself as Walt, and asks "what says you, beautiful?" To the court house! I'm so late! He takes me there and says goodbye in a Donald Duck voice. I like this guy.
And again, through security. Beep. Sorry, turn around, spread your legs, lift your pant legs. Ok, you're good to go. Run to the the jury room. Get my juror form and fill it out...and wait. And wait. Drink the NASTY hot tea they had. Finally, the bailiff arrives and starts calling out names. Then, I hear mine. Fuck. I honestly dropped the F-bomb out loud. #33. Awesome. Finally, we are directed to the elevators like cattle and were instructed to go to floor 11. It took 20 minutes alone to get on an elevator. Arrive on the floor. No seats available, so I sit on the cold, hard floor. Wait some more. Finally, the bailiff arrives and gives us instructions. We file into the court room. What a crowd. Fat, skinny, white, black, yellow, hairy, beautiful, ugly, smelly, young, old. The judge mentions the details of the case. Some people have issues and some won't/can't serve. The case is about a man that had sexually molested sisters when they were 14 years old (5 years apart). The charges are read, and they are graphic. The jurors answer questions and are weeded out. Lunch break! Time to go pay $9 for a crappy salad in the cafeteria. Go back to floor 11. Wait some more.
The herd had been thinned by about 20 people. More questions. More answers. Afternoon break. Wait, and wait some more. Finally, around 4, we get called in again. Good thing I told my boss I'd be out all day. They have chosen their 14 people. They start calling numbers. Listening, listening....trying not to hack. At this time, I had an awful barking cough. And there it was. NUMBER 33?? You're juror #9. Why do they keep picking me! The jury had been selected. The odd thing was that it was a sexual abuse case, and the jury was 13 women, 1 man. The defendant was black, yet the jury was primarily white. I'm still not sure why they chose who they did. Both sides get a say. Ok, off for Friday and the weekend. I report on Monday. Valentine's day...how appropriate.
Day 2: the trial begins
It was sort of nice to sleep in a bit. I didn't have to be to court until 10:45. Sweet! I took my leisurely time getting myself and the kid ready. We even watched some cartoons together! Then, I take her to her dad's place. Time to jump into traffic and get lost in downtown Phoenix. I found the parking garage, got on the shuttle with a few jury members I remembered, and headed to court.
Ah, yes, security time. Walk through. Beep! Raise your arms, spread your legs, lift up your pant legs. Ok, you're good. WAIT! Is this your lunch bag? Yes, why? Is that Tupperware glass? Yes? Oh, no glass allowed. You need to run to the cafeteria and get a plastic container and then give us the glass. Seriously?? So, I run to the cafeteria and ask for a plastic container. He takes his time. I steal 3 packs of butter. That's right! I did make banana bread for the jury, so I think I'm entitled to 3 packs of butter. I get the container, transfer my salad, and run back to security. Same deal. Beep! Ok, you're good. I hop on the elevator with some interesting people up to the 11th floor. 13 our of 14 are there...we call the bailiff to let us into the juror room. We file into what is our home for the next few days.
Finally, the trial begins. The girls (victims) are the first to take the stand. They are beautiful. They start to testify. Homeless for most of their lives. Their oldest sister finally moved out on her own, pregnant, and met the defendant. They both break down and say he sexually molested them at age 14. They cry. I almost cried, but I am supposed to be unbiased. I listen. I put my head down. I let them cry. I can only imagine what's going on in their heads and hearts. It's hard to keep a straight face. But a juror is supposed to be emotionless. We go to lunch. I get offered a job on a sticky note. That was pretty funny, and very legitimate. We go back to finish the testimonies. Day two is over.
Day 3: the plot thickens
I get to sleep in again. Ahh, nice. I am liking this. I drop the kid off at daycare and get on my way. I'm a pro now! I don't get lost or anything. Park my car, get on the shuttle with Walt, head to the court house. I don't set the metal detector off, and I didn't bring my lunch this time. The guy behind me is trying to smuggle in 2 mini bottles of Jack Daniels. Really? Wow! Up to floor 11. We're all there, we go into our room. They are on time today. We are led into our box. Today, we hear the police officers and detectives, and a "blind" expert witness. It's a lot of information to take in. We break for lunch. A few of us go to a new sandwich shop. We order and enjoy the beautiful weather outside. We watch and listen to the protesters. A pigeon scares the ever loving crap out of me. Gotta love downtown! Time to go back. We continue to listen to testimonies. I'm drained and the lights are sucking the life out of me. The judge and deputy almost nod off. We finally get through the state's side. The day is over. I go pick up the kiddo and hug her endlessly.
