Archives: Jan. 2008-Feb. 2008

Org. Post: Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Variform/Diversiform: Contracts, Connections and Conning One’s Cat

I received the following text message, on the first day of 2008:

"After careful consideration I decided 2 renew our friendship contract for 2008 I kinda like u so dont fuck it up!"

Now, I didn't recognize the number and decided to respond with "And who are you?"

Shortly after my response, my phone vibrated back with this reply "Rob Hessel"

I responded: "Who? I'm sorry but you have the wrong number but thanks for the consideration."

And that was the end of that. I sure hope Rob found the right number and that friendship contract has been fully renewed.

___________________________________

The following missed connections ad, on craigslist, was posted about me, on 12/29/07:

"i saw you at the falafel place: a missed connection in doggerel - m4w - 30"

"I saw you at the falafel place,
cute girl in winter hat.
I thought you glanced at me,
then across from me you sat.

I wanted to say hello,
Or ask about your book.
Instead all I could manage
was a furtive look.

I wanted to say something
that would really charm ya,
Or, failing that, ask
"How's yr schwarma."

I wanted to approach.
I mustered wherewithal.
But I feared I smelled
Like a falafel ball.

Now I sit forlorn,
my timidity I rue;
After all, you probably smelled
like falafel too."

I'm not too keen on poetry, even when it involves falafel ...Sweet, nonetheless, though ...Right?

________________________________________

Cat-Parenting 101

And now a scene from my apartment.

[Primo whining at front door]

Food: Full

Water: Fresh

Litter: Clean

Toys: Present

Me: "Primo. Primo. Look the drawstring of my pajama pants! Ooo!"

[Note: Having cats, I can imagine is sort of like having children, you suddenly find solace in ordinary objects …"Look! A toilet paper roll! Look!" or "Ooo a sock! Here! Have a sock!"]

[Primo swats at string for a few minutes]

10 minutes later.

[Primo whining at front door]

Me: "Primo. Primo."

5 minutes later.

[Primo whining at front door. I decide to walk over and scoop him up, taking him back to the sofa with me]

Me: "Primo …There is no food out there. None. You would starve …to death. You love food."

[Silence for the rest of the evening]

Org. Post: Friday, January 18, 2008

Have A Day: Because You’re Verbase + I’m Verbase

In the course of one day I've managed to …

-Resent the title "writer".

-Crawl under someone's house to save a cat.

-Receive a slip of paper about myself from a fellow patron at a nearby coffee shop.

-Realize that I shouldn't leave my apartment on Fridays.

_________________________________________________________

First things first, I'll make this brief since I generally wane from anything that might hint towards a diary. I try to steer clear of calling myself a writer or allowing myself to be titled as such. I write how I talk. Since I'm not about to dial everyone up via conference call, this is the medium best suited for sharing any occurrence and/or observation throughout the course of my day to day life. I'd be just as happy to sit across a table from you and tell you such things. Granted I do hold an unapologetic love for books and language (and the usage there of), I'm a bit sour on being pigeon-holed into any pre- + mis-conceived notion of a "writer" (I should note that out of the past 24 hrs., I've been asleep for a mere 2 and that was nearly 16 hrs. ago).

In the same literate-breath, I'm sour towards anyone who would deem themselves a "failed" writer.

_________________________________________________________

(16 hrs. and counting. I'm a bit poor at being so sour. It's like wearing a wet washcloth as a hat …That takes a discipline I sorely lack)

I find crawling under a neighbor's front porch both a much needed distraction and a great way to meet said neighbors. The fact that I was on the clock at work, sleep-deprived, sans breakfast and only a few sips into my morning cup of coffee …Even the better. Add a bandaged hand and below temps …Ding! Ding!

"I'll take Amanda Jordyn's Friday, for $500, Alex!"

After a night curled up on my sofa, with the light on, I dozed briefly before the skillfully trained and equally cunning Primo landed smack-dab on my head before 6AM, the exact time my alarm was set to sound. I tip-toed my way across my cold hardwood floors, into my work uniform, managed to pull my hair back and put a brush across my teeth. I made it into work, fully aware that I had a possible situation on my hands in the form of a scheduled spay appointment.

