Seven things I like - Part three

3. Fiction

In elementary school our librarian’s name was Ms. Sakovich. She had short, spiky blonde hair and a thin face with a nose like the blade of a knife. Her clothes were a constant source of wonderment – vests with spirals of bright colors and huge wooden earrings shaped like animals. I remember thinking she had a strange, almost grating voice. But when she read to our class, cross legged and eager on the huge oval rug, her voice was never her own. Every character had a different accent, a different tone.

When I started middle school things changed drastically. Apparently it wasn’t cool to check out books from the library anymore. Girls weren’t trading stickers and chapter books over recess; they were being chased by boys and whispering about crushes in giggling huddles. I wasn’t very interested in that. In fact, I wasn’t much interested in our lessons either. I preferred to sneak a paperback behind my textbooks and binders, often getting caught and reprimanded. Had my parents known that I’d grow up to be such a difficult teenager, I doubt they would have complained so much about the notes on my report cards that, back then, read: Often caught daydreaming, does not pay attention, needs to read assigned material.

The middle school library wasn’t what I was used to – light, airy, full of skylights, and boasting a special reference room and a bank of computers. There was a reading garden with a small fish pond, flower beds, and stone benches, but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read out there. It didn’t have the inviting atmosphere of the old elementary school, with its wooden floors and thick, bright rugs. It took a year for me to get acclimated to more modern surroundings.

There was a program called Accelerated Reading that was meant to encourage students to read. For the most part, it didn’t. Only a hand full of students were interested in the points gained from checking out a new book, reading it, and then taking a test on its content. I, being the consummate nerd, decided that not only would I participate; I’d have more points than anyone. It was the first tangible goal I ever set for myself.

I began spending lunch and recess hunting for books with the most points. The librarian, Ms. Gibson, took a liking to me and offered me the job of checking in and shelving returned books. I became such a fixture there that I was allowed to leave classes early and help her, as long as I’d finished all my work. She was a tiny, dark haired woman with a ready smile and a soft voice. Sometimes when I stood behind the big counter, with my glasses slipping down my nose and my volunteer badge swinging on its lanyard, I’d pretend I was her. Everyone there certainly treated me like an adult, like a fellow faculty member, each time I walked in the doors. It was a heady feeling.

There was only one other girl in school that read as much as I did – Christina. We couldn’t have been more different if we’d tried. She had a round face with a turned up nose and long, thick brown hair. I wouldn’t have called her pretty, but she certainly wasn’t a geek in glasses and braces like me. She had an air of superiority about her and when she started spending more and more time at the computers taking AR tests, I was worried. I thought maybe we might become friends for our shared love of reading, but no. She was quick to inform me that her reading tastes were far more advanced than my own and she intended to win the AR contest by a landslide.

She didn’t. She only won by a few points, but at the awards ceremony, when they called my name for second place, I couldn’t see it as anything but a failure.

I didn’t try at all the next year. And, though my reasons for backing away from the competition weren’t very admirable, it ended up helping me in the long run. I realized that I was happier reading just for me than I was reading for the purpose of winning.

That was 14 years ago and I still love reading more than anything else, even writing. I still sneak paperbacks behind binders and walk and read at the same time. I’m still often caught daydreaming about a novel I just finished and paying attention will never be my strong suit. I’m still the consummate book nerd...just with a slightly cooler exterior.

And while my taste is rather eclectic, I still prefer fiction. I’ve read nonfiction books and thoroughly enjoyed them, but they don’t have that same magical pull.

Because in a nonfiction world, I’m a 25 year old single mom that lives at home with her mother.

I have a decent job for someone with no college degree, but no clear idea about the direction of my professional future. I have bills and responsibilities that overwhelm me on a day to day basis. I fear that I might never meet anyone special...and I fear that I will. My five year old daughter starts kindergarten this year and I will attend parent/teacher meetings and have adult conversations I’m sure I don’t know the first thing about.

I burn meals and cry about broken eye shadow compacts. My sense of humor is, more often than not, tasteless and I could never, even at my best, be classified as elegant. In a nonfiction world, everything is real...boring. Sometimes unbearably so.

Oh, but in a fiction world!

In a fiction world I’m a 17 year old red headed Russian, passionately in love with a Chinese communist. I pick pockets for the fun of it and take off on dangerous adventures, making friends and enemies both along the way.

I’m a sultry Southern belle in love with the wrong man for all the wrong reasons. Greedy and self absorbed, but passionate and strong. I wear gorgeous gowns, dance at balls, and kill a solider or two when they deserve it.

I’m a vampire, an actress, a time traveler, a hobbit, a secret agent, and an intellectual with a horrendous hat. I have steamy sex with virtual strangers and shoot bad guys down in dark alleys. When I fall in love with my best friend, he falls in love with me back...even if it takes him a few chapters to get there.

But life is what you make it, I know that. In the nonfiction world I’m also young, healthy, and there’s no telling what excitement or adventures the future may hold. There are a lot of pages left to turn...and I’ll turn them with relish.

I’m learning to set limits on my forays into the fictional world, because it’s obviously easier for me to get lost in it than most. I’m learning to look up and participate in this nonfiction life, even if the hurts are real and the sex isn’t made for a Harlequin novel.

Even so, a part of me will always be that girl hunched over the latest fantasy, with her glasses slipping down her nose and a worn out library card burning a hole in her pocket.

Blog-ish news and a new meme

It’s been more serious than usual around here lately, hasn’t it?

I’m one of those bloggers that, 97% of the time, doesn’t plan their posts. I’ll occasionally get an idea or write down some dialogue that I find entertaining, but generally my posts start by staring at a blank white screen. Honestly, I just start typing. Sometimes I’ll write an entire page before I figure out just what I’m working toward. Maybe that’s why I have trouble with conclusions. (There’s a life lesson in there somewhere.)