Day 4: hearing the defendant's story
He's been sitting in the court room this entire time. Nicely dressed, nodding his head "no" through all of the testimonies. He's glad he gets to tell his "story" now. He takes the stand. His lawyer asks him questions, and he answers. I know it was a horrible case, but when he said "titties" on the stand...I almost laughed out loud. Who says that in a court room? He keeps answering questions, giving way too much detail. His lawyer is mad at him. He's digging himself deeper. He gets angry. He gets emotional. "They kill people that hurt children in prison, I'm scared for my life." But, he maintains his story. He only touched their breasts. He did not get them high. He did not "rape" them. They are lying. He only touched their breasts. We break for lunch. I try to lighten the mood. The prosecutor is cross-eyed. How can I not comment about that? I really didn't know who he was looking at. And he certainly gave new meaning to "cross-examination." Ha! I have them rolling. Sometimes, you have to laugh. We go back for the conclusion.
We listen to the closing arguments. Both sides really make valid points. The prosecutor doesn't get the girls' names right. I cringe. It seems he's just trying to get his payday. The defense argues and pokes a few holes in the prosecutor's statement. We are sent back to our room to wait. We are finally called back in. Time to pick the alternate jurors. There are 14 of us; they only need 12. I start to get flushed, and I gather my things. I already knew. They pick numbers out of a hat. Jurors 6 and 9. Yep, that's me. Juror #9. Somehow, I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. I put all of that time in and listened to this case. I took time from my job. I paid for over-priced food. I was invested. But, by the random hand of fate, I was excused. I didn't get to share my opinions. What a crap shoot. But, at the same time, I was relieved to not be responsible for this man's fate. What if I made the wrong choice?
The bailiff said she would call to let me know the verdict. I couldn't wait. I looked up his case details online. Curiosity kills! The verdict was posted. He had been found guilty of sexual misconduct/abuse with a minor. The only charges he was not convicted of were giving drugs to a minor, and kidnapping. I do agree with that. He was sentenced for 14/17 charges against him. I have to admit I felt a little bad, as he does have children of his own...but then again, who says this couldn't happen to his own children? I do not know how much time he was sentenced to yet.
I am very honored to live in a country that actually has a justice system. It may not always be as accurate as we'd like, but for the most part, people get punished for their crimes. I feel better that there's one less creep off the street. I know this trial will forever divide his family. It is very difficult to remain unbiased during a case. I'm human. I cry. I feel sympathy. I feel anger. Even though I wasn't a part of his final sentencing, I know my fellow jurors did the right thing. Being on a jury truly is a bonding experience. You are tasked with deciding some one's future. That's a heavy burden. What if you make the wrong decision?
Now that it is over, I am glad to have been a part of it. I have served my civil duty. Twice! I hope I'm not summoned again!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Elevator Etiquette
We've all been there. Crammed in an elevator with 13 other totally random strangers. And I'm not talking about the cushy elevator in Nordstrom taking you up a floor. I mean a public building (like a court house, for example)where the mix of people, noises, and smells all blend together. The lobby with the bank of elevators is crammed full. You have lawyers, police officers, sketchy folks, and the lot. Then, DING! An elevator arrives. You get shoved in like you are in a cattle shoot, and squashed into the back of the elevator. You ask someone to push your floor number and the door closes. Then, you are stuck with these "elevator people" for 30 seconds to a few minutes. Awkward. Silent. Yet, there must be a standard elevator manual, because as different as people are, there always seems to be the same offenders.
There is always the little old lady that has sprayed ENTIRELY too much perfume, or the little old guy that was much too liberal with his Brut aftershave.
There is always someone that has a stench of BO, either faint or like they poured a bottle of Cumin all over themselves that morning.
There is the person with NO sense of personal space, standing entirely too close for comfort.
There is that one person that has some infectious cough or is sneezing their germs into a tight space.
There is that lady practically travelling with her entire set of luggage. Purse, laptop case, shoulder bag, lunch bag, and a blanket.
There is that person that can't seem to figure out the buttons in the elevator, or what floor he needs to be on, or how to work the "close door" button.
The person that needs to get off first is always crammed in the back.
There is that person that hums. Always humming. All the time.
There is that person that can't stand the silence and cracks a joke or makes a witty observation. Yes, that person is usually me!
You pile in, stand facing forward with such a serious look on your face. Your trip beings. Up 11 floors, down 4. Silence. Throat clear. Cough. Oh coughing! He's going to infect the entire group!! What's that smell? Did someone fart? Oh dear, this woman must have halitosis! I can't see straight with her dragon breath stinging my nostrils. I smell spearmint gum. Maybe someone should offer her a piece! Who just stepped on my foot? Hey, guy with no sense of personal space...BACK UP. Your elbow is touching mine. Ok, floor 6...tall dude in the back with too much hair gel has to get out now. Rearrange. Only 5 floors left! Is that guy REALLY on his cell phone right now? No, I don't really care about last night's excursion, thank you. Still going....silence, cough, sniffle, sigh. Then me, cracking a joke of the awkwardness of it all. DING! Floor 11. Oh Thank GOD! I'm out!! See you later, elevator people!