Without going into grave detail, somewhere between the start of my work day to the hour of the appointment's arrival that I wasn't even sure would show, the woman I'm speaking of decided she'd rather give us her cat than keep her.

It wasn't until I was shocked by her actual arrival that I realized she had also decided to bring her cat without a carrier and quite literally let her soon-to-be-former cat out, in front of my work's building (which in turn happens to be my neighborhood and I'm not spending my off-time paranoid that I'll run across a lost tortie).

I grabbed my coat and ran outside …That's when I met my much talked about appointee. It went something like this:

Me: "Hey! Where are you going?"

(she was walking to the left, across the street)

Me: "Where's the cat?"

( she points up the street …to the right)

Me: "Well, c'mon!"

I then run up the street to a newly constructed condo building. There was a meow coming from underneath a grill, at the bottom of someone's bottom floor deck …which happened to be 8 ft. below ground level. I hop over the fence, lower myself down and no sooner hit the ground when the cat decides to run out from underneath the grill and scale the wall back up towards ground level. She then opts to run underneath the next door neighbor's front porch. At this point, I tell the former owner (who is numbly standing there) to go back to my work, get someone and grab a carrier. She neglects to get anyone and brings back a cardboard carrier. I prop myself up on a flower box and hoist myself back over the gate, towards the neighboring deck. I spot the cat and proceed to crawl behind a bush and underneath the front steps.

At this point, a neighbor from the condo building comes out.

Neighbor: "Are you from Tree House?"

Me: (underneath house) "Yes"

Neighbor: "Here, I have some cat treats."

Me: "Ah, thanks …Could you just throw them at me?"

[meanwhile former owner is standing on the sidewalk with the box, looking elsewhere]

Neighbor: "Here you go! You can keep them."

Me: "Ah, thank you!"

[neighbor leaves]

I'm calling towards the cat, who is understandably frightened. I finally get close enough to get a scruff on her and I call for the former owner to hurry and open the box …To which she replies: "I don't know how to get it open"

After a very brief explanation on a rather brief action, box opens. After a scratch or two, I put the cat in, close it up and head back to work, former owner trailing behind me (an airplane overhead had caught her attention).

For the sake of length, I wasn't all that fond of this woman …Which was odd since I generally lean towards giving the benefit of the doubt. Then again, this was not to be such a morning.

My riot act started something like this:

Woman: "Maybe I'll keep her."

Me: "NO. You are not keeping her. You are going to sign this piece of paper and she will become a Tree House cat and you won't be able to see her anymore." I then went on (or rather off …in a very contained manner, I must add) about responsibility and commitment. The woman signed her name and one of my bosses then stepped in to reiterate that this woman should not own any pets.

Length purposes, I was feeling rather good. Over the course of such an event, my mind had shifted away from more personal matters and I was riding high on actually getting the cat back. The cat was then tested and came up positive for feline leukemia.

I've never truly cried over a cat at work. Not because I don't care but out of how I cope with such.

This morning, with Lisa hugging me in the surgery room, I started sobbing. Which all sounds a bit too dramatic for my comfort levels but there you have it.

I unfortunately have yet to meet the neighbors' whose landscaping I later found in my hair.

_________________________________________________________

This evening, I found myself at a nearby coffee shop. I sat there for a couple of hours w/ a blank document in front of me and admiring snowflakes (as a side note, I spent some time studying the various planes of a snowflake. Fascinating but I'll save that for another time. Yes, sigh of relief). As I stood up to leave, zipping up my coat and tying my scarf, a guy who had been seated nearby throughout the duration of my coffee, came up to me and handed me a slip of paper. I absentmindedly took the slip of paper, feeling a touch sick to my stomach (nothing personal against him. He didn't seem out of sort but I've grown weary of those who are randomly attracted to me). He wished me a nice evening and I thanked him.

Basically, I am …

"delectable," "a heavenly being, possibly made up of two or three heavenly beings" "with hair that gleams w/ a sheen reserved for Satan's concubine," "classy," "elegant," "distinctly sexy," "cheekbones" and "poised with great grace."

