If you are like most Americans, you probably have a spam filter to sort your email. Whenever my Gmail spam folder reaches 100, I delete whatever is in the folder. Having recently noticed that I've had to delete my spam mail folder every other day, I began to wonder what I was really receiving. Here is the breakdown by top three categories:
1. Porn
2. Credit Card Help
3. Product Advertising – usually associated with Porn
Since Porn makes up over 70% of my spam mail, I had a few questions. First of all did the senders of this Spam mail have no inferential skill and think that lillysparrow@gmail.com was a man and as such looking for women? Or did they think I was a lesbian? Worse is that they assumed I was just lonely and somehow needed their help to find a partner, even if only for one night. Also, why these Spam Mailers would think I needed to "Increase My Manhood" in 3 easy, albeit painful, steps was necessary had to most certainly be related to the fact that they assume that lillysparrow is a man.
The point of all of this is that if senders of Spam mail really want to trap innocent people into subscribing, buying, using, whatever it is they are peddling, wouldn't a more targeted campaign work better?
At first glance, I would think finding a target audience as opposed to mass marketing would be a better approach, but having realized how very easy and cheap it is to send mass emails to whomever I understand the SPAM mailers approach. After all, they are bound to hit upon a few idiots to click on their links or subscribe to their magazine or order their product. And their subject lines are compelling. I mean who wouldn't want a HUGE HOOD, a LIFETIME of car wax, or a ORAL ARRAY of PLEASURE (I'm sure this one is for toothpaste.)
After all, everyone needs something. And LOVE is at the top of that list. Even the most narcissistic, love-torn, burned, battered, and dejected love victims secretly hope to find and have love again. And unfortunately, most people associate love with pleasure. And although not without it's merits, any one who has been married a long time will tell you that the physical pleasure may fade, but it's the passion and love for one another that remains. If I know this, how come everyone out there who is responding to these Spam messages does not?
I realize that it is not that they don't know this, but that they don't care. We live in an instant gratification society. We want it now and we don't want to work hard to get it or keep it. We are all children. We see a toy we want and we hope and pray and fawn until we get it and once we have it, we toss it aside and it is forgotten for we have been sated. The need is not for the thing, the need is for the feeling of desire that is associated with longing and wanting. And once the lust is slaked, we want something new. We want to keep having that feeling over and over again for as long as we can. And instead of working at creating that in our own lives, we look outside ourselves for the cure and answer. And our SPAM mail will be waiting there for us and will welcome us in with open arms. It will promise us everything we long for...but for a price.
The question is do you want to pay that price?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Bathed Bliss
I woke up that first morning in a state of jubilant bliss. My feet felt warm and cushioned as they skit across the beige, plush carpet. I glided across the clean, slippery tile floor of the kitchen and continued my skid into the bathroom.
“A bathroom, what joy, what bliss”, I remember thinking. How I enjoyed flicking on the light and associated fan so many times that the room became my very own mini discothèque with the muffled background fan serving as a spin doctor. I caressed all the brass Moen faucet taps, one cold and one hot. Oh, to have a hot water tap. My fixated gaze caressed that hot water handle as though a long lost love had at last returned. My gaze shifted from the tap into my very own mirror. A mirror, clean and free of those speckled dots that cover mirrors that are ripe with age. I could see my whole undotted, unbroken reflection in one piece and not worry that I had developed chicken pox or a bad case of acne overnight. I could see that I looked haggard, a sight that had gone unnoticed for so many months having not had a clear mirror.
I turned my head away from the mirror and there it was, sitting perched so delicate and crisp under the spotlight of the warm bathroom track lighting. A white porcelain toilet with matching lid just sitting there sparking, waiting to be used. Ooohhhh, to have an indoor toilet of my very own. I knelt down and wrapped my little arms around the bulky body of that porcelain beauty. I laid my head ever so gently on the lid as a smile broke free on my face. I just sat there, hugging that porcelain god like a drunken college co-ed after a Thirsty Thursday night on the town. She was all mine!
When at last I tore myself from my toilet reverie I stood and stared my desire in the face, removed my pajamas and readied myself to enter euphoria. My ears recalled that familiar clacking sound of a shower curtain being drawn back on its rod. My feet felt the cold, grainy tub bottom. My hands reached out and turned the dial taps and I stood, in my best yoga sun salutation pose, head boldly turned to the sky, and waited for that interminable moment for the water to move through the pipes and pour spurtfully out of the massaging shower head and directly into my face. I felt the warm heat of hot water and the shivers of goose flesh it sent down my spine. I flicked my head left and right, my feet did a little shuffle skip, my arms wrapped themselves around my core and I laughed and laughed and laughed as the hot water warmed and soothed my tired body.
