Dog Days of February?

Hyperspace

I imagine that driving in the snow, with the white flakes headed in all directions as they hit your windshield, is a lot like driving through hyperspace drunk.  Like Han Solo and Lei driving through hyperspace, that’s me in a snowstorm. 

I like to talk about Star Wars with people I don’t know, when we first meet.  I think you can tell a lot about a person by what they watch, read…do.  I don’t recall if Spencer liked Star Wars.  Spencer was a law student at Georgia State; he liked the playground that we went to when we were all drunk, and he liked whiskey.  You can never tell much about a guy by what he drinks though, unless he drinks it through a straw.

Brett only drank beer, and cheap beer.  Rand only drank liquor, but never whiskey.  My brothers will drink anything with alcohol in it, but they claim to appreciate the finer taste of well aged whiskey.  They’re full of crap.

So you can’t tell a boy just by what he drinks.  Or even just if he has a dog, not everyone who has a dog is a nice person, just think of Michael Vick. 

Even if he has an awesome dog that can sit, lie down, shake, roll over, and play dead all on command.  Even if he has a wonderful pit bull mix that he rescued from the pound, and he takes on long walks everyday and to the park every weekend, there’s still the chance that he had sex with some stranger in his fiancé’s car.  There’s still the chance that he’s an asshole.  So really there’s just no way to tell.  

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When you want to be funny, you can't cry real tears.  People can always tell the difference between fake tears and real tears.  Fake tears are ok, if you want to be funny.

If you think it is a good idea to tell your ex-boyfriend that the terms and conditions of your break up have not been met and thus your break up is void, then you need to be able to handle the fact that he might not be amused.  Even if he said that he wanted to hang out with you and be friends after your relationship ended, even if he offered to watch your Great Dane, Pongo the next time you needed to go out of town, he might have meant it in a different way than the contractual agreement you imagined. 

You need to be able to take it, without any sign of real tears when he doesn't think you threatening to start dating again if these terms and conditions are not met, is amusing.  Even if this means silly love notes in pink and purple marker on his car (reading: I LOVE YOU or YOU'RE SO HOT AND SPECIAL LIKE TACO SAUCE) or cookies, or hugs.  

If your ex-boyfriend has been ignoring you for a month or two now, this might not actually be the best way to handle the situation, no matter how entertaining it seems at first.  Because next to being ignored your least favorite thing is probably when you get the feeling that people think you are crazy, and when your ex-boyfriend asks "What is the point of all this anyway?"  That is exactly what he is thinking.  Because even though you meant it to be comical, and you know relationships don't start or end the same way as a lease agreement or any other form of contract you learned about your first year at law school, you thought your logic was well thought out and rational. 

But you can't cry, because you are supposed to be funny, and crying is not funny, especially when you're crying because it really hurts, that your ex-boyfriend would so much rather ignore you than deal with the situation you presented in this ironic and witty way.  So don't cry when all this happens.  Swallow that lump in your throat that hurts so bad, and laugh at how you managed to date someone for so long who didn't have a sense of humor,  a math major who can't understand clear logic. 

Dear Mrs. Hudgins

Dear Mrs Hudgins,

I hope you will accept my sincere apologies.  It was not my intention then, nor is it now to have upset you.  I was being very selfish after all, when I decided to get rid of the Christmas tree, three days before Christmas.   Jane and Zach understood, so I thought I was being fare, but you are right.  I did not think about the neighbors, and how it would affect their Christmas spirit.  So I am sorry.

But if you must now, Mrs Hudgins my main concern is for the health and well being of my family.  And this Christmas might be ruined, but I'm trying to preserve something much larger than that, my sanity and theirs.  See Ted left.  It was four days ago now.  He told the kids, but just left me a nasty note telling me he did not love me anymore.  My hope is to be long gone by the time he comes back, and I know he will come back, because he left his precious bass guitar in the basement (although I think he hid it from me because it was not in its usual spot and he anticipated some retaliation).  He could not live without that you know.  But me and the kids, he could easily live without us.  Jane is handling it all very well if you must know, but Zach is horribly torn up about it.  And so I'm sorry to ruin your Christmas with our family drama, but well life happens.  If you see Ted once we're gone feel free to let him know how our tree being on the curb the Monday before Christmas truly upset you.  As it is, all his fault. 

