Peeing in Public

Last night I PEED in public. It was dark, but still... The bathrooms at Suburban Station were closed and my train was 10 minutes late, so by the time I reached my stop, I had been holding it for over an hour. The 8 minute walk to my car was agonizing. Only a 5 minute car ride and then RELIEF. 9pm--I reached my car, got inside and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Try again. Nothing again. And again. 

No worries. I'll go to one of the shops/restaurants/gas stations near the parking lot. The Sunoco, Chinese restaurant, pizza place and pharmacy were all CLOSED, even though their signs said they were supposed to be OPEN until 9:30pm. 

I call my husband--once. twice. three times. no answer. HE NEVER ANSWERS WHEN IT IS REALLY IMPORTANT. I start the 30 minute walk home. After 5 minutes, I'm in agony. Men pee outside all the time--against trees, bushes, walls, behind car doors. What is the big deal? I should be able to pee if I need to. I find the nearest yard with bushes. The exterior and interior house lights are on and I briefly debate whether to risk getting caught. The desperate adventurer in me does the yogi squat. Miraculously I manage to avoid peeing on my shoes or pants or brief case. 

My children think this is hysterical. My son--mom, I don't want anyone seeing your butt. My daughter--mom, if they do see your butt, I don't want anyone to know that you are my mom. I'm a bit insulted. My butt is fine. 

p.s. no the picture is not me. it's a woman in bulgaria. i'm a bit envious, because she's mastered the art of peeing while standing. 

Death, Puke & Passive Aggressive Family Dynamics

Sometimes (ok, most of the time) I get sick of having to clean-up after everyone else. Most of you know that I am domestically challenged. Cleaning doesn't relieve stress or give me a high. In fact, I try to avoid it much like I avoid liver--at all costs. However, my family members don't respect this. If they truly loved me, they would not only clean-up after themselves, but me as well. Are you all snickering yet? My house is decorated in what I fondly (and sometimes embarrassingly) call 'Post-Katrina' decor. 

If you were a fly or a stink bug residing in my house, here is a sample of typical daily conversation. Mom, the cat puked. Well, why don't you clean it up? Why should I clean it up? Well, you saw it first, and it is your cat. Mom, I'm not cleaning it up. That's disgusting. It will make me puke. Why should I clean it up? Because you are the mom and it's your job. 

This is the kind of remark that sends me over the edge. You know-- that murderous, I'm going to punish you for the rest of your life or at least until you can learn to not be a sexist, chauvenist, piglet. However, I'm told that this is improper parenting and may even be considered abusive. I personally believe that allowing your son to grow up to be a sexist piglet is not only abusive, but should be punished by death. I think I'm in the minority, considering how many sexist piglets reside not only in my son's school, but full-grown man pigs in Philadelphia as well as the greater United States. 

I digress. The story that best illustrates our dysfunctional, passive-aggressive family dynamic concerns a dead thing and my son's cat. The cat doing what cats do brings home dead things and leaves them by the sliding glass door. A few months ago, I decided to leave the dead thing (a mole) to see how long it would take someone to either throw it away or give it a proper burial. I'm still waiting. The dead thing doesn't seem to bother anyone else, but me. It now blends in with the patio and has lost all of its bodily fluids. I figure if I wait long enough, it will turn into a skeleton and I can make art with it. 

Stink Bug Invasion

My son asked me the other day why God made stink bugs. I SO wanted to reply that God has an inner sadist who likes to torture us. However, one cannot say such things to an 11 year-old, who still lives in a very literal world. I might permanently scar his young mind. So instead I gave the psychotherapist response--I don't know, why do YOU think God made stink bugs? This is a lame-ass response and he immediately sees right through my trick. That's NOT an answer. 

Forget about the Year of the Ox (Chinese calendar).  It is the year of the stinkbug. Did you know that "The brown marmorated stink bug, an insect not previously seen on our continent, has apparently been accidentally introduced into eastern Pennsylvania?"   They are native to China, Japan, Korea & Taiwan. Makes you wonder how they managed to travel to Pennsylvania.  Remember the Old Testament plagues of locusts and gnats? Hmmm...mighty suspicious. Supposedly they only appear during warmer periods in fall and spring. However they seem to be an equal opportunity season pest in my household. 

