"Wildflower"

In college I video-taped the Lifetime movie "Wildflower" starring Patricia Arquette, who plays 'Alice' and William McNamara who plays 'Sammy'. It is based on the novel "Alice" by Sara Flannigan. I have a copy of this novel and it is one of my very favorites. It is about an abused teenage girl who lives in a shed and has had little or no education and no friends. Two young neighbors (Sammy and Ellie) discover her and befriend her. I have watched the movie enough (I own the DVD now) to have memorized the lines and how they are said too. One of the lines I picked up and often say to myself is "Goodbye, Sammy." Alice is trying to forget Sammy, whom she loves, but whom deeply hurt her. Alice is hard of hearing so when she talks she often pronounces words as if she had a perpetual cold, so when she says Sammy, it comes across almost as Tammy. (BTW, I think Patricia Arquette did a wonderful job in this role.) She says, "Good bye, Tam-MEE!" with much finality that I started saying it for all the things I wish to never experience again.

I do not like New Year's Eve. It is too sad with all the looking back on the past year's transgressions. The new year will come whether I have a say in it or not, so I don't mind just going to bed early. However, I hate being left out of things, so I usually stay up to be a part of something the whole world is sharing in. But this year, I am just going to lie in bed and hopefully not cough all night from this horrible sinus infection I caught for the second time this month. I am going to watch movies.

And to 2009, a year that caused me pain, I say "Good bye, Tam-mee!"

I welcome in 2010 and hope to make myself better in this year, so when things I can't control take me by surprise, I will be in a better place to accept them.

Goodnight. Happy New Year!

The Hotel Next Door Comes to 401 Chestnut

Well, it has come full circle. So I was sitting in my freezing cold cozy little office minding my own business, when in walked two women from the hotel next door. They were out delivering invitations for a wine tasting on Tuesday. One of the women kept smiling at me like a goon. I kept glancing over at her thinking she looked familiar. But no, I don’t think I ever saw her before, however, her long curly hair kept haunting me until it hit me like a lightening bolt—she was the hostess who went into the kitchen and told “Edward” “Victoria says hi!” She’s the cause of my mortification over the past two months. Okay, maybe that’s not fair. I’m the cause of it, but she aided and abetted. When they left, I looked at the flyer and for 30 seconds I considered going to the soiree. But then thought, why would I pay $10 to attend a wine tasting when I don’t like the way wine tastes? And maybe “Edward” would be there, (it would be dark and they may let him out of the basement where I believe he has been hiding with all the other local vampires), but the more I think of it, uck, its just another occasion for me to embarrass myself. And I’ve also decided, its no fun anymore. The thrill is gone. I mean, I’ll still write posts if anything interesting comes up, but other than that—who needs it, right?

Lunch Next Door

I know some of you (probably Dad) are tired of hearing about “Edward” and some of you may find it the topic that brings you back to check my posts, and some of you may not care either way, but only see it as pathetic. Well, it is what it is. So today Angela and I went to graze at the buffet and scout out the help at the hotel next door. No sign of “Edward.” By dessert I decided to just throw in the towel and I asked our server if Hollywood discovered our “Edward” (only I used his real name) – did he not work there any more? She didn’t understand who I was talking about and asked which one? There was more than one?? No no, we said, the one who looks like “Edward” from “Twilight.” “Who?” she asked. Whoa…she doesn’t know?! Then it clicked and she said, “Oh you mean So and So the Assistant General Manager?” I said, “He’s a general manager?! Did he graduate college? He looks so young!” She just laughed. I felt like grabbing her shoulders and shaking her and saying, “I want answers!” But of course, I am too non-stalkerish and don’t believe in violence. So I smiled sweetly. She said, “He still works here. I saw him yesterday.” I said, “Please don’t tell anyone I asked.” She smiled, “Oh no, I won’t.” I can guarantee she did as soon as we left, though. Wouldn’t you? Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? Guess I won’t be going back for another two months. Three. Okay, maybe I’ll be back next week….it’s a really good lunch buffet.

