Last week, for my internship, I was sent down to a senior citizen mobile home park (the loveliest of all destinations) to cover a fire. A mobile home went ablaze around 9:30, I was there around 10:00 to conduct interviews and meet with the PIO. After my work was complete, I met a friendly old man who lived about four houses down. When I say old, I mean he was most likely learning how to crawl when the Titanic sunk. We talked for a long time about the fire and I asked whether or not he knew the man who had sadly died inside the home.
"Nope," he replied. "But I'm pretty sure he had some relatives that would come by and visit him from time to time."
Although he wanted to rename nameless, I thanked him for his time. He, apparently not seeing my walking away as the end of our conversation, continued talking.
"You with the paper?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Good for youuu," he said, in a tone normally reserved for a dog that just learned the command "sit" for the first time. "Can I ask you a question?"
I nodded, unaware that I was about to be verbally molested by a man who was probably in elementary school during the Fatty Arbuckle scandal.
He then proceeded to ask me what size pants I wear and wanted to know whether or not I was interested in giving him my phone number so he could "take me out" sometime. Although I declined his offer immediately after it was extended, I might have had a good time. He could have picked me up on his motorized scooter for an early dinner at Ruby Tuesdays and told me all about his first hand account of hearing reports on Mussolini's March on Rome. I went back to the office and thanked my boss (who found this so funny that he laughed so hard he had to remove his tear stained glasses) for the love connection he had provided me with. It never would have worked anyway. I got the feeling I was communicating with a full blown, over the top Republican (i mean to the EXTREME). He was one Fox News segment away from inviting Bill O'Reilly over to his trailer for steaks and some good liberal bashing.
.
See yall at the pa'tay Saturday, tis the season. Heres to new beginnings! :)
Friday, December 16, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Parents
Yesterday, my mom and I had this conversation:
M: Catherine, are you going to Stevens tonight?
C: No
M: Why not, it's Fathers Day.
C: Right. Stevens my brother, not my father.
M: You're not going to honor your brother?
C: Honor my brother? Is he a Roman emporer? What are you even talking about
M: You should show some respect and go over
C: I really don't think it matters if I'm there, I'd rather be alone today anyway.
M: But you should show that you respect him! Respect!
C: Why are you talking like Carmella Soprano?
And then she hung up.
In honor of Fathers Day (a day late) I wanted to share a few e-mails shared between my Dad and I when I was a freshman in High School. Since I'm on my awesome school computer I am unable to take a screen shot, so I'll have to re-iterate the conversation via text.
2002-From Dad
Catherine,
I received a notice in the mail informing me that once again, you have skipped class and the school will have to start taking disciplinary action now that you have skipped over three classes in the course of a month. There is absolutely no excuse for this. Even if you are ill, which I know that you are not, you must find a way to get yourself to class. This is unacceptable Catherine, you need to get your act together immediately. If it is your intention to frustrate all of those who are trying to help you, you have succeeded.
Dad
From Me to Dad
Hi Dad,
I don't want to frustrate you. Last week I skipped my Spanish class so my roommate and I could learn the Footloose dance in our dorm. It's not like I was doing drugs, the school makes things sound much more dramatic than they actually are. I got detention so I will be serving out their "disciplinary" sentence in the cafeteria later tonight. Also, do you think you could send me a book on Stocks and Bonds? I have no idea how that works and I would like to start learning.
Love,
Cath
From Dad to Me
Catherine,
Call me immediately.
Dad
What lucky parents!
M: Catherine, are you going to Stevens tonight?
C: No
M: Why not, it's Fathers Day.
C: Right. Stevens my brother, not my father.
M: You're not going to honor your brother?
C: Honor my brother? Is he a Roman emporer? What are you even talking about
M: You should show some respect and go over
C: I really don't think it matters if I'm there, I'd rather be alone today anyway.
M: But you should show that you respect him! Respect!
C: Why are you talking like Carmella Soprano?
And then she hung up.
In honor of Fathers Day (a day late) I wanted to share a few e-mails shared between my Dad and I when I was a freshman in High School. Since I'm on my awesome school computer I am unable to take a screen shot, so I'll have to re-iterate the conversation via text.
2002-From Dad
Catherine,
I received a notice in the mail informing me that once again, you have skipped class and the school will have to start taking disciplinary action now that you have skipped over three classes in the course of a month. There is absolutely no excuse for this. Even if you are ill, which I know that you are not, you must find a way to get yourself to class. This is unacceptable Catherine, you need to get your act together immediately. If it is your intention to frustrate all of those who are trying to help you, you have succeeded.
