Video Stores And Couch Convenience

My first job was at a video store. As far as first jobs go, I'd say it was pretty decent. My worst days on the job were the days that someone got pissed off because their account was frozen do to late fees. They'd scream at me. I'd apologize and say something about "policy", and they'd have to leave without a copy of Cruel Intentions. I think they charged like $3.00 for every additional day you kept the movie, which meant after 2 weeks you had rang up enough in late fees to feed a family of 8 or 2 teenage boys at McDonald's...at least circa 1997 McDonald's.

As I got to college I can remember friends who had accounts at every single video store in town, and they'd rack up the late fee charges at each one. Of course, spreading out the charges significantly lessens the hit when they'd actually have to bite the bullet and pay the fee. They could be sure they could afford the fees and rent that new rom-com therefore locking in that time to mack on their new lady.

I think I stopped renting from video stores about 4 years ago, ever since the Red Boxes offering $1.00 DVD rentals started popping up. Sure the DVD vending machines have a smaller selection, but it's not like I was ever interested in anything other than the new releases anyway. Lucky for us, there was a machine about 2 minutes away, so it was good when you were feeling extra lazy. We quickly found out that the "cheap" $1.00 rental can quickly become a $4.00-$5.00 rental when that same laziness kicks in the next day. That's when we got Netflix.

Netflix allows for the laziest of lazies to have their movie and watch it too...all from the comfort of your computer chair. Well, you do have to get up out of the chair and go to the mailbox to get the movie out, that is unless you've got it hooked up to your Xbox or Playstation. Then, you can sloth your way into eternity. Not that I approve of such behaviors. I'm just saying. It's safe to say that I love the convenience of Netflix, which has made me wonder what other things would be great in a Netflix-style format?

The Man and I have discussed how a "Netbooks" site would be great. Now, I know what you're going to say, "What about eBooks?", and to that I say, "What about them?" There are already numerous printed copies of books out there. Why couldn't there be a company to ship books back and forth in a similar fashion.? Flat rate postal boxes from the USPS with new labels inside for when you're ready to send it back. It's genius!

What about you? What would you like to see in a Netflix-style format?

Remember summer camp? Remember hearing your name at mail call and the excitement when you'd receive a care package from you parents. Maybe it was just a letter and maybe and extra pair of socks, but sometimes you'd score big time because they had included some candy or gum! Those are the care packages childhood stories are made of. Those are the kind of packages I want back.

My mom started bringing me care packages when I was in college. She would show up at my door with a bag full of food. My college town house's cupboards were teeming with instant noodle, pudding mixes, and all kinds of random foodstuffs that either ended up getting donated to a food drive or thrown away. A lot of the food was off brands, usually from the dollar store that looked hokey. It's not that I wasn't grateful for the gesture, mind you, and I've never been a brand snob. I just didn't like what she was bringing, that, and I didn't need the food because I was supporting myself and buying my own groceries.

You would think the gift giving would stop when I moved halfway across the country. Nope. I started getting packages in the mail from her almost immediately. It was all the same stuff; Lipton noodles, cans of red beans, more pudding packages, shipped from the Heartland to the Pacific Northwest for my pleasure. What to do? What...to...do?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why the hell didn't you just tell her to stop?" I wish I could have. It would have saved me a lot of headaches and her a lot of money, but it's not that easy. Never has been. I don't have a great relationship with my mother, as you may have suspected. Actually, I know few people who claim to have great relationships with their parents these days. I don't know if it's the times that we grew up in, the changing societal values, or what? All I know is, my mother and I have never really had a good relationship for as long as I can remember. There are zero lines of communication when it comes to my mother, and it's nearly impossible to talk anything serious with her. As I got older, I started to feel bad for her. It started to feel like these care packages were her attempt to make up for lost parenting when I was little, so I let it go and created a monster.

Now, I'm 29 years old, and the packages still come. I've tried to curb the sending by explaining that I can no longer eat certain foods (ie I'm now gluten intolerant) and that we are choosy when it comes to health and beauty type of stuff. The result is that the packages stop for about six months and then low and behold a package shows up at my door chocked full of sewing kits, Bic razors, a sample box of Cheerios, and generic maxi pads. A hodgepodge of inept, catch up parenting, packed in a box and sent halfway across the country.

