Am, is, are, was, be, being, been
I have a firm grasp of the english language.
Sometimes I make words up, and sometimes I use words I vaguely know the meaning of.
Okay. I have a semi-firm grasp of the english language. Enough to know that I should’ve capatilized english. WTF, dude.
And I really have no one else to blame, not even my public schooling. Sometimes I can’t play Mad Libs because I’ve forgotten basic fundamentals of English that were repeatedly taught from second to twelfth grade.
I sometimes forget what an adverb is.
My eleven year old cousin knows what an adverb is, without the refresher.
I can pin point the problem. One example of many as to why I am not nearly as smart as I should be. Drugs included.
I can flash-back to Mrs. Ortega’s classroom my Senior year and visualize her telling me, for the last time, what an adverb is.
But I’m not paying attention to her words. I’m paying attention to Mrs. Ortega.
She was in her early thirties and had braces. She was also frail and white. Her hair was short, and what I considered, mousy.
She was not a natural Ortega.
She was a former Mormon missionary who fell in love with Mr. Ortega in Mexico.
While her personality goes against this, I’d like to think she couldn’t resist the raw Latin fire of senor Ortega, and finally let her hair out of her tight ponytail and succumb to the Fuego. It is the stuff that romance novels are made of.
Yes, braces on an adult is always depressing. You can tell there is a haunting kind of humiliation in it.
Aside from Mrs. Ortega, I once had a ball-busting female boss who had braces.
This woman had married into the family business and had a sense of false superiority about her. Unfortunately it’s difficult for me to take a fifty year old woman with braces seriously. Yes, her right wing shook hands with the current President’s right wing on his visit to this middle-of-nowhere town in a middle-of-nowhere red state, but when I see the pictures I can only imagine him thinking, “Damn, this bitch has got some braces on.”
Sure, she promised me lucrative networking opportunities to “high profile” travel writers, if you consider the Black Hills tourism division high profile, to prove her power.
But like all things said in passing and by someone who didn’t really mean it, it never happened.
Last conversation we had, she’d seen my newest and most visible tattoo and snarled, “Now, how in the world are you planning on getting a decent job with that thing?”
Perhaps I should’ve asked, how did you become the first lady of tourist traps with your crazy old lady Afro and crooked teeth? But I didn’t.
But Mrs. Ortega, although uptight, wasn’t as deserving of her student’s mocking. What else can you do but be a bitch sometimes? She had classrooms of students that looked older than her. She had friggin’ braces. And unlike my old boss, she probably worked really hard for everything she has. Including forgoing the humiliation of being an adolescent with braces, to get herself through school so she could finally afford to get her fangs fixed and live with the humiliation of being an adult with braces. Who was I to player hate? Even if I did, especially those times she kicked me out into the hallway for being too loud or giving me shitty grades on my reports, I shouldn’t have.
Besides, when I wasn’t paying attention to Mrs. Ortega’s shortcomings, I was sleeping.
She was only trying to keep me from being a feral child, grunting my requests and crying because no one could understand my garbled jungle speak. -Circa 2007
Cowboys vs Astronauts
I’ve been thinking a lot about Peter Gabriel. It’s an odd thing to keep occupying my mind. I also keep having thoughts of episodes of Garfield and Friends, only it expands into real time, then the guy with the long, red facial hair will be describing Lorenzo Music as his personal childhood hero. I hold books about hunting, about orchids, about personal finance. Conjure maps in my mind, shelves that segregate genera fiction and warrior cats. Who knew that Christian Fiction needed it’s own section, and why was I unaware that this subcategory existed? In the meantime I write novels in my mind. They sound about like this. Fragmented. I don’t put much faith in metaphysics. I wonder what strange form of adult ADD I’ve developed over time at fault of younger television viewing and years of abusing mind altering substances. Is it possible to get a diagnosis now? They should really legalize medical marijuana in Alaska. New fangled technology keeps me up a night, that and the strange Japanese music Will insists on playing while we sleep. Scrabble. I’m 50 points away from genius status, and only 28 points behind Will. On the television there are advertisements for prepackaged, frozen salmon burritos. Also, a pedophile of mattress salesmen on channel 13. I want to hug a polar bear, but I can’t imagine it being as cuddly as I imagined. Why are these extreme environments only igniting my passion for brutal metal? I think I have a pizza addiction. I have a million books I need to read and not enough of a lifetime to do it. I enjoy having Hysteria by Def Leppard stuck in my head. My nostrils flare more than anyone’s I’ve ever known.
So, I’ve had the seed planted, who wants to move with me to New Zeland in two years?-Circa 2008