Randy, Daddy's not going to 'kill' Ralphie

Not feeling great tonight, so it's bed and freezing hands and the quietest neighborhood in the world.

Unconnected and non-important thoughts:

1. I need a permanent reminder of the kind of jobs that would be my Dream Jobs, capital D, capital everything.
All this recession / economy / political turnover / terrorism in Mumbai / media everything really does wedge itself into your brain... this morning I was feeling so grateful to have a job, and people who need me working on projects that are scheduled out until June and August of next year. But this is not the rest of my life. I need to start kicking my ass very hard to make it into something that's bigger and better and more ME.

current best dream/fantasy jobs:
1. Writing for Pixar
2. Writing for Reading Rainbow (circa 1992, unfortunately)
3. Writing and producing for Kartemquin Films
4. Making an incredible artistic/cinema verite film about children in foster care while working on my novel / play / book of poetry while preparing to make a high-budget documentary about my dad's writing career
5. Children's book author (and YA author... maybe 2rd grade - 8th grade)

2. I got a long scathing complaint yesterday from a client who was totally put out that my last prenatal health video series featured both single parents and couples. She returned her video because one out of the three videos' covers had a couple on it... wearing... wait for it... wedding rings. She's disgusted that we would depict commited couples at all because she works with single teen moms and feels like our video would not be emotionally healthy for them.

How does one respond to this?
I'm supposed to be all tail-between-my-legs about this stuff, but you know, I really wanted to just call this lady and ask her to bite me. Actually, I wanted to call and say:

Dear crazy woman in Texas,
I sincerely apologize for the horrifically traumatizing effects that my prenatal health video must be having on your teen mother viewers. I realize that 50% of our video shows couples eating right, exercising and preparing for the birth of their child, and I also realize that this is sick and wrong. Couples have nothing to do with pregnancy, childbirth and parenting. In fact, men have nothing to do with babies at all!

Certainly, the young impressionable mothers in your class should NOT be exposed to happy, committed relationships, and the idea of having a stable male figure in their child's life should be cut out and trampled on our editing room floor.
I truly apologize for this blunder. I can't believe that I didn't take your specific (crazy) needs into account while making this video, which will be shown in every hospital across the country. Did I say country? I meant internationally. But obviously such a LIMITED market will have the SAME NEEDS as you, so why should I include a diverse cast of moms (and dads) of all ages?

3. What was I saying about job security? Er...

4. I sent my dad's agent an email out of the blue to thank him for the friendship he's shown my dad for the past 26 years, especially as of late, with his nearly heroically genuine and compassionate gestures toward dad during this awful summer/fall/winter of illness. He sent a response that made me bawl my eyes out. It was one of the most beautifully written and heartfelt letters I've ever received. This year, I don't have to think hard to remember what I'm thankful for during the holidays

5. The day before I left for Chicago, I remember thinking, "I haven't cried much in a really long time".
It's always really, really dangerous to think such things.

6. I spend a decent amount of quarantined mental agony on the stupidest sh*t ever. For instance, "what should I do about a gym lock? I buy them but then forget the combination. But it's irresponsible to just leave stuff in the locker with no lock" (repeat 18,000 times during the week to self) and "my shoes aren't winterized. I am a bad person for wearing non-waterproof shoes. I'm nothing but a lazy, vain fool with cold feet"

7. Last night I had an incredibly realistic dream that I discovered a jar of homemade jam that a social worker made for me on my kitchen counter. Disgusted with myself for letting it sit out unrefrigerated, I mentally berated myself, carried the jam to the refrigerator and put it on the middle shelf, tapping the lid to make sure that it was airtight and I could still enjoy my tasty treat without dying of food poisoning.
It took me ALL DAY to determine that this was, in fact, a dream, and that the jam in question has been in my fridge (on the middle shelf, with the airtight lid) all along.

I'm not sure which I feel more strongly-- that these uber-realistic dreams* are the trippiest thing EVER, or that my jam dream is the most boring thing that's ever happened on this giant green earth of ours.

(*the uber-realistic dreams are the only quasi-cool side-effect of the G.I. Joe internal organ warfare of 2008, but they're driving me bat-shit. Last week I dreamed that Mer was leaving for London and Lance was about to buy an Audi... two things that they've often talked about. It took me DAYS, literally, to decide-- after much, much consideration-- that I had dreamed these conversations) Other uber-realistic dreams: jam, Thad talking to me on the phone, Tom skiing in really deep powder, people breaking into my apartment. LOTS of those dreams lately.

8. Ooh! I won't type up my Philadelphia haunting story here because I'm going to sleep in 10 minutes and I don't want nightmares. But I had another creepy experience this morning after my profoundly boring jam dream... I was caught in the sheets a little bit so I was flailing around at about 6am, grumpy to be awake an hour before my alarm was going to go off. I was flailing, falling asleep, kicking the sheets, dozing off, when right behind my head... CLICK. It was the exact sound of someone flipping on my light switch, but ridiculously loud. I just about levitated out of my bed... but no lights were on. No light switches were flipped. Nothing in my closet had moved, nothing had fallen off my bed... I've stripped the room down to paint it, so there aren't even screws in the wall, just my bed in the room.
How freaky is that?!
It's the second consecutive night in a row that I've sat bolt upright in bed, with waves of real adrenaline pumping in my heart from crazy noises. (Yesterday was the sound of someone super shady walking up and down the stairs and snooping around my door and my neighbor's door at 3am.)

Ok. Must leave before I scare myself with more nighttime (boring) terrors.

for next time:
philadelphia haunting
crack baby dolls that are actually being sold to public high schools as educational material
reasons why I believe (subdued) chivalry is the most underrated and dead sexy thing ever
crazy embryonic development facts
a manifesto for the working rebellious urban cowgirl

love,
Jane Kathryn