Love Notes & Lamentations

Did you ever pass notes back in the day? You know, the stuff speedily scrawled in class and handed off to each other in the hallway or the ones you stealthily scribbled and passed while the teacher wasn't looking? How about writing heart broken poems of love lost, life wasting away, and how The Man wasn't going to bring you down? Oh you didn't do that? I SO did. A lot of creative types, like myself, often had a dramatic "woe is me" experience going through school. We'd drone on about how much life sucked and how all love was ill fated. For me, I kept my emotional rants to myself, for the most part. Most of my family and friends had no idea that I was so mentally dark and dreary. I think I was Emo before it was even called Emo, except I didn't have the asymmetrical haircut and skinny jeans. Wait. Does that make me old? Ah crap. Oh well!

I was thinking about all those old school notes and over-emotional poems today, so I went digging around the house trying find them. The notes, I found right away because I had decided, when I was still in high school, that they be amusing some day, so I threw nearly every note since grade school into the same box. I even numbered them by grade, so I'd know when they were written. I'm embarrassed to admit that actually. No, really I'm kinda wishing I was that organized now, but that's besides the point. Looking in the dusty old box, I was afraid to open and read any because almost all of them had been folded in some crazy origami fashion. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to fold them back again. I eventually opted for one that was sans the fancy folding. The "5" on the outside tell me it was from 5th grade.

"How's school? its nice. Only because i'm going out with you. Do you still love me? I still love you. I'm not sure if we will kiss but I want to hold hands. Here comes Mrs Casey, By. Love David."

Ah young love.

The poems took some digging in the attic, but I eventually found those too. After reading a few, I can safely say that I may have been a good song writer for a goth metal band. Who knew? I guess I missed my calling. Key phrases include: Blowing out the burning embers of your joyous soul (If the soul was joyous, then why was it burning?), Overwhelmed by the stinging pain (Like bee stings? Because bee stings can be overwhelming.), Emotions swirling inside of me (This phrase or a version of it appears regularly). There seems to be a lot of writing about yearning and aching, crying and emptiness, being taken for granted and feeling out of control. Typical Emo crap I'm sure, and funny now, though definitely not when I was 17.

"Stuck" Dated 07/18/99

"Why is there this longing desire to leave, when there's no place to go? No house to call home. Back and forth. In and out. Unable to stop, and rest in permanent habitation.
Alienated and alone. Wandering aimlessly. Searching for a place to connect, a piece of the puzzle.
Obstacles like mountains, weighing down the aspirations, with the ignored morsels, of reality. Checked into a mental institution, where atleast no one has to care.
Creating a world of illusions, leads to the softening of the brain. Wanna be naked in the snow, and frostbite makes so much sense. Risking health, in spite of it all, to break the chains."

It's so bizarre reading this stuff now. It kind of blows my mind how dark and dreary I really was.

I'm thinking about making these lovely old notes and poems a weekly feature, and I'd love, love, love to include submissions from readers. If you have old note, letter, poem, etc let me know and I'd love to feature it here on the blog.

Making Time to Make Time

Last weekend, I had my littlest sister, Hannah, come stay at my house. There's nothing like your youngest sibling creeping through puberty to make you feel older. If you have younger siblings, I'm sure you understand.

Hannah was born when I was a junior in high school and was an very unexpected addition to our family. I have to admit, it can be difficult having a sibling that is so much younger. All too easily, you get wrapped up in your daily routine. You know, gym, tanning, laundry? Yes, I'm kidding. Seriously, though, I think adults get a case of day to day "tunnel vision". It's when you can only seem to focus on the day to day schedule and rarely step outside that schedule to fit in anything else. Such has been the case with Hannah. The Man has the same problem. Having two brothers 18 and 20 years younger himself, he knows all too well the struggle of remembering to set aside time for your much younger siblings. Unfortunately sometimes, it can be a seemingly unavoidable yet entirely inexcusable problem.

