Saving Lives, One Blog Post at a Time

I didn't do anything today. I googled the name of a former classmate, Zina Helzer, because I can't find her on Facebook and the first entry in the google search was my old blog. I had written about her in an article entitled, "starbucks and j dubs." I was a little alarmed that my blog came up as the first thing. I imagined this Zina googling herself--she would probably have to use her maiden name, she must be married-- and coming across my blog. In the post I mention that she was totally awesome so that might make her day when she comes across it. It might turn around her whole sorry life. My old blog might be life changing for Zina. It's amazing. Here is my favorite line from that blog post. The post was mostly about getting a latte and going shoe shopping--riveting stuff:

This all happend in the first hour after I woke up. It was one of the longest hours of my life. I like that sometimes though, like time has slowed down and I can notice things that I hadn't before.

So of course I spent sometime slumming it on my old blog. I read most of the entries from April to August 2005. I had one semester left of college. I noticed that I blogged about my cat a lot, not my current cat, Maebie, but Salvador the cat I ended up giving to my mom because Daniel hated him. HATED HIM. I also noticed that a lot of my blogs were about feeling bad because I didn't have a job. I wish I could have patted myself on the back back then and said, "Don't fret, in five years you will have a job that you like a lot." I also blogged about being hungover, or at least mentioned being hungover a lot. I used to drink a lot more than I do now. I also smoked a lot more. This is from my post about my 24th birthday when I went bowling:

It would have been cool to skip school and go bowling. Too late now.

And from a post about Tara's wedding, which I was TOTALLY hungover at. The bachlorette party consisted of Tara and I drinking vodka tonics out of big plastic cups and smoking cigarettes:

I don't know half the people there but while outside smoking two gay guys (groom's side), go ga-ga for my eyes.

"They're so clear," one says.

"it's like i can see...i can see...tomorrow," says the other. 



"you're different," they tell me. "you're different than those other people in there. you're mature. you're supposed to be an actress." 



why do gay guys always think i should be an actress?

While bumming around on the Facebook I followed a link to the blog of another teacher at one of the studios I work at. The blog was all about loving God and being a mom. (sing song)BOR-RING.

Disappointment, Starring the Babysitters Club

After realizing that I hadn't read Babysitters Club Super Special #9: Starring the Babysitters Club!, I ordered in off Amazon and it arrived in the mail yesterday. It was a great mail day. So last night I got cozy in bed and started reading it. First bummer: The book starts with Jessi's narration. She's one of my least favorite characters. Even though she and Mallory are like totally for sure in the club I always think their problems are juvenile because they are only 11. They aren't even teenagers. In some areas of the country they wouldn't even be in middle school, they'd still be in grade school. Maybe because of starting out less than stellar I was having trouble over-looking the absolute awfulness of the story. I didn't even get to the second page before I was sick of the formulaic writing of the book. I know! That's what they're all about, but for whatever reason I just couldn't handle it last night. Ann M. Martin uses parentheses too much and always in the same spot. The narrating character says how she and her friends are part of this club called the Babysitters Club, or the BSC, and they in parentheses she goes-- (more about that later). She does it in every book. I think I was imagining reading the "more" part and knew that I could recite the function of the BSC in my sleep. I am surprised at myself. I never thought I'd see the day where I would get sick of these books.

I'm not sick of the characters though. It's like I said in my earlier post--I want to know what they are doing now. I found myself saying things like, "Oh please Kristy, you know Bart is your boyfriend and you totally want to bone," in my head while reading. I'm sure I'll push through Starring the Babysitters Club regardless of how terrible it is. I'll just skim it, like it's something I have to read for school.

I know the picture isn't from the book, but I thought is was funny.

Work it Out Workshop

I went to this writing workshop today. It was put on by VoiceCatcher, a journal I've been published in. I was a little worried that it would be lame--women just sitting around writing about their feelings. YACK! But it was really great and I wrote a lot and some of the other writing was really good. This is one of the pieces I wrote today--it was prompted by this poem:

Double Feature

by Theodore Roethke

With Buck still tied to the log, on comes the light.

Lovers disengage, move sheepishly toward the aisle

With mothers, sleep-heavy children, stale perfume, past the manager's smile

Out through the velvety chains to the cool air of night.

I dawdle with groups near the rickety pop-corn stand;

Dally at show windows, still reluctant to go;

I teeter, heels hooked on the curb, scrape a toe;

Or send off a car with vague lifts of a hand.

A wave of Time hangs motionless on this particular shore.

I notice a tree, arsenical gray in the light, or the slow

Wheels of stars, the Great Bear glittering colder than snow,

And remember there was something else I was hoping for.

This is what I wrote:

Double features frequently leave me feeling like I need more, like I was supposed to do more. All those hours in the dark, taking part in someone else's plotline. That's why we go to the movies, to put our lives on hold. They are a pause--they are what makes that wave of time hang motionless. And it's funny that it was suggested we write about something we haven't before. I just went to a double feature on Friday and told Paul as we looked out the second story window of the Hollywood Theater that sometimes I really, really missed working in a movie theater--the popcorn smell, the ice noises, the mechanical sound of soda being poured, the pure simplicity of my job. Tear a ticket, butter popcorn. It wasn't even hard to smile. Paul said he missed it, too. We were looking out on Sandy Blvd. and I asked, "Do you think that man down there is happy or sad?"

"He's in between." And he was exactly that but I said, "I think he is happy." Paul probably thought I was stupid or at least silly.

I got two boyfriends working at the movie theater. One was five years older than me, short, skinny, with a constant 5 o clock shadow. He had gaps between his teeth and later when I would talk about my time with him my brother would ask, "Why?" And I wouldn't have an answer.

The other was a mormon who was just breaking up with a Bolivian woman he'd met on his mission. He had full lips and a torso shaped like a V. When he would walk into the theater lobby my friend would nudge me and say, "Your boyfriend is hot." I thought I knew more than him and told him what beer to drink, and which shirt to wear and how much eye-liner to put on when he played a show. The idea that we wouldn't spend every waking second together shocked me and he spat, "You don't want a boyfriend, you want a puppy."

After him I stopped working at the movie theater--gave up my free movies and popcorn and soda. I have to deal with the small amount of jealousy I have for the girl in the box office who looks up from her book to ring up my ticket.