Blasphemy And Other Avocations

Living in an area with a high concentration of Christians whose religion is only slightly less restrictive than the Amish faith, it was refreshing to be surrounded by people celebrating the Hindu holiday of, well, Holi Day.

Lathmar Holi, also known as the "Festival of Color," has been going on in other parts of the world for around 5000 years. But according to the coverage presented by our local Fox affiliate, the Lotus Temple in Spanish Fork, Utah is the only place where the Festival of Colors is celebrated in the United States.

Too bad for the rest of you non-Utah people because it was awesome.

This was our first excursion, the Kid and I. I'd passed the Hari Krishna Temple last fall on our way to Moab, and it's a beautiful building.

Situated on a hill surrounded by farmland, cars were parked on the side of the main road for miles. With my penchant for being early, we got a great spot across the street and only paid $5 to park. Being from Chicago, I can tell you that $5 to park in the middle of some dude's cow pasture is a hella deal.

So that was a win, and we didn't have to wait in line very long to buy the colored chalk-like powder you throw in the air, and at people, and on stuff… And sometimes you just rub it in someone's hair. And the powder is also scented, which is good, because if most of the other people were like us, they also eschewed their daily shower until they got home, knowing they'd be covered. What we didn't know was how hard it would be to breathe while the throwing is going on and next year we will make sure we do the following:

Wear a bandanna and sunglasses.

White and black clothes bring out the brightness of the colors.

Cover your camera in plastic wrap.

Bring someone you love.

In other news, Zita, the most recent foster cat, found her forever home this weekend with a friend of mine. We met while volunteering for Sundance, share the same initials, and worked on a movie together a few years back. She saw the kitty on Facebook, decided to visit her at an adoption event, and fell in love. She is both pleased and astonished at Zita's tenacious personality and is happy to be able to give her a forever home. However, our big fluffy white dog Luna, who thought the cat was her pet, has been searching for Zita for two days now.

But she'll get over it.

My short, Splitting The Difference is available from Amazon.com and everyone who purchases a copy between now and December 2012 gets a free Mayan Calendar!*

*Not really. Have you any idea how much shipping would be? Those puppies are made of stone. Plus if you liked it you wouldn't be able to get another one for 2013 because the World's supposed to end.

Spiderman, Organ Failure, and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police

I know, it makes no sense. Allow me to explain:

The Sundance Film Festival arrived and departed Utah last month. As usual the festival was accompanied by a plethora of fun filled and feckless moments;

Tina, Dena and Slave Driver stood first in line for the Awards party, trying to get in early by using lines like, "We're with the band," and "We're Elmo's stylists…" And while none of the falsehoods worked, we did enjoy making the uber-trendy fellow behind us mutter, "They're sucking out all of my energy," accompanied by an eye roll and a heavy sigh. Which just goes to show you that many moms consider themselves successful if they can not only embarrass/annoy their own child, but can accomplish the same feat with someone else's offspring. Truly, it separates the amateurs from the professionals.

There were some wonderful films. At least that's what I heard. I only saw three, (Being Elmo; Submarine; Buck) one of which I was not a fan (Note to the distributers of "Submarine": while I'm sure based on the fact that the Joe Dunthorne book was popular it seemed like a good idea to turn it into a movie, may I suggest avoiding marketing this film to parents. "Why?" ask the savvy Free Marketeers. "Because," responds Slave Driver, "as the parent of a teenager, I can get all the drama and angst I want at home. For free."

And while I loved both "Being Elmo" and "Buck", many times for me the "real" entertainment is out in the lobby of the theater, not inside where the screen is.

For example, the first Sunday of the evening tends to be pretty tame at our humble Salt Lake venue. After all, most of the beautiful people are in Park City attending premiers, parties, and collecting as much swag as they can pile onto their publicists. Several of us were standing around, waiting for Alexi to introduce our last show of the evening, when in through the doors walked three scruffy looking young guys. After tilting my head and squinting real hard, I realized one of them was Tobey McGuire. They asked if they could still get into the film, Like Crazy, (which eventually won an award.) Luckily for them, it was Sunday night in Salt Lake, the film had not generated a ton of buzz yet, and the house had not achieved critical mass. Miguel grabbed some tickets for them while I escorted the trio to available seats and Alexi made her way to the stage and introduced the film. It was fun having a "name" in the house, and without any of the hoopla and posturing normally associated with arriving celebrity.

On the other hand, the closer we get to the end of the festival, the more intense and downright crazy-ass people become. For example, on the following Sunday, while the theaters in Park City play a lot of the award winners along with a few random screenings of festival fare, the Rose Wagner is the only other venue still showing films in the valley, besides the Sundance Resort, which is way the heck up in Provo Canyon. So where do you think all the local pass holders go? Yeah, that's right, they come to the Rose. Which is great. I mean, we love our regular, loyal, treat them like family, local pass holders. And as hard as it is for you to believe, I am actually being sincere. I get hugs from my regulars. However, the sheer number of locals that decide to show up at our theater the last day plays havoc with the ticketing system and throws all the computer generated models out the window. And what that means is:

The theater gets filled really fast and even if you arrive on time and you have a ticket, you still may not get in.

