Category Archives: NaBloPoMo

Verbal diarrhea

By nopasanada | Published: November 11, 2008

“Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment.” ~Ira Gassen

Usually I’m very meticulous about the stories I tell you all because they are all a manifestation of something I’ve been thinking long and hard about for days. Sadly with NaBloPoMo you’re getting a heap load of verbal diarrhea: Exactly what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s my brain in real time. Discussion of vanity plates and how my brothers leave me out of everything are exactly what’s going through my head. Not about the economy or the world’s most heinous project but vanity plates and high pitched whining.

Currently* I want to go off on a room full of educated white women discussing how black people think. It’s a discussion of race and gay marriage. And oh, oh, the burning. It hurts to hear a group of people discuss race and to want to just throw yourself into that conversation but you cannot because you’re so livid by the overall tone and accusations that have come up since the election day debacle that you cannot bring yourself to insert yourself without your head doing a 360 degree turn at the absurdity of it all. Instead I fumed and spouted off and stomped outside to be alone with my ever sober self then came back in to drown my sorrows in chèvre. And to do as my mother said; which is to blog about it and use incessant run-on sentences and possible non-sequiturs to say: Oh my hell, I’m pissed.

*This was last night. I’m fine now. Carry on.

Also posted in Socially Awkward Barbie™ | 7 Comments

Oh Vanity

By nopasanada | Published: November 10, 2008

“Reading without reflecting is like eating without digesting.” ~Edmund Burke

My bank account, the weather and my car causing me to lose my will to live each and everyday have finally converged into a perfect storm thus empowering me to finally go test driving. I’ve yet to tell you the story of the last time I went test driving but that’s because it involves a car salesman stalking me and two friends from one dealership to another and the subsequent phone calls because he wanted to date my friend Pam. There were tears involved and awkward storytelling and now I can’t look at a Honda without my right eye twitching.

It’s always been my plan to get a vanity plate for my new car. There’s no reason except that if writing daily about my life isn’t narcissitic enough, I figured I’d top it off with a license plate that says “ILUVME” or “DONTH8″ or “HOWULIKMENOW”. Clearly still working on it but suggestions are welcome. Anyway, this reminded me of a drive I was taking on the souther tier of the state between Elmira and Corning. Western NY isn’t really known for being a cosmopolitan place or a hotbed of diversity. Hell, I can honestly say that I could count on ONE hand the number of people of black people I saw while there. So I’m driving along one afternoon and I see a beat up truck with a vanity plate that reads…wait for it:

SLUMLRD4

And then I rearended the Hyundai in front of me. But why would one broadcast being a ‘slum lord’ which – and correct me if I’m wrong – is illegal in most locales. It’d be like “CRKWHORE” being on your license plate. Might be true but do you really want people knowing that you are a “SHITHD”? I think not.

The next day, I saw another good one – that I cannot remember now, of course – on a pick up from North Carolina with the world’s largest Confederate flag and a white trash sticker. It’s such a shame that “ASSHOLESEVRYWHRE” is far too long.

Also posted in Oh The Stupidity You'll See | 4 Comments

Greater than 140 characters

By nopasanada | Published: November 9, 2008

“Youth is like spring, an over praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes. Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.” ~Samuel Butler

A moment from this afternoon:

Simon likes to do this thing where he kneads the fleshiest parts of my body. My thigh. My stomach. My bicep. He’s a furry BMI calculator. He likes to go anywhere he can get right in and go at it to find where he will get the greatest comfort. He then smooches himself just right into a curve or crevice with one paw peeking out and he lays his head down. He does this content little sigh and goes to sleep.

He does this while the entire front part of the house smells like pumpkin spice. Did you know we’ve become so lazy as cooks – I mean aside from the plethora of frozen foods that call to me like a beacon on the horizon – that they sell pumpkin spices all mixed up.?That means that if you cannot physically bring yourself to mix a 1/4 teaspoon of all spice, nutmeg and cinnamon together, which takes like 17 seconds, then it’s already been done for you. Next up: A machine to dry you off when you get out of the shower.

Anyway, my house smells delicious and it’s a perfect fall day even as we stand precariously at the edge of winter in Upstate, NY. And I happen to be back on track to being a pleasant person to be around once again. It was touch and go there for awhile. But now I seem to have nothing to do today but smile. Then again, it could be meds, it could be that I licked cream cheese frosting off the twirly mixer attachments or it could be fleeting. We’ll find out more come morning.

Posted in NaBloPoMo | 7 Comments

Black sheep

By nopasanada | Published: November 8, 2008

“Siblings are the people we practice on, the people who teach us about fairness and cooperation and kindness and caring – quite often the hard way.” ~Pamela Dugdale

G calls me to say that he got to Atlanta OK and he wanted me to give la madre the message. While G and I both inherited good looks and the ability to turn swearing into poetry, neither of us received the gift of spontaneity. In fact, I doubt that either of my parents know how to spell spontaneity, it’s such a foreign concept to them. Like using proper wine glasses and eating raw eel. So G went to Atlanta with my father and one of our other brothers and no one bothered to invite me.

Each time I demanded a reason for why I was left off the list for a road trip from hell with my beloved family, I was told that I wouldn’t have gone anyway. Which is true, I would’ve said no because I was away and sick and tired and I’d rather deal with a TSA regulated rectal search than sit in a car for 17 hours. But still! It’s the thought that counts. That maybe I’d want to be included with the boys and now I’m all stompy and whiny and petulant.

And sometimes I do this shrieking thing that really grates the inner ear like a high pitched trill on ritard, coming from an out of tune clarinet with a busted reed. Yup. That right there? That’ll get them to invite me EVERYWHERE. Clearly I see my plan working.