I remember the day that my step mom, Becky, suspected she might be pregnant. Of course, she did what any woman worried about pregnancy would do. She asked me, her 17 year old step daughter to the store to buy the pregnancy test for her. No, I'm not joking, and yes, yes she did. Looking back, I think she was too emotional and maybe even a little embarrassed at the time, but I tell you what, being an adult now I cannot fathom asking a 17 year old to go buy a pregnancy test for me. Oh and did I mention we lived in a small town? A very small town. An 8,000 people, Midwest, conservative, farming, small town. Of course, I went to school with the guy who was working at the store where I ended up buying the test, and I, naturally, had to defend myself. "It's not for me!" and "I'm buying this for someone else!" I swear, to this day, I don't think the guy believed me, that is, until he saw the pregnant proof in Becky's expanding belly.

I've made a sort of resolution with myself to spend more time with my sister. Hannah will be 12 in April. What scares me is that she's starting to look less and less like a little girl every time I see her. In some ways, I feel like I missed out on those little girl years. I wasn't really around much, especially early on. The more that I think about it now, it's probably just as important to take a active role in her life from now on. She needs a good role model at this age. Every kid does, and I'm making a point to try and be one, so I can be there to give her the guidance that I tried so hard to find when I was a kid.

I'll admit, sometimes it seems like a daunting task and that, in turn, makes me feel sort of guilty. I just need to stick to my guns and put in the extra effort. I mean honestly, if I can spend countless hours in front of my computer, I can make time for my sister. Then again, where does that leave us? I just have to remember that kids have got it rough these days. Not that we didn't, but it just seems their innocence gets stripped away earlier and earlier. They are bombarded with images and ideas, both good and bad, from an early age, leaving a million avenues for them to choose from, and I've made it my job to make sure she chooses wisely.

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

For as long as I can remember, I've had incredibly vivid dreams. They are strange, action packed, occasionally confusing and sometimes frightening story lines created by my sleeping subconscious. I've often thought that keeping a detailed journal of these dreams would be a good idea, both for general understanding and because sometimes I think they would make great movies. That being said, I had another strange one last night. This one is not exactly movie material, but rates in the middle of my weird-o-meter.

It should be said that my dreams never follow an steady plot. One second, I can be at home making cookies and the next I'm riding a horse on top of the Empire State Building. There never seems to be any logical transition between scenes, and beginnings and endings can be abrupt or non-existent. Last night's dream may have had a definitive beginning, but today I cannot remember it.

It started with me walking through a mall, the big, ritzy-type, two story mall. I was wearing a wrap dress with a large flower pattern that was mostly black. I remember feeling like I looked good and I remember feeling like I was gliding through the mall like I owned the place. I was supposed to be meeting my family at a banquet hall that was located in the mall itself, however I was taking my time getting there. It seems, I wasn't excited about whatever event I was supposed to be attending. As I get to the venue, I realize there are many different rooms with different events going on. After peeking my head in, I decided to go into the room where a Bar Mitzvah type of celebration is going on. There is music and lights, all the makings of a great party. I notice an awkward young man, who's maybe 14 or 15. He seems to be the focus of the attention at this party, so I decide to wander up to this young man and ask him to dance. He's eager to dance with me. I look hot, remember, and I lead him out to the dance floor. Then, like a professional ballroom dancer, I start leading him through all theses crazy ballroom dance moves like we are contestants on Dancing With The Stars. It's like we are in Saturday Night Fever, minus the color changing dance floor and disco music, but definitely with the sweeping camera shots. I'm obviously leading, at this point because I'm dragging the kid around like a rag doll. You know, almost like when a little girl dances on her daddy's feet, except this had way more flare and dramatics. When we finish, the party goers are on their feet, and the room fills with applause. I remember thinking I was doing some sort of charity and thought to myself, "After that dance with me, this kid's going to be the talk of the town now." I saunter out of the room without speaking to anyone as the kid runs back to his family, only catching a glimpse of me exiting.

