Friday, January 13, 2006

Camel Tears, animal fears

Would like to report that not only did I purchase the book, but it was actually on 30% sale, which would totally make my mother and aunt happy. I'm sure that if you were in Borders today and saw me, you would be *sure* that I was purchasing material of a, let's say, prurient nature (ahem!), judging by my quick walk, total lack of eye contact with anyone, and low, hushed tones as I approached the check-out counter. The checker looked at me and we shared a mutual sigh, eye-roll and shoulder shrug.

"So....I take it this isn't for you?" she queried (please keep in mind the title of the book is "Bad Childhood, Good Life")

" It's for my mom, and my aunt." I replied. Now at this point, Normal People would have shut up and paid for thier purchase, regardless of wether it was Goodnight Moon or... I don't know, Good, Night! Moan!" ...if yaknowwhatImean.
And I'm sure you do.

Not me. I felt somehow strangely compelled to EXPLAIN that this was NOT for me, and that I was not lying and saying it was my mother just to look like less of a dork. I say "less" because anyone over the age of oh, 22, coupled with the incredible shame of being Seen in Public with a Self-Help Book...has officially become a Dork. No matter how cool your new hair cut is, or how many Napoleon Dynamite/The Mars Volta/BRMC/other pop culture references you can make. It is over, OV-VAH, the minute you pick up any book with an author named "Dr. ___________" (Phil, Laura, Bob, etc)

"Ya... I used to come home from school as a kid and make fun of her on her radio show, but my mom and aunt totally love her, and my sister asked me to bring a signed copy out when we come and visit them on Monday." I replied. "You should hear her tagline! 'and I'm the mother of my does that make you qualified to give advice, y'know?" I asked. "We're going out there Monday and they asked me to pick up some stuff for them at Traders', plus this book."

Y'all, I may as well said, "We'll be on flight # 23515045, departing at 18:30, from gate 14 out of Santa Barbara airport. Too Much Detail, AGAIN! Gah!! But I wasn't finished, no, no couldn't leave well enough alone, or even close. Because I had to Validate my story. Like anyone would go to that much trouble to LIE about a stupid book.

"Oh? Where to?" (This I'm sure was to be polite) she asked - surely she wasn't trying to work up a sale, considering I'd already handed her my card.

" wouldn't happen to have gift wrap still available, would you?" I asked hopefully, "I have to hide my shame somehow."

"Ya, wouldn't want to have it out on the plane - that would be dangerous, like a particle bomb, right?" she said. Thank goodness - She GOT me. Also, the wrapping will serve as a protective barrier between me and the She-Evil that is Dr. L. Am quite mortified to say that I believe Dr. L lives here, at least part-time, and that I know for a fact that she endorsed some crap line of jewlery here locally.

In a totally different vein: Am watching "Tears of the Camel" with one eye - dude, Mongolians know how to LIVE in tents - they have tapestries and killer rugs and neato lacquered red furniture and everything! Really, that is pretty cool. Especially since it's all portable and they have to dig about 50 feet to find water. Can you imagine digging for your water? I complain about not having one of those little spicket/filter devices and having to go "all the way to Traaader Jooooe's." Also.. the little Mongolian kids are so, so cute - they appear to be pretty much BORN with more athletic abilty than I will ever have. Please note that I hate tents, camping, performing any bodily function in public/sub-par facilities...I'm just saying, I love how self-contained and together the families seem to be. Plus.. a five year old riding a camel? What's not to like? Ohhh...except for the gratuitous views of camel hoo-ha (eeeek!) and the shot of the baby camel TRYING TO WALK WHEN ITS BACK LEGS ARE STILL INSIDE THE MOTHER. That is just a tad bit disturbing., anyway.

Meepers....Who STILL has not packed and is taking "preventative medicine" (read: Firestone Latitute 34.5 Merlot) to combat our collective anxiety (minor, we're not panic-attacking over here, don't worry). S = less than happy about being in a plane. Me = having chest pains over leaving Fynn "alone" (By alone, I mean: With capable handlers and other kitties, his own bed, brush/comb, toys* and feeding dishes, videos to watch, indoor trees to climb, scratching posts, a fountain...need I go on?). How sad is that?

*"Toys" include wine corks (great for chasing around) and tampons, because at some point he decided he likes to chew the paper off, than bite them into wee little pieces until it looks like it snowed on my rug. Also normal kitty toys like mini-tennis balls, a wand with a fake mouse and balls with bells in them. And his leash and harness, and probably my sarong that he's slept in/on since he was a baby.

Spoiler for those who want to know about the camel: Basically, camels apparently sometimes reject their young for no reason, and will not nurse or care for them, which leaves the little ones in a bad way. In this story, a family is concerned about thier new camels' rejection of her baby, and end up hiring this guy to come and sing and PLAY the VIOLIN to the CAMEL, so it will accept its new baby. I'm totally not telling you what happens after that - you'll have to rent the movie! Trust me, it is worth your while, just to hear the noises a camel makes.

By the way - do you think if S. plays guitar to Fynn, he will feel better? And how many times do you think I can call the cat hotel before they say, "Look, lady, he's just a FRICKIN' CAT! Get a GRIP!" and I dissolve into embarassing tears in front of my family, which will solidify and freeze due too the cold, thereby rendering me a solid, pitiful statue of Why I Should Get a Life? Or maybe just a camel.


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