Shock and Awe

This is a piece I wrote after meeting Maurice LuVell (not his real name) at Enterprise Rental Car in Phoenix in November ‘08… (He was fun; inclined to shock and awe. His fingers would hover above the keyboard ready to write up my rental transaction, then drop down as he went off on another crazy tangent.  I decided to put his words and ideas into the following 'poem'.

 Welcome!  I’m Maurice LuVell and I excel at  taking care of you well.

Hey! You’re from Minnesota where Tom Petters had no iota he’d gone over his quota-

You know you’d  steal a million dollars if you could.

“I wouldn't.” You would!  You knoooooow  you would!

Most Brothers take a shot to steal the pot until they stupidly get caught.

Not me! I know when to stop.

What? No, I don’t blush when I tell you this stuff!

‘Cause we see our mom and dad having sex before we’re six.

And we’re used to conflicts with pricks with short wicks…

Living so close gives you a dose of things that are gross;

Dead bodies and guns, cops hosing off blood ‘til it’s over and done.

“Soooo,” (trying new terrain:) “You like Arizona’s McCain?” 

McCain?  A white  pain! Not my  senator, I abstain!

Now, Obama—he’s my Dali Lama—oh mama!

---You're looking at my butt!

“I wasn't!”  Oh, yes you were, you knooooow you were!

You’re inclined to think its fine—a bit divine! Should see it supine!

You’re blushing alright! I’m not so uptight as folks that are white!

 (His arrogant song is far too long.  I should be gone!  But he goes on:) 

I Paid too much child support—made this rich man short;

So I quit Goldman Sachs—earned six figures pre-tax!  

Hiding the money from my ex-honey lets me live in a sunny

Gated community with immunity and equal opportunity!

I’ll tell you about my neighbors—drop some names.  I like to play that game.

Working here?  Keeps my golf days clear for courses premier!

(Maurice will not cease his pompous press release.  I need some peace!) 

“Now, Maurice, about that car…”

Hey! I can give you upgrades with gas pre-paid-- or more  personal accolades—

Have I bragged about the winner kids I’ve made?

(Forty minutes of this stuff!   Renting a car shouldn't be so tough!  I've had enough!)
©2008  Jana B Patrick

The Chicken Dance

        

Last October our son Ryan’s family was going to be celebrating a wedding on his wife's side with three members of Ryan’s family in the wedding party.   Getting ready for the out of town trip was a mixture of chaos and anticipation with having 20 and 5 month old sons, a house guest,  renting tuxes, fitting dresses and all the last minute plans and preparations.  I decided to make a few meals for them.  I called our daughter-in-law, Caroline, and told her that I just bought two chickens and would like to give her one.  There was a very long pause on the other end of the line and then,  “You’re going to give me a chicken???” 
I laughed, “A DEAD one, Caroline!  I’m gonna cook it for you!”   
She laughed and said, “You scared me! A chicken running around would be about the last thing I would need right now!!"

Caroline’s email message the next morning:   “ I am still recovering from the horrifying image I got of chicken's flying around my house!!!!!! HAHAHA  LoL”

 It’s almost Easter.  I wonder how I can help them out.  Hmmmm...  

Baby chicks?  A bunny?  A fuzzy little duckling?  Or just a plain old tuna casserole?  

Happy Easter!

p.s.  In Caroline's defense, it really wouldn't be out of character for me to do something like giving her a real, clucking, feathery, egg-laying, chicken...But I promise not to!

©10/5/10  Jana B Patrick

I Would Rather Have a Root Canal...

Alana and I went for a "Relaxation" massage while in Scottsdale.  As I followed my masseuse, Helga, into a darkened, aroma therapy scented room with barely audible new age music, I noted with approval that she looked strong and well able to deliver that deep muscle relaxation!