There is always the little old lady that has sprayed ENTIRELY too much perfume, or the little old guy that was much too liberal with his Brut aftershave.
There is always someone that has a stench of BO, either faint or like they poured a bottle of Cumin all over themselves that morning.
There is the person with NO sense of personal space, standing entirely too close for comfort.
There is that one person that has some infectious cough or is sneezing their germs into a tight space.
There is that lady practically travelling with her entire set of luggage. Purse, laptop case, shoulder bag, lunch bag, and a blanket.
There is that person that can't seem to figure out the buttons in the elevator, or what floor he needs to be on, or how to work the "close door" button.
The person that needs to get off first is always crammed in the back.
There is that person that hums. Always humming. All the time.
There is that person that can't stand the silence and cracks a joke or makes a witty observation. Yes, that person is usually me!
You pile in, stand facing forward with such a serious look on your face. Your trip beings. Up 11 floors, down 4. Silence. Throat clear. Cough. Oh coughing! He's going to infect the entire group!! What's that smell? Did someone fart? Oh dear, this woman must have halitosis! I can't see straight with her dragon breath stinging my nostrils. I smell spearmint gum. Maybe someone should offer her a piece! Who just stepped on my foot? Hey, guy with no sense of personal space...BACK UP. Your elbow is touching mine. Ok, floor 6...tall dude in the back with too much hair gel has to get out now. Rearrange. Only 5 floors left! Is that guy REALLY on his cell phone right now? No, I don't really care about last night's excursion, thank you. Still going....silence, cough, sniffle, sigh. Then me, cracking a joke of the awkwardness of it all. DING! Floor 11. Oh Thank GOD! I'm out!! See you later, elevator people!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Cuz ya gotta be strong...
Are you strong enough?
Life takes a lot of strength to get through. And I don’t mean physical. Sure, you can run marathons, pump some iron, do yoga, eat 100 hot dogs in 10 minutes (gross, but I suppose that does take some sort of strength…and stomach stretching), and do your best physically.
What I’m talking about is inner strength; strength of your heart (not the actual bloody muscle), your soul, and your mind. Each day presents a new challenge. Be it something silly like not getting a jar open, being stuck in traffic and almost getting rear-ended, or receiving a phone call that one of your loved ones has passed. You can’t really prepare, you just have to react and deal with the challenge. Jar won’t open? You hit the lid with a knife, try hot water, swear at it, wrap a towel around it, then after 3 minutes, POP! Victory is yours! Those pickles taste that much better, don’t they? You get over it pretty quickly.
The receipt of heart-breaking or scary news hits you like a blast of freezing water. You may go into shock, you may either cry or scream, or perhaps, you internalize it and try to make sense of it. I have been in a few situations in my life that have gotten this type of reaction from me: passing of a grandmother, my divorce, the hospitalization of my nana, illness of my child, but the one that stands out the most in my mind is when both of my parents almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
March 17, 2006 (St. Patrick’s Day), 8 am.
I had just arrived at work, and was booting up my computer like any normal day. My cell phone rings. I see it’s my dad. I almost didn’t answer, because I was at work. But my gut answered for me. He never calls this early; he knows I’m at work, so I answered. The first words out of his mouth: “Julie, it’s your father. Your mother and I have been poisoned, we’re going to die.” Um, WHAT? Did he just say that? So I said “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” He continues to tell me that they were poisoned and the firemen were there, breaking windows, and that something was wrong and they had a CO2 leak. He was not making sense, stuttering and slurring as if he were drunk. He kept talking about the cats, and how the firemen found them, and they were on gas masks. (This is a hilarious image to think about NOW. In fact, my friends and I get a good laugh about it when we have a bad day…don’t worry, the cats are ok, they have gas masks. They make gas masks for cats? Yes, yes they do.) I basically had to “verbally bitch slap” him over the phone to get him to tell me something. Where’s mom?? He told me she had fallen and broken her ankle and was in the back of an ambulance to the hospital. Coincidentally, the same hospital I was born at. I said I would call him back. At this point, I was shaking so hard, gasping for breath over my cries and yelling. I felt sick. I had my head in my hand. I had attracted several co-workers outside of my cube. I called both brothers, no answer. I finally called my sister-in-law and asked her to call my dad to see if she could make any sense of what he was saying. She got just about the same reply I did. I was on another mission: to find my mom. A co-worker found the phone number for me, and I tried to compose myself as I dialed. Memorial Hospital ER? Yes, I am looking for my mom. I think she just got there in the ambulance….and before I could finish, the lady said she was right there. She put her on the phone. My mom was high as a kite. “Mom, are you ok??” “HI baby girl!! I’m ok. I’m sitting here in a toasty blankie. I love you. Bye!” Ok, well, at least I knew she was alive. After several hugs, and more crying and shaking, there was nothing I could do from Arizona, so I just had to calm down. Easier said than done.