Serious posts are necessary for even the most dedicated humorist, I think. And some write in such a way that their personality and wit shine through even the most unforgiving of topics. I won’t give you examples of those bloggers – there’s no need and I've done it more than once already. Take a look at my blogroll and you’ll stumble upon one or two.

Nearly all of the posts I’ve written that I’m proud of aren’t funny at all. I find this highly amusing because I’ve never wanted to be that sort of writer. It’s easy enough to relate embarrassing stories about yourself or make fun of your surroundings. It’s a great deal harder, for me anyway, to write about more meaningful things. A lot of the serious happenings or feelings I’ve shared on this blog, I’ve never shared elsewhere. I’m a very private person in terms of emotional displays – tears, sadness, and even love. They make me uncomfortable and embarrassed.

I could delve into why I have issues with those things, but I’ll leave that for another white screen and beckoning cursor. This was merely an impromptu service announcement, a just in case you were wondering what the hell’s been going on around here sort of deal. Now it’s time for the real post.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve done a meme or acknowledged an award of any kind. Please accept my apologies and gratitude if you’ve recognized me at all over the past several months. I know I’ve been a bit slack.

I’ve been wracking my brain for something lighthearted and/or disgustingly vulgar to share with ya’ll this week, but until this morning I was at a loss. It’s not that there’s been an absence of humor in my daily life; it’s just that they’ve been small things barely worth sharing. (Not to worry though. Only one more week and there should be plenty of stories to share. Beach + Birthday + 7 women = definite blog post.)

Anyway, BugginWord recently gave me this award:

Apparently I’m supposed to “list (and then explain your reasoning) 5 characters you’d like to do the horizontal whiplash with”.

I thought, “Well that shouldn’t be difficult...” Then I started looking over previous lists and realized that all these bitches sole my fictional characters. I can’t use either of my True Blood crushes, my favorite TV King of England, OR the best Scottish hero to grace a steamy romance novel. Sigh. So, I had to think a bit harder.

Then I got tired of thinking harder and trying to be all creative and just got down to business:

He’s lewd, he’s crude, and he’s filthy. Ladies (and gentlemen, if you’re into that sort of thing): He’s Captain Jack Sparrow.

Now, vast arrays of women love Johnny Depp. He’s one of the most heralded hotties to grace the big screen. But in all honesty, even though I’ve always thought he was good looking, I never really gave two shits until he played the role of the devilish Jack Sparrow.

I’m usually not attracted to hairy, dirt under their nails, manual labor type guys. But for some reason, Jack fits the “I’d tap that” bill. Even in that scraggly get up, with those horrible teeth...I’d get sand in all the wrong places for this pirate.

Savvy?

Next we have Jeremy Grey from Wedding Crashers:

I love Vince Vaughn in pretty much everything, but his character in this...yum. He’s a womanizing, fast talking bastard and it’s hot. Everything he does is ridiculously over the top, but somehow it works. There’s one scene in the beginning of the movie, where he’s talking to his secretary who suggested setting him up on a blind date, which sums it up perfectly:

“Janice, I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested... And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions? Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip". Just for a second, just to see how it feels. Or, ouch, ouch you're on my hair.”

I don’t know about you guys, but that’s my kind of man. Sigh. As a matter of fact, that is me...with a penis. (Or used to me, before I got all sentimental.) And I’d totally sleep with me. You know what I mean?

Character number three is an oldie but goodie:

Dear Rhett Butler,

I give a damn. In fact, I’d give a damn all night. All.Over.Your.Face.
I’d take your money and your lovin’ and shove scrawny, broody Ashley Wilkes off a cliff. Word?

I’m sorry, but if Clark Gable doesn’t make your nips stand to attention in GWTW when he gets all shouty and angry, with a lock of that sexy hair falling over his forehead...you’re either one of two things: dead or not into men. He’s the perfect balance between naughty and nice, between sophisticated and rugged/manly. Southern charm indeed.

This next one, if you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, will come as no surprise. (Though it may disgust a few...cough...Veg Ass...cough.)

James Spader, as the creepy E. Edward Grey in Secretary, turns – me – on. I get goosebumps every time I watch. I can’t deny that the setting, the plot, and Maggie Gyllenhaal’s sexual awakening help fan the flame of my interest, but he’s definitely the spark.

Moody, secretive, darkly funny...Weird. I’d gladly assume the position.

(On a semi-related note, his character on the TV series Boston Legal, the chauvinistic man whore Alan Shore, also does the trick.)

And last, but not least, we have a bit of a surprise twist:

I’d like to be the filling in a Diane Lane/Oliver Martinez sandwich please.

There are only a handful of women I find attractive enough to consider getting busy with, and Diane Lane’s character in Unfaithful, Connie Sumner, is one of them. Paul Martel, played by Oliver, is no slouch either. The two of them together...RAWR! I’ve already talked about this one a bit before too, so I’ll leave it at that. And, if you haven’t ever seen this movie...Go out, get it, turn off the lights, and pull the shades. You know, until it gets to the bloody part.

So that’s the list. I’m supposed to now nominate five people to do this thing and that’s a bit of a tough call because A) I hate making people feel obligated and B) I hate just saying "whoever wants to do it, do it", because if they’re like me...unless they’re specifically chosen, they won’t.

Since option A bothers me just a tad less, I suppose I’ll go that route:

Veg Ass

Sara

Erin

Jules

And the reclusive, laid up with a bum leg and surely has the time to do a meme, person that I'm about to prove doesn't read this anymore (HA!):

Jerrod

Pass if you like, bloggers, but I’d love to see your choices.

Hasta mañana.