labor day, no labor

i realized that i have this whole upcoming weekend free. of course, i probably have school work i could do, but i'd really like to make some money. i went on craigslist to look for jobs in the ETC. category because they are usually temporary, but nothing for this upcoming weekend. then i thought, why don't i post that i want a job for this weekend. i went to the post classified link and clicked, then, i went to the gigs link and clinked, then i clicked i want to offer services, they there was this page asking you what type of services you were offering. this is where i hit a snag, auto services, computer services, creative services, household, labor&moving, theraputic (non-erotic), erotic, the list went on and on and i felt like i didn't fit into any of them. i wouldn't dare say i could offer creative services, that seemed cocky. and i didn't want to end up cleaning someone's house all weekend, or moving furniture. i know part of the problem is me not being aware of what i want to do, but i also feel that i truely have no marketable job skills. one of the jobs i looked at was for proofreader, they wanted you to know APA style, MLA style, and Chicago. Where are people learning these things? How come I haven't? I don't want to ask the question because I already know the answer, have i not got the most bang for my buck in regard to higher education. i'm afraid so. the whole thing reminded me of this episode of the golden girls where dorothy, who is looking for work, has rose put an add in the classifieds saying that she will do anything for eight dollars an hour. and i mean, if you ask me, dorothy was just asking for it with an add like that and asking rose to take to the newspaper office. so rose puts the add in the personals instead of the classifieds and these men show up. the first one says, "you, dorothy. me, toto." the next one says, "are you dororthy?" and dorothy answers, "yes." and the guy looks at her and says, "i'll give you four dollars." dorothy kicks all the guys out and is mad at rose for being such a nimconpoop (sp). its a pretty good episode.

starbucks and j dubs

this morning i went to the starbucks that is in the grocery store to get an iced vanilla latte. the line was long and i hadn't even washed my face. I was wearing my glasses, and my sunglasses over my glasses. when the guy asked for my name i hesitated. i usually use the name inez, but felt weird saying my name was inez in an area where the majority of people around me where hispanic. i felt like they would see right through me. i used my back up name, dagney. the starbucks workers rarely get this one right. i usually get a cup that has daphne written on it. there is no way my name would ever be daphne. i don't even know anyone named daphne. today, though, my cup had the name maggie written on it. thats a new one.

since i was on third and the payless shoe source is on third and catalina i decided to go. i had seen a pair of shoes i wanted on the tv. i parked on catalina. there was a group of hispanics standing around a building dressed like they were going to church. they had fliers. i'm pretty sure they were jehovah's witnesses. or j dubs as daniel calls them. which reminds me that i saw a women in line at starbuck wearing a t-shirt that had all these colorful animals on it, a lion, elephant, giraffe, the usual. i expected it to say, san diego zoo or something, but it said, kingdom of the son. i assume this women was a jehovah's witness as well. there was a girl i went to school with who was a jehovah's witness. Her name was Zina Helzer and she was really cool. When we were 13 we tried to start a magazine called, phat & hip. we only got as far as taking pictures of our friends in clothes we thought were cool. but other j dubs would knock on our door and give me a flier. the picture on the front was of a rainforest, every thing was lush and green, and there was always this lion that seemed larger than life, and a human was standing next it, petting it. i think this was the j dubs idea of heaven, petting lions. i still don't know much about jehovah's witnesses except that they are really into being friends with animals, mainly lions.

i was in payless for a long time because they have a lot of cute shoes. i was getting worried about my meter. i had only put in a dime giving me twenty four minutes and i had easily been looking at shoes over a half an hour. i made my decision (the shoes i saw on the television and some strappy, heeled sandals that gave me a blister, then i took dance class and the blister filled with blood). i was thinking that if my meter ran out, would the witnesses put more money in? would that be the christian thing to do? when i got out to my car i didn't have a ticket. i didn't check my meter to see if i was out of time. i'll just assume the j dubs helped me out. they didn't even try to hand me a flier. sometimes its nice to have a language barrier. this all happend in the first hour after i woke up. it was one of the longest hours of my life. i like that sometimes though, like time has slowed down and i can notice things that i hadn't before.