Another thing note about my dreams is that, more often than not, I don't recognize the people in them. When they do happen to be real life people, sometimes it can get weird. I remember the time I dreamt about making out with a not so attractive teacher from high school and had to see him the next day. I was mortified. I'll also never forget when I dreamt that my boyfriend had wrecked my brand new car, and I woke up pissed at him the next morning. I don't think he'll forget that one either. The next part of this dream contains someone I know in real life, but lucky for her (or me) nothing odd happened.

Scene change, and I'm at a pet shop that is in another mall. Come to think of it now, it kind of reminds me of the mall that my grandma used to take me when I was a kid. The odd thing about this pet shop is that it resembles a small, walk-up bakery. The case in the front, where the baked goods are usually displayed, is instead filled with puppies. There are no shelves in the case, it's one level is at about knee height, and the puppies are on display in there. There were a lot of them in there too, all piled on each other to the point where you couldn't tell what kind of puppy you were looking at. It was a big pile of wagging tails and fur. My friend, Season, is there and we are both crouched by the case looking at the puppy pile inside. There seemed to be a lot of poodle-looking puppies, so I asked the woman behind the counter, "What kind of puppies do you have in there?" She starts grabbing puppies and flipping them over, like they had labels on their bellies. Grabbing puppy after puppy, manhandling them like I handle blocks of Brie cheese at the grocery store, "This one's a Poodle. This one's a Shit-zu. Oh, another Poodle. Another Poodle." She continues reading the labels, and eventually we tune her out until I see a puppy that I think is cute. I ask her if it's a Cavalier, she confirms, and I get excited because I like Cavaliers. Then, I ask if there are any Havanese in the pile, and she goes back to belly checking. After a few more minutes of manhandling, she says, "I found one." This becomes quite a dilemma for me. I say to Season, as I'm on my knees in a begging pose, "What am I going to do? I can't have both." I'm feeling major stress. Apparently, this is major struggle. It is my subconscious' version of the red pill and blue pill. What to do? Oh God...

Then, nothing. That's where this dream ends. It is when the alarm clock sounded and popped my dream bubble. When I wake up after having vivid dreams, I always lay there for awhile and think, "What the hell did I just dream?" I try to recount the events of the dream in my head, trying not to forget. I almost always tell myself that I'm going to write it down this time, but it's never happened, until today. From now on, I'm going to try to get pen to paper, or rather hand to keyboard, to document the weirdness that goes on while I'm sleeping, and maybe even the chatter too because apparently, I talk in my sleep too. That, however, is another story.

Let's Get Physical, Physical - Round 1

I'd consider myself a regular gym goer. I try to make it to the gym 3-4 times a week and my work outs usually last 1-1/2 hours. Going to the gym that often, you start to notice the other gym regulars as well as the gym newbies. The beginning of the year always means a fresh crop of newbies, as people start new workout routines in hopes of reaching their New Year's resolution fitness goals. I'm totally guilty of being irritated that there are more people going to the gym. It just means more waiting for equipment or not getting my favorite cardio machine, but then again if the LA Fitness that I go to would just get more stair climbers maybe I wouldn't get upset. Hint, hint! But I digress, the newbies aren't really something to get upset about, after all, they are just trying to get healthy, something I'm always encouraging.

I've been going to the same gym for almost a year an a half now, and I still don't know anyone else that goes there. Sure, the some personal trainers seem to recognize me and occasionally say "Hello", but that's the extent of my socialization at the gym. This being the case, I've begun to create names and identities for my fellow gym goers. Sometimes, people are named from movie/tv based off their resemblance to those characters and sometimes they are named from unique and/or prominent features or behaviors. Either way, it assures that I'll have that little bit of excitement when I see who's come to the gym that day. Below are some of my most memorable gym goers.

The Celebrities:

• Jake Fratelli (aka Robert Davi). You know the singing bad guy from The Goonies. You'd think the same thing if you saw him. The guy's a dead ringer for the character. If he started singing really loud in Italian one day, I'd probably pass out.
  

