Two Things Good For Your Heart

Dancing

Laughing

Happy Valentine's!

Tickets Anonymous

Lately I have been on a streak of not getting traffic/parking tickets, but I feel like there have been times in my life when I have gotten a few a month. I have this (really loud and convincing) voice in my head that says "Don't worry, you'll be fine!" every time I park at a meter with 7 minutes. I do think it's a sickness, but I haven't wanted to analyze it much more than that. Anyway, here's an old post about a visit to T.A.

My name is Deirdre Lewis and I have a problem getting parking tickets.

(Hi Deirdre.)

Hi, um, I need to start out by saying that I just got a ticket yesterday.

(It’s ok. Don’t worry honey. You’re safe here.)

Thank you. I’m sorry—I’m going to try not to—you’re so kind.

(Go on girl. You can do it!)

Ok (clears throat). I got a ticket yesterday because I parked outside of my son’s Tae Kwon Do studio. I know… it’s a risk. I’ve gotten six tickets there already this year. Sometimes I leave my car in the loading only with my flashers on. Sometimes I park at the 15-minute spot in front of the Armenian Market. I know I know. It’s a chance that I take. I always think, I know it sounds stupid, but I always think: I’ll just run out and check every 15 minutes. Put another quarter in. Sit in the drivers seat. Whatever it takes. And then you know, behind that thought I have another thought, which is: This is my son’s Tae Kwon Do class! Shouldn’t I be allowed to get him there on time and stay and watch? Don't I have enough to worry about between leaving my job early to get him there in the first place and making sure he has interaction with a father figure, that I shouldn't have to worry about where I park. I can keep an eye on my goddam car, but let me sit on the bench and watch. I don’t mean to be self-righteous but you know, I--, I---. I can't help it. It’s just my nature.

(You can do this, Deirdre. We love you)

Ok so I parked in the 15 minute spot and I run out at 12 minutes, maybe it’s 14 and there’s that goddam freak with the bouffant, all ready with her car double parked, flashers going, her pad out, standing behind my car and I say Wait! Here I come, I have some change and she says over her shoulder, (in slow motion like a soldier about to throw a grenade), It’s.. too... late. And you know, well, I tried, I mean I, I couldn’t just…. I just snapped…

(This is the hardest part. Keep going. You’re almost there)

I told her she was a miserable human being. I asked her what it feels like to wake up every day hating herself. I asked her how it felt now that she was out of prison for molesting kittens.…

If someone had asked me: Deird would you like us to handcuff her and set fire to her head, I would have, well I… I would have said... YES. I would have. Said. yes.

(You did it, doll. Way to go. Yes!)

My name is Deirdre Lewis, and I get parking tckets.

(Clapping and cheers)

And I will never win against the parking ticket lady. I. Will Never. Win. Thank you.

(standing ovation)

Every Day At The Market

I go to the grocery store almost every day. Sometimes more than once. I know the full layout of the place: produce, frozen, dairy, cereal, dish soap, water, etc. I recognize some of the people who work there, and we know each other well enough to ask, how are you? or have a chat about the latest People headline, but that’s it.

I think recently the employees were given a pep talk about welcoming customers when they walk in the store and it always makes me uneasy and a little bit annoyed. I DON’T KNOW WHY.

Hello, welcome to Piggly Wiggly.

What?

Or

Hello, welcome to Piggly Wiggly, can I help you find something?

I JUST WALKED IN! LET ME ACCLIMATE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Or

Hello welcome to Piggly Wiggly, can I help you find something today?

Back. The Fuck. Off.

Whoa.

I’m sorry. I just don’t need you in my face right now.

But I-

I gotta walk around those freaks with the clip-boards and their blue pinnys, asking me if I care about the environment.

Well, uh—

Seriously? Do I care about the environment? What kind of lame passive/aggressive question is that? Of course I care about the fucking environment. I just don’t want to stand in a parking lot talking about it.

Geez

And now you’re right up in my face.

Oh, sorry

No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but seriously, give me a minute before you attack me.

(chuckling) What—

I don’t even know what I want yet. How could you help me if I don’t even know—

I was just trying to be friendly.

But, see a friend doesn’t get all up in my face like that. A friend takes one look at me, assesses my situation, gives me a little space, and then decides what to say.

Oh-

See you’re missing those crucial first steps. Don’t just spout out the same little words to everyone, you gotta read the person first. It only takes a few seconds.

Ok, ok let me try: Hi welcome to Piggly Wiggly, what the hell’s wrong with you?

See, that’s better, but you know, only a few of us can get away with that kind of aggression, if you can’t say it with love, then I think you’re just being mean.

Ok, um.

That’s not what you want.

Hmmm.

You can do it. I know you can.

Welcome to Piggly Wiggly. I love you. I’m here if you need me.

That’s IT. See? Now you’re on to something.

(my grocery store is not called Piggly Wiggly, but if I lived down south it would be)

The Sound of Genius

If you don't know who these guys are, you can read about them here and here.