Sincerely,
mary beth

Loving Me

This is what it would be like to be in love with me.  You would marvel at the way my calf muscles flex in three different places.  The regular bulge in the back, and then the three long lean strips of muscle you can see when I stand on my heels, then the indent where that middle strip was, when I am on my toes, or in high heels.   

            You'd think my desire to walk everywhere was annoying at first, but when your calf muscles started to flex in three places and the belly you got from drinking too much in college disappeared, you would start to like walking with me.  You'd suggest extra long walks with my dog, and your dog so when they were at home together they would be too worn out to chew on each other's faces.  We'd walk to the grocery store and carry back cloth bags filled to the brim with fresh fruits and vegetables and milk made out of almonds.  We'd walk to the coffee shop on cold winter mornings and walk back keeping our hands warm on our ceramic mugs that we brought from home.   

            You would scold me for spending extra money on recycled toilet paper, and bio degradable plastic bags to pick up dog poop.  But then you'd realize how my face lit up when I read you the labels with all their environmental savyness. 

You'd love the part of my stomach that I hate, the lower flabby part that never looks like muscles and I can't make go away.  You'd tell me it was made just for you, a place to rest your head.  But you'd also tell me it's the perfect spot for a baby to grow.  And you'd mean it, but not right now.

            You'd start eating more vegetables, but you'd know to keep them separate from mine.  You'd know not to try to eat my broccoli because for some reason it is laced with spicy red pepper and it would burn your mouth for upwards of 15 minutes.  You'd eat hummus in strange new ways.  You'd eat it on sandwiches with green tomatoes and as a salad dressing, and you'd like it, a lot.  You'd start liking chili that didn't have meat in it.  Your cholesterol level would go way down.

            You'd wake up on weekday mornings to a fresh pot of gourmet coffee.  Organic and Fair Trade, and perfectly brewed.  You would no longer go to cheap coffee shops to buy coffee, because you'd always be disappointed that it did not taste as good as the coffee I made you at home.  You'd be amazed by my ability to tell the difference between decaf and regular just by smelling them.   You'd wonder how it is that I could wake up in the morning and drink coffee with you, and then take a nap an hour later. 

You'd get annoyed when I go through your garbage, picking out the things that could be recycled, and when I did it in public places, you'd yell at me to stop.  But then you'd start to learn not to put them there, to save me the trouble.  We'd still fight when we walked past public trash receptacles.

You'd start peeling Campbell's soup labels off of the cans and saving them for me, even though it was difficult sometimes and you didn't really know why you were doing it.  You'd find a new fondness for General Mills Cereals, preferring them to other brands.  You'd start cutting off the box tops, wishing that somehow you could collect the ten cents for each one, but resigning to just give them to me instead, to some school that would be able to benefit from your love of Cheerios.

You'd start to pull the tabs off of soda and beer cans and save them in a glass jar.  When it would get full you'd give it to me, and you'd feel good about it, even though we both don't know where those go after we give them to the Boyscouts.  

You'd change your homepage to Goodsearch.com.  And you would search random words and phrases in your spare time like the difference between "laid" and "lied," and why Styrofoam is cheaper to produce than paper.  You'd raise money for the Humane Society, and PAWS Atlanta, FurKids, and the American Red Cross.

You would love to watch me scream at the basketball players on TV, pretending I could control them with my words.  You'd love to watch football in the fall and baseball in the summer, and you would scream at those tiny players too.  You'd appreciate my indifference to your sports because it meant I didn't mind getting up to get you something with one minute left in the fourth quarter.  After a while I'd start routing for your team, even when we weren't together.  I'd start hating the Yankees, the Lakers and UGA. 

            You would love to run your fingers through my hair, even if it got stuck in a knot sometimes.  You would wonder how I could possibly make it so straight one day, and so curly the next.  You'd say it looked wonderful, even in the morning, during its in-between time.  You'd always be carefully moving my hair out of my face, so you could see me better, so my hair would not be stuck between our lips.  And you'd smooth my hair off my shoulders so you could see the bones and muscles there, and all those freckles and crisscrossing tan lines that won't ever go away.

