LaurieWrites

I only picked up the penny, I swear

Three things I saw on the ground upon leaving my apartment this morning:

*An empty small Trojan condom box, on the landing. Ew. My neighborhood is going to hell in a handbasket - and it ain't a Gucci bag, that's for sure. The loud people upstairs are also very foul, and in fact spent a couple minutes leaning over the railing (which is so flimsy you won't find me ANYWHERE near that puppy) last Sunday, heckling a police officer who had pulled someone over and was riffling through their car. "YO! HE CAN'T SEARCH THE TRUNK WITHOUT A WARRANT!".

It's great to have neighbors who know such useful information. And cops who ignore them. Sigh.

*The one-inch stub of a Philly blunt.

*Another penny! I am storing up luck six ways from Sunday! And, since I had my purse on my arm, I didn't even have to stick it in my bra. What an auspicious start to the day.

Off My Chest

I'm superstitious about a few things...not many. I knock on wood, now and again. I throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it. I knock three times on the ceiling if you want me...twice on the pipe, if the answer is no...OH, wait. Sorry. That part isn't true. Just a little Tony Orlando and Dawn break. What can I say? It's Tuesday.

But one thing that I definitely do, whenever the opportunity arises, is pick up pennies. Since I was a little girl, my mom always said this rhyme: "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck! Find a penny, leave it lie, then good luck will pass you by."

Let's just say that even though it's never been properly explained to me just why or how a penny can rock or ruin my world, I've always been a fan of good luck. This is particularly true when I'm not having any, as I figured out long ago that I could not afford to be in the business of assisting luck as it passed me by. Lately I'm just as thrilled if luck reveals itself in small ways - no grand gestures needed here. Decent parking spaces are fine. Someone not bitching at me unnecessarily for something that ISN'T EVEN MY FAULT is lovely. Catching an episode of "The Daily Show" and NOT a "Surreal Life" rerun, thank you very much, is stellar. It's just been that kind of a month.

So this morning, when I walked out into the raging heat that is kicking our collective asses around here, I saw a penny on the ground. That penny was MINE. Never mind that I had no pockets, and that my hands were full. I would have carried it in my mouth like a Saint Bernard with a beer barrel if I hadn't come up with this genius alternative: I stuck it in my bra.

No one was looking. My friends the contractors working on the new real estate office downstairs were all too engrossed in a particulary fascinating gutter on the side of the building to mind my peculiar behavior for a change. So, I looked down my shirt, realized I had an easy target, and went for it. I WIPED IT OFF on my skirt first, okay? It was fine. I NEEDED THAT PENNY. Even if it brought me no particular kind of luck today, if it just provided me with a kind of lull in the magical mystery tour of insanity that has been my life lately, I'd be satisfied. I figured I'd put it in my purse as soon as I got back up the stairs, and that would be that. Good luck for me, all day, would be a guarantee.

Did I mention that it got really hot today? Really hot. It's been as hot this week as I imagine it is in the desert, or in the jungle on Lost. Yet, the lovely and talented Matthew Fox was unfortunately not waiting for me by my car when I left work, so it was just me again at 6 p.m., wading home through the heat to pack up more of my stuff. I made a few stops to buy some more storage containers, picked up dinner, carted all of the new stuff upstairs, and took a few more loads of stuff down to the car. Moving is a hellish exchange, truly. Stuff out, stuff in. It's a wonder any place is eventually left empty. Anyway, after negotiating all 47 steps to my apartment a few times in a 100 degree heat index, I was dripping with sweat in five minutes.

That meant I had to change my clothes. As I took off my shirt, something dropped to the bathroom floor. Twelve hours after I dropped it in my bra, the forgotten penny had still been there - stuck to my boob. It had hung out there,  literally, all day. It was so hot outside that it had molded into my skin, and I didn't even feel it! I went to work, walked around all day, went to the Target and hauled all my new storage containers to the car, and didn't feel a thing. Not even hot metal branding me. It's times like these that it's irritating to live alone, because there's a limit to the joy of looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror and going, "I am such an ass! I have a penny branded on my boob!" I mean, it has its moment, but that's about it. And sometimes calling people to tell them this sort of thing makes them speak in a slow, measured tone that means you'll be touring residential facilities this weekend, because you've obviously flipped a bad switch or something.

