Get Back

This week I finally accomplished the task of creating a message board; this has been in the works now for over a year. I was going to finish it with my mom, but we hardly see each other. Then I was going to finish it with my friend, but we’ve not been scheduled off enough time at the same time to finish it. The other day, I finished it myself. I’m pretty proud of it, even though its a bit lumpy on one side. The whole point of this board was to hang it above my drawing table to “draw” inspiration from. I was worried at first about not having enough memories and drawings to fill it up. Sorting through piles of things I’ve collected, I found things one of my best friends here gave me, and some things one of my best friends back in Ozark gave me. Strangely, they have a similar sense of humor.

I found an old Valentine’s card from my best friend back home. This one in particular sported The Red Ranger of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.  She lovingly wrote on the back, “Hey Spazz!” and exclaimed I looked like a “terd”, (yes, spelled with an “e”) because I was wearing a brown sweater that day.

"You look like a 'terd'!"

This was enveloped with song verses to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band…also highly appropriate for Valentine’s Day. My friend here in St. Louis will do similar things. She’ll pass me notes sometimes at work with song verses of the current song on the radio illustrated in full glory. Both friends write and draw things that make me laugh uncontrollably.

The last couple of weeks have been an interesting process, I’ve been trying to plan a short trip back home; it’s pretty much a 48 hour trip. This particular trip is going to be different, I’m going to be bringing one of my best friends from St. Louis with me (the one mentioned above) and introduce her to some of my other closest friends; including the one that said I looked like a “terd”.  These friends I’ve lately been referring to as “The Ozark Mafia”. It wasn’t until early this morning I started worrying about this introduction. Recently  e-mailing one of my friends, he and I have been discussing a barbecue that’s going to take place at my parents house. He asked the typical questions, “What does one need to bring?” “How are we to dress?” then he goes on from there. I got to the bottom of his list of questions, and he asked, “Will you be doing any Cher imitations?”

Wow.

The last question caught me off guard and made me giggle. In the process of growing up, one can forget exactly where they came from at times. I read a book called, “Friends like these” where the author Danny Wallace talks about how this happens. He talks about how friends are there to remind you of who you were and where you “came from” so to speak. In my case, I forgot just how well this friend knew me.  (“If only I could turn back time” so he didn’t have to witness the aforementioned Cher impersonation.)

I worry my friends back home will tell my best friend up here what I was ACTUALLY like, from their own perceptions.

These last few months have been trying for me, and its been difficult feeling some people out and realizing who doesn’t mind if you’re a goofball and yourself around them. Recently I had a situation where I found out someone just really thought I was too goofy and had enough. In describing this incident to a best friend back home she reminded me and said, “If you were to act this way in front of us (The Ozark Mafia), would we have cared?”

She was right.

“No,” I said reluctantly. Then I quickly corrected myself and said, “Yes.”, just because I didn’t want to admit the sad truth; the truth that my goofy demeanor, that makes me… me, drove this other person up a wall. She said, “NO, you KNOW we wouldn’t mind!” She reminded me that true friends love you for who you are, quirks, corny jokes and all. In remembering this particular conversation, I’m constantly reminded that I shouldn’t worry. If people stick around, it’s because they love you for you. Dr. Seuss put it best, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

Maybe I worry too much. Maybe I’m just worried my St. Louis best friend will find out just how unashamed, carefree, and unabashedly awkward I was and how much I’ve changed from that, into this person that thinks too much about what others might think. Maybe I’m afraid not necessarily what she’ll find out, but what I’ll find out; that at one time I was a cool chick and turned into this…whatever I am now.

Hopefully this trip will be a good reminder and knowing my friends, they’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. They’ve been helping me along the way to remember what it was like to be me, and surely in person everything will become much much clearer. If I’m lucky, maybe we’ll celebrate at the barbecue and all do a rendition of the Beatles, “Get Back” and sing the famous verse, “Get back to where you once belonged.”

Here’s to the future of becoming my old self.

What have your friends reminded you of that you’ve forgotten about yourself?  How do your friends keep you in check?

No Country for Creepy Old Men

This is dedicated to my friend who urged me to write about my old man experiences…the book shall come later, and thank you for the inspiration.

It has become apparent now more so than ever that I’m an old soul. However just because I’m an old soul, doesn’t mean that I’m a kindred spirit to a man my Dad’s age. Let me illustrate my point.

A few weeks ago I made a run to a local 24 hour drug store after my night shift to purchase some cheap purple hair dye to go with the new blue streaks some girlfriends put in the night before. While I was there I had to make a few other purchases. When approaching the register, the older clerk kept asking me to show him sunshine. He pointed out I had sunshine in my hair, referring to the sunflower on the right side of my head. Due to my poor hearing abilities and Tinitis, I didn’t really understand him, so I feigned a smile pretending I did. What came next I heard clearly. He smiled like a Cheshire cat, made; what can only be described as a ray gun noise and exclaimed, “There it is! Got it!” At that moment I was hoping he would see the purple hair dye he was ringing up and think I was some sort of strange abnormal person like most people would, but it didn’t phase him. He unfortunately looked at my name tag and then told me I had been on his mind. I get this frequently.