Which makes people really cranky. As you can imagine.

So on this particular day, for a movie called "Win, Win" starring Paul Giamatti, we turned a few folks away. Although unhappy, most of them were very gracious about it, having played the Sundance Shuffle before. Except for one guy. Claiming, loudly, to be a "Film Critic", he insisted that he was to be allowed to see the movie because he was a major asshat and was full of himself had interviewed Paul Giamatti. Alexi spent a long time with him, being very respectful, repeating over and over that since there was no place for him to sit, he would not be allowed into the theater. The gist of his reply was 1) he was a film critic 2) who had interviewed Paul Giamatti 3) from a foreign country 4) so we MUST LET HIM INTO THE THEATER, NOW, to see this film because 5) he had interviewed Paul Giamatti, and we had not. Plus he claimed to know the festival manager, which makes us shrug, because we too know the festival manager, and he does not make us tremble.

While listening to him rant at Alexi, I realized that the foreign country he hailed from was "Douchebagestan."* Knowing the only way to extract her from the situation, short of chewing her arm off and dragging her away, was to advise the Foreign Film Critique/ Paul Giamatti Interviewer point blank, that there was no seat available for him (I had already checked) and Alexi was done wasting spending her time explaining this to him because I needed her elsewhere.

Later, during an exchange in which I attempted to be nice (don’t snicker, I can fake it when I need to) the Film Critic proceeded to tell me that he would make sure that I would never work in the movie industry again (an industry I hadn’t realized I was employed in, being that I volunteer for the festival once a year and drive horse drawn carriage the remained of the time) and, after offering to have the sheriff escort him off the premise if he wished to make trouble, he countered with sending the Royal Canadian Mounted Police my way to arrest me.

I honestly had no idea the RCMP had jurisdiction in Utah. It just goes to prove that you can learn something new every day.

And last but not least, on the same evening, one of the other managers had to turn another patron away for a showing of a different film. Upon being advised that they were unable to attend the film, this patron told the other manager that they were in charge of the organ transplant department at a local university (I'm not telling you which one; it has a medical school, and their mascot's names rhymes with "fruits") and the manager better hope for the rest of his life that he never needed and organ transplant, because he would be denied. ** Hippocratic oath be damned!

Sigh…and eye roll.

So, I'm sure the title of this blog makes sense to you now.
I have to go, I need to hide from the Mounties while I look for a new kidney on eBay. It never hurts to hedge your bets.

*Not a real country. And although he threatened me with the RCMP I know he cannot be Canadian because all the Canadians I know are very nice. With the exception of one. But she doesn't count because I think of her more as a "Bitch" then as a "Canadian."

**Ironically, the manager who was threatened with Organ Transplant Black-Listing works for the medical school at the same university in another department. The entire exchange was witnessed by yet another university employee, and both of them planned on notifying the head of the Ethics department. Of course that doesn’t compare to being on the RCMP "Most Wanted" list…


If you've purchased my short story, "Splitting the Difference," THANK YOU! And please feel free to go back to Amazon and review it.

Don't Call Us, We'll Call You...

I found out this week that I will not be working Gardner Village this October. Did they call and say, "Thanks for doing the witch thing for us but we're going in a different direction this year." No. Did they send us a pink slip to let us know we were no longer of service? No. How did I find out then, you might wonder…

I went on their website and looked on their October Calendar, where it states that "Ride to a Witch" will take place select weekends from Oct. 1—31, and you ride on a restored antique truck…



Okay, so that means we're out. Because I don't haul the folks around on the bed of a restored truck (which, by the way, is beautifully restored. And I hope it's mechanically sound. Because we kept two tractors out there, just in case one broke down, and two flatbed trailers, for the same reason. At one point last year Hard Rock had to run to a tire store and buy a new one because he got a flat and the tire shredded. So if their truck breaks down, they're f*cked. Because for $5, nobody's gonna "Walk to a Witch.")


Sigh.

I'll miss Gardner Village. It was an easy yet lucrative gig; it was eight minutes from my house, and I was home and in bed by 10 O'clock. Plus I got to work with Ro, which is always fun.

Okay, onto the "real" blog.

Last week carriage driver Kar and I were standing around shooting the breeze, trying to look busy when she suddenly said, "Guy in a skirt."

I, being my usual intelligent and observant self replied, "Huh?"

Kar pointed down the sidewalk and repeated, "Guy.in.a.skirt."

So I squinted, and tilted my head sideways and finally saw him waaaaay down the block.




Now, being me, I grabbed my camera and tried to get a photo but of course he was so far away it was difficult to make him out. So I left my camera on my carriage within grabbing distance and waited. Eventually he arrived at our location and instead of giving us a "WTF are you looking at me for" look he walked right up, introduced himself, and asked us if we would be willing to write down our idea of "The American Dream."