I used every single product in that shower. The shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream, razor blade, foot scrub, body loofa, even the coconut and mint shower gel. I used them all and my old friends embraced me and welcomed me back into the fold of civilization.
I had used a community bath house for the last four months. For four months I smelled the fetid, moldy smell of steam that never escapes. Used never quite clean showers that were always clogging from hair and other debris and whose walls always had a slimy, greasy feel to them. Used toilets whose stall doors never shut so that one was always being walked in on or observed by anyone passing the line of four toilet stalls. Used sinks whose water poured in milky white and whose surfaces, although clean, always reminded me of a hospital. I looked into mirrors pocked with water marks and old dust film. And moreover, in four months time, I never had a moment to myself in the bathroom. No one moment, not one second of private aloneness, for over 50 women shared that bathhouse and there was constant traffic in and out.
The bathhouse served its purpose and did its job well and I’m grateful for its presence as I know many other rangers go much longer with far fewer amenities. But for me, four months was enough. The morning of my return to my own place was bliss. I had my space, my time, my private clean aloneness restored. And although being home meant my park ranger season was over and the wild open spaces would have to wait another year for my return, I was glad to be back in a place where the hot tap ran hot, the cold ran cold, the toilet flushed and there was never a line for the shower.
“A bathroom, what joy, what bliss”, I remember thinking. How I enjoyed flicking on the light and associated fan so many times that the room became my very own mini discothèque with the muffled background fan serving as a spin doctor. I caressed all the brass Moen faucet taps, one cold and one hot. Oh, to have a hot water tap. My fixated gaze caressed that hot water handle as though a long lost love had at last returned. My gaze shifted from the tap into my very own mirror. A mirror, clean and free of those speckled dots that cover mirrors that are ripe with age. I could see my whole undotted, unbroken reflection in one piece and not worry that I had developed chicken pox or a bad case of acne overnight. I could see that I looked haggard, a sight that had gone unnoticed for so many months having not had a clear mirror.
I turned my head away from the mirror and there it was, sitting perched so delicate and crisp under the spotlight of the warm bathroom track lighting. A white porcelain toilet with matching lid just sitting there sparking, waiting to be used. Ooohhhh, to have an indoor toilet of my very own. I knelt down and wrapped my little arms around the bulky body of that porcelain beauty. I laid my head ever so gently on the lid as a smile broke free on my face. I just sat there, hugging that porcelain god like a drunken college co-ed after a Thirsty Thursday night on the town. She was all mine!
When at last I tore myself from my toilet reverie I stood and stared my desire in the face, removed my pajamas and readied myself to enter euphoria. My ears recalled that familiar clacking sound of a shower curtain being drawn back on its rod. My feet felt the cold, grainy tub bottom. My hands reached out and turned the dial taps and I stood, in my best yoga sun salutation pose, head boldly turned to the sky, and waited for that interminable moment for the water to move through the pipes and pour spurtfully out of the massaging shower head and directly into my face. I felt the warm heat of hot water and the shivers of goose flesh it sent down my spine. I flicked my head left and right, my feet did a little shuffle skip, my arms wrapped themselves around my core and I laughed and laughed and laughed as the hot water warmed and soothed my tired body.
I used every single product in that shower. The shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream, razor blade, foot scrub, body loofa, even the coconut and mint shower gel. I used them all and my old friends embraced me and welcomed me back into the fold of civilization.
I had used a community bath house for the last four months. For four months I smelled the fetid, moldy smell of steam that never escapes. Used never quite clean showers that were always clogging from hair and other debris and whose walls always had a slimy, greasy feel to them. Used toilets whose stall doors never shut so that one was always being walked in on or observed by anyone passing the line of four toilet stalls. Used sinks whose water poured in milky white and whose surfaces, although clean, always reminded me of a hospital. I looked into mirrors pocked with water marks and old dust film. And moreover, in four months time, I never had a moment to myself in the bathroom. No one moment, not one second of private aloneness, for over 50 women shared that bathhouse and there was constant traffic in and out.
The bathhouse served its purpose and did its job well and I’m grateful for its presence as I know many other rangers go much longer with far fewer amenities. But for me, four months was enough. The morning of my return to my own place was bliss. I had my space, my time, my private clean aloneness restored. And although being home meant my park ranger season was over and the wild open spaces would have to wait another year for my return, I was glad to be back in a place where the hot tap ran hot, the cold ran cold, the toilet flushed and there was never a line for the shower.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
A Climbers Journal
I walk out on the snow, ice axe in hand. I hear the familiar crunch of my footprints as I begin the slow arduous slog up the mountain. The wind is playing with me today. Its faint whisper against my ear alerts me to its presence only to blow itself into silence again. I walk on axe in hand, the weight of my pack like a comfortable old friend. It’s the middle of the night but my body doesn’t seem to mind. The glow of my headlamp coupled with the natural lightness of snow and the play of moon shows me the way. As I climb the stiffness leaves my mind and is replaced by the stillness that only the fluidity of my rhythmic steps can provide. I am a climber and my body knows this. My climb today was short, as I have work in a few hours, yet I needed to climb. I need to know this snow, this ice, this mountain. As I walk back to my car, the sun rising off my left shoulder, I feel accomplished with the steps taken today. And tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow I will wake again well before dawn and walk out on the snow, ice axe in hand.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I'm Still Waiting
“I’m still waiting”, said the voice.