            You would love my hair when it was long, but you'd love it still when I cut off the ten inches to donate to Locks O' Love.  You'd say you love my natural color of some boring brown even though I am pretty sure you've never seen it more than an inch at my roots, and you'd hate the smell the dye left in the bathroom and in my hair the next day.  But you'd love my new color, whatever it may be.  You'd love my hair when it was blonde, and slightly reddish.  You'd say I was the hottest red head you know.  You'd love my hair when it was so dark brown it was almost black because it makes my eyes look unnaturally blue, and you'd love it when it was bleached blonde and then hot pink.  You'd love it anyway I did, because you would love me.  But you don't. 

NaNoWriMo

April 12th, 1986

A tall man in a brown suede jacked was trudging through the mud in the woods.  His tan boots now looked brown up to the ankles covered in mud.  He had abandoned the trails that most people kept to on a hunt for a special type of mushroom.  He needed it for an experiment he was going to try.  The mushroom he sought after had special magical qualities he needed for his experiment.  According to his book that had been handed down from generation to generation, further back then any family tree could go, the mushrooms could be used in the love potion that he wanted to try out on his very pretty next door neighbor (who was happily married mind you) but also in the magical mirror potion, that was used to see the future.  He hoped to find lots of these mushrooms but had taken the book with him to compare the pictures of other plants with magical characteristics.
He had his book open to page 723 where there was a very large picture of the mushroom he needed.  There were also a warning on this page about some of the mushrooms that look similar, and a nasty picture of a rash that one of those mushrooms can give you on the opposite page.  The man was staring back and forth from the book to a mushroom a few feet in front of him.  He had finally decided to pick the mushroom, after all he was wearing gloves and he started to walk in its direction.  As he bent down to pick it up, being careful not to lose the page in his book, a bare foot, and leg crossed in front of him nearly stepping on his precious mushroom.  He looked to see who the appendages belonged to, and he saw to his surprise, and splendor a beautiful women wearing nothing at all.  Her long blonde hair covered a lot of her, but it was so beautiful that he was not dismayed by this.  He stood staring at her for a long moment before he spoke.  “Who are you?”  She stared back at him a little like she didn’t understand.  “I am lily of the forest.  I am the most beautiful of women you will ever see, and that mushroom you seek can not change what is meant to be” She scampered off quickly as he absorbed what she said.

Miles

          Austin should have been out of Virginia by midnight but it's 1am and he's just now approaching the state border.  The Mason-Dixon line is still an hour north.  It isn't just time that is beginning to worry Austin though.  It's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and the total darkness only confuses him.  In the last thirty minutes there hasn't been another car on the same side of the road.  No one is passing him, and there are no cars for him to pass.  The headlights of the cars on the other side of the highway temporarily blind him as they pass.  They make the darkness afterwards seem even more total.  It gives Austin a chill and the hair sticks up on his arm.  The heats on in the car, but he still has goose bumps.  He can't help but think that all the cars fleeing from this place that he is headed, like some disaster is up ahead. 

            The sky has a reddish glow to the northwest, but without making it seem any less dark.  He imagines some blazing forest fire, or explosion is making the sky turn shades of crimson.  It brings back memories of his days as a camera man running towards disaster all the time, running into the buildings right before they came crumbling down.  It was moments like that, which made Austin reconsider his life.  He moved away from the city, down south for a more relaxing life with his family, but now just headed back in the same general direction, and he couldn't escape this awful feeling that was haunting him.  What was up ahead?

            "What am I thinking?" he said out loud to himself, breaking the silence that had persisted since his book on tape ended an hour earlier.  "It's just too late to be driving.  I'm too old for this."  His eyes darted as his headlights hit every blue sign, gas, food…lodging. 

            If he stops now he could get a few hours of sleep and get back on the road in the daylight, but daylight in these parts is synonymous for traffic.    As Austin debates in his head, his eyes start to close and he swerves to the right. The rumple strips jerk him awake, and as his eyes open he sees a sign for the Jameson Inn.  "No more risks" he says out loud.  "I'm going to sleep."