Dad
From Me to Dad
Hi Dad,
I don't want to frustrate you. Last week I skipped my Spanish class so my roommate and I could learn the Footloose dance in our dorm. It's not like I was doing drugs, the school makes things sound much more dramatic than they actually are. I got detention so I will be serving out their "disciplinary" sentence in the cafeteria later tonight. Also, do you think you could send me a book on Stocks and Bonds? I have no idea how that works and I would like to start learning.
Love,
Cath
From Dad to Me
Catherine,
Call me immediately.
Dad
What lucky parents!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Write Up
Re-posting in honor of Orme's recent reunion. Lily, Mandi, Charley and I will see you next year. Try to hide your excitement.
Over the weekend I found a "write up", those of you who went to my boarding school I am sure painfully remember the joy of receiving a write up. For those of you who did not go to school with us, it was a disciplinary notice you would receive (in the mail, even though everyone you knew lived about 50 feet away). You would be sent one if you had been caught breaking the rules, or as we thought of it, having fun. No smoking (a habit I think I only picked up for a year in high school to annoy my parents) and no kidnapping the farm animals for ransom. Blackmail is still as fun as it always was in high school, what can I say, they had no sense of humor.
Anyway, so I found a write up from 2002 in an old photo box over the weekend, written by a male teacher who shall remain nameless. A "write up" was slightly less formal than a police report but had novel-esque detail to it, attributing every word said in a conversation and sometimes even taking the weather into account. It wouldn't just say I was caught smoking behind the gym, I was caught "On a dark night, it was windy and the smell drifted to the front of the gymnasium; and that's when I knew it. Someone was smoking." If you're going to write that dramatic of a lead-up, there better be an underage smuggling operation or attempted homicide involved.
My write up I found said:
"I found Ms. Crook outside of her dorm on the west side of barnyard at approximately 11:45 pm. When I told her she was out of bounds and needed to return to her dorm, she told me she would do so when she was off the phone. Ms. Crook's attitude and behavior were characteristically very disappointing and I told her I thought she could do better. She then responded, 'So could your wife.' I am writing Ms. Crook up for bounds and insubordinate language and behavior."
So, apparently my reputation for being a smart mouth in high school was not entirely undeserved. If it makes me seem less gross, I am now friends (10 years later) with almost all of these teachers whose lives I once tried to ostensibly ruin. Poor people, I have a lot of apology letters to write.
Over the weekend I found a "write up", those of you who went to my boarding school I am sure painfully remember the joy of receiving a write up. For those of you who did not go to school with us, it was a disciplinary notice you would receive (in the mail, even though everyone you knew lived about 50 feet away). You would be sent one if you had been caught breaking the rules, or as we thought of it, having fun. No smoking (a habit I think I only picked up for a year in high school to annoy my parents) and no kidnapping the farm animals for ransom. Blackmail is still as fun as it always was in high school, what can I say, they had no sense of humor.
Anyway, so I found a write up from 2002 in an old photo box over the weekend, written by a male teacher who shall remain nameless. A "write up" was slightly less formal than a police report but had novel-esque detail to it, attributing every word said in a conversation and sometimes even taking the weather into account. It wouldn't just say I was caught smoking behind the gym, I was caught "On a dark night, it was windy and the smell drifted to the front of the gymnasium; and that's when I knew it. Someone was smoking." If you're going to write that dramatic of a lead-up, there better be an underage smuggling operation or attempted homicide involved.
My write up I found said:
"I found Ms. Crook outside of her dorm on the west side of barnyard at approximately 11:45 pm. When I told her she was out of bounds and needed to return to her dorm, she told me she would do so when she was off the phone. Ms. Crook's attitude and behavior were characteristically very disappointing and I told her I thought she could do better. She then responded, 'So could your wife.' I am writing Ms. Crook up for bounds and insubordinate language and behavior."
So, apparently my reputation for being a smart mouth in high school was not entirely undeserved. If it makes me seem less gross, I am now friends (10 years later) with almost all of these teachers whose lives I once tried to ostensibly ruin. Poor people, I have a lot of apology letters to write.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
An oldie of my very sunburned Dad and my three sisters (from left, starting with the stoner in the Calvin and Hobbs shirt: Margaret, Melissa and Carolyn)
Doesn't Margaret look like Napoleon Dynamite in this picture?
