Free Falling

At some point in my scholastic career I had a teacher, possibly several (it's all become a blur at my ripe old age of 19) that required something called "free writes" during class time. This exercise, supposedly a sort of stretching exercise for the creative juices (if you can stretch juices...maybe a really viscous liquid--like honey? Can you stretch honey? How about taffy, I know you can stretch that, can that be called a liquid?). Anyway, the idea is to sit down (although I suppose you could do it just as well standing up, assuming you had some sort of solid surface high enough to write on so as not to strain your back) and begin writing whatever pops into your mind. You are not to stop writing before the allotted amount of time is up but rather to just sort of spit out whatever pops into your head without giving yourself time to even think about it (though it seems to me that by virtue of something popping into your head you've technically already thought about it). So as I was hopelessly gazing at my empty screen thinking that I should really write a new blog post (because somewhere in my mind some part of me is harboring the delusion that someone out there enjoys reading these and is waiting in eager anticipation for me to write another post--this part of me suffers from a guilt complex and then begins worrying that that one person obsessed with my blog will forget about it and let it become some old, forgotten bookmarked site, floating out there in the archives of their computer if I don't update soon) but not having the foggiest idea what to write about, my mind wandered back to those school days, and well I just began writing. And now I am writing. And now you are reading. And this is called free writing which apparently is just a friendlier term for mindless babble in my case involving an unsightly amount of parentheses in a futile attempt to add some sort of grammatically correct punctuation to a stream of consciousness composition.
Have I made your mind spin yet? Have you taken a breath? Are you suddenly remembering how fast I sometimes talk, especially when around Julie, and regretting beginning this post because you are already exhausted but you, like me, suffer from a complex with which you are incapable of starting to read something without finishing it even if it makes you want to poke your eyes out with pointy sticks? I almost couldn't remember what kind of punctuation to end that sentence with it was so dang long. But I guess that's what happens when you are "free writing". I feel so creative and free spirited. Not really. Except that I feel like this is something that "those" people do; you know the ones that hang out in coffee shops and recite poems to each other and wear skinny pants and big dark-rimmed glasses and have real and intellectual thoughts about literature and art but scoff at the rest of us when we think we have those thoughts because ours obviously aren't genuine. You know, them. I bet they do stuff like free writing. And I bet they use terms like creative juices also. They probably know which liquids are viscous enough to stretch.
Wow, I just felt a profound sense of guilt for actually writing something this unreadable with the intent to subject others to it's insanity. But I'm doing it anyway, so I guess guilt just isn't a powerful enough motivator. It's just been overcome with selfishness which is unfortunately one of the MOST powerful motivators. Isn't that sad? And isn't that really what we are all trying to overcome in our quest for self improvement in life? I mean it seems like most things universally considered "good" can be traced back to overcoming our own selfish desires and viewpoints. Maybe we think it's good because it's so hard to do. We have so many unsettling selfish tendencies that just come so naturally and are thus so hard to overcome. So we all wish we could overcome them and we admire those who have. Ok, I've lost that train of thought, which might be ok because it might have turned into a train wreck.
Ok, here's a thought: you know those word verification things they use all over the Internet where you have to type in the letters you see that are all warped and swirly to prove that you're a real person and not a destructive hacking machine? Am I the only one that gets them wrong disturbingly frequently? Seriously, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and a very good test taker if I might add, but I get those things wrong constantly! Aren't they designed so that the average person can complete them? Is there something very very wrong with me that I should see a physician for? Every time I get that little red error message informing me that I should type the letters as they appear (in case I didn't know already, as if it's yelling, HEY MORON! to me) I have serious doubts about my abilities. I have especial trouble with blog spot's verifications; I am not exaggerating when I say that there have been times I have had to re-enter letters three times before I got it right. So please, seriously, somebody tell me, is this normal?!
I think I'm going to end this now for all of our sakes, I don't think anyone wants to find out where my free-spirited mind is going to go next. Shalom.

Let Me Count The Ways . . .

I would like to write a post about my two favorite people in the whole wide world. There are two reasons for this: 1. They are my two favorite people in the whole wide world, and 2. It's always nice to be told how great you are, and no matter how much you deny it, we all know it's true (not that either of these two would ever deny it). Oh yes, and 3. I think everyone else should know how great they are too. Wait, wait, and 4. I miss them both terribly and think of their pretty little faces practically constantly. Let me revise; there are four reasons I am writing this.

And my two FAVORITE people are . . . (drum roll. . . . ) . . . Angelica and Julie! WHOOOO!!!!

