Tag Archives: cars

Carrie Nailed That Shit

1 Mar

“If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.”
-Fisher

According to Ms. Fisher: my life has been piss-your-pants hi-fucking-larious, for the whole of February. A lot of things were terrible, a lot of things maybe not-so-much, but still super uncomfortable. And a shit ton of changes from all of it, has whooped my ass so hard that by Sunday — still very much not yet done with my ass-kicking– I woke up and puked my guts out for no apparent reason, save emotional overload. 

…I know this, as I had no rhyme or reason for said puking. And for the first time in my life, I actually felt better after doing it.  Enough directly after, to undergo a four-hour callback, in fact.

Just this month alone there have been three family illness (two of which were hospitalized, one a beginning cancer treatment), Mom got downsized (along with 40 other people in the administration) at work, Harriet started making even stranger noises and neglecting to work above 40mph, I found an over $8,000 fraud charge on my credit report, and this weekend took the absolute cake with over four hours in new car haggling, insurance shopping and fighting, dead cell phone repurchase needs, and last night…the last of this fucked-up past 28 days: a rent raise notice spiking me $60 more per month.

What-the-actual-fuck you guys?!

New car payments. New insurance payments. New phone payments. New house payments. And what’s even happening with my credit?

…I need to win the goddamn lotto just to financially survive at this point. 

…I literally haven’t had time to even look at my taxes yet, so who the hell even knows what might come from that mess…as I am swimming in place the hardest I can, hoping to stay solvent afloat until…I dunno when.

When will it be safe?! I can’t even freaking tell!!

My little blips of oxygen come in the form of:

*Little-Man Cuz, is back home again

* Aunt L is killin’ it at Chemo

* Ma’s severance and unemployment somehow actually cover her bills for a few months, as she looks for what’s next

* I have a dependable car to get to work and rehearsal 

* I have a cellphone that can accept a charge.

* I said “No,” and held my ground, for hours and hours without a damn twitch, in that dealership and with my insurance

* I’m in a show with the capacity to throw all my angst channeling

* I might just get into that other one, so I could continue doing likewise, double-time, come April

* I’ve got the kind of family/friends you can bottom-out bitch to, who say things like, ” Here’s some bucks, I’ve got a weird feeling you’ll need it,” “Yeaaah. That’s fucked up. Lemme buy you a drink and we’ll go on a walk-and-talk…,” “I’m praying stuff stops sucking!” “Let’s art tonight, until 4 am!” and “No one won the Mega Millions yet. I got us a ticket. Start planning now…”

…Cuz, really? I still don’t know how I’m even cognizant right now. 

Thanks for being my team. Wish I was more worthy of my Badass Conspiracy Co.
I’m working on it. But the dues might kill me.

-D

Win-Losses & Trannies

4 Feb

I am pacing every room I inhabit with a bright yellow script -highlighted all to hell- as my companion. 

The script is fast becoming mutilated. They always do.

…I fuck up a line, cuz I forget which tense she’s in now, or which version of name-dropping she’s on, or where the hell that one line even comes from -which is why I keep forgetting it. So: I let a string of expletives burst out from self-frustration, and start again. 

…I’ve been doing this for hours, every day. Since Monday. 

…And I am very, very happy. 

This is the kind of thing that makes theatre people look like freaks. I know that. As much as I know that fighting with that yellow script over words, is an awesomely frustrating and gratifying kind of brain-foreplay right now. And my escape. 

I used to hate this part: getting off-book. I’ve decided that I don’t now…and maybe never really did. I wanted the words right away so I could get to work. Only, that was part of the work. The agonizing over every word choice and its place,  just as much as the playwright once did…this is where the relationship work starts

…Why can’t she stick to a goddamn topic even within any three sentences in any one monologue?!  She’s like a bee,  flitting from flower to flower without any structure whatsoever. And then all of a sudden: she’ll bounce back to that one flower over there again, or that one over there, with no transition of thought, and no complete communication on any story she starts, at any time. 