That was the worst call I have ever received. Imagine losing one parent, but both at the same time, when they are so young and I am unprepared to live without them. I still can’t wrap my mind around that thought. After years of litigation, court dissertations, interviews, medical tests, and grief, my parents finally settled in court. They are both fairly healthy, even though the CO2 created some health problems, and sped up others, they are alive and kicking in Mexico. I guess Heaven wasn’t ready for them yet.
That said, going back to inner strength, I have found I have a lot of it, more than I give myself credit for. I may not show it on the outside, but somehow, I always get through things and end up on top. And sometimes I don’t even see it, people point it out. That’s the way I work: I freak out, overreact, internalize, let go, and then finally, accept. I never thought I’d get over my divorce, I did. I didn’t think I’d be able to be a single mom living on my own, I’m doing it. I have an incredible line of strong women in my family; I had to get my strength from somewhere. And just because I’m sensitive and emotional, doesn’t mean I am not a “tough” person. I can kick some serious ass when I have to.
"Strength does not come from physical capacity.
It comes from an indomitable will."
-Mahatma Gandhi
Life takes a lot of strength to get through. And I don’t mean physical. Sure, you can run marathons, pump some iron, do yoga, eat 100 hot dogs in 10 minutes (gross, but I suppose that does take some sort of strength…and stomach stretching), and do your best physically.
What I’m talking about is inner strength; strength of your heart (not the actual bloody muscle), your soul, and your mind. Each day presents a new challenge. Be it something silly like not getting a jar open, being stuck in traffic and almost getting rear-ended, or receiving a phone call that one of your loved ones has passed. You can’t really prepare, you just have to react and deal with the challenge. Jar won’t open? You hit the lid with a knife, try hot water, swear at it, wrap a towel around it, then after 3 minutes, POP! Victory is yours! Those pickles taste that much better, don’t they? You get over it pretty quickly.
The receipt of heart-breaking or scary news hits you like a blast of freezing water. You may go into shock, you may either cry or scream, or perhaps, you internalize it and try to make sense of it. I have been in a few situations in my life that have gotten this type of reaction from me: passing of a grandmother, my divorce, the hospitalization of my nana, illness of my child, but the one that stands out the most in my mind is when both of my parents almost died from carbon monoxide poisoning.
March 17, 2006 (St. Patrick’s Day), 8 am.
I had just arrived at work, and was booting up my computer like any normal day. My cell phone rings. I see it’s my dad. I almost didn’t answer, because I was at work. But my gut answered for me. He never calls this early; he knows I’m at work, so I answered. The first words out of his mouth: “Julie, it’s your father. Your mother and I have been poisoned, we’re going to die.” Um, WHAT? Did he just say that? So I said “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” He continues to tell me that they were poisoned and the firemen were there, breaking windows, and that something was wrong and they had a CO2 leak. He was not making sense, stuttering and slurring as if he were drunk. He kept talking about the cats, and how the firemen found them, and they were on gas masks. (This is a hilarious image to think about NOW. In fact, my friends and I get a good laugh about it when we have a bad day…don’t worry, the cats are ok, they have gas masks. They make gas masks for cats? Yes, yes they do.) I basically had to “verbally bitch slap” him over the phone to get him to tell me something. Where’s mom?? He told me she had fallen and broken her ankle and was in the back of an ambulance to the hospital. Coincidentally, the same hospital I was born at. I said I would call him back. At this point, I was shaking so hard, gasping for breath over my cries and yelling. I felt sick. I had my head in my hand. I had attracted several co-workers outside of my cube. I called both brothers, no answer. I finally called my sister-in-law and asked her to call my dad to see if she could make any sense of what he was saying. She got just about the same reply I did. I was on another mission: to find my mom. A co-worker found the phone number for me, and I tried to compose myself as I dialed. Memorial Hospital ER? Yes, I am looking for my mom. I think she just got there in the ambulance….and before I could finish, the lady said she was right there. She put her on the phone. My mom was high as a kite. “Mom, are you ok??” “HI baby girl!! I’m ok. I’m sitting here in a toasty blankie. I love you. Bye!” Ok, well, at least I knew she was alive. After several hugs, and more crying and shaking, there was nothing I could do from Arizona, so I just had to calm down. Easier said than done.