I love my name, however because my name is Georgia, just telling a slightly off center person elicits the Ray Charles version of the song by the same name from them, and usually the person is a creepy old man. When I was a teenager and working at a restaurant, line cooks would frequently sing to me if I had to put a request in. I don’t understand why my name affects people like this, but I digress.

There was another instance where I was opening a store a few years ago. A little old man in a trucker’s hat with pants hiked up to his ears shuffled up and asked where the peanut butter filled pretzels were. I offered for him to follow me in order to show him the way. In my ignorance, I realized maybe the old man couldn’t keep up with me and it might be best to turn around, go back and slow down. As I turned around, the little old man was RIGHT behind me, staring me in the face. I showed him what he was looking for, and he responded, “How ‘bout a kiss?” Come to find out, the man was married and a square dancer. He then asked me if I wanted to square dance with him. I was mortified.

The next predicament was rather embarrassing. I was helping to load some product for a man who was close to my Father’s age and looked strangely like Hulk Hogan’s non-steroid induced brother. The guy I was helping (who isn’t with my work or in any way affiliated) was taking product from my hand and placing it on a truck. I was trying to trim off some plants so he had the fresh parts ready to go. He was kind enough to hold the plant while I sliced off the sprigs that had fallen to the side. He then presented me with the sprigs and said, “Don’t say I didn’t ever get you anything.” Then he asked me on a date. I said, “No, but thanks” briefly explaining I just got out of a long relationship. He then asked again, “How about for the future?” Again I had to burst the guy’s bubble. He finally left with his head hanging low much like George Michael’s on Arrested Development, or Charlie Brown’s when they both were rejected by their love interest.

You see, this isn’t just a recent development. This kind of thing has happened since I was a kid. Hence the “creepy” in the title of this blog.

One incident dates back to when I was six years old. My family, and a friend and her family were all going to a local theme park close to where I used to live in the Ozarks. My parents and I were approaching the turnstile to get in when a rather sweaty, large man in thick plastic glasses was manning the station. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief, and said, “Phwew, I haven’t had a hug all day…can you give me a hug?”  I remember not wanting to hug him but felt obligated. All I knew was after hugging that sweaty large man, fun awaited on the other side of the gate, and I was willing to hug to get to it. At the age of six years old, for me, hugging this odd man was the equivalent of having to answer a Troll’s three questions at a bridge just to cross it. Next in line was my friend who is the same age as me and her family. I was growing impatient waiting on the other side because I knew fun was happening somewhere in the park and we were missing out on it. As I stood there watching, they went through the turnstile with no problem. She didn’t have to hug the sweaty troll.

"Hurry up and ask me the three questions already!"

So you see, no matter what age I am, I will always be attracting creepy old men. When I become an old lady, in theory, creepy old men will become a thing of the past and I won’t have to worry about getting hit on; much to my delight.

Have you had any instances where someone who gave you the heeby jeebies hit on you or just plain made you feel uncomfortable? Were they age inappropriate?

The deal-breaker for THIS artist

          There has been some mystery over my resignation from being an in-store artist. Hopefully this will clear some things up for people. Those of you reading my blog already know that I live life as an artist, but some of you may not have known that I also did it for a living for 5 years, in and out of my day job.

     When I’m at work I tell people the reason I’m switching to work the floor instead of in-house art is, “I don’t want to get burned out.” This is true. I spent a lot of time and student loans getting an education for something most people don’t even use; a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree with an emphasis in drawing. The last thing I want to do is to never use this degree for personal use, so inevitably for myself I had to make some life and career changes. However one of the many perks to being an in-house artist is when my former alumni calls once a year to collect money and data. They ask what I’m doing for a living and I would get to tell them, “I’m an artist.” Then they act surprised and say how rare it is for someone to actually use their degree in this field. Then they politely ask for money.

     Even though I’ve said I’m afraid I’ll get burnt out on the position, the real reason I’m switching from being an artist to crew member is this; Velcro. Yes, Velcro.

The bane of my existence

     You see my co-worker and I use it on an almost daily basis, thus resulting in wrappers and spare un-used halves of this sticky and fuzzy stuff being left over in our pockets. Often if I’m on the floor putting some artwork up, you can see me shoving these pieces into pockets, sticking it on fingers while waiting to position the first piece of Velcro on a sign holder, while balancing on a ladder holding some foam core artwork.  Since I’m too busy concentrating on performing a balancing act, I never realize quite how many wrappers or Velcro pieces are being shoved into my pockets.

     Recently the Velcro has been finding its way into other things, mainly my dryer and various places around the house.

     When I find it around the house, it’s because I’ve taken it out of my work jeans before I’ve washed them and placed them in other locations absent mindedly. Then on the days when I clean the house, I go around finding the pieces and putting them in whatever I have on that day; another pair of work jeans, or if I’ve just woken up and started the laundry; my bathrobe.

