daydream disbeliever

Mad Ramblings From a Blithering Idiot
2001-11-09 06:37:11 (UTC)

Let's Play Catch Up, or Catsup, or Ketchup, or Whatever...

I have been absent for a while because of work once
again. Nine day stretches are never fun. However, at
least I am in shoes and not in soft lines any more. I have
learned that I am to be Nan's new flunky, however. I don't
mind too much because that means I am going to be learning
a lot of telxon technical mumbo jumbo, which will help me
to climb the corporate ladder of Wally World if I so
desire, heh. And hell will freeze over. That is, if you
believe that hell is a fiery pit of despair. I'm inclined
to go the Dante route of hell. It would seem to make more
sense and be much more interesting.

Once again I'm digressing. I tend to do that too
often, in both writing and speech. Anyhoo, I have news to
share (even though it's just with myself, heh). I won the
costume contest at work. I finally found the perfect
hideous prom dress at the consignment shop downtown. It
has to be about twenty years old. It was pale blue, with a
full skirt and gathered flounces around the skirt and the
bodice. In fact, it really resembles Molly Ringwald's
bridesmaid dress from Sixteen Candles. It was perfect,
though. After purchasing it for only $15, I made my way to
every pharmacy and dollar store in town, searching for a
long blonde Sissy Spacek wig. I knew Wal-Mart was out of
them, but K-mart had some that were way too expensive
(seven bucks for a nappy, tangly wig? I didn't think
so...). But my search was fruitless. I ended up going
back to K-mart and buying the second to last wig that was
available. I also bought the last cheap sequined tiara
they had. That night I spent two hours doing my best to
detangle the long vinyl strands. I ended up saturating
them with leave-in conditioner and setting them with my
steam sponge rollers. They gave me hell but I managed to
do it. The next day I called my dad and asked him about
dumping some corn syrup over my head. He said that was a
stupid idea-I'd be impossibly sticky all day and I wouldn't
be able to work. The five gallon bucket full of water and
red food coloring plan didn't go over too well, either.
Finally, he called me and exclaimed, "Red paint!"

"Red latex paint!"
"Um, ok..."
"I'll call the paint store and call you right back."

He called me about a half hour later and said he'd
been to the paint store and had it with him. He came to
the house afterwards and I was ready-dress zipped, makeup
applied, and wig positioned. I put on some old sandals as
Dad spread a paint tarp in the kitchen. He kept asking me
if I wanted to go through with it. My stomach was tight
with apprehension and excitement, but I decided that what
the hell? I told people I was going to do it, so I had to
follow through. Dad had brought a spray bottle with him,
thinking that he would spray it on my dress and I'd dribble
some paint on my arms and smear some on my face. However,
I disagreed with this plan and told him to just dump it
over my head-it was the only way I would look authentic.
So he stood on a footstool for one of our old Aidirondak
chairs and slowly poured the gallon of paint over my head.
The sun was warm, but the paint was like ice. I shut my
eyes and mouth as tight as I could. The paint gushed down
my dress and my whole body was soaked and streaked with
red. My mascara and eyeliner ran, giving my face a slight
Alice Cooper effect. My dad just looked at me and
said, "Oh, my God." Then he instructed me to sit in the
backyard until I was dry, then call him when I was ready to
go to work. I sat outside for an hour, until all the parts
that touched other objects were dry. The inside of my
bodice and waist were still soaked, but that didn't
matter. I called my dad, and he drove me to Wally World.
I stepped out of his truck, and I saw no one that was
dressed up. I had this horrible sinking feeling in the pit
of my stomach once again. However, it was crushed when I
saw CSM Jo decked out in full Wicked Witch of the West
duds. She looked great. Then I saw a few more people.
However, nobody had gone as far as I had. I freaked Nan
and Barb out. S just told me, "Hello, Miss Kerry."