bring the ruckus

i was about to turn on some gwen stefani while i googled the words, sex and religion. but the workers outside my window, who have been waking me up at eight every morning with their mexican radio, are now playing wu-tang. since i am a fan and i haven't heard this particular track in awhile i am holding off on the gwen stefani.

i need to google the words sex and religion because i need to write an article dealing with just those items, sex and religion. i have had some ideas: virgins (they are fascinating and really hot right now), abstinence clubs, and transgender churches to name a few but i don't have any "leads" yet. this is for the journalism class i am taking. they actually use words like "beat" and "leads" and "op-ed". i am entering a whole new world. the world of hard news. i was thinking the transition would be fairly easy for me, but i am a little worried now. i have to have a 150 word by-line in by monday, and a 1000 word article in in two weeks. hard news is all about deadlines. fiction writing has been hard for me lately, hopefully a jounalistic style will come easier. i have started four stories in the last month and half or so and have yet to get past the second paragraph on any of them. i start my independent study with el benderino and i am a little worried that i will be unimpressive. which is the exact opposite of what i want to be. i have been thinking lately about the whole "show don't tell" idea and i can't show anymore. i feel like i am always telling. i think this is because i don't know my characters well enough, but its like they are these people i am being forced to get to know. i feel like that person who says, "i have enough friends", "i don't want to know anyone else." i am not putting forth the effort to create any characters with any depth that is worth writing about for more than two paragraphs.

i need to read a lot but i also need to get out the apartment. i have to keep the blinds closed because those fore mentioned workers are literally at my window, which is open because los angeles in late august is the seventh circle of hell, so my apartment is dark, and noisy and even if i wanted to read i would probably have to put in earplugs. i don't like wearing earplugs if i'm not sleeping. i don't like being able to hear my own heart beating. now the workers are playing slow jams. i wish krista would get here so we could go get grilled cheese sandwiches.

the feral cat chronicles

there are many of us, especially in the cities, even more in hawaii. the lucky ones is what we call them. we live under cars and trash cans and shade ourselves in the shadows of city life. i've never seen a mirror, but i can tell by the way humans look at me that i am scraggly and skinny. my name is rockette. i live in the parking lot behind an apartment building in the city of los angeles. i share the lot and its surrounding areas--two trash cans, some vegetation, many cars--with my male counter part, grover. grover and I have two children, ginny and mustard. we used to have three but one of our children disappeared one night, maybe a car got him, or maybe greedy human hands picked him up. humans, they think we need their litter boxes, food, and comfy beds. grover and i are beyond what the humans called, "rescue". our remaining children though must be watched and protected from the do-gooders who want to give them a "better life".

the first meal the human lady every brought me was a big plate of tuna, juicy and flakey. i hadn't eaten in a while and i took big bites, practically choking on the pieces. grover wasn't around so he didn't get any. it was a treat, and while i was lying in the sun drenched lot digesting and unfamiliar cat wondered through. she looked feral, eyes alert, fur dirty and unlicked.

"do you eat all that tuna?" she purred.

"who wants to know?" I didn't get up, playing it cool but ready to get territorial.

"you better watch out for those humans. they only feed wild things like us for three reasons: to steal our babies," she nodded toward mustard and ginny who were playing in the nearby dirt patch,"or to trap us to take our insides out, or to simply feel better about themselves."

"so what if it makes her feel better."

"you won't be singing that tune when your babies are gone as well as your uterus, trust me, i know."

she showed me the top of her right hear. it had been cut. "thats human language for 'fixed sheba'. i fell for the tuna buffet just like you're going to and now i got nothing but concrete i sleep on."

"thanks for the tip." i said as she wandered over to the trash can. "there isn't anything in there worth eating. trust me."

i went over to rest where ginny and mustard where playing. both of them are black with white on their faces and feet, different from me and grover. we're both all black, with yellow eyes. i think we named mustard mustard because we both liked licking the mustard from hamburger and hotdog wrappers we found in the trash. i watched my kids playing and thought about the humans taking them. they know not to go near them, but they do offer such an amazing life of luxury.

"mom! look at this," ginny cried as she pounced on mustard's head. "maybe i could kill a pigeon someday."

i laughed and mustard ran after his sister. dr. britches, a big gray maine coon came over. mr. briches has lived in the alley/parking lot longer than anyone, and if anyone knew about the humans taking babies and "fixing" us it would be him.