     When I find it in the dryer it’s an unfortunate experience. One time it was stuck on the walls of the dryer drum and I had to cut it off with an Exacto-knife. This has resulted in glue being left on the drum walls, however the glue has helped collect extra lint off the clothing. There is no removing the glue, it won’t budge. Then, there is the even more unfortunate experience when you find some of the sticky stuff left over, in or on, your clothing. Remember the bathrobe I mentioned that I sometimes clean the house in? I found some Velcro, washed, sticking to the inside of the pocket. I still have yet to see if it will come out once it dries. The other week I was mesmerized as I pulled out a pair of underwear from the dryer with both a sticky and a fuzzy side of Velcro (which is a rarity to find both sides) attached to the outside of the undies. Granted, this will help if I lose weight, all I have to do is attach the sides together and viola no more ill fitting underwear.

     This is why I had to quit being an in-house artist and have reached my breaking point. I don’t want to risk the chance of that painful Velcro ending up on the inside of my underwear.

Magnified Velcro for painful emphasis

     This is for my artist co-workers who have worked with me over the last five years in the tiny art rooms at two different locations. Thank you so much for laughing with me, putting up with mishaps, endless ramblings and for being there for me. You all are wonderful.

     What are some crazy things you find in your pockets when you do the laundry? When have you had to make a career change in your life? What were your reasons?

Again, how is technology helpful?

I take it for granted my generation has grown up with several different ways to listen to music; record players, cassette tapes, CD’s, MP3 and now MP4 players. I also take it for granted that music, like art was a way to communicate through visual or audible language to convey one’s emotions or feelings. With the onset of new technology, I’ve realized I’ve taken for granted the experiences that we grew up with.

In taking these things for granted I started thinking more about what would happen if all the electricity in the world just went out at the same time. How would we listen to music? Everything would suddenly have to be seen live again just to hear or see it. Suddenly singers would actually have to have real talent and no auto tuning. Then I started thinking how no electricity would mean no more e-books, a surge in library check outs, people learning how to use the card catalogue system and everyone getting familiar with dewey decimal in an old school fashion. No electricity would mean no more annoying cell phones going off during a class, a therapy session or even in a public restroom.  No electricity means the annoying manager of a car dealership won’t be interrupting your interaction with one of his salesmen to show him their co-worker’s latest facebook update on his cell phone.  No electricity would mean the battery in his cell phone would be long dead before having to feign insensitive interest about their co-worker calling your salesperson “chubby” to the rest of the world.

As someone who grew up not needing or having a cell phone, I suddenly quit worrying about the world losing electricity, and smiled. I smiled at the thought of no longer having to be annoyed when going out with a large group of people, (or on a date) where the people (or date) are more engaged with their smart phones than those they are with.

How wonderful.

I recently saw an ad where a woman was talking up the qualities of a new cell phone when she was comparing the interaction with the person on the other side of the phone as to them actually standing right next to her. Unless you’re a germ-a-phobe, this doesn’t really seem like the most appropriate way to go on a date with someone. (There are some circumstances that allow, like living an ocean apart, or the person is away on leave.) However, it confuses me how people who live in the same town still see that as an intimate connection, even talking on the phone is better than living a relationship out through text. It leads me to have concerns for my friends who want to forge connections with others but don’t realize what they’re missing out on when its not played out in real time.

There was recently a news piece done on how there is a social disconnect in today’s youth because most connections and relationships are carried out online. The point they were trying to make is no one really knows how to interact with each other face to face anymore. Everyone has become used to interaction being distant and intangible.

Strangely though at the same time, with relationships being distant and intangible, there is this ever growing need to have everything right now, whether it’s information, clothes, food; everything is now instant, faster or new and improved.

Sounding like an old fogey I find myself thinking or saying, “Back in the day…” quite often. Back in the day, relationships took time. Back in the day, food also took time. Back in the day, those two things went hand in hand; food and mingling. If you look back in time, more people were healthier, not just skinnier. Food took time, you used it as a social tool to connect with your family and close friends. (Not in everyone’s circumstance, but certainly mine.) Even if we were just sitting at T.V. trays watching Friends we still took the time to laugh together over dinner.

Here is my main beef; if we all took time to break bread with each other I think there would be a lot less miscommunication. Technology has moved so fast we haven’t even had time to catch up with it, let alone each other.

I’ve seen some current technological trends where artists and musicians are looking to technology ghosts of the past to explore the hidden treasures of what the vinyl world had to offer. Strangely by looking back they’ve found recording on vinyl actually gives the music more depth, richer tones, more quality and more character. Maybe we have something to learn from the music world? Maybe, if we’re lucky, this trend of looking back will start happening in other areas of society. Maybe by looking back, people will learn to ditch their cell phones at appropriate times and start connecting again like they used to, and maybe, even connect over dinner.

What is the thing you miss most now technology has advanced? If you’re younger, what trend do you wish would come back so you could experience it? What are some annoying or inconveniencing things that have happened to you because of technology?