“I know”, said the man, “but I’m busy all the time. I have to do this first. I’m still becoming.”
“Oh”, said the voice. “What are you becoming?”
“Why, myself”, said the man.
“What do you mean? Are you not already your self?”
“No, I’m not. Or at least I don’t think I’m done becoming myself yet.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“Nothing, I’m not waiting, I’m in the process of becoming. That’s why you are still waiting!”
“Your wrong”, said the voice. “The reason I’m still waiting is because you are afraid of becoming.
“Afraid of becoming? I’m not afraid of becoming.”
“Then become. Become right now. This second. I want to see you become.”
“It doesn’t work that why”, the man replied with edge in his voice. He was feeling exasperated with the voice. What did the voice know anyway? What did the voice ever become? The voice was just a voice. The voice didn’t have obligations, responsibilities, people depending on him.
“Yes I did and I do”, the voice strongly interjected.
“How did you do that?” wondered the man.
“The same way I know you are the one to change me through changing yourself,” the voice calmly replied. “I know what it is to become. I have been becoming for thousands of years. Do you think you stop becoming? That one day you get to the end of becoming and there is a ceremony or something and a stamp of approval that reads, “The Man has now become. He is ready to begin living.”
“No” sulked the man.
“Everyday is a becoming. Every day I have changed and became anew. I am weathered and am built up, I am conquered and I am the conqueror, I am dreams, hope and despair in equal parts with joy, happiness and achievement. I am east and west, north and south, I am all the elements of this life and all the elements of lives past. Everyday, I become as everyday you become. For everyday the process begins again and every day you are shaped by the days past. The process is happening whether or not you are aware of it. And this is why I wait for you. For your becoming is tied to my own. You are destined to change me as I will change you. You will challenge, conquer, fail, succeed, you will know joy and sorrow in equal amounts and I will push you as you will push me to become new and through this our daily reinvention will occur. We will never be the same day or spirit again. And nor will our becomings be the same again.”
“Who are you?” said the man, his heart filled with trepidation
“Why, I am rock”, chuckled the voice. “I am the rock that has been waiting for you to come. I have endured the centuries and men have tested themselves against the time of me. Some have succeeded and some have failed but all have become. Out here, a knowing is revealed within each of us, some can’t deal with the knowing, some can. I think you CAN. So I wait. I stand here strong looking the sun, the wind, the moon, the sky, the lark, and all life in the eye. I bear each day and give each day. And today, I again wait for you to come. To come and change you, me, and all that surrounds us.”
“I will come,” said the Man. “Just not yet.”
The sound of the Voice laughing infuriates the man. “Why are you laughing?” screamed the man. “I know I am becoming. I am becoming this very day. I don’t have to beat myself against you to become. I will get there but I have to do this first.”
“That’s not why I laugh,” the voice whispered. “I laughed at my own impatience. I laugh because I know you are becoming. It’s just that some becomings seem bigger than others and I want you to get to this one. Even after all the eons, I still get impatient for those few ONES to come and test themselves against me, to become that which lives in the most hidden and secret parts of the their self’s.”
“You make it seem as though this becoming is a great undertaking. Like a surgery from which I will wake missing a part of myself.”
“No, you will not be missing parts of yourself. On the contrary, you will be on the road to completion, to being whole. Parts of the self will be added and the only parts that will be lost are those that never needed to be there to begin with. Now go! “, bellowed the voice. “I am tired by these years and need to rest.”
The Man walked off, thinking about the voice. And as the days progressed the man forgot some of what the voice said for HE was engrossed in his daily goings on. And one day, as he was about to sit down to eat his lunch on the pier a breeze danced across his neck, reached up to tickle his ear and blew across his forehead. His hand instinctively reached up to wipe the tickle of the wind from his skin when he heard the voice say,
“I am still waiting. Will you come today? Maybe, just maybe it will be today.”
by: annie passarello
“I know”, said the man, “but I’m busy all the time. I have to do this first. I’m still becoming.”
“Oh”, said the voice. “What are you becoming?”
“Why, myself”, said the man.
“What do you mean? Are you not already your self?”
“No, I’m not. Or at least I don’t think I’m done becoming myself yet.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“Nothing, I’m not waiting, I’m in the process of becoming. That’s why you are still waiting!”
