Guest Post: Life's Small Treasures

Brought to you by T James:

This is a true story.

On Friday night I met mike and a girl he liked named Katie (aka Katie from Marshall Feilds) at O'Donovan's for beers. At one point in conversation, KMF mentioned something about pirates, and I said that I have a friend who actually is a pirate; her name is Patra the pirate and she works at the Blue Moon Cafe. KMF asked me if Patra has a treasure chest. Of course, she has several, I replied, but they're buried throughout the small, uninhabited islands of the Caribbean. Doy. Well, said KMF, some friends of mine gave me a treasure chest and I keep my jewelry in it.

Knowing how much Patra---the second coolest smooth jazz singer ever (that's right, I'm talking about Billy Ocean)---would love that treasure chest, I offered KMF $20 for it. She turned me down. I said $50. KMF said no. I said $100. No. $300. No. $500! No! Then I said, KMF, I will give you ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for that treasure chest.

mike shouted, he's crazy, he'll do it! but KMF said, I won't sell it for anything!

Right away I devised a plan for mike to have sex with KMF and then steal the treasure chest while she slept, but I was pretty sure mike didn't have enough of a criminal mentality to appreciate the diabolical nature of my plan, and thus the treasure chest eluded my possession.

On Sunday, when I went to the Blue Moon, I told Patra the story of how I almost got her a treasure chest. She was very glad that I didn't pay ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS for it, but I told her that KMF didn't know what she was up against and that I would get that chest if it was the last goddamn thing I ever did. I swear on the graves of Billy Ocean's children that I will get that damn treasure chest, Patra, I said.

Fast forward to last night.

I wanted to buy a new black dress shirt to match the sweet skull belt that I bought last weekend, so I stopped into Savers on Lake Street. If you've ever been to Savers, you know that as soon as you walk in the door, the donation bins sit immediately on the left.

When I walked in, in one of the bins, I swear to God, was a treasure chest. I almost shat a brick of gold when I saw it. It was perfect: kind of small, wooden, a round top, rusty latches. I bought the chest ($2), two dress shirts ($6), and a Yoda-shaped drink-topper ($1) for mike that I'm now giving to the first homeless man I can find to punish mike for not going to the Electric 6 show tonight, mike you jerk.

I first went to Target and got some wrapping paper and some note cards, and then over to the Blue Moon, thinking that before I did my homework I was going to wrap the chest, put one notecard on the outside of the wrapping that said "Patra~ I didn't want to kill her..." and one inside the chest that said "... but she left me no choice", and then leave it there for her to open tomorrow. (Had I shat a brick of gold, I would have turned it into dubloons and put into the chest, too.)

What clever and excellent plan, I thought, a clever and excellent plan, indeed. Patra will go into work, see the gift, read the first card, tear open the wrapping to reveal the chest, see the chest, think that something's amiss, open the chest to reveal the second card, and be left wondering how I procured the chest from KMF. HER MIND WILL REEL WITH TERRIBLE UNCERTAINTY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yes, excellent indeed.

But Patra picked up someone else's shift and was working. Thinking on the fly, I wrapped my jacket around the chest, walked in and sat down and said, you can't tell anyone about this... and revealed the chest.

Upon seeing the chest, Patra had several violent heart attacks all at the same time, at least three or four or five. I was also pleased; seeing Patra's reaction was like seeing the warm smile of a homeless man drinking through his new Yoda-shaped drink-topper: priceless.

I tried to explain to Patra the story of how I got the chest at Savers, but she refused to believe any story that didn't involve me forming a hot air ballon gang to make a heist from KMF's apartment, which I might still do.

Making lesbians have heart attacks and homeless men smile---it's what I do. Just like Billy says:

'said open the door(Get in the back)Tread on the floor(Get on the track)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Yeah (Yeah) Yeah (Yeah)Let's goOoooh, woooow, yeahI'll be the sunShining on youHey CinderellaStep in your shoeI'll be your non'stop loverGet it while you canYour non-stop miracleI'm your manGet outta my... Get outta my...WooooooooooooohGet outta my dreamsGet outta my dreamsGet in to my car

the end.

When I grow up...

Things I am not going to be, and I can just give up on:

1. A rapper
2. A rock star
3. A graphic novelist
4. An installation artist
5. Fluent in French
6. A Cirque de Soleil performer
7. A chocolatier
8. A revolutionary
9. A lover of ALL God's creatures
10. Jake Gyllenhaal's sweetheart

And a random scene from my life:
I got up from my desk and walked away from it with my headset still plugged into my phone, thus recreating that scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

And a topic for discussion:
Which is correct:
"be still my heart" or "be still my beating heart"?
If your answer is "it can be either" please weigh in on which came first. Is this a saying from something (literature)? I can't remember. But I have an opinion that one of these two phrases is actually the correct one. And one sounds wrong. Am I wrong? Could be...could be. It also doesn't matter that much. And I really could be wrong. But I just want to find out! Not to prove somebody wrong, but because I want to find out where I got this impression.

For pure robot comedy go to...

