Awkwardly Social

A very large part of my early to mid-teens was spent babysitting for various families, much like most American girls I guess.  I was a decent babysitter.  It wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I took inspiration and advice from the pre-teen bible of babysitting, “The Babysitter’s Club.”  Most of the kids I sat with were your typical kids just trying to test your boundaries but responding with a certain level of humanity when they found how far they could push.  Most of them.

It was a hot summer.  There were three of them.  All of them hated me.  Even though I brought books and activities.  Even though I spent 8 hours a day with them and fed them two meals and a snack.  Even though I let them do whatever they wanted.  They hated me with a passion I imagine warring tribesmen in rural Africa hate each other.  They wanted me gone.  It was a very white trash situation.  The youngest was the white-trashiest of them all and had a thing with peeing.  Peeing in the backyard to be specific.  The family was rebuilding their deck.  It was in skeleton form.
Two-by-fours stretched out behind the house in a dangerous death trap
that of course the littlest one was convinced he could conquer.  I was instructed to make sure Little Asshole was using the bathroom instead of peeing outside because the deck was so dangerous.  Yeah, you read that right.  Not because peeing in the back yard is something civilized 5 year-olds should be discouraged against, but because they didn’t want him to hurt himself getting to the great big toilet outside, also known as the backyard.  And while I didn’t go into the bathroom with him, I was feeling like he wasn’t sneaking outside across the death trap of a deck to piss in the grass.  That is until I walked into the bathroom one particularly awful and trying day of “I HATE YOU I WISH YOU WERE DEAD,” being screamed at me in three different angelic voices and found a puddle of urine not even close to the toilet.  Not even in a sprinkled fashion near by the toilet.  He didn’t miss.  He was PUSHING.  MY.  BROKEN.  BUTTONS.  I sternly told him to get in there and clean it up, I didn’t even yell.  I was firm with him.  He pushed me away, ran out the back sliding glass door and tried to balance along the treacherous balance beam network of planks so I couldn’t grab him and kill him make him clean up his own urine.  Of course, he fell.  He whined and complained and I told him he was fine, and that he wasn’t getting out of the urine duty.  His mom came home and I told her what happened.  She was pretty mad at me.   I was pretty unphased.  If you want me to take care of your children for 8 hours a day, I expect that they are going to follow rules and clean up their own messes.  Also, I expect that for their own safety they’ll listen to me when I give them instructions.  He apparently kept whining all night about his stupid arm so they took him to the doctor.  It was broken.  Little fucker.  I’m not one to say any old kid deserves to get his arm broken, but this kid, he totally deserved it.  Does that make me a bad person?  Maybe a little.  A bad baby sitter?  Maybe a lot.  I didn’t break his arm, but I certainly wasn’t sad about it.

That hideous summer (that I’ve almost all but blocked out) finally ended.  You know what I got paid?  I don’t really remember but I think it was along the lines of $75.00 a week.  8 hour days.  3 horrible children.  That’s not even $2.00 and hour, people.  I wonder what ever happened to that little asshole.  I bet he’s either a serial rapist or a crystal meth dealer.

Which brings me to the real reason I’m writing this entry.  Fussy wrote today about stalking Googling her former babysitting charges on-line and finding out what they were up to, and if there’s anything I like, it’s a good internet stalking Googling session.  I found one of the girls who was the middle child in a family of three who I babysat for a long time, from the infancy of her youngest sister until I pretty much retired from babysitting in favor of drinking and doing drugs on Friday nights, my senior year.  She was my favorite of the three.  They were all awesome though. She has a Myspace page.  She is at ASU.  She looks like she’s “having a good time.”  Since ASU has been known to turn out a good person or two *cough*me*cough* inspite of the drinking and kissing boys *cough*her*cough*, it made me smile.  And then I realized, she’s 19 years old, in college, and I’m really old.  I just hope the boy she was kissing wasn’t the Little Asshole.  Arizona is a very small state.

Remember that list I did a few weeks ago, and I said I had never been drunk on champagne? Well, you should know that I am always up for a challenge, even if said challenge requires me to get drunk. Wait, I mean especially if said challenge requires me to get drunk.

