Personal Space

Emily Post needs an entry about grocery store etiquette. Why is it that personal space is nonexistent? Is anyone getting home any faster with their store-bought goods by crowding me in line? People stand so close to you that sometimes I can guess their religion. And that's one thing, but when it's my turn at the pad to type in my secret ATM code, do you have to be up my ass? Seriously. Private time! Your groceries haven't even been scanned, so unless you want to pay for mine, back off!!!

Scratch

My handwriting is illegible when I'm in a hurry--something akin to infantile chicken scrawl. One time, in grade school, I couldn't read the notes I'd made from a library book when I was home writing the report, so I actually concluded that Adolph Hitler had died of AIDS. Now that's bad handwriting!

Deep Dish

It's not really a good idea to let Jesus take the wheel since he doesn't have a valid driver's license.

Teams

I recently found out that my High School girlfriends are still playing a game we made up back in the day--Teams. I thought I was the only one who was still that immature, but I'm glad to know that others share my flair for the whimsical. It is obviously the best game ever to have survived over a decade, so now I will bring the rules to you so that you can join in the fun!

Now, the basic principle of Teams works like this: Remember when you were in school and you picked your team, say kickball? Two captains each choose one at a time the people they want playing with them? Well, the way I play Teams is that I am the captain of your team, so I recruit your players, and I want your team to suck! The spirit is light-hearted. The Team recruits should be awesome and hilarious, nothing mean. The limit for daily recruits is two--that way the decisions are well thought out and delicious, not just a smorgasbord of straights and squares. Also, you can play with multiple people, but you must both be present and see the person in order for the draft to be effective. Furthermore, a whole person need not be named, but any part of them, including: their shirt, hair, mustache, walk, etc. (For example, I have some guy's mullet on my Team). And while the named person or part should really deserve to be on your opponent's team, act fast and call out "Your Team!", less your rival captain beat you to the punch. Now, when someone is truly ridiculous, it is a good idea to name them Captain of the Team. Captains can be overthrown at any time someone more deserving of the title pops up, so don't be afraid to declare this status whenever it feels right. Cartoons are exempt from recruiting, but puppets are fair game. I've been accused of making the rules up as I go, so here they are in black and white, haters! Of course, as I think of more rules, as I go, I will update them here...

These are the rules of my version of Teams. Perhaps my lovely and immature friends who have perfected the East Coast version will comment on variations of the game. Alison? Mandy? Don't leave me hangin', ladies! GAME ON!!!

To Do List

-- Illegally immigrate to another country.

-- Witness a hobo rivalry.

-- Swing from a chandelier.

--Have a popular rock song written about me.

-- Hitchhike anywhere.

-- Get caught up in a Presidential scandal.

-- Try to find real fairies in Ireland.

-- Ride an elephant.

-- Start the next Underground Railroad that frees women from oppression.

-- Get deported.

-- Hug every orphaned child.

-- Write the next great American novel.

-- Maybe start to consider the possibility of an exercise routine.

-- Become skilled as a deadly assassin, just not practiced.

-- Find out if penguin meat tastes like chicken.

Deep Dish

There is a direct, positive correlation between the probability that someone is wearing a fanny pack and the likelihood that there is a kazoo in that fanny pack.

I Heart L.A.

I've spent the last six years lamenting many things about Los Angeles. I've longed for some of the comforts of the Mid-West and the South; things such as long-lasting relationships (all varieties) and stability. Well, it turns out that the cure for this is spending 10 days in Small Town, USA. I have never felt that I had a home, in fact, I have romanticized a transient lifestyle. I get irritated when people ask me if I'm going "home" for the holidays. My family is spread out all over and they all have new families with husbands and children and in-laws. I am just a little lost lamb... okay, black sheep, with no base camp. Or so I thought...

Demystification numero uno: One cannot have deep relationships in L.A.
Now, it is true that many people out here have multiple, shallow relationships with people--what I like to call Social Callers. It takes a long time to figure out who your real friends are and to weed out the ones that keep you in their stable in case you can ever do anything for them. But after a week in North Carolina, I realized that people don't really make too many new friends out there. It's all old high school and college buddies. I have the pleasure of meeting new people all the time, and whether they turn out to be life-long relationships or transitional people, I'm having a great time conquering one of my childhood goals: Meeting everyone on the planet. I have an abundance of love in my life and I will never take it for granted again by assigning it a value of less than.

Myth number two: All crackheads are thieves.
Sometimes, for a dollar or two, a crackhead will head your security detail to get you safely to the bus stop. And they will watch your apartment when the door is unlocked to keep all your stuff safe. Shout out to the drugheads out there!

Debunked delusion number three: You can always go back.
There are big-city people and the rest. I love city life and all of its adventures. There is not enough stimulation in a small city to hold the interests of this girl. I immediately lost myself and started sinking into the sadness of a former pain body that I thought had died. What I had identified as stability was really just boredom of routine and a slow death. Everybody's working for the weekend. In my world, every day is Sunday. Maybe I don't have health insurance or a steady gig, but I'm living my joy, and that is infinitely important to me.

To conclude, I will never say "Home is wherever I have a toothbrush" ever again! I felt a peace the first time I came to L.A. and saw the palm trees. I knew, deep down, that I belonged in a place where these trees could thrive. And now I'm sure of it. "Home" means more to me than it ever has. It took some time, but this little woman has finally found a home.