This was a scary moment for us and for Johnny, who we met outside the food coalition. He volunteered to help us. Johnny was so sweet and funny. Justin and I are still unsure of what happened exactly. I quickly got the impression this wasn't uncommon. It made me sad and it made me want to take Johnny home with me. I'm sure the roommates wouldn't mind.
I’ve just recently finished a little video project to win a 2010 Ford Fiesta.
My project involved cardboard signs. I’m in the passenger seat putting tape on my window and Justin is outside my car setting up this great shot,when three crack heads emerge from the dark alleys and garbage cans. The first asks Justin if we can give him a ride and the other two smash their heads against my window. One of them says “I know what you’re doing!” and opens my door, grabs the tape out of my hands and starts messing with my window. The crazy lady with him opens up my backdoor and gets in my seat where my cardboard signs are. She says with a toothless grin “I see your SIGNS!!” Like she’s onto me, she found my cardboard beggar signs.
I get out of my car and in confusion I just stand there. How does one handle this situation? I’ve never had any formal training or even considered a plan of attack for when a crack head won’t get out of your car. My eyes and mouth are wide open and I look up at Justin for help. His face informed me he was in my same state of confusion.
I tried to reason with the toothless lady but was unsuccessful. I was so frazzled Justin said at one point I started clapping my hands and whistling for her to come out. Not a proud moment, however she responded well to the “come on.” She finally exited my car.
After that we took my camera to the food coalition. I met a really great guy named Johnny with long curly hair. He was so sweet and perfect and he agreed to hold a sign for us. The crack head who asked Justin for a ride starts yelling and cursing at Johnny for some unexplained reason. I started recording to get the shot and run. Next thing I know crack head runs into frame and takes a swing at Johnny. They exit the frame and you hear him yelling. He punches Johnny. I again try my best to be diplomatic and reason with crack head, but there is no reasoning with crack heads. You can hear me in the background going “uh okay…whoa…uh oh! Please don’t do that…oh my gosh.” Johnny gives the crack head the sign and runs away.
We really didn’t mean to cause such problems. It started out as a Ford Fiesta Movement video, but I might change it to a “Don’t do Crack” commercial.
Check back for an uploaded clip of the craziness. For now, here's my finished video
I hate my dream life dot com too. This dream must stem from feelings of inadequacy in my work place. I work at a ski resort. Skiing is definitely an elitist activity and since I can’t ski or snowboard I’m pretty much a worthless waste of flesh.
In my dream Bekah and Josh decided to teach me to ski. Josh insisted I use his nieces “special skis,” so simple to use even a child could ski down a mountain. With confidence I thought if a child can ski with these “special skis” then surely I could too. We drove to someplace comparable to the Deer Valley of my Dream Land. A day pass cost 100 bones! We journeyed for an entire day, from gondola to gondola, then we trekked on foot to the top of my Dream Land’s Mt. Everest.
There we were atop the Earth and I waited with anticipation as Josh pulled out my “special skis.” To my dismay Josh opened his hand to reveal two deflated animal balloons.
He said with enthusiasm, “these [pause] are the special skis”
“What?! I’m not skiing down this mountain with balloon animals strapped to my feet!”
This argument went on and on. Till finally Josh assured me everything would be fine and to trust him. I decided he was probably right. He inflated the balloons and carefully tied them to my feet. I looked down the snowy mountain, took a deep breathe then stood up.
POP…..POP
In my parallel dream existence I’m freezing on top Mt Everest, 100 dollars less in my pocket with deflated balloon animals tied to my frost bitten feet.
Why? Because I had way too much energy bottled up and was ready to combust. Potential combustion plus absolute boredom behind the bar equated blood bath.
Started out whipping the towel “WHHPSH!” (uh that’s the sound of me whipping the towel at great speeds.) Then I grabbed my serrated knife and started stabbing holes with all my might into objects. Then I moved to juggling which as it turns out, I’m reasonable decent at. A natural juggler for sure. Next hackisacking with a lime which is stupid. Then I decided to start doing tricks with knifes. Which is why I’m almost missing a finger and I have blood all over my freshly dry-cleaned white work shirt. It was blood bath 2009 Jason style (which I mostly saw on Friday the 13th…Classic. No screen writing and dialogue can compare with Jason movies)
You all remember my previous post about being sick for 12 days, the will, the funeral plans? Well I recovered only to find my immune system failing me once again. Swollen glands, aches, headache, sore throat. I'm starting to feel like that poor, helpless, little girl from The Sixth Sense (Marissa Cooper) whose step mom kept putting poison in her soup to keep her sick. I'm the vomiting girl in Sixth Sense! Whoever is trying to keep me sick, I'm not into it.
This is a threat: If I meet my premature end, I will come back from the dead, cold and pale, in a pink night gown, hide out in your little red tent and under your bed and I will expose you! I know whats going on! Updated Will: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Vinyl....Lacy
I would just like to publicly congratulate myself because I have just now and officially finished 24 tamales in less than seven days. I accomplish things. I have goals. Some people finish college, get real jobs, start families. Some people eat 24 tamales in less than seven days.
We have exchanged corpulence for starvation and either one can kill us.
…I’ve been sick. I think it’s an appropriate assumption to assume that my days here on this big blue and green earth are numbered. I’m dying. It’s a tragedy the plague cut my life so short. And even sadder I went out with out really contributing to the history books. Didn’t invent anything meaningful, or say anything profound. I didn’t even get my face in a newspaper. If I croaked now my existence could be forgotten and on my tombstone it might as well say “she settled for mediocrity.”
My Will:
All the cash in my wallet…Lone Tree Hill, the homeless Indian guy I met at Pioneer Park. (Please ask him to tell you the joke about the cow and the wife).
And this song will be played at my funeral:
Goodbye cruel world…Geeze you didn’t even give me and Lone Tree a chance.