…My God, she is frustrating to track. 

…And that’s gotta be exhausting as hell to live like,  you would think. Always amped up about something, always chattering away about another, always splitting focus as many ways as possible, so she ultimately doesn’t say much of anything, until all at once: she explodes for what seems like a totally superficial reason. 

…Trying to track and learn her words, I feel more empathy for her fellow characters than herself. 

…Sitting down to book-work of WHY she is like this –in between line sessions — I’ve become her insider-champion. 

…In between: I’ve got a lot of damn work to do. Which is fucking amazingly lucky. And so this weekend, I will continue to pace and recite and yell at myself and her and Horton Foote, as the bastards we all are for putting me in this situation. 

…But in all the good ways. 

…Which is the only solace I’ve got at the moment with a fucked-up car transmission and no money to pay for it. 

I work ten minutes from home. I can borrow a car for rehearsal commutes. Mine hasn’t totally blown up. As yet. But it will. There’s nothing I can do about that. Which helps me mentally: not at all. 

…My brain this past week has been pulled from here to there, with worries,  frustrations, anger, hyperventilations and total fears …absolutely just as erratically as Jessie Mae in this script has. 

So: from where I sit now, here’s two things I know–

1. If I keep myself busy enough to not think about it as much as I can, maybe I can delay the inevitable from sucking the absolute life out of me, in the mean time. 

2. Horton Foote might be a fucking genius. 

~D

Little B Gets Official

20 Feb

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The Gnome just returned from her first prenatal appointment, getting poked and pried for two hours. Little B (as we will call the baby) is now official.

After eating some chicken I forced upon her to help combat the blood work woozies, she decided it was time to bite the bullet and finally tell her mom she’s pregnant.

…I guess this is a not-great thing to have to do.

…Which she decided to counteract by texting it.

…Just now.

…You know…along the daily line of, “don’t forget the milk, and also: I’m pregnant,” kind of deal.

They have that on auto-text right? (And if they don’t they obviously should. Option #2.)

We don’t know much about the familial life of The Gnome, just pieces she’s shared here and there. Mom isn’t much in the picture, though (until recently) she did live in Grandpa’s attic, who likes to watch old John Ford movies on amp 3,000 at 2 am, cuz he’s mostly deaf and can’t sleep well. We chalk the deafness up to natural causes of aging, but the lack of sleep we assume goes back to his younger days in work habits. He used to be a Pimp, apparently, and was kind of a big deal.

This is not “code” for another actual profession.

…We have our reservations on this in believability, only cuz we’ve seen his “Pimp mobile” which is what The Gnome currently drives to work in each day: a blue Astro van with tinted windows, only one working door, and no hubcaps.

…Not that “hubcaps” make the car…but I think you might be sorely lacking in trades dealing if you can’t even hold onto a couple sets of shitty fake-chrome discs on your tires.

…Or your tires, for that matter.

One day last month she was late, cuz someone in the neighborhood he used to work and still lives in, had put the whole thing on blocks and stripped even those off.

…Now, I don’t know much about Pimping, but I would assume the street cred must run similar to the Entertainment route in the, “I don’t give a shit how big a deal you USED to be, what have you done LATELY,” kind of deal. So, obviously, he’s been outta the game for a while now. But I still think that’s pretty ballsy to just go stripping another Pimps shit on his own turf…even if he IS 103 years old and packs only a Winchester rifle by the Lazy Boy. That shit will still fuck you up. Even with iffy marksmanship.

…I assume there are bodies hidden somewhere which attest to this. Naturally, I want to know more, but I’m going for the slow and subtle pump for info on this one. This is not a work history that just comes blurting out…like a pregnancy announcement, for God’s sake. This takes care and finess.

In Other News:

Thanks to the “Burn Notice” work-out, I’ve already dropped five pounds this week and gained excruciating stomach muscle spasms in my abs. I blame the Yoga Ball sit ups.

