Saturday, August 29, 2009

Hell (?), Yes (!).

I'm terribly uninspired these days. I can barely complete a thought, much less a blog or a story. It's partly due to stress, partly due to mood, partly due to boredom......my mind is pervaded by a whole lot of nothing these days. It's irritating, and it makes me shrewish (even more so than usual). Which means in lieu of something deep and provocative, this blog shall be about:

A TASTEFUL SELECTION OF REASONS WHY I, DESPITE MY EDUCATION, KNOWLEDGE, AND GENERAL AWARENESS ABOUT THE WORLD AND MANY OF THE RELIGIONS IT ENCOMPASSES, WILL MOST LIKELY END UP BURNING IN HELL ONCE I MEET MY DEMISE, WHICH I FEEL (DUE TO MY ACUTE INTUITION AND MODERATE PSYCHIC ABILITIES) WILL MOST LIKELY HAPPEN SOONER RATHER THAN LATER BUT REGARDING WHICH I'M ACTUALLY VAGUELY AMBIVALENT

1. I make fun of midgets. I do. Not to their faces, but just in a general sense. They are freaky, and leave me feeling, at best, terribly unsettled after a midget encounter. I know that they cannot help their midgetness and that I, myself, could have been born a midget. But I wasn't. I'm a giantess at 5'3", towering over their little midget selves. And they are funny to me. I even use "midgets and applesauce" as code for kinky sex (TMI, yet oh, so true). My theory? That there is a special circle of hell just for me where I shall spend the day, enslaved by midgets. Potentially involving applesauce. And if I'm REALLY horrible in this life, said midgets will be uncircumcised (comments, Joel from Canada)?

2. I do not like children. You know that line in "It's a Wonderful Life" where they say every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings? Well, every time I hear a child screeching I swear I lose a year off my life. They are messy, they are loud, they leave peanut butter smeared in unmentionable places, and they are capable of making the word "poop" into two syllables. To me, children are short, vastly obnoxious little people who have terrible taste in clothing and stunted motor skills (how difficult IS it to wipe your own behind?). I like my OWN children, of course (although I'm not sure why as they don't even slightly resemble me and certainly meet the criteria for NOT liking kids that is listed above) but rarely care for the offspring of others. Sue me. It's my prerogative.

3. I think the death penalty is a fabulous idea, although instead of death row and all of those ridiculous appeals, I think those proven guilty without a shadow of a doubt should just be dragged out behind the prison and shot. There should even be a system for the shooting. For example, if you are a rapist, you are first shot in the genitals. You get the picture. I would totally put in an application for Rapist Shooter employment opportunities.

4. I am married to a man who feels strongly that it was highly likely that "Jesus got all the chicks." B doesn't believe that Jesus died a virgin. B believes that Jesus probably used that whole "son of God" thing as a pick-up line. Do I agree with him? No. But my beliefs tend to sway so far to another dimension that Jesus's sex life really isn't applicable.

5. I am not respectful of God's creatures. Is there a snake in the kitchen? Let's hack off its head! A spider in the bathtub? Get my shoe! I would never kill or injure a bunny or a dog or a spider monkey, but if something creepy (like an Eastern Box Turtle) comes crawling my way--watch out, because I'm loading the .38. I do not care if you are an active member of PETA, I do not care that a turtle couldn't catch me if it wanted to, that bitch is going to die.

6. I enjoy messing with Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses. If they come to the house and want to tell me about their Lord, I invite them in. They decline (seeing as how I'm a female all alone), yet I entice them. I offer them candy. I offer them baked goods. I offer them a ride so they don't have to ride their stupid bicycles. I work, methodically, like a serial killer, circling my prey, drawing them deeper and deeper into my scary world of sin, and then.....I let them go. Hey, I'm going to hell. I'm not the devil incarnate.