Lots of people thought it was a funny spin on my name,
since Kerry had gone as Carrie. If my name had been
Hortense I'd still probably go as Carrie. I made sure
everyone saw me; some weird longing in me really wanted the
prize. One of my missions were accomplished that evening:
I scared adults and children alike. What's funny is that
more adults were afraid of me. The ten foot rule was so
much fun to follow that day, too. I'd walk up to customers
with my hideously steaked face and wig and ask in my
sweetest voice with a smile, "May I help you?" The looks I
got were lovely. It really satisfied this perverse part of
my nature that truly enjoys to shock others.

Everyone, customers and coworkers alike, asked me what
I had poured on myself. When I responde that it was latex
paint they were surprised. So many people asked me how I'd
get it out of my hair-I would laugh and inform them that I
was wearing a wig. What's funny is that when I took off
the wig at home, my hair was a weird stiff shape, full of
red tinges. The paint had leaked through, but it only took
a few hours of combing to get it out. The next day many
people looked at me and remarked, "I see you got it all
off." Well, of course I got it all off. Latex paint
washes off with just soap and water. Did they think I'd
been lying to them the night before? Josh said that to me,
with a smile. He said that I should've won the contest
sheerly because "of what you had to go through" to complete
my costume. Some people said that it took real guts (or
bronze balls) to do something like that. Well, that
evening the winners' Polaroid photos were tacked onto
poster board and my picture was in the first place slot on
the evening shift row! I've never won anything in my
entire life, unless I count that bag of Doritos I won
during a Bingo game in seventh grade...

Anyway, I'm pleased. It's good to be the winner,
especially when one is such a loser in every other aspect
of life. On to the rest...

I thought constantly about the MM last night. I
couldn't get him out of my head, for some reason. So, I
did something I've never done before. I dreamed about
him. It was one of the weirdest dreams I've ever had, and
I can only remember snatches of it. That was a double
entendre, heh. I just remember that we were together and
happy, and some lovin was going on. It wasn't a really
sexual dream, but more of a showing of extreme longing. I
don't know if I'm longing for him personally, or just the
way he made me feel. It could be both. I don't really
know. I just know that I want to feel that way again, so
badly. I want to be able to be myself and feel more like
Kerry than I ever have before. He made me experience that,
and it's like a drug that I'm addicted to but can't
access. I need another hit and I'm suffering serious
withdrawals, is all. Another topic before the damn tears

I discovered something that I've been searching for
for years. My favorite book resurfaced in a place where I
least expected it-my bookshelf. It's odd, I've scoured my
shelf for so long trying to find it; it was stuck between
two taller and thicker volumes. I read it last night, and
loved it as much as I did the first time I read it all
those years ago. I suppose I should mention what this
mysterious "it" is. I've never been able to admit this,
but my very favorite book is not a beloved Jane Austen
satire, nor a dark Bronte, it isn't a Hardy, or a
Montgomery, or a Salinger or even a hilarious Douglas
Adams. It's Louis Sachar's "There's a Boy in the Girls'
Bathroom". It's the only book that consistently has the
power to touch me, to make me cry with sadness, empathy,
and happiness so many times. It's so simple and beautiful,
and REAL. I need that book, because in a way, I am Bradley
Chalkers. I need my own version of Carla. I suppose the
subject matter of this novel, plus the emotions it evokes
and the way I was thinking about the MM triggered the weird
dream. Anyway, I'm ecstatic that I found it. I love it so
much and I recommend it to everyone. I've never told
anyone this before.

Today Dad and I went to the bank and I got a new
savings book. I also withdrew $600 from my account to pay
for the car parts. Hopefully, my little auto will be fixed
in a week. However, I'll still owe about $700 more, for
labor and paint and all. I'll make it, somehow.

I found out where Dad's apartment is, too. He took me
there when he took me to work to pick up my check. I
helped him get his luggage for his trip. He left today for
Kansas. He'll be gone a week with his friends; it's his
annual voyage west for hunting. It's Kansas pheasant this
year. I always talk about his living elsewhere as if the
situation has always been this way. I want to stay on his
good side, and I never mention other women, because it'll
do no good and he'll only hate me. So I seethe inwardly
and keep my opinions to myself.

I'm tired. I've written enough for this evening (or,
to more specific, this morning), and I'll make no promises
when I'll write next. Until that unknown date I'll remain
the struggling