My most memorable stink bug story took place a few months ago. While reading on my sun porch, covered with a blanket, I noticed a stink bug. And then another. And another. And another. I brushed them off the blanket and continued to read. A few more crawled in my lap. I got up and shook the blanket. HUNDREDS OF LIVE STINK BUGS FLEW OUT OF THE BLANKET. It was like the spider scene from the Indiana Jones movie. 

As you probably know, you cannot squash a stink bug. Besides the smell, they send out a distress signal to all their stink bug friends within a 100 mile radius, who immediately come, ready for invasion. 1 squashed stink bug today, 1000 live ones tomorrow. 

My friend told me that I should suck them up in my vacuum cleaner. This seemed like a brilliant idea. I wouldn't have to squash them and their friends would be none the wiser. I admit to feeling gleeful while sucking up the little monsters with the vacuum hose. As you probably guessed, this didn't work too well. First of all, they didn't all die. Some heroically clung on like tornado survivors, crawling back out once the 'wind' died down. 

The other problem was the stink. The next time I vacuumed my house (ok I don't really vacuum). The next time someone vacuumed the house, the ENTIRE HOUSE smelled of eau de stink bug. FOR DAYS. 

My neighbor told me that she actually ate a stink bug. It was in her glass and she didn't see it. The crunch and smell gave it away. EEWWW!

So the stink bugs are back. I try to be a GREEN person. However I decided that enough was enough. They needed to DIE. So we (actually it was my husband) bombed them. My inner sadist smiled when I witnessed the stink bug holocaust. Hundreds of little bodies all doing the dead bug yoga pose. I realize that is very un-Christ like of me. And I don't care. 

Art for All & Shameless Self-Promotion

I participated in a group show in Soho last month called, A Book About Death.  A democratic show, the first 500 artists submitted 500 postcards depicting...DEATH. Right up my alley. The exhibit paid homage to Ray Johnson (founder of mail art) & Emily Harvey (whose foundation and gallery hosted the exhibit). I liked the show's concept--sharing art with the public. Each visitor could make their own 'book about death'. Free Art for All. It never hurts to have another NYC gallery line on the resume and I relish any excuse to go to NYC.

The organizer did a fabulous job promoting the exhibit on the blog. By official opening time, there were lines around the block waiting to get into the gallery. Most of my family/friends didn't get in the door. There was a videographer, who was streaming live footage directly to the blog. I was told people were logging in from China, Australia and all over Europe. 

Art & Death aficionados madly scooped up the postcards. The fact that the cards were cheap reproductions did not deter the enthusiastic crowd. No art snobs here. Even in Manhattan, people love anything that is FREE. After a couple of hours, the gallery looked ravaged. 

The scene would have been comical if it wasn't so darn HOT. People pushed and nudged, vying for the best 'cards'. The truly funny part happened later. I was waiting for a friend, who happened to be dining with the Royal Dutch family that evening. By the time he arrived at the gallery, I was alone with the organizer and one other guy. 

After brief introductions, the organizer begins grilling my friend about his job. I happened to mention that he worked on Wall Street, which piqued the organizer's interest. He bluntly asked my friend whether he was a low-level manager, or did he have any real power a.k.a. buying power. Don't you need art for your corporate offices? My friend graciously laughed and responded that he was a senior partner. Drooling, the organizer aggressively proceeded to try to sell him A MILLION DOLLAR artwork. I am so NOT kidding. I was mortified. The man had no SHAME. He even tried to tempt me with a $50,000 commission, if I convinced my friend to buy his million dollar work. The man had balls, I'll give him that. He didn't even try to start with a smaller work, let's say for a couple of grand. He went right for the big pay out. 

So much for Free Art for All. When it comes right down to it, it's all about the MONEY.

How Sexy is YOUR name?