So I ignored that and right away asked if I could take his picture.




He actually has okay posture, he's just all hunched over like that because of the backpack. Turns out his name is Aaron Heideman and he's travelling the lower 48 states, asking people to record for him their version is of the American Dream. Yes, citizens, he's a writer. Now, back to the skirt. It's not often we see men wearing what is traditionally considered women's apparel. And when we do, they usually have their arms wrapped around a set of bagpipes, which indicates that they are not in fact in a skirt but are wearing a kilt which is different. Plus if you call it a skirt they will beat you senseless with their bagpipes. Anyway, what Aaron is wearing is not a kilt, nor it it exactly a skirt, it's a utilikilt. And he says it is very comfortable and good to travel in.

Imagine if Carhartt made cargo skirts in that ugly Carhartt tan, for men. Now imagine if all the construction workers started wearing them. Now imagine they all have to climb ladders, and ask you to hold the ladders for them.

Ugh. Never mind. That's just nuts.

Anyway, you can read all about Aaron's exploits at
American Dream Or Bust

More Randomness

We will not be adding another dog to our tribe- his owner found him a new home. So, the status quo remains the same.

This week has been pretty quiet. I'm noodling with my current WIP. I sent emails to a friend who is a former Exotic Dancer, and another friend who is Native American. This is how I do research. Luckily I have a number of acquaintances who have had some unusual occupations or are of a culture more diverse then my own. I'm just a slice of dull white bread.

I'm still pimping for Strut Your Mutt. If you want to donate, use the little box up there to the right. The charity that organizes this event typically has 2000-2500 participants every year. So far they've had less than 500 sign up, and they are frantic since this is their big fundraiser.

Yes, believe me, I know the economy sucks… On a scale from "Absolutely Essential" to "Once in a Lifetime, Maybe," guess where "Take a Carriage Ride" lies… It's a little above "Getting permanent implants that make me look like a Klingon" and far below "Buying a week's worth of groceries."

Even five dollars will help, and anything over $5 is tax deductible as they are a 501( c ) 3 charity.


In other news, my RWA chapter is hosting a Utah Writers Book Signing, featuring New York Times bestselling author Bob Mayer (who is not from Utah, he's from the Bronx,) but he's giving a workshop the next day for our chapter so we jumped on the opportunity to include our own local talent in the event. So if you are a local or have a lot of frequent flyer miles you need to use before they expire, come see us at the Gateway Barnes and Noble on Friday, June 4 from 6-9 pm. Along with Bob, the local writers are:

Judy Baker
Jaleta Clegg
Victoria Dahl
Sara Fitzgerald
Heather Horrocks
Mary Martinez
Denise Patrick
Paige Shelton
RaeAnne Thayne
KyAnn Waters

I'll post more about the workshop next week. I was fortunate enough to see Bob at the Jackson Hole Writers Conference in 2008 and am a fan of his solo work and his books with Jennifer Crusie.

So, June 4, 2010, 6-9 pm, stop by, say "Hi," buy a book and get it autographed.

Because what else have you got to do?

We, The PeTA

This from my friend and fellow carriage driver, Christina, who works in Philadelphia:

As many of you know, there was a carriage accident in Philadelphia, on Monday, April 19th at approximately 9:30 AM. It is believed that a car driven by Thomas Gordon of Claymont, DE was stopped behind a line of five carriages stopped at a red light at 6th and Race Sts. Eyewitnesses report that Gordon was honking at the rear carriage driven by Jane Stansbury, 23, and revving his engine. He is reported to have tapped her rear wheels a couple times with his bumper, then when the light changed, he accelerated through the line of carriages, colliding with her carriage, and pushing it into several other carriages. One carriage, driven by Brian Lafler, 52, was overturned. Thomas Gordon continued to accelerate, pushing Jane's carriage across the intersection, colliding with a fire hydrant and eventually coming to rest on the fence in front of the College of Physicians. Jane was ejected from the carriage. Brian Lafler and Jane Stansbury remain in Jefferson Hospital's ICU, Brian with severe head and facial injuries and Jane with spinal injuries. Another carriage driver, Kym Moak, is out of work for several weeks with a sprained knee.

All horses involved escaped injury beyond a couple of superficial cuts.

Two nasty carriage accidents in the same week, one in Atlanta where two douche bags were drag racing, and another in Philadelphia, has brought PeTA to the forefront of the news again. Why? Because whenever there is any type of incident involving carriage horses they gleefully circle like vultures, ready to invade the city where the incident has occurred, waving their anti-equestrienne posters in the horse's faces.(Which, by the way, horses do not like.)

As one would expect, the radical animal rights activists are already planning on exploiting this tragedy to further their radical agenda (which ultimately is to ban horse-drawn carriages in Philadelphia, and beyond, and eventually to BAN the use of horses for any sort of activity other than pasture puff... if that).