That was the worst call I have ever received. Imagine losing one parent, but both at the same time, when they are so young and I am unprepared to live without them. I still can’t wrap my mind around that thought. After years of litigation, court dissertations, interviews, medical tests, and grief, my parents finally settled in court. They are both fairly healthy, even though the CO2 created some health problems, and sped up others, they are alive and kicking in Mexico. I guess Heaven wasn’t ready for them yet.
That said, going back to inner strength, I have found I have a lot of it, more than I give myself credit for. I may not show it on the outside, but somehow, I always get through things and end up on top. And sometimes I don’t even see it, people point it out. That’s the way I work: I freak out, overreact, internalize, let go, and then finally, accept. I never thought I’d get over my divorce, I did. I didn’t think I’d be able to be a single mom living on my own, I’m doing it. I have an incredible line of strong women in my family; I had to get my strength from somewhere. And just because I’m sensitive and emotional, doesn’t mean I am not a “tough” person. I can kick some serious ass when I have to.
"Strength does not come from physical capacity.
It comes from an indomitable will."
-Mahatma Gandhi
Friday, February 4, 2011
What is a mother's heart made of?
Blood, muscle, and tissue? Nope! Guess again.
A mother's heart. It is a tremendous thing. It is very strong. It supplies blood to the rest of her body, and to any babies she might have. Supporting a human life...is...nothing short of amazing.
But, a mother's "heart" is a very indescribable thing. It holds so much love for her children, it's almost unbelievable.
Children: they fuss, they fight, they make you happy, they make you sad, they make you mad. But if your child is hurting in any way, you feel it too.
Have you ever had a normal day, doing your own thing, and BAM...something just doesn't feel right? You panic, call whomever is with your child, if not yourself, and inquire. What is going on? Sometimes, a mother's intuition is right on, sometimes, it predicts the future. But, when YOU know something isn't right...it probably isn't. Your heart becomes your gut. You feel it in your very being.
I have felt this feeling many times in my 2+ years of being a mother. Call me an amateur, having only 1 child and being a mom for only 2 years, but even so...once you become a mother, you have the instinct. You do.
The worst pain a mother can experience is when something is wrong with her child, and nothing can be done. She feels inadequate, unsuccessful, scared, and questions who SHE is. I have found it is always the mother's burden to take on the weight of the world. Pain is felt very deeply and very personally. You would give up your beating heart so your child will feel no pain. Mothers are like a firewall to their children. You want to protect them from viruses, hurt, pain, bad people, the "real" world, and anything in between.
"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." ~Rajneesh
"She never quite leaves her children at home, even when she doesn't take them along." ~Margaret Culkin Bannin
A mother's heart. It is a tremendous thing. It is very strong. It supplies blood to the rest of her body, and to any babies she might have. Supporting a human life...is...nothing short of amazing.
But, a mother's "heart" is a very indescribable thing. It holds so much love for her children, it's almost unbelievable.
Children: they fuss, they fight, they make you happy, they make you sad, they make you mad. But if your child is hurting in any way, you feel it too.
Have you ever had a normal day, doing your own thing, and BAM...something just doesn't feel right? You panic, call whomever is with your child, if not yourself, and inquire. What is going on? Sometimes, a mother's intuition is right on, sometimes, it predicts the future. But, when YOU know something isn't right...it probably isn't. Your heart becomes your gut. You feel it in your very being.
I have felt this feeling many times in my 2+ years of being a mother. Call me an amateur, having only 1 child and being a mom for only 2 years, but even so...once you become a mother, you have the instinct. You do.
The worst pain a mother can experience is when something is wrong with her child, and nothing can be done. She feels inadequate, unsuccessful, scared, and questions who SHE is. I have found it is always the mother's burden to take on the weight of the world. Pain is felt very deeply and very personally. You would give up your beating heart so your child will feel no pain. Mothers are like a firewall to their children. You want to protect them from viruses, hurt, pain, bad people, the "real" world, and anything in between.
"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." ~Rajneesh
"She never quite leaves her children at home, even when she doesn't take them along." ~Margaret Culkin Bannin
Thursday, February 3, 2011
D-I-V-O-R-C-E....
It's so unfortunate that word has become so commonplace in our society. Unfortunately for me, I am part of that statistic. But, I would like to say I got a divorce for the "right" reasons. I tried to fix the marriage, but it was broken, and I couldn't try any longer. I didn't use it as a cop out, I used it to get myself back and get rid of a very toxic person (and by "get rid of", I don't mean I sent people out to "take care of him"...but, I won't lie, I considered it!). I wasn't about to lose myself and jeopardize my life for another person.