I arrived at the Steller residence (which is something I’ve never called it before now, usually I just call it Catherine’s house, but it’s Waller’s too, sort of… anyway, I like it, and that is what I will be calling it, until I forget and call it the Wallin residence) and every one was kind of smiley and happy and obviously had never read my family’s “Handbook for the Holidays” which requires you to wear a skirt and tights and a forced smile to all holiday functions, while haboring a huge grudge because you had to get out of your pajamas and clean the bathroom while your sister did something fun like read a book while pretending to help in the kitchen. It’s a really long handbook, filled with run-on sentences. Anyway, everyone there was like, “Let’s open the champagne!” And I, having read the handbook (Item 27b) knew that I should quash all sense of excitement about things that people are excited to do. (See also, Item 32dxi: Never let them know you actually like chopping carrots, or any activity/chore someone wants you to perform.) So I sternly reminded them all that I hate champagne. (I seriously don’t know why people invite me over, I’m such a lame-ass.) Tara and Catherine, being familiar with my tactics, just poured everyone champagne but me. And since I’m a total joiner and hate to be left out of any drinking activity even if it involves drinking shots off a bathroom floor in Tijuana (don’t ask) I totally caved and asked for a glass. And lo, it was good. And lo, I will never be able to tell people I don’t like champagne again, because I fucking love it. So I think we’ve all learned something and now I have to add another line in the “Holiday Handbook” that reads, “Drink it. Just do.”

It was a great day. We ate for about 8 hours straight, great. Catherine really knows how to do stuff. Like cook. She’s going to make someone a great wife someday. (I’m in so much trouble.)

If you’ve never liked champagne, you, like me, have probably been drinking Korbel.  I think it’s safe to say that if the champagne costs less than $75.00 it really isn’t worth drinking.  At least not until you’ve shared several bottles of Veuve.

Cooking, booze, awkward social occasions… what more could a girl want.

Go look at Louie’s photo.  The best part is, when I saw Shannon smoking in the kitchen I thought, “OOOO… Shannon’s gonna be in troubbbbbbbllllle,” because I am in fifth grade.

Happy day.

Every year I promise myself that this will be the year that at Thanksgiving I’ll be able to bask in the huge writing accomplishment that I’ve tidily finished just in time for it to be well received and purchased so that at Christmas I’ll be whisking myself away to a vacation in someplace like Hawaii.  I’m sure you know that this year that scenario is not exactly what will be happening.

eh.  oh well.

At least I have a steady supply of super sharp Sharpies.  There’s nothing more disappointing than opening a Sharpie and finding it dulled down to a sad nubbin.  These days, I am responsible for the Sharpies, and I’ll have you know that they are positively flourishing under my care.  When people ask for a Sharpie I judge the situation and circumstances that they’ll be using my precious under and then either give them an already ruined one, hording the good ones for myself, or if I deem them responsible I’ll give them one that still holds a point.  I know what you’re thinking.  And the answer is yes, I am working my dream job.

Another thing I promise myself every year is to  not have to rush to the store on Thanksgiving eve to buy something.  Every year I marvel at all the people in the grocery store.  I wonder if they’re procrastinating forgetters like me.  I wonder if they are making Thanksgiving all on their own for the first time.  I wonder where they are the rest of the year.  I am thankful they are not in the store the rest of the year, because if they were, I would become a shut-in and order my groceries from my life partner, the internet.

The vitamin’s effect was questionable today, because while I didn’t actually punch anyone,  I did kind of loudly say out my open window, “Walk a little slower, fatass.”  The dude wasn’t even fat.  I just didn’t like the nonchalant mosey he was taking across a pain in the ass intersection.  He looked like a smarmy douchebag.  I’d like to think that after my scathing review of his physique he went home and purged his pumpkin spice latte and vowed to hit the treadmill.  But I have this feeling he didn’t even hear me.  The fact that I wish he did might mean I need to up my vitamin dosage.

I have a fair amount of drinking to do tomorrow, so you’ll either get an awesome drunken post about how much I love you guys and want you to take off your shirts so I can see your tits, or I’ll just tell my friends’ parents the exact same thing.  Have a lovely Thanksgiving, Americans, and foreigners, have a good Thursday.

Day Two of “Mood Watch Tamara” is going well.  Tom Cruise may be right, we don’t need pharmaceuticals, we only need vitamins.  He knows the history of psychiatry, right?

Last night, Louie and I were talking about how uncool it is to be racist.  I know.  We’re on the cutting edge.  And he was trying to remember the phrase “his reach did not exceed his grasp,” and I could only think of “hoist by his own petard.”  In the interest of full disclosure, at the time I said, “Foisted by his own petard,”  which is wrong, but led to me deciding that since we don’t use ‘gay’ in the pejorative any more we could use petard.  Louie looked incredulous about the whole thing, until I said he was petarded.  It really rolls off the tongue, it doesn’t really mean anything in that conjugation, it isn’t offensive to any group or person, and apparently fart is its root.  Try it this Thanksgiving on your little brother.  Or your annoying aunt.  Or your shit-eating dog.