“Your wrong”, said the voice. “The reason I’m still waiting is because you are afraid of becoming.
“Afraid of becoming? I’m not afraid of becoming.”
“Then become. Become right now. This second. I want to see you become.”
“It doesn’t work that why”, the man replied with edge in his voice. He was feeling exasperated with the voice. What did the voice know anyway? What did the voice ever become? The voice was just a voice. The voice didn’t have obligations, responsibilities, people depending on him.
“Yes I did and I do”, the voice strongly interjected.
“How did you do that?” wondered the man.
“The same way I know you are the one to change me through changing yourself,” the voice calmly replied. “I know what it is to become. I have been becoming for thousands of years. Do you think you stop becoming? That one day you get to the end of becoming and there is a ceremony or something and a stamp of approval that reads, “The Man has now become. He is ready to begin living.”
“No” sulked the man.
“Everyday is a becoming. Every day I have changed and became anew. I am weathered and am built up, I am conquered and I am the conqueror, I am dreams, hope and despair in equal parts with joy, happiness and achievement. I am east and west, north and south, I am all the elements of this life and all the elements of lives past. Everyday, I become as everyday you become. For everyday the process begins again and every day you are shaped by the days past. The process is happening whether or not you are aware of it. And this is why I wait for you. For your becoming is tied to my own. You are destined to change me as I will change you. You will challenge, conquer, fail, succeed, you will know joy and sorrow in equal amounts and I will push you as you will push me to become new and through this our daily reinvention will occur. We will never be the same day or spirit again. And nor will our becomings be the same again.”
“Who are you?” said the man, his heart filled with trepidation
“Why, I am rock”, chuckled the voice. “I am the rock that has been waiting for you to come. I have endured the centuries and men have tested themselves against the time of me. Some have succeeded and some have failed but all have become. Out here, a knowing is revealed within each of us, some can’t deal with the knowing, some can. I think you CAN. So I wait. I stand here strong looking the sun, the wind, the moon, the sky, the lark, and all life in the eye. I bear each day and give each day. And today, I again wait for you to come. To come and change you, me, and all that surrounds us.”
“I will come,” said the Man. “Just not yet.”
The sound of the Voice laughing infuriates the man. “Why are you laughing?” screamed the man. “I know I am becoming. I am becoming this very day. I don’t have to beat myself against you to become. I will get there but I have to do this first.”
“That’s not why I laugh,” the voice whispered. “I laughed at my own impatience. I laugh because I know you are becoming. It’s just that some becomings seem bigger than others and I want you to get to this one. Even after all the eons, I still get impatient for those few ONES to come and test themselves against me, to become that which lives in the most hidden and secret parts of the their self’s.”
“You make it seem as though this becoming is a great undertaking. Like a surgery from which I will wake missing a part of myself.”
“No, you will not be missing parts of yourself. On the contrary, you will be on the road to completion, to being whole. Parts of the self will be added and the only parts that will be lost are those that never needed to be there to begin with. Now go! “, bellowed the voice. “I am tired by these years and need to rest.”
The Man walked off, thinking about the voice. And as the days progressed the man forgot some of what the voice said for HE was engrossed in his daily goings on. And one day, as he was about to sit down to eat his lunch on the pier a breeze danced across his neck, reached up to tickle his ear and blew across his forehead. His hand instinctively reached up to wipe the tickle of the wind from his skin when he heard the voice say,
“I am still waiting. Will you come today? Maybe, just maybe it will be today.”
by: annie passarello
Thursday, January 15, 2009
SWF ISO John Cusack?
Dating is hard. Not only because of the delicate tango moves that comprise dating in it of itself but also because finding a partner to dance the first dance with is exhausting. Once you have a partner, the rest falls into place. Your place, his place, a public place or no place because you realize that you have nothing in common. But before you get to go to or through all those places you need to find a date. Or in my case a man.
This train of thought began to make a home in my mind about a week ago as I sat in Starbucks drinking my sorrows away in a grande, no vanilla, hot chocolate, extra whip please. As I tried to come to grips with my last single friends looming marriage I turned my warm cup around in my hands to see what words of wisdom Starbucks had printed on it's 10% post recycled consumer waste paper coffee cup this week. I can't quote exactly what was written but the jist of it entailed believing in yourself, despite others telling you that you are not good enough. The part that struck me right in the breast plate was the phrase, "Ask anyone out!". "Right On!" was my initial mental response. Followed shortly by, "Really? Anyone?" I mean this "As I See It" quote was really telling me to believe in myself so much that I dare to have the confidence to ask anyone out and stare down possible rejection in the face. It was telling me to believe that I am good enough for absolutely anyone. And the truth is the wisdom is right. I am good enough for anyone. But is anyone good enough for me?