So far, I have avoided taking ANY facebook quizzes (until today). I really don't care 'how well' you know me, nor do I care what Simpsons',  Star Wars or Charlie's Angel character I most closely resemble. I don't feel the need to identify with a particular rockstar, artstar, starstar, emotion, color or food. (Especially if it is from the 80's). So why did I feel the need to take the sexy name test? 

Perhaps, because it did not require effort. I only typed in my name and got my sexy quotient. Colette Copeland, your name is TOO sexy--340 points. So I already KNEW I had a cool name. I wasn't satisfied. The quiz didn't divulge what constitutes a SEXY name. What is the criteria that the hidden Facebook judges use to determine sexiness? Most importantly, who has TIME to come up with these ridiculous quizzes? 

Because I was procrastinating and avoiding editing multitudes of essays, I decided to continue to test facebook. My brother-in-law FB chatted me telling me that he scored a 308. hmmm His name is rather common--Christopher Roger Williams. Then my friend Asif Talukdar FB me, saying that he only scored a  58. How can this be? 

I immediately put in my sisters' names. No competition there. Candy Cash--165, Carla Peace--227, and Courtney Courie--259. First of all, I don't think it gets much sexier than Candy Cash. Come on--let's be real here. And second of all, her message was DAMN sexy. I don't know about you, but I think DAMN sexy is WAY better than TOO sexy. You definitely have the curse word going for you. Of course I am HAPPY that my score beats out my sisters' scores.

Next I put in Ian Williams (yawn)--214. Next I put in Ian Copeland--243. This just proves my point. I TRIED to convince Ian to take my name, but to no avail. 

Kids--Camille Williams--323. When I ADD her middle name (MY NAME) Camille Copeland Williams, her score shoots to 503, proving that her middle name ROCKS. Cole Williams--248, but Cole Roger Williams--345 and Cole Roger Williams III--375. What does this prove? That sexiness is derived from names with more than 3 words and numerals? Or that the FACEBOOK QUIZZES ARE BOTH RACIST AND CLASSIST?

Just for fun, I put in my full name, which includes my mother's maiden name, my father's name and my stepfather's name--Colette Carpenter Copeland Cash and broke the bank--594 POINTS!! Unfortunately I'm still in the TOO sexy category, which seems somewhat unfair, given that I just increased 250 points. Ian will be happy to note that when his name is added to the already unwieldy name of Colette Carpenter Copeland Cash Williams that I'm now up to 745 points. STILL TOO SEXY.

So what can be concluded from this utter waste of time? 

Nothing. 

However, you can log-on and take your own sexy name quiz or join the facebook group--

AGAINST ALL THESE QUIZZES ON FACEBOOK This group is mostly addressed to all those people who hate these stupid quizzes on facebook...join in guys i know there are alot of you who hate them!!

http://apps.facebook.com/sexyname/

Deadly Distractions

This week I had to take the Fleet Defense Alert online driving course to get certified to drive a 15 person passenger van. First of all, the name itself is scary--FLEET DEFENSE ALERT. It sounds like a homeland security buzzword. The course has 9 modules and was SUPPOSED to take 90 minutes to complete. It has taken me FOUR days.

Day 1 was spent figuring out how to get the modules to open. This required an emergency visit from a computer fairy who magically reconfigured my computer. Apparently cookies paralyze the modules. I'm not a computer genius, but I'm guessing these aren't the chocolate chip kind.

Next I patiently listened to an annoying MALE voice tell me how easy it would be to crash and roll my vehicle killing every one of my passengers. The annoying male voice even gave me some statistics to back up his claim. His voice was so cheerful and upbeat, while delivering his gloom and doom schpeal, that I immediately had thoughts of rolling my vehicle over him, crushing him to death.

I successfully complete the first 4 modules and find that NONE of my scores have been recorded and now I have to start all over again! We are now into DAY 3.

Deadly Distractions--this is the title of the 5th module. Did you know that cell phones are a distraction and cause 33,000 injuries and 2600 deaths annually? Did you know that driving while distracted is as risky as driving intoxicated? I wonder what the statistics are for driving while distracted and intoxicated?