If working horses are banned in Philadelphia, they will of course be at risk for neglect and slaughter once they are re-homed, since NO company can afford to keep 20 working horses as "pets" in the city for the rest of their natural lives.

They try to bully the mayor or city council into banning horse drawn carriages (there is a standard letter; we got one when Jim decided to test his boundaries and ran for half a block…) and occasionally swoop down to do a little protesting so they get some face time on the news.

The National Park Service cannot prevent the animal activists from coming to the park and standing in our stands, waving banners and pictures of the accident mere feet from the carriage drivers, all of whom are still understandably upset, shocked, sad, and angry as a result of this "accident"/attack. However, the National Park Service MUST allow counter protesters equal access and opportunity to voice their SUPPORT for the carriage horses and the carriage drivers.

Same old tired crap. You know, the morning after the Atlanta incident a car here in Salt Lake blew a stop sign and plowed into another one, sending three people to the hospital. Did PeTA show up or send a strongly worded letter to Ralph Becker cautioning him about the dangers to people from cars? No. Why? Because PeTA doesn't care about people.

PeTA cares about money. And every time there is an incident they can use it to get free publicity and ask for money to help save the poor carriage horses. And considering their "success rate" with seized or surrendered animals, I think our horses would say, "Thank you, NO."

PeTA likes to talk about Animal Rights. Guess what, animals don't have "rights", any more than your couch or your bicycle have "rights". And you know what? You don't want animals to have "rights", and here's why:

Because the second the laws of our land give animals "rights" (and to be fair and equitable, they would have to apply across the board, not just for animals that are cute and cuddly, but the ones we set traps for and consider dangerous or a nuisance, too) some asshole will decide to make money by suing you on behalf of your animal.

Thinking of getting Fluffykins spayed? LAWSUIT! You are depriving her of her reproductive rights. Does Mr. Tomcat have a disease which is curable but will bankrupt your family if you pursue treatment so you're opting to put him down and end his suffering? LAWSUIT! You are depriving him of his right to live. You found out that your toddler has developed a life threatening allergy to your pot bellied pig Petunia? Better not even think of shipping Petunia off to the petting zoo (which RARAs would have you to believe is the ultimate in cruelty, Petunia being exploited by forcing her to take food from people and get petted and her picture taken! Horrors!)

Now, I'm against animal cruelty. Beating, burning, torturing, starving an animal is cruelty. Giving an animal a job is not abusive or cruel. As caretakers, I believe that we owe it to our furbabies to make sure they have proper care, food, housing and attention. And as the steward of my pets, it is my responsibility when they do something either destructive or dangerous to other animals or humans. That's why if your dog bites the UPS guy, he sues you, not your dog.

Please, if you can in any way come out on Saturday in Philadelphia (or can encourage others to attend) to protest peacefully in support of horses and in support of carriage drivers, the time is now to make your support known. These ghoulish activists are giddy with glee that such a tragedy has befallen us, and intend to use it to their advantage.

And why, you've probably wondered, is the "e" in PeTA so small? Because it stands for ethical.

Changing Sh*t Into Sugar…

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a writer. As such, I belong to several writing organizations. Occasionally, some of these groups have contests. Once in a while (and for tax purposes) I enter them. I don't ever expect to win. There are a lot of people out there who spend hours, days, sometimes, crafting the subtle nuances in a paragraph. Not me. I'm more of a "What you see is what you get," kind of a girl. When it comes to me bleeding on the page, I write directly from the gut. I know I'm not creating great literature that will be utilized in the educational curriculum to mold the minds of young scholars for ages to come; but my stories have interesting and flawed characters that people identify with and want to follow their exploits. But I also believe in being true to the characters I create. In that vein my characters, like people in real life, occasionally use language that conservative readers consider to be very bad words. Words like "F*ck."

(Note: I have been trying to change the spelling of certain words on my blog so the People Who Run The Internet don't mistakenly flag my site as porn. I do, however, do it in such a way that you still know what word it is I'm writing.)

Now, I personally believe that there are much more damaging words in the English language then f*ck. The "N" word, to me, is way more damaging to our society then f*ck. In fact, any ethnic, racial, or sexually oriented word or slang word aimed at a person in an attempt to demean or disenfranchise them are very bad words. Conversely, I also do not believe in censorship. So if a person makes a statement about how they do not like or appreciate a (fill in hurtful very bad word here to indicate a specific group of people), although I do not agree with what they say, I believe in their right to say it. And besides, allowing everyone freedom of speech also helps us identify individuals in society that we might want to avoid. Or at least not friend them on Facebook.

So, here is the deal; I want to enter my novel into a contest. You are required to submit the first three chapters. However, in reading the rules and regulations of this contest, I ran across the following qualifier:

Submissions that do not follow the guidelines or are in poor taste (pornography and profanity) will be disqualified and the entry fee forfeited.

Now, as I said earlier, my characters tend to swear a bit. In fact, I went thought the first three chapters and noted use of the following words;

Crap- once (and before you hurt yourself with an eyeroll, understand that I live in an ultra conservative state where a large portion of the population do not watch "R" rated movies. I'm not talking "NC-17" here, I'm talking "R".)

