Storytellers
July 21, 2008 | Filed under: Blogology, Once Upon A Time..
“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” ~Sylvia Plath
I started blogging not because I thought myself to be a fabulous writer but because I always had the most ABSOLUTELY INSANE stories EVER. That is all in caps because the hyperbole would be through the roof and suddenly a simple story about watching Katherine Harris (who I will dislike with a fiery passion from the deepest part of my soul for a very, very long time) play bumper cars while parallel parking is suddenly a huge OMFG YOU ALL MUST HEAR THIS type moment. Complete with hand gestures and facial expressions and a hearty laugh and then theories about her cracked out driver’s ed teacher and then how she may or may not have run over a squirrel. Little bit of truth and a little bit of lie.
As a writer or blogger or ‘creative whiner’ (which I am totally trademarking) you want stories to be interesting and mind-blowing so that people laugh or cry. I wasn’t going to write about stories today. I was actually going to write about crying in the lobby of the Westin St. Francis while drinking wine out of a paper cup and Angella looking at me like I had just lost my damn mind. Instead I have the esteemed pleasure of telling the awesome story about how I found out my credit card had been used without my authority. Which would have been panic attack inducing from home but when checking into a hotel for five nights in a city that you’ve never been to, you suddenly get the joy of experiencing vertigo. Possibly because it’s midnight and you have no voice and you look like a homeless person carrying all of your bags and wearing a shirt that says ZWAGGLE. And while people in the south are very kind people you can tell that the woman at the front desk is all ‘what the flying fuck is a zwaggle?’ And then you call your father because your mother has disappeared off the face of the earth (when really she’s just sleeping in her perfect summer house on a perfect little summer island and you’re stranded in New motherfucking Orleans at the start of hurricane season) and he’s like “Wait, who is this again?” And then the woman at the front desk can tell that perhaps you might die right there and then on the lobby and hey! now it’s 1:15 AM and you’re fishing around your bag for a klonopin because death is knocking at your door. Of course because of karma nothing too terrible happens and the front desk lady kind of feels bad because you seem to be in a bit of a precarious state and she doesn’t want to have to call a the paramedics to lift your catatonic body off the marble floor so she says “I’ll charge you for one night” right at the time when you hoist your bags back to your shoulders and say “Ok, thank you” and start to walk out the door. She does it not because she has to but because (and I quote) “There was no way in hell that I was going to let you walk out that door”. And when you type those words you will start to cry again because the past five days have been one amazing thing after another and all you can do is mouth thank you because all that god damn wine and screaming over rave music has left your vocal chords somewhat paralyzed. But you are so fucking thankful that you want to give her your first born and name it Sabrina (after her of course).
The next morning you wake up ridiculously late to give a talk on the politics of pedagogy (your favorite topic ever right next to using The Internet for community building) but the first thing you think is “Oh my fuck, I MUST tell The Internet this story”. And so you do.
The end.
slynnro says:
Dude. I know whwat pedagogy is without Wikipedia. You think you’re SO. DAMN. SMART. Don’t you.
Miss you. Desperately.
Laurie says:
That’s the kind of tear-inducing kind shit that has happened to me in NOLA on a few necessary occasions. Having been in a few similarly challenged situations (and am praying that Thrifty rent-a-car person at SFO has same pity quotient later today) I’m glad it happened to you!
Swaggle. Snort.
slynnro says:
I know what pedagogy is. But I can’t spell what.
You win some…….
Kristabella says:
Dude, that is insane. I’m glad Sabrina was so nice to you. She should have Teenage Witched herself into the past and stopped the asshat from stealing your credit card.
I miss you, even though you broke up with me.
Mandee says:
Well, bless Sabrina’s heart.
I’m wondering what ZWAGGLE is, too.
ali says:
hahaha. now it wouldn’t have mattered had you lost your wallet at the airport, eh? (i threw that “eh” in just for you)…and now i don’t feel so dumbassedy for being all “well, i CAN cover the cab…” haha.
Brittany says:
Wow, this is a great post to read on my first visit ever to your blog. I could not relate to anything more, as far as why you started a blog.
Love it, I’ll be back!
Queen of Shake Shake says:
Gack! Thank god for Sabrina. For reals. And screw those who stole you CC info. I hope you get that resolved.
Kristin says:
I just called to say I Love You.
(And that my offer stands: come see me. Vancouver is a way better crash pad than Oklahoma.
)
Leah says:
Sounds like someone needs a hug…
Why don’t you come over tonight and we’ll…oh wait. Shit. This would be so much easier if you lived here. HINT HINT.
Momo Fali says:
Zwaggle should be that child’s middle name. For sure.
jennster says:
i could see and hear all of this in my head as i read it. lol.. love it. you are awesome!