March 30, 2006


I don't know if it was my outfit (insideout baby cardigan, "fuck your phallorcratic discourse" t-shirt, my under wear were sticking out of the top of my filthy white jeans) or the odd miracle that I am not between 86 or 55 and deep red tan nor wearing an outfit with anchor decals all over it, but when I asked the ladies outside of the bank where a bank with an ATM was, they puffed on their Virgina Slims and looked back at me silently, strangely, as if I had I asked them "Which one of you wants to eat my ass first?" ... they stuttered and pointed all around town, their most in depth direction being 'there is a big one over there, down there over cross the road".

I toddled around the downtown looking for the ATM, looking almost as nuts as I feel. Got up at 4 am to drive my sister 2 hours to the airport. The drive back was pretty sweet--there is nothing like driving through Celebration Florida with the top down on a rented Chrysler Sebring (to stay awake), listening to The Misfits, Fleetwood Mac and Mary J. very loud at 6:11 am. I realized something great though, on my zombie voyage: I have never driven to work before. Like to a job where I work for someone. Ever.

Correction to yesterday's post: My nana is 87, not 79. She got confused, because she though she was the same age as Eartha Kitt, who is 80. I forget--old is old to me. Despite my nana's creeping senility, she held forth for a good 45 minutes on the topic of deer meat and her many years running the meat counter at her grocery store. We begged her to stop--gagging and giggling--she just started weaving it together with the story of my parents 1975 wedding in her front yard. It was amazing, one sentence would be about the 20 yards of material in my moms dress, the next about how meat hangs on a hide once it is slaughtered. It was like she was reading a Godard screenplay aloud.

Posted by Jessica at March 30, 2006 09:09 AM | TrackBack