It's not what a person says that makes you want to listen to them, but how they say it. If a person has an annoying voice, it's hard to focus on anything other than the sound. On the other hand, if you like a voice, you can listen to it talk about anything, even something like door knobs or car parts. Sometimes I can go through an entire day just hearing the sounds of different voices without really taking in what's being said. And sometimes I'll hear myself saying something to my kids for the 16,000th time and realize I might as well be saying Bladiddybla-nasalpassages.

Extro,Intro or Xintro

I was thinking about extroverts and introverts recently because I'd heard about this book called Quiet, The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. I don't know what I am. I think of an extrovert as someone who walks into a room, opens his arms wide, yells out Hello Everyone! and suddenly the room turns into a stadium of 50,000 screaming, cheering fans, chanting his name. The introvert is the little guy who shuffles in behind him, says hi quietly with a shy wave, then with his head down walks over to the wall. I know, I know, those are extremes, and there are variations and combinations in between, but there are also versions that appear to be one thing and then are really another; so it's confusing. In trying to figure out my own type, I looked at a few general categories I belong to:
American
Ok, this seems obvious: Americans are extroverts, back slapping, fuck yeah kind of people, but even though I would never really define myself as "American",  I've realized from hanging out with people who are not, that I am. I've been told, politely and with love, that I am vulgar and loud. This is because I tend to talk about things that are inappropriate, I don't wait my turn to speak and I yell from one room to the next. And I'm not embarrassed about it! But I'm not self righteous and it's not hard for me to say I'm sorry when I've done something wrong (which is a good thing since I have to say it a lot) and I'm very quiet most of the time.
Shy
Again, this seems obvious: Shy people are introverts. I don't go out much. If I do, I prefer hanging out with children or else talking with the one person I know. I'll push myself to make an effort but I find I quickly run out of things to say. Still, if I'm in a group and there's an opportunity to stand up and say something to everyone, I will be the first to grab the mike. And if I'm at a Chippendales show with my sisters and one of the Chips pulls me on stage to dance: I WILL.
Alone
I am alone most of the time which would seem to automatically qualify me as an introverted, but one of the definitions of an introvert is that he is energized by being alone. This can happen to me periodically but more often than not, my time alone is spent wasting time, and then being depressed about it.
Both Parents are Actors
If both of your parents are extroverts, then you are automatically the opposite, (until you are old enough to realize, with horror, that you are exactly the same) but just because they are actors, does not mean they are extroverted. My mom actually does get completely energized when she spends time alone and my dad would rather be in a cluttered trailer in the desert than at a party.

I think I'm a little of both. What are you?

Outer Shell

                                                         (this photo is by Ryan McGinley)
Recently I was looking at some photos of scars and somehow, really without meaning to, I began seeing photos of the wounds that made the scars. When I say wounds, what I mean is open, bloody, skin-flapping, deep to the bone, gashes. I couldn’t look away! I mean, of course, that’s exactly what I did at first, but then I went back for a second look. After a while, it wasn’t human, it was just the torn fabric of skin wrapped around some raw steak. Ok, that’s still disgusting, but I don’t know, I was curious. I realized that when I took away the thought of pain, horror and shock, suddenly it wasn't so difficult to look at. It was just tan, red and white things.

I remember looking at a particular book in the library at school. We’d all huddle around the table, some of us leaning over on our knees on the chairs, and look at photos of skin diseases and burns and malformations. We’d giggle and gasp and then go silent: Ohhhhhhhh. It was fascinating. And we’d go back to it again and again. There was a weird sort of recognition and disconnect about it being an actual body that belonged to an actual human.

The idea that our body is just a shell is a strange one and yet, of course that’s all it is. We live inside it, all our impressions of and connections to things and people and places come through it. We become obsessed with different ways of feeding it and giving it rest. The body shows our age; usually it is the first thing we are judged by. It is what makes us conscious of ourselves, in an awkward way. I wonder if we stepped out of it every night and hung it up in a closet, if we’d feel differently about it.

The Crack Truck

I don't know how it happened but I've always had a Pavlovian response to ice cream trucks. I hear the magical jingle. I'm instantly excited. I stop what I'm doing, I walk out the door. Period. That's how it is. I'm too old, or I mean I should be too old, but it's beyond my control. I don't even like half the stuff he sells.
This guy, his name is Oswaldo, comes twice a day, every single day, even Thanksgiving, even Christmas. Don't get me wrong, I still have a reaction. I still have the psychic secretion (did you know that's what Pavlov called it when the dogs salivated at the sound of a bell?) but it's a little different. Now I know Oswaldo, I know about his family. I know about his wife Maria. He asks about Mo's wedding, and Harry's black belt and Dar's high school visits. He asks about my goddam dogs, and my poor eyesight. I can't really ask him for a blue popsicle and still feel good about myself.
Shame is a lot stronger than the Pavlovian response.