World Ends at 6:30, Looting Party at 6:45!

"Here's your End of The World Burger, Joe." Said the waitress at my favorite little pub.

So I thought, but seriously, Apocalypse tomorrow? OR... ultimate student loan forgiveness! If I survive impending doom, I can tell you one thing, I will be PISSED OFF.

The World Ends. BOOM. SHAKE. Now what? No order, only chaos. And free stuff! What better way to purge my carhtasis then to pointlessly demolish things and pillage??

Maybe I should have bought that Lady Smith & Wesson that I saw at a clients' Pawn Shop... Oh, well. Either way, I am filling up my Bimmer with gas tonight.

Cheers!

STRAW NEUTRALITY

So, in kindergarten, I would bring a straw to school to drink my chocolate milk. One day, the teacher said I couldn't bring my straw anymore unless I brought one for everyone in the class.
I was upset by that...

How difficult is it to ask mom for a straw in the morning?!? Well, same sort of thing going on here, except with flags... If you want a flag, any flag, then so be it. Go get one. Being "neutral" it destroying our country.... by being neutral, you really seek control—of everything.

Cyrano De-Up-sidedown Cake

This weekends episode of Desperate Housewives...

Progression I Believe In

When the Office Command Center is at the hotel, in your room sprawled across a dinky faux wood desk with a lamp from 1986, you know you're a business, man.

After experiencing the generosity of small-town America, I am even more compelled to care about small businesses and I also have an un-satiated desire to help them move into modern digital advertising. Also, grilled-cheese and some soup would be good.

That being said, it's like this: if small business refuses to digitally advertise and—gasp—have a website, these small, hard-working towns with shrivel up into dusty raisins of non-commerce. I see so many God Bless America signs and Glen Beck bumper stickers, I find myself wanting to ask someone; do these small businesses see themselves as the backbone of America, and if so, do they want the backbone of America to shrivel up and crumble under the weight of big businesses and the use of evil websites and technology?

Frankly speaking, the answer would probably be a resounding NO, followed by a 21 shotgun salute and Elk jerky tasting.

It's difficult down here. Business are cutting expenses wherever they can, and unfortunately advertising is the first to go. I believe this is a mistake as Henry Ford once said, "cutting down on advertising so save money is like stoping a clock to save time."

The world will still advance as time does, and the decent hard-working folks will be literally left in the dust.

Wyoming Isn't So Bad

I've always thought of myself as a city-kid even though I more or less grew up in suburban Minneapolis. I'm fine with that, too. That being said, it has been quite the culture shock working out of Powell, WY, population 5,000. Sure, small towns are charming, but I find myself lonely and a little land locked (lakes? hello lakes?).

I was cruising down Wyoming State Highway 310 on the way to meet with a client, contemplating the next 4 months of small town work, living out of a hotel in Cody, WY, when all the sudden my oil light flashed and my car started shaking and smoking and spurting water, filling the air with a chemical odor I've never smelled before. Shit.

I pulled into the closest gas station, frantically bought some coolant and oil. The young service station boy, observing my confusion, offered to help me. City girl, in a dress and heels confused about her car. This is a little too cliche'd, I thought.

I thought we had the car cooled down, so I started it and pulled out on my way to find a mechanic, very thankful that I hadn't yet downloaded John Clease's voice to my Tomtom, "you killed your auto, you bloody idiot! Get out!" Whew.

My car started to overheat again so I pulled over and walked to Hansel and Gretel's restaurant where I had enjoying a nice club sandwich for lunch not 3 hours earlier.

"Back again?" Said the waitress.

"Should've taken those left overs with you, eh?" Said the bartender/server.

"I would've but I was going to be driving all day, until my car broke." I replied.

"Oh, what happened?" Asked the 40-something softball coach looking server.

"Well, I think my radiator blew, or something—it needed coolant. I honestly don't know." I said sipping my iced tea from a jar. Seriously.

"You from out of town?"

"Billings."

"Shweeeew. You work here huh. Well I happen to be buddies with the best and cheapest most honest mechanics in Powell and Cody... let me call em'.."

"Oh thats ok..."

Exit bartender on his cellphone.

° 5 minutes later °

Enter bartender, Chris with the chef, Chad.

"Can't get a hold of CRC's but Chad here happens to be a mechanic, he can look at yer car if you want.' Said Chris.

"That would be great! Let me pay for my iced tea."

"Ah, don't worry about it!"

We all walk out to the car and run our set of diagnostics.