It was the most painful 55 minutes of my life. She began by running her elbow deep into my flesh along both sides of my spine, then pulled each shoulder back in unnatural contortions shaking them until they rattled. The tortuous elbow was jammed hard into several 'pressure' points on my ass, holding each time until I said, "Uncle!"  Thinking about the inevitable polka dot bruising, I was thankful I hadn't bought the thong swimsuit...  Remember the 'Veg-O-Matic'? That's what she did to each cheek after the elbow torture.  It got so bad, I started divulging State Secrets.


Finally she had me on my back and was finishing up with my head and neck--maybe I was finally to get some relaxation--what could she do to hurt me there?  HA!  She jammed her fists under my upper back twisting and jolting like an out of control jack hammer and then bent my neck in ways even Gumby would find anatomically offensive.


My session went over by 5 extra minutes--some might consider this 'A Good Deal,' but I was thinking that if I were Royalty I would consider having her beheaded. The Relaxation Slayer wants me to come back next week to get more of the kinks out.


I would rather have a root canal.                 ©2011, Jana B. Patrick

The Day I Burst my Bra... Or: 'The Big Bust'

In the South Minneapolis Catholic grade school I attended in the late 1960's, girls wore plaid skirts and white blouses with just enough sheerness to see the outline of their bra straps.  At age thirteen I certainly didn’t NEED a bra, but was mortified NOT to HAVE one and too embarrassed to tell my mom, so I took my 50 cents-an-hour babysitting money over to the JC Penney “Foundations” department and bought the cheapest bra I could find.  It was 100% unstretchable, unbreathable army surplus canvas with stitching that made me itch like I had fleas.  But as our parish priest, Fr. Fernando, would remind us, "It's better to look good than to feel good."

As the school year wore on, the bra became tighter and tighter and was starting to tear—not because I was progressing thru the bra A, B, C’s, but I was growing everywhere else.  The torture chamber became as tight as a Minnesotan in spandex.  Oh, to have had spandex!

One fateful day I was doing school work in a silent classroom with Tommy O's desk directly behind.  As tightly trussed up as I was, and turning slightly blue from lack of oxygen, I took a very, very deep breath …and the bra exploded.  The deafening noise jolted the students from their work and while the clamorous sound waves ricocheted off the walls, Tommy O shouted, “WHAT WAS THAT!!!?”

I looked around shrugging my shoulders and looking as confused as everyone else while I silently thanked Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints that I had decided to wear my oh-so-mahvelously-concealing navy blue sweater vest that day. No one knew...     I breathed easy.
 ©2011, Jana B. Patrick           

The Tattoos Blues

I thought about getting a tattoo and wanted it significant in scope. So, having lived directly east or west of it all my life, I had the whole Mississippi River tattooed on the back of my legs—from its humble beginnings in Lake Itasca, thru lock and dam #1, all the way to the Mississippi Delta just below the knees—all major tributaries represented of course.  Now, you may notice that I rarely show these pieces of art. Just imagine my audible gasp when the tattoo artist handed me the mirror. They look astonishingly like varicose veins!--All that time, money and pain --down the river…

Seriously, if I were going to do a tattoo, it would have to be practical—like putting “codeine allergy” on my wrist.  I wear a medical ID bracelet for that reason.  It would make sense for me to have this tattoo because from wear and tear my ID bracelet is scuffed beyond belief.  If I was to pass out and the paramedic tried to read it, she might shout, “She’s allergic to…scuff marks!!!  Get her off that dirty floor!!