"dr. britches! dr. britches!"

"oh, hello rockette. how are the little ones?"

"oh they are just fine dr. britches." i said. "did you see that old cat i was talking to? the one with the cut right ear?"

"i did indeed." dr. britches said. "she is an old one. i've seen her around before, years ago. thought she lived a few alley's south, must be pretty hungry. probably wanted some of that tuna you got today." he gave me a knowing look and for some reason i blushed. i was afraid i had been selfish.

"i'm sorry i didn't share---"

"don't you worry rocky. you are a nursing mother, you need the food. besides, i'm an old pro. i could pull a salmon steak out of that trash can right now if i really tried." he purred.

"dr. britches that old cat told me that i got that tuna because the human lady wants to take my kids and get me fixed."

dr. britches laughted. "i've heard stories like that, and humans do love baby animals, why'd they care for a porcupine if it were a baby."

i had no idea what a porcupine was, that is dr. britches for you though, he has seen a lot.

"just watch of for the babies and yourself. you'll be fine."




stay tuned for more FERAL CAT CHRONICLES

landscape

when i was seventeen it seemed my friends had an amazing obsession with tabacco and tabacco products. most of my friends were guys. we all smoked lucky strikes, and though we were cool. they got into pipes and pipe's tabacco. there is a tabacco shop on the corner of ninth and alder in portland, rich's, thats were they went to get their pipe tabacco. the air was rich and dank in rich's. they would pull the stopper off the glass container and flavor of the tabacco was so moist you could smell in your sweat. the guys also kept a supply of moonshine to help clean their pipes. up on the top shelf of their closest, away from prying parent's, they'd pull it down and dare me to smell it.

i don't smoke anymore. i claim that i am not a smoker. but i smoke when drink, and sitting here with a cup of coffee makes me want one, slightly. i think the distinction is important, although to people who have always smoked casually, or never at all, the distiction is non-existant. but when smoking was at one point a large part of your identity, something you defined yourself with, something beyond an addiction, the distiction is important. now when i go out and drink i indulge myself in cigarettes. the more alcohol, the more cigarettes. and in the morning i nurse more than just a parched mouth, and a groggy head, but lungs that are crying out in pain, and a heart in palpitations trying to pump out the poison.

it was a morning like this when i went in for my second tattoo removal, groggy, shakey, and in need of a large breakfast. homeboy industries where i get my removal is in east la, farther east than most people go unless they have a specific reason, across the first street bridge, just east of the five freeway. i remember a breakfast place around the area that i frequented when my boyfriend at the time worked at a theater company in the area, over four years ago. the restaurant was called, soul folks, and served banana walnut pancakes as large as hubcaps. after my removal session, pained, and in need of comfort food i searched out this restaurant. maybe it was the hangover, the sore lungs, or the process of removing a mark from my past, but i was feeling rather nostalgic, and driving through the industrial area of east la, a haze hanging over the city, i fell in love with los angeles a little bit.

soul folks wasn't there, it had been replaced by a mexican restaurant called "ay carambe". i went in and asked the man working the counter if he knew anything about soul folks. he told me it had moved to sixth and imperial, right by the sixth street bridge. while i was on scholarship we shot a spec "got milk" commercial one night underneath the sixth street bridge. it was a night shoot, and to prepare, the night before tara and i rolled and stayed up all night so we could sleep all day and be ready to stay up all night shooting. i knew the area, and i remembered it being deserted and seedy. as i got closer and drove around the bridge, and turned south on imperial and looked for soul folks i realized that there is no way a restaurant would ever survive in this area of gray warehouses and cardboard homes. i had been sent on a wild goose chase. so i didn't get my big pancake, but a nice walk down memory lane. so i drove west, and the streets became more populated, and the buildings more inviting. i drove all the way to vermont and franklin and ate at the house of pies in los feliz, where hipsters sipped coffee, probably nursing hangovers similar to mine, and i thought of all of la's landscapes and their disparity. and i fell in love a little more. if la has offered me anything it has been the opportunity to change. for me to go from a pack a day smoker with a tattoo on her left arm, a skinny dancer shooting commercials underneath the sixth street bridge to whatever i am now. i'm sure it will be easier to define once i've moved away from it, once i've driven farther north and the landscape has changed once again.