Bo*bs- twice. (See above statement)

"Damn"- once.

"Sh*t"-is articulated on three occasions.


And of course the mother of all swearwords, "F*ck", is utilized in the dialogue six times. Six. That equates to twice a chapter.

Now, don't think of an elephant.

Haha, you just pictured one, didn't you? So, should I be true to my characters and submit my entry, knowing that as soon as someone encounters that first F*ck, they'll bounce my entry, keep my fee, and I'll be secretly blackballed from any further contests sponsored by this group? Or, should I stifle my voice, change "Sh*t" into "Sugar" and "F*ck" into "Fudge" knowing that each time the reader judge runs across those words they'll know, subconsciously, what I meant to say? (Don't think of an elephant.)

My other choice, besides not entering, which I feel denies me my right as a dues paying member who was not required to adhere to any particular set of guidelines upon joining, (unlike, say, a well known organization that disallows girls, gays, and atheists,) is to enter it as is, get bounced, sue them for denying me my rights protected under the First Amendment, and end up wallowing in a court system that is already overburdened by frivolous lawsuits because we live in a litigious society just so I can make a point?


I'm thinkin', "F*ck that."

I, Too Am A Trophy, Um, Something…

I met a real life trophy wife this weekend. I've heard stories of them, and there seem to be quite a few on TV these days, but until this weekend, like many of the folk who stare in wonder at our carriage horses, I'd never seen a "real one."

I recognized her species almost immediately: she wore a beautiful, delicate and expensive looking dress, large fake boobs, flawless makeup, diamond everything, some kind of shoe that I'm sure did not come from Payless, and had a plethora of yoga muscles. In the ladies room, a modern day watering hole where we women tend to gather, I waited patiently for an empty stall while she schooled her young, mirror images of her finely groomed self, in the art of primping and presentation. She couldn’t have been over five foot tall and maybe weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, but she was discussing her $42.00 control top panty hose—

Cue the sound of an automobile coming to a swerving, screeching, crashing halt:

Hold. The. Phone.

Like a deer in headlights, I was stunned. Immobile. Shocked into a stillness I usually cannot ever achieve.

Did she just say she paid FORTY-TWO DOLLARS FOR A. PAIR. OF. NYLONS???

When I finally recovered my senses, I looked this stick of a tiny thing over again.

Slave Driver then stares off into an imaginary horizon (being that she's in the bathroom and is surrounded by cinderblock walls it takes more than a little imagination to do so) and wonders WTF would someone who is as big around as her entire thigh needs control top panty hose…

And who in their right mind pays $42.00 for them?

Snort.

Me? I wish L'Eggs would come up with a Control-top Burka I could shimmy into (after being liberally spritzed down with Pam for lubrication purposes) to make everything look thinner, but I find that I usually just end up looking like a sausage. And if I ever did spend that kind of cashola for nylons (which, BTW, I usually immediately and irreversibly jam my thumbnail through, causing a HUGE run, which, due to their super tight control top features, usually causes an extra lump of cellulite of pop out, thus changing the sausage look to one more like a stunted Calamari)

Where was I?

Oh yeah, if I ever put out that kind of serious cash for panty hose I'd better get a lap dance, a pony, and my car waxed out of the deal.

But, you see, that's what makes me a trophy wife also. Well, at least to my husband. See, what I may lack in high, tight boobs, a tanned, toned body and pearly white teeth so big they could pass for Chicklets I make up for in being frugal, subjectively hardworking, and not at all interested in name brands, trends, or Vogue magazine. Instead of going to a studio and doing Pilates, I mow the lawn. Instead of making reservations, I make dinner. I can fix my own car heater switch, rewire lights on horse and boat trailers, and am versed in reviving muddy suede chaps by washing them with Murphy's Oil Soap and tons & tons of fabric softener then laying them flat (away from any heat source) to dry.

Plus, and I suspect one of two reasons why he hasn't traded me in for a younger, toned and polished model, I make Mr. Slave Driver laugh. A lot.

The second reason is my muscles are the kind you get from lifting heavy things repeatedly. So he knows that if confronted with a thin, delicate sweet young replacement thang, I could easily snap her neck, thus handily elimination the competition.

Sweet Home, Chicago

I know you know this; I am not *from* here. Utah, here. I was born in Northern California but I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. I have Midwestern values, speak with an unidentifiable accent, except when I say "Da' boda yas", and am generally unconcerned with fashion trends, tipping points, and politics, except to smirk and remark blandly, "He was on the take? What a surprise..." If that makes no sense to you then I won't even attempt to explain the "Daley Machine."