July 23, 2004: That date will always stand out. Aside from the fact it's my dad's birthday,that's the day we called it quits. We had another yelling match about something I did (always an issue...it was NEVER his fault), and when I got home, we had the "talk." I immediately felt dizzy and nauseated. Could this be happening? I can change, really I can. I went completely numb, drew a bath, and called my parents. Then I called my brother. They said I needed to GET OUT of there. If only it were that easy. I had to have foot surgery and I needed his medical coverage. Imagine living with your soon to be "ex" husband like a roommate for over month. That was sheer torture.
August 19, 2004: My birthday. I spent it alone, with my foot in a cast, in bed with my cat. Crying. Of course, he had the nerve to tell me I looked great and my butt looked awesome in my jeans. By this time, I had lost about 10 pounds from lack of appetite, and I didn't have much weight to spare at the time. Divorce was the best diet ever though!
August 31, 2004: One of the hardest days in my life. This was the day my dad was flying in to drive me across the country, from Florida to Arizona. My entire life was packed up in a Penske truck. Before I left, I asked him if he ever loved me for me, or who he thought he could turn me into. He said he wasn't sure. OUCH. Ouch. With tears in my eyes, I hugged him and said goodbye, and knew it would be the last time I would ever see him.
August 31-Sept. 4, 2004: The journey to my new life and road to recovery began. It was an interesting experience being stuck in a truck cab with my father. Crap! No where to run! It was awesome when he fed my cat Tango beef jerky and she threw up on my lap. And even more awesome when Tango took a huge crap in her litterbox while we were in the middle of nowhere. Phew! It was quite the bonding experience though. We cried a lot.
Sept. 4, 2004: I pulled up in front of my brother's house in Scottsdale, AZ, tired, defeated, and emotional. I will never forget the hug he gave me. I just wanted to fold up into a little ball and have him hold me.
I stayed with him and his wife for a few days before getting settled into Apt. 265 in my new digs. My first place alone! Very intimidating. On the first night in the apartment, the power went off. Great! I started to cry. How did I get to this point? I was still in daily contact with my EX, and that probably wasn't the best thing to do. I couldn't move on; he was all I knew for 4 years.
Sept. 8, 2004: The arrival of the divorce finalization. I was flabbergasted and shocked. The divorce was complete. Done. Irreconcilable differences. At least I had my last name back. And you know, what a nice guy! He gave me alimony and paid off my car. What a hero!! How about you give me back the 4 years I wasted on you, you incredible bastard!! Needless to say, I had a few drinks that night.
My EX. Oh, my EX. How to describe him. A selfish, jealous, controlling, mentally abusive, impossible to please, mean, miserable excuse for a human being. Oh, and here's a fun fact: he was remarried within 8 months of our divorce. Hmmm....curious, huh? I dare not speak his name. I call him Satan. He had a baby, too. That stung a little, I'm not going to lie. And now, he's expecting another one. How do I know?? I'm excellent at Face-stalking on Facebook. ;) I hope his little demon seeds are ok. Alright, that's mean. They had no choice in the matter.
In retrospect, my divorce was the hardest thing I've ever been through, but also probably the best learning experience I've had. What did I learn? I've learned I am my own person, and no one can change me, or should for that matter. I'm independent and feisty. It was my feisty-ness, stubbornness, and the "spark" I have and will always have that couldn't be changed; he didn't like that. I will not compromise myself ever again. I'm worth more than any wedding ring. It has also shed light on the men I date (wait, date? I'm a single mom. What's that again?), and allows me to notice red flags when they pop up. I know I'm a handful, but I'm not sorry for that. It also made me put up some walls and barriers, and I'm learning how to let those down. I must protect my heart, but I can't keep everyone away.
I have been divorced for coming on 7 years in September. Amazing! I will just call it my "starter" marriage. Trial and error. Haha.
And, a joyous shout-out to the family and friends that helped me get through this very dark period in my life. I wouldn't have made it without you. I love and cherish you. Now, which one of you will "take care" of my EX? Just kidding. Kind of.
"Sometimes divorce is better than marriage." ~ Sumner Redstone
July 23, 2004: That date will always stand out. Aside from the fact it's my dad's birthday,that's the day we called it quits. We had another yelling match about something I did (always an issue...it was NEVER his fault), and when I got home, we had the "talk." I immediately felt dizzy and nauseated. Could this be happening? I can change, really I can. I went completely numb, drew a bath, and called my parents. Then I called my brother. They said I needed to GET OUT of there. If only it were that easy. I had to have foot surgery and I needed his medical coverage. Imagine living with your soon to be "ex" husband like a roommate for over month. That was sheer torture.
