Saturday, July 10, 2010

Desperatly Seeking

I thought today may be an unusual day, when I found myself thinking what it would be like to have Betty White's face. Seriously, that's what I was wondering driving into work.

I had, and still have no great conclusion to this thought. I did realize that perhaps it is more a want to be like Betty White, or at least the public personality that she presents.
Its like when you are waiting for your hair appointment and you flick through the style pages, its not the hair style you crave, its the face, the high cheek bones and the Colgate Dental White bing bing teeth.

So indeed it was an odd day. Little on the rollarcoaster ride. Not Thunder Mountain and definitely not Its a Small World.

On the drive back from work I was crying. In fact I was crying so much that a woman behind me got rather angry and started to blast her horn. I turned off the road quickly (without indicating - the rebel that I am!!!) and found myself in the parking lot of a church.

For those that do not know me I am as close to church as a camel is to getting a bikini wax.

"So strike me down right here" I scream and carry on crying.
Nothing happens. So I pull out onto the road again.
"And what was that meant to mean?" again with the screaming.
"You need comfort," were the words that pop into my head.
"And where on earth do I get that?"
No reply. So I sarcastically say:
"Food! That's where I get that. Let me eat myself to death."
There immediately I look up to see the majestic sign for McDonalds.

I laughed and cried some more as I guess my pearly gates will be the yellow arches and I will be met by a clown in big red shoes.

Story of my life really!!!!!!! NO - really.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

to write or not to write

Well a heat wave has hit New England and my ankles are celebrating with their impersonation of two hot air balloons.

I got home after a busy day at work at 7:40pm, determined to spend the evening writing.

I watched the final 15 minutes on TV of the kids version of Jeopardy. I have only just understood how to play that game. We do not have it in the UK and I have spent 8 years screaming at the TV "But what is the question?"
Anyway - I got about ten answers correct and felt intelligent.

Then I discovered that my mouth was itchy and could not solve it. It feels like I have a pineapple stuck in my mouth. If an itchy palm means coming into money and an itchy nose means there is going to be a fight - what does an itchy mouth mean? That I'm going for a long swim with a guy called Bob?

Is it a coincidence or a mistake that there is a Sponge and a Builder named Bob?

Anyway......... I decide I want to watch TV seriously, in order to relax and get inspired. Nothing on unless I want to hear "starving Jillian" lecture about diets or the British grumpy guy swear and scream at chefs. OR Cake Boss, which I used to like until repeat upon repeat, leaves you always knowing that the cake will fall, we will all gasp and then Buddy will fix it with yet more "fondaaannt."

So I could just go and write? NO, now I need to flick through a copy of The New Yorker.
I read a poem and a couple of lines in I do not understand a word. (I don't mean a word as in the meaning of the poem - I mean I don't understand an actual word. Leitmotifs ??????)

I begin to read a story and four lines in I'm jealous, slightly bored (only because I'm jealous) and wondering why do I, cockney Jayne from London, bother wanting to write? This writer (Nicole Krauss to mention no names) is writing a story about a writer who actually writes - imagine that!
Then I pick up a slim novel and five lines in I'm jealous. She too is writing about a writer who writes. (Ann Beattie to mention no names).
Remembering my day (Jayne the cockney from London) today at work:
I booked four canoes, six tickets for a rollercoaster, ordered 15 more lions, tigers or bears, discovered fabric markers cannot be shipped quickly, ordered three sock monkey t shirts, offered the UPS handsome delivery man a glass of water, said no I have not got your contract to a man in Mexico and talked about customized golf holes with a woman in Ohio.

It's fortunate I guess that I do not desire to write a book about war in Victorian Sweden with undertones of melancholic vapors reminiscent of cultural imperialism.

I guess Jayne a cockney from London will do. Maybe I could add drawings to take up more pages. Feature a pop up section perhaps and a make your own DIY kit?

Maybe, I could just write..............................................................