The problem with getting the codeine tattoo is that I know I would pass out from pain after the letter “C.”  So when I failed to regain consciousnes, the tattoo artist might call 911.  The next paramedic might say to his partner, “I’ll check if she got any allergies—Looks like she got a “C” on her wrist—prolly for ‘Cold’ hahaha, prolly'll be a cold stiff  if we can’t figger this out!  Can’t ask the tattoo dude-- he don’t speak English so good.  She's prolly in lots of pain; hook her up to one of them codeine drips…”

So you see, I guess my only solution is that next August I will have my ‘State Fair Special’ medical ID bracelet re-engraved.  I best be careful until then.     
…And any new art will be put on the walls.  ©2011, Jana B. Patrick

A.D.D. Random Thinking

Brain rambling has been my lifelong affliction.  It doesn't bother me when, in a conversation, I change subjects several times. My daughter, Lauren, will comment, “Well, that was random, Jans.”  Not random to me.  My brain works like a TV remote rapidly clicking between stations.  When you’re on a new station, you talk about it, right? 
Getting stuff accomplished is a challenge.  I start by picking something up in the always messy office that goes in the kitchen and then I see the phone and remember to call my Mom who reminds me that I missed a family get together yesterday…

It’s genetic.  My sister Bridget thinks about something then starts talking about it as if everyone else is following the same inward conversation, and her husband will say, “Who is “he” and where is ‘there?”

I think I have some of the ‘H’ (hyperactivity) of ADHD as well.  People comment on how thin I am.  Of course I am.  Not only do I forget to eat, but I can’t stop moving—noticeable to unlucky seatmates on airplanes when I change positions like a hyper-caffeinated contortionist.  Once, on a 6 hour flight, I finally fell asleep after driving my seatmate to drink, when the smiling flight attendant jabbed me, “Would you like to eat?!”  I glared, “No!!!”  My seatmate glared at him as well. I can’t sit still in church or a baseball game either.  At a movie, I have to order popcorn—I like it a lot, but mostly, it’s something TO DO.

I wanted to see if ADD meds would help. It took me years to remember to ask my doc, and he said I would need a psychiatric evaluation.  So it took several more years to get around to finding a shrink and then actually calling for an appointment.  And this Psych doc wanted me to come five times for crying out loud.  I went to the first appointment, but naturally missed the second.   She said  she was going to charge me anyway.  I said I missed the appointment because I HAVE ADD!!!—that didn’t fly.  Eventually I was prescribed the meds and darn if they didn’t help—if I remembered to take them… Then I read some article that the meds aren’t so great for adults for some reason or other—death, I think; so I quit taking them altogether and I’m back thinking and moving like a pinball machine.

If my house were more organized I might not always be losing things, especially in my always messy office which I'm going to clean right now...or maybe I'll call my son, Ryan, to see if it's tomorrow or Friday that I'm suppose to have lunch with him...But where is that darn phone???

   ©2011, Jana B. Patrick  

  

Convalescing in Cabo

We are on vacation in Mexico where it's always sketchy whether there will be Internet ...or electricity.  However, you can always count on plenty of Margaritas and Medical Marijuana...  There is a current 'Spring Breakers Special' in town which includes 3 meals and 15 drinks per day. 15! If you want more, it will cost you! The day we arrived some friends were leaving and asked Steve to stop by their condo and get their leftovers.  I asked if he got any breakfast food.  Steve laughed, "Just water, beer and gin!"  Ah, Mexico!

In perfect sobriety (Really!) I have tripped or stumbled several times:  pipes sticking up randomly from broken sidewalks, missing sidewalks, holes in streets, pipes sticking up from holes in streets... (Lawyers in the U.S. LOVE this stuff)  The best one was when I was getting up from a toilet and the whole thing tipped over sideways!  Since the floor stayed dry, Steve said they must have accordion-fold plumbing.  Lauren said IF I had broken my wrist AGAIN that a toilet tipping over in Mexico would have made for a pretty good story.
The food down here has been fantastic but none better than when Steve and Lauren caught our dinner while shallow sea fishing for red snapper and sierra mackerel. The ex-Texan owner of the fishing boat says he has spent his entire adult life in Mexico.  He says he will never be rich, but loves Cabo, the people, the weather and "you cannot ask for a better lifestyle!"  Ah, Mexico!

Thanks for reading!  Tiene una buena semana!  
©2011, Jana B. Patrick