the pieces of my life

Things uttered by Adam this morning in the pre-7 a.m. hours:

On his puffy eye: “I’m going to need a glass eye. What color would you like?”

With the talking hand motion: “Your problem? Too much talky-talk.”

On the White Rabbit: “I’m late. I’m late. That’s who I am today, the Hurried Rabbit. Or is it Harried Rabbit? Oh, that’s much better.”

On my evil plot to take over the Partner’s Club and subject everyone to mandatory seminars on the English language and its many fine uses: “Yeah! You can be the club’s grammar bitch!”

There are times where I don’t even know where to begin in my blog. The thoughts are bubbling, but I’m not sure what it is I’m trying to say or even how to say it. Let’s take tonight, for instance. Thursday night TV with the girls. Girls I like. Partners, but not CWITs. And the conversation was roaming all sorts of places, and I can’t for the life of me remember how it came up–maybe they were talking about all the singles in the group off at a bachelor’s party or something?–but whatever it was I said–in a relevant moment–“Well, don’t look at Adam. Believe it or not he’s never tried an illegal substance.” Because that’s weird, right? I mean, I’m not advocating drugs or anything but how many people make it to 30 without even experimenting a little bit. A toke here. A tab there. Whatever, right? But all I get are blank faces. So I think they don’t know what I’m talking about. So I elaborate. “I mean, he’s never even taken a single hit of a joint.” You know where this is going, don’t you? I’m in a room with four other women, and not a single one has ever, ever tried a drug. Not a one. In fact, one said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere where there was even an opportunity to try it. I’ve never been anywhere where there’s pot.” Of course I pushed it. “Really? Never? Not even a single toke?” Is this me? How did I plunge from an almost-respectable CWIT to druggie all in a matter of seconds? Of course, I’m not sure that when I was told, “Oh, don’t worry. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re young” that the right answer was “Well, I don’t think it was a mistake,” but what the hey. I mean, seriously. Am I completely out of touch or what?

I’m starting to think that today just wasn’t my day. I’m going to hide under the covers now.

This blog is becoming my collection of idiots. Or am I just sounding like a grammar nazi? From a CWIT mail today: “The Harvard/Yale Football Game is vastly approaching.” How, pray tell, does one approach vastly? Is the game looming over us, encompassing a boundless space as it sucks us into its universe? At first I wanted to give the benefit of the doubt and merely assume it was a typo, but “fastly approaching” is no more grammatical. Why is English so hard? And why am I in such an obviously cranky mood? I seriously need to lighten up.

I, Jenny Brown, princess of the universe and arbiter of all that is right and wrong with the world, do hereby declare that ugly people shall not be permitted in public before 7 a.m.

This morning, I couldn’t handle working out. Just wasn’t in the mood. So instead of my normal shtick, I decided to take the step class. Now, I normally don’t like step classes, but I figured it would force me to move. Pulling out my step, I find a nice empty spot and set up. All is good with the world. Until two minutes into class, when I swear to God, the ugliest woman I’ve seen in a very long time comes into class. Long, long (mid-chest perhaps?) thin light brown hair with the mullet top. Little spikes of hair wisping up above. Glasses so old and uncool… well, they’re still old and uncool. Not a pair of those hip, trendy ‘70s redux glasses, but a pair of glasses actually from the ‘70s! Tinted a smoky gray. Gangly, spindly, hairy legs. And she situates herself right behind me so I have a perfect view of her in the mirror. I know this sounds unkind, but I was so distracted that I was flailing about in class as I watched her. Truly, I’m not this shallow a person. I admire people of all shapes, sizes, and looks. I myself fall into the zaftig category and my looks are distinctly–shall we say–ethnic. But this was not something in the normal realm. Something was off with this woman, something I just couldn’t pinpoint. So I’m stepping and grapevining and moving my arms, when it strikes me. I nearly fall off my step. Looking at this woman, I realize, she’s a man, baby! No joke!

That’s what I get from deviating from my normal routine. It shan’t happen again.

Wow, I was so sure my nanowrimo protagonist was going to sleep with her boss, and then would you look at THAT? He turned her down! Unbelievable! I so did not see that coming. Of course, that changes the entire plot. I hate it when my characters don’t behave. I’m going to sleep before any of the others rebel on me as well.

Adam and I had Dunkin Donuts. Those of you who have been playing for awhile know that Adam thinks Dunkin Donuts are the greatest doughnuts ever, bar none. But the doughnut I had was stale. I said, “Wasn’t it time to make the doughnuts?” At which point he broke the news to me. It’s almost like being told there’s no Santa Claus. It is devastating news: “Dunkin Donuts don’t make their own doughnuts anymore. They’re made at a central bakery and delivered to the stores.” ??!? Am I the only one who didn’t know that? Am I the only one who remembers the poor sleepy man rolling out of bed in his nightcap, saying, “Time to make the doughnuts.” Wasn’t that the ENTIRE point of Dunkin Donuts? Their fresh all-day made-in-house doughnuts?? I may never be able to eat another doughnut again.

I’m transcribing an interview for work. The person I’m interviewing asks, “How old are you?”

Me: Um, older than you. (I know this, as I have his bio).

Him: Oh, okay. You sound young. I thought you were like a student.

I feel like I need a sign I can wear that says, “Yes, I am a grown-up.” Of course, my actions probably belie that.

Word count: 25,075. I’m still taking suggestions, if anyone wants me to put anything into the novel.

All those people who claim to have already finished their Nanowrimo novels are just liars. Liars, I tell you!

If you live in the Miami area, go on an art trek! (Hey, look, one of the artists has the same last name as me! Do you think that’s a coincidence?)

ART TRENDS: MIAMI’S TREK III, THE 1980’S

November 14 2002 – January 17 2003

This is the third part in a series of exhibitions surveying Miami’s Art. This show will showcase some of the prominent artists working in the Miami area during the 1980’s.

Among them are Carlos Alfonzo, Julio Antonio, Shareyar Ataie, Maria Brito, Carol Brown, Humberto Calzada, Pablo Cano, Victor Gomez, Peter Kuentzel, Sheldon Lurie, Carol Levy and Jean Waldberg.

The public is invited to attend the opening reception on Thursday, November 14th from 7 to 9 pm.

The Kendall Campus Art Gallery is located in the first floor of Building M, at 11011 SW 104th Street. Access from 107th Avenue or from 104th Street (Killian Parkway).