Hey! Did you know it can be awkward to run into the person your boyfriend pushed into a wall at your housewarming party?  Well, I’m here to tell you, it can be!  It doesn’t help that I’m already a tremendously bad at graciously getting out of awkward situations.  I just sort of abandoned my cart (we were at the grocery store) with Louie and went to peruse BBQ sauce.  They were waiting in the interminably long deli line when I returned so I sort of muttered something about my chicken getting salmonella and I crazily drove my shopping cart away.  I’m sure it was fine.

Speaking of grocery stores, there’s a fancy one in Beverly Hills that I stopped at last night.  It’s called Bristol Farms, and apparently if you walk in there you are transported into a time gone by where the produce man shamelessly flirts with you by giving you fresh bites of sweet pears, where people write checks and where women have never operated a machine that allows you to pay for your groceries with a debit card.  I don’t know how I got into the old-timey women line, but I did.  The check writer was surprised she needed to show her ID.  It is 2006, honey, let’s leave the check book at home in a drawer with our pearls and handerchiefs.  The debit card lady was apparently illiterate or just in flagrant opposition to following prompts given to her by a computer, where the possible choices were ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and ‘cash’.  Because I’ve been taking my vitamins I was able to not give her a shopping cart smash to the shins, but it did give me pause.  Listen up, ladies of Beverly Hills, I need you to be present and in the moment during this difficult holiday period while your butlers and blacksmiths are on vacation.  If we work together, we can get through this without running down small children in the produce aisle who are snatching apples from flirtatious fruit men and selling matches.

I had this thoughtful post partially written about Lauren Greenfeld’s documentary, Thin, but I took a vitamin this morning and I forgot how fucking jacked up and flighty and excitable and smiley and twitchy and possibly invincible they make me.  What?  I can’t hear you. I’m crazy high on proper nutrition!

Is it possible that I’ve just been missing some important vitamin?  Is that why I’ve been so unable to leave the house?  I didn’t have my Extract of Green Tea?

Thanksgiving plans are changing by the moment.  I keep refreshing my e-mail in-box to make sure we don’t have two more (parental) guests coming.  Not that I’d mind smoking weed in front of one of my closest friend’s (straight laced except for the wine and the possible pharmaceuticals) parents, I just think everyone else might mind me being high in front of them.  Am I allowed to talk pot smoking on the internet?  Can I be arrested for this?  It’s totally medical.  I have a perscription.  For my back pain.  And nausea.  Associated with my back pain.  Or something.

Those last lines made me very sad.  Because one day I might actually need to get a perscription for medical marijuana because I might actually be very ill.  And how can one enjoy weed if one is very ill?  I hope if you need marijuana medically that you will be able to find it.  And the bullshit administration won’t try to keep you from smoking it.  War on drugs?  War on Terror?  How about war on broken hearts, and war on death?

I’m telling you, this Weight Smart Vitamin makes me feel awesome.  I think I should take proper nutrition more seriously.  I wonder if I’ll build up a tolerance to it.

What are you making for Thanksgiving?  Or are you only responsible for bringing the rolls?

Via Pop Culture Junk Mail, comes this Baby Namer website where you can plug in your name and click on drawbacks and find the negative things people associate with your name.  Mine has some hilarious nick names.  But the best is “Tammy O’Hara the Fatest Girl in the West.”

So remember when I said I wanted an animal to live in my apartment?  And then I talked about a rabbit or a fish or a bird or a mouse?  Well… I was talking to Louie the other night and I told him what I really wanted was a cat.  But since we both happen to be allergic to cats, I guess I want a dog.  Louie gave me specific reasons why he didn’t want a dog.  Reasons that were so specific I guessed that he just in general never ever wanted a dog.  Because if you tell me that a dog needs a yard and should live outside while we live (probably forever) in an apartment without a yard and no real way to house a dog outside, I’m going to guess that you just actually never want a dog.  Ever.  Which, I guess is what happens when you’re used to not having to pick up feces two to seventeen times a day.

I bullied him into considering a dog in 4 to 6 months.  But as I’ve been thinking about it, I don’t really want a dog.  I want a cat.  I love cats.  Cats purr.  Cats bury their poo.  Cats sit on the couch and stare at you without requiring you to do anything for them. Dogs drool and lick you and try to hump your leg and bark and… well you get the point.  I’m cat sitting right now.  I walked into Tars apartment to feed her two adorable kittens and in order to keep one of them from rushing out the door I scooped her up and she immediately started purring.  I mean!  Come ON!  How awesome is that?  She just wanted to say, “Hey, I wasn’t trying to escape I was just wanting you to pick me up so I could purr for you!”  She was lying but would a dog do that?  No.  A dog would just wiggle around wagging its dumb tail waiting for you to put it down so it could drool and piddle by your feet in an act of excitement.