God's Creatures, the US Mail, Hollywood: Another Monday

I know not to start re-reading one of the books from the "Twilight Saga," but I needed to re-read "New Moon" before the movie comes out. I stayed up too late last night reading. (I finished it today at lunch so unless I start"Eclipse" tonight, I should be able to get to sleep early.) So of course, when the alarm went off at 6:30am, I pushed it back another half hour. ZZZzzzz. Which only left me a half hour to get ready in, which is almost impossible with my hair. But I got up and dragged myself in the bathroom, used it, brushed my teeth, got in the shower, washed my hair-- you get the picture. I was drying off when I noticed a black blur moving slowly on the wall. (I didn't have my glasses on.) I got closer to see if I was hallucinating. OH NO I WASN'T! One of the nastiest of God's creatures ever to walk the earth was walking the edge of my mirror like it was walking the ridge pole of a roof. I started screaming and had to leave the room before I fainted, where if I had fainted in the bathroom that nasty roach would have had a chance to crawl across me and my subconcious would know this was happening and just throw me into a coma where I would remain for hundreds of years and by then would wake to an earth only inhabited by roaches, wherein I would just have to kill myself. I shudder to think. So instead I sat on my bed to freak out a bit before I went back to kill it with my shoe. By the time I got back, it had made its way to the corner of my counter and that's where I smashed it. Never do that. It was disgusting. I could only stomach cleaning up part of it. I had to finish getting ready at work, because my half hour was up. When I got home I paid my sister $10 to clean up the rest of the remains.

While at work, our mail carrier, who always rings the damn doorbell, even though we have a glass door and she can see plain as day that I am sitting right there ready to let her in if only she would turn her head just a wee bit to the right and open her eyes and wait a second, left behind two stacks of our catalog mailouts. (I was at lunch.) Its that whole opening your eyes thing that I think she has a problem with. Anyway, I had to call the US Post Office to make a complaint and get her butt back there. Only you can't call the post office down the street, oh no, they keep that phone number in a safe deposit box at the bank. I had to call the 1-800 #, where I got stuck in Automated Operator Option Land. I finally just said, "Speak to a customer representative." Wherein the automated voice said, "You said speak to a customer representative, but we need to know what you are going to ask. You can say things like, look up a zipcode, or..." I cut it off and said firmly, "Okay, look for a zipcode." "Okay, you said, look up a zipcode. What city do you need the zipcode for?" "I DON'T WANT A ZIPCODE!" "It sounded like you said Duluth, Minnesota. Is this correct?" "NOOOO! Speak to a representative!" "Hold on a moment while I get a customer service representative for you." "Thank you!!" Grrrr. So then I spoke to someone who had to patch me through to the complaints department, who acted like why am I calling them, I should be calling the post office down the street. He gave me the number. I framed it.

Just one more thing and then I need to go further clean the bathroom. (With inflation as it is these days, $10 would only get the roach off the floor.)

I think Hollywood has discovered "Edward" and whisked him away from a mundane job at the hotel next door. Two weeks (and the two different times I sneaked over to eat lunch) and no sign of Edward. Unless he saw me coming and hid in the back. But no one else has seen him either. Good luck "Edward." Break a leg! (Watch out for stalkers.)

(This just in. Our apartments have cut the water off. Again. Perfect way to end a Monday.)

NaNoWriMo Day 1 and 2

The National Month of Writing began yesterday and I celebrated by writing 1738 words toward my 50,000 word goal. I need to be writing 1667 a day to make the 50,000 mark by the end of November. Hmmm...today did not go so well. I am quickly doing the math in head to figure out if I can make it up if I skip today and Friday? I don't know. But I'll have to figure it out. I wrote 1738 words in two hours, so I should be able to catch up. I just feel bad that I came out of the gate full speed ahead and then fizzled out on the second day.

I'll keep you posted. Hey- can this count? I know, I know...but it was worth a shot. Wish me luck tomorrow. My Goal is 2500. YIKES.