7. I'm potentially Agnostic. Which means I couldn't go to Hell anyway, because I probably don't believe there IS such a place. Is there a higher being? Yes, I think so. A higher SOMETHING, anyway. Is there the God I've been brought up to believe in? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Is there a Heaven? I sort of think there's probably just a Beyond, where we all end up, a combination of energy forces that have passed into something grand. But who knows. Nobody, really.

Nobody, really.

Friday, August 28, 2009

My Own Bell Jar

THE BELL JAR, by Sylvia Plath, has long been one of my favorite books of all time. I think more than enjoying the content of the book itself, my affection is directed towards the fact that I identify with Plath. She was a slave to her life and a slave to her madness. I am the same. People tell you that we create our own lives, through our choices and decisions. I do not agree with that. I think we create our own reality, but not our own lives. I can choose to look at myself and my life in any way I wish, but I cannot choose what will and will not happen to me or what happens to others that, in turn, affects me. Life is one continuous game of Russian Roulette--some of us get cancer, some of us win the lotto, some of us die before we are even born into this world, and some of us live decades beyond our prime.

The idea of suicide has always appealed to me. Not because I plan on taking my own life, but because I like the idea of being able to control your own end. I don't like chance. I don't like fate. I don't like surprises. This life is hard enough with its endless cycles of that which is given and that which is taken away. Ultimately, death is the Grand Exit--shouldn't we be given the opportunity to write our own final chapter?

I think yes.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Hula, Girl

There's a vacation in my midst, which is why we had to shift gears from chess boards to surf boards. B and I take off for the McPhail Family Beach Abode tomorrow afternoon--sans munchkins--for a long weekend of sun, sand, surfing, and....hhmmm...now what was that other "s" word that the vacation was going to be centered around? ;)

In honor of our impending much needed break, I decided to compile a list of McCoy Family Vacations Past, for your literary entertainment.

A TOTALLY INCOMPLETE (DUE TO MY MEMORY, OR LACK THEREOF) LIST OF MCCOY FAMILY VACATIONS, SPANNING FROM AROUND 1979 TO 2005, ON WHICH I TRIED REALLY HARD TO DRAG UP THOSE REPRESSED FAMILY MEMORIES FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT, ALTHOUGH IT WILL MOST LIKELY SET ME BACK MONTHS IN PSYCHOTHERAPY

1. Summer of 1979--My parents take me to Disney World for the first time. I ride in a stroller. I remember nothing. I would never have known this vacation took place if I had not been shown photographs.

2. Summers between 1980 and around 1984--There were trips to beaches. (I've seen photos.) I had a green bathing suit with orange fish on it. (Again, photos.) We camped some. (Photos.) Yeah. That's all I've got.

3. Summer 1985-ish--The first vacation of which I have real memories. We travel to St. Augustine, Florida, which is actually the city from which my family heralds (my Grandpa moved to Cleveland as a teenager and always wanted us all to move back to St. Augustine). My Mom spends a lot of time making fun of me for talking to the ocean. We have a beige Honda Accord. It gets stuck on the beach and a huge storm blows in with giant waves. We all nearly perish in the monsoon, as my brother and I cry, Mom yells, and Dad swears a lot and digs out the car. We visit the Alligator Farm and Marineland. My brother's obsession with sharks is born.

4. Summer 1987--Return to Disney World. My Dad wears black acid washed jeans with pleats and the airbrushed deer hat I bought him (this has been mentioned in a previous blog) despite the zillion degree heat. We eat a lot of ice cream shaped like Mickey's head. I am fascinated by Epcot's countries around the world, and the hedges cut into animal shapes. My obsession with topiaries is born.

5. Summer 1989--We plan a cross-country drive to Colorado. We load the car with suitcases, coolers, travel games, cameras, etc. We drive and drive and drive until we are all cranky and over the idea of driving, which, unfortunately came about in Hot Springs, Arkansas. We check into the nearest hotel, and proceed to spend the next week eating a lot of Subway (the nearest restaurant) and swimming in the hotel pool. We go nowhere and do nothing else. It's hotter than the ninth circle of Hell. My Dad teaches me to dive. My family's hatred of Arkansas is born.