I learned that I should NOT check out the hot guy in the other car or watch for signs leading to garage sales, since both of these are considered DEADLY DISTRACTIONS. I learned that I can no longer shower, shave, get dressed, put on make-up and blow dry my hair while driving. (Ok--so I don't really do this, but statistics show that 8% of deadly distraction accidents are caused by shaving while driving, 8% due to hair styling and 20% due to make-up) I'm wondering what you do with the shaving cream?

Mr. Annoying does not say how many accidents are caused by turning around and YELLING at your children while driving. This I do A LOT.

The embarrassing part of this story is that I FAIL this module. I FAIL because I was too DISTRACTED. Always in proper multi-tasking mode, I was checking email, facebook, texting, filing my nails and editing my syllabus all during my training.

Despite my failure, I take comfort in the fact that only 29% of accidents are caused by distracted drivers. I have the odds on my side.

The following phrase is indelibly imprinted/scarred? upon my brain:

REMEMBER--BE ALERT & BE SAFE

Lily Decimation and Karmic Principles

Someone told me recently that in the 'OLDEN' days, people used to have kids in order to boost  their labor force. Free slave labor for the farm. Somehow we've gotten away from that. Perhaps it's due to the fact that we no longer farm. It has shifted so far in the opposite direction, that now we work FOR our kids. We are slaves to their schedules. Like pre-season sports hell, where we spend 4 hours/day in the car driving them to their 2x/day practices. 

Yesterday I decided we were going to have a family bonding event and do lawn work TOGETHER. Responding to moans and groans, I explain how LUCKY they are that they don't have to rise at 4am to milk cows, muck stalls and feed chickens. Instead they get to work in the 500 degree heat pulling weeds. 

My 29 yr.old cousin, who is temporarily living with me, volunteered to help. He promises to show me how to work all of the power tools in the shed. He makes quite a fashion statement--shirtless, with knee-high rubber wader boots and a cowboy hat. I'm really wishing I had a camera. My son, not to be outdone, comes outside in Pirates of the Caribbean pajama pants, a button down dress shirt and cowboy hat to match my cousin. Did I mention the 500 degree weather with a gazillion degrees of humidity? 

I take the weed wacker. I decide it will be a good anti-stress therapy to WACK away those weeds. My cousin is in charge of the hedge clipper--for those weeds that are 6 feet tall and resemble trees. My son is given the task of weeding a small bed near the mailbox. He has done this before, so I don't think he needs much guidance. 

30 minutes later, my arm and hand are numb from weed wacking and I've barely made a dent in the weed forest, which is my yard. My cousin is having difficulty. Apparently it is against his karmic principles to kill ANYTHING. When I question why he isn't hacking off the weeds, I get responses such as--I thought that plant was nice or the coverage gives you more privacy or that one had flowers. 

I check on my son. Instead of weeding the front bed, he has DUG A HOLE. Not a small hole, but a large hole in the MIDDLE OF MY FRONT YARD.  When I inquire oh so patiently about the hole in the front yard, he explains that he WANTED  to dig a hole. Not only is this hole unsightly, but dangerous. Perhaps he has a secret death wish for his sister. The next time she mows the yard, the tractor mower will flip over. I give him directions to fill the hole and continue weeding. I am very specific about what constitutes a weed and what is a REAL LEGIT plant. In my mailbox flower bed, I only have 3 plants--lilys and the rest are weeds. 

I go back to WACKING. A while later, I check on my son again and notice LILY DECIMATION. I'm not overly attached to my plants, but this was one of the only plants that I managed not to kill and it was lying shredded in the driveway. How could you kill my lily???

My son is now demoted to the back yard picking up debris. What's debris, Mom? Just pick up all the wacked plants in the back yard. I check in with my cousin later. How's my son doing? Is he picking up the plants? Sort of. He's been talking about how he is going to be a MALE MODEL, so that he never has to do yard work. 

This is why parents drink.