So, I am not *from* here. This mindset got me deep in the kitty litter when I lived in Missouri, where I also was not *from*. See, I say I'm from Chicago. That's just for da boda yas that are not from Illinois (the 's', by the way, is silent). If I was in Illinois, I'd say I was from Des Plaines, Lake Villa, or Wheeling; places I lived. So I found out the hard way that when you ask someone from Kansas City, Missouri if they are *from* there, meaning the greater KC area, they believe you are asking if they are *from* the exact spot they are standing on when you ask them the question. So, take my advice, be specific when you ask because the words you speak immediately following their reply might get you in deep doo-doo.

But I am *from* Chicago, and I am going back to Chicago (and Algonquin, and Arlington Heights, and Twin Lakes, Wisconsin) in a couple of weeks for a couple of weeks to see my family, friends and attend my 30th High School Reunion.

Feel free to puke now.

I missed my 10 year— at that point 10 years was not nearly enough time between school and me. Now, the 20 year, I did that one, but I don't think I did it well. Although I got to see some people that I keep in touch with but just don’t see very often, I saw a lot of people who I don't remember, but that's not unusual for me; it was the 70's. I also saw a lot of people who really really liked me, or at least that was the impression I got. But they could have been realtors or Amway members. I don't know. It's kind of a blur now, but I know I went because I have a picture.

For my 30 year I figured, "F*ck it." I will not wear a nice dress/suit. I will not wear heels. I will wear what I wore all through high school—

Levi's, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt. I might throw a blazer over the top just to show I'm a grown up. Slave Driver snorts…

My close friends all know what I do for a living. Most of them, upon finding out would remark, "That job is perfect for you." The ones I knew in school but have not seen for ten to thirty years, (wow that so sounds like a prison sentence…) have no idea and I'm sure will either think it's great or gasp and wonder how I ever could have sunk so low. Others will marvel that I have managed to stay out of jail for all these years.

But I don't care. No, I never became a captain of industry or a mogul of some kind. Hell, I never even finished college. But I have a great life, enjoy doing what I do, and have no major complaints, other than my continuing fight with gravity.

And the thing about gravity is this: It's not just a good idea, it's the law.

And a word of advice: If you are ever in Missouri and ask someone if they are *from* there and they say "no" meaning (unbeknownst to you) that they are not from the exact spot that they are standing on but instead are from the surrounding area, do not follow up your question with the comment that "The people you have met *from* here are some of the stupidest people you have ever known."

Not a good impression. Or the fast track to making friends.

Why I Should Be the Sego Lily Blogger

I read the newspaper daily, and often times cut out random tidbits I want to keep for future reference. My office frequently looks like it's been the recipient of a ticker–tape parade, with all the newsprint confetti scattered about. So it was not unlike me to cut out a blurb about the Sego Lily Day Spa contest.





Usually I read the articles once and "file" them (if you call setting them down somewhere in my office "filing") and during my yearly frenzy to clean out the piles of junk I throw them away, usually not remembering what the initial reason for removing them from the paper was to begin with. I guess that's what I get for killing off all of those brain cells with fermented grapes.

But this snippet was different. This snippet was to me what the Holy Grail was to Monty Python the zealots who participated in the Crusades.

This snippet brings with it the possibility of winning a prize. Spa treatments for a year, and the luxury of blogging about them!

BINGO!

For the uninitiated, most of what I write has to do with life here in the beautiful Salt Lake Valley where I live. I blog about everything from inane information about carriage driving, volunteering for the Sundance Film festival, the mysterious tumor on my horses leg I've named "Stan", to the amount of cold weather apparel I haul around on my carriage with me to stay warm and dry during winter. Random, senseless, eclectic stuff that will never be considered great literature. Although the blog about Cletus and his urination issues seems to be a crowd pleasing favorite. Go figure.

I will never be mistaken for a "girley girl." In my life I have had one massage. It was a gift from The Husband several years ago, and I enjoyed it. Okay, the term "enjoyed" is not definitive enough. I relished that puppy like a junkie getting their fix. The ambiance, the delicious aroma of the scented candles, the warmth of the room and muted sounds of gently flowing water...I was so relaxed I left the spa with an overwhelming feeling of having just melted into a puddle. I believe they carried me out to my car in a bucket.

I ski, I lift weights, I ride my bike when the tires aren’t flat. I work in the yard, and have a job that is physically demanding. Let's face it, if you can't pull a 400 pound carriage out of the barn you're just not qualified to do what I do. Not to mention the standing is hard on your feet and your back, the weather is tough on your skin, and the boredom turns the brain to mush. So the idea of being able to leave the hectic and demanding daily grind behind me for a weekly treat of luxurious pampering is…intoxicating.

My other job, the writing gig, I find mentally taxing, and often when my family thinks I'm sleeping or otherwise in a prone and sluggish position, I am actually "thinking", running a scene in my head with my eyes closed and the iTunes cranked. So even when it appears I am "relaxing" I'm really "working", such as it is.

So, entering in a contest where the outcome allows one to relax and feel good then write about the experience is appealing. The rules are simple; to enter the contest you have to blog about why you should be selected as the Sego Lily Day Spa Blogger, and you know what?