A few days later I found myself talking to a friend about our "laminated lists". You know those lists of secret crushes that we never admit to having. The list of, in my case, men that I would date in a heartbeat if only they would appear and ask me out. As my friend and I examined our lists she noted that John Cusack had been on my list for about the last 19 years. She laughed and said, "My god, are you still in lust with Cusack?"
"Yes, alright. He's fantastic," and I quickly launched into the many accolades of John Cusack and why he, to this day, remains number one on my list.
As I am recapping my long love affair with John to my friend, the Starbucks message from a few days before begins to play in the background of my mind, like the subtle, eerie music of a dramatic film. And it is then, in that moment, that I decide to end my 19 year love affair with John.
"What if I ask John Cusack out?", I ask my friend.
After her laughter abates enough for her to breathe and talk at the same time she says, "You're nuts. I mean you're really nuts. For starters, John doesn't know you exist and two, how would you go about finding him?"
"I don't know", I say, "Maybe I can call him? Do you think I can dial 411 and ask for John Cusack?"
My friend just gives me a sad look.
"Kidding, I was just kidding. Seriously though, why not? My Starbucks coffee cup said I should ask anyone out and that is precisely what I aim to do. John Cusack is just a man. So he happens to make films for a living. I happen to be a park ranger and it is only society that seems to deem one more glamorous, more untouchable than the other. John has dated many beautiful women, but they all have one thing in common. They were all famous and actresses/models. And since he is still single, I wager to say that dating that type of woman hasn't worked out so well for John. Maybe what he really needs is a beautiful, intelligent, ordinary park ranger that likes to get dirty in the outdoors. Maybe what John needs is ME?"
My friend just sighs, but she knows that I mean business.
"OK", she says, "How are we going to do this? It's not like you can just call him up?"
"I know. And the truth is I don't know how to ask John Cusack out. I can't call him as I'm sure he has a posse of people that screen for psychos and stalkers and I'm sure they will think I am one of them. I can't exactly write him a letter as I'm sure his "fan mail" is read and screened too. I doubt he has a public email address and I don't think I can poke him on Facebook."
"Well, my friend says, I'm sure you can poke him but I'm not sure you want Facebook to know about it."
I laugh at that as we continue to brainstorm.
What we came up with is this. A "Desperately Seeking Susan" type personal slash I SAW YOU ad for John Cusack to be posted on my blog site, my face book account and ultimately circulating around the world wide web until somehow, someone who works for or knows John will have him read this ad and my blogsite. So here goes and please feel free to cut and paste and send to friends to forward until John sees it:
SWF ISO John Cusack
Attractive, funny, articulate and witty female wants to take you, John Cusack, out on the funniest date of your life. We'll feed animals at the zoo, jump in the aquarium tank, play bocci ball with old men and ride the ferris wheel till we die of laughter. Anything is up for grabs. Is this crazy? Yes but every remarkable event begins with a crazy idea and ends with a courageous lunatic! And I'm just daring enough to stare down my inner critic and societial rationality and ask you John Cusack if you'd like to go out on a date with an extra-ordinary park ranger type girl that usually has dirt under her nails, travels the world, writes and tell amazing stories and is just funny as heck. If this finds its way to you John, you'll know how to find me. I'm the third house from the end in case your GPS unit quits out on the way to Rainier. Hope to see you. Annie
This train of thought began to make a home in my mind about a week ago as I sat in Starbucks drinking my sorrows away in a grande, no vanilla, hot chocolate, extra whip please. As I tried to come to grips with my last single friends looming marriage I turned my warm cup around in my hands to see what words of wisdom Starbucks had printed on it's 10% post recycled consumer waste paper coffee cup this week. I can't quote exactly what was written but the jist of it entailed believing in yourself, despite others telling you that you are not good enough. The part that struck me right in the breast plate was the phrase, "Ask anyone out!". "Right On!" was my initial mental response. Followed shortly by, "Really? Anyone?" I mean this "As I See It" quote was really telling me to believe in myself so much that I dare to have the confidence to ask anyone out and stare down possible rejection in the face. It was telling me to believe that I am good enough for absolutely anyone. And the truth is the wisdom is right. I am good enough for anyone. But is anyone good enough for me?
A few days later I found myself talking to a friend about our "laminated lists". You know those lists of secret crushes that we never admit to having. The list of, in my case, men that I would date in a heartbeat if only they would appear and ask me out. As my friend and I examined our lists she noted that John Cusack had been on my list for about the last 19 years. She laughed and said, "My god, are you still in lust with Cusack?"
"Yes, alright. He's fantastic," and I quickly launched into the many accolades of John Cusack and why he, to this day, remains number one on my list.