It’s been a rough week for me.  I got hit with a wave of brain chemicals that have quite literally made me feel like I’m being held down with a big pillow of sad.  So big, this sad pillow, that I haven’t been running.  Yeah.  I know, if I go running the sad pillow will lift.  You without this disease will just never understand that we know that is absolutely true, but we will be so trapped we just can’t put on our running shoes and three bras and charge our iPods and wait at stop lights and… it’s all too overwhelming.  Last night as I drank the glass of wine Tars had left for me with a sign that said, “DRINK ME, TAMS!” I realized that no, I absolutely don’t want a dog at the moment.  I can barely handle getting into the shower in the morning, the last thing I need is a drooly, barky, shitty beast that requires me to take care of it because Louie has promised me it will be entirely my responsibility.  I just want a cat.  A cat, however, is entirely outside of the realm of possibility.  So, the sad pillow crushes down a little farther and I try to visualize the tying of my running shoes, the charging of my iPod, the dressing of myself in three sports bras.  I’ve heard that visualizing can help, but all I can see is a little cat curled up on the couch.  Purring.

My sister stole this from someone and encouraged further propogation of the list.  I think she’s right when she says it’s more about what you’ve done on the list than what they’ve done, although since she’s my sister there are some things that I was surprised she hadn’t done.

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said “I love you” and meant it (corny, but I do this every dang day.)
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea (The storm was at sea and I was on land, I don’t know which they mean here.)
13.
Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise (More times than I can count.)
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game (Amazingly enough, I love going to baseball games, but not because of the actual game.)
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa.
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars (I was in my friend Jenny Braner’s backyard, but it totally counts!)
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon (It was a short trip, and terrifying, but that’s what you get for growing up in a crazy state like Arizona, where people do this all the time.)
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne (This very well might be the only alcohol I haven’t been drunk on.)
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (I think it’s safe to say that giggling at your grandfather’s funeral is not really appropriate.)
27. Had a food fight (My memory is vague on this, so I might have just imagined it, but I think I got into one at horse camp.)
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb (No, but I have held a fawn…)
33. Seen a total eclipse (I think I’ve seen solar and lunar…)
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39.
Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk. (oh yes, one of my least favorite things, but yes.)
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country (Dude.. JJ the Turk!)
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe.
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love (so sad. but true!)
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them (I think we did a lot of this in Europe, but I know for sure we did it once, and I’m almost as sure that we regreted it.  CLAUDE.)
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke (Much to everyone else in the bar’s dismay.  Yes.)
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football (I think this was something we had to do in PE.  And we continued it into recess.  I loathed it.)
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain (I don’t think so…)
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater (I had an awesome date at a drive in once.)
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured an ancient site (Chichen Itza is as ancient as I’ve toured, I believe.)
70. Taken a martial arts class (Is Tai Chi a martial art?)
71. Played Dungeons & Dragons for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie (Nothing that ever went farther than film school, but I was in a lot of student films.)
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo (The only reason I don’t regret the frog on my ankle is because my 18 year old self made my future self promise to never regret it.  It’s a promise I have a hard time keeping.)
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Got flowers for no reason
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music  (I was the recorder not the recordee, does that count?)
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently well enough to have a decent conversation
95. Performed in Rocky Horror
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray 
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth (I’ve seen a lot of animals give birth, but as I recall none of them needed any helping)
112. Won money on a T.V. game show (I actually just won prizes, but I think that’s close enough.)
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol (I can’t remember what camp it was, but I we shot a rifle)
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild (I’m pretty sure one of the dishes we had in Russia was a mushroom based dish that the mom had gathered near their dacha.)
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper (Growing up in a small town, man, we were all over The Journal.)
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach (um.. only with my shoe.)
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes
134. Read The Iliad
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream (most of the time it’s ironically, but there were several occasions in film school and when I made my student film that I thought it honestly)
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts (my dad helped)
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146. Dyed your hair (for a long time I wasn’t really sure what my true hair color is.  now I know, and it’s really boring)
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident (man, I have done way too much rear ending in my day.)
150. Saved someone’s life
151. Finished a marathon (I’m so proud of this one.)

Now you do it!