It went on to explain that he was late for a birthday party but had been "so inspired" that he couldn't "get up the nerve to leave."

He then wrote "thank you" and again wished me a nice evening.

To quote my friend, Nick: "Concubine?"

_________________________________________________________

I shouldn't be allowed out of my apartment on Fridays.

Case in point:

-2.5 weeks ago, Friday, lunch break: Slipped on sidewalk, had bruise the size of Alaska on tailbone and a soreness throughout my left side for 2 weeks.

-Last Friday, while attempting to weigh a cat @ work, my healing bite wound from Lola on the palm of my right hand a handful (pun aside) days previous was scratched open …My hand started to swell and I was sent to the nearest emergency room. A first as I embark on my 6th year, in Chicago. After a tetanus shot , a bang up bandage job and a prescription for an antibiotic, I caught the bus back to work w/ a hour to spare.

-All of the above/this entry.

Org. Post: Sunday, January 27, 2008

Function! Function! / Humerus: Funny Bone, Humorous: Funny

There are a few things I've come to fear in my life, thus far, outside of the normal fears (normal fears being failure, the clap, incontinence, never-ending hiccups) …There's my lifelong fear of mayonnaise (I get that gag feeling in the back of my throat when I think of the word "emulsify") and the ominous feeling of not being able to see the silt of a large body of water (though I pride myself on being a top notched swimmer …I was also raised by a woman who lists "Jaws," as one of her all-time favorite films). Imagining a large body of bottomless emulsification and losing my keys in the process might be stretching it a bit and give way to convulsions.

I do however, due to friends past and present and leading a purely pedestrian lifestyle fear cars …To be more exact, cars that do not stop. I'm a self-professed, certifiable prudish pedestrian when it comes to crossing streets.

Dear Cab Driver,

Hi, it's me. Black hair? Bright red winter hat? I have friends that call me "Amanda," friends that call me "Jordyn" and on occasion "Ms. Phelps" but you might know me best as the girl you almost ran over, last night.

I'm assuming you failed to notice (and I can't forget) that I had the right of way, the light was clearly red and the crosswalk had a distinct glow of that little white walking guy.

Thank you for stopping once your front end hit my leg …I appreciated the slow realization, out of the corner of my eye, that you weren't stopping. I believe my exact thoughts were "He's not stopping. He's not stopping." Such thoughts that were interrupted by a woman walking her dog, on the other side of the street, screaming "STOP!"

That casual wave of your hand as your headlights lit up my wide-eyed stare …That was kind of you. Why not blow me a kiss?

I assure you that my heart has started beating again and I successfully crossed the same intersection, earlier this evening …Though a touch wary and entertaining thoughts of just never crossing the street …ever. I'd just stay there, in my winter coat, a cup of coffee and I'd become some sort of neighborhood icon, affectionately called "Paranoid Mary of the Corner," yelling as people cross safely to the other side.

Best,

-Amanda Jordyn Phelps

This all seems a bit too dramatic for my taste but I've decided to run with it.

When I realized that the car coming towards me was on a mission that didn't include any sort of stop sign or flashing red light (or the fact that I have a dimple or well-conditioned hair and a Mother's love) and that I most certainly could have been damaged in some shape or form (or both) …I'd like to say that I had some sort of epiphany.

That in that instant, my life's hopes and dreams came flooding to me …That I would never invent that vaccination (to save a small colony of pigmy goats). That I would never stand on the shoreline of the Gulf of Suez (dressed as Moses being optional). That I would never have that one great love (the one that would laugh at all my jokes and I could use the bathroom around without running the faucet). That the clothes in my closet would never find their proper hangers. Or that I'd never pen the next great American instructional pamphlet (Or as it'd be known "Words: Revolutionizing IKEA).

Truth be told, my first non-expletive thought was in fact: "INSULIN!" And that's where my anger stemmed from …I have Primo's insulin timed out to precision on any given day and I was actually en route home to do just that. How dare that absent-minded cabbie almost take that away from both Primo and I. We have a schedule, sir and unfortunately Primo's pancreas not only lacks in well functioning but in patience.