• Daniel Linderman (aka Malcom McDowell) The head of The Company in the early seasons of Heroes and I know he's also been on HBO's Entourage. This guy is the same age and has the white beard and everything. I feel like he's going to mess with mind at any moment. I just wish maybe he'd mess with my mind and convince me to workout more.
  

Celebrities Only In My Mind:

• Too Old To Be Trying To Look Cool Guy. This retired military, 65-70 plus, old man walks around like he owns the place. Come to think of it, maybe he does. Anyway, one of these days he's going to hurt himself because he obviously refuses to take any advice on how to use the equipment properly. When he's on the stair climber and he's leaning halfway down on the handles while no doubt on a higher level than he should be, I shake my head. When I watch him to crunches on the ab machine and he's only moving his arms and not crunching at all, I close my eyes. When I see his see his body contort while trying to pull too much weight on the bicep curl machine, it makes me freaking nervous. Too proud to take advice, one of these days he's sure to hurt himself (knock on wood).

• I'm Not Here For The Exercise Lady. There's one (or sometimes many) at every gym. Mine is in her 40's, comes in full make up and hair with a tank top so low that her ample bossom looks like it may pop out any second. Of course, she hops up onto the treadmill and struts her stuff all the while her girls are bouncing along inside her top. I don't know why she doesn't just wear a t-shirt that says "Hello my name is *fill in name here* and I'm here because I'd like to get laid". It's as simple as that. Then, maybe she wouldn't have to be on the treadmill as long.

• Miss I'm Hot & I Know It. Listen, I'm all for having confidence. If you look good, by all means, show it off, but when you live in Western Washington we all know it is never hot enough to be wearing just a sports bra and leggings. Besides, when you're always the only one showing so much skin at the gym (with the exception of the above lady's boobs) everyone knows you're just showing off. Maybe I'm hating a little, that is what women do after all. I'm not too proud to admit it, BUT I know that if I had a body like that I still would have a little modesty and wear more than underwear to the gym.

• Spandex Pants Man. I haven't seen this guy in awhile, but he sure was a favorite. He was in his late 40's, had bleached blonde hair, and chicken legs which he proudly showed off in his spandex pants. The crowning glory, though, was the self widened neck, extra wide tee that he wore with it. He looked like a male version of Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. He always made my day and I'd kill to see him running in place singing, "I'm a ma-niac, ma-niac on the floor..."
  

What kind of gym goers have you encountered? Have you paid that much attention? Lord knows what people think about me. Hey there's that girl who only has 2 gym outfits, or that's the chick that reads smut novels while doing cardio, because I do. I'm getting ready to head out to the gym shortly, and will definitely keep a look out for those that I've missed that are just too good to not share.

Is Ignorance Really Bliss?

Another day of not working, so I was cruising through all my social networking sites to see what's going on in the world. I came across this article that talks about all the toxic chemicals that are in our health and beauty products. It was about two years ago when I really started looking into what the unpronounceable words on the back of my shampoo bottle were. A friend has suggested I check out, www.cosmeticsdatabase.com, the Environmental Working Group's, Skin Deep, a cosmetics safety database site, as they call it, "A shoppers guide to save cosmetics." You can search for the individual products that you use, or just search the brand itself. What you'll get is an overall "hazard score" for that brand and/or product and then a break down of what, if any, health issues each chemical is reported to be responsible for. It was a wake up call for me when I looked up products that I believed to be safe and come to find out that they were anything but. I don't want to pick on any brands in particular. The last thing that I need is any corporation coming after me for pointing out the flaws in their product, but you may be surprised to see that a lot of these companies claiming to use "natural" ingredients, may just be abusing the word.

Speaking of, a big FYI to all of you is that the FDA does not regulate the use of the word "natural". You can read a Huffington Post article about this publish last year here. Case and point the soda brand 7-Up, for awhile, was calling itself natural, and they went as far as to show their soda cans being plucked from trees. Does this not make any sense to anyone else? Since when was high fructose corn syrup considered natural? I won't get into food ingredients now, though, that's a completely separate and maddening issue.

In the meantime, do check out the Cosmetics Database site and see just what your putting on and in your body. Ignorance is only bliss if it doesn't end up giving you cancer.