August 19, 2004: My birthday. I spent it alone, with my foot in a cast, in bed with my cat. Crying. Of course, he had the nerve to tell me I looked great and my butt looked awesome in my jeans. By this time, I had lost about 10 pounds from lack of appetite, and I didn't have much weight to spare at the time. Divorce was the best diet ever though!
August 31, 2004: One of the hardest days in my life. This was the day my dad was flying in to drive me across the country, from Florida to Arizona. My entire life was packed up in a Penske truck. Before I left, I asked him if he ever loved me for me, or who he thought he could turn me into. He said he wasn't sure. OUCH. Ouch. With tears in my eyes, I hugged him and said goodbye, and knew it would be the last time I would ever see him.
August 31-Sept. 4, 2004: The journey to my new life and road to recovery began. It was an interesting experience being stuck in a truck cab with my father. Crap! No where to run! It was awesome when he fed my cat Tango beef jerky and she threw up on my lap. And even more awesome when Tango took a huge crap in her litterbox while we were in the middle of nowhere. Phew! It was quite the bonding experience though. We cried a lot.
Sept. 4, 2004: I pulled up in front of my brother's house in Scottsdale, AZ, tired, defeated, and emotional. I will never forget the hug he gave me. I just wanted to fold up into a little ball and have him hold me.
I stayed with him and his wife for a few days before getting settled into Apt. 265 in my new digs. My first place alone! Very intimidating. On the first night in the apartment, the power went off. Great! I started to cry. How did I get to this point? I was still in daily contact with my EX, and that probably wasn't the best thing to do. I couldn't move on; he was all I knew for 4 years.
Sept. 8, 2004: The arrival of the divorce finalization. I was flabbergasted and shocked. The divorce was complete. Done. Irreconcilable differences. At least I had my last name back. And you know, what a nice guy! He gave me alimony and paid off my car. What a hero!! How about you give me back the 4 years I wasted on you, you incredible bastard!! Needless to say, I had a few drinks that night.
My EX. Oh, my EX. How to describe him. A selfish, jealous, controlling, mentally abusive, impossible to please, mean, miserable excuse for a human being. Oh, and here's a fun fact: he was remarried within 8 months of our divorce. Hmmm....curious, huh? I dare not speak his name. I call him Satan. He had a baby, too. That stung a little, I'm not going to lie. And now, he's expecting another one. How do I know?? I'm excellent at Face-stalking on Facebook. ;) I hope his little demon seeds are ok. Alright, that's mean. They had no choice in the matter.
In retrospect, my divorce was the hardest thing I've ever been through, but also probably the best learning experience I've had. What did I learn? I've learned I am my own person, and no one can change me, or should for that matter. I'm independent and feisty. It was my feisty-ness, stubbornness, and the "spark" I have and will always have that couldn't be changed; he didn't like that. I will not compromise myself ever again. I'm worth more than any wedding ring. It has also shed light on the men I date (wait, date? I'm a single mom. What's that again?), and allows me to notice red flags when they pop up. I know I'm a handful, but I'm not sorry for that. It also made me put up some walls and barriers, and I'm learning how to let those down. I must protect my heart, but I can't keep everyone away.
I have been divorced for coming on 7 years in September. Amazing! I will just call it my "starter" marriage. Trial and error. Haha.
And, a joyous shout-out to the family and friends that helped me get through this very dark period in my life. I wouldn't have made it without you. I love and cherish you. Now, which one of you will "take care" of my EX? Just kidding. Kind of.
"Sometimes divorce is better than marriage." ~ Sumner Redstone
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Funny business
This blog is going to be in an interview format. Who's interviewing me? Hmm...I don't know. A person my head made up (let's not get into that...that's a whole other post!) and we'll call her Jan. Jan is from the major comedy club I will be performing in someday when I make it big. Jan wants to know...
Jan: Julie, what's it like to be so funny?
Me: Hilarious.
Jan: No, seriously.
Me: It's like a constant comedy act in my head, but I don't really plan it. It just happens. Like breathing.
Jan: Do you think you learned how to be funny?
Me: No. I think I was born funny. You can learn to be funny, but being born funny is different. Sure, you can "learn" how to be funny, but it's not the same if your head and heart aren't into it, and your genes.
Jan: Why is your humor so successful?
Me: It's about 3 things: timing, delivery, and swearing. Oh, and not having a verbal filter helps...so 4 things. Things just fly out of my mouth...sometimes I shock myself! But, my rule of thumb is if I make at least 1 person uncomfortable or blush each day, I'm a success. I've learned that if you're not uncomfortable, you're not growing. It's the shock factor.
Jan: Do people get your sense of humor?
Me: For the most part. Sometimes, I think my humor is lost on some people, but they clearly don't have a good sense of humor. Humor is a daily part of life. Those people that are dry as toast and "frosty" tend to just stare at me blankly. Another success for me: getting the toasties to smile. I will crack you; you just wait. I find that sarcasm and wittiness make my humor what it is.
