Anyway, it's a little rainy here tonight, and on the way back to the laundromat, there's a rice-burner full of some sort of young guys, and they are attempting to accelerate very fast on the wet pavement. We're talking, tires spinning, brakes squealing, super-fly gas pedal action. But the car was going NOWHERE. We're motoring along in BFRB's Jetta, and we're about to rear-end these yokels. People like that are so annoying. The ones who are all flash and dazzle and noise, but really, they're not saying too much. (Just like George W. Bush in tonight's presidential debate!!! And there I will stop with the political commentary for tonight...)
After ensuring that we will not be involved in any sort of collision with the Boyz in the 'Yota, we turn our attention to our lovely surroundings. The journey from food to clothing takes us through an interesting area...partly collegiate, partly run-down, partly rebuilding, partly convenience store, partly strip mall, partly mom-and-aunt thelma hair salon. There's a billboard. For a church. And it talks about building people's finances. BFRB was a little perplexed about why a church was talking about helping folks make money, and TM explained that the God tells us we shouldn't be in debt. My comment: "Guess I'll just add that to the list of reasons I'll be burning in hell." BFRB's Comment: "Guess we need to go party...that's SO not what I'm going to hell for."
Adding to the list of completely random shit I'll be discussing in tonight's post, we ran into one of our Laundry Nazis this evening. It's not the mexican mullet girl; instead, it's the long-gray-haired-almost-looks-like-she-has-a-story-but-I-really-don't-want-to-hear-it one. Anyway, she's not being totally annoying on this particular occasion, except for the usual following us around picking up dryer sheets and sighing routine. I overhear her discussing her prison life, the terms of her parole, and the conditions of living in her halfway house with this bizarre nerdy dude. This conversation takes place while I'm getting quarters to put in my machines. The dude is still there an hour later. This guy was really, truly odd. He looked about 20 years younger than the chick. He had a very small head, very short hair, very nonexistent socks, and very high-water jeans. He very much invaded Laundry Nazi's personal space. However, I guess because of her time in the Big House, she didn't seem to take umbrage at this. The freakazoid was still there when we left, and still following her around. They win this week's "One of these Things Just Doesn't Belong" award.
I get home after all of this somewhat shallow observation and contemplation, and BFRB2 calls. She's talking about life-changing, epiphany stuff. She wants to do something to help underprivileged infants....the ones that are falling through the cracks in the system. Let me back up here. She's an attorney. She mostly represents your basic college-town criminals: DUI, DWI, possession of {pick your favorite party drug}, shoplifting, etc. Since she's a fairly new attorney, she also takes the court-appointed files from time to time...the "if you don't have an attorney we'll give ya one" files. (The attorneys get paid a token sum for this representation, but it's better than nothing.) Some of these involve deprived children. Today, she goes to visit her law partner's new grand-niece, and is struck by the dichotomy between this healthy, pink, squirmy little infant and the abused kids she sees in her practice. She doesn't have any kids, and doesn't really want any. But she always has wanted to fight for the underdog. And she makes a good point: who can hate a little baby? She plans to do some research about what she can do to make a difference, because she needs to do something that she feels passionately about.
Gee, that seems to be my problem lately too. I am passionate. But right now, it seems so unfocused. I need a direction. I just keep thinking more and more about what I need to do to make a difference...and I guess I'm torn between the higher-values, socially-responsible making a difference, and the "I want people to read my diary and think I'm the funniest person ever and I want to have a column and a radio show and a TV show and be famous" making a difference. I want both. I want it all. I want to be Oprah. Why is it that when you figure out what you want to be, someone's always done it first? And done it so well that even if you're good at it, you'll always be seen as a copycat/knockoff/lame-o imitator?
...and I wonder why I have the insomnia of bloody death...brain, shut the fuck up. It's late, mama's tired, and her little Maggie kitten is licking the skin off her arm in a pointed reminder that it's fucking bedtime already. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...the sun'll come out...and it's anothah day. And as the literary allusions progress from the sublime to the ridiculous, I best stop typing, or shit's going to get ugly.
No comments:
Post a Comment