Rescue at 401 Chestnut Street

I’m beginning to see a pattern here. I just re-read my last two blogs. Two days in a row the Wall Street Journal was missing in the morning. I walked up and down the stairs twice to check on the papers, avoiding the elevator at all costs. The second run the local paper was there, but not the Wall Street Journal. Angela and I (taking the stairs) walked over to Panera and she treated me to lunch. When we got back to our building low and behold there sitting in our lobby was the Wall Street Journal. There were three, and I knew who the other two went to so I told Angela I would take them to that office. I was just grabbing the door to the stairs when Angela got to the elevator and convinced me to take it. I hopped off at our first stop and ran around the corner to deliver the papers and Angela was holding back the doors as they tried to close on her waiting for me. I slipped through the closing doors and hit the button to our floor. Okay, fine, I'll admit it. We work on the 3rd floor and I took the papers to the 2nd floor and there are only five floors in our tiny building.

Suddenly, it was like Fright Fest at Six Flags. The elevator went all the way up to the fifth floor, then back to the lobby, then back up and down. When it was moving and seemed to never stop, is when I started panicking. (I am not the person you go to in a crisis. I am the person you run from.) Angela said, “Its okay, we’ll get out.” She pressed all the floor buttons (only five). The car stopped between two floors. We know this because once it stopped and Angela had pressed the open door button and nothing happened and after she rang the emergency bell three times, she finally started prying open the doors. I was scrunched up in the far corner peering out under my hair, and saw we were indeed between two floors. I had my cell phone and tried to call the office and no luck. The maintenance guy was on vacation anyway. Angela used to work for the fire department, so she called the chief.

While Angela was talking with the fire chief I checked my teeth in the full length mirror at the back of the elevator. I didn't want lettuce blacking out a tooth when I smiled a grateful thanks to strapping handsome firemen. The chief called District 1 and they were on the way to get us, but she had to call 911 to make a report.

It was about 18 minutes of life stuck in an elevator. It was growing hot – I had on three layers. I took off my scarf, then my jacket, then my sweater. (I still had on a shirt.) I was thinking, at least I brought my cookie and chips back with me for sustenance and we had something to read. I didn’t know how long we’d be in there. I do I think I sucked up all the oxygen in that enclosed space. I laugh when I am nervous and I was giggling the whole time. We heard sounds of our rescue. One of them called through the doors, "It sounds like a party in there." (That would be me giggling.) Soon the doors opened and five firemen were staring in at us. Two held the doors back and I hopped out first. Had to hop down as we were still stuck in between floors. It was the lobby. I felt light-headed and needed to lean against a wall. Two more firemen came out of the stairwell. It felt so good to be free. I have made a vow to take the stairs from now on. (I hope I remember to do that.)

One of the cute (single) firemen followed me up three flights of stairs to my office to get a phone number for the building. Meanwhile back in the lobby, Angela was talking with one of the guys she knows. He told her they arrived with the siren screaming. (Thankfully we didn’t hear it. That’s just embarrassing.) He told her the chief told them to go to 401 Chestnut but then 911 dispatch called and sent them to the hotel next door. They went to the hotel and asked if that was the place with the stuck elevator. It figures, they’d try to go save “Edward” first. Luckily we weren’t on fire or something tragic.

I would like to thank the seven firemen from District 1 who were fearless and brave and saved us from the broken elevator at 401 Chestnut Street. Thank you!

Monday Continued

Okay, we got the newspaper finally and on my way back up, (I know, I know I should have taken the stairs) I took the elevator and got mini stuck. I know people have their own horror stories to tell about getting stuck for hours (like Polly's story that freaked me out) but this is my blog and the 30 seconds I was stuck with the elevator going up and down and I didn't know what floor I would end up on or if I'd be in between floors and wondering at what point do I press the emergency button...I was getting seriuosly freaked. Now I am trying to regulate my breathing again. In. Out.

11 hours and 52 minutes until Monday is over. Stay tuned.

P.S. the newspaper and the elevator weren't the only things gone awry this morning, but I don't feel like rehashing the rest. You don't want to hear it anyway. :)