Asimo

The videos are quite nice. Especially the one called "Avoiding Obstacles" although it is disappointing that the obstacles are not being thrown at ASIMO and he is having to duck them. He is just going around obstacles outlined on the floor. Still, "Bravo, ASIMO!"

Down at the docks

Yesterday we lazed in the sun on a 2 hour lunch. We went to Uno's at the seaport and sat outside people watching. Turned out to be the best day ever for that, since it was the annual street performer auditions. There were some good ones and some not-so-good ones, and I'm not sure which I liked more. This one hip-hop mime popped and locked to Clapton's In A White Room. Then there was "Walter" whose mike wasn't working and he got really mad at everybody and pitched a fit. There was this hula-hooper who spent 2 minutes of her alotted 3 minutes trying to "win the crowd over with humor." I was like "do what you came here to do! Hula-Hoop!" When she finally did she dropped those hoops all over the place. Also I didn't understand her costume which was black cowboy boots, red tights, a black "dress" (or smock?) and a pink wig. The pièce de résistance was supposed to be this girl dressed like a blue butterfly with a parasol. She was sitting there the whole time and we kept saying "when is that girl going to perform?" She finally did and we found out she was less of a "performer" and more of a "statue" for people to "take pictures with." Sigh. At least the lemonade was delicious.

warning to self

When I get dressed tonight for our fundraiser, I will probably do the following:

1. Drink
2. Try on 6-8 dresses and skirts/shirt combinations
3. Stop to watch Friends or something equally as embarrassing
4. Bother my roommates, let the taller one wrap me in something insane, and then start to wimper and stomp about.
5. Dance to that "Killers" song
6. Decide I should go with a "rocker" look
7. After trying on everything black, realize my legs are somewhat unsightly, what with the pale and the scabs and scars. And realize its gotten colder outside now that its dark.
8. Try to make pants sexy, with tops.
9. Discover the only tops I have are tanktops or sweaters. No way out.
10. Put on jeans and same shirt I always wear.

Ways in which I treat printers/faxes/copiers like pets/babies….

1. Pat them
2. Shush them when they whine
3. Talk to them
4. Console them when they’re injured
5. Wake them up from naps
6. Scold them when they’re being unruly
7. Forgive them
8. Feed them
9. Coo over them with other secretaries
10. Place my hindquarters upon them.

undead in the morning

I saw a hilarious British comedy on Saturday night called “Shaun of the Dead” and the whole time was thinking “Oh this is not so bad. It’s a comedy! I never knew zombies could be so funny! Why, there’s nothing scary about them at all!”
Except that there is. Especially when you wake up in the morning and its very dark and quiet in the house, and it seems like the perfect place to find a zombie. They are not fast. They don’t jump out. Its more like you happen upon them. And then they just don’t stop coming at you. They are persistent is what they are. And also they are trying to eat you alive, which is slightly frightening. I think they’re really strong too, so you may try to barricade yourself in the bathroom, and they’d be like “That’s cool- I’ve got all day. Here I come.” And they’ll just keep pounding away until they get in. Mostly I think you don’t want to trap yourself somewhere with them. Like the shower is a very bad place to be attacked by a zombie. Because they will tear the curtain down, and just throw the big heavy arms around you and kind of fall on you and pin you down. If you have wide open spaces, you can definitely outrun them, but they will probably eventually catch up to you, no matter where you are. Because there’s only so many places you can hide.

I can't dress myself

It comes in two waves:

The first is me at 8:20 this morning, 5 minutes after I should have left. I don't have any clothes on and I think this is the crucial moment where wrong, bad choices began. I stepped into black tights. Purple shoes. A light blue summer skirt with a big frilly thing on the back (it is adorable in the summer). But it sticks to the tights in the front so that it looks like a drawstring skirt. The shirt is a turquoise sweater which, being boatneck, was joined by a white tanktop to cover bra straps. WHA? Business appropriate? I think not. Black hoop earrings. It is kind of Moulin Rouge mixed with NOT MATCHING.

Not realizing the weight of the crisis until a truckload of weird looks on the subway and from all the women in the office, I decided at noon, to take an emergency trip to Century 21. Despite the pain involved in Century 21 at noon (what with its Eurotrash families and "disenchanted" salesclerks), you would suspect some sort of cohesive outfit creation, especially in an emergency such as this. "Keep it simple!" was my mantra. But no. My goal to buy one or two items that would simply correct the issues of the current outfit fell through. I bought a whole new outfit. And I think it is, while at least matching, just as absurd as the first one. It is: a nice tight black and white striped sweater. A gray chinoey-fabric knee length pencil skirt. The problem with this particular item is just the size. They only had size 10 and I was so desperate I bought it anyways. I have wrapped and pinned it, but it is still not really staying on. So its nice and baggy and bunchy. Mmmm, just the way I like it. The tights are gray fishnets (with small eyeholes so still appropriate). I think it really is better. But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I inevitably thought: "Oh no. What have I done?" I haven't left my desk at all yet b/c I'm afraid to face the sad stares of the women in my office. They'll be thinking "Oh sad. That girl obviously went out to buy new clothes and that's what she came up with?"