…You know that hard contraction of your guts when you’re throwing up…how it just clenches and holds like its the only thing gripping you to the side of a mountain for which if it relaxes even a little bit, you will slip and plummet to your death at the bottom of a giant ravine?

…My tummy feels like that right now.

Pretty much all the time.

It’s making even eating, uncomfortable. I’m full in five bites and feel like I have to swallow twice as hard to clear it down to my actual guts before the abs trampoline it back up again.

Fitness is stupid.

~D

A Public Service Announcement

3 Aug

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Dear The People,

Pay your parking tickets.

…I mean it. 

I know, I know…it’s that nuisance thing, you whip off your windshield, while peeved off, and throw into the back seat, on purpose spending the rest of the day trying to forget all about it.

…Only, don’t.

…Also, don’t forget about the one time your car fell apart last year, and spent a month in the shop being taken apart and put back together again. I know it’s hard not to, but sometimes you get sidetracked by the number of bills this accrues.  So many that a bank loan is needed to be taken out to help pay for it. 

…And don’t forget the extra fees you had to keep paying to get the smog check done, which it never passed, because of computer codes registering that you had fucked with the computer, by resetting it.  Which happened when they needed to take the entire engine out to…you know…fix it and things.

…And then, don’t forget being pulled over because your tabs had expired, which you couldn’t fix, because the computer codes needed enough road time to re-set (so the smog people told you) before they would register right for the smog test, which you have to pass in order to get your tabs.

…And then remember the day you walked into the DOL with about five tons of paperwork, and stepped up to the window, with your (now) driving without a tabs ticket, your $6,000 loan paperwork, your three smog rejection slips (including your just five second ago received one) and a check for $90 begging on all that is holy for some kind of mercy out of the guy behind the desk, as you plead for a fucking sticker, for your fucking license plate, so you fucking stop getting tickets for this shit.

AND DRIVE YOUR FUCKING CAR.

…Then, when that is all done, and a new sticker is on the plate, and you are home…don’t forget how you spread all that crap out on the coffee table in front of you and thought, “How in the fucking hell am I even going to pay for all this shit? My monthly car bills now equal nearly all of my monthly house rent.”

…And then remember taking a copy of all of it, the next day at the office, checking the “request payments” box on the fucking tabs ticket…circling all the goddamn reasons on all of the corresponding paperwork, explaining how you are beyond broke at this point, and this $20 is about all you can handle at the moment.

…Then…and this is the really important part you guys…(and it’s really tricky, cuz like you are pretty buried from then onward in these heaving bills from hell)…try NOT to forget that you did this.

…Because if you do?  (And if you live in this state)…they can…(and apparently WILL) revoke your license.  And forget to tell you about it. 

…And you will find out about it, quite by chance one day…as you find yourself stranded on the onramp of I-5 at midnight on a Friday, in another county…waiting for two people to come drive you to their house…where you will be a spur of the moment overnight guest, and require vast rescheduling of other people’s days to get you back home again.

…BECAUSE…IF you forget ANY of the formentioned things?

THIS is what will happen to you.

…Like it did to me.

Last night.

…So, apparently instead of keeping crack dealers, sex predators, common thugs, and drunk drivers off the street, you all were saved by your tax-paid police force last night from having to drive ON THE SAME FREEWAY with a horrible CRIMINAL, who DARED to accrue sick amounts of debt (which she IS paying) while forgetting about the equivalent of a parking ticket, of it.

Which leaves me with no license until Monday.  When I call the DOL and see what the settlement fee is.  Which with interest accrued from sometime last year, is no way gonna be something I can just “swing” off the cuff, on the same paycheck that my Rent comes out of.

…Meaning I will now be paying the equivalent of my house rent for a car that is perfectly able to run, is fully insured, and which I will not even be able to drive again until…well fuck…who even knows?

And the moral is?

…You know what? There are too many snarky one-liners about how small crime doesn’t pay, and we should really just Go Big Or Go Home.

…I’m too tired to spoon feed one right now. 

Just take your pick.

~D

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