Last night, for a few brief seconds, I considered myself to be quite lucky. I managed to get into work early enough that when I left the sun was just beginning to cascade down in the direction of the ocean (we can see it on a clear day and a high freeway) and the clouds were still pink and visible. Getting out early allowed me time to drive to a mall about 20 miles past my town to pick up a new pair of pants for Lindsey.
The day I got skunked I was wearing her pants. Then I left them outside to “air out” before I washed them. Of course we had a freak rainstorm that night and I didn’t remember about the pants lying outside in it.
Then I washed them for her—to get rid of the rain and the stench of skunk bootie.
And I shrunk them.
These were very unlucky new pants.
So I went to the mall, bought the pants, and while doing so I saw a pair of extremely cute jeans on sale. At half off of their original (ridiculous) price I was very pleased with myself when I bought them.
When they registered at 10 dollars instead of 39—I was ecstatic. The girl at the counter looked mortified:
“That can’t be right…” she began shuffling through the numbers as I waited with bated breath for the most amazing purchase of the century.
Yeah baby--- that’s right. The computer loves me. See, this has happened to me before. If I were one of those people who truly believed in Magical Thinking I might convince myself that I have a subliminal power over the registers off high-priced stores. My power is for the people. The common people, I would think.
Once I got over myself, and got the deal, I dashed out to my car. As I turned the key in the ignition it made the pathetic: “I have no acid in my battery you stupid idiot who left the lights on,” sound.
I was notorious in grad school for leaving my lights on. The registrar would see me walk into the office and “You did it again” would pour forth from those strange teeth and kind mouth.
So whatever luck I had when I was in the store, suddenly hit the no-luck force-field when I got the parking lot. I walked across the parking lot, asked a few men at a tire store if they could assist me, and then spent twenty minutes with their truck running trying to get the battery to re-charge. Within an hour my battery was so dead not even the biggest-ass truck battery could get the thing going. I half expected the truck would in turn die from the effort.
After that I used my internal GPS system to drive home.
Yes. Internal.
I generally just “feel” my way to locations. This time my feelers were off. Quite off, in fact. I hit the “Lower Azusa” road which is not anywhere near Pasadena before I realized I was going South instead of North.
The Luck was absolutely NO WHERE to be found.
45 minutes later I was back in Pasadena, grabbed Lindsey and went to Baja for dinner. As soon as we walked in the door we saw one of the children from our Sunday school class with her sister and parents.
Remarkably personable and encouraging, the conversation quickly (oddly?) shifted to spiritual warfare.
“Yeah, you know…I see things,” said the mother.
Only in Christian communities does that sentence not receive immediate hospital admittance.
The two little girls are so gorgeous that I asked if people had inquired about putting them in commercials, modeling, etc.
“I would only do it if it were Christian,” the mother said sweetly, swiping her long, beautiful hair out of her face.
Hmm….Christian modeling….not sure where that market is, I thought. Oh yes—the Miss Proverbs 31 Fashion Show 2007.
I ended up telling her about how my mother put me in things like that as a kid (all of us actually) and how she used it to witness to countless people in the industry. I remember listening to her talking to grips and other individuals about God, while I snuck out of my set teacher’s classroom and hid under any table with M&M’s on it and fed my chubby face until I was bloated with sugar. Why go to class when the woman wheezes her way to sleep and you can sit under a table with all the M&M’s you want?
“Really? Wow. I didn’t really think of it that way,” responded the mother.
“Yeah, I work on the same lot I did as a kid,” I said.
“Yeah and I work with a Satanist,” Lindsey remarked at some point during the conversation while the little girl knocked over something on the table.
“Oh….uhhh….great….” they said with startled smiles.
Luck or no luck, the evening WAS great. Not because I speak a common language with those folks (though I do) or because I didn’t wind up in Santa Monica while relying on my personal GPS system (piece of crap that it is)—but because a connection was made with people at a random, inconsequential time. Ideas were shared. We learned about each other. Guacamole was spilled. I am lucky.
The day I got skunked I was wearing her pants. Then I left them outside to “air out” before I washed them. Of course we had a freak rainstorm that night and I didn’t remember about the pants lying outside in it.
Then I washed them for her—to get rid of the rain and the stench of skunk bootie.
And I shrunk them.
These were very unlucky new pants.
So I went to the mall, bought the pants, and while doing so I saw a pair of extremely cute jeans on sale. At half off of their original (ridiculous) price I was very pleased with myself when I bought them.
When they registered at 10 dollars instead of 39—I was ecstatic. The girl at the counter looked mortified:
“That can’t be right…” she began shuffling through the numbers as I waited with bated breath for the most amazing purchase of the century.
Yeah baby--- that’s right. The computer loves me. See, this has happened to me before. If I were one of those people who truly believed in Magical Thinking I might convince myself that I have a subliminal power over the registers off high-priced stores. My power is for the people. The common people, I would think.
Once I got over myself, and got the deal, I dashed out to my car. As I turned the key in the ignition it made the pathetic: “I have no acid in my battery you stupid idiot who left the lights on,” sound.
I was notorious in grad school for leaving my lights on. The registrar would see me walk into the office and “You did it again” would pour forth from those strange teeth and kind mouth.
So whatever luck I had when I was in the store, suddenly hit the no-luck force-field when I got the parking lot. I walked across the parking lot, asked a few men at a tire store if they could assist me, and then spent twenty minutes with their truck running trying to get the battery to re-charge. Within an hour my battery was so dead not even the biggest-ass truck battery could get the thing going. I half expected the truck would in turn die from the effort.
After that I used my internal GPS system to drive home.
Yes. Internal.
I generally just “feel” my way to locations. This time my feelers were off. Quite off, in fact. I hit the “Lower Azusa” road which is not anywhere near Pasadena before I realized I was going South instead of North.
The Luck was absolutely NO WHERE to be found.
45 minutes later I was back in Pasadena, grabbed Lindsey and went to Baja for dinner. As soon as we walked in the door we saw one of the children from our Sunday school class with her sister and parents.
Remarkably personable and encouraging, the conversation quickly (oddly?) shifted to spiritual warfare.
“Yeah, you know…I see things,” said the mother.
Only in Christian communities does that sentence not receive immediate hospital admittance.
The two little girls are so gorgeous that I asked if people had inquired about putting them in commercials, modeling, etc.
“I would only do it if it were Christian,” the mother said sweetly, swiping her long, beautiful hair out of her face.
Hmm….Christian modeling….not sure where that market is, I thought. Oh yes—the Miss Proverbs 31 Fashion Show 2007.
I ended up telling her about how my mother put me in things like that as a kid (all of us actually) and how she used it to witness to countless people in the industry. I remember listening to her talking to grips and other individuals about God, while I snuck out of my set teacher’s classroom and hid under any table with M&M’s on it and fed my chubby face until I was bloated with sugar. Why go to class when the woman wheezes her way to sleep and you can sit under a table with all the M&M’s you want?
“Really? Wow. I didn’t really think of it that way,” responded the mother.
“Yeah, I work on the same lot I did as a kid,” I said.
“Yeah and I work with a Satanist,” Lindsey remarked at some point during the conversation while the little girl knocked over something on the table.
“Oh….uhhh….great….” they said with startled smiles.
Luck or no luck, the evening WAS great. Not because I speak a common language with those folks (though I do) or because I didn’t wind up in Santa Monica while relying on my personal GPS system (piece of crap that it is)—but because a connection was made with people at a random, inconsequential time. Ideas were shared. We learned about each other. Guacamole was spilled. I am lucky.
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