I just did. :)




Sego Lily Day Spa Blog Contest

Psst- eventually when the finalists are chosen you, dear constant reader, get to vote for the winner. You know, just like American Idol, but without all the wardrobe changes...

Save the Last Dance for Me

The 2009 Sundance film Festival is now officially over. No, wait, they still have Best of Fest tomorrow night at The Egyptian Theater in Ogden…but it's in Ogden, so it doesn't really count.

As usual the fest had its ups and downs; No one assaulted me, but we did have a few more odd ducks than in my past experience. I got to see a lot of volunteers that I've come to know in the last four years that I've worked at The Rose, but some didn't make it back this year. And of course we had our share of new ones. For some this is their first and last, others get hooked and return again and again. Clearly, since I only saw four films, I don't only do this for the free movie tickets. When we first moved to Utah, I volunteered for the festival because I love films, but I kept on volunteering because I enjoy the company of the other volunteers.

Besides the volunteers, I've come to know the patrons. Some return each year. Their eyes light up when they see you, they come over and shake your hand or give you a hug, saying how good it is to see you again. You chat about how things have gone for the last year, marking milestones or highlights. We survey each other on what we've been to watch and what we like or dislike. Sometimes they will seek you out when they know that they will not be coming back to your venue again and say goodbye. Some just fade away. All of them leave an impression.

And then there is the staff at The Rose Wagner; Julie, Jeff, Brad, Stephanie- theater managers who work there full time and help us out when we invade their turf and muck things up for ten days. There is also a satellite Sheriff's office at the venue. The fine men and women assigned there assist us, laugh with us, share coffee and stories, and genuinely act like they are pleased to see us. Of course, they could be faking it and would be just as happy to use us for Tazer target practice, but I'd like to think not.

Tonight, as a special treat for our volunteers, the six managers ponied up some money and we had Sundae Monday. We provided our people with ice cream, toppings, and whipped cream. It was a small gesture meant to be a token of our appreciation for all the hard work that they do for us. Jennifer, who is a vegan, also brought in vegan chocolate lava cake, vegan whipped topping, and soy "ice cream". A good time was had by all.

So this ends my last dance for this year. And, barring any unforeseen circumstances (or a stint in prison), I'll put my boogie shoes on next year and do it all over again.

Third Rock from the Sundance

Monday night I had off and since The Kid had been liberated from school on both Monday and Tuesday, we decided to take in a couple of Sundance films. But first we went to dinner.

Benihana had been the gold standard in teppanyaki style restaurants for years. There's one in the heart of downtown and although in the past I have recommended it to tourists, I will never send anyone there again.

Before Monday night's horribly dry, tasteless and overcooked meal, we had dined there about 5 years ago after first moving to Utah. I was kind of disappointed in the service and the quality of the food back then but one can always chalk stuff like that up to an off night. Since then we have found much better, closer restaurants that give us our fix for this type of food. The only reason The Kid and I went there was because I had a gift certificate. Still, the meal cost me $45 bucks, and it was really nasty. I know, I know; when it comes to food I'm a snob, but yucky is yucky, any way you cut it. And it aggravates me to pay a lot for yucky food.

Okay, enough of that. So we were able to get into both of the films playing at The Rose Wagner. The first was "Brooklyn's Finest" with Don Cheadle (I loved him in Hotel Rwanda) Ethan Hawke (not such a big fan) and everyone's favorite Buddhist, Richard Gere. Directed by Antoine Fuqua.

It was really long, and depressing. The Kid said, "A two hour movie about the last 15 minutes." So…only if you have free rental somewhere or maybe you lose a bet.

The second was a documentary that I have wanted to see ever since they announced it was to be shown at a volunteer screening that I ended up not going to because I was tired, my hip ached, and the steep incline of Park City is no place for wimps.

This one is called "Prom Night in Mississippi" and it is an excellent exposition of racism in America.

Can you believe that up until 2008 there is a town in Mississippi that was still holding segregated proms? I wanted The Kid to watch this. Why? You ask. Because I feel that it's important to show besides tell. I can tell my kid untill I'm blue in the face, and all she hears is "Blah, blah, blah." But if I show her, or have other people (film makers) show her, then it's no longer her mother crabbing at her about social injustice. And maybe she will think I am not so weird and stupid after all. Maybe.

Tuesday night I had to work. The first movie we were to screen was "500 Days of Summer." I arrived very early, hell bend on walking the block and a half to the Social security office. I parked in front of my venue, garnering a primo parking spot and plopping $2 into the meter. Upon reaching the social security office I found a note on the door saying that they had moved five blocks east. Knowing that walking the five blocks, sitting in the waiting room, and returning would take me way longer than two hours (the maximum amount of time I can get on a downtown meter) I bagged it, got a chicken wrap at Squatters, and hung out in the Rose Wagner lobby, watching Sundance shorts on my iTouch (10 are available free from iTunes). I had, after all, already paid for my parking spot. Remember it's me, and I'm cheap.