As I am recapping my long love affair with John to my friend, the Starbucks message from a few days before begins to play in the background of my mind, like the subtle, eerie music of a dramatic film. And it is then, in that moment, that I decide to end my 19 year love affair with John.
"What if I ask John Cusack out?", I ask my friend.
After her laughter abates enough for her to breathe and talk at the same time she says, "You're nuts. I mean you're really nuts. For starters, John doesn't know you exist and two, how would you go about finding him?"
"I don't know", I say, "Maybe I can call him? Do you think I can dial 411 and ask for John Cusack?"
My friend just gives me a sad look.
"Kidding, I was just kidding. Seriously though, why not? My Starbucks coffee cup said I should ask anyone out and that is precisely what I aim to do. John Cusack is just a man. So he happens to make films for a living. I happen to be a park ranger and it is only society that seems to deem one more glamorous, more untouchable than the other. John has dated many beautiful women, but they all have one thing in common. They were all famous and actresses/models. And since he is still single, I wager to say that dating that type of woman hasn't worked out so well for John. Maybe what he really needs is a beautiful, intelligent, ordinary park ranger that likes to get dirty in the outdoors. Maybe what John needs is ME?"
My friend just sighs, but she knows that I mean business.
"OK", she says, "How are we going to do this? It's not like you can just call him up?"
"I know. And the truth is I don't know how to ask John Cusack out. I can't call him as I'm sure he has a posse of people that screen for psychos and stalkers and I'm sure they will think I am one of them. I can't exactly write him a letter as I'm sure his "fan mail" is read and screened too. I doubt he has a public email address and I don't think I can poke him on Facebook."
"Well, my friend says, I'm sure you can poke him but I'm not sure you want Facebook to know about it."
I laugh at that as we continue to brainstorm.
What we came up with is this. A "Desperately Seeking Susan" type personal slash I SAW YOU ad for John Cusack to be posted on my blog site, my face book account and ultimately circulating around the world wide web until somehow, someone who works for or knows John will have him read this ad and my blogsite. So here goes and please feel free to cut and paste and send to friends to forward until John sees it:
SWF ISO John Cusack
Attractive, funny, articulate and witty female wants to take you, John Cusack, out on the funniest date of your life. We'll feed animals at the zoo, jump in the aquarium tank, play bocci ball with old men and ride the ferris wheel till we die of laughter. Anything is up for grabs. Is this crazy? Yes but every remarkable event begins with a crazy idea and ends with a courageous lunatic! And I'm just daring enough to stare down my inner critic and societial rationality and ask you John Cusack if you'd like to go out on a date with an extra-ordinary park ranger type girl that usually has dirt under her nails, travels the world, writes and tell amazing stories and is just funny as heck. If this finds its way to you John, you'll know how to find me. I'm the third house from the end in case your GPS unit quits out on the way to Rainier. Hope to see you. Annie
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Have You Seen My Teeth?
It's not hard to know when you've been on a bad date. And most people that I have spoken too can pinpoint the exact moment in a date when things went very awry. Having recently reexamined my dating history I found that for me, the worst date I've ever been on actually began the morning after the date.
My date was Sky. The tall, handsome, JCREW model type, who spoke two languages and was entering the foreign service. We went out for drinks and ended up closing the bar. Since we were both too drunk to drive and since he lived well out of town, I had no choice but to take him back to my place. We made out. It was nice. It was very nice in fact. I remember Sky saying he was hungry at some point and he got up to make some food in my kitchen. I wasn't hungry at all and told him that I was going to sleep and that he had sofa duty. He laughed and said he understood and that he would be very quite while making some food. I kissed him good night not knowing that would be the last time I would ever kiss Sky.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rummaging. I dragged my alcohol leadened limbs out of bed and into the living room where I found Sky frantically searching the living room.
"What's going on?", I asked.
"I'm just looking for my things", he said, the sound of underlying fear sneaking through his otherwise calm voice.
"Need some help?", I offered.
"Ugh, no, it's OK. I'll find them."
"No seriously, what are you looking for? Maybe I know where we set them last night?"
"No really I'll find them."
"OK, I said," as I stumbled into the bathroom.
I brushed my teeth and let the hot water of the shower slowly wake me up. I hadn't drank that much in a long time and I was feeling the first hint of a hang over. Which for me translates into still being drunk. I state this fact, that of still being drunk, in order to honor the fact that many who read what is to follow will think that I am lying. The truth is that drunk or sober, I could never make THIS up.
I emerge from the bathroom, turban wrapped around my head, warm towel wrapped around me only to find Sky still searching the apartment with an increasing sense of urgency and panic. I approach him cautiously, as at this point I'm sure things are not going as well as I had thought they were. My gut told me that something bad was about to happen.
"Sky?", I ask hesitantly.
No response.
"Sky?", I ask again, louder this time.
No response.