Why I love Angelica Hatch:

1. She bears wonderful children for me to play with and uses words like "pregnanter"
2. When we get old, we're going to wear multi-colored, hideous thrift store clothing (including, but not limited to large hats and plaid pants) and swear and act completely inappropriately. Together.
3. She has the best hand writing on the planet and her lines are always straight.
4. She laughs at all the right parts in movies.
5. She has perfect style, which happens to be almost exactly the same as mine and gives me clothes when her weight fluctuates... you know, like when she goes and gets herself knocked up again or something.
6. She eats healthy, except when she is eating enormous amounts of junk food.
7. She orders 15 things at a Chinese restaurant even though I am the only other one there and it will all be leftover.
8. She likes sports AND shoes.
9. She reads books, uses big words, and does otherwise intelligent and well-educated things.
10. She watches bad movies with me, laughs at me when I run into trees, tolerates my blunders in cooking and art projects, and always hangs out with me.

Why I love Julie Garbutt:

1. She understands exactly what I'm saying even when all that comes out is a grunt or hand gesture.
2. She has super wicked (you know, in the way that English people use it) style and can pull off anything. Thus, her name is often found in sentences such as "that's cute, it's something JULIE could pull off, I don't really think I could".
3. She tolerates me remarkably well and understands emotional handicaps.
4. She pretends to monitor my junk-food intake but actually just lets me eat tons of it because she knows I want to and acts surprised later when I tell her I feel sick.
5. She might be the same person as me.
6. She likes nude art and other such scandalous atrocities.
7. She acts exactly the same around everyone.
8. She sings show tunes and thinks musicals are the greatest thing ever invented even though the rest of us know they aren't.
9. She jumps around like a wild banshee to express emotion. In public.
10. She walks around barefoot and burps and gets her hands sticky and eats food off the floor and sticks her finger in her nose. And I still like her.

Working It

I have recently started a new job at Dollar Financial Group working in collections. I am a collection officer on Cash til Payday loans. Or, in layman's terms, I call people all day that borrowed money from my company and try to get them to pay their stinking debts. I like to think of myself as a cronie of sorts, using verbal gymnastics and unspecified threats to convince the sorry debtors to give my boss da money. Not surprisingly, my job has a high turnover rate; I guess getting yelled at, hung up on, and bonding with answering machines is not every one's idea of a good time. I've been surprisingly entertained by it though, I see it as a kind of sociological study--I am exposed to a whole other side of the socio-economic spectrum the likes of which I never found in my upper-middle class neighborhoods and schools. For instance (and this is really very factual), I never actually thought there were that many people named Shaniqua out there.
The wide variety of names, answering machines, and occasional vulgarity keep me entertained, and when that gets old, I console myself with crossword puzzles and sudoku games. Much of my day is spent on hold at businesses and leaving messages, and I have become intimately acquainted with every answering service, call screening device, and disconnected number message out there. It is slightly disconcerting when I catch myself having actual conversations with machines, but I brush it off as boredom and hope it doesn't turn into anything that will be expensive to fix with a therapist.
I thought I would share with you all a couple of my favorite calls thus far, which I have recreated below to the best of my ability:
1. Subtlety's Overrated
ring ring ring
Bob: (we'll call him Bob to protect his real identity, which I don't know anyway) Hello?
Me: Hi I'm looking for Shwanda.
Bob: Hold on a second, I'm just comin in the house, I'll see if she's there.
In the background, perfectly audible to me:
Bob: Shwannndaaa!
Shwanda (presumably): who is it?
Bob: Dollar Financial
Shwanda: WHO?
Bob: (in an exaggerated tone) DOLLAR. FINANCIAL.
Shwanda: Hang up!
Bob: What?
Shwanda: hang up!
Bob: WHAT?!
Me: She told you to hang up.
Bob: uh, hold on a sec
CLICK.

2. Past Your Expiration Date
ring ring ring
Joe: Hello?
Me: Hi, joe?
Joe: What? Speak up, I can't hear you!
Me: Joe, this is Lanee from Dollar Financial
Joe: From what? (clearly strained on hearing)
Me: Dollar Financial, it's about loan mart, you owe $315, it's 189 days past due
(Joe can't hear and hands the phone to his wife)
Wife: Hello?
Me: I'm calling about loan mart
(the phone switches hands again)
Joe: How do you know I owe that?
Me: Because I work for the company
Joe: How late did you say?
Me: 189 days
Joe: 189 days?! No wonder I don't remember it!
(at some point during this call I look at Joe's birth date and realize he is 85 years old)

3. Answering Awesomeness
Just a little sampling of my favorite answering machines, in case anyone needs any suggestions:

• Gospel singing, American Idol audition style
• Really obnoxious couples answering in unison with a perfectly choreographed message in which each has separate lines as well as lines they pronounce together in a sing-songy voice
• Everyone in the south that says "have a blessed day" at the end of theirs (which is everyone)
• Scripture recitation (again, mostly in the South)
• Apocalyptic warnings (apparently these people didn't expect to have to pay back these loans....)
• Really loud rap songs about having a lot of money (clearly not accurate representations of their lives)
• kids that you can't understand which basically translates into undecipherable babbling
• Fat Albert impression