6. Summer 1992--We end up at some random beach in Florida while Dad goes to equipment sales for work. I'm rocking a spiral perm and fill out my bikini for the first time on vacation. I spend all my time on the beach and I meet boys. Lots and lots of boys. Some cute guy named Tom who is down from upstate New York asks me out. We meet on the beach, have dinner, and make out. It's the first time my gum ends up in someone else's mouth. He tells me I'm beautiful and he wants to keep in touch. Then he finds out I'm 15. He's 22. I never hear from him again.

7. Summer 1993--The family goes to Destin. I eat alligator for the first time. My hair is back to straight, but I still meet lots and lots of boys. I have brief, hours-long flings with Jim from Louisiana. And Elliot from Texas. And Jason from North Carolina. I also meet Joey, who lives in Destin and is a pretty cool guy. We hang out. We go to the movies and see "True Lies." He is a fellow Guns N Roses fan. A long-term friendship develops.

8. Summer 1994--I spend a chunk of the summer in Europe. I travel all over Italy and France and the French Riviera. I eat lots of croissants and learn that I'm terrified of riding in Italian taxis. I see many interesting things: a man masturbating in his car at a red light, a grand piano in the McDonald's in Paris, nude beaches. It's all together a grand time.

9. November 1994--I take off with my Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin to Barbados, St. Thomas, St. Maarten, and Martinique. I shop a lot, and see the cast of "Martin" having lunch in St. Maarten. I meet a native dude who takes me in his boat to St. John and teaches me to snorkel. I fall in love with St. John. (Looking back, I'm probably lucky I didn't pull a Natalee Holloway.) I also meet a magician who levitates me. To this date, it is my only successful levitation experience.

10. Summer 1995--Return to Destin. I call up Joey and we hang out. He kisses me and it freaks me out. Our friendship fizzles.

11. Summer 1996--My maiden voyage to New Orleans. I have my first cocktail while sitting next to a transvestite at a jazz club on Bourbon Street who tells me I have nice hair. We stay at a very quaint, very old inn in the French Quarter where I stay awake all night looking for ghosts. I never see one. I am disappointed.

After that, summers pretty much consisted of school, then vacations with various husbands I accrued along the way. Since then, there have been trips to Jamaica, Puerto Rico, the Caymans, Cozumel, more Disney World, Seattle, New York, Hilton Head, (more) New Orleans, Texas, etc. But no more with the family, as a single girl, with long, lazy days to fill, and lots of boys to kiss. Oh, how I miss those days.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Fulfilling My Destiny

For the past few months, whenever people ask me what I plan to do once the kids are both in school, I answer with "Fortune telling in Jackson Square." One, because it always seems to catch people off guard, and Two, because that would be an awesome job. Sure, the humidity in New Orleans blows BIG TIME. Sure, I would have to ditch my family because B would never live in Louisiana (we're about as far south as that boy will roll). But I think it's a job for which I would be well suited.

In an effort to fulfill my hopes and dreams (aka: becoming a gypsy), I have taken up reading the Tarot. And I think I'm damn good at it.

When I began, I didn't know much about the Tarot. I perused the online information, talked to a person or two who knew a little about it, and browsed a few books at B&N. Finally, I just threw caution to the wind and bought a deck of cards. Turns out, it's complicated stuff. We're talking about 78 cards, all with different meanings. There are multiple ways in which you can lay out the cards, specific ways you are to shuffle, and although each card has a very specific meaning, the meanings can change depending on their relation to the surrounding cards. It's a great deal to absorb. However, as it is infinitely interesting, I'm soaking it in fairly quickly and enjoying the whole process. I did my first reading on another person yesterday, and it was actually pretty accurate. I practice on myself a lot, which has also been rather accurate. Perhaps I am a natural at the Tarot. (Perhaps I am just overconfident.)

Clearly, my next step should be to hang a shingle on my doorway and start charging for my readings. It's not Jackson Square, but Kempton Park is probably a decent start.