But I did kind of get a kick out of this, and only worried about myself for a second, because the truth is, I've done stranger things. I can't remember what they are at this moment, but they did indeed occur. And now I'm hoping that even if today didn't really feel much better, maybe branding myself accidentally with a good luck charm could hold some residual goodness for the rest of the week. A long shot? Maybe. But I'll take what I can get at this point.

This is empowering?

Just the phrase "Twattygirl" bothers me.

It's stupid. And the "Twatty-ism of the week"?"  - "Money isn't everything. Happiness is two percent."

As part of my valiant attempt to be inspired with of-the-moment story and article ideas (my first mistake), I signed up for a service where you get press releases via e-mail, on subjects that you choose. It was in this format that I was introduced to Twattygirl.com. No, I did not sign up for anything to do (specifically) with twats, which I think is a gross little word and I even have trouble typing it, because in a very few instances in my life I become a little girly prude. Only a FEW, but apparently this is one of 'em.

Anyway, the head "girl" is - get this - selling a book. And she tells me that, if I'm a Twattygirl, my "mantra is sexy, bold, outspoken." Okay. I wouldn't call it a mantra, per se. More like a dull hum in the back of my brain, but still. Okay. Check. Then, she elaborates that I am also more inclined to ask for a divorce, freeze my eggs, go to graduate school, use a surrogate mother, or not bother to get married. Apparently a T-girl doesn't care about parallelism neither, which is probably a strike against me.

So okay, the mantra I got going for me. The second list...well, some of those inclinations ring true, but some of them are definitely fall-back positions. And how come I can't do them accidentally OR on purpose without calling myself this uncomfortable name? This is unfortunately not explained to me.

There is a section of this site called "Twatlettes on the Town" (!) The whole thing is completely g-rated, but just...very disturbing, for some reason. Sometimes I'm really glad I don't have a teenaged daughter, because I think a lot of times, I just wouldn't know what to say. Hell, I don't even know what to say to myself a lot of the time.

"Finally we have a label," the site says, "We are Twattygirls. Are you a Twattygirl?"

It's safe to say that's a no, no for me. 

I thought it was funny that this kid's shopping cart had its own parking space at the grocery store. It had just rained and the light was beautiful, although this shot doesn't do it justice a'tall.

I normally despise these things in the store, because they are SO LARGE and I'm not sure why the stores feel compelled to torture the rest of us, when kids could get around in something a lot smaller, and not bump into everything and impede general progress, which is hard enough in the grocery store anyway. But when I'm not being all Archie Bunker about it, they're kinda sweet. Like this time.

Overheard at Artscape

I was in line to get some lemonade, and a couple got in line behind me.

"Do you want something they have here? Those pretzels look really good," she said.

"Uh, I dunno. I don't think I wanna blow my load this soon," he said.

"Um, WHAT?" she said.

I didn't have to turn around to know. First date. Or maybe second. Uncomfortable silence.

"Well, you know. There's lots more stuff up that way," he said. "Do you want to keep walking?"

"Yeah, um, let's do that," she said. And they were gone.

i heart baltimore

I helped my friend Shobha work at her jewelry booth at Artscape in Baltimore, and wish I could go back today. Duty calls, however. I hate when that happens.

She makes jewelry, and it's all very cool. She's been working hard to get this business off the ground for some time now, and I'm so excited that it's all coming together for her. Here's one of her very cool "flower cuffs" that she says she can't give away in Austin, but they caused quite a stir, here.

This is a terrible shot of it - I mean, "See my hand hail traffic or maybe do The Bird while wearing a gigantic flower!" is kind of what it says to me, but blame it on me taking the picture with my other hand, and know that they are sharp bracelets, I promise. As I kept saying, unnecessarily, "They look really good ON", when people would stop by and pick 'em up, going, "Hmmm, I'm not sure...a big flower?!? But it IS cool." Shobha pointed out that Rita Rudner does a riff where she says something to the effect of, "I hate when people say, 'It looks really good ON!" Like, on WHAT? On FIRE?" So, instead I just started telling women (and men who were either - we knew this - eyeing them for themselves, OR holding the wallet. Where are these men to be found? It turns out they exist! Very odd.) that they were very edgy and they'd be SURE to be the only person they knew with a handmade leather flower cuff. And do you know what? That's not only quite true, but they believed me! And we sold them ALL. This is what happens when you believe in your product, people! And when you want your friend to sell all of her cool stuff. I'll be doing her pr from now on...She also makes beautiful rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings completely by hand out of sterling silver. I am inspired by her talent - and know she'll take this all the way!