So, back story; Almost every night there is someone who approaches us with their tale of woe. Most of the time it is because they failed to listen/read how or where to pick up their tickets. We do not have "Will-Call" at our venue. All tickets are either mailed or need to be picked up at the main box offices in Park City or Trolley Square, so we do a lot of explaining of that to patrons. Tuesday a nice lady dragging her luggage approached me and said that her son was in the film, and the tickets they had never made it from Park City to Salt Lake, and she was advised to ask for "A" or "C" (the theater managers) and was assured that they would be given tickets.

When "A" arrived I advised her of the situation. She checked the official Sundance/Rose Wagner cell phone, and much to our surprise, there was a voicemail confirming the woman's story.

Wow. That almost never happens.

Anyway, we were able to get her party of five their tickets, stored their luggage in the volunteer lounge, and even arranged for a cab to drive them up to Park City when it was over. They were all very nice, appreciated what we did for them, had a great sense of humor, and never tossed around the name of their actor relative as leverage, which was refreshing. (You would not believe the amount of people who do that to impress/scare us. Which, by the way, doesn't work anyway. None of us work in the "industry".)

And their relative's name? Joseph Gordon-Levitt.

Message in a Bottle...

I have MSN messenger. I don’t use it much, as opposed to The Kid who uses it constantly, but it keeps me in touch with Stace in Hawaii and ~A~ although she only lives 9 miles from me.

So when I was “invited” to add a user with the name of Cherrywigasa I did. I visit ARGHINK a lot and am a member (although a lurking one) of the Cherry Forums, which are people who are fans of author Jennifer Crusie. Cherry Forum members have Cherry names (except for me, I just don’t have enough energy to think up a “Cherry” name, and when you add it to all the other aliases I have it’s just too confusing for such a simple mind. Ya know?) So I thought maybe this is a cherry forum member who has hunted me down and decided to add me to their MSN Messenger. Yeah, it’s a little weird and stalker-ish, but I was bored and had enough free time that day to be able to kill some of it talking to a stranger.

Little did I know…

This was our conversation:

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
Hi, hey what’s up babe, U got a webcam? Finally someone adds me, I am soo fuckin horny today for some reason lol.

Slave Driver says:
It must be something they’ve put in the water. Hey, you know I'm a chick right? So I don’t need to pay for pictures of chick ass, I can get that in the mirror, as long as it’s a doublewide.

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
I can show u how to watch if u promise not to tell anyone else how to do it???PLEASE

Slave Driver says:
That’s great, I'm not gay. And, I don’t know about you, but I usually use my eyes to watch, so I am familiar with how they work. How’s about you go get a real job? I understand Wal-mart is always looking for people who are upright and breathing.

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
Hey, A/S/L?

Slave Driver says:
American Sign Language? Yes I know some, but don’t you need a webcam to sign back and forth?

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
Listen hun, I\'m just about to start my webcam show with Jen, come chat me there in my chat room? We can cyber, I\'ll get naked if u do..lol!

Slave Driver says:
Yeah, thanks for the offer but once again, I'm a chick and I'm not gay, and I’m not your “Hun”. So have fun finding some loser guy to watch your webshow. Your folks must be so proud. I bet they drive around with your URL on a bumper sticker “Watch our daughters webshow! - Finest T&A in **** County!” Besides, no one want to see me naked unless they have been bad and need punishment, or are aficionados of cellulite.

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
well since its the law that u gotta be 18 (nudity involved), u have to sign up with a credit card for age verification! BUT... Once you are inside, just click on \"Webcams\" let me know what name you use to sign in with so I know it\'s you babe! http://janeh.love*****girls.com fill out the bottom of the page then fill out the next page as well and u can see me live!

Slave Driver says:
Oh sure, how about you send me your address and I'll just forward you my credit cards, bank account number, SS# and anything else you want cuz I'm an idiot. Blank check, anyone?

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
Please don’t mention anything about that in the chat room once u get in ok?

Slave Driver says:
But... what if I have a super fun time big mouth and love to talk to everyone about everything and can't help myself? And what if...I feel that I will just EXPLODE if I can't tell everyone that your sell video of yourself to anyone who's dip shit enough to pay for it and your parents don't love you and you were probably purchased at a flea market when you were a baby because you were an UGLY child?

cherrywigasa@******.com says:OH SHIT.. k I\'m late to start my show, I gotta get off msn...I\'ll see ya inside my chatroom babe… remember not to mention that I am upgrading u... You can use your msn name to sign in so I know it\'s you…

Slave Driver says:
But...I thought we were having a deep and thought provoking dialogue here. I believed we were baring our SOULS to one another, and now I find that you only wanted me for my, gasp, credit card number? Have you no shame? Have you no decency? Have you no...Oh, wait, never mind. You don’t.

cherrywigasa@******.com says:
AUTO-RESPONSE: hey just in the middle of my webcam show if you want to watch click the link http://janeh.love*****girls.com

Gosh, and just when I thought I’d made a new friend.