Jan: ~blankly staring~
Me: Just you wait. I will crack you.
Jan: Do people find you offensive?
Me: Probably. I've learned you can't please all the people all the time, so if I offend you...sorry, and don't think twice about it. It's all about reading people. For example, at work one day, I called a co-worker "Pyle driver." She does not get offended easily, but honestly...what was I supposed to do when she has the last name of Pyles? She had no words, blushed, and walked away. Meanwhile, the rest of the people that heard it just looked at me with their jaws dropped, immediately followed by a hysterical roar of laughter. Yes, probably not office appropriate, but like I said, I have no filter.
Jan: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Me: As a washed up hooker on the side of the road in Compton. Ha. No just kidding. I hope you know that was a joke. My goal is to someday perform on stage. Whether it be an amateur show at a comedy club that seats 30 people, or a big club in LA. If I can be funny and pay the bills, I am a happy girl. I would love to "roast" somebody! Figuratively, not literally. I'm not into cannibalism.
Jan: Where does your inspiration come from?
Me: Life. People. Every day situations. I find people fascinating and enjoy people watching...you know, in a non-creeper/stalker sort of a way. Even the most mundane thing can prompt a joke. It's amazing what people do when they think no one is watching. I've also learned children can be very inspiring. They just do what they feel and say what they think. Honesty is the key.
Jan: Did you make anyone blush or become uncomfortable today?
Me: I sure did. It turns out the word "twatwaffle" is pretty funny.
Jan: Yes. Yes, it is.
Me: SUCCESS! Thank you for taking the time to interview me. This concludes our interview. Watch for my name in lights!
Jan: But...I....
Me: No, we're done now!
Jan: Touche.
~Jan is an idiot~
Jan: Julie, what's it like to be so funny?
Me: Hilarious.
Jan: No, seriously.
Me: It's like a constant comedy act in my head, but I don't really plan it. It just happens. Like breathing.
Jan: Do you think you learned how to be funny?
Me: No. I think I was born funny. You can learn to be funny, but being born funny is different. Sure, you can "learn" how to be funny, but it's not the same if your head and heart aren't into it, and your genes.
Jan: Why is your humor so successful?
Me: It's about 3 things: timing, delivery, and swearing. Oh, and not having a verbal filter helps...so 4 things. Things just fly out of my mouth...sometimes I shock myself! But, my rule of thumb is if I make at least 1 person uncomfortable or blush each day, I'm a success. I've learned that if you're not uncomfortable, you're not growing. It's the shock factor.
Jan: Do people get your sense of humor?
Me: For the most part. Sometimes, I think my humor is lost on some people, but they clearly don't have a good sense of humor. Humor is a daily part of life. Those people that are dry as toast and "frosty" tend to just stare at me blankly. Another success for me: getting the toasties to smile. I will crack you; you just wait. I find that sarcasm and wittiness make my humor what it is.
Jan: ~blankly staring~
Me: Just you wait. I will crack you.
Jan: Do people find you offensive?
Me: Probably. I've learned you can't please all the people all the time, so if I offend you...sorry, and don't think twice about it. It's all about reading people. For example, at work one day, I called a co-worker "Pyle driver." She does not get offended easily, but honestly...what was I supposed to do when she has the last name of Pyles? She had no words, blushed, and walked away. Meanwhile, the rest of the people that heard it just looked at me with their jaws dropped, immediately followed by a hysterical roar of laughter. Yes, probably not office appropriate, but like I said, I have no filter.
Jan: Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Me: As a washed up hooker on the side of the road in Compton. Ha. No just kidding. I hope you know that was a joke. My goal is to someday perform on stage. Whether it be an amateur show at a comedy club that seats 30 people, or a big club in LA. If I can be funny and pay the bills, I am a happy girl. I would love to "roast" somebody! Figuratively, not literally. I'm not into cannibalism.
Jan: Where does your inspiration come from?
Me: Life. People. Every day situations. I find people fascinating and enjoy people watching...you know, in a non-creeper/stalker sort of a way. Even the most mundane thing can prompt a joke. It's amazing what people do when they think no one is watching. I've also learned children can be very inspiring. They just do what they feel and say what they think. Honesty is the key.
Jan: Did you make anyone blush or become uncomfortable today?
Me: I sure did. It turns out the word "twatwaffle" is pretty funny.
Jan: Yes. Yes, it is.
Me: SUCCESS! Thank you for taking the time to interview me. This concludes our interview. Watch for my name in lights!
Jan: But...I....
Me: No, we're done now!
Jan: Touche.
~Jan is an idiot~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)