Artscape is a huge event in Baltimore - three days of music, food, crafts and community stuff. I'm always struck by how many different kinds of people are out at these things - and not just along the usual racial and cultural divides. It's a people-watching extravaganza, which means I spend my day trying not to trip over curbs and baby strollers because I'm gawking at this person's hair or that person throwing a fit over by the cotton candy stand, or what we determined was the hottest man any of us had seen in a very long time working at the italian sausage stand. Yeah. Can't make this stuff up. ; )

It was a great day until, walking back to my car later, some woman came careening around the corner, making a left turn against the light. Baltimore's traffic patterns and street directions are bizarre, to say the least. The last show had just let out, and the streets were a nightmare, although I made it out just fine, and did not get lost in one single scary neighborhood, which I consider a major accomplishment, and another reason to say "up yours" in the nicest way possible to this demon from hell who ruined my very chill festival mood. She screamed at me that I was "going to get my ass runned over" (nice...) and I, assuming incorrectly, as usual, that friendly logic would work, said, "the sign said 'walk'". "I don't give a FUCK what the sign say," she screamed. "You STILL gonna get yo ass RUNNED OVER," and, a split second after I thought she might jump from her car and pound me into the sidewalk, screeched away. The people beside me on the sidewalk started screaming back at her and giving her the finger. Keep in mind, I've never met them before, so even though it was nice to have some solidarity, I assume alcohol had everything to do with their involvement in the situation. I was just thinking to myself, "Oh please, oh please, do not circle this block and come back to runned me over. Or shoot me. Or whatever it is that STRAIGHT BITCHES LIKE YOU do to girls like me, with a supreme knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I had also parked in a lot where you had to leave your keys IN THE CAR, because I was totally desperate to find a space. Yes, yes, I know. However. I did it, only because Baltimore parking is so incredibly difficult, and cars were so crammed in there, I don't know how anyone would have stolen one. And mine is quite conspicuous. All the same, I'll add that to the list of things I'll hopefully never do again. So, after the altercation, I was thinking, not only will the crazy lady come back around to find me, but my CAR will be gone. Turns out - all I saw as I arrived in the lot was the orange beacon of my little car, the same nice parking lot man, AND a big man taking a BIG whiz a few spaces over. Nice. I guess the crazy mean lady moved on to sprinkle her fairy dust elsewhere. But MAN it was upsetting. How is it that I am having to deal with so many people yelling and bitching lately? It had been so nice to have a great day with a wonderful old friend, and then that. Bleh. I was okay by the time I got on 95, although still shaking my head a little at the meanness that can exist. What is UP with that?

Shobha will be back with her jewelry at the Takoma Park Folk Festival on September 11, which should be lots of fun, and I get to work with her again. Cotton candy for everyone! 

I've come to the conclusion that all the troubles I've been having for the past couple of weeks can be traced to one thing.

I did not go to the "Rock Never Stops" show at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach last Sunday night.

I was driving past the place on my way to the gym in the morning, and saw the big blinky sign that scrolls through the upcoming shows. "ROCK NEVER STOPS", it informed me unnecessarily. I mean, DUH. ; ) Then, it blinked "RATT, QUIET RIOT, CINDERELLA and FIREHOUSE. LIVE". Rock NEVER STOPS, indeed. I thought immediately that I had to go. I figured it would be a perfect day - my first day of vacation ever where I got up and exercised voluntarily, and then a metal show at night. Hello, this would be one for the archives.

I love all kinds of music, but anyone who knows me now and didn't then would likely be surprised to note that I was a full-on metalhead in the 80s, and have seen Poison live about as many times as I've seen the Indigo Girls. I was at the end of high school and college then, and it was just the most fun thing going. And when I say fun, I mean dudes like Trixter and White Lion. Metallica does not count, and nor do Van Halen, Def Leppard or the Scorpions. This was music. There was hair, but no makeup, for God's sake. Of course, I was also obsessed with Tracy Chapman's Fast Car (cool photo on this site, by the way) and Cinderella's Long Cold Winter at the same time ("Coming Home" is a GREAT song! ROCK NEVER STOPS! ; ) ) So I've always had that versatility going for me, which is kinda nice.