Sigh. Then again, as my dear friend Nick put it "That's city life for you."

_________________________________________________________________

And now for some bits from the backburner

1.23.08, 939PM

-Labyrinth game (with the ball hidden on my bookshelf aka cat-proof)

-Magazines (Time Out: Chicago, Make, Heeb, Nylon, Coffee Shop Crushes zine, Cat Fancy (a gift), UR Chicago, Chicago Reader, ReadyMade)

-Books (I Know You're Out There, Crossing California, British/American Language Dictionary, Webster's Synonyms, Antonyms and Homonyms, Scouts In Bondage & Other Violations of Literary Propriety)

-Cassettes (Steve Martin, Tears For Fears, Diana Ross, Jay & the Americans)

-Coasters ("I'm happy …yet I'm aware of the ironic ramifications of my happiness")

-Stereo remote

-DVD remote

-Statue of Liberty temporary tattoo (which came in the following)

-Half empty box of Botan rice candy

-¾ filled pocket notebook (filled with lists and self reminders)

-Medical papers from ER visit a couple of weeks ago (my hand has since healed)

-Rombix game

-Almost empty Americano from the Coffee Studio

On the side:

-Books (Johnny Got His Gun, Sneaky Uses For Every Day Things, An Anthropologist On Mars, A Long Way Down, The Girls' Guide To Hunting and Fishing, The Jewish Connection, The Technique of the Baton: A Handbook for Students of Conducting, The Yellow Wallpaper, A Glossary of Literary Terms, a 1976 appointment calendar from the MoMa, Fast and Thrifty Ways to Clean Everything, Globetrotter Travel Guide to Israel)

Basically, I need to sort my coffee table.

[Note: As I start to type, Nebraska-Girl is standing in front of her television set, vigorously brushing her teeth …This has been going on for nearly 5 minutes …A. Not that I'm looking, B. Not that I'm watching the clock].

____________________________________________________________________

Amanda Jordyn's Imagined Thought Process of Roy Orbison As He Penned "Running Scared"

[Working Title: "What I Do When I Should Be Re-Dying My Hair"]

"Ok, I'm in love with a woman who has a jealous ex …I need to write a song about the paranoia of running into him while with her. I'm scared."

Lyrics: "Just running scared/each place we go/so afraid, that he might show" [0:24]

"All right, I'm running scared afraid to run into him and now I'm afraid that she might love him back."

Lyrics: "Yeah running scared …"[0:27]

"Repeat. Repeat"

Lyrics: "What would I do/if he came back and wanted you" [0:48]

"Repeat. Repeat. I'm sad"

Lyrics: "Feeling low" [0:59]

"Which one would she choose? Him or me?"

Lyrics: "If he came back/which one would you choose" [1:32]

"The time has come! Repeat. Repeat."

Lyrics: "Then all at once/he was standing there" [1:40]

"Bastard. Build up. Build up."

Lyrics: "My heart was breaking/which one would it be" [1:55]

"…..Umm. Ok, running scared. I'm running scared. He loves her, she's with me, she might love him …Ah, hmm …He's there! He's standing there. My heart is racing. I'm breaking out in sweats …Ah. Umm. Build up! Built up! I'm ah running scared. Ok, ah. Big decision. Really like this woman. Crap …. …. …."

Two days later:

"….."

Lyrics: "Which one would it be [1:55] …You turned around and walked away with meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" [2:08]

Fade, end [2:13]

[Coming Soon: Amanda Jordyn's Imagined Thought Process of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm Going Down"]

__________________________________________________________________

I enjoy sunrises. I admire the colors of any given sunset. I'd gladly hear your long-winded political grand stand about "the man". I even like when snowflakes collect on my eyelashes …However, I cannot stomach any of such being conveyed through poetry. Sadly, I will not be attending your poetry slam or joining your Bronte book club.