"Yep," said heavily tattooed, ponytailed, but sweet Chef Chad,"it's the water-pump. You can drive it in town to a mechanic, but no further."

We went back inside as Chris tried to call every mechanic he knew. Chad got off shift and we sat in the bar watching an episode of the TV show Cops about poaching Elk. Doesn't get more Wyoming than that...

Chris came back and told me that the reason the mechanics didn't answer the phone was because NASCAR was probably on the TV in the mechanic's shop and we should drive out there and ask about the car. First, we stopped at O'Rielly Auto and asked Chris's friend, Rich, if they had the part we needed, he said he did, $60 and could overnight it, great. Now all we had to to was confirm that CRC's could do the work.

We drove about 8 miles out of town, talked to the shop guy and he said no problem. Then the greatest example of American Small Town—hell generosity in general—happened.

"Hey Naomi, I'm going to go grab my gas card and fill up the car for you. You can use it all week if you want, I have to drive my truck up to Montana tomorrow to watch my daughter barrel-race. You can follow me back out here in your car and they'll get the work done tomorrow. Do you have a business card?"

"Yep. That is too generous of you."

"Naw, no problem." He said, smiling.

Get this, the now borrowed car, sitting outside of my hotel, is a 2004 Toyota Camry. Comparable to my mom's 2003 Honda Accord, needless to say, it is a nice ride.

The fact that someone would just lend their car, albeit third car, to a complete stranger—townie at that—is beyond me.

I am very grateful and have grown a new love and appreciation for the small town mentality of community, heart and home.

God Bless my kind strangers as they have bless me.

Pretty People On Life-Endangering Dates

...I like watching crazy people mingle. It's a morbid fascination of mine...

"I just rappelled down a thirty story building! I'm in love!" Said Crazy Michelle, from this season of The Bachelor.

Ten min earlier she was saying, "I hate heights, I'm going to barf!"

ABC should re-name The Bachelor, Pretty People on Life-Endangering Dates. No. Really.

You're not in love, dear crazy one, it was adrenaline. (Haha). The chemical response of a rush you endured with someone attractive, who was no doubt even more attractive while suspended at vertigo-inducing heights above Los Angeles.

And what's with the backpacks? Did they contain parachutes?? I hope so.

Come on people–caves full of God know's what, dinner in the middle of a Costa Rico pond on a sinking island... piranhas anyone?

(SNAP SNAP SNAP).

I wince whenever they enter the jungle on a date. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette—I like watching crazy people mingle. It's a morbid fascination of mine. But, seriously, whatever happened to dinner and a movie or conversation over cabernet?

Maybe I am old-fashioned or terribly boring. I just don't think that an analogy can be drawn between zip-lining in the Jungle and future relationship trials. Sure, it's emotional and frightening, but, arguments happen frequently, hurling yourself toward the jungle floor at mock 0.4 does not. And if it does, you must be a Navy SEAL or something.

Experiencing life and maintaining a relationship isn't about extremes, oh contra-re, it is about keeping things interesting and functional through the mundane day-to-day activities. That is the real challenge.

Anyways, I just think my proposed title,"Pretty People on Life-Endangering Dates," would be more fitting, unless of course The Bachelor, leaves as a Bachelor. Again.

What's Your Major? (Problem)

I'm sure many non-teaching English majors experience this from time to time. But every-time, it reminds me of when I was little and would lose my, "baby," teeth. Without fail, after every tooth fell out, just a few days later I assured myself and my bloody gums that the experience was nothing to ruminate over. It was really not too bad. Besides, we got a quarter. But the next tooth's departure always hurt even worse than the last...

Tonight, while working at Dillard's Daycare Inc., I was helping two women find, "wool coats with a hood, that have a zipper," (which I hear is ultimately impossible unless you shop at Eddie Bauer... whose fashion brains have apparently been eaten by modern eclectic zombies... or something) and one of them asked me which high school I went to. Cringe.

Now, my boyfriend Patrick says that this is not as, "uncomplimentary as you might think it is," but I still take offense, especially when I am wearing a power suit, glasses—and sapphires.

I replied that I was not under 18, go to bed at 2am and had recently obtained a degree from Rocky Mountain College.

"What was your major?" She chimed.

"English... Creative-Writing." I said, picking rouge feathers from my new goose-down coat.

She then tossed out the excruciating, "oh, so why aren't you teaching?"

My jaw tightened and the down feathers ruffled.

"Well, I don't like kids—or teaching, for that matter."



Thanks... thank YOU for basically saying that I am a sub-par writer, and all I can do with my degree in Creative-Writing is teach creative-writing.