"Sky?" I yell this time while grabbing his arm. "What is wrong?"
And without hesitation, my JCREW man looks me in the eye and says, "Babe, I can't seem to find my teeth."
"Come again?", I stammer.
"Ugh, have you seen my teeth?" he asks sheepishly.
"What do you mean your teeth?"
"Well, I mean teeth, you know those things in your mouth used to chew food. Things that you brush twice a day. You know TEETH!", he says, panic practically shaking the words out of him.
I didn't know what to say. I just stood there in disbelief.
"Well, what exactly am I looking for? I mean I didn't know your teeth weren't real."
With a sigh and a bit of calming he said, "I have a partial plate and I am missing my front four teeth."
He then opens his mouth in a weak smile and shows me the place where his top four front teeth should be. Here is my date, my model good looks man smiling at me with no front teeth. And I lose it. I just started to laugh really, really loud. I doubled over with laughter and tears began to rush down my face. Sky just stood there looking at me while I laughed. I tried to tell him that I was sorry and didn't mean to laugh and that I would gladly help him locate his mystery teeth but he wasn't amused. He just looked at me and firmly stated,
"I need my teeth and I'm not leaving without them."
I laugh even harder at the idea of him walking the three miles home toothless.
"OK, so when did you last have your teeth? Do you remember where you last saw them? Can you describe them?" I ask these in mock police investigative tone.
"Forget you," he states and walks away.
"Sky," I plead. "Come on, this is funny. I mean this is seriously funny."
He doesn't answer, just continues to search. After two hours of looking we still have no teeth. All I have to go on is that the night before, after I went to bed, he made a burrito and had his teeth then. He hadn't recalled seeing them sense. He thought he had taken them out before bed, like he usually does, but he was really drunk and couldn't remember. I wanted to ask if he swallowed them, but I thought that would really push him over the edge.
"Well, we can't seem to find them", I say as I usher him towards the door. "I'll call you if they turn up." And with that I slam the door and double over with laughter. Long, hard, seemingly endless laughter. Sky knocks on the door, pleading with me to let him in to continue the search but all I do is laugh. I manage to yell that I'll have a good look around and I will call him. I hear his feet on the tile floor as he walks away.
Once I regained composure I did what any young, single woman would do after realizing her dates teeth are MIA in her home. I called all my friends and told them every single toothless detail.
A few hours later I find the teeth sitting in a glass of water on top of my refrigerator. They were hidden within the leaves of the large philodendren plant that sat atop my refrigerator. I pulled the teeth and began to take a careful look. As I looked on I became angry. Angry at the teeth that brought a quick end to a possible blooming relationship. "Damn teeth," I whispered as I set them down on the coffee table and picked up the phone.
The call was quick. I figured the realtionship was over so why bother holding back on the humor of the moment. I mean it's not everyday I had the opportunity to call someone to tell them that I found their teeth in my house so I planned to make the most of it. When Sky picked up the phone I simply yelled, "I found your teeth!"
He did not find that funny although relief did flood his voice. In a quick, diplomatic manner we set a time for the exchange. He acted as though I was holding them for ransom. I didn't want his teeth. I didn't want him either. I wanted the guy I went out the night before. The one that was fun up until the moment the teeth came out.
About an hour later I found myself standing on Sky's doorstep holding a clear, crystal, juice glass full of teeth and water. As I handed him the glass of teeth I couldn't help but laugh. Just thinking of me carrying a juice glass of teeth out of my apartment building and placing it in the cup holder in my car and then walking the block to Sky's place was just too much to bare. As I laughed Sky just stood there. "It's not funny", he demanded.
"Yeah it is", I chuckled.
And with that I walked away.
I can't say that Dear Abbey or Miss Manners would be proud of how I handled the situation, but then again I doubt those two classy ladies ever had to deal with such a situation. So all in all, I think I did a pretty good job. Besides what do you say to the man who lost his teeth in your house?
"Keep It Real?"
My date was Sky. The tall, handsome, JCREW model type, who spoke two languages and was entering the foreign service. We went out for drinks and ended up closing the bar. Since we were both too drunk to drive and since he lived well out of town, I had no choice but to take him back to my place. We made out. It was nice. It was very nice in fact. I remember Sky saying he was hungry at some point and he got up to make some food in my kitchen. I wasn't hungry at all and told him that I was going to sleep and that he had sofa duty. He laughed and said he understood and that he would be very quite while making some food. I kissed him good night not knowing that would be the last time I would ever kiss Sky.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of rummaging. I dragged my alcohol leadened limbs out of bed and into the living room where I found Sky frantically searching the living room.
"What's going on?", I asked.
"I'm just looking for my things", he said, the sound of underlying fear sneaking through his otherwise calm voice.
"Need some help?", I offered.
"Ugh, no, it's OK. I'll find them."