That said, I've concocted my own tour of "found" poetry. While still in the conceptual stage, I've decided that if I ever find myself at any sort of spoken word and/or open mic poetry night, I'll gladly take the stage and share with the finger snapping crowd the joy of homonyms.

Examples:

"Ewe, female sheep.

You, pronoun .

Thank you."

"I didn't write this piece …but I often reflect upon it in my times of need.

Eye, organ of sight.

Aye, yes.

I, myself."

"Coward, one without courage.

Cowherd, one who tends cows.

Cowered …frightened."

"Peace, quiet.

Piece …a part.

Peas …vegetable."

Finger snaps all-around! Coming to an art school campus or reggae night near you!

(I think I'll sit on this one for a while. One! One, single unit. Won, gained.)

Org. Post: Monday, February 11, 2008

Icy Roads: Squared-Ahead!

In grade school, one of my close friends lost her Father in a car accident and I in turn watched a lot of Arsenio Hall, that winter.

At the time my Mother was both working the Midnight (11PM-7AM) shift at the hospital and pulling full-time as the center of my world. Given the icy conditions of wintertime, I felt compelled to guilt my Mother, beg my Mother to stay home. As she dried her hair and dressed before heading out, I'd slip notes underneath the bathroom door …Notes that years later can be found pressed between the pages of her Bible. (My Mother's Bible acts more as a scrapbook of various photos, notes, notices and newspapers clippings near and dear to her throughout her life ...Much like the front of my fridge, which gives off a devine glow and hum). One such note featured a drawing of myself, tears falling down my face and underneath "Mom, when you leave, I cry".

The thought of losing my Mother, much in the way of my friend's Father, frightened me to no end …What on Earth would I do without her? (Though, losing my Mother in the grocery or in a department store was far less frightening. It was my brother that usually cried in such situations).

Regretfully and at times arguably my Mother would leave, car warmed up, promising to call me as soon as she arrived at work, safe and sound. I'd stand in the doorway, wearing my most pitiful look as some half-ditched effort to have her turn around, realize how foolish she was being and come back home, safe and sound.

Arsenio Hall's show came on at 11 o clock, eastern time. Curled up on the living room's sofa, I'd try and put my fears to rest, drowned in all the "whoof-whoofing,"(or as Arsenio would say "Let's get busy!") and await the phone to ring. I never would get the chance to see Hall's show in it's entirety …The phone would sound shortly after his intro or as the first guest arrived.

[Scene: Grade school lunch table, sitting amongst my brown bagging friends

Me: "So, hey, did you guys know that Arsenio Hall is dating Paula Abdul? Mrs. Curtis has shoulder pads like Arsenio. Have you guys heard of 'black power'?"

Lunch Friends: "………."]

…Without fail, my Mother's voice would be on the other end, instructing me to brush my teeth, get some good rest and reassuring me that the roads weren't bad at all, "My tires have extra treads, Mandy."

Years later, I'd find out the truth about my friend's Father: suicide. Supposedly, car crashes are the number one excuse you tell impressionable, developing minds. Had I known this, I would have paid an extra amount of attention to just how many Tylenols my Mother was taking.

Whoof, whoof, whoof.

_______________________________________________________

Voicemail from my Mother, 2/7/08:

"Hi honey, just checking on you and making sure you're safe and no one ran my baby girl down today. I know, it was terrible outside. Oo my God, this is like wet ...slushy, snow ...rain, crusty, Oo my god, it's like everywhere you go people were stuck or people were sliding …Some people didn't even go out …it was terrible. I ended up going into work tonight at the Holiday Inn, on top of working all day, and no one made it in, it was just me and I was ornery and mad at the cooks for putting out bad food. I'm home, can't believe my little car made it through the crusty, icy snow ...No one even plowed! Even snow plows chose to stay in tonight. I hope you had a pleasant day. I love you baby girl and I'm awfully proud of my 'employee of the month,' you're such a hard worker …And so beautiful and just a good girl and kind, you're a kind person, Amanda Jordyn. Someone is going to be awfully lucky to have you in their life, I mean that …I'm lucky to have you. I love you honey, have a goodnight, keep safe, warm and dry, bye!"