I went back to the condo all charged up to go, but as the day went on, we drifted into other things. "Rock never stops!" I said to my sister, who agreed in a general sense, but seemed less than enthused about finding out how, and went back to the beach. Plans (and margaritas) were made. We went to dinner, and it turned out the tickets were 30 bucks, anyway. I knew no one would go with me, and I did go down there to spend time with my family. So we ended up at the outside bar, and listened to the music there. It was fun, but you know, covers of "Play That Funky Music" and "Word Up", and a ten minute version of the Electric Slide were not exactly indicators of the longevity of rock 'n roll. Not, of course, like Stephen Pearcy croaking out "Round and Round" would have been. I was really curious about whether or not he still had THOSE PANTS.

Anyway, things kind of hit a downward spiral after that. Vacation wasn't a joyride, and since I've been home, I've been doing things like pulling into one gas station (on empty, naturally) that has all of the pumps covered with plastic bags, only to go to another one with lines that rival the 70s fuel crisis. I couldn't get my foot ANY farther in my mouth than I have in the past week, and even today, I tried to do something nice for someone at work and it turns out...eh, it wasn't exactly the right thing to do. The full moon last night might explain it, cause things do tend to get a little wild around this time. But although I may overrate the healing powers of two hours of listening to middle-aged men in makeup screaming three-chord tunes, I think maybe the Rock Never Stops show could have set things on a different course.

Or at least I like to think so.

Daypop

I am constantly learning about all these cool things I know nothing about!

This is the Daypop Top 40 - a list of links that are currently most popular with bloggers around the world. Then, there's the Daypop top news stories, which is also a cool link.

I'm really irrationally fond of meta-sites. G.E.E.K.

Preoccupied with...

*How I can be so fat and yet still so hungry.

*How in the hell I missed the Shelby Lynne show last night tonight, when I had it in my Outlook calendar and EVERYTHING! So bummed. She is so good. I haven't gotten "Identity Crisis", the new album, yet, but "I Am Shelby Lynne" got me through a chunk of my last breakup. She sounds so much like she's going to slit her wrists through most of it that it made me feel oddly cheerful. That, and her voice is outstanding.

*How I'm going to get my entertainment center out of here without setting the building afire.

*How much I don't want to take ANYTHING on the Bataan Death March down the 47 steps from my apartment to the ground floor.

*How annoying it is when you come back from a vacation and people are all, "Wow, you're not very tan," even though you sat out in the sun for five days straight, on the sand in the heat of the day, reading a book. And wanting to say something like, "Yeah, decided to give the old melanoma a pass this year. Maybe next time I'll sit on tin foil," but...deciding to pass.

*My soon to be ex-neighbors who are still staging a daily tumbling competition in their apartment. I've never heard anything like this in my life.

*Training myself not to check my work e-mail at night.

*Why I heard Amy Grant's "I Will Remember You" twice on two different store sound systems, hours apart. I know it's been a bad week, but still. IN. SIP. ID. Ick.

*Sarah Dunant's "Birth of Venus" and Mark Haddon's "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time". They could be no more different books, but both were really good. The Haddon book is incredible. It only took a day to read, the writing is spare and a little odd, but he really takes you into the mind of the main character, a teenaged boy with autism who sets out to find out who killed the neighbor's dog.

*Fruit and vegetables. Everything is SO GOOD right now!

*Seeing Willy Wonka. I'm going alone if I have to. I don't care. I miss going to the movies.

*Eating cheese.

Remembering

BBC profiles of London bombing victims.

I had no intention of getting any deeper into this, but was reading about this woman who died, Liz Daplyn, and I got so engrossed in her story that I ended up going to the BBC link. She was very well-loved in an online social community, that held a "virtual vigil" of sorts for her, for days, until she was confirmed dead. She worked in a hospital, was going to get on the train for work, and then poof. No one heard from her again.

It just built on my thinking about the ordinariness of people going to work, or wherever it was they were headed going about their business, juxtaposed with the depravity and UNordinariness (or so we'd like to think) of terrorists exploding subway trains. And going down the list of names, that sense just got stronger and stronger.