"No seriously, what are you looking for? Maybe I know where we set them last night?"
"No really I'll find them."
"OK, I said," as I stumbled into the bathroom.
I brushed my teeth and let the hot water of the shower slowly wake me up. I hadn't drank that much in a long time and I was feeling the first hint of a hang over. Which for me translates into still being drunk. I state this fact, that of still being drunk, in order to honor the fact that many who read what is to follow will think that I am lying. The truth is that drunk or sober, I could never make THIS up.
I emerge from the bathroom, turban wrapped around my head, warm towel wrapped around me only to find Sky still searching the apartment with an increasing sense of urgency and panic. I approach him cautiously, as at this point I'm sure things are not going as well as I had thought they were. My gut told me that something bad was about to happen.
"Sky?", I ask hesitantly.
No response.
"Sky?", I ask again, louder this time.
No response.
"Sky?" I yell this time while grabbing his arm. "What is wrong?"
And without hesitation, my JCREW man looks me in the eye and says, "Babe, I can't seem to find my teeth."
"Come again?", I stammer.
"Ugh, have you seen my teeth?" he asks sheepishly.
"What do you mean your teeth?"
"Well, I mean teeth, you know those things in your mouth used to chew food. Things that you brush twice a day. You know TEETH!", he says, panic practically shaking the words out of him.
I didn't know what to say. I just stood there in disbelief.
"Well, what exactly am I looking for? I mean I didn't know your teeth weren't real."
With a sigh and a bit of calming he said, "I have a partial plate and I am missing my front four teeth."
He then opens his mouth in a weak smile and shows me the place where his top four front teeth should be. Here is my date, my model good looks man smiling at me with no front teeth. And I lose it. I just started to laugh really, really loud. I doubled over with laughter and tears began to rush down my face. Sky just stood there looking at me while I laughed. I tried to tell him that I was sorry and didn't mean to laugh and that I would gladly help him locate his mystery teeth but he wasn't amused. He just looked at me and firmly stated,
"I need my teeth and I'm not leaving without them."
I laugh even harder at the idea of him walking the three miles home toothless.
"OK, so when did you last have your teeth? Do you remember where you last saw them? Can you describe them?" I ask these in mock police investigative tone.
"Forget you," he states and walks away.
"Sky," I plead. "Come on, this is funny. I mean this is seriously funny."
He doesn't answer, just continues to search. After two hours of looking we still have no teeth. All I have to go on is that the night before, after I went to bed, he made a burrito and had his teeth then. He hadn't recalled seeing them sense. He thought he had taken them out before bed, like he usually does, but he was really drunk and couldn't remember. I wanted to ask if he swallowed them, but I thought that would really push him over the edge.
"Well, we can't seem to find them", I say as I usher him towards the door. "I'll call you if they turn up." And with that I slam the door and double over with laughter. Long, hard, seemingly endless laughter. Sky knocks on the door, pleading with me to let him in to continue the search but all I do is laugh. I manage to yell that I'll have a good look around and I will call him. I hear his feet on the tile floor as he walks away.
Once I regained composure I did what any young, single woman would do after realizing her dates teeth are MIA in her home. I called all my friends and told them every single toothless detail.
A few hours later I find the teeth sitting in a glass of water on top of my refrigerator. They were hidden within the leaves of the large philodendren plant that sat atop my refrigerator. I pulled the teeth and began to take a careful look. As I looked on I became angry. Angry at the teeth that brought a quick end to a possible blooming relationship. "Damn teeth," I whispered as I set them down on the coffee table and picked up the phone.
The call was quick. I figured the realtionship was over so why bother holding back on the humor of the moment. I mean it's not everyday I had the opportunity to call someone to tell them that I found their teeth in my house so I planned to make the most of it. When Sky picked up the phone I simply yelled, "I found your teeth!"
He did not find that funny although relief did flood his voice. In a quick, diplomatic manner we set a time for the exchange. He acted as though I was holding them for ransom. I didn't want his teeth. I didn't want him either. I wanted the guy I went out the night before. The one that was fun up until the moment the teeth came out.
About an hour later I found myself standing on Sky's doorstep holding a clear, crystal, juice glass full of teeth and water. As I handed him the glass of teeth I couldn't help but laugh. Just thinking of me carrying a juice glass of teeth out of my apartment building and placing it in the cup holder in my car and then walking the block to Sky's place was just too much to bare. As I laughed Sky just stood there. "It's not funny", he demanded.
"Yeah it is", I chuckled.
And with that I walked away.
I can't say that Dear Abbey or Miss Manners would be proud of how I handled the situation, but then again I doubt those two classy ladies ever had to deal with such a situation. So all in all, I think I did a pretty good job. Besides what do you say to the man who lost his teeth in your house?
"Keep It Real?"
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