::heavy sigh::
"This is the worst day of my life ::exhales loudly:: and those shoes are ugly"
::heavy sigh::
"This is the worst day of my life ::exhales loudly:: and those shoes are ugly"
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Polar Express
Every year, some of the people in my family take a trip north to go to "The Polar Express." I will operate off of the assumption that most of you have seen the movie or know the story, and two of my nieces are in love with it. I on the other hand am in love with how Liam Neeson narrates the story once you are on the train, I'm mentally occupied for the next 30 to 45 minutes. The Polar Express is in Williams, a town about two hours north of where I live. From there you take the train to the North Pole.
Last year I skipped out because I had to study for finals, yet over review of last years exam schedule it would appear that my first final did not take place until one week after their return from the trip. I guess Anthropologie had a sale that weekend.
This year, I drove up with my sister Margaret, brother Michael (starting to sound like a congregation) and my Mom. My Mom and I were talking about how every year we pick Christmas Angels at the mall and buy for three to four kids.
Michael asked my mom, "What are Christmas Angels?"
She responded, in a tone normally reserved for a misbehaving two year old, "Now Michael, there are children all over the world who have nothing on Christmas morning." --as if instead of asking what they are, he said, "Christmas angels are stupid and kids don't need presents."
I think it was her opportunity to have a Mother Theresa moment, you have to grab those when they come along (or even when they don't ).
The Polar Express is a cute experience all in all. The part I get the biggest kick out of it is the paparazzi training these parents must have endured before having children. If their two kids don't like each other, they will have to on the train when Santa comes around or Christmas is canceled. There are two kids fighting and crying and their parents yelling, "Darren, PUT your ARM around your SISTER, NOW!!!!!" ::snap:: "Oh that's a cute picture."
Kids smiling through a cry is adorable. I want pull the parents aside and say, look I want to smile and nod along with you forcing your offspring to love each other but I would hate to encourage you to believe in a connection that simply does not exist.
The trip was fun. I love snow and cold weather sometimes. For me, being in snow all the time would dilute it's value. It's cozy though, and it would come in handy for all of those times I am in the mood to make a snowman and never have the tools to do so.
One of the setbacks about Williams is the limited choices in terms of dining accommodations. Buffets are not something I go out of my way to participate in. I go to them with the same amount of enthusiasm I usually reserve for movies like The Expendables. Pure torture.
When forced to adhere to the buffet line rules however I do so gracefully, until pinhead #1 in his carpenter jeans is holding up an entire line of people because he can't decide which biscuit (out of 15 identical biscuits) to choose.
Happy December
Last year I skipped out because I had to study for finals, yet over review of last years exam schedule it would appear that my first final did not take place until one week after their return from the trip. I guess Anthropologie had a sale that weekend.
This year, I drove up with my sister Margaret, brother Michael (starting to sound like a congregation) and my Mom. My Mom and I were talking about how every year we pick Christmas Angels at the mall and buy for three to four kids.
Michael asked my mom, "What are Christmas Angels?"
She responded, in a tone normally reserved for a misbehaving two year old, "Now Michael, there are children all over the world who have nothing on Christmas morning." --as if instead of asking what they are, he said, "Christmas angels are stupid and kids don't need presents."
I think it was her opportunity to have a Mother Theresa moment, you have to grab those when they come along (or even when they don't ).
The Polar Express is a cute experience all in all. The part I get the biggest kick out of it is the paparazzi training these parents must have endured before having children. If their two kids don't like each other, they will have to on the train when Santa comes around or Christmas is canceled. There are two kids fighting and crying and their parents yelling, "Darren, PUT your ARM around your SISTER, NOW!!!!!" ::snap:: "Oh that's a cute picture."
Kids smiling through a cry is adorable. I want pull the parents aside and say, look I want to smile and nod along with you forcing your offspring to love each other but I would hate to encourage you to believe in a connection that simply does not exist.
The trip was fun. I love snow and cold weather sometimes. For me, being in snow all the time would dilute it's value. It's cozy though, and it would come in handy for all of those times I am in the mood to make a snowman and never have the tools to do so.
One of the setbacks about Williams is the limited choices in terms of dining accommodations. Buffets are not something I go out of my way to participate in. I go to them with the same amount of enthusiasm I usually reserve for movies like The Expendables. Pure torture.
When forced to adhere to the buffet line rules however I do so gracefully, until pinhead #1 in his carpenter jeans is holding up an entire line of people because he can't decide which biscuit